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

The goblins scurried up the hill, and Stump scurried to the greenhouse.

Or he would have, if not for Morg's meaty grip.

"What're ye doin'?" the dwarf demanded, pulling Stump close enough to smear horse blood on his cheek.

"There are goblins coming up this way!" he whispered loudly.

"So ye said." It was posed as a restatement of Morg's question.

"My sling is in the greenhouse. The bandolier, too."

Morg stifled a curse and surveyed the coming battlefield. "We throw 'em off, first. Then I run out 'n scare 'em like I do. That's when ye make for yer effects."

As far as hastily cobbled plans went Stump had no notes. He nodded, then resumed his study of the oncoming attack.

The goblins edged forward slowly enough to halt and blend with the surrounding shrubbery if needed. That was good. It gave Stump a few precious moments to concoct a plan of his own, though Morg's heavy breaths down his back didn't help his concentration.

"I've got it," he said. He focused on one of the traps a dozen paces away from the advancing raiders. Minor Illusion took shape in his mind, and then it appeared in the world. Scattered coins flickered next to one of the covered holes.

It didn't take long for the goblins to spot it. They froze in place for a beat, exchanging orders, but Stump was too far to make out the words. One of them pressed on, his head poking gingerly out of his bushy dress—not a member Stump recognized from his own tribe.

"Get ready," he said. Morg tensed at his back.

The goblin stopped short of the trap, the illusion glimmering on the other side. He sniffed the air.

Did he see it?

He stole a nervous glance over his shoulder in what Stump knew was a struggle between calling for his allies or taking the coins for himself. Plunder was plunder, and the first to snatch it was its keeper.

Goblins were easy to exploit. And Stump knew goblins.

The raider stepped forward. There was a snap, and a sudden look of regret in bulging eyes.

His descent swallowed the scream.

Stump darted out of the stable. Behind him followed Morg's guttural battlecry—the fight was met.

"To battle!" came the first shriek. Goblins emerged out of hiding. Spears, hatchets, mallets and daggers flashed in the sun. "For Fire-Spitter!"

Stump crashed through the greenhouse door and swiped up the bandolier and sling. Without a moment to catch his breath he was back out again. One goblin lay sprawled behind Morg, who was charging a third, a spear in his hands. Three more circled him like vultures while four barrelled up the hill.

I don't know any of them, he thought.

Stump shook the obsidian free and fit one in the sling. Before taking aim he conjured a Moving Image of a Stonecrawler rushing in from the flank. Despite the flickering patchiness and lack of sound, the sight of the eight-legged predator was enough to scatter two of the goblins. One of them triggered a second trap and fell from view.

"Morg!" Stump called, and wheeled the sling over his head.

The dwarf sponged a spear to the knee. He cried out, spinning and slugging the goblin's jaw halfway off. When he noticed Stump he dove away from the attackers, landing face first in the dirt and interlocking his fingers behind his head.

The obsidian whooshed through the air. It snapped hard against goblin chest, taking him off his feet.

The battle paused as everyone looked about with the expectation that something was about to happen.

Nothing did. Morg peeked cautiously from his prone position.

The obsidian hissed. Smoke spilled from it in thick curls, draping the hillside in darkness, and carrying west with the wind.

- Magic Item Updated -

Smokestone

A Thermalurgic weapon capable of ejecting jets of smoke to obscure a large area over several minutes. Throw at a target to activate. Has limited charges. Each use destroys some of its surface, until the obsidian is consumed with its final charge.

Charges: 4/5

Value: Requires Appraisal

"Ye used it wrong!" said Morg, leaping to his feet. "Can't see a damned thing!"

Smoke consumed dwarf and goblins alike, their shadows scattering out of view and their chittering sounding all around.

In the bandolier sat the Firestone, slightly smaller than the one next to it. Stump grabbed both and scanned the barely legible symbols etched into the craftsmanship. They were not the same.

"Tits," he said, before the smoke rolled over him.

He suppressed a cough and fought back tears in the smouldering shroud, and summoned a lumen overhead, though it barely unveiled more than a few paces around him.

"Stump, where are ye?" Morg called. "I can hear ye but I can't—" a grunt strangled his words. He roared and his weapon swished through nothing.

Chitters. Taunts. Laughter.

Stump shuffled towards his friend's voice, pulling the light with him. If anything this makes me more of a target, he thought, and drifted it ahead, slightly dimming its power. He waited until it was snuffed out behind sheets of grey before a Flash took it in a soundless burst, like lightning in a storm cloud. Goblin shadows projected onto the hazy curtain.

Stump lobbed the Firestone at the biggest cluster.

The force spun him around and off his feet, clattering his teeth as he bit the ground. Smoke retreated from the explosion.

"Fire! Fire!" they yelled.

"Flee!"

A panic-stricken raider tripped over Stump in his escape. He dropped his weapons, but bounded to his feet again and scampered away without them, spurred by fear and goblin lust. Within moments the chittering faded, until nothing could be heard over the hiss of the Smokestone.

Morg's hands were on him. "There y'are," he said, hoisting Stump to his feet. Blood dribbled down one side of the dwarf.

"Are you hurt?" said Stump.

If it was a pained smile Morg flashed, his face was too bloody to tell.

The sound of the stone died, and a recognizable hum took its place.

As if time changed its mind, the windward drift of smoke abruptly reversed, and it rolled back over their bodies and the battlefield.

They noticed the oddity at the same time and shared a curious look. At first Stump assumed it was returning to the obsidian, but it kept drifting against the breeze, then funnelled into a small spiral, like a tiny tornado, curling around and into the end of a pipe in the hands of a red and black scaled lizardfolk standing just outside the battlefield.

One hand held the pipe in the air. The other conducted an arcane orchestra, beckoning the smoke. When it was gone, absorbed by the small object, he put it to his lips. Tiny orange cinders flared as he took a puff, leaned his head back, and exhaled a small, curly wisp.

"Not the worst showing I've seen," he said. His voice was scarred and whispered, as if his throat tightened around the words, hesitant to let them go. As an afterthought a lumen peeked out from behind the manor and swirled around his head.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Kestrel?" said Stump.

Morg took a cautious step back. "Yer the Solarmancer."

Kestrel allowed an amused half-smile. "I am a Solarmancer, yes." His attention moved to the manor, where lights flickered in the windows. "Seems your battle has woken the castle."

Four goblins lay dead, all of them by Morg's hand. Two of the four traps had been triggered, but other than splattered blood and a few missing pitons none of the goblins had been slain by them.

I couldn't have at least killed one of them?

The thought wedged its way into Stump's mind uninvited, and drew a visceral shiver out of him. No, he thought. Don't think like Griza. He'd deftly swatted away her barbs about his lack of a kill during his time with the tribe, but now he found himself almost upset it hadn't happened with the attack. Maybe if he had killed one of the goblins Griza would respect him more.

He shook his head.

Wounded was good enough, he thought, looking down into one of the holes. It meant they were unlikely to take part in another raid for the next week. That was at least six goblins out of commission. Six out of a hundred or more, if Griza was right.

But it had taken one use of the Smokestone and another of the Firestone, and four of Stump's virtue. Gazing up to the system told him he had only one point remaining. I need a consistent way to earn more.

A shriek sounded from behind.

Eskel ran barefoot, stepping over blood and goblin bodies, to where Lyda was poking one of them with a stick. "Lyda, away!"

"But he's dead," she whined. Poke.

Eskel grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the wall of the manor, where he fell precariously to his haunches. The severity of Lyda's pout suggested she was enduring a scolding.

Three of the household servants had dressed themselves in aprons and were in the midst of clearing the battlefield like it was a dining hall after a rowdy party. He recognized Gorash the orc among them. Maven paced behind their lines like a commander, giving orders and pointing out spots they'd missed.

Stump shuffled back to the greenhouse—which sustained no damage during the fighting—and waddled through the doorway into the manor. He heard the voices before he saw them.

"…Should have taken five or ten. Or twenty!" Merra was complaining. She occupied a leathery seat in the main hall, her nails dug into its arm. A fire crackled behind her.

"There are more important issues at hand than your mother's plants," said Tydas. His legs were crossed in an opposing chair. "The Iron Fleece—"

"Have hundreds, perhaps thousands under their command!" she said, leaning so far out of her seat to punctuate the argument that Stump was afraid she might fall off. "You hire twenty to go adventuring in the woods, but none to protect your family! Another dozen would have been nothing! Nothing for them and nothing for you."

"My family? I am protecting my family! I'm rooting the goblins out at the source! The funds required for more—"

"Funds! Ah, I was wondering how long it would take to hear you speak of funds. The tyrant of Peaktree has no funds."

"I resent the accusation." Tydas' voice was sharp, yet calm. An enigma, like everything else about the man.

"Why not wring these funds from the estates beneath your heel? Already wrung them dry, did you?"

"Your mother has whispered lies in your ear. I am no thief. And if you're so concerned I am, why don't you remarry to one of these other estates? Why not live on a stead with no prospects? Is it that you enjoy the luxuries you have?"

She threw up her hands in frustration.

"Or report me to the authorities if you have such concerns," he said.

"You are the authority."

"Good of you to say so. Then by decree I command we stop this bickering. Maven has her mercenaries. I have mine. Within days our goblin problem will be solved."

Merra paused. She gave a slow shake of the head. "Ah. Like two years ago, when we were days from solving our vampire problem."

Silence rolled in like a heavy fog, dispelled only by the snapping hearth.

Kestrel, who had occupied a small stool just offside their bickering, leaned forward. "I'm hearing in Merra's voice some residual anger from issues she believes to be unresolved," he said. Despite the suffocating whisper of his tone, he was calming. "Which is feeding into the issues as they stand today. Maybe it's time we returned to those old wounds."

She sunk into her seat. "And what, pry them open? Bleed into the floor? We'll ruin his pretty carpet, and no one wants that."

"I think that if we're to come to an understanding today it's important to revisit calcified pains," said Kestrel. He looked up at a creaking floorboard, and noticed Stump, who had frozen in the threshold. "Why don't you join us?"

Both heads of the family turned, but their empty gazes held no opinion on the matter.

"I was looking for Morg, actually," said Stump. "I'm just passing through."

Tydas rose and fastened the buttons on his overcoat. "As was I," he said. "Perhaps this session is better left to the morning, Kestrel."

He strode off without protest from the others.

Merra stood after he was gone and gave quick, unreadable glances to both Kestrel and Stump before wordlessly departing.

The Solarmancer remained on the stool, looking at the fire. "Your friend's wounds are being tended to down the hall. Minor damage, I'm told." His voice was a dull wheeze, a practised pain, his words like the barely legible remains of a book retrieved from a long dead fire.

"Thank you," Stump said, but he didn't move. He watched the Solarmancer sit there in contented silence, the orange and dark blue of his robes indicating the colours of the Amber Bastion, and the unblinking fireside glare indicating something deeper.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you," Stump added.

Kestrel seemed surprised he was still there. He gestured to one of the chairs. "Might as well. I'll be up all night." Stump followed his direction to where Merra had sat, but before he could conjure something to say, Kestrel went on. "You're the Lumenurgist, aren't you?"

"Illusionist, now," said Stump, with a swell of pride.

Kestrel nodded thoughtfully. "Level?"

"Five." The pride diminished.

Another nod. "You have interest in taking it further?"

"I am. I was trained by Wasptongue, if that means anything."

Kestrel's searching eyes seemed to vaguely recall the name, but he switched topics. "You have more questions for me than I you, I'm sure."

There were so many Stump didn't even know where to begin, but judging by the Solarmancer's patient silence, now was the time to figure it out. "Uh… well, this goblin problem. I know a lot about them, how to fight them, and I have a… personal history with their leader. He's a Thermalurgist, I think."

Kestrel's lowered brow was contemplative.

"But it's just me and Morg. Well, Denna too, of the Iron Fleece. She's hoping they can find Thrung's cave—that's the Thermalurgist—by tomorrow, and hopefully take care of the problem, but I'm not sure. If Thrung and I were to meet again, I'm afraid I wouldn't have the skill to beat him."

The Solarmancer stroked the scales of his chin. "Do you know his level?"

Stump shook his head.

"If he has any other skills?"

Another shake. "Well, some of the usual goblin skills. Simple Weapons. Stealth, too," he added. "But I don't think he has focus points in them."

"You want to know the tenets of his god. Of Thermanus."

"Yes," Stump said, glad Kestrel was following his thinking. "Our people call him Grumul."

"I've heard about his goblin aspect. You know what pleases him, surely?"

Now it was Stump's turn to engage in territory he understood. "Grumul likes bravery. Fighting. Goblins have this power called the bloodlust, which extends our endurance, our anger, and reduces pain. I used to not like it. It always made me sick. But Wasptongue taught me not to think of it that way. It's more a kind of focus. It lets me use my Lumenurgy better."

Kestrel nodded sagely. "Bravery. Anger. Fighting. These are powerful words, and ones your god seems to reward. And Thermanus, aside from Thermalurgy, is known to be the god of much of the Martial domain."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"So to gain virtue in the Martial skills you must use them. You must fight, be brave. Naturally…" Kestrel's nod allowed Stump to finish the thought.

"It's the same for Thermalurgy."

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (2/9).

Kestrel leaned back, satisfied. "Bravery and anger," he said. "But it's not so simple. What are Lumensa's tenets?"

Stump took a moment to ground himself again after the sudden godly update. "Uh… realizing something. Discovering hidden knowledge. Uh…"

"Not just realizing something, but realizing something important to you. Or helping others come to realizations important to them. Being lost and finding your way."

"So…" Bravery. Anger. Fighting. There has to be more. Stump glanced at his feet and listened to the crackling hearth. It was warm, comforting. Unlike Thrung. "Bravery…" he said, meeting Kestrel's eyes again. "Inspiring bravery in others?"

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (3/9).

The Solarmancer's eyes lit up. "And?"

"Inspiring anger in others?" Stump said, less certainly.

"Not quite. The gods, for all their faults, were not interested in destruction."

Stump squeezed his eyes shut and recalled the raids of his past. He thought of the bloodlust, the anger coursing through his veins.

"Remember what you've already learned," Kestrel urged.

He remembered the matrons, their lessons. He remembered Wasptongue. It's not anger, it's focus, she'd said. Power.

"Power over anger," Stump said. "Controlling your anger and directing it at something…"

"Finish the thought."

"…something important to you."

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (4/9).

Kestrel's pupils glimmered with firelight. He grabbed a wine glass from a nearby table and tipped it to his lips. "I assume this Thrung is not prone to such control and is therefore not taking full advantage of his god's tenets."

"No. He's not," Stump mused. "But still… if I were to face him… I feel like I'm always going to run out of virtue, and I can't gain it back during a fight."

Kestrel swirled his glass. "Can't you?"

"I don't know. How do you earn so much virtue? Your lumens are always in the fields."

"By doing what you and I just did." Kestrel set the wine aside. "My function here is twofold. I ensure Peaktree's harvests are bountiful, but maybe even more importantly I help the family work through their pains. Their traumas. I help them realize things about themselves and each other so they can grow as sure as the barley grows in its soil. You witnessed an attempt at one of these sessions just now between Merra and Tydas."

Your function here is threefold, you mean, Stump thought, but didn't press for the withheld information. "I've done that a few times, I think. At least I hope. But I want to do more, I want to help people."

"Would you like to train under me?"

The question was so sudden Stump flinched. "Train? I…" his lips began to form words of agreement, but stopped when he remembered Tydas' quest. "…I can't. Tydas already wants to give me a quest and offered that as a reward."

"Quest?"

"He'd like for me to visit the Orwen farm and…" Stump hesitated and tried to gather Kestrel's thoughts, but couldn't parse from a look whether or not the Solarmancer knew where he was going. "…He wants me to look for a vampire."

"I see," the lizardfolk said evenly.

Stump waited for further inquiry, but none came. "I'm not sure if I'm going to accept, but I probably shouldn't go around him by accepting the training," he said, and then quickly added, "Much as I want to."

"You should take the quest."

"I—"

"And you won't have to worry about the reward. I'll speak with Tydas."

Stump cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"I've got something better to offer," said Kestrel, leaning forward. "A letter of recommendation to the Amber Bastion."