but then you see the lowly goblin cursing something out in its vile language, you step back in haste to no be catches up in its vile plan. Then, nothing. No spell, no explosive effect; it’s lifeless body falls to the ground, the grim of its face moisten from tears. As you began to walk away you hear the faint sound of baby crying. You ears perk in interest, and you follow sound. Which it leads you to bush behind the dirty goblins corpse — which you kicked aside. You think the beast of unsightly sin stole a child, but as you part the bushes leaves you see the same vile, green skin creature in a swaddle of fabric. It’s baby of the vile monster. You raise your sword up to strike the foul smudge that stained the world, but you stop. Cold realization finial pierces that thick skull of yours. You glance the feeble form of the bea— no, mother, that you kicked aside like peace of trash. You have killed fleeing mother who wanted the best for its child. It was caring mother, even though it was from a race known for it terrible acts of savagery. You try to muster up rage or any emotion to smother the vile feeling in you chest — following that feeling came bile — it was regret and shame. You killed not a beats, but a person, more so a mother. You were no better than a goblin, who would slaughter families for fun, filleting the men, and, and to the women. A memory flashed in you head, a memory of you sister smiling, then to here violated corpse sprawled on the ground; chunks of flesh ripped out, here arms bound and broken, and a jagged object sho-. Burning bile projectile out of your mouth, some of it came out of your nose sending sharp burning pain through your sense. You hands begin to shake, your grip slipping from your sword, and with clang the weapon fell to the ground. You began to reach out to the child. Trying to shove those memories down to the pit they crawled out of. But it wouldn’t stop. The memories in twined with the now, overlaying with reality. First you see the goblin child, Flick, now you see you brother chopped up, Flick, the goblin child again it was crying grew to walling as it saw you covered in its mother blood. Rustling of leaves from behind you tingle your ears. Flick, you see your mother hanged, her body swaying with the breeze, flick, the goblin baby again, the rustling got loader, flick, your sister dead, flick, you begin slow in you attempt of grabbing the child, flick, the village burnt and crumbling, flick, the rustling is getting loader, flick, the two images of memories and reality meld together. You both see you’re smiling sister, and the baby goblin no longer crying, its lower lip quivering as it looked at you. With one final push of will you swiftly swoop up the child in you arms — trying to not hurt it with you armor — and those phantom memories faded way. You let out soft sob as you hug the squirming child in your arms, then, the peace is broken by roar. You turn around to see dire-bear leaping towards you. Shifting the child to you left arm, you squat down and grab you sword. With one great swing you cut the bears left eye, blinding it as it recoiled in pain. Channeling the energy within you, you dash off, child in arm. You vowed to yourself to lay down your arms, retire, and raise this child. To atone to your sins. It was time to redeem yourself.
