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 | Category: Kiwi
entry Jun 25 2019, 10:06 AM
When the first glimpse of morning reared, she found herself curled up in her woollen blanket, like a small child hiding from the horrors of the night. And just like a drunken orc, she couldn’t even remember going to bed in the first place.

Shaking off the previous day, she got up from the feathered mattress and headed towards the small crooked window. The little house she called home overlooked a vast meadow with wildflowers and trees as tall as giants; one of the benefits of bringing healing miracles in a bottle to secondal Keys. A fond grin tempted the corners of her mouth, I’ll get there again.

Slipping on a pair of black boots made from leather as wrinkled as her skin, she headed towards the rickety wooden door that creaks loud enough to wake a sleeping ogre every time it’s opened. “I must find a way of fixing you,” she said to the door as it groaned farewell, closing behind her.

Stepping out onto the cobbled street, a warm breeze ruffled through her robes. The bright rays of the summer sun kissed at her skin as she took in the freshness of the wild flowers, while bees and birds parted with their songs, without a care in the world. To be so free, she thought with a glint of awe in her pale yellow eyes.

The hustle and bustle of town life begin to rise as she made her way towards the main square. Despite the early hour, traders were setting up for the day and local town rats had started to make an appearance. Looking for loafs of bread to thief while the baker wasn’t looking, or somebody’s coin purse to empty while they traded banter with one another.

She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for them. It wasn’t so long ago she had no place to call home, either. But instead of relying on thieving from unsuspecting stall holders, she found mercy with her brother Knights. They’d taken her in when everyone else turned their backs on her. They fed her when everyone else turned their noses up at a dirty little goblin.

The shame washed over her, making her skin prickle. She wasn’t like the rest of them. She wasn’t even really a goblin anymore. Yet the thought still punched at her like a knife searing through her. The memories still hurt, no matter how much she didn’t even want to be a part of the tribe anyway.

A piercing scream brought her out of her thoughts. It came from the alley to her left. An alley infamous for trouble. She froze for a split second, the instincts of her goblin heritage yelling at her to run while the oaths she swore as a Knight of the Land yelled at her to go and help. Leaping into a purposeful sprint, she ran towards the scream, forming the words in her head that she may need to say to save somebody’s life. Even if it meant giving her own.

Originally published on The Fantasy Wordslinger

 | Category: Kiwi
entry Jun 19 2019, 12:54 PM
The cold stone floor bit at her underneath the ragged brown robes she had habitually donned for this kind of work, ever since the first explosion left her a combination of luminous orange and purple. Several months on and you can still see the orange powdery substance ingrained into the wrinkles of her face. Whether that was from a lack of washing or the bleaching capabilities, nobody was quite sure.

Wiry green fingers worked nimbly, with exact precision. An exact pinch of this, an exact drip of that; such precision that even Weazle would be proud. But that was the easy part, right? Ever since turning on the wheel (yeah, the joke backfired when she returned part priest, part wizard), the secondary part never quite went to plan and always ended up rather … messy.

Taking the glass vial into her hands with as much tenderness as a mother holds her baby, the little green hero took a sharp intake of breath. The anxiety of failure began to raise, her heartbeat quicken. Trying to still the voice of doubt niggling in her mind, she focused.

Her lips began to move but the words wouldn’t quite come out right.
“By the…” she said with a croak. She took another breath. “By the powers of the spirits of light…” She let out a frustrated sigh.

She stared at the concoction between her hands, thinking of friends last seen too long ago. Wiggle. AEther. Thalia. Slinky. She felt a sense of shame wash over her. If they could see her now…

“Focus, goblin,” she whispered to herself. Although that wasn’t quite the right description anymore. Ever since she sacrificed her life on top of the mountain, fighting draconians and the biggest dragon she’d ever seen. Ever since she gave what she could to enter into the great halls of the Church of Dead Heroes. Ever since she got spat back out and told her mission isn’t over yet.

Setting the vial aside, she returned to the cold, stone floor. Huddled in a corner, she pulled the oversized hood attached to her robes over her head, laid her head in her hands and let a stray tear stain her cheek.