GOBLIN WITH A GUN

Donkey

Mason was sweating from the exertion, but it was too cold for the sweat to evaporate so he was now wet on top of freezing. He backed through the door and threw the wyvern head onto the floor, it bounced and rolled before coming to a stop with its limp tongue dripping salvia from its slack jaw. Mason spun his sword between his fingers, swapping hands without even nicking himself or even slowing. Fianna went around him; he stepped through the crowd gathering around the boisterous knight and found his table to begin dealing with the clerical matters. Mason rolled his trophy over to a table. it would have stained the floorboards were they not already saturated in years worth of blood.

"Bleeding hell, where did you get that thing" a man about Mason's height looked over the glazed eyes and bloodied scales with some intrigue.

"far north of here" the walk hadn't been that long, and he didn't own a compass, but it felt far north of here. "in a glade of deathly silence, thick with vines and stench of rot" Mason kicked the decapitated head for emphasis "was a nest of foul wyverns, venom so potent their very breath might lay you low" as Mason described the bout with such fearsome beasts, Fianna interjected.

"their spit can cause irritation; juveniles have more potent venom so it could lead to worse, but death's are rare unless it seeps into cuts" Fianna had unwittingly played into Mason's plan.

"oh, and I had plenty a cut to worry about, after bury my sword in the beasts belly it dragged me up and down the forest, but I didn't let it escape" the difference between hyperbole and lying is entirely subjective, but considering Mason was the only one there the matter was his to decide. Fianna was bored of this before Mason had even started so he left the knight to spin his tall tale, waving his sword to recreate the moments he described. all Fianna saw a man getting praise for a poorly prepared hunt that brough him near death; Fianna had thought his way through it and left unscratched, although he wouldn't have known the wyverns were out if Mason hadn't told him. The thought passes as Fianna pushes his way into Grettir's office, not bothering to knock.

"Guildmaster"

"Fionn." Grettir smiled at him, Fianna did not return the pleasantry as he stood on the chair opposite Grettir's desk "how did it go?" there were no windows in the office leaving it dark and the air there in stale.

"it's done. I wanted to talk about the pixie-" Fianna found himself cut off by Grettir.

"you wouldn't be here if it was not done, now tell me how the knight fared" Grettir balanced on a point between dionysiac and professional, never giving himself up to either. Grettir put a hand around his spear which stood imbedded in the floor, it burst with steam as a vine crept up from the dirt beneath the floorboards and sprung turgid grapes as it crawled up the spear. Grettir held out a handful of grapes, but Fianna just stared at him with tired, green eyes. the mage.

"Mason was unprepared, uneducated and overall incompetent" Fianna explained with his detached tone, but then he hesitated. "despite this he survived without any direct assistance, killing three or so wyverns" Fianna sighed as he saw intrigue enter the guildmaster's eyes.

"then I'm sure he'll be of great help with the wetland's pixies" Grettir beamed in the direction of Fianna's glare, the goblin sat down with a long breath, expelling all anger from his body in a moment of meditative detachment.

"why are you testing my patience like this?" Fianna watched as the balance of Grettir leaned back toward his professional necessity.

"you can kill monsters, congratulations, but so can everyone in that hall. What I want is for you to do a little more. take that knight and go do your job. If you cannot function with a single complication then you may as well retire before you get killed" neither of them said anything more, staring at each other from across the gaudy desk. Grettir popped a grape in his mouth, saturating the teeth of his white smile with a dark purple film.