Runt didn’t recognize the magic that now bound them but he certainly felt its effects. As the handshake broke apart the sensation of the hounds paw in his hand never seemed to cease. The furry limb seemingly still within his grasp. A few experimental twitches of his fingers neglected to shake that feeling, eyes jerking to gaze at his palm a moment later. A confused expression crossed his features, only to deepen as he once again squinted his vision. A bundle of those small droplets of light now orbited his hand, floating half an inch from his skin. A glance at Barghest confirmed that the hound also had one drifting slowly around his paw. Runt clicked his teeth, an expression of annoyance as he violently flicked out one hand. He tried to bounce the bundle away from his hand only for the small group of gathered motes to simple float along with any movement he made.

Reaching at his other hand he attempted to grasp it, only for it to deftly dodge away the moment his fingers seemed to touch it. Runt’s facial expression eventually evolved from one of confusion and anger, to worry and fear. His frantic movement entertained Barghest for the moment, but the hound felt his hackles raise in warning as Runt turned back to face him, red eyes spearing themselves upon Barghest’s deep brown pools.

“What the fuck is this?” Runt suddenly snarled, his hand jerking out to slap at the bundle yet again as though the question would allow him to catch it off guard. This didn’t work, and he felt his fear rise yet again as Barghest simply began to laugh. Questions began to assault Runt’s mind, theories and worries that plagued his soul surfacing as the beast continued to laugh. Had he been tricked? Was this some kind of vile part of the deal he hadn’t been aware of? Was this a punishment for some past transgression? Or perhaps the worst questions of all, had Barghest done something when he figured out Runt had meant to betray him? Was this haunting mass of motes retribution for Runt’s planned abandonment of the deal?

“You truly are new at this,” laughed Barghest, lifting his own paw to shake the mote that followed it around using it to demonstrate with every word he spoke, “Think of it as a guarantee. One sighted and one spirit, two types of magical entities, made a deal. This is to bind us to it. If one doesn’t fulfill their portion of the deal to the letter, the other will know and a debt will be owed to correct this error. Such a debt is often repaid by loss of life, or a firmer more punishing agreement. As long as both of us live we are bound to fulfill the conditions of our deal.”

“That doesn’t explain shit,” Runt snarled, the sensation is his palm heating to an almost unbearable level in that moment. As though the mote could read his mind and sense the dark direction it had turned as he growled at Barghest. He yelped loudly as it seemed to scald him, searing itself into his palm only for his voice to fill the air with curses a second later. Runt had quickly learned of one of the safeguards of a deal such as this. Something that he would never have agreed to if he had been aware of it. No deal, not even the one offered by Barghest, was worth this. Runt had from the beginning planned to never truly follow through with the agreement. He might string Barghest along, propose alternative plans, but ultimately he would do just what he planned to do to Blackeye. Runt would betray his partner at the most opportune moment. Blackeye knew that was coming, but Runt was beginning to understand that Barghest had no concept of ways to make deals the way goblins did. If Runt had known he would have been held to the wording of the deal the moment his hand had met Barghest’s paw, he would have been more careful about what he or the hound had said. As it was, as Barghest continued his explanation, Runt repeated the deal in his mind. He was looking for an out, a twist of wording he could use to his advantage. That much was allowed by the mote bound promise it seemed. His searching for a loophole was within the bounds of the agreement, and that fact gave him hope.

What he found the trickiest, and what was tripping him up, was the fact that he seemed bound to aid Barghest in his quest. The mote through the way it was now bonded to his very soul seemed to sense his intention, the way his mind wandered and singed him whenever he strayed too far. Even as Barghest droned on explaining the intricacies of their deal, further cementing their connection, Runt played with and teased the edges of his new binds. Learning what he could, and what he could not think about. What constituted as aiding Barghest, and what did not.

Contrary to many mortal beings beliefs goblins as a whole were not a stupid race. In many ways they were quite intelligent, quick witted, and clever. As a diminutive and weak bodied people they had to utilize other abilities to even survive in the harsh environments they inhabited. They could not rely on their strength, their craftsmanship, or even their families to aid them. Goblins did judge each other based on their prowess in some ways, but the strongest were rarely most successful of their kind. Those who lived the longest and sired the next generations had more than that. A goblin warrior would rarely be able to stand against the might of even the average well armed human peasant. But a quick minded individual, one who found solutions outside of all boxes such as morality or common sense, often scraped by. Runt’s mother was one such individual. His matron was a goblin without much strength of her own but thrived despite that. She was a cruel, spiteful, and wretched person but still held a place in their community. She had many allies, and more enemies, but had entrenched herself so deeply into their camp that despite never setting foot on a raid she never fought to feed herself. Bonetaker had carved her spot herself and guarded it jealously. She had planned for years, built a mystique around herself that seemed to endear itself to her community, and exploited it every breath she took. Whether the fortunes she claimed to tell came true or not, her power was undeniable. Many of her enemies had fallen to her self-fulfilled prophesies, dreams of their weakness giving them just enough chinks in their armour to spur their other rivals into action. As her sons Runt and Blackeye knew all she said was false, that all the bones she claimed to read from held no true knowledge, but they were in the minority.

Bonetaker had used her guile to get ahead, and her son Runt had inherited that at least from her. Compared to the others Barghest had dealt with in the past Runt was perhaps the most equipped to abuse and twist the letter of the deal, while perhaps still holding to the spirit. Runt had spent his life looking for ways to break promises and this deal was certainly no exception. He categorized the expectations, and what he would gain from it. Very carefully spelling it out clearly in his own mind.

He needed to aid Barghest in killing the beast. Which meant he had to help, and as the mote burning his hand so helpfully reminded him, this meant that helping did not include intentional sabotage or planning intentional sabotage. Nor did it entail running away or abandoning the deal entirely. He was bonded to Barghest now and could no more flee this problem than he could break it. Until the beast was dead he could do nothing to hamper Barghest’s chances at killing it. The extent of the help he needed to provide though was vague. Vague enough that Runt had room to work with. Barghest despite his confidence felt his voice flutter as he caught the glint of eagerness in Runt’s expression, the sudden change from fury to joy unnerving the faithful hound. For a moment the shaggy dog stared before shaking his head. Frustratingly he realized he had lost his place in his spiel. He attempted to resume his speaking only for Runt to cut him off, a flicker of annoyance crossing his muzzle.

“I’ll help, I’ll help,” Runt said, a chuckle rolling through his voice, unnerving Barghest deeply as he continued, “I understand our agreement now. I’ll help you kill this creature.”

Barghest rumbled, a spear of fear lodged in his chest despite his own strength, warily eyeing the mortal before him. He seemed to choose his words very carefully as he spoke, the voice that invaded Runt’s mind wearing it’s emotions readily upon it’s sleeve. Hinting at Barghest’s new trepidation as he addressed Runt.

“We’ll move now then, every hour the night continues is an hour it can take a victim. I can feel its vile presence still within my territory. We can continue this discussion later, and I admit I am rather curious as to what is going through your mind, but we shall conclude our deal before then.”. Turning sharply the dog began to walk through the darkened alleyway, a slow ponderous pace that gave Runt enough time to jog up beside him. Runt for his part didn't delay in following the creature, new found confidence surging as he traipsed along behind the hound. The two fell silent, both lost in their own thoughts as the slums stretched out around them.

As the night had worn on the buildings had slowly become more quiet. The lanterns around them seemed to even dim as the wicks that burned within them slowly shrank as time crawled by. Runt’s ears could pick up soft snores from the mortals that slept around him. Mirefort never truly slept and more than once or twice Runt had to dive for a well hidden shadow as a drunken gathering of humans stumbled by. But Mirefort did seem to get quite drowsy this time of night. If not for the damp that surrounded him, the fragrant humidity that seemed to cloy to every living being, it would have been quite the enjoyable walk. Instead he found himself shivering as he jogged, His footfalls matched pace of the softer pads in front of him, eventually catching up to the Barghest as the dog froze.

The shaggy street dogs tail hung limp and lowered, swaying softly as a sickly breeze seemed to run through the duo. Runt crept up behind the dog, his presence only acknowledged by a twitch of one of the hounds ears. He took a breath, about to speak, when the growl rising in Barghest’s throat silenced him. It wasn’t a noise of annoyance, nor one of mere anger. No, the noise that rose from the hounds throat now spoke of a depth of emotion Runt had only experienced once. It was the sound of pure, unadulterated, and raw hatred. It dwarfed the growls Runt himself had received. The difference between scolding a rambunctious child and heated battle with a sworn enemy.

Barghest’s voice rang out, charged with the same fury, “It knows. It’s hunting and it knows we’re near. Listen greenskin, can you hear it?”

There was a pause as Runt halted his own breath, his heart thrumming within his chest. His ears twitched, testing the air as he fought to separate all the noises that surrounded him. He tried categorizing each, searching for what didn’t stand out. He searched for animal noises, for that was what he thought they were hunting. The hiss of a disturbed alligator. The howl of a coyote, or the rabid barking of a dog. There was nothing of that sort. As the cramped buildings around the duo loomed ever higher, Runt caught the edge of what Barghest detected. A laugh. A breathless, joyless laugh, muffled and distorted by the wood that seemingly enclosed it.

He heard the scrape of claws against wood. Soft, measured steps that spoke of intelligence that matched his own. That laugh seemingly extending and framing every shuffled movement he heard. “Deals off,” Runt whispered, already turning to run even as the burning sensation seemed to consume his hand.

“Too late,” rumbled Barghest as the wood beneath the two of them splintered and cracked. The wooded street suddenly exploding into dozens of heavy shattered pieces, sending Runt scurrying away even as he heard twin feral howls rise into the night air.