Kibble and Tharak
The cold winter air sliced through the sky as Tharak soared higher, his wings beating powerfully in the stillness of the night. Kibble hung in his talons, his body swinging with each motion, the biting wind stinging his exposed skin. The world below had transformed into a dark expanse, the forest stretching endlessly, its faintly frost-covered trees appearing as nothing more than a jagged blanket of black and silver.
The firm grip of Tharak’s talons left little room to move. Kibble could feel the weight of the Peregrinth’s powerful legs, the sharp claws digging in just enough to keep him secure, but not enough to cause real harm. The sensation of being so high above the ground was disorienting, and despite the vastness of the world beneath them, Kibble’s gaze was drawn upward to the sky.
Two moons hung like sentinels in the sky. The smaller moon was whole and luminous, casting a soft glow over the landscape. But it was the larger moon that demanded attention, an awe-inspiring yet terrifying sight. Its surface was shattered on one side, massive fragments suspended in its orbit, like the broken pieces of a world long forgotten. A faint purple aura surrounded the debris, shimmering gently as the fragments hovered in the void, held together by some unknown force. The jagged edges of the broken moon glinted in the starlight, both beautiful and ominous, casting strange shadows over the world below.
The ground felt so impossibly far away, and the distant stars offered no comfort.
"You're quiet, Grub," came Tharak's voice, breaking through the wind with an almost casual air. "Wear yourself out screaming back there?" He chuckled, his breath visible in the cold air.
"H-h-h-how can you b-b-be so c-c-calm right n-now?" The frozen tears and snot on Kibbles face crack, "your f-friends are d-dead" he lets out a small sob.
Tharak let out a forced laugh. "Dead? Rowan, sure. But the others..." His voice trailed off as he pulled out his whisperstone, the silence from it unsettling to him. It's obvious he's been in doubt, but he's coming to the realization Kibble is right.
His grip on Kibble tightened, not from control, but frustration.
"Kris'ta..." he cursed under his breath, shoving the stone away. "We’ll see soon enough."
Sensing the frustration Kibble stifled his sobs and closed his eyes. Trying to focus on the waves of shivers assailing his body and not the hundreds of feet between him and the ground.
The flight continued in silence for a while, the only sounds being the rhythmic flapping of Tharak’s wings and the distant, howling wind. Kibble saw as the landscape slowly changed below them, the forest giving way to a range of jagged cliffs in the distance, dark against the sky. The moons' light played on the edges of the cliffs, making them appear like towering teeth rising out of the earth. Tharak grunted, his breath heavy with the strain of the flight. Carrying Kibble through the air for so long had clearly taken its toll, but the Peregrinth wasn’t one to show weakness. Kibble could feel the strain in the talons that gripped him, the slight shifts in Tharak’s hold betraying his fatigue. Tharak’s wings flared as they approached the cliffs, his body adjusting to the changing air currents. The ground below shifted from dense forest to rocky outcrops, the cliffs rising like a fortress in the moonlight. Kibble could feel Tharak’s grip tighten as they neared a narrow ledge on one of the larger cliffs. It wasn’t a smooth landing—Tharak descended sharply, landing heavily on the stone ledge, his talons scraping against the rock as he set Kibble down roughly. The impact left Kibble disoriented for a moment, his body aching from the long flight and the cold. Tharak stood over him, his breath visible in the frigid air, eyes sharp but tired. "You’re heavier than you look, Grub," Tharak muttered, flexing his talons as if shaking off the strain. He glanced down at Kibble, his expression hard to read, though his eyes lingered on the green creature for a moment longer than usual. "Next time, I’ll make you walk." "Now..." Tharak let out a slow breath, his wings folding tightly against his back as he crouched down beside Kibble. He reached into his pack and pulled out a length of rough rope. His movements were deliberate but weary, a predator at the edge of his patience. "Don’t fight me on this," he said, his voice low but steady. There was no real threat in his tone—just a tired practicality. "I’ve had enough trouble for one night. Let’s not make it worse." Kibble makes no effort to move. "Am I gonna d-die?" Kibble chatters. Tharak paused for a moment, the rope still in his hands, his sharp eyes meeting Kibble’s. For a second, the wind filled the silence between them, howling against the cliffs. "That’s up to you," Tharak muttered, his voice gruff but lacking the usual bite. His hands worked the rope around Kibble’s wrists and legs, though his movements were slower now, more methodical. "I don’t kill unless I have to." Without much hesitation, he began rifling through Kibble's things, making sure to secure the whisperstone he saw the goblin use earlier. He seemed both underwhelmed and confused by what he finds: a few knives and utensils, a healing potion, and waterskin. Rummaging deeper, he pulled out a pouch of spices, his brow furrowing slightly. He sniffed them, the scents of pepper, garlic, and something spicy hitting the cold air. Tharak raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Spices, huh? Didn’t think a little runt like you would have a taste for cooking." He stowed them away, an almost begrudging nod of approval before his hand landed on the last item—a strip of Kryssalith jerky. Tharak’s eyes lit up slightly as he inspected the jerky, recognizing the source. "Kryssalith meat," he muttered, clearly impressed. "Didn’t think someone like you would’ve gotten this close to one, let alone made it out alive." He crouched down, his talons deftly arranging loose stones into a crude firepit. With practiced movements, he gathered bits of dry brush and snapped a few dead branches off the nearby trees, laying them carefully in the center. His eyes gleamed in the low moonlight as he worked, not rushed, but efficient, like someone who had done this countless times before. Within moments, he struck flint against steel, sending sparks into the tinder. The brush caught quickly, a small flame flickering to life, casting a dim orange glow over the ledge. Pulling out a battered pan, Tharak sliced the jerky into thin strips, sprinkling Kibble's spices over the meat. The sharp scents of pepper and garlic filled the air. He added water from Kibble’s waterskin, creating a simmering broth. From his own supplies, Tharak tossed in a handful of dried wild mushrooms and rough-chopped root vegetables. The meal sizzled over the fire, the rich, savory scent of the Kryssalith jerky and spices blending with the earthy mushrooms. Tharak stirred the mixture, his movements smooth and practiced. The food was simple, yet hearty, revealing his surprising skill as a cook.
As the dish finished, he ladled some into a tin bowl, setting it near Kibble. "Eat up, Grub. You’ll need it." The fire crackled, its light dancing in Tharak’s sharp eyes as he sat back, watching Kibble closely. "So, what even are you? Never seen a... somethin' like you before." Kibble's hands and feet bound and his belongings rummaged, fear still overriding the frustration. His face and body thaw next to the fire, the warm scent of the stew settling his shredded nerves. He reaches down picks up the bowl and sips at the stew. "I'm a goblin, my people are real common where I come from." He blows on the stew and continues to sip on it. "I really don't know anything about that dragon." "A goblin, huh?" Tharak repeated, as if testing the word. He glanced at Kibble, a glimmer of curiosity mixed with skepticism. "Never heard of one. Must be a strange place you come from." He takes a sip from his own bowl before focusing back on Kibble. "And where do you come from?" "I-I'm from all over." Kibble paused, you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to recall, "The last place we were in was Faerun sorta near Phandalin" Tharak's eyes narrowed at Kibble's response. "Phandalin? Faerun?" he repeated, neither name meaning much to him. "So you really aren't from 'ere, huh?" Tharak leaned back, wings shifting as he gazed at Kibble, "And how did you get here, exactly?" "W-well what I remember is, there was a huge crash in the woods next to our camp. And me and my friends went to check it out and there was a huge dragon lying there!" In Kibble's rising excitement in retelling this story to an attentive listener, some of the hot soup sloshes out of his bowl and lands on his knee. "Tsss!" He sucks air through his teeth in pain. He sets the soup down awkwardly. "U-uh, uhm, oh, and then there was a blinding light that hurt really bad and then we fell through a roof!" He rubs his knee when the soup landed, "Uhm and then a rock came through the door and I fell asleep which was weird..." Kibble continues to tell the entire sequence of events up til the present. Tharak’s hindtalons tapped against the ground as he listened to Kibble's rambling, his eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. With a low grunt, he reached into his pack and pulled out a weathered flask. He unscrewed the cap, took a long swig, and exhaled slowly. "So," he began, "you really expect me to believe you just happened to stumble across a dragon like it was some stray animal, and whisked away by some magic light? What else do you know about dragons, Grub? You’d better not be keeping something from me." He glanced down at the flask, then back at Kibble. "You and your friends... they must know something. Some way to track it? Control it? Something more than just stumbling into a crash site." Tharak’s expression remained hard, but the subtle shift in his tone hinted at a growing desperation. Body warmed and belly full, Kibble's fear eases, "I don't really know very much about dragons. I just heard 'bout them from ringmaster Lecko. He said they're really strong and some of them like gold a lot. Oh and that I'd be my namesake if I ever ran into one." He shifted under his ropes trying to get more comfortable, "I don't know about tracking, but I can sometimes make animals do what I want, but only if they want to do it too." Kibble thinks for a moment, "I don't know about the others, they all seem really strong. Wow, I guess I've only known my friends for 7 days. It's been a really long week." Kibble laughs sheepishly. Tharak watched Kibble carefully, the goblin’s words sinking in. He seemed sincere, and Tharak found himself believing him—whether out of exhaustion or the simple fact that Kibble didn’t seem clever enough to lie convincingly. With a low grunt, Tharak extended the flask toward Kibble. "Oh, thanks!" Parched from the story telling Kibble reaches out with both hands snugly bound and take a large swig. Exhaustion and creature comforts having eased his fear, "So what's your name? Mine's Kibble." (Kibble would immediately notice the sharp, burning sensation of strong alcohol hitting the back of his throat. It’s harsh and somewhat bitter, with a faint taste of smoked wood. The warmth spreads quickly, a stark contrast to the cold mountain air.) Tharak raised an eyebrow as Kibble took a large swig, "The name’s Tharak, I s'pose you deserve to know." Kibble coughs and shudders, "wha-whats this?" Tharak’s smirk faltered for a moment as Kibble coughed and shuddered, staring at the flask like he’d just swallowed fire. He raised an eyebrow, taking the flask back with a hint of surprise. "It’s not water, Gru-, err, Kibble. It’s firebrand whiskey... Strong stuff." Tharak paused, rubbing the back of his neck, almost as if second-guessing himself. "You've had alcohol before right?" "I-I've never had anything like that before." He coughs, small tears well up in the corner of his eyes. Tharak’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head, watching Kibble with renewed curiosity. "Just how many winters have you seen, anyway? Starting to think you’re fresh out of the nest." he asked, his tone less gruff. "Beast Master who helped raise me said I was 7 this past winter." His cheeks starting to flush. "One of the older goblins at the circus said that this year they were gonna hold the Gowerdspert for me to become a goblin man." He let's out a heavy sigh, "I guess that won't happen now." Kibble looks at his bound feet dejected. Tharak’s face shifted, a mix of surprise and something bordering on sympathy flickering across his features. Seven winters. He had been dealing with a kid this whole time. He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the information. "Hir’saka," he muttered under his breath, almost as if fate were playing some cruel joke on him. "So you’re just a runt, after all." His voice was softer. He crouched down, meeting Kibble’s gaze with a seriousness that felt out of place given the circumstances. "Kid, you’re tangled up in something fierce, whether you meant to be or not. Crossin' paths with a dragon isn’t a game, and it sure as hell isn’t a circus act." He glanced toward the cliff’s edge, then back to Kibble, his tone softer but still gruff. "You sure you really want to get back to your friends? If you’ve got any sense, you’ll know that sometimes surviving means knowing when to cut your losses." Tharak’s eyes flicked back to Kibble’s bound feet, and for a moment, he almost seemed to reconsider the bindings. "But since you’ve been dragged into this, you might as well tell me—what’s this Gowerdspert thing all about, anyway?" His tone softened, childlike curiosity creeping in as he gave the kid a moment to explain. Kibble's brow furrowed, his cheeks flushing ruby, a stark contrast to his emerald skin. His jaw quivered at the thought of leaving his friends, his new family. But the dragons not even here he thought, it was in the woods lying on the ground. It didn't crash through the roof with them, it would have crushed them for sure. Can just seeing a dragon get you mixed up with it? His head spinning, thoughts flooding in like a torrent that threatened to swallow him whole. Tharak asks about Gowerdspert, Kibble inhales abruptly as if filling his lungs for the first time, "Gowderspert is a goblin coming of age ceremony! Gramps said that it has to happen the day after a big rain. You find a real nice grassy hill and some good mud. You get all covered in the mud and then tossed down the hill 8 times!" The flush on Kibble's cheeks starts to spread to his whole face. Kibble's voice gradually becoming a yell, "Then after you climb back up the 8th time they cover you in even more mud and then you dance around a fire for hours till all the mud dries and cracks off revealing the new goblin man!" Catching his breath Kibble realized he was shouting. "At least that's what Gramps said they did," Kibble says softly. Tharak listened to Kibble’s excited explanation, his expression shifting from mild disbelief to something almost contemplative. As Kibble's story trailed off, Tharak took another large swig from his flask, his gaze drifting toward the dark forest beyond the cliffs, his mind clearly somewhere else. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a slow breath, almost as if weighing some decision. "Getting tossed down a hill eight times and covered in mud, huh?" He let out a rough laugh, the sound almost genuine as he tried to picture it. "Gotta say, kid, that’s… that’s something else." Tharak’s smirk faded, and he let out a tired sigh, tossing a final swig of whiskey down his throat. He shifted slightly, wings ruffling as he stood and glanced at the forest edge with a look of mild frustration. “You know, kid,” he began, pacing slowly around the fire, “this whole thing was supposed to be simple. Grab you or some of your friends, get back to Dul’vor, and call it done.” He paused, glancing out into the distance, his talons idly tapping the flask. “But I’m not so sure anymore. Might be more practical to make a trade, cut my losses.” “Stay put,” he grumbled. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped away, disappearing into the shadows beyond the firelight. The night air was cold and quiet, leaving Kibble alone with the crackling fire and the faint sounds of the forest.
Kibble's head felt fuzzy. The whirlwind of the day's events a buzz in his mind. Even working in the circus he had never had such an exciting and long week. With his feet and hands bound, he flops onto his side. The warmth from the whiskey and the fire almost too much to resist as his eyes slowly flutter closed. With Tharak briefly stepping away, the forest settled into an almost eerie silence, broken only by the crackling fire and the rustling of leaves in the cold night breeze. Kibble lay half-asleep, the warmth of the fire and the lingering effects of the whiskey lulling him into a dazed stupor. As Kibble lay by the fire, warm and drifting on the edge of sleep, he suddenly felt a strange tug at the collar of his clothes. He found himself slowly being lifted off the ground, bound hands and feet dangling below him, and nobody or nothing in sight. Panic shoots through him as his body once again loses contact with the ground. He let's out a yelp, "Aauh! W-whats going on?" Tharak froze mid-step as Kibble’s startled yelp cut through the night air. He moved quickly, slipping back into the firelight to find Kibble hovering above the ground, lifted by a whirring, metal contraption—a clockwork bee, its wings buzzing frantically as it tried to carry the goblin away. Tharak’s eyes narrowed, a low curse escaping his beak. "Hells," he muttered, pulling a dagger from his belt. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he sent the blade spinning through the air, striking the metal bee with a sharp clang. Sparks burst from the bee’s body, and it shuddered, releasing Kibble, who started plummeting towards the rocky ground. Tharak lunged forward, catching Kibble just before he hit the ground. He set the goblin down, his grip firm as he glanced toward the smoking, twitching remains of the clockwork bee. "Well, they know where we are now," he muttered, more to himself than to Kibble. "Looks like we’re moving again." He began gathering his and Kibble's gear quickly, extinguishing the fire with a swift kick of dirt. “We’re heading higher,” he said, his tone gruff but focused. “Keep quiet and hold on.” With Kibble secured, in Tharak's arms this time rather than his hindtalons, Tharak crouched low, his wings stretching out as he prepared to launch them both into the sky. With a sharp beat of his wings, they lifted off, the icy wind biting at their faces as they ascended rapidly above the forest. Tharak kept his gaze fixed on the cliffs above. Kibble let out a soft whimper, his muscles tensed as, once again, he was hundreds of feet in the air. Tears trickled from his eyes, but this time only from the bitter wind. That was Walter's bee, he found me! thought Kibble. With hope in his heart that his companions were close behind he steeled himself, "Who's Dul'vor?" His voice almost lost on the wind. Tharak shot Kibble a sideways glance. "Dul’vor's not a person, kid. It’s a place. Our stronghold, high up in the mountains. Safe, well-fortified, and out of reach for most.” He paused, adjusting his grip, and Kibble caught a glimpse of faint, jagged scars encircling his wrists, partly hidden beneath the feathers that lead up to his scaled foretalons. “It’s where we regroup after a rough job, tend to wounds, and wait for orders.” Tharak’s gaze grew distant for a moment. “Not all good memories there, but it’s home enough for the likes of us.” Still a bit flushed from the firebrand whiskey, though the cutting wind and fear of the hundreds of feet of air between them and the ground was working to quickly sober him. "What happened to your wrists?" squeaked Kibble. Tharak’s eyes flickered down at his wrists, his grip on Kibble tightening just slightly. For a moment, he didn’t answer, the rhythmic beat of his wings the only sound between them. “Life happened,” he muttered, voice gruff. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, the cliffs rising steeply, jagged and dark against the night sky. The moonlight barely touched the weathered stone, casting long shadows as they climbed higher, approaching the crumbling remains of a watchtower perched at the cliff’s peak. Its silhouette stood stark against the sky—once a symbol of strength, now a ruin lost to time. “Thought I was free when the Syndicate pulled me out. Figured I’d finally shaken those chains.” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Turns out, I just swapped one set for another.” Tharak’s wings cut through the cold air as they neared the tower. The structure was little more than a shattered remnant of what it once was: stone walls no higher than a man’s waist, piles of rubble scattered like the bones of some long-dead beast. The wind whistled through the broken walls as Tharak descended toward the ruins, his thoughts still churning. They touched down on the stone ledge, and Tharak’s talons scraped against the cold rock. Gently, he set Kibble down, his grip loosening as the goblin’s feet hit the ground. Exhaustion was creeping in as he crouched beside Kibble, shoulders sagging slightly. He pulled out a waterskin and handed it over. "Here, kid," he muttered, his voice rough with fatigue. "Oh... yeah, uh... water this time." He smirked, the sharp smell of whiskey still heavy on his breath. "Figured ya' had enough excitement for one night." Kibble's muscles released as his feet touched the rocky ground. His whole body felt like a limp noodle from the hours he had spent tensing, anticipating a fall from hundreds of feet to then splat on the rocks below. He wanted to kiss the ground, hug it so tight he could never be lifted so, so high into the air again. The waterskin brushing against his arm snapped him back to reality. Lips cracked and tongue like a wad of cotton he grasped the waterskin and drank deeply. "T-thank you," he panted. "We're not gonna fly anymore are we?" Kibble asked, his eyes pleading. Tharak grunted, rubbing a hand over his face. "Hells no," he muttered, exhaustion clear in his voice. "Ain't no more flyin' tonight." He lingered for a moment, his eyes on Kibble, something unreadable in his expression. With a tired sigh, he crouched down and started untying the bindings, his talons working slowly but carefully. "Listen, kid..." He paused, the words not coming easy. "I can't take you back to Dul’vor. If I did, the Commander... he'd tear you apart tryin' to get whatever information he thinks you’ve got." He let out a breath, more to himself now. "Done a lot of things I could live with. But I ain't takin' a kid like you to be tortured." "Y-you're letting me go?" Kibble asked stunned. Tharak’s foretalons hovered for a moment as Kibble's question lingered. He glanced at the goblin, a weary smirk pulling at his beak. "Letting you go?" He shook his head, the smirk fading into something more serious. "I don’t even know what I’m doin’, kid. This wasn’t exactly the plan." With a sigh, he reached into his pack and pulled out the whisperstone he’d confiscated earlier, tossing it back towards Kibble. "Here. Let your friends know you're still breathin'." He leaned back slightly, rubbing his temples. "Truth is, I don’t want to keep you as a prisoner. Hell, I’m barely sure I want to keep goin' back to Dul’vor at this point. Maybe we can work somethin' out... a trade or whatever." His voice trailed off as he looked away, the weight of leaving behind the only home he’s known clearly on his mind. "If I’m gonna burn that bridge, might as well get somethin’ for it."
The flight continued in silence for a while, the only sounds being the rhythmic flapping of Tharak’s wings and the distant, howling wind. Kibble saw as the landscape slowly changed below them, the forest giving way to a range of jagged cliffs in the distance, dark against the sky. The moons' light played on the edges of the cliffs, making them appear like towering teeth rising out of the earth. Tharak grunted, his breath heavy with the strain of the flight. Carrying Kibble through the air for so long had clearly taken its toll, but the Peregrinth wasn’t one to show weakness. Kibble could feel the strain in the talons that gripped him, the slight shifts in Tharak’s hold betraying his fatigue. Tharak’s wings flared as they approached the cliffs, his body adjusting to the changing air currents. The ground below shifted from dense forest to rocky outcrops, the cliffs rising like a fortress in the moonlight. Kibble could feel Tharak’s grip tighten as they neared a narrow ledge on one of the larger cliffs. It wasn’t a smooth landing—Tharak descended sharply, landing heavily on the stone ledge, his talons scraping against the rock as he set Kibble down roughly. The impact left Kibble disoriented for a moment, his body aching from the long flight and the cold. Tharak stood over him, his breath visible in the frigid air, eyes sharp but tired. "You’re heavier than you look, Grub," Tharak muttered, flexing his talons as if shaking off the strain. He glanced down at Kibble, his expression hard to read, though his eyes lingered on the green creature for a moment longer than usual. "Next time, I’ll make you walk." "Now..." Tharak let out a slow breath, his wings folding tightly against his back as he crouched down beside Kibble. He reached into his pack and pulled out a length of rough rope. His movements were deliberate but weary, a predator at the edge of his patience. "Don’t fight me on this," he said, his voice low but steady. There was no real threat in his tone—just a tired practicality. "I’ve had enough trouble for one night. Let’s not make it worse." Kibble makes no effort to move. "Am I gonna d-die?" Kibble chatters. Tharak paused for a moment, the rope still in his hands, his sharp eyes meeting Kibble’s. For a second, the wind filled the silence between them, howling against the cliffs. "That’s up to you," Tharak muttered, his voice gruff but lacking the usual bite. His hands worked the rope around Kibble’s wrists and legs, though his movements were slower now, more methodical. "I don’t kill unless I have to." Without much hesitation, he began rifling through Kibble's things, making sure to secure the whisperstone he saw the goblin use earlier. He seemed both underwhelmed and confused by what he finds: a few knives and utensils, a healing potion, and waterskin. Rummaging deeper, he pulled out a pouch of spices, his brow furrowing slightly. He sniffed them, the scents of pepper, garlic, and something spicy hitting the cold air. Tharak raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Spices, huh? Didn’t think a little runt like you would have a taste for cooking." He stowed them away, an almost begrudging nod of approval before his hand landed on the last item—a strip of Kryssalith jerky. Tharak’s eyes lit up slightly as he inspected the jerky, recognizing the source. "Kryssalith meat," he muttered, clearly impressed. "Didn’t think someone like you would’ve gotten this close to one, let alone made it out alive." He crouched down, his talons deftly arranging loose stones into a crude firepit. With practiced movements, he gathered bits of dry brush and snapped a few dead branches off the nearby trees, laying them carefully in the center. His eyes gleamed in the low moonlight as he worked, not rushed, but efficient, like someone who had done this countless times before. Within moments, he struck flint against steel, sending sparks into the tinder. The brush caught quickly, a small flame flickering to life, casting a dim orange glow over the ledge. Pulling out a battered pan, Tharak sliced the jerky into thin strips, sprinkling Kibble's spices over the meat. The sharp scents of pepper and garlic filled the air. He added water from Kibble’s waterskin, creating a simmering broth. From his own supplies, Tharak tossed in a handful of dried wild mushrooms and rough-chopped root vegetables. The meal sizzled over the fire, the rich, savory scent of the Kryssalith jerky and spices blending with the earthy mushrooms. Tharak stirred the mixture, his movements smooth and practiced. The food was simple, yet hearty, revealing his surprising skill as a cook.
As the dish finished, he ladled some into a tin bowl, setting it near Kibble. "Eat up, Grub. You’ll need it." The fire crackled, its light dancing in Tharak’s sharp eyes as he sat back, watching Kibble closely. "So, what even are you? Never seen a... somethin' like you before." Kibble's hands and feet bound and his belongings rummaged, fear still overriding the frustration. His face and body thaw next to the fire, the warm scent of the stew settling his shredded nerves. He reaches down picks up the bowl and sips at the stew. "I'm a goblin, my people are real common where I come from." He blows on the stew and continues to sip on it. "I really don't know anything about that dragon." "A goblin, huh?" Tharak repeated, as if testing the word. He glanced at Kibble, a glimmer of curiosity mixed with skepticism. "Never heard of one. Must be a strange place you come from." He takes a sip from his own bowl before focusing back on Kibble. "And where do you come from?" "I-I'm from all over." Kibble paused, you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to recall, "The last place we were in was Faerun sorta near Phandalin" Tharak's eyes narrowed at Kibble's response. "Phandalin? Faerun?" he repeated, neither name meaning much to him. "So you really aren't from 'ere, huh?" Tharak leaned back, wings shifting as he gazed at Kibble, "And how did you get here, exactly?" "W-well what I remember is, there was a huge crash in the woods next to our camp. And me and my friends went to check it out and there was a huge dragon lying there!" In Kibble's rising excitement in retelling this story to an attentive listener, some of the hot soup sloshes out of his bowl and lands on his knee. "Tsss!" He sucks air through his teeth in pain. He sets the soup down awkwardly. "U-uh, uhm, oh, and then there was a blinding light that hurt really bad and then we fell through a roof!" He rubs his knee when the soup landed, "Uhm and then a rock came through the door and I fell asleep which was weird..." Kibble continues to tell the entire sequence of events up til the present. Tharak’s hindtalons tapped against the ground as he listened to Kibble's rambling, his eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. With a low grunt, he reached into his pack and pulled out a weathered flask. He unscrewed the cap, took a long swig, and exhaled slowly. "So," he began, "you really expect me to believe you just happened to stumble across a dragon like it was some stray animal, and whisked away by some magic light? What else do you know about dragons, Grub? You’d better not be keeping something from me." He glanced down at the flask, then back at Kibble. "You and your friends... they must know something. Some way to track it? Control it? Something more than just stumbling into a crash site." Tharak’s expression remained hard, but the subtle shift in his tone hinted at a growing desperation. Body warmed and belly full, Kibble's fear eases, "I don't really know very much about dragons. I just heard 'bout them from ringmaster Lecko. He said they're really strong and some of them like gold a lot. Oh and that I'd be my namesake if I ever ran into one." He shifted under his ropes trying to get more comfortable, "I don't know about tracking, but I can sometimes make animals do what I want, but only if they want to do it too." Kibble thinks for a moment, "I don't know about the others, they all seem really strong. Wow, I guess I've only known my friends for 7 days. It's been a really long week." Kibble laughs sheepishly. Tharak watched Kibble carefully, the goblin’s words sinking in. He seemed sincere, and Tharak found himself believing him—whether out of exhaustion or the simple fact that Kibble didn’t seem clever enough to lie convincingly. With a low grunt, Tharak extended the flask toward Kibble. "Oh, thanks!" Parched from the story telling Kibble reaches out with both hands snugly bound and take a large swig. Exhaustion and creature comforts having eased his fear, "So what's your name? Mine's Kibble." (Kibble would immediately notice the sharp, burning sensation of strong alcohol hitting the back of his throat. It’s harsh and somewhat bitter, with a faint taste of smoked wood. The warmth spreads quickly, a stark contrast to the cold mountain air.) Tharak raised an eyebrow as Kibble took a large swig, "The name’s Tharak, I s'pose you deserve to know." Kibble coughs and shudders, "wha-whats this?" Tharak’s smirk faltered for a moment as Kibble coughed and shuddered, staring at the flask like he’d just swallowed fire. He raised an eyebrow, taking the flask back with a hint of surprise. "It’s not water, Gru-, err, Kibble. It’s firebrand whiskey... Strong stuff." Tharak paused, rubbing the back of his neck, almost as if second-guessing himself. "You've had alcohol before right?" "I-I've never had anything like that before." He coughs, small tears well up in the corner of his eyes. Tharak’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head, watching Kibble with renewed curiosity. "Just how many winters have you seen, anyway? Starting to think you’re fresh out of the nest." he asked, his tone less gruff. "Beast Master who helped raise me said I was 7 this past winter." His cheeks starting to flush. "One of the older goblins at the circus said that this year they were gonna hold the Gowerdspert for me to become a goblin man." He let's out a heavy sigh, "I guess that won't happen now." Kibble looks at his bound feet dejected. Tharak’s face shifted, a mix of surprise and something bordering on sympathy flickering across his features. Seven winters. He had been dealing with a kid this whole time. He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the information. "Hir’saka," he muttered under his breath, almost as if fate were playing some cruel joke on him. "So you’re just a runt, after all." His voice was softer. He crouched down, meeting Kibble’s gaze with a seriousness that felt out of place given the circumstances. "Kid, you’re tangled up in something fierce, whether you meant to be or not. Crossin' paths with a dragon isn’t a game, and it sure as hell isn’t a circus act." He glanced toward the cliff’s edge, then back to Kibble, his tone softer but still gruff. "You sure you really want to get back to your friends? If you’ve got any sense, you’ll know that sometimes surviving means knowing when to cut your losses." Tharak’s eyes flicked back to Kibble’s bound feet, and for a moment, he almost seemed to reconsider the bindings. "But since you’ve been dragged into this, you might as well tell me—what’s this Gowerdspert thing all about, anyway?" His tone softened, childlike curiosity creeping in as he gave the kid a moment to explain. Kibble's brow furrowed, his cheeks flushing ruby, a stark contrast to his emerald skin. His jaw quivered at the thought of leaving his friends, his new family. But the dragons not even here he thought, it was in the woods lying on the ground. It didn't crash through the roof with them, it would have crushed them for sure. Can just seeing a dragon get you mixed up with it? His head spinning, thoughts flooding in like a torrent that threatened to swallow him whole. Tharak asks about Gowerdspert, Kibble inhales abruptly as if filling his lungs for the first time, "Gowderspert is a goblin coming of age ceremony! Gramps said that it has to happen the day after a big rain. You find a real nice grassy hill and some good mud. You get all covered in the mud and then tossed down the hill 8 times!" The flush on Kibble's cheeks starts to spread to his whole face. Kibble's voice gradually becoming a yell, "Then after you climb back up the 8th time they cover you in even more mud and then you dance around a fire for hours till all the mud dries and cracks off revealing the new goblin man!" Catching his breath Kibble realized he was shouting. "At least that's what Gramps said they did," Kibble says softly. Tharak listened to Kibble’s excited explanation, his expression shifting from mild disbelief to something almost contemplative. As Kibble's story trailed off, Tharak took another large swig from his flask, his gaze drifting toward the dark forest beyond the cliffs, his mind clearly somewhere else. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a slow breath, almost as if weighing some decision. "Getting tossed down a hill eight times and covered in mud, huh?" He let out a rough laugh, the sound almost genuine as he tried to picture it. "Gotta say, kid, that’s… that’s something else." Tharak’s smirk faded, and he let out a tired sigh, tossing a final swig of whiskey down his throat. He shifted slightly, wings ruffling as he stood and glanced at the forest edge with a look of mild frustration. “You know, kid,” he began, pacing slowly around the fire, “this whole thing was supposed to be simple. Grab you or some of your friends, get back to Dul’vor, and call it done.” He paused, glancing out into the distance, his talons idly tapping the flask. “But I’m not so sure anymore. Might be more practical to make a trade, cut my losses.” “Stay put,” he grumbled. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped away, disappearing into the shadows beyond the firelight. The night air was cold and quiet, leaving Kibble alone with the crackling fire and the faint sounds of the forest.
Kibble's head felt fuzzy. The whirlwind of the day's events a buzz in his mind. Even working in the circus he had never had such an exciting and long week. With his feet and hands bound, he flops onto his side. The warmth from the whiskey and the fire almost too much to resist as his eyes slowly flutter closed. With Tharak briefly stepping away, the forest settled into an almost eerie silence, broken only by the crackling fire and the rustling of leaves in the cold night breeze. Kibble lay half-asleep, the warmth of the fire and the lingering effects of the whiskey lulling him into a dazed stupor. As Kibble lay by the fire, warm and drifting on the edge of sleep, he suddenly felt a strange tug at the collar of his clothes. He found himself slowly being lifted off the ground, bound hands and feet dangling below him, and nobody or nothing in sight. Panic shoots through him as his body once again loses contact with the ground. He let's out a yelp, "Aauh! W-whats going on?" Tharak froze mid-step as Kibble’s startled yelp cut through the night air. He moved quickly, slipping back into the firelight to find Kibble hovering above the ground, lifted by a whirring, metal contraption—a clockwork bee, its wings buzzing frantically as it tried to carry the goblin away. Tharak’s eyes narrowed, a low curse escaping his beak. "Hells," he muttered, pulling a dagger from his belt. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he sent the blade spinning through the air, striking the metal bee with a sharp clang. Sparks burst from the bee’s body, and it shuddered, releasing Kibble, who started plummeting towards the rocky ground. Tharak lunged forward, catching Kibble just before he hit the ground. He set the goblin down, his grip firm as he glanced toward the smoking, twitching remains of the clockwork bee. "Well, they know where we are now," he muttered, more to himself than to Kibble. "Looks like we’re moving again." He began gathering his and Kibble's gear quickly, extinguishing the fire with a swift kick of dirt. “We’re heading higher,” he said, his tone gruff but focused. “Keep quiet and hold on.” With Kibble secured, in Tharak's arms this time rather than his hindtalons, Tharak crouched low, his wings stretching out as he prepared to launch them both into the sky. With a sharp beat of his wings, they lifted off, the icy wind biting at their faces as they ascended rapidly above the forest. Tharak kept his gaze fixed on the cliffs above. Kibble let out a soft whimper, his muscles tensed as, once again, he was hundreds of feet in the air. Tears trickled from his eyes, but this time only from the bitter wind. That was Walter's bee, he found me! thought Kibble. With hope in his heart that his companions were close behind he steeled himself, "Who's Dul'vor?" His voice almost lost on the wind. Tharak shot Kibble a sideways glance. "Dul’vor's not a person, kid. It’s a place. Our stronghold, high up in the mountains. Safe, well-fortified, and out of reach for most.” He paused, adjusting his grip, and Kibble caught a glimpse of faint, jagged scars encircling his wrists, partly hidden beneath the feathers that lead up to his scaled foretalons. “It’s where we regroup after a rough job, tend to wounds, and wait for orders.” Tharak’s gaze grew distant for a moment. “Not all good memories there, but it’s home enough for the likes of us.” Still a bit flushed from the firebrand whiskey, though the cutting wind and fear of the hundreds of feet of air between them and the ground was working to quickly sober him. "What happened to your wrists?" squeaked Kibble. Tharak’s eyes flickered down at his wrists, his grip on Kibble tightening just slightly. For a moment, he didn’t answer, the rhythmic beat of his wings the only sound between them. “Life happened,” he muttered, voice gruff. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, the cliffs rising steeply, jagged and dark against the night sky. The moonlight barely touched the weathered stone, casting long shadows as they climbed higher, approaching the crumbling remains of a watchtower perched at the cliff’s peak. Its silhouette stood stark against the sky—once a symbol of strength, now a ruin lost to time. “Thought I was free when the Syndicate pulled me out. Figured I’d finally shaken those chains.” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Turns out, I just swapped one set for another.” Tharak’s wings cut through the cold air as they neared the tower. The structure was little more than a shattered remnant of what it once was: stone walls no higher than a man’s waist, piles of rubble scattered like the bones of some long-dead beast. The wind whistled through the broken walls as Tharak descended toward the ruins, his thoughts still churning. They touched down on the stone ledge, and Tharak’s talons scraped against the cold rock. Gently, he set Kibble down, his grip loosening as the goblin’s feet hit the ground. Exhaustion was creeping in as he crouched beside Kibble, shoulders sagging slightly. He pulled out a waterskin and handed it over. "Here, kid," he muttered, his voice rough with fatigue. "Oh... yeah, uh... water this time." He smirked, the sharp smell of whiskey still heavy on his breath. "Figured ya' had enough excitement for one night." Kibble's muscles released as his feet touched the rocky ground. His whole body felt like a limp noodle from the hours he had spent tensing, anticipating a fall from hundreds of feet to then splat on the rocks below. He wanted to kiss the ground, hug it so tight he could never be lifted so, so high into the air again. The waterskin brushing against his arm snapped him back to reality. Lips cracked and tongue like a wad of cotton he grasped the waterskin and drank deeply. "T-thank you," he panted. "We're not gonna fly anymore are we?" Kibble asked, his eyes pleading. Tharak grunted, rubbing a hand over his face. "Hells no," he muttered, exhaustion clear in his voice. "Ain't no more flyin' tonight." He lingered for a moment, his eyes on Kibble, something unreadable in his expression. With a tired sigh, he crouched down and started untying the bindings, his talons working slowly but carefully. "Listen, kid..." He paused, the words not coming easy. "I can't take you back to Dul’vor. If I did, the Commander... he'd tear you apart tryin' to get whatever information he thinks you’ve got." He let out a breath, more to himself now. "Done a lot of things I could live with. But I ain't takin' a kid like you to be tortured." "Y-you're letting me go?" Kibble asked stunned. Tharak’s foretalons hovered for a moment as Kibble's question lingered. He glanced at the goblin, a weary smirk pulling at his beak. "Letting you go?" He shook his head, the smirk fading into something more serious. "I don’t even know what I’m doin’, kid. This wasn’t exactly the plan." With a sigh, he reached into his pack and pulled out the whisperstone he’d confiscated earlier, tossing it back towards Kibble. "Here. Let your friends know you're still breathin'." He leaned back slightly, rubbing his temples. "Truth is, I don’t want to keep you as a prisoner. Hell, I’m barely sure I want to keep goin' back to Dul’vor at this point. Maybe we can work somethin' out... a trade or whatever." His voice trailed off as he looked away, the weight of leaving behind the only home he’s known clearly on his mind. "If I’m gonna burn that bridge, might as well get somethin’ for it."
Comments