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

Stump had bathed before, but it was in the brooks near his cave, or the Brightwater after starting his company at the inn. Soap was a thing of legend, and perfume was the stench of whatever died upstream.

Bathing at Peaktree was a grander affair. Celetta, one of the household staff, filled a large copper tub with heated water. It rested above a bed of Thermal Stones next to a burning hearth and an open window, striking a deft balance between the heat of the room and the cool summer breath of farmland.

Fingers of steam beckoned him forward, and before he thought to question the herbal wall fixtures, or the ruby rose petals floating in the water, he sank chest deep and moaned.

"We have an array of scents for you to choose," said Celetta, in the doorway. "Honey Apple is always a safe choice, but if you're looking for something stronger I'd suggest Spiced Wine or Duskrose. Or perhaps Glassmint would suit you best? Of course, if you'd like to go with what's recommended, lady Merra's personal choice is Sunbloom."

"Do you have just… soap?" he said.

Her chuckle was ungenerous. "They're all soap."

He'd never felt the threat of the bloodlust due to indecision before, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed. He settled on Honey Apple before he began to sweat.

Once he was dressed she came around again to offer a wide selection of perfumes from aged plum wine over notes of black fennel, to ghostly whiffs of ashwood smoke and red pepper oil. He settled on the one she called Starvine, which smelled of fresh rain on stone, and reminded him of the hardy plants that grew further up the hill from their cave where he and Yeza would meet away from the tribe.

"You look wonderful," said Celetta, but the compliment landed with a practised lilt.

He imagined, with the manor's current guest list, how many times she'd repeated it today. But when she brought him to the mirror, he gasped.

"Who is that?" He pointed. The goblin in the reflection pointed back.

Stump had only ever seen himself through murky pools, and even then the images they returned were closer to shadows than his real self.

Celetta allowed a thin smile but gave no answer, clearly under the assumption he thought he was being amusing.

He lifted his hand to ensure the mirror wasn't some sort of trick, but the goblin staring back mimed his movement. It blinked with big eyes, their yellow hue softened in the candle glow. Its ears were long and droopy, and poked out of a bald head as round and smooth as a heavy river stone. The arms were short, the legs shorter, and it stood from head to toe in ruddy candlelight, wearing the sparkling finery of upper tall men society.

And it was studying Stump with a curious, almost frightened look.

"This is me?" he wondered in harmony with the goblin in the mirror.

"It is." Celetta's smile was too broad to be genuine.

I really am short, he thought, and approached the mirror in small, tentative steps. He refrained from blinking, afraid the creature in the reflection might leap out to snatch him as he neared.

When he was close enough he reached out and tapped a finger against the mirror. The goblin did the same. He added another finger, and the creature followed. Slowly they flattened their palms against the other, divided only by a sliver of cold, and gazed into each other's eyes.

Me, he thought.

The goblin began to smile, and Stump realized he was smiling, too.

Nice to meet you, Stump, the shortest of goblinkind.

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (8/9)

"Your colours announce themselves well in the light," Celetta said stiffly, crossing the room to pick up a candle. She returned with her hand cupped over the flame and gradually orbited the light around him.

The red coat appeared to catch fire beneath the candlelight, while the blue silk tunic glittered with the brilliance of the deep sea. It hugged his frame just right, puffed along the shoulders, and curved around his hips. But it was the colours that made him smile—the blue and red of his scarf and cloak.

The patter of rain drew his attention to the window. Fingers of it slapped the glass, seconds apart. Dark clouds brought the illusion of night over the manor. There was a dim flash, and a beat later the whisper of thunder.

"Shall I show you to the dining hall?" said Celetta, her hand already on the doorknob.

Morg had never smelled so good. He stood in the hallway, scowling in an aromatic cloud of juniper and frosted sugar berries.

"Ye feelin' the pinch o' heat, or's it just me?" he grumbled, tugging at the tailcoat's high collar and fiddling with the gold-accented frills at his wrists. As Stump moved closer, he saw the purple flower braids in the dwarf's neatly trimmed beard.

"I feel fine," said Stump. He looked up at his friend. "You look nice."

Morg's scowl deepened. "I feel like one o' them muckhens with their wings clipped. Can barely breathe in whatever ye call this." He indicated the lavender and plum coat squeezing his round form, where burnt gold floral threads looked ready to burst at the next inhale.

"It's just for an hour or so," said Stump.

"Hour? Ye seen how these nobles eat. One hour's like to get us through the first course o' twenty."

He recalled Morg that first night in Peaktree, and how the dwarf had finished nearly everyone else's meals alongside his own. "And you're complaining?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Just speakin' thoughts. Doesn't help we suited for battle 'neath these fine fabrics."

At the mention of armour, the hide greaves itched under Stump's boots. Even during dinner Rilla had commanded them to be ready to fight at a moment's notice.

"The goblins might attack at any time," he said. "And I don't think we'll be getting reinforcements from Aubany."

"Heard nothin' from the one they sent to Shepherd's Hall?"

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Stump shook his head. "Knowing goblins, he never made it to the city."

Morg's freshly plucked eye brows lowered. "Then if tonight's to be our last feast, it better be a damned good one," he said.

They followed Celetta through the darkened hallways, and despite the dour gloom of the world outside, the dining hall was bursting with colour and aglow with dozens of candles.

Creamy white soups and sizzling golden fowl. Dark red fruits and burnt orange custard. Coats of cerulean, frills of vermillion, golden lacings and silver buttons. There was brocade and velvet, purple and white, pearlescent threads of flowers, suns and moons, and immaculate cufflinks forged in the shape of towers and ships of the sea.

Denna had described to Stump what nobility was like, but he didn't understand the dazzle until seeing it for himself. He spent a beat of hapless blinking before he recognized the clean and pampered faces of those he'd grown accustomed to.

Hadder's grey locks were slicked back and gleaming. Durgish's hearty laugh brought attention to the silver blue stormcloud swirls of his overcoat. Nell's hair fell in wide, puffy curls over an emerald dress trimmed with gold. Maven's entire outfit gleamed with scales of gold and silver, as though she'd bathed in sap and rolled over a pile of coins.

Morg nudged Stump's shoulder. "We goin' to our seats, or…?"

Stump swallowed hard and nodded. They joined the table largely unnoticed.

Tydas occupied the far end, directing with one hand where the food should be delivered, like he was conducting a symphony. Behind him wind buffeted a pair of great oak doors, and rain battered the windows.

It might've been Merra and Lyda to either side of him, but Stump gave up trying to peer over the multi-layered dishes and towers of apples, plums, and wine-soaked pears.

Manor staff deftly navigated with trays of porcelain covered dishes, where steam seeped through and teased of buttery lemon glowfish and spiced basil. The mingling smells assaulted Stump's nose. He tried not to sneeze.

"Yshdtraddachscks," said Morg.

"What?" Stump turned to find the dwarf already choking on something cheesy and stacking his plate with all manner of goods sweet and savoury.

Morg chased his food down with a generous gulp of wine. "Ye should try the cheesecakes. Some wine, too. It's some kind o' high class make." He grabbed a pitcher and tilted it to a goblet.

A sniff summoned burnt apricot and clashing spices. Stump grimaced, then took a sip. His frown deepened, then he took another.

Tallas, dressed in warm coral pink and adorned with pearl buttons, brandished a tomato with a gleeful smile. Several seats down Durgish glared back with glassy eyes and raised his cup. Red wine spattered on the table.

Chatter and feasting ate away the hour.

Stump melted into his chair when only crumbs and scoured bones decorated his plate, but before he could burp away the flavours, his dish was carried away and another was set in its place.

He was strategizing what configuration of fruits and meats he could fit in his belly when Tydas rose, slow and deliberate. The lord of Peaktree raised his chalice, and silence rolled like a wave through the hall. Maven, at the other end, was last to pick up on the cue.

"I'd like to thank you all at this table," he began. He lingered hawklike on each of them in turn. "And those standing watch outside. For your service. For your courage. To your companies."

His nod and raised cup suggested an abrupt end to his speech, and it took a moment for everyone to feign inspiration.

"Aye," said Rilla, who had long ago shrugged off her black brocade and proudly displayed her armour, a gesture Stump found oddly comforting. She mirrored Tydas' chalice, and gingerly sipped her water.

"Aye," said Morg, who never needed much of a reason to drink.

Ayes abounded, jumping from chair to chair. The only one who didn't raise his glass was Faelan, until a stealthy elbow to the rib from Nell encouraged a half-hearted attempt.

But it wasn't covert enough for Tydas.

The lord of Peaktree remained standing despite an odd look from Merra. He raised his glass once more. "And to the Orwens, and their farm, and to all they've lost." His eyes shimmered with candlelight.

Another round of ayes. This time the one who refused was Kestrel, sitting across from the farmers.

"I appreciate the kind words," said Faelan. He raised his empty glass, then set it down again without taking a swig. His plate was untouched.

"You haven't eaten tonight," Tydas observed. "Surely my staff can find a meal to your taste."

Stump's fingers tensed around the arms of his chair.

Faelan gave a considered sigh. "There is much to my taste," he said carefully. "But it's all within the walls of a man who is not."

Sharp intakes of breath. Someone coughed. Servants quietly scuttled to the kitchens and peered covertly back through the doorway. Nell was holding her breath.

"Yet you are within his walls, and your wounds are dressed with his care," said Tydas, jaw tight.

"You have my thanks where they are due. But a kindness does not absolve a crime." With each exchange Faelan grew more confident in his tone.

But so did Tydas. The manor lord set his cup on the table and leaned forward on his knuckles. "And what crime do you speak of?" he said.

Merra tugged his sleeve. "Stop this," she whispered.

"I think you'd not like to discuss this with company," Faelan said. He reached for a loaf of bread to end the conversation.

"Follow your accusation," Tydas urged. "Do not sheathe it when pressed unless you are prepared to admit its falsehood."

Nell watched her husband from the corner of her eye with bated breath, no doubt hoping the tension would die there. She lowered her head when Faelan stoked it further.

"I say nothing false," he said sharply.

The two men engaged in a joust of the eyes, with the injured farmer putting up quite the effort. Before either could be unhorsed, a wispy drawl turned all heads to Kestrel.

"What would be the punishment for this crime?"

Faelan regarded the lizardfolk with open contempt. "It's not for me to decide the laws of Aubany," he said.

"Death? There are a number of crimes that warrant it. Murder. The divulging of council secrets…"

"I'm not aware of the—"

"Vampirism."

"Kestrel," Tydas warned.

The Solarmancer held up a finger for silence, a gesture that drew another round of inhales.

"Did you know this?" he asked the farmer.

Tydas straightened, towering over the table. "Kestrel, you will be silent," he said.

When Kestrel met the eyes of the lord of Peaktree, all the pretension of titles and hierarchy evaporated. The Black Sun was under no one's command. "For years we have been searching, and now here it is, at your table."

"You've got some wrong information, friend," Faelan said through gritted teeth. His fingers teased the handle of a breadknife.

"Do I?" Kestrel mused, then glanced at Nell. "Your wife, then."

Faelan's chair clattered to the floor when he rose, knife in hand.

Kestrel was on his feet just as fast, and a lumen flickered between them, dim enough to rival candle glow. "Move again and I'll shine it as bright as the sun."

"Kestrel, please," said Stump. "You don't want to do this."

His words were drowned out by a shriek of wood on stone as Merra rose beside Tydas, somehow commanding more presence than he did. "Put that out at once!" she barked, slamming her palm on the table. Apples and plums rolled to the floor.

"Use your magic," Nell seethed. "Prove yourself a fool."

Kestrel was unmoved by threats or pleas. He raised his hand, and the light surged slowly, like a rising sun, threatening the shadows of the manor.

A breeze swept by Stump's ear. He blinked, and the knife on his plate vanished. He turned to ask Morg what that was when he realized the dwarf was gone, too.

Kestrel staggered and the lumen wobbled, and when he tried to speak, his words garbled at the blade at his throat.

"Any brighter 'n I'll open ye from ear to ear," warned Morg, from behind.

On instinct a number of sellswords bolted from their seats, brandishing whatever might pass for a weapon—knives, forks, drumsticks. Half the table was standing, gawking at each other, confused by the sudden spike in tension.

And Kestrel gave a pained chuckle. "Am I to believe this is a valiant defence of the Orwens? Or does your threat run closer to self preservation?"

Morg pulled the Solarmancer close and whispered into his ear, "I'll save ye the fancy words. I'm the blood drinker yer lookin' for. The blade's drawn a bit o' yer insides, and I've been parched for days. Best do as the lady Valroy says if ye want to keep it that way."

"Then you'd best cut deep, or you'll find daylight in this hall before my body hits the floor," Kestrel challenged.

Stump was standing, urging words of calm. Tydas bellowed commands across the table to no effect, while Maven chided him and Merra consoled a sobbing Lyda. Confusion abounded while Rilla shouted for everyone to compose themselves.

But vampire and hunter stood locked together. Kestrel was leaning back to accommodate the dwarf's shorter stature, and indecision flashed in Morg's eyes. The light steadily grew brighter. Blood dribbled down the Solarmancer's neck.

A sound escaped Stump's pocket. Wind. Rain.

He pulled the Sending Stone free and brought it to his ear, but the words came from behind.

"Goblins! Goblins!" Pugg screamed from outside. He hammered the wide oaken doors.

"Goblins! Goblins!" echoed the stone.

Stump turned to find tiny yellow lights hovering in the storm, drifting up the hillside.

Goblin eyes.

"They're here," he breathed.