Chapter 12: Chapter 12: How Fascinating

 

Chapter 12:

  Stryg raised his hands and flexed his fingers, flashing his grey claws. He tried taking in the details of his enemies. There were eight total. The one called Leroy was holding a struggling Karen, so that was two down for now. Four others held knives. Strangely, all of them had their claws shaved down. Fools, why get rid of one’s natural weapon?

  They began to close in on him. The food Stryg ate had only replenished a small portion of his energy. It wouldn’t be enough to fight them all. He hoped they were all as skilled as Jax, he might have a small chance of running then. The first one screamed as he charged low, knife held in both hands in a thrust. Stryg sidestepped him at the last moment, slamming an elbow into the attacker’s temple. Two others tackled him to the ground, before Stryg had a chance to recover. Stryg raked his claws at their chests as they tried to pin him. They yelled in pain as fresh inch-deep gashes stretched across their skin. 

  Stryg kicked them off and scrambled to get up. A knife slashed across his shoulder. He shouted in pain. A fist connected against his jaw. He fell to the ground with a dull thud. Taste of iron filled his mouth as two of them hauled him up and pinned his arms to the wall. His vision blurred and his ears were ringing. Karen was shouting something he couldn’t quite make out. Jax stood in front of him.

  “You think you can just come to my turf, break my nose, and run away scot-free?” Jax glared as he leaned into Stryg’s face. “I don’t know who you are, bastard, but once I’m done carving up your face, you’ll be singing like a pig.”

  Stryg watched dimly as the serrated blade of Jax’s knife rose to his face. His head felt stuffy. He was going to die here. Fear coiled around him, like an old friend. He had been a fool for following Karen. Gullible for believing he had been something special, when the shaman had promised him a great destiny. Naive enough to hope he could be strong and win the respect of the tribe. He thought he could be a giant, but he had just been another small goblin, about to be gutted like a fish. He was scared. Terror beat at his heart. But, it was the anger that boiled within the pit of his stomach that rushed forth. Pure unadulterated hate for the ones he saw. Everyone who had seen him as less, for being different. A freak. 

  Stryg’s neck sprung forward as his mouth opened wide and gripped onto Jax’s face. His fangs pierced through the bandages and sunk into the nose. Stryg bit down with all the force he could muster and ripped away. A hoarse scream escaped Jax’s disfigured face as he recoiled in agony. 

  Stryg spat the remains of the nose into the face of one the goblins who held his arm down. The goblin flinched. It was enough. Stryg pulled his arm from underneath and slashed his claws through the goblin’s open throat. The goblin fell to the floor as he clutched his bleeding neck. Another swung a knife at his chest. Stryg twisted away as best he could, the knife nicking him on the ribs. With his free hand he dug his claws into the face of the other goblin who pinned his other arm. Stryg kicked the wall behind him and threw his body forward, tearing the face of the goblin and freeing himself. He rolled on the floor just in time to dodge a punch. 

  Stryg roared in a maddened frenzy as he tackled another goblin to the ground. She tried swinging her knife at him, but he caught her hand and slammed the blade into her chest. She gagged on her own blood as she weakly tried to clasp the handle. Stryg ripped the knife from her chest as he wobbled to his feet. The remaining goblin stood still, his hands shaking. 

  The guards are coming, we gotta go! Help Jax up, quickly!” Leroy pulled Karen away as she shouted.

The other goblin picked up a writhing Jax and scampered away. 

  Stryg watched them fade away into the spectating crowd. The dagger slipped out of his bloody hands as his knees crashed into the cobblestone. A small part of his muddled brain told him the guards were coming, that he should escape. But the last scraps of his energy had burned in the fire of his anger. His head dropped in exhaustion. 

  The guards arrived at the scene of the crime. 

---

  Rorik, captain of the guard, rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was getting late, he wanted to go home to his wife and kids. But, of course, he was stuck listening to some of his men reporting about a bloody mess at the trade district. As a drow born into a warrior family, he had been given great opportunities within Hollow Shade. His family had been able to afford sending him to the martial academy, and he had done fairly well, earning himself a spot as captain on graduation. Problem was, he had been stationed in the trade district. In some ways it could be argued that the trade district was the most important district in all of Hollow shade, as most transactions occurred here. It was however, without a shadow of a doubt, the most busy district, which often led to the most incidents. 

  Rorik sighed, he wished he had studied more, worked harder in his time at the academy. Perhaps one of the more powerful families would have offered him a contract, maybe he might have even risen to the ranks of a warlord. But, no, instead he was in this small office, watching as his lieutenant floundered about with his papers. Rorik needed a drink.

  “From the top. What exactly happened, lieutenant?” Rorik said.

“Ah, yes, sir.” The lieutenant straightened his papers. “It says here that some of our men encountered a gang related incident this afternoon. The Wild Knives gang, composed of goblins from the commoner district, attacked a lone goblin near a bakery shop. The victim seems to have put up a hell of a fight. From the accounts of eyewitnesses, there were eight Wild Knives members present during the attack. The victim killed three of them, two of them pretty gruesomely I might add, and knocked another unconscious, before the other four fled as our men arrived.”

  “So, it was a gang war between a couple of goblins? Let’s put them in cells and be done with it.”

“Ah, not quite, sir. The victim seems to not have any gang tattoos or any tattoos for that matter. So, it's very unlikely he is part of a gang. Judging from his hide clothes and lack of a nameplate we think he is an outsider who just got caught up in an attack.”

  Rorik’s head shot up, “Wait. The victim seems to be poor, based on his clothes, yes? So, at best, he is from the commoner district and at worst an outsider. The fact that he doesn’t have a nameplate makes this quite easy no matter which of the two groups he belongs to.”

“Sir, do you mean putting him into slavery?”

  “Obviously. Hollow Shade has strict rules on name plates and those who don’t wear them. The punishments are especially serious for the commoners and don’t get me started on outsiders. Get some of the men to bring in the victim and then kindly ask Mr. Granby if he could come down from his office.”

“Right away, sir.” The lieutenant saluted and walked out of the room.

  A few minutes later he returned with two other guards holding the blue goblin. He was bloody and looked worn and ragged. He seemed to be struggling to stand. His eyes looked defeated, he stared at the ground.

“His name is Stryg, from the Blood Fang tribe in Vulture Woods, or so he claimed to the men.” The lieutenant said.

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  “So an outsider, good enough for me.” Rorik nodded. 

“Where is Mr. Granby?”

  As if on cue, Mr. Granby walked in. The resident mage wore his traditional black robes. A silver necklace inlaid with a jasper gem rested on his shoulders, indicating his role as a brown mage.

“Mr. Granby, it's good to see you. Sorry, for disturbing you. I was hoping you could help us,” Rorik began.

  Mr. Granby raised his hand, “Yes, yes. I heard. Now let’s get this over with quickly, I’m about to leave for the day.” 

  He pulled out a docility collar. Strange runes covered the metal collar, and a small grey magestone was embedded in the center. 

“He seems to be bleeding, sir,” The lieutenant pointed out.

  “Not now lieutenant. One of the guards can patch him up after Mr. Granby is done. Slaves don’t require much medical attention,” Rorik said. He bowed to the brown mage, “Whenever you are ready Mr. Granby.”

Stryg tried struggling as Mr. Granby approached. But he was too weak, the guards held him securely and pulled his neck up by his hair. 

  “Stop,” Stryg said in a weak voice. He was having trouble staying conscious. He had lost too much blood. 

  Mr. Granby paid him no heed as he wrapped the collar around his neck. He raised his hand, a soft brown light began to glow from the collar, before sputtering out of existence. Mr. Granby’s eyes narrowed. He raised both his hands. The light returned brighter this time, but disappeared in an instant.

  “I don’t believe it,” Mr. Granby laughed as he stepped back.

“What happened? Is it done?” Rorik asked. 

  “No, the collar’s enchantment failed to activate,” Mr. Granby said as he removed the collar.

“Why? Is it defective?” Rorik had a bad feeling about this.

  “Not at all. As with all ethereal energy, this boy’s mana simply counteracted the collar’s effect,” Mr. Granby said.

“Wait, are you saying he’s-”

  “A mageborn, yes.”

“Well, shit,” Rorik cursed.

  The guards who held Stryg loosened their grip and looked at the goblin with newfound fear. They didn’t want to be responsible for accidentally hurting a mage. 

  “A goblin mageborn, you don’t see that everyday. How fascinating,” Mr. Granby said as he studied Stryg’s appearance. 

“I-i’m a mage?” Stryg managed to mutter. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was this a dream? Was he dead and was this the afterlife?

  “Mageborn to be precise. You’ll have to study for years before you have the right to call yourself a mage,” Mr. Granby answered and looked at Rorik. “He seems quite wounded. As per Hollow Shade’s rules, any mageborn has a right to attend the city’s magic academy. As he was found under your watch, you are responsible to see that he gets that right. He barely seems to be standing up. Best if you rush him to Celica’s clinic. Unless you wish to face the consequences of depriving this city of a potential mage.”

Rorik swallowed, “Of course not. I’ll see to it that he gets to the clinic immediately.”

  “Oh, I think he fainted. Best hurry, captain. My job here is finished. Tell me how he fares in the morning. I’m off,” Mr. Granby began to whistle a cheerful tune as he left.

The guards gave Rorik a questioning look. “Sir, your orders?”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get him to Celica’s clinic. Now!” Rorik ordered.

“Right away sir!” The guards carefully lifted up the unconscious Stryg and rushed out of the room.

  Rorik slumped into his chair. It was going to be a long night. He stood up and followed his men. He really needed a drink.

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