Author Games: Path of the Guildpact

Finals: Iracun Rumpig

There is, undeniably, something wholly unique about living. Something that, despite all our efforts, keeps us pushing even when our final moments are upon us. Oh, how Iracun would long for the moments of his youth in his old age, yet even then he was resilient and accepting. When his end ultimately arrived, Iracun would look to it with a challenging smile and ask death what was next.

When not writing, he heard the words inside his head. It seemed imperative that he kept the story alive inside him at all times. His aging skin, patchy and rough in too many places, stretched as the smile overtook the old man's cheeks. Reaching across the table, he picked up a piece of bread and ate it, the crunch as loud as the heartbeat he felt inside his chest. "This is a meal," he commented. Gruffness lined his voice in a way that he liked; with age it only hardened more, with less of the high-pitched whine it held in his younger years.

"A good meal?"

"A meal."

Suz sighed and rolled her eyes. "Ira, you could really learn to compliment a woman once or twice, you know."

"Suz, you could really learn to be more accepting of an old man's taste," he retorted right back. There was a slight sneer on his face, but it erased itself rather easily, as there was nothing to be upset about. Everything was calm, almost too calm in some regards, but rather pleasantly so. "As long as I'm not starving--well, that's a lie. I've gone and eaten some horrific things in my life but Ira does not deserve garbage."

A snort. "Oh?"

Dinner was a common meal for most, but for Iracun, it was the one time of the day that he got to rest with those he loved. His family, if a scraggly band of three goblins could truly be called that, was held in high regard to the goblin. The maid, Suz, who had become much more than a maid, and her daughter Zelia. No father, but alas, he didn't fight their battles. Goblins weren't like Dryads, or Merfolk, who had a sense of beauty to them that was coventional. Nay, goblins were ugly beasts, for the most of them. Suz was no exception, though she held some rather dull eyes that could, under the right circumstances, be pretty. And then there was Zelia--a goblin who, when born, was a wrinkled pea of a gal. Iracun could never consider himself sentimental, no, he'd hit you for that!, but he was a family man when it came to dinners with his children.

"Zelia? Your schooling?"

Zelia's exhale seemed near as insubstantial as the gauzy sleeves upon her dress, which was a brown just darker than her eyes. So emotional, he thought. Iracun had enrolled her in the best of schooling, to be taught with the brightest in Ravnica. The school was expensive, and the teacher came by once to twice a week for lessons. Night after night she would complain about the work, but part of him knew that she loved it. Knowledge was a gift, after all. "Ira, I told you that I finished my work--"

"The subj-"

A huff, and then a pebble flying into his plate.

Lowering his voice, he turned to her with an angry glare. "You missed."

Zelia stuck out her tongue with childish joy and wagged it about. "Nuh-uh! I was aiming for your plate," she teased. "Besides, Ira, you need to lighten up."

"Looks like I can only toughen up when all you throw are rocks," he joked.

It wasn't that Iracun didn't like his job as Guildpact, but it was a tiresome job that more than he could handle at times. At fifty-two years old, nearing the end of his days, Iracun knew that a job as Guildpact could only last so much longer. Someone was bound to take his place. But who, he wondered, would care for those he left behind? The worries of an aging mind do beat back against the growth of time. Oh, how he longed for an easier, simpler time. A time where his wit and humor was all he needed! But that cannot be, for idiots rule the kingdom of the mind and force back against an old man's whims and wonts.