Yaz

Yaz admired the nymphly escapades in the glade for a few minutes, grinning, and not just because that was his only facial expression. Ah, to be of the flesh again. Even now, after more than a thousand years in his current state, he still felt a twinge of bitterness at what he’d physically lost. While he was still capable of engaging in activities with the opposite sex, it wasn’t quite the same playing the game without all of his equipment. He’d chased down plenty of nymphs in his time, even as an undead, magical construct, of course, but at the moment, he wasn’t quite as driven to do so as Arwin was.

He swept the spark of bitterness from his heart, but noted once again that it increasingly lingered in the back of his thoughts, as it had done, more and more, over the past few years. He couldn’t help but be bothered by the change. In his early undeath, he’d struggled with the loss of his fleshy form and had raged against the misfortune and evilness that had forced this on him. But, as adaptable as we all are, he’d eventually adjusted to being a skeleton and largely made peace with it and most of the time it didn’t bother him. There was a period in every long-term relationship with women that he longed for muscle and skin and his once-prized sexual tool, but he eventually got over that and lived and loved as normally as anyone else.

Yet, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he’d grown a little more negative recently, and found his thoughts drifting all-too-often to wishing that he could be a real boy once more. It was unhealthy and leading to troubling bouts of depression. Honestly, these changing feelings had been a large part of his desire to leave Mistial and to search for Epheria once more, a response to a deep longing for the past.

Perhaps he was just getting old.

Meandering away from the glade, he explored the local forest, looking for a quiet place to lay 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.

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 something else. A man from Drearia! Such were very rare indeed, here in Heartstone. Arwin seemed young at heart, playful and he’d likely be generally cheery but for the bouts of darkness that crossed 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. 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 play in traffic. Sooner or later, blood would be spilled.

So far, Arwin seemed like a solid individual, trustworthy and capable. At least, that was the vibe he’d gotten. There are rare instances when we meet people where we just seem to click together right away, like the right puzzle pieces, 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: 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 much more villainous 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 eyes flew open.

A grinning, dark-red hobgoblin lay atop him, trapping Yaz on the ground. Hobgoblins are larger and much stronger cousins to typical goblins. They are human sized as opposed to the child-sized common goblin, though they are slighter than muscle-bound orcs. Hobgoblins are readily identified by their red or orange, leathery skin and white eyes. Calmer and more intelligent than the smaller brethren they often command, these vile creatures revel in causing pain. This particular hobgoblin wore armor of ragged, mixed leathers. 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 common goblins appeared, scrambling over the tree roots and swarming down atop Yaz. These creatures were mostly no more than a meter tall, scraggly and scrawny, with sharp teeth and long, pointed ears. Their skin was green, often beset by warts, and they wore only fur or leather loin cloths, waving around clubs and knives and giggling madly, though they stayed relatively silent.

Yaz tried to fight, but could do nothing while pinned. He growled and opened his mouth to call out in warning.

A goblin managed to get behind his 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 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, then he heard the goblins quietly moving off, in the direction of the nymph glade.

Damn!

He fought to break free of his bindings. He had to hurry.