Dude! Where's My Princess?

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Love is an adventure, so they say. You know what is also an adventure? Leaving the world you know and entering a new one.

One Saturday, in a bit of a blue funk, Arwin tried to distract himself by helping out around his parents' house but quickly grew restless and put them aside. His breakup with Kelli had hurt worse than anything he'd ever experienced. In the time since, he'd been miserable, depressed, angry, and lost. His confidence had been crippled, his hope for a good future dashed. He'd drifted through all of this while trying to process it, but he hadn't managed to get past it.

Darkly, he was sure he was the only one going through this. He imagined Kelli completely unaffected by the breakup, entirely wrapped up in her job and her new relationship. Sociopaths have it so much easier. When they don't really care about others, they don't have to live with the consequences of having their heart broken.

Arwin was filled with gloom. He didn't know how to move forward, but he was sick of feeling this way. He wanted to be healthier. He wanted to be himself again. He wanted to be positive about the future once more. He wanted to move back out of his parents' house again because a thirty-something should have their own place, especially if he was ever going to try dating again. But how to achieve all that when he felt so blue?

It was very tempting to give up, but deep down, he knew better. He didn't really want to give up on himself. He couldn't just drift along like this forever, hoping things would sort themselves out. They might never do so. Like his father has advised, he had to be the agent of his own change and find a catalyst that would help him heal.

Feeling blah but trying to do something to change his mood for the better, he strolled into the living room where his father was watching a movie and asked, "Would you mind if I borrowed your car? I just, I dunno, want to go for a drive and get some air or something." Maybe it would help clear his mind enough to figure a way back to being normal and happy.

"Sure." His supportive father handed him the keys, no questions asked.

Arwin got into the car, started it, backed out of the driveway, and headed towards the main road. Without even really planning to, he found himself leaving the suburbs and aiming toward the highway out of town. Beyond was the vast and quiet countryside, nature everywhere. It was completely opposite to the crowded and busy city that housed the agents of his misery. Escape was just what he needed. Leaving the buildings behind, he felt his mood lighten.

He drove down the open highway, and a limitless stretch of straight road stretched out as far as the eye could see under a sunny sky that stretched from one horizon to another. It was all very stretchy. With each passing kilometre, he began to feel a little better. On either side of the road lay vast fields of golden wheat and bright yellow canola, punctuated with tractors and irrigation systems. And there were cows, of course. Looots of cows.

On impulse, he took a quiet, little-used exit, intending to park and simply sit for a while and enjoy the quiet and solitude. He drove down a gravel road. On one side of him was a wheat field and a forest beyond. On the other was a muddy cattle ranch full of lazy cows. Ok, that wasn't fair. Surely, only a few of them were lazy. Others were probably very productive at…whatever it was that cows did. Make cow pies? Guess it was difficult to have much ambition when your existence was restricted to a small, fenced-off ranch with nothing to do and nothing that could be done. Poor cows. He knew how they felt.

Yeah, he was still in a negative headspace.

He turned a corner, making his way past a small copse of trees and found himself speeding towards a giant pink dragon lying across the road. It wasn't far from a large pile of fresh-cut flowers, the kind you see as tributes left at a place where people have recently died. The dragon was monstrously large, with darker pink scales on its back and its wings, fading to light pink and then white on its underbelly and throat. The beast was munching on a freshly charred cow, smoke wafting from blackened beef. The dragon raised its great head and gave Arwin a stern look with large reptilian eyes.

Arwin's blue-green eyes went wide, and he gasped, "What the maple syrup?"

A little pink baby dragon waddled out of the tall grass next to the road. Arwin saw it at the last second and swerved the car. Desperate to avoid the creature, he shot right off the road at full speed and barrelled towards the copse of trees. The air in front of him shimmered.

One moment, Arwin was driving his car through cattle-filled ranches and fields of golden wheat in his native prairie homeland.

The next moment, he was off-road, careening through a bumpy field of tall blue grass. It was literally blue: vivid, deep, royal blue. And instead of the sound of crushing vegetation, as he rocked and rolled through the blades, the grass made soulful music.

Too stunned by the sudden change to react in time, he didn't see the tree in front of him until it was too late. His car thundered into it and came to an abrupt halt with the fender, hood, and engine wrapping around the immovable trunk like the car was giving it a big, metal hug. Blue spruce-like branches rattled the hood and roof of the car, each branch thick with blue moss in the shapes of various types of facial hair: French forks, Van Dykes, Xaén Dovéts, hulihees, goatees, ducktails and many more.

From out of a little door, high in the tree's trunk, stormed a tiny man. He was about the size of a squirrel and sported a lengthy blue beard. He wore 17th-century French aristocratic clothes: padded cobalt tunic and navy tights under a fur-lined cape, the royal-blue fabric embroidered with gold thread. A gold chain and medallion hung around his neck. He rattled off a string of blue language in Arwin's direction, the little man's face blue with the effort. Then he spun on his minuscule heel and vanished back into his abode.

Arwin turned his gaze in all directions, peering out the car windows. He shook his head, bewildered. Musical blue grass? A bluebeard tree with blue beards? A miniature man resembling the fairytale character of Bluebeard? But how could a man be only a handspan tall? What the hell was going on?

He unsnapped the seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Dazed, he looked around. "Where am I?"

All around, the scenery had completely changed. Endless prairie had been replaced by a small, blue field surrounded by towering, dense forest. Some trees he recognized, while others were completely foreign, like the bluebeard tree. And what he guessed was probably called a sandalwood tree. After all, the leaves were all shaped like sandals.

He took a closer look, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.

No, they were sandals, growing out of the branches. How was that even possible? He took a few steps through the knee-high, blue grass. A gust of wind came down out of the sky to tickle the rounded, blue leaves and a mournful wave of notes played through the meadow.

Arwin put his hand on his head and groaned, "I've lost my mind." He checked his scalp for blood. "I must have hit my head. I'm delirious. Hallucinating." He stepped backwards, and his foot landed on something hard. A despondent cry arose from below. Jerking his foot away, he looked down.

It was a blue stone. A rock. Coloured blue. And it appeared to be sad. How a rock could possibly have, let alone communicate, emotions struck Arwin as rather impossible, yet there it was. When he had stepped on it, the rock must have made that sad sound. Then he got it. The rock was feeling blue. That was — literal.

Arwin tried to wrap his head around his current situation.

He had been driving along, and everything had been normal. Well, until he'd taken that side road and nearly run into a freaking dragon. A pink dragon and its baby. As if colour makes the fact that there was a real, live dragon any more exceptional! He'd swerved so he wouldn't hit them, then gone off-road.

His head rose. Wait. The air. He remembered it shimmering for a moment. Some kind of portal?

He took a deep breath and tried to steady his whirling thoughts.

Looking around, it seemed that maybe he wasn't even on Earth anymore. Pink dragons, little blue men, sandals growing on trees: all were impossible.

…right?

He shook his head. It was no use. The situation refused to be wrapped up so readily in his mind. He continued to look around, hoping things were just his imagination, but the odd world in front of him continued to remain in place. No matter how many times he pinched himself, he refused to wake up from whatever this was.

He turned back to the car, the one piece of familiarity that he could find. Seeing the vehicle that he'd borrowed from his parents in good faith now resting in shambles, a fat stone of guilt weighed down his gut. He had recently been hit hard by misfortune and deep depression. Despite Arwin being thirty-one years old, his parents had gladly taken him in to help him recover. They'd loved him and supported him, doing what they could to help him get back on his feet. Just that morning, his father had entrusted his car to Arwin so that Arwin could get out of the city and get some fresh air in the countryside. And how had Arwin repaid that kindness? By destroying the vehicle.

The evil insurance company was doubtlessly going to milk his father for this by doubling insurance premiums. Crap. He sagged a little.

Looking at the crumpled front end, if the car wasn't a total write-off, then the evil repair companies would then charge his father half the price of a new car to fix it, money the family didn't have to waste. Double crap. He sagged a little more.

The repair company, of course, would probably sic their untrustworthy mechanics on the car, who would then do a half-ass job, and his father would then be forced to return three or four times to fix all the little mistakes they'd carelessly left behind in order to charge him even more money. Triple crap! He slumped to his knees in the grass.

All this because Arwin hadn't reacted better and had blundered carelessly into whatever was going on now. Life sucked. It was too overwhelming and disheartening to think about how miserable it all was, yet it was all he could think about. Arwin's shoulders drooped. How could he have let this happen? He was such a terrible son! Tears welled up in his eyes.

He rose and walked over to a nearby pine tree and leaned heavily on it. That poor car. It would no doubt end up being junked. He was going to miss it so much. Thinking about never seeing the car again was agony. A tear trickled down his cheek.

Giving up on everything, he closed his eyes and let himself slide down the rough trunk of the pine tree until he lay on the ground, needles poking into his back. His whole situation right now felt so glum. Everything had already seemed hopeless, and now here he was, screwed even more, stuck in some stupid, alien world. After all that he'd been through these past weeks, now this freak, unfair episode had made things even worse. He sighed, defeated. He felt so...blue.

At that thought, his eyes flickered toward the blue grass.

Ok, it was totally normal to feel down given the circumstances, but to feel this much sorrow so suddenly? This wasn't like him. The field itself couldn't be having an effect on him, could it? He looked around more closely. What did he see? Blue grass, a sad blue stone, a blue bird whistling a melancholy song while perched in a nearby limb of a blue spruce with drooping branches. He'd leaned against a pine tree and then begun to pine. Coincidence? Maybe not.

He spotted a nearby bush covered in deep blue berries. Perhaps a test was in order? He walked over and popped one into his mouth. It burst with sweet, ripe juice. He swallowed and immediately felt his sadness deepen. Blueberries that made you feel depressed.

Arwin smacked his forehead with sudden insight. They were puns! Things really were literal here.

Maybe just being here in this blue meadow was causing his feelings to worsen. The idea couldn't be any odder than everything else he'd already seen so far. Turning on his heel, he headed away from the blue grass and didn't stop until he was inside the edge of the forest.

Sure enough, the change of scenery brightened his mood considerably. Negativity melted away. He was able to stand straighter again and even, as hope returned, smile a bit. All he'd needed to do to feel better was get out of the bad place he'd been in.

Now, looking back, he had a very different perspective of the crash. The car looked so silly and incongruous out there under a bearded tree. Arwin actually managed to chuckle. Looking at things from this new angle, he could see that everything he'd experienced so far had been pretty crazy and worth a laugh. After all, he was pretty relieved to be alive after hitting that tree so hard.

Feeling better, he turned his thoughts to how to proceed. He muttered to himself, "We are definitely not in Kansas anymore." He thought about checking under the car for a wicked witch who had been accidentally flattened but then realized he'd prefer to live in ignorance and hope no angry witch sisters came looking for him.

Another thought occurred. This world was probably where that big, pink dragon had come from. So, um, yeah, likely more of those around, right? His head swivelled in all directions, eyes scanning the field, forest, and skies. No dragons. At least not in sight. Still…

Arwin pulled out his cell phone. Not really surprised, he saw that there was no cell service. He was on his own. A brief survey of the land told him that there were no nearby roads, no signs of civilization at all. The gravel side road that he'd been on had completely disappeared. There was only the car and a line of tire tracks leading back across the blue field until they vanished into the forest on the opposite side.

Staying with the car didn't seem to be very helpful because no one was going to come looking for him there. He could follow his tracks back the way he'd come. Perhaps he could find whatever dimensional door had allowed him to come there. He might be able to find his way back home to the familiar, comfortable world that he was used to. He reflexively took a step in that direction but stopped after a pace and two-thirds of another.

Hmmm. Actually, on second thought, returning didn't seem as appealing as it should. For weeks, he'd been in a pit of melancholy and despair, with his soul shattered into a million painful shards. He'd felt like he'd lost everything. He'd struggled just to keep going, to keep waking up from one morning to the next. Events aside, there were also reasons why he wasn't excited about a future there, why he felt like he didn't entirely fit in. So why go home?

Here he was, in a completely foreign place, with all kinds of mind-boggling things to see. New experiences, and perhaps new people, might be waiting for him.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Looking out over the field and listening to its mournful sounds in the breeze, he realized that he very much didn't want to go home. In a whole new world, a dazzling place he'd never before known, where he didn't dare close his eyes, he felt free of all that had been dragging him down these past weeks and excited about what might be discovered here. Why, there might be a magical flying carpet and a playful, ever-hungry monkey in his near future. Maybe even a comically lovable genie. Who wouldn't enjoy that?

He made his decision, and his mood rose. He took a deep breath and smiled. "Come on, strange new world; show me what you've got."

The first step was to survive here. He needed to learn more about his new environment. Hopefully, he'd be able to find some friendly people. Failing that, at least he needed some food and shelter. He didn't relish the thought of filling up on depressing berries and sleeping in his car in the blue grass field all night. He might wake up at two in the morning feeling suicidal. He shuddered.

Arwin picked a direction at random, which turned out to be northwest, and set off. Having always enjoyed forests, he entered a thicket of tall, blue spruce. The trees had blue-tinged bark, and the needles were a dark pastel blue, similar to blue spruce trees back on Earth. Soft ground strewn with dead, brown needles sank gently underfoot with each step. The clean smell of evergreens, er, everblues, permeated the air. Luckily, the sorrowful mood brought on by the blue grass field quickly faded behind him.

Gazing around, the forest floor seemed oddly tidy, as if — ah. He got it. Blue spruce — spruced up. To spruce up meant to make neat or trim, to take particular care in external appearance. The magic of the trees evidently included keeping their immediate environs clean. It seemed to apply to them, too, as each tree was a model of its kind with no sap dripping from wounds nor bug infestations to be seen. Even the branches seemed to have taken special care in where they'd sprouted so as to grow in an orderly fashion.

The blue spruce eventually mingled with other non-blue trees, and the forest appeared more normal in most respects. Arwin heard voices ahead and soon came across two young ladies.

They wore elaborately embroidered dresses evocative of Renaissance France, but the outfits were more slender in shape, without the wire frame inside that had been used on Earth to flare out the bottom of the dress.

He was elated to have come across other people! The women sat together on a log bench in a small clearing in the woods. He paused at the edge of the clearing, surprised. The skin of both women was light blue!

One of the ladies looked up and gave him a sad smile. "Oh, hello."

The other made a melancholy wave. "Hi."

Arwin approached. Both women had the most stunning blue eyes. Lips that might have been tinted with lipstick back home to get this blue hue appeared to be natural here.

Unable to stop himself from grinning at the sight of them, Arwin replied, "Hello."

The first woman stated, "You must be a traveller."

Arwin affirmed, "I suppose I am. How did you know?"

The second replied, "You're not blue. This is the Blue Region. All of the human folk here are blue by nature."

"You mean they're sad?"

She shrugged, "Perhaps a little more prone to being down than some, though not terribly so. I meant our skin colour."

"I see." He politely nodded, hiding the thrill coursing through him at meeting people from another world. This was incredible! "It's a sincere pleasure to meet you both. My name is Arwin."

The first rose and met his gaze with bright, round eyes that sparkled like sapphires, as clear as a winter's sky. Watery-blue curls fell in swirls and waves about her bare shoulders. Her fancy, sky-blue-and-white dress was festooned with ribbons. "I am Bleu, a belle of the Blue Region." She offered her hand, and when he took it, she daintily curtsied.

The second rose and looked at him with fine, mysterious eyes shaped like almonds. They were the shade of lapis lazuli with flecks of gold, and one look made you feel like you could drown in her mysterious gaze. Her hair fell long and straight to her waist, such a dark blue that it was nearly black. Her silk dress was two-toned, black and cobalt. "I am Aoi, also a belle of the Blue Region." She, too, curtsied, though in a more sultry manner.

Arwin noted, "Blue belles. A pun."

Aoi confirmed, "We are."

"We are two of the most beautiful women in Blue." Bleu twirled, the hem of her dress riding up high enough to show two perfect feet in white high heels.

Arwin wasn't sure how practical high heels were in the forest, especially white ones. He opened his mouth to ask one of the one hundred and two point six three million questions on his mind, but a faint tinkling of bells in the air interrupted him.

At once, both women drooped.

Arwin asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's the sound of bluebells."

"They are the most beautiful of musical flowers."

Arwin was confused. "But, why would that make you cry?"

Despondent, Bleu answered, "Because the sound so touches our hearts."

With sad frustration, Aoi added, "And because they are forever beyond our reach."

"Beyond your reach? Can't you just go over there and see them?" Arwin looked toward the source of the sound, but thick forest and a rising hill prevented seeing the flowers themselves.

"We can't." Aoi looked hopeless. "They grow only in the garden of one of the local bluebloods. He killed off all such flowers in the region, keeping only a few for himself so that only he may enjoy them. And he guards them zealously."

Arwin raised an eyebrow. "Blueblood? You mean aristocracy?"

Bleu nodded. "Yes. One of the vile nobles of the Blue Region. They are wealthy people who abuse their power and seek to keep treasures like this to themselves. They're the worst villains around. Except for the Dark Enchantress, but she lives outside the Blue Region."

There was a telling name. "Dark Enchantress?"

Bleu darkly informed him, "Wickedest witch in western Heartstone. Maybe in all of Heartstone. They say her heart is as black as the evil creatures whose company she keeps."

Aoi scowled prettily. "She's bad but a recluse, rarely venturing to our lands, whereas the nobles here oppress us every day. They're active tyrants. They keep everyone in the Blue Village as peasants. They force us to build them fancy mansions and to slave away for them in the fields and mines. We are kept busy from dawn until dusk cooking feasts and sewing fancy clothes for them while we subsist on meagre fare, and most wear little more than rags. The commoners barely scrape by while the bluebloods live like kings."

"But — and sorry if this is rude — both of you appear to be dressed very well."

Bleu explained, "The belles and the beaus, our male peers, have it slightly different. From a young age, the most attractive of the villagers are kept like birds in sapphire cages, spared any and all work as children. We spend most hours of the day learning all the ways we will need to please our future patrons."

He felt uneasy at the sound of that.

Her lips momentarily firmed into a line. "We're raised for the sole purpose of entertaining them. That is, until we become too old or boring to keep around anymore, after which we, too, shall become peasants no different than the rest."

Aoi sighed.

A surge of rebellion and anger rose within Arwin. Apparently, humans could be just as unfair and selfish in this world as in his own. He instinctively wanted to strike out at these bluebloods and make them pay. This was, no doubt, an emotional reaction due in large part to some of the events that he'd been through recently, but it also stemmed from who he was.

With a sour face, Bleu stated, "As children, life isn't so bad. It's mostly study and training. But once we become of legal age, our lives will no longer be our own."

The girls glanced at each other, communicating sorrowful frustration.

Arwin's brows rose. "Ah, and you two..."

Aoi nodded, shoulders tense, her anger rising. "Yes. We've both come of age. We are to be taken away soon. We'll spend the next decade closeted in their mansions, deprived of all freedom, unable to see our families or friends."

Arwin frowned, and his heart went out to them. "That really sucks."

Bleu gave him a sad smile. "Sorry. We're not usually this negative. But the way things are about to change in the next few days…"

"I understand." Arwin felt frustrated, too. He wished there was something he could do to help.

Aoi frowned for a moment, then shook herself and took a breath as if to wash her negative feelings away.

Bleu threw a longing glance toward the tinkling bells in the distance. "I do wish we could experience the bluebells up close. I know it seems silly and small to want something so inconsequential when there are bigger things in life. But it would cheer us up. That's why we've been sitting here, listening. The flowers are in the garden of Lord Azamont, just there." She pointed towards the thick part of the forest.

A breeze picked up, and a wave of tinkling bells carried to them. It really was a very pretty sound.

Arwin disliked seeing any worthy maiden, er, young woman in distress. The sight of their sorrow immediately compelled him to act. Sure, he probably couldn't do anything about the bigger picture of their lives, but perhaps he could bring them some small measure of happiness right now, however temporary. Wasn't that a worthy goal? He opened his mouth and began to offer his services when heart-rending images of the recent past popped into his head. Suddenly, he, too, felt very blue.

Betrayal.

Lies.

Pain.

His thoughts turned ugly. These two were probably just using their beauty and charm to manipulate him. They would probably lie and use him, encourage him to take risks on their behalf, and then throw him away as soon as they got what they wanted.

But a voice in the back of his mind told him that he knew better. He forced his depressing thoughts away. Deep down, it wasn't fair to treat these women as his enemies just because of what others had done to him. He wouldn't be someone who painted everyone with the same brush just because a few bad apples had spoiled the bunch.

Hmm. Was he mixing metaphors?

He took a deep breath and smiled, determinedly returning to good cheer. His personal issues aside, he felt a greater urge to strike out against people treating others so unfairly. Grasping a rising sense of boldness, he told them, "Belles, it truly makes me blue to see such lovely ladies lament. I shall fetch these flowers for you."

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Disheartened expressions melted away, and both blue women beamed up at him with pearly-white teeth.

Aoi's expression was brimming with hope. "You will?"

Bleu seemed excited. "But what of Lord Azamont? They are in his possession, after all. He's the most powerful noble in the land. And the most dangerous."

At that moment, Arwin didn't care. "No one person can own flowers. That's absurd. They are things of nature and beauty and, therefore, belong to everyone. I shall liberate them for you from his garden prison." Arwin wasn't sure where this dashing dialogue was coming from, but he felt energized at the prospect of tackling this problem. It felt good to have a goal after weeks of malaise. Perhaps his recent misery was making him reckless. Either way, it felt like the right thing to do.

Clasping his hands in her own, Bleu cried, "Oh, thank you! You're so brave."

Arwin headed off in the direction of the ringing bells, feeling like he could take on the world. He slid through a dense thicket and climbed a short rise. He quickly found himself standing before a tall brick wall that was just slightly higher than he could reach. Huge flowers the size of dinner plates, each with large but dimly-coloured petals, grew directly out of the wall itself. Most seemed to avoid any direct rays of light, almost as if they were shy. That puzzled Arwin for a moment, but he soon got it. He chuckled."Wallflowers." He stepped back, tensed his body, and then stepped forward, launching himself up towards the lip of the wall.

"Hey! Watcha doin' there, sunny?"

Arwin, surprised, slipped back down from the top of the wall and landed hard on his bottom. He scrambled up and spun about, looking for the source of the voice.

"Don't turn yer back on me when I'm talking t'you!"

Arwin jumped in alarm, then turned about. He scanned the top of the wall but saw no figure there. Who was talking?

"Eyes front, young man. You daft or somethin'?"

Arwin lowered his gaze. Then he dropped his jaw.

Eyes and a mouth had appeared on the face of one of the wallflowers. That's who was speaking!

He stammered, "Um-um..."

The flower spat, "Yes, Erysimum. Erysimum Wittmanii. That's my name." The eyes narrowed. "Watcha doin' here? You know somethin' about gardening?"

Arwin put on a confident air. "Yes. Actually, I'm Azimunk's new gardener."

"You mean Azamont?"

"That's what I said."

"No, you didn't."

"Speech impedimonk."

"Impediment?"

Arwin nodded. "Exactly."

"Ah." The wallflower sympathetically nodded. "Sorry to hear that."

"Thanks."

The flower's eyes became suspicious once again. "Hey, if yer Azamont's new gardener, why you climbin' over this wall?"

"Shortcut."

"Shortcut?"

"Faster than going all the way around, isn't it?"

The wallflower tried to give that some thought, but flowers probably weren't especially intelligent. It nodded. "Can't argue with that. Very well. Carry on then."

"Thank you, good sir." Arwin leaped up and caught the edge of the wall. Gracefully, he pulled himself up and peered over the top.

A display of botanical wonder lay before him. Flowers of every shape and size could be seen, from pinhead dots of red on carpeting moss to giant blossoms the height of a man. Beyond the garden stood an orderly row of trees, and a huge, three-story chateau rose beyond those. The aged edifice was formed of heavy, pale stone and sported blue roof tiles. Like the dresses worn by the blue belles, the building had a French Renaissance feel to it, with white-framed windows and black-iron balconies, flowery etching in the walls, and plenty of ornament.

The air carried a host of enchanting perfumes from the garden. It also carried the sound of bells. Arwin saw no one else in the garden just then: the cobblestone paths were empty. He heaved himself over the wall and dropped down to the other side.

Following the tinkling sound, he cautiously wormed his way through exotic foliage. He passed a trellis of grapes. On the ground rested a bucket full of picked grapes marked FOR WINE. Next to it stood a rack on which lesser fruit dried into raisins in the sun.

One of the sad, leftover raisins wined as Arwin passed, "Aw. I guess I'll never achieve grapeness."

Arwin followed the edge of what appeared to be a crop of riding whips. They were made of braided leather and lashed out at him as he passed. Then he ducked under a palm tree. He had to move fast because the hand-shaped leaves tried to grope him. He came upon a stream babbling through smooth, water-worn rocks. Not wanting to get wet, he climbed a tree on the bank, went out on a limb and then branched out until he was able to drop down onto the opposite bank.

He found himself in a vegetable patch. Weeds smouldered between neat rows of planted foliage. He thought he recognized the leaves of the latter as potato plants. Taking a step, his toe nudged a mound of dirt, dislodging it.

A potato looked up with red, blurry eyes from where it had been unearthed. "Hey, dude. Like, watch where you're going, man."

"Oh, sorry." Evidently, this was a baked potato. Ah, from smoking weed.

He walked by a fenced-off square with a quaint stone well. A dying tree drooped over both the well and some colourful flowers within the fenced-off section. A brown leaf, long dead, broke from the branch of the dying tree and gently fluttered down. The leaf landed on a bed of white carnations.

The leaf transformed into a honeybee, and Arwin leaped back in surprise. The insect momentarily hovered in the air as if confused, then it shrugged and began tending to the flowers. When the bee touched the blossoms, nothing happened to it; there was no further change.

Arwin realized it was because the bee was alive and the leaf hadn't been. Those were no ordinary carnations. They were reincarnations! Arwin's mind spun.

He continued. He failed to notice the patch of flowers growing on the edge of the path and bumped into them. They shouted up at him in response.

"Hey, clumsy! Begone, yuh!"

"Yeah, go away. Begone, yuh!"

"Begone, yuh!"

Arwin danced away from the pesky little flowers barking at him. Be-gone-yuhs.

He ducked out of the reach of some adorable snapdragons who blew fire and snapped at him with toothy little petals. Feeling hungry, he sampled fresh buttercups, spreading the butter over cornbread, growing hot and warm on tall stalks. He washed the snack down with edelweiss beer drunk from tall, white flower pods. The dirt below a few was wet, and the whole edelweiss patch smelled of hops and barley. Satiated, he moved on, admiring birds of paradise blooming high above him, careful not to come within reach of their long, sharp beaks.

Little blue flowers tugged at his jeans as he passed and begged him to, "Forget me not!" He guessed their name readily enough.

A beautiful black fox slunk through a hole under the base of the outer wall. It paused for a moment to regard Arwin with shrewd eyes but apparently found him no threat. Then it proceeded to place its paws into two flowers, fixing them on like purple mittens: foxgloves. Nodding with satisfaction at its classy new attire, the fox trotted back through the hole into the forest.

Arwin wondered what a fox needed gloves for. Perhaps it was just a very fashionable vixen.

Gladiolus blooms filled Arwin with a wave of gladness. It was very refreshing after the melancholy of the blue forest. He admired a patch of beautiful lady slippers. They grew next to a bench where one could sit and try them on for size, for they were, of course, real footwear, from pumps to heels to slippers.

For a few minutes, Arwin stopped and marvelled at the wonders around him. He could never have imagined such a place. It was totally unlike anything he'd ever experienced back home. For the first time in too long, true excitement welled up from within him, and he felt happy again, thrilled to be able to experience something like this. And grateful that something could take him away from the horrible depression he'd been submerged in for so long. He moved on with a skip and a jump of joy.

At last, he came to the bluebells. Their stems emerged from clumps of broad leaves and stood about half a meter tall. All along the stems dangled delicate blue bells, their petals metallic-looking as if they were shiny little Christmas decorations.

He bent to pick a couple and then stopped. He could pick the flowers and carry them back to the belles, but that would really only be a temporary gift, wouldn't it? They'd soon die. The more significant problem, that of this Azamont jerk having the only bluebells in the area, remained.

What Arwin needed to do was to dig up some of these plants and carry them back over the wall where they could be replanted and left to spread naturally. Then the belles and everyone else could enjoy them freely. He eagerly rubbed his hands at the idea and cast about for tools.

From a dilapidated garden shack, he armed himself with a trowel and a burlap sack. He went to work. In the span of fifteen minutes, he'd dug up a dozen full plants. All were superb specimens. He picked the first one up to put it in the bag. The bells harshly jingled, completely breaking their natural rhythm. With concern, he looked towards the chateau. If he handled the delicate flowers roughly, the ensuing cacophony would surely raise someone's unpleasant attention.

He waited, but it seemed that no one had noticed his blunder. He moved the plant very slowly and gently as he placed it within the burlap sack, roots and all, laying it down so that the bells stayed silent. Very carefully, he did the same with each of the other plants. He tied the sack shut with a length of twine and quietly slung the bag over his shoulder.

A voice shouted, "You there! What are you doing?"

Arwin whirled. An arrogant-looking, aristocratic man stood at the garden door to the mansion. He was tall and reedy and immaculately dressed in a half cloak, long-skirted tunic and tights. Like the belles, his heavily embroidered clothes were in the Renaissance style, and his skin was blue. He bore a thin moustache and pointed beard and glowered through small, wire-framed glasses. Two gentlemen behind him were dressed similarly, like actors from a Shakespearean play. One had a sword belted at his waist and wore a monocle over one eye.

The lead man exclaimed, "You're not one of my gardeners. How dare you pilfer from my garden, thief?"

That must be Azamont. Arwin recalled all that had been said about him and the bluebloods and how people like him caused pain in the world around them. Arwin spun and sprinted away. He paid no heed to the angry shouts behind him and dashed back through the exotic plants towards the point where he'd entered the garden. This time, he leaped the stream at full speed, just clearing it. Then he was at the wall.

This felt just like an event he had recently been practicing for with his good friend back on Earth: Storming the Wall. Only this wall was a little shorter, and he could climb it without help from a teammate.

He timed his jump perfectly. One foot landed between two wallflowers who cringed and tried to lean out of the way. Despite the vertical grip, Arwin pushed off the wall and was able to propel himself further upwards. His free hand grabbed the top of the wall. Pulling quickly while he still had upward momentum, Arwin managed to get his other foot cleanly on top of the wall. He looked behind him, the bag of stolen bluebells slung over his shoulder.

The three aristocrats skidded to a halt on the path behind him.

Azamont turned and pushed the other two men back towards the mansion. "To the horses! We'll ride the bugger down!"

Arwin turned and lowered himself down the wall on the forest side with one hand, then dropped to the ground.

The wallflower he'd spoken to earlier must have heard a tinkle coming from Arwin's sack as the young man landed. It archly asked, "Are those bluebells in there? Watchya doin' with 'em?"

Arwin innocently answered, "Just taking them for a walk. Show them around the forest. Trying to cheer them up so they aren't so blue anymore."

"Hmm. Oh. Ok." The wallflower nodded. "Carry on then."

Arwin grinned and hurried through the forest. In moments, he arrived in the little clearing.

Bleu and Aoi smoothly rose to their feet at his approach.

Bleu cried out, "Arwin!"

"Be not blue, blue belles, for I have your bluebells." Arwin opened the bag and revealed the contents.

Aoi gushed in surprise, "You've brought the entire plants! You brilliant man! Now we can plant these anywhere."

Arwin agreed. "And enjoy them anytime."

Azamont shouted from afar, "You there! Thief! Stop and prepare to die!"

Arwin saw Azamont and his peers emerge from the forest on steeds. They set about whipping the latter.

The foxy, black vixen with the new gloves exploded from a patch of brush and tore off across the meadow. She barked and startled the horses and riders, causing them to pull up in confusion and giving Arwin valuable time.

Fighting to control his mount, his face livid, one man exclaimed, "Why, those are our belles!"

The man with the monocle bawled, "Fiend! Death to the fool who dares touch our property!"

"Death because I stole some flowers? Are you nuts?" Arwin scrambled to his feet.

Aoi and Bleu rose, panic in their eyes.

Aoi pleaded, "You must flee!"

Bleu begged at the same time, "Run!"

Arwin took a half step, then paused. "I'll lead the nobles into the forest. Take the flowers and hide them away." Then he dashed off towards the trees.

A scream caught his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder as he ran.

Bleu and Aoi lay on the ground with arms over their heads, close to being trampled and killed, while the nobles callously ran their horses over the young women in pursuit of the one they believed had wronged them. While Azamont determinedly continued straight for Arwin, the other two took the time to have their horses stomp as close as possible to the belles, brutally scaring them. One misstep by one of the stallions would break bones or ravage flesh.

A cry of anguish for their plight caught in Arwin's throat. He felt a mixture of anger and guilt. The urge to turn and help almost brought him around, but Azamont was nearly upon him, and the other two nobles quickly left their victims behind to rejoin the hunt. Arwin plunged into the forest, hoping the women would escape unscathed.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Arwin fled from the bluebloods as fast as he could, heart racing from the danger and the pace, vaulting roots and gullies, swerving between trunks, and trying to find the most difficult terrain that might slow down the horses hot on his tail.

A thunderous crack sounded from above.

Arwin looked up into the pale, clear-blue sky. Something tumbled toward him. It seemed to grow larger as it fell. At the last moment, he threw himself to the side. Looking at the ground next to him, he blinked. "Huh? A bolt of cloth?"

Another sharp crack resounded through the forest. Arwin looked back and saw the nobles gesturing toward the sky. He looked up, and more specks appeared out of the blue. They fell toward him.

He threw his arms over his head for protection and continued to run as bolts of cloth, all kinds of steel bolts, and even bolts of lightning slammed down into the forest floor around him. Bolts from the blue! The way the men had cast their hands toward the sky, Arwin was sure they were some kind of magic users. Magic as real! That was awesome. But he was being attacked with spells. That was much less exciting in person than when it happened to other people in books.

Steel bolts painfully ricocheted off Arwin's shoulders and back. A bolt of cloth caught the side of his head, stunning him. He slowed and stumbled around the forest floor. A bolt of lightning just missed him, splitting a nearby blue spruce instead. The tree moaned with despair as it fell into two pieces, one of which caught Arwin and knocked him to the ground, trapping him.

Arwin clutched his aching head and looked up at the three horsemen reining in above him.

The monocled man was obese, with fleshy jowls and small, pig-like eyes. With vicious glee, he enthused, "Let's gut him!"

Azamont growled, "No. I shall grind him into paste and turn him into fertilizer for my flowers."

The third man spoke with icy calm, "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Control your savage urges." He was tall and reedy thin, a calculating look in his eyes. "Waste not, want not, as they say. He's a fine, strapping lad. Look at the muscle on him. Why kill him when we can put him to work as one of our slaves? The livestock always needs replenishing."

Monocle reluctantly nodded, double chin bobbing, looking like he'd prefer to see blood spilled. "Ah, make a blue-collar worker out of him. I like it. Though it means the chase does lack a satisfyingly bloody ending."

Azamont snarled with resignation, evidently seeing the other man's good sense, although not happy about it. "Very well. Always the voice of reason, Tremblée. I suppose we should be grateful."

Tremblée reached a spindly arm into a saddlebag and pulled out a blue metal ring. He dismounted and snicked it closed around Arwin's neck. It was a collar, much like a dog might wear.

Arwin heard the lock click shut, and an immediate change came over him. This was worse than the blue field had been. Now, he wasn't just melancholy; he felt downright beaten. He felt lower class. He felt hopeless. When they hauled him to his feet, his shoulders sagged, and his back stooped. His only method of walking seemed to be the trudge: the slow, weary, depressing walk of a man who has nothing left in life and who moves only at the behest of his betters. He'd been transformed into a blue-collar worker and their slave.

They herded him through the evergreen (everblue-and-green?) forest until they came to a large, open area that looked like a dirty scar carved into the natural landscape. Many men in blue slave collars chopped down pines and spruce and hammered rocks to smithereens. Insufferably smug-looking men in black suits with white shirts, some with white collars and others without, stood above the blue-collared workers, the whites armed with whips and lethal-looking calculators. They moved and spoke in a way that proclaimed their superiority to the world. Although, when then they saw their blueblood masters, they transformed into weasely brown-nosers.

Azamont kicked Arwin in the back, propelling him to his knees before a white-collared manager. "Put him in the blue man group. Work his fingers to the bone. Make him bleed."

The obsequious white-collar manager fawned up at the noble on horseback. "Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. As always, your every word is my willing command, my great and magnificent lord." As soon as the nobles had their backs turned, the demeanour of the white-collar man changed. He became domineering and pushed a very sharp pencil into Arwin's chest, drawing blood.

Arwin winced. But he made no move to defy the pencil pusher. For some strange reason, his will to fight had been sapped. What would be the point, after all? This man was a manager. Therefore, he was Arwin's natural superior, wasn't he? If Arwin fought back, he was sure to lose. It was inevitable because blue-collar folk were naturally inferior. They were incapable of rising up against their betters.

The man haughtily thrust a business card in Arwin's face. "See that, maggot? I've got a title. Says Middle Manager. Can you read that? You know what that title means, maggot? It means I'm better than you. It means I'm more successful than you. It means you're just a lowly, inferior, no-good, nobody. And you'll always be a no-good nobody." He pushed the pencil into Arwin's chest again. "Maggot."

Arwin gasped. That really hurt.

"Get up. I said up!" The man's whip cracked, eliciting a sharp sting from Arwin's leg and drawing a fleck of blood.

Arwin rose, feeling empty of happiness like his soul was a barren void of despair. What else could he do? This was his lot in life, wasn't it? It's not like he could ever hope for anything better. This is where he deserved to be. It was just the way he was born. He'd been made lesser than other men. He was stupid. Lazy. Incompetent. Incapable of anything in life. He could never become one of the white collars. And he could certainly never become one of the bluebloods. He was just a simple worker. It was his function to be used as a tool for others. Disposable, if necessary. Just like he'd been back on Earth.

The manager cracked the whip again. "Get over there and start breaking rocks, maggot."

Arwin meekly complied. He found a sledgehammer and started on a small boulder. For hours, he complied without question. The hammer went up; then it came down. Stone chips flew. He repeated the process. It was back-breaking labour. Though he was no stranger to such work, his hands eventually grew red and blistered at the endless rhythm. Each swing drew power from overworked muscles. Sweat poured off his body, soaking his clothes. He became as filthy as all the other blue-collar workers.

As they worked, a blue man, totally nude, periodically streaked the blue-collar workers, jiggling as he jogged. He'd run up to each slave, bend over, and breathe a blast of foul air at the poor worker. Then he'd laugh, his belly rolling in waves, before capering off to do it to another.

The white-collar workers, probably because they were never targeted, did nothing but laugh and encourage the uncouth behaviour.

A white-collar worker howled, "Ah, to be outdoors and breathing all that fresh air, eh, boys!"

When the bad breath blast happened to Arwin, he gagged and caught sight of a truly rotten set of teeth before turning away.

A whistle sounded. The middle manager came over to Arwin. "Eating time. You'll need the energy for your next shift."

Arwin dumbly nodded and shuffled off towards a crude wooden canopy under which the other blue-collar workers were gathering. On the way, he watched as the white-collar workers met in a picturesque white gazebo. Eating like gluttons, they downed ice-cold lemonade and feasted from a buffet of succulent delights: barbecued steaks, stacks of corn cobs, bowls of caviar, lobster tails, a dozen kinds of bread, and an array of pasta. There was so much glorious food laden on their tables that it could have fed all the whites and blues together twice over and still remained only half touched. Much of it would go to waste.

The blue-collar fare was much less appetizing. It consisted of lukewarm gruel, one ladle per bowl. No seconds. Arwin took his and planted himself in the dirt under the wooden roof next to his comrades.

As he ate in misery, something nagged the back of Arwin's mind. Something was wrong, something about his situation. But what? Was it his nutritionless food? His downtrodden lot in life? When such rebellious thoughts dared invade his mind, he felt a flare of anxiety. Instinctively, he tried to bury them. But they would not be denied. Something in his subconscious refused to be kept down. Near panic, he could only watch as the rebellious emotion wormed its way up and burst from within, swamping his mind with illicit ideas.

Arwin's eyes widened. He remembered. He remembered who he was and why he was here. This was no natural place for him. It was a prison unfairly enforced on him by the white collars and the other self-styled elites. He had to break free.

He wanted to rise but still found it difficult to control his body. His movements were sluggish, resisting attempts at independent action or freedom. He reached up for the collar and experienced a nasty shock as he tried to unlock it.

The man next to him advised, "Careful, son. That's not wise."

Arwin looked over at the speaker. Like everyone else he'd seen so far, the man had blue skin. Arwin flexed his fingers, trying to make the pain go away. "How do I get it off?"

The man looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Off?" asked another with a blank look on his face.

"What do you mean, off?" asked a third, equally unable to comprehend.

"I mean off," Arwin replied. "I want to remove the collar. How?"

The third man shook his head. "Oh, we don't take them off. Never. We're blue-collars. Taking them off would be trying to step above our lot in life. That's not right." He shuddered as if just thinking about the idea scared him.

The others nodded in agreement. They each slid a handspan further away from Arwin, putting distance between themselves and the fool talking about removing collars.

Arwin shook his head. "This isn't your lot in life. It's no one's unless you choose it for yourself. No one is born into this, and we shouldn't be forced into it while those whites and blues lord it over us, doing little to no work themselves. They're no better than we are."

The blue-collar workers rapidly slid even further away. They all refused to meet Arwin's eyes.

The one beside Arwin shook his head, very serious. "It is our lot. I can feel it in my bones."

Another man gestured to the white collars, noting, "They remind us daily. They're our betters, so they would know."

Arwin grew angry, and the emotion helped fight the magic controlling him. "This is not your lot in life. You feel like this because they're manipulating you into believing it. It's a lie."

"It is?"

Despite their illicit nature, Arwin saw his words slowly reaching a couple of the workers. Others were listening, even though most pretended not to be.

Arwin affirmed, "Yes. It's all lies. Everything they tell you is. They're no different than you or me. No better. They only make us believe it so that we stay beaten down, slaving away for them, making their lives better while we take less in return for our labour."

"But, that's not fair," a man said, scratching his head in thought.

"No, it's not," Arwin agreed. "They're selfish."

The man beside Arwin frowned. "Selfish?"

"They steal from others or trick them into giving up their fair share for less in return. They take more than they earn or deserve. The white collars are selfish. And the nobles are worse."

A slowly growing anger rose within the blue-collared workers around Arwin. Faces once dull and haggard, now twisted with emotion, perhaps for the first time in a long time. Some murmured to themselves, giving voice to dangerous thoughts.

Arwin pressed his case. "They're not real leaders. They're just using us for their own gains. They don't care about us; they don't treat us fairly. Look at us. We work all day, breaking our backs for them. We eat this garbage," he lifted his empty bowl, "while they gorge on all that." He pointed at the pavilion. "Why? Why do we get gruel for our hard labour, and they get to feast when all they do is watch us work and tell us what to do? What gives them the right? What have they earned?"

The men all looked over at the gazebo. Faces connected to ravenously hungry stomachs grew angrier at the sight of the white collars stuffing their faces and reaching for more, or worse, taking one bite of something and then carelessly tossing the rest away. Blue-collar stomachs rumbled.

Arwin pointed at his collar. "How do we get them off?"

Some of the men looked uncertain about actually doing something to change their state. Others were bolder. Some were dismissive.

One of the men jeered. "Maybe you should ask for magic help. The Dark Enchantress lives just over yonder in the swamps. Ask her to take it off for you."

The others laughed.

Serious, Arwin asked, "Would she help?"

More laughter.

One man answered. "Some say she's a crazy old crone whose power is as great as she is ugly. Others say she's a power is as great as her breathtaking beauty. The one thing everyone agrees on: she's evil, through and through. She'd kill you as soon look at you."

Another blue-collar man leaned forward, a furtive look on his face. "I heard that she's a cannibal. Whoever is foolish enough to venture into her territory, she snatches them and carries them off to her dinner table. Then she proceeds to eat them. Raw. They say she loves the taste of raw flesh and blood."

"Probably eat you just as soon as look at you," the previous man said, glancing over his shoulder with a fearful look as if he expected that talking about the Enchantress might summon her. "The only person she'd ever help is herself."

Heads nodded in agreement. The mood of the circle grew even more fearful.

Another man, older, spoke, "It's babies she likes best. She spirits her way into houses in the light of full moons. She steals our children and grandchildren while they're still in diapers. It's their new, tender flesh she's after. Because it's the most succulent."

"No, it's their youth she wants! She eats them to stay young. She uses them in elaborate magical rituals, and their youth allows her to live forever."

"And she always leaves a substitute in their place. Fills the cradles with goblins and vermin and the like."

"She rides a broomstick, has wild hair as coarse as metal wires, and her eyes are as red as blood. She's the most hideous creature in existence!"

"She's a witch!"

"A demon!"

The fear in the men was contagious. Arwin felt it affecting himself, and he'd never even met the Dark Enchantress. "So…, what you're saying is she wouldn't help."

A man sharply nodded. "Exactly."

Trying to remain calm, Arwin noted, "Well, if she won't help, then the Enchantress isn't a very helpful suggestion. Anyone have a better idea?"

The man next to Arwin hesitated, then spoke, "The collars work on blue tooth technology."

"Bluetooth?" Arwin frowned. "Wireless tech? Here?"

The man shook his head. "No. Blue tooth. Teeth. Like mine." He opened his jaws and pointed inside his mouth. His teeth were a very light blue. Then he pointed to a hole in the front of his collar. "You need to insert a tooth here. Then it can open."

Arwin felt a little sick. "So we have to knock someone's teeth out to escape?"

A blue-collar worker chuckled. "Good luck. Blue teeth have really deep roots. Trying to remove a healthy one would probably just break it. Then the tooth wouldn't work."

Arwin frowned. "Hmm. I wish there was some other way to open these things. I don't really want to start pulling anyone's teeth."

One man wondered, "If only there was a key we could use."

A bulb flashed over Arwin's head, startling him. But it was gone so fast that he almost doubted it had been there in the first place. He blinked, then spoke, "Say, how about a dental key? If it's for real teeth, would that work?" He'd once seen a dental key in a museum. They looked like a t-shaped corkscrew, used to open wine bottles, but for teeth. They were no doubt extremely painful to experience firsthand.

The man beside Arwin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe. But what's a dental key?"

An old timer put in, "I heard of them. Not used anymore. Hard to find. Heard they're only found once in a blue moon."

Everyone looked disappointed at that.

Thinking of the puns he'd encountered so far, a horrible idea came to Arwin. He groaned, "Oh no."

The man beside him asked, "What's wrong?"

Arwin shook his head in unease. "This world is literal, right? There are puns here? I'll bet we have to find an actual blue moon."

Half the group instinctively glanced upwards.

"But it's daytime," said the old timer, "and our moons are white and red. Blue moons are rare. They only happen after a forest fire or volcano 'cause of the dust particles in the air. Then, the white moon appears blue temporarily. Besides, how could we possibly reach the moon itself?"

But Arwin wasn't talking about that moon. He sighed. "Guys, we've been watching a blue moon orbit us all day."

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

The old timer frowned, then caught on and burst out laughing. A moment later, the others got it, too.

"The naked guy!"

"A not-so-heavenly body. A local one!"

Arwin nodded. "I'll bet he has one. We've got to capture him and get a key from him." He thought quickly. "We need a distraction. Something to keep the white collars off our backs long enough to tackle the man."

"Why don't we start a fire?" a very stupid man suggested.

Arwin kept his voice patient, like speaking to a baby, "Um, why don't we think of something that won't rapidly get out of control and burn up the forest we're completely surrounded by, putting us all in mortal danger?"

"Oh." The dullard nodded. "That's smart. So, what should we do about the one I already started?"

"The one you—?" Arwin jumped to his feet.

The dullard pointed behind himself. A small fire burned in the grass and weeds just outside the dirt floor they all sat on.

The man beside Arwin shouted, taking leadership, "Put it out! Put it out!"

Frantically, the men rose and sought to put the fire out. They beat at it with clothes and tossed the meagre remains of their gruel at it, but nothing helped. The grass was dry, and the fire rapidly spread.

Soon, the white collars caught wind of the smoke, and, shouting, they also went into panic mode.

Arwin caught the old timer's arm. "Now's our chance! Keep the white collars occupied! I'll find the blue mooner!"

The old timer nodded and set off yelling, calling the white collars towards the fire.

Arwin found the man who had been sitting next to him earlier. He pulled him aside. "Hey. What's your name?"

"Me? Jacque."

"Jacque. Grab a couple of men. Let's get the mooner and find that key so we can free ourselves!"

The man nodded. He turned and pulled two big, athletic men away from fire fighting. Together, the four raced to the edge of the forest, seeking the point where the mooner had last been seen.

They found the nude man curled up, taking a nap. They cautiously surrounded him and moved in.

A twig snapped underfoot, and the mooner woke. His eyes widened in surprise. "Ah! Whaddya want, ya slaves?"

Arwin held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "You have a special key, don't you? A dental key?"

The mooner shiftily looked back and forth. "Ain't got no key."

"So you do have it!" Arwin stated with a confident smile.

The mooner looked at Arwin in surprise, eyes wide. "How'd you know that?"

"You used a double negative. Ain't got none means that you do have one. Also, you just confirmed it."

The mooner scowled. "Drat!"

"Please," Arwin begged, "we need that key to free people from their collars."

"Bah! And ruin my fun? Never." The man crossed his arms with a smug grin. "Why don't ya get back to your rock breakin', and I'll be along shortly to give you something special." He evilly chuckled.

Arwin shared a glance with Jacque. The other man shrugged, and Arwin nodded. Together, they advanced on the mooner.

Realizing his predicament, he put up a fierce fight. It took all four of the men to subdue him. They pushed him to the ground so that he lay on his back and then sat on him.

"You'll never get it, you scum!" The mooner spat at them, helpless and furious.

One of the blue collars asked, "What now?"

Arwin interrogated the mooner. "We need that dental key. Lives are in danger! Where is it?"

The obese man gave them a fierce snarl, showing a mouth full of rotten teeth. Then he laughed. A cloud of revoltingly bad breath struck Arwin full in the face, making him reel backwards and gag. "Ha! Good luck getting anything out of me!"

The blue-collar leader remarked, "He's not being very helpful."

They tried repeatedly, but the disagreeable man refused to cooperate, saying nothing more, just grinning at them like he knew something that they didn't.

Arwin glared at him. Then he had an epiphany. A very repulsive one. His face fell. He muttered, "Oh no. Once in a blue moon."

Jacque cocked his head, curious. "Yeah? Ok. So we got him."

"No. Once in a blue moon."

They all looked down at their prisoner.

The prisoner's face became wary. "Hey now…"

Arwin looked around at the men. "So, who wants to do the honours?"

They all looked at him.

Jacque stated, "It was your idea."

Arwin sighed. "Right." But what needed to be done must be done.

They maneuvered themselves so that the prisoner stood, and Arwin got behind him, arms around the other man's lower stomach. The others held the man's arms out while Arwin pulled, doing the Heimlich manoeuvre.

The mooner's stomach heaved but brought up nothing. As Arwin paused, he let out a burst of not-so-fresh, mocking laughter, the cloud coming from his mouth killing a passing fly and two mosquitos. "Come on then. What are you waiting for? Weaklings!"

A blue-collar man urged, "Hurry! They'll come for us soon."

Arwin gritted his teeth and did his best. He heaved again several times, then something spit from the mooner's mouth, something that didn't belong inside a human body. The mooner passed out from the effort and pain.

"Got it!" Jacque held up an old-fashioned dental key.

Arwin wondered how something so dangerous and sharp had remained harmless inside the nude man. Magic? Or the most advanced bowel gymnastics of all time?

The mooner regained consciousness and saw their prize. He pouted.

One of the blue collars asked, "Now what?"

The mooner shouted, "Now you get lost!" He bared his rotten, blue teeth and tried to bite the man closest to him.

Jerking out of the mooner's way, Jacque exclaimed, "His teeth! Take his blue teeth!"

The mooner's head snapped around, and his eyes focused on the key. "Hey, now. Wait just a minute—"

Arwin broke in, reasoning with him, "Look, you obviously need dental surgery. I'll bet those things cause you a lot of pain, don't they?"

The mooner glowered at him but didn't argue the point.

Arwin continued in a practical manner. "You know, rotten teeth contribute to infections and heart disease. Those things are dangerous. You really should have them taken out before things go even worse for you. You don't want those foul things to kill you, do you?"

The mooner mumbled, "No, I suppose not."

"A couple of minutes quick work and you'll feel better and healthier. And likely live longer. I promise."

The fat man frowned and glanced at the others, then at the key. He grumbled, "Fine. Get on with it."

The inside of the man's mouth would probably terrify any real dentist. Arwin gave a sharp twist, and the mooner howled in pain. But a rotted blue tooth emerged. Arwin, despite always taking good care of his own teeth, mentally promised himself to brush and floss twice as much in the future to avoid getting a mouth so black and revolting inside.

He hurriedly fit the freed tooth into his collar's hole. The lock clicked, and the collar dropped off. He immediately felt better, and his positive emotions were restored. Arwin grinned. He reached for the collar and tried to extract the tooth he'd used but puzzled over it. "It won't come out."

The mooner's face clouded with fear.

Arwin shrugged sympathetically. "Sorry. Looks like we're going to need more. But that's good for you. You've got a mouth full of bad teeth. Though you might need dentures after this."

The mooner howled and whined as Arwin extracted all his rotten teeth. He passed out from the pain more than once, only to reawaken with the next pulled tooth. It left the mooner with about six good ones. And a very bloody orifice. Arwin wished he had time to help. But at the man's stubborn insistence, they left him alone, and he sat in the dirt, thoroughly wallowing in a blue funk, tears streaming down his chubby face and bloody drool trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

The other three blue collars quickly freed themselves. All seemed to feel immediately lighter in mood as hope and independence returned. All smiled.

Arwin held the remaining teeth up. "Let's free the others and then get out of here."

They raced back to the work area. Even before arriving, smoke blurred their vision. They pulled up at the edge of the area in horror. The fire had exponentially grown. Bright orange flames now covered half the forest surrounding the work clearing. Blue trees had gone up in flames, worse than a typical fire, and it was scorching. The flames had even turned blue there.

Arwin protected his face with one arm. Blue flame on wood burned at about…a lot of hundreds degrees Celsius, if he remembered science class correctly. Which he obviously didn't, because who remembers exact details like that years later? He knew it was a lot. At that high temperature, just about everything it touched would be destroyed. Even some metals would melt. He looked for what workers remained in the area. Both blues and whites were huddled together in the white gazebo. White-collar workers, those with slave collars, were using some kind of water magic to hold the fire off, but they fought a losing battle. The white-collared workers who didn't have slave collars had already abandoned the situation and disappeared.

A blue-collar worker next to Arwin insisted, "It's too late to do anything."

Arwin insisted back, "We have to help."

Jacque put a hand on Arwin's shoulder to restrain him. "The fire will get us."

"Gotta try anyway." Arwin sprinted towards the gazebo. He was fast. He braved the edge of the flames, feeling them singe his skin, and soon reached the men inside the gazebo. "Here!" He thrust the blue teeth their way. "Put them in your collars! Unlock them!"

Those blue men who weren't in a blind panic grabbed the teeth and freed themselves. As soon as the magic ceased compelling them to stay, they turned and ran for the hoped-for safety of the forest.

Arwin noticed that the white-collar supervisors with slave collars weren't removing their collars or running. They kept uselessly fighting the out-of-control fire. Were they just as trapped in a system ruled by the bluebloods and their manipulative ways and unable to free themselves? He forcibly tried to use the mooner's teeth on a white collar, but the white devices must have run on white tooth technology; blue teeth were ineffective. There was nothing he could do.

He urged the white collars, "Get out of here!" But they refused to flee, no matter how much fear was in their eyes. "Why do you stay?"

Flinging a water bomb at the fire, one shouted back in a terrified voice, "We have to!" The bomb exploded, clearing a patch of flames for one brief moment. Then, the flames swamped back over the spot. "It's our job! We can't abandon our posts. We're not paid by the hour. We're on salaries!"

Another howled, "Even if we did, the bluebloods would never forgive us! We'd never get promoted again! We might even get fired!"

Arwin shook his head and silently cursed. Those selfish nobles and their compulsion methods were about to condemn all these men to their deaths. They had been turned into disposable tools. He desperately tried to pull the white slave collars off by hand while simultaneously screaming at the remaining blue-collar workers to use the blue teeth he'd brought them, but it was no use. The few remaining blue-collar workers were beyond rational thought. They huddled in fear, incapable of even saving themselves.

A hand grabbed Arwin from behind and hauled him backwards. It was Jacque. He screamed in Arwin's ear, "Let's go!" barely heard over the roaring flames.

Arwin had no choice. It was run or doom themselves like the others. He and Jacque ran for the one side of the forest not yet burning. They caught up to the others, everyone in wild-eyed panic as they tried to escape. They tried anyway, but it was no use. The fire quickly circled around through the forest, cutting off their only route. The group came to a panting halt.

One of the men pointed ahead. "What in the blue blazes?"

Arwin and the others looked.

From within the flames, and entirely unscathed by them, probably protected by magic, rose a monstrous computer monitor, the CRT kind common in the nineteen eighties and nineties: big, heavy, and ugly. It was the size of a small movie screen with a shell of hard, beige plastic. The screen was uniformly blue.

A man screamed in denial, backing away, "No... No...!"

Others followed suit.

Jacque cried, "It's the blue screen of death! Run away!"

Sure enough, the only thing written on the screen were the words 'BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH' in pixelated white letters above an icon of a four-paned window. Then those words faded away and were replaced with 'A problem has been detected. You must be shut down. The problem seems to be caused by the following:' followed by an incomprehensible string of characters and words and computer gobble-de-gook signalling a stop or exception error. The CRT screen advanced.

Men howled with fear and ran.

Arwin stood rooted, unable to believe what he was seeing. He watched the monitor float through the blue blaze towards the men. Blue death rays shot out from the screen. Each man screamed once when struck, then froze and toppled to the forest floor, dead. Jacque tried to dodge but was hit as well and killed.

The fire surrounded Arwin, and there was nowhere to go. People were dying, and he had no way to save them. He felt helpless.

The blue screen of death turned and oriented on him.

Arwin needed to escape. But what could he do? Negativity crashed down on him once more. He struggled to fight it off, battling the notion that he should just give up on his life. He wanted to live. He had to be stronger than his negativity.

Blue death rays shot out from the monitor.

Arwin moved aside at the last second, using every ounce of his athletic ability to prevent the rays from touching him. He scrambled around the edge of the forest, dodging blasts and trying to stay alive. Yet, what was the point? The fire was everywhere now. There was nowhere to run. He was trapped.

Or was he?

Arwin dove for cover behind a thick spruce. Cautiously peering around the trunk, he studied the oncoming screen. It was massive and implacably hostile. He paused. The only course of action one could take with those old computers when they had a problem was to restart them. Could he do the same to this magical, technological monster?

Arwin's eyes searched the edge of the machine. A death ray flashed, and he threw himself to the ground to avoid it. Then he saw what he'd been looking for. There, on the bottom right of the screen, was a button labelled RESTART!

This was his chance. Arwin shot forward, feet plowing up dead needles and soft forest soil in his haste.

The blue screen of death, not expecting prey to come at it, overshot its mark with its next shot.

Arwin dodged and feinted. Blue rays flashed, but each barely missed, a combination of athleticism and luck. Ten meters. Five. He ran on.

A blue ray caught Arwin in the chest. He screamed, hand outstretched, and felt a sizzling heat shoot through his body. But he somehow stayed on his feet, and his forward momentum kept him on course. His frozen hand hit the RESTART button.

Arwin's vision went black.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

There was an indefinite period of nothingness. Then bright sunlight blinded Arwin. He rocked and rolled in his seat as the car sped through the musical blue field. Instinctively, he slammed on the brakes and twisted the wheel. The car swerved, slid sideways, and came to a halt a hand's breadth from the bluebeard tree.

The aristocratic little man living inside the tree opened the door, poked his head out, frowned, cursed until he was blue in the face, and then slammed the door.

Arwin quietly sat in the car seat. Heart pounding, he tried to bring his thoughts into order.

He'd been trying to rescue those people. Then there'd been the fire. Then, the blue screen of death. He remembered dying.

And yet here he was. Why?

It must've been pure luck. His hand must have hit the restart button just in time, and now he'd restarted. Yet he felt no joy, not even relief. It didn't feel like a victory. After all, he'd died.

He felt shaken to the core. It was difficult to think. His hands trembled on the wheel.

Looking out the car window in a daze, everything was just like it had been when he'd first arrived in this world. He climbed out of the car. A bluestone gave a despondent cry, just like it had before. There was the sandalwood tree full of sandals. The field of blue grass made soulful music as the wind blew through it.

He felt himself falling once more into depression, that familiar, sinking feeling he was becoming all too used to.

Was this the sum total of who he was in life: a failure? He'd failed to keep his ex-girlfriend's love and someone's friendship. He'd failed at living the life expected of him, the life so many others seemed to throw themselves into without question. Coming here, he'd failed to help or protect Bleu and Aoi. Then he'd failed once more with the collared workers.

Maybe he should give up on everything. What was the point of trying in life if it only led to so much disaster and pain? He'd been restarted in this world out of nothing but luck. Perhaps this was life's way of telling him to turn around and go home. He'd get a regular job and live a normal life, even if it was alone and miserable.

A spark of anger flared from within the darkness coalesced around his heart.

He growled, "No." He slammed the car door shut and stalked through the blue field and into the forest, only coming to a stop once he'd left the melancholy area behind.

He stopped amidst the trees and looked up through a space between the branches. There was no smoke over the forest, so the fire hadn't happened. Probably, all the blue-collar workers were still alive and well. The white collars and the mooner and the belles were hopefully alive and well, too.

He looked up at the brilliant sky and contemplated the fluffy white clouds floating by. A pair of griffins soared overhead.

Arwin knew that he was being negative. He knew that it was depression, disappointment, and pain pushing his thoughts around and that he shouldn't give in.

He thought about returning to Earth, about giving up on this strange, fantasy world and going home. He thought about trying to live his old life or some version of it, the life that Kelli had wanted him to lead. Find a corporate career or something and force himself to stick to it. His hands bunched into fists.

He didn't want that life. Was it so wrong to want to live differently? Could he stay here, at least for a while, and see what he could make of life in this world?

He thought about the belles and the collared workers. He'd made mistakes, and people had gotten hurt. But he could go back and do it over, do it better, couldn't he?

Coming to this place had been entirely unexpected, but he had been looking for some kind of catalyst in his life, some way to get over his bad breakup. Maybe this place was dangerous. But it was a huge change to his existence. A chance to start down a new path. A chance to regain happiness. He refused to let that chance pass him by, no matter how painful or risky. He'd find a way to endure.

No. He'd find a way to thrive and be happy.

He turned his back on the way home and faced the direction of the belles and nobles. He was not going to define himself as a failure. He was going to stay and give things another shot.

Having made the decision, he felt lighter and happier, enough that he could smile again. Armed with a sense of purpose and determination, he set off.

He found the blue women where he'd met them previously and felt a powerful sense of relief that they were unharmed. He approached as if it was the first time. Conversation with them played out much as it had before. Soon enough, he was heading back toward Azamont's lands in search of the magical flowers.

Tricking the wallflower once more, he scaled the wall and entered the magical botanical garden. This was where he began to do things differently.

Arwin knew that he needed to get the job done before being discovered. Thankfully, he could move with a great deal more speed now that he was sure of what he was doing.

Then he sprinted to the wall and threw himself over it.

Hiding on the other side of the wall, he waited in tense silence until he heard the voices of Azamont and the other nobles on the other side. Luckily, they spoke in calm tones and gave no sign of having noticed Arwin's intrusion nor the theft of the bluebells. It was safe for Arwin to return to his quest givers.

Bleu and Aoi smoothly rose to their feet at his approach.

"Arwin!" Bleu cried.

"Be not blue, blue belles, for I have your bluebells." Arwin opened the bag and revealed the contents. Much like the previous time this had happened, both women's faces brightened.

Aoi gushed in surprise, "You've brought the entire plants! You brilliant man! Now we can plant these anywhere."

"And enjoy them anytime."

Bleu enthused, "Thank you so much, Arwin." She picked up half of the sack.

Aoi insisted, "We should plant these immediately, where they won't be heard or seen by the nobles." She tilted her head as she looked at Arwin. "Will you come to Blue Village with us?"

"Not right now. I'd like to see if I can help free the blue-collar workers first."

Bleu gasped and stepped forward. "Free them? Really?"

"That's the goal. He grinned and waved, and the three parted ways.

They both called out after him, "Good luck, Arwin!"

Arwin made his way towards the forced labour camp of collared workers. He avoided notice and circled around to where they'd discovered the mooner earlier in search of the dental key. He was going to need that key again.

The mooner, nude as ever, lazily reclined in a mossy hollow at the base of a thick pine tree. A few flies buzzed around him, and he slapped at a mosquito. When he caught sight of Arwin, a brow rose. "Yeah? What you want?"

Arwin gave the man his best smile. "I need that dental key you keep in a very unusual place."

"Huh? How do you—" The man huffed. "Ain't givin' you nothin', buddy. Beat it."

"Hear me out. I'm here to help. Your teeth are extremely rotten. They're blackening and ready to fall out. I'll bet they're something painful, right?"

The mooner frowned. "Maybe. What's it ta you?"

"Rotten teeth can lead to heart disease and early death. Give me a few minutes, and I'll pull those out for you. It'll hurt; I won't deny it. But you'll end up healthier and much more likely to live longer. And eating won't be such a painful experience."

The mooner looked doubtful but also thoughtful.

"And," Arwin added, "getting rid of those nasty, rotten things will probably make your smile a lot more attractive. Not to mention dramatically improve your breath."

The mooner grumbled, "All right. Ya convinced me. Let's git it over with." He vomited up the dental key.

Arwin went to work on the blue teeth.

The mooner screamed and passed out twice but remained determined to see the process through.

Key and blue teeth in hand, Arwin left the mooner, the latter giggling madly with a bloody mouth and scampering about.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Arwin approached the work camp with great caution, taking care to stay out of sight and making as little noise as possible. The sounds of the camp came to him: axes hitting wood, pick axes and hammers hitting rocks, the grunting of the blue-collared workers, and the scathing commands of the white collars. Hiding behind some bushes, he studied the scene.

A blue-collar man hacked at the base of a tree not six paces away. His clothes were sweat-stained and covered in dirt. He moved with the slow, measured pace of someone exhausted yet forced to go on.

A short, white-collared man shouted from behind the much-bigger blue-collar, "Faster! Faster! No, not there; hit lower. Lower. No, swing harder. You simple-minded buffoon, that's not how you swing an axe. Higher over your shoulder. No! More of an angle! Are you stupid?"

A micromanager. Arwin shuddered. He noticed that this particular white collar was one of the voluntary ones; he had no slave collar on. That made him feel less guilty about what he needed to do next. Sneaking up behind the man, he threw an arm around the manager's neck and dragged him back into the bushes. A couple of punches to the gut and another three to the face had the man reeling in a daze. Arwin ripped the manager's clothing off and used it to bind and gag him. Then he returned to the blue collar.

The sweaty worker finally seemed to notice the absence of the micromanager. He let the head of the axe fall heavily to the ground and stood semi-straight with a deep groan. He was of middle age and well-muscled. Dark hair was streaked with gray on the sides.

Arwin saw his face and recognized him at once. What luck! He was about to say the man's name when he realized that, for the other person, this would be the first time they'd met. "Ahem. Hey there."

The blue-collared man turned. "Yeah?" He looked around, confused. "Where did…?"

"Forget that guy. He's all tied up at the moment." Arwin smiled. "My name's Arwin. Yours?"

"Uh, Jacque." He nervously looked around, glancing at the axe and then the tree, perhaps feeling like he should be working and not talking to strangers.

Arwin wondered if he could straight up talk to the other man about freeing himself or if that would just lead to trouble. It was hard to predict how someone would react while wearing those slave collars. Arwin had an idea. "Looks like part of your collar is damaged."

Jacque's blue face paled. "It is? Am I in trouble?"

"No, not at all! I'm here to fix it. Don't worry. There's nothing to it; only take a second." Arwin pulled out a blue tooth. "Here, let me just put this into that hole there." He reached up and pushed the tooth into the hole in the collar. The device snicked open and fell to the ground.

A look of revelation dawned over Jacque's face. He staggered back, then shook himself. Looking at Arwin, he spoke in awe, "You freed me!"

"How do you feel?"

"Better," Jacque admitted. Then he frowned. "Angry, too."

Arwin grinned and pulled out a handful of blue teeth. "You feel up to freeing all the others wearing those collars?"

Jacque looked at the teeth, then over at the busy work camp. "Sure do." Then he turned a suspicious look Arwin's way. "Who are you? Why are you so interested in helping?"

"I'm a friend. I want to help."

"You aren't blue."

"Nope. Traveller. I met a couple of young women just over yonder and learned about your situation here."

"Women? Who?"

"Bleu and Aoi."

Jacque's brows rose, and he gushed, "You met Bleu?"

Arwin was surprised at the strength of the man's reaction. He must know the belle. "Yes. They were both rather sad at the time, pining over bluebells. But I liberated the flowers for them. They seemed much more cheerful when we parted."

The older man tilted his head. "Bluebells? But they only grow in Lord Azamont's garden, don't they?"

"Not anymore, they don't." Arwin chuckled.

Jacque's brow rose once more. "That's bold. And dangerous. Could lead to trouble."

"Could. But it felt like the right thing to do."

Jacque ruminated. "Freeing those of us wearing blue collars will likely cause a whole lot more trouble."

"Feels like the right thing to do, though, doesn't it?"

Jacque slowly nodded. "It does. Ok, Arwin. Guess I'll trust you. For now." He meaningfully hefted the axe in his hand but didn't say anything more direct.

Arwin got the message. "When they break for lunch, they'll round up all the workers to eat while the managers gather separately, right?"

"Yeah…"

"I'll distract the managers." Arwin handed over the teeth. "You take these and free the others. There are a lot more of you blue-collar guys. If you surround the managers, we can capture them all without letting word of the escape get out."

Jacque mulled things over. "All right. This'd better work, though. No tricks. The nobles find out we tried to free ourselves; heads will roll. And I mean that literally."

"No tricks, Jacque. I'm here to help, I promise."

The two men nodded to each other, then moved off in opposite directions.

When lunch was called, the men in the work camp separated into two groups, as before. Arwin wound his way through the trees unseen until he reached a point close to the gazebo with the managers. With a deep breath, he stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

All conversation in the gazebo immediately ceased, and six razor-sharp pencils pointed in his direction. Sunlight gleamed off eyeglasses and merciless-looking pocket calculators. The expressions on the managers' faces were cold and heartless.

One in the front of the group challenged Arwin, "Who are you?"

Arwin smiled, doing his best to be disarming. "Just a harmless traveller."

"What do you want?"

"Well, it just so happens that I was visiting Lord Azamont earlier today, enjoying his garden—"

The managers meaningfully exchanged glances with each other.

"—when I happened to overhear some very interesting news."

The lead manager's voice dripped with suspicion, "What news?"

"Seems the nobles are very pleased with all the work you lot are doing out here. Very pleased indeed. So pleased, in fact…" Arwin paused for dramatic effect, "that they're talking about promotion."

A manager gasped, stepping forward, hunger on his face. "Promotion?"

Pencils wavered.

"That's right. To…" he paused again, "vice president."

They all shouted, "To VP?" Eager, excited conversation broke out. Weapons no longer pointed at Arwin.

Arwin broke in, "Ahem. Thing is, not everyone is getting promoted. Just one of you."

All conversation stilled. Friendliness evaporated from their faces, replaced with wariness. Just like that, they'd been transformed from colleagues to competitors.

Arwin shrugged. "Too bad, huh? Guess you're just going to have to fight it out amongst yourselves to see who gets to be VP."

Silence stretched out. Pencils came back up, but this time, the managers pointed the weapons at each other.

One of the men trembled with nervousness, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He was a head shorter than the others and weaker looking. His eyes darted from one manager to another. "Listen, let's not be so hasty. Perhaps we can work something ou—"

The others didn't even wait for him to finish. Sensing weakness, they all turned on him first, stabbing him in the back, the front, then all over. And then it was a free-for-all as they all battled amongst themselves for the status of a new title. Blood flowed, but it only increased the fervour of the managers, like how chum in the water excites sharks.

Arwin noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Surreptitiously, he looked around and saw that the workers were in position. He waved them forward.

Jacque's voice shouted from the trees, "Get them!"

Workers swarmed the managers, swinging fists and using broken branches as clubs. In seconds, the less fit and outnumbered managers were easily subdued.

Jacque laughed and slapped Arwin on the shoulder with a meaty hand, voice filled with triumph. "We did it! Great work."

A worker crowed, "Free at last!"

Another cried, "I'll never let these evil buggers push me around ever again!" He kicked a manager in the gut, which elicited a violent groan.

The oldest man in the group approached Arwin and Jacque. He looked at them with shrewd eyes. "All well and good, but what now? Freedom, but at what cost? Gonna be trouble when the nobles find out."

Jacque rubbed his chin. "True."

Arwin asked, "You can't just go back to town now that you're free?"

Jacque ruefully shook his head. "Blue Village is run by a council. But just about all of them on the council are loyal to the nobles."

The old man spat, "Puppets."

Jacque continued, "If we go back, they'll likely order us collared again. Nobles will just pay them off again. And they got soldiers to back them up."

The old man said with much bitterness, "That's always the problem with the rich, isn't it? They just buy people off to make them do what they want."

"Hmm. So the problems are corruption and wealth and power inequality." Arwin hummed in thought. "Well, what if we took away their money? That would take away their power, too, wouldn't it?"

Jacque looked doubtful but intrigued all the same. "How would we do that?"

There was much humming and hawing from the group, but no one was forthcoming with ideas.

At last, one man threw up his arms in exasperation. "This is crazy. Insane. We never should've tried to free ourselves."

The old man gave him a sour look. "Calm down, Orloff."

But Orloff, a skinny young man with a nervous disposition, only grew more agitated. "Are we forgetting about the soldiers? Who says they'll listen to reason? We're all dead men! Let's put the collars back on. We'll beg forgiveness. Take any punishment. At least some of us will live!"

Orloff's fear was contagious, and a few of the other workers also grew agitated. Murmurs and unease spread. Even Jacque and the old man looked stricken at the idea of continuing their actions and making things worse for themselves should they fail.

"Papá!"

Jacque lifted his head in surprise.

Bleu and Aoi came running out of the forest to join the group.

Bleu had a big smile and threw her arms around Jacque. "Papá, you're free!"

Jacque blushed but hugged the young woman back. "Bleu! What are you doing here?"

She gushed, "Arwin helped us get the bluebells back from Lord Azamont," then flashed Arwin a broad smile. "After we replanted them in a safe place, we came to help!" She belatedly took note of all the other men standing about. Her cheeks tinted pink, and she demurely moved to her father's side as if for protection.

Aoi stood with hands on hips, a fiery look in her eyes that approved of the freedom from slavery she saw all around her. She added in a calmer but iron voice, "Long live the revolution."

Jacque looked down at his beautiful daughter, fingered the expensive dress she wore, and opened his mouth to say something, then choked up. He wiped a tear away. "Look how lovely you are. You must hate me. Letting my daughter become one of their… So they could use you like…" His voice broke down.

Bleu smiled and hugged him again. "No, Papá. I know it was the collars that you and Mamá wear. I don't blame you. I blame the bluebloods."

Jacque looked down. "With that collar on, I thought I had to accept everything, even things that are unacceptable. When I think of all the ugly ways they were going to abuse the daughter I love so much, and that I put up no fight, that I stood by and let it happen, I'm ashamed. Ashamed and terrified. We never should have let things get this bad."

Arwin sympathized. "The fault isn't yours alone. It's shared with your ancestors, a little here, a little there, for giving up and allowing evil people to get their way more and more. But, more than anyone, the blame mostly lies with the selfish men and women who pushed you into this state. They actively sought to deceive and manipulate and dominate you for their benefit. They're the driving force behind all the ways you and your people have suffered."

Aoi nodded. "We all need to take responsibility for our weakness and failures, for allowing bad people to get their way. But we also need to take action to set things right and prevent this from happening again. The bluebloods need to be punished. Justice!"

Renewed determination took over Jacque's features. He released his daughter and turned to the other men, full of command. "There's no way I'm ever going back to living like a slave. Ever since we let those blueblood scum put those collars on us, they've taken over our village and our lives. And we've paid for it. They've taken our food, our money, even our lives. Like fools, we've given them power over us. We work ourselves to the bone, and they abuse us in return. They act like they're superior, act like they're benevolent, and act like leaders, but, in truth, they have manipulated and enslaved us. I, for one, will no longer stand for it. I will no longer watch as my wife fades away before my eyes from unhappiness and overwork she doesn't even benefit from." Jacque put an arm around Bleu. "I will not stand by and watch as they take away my daughter for their cruel amusement." He reached out and touched Aoi on the shoulder. "I won't stand by and let them do that to any of our daughters, nor our sons. I will fight to take back our lives, whatever it takes."

The old man slammed a fist into his palm. "And I!"

Bleu and Aoi added, "And us!"

Orloff, shaking and backing away, eyes darting around for an exit, said, "You're crazy, all of you! I won't be a part of this. You get yourself killed if you want. But I'm—"

Two men leaped on the selfish coward and forced him to the ground. They dragged him into the center with the managers and dumped him there. Orloff whimpered and whined to be allowed free, but everyone just ignored him.

One of the men who'd tackled Orloff looked Jacque's way. "No doubt he'll turn traitor and tell the nobles everything. Gotta keep him silent."

The old man spoke up. "Wanting better lives is all well and good. But how? The nobles have all the money and own all the land. They have mercenaries and personal guards in their employ. Even if we robbed them all, what's to prevent them from just taking the money back and putting the collars back on us?"

A slow smile spread over Arwin's lips as an idea came to him. "What if we put the collars on them instead?"

Heads sharply turned his way.

Jacque mused, "On them?"

Aoi, through gritted teeth, repeated, "Justice!" She had a hard look in her eyes. "They should pay for what they've done. "

Arwin flat-out grinned, liking the idea more and more as he pictured it in his mind. "Once collared, they'll feel the need to serve, yes? Which is perfect. They can repay everyone else for all they've taken in the past. Balance things out."

Aoi made a thin smile. "They've spent all this time forcing others to serve them. It's about time that they served the community in return!"

"We collar them," Arwin continued, "and then get them to donate all of their money and land back to the village, to the people they took it from. Then the village can fairly redistribute all that wealth to the people or use it as a shared resource for everyone's benefit."

One of the other men raised a hand. "The current council will overturn things and try to free the nobles. Or, worse, replace them. We'd be trading one bad master for another."

The old man growled, "Council's mostly nothing but thieves and scum, people that'd go along with whatever the nobles want."

Arwin suggested, "Then we collar those guys too, or enough of them to get them to dissolve the current council. Then, we hold a snap election and vote for a new council. With the worst of the nobles and old council collared and not using their selfish influence, we should get better people elected, right?"

Bleu quietly answered, "In theory." She looked up at her father and spoke more boldly, "You should run, Papá!"

Jacque looked astonished. "Me?" He shook his head. "No, no. I'm no leader. I'm not qualified for that kind of thing."

Bleu frowned. "Of course you are. You're a really good person. That's the most important thing, right? But if you don't run, it means someone less good will. Isn't that how things got to be this way in the first place? At some point in history, good people stopped running for council, and more and more selfish people got in until they could do whatever they wanted."

Jacque bowed his head. "How did my daughter ever get so wise?"

She sweetly smiled. "Because I have good parents."

He playfully nudged her with an elbow. "Maybe you should run."

"I'm too young! People won't have faith in me. You need to do it, Papá. And other people like you."

Orloff interjected, refusing to keep silent. He yelled out, "Have you forgotten the Ravens? You think they'll just stand by and let you do what you want? The nobles are the ones paying their salaries!"

Arwin gave them a questioning look. "Ravens?"

One of the men answered in a subdued voice, "Professional soldiers. Nobles all have personal guards, but the Ravens are shared mercenaries that live in barracks at the edge of town. Dozens of them. Used for hunting down bandits and protecting the town."

The old man scoffed, "More like they keep the nobles from going at each other and anyone trying to take over. The soldiers ensure that the status quo stays in place, so we get an oligarchy and not a dictatorship."

Arwin felt grim. "Which means they're going to be a direct threat to us."

Jacque surmised, "With a new council in place, the collars off us and put on the nobles, with the nobles' money in our hands, we should be able to buy the mercenaries off. We can get them to see reason."

The others didn't look wholly convinced. However, there was a general murmur of agreement. Small conversations broke out as those gathered debated who would be best suited to be on the new council or what might happen when the mercenaries caught wind of events and showed up.

Jacque turned to Arwin. "Well, it looks like everyone's on board."

Arwin turned serious. "Now comes the hard part. Putting those collars on everyone who deserves it."

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

They herded Orloff and the managers to a stone shed at the edge of the camp and locked them all inside. Then, they split into teams of two and three, each with their own assignment. Brawny Jacque and his daughter Bleu targeted the Tremblée estate. Arwin, Aoi, and the old man, Harl, ran off toward Azamont's chateau. Others made for different noble residences and aimed to track down members of the corrupt village council and collar them long enough for the people of the region to escape tyranny and choose their own future.

Arwin and his team followed his previous route to the wall surrounding the fabulous garden behind Azamont's house. Aoi tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of her lovely dress and used it to gag the talkative wallflower before it could raise a fuss and warn anyone. With great care, they climbed over the wall, then snuck through the flowers and the puns to the back of the building. Wrought-iron trellis climbed part of the white wall, leading to a black, iron balcony on the second floor.

Aoi, serious and focused, whispered to the others. "There will be guards about. We need to try to avoid them, as well as any staff in the house, or risk bringing everyone down on us."

Arwin was impressed by her determination. Something about their little rebellion had struck a fire within her, and it seemed to burn fiercer with each step they took.

Harl flexed his fingers, then curled them into tense fists. He must have been sixty if a day, but his lean body was hard and strong from years of forced labour. He had a glint in his eyes and a rakish smile to boot. It seemed that he was also keen on overthrowing the system that had abused him for so long.

Aoi took a step towards the back door and then hesitated. She gave Arwin an uncertain look, a little distrust in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Arwin asked.

She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

She looked quizzically at him. "I mean, I kind of understand liberating the flowers. It was a dare, and two cute girls needed cheering up. But then going to all that trouble to free our people in the collars? And now, helping us take out the nobles and radically change our society?"

"I shouldn't?"

Harl interjected. "What she means to say, lad, is that you're a foreigner. You aren't blue like the rest of us. You have no ties to any of us, ain't kin. So why risk your life for people that don't have anything to do with you?"

He paused for thought. It was a fair question. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it much. It just…felt natural? Like the right thing to do?" Arwin shrugged. "Wealth and power inequality hurts almost everyone. Bringing down a system that only benefits selfish people sounds like a really good cause, something worth doing."

She shook her head, confused. "So, it's just that easy for you?"

He felt embarrassed. "These guys are evil. They need to be stopped. I won't be someone who stands around letting evil happen. And, honestly, I really hate people like this." He smiled. "It's nice to feel like I can do something about them. So I'm with you."

She bowed her head in respect. When she spoke next, her voice was iron-hard. "I hate them. And I'm going to make them all pay." Her doubts assuaged, they continued the mission.

They tried the back door, but, cracking the stout wooden portal open, they heard voices and the sounds of a busy kitchen.

Instead, they climbed the cast-iron trellis up to the second-story balcony. Harl managed easily enough. Aoi struggled a bit, but even though both men offered to help, she valiantly struggled up on her own despite the ungainly long skirt and the heels on her feet.

The balcony door was also unlocked and let them into what must have been the master bedroom. The room was vast, with a purple canopied bed, a sitting area with two paisley couches, a writing desk covered in detailed carvings, and a large stone fireplace.

Large paintings hung from the walls, depicting young, attractive women in a variety of half-dressed, languid poses as if they were prey waiting to be devoured. Yet there was something uniformly hollow or sad in their eyes, and all looked off to the side or down at the floor as if unable to meet the viewer's gaze. Had they been painted as demure, or were the subjects drowning in despair and humiliation?

Arwin felt his skin crawl at the sight of the paintings.

Aoi's pretty face hardened. "Belles. I recognize some of them." She pointed to one. "She's about the age of Bleu's father now. Works in the bakery. I heard she was popular before coming here, especially with other girls and women. She was very outgoing and friendly. Now, she lives alone on the edge of town and never speaks. Freaks out if anyone touches her."

Harl pointed to another. "She was cast out of Azamont's house only six months after being taken in. Her face was horribly burned, but she wouldn't explain why or about anything that had happened while she'd been here. She cut her own throat a few weeks after coming home. Her mother was never right after that."

Arwin's hatred for Azamont rose to new heights.

Harl reached up and took hold of a painting and told Arwin, "Give me a hand."

Aoi looked stricken. "What are you doing? We don't have time for this. Someone might hear us up here."

Harl ignored her. It took both of them to get the huge rectangle down from the wall and lay it on the wooden floor.

Harl looked around. "Ain't letting anyone see these. Whether our little rebellion works or not, I don't want anyone coming in here and seeing their abuse. Not right."

Aoi sighed in resignation. She stalked over to the writing desk and pulled open a couple of drawers, then returned with a sharp-edged letter opener in hand. "Hurry up with the others." She dug the opener into the back of the canvas and sliced along the edge as quickly and quietly as she could.

There were five paintings. It took time to get them down and cut the artwork out of the frames. Crumpling them up, they stuffed the fireplace full and then Harl tossed in some kindling and lit it. The oil paintings went up as if they were born to burn.

Harl watched the flames for a half minute, then looked at Arwin and Aoi. He nodded towards the door. "Let's go before someone comes to investigate this."

Aoi poked her head out the bedroom door to scout the hallway. Finding it clear, the three snuck out. They stood in silence, listening.

An irate male voice could be heard from somewhere on the first floor. From the domineering tone, it was likely the head of the house.

Arwin opened his mouth to suggest finding the stairs when a bump sounded from behind.

All three whirled. Voices came from a hidden stairway at the back of the hallway.

A low female voice asked someone, "Are you ok?"

There was a brief pause, then a higher-pitched girl spoke. "Yeah, I'm fine." Light laughter. "I just tripped."

The low voice mildly scolded, "It's because you're carrying too much. Give me some of those."

"No! I'm fine. Really."

Harl hissed, "Hide!" Taking his own advice, the old man threw open the nearest door. It was a bedroom. He vanished within, closing the door behind him.

Arwin and Aoi panicked and leaped into motion in opposite directions, bumped into each other, and as they stumbled, heard the footsteps resume. Arwin snatched at the nearest door handle and yanked it open. He pushed Aoi into the dark void beyond and jumped in after her. He closed the door just as the two voices outside came into the hallway.

The room they were in turned out to be a linen closet about two meters deep. It was dark except for a ribbon of light under the door. Shelves were piled high with sheets, blankets, towels, and the like.

Aoi fingered some of the fabric on the shelf next to her. She spoke in barely a whisper. "In the village, we all sleep on simple, homespun linen. But nobles like this have the most expensive silks. And there's enough here alone for a dozen families or more. Imagine how much it would have taken to buy these in a region as poor as ours. We do all the work, yet greedy people like these enjoy the rewards. It's so unfair." Her nails angrily dug into the silk.

The voices outside came closer. And closer. Footsteps slowed.

They must be maids. And they might be coming to use this very closet!

Arwin's pulse raced. He grabbed Aoi's arm and tugged her deeper into the darkness. There was a pile of dirty bedsheets and towels at the back, on the floor. Together, the two buried themselves beneath it.

Arwin found himself lying on the floor on his side, face-to-face with Aoi, their legs tangled together. He couldn't see anything, but their faces touched, and their bodies shared warmth. He swallowed.

The closet door opened. Someone stepped inside and sounded like they were putting things away on one of the shelves. The two women continued to chat as they worked.

The low voice noted, "We might as well take the dirty stuff down while we're here. Look how much there is! I swear the pile's grown since this morning." A hand grabbed hold of the top layer of bedding.

Aoi and Arwin both tensed.

Was Arwin going to have to fight a couple of maids? Could he even bring himself to do so? Perhaps he should spring out now and try to catch them off guard before they give the alarm. He tensed to rise.

The high voice objected, "Leave it until later. We still have to strip the master's bedroom."

The two maids took their discussion outside, and the door closed behind them.

Aoi threw off the bedding and towels and rose. She put her ear to the door to listen for the maids.

Peeking outside, they saw the way was clear and exited the closet.

Arwin opened the door that Harl had entered and whispered the other man's name.

The old man slid out from under the bed and rejoined them.

The staircase the maids had used, small, cramped, and plain, was apparently for servants. They discovered the main staircase at the other end of the hallway: a wide, curved affair with an elaborate wooden banister and red carpet.

Halfway down the stairs, they heard the crash of a breaking dish swiftly followed by a loud slap. It seemed to come from a nearby room with a closed door.

"Fool! Simpleton! Look at this mess. You're ruining my carpet. Clean it up at once!" There was another loud smack.

Arwin recognized the voice as Azamont's. It sounded like he was abusing a member of the staff.

They kept a wary lookout for servants and scurried to the door from which the lord's voice had come. Pausing outside to listen, they heard a female weeping.

Harl looked Arwin and Aoi in the eye. Everyone nodded, ready. They burst into the room.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Azamont stood in the center of his study, a riding crop in hand, his dark-purple tunic partially unbuttoned, face red with anger. Seeing the intrusion, his eyes bulged over his refined moustache. "Who are you? How dare you enter my home uninvited?"

A pretty young woman was on all fours next to a broken cup and spilled tea.

Arwin gave the blueblood no time to act. He flew across the room and clotheslined the middle-aged man with his forearm, slamming Azamont to the ground.

All breath left Azamont's chest in a great whoosh. Still, he vainly clawed at Arwin in astonished rage. "Y-you d-dare…!"

Aoi dropped to the ground next to Azamont and snapped a blue collar around the man's neck.

Magic went to work. But it faced a formidable foe trying to overcome that much pride and arrogance. A great battle took place within the blueblood: his body writhed, and agony twisted his features. After a few moments of desperate struggle within his mind, Azamont slumped, looking begrudgingly beaten. The man's will must have been strong to resist so much. Luckily, the collar had won out.

Harl helped the tear-stained belle up from the ground. He spoke kindly and acted normally, "There, there, Rina. No need to cry anymore. He won't be harming you ever again. We'll make sure of that."

Rina sniffled and seemed ready to burst into fresh tears at seeing her rescuers. In a weak voice, she asked, "What have you done?" Sje cast desperate glances at both Azamont and the door. "What's going on?"

Aoi clenched a white-knuckled fist and looked fierce. "Revolution."

Harl agreed. "She's right. About time we stood up to the abusers of the Blue Region. We'll not let them decide how our lives are lived anymore. We're going to decide for ourselves. And build a fair and equal society for all of us."

Aoi stepped closer to Rina. She spoke softly. "No more beaus and belles. No more collars and slavery. We're going to live for ourselves and for each other, not for selfish people like him." She nodded towards Azamont.

Rina looked even more scared. "You're mad! He'll punish us for this!"

Arwin shook his head. "We're not alone. This is happening all over the village. We're bringing all the nobles down."

Rina backed up a step, shaking. "You're insane! You don't know what he'll do to us for this. What they'll all do." She stumbled backward onto a couch and collapsed there, frightened tears on her cheeks, shaking.

As much as Arwin sympathized, they didn't have time to waste. There were still staff and guards about. The mission wasn't yet complete.

Aoi grabbed Azamont by the collar. She delivered a vicious slap to his face, then another to the other side.

As his anger reawakened, conflict momentarily struggled once more on Azamont's face, but the collar eventually won out, and he returned to being docile.

She coldly demanded, "Your records of ownership, where are they? Land titles, all of it."

"I…" This time, the conflict on his face went on longer. He was a man of terrifyingly strong will, and the very last thing he wanted was to lose any of his wealth or power. The magic in the collar struggled to make him obey. When he finally calmed down, they all breathed a sigh of relief. He pointed to the bookcase behind his desk. "There."

Harl and Arwin bodily hauled the man to his feet.

Aoi snapped, "Where? Show us."

Azamont trudged to the bookcase. He pulled two spines out slightly, and the case slid aside, revealing a safe in the white stone wall.

Noting the keyhole, Arwin asked, "Where's the key?"

Azamont scowled briefly; a half-snarl formed, and then his face stilled. He pulled a key out from under his tunic, where it hung from a cord around his neck.

Harl opened the safe. The inside was about one meter cubed and stuffed full of papers and sacks of coin.

Aoi and Harl both gasped.

Harl breathed in awe, "A bloody fortune!" He pulled out a heavy coin sack. It fell open, and gold coins spilled out.

Aoi was stunned. "You could feed the entire village for a decade with what's in this safe. So many in the village struggle to survive from day to day, yet he has all this…" She picked the riding crop off the floor, where Azamont had dropped it, then came to his side. With savage force, she repeatedly whipped him with it, leaving angry, red marks on his face and arm.

Arwin instinctively thought to stop her but held himself back. It was nothing less than deserved.

Harl riffled through a stack of papers pulled from the safe. "It's no good. I don't understand these things. Which are the ones we need?"

Arwin took the stack and quickly flipped through it. He saw shipping manifests, sales receipts, and contracts for various services. In a folder at the bottom were land titles to his estate and several pieces of property in the village. Arwin grinned and held them up. "Got 'em!"

The door crashed open, startling the trio of invaders. Two men in uniforms burst into the room, clubs in hand. The clubs were wooden but had heavy, banded iron rings on the end, and the weapons could no doubt be used to deadly effect.

The guard on the left shouted, "You there! On the ground — now!"

Looking confused and scared, Aoi gasped, "How did they—?"

Arwin's eyes darted about the room. The young woman was gone. Surely she hadn't fled and alerted the guards, had she? What appalling cowardice. Or, perhaps, the abuse had driven her so far into hopelessness that she couldn't even contemplate salvation. They should have kept an eye on her.

Harl cursed, his worn face wrinkled with frustration. How well could an old man stand up against others half his age?

The guards charged. The first one tackled Harl to the ground, and they wrestled in front of the couch, the broken tea cup crackling under them. Harl cried out in pain.

Arwin pushed the papers into Aoi's hands and thrust her behind him so fast that she stumbled. Ducking the incoming guard's club, he lunged forward, grabbed the man about the waist and lifted him off his feet in a bear hug before slamming him down to the ground.

The guard grunted. He was not as muscular as Arwin but still had enough presence of mind to repeatedly slam his club into Arwin's back.

The painful blows bruised deep. The pain was enough to push Arwin away, and he watched the guard's lips twist in triumph. Arwin crawled forward again through the blows, taking more hits. With one hand, he took hold of the guard's throat. With the other, he punched the guard over and over in the face. When the guard slowed his movements, Arwin took the opportunity to punch him in the throat, too, leaving him choking. Panting and hurt, Arwin climbed to his feet and stomped as hard as he could on the guard's solar plexus before kicking him in the face, taking him utterly out of the fight. Then Arwin looked up, ready to help his comrade.

Somehow, Harl had already subdued his guard. He huffed as he stood up from the floor, wiping sweat off his brow. "Bah, these guys are soft. Too much time sitting around threatening people and drinking instead of doing any real work."

Aoi looked bewildered. "Rina. She must have alerted them. But why?"

Harl shrugged one shoulder. "Fear."

She protested the suggestion, "But she won't have anything to fear soon enough. Why would she betray us?"

Harl replied, "We've been lucky enough so far, but that luck could run out at any time. There's no telling how the others are faring. Trying to round up a couple of dozen bluebloods and councillors ain't going to be easy. If we fail, these bloody nobles will probably do a lot worse than putting collars on us. We're definitely the underdogs here. Besides, looks like whatever Rina's been through has marked her deep. And she was never a strong one growing up, either."

Aoi trembled with rising anger. Her arm rose and fell, bringing the riding crop down on Azamont's head. "Curse you! All you do is ruin lives. I hate you all!"

This time, Arwin eventually stopped her, gently taking her arm. But not before a couple of wounds opened in the lord's face and a few drops of blood smeared across his skin. "Punish him later. We have a job to do."

They ran out of the room, Aoi leading with the stash of property papers in one hand and the riding crop in the other, Arwin and Harl pulling the cooperative but lethargic Azamont along with them. With the alarm already given, they made for the back door to the garden. But before they could reach it, a glowing seal appeared over the door. Word of their intrusion must have spread.

Harl growled in his gruff voice, "We'll have to go out the front." He hefted a club that he'd taken from one of the guards.

Arwin wished he'd thought to do the same.

They rushed through the grand chateau and out the main door. Outside the front of the house was a wide circle of white paving stones for carriages, with a few tall pine trees in a grassy knoll in the middle. The surrounding area was evergreen forest, giving the estate privacy from the road beyond.

The escaping group made it only a couple of steps before three more guards appeared from behind nearby trees. And one of them looked especially dangerous.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Two of the men were guards, the same kind as those beaten up back in the study, though neither was blue-skinned. Their leader, however, was a different story.

He, too, was likely a foreigner, as evidenced by his dark brown skin, deep orange eyes, and golden eyebrows. Handsome and athletically built, he swaggered with an air of command and the confidence of a man who always gets what he wants. His blue uniform was nicer than that worn by his grunts, with a gold hawk threaded into the left breast. At his hip was belted a heavy sabre in a black scabbard that looked worn from use. A predatory gleam in his eyes, his feral smile, and the way that his fingers constantly flexed over the pommel of the weapon made it clear just how badly he was itching to use it. This seemed like a man who enjoyed causing pain. He didn't look alarmed that his employer was collared and being kidnapped; rather, he looked eager to do something about it.

Arwin and the others immediately turned to run back into the house, only to find the two previously injured guards already in the foyer and stalking toward them. One still had his club, and the other had armed himself with a poker from a fireplace. They looked bruised and angry, ready for revenge. The rebels froze.

Harl released Azamont and levelled his club at the guards coming out of the house. "Blast. We're surrounded."

Arwin protectively put Aoi behind him and squared off with the trio in front. He silently cursed. It looked like they weren't getting out of this without another fight, and this time, there were really lousy odds.

The guard leader with the hawk crest spoke mockingly, "Sorry, folks. The best schemes laid by mice will always fail in the presence of real men." Hawk cast a brief glance over Aoi and Harl before dismissing them and fixing his eyes on Arwin. "Looks like the girl was right. Seems you've somehow managed to get your hands on our employer there. How about you hand him over nicely, and we promise not to kill you? In fact, you can walk away right now, and we won't even chase you." He casually waved towards the nearby forest.

Arwin snorted, his body tense. "No offence, but you don't look like the type to let prey get away."

Hawk threw back his head and laughed with surprised acknowledgement. He shouted, "True! Get 'em, men!" then stood back and allowed the two other guards to charge.

Arwin had to trust that Harl would at least slow down the two guards behind him while he worried about the two in front. He allowed both to get close, then faked a charge at the one on the left. It worked; the one on the left pulled up, giving Arwin a split second to take on the one on the right.

The right guard swung his truncheon at Arwin's head without slowing.

As he had in the study, Arwin ducked under the wild swing. Unfortunately, this time, the weapon clipped the side of his head, and the heavy instrument sent him staggering to the side, dizzy and in a world of pain. Stars exploded in his vision.

The guard laughed and swung again.

Desperate and dazed, Arwin threw himself forward, inside the swing, and caught the man's uniform on the chest with both hands. He spun around, hauling the other man with him, and then blindly flung the guard at the one who'd hesitated.

The two collided and fell back.

In that brief opening, Arwin dashed forward and punched the closest one as hard as he could in the jaw. Or at least what he hoped was the jaw. His starry vision was not clearing quickly.

There was a sharp crack, and the man sagged.

Arwin felt blood on his scalp. Head pounding, he had to concentrate to focus. He snatched the club out of the falling guard's hands. Clumsily, he swung it at the remaining guard several times.

That guard, off balance, tripped backwards and fell out of reach, unharmed.

Aoi screamed.

Arwin spun and raced back to the others. He saw one guard wrestling with Harl, who had blood running down his chin from a badly split lip. The other guard had a fist full of Aoi's long black hair.

Leaping into the air, Arwin side-kicked the chest of the man holding Aoi, and both fell to the ground. Arwin bent and hammered the guard in the shoulder with his club.

Wailing in pain, the guard crawled off, clutching his shoulder like it was broken. When Arwin feinted at the one fighting Harl, that one also abandoned his fight and retreated, likely not wanting to face a two-on-one.

Behind, the guard Arwin had missed grabbed hold of his downed fellow and dragged him to safety, back next to the leader.

Arwin and Harl protectively stood over Aoi. Harl swooned, going down to one knee, the bleeding from his lip bad. Arwin didn't feel like he was in much better shape.

Harl looked up and grimaced, panting. "I can run. Jus… just give me a minute to catch my breath."

Arwin shook his head at the ridiculous idea. The man was in no shape to run, especially with pursuit. "Aoi, try to help him."

She nodded and started tearing another strip from the bottom of her dress. To her credit, while she looked frightened at the violence around her, she kept herself together.

Arwin took stock of the situation. Four guards stood at the ready, only one down and out of the fight so far: the one with the damaged shoulder. Harl was hurting, and Aoi was no athlete. Arwin was essentially going to have to fight alone. That made it three guards and the captain versus him, with two people to protect. Not good odds.

Negativity wormed its way into his brain. It would be easy for him to run away on his own right now. He could turn around and escape and save himself, leaving the others to some dark fate. Maybe Aoi had been right: what was he doing fighting for strangers? Why was he putting his life on the line for a cause that wasn't his own? Why wasn't he high-tailing it out of here and heading back to Earth, where it was safer?

In his mind's eye, he inadvertently recalled the image of his ex, Kelli, and her new rich guy wrapped around each other. That damned kiss. It still hurt to think about it.

Anger flared in his heart at the unfairness that selfish people brought about in life. At the way that greed twisted people who might otherwise have been good. The way so many decent folk suffer because of it all.

It had been the same with his career. Arwin was a caring teacher who supported the next generation. His job was extremely important. Yet he'd been paid little, faced hordes of ungrateful parents, and watched as self-centred corporate or financial sharks in suits earned more, got more respect, and had brighter futures despite having far less real value to society.

Global warming, the explosion of wealth inequality, crime, war, poverty, the rise of right-wing politics and extremism, there were so many problems, and it felt like they were only getting worse. The ugly tide of rising selfishness left him feeling helpless. That made him frustrated, even angry.

Back home, the problems had seemed overwhelming, society too big to change. But here, right now, he could fight back. He had a tangible target. He couldn't do anything alone about something like wealth inequality. But while facing down four hostile men might seem like long odds, it was at least possible to do something about it. With Harl and Aoi to protect as well, two people completely undeserving of the pain they'd gone through, it only fired him up even more. Long-simmering anger violently boiled forth, and he craved striking back at evil and punishing it.

Arwin took Harl's club from him and faced the leader with one in each hand while keeping the two guards behind at the edge of his vision. "Had enough?"

Hawk laughed. "Look at you! Throwing these lugs around like they were made of paper, huh? I love it when they put up a fight." With deliberate slowness, he drew his sword. The slender silver blade caught the light as he raised it. "Now, let's try this again, shall we?"

The other guards, having lost to Arwin previously, hesitated until they saw that the leader was clearly going to be the first to reach the rebel trio this time, and then they cautiously followed him. They weren't going to let themselves be cannon fodder twice.

Arwin felt his chest tighten and gritted his teeth. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? He'd never faced a man with a sword before. Hell, this was already the most fight he'd ever been in before.

The leader's blade seemed to dance as it came closer. The captain's smile was distinctly smug.

That weapon was going to be the biggest problem. He had a crazy idea. Arwin pulled his right arm back and whipped one of his clubs at the leader as hard as he could.

The move caught the leader by surprise, and he tried to dodge, but the club nailed him in the chest.

Arwin used that moment to tear his shirt off. He wrapped the end of the cloth around one hand, letting the bulk of the shirt dangle free.

The leader's smile faded away. Hand on his pec, he winced. His prey had hurt him, and he didn't like that. He lunged for Arwin, the tip of his sword aimed at Arwin's chest, seeking to pierce his heart or lungs or throat and kill him.

Arwin backed out of range and desperately flung his shirt at the blade. The fabric managed to twist around the sword and tangle it up.

The leader, not expecting this either, tried to disentangle his weapon.

Arwin dove in, swinging very hard with his club in the other hand, making it look like he was aiming for the leader's head and getting him to duck away, then landing the blow on the man's forearm, the one holding the sword.

The leader cried out. The sword fell to the ground.

Letting go of his shirt, Arwin dropped down to one knee and took up the sword in his left hand just as the guards closed in.

Arwin, of course, had never killed anyone. He'd never even hurt anyone on purpose, in any serious way, and didn't want to. But this was self-defence, and he strongly suspected that this would be life or death for all of them. This wasn't the world he was from, with law and order. Given the chance, these guys were going to cut him to pieces — literally. Outnumbered and outmatched, he had no choice but to try to take out as many as he could lest they overwhelm him, even if that meant risking or taking lives.

Staying low and swinging while still down on one knee, he swept the sabre to the side with all his strength and felt it deeply bite into the knee of the guard on his left. The guard screamed and fell out of the fight. Fending off the guard on his right with his club, Arwin stood and took a hard blow to the back from another club, right where he'd been struck earlier. He grunted in serious pain but forced himself to lunge with the sword hard at the leader in front of him. He missed, and both the remaining guard and the leader retreated, leaving their wounded comrade on the ground, knee bloody.

Turning around, Arwin saw the last guard from the house hauling Harl and Azamont away, one in each hand. Arwin stepped that way, intent on saving his comrade, only to realize that doing so would leave Aoi unguarded, for she still stood with him. Frowning, he stood his ground, warily watching the men on both sides.

Harl tried to put up a fight against the man hauling him backwards, but a blow to the head from the guard drove him nearly senseless. He fell to all fours.

Azamont stood quietly, making no move to help or hinder, only doing what he was told.

The fight had been fast and bloody. Two guards had fallen, one with a broken shoulder, another with a ruined knee. The captain and one guard remained on one side. On the other was another guard with Harl and Azamont.

Head and body aching from the blows he'd sustained, still outnumbered and now facing a hostage situation, Arwin despaired.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Three of the enemy remained.

The leader scowled at the sight of his sword in enemy hands but cast a look at the two men now in their custody and chuckled, regaining his confidence. He mock-bowed to Arwin. "Well done — for an amateur. Look at you, taking out two of my men and even taking my weapon. Although, from the way you're holding it, you don't have the first idea of how to use a sword. And I'm actually better with these." He reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of wicked-looking knives with blades as long as his forearms. "Shame; looks like I'm still gonna win." He laughed and twirled the knives in his hands, then circled around Arwin until he reached the guard holding Harl. Fingering the slave collar on Azamont's throat, he looked thoughtful.

Arwin, breathing hard and feeling every ache and pain in his head and back, had no doubt that the man was the type who would be thinking about a double cross. Why rescue the noble paying you pennies when you could just take him for everything now that he was collared?

There was all that gold back in the chateau. Arwin had the key in his pocket. Should he try to bribe the man? It was worth a try. He'd been lucky so far in the fight, but that would probably come to an end if they went another round.

Aoi stood on shaky legs. She glared at the leader and the guard standing over Harl. Unfortunately, her only weapon was a riding crop. She looked ready to fight, though, and you had to admire the young woman's courage.

Arwin took a glance around. She'd be able to reach the forest and escape on her own if he gave her time. And, maybe if he didn't have to protect her, he could get to Harl and free the older man. Then again, one of those guards would probably just chase Aoi down while Arwin was busy with the others. And really, what hope did Arwin have against the guy with the knives? He clenched the sword until his knuckles whitened.

The leader shrugged, apparently deciding against a double cross. "Bah, too risky, I think. Best get this off him then." He spoke to the guard standing over Harl while sheathing one knife. "Hold him down. We need a blue tooth."

Harl yelled and fought as the leader brought his remaining knife to the old man's mouth.

Arwin took two steps in that direction before noticing movement to the side.

The lone guard in that direction was coming hard for him, club raised.

A flash of the sword drove the guard back.

Growing desperate, Arwin called to the leader, "Hey. I've got the key to his safe. Let us go, and it's yours."

The leader chuckled. "Nah. Nice try, but I already figured that course is no good. I'd rather not be branded a thief and have to look over my shoulder for the next ten years. His kind tend to hold a grudge against that sort of thing. Forever."

Aoi insisted, "You won't have to. We're bringing all the nobles in the Blue Region down. Help us do that, and the gold is yours. There's enough to live like a king in there."

Hawk shook his head a tad reluctantly. "More trouble than it's worth. A bunch of buffoons like you won't be able to take down all the bluebloods. You'll fail. And then this guy and those like him will retaliate. It's what they do to discourage this sort of thing in the future. I prefer an easy life without having to worry about assassins comin' after me." He forced Harl's jaw open and bloodily gouged a tooth from the old man's mouth, then freed Azamont.

Watching Harl suffer, Arwin hated his helplessness.

Azamont came to himself. He tore the collar off and threw it to the ground. His eyes blazed with righteous fury. "You ungrateful, stupid peasants. You think you can treat your betters this way and get away with it?"

Aoi mocked him, though her voice wavered, "Betters? Where?"

Azamont sneered at her. "I see you're in need of a lot more training before being worthy of—"

Aoi cut him off. "I'll never be one of your belles. Never."

Azamont mused, "Is that so?" Mulling something over for a few moments, he regarded both Aoi and Arwin and spared a half, dismissive glance for Harl at his feet before his eyes roamed over the remains of the guards and their injuries. When he caught sight of the files in Aoi's hand, his eyes narrowed, and his demeanour changed. "Well, enough violence for today. No need to make anything worse here, is there? I see you have some of my things. I can't imagine they're all that important, but you can hand them over and then go on your way, both of you, unharmed. I can respect the bravery it took to get this far. You can even take this worn-out old thing here with you, too." He nudged Harl with a toe.

Aoi managed a laugh. "I don't think so. I think I'll keep these, they being the deeds to your house and land and the source of all your wealth and power."

The blueblood's face reddened. "And how much is it going to cost me to take them off your hands?"

Aoi threw him a look of contempt. "As if you could buy me off. That's always the first thing you scum resort to, isn't it? It won't work on me. My freedom is worth more than all the gold in that oversized house. Besides, you can't pay anyone anything while we have the key to the safe."

Azamont's face twisted in rage. "Enough of this nonsense. Kill them! Now!"

The guards stormed in. Once again, the leader was willing to let his lackeys go first and absorb any damage before he came in for the kill.

Arwin swung club and sword, trying to keep Aoi behind him. He cracked one skull hard enough that it might have killed from the way the guard practically melted to the ground. The other he slashed across the face, splitting an eyeball and taking him completely out of the fight. That was two more guards down. But in the melee, he took several hits to the body and arms along the way, getting even more beat up.

Hawk came fast at last, twin knives in motion.

As Arwin desperately defended himself against the leader and his twin knives, Azamont wrestled Aoi away, the girl kicking and screaming. Arwin threw himself after them and cut the blueblood badly in the back, but Hawk pushed him back, and Azamont dragged Aoi off.

"Arwin!" she called, frantic. She bit and clawed but to no avail.

Hawk backed off, leaving injured or dead men behind.

Aoi tried to escape, briefly breaking free, but Azamont kicked her in the stomach and took hold of the back of her dress.

Despite being the only enemy left, Hawk sneered. "Looks like you keep losing. I'll give you credit for being able to hurt so many of these pathetic louts I got saddled with, but, to be honest, they're a pretty rag-tag bunch, so don't go getting a swollen head. Still, you lost the old guy, then Lord Azamont, and now the papers, key, and the girl, one after another. You're a loser." He laughed.

Azamont commanded, "Stop bantering like a child and kill him. Then cut the throats of these two. I do not need cattle that can't understand their place in life." He looked down at Aoi and Harl and snorted in contempt.

But the captain was wary of Arwin now. He kept his distance, knives at the ready. Perhaps Arwin was only an amateur fighter, but he was doing well enough so far, thanks to his athleticism.

Azamont slapped Aoi across the face. "Remember doing that to me, wench?" He slapped her a few more times. "I'll teach you to lay your hands on a noble."

Arwin shouted, "Don't touch her!"

The blueblood hauled back on her hair until her neck was bent at a painful angle, then looked over at Arwin. "Give yourself up. Maybe I'll consider letting this wench live. We can put a collar around her throat instead of cutting it. I'm sure we'll find some use for her then."

Arwin's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so."

"Then I'll just kill her myself, shall I?"

Arwin spoke with confidence, "I might not survive the attempt, but I'm pretty sure that if you try that, I can kill you before he kills me,"

The blueblood huffed in disbelief.

The mercenary chuckled. "Yeah, you might just. But I'll definitely gut you like a pig for it."

"If we're all gonna die, then at least I'll take the sadistic, rich piece of garbage with me." Arwin noticed movement at Azamont's feet but was very careful to keep his eyes on Hawk. He detected a nod. With a barbaric cry, he charged at the captain.

The merc's eyes lit up, and he grinned. His knives flashed.

Arwin threw his club.

This time, the leader guessed what was coming and flinched aside. Not that the throw was anywhere near him.

Because Arwin had been aiming for Harl.

The club landed on the paving stones and skipped into Harl's arms. The old man snatched it up, heaved himself to his feet, and attacked Azamont. He might have been down for a moment, but he was still in the battle.

Arwin had no time to watch. The leader met him, knives slashing, and Arwin found himself in the fight of his life, hard-pressed and backpedalling fast to stay out of reach. With only the sword, it was all he could do to try to knock away the leader's attacks as he scampered about, trying to keep distance between the pair of them. He had no hope of striking back.

Hawk, sensing his advantage, ran hard at Arwin, knocking the sword to the side.

Arwin threw himself backward to evade the deadly steel. In doing so, he lost his balance and fell to his backside on the stone.

The mercenary grinned and kicked the sword out of Arwin's hands.

Aoi darted away from the others. She grabbed a stray club from the ground.

Hawk bent low to stab Arwin.

Gripping the club tight in both hands, Aoi ran up behind the mercenary and smashed the iron end of the blunt weapon into the back of the captain's skull. One, twice, three times, with all her might.

Hawk crumpled, and knives fell from nerveless hands.

Everyone paused in shock for several seconds.

Arwin finally looked up at Aoi in amazement. "Thank you."

She stood over the dead man, staring at the bloody mess that was the back of his head. Her hands began to shake.

Arwin got to his feet, feeling his whole body ache and went to her. He placed a hand on the weapon and gently took it away. "It's ok. You're ok."

She looked up at him, face pale and blinking, then seemed to return to herself. She nodded once. "I'm fine."

They turned to see that Harl now wrestled with Azamont.

Arwin rushed over, and together, they subdued the noble and re-collared him. With the fight over, Arwin sank to the ground, breathing hard. "Good job, both of you. Can't believe we survived that."

Harl slumped in place and lay on the ground next to Arwin. He groaned, "I'm too old for this stuff."

Aoi picked the riding crop up from the ground, then picked her way amongst the fallen guards. She took the papers from Azamont's hands and back-handed him with the crop. "Look how many more people were hurt because of you. You're going to wear that collar for the rest of your miserable life to make up for it."

Arwin caught her eye and grinned, relief flooding his body.

She grinned back.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

With Azamont obediently trudging behind them, Arwin, Harl, and Aoi strode toward the village proper.

Harl limped along, a measure of pride on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at the prisoner, the blueblood now meek in his collar. "The tables have turned. It feels good."

Arwin asked, "You wore a collar a long time?"

Harl nodded. "Most of my life. The nobles were already in charge since well before I was born. But it was only in my twenties that the collars were introduced. At first, they were only put on criminals: spouse abusers, thieves, and the like, people guilty of serious offences. That's how they convinced the rest of us it would be a good idea. Fight crime. Make us safer. It was easy to buy into that. And at the time, the council wasn't as openly in the pocket of the bluebloods. Or, at least, weren't as tyrannical. But then they started using collars for lesser and lesser offences. Nobles began enslaving people over a bad debt or a word against them. Then out of malice. Soon enough, half the village was wearing them."

Aoi added, "And that's when they started raising some of us as belles and beaus. Toys to pretty up their mansions."

Harl agreed, "That's right. At first, the nobles gave compensation to the families. They treated it like a kind of employment, called it an investment into the kids' futures. They got parents on board by promising large sums of money and offering to educate the kids they picked, train them up as high-level servants, even future council members and the like. So, of course, many parents bought into the idea, thrilled their kids would get a leg up in life. At least, that's how it was portrayed."

Aoi huffed. "They probably lied right from the start. I'll bet they abused everyone they took into their houses from the moment it began."

Harl looked sad. "I suspect that's the case."

Arwin shook his head. "I think, most of the time, most of us don't intend for things to turn out this way. Nobody wants to become oppressed or manipulated. It usually happens gradually. People are just going about their lives, trying to survive. But then selfish people show up, like those nobles. They push a little bit here and there, doing things that seem small on their own. They take advantage of our willingness to compromise or our desire to let things go rather than create conflict. We don't realize these compromises only work in their favour and how much they build up over time. Next thing you know, there's a whole system in place that only works to their advantage, not ours, and it seems like we can't get out of it. Good people become slaves without realizing how they got there."

"Until now." Aoi looked over at Arwin, her face serious. "Now we're going to be free again. Thank you for this."

That caught him by surprise. "I didn't—"

"You started it by freeing Bleu's father and the others. You helped inspire us. You even joined in. And now I can live a normal life in the village. I'm very grateful."

Harl added, "As am I, lad. You were the spark we needed. You're right: the rest of us grew into the system and got used to it without thinking about doing something about it. We needed a wake-up call." He slapped Arwin on the shoulder. "We're lucky you came along."

Aoi's face brightened, and she gave him a blue-lipped smile and nod of agreement.

Arwin flushed a bit, embarrassed. He wasn't used to praise, nor was he sure he deserved it. The others were giving him too much credit. "You guys were pretty impressive yourselves. It was a team effort."

Harl stood a bit straighter. "Well, we're not done yet. Let's see how well things went for the others, shall we?"

It was soon clear that the actions of the freed workers had caused an uproar in the village. A crowd was gathering in the circle at the center of the village. Many nobles had been captured. Harl pointed out members of the corrupt village council. All of them now wore the same blue collars that had been on the workers, leaving them pliable and weak. Many had bloody mouths from losing teeth. Villagers were going about the crowd and removing collars from all their peers.

Wounds and sour faces on some of the freed workers indicated that they, too, had come up against resistance while capturing the nobles, just as Arwin and his companions had. However, against all odds, it looked like they'd all somehow managed to pull the plan off. The villagers would have the chance to change their lives for the better.

Fear and hope mingled on the faces of those villagers who hadn't been involved before now. There were tears and laughter and anger from those whose collars came off. The crowd buzzed with conversation, both excited and worried. But, overall, there was a palpable sense of unease and uncertainty in the people gathered, as if they weren't sure what would happen now and if things would turn out all right.

Surveying the villagers, Harl noted, "Change can be scary. The bigger the change, the more some people feel threatened by it."

Aoi stated, "Let's hope they're brave enough to overcome that fear." She raised her voice and called out, "Long live the revolution!"

Hearing that, scattered cheers rose from the crowd in response.

Jacque and Bleu arrived with a downtrodden Tremblée in tow. Bleu pushed him to the ground next to his peers and gave him a savage kick with a dainty foot for good measure. Her previous cheer seemed to have taken a beating during the capture process. A torn bodice and a bloody cut on her father's arm were likely the cause.

When Bleu and Aoi caught sight of each other, they threw their arms around one another.

"I'm so glad you're safe!"

"Thank goodness you're ok!"

Jacque grinned and shook Arwin's hand with his uninjured arm. "You're looking a little banged up there, friend."

"I was about to say the same about you."

Harl jokingly puffed up his chest. "Psh. You young folk acting like you're tough."

They all laughed, relieved that danger had passed and that their goal was within reach.

Jacque waved to a formerly collared worker standing by the prisoners.

The man grabbed a village councillor by the neck and hauled him to his feet. "Now, say it. Just like we agreed."

While trying not to move his mouth too much because of the cut there, Harl told Arwin, "That's the first councillor. He's also the most loyal of those boot lickers. He's a nasty one. Three of our young women, belles, have died in his house. Mysterious circumstances, they said. Illness. Bah. He likes choking the life from them. Nobles knew it; let him do it because he has so much sway over the others on the council. And we were all too cowed to do anything about it."

The first councillor bowed his head in submission. He called out in a shaky voice, "As per the council's unanimous agreement, I hereby declare this village council dissolved. We will now hold a vote for all new council members."

The villagers' voices raised in shock and fear, everyone talking at once.

Jacque stepped up onto a box that someone had dragged over. He bellowed above everyone's heads, "Good people! Listen, please!"

The crowd quieted a little.

Jacque spoke so all could hear. "Look at them." He pointed to the collared nobles and council members. "Too long we suffered because of the worst among us. We gave them our wealth. We gave them our power. We let them decide how we should live. They profited every step of the way, taking more and more and more for themselves while the rest of us got less and less. Today that ends!"

A nervous voice called, "What are you doing, Jacque? Have you all gone mad?"

Aoi called back, "It's not madness. It's justice!"

Harl stepped up next to Jacque. He held up the stack of papers they'd taken from the chateau and a key. "Here are the deeds to Azamont's house and lands. And this is the key to his safe where he's got a literal king's ransom in gold stashed away. While we slaved away, this lot robbed us blind. Today, that ends. Today, we're taking it all back."

Someone asked, "Take it back how?"

Jacque told them, "First, we take back our power. We vote for a new council. We do it here and now: today. We need good men and women who believe in equality and merit. We need leaders who put the village first, not themselves or their cronies. Then we take back our lives. We vote for new laws. No more collerin' and forcin' folk to work against their will for someone else's profit. No more innocent children taken from us and abused in noble homes. We take back the fruits of decades of hard labour and sacrifice. We take all the land and wealth stolen by the nobles and redistribute it between the rest of us."

The crowd rumbled once more, but this time, there was more excitement in their tone.

Jacque continued, "For generations, we've let ourselves be manipulated. We let them divide us and use us for their own personal gains at our expense. Today, it ends. Let's stand together, give each other better lives, and prevent parasites like these from hurting us again in the future."

The crowd broke out into a hundred different conversations.

Arwin could see many scared faces and hear people voicing their worries. But he was pleased to see the freed workers, and both Bleu and Aoi, pull people aside in the crowd and speak earnestly to them, doing what they could to raise everyone's courage and hope.

Seeing the nobles who'd long oppressed them now collared and docile in the village circle was influential. Those long in overwhelming power had been reduced to nothing. Years of pent-up suffering, of anger at the unfairness and unjustness of their lives, boiled over. The crowd increasingly latched onto this chance that others had been so brave to give them. Several men and women were put forth as candidates for the new council. A simple show of hands was made for or against them. One woman, a known noble supporter, was soundly rejected. Others, including Jacque, were voted in.

Bleu came to stand next to Arwin while the villagers discussed her father's potential on the council, with many calling for him to be first councillor. When he was voted in, she beamed, jumping up and down and clapping. She threw her arms around Arwin. "I'm so happy!"

Arwin hugged her back, also pleased to see Jacque recognized.

Without wasting any time, the new council unanimously voted for the village to immediately re-acquire all the land and wealth the nobles possessed. A plan was put in motion to sit down and discuss a fair and merit-based redistribution in the near future. There were cheers all around. The revolution seemed to be a resounding success.

That's when trouble arrived.

It started with the sound of boots tromping along the road and with the sound of spear butts on the cobblestones. Soldiers in black uniforms arrived at the edge of the village circle. There were dozens of them. Spears heads and steel helmets shone in the sun.

While the villagers outnumbered the soldiers, they were unarmed, and plenty of women, children, and the elderly were amongst them. Fear returned to the crowd, though this time, a sense of grim purpose accompanied it. Wary of the soldiers, the villagers backed away to the opposite side of the village circle.

Bleu, standing beside Arwin, looked worried, and she clenched his arm. "This doesn't look good."

Arwin asked, "Are they villagers too?"

"A few. Most are foreign mercenaries. Hired, so they don't have any loyalty to any particular noble."

A soldier in a fancier uniform than the rest, with black feathers in his silver helmet, stepped forward. "That's enough. This farce is at an end. Return to your homes at once!" He stamped his spear on the ground.

Bleu whispered to Arwin, "Commander Zewer. He commands the Ravens."

"Hmph. Sounds like Commander Sewer."

She suppressed a giggle, trying to remain serious.

Jacque stepped in front of the crowd and faced the soldiers. He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "The people have spoken. A new council has been voted in. Those who have employed you are no longer in a position to do so."

Zewer sneered. "They will be back in that position once we take those collars off them and return you to your rightful places like the peasants you are."

Arwin studied the soldiers. They looked fit and able, much more so than the guards they'd battled earlier. They had spears and swords and wore light armour. The villagers would be no match for them. It would be a massacre. From the growing unease on their faces, the villagers knew it, too.

Jacque took a few steps forward and spoke directly to the soldiers behind the commander. "Men. We humbly thank you for your services. We will pay what's owed and more besides. But we do not need soldiers here any longer. Please, allow us to continue our lives in freedom and peace."

Zewer rolled his eyes. "You'll need my spear in the belly if you keep talking, fool. Now, I said — disperse!" He stamped his spear butt on the ground again.

Impressively, most villagers held their ground, with only a few cowards weaselling away in the background.

At an annoyed wave from the commander's hand, the soldiers stomped forward.

Arwin feared that violence would break out at any moment. He jumped forward. Speaking directly to the soldiers, he cried out in his most confident voice, "Gentlemen! Please hold!" He smiled, ignoring the adrenalin spike and anxiousness in his veins.

The soldiers came to an uncertain halt.

He quickly continued. "What my friend here says is true; we do not need soldiers. But — we do need peacekeepers."

A few of the soldiers glanced at each other.

Arwin sensed an opening. "Those who wish to stay employed in this beautiful village can! We need good, strong men to protect the people here from lawbreakers and bandits and monsters. Think of it. By leaving the employ of the nobles and swearing your loyalty to the village instead, you no longer have to walk through town being feared and hated as instruments of oppression. As peacekeepers, you'll be appreciated, regarded as heroes and fellow villagers."

A good portion of the soldiers seemed to take note of this. Some looked thoughtful. A few whispered to others in the ranks.

Arwin raced on lest he lose this chance. "Earn a good wage, live a good life, here with the people instead of against them. You can settle here as peacekeepers, have a family, or take a big, fat payday and adventure elsewhere; it's your choice."

Jacque smiled as well. "He's right. There's no need to shed blood today. We'll provide honourable employment to any who want it and retirement pay to those moving on."

Commander Zewer shouted, "Stop listening to that prattle! Disperse them at once!" He angrily waved them forward.

Some soldiers moved forward, levelling spears, but many others hesitated and held back.

The commander, with almost twenty men at his side, gained enough confidence to level his own spear. Malicious glee on his face, he cried out, "Charge!"

Villagers screamed. Many tried to flee. In the pandemonium, many fell in a rush to escape.

A united roar sounded from behind the charging soldiers.

Arwin's heart fell as he watched the Ravens in the rear rush forward as well. He turned back to the crowd. Seeing Aoi, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the soldiers.

Jacque scooped Bleu up into his big arms and ran after them.

Arwin worried that they wouldn't make it in time.

A soldier in the front line grunted and fell. Then two more did. The others slowed, confused. In moments, the soldiers in the second wave were all over those in front. Spear tips flashed in the sun; fists crashed into jaws. Bodies fell.

The villagers in the crowd closest to the battle noticed that the rear soldiers were on their side. Regaining their courage, many turned and charged into the fray.

Seeing the change, Arwin released Aoi's hand and turned to help as well, Jacque by his side.

In minutes, it was all over. The commander lay face down, two spears sticking out of his corpse. Other soldiers were wounded or tied up. But many were tearing off their Raven insignias.

The villagers cheered. The revolution of the Bleu Region had been won.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Arwin was elated. When he'd decided to do things again after restarting, he'd never imagined them going this far. He hadn't thought of the future beyond getting the flowers for the two young women he'd met and freeing the men from their collars. Seeing real social change come about from the will of the people, seeing them stand up to make the world a better place, moved him a great deal.

That night, the villagers celebrated in the streets. Wine, food, and well-made instruments were liberated from noble houses, along with the beaus, belles, and servants. The life they'd known for generations was falling apart, yet the people were joyous. There would be much work to do later, but this night was for freedom and reuniting with loved ones.

Jacque was much pleased, and his wife even more so. He bragged to any who would listen that it was Arwin who'd freed him from the slave collar and who'd spurred them to further action. It had been Arwin who'd given them a plan against the nobles.

Bleu and Aoi spread the tale of how Arwin had dared Azamont's garden to rescue the flowers they loved. For an hour or so, Arwin was mobbed with grateful attention.

A while into the celebration, Arwin found himself sitting at a table in the village circle with Jacque, the two of them watching the bonfire that had gone up in the center of the circle and the dancing going on all around it.

With a smile, Jacque passed Arwin a glass of wine. "Strange, isn't it? Here we are, comrades who have fought together, and I don't know the first thing about you."

Arwin laughed. "I'm just a guy who happened to be passing by. I'm nobody special." He grew more serious. "Glad to have the chance to help out, though. Nice to see people fighting for equality like this."

"You have nobles where you're from?"

"We used to. We had our revolutions and freed ourselves for a while. Unfortunately, we ended up replacing nobles with merchants who are just more of the same with a different label. Wealth inequality is worse than ever. And people are still getting hurt." He stared into his glass, suddenly feeling blue.

Jacque guessed, "And one of those people hurt was you?"

Arwin nodded. "Yeah. Lost the love of my life a few weeks ago to greed and selfishness."

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

Arwin spent a few moments collecting his thoughts and emotions. "When we first met, I felt like we were on the same page about things. It's part of why I fell in love with her. She was so energetic and smart, charming and positive. We were both progressive, and she seemed to care about the same things I did. I was a teacher, and she praised me for it, said she was proud of me. We made the same salary. But, over time, she started to make more and more money. She works for big-time merchants and has the type of career that's ultra-competitive and rewards people with money and status. So, over time, money and status are what people focus on acquiring more of."

"Sounds like noble society."

"Exactly. Everyone tries to be as rich as they can. They strive to feel superior to everyone else. They crave titles, even though they're just imaginary things, but they somehow bestow more status. I think the more we buy into that lifestyle, the more it twists us and brings out the worst in us. I never noticed while we were together, but it seems like she became greedier over time. I was madly in love with her, even thinking about marrying her. And I thought she was just as serious about me. But when some wealthy guy came along, she immediately jumped at the opportunity and left me for him. No hesitation."

Jacque's face fell. "A tale as old as time, unfortunately."

Arwin scuffed the ground with a heel. "Do we have to keep reliving it, though? She probably thought she was trading up by choosing the guy with more money because money is how she measures people and quality of life. But what if we lived in a society where wealth differences were smaller? Would she have still done that?"

"Maybe she would have chosen to stay with you for all the reasons she picked you in the first place: like who you are as a person and how much you loved her. Quality of person and the relationship itself would have been the measuring stick."

"Yeah. At least, I hope so."

"Or maybe that was her true nature, and she would have eventually betrayed you regardless. If not over money, then over something else."

"Maybe she's selfish at heart, and I just never saw it. But the way our society focuses so much on money and competition, I think it brought out the worst in her."

"So that's why you were so keen to help us."

"I guess I saw the opportunity to strike back at that culture of selfishness and greed. I thought I could help make the world a better place, so I took it."

"Things might have turned out differently. You might have died. Almost did."

Arwin ruefully chuckled. He had died once. "Yeah. Never been through anything like this before. Fighting and people dying and such. I'm glad it all worked out."

"As am I. And many others are grateful as well." He hesitated and looked conflicted. "Although, that said, I'm sorry to say that not everyone is going to be pleased with the way things are changing."

Arwin nodded. He'd noted a sizeable minority during the vote earlier who'd never raised their hands for any of the candidates. Several people had been vocal about their opposition to the whole thing. No doubt, these were either conservative people who were scared of change or those who had something to lose now that the nobles were no longer in power.

Jacque clapped him on the shoulder, apologetic. "Know that you've friends here, always. I am so thankful for everything you've done. But, for your safety, you might want to think about leaving the Blue Region for a while until things cool down."

Arwin blinked in surprise. "What?" He didn't want to leave. After all that recent rejection back home, he'd made new friends here and had expected to stick around, getting to know people better.

Jacque explained. "There are a lot of good folks here. But some around here will be looking for revenge or putting the nobles back in charge. I and others on the council are going to have to be careful. But, as much as I hate to admit it, a foreigner might seem an easier target to take their revenge on, especially since all this started with you. I don't want to wake up one day and find you lying in the street with a knife in your back. I'm sorry. Though, of course, the choice is yours." He patted Arwin on the back and then left him be.

Arwin was a little put out by the man's words. He felt rejected again, though he knew in the back of his mind that wasn't fair, yet it dampened his previously high spirits. As the celebration continued through the night, many people came up to Arwin to thank him. More than one glass of wine was enthusiastically pushed into his hands. He did feel a bit better for a while.

But once he started looking for it, Arwin could see beyond the smiling faces to some of the ones in the shadows, people who were not as happy with the change to village life as the others. They watched Arwin with hostile eyes. So he made sure not to let too much wine go to his head.

Reluctantly, he had to admit that Jacque's words had probably been spoken in kindness. He'd been wrong to feel rejected. As much as he wanted to stay longer, it really might be safer to move on for a while. He could return once things settled down and a new normal set in. Some of the bad apples might have left the village by then. And, after all, this was a whole new world for him; he wanted to continue exploring it.

Still, knowing he would be departing so soon left him feeling pretty bummed out. Jacque and Harl were both solid guys. Bleu and Aoi were interesting. He wanted new friends. He didn't want to leave them all behind.

With the stars overhead and the light of the bonfire still bright in the village circle, people danced and laughed together long into the night. Arwin did his best to join in and earned good-natured jests for his inability to mimic local dancing.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

The next day, Arwin enjoyed sightseeing, admiring the medieval setting and that most people were blue-skinned, something completely different from his world. Well, except for Smurfs. And the Blue Man Group. And Beast, Apocolypse, Nightcrawler, Mystique, and Archangel. Aladdin's genie. They were probably all fictional, though. But there was that very real Fugate family from Kentucky, USA, with a genetic condition that made their skin bluish. Ok, so maybe blue skin wasn't as uncommon as one might think.

Trouble came Arwin's way soon enough. He came to a stop in a random street and then turned around on a whim, only to find a viciously snarling man behind him, driving a dagger at his gut.

"Whoa!" Arwin leapt backwards, barely avoiding the blade.

The man spat, "You snake in the grass!" taking another stab. "You ruined everything!"

Arwin let the knife miss again, then chopped his arm down on the attacker's wrist before kicking him in the groin.

The man's eyes rolled back, and he fell to his knees, dropping the weapon to clutch his bruised testicles instead. A second kick to the head knocked him senseless onto the street.

The action drew attention and a small crowd. Some were worried for his sake. Not all were sympathetic. One couple gave Arwin the stink eye and looked like they would have preferred it if Arwin had been the one on the ground.

Someone sent for Jacque, the new first councillor, who came at a run. Luckily, it was clear what had happened and why. Witnesses spoke in Arwin's defence. The crowd moved on relatively quickly, and the attacker hauled away.

Jacque put a heavy hand on Arwin's shoulder. The look on his face was regretful but knowing and said it all.

Arwin looked at him. "Guess you were right."

"I'm sorry, Arwin. I am. You're an easy target, being a foreigner and not blue-skinned. And you were the catalyst behind what's happening. It's not going to be safe here for a while until we get things settled into a new normal." He genuinely looked apologetic. He sighed. "Maybe we could…" He trailed off, at a loss.

Arwin wanted to stay and get to know these people better, his spirit yearning for new friendships. But he could see the logic to the idea of leaving for a while.

Social change could be difficult, and not everyone was happy to go along with it. He didn't relish being made the town scapegoat and the target of their hate. He'd gotten lucky just now. If he hadn't randomly turned at the right moment, he could have died today.

He tried to look for a silver lining. His recent success had restored some of his self-confidence and distracted him from his recent heartache over Kelli.

Relationship struggles provide opportunities for us to re-evaluate ourselves and to choose who we want to be going forward. After a long period of grieving and depression, he was finally going through that process, moving on after his breakup. Maybe continuing to adventure in this new world on his own would be good for him.

He spent another night in the village, then decided to hit the road. He waved goodbye to Bleu and Aoi and Jacque, promising to return and meaning it, and strode off down the main road alone.

The dirt road was marred by wagon wheel ruts and clumps of weed and grass. The forest surrounded him, evergreen and everblue trees towering far overhead, reminiscent of Earth's giant douglas firs, but many were far larger. Trunks stood as solid and wide as apartment buildings, wrapped in crackling brown bark, with needles in the branches above as long as his forearm.

On a whim, he wandered off the road into the woods, though he tried to keep the road in sight. Looking up into the sky-high reaches of the trees, something strange caught his eye amidst the broken light and organic shapes of the branches. There was something almost uniform there. He stopped and squinted up. Yes, there was something unnatural up there. It had person-made regularity.

As he moved around to get a better look, he spotted similar dark shapes in other places. But they were broken up and inconsistent. Was that a ladder? A bridge? Were those frayed ropes dangling over there? Or was it all just shadows and his imagination? Unfortunately, they were too high, and the light too dim to clearly make things out. He continued on his way and immediately tripped over something on the ground.

Picking himself up off the prickly, brown ground, Arwin looked back to see what caught his foot. His eyebrows rose in surprise. He'd uncovered a few old and very worn wooden planks, mostly buried under the forest floor. Sweeping off some of the dirt and debris covering them, he could see that they would have been held together with rope at one time. Now, they were falling apart from rot. He glanced back upwards. Those really were some kind of manmade bridges or something up above. Perhaps an elaborate tree house. Or tree village, given the size. It looked like it had been a very long time since anyone had used it, though.

He continued on, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. Pretty much everything was. He saw two bellhops hopping through the woods, each bell making a distinctive ring at the top of their bounce.

Disturbed by Arwin's passage, a cat of nine tails jumped out from some bushes, startling him, and lashed him vigorously with all nine soft and velvety tentacles. Satisfied that justice had been done, the cat haughtily sauntered a short way off before sitting down and studying Arwin from a safe vantage point. Arwin had the odd sensation that the feline giving him the cat scan was cataloguing him and was maybe on the point of catechizing him, perhaps before realizing that it couldn't speak human. Then, the creature vanished once again into the underbrush.

Arwin shook his head. He'd certainly been catapulted into a strange world.

Eventually, the great coniferous trees thinned, and more leafy types worked their way into the forest. He came to a fork in the road.

Which way should he go? Neither looked more used, so taking the less travelled one simply wasn't an option (sorry, Robert Frost). With nothing to indicate that either way was better, he chose at random and ambled off, heading south.

He noticed the sun passing its zenith overhead. Growling in his stomach reminded him that adventuring through the woods builds an appetite and that he hadn't brought lunch with him, nor had he made plans about spending the night. In fact, he'd left the village with nothing, entirely unprepared for anything.

"Hmm. It appears that I'm quite the rookie at adventuring," he chided himself. He grew a little worried and wondered if he should turn around and head back to the Blue Region. He had no map or destination, no provisions; what had he been thinking?

But all this instantly swept from his mind when he turned a corner in the road and saw what lay before him.

It was a skeleton picking his butt! Her butt? He couldn't tell gender just from the bones. The figure was down on one hand and both knees, the other limb lodged deep in their backside. The bones were bleached white from the sun, entirely free of flesh, and somewhat shone under the clear blue sky. Incongruously, around the skeleton's knees were a pair of red boxers with white hearts. It was as if someone had stripped a person of all their clothes and flesh but left them with their underwear.

A male voice grumbled and worked the back hand around rigorously. Well, that cleared the gender up. Probably.

Arwin's eyes widened. He pulled up to the skeleton on the path, only to see the skeleton go into a growling fury while trying to extricate its hand from its backside. "Uh, hi." Arwin mock-defensively raised his hands. "Sorry, is this an inappropriate time?"

The skull twisted around to look up at him from the ground. He grumbled, "Oh, of all the rotten times to be caught with one's pants down."

Arwin's jaw dropped. "You can talk!"

The skeleton rolled his head in exasperation. "Ah, you're a simpleton. For a moment, I was worried that you might be someone dangerous."

Arwin's gaze levelled. "And apparently, you're rude."

The skeleton let out a whoosh of air, which was impressive, given that he had no lungs. "Don't just stand there. Give me a hand!"

Backing away slowly, Arwin replied, "I think you've already got one. I'll just leave you to whatever it is you're doing. No judgment here."

The skeleton snarled, "Oh, don't be a nincompoop. I don't care what you think I'm doing, but this isn't what it looks like. I ran afoul of a troll with a sense of humour who shoved my bones into place like this, and now they're stuck. Better than running across an ogre and having them ground into dust, but still, it's rather undignified, and the sooner the situation is rectified, the sooner I'll stop being the butt of your jokes."

Arwin snickered. "Don't you mean when the situation is 'rectumfied'?"

The skeleton glared at him.

Arwin shrugged apologetically and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "I saw a bunch of puns earlier..."

The skeleton shook his head as if he were listening to an idiot.

Arwin smiled. "Dude, come on. Butt of your jokes? You didn't do that on purpose?"

The skeleton's cheeks seemed to turn a shade of reddish pink, though bone shouldn't have been able to do so. "All right, enough! I think we've reached the end of this!"

"Or, at least, you certainly have." Arwin snickered again.

The skeleton shouted with frustration, "Are you going to help me out or stand there laughing at me all day long?"

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

"Sorry." Arwin hurried forward. After a few seconds of experimentally twisting the arm and hand, he extracted the limb from the pelvic bone.

With a sigh of relief, the skeleton stood and stretched before pulling his red and white boxers up into place. "Ah, much better. That was giving me a kink in the shoulder." He turned and offered his bony hand, and Arwin shook it. The grip was firm, and the bones were smooth and dry. "Thanks for that. Sorry for being so short-tempered with you. It was a rather embarrassing and uncomfortable situation to be caught in."

"Don't mention it." Arwin tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.

The skeleton's eye sockets narrowed. "Are you always like this?"

"Um, maybe? I could be out of sorts. I've never spoken to the undead before. Didn't even know they were real. That only happens in books and movies where I come from."

Unless, of course, he was, in actuality, crashed in a ditch somewhere just off the highway on Earth, and everything he'd gone through up to this point had been happening entirely in his concussed head. He hoped not. That would be super disappointing, like those movies where someone goes through all this amazing stuff only to wake up at the end of the film and realize that it was all just a dream. The thought that this world might not be real for him really bummed him out. He frowned.

It's ok, the author assured him, momentarily breaking the fourth wall or something. That isn't the case here.

Arwin relaxed again, pleased.

The skeleton looked puzzled. "Where do you come from? Undead like myself are not exactly commonplace, granted, but everyone knows that undead exist in real life. Er, undeath. I mean— Whatever."

"I guess it depends on the location of your reality."

The skeleton mused, "Ah, so you're from farther away. You're from the Knight's Realm?"

"Nope. No knights where I come from."

The skeleton studied him, then spoke doubtfully, "You're from Pillé, City of Thieves?"

Arwin shook his head. "No. Definitely not. Sounds dangerous." He paused. "But also exciting. Is that wrong?"

"The Indós Morass?"

"I have no idea what that is. Sounds messy, though."

The skeleton tilted his head. "Hmm. You don't look like an elf, and your skin isn't red, so I doubt it's the Blood Kingdom or the Red Region. Somewhere in the Heart Kingdom, then?"

Arwin's eyes widened. "There are elves here?"

The skeleton looked taken aback. "Yes, of course. Several different kinds."

Arwin excitedly babbled, "Dwarves? Naga? Goblins? Gnomes? Fairies?"

The skeleton only appeared more confused. "Obviously."

Arwin enthused, "Wow. That's awesome! And no, I'm not from the Heart Kingdom. I'm really pumped to go there, though." He chuckled. Wordplay was fun.

The skeleton tapped his chin thoughtfully and appraised the human in front of him. "I'm not much on fashion nowadays, not needing it myself, but come to think of it, your clothes are nothing like what people wear anywhere I've been in Heartstone. You also have an odd accent. Uncouth and boorish, but I suppose the ladies will adore it anyway, simply because it's foreign, and some think that anything foreign is exotic and attractive. Finely cut hair, perfect teeth, strange ignorance of all things Heartstone, and you enjoy puns, finding them amusing instead of bothersome. Perhaps you aren't from around here at all."

"That's what I'm saying! Wait." Arwin looked down at himself: dark green sneakers, fitted gray jeans, and a plain white t-shirt he'd managed to wash the blood out of that showed off his somewhat muscular arms. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" He pointed. "Also, you do realize that you're a skeleton but you're wearing underwear, right?"

"It helps people identify me so they don't think I'm just another undead walking around. Then try to destroy me."

"Ah. Does that work?"

"Sometimes." The skeleton looked around for a moment, puzzled. Then his gaze caught the tall forest behind Arwin. His voice filled with awe. "No. It couldn't be. After all this time, has the Curtain finally opened again?"

Arwin's head tilted to the side. "The Curtain? And why did you capitalize it like that when you said it? Also, how do I know that you capitalized it?" He frowned, confused.

"The Curtain," the skeleton explained, "is a magical barrier separating Heartstone from the non-magical dimension of Drearia, what you call Earth, I think. You know, I find it strange that you named your planet after dirt. Anyway, Drearia is where very early primates and then, later, modern humans of Heartstone originated from."

"Wow. That's cool. Small world. Er, universe? Multiverse?"

"The Curtain is one of several portals to other dimensions found in our world. In the past, the portal was always open, allowing people to venture from Heartstone to Drearia and back again, though not that many took advantage of the opportunity to go to Drearia because there's no magic, so why bother? There are far better travel destinations.

Arwin nodded. "That's why you call it Drearia, I assume. Yeah, I can understand that."

"But the Curtain has been closed for ages. I heard that the shutdown was supposed to be permanent in order to protect Heartstone." He frowned, and he continued in a worried tone. "The Curtain is powered by the Heartstone. Has something weakened the power of the Heartstone so that the stone can no longer keep the portal closed? That's a very troubling thought."

"The Curtain was protecting Heartstone from Earth?"

"Well, yes. No offence."

Arwin assured him, "None taken. You should see what we've done to the place over the last two hundred years. Killed off something like sixty percent of all living things — on the entire planet. We're responsible for the world's first manmade mass extinction event, losing so many entire species that we've lost count. Negatively affected the climate of the entire planet with our pollution and rampant consumerism. Seems like every month, we break more heat records. Polar ice caps are melting. Sea levels are rising high enough for islands to disappear. Storms are getting worse. Wildfires are big enough that smoke travels across oceans to other continents. We all live on the edge of ecological disaster. Social and financial inequality has skyrocketed to the worst levels in history. Pandemics are killing millions, and nobody cares. All kinds of problems."

The skeleton stared at him with a slack jaw and hollow, unbelieving eyes.

Arwin sighed. "Yeah. I'm guessing that's why you closed the portal to my world, eh? Good call."

The skeleton allowed, "I had no idea that things were so bad. If I recall, the portal was shut because of rising pollution and rapidly advancing war technology."

"Ah, probably the Industrial Revolution and all that coal burning. Followed by dynamite and modern warfare. We had two world wars, back to back."

The skeleton staggered back a half step. "World? You mean the entire planet, all nations at war at the same time?"

"Sadly, yes. Forty or fifty million died in the second one, I think? It only ended when we dropped two nuclear bombs, each strong enough to reduce an entire city to ash. Not our proudest achievements." Arwin huffed and changed the subject. "So, Heartstone is a place and a thing?"

The skeleton took a moment to regroup from the horrors Arwin had so casually rattled off, then nodded. "I can tell by your seemingly limitless ignorance that you really must be from Drearia after all. Yes, both place and thing. The place was named after the thing, you see. The Heartstone thing rests in the centre of the place, this continent. It's a very big stone that acts like a heart, pumping concentrated magicons, a type of tiny particle, into the realm. I'm told that magicons exist everywhere, perhaps even in your universe, but their density in Heartstone contributes to our rich diversity of magical things. The particles naturally affect both living creatures and the inanimate. Buildups of magicons in certain regions are responsible for most of the puns. And magic users can harness available magicons to power spells and so forth. Makes our world a much, much less dreary place than yours."

Arwin grinned. "Punny, I was just thinking the same thing." He guffawed and slapped his knee at his own joke.

The skeleton would have rolled his eyes if he'd had any. He sighed instead. "You know, puns are more like an unfortunate side effect of the magic. It's considered bad taste in some circles to throw more than necessary into a conversation."

Arwin sobered and replied with mock seriousness. "Well, I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me. Being handed such advice from a handsome skeleton like yourself is really handy. You seem like a dab hand, and I don't want to force your hand or make you get your hands dirty, but you are hands down the only person I know here. I think I'd be in safe hands if you could further give me a guiding hand." Arwin snickered, then couldn't help himself and doubled over in laughter at his humour.

The skeleton remained silent for a long moment. His eye sockets bored into the human until the laughter dried up, and Arwin stood straight again. The skeleton shook his head. "You don't have many friends, do you?"

Arwin opened his mouth to reply but had nothing to say to that. His shoulders slumped as he remembered his recent bad luck with friends back home. "Recently, not so much."

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

The skeleton mulled the issue over. "Well, you did help me out. And you aren't going to last very long in Heartstone on your own. It's a dangerous place."

Arwin exclaimed, "Don't I know it! Dude, I met a blue screen of death!"

The skeleton sighed. "I suppose I could lend you a hand."

Arwin crooked an eyebrow. "Did you just do that on purpose?"

The skeleton made a roguish smile. "It's good to be able to laugh at yourself once in a while, right?"

Arwin beamed, pleased. "What's your name, sir skeleton?"

"Yaz."

"Arwin." He offered his hand. "Yaz, I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Yaz grinned wider and shook hands. "What true friendship isn't? It's my pleasure to welcome you to Heartstone, Arwin."

"Thank you!" Arwin did indeed feel welcome. He recalled how things had gone wrong with Eddie, a good friend, back on his world. There was a momentary hesitation at forming a new friendship, no matter how much he needed it. But this was a friendly, animated, talking skeleton! Of course, he was going to befriend it. Skeletons were awesome. Especially dancing ones. He wondered if Yaz could dance. A question for later, perhaps. He waited three seconds. "Say, can you dance?"

Yaz looked at him oddly. "Of course."

"Dude, that's awesome." Arwin admired his newfound friend, studying him and trying, perhaps failing, not to stare.

Yaz gave him a look. "Dude? What's that mean?"

"Uh… Hmm. It's just a general expression, kind of an emotional addition. I guess it means man. Like, where's that dude going? It means where's that man going? Or, hey, man, how's it going? Hey, dude, how's it going? Good job, man. Good job, dude."

"Huh. Never heard that before. Must be a Drearian expression."

"No doubt. Slang. It's pretty versatile. I mean, you can have an entire conversation with just dude if you use it right?"

"What? How?"

"Like…" He pointed at the sky and spoke with a rapturous tone as if looking at something beautiful, "Dude!" He pointed at Yaz's boxers with an amused tone and confused expression as if asking what the heck he was wearing. "Dude?" He pretended to be sad about something and moaned, "Dude." He angrily snapped, "Dude!"

In deep thought, Yaz rubbed his chin bone. "Yes. I see. I mean—" He adopted a tone that communicated he was beginning to understand, saying, "Duuude."

Arwin happily laughed and clapped his hands. "Dude!"

Yaz spoke with satisfaction at getting it, "Dude." He cocked his head to the side. "Is it male only? What do you say for women?"

Arwin blew out his cheeks in surprised thought. "Uh, huh. Some people use dudette to refer to a woman. But I suppose it is silly to gender words like that. Dude could be a gender-neutral expression if we started thinking of it as one."

"Seems easier to use then. And women might be more likely to use it."

"Surf boarders probably use it. And skateboarders. Snowboarders."

"You…have a real love of boards?"

"That and balls. Everyone is always playing with their balls. Baseball, basketball, volleyball, dodgeball."

"That's a lot of balls."

"Yep. Professional sports are huge in Drearia. People get paid massive fortunes to play with their balls all day long."

"Wow. Drearia sounds really messed up."

"Yeah. It is." Arwin took a moment to study Yaz.

The skeleton was naked, unhampered by the silly convention of clothing. While he appeared whole and as healthy as someone undead might, closer inspection hinted at the man's age and perhaps at an eventful past. Yaz had a thin crack in his skull, hairline fractures here and there around his body, a metal plate in his left forearm that was keeping the bones in place, and one rib that appeared to be freshly bandaged to keep it in one piece.

Arwin marvelled, saying, "Dude. Wow. You look like you've survived a scrape or two in the past." When Yaz gave him a questioning look, Arwin nodded towards the metal brace, then pointed at the rib fracture.

"Ah." Yaz held his arm up and looked at the injury. "Yeah. As far as I can tell, I'm immortal but not quite invulnerable. This is the price of being an adventurer. I'm luckier than most, though. If I still had flesh, many of the things that caused these would have killed me. It's not so bad. I still have a complete set. Haven't lost any yet."

"Any what?"

"Bones. And I don't mind a crack or chip here and there."

Arwin laughed. He felt himself bonding with Yaz already. "So, before the unfortunate troll struck, where were you off to?"

"I'm on a quest for love and honour. Actually, I've been on this quest before. I've recently taken the task up again after an extended break. One last hurrah."

"Cool! What's the objective?"

"I'm going to rescue a princess."

"Oh, ok. Of course, you are." Arwin mock-condescendingly patted Yaz a couple of times on the bony shoulder. "How very cliché."

With a frown, the skeleton insisted, "No, really. I am going to rescue a princess."

Arwin snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure. Why wouldn't you be? Blue fields that make you sad, bluebells for blue belles, funny trolls, talking skeletons. Why wouldn't there be princesses here, too?"

Yaz nodded matter-of-factly. "Exactly."

Arwin shrugged. "Ok, if you insist. And how do you happen to know a real princess? Why does she need rescuing?"

Yaz's hollow-eyed gaze somehow grew distant. "To make a long story short, many centuries ago, we were in love."

"Er, I hate to break it to you, but short stories don't start many centuries ago—"

"Shush and listen! She was a princess, and I was a knight. And in love with her, and she with me, though I was told nothing would ever be allowed to come of it. Then, a real villain took my true love from me, killed her father, and forced her to marry him to make him king. I tried to stop it. He tortured me to death and turned me into this. He taunted me in my undeath by being with the woman I loved right in front of me. But Epheria, my love, was heartbroken and determined to deny the magician usurper his prize."

"Oh! There are magicians here, too?"

"They were all called magicians back then, as the science of magic has only become mainstream in the past six or seven hundred years. Today, those who use the scientific method in their magical studies are called magicists, and more rudimentary users are called magicians."

"I see."

"Anyway, in an effort to protect herself and frustrate him, Epheria stole a magical device from the villain's library and encased herself in crystal for eternity. Furious and with nothing to taunt me with, the magician buried me so deep in the ground that it took me eighty-two years to dig myself out, scratching my way up through the clay and soil, grain by grain. I nearly — ok, to be fair, I did go insane for several decades. By the time I was free, the magician was long gone, the kingdom had collapsed, and my princess had vanished. I don't know where she went. I've been searching for her ever since."

"I thought you said you took an extended break?"

"Yes. Well. You see, after discovering that I had been trapped underground for eighty-two years, I realized that, should she have been freed from the crystal somehow, she would likely have died of old age by that time."

Arwin nodded, then stated, "But you searched anyway."

"I did. For many years, I wandered the length and breadth of Heartstone, searching for what had happened to her. I spent decades looking for her. Thing is, you can only keep going for so long. I heard nothing. Not a rumour of her whereabouts, no legend, nothing. A decade passed, then a century, then two. In all that time, no matter where I looked, I found not a single clue, not one hint that she still existed. Not even descendants. And…at some point, other things started coming up. Life. A friend needed help here; a kingdom needed saving there. We slayed a few dragons and crawled a few dungeons."

"I've done a little D and D myself. Good times."

"The next thing you know, twelve hundred years have passed by. And, you can only take the loneliness for so long." He sighed deeply, the weight of years on him. "I loved Epheria with all I had. I did. But after a while, with nothing to go on, I had to accept that she was gone. Eventually, I had to move on. I've fallen in love many times with others and enjoyed some truly heartfelt relationships. Most recently, I fell in love with a very pretty vampire, and we spent a lovely century together."

Arwin asked with surprise, "A vampire?" He smiled knowingly. "A sexy vampire?"

"Obviously. That's my type."

"Ever date a zombie?"

Yaz looked affronted. "Why? Because I'm a skeleton? Even I have standards. I may be undead, but I have no desire to hang out with shuffling corpses, mobile disease bags, and mindless, feral bloodsuckers." His voice turned rosy. "Mistial, the vampire, is a very beautiful and classy woman, a properly turned vamp, not one of those graveyard crawlers who lives in the dirt. She passes for human when she wants to, which is how she takes a lot of her prey."

"A beautiful vampire. That's dangerous. I'd probably get sucked into that relationship easily." He laughed. "Unfortunately, I suppose, for a living guy like me, vampires might best be appreciated from a distance. But hey, there's a huge upside to being an animated skeleton. She couldn't drink your blood, right? So you know that she loves you for you, not what she literally gets out of you. Good for you."

"I have to admit, it was nice not having to worry about the one you love growing old and dying on you. Or constantly worrying about them falling ill and perishing in plagues. And, as a vampire, she had no problem walking the streets alone at night. She could take care of herself. It was great."

"Are you still together?"

"No. After a century as a couple, we both realized it was time to shake things up. We both wanted to go out and experience different things. But we still love each other. There's always a chance we'll find our way back to each other someday. Neither of us is in a rush, being immortal and all."

"So, what made you interested in finding Epheria again?"

Yaz took a deep breath. "Well, after all those years in love with Mistial, once I was on my own again, back to wandering Heartstone, I got to thinking about Epheria, something I hadn't done in a very long time. And it felt like I had unfinished business."

"Surely, you must have searched everywhere by now, though. Where are you going to look?"

"It's been a while, but I think there are maybe only two places left that I haven't fully explored in person: the castle currently occupied by the Dark Enchantress and the Ogre village in the Enchanted Forest."

"So, I'm guessing the home of Heartstone's evilest witch and a village full of giant, man-eating ogres."

"Yes. Exactly that."

"I can see why you might have skipped those in the past."

"Yes. It never occurred to me until recently, but, thinking back, I think I can remember that the old magician who killed me had used a couple of ogre mercenaries at one point. I suppose there's a tiny chance that maybe he gave the crystallized princess to them, or maybe they took it after he passed away? I don't know. But it was always too dangerous to visit Ogre Home, and I didn't think I had a real reason to do so, so I never did more than scout the perimeter."

"And the Dark Enchantress?"

"The Dark Enchantress wasn't alive back then, so it seems very unlikely she'd have it. I questioned her predecessor at the time, but she claimed to have nothing to do with the magician who'd done this to us. I had no reason to doubt her; she was widely respected, and I believed her to be honest. But, technically, I never did take a look around her castle, so I suppose there's a faint chance it's there. Or Epheria and the crystal prison could have been destroyed. Or she was freed and died of old age before I got out of the ground, and there's nothing to find."

"So we're grasping at the last two straws here, huh? The only two places you have left to check are also two of the most dangerous and unlikely."

"It wouldn't be a proper quest if it was going to be easy."

Arwin looked at the skeleton with worry. "Yaz, you're going to get yourself killed."

Yaz gave him a pointed look. "Um…" He waved at his skeletal frame.

"I mean even deader than you already are. The Dark Enchantress could probably vaporize you or something. The ogres could crunch your bones into dust. And what if that doesn't even kill you? What if you just become sentient dust and are blown around by the wind for all eternity? Yaz, former knight, now just dust on the wind."

"True, that wouldn't be fun. But I've lived a long, good life." He looked down. "And I really miss Epheria. I've never stopped loving her. I want to give finding her one last shot."

Arwin thoughtfully looked at him and came to a decision. "Ok. So where do the ogres live?"

"In a village on some hills at the southern edge of the Enchanted Forest." He pointed that way. "Not far from the South-Western Artery."

"The what now?"

"South-Western Artery. It's one of the four major river systems in Heartstone."

"Right; ok then. And…I think someone told me that the Dark Enchantress lives near here somewhere?"

"Yes. I thought I'd try there first. It's where I was heading before the troll came along."

"Do you have a plan to get in and convince her to help you?"

Yaz replied defensively. "I'm working on it."

"And?"

"No, I don't have a plan."

"Dude, it sounds like you're the one who needs a hand, after all. You can have mine. Both of them, if you like." Arwin physically offered them both, though he meant the gesture symbolically.

Yaz regarded Arwin with surprise. "You're offering to help? What about your job, your life, your world? Aren't you eager to get back to where you came from?" His tone of voice indicated that this was naturally the most expected course of action for Arwin to take.

Arwin waved at the scenery around him. "And turn down an opportunity for an adventure like this? In a world of magic and puns and talking skeletons? Not in a million years. Besides, my new friend needs help, and I want to give it."

Yaz shook his head. "I'm on a thirteen-hundred-year quest to rescue my beloved. She is quite possibly in the clutches of a famously evil magic user of unparalleled ability and power, or she's in a village of large, immensely powerful, human-eating ogres. You're in a land you've never been to and know nothing about. You could just as soon die from not knowing the real nature of a seemingly harmless but deadly plant or be burned alive by a fire-breathing dragon. And you want to help?"

Arwin's eyes widened. "Do you think we'll get to see a dragon? Dude! That would be cool!"

Yaz waved his hands in denial. "No, no, no. I really don't think you have the correct attitude about dragons at all. No one says 'Cool!' when they see a dragon. Definitely not with any sort of enthusiasm."

Arwin gave his new friend a look. "Then maybe you should learn to appreciate the world around you a little more."

Yaz gave him a flat look.

Arwin snapped his fingers. "You know, I've already seen a dragon! That's how I got here. I was driving along in my world when I turned a corner, and there was this huge, pink dragon—"

"Pink?"

"Yes. With really colourful wings, like a dragonfly or butterfly or something."

"Probably Syntheloxirim."

"Wow, that's a mouthful of consonants. Who the hell came up with such complicated names for dragons? Anyway, seeing a real live dragon freaked me out. I went off the road, somewhat shocked and terrified, and ended up here."

"Well, you didn't get eaten. Count yourself very lucky."

"I do. And now I'm excited to find this princess with you. And maybe see a dragon, but from a safe distance."

"You really shouldn't join me. It's going to be foolhardy and dangerous."

Arwin shrugged. "I'm ok with that."

"You don't know how to use magic or swing a sword, I assume? You're going to die a horrible death."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Death. Gruesome death."

Arwin stared at him.

But Yaz was relentless. "Bloody, ugly, painful, gruesome, deathly death."

"I'm willing to take that risk," Arwin steadfastly insisted. He knew this was probably ridiculously stupid of him. There was no need for him to throw himself into the jaws of an evil mage on his first days in Heartstone. He should probably just wander around on his own, take it slow, and get to know this new world in a safer way, like a tourist. After all, hadn't he just left the Blue Region in order to stay out of danger? And yet, an adventure like this was just too good to pass up. He felt himself growing very excited.

Yaz regarded him in silence for a moment. "Can I talk you out of this?"

Arwin hesitated only a moment, then shook his head once. He looked Yaz in the eye sockets. "No, you can't. Besides, it sounds like you could use a friend right now. Gotta be lonely tromping all over the place by yourself, feeling hopeless and down because the love of your life is gone."

Yaz defensively crossed his arms. "I've got plenty of friends," he protested.

"Any of them willing to sneak into the castle of the Dark Enchantress with you right about now?"

"No," he admitted, bony arms falling to his sides.

Arwin grinned. "Then let's do this!"

Yaz grinned back. "This might be the start of a beautiful but very short friendship."

"Psh." Arwin outwardly dismissed the idea with a wave, though inwardly, he worried the very same thing. "These witches and ogres might have had the better of you alone, but together? Hell no. We can do this. We'll kick their doors down, and you can be, like, 'Dude, where's my princess?!'" Arwin twitched with surprise. Somehow, he'd spoken using both an exclamation mark and a question mark at the same time, something that should only be possible in comics. Weird. And yet…despite convention, maybe it was the most logical way to convey shouted questions. Something to think about.

Yaz clapped his new partner on the shoulder. "Arwin, I like your attitude. Very well, we'll join forces. A friend when we're in need is a true friend indeed."

Arwin liked the sound of that.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

They set off in the direction of the Dark Enchantress's castle side-by-side. They went south, for a while, towards the next village. But before reaching it, they turned off the enchanted path and took a lesser, non-magical trail off into the forest, one that was rough and seemed infrequently travelled.

Yaz explained, "The main road back there heads to a village called Tradition and the North-Western Artery. The Dark Enchantress lives in the heart of Spider Swamp, to the East. There's no main road to her castle, probably because there aren't enough travellers dimwitted enough to go there. This trail takes us to the peninsula where Magicist Beers lives, which is on the edge of the swamps. When the trail turns south to his place, we need to keep going east, which should bring us into the swamps. It's been a while since I've come this way. I usually visit the good magicist by boat, but I think there's a trail of some kind that we can take. I seem to remember a sign."

The walk was peaceful. The forest rose tall on both sides, broken here and there by a bubbling stream or scrub brush. The sun warmed them from above, a bright, cheery ball of yellow high above in a mostly clear, blue sky. Every now and then, huge, fluffy cloud giants drifted by at play. From the ground, they seemed to move in slow motion. The day was pleasant, and birds sang happily in the boughs above. The more adept ones even managed rudimentary lyrics.

As they walked, Yaz patiently pointed out interesting things about the scenery as they passed and generously answered Arwin's endless questions about it. Being very old and very well-travelled, Yaz was a font of knowledge about all things Heartstone. Arwin soon counted himself incredibly fortunate to have met him.

Pointing to a bush covered in red berries, Yaz indicated, "That is a mulberry bush. Eating the berries causes you to mull over things and really focus. Excellent when you need to think about something really hard. Some parents give them to their children as study aids, though there's some controversy about such things."

Arwin sampled one. It tasted a bit dusty to him. "There was a blueberry bush near where I came into Heartstone."

"Nutritious, but causes depression in large amounts."

"So I gathered. Or rather, I didn't, for that very reason."

Yaz counted off types of berries on the points of his fingerbones. "Strawberries are delicious but have no nutritional value, just like straw. Raspberries will make your voice raspy. Elderberries make you older. Doesn't bother me any, I'm immortal, but you should take care. You may prefer the rarer youngerberries, which make you younger. Currants have an electrifying spark when you bite into them. Nothing painful; kids love them. Chokeberries—"

Arwin's eyes widened in alarm. "I'll stay away from those!"

Yaz firmly agreed, "Quite. Blackberries turn your skin darker, even black for a short while if you eat enough of them. Ninjas are said to use them before missions. Also popular with cosplayers, performers, and makeup artists. White berries for the same, but in reverse. Cloudberries get you high."

"Like you're walking on clouds?"

"They make you feel very happy but also slightly above everyone else as if you're better than them. People get addicted to them for both reasons. Oh! These are fun." He stopped by a bush and plucked a couple of dark purple berries. "Try them." He handed them to Arwin.

Arwin popped one into his mouth and bit down. "Ow!" It felt as if Yaz had just poked him in the chest. He frowned at his companion. "Did you—?"

"No." Yaz smiled.

Arwin eyed him crossly and ate another berry. Again, a hard poke hit him, this time in the stomach. He looked at the berries in consternation; then realization dawned on him. "Ah! Pokeberries!"

Yaz laughed. "Yes."

Arwin tossed the rest in his mouth all at once and winced as his body was bombarded from several directions at once. "Delicious but painful. A berry interesting lesson."

They continued walking along the path. A little further along, they came across a small hut made of wooden slats and grasses.

Arwin asked, "What's that?"

"A cloakroom. A room that makes cloaks. There's another variety, cloak and dagger rooms, but they're much harder to find, their locations often mysteries."

True enough, when they poked their heads in, a wide variety of cloaks hung from the walls. When Arwin experimentally took one off of a peg-like branch growing from a strut in the wall, another cloak slowly spun into being to take its place, threads growing right out of the branch.

They continued on and stopped at another odd site.

"And that?" Arwin pointed to a rectangular structure that looked as if it was made from sheets of chocolate-coloured satin.

"An enrober. It provides robes."

As they stood in front of the enrober, Arwin asked, "Is stuff like this common around Heartstone?"

Yaz nodded. "In Heartstone, you can physically craft the things you need by hand, without magic. But we're also lucky in that magic naturally affects evolution, and this creates a good many useful plants and animals for us as well. Things like the cloakroom and the enrober, on the other hand, are man-made. Over the millennia, inventors and cultivators have used magic to create useful and not-so-useful things: machines, plants, and items. Many of these have been scattered all around Heartstone, even in the wild. And some, especially living creations, have replicated on their own and become part of the natural flora and fauna of the continent. In this case, the cloakroom and enrober were probably assembled by good-natured folk as a way to help out passing travellers, such as ourselves. At some point, both will age and fall apart and become part of the soil just like a dead tree, so there's no worry about pollution."

Arwin mischievously smiled. "Wait here. I've got a great idea." He went over to the enrober, rummaged inside for a few minutes until finding what he wanted, then returned. He held out a black bundle. "Here. Try it on."

Yaz looked confused. "Why? I'm a skeleton. I don't need clothes. The rain and wind aren't a bother."

"Trust me," Arwin insisted, pushing the bundle into the skeleton's hands.

Yaz shrugged and threw the garment on. It was a black, hooded robe with sleeves. His bone-white face peered out from under the cowl.

"Excellent!" Arwin grinned. "You look ten times more menacing like this. On Earth, the personification of death is often a skeleton in just this kind of black robe. Now we just need to get you a scythe for reaping the souls of the dying. Figuratively, of course. Please don't do that in real life."

Yaz stretched out his arms and tried to get a look at himself. He pushed the hood away from his eyes. He complained, "I can hardly see with this thing in front of my face. And it feels so bulky. I rarely wear clothes."

"But I'll bet you're a lot more intimidating this way. Much less likely to be the victim of bad troll humour. Just glower and wiggle your fingers menacingly and watch what happens."

Yaz reluctantly looked around for someone to experiment on. He found a toadstool on the side of the road and walked over. It was a few moments before the toad stopped hopping around and noticed him, graciously offering the skeleton its stool-shaped head as a seat. The skeleton stepped forward and did his best to look dangerous. His fingers waggled with menace, and the permanent white grin of his undead skull loomed from the shadows of the hood.

The toad croaked a shriek and leaped away as fast as it could ponderously hop.

Yaz returned to Arwin. He happily decided, "I like it. This might come in handy." So as not to go around scaring people unnecessarily, however, he removed the robe and tucked it into his rib cage, which he apparently used for carrying things. Straps underneath the cage kept the clothing from falling out.

They walked on. A short while later, Arwin thought he heard voices coming from the trees. He paused to listen and was certain that he heard women giggling and laughing.

Arwin asked his new friend, "Are we near a village?"

Yaz shook his head. "Not to my knowledge." He cocked his head and listened. "Fellow travellers, perhaps?"

Arwin was eager to experience anything and everything that was Heartstone. Moving towards the side of the path, he asked, "Shall we investigate?"

"Sure."

They pushed their way past bushes lining the path and entered the forest. The trees around them were tall and majestic, with wide trunks that must have taken many centuries to grow.

Soon, Yaz noticed something in the distance. He grabbed Arwin and hauled him behind one of the tree trunks, out of view.

Now even more curious, Arwin asked, "What is it?"

Yaz urged, "Look. But stay hidden."

Arwin craned his head around the tree trunk.

Before them, the forest opened into a beautiful glade. On one side, a spring fountained up from some rocks, filling a small, clear pool. There was an orchard with fruit trees, including a breadfruit tree whose fruit was loaves of fresh bread that gave off steam; you could smell them baking as they grew. There was a carnival-style booth made out of branches, vines, and flowers. It had a crude sign that said Meat Market and, on the table below, several sexy cuts of cooked meat paraded around like they were on a fashion show catwalk. On another side of the glade was a tent-like structure.

And there was more. Something — miraculous.

"Duuuude…"

Not quite keeping the smile out of his voice, Yaz replied, "Ah. I could see how that would be interesting to those still of the flesh. The hut is a disrober. It makes you want to take your clothes off." It was very similar to the enrober but made of white satin. Discarded clothes had been cast around the exit.

Arwin replied, eyes glued to the glory before him, "It's amazing." He pointed. "Who are they?"

Outside the hut cavorted a collection of fantastic women. They danced naked outside, all laughs and fits of pleasantly jiggling giggles.

"Those are nymphs?"

Gazing at these wild forest nymphs was like gazing at a splendid and varied garden. No two women were alike. Some nymphs were completely naked, while others had artfully draped garlands of colourful flowers and deep green leaves growing about their bodies, hiding only enough to excite the imagination while remaining essentially still nude. Butterflies and hummingbirds danced amidst the nymphs, feeding from their flowers before darting away.

The females were mostly human in overall appearance but for a few exceptions. Some appeared to look like any normal woman Arwin was familiar with from his world. Others had bodies that were as vibrant as flowers, their skin pink, blue, green, red, purple, or other colours, like petals.

The hair on their heads was seemingly littered with leaves and flowers, though it was unclear from a distance if these were decorations or actually growing there.

Bright eyes came in all colours: joyfully sparkling gold, mysterious green, icy-cool blue, playful pink, and more. Some had short, plain nails, while others had long nails as green as a tree's leaves or as brown as bark.

Yaz smiled at Arwin's interest. "There's a variety of nymphs all over Heartstone. These here are forest nymphs. Their role is to care for the local forest and the living things within it. There are also water nymphs, cloud nymphs, fruit nymphs, vegetable nymphs, book nymphs, and many other kinds. Many have physical characteristics reflective of their nature. You can see the way these ones feature flowers and leaves."

"All nymphs are female, right?"

"There are also male equivalents called satyrs and a related species called fauns. Satyrs look mostly human and are usually tall and muscled. Fauns are a smaller goat type and usually have goat-like legs and feet. They're more playful and carefree."

The creatures in front of Arwin were mind-blowing visions. Staggered, he quietly exclaimed, "They're gorgeous!"

"We're not in a rush." Yaz waved Arwin towards the glade. "Why don't you go introduce yourself?"

Arwin looked wide-eyed at Yaz. "Really?"

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Dappled sunlight played across the grass and along the thick tree trunk next to Arwin and his new companion. The delicate sound of feminine laughter and giggling voices carried easily through the fresh air.

"Go ahead." Yaz motioned towards the forest glade before them. "You introduce yourself to the beauties over there, and I'll take a nap while I wait."

Arwin looked at the playful nymphs and wanted to go but hesitated. This should be an easy decision. But it wasn't. "I don't know…"

Yaz laughed. "From the way you're staring at those lovely ladies, I think you do know."

Arwin shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to go over and talk to them," he admitted but made no move to do so. Arwin looked at the nymphs. He was tempted. Really tempted. He almost got up then, intending to enter the nymph glade. But, as happened far too often recently, unwelcome thoughts of Kelli started to worm their way into his brain. It sickened and twisted his excitement, mixing his feelings up.

Yaz seemed to notice a change in his facial expression. "What's wrong?"

Arwin cursed the unwelcome return of his depression. "Thinking about my ex. I just got out of an intense three-year relationship a few weeks ago."

"Bad breakup?"

He tried not to laugh and cry at the same time at such an understatement. "Yeah. I was crazy about her. I was going to marry her. She decided that money was more important than love, so she cheated on me and hooked up with some rich guy. Then she set me up to find out about it in public in order to permanently destroy what we had between us."

Angrily, Yaz spat, "That's heinous! I'm so sorry you had to go through that." He put a hand on Arwin's shoulder to comfort him. "No one deserves to be treated that way. Especially not by someone they loved."

Arwin felt himself choke up a bit. He nodded briefly. "Thanks." He looked down at the ground, trying to wrestle his feelings under control. He normally thought of himself as even-keeled, but ever since the breakup, he'd been emotionally fragile, swinging back and forth at unexpected times. It seemed his wondrous time with Aoi and Bleu hadn't put an end to that. Looking back up at the nymphs, his lust had sunk under a swell of pain from his broken heart.

Enjoying the company of the Bleu and Aoi had made him very much aware that, more than sex with fabulously beautiful women, he wanted shared love. Unfortunately, a part of him still yearned for Kelli's love and to love her again. He hated that he was still dwelling on this, especially at this moment.

Yaz spoke gently, "You two broke up. I know how much that hurts, but you have to move on to heal. This seems like the perfect opportunity. Feel a bit better about yourself and about life. Regain hope that other women are out there and that you have a chance of meeting someone new."

Arwin slowly nodded. "Yeah, maybe." He chuckled ruefully but made no move to leave. "It's weird. Kelli wasn't faithful. And she's already with someone else. But it almost feels like it would be cheating on her to even flirt with someone new."

Yaz matter-of-factly replied, "That's probably because you're still in love with her."

Arwin sighed. "Probably." It looked like he still had a way to go before he fully recovered.

Yaz looked Arwin in the eyes. "Things are not going to change overnight. But I promise it's a lot easier to get over someone after we meet new people and have new experiences. A breakup like that will absolutely destroy your ego and sense of self. I think it'll be really healthy for you to get some positive attention from a member of the opposite sex. After how your ex betrayed and hurt you, you need it."

"Yeah." Arwin thoughtfully rubbed his chin. Yaz was right. He pushed his negativity and depression away. He told himself that it was ok to move on from the past. He consciously let himself come around to the idea.

To his surprise, he felt some of the darkness drift away. It didn't vanish completely; it still sat there in the pit of his stomach. But his excitement for the nymphs once more rose to the forefront. He clapped his hands together, psyching himself up and feeling more himself again. "Ok, I'm going." Arwin straightened up, and a smile bloomed on his face. He faced the glade and dancing girls. They had ceased using the disrober and now splashed in the edge of the pool, water droplets and bare skin sparkling in the warm sun.

One of the nymphs looked up, seemingly secretively. Her eyes locked onto Arwin's, even from that distance, and she bit her lower lip. Then she was laughing and playing again with the others. It had been only a moment, but it had felt like a hell of an invitation.

He felt a rush of excitement flood through him. "Holy cow. This is wild!"

With a deep breath and with increasing anticipation, he cautiously made his way into the glade. He angled towards the disrober, putting it between him and the ladies, screening himself from view.

Hidden by the hut, he watched as a nymph came bounding by him, apparently oblivious to him. He'd never seen a woman with naturally green hair before. Hers was light, like the leaves of an elm tree, and it flowed in a thick, wild tangle to her hips. Just as the nymph walked by the disrober, Arwin stepped into view.

The nymph prettily shrieked and turned on her delicate toes. She cast an inviting glance and sly smile over her shoulder to make sure he was coming after her, then took off across the grass, pleasantly laughing.

Arwin grinned.

 

[TimBaril]

YAZ​

Meandering away from the glade, Yaz explored the local forest, looking for a quiet place to lie down and nap. Being undead, he didn't really need sleep and often went without it, but for some reason, it still refreshed him when he chose to indulge. Perhaps it was some kind of emotional holdover from when he'd been properly alive.

He found a bed of old pine needles in a crevice created by a pair of very large roots and nestled in amongst them. He had no eyelids to close, but the thought of doing so dimmed his vision as if he had. As he rested, his thoughts drifted.

This Arwin fellow was interesting. A man from Drearia! That was rare, indeed, these days. Arwin seemed young at heart, playful, and generally cheery. But Yaz could see bouts of darkness cross his features every now and then. Yaz empathized with the wounds of heartbreak and depression, and he admired Arwin's battle to overcome them.

He felt a little worried about allowing the young man to join him on this dangerous adventure. However, surely Arwin would be safer in Yaz's company than wandering alone. Without arrogance, Yaz knew that he was a very formidable adventurer. With a complete lack of understanding and wariness of Heartstone's creatures and environment, leaving Arwin to his own devices in the wild would be akin to allowing a toddler to wander a battlefield. Sooner or later, blood would be spilled.

So far, Arwin seemed like a solid individual, trustworthy and capable. At least, that was the impression he'd gotten. There are instances when we meet people where we seem to click together right away, like the right puzzle pieces finding each other, and fast friendship evolves. This felt like one of those times.

He heard a gentle rustle from the forest floor and opened his magical eyes a crack but saw nothing and closed them again.

He needed to think of a plan for confronting the Dark Enchantress. Sneak in? Highly unlikely it would be possible. Surely, she had magical wards up and guards of some kind. Her predecessor had been welcoming enough, though not to the degree that she'd allowed him to search her property. The Dark Enchantress, however, had a veryvillainous reputation. Surely, she'd respond harshly if he and Arwin were foolish enough to simply knock on the front door. So what were they supposed to do?

Something large and heavy landed on Yaz's body. Air would have flown from his lungs if he'd still had those organs.

His vision flew open.

A grinning, dark-green hobgoblin lay atop him, trapping Yaz on the ground. Hobgoblins are larger and much stronger versions of common goblins. They are human-sized as opposed to a child-sized goblin. Calmer and more intelligent than the smaller goblins they often command, these vile creatures revel in causing pain. This particular hobgoblin wore armour of ragged, mixed leathers, probably looted from his previous victims. He carried no weapon, putting his weight on both hands to keep Yaz's arms pinned to the pine needles. The hobgoblin grunted in triumph.

Several smaller green goblins appeared, scrambling over the tree roots and swarming down atop Yaz. These creatures were mostly less than a meter tall, scraggly and scrawny, with sharp teeth and long, pointed ears. Their skin was beset by warts and scars, and they wore only fur or leather loincloths or went naked. They were armed with spears, clubs, and stone or wood knives.

Yaz tried to fight but could do nothing while pinned. He growled and opened his mouth to call out in warning, knowing the nymphs might be alerted even if Arwin was too far away to hear. They were forest caretakers, after all.

A goblin managed to get behind Yaz's head and strung a rough rope between his open jaws to gag him. A burlap sack came down over his skull. Then he was bound to the tree roots around him with more rope and covered with what felt like needles and branches and forest detritus.

He started to wonder what their plan for him was. It's not like they could do much to hurt him. He was a skeleton. Then he heard the goblins quietly moving off in the direction of the nymph glade, eagerly chuckling.

Panic shot through him. He fought to break free of his bindings. He had to hurry.

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Foliage all around the edge of the glade suddenly rustled. Nymphly heads swivelled in all directions to see what was causing it. They frowned and looked wary. A few began to rise.

Arwin was puzzled by their concern until he recalled Yaz talking about how well aware of their environment nymphs were. He, too, frowned. Had something managed to sneak up on them?

Dozens of sneering, cackling goblins poured into the glade. Some were small, like hideous green children, but others were as large as Arwin.

The nymphs who'd been sitting about the glade shot to their feet in alarm, gasps and high-pitched screams ringing out.

Arwin gritted his teeth at the sight of monsters.

The goblin force had taken the time to surround the nymphs and cut off any possible escape. They wielded wood spears with crude stone tips, rusty swords, and rope nets. They greedily eyed the nymphs.

From the look of the monstrous beasts, Arwin wasn't sure if they intended to kidnap or eat the nymphs.

Arwin hastily looked around, hoping to spy a weak point in the goblin cordon. Where could the nymphs run and escape to? Was any place safe?

A goblin in grungy, red shaman's robes stepped from the shadows. He was larger than the green, rag-tag warriors, better dressed and looked more intelligent. He waved his small hands, and other goblins around the glade stabbed a series of small, glowing totems into the ground. With a word from the shaman, the totems glowed even more harshly with weak, eerie crimson light surrounding the glade in a creepy, magical ring.

An armoured hobgoblin stepped into the open. At least, Arwin figured it for one because of its size. Where was the D&D Monster Manual when you needed it? The hobgoblin commanded in a guttural voice, "Grab! Take human. Eat roast man tonight!' He laughed evilly.

One of the nymphs spooked. She took off towards the forest, away from the shaman and leader, perhaps intending to break through the circle of goblins and lead the others to safety. "Run!" she shouted to her sisters, her voice full of panic. Then her eyes widened in great surprise: she was unable to run with the magical speed a nymph normally used to evade predators. Instead, she was no faster than a regular human woman. Not expecting to move so slowly, she tripped and fell with a cry.

A pair of goblins ran up. They threw a net over her and began tying her up.

Fighting back, she screamed, "No!" But if she normally had spells or special skills, they were not in effect, likely thanks to the goblin magic-dampening field or whatever it was.

The wicked monsters charged.

The nymphs, disorganized in their panic, fled in different directions but hesitated in their escape because there was danger everywhere.

Goblins threw more nets over their prey, and the women screamed in terror.

Arwin could see that there'd be no way to fight and hold the monsters off. He had to create an opening for the nymphs to escape, so he dashed toward the nearest goblin in the ring.

The creature was not large, only a meter tall. He was bald and green, with pointed ears and ugly teeth. A few pieces of haphazard leather of different types flapped over his loins. Wielding a wooden spear with a chipped stone tip, he cackled with glee and aimed to murder the human in front of him, completely unafraid despite the massive difference in size and strength.

Had Arwin been in an objective frame of mind, he might have questioned his unthinking decision to charge an armed foe with his bare hands. It's not as if he'd ever fought anyone with swords and spears back in his own world. He was completely vulnerable and had nothing but his fists and feet to strike with.

The nasty little goblin shrieked with anticipation, no doubt thinking Arwin an easy prize. It thrust its spear straight ahead.

Arwin sidestepped, slapped the spear to the side, and kicked out as hard as he could, his foot landing squarely in the short goblin's face.

The goblin's head snapped back, and it dropped the spear.

As if he were chopping wood, Arwin snatched up the spear, raised it overhead, and slammed the head of it down on the goblin's face, killing the creature. It was the first time he'd ever killed anything before. An eerie jolt of wrongness shot through him.

Nymphly screams sounded from behind.

Arwin whirled and saw the nymphs fleeing in all directions from goblins who'd struck into their midst. Others were already down and caught and screaming for help. Lovely arms and legs stuck out from the nets, helplessly waving and kicking.

A big, sneering hobgoblin came up from behind one nymph, grabbed her long hair, and cruelly dragged her down, then threw a rope net over her.

Arwin burst towards them, eyes seeing red, spear tight in one hand. He growled like a wild animal and attacked with all his might.

The hobgoblin was so surprised by Arwin's ferocity that he couldn't pull his sword free of its rusted scabbard in time. Arwin's stolen spear crashed right between ribs and buried itself in a lung. The creature staggered backwards in shock.

Arwin ripped the net off of the nymph, then tore the sword from the scabbard at the hobgoblin's waist. A couple of savage slashes and the hobgoblin fell, blood spurting from the gashes opened in its throat.

By now, other goblins had caught on to the danger the lone human male presented. Angrily leaving off their prey, many turned as one towards Arwin and charged him together.

Pointing at Arwin, the leader shouted, "Take him!"

Together, the goblin horde attacked.

Arwin aimed himself toward the nearest goblin first. With absolutely no skill at all, only superior size and power, he swung at the goblin with his sword, intending to obliterate it as easily as he had the previous one.

The nimble and much shorter goblin easily ducked the clumsy strike and lashed out with his club, catching Arwin in the knee.

Arwin grunted in pain as he stumbled past, knocking another goblin out of the way. Another hit landed on his thigh, this time from a stone knife. His injured leg buckled, and he found himself rolling in the grass. But he managed to hold on to his sword. He pushed himself up, fighting to stand and bleeding badly, but not caring. He had to protect the nymphs. Where was Yaz? He needed the man's help!

Two green goblins charged. One had a spear, the other a hatchet.

Arwin threw his weapon as hard as he could at the goblin with the hatchet.

The goblin was not expecting such a foolish move. The sharp point of the sword hit the goblin in the left eye, destroying the orb, and then cut deeply along the goblin's head as it spun away. The weapon didn't kill him, but he turned away, blinded and screaming in pain, his head gushing purple blood.

His partner, also surprised by the move, had stupidly turned and watched the flight of the sword as it nailed the first goblin. As he watched, he continued to charge, not looking at his target as much as he should have been.

Arwin knocked the stone spearhead aside, taking a cut on that arm, and punched the goblin to the ground. He knelt down and lifted his hand for another blow.

The little monster was resilient. He snarled and snapped his broken, diseased teeth at Arwin. He clawed at the human with broken, dirty nails that left jagged red marks all over Arwin's arms.

But Arwin held the smaller creature down easily with one hand and bashed his fist into the goblin's face with all his strength. Once, twice, and the goblin's jaw shattered, then three times, then four, and the goblin died a brutal death.

The big hobgoblin leader came up and threw a heavy rope net over Arwin. A second and third net fell atop him. Then bodies piled onto him, pushing him down into the corpse below and rendering him helpless.

As the goblins bundled him up in the nets, Arwin looked around for Yaz. Where was the skeleton, and why hadn't he come to help? Had the goblins gotten to him first? He hoped his new friend was ok.

Darkness spawned in Arwin's heart. He momentarily wondered if Yaz had seen the number of goblins and run off, leaving Arwin to his fate. He hoped not.

The goblins pulled up the totems and carefully encircled the trapped and netted nymphs. With some arcane words and waves of his hands, the shaman kept the totems working.

Arwin cursed, helpless. He'd failed the women. And he himself was in danger, too. He counted himself lucky that they hadn't killed him outright and had only taken him prisoner. No doubt they had nefarious designs, but perhaps he could engineer some way to free the others and escape.

The goblins carried their prey through the trees, deeper into the forest. The march was slow going and lasted a long time. They eventually went down into a gully shrouded by so many branches overhead that the light dimmed. At the bottom of the gully was a small clearing of bare soil. A large, unlit fire pit sat in the center. At the edges of the gully, several excavated cave mouths yawned from behind branches meant to hide them. The goblins evidently had some kind of rabbit-like warren here.

There were more goblins here, and they came out of the caves as the hunting party returned, mingling cries of celebration with the hunters' boastful shouts. Goblins danced and cackled and pumped their knives and spears into the air. Hungry eyes appraised Arwin and the nymphs the way one does the meat you're about to fry for dinner.

The nymphs were separated into one cave while Arwin was taken to another. Both had crude wooden gates fashioned across the entrances, cleverly hidden by tying branches to the crossed slats.

They dumped Arwin like a sack of potatoes into his prison. He clumsily threw off the nets and stood. Catching sight of someone else in the shadows deeper in, he momentarily flushed with embarrassment.

The other person shuffled forward. It was a human man. He looked half-starved, and his eyes were haunted. Judging from his worn overalls and rubber boots, he appeared to be a simple farmer of some kind. The man moved towards the still-open gate.

Goblins slammed the gate shut and laughed as the farmer weakly raged at them, struggling to open the portal again. But it was no use. They walked off, still laughing, and the man slid to the ground, defeated.

Arwin squatted nearby, then reached out and gently touched him on the shoulder. "Are you ok?"

Those haunted eyes barely saw Arwin. "Mary. Please. Help my Mary."

"Is she also a prisoner here?"

The man's face fell, and he wept.

A disturbance outside caught Arwin's attention. He heard a woman begging.

The farmer sat up and clawed up the gate once more, tearing at the camouflage to see past it. "Mary!"

A weary but scared female voice whined, "Othar! Don't let them. Please!"

Several goblins walked by, carrying a human woman over their heads. The tribe of monsters gathered about the open area. Some loaded the fire pit with wood and lit it while others tied the woman down to metal stakes buried deep in the earth nearby.

The farmer next to Arwin violently shook at the bars, but he was weak, and the bars strong. "No. You putrid monsters!"

 

[TimBaril]

YAZ​

Despite his best and most frantic efforts, Yaz was unable to get out of the ropes that were binding him. As long minutes passed, his worry increased. When he heard the sounds of goblins attacking the nymph glade, his worry exploded into anxiousness. Yet he remained utterly helpless.

The sound of the goblin attack faded, and much time passed. He feared the worst had happened to Arwin. He hung his head.

Something nudged his arms from behind.

Yaz instinctively craned his head to look, but the sack on his head prevented that. "Who's there? Can you help? Untie me, please! It's urgent! Lives are at stake!"

A small, canine muzzle pressed into his forearm bones and gnawed at the bindings. After a few minutes, the rope fell apart.

Yaz scrambled to pull his arms free and then yanked the sack off his head.

A foxy, black tail with a white tip disappeared around the curve of the huge tree above him.

Yaz wasted no time, even to thank his shy rescuer. He untied the rope around his ankles. Leaping to his feet, he bolted for the nymph glade.

When he arrived, his figurative heart fell. The grass was chewed up and stained with purple blood that trailed directly to the now-murky pond. Stepping up to the shore, he could see that goblin bodies had been dumped into the water.

Yaz despised green goblins.

They were considered a plague by many other species. They bred very rapidly if left unchecked, resulting in population explosions that push out from the nest and overtake the surrounding lands. Green goblins are cruel, violent, unrepentant, and devour everything.

Because of this, many other species react harshly to any hint of goblin nests and actively seek out and destroy them. Thus, goblins sometimes try to mask their trail to prevent discovery, as they had done here. Obviously, the semi-intelligent creatures weren't very good at it, but dumping the bodies of their dead underwater was surely an attempt to hide who had plundered the nymph glade. Or it was just an easy, spiteful way to foul the spring. The bodies would rot and spoil the water, poisoning those who drank here.

He reached down and pulled each corpse out and dumped them onto the grass nearby. Going underwater was an easy job when you don't need to breathe. Luckily, Yaz saw no sign of Arwin's body in the spring. There was a chance that the Drearian was still alive. He'd probably been hauled back to the nest as food. Depending on how hungry the goblin tribe was and how much livestock they already had on hand, Arwin might be on the menu as early as tonight. There was no time to waste.

Yaz was a veteran adventurer, likely one of the oldest in all of Heartstone. It was easy enough for him to follow the goblin trail out of the glade and through the woods. He ran after them.

Eventually, he came across a goblin patrol. He ducked into hiding in the bushes before they could spot him. Watching them pass, he took note of the trail worn by their little, bare feet. He was tempted to allow them to pass and then run ahead to rescue his new friend, but the voice in the back of his head warned him that he couldn't allow these two goblins to escape unscathed. The only way to stop a green goblin plague was to destroy every single one of them.

He crept through the underbrush, angling behind the patrol. When he got close, he kicked one goblin in the back, sending it tumbling forward. Then he grabbed the other and jammed his sharp finger bones into the creature's left eye. The orb exploded, bones pushed into the brain, and the creature died. Taking the crude spear from the corpse, he finished off the other goblin with a stab to the chest.

Another patrol coming along might discover them, so he dragged the bodies away from the trail and hid them behind a tree under some dead, brown tree needles.

He looked up. The sun was fading now, approaching the horizon, and the forest was rapidly growing dark. Yaz would have preferred taking his time, circling the nest and taking out as many guard goblins as he could before tackling the nest itself. That would prevent reinforcements, give him an idea of how big the nest was, and maybe help locate Arwin. It would make sure that none of the goblins escaped later. Unfortunately, that would take time. He had no idea if Arwin was still alive and, if he was, how much longer that might last. So the skeleton pressed forward, seeking the heart of the nest.

He heard the goblins before he saw them. There were shouts and banter, chanting and singing. It indicated an established nest; these goblins were not afraid of being discovered by anyone nearby, perhaps having already killed off local competition. With the nymphs no doubt brought back as rich prizes, the tribe was celebrating. There would probably be food.

Arwin was going to be that food.

This became readily clear as he snuck up to the edge of the gully they called home and peered down into their midst. A large bonfire blazed, and a huge ring of goblins and hobgoblins danced around it. Others beat drums and chanted under the direction of a pair of shamans.

Hobgoblins and shamans. Lots of them. That meant the creatures were evolving. When the little ones gained enough experience, confidence, food, and strength, they went through a growth spurt, becoming hobs. They only did that when they had time and success.

If Yaz had still had a stomach, it would be curdling about now. Even a nest of a dozen common green goblins was a danger that kingdom soldiers and adventurer guilds jumped on to wipe out. A nest this big, with this many hobs? If one of them hadn't evolved into a goblin chieftain already, one would very soon. Goblin lords would be next. And goblin lords, much like lords of other species, led armies. The kind that ravished and enslaved entire kingdoms. The kind that led to the evolution of goblin kings, and the last one that had arisen, had threatened the entire continent of Heartstone.

Scanning the edges of the gully, he deduced the locations of several camouflaged cave entrances. The creatures had probably started by invading the burrows of other animals and taking them over. Judging by the dirt scattered around the top of the gully, the goblins were digging far deeper than any bear or giant burrowing wasps had as their tribe grew.

A quick estimate indicated that there were likely over a hundred commons and hobs. That was quite a few. And if they'd taken all those nymphs alive, the number of goblins was about to explode exponentially. This was a serious danger for the entire region, a monster disaster if it wasn't eliminated immediately.

Yaz crouched, stone-headed spear in hand, and thought. Where were Arwin and the nymphs being held, and how was he going to both free them and destroy this nest?

And how would he do it all by himself?

 

[TimBaril]

YAZ​

Night arrived, and the world plunged into darkness. Firelight reflected off the canopy of needled branches overhead and the massive, cinnamon-coloured trunks of the redwood trees that surrounded the gully. In another setting, it would be beautiful. But drums and chanting and the screech of goblin voices filled the air.

Yaz quietly made his way around the edge of the gully, picking his way between ferns and deadwood, searching for signs of Arwin and the nymphs. He kept a wary eye out for patrols and guards. And it was well that he did. When a woman was hauled out, it attracted the attention of poorly disciplined guards just ahead of him.

They drifted away from their posts to the edge of the gully, where they could watch, yakking and hooting and no doubt eager to join their fellows.

Yaz hated the idea of leaving the woman to her horrid fate, but realistically, there was little he could hope to do by charging in there alone and being impossibly outnumbered. He made good use of the tragic distraction she presented by disposing of nearly a dozen green thugs around the gully rim as he circled it. He picked up a well-nicked, rusty dirk from an early victim and snuck up behind the others, cutting throats or sliding the blade into an ear or heart. Though he'd once been a knight, not a rogue, he could do the job when he had to. He moved as quickly as he dared, frustrated and tense because he knew time could be short.

Then something caused him to slow.

In one corner of the gully, firelight seemed forbidden to enter, struggling to penetrate darkness deeper than the night, something unnatural.

Creeping closer, the air became more humid, the sounds of celebration muted, and Yaz's eyes adjusted.

The space was filled with a fat, leafy oak tree, something that shouldn't have grown in this evergreen forest. The bark was dark-iron gray. Little purple explosions of bioluminescent ferns poked up from around some of the gnarled roots. A patch of glowing, blue fungus infested one side of the tree and vines with bunches of pink flowers akin to wisteria draped from some of the overhanging branches.

Yaz had never seen anything like it. It looked beautiful and otherworldly. If this tree had anything to do with the goblins, it had to be dangerous. Instinctively steering clear, he cut across this end of the gully, which seemed safe enough because the goblins looked like they were avoiding the dark tree, too. He climbed up the other side of the gully and moved away from the dark tree, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he went.

Hobgoblins hauled a male prisoner out of a cell and led him to the cooking fire. For a moment, Yaz panicked, thinking it must be Arwin, until he heard Arwin's protests from below, where they'd dragged the other man from.

The prisoner was chained to a horizontal pole over the flames and hung to roast while still alive. His screams encouraged goblin jeers. Those closest licked their lips and drooled in anticipation. The human wasn't the only thing cooking; a variety of beasts and pots of dead things, mushrooms, and wild vegetables hung over multiple fires. Feeding this greedy mob would take more than one human. But everyone has their favourite meat.

Yaz slew the nearest green goblins on watch. Reaching a point above the prison, he cautiously climbed down the side of the steep gully, working his way between the ferns while trying to stay hidden by their foliage.

He put his foot down, and it sank without purchase into empty air.

Surprising himself, he lost his grip and fell past a well-camouflaged window that he hadn't noticed. He landed hard on the ground outside the prison door, right between two startled hobgoblin guards.

One shouted in alarm, speaking in goblin tongue, a language Yaz had learned a millennium ago. "Enemy!"

The sounds of celebration shifted as nearby goblins and hobgoblins heard the cry and caught sight of Yaz.

Feeling like a complete klutz and cursing himself for his incompetence, Yaz got to his feet and brandished his stolen dirk, keeping the monsters away.

The goblins seemed fascinated rather than alarmed at the entrance of an undead into their midst. Well, there was only one of him.

Arwin shouted from the nearby prison gate, only a couple of steps behind Yaz, "Yaz!" He clung to the bars, hope on his face.

Yaz cast a hurried glance back in his friend's direction. With a snap of the wrist, he sent the knife at the gate. "Here!" The weapon bounced off one of the bars and fell at Arwin's feet.

Arwin snatched the knife up and brought it inside the prison before a guard could get to it.

One of the hobs growled at the sight, then turned on Yaz. He had a rusty longsword and stabbed with it.

How many fights had he been in over the centuries? How many people had tried to kill him? How many had he ended in return? Yaz reflexively turned into the thrust, grabbed the hobgoblin's wrist, where he jabbed his pointed thumb into a nerve and disarmed him, then stole the sword, leaving the guard open-mouthed with surprise.

A small goblin ran at Yaz from behind, screeching.

Yaz spun and beheaded it with a practiced slash. The body fell flat while the head bounced on the ground and came to rest at the feet of the horde that was now forming a ring around the skeleton.

Arwin must have seen the danger. "Yaz, get out of here! Run!"

"What about you?"

"Forget me! Save yourself!"

Yaz tsked at his predicament. When the guard who'd lost the sword tried to reclaim it, he casually stabbed the monster in the gut, then the throat, then slashed the second guard across the face, permanently blinding him. The whole time, he kept his attention on the mob in front of the prison. A few goblins were no challenge for him. An entire tribe, on the other hand…

Dozens of red eyes watched, and sharp teeth gleamed. There was no dismay at the deaths of the others. The goblins shouted and cheered at this new source of amusement. Green goblins may live in tribes, but they are not true social creatures the way humans are. They don't care about each other, only what they can eat, mate with, or kill. Association with other greens is a matter of convenience, not friendship or community. A skeleton dropping into their midst and giving battle was a chance for sport.

Two goblins charged.

In a blur of movement, Yaz cut them down with two slices of steel. He kicked the corpses into position a meter and a half in front of himself. This would give him room to move while giving the still-living goblins something to trip over to reach him.

Arwin said in amazement, "Dude, you're a goblin slayer!"

Killing five goblins so swiftly, two of them hobs seemed to put a measure of respect into the others. They could all just swamp Yaz, of course, and there'd be nothing he could do but kill a few before going down and getting himself trapped. Then he'd spend however many years chained up in their tunnels if they didn't just bash his skull into shards for fun.

But whether they feared dying in that rush or knew that it would spoil the fun for the others, the mob kept their distance, only jeering and throwing insults his way. He was surrounded.

Now what?

 

[TimBaril]

ARWIN​

Armed and with the guards dead, Arwin frantically tried to escape. But while the door had no lock, only a simple latch, the mechanism was out of reach to the side of the door. Only someone outside could let him out.

He stabbed at the door itself, trying to work the knife into the dried rope holding the wood together. Unfortunately, they were even tougher than the wood itself. The sight of his friend sparked guilt.

Yaz was cornered.

Though he'd been overjoyed to see the skeleton, he didn't want the man throwing his long life away. "Seriously, Yaz, make a break for it. You can't take them all on!"

Yaz growled, glaring at the amused goblins around him. "Then find a way out of there, and we'll both go. I'm not leaving you."

Arwin ran his hands over the door, madly looking for a weak spot. Frustrated at the lack of one, he turned to the rest of the shallow cave they were using as a prison. He stabbed and kicked at the walls, trying to dig through. It seemed fruitless until he reached the back wall. Kicking here felt different than the side walls. It was…softer?

He attacked the wall. A smile broke out on his lips as hard-packed dirt and gravel fell away. The goblins had been tunnelling into the earth to build their encampment. Was there another tunnel on the other side of this dirt?

The knife blade stabbed through up to the hilt.

Yes! He attacked harder, digging away and slamming his shoulder at the wall. A tiny hole opened up, revealing darkness. He worked at it, widening it, ignoring the sounds of fighting behind him. He had to escape before Yaz fell.

The hole grew wide enough to stick his head through. He did but saw nothing, only sensing a large, empty space. Another minute and the hole was wide enough to crawl into.

Sounds of fighting, cheering, and booing sounded behind him, nearly stealing his attention.

Forcing himself to ignore the uproar, he squirmed through and fell on his head. Picking himself up, he was able to stand hunched over in a passageway. A faint yellow glow flickered a couple of dozen meters down the tunnel. Swiftly, he scuttled towards it.

Two green goblins sat in front of a heavy, iron-bound wooden door, with a torch set in an iron ring on the wall. The portal looked completely unlike the goblin architecture that Arwin had seen thus far. Perhaps they'd brought it from a settlement they'd sacked. Both of the monsters looked bored and put out at being stuck in here while the fun was happening outside. They were a third Arwin's size, but they still had sharp teeth, claws, and strange gloves on their hands with metal spikes on them, like a deadlier version of brass knuckles, ones that could impale rather than bruise.

Warning them would be foolish. While he did not enjoy the prospect of killing, even with goblins, Arwin knew he had no choice if he was to survive and have any hope of saving Yaz, let alone the nymphs. So he charged out of the dark, savagely kicking one monster in the skull while slashing and then stabbing the second. After the second died, he turned back on the first before it could regain its senses and jabbed the blade in the goblin's neck.

The blade hit spine, and the metal snapped.

He cursed. He must have weakened it while digging through the wall. Dropping the useless handle, he turned his attention to the door. Much to his surprise, it was not locked. He snorted and shook his head. Goblins. All that security wasted by not checking the integrity of a wall in their prison or locking the very important door.

Silently opening the door, he peered inside. Only darkness. Taking the torch in one hand, he passed through the opening.

A small treasury gleamed back at him. The dusty room was two paces wide and three long. The walls were fieldstone and lined with shelving made of stolen shelves and fence boards. There were boxes and buckets of various coins, a wine barrel, and a pile of steel weapons on the floor at the back. He dove at the latter. Searching through them, a half-moon axe that seemed higher quality than the rest caught his eye. Giving it a trial swing, he smacked the edge into a shelf and watched the thick board shatter as if he'd had the strength of an ogre. He looked at the weapon, dumbfounded. Was it enchanted?

With nothing else of interest, even the money—

Dude. Wait. Gold?

He peered closer. A rusty helmet was filled to overflowing with random coins, and yes, as he dug around, many were heavy gold coins, the first he'd ever seen, true, but he was sure of what they were. Then, his eyes caught the leather sack behind the helm, and the gold trickled through his fingers, forgotten.

The sack was fat and straining at its seams, about the size of a basketball. Sparkling like a rainbow in the torchlight were gems. Hundreds and hundreds of cut gems. Absolutely useless to any goblin and a monumental fortune to any human.

It grew difficult to breathe as he stared. Emeralds. Rubies. So many diamonds. Blue sapphires. Radiant, miraculous, expensive gems of all kinds. If he took that back to Earth…

Arwin swallowed, his heart in his throat, his pulse racing so hard that it drowned out the rest of the world. Because if he grabbed this and ran, ran back to the portal and home. He'd be rich. Very, very rich. He would never have to work again for the rest of his life. His children's children wouldn't have to work. He could do anything he wanted, follow any dream. Start a business. Become an author.

He could get Kelli back. Flash a handful of these in her face, spill the sack open in front of her like a rainbow of glory, and she'd come back to him. He was nearly certain of it. After all, there's no way her new boyfriend could ever earn as much as Arwin now held in one hand, let alone the entire sack of jewels. His every dream come true was right here for the taking, and he could just run off with it.

But Yaz.

The nymphs.

He'd have to leave them all behind.

He left the treasury and went down the tunnel. Hunched over, it was uncomfortable. He came to a crossing and turned left. That was the direction the nymphs had been taken. Hopefully, he'd find them and a way out of here that way.

Stalking through the tunnels, the torch was his only light, and his whole body was tense. He could be discovered at any moment. He gritted his teeth at every turn, hoping that all the residents were outside in the gully and that he wasn't getting himself lost in here.

A rustle echoed.

He stopped. His imagination? Listening, he heard nothing more. He turned a corner.

A crimson-eyed hobgoblin stood there. It backed up a step in surprise. Then it growled and charged, a spiked club in its hands.

 

[TimBaril]

YAZ​

A hobgoblin burst forward, encouraged by cheers. He raised a woodcutter's axe overhead and aimed at Yaz's head.

The hobgoblin was as tall as Yaz and much heavier. It wouldn't do to match blades with him. The relationship between force and mass meant that it would push the skeleton away easily enough, maybe destroy his sword. Yaz feinted right, then stepped left. The axe came down where he no longer was. Chopping with the sword, Yaz crushed the hobgoblin's wrist and then drove the point into the surprised creature's throat.

The hobgoblin collapsed, blood spurting around the blade.

Yaz felt the sword slipping from his grip before he could extract it. Letting go, he shoved the soon-to-be corpse into an open space on the ground and grabbed the axe from the ground where it had fallen.

Goblins howled with cruel laughter at the fate of their comrade.

Testing the axe, he found the head was loose and the wooden handle old. It was a poor weapon and wouldn't last long. Should he try to get the sword from the dead hobgoblin?

A roar momentarily quieted the crowd, turning heads. Then a big cheer went up.

A very large hobgoblin pushed through the masses, knocking others aside like nothing. He was armoured in studded leather and carried a hefty two-handed claymore in one fist. It had been kept in much better condition than most of the weapons hereabouts. This was a warrior who had won many fights. The hobgoblin stopped at the edge of the ring and looked down at Yaz, for he was a little taller. A malicious grin spread over his ugly features.

Yaz looked down at his flimsy woodcutting axe. Then he looked at the claymore and armour. Not good.

The hobgoblin casually circled past the corpses at Yaz's feet. He easily weaved his heavy claymore through the air, the metal catching the light of the bonfire and nearby torches.

The crowd chanted, "Jyug! Jyug! Jyug!"

Yaz eyed his new opponent. Apparently, this particular creature was important enough to warrant some kind of name, something most goblins never bothered with. 'Hey you' or descriptives like 'big nose' or 'wart face' are more common. Tells you a lot about a species when they don't even care enough about each other to have names. Like how short-lived they are that they don't bother. There was something tragic in that, even though they were monsters.

Jyug suddenly reached down and grabbed a regular goblin at the edge of the ring by the head and threw the startled creature at Yaz.

Yaz dodged, then had to move fast to escape the incoming downswing of the hobgoblin's claymore. He leapt over one of the corpses, smacked the back of the axe down on the thrown goblin's head, cracking the skull, and backed up towards the prison door to keep out of reach of the hobgoblin.

Jyug was in no hurry. He continued to grin and milk the enthusiasm of the cheering crowd, taking lazy pokes at the skeleton.

Yaz let him have his fun. There was no hurry. He was a magical construct and didn't get tired, no matter how many enemies he fought: one of the benefits of being undead. Yaz had also noticed that Arwin was no longer in the prison. He needed to give the young man time to escape. And the longer he entertained the goblins like this, the longer he kept them from swarming him, which he would have no defence against.

It seemed like the hobgoblin in front of him didn't have much of an imagination when it came to entertaining the crowd. He howled soon enough and came at Yaz hard, swinging the claymore back and forth, intent on decapitating his foe. That was how you usually dispatched a skeleton; the typically flimsy constructs were weak at the neck.

Yaz waited without flinching. As the meter-and-a-half length of steel cut the air, he easily tapped upward with his own blade, sending the claymore harmlessly high, then chopped down at the hob's right knee. The blow broke off the head of the axe and did little damage to the monster's armour.

But it caused the hobgoblin to back up a step, putting it off balance.

Yaz smoothly picked up a knife dropped by an earlier enemy and drove it twice high between the hob's legs.

The crowd winced in sympathy at the hob's scream.

The hob instinctively dropped his weapon and reached for the horrid wounds. He screamed.

Casually standing, Yaz cut the monster's throat, turning the scream into a short-lived gurgle before death claimed the hob.

The mood of the crowd turned ugly. It seemed they'd had enough fun. Now, dozens of goblins took a step forward and brandished their weapons, ready to end the fight.

A cry brought them to a halt before they could tear Yaz apart.

The goblins looked over their shoulders. Grins returned, and the crowd split in twain to admit a newcomer.

The biggest goblin of them all had appeared: a chieftain, muscled and taller than Yaz by a fair bit. He wore steel half-plate and wooden greaves. He came to a stop at the edge of the mob and studied the skeleton. There was no sense that this one was as stupid or foolish as the others. This one was a veteran fighter — and smart.

A pretty, human woman demurely walked up behind the chieftain, wearing only green rags. Her bare feet had blackened soles from going without shoes. An iron collar had been snugly fitted around her neck. She submissively and sensuously draped herself against the chieftain. Her head only reached his muscular chest. She looked up at him with adoration. From the way her eyes lingered over the chieftain's ugly features, it was shocking to see that this woman seemed wholly willing in her slavery. As far as Yaz could tell, no shaman was manipulating her with magic. Although, maybe she'd just been subjected to it so often that it had permanently taken root.

One less person to save, Yaz figured. He'd seen people like that before and tried to rescue them from their captors, only to discover that they quite preferred the villain they served.

Then came a truly unpleasant surprise.

The chieftain gently pushed the besotted slave aside and drew his blade. Unlike the mob, he carried a weapon that even thousand-year-old Yaz found remarkable: a double-curved, one-handed sword beautifully crafted in an unmistakably elven style. A dark orange jewel twinkled in the crossguard, and an orange haze wafted from the steel. It was certainly a magical sword, the kind of thing you'd expect to find in the hand of a very lucky and experienced adventurer or elven soldier. That haze might paralyze, poison, corrupt, shock, or any number of things. And the blade itself was probably honed to a razor's edge, unlike the nearly blunt knife in Yaz's hand.

Yaz frowned. Where had the monster gotten a weapon like that? That was the kind of thing that would probably go through his enchanted bones like a hot spear through a water slime. His grip tightened on his knife.

 

[TimBaril]

The Past



OWD THE SURVIVOR​

A nameless goblin had been born to a random litter like any other. There was no record of how many littermates there'd been nor of what female had served as the mother. Green goblins weren't sentimental like that. They had no sense of family or even the concept of a mother. Females were just birthing tools, used until they broke, then chopped up and thrown into the cooking pot. Goblins were very practical creatures and never, ever wasted anything edible.

His original tribe had been slaughtered when he'd been only a few months old. Wood elves had filled his brethren with arrows, then tossed them onto a pyre together to burn. He'd been part of a trio of goblets, goblin young, that one of the hobs had buried in a hole and covered with moss to hide them, and the only survivors.

The three had crawled out days after the rest of their kind had become ash. In the following months, as they'd scrounged for food, one of the trio had been eaten by a bird. Another had been stung by a poisonous plant and withered to death. The wilds of Heartstone were deadly.

He'd grown into a hobgoblin. Then the dastardly humans had discovered them, bringing a half dozen adventurers far better armed and armoured than anything the goblins had from materials scavenged in the forest or from farms they'd raided.

Once more, he had survived. This time, he'd managed to save four others as they'd fled.

His rage had burned hot in the following weeks as they'd tried to avoid the adventurers tracking and hunting them, calling them monsters.

Damned humans. Damned elves. Damn all the other species who tried to kill him! He hated them all.

He'd vowed to survive and founded a new tribe. He would do it as many times as it took to grow powerful enough to grind every other species into the dirt, to make them food and cattle. He would make leather of their skin, jewelry of their teeth, and gorge on their meat. He would show them just how monstrous a goblin could be.

They had begun to call him Owd. He tolerated no challenge to his leadership, no threat to his power and ambitions. If another hob developed even a hint of greed in their red eyes, he removed a limb. If that act of mercy didn't work, he culled them and threw them into the stew pot. A few mouthfuls of their ambitious fellows and the other gobs grew wiser.

Not that many tried to topple him from his reign. Only the most foolish made that mistake. For most of the tribe, it was easy to see that following Owd was smart. For he had gained cunning over the years. They raided judiciously, a village here, a farm there, but never in the same place too often, lest it bring about retribution.

He had taken great pleasure in killing humans and even more when the goblin tribe managed to corner a couple of elven scouts, such a rare and stunning feat that the elves always died with shocked expressions, unable to believe such lowly monsters could have gotten the better of them.

For years, he'd carefully cultivated his tribe in secret, limiting their growth to prevent the need for too much space and food and the discovery that wanton rampaging would lead to. He wanted to build his strength and make them a force to be reckoned with. Even so, failure had come.

Adventurers. The scourge of goblins everywhere! A large party had come for him and his tribe. Their ranks had been decimated, and only his own power and cunning had saved the rest. He cared nothing for the deaths of so many of his own kind, but the setback had struck deep into his heart. He'd begun to doubt that goblins would ever have a place in this world. Perhaps they were nothing but fodder, too inferior to other species to thrive. Perhaps he was too weak.

That's when a visitor had come, offering hope and gifts: a strange elf unlike any he'd seen before. He'd walked alone, striding into their camp without the slightest hesitation or fear despite being outnumbered.

Owd, though he craved the elf's death, ordered his few surviving warriors not to attack. Instinctively, he'd known that to do so would have been a quick death for them all. This was no elf like any he'd seen before.

The visitor had had the appearance of an autumn day. His hair and skin had been as golden as coin, his clothing a blend of yellows, oranges, and browns, and his eyes had been a startlingly clear sky-blue. His cloak had swept about him like falling leaves, and his bow had been carved with acorns and fox tails.

In a chilly voice, he'd called himself an eladrin, a fey elf of the Autumn Court, a traveller to this world but one who called another dimension his true home. "I have come to strike a bargain with you, leader of goblins."

Owd had been sitting on a fallen log by the fire with a half-cooked haunch of some animal in hand, his reduced tribe behind him in a half-moon shape facing the elf. He had not been scared; death was something he'd lived alongside his entire life. Perhaps today would be the day. His eyes narrowed, but his curiosity spiked. He grunted. "Speak."

Haughty eyes had looked down on him. The golden elf had seemed barely able to contain his disdain. "There is a creature from my homeland, exiled and in need of protection. Give her a home. Prevent all harm from coming to her."

Owd hadn't flinched. "And?"

A sneer. "And I don't feed the trees with your corpses today."

Owd was smart for a goblin. He'd gestured to his tribe, saying, "We are few. Adventurers kill many. Kill often. Cannot protect."

"Yes, quite." The elf had reached to his side, where a small, brown pouch was strapped to his leather belt.

Though the pouch was no bigger than his hand, he'd reached inside and somehow pulled out a thick square of stone that was three hands wide. The stone was dark granite and carved with a feminine goblin face with large eyes made of red glass or something smooth and shiny like it.

"What that?" Owd had asked.

"An icon. It will allow you to communicate with M'labreel, a goblin deity. Worship her, and she will grant your goblins magical powers; make shamans out of them. Like the priest adventurers you've seen, with healing spells and powerful magic." He placed the stone on the ground in front of him.

Owd was very skeptical. "Trick?"

"No. She has long been worshipped by many tribes."

"Must be pathetic god. Many tribes still die." He'd shrugged, unimpressed. "Goblins always die."

"Most goblins are stupid, though, aren't they? But you're not stupid. That's why I've come to you and not another."

"Can't fight adventurers. Or soldiers. We have sticks; they have steel. We have spit; they have magic."

"Then perhaps this would help." From the bottomless pouch, the eladrin had withdrawn the most beautiful object Owd had ever seen.

Owd's jaw had dropped, and he'd risen, tossing the blackened haunch of meat aside. A few long strides and he'd been standing before the visitor, accepting the gift.

It was a sword, but unlike the image that word conjured in his mind, of the tools so often carried by his enemies, the forged steel he'd long envied. This was breathtaking: curved, jewelled, magical. It tingled in his hand, and he felt a powerful urge to use it, to plunge it into a living body and drain the life from it.

He'd hefted it. "Good sword."

A half smile. "Yes. Rather." The eladrin had turned and walked away, knowing without Owd having to say it that the deal had been struck. "Continue to be prudent, goblin. Even more so now, with the one I leave in your care. Protect her, and she will help your tribe grow. Keep her alive, and I will bring more gifts. You will survive. You will prosper." He waved his thin fingers toward a nearby tree.

The trunk of the tree split as if it were liquid, revealing an opening.

A female creature emerged, half humanoid, half tree. Her flesh was black and her leaves shades of purple, her eyes glossy and a single colour: violet. She moved weakly, sickly, and gazed at Owd and the goblins with distrust.

The eladrin elf gestured to her. "She needs a place to put down roots, quite literally. She is a fey dryad. She will choose a place to make her home. Your job is to defend that home and her as if your life depends on it. Because it does." At a grunt of assent from Owd, the fey of the Autumn Court had brought a stone out from his pouch, and an orange portal had appeared in front of him, swallowing him wholly a moment later before vanishing.

Owd and his goblin tribe had followed the creepy tree woman through the forest and then other forests beyond until entering a place of trees so giant they seemed to touch the clouds. She found a quiet place where the soil was wet and the ground rotten, the air smelling putrid and disgusting, even to him.

There in that bog, a sapling had begun growing from the filthy water. When she touched it, she melded into it and disappeared. In a week, the sapling had become a recognizable tree. And in six months, it seemed as if that strange, dark thing had been there for centuries.

Owd had kept his word, creating a new home for his goblins here while protecting the fey dryad's tree. They began worshipping the stone. To Owd's surprise, the icon's eyes had eventually begun to glow, and a couple of his goblins had claimed to hear a voice in their minds. Mysterious powers had followed. The number of worshippers had increased substantially.

He'd come to this place with a dozen goblins. That number had doubled, then cautiously doubled again. They'd defeated owlbears and a huge moss bear, brought down a giant centipede after tunnelling into its home, and even pushed a young drake out of their expanding territory. The eladrin sword had cut through anything, healing Owd of horrible wounds as he fought. One pace at a time, this great forest was becoming theirs.

They had dug a home under the ground, kept pigs for meat, and fished in the river not so far away. They made bows and arrows, spears and clubs, and eagerly looted their victims of better weapons.

Owd had evolved from hobgoblin into goblin chieftain, larger and stronger and smarter than ever. Only twice did another hob challenge him. Both had tried to sneak up on him while he slept to steal his precious blade. Both had been burned alive as an example to others.

Owd had plans now. Owd was ready for the size of his tribe to grow in accordance with the ambitions he had restrained for too long.

They had food and weapons in abundance. They would triple their population in the next half year. And then?

There was a little human village only a day's walk from here. They'd raided a farm now and then. Now, he wanted to conquer the entire village itself. A hundred humans turned into meat: fresh steaks and delicious roasts, the rest smoked or cured as rations.

It would be the beginning of his army.

It was enough to put a wicked, toothy grin on the goblin chieftain's scarred face.