A Gamer's Guide 442 (Patreon)

Before they left, Buccina had spent a minimum of one hour every day together with Gecko, training his conversational skills for how to act as a leader. He knew how to refer to himself, how to be graceful, how to present himself with care to his image, how to walk…

At no point did her training teach her how to speak with someone like Goss. 

Goss. Goss Fletchling. The hero of one of Kitty’s most engaging tales, wherein Goss attempted to flee his woes into the mindlessness of featherless four-wingedness, only to find himself thrust into the warm embrace of formerhood. That Goss now walked at his side, easily a foot taller than him, whistling an implacable melody and smiling. 

How in the world was Buccina meant to interact with him? What should he call him? What title did Goss have, officially? Apprentice wasn’t untrue, but not a title, either. And even with no title, he couldn’t possibly call him Goss. Certainly, Buccina far outranked him, but that did not grant him the leeway to use such a familiar name for him. Only in his heart could he call him that. 

Goss whistled. Their footsteps echoed through the stone tunnel. 

…But he had to say something! It had been minutes now of nothing but silence, Buccina unable to rattle his brain enough to find words. They were both about the same age. Peers. Two peers were permitted to speak informally with one another. That was ordinary. Even more so when they possessed a mutual friend. Even if that mutual friend was a recently ascended god. 

Buccina wiped the sweat from his forehead, snagging the hem of his robe on his frontal horn. Muttering (not cursing, he didn’t want to burn his lovely robe, not at this time of year), he unsnagged it, tucking his hands into his sleeves. It was marginally warmer that way, and if he did that, Goss might not see how sweaty his hands were. 

A thought struck him. Did Goss know of their mutual friendship? Of course, he knew Kitty had ascended, but… That didn’t mean he knew anything else. To him, Buccina might as well have been a perfect stranger. 

In which case, Buccina speaking informally to him would be an insult. Or, rather, it would lower the position of the pope of hope in his mind, causing the faith itself to seem more rudimentary than it really was. 

Silently, Buccina brought the sleeve of his robe to his face and began gnawing on it. 

“How come Kitty didn’t show up himself?” 

Buccina spat out his sleeve. “Huh? Uh, oh, um…” Formal? Informal? What was right? What would it be? “He, um… He’s not doing so great.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Goss said, and then he continued whistling. Buccina felt like pulling his horns out. Before he could decide whether to do it or not, Goss paused his whistling to ask, a bit off-handidly, “Was it hard getting here? It’s been kind of chilly recently, so…”

“No, not at all,” Buccina said. “We passed through some snow yesterday, but nothing too terrible.”

“Alright,” Goss said. And then on with the infernal whistling. 

Agonies upon agonies. The tunnel went on endlessly ahead of them and endlessly behind them. There was no escape. No reprieve. Nothing but him and his fellow-sufferer. Buccina decided, then, that if he messed up the reputation of all popes of hopes to come, if he destroyed the impression of the entire faith, then that would be an acceptable price to pay for the ending of this horrifically awkward silence. “Kitty told me everything about you.”

Goss paused in his step. “He did?”

“Yeah. Even how you gnawed your wing off in despair upon realizing your ascent had failed.”

Goss blinked at him. His eyes were so big. Bigger than those of ordinary goblins. “So, you know everything about me, and I know nothing about you, except that you’re also his friend?”

“Yes.”

“How unfair!” Goss barked, the word echoing through the tunnels ceaselessly. “Why, that Kitty! To think he’s still a meanie… After everything we had! Our special bond! And now, he’s chosen another? Woe! Woe is me, Goss Fletchling!” Falling to his knees, Goss spread his one wing dramatically, shaking his fist at the heavens and every god that resided there. Then, with that done, he turned to Buccina, smirking lightly. “Something like that?”

“What do you mean, something like that?”

Clambering back to his feet, Goss dusted off the front of his robe. “That’s how I was supposed to react, right? Be all sad?”

“No? What? What are you even—”

“Not that? Okay, okay, how about…” He drew a deep, deep breath, and then, with all the strength in his lungs, he roared, deafeningly, loud enough for the whole mountain to hear, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

Buccina blanched, and made the split-second decision that if he had to choose between pressing his hands to his ears and crawling into a ball or shutting up the thunderous roar of the goblin next to him, then he would choose the latter. “I bless thee with silence!” he decreed, pressing his thumb against Goss’ forehead, leaving a white thumbprint behind. 

That shut him up. Though his mouth remained open, no noise came from it. Goss’ eyes glimmered. He closed his mouth, opened it again, close, open, close, open.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot permit such extreme loudness. Being a bergfolk, I have sensitive ears. The blessing will wear off in a minute or so, but until then, I ask that you…” Buccina trailed off. In front of him, Goss had now entered some sort of routine, clapping both his hands and feet at once, while clearly making noises with his mouth—of course, none of these producing any sound whatsoever. Normally, such a bereavement of speech would bother most people. Staring at his peer doing cartwheels and flapping his wing, Buccina was beginning to doubt whether Goss was a person at all. Perhaps there were more categories in the world. 

Unhappily for Buccina, all good things must come to an end, and after doing a surprisingly intricate jester routine for all of two minutes, Goss accidentally cartwheeled right into a stone wall, emitting a loud “Oof!” as he did. And thus, the blessing was broken. “Oh, hey, I can talk again!”

Buccina stared at Goss, unsure whether to clap or bless him with silence again. In the end, forgetting to consider his words before speaking, he simply said, as he thought them, “...You remind me of Kitty.”

“I do? Really? You really think so?” Goss said, leaping to his feet. “Which part? My height, right? I’m really coming along, aren’t I? Soon I’ll be even taller than him, I’m sure!”

“You’re goofier than him,” Buccina said. “More boisterous.”

“And you’re way more serious than him,” Goss said, ambling up to Buccina, until they were mere feet apart. Goss grinned down at him. “Also shorter. Shortie!”

“I’m still growing! A few more years and I’ll have shot way up, even more than you.”

“Oh, you think so? I doubt it. Maybe only your horns will grow? They look cool, by the way! How’d you get them?”

“Becoming pope of hope has its perks. But it’s not the first time I’ve had horns.”

“It isn’t? Were you a dragon? Are you a former too? Ripping off both wings is totally redundant of my epic ascent.”

Buccina frowned at the twisted purple memories knotted up in his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“Did Kitty save you, too?” 

Buccina paused. The scent of moist stone filled his lungs with every breath he took. But there was something else, too. Something soft and warm and good, like freshly baked bread. Goss’ wing rustled. Buccina looked up at Goss’ face. He was a year older than him, a head taller, with a ridiculously open smile on his face that didn’t even hint at any other possible emotions. There was nothing else. 

“...Yeah,” Buccina said, after a while. “Yeah, he did. Twice, actually.”

“Whoa, twice! Dang, you’ve got me beat. It’s gotta suck for you to be stuck here doing all this tedious stuff when Kitty’s doing badly.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Buccina said. “He’s the one who sent us here. Besides, we are physically incapable of helping him. Even if we’d stayed, there wouldn’t have been anything for us to do.”

“Oh, really? What a relief! If I’d been there, I would’ve been heartbroken, but it seems like you’re keeping yourself together. You’re strong, huh? Being pope must be a piece of cake!”

“I wish I could agree. It’s not like I regret it or anything, but as the days go by, I realize more and more the ways in which I’m not suited for being pope… I can’t even figure out who’s worthy to be a cardinal. Had I been a coward, I could easily have accepted those that Berna recommended, but they just… They were fitting, certainly, but they were missing something. Some crucial piece in it all.”

“Hope?” Goss said. Buccina couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but…

“...Honestly, yeah, I think so. For me, hope is the only reason I’m here. If Kitty hadn’t had hope in me… If I hadn’t had the courage to hope, too… I’d be dead. Or worse. But the people she recommends to me… They’re ordinary. They’ve had their hardships, of course, but not the kind that fosters true, immaculate hope.” Which, now that he said it out loud, sounded absolutely absurd. Especially coming from someone as young as he was. Goss must have thought he was patently absurd. 

Face burning with shame, Buccina turned to find Goss watching him with an expression of rapt interest. “That makes sense. I understand completely. An ordinary goblin cannot become a priest of the Goddess of Dragons—they haven’t experienced the feeling of flight, nor the weightlessness of fall. They wouldn’t get it. You seek the same for your church. It won’t be easy to find; most who reach our pits fail to make it out alive. But, those that do…” His eyes gleamed. “They will be worthy.” Then, he nodded to himself, and before Buccina could untangle his heart and find a response, Goss had turned away from him, face lighting up in joy as he said, airily, “Oh, here we are!”