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

Stump was out of breath when he reached the first cinders blowing down the road. The air roared with flame. Howls followed the partial collapse of the farmhouse's ceiling. Goblins darted about, vanishing within the fields and behind the house.

Nell? Faelan? Stump frantically scanned for survivors. Durgish? A spout of flame arced from over a thicket of tall grass, setting a corner of the barn ablaze.

Thrung. Is Yeza here, too?

A yell and a clatter pulled Stump's attention to a ditch off the side of the road, flanked by a fence and overgrown weeds. He ran over to find Tallas on the other side, leaning at the end of a diagonal sweep of his blade, a goblin corpse sprawled in front of him. Blood bubbled from a fresh gash.

"Tallas," said Stump.

Startled, the catfolk spun to him with his weapon raised.

Stump took a step back. "It's me," he said.

Tallas' chest heaved. Blood soaked into his orange fur. After a moment he lowered his weapon and glanced over to the chaos. "Wick. He was just here… Rill ran ahead. I haven't seen the others," he stammered.

Stump slid down the ditch and armed himself with the dead goblin's dagger and smeared blood over his chest and face.

"What are you doing?" said Tallas.

"Stay out of sight. I'll try to get closer. As long as I play the part, the goblins might see me as one of their own." Despite the undue confidence with which Stump laid out his plan, he looked to the catfolk for some kind of assurance. Instead he met the eyes of someone who desperately needed that for himself.

Tallas nodded vigorously. "Alright," he said. "I'll… I'll look for Wick."

Stump rushed through the undergrowth and drew the hum of the arcane. It was his first time using Alter Image, and he sculpted for himself a new identity. His ears were longer, his skin more grey, and his features sharper. Or so he hoped. He'd never had the luxury of a clear reflection of himself, and couldn't be entirely sure what he was changing from.

He darted back onto the road, close enough to the fire to make out the faces of the goblins in its glow. Four of them were in the muckhen pen, grabbing the birds and making off with them, or trying to kill the animals to appease their bloodlust. Three burst out of the side of the barn, carrying clutches of hay and rusted farming implements.

Three more bounded around the front of the farmhouse and skidded to a stop. They spotted Stump. Their eyes were huge, aglow with firelight. They raised their weapons.

Stump shrieked, brandishing his dagger, and cheered the roaring flames.

The goblins bought it. They joined his voice with hoots of their own, and as they resumed their tour around the side of the building, Stump followed.

Shadows loomed further afield—Thrung's army. They streaked across the plain in small contingents, looping around in chaotic bursts of lust-stricken strategy. As Stump circled the crumbling structure he tried to spot the one barking orders. The one casting spells. But too many scattered patches of overgrowth and untended field separated them.

He searched for the others, too. Vague sounds of battle rang out over the din, but he couldn't spot the Stillwater Fellowship or the Orwens. As he circled the back of the barn, Stump broke off from the goblins and skittered inside.

Smoke bubbled beneath the ceiling. He coughed, his eyes watering. Splatters of blood streaked the walls and bales of hay. And bodies littered the floor. Muckhens, goats, goblins. Three of Thrung's dead, by his count, and in between them was a toppled dwarf tied to a chair.

Stump moved swiftly and began working the ropes. "They didn't kill you?" he said, noticing the blood soaking into the dwarf's beard.

The prisoner, barely awake, gave him an odd look. "Not so fun to stab when yer playin' dead. Yer the one from before? Don't look how I remember ye."

"Magic," Stump said, as an afterthought. "Where is everyone else?"

The dwarf blinked hard like he'd been roused from sleep. "Couldn't tell ye," he wheezed.

When the ropes were loose enough he shrugged them off and hoisted himself to his feet as if he hadn't stood in years. He armed himself with a flaming plank and nodded to Stump.

"A dwarf never forgets a kindness. Ye get yerself gone from this place, yeh?" he said, then used his shoulder to make his own exit. He burst through the wall with a battlecry on his lips, swinging his makeshift weapon as he rushed for the stream.

Stump turned away before he could see if the dwarf made it.

He moved from stall to stall, giving each no more than a quick once over. He scanned the goblins too, but he was too driven by bloodlust to identify any from his old tribe.

A burning plank crashed behind him, setting scattered hay alight. He staggered against one of the stalls. The heat closed in, spearing down his throat, burning his lungs and stinging his eyes. He coughed again, harder this time. The world darkened.

"Ergul?"

The name alone stirred him to attention. He blinked the interior back into focus, and the burly frame of a familiar goblin took shape in the open doorway. "Little-Bear?" he croaked.

The goblin was bare-chested. Animal skulls rested on his shoulders, and dirt and blood smeared his skin. He was always one of the largest and meanest of their tribe, and as he flexed his rippling muscles and raised his signature mallet, Stump realized little had changed in Thrung's kingdom.

He recognizes me, Stump thought. He glanced at his own hand to find his skin flickering between that of the illusory image and his own—his concentration wavered in the oppressive heat.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Fire-Spitter will reward me for your capture!" roared Little-Bear.

Stump leapt over a dead goat, and Little-Bear followed. The whoosh of the mallet rivalled the crackling wood. Two or three times it passed close enough to graze Stump's ears, but he barrelled ahead, sliding between crumbling beams and over goblin corpses.

"No rocks for you to sling? I'll be his right hand! He'll teach me Grumul's powers!" Whoosh. Whoosh. Bits of wood blew apart and scattered over Stump's shoulders.

"How about Lumensa's powers?" he offered, spinning to face his pursuer. The lumen flared to life between them.

Little-Bear skidded to a halt and brought his mallet down on the bulb, but like water it melted around the weapon. And then it popped in a heatless Flash. The goblin stumbled back with a groan, eyes shut, swinging frantically.

"I can't see! Where are you?"

Before Stump could bound away his cloak tugged at a sudden breeze.

Griza rushed by, hatchet in hand, and pounced, knocking Little-Bear through a stall. She kept on the attack, straddling him, and brought the weapon up and down again, and again, and again. Her shrieks covered the sound of the blade tearing through skin. Blood webbed from his body after each thunk.

"He's dead!" Stump said, snatching the blood-stained haft as Griza brought it up for another blow.

She turned and grabbed his collar, dragging him close before recognition sparkled in her eyes. "Ergul…" She blinked and collected herself, then glanced to the open doorway and the chittering of the tribe. "You can't be seen with me."

She tried to pull Stump to his feet, but he broke away and loosened the skulls on Little-Bear's corpse.

"Did you hear me? Get up!" she said, digging her hands into his shoulder.

"I have an idea."

As he wrenched the skulls free and worked on fixing them to his own shoulders, Stump committed to memory the features of what remained of Little-Bear's face, and slowly his flickering and hastily cobbled facade sharpened into a second attempt, one he hoped would be more convincing.

Griza's sudden look of horror told him it was.

"You… you're…" she glanced between him and Little-Bear.

"It's a spell," he assured her. "I'm still me. It won't make me look bigger, but from a distance they'll think I'm him." Stump groaned as he hoisted the surprisingly heavy mallet in both hands.

She dragged him from the stall as another section of roof collapsed in a burning pile. "I'm not dying here!" she said, pulling him to the doorway.

Stump stole a glance to where the barn met the farmhouse, but the entire wall connecting the two buckled and snapped amidst a bright yellow tower of heat.

Nell. Faelan… I'm sorry.

The evening air was cool as they moved outside. A swarm of goblins circled the fire, tossing stones at the already crumbling structure. Some of them darted in to fetch trinkets and gifts for their king. None of them paid Stump or Griza any mind.

"Tall men! Heart-Eater, Finger-Snapper, Urag! To battle!" came a command from the other side of the farmhouse.

The goblins less consumed by rage broke off from their groups and made to follow the order. Stump peered through the dusk to search for Thrung out in the fields, but Griza pulled him away before he could spot the king.

"Your people are over there," she said.

Rilla's sword came down left and right as they returned to the front of the house. Goblins weaved in front of her, fleeing her strikes. Two lay dead at her feet.

"Back! Get back!" she yelled. "Tallas, escort lady Orwen to safety!"

Nell was indeed there, her shirt marred with blood and ash. "No! My husband!" she said, and tried to push past Rilla, but Tallas swept his arm around her and dragged her away. "Fae! Fae! Where is he?"

Wick was behind Rilla, his weapon shaking in his grasp. He moved to slash at a goblin darting along her flank, but she was faster. Blood gushed from the goblin's shoulder where the arm severed.

"Get back, Wick! Cover Tallas and the others!" she demanded, shoving the leader of the Fellowship away. Farther down the road was Durgish and Hadder. They yelled to Rilla, urging her retreat.

And the goblins closed in. They rushed for her, alone at first, then in packs of two or three. Her attacks were swift, but not swift enough. She fought off the tribesmen on her left, but howled at the axe grazing her leg from behind.

"Rilla!" Stump said, rushing forward. Lumen, Flash. Lumen, Flash. He arced them far to either side of her, catching the advancing troops within their brilliant pops. The ratfolk recoiled and swung her sword blindly, severing the head of a goblin by chance.

Stump heaved his mallet up and around with all his might, knocking a tribesman off his feet, and nearly toppled from the momentum. He let the weapon fly from his grasp and ran ahead.

Rilla abated her strikes long enough for Stump to slip through and tug on her armour. "Run!" he said.

She blinked, still partially blind. "Stump?"

"Go!"

She turned, breaking away from combat, and followed her company down the road. Stump did too.

He ran and ran, the skulls rattling on his shoulders, digging into his skin. He swiped them off, dropped the illusion, and barrelled forward. But he was slower than the rest. Rilla receded beyond a cloud of dust summoned by her footfalls. The crackling fire quieted, and its heat fell away.

But the hollering grew louder.

Griza, where are you? He stole a glance behind, but there were far too many shapes at his back to separate hers from Thrung's army.

Run, run, run. The howling followed. Soon he could hear the chittering, then came the patter of footsteps.

He bit his tongue when something crashed into his side. Ground clattered his teeth and weeds lashed his face. He tumbled over his neck. He grabbed for something, but found nothing. When he blinked again, his face was half-sunk in a muddy puddle.

He glanced back up the incline where he'd fallen from the road. A wall of grass swayed in front of a sky flickering orange and red. And a few paces away, a goblin rose to their feet.

A work hammer akin to the ones he'd seen at the Withered Forge was in his hands. The goblin charged, bringing the hammer up to strike.

"No, wait—" Stump said, covering his face.

A grunt cut the attack short.

When Stump looked again, Griza ripped the blade free from the goblin's neck. He collapsed with a squelch, and she turned to Stump, eyes red with fury.

"Griza, I didn't think—"

The knife was at Stump's throat. He tried to speak again, but she sunk her weight on his chest. She growled, teeth bared. The knife pressed into his skin. Blood dribbled from the wound.

"G…Griz…" Stump managed.

The knife was a twitch away from opening his neck. From earning her way back into Thrung's kingdom.

Her barbaric snarling stuttered. Her lips quivered. The knife shook in her hand. The red in her eyes deepened, and she blinked away the tears forming at their corners.

She withdrew the blade, shoved the handle in Stump's hand, and curled his fingers around it.

"Griza, what are you…?"

"Shut up!" she hissed and hauled him to his feet. "Run, get out of here! Now!"

He hesitated. Realization edged into his frown. "You're coming… aren't you? You have to. Griza—"

She shoved his chest, hard. Then once more. The third landed like a punch. "Go! Before I change my mind!"

Despite her efforts he resisted her strength and grabbed her by the collar. "You're coming with me!"

"I'm not your prisoner anymore!"

"Not as my prisoner. As my friend. Please. You can't go back. They banished you."

She staggered at his words. The rage receded, and for a moment he thought she was going to hug him. But then it rushed back, stronger than ever, and her fist took him in the jaw.

He blinked the mud out of his eyes and struggled to his feet before she could hit him again, but a second strike never came. Instead she gripped his shoulders and dragged him close.

"I'm not like you, Ergul," she pleaded. "These are my people. I don't know how to be any other way." The tears threatened to fall again, and that only flared her anger. "Now go! Run! Be with your people!"

"No, I won't let you—"

She pushed him hard and darted back up the slope.

"Gold-Blooded!" he called.

She stopped and turned at the top, echoes of the fire colouring the world behind her. She gazed down at him through the anger, the hate, the pain, and somewhere in that storm of fury a tear slipped through. She violently wiped her eyes.

And then she was gone.