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

It would have been generous to say that Gremgash the Anvil sat in the chair across from Stump. He squatted, and the chair squealed under his monstrous weight, but the Anvil still managed to sit taller than most tall men stood.

He slouched forward to avoid the rafters and placed his ample hands on his knees. "Nice t'meet you," he huffed through tusks curving out of his underbite. The ceiling vibrated in reply, shaking columns of dust free from unseen nooks.

"You as well," said Stump. He thought of offering his hand, but wasn't sure he would get it back. "You saw the posting of the Nobodies looking for new members?"

Gremgash nodded. "Fighting men, y'said. Saw it in the registry at Penny Hall."

"Good. We're looking for permanent members. You've been part of another company recently, I see," Stump said, reading the information as it coalesced in the arcane pages.

"Was part of the Gutter Garrison for a couple months with my partner."

"Wanted to try something new?"

The orc flexed his meaty arms. "Somethin' like that."

Stump's eyes widened at Gremgash's stats. Twelve levels in Martial - Simple Weapons, three in Unarmed Combat, and another five in Expert Weapons. "Quite the experience here," he observed. "You don't…" he choked on his words when he spied the weekly rate—five silver. "Uh…"

Gremgash surmised Stump's hesitation. "My partner and I go as one," he said. "Gorgash the Hammer's part of the fee."

"And where is he?" Stump leaned to one side to see if there might be a second interviewee behind the Anvil's towering form.

Gremgash unclipped a wicker jar from his belt, twisted off the cap, and dug his meaty hand inside. When he pulled it out again and uncurled his fingers, a slimy grey toad sat in his palm. "Gorgash the Hammer."

Stump blinked. "That's Gorgash?"

Gorgash the Hammer croaked.

"Does he have… uh… any skills?"

The Anvil's heavy brow lowered. "She's a frog."

"Right." Stump plucked the quill out of the inkwell and mimed scrawling something important. "I'll talk with my partner and get back to you once we've made our decision," he said, lowering his gaze to the tome to signal the end of the interview. "He loves frogs, I'm sure."

"You won't regret takin' us on," said Gremgash.

"Ribbit," Gorgash agreed.

An hour later Reema ushered a dwarf down the basement steps. He made the first half with a confident stride, but stepped a little too far near the bottom and tumbled the rest of the way. Stump leapt off his chair and moved to help him stand.

"No, no," the dwarf said, hauling himself to his feet. "Won't be necessary." He rivalled Morg in height but was much more gaunt, and older by many decades. His white hair had long since retreated back across his scalp and tufts of wiry beard clung to his chin. One eye was missing, and in its place was a coin that had long since lost its magical glimmer. The other blinked at Stump, magnified through the looking glass affixed to his face.

"I'm called Raggan," the dwarf said in a raspy voice once they were seated. "Raggs, If I like ye."

His page coalesced out of magical ink, revealing a total of thirteen levels—nine in Trade - Mercantilism and three in Simple Weapons. Stump looked up at the dwarf expectantly. "A merchant?" he said.

"I can tell ye the true value of anythin' ye set in front o' me… provided I can see it at all," Raggan said, pointing to his spectacle. "Old eyes."

Stump clanked the badge of the Iron Fleece on the table.

Raggan appraised it with a twisted frown. "Twelve copper!" he announced, and then scratched his chin. "No, wait… one silver. Eh…" He plucked it gingerly between two fingers. "Is this a broach or a belt buckle?"

"It's a—"

Raggs bit it ponderously.

"Never mind," Stump said, snatching it back.

"Ah! Wait!" Raggs' eye went wide. "Fifteen copper, final offer!"

Stump tucked the insignia back into his pouch, away from the prying gaze of the half-blind dwarf, and ushered him back up the steps with the promise he'd hear from them soon. It took three attempts before Raggs reached the door without tumbling back down.

Two hours dragged by before the third mercenary waddled down the steps. "Very dusty in here," he observed. He was only a foot taller than Stump, and his mouse-like face protruded out of a cap stitched together from four or five different materials.

Stump suppressed the urge to sneeze. "It is, isn't it?"

The ratfolk introduced himself as Fennis the Midnight Fixer, a fourteenth level tradesman with only one focus point each in Carpentry, Tailoring, Smithing, and Stoneworking. "I fix things," Fennis explained. "I can patch up all materials, all clothing and armour, and weapons too, if need be."

Stump nodded along to Fennis' pitch and examples of his work. Often without access to the materials he needed, Fennis wouldn't give up. He'd been known to patch cloaks with fish scales and leaky ceilings with repurposed tavern signage. His own clothes were a mismatched assortment of contrasting colours and textures and seemed to be held together entirely by optimism.

"That's all very impressive, but we're looking for someone with some combat experience," said Stump. Much like his choice of dress, Fennis' skills were a collage of minor talents, with no skill ventured too deeply, none of which suited the current needs of the Nobodies.

Fennis' whiskers twitched. "Combat? Yes. In two levels I will place a focus on combat, yes? Which do you like? Unarmed? Simple Weapons? Expert Weapons? Yes? Ranged—"

The ratfolk sneezed, and the clothes burst off his body.

Stump sipped a cup of Penny Porter, a new keg Jin had ordered, and grimaced at the roasted nutty aftertaste.

"Not as good when you're sober, is it?" said Reema, looking up from the coins she and Jin had spilled on a table.

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The taurean was hunched over the pile with a pair of comically dainty spectacles and a feathered quill that looked like it might snap in his fingers at the slightest twitch. His brow pinched as he looked from the glimmer to the ledger in front of him, and scribbled some notes after a round of silently mouthed calculations.

Stump shoved the drink across the table. "I thought I might've developed a taste for it," he said.

Without a blink Reema slipped back into work mode. She sidled over and swept the mug away. "Where's Morg? Still on that quest?"

"He said he'd be back in a few hours if everything goes well." Stump's ears curled. "Wish I had better news for him."

Reema started for the bar to pour the drink out, but Jin swiped it without taking his eyes off his notes. He took a sip and grumbled happily.

"Didn't go well with the mercenaries?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

Stump sighed. "There's hundreds of them out there, but if I don't hire one in a few days we might lose out on a really big quest."

"And you absolutely must hire one?"

"It's not a one man job. And if I get a third member it means we can take on more of the smaller quests, too. Those matter, maybe even more than the big ones."

"Will ya keep it down? I'm tryin' to count here," complained Jin.

Reema reoccupied her place over his shoulder and pointed to something he'd written. "That's not how you spell silver."

He huffed and pencilled over the mistake.

"You can't do those smaller jobs yourself?" she said, returning to the bar.

"Some of them," said Stump. "I've got that stagfolk party tomorrow in Hogg's Hollow, but that leaves even less time to hire someone."

"I'm sure Morg could see to that while you're out."

"He'll have to. Someone needs to stay back and listen to requests. There should always be someone at the inn."

Reema ducked through the curtained kitchen doorway, but her voice rolled back out along a breeze of pepper and sorrel. "Why don't you hire someone for that? To stay behind, I mean? That way you and Morg can go out for quests while a third member deals with the accounting."

He mulled the idea. "Maybe, but I can't just take anyone off the street for that. I'd need to trust them, I'd need…"

Stump faltered as Reema sauntered back into the room with a bucket of compost. His ears perked, and he watched her with a thoughtful eye.

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (8/9)

She froze as she fed the glowcap pots beneath a window, and narrowed her eyes. "Did I say something?"

Stump cracked open the book by mycolight. He leafed to an empty page and waited for the stats to surface. When they didn't he gave Reema a puzzled look.

"I won't show," she said. "I'm not a registered mercenary." She had followed Stump down to the cellar, flattened her apron around her legs and sat across from him, but her eyes gazed up to the ceiling whenever Jin's shuffling sounded through.

"Right," Stump said and closed the book. "Tell me about your skills."

Reema cleared her throat. "Well I've got eight levels in Hospitality and three in Maintenance. The Hospitality lifts my own mood, even when I'm down, and it helps improve the mood of those within my own establishment."

He recalled all the moments he felt the warmth of her abilities, and realized since she'd come down with him the temperature of his office had ticked almost imperceptibly upwards.

"That's quite unique," he observed, and started to record the notes himself. After a sentence had been written, the words vanished on the page, locked away in its parchment memory.

"Maintenance is mostly for cleanliness and whatnot. It's not very powerful at the moment, but I'm told the highest levels allow your establishment to practically clean itself." She leaned forward. "Are you sure about this, Stump?"

He paused his note taking and looked up at her. "More sure than I am about anyone else. This is your inn. I wouldn't want anyone other than you looking over my books."

Reema bit her lip, uncertain. "If I say yes, does it mean you can take on that big quest?"

He sighed. "I don't think so. I'll still need to find someone who can fight. But it means Morg and I can both take on the smaller ones without missing out on anyone coming to the inn."

She watched him for a time with a thoughtful frown. Finally, she rested her hands on the table. "Alright," she said. "But I have some conditions."

Reema refused to charge a weekly rate. Instead, she let the rent stand as payment. She agreed to watch the books and take any meetings while both Morg and Stump were out questing, and in return she wanted to be consulted on all jobs they considered taking on, especially the dangerous ones.

"I'd also like the power to boot anyone from the inn if they fail my scrutiny. It is a tavern after all, and I can't have trap companies and scoundrels souring pa's cozy atmosphere Jin and I have been working so hard to cultivate," she said.

Stump vigorously scrawled her requests in the book, stopping only to reapply ink to his quill and falling behind several sentences.

"And I think there's an opportunity for us here to expand our enterprise," she went on. "I could add some items to the menu, reflecting the mercenary lifestyle to attract that flavour of character to the inn. Or I could change some names around. Maybe a goblin themed beer, or some kind of soup. Maybe Jin and I could think about changin' some of the colours around here to match the gold of the Nobodies. And you could spread the word about the inn while you're out questing. Oh, maybe we time some special deals or limited menu items to your biggest jobs. Are you getting all this?"

Stump dropped the quill to the relief of his cramped fingers. The jotted notes vanished into the pages of the tome, forever imprinting Reema's many conditions into its bindings.

It was an easy yes.

"Congratulations on becoming a mercenary, Reema," Stump said, shaking her hand. It was surprisingly firm. "Welcome to the Nobodies."

She flashed a warm smile. "Can't say I feel any different."

Stump jolted awake at the creak of a door. He lifted his head from where he'd fallen asleep on the pages of the ledger, and blinked blearily at the basement steps.

But it wasn't the trapdoor that had opened. Muffled voices leaked through the floorboards above, and Reema's cheerful greeting was hard to miss, as was the gruff cadence of a familiar dwarf.

Morg's back.

"Ye can mark 'em done, gobby," he said moments later, swaggering down the stairs and teasing a pouch of clinking coins. "Twelve more copper for the treasury."

Stump blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Twelve? I thought it was nine altogether."

Morg tossed the earnings onto the desk. Glittering copper spilled out. He shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "Was nine, 'til yer good ol' dwarven friend drove a bargain so hard into Elborr's chest ye'd think he was the vampire 'n I the vampire hunter," he said and fell back into a chair, crossing his boots over the table.

"Watch the map," Stump said, swiping out.

Morg readjusted and wiped the dirt away. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Anyhow, turns out Elborr's mysterious cargo was some shady procurements from the woods. Illegal animals 'n such."

Stump narrowed his eyes. "Did you threaten him?"

The dwarf bristled. "I didn't threaten nobody. I just reminded him about the laws o' the city and let him know I'd be inclined to keep my mouth shut should he accidentally overpay." Both of them fell silent. He scratched his beard. "Oh… I guess I did threaten him."

Stump sighed. "Three extra copper is nice, but maybe Elborr doesn't come back to us for his next quest. I want to build something here by helping people, not hurting them."

The dwarf's confidence slumped along with his shoulders. He nodded stiffly. "I know, Stump. Apologies for the methods. It's not easy sheddin' such tactics after livin' a number o' years in the Downs. Ye pick up particular qualities."

A quick recollection of Sylas standing beneath the lighthouse, rapier in hand, swelled the bloodlust in Stump's belly. Particular qualities, indeed.

"I just want us to do things differently," he said.

"And I want to help ye. Good news is the other job went just as well, maybe even better. Pellere won't be botherin' Neyenne anymore."

"How did you accomplish that?"

Morg exaggerated a cough to escape the question. "So how'd it go today? Any new hires?" he said.

"Reema."

The dwarf leaned forward with his mouth open. "The Reema?"

"The only one I know."

After a pause, Morg shrugged. "Not what I was expectin', but that's another member closer to copper, I guess."

"Sorry," said Stump. "You were right. It's hard finding someone who fits. I tried marking some mercenaries in the roster I'd be interested in, but none of them showed up today. Did you hear anything about Borag and Boragu while you were gone?"

Morg crossed his arms over his ample belly. "Only hearsay. Elborr thinks Guttershine, but I don't see it. The waterways wouldn't be kind to a blind man. Maybe Hogg's Hollow, maybe Brinetown, maybe over in Grimsgate, a couple o' turns from their old 'stablishment. Rumours move with the wind. They could be anywhere."

He was right. The Downs were massive, each district its own city and its people as numerous as leaves in a forest. But like the trees of the woods, the many nooks of their slums were rooted to one another. They communicated, shared information. Someone must have heard something.

"We'll keep looking," said Stump. "And we'll do the same for our next hire, only we don't have very long."

"It's a tight timeline we got," Morg agreed, then added in a careful tone, "Might be time we pay a visit to Stonegrave."

Stump sat up, hopeful. "Stonegrave?"

Morg let out a long, wary sigh. "Aye. Not me first choice, mind ye. Not even me last. But if it's a sword yer wantin', it's our best bet."