When she awoke, she was bound by ropes.

Repressing fear with the ease of a veteran, she assessed her sorroundings. The glade was but a former shadow of its former armony. The formerly pristine grass had been trampled into a muddy mess. The trees had been chopped down, their silvery wood used to feed big bonfires around which the goblins congregated. The hateful humanoids hollered and danced and snickered, raising discordant songs in the night.

Some of the goblinoids clambered on a small mountain of cages. They grimaced at the lights trapped inside, snickering and cackling at their powerless buzzing.

Iliel felt a surge of hatred. If only she didn’t make that stupid mistake!

A wave of dizziness hit her. Surprised, she shook her head to clear it. Why did she feel so weak? The side of her head throbbed painfully, but that didn’t explain it. Her limbs felt all tingly, and drained of strenght. Especially the left one, that felt numb.

The ropes bound her to a lean tree, forcing her to a seated position but leaving her free to move her neck. Frowning, she turned to look, and immediately widened her eyes.

Her left arm had been bound to a little wooden harness that forced her to keep it in line with her shoulder. A thin, long slash had been cut in her wrist, right where the veins were. A thin string of blood trickled into a bowl.

Her heart started to beat faster. They were bleeding her!

Another wave of dizziness hit her, loss of blood together with the realization of her situation. She had to get out of there!

Alarmed, she tried to move, only to realize that the ropes held her fast. Her right arm was forced behind her back, while her legs were roped together and held down with a series of heavy rocks. She could barely shift.

Forcing herself not to look at her bleeding arm, she started to test the knots. They were complicated, and, worse, they held fast. If she didn’t wear her armor, the ropes would be digging in her flesh.

Giving up the chance of loosening her bonds, she tried to move her hand. Her wrist was blocked, but she found she could move her fingers.

Grimacing, she tried to reach for the tree behind her. The effort felt much more exhausting that it should have been, but eventually she touched rough bark. The life of the tree felt like a silent pulse under her fingertips.

Struggling against the ropes to remain in that position, she focused on that pulse.

The tree wasn’t sentient in the common sense, but it was indoubtebly alive. Its existence was one of patience and slow, steady growth. It didn’t know of anything but itself and what could feel with its barks, leaves and roots, and even of that it was barely aware. The rest of the world came to it just as a series of influences, nothing else. It might as well didn’t exist for it.

Still, the tree reacted to her touch, recognizing her as one of the people of the wood. Its coscience felt to Iliel like a knot of trembling colors, its slow welcome like the contented mumblings of one that slumbered lightly.

Iliel struggled to contain herself while making her request. She sent her alarm and need into the tree’s coscience, forming a mental image of what she needed.

The tree’s coscience roiled and wobbled, struggling to understand. Her request went against its basic insticts.

Iliel redoubled her efforts, sending a stream of images of pain and horror and death that would happen if the tree didn’t acquiesce to her request.

Tense, she felt the tree’s coscience hesitate over the image of blood seeping in the ground. It oozed a slight temptation for it and for a moment she felt her blood ran cold. But then the coscience hovered away from it, giving it to her request with what felt in her mind like a deep sigh.

With a sharp gasp, she felt the tree reach for her Mana through their contact and pull. Nausea hit her, but she left it. The tree wasn’t magic. It couldn’t do what she needed from it without her energy.

The bark behind her creaked and shifted, a piece of it jutting out to form a spike with sharp edges, that then hardened.

Iliel held her breath while her already little energy was siphoned to fuel the magic. Her vision had started to swim when the tree pulled out. She sent a trembling thanks, to which the coscience replied with a drowsy aknowledgemnt, already sinking back into its slumber-like existence.

Muttering some more thanks, Iliel pushed the ropes against the spike and started to rub them on it. It was slow work, since she had to stop from time to time to make sure that the goblins didn’t notice her, but eventually the ropes holding her arm started to unravel.

Hope shone through her rising weakness. She was doing it!

A rough hand suddenly grabbed her head. She gasped in surprise, and then hissed in pain when rough fingers dug against her scalp, forcing her to twist her neck until her face was against her shoulder.

She tried to struggle, but the hand just squeezed harder and she had to stop. She remained like that, heart hammering while she felt a hand fumble around her wrist. The sound of ripped bark made a knot appear in her throat. The hardened spike tumbled in the grass before her a moment later. Watching it, she felt dizzy.

Turning, she saw the gray goblin that outsmarted her working on her arm. Mouth twisting into a grimace, she struggled. She felt weak, and the ropes didn’t leave her much room for movements, but be she damned if she was going to give up. She would rather bite her own tongue off or, even better, this little monster’s head.

Her feeble struggles didn’t elicit any response from the goblin, that just kept doing what he was doing. He grabbed the half-full bowl and poured a pinch of crushed something in it. The crimson liquid bubbled softly. The goblin nodded and took the bowl away. Reaching in a small, ratty purse she hadn’t noticed, he took out a fist-sized mushroom and bit on it. Iliel felt her windpipe tighten briefly at seeing how his serrated teeth sheared straight through the pulp.

Chewing, the goblin reached for her arm. Iliel narrowed her eyes, expecting pain. Instead, he loosened the knots holding her arm still.

The gesture was so unexpected that she missed her chance.

Before her arm slumped down, he grasped her forearm, holding it above her shoulder while firmly pushing his gnarled thumb a little under her wound, right on the arterial pressure point. His grip was surprisingly strong, but apart from the pressure, there was no pain. After some instants, the trickle of blood slackened and then stopped.

Dizzy, Iliel couldn’t but watch as the goblin took out a long piece of cloth and spat on it a small glob of chewed paste. With expert and quick gestures, he bandaged the arm with the cloth. Iliel hissed when the past touched the wound, pain lancing through her. She couldn’t muster the strenght to stop him as he tied her arm back again.

She turned away, refusing to show weakness to that monster. With the first surprise gone, the realization of the reasons of the healing dawned on her with horrible clarity. There was power in elven blood, any mage worth his salt knew it. The monster wasn’t going to let her die. He wanted to keep her alive so that he could keep to bleed her.

Nausea clogged her throat, even her nature as a veteran ranger failing to help her keep control. She struggled to breath, stomach churning.

A sound broke through her despair, attracting her attention.

The gray monster stood close by, rummaging through a leather pack. Iliel’s eyes widened as she recognized it. It was hers! There were all of her belongings there!

“Monster!” She screeched, struggling against her bonds. “Get your filthy hands out of there!”

The goblin threw her a frowning glance, but didn’t stop his rummaging. Iliel watched in horror as her meagre possessions - the few that a ranger on duty was allowed to keep - were piled on the ground. Her rations, rope, spare clothes and cloak, various potions and tools, weapons. She redoubled her efforts, actually starting to snarl when a little buckle engraved with images of curling branches ended in the pile.

If he noticed, the gray goblin didn’t show it, continuing in his ransacking with ruthless efficency.

Eventually, he took out a small pouch and opened it. He took the few savings it contained with an arched brow, and put it aside. Another pouch attracted his attention. Opening, his gaze seemed to brighten a tiny bit.

Refusing to give in to terror, Iliel fixed him an hateful stare while he fumbled with the pouch’s contents.

“Whatever you’re planning, you will fail.” She hissed as he came closer. “I am never gonna become a source of… of fuel for your dark magic.” She had to force herself to speak those words. She swallowed, finding her throat dry.

And then the most unexpected thing, the one that she couldn’t have ever thought it could happen, happened.

“You have a strange accent. Where are you from?”

Iliel needed a moment to register that deep voice speaking in perfect elvish, and another one to realize that it has been the goblin to speak.

“Y-you…” She had tried to stay strong and collected. If she failed, it was definitely in that moment, with that strange, gray goblin watching her with an expression that was a mixture between amused and frowning.

And… different. How could have she not noticed it before?

Goblins were chaotic, idiotic, ravenous creatures. They craved mischief as much as they craved food, and couldn’t think farther that the next thing to snatch or cut. Their blood was thin and foul, but ran steaming hot.

That gray goblin couldn’t have been more different. He held himself with grim purpose, and his eyes carried the coldblooded tint of a reptile. There was a… molten turbolence in him, grating over her well-attuned elven senses. She could very well imagine it erupt, and the thought was enough to send a shiver through her, but in that moment it was controlled, refined, sharpened to a deadly point.

She felt it with absolute certainty. Whatever that creature before her was, it wasn’t a goblin.

The words dropped from her mouth almost without her consent. “What are you?”

Even as she asked, her mind whirred for an explanation. It couldn’t be an orc, too little, and they were just as stupid. She knew of mutations, but they always pertained to the body or at best made goblins into mages. The extent of that change was…

It’s a new form of mutation? If it is…

The goblin’s snort brought her back from her frenzied thoughts.

“Don’t get your panties into a twist, elf.” He said, a mocking smirk showing his saw-like teeth.

He snapped his fingers, and, to Iliel’s small wince, a small flame sprouted from his thumb. He passed a needle he had taken from the pouch over it.

Wide-eyed, bewildered, Iliel glanced between the flame and the monster. Had a goblin just understood what she was thinking?

“I am only passing through here.” The goblin got close, holding the needle up. “Soon you won‘t have me in your hair anymore.” He nodded toward the goblins, still taken by their revelry. “Or them, for what it matters.”

Iliel was unsure what meaning put to those words.

“What do you mean?” She asked. Exchaging words with a goblin like that was an alienating feeling. It felt unreal.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

He grasped at her bandage, making her wince. In a smooth gesture, he unbid it and threw the cloth over his shoulder. The poultice had seeped in the skin, leaving a thin, greasy film. Iliel didn’t feel any pain. In fact, she could barely feel her arm at all.

The goblin wiped the coating off with a crooked finger and inspected the wound. To Iliel’s surprise, it was clean from blood, both margins neat.

She tensely watched the goblin put a lenght of string in the needle’s eye.

“What do you want?” She asked. She dreaded to think what else that monster could want from her.

“Mh?” The goblin grabbed her arm. Iliel winced when he plunged the needle in the her skin. Still, it didn’t hurt. She only felt a pulling sensation.

She drew a stuttering breath, refusing to look. “I said… what do you want?”

The goblin didn‘t answer for a moment, focusing on his work. When he did, he almost cut her off. “From you, nothing. You already gave me enough. Elf blood is a good medium.”

She shivered at his casual tone. “Don’t…”

This time, he cut her off for real. “Where are you from?”

Iliel swallowed an harsh reply. She wasn’t going to give this thing the satisfaction of seeing her any more riled up. And surely she wasn’t giving him any information about herself.

The goblin didn’t say anything about her stubborn silence. He worked for a couple moments more, then stepped back.

Iliel dared a glance. The wound had been neatly sutured. Disgust churned in her gut. It only meant that monster wasn’t finished with her. Still, she felt a grudging wonder. The suture showed the handywork of an expert and steady hand.

“Where are you from?” The goblin repeated.

In all answer, she replied to his frown with an hateful stare of her own.

The goblin watched her for a moment, arms crossed before bony chest. Suddenly, he lunged at her.

Iliel winced hard, a sharp breath escaping her lips when long fingers took hold of her neck.

But they didn’t squeeze.

Heart hammering in her ears, she stared in the impassive expression of the goblin.

“You elves are fragile.” He whispered, very, very close. “When i cut you, i cut too much by mistake. That’s why i had to put a suture. But i still have the knife...”

He left those words hang ominously in the air. Iliel struggled to breathe. He could see it, in those coldblooded eyes of his, that he was serious. He would torture her if he thought it would be useful to his aims. He would do it and thought nothing of it, he would do it with the same ease one could shoo a fly away, at best observing with slight interest how her body worked and reacted.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. His touch felt clammy and cold. Cold shivers ran across her back. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even swallow.

The words tumbled out before her noticing it.

“L-Lelathnoris.”

She almost bit her tongue, but it was too late.

The fingers left her neck, and the shadow costricting her throat vanished.

The goblin was back in the same exact spot of a moment earlier, with the same frown and the same position. If she still didn’t feel the imprints of his fingers on her neck, she could almost believe to have dreamed it all.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing coming out ragged. Self-loathing welled inside of her. Weakling. I am a weakling.

A rustling sound pulled her out from her misery. Two goblins, these ones a normal green, were rustling about between her things, giggling and ogling. She wanted to shout them to get away, but strenght failed her.

The gray goblin watched the two as well, features twisted into an hard scowl. Suddenly, he stomped to them, administering precise slaps left and right. The goblins shrieked and scrambled away. They immediately started abasing themselves in the dirt, chattering something in their foul language.

The gray goblin grunted something brief, took out some of her rations and threw them to his followers. The goblins received the nuts like it was a gift from the gods, and immediately started squabbling and clawing at each other for them. They stopped to scamper away at their leader’s snarl, but as they went Iliel saw them start right back.

“Savage, pathetic, disgusting creatures.” She heard the gray goblin grumble as he put the pile back in place, and was surprised by the sheer loathing in his voice.

The gray goblin suddenly turned, catching her gaze with his own, vicious and flaming.

“Would you regret that they disappeared from the face of the earth?” He asked.

Caught by his eyes, Iliel spouted the answer without thinking. “No. Not at all.”

The gray goblin snorted, eyes glinting dangerously. “Good.” As he moved the pile back in place, the buckle fell tinkling to the ground. Iliel stiffened, and immediately cursed herself for it.

The goblin had noticed her reaction, and a spark of something enigmatic twinkled in those cold eyes of his. He picked up the buckle. Iliel held her breath while he inspected it, first a side then the other.

“Do you have someone waiting for you back home?” The question came sudden and unbidden, like that strange goblin seemed very fond of.

Iliel felt the ghostly sensation of those fingers on her neck, but still thought about not responding. Something in his expression dulled that resolve. She stood conflicted, but eventually her instict proved the better over prudence.

“An husband.” She said.

The goblin didn’t reply. His expression lost nothing of its grim severity, but there was something different, something that Iliel’s well-oiled instict picked up. It felt like he was… conflicted? About what? It… it regarded her, no doubt.

Feeling a bad feeling crawling in the pit of her stomach, she watched him as he walked to her, buckle in hand.

He chewed his lip between serrated teeth. He must have put too much pressure, because a drop of black blood dropped in the ground before him. He stopped abruptly, and looked at it. The drop remained there, an oily tear that the ground refused to absorb.

That triggered an incredible trasformation in the goblin’s features.

They twisted into a grimace, the most horrible and at the same time the most heartwrenching that Iliel had ever seen on a living being. It was sadness, despair and wrath, terrible terrible wrath, all condensed into a single moment of realization.

It lasted just for a moment, then the cold mask he wore was back into place. The drop disappeared under his foot as he stomped toward her.

Iliel felt a sudden surge of alarm. She tried to back off, but the ropes held her fast.

The last thing she saw was a gnarled, gray fist flying towards her.

When she awoke, the midday sun shining over her, the most surprised at being still alive was her.

The ropes holding her had been loosened enough that she only had to labor a bit to unravel them. All of her belongings were neatly piled in the grass before her. Nothing missed. Carefully nestled between cloth, the buckle gleamed softly, just beside a small, tear-sized black gem.

The small figures of sleeping sprites dotted the ruined glade. Only their fireflies were missing.

Bewildered, without words, Iliel didn’t move. She remained there a long time, trying and failing to make sense of the string of unexpected happenings of that strange night.