Goblin Days (Pt. 3) – Vengeance and Talking

Rags woke up to someone poking her in the face.

Goblins didn’t do locked doors. They were a communal society. And besides, some Goblins took any lock as a personal challenge to hone their skills.

“Chieftain. Chieftain. He back.”

It was Gothica. Most Goblins were scared of annoying Chieftain Rags, who was notoriously grumpy at times. They also lacked context for inn-type events or non-Goblin culture.

Gothica, as an expert on such things, was a natural intermediary. Plus, she liked being annoying.

“What.”

Rags threw a pillow at the [Goth], and it bounced off Gothica’s shade-shield. The Chieftain rolled out of her bed, then realized who ‘he’ was.

Him again. She just wanted sleep. She had to fly out today, and now he was back? Rags groaned.

“Get the Wyvernkiller.”

 

——

 

The Wyvernkiller was the gigantic ballista made out of Wyvern bones that an entire team of Hobs had to reload. Much had been said about Bird and her lovely ballista. She liked to brag about it these days.

Goblins laughed at Bird’s ballista. Wyvernkiller was twice the size, and Hobs had to hand-crank it and physically pull to move the string made of Wyvern sinew back. It was less technologically advanced than the Minotaurs’ engineering, but it could do exactly what it was named for and kill a lesser Wyvern with a single shot. Each bolt was made of Wyvern bones, and the sight of the massive weapon slowly rotating made even the Frost Wyverns duck.

The Flooded Waters Tribe’s secret weapon was mounted inside Goblinhome’s walls, which you’d think was a bad idea until you realized how many monsters could easily disable said ballista if it were on the battlements.

Rather, the Wyvernkiller was behind the first layer of traps, and sliding panels allowed Goblins on walkways to open small firing holes. Goblins were shouting numbers at each other for the quadrants that needed to be open, and Rags stomped past the Goblins on smaller Thunderbows, all aiming at the main gates.

It said something that most of the Goblins were yawning rather than looking tense. It was him.

It wasn’t the tenth time or even the thirtieth. Rags herself just peered out the gap exposing the too-early morning light and saw him.

The Wyvern Lord.

He was doing his thing. Ramming his head against a few of the hidden passageways where Goblins were firing crossbows at him, breathing frost at the front of Goblinhome, kicking at a few Carn Wolves circling him with their Redfang riders…

Alone, incidentally. His weyr wasn’t with him. A few Frost Wyverns were watching him from far outside the Goblins’ range, having learned long ago how dangerous the Goblins were. It reminded Rags of a few Goblins watching their buddy after he’d had so much to drink he was throwing up and trying to challenge the biggest Hob to a fight. She swore the Wyverns even had much the same resigned expressions on their faces.

“Hey. Hey, you. Get lost.”

Rags shouted as Taganchiel cast a spell to magnify her voice—and gave her a cup of coffee. The Wyvern Lord reacted to her voice and spat a shard of ice at the fortress. Goblins took cover, but his heart really wasn’t in it.

The first time he’d fought the Goblins, he’d nearly taken the fortress, and the Wyvernkiller had hit him twice before he’d left. The thirty…seventh time? He dodged out of the way of the Wyvernkiller’s first shot with a halfhearted roar.

“Get lost. We’re busy.”

The Wyvern Lord began stomping on one of the tunnels as Rags rubbed her face. Then he decided the smart thing to do was to poop on the tunnel he’d collapsed. He half-turned his head, and Rags held up a hand before the Wyvernkiller could fire again.

“Don’t. He just wants attention.”

An Ogre holding a club at the front gates was sighing, arms weary as he held the club up, ready to hit whatever came through. The only person not totally checked out was, in fact, the [Witch] Prixall.

Anazurhe’s daughter and the lead magic-user of Goblinhome had not dealt with the Wyvern Lord as much as the others. She was grasping her staff nervously, looking from Rags to Taganchiel, who was stirring some sugar into his coffee.

“That’s a Wyvern Lord. He could kill us all!”

“Yeah. But he’s done this before. And he’s smart. Go. Away. We don’t feel like fighting today. I have to fly north in an hour.”

The Wyvern Lord blasted the front of Goblinhome with more frost breath, then roared. Rags exchanged a look with Snapjaw. The Chieftain had redder eyes than normal; she’d been drinking a lot at the wedding.

“That bastard. I eat him this time.”

“Don’t bother, Snapjaw. Okay. I’m going to get mean. Get ready in case he charges.”

Everyone nodded. Prixall gave Rags a triply confused look—she’d passed regular confused long ago—and Rags cupped her hands to her mouth.

“No one here cares if the Lightning Dragon hates you. Or did more Wyverns leave your weyr? Killing us won’t bring them back. Shit somewhere else or we’ll get the Brass Dragon.”

A chorus of shouts and cheers rose around her. Goblins small and large began hurling trash out the gaps in the fortress wall. The Wyvern Lord jerked. His eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth. Subzero vapors rose ominously as he charged up his breath attack.

“The Brass Dragon’s nicer looking than you are! And he’s super old! You don’t even have a chance! You don’t even have forelegs!”

The Wyvern Lord jerked. His head came up, and he staggered back like he’d been punched by one of the giant Rock Elementals. He fell onto his back and lay there, legs pawing at the sky.

Rags took a sip of her coffee. A pair of Wyverns flew down and tried to get their boss on his feet. He was staring at the sky. After a moment, Rags continued.

“You done?”

 

——

 

Respect was a weird thing. Sometimes, you got it for being strong or doing incredible things. For the Ogres and new Goblins from Anazurhe’s Molten Stone tribe—respect for Rags was from all the amenities of civilization she provided them. The fact that Goblins like Rabbiteater inspired them and that he had sprung from her tribe.

It was also because Rags could send a Wyvern Lord stumbling off with a few choice sentences, but Rags didn’t really think this counted.

The Wyvern Lord was too smart. He wasn’t a cunning monster; he was a person. And people…Rags could hurt people’s feelings. Or psyche them out.

The truth was that if the Wyvern Lord had ever wanted Goblinhome gone, he could probably have levelled it. Maybe not now with all their fancy protections and new defenses, but certainly when they had first clashed. But that battle had unnerved the Wyvern Lord; he wasn’t willing to go the distance.

Having [Aura of the Emissary] also helped. Rags suspected she tended to bridge the gap between species a bit more smoothly. For instance, Ogres were notoriously bad about respecting anyone shorter than they were.

Even the odd ones who’d joined her tribe sometimes had friction with the others. But Somo of the Tormek Al clan was a very good lieutenant.

“Chieftain. Is good trip.”

She had Rags’ breakfast ready and waited for Rags to take a bite before scarfing down her food. That was an Ogre thing; no one ate until the boss did. Rags stood there, wishing she could savor a hot continental breakfast.

She never thought she’d miss spices in her cereal, but with Calescent gone, the food was merely ‘good’, not ‘so flavorful my mouth might die’.

Calescent. Rags missed him. She knew she’d gotten attached because he was, like Pyrite, a big Goblin with a quick mind. But she couldn’t help but feel that sometimes Erin took the good members of her tribe.

Calescent, Badarrow, Ulvama, Rabbiteater…Rags sighed again. It was all part of her philosophy towards how to gain ‘power’. A nebulous word. She glanced at Somo and another Ogre staggering towards the banquet hall for breakfast.

Ogres. Physically imposing giants, nine or more feet tall. They were, in the Rags system of height, shorter than Moore and half-Giants, but larger than any other regular species, even Minotaurs. Ogres were imposing and huge, and ironically, only Fomirelin, the Great Goblins, eclipsed them for sheer body mass.

Their skin ranged from pink to dark-brown as far as Rags had experienced, much like Humanity, and they did resemble Humans in many ways—a comparison neither species appreciated. However, Ogres had huge bellies, thick arms, and proportionally smaller heads that were far less ‘necky’; Kevin had described them as reminding him of neanderthals, the offshoots of what Humans might have been from the dawn of their civilization.

Ogres ate meat predominantly and lived in clans; they were capable of casting magic and even aspired to it, but like Goblins, they were not recognized as a civilized people. Still, they had stories and tales of times when they had been prouder, living with Cyclopes and Giants in ages of bygone glory.

The ones in Goblinhome were odd for Ogres, much like Rags’ Goblins. Goblinhome was weird in general, Rags supposed.

The occasional new Goblin who arrived at the tribe, drawn by Rags’ presence or discovered by her scouts, would walk around in a kind of daze. Rags saw one of them now: a Chieftain of a forty-Goblin tribe, his mouth open, padding around barefoot in what seemed to him to be a palace of legends.

The walls and hallways were made of stone that were, to Rags, barely cut to a modicum of decency. They needed smoothing and more color and lighting; the Mountain City Goblins always wanted to upgrade Goblinhome to look like their former mountain. Redfangs thought it would get too fancy, and yet, they were all Flooded Waters Goblins now. What did that mean?

Well, Naumel would have been perplexed to see so many Goblins trooping to breakfast with a book under their arms or heading to the ‘television break rooms’, where you ate in silence while watching the news. Talking was not allowed.

Flooded Waters Goblins took after Rags. They were smart, but their personalities had evolved from their experiences as well. Redfangs, the Mountain City tribe, and even Pyrite’s Goldstone Goblins maintained their personalities despite Rags’ leadership, with their own markings and customs, but what defined Rags’ tribe was…change.

Improvements. In a way, Rianchi was emblematic of the tribe; even as he waited to board the Wyvern, the [Gearhead] was drawn to a bunch of Goblins fiddling with an open ‘window’ of Goblinhome. It was a slanted, narrow window, made so that Goblins could fire out of it in times of attack, yes. But it was also a window, and it had been damn cold in the winter. Goblins had stuffed it closed with pieces of wood and cloth.

Now, a small group of Goblins were fiddling with metal wire and pieces of metal. Rags watched, idly, as they argued over the best way to install a new kind of window. One of them was showing the others a complicated series of gears that would allow a Goblin to hand-crank the window up and down. The others opined it would be best if the slats of metal just opened and closed. But Rianchi pointed out the [Tinkerer] was right; the most airtight seal would be via compression of all the pieces, so the Goblins began assembling the window on the spot.

If they did it right, Rags suspected she’d find these windows all over the place soon. If not, the window would be dismantled after a week. That was what she often saw, from [Farmers] experimenting with different kinds of fertilizer to trying to build machines to do the ploughing work for them. Not laziness—okay, some laziness—but a kind of awareness among all of them.

It has to be better. We have to think of something better. Even the small Goblins skateboarding down the hallways could be seen tinkering with their boards, adding more wheels, trying to figure out a way to go faster. Rags’ tribe was, much like her, impatient. Desperate, in a sense. Trying to build upwards, for they knew what would someday come.

The window Goblins finished putting their window up and sighed. A few Goblins came over to try it out, and Rianchi hurried back to the other passengers and grinned at Dyeda, but a few Goblins just muttered to themselves. Rags, listening in, heard them not grousing as she’d expected, but sounding wistful.

“Is good window.”

“That is a good window. That’s proper grammar.”

“You eat my socks. I like Goblinspeak. Is good windows. Wish I had a home.”

“You have a nice room with four Goblins. I have sixteen.”

“Yah. I want house. With rolly windows and a bicycle and…”

“Maybe if we make Goblinhome bigger?”

“Four times as big and I only have my own room. Not a house.”

The two Goblins broke off when they glanced at Rags, and they changed topics to the news. She pretended she hadn’t heard. She got it. What they longed for as well as space.

Safe space. If they had the Floodplains of Liscor instead of the dangerous High Passes…what might they make? They had a fortress here. A safe one, so safe the other Goblins who came here were in awe.

But Rags desired that thing Reiss had died for. The vision that had captured her, the thing that would be a symbol, a sign. A city. She knew the other species would never allow it. Her tribe knew it, so they kept their voices wistful and never complained to her. Survival was hard enough.

Rags wished she could easily reassure her people they would be more powerful, but the truth was it was hard.

A tribe was not the same as a band of adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad were an excellent test case—Rags liked that phrase. Her talks with Kevin had really expanded her mind and understanding of things. Of course, she’d already had ideas, but his description of civilization from an Earth perspective made sense.

A band of adventurers got stronger by getting new relics, taking on new members, or levelling up. They were simple; they lived and died around a few members, like the Horns. Sure, they could recruit a Colth, but their main strengths were levels and gear.

Rags’ tribe was like a city or nation. Yes, levels mattered. Rags mattered. If they had a Relic, that would matter. But did Pallass survive because of one Relic? No. Pallass had industry. If it lost all its armies, the next generations would slowly rebuild them.

A Goblin tribe of Rags’ size needed…metallurgy. But not just that. Say Rags could make steel armor for every Goblin. How many Goblins did she have? How well fed were they? Did they have enough space?

Then you were calculating how many chickens you needed versus the amount of grain you could feasibly grow, and you realized that instead of fifteen more Redfangs, you needed a bunch of [Farmers]. Before you knew it, you were doing household budgets and realizing that every Goblin who didn’t have access to a needle and thread was a Goblin tearing up their clothing three times as fast as normal.

The military might of nations was in how many children made it to adulthood, how well they ate, how much they were taught, and yes, also how many weapons they had. But what it meant to Rags was that the Flooded Waters tribe could not get stronger overnight. It might take generations to turn them into a stable power. Generations they did not have.

Otherwise, it was recruiting allies and levelling the survivors as well as she could. Especially since her high-level Goblins had a tendency to…die. Or join Erin.

Hence, before Rags could attend to her personal concerns, she had to keep meeting with the other Goblin tribes. An ally in a time of crisis was an asset—and Rags’ tribe had no allies. Yes, Erin liked them. But her inn could barely defend itself. The Knights of Solstice? Ten spoony [Knights] weren’t exactly Rags’ ideal allies.

“Thanks, Somo. Got the Wyverns loaded up? All the new gifts in place?”

“Yes, Chieftain. You want I come?”

Somo glanced at the Frost Wyverns, and both they and their riders shook their heads. Rags patted the disappointed Ogre on the arm.

“You’re too heavy, and we’re going too far. Plus, I have guests.”

Another sigh. Rags jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

“Keep an eye on the High Passes. Magnolia Reinhart’s still fighting down there.”

She’d entered the High Passes to try and clear it a week ago with an army of Antinium. A ludicrous idea to Rags, but she’d brought the Dragon with her, so maybe it was worth a shot? Somo nodded.

“What about Trolls?”

“They don’t bother us, we don’t bother them. See if you can spot why they keep coming out. Maybe it’s to watch the fighting. But tell Poisonbite not to start a fight.”

“Yes, boss.”

Trolls, Reinharts, oh my. Rags wished she could pawn the job of meeting the other tribes off on someone else. But Redscar was about as good at diplomacy as he was at not cutting things. Snapjaw might do, but she wasn’t the Chieftain, and Naumel and the others got touchy about that kind of thing.

Speaking of which, Snapjaw was calling to Rags’ guests. Rags groaned again. She was regretting her promise of last night. Here they came.

Rianchi and Dyeda looked excited about their honeymoon as they dashed up, beaming at Rags. Dyeda had a huge pack on her back. Rianchi—Rags narrowed her eyes.

“You have a bag of holding? You?”

She tried not to sound accusatory, but bags of holding were rare enough in Goblinhome that only her lieutenants and important Goblins got them. Rianchi was a [Gearhead Biker]. He shifted, his excited grin ameliorating a bit.

“I need it, Chieftain. For all kinds of little gears and metal. Plus, I have my bike!”

The one Kevin had gifted him? Rags sighed and tried not to roll her eyes.

“Huh. Okay. Get on the Wyvern.”

“Yay! We’re going on a honeymoon, Rianny!”

Dyeda high-fived him, and they hugged. Rags saw them jumping up and down, filled with what could only be described as newlywed’s bliss. She made a sound.

“Hrrrrgh.”

To her surprise, Somo poked her.

“Is very good wedding thing. You is nice, Chieftain.”

“I’m always nice.”

Rags informed Somo, then scowled when all the Goblins around her gave her the side-eye. She stomped towards the Wyverns.

 

——

 

Their flight north was mostly the same crew, except that they were down a Redscar and up another Frost Wyvern for security. Rags had six Redfang bodyguards, but she would have loved Redscar just in case. Fightipilota had insisted she had a ‘problem’, though, so Rags had sent Redscar south on a Wyvern as fast as she could with eight of her best Redfangs.

Snapjaw was good enough. She was the highest-level Goblin present. Add in Taganchiel and Rags was pretty sure she could take care of most threats with them backing her up. The other Goblins were solid, if as yet unremarkable.

The outliers were Rianchi and Dyeda. As non-combat, non-leader Goblins, this was their first time on wyvernback anywhere out of the High Passes. They spent a lot of time gasping over the side of the Wyvern they were on and pointing at all the things from above.

First-time fliers. Rags was grateful she’d chosen the other Wyvern with Snapjaw. She put her feet up and tried to sleep.

“Hey. Hey, Chieftain.”

Snapjaw just had to wake her up five minutes after Rags had begun snoozing. Rags opened one eye.

“What.”

Snapjaw passed her a [Message] scroll.

“Remember message from Lyonette? Big weird gambling night? You forgot to ask what it was all about.”

“Graaaaah!”

Rags had completely forgotten to ask! She’d turned the invitation down and with all this wedding prep, she hadn’t even taken the flight down to The Wandering Inn. First she’d been in the New Lands, then up north…she re-read the message Lyonette had sent weeks ago, in the winter.

 

—if you would be interested in attending? It may be a tad bit dangerous, but I have invited Laken, and the entire experience may prove enlightening about the inn’s current finances. And remove some obstreperous threats. If you can attend, please RSVP at once.

 

Only Lyonette would use ‘obstreperous’ in a [Message]. Rags quite approved, though. However—she saw her query about what the night was about still hadn’t gone answered. Which meant Lyonette was either ignoring her, unlikely, or it was too confidential even for the spell.

“Send word for Goblinhome. Tell Gothica to find out what it was and report back.”

She wished they had easier access to the inn, like via the doorway, but the few times Erin had tried it, Rags had found Drake spies trying to disguise themselves as Goblins or enter invisibly. Gothica would have to fly down and report back.

At least Snapjaw was a good second-in-command for remembering that. With a sigh, Rags put her feet back up, closed her eyes, then heard someone shout.

“Chieftain! Chieftain! Can Taganchiel take a mage-picture of us on Wyvernback? Please?”

“Hrrrrrrrrrrrrghngmph.”

 

——

 

Rags was not a grouch. She just didn’t see the point in Dyeda’s specially knit hat with cute ear-muffs made for the trip, or found joy in poking around each place they landed.

Rianchi and Dyeda insisted on waving at every Human they passed on the way north and chattering away with anyone they met, luxuriating in Rags’ disguise Skill. Rags tolerated that, but she did snap a tiny bit when she realized they were taking an hour-long break so Dyeda could work.

“This is a honeymoon. You’re a Goblin. What are you doing?”

She hissed at Dyeda as the Goblin finished inking a [Guard]’s arm with a snarling dog made out of flames. She was using one of the new needles Snapjaw had given her with a lot of expertise already. Dyeda beamed at Rags and showed her the silver coins.

“Yah, but is lots of fun, Chieftain. So what if I’m a Goblin? I tattoo real good.”

Rags was opening her mouth to point out that her Skill, [Tribe: Guise of Neutrality], would cease working if Dyeda made a hostile action. If she did, whomever she attacked would see her as a Goblin, though it didn’t reveal all the Goblins to everyone unless it was a full engagement.

However, one person was bad enough, and sticking a sharp needle into your arm might be a hostile action!

Rags was just about to relay this in somewhat nice terms when she heard a ringing sound. She paused, closed her eyes, and counted.

One, two, three, four, f—

“Hey, Chieftain! Maybe I go riding north instead of flying? Look at this!”

Rianchi was on his bike rolling across the road and waving at her—as every single person stared in envy at his shiny bicycle, painted, Rags had to note, bright red. Because Kevin had said ‘it’ll make it go faster’.

A mountain bicycle that few people had in any part of the world—which Rianchi was currently doing a wheelie on. That was a term for raising his entire body off the ground and balancing on the back wheel.

Why you did that was unknown to Rags. Showing off. She turned—and Rianchi gave her an innocent grin.

“You want to ride, Chieftain?”

 

——

 

They’re newly married, be nice. They’re on a honeymoon, be nice. They’re not warriors, be nice. 

Rags had never been more grateful to land and let Rianchi and Dyeda race off than when she stopped at the Molten Stone tribe. The inert volcano the Goblins lived in was, as always, highly unpleasant to descend towards. The lesser Goblin tribes nearly shot at the disguised Frost Wyverns too, until they remembered it was Rags.

But inside the volcano was perhaps the nicest tribe headquarters Rags had ever seen in her life; even Goblinhome didn’t have the magical acumen nor the relics of Goblin civilization that Anazurhe had.

She had come from the Isle of Goblins, and her Goblin was fluent and somewhat incomprehensible to Rags unless she made an effort; she was as odd a Goblin to Rags as they got.

“No alliance.”

Anazurhe said that while licking the gigantic chocolate ice cream cone that Rags had brought encased in ice from Goblinhome. Anything icy was a treat in the Molten Stone tribe, given the heat of the region, and Anazurhe’s Goblins had a sweet tooth.

Bribing Anazurhe was easy. No, wait, giving her gifts she liked was easy. Getting her to change her opinion with material gifts was nigh impossible.

All the local Goblin tribes around here were poor, living in the harsh, acrid area around the volcano. They paid tribute to the Molten Stone tribe, who gave them magic, and they acted as buffers between her tribe and adventurers or monsters.

A lot of Goblins had to be miserable to keep Anazurhe’s tiny tribe happy. But it was one of the reasons they’d endured so long.

Rags folded her arms as she sat in the cushy atrium that Anazurhe had that looked straight up the volcano’s mouth. The glass ceiling was being scrubbed clean by a Goblin getting rid of volcanic ash.

“Why not? Your tribe helps mine, mine helps yours. It’s only logical, and necessary if a foe like Tyrion Veltras appears.”

Anazurhe ostentatiously blew a ring out of her mouth as she puffed on some Dreamleaf Rags had gotten from Palt.

“Your tribe will be attacked or need help more than mine. My tribe has not been attacked by adventurers or armies since it was founded.”

“Things change. There’s a lot more magic around, and the entire world’s shifted. New Lands have appeared. People are going everywhere.”

“Pshaw. It is not…hm. It is simpler to speak like this, Chieftain Rags. Time is an ____. It flows around. If you refer to the magi of Wistram regaining their old forms of magic, so what? They are incurious of us, by and large. I would fear them if I were at the island, but sanctuary has endured much. Your tribe is at the heart of this change. Mine has no interest in the New Lands.”

Anazurhe switched over to Goblin, and Rags had to struggle to keep up, even with the lessons the Great Witch of the Molten Stone tribe sometimes condescended to give her.

“Time is a what? I don’t know that word.”

“An ‘urorouro.’”

Rags gave Anazurhe a blank look, and the [Witch] sighed.

“A…snake that eats its tail forever. In a circle. A forever pattern.”

“Ah. A circle.”

The [Witch] seemed incredibly displeased by this descriptor and shook her head.

“Not a—you understand. Molten Stone will not fight and die, Chieftain Rags. We gather our strength. When we emerge, it will be strong, without any hints of our presence.”

“You mean with your labyrinth Skill. The one that will let you train and expand in secret. How many decades have you tried to make it? How’s it going?”

Anazurhe glowered at Rags.

“It will activate soon. No alliance, little Chieftain. I will cast magic for you, in exchange for fair payment.”

“Great. More costs.”

Rags had reviewed Anazurhe’s pricing model, and as far as she was concerned, Anazurhe was barely worth the expenses unless Rags was desperate. However, there was another benefit to visiting the Molten Stone tribe. And that was recruiting Goblins other than Anazurhe. And in this regard, Dyeda and Rianchi quite helped.

 

——

 

Dyeda was an expert [Tattooist]…which meant she was one of dozens of experts in the Molten Stone tribe. She was learning from a [Witch] showing her delicate patterns on her hands, seeming very excited to learn from other Goblins in their cultural craft. From Anazurhe’s smirk as she and Rags walked out into her magically cooled fortress, she clearly seemed to think her tribe was the font of all real culture and knowledge.

That smile lasted right up until she saw a Goblin race past her, riding on a shiny red bicycle, pedaling with all his might. He reached such speed that he actually raced halfway up the wall. That was because the floor was rounded where it met the volcano’s wall; a natural ramp. Then the Goblin did a one hundred and ninety degree flip.

He crashed mid-rotation, and Rags winced, but the Goblin just got up, shouting gleefully, until a stampede of Goblins ran over to get their turn. Before they could, Anazurhe smacked her staff down, and the pow of magic made all the Goblins freeze.

“The bicycles have arrived? How dare you use them before me! And I ordered a purple one! Not red!”

She was furious! Right up until she saw Rags giving her a very wide smile. Rianchi came running over, and Rags pointed.

“That’s not yours, Chieftain Anazurhe. My tribe has sixteen bicycles. I could…lend a few to you next time I come by. Or have a word with Solar Cycles, but they’re backlogged for the next year.”

Especially with Kevin…Rags savored Anazurhe’s expression. Especially when the Chieftain realized the only way she’d get a turn on the bike was by asking Rianchi for permission.

Anazurhe huffed off, and Rags sauntered over to Rianchi, feeling like she’d scored a rare point on the [Witch].

“So you really are a bike…person. Is it fun doing it all the time?”

“Is very fun, Chieftain. Good for the legs. I ride all the time—or would if there were good places in Goblinhome. Here is very nice. Hey, who wants a turn? Don’t crash it this time!”

They watched as another Goblin began pedaling madly and ran over Anazurhe’s long robes. Rags turned to Rianchi.

She just didn’t get it. No, she got being a [Gearhead], actually. It was a variant of [Tinkerer], and building things was great. But…[Biker]?

“I am a [Chieftain]. Snapjaw is an [Eater], but also a [Chieftain] and a [Warrior]. How can you be…a biker?”

A class defined what you did in life. You had to make it a part of your personality. Rianchi ducked his head, grinning, but his posture became meeker all of a sudden.

“I…I’m a bad [Warrior], Chieftain. Always bad. Always knew I’d die. Then I saw Kevin with the bike. And I thought—that’s fun. So fun. All the fun I want. Making them, fixing them, riding around…lots more fun than fighting. Guess I’m a bad Goblin. Sorry.”

“That’s not what I meant. I…you do good work. Just curious.”

Rags felt bad about how she’d asked. Rianchi brightened up.

“Good! I guess your question is hard to say, Chieftain. Biking is lots of fun. I have Skills.”

For doing what? Rags gave Rianchi a polite, blank smile. She supposed it was just one of those things. Mrsha liked chasing a ball around; it was the defining trait Rags had observed about her when the two had been in the same place. Rags didn’t hold that against Mrsha. There was too much else to hold against Mrsha, that empty-headed ball of white fluff.

Anyways, she left empty-handed this time, but she’d already enticed a number of [Shamans] and [Witches] from Anazurhe’s tribe, and the magical masks she’d traded for in the past were very handy too. But Rags had some hopes for the Kraken Eaters. Of all the tribes in the north she had located, theirs was the only other power.

The problem was—Naumel was an even bigger pain in the posterior. And when she found his tribe again, the rifts between Flooded Waters and Kraken Eaters were only more apparent.

 

——

 

It was a thirteen-foot-tall Battle Golem. It had spikes on its armor and fought with two fists—again, spiked. The Golem threw a pattern of fast punches, one, two, three, four, and Naumel blocked with a bored expression on his face.

Rags, circling downwards from above, just stared at the battle winding down. That Terland force she’d seen coming after the Kraken Eaters a week back when she’d left? They had caught up with the Kraken Eaters after all, albeit nearly fifty miles south of where they’d been. Still along the coast, though bordering a treeline.

It would be fairer to say, however, that the Kraken Eaters had caught the Terlands. Even as Rags watched, one of the last functional Golems kept punching at Naumel, heavy, crushing swings in a boxing pattern that would have killed a regular Hob if enough punches connected.

However, the Fomirelin ignored the spiked fists gouging into his arms. He kept his guard up and seemed to be counting.

On the ninth blow, the Golem went for an uppercut and ate a full-body punch to the face. Naumel had moved before the uppercut came. The Golem swayed back, launching a jab that the Great Chieftain dodged with a headslip, then raised its arms in a guard.

Naumel kicked one leg hard enough to bend it, then stepped back. He brushed aside two punches, headbutted the Golem, and walked out of range of a desperate blast of red light from its eyes—a beam spell of some kind.

“Whoa. He’s memorized how it fights. He’s good, Chieftain.”

Snapjaw was watching Naumel as the Great Chieftain returned to punching the steel Golem in the face. Rags turned her head—her eyes were on the dead Terlands. The Golems were just scraps of metal being beheaded and salvaged for parts by the Kraken Eaters.

The Humans had actual blood to spill, and it had turned the sands crimson. Rags broke away from staring at a kneeling man as Naumel grabbed the Golem’s head with his hands and began to twist, ignoring the body blows from the desperate automaton.

“How good?”

One of the Redfangs licked her lips, not exactly nervously, but with a great deal of calculation.

“Might be…might be the best fistfighter in the entire Redfang tribe, Chieftain. Maybe Garen and Rabbiteater were better. But they not that big.”

Huh. Rags hated to admit it, but the Kraken Eaters had demolished what looked like a hundred-strong fighting force. And a fifth had been Golems of some kind. This was a group sent by the Five Families; they had every right to be overconfident, even outnumbered.

Could my tribe do this well? If we launched a surprise attack and had time…but she wouldn’t have wanted to fight those Battle Golems. Redscar could take one on, but regular Hobs would have been hurt badly.

Yet she counted at least twenty Battle Golems, each the size of a Fomirelin, lying on the sand. Naumel ripped the head off the last one and tossed it onto a pile as his Goblins cheered. The Golem kept swinging blindly—until one of the Goblins stabbed a spear into its Golem Heart and destroyed it. Then Naumel was waving at Rags, grinning, and she descended just in time to hear the survivor speak.

“I…am Lord Taulus of House Terland, Goblin. You have spilled the blood of Izril and destroyed the clockwork heart of Terlands. Ransom me and you will be rewarded.”

The [Lord] put on a brave face as Rags dismounted and strode over, at first. Blood was clotting down the side of his head, and he wore some kind of magical cloth armor; he did not seem ready for a battle.

He had not been. His calm façade broke with a flinch as Naumel walked over to him. The Great Chieftain squatted down and peered at the man. Naumel’s face was unreadable, even to Rags, and she wondered what the man saw.

Monster? He turned, and his eyes were confused at first, as if he thought he saw Humans…but then he clearly saw through Rags’ Skill. There was nothing to deceive here.

The man’s gaze flickered with curiosity when it met hers. He glanced up at Naumel again, like someone staring at a wild beast inches from his face.

Her he took a second look at. The difference was…Rags’ aura? Her difference in height? The [Lord] looked at Naumel like a looming mass of muscle, covered with blood, a flat face, crimson eyes narrowed to slits.

He looked at Rags like a person. Or at least, as if he might recognize one.

The [Lord] was thusly shocked when the Kraken Eaters’ Chieftain spoke in a voice that was far more eloquent than Taulus could have imagined. Or Rags too, come to think of it, if she hadn’t heard him before.

“I am Chieftain Naumel, Human.”

“I—I will remember it.”

Lord Taulus glanced up cautiously, and Naumel shrugged. He turned to Rags and spoke to her.

“Doesn’t matter. I always want to know what they say.”

“Humans? When you’ve beaten them?”

Rags saw Taulus clenching his jaw and studying her Wyverns and Goblins and the Kraken Eaters. Trying to memorize all the details. Naumel glanced at wounded Goblins—and dead ones—being lined up on the beach as his [Healer] tended to them with potions and some kind of paste.

Rags pointed, and one of her Redfangs with a healing Skill trotted over. To her surprise, Dyeda did too. She and Rianchi had seen battle before, but they were pale-faced and unnerved. Rags regretted bringing them on this leg of the trip.

Naumel answered Rags’ question as he walked over to her. It seemed this wasn’t a Chieftain-to-Chieftain meeting, so he spoke in the common tongue, which both were more fluent in, ironically.

“Mm. They never beg like Goblins.”

Rags eyed Naumel suspiciously. She saw Cazmaw striding over, a new axe on his shoulder.

“Goblins don’t beg. They know.”

“Mm.”

The Great Chieftain of the Kraken Eaters nodded. Rags saw Cazmaw swing up his axe and winced as it came down with a wet sound.

The [Lord]’s body toppled over, and a Goblin began to remove his clothing and bag of holding.

 

——

 

How did Rags feel about visiting the Kraken Eaters now? Conflicted, truthfully. Seeing the dead Terlands being looted was unpleasant. It felt wrong. And yet Rags was well, well aware that the Terlands had gone after the Kraken Eaters.

…Because the Kraken Eaters had raided and attacked. To survive. Because they were Goblins.

It was that circle she had learned of when fighting against the Unseen Empire. It had no meaning to choose where you began. It was a terrible circle, and if you said, ‘well, this side is nastier than the other’, you’d have a point. But she was tired of it.

The Kraken Eaters weren’t. They were in a grand mood, and Rags watched them stacking up the Golem heads in a pyramid.

“Terlands don’t care about Human heads. Even their [Lords]. This makes them mad. Don’t worry; little bird is gone too. It tried to save that one. Peh. Next time, they’ll send the nasty Golems. If they’re smart.”

“Battle Golems aren’t nasty?”

To her surprise, Naumel laughed. He shook his head, then raised a hand.

“Those aren’t Battle Golems. They’re…eh. What do they call them? Small ones are called Servant Golems. Manservants with swords. Not that dangerous. These are Sentry-class Golems. Battle Golems are taller than me. Far harder to kill.”

His grin said he’d killed them, too. Rags had a vague memory of the Golems of Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion, and she’d heard stories from Snapjaw about how they’d fought the Goblin Lord.

“Do they get nastier?”

“Yeah. Big flying ones. Or ones with bright magic in their heads. Some toss arrows miles away; if you see those, you have to be careful how you approach. I want to kill one. Steal its weapons. Maybe get it fixed.”

“Fix it up and use it?”

The idea of the Kraken Eaters, who were ripping a Golem apart for crude armor, fixing a Golem was ludicrous. But Naumel just scratched his chest; his wounds were already healing.

“There are Humans who can. Some will take the Golems who can be fixed, later. I don’t need them. But a good Golem…some of those Humans have Goblins in their ‘tribe’. Those are the real not-Goblins. Even more than you. Even a Chieftain…well, he calls himself a ‘Chieftain’.”

Rags had heard of that, but Naumel must have met them. She saw a few Golems were being placed in a separate pile not marked for deconstruction.

So that was how Naumel got some of his resources. She saw his tribe was moving away from the bloody battlefield once they were done looting to celebrate and eat, but not striking camp.

“Do you need to move?”

“We move tomorrow, before dawn. Tonight, we feast. You join us, Chieftain Rags. Better guest this time?”

Rags shrugged.

“We’ll see.”

 

——

 

This time, she’d brought different gifts for Naumel, to suit his tastes. No weapons and no food. She presented a small pile of furs and clothing tailored for Fomirelin as well as a bunch of containers; water flasks, pouches, and even two bags of holding.

It went down very well with the Kraken Eaters, who began to fight over the gifts with no sense of order, but Naumel seemed displeased. Perhaps it was just coming down off the adrenaline high of battle.

“You don’t like them?”

“I like. Chieftain Rags is too clever. She does not fight. She gives bad gifts, then goes and gives great gifts. She thinks too much.”

“Every Chieftain tells me that.”

He did chuckle at that. Rags sat with Naumel, and he even offered her good food this time; albeit looted from the Terlands’ bags. She chewed on a fancy lasagna of all things, trying not to think of the dead [Lord]’s pulped head as she ate. Naumel watched as her tribe interacted with his.

The Redfangs knew how to celebrate a victory and were showing the Kraken Eaters sword dances. There was a bit of wariness between them, but this time, Snapjaw seemed to be moving front-and-center on the diplomacy front. She’d had a few words with Rags about Naumel’s personality, as if Rags hadn’t figured it out, and was currently having an eating match with one of the Fomirelin—which the Great Goblin was losing. Of her two regular Goblins, Rags could only see Rianchi, and he was being largely left alone.

Goblins were terrible gossips; somehow, his reputation as a ‘bad warrior’ had already been found out. Or maybe it was just Rianchi’s lack of scars or disinterest in the fighting. He was being relegated towards the bottom of the Kraken Eaters’ pecking order. He didn’t seem that unhappy about it and was gnawing on some bones. Of Dyeda, Rags couldn’t spot her.

“Why are you upset?”

Naumel broke the awkward silence without speaking in Goblin, surprising Rags. She glanced up; he was staring at her.

“You didn’t like me killing that Terland. You know they hunt Goblins. I asked other Goblins about your tribe. Yours is…they say yours is like a Goblin pretending to be a [Knight] amongst Humans. Strange things. Your tribe likes Humans. Why?”

He must not have seen Rabbiteater, then, from how Naumel’s face scrunched up. Rags replied honestly; this was clearly not a moment where they spoke formally as Chieftains, and the curiosity was good.

“A Human saved my life. She was kind and helped me and my tribe survive.”

“What did she want?”

“Nothing.”

“Hah!”

When Rags refused to laugh, Naumel bent over.

“Your tribe was killed by Tyrion Veltras. Very dangerous man. He has hunted us.”

“You survived?”

He checked his chest, then pointed to a huge, star-shaped scar on one shoulder.

“He got me there. He tries to kill us sometimes. Too smart to come near the water where he’ll die. So a Human helped you, once. All the others try to kill you.”

“They might not or might not come after us as hard if we avoid killing them. I’m not angry at you for killing the Terlands. I understand. I’m just not happy.”

To her surprise, Naumel accepted the statement after a moment’s thought and sat back. He seemed to ponder a reply, then offered—

“There are Drowned Folk I like. Even some Humans I like.”

“Good. Then you understand.”

She took a drink of water, and Naumel grunted.

“Yes. But why do you want to ally with my tribe? I don’t understand that.”

He really was a mystery. Rags frowned up at Naumel.

“You understand battle and war. An alliance means we could both survive an attack. If you were willing, your tribe and mine could share ideas, resources. Both of us improve and do better.”

“Hmm.”

He poked a finger in one ear, then studied the earwax glob. Naumel flicked it away, then gazed at Rags with a huge frown.

“Why?”

The question completely stumped Rags. She opened and closed her mouth.

“So…fewer Goblins die next time there’s an attack? So we can get stronger? Help other Goblins, other tribes, like Chieftain Anazurhe wishes to?”

Naumel snorted.

“Chieftain Anazurhe only helps herself.”

“True…”

“Say you are better than Anazurhe. Why? I don’t understand. Help other Goblins…”

“Don’t you think that’s worth doing? Protecting your tribe aside?”

She met his eyes firmly, trying to reach across the gap between them and show him her vision for the future. That city Reiss dreamed of. Then she saw Naumel’s eyes flicker with disinterest, and their disagreement became more than just philosophical. It was, Rags realized, a true disconnect between how they saw the world.

“Other Goblins? I don’t know them. Why do other Goblins need help?”

It was the most astounding question she had ever been asked. Rags sat there until the world of feelings stopped trying to force itself out her throat all at once.

“They…die. We have no cities. No homes. We are called monsters.”

Naumel’s gaze was impassive by firelight.

“So? Is life bad?”

“Life is short. I would rather have all my Goblins live longer! I would rather ally with people, like Velan did! I would like to know why he went mad.”

Rags barked at Naumel, and the Great Chieftain laughed. He rose to his feet, striding over to a firepit to grab more food, and threw himself back down.

“Velan? The Goblin King? Now you sound like me. I like Velan. Too young to know him, but he was a great Goblin King. He loved war. People? He killed them all.”

His grin was huge and excited at the name of the Goblin King. And he was completely, utterly…Rags shook her head.

“He loved more species than me. He wanted peace for his tribe—until he became the Goblin King. What are you talking about?”

“Huh?”

Deadlock. Complete incomprehension on each face. It was so pronounced that their tribes began turning their way, as if sensing the way both Naumel’s and Rags’ minds were churning with confusion.

They could read each other’s body language. Dissembling was not a very Goblin trait, even for Rags, and both of them thought the other was barking mad. Until Rags realized what might be the reason.

“You…don’t you remember Velan’s memories? Don’t you dream through his eyes?”

Naumel’s gaze widened a bit, confirming Rags’ sudden intuition. He glanced at his [Shaman] and beckoned her, then frowned at Rags.

“I don’t dream of dead Goblins.”

“Every Chieftain does.”

“Not me.”

 

——

 

Naumel was the most selfish Goblin Chieftain that Rags had ever met, and she had met Tremborag and Garen. When his [Shaman], Fituna, was able to confirm Rags was speaking the truth, he wore the most perplexed expression ever.

“Velan was no monster. He wanted peace between species. So do I. Chieftain Naumel, there is always someone to fight. But I am tired of the circle of Humans killing Goblins killing Humans forever. If we can, I want our tribes to fight together. But I don’t want to kill Terlands or anyone in the north.”

“Strange. You are strange. Not-Goblin.”

“If I am not-Goblin, then Velan the Kind was the most not-Goblin of all.”

—And what could he say to that? Naumel glanced at Fituna, who gave Rags a look of deep respect. They could both look back equally far, and when the Fomirelin ducked her head, Naumel leapt to his feet.

“I will think about this. You leave me.”

He stomped off. Rags wondered what kind of events could have produced a Naumel. In many ways, he was more worldly than she had been until very recently; he knew the Five Families, had a working knowledge of Northern Izril, and was even familiar with groups like the Bloodfeast Raiders and various gangs his tribe had personally dealt with.

And yet he cared nothing for the New Lands, had barely even heard of the television or news, and knew nothing of Goblin history. He was, Rags realized, content. He liked his life.

…She could use that, if he’d fight with her. A deal might be likely after all. Because it seemed that Rags had once again lucked out with her company. The Kraken Eaters appreciated her gifts and mildly envied the tailored armor and trappings of civilization that her people were trying to show off. But they didn’t respect anyone’s class except Snapjaw’s, who was standing on the belly of a groaning Fomirelin to huge cheers.

What they envied, the Kraken Eaters, was, like Rags’ tribe…Dyeda. And not merely for the reasons you’d suspect.

 

——

 

“Chieftain! I’m helping! You have good talk with the scary, big other Chieftain? Goblins here like Tremborag’s best warriors. All fight, nothing else. They don’t like poor Rianchi.”

Dyeda made a face as she flourished her needles. She was giving a huge line of Goblins tattoos…or so it seemed. Rags saw Dyeda had inked a severed Kraken’s tentacle on a very pleased-looking Goblin’s arm, but unless she was a [Speed Inker], there was no way she could tend to practically a quarter of the tribe.

“Naumel is…odd. What are you doing? Are you being bothered?”

“Besides Goblins wanting to jump in my bed? They’re not Tremborag Goblins; they just say I can do better than Rianchi. Nope! I’m being super helpful. See? Next!”

The next Goblin who walked over was a Fomirelin, who offered a wounded knee to Dyeda. At first, Rags thought that the Fomirelin wanted a tattoo over the bloody cut too small for a healing potion with a bit of gauze wrapped around it. But she doubted that was how tattoos worked, and Dyeda quickly put paid to that idea.

“Okay. Hold still…[Antiseptic Jab]! You want a tattoo? No? Then don’t get dirt on it. Next!”

Rags blinked.

“Is that a Skill of yours?”

Dyeda winked as the next Goblin shuffled over. Rags backed up, and Dyeda hesitated, then chose a disposable needle. A very infected arm got multiple stabs, and she gave the Goblin instructions, which the Kraken Eater paid close attention to.

“I sometimes work with [Healers], Chieftain. This Skill…I got when Kevin made a big fuss about clean needles. After I kept boiling and heat treating mine. It’s a very useful Skill, hey?”

Very useful. Rags sat there, wondering just how much Kevin had changed things behind the scenes for her tribe. He’d been there often. Poisonbite with her skateboard, Fightipilota’s…everything. Dyeda, Rianchi…

She missed Kevin. Of all the Earthers, she knew him almost as well as she knew Erin. She wished she’d dragged him to Goblinhome like Poisonbite had wanted. Made him part of the tribe. Maybe then she would have known him almost well enough to realize how much she’d lost at the Solstice.

Rags clenched a fist until she heard Naumel stomping over. He was in line, and Dyeda had to actually stand on a rock to poke him all over the place, muttering about his thick skin, but the Great Chieftain was very complimentary.

“This needle makes disease go away?”

“It makes…bad little buggy things go away. Not disease.”

“Very good Skill. Very good. Chieftain Rags, if you have other Goblins like this—my tribe will fight with yours, maybe. Sickness is the worst thing for Kraken Eaters.”

There it was again. The duality of Naumel. The fight-hungry maniac could see how valuable Dyeda’s Skill was; the [Healer] seemed ready to abduct her on the spot. Rags smiled briefly, and Dyeda looked exceptionally pleased. Rags gave her a pat on the shoulder, then went to find Rianchi.

He was beaming in pride about his wife, as if he’d done something. Rags muttered to him; the Kraken Eaters were getting an early night of it, something else she didn’t expect. Redfangs would have been partying into the next day.

“You alright, Rianchi? We may stay here a few more days. They’re not harassing you, are they?”

She almost said bullying, but the thin Goblin assured her he was fine.

“They think I’m useless, Chieftain. Is great; no one even made me help clean up. I’ll go bike riding along the shore maybe if safe tomorrow.”

“Glad you’re having fun. Sorry about the battlefield.”

Rianchi’s eyes were calm as he glanced back at the place where seagulls were circling.

“Eh. I’ve seen lots of that, Chieftain. Dyeda is the one who’s upset. She has to smile.”

Rags twisted around and saw Dyeda continuing to poke Goblins with her needles.

“She’s upset?”

“Very, Chieftain. But she good at smiling. Mountain City. Yuck. We allying with these Raskghar-kissers?”

A few Goblins glanced over, but they didn’t get the insult. Rianchi kept smiling, and Rags patted him on the arm, realizing how much was left unsaid behind his faint smile.

“If we need their help.”

“Do we want their help, Chieftain?”

To that, Rags just jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the High Passes, which couldn’t even be seen from here.

“We can’t even chase off a Wyvern Lord, let alone survive a Solstice.”

Rianchi sighed and scratched his head.

“True, Chieftain.”

Rags bedded down for an uncomfortable night of thinking about allies at any cost. She might have tossed and turned, or harassed Fightipilota for an update on her side, when she sat up.

Goblins were on their feet all around her. Rags reached for her sword, and electricity crackled from the sheath—but the Goblins weren’t here to ambush her. Her gaze swept to the huge figure of Naumel, and she heard him laughing as he pointed.

Ah.

She should have known.

 

——

 

The Terland reprisal force hunting the Goblins was dead. That meant the Kraken Eaters didn’t have to worry about an ambush from another group unless there was a second adventurer team or something after them.

It also meant that all the local settlements would be off their guard. The Terlands were of the Five Families; you would assume they’d kill or drive off the Kraken Eaters.

So, before news of their demise spread—

That was when you attacked.

It was simple logic; elegant even, in its way. Naumel’s tribe hadn’t discussed it not because they were keeping it from the Flooded Waters tribe, but because they hadn’t even thought it was worth mentioning. They were, like Redfangs, so used to fighting it was like breathing.

The village they were after was big enough, coastal, with walls to keep out monsters. It even had a gate and sentries.

By the time Rags was in the air and over the city, the Kraken Eaters were halfway through the wall. Fomirelin were punching huge holes in it as Goblins scaled, claws digging into the wood logs with ease, and attacked the defenders on top.

Screaming. It always filled the air in moments like these. But what caught Rags’ eye was the simple beauty of the village set on a small ridgeline above the coast. The village was oblong, protected by wooden walls, and past the walls…her eyes honed in on log buildings, but lovely ones, drying racks of fire.

It smelled like salted salmon drying. And fear. A bell rang again and again, a beautiful chime instead of the gong it should have been. The center of the village was a rose; someone had placed pink stones amidst white for a place to dance and have fun.

Now, in a single moment, the village died as Goblins attacked. When Rags blinked, she saw a burning house. A blind [Emperor], face tense with wrath and hatred. She shook her head and focused on the fighting at the walls.

Barely a minute’s passed and they’re doomed. Rags didn’t need her [Strategist] class or Skills. The Kraken Eaters would wipe out this village and the militia in less than an hour.

The Flooded Waters Goblins were all looking at her. Rags was agonizing. Not about her decision, but about whether or not it would cost…

“Wyverndancer, drop us all off in the village! Right there. Keep airborne. Everyone else—stay together. Do not fight the Kraken Eaters if you can help it. Goblins should not die this day. Understand?”

She pointed at the gates where Naumel was breaking through himself. The other Goblins nodded; Rags saw the Wyvern dip a wing and put her helmet on her head. She reached for her crossbow; they’d barely repaired it and restrung it with some far weaker twine, but she remembered how her last encounter with Naumel had gone.

She swore she saw his head rise as the Wyverns banked overhead. And his presence seemed to fill the ground below her, an adrenaline-filled rush of hunger for battle…and a deep, abiding patience.

He knew.

 

——

 

The Wyverns dropped a dozen Goblins to the ground as Snapjaw and Wyverndancer flew overhead. The militia didn’t scream or panic as Goblins landed inside their village; they were beyond that now.

When death was coming through the gates, you ran or fought, and the other emotions were squeezed out of those moments of life and death. Rags saw nearly a hundred people in crude formation behind some hastily assembled spikes.

It wouldn’t do a thing. She did see a tripwire strung along the path towards the Humans, and one of her Redfangs whispered.

“Chieftain. In the houses.”

“I see them. [Rogues].”

More cunning defenses that Rags wasn’t sure if the majority of the villagers even knew about. It still didn’t matter; Naumel’s charge wouldn’t stop for a Tier 4 spell. Rags strode forwards a few paces as the gates cracked behind her.

“Your village is lost. Run!”

Fighting was very brave. It would give the other Humans time to escape. It might be the difference between salvation and defeat. In this case—it was the wrong choice.

The Humans didn’t move. But they did stare at her.

What did they see? A short Goblin wearing Wyvern armor, hand on her sword, evil crimson eyes glaring at them through her helmet? Another marauding monster? Or did they hear her oddly refined tones, not what they expected, a ‘posh’ accent?

Did they see a monster? Or a person?

[Aura of the Emissary]. Rags pulled it around her like a cloak and reached into her bag of holding for something.

“Run. I’ll stop them for a few minutes.”

There were a dozen arrows, concealed and visible, trained on her. Rags lifted something out of her bag of holding as Naumel burst through the gates. He broke into a run, roaring, and she pointed a finger.

“Snapjaw.”

Icecube dove and exhaled. Naumel froze midstep, hair, body engulfed in a whirling tempest of frost that made the Goblins behind the Kraken Eaters’ Chieftain dive for cover. They shouted in alarm; their frozen statue of a Chieftain shivered for a single second, then he burst out of the icy prison, shedding ice like falling glass. He halted, baring his teeth.

“Chieftain Rags. Why this place? You don’t know it!”

He was furious. She hid an object with both her hands as the Great Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe called back.

“Neither do you. Why? Ask Velan the Kind.”

He would have leapt for her despite the second wave of Frost Wyvern breath that swept over him. He could not be stopped by that alone. He was perhaps the most dangerous Goblin she’d met in close-quarters combat, and he was a dozen feet from her. But Naumel didn’t leap. He tensed—then recoiled, stumbling back, shielding his face and running before he caught himself.

The Great Chieftain’s eyes flashed with fear, mortal [Terror]—until his mind realized what he was doing. Then he stared at the red gemstone Rags held aloft.

One of the first treasures she had ever received. An eye of gemstone, plucked from Skinner’s head. Sometimes, she used it to scare birds away from the Goblins’ fields.

Terror. The Kraken Eaters racing into the village halted. But not for long. A moment’s terror—and they were snarling. Fear only made Goblins fight harder, as Skinner had once learned. Of course, Rags knew that too.

It wasn’t for them. When she turned, she heard the first shriek of panic and saw the militia line collapsing. Some of the Humans held onto their wits; most saw the gem and fled in a panic.

That was what Rags wanted. The rest, realizing they had no hope of any cohesion, began to run too. She saw what might have been their leader staring at her; then a figure swung themself out of the second floor of one of the houses. Rags eyed the masked figure.

I guess [Assassins] have to live somewhere. She swore it nodded at her. Then Rags turned.

“Chieftain Naumel, stop here. Loot the village if you want, but leave the Humans.”

“No. They always carry the best things with them.”

He called back, snarling as he saw his prey getting away. Naumel stepped forwards, and Rags pointed.

A line of frost raced down the street, and Goblins and Fomirelin halted as her Wyverns strafed the ground. Rags motioned, and her Redfangs spread out. The Kraken Eaters hesitated; they’d seen Redscar fight, and Rags was cutting off their routes of attack.

For all except Naumel. He strode forwards, eyes on Rags. He was so intent that he barely noticed the Wyvern overhead until he heard a warning. Then he looked up and jerked left—too slow.

Snapjaw missed her slash to his shoulder, but she still managed to kick him in the face as she leapt down. Despite the disparity in their heights, the kick sent him staggering back a step.

“What are you doing?”

The Kraken Eaters’ Chieftain felt at his split-open lip. Snapjaw rose, eyes gleaming. Her head was larger than normal, and her mouth was very big. She treated him to a smile with all her teeth, and he realized they were made of mithril and ivory.

“A Chieftain deserves a Chieftain to fight. Come on, Chieftain of Kraken Eaters.”

His eyes narrowed at the insult. Naumel accelerated into a punch so fast Rags barely saw it. Snapjaw reached out in a blur and caught his fist.

The ground cracked behind her, stone tiles flying up in a rain as she grunted. The Kraken Eaters’ Chieftain stared down at Snapjaw’s hand. Her arm was quivering—but she had caught the punch. Then she opened her mouth.

[Yawning Bite].

Rags hadn’t seen Snapjaw fighting with her own two eyes for a while. The sight of a Level 37 [Chieftain of the Maw]’s mouth opening and growing until it was big enough to snap across Naumel’s shoulder was a sight.

He jerked back, dodging the teeth that snapped together and losing a bit of skin across his shoulder and chest. Naumel’s second punch sent Snapjaw rolling across the ground; she’d taken the punch straight in her mouth.

Naumel shook his fist out, and Snapjaw rolled upright, mouth full of blood. She spat; he staggered and pulled a gleaming tooth out of his arm. A new tooth popped into place as Snapjaw got up.

“Chieftain! Leave to me. Rianchi and Dyeda—”

Rags spun, cursing as she realized she’d left those two out of her calculations. And like the civilians they were—they were not with her Redfangs!

“Taganchiel, hold them here!”

“[Shield Spider’s Nesting Ground]!”

The [Shaman] waved his staff, and webs and tiny spiders covered the street as the Kraken Eaters tried to advance while dodging the Wyverns still spitting frost breath. Naumel charged as Rags looked around and then strode down the street.

“[Body: Stored Energy]. [I Grew With Every Bite]. [Body: Metabolism 1000%].”

Snapjaw spat on her hands. Rubbed them together. Then caught the Kraken Eater’s fist again. She skidded down the street, then shoved him back as she grew three feet in height. She bit as he raised a fist, roaring—

 

——

 

Rags found Dyeda and Rianchi blocking a group of Kraken Eaters trying to get around the village and flank the Humans. They were the closest lot to the fleeing villagers; a steep cliff separated the village from attackers, and the Kraken Eaters had climbed up in secret.

Rags skidded to a stop, panting. Those idiots. They were still her Goblins. Neither one was a real fighter, but they were still Goblins. Brave idiots, in short.

“No killing! Chieftain says!”

“Not our Chieftain! You move!”

It looked like they’d been arguing for a minute. The Kraken Eaters were surrounding Dyeda, but her help with her needles had given her some kind of authority.

“Hey, maybe let our Chieftains talk—”

Rianchi smiled and tried to get between Dyeda and a very angry Hob, but the Hob shoved him so hard he went tumbling head over heels.

“You go away. Now.”

One waved an axe studded with teeth at Rianchi, and Rags saw Dyeda turn and meet her husband’s gaze. Rianchi got up—and then gave everyone a big smile and ran away.

He jogged past Rags, hidden in an alleyway, and ran down the cliffside. Leaving Dyeda behind—

The [Tattooist] was completely unmoved by Rianchi’s flight. She had one of her tattooing needles in her hand. When a Goblin tried to get past her, she stabbed him in the arm.

“No killing Humans. Or I’ll tattoo a butt on your face! You want to glow in the dark? Get back!”

Her needle had something on it. Rags thought it was poison, but it turned out it was luminescent ink.

…That was actually something of a threat. No Goblin wanted to have a glowing nipple in a life-or-death moment. They dodged as she stabbed at them, and one of the Hobs got tired of the standoff. She knocked the needle out of Dyeda’s hand, shook a drop of blood off her claws, and raised a very sharp sword.

“Humans? You be silent. Or we stab you. You are not-Goblin. Traitor.”

Ah. This was getting bad. Rags debated what to do as she hoped Dyeda would back off. Rags could do something…but she didn’t have non-killing ways of removing the Goblins around Dyeda.

And if they wanted any chance of Naumel to talk to them—Dyeda swallowed as the blade advanced towards her throat. She backed up towards the cliff, hands raised, glancing over her shoulder.

“Not all Humans bad. You not kill children. Or you…you’re monsters. Are you not-Goblins?”

Naumel had been slightly receptive to this argument when Rags had discussed it with him. Right now? The Kraken Eaters bristled. They advanced, completely forgetting about the Humans. One grabbed a dagger from his belt and thrust it at her.

“You the not-Goblin. You help or we kill you.”

“No.”

Rags had a [Fireball] in her hand, her shortsword in the other. She was groaning as Dyeda wavered at the edge of the cliff. The Kraken Eaters paused.

They didn’t want to kill her, but she was insulting the most integral part of their being. One jabbed a sword at her.

“Take back words.”

There must have been too much Gothica in Dyeda’s social circle recently. Or…Rags tensed, and then she saw Dyeda glance over her shoulder a final time, then give the Kraken Eaters a huge grin.

“Eat goat poop, you not-Goblins.”

They shouted in outrage—and Dyeda jumped backwards over the cliff edge. Rags saw half the Kraken Eaters lunge for her with outstretched arms. Was she crazy?

No. Not crazier than any other married person, which was some kind of crazy in Rags’ opinion.

What the Kraken Eaters had missed and what Rags had seen was the flicker of red moving towards the cliff. Rags eyes opened wide as Dyeda leapt—and she saw the silliest thing she’d seen since the last time she’d hung out with Erin.

Namely—a Hobgoblin riding a crimson mountain bike with a helmet on his head, accelerating with each second.

Rianchi, the [Gearhead Biker], was already going faster than a Carn Wolf at full sprint. As Dyeda jumped, he angled his mountain bike towards a small incline of dirt.

He wasn’t going to make it! Rags saw Dyeda peering back as she fell, grinning—and Rianchi was standing up on his bike pedals. She heard a faint voice, his shout—

“[Phantom Gears (+10)]. [Double Pedaling]—”

Even his Skills sounded stupid. Rags saw his bicycle accelerate as if someone had kicked it from behind. The Hobgoblin half-turned as he rose and his bicycle launched into the air. The Kraken Eaters gaped down at him open-mouthed. Rianchi’s arms came up—

He caught Dyeda, and then they landed. Rags saw Kevin’s bicycle, the enchanted bicycle, absorb the fall. Then Rianchi, still standing up, hit a rock, and he and Dyeda wiped out.

“Ah.”

The groaning Goblins hit the ground at far less fatal speeds than Dyeda’s crazy jump. The Kraken Eaters glanced at each other. Then they went swarming down the cliff, possibly to beat down both Goblins for their takes on Human survival. Mostly, Rags thought, to steal the bicycle.

They didn’t have a chance. Rianchi hopped on the back of the mountain bike, and Rags realized the longer seat was so Dyeda could cling precariously to his back.

“[Lightning Run]!”

A Hob ran at Rianchi, sword raised, bolts of lightning flashing from her feet. She jumped—and hit the ground as he took off.

A Fomirelin burst out the trees, lunging at the bicycle, and Rianchi was three dozen feet past the Great Goblin, who landed comically, arms unfolded. Every Goblin stopped running and saw the [Biker] just…leave.

He was racing through the trees, his bicycle keeping steady despite the bumps thanks to Hedault’s magical suspension. The wheels flashing so fast they seemed like silver discs, catching the light, as Dyeda blew kisses and flipped off the Kraken Eaters. Then the bicycle was turning, and Rags leaned on the wall of a house for a second. Watching the grinning pair of Goblins circle the Kraken Eater tribe and race past a horse, who stared at the bicycle with the dismayed understanding of a species realizing it had competition.

“I guess it looks sort of nice.”

Rags had to admit. Then she turned back towards the village. It was just a shame her specialty was war.

 

——

 

There was a hand around Snapjaw’s throat, and she couldn’t breathe. She was still trying to bite the hand, but Naumel ignored her teeth. He turned to Rags when she halted, checking her bag of holding as the Wyverns flew lower overhead. Icecube was shrieking in fear and anger, but Rags pointed, and he aborted his dive.

Naumel glared at her. His eyes were ablaze with fury; hers were calm.

“Let go of her.”

“Why should I? Give up or I’ll kill her.”

He spat back. Rags just drew her crossbow. She checked over her shoulder; the Humans were almost all out of the village, but they’d never get far with the Kraken Eaters behind them. She spoke to Naumel as he shook Snapjaw. Her voice was calm in a way Snapjaw sort of resented given that she was blacking out.

But the [Eater] had to grin, because Rags’ next words were—

“You won’t. Or you wouldn’t be a Goblin. You kill Humans and monsters.”

Naumel’s eyes narrowed. He tightened his grip a second, as if to prove Rags wrong, and the Hobgoblin added as she drew her sword.

“Let her go. And I’ll fight you like you want, Chieftain Naumel. Winner takes both tribes.”

He dropped Snapjaw, and the Goblin coughed as she landed. She twisted as the Kraken Eater Goblins saw the two Chieftains and cheered. Naumel raised a fist. He raised his arms into the air, like some kind of ancient prizefighter, to a roar of approval from his Goblins.

A symbol of strength; Rags stood in the street, taller than the average Goblin, but shorter than every other Hob, wearing armor made by Goblins, a miniature warlord as foreign to regular Goblin existence as Naumel. The Kraken Eater’s Chieftain lifted his fist higher, roaring a challenge.

Rags shot him in the throat. The quarrel lodged halfway through Naumel’s flesh, and he choked. He reached up, yanked it out, and Rags fired again.

[Rapid Reload]. [Dual Shot].

“Oh!”

She shot Naumel through the kneecap this time, then in the groin. The roar from the Chieftain was followed by a wild charge; he didn’t even stop to yank either bolt out. Rags flicked her fingers forwards.

“Now. [Flashbang].”

The air exploded with light and sound. Ryoka’s spell. Naumel, undeterred, leapt and punched the spot where Rags had been, but she had vanished.

Unlike last time, Rags pivoted sideways, running even as she cast the spell. She dove, rolled to her feet, and the Great Chieftain missed. Rags caught the corner of a building, swung around it as Naumel spun, his eyes scrunched up—and a Frost Wyvern blasted him with ice.

Icecube hovered there, exhaling the last of his breath as Naumel roared and fought his way clear of the ice. He swung his fists, caving in the wall of the house, but Rags had already sprinted away and reset herself.

Run, reposition. It reminded him of a [Soldier]; she was controlled, deliberate. And he couldn’t hit her. Why?

The Kraken Eater’s Chieftain was used to foes who faced him in battle. He sought out enemy champions and leaders and killed them. An enemy who ducked him wasn’t unheard of—but something else was throwing him off. Rags had seen Naumel fight. She had an idea of his reach and speed and kept well out of range, but more than that…

He glanced at the place he’d punched, and he still felt like Rags was there. It was as if there were a dozen small Goblins around him, telling him to turn and hit them instead of the Goblin he could see.

[Aura of the Emissary]. The Chieftain’s instincts had to be overridden by his conscious mind. Outraged, he bellowed at the Goblin.

“Fight me! Chieftain to Chieftain!”

That was how she fought. Rags appeared, this time with sword and crossbow aflame.

[Burning Blades]. Lightning danced down the blade of the shortsword Erin had given her. Naumel began to charge, and Rags pointed.

A bolt of lightning drew itself from the shortsword and crackled off her claws. It hit the Great Chieftain in the chest. Even Snapjaw blinked. She hadn’t known Rags could do that!

It still barely slowed the Chieftain down. He was running at her when the world went dark. Snapjaw hacked; her vision was suddenly black, and grit was in her mouth and eyes.

What the? Then she heard a furious, coughing roar and realized what had happened.

Rags and her duststorm technique. The other Wyvern Rider had dumped a metric ton of dirt and sand over them all. Now, Naumel was truly blinded. But Rags wasn’t.

[Sense Heat]—the Goblin must have maneuvered, because a [Fireball] emerged from a different spot in the dust cloud and hit the Great Chieftain with a roar. The blast ignited a lot of the dust around him, adding a dust explosion to the spell. Rags cast another [Fireball] as the dust turned to ash and smoke.

However—Naumel was just getting angrier, and Snapjaw saw a telltale flicker in the air where Rags’ [Fireballs] had come from. Oh no. She saw the burning flames of Rags’ weapons and tried to shout.

“Chieftain! Watch—”

Naumel hit Rags so hard it sounded like he destroyed an entire house. Some kind of leaping Skill—the ground quaked, and Snapjaw cried out in horror.

“Rags!”

Silence. A curse from Naumel—then a howl of agony and a familiar, chemical smell.

The wind blew; one of the Kraken Eater [Shamans] had conjured a breeze. When Snapjaw could see, she saw Naumel was tearing at his chest. Rags was stepping away from him, tossing an empty jar aside. A trail of green liquid fell from it.

Acid jar. Naumel was burnt and his entire chest and front were sizzling with steam. But how? Snapjaw would have sworn she’d seen him hit—

 

——

 

Rags grimaced as she stared at the remains of her crossbow. It had been badly damaged from Naumel’s first punch last week, and the [Repair] spells hadn’t worked fully. Even so…it hurt her.

She hoped punching it had hurt Naumel. He’d spotted her [Burning Blades] spell in the cloud and done the obvious thing and assumed it was her. Instead, Rags had deactivated the spell on her sword and hung the crossbow up on a wall. A feint so she could hit him.

That punch had been scary as hell. If it had struck her, she’d be dead. But she’d just splashed him with an acid jar.

The Kraken Eaters were screaming insults and outrage. This was the worst Chieftain duel they’d seen. Rags tuned them out; she was watching Naumel.

That had to work. It had to…aw.

The steaming of his dissolving skin had slowed. As Rags watched, the erosion of Naumel’s flesh slowed…then reversed. His breath was ragged as he felt at his chest, panting, no longer confident. Agony made his voice raw as he swung towards her.

“[Emergency…Regeneration].”

“Aspat.”

That was a lot of her tricks. The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe stood there, sword in hand, as the Kraken Eaters focused on her. The Chieftain of the Kraken Eaters gulped air, visibly tired from his healing.

Unwilling to admit how much damage she’d done without a scratch on her. His eyes focused on Rags, then the last Humans running in the distance. She held her sword out to her side, and there they were.

Two Chieftains. Two Goblins of a very different kind trying to understand each other. He jerked his head.

“Give up. Not for them. Why for them? Why, why, why—”

His hands clenched together, and he lowered himself. A Skill burning through his body.

[The Kraken Dives]. His knees tensed.

Rags just placed a hand on her chest. She gave him a grin he didn’t understand, rueful, amused, regretful, but not for this.

“[Ogre’s Strength]. No killing Humans.”

She saluted Naumel, sword in hand, flashing with lightning that illuminated her grin. Rags held the sword out to her side, like she had seen a Drake [Swordmaster] once do. One of her claws shone with magic, and she waited for him. Fearlessly, as if she had seen this all before.

He leapt and tore a furrow down the street, sending the flagstones, dirt, and everything in front of him and his target into the air. A Skill to down a Battle Golem in a single hit. Earned from besting a Kraken.

He didn’t hit her. A backwash of flames and the faint kick of force made Naumel look up. He sighed and pivoted; she was in the air.

A [Fireball] spell had launched Rags up. She was cartwheeling, now, falling. She must have thought it was clever.

A falling Goblin couldn’t dodge. Naumel swung an arm back.

“[Racdelbear’s Claws].”

He cut towards her with his hands, massive claws shredding the air.

Rags grinned like a [Magician] with a bag of infinite tricks. Then she shot sideways, and Naumel missed.

“Huh?”

Green flames roared around Naumel’s hand. He saw Rags spinning, land with a twirl, and catch herself. She’d pushed herself out of the way with that spell. An arc of green fire spiraled around the Goblin, and she leapt again, dodging Naumel with a burst of speed.

Like [Flash Step], but…not the same. She landed again, scattering petals of green fire that licked across the street, and there was something graceful about it. Naumel had killed [Duelists] using [Flash Step] but this wasn’t the same. When she leapt, her entire body took off instead of the Skill moving her through the world. And she could almost fly.

What kind of spell was that?

The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe gave Naumel and the Kraken Eaters a bow. Then, as he ran at her, she jumped.

“[Apista’s Jetflame].”

She shot into the sky over his reaching claws. Naumel leapt, and Rags reached up; a hand caught hers, and Snapjaw hauled her onto Icecube’s back. The Frost Wyvern gave the Kraken Eaters’ Chieftain a damn good kick, and then he was flying up, squawking because the Goblin was a lot more solid than Icecube had thought, and the Frost Wyvern was reconsidering his opinion that he could also take Naumel on in a 1 versus 1.

It didn’t matter. Naumel landed on his back and saw Rags in the air. She was clinging to the Frost Wyvern as the second one, loaded up with all her Goblins, from the Redfangs to Dyeda and Rianchi, all waved down at the Kraken Eaters.

They were flying off. The furious Kraken Eaters raced after them, hurling javelins and shooting arrows. While Rags had been fighting Naumel, the other Goblins had gotten on with Wyverndancer, and now they were running away.

“Come back! Cowards!”

Cazmaw roared, swinging his axe futilely. He had to dodge a [Fireball] that flashed down towards him, and then they were out of the range of even spells.

“Chieftain! You okay? Chieftain?”

Goblins were all around Naumel. He just lay there on his back, wounded, angry beyond reason—and without the satisfaction of having hit anything. He stared at Rags wordlessly until she was a speck, and even then…

Naumel only broke away after ten minutes. He heaved himself up slowly, and they all backed away from the Kraken Eaters’ Chieftain. However, Naumel was still.

They understood each other now. A bit better. He turned and stared around the empty village. Then, at last, he spoke.

“Fituna.”

“Chieftain?”

Naumel chose his next words carefully. His eyes roamed the horizon.

“Where…are the High Passes?”

 

——

 

The euphoria lasted as long as her adrenaline did. Rags endured the backslaps and cheering of the other Goblins as she made sure they were okay, and she congratulated Rianchi and Dyeda especially. Then scolded them for being idiots.

They were all grinning, even Snapjaw, who kept coughing and refusing a healing potion despite her bruised throat. This was the Chieftain they wanted.

“We showed them, right, Chieftain? And my beautiful, fast Rianchi carried me away! No one could catch us when he’s on his bicycle.”

Dyeda hugged Rianchi, despite the scolding. Rags relented in her lecture for one second.

“Rianchi. Explain your Skills. What the heck is…[Phantom Gears]?”

She got [Double Pedaling]. It instantly upgraded Rianchi in her estimations, but she had no clue what the other Skill was until he showed her his bicycle, holding it across the Wyvern’s back.

“Is a very new, green Skill, Chieftain. Kevin liked it. See? I have six gears here because this is one of his special bicycles.”

He puffed out his chest, and Rags knew enough of bicycles to see the complex gears set up to accept different speeds. Then he used his Skill—and a second layer of gears appeared.

“[Phantom Gears]. See?”

“Ah.”

It allowed Rianchi to bypass what was natural and create settings beyond any normal bicycle for exceptionally hard or easy pedaling. Rags supposed it had a lot of utility; Rianchi had certainly sped up fast even from the speed he’d already been going. She sat back in her seat, sighing.

“Don’t do something stupid like that again unless I order you to. Write up your Skills, and I’ll think about how to use them.”

“Yes, Chieftain! Good job on beating stupid Naumel! Did you see his face?”

“Eh.”

Rags just sat there, tired and morose, and distinctly heard Wyverndancer telling the others:

“He not even important to her. She kick his gigantic butt and flies off. That our Chieftain. See? She always grumpy.”

Well, let them think that. Was Rags supposed to enjoy having humiliated Naumel? As far as she was concerned, she’d lost a potential ally, and for what? He wasn’t going to stop raiding Humans. It was an act of principle with no reward and a lot of risk. She’d nearly died…to prove a point at best.

Deeds without tangible benefit. Deeds that had to be done. Erin had taught her that. Rags just wished that, at some point, these deeds came with the power to protect people. But look at Erin. Her friends rallied towards her. She survived and fought and did her best only to wait for the next Solstice. Only for her garden to fill with statues.

Maybe Rags was a bit of a downer. But that, too, was Goblin.

 

——

 

Thus it was that a very tired Chieftain returned to her home in the High Passes four days later. She grumped off the landing pad as Goblins asked how the negotiations had gone. One glare was enough of an answer.

Rags vanished into her rooms, only asking Gothica what had happened at the inn. Since all answers were unsatisfactory or ludicrous—mountains of gold, playing poker with Fetohep?—Rags added it to her list.

She went to bed, but had one of those sort-of-sleeping things where she felt like she tossed and turned for hours. When she woke up in her silk sheets, it was late at night and she was hungry.

Rags scowled her way into a kitchen and came out with the largest bowl of spaghetti she could hold. Spaghetti, a bit of butter, some sausage, and nothing else; a culinary crime unless you knew why she liked it.

For a drink, she had blue juice, which she’d poured gin into. Another drinking sin. But Rags was tired. She hadn’t levelled up after fighting Naumel; not that she’d really expected to, but it would have been nice.

“Now what? I guess I have to bother that stupid, untalkative idiot. Or search for answers. Somehow.”

The High Passes were huge over Rags’ head, and she stared up at them, thinking she did know where some answers were.

“Like I have even a chance. I wanted allies. Someone I could trust. Someone—”

She was so upset that she completely missed the roof sentry’s hiss. Rags got two steps across the roof when something landed with a thump that shook the ground.

The Frost Wyvern Lord and Rags came nose-to-nose. He had lightning scorch marks all over his face. Rags halted as he folded one wing, wincing, and opened his mouth. She shifted her drink to her spaghetti hand, balancing the plate on her arm, and pointed a burning finger at him.

After a moment, the Wyvern Lord closed his mouth. Rags lowered her finger and waved the sentry Goblin down.

“Get me a vat of the whiskey no one likes. The Drake stuff.”

She sat on the edge of Goblinhome, eating spaghetti out of her bowl as the Wyvern Lord licked at his wing, making a whinging sound deep in his throat. Rags just stared out across the barren wasteland.

A long tongue tried to slurp some spaghetti. She slapped it down. There was a growl; after a moment, she held out her cup. She poured a small dram onto the tongue, and it recoiled. She heard a slurping sound, then it came back.

With a sigh, Rags dumped a plate’s worth of spaghetti on the tongue. She hated sharing, but it wasn’t like she could even eat all of what she’d gotten. Silently, she heard a gulping sound, and then, at some point, a few Goblins dragged something sloshing up. One handed her a cup as the lid was levered open.

Rags silently poured another cup of whiskey into her blue juice. She heard a loud, slurping sound, then a morose sigh.

“Yep.”

The Wyvern’s giant head lay next to Rags. She rubbed at her neck and stared into the distance, trying to imagine the far-off lands where Erin might be. She gazed up at the High Passes.

Someone tried to put a wing around her, and she slapped it down. Then she just sat there. Sighing and drinking.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

I was really tired today, so I said, pirateaba, I said, ‘don’t do the Fightipilota plot, and I’m sure it’ll be 4k, 6k tops’.

HERE WE ARE. But it’s still a chapter a day, and I still enjoy the ‘lack’ of pressure. I’ll expound on this later maybe, but I am pirateaba, writing because I feel like it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have food waiting for me, and I am going to play video games.

I still feel like this is fun, but rest assured, I will be going for shorter chapters. There’s a voice in my head that says readers will be mad if I put out a 4k chapter…even if they’re daily.

I am trying to hunt down that voice. For now, enjoy another (longer) chapter.

 

Young Magnolia by Xander!

 

Niers Courting by Yura!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/yurariria

 

Silvenia Drunk, Heart, and Wine by Maoxfhan, commissioned by Linu!

 

Silvenia by JuanD!

 

Alevica’s Tales by LeChatDemon!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal

Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lechatdemon/

 

Moore, Ulinde, Nerrhavia, and Young Yazdil by GridCube…

 

Optometrist by Stargazing Selphid!

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/megawint/

 

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