Spirits of the Earth

Trigger Warning: rape threats and violence!

"Smed 'The Red' Anklehacker. Wanted for banditry, several charges of arson and theft, and more than a dozen confirmed manslaughters. Reward of one thousand gold pieces, dead or alive." Smed dictated to his fellow goblins. He was standing on a barrel outside a jeweler's shop, holding a wanted poster for himself that he had just taken off a wall. He was reading to a small crowd of five goblins, his partners in crime for the night. Smed took nights like these off every once in a while, visiting Arca to steal some things that travelers, guard patrols, and caravan's didn't carry. Soon to be fenced jewelry was on tonight's menu.

"What do you think of that, boys?" Smed said, placing one small foot on the rim of the barrel and leaning forward. One goblin holding a shortened pitchfork raised his hand, and Smed pointed at him. "The reward's too low!" the goblin said, and the others nodded along. "Yer nose is too big in the poster!" Another said, waving his sword in the air. Another eagerly raised his crossbow to the air. "Methinks dead or alive's rather stupid! Smed'll never go with the guard while he's kickin'!" the goblin said, and Smed nodded his head. "All very valid points, boys. But enough talk about me..." He said, crumpling up the wanted poster and tossing it over his shoulder. "...Let's talk diamonds! Skitzo, throw the torch!" Smed called out, and an extremely twitchy looking goblin holding a torch burst into laughter, and flung it straight through the window with a resounding crash.

The goblins poured inside, climbing through the broken window and into the store. The torch laid on the ground idly for a few moments before Smed took it up in his own hands. "Case the joint! of it glitters, take it! if it's in a locked case, smash it!" He barked, and turned his head when the blubbering shopkeep came in through a side door, still in his nightgown. Before he could say anything, Smed hit his leg with Footcleaver, and the man fell backwards into his room, crying out with agony. Smed tossed the torch in there with him, and closed the door, propping up a chair against it.

Soon enough, they were making off into the back alleys, in and out of the now burning shop before any neighbors were the wiser. That was exhilarating, Smed. his demon moaned. We should make this a weekly thing...say...we didn't kill the shopkeeper... it said, and Smed shook his head. "No way that shopkeep could survive that. He's in there with a slashed ankle, and the door in's locked." He muttered to himself.

The goblins, despite their efficiency, lacked sophistication. They were unwittingly leaving a trail of small jewelry like earrings that slipped out of their sacks. Eventually, they found a nice quiet spot in a dead-end alley to count up their loot, and settled there for the moment. Hopefully, nobody would shot up.

It was the smell of fire that brought Owl to the burning jewelery shop, and it was very fortunate that she chose that night to go out. For the townspeople, fast asleep in their homes, hadn't yet been roused by the smell, and the guard had been patrolling another area. By the time they noticed, it would be too late.

Too late for the man she heard screaming inside.

Heart in her throat, hoping she wasn't too late, Owl went in through a broken window, glad for her gloves so she didn't cut herself. The place looked utterly ransacked, but she didn't have time to care about that. Smoke filled the room, stinging her eyes and burning her nose, and she buried her face into the crook of her arm and ducked down beneath the smoke as she walked, boots crunching over broken things.

It was hard to see, so she followed her ears. A door lay ahead.

With a chair propped up against it.

Sick bastards, she thought, but she was quick to kick the chair aside. "Stand away from the door, sir!" she called, knowing better than to just grab the knob, and then she reared back and aimed a hard kick into the wooden door.

It slammed open--I've always wanted to do that!--and smoke poured out, hot flames licking filling the room. And there, curled up on the floor beside the door, was the half-conscious shop-keeper.

It was an effort to get him to his feet; he was bigger than her, and his leg seemed injured, but she managed to sling his arm around her shoulder and half drag, half walk him out of there, nearly falling several times and choking on smoke. But finally, they got outdoors--and by then, half the town had arrived to gawk. Kia, this felt familiar. How many burning buildings would she pull people from? Only this time, Ryk wasn't there to help her--

--Or get all the credit.

Owl laid the man out on ground, no longer able to support his weight, and knelt beside him with his head propped up in her lap. She snapped her fingers--which failed, because she was wearing gloves. Fail. "Someone fetch a healer! He needs--"

"I'm a healer," a voice answered, and Owl looked up to see a woman rushing over. She waved Owl aside, and Owl moved to let her take over. The guy didn't look good, and for some reason his ankle was bloody. Whoever had done it had been a sadist, that was for sure, and the more Owl thought about it, the angrier it made her. To hobble a man and lock him inside a burning building to die? Gods. Stealing all his belongings wasn't enough, but to try to steal his life, too? And in the most horrible of ways, a slow, burning torture...?

But under the healer's care, he started to look a little better, a little less ashen, though he was also moaning about monsters.

Monsters? Well, surely whoever did this had to be a monster...

It was as she waited, wanting to make sure he'd be okay and also ask him more about what had happened, that a glint of something shiny caught her eye. Turning away, she went to investigate and found...was that an earring? And then, not several feet away, was another.

Whoever it was, they had done a very sloppy job.

Owl turned back to the healer and the man. "Take care of him. I'm going to go find the bastard that did this."

And with a flourish of her cape, she darted off, following a trail of jewels just as the guard arrived on the scene.

Hopefully she could find them. As selfish as it was, perhaps this could be her moment, her time to shine. It was the first time a group of people had actually witnessed something she had done as Owl, and something heroic, too! Now if she could just find this criminal and defeat them...and surely she could, for Ryk had been teaching her, and she felt far more confident.

The trail (gods, she couldn't get over how sloppy this was!) ended at an alley.

And there, at the end of the alley, were the most horrific little creatures she'd even laid eyes on.

And they were counting up gems.

Literal monsters. Wow.

Well. Either way, it was time to do this thing.

"Hold it right there, evildoers!" she said in a booming voice that echoed impressively off the alley walls. With a flourish, she drew her sword. "Your wickedness ends here tonight! Now you have two choices! Come peacefully--or fight! Well, okay, and a third choice, which is dying in said fight, but it'd be much easier to just give up! You've got nowhere to run, little rats! And this Owl is hungry!"

"Someone's there! I can smell 'em!" The goblin previously identified as Skitzo screeched, ducking behind a barrel. All the other goblins, including Smed, turned their heads to look at the figure at the end of the alley. It smelled like a woman, but was disguised as a man. The person then started going on about "wickedness" and "evildoers", and all the goblins could do at the moment was stare. One of the goblins leaned towards Smed, its measly little fingers clutching a tiara. "Who the hell's this jobber?" it whispered as Owl talked, and Smed smiled under the scraggy, blood-stained scarf that usually covered his mouth. "Dinner, and desert." He said openly as Owl finished, and stepped forwards. He had a terribly malicious gleam in his little eyes, which burned with pure anarchic glee. Skitzo came out from behind the barrel, clutching an unlit torch that had nails protruding from the oil-soaked rags. The other goblins walked up behind Smed, clutching their various weapons. They all had demented little smiles on their lips, only made worse by the fact that their teeth looked like gnarled, thin daggers.

Smed himself drew Footcleaver, which still had the shopkeep's fresh blood on it, and Anklesnagger. He was still smiling, and shook his head. "We'll take neither of those, thank you. What should we do, Nips?" Smed said, turning to the goblin with the shortened pitchfork. "Methinks we should eat her while she's kickin." the goblin said, and another in the back piped up! "No! Break her legs an' make good use of 'er!" the goblin with the crossbow said, tossing a knife from one hand to another. "Boys, boys!" Smed said, raising one of his weapons. There was a bit of a pause as they awaited his answer. "Why don't we do both?" He said, and pointed Footcleaver at Owl.

"Get 'er!" He said, and the four other goblins rushed forwards, murder in their beady little eyes as they gnashed their teeth and brandished their weapons. Smed himself joined them, just behind. Before they fully closed in, Smed jumped up onto Skitzo's head, using the goblin as a platform to leap at Owl. He swung Anklesnagger first, trying to snag the many bent nails or fishhooks embedded in the shaft on her clothing, or even better, her flesh.

Gods! Owl wanted to scream in frustration. Even stupid, creepy little monsters could tell she was a girl! How?! She was walking like Ryk had suggested (well, hopefully a little less like 'cat in heat', as he had put it) and bound herself flat and everything! Argh! But her frustration was cut short, because what the creatures said was some of the creepiest stuff she'd ever had leveled at her.

And was even creepier, considering the sight of those little beasts. They were short, but each one was armed tooth and nail--and speaking of tooth and nail, their teeth looked terrible! But Owl stood her ground. She had taken on a man thrice her size (maybe she was exaggerating, he got bigger each time she told the story) so what were a few little toddler-sized monsters?

But they were still incredibly creepy, making her hair stand on end as she studied them--and heard them discuss her like a meal.

Ulp.

There was no time to get too creeped out, though, for soon the demon-toddlers were charging her, surprisingly fast on those short legs, and those weapons looked very unpleasant. Sliding into a defensive stance, Owl readied herself, swinging first at the heads of the ones closest to her before--

Shit!

One of them spring-boarded off the head of another, and that club embedded with all sorts of nastiness was soon coming right at her. With a yelp, Owl swung her sabre up to block and deflect, and aimed a hard kick at one of the goblins that was at foot level.

Smed snarled at Owl as he passed her, just out if reach of biting range but snapping at her anyways. He came to a tumbling stop, rolling for a few feet before coming to a stop behind her. Release me, Smed! Manifest me against her! the inner demon said, and Smed shook his head as he prepared to go running at Owl again. "Don't need you for this one." Smed muttered to himself, and took a moment to observe the fight. Owl was holding her own pretty well, managing to kick one of the goblins straight in the face. The little monstrosity went flying straight back, coming to a sliding stop on the cobblestone. It raised it's head, a boot mark clear on its face, before it rolled its eyes upwards and its head fell backwards.

Smed himself ran back towards her, jumping at her back and aiming to snag onto her cloak and slash at her back. If he snagged onto it, he'd try to pull her down.The other goblins advanced in one coherent mob, trying to cut at her hips and legs. All except for Skitzo, who was hanging back and trying to light his torch club.

One critter down, like four to go--wait, where was the other one?

Owl had been so focused on keeping the other advancing goblins at bay, swinging her sword to parry their hits and backing up as she went, looking for a good opening--it was surprising how challenging it was, but fighting them wasn't like fighting people who were on her level; this involved a great deal more bending to be on theirs, and worse, they were surprisingly fast and vicious and stronger than they looked.

She had just parried another strike and kicked that goblin hard in the belly when--

"Oof!"

Something struck her back, hard, and then snagged in her cape, and before she could right herself she felt a tug that toppled her off balance.

The goblin Owl kicked in the belly fell backwards, but quickly bounced back up, albeit with considerably less excitement than before. It would bruise later, but that didn't matter now. Smed smiled one of his usual pre-manslaughter smiles as he pulled her down and off balance. The other goblins were quick to capitalize on this moment of weakness, and of the three conscious goblins in front of her, one of them jumped at her waist helmet first in an attempt to knock her off her feet, and the other tried to gouge her legs with the shortened pitchfork. Smed himself lept again, using the weapon snagged onto her cape to pull himself up and attempt to bite her shoulder.

Owl managed to right herself--just in time for another goblin to slam its helmeted head into her belly. She doubled over with a wheeze as the air was knocked out of her lungs, but had no time to recover when the goblin that had latched onto her cape climbed her.

And sank those wicked teeth into her shoulder.

With an agonized yell of pain, Owl twisted and did the first thing that popped into her head: she slammed her shoulder, goblin still attached, into the wall as hard as she could, pulled back, and slammed it again, and she would have done it until the horrible thing let go if white-hot, searing pain hadn't stabbed through her shin.

With another cry she went down.

Smed didn't let go of Owl's shoulder as she repeatedly slammed him against the wall. The first time left him a bit dazed, but the fact that he had been digging his teeth into her helped him latch on. The second hit just made things worse for Owl, because he was now using his sharp little claws to stay on her. When she started falling over, however, Smed jumped off, avoiding getting pinned under her body.

The goblin that stabbed her with the pitchfork left its implement of murder in her leg, clambering up her fallen body with murder in its eyes, a wicked knife in its mouth, and cruel smile on its face. It sat down on her belly, brandishing the knife. The others moved to pin down her arms, with Smed opting to place the sharp side of Footcleaver against Owl's neck. "These rats have teeth too, Pigeon. Hmm...Pigeon. I like that." He snarled, nipping at her earlobe.

Owl had started to get up, until the little monsters pinned her arms, one even sitting on her belly, and the other...

Well, once he laid the sharp edge of his weapon against her neck, struggling was out of the question. She froze, her breath coming fast and heavy, and gods, but everything hurt. Her shoulder felt a wreck, and felt unusually hot and wet beneath the sharp, throbbing pain, and her leg...

She grit her teeth and glared as well as she could at the goblins, her face pale as she blinked hard against the tears that wanted to pool in her eyes. Not frightened tears, not yet, but tears of sheer pain, because fuck that hurt, and the weapon was still in her leg! But she focused on channeling her pain into anger, and jerked her arms against their hold, her hand still clutching her sword.

"Oh, stuff it! It's Owl, you toads! A-ah!" She tried to turn her head when he nipped her ear, but doing so risked pressing tighter against his blade. "Shit! Let go, you blighters! You're seriously gonna regret this! Really! You are! You should have come quiet when I gave you the chance 'cause now I'm really pissed!"

And, okay, so she was also kind of about to piss herself, too, because finally through the haze of pain came a lick of sense--like the fact that she was currently pinned down by some monsters--who were stronger than they looked--that had talked about eating her. And who had managed to overpower and lock up a grown man!

"She likes to squeal, boys. Skitzo!" Smed called out, and the goblin was still trying to light his club on fire. Skitzo turned his head. "Yes boss?" He said in his ratty little voice. "I like the way this Pigeon squeals, Skitzo. Make her squeal some more." He said, half whispering it into Owl's ears and half addressing the unstable goblin. Skitzo smiled, and stepped over, raising his club with both hands. He seemed to be deciding where he wanted to hit her with it, the small nails poking out of the oily rags glinting in the moonlight.

As Skitzo decided which part of her body he wanted to maul, The goblin sitting on her belly leaned forwards, placing the tip of his knife against her diaphragm. "Move, and you get stuck." It said.

He stood over her for a few moments, smiling, before suddenly wheeling around and swinging the club downwards towards her unwounded leg, aiming for her outer thigh.

Squeal she did.

When the club swung down and all those little nails pierced through her breeches and into her flesh, Owl screamed, and though she tried not to move for the sake of the blades held to her neck and diaphragm, it was impossible to hold still, too. Her body convulsed with pain, straining against the hold the goblins had on her, and her scream soon trailed off into raw sobs. She couldn't help it. Maintaining an angry, stoic disposition was hard when you were being stuck like a pincushion, and the pain was unbelievable.

"F-fuck! Fuck you!" she sobbed, vision blurred with tears. "Ugly fuckers!" It hurt bad enough she couldn't think straight, couldn't focus much beyond the sensations in her legs and shoulder. Though thank Kia her other leg wasn't as bad as it could be; the thick leather of her boot had saved her from getting pierced as deeply as it could have gone.

"You better pray you keep me down! I'll have you squealing like the hogs you are! All of you!"

Smed smiled as she sobbed. Him and the other goblins started chattering in their native tongue, a scratchy, multisyllabic mess of growls and clicks. They broke into simultaneous laughter, and leered down at her. Skitzo put his spiked club back onto his back, and switched to a blunt one. "Save your tears, Pigeon. You're gonna need them for later." Smed said, and then nodded his head towards Owl's, and Skitzo swung the club down at her head, in an attempt to render her unconscious.

Beneath the agony, Owl's mind raced, and while the goblins chattered, she went over her...very lacking options. Ryk's potions were still in her thigh harness, thank the gods, but pinned as she was, she couldn't get to them. Thank Kia they hadn't noticed them, but they still might. Okay, Owl, think. Potions. She had those. If she could break free, she could heal. And then? Her sword was right beside her. Okay. It would hurt when she broke free; no doubt she'd be stabbed, not to mention how hard movement would be with her existing wounds. But if she drank one fast...

And magic! Gods! How could she forget? Probably because she always used it so superficially. It wasn't much, but she could probably do something! Some illusion! It didn't have to be impressive!

She gad just formulated a plan--a small one, but something--and was about ready to fight for all she was worth when...

Well, the club happened.

And quite abruptly, nothing hurt anymore as darkness swallowed her.

The goblins let go of Owl as she went limp from the blow to her head. They started cackling among themselves, and the goblin that had been sitting on her belly started cutting her shirt open. "Stop." Smed commanded, and the goblins immediately froze up. "Save yer urges, boys. We're taking this one with us. Meat's meat." He said, and the goblins started nodding and smiling again. They all collectively hoisted her up, and got moving.

The next time Owl opened her eyes, she'd find herself in a tent. She had something metal around her neck, wrists, and ankles, and if she tried to move, she's find she was chained to something by the neck.

The tent she was in was obviously set up as someone's living quarters, with all kinds of living amenities sized for someone two feet tall. Disturbingly enough, the bed had some rather fresh looking blood stains on it. She'd hear a cackle from outside, and see someone enter the tent.

Smed.

It didn't look like he noticed she was conscious yet, and he started going through some cabinets, looking for something.

When the world swam back into focus, Owl kind of wished it hadn't, because everything hurt. Her head pounded in time to her heartbeat, her left shoulder was on fire, and both legs ached in various places. With a groan, she slumped forward--except she realized she couldn't, because something was around her neck and holding her in place.

That made her snap fully awake.

She was alive, thank Kia, but she was...in a tent? Not a human tent; she couldn't be that lucky. Everything was tiny and...bloody, she realized with a twist of her gut.

And she was chained up--she swallowed hard, the metal around her throat feeling tighter than it was as she fought against the panic that wanted to rise up against being restrained. Metal bands circled her ankles and wrists, and when she felt at her throat, she let out a low curse when she realized what it meant. Not just bound, but it was iron. The monsters knew she was Serenian, and had chosen to use iron. While it didn't hurt, not yet--for she was lucky in that it didn't burn her on contact--she would start to develop an irritated rash before long, but worse?

It meant no magic. And it meant she was stuck.

But even more importantly than any of that...

Oh thank Kia. Her potions!

The thigh harness 'Rufus' aka 'Ryk' had given her was still there, and with shaky hands she opened the pouch and found her potions were still there, too. Pulling out the stopper of one, she gulped it down, and shivered as the taste of peaches flooded her mouth while her wounds mended, just like that. Gods, that stuff was wonderful, and she let out a sigh of relief as, for a blessed moment, she was pain-free. The blood still remained, though. Hopefully that would be enough to fool the monsters.

Because as soon as she'd tucked the empty vial away and begun to examine the chain restraining her, a cackle sounded from outside and her heart skipped a nervous beat. It looked like her alone time was over.

She went limp right before the goblin entered, slouching over to fake unconsciousness. But she watched him through a slightly cracked eye and fought to keep her breathing the deep, heavy breathing of the sleeping even while her heart wanted to gallop out of her chest.

Smed raised his head. Something was up, he could feel it. More importantly, the demon bound to his soul could feel it. She's conscious, Smed... The demon said matter of factly, and Smed looked over to Owl. She was a terrible faker, that one. He finally found what he was looking for, and pulled it out of a drawer. In his hand was a bottle of finely aged Serenian wine. He walked over to the table in the middle, about five feet away from Owl, and sat at it, popping open the bottle by sticking the cork with a claw and pulling it out.

He sat at the table, and looked at Owl for a bit. Here she was, faking unconsciousness, in his own tent. Smed felt insulted. As quick as lightning, he threw the half empty bottle at Owl, intent on hitting her in the shoulder with it. Regardless of whether he hit her, or she dodged it, he started speaking. "I figure I should fill you in on what happened last night after we put you to sleep, Pigeon." Smed started, forming his hands into a pyramid. He started laughing. "Turns out Skitzo hit you so hard, you were out cold even after we brought you back. You weren't struggling, so...we capitalized. During that entire affair, I had the greatest idea, so here's todays schedule." He said, and got up off the table, pacing back and forth in front of her, just out of arm's reach.

"First, I'm gonna slash your pretty little ankles. Then, I'm gonna walk you over to the butcher's tent, and he's gonna tell me which parts of you are good for eating. After that, we'll..." He trailed off. He smelled at the air, his little nose scrunching up every time he did so. Something smelled like...not wine. "You open something up, Pigeon?" He asked, and he snapped his fingers.

Two goblins entered the tent, armed with polearms and armor, and stood at Smed's side. "You, search her. You...stick her if she moves. Tear her clothes off of her if you have to. Actually, go ahead and do that anyways. Never hurts to be thorough." Smed barked, and the two goblins advanced, one pointing its polearm at her and the other approaching her, intent on giving her a very thorough searching.

So much for a fixed shoulder.

The bottle hit her healed shoulder and she jolted upright with a cry. Fortunately, it would only leave a heavy bruise; the bottle didn't break, but fell to the floor with a clatter, wine spilling out in a puddle beside her. Gritting her teeth, Owl clutched at her shoulder and glared at the goblin--

And then paled at what he said.

"What." It took her a second to get what he might mean, but then her eyes went the bloodied bed and her stomach churned, a sick, terrified feeling gripping. "What...what do you mean 'capitalized'...?" Did he mean...?

No. Wait. No. They couldn't have--no. Panic had begun to swell up inside her, but before it could bloom, she swallowed back bile and really thought about it. That very well could be her blood. But it was a lot. Certainly not from...things. If anything, it was from her wounds. Her shirt had a cut in it, but her chest binding was still tight around her and her thigh holster was still strapped to her...no. If they had tried anything, she would have known. She would have been aching in other places than just her wounds, and they would have had to unbuckle the holster if they had wanted to...try anything. Still, it was an effort to work moisture back into her mouth, because even if nothing had happened, the threat was still clearly there, and her blood didn't go any warmer--especially as he described, you know...butchers.

And started to sniff the air.

Shit.

"Um. No?"

Yeah, he was totally convinced. As shown by the two goblins that entered the tent, ready to search her.

Double shit.

"W-whoa! Wait! That's really not necessary! Look! Okay! I opened a thing!" Digging into her holster, she pulled out the vials: two of them, including the empty one. "See? It's just this! That's all I have left, okay? I was thirsty! But you can have it!" Laying them on the ground, she kicked them to the one who was clearly in charge, and then unstrapped her holster and tossed that his way, too. "There. That's it. No pockets, either, so..."

She put her hands back down on the ground so he couldn't see the third vial she'd swiped, and hopefully he wasn't suspicious when she "accidentally" knocked her hand against the half-empty wine bottle and nudged that third one inside it. Hissing at the pain of hitting her hand, she rubbed her hand after. "So, uh, yeah. See? You just have to ask. I'll cooperate. I mean, clearly, you've won here, right? It's not like I can do anything."

Smed looked at her for a moment, judging her reactions. "What, you think we raped you? No, we just took turns cutting you. Excellent stress relief. The rape'll come later, Pigeon." He said, and listened to the rest of what she said. The complete shit spewing out of her mouth was almost strong enough to repel even Smed. She had just proved she had hidden potions on herself, and she expected him to just take things up at straight value? He supposed Owl thought he was stupid, and he hated when people thought he was stupid. She also thought that sleight of hand was going to get past him as well.

Smed picked up the two potion bottles she handed him, and immediately dropped them and crushed them under his boot, an angered expression slowly building on his face. He bent over, swiped up the bottle of wine, and looked back up at her, a scowl on his face.

He motioned to the guard that was about to search her, and it stopped in its place. "I've got a better idea, boys." Smed said, and he motioned to the two other chairs at the table.

The guards looked at each other, and sat at the table, turning their chairs towards Owl. Smed smashed the wine bottle in half on the table, and picked up the vial she hid in it, holding it in front of him. "You think I'm fucking stupid?! Huh!?" He yelled, smashing the vial against the helmet of the guard next to him.

"Here's the deal, Pigeon. We're gonna play a game called 'search yourself', alright? you are going to strip yourself down to your skivvies, and we're going to watch. After that, we're gonna search you. If we find anything, I'm gonna carve my payroll lists onto your back with a rusty knife." He said plainly, eliciting some cackles from the guards.

"And you better make it a good show, Pigeon, or I'm gonna chain you up in the common tent, and tell the boys, all five-hundred of them, that they can do whatever the hell they want to you."

Gods, being cut while she was unconscious...wasn't much better. And worse, as he smashed her hidden potion, well, there went that. She winced, watching the liquid drip down the goblin's helmet, blood chilled, because if she was injured after this--and let's face it, she knew she wasn't getting out of here unbloodied--then she was screwed.

She had to think, and she had to think fast. At the very least, she had to buy time.

Thank Kia he was allowing her to 'search herself'.

Owl wasn't sure how to make a "good show" of it, and the idea sickened her--though not as much as the alternative, obviously. But chained up as she was, there wasn't much she could do. With a deep breath, she peeled off her boots (with some difficulty, given the metal around her ankles; turned out it was tight enough that she couldn't slip off the cuffs, but loose enough that the boots could be yanked off beneath them), then removed her mask and tossed it the leader's way like a discus.

"So..." she said as she undid the clasp of her cape, hoping her hands weren't trembling too visibly. Or maybe...maybe that would help if she looked more vulnerable? She drew a shaky breath and stopped trying so hard to hide her fear, though it went against her every instinct.

She licked her lips, mouth dry. "You, uh, you were telling me about the daily schedule? I think we left off at the butcher? So following that, are we going straight to 'chop you up into bite sized pieces' or is that rape-o-clock time?" She threw the cape aside and rubbed at her bruised shoulder. "Or, um, maybe both at the same time? Sorry. I'm just...I'm trying to come to terms with this. You know?"

She started to strip off her shirt, but as her neck was chained, there wasn't a way to full discard it. With a deep breath, she looked away as she stripped it off, fighting back a humiliated blush. But worse, she knew once she did this, it would be obvious she'd been up to something--he'd notice her wounds were healed, every trace of them gone except for the dried blood. Letting out her breath, she pulled the shirt up over her head, but had to leave it hanging around the chain.

"Personally I'd, uh, I'd forgo the chopping up part," she said, swallowing hard. "I mean, if you wanna eat me, I get it. I'd wanna eat me, too. Probably. If I ate people. Okay. Bad joke. Moving on. It's just, you like jewels, right?"

The pants came next, and she tried not to think about what she was doing as she wriggled out of them, leaving her clad in just her chest bindings and her smallclothes. She shivered and pulled her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around her bare legs. "So, I mean, if you like riches, it's just--" She cut off, shaking her head and looking away.

"Never mind. What's the point, right? I'm gonna be dead and mutilated soon, and you wouldn't believe me, anyway, so let's...just get this over with." Owl didn't have to fake the trembling, or the tears that had started to well up. She was, frankly, fucking terrified. If this didn't work...

Smed and his guards watched her closely, smiling like toddlers playing with their favorite toys. In his tiny, clawed hands, Smed was twirling the Owl mask around one of his fingers. "You're right Pigeon, but in the wrong way." He said, standing up off of his seat. "I don't give a rat's pelt about your riches, or jewels. Sure, it's money, but I steal them for the thrills. Ain't no thrill in having it given to me." He said, stepping forwards.

"I get a hell of a kick out of hurting you, though." He added, and snapped the owl mask in half, tossing the pieces over his shoulder. His beady eyes looked over her body, and a frown started building up.

"Aww, Pigeon! You fixed up all your cuts!" He said in mock sadness, and frown quickly turned into a scowl. A small, jagged knife stained with the blood of previous victims flashed from his belt to his hand, and he twirled it. "Search her. Don't leave a single cranny unsearched." He snarled, and the guards stepped forwards, and started giving her a very thorough looking over, with both their hands and their noses, even going so far as to check under her binding. It was evident that they were being purposely rough with their clawed hands, intent on renewing the cuts she had healed up.

During all of this, Smed had his knife held to her, the point digging into the skin on her waist.

And there it went. Her plan, fluttering right out the window. Her stomach twisted at his words, and though she hadn't eaten in a while, she felt like she could sick up.

"I-it's not about giving it to you! It wouldn't be that easy! It's not even my money!" Owl said quickly, heart pounding. She bit back a flinch when he snapped her mask. Oh gods. He was just sadistic, that was it. Oh Kia. Okay. She needed to calm down, but it was a struggle when he had just flat-out admitted her one possible trump card was useless because he was more interested in just hurting her. How the hell could she counter that?

"D-do you know a man, the Red Wolf?" she continued on quickly even as the goblins descended on her. With an involuntary squeak, she curled in on herself as they went to search her, clenching her eyes shut as they sniffed and groped and clawed, as the leader held her at knife point. New cuts opened up under their hands and soon her fair skin was running red here and there, and she no longer had to try not to fight against fear--there was no fighting.

She tried to block out what they were doing and where they were looking, her breath coming fast, her teeth clamped down on the inside of her cheek to keep from yelping.

Smed ignored her words, instead preferring to listen to the sounds she made when the goblins were searching her. Every little release of air, every time she flinched away from their sharp claws as they bit into her flesh. Smed was devouring every last bit of it. "You think you can fly away, but you can't Pigeon. Once these boys are done, I'm gonna clip your wings, and then it's off to the butcher to get looked over." He idly muttered, leaning his head on her thigh but keeping the knife exactly where it was.

He licked up some of the blood on her inner thigh, his small black tongue eagerly lapping up the crimson gold with a ferocity akin to animals.  He backed away from her, dragging a bloody hand across his face with a look of absolute bliss on his face. He immediately rushed back towards her, intent on sinking the knife into her ankle.

He wasn't listening to a word she said, Owl realized. This wasn't going to work. Money wasn't holding his interest--he was only interested in her. Throat tight with fear, she realized then that if talking wasn't going to work, she was going to have to fight.

And that it was going to be a hopeless fight given her chains.

Think! What the fuck was she supposed to do?! There had to be something! Something other than just sitting here, letting herself get clawed and--and licked?

The leader was licking her. He was licking her thigh. Her skin utterly crawled and she jerked her leg back from him as though he'd cut her like the others and pressed her back against the wall. Oh gods, oh gods...panic rose up in her, and she didn't feel at all like her namesake bird of prey--she just felt like prey. Prey about to meet the butcher and--

No. Fuck no. What was wrong with her?! She wanted to be a hero, right? How did the stories go? Things got dark in the stories, right? But there was always a way! True, this wasn't a fairy tale, but goblins. There were stories about goblins. She'd read them! What did the stories say about goblins?

The leader pulled back and suddenly rushed her, the other goblins having moved away from her legs.

And Owl reacted out of sheer desperation.

Shifting her weight to her hands, she pulled both legs back and kicked out at his belly as hard as she could, then jerked in the grip of the other goblins, elbows flying as she tried to land hits wherever they would fall. She wasn't even thinking about escape or what she would do if she was even successful here; she was only thinking about hurting them, doing any damage she could.

Smed snapped backwards when Owl hit him, stumbling backwards into the chair. Due to the odd angle, Owl had actually hit him in the face. He looked at her, blood dripping from his nose and over his lips. His eyes burned with an unholy fire, and a perverse smile slowly stretched itself across his face as he watched her struggle against the guards. They dug their claws into her flesh, and held on with vise grips, their helmets protecting them from her desperate elbows.

Smed slowly got up from the chair, and reached towards his back, drawing Anklesnagger. He stepped forward again, past her wild kicks, and swung the jagged weapon at...well...her ankle.

Owl felt a momentary rush of satisfaction when the leader went stumbling back into the chair, but whatever satisfaction she got from that was lost when the others dug their claws into her and held on. She struggled wildly despite the pain and even bit one that dug its claws into her bicep--just close enough for her to sink her teeth into its wrist.

But her satisfaction was depleted completely when the leader returned, bloody-faced, and swung a new weapon down at her before she could do a damned thing about it.

She screamed, letting go of the goblin's wrist in the process, and yanked her foot back reflexively--but the hooks and other things had snagged into the flesh and she only wound up tearing the wound further. She cried out again, squirming and bucking in the goblins' grips, an unintelligible string of curses leaving her lips as tears streaked down her face.

"I'm gonna kill you!" she cried, thrashing still. "I'm gonna beat your ugly little face in until there's nothing left!" She kicked at him with her uninjured leg, goblin blood dripping down her chin.

Smed  ducked under owl's kick, keeping his grip on Anklesnagger and using his newfound leverage to pull against one of her legs in an attempt to tear out the weapon. It came out with bits of flesh hanging from the bent nails and fishooma, and he swung at the other ankle. The goblin she bit in the wrist fell off of her , clutching the wrist for a few moments and releasing his own string of curses. It drew a knife, and went back in,  trying to cut at her hip.

"Skitzo!" Smed yelled, and one of the goblins from last night stepped into the tent, nailed torch in its hand. When it saw what was going on, it smiled, and held his torch club up against a lit torch inside the tent, and the club burst into flames, the nails slowly growing red hot as he stepped forwards. "Stop fightin', Pigeon..." Skitzo said, but it was clear in his eyes that he wanted her to keep fighting, just so he could hit her with his weapon.

When the leader ripped his weapon free, the pain was like nothing Owl had ever felt. For a second, everything whited out and she screamed again, but thank gods she was thrashing so much, because his next blow missed her other ankle by a hair's breadth. Unfortunately, that burst of frenetic, survival-fueled energy was wearing out as agony and the exhaustion that came with agony and struggling began to take its toll.

Which meant the injured goblin got a hit in, slashing her hip, and she cried out again and swung her fist at the thing's face.

She was exhausted, and dizzy, everything a sickening blur, and she felt about to vomit, the pain was so excruciating. It didn't help that she'd glimpsed the state of the leader's weapon when he pulled it out of her--that was her skin. But she was running on sheer panic now, panic that only increased when she saw the flaming nail torch.

"You're fucking insane!" Stop fighting?! Yeah, right! Sobbing, she tried to kick him again, but her eyes were on the new threat, and there were too many of them, and she knew things were about to start hurting even more. "I'll stop when I'm dead, rat-fucker!"

"Stop when you're dead? At least you'll stop struggling! Club her, Skitzo!" Smed yelled. This was exhilirating! the way her blood just splashed on everything (goblins included). Maybe at this rate, she'd tire out, and she'd fall unconscious. That would be perfect. He jumped at her back, attempting to tear at the binding with one claw, and hit her shoulder with Anklesnagger.

Skitzo started laughing, and he swung his flaming club sideways, intent on clubbing her straight in the abdomen. The red-hot nails on the club promised non-lethal punctures and excruciating agony.

The guard with the knife pushed onwards, attempting to embed the small blade in her outer thigh, while the other tried to bite at her neck, clambering up her bloody chest with its claws.

Well, okay. Addendum. She'd stop when she was dead or unconscious.

It was too much. Owl was outmatched, and badly wounded, and exhausted, and there was only so much she could do when she was chained on a leash so short her movements were limited while bleeding profusely. When the leader jumped on her back and started to tear into her, and hit her bruised shoulder with that horrible, hook-filled club...

It only snowballed from there. The other one got her in the stomach with the red-hot club, and the other got his knife in her thigh, and it was too much for her to process. Agony enveloped her, so intense she couldn't even scream, and then, blessedly, her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over as darkness claimed her.

Smed hissed at all the other goblins to stop as soon as Owl slumped and fell over on her stomach, the chain giving her just enough slack to do so. All the goblins stepped away, except for Smed, who remained on top of her, standing on her back. "Piiigeon..." He whispered, nudging her unwounded shoulder with his foot. He jumped off of her, and put an ear up against her back.  She was still alive, unfortunately for her. "Well, 'least we know how long she lasts now." Smed cackled, and slapped one of her buttocks, walking over to a chest in his room that had a red paint mark slashed across it.

He opened it up, and took out a small container, and opened it up. "Skitzo! do me a favor and pull Anklesnagger out of her damn shoulder!" He yelled across the tent, and Skitzo promptly pulled it out of her shoulder, with the same result as the last time it was taken out of her forcefully. Smed walked over to her bleeding and cut up body, and opened the container. In one compartment, was a thick red glop, and in the other, smelling salts.

"Slather her up. Stop all that bleedin." Smed said, and the goblins all took handfuls, eager to rub her down with the substance. They passed it over her flesh, and the cuts would immediately stop bleeding. The cuts and gashes and punctures would remain, but for now, those wounds were prevented from bleeding, but they were most definitely going to scar.

One of the guards detached her chain from the tent pole, and held it tight in his grasp as Smed got back onto her back, and took out his knife. "Something you won't forget, Pigeon." He snarled, and carved the word "Pigeon" onto Owl's back, and slathered it with the glop.

He jumped off of her again, and passed the smelling salts under her nose.

It took a minute, but the fumes finally roused Owl--and she immediately wished to be asleep again. Her first indication that she was awake was that everything was agony.

Her breath caught at the sheer intensity of the pain she was in; it didn't feel like there was a patch of skin on her that wasn't throbbing or stinging or aching, and when she drew another breath, it came out a whimpering sob. She didn't want to be awake, and with the fight drained out of her, the frantic adrenaline gone, it only hurt worse.

It wasn't just the pain, either. She had lost a lot of blood in that struggle and the result was sheer exhaustion. Cracking her eyes open, she saw through blurred, dizzy vision that she was in the same room and bit her lip to hold back another sob. Still the same room. This was real, and from the looks of the mess, not much time had even passed at all.

"Oh gods..." A sudden, crushing wave of futility struck her at that realization, and that thought alone was enough to make her bury her face in her arms, shoulders shaking as tears overtook her.

Because battered and torn up and exhausted, with a moment to think that wasn't devoted to struggling or planning, it was finally then that she realized she might actually die, and that her parents wouldn't know what happened to her.

"Look boys, Pigeon's awake again." Smed cackled as he stepped over to her once more. The other goblins laughed and cackled. One of the guards was still licking blood off of his claws. Smed reached over, and grabbed a clump of her pink hair, and pulled it upwards so he could look her in the eye. "You're lucky I spared you, Pigeon. Any other goblin would've let you bleed out, maybe fuck your corpse a couple times, then cook you. We're going to take a walk, Pigeon. You, me, and a few of my guards in case you decide to get fiesty again." He snarled, and promtply pushed her head away from him, as if she disgusted him now.

The guard holding her chain yanked on it, cackling the words "Come on, Pigeon! Up you go!" like a child goading a pet forwards. The other guard jabbed at her side with the butt of his polearm.

"Walk," Owl repeated, and laughed hoarsely, hysterically, because how did he expect her to walk like this? But she tried anyway, because some small part of her knew she had to, and that leaving this room was at least a chance of...something.

She tried to rise, but her ankle gave out, her back screamed, and the world spun dizzily, and she collapsed again with a yelp. Gods, she wanted to just curl up and never move again, but the one kept jabbing at her side, so with grit teeth she tried again, sweating with the effort.

"Why didn't you let me bleed out, anyway?" she asked as she wobbled, balanced on her good foot with her hands pressed to the wall for support. Her shoulder burned and she blinked back tears, tried not to focus on it. "If it's so against your nature?"

"Because I like you, Pigeon." Smed purred as the guard transferred control of the chain to Smed. Smed wrapped the chain around his wrist, a small hand clasped around it. "I like the way you cry, the way you curse, the way you look. And I bet I'm gonna like the way you taste, too." He said, passing his tounge over his teeth, which were stained red with her blood. He motioned to one of the guards, and it exited the tent for a few seconds, and came back with a crutch for Owl. It was stained with old blood, and bore the insignia of the Serenian guard, which was damaged as if someone had tried to unsuccessfuly remove it in the past.

"You said something about Red Wolf, Pigeon. Yeah, I know who he is. But let's see if you know who I am. Who am I, Pigeon? Maybe you've seen me in the posters?" Smed said, and gave her his toothiest smile, replicating his expression in the wanted posters.

He liked her. Fantastic. His words made Owl shudder like ice slipped down her back, and they made her feel slimy all over. Though that could have also been the red goop smeared all over her, goop she'd at first mistaken for blood; she wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was.

Still, if he liked her...horrifying as that was, it was what had kept her alive this long. She had to make sure he kept liking her.

The crutch surprised her; she had half expected he'd get the help of the others and drag her by the chain. Taking it from the goblin, she started to wedge it under her good arm when she caught sight of the insignia and froze.

Oh. Shit.

Looking over at the leader as he grinned his toothy grin, she wet her lips and swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. She hadn't thought about it until now; she'd been too focused on not dying, and even now it was difficult to connect the dots through the haze of agony and exhaustion. But she had taken to studying wanted posters, being she wanted to be a hero and all, and...

She supposed he should have clued in earlier that he was no ordinary, petty goblin thief. If this was who he was implying he was (and hopefully she was wrong; goblins looked the same to her) then she was in deeper than she knew.

Owl drew a deep breath. But who else would have property belonging to a Serenian guard?

"The..." Oh gods. Even as she started to say it, she realized how stupid she'd been. It was right there in his name. Right there in how he'd hurt her. "Mother of...you're the Anklehacker, aren't you."

She said it flatly, deadpan, the weight of her idiocy bearing down on her. With another harsh laugh, she turned and leaned her forehead against the wall. "Oh my gods..."

Smed broke into a bout of his own laughter, pointing a clawed finger in Owl's direction. All the other goblins in the room started laughing as well, not out of mockery, but at her realization. "The one and only, Pigeon. Smed "The Red" Anklehacker, at your service!" he cackled, tugging on her neck iron. "Come along now, Pigeon. We're off to see the butcher!" He said, and he started walking towards the exit of the tent, pulling Owl by the neck.

Outside the tent, was not the warm touch of sunlight, but the cold dampness of a cave. Smed's camp was situated in the central chamber of a cave system, with tunnels leading in all directions to unexplored caverns. Smed took a deep draft of the air, which smelled three parts goblin, two parts rubbish, and one part cooking food. Stretching all over the chamber, there were little tents and buildings, with living spaces built on the walls, and even the cave's ceiling. The place was a veritable city, populated solely by goblins.

As Smed led her out, passing goblins stopped to gawk, laughing at Owl's half-nudeness and the state of her injuries. They came in all shades of green and dark blue, and some had tribal markings on them.

Smed leveled a finger at a massive tent that was about five-minutes away, towering above all other structures. "Isn't it beautiful?" Smed said wrapped one clawed arm around Owl's bad leg (since he couldn't wrap it around her shoulder), and took a deep smell of the air. "That there's the butcher's tent. That's where we're going." He said, and remained leaning on her for a few more moments. "Well, no time to waste! On you go!" He yelled, and gave her another stiff slap on the buttock with his clawed hand to get her moving.

Owl's stomach dropped at his confirmation and the laughter of his buddies. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. She had heard of his deeds, that he had taken out an army caravan, and that all that remained of those soldiers were their charred--cooked--scraps. An entire caravan. Of trained soldiers.

And now here she was, because she had been an utter idiot. Just a few demented toddlers, she'd thought. Now it was off to the butcher.

She choked when he tugged at her chain and, unsteadily balanced on her good leg and a crutch, she almost fell over again before she limped along after him. In some crazy, impulsive part of her mind, she thought she could break free; he was vicious, but she was bigger, and she could yank that chain out of his hand, maybe, and...yeah. That was where the plan fell apart. He had been smart to lame her and, staggering along, struggling to keep up with him, she wasn't sure she could even wrench free. Just moving was making her dizzy and sick, each step was a struggle, and by the time they got to the door, she was panting and blinking back tears.

The sight before her didn't help her mood. Not just the sight of the butcher's, but the cave. The camp. The goblins that were everywhere.

She realized she was gaping, leaning on her crutch and staring. She couldn't even muster up the energy to be embarrassed when passing goblins made crude remarks at her. She had been expecting a forest or just the outdoors. Somewhere she could escape from.

Not an underground labyrinth.

Smed touching her bad leg snapped her from her crushing devastation. She flinched, a hiss of pain leaving her. "It's...uh...it's..." Smelly. Depressing. "Big," was all she could manage. So big. There were so many of them. "Bigger than I--ah!"

She jumped at the slap, which just made everything else hurt, and sucked in a breath. At first she felt mortified, being touched like that, and then it hit her. He was treating her like a horse. A lamed horse destined for slaughter, lead there by the reins. Once again Owl felt hysterical laughter bubbling up. It wasn't even funny, but for some reason, right then, she couldn't help it; this entire situation was so absurdly fucked up, and she was so stressed and afraid, she had no idea how to process it. Her stomach ached so she tried to keep it in, but that just made it worse, and before she knew it, she was laughing uncontrollably and doubling over in pain until she was cry-laughing and unable to walk just from that.

Smed saw how she was doubling over in what seemed to be a mix of despair and laughter, and he took the opportunity to laugh as well. This woman was the most fun he'd had in ages, definitely better than that guard lieutenant with the stingy attitude and the stony demeanor. Sure, she was all tears when him and the boys broke her in properly, but the cold-faced bitch didn't give an inch until pushed to the very edge.

Pigeon, however, was the opposite. Every nudge, every little stimulus elicited a little reward for his efforts. He slapped her in the rear, and she hissed in pain. He told her she was going to the butcher, and she went pale. She was like a box of candy that had something in it every time it was opened.

And so he laughed.

And his guards laughed.

And the goblins passing by laughed.

And after about a minute, the entire camp was filled with raucous laughter, scratchy voices coming from all angles like a kaleidoscopic cacophony of malicious glee and perverse intent.

"Oh, that Pigeon! Such a good sport, boys! Go on! Give her a hand!" Smed called out, clapping his hands. A flood of about fifty goblins surged forwards, grabbing her by her elbows and legs and lifting her up and expediting her progress towards the butcher's tent, laughing and cackling the entire time. Smed jumped up onto another goblin's head, and landed lightly on Owl's belly, taking a seat on it. "Don't fret, Pigeon..." He started, twirling a lock of her pink hair unusually gently and resting his large head on her still bound up chest. "We're just gonna see if you're worth eating. No guarantee that you'll be chopped up." He muttered, and suddenly sat up. The goblins carrying her stretched their arms, hoisting her up as high as they could. "BOYS!" Smed called out, stepping off of Owl and using the hands of another goblin as platforms.

His voice echoed throughout the cave thanks to the natural acoustics, and the entire camp's laughing died down slightly.

"THIS HERE'S MY NEWEST FRIEND, PIGEON! SAY HI, BOYS!" He called out again, and the entire camp responded simultaneously:

"HELLO, PIGEON!" Came the reply, and Smed broke into more laughter, laying down on the moving bed of goblins next to Owl.

The entire cave filled with eerie laughter, and Owl laughed even harder, which hurt even worse, and before long she had to stop just because she couldn't breathe. Her head spun and she felt light-headed and absolutely out of her mind. This whole thing felt surreal, like it could be a nightmare, and she prayed she'd wake up.

She could be so lucky.

When a crowd of goblins rushed she and Smed and hoisted them up, she expected to be mauled again and cried out when they grabbed her. Even if they weren't trying to injure her, she couldn't really tell the difference; those claws hurt, and her body was torn up enough that wherever they grabbed, they were sure to encounter some injury. Still, it was quite the surprise when instead of being bitten and clawed, she was hoisted up and carried like a hero returned home, and once again she was struck by the absurdity of it all, her tired laughter joining theirs, because here she was, being carried to a butcher, and everything was insane.

And then, of course, there was Smed. Smed, who sat on her wounded belly, making her gasp and squirm uncomfortably. The way he rested his head on her and twirled her hair was eerily gentle; she wasn't sure she liked that better than when he was mauling her, but maybe this was a good sign?

No guarantee she'd be chopped up? That was good, right? There was a chance? And all this crazy fanfare, getting the entire camp to laugh...that had to be a good sign? Maybe?

She clung to that hope even as each jostling movement made her wince, as a stray claw here and there drew a yelp, and when Smed 'introduced' them...

Owl worked some moisture back into her mouth and raised her good arm awkwardly, fingers wiggling in a wave. She grinned weakly, face pale and expression tight.

"Er, h-hello, boys..." And then, turning her head to find Smed, she barked a laugh that had her clutching her belly again before wiping tears from her eyes. "Ahaha...I think they like me. I sure feel welcomed here. So maybe we can just...y'know...skip the butcher...maybe tell some campfire jokes...?"

"Sorry, but no skipping the butcher." Smed said, jumping to his feet once more and peering around on top of the moving bed of goblins. He looked around for a few more moments at all the cheering and cackling goblins, and sat down on Owl again, this time straddling her belly. "It's not that bad here, you know. Maybe if the butcher says you're no good for eating, we'll keep you around. Not like we're gonna let you go or anything. But the boys seem to like you, and you seem to be warming up to them too." He said, making idle talk. The oppressive smell of meat was getting closer and closer, as was the massive tent slowly growign in visiblity. It had to be twenty feet tall, at least. He leaned forwards, intent on resting his elbows on her chest as he talked to her, but was confronted with her binding once more.

"Why the hell have you got this on, anyways? Seems like it does nothing but hurt..." He said, frowning.

He snapped his fingers twice, and goblins holding her tightened up, restraining her. Out came the knife again, but the desire to cut her flesh was absent from his eyes, instead replaced by a bored expression. He ran the flat end of the knife under the binding, and started sawing upwards to cut it. His movements were precise, and he didn't cut her at all as he did this. "The butcher was gonna take this thing off anyways..." He muttered.

Oh gods, Owl hoped that cooking-meat smell was just animals...

And more than that, she hoped beyond hope that this...butcher...would deem her unfit for consumption. However one qualified for that. Too skinny, maybe? She forced a smile, nodding up at Smed.

"They're a...a very merry bunch..." she said. "A-and you said you like me. Um...so...wouldn't I be better alive? I mean, if I'm dead, that's what? A meal or two, and then you're done, and I'm gone. No more entertainment! And I'm probably not even that good, anyway, eheh. I'm all limbs! And there's no telling whether or not I'd give you indigestion or--wait, what?"

He spoke of her binding, and she went stiff. Oh no. No way...

The goblins tightened their hold on her, and Smed had the knife out. Owl shook her head, jerking in the crowd's grip.

"Whoa, no, w-wait! Stop!" she snapped, face reddening as he sawed at the binding. "Smed, stop! It's okay! It doesn't hurt!" Well, it did; she had already worn it far longer than she should, and the skin beneath would likely be red and maybe even bruised, but that was beside the point. And besides that, why would he care if it was hurting her? The goblin that had bitten her, clawed her, taken skin from her hide. She struggled, trying to wrench her hands free.

"Smed, please, leave it!"

The first time she told him to stop, he ignored her. He told himself that it was just a slip of the tongue, and that she wouldn't ever tell him what he could and could not do ever again. But then she repeated herself, and he stopped sawing, looking up at her and snapping his fingers again. A goblin grabbed the back of her head, holding it still.

Smed leaned forwards with the knife, and promptly brought his hand around in a closed fist punch aimed straight for her cheek. "Don't you ever tell me what to do, Pigeon. You've just started to get on my good side, and now you've gone and fucked it all up. Next time you tell me to stop, it's out with your eyeballs, and onto the chopping block, no matter what the butcher says, you hear me? In here, you're MY bitch. Don't you fucking forget it." He snarled, circling one of her eyes with the knife.

The entire threat was accompanied with the background noise of the cheery goblins, making it stand out even more as a promise of agony if she disobeyed him. In Smed's eyes, she had moved up the prisoner ladder from "beat for fun" to "slave", but she was dangling precariously, in danger of falling to the bottom again.

He started sawing at the binding again, his smile slowly returning as he got ever so closer to getting it off.

The punch took her breath away, and for a moment white burst behind her eyes. And when she could see again, Smed had the knife in her face, and he didn't have to tell her she fucked up. Fresh panic chilled her as she stared back at him, body so tense she was shaking, her eyes fixated on his sharp teeth and that knife. For one terrifying moment, she thought she'd messed up irreparably--but he was giving her a second chance.

And she realized, abruptly, just what line she had to toe.

Owl clenched her eyes shut as he circled her eye, her heart thundering in her ears. "I...I'm sorry." She forced the words out, tried to make it sound genuine even though she wanted to spit them at him like acid. The words came out quiet and, thank gods, but she was frightened enough that they sounded sincere, too. But her life was on the line; if getting out of this meant sucking up to him, she'd swallow her pride.

"It was...it's just a reflex," she continued, muscles tight and breath coming fast as she fought against her every impulse and held still as he went back to cutting the cloth. "I didn't mean to, I just...it's a human thing. I guess? Maybe. I dunno, are goblins modest? I guess you could be, but I don't see any lady goblins around to weigh in on this matter--wait, are there lady goblins, Smed? Anyway, I wear it to pass as a boy, okay? It's...nothing bad, or painful, it's just...so I look better in the clothes. That's all. Because people are stupid and I can't be a knight if I'm not a boy and...um...tell me if I'm rambling, won't you?"

What had gotten into her so suddenly? She was rambling now. RAMBLING! Smed paused in the sawing for another few moments, looking back up at her. "You're rambling, Pigeon. Shut yer damn mouth." He said bluntly, and the procession suddenly stopped. "Oh! We're here!" He yelped, leaving her binding on (if an inch away from coming off could be considered on) and putting the knife on his belt. He promptly spun around on her belly, and stepped off again, this time leaving the platform. "Alright boys, go ahead and let her down!" Smed ordered, and the crowd of goblins chattered among themselves for a few moments before suddenly rushing out from beneath her, leaving her to unceremoniously drop three feet to the floor.

Despite everything, Smed was there to help her up, offering his small hand. He was in front of her, with the massive butcher's tent looming in the background just behind him like a white, blood-stained monolith. They were alone in this part of the camp. No guards, no other goblins, just Smed and her.

If Smed spinning around on her belly had hurt, it was nothing compared to being dropped.

A fall that would have left her smarting and grumpy uninjured, in Owl's current state, it nearly made her black out again. She fell, having time only to throw out her good arm to absorb some of the impact, but it was hardly enough. Agony exploded through her as the impact jostled her body and made every throbbing wound scream--or maybe that was just her crying out--and she must have blacked out for a second or two, because the next thing she knew, she was staring up at a blurry Smed, who was standing over her.

And behind him was the butcher's tent.

Her stomach clenched, and not for the first time, she felt like she might get sick.

Owl was disoriented enough, and hurting enough from the fall, and distracted enough by the butcher's tent, that she didn't notice the state of her bindings yet. Other things had quickly taken priority over modesty. Reaching out shakily with her good hand, she hesitated when she glanced at Smed's bloodied hand--her blood--before she grabbed hold of his smaller one with three fingers and hoped he wouldn't claw her hand.

"Can I...can I ask a question?" she said as she struggled to pull herself up until she was sitting, panting with the effort, as that required use of her stomach muscles, and oh gods, that hurt. Getting up was going to be a struggle, and here they were, alone from the looks of it, her prime chance to make a move, and she couldn't even sit up.

Smed helped Owl pull herself up, putting plenty of effort in helping her sit up. Although they were alone for the moment, they were never truly so. Smed had demonstrated this fact when he addressed the entire camp, and the entire camp heard him. The acoustics here were incredible. If he were to yell for her head, every goblin in the camp would hear and obey. Even then, Smed was confident that she was in absolutely no condition to be doing anything strenuous at the moment.

His ears perked up when she spoke, and he smiled at her. "Sure thing, Pigeon. Ask away." He said. Now that things were much quieter, Owl would be able to hear things from the inside of the tent. The sound a butcher's knife hitting a chopping block, followed by some scrapes, and then another chop. Periodically, giant, thudding footsteps would travel from the middle to one end of the tent, then back to the center, and the chopping would resume.

Between the two of them, Owl managed to sit up. And then came the struggle of getting to her feet. It was...going to take some time. She got onto her knees, ankle and thigh shooting stabbing pain through her, and felt herself sway before she braced herself with her good hand on the ground. She closed her eyes against the dizziness. Gods, she was exhausted. She didn't know how much longer she could do this.

"Okay, so...what...what exactly is, um, gonna happen here?" she asked, and hated how small her voice sounded. The chopping sounds coming from inside made it hard to breathe, her muscles locking up with anxiety. The overpowering blood stench was not helping.

"If...uh...if I'm good for, er, eating, is he...you know..." She mimed throat-slitting.

Smed seemed in thought for a few moments as he pondered her question, placing a small hand on his chin. "Well, if Chef finds ya worth cookin', there's two things that can happen. If he thinks you can be cooked as you are, he's gonna put you up on a meet hook and bleed you like a pig." Smed said bluntly, extending a finger. "Or, it could be that he thinks you need a few days to heal up yer cuts so your meat's good, then it's either into a soup with you, or it's back to my tent with you if he decides you'd be wasted in a soup." He explained, extending a second finger.

Smed seemed to think for a few more moments, before he spied a passing goblin in a butcher's apron carrying a small box of what appeared to be unused entrails. "Hey, you there! come here a second!" Smed called out, and the goblin replied with a "yes, boss!" Before setting the crate down and scrambling over. Smed chattered at the goblin in goblinish, and the goblin nodded, holding out its arms. Smed stepped on its hands, and the goblin hoisted him up by the feet, putting his eyes level with Owl's.

Smed held out both of his hands, beckoning with them. "Come on, Pigeon up you go!"

Listening to his descriptions, Owl decided right then and there that if she survived this, she was never going to touch meat again.

"Oh..." she said, and wasn't sure what else to say to that. "That's...that's pleasant. Good to know."

Trying to ignore the box of entrails the other goblin had set aside, Owl took hold of both of Smed's hands and labored to her feet. She wobbled, her legs weak with a combination of weariness, pain, and nerves, and just about knocked the two goblins over in the process. Thankfully, her crutch was on the ground near her--how considerate of the goblin masses, to carry that for her--and still gripping onto Smed, she grit her teeth, bent, and retrieved it.

She tucked it under her arm and took a shaky breath. "N-not that you care what I think, but I still think this is...wasteful," she said, staring at the tent and jumping at the sounds of chopping. "Smed, I'm no good to you dead. I mean, sure, I'm good for a meal, that's true, but you don't seem to be lacking in, er...meat." Her mind raced, and she knew she was grasping at straws, but what other choice did she have?

"You've only known me...what? Barely a day. And...and we've had a lot of fun already, right?" Well, he had, at least. "If I die, you're gonna lose me without ever knowing what else I could offer."

"What you could offer?" Smed asked, widening one of his eyes and giving her a curious look. He jumped down from the other goblin's hands, and he thanked him in goblinish. The other goblin went back to his box, lifting it up and taking it behind the butcher's tent. The little gears in Smed's mind were turning, wonderig what she could possibly offer him, apart from the obvious things.

"Tell you what, Pigeon. I'm willing to cut you a deal." Smed said, leaning on he good leg by the elbow. "I can help you get out of gettin' cooked, and even let you free, but you gotta scratch my back as well, yeah?" He started, and seemed to be thinking for a few moments. "How about this, Pigeon. We pretend you're sick, right? I'll let Chef look you over, then let it slide you're a bit sick. He doesn't serve bad meat, so I'll offer to get rid of ya." Smed said, sitting down on the ground.

"But here's the catch for you. After that, I'm gonna take you back to my tent, and you're going to give me one good fuck. Then, I'll let you go. I'll give you back your clothes, even show you the way out. How does that sound Pigeon?"

Owl swayed a little where she stood and quickly righted herself. She was running on fumes, and felt her time running out, but--it worked. She saw Smed's expression change, and a little flicker of hope came with it. Good, good, he was a curious sort. Thank gods. She could use his curiosity.

But she didn't let herself get too hopeful when he spoke, hatching a plan to get her out of this--and even set her free! It was too good to be true, and she knew enough about Smed to know he didn't have a lick of altruism. There would be a catch--and there it was.

Owl bit the inside of her cheek, the blood draining from her face, and bit down harder to keep from saying the first thing that came to her mind. Because the first thing that came to her mind would have her in the butcher's house hanging off a meat hook. She drew a slow breath in and out through her nose, and realized she'd bitten down a bit too hard when she tasted blood. Okay. Breathe. Relax. She had to work with this or she was dead.

"Okay." Owl forced the word out, even as her throat burned with rising bile. "Alright. That...that sounds good. Deal." Better than slaughter, anyway.

"But...um...can I make a suggestion? I mean, uh, that's a fantastic idea and everything. Brilliant, really, but...okay, please don't take offense when I say it has a liiiiittle--" She held her fingers up a centimeter apart. "--room for improvement. Just a little. So if I may...?"

Smed was gauging Owl's reactions and awaiting her answer. When she agreed to his idea, he smiled again, a sick, twisted smile. Little did she know that she'd never truly be free. He knew her face, and he'd find her. Someone who can afford potions, fine swords, and a half-decent mask couldn't be poor. He'd send some men to ask around, visit all the information brokers he could find. He'd find her name, find her family. It was a larger scheme he was hatching here, not the act of mercy that she thought it was.

"No negotiations, Pigeon. Either you take it or you leave it." Smed said, and started walking towards the butcher's tent, tugging at her chain. "Just so you know, Chef ain't exactly a goblin, so try not to scream when you see him, yeah? He gets a bit pissy." Smed said as he walked.

"No, no! You misunderstand!" Owl said quickly, shaking her head and trying to hang back, even as Smed walked on. She dug in her heels even as the chain pulled; she needed to give this a shot. "I'm not trying to negotiate, Smed. I've...I've accepted this. I've already accepted the deal, and...uh...I understand. I just want to make a quick suggestion!"

She stumbled forward, limping after him, but spoke as fast as she could. "Smed, if we...if we do...that...after this..." Another deep breath. "If we...if I..." Gods, she couldn't say the word. She'd used it a thousand times as an expletive, but never in this context and never in regards to herself, and using it with regards to them made her stomach churn. "If I...bed you...right after this, I'll...it won't be very good, Smed."

She stared ahead at the fast approaching tent flap. "You wanted a good, um, go at it, right? And I can give you that. But not in this condition. If...if that happens when we return to your tent...it'll be like...like being with a corpse. And you don't want a corpse, right? I mean, that's why I'm alive. Alive girls can do things dead ones can't. So Smed, just...let me heal a little, first? It'll be better for you that way. I promise."

Looked back with anger as she pulled against him, turning around and crossing his arms. He listened to her idea, his face not showing much give or particular interest in what she was saying. "Don't you worry about that, Pigeon!" Smed said. "I've got just the thing for that! We've got a hell of a shaman here!" He proclaimed, and gave her another tug, leading her into the butcher's tent through the massive flap.

The inside smelled how a butcher's shop usually smelled. The oppressive smell of meat in all stages of preperation, including the smell emenating from an immense soup pot higher than Owl. The smell from it wasn't that bad. In fact, it actually smelled pretty good.

In the center of the room, hunched over a massive counter, was a mountain ogre, dressed in butcher's clothing and wearing a bloodstained chef hat. It straightened up from its hunch to its full height of fifteen feet. It was fat, but fat with muscle, and it it leered down at the two of them with its dark eyes, beard stained with blood and mouth twisted into a bored expression. "What've you brought me this time, Boss. Another morsel?" it said in it's monstrous voice, locking his eyes onto Owl as he brought the massive cleaver in it's hand down on the pig it was cutting up, slicing in cleanly in half.

"Oh, fantastic!" Shit.  So they had a healer. That was both...good and bad. It meant not having to stay here longer, but it also meant getting out of this would be tricky. But at least if she were healed, she would have her strength, and she could do something.

As she was lead into the tent, she was already plotting what she could do, and already had an idea, though it would be risky as hell. But this whole thing was already risky; in fact, he might even be lying. If she was going to leave this place, she was going to leave her way, alive and untouched. She felt confident that, in good health, she could take Smed. That wasn't her primary concern. Her main concern was the five-hundred other goblins, and finding a way out.

She was still mulling it over when they entered the tent--and she got her first look at the butcher.

Despite Smed's earlier warning, she felt a scream build in her throat, but she clapped her good hand over her mouth before she could let it out. It wasn't just goblins. They had a bloody giant. That...that complicated matters. Horrified, she watched as he cleaved a pig bigger than her in two, and her eyes darted to Smed. Gods willing, he was going to keep his end of the deal--even if she didn't plan on keeping hers.

"No, Chef, nothing like that. Some fresh meat!" Smed proclaimed, nudging Owl forwards. Chef, continued leering for a few more moments before pushing the two pig halves off of his chopping block with his cleaver, which was so large, it looked like even a strong orc would have trouble wielding it in both hands, and Chef was wielding it in one hand like it weighed a feather. He stepped around the counter with his slow, thudding gait, revealing that his belt had a collection of giant blades on it, including a filet knife, a gutting knife, and a slicing knife. They were all kept in shining condition, and they gleamed menacingly as he stepped forwards towards Owl. When he stopped in front of her, Owl was just tall enough to bump his thigh with her head. Maybe she'd realize then how small Smed was compared to her.

"Looks a bit scrawny from here. Lemme see..." Chef muttered and opened one of his massive hands. He'd attempt to reach down to grab Owl around the waist, and put her onto his table so he could examine her.

Owl held perfectly still as the giant approached her, though her eyes darted over him, taking in the gleaming knives, his bloodied clothes, and the sheer size of him. And she'd thought Dirus, the large man she'd (accidentally) felled the first time she'd met Rufus, was huge! This giant dwarfed even him. That knife alone was probably as big as Dirus.

Her neck started to hurt from peering up at him, eyes wide. "Hi, Chef..."

He reached for her, and she held still, flinching in pain as his hand closed around her (for he pressed against the wounds on her back and belly) and grunting when he set her down on the table. The same one the pig had been on. She cringed as she felt blood soak through her smallclothes and covered her mouth so she didn't retch, because the smell was so strong, and it was just...everywhere...and it was a grim reminder of what could happen very soon--very soon, if Smed didn't keep his word.

Actually, maybe she shouldn't fight so hard against her stomach. She was supposed to be sick.

Crossing her arms over her sore belly--and then pulling her binding closed fast when she realized it was bloody hanging open!--the strong blood smell was soon playing on her gag reflex again, but this time she didn't try to stop it. She choked, groaned when it hurt her stomach, and curled in on herself some more. Inside, she prayed Smed would keep his word. Because if he didn't...

Her eyes strayed to the pig halves, and she gagged again.

When Chef set Owl down, he watched her for a few moments, taking out his slicer and setting it down on the table next to her, then planting his hands on the table and leaning forwards. "What's this then, wrappings? What's the point of these?" Chef said as he thought out loud, reaching some fingers behind her as he pinched the back of her bindings and promptly plucked what was left of them off of her, flicking them away. He took a finger, and placed it on Owl's forehead, and started to push her head back so she would lie down flat. "Good thighs..." he muttered.

On his shoulder, Smed appeared, having clambered up his clothing to find a good view. He sat down, looking like some kind of imp or other small demon, smiling down at her. "I see she's in the usual state, Smed." he stated, and Smed spoke up quickly afterwards. "Yeah, I reckon she's a little sick, too." He said, and Chef leaned over. "No problem there, Smed. Shaman figured out a way to clean sick meat before you cook it. You boil 'em." Chef said, crossing his arms.

Bindings suddenly plucked free, Owl yelped, arms immediately flying to cover her breasts. But before she could do much more than that, the giant pushed her down with a large finger on her forehead and she found herself laying back on the bloodied table, arms over her chest, heart in her throat, and stomach wanting twist itself right out of her belly.

Anytime, Smed! She stared over at him where he perched on the giant's shoulder, all too aware of the large knife laying beside her.

And then the plan came to a screeching halt.

"What?" Oh no. With a jolt of panic, she sat up on her elbows, pain tearing through her shoulder and back with the movement and modesty flying out the window. "W-whoa, no, no, no. I really don't think that's how it works! Right, Smed? You shouldn't take chances with your health!"

"'Course it works!" Chef said, leaning in to take a close look at Owl. His breath smelled of meat. He took a deep sniff, leaning back with a pleased sigh. "Verdict's a verdict, Pigeon!" Smed said almost mockingly. "So close, Pigeon. So close..." He cackled,  and Chef laughed along with him.

Chef reached down again, and turned Owl over onto her belly.  "What's this you've cut onto her back, Smed. 'Pigeon'?" Chef asked, and Smed replied with a nod. "Something to remember me by." Smed proudly stated, leering down at Owl. Chef turned his head to the side, and took a deep breath. "OI, YOU LAZY GITS! START A BOILING POT, WILL YA? HUMAN SIZED!" he bellowed, and a small group of goblins that were just lazing around sprung to action, setting up a pot and a fire.

As this happened, Chef went back to examining Owl. His hand pushed against her flesh, pushing up agains her rump and testing the meat on her legs and sides.

Oh gods. He couldn't be serious.

"Smed! You're making a serious mistake--ah!"

With a pained cry, she landed on her belly, face in blood, but she hardly cared about that anymore; it might be her blood, soon. If...if Chef decided to kill her before boiling her, that is. Her heart raced and she struggled to lift up onto her elbows so she could see what was going on behind her. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He'd lied. Of course he'd lied. How stupid had she been, thinking he'd just let her go?!

It was then that she found out why, exactly, her back hurt. She knew she'd been sliced there, obviously. But now...gods. Despite her panic, she barked a harsh laugh, tears springing to her eyes.

"Oh, you're so stupid! How am I gonna remember you by anything when I'm dead?!" Owl yelled, wiping blood from her cheek. "Great! You carved me! That's not gonna matter in a few minutes when my skin's sloughing off, so what's the point! I didn't even know about it 'til now! And now that I do, I frankly couldn't care less because you chose one hell of a bad moment to do your ominous big reveal! You're such an idiot, Smed! If you wanted me to care, you should have chose earlier! When I wasn't about to die! I would have cared then!"

Her eyes darted to the slicing knife, set right beside her, and then quickly back to the bloodied block beneath her. Gods, it was too big. She was in no condition, and she couldn't even fool herself into believing she could fight here--even if there wasn't a giant present. All she had left were her words.

Pained sounds left her as Chef pushed against her legs and hips, hitting her stab wound, and another time and she would have been mortified at the treatment--if fear wasn't already her dominant emotion. Fear, and surprisingly anger, because she had been so close and fought so hard and it was all for bloody nothing. She was exhausted and hurt and was just going to...wind up in goblin bellies? Be boiled to death if she wasn't cut up first?

The helplessness was the worst part.

"I thought you were smarter, Smed!" she continued, ashamed that her voice cracked. "But you're a fucking idiot! You're gonna eat me, I'm not gonna remember shit, and you still don't even know who I am! You never even asked why I brought up the Red Wolf! I would've thought it'd be of interest to you, but now you'll never know, because I sure as hell am not telling you now! You could've had more than a quick bite, but if that's all you want, fine. You're just a stupid goblin like the others!"

As Owl vented her rage, Chef glanced at Smed, and Smed held his hand up. "Give her a moment, Chef." He whispered as Owl laid there in pig's blood, screaming her fury for all the world to hear. Fve insults, he counted five. "Oh, yes! Just let it all out, Pigeon!" Smed yelled triumphantly, sliding down Chef's arm and onto the table. He stopped over Owl, his characteristic smile on his face. "Listen up Pigeon, because you're about to learn something. All I ever do is make sure I win. I put that on her back just in case you escaped. I wasn't planning a reveal, the only reveal you were going to get was finding it in the mirror. I don't care about the Red Wolf, I don't care if you remember anything, I don't care about you. You've amused me, and now you'll feed me." He snarled.

"Unless of course..." He said, standing up again.

"...You're willing to renegotiate."

After Smed finished saying this, Chef spoke up. "Uh, Boss?" He asked, glancing around. Smed held a small hand up. "I got an idea, Pigeon. A splendid idea. If you can get off this table, out of my fucking sight, and move your pretty carcass out of my camp, I'll let you go. If you make it back to Arca, congratulations! You're a free woman. All you have to do, is give me your name, Pigeon."

It was a trap and Owl knew it. She knew how the stories went. You never gave a monster your true name; there was power in names, and if you gave it up, it would then have power over you. She had always thought there was magic in the giving away of names--that was how the stories always framed it--but now she understood it wasn't necessarily magic that made it dangerous. The price of freedom was her name, if he wasn't lying about that, too, and he wouldn't be offering such a deal if it didn't carry a terrible cost.

And still the alternative was death.

She took a deep breath and gagged on blood-smell. She swallowed hard and tried to steady her voice, though it still came out shaky. "I...I told you my name," she said, brow furrowed. "It's Owl."

But she knew what he meant. Her real name. The name that would out her as nobility, and not only that, but out her family. She couldn't give that to this monster. She couldn't give him the power to hurt them, too.

"Owl of the Soot Wolves, lover to Canis Rufus."

"Owl." Smed repeated, his smile slowly fading away. "Owl. Owl. Owl." He repeated, pacing in front of her, his boots making pattering noises in the blood. He fell still and quiet for a few moments, before suddenly lashing out with his leg, aiming a kick at her side. "You think I'm an idiot, Pigeon!?" He yelled, and kicked her again. "Like shit yer name's Owl!" He continued, and followed those words with another kick.

He straddled her back, and grabbed her hair again, pulling it back, and then shoved her head forward in an attempt to bash her face against the bloody table. "Teach you to fucking lie to me...Chef! Break her arm!" He yelled again, and Chef procured a giant meat tenderizer from under the counter. Smiling, he'd reach down, extend one of her arms, and hold it straight against the table as he took aim with the giant mallet.

Owl wheezed at the kick, the air leaving her lungs, and another followed before she could catch her breath again. And then Smed was on her and everything went white with pain when he slammed her face against the table. Blood filled her mouth, and she knew her nose was broken now, too. Or maybe that was pig's blood. She couldn't tell the difference anymore, except that she knew what broken noses felt like and it sure as hell felt it.

And then he called for the giant to break her arm.

"No, no, wait!" she said, voice thick, and she had to spit blood before she could continue. The giant laid her arm out--her bad arm--and she struggled against him even though it was useless. "I'm sorry! You weren't specific! My real name's--"

Crack.

A sobbing scream left her, body convulsing with agony, and her eyes rolled back in her head from the sheer intensity of it. The world around her swam, then darkened, and then her body went limp, face slamming down into the blood again as she lost consciousness.

Smed and Chef peered down at Owl's unconscious body, one expecting an answer, the other glancing about as he lifted the meat tenderizer off her arm. Smed's expression slowly dropped, and he reached over and poked her in the cheek. "Huh. Out again." Smed said, crossing his arms. Chef slowly set the tenderizer down, swallowing some saliva. "You mind helping me move her, Chef?" Smed asked, and Chef shook his head. "No problem, Boss." the ogre muttered, and gently picked her up by the waist with one hand.

The next time Owl woke up, she'd find herself (still chained up) right back where she started. In Smed's tent, in Smed's bed. Across the tent, seated at the table, was Smed. He was smoking a cigar, facing her. Next to him was another goblin, who would look at her,  start scribbling in a book, and look back at her. The tent was dark, indicating plenty of time had passed.

Owl was, frankly, surprised that she woke up at all. But when she did, the familiar setting swam into view: the inside of Smed's tent. It was more comfortable this time, though; instead of the floor, she was in a bed. Well. The location was more comfortable, at least. Owl, on the other hand, was dizzy with pain and hardly had the energy to keep her eyes open.

She glimpsed Smed at the table, and another goblin, and let her eyes drift shut again, biting back a groan. It felt like this would never end, this constant cycle of agony that was only getting worse, and it wasn't just pain and exhaustion that was endangering her now. Dehydration only added to the mix, for she'd lost a lot of water through blood and sweat, and hadn't eaten or drank since before she'd been taken.

She didn't even know how long that had been.

Keeping her eyes shut, she hoped they hadn't noticed that she was awake. All she wanted to do was sleep, and sleep at least gave her some relief.

Smed didn't notice she was conscious yet, leaning over to see how the other goblin's work was coming along. He nodded his approval when he saw it. An excellent drawing of Owl's face pre-beating, surely instantly recognizeable by any information broker worth his salt. He looked to the tent's entrance, and snapped his fingers twice. A rather scrawny member of the goblin species entered, wearing what looked like wizard robes, complete with a patched-up pointy hat. "You get the link set up yet, Zappo?" Smed asked, and the wizard goblin nodded.

"Good. Get this to him, and get me an answer." Smed ordered, sounding a tad bit more annoyed than he did the last time Owl heard him. He tore out the drawing, folded it up, and handed it to the wizard, who grabbed it up in his little hands and ran off. The goblin that was drawing, which now had nothing to do, slumped back into his chair. "Be a good sport and rouse Pigeon, will ya?" Smed ordered, and the goblin jumped off of his seat and scurried on over to Owl. "Psst. Hey Pigeon." It whispered, nudging her in her good shoulder.

Owl heard their conversation, heard paper ripping, but couldn't guess at what it meant. And right then, she didn't have the capacity to care. She couldn't focus on anything beyond the constant, searing throb going throughout her entire body, literally from head to foot. It was everything at that moment, constant and oppressive, and the only relief she got was from holding very, very still. That didn't make it hurt less, exactly, but it didn't make it hurt more, either.

And then something was nudging at her good shoulder, and she drew in a sharp, hissing breath through her teeth. Good shoulder or not, it jarred her body, and she clenched her eyes shut tighter. No no no. She did not want to move.

"Hey, yourself," she muttered thickly, voice a bit nasally since her nose was broken.

"She's up, Boss!" The goblin squeaked, and Smed clapped his hands, jumping off of his seat. He slowly walked over to the bed and sat down on it next to Owl. "You know, that whole thing at the butcher didn't have to happen, Pigeon. Next time you lie to me Pigeon...well...I'm not sure what I'll do. I guess I'll have to top myself on that one." He said in a cheery voice, and laid down next to her.

"You're looking a bit thin, Pigeon. Would you like some supper?" He asked, and jumped off the bed, walking back over to the table to grab a silver plate with some food on it. He walked back over to the bed, and sat down again. On the plate, there was all kinds of delicious looking juicy meats and sausages. "Hunters had some luck this morning. Bagged some owls!" Smed said, talking to her as if he was addressing a child . He snapped his fingers again, and the other goblin scurried over to the table, grabbed a fork, and handed it off to Smed.

Smed pierced one of the juicy bits, and held the meat up to Owl's mouth.

Owl tried to glare at Smed, but it hurt to screw her face up like that, and the effect would have been lost, anyway, with how swollen it was. Besides, it took an amount of effort she didn't feel like giving, and she let out a slow breath and looked away from him to stare up at the ceiling instead when he laid down beside her--and blinked over at him when he mentioned dinner and hopped back out of bed.

Did the thing ever sit still for two seconds?

Her stomach growled at the mention of food, but rejected the idea just as fast. Owls. He was going to feed her owls. Her mouth watered at the smell when he held the meat up to her, but, managing a weak glower, she clenched her teeth together and turned her head away from him. She was not going to eat owl. And she couldn't even be sure it was animal flesh, anyway, and not human. Wouldn't that be the sort of thing he would do? Slip her human meat so he could laugh about her eating her own, just as he was trying to feed her owl meat as some cruel joke?

Smed frowned when Owl rejected the meat. "Aww, Pigeon...Chef made it just for you!" He said in mock sadness, even pouting a bit. In his experience, Owl was the first to ever reject food like this, and she was the first to ever get an actual meal cooked for her. "C'mon, Pigeon. Eat up." He said, pushing the meat against her lips softly, not actually attempting to ram it into her mouth as she might have expected. "Eeeeaaaaaaat it!" He repeated as a smile appeared on his face again. He started smooshing it against her mouth, giggling like a schoolboy whenever the juices would run down her chin.

Owl pressed her lips together so tight they whitened and jerked her head away from him, and at this point, it wasn't so much about not wanting to eat it as it was an act of stubborn rebellion. She'd been veritably helpless her entire stay here, with Smed doing whatever he wanted with her--for he had the forces to back him up. She'd been tortured, stripped, almost boiled, and she might still be eaten.

Animal flesh or not, she was not going to let him fatten her up.

And if eating was the only thing she had power over in this place, she was damned well going to reject his food.

But it was hard to breathe through her nose, stuffed up with blood and snot, and she eventually had to open her mouth to take a breath--and that was when the meat slipped through. It hit her tongue and tasted amazing, and her instinct was to eat it, because she really was starving--but instead of chewing it, she spat it out at Smed.

Smed broke into a fit of laughter as the meat slipped into Owl's mouth, laughter which immediately died down as soon as she spit it back out at him. He sat there, face frozen in an expression of glee, as the piece of meat slowly slid down his face, falling onto the bed. His smile slowly faded once again, and his grip on the fork adjusted, with his thumb bracing against the grip. "Alright then, Pigeon. You want an apple instead?" Smed said in a dangerous voice as he held the platter out over the side of the bed and dropped it.

He snapped his fingers, and the other goblin picked up an apple that had been sitting on the table, and passed it to Smed. Smed kept his eyes locked onto Owl's as he took his knife out, and promptly cut the apple in half in his hand, and then quartered it, even removing the seeds with his knife. He put the wedge at the end of the fork, and held it out to her mouth. He looked at her with murder in his eyes.

"Eat it."

Owl knew she was playing a dangerous game here when the glee drained from Smed's face, voice going from jovially childish to something that sounded far more predatory. She glanced down at the fork, scarcely breathing, because she half expected to find it embedded in her flesh.

Instead, he offered an apple.

Gods, she wished he would have just stuck to meat. Meat was easy to reject when she thought it might be human flesh.

Meeting his eyes, Owl waited as he sliced the apple for her. Though she wanted to look away, she didn't, because some small, rebellious part of her was thrilled that she could get under his skin like this--and she was delirious enough with exhaustion and had little left to lose. She held his gaze even as he held the wedge out to her, and her mouth watered. Gods, she was thirsty, and it would provide at least some water--but she didn't yet take it. But nor did she reject it.

Because stubbornness aside, little left to lose aside, she was still afraid, because she knew he could hurt her more. It could always be worse. And she didn't want to die.

She licked her lips, still determined not to look away, and croaked, "Why?"

"Why?" Smed repeated, his expression not changing.

"Like I said before, I like you, Pigeon. Always so brave and defiant, even when a mountain ogre's breaking your arm. But at the same time, you play along when you know it's good for you. Consider this apple a reward, for being such a good girl." He snapped out, and pushed the apple wedge closer to her mouth. "Last chance, Pigeon. Refuse this, and I'll try to feed you your eyeball next." He said with a tone that could only suggest indifference. "Ah, but who am I kidding?" He suddenly added, starting to stroke her pink hair again. "I can't stay mad at you, Pigeon." He said, his smile slowly returning.

"Now, eat it." He insisted. His smile might be back, but his eyes remained the same, smoldering with a burning desire to sink the fork into her throat, watch her bleed to death, fuck her corpse until he got bored, and then deposit her at her family's house, preferably hang her up by the legs above her parents as they slept.

Owl cringed as he stroked her hair and wanted to flinch away from him, but there was nowhere to go, and she couldn't move even if she wasn't chained. She swallowed hard, though there wasn't much moisture left in her mouth. There it was, the threat. At least this time he'd given her a warning.

And at least this time, when she caved, she could tell herself it was because he'd threatened her.

"You're too kind," she growled.

And though she hated herself a little for it, Owl's  resistance wore too thin. With his threat hanging in the air, she caved and plucked the wedge off the fork with her teeth before grabbing hold of it with her good hand, since it was too big to eat in one bite. It was only then that she looked away from Smed, shame building up inside her as she ate the wedge--and far quicker than she'd intended. She'd meant to go slow, to take her time, some meager attempt at not looking so desperate, but once the juice hit her tongue she about devoured it, scarcely breathing between bites, her body starving for water.

And then, much to her own shame, when she was done with that wedge she glanced hopefully at his hand where he held the rest of the apple.

Smed watched Owl devour the apple wedge, a slight pang of victory in his mind as she tried to look all defiant by eating it slowly, and then failing miserably. When she finished scarfing down the first wedge, Smed traced her stare towards the rest of the apple, and Smed laughed. "Enjoy the wedges, Pigeon." He said, and left the cut up apple laying in front of her as he stepped outside for a moment, having heard a goblin calling his name. "Keep an eye on her." He barked, and the other goblin in the room nodded, taking a spiked mace off of his back and idly holding it in his hands.

"So, any news, Zappo?" Smed asked the wizard-goblin, and it nodded, speaking up in goblin. "Broker found her name real quick, boss. I already sent a courier with his payment." It said, adjusting its hat. "Well, what is it then? Spit it out!" Smed replied.

The goblin leaned in, and whispered something into his ear. Smed's smile only grew larger.

Having decided he'd given Owl enough time on her own, he walked back into the tent, sitting back down at the table. "So, Pigeon. Feel like giving me your name yet?"

With Smed gone, Owl didn't hold back. She scarfed the wedges down, knowing she should go slow or she might get sick, but unable to stop once she'd started. She didn't even pay the other goblin any notice, so focused was she, and it was gone too soon. She would have licked the juice from her fingers, too, if her hands weren't covered in dried blood.

Still, despite her shame, that apple was what she'd needed. It didn't fill her, and it didn't sate her thirst, but it was something and it at least gave her a little liquid. On the negative side, it also made her realize just how thirsty she was, and she craved more.

Like hell she'd ask for more, though.

She was laying back on the bed, good arm over her bare chest and trying to sleep again, when Smed returned.

And asked the dreaded question.

She winced visibly, and cracked her eyes open. "I..."

She'd withheld it once and gotten her arm broken, her nose smashed, and her ribs kicked. Smed claimed he'd outdo himself the next time she lied. Paling, Owl licked her lips and took a deep breath, forced herself to keep breathing even though she felt her throat tightening in fear again. She couldn't out her family. She absolutely couldn't.

"Smed...your, um...your people here...do they mean anything to you?"

Rufus had left town on urgent business. He had a boy to save. In the process he'd conquered Cerenis, and made an alliance with the Glint Hawks. He was returning triumphant to a guild filled with turmoil. During his absence Jack had pulled the tail and protection from Owl. The Beta didn't care about the pet project of the Red Wolf. When the news that she's been snatched up by the goblins reached the Wolves, instead of saving her, they took this opportunity to track the goblins to their lair. The Soot Wolves had killed plenty of the little ankle biters, but without knowledge of the hole they lived in, they could never root out the problem. Of course it was just Owls luck that Rufus returned that night. One of the reports he was given told him of the plan to track her, to use her as a beacon to locate the goblins, and hunt them all down for good. According to the report she had been grabbed only an hour past, right when he was riding into town. He was beyond furious that her life was being put at risk, and he'd have to take care of Jack appropriately later. As he was riding out after her, reports began to come in. The Wolves had found the goblins home, they had a good count of the force of goblins, and they were confident that a few wizards could easily burn them all out.

This news did little to appease Rufus, and he punched the messenger in the face. Raining fire down on the goblins would kill them all easily, but it would doom the Lady Einin, and that was not something he could do. His orders were given and the wizards would do just that, rain fire on the goblins, but not until his force of one hundred Soot Wolves had rescued Owl. They would use magic and stealth to sneak in among the goblins. They'd spread out and light small fires, assassinate goblins from the shadows, sow chaos in any way they could. Meanwhile Rufus would take the best five with him to get Einin. With a bit of her blood, they'd use a tracking spell to find the girl, and he'd cut down any man or beast that stood in his way. Then the goblins would be exterminated. Hundreds of goblins would pose no threat to his Wolves. It was time to rid his city of this nuisance and bring back the head of their leader for that bounty.

Why was she asking him about the boys? Smed couldn't really know. All he knew was that this was probably another attempt to stall for her life, again. But, he was a sucker for conversation, so he decided to humor her. "The boys, Pigeon? We're a big 'ol family here, in fact, they're the only family I got. Chef's a founding member, you know. More like a father to me than even my own. All the tribes, too. Good goblins, the lot of them, always helping out when they get a chance. We might have five-hundred boys in here, but out there, there's millions." He explained leaning back in his chair. The goblin with the spiked mace took out an pocket watch (obviously stolen), and squinted his eyes to read the arms.

"Boss, night shift's starting." He said, tapping on the watch. "Spread the world, Gnak, and get my usual guards here. Tell Chef it's one of his guard duty days as well." He snapped, and the goblin nodded, jogging out of the tent. Once it was outside, it screeched "SHIFT ONE!" And it reverberated around the enclosed cavern for a few moments before the sounds of every single goblin in the camp moving around filled the air. Half of them were getting set to patrol around In groups of five, the other half were free to do whatever they wanted, so some extra goblins went on patrol, since they had nothing better to do.

Chef himself lumbered out of the butcher's tent, clad in a suit of massive plate armor, with his various butcher's implements as weapons. He lumbered over to Smed's tent, and stood outside along with ten more heavily armored goblins in plate armor.

And with that, the night begun.

Owl tried not to look as relieved as she felt. She had asked about his boys because she didn't know what else to say, and it was the first thing to come to mind. She had needed something, anything to throw at him that wasn't a lie or an answer and had just crossed her fingers that it would distract him.

So far, it had.

Even better, the call for the night's shift came, and Owl thanked Kia it came at that moment. She had no hope that the subject wouldn't swing back around to her name, but she at least hoped to put it off, and once the commotion had died down a little she snatched that conversation thread back up again before it could unravel.

"That's really interesting!" she said with a weak smile. "I was just wondering about that, is all. Everyone here seems to adore you, no one bickers, and they seem to be having a good time. And they say the mark of a good leader is how their underlings view and treat them. How many tribes are there, anyway? I'd never seen a blue goblin before until I came here. Do the colors mean anything? Or the marks some of them had?"

The Soot Wolves had moved through the tunnels with great stealth, and many scouts had been sent out to find alternate routes to the surface. There were several caverns filled with goblins, some looked like familial dwellings, others, like the one Rufus looked out upon now, like a military encampment. This wasn't just a cave of goblins as the first reports had told, it was an empire. Somehow, the warring tribes of goblins, normally unable to handle close proximity to each other, were allied, even inter-breading. It was astounding. Too bad they were monsters, and reveled in butchery. A civilization like this would make a great ally, but these beasts were not civilized. They would have to be rooted out somehow, but he had not the numbers to do it now. Instead, the plan had formed to collapse as many tunnels as they could all at once. The fighting would only happen where they had to rescue Owl.

By all the scouting and all the reports to come in, this cavern was the main one, this is where Einin was. All the exits of this cavern now had Wolves standing in them. There had been a rare few encounters with goblins, but they had all been silenced quickly. The diminutive creatures, even the heavily armored ones, had not stood against the powerful poison in the tiny hand crossbows the Soot Wolves carried. Smearing themselves with the stink of the creatures, the men hid their scent from the noses of passing goblins, and the monsters on some occasions passed within inches of the Shadow Wolves that crept about.

Rufus crept forward with his tight nit group close beside him. The spell they followed was tugging them not toward the tallest tent, as he would have suspected, but it was more heavily guarded than the others. From the shadows the men watched as the change for patrol was called. Many of the goblins were speaking in common, which was peculiar. Usually they spoke in their own guttural goblin tongue, with varying dialects by tribe. Really it usually seemed a mash of the giant kin tongue and orc, but not these goblins. From their vantage point a few tents away, Rufus and his Shadows saw an Ogre approach the tent and take up guard. His plate armor was dented heavily, and smeared with dried blood. It was obviously not well crafted, but a brute of that size, in that much metal, would be hard to bring down.

The would-be rescuers crept through the shadows around the tents to approach it from behind. From inside Rufus was sure he heard Einin's voice and so he took out his mirror and flashed the signal back to start the chaos. All at once, Wolves hidden throughout the cavern began to light fires or kill goblins from the shadows, before they melted away to sneak off and do it again somewhere else. All the tunnel entrances were being collapsed by mages, so that the only path out, and to the surface, was the one the Wolves planned to take when they got Einin out of here. They'd collapse that one too as they fled. That was the plan, to flee. There were just too many to fight fair. He'd come back with an army and collapse all the caverns on the heads of the goblins at a lter date. Now it was time to save the girl.

Einin was likely right on the other side of the tent wall from him, so Rufus drew his blade and stabbed a small hole in the fabric to get a look at what was inside.

"Varies by tribe, really." Smed casually stated. He glanced around the tent, looking around for a few moments. The demon was coming back. Smed twitched in his seat for a few moments, before finally relaxing again. Sorry I left you without notice for a while there, Smed. I was...preoccupied with some things the demon's voice said as it boomed through his mind. "No problem, I've kept busy..." Smed muttered, barely above a whisper.

"But there's not just tribes in the caves, you know. Tribes on the surface, too, and these are just the ones around here! I've got connections and friends in every goblin tribe around the world. This isn't even my main camp!" He said, idly scratching the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in. "Even better, I-" He suddenly stopped talking, ears perked up. Smed... the demon muttered, and Smed whispered "I know..." to himself.

There was a noise, a noise almost quiet enough to get by him, but not quite quiet enough.  He smelled at the air. Something didn't smell like goblin to him, something smelled like goblin blood, with a slight hint of human. "Fire breath?" He whispered. Fire breath. The demon replied, and Smed felt some heat build up in his throat, a dim glow starting to come from the back of it. Suddenly, he wheeled around in his seat and released a massive gout of fire from his mouth, aimed directly at where Rufus. It burned in his mouth, and he cried out in pain when he did this. Then, came the screech.

"ALAAAAAAAAAARM!! HUMANS WITH GOBLIN STINK!!"

The words bounced around the cavern wall for a few moments, before the entire camp sprung to life. Goblins everywhere were now aware of the situation, and the cry was repeated several times in different places of the camp. The camp would be flooded now, every single goblin using their nose to try and find their assailants.

Chef came running around the tent, meat cleaver raised and ready to swing at the trespassers. He was deceptively quick for his size, since he had learned how to catch speedy humans under Smed's command.

With tunnels collapsing and fires started all over the cavern, the Soot Wolves began to dance in the shadows. Quick dashes through the darkness, slaying easy prey and running whenever outmatched. It was strike and retreat, sowing chaos everywhere they could. Fighting against men was one thing, but these were Wolves, and though some would be lost, they would take many of these goblins with them, and hopefully give Rufus the time he needed to save Einin.

Rufus was looking through the hole he had made when the fire flew from Smed's mouth toward him. He fell back and rolled doing a backward somersault, springing to his feet as he snatched up some rocks from the ground. A hole was burned in the tent where he'd been peeping, and he could see Owl chained to a post within. He threw the rocks in his hands at Smed as Chef came running around. The four Shadows he had with him scattered shooting their tiny crossbows at the huge ogre. Rufus dove into the tent quickly behind the rocks, and had three daggers tumbling through the air at Smed as well. Without watching to see if his blades hit their mark, Rufus turned to Einin. She was cut and bloody, and covered in some sort of salve. He rushed to Einin and quickly tossed her over his shoulder, running for the hole in the tent as soon as she was secured.

Keep him talking, keep him talking... Owl was working on follow-up questions, which were harder to come up with than usual when everything was misery, when Smed abruptly wheeled around and breathed fire at a wall.

She stared dumbly, thinking at first she might really be losing it, that she might be seeing things now.

And then Rufus dove inside.

Rufus?

Okay. Maybe she really was losing it. She'd talked about him a lot, hoping to implicate herself with him like a small fish hoping to get in the shadow of the bigger, more dangerous fish, but...what? No way. It couldn't really be--

Owl knew it was real when he threw her over his shoulder, chains and all, and everything exploded into agony intense enough she screamed. That confirmed it. This was real. Rufus was here. Rufus had found her, somehow, and though she curled her good hand tightly in the back of his shirt and sobbed with pain as every movement wracked her battered body, her broken arm hanging awkward and limp, it was the best pain she'd felt in her life, and she'd take it. She wasn't just crying out of pain and fear now; it was pure relief.

"Rufus..."

Sure, the beginning was going well for the Wolves, but now, the goblins had finally gotten themselves organized enough to mount attacks of their own. Goblins are, if nothing else, clever creatures, and it didn't exactly take a clever creature to figure out what the wolves were doing here. All over the camp, goblin wizards shot massive balls of flaring light into the air, completely eliminating any darkness or shadow that might exist. There they lingered, like small baleful suns, ensuring that stealth was no longer an option. In the buildings that hung off of the cavern roof (The only way to reach them involved climbing upside down on the cave roof, something a human probably couldn't do without being picked off by the snipers that were now taking position, wielding their own poisoned arrows.

Smed himself acted quickly, ducking his head under the rocks, and jumping out of the seat altogether to dodge the daggers. There was a pause in his actions as he hit the dirt, and he glanced at what was happening just a few feet away. He saw Rufus taking Owl away, and part of him wanted to scream at having his favorite plaything taken away, and the other was smiling, knowing it had all come together. Of course he knew who the Red Wolf was, his gang of thieves had been locked in a shadow war with the Anklehacker Gang since Smed made himself a player in the banditry scene. Sure, a couple of goblins would go missing when conducting Anklehacker business every once in a while, but every now and then, a Soot Wolf would show up at his family's house as a delicious meat pie. Smed knew he'd come for Owl the moment she said she was his lover. Given, he could have prepared for it, maybe set a few traps, hired a couple thousand goblins, and gotten a new shipment of seasoning, but that was beside the point.

So, in the end, there was a smile on his face. In the end, he was doing what he loved. Was it a shame that probably a lot of goblins were going to die? No doubt. But now was not the time to focus on such things. He heard the earth rumble. They were collapsing the caverns, which really didn't hold much, save for maybe the few guards that actually patrolled them. They were mostly one-way passages to tribes on the surface, or in other caves. Contact would be re-established eventually, a little rubble was nothing some goblins with pickaxes couldn't clear up over the course of a summer.

Smed got up quickly, before Rufus could even make it out of the tent. Manifest? The demon asked. "Manifest."  Smed purred, and as he started running after Rufus, his eyes started glowing. His skin visibly darkened by two shades, and a little tail sprouted from his rump. He cackled madly as he ran blisteringly fast towards Rufus, Anklesnagger and Footcleaver drawn and ready to kill. He pounced at them, glee on his face and bloodshed in his eyes.

Chef ignored the men with crossbows for the most part, knowing the futility of trying to chase them down, and threw himself in front of the hole in Smed's tent, hunkering down to become an impenetrable wall of forged steel and muscle. Hopefully, he'd do it in time to block their exit.

Just before Rufus jumped for the hole, a large armor clad figure stepped in his way. Lucky for Rufus, he had quick reflexes, and his jump became a dive. The leader of the Soot Wolves, went under the ogre, between his legs, but clipped Einin on the large makeshift faulds. As he tumbled through the dirt of the cave, the young girl fell from his grip, and skid through the dirt herself. Luckily her momentum took her further than Rufus himself. He pointed to the girl and shouted orders.

"Get her out, NOW!"

Carpere bouncing against his right hip, Rufus drew Aestival and Hiemal into his hands and dashed at the large oaf. His blades cut easily through the armor on the back of the ogres leg, hamstringing the beast. He knew retaliation would be close at hand though, so Rufus dove away, flipping into a somersault and running away. Let the beast try to chase now, with only one working foot. As Rufus fled he sheathed his blades, and rained daggers at the ogres face. Keep him occupied, and in front of the hole, making Smed go around, that was the smart play as The Red Wolf made haste to catch up to the Wolves carrying Owl away.

All across the cavern, light was begining to shine from magical orbs or some such spell. The Shadow Wolves threw down their smoke bombs, blocking vision in a new way, while the Blood Wolves, picked for their skill at combat waded forward to cleave goblin flesh. They would suffer the greatest losses, but any man could be taught to hold a sword. It took real talent to blend into the shadows. The three Blood Wolves picked to protect Rufus stepped up to fight the ogre. Akia, had fought giants, and this was no giant, just a very large ogre. Now cloud giants were big, twenty feet tall and as smart as humans. That was a hard fought battle, had taken thirty men to kill the thing. Ogres were among the smallest, and dumbest of the giant-kin. Only verbeegs and voadkyn were smaller than ogres, and both smarter. So Chef was large for an ogre, probably mixed with fire giant or something, it was known to happen. It was unlikely that the brute was very smart though, especially if it was following goblins and not leading them.

Maliha and Foy stepped forward with Akia to face the creature and cover Rufus as he fled. Akia twirled a grappling hook at the end of a long sturdy chain, the goal was to bring the beast down so they could get at his face. Maliha held a long, sturdy polearm with a wicked curved blade at the end. Reach was important for fighting an opponent twice your height, and she was skilled with the weapon. Foy held a large hammer with both hands. His large, muscled arms bulged at the strain of it. He'd crack at Chef's legs and feet when the opportunity arose, and he would deal the final blow to the ogres head when the beast was brought down. Even if the felled the little giant, they knew it was unlikely that they would escape alive with the number of goblins in the cavern, but each was picked because they would face death with a smile on their faces. This is how they lived, and how they wished to die.

Einin's grip tightened on Rufus's shirt, because while she couldn't see much from this angle, when she lifted her head she saw Smed charging after them and opened her mouth to shout a warning--

And then something hit her, and she hit the dirt.

She didn't know what happened after that, because she slipped out of consciousness and when she came back she was in someone else's arms, and they were running. She blinked up at him, but his face swam in her vision and her eyes rolled back again. Not Rufus, but a Wolf. She blinked in and out of consciousness, not really aware of what was going on anymore, because everything was loud and chaotic, and everything was throbbing pain and the rush of her pulse in her ears.

CHEF'S POV:

The massive mountain ogre grunted and fell onto one knee as Rufus took a quick shot as he ran past him. Coward. The three daggers plinked off of his helmet, of which the only part left open was his mouth, and he looked up at the three Blood Wolves that approached him, with their wicked weapons. Chef grunted, and stood back up on both of his legs. By the smiles on their faces, Chef could tell that these three idiots didn't know what they were dealing with. Sure, he was an ogre, but not one of the stupid little shits that lived down in caves and swamps. Mountain ogres are a civilization in their own right, and certainly not even in the same league as regular ogres. Mountain giants paid their respects to mountain ogres, not the other way around. Mountain ogres also had a power that regular ogres dreamed they could possess. The Hunger.

Chef, being an fully grown and fully fledged veteran, was in complete control of his Hunger, and as he looked at his opponents, he could feel it building up. A faint red smoke started to come off of his shoulders, and his ankle wound knitted itself up. Chef released a guttural sounding growl, and advanced. The woman with the grappling hook lashed out, and Chef caught it in his free hand. For his size, he was dangerously fast, as the giant killers would soon realize. He tugged Akia off her feet and sent her flying towards him, spinning her around like a flail. The other two advanced, and Chef continued in his walk towards them, unfazed by their battle cries.

Foy was next. He swung it at Chef's knee, but Chef was way too well armored and way too strong for the man to even hope to hurt him. Chef thrust his knee towards the man as he swung, and when his knee clashed with the hammer, the hammer bounced off, leaving nothing but a dent in the armor and causing it to fly out of Foy's grasp. Maliha thrust her polearm forwards, and she managed to sink it into a chink it Chef's belly armor. Chef huffed some air out of his nose at this, and watched her try to pull out the weapon, only to find it stuck. With one swing of his cleaver, she was made two separate people, her upper body flying towards Rufus like a screaming cannonball. Chef pulled out the polearm, and tossed it aside.

Chef stopped spinning Akia around by her own weapon, letting the chain coil around his wrist until he caught her in his hand. She pulled a dagger out and started stabbing his hand, but this had no real effect on him. He quickly brought her up to his mouth, and bit down, removing most of her upper torso. He chewed for a few seconds, before swallowing, and then ate the rest of her in one bite. He let out a pleased groan, and felt his wounds heal faster.

Suddenly, something hit him in the knee again, and this time he fell over, not expecting Foy to get his hammer back so quickly. Foy followed up with a hammer blow to the head, which, apart from denting the helmet and disorienting Chef for a few moments, only served to piss him off. Chef lashed out with an arm, and grabbed Foy by the upper body. He brought Foy to his mouth, and bit one of his legs off, swallowing it whole. He stood back up, and promptly threw Foy straight down into the stone floor, breaking every bone in his body. Chef stomped on him, and Foy burst like an overripe tomato.

SMED'S POV (sorry for shortness on this bit.):

Smed was put slightly behind Rufus by having to weave between Chef's legs, but he was back on the chase, the thrill of it all intoxicating him. He started to build up speed again, and started to gain on them again. "~Come back, Pigeon! I'm not done with you!~" He called out in a sing-songy tone, his voice distorted by the demon's. As he sped after them, he started to build up another glow in his mouth, and from his mouth jumped replicas of him, made of fire. They cackled and laughed as they floated in the air for a bit, then sped through the air, not towards Rufus, but towards the wolves accompanying him.

As Rufus ran, close behind the Shadow carrying Owl, he howled out a signal. The cry was repeated by others, and soon throughout the cavern, every Wolf had heard the call. They made their final strikes and began to fall back, each and every one of them fleeing, carrying wounded where they could, abandoning friends where there was no other choice. A great deal of the fighting was happening on the border of the path Rufus ran along. The path had been chosen for it's directness to the designated exit, and Wolves stood ready to defend their leader as he fled with his quarry in hand.

With three of his chosen five left behind, only two of The Red Wolf's hand picked men remained with him. One carried Einin, the other ran interference whenever a goblin got too close to them. As the flame copies of Smed flew toward them, the unburdened Wolf stopped to meet his as Rufus and the other Wolf continued to flee. He fought bravely, but his attacks seemed to do little to the fire created creature, and he soon found himself immolated, rolling about in pain as the flames consumed him. The other flame goblin did not stop in it's pursuit, but with his arms around Einin, the final Wolf with Rufus did not slow. Instead, Rufus found himself dashing toward the embodiment of flame. As he approached it, the corona of fire began to sputter, as if it's life were draining away from it. With a swipe of his short sword, Aestival, with it's fire defeating magics, the crux of the being could no longer subsist, and the entity dissipated.

As Rufus turned to continue his flight from the cavern, nearby Wolves began to fall in behind him, leaving their fights and sabotage unfinished. With their short legged goblin pursuers pouring out after them, the road was quickly becoming chocked with running feet. On occasion a few Wolves would stop and shoot poisoned bolts or toss daggers into the faces of the chasing goblins that couldn't quite keep up with their shorter legs. A few Wolves went down as they caught weapons to their backs as they fled. As painful as each loss was though, the fallen Wolves helped the others escape. The goblins, filled with their lust for the kill, would fall over the men and women they'd taken down, hacking them into messes, creating islands of interruption in the road that others of their kind would have to maneuver around. Only about a hundred meters lay between Rufus, and the mouth of the narrow tunnel that would serve as exit. The mages at the exit began to throw great fireballs out into the goblin cavern, and as the Wolves fled through the single tunnel, traps would be left in their wake. The escape plan was well in hand. These were it's final moments. Rufus hoped it would go smoothly.

As Smed chased after Rufus, something clicked in his head. Even if they escaped, he had still gleamed Owl's true name. Such was the wonder of long distance magical communication. No matter how he looked at it, Smed had already won. There was no need for any more goblins to die. With that, instead of clearing a pile of goblins chopping up a Wolf in a single bound, he jumped up on top of it, and pulled a small horn from his belt. He blew on it, and it produced a shrill, undulating tone.

As the fireballs from the wizards came in, they sputtered and crashed against an invisible anti-magic wall. Smed took another deep breath, and blew on it again, and the wall started to solidify.

If Rufus sprinted like he never did before, he had a chance of making it out before the force-field solidified. Anybody who was still inside when it went down would become ingredients in tomorrow's breakfast. Once the wall came down, it would push outwards, expanding through the tunnels, clearing any rubble and pushing out any Wolves with the power of a raging river.

After saving his son from the Valeska and Mountain Cats, then bringing order to Cerenis, followed by the wild goose chase that had finally led to the Glint Hawks, Theodore Wrenthis was reaching his limit. He needed to rest, really, rest. The potions he'd been using to keep himself going only worked so long. Eventually his mind would give out, and before that, his body would grow sluggish. There was no way that Rufus was going to make it outside the force field that was coming down. How a force field could be made magically and exude antimagic, was a mystery to work on another day, but that was the case none the less, and since this magic wasn't magic, his eye patch gave little assistance.

As the Wolf carrying Einin was nearing the quickly solidifying boundary, the unthinkable happened. He tripped. Einin once again was thrown to the ground, bouncing and tumbling in the dirt, falling short of the boundary. The Wolf was not so lucky. He stumbled after dropping Einin, and didn't fall right away. Then he tumbled to the ground, rolling and bouncing faster than Owl had. Half on each side of the boundary as it solidified, he was sliced cleanly in half. The trapped Wolves turned, weapons drawn, and did not pause as they took the attack back at the goblins. Rufus, tired as he was, rushed to Einin. He checked her pulse, then poured one of his magic tonics down her throat. She spluttered as a bit went down her lungs, but the magic would mend any damage breathing in liquids could cause. He lifted her nearly nude body, noting that a few of her cuts were not healing properly, something clearly had been put into the wounds to cause them to scar. It would take stronger magic and a bit of time, but nothing was irreversible when you had money and power, two things Ryk and Rufus had plenty of. It was always handy being two people when it came to resources.

Rufus tossed Owl over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and turned back toward the goblins. His men were falling fast, but they pushed into the goblins cutting him a path to their leader Smed. The fighting was fierce, but the Wolves managed, folding in behind Rufus as he walked through. He had to duck a few projectiles in his approach, but he didn't feel he was in much danger. There were a lot of the smelly goons, but they were still only goblins. There were dogs that were smarter than goblins. As the last of his trapped Wolves were falling to the goblins, Rufus was forced to act. With one arm strongly gripping Einin's legs to keep her secure on his shoulder, Rufus reached into his hip pouch and pulled out one of his myriad magic items. He focused on his antimagic to keep it from interfering with the object, and activated it. A wall of swirling blades materialized around him, and as he walked forward it sliced and diced goblins into ribbons. Again he reached into a pouch and activated a magic item. This one called forth powerful winds that swirled around knocked projectiles away, and toppling goblins into the swirling blades. Rufus was known for having an abundant supply of trinkets that could lay waste to armies or supply a feast for a kingly court. Today he was fighting an army. Focusing on the separate magics was taxing his mind though, and he couldn't keep it up much longer.

He was sure he could see Smed ahead of him. The goblin looked smug, he had the Canis Rufus trapped. The notorious and legendary Red Wolf, caught by mere goblins. It was absurd. As if Rufus would not prepare for everything. As winds and blades swirled around him, keeping him safe, Rufus reached into another pouch and pulled forth the figurine of an orator. He pressed the little stone man to his throat and spoke in an amplified voice.

"I have won this round, and I will win them all. I am the leader of the Soot Wolves, who are now allies with the Glint Hawks. You have made enemies of the most powerful humans in Serendipity. I am going to spread word of your army, your families, throughout the land. Goblins, who are already reviled will be hunted down and killed everywhere. Any goblins seen will be killed on sight. You Smed, I intend to personally kill, as soon as you're important enough to make it to the top of my list. I'm a busy man, with a world to finish conquering. I'll get to you eventually. In the mean time, you'll wanna keep clear of my little bird. Now that I'm back, I'll be watching her closely. I know goblins have a short lifespan Smed, but I trust the talisman around your neck will keep you alive until I have the time to remove it by removing your head."

With his declaration of war on goblinkind, Rufus replaced the orator in its pouch and pulled out a sapphire as big as his eye. He threw the expensive magic item onto the ground, where it burst, spewing forth blue flames. They shot out at hurricane speed, but with as much force as a breath. The flames sought the bodies of all the Wolves. They had all been carrying small tokens that had been attuned to their bodies and linked to the sapphire magically. As the flames touched them, the corpses were all teleported away. Even the hunks of flesh in the mouths of greedy goblins were whisked away to the tunnels of the Wolves Den. Rufus himself was deposited in his private chambers. There he set Einin on his bed before taking his secret passage to Chora's room. He needed her to be on hand for healing needs.

((OOC: Rufus and Einin teleport to here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=16884.msg193286#msg193286). Enjoy!))