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

They left Sunless Sundries and the angry grumbling of Brass the Penny Pincher behind, an adventurer's pack slung over Stump's shoulder.

The whole storefront shuddered as the door squealed shut.

"That went well," said Reema, less than convincingly. She grabbed Stump's wrist and led him back across Withers Way with some haste. "Let's be off before he changes his mind, yes?"

He hadn't realized before shopping with her how vicious haggling could be. She and the Penny Pincher had squared off in the rustic interior, the pack on a table between them. They'd dug in their heels on either side of the original price—one silver—and volleyed their arguments. The colour was umber, he'd said, a rare and costly dye. No, it was brown and ugly, she countered, recently painted to inflate the value. One silver and five copper. One silver and two copper. No silver and nineteen copper.

After the dust settled and Brass had retreated to lick his verbal wounds, the Penny Pincher caved for fifteen copper, if for no other reason than to bring peace and quiet back to his shop.

That left them an even five silver for the rest of the day, a fair trade considering Reema had only lost a few antiques and a couple books for that price.

"Think he'll let you back in next time?" Stump said, his voice partly swallowed by the midday clamour.

"Oh, he'll be disagreeable for a day or two," Reema said hesitantly. "It's not the first time we've negotiated."

"Seems a good skill to have," he said, reflecting on the mercantile slaughter. It was no wonder Reema was as good as she was. She'd needed to fight for every glimmer to keep her inn afloat. I'll need to do the same for my company. "Do you think you could teach me?"

She glanced down at him with the weight of someone in possession of a dangerous weapon and the responsibility to loan it out. "I suppose I could. It's not difficult once you get the measure of it."

Stump imagined himself in her shoes but couldn't bring himself, even in the isolated safety of his own mind, to bite as hard as she did—did she really call Brass an overstuffed miser with nothing worth the price except his own retirement?

"I can try practising at our next stop," he suggested.

"Good call. Ugg shouldn't be too tough to barter with."

Red heat glowed from the archway of the Withered Forge.

Its newer wooden structure grew, as many buildings in Grimsgate did, around the crumbling bones of a much older world. A world before Jaessun, before Ingilish. It had once been a massive smithy capable of supplying an entire army with arms and armour, and ever since Uggan's grandfather had set up shop amidst the smoking ruins, the Withered Forge breathed anew.

At least that was the story Uggan told between clangs of his hammer against a sword bright with heat. "Been the premiere stop for all o' Grimsgate's smithin' needs since," he said. "Speakin' o' needs, what brings the two o' ye down Withers?"

He looked to Reema first, but her silence directed him to Stump, whose turn it was to sally forth from the bartering vanguard.

"We're looking for… well, I'm looking for some armour. Nothing too expensive," he said. They stood under what little remained of the old stone awning, now extended by mudbrick coloured by tiny sprawling civilizations of ironscale, a hardy smithy-loving species of mossbark lichen. One of Uggan's friends Stump recognized from the party at the Knight Inn pumped the bellows, stoking the heart of an ancient forge.

Clang. "Got another one o' them quests?" Uggan asked. Clang. "Anythin' like the Spits job I heard about?" Clang. Reema took a step back as yellow embers scattered from the anvil.

"A protection job over at Peaktree Manor. Goblins they're saying, but I'm not so sure," said Stump.

Uggan tilted his head with one eye shut to study a new angle for his work. "Goblins, eh? Good news is ye don't need much to protect against their weapons. But look who's tryin' to teach who about goblin warfare, eh?"

Stump turned his thoughts to the raids he'd been on, and the tactics his people used. "I was thinking… maybe a shield. Something for my body too, and my arms and hands."

"Helmet too, yeh?"

"Goblins don't like going for the head. They like to see your face when they kill you. Besides, I don't suppose you'd have any with ear holes."

Uggan chuckled. He appraised Stump from head to toe. "No, I s'ppose not. I've got what yer after, though. A whole set should put ye back about three silver, if yer scrimpin' on the quality. A kind like that's goin' to be patched with ironscale, so don't expect nothin' pretty."

"Three silver," Stump repeated, rolling the price around in his skull. Reema still wanted to buy some lanterns and oil and a couple doses of antitoxin, and beyond that the end of their second week was approaching and Stump owed his share of rent.

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Uggan, reading Stump's hesitation, went on. "But seein' as ye treated me and the lads to quite the celebration at the inn… I couldn't ask for more'n two."

"I… are you sure?" Stump fumbled, then remembered Reema's sharp haggling. "It's a deal. Thank you. I won't forget."

Despite his rough features and patchy facial hair, Uggan's smile was as warm as the forge's glow. "No need for thanks. We got to help each other this side o' the Blightwater."

Stump stirred, stepping dangerously close to the anvil. "Right. That's what I'd like to do," he said.

The sword hissed as Uggan dipped it in a barrel of water. He wiped his grimy hands on a rag black with soot. "I'll be back before ye can spit," he said and ducked through a stone archway.

He returned a minute later with a simple brown hide cuirass studded with iron and dusted with red flakes of ironscale, a wooden shield with a copper boss, and two matching pairs of hide gloves and bracers. Once Stump fitted the pieces in place and waddled awkwardly around the smithy, Uggan produced another item.

"Seein' as yer going adventurin' I thought ye might want these," he said and dropped a bandolier on a workbench. Three dense balls of sparkling black stone were affixed to it.

Stump shuffled closer, hide buckles clanking together. "What are they?"

"Near as I can tell they're obsidian," Uggan said with a shrug. "Good craftsmanship. Perfectly shaped, but they've been meddled with."

"Meddled?"

"The arcane, I mean. Enchanted. I'd keep 'em, but I can't figure out what they do. Can't melt 'em down either, on account o' the magic."

Stump struggled to lift the belt. "It's heavy," he grunted.

"I can give ye an extra sack to carry 'em with."

He craned his neck to look up at the blacksmith. "You're giving them to me?"

"If ye'll have 'em."

"How much do they cost?"

Uggan shrugged. "Wouldn't know a value to put," he said, then added, after registering Stump's surprise, "Tell ye what. Take these on yer quest, and if ye can figure out what they do, we'll discuss a price when ye get back if ye have a mind to keep 'em."

Stump cradled the bandolier like a newborn goblin and swallowed his hesitation. Sometimes it felt easier to be on the receiving end of anger and vitriol than kindness. At least that's what he'd learned from his tribe. But he always reminded himself of Yeza, and that it was alright to have people on your side.

"Thank you, Uggan," he said.

The smith's eyes lit up when he laughed. "Remember what I said? Friends call me Ugg." He extended a grimy hand. "We got a deal, gobby?"

Stump grunted as he shifted the bandolier to one arm. "Deal, Ugg."

- Magic Item Acquired -

???

A mysterious bandolier containing three perfectly spherical obsidian stones imbued with an unidentified skill of magic.

Value: ???

The air was crisp and cool when they stepped outside the heat of the forge. A wind rolled off the sea, lost its salt in Brinetown, and swept the muggy scent of sweat and mildew over the hills of Grimsgate.

Stump opted to wear the hide armour rather than carry it alongside his pack, and as they stood in the street contemplating where to go next, he was getting shorter. He looked down and noticed his feet were sinking in the mud under the weight of his new belt.

"Almost three silver left," he observed, stepping onto firmer ground.

"You did good with that deal," said Reema. "A whole silver is quite the discount."

"I barely did anything. You were so quick with Elmee and aggressive with Brass. Ugg charged me less just because he likes me."

Reema rested a hand on his shoulder. "That's exactly my point. You didn't need to do anything 'cause you already put in the work for that deal. That's the best kind of haggling there is."

It was hard to parse what possessed Reema to return to Sunless Sundries.

She'd forgotten to buy the lanterns and oil, she insisted, and knew for a fact that she could wrest a better deal for them from Brass than she could anywhere within six streets of Withers Way.

And maybe there was some wisdom in striking when the man was down.

Maybe.

Stump volunteered to wait out front, partly to avoid the shame in returning after less than an hour, but mostly so he could take stock of what they'd already purchased.

Under the threat of Reema and Brass' tangled voices spilling out of the dilapidated woodwork, Stump shuffled beneath a glowcap lantern affixed to a repurposed fishing pole outside the neighbouring building. He magically nudged the colour into a harsher white glow, then dropped the adventurer's pack on the ground and sifted through.

A dark green mosshair cloak was folded under a paring knife in the largest pouch. Beneath it rested a fire starting kit, a small pack of pitons, and a tiny hammer wedged next to several feet of coiled rope. A side pocket carried a copper canteen, while another was nearly bursting with a tightly packed net of hardened fungal fiber.

All useful, he supposed. He set the bandolier down and grasped one of the pieces of obsidian. It fit snugly in his palm. The sparkling stone reminded him of the magic item Denna had given him at the lighthouse, but bringing it up to his ear extracted no sign of an arcane hum, and shaking it or cracking it against the ground brought him no closer to understanding whatever power was nested inside.

A shadow drew his attention to the road, where a short figure stood several paces away, still as stone. They were facing him.

"Are you looking for something?" Stump asked. They were only a couple inches taller than him, but their head was downcast and obscured by a tattered hood.

There was no reply. He looked behind and realized he'd been blocking the door to the building next to Sunless Sundries.

"Oh. Sorry," said Stump. He awkwardly shuffled his things over until the entrance to the shop was at his back, then started to rifle through the bag again, only to look up and see the figure had reoccupied their place in front of him.

He straightened. The figure's eyes pointed down, but a distinct chill convinced him they were staring at him. "Is something wrong?" he ventured.

The figure raised her head, letting the hood slip off. He noticed the goblin eyes first—they were angry, and as yellow as the cinders of the Withered Forge.

"Griza," Stump breathed. A confused brew of recognition and fear bubbled in his gut. He'd last seen her nursing an ankle wound in the stream during his Wildrun. "How did you…?"

The dagger was in her hand.

She pounced. He drew the pack up to his chest, staggering as it caught the blade up to the hilt. His feet slipped. The ground punched the air out of his lungs, and the pack cracked against his head as it rolled over his body.

Stump flopped onto his stomach, fighting for air. The pack had crashed into the door of Sunless Sundries, taking the knife and Griza with it. But she was already on her feet again.

She cursed and spat, wriggling the weapon free.

Stump struggled to stand as she raised the knife for a second charge.

"No escape this time!" she snarled.

A bell pealed.

Griza turned as the door to Sunless Sundries swung open, and a newly purchased lantern cracked against her skull.