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

It would have been generous to call it a map.

It was a drawing, an approximation of the layout of Peaktree Manor and its surrounding farmland, scrawled with notes and estimations of scale that Eskel insisted were accurate down to the inch.

They splayed it over a huge circular table in the cold room, where casks of ale and apple brandy lined the walls. There was barely enough space for the Nobodies, the Stillwater Fellowship, and the Iron Fleece to stand comfortably.

Merra had fetched some chairs from the dining hall—as did Lyda, though she only managed to carry one halfway down the hall before giving up—and Kestrel lit a lumen above the table while the servants cleared out the heftiest casks. Before long they'd transformed Tydas' alcoholic storage into a proper war room.

Naturally, Rilla led the discussion.

"Alright," she said, circling the table to examine their shoddy map from all angles. She did a quick roll call of her company. "We've got five of us from the Stillwater Fellowship, seven from the Iron Fleece, two from the Nobodies, and one from the Amber Bastion. Together we're nearly a bronze company. Beyond our fighting numbers we have the Valroys and their household servants…" she looked to Eskel.

The old man was slow on the uptake. "Oh, uh… eight servants… and, um…"

"Nine," Maven said sharply.

Boren and Ilora parted to reveal the old lady had snuck into the war room and planted herself in a chair. Her lips curled lazily around a pipe.

Eskel flared red. "Well, I wasn't including myself in the account," he said, offended.

"Nine servants," Maven repeated. She pulled the pipe away from her mouth to speak more clearly. "And if they come for my garden you can count me among your fighting men."

Eskel's reply devolved into a series of half-hearted grumbles.

Rilla gave a respectful nod. "Nine servants, four members of the Valroy family, and currently one of the Orwens. If Faelan wakes before the attack and is strong enough, we will have two. That gives us a total of thirty to defend the manor." She looked at Merra, who stood near the doorway to the rest of the house with Lyda between her legs. "…Twenty nine and a half."

"There's still a hundred goblins!" said Boren.

"Take about a dozen from that number and ye got somethin' approachin' the truth," Durgish countered. "We slew as many in their attack, despite the odds."

The dwarf's confidence drew a number of nods and grunts.

"And four more from their attack on Peaktree a few days ago. Morg took care of those almost by himself," said Stump. He had to perk his ears to be noticed, though they'd been kind in giving him a chair near the table.

"He's bein' modest. Couldn't have done it without Stump," said the dwarf.

Rilla raised her voice. "Over a dozen dead and who knows how many wounded. And thus far not a single casualty on our side. And now we've seen how they fight. This time we'll be waiting, and we'll be prepared. We have two Lumenurgists among our ranks. If anyone else has a skill in the Magic domain, speak now."

Silence.

"Alright then," she said, and unfurled a parchment over the map. "Everyone is to record their name, class, level, and a breakdown of their skills and focus trees. Once we have an understanding of our dynamic we'll assign roles."

Everyone shuffled forward at once, and Rilla raised her voice over the clamour. "Durg, find out from the household the state of their weaponry. Arms, armour, ammunition. Tal and Hadder, examine each possible entryway into the manor. Note line of sight in and out."

One could say much about Rilla's obstinance, but it was difficult to deny her effectiveness when it counted.

"W-what should I do?" Wick trilled nervously, after the rest of his company had departed and the remaining mercenaries took turns scribbling down their abilities.

Rilla flashed annoyance. "Go stand watch. Make sure we're not attacked while we're planning our defence."

Wick was about to rise from his seat, but a glance from Stump instilled in him a modicum of rebellion. "I… I think I should go talk to Tydas. As leader of the company, I mean. M-m-maybe."

"I'll do that myself. I want to make sure our first impression goes smoothly."

"But I… I can—"

"Must I repeat myself? Go. Stand watch."

Wick looked to Stump for a second dose of reassurance, but then rose from his seat without a word and left with his head low.

Stump sighed and shuffled off his chair once Morg was done writing down his stats. They left the room together.

"What's our next move, cap'n?" said Morg.

"Sleep."

"Aye?"

Simply allowing the thought made the hallway spin a little. Stump hadn't managed to rest in over a day, since before he left for the Orwen farm. "I can't think straight," he said. "Wake me in a couple hours."

"What do ye want me to do 'til then?"

Although Stump had been leader of their company for a couple weeks now, the responsibility of ordering others around was still foreign to him.

"Keep Wick company on his watch. And keep an eye on the stables. I think that problem Tydas sent me to solve is actually here, at Peaktree," he said.

"Oh, aye?" said Morg, his curiosity stirred.

"But don't go stealing a meal for yourself."

The dwarf scoffed. "If I get hungry I'll just take a bite out o' that nervous muridean. Wick's his name?"

"Morg…"

"What? He's too shy to tell no one."

Stump woke to the clang of hammers.

He shuffled out of bed, rubbing the grogginess from his eyes, and moved to the window. Morg was chopping and shaping logs into stakes while Boren and several others from his company drove them into the ground in a jagged line along the hilltop.

Stump leaned out and spotted the sun already more than halfway through its daily arc.

"You forgot to wake me," he mumbled, then rushed to grab what remained of his adventurer's pack and hurried downstairs.

The manor was abuzz. Servants flitted about, carrying quivers of arrows and batches of weaponry. Tydas stood in the main hall, by the unlit hearth, conferring with Eskel and his wife in hushed tones as more of their household skittered around them.

The shattering of glass drew Stump to the dining hall, where Hadder and Tallas brought mallets down on lamps concealed by blankets.

Hadder shrugged when he noted the goblin's curious stare. "For the defences," he said, then swept the shards into a bucket.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"How many is that for you?" said Tallas. He shoved a glass bauble in place beneath the fabric and brought his mallet down.

"Fourteen. I think."

"Fourteen? I've only done nine."

Hadder gave a pleased chuckle. "Better hurry up, then." Shatter.

Stump slipped past them and dodged Gorash exiting the war room, a coil of rope in his grasp. Rilla was still at the command table. She dragged her finger along a map vandalized with confused markings, numbers, and blocks of text. Standing around her was Wick, Dharmis, Kestrel, and another of the Iron Fleece.

They all looked up.

"Ah. I was wondering where you'd gone off to," said Rilla. "No sight of the goblins yet, despite there only being a few hours march between the Orwen farm and here. We've managed to work out a basic defence, as you can see."

He stole a glance at the recordings of their defenders as he rounded the table, and noted several Knights, like Denna, some Fighters, Rangers, Rogues, and a number of Hosts and Farmers meant the household staff had recorded their stats, too.

"Sorry, I was asleep," he admitted, and tried to surmise the strategy they'd scrawled across the dimensions of the manor.

"Durg, too. Once he w-wakes it'll be Haddy's turn," said Wick.

"We can speak of naps later," said Rilla. "Why haven't the goblins attacked yet? Are they waiting? Planning?"

The answer didn't immediately come to Stump. His mind was still shrugging off sleep, but beyond that he was a little surprised there wasn't at least some sign they were nearing the manor.

"They might be scared," he mused.

"Scared? I thought goblins had that bloodrage… ragelust…" wondered Dharmis.

"We do. When it's active it can overcome our fear. But…" Stump searched his mind, trying to imagine the world from Thrung's perspective. It was harder to do now that the burned goblin was king and ruled a tribe bigger than any Stump had ever known. "They've probably already seen the manor. Many goblins adopt the Scout class, which lets them blend more easily with their surroundings, so you wouldn't notice them watching. They might have seen our numbers, or our defences going up. They plan their ambushes, sometimes carefully."

"Should w-we expect them to be… uh… or-organized?"

"Maybe at first. But the bloodlust will change that. It's all about glory. Each of them will be trying to kill the most tall men… uh, people… or taking the most valuable treasures. They'll be divided. We'll have to work together, and it'll be important to show no fear. They feed off it."

"First we need them to attack," Rilla muttered. "We've sent two of the Iron Fleece to nearby farms to make sure they haven't been destroyed, and to bring back anyone willing to fight, and another to the city to raise more forces."

"What about… the one who knows Thermalurgy?" said Dharmis. The crack in his voice suggested he was reliving the night of the ambush.

Stump traced his finger along the scribblings, translating their plan. He felt strangely calm. "I'll handle him," he said. "And I might have some ideas to add to our defences."

Night came, the sun fell, but twilight lingered.

Stump followed Maven into the greenhouse to resume his original quest, and found the space to be no less muggy and uncomfortable. He propped himself on a stool with a clear view of the hillside and partly finished palisade that ringed it.

He waited.

"No one listens to their elders anymore, try as I might," complained Maven, who lingered in the doorway. "It's always the opinions of the young when battle nears."

"I'm sure if you talk to Rilla she'd listen to you," said Stump, though he wasn't sure that was actually true.

"She's the problem, that one. Barking orders. Yelling. They've taken a good sum of our defences and accounted for every window, every crack in our foundation, but no one gives a damn about my garden! What defences are we to set up here, hm?"

Stump appraised the small space, with its glass all around and clearly visible interior. "Well… it's a little hard to protect when there are so many goblins…" His eyes landed on the Speak-To-Me-Nots, which had grown and curled around nearby pots since he'd last seen them. "You said those were dangerous, didn't you?"

She followed his stare, but panic lit her face when she noted his interest in the plants. "Yes…" she said pensively.

He, Maven, and Gorash transferred the greenhouse's contents into the main hall, leaving only the Speak-To-Me-Nots, one at each end of the garden. As Stump returned to resume his post, he slipped by Maven, who was carrying away the final pot.

"You'd better have a plan to restock my Whisper Gourds when this madness is done," she said. "As hard as they are to procure they're even harder to breed."

Later, once they sat again in the greenhouse with their botanical defences, she nursed her pipe to destress, and soon the interior was cloudy with smoke. Stump coughed, and she offered him a puff. He accepted, then coughed harder.

Hours passed.

Maven left, the smoke cleared, and the patrols continued along the hilltop. Halfway through his watch Boren and Dharmis resumed construction of the palisade, and raised a rhythmic racket with their hammering.

It would've lulled Stump to sleep if not for the heavy dwarven swagger behind him.

"Stump, ye in here?" Morg called, before he squeezed through the doorway. Even more of his hairs had greyed, and the corners of his eyes had begun to wrinkle.

"Are we switching already?" said Stump, stirring to attention.

The dwarf shook his head. "That Orwen fella's awake."

Faelan was propped on his elbows when Stump and Morg arrived. Nell tipped a mug to his lips and was gently urging him to drink. She turned her head to them.

"Close the door," she said.

Morg obeyed, then crossed the room and closed a second door to a hallway that looped around to the foyer.

After a quenched sigh, Faelan hissed through the pain of sitting upright.

"Not so fast. They patched you up, but you're not fully healed," Nell warned, placing a hand on his chest. They'd covered him with a blanket.

Faelan appraised his surroundings and grimaced, but it was hard to tell whether it was from his injuries or the realization of where he was.

"Peaktree?" he croaked, his throat dry. "Nell…"

She cupped his cheek. "I know, I know. But it's the safest place for us."

"If the house of a tyrant is the safest place—" a grunt of pain "—I'm afraid to know what's outside these walls."

"Goblins," said Stump. "The same ones that burned down your farm. And we have to stop them before we can get you anywhere else."

Faelan's shoulders slumped as he grappled with the memories of his home burning. He lowered his tired eyes. "All of it… all our lives… all for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing," Nell said. "We made a life for us. We did it once and we'll do it again."

"Before the tyrant," he said, straining meekly from her grasp. "And before the Black Sun. They have their hands around our necks. No one can start a life here anymore."

Nell pulled him to her chest and held him tightly, and he managed to muster enough strength to wrap an arm around her back.

"You can," ventured Stump. He moved to the bedside. "I'm sorry about your farm. I thought…"

It was his call to rush to Peaktree. He was the one who pulled most of the Stillwater Fellowship away. He was angry, he was scared for Morg and Yeza, and he wanted to meet Thrung again and put a stop to him for good. If only he'd given a moment to think, to really think, maybe they could have defeated Thrung's army then and there.

Stump swallowed his regret. "…I'm sorry I didn't protect your home. But tyrants come and go. One of them is leading that army of goblins that took everything from you. And once we're done with him, we'll see what can be done about the other."

Faelan struggled to turn to Stump, using Nell's hands for support. "You've already done what was asked," he said. "We have no glimmer for you."

"You saved my life." Stump retrieved his badge and handed it to Faelan, who looked it over with a weary frown. "I'm not part of the Stillwater Fellowship. I'm Stump, leader of the Nobodies, and as long as that's true I'm going to help people like you, payment or no." He stood on his toes to place a gentle hand on Faelan's wrist. "And we're going to help you get your home back."

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

Faelan looked to Nell, then to himself, and examined his own wounds. A touch of colour returned to his face. "Do they know?"

He didn't have to elaborate for Stump to take his meaning, but before an answer could be given, a familiar figure stepped into the room.

"Know what?" Kestrel wheezed. The door was open behind him, sighing on its hinges.

A nervous quiet rolled in with him.

"About the bandit they captured," said Morg, stirring from a corner and feigning a look of uncertainty. "He rambled about someone payin' his crew for animals 'n such, didn't he?"

"That's right," said Stump, picking up the lie with a nervous quiver. "I meant to tell you and Tydas about it. Someone from another farm, I think."

Lizardfolk features were naturally difficult to read, Stump was learning, and Kestrel's perpetually wispy voice gave little away.

"That so?" he said, then lost interest in the diversion. "You're looking better than when you arrived."

Faelan gave a weak nod. "Being awake's a start."

"Strange you were found without clothes, though. The goblins saw some use in a farmer's garb, I'm sure."

Faelan's eyes narrowed.

"That was Durgish," said Nell. "The dwarf healer. He thought removing his already tattered clothes would make his wounds easier to find and treat before he bled out."

"Smart," said Kestrel, who stood there in silence for several long, anguishing moments, until his eyes moved to Morg. "Are you feeling alright?"

The dwarf shrugged. "As well as I can given the circumstances."

"The difficulties that lie ahead are daunting," said Kestrel, his tone even. "Still, it's quick how visibly the stress has taken its toll, isn't it?"

"I tend to worry when so many lives are on the line."

"That can't be an easy trait to carry as a mercenary."

"Depends on the kind o' mercenary ye intend to be."

"What kind are you?"

Morg's eyes briefly moved to Stump. "The kind who cares 'bout the lives of others," he said.

Another, longer pause.

Kestrel bowed his head to Faelan. "Well, I shouldn't keep you while all you'd like to do is rest. Pardon the interruption."

Stump and Morg departed shortly after Kestrel, wanting to give the Orwens time alone.

"He's beginnin' to sour on me," said Morg, as they made their way back to the greenhouse.

"He thinks he's in the right," said Stump.

"Thinkin' don't make it so."

"No, but until he finds what he's looking for he's going to be suspicious of all of us."

Morg pondered for a few steps. "Doubt he'll find anythin' if he's been searchin' several years now 'n come up with nothin'," he said.

"He and Tydas have always been looking outside the manor. Now they believe the vampire is inside. They're going to notice every clue. Every detail."

The dwarf grumbled. "Good point."

"Which means you need to be careful. And we need to find this vampire before they do."