For a single moment, everything feels right again. From his perch atop the cliffs of Thunder Bluff, silhouetted against the sky, Ekks Inkblot feels free. The air is cool, calm, and, most importantly, quiet. There are no cries of rage or pain as steel meets flesh, no voices that lift in fear, questioning whether they may ever see another dawn again. This is peace at its very essence. On a night like tonight, one could assume that war was a fictional concept, so pure is the environment the small goblin’s settled himself into.
Of course, it is not to be. It does not take him long to notice the addition of a thing that makes this peaceful land anything but real. His hands. Not one hand – the right one, of course – and the left’s corresponding stump. No, two beautiful, fully-functional hands that cement this reality as nothing more than a dream. And, just like that, some magic is lost, as Ekks Inkblot flexes the formerly-lost appendage, fingers curling just so. Even in his dreams, he can barely feel it. Can barely register that it’s even supposed to be there, honestly.
The darkness suddenly seems more menacing; where have the stars gone? The moon? Surely they had been there only seconds before. He’d contemplated poetics about the sky, considered twenty different starting lines to poems that would never even come close to fruition. But now the sky is a void that somehow seemed to only grow darker and darker. Come to think of it, the shadows seem almost alive, twisting and writhing into shapes undoubtedly impossible. These living shadows weave from the sky towards the tiny goblin, ever-contorting. Shrinking and condensing until they formed a being as dense as the void itself. Ekks shivers at the feeling that settles itself in his chest. Cold? No, dread. Foreboding.
The shadows flicker and take a shape Ekks Inkblot is far too familiar with. Those hooked ears. That tall (for a goblin, at least), damn-near emaciated figure. Blaire Blitzkick. Or, at the very least, a featureless shade of Blaire Blitzkick. The shadows constantly waver and flicker as the other man turns to regard Ekks. He has no features. No face. And yet Ekks can almost see the expression that the goblin would give him. Contemptuous and condescending, as always. The figure ‘speaks’, and that familiar, droll voice makes itself known in Ekks’ head, as he knew it eventually would.
‘A lovely evening tonight, Mister Inkblot. Wouldn’t you agree?’ Blaire inclines his head towards the blackened sky, his form almost indistinguishable from it. Ekks turns his gaze to the blackness, and opens his mouth. He wishes he could agree. Really, he does. But the vast emptiness displayed before him fills him with nothing but fear. He considers, before…
“… T-that’s a word for it, I guess.” He was always terrible at ‘mindspeak’. Since he’s in a dream, it probably doesn’t even matter. And then he forces himself to take in a little breath, standing at his full height and blinking up at the shadowed goblin. “… What do you want, Blaire?” He sounds… tired. Exhausted, even. Not that Blaire gives a fuck.
‘You’re quite aware of why I’m here, Mister Inkblot. I’ve come to ask you to fulfill the promise you made me about nine days ago.’
The shorter’s over-sized ears pin back at that, and he can’t help but look uncomfortable. He knew that was coming, certainly, but… No. He’s gone over this in his head again and again. He knows very well what he has to do, even if it’s hard. “… I can’t help you anymore, Blaire. N-not knowing what you got Ax to do.”
There’s the softest little hiss as the specter responds, ‘I should have assumed Mister Coilshiv would, how you say, “spill the beans” at the most inopportune of moments. But that is besides the point. You promised, and it is a very wrong thing to go back on a promise, is it not?’
‘So you would leave a friend to die, then. Strange how you presume the one with little choice in matters of life and death is the monster, when you condemn others through that same choice.’
That sends a little pang through the shorter goblin, surely enough, and he frowns, voice raising in protest, “I-it isn’t like that at all! I just— I… You…”
‘You are a hypocrite, Mister Inkblot. Could you live with yourself, knowing that your inaction caused the death of another? Are you living with that now, with your little “monster” running free without your attentions? I cannot help but wonder what he is doing to pass the time when you are gone. If you seek out your distraction in paper and ink, is it such a stretch of the imagination to assume he might seek his in flesh and blood? And to think, you aren’t there to dissuade him…’
Ekks wilts a little more at that, large ears pinning back. “H-he’s fine, I’m sure… He’d… He’d never…” But he had before, and he would again. What /was/ the knight doing now, without his watchful eye? How was he dealing with the emptiness the priest himself had been feeling for the past couple of days?
‘He would, and both you and I know it. I believe he told you as much, even. But, I suspect he could do much more if he happened to be so… inclined.’
Suggestion is almost tangible in Blaire’s tone, and Ekks reacts as expected; he looks worried, and questions, “… W-what are you implying?”
‘Are you aware of how simple it is to alter the memories of another, Mister Inkblot?’
‘It is a simple matter of editing things, and then… filling in the blanks, as you will. I cannot help but wonder how much of a monster Axom Coilshiv might truly become were all memory of his treasured healer removed and replaced.’
Ekks shrinks back at that, eyes widening. “… Y-you couldn’t… You /wouldn’t/ do that.” He protests, the tremble evident in his voice. “H-how would that benefit you?”
‘Myself it would not benefit in the slightest. But it would greatest inconvenience you, I assume. Imagine the gaze of one you love so dearly turned upon you, and there is no recognition. You are another body to be added to the slaughter. And what is there to do but eradicate monsters that would slaughter the innocents, such as yourself? I doubt Axom Coilshiv would last a /week/.’
Ekks whines softly, and stares at the impassive shadow. Through all of this, Blaire’s tone has not changed. So simple, so clear. Certainty at its purest form. What is there to do? Ekks has not known Blaire Blitzkick to bluff. “I-I… I’ll do it. I’ll help you. Just… promise me that you’ll stop so much as talking to him, please…”
Before he even finishes speaking, the shadows begin to seeming dissipate, becoming immaterial once more and beginning to wreathe and weave around Ekks. The little goblin barely suppresses a whimper as the cold leeches into him, as his mind, even in the dream, begins to feel… Sluggish. Tired. Really, he just wants to sleep. All of him just wants to sleep for a while. Without dreaming, without dealing with… this. The writer closes his eyes and allows the other in. It’s easy once you’re resigned to your fate. There’s a final, distant murmuring as Ekks’ consciousness begins to fade, replaced for the time by a certain, shadowy goblin’s.
‘Do not fret, Mister Inkblot… All of your worries will soon be over, at least for a while.’
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