She meets resistance when the very similar matching sock pulls backward as well.

The resistance is from the thing trying to pull it forward, but she's bigger. It sprawls on its back.

"You son of a-" No that'd probably be a lie she won't say that. She's still near her bag so she grabs it and runs towards the goblin, aiming to swing it at its head.

It rolls and gets clipped in the shoulder, but that's enough that the others think twice before closing in.

And you know what else she has? Fucking pepper spray is what she has. In a side pocket, because it's not useful if it's hard to reach, so one hand has pepper spray and is spraying the goddamned goblin and the other is holding the bag and getting ready for another swing.

It goes down, it stays down, and the others scatter while it covers its face and writhes. Not much for team spirit, these goblins.

And she's on top of it (ew ew ew oh my god this is so disgusting what the hell is that oh my god is that its—don't think about it you're in control of this situation), pinning its arms with her knees and relieving it of its serrated rusted weapon then pressing it against the goblin's throat, the threat pretty obvious.

It goes still. No more assault from this one in any sense except the olfactory.

"Swear fealty to me," she says between teeth.

The goblin doesn't say anything. Just lies there and radiates stench.

"Swear fealty to me or I will slit your throat."

"One hour!" it squawks. "I'll do what you say, one hour."

"Good enough, for now. Make an honest effort, free of mental contortions, to help me recover my clothes, including informing me of anything you honestly believe, again without mental contortions, I would desire to know about this situation."

It breaks out in a (too narrow) grin. "You're still planning to wear those?

There's no plans to tell you about, we were just here for some fun. But bet you'd want to know Fartlick is right behind you."

"I know that, I can see it, and if it wants to keep its balls attached to its body it had better stop moving."

Because she is, very much, still holding a serrated rusty blade in one hand and a pepper spray in the other. If she notices the slightest movement after this pronouncement, she is pretty intent on making it very, very sorry.

Fartlick runs. A sprint until it can get a tree between it and Sadde, then down to a jog. It can repeat as paranoia dictates. Sadde is scary.

Oh, yes. Sadde is very scary. "Help me catch them," she commands, twisting around and darting after Fartlick. Running is her thing, she's not going to let this disgusting little creep outrun her.

The disgusting little creep is quick, but doesn't have a great average speed. It'll only take a couple iterations before she catches up.

Her other target chases goblins in a different direction, any different direction, before more orders pile up.

"Do your honest best to help me catch the others!" she calls as she's closing in on Fartlick and she has reached it (she's somewhat less winded than she ought to be, that's interesting) and she tackles it and presses the knife against its throat.

Goblin #1 decides to interpret the others as the other ones that have the clothes. That sounds marginally less impossible to succeed. Goblin #2 chooses to be more proactive in the crucial field of begging than his predecessor was. "Don't kill me!"

"Do your honest best at obeying me for the next hour."

"And in exchange you won't hurt me?"

"And in exchange I won't hurt you."

"Fine. Bitch. Now move the knife."

She moves the knife. "Order one, stop cussing at me. Order two, give me whatever piece of clothing you stole. Order three!" This last one she shouts—she can see the spirits move in response to the shout, that's weird, she couldn't see that before the implement ritual. "Any goblins that currently have to obey me should bring any captured comrades to the spot where my backpack is! Order four! If in forty minutes we have not recovered all of my clothes, regroup there! Order five," back to normal volume, "you will help me catch your colleagues with my clothes."

The flock of goblins could just mob the traitors; they have the numbers. But they know they're not in control anymore so they start scattering. It doesn't help that most don't know there are only two converted.

"You want me catching the others with the clothes, or getting what's left of your clothes back? Different questions." Is he being helpful? No.