An unlikely hero (Anjella)

The screams were disconcerting, and the clash of steel was the kind of **** that should have been happening in the darkest alleys of the darkest night, but it was the smoke that put Anjella on edge the most. It was wreathing between buildings, warping an already new and strange place into a nightmare of dead ends and looming darkness. Only a building on fire could create so much smoke all at once, and in old Korvosa a fire like that was cause for panic.

Hacking a cough to try and clear her throat, Anjella finally managed to push herself free of the crowd that she’d been swept up in. The press of bodies had at once been a small comfort, but also claustrophobic in their madness. She had spent the late afternoon with her cousin at his bar - not that many folks in the town realized he owned it rather than the withered, big Varisian man who tended it - and had begged off another round of knucklebones and getting leered at by her cousin’s gang of swaggering, showboating bravos.

The Festival was a fine excuse, and she had slipped her black cloak back around her shoulders and gone into the night, up towards where the Consecration ceremony was to begin. Anjella had barely made it into the town square in front of the Cathedral when the screams had started, and within moments she’d been surrounded by the roiling wash of bodies as the frightened mob fled. She couldn’t have been swept along for more than a minute, but those panic-inducing moments of powerlessness had felt like hours.

Anjella pressed her hand against the wall of some building in the dark, hacking again and spitting down onto the neatly lined cobbles of the street. She was on a main thoroughfare of the town, but she didn’t recognize it in the dark, lit only by lanterns. I'm here less than a day and everything goes to shit.

She had gotten a few glimpses of the raiders, though she’d never actually seen a goblin before. Sure, there were always rumours back home - goblins living in the sewers, sneaking up at night to thieve and abduct children for their pots. It was a common enough folk tale that she’d grown up with.

But this wasn’t a folk tale. It wasn’t a story.

Goblins were real, and they were here in Sandpoint.

A chorus of shouting echoed as a new mob of townfolk rounded a nearby street corner, bustling in slightly-less panic than the one she had escaped.

“Into the theatre now, my friends. Inside and we’ll bolt the door behind us!” cried the man at their head, slightly paunchy but tall and with a commanding voice. Anjella thought he might have been one of the speakers during the opening speeches of the festival.

Anjella moved to follow them, but a shout from a woman just ahead of her sent her attention to the nearby rooftops. A pair of goblins were climbing through the eaves of the house over them, one with a knife gripped in it’s teeth while the other was striking a flint against steel, attempting to light some sort of torch. The one with the knife, noticing it had been spotted, snarled and used it’s hands and feet to launch itself off the roof, down towards the screaming woman.

“Move!” Anjella said, already shoving the woman out of the way. With a pivot and turn on one foot, Anjella kicked out high and snapped a sharp crack of impact into the goblin’s round head as it was mid flight. It’s trajectory rebounded away from her, and ended with a thump on the cobbles.

The goblin didn’t move, other than for it’s body to slump limply to a final rest.

“You… you saved me,” the woman said, picking herself up from the ground.

“An impressive kick,” the big man with the voice said. “Are you-”

Anjella turned and vomited.

She’d felt it. Felt the life leave that nasty little thing the moment her kick landed. Felt the snap of it’s little gnarled spine as she put every ounce of effort into her strike. She’d been in well over two dozen fights, but only three of them had been outside of a pugilist ring. One had been last night, less than a day ago with that half-giant Erastilian. She’d never killed something before with her own hands.

“Um, Cyrdak?” One of the other townsfolk said nervously. “What do we do about that!?”

Anjella wiped her mouth, embarrassed and sickened at the same time, and looked up. The other Goblin had gotten it’s torch lit and was bashing it on the edge of the wooden slatted roof of the house. It was unlikely to do much damage like that, but as it was garbling angrily down at them all in it’s horrible language it was shifting down the roof towards an inset window.

“Fuck,” Anjella said. She could see it clearly - the little fucker would break in the window, and set about lighting the entire house on fire, and probably go up in the flames itself.

She jumped, as high as she could, and planted a foot on the wall of the house and pushed off, gaining just a few more inches of reach and hooking her fingertips on the lip of the roof.

“Holy shit,” someone said from below as Anjella then began hauling herself up onto the roof.

The goblin panicked, garbling again in it’s language and waving the lit torch at her. Anjella ducked one swing at her face, and managed to get her torso above the roof edge before the return swing. She braced herself with one arm and caught the torch with the other, her palm immediately singing with pain at touching the fire, but she gripped anyways and yanked the burning stick from the goblins grasp. She let it drop and leaned forward, doing an awkward roll and kicking her legs back and up so that she somersaulted onto the roof fully.

“Graka back no shanty, longshanks!” the goblin snarled, reaching into it’s pants with one hand and pulling out what looked like a tiny shank made out of a copper butter knife filed to a sharp point.

“Why the hell would you keep that in your pants?” Anjella muttered to it. She was up on her knees and scooted sideways as the goblin ran forward trying to stab her. Anjella clapped it on the back of the head, sending it stumbling, then spun on one knee and kicked out her other leg to trip it, but somehow the little raider managed to turn it’s stumble into a tumble over her leg.

It whirled, hissed, and lunged, and Anjella snarled in pain as it’s little dagger plunged into the meat of her thigh.

“Fuck, ow!” she coughed, and she punched it right in the chest. It wasn’t the hardest she could punch - she couldn’t use most of her body, couldn’t get her weight and strength behind it. She was still kneeling on the angled roof, keeping her balance. Still, she punched, and she felt it’s ribcage crack, and it’s eyes widened in pain and shock as it flew off it’s feet and out into mid air, dropping quickly to splat on the cobbles.

“You alright up there?” Cyrdak asked from the street below.

Anjella got to her feet, one hand on her thigh - it wasn’t bleeding badly, but it stung like she’d been poked with a knitting needle. “Yeah, yeah I think so,” she said. She looked out over the town and saw a half dozen streams of smoke from various small fires - it was hard to know which ones might be dangerous, and which were just the prepared bonfires for the festival evening.

“Well, miss. You are… quite impressive. You are more than welcome to join us, we are heading to my theater for shelter.”

Anjella’s attention was caught by a strange sight on the other side of the house - the alley between the buildings was tight, but a horse was running between them, bashing through piles of discarded waste waiting for collection. Now, she didn’t know a whole lot about horses other than that you could ride them, and people seemed to like betting on racing them, but she was fairly certain even in this lack of knowledge that they weren’t known as predatory animals.

Somehow, this one had gotten it in it’s head that chasing a good half dozen goblins down the alley was a fun idea.

It whinnied and raced forward, straight through and over the little group, trampling two under it’s iron-shod hooves.

“I, uh…” Anjella said, eyes riveted on the strange scene. The horse got to a point where three of the tight alleys met and it had enough room to turn around, which was exactly what it did. And then it was trotting right back down towards the goblins, who started running away from it all over again, minus the two they left squashed into the dirt.

“Miss?”

Anjella followed the sounds going on around town with her eyes - the loudest commotion going on back in Uptown, towards the Cathedral. Her hand hurt, though her years training her firsts had left thick calouses that helped deaden the pain. Her thigh felt tight around the stab wound, but no more than if she’d gotten hit with a charlie horse.

“I think I…” What am I doing? Anjella thought. But something told her to continue. Push through. Do her… duty? “I think I should try and help out,” she called down to the man.

“Well, that’s quite heroic of you,” the man said. “I’ll have to write up a little song about the Maid who Boxed a Goblin. Come find me sometime, we’ll see what I come up with.” He led the townsfolk off, leaving Anjella with her thoughts on the roof.

“What the hell am I doing?” Anjella muttered to herself. She lowered herself down from the roof, hanging by her fingertips again before dropping the half dozen feet to the ground and rolling with the impact. What was that feeling she’d had? It was like she’d seen two paths in front of her - go with the townsfolk to the theater, and her life would be… something. Don’t, and run towards trouble, and it would be… everything? Something else?

She didn’t understand it.

Anjella jogged back up the street towards the Cathedral, and after a couple of turns she was striding up the slope and entering the town square. Across the space, from between the smoldering and collapsed tables and festival booths and around the now-lit festival bonfire, she saw a half dozen men and women of the town led by a guardsman as they stormed from one house to the next, chasing goblins out of windows and doors from the first and into the second as they scrambled like rats. Across the square in the other direction she saw something altogether more ****.

The half-giant stood on the steps of the Cathedral, a big knife in his hand, as he warily turned back and forth, keeping a clean half dozen goblins at bay as they nipped at him with knives and torches. He was alone, and Anjella could tell that if the big man had that axe he had been carrying with him before he likely could have carved through the little fuckers. With only a knife, his options when surrounded and outnumbered were poor. He was also, she could see as she started to sprint, moving to try and keep himself between the goblins and the doors to the Cathedral.

Anjella didn’t shout to try and draw the goblins attention - the chaos and commotion of the house-to-house chase across the square made that useless. Instead as she ran she let her cloak loose, letting it fly off, followed by her long black vest, leaving her the least encumbered and feeling like she was ready to fight.

The big man saw her coming and he faked a lunge, causing two of the goblins nearest to her to jump backwards, just that slight bit closer to her. She planted a foot and twisted her entire body, feeling the power ripple through her muscles, from her shoulder and hips and core, down her leg into a kick that powered right through the first goblin and drove it’s head into the one next to it. Both went down in a hard whumph.

Meanwhile, the half-giant took the fight to his enemies, flicking out his wrist and throwing his knife at one of the other goblins. It hit, practically bisecting the thing with the power of the throw, and he followed that up by tackling the one next to it and wrapping it up under one arm and squeezing.

Anjella was already moving. Fighting goblins, with their diminutive stature, was strange. She found that it was just so much more obvious to kick them. So she did, spinning and front-kicking the next closest one in the face and sending it head over ass backwards. Then she felt a tug, and her pants getting dragged down from behind in a swift pull.

“What the fuck?!” she shouted, turning her torso and reaching back, grabbing the offending hand of the fourth goblin.

It hissed at her, it’s tongue playing along it’s jagged and gnarled teeth, and it yanked, trying to get it’s little claw out of her grip and failing.

Anjella squeezed her grip and lifted the goblin off the ground by it’s arm, and it’s eyes got big as it started to panic. “Fucking little pervert,” she said, and she lifted it high enough that she could headbutt it right in it’s stubby nose. It’s squealed in pain as black blood started gushing from it’s broken face, and Anjella threw it to the ground and stomped on it.

It was strange, looking down at that broken body, how she didn’t feel sick about hurting these things so quickly.

“Ahem,” the half-giant man coughed.

Anjella turned and saw that he had killed his other goblin, and was wiping his retrieved knife on a rag.

“Your ass is out,” he said.

That broke her out of her thoughtfulness, as she huffed out a breath and quickly pulled up her billowy black pants, cinching the belt cord tighter and tying it off. “What, no thank you, you big ox?” she asked.

“I felt like you’d care more about your thong showing,” he shrugged.

“Just remember I got more of them than you did,” she grunted. She hated that he was right. Hated that somehow a goblin had managed to make her feel like an idiot. Hated that he didn’t make a comment about her ass, or body. Every man she knew who could handle themselves in a fight would have… said something. Made a comment. Made a pass.

And all this oaf does is let me cover up, she grunted. Fuck. She knew how to deal with lechers and bravos and every manner of man, or woman, who wanted to see her in their bed. This was different.

“Shaka,” a man said, and they both turned to find the priest of the Cathedral, Zantus, coming out of the door with the half-giant’s ax. He was Varisian by blood, and Jubrayl had told Anjella that the man was the ‘right’ sort of priest. Which meant he actually did his job, and wasn’t up to something else. Trustworthy with everything but the sort of work Jubrayl’s sczarni gang were up to.

“Thank you, Abstalar,” the half-giant said. “Though you might have been quicker about it.”

“Well, I had to find it first,” the priest said. “And then I had to get it through a crowd of panicked people.” He handed the ax, which he had to carry with both hands, to Shaka. “Thank you for your bravery, my friend. I’m not sure if we could have gotten the doors shut and barred in time.”

“I only do what Erastil has prepared me for,” Shaka said.

Dead Lord, what a pompous ass, Anjella thought.

“And you, my dear stranger,” Father Zantus said, turning the Anjella. “Thank you for your help as well. But I see you’re injured!” He stepped forward down the steps, hands offered. “Please, allow me to help a hero such as yourself.”

“No, I’m fine,” Anjella said, waving him off.

“Please, I cannot let you continue wounded,” the Priest offered again, his brow furrowed.

“It’s fine, Zantus,” Shaka said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Save your healing for those in more need, you were always better at summoning Desna’s blessings than I was beseeching Old Deadeye.”

Anjella winced as she shifted her weight - now that the fighting had lulled, her adrenaline was edging off and she was starting to feel the wound more, but there was no way she was going to admit that to the big lug. “Really, you two. I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not,” Shaka said, and knelt down next to her. Which put him at still over eye level with her while she was standing. “Stop being stubborn. Erastil doesn’t help those who don’t help themselves, so you don’t need to consider it charity.”

Anjella gritted her teeth, but nodded in assent. As Shaka pulled a wooden amulet out from under his shirts, the disk carved with the bow of the Stag Lord, Anjella sighed and mumbled, “I’m not a girl, by the way. Don’t try to belittle me, giant.”

Shaka smirked, just a little. “My apologies, woman,” he said, then he muttered a prayer and placed his immense, pale hand on her thigh. His hand could almost wrap around her muscled leg, each of his fingers almost as thick as three of her own, and she felt a warmth spread out from his palm. It tickled, like a dust mote in the nose but deep in her muscles, making them flex and spasm for a moment, then in a rush it spread down to her toes, and up into her hip and lower abdomen in a wave.

Anjella jerked away, and Shaka released her, and she bit her lip as she looked away across the town square. Anything to keep from letting out the strangled groan she wanted to. Anything from giving away that the wash of his god’s magic had just made her feel like a bitch in heat as it washed through her womb and set her tingling.

“Thanks,” she grunted. Hating that he had done that to her. I should have just let the priest heal me. At least the Goddess of Dreams isn’t likely to turn you into a rutting beast.

Shaka stood and lifted his ax to his shoulder, looking out with her over the ruined festival grounds. “This isn’t over. I can still hear the fighting.”

“I should be out there,” Father Zantus said.

“No,” Shaka said, turning back to the priest. “Be where the people can find you. You and your few acolytes represent the best bet anyone with dire injuries has, they need to be able to find you. And you need to stay alive.”

“He’s right,” Anjella said, nodding despite the fact that her tongue wanted to find a reason to disagree with him.

Zantus hesitated, then nodded. “I… agree with your thinking. If I cannot, then I rely on you. Keep my town safe - I offer you the the Fortune of Mother Moon, here under her view.” He held up his own holy symbol, a silver butterfly of Desna on a silver chain, and it gleamed brightly with the light of the moon despite the yellow bonfire lighting the town square.

“Everything I can, everything we must,” Shaka nodded, then clapped the priest on the shoulder again.

“I’ll do what I can,” Anjella said. She hadn’t set out to save a fucking town. This wasn’t her thing. This was… well, it was exactly the kind of shit a stern, muscley, giant holy warrior would do. Why the hell am I going along with this?

And yet she did.

“Thank you. Both of you,” Zantus said.

“Get yourself inside and get some of the townsfolk in there to man the doors properly. Use those fancy candlesticks I saw in the Abadar shrine as clubs if you need to, he goes by the Gold-Fisted one so he shouldn’t mind.”

Zantus barked a laugh and nodded again before heading back up the steps.

“Well,” Anjella said, looking around the empty town square again. There were shouts and the sound of fighting still happening to the south, deeper into town. “You know this place better than I do, it seems. Where are we going?”

“This way,” he grunted, bringing his ax down and shifting his grip on the haft as he stalked down the nearest street.

“Well, that’s one way to choose,” Anjella muttered to herself. The fact that she’d done about the same thing not five minutes earlier wasn’t lost on her, and she did not like the similarities.

Not five buildings down the street, a chorus a tiny screams rattled around a corner. Shaka glanced at Anjella, they nodded, and broke into a run. Despite his size and longer legs, in a sprint Anjella was actually the faster of the two, and she rounded the corner onto a short street that ended in a cul de sac.

Two story homes, most with dark shop fronts on the bottom, lined the street and loomed over, casting long shadows as no bonfires lit the area. The one light blazing was a bright white, coming from a thin blade being held by a woman with her back to a gaggle of seven or eight children as she wove her rapier in a figure eight, forcing back a solid seven goblins from reaching the children. The woman was young, maybe around Anjella’s age or a touch older, and she realized from her silky black hair with a shock of white mixed into the bangs that it was the foreign woman who had been working one of the food booths in the town square during the day. Her blade glowing with magical light, a snarl on her face, the Tian woman made a show of her defense of the children cornered between two buildings, but Anjella could see she’d already suffered several cuts and the goblins were currently dancing between playing with their food and fearing the sword. Two goblin corpses were already on the cobbles.

“Euuuliaaa!” Anjella yelled, charging forward and hollering a wordless battlecry, trying to spook and distract the goblins.

“Estig!” Shaka shouted, just behind her, invoking another name of his god. His voice thundered, overshadowing hers and echoing between the buildings.

It was fast and bloody. Anjella got cut across the shin when she kicked a particularly long and jagged knife out of one goblin’s hand, while Shaka was bitten on the thigh by a goblin as he was cleaving another two in half with his great ax. The Tian woman held her own, dispatching another two herself on the point of her rapier.

Three of the goblins survived, scampering through a small fence between two of the shops, and Anjella hesitated before deciding that vaulting over the fence to chase them in the dark was asking for an ambush.

“Thank you,” the Tian woman panted, hands down on her knees as she looked around warrily.

“It’s been a while, Ameiko,” Shaka said, and Anjella frowned at the smile on the half-giants lips. “Last time I saw you, you looked much like this though.”

Ameiko smiled and shook her head. “And younger, and stupider. That was my last ‘adventure.’ Things didn’t go well.”

Shaka frowned. “I’m sorry. If I’d have known-”

“There was no way you could, big man,” Ameiko said. “Alder, Sandru and I were still practically kids. I’ll… I don’t talk about it much, but I’ll tell you when this is over. Come see me?”

Shaka nodded. Anjella pursed her lips and turned away, looking over the children. They were anywhere from ten to twelve mostly, except for one who looked to only be about seven.

“What do we do with these?” Anjella asked.

“I’ll get them somewhere safe,” Ameiko said. She rolled her shoulders and then turned and picked up a strange looking lute-like instrument from where she must have discarded it. The Tian woman winced as she slung it over her shoulder.

“Let me help,” Shaka said, stepping forward. Again with the wooden holy symbol, and he placed his big hand on Ameiko’s shoulder. Anjella watched as the magic passed into Ameiko, the blood in her cuts congealing and then quickly closing, though remaining raw. She could also see that shiver as it passed through the other woman, and saw the heat rise in her cheeks. Anjella shook her head and bit her tongue. “It’s not much,” Shaka said. “But the way should be clear up to the Cathedral.”

“More than I can do for myself,” Ameiko said. She took his big hand in both of hers and squeezed, then turned to the children. “Come on, you roughians,” she said to them, her voice changing to a playful banter. “How about we go visit Father Zantus?”

One of the kids grimaced as they began following her. “Why can’t we fight the goblins? I can use a sword, Miss Ameiko.”

“Because, Dusielle, I only have one sword,” Ameiko explained in a singsong voice as she and her flock of children rounded the corner.

“Come on, ox,” Anjella said to Shaka. “You can stop flirting with the locals, I thought we were saving this town or something.”

“I wasn’t flirting with her,” Shaka said with a frown. “I met her when she was barely sixteen.”

“And how long ago was that?” Anjella asked.

“Two years, maybe two and a half.”

Anjella shook her head. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

“What?” Shaka asked with a confused look.

“Come on,” Anjella sighed. Why she was even sticking with him, she couldn’t figure out.

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