Strum rubbed his eyes, the dim torchlight illuminating a disused cavern and the crumpled forms of his potential recruits. Yrx and Pox just recently accepted the food he'd offered. A fine meal from Regis no less. Still, it took a full hour to convince them to eat it. As if Regis would allow poisoned food out of his kitchen. The whole accusation was silly—besides, they really thought he’d rely on poison to get rid of two tied-up goblins?
The oddest part of the last couple of days was how hard Gikx's absence hit. Sure, Jilde's occasional appearance went a long way to improve his mood, but being stuck with these two goblins frayed his nerves.
Soon enough, he'd swap with Jilde and track that mirror. Even pulling Gikx in to help him out.
Dragging along a hero with an oversized ego was the perfect cover. Not anyone in the Shadow-Axe tribe questioned him; Gikx exploited all of the privileges of his rank, so what if Strum walked around with him? Ideally, he'd send Gikx alone to recover the mirror. But that idea was a nonstarter. Gikx was far too unreliable to trust with such a vital task.
Strum cupped his ears to shut off the yammering of the twins in the corner, going from the latest escape plot to a yelling match as they played the blame game. They might have driven any other goblin crazy, but Strum spent enough time around Regis. Compared to him? Their inane arguments fell short. He just wished they'd stop talking in circles. The fact he was stuck with this for an indeterminate length of time was the most annoying fact.
If only I knew more.
He forced his eyes shut and focused on breathing. Letting the oxygen disperse throughout his body. The chatter of the two prisoners faded away, leaving him with the simple sensations brought by his senses: the stale air hanging in the air, the grainy dirt below, and the faint scent of the burning torch. Just another goblin on the Ground-Father’s earth. No worries about management, and even better, no listening to bitching goblins
Breath in. Breath out.
“At last. My wayward manager! Your constant prodding of our shared bond is quite annoying, but it appears my unwilling sacrifice yielded results. Tell me, what did you think of the bread? A masterstroke of culinary achievement that none other than I—Regis — might obtain in these dreary circumstances. Fear not, I have discovered a clever solution to your problem. Jilde will arrive with a cure to free you from the shackles of this pesky ward,” The crystal's hum jolted into his head. Unlike last time, Strum managed to maintain his mediation. Shakily exploring the source.
There it was, the trick to holding onto the bond; all he had to do was ignore whatever Regis said.
Like a slim thread flowing from his chest, invisible to his eye, but it tugged between them. Strum ran his awareness over the connection, blotting out the excited chatter of a bragging dungeon.
This connection tied them, it's how the dungeon pressed his thoughts into Strum's mind. He turned this new information over, mentally prodding at their bond, quietly watching Regis abuse it. Strum tentatively tried to replicate the dungeon, and fell on his face, like a toddler learning to walk. The bond began to fade, and he frantically grabbed around. Catching it due to the dungeon ceasing its annoying chatter before he lost the bond completely.
Regis remained quiet, letting him test the connection. “Regis..?” Strum's silently mouthed. Injecting a bit of himself along the road between them.
“Wonderful! Even without my personal instruction, you’ve cobbled together a bare understanding. You may lack nuance, and don't get me wrong, your progress lacks the impressive results my dedicated instruction would have wrought, but what can I expect from a simple goblin? I suppose I shall levy some praise. Well done! Who’s a smart goblin! You are!" Strum sighed. "Enough trivialities, now listen close. With this bond and your new body, you have been bestowed with an intrinsic tie to fire mana. The same as I. It is of course, the most renowned among all of the mana, I’m sure you’ve detected some of—“
“Not sure… how long I can keep this up.” A headache bloomed, causing the connection to slip. The dungeon muted its train of thought. An emotional burst of frustration ran through their bond.
“Fine, if I must, I shall summarize in brief language. You may now utilize fire mana. There is not nearly enough time to teach you how to safely wield it. Nevertheless, Jilde shall bring you a cookie, you will eat said cookie. After which, mana will burn throughout your system in a violent and explosive manner; you must expel this mana or face dire consequences. However, doing this shall shatter the ward. Do not fail or—“
The connection failed and Strum groaned, rubbing at his forehead. He laid on his back, letting the cold from the dirt soak into his skin. What the hell was a cookie, and why on the Ground-Father's earth would it cause such a violent reaction?
Mana? Like the shaman used? Did Regis expect him to learn to do magic on his own?
No room for error, with a looming uncertainty of what might go wrong if he failed. More than anything, Strum needed to get out and begin moving pieces, all the time trapped in the hideout, let Mallik make more preparations. Strum needed to convert these two and dig into the shaman’s plans.
They required information on the threats facing them, a spy that knew to what extent the shaman dealt with the Dark Lord. Vraz, Jilde, even Wort, all of them, relied on him pulling this off and jumping back into action. Strum wasn’t the same stupid hobgoblin he’d been a year ago, no longer a puppet dancing to just anyone who held his strings.
Strum let himself rest, recovering what he could, drifting off into sleep.
Jilde interrupted his peace an hour later, waking strum by pressing her head against his chest, perhaps to check for a heartbeat. “I’m uh, fine. No need to worry.”Strum said. Jilde spooked, sitting straight up.
“I-wasn’t—Of-course you are! Really-fine, actually! Finest goblin-in-“ she stammered out, the scent of lemon and lavender clung to her like pollen to a bee. Strum also shifted to a sitting position. At some point, the two idiots in the back of the tuckered themselves out. Praise the Ground-Father.
Sure, another goblin might just have shoved gags into their mouths, but that didn't exactly foster a healthy future work dynamic. They needed to trust him, so he labored to soften his demeanor towards them. No matter how annoying they may be. That was also a reason getting Gikx away was vital to this stage of recruitment. The hero did not play nice with those goblins—choosing to taunt them every couple of hours.
“Regis said-that-these might be…” Jilde looked away and bit her lip, sliding the wrapped cookie behind her back.
“Dangerous. I’m uh. Aware. I managed to speak to him, like in the forest. It’s fine, Jilde. I’m going to prepare the best I can before eating a... cookie."
“You could-wait. Just-you-and-me and we’ll stay-here and watch those two! No Gikx and so-much-time to talk! Doesn’t-that-sound-good?!” She gave a big smile, slipping the cookie further away. Strum shook his head and scooted closer. Jilde blushed. His hand reached around her back and touched the parcel. A thrum of energy rang from it. Potent.
He lightly pulled at the parcel, she let go. He set the twine-wrapped parchment paper in his lap. Fingers touched the twine to untie it, but Jilde beat him to the punch, her hand topping his to stop him from moving forward. She leaned in, biting her lip in a way that exposed her bottom fangs. “No-matter-what happens… If you get hurt, I’ll-be-here-for-you. I’ll take care of-you-until it’s all better, okay?”
“I uh, appreciate it. Having someone like you to rely on means a lot to me. For most of my life, I never had that. But when you're around, I know I have someone who will watch out for me.” Strum paused, instinct pulling at him. He forget the wrapped cookie for a moment, instead, shifting his hand to entwine their fingers. Jilde gasped. Her hands were coarse, a goblin used to the string of a pulled bow and the grip of a knife, yet so soft and yielding.
There wasn't time to linger at the moment. He reluctantly pulled his fingers away, tucking the cookie away in a pouch. “I’m uh. I'm going to try to figure out how to use my mana before the sunset. But uh, that’s all the time I’ve got. After that, I’ll eat this 'cookie'. You’re all working so hard, it’s time I pull my weight too.”
“Y-you can do this. I’ll-be-there, the whole time!” She popped to her feet, shuffling about and lost with what to do with herself. She glanced at the goblins in the corner. “Are-we-just leaving them?”
“If they could’ve escaped by now, they would’ve,” They were the least of his problems.
Jilde meant far more to him than a regular employee, yet he'd avoided confronting that fact for a long time now. It was unprofessional. What kind of boss was he to embrace those emotions? If it weren't the recent bout of loneliness of this cave or a desperate need for her courage to pull him through this trial, would he have made the same mistake? He might not believe in himself, but she did.
They made their way out of the cave. He chose a barren patch of rocks, instead of within the nearby forest. Even if Strum knew little of magic, he knew better than to play with fire magic in the middle of a bunch of flammable trees and vegetation.
At his direction, Jilde sat forty feet away, far out of the range of any explosive bursts of magic. Strum cupped his hands, empty palms angled towards one another. Mallik had conjured small flames like this before, during one of his rituals, it seemed as good a place to start as any.
Strum slipped into the same state he'd contacted Regis in. Slowing his breath and examining the way his body reacted to the air, his brow furrowed in concentration. I look ridiculous. Of course, she had to be watching. A hot flush of embarrassment welled in his gut.
He felt the dim tie to the dungeon, though this time he didn’t interact with it. Strum knew if he tried, Regis would strain his reserves and force him into a conversation about magic, but doubted Regis's ability to constructively teach. Working as a cook below the dungeon told him that Regis's help was the last thing he needed. The dungeon prodded and poked at the bond, a faint sense of anger passing through it as Strum kept the gate closed. No more telepathic abuse, today. This heavy task sat on his shoulders. He’d fly high or fall low on his own merits.
Strum explored the mana inside himself. Sensing it as it expanded outward from his core in the middle of his chest. A fiery sensation burned there, that same heat pumped through his blood with every beat of his heart. A sudden gasp from Jilde caused his eyes to flutter open, immediate concern, the runes lining his skin had taken a crimson glow.
His grasp almost faltered but he willed himself back to the task at hand. His body could do whatever it wished. His eyes closed; Strum attempted to influence the flow of mana, but it continued to burn away as before, ignoring his suggestions. Autonomous and uncaring. Mana had a will of its own, despite being a part of his body.
Over and over. Hours passed by yet no progress was made. The stubborn mana refused to heed his call, no matter how he tried.
Worse, every ten minutes left him needing a short rest, the mental strain and frustration chipped away at resolve.
How did Mallik effortlessly manipulate mana? Regis started by performing feats of magic without any awareness of how it even worked, it came to him as natural as breathing. Yet with all of Strum’s gifted intellect, he came no closer to understanding after hours.
The sun sank, and Strum sank to sad acceptance. He unwrapped the cookie and stared at the shortbread, a beautiful golden brown close to the tone of the sun as it bled into the horizon. The notes of lemon smelled stronger now, sweet and vibrant. This was the deadly food known as a cookie? Its pleasant scent and appearance masked the explosive mana within. Even if he couldn't use mana, his senses confirmed its secret danger. Without a release valve, this cookie would ravage his mana. Only the Ground-Father below knew how that ended.
He shivered. No more time to waste. Whatever the consequences of this failure were, he’d accept them.
“Jilde—I’m going to eat the cookie.”
“You-can-do-this! I know you can!” Jilde shouted from behind the rock.
He brought the treat to his lips, closing his eyes and shoving the whole delicious morsel in. The first bite burst with flavor, ice-cold mint, warm lemon, soothing lavender danced on his tongue. Beneath those titans of flavor was the refreshingly bright taste of a simple shortbread.
His tongue shifted from cold to warm in rapid succession. For an explosive cookie, it went down easy enough. Strangely, Strum found himself wishing that there was just another bite or two more.
Then something happened. His stomach turned, heart raced. Blood exploded in his veins as it carried the mana absorbed from the cookie. Instinctively he saw how it tried to carry the ice mana to his core, while the fire mana joined the rest of the mana already running loose in his blood. His eyes fluttered open, his entire body lit like a miniature crimson sun. The mana seared and froze his veins in an alternating sequence. Though, the ward siphoning from his core shattered, drowned by the sudden flood of distilled and conflicting mana.
Pure desperation. Not a drop of relief at the removal of the shadow at his back for so long. All he felt was complete desperation as the pressure of the mana built further and further. Straining his veins as if they threatened to tear their way out of him. The runes on his skin burst into an ephemeral crimson flame, his fingers clutched his head, as sank to his knees.
Fuck. Strum’s fingers dug into the dirt below, breath hitched as he tried to keep breathing despite the violent pain.
If only Mallik weren’t around.
If only this tribe didn’t fuck me at every turn.
If only that Lord Cygan was anywhere else but here.
He screamed louder, helplessness burning away into anger. Rage at himself for lack of understanding. Blame for those around him who forced him into a corner. Hate for the Ground-Father who continued to shovel more crap onto his plate. Annoyance at Regis for dragging him through constant hell. He wanted to be free.
Strum brought a fist back, slamming it into the ground, as he poured himself into the blow. Brief violence with complete disregard for pain, broken knuckles would be a pittance to the feeling of this mana tearing him apart. Mana shot through his arm, directed by the anger and desire for freedom. It flared outward, a ball of flame exploding from the point where his fist hit the ground.
As the dust settled Strum collapsed. Resting in a newly formed crater. Half of the mana surging through him left through the magic, leaving only the cool refreshing ice mana in his veins, slowly feeding into his core to be converted with fire, no longer clashing with the fire mana in his blood. His vision went dark, unable to hold on.
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