Forbidden Bond: A Velthorn Tale

Rawl spent the rest of the afternoon after being ordered by Borst to find the boy and his goblin, gathering his men and seeking out the tracker Fenris. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across Sablewood's winding streets as Rawl found himself outside a dingy tavern. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stench of stale ale and unwashed bodies that wafted from the open door.

Inside, hunched over a grimy table, sat Fenris. The tracker's once-keen eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, his hand wrapped around a tankard of cheap ale. Rawl's lip curled in distaste. He had never liked Fenris, but the man's skills were unmatched when it came to tracking prey across any terrain.

As Rawl approached, the sight of Fenris in his drunken state stirred uncomfortable memories. Images of his own father, sprawled in a drunken stupor, flashed through his mind. The sound of breaking glass, his mother's muffled sobs, and the sting of a leather belt across his back – Rawl pushed the thoughts away, burying them deep as he had done for years.

"Fenris," Rawl growled, slamming his hand on the table. The tracker looked up, blinking slowly.

"Whaddya want?" Fenris slurred, his words barely intelligible.

Rawl leaned in close, his voice low and menacing. "I've got a job for you. Track down an elk rider and his goblin companion. Do it right, and there's a hefty sum of gold in it for you."

At the mention of gold, Fenris's eyes cleared slightly. He straightened up, a glimmer of his old self shining through the alcoholic haze. "How much we talkin'?"

Rawl named a figure that made Fenris's eyebrows shoot up. The tracker nodded eagerly, stumbling to his feet. "Lead the way, then." he said as he drunkenly bowed.

With Fenris in tow, Rawl and Fenris made their way to the southern gate and the stables that were there. The guards, recognizing Rawl's authority, provided them with horses without question. Soon they rode out of Sablewood, the setting sun painted the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink.

Once a good distance outside the city walls, Fenris dismounted, his trained eyes scanning the ground. Despite his earlier inebriation, the tracker moved with purpose, years of experience guiding his movements. After a few moments, he pointed to a set of distinctive hoof prints.

"There," Fenris announced, a note of pride in his voice. "That's your elk. Headed south."

Rawl nodded approvingly. "Good. Let's move."

They followed the tracks as night fell, the moon providing just enough light to navigate by. Eventually, they came upon a modest farmhouse nestled among rolling hills. An old man was outside, sitting in a chair puffing on a pipe.

Rawl signaled his men to halt, then dismounted. His boots hit the ground with a thud, stirring up small clouds of dust. The other men followed suit – Fenris, a burly man named Gorm, and a wiry fellow called Skinner. They spread out, hands resting on their weapons as they approached the old man.

Gareth looked up from his pipe,, his weathered face creasing with concern as he took in the menacing group. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture.

Rawl stepped forward, his scarred face twisted into a cruel smile. "We're looking for some friends of yours. An elk rider, a big fella, and a little green-skinned wench. Ring any bells, old man?"

Gareth's eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice neutral. "I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."

Rawl's smile vanished, he had no time for games. He nodded to Gorm and Skinner, who moved to flank Gareth. "I think you do, and you're going to tell us where they went."

The commotion drew attention from inside the house. The front door creaked open, and four young girls peered out, their eyes wide with fear as they took in the scene before them.

"Grandfather?" the oldest called out, her voice trembling.

"Get back inside, girls," Gareth ordered, his tone brooking no argument. But it was too late – Rawl had seen them, and a wicked gleam entered his eyes.

"Now, old man," Rawl growled, "let's try this again. Where are the elk rider and his friends?"

Gareth stood his ground, refusing to answer. Rawl's patience wore thin quickly. He nodded to Gorm, who stepped forward and struck Gareth across the face. The old man stumbled but didn't fall. The girls gasped and whimpered.

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about," Gareth insisted, spitting blood.

Rawl watched as Gareth endured several more blows, admiring the old man's resilience. But time was short, and he was tiring of this game. With a snarl of frustration, he strode towards the door, grabbing the oldest girl by the arm and dragging her outside.

"No!" Gareth cried out, lurching forward only to be restrained by Gorm and Skinner.

Rawl pushed her to her knees and pressed a knife against the girl's throat, his voice low and deadly. "Last chance, old man. Tell me where they went, or you can watch her choke on her own blood." His eyes flickered to the other girls huddled in the doorway. "And after that, my men will have some fun with the little ones."

A tense silence fell over the scene. Rawl pressed the knife harder against the girl's throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Gareth's eyes locked onto that crimson trickle, his face a mask of anguish.

"All right!" Gareth shouted, his voice breaking. "I'll tell you. Just... just let her go."

Rawl loosened his grip on the girl but kept the knife in place. "Start talking."

Gareth's shoulders slumped in defeat. "They’re headed south. The elk rider and the goblin girl are bound for Cedarcrest."

Rawl smiled and pushed the girl to the ground. “There, was that so hard?” He asked menacingly. Gareth only replied with a look of hate and contempt. Rawl nodded to Gorm and Skinner. Burn the house to the ground.” he commanded and turned, walking back to his horse.

Gareth’s anger overflowed and rage filled him as he struggled against the men holding him. Shaking himslef loose he charged Rawl but the large man was faster than he looked. He spun around, his large knife in hand. Rawl plunged the knife deep into Gareth’s chest, just under his diaphragm. The air left Gareth in a whoosh and he stumbled backward, clutching the wound as he fell to his knees. The Four girls screamed and ran to him as the old man shakingly held his blood covered hands out, understanding dawning in his tired old eyes.

The last thing Gareth saw as hell collapsed to his back were the tears and shouts that the girls, his girls poured out upon him. Rawls' laughs filling his ears.

Mikhail awoke to a world shrouded in mist. A dense fog had settled around the great oak tree, muffling sounds and obscuring the landscape beyond. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light of early dawn filtering through the branches above.

His attention was drawn to Bakule, already awake and alert. The elk's head swiveled constantly, its large ears twitching and rotating, picking up sounds that Mikhail couldn't hear. The animal's vigilance was both reassuring and slightly unnerving in the ethereal morning atmosphere.

Glancing down, Mikhail's gaze softened as it fell upon Anora's sleeping form. She was curled against his chest, her red curls splayed out like a fiery halo. Her face, usually guarded, was peaceful in slumber. "She looks so beautiful," Mikhail thought to himself, a warmth spreading through his chest.

As he watched her breath softly, memories of the previous night came flooding back. He recalled the pain in her orange eyes, the anguish in her voice as she blamed herself for the mute baby. The urge to comfort her, to ease that pain, had been overwhelming.

Without thinking, he had kissed her. Mikhail's stomach fluttered nervously at the memory, just as it had in that moment. He remembered the softness of her lips, the surprise in her eyes, and the deep blush that had colored her cheeks afterward.

Then came the words that had changed everything: "I love you." Even now, Mikhail marveled at his own boldness. He had been caught off guard when she had told him, just as much as he had been caught off guard when he had said it. He had meant it though, every word, but saying it aloud had been terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

After the kiss, they had embraced tightly. Mikhail had whispered fiercely, "Don't you dare blame yourself for that baby being mute. It's not your fault." He had pulled back, looking deep into her striking orange eyes, willing her to believe him. Even then she had looked unsure.

Eventually, he had coaxed her to lay against him and try to sleep. It had taken her a long time to drift off, and even then, her sleep had been restless. Throughout the night, Mikhail had felt her trembling against him, caught in the grip of what he could only assume were nightmares.

Late into the night that thought had been confirmed, she had awoken with a terrified scream. It had taken several minutes to calm her, during which Mikhail discovered that gently rubbing her earlobes seemed to soothe her. Finally, she had fallen back asleep, leaving Mikhail wide awake and wondering about the horrors in her past that could provoke such terror in someone so small.

Now, in the misty morning light, those same questions plagued him. What had happened to Anora to give her such nightmares? What hardships had she endured that still haunted her sleep?

As he pondered these questions, Mikhail continued to watch Anora's peaceful face. He felt a strong urge to relieve himself but ignored it, unwilling to disturb her rest. Instead, he remained still, savoring the quiet moment and the feeling of her warm weight against him.

But the need to relieve himself finally became too strong to ignore. He carefully extricated himself from Anora, gently guiding her head onto a rolled-up blanket. Then disappeared into the fog for a few moments.

Upon his return, he found Anora sitting up, yawning and stretching her arms above her head, arching her back. The sight stirred certain arousing thoughts in Mikhail's mind, which he quickly pushed aside, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

"Good morning," he said, his voice slightly husky from sleep.

Anora's orange eyes focused on him, a shy smile spreading across her face as she blushed in return. "Good morning," she replied softly. Placing her hands in her lap.

Looking at her in the misty morning light, Mikhail felt no doubt about his feelings. He loved her, truly and overtime even deeply. He found himself wondering when exactly it had happened. When had he fallen in love with this remarkable goblin woman?

Without hesitation, Mikhail walked up to her, bent down, and kissed her lips tenderly. The kiss lasted for a long moment, sweet and unhurried.

As they broke apart, Anora's face flushed an even deeper shade of green. She looked down, embarrassed but clearly pleased, touching her lips and smiling to herself.

Mikhail extended his hand to her. "Ready to start the day?"

Anora nodded, accepting his hand. "Yes, I think so."

He helped her to her feet just as Bakule finally rose, shaking the dew from his fur vigorously. The items on the saddle rattled loudly, and a spray of water droplets showered over Mikhail and Anora.

"Hey!" Mikhail protested, laughing as he shielded his face.

"Bakule!" Anora giggled, wiping water from her cheeks.

The elk turned to look at them, and if Mikhail didn't know better, he'd swear the animal was laughing. With a snort, Bakule wandered off into the dense fog, no doubt in search of fresh grass.

"Well," Mikhail chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair, "I guess that's one way to wake up fully."

Anora smiled up at him, her orange eyes twinkling with amusement. "It certainly is. Though I think I preferred your method."

Mikhail's heart skipped a beat at her words. "Oh?" he grinned, pulling her close. "You mean this?" He leaned in for another quick kiss.

As they parted, both a little breathless, Anora nodded. "Yes, definitely that."

They stood there for a moment, holding each other in the swirling mist, savoring the quiet intimacy of the morning. Studying each other's eyes when the sound of movement nearby alerted Mikhail and Anora to the fact that Kaelith and Calista were now awake and going about their morning routines. Kaelith approached them, his voice cutting through the fog.

"Boy, it sure is foggy this morning, huh?" He paused, noticing their close proximity. "Oh sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

Mikhail and Anora quickly separated, both looking a bit flustered. Mikhail let out a nervous chuckle. "No, no. Just uh..getting up," he replied, running a hand through his hair.

Kaelith glanced between the two, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Sure..." he said, his tone playfully sarcastic.

Eager to change the subject, Mikhail cleared his throat. "So, uh, what needs doing today?"

"Well," Kaelith replied, "I could use your help continuing to saw those logs. But first, why don't you join us for breakfast?"

The three made their way to the cooking fire, where Calista was already warming up the previous night's stew. She looked up as they approached, a warm smile on her face.

"Good morning, everyone," Calista greeted them cheerfully.

Her eyes flickered to Mikhail and Anora's joined hands as they walked up. She even noticed how Anora sat much closer to Mikhail on the log than she had the night before, their shoulders would almost touch if it hadn’t been for their height difference.

Anora gave a small nod in response to Calista's greeting, her orange eyes darting shyly between the others. She remained quiet, but there was a contentment in her silence that hadn't been there before.

Mikhail squeezed Anora's hand gently before releasing it to accept a bowl of stew from Calista. "Thank you," he said. "This smells wonderful. Like it did last night.”

Calista smiled as she ladled the steaming stew into another wooden bowl, passing it to Anora. The aroma of herbs and vegetables filled the air as they began to eat.

Settling beside Kaelith, Calista shared a knowing look with her husband. She turned to Mikhail and Anora, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So," she began, her tone casual but loaded with implication, "did you two do something interesting last night?"

Mikhail nearly choked on his stew, coughing and sputtering. "N-no," he stammered, his face turning a deep shade of red. "Nothing like that happened."

Anora ducked her head, her cheeks flushing an even deeper green as she focused intently on her bowl, clearly mortified.

Calista chuckled softly to herself, murmuring under her breath, "Soon."

Desperate to change the subject, Mikhail cleared his throat. "Um, where's the baby?" he asked, looking around.

"Oh, Malric's sleeping in the wagon," Calista replied, her smile softening as she mentioned her son.

An awkward silence fell over the group as they continued eating. The only sounds were the soft thunks of wooden spoons against the wooden bowls and the occasional crackle of the fire.

After a few more minutes, Mikhail set his empty bowl aside and stood up. "Well, we should probably get to work," he said, glancing at Kaelith.

Kaelith nodded, rising to his feet as well. "Aye, those logs won't saw themselves."

As the two men prepared to head off to their task, Mikhail caught Anora's eye. He gave her a small, reassuring smile, which she returned shyly before turning her attention back to Calista and the remaining chores around the camp.

As dawn broke over the rolling plains, Rawl and his group reached the fork in the road. Without hesitation, they veered towards Cedarcrest, their mounts' hooves thundering against the packed earth. Determined to catch up to their quarry they had ridden through the night, taking turns sleeping in their saddles for brief periods, determined not to lose the trail.

Fenris, the tracker, had finally sobered up, much to Rawl's relief. However, his newfound clarity came with an increasingly irritable demeanor that grated on Rawl's nerves. Despite this, Rawl couldn't deny the man's value. Fenris had kept them on track through the darkness, his keen eyes picking up signs invisible to the others.

As morning mist clung to the ground, obscuring their vision, Fenris led them confidently forward. "They passed this way," he muttered, his bloodshot eyes scanning the road. "Not more than a few hours ahead now."

Rawl grunted in acknowledgment, his scarred face set in grim determination. The fog began to thin as they rode on, revealing the landscape around them. After what felt like a couple of hours Rawl could see off In the distance, a large oak tree, its broad canopy a stark silhouette against the lightening sky.

Rawl raised his fist, signaling the group to halt. He turned to Skinner, the wiry man with a penchant for knives. "Your spyglass," he demanded, holding out his hand.

Skinner wordlessly handed over the brass instrument. Rawl pulled it open and put it to his eye, scanning the area around the oak. A cruel grin spread across his face as he spotted what he'd been seeking - the distinctive form of Bakule, the elk. His gaze shifted, catching sight of two men walking towards a pile of sawn logs as the fog continued to dissipate.

Lowering the spyglass, Rawl's mind raced with possibilities. He turned to his men, his voice low and authoritative. "Gorm, Skinner," he growled, "Circle around behind them. Come in from the north. Fenris and I will approach from the main road."

The men nodded, their faces etched with a mix of anticipation and malice. As Gorm and Skinner peeled off, disappearing into the thinning mist, Rawl turned to Fenris.

"This is it," he said, his voice thick with anticipation. "We've got them cornered. Don't forget - the Veldrins want them alive."

Fenris nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "And if they resist?"

Rawl's scarred face twisted into a sadistic grin. "Then we teach them the price of defiance. Just make sure they're breathing when we're done."

With a final nod to each other, Rawl and Fenris urged their mounts forward, advancing towards the oak tree. The fog parted before them like a curtain, revealing their quarry. Rawl's heart pounded with the thrill of the hunt, his mind already savoring the rewards that awaited him upon successful completion of his mission.

As they drew closer, Rawl's eyes scanned the area, searching for the goblin girl. She was the key, he knew. Capture her, and the boy would surely follow. As he and Fenris got closer they stopped and quietly dismounted their horses, continuing to sneak up on foot. There just ahead were two women near a wagon, one the little goblin wench and a human woman.

He looked at Fenris and placed a finger to his lips. Indicating to be quiet. He then motioned to him to grab them from behind. Fenris nodded and together they stalked ever closer to Anora and Calista as the two women’s attention was on the cleaning of the bowls and cooking pot they had eaten from.

Rawl smiled. They hadn’t noticed them approaching and now that he and Fenris were practically on top of them, what happened next couldn’t be stopped. Rawl looked at Fenris and nodded. At the same time they reached around and grabbed the two women much to their muffled screams of shock. Rawls' large left hand kept Anora's mouth closed and her head close against him. “Got ya finally. Ya filthy greenskin.” he said as he and Fenris began to back to their horses to tie the girls up. He was hoping to himself that Gorm and Skinner would have just as easy a time with the men when he howled out in pain and grabbed his left hand.

Anora had wiggled her head free enough of his large hand and had bitten down upon it with her pointed and sharp teeth. Rawl dropped her to the ground, she spit out his thumb as she landed on her feet. Anger burning in her eye’s.

Mikhail and Kaelith had picked up the saw and were quietly taking up their positions as they both heard a loud howl of pain that didn’t sound like any woman they had ever heard before. They dropped the saw immediately, the strange metallic sound of the saw lost upon them as they rushed to the camp.

The two were met with a maddening sight. Rawl towered over Anora as she backed away from him, his left hand bleeding and a large knife in his right hand. Mikhail noticed blood covering her mouth. Fear and anger filled him. Then there was also Calista being held by a man that Mikhail had never seen before, his cheeks sullen and gaunt and his eyes bloodshot as he pulled a knife from his belt and held it to Calista's neck. “Let them go.” Kaelith spoke up. Mikhail looked over to him. To his surprise he had not drawn his sword and then he realized that he hadn’t drawn his knife or didn’t have his spear.

He cursed himself for that and pulled his knife from its holster on his belt. “HEY!” he shouted. Getting Rawls attention. “Leave her alone. It’s me you want.”

Rawl laughed. A deep and unsettling chuckle. “Wrong boy!” he spat. “The boss wants you both. The Veldrins want you both.”

Kaelith stepped forward, his face a mask of protective fury. "You're not taking anyone from here," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

The tension in the air was palpable, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap. Mikhail's mind raced, searching for a way out of this standoff without anyone getting hurt.

"Let's talk about this," Mikhail said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Whatever your employers want, I'm sure we can come to some kind of understanding."

The scarred man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Oh, it's far too late for that, boy. You're coming with us, one way or another. The boss wants you two back alive but I’m thinking of bringing you and that little green bitch back dead.” Rawl stated.

Mikhail's demeanor changed. He was no longer interested in trying to negotiate. The large man had made it clear that there would be no talking their way out of this. He understood what would happen and how this was going to end. From the corner of his eye he saw Kaelith check for his son. Baby Malric still lay in the wagon, safe from what would transpire next.

A sound from behind Mikhail drew his attention. Turning he saw two men dismounting from their horses, drawing swords as they touched the ground. Mikhail put two fingers into his mouth and whistled for Bakule. Hoping that he would get here quickly and keep the two men distracted as he and Kaelith dealt with the other two.

He turned his focus back to Rawl who had now forgotten about Anora and was stalking towards him. Mikhail assumed a fighting position with his knife. Knife fighting wasn’t something that he was particularly good at as he preferred to have some distance between him and his foe but for now it was going to have to do.

Kaelith kept his eyes locked on the thin man holding Calista, quietly encouraging her saying, “It’s going to be ok dear.” Mikhail could feel the tension rising and knew the fight would start soon. Only seconds passed by but it felt like hours as they had a staredown with the men in front of them, well aware that the men behind them crept ever closer.

There.

A snap of a twig and in an instant Kaelith sprung into action, seemingly producing some throwing knives from thin air. In a fluid and lighting quick motion he threw a knife at the man holding Calista. The knife flew true and landed in his forehead, sinking deep into the man's brain.

Calista was free and ran from him to where baby Malric lay. The thin man stumbled backwards as his eyes rolled up into his head. He threw his arms about trying to grasp the knife but soon fell onto his back. Dead before he hit the ground. His body convulsed and it fought to stay alive.

The camp was chaos after that as Kaelith spun on his heels and threw two more knives. They hit their targets. One man, Gorm, falling dead instantly but the other only getting winged. He threw his own knives in retaliation. Kaelith dodged, throwing a few more knives that finally found their mark. One planting itself into the thinner man's neck.

Mikhail kept his focus on Rawl though as he jumped back dodging a strike from the big, scarred man. For such a big guy he sure moved quickly. Anora took the opportunity that she saw and ran up to Rawl, grabbing a knife from his belt before climbing up the man. Rage in her eye’s. To Mikhail's horror he watched as she reached his shoulders and stabbed the man with the knife. Rawl yelled out in pain and rage, reaching up with his thumbless left hand and grabbing her, then tossing her to the ground. Anger and rage filled Mikhail and he charged forward, using her distraction as an opening but adrenaline now pumped through Rawls body and he saw the attack coming.

He kicked out and caught Mikhail in the chest. Using his own momentum against him. Mikhail fell backward, the breath knocked from him. “I’m going to kill you both!” Rawl yelled as he stood over Mikhail and thrust his large knife down. Mikhail narrowly dodged the blade as he struggled to breath. “Hold still boy!”

Rawl slapped Mikhail hard, knocking him senseless before rearing his arm back and thrusting again. Anora once again jumped upon his back, yelling like mad, and thrusting the blade down into Rawls shoulders and anywhere the blade would find purchase. But her efforts were too late as Mikhail screamed out, Rawls blade piercing his left side.

As Mikhail howled in pain Bakule finally appeared and using his antlers speared Rawl. Anora quickly jumped down as Bakule pushed Rawl back against the large oak tree, his antlers digging deeper into Rawls body, lifting him into the air before tossing him to the ground.

Mikhail watched as Rawl fell and Bakule took up a position of protection. His antlered head low to the ground as he kept watch on Rawl, ready for another fight but Rawl stayed where he had landed.

Anora rushed to Mikhail's side, her heart pounding. As he laid on the ground, his face pale. She could see he was hurt, though she tried not to focus on the extent of his injury.

"Mikhail!" she cried, her voice breaking. She pressed her hands against the wound, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood. Her eyes met his, seeing the pain and fear there.

Nearby, Rawl lay on the ground, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The threat he posed was over, but Anora couldn't spare him a thought. All her focus was on Mikhail.

Calista hurried over, her face etched with concern. "Let me help," she said, kneeling beside Anora. Together, they worked to bandage Mikhail's wound, their hands moving quickly and efficiently.

Mikhail's vision began to blur, the world around him growing hazy. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Anora's face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she called his name.

As consciousness slipped away, Mikhail's final thoughts were of Anora, and a silent prayer that he would see her again.