boo.
keep precious things
And then... She smiled. Aspen smiled. It was a sight Beish was sure he wouldn't see for sone time. To be sure, she looked much better while her lips curved up, and that look filled her eyes. She looked much more human that way. Much more relatable. Then the thought turned toward himself. When was the last time he had smiled? And when was the last time he had caught a fucking apple out of the corner of his eye? Never.
But alas, that moment was never destined to carry on. Because Erik happened. That man, that demon, that hellspawn demanded he join in the fight that had just begun. With a stick as a weapon and defense. Brilliant. Beish immediately turned several shades of white before settling on a pasty, sickly color that featured his mouth wide open in shock.
And no, not just going into the battle. Erik wanted him on the front line. Where he would most assuredly die. Fantastic. "I... I don't see whe-" His protest was cut off as Briar cast the final stone. Coward. Fear. Run away. Hide. Despise. Scream. Hate. Why? Why him?
Was it true? Did everyone see him as a coward? A fool? One along for the ride? He was here for a purpose, just like all of them! That itch along his spine still irked him, which meant his journey was not over yet. So what could he do about it? Beish knew he was a fool for standing like a stump in the woods, doing nothing. And yet he knew with certainty that he would die. He could hear the sounds of battle before him, and they did not sound pleasant. Now that everyone had rushed off, perhaps he could run. No one was looking. No one would blame him for anything.
But something twisted in Beish's stomach as he took a step backward. Was it fear? Pieces of the man he had eaten reassembling inside him? No. Rather, he knew just what it was. It was guilt. That was it. That was the last straw. With his heart in his mouth and adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins, he grabbed his staff, pulled his one dagger from his belt, and walked forward.
The morning was still dark, but if one looked close enough, you would see the fear plain on Beish's face. There was something else, too, but it was smaller, and more ill-defined. It was pride. As the man walked toward the sounds of creatures squealing and blades whirling, he could feel his knees begin to grow weak. He couldn't do this. He knew he couldn't. But he was. And there he went.
And then, a terrible roar rumbled through the air, almost causing the staff to fall from Beish's hand. What was that? It sounded big. And dangerous. And near. What was he supposed to do about that? Was Erik expecting him to slay a giant beast? It would never happen! Never! Not in a million millennia! But Beish still forged on, despite his weak knees and the fear of monsters.
As he bearded the sounds of battle, Beish could begin to make out the forms of... Things. They were humanoid in form, but with a green tinge in the skin. Their ears were pointed, and their noses were just too long for comfort. And they smelled disgusting that alone was almost enough to send Beish flying back, but he forged on. Closer, closer to the nearest goblin, which happened to be closing in on Briar. In fact, there were three of them. And by the look of it, they looked four times stronger than Briar, as well as twenty times more vile. But Beish did have an advantage: He had found himself behind them, and they could not see him. It was foolish, yes, and would most likely get him killed (or worse), but Beish held up his staff in both hands and, with a deep breath outward, through it down on the nearest goblin's noggin.
But alas, that moment was never destined to carry on. Because Erik happened. That man, that demon, that hellspawn demanded he join in the fight that had just begun. With a stick as a weapon and defense. Brilliant. Beish immediately turned several shades of white before settling on a pasty, sickly color that featured his mouth wide open in shock.
And no, not just going into the battle. Erik wanted him on the front line. Where he would most assuredly die. Fantastic. "I... I don't see whe-" His protest was cut off as Briar cast the final stone. Coward. Fear. Run away. Hide. Despise. Scream. Hate. Why? Why him?
Was it true? Did everyone see him as a coward? A fool? One along for the ride? He was here for a purpose, just like all of them! That itch along his spine still irked him, which meant his journey was not over yet. So what could he do about it? Beish knew he was a fool for standing like a stump in the woods, doing nothing. And yet he knew with certainty that he would die. He could hear the sounds of battle before him, and they did not sound pleasant. Now that everyone had rushed off, perhaps he could run. No one was looking. No one would blame him for anything.
But something twisted in Beish's stomach as he took a step backward. Was it fear? Pieces of the man he had eaten reassembling inside him? No. Rather, he knew just what it was. It was guilt. That was it. That was the last straw. With his heart in his mouth and adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins, he grabbed his staff, pulled his one dagger from his belt, and walked forward.
The morning was still dark, but if one looked close enough, you would see the fear plain on Beish's face. There was something else, too, but it was smaller, and more ill-defined. It was pride. As the man walked toward the sounds of creatures squealing and blades whirling, he could feel his knees begin to grow weak. He couldn't do this. He knew he couldn't. But he was. And there he went.
And then, a terrible roar rumbled through the air, almost causing the staff to fall from Beish's hand. What was that? It sounded big. And dangerous. And near. What was he supposed to do about that? Was Erik expecting him to slay a giant beast? It would never happen! Never! Not in a million millennia! But Beish still forged on, despite his weak knees and the fear of monsters.
As he bearded the sounds of battle, Beish could begin to make out the forms of... Things. They were humanoid in form, but with a green tinge in the skin. Their ears were pointed, and their noses were just too long for comfort. And they smelled disgusting that alone was almost enough to send Beish flying back, but he forged on. Closer, closer to the nearest goblin, which happened to be closing in on Briar. In fact, there were three of them. And by the look of it, they looked four times stronger than Briar, as well as twenty times more vile. But Beish did have an advantage: He had found himself behind them, and they could not see him. It was foolish, yes, and would most likely get him killed (or worse), but Beish held up his staff in both hands and, with a deep breath outward, through it down on the nearest goblin's noggin.