The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

The trio pressed on, at a slow and wary pace. It hadn't taken long for them to find the remains of the preacher's convoy, where a group of armed men had been smashed to a pulp by the rampaging ogre. The carriage had been turned over and reduced to smithereens.

There was no trace of the horses. No doubt they'd be slow roasted later. If it was meaty, ogres would eat it. It seemed unlikely that it had been a planned ambush, there were no traces of crossbow fire that marked the other ambushes Illyana had seen.

It was likely just damn bad luck on the part of the travellers, who had the misfortune of crossing an ogre who had been going about his business.

The preacher followed them at a brisk trot. Neither of them were willing to give him a ride on horseback. It was generally seen as a poor choice to let strangers reeking of urine on the back of your horse. But the preacher was jovial all the same, beaming up at Illyana with his hands clasped in prayer.

"You truly are magnificent, fair maiden! A Varangian dispatched by the Goddess herself, to save me in my hour of need!"

"I was just in the right place at the right time. Don't think there was much in the way of divine intervention at work there," Illyana replied.

"Ah, but it was Her divine will who guided your movements to be there at the right time!"

Illyana rolled her eyes. The Goddess, evidently, hadn't been in much of a rush to get her there in time to protect the preacher's guardians. Or to not have an ogre stumble upon them in the first place.

"You're not going to read the death rites to your fallen guards? Or burn their bodies?" Varis asked, maintaining a sly smirk.

"Ah, well, it's... much too dangerous to do that. After all, that ogre could come back at any moment. I'll be sure to send a message to my cohorts, and we'll be sure to send along some soldiers to retrieve their remains."

"I'm sure," Varis replied.

An involuntary shudder ran through the portly priest. "Gruesome business, and dark times we're living in. Where even men of the faith are attacked by Bleak-born souls. Goblins, ogres, other monstrosities... sinners reborn to continue their endless cruelty."

"Dark times ahead," Illyana simply replied. And bound to be darker if the archchancellor and his people didn't take it seriously.

"I am Preacher Elgaris. So very happy to formally meet you."

"I'm Illyana. He's Varis. Stick close to us, if you wish. Provided you don't try to lead a sermon in our presence."

By sunset, well aware that it was too risky to keep going in the dark, they made camp in the fading glow of the sun. Illyana had seen to their camp, lighting a campfire and grilling some meat above it. Varis, in turn, was setting up snares and noisemakers in the perimeter of their camp. Just in case anything thought to get clever with them in the night.

And Elgaris, who had snagged some replacement britches from his overturned wagon, took the time to get changed for shame's sake.

By the time the meat was starting to brown, Illyana had removed her armour and protective gear from the waist up, revealing the red shirt she wore beneath. She held a pauldron in one hand, sighing as she surveyed the warped dents in the steel.

"Damnation," she muttered. Her injuries could have been far worse, she knew, but it was still unfortunate to have her armour damaged so severely. That suit had saved her life plenty of times, and hadn't been cheap. Setting the damaged armour aside and rolled her sleeve, grimacing at the various dark purple bruises she saw.

And the ache in her back made it clear she'd find more there too.

"Goodness," Elgaris said in a low voice. "I feel rather poor to see you injured on my behalf. Fortunately I'm a healer at the temple. If you'd like, I could mend your wounds. Consider it a humble form of recompense for saving my life."

Some people would likely be elated at the thought of having their injuries being instantly healed via magic. Those same people had never had the misfortune of being healed with magic.

Indeed, Illyana would have likely preferred to take the time to heal naturally. But if she were to be attacked in the night by goblins, or another ogre, she couldn't afford to be wincing and grimacing with pain.

So, sighing, she reached into her pack and pulled out a spare belt. She bit firmly into the leather and gave Elgaris a nod.

He clasped his hands and briefly glanced to the night sky. "Oh noble Goddess, this humble servant beseeches-" Illyana glared at him, the prayer quickly sputtering away. He raised his hands toward her, a halo of shimmering white light forming at his palms.

To those who had never seen of experienced healing magic firsthand, the whole thing was likely something from a fairy tale. Noble and kindly healers who would twiddle their fingers and instantly heal any ailment. The reality was marginally more difficult, and far more painful for the person on the receiving end of the spell.

Firstly, a healer was expected to have some knowledge of the injury or ailment they were trying to heal. Cuts, bruises, and fractures were simple enough. Every novice at the Ivory University could grasp that. But directing magical energy into a wound, which took focus and effort on the part of the healer, rendered the nerves hypersensitive. And in an instant those sensitive nerves would feel a rush of their prior pain from the injury, coupled with the pain that would come from a natural recovery.

Illyana bit down harshly on the belt, embedding teethmarks in the leather, her whole body shuddering from the seconds of sharp pain that radiated through her whole body. When it ended she swayed, sagging against a nearby tree. She spat the belt from her mouth. "Thanks," she gruffly said, her face slick with sweat.

Elgaris let out a nervous laugh. "Of course, of course. A minor form of thanks for a job well done."

She was grateful, of course, but it was hard to feel much gratitude in the moment. She rolled her shoulder a few times, relieved at how fluid the motions were. She may have doubted Elgaris' piety, but she couldn't deny his efficiency as a healer.

"So, Preacher," Varis said as he emerged from the undergrowth. "What had you heading out this way?"

"Ah, well..." Elgaris replied, lifting a rag from his belt and dabbing his forehead. "There was an attack at a logging camp some leagues from here. Goblin work, no doubt, left the bodies in a very ghoulish state. I was to perform funeral rites on the dead, burn the bodies and dispel any lingering, malevolent spirits."

"Huh. Awful lot of goblin attacks, these days," Illyana bitterly noted, pressing her back to a tree. The pain in her body was slowly fading into a tingling numbness.

"We have been having an interesting year so far," Varis said, taking a seat by the slowly crackling flame. "What do you make of it, Preacher? Judgement from the divine?"

"Aye, most likely," Elgaris said with a humble bow of his head. "Goblins and their ilk are manifestations of the Bleak, born from human avarice and sin. And so, when the population embrace the teachings of the Goddess again, the creatures will recede and weaken."

Illyana gave the portly man an annoyed look. People deserved to be slaughtered because they weren't faithful enough? Human religion had often been strange to her, far more complex and moralising than the worship of ancestors and spirits common among her people. And while some of the tales interested her, she generally found herself disgusted by some of the casual cruelty and disdain human preachers could show. If someone died, no matter how horrible their fate was, they must have done something to deserve it in the eyes of a priest.

"Maybe there's more to it," Illyana mused, resting her hands behind her head. "Maybe the goblins are starting to get smarter?"

Elgaris scoffed, making for the flickering flames. "Goblins? Getting smarter?" The concept alone must have sounded absurd to most. "They're vermin, dear lady elf. Smart enough to kill and maim people, aye, but that's all they can do. They're mortal sin given a physical form, violence and cruelty made flesh. They cannot evolve to be more than that."

"There was a time when we were violent apes who lived in caves. And we evolved beyond that too." Varis few a flask from his belt and took a few long sips. "Sounds familiar to me," he eventually said.

"That is quite different, ser," the preacher brusquely replied. "We are humans. They are goblins."

"Ah." Varis grinned mockingly. "My mistake."

Illyana watched the preacher warily. She had no doubt his views would be the norm among the people in Sentinel. The norm among anyone who hadn't seen, firsthand, a town wiped off the map by goblins. She did not know how, or why, but the goblins were clearly growing smarter and more coordinated. That, or they had someone organising them into a more competent threat.

They and their ilk were fast evolving from nuisances to menaces. And the problems would only get worse if folks like Elgaris buried their heads in the sand about it.

"We'll help you get to Sentinel, Preacher. But after that, I'd advise you not to leave the city walls for some time," Illyana warned.