The road passing through this stretch of forest is much like any other. Packed dirt, tall trees stretching away on either side. The occasional sound of birds, or some animal rooting around in the underbrush off the road. The sun is shining, there’s just enough of a breeze through the trees to keep the heat down…all in all, a good day to be traveling. And then the peace is shattered. Up ahead of you, from just around a bend in the road, comes the sudden sound of battle. High-pitched war cries in a guttural language that can only mean a Goblin ambush–followed by the snap and sizzle of fire magic being cast. Sounds like those goblins have jumped a magic user, and that’s definitely not good. Goblins are known for overwhelming mages with sheer numbers, wearing down their mana reserves and going in for the kill. As you get closer, though, the sounds…change. The telltale sounds of spells being cast stop, but instead of being followed by the screams of a helpless caster being torn apart before you can get there and help, you hear a meaty thump–and what sounds like the dying scream of a Goblin. And then another. And another. Gods above, it sounds like someone tenderizing meat, except the meat is screaming for mercy in Goblinese. The scene that greets you as you come around the bend is, well…in some ways, it’s exactly what it sounded like. Dead goblins are strewn all over the road, some of them clearly killed by elemental magic. But the rest…the majority of them have clearly been beaten to death. And from the looks of the woman standing in the middle of the road, it was an entirely one-sided fight. She’s dressed, in some ways, like a traveling witch. Long coat, pointy hat, sensible boots. But any comparison to other magic users stops there. The black leotard visible beneath her open coat is skin-tight against a body that looks like it was carved from fucking marble by a very horny sculptor with a thing for muscle mommies. And her eyes…well, you can only see one of them peeking out from her bone-white hair, but it’s blood red. Oh, and she’s looking right at you. “...Hello,” says the mystery woman, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat. You get a glimpse of blood-caked knuckles as she does it. “Were you coming to help?” Her voice is utterly deadpan as she stares at you. “...Thank you,” she adds. “I’m okay, though.”
