Demihuman Destiny - Elf

(Just so you know, I originally intended this to be a CYOA type story, buuuuut I haven't figured out how to do that just yet--do you HAVE to get a premium membership?--so just pretend to choose the only option available each time.)

It is the future—or something. You’ve just entered a brand-new VR parlor (because that’s a thing in the future) that just opened in your town. You are escorted by a robot attendant to your booth, and settle in your comfortable chair as the tactile-awareness electrodes attach themselves to your body. As the goggles lower themselves into place, you feel a thrill of excitement. You’ve never tried one of these things before, but you’ve heard so much about them, like you’re really in another world! You can’t wait to begin!

BEGIN

A voice in your head speaks a single word, and suddenly you feel yourself floating away as everything goes dark.

When your eyes open again, you find yourself adrift in a vast black void. Glowing images float past, colorful titles of games surrounded by images. As you scan the titles, wondering which one to choose, one in particular catches your eye: Demihuman Destiny. Surrounding it is images of half-human fantasy creatures: centaurs, mermaids, fairies, satyrs, even something that looks like a lizard-man. That one appeals to you, so you reach out and touch it.

Instantly the other titles vanish, and you find yourself flying into the center of the Demihuman Destiny sign, the images becoming three-dimensional and flying past you.

“Welcome to Demihuman Destiny,” a female voice whispers. “In a world of magic and mystery there dwell many civilized races—some more civilized than others. Do you wish to soar on the wings of a harpy, gallop on the hooves of a centaur, or dive to the deepest depths with the tail of a mermaid? If so, then become a demihuman…and grasp your destiny!”

The voice suddenly turns businesslike, losing its mystical edge as a wall of text appears in front of you.

“Demihuman Destiny is a first-person immersive reality experience,” the voice explains crisply. “In this game, the player becomes a half-human, half-monster being and embarks on a quest of their choosing. This game utilizes extracerebral enhancement software, implanting the player with memories, reflexes, sensations, and desires to match their demihuman persona. The plot of the game is determined by the selection of the player, with real-time AI algorithms to write new selections in addition to the over five hundred preprogrammed endings. Collect items, forge alliances, defeat enemies…all in the name of seeking your destiny!

“If you wish to continue, press Go. To exit, press Exit.”

You consider your options thoughtfully as two glowing signs appear before you. Implanted memories and desires? That sounds a little scary. You’ve heard of that technology, and while you’ve never heard of it going wrong, messing with your own brain does seem like a bit of a bad idea. On the other hand…to change into something else for a while, a new being with magical powers and monstrous abilities? That appeals to you in a way that surprises you. Your real life is so humdrum, so listless; what would it be like to become a completely new and exciting person with a new and exciting life? You find yourself reaching for the Go sign with one virtual hand.

In a moment, you find yourself in a new void, this one green and blue, like a summer day out of focus. Floating around you are a swarm of small objects, orbiting you like a tiny asteroid field.

“Choose one item,” the female voice whispers, her mystique back in force, “and your quest shall begin!”

You examine the items closely. Some of them are actual objects: there’s a flower, a horseshoe, a feather, and a set of panpipes, to name a few. Others, however, are stylized images of animals: a fish, a snake, a bat, a lion, a spider on a web. Still others are bizarre things: a bean with a small stalk growing out of it, a skeletal hand, and a single giant eyeball draw your attention among the other objects.

You survey the swirling images. You’re guessing the one you pick will determine which storyline of the game you end up following. Reaching out, you choose…an arrow.

There's a bright flash of light, and suddenly you're standing on solid ground, blinking as a world of color fills your vision. You’re in a sylvan glade, shafts of sunlight filtering through a thick canopy of green leaves. Around you, tall tree trunks tower a hundred feet or more, their boles as thick as tanker trucks. Around their roots arch ferns and leafy shrubs, while curtains of moss cover their bark. Beneath your feet is a crunchy carpet of dead leaves, and speaking of feet…yours are small, and wearing pointy green leather boots.

You look down at yourself and gasp. Your body is slender, dressed in brown pants, a long-sleeved silky tunic, and a breastplate of polished hard leather. You look at your delicate, long-fingered hands in wonder, noticing the faint greenish tint of your skin. What are you?

You feel your ears twitch as you hear the sound of running water nearby. Deciding you’d like to see what you look like, you head in that direction, stopping at the edge of a beautiful leafy pool. Brushing aside some lily pads with the toe of your boot, you stare down at your reflection: a narrow, pointed face, with close-cut, spiky blonde hair and pointed ears with curling tips. You gasp again, your bright green eyes widening. You’re an elf!

In your reflection, you see your long ears twitch like a bat’s. You hear something, a rustling in the bushes on the far side of the pool! Your first encounter! Should you hide, attack, or see what it is first?

HIDE

You’d better see what you’re up against before you decide anything. Quickly you dive behind the nearest tree (a small one, not one of the giant ones) and flatten your back to the trunk. You realize, as you do, that you have a bow and quiver of arrows slung over your back; almost as soon as you realize this, you have the bow strung and an arrow on the string. Wow! Those pre-programmed reflexes are really something!

Cautiously you peer out from behind the tree, ears twitching. You can see the bushes on the far side of the pond moving now. And then, out of the foliage emerges a pure white horse, its mane falling over its face as it bends down to drink from the pool. A long, pointy, spiraling horn just from its forehead. Your eyes widen. A unicorn! Cool! What should you do with it? Walk up to it, see if you can befriend it? Hunt it for its horn? Your elf instincts tell you harming such a mystical animal is taboo for your people, and would anger the gods. On the other hand, you know unicorn body parts are extremely potent magic, useful for spells and worth a lot of money...what should you do?

JUST WATCH IT, NATURE IS BEAUTIFUL

You watch as the unicorn peacefully laps at the water, its horsey lips sucking up the liquid in big gulps. As it does, see the tip of the horn dip down far enough to touch the surface of the water. Immediately, a pure white ripple spreads out from it, making the water dance and sparkle as if reflecting a sky full of stars. Your pulse quickens. Your elvish memories tell you that water that has been touched by alicorn is magical: it can cure diseases, heal wounds, even remove curses! However, the effect wears off quickly as long as the water is exposed to the open air; if you want some unicorn water, you’ll need to bottle it quickly. And, your brain tells you, you do have an empty flask in your satchel…however, you need to be cautious. Unicorns are touchy, unpredictable animals: if startled, it could run away and you’d never see it again, or it could just as easily run you through with its horn. Maybe it’d be best to stay hidden until it finishes drinking and leaves.

You wait, watching as the unicorn continues to drink. To your dismay, you see the sparkle already beginning to fade from the surface of the water closest to you. No! If you keep waiting, the magic might evaporate before you can get to it! What should you do?

JUMP OUT AND SCOOP UP THE WATER AS FAST AS YOU CAN!

Shouldering your bow, you take the bottle from your satchel and peer out from behind the tree. The unicorn is still drinking—thirsty animal, maybe they’re kind of like camels and store water in their horn or something—and the water is getting less sparkly by the second. You have to act now, or miss your chance to get miraculous unicorn water! Breaking cover, you dive for the edge of the pond, plunging your flask in with a splash. Crystal-clear water fills your flask as bubbles stream out.

Across the pool, the unicorn rears up, letting out a fierce whinny as it paws the air with its front hooves. You look up as it leaps into the pool, scattering glittering water drops in all directions as it charges, horn lowered to gore. You look down at your flask. It’s about half-full, air still bubbling out of it under the surface. Is that enough? Should you run? Fight? Keep filling your bottle and pray for a miracle?

RUN! RUN! RUN!

The unicorn is almost to you. Snatching up the bottle, you turn and run back into the woods. The thunder of hoofbeats on the earth fills your pointed ears as you dodge around tree trunks and leap over fallen logs. Your heart is in your mouth as you feel the unicorn’s hot, fragrant breath on your neck. This crazy horn-horse is going to murder you, and it’s much faster than you, even in these close quarters! What can you do? Is your quest over before it’s begun?

You catch sight of a low branch ahead. Your elf instincts kick in, filling your brain with options. That branch is too low for the unicorn to duck under; if you run under it, you could clothesline this crazy horse and knock it on its fetlocks. On the other hand, you could use your elfin agility to leap to that branch, then leap up into the tree where the unicorn can’t reach you! Or—crazy idea here—you could even catch hold of the branch, swing upside down as the unicorn passes beneath you, and land behind it, giving it the slip! Which do you try?

CLIMB THE TREE! CLIMB THE TREE!

Yeah, climbing the tree, that’s your best bet. Use that elven agility of yours! Throwing on an extra burst of speed, you leap, and grin as you feel your boot come down on the branch. Pushing off, you spring higher, catching hold of another branch, and swing yourself up onto it. The bow is back in your hand and an arrow on the string as you face your snorting pursuer, who rears, slashing the air with its horn as it screams its fury.

You swallow. That was a close one. Despite their reputation, unicorns are fierce magical creatures, untamable and almost impossible to outrun. However, now that you’re out of reach, this one will probably calm down and leave—eventually.

You wait and watch as the unicorn neighs and snorts, pawing the ground with its cloven hooves and tossing its mane. As you listen to its screams, you realize you can pick up meaning in them—words like “Enemy!” and “Hunter!” and “Impale you on my horn!” Huh. Can unicorns talk in this world? Or is understanding animals one of your elven abilities?

Elven Abilities.

You jump as a female voice suddenly speaks close to your ear. You look, startled, but there’s no one there. Speak with Beasts, the voice goes on. Speak with Birds. Speak with Trees. Green Concealment. Arrow Multiplication. Sylvan Song. Wood Walking.

Whoa. It seems the game can tell you what abilities you have when you ask! And what a lot of abilities you have, too! Some of them seem pretty obvious, like “Speak with Beasts” and “Arrow Multiplication”, but what the heck is “Green Concealment” or “Sylvan Song”? Maybe you should try one of them!

Warning, the voice intones. Most special abilities have only one use per day.

Oh. That puts a damper on things. You should pick which ability you use carefully—if you use one at all. You could still just wait the unicorn out. What do you want to do?

SPEAK WITH BEASTS

Speak with Beasts, that sounds useful. You can already sort of understand what this unicorn is saying; maybe you can talk some sense into it. But how do you activate it?

“Speak with Beasts,” you mutter.

Speak with Beasts activated, the voice in your head says. Effect lasts one hour.

That should be more than enough time. You clear your throat. “Hey,” you call down, your voice soft and lilting, with a slight Celtic accent. “Unicorn.”

The unicorn looks up sharply, glaring. “What is it, pointy-eared slayer?” it whinnies, punctuating its words with a stamp of its forehoof.

Good, it’s listening. What do you say?

"I WASN'T TRYING TO HURT YOU!"

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you!” you call. “I was just collecting some of the water from the pond you touched!”

The unicorn’s eyes narrow. “I know this, knave!” it screams. “Your people have exploited mine for our natural purity for eons, giving us nothing in return! I will not stand for this affront to my culture!”

Oh. Apparently unicorns find collecting unicorn water offensive. Your elf brain apparently didn’t know that. What do you say?

APOLOGIZE. YOU WERE TOTALLY IN THE WRONG HERE. OFFER TO RETURN THE WATER.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your ears lowering in shame. “I had no idea you found this offensive.” You hold out the bottle of water. “I apologize, and return what I have taken to you.”

The unicorn looks startled, its jaw dropping. “I…oh. I did not expect…well.” Delicately, it reaches up with its lips and takes the bottle from your outstretched hand. “’ank ‘ou.”

Dropping the flask on the ground, it looks at it, then looks up at you. It rubs one hoof against the back of its leg uncomfortably. “Listen, um, maybe I overreacted,” it mumbles. “It’s not so much the water as the fact that you took it without asking…” It clears its throat. “I guess you can keep it.” It takes a step back. “Come down, I won’t attack you.”

What do you do?

TRUST IT. COME ON DOWN AND COLLECT YOUR MAGIC HEALING WATER!

You smile. It pays to be polite. Shouldering your bow, you climb down out of the tree, sliding down a root to stop near the unicorn’s forelegs. You pick up the bottle and bow—as in, you bow, the motion, there isn’t a bow to pick up. Your bow’s on your shoulder. I just said that.

“Thank you,” you say. “I promise I will never collect unicorn-touched water without the express permission of the unicorn again.”

The unicorn smiles. “Thanks, that really means a lot to me.” It shakes its head. “Sorry I was so mad before. It’s just…I wasn’t expecting you to be this reasonable. Every other elf I’ve met acts so superior, like they rule the woods and are so much better than everyone else. I just assumed you’d be the same.”

You’re somewhat offended, but your implanted memories are telling you that yes, that has been your experience as well. Elves place a lot of stock in their fay nature and supposed “wisdom”; it is generally taught in elvish schools that elves are the pinnacle of creation and benevolent rulers of nature. However, you’ve been around a bit, enough to see the same foibles and weaknesses prevalent in mortals reflected in your own people; it’s made you a bit humbler than your fellows.

“I know what you mean,” you say aloud. “I feel the same way sometimes. I blame the public elfducation system.” You pause. “If you like, I can spread the word about this, maybe stop other elves from exploiting unicorns this way.”

“Oh, would you?” says the unicorn in relief. “That would be great. I just feel like, if we could get along, we could really help each other out, you know?” It pauses. “Listen, um, you’ve been real cool about this, there’s something I better tell you.”

You blink. “What is it?”

“Well,” the unicorn says slowly, “I heard some other unicorns saying they saw a troop of goblins in the eastern hills last night, headed this way. I didn’t worry too much about it, figured if they attacked the elf village you’d just fight them off, but I thought I should give you the heads up, just in case.”

Your hand tightens on your bow. Goblins? Here? “Where?” you say urgently. “Where are these goblins? You must tell me!”

The unicorn coughs. “Um, I don’t know exactly—didn’t see them myself. I know the general area, though.”

Your pulse quickens. Goblins, within the elvish borders? This was serious! They might be on their way to attack your village right now! Or maybe they were still far away; maybe if the unicorn leads you, you can determine their position. But that might take too much time…what do you do?

RUSH BACK TO THE VILLAGE NOW AND WARN THEM!

“I have to get back to the village!” you gasp, running a hand through your spiky hair. “They could be attacking right now!”

Turning, you streak away through the trees, your elven feet making you as fast as a deer.

“Um, okay!” the unicorn calls. “Good luck and everything!”

You ignore it, running faster. Your implanted memories are filling your head with information about goblins, the ancestral enemy of the elven nation. Ruthless, greedy, despoilers of everything beautiful, goblins normally lived in their underground kingdom beneath the dragon-infested Stonetooth Mountains to the east. Sometimes roving bands of them came out at night to attack the borders of the forest, stealing crops and kidnapping elves to use as slaves in their mines, but your treetop village of Silverwood is far from the border, practically halfway to the capital! How could they have gotten this far in without being stopped?

An hour later, you reach the crest of a hill and look down on the treetop village of Silverwood, where you see--

You freeze. Fire. Billowing smoke. The village is burning.

You cry out in despair. No! You’re too late! Stringing your bow, you run pell-mell down the hill, drawing an arrow as you reach the bottom. As you draw near, you see bodies lying on the ground the ground beneath the trees is littered with bodies. Your blood runs cold as you reach the shadow of the village and look up.

It’s utter devastation. Every tree is aflame, the ancient branches crackling and popping. The remains of elven houses hang in smoking ruins from the treetops, the interwoven branches that make up their walls unraveling before your eyes in the heat. Everywhere, you see the signs of battle: spent arrows, broken spears, and of course, the pierced, charred corpses of your countrymen.

You run to the nearest body. You recognize it as another guard, Gidri Fallenleaf, a man you’ve known for years, pierced by at least five iron arrows. “Gidri!” you gasp, shaking him. “Gidri! Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t answer, and when you touch his neck, you don’t get a pulse. Frantically, you check the next body, this one of a village elder, Rama Tornear. “Master Tornear! Can you hear me?”

Nothing. You quickly search the rest of the bodies, to no avail. Just as you’re about to give up, you hear a groan from nearby. Yes! Someone is alive!

You run to the source of the sound. Lying on the ground is an older male elf in charred wooden armor, his scarred face pale. Half his body is blackened by fire; he must’ve fallen from the burning village. You recognize him as Olin Blackthorn, a decorated soldier in the local militia and a seasoned warrior. His pulse is low, but existent.

“Sir Blackthorn!” you say, shaking him gently. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t answer, but you do hear another groan from nearby. Looking over your shoulder, you see a young elfwoman dressed in torn purple robes, the silken cloth spattered with blood. Twyleth Moonstar, the shaman’s apprentice! You rush to her side, and find that she also has a pulse, but also doesn’t respond to your shaking.

You look back and forth between the two injured elves. Both look to be on the brink of death. You don’t have enough medical knowledge to save either of them…but you do have unicorn water! Frantically you pull the flask from your satchel, holding it up to the light. About half full. That should be enough to heal one of them…but probably not both.

You dither, looking back and forth between your injured comrades. If you heal Sir Blackthorn, he might be able to use his battlefield experience to help save Twyleth, you’ve seen him patch up soldiers in the field before. But Twyleth knows magic, though you don’t know how far along she is in her training. She might also be able to heal Sir Blackthorn, and maybe help put out the fire in the village. Who should you save?

BLACKTHORN. HE'S A FIGHTER, YOU'LL NEED HIM IF THERE ARE GOBLINS STILL AROUND.

You make a decision: Blackthorn. He’s an experienced warrior, something you’re pretty sure you’ll need before the say is out. Silently apologizing to Twyleth, you uncork your flask and pour the sparkling liquid over Blackthorn’s body, watching as the glittering light sinks into his flesh. As you watch, you see his wounds knitting themselves, arrows popping out of his skin as new tissue pushes them out. As the last cut closes, he groans, then opens his eyes.

“What happened?” he mumbles, glancing around blearily. “Where am I?”

You clutch his arm. “Sir Blackthorn, listen, the village has been burned by goblins! You were injured, but I was able to heal you with unicorn water!”

He stares at you uncomprehending. “Unicorn water? What’re you…” He shakes his head, getting to his feet; his burnt armor crumbles as he does. “Never mind. Where are the goblins now?”

You shake your head. “I haven’t seen any. The village is in flames.” Even as you say this, a giant flaming branch falls to the ground, followed by a burning house. You jump back as hot ash flies in the air.

Blackthorn grunts. “We have to get out from under the village. Come on!” He grabs your arm, but you pull away.

“Wait!” You run over and take Twyleth’s hand. “She’s alive too! Can you help her?”

Blackthorn takes one glance at her and shakes his head. “Leave her. This village is coming down. We’ll be crushed if we stay here.”

“Can’t we move her?” you plead, looking up at him tearfully. You’re surprised to find you’re crying. It’s just a game, you remind yourself. But still…this all feels so real. “Just far enough to get her out of harm’s way?”

Blackthorn shakes his head again. “No. Moving her will just make her injuries worse, and only slow us down. Come on!”

He starts running away. You look from him to the supine girl. You can’t just leave her, can you? Maybe if you tried carrying her herself…but what if Blackthorn is right? You can’t move fast carrying her, you might be crushed!

SAVE HER! ALWAYS SAVE THE GIRL!

You clench your jaw. Blackthorn may have battle experience, but you’ve played enough videogames to know that you’re always supposed to save the girl. Picking her up in your arms (she’s heavier than she looks; lay off the Keebler cookies, elf girl!) you start carrying her, moving as fast as you can while more houses fall around you.

“Fool!” Blackthorn yells from up ahead. “Drop her! You’ll both die!”

You keep going, huffing and panting as choking smoke fills your lungs. A tree falls ahead, its bark glowing with embers; you jump over it, wincing as you feel the heat through your thin-soled boots. A piece of a house lands near you, nearly crushing you; only your elfin instincts and agility allow you to jump out of the way in time. Then a flaming spear hits the ground ahead. You look up: the town armory is tipping over, its front door wide open, and you can see a whole line of burning spears in the act of sliding out into space. Seriously? Lowering your head, you charge as a hail of fiery missiles fall, every single one piercing the ground tip-first; one slashes your arm as it passes, and you wince, almost dropping Twyleth.

“DROP HER!” Blackthorn bellows. “That’s an order!”

You ignore him, and as the armory itself falls you leap, passing straight through the open door. For one moment, you’re in a smoke-filled room while red-hot weapons fly past your head, and the next you fly out the back window in a spray of shattered glass, rolling in midair, and land safely in the grass outside the trees, Twyleth still clutched in your arms.
Blackthorn stares at you in astonishment as you rise to your feet. Behind you, you hear a crash, and turn to watch as the entire village collapses in on itself, trees and houses crushed beneath their own weight. A blast of hot air strafes your face, and a huge plume of smoke and dust shoots up in the sky, signaling to the entire forest the death of Silverwood.

You stare, uncomprehending. Silverwood has been your home since you were a child, almost two hundred years ago. Sure, you spent a few decades hitchhiking around the mortal realms, finding yourself, but you always came back, back to the faces you knew…the faces that were all dead, burned, and now buried. A tear runs down your cheek.

Blackthorn comes up and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, soldier,” he mutters. “We’ve got goblins to catch.”

Turning, he heads for the fringe of the woods. You gaze after him, startled by his callousness. “Wait!” you call, looking down at Twyleth in your arms. “What about her?”

“Like I said,” he calls back without looking, “leave her. She’s on her way out.”

You bite your lip. You can see Twyleth is still breathing, despite the ragged gash in her belly. Hoisting her higher, you march across the open field surrounding the village until you reach the trees, where Blackthorn is already striding ahead. Lowering Twyleth to the ground, you call after him.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve helped her!” you call after him. “You do what you want, but I’m camping right here.”

Blackthorn stops. “Same ol’ Starpoint,” he mutters, and suddenly you know that’s your name, Sylan Starpoint. “Never could follow orders.” He turns around. “Fine, camp here 'til she breathes her last. I’m going after the goblins; I’ll come back once I’ve established their location.”

You watch him disappear into the trees, and then turn your attention back to Twyleth. You can see her breathing raggedly, her eyes rolled back beneath her eyelids. You grit your teeth. How can you help her? You have no medical knowledge beyond basic CPR (Celestial Prayers for Recovery, apparently something every elfchild learns in school), and you feel that she needs something stronger. Aren’t there any elf abilities you can use here?

Elf Abilities, the voice in your head intones. Speak with Beasts. Speak with Birds.

Ugh, is it going to do the whole list again? You wait impatiently as it gets through Sylvan Song and Wood Walking before continuing Lightfoot, Elf Eyes, Nature Sense, Mind Meld, Sense Herb Properties…

Wait. That last one sounded good. If you used Sense Herb Properties, maybe you could find a plant out in the woods with healing powers! Also, Mind Meld? Seriously? Just because you have pointy ears…You stop. Your brain is telling you “Mind Meld” allows you to freely share thoughts with a willing or unconscious participant. Twyleth is unconscious! If you Mind Melded with her, you could ask her if she knew any magic to heal herself! Would that work? Which should you choose?

MIND MELD! I LOVE STAR TREK!

Taking a deep breath, you place a hand on Twyleth’s damp, blood-stained face. “Mind Meld,” you whisper.

Instantly, you are transported to a strange, dark forest. Dimly you can hear people screaming in the distance, and can smell smoke and see the glow of flames through the trees. Your heart clenches: Twyleth must be having a nightmare about the trauma she just suffered. Running toward the source of the screaming, you catch sight of Twyleth crawling through the flames, her robe torn and burned.

“Twyleth!” you yell, running up to her. She looks up at you uncomprehending, her eyes staring beneath her dark fringe.

“Twyleth, it’s me,” you say as she blinks at you. “Sylan, from the village?”

She keeps staring, unresponsive. A dark, shadowy figure runs past you through the flames, screaming, and she winces at the sound. You grit your teeth. Mind-Melding with an unconscious person can be difficult, your brain tells you, particularly if they’re in the grip of a dream or nightmare. Still, you have to try.

Taking her gently by the hand, you raise her to her feet. “Twyleth, this is all a dream,” you say soothingly. “None of this is real.”

She blinks at you, a tear running down her cheek. “R-really?” she mumbles, her voice high and distant. “Th-the goblins didn’t attack?”

You bite your lip. What do you tell her?

YES, BUT YOU GOT AWAY.

“I…yes, they did,” you say with some difficulty. “I’m sorry.”

Her face falls. “And…and is everyone dead?”

“Not everyone,” you say quickly. “You and I are alive.”

She covers her face. “Oh nooooo…Master Treestar...grandmother…” She descends into weeping.

You put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, Twyleth, I’m sorry, but you have to tell me—"

She suddenly gasps, taking her hands from her face. “No! The goblins! They—they—”

“I know,” you say quickly, “but that’s over. You’re in a coma, and I—”

“Fire!” she screams, pointing at the flames above the trees. “Fire and arrows! Poison!”

You grit your teeth. She’s becoming incoherent. Grabbing her by the shoulders, you shake her gently. “Twyleth, focus! You’re injured, stabbed. I need to know how to heal you, or you’ll be killed!”

“No!” Twyleth shrieks. “Not by a goblin! Not by a goblin!”

“Yes, by a goblin,” you say firmly. “You’ll die of your wound if you don’t tell me how to help you!”

“Not by a goblin!” Twyleth screams, and points behind you.

Automatically, you turn to look, and gasp as a big, dark shape looms up out of the smoke. Grinning, it raises a spear, and stabs it into you. You yelp, clutching at your torso, but the spear has passed through you like a ghost, and behind you you hear Twyleth shriek as the head enters her belly instead.

There’s a snap, a flash, and suddenly you’re back in the real world, your hand slipping from Twyleth’s face. “Rime,” you snap, apparently an elvish swear word. Now that the Mind Meld is broken, you won’t be able to use it again until tomorrow, and you learned nothing useful from Twyleth!

You pause. Or did you? That shape in her nightmare didn’t look like a goblin, not unless goblins were suddenly growing six feet tall nowadays. Maybe it was just her delirium…or maybe it wasn’t just goblins that attacked Silverwood.

You shake your head. You don’t have time to think about that; Twyleth is still injured, and you need to save her. You could try looking for healing herbs, like you had considered doing earlier…but honestly, you aren’t sure there are enough herbs in the world to heal that hole in her. That would take powerful magic, like the unicorn water. Too bad you used it all up on Sir Jerkthorn. And unicorn water is so rare, you have no idea where you’d ever find more.

But you might know where to find a unicorn…

Your heartbeat quickens. If you can find that unicorn from earlier, maybe you can convince it to heal Twyleth. But it might be a hundred miles away by now; unicorns were fast, and rarely stayed in one place long. What should you do?

TRY THE UNICORN! THERE'S GOT TO BE A REASON I MET IT FIRST, IT'S A PLOT POINT!

You get your feet. That unicorn is your best shot, you’d better take it. You look down at Twyleth. You’re not sure you can carry her all the way back to the pool where you were earlier; this girl has some extra weight tucked inside that sylphlike figure somewhere, and you only have skinny elf arms. On the other hand, if you leave her here unconscious, she could die before you get back, or get eaten by wolves—or the goblins could come back. You clutch at your hair. Every decision seems like the wrong one. What should you do?

TAKE HER ALONG, GENIUS. YOU CAN'T LEAVE HER ALONE, THERE ARE GOBLINS AROUND!

You don’t dare leave her alone. Picking her up again, you start jogging back through the woods the way you came. The sun is hot, and before long you find yourself puffing and blowing. You have to rest.

Groaning, you set Twyleth down, glancing again at her belly wound. It’s stopped bleeding, but who knows what organs have been punctured inside? And maybe carrying her around like this was making it worse, just like Blackthorn said. You check her pulse. Still there, but faint. Grimly, you pick her up and keep jogging.

Halfway back to the pool, you have to stop and rest again. Tears sting at your eyes. Isn’t there any elvish ability that can help you carry this girl?

Elven Abilities, says the voice again. Lightfoot. Summon Beast.

You look up sharply. Wait. Your brain is now telling you that “Lightfoot” is how elves can move over soft terrain without leaving marks or sinking in, by literally making themselves lighter. Could that work, maybe if you cast it on Twyleth instead of yourself? And Summon Beast allows you to summon a beast of a particular species within a mile radius. You could use it to summon a horse…or even better, the unicorn itself! Well, it might not work on unicorns: they’re powerful magical creatures, and immune to most spells. Which should you try?

SUMMON BEAST, OBVIOUSLY! YOU SHOULD HAVE TRIED THAT FROM THE FIRST, DUMMY!

You chew your lip. “Summon Beast” might not work on unicorns, but it couldn’t hurt to try!

“Summon Beast,” you say aloud. “Unicorn.”

Summon Beast used, the voice in your head says.

You sit down to wait. You know from your implanted memories that summoned beasts can still only travel at their regular speed, and if you leave the spot that you summoned them from they leave again as soon as they arrive. Fortunately, unicorns are fast. If it did work, it shouldn’t take long…

In a few minutes, you suddenly hear a thunder of hoofbeats. Your heart leaps as you see the unicorn—or at least a unicorn, you’re not sure if it’s the same one—coming through the trees at a fast trot. “Hey!” you say, waving your arm. Fortunately, it seems your Speak to Beasts ability hasn’t worn off yet. “Over here!”

The unicorn stops. “You again!” it snorts. Ah, so it is the same one. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I need your help!” you say, running over to it. “Someone’s been hurt, she needs to be healed.”

The unicorn rears, snorting in indignation. “See, this is the very thing I was talking about earlier!” it thunders. “Exploitation! You’re just like all the others! I’m not some magic healing object you can just summon whenever you want! I knew I shouldn’t have answered that spell!”

“Please!” you beg, tears filling your eyes. “She’s hurt! She could die at any second!”

“So what?” the unicorn says, flipping its mane. “Other creatures get hurt all the time, yet you don’t see me running around healing every squirrel I see. You elves are too afraid of death; I suppose that comes from being immortal.”

You clench your fists, anger crowding away your grief. “You jerk!” you yell. “You’re really just going to stand there and do nothing while an innocent person dies?”

“Why not?” the unicorn snaps. “Most elves would do the same, if it’s not an elf that’s injured.”

You feel that that might be true, but it doesn’t make you any less angry. “You hypocrite!” you yell, stomping your boot. “You claim elves are arrogant self-centered jerks, but you’re exactly the same! You don’t care about anyone outside your own species!”

“Well someone has to care about them!” the unicorn roars, slamming its forehooves into the ground. “Do you know how many of us have been hunted, slaughtered, just so some noble can have a fancy drinking horn? My people have been persecuted by bloody-handed primates like you for eons! You should be thanking me for not killing you on the spot!”

You grind your teeth. This argument is ridiculous. Twyleth could be breathing her last right this second. You have to get this unicorn to cooperate! But how? Threaten it? You are a warrior, after all, but it's a big, dangerous animal that's almost killed you once. Bribe it? What could a unicorn want that an elf could give?

ASK THE UNICORN WHAT IT WOULD TAKE IN TRADE FOR ITS SERVICES.

“Please,” you say again, swallowing your anger. “Please, heal her for me, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

The unicorn pauses, raising a horsey eyebrow. “Really anything?”

“Anything within my power,” you promise.

The unicorn considers this. “Hmm, having an elf in my debt would be pretty nice…” it mutters. “Okay, fine. But only if—and this is in addition to whatever I ask later—you promise to NEVER summon another unicorn ever again.”

You sigh. “I promise.” As you say it, you feel something shift within you, and hear a voice in your head say Fay Contract. Great. Now whatever this unicorn asks, you’ll have to do, whether you like it or not. But hopefully it’ll be worth it if it can save Twyleth’s life.

The unicorn trots to Twyleth’s side and examines her. It winces. “Eurgh,” it snorts. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Can you help her?” you ask pleadingly. And do I still have to fulfill my side of the bargain if you can’t?

“Let’s find out,” says the unicorn, and lays its horn against Twyleth’s belly. A pale, sparkly light pours out of its horn onto the unconscious elf, and she starts convulsing, her limbs twitching as the light fills her whole body. You watch, holding your breath, as pale mist pours out of her mouth. You want to ask if it’s working, but you’re afraid of distracting the unicorn.

Finally, the light fades, and the unicorn raises its head. “Whew,” it snorts, shaking its mane. “That was a workout.”

“Did it work?” you squeak, unable to hold back the words any longer.

The unicorn glances at you. “Huh? Yeah, she should be okay in a few hours. I purged all the poison from her body—”

“Poison?” you interrupt. “She was poisoned?”

“Yeah,” the unicorn affirms. “The blade that stabbed her must’ve had some kind of toxin on it—a magical one, by the feel. I got rid of all of it and closed up the wound, but her system’ll take some time to recover, like I said, a few hours.” It pauses. “Did…did the goblins do this?”

You sigh heavily. “Yes. And burned my village. She was the only one I could save, she and one other, a man. I used your water to heal him.”

The unicorn lowers its head. “I…I see. I’m sorry.” It clears its throat. “I guess my warning came too late.”

You take a deep breath. You could get angry at this unicorn for not coming to the village and warning them about the goblins, but there doesn’t seem to be a point to that anymore. “Yeah. Thanks anyway.”

The unicorn coughs. “Okay. Um, I need to go now—I was kind of on my way somewhere when you called me—but, um, hey, good luck.”

It starts to trot away.

“Wait,” you say. “What about your payment? What do you want from me?”

The unicorn coughs again. “Um, forget that for now, I don’t want to be a burden. I’ll, um, I’ll come find you when I think of something…after you’ve had some time.” Picking up the pace, it gallops away.

Heart heavy, you turn back to Twyleth. To your relief, you see her belly wound has indeed closed, and that a healthy glow has come back to her cheeks. You check her pulse: it’s steady, and her breathing regular. She’s going to be okay.

You heave a sigh of relief, and once more consider your options. You’re about a mile from where Blackthorn left you; maybe you should start carrying her back. On the other hand, maybe it’s best if you let Twyleth rest for a while, recover her strength; Jerkthorn didn’t seem like hanging out with you was one of his top priorities. Just in case, though, you could try sending him a bird-message (which is apparently how elves communicate over long distances) to let him know where you are. Which do you do?

SEND A BIRD. MAKE HIM COME TO YOU.

Raising a hand, you cast “Summon Bird”. A sparrow comes fluttering down from the trees, and you use Speak to Bird to give it your message before sending it on its way with a bit of bread as payment. Sighing, you watch it go. If only unicorns were as easy to work with as sparrows.

The minutes tick by. Twyleth continues to sleep, her chest rising and falling. You watch her quietly. Your implanted memories tell you that you didn’t really know her well—you are twice her age, after all—but that you had a vague sense of her as a sweet, kind of nerdy girl (after all, only nerds ever chose the shaman track). Her extra-long ear-points make her look a bit like a rabbit; you feel guilty at the comparison, knowing she probably got teased about that as a child. You wonder how much magic she’s learned at this point in her apprenticeship; hopefully enough to help you with your next move, whatever that should be.

Come to think of it, what is your next move? You stare up at the sky. Up until now, your objectives have been pretty clear: get unicorn water (succeeded), don’t get killed by unicorn (succeeded), get back to village before goblin attack (failed), save survivors of the attack (succeeded, but you should’ve just used the water on Twyleth, Blackthorn’s a jerk), save Twyleth (succeeded). But now that she’s out of danger, what do you do? Your village was destroyed by goblins. You suppose taking revenge on the goblins would be nice, but that seemed to be a tall order for three elves, one of which was still comatose. These goblins took out an entire village of elf warriors, after all; what chance did the three of them have?

Wait. You pause. How did the goblins take out your village? You hadn’t really thought about it at the time, so devastated were you by the sight of the destruction, but now that you had a moment, it struck you as pretty strange. After all, the village was (apparently) protected by wards that kept out dark creatures like goblins; to break through those, the goblins must’ve been packing some pretty potent magic of their own. But goblins didn’t normally bring magicians with them on their raids, as much sense as that would make…and why raid a village so far within the borders anyway? This was all (apparently) unprecedented!

You’re still wondering about it when you hear Twyleth groan. Heart leaping, you look to see her sitting up, blinking at the sun shining through the trees. Yes! She’s awake!

“Twyleth!” you say, hurrying to kneel beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” she groans, squinting at you. “Who’re you?”

“Sylan,” you say, reminding yourself that she’s young and probably hasn’t bothered learning the names of the older elves in the village. “Sylan Starpoint, one of the guards. I mind-melded with you earlier?”

She blinks, stopping in the middle of rubbing her eyes. “Oh…oh yeah. I remember that.” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Oh rime! The goblins!” She looks at you quickly. “What happened to the village?”

You swallow. Great, she doesn’t remember that. Are you going to have to break it to her all over again? “Listen, Twyleth,” you say, taking her hand in yours. “This is going to be pretty bad.”

Twyleth’s brow furrows. “How bad? Oh no, who died? Is Master Treestar okay?”

You take a deep breath. “Twyleth…you were one of the only two people I found alive.”

Twyleth stares at you, her face blank. “W-what? A-are…are the others…”

You squeeze her hand. “I don’t know. When I got to the village, it was in flames. The goblins had already left. There were a lot of bodies on the ground. The village collapsed right after I got you out, and last I saw, it was still burning. If there was anyone else alive in there, I don’t think they could’ve made it out.”

Twyleth’s eyes swim with tears. “Oh no,” she mumbles. “Grandma.” Putting her hands over her face, she breaks down weeping.

You sit back, letting her cry. “Now, it may be that there were some others who were away from the village when it was attacked, like me,” you say when her crying subsides. “Once you feel up to it, are there any spells you could cast that could help us locate other survivors?”

She sniffs. “I…I don’t know. Maybe.” She takes a sobbing breath. “H…how did this happen?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” you say grimly. “How did the goblins get through the wards? Did they have a magician with them?”

She blinks. “The wards? No, the wards…the wards were shut off.” Her eyes suddenly widen again. “That’s right! The wards, they were shut off! From the inside!”

You stare. “What? What are you saying?”

She lunges, gripping your arm. “I remember now! I was in the shamany, studying, and then this guy came in, and…” Her hand flies to her stomach. “He stabbed me! He scratched out the runes, and when I tried to stop him, he stabbed me!” She looks down. “Am I still bleeding? How bad is it?”

You peel her fingers off your arm. “Don’t worry about it, you've been healed. You’re saying one of the goblins got in somehow and turned off the wards?”

She shakes her head sharply. “Not a goblin.” You suddenly remember how she said that when you were mind-melding, right before she was stabbed. “Not a goblin, an elf. An elf let them in.”

Your eyes widen. You suddenly have a terrible suspicion. “What elf? Who?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know his name. He’s a warrior, an older guy. Got scars all down his face.” She pauses. “Wears that weird wooden armor.”

Your blood runs cold. Blackthorn. Blackthorn let in the goblins. Blackthorn is in cahoots with the goblins AND YOU JUST SENT A BIRD TO TELL HIM WHERE TO FIND YOU!

Your mind races. Blackthorn had wanted you to leave Twyleth to die. Of course he did, she was a witness! He said he was going to find the goblins; that was probably true, he was probably going to get them and lead them back to take out you and Twyleth. They were probably on their way here right now.

You leap to your feet. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

Twyleth scrambles upright as well. “Why? What’s going on?”

You grab her by the hand, leading her away at a quick pace. “You remember that other guy I told you about? The only other survivor? Pretty sure he’s the guy you just described.” You clench your jaw. “And I healed the traitorous scum!”

Twyleth gasps. “Oh no! He survived? I blasted him with magefire, but then we both fell out the window—”

You shake your head. Just your luck. The guy you decide to spend your precious unicorn water on, and he turns out to be the boss of this level. You should’ve left him to die when you had the chance. “He went on ahead,” you go on, dragging her through the trees. “Said he was going to track the goblins and come back when he has their position” You snort. “More like catch up with his cronies and tell him they missed two elves. They’re probably looking for us right now.”

Twyleth whimpers. “Why? Why did he do it?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter grimly as you reach the top of a hill. You scan the trees below; you can see the smoke from the ruins of Silverwood from here. “But I doubt he wants witnesses to his treachery.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s movement in the forest near the smoke. Without thinking, you invoke Elf Eyes, and the picture zooms into focus. Your Elf Eyes widen. Swarming through the trees is a veritable army of goblins, a couple hundred at least, some on horses, most on foot, their pale ears flapping through the slits in their helmets. You narrow your eyes again; that seems to help with the focus. Sure enough, standing at the front is Blackthorn, making imperious gestures as he apparently sends goblins out to search for you. Your blood boils. Traitor. How you wish you’d let a flaming village fall on him!

He suddenly looks up, and for a moment seems to be staring directly into your eyes. Shoot! He has elf eyes too! You hit the dirt, shoving Twyleth down behind the crest of the hill. “Get down!”

“Ow!” she says as she hits the ground face-first. “My nose!”

You lie still. Every nerve in your body wants you to look up and see if they saw you, but you know if he didn’t spot you the first time, he’d definitely spot you then. Rolling onto all fours, you crawl down the hill, beckoning Twyleth to follow you. “Come on!”

She does, having trouble due to her long robes. You roll your eyes; that outfit is sure going to slow her down. When you reach the bottom of the hill, you pull her upright again.

“The goblins are at the village,” you tell her. “Blackthorn is with them. He might’ve spotted us just now, I’m not sure. We need to get out of here, fast.” A thought occurs to you. “Do you known any spells that could help us escape?”

She swallows. “Um…maybe. But where are we going to go?”

You hadn’t considered that. Hm. The nearest village to Silverwood is Willowbank, down the river a ways. That might be the best place to go for help and reinforcements. On the other hand, an army of goblins that size was more than a raiding party, they had to have something major planned; this might be something to take directly to the capital, Dawnlight, which is a good two days’ journey from here by foot. What should you do?

WILLOWBANK. IF NOTHING ELSE, THEY NEED TO BE WARNED THERE'S AN ARMY OF GOBLINS ON THE LOOSE.

“Willowbank,” you say firmly. “They’ve got light messengers there.” You didn’t know that until you said it, but now that you said it, you know that a “light messenger” is a magical long-distance communication system. “We can warn the other villages and the capital about this goblin invasion—and Blackthorn’s treachery.”

“Right,” says Twyleth, nodding quickly. “That’s…where’s that, again?”

“Down the river.” You glance at her. “Never been out of the village, huh?”

“I’ve…been on hikes,” she says meekly.

You sigh. You’re getting the feeling that Twyleth isn’t the powerful ally you were hoping she’d be. Still, she’s all you’ve got. “All right, magic transportation. What you got?”

“Um,” says Twyla, her eyes darting around. “Let’s see…there’s Winged Steed…if we can get some horses, or something, I can give them wings, and we can fly there…or, wait, you said it’s on the river? There’s a Speed Boat spell…but we’d need a boat…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, no teleportation, no speed-walking?”

She shakes her head. “I…I was going to learn that next week.”

You sigh again. “Great. So you known two transport spells, but we need either a boat or horses for them to work…and I’ve already used Summon Beast today…”

“Oh!” says Twyla eagerly. “I can do Summon Beast! And I know a wood-shaping spell! If we can find a log big enough, I can make a boat out of it!”

You look at her, impressed. Maybe you were too quick to judge. You think quickly. The village had horses, but they must’ve been scattered or stolen when the goblins came…if they’re scattered, then summoning a couple shouldn’t be a problem, but if the nearest horse is with the goblins, then summoning it will immediately lead them to you. On the other hand, it’s quite a long distance to the river, and by the time you got there and Twyla made a boat, the goblins might’ve caught up to you. What should you do?

SUMMON THE HORSES, BUILDING A BOAT WILL TAKE FOREVER. ALSO, I WANT TO RIDE A FLYING HORSE!

You make up your mind. “All right, we’ll do the flying horse thing,” you say. “Call ‘em up. Fast as you can.”

“Okay!” says Twyla, obviously eager to be of use. Closing her eyes, she stretches out her hands. “Summon Beast: Horse!”

You raise an eyebrow. You don’t remember having to do that hand thing when you summoned the unicorn earlier. Must be a shaman thing. Turning away, you settle down to wait, keeping an eye on the hilltop above. First sign of a goblin's ear, you’re running, horse or no horse.

The minutes tick by. You glance at Twyla. She’s sitting on the ground, hugging her knees. Poor kid. The realization that her village had been wiped out by goblins must be finally hitting her. To lose everything she’s ever known in one day, her friends, her family, her home…you’re surprised she’s not crying again, like she was earlier. On top of that, she was betrayed, stabbed, and now on the run from goblins. That’s gotta be hard. At least you have the knowledge that it’s all just a game to comfort you; she doesn’t even have that…

Wait, no. You shake your head. She’s not real. She’s an NPC, a computer program. All of this, her grief, her trauma, even her looks, all that is a simulation made by some nerd in a cubicle somewhere. She doesn’t have feelings, just a preprogrammed storyline she has to follow. You shouldn’t waste any sympathy on her.

You watch as she stares listlessly at her slippered toes. Still…you have to admit, whoever programmed her did a pretty good job. You could almost swear she was a real girl, with unusually long ears and very skinny wrists…

There’s a sudden rumble of hoofbeats. You look up to see two horses cantering out of the woods toward you. You breathe a sigh of relief, and nudge Twyleth with your foot. “Twy, look, our ride’s here.”

She jumps, then looks up. “Oh! Um, good!” She quickly scrambles to her feet, backing away as the horses come trotting up. “N-nice horsies...”

Oh, great, she’s afraid of horses. You take the reins of the first horse; the other one is completely bare, and you rub its nose as it leans in curiously, probably wondering why it suddenly decided to come here today. “Hey there, boys,” you murmur to them reassuringly. “You don’t mind growing wings and flying us somewhere, do you? No, you don’t, you’re good boys.”

“Are you really talking to them?” Twyleth says uncertainly. “Because, if you are, you’re not using Speak to Beasts.”

“I know,” you snap. “I already used that one today too.” Stupid unicorn. “All right, enough talk, let’s get some wings on these bad boys.”

Twyleth blinks. “You just said they were good boys.”

You snap your fingers. “You wanna stand here and argue until the goblins show up, or you wanna make some flying horses? Spread those wings, Neon Pegasus!”

Blushing, she hurries to obey. You watch her interestedly as she makes magic hand-signals in the air, and a shimmering aura appears around the horses, who whicker uncomfortably. Wondering what’ll happen if the horses bolt right in the middle of the spell, you suddenly realize that the one wearing reins is also wearing a saddle. Elves don’t use saddles, your brain says. So either this is a horse that got loose from a human traveling party, or…

You look back up the hill, just in time to see the first goblin head pop over the top. Shoot. It is one of the goblin horses. “Hurry up,” you mutter, drawing an arrow. “Here they come.”

“What?” gasps Twyleth, looking up sharply. “Oh no!”

“Don’t look!” you snap, and fire an arrow directly between the goblin’s eyes. He falls behind the crest without a sound. “Get that spell finished, or we’re goners!”

“Okay!” quavers Twyleth, starting to hyperventilate. She keeps gesturing, and now you see that little chicken-like wings have sprouted from the horses’ withers, and are slowly growing bigger. You turn your attention back to the hill, where another goblin is showing his ugly face. Standing up, he turns to gesture to someone behind him, and you shoot him as well (wow, you’re a great shot). As soon as he falls, though, three more goblins come over the top of the hill, and then three more, and then ten more. Time to go.

“That does it,” you say, turning back to face Twyleth. “Listen, can you keep casting this spell if the horses are moving, and you’re sitting on one of them?”

“What?” says Twyleth, distracted. “Um, I guess in theory…”
“Good enough,” you say, and without further ado you grab her under the arms and lift her onto the nearest horse.

She squeaks as she lands on the saddle, wobbling terribly. “Wait, wait!” she blurts. “I-I’ve never ridden before!”

Of course. “You should’ve thought of that before you suggested escaping on flying horses, ya ditz,” you snap, swinging yourself onto the second horse. “Just hold on tight and follow me. Giddy-up.”

Your horse takes off. The goblin horse, apparently trained to follow the horse in front of it, gives chase, and Twyleth screams as she follows, hanging on for dear life. Behind you, the goblins give a loud cry, and you turn to see them charging down the hill in scads, their pale limbs flashing as they scurry on all fours like enormous spiders. Fast little devils. You check your horse’s wings. They’re about the size of a hawk’s now, and flapping wildly as it gallops.

“How long until these horses are skyworthy?” you call to Twyleth as you ride.

“I…I don’t know!” she squeals, clinging to her horse’s neck with both arms, wincing as its beating wings flap against her body. “I have to finish the spell!”

“Well, get on it, then!” you say, turning around on your horse to fire at the incoming goblins. One, two…wow, you are great at this sharpshooting thing! Every arrow you fire seems to find a target. “We’re about to be up to our pointy ears in goblins soon!”

“M-maybe we don’t have to fly!” Twyleth quavers, still hanging on the horse’s neck. “Maybe we can just outrun them!”

There’s a neigh from behind you, and you look back to see a pack of mounted goblins crest the hill, their steeds charging pell-mell through the infantrymen ahead.

“There’s your answer,” you say as you put an arrow in the leg of the foremost horse, sending it tumbling. “Keep casting!”

Hands shaking, Twyleth releases the horse’s neck, making frantic gestures as you keep riding. You can see the wings of the horses growing out of the corner of your eye, but you concentrate on the goblins: even the ones on foot are pretty fast, and your horses are having trouble maintaining their speed while also growing wings. You take out another scurrying infantryman, then take another shot at the cavalry; the arrow pings off a plate of armor hanging on the horse’s chest. Great. Not every shot can be a winner, you guess.

You look ahead. You’re nearing the top of an embankment. It’d be awesome if your horse could fly before you reached it. “Hurry up!” you yell, shooting another arrow into the incoming pack. To your dismay, you see some of the mounted goblins drawing short bows; they were within range for those now. “We’re about to receive return fire!”

“I’m trying!” Twyleth squeals, bouncing wildly up and down on her saddle as she continues to gesture. “Just give me a minute!”

“We don’t have a minute!” you bellow, nodding to the cliff ahead. “If we’re not looking like the Tristar logo in ten seconds, we’re gonna be looking like the TSG logo, as in shot full of arrows, know what I’m saying?”

“No!” Twyleth howls. “I don’t!”

“JUST GET THESE HORSES IN THE AIR!” you roar. An arrow thunks into your breastplate, gouging your ribs, and you wince. “NOW!”

Twyleth’s hands fly, and you can see the spittle on the teeth of the nearest mounted goblin as he pulls back to send an arrow straight into her back. You fire at him, but the pain of the arrow in your chest spoils your aim, and he lets fly just as the horses reach the top of the embankment and rear, screaming.

The next second is both a miracle of computer graphics and the scariest of your life. The arrow strikes Twyleth’s saddle, startling her horse in mid-rear. It spins around, kicking your horse in the chest, and then both horses and both riders go toppling off the cliff toward the dry riverbed below. You see your horse’s wings spreading wide, and you catch hold of one of them, its feathery muscles swelling under your fingers as you grab Twyleth by the wrist. Then both your horses suddenly level out, and you find yourself slamming down hard on your steed’s spine belly-first, the arrow in your breastplate snapping off on impact. Next to you, you hear an oof from Twyleth as she, too, gets forcibly remounted, and then suddenly you and your horses were zooming skyward, with a hail of goblin arrows falling in your wake.

“Ha ha!” you crow triumphantly, righting yourself on your saddle. “That’s what I’m talking about!” You turn and wave to the irate goblins below. “Later, rock-scrapers!”

“Heeeelp meeeee!” wails Twyleth, who is hanging halfway off her horse, her nails digging into the saddle leather as she starts to slip. “I’m falliiiiiing!”

You grin. Guiding your horse so it’s gliding above hers, you lock your legs around its belly, flip upside down, grab her by the arms and haul her back up onto the saddle. “Put your feet in the stirrups,” you tell her, “take the reins in your hand, use your knees to hold on. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpers, shaking visibly as she clamps her knees down on the horse, her robe flapping about her waist.

You pat her on the shoulder. “Great job, kid. You saved us there.” Flipping back up onto your horse, you punch the air. “And now we’ve got flying horses! Woo!”

“Y-y-y-yes,” says Twyleth through chattering teeth. “N-n-now let’s g-g-g-get out of here!”

“Just one thing first,” you say, and guide your horse in a big circle to hover above the roaring goblins. “Hey goblins! Arrow Multiply!”

You fire an arrow at the shrieking crowd, and watch as that single arrow splits into a hundred more, peppering the army below. Their howls of anguish fill you with joy as you turn to fly away—and stop. You just caught sight of Blackthorn, near the middle of the group, his scarred face impassive as he glares up at you. You glare back, and reach for another arrow—but apparently Arrow Multiply uses up the rest of the arrows in your quiver in one go, so you’re out of ammo.

Cursing, you turn and fly back toward Twyleth, who is still sitting stiffly in her saddle. “Come on, Master Moonstar,” you call to her. “Let’s get to Willowbank.”

She nods shakily, and the two of you soar away, leaving the goblins and their treacherous companion far behind.

Looking down at the forest from above, you once again appreciate how much computer-generated artistry went into the crafting of this world. Those trees look so real! You can even see them stirring in the breeze from your horse’s wings as you fly low over them.

“Man!” you say, guiding your horse into looping-the-loop. “This is awesome! Why doesn’t every elf have a flying horse?”

“Th-the spell is t-t-temporary,” Twyleth stammers, still clinging tightly to the saddle as her horse glides sedately along. “It w-wears off in a d-d-day.”

“Hm,” you say, disappointed. “Oh well, it’s only a few hours ride to Willowbank—probably even faster with these guys. Once we see the river, we can follow it downstream. We’ll be there in no time.”

Twyleth swallows. “Y-you th-think they’ll be able to p-protect us from the g-goblins there?”

You shrug. “Well, we’ll at least have a fighting chance, especially if we can warn them in advance. Also, their wards’ll be working—that’ll sure make a difference.”

“Yeah,” says Twyleth quietly. You glance at her, and see she’s staring down at her pommel, tears brimming in her eyes

“Hey,” you say, guiding your horse as close to her as you can (those big wings sure take up a lot of room). “What’s wrong?”

She mutters something. Your elf ears prick up. “What?"

“I said it’s my fault,” she said louder. “If I’d stopped that Blackthorn guy from shutting down the wards, we’d all be safe right now. Every…everybody would still be alive.” She sobbed. “My grandma, Master Treestar…I could’ve saved them. But I failed, because I’m not a good enough shaman.”

You watch as she cries some more, her tears glittering as they blow away in the wind. You look away. She’s an NPC, you remind yourself. She’s not real. Nobody died today. It’s just a game. You glance at her. Again, great job with the graphics, programmers. You swallow. Maybe comforting her is part of your quest. After all, it won’t be useful to have a mopey mage in your party. Muttering a command to your horse (apparently elven horses are trained to follow voice commands as well as touches and hand signals), you get up, Lightfoot your way across its left wing, and hop onto the saddle behind Twyleth, who yeeps in surprise as you put your arms around her.

“W-what are you doing?” she yelps, struggling in your grip.

“Hugging you,” you say, drawing your arms tight around her. “I admit it’s a little awkward to do it from behind while straddling a flying horse, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.” You sigh. “Listen, it’s okay. You did your best. That’s all we can ask out of any of our soldiers. Or our shaman.”

She sniffles, ceasing her struggling. “B-but…the village…all our friends…if I hadn’t...”

“Don’t think about it,” you tell her, leaning in close to her. “It’s over. It’s done. You couldn’t stop what happened, anymore than I could.”

She sighs. “You…you weren’t even there. You said you were out on patrol.”

“Exactly,” you whisper. “And I can’t help but wonder, if I had been there, would things have gone differently? I’m the best shot in the village.” Oh! That’s good to know. “If I’d been on duty then, maybe I could’ve spotted Blackthorn for the jerk he was and helped you take him out. But I didn’t, I couldn’t, and so I can’t blame myself for it.”

“But I was there!” Twyleth bursts out tearfully. “I was right there. I could’ve stopped him. I tried to stop him.”

“Right,” you say. “You did try. And you failed. It happens.” You sigh. “Look, you were put in a difficult position, one you weren’t prepared for. I think you did admirably under the circumstances.”

“Th-th-thank you,” she stammers quietly.

“This game doesn’t come with an undo button,” you go on. “We can’t change what happened. The only thing we can change is what we do, the decisions we make in the future. So let’s focus on that, huh?”

“All right,” she murmurs. “W-what are we going to do?”

You smile. “For now, I’m just going to enjoy the fact that I’m on a flying horse with a nice girl on a beautiful day. That’s something to be grateful for, right?”

Twyleth makes a quiet noise in response. You can feel her quivering beneath her muffling robe. Is she cold? You hold her closer. “You know,” you mutter, hoping to cheer her up some more, “for someone who claims she isn’t a good shaman, you did pretty good back there. How many shamans have you seen make horses grow wings while in the act of fleeing a goblin army?"

“None,” she admits. “B-but when Blackthorn attacked me—”

“Hey, hey,” you say sternly. “I said don’t think about that. Anyway, from what I saw, that magefire you hit him with was some top-notch work. When I found him, I thought that guy had fallen out of a burning building, he was so crispy.”

“Oh,” says Twyleth quietly. “So…how did he get better?”

You sigh. “That was my fault. That dirty traitor would be dead and buried now if I hadn’t used that stupid unicorn water on him.”

Twyleth stiffens. “Unicorn water? You had unicorn water?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Long story. Suffice to say it involved a lot of neighing and running and discussions about cultural exploitation.”

“O-oh,” says Twyleth slowly. “Wait, is that how you healed me, too? Unicorn water?”

“No, I spent it all on Blackthorn,” you say ruefully. “I had to go back to the same unicorn and make a deal with him to heal you. Now I’m in a Fay Contract with him that he could collect on at any time, so that’s going to be fun to worry about.”

“Oh!” gasped Twyleth. “You made a contract with a unicorn, for me? I’m so sorry!”

“Eh,” you say, patting her on the back. “I don’t think it’ll be too bad, he seems like an okay guy.” You let go of her, stretching. “Well, my Lightfoot’s about to wear off, so I’d better get back on my horse before we overload this guy.”

Getting up, you call your horse back over, run across Twyleth’s horse’s outstretched wing and land back in the saddle (so to speak, you’re riding bareback). “Remember what I said!” you call to her. “Don’t think about it! Focus on the future, not the past!" You look ahead to see the river curving through the trees like a long silver serpent. “There’s the river!” you yell. “Veer right! We’ll come up to it diagonally, save some time!”

“Okay!” she calls back, and gingerly tugs on her horse’s reins. It turns, but once more you get the feeling it’s just because it’s trained to follow the horse in front of it, i.e. yours. You check on yours; it’s leaning into the wind, its legs curled beneath it like a bird’s. Leaning out, you could almost swear it had a horsey smile on its face.

“You know,” you call to Twyleth, “these horses are surprisingly chill with suddenly being a thousand feet in the air.”

“It’s part of the spell,” Twyleth calls back. “It gives them some of the instincts of the birds the wings are taken from. Otherwise they’d never even know how to use them.”

You nod approvingly. “Smart.” You glance at the horse’s chest, which bulges with muscle that wasn’t there earlier. Heh, the programmers even thought of that. Nerds. “How do they steer? They don’t have tailfeathers.”

“Um…” Twyleth’s brow wrinkles. “I actually don’t know.”

“Hm,” you say sadly. “Too bad I already used Speak to Beasts today. I could ask the horses about it.”

“Don’t,” Twyla says quickly. “It doesn’t pay to make them think too much about it, they start overthinking everything and stop listening to their instincts.”

You laugh. “Ha! A Centipede’s Dilemma kind of thing? I get that.”

“Y-you say a lot of things I don’t understand,” Twelfth says hesitantly. “Are you originally from somewhere else?”

You chuckle. “No, I’m from Silverwood, born and bred.” You sigh as you think of your childhood home turned to ashes—stop, no, it’s just a game. “I just traveled a lot when I was younger, a wandering hero kind of deal. I visited the mortal lands, the Dark Elves, the Harpy Peaks…Picked up a few things here and there, I guess.”

“Wow,” says Twyla in admiration. “I wish I could do that.”

“Well, nothing says you can’t,” you point out. “I was about your age when I first left home to hitchhike across Tyronia.” You hesitate. “Besides, you…we’re going to have to find a new place to live anyway, you and I.”

“Yes,” Twyleth says, subdued. She swallows. “It…it still doesn’t seem real to me, everything being gone. I saw the wreckage from that hilltop, but I still can’t believe it.”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s the shock talking. It’s helpful, in a way; protects us from the worst realizations in life.” You look ahead. “Maybe we can settle down in Willowbank, at least until this whole goblin thing is sorted out. You can find a new shaman to apprentice yourself to, I can find a job that lets me put as many arrows in as many things as I please…”

“What’s Willowbank like?” Twyleth asks, brushing her hair out of her face; every time she turns her head, the wind blows her long dark hair across her eyes, making it so she has to keep looking straight ahead while she talks to you. “Is it like Silverwood?”

You search your fake memories. “It’s different, though about the same size. The Willowbankers all live in one huge tree that they keep Wood-Shaping bigger whenever they have a population boom. It’s a major port for river traffic, so you get all kinds of people there—Wood Elves, Dark Elves, Light Elves, even non-elves. One time I met an ogre there, if you can believe that, huge guy, muscles like a—oh hey, I think I see it up ahead.”

You squint at the dark object projecting up from the bend of the river. Yep, your fake memories tell you that should be Willowbank—though it looks a little different than you remember. “Pretty soon we’ll be back in civilization,” you tell Twyleth reassuringly. “We can tell the local authorities about the goblins, and then there’ll be nothing to worry abou…”

You trail off as you suddenly realize there’s a column of smoke rising from Willowbank, not to mention a distinctly blackened look to the giant tree. At the same time, you hear Twyleth gasp. “Oh no…”

You swallow, even as you send your horse into overdrive. The closer you get to Willowbank, the more certain you are: the place is destroyed, burned to a crisp, just like Silverwood.