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

Morning dawned, as it always did, in the evening.

The previous night had gone by uneventfully. Stump stood watch again while Morg recovered from his injuries, but after the tribe's defeat the night before, the manor remained untouched.

And as Stump rose to meet the day he cupped the Sending Stone in both hands and whispered into it. "Denna, are you there?" he called, but received no answer. Worry stewed in his gut while he was looking over the greenhouse and had little to distract his mind, but he told himself she was busy, among her friends, and likely exhausted from constant marching and fighting.

She'll come back when I do, he thought, as he left the manor with his adventurer's pack and a sleepy goblin captive at his back. And she'll bring Yeza, too.

"Watch for more o' those bandits," Morg had warned him early that morning.

He had tried convincing the dwarf to go to the Orwen farm instead, to be away from Kestrel, but Morg refused. He was safer under the hunter's nose, he said, and would be the better fighter if the goblins returned for a second attack.

"It's only an hour or two away," Stump said. "And I've got Griza to sic on them."

Morg wasn't amused. "Be back sooner'n later, ye hear?"

"I will. What will you do for blood?"

Morg's smile was pained. "Maybe I'll finish Kestrel off."

Now it was Stump's turn to be unamused.

He left wishing he'd had an extra Sending Stone for the dwarf.

The air whispered with the voices of the fields. Here and there patches of goldhush swayed like the tall stalks of seagrass in the Spits. Along a broken fence grew a gnarled tree, a frayed rope dangling from its branches. Weeds broke through an untended farm and wrapped around the hollowed shell of a barn.

As Peaktree grew smaller in the distance, with its full fields of sungrain and starlike lumens patrolling them, the manor gave the impression of being the vampire, and the surrounding land its victim.

"How far is it?" said Griza, when they were an hour gone.

Although Stump was holding her rope tightly, he'd nearly forgotten she was there. He was touched she hadn't tried to escape. "They said it was an hour walk. So two, for goblins."

"Why are you doing this?" she said, after a pause.

"Well, lord Tydas—he's the head of the manor—believes there's a vampire living at the farm. That's the Orwen farm, where we're headed. Kestrel wants to kill the vampire but I talked—"

Griza snarled. "Why are you taking me?"

"Oh. Were you comfortable there?"

Her silence was aggravated.

"Would you have preferred it if I left you?" he tried again, more directly.

"Why do you always ask trick questions?"

"They're not tricks, Griza. Oh, it was the bacon, wasn't it?"

She gave him a side-eye that held her anger but suggested he was right.

"Good news is I brought some," he said, stopping. He slipped the pack off his shoulders and dropped the rope. "There's enough for—"

She shouldered the words back down his throat. Dust scattered, blinding him. He grunted at her weight and the sound of her tripping over the pack. When he blinked the road out of his eyes she was upright and bolting ahead.

He stood and wiped himself off, but didn't chase her. It was a gambit, he knew, but instead he stood there, dirty bacon in hand.

When she stole a glance behind her and realized he wasn't following, she slowed, then stopped. "What are you doing?" she called. The dust of her sprint settled.

"Not running. You were always too fast for me." He unfolded the cloth holding their breakfast.

Her ears perked. "Always a coward, weren't you, Ergul?" she spat. "Can't fight, can't kill, can't run!"

The insult landed like a breeze. Stump shrugged and took a bite.

Griza, who had spread her legs wide and dug in her heels, ready to pounce again, straightened. She looked in the direction she'd been running, and then back to Stump. He took another bite. She shuffled back to him, muttering under her breath.

Despite the ache in his shoulder, it was progress.

He fed her a piece of bacon and watched her scowl shift halfway to delight, and after a few minutes of rest they were off again, the rope in Stump's hand.

"Do they have bacon at the Organ farm?" she asked after a while.

"Orwen," he said. "And I hope so."

She didn't try to run again.

A stiff wind rolled by, carrying dust and soil and hushed chatter.

Stump crossed his arm over Griza's chest, his ears standing to attention. She was about to admonish him, but then her head turned to the sound. "What's that?" she said.

Stump urged them to a patch of overgrowth on the side of the road. He peered through the stalks to a smaller path forked off theirs. It curved right and down a slope, heading back in the direction of Peaktree. And near the bottom of the dip was a wagon, its wheels buried in mud with two figures attempting to wrest it free.

"All's I'm askin' for is a couple o' silver," said a dwarf, standing by the cart and addressing three travellers.

I know him, thought Stump. "That's the dwarf," he whispered.

Griza leaned forward for a better look, but didn't seem to recognize the bandit.

"I've four copper on me," an oddly short human trilled nervously. "The rest I spent in Grimsgate on supplies."

The two to either side of him, one a felari and the other a ratfolk, were taller, armoured in leather, and rested their hands on their sword belts.

"I can see that," said the dwarf. "Armour 'n weapons, is it?"

One of the other bandits began to circle, like they'd done with Morg.

"It's for my farm," the man pleaded. "We've had goblin trouble, you see."

"Oh, aye? I can provide protection for ye. But it'll cost."

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Another bandit left the wagon as it was. He picked up an axe.

The human's eyes moved from robber to robber. "I've already got myself some companymen outta Guttershine, as you can see." He indicated the two next to him.

"No need to look all that way. Send 'em back to the Downs. Me 'n mine are all ye need," said the dwarf. He edged forward.

Stump had taken the opportunity to rifle through the bandolier. He recognized the symbols of the Firestone and Smokestone, but there was still the third obsidian orb that was unidentified. Griza watched him curiously as he silently weighed his options.

"That won't be necessary," chimed the ratfolk lady, who had stepped in front of her human employer.

"We can make it necessary," said the dwarf.

They stood mere inches apart, sizing the other up in silence while the others squared for battle. This time Stump didn't wait for blades to be drawn. He reached for the third obsidian ball, and with a grunt, he let it fly.

All heads turned to the thump. It landed on the cart, rolled off, and sunk in the mud. While the dwarf was turned the ratfolk ripped the rapier from her sheath and slugged him with its pommel. He collapsed in a heap.

The obsidian hissed. Water scattered out of it like a rainstorm centred on a point, drenching mud and bandits alike. The one with the axe lunged to strike the catfolk, but slipped and fell onto his opponent's blade thrust.

The third turned to flee, but he too slipped to his knees. Blood sputtered out of his mouth as the ratfolk's rapier plunged into his back.

- Magic Item Updated -

Rainstone

A Thermalurgic weapon capable of ejecting sheets of water for several minutes at a time. 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

The dwarf groaned and rolled onto his back, only to be met with the heel of the ratfolk on his neck. She held her blade between his eyes, soaking buckets of arcane rain like nothing could be more natural.

The dwarf laid there, resigned to defeat. He'd had an unlucky few days.

The other two glanced about in a confused search.

"Water? That's all it does?" said Griza. "Wait, what are you doing?"

Stump grabbed her confines and waded them through the weeds against her struggled growls. The catfolk and human turned to them, blades drawn.

"Goblin!" said the man.

"Not another step, gobby!" echoed the felari.

The ratfolk looked up the slope with a scowl.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," said Stump. "That's my Rainstone. I just wanted to help you get out of that situation."

The catfolk's battle stance softened. He looked to his ally for direction.

"Your Rainstone?" she said, still pinning the dwarf to the ground.

"Yes. That dwarf tried to rob me and my friend the other day."

Both mercenaries exchanged a knowing look. The catfolk sheathed his blade and smiled. "Ah, of course! It took me a moment to recognize you. I'm afraid your name has slipped my mind. New recruits and all." He started up the slope in a friendly amble.

Stump edged backwards. Does he know me? "Uh… Stump," he said hesitantly.

"Right, Stump, of course, of course. Faelan, this is Stump, another one of our outfit." The catfolk reached Stump and stood beside him, resting a paw on his shoulder.

The man known as Faelan gave a nervous nod. "Good to meet more of the Stillwater Fellowship," he said.

Stump tried to recoil from the felari, but the grip was firm. "The Stillwater—?"

"Play along," whispered the catfolk. "I'll explain later."

After a brief sideways glance at Griza, the ratfolk turned to Faelan. "Sir Orwen, should we bring the prisoner to the farm?"

Sir Orwen? Stump thought. Of Orwen farm? If they were all heading to the same place, maybe it was best for him to follow the felari's game, at least until they reached the safety of the stead.

Faelan nodded to the dwarf. "Yes, bring him along," he said with newfound confidence.

The Rainstone hissed to a stop as Faelan and his mercenaries hauled the dwarf to his feet and led him up the road. Stump retrieved his item from the mud and followed close behind. After a while the felari slowed his pace, and when he fell in next to Stump he leaned in for another whisper.

"Thank you," he said. "We'll need all the help we can get."

The Orwen farm stood like a bruised thumb near the bank of a stream.

The manor—if it could be called that—bent under the weight of its thatched roof and leaned against a neighbouring barn large enough for a couple small horses or a few large spinegoats. Dark purple muckhens clucked in a small attached pen, in front of rows of colourful glowcaps. The wheel of a gristmill groaned as it turned, and a nearby field of goldhush grew in fallow soil. Farther east the fungal forest of mildewed trees and giant mushrooms cut across the land, providing easy means for goblins to stage an ambush.

And patrolling the farm's perimeter, mostly along the forested edge, were three other mercenaries in piecemeal attire. Two of them approached Rilla—the ratfolk—as she dragged their captive dwarf along.

"Your friends have set up in the barn," Faelan said to Stump as he hauled his purchases to the manor.

Stump waited with Griza until Faelan was out of earshot. Tallas, the felari, turned with a guilty tilt of the head. "Bet you've got some questions," he said.

"A few," Stump allowed.

"Is there bacon inside?" said Griza.

Tallas snorted. "Afraid not. Lots of muckhen, though. Why are you in ropes?"

"I want to kill him."

"She wants to kill me," Stump said, at nearly the same time.

Tallas gave them both a concerned look, then shrugged. "Can you wait until after this problem with the goblins has been averted?" He leaned forward. "You wouldn't know anything about their tactics, would you?"

"No," she said.

"Yes," Stump said, again in unison. Their scowls briefly duelled. "Your company is called the Stillwater Fellowship?"

The catfolk nervously shifted his weight between feet. "That's us," he said in tones of embarrassment. With a clink and a snap he removed the badge from his armour and handed it to Stump.

A yellow, almost golden light flared around the edges, lighting the etched waves and a lantern in the centre clasped by multiple hands.

THE STILLWATER FELLOWSHIP

"Deep runs our loyalty, Still beats our heart"

Copper

The Stilted Post, Guttershine

- Tallas, 11th lvl Rogue -

"Why did you lie about us being part of your company?" Stump said, returning the badge.

Tallas looked down at it for a moment. He stifled an awkward chuckle. "Maybe you'd like to speak with my leader," he said, and gestured to the barn.

A heavy curtain of dung wafted through the doorway. The dwarf was chained to a three-legged chair. Rilla stood over him, arms crossed and bloodstained rapier tucked against her side, ready for use at a moment's notice. A human leaned against a haystack, sniffing a length of straw. Another dwarf, of Rilla's company, had pulled up a stool to interrogate their captive. And across the barn, sitting on a bucket was a second ratfolk, scrubbing the grime from his helmet.

"Durgish, you take first shift. Stay here, ask whatever questions you want. Find out if he's got a stash hidden nearby, along with any more friends we might meet on the road," Rilla was saying.

Her dwarven friend nodded with a pleased grunt.

Rilla snapped her fingers at the human, who glanced up from the straw in his hands with a 'why me?' look scrawled on his face. "Hadder, put that down and relieve Durgish of his sentry," she said.

"But I already spent four hours out there and—"

"Now, Hadder, or you get half rations tonight."

He chucked the hay over his shoulder, stuck his fingers lazily into his belt and swaggered out the door, giving an odd look to the two goblins in the doorway.

The ratfolk cleaning his armour glanced up expectantly. Rilla briefly looked his way, but said nothing. She turned to Tallas. "And Tal—oh, right, the goblins. Have they been informed?"

Tallas' tail weaved sheepishly. "I thought you might like the honour."

She rolled her eyes. "Approach," she said, curling her finger at Stump.

Griza growled under her breath. It was a goblin's instinct to disobey any order given by those who weren't the matrons, unless dominance could first be established.

Stump tugged on the rope to bring her along.

"What are you doing here? Were you from the tribes attacking this farm?" Rilla demanded.

"Not exactly," he said. "I'm Stump, of the Nobodies."

"Never heard of you."

"That's alright," he allowed, swallowing his skittishness. "We're new in the Downs. Well, we work out of the Knight Inn. Why did you tell Faelan that I'm a part of your company?"

Rilla, despite standing straight as an arrow and wearing what appeared to be a perpetual frown, softened. "What Tallas did back there was not necessary. Nevertheless, I appreciate you playing along."

"You're welcome, I think. But playing along to what? Tallas told me you'd have some answers, as his leader."

A nervous chuckle erupted from Tallas and the dwarf. Whatever they found amusing only deepened Rilla's frown. Her chest heaved. "I'm not their leader," she said, with some bite. When she stepped aside the ratfolk at the other end of the barn looked up suddenly and froze under siege of all the eyes on him.

He leapt to his feet, knocking the bucket over as if he'd been spotted naked. "Oh, uh, g-g-greetings," he said, fumbling with the helmet. It slipped out of his hands, but he caught it, dropped it again, and kicked out instinctively, barrelling the armour against the barn wall with a loud thud.

A spinegoat looked up from its meal. Somewhere a muckhen clucked.

"M-m-my name is… um, uh, W-Wicket. Uh, Wick," he said, and looked for something to occupy his hands. He settled for an awkward fists-on-hips pose. "I'm the, uh… the l-leader of the Stillwater F-Fellowship."

"Nice to meet you, Wicket. I'm Stump."

Wicket smiled nervously and elaborated no further, but under Rilla's cold gaze his demeanour buckled. "Uh, right. Uh… d-do you know…"

"Have you heard of the Midnight Ocelots?" Rilla said, saving them all from the torture.

Stump sighed. Not again.