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

Glittering scraps and dull metal coins were all that remained of the goblin throne. In the absence of its glow the oppressive shadows of the cave were emboldened, held back only by the flickering ruddy bubble of a campfire, around which huddled the survivors.

The Bird-Killers were not among them. Stump had followed them out as they spilled into the woods in search of a new tribal home, dressed in the sparkling finery they'd stolen during Thrung's aggressive expansion, like the greenskin princelings of his kingdom. Only once they were gone did the rest of the mercenaries emerge from the tree line.

Tall men and beastfolk occupied one side of the fire, while the five goblins who'd pledged to follow Stump into the Shadowlands squatted across under the heavy silence of mistrust. Here and there a snarl or a growl was volleyed over the flames.

It was an awkward meeting of cultures, but all were too worn and weary to break into violence.

"Ye took quite a beatin' duellin' that king," said Durgish. He'd spent most of the last hour on his feet, moving from wounded to wounded, and now loomed over Stump.

"He wasn't really a king," he said, propped against a goblin-sized stone in the warmth of firelight.

The dwarf found that amusing. He crouched and set his supplies by the fire and said, "Are any kings truly such? Seems to me they call 'emselves so. Might be they are, so long as their subjects agree. Hold still."

Stump inhaled at a sharp chill. He looked down to find the dwarf's hand flattened against his chest over a strip of chappy gum. Soft light flickered around Durgish's fingers. When he pulled his hand away, the pain was gone.

"Your magic is very powerful," Stump observed.

The dwarf's beard lifted with a sad smile. "All I do is clean up yer mess. Like I said, yer the one who slayed a king, real or no, 'n ye did it for those ye care for. That's power, gobby, the kind not even me magic can touch. Turn yer head that way, would ye?"

Stump obeyed, and limb by limb Durgish sealed away the hurt with arcane light. Partway through Stump caught a glimpse of Yeza, sitting alone and picking apart Thrung's colourful crown, staring vacantly into the flames. They surged when she fed it a piece. The ruby tome hummed at her side.

The sight of it reminded Stump of his newly acquired focus point and urged him to lean back as Durgish tended to his injuries. He allowed his mind to wander to the Words From The Sky.

Flectomancy—the bending of light to peer around or behind objects, or to become invisible. Umbramany and its enhancements to manipulate shadow, or Solarmancy to mimic the weaponized sunlight of Kestrel's domain. All the pathways he'd considered before were open to him again.

But peering through the vast web of skills and the focus trees within each brought an even wider array of possibilities. His time in Peaktree had granted him two levels in Speech, the same skill Rilla and Wick employed. With a focus point investment, Stump could gain the powers to inspire others. He'd also achieved levels in Simple Weapons and Unarmed Combat, and could unlock their abilities if he desired.

Do I become better at combat? Should I follow Kestrel's path, or inspire people?

Even with all the paralyzing choices, there was still the tome and the knowledge of hidden skills that might be found in its pages. With only eight originally stolen from Thrung, Stump had opened the world of Lumenurgy and Thermalurgy.

What else can I learn from it? What kind of—

A shimmer caught his eye. Like finding a coin in a dungheap, he followed the hint of treasure to the clustered skills of the Magic domain. Resting apart from Thermalurgy and Lumenurgy was a lone skill, barely connected by silver thread to the others.

And it was glowing.

What is that? he wondered.

In reply to his inquiry, the edges of his eyes darkened. His breathing slowed. The rock at his back melted away with the stone beneath him, and the quiet warmth of sleep draped his shoulders. The snapping fire dimmed, the cave faded, and the shadows slithered near.

A muffled voice snapped the world back into focus.

"Hm?" said Stump. He blinked away the system, sharpening the rugged features of the dwarven face before him.

"I said, y'alright?" grumbled Durgish. He grabbed Stump by the chin and appraised him like he was hunting for mould on a head of lettuce. "Ye went limp there for a time. Yer not departin' this world, are ye?"

"I don't think so," Stump croaked. He looked across the fire to find Yeza and the tome gone. Like Thrung's body, only fragments of his crown remained where she had been.

The dwarf huffed. "Good. I've had enough o' that for one day. Can ye walk?"

It took a moment, but Stump managed to hoist himself upright. The many islands of chappy gum on his skin itched.

"It's a start, I s'ppose," Durgish went on. "Now if ye can walk to that corner o'er there, Wick would like a word."

"With me?"

"Aye. He's got a proposition for ye."

"An alliance?" Stump whispered in the shadowed depths of the cavern. Far behind him the dome of firelight flickered off the faces of his allies.

Wick glanced nervously at his own feet. "Only if you'd like. M-maybe. Or not. But, well, you'll reach copper soon, won't you? And when that happens..."

"The Midnight Ocelots," Stump breathed.

"Rilla thinks it's a mistake, but... we have to fight them. Don't we?"

Stump looked at the goblins by the fire. All five had opted to follow him to the Knight Inn, and if they joined his company, and he managed to convince Yeza and Denna, he'd make copper and would be well on his way to bronze. Even with their combined numbers they would barely crack the manpower of the lowliest officiated companies, while the Midnight Ocelots were sitting strong at silver. They would need more companies on their side. Many more.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

But Stump remembered the coin he was given at the Rookery.

Hope.

"We do," said Stump. "And we made a good team at Peaktree."

"W-we did. They're smarter than goblins, though. Uh... no offence."

Stump smiled. "They are. Which means we'll have much more work to do."

Wick beamed, but before they could seal their agreement, Rilla wandered over with the vitality of someone thirsty for combat.

"Everyone's ready to go," she said. "We're all patched up and Tallas has finally stopped whining about his leg."

Wick frowned in thought. "It's near m-m-midday."

Despite the mildness of his pushback, an uncharacteristic stammer found its way to her voice. "Right. Of course. Well. It's your call."

He stiffened at the unexpected ceding of power. "What would you suggest?"

"Judging by our march on the way here, we might make the shroud by nightfall. But only just. If our pace slows or we're hindered by forces goblin or otherwise, we may be trapped deep in the woods come sundown."

"You make good points."

"Thank you," she said, as if experimenting with the words for the first time. "But it's your decision, as leader. Sir."

Disarmed by her words, Wick offered none of his own. It took a gentle nudge from Stump to urge him to speak again. "Uh..." he said. He adopted his signature sagely focus, then appeared to come to a decision. "We stay, and leave at first light tomorrow."

Rilla nodded, but she didn't turn away. She remained fixed in place, hands clasped dutifully behind her back. "There's something else."

He watched her expectantly.

She flashed Stump an embarrassed look, then cleared her throat and began in a stiff tone, "I should not have questioned you so harshly at the manor. Perhaps not at all. Your father named you leader of his company in his stead, and I respect your father. I should have extended that same respect to you. For that I apologize."

He stood in baffled silence, then mustered a reply as sternly as he could. "You w-were out of line."

She swallowed hard. Her eyes fell to her feet. "I was. I'll aid in leading your company back to the Post, where I will resign from the Fellowship without argument," she said, then added, almost as a whisper, "I'm sorry, Wick."

"But Stump and I were discussing something," he continued. "W-we were thinking it's time we made bronze. Ocelots be damned. And if w-we're going to fight our way there, I'll need a good Commander."

Her eyebrows met above her snout, but she didn't seem to comprehend the offer. "I'm sure you'll find one," she said.

"And I hope, w-when we return home, you'll consider being that Commander," he said, and extended a paw.

It was odd seeing Rilla flat-footed. She stammered her way into a reply. "Oh, uh, if you're sure," she said and composed herself long enough to accept the gesture with a shake firm enough to uproot a tree. "Thank you, sir. On to bronze, by your order. Ocelots be damned." She gave a slight bow, then another to Stump before turning sharply on her heel and marching back to the fire to find someone to yell at. "Tallas! Are you going to lay about all day or will you stand watch?"

"But my leg—"

"Now!"

Wick followed shortly after, leaving Stump alone in the depths of the cave. He spent a long moment tracing the familiar twists and winds of his subterranean homeland, knowing it would be for the last time. Finally, he turned to the fire and saw that Yeza was still absent.

Before he could begin to worry, the Sending Stone buzzed in his pouch.

He reached for it, and calmed at the sound of her voice.

"Stump, are you there?"

He found her outside, farther up the hill where the ascent steepened and was speared by stony outcroppings. She sat on one of the rocks, dangling her legs over the edge.

Stump approached cautiously, as he'd always done when they met on the treacherous slope above their home.

"You afraid?" she teased.

"No," he lied.

Sometimes she'd drag him to their perch in the early hours of daylight, when morning dew still hung in heavy sheets of fog. It rolled beneath their feet like clouds, broken only by sharp towers of stone, and Stump would feel as though they were leagues in the air, staring down from the vantage of the sun.

Night was even worse, when the firelight spilling out of their cave was nothing but a narrow strip of orange far below, and everything beyond was black.

Stump used his hands as much as his feet to guide himself between rocks. But as he pulled himself to the ledge beside her and peered over, the fear he anticipated never came. There was a drop, and jagged points of goblin slaying were spaced intermittently to ensure his demise if he tumbled, but it wasn't as steep as he remembered.

With some embarrassment he adjusted to swing his feet over the edge and inhaled the warm afternoon stillness. He looked over to find the pearl in her hand.

She registered his gaze. "I found it on his crown," she said. "It belonged to your friend, didn't it?"

"Denna. I gave it to her before she came looking for you."

"For me?"

He nodded. "She was hired to defeat Thrung and his army. Hired by the tall men, I mean. She's a mercenary, you see, and the way it works is… she has a company and—I also have a company, by the way. Oh, a company is like a tribe, sort of. But there are ranks and contracts and rules. It's complicated. I don't fully understand it yet, but I've had a few quests. Quests are like raids you get paid for—it's sort of like finding treasure, but it's given to you at the end. But you can also find treasure on your quests, of course—but we don't have any matrons or anything to offer them to. Oh, there is this one goblin that makes beer. She lives on an island haunted by ghosts. She gave me a quest once..." He restrained himself under her curious stare. "Sorry. I know it's a lot."

"I was listening." She sounded disappointed.

"I just…" he trailed off, thinking of all the pages of his story he'd managed to scribe since escaping their tribe, and imagined her in the bone pit during all that time. Alone. Afraid. "I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner. I wanted to, but I was frightened. It was just me and my friend Morg."

She turned her gaze to the horizon. Sunlight haloed around her skin, illuminating her many bruises and scars.

After a pause he said, "Did he hurt you?"

Wind whistled from below and tussled her tangled locks. She shrugged. "Not so much."

"Really?"

"He was afraid."

"Of what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"He tried once, but Griza stopped him," she said. When Stump returned a look of confusion, she clarified. "She whispered to the others that there was no reason to harm me, because I was already his prisoner. There was more strength in that, she said. Little-Bear overheard. When he told Thrung, it only made him angry, and he banished her."

Stump's chest tightened. Under the roof of the Orwen barn, as he and Gold-Blooded shared the same bedroll, she'd told a very different tale. He told Fire-Spitter I let you escape on the Wildrun, she'd said of Little-Bear.

Why did she lie?

"Her name was Gold-Blooded, by the way," said Stump. "If not for her, Thrung might've killed me. I thought I'd be the one to take his life. It's what she would have wanted. My first kill. It's what I should have done, as a goblin, isn't it?"

Yeza scoffed. "You shouldn't have lived among the tall men, as a goblin. You should have died on the Wildrun. Or been a better fighter. You should have been meaner, but who cares?" she said. "Maybe one day you'll have to kill, and maybe you won't. But whether you do or not, you're still going to be Stump, the shortest of goblinkind."

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (1/12)

There was a striking simplicity to her tone that dispelled the worry from his mind almost instantly.

She hung her head back, eyes closed, and breathed the next gust swirling around them. "You were telling me about companies," she said.

"Right. Uh, well, companies are sort of like tribes—"

"You said that."

"And mine is small. But it's growing. There's a spot, if you'd like, if you come with me to the Shadowlands—"

"Yes."

"—To the inn there. It's called the Knight Inn, and it's run by Reema and Jin. They're very nice, they'll like you. So if you wanted—"

"Stump."

He faltered. "Hm?"

"I said yes."

"Oh. Well, that's good."

She chuckled and looked to the horizon again. He did the same, and her warm presence lulled him into a comfortable silence. He rested his hand on the rock between them, and moments later her finger curled around his.

"Will you tell me what it was like?" she said. "The world outside home?"

Light swirled in the air in front of them. "I can do more than that," he said, and spent his only point of virtue on Moving image. A window into the Shadowlands coalesced above their jagged peak, and took the shape of the fungal woodlands as he first saw them after fleeing Thrung on the Wildrun.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and watched the dazzling light show as he told his story.

"This is nice," she whispered.

End Of Book One