Rolling with Evil

The chirping of the southern-aldrin cricket echoed over the somber morale of the caravan. Everyone is afraid to speak. Everyone is tense as their flanks feel open. Nobody felt safe. Not purely on the goblin's assault, but the true monster that is within their own ranks. The caravan is now short of two carriages. The horses were killed in the midst of combat and people now march along with their belongings hoisted over the tired shoulders and backs. Levi walks alongside the tall woman. His own posture is slouched as he tightly grips his sling bag and stares down at his feet. He ponders in his own thoughts as he thinks back to what happened.

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**FLASHBACK**

"Oi, there's a demon within our ranks!?" The red-haired elf asks the question everyone has had on their mind. The mumbling increases in volume into inquiries, and then into insults and complaints.

"What is it doing here?"

"Did anybody know about this?"

"Who the fuck let him in!"

The yelling intensifies and blurs into one giant blend of words and slurs. He ignores it all and stands there, putting the hood of his cloak over his head. The threats get worse and worse and the situation becomes dire. Levi looks to and fro as the many rioters begin to pull out their weapons. They start to gain ground on him in anger.

"You monsters burnt down my home!"

"Get the hell outta here!"

"We'll put you down where you stand!"

Someone's got to stop them before somebody gets hurt! A glow of magic forms within Levi's palm when BANG! The sound of a gunshot rings in everyone's ears. Levi's magic tinges away as he squeezes his ears with his hands. Smoke from the lit gunpowder blows off a barrel that is raised towards the sky. It is lowered back down as the wall of fire extinguishes in the background. The man wielding the gun pulls his glasses down from his middle-parted short hair and onto his nose. He leisurely walks in the direction of the demon. The man wears a white button-up shirt with a decorated vest tightly hugging his torso. He looks well-dressed, but ill-mannered at the same time. A formal casual of sorts. He places his gun in his holster and lights the cigarette in his mouth with a match. He wafts the match out and tosses it onto the ground where he now stands, shielding the demon from everyone else.

He sighs before saying anything, "I'll take responsibility in answering any questions about the circumstance, but to start off… Yes, there is a demon among this platoon." The quietness is immediately filled with whispers and gossip.

"With all due respect, lieutenant, how can you expect us to trust a creature that has slaughtered our people for the last 4 years?" A random lass asks from the deep end of the crowd.

"Yeah! Aren't we meant to kill them?" The whispering intensifies with concern.

"In all my years of service against the demons, I have learned many things. How to kill one, how to not be tricked by one, how to escape one, but most importantly, how to understand one. And you all will learn one day that not all demons deserve the fate we deliver just as we, ourselves, do not deserve the injustices that they deliver." The recruits and soldiers of the caravan are quiet. They survey one another, unsure what to think of all of this. "He had the chance to burn us all to smithereens, and instead he used his powers to draw the goblins back."

He puffs the rest of his cig out and holds it between his two fingers. "If that doesn't deserve respect, then you can go join those goblins in the woods because you're not welcome in my crew." He flicks the bud to the ground and stomps onto it like a bug.

People gossip among themselves in their distaste of the situation. A lot of them continue to give death glares to the demon, some of them evert their eyes like he is someone undeserving of recognition entirely. An officer approaches the man in glasses. "Francisco, we've lost two carriages in the attack. We must make haste now if we want to reach the checkpoint before it gets too dark."

"Alright, let's get to it then," Francisco lifts his pants from his waist and whistles to address the crowd. "You heard the man, gather your belongings, so we can get back on the road." He turns and heads back towards the front of the caravan. People continue to grumble, but some start to look for their stuff.

The purple-skinned elf walks by the red-haired one as they all grab their bags. "Looks like we have more issues than your dumb ass." She continues to walk by as he smirks a pissed off smile and flips her the bird.

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Surprisingly enough, a handful of people did stay behind. They were no longer willing to follow in the footsteps of Francisco d'Pentovisch. They claimed that it was the lack of trust from not telling them about the demon from the start, but in reality, it is the cruelties of discrimination drawn from this war. It was to the point where they would rather die in the forest than overcome their own personal hatred. Levi peers from under his hair at the demon marching in front of him. He is garbed up to the brim in cloak and rags again. He hides his tail and horns under the layers of cloth around that he was wrapped in. Despite it all, he seemed unbothered by all that had happened. At least, his body language does not say anything different.

Mardo has been staring at him this entire time. She isn't angry at the being before her like the others are, she is actually slightly afraid. But in all fairness, the anger from everyone around her stems from some source of fear from the demonic creatures that invade the world. She has never been this close to a demon before, and seeing the raw power that had occurred back there made her frightened even more of the true strength they may hold. Lost in her thoughts, she stumbles a little over the protruding rocks that lie in the gravel road, but is caught by her collar from the purple-skinned elven woman who had been walking alongside her.

"Phew, thank you," Mardo blesses.

"Don't mention it." As she has this short interaction with Mardo, her eyes do not leave the back of the demon. Mardo grows nervous. She doesn't want anymore conflicts to occur until they at least reach the Keep where it is safe. To overcome this, she forces conversation upon the elf.

"You did some great shooting back there!"

Flustered from the sudden compliment, the elf looks down at Mardo with a surprised face, "Oh, um, thanks." Not sure how to continue the small talk, the elf says, "uh, you had some nice spell slinging powers too."

"Did you think so!" Mardo excitedly exclaims.

"Yeah, and your defensive spells too."

Mardo smiles happily, and then suddenly introduces herself, "my name is Mardo! What's yours?"

Hesitantly wanting to say her name, she gives in to her exuberayting aura, "Faralai."

Faralai sounds elvish to Mardo, so she asks her her place of origin. "Are you from the Qofra Forests?"

"Why, because I'm an elf?"

Smacked with an immense sense of hypocrisy, Mardo's face blushes and she begins stress explaining as Faralai simply smirks from her own amusement.

The sun dipped under the horizon, and the hour to step up camp drew near. The caravan was an hour behind schedule, but considering the dangers that came with the night in goblin territory, they had no choice but to settle in a nestled corner of the forest a bit off the road. Fortified with makeshift barricades of dead wood logs and crates from the wagons, the platoon set up their camps. The perspective of how far and wide the Warden recruitment's reach was was abundantly clear. The recruits varied in their belongings. Some had fancy fur tents and leather covers to keep it safe from the rain, and others had simple sleeping bags and rags to keep them warm at night.

Francisco gazes at the page in front of him as he holds his journal in one hand and a quill in the other. He crosses off several names with a crooked scribble.

"Seven people left after that sudden reveal," he sighs. He slams his book shut and tosses it to the side. "At least we had no casualties during the ambush."

A crate is dropped onto a pile of other equipment beside him. The tall woman plants her palms on the top of it as she speaks, "they're not worthy to call themselves wardens." She keeps on working and lifting as Francisco observes her. Her stature reaches about eight feet high and her toned physique is layered in battle-hardened skin and scars. Her braided hair tied into a knot so tightly like it is at the brim of ripping off her scalp, and the septum nose piercing compliments her facial features. But the thing that is most present to her person is her mechanical arm that dangles off her right shoulder. It is metallic and hard, but it definitely has seen better days. It could use a good cleaning. Francisco remembers when it used to squeak, but it squeaks no longer.

"What do you think, Azimuth?" He asks her.

"Of what?"

"Him." They both look over to the demon who sits at the wheel of one of the wagons by his lonesome self.

"I've killed many like him, what's another?"

Francisco is visibly bothered by that remark. He reconfigures the topic, "no, no, I mean like what you said about the abandoners. Do you think he could be seven-warden-recruits worthy?" Azimuth stops what she's doing for a moment of thought. While she ponders, Francisco gazes off towards the rest of the recruits. He sees one of them take a spoonful of pasty-looking beans and flings it at another. Others laugh, but the target leaps up from his criss-crossed position and tackles the attacker. An officer whistles as he rushes over and all the other recruits continue to holler in laughter.

"Perhaps warden worthy had a much stronger change in meaning than I remember..."

"He can hold his own, but he is the enemy."

"Not the enemy per se, his goals align with ours and that's why he is with us today."

She ponders this for a bit, but affirms, "another hand in the fight can certainly help."

"Exactly!" He sits up, "he just needs a moment to prove his worth."

"That's fine, but it is hard to trust anybody these days to give them enough time to prove their worth; especially, a demon who can control magic like he can." She continues her work, allowing Francisco a second to think before he responds. Unlike the people of the overworld, demons have the capability of casting magic innately, meaning they do not need materials, wands, or spell books. It just came naturally to them.

"I mean," he pauses, "you trusted me?"

She ceases once again, and without turning to face Francisco, she says, "yeah, but… thats different..." She hoists a crate over her shoulder, and under her breath, she speaks, "Haggle trusted you." She leaves Francisco, where now he is lost in thought... has he made the right judgement call?