Hmmm. Why would a goblin steal a book? What possible reason could Mizbo Hopscale have? Research this goblin, please.
"This one's still alive!" exclaimed
Udal, leaving his mouth to hang open a bit, displaying his gapped teeth.
Rope, the triage nurse, approached and scowled.
The goblin's crimson eyes, though dull and opaque, blinked once slowly, then turned to gaze down the hallway.
"No, he really isn't," she whispered, then moved on.
The body was pierced through up and down the right side and was feebly clutching its neck with its left hand.
Mizbo's eyes were darkening.
He was getting colder, despite his wool-lined clothes.
He tried to speak, but his once clear voice was replaced with a gutteral gargle.
All he could really see were the four blue eyes bobbing around above him like wisps.
They, too, faded, and the shadows began to stir - actors in a life play.
****
There is the exalted flute Kanil!She is standing in
The Chapel of Poets, inducting the young Mizbo into the
Musical Sienna Denomination.
"Seek the pretty Lady,
The Tenebrous Saffron!" she intoned.
"Ug," young Mizbo thought to himself, "it certainly isn't her, she's hideous."
Well, maybe he didn't entirely just think it. His mother
Rabin boxed his ears as Kanil turned to head back into one of The Chapel's alcoves.
It didn't matter. The ceremony had a profound effect on Mizbo. He became enraptured with the human form of the pretty Lady.
Seek he did. For almost forty years, inspired by the statues and imagery in The Chapel, the words of the exalted flute followed him as he wandered the wilds.
These were lean years, though, and Mizbo often found himself hungry.
Many times, only the thoughts of the pretty Lady nourished him.
****
There is that stupid human!Mizbo thought he felt the stomach pains as they were that day. It had been 38 years since he left
Scourgeguilt, and this year had been the worst of it.
He had come to
Workyawn because of the advertised celebrations beginning late autumn. He didn't know what they were for and he didn't really care. Surely there'd be food to be snatched, or at least a waylay opportunity.
A scrap of bread or moldy cheese. It wasn't like he was asking for pudge pudding.
The thought of the purple treat made his stomach growl.
He hadn't meant to kill. He just wanted a few coins. He needed them.
Instead of cutting purse strings, the dagger had cut the human's throat as he prepared to raise the alarm.
Mizbo panicked and knew he had to flee. A goblin with a bloody knife in a human town never goes over well.
Suddenly, thoughts of the pretty lady washed over him. He calmed. Had she forgiven his act?
He decided he'd like to remember that moment, and scalped a bit of hair from the human before rummaging quickly through his things.
A few coins, that's all he needed!
As he hurried back to Scourgeguilt, Mizbo fashioned a sort of amulet from the human's hair and hung it around his neck.
Mizbo never killed again.
****
There is father!It was eight years later.
Dosla, Mizbo's father, had become the chief of
The Coalition of Fliers and pressed Mizbo to join him.
Together, their mob of bandits took over the cave known as
Magicscar, from whence they harried the surrounding area.
Dosla tasked Mizbo with reconnoitering in the local towns for any information that might lead to loot.
So it happened, that in early autumn of the following year, Mizbo found himself in the town of
Doctrinediamonds.
On a rickety stool, at a rickety table facing the wall, Mizbo sipped a beer of unknown grain out of a gnarled wooden cup and listened.
He became entranced with thoughts of the pretty Lady.
Just before a true reverie took hold of him, something caught in his ear, and snapped him back to the human-stink of his surroundings.
He listened intently.
"...Imperial Mother..." There!
While the pretty Lady undulated in his mind's eye, he knew there had to be a connection. She could be none other than the Imperial Mother!
He stayed just long enough to gather the information he needed and quickly scurried back to Magicscar.
After forming a small band, he set out for the elf tree of
Hoarymark.
****
There is the pedestal!It rose up from the shadows so swiftly that Mizbo thought it might have been an elf descending upon them.
No such end to their caper - the group hadn't seen a single elf and he rightly guessed they had not themselves been seen.
Mizbo glanced around this place called the Imperial Mother. A library.
Scrolls and books filled grown wood shelves that were meticulously shaped by elfspeak.
Were he moved by anything other than the pretty Lady, Mizbo might have sat in awe of the beauty of the place.
He wasn't here for that.
The pedestal was of natural wood, as if the tree itself had reached up to hold...oh, look at it!
There, glittering in the moonlight, was the codex Mizbo sought after. It was beautiful. It would please her.
"It all begins here," he thought. He swiped the book and slid it into a satchel before any of the others focused too hard on it.
In camp later that night, on the way back to Magicscar, Mizbo made sure the others were occupied and slipped away towards Scourgeguilt, absently fingering the satchel the whole time.
"I'm not going back."
****
There's the white tower!Mizbo knew he couldn't stay in the area, having taken the loot for himself, disparaging even his own father.
For three years he traveled ever southward with no real destination or plan.
Whisperings in the towns solidified, and Mizbo became aware of a place called the white tower of Southhold, the farthest known human settlement.
The only thing farther was goblin caves, and he simply couldn't take his treasure there.
He learned Southhold contained The White Library and it was gathering up works from around The Absolute Realm.
They could help him. He would settle there and learn the secrets of the codex he carried for the pretty Lady.
Only Mizbo couldn't read.
****
There I am!It is late winter and Mizbo is walking the the same hallway he is in now, and though it was moments before, it seemed like an age had passed.
In the last town, he had secured a woollen cloak and mittens to help against the biting cold.
Pleased with his preparations, he walked forward and stamped off the snow from his boots every few steps.
Stomp.
Stomp.
He took a few more steps.
Stomp.
Boom. That stomp echoed a bit.
"Hmm, must be the type of cut stone," he thought.
A few steps later -
Boom.
Boom.
He didn't even hear his stomps that time.
He paused. A recognition stole into him. Those weren't his stomps.
Boom.
Boom.
They were drums.
Boom.
Boom.
Goblin drums.
Boom.
Boom.
Goblin war drums.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
He could not have known that at the exact time of his arrival, those southern goblins he heard about had arrived as well to make war upon Southhold.
The air became still.
Up ahead, there was a rising metallic clamor. Behind, a rising dull thunder.
Mizbo pushed the satchel behind him and froze, rooted in place with fear.
He turned back towards the thunder, mouth wide, and let out the tell-tale screech of goblin terror.
****
There is the she-goblin!Around the corner, the first wave of southern goblins charged forward, riding slavering, chattering beak dogs.
Over the din, Mizbo didn't hear the volley of arrows slice by from behind.
How one didn't hit him was an improbability that any mortal could ponder for a lifetime.
Mizbo didn't have the luxury of time for such thoughts.
One of the frontline southern goblins was a wiry she-goblin wielding an iron-tipped spear.
Her mount fell to the arrows and she lurched forward, stumbling to a halt right in front of Mizbo.
The first strike was to his right lower arm, the pain of which jolted Mizbo into the now as the spear skipped off the bone, and the sounds of battle around him, previously mute, now deafened him.
Another strike immediately followed to his right foot, spraying blood as an artery ruptured.
It was natural to look down at the horror of the wound, but as he did, the return found the spear's shaft connecting with his lower jaw, knocking the lower front teeth out.
That's when the ringing started in his ears. He could taste metal.
The next pierce hit his upper body to the spine, causing Mizbo to crumple against the wall.
Surely he had screamed again, but the ringing must have drowned it out, and the other sounds around him faded under that rising monotone ringing.
Then, a thrust to the right upper arm, almost severing it, and rendering it useless.
By now, he was in a heap, with a ringing hum in his head.
The last strike ended it.
The spear ripped through Mizbo's neck, tearing open the artery and pushing through to the spine.
He reached up with his left hand to try and close the wound.
The oncoming hoard pushed the she-goblin forward into battle.
Mizbo could no longer feel his lower body.
****
All was quiet.
Mizbo turned his head towards the hallway he walked in from and impossibly saw all of it.
In the darkness of his shrinking vision, far off down the hall, was the last shadow.
It walked gracefully, lithely, towards him.
It was a woman!
As it closed on Mizbo's position, he could see every detail of this woman's beauty.
It was her! I found her!
Mizbo could feel himself smiling.
****
Udal watched as the pulsing gush of dark green blood subsided, and the creature's left hand slumped into its lap.
He paused and curled his lip, making a funny face.
The corpse almost looked like it had smiled for a moment.
"Just a death grimace, to be sure," Udal thought to himself, staring at the mangled visage.
He began searching the body, as he had the others.
Nothing really useful as far as gear - just a pitiful smattering of worn out iron, bronze, and copper.
He recoiled a bit when he realized the weird thing suspended on a leather cord around the corpse's neck was actually a bit of human hair.
Udal snapped it off and threw it aside.
The goblin had fallen into almost a sitting position, on top of what looked like a leather satchel.
Udal pulled on the belt straps until it dislodged from under the body.
"Hmm," he muttered as he pulled open the small flap. It was just a codex. A rather pretty one, but still just a book.
"What you doin' with this?" he mused. "Maybe that kid
Nisam will want it."
Udal had no time for non-military things.
He tucked the book into his cloak and headed to the next corpse.
Not long after, the porters arrived to haul the remains to the burn pile.
Author
Topic: Welcome to The White Library of Southhold (Read 2471 times)