The Behir and the Hobgoblin

Massive rows of teeth pulled meat from rib off the dead hieracosphinx as the massive blue and purple scaled maw wretched back to let it fall down the monster's throat. Eating and hunting were one of the last things that really brought the behir any pleasure in these forsaken wastes. All business here was a distraction from the goal she had long since been made to accomplish, and her patience grew thinner by the day.

"Varanthian." A beautiful voice called out from behind her. Speak of the devil, she thought, as she turned annoyed to face the hobgoblin. She heard the whispers in the ranks of Wrymlord Stormcaller, a mix between lustful vulgarities and scornful accusations of race mixing: a crime among hobgoblins, who were so proud of their wretched bloodline. To the behir they all looked the same, including her.

"Ah, young Wrymlord, to what do I owe the pleasure today?" She snarled, the tone not matching the language.

"I will be brief, as I know anything from my lips is a burden upon your patience. If what is being prepared in the north lands is successful, we should be finished here in a week. I wanted to inform you, as I thought a boost to your mood would be best for all of us."

"And if it does not?"

"What?" Ulwai Stormcaller was a master manipulator and liar, but her true colors matched the angry disposition of the behir to the letter. Luckily, Varanthian knew the best ways under her skin from so much forced time together. "It will work, Varanthian. Need I remind you this was a plan of your beloved master?"

"I trust my master. I do not trust humans. If it were to fail, what would be the outcome? How much longer would this all take, or would our time wasted in these forsaken wastes have been for nothing?"

Ulwai swallowed hard, and in an instant after spoke in a voice softer than silk as if she had never been upset a day in her life. "Varanthian, darling, if the plans there fail the work here will be slowed, but not stopped. Enough work has been done that we may yet see our plans come to fruition: a delay of maybe a month or a dozen, at the most."

Varanthian let out a snarl without thinking, upset by the notion of spending a dozen more minutes here let alone a year. "Leave me, Stormcaller. I will do your bidding, as I have been ordered. Let us pray the tree grows bountiful, and quickly, that we may finally see the glorious day we've both longed for, and not another second of this place."

As she heard the hobgoblins foot steps fade down the chambers past her own, she sighed. When the day finally came, would the glory of her God truly be as bright as she had always dreamed? Even this experience of being trapped and serving such lowly creatures yet soon be all worth it. That was the drive to continue. Faith was all she needed.