Goblins out of all the mortal races had a penchant for instigating change. For seeing a keystone and striking at it until it and all that it supported collapsed. There was a compulsion, an urge, that seemed to drive them to cause this change without regard for the final result. Whether that change benefited them in the long run, or ultimately spelled out their doom, change seemed to be sought for its own sake. Within their own communities this manifested in the plots that they undertook, the rivalries and the complex webs that those entailed. Even their all encompassing greed was born from this urge. The urge to change their lives for the better, to take and consume until they were at their peak, and then jealously guard all that they had. They lived life without a moment of stagnation. Constantly fuelling conflict in order to continue crawling forwards no matter what it cost them.

While other races concerned themselves with gradual change goblins chose another path. Measured, and controlled change that was well thought out and well managed was not their forte. The stubbornness of the dwarves, or the long term goals of the elves were often beyond them. If they attempted to set up a goal like that, something to dream for and work towards for many years another goblin would throw a wrench into the works. Much of a greenskin’s time was spent hiding their true motives, cleverly distracting those around them. Making sure that only they knew the keystones to their own ideas. Insulating themselves from change while also bringing as much as they could into any situation. Goblins were adaptable, fickle, and constantly on the move.

Adding magic to that set of traits was a dangerous mix. Occasionally there were magically inclined individuals born into the mortal races. They were seen as miracles from the gods, or a gift from a good genetic mix. Sighted individuals were often seen as gifts to their communities. Handed powers that could be used to reinforce their families, their kingdoms, or their empires. Shoring up structural weaknesses by applying controlled magical forces. Enchantments that kept royalty healthy past their years. Runic stones that promoted plant growth and favourable weather patterns. Machines of war that could turn the tide of any battle. In many ways magic was used in opposition to the forces goblins represented. It was used to fight against the forces of entropy, to stop decay and change for the worse.

Learning magic for any mortal was an arduous and drawn out process, and it attracted or dissuaded certain individuals. Magic in the realms was a complex mathematical problem that needed to be solved. Power applied in certain amounts to certain symbols to derive a certain effect. Everything precise and done to perfection, risking disaster otherwise. Too many motes sent to a rune meant to keep the castle a steady temperature would instead cause a fire that could rage beyond any others. Rendering the castle a ruin when comfort had been the aim. Or a symbol drawn with an artistic flourish, only to doom the bearer as that innocent expression caused an unwanted side effect. A modification that had not been planned or accounted for properly lead to effects that could not be predicted.

With all the dangers that stemmed from learning magic two distinct groups of sighted individuals formed. Those who learned slowly and carefully, who studied for hours before even attempting an experiment. Those who learned, grew, and succeeded in small steps. They were opposite those that found themselves dead or worse because they hadn’t taken the time to properly protect themselves. To learn magic was to join the fight against a force that wanted to crack what you had created. A force that would abuse any mistake that you made. Mages as a whole never deviated from a certain set of personality types, or they never lived very long. Careful mages lived long and fruitful lives, while their siblings who approached the problem carelessly did not.

Every so often the fickle forces of fate granted the gift of sight to a goblin. Baring extreme circumstances they rarely lived beyond their youth. Care and caution did not come easily to goblins, greed and the urge to change almost always drove them to pull off tricks that would eventually destroy them. The lack of magical guidance within goblin communities only added to this problem. There was no teachers eager to guide a young goblin, nor any ancient tomes of knowledge passed down through time. Runt was certainly no exception to this rule. If he had been on his own, without guidance and with just his own compass to steer the ship, he would likely be dead within a month. Even before he saw Barghest gathering the motes to himself to perform what would be a miracle, Runt had slowly become curious of them. The dancing lights calling his attention, a temptation that would never truly be ignored. It was a ticking time bomb that would have gone off at some point.

But Runt was not alone, and more importantly, he was now learning of the trap that had been laid out before him. As Barghest finished up the ritual the trio of Patches, Cluny, and Runt had been speaking. Settling on a deal, each of them offering something, and each of them giving in return. The type of dealing that Runt was exceptional at. Each member trying to squeeze all they could from the others. Each one selfish and ultimately looking out only for themselves, but coming together despite that. One out of greed, another out of curiosity, and yet another for a few scraps of edible cheese.

“So this fire one is good for what exactly?” Runt asked, a crudely drawn imitation of the symbol dug with a clawed finger into the wood below him. Patches had quickly learned that goblins were, despite their reputation, eager students. While not perfect, in the hour that the trio had waited for Barghest, Runt had grasped the beginnings of the basics. Knowledge that was absorbed like a sponge. Slowly opening ideas and doorways within Runt’s mind. The thousands of possibilities expanding before him giving Runt the energy to continue despite his bruised and battered body. He sat atop the skull, half a dozen hastily scratched symbols before him. Each one committed to memory. Carefully clearing the area of motes before he drew one. Double and triple checking their forms to make sure he committed them to his memory.

“Well it isn’t truly fire but that’s the simplest explanation yes. It’s the base of all energy. Pour motes into the base rune, and yes, you’ll spark a flame. Add a twist like this-” the cat deftly swiped her paws against the symbol Runt had drawn, motes following her motion, bending the wood as she directed them, “And you’ll make it far more likely for fires to catch near it, but not light one yourself. Add another and you’ll call lightning. Another and you’ll simply give the nearby area a few degrees of warmth.”

“Mix it with this one,” Cluny interrupted, gesturing with his muzzle to a symbol Runt had learned earlier, “And you’ll melt the earth beneath yer feet. Or put one opposite the other and set every plant aflame for miles. Dangerous one, but the root of pretty much everything fuckin’ else. You gotta guide the energy, and you gotta ground it. Motes are fuckin’ stupid, they do what you tell em, but then they go haywire if not given any other instructions. Float off, or cause trouble.”

Runt tossed him another piece of rotten food, the rodent snatching it instantly as it tumbled towards him. Momentarily the bind on their limbs flared, reaffirming the deal that they had forged. A warning and a lesson for a bit of food. A deal both thought was very much in their favour. Something that Runt still wasn’t sure of the deal he made with Patches. Something about the feline unnerved him. The predatory eyes that seemed to flare with glee every time a tidbit was shared. Cluny had cleared the deal of any obvious tricks, but that didn’t mean there were no subtle ones. Runt was now aware of the worth of the knowledge he was being taught, but that only made him more wary. That Patches was giving it out for nearly nothing only made him suspicious. Ironically he would have been more eager to take the deal if the price was exorbitant. A single favour had been asked for, vague enough to worry Runt, but not enough that he had balked at the idea. A message that had to be delivered that he would carry with him back out into the swamps. Taken to Gustave, who he was assured repeatedly never harmed a messenger, with a meaning he couldn’t parse. Why Patches didn’t deliver the message herself wasn’t clear, but that fact alone piqued Runt’s curiosity. The more he spoke with Cluny and Patches, the more he learned about the world he stepped in to. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it resembled the world he had left behind. Rivalries and connections that built a web around everyone. Promises and deals that tied them together.

“Indeed, and it is the last symbol I will be teaching you before you complete your task.” purred Patches, satisfaction dripping from her voice as she gestured towards the still seething form that Barghest had become, “Judging by the way that seems to be looking Cluny and I should be moving on. Barghest will know we were here, but it doesn’t behoove any of us to let him know what we were discussing. Runt it was a pleasure meeting you, and should you return to Mirefort safe and sound I will continue your teachings.”

Patches slunk forwards, scratching at the wood beneath her as she moved to obscure the runes that Runt had been practising. A smooth motion that obscured their shape and left them useless. Scattering knowledge that Runt hoped he had stored within his mind correctly. There was a single glance backwards, green eyes once again boring into Runt’s, before the cat was gone. Leaping over a wall and into the gloom, disappearing without further fanfare.

“Watch her,” chirped Cluny beside him, the bulk of the creature slowly turning to take his leave as well, “And watch yourself around Gustave. She’s testing you and Gustave is more than happy to take advantage of any mistake. Those of us who spend time in Mirefort learn a thing or two about manners. Keepin’ things polite. He ain’t been taught those lessons.”

Another fistful of rotten cheese was tossed his way, the rat scampering after it and squeezing his way out of sight a second later. His warning taken to heart, though Runt knew it could easily have been poisoned. Both of them had been very careful to choose their words carefully when they had been making their deals. Giving themselves loopholes that Runt knew he would have abused if he’d had them. As it was he was barely keeping his head above water, dealing with spirits that had thousands of years of practice. He was floundering, grasping at power he wanted without know the dangers that lurked. All this, with an eager smile on his face. A grin that spoke of plots only coming into play now.

Runt was aware of the out Patches had given herself. She had agreed to teach Runt as much as he asked, as long as he delivered the message and returned safely. If he didn’t return safely, well, she simply didn’t have to answer him. Runt was all too aware that safety was a nebulous and undefined concept, especially for a goblin. He may never truly be safe again. All he could hope for is the spirit of the deal to hold. Cluny similarly had stated simply that he would give warnings and tips for a small portion of food. Warnings that didn’t necessarily tell the whole truth, but had to have some portion of truth. Both Cluny and Patches were hiding things from Runt, and the greenskin knew it.

A scraping noise called Runt’s attention back to Barghest, the huge dog stepped from a clump of fur a moment later. A squirming, writhing bundle of fur trapped within his jaws. Carefully the bundle was placed at Runt’s feet, a small whining noise emanating from the bundle. Black, beady eyes peered from the tightly wrapped fur. A small puppy, whimpering as the cold night air began to swaddle it.

Barghest took a deep breath, a tired look flashing across his muzzle as the scents of the scene hit him. He glanced at Runt, slowly nodding before gesturing with a nod to the bundle he had deposited.

“Your new charge. She is bound to you as I stated. Your life and hers are intertwined. She dies if you do, and you do if she does. Your hearts might as well beat as one, so be careful with yourself. If not for her sake, for your own.” Barghest stated, the barely audible tone in his voice betraying just how tired the spirit now was. Runt had no way of knowing just how much energy Barghest had put into the ritual he had just performed, but he could sense it. The ragged way the hound stood, the wisps of energy peeling off of him. He looked like Runt felt. Beat up, ragged. But while Runt was feeling energized, Barghest was quite the opposite. He looked drained.

With a huff the hound slowly stepped forwards, nudging the package at Runt’s feet on last time before staring Runt in the eyes. For a moment there was a flicker of the earlier distaste, a rage just barely contained, a look that Runt just greeted with a smile. The message was clear. Runt was on thin ice. Stooping low he slowly grabbed the bundle, cradling it against his chest even as the puppy in his arms struggled. It’s fur was warm against his skin, errant motes of potential brushing against him, leavings from the ritual that had just finished.

“Fang and Blackeye, yes?” grunted Barghest, prompting a nod from Runt in response. A moment later the hound howled, the sound echoing throughout the city. Tired and spent the dog began limping forwards. Runt behind him a moment later, limping with two bundles clogging his arms. A giant skull, cradled by fingers that new knew runes to give it power, and a small whimpering whelp. Hungry, and cold. Sensations that would soon reach Runt’s now bonded soul. A trio of entities, watched closely by a pair of forest green eyes as they moved.