(Book One Complete!) Friendly Neighbourhood Goblin (Mercenary Company LitRPG)

The Knight Inn was bustling over the next few days. It never hit the stride of their evening with the Jailburn, but there was always enough guests to fill each table and then some during its busiest hours.

Reema flourished when she straddled the narrow line between completely occupied and internally panicking, but between her eight levels in Hospitality and Jin's six in Cooking, the inn was on the verge of requiring extra help. Sometimes they enlisted Morg to scrub tables at night, or Stump to prep vegetables in the morning. They always did—Stump happily and Morg reluctantly—and night after night the two innkeepers spilled their earnings on the hardwood and spun a list of ways to upgrade the inn.

Bigger kegs, better brews, newer chairs, longer menu. They could invest in an oven for freshly baked sporebread, Reema suggested. Or they could start a mist garden to cultivate wispwhorl, or build a pen for muckhens or a barn for spinegoats. But those were dreams, at least for now. The coins flowed, the beer poured, and every day Jin wheeled supplies from Grimsgate. Every new plank or plugged hole or slotted shingle stole a bit of the inn's fungal must, and replaced it with the woodsy whiff of the Shadowlands.

And the clients trickled in over the days, drawing the Nobodies down to their company hall—the damp, dimly lit cellar of the Knight Inn.

"I heard about your light show," said their first, after seating himself across from Stump. "Heard it was all pretty like."

He'd introduced himself as Larea, a middle aged stagfolk with short, chipped antlers. Flecks of grey disturbed his brown fur, and his face sagged with the worried frown of a father to several unwieldy children.

"Thank you," said Stump. He had thrown open the company ledger and set up his new purchases—an inkwell and quill, and a map scroll of the extended territories of Aubany. It was larger than anticipated. When unfurled, distant markings hung off the table like they were falling off the edge of the world.

"Do ya do birthdays?" Larea went on, hat—with holes for antlers—in hand.

"Hm?" Morg grumbled. He stood ominously behind Stump, unmasked and barely within the bubble of mycolight. Stump couldn't decide if the dwarf's naturally resting scowl and preference for black was any less intimidating without the mask.

"Birthdays," the man repeated. "Parties and the like."

Stump smiled. "We can."

The book magically recorded the day their patron had been planning for his son's seventh birthday, complete with trained birds and a Lumenurgic light show. There were few Lumenurgists in the Downs, Larea explained, and the ones that claimed to be tended to charge exorbitant fees and showed up with nothing more than a pack of torches and a passing interest in juggling.

- Quest Added -

Stagfolk Party

Larea's son is turning seven in a few day's time, but he's having trouble hiring someone for the main event: a Lumenurgic light show. Head over to Hogg's Hollow and wow the children with Lumensa's gift to receive an appropriate gift of your own.

Rewards: 6 copper

Assigned to: Stump (The Nobodies)

Assisted By: None

Another came in that day, followed by two more the day after. One of them was known to Morg—a short, blue-skinned man with crescent moon eyes and a shock of white hair named Yanneck. He had been known to associate with various trap companies in coming up with fake quests to lure in new and inexperienced mercenaries into all sorts of undesirable fiscal arrangements.

Yanneck quickly found himself sprinting back to Grimsgate, chased by an angry vampire dwarf, and a fork wielding innkeeper possessed of frightening speed.

But most who came were those living small lives in the Downs. Four copper to stand guard outside Deshe's up and coming inn, to prevent it being ransacked by the mercenaries hired by her competitors. Three copper to aid in the search of a missing Shadowmander, last seen slithering around the mudflats of Guttershine. One lady couldn't offer any glimmer at all. She apologized profusely during the telling of her quest to aid her son in convincing the woman of his dreams to marry him.

Three copper. Five copper. One copper. No copper, but endless thanks and the promise of free freshly baked hushcakes once a week at Backalley Kneads. Another day went by, then another.

The pages of the book swirled with smokey black ink and the recordings of quests and quest-givers and soon a dozen entries had solidified in neat columns, and the total rewards amounted to a little more than a silver piece and the promise of baked goods.

Stump massaged his head and stared at the open tome. He'd been prone to headaches ever since the corner of their office had filled with extra crates of garlic and glowcaps to compensate for the inn's uptick in traffic.

"I don't suppose we could take all the quests," he mused.

Morg scoffed. "Three or four at most. It's just you 'n me, gobby."

The ceiling creaked under Reema's footsteps, and faint dinner chatter slipped through the cellar door. "Four including the birthday quest, or do you think I can squeeze in one more? Maybe I can look around Guttershine for that Shadowmander."

"That Shadowmander's likely in someone's shadow stew," Morg countered. He had pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the map. "Ye want to take on more quests, you've got to hire another member to yer crew. Ye want to hire another member ye got to earn yerself some coin. Ye want to earn some coin ye got to pick the best payin' jobs that come yer way 'n ignore the rest."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Stump shook his head. Most of those who came to them had already been turned away by the other companies of the Downs. It was glory they were after.

"That's not what the Nobodies are about. I want to help people, copper or no copper. If I do a quest for someone they know our names. They know we're reliable, and our fame goes up. Isn't that half the battle?"

They'd reached eight fame in Grimsgate through word of their exploits in the Spits, but since then the number hadn't budged. They needed a new avenue, and doing a large number of small quests for those who needed it was the best way to get there, and aiding the people of the Downs might bring word back to them of Boragu and her father, wherever they might be.

"Ye can't help everyone, Stump," said Morg.

"Does that mean we don't try?"

The door rattled under a barrage of heavy raps and swung open with a creak, spilling light down the steps. "Stump? Morg?" Reema called. "Got another one for you."

Stump sighed. "Send them down."

"We don't normally face these sorts of incursions," the old lady explained. She was the smallest human Stump had ever seen. She was swaddled in blue and grey and her bulbous nose hung between eyes shadowed by thick grey brows. She's barely bigger than a goblin, he thought.

"I understand," said Stump.

"My daughter's husband Tydas has been losing his crop to these green bandits."

"Mother!" the daughter chided and grabbed the old lady's thin wrist.

"Apologies. You're not all so bad, I'm sure."

Stump shrugged off the insult. He couldn't be too upset with the tall men, who so often fell prey to goblin raids outside the safety of their walls.

"They ransacked your greenhouse, you were saying?" he said.

The crone's eyebrows shot up as if she were reliving the horror anew. "My darlings were stolen! And trampled! Blue-helmed wort, greylock, spotted thistle… some of these breeds are expensive to procure, and others have great medicinal value those green"—hand on wrist—"your kind would not be aware of."

Stump swallowed a defensive reply. It was true most of those flowers would be offered to the yellow matron of whatever tribe carried out the raid, but goblins were well aware of the many gifts of the earth, maybe even more than she was.

"Normally we have various swords-for-hire on the property, but the contracts have all run out. Tydas is busy hiring the very best fighters to root the greenskins out of their cave, wherever it may be, but until their forces can mobilize, I cannot fathom a second attack on my darlings," she went on. "I would require someone capable, perhaps even two or three someones, to stand guard and dissuade any further pillaging."

The book formed the words of the quest as they spoke.

"I'm sorry to hear about your troubles," said Stump, indicating to the map. "Where is your farm?"

The old lady attempted to read the squiggles on the parchment, but rallied her daughter's aid, who stamped a finger on a plot north of the Knight Inn.

That close to the city? No plunder in the world would draw a goblin tribe through the Shadowlands—certainly none of the tribes he knew about. "And you've seen these goblins yourselves?" he asked.

The old lady's face wrinkled at his skepticism. "Of course we have. Thrice now, in fact."

"Sorry, I don't mean to doubt you…" he began, but trailed off when he realized he hadn't learned their names.

"I'm Merra," the daughter said, and gestured to her mother. "This is Maven."

"Maven Valroy, matriarch of Peaktree Manor," she said as if her name was being heralded by unheard trumpets. "Our estate is the largest north of the Brightwater," she added with the unsubtle nod of someone with great wealth.

Stump pondered the hint, and his stomach tightened at the thought of discussing payment. He'd done so with everyone who visited, but there was an unintended rudeness he felt came with the question. Still, he asked, "How much would you be offering?"

Maven gestured to her daughter, who leaned forward.

"Three silver," said Merra.

Stump and Morg shared a gasp.

"The first day," she clarified. "Two silver each day thereafter, for a total of seven days."

Stump fought the desire to turn and see the dwarf's expression. He nodded thoughtfully, and swallowed the saliva pooling under his tongue. "Generous."

"I heard tell of your work on Seabrace," Maven trilled. "Wasptongue maintains a magnificent hive of stingbloods, I'm told. I thought you might be the right fit. Was I correct?"

"Uh…" Stump hoped Morg would add his expertise to the exchange, but the dwarf was silent. "We'll have to discuss the specifics, and how… who to send on the quest, of course."

Maven smiled mischievously. "That one behind you looks like quite the gruesome fellow. I imagine he's stomped many a goblin to dust."

"Mother…" Merra warned.

"For fifteen silver it's me day job," said Morg.

Satisfaction warmed the pale cheeks of the old matriarch. "We'll be in the city for three days on business, resting at the Short and Suite. On our way back we will pass through here. You have until then to decide or I give the quest to whomever Tydas hires."

After they were gone, Stump deflated in his chair. Morg reoccupied the opposite seat and drummed his meaty fingers on the table. "Quite the offer," he said.

"Fifteen silver," Stump breathed. He blinked at the ceiling, sure he would wake from the dream at any moment.

"Don't suppose there'd be room for hagglin' our way up to a gold piece."

"Maybe." Stump studied the map and the name of the manor in tiny lettering northeast of Aubany. Smaller unnamed steads dotted the space around it, and all of them looked to be frozen mid fall into the wide maw of the forests to the north and east.

Stump traced his finger from Peaktree Manor, moving east through the woods, and stopped where he thought his tribe might be. He had no way of knowing if his measurement was accurate, and there were no markings to follow that far beyond the city, but he wondered if one of those insignificant tree strokes stood next to the cave where he spent the first seven years of his life.

Goblins would never travel that far.

"Is it real?" he said.

Morg furrowed his brow. "How do ye mean?"

"Goblins don't raid this close to the city. If they really are being attacked, it's got to be something else. Do you think this is a trap company?"

The dwarf scoffed. "It's a real quest, goblins or no. Peaktree's got too much wealth to bother scammin' penny companies out o' their glimmer." He stood and flattened his hands on the map. "Whatever's doin' the raiding's got to be stopped. Lucky for us it's not so far from the inn. Only real problem is, we got just one of us. Ye got to stay here 'n hold down the company hall."

Stump's hesitation eased with Morg's confidence. "It is a lot of coin to pass up," he said.

"That it is." Morg pulled a hand off the table and stroked his beard. "If we're goin' to take it we've got to hire a sword or two in the next couple o' days."

"Hire with what?"

"We'd be able to pay 'em off for the next while with the rewards alone, and it gets us closer to five members."

Stump glanced at the ledger, scanning the page of minor quests offered over the last few days. Someone has to help them, too. "I can get started on hiring," he said and spun the book to Morg. "In the meantime we should clean up some of these quests."

The dwarf studied the tome with a ponderous frown. "I'll do the one about the penny company 'n the guard job over at the Stumble Inn, that way we keep our name ringin' in Grimsgate."

"And you'll ask about Boragu and her father, won't you? While you're out there?"

Morg met his eyes and nodded. "Aye," he said. "And ye got to hire someone as big as me, y'hear?"

- Quest Added -

- Quest Added -

A Penny For Your Daughter

Pellere, leader of the penny company Dawn & Dusk, has his eyes set on Neyenne, a lady in Grimsgate already betrothed to Geshrin, the son of a tanner. Pellere has been threatening Geshrin's family in order to break the betrothal and take Neyenne for himself. Her father has come to you to ask you to convince Pellere to leave Geshrin and Neyenne alone…by any means necessary.

Rewards: 4 copper

Assigned to: Morgish

Mysterious Cargo

Elborr of the Stumble Inn has tasked you with a simple job: stand guard at the back of the inn while he unloads his cargo. Easy. Quick. The question of what this cargo is and why it must be guarded so closely was not revealed to you.

Rewards: 5 copper

Assigned to: Morgish