End of Silence
The present conditions had not been proper for him to emerge from the shadows. Sure, he could go swinging around the taller posts like a madman, looking like a fool to a large crowd of busy people, but then he would only be a passing nuisance. His efforts would quickly fade from memory as their tasks were dealt with. This isn't what Bogg wanted. He wanted to leave a scar on this town, one that would not be forgotten so quickly. For now, his time was better spent biding in the darkness. It's not like he was forced there, of course, he just loathed the sun. Its rays never settled well on his slimy skin.
The sun, thankfully, was not out at the moment. It was night, the third night, in fact, since Bimblesnaff had crawled into this overworld village. He had been faring the open road for some time, now, this being the first real town he had seen in a number of days. While the rest for his weary body was welcomed, his impatient spirit was becoming annoyed. The green fiend sat perched on the roof to one of the many superterranean dwellings scattered throughout this region. It was crawling with many foul smelling humans and, dare he think it, wretched elven folk Things had seemed to clamor down in this passed time, however, but he still insisted on giving it more time.
Bored, he retrieved the object he had been keeping beneath his arm. It was a shutter he had torn off one of the houses. He couldn't remember which one, they all look alike in his eyes. The reasons to why it was so intriguing to him in the first place had escaped his mind at the present time. Tired of the piece, he discarded of it over his shoulder, listening to it thump down the shingles.
He rapped his fingers on the thatching as he studied the dead streets. His eyes finally rested upon what appeared to be some sort of tavern. Consciously, he commanded himself to avoid the establishment, having lost a good many years to ale induced blackouts. He tried to find something else to catch his attention, but his gaze always wound up back to the bar.
"Strike it all to hell," he cursed with a heavy sigh as he stood up. "Well, what's a few days when compared to a couple years?" he rationed as he leapt from rooftops. Making it to the pub, he slid his tiny form through one of the higher windows.
He gazed down at the tavern's current audience, most of which were passed out drunk or in the process of joining former. The bar maid was making her rounds, gathering the unfinished mugs from those out cold. Returning from her collection, a thud below caught her notice, finding an odd stone at her feet. Assuming it must have been kicked in by one of the travelers, she continued with her duties while Bimblesnaff, latched on to one of the above rafters with his hooked blade, had managed to grasp one of the more filled mugs, the end of his tail just barely holding the handle. Pulling himself up onto the beam, he sat and watched, plentifully entertained by the drunken antics of those below.
One such patron was pale elven girl. Half dead from ingesting alcohol, she could barely land her hand on an offending dwarf seated before herself. Drowning further in the ale, she staggered off into the streets, nearly missing the wide open door.
Hijinks
Through one of the higher windows, Bimblesnaff witnessed the elf, whom his eyes had followed out the bar, get knocked off foot by a unknown brute. From atop the rafters he was roaring with silent laughter. He loved when people were in misfortune, especially when those people were elves. Although, he did feel a little bad that it happened to one so visually appealing.
"Speaking of visual pleasures," Bogg spoke to himself, as one of the fairer bar maidens passed underway. Stretching his neck outward to keep his gaze matched with her pace, his present location had passed from his mind, as did keeping himself up there. Realizing that it was not the room which was tumbling, his tiny body spiraled around, crashing into on other the cleared tables, breaking it in twine. After a few rounds of cursing in his native tongue, phrases too vulgar to be accurately captured in any other speech, the underdweller bound back to foot, brushing splinters from his shredded garb.
"Well, that sure was smooth," the goblin mocked himself. "I sure hope no one... saw... that?" Peering about, every pair of eyes in the bar was laying upon him. The breaking table had awakened all the sleeping patrons, who gazed at him in a mixture of anger and confusion from their suddenly aroused state. Shaking off the fear and uncomfortable feelings, Bimblesnaff composed himself, corrected his posture, and cleared his throat, looking quite dignified for something so foul. Lifting a finger, his lips parted as the audience awaited an apology or good explanation. They saw no amends but, instead, his turned tail as the short freak darted towards the door. In a short while came the clash, as the goblinoid added to the growing pile of prostrate bodies.
"Oh... right," he recalled all too late. "... this."
Tripping over a woman was not the most of his problems. He did not know it, but the giant whose feet he laid at was looking for him. The shudder that he had carelessly dropped from a roof not too long ago found its way to his skull. His already hate filled blood was boiling at a second appearance of the short maniac. Additionally, their blunders of the night had caught the attention of a lurking demon in the shadows who found them of servicable entertainment.
While Bimblesnaff rose back to his feet, the elven maiden, in drunken stupor, asked in a slur for an apology from the impolite man who had knocked her down. With thoughts of the joy utterly destroying the goblin would give him preoccupying his mind, he pushed the woman aside with a "light" shove to read the green skin. But, "light" to an individual of his stature is much more forceful, especially when back by daemonic enchantments. Angered at the Mul, she shouted out a challenge, gargled by her loosely hanging tongue. The elf called upon the power of her Shamanic spirit, the Kamaitachi. Sadly, however, the throbbing headache from her binge made their presence short lived. Her intoxicated mind took some time to realize that nothing was assisting her and that she had just insulted and challenged someone three times her weight. With nothing else coming to her slowed mind, she tried flashing an innocent smile before her balance left her.
Eep
"Quite the interest," the greenskin noted to himself. "There certainly seems to be a high amount of nefarious beings transversing this location. Why, we have ourselves a," pausing, his far protruding nose took in a waft of the night air, "a... demon, of ... kinds over in those shadows, a ... demon mix of some kind, who smells ... abnormally angry, undoubtedly jealous from that elven doll completely digging me, one amazingly handsome and suave goblin, and, now, a Kamaitachi."
The channeled spirit brought back memories. Its very presence could be felt as the scar on Bimblesnaff's leg began to ache. It had been scores of years ago, so long that he had most nearly forgotten it. The stinging pain did wonders on speeding his recollection. He had been wayfaring the Nippon highlands, dragging along a sack full of various tidbits recovered from a Tengu's nest, when it struck. ... Well, they struck. Ripping through the open land like a storm rolling through the sky, the three carried out their routine. The problem was, a goblin's body did not react to the third's medicine like a lowly man, being the superior creature. As the second's blade tore itself deep from out the flesh, the herbs seared his goblin flesh. Enraged, he-
"-gwak!" Bogg's exploration of his past was rudely shortened as the waiting Mul half-breed tightened his grip about the tiny goblin. Difficult enough to get within his grasp, the revoltingly slimy nature of the green skin caused the strangle hold to literally slip from the demon's fingers. The kobold plopped on the ground with a solid thud, gasping desperately for air as he tended to his sore rump. Bimblesnaff had never known the putrid, overworld gas to taste so good but was sure the preference would pass soon.
His breath plentifully restocked, he made an empty plea to the demon-blessed, "Okay, how about we don't do that again?"
The giant man was not listening to the goblin's words, however, but those of the entertained demon. He had enjoyed their comedic display and did not wish it to end so fast. He whispered his dark tongue into his ear, twisting his thoughts and bending his will. He was able to convince him to let both of them live, no matter how much they deserved it. Tightly clinching his fists and shutting his eyes, he swallowed his yearning to kill, banishing it deep within his soul with all the other dark intentions he housed. When his eyes opened again, they were full of an eerie calm. He began an apology but paused, turning to the deserving elf to finish it.
Ending the Silence in End of Silence...
The group stood there in silence, with tension hanging thick in the air, for what seemed like forever. That, or a week. Between the run-ins, the strangle holds, and the creepy demon action, things had definitely not been going well, as was apparent to all, even those safely lodged within the tavern walls, away from all the happenings. To all, that is, except for...
"Hey, isn't this great," the goblin cheerfully proclaimed. "We've finally moved past the whole 'trying to kill each other' thing." Bimblesnaff paused in thought for just a moment, an occurrence which is less common than seeing a live unicorn, and questioned whether the crossbreed's action was one of threat or a gesture of apology. After all, he had seen must stranger practices in other cultures. His very own race punches one another in the gut with all their might as a greeting. A second thought formed pondering the mystery behind why he had seen no other goblins practicing this custom outside his homeland or on anyone besides himself. Sadly, as is the fate of most all his thoughts, it was replaced with the image of a basket full of kittens, which he then devours.
"Allow me to accept your apology, Sir... uh... Large... Man?" Bogg spoke in a loud and slow voice to the Mul as though he were a simple foreigner. As he paced towards the giant with his hands reaching out, he quickly realized the staggering difference in stature would make the gesture a bit more difficult to return on his part. His squat legs found difficulty in bounding his grasp even with the hulk's thick neck. After several failed attempts and losing any dignity he had, he gave up and settled for a simple nod. Exhausted from his leaping trials, he leaned backwards, bracing himself against the oversized weapon strapped to his back.
"I do not believe anyone has introduced themselves yet," the green one spoke with a hiss, still oblivious to the situation at hand. "I am the Lunatic, Bimblesnaff Bogg, and- by the pit! What is that!" The sudden outburst roared from the tiny goblin with an unbalanced volume to his size as the stunned abomination threw a large claw at Samoht's general direction. Deep within the shadows behind the Mul, Modrue laid hidden from site, so this obviously could not be what the goblin witnessed. No, it was far less spectacular. His filthy finger was crudely aimed at the towering individual's head. More particularly, a spot on his head.
"That is one wicked scar," commented the Ghobling on the near undetectable blemish. "It's all on the head, right where people can see it. And I'm sure we both know how much the damsels lust for scars," he slyly interjected, complete with elbow nudges and bouncing eyebrows. "So, where'd you get it? I bet there's an interesting story behind it!" The ire within the giant was rekindled. He could not believe the unspeakable ignorance the little one held.
"This scar," the brute growled through clenched teeth, "is from you dropping a piece of wood off of the roof of a building. That piece of wood you dropped, hit my head and caused this scar." Staring at him fiercely, he saw his gaze did not phase through his dense skull. "But, unfortunately, my regenerative abilities will soon make this scar nothing more than a memory, leaving nothing for the 'damsels' to lust after," he grumbled with a shrug. "But as for introductions," he continued, "my name is Samoht Fir'Nochen Ironarm. It has been quite an experience meeting you, Bogg." With a sigh, he turned to the elf. "My apology still stands. And I guess, if we are introducing ourselves, your name would be?"
Skew It
The woman stood speechless, swaying a little before simply swooning over softly against the alley wall.
"Huh, that's odd," stated the goblin. "I guess she shouldn't mix spirits with spirits," he lamely wise-cracked. "Know what I mean, buddy? Huh? Huh?" Again, he persisted with light taps of his elbow on his new "friend." There was no such creation, real or mythical, that could have appreciated that pun. The scales in Samoht's "step on bastard" decision were definitely swayed closer to balance by it. After about a minute of just jabbing his arm at the brute, the speaking of an apology resurfaced in his mind, and he ceased his action.
"Oh, so it... when I ... and then..." The goblin pointed about the scenery as he mentally reconstructed the occurrence in pieces, and, although rather faulty, it still retold the events of the shudder and the toss. The rest comprised of him sweeping away the bar maid and elf both in a gallant display of his prowess as he cleaved a study table in two in a single blow. "Oh, blargle gromph," he cursed in tongue unknown, "'Tis I whom should be apologizing for deeds gone afoul. My mind is still bewildered to how I could do something so foolish!" Rather than speak of carelessly tossing objects off high places as it would be taken by anyone of sound mind, the underdweller's twisted thoughts were actually referring to the incompetency of abandoning something so precious. He knew it could have served as weapon when he first tore it from a window, but that utility had been drowned out by a flood of other less meaningful ideas, including the wood's use as food. The surge was initiated by its retrieval, which, in itself, was still worth it despite all of the trouble that it eventually led to.
"Heh, she didn't realize it was gone for so long a time," he pleasantly recalled out loud, stuck half in a dream like euphoria, "until she felt the cold air on her skin." Realizing that his thoughts were being manifested vocally, the lunatic forced a cough as though it would confuse his listeners into omitting his words from their memory. "So, Ironarm you say? I think I met an Ironarm once in my days," chatted the green one in hopes of pulling the conversation away from his vulgar activities. "Or... maybe it was Blueleaf. 'Twas a tree, after all," quietly uttered the pondering Bogg, scratching his barely bristled chin with a broad claw.
Finish It!
The conversation dropping among the small grouping once more, the faint sounds of the surrounding nightlife could be more clearly heard. The green one's large, pointed ears were especially keen, standing up at a shrill cry off in the distance.
"That sounded like a girl," Bimblesnaff stated with abnormal concern, "a small one at that, and in trouble. How dare someone tamper with my food supply!" Fueled on rage, all else left his tiny mind: the place, the people, the events, all gone. In a mighty, high leap, he threw himself onto the alley wall to bounce off to the opposing side, making is way steadily up to the roof so that he could bound about without obstacles laying in his path to a potential meal. It would be the last they ever saw of him, or would have been, if he had not lost his footing and crashed back to the earth. The large weapon strewn across his back was unluckily there to worsen his fall. Splayed out on his back, groaning, a second shriek allowed him to find the strength to rise back up.
"Must... get up," he demanded of himself. "Must get to... girl first. Haven't eaten in... three hours." Rolling over, the lunatic bolted off on all fours in the direction of the distress, which he planned to be adding to when he got there. Whether or not he was to encounter them again was haunting his thoughts. He had nothing against the individuals he had just left, but there would be no memory of this brief meeting in a short while, the moment something else captures his fickle attention.
The goblin's mind is not some complicated puzzle, interwoven with smaller complexes. It more resembles a leaking chamber pot: its contents are questionable, it does not hold things for long, and makes a mess of everything around it. They could tell names, retell the events, show him the shudder he tossed, beat him with a stick as his parents did, or, even, reenact the short night with puppets given shiny buttons for eyes as to keep his attention throughout the length of the performance. While he would enjoy the shininess, no real good would be accomplished. However, they probably had no intention of seeking him out, either. With Bimblesnaff, once is enough.
