Fletch set his hands to his hips. Something about this rubbed him the wrong way, but he was hard pressed to find exactly what it was. It just seemed like such a...strange question. Because it was from someone who hadn't really lived, he realized, and then it all came together. He sighed and joined the man by the fire, legs spread wide as he leaned back. The way he regarded Theo was a bit like a challenge. "I don't. You can fix that by telling me, you know. As for me: I'll be plain. Not all of us have the luxury of sitting around all day being served. Until recently, I certainly didn't know life could be like this. I worked hard every damned day, mind. And if you don't know what that's like, I can't really explain to you why my outlets are women, and drink, and fighting, and gambling, can I? Hobbies are for the bored. Boredom is for nobles. The rest of us survive and we find small pleasures where we can. So ask me about my work instead, I suppose. Or my life. Hobbies aren't a part of it."

"No, I'm not," he replied, lowering his voice. "I'm asking the man I care about his interests so that I may get to know him better. The drunk and the rake I do not believe are the entirety or main personalities and interests of my beloved bodyguard. But you may correct me if I'm wrong."

Theo sat down in his chair by the fire and looked to Fletcher expectantly. "Or do you know everything there is to know of me and I've fallen woefully behind?"

"Nothing you haven't seen," Fletch said. "Besides cards, maybe. I tried picking up a banjo years ago, too. That didn't pan out. I don't really read. ...Used to write, back when I thought a memoir was important. I think it all burned down with the cabin. Either way I'm a shit writer," he snorted. "You really asking a drunk and a rake his hobbies to keep us from messing around, though?"

Morthil woke up with a disoriented groan. What had happened? He couldn't remember. Oh...the village...goblins....the village had been sacked...he had been captured. And killed...but no, he wasn't dead. Where was he , exactly? In the arms of some...goblin....no, that goblin kid, he realized as he woke up more. 
He noticed she had taken care of his paw. 
Very nice of her. Now to get up—oh no.
The kid had Morthil in a vice grip. 
"Oh come on," he muttered angrily to himself, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time.
Where were they? 
The place was cozy, and comforting.
And the bed was soft. 
Morthil tried to wake the kid. He tried moving around, he tried growling, he tried yowling. Nothing was working.
So, his ears flattened in trepidation, he yowled again...loudly.

Eyes narrowed, teeth bared in a somewhat unhinged grin. Blood yet dripped freely from the still bleeding-out corpse on her spear, rolling down it's length and coating her spearhand in steaming red. Indeed, Goblinda looked practically feral at the moment; Ready and willing to rip and tear into each and every one of the goblins before her. Why? Well heck, why not? They were being mean to the humans, after all! Linda was a human. Linda didn't like when goblins were mean to humans-- so naturally, she had to kill any goblins that were mean to humans!

It was basic common sense, honestly.

The standoff felt as if it lasted ages-- yet there were really only seconds that passed between her declaration and the eventual approach of a... well...

"KITTY!!"

The little orange thing was exhausted to the point of collapse by the time it approached her, which the now-ecstatic, no-longer-blood-crazed Goblin warrior took as permission to abandon her previous train of thought entirely for sole purpose of swooping down and collecting the critter with one fell glomp. Indeed, were it not for the fact that the cat seemed to have lost consciousness already, it might've fainted from the simple fear of her crazed, obsessed expression alone.

And so, darkness claimed the little cat...

...Until it did not. Who could truly say how long had passed in the critter's unconscious state? Certainly not Goblinda, who, along with the orange cat, was now comfortably sleeping in a warm, plush, bed-- certainly not the sort to be found in a burning, ruined village, nor a goblin's den. No, the stone walls and calm, interior decoration of wooden dressers and wool rugs gave the impression that they were somehow much, much removed from the chaos that was Yermomstead.

Two things were rather apparent, wherever they were. The first, surprisingly, was that the right paw of the cat had been attended to; soft cotton and soothing balms wrapped around it's leg, as if it had been cared for rather intensively in it's resting state. The other, more pressing note was... well, Goblinda-- who's still-sleeping, unconscious snuggle-grasp on the cat was essentially vice-like. Nevermind her snoring.

What on earth had happened, and where the heck were they?

Theo grunted with a grimace. "I'd like the writing to be better when it's my only form of entertainment. But, I suppose I can see your point."

He bent and replaced his shoes as well as shrugged on an outer robe to reduce the temptation for Fletcher. "Do you have a type of book you like then? Or hobbies you used to engage in that you don't here?"

The goblins were going to kill everyone. And there wasn't a thing Morthil could do about any of it.
He heard the order relayed to kill all of them, dread settling in his chest and his heart racing.
The pressure of the blade lightened-no, left his neck completely. He waited for the blade to come back down and end his life, but somehow more chaos reigned. 
He felt something sharp graze the back of his neck, but with the startled cry he had heard he doubted that was purposeful.

....A goblin....KID?!

Morthil had to concentrate on the task at hand. Which was escaping. 
The ropes were tied so tight his wrists were raw just from the rough rope chafing against his wrists. 
With great difficulty he rolled onto his side. The goblins all seemed to be concentrated on her. Which was good. 
Morthil tried to push all of the thoughts out of his head. He'd shifted too much already today. If he shifted again he could be stuck longer than he liked....but he didn't have a choice. 
He shifted, the pressure of the rope fading as he changed into cat form. 
Morthil gingerly took a step forward on his cat paws. He favored his front right leg...where to go? 
That goblin girl had introduced herself as goblinda...Morthil wrinkled his nose. But she was a kid! Kids had no business being out of the house, let alone on a battlefield! But...his leg was hurt. Not having much of a choice, Morthil continued walking Goblinda's way, before stopping in front of her. 
"Uh...kid—i mean goblinda—where's the rest of your tribe...." Morthil winced as he accidentally put weight on his paw, his orange tail anxiously twitching behind him.
He had shifted too much and pushed himself too hard. If she answered he didn't hear her, for he swayed twice and then collapsed right in front of her, utterly exhausted.

Fletch grunted. "Oh. I mean — how good's the writing got to be, really? Both of 'em had their bits in the right places." He shrugged the thought off, wary of tempting anything else from Theo until well after dark. "Well...anyway. You seemed happy from where I was sitting. It was nice. I like seeing you like that. Tell me how to be less of a distraction, though, love, or we'll both be in a heap of trouble before we know it."

Another day. Another incredibly dull conquest.

While havoc yet raged in the village, at it's center sat the eye of the storm... literally. Somewhat separated from the other residential homes, a decent-sized building was likely originally meant to belong to belong to the chief of the village... Yet now all that remained of it was shattered walls, collapsed roofing, and burning debris. Atop it all, seated upon a throne comprised of the ruins of the building itself, was the goblin leader... and what a truly menacing visage he framed. Fresh blood stained his already blotched-red-and-black armor. The remnants of some poor sod's flesh hung from one of the spikes on his left pauldron, likely the result of a flaying. Grim, golden eyes glimmered darkly from beneath an unkempt mop of raven black hair as he, bored, watched the affairs of the town square from afar.

He had to admit, the chief knew the best spot to look over the city; he almost felt bad for destroying it.

"Chief Velgurx! I, ehehe, I come bearing news."

"Report."

Yermomstead was simply one of many conquests that the Velgurx, proclaimed 'chief' goblin of the goblin horde, had sacked. He did so not for food, nor for human women-- He and his clan wanted for neither. No, his aims were far more simplistic... and yet equally complex. "All is, eheh, proceeding apace! Just as your lordship predicted, once we took the east gate, the humans-- ehehehe-- they panicked like trapped rats! Delicious rats, ehehe. Most have been gathered below, at the town square, your lordship!" Below him, and the burning wreckage he'd claimed as his throne, knelt one of his many subordinates; A sniveling little goblin by the name of Glats, who served as his attendant... at least, in foolish matters he couldn't be bothered to attend to. Always seeking approval and praise, ever-so-desperate to ingratiate himself to 'his lordship', Velgurx tended to avoid having to directly interact with the strange little goblin... and understandably grew frustrated when he had to.

"...And you thought this was worth my time?"

"J-jiiiiii--!! W-we-- we also, ehehe, ahem... W-we also found a strange one, among them-- an elf, that the men report is able to transform into a, ehehe-- a cat! Ehe-- P-perhaps... perhaps, methinks, that he is--"

"Fool that you are. My quarry would not so easily succumb to you lot." Glats shuddered at the sharp edge of his master's words-- As if a blade had been pressed to his skull just for the audacity of his implications. Yet Velgurx was motionless-- perfectly calm, equally bored, even as the flames continued to burn around him. "This was yet another failure, in the end. So be it-- I lack the patience to wait while the last of the rodents are rounded up." At last, the goblin chief moved; Standing from his throne of flames, he looked from Glats, and outward toward the open midday skies, now marred by smoke and embers.


"Relay my order; Kill everyone. No survivors."

~~~


At said request, Glats wasted little time; Gleefully, he made for the town's square, where most of the villagers had been gathered now, and held at spear or swordpoint. Children cried; Men and women alike begged for their lives, and cursed the creatures in equal parts. There was a standstill; All of the goblins waited with bated breath for the order to strike, and at last it seemed the time had come as the out-of-breath Glats's voice rang out toward the town square.

"Hi-- His lordship-- His lordship has spoken! Everyone! His orders! Ki--"

"Who the bloody he-- h-hey, wha, whaaaaaa!!!"

Glats's words were cut short-- Not by a villager, not even by one of the waiting executioners... But by one of the wandering goblin soldiers, who screamed fear and bloody murder as he found himself forcibly catapulted from somewhere nearer to the southern gate... to the town square. At TERRIFYING speeds, no less; One villager's eyes just barely happened upon his soon-to-be-corpse piercing the wind itself as he, without warning, collided directly with the goblin that'd been holding a blade to the captured elf. Both were sent for a solid tumble; The flying goblin stopping first, motionless-- dead, it seemed, while the other suffered such grievous injuries from the collision that he couldn't even return to his feet.

"I got two! With one! Yes!!"

Naturally, heads turned toward the southern gate-- Goblins and humans alike. The men and women of the village were kicked aside, blades pulled from their necks and turned defensively toward the direction as a singular figure approached... or, well, 'happily trotted' was probably a more fitting description. Many of the goblins' mouths hung open at the sight, while others, in an understandable moment of confusion, turned to look at one another for validation as the figure drew closer, and was revealed to be... An armor-clad... spear-wielding... warrior-goblin... girl?

Many men and women took the opportunity to stand and attempt escape in the ensuing confusion. The goblins, their concentration and overall confidence shaken, were still mostly stunned; Even Glats didn't exactly know what to say or do in the moment. One unfortunate soldier managed to regain his bearings just quick enough to turn and attempt stopping one of the humans escaping; Alas, within all of 3 seconds of him yelling and running after them, he too was killed-- almost faster than anyone had time to see. Not by a thrown corpse this time; From head to... well, unmentionables, in a single, almost instantaneous leap, the goblin warrior-woman had crossed the distance between them and skewered him like the worst shish kebab possible. Whatever shock the goblin horde had recovered from was only doubled at the sight of the woman thereafter flipping her spear upright-- their killed comrade still skewered to it, and then pointing it's bladed tip forth at the nearest gob.

"WOE! DEATH AND DESTRUCTION BE UPON YA! GOBLINDA OF THE SEVEN LABORS COMES FOR YOU ALL! EXCEPT THE HUMANS! THE HUMANS PET GOBLINDA, THEY CAN LIVE!"

Truly a terrifyingly adorable declaration of war if ever there was one.

"Any luck with that?" Theo grimaced and shook his head in disapproval. "It's something to pass the time. Plot-wise it has a lot of issues. Content-wise mm, they do a lot of physically impossible things that definitely ruin the escapism of it all. This author is always a bit hit or miss. Some books are passable and some are just pitfall trap after pitfall trap. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about this one. The changing of my guard is certainly a much lucky and desired distraction."