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

"Arrows," said Wick. He squinted over an unfurled parchment in the shade of the manor.

Hadder counted the quivers under his breath. "One hundred and ninety, give or take," he said. "Another twenty or so with shoddy fletching, and about a dozen more that could use arrowheads."

Stump scratched the bandage on his nose and lost count of the bucklers for the fourth time. After being patched up by Eskel, he managed to sleep through the morning, and joined the Stillwater Fellowship outside shortly after noon. Weapons and supplies surrounded their stools. They'd been tallying the results for the better part of an hour, mostly because no one could stay on task for very long.

One… two… three… he began again.

"And four bows?" said Wick.

"Five," chimed Tallas. "Lady Maven found an old hunting composite belonging to her late husband. You think they'll give us tomatoes?"

"Five," Wick repeated, scratching the number down.

"S'ppose we'll have to share," grumbled Durgish.

"Well, I'm eating as many as I can get my hands on," said Tallas.

"I'm speakin' about the bows, ye nit. Course they'll give us tomatoes. They said it'd be a big dinner t'night."

"A big dinner where I come from is an extra serving of sporridge. Never had a tomato before."

Hadder leaned back and rested his feet on another stool, then fished a pouch from his belt and dug out several dried mushrooms. He plucked one into his mouth. It made a satisfying crunch.

"Don't bother factoring me into the bow distribution. Never used the things," he said.

Seven... eight... "You've never used a bow?" said Stump.

Hadder grinned teasingly. "Have you?"

"No, but they're taller than I am."

Durg's chuckle was dry. "Don't mind Haddy. He's a Merchant. Seein' him swing a sword's enough to make ye lose faith."

"At least I know which end to hold," countered Hadder. He framed every word with a smirk, as if he understood some secret joke of the universe that eluded everyone else.

"You think the tomatoes get hot? Baking in the sun all day?" mused Tallas, lingering several exchanges behind.

"Spears?" Wick said, pen at the ready.

The dwarf ignored him. "That's not how suncrops work. The sun don't heat the plants, it just grows 'em."

Tallas huffed. "How would you know? You've never been outside the Bright Queen's shroud."

"Spears...?"

"I know cause I know," said Durgish.

Tallas rolled his eyes. "I bet you've never even seen a suncrop."

"What do ye think we're lookin' at? That right there's wheat. Ye thought it was goldhush the whole time?"

"I knew it was—"

"Spears!" Hadder yelled.

Catfolk and dwarf turned to him like he'd interrupted an intimate moment, only to see a timid Wick blinking at them, hovering his quill above parchment.

"Oh, uh…" Durgish looked to the weapons at his feet. "Six."

"Six," said Wick, exasperated. "Stump? Bucklers?"

Tits. Stump had lost the tally again amidst their bickering and his own mind wandering towards what sorts of dishes he might eat for dinner. He'd already eaten at the manor over several nights, but word of Tydas' upcoming feast made it sound like the lord of Peaktree was planning a grand event.

"Sorry, I have to recount," said Stump.

As he tried again he did his best to block out the chatter, but he couldn't help but overhear arguments about what they were going to wear and how colourful the clothing would be. There was an enormous, largely unused wardrobe in the manor, and Tydas wanted everyone to look the part of nobility. Stump wasn't sure he'd fit in, but he was looking forward to getting out of his bloodied and tattered clothes and into something a little less soaked in stink.

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

He looked up, and had lost the count again.

Wick took his stir to attention as another opportunity to ask. "Bucklers?"

Stump leapt to his feet, spurred by an idea. "Tal, would you mind counting them? I'll be right back," he said, and bounded for the manor.

Tallas' groan chased him to the doors. "But I've still got to measure the rope!"

The outfits were splayed on the bed.

"As you can see, lord and lady Valroy have a number of options for you," said Eskel. He indicated a deep green tunic with short sleeves and mesmerizing gold swirls along the shoulders and collar, sitting above a lighter, pale green linen shirt and dark grey pants. "Lady Merra is particularly fond of this one, but due to your uh… being a goblin… you might desire something which announces itself more readily."

Morg, in the corner, smothered a laugh with a grunt. He'd come along to keep up appearances, but the raggedness of his breath and the degree of his hunch had gotten more pronounced through the night.

Eskel threw him a suspicious look, then drew Stump's attention to a second outfit. It was looser, dark purple and brilliant gold, with long sleeves and wide cuffs ringed with gold and black.

"This one represents the colours of Lumensa, or Umbralanus if you're inclined in that direction," he said.

Stump pointed to the third offering. "I like this one."

Eskel shuffled over. "Ah, yes. Ruby red with a touch of sapphire blue. See here how the fabric sparkles in the light? I'm told the silk comes from the chromatic spiders of Cartala from before the Godslayer, but listen to this old man dawdle. Why don't you try it—excuse me, what are you doing?"

Stump threw the green outfit over to Morg while he pulled and stressed the purple. "This one's quite durable," he said, surprised. "What fabric did you say it was?"

Eskel stuttered, mouth agape. "I didn't… stitched by the velvet weavers of Nevae… stop that at once!"

"Velvet weavers of Nevae," Stump said with a raised brow. He tugged hard at the shoulder, giving Eskel a start. "How's that one, Morg? Is it velvet, too?"

"Wouldn't be able to tell," the dwarf grumbled, turning the tunic over in his hands and stretching the threads. "Not a bad make, though. Tougher than mosshair. Could hold a rock nice 'n easy."

Eskel gasped. "A rock? What is this… you can't… the value!"

A twang of guilt gave Stump pause. "Are these Lyda's clothes?" he asked.

"They would have been if she'd been a boy!"

And the guilt was gone.

A rip sounded from where Morg had yanked too hard on the sleeve. He held it up to his eye and blinked through the hole. "Maybe not this one," he said.

Eskel's horrific shriek could've convinced those within earshot that Morg had tossed Lyda out the window.

A goblin ambush began with the sling.

They were rarely used to kill—that needed to be done up close, with a blade or blunt force. The glory achieved per slain foe diminished with each increasing foot between the killer and the dead. It was as close to serious mathematics a tribe would venture.

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But all goblins learned how to stitch one from an early age. Stump had made his fair share, and he'd used them, too. Hair from fallen tribesmen was typically braided to make the cords, and woven sinew the pouch, but weaker material would do in a pinch.

Eskel had wandered off to inform the lord of the house of the massacre of his wardrobe, but when no one came to scold Stump as he and the rest of the Stillwater Fellowship tore up all the unused velvet and leather they could find, he assumed they were in the right.

Even Maven joined them after some time. She ambled over with several lengths of cord twisted from the fiber of her It's-Not-A-Tall-Mans, and dropped them at their feet.

"Good luck," she said, and scuttled away before anyone could ask for her help.

"Haddy, Dh-Dharmis, could you two set up some targets to practice with?" Wick said as the first slings were nearing completion. "Durg, we'll need something to throw."

The dwarf rose happily to his feet. "Aye. No good with me fingers, anyhow," he said and left in search of ammunition.

"Tal, how's yours coming along?"

"Nearly there, cap'n," said Tallas, absorbed in his work.

Wick looked over to Stump, who held up two completed slings. "Where's M-Morg? Will he be joining us?"

"He went back to our quarters. He's not feeling well," said Stump.

Wick nodded, but didn't press further. "D-do you think you could show us the proper technique?"

Hadder and Dharmis set up bales of hay tied to posts behind the stables and painted sloppy targets on them. Durgish returned and spilled a pile of rocks onto the ground, and soon a dozen slings of varying quality had been fashioned, their pouches blue, green, gold, and black—the colours of noble attire repurposed for goblin slaying.

Wick watched intently as Stump demonstrated the footwork, the stance, the proper balance using your free hand, and aided in disseminating the technique to the members of the Stillwater Fellowship, and soon to the Iron Fleece as they wandered over.

Stump observed with a smile as Wick's natural leadership shone without Rilla to drain his confidence.

"Good work, Tal. That's good form… I think." The ratfolk waited for Stump's approval before he gave the mercenary a clap on the shoulder. "Haddy, keep your arm up to line your shot. Use it to measure your arc and then bring it back once you release, like Stump showed us."

Slings whooshed. Rocks flew. Most of them missed.

An hour slipped by unnoticed.

Eventually Rilla emerged from the war room, her frown tight. "What's this?" she inquired.

Despite Wick's clear leadership in the field, the question was directed at Stump.

"Sling practice," he said.

Her lips curled. "Slings? No one looks like they have any idea what they're doing."

"Hence the practice." Stump didn't mean it to be snotty, but Rilla's flaring nostrils suggested she took it that way. "We only have five bows," he added. "We thought it'd be best to give everyone a way to fight from a distance. Even if their aim is off, there's a hundred goblins to hit."

She softened a little. "Your idea?"

Stump was about to confirm the question, but he thought better of it. "Actually, it was Wick's."

Both ratfolks gaped in shock. She turned to Wick with a frown only mildly critical. "You thought of the idea of using slings?"

"Well… I, uh... I…" It was as if an identical but significantly more antsy muridean had murdered Wick and taken his place while no one was looking. "…Yes. Uh, ma'am."

She considered it, and Wick braced for a scolding. Instead she nodded sagely. "You've got them, then?" she said, indicating the rest of their company.

"I… Yes. I do."

"Good. See to it no one loses an eye. Or worse, a head," she said, and then started for the manor. "I can't remember the last time I slept."

It was the closest to a congratulations Stump imagined she was capable of.

Wick stood in his poorly fitted armour, mouth slightly open, whiskers twitching nervously. "I… she's never given m-me command before," he mused, almost to himself. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

"You're welcome," said Stump. "Now it's your time."

Wick stared down at him curiously. "My time?"

"To show them why your father put you in charge."

"Oh…" Wick licked his dry lips. "Right."

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (5/9)

It was the most somber realization Stump had instilled in another thus far, but he was happy just to have helped a little. "Will you be alright if I go inside?" he said, catching the stench of death wafting off his still dirty clothes.

Wick nodded. "I think so."

The ratfolk resumed guiding his companymen in the art of not being terrible with a sling, and Stump waddled to the house, eager to bathe before dinner. As he stepped through the threshold a low growl of thunder announced a monstrous grey cloud creeping in from the woods.

He watched it drift with a clenched jaw, and recalled the day of his failed raid. His trial. The voices of the matrons came to him as clear as the panes of the greenhouse.

"Death," they said.

Stump shivered, and stepped inside.

He received another summons before he made it to his quarters.

Stump stood before the heavy iron studded door to Tydas' study. Dim light escaped beneath it on an icy breeze. He gulped, raised his hand, and knocked.

"In," the lord of Peaktree commanded.

Stump obeyed, closed the door behind him, and stood in silence as Tydas cracked open a letter at his desk. Kestrel stood by the window.

The manor lord's eyes traced the contents of the page and his lips moved silently around the words. The corners of his eyes tightened. His back stiffened. He contemplated deeply before setting aside the letter and directing Stump to take his usual seat.

"Your nose," he observed.

"I—"

"Fell in the greenhouse. Eskel informed me this morning. I imagine the rest of your watch was uneventful."

In typical Tydas fashion it was as much a question as it was a statement.

Stump's eyes moved cautiously from the lord to Kestrel. "It was," he said.

Tydas was still for a long time. Eventually he smiled, and gestured to the lizardfolk. "Our resident Solarmancer found some intriguing clues this morning," he said. "He thought they might interest you."

"I searched the stables. If there is a vampire in these walls, what easier place to draw blood?" Kestrel whispered, his words quiet but sharp, like a blade in the night.

"Puncture wounds, you said. On one of my mares," Tydas added with playful incredulity.

"And blood on the floor."

Stump's hands were clammy, his lips dry, and the bloodlust surged through his veins, but now was not the time to let them see it.

Tydas linked his fingers over the desk and adopted an expression of feigned concern. "Did you hear anything? See anything?"

They talked to Pug, Stump realized. The dwarf had been on patrol when he'd explored the stables. Even if he insisted he'd fallen in the greenhouse, they'd know he was lying. If he told a version of the truth, they'd ask why he lied to Eskel in the first place.

He was trapped.

"I…" he began, but stopped when he noticed the manor lord's letter. The broken seal. The feline figures, the stripes. The blue and black. Stump could recognize those markings anywhere.

The Midnight Ocelots. Their claws are everywhere.

"Stump, you are not our enemy," said Tydas.

The bloodlust settled into its predictable waves, and Stump rode them to newfound confidence.

"Then stop treating me like one," he snapped, and gestured to the window. "Your enemy is out there. What difference does it make where I injured my nose?"

"We will find what we're looking for, and you know what we must do then," Kestrel rasped. "If you are protecting them, now would be the time to say."

Goblin heat reached Stump's cheeks as he challenged the lizardfolk's interrogative stare. "I'm protecting this manor," he said, then turned to Tydas for a more personal approach. "Everyone is protecting your manor. They're protecting you and Merra. And Lyda. Your family. Whatever you might think of me or anyone else within your walls must be put aside. There are thirty people here willing to fight for your home. People from the Downs, from Aubany, from goblin caves… and if you're right, from Borovic, too. Thrung and his goblin army thrive on chaos. They want us to fight ourselves so we aren't fighting them. I'm asking you, both of you… forget your anger, your vengeance, at least for now. You need them. All of them."

A hint of emotion swelled in Tydas when Stump mentioned family, and at the end of the plea the lord of Peaktree leaned back in his chair, face buried in shadow.

He needs a little more, Stump realized.

"You gave me your word," he went on. "And I gave you mine. I still want to complete your quest, but you need to let me. Don't let yourself be consumed by it. Think of Lyda, and Merra. They can't see you like that."

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (6/9)

Never one to allow thoughts to manifest on his face, Tydas simply nodded, but Stump knew through the Bright Queen's light that they were now on the same side.

The lord of Peaktree turned slowly in his chair. "Do you have anything else?" he asked the Solarmancer.

In contrast, Kestrel hadn't been moved by a single word. "Your friend has fallen quite ill over the last several days," he said.

"He'll be fine," said Stump. "He just needs rest."

The lizardfolk glared through pale yellow eyes. "Nevertheless, if he's hosting disease it may spread through the household. I've already asked Eskel to examine him."

Stump held his unblinking stare. "Seems wise," he said, then turned to Tydas. "May I go?"

The lord of Peaktree stole an uncharacteristically indecisive pause. At the end of it he waved his hand.

"We'll see each other again at supper."

Stump rushed to his quarters, hoping to get there before Eskel, but when he ascended the stairs he found Ivis standing outside the door, hands clasped behind his back.

"What happened?" Stump said. "Is Eskel in there? Is my friend alright?"

Whatever words the felari was forming was diverted into a clearing of the throat.

"Your friend is safe," he offered.

Safe? What does that mean? Does Eskel know? Is he going to tell Kestrel?

"There's no disease?" Stump said, trying to appear calm.

"No affliction Eskel could find."

Stump released a breath. "That's good. I'm glad. Can I go in and see him?"

Ivis reached for the door, but hesitated in turning the knob. He regarded Stump with a discerning eye, then appeared to come to a decision. He leaned close enough to brush his whiskers against Stump's forehead.

"No affliction he will find," he whispered.

"What?" said Stump.

The door was open and Ivis was walking away before he could inquire further. And as the felari descended the staircase, Stump caught sight of his footwear—narrow boots, fine in make, and strikingly similar to a pair he'd seen the night before.

"Ah," said Eskel, from inside Stump's quarters. "Your friend appears to be recovering well."

Morg was upright next to the bed. His cheeks were red and his eyes bright, and the grey in his beard was on the retreat.

With no time mull Ivis' cryptic exit, Stump entered the room and pretended not to be surprised by his friend's sudden limberness.

"Thank you, Eskel," he said. "Rest is all he needed, as we thought."

"Yes, well, better to do so now, on the eve of a goblin incursion, hm?" the old man muttered. He studied Morg through his spectacles. "Warm water and lemon for the time being. A hot bath, perhaps, and good company. Dinner tonight will raise your spirits enough to eradicate the remnants of whatever ails you."

Only when the elderly servant was gone, the door was closed, and the footsteps had receded did Stump allow the confusion to twist his frown.

"I have no idea," whispered Morg, surmising his friend's thoughts. "I woke a couple hours ago 'n found a vial next to my bed."

"Blood?"

"Aye. Though from what... or who, I couldn't say," Morg said gravely.

"I think Ivis brought it to you."

The dwarf blinked. "Who?"

"The felari. I saw him last night in the stables. He was... feasting. But something doesn't feel right."

"Ye think he's the one ye been lookin' for?"

The pieces were falling into place, but it felt less like Stump was discovering them and more like they were being delivered to him. Placed in the open. Obvious. Ivis waiting outside the door. The vial of blood. The boots. If he was the vampire, why would he run from the stables to hide his identity, then draw attention to it the very next day? Why wear the same shoes?

No affliction he will find, he'd said.

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (7/9)

After a long, uncertain silence, Morg said, "Stump, y'alright?"

"He wants me to believe he's the vampire," said Stump. "But he's not. And he knows who is."