An Old Rival Spots Her

Scratching her paunchy brown belly, huffing and puffing and sweating, Hilda makes her way between the sights, smells, and sounds of the lively forest carnival. For some reason, though, whenever she goes up to a bright tent or a rickety carousel or a dinging game booth, Hilda gets shooed away and told, "no money, no entry" or "get lost, piggy" or "no free rides." And even though it takes Hilda about ten seconds and three repetitions longer than the average kobold to process that, she always nods, smiles wide, grunts an apology, and heaves her hefty hog butt back down the road.

Her knighthood might've buried under the rubble of her wisdom, but she was a gentle, jolly idiot. The kind that'd do well dancing or begging or making an absolute fool of herself outside the tavern for spare change. The kind she'd used to give coins to out of sheer pity. Heck, if the glorious and heroic knight Hilda could see herself stuffed stupid now, she'd probably wince and shudder and cringe. Luckily, nobody around here could recognize the old respectable Hilda, much less the new and unimproved one. Her legacy, at least for tonight, was still airtight and bulletproof.

"Oh my gods." A cruel laugh slowly turned the girl's head. "Hilda?!"

Grunting, waddling and stomping her big fat body around, the piggy girl furrowed her thick and bushy eyebrows.

Fair skin of milky complexion, intelligent eyes a nuanced brown, all contextualized in features chiselled and sharp, the tall and slender dark-elf sneering down at Hilda was her perfect counterpart. Wielding an ancient oakwood staff beholding a gently pulsing blue crystal within its gnarled grip, she could sneeze the wrong way and vaporize half the carnival around them. Adorned in dozens of golden bracers and silver brooches and diamond rings, that fashionable purse could drop and crash ten kingdoms' economies on landing. Clasped in a flattering, bust high, backless midnight black dress woven of the finest silk spiders could spin, one snap could bring every married man in earshot to their knees.

"My, my, my..." Clacking her suave slippers closer, the dark-elf's evil smile only grew as her cunning eyes flicked judgmentally from those chunky thighs to that bulging belly to those dull and vacant eyes. "That really is you, isn't it?"

Snorting and looking around, Hilda scratches her rear in genuine confusion.

"Well, isn't that quite the pleasant surprise." Chortling in a derisive melody too refined for mortal ears, she wipes one tear from her eye and brings herself to a dignified and appropriate stop. "I assumed you to be too powerful, too intelligent, too virtuous to be lured in by the cheap parlor tricks these heathens spin and sell to unworthy nobles and lowly outlaws but, for the first time in many moons, it appears I was incorrect in my assumption."

Finally judging the wide-eyes of the people around her to be all facing the same way, Hilda stumbles herself around to face the woman whose verbal **** was flying far over her simple head.

"Oh, such a pathetic end for what was once such a proud warrior. Woe for the knight whose very name brought demons to quake, for the hero remains defiled with all of a witless, corpulent swine to take its place!" Feigning a swoon, the dark-elf spreads her arms in a sympathetic, heart-bearing gesture. "I, Madame Cheretu, will take in this dull creature. I, alone, will be the one to ensure the lovely Miss Hilda receives everything her faith and duty has rightfully wrought!"

And, with one simple tap of Madame Cheretu's pinky, an iron clasp materializes out of thin air and launches itself tightly around Hilda's neck. Then, as she squeals and bucks, a chain warps from the end of the collar and into the dark-elf's perfect waiting hand.

"Come, Hilda. We've not a moment to wait."