NOVEL NEXT 71 - A Goblin Walks Into An Inn
The earth shook with the march of goblins.
Birds scattered, blink mice teleported, and their ancestors watched from the stars with silent approval—or so Stump liked to believe. He was at the head of his newly acquired greenskin contingent, spearing the ground with a gnarled stick as they trekked through the Shadowlands. He'd Sustained a lumen at its tip, conjuring the image of ancient sceptres wielded by the wizards of knightly fables.
It made him feel strong. Powerful. And the goblins liked that.
"In line! Don't eat that!" Ironbone bellowed, swatting a fistful of moss out of Knife-Chewer's hands. Upon hitting the ground the moss sprouted dozens of hairy legs and scuttled away. "Anyone tries to wander off, I'll sever your toes and string them around my neck!"
He'd taken to the role of goblin commander rather quickly, a job Stump was glad to have occupied by someone other than himself.
The bigger goblin had already broken up a fight between Knife-Chewer and Durza, stopped Knife-Chewer from chasing a cloud of glowing spores, and admonished Pebble-Crusher for throwing rocks at Dreeg… at the behest of Knife-Chewer.
But Dreeg didn't seem to mind. He was the oddest of the bunch. Tall and lumbering, with a rounded belly and timid hunch, he was the physical opposite of Stump. He was quiet on the march, even as small stones bounced off his head, and seemed to consider the chromatic gloom as little more than a pleasant curiosity. A pouch at his side was bulging and glowing with harvested fungus. In his hand was a branch much like Stump's, and he navigated with a nervous bounce, like a giant tip-toeing to avoid crushing small critters and plants under his sandals.
Ironbone fell in next to Stump and dropped his voice low. "We're not going to run into any hags or creatures of the dark, are we? The woods are making them restless."
A quick survey of the forest told Stump it was beginning to thin, and somewhere in the distance came the faint hum of the Brightwater. Still, he missed the protection of Denna and the Iron Fleece, who had stopped at Peaktree for an extra day of rest with their wounded allies. The Stillwater Fellowship had joined them and agreed to help return some of the fallen to Guttershine to fulfil their burial rites.
"We're almost there," Stump said with a reassuring lilt.
"And… where is there, if you don't mind me asking?" Ironbone's scarred lip twisted with his snarl.
Stump wrestled with how to explain the concept of an inn to a goblin who'd never read the books of the tall men. "Well… it's like a hut. Like a hag's hut—"
Ironbone shuddered.
"—But not a hag's hut. It's owned by someone who has magical powers, but the good kind of magic."
Ironbone was skeptical.
"And she likes goblins. Well, she likes me."
The skepticism deepened.
"And you pay to sleep there. But I don't, because I live there. Which means you won't, either. I think."
Ironbone's eyebrows threatened to join as one over his crooked nose.
"And they have food," Stump added, and realized he should have started with that.
The bigger goblin grunted approvingly. "You rats hear that?" he called to their puny army. "We'll be dining on tall men food tonight! Except you, Knife-Chewer. Obey for the rest of our travels and I might reconsider."
Knife-Chewer shook with bloodlust and howled his agony at the sky.
Morg, walking next to Stump, whispered, "Goin' to need some civilizin', if yer set on bringin' 'em to the inn," he warned.
Stump sighed. "Even more than I thought."
"Remember Jin 'n his cleaver when ye showed up that first night? I can't imagine how they'll take yer return with half a dozen Stumps at yer back."
"Our return, you mean."
"You'll be steppin' in before me."
"But you'll be right behind?"
Morg shrugged. "Somewheres out o' range."
"Of what?"
"Knives. Onions. Chairs. Whatever Jin tosses yer way."
No. Reema will accept them, Stump thought, then looked over his shoulder at the chaotic bursts of lust-stricken mischief of his followers. Knife-Chewer lobbed a handful of mud at Pebble-Crusher, who turned to see Durza nearby and, thinking she was the culprit, began to swat her with balled fists. Ironbone grabbed them both by the ears.
Yeza snatched Stump's hand.
"Are you alright?" he said, and followed the source of her fear to the invisible shimmer of a tattercat darting past. It was even smaller than Bubbles. He squeezed her hand, and his cheeks warmed. "It won't hurt you."
She tilted her gaze to the orange and pink sky. "It's always like this?" she said, with the same suspicion he'd held on his first venture into the Shadowlands.
Stump had offered snippets of lore as they journeyed, but decided to save most of the detail for after they'd arrived at the inn and could settle in the comfort of Reema's warmth.
"It's what their world is like," he said. "I was scared too, when I first came here."
She pulled her hand away. "I'm not scared. It's just strange. I don't remember this from the books of the tall men."
"It's only like this here, around their city called Aubany. There's a dead god nearby that keeps them in twilight."
She gave him a nervous look. "Thrung wasn't lying? About Grumul?"
"All the gods are dead," he said. It was odd being in a position of knowledge on the subject, but along with everything he'd learned, the ruby tome cradled under his arm, and the makeshift staff in his hand, he felt like a little wisened goblin wizard. "Anyway, I'll explain it all when we get to the inn. Reema's going to like you."
I hope...
The Knight Inn stood like a fairytale.
Shafts of buttery yellow light lanced through its windows with the clattering of forks and knives and the murmur of pleasant conversation. Its sign—freshly painted green and gold—creaked above the door, and the whole structure was colonized by the dazzling colours of encroaching wilderness.
"Ahhh," said Morg, after a greedy inhale. "Them suncrops have got their flavour, but there's nothin' like a bowl o' spicecap stew."
"That's the hut?" said Ironbone. He stood with the other goblins several feet behind with a hesitant scowl.
Stump smiled. "That's it."
The picturesque image was shattered when the door crashed open. A white and black catfolk stumbled out and landed face first in the road.
"Out!" bellowed someone from within.
An array of personal belongings sailed through the doorway and pelted the felari as he struggled to his feet.
Reema sauntered out, prodding the air with a sword. "And you tell your trap company that if I see any of your faces 'round here again I'll be sure to add felari stew to the menu!" She gave the catfolk a kick to the shin and sent him sprinting down the road.
She turned back to the door, but caught the light of Stump's lumen at the corner of her eye. She leaned into the woods, squinting.
"Who's that?" she demanded.
Stump stepped forward, staff in hand. "Reema!"
She beamed at the sight of him. "Stump! You frightened me. I wasn't sure you'd be back tonight. Oh, you must be hungry. Who's that behind you? Morg?" She held her hand up to block the light.
It vanished with a hum.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Morg's here," said Stump. He stepped aside to introduce the others and realized they looked like a huddled mass of shadows with glowing yellow eyes. He was strangely nervous. "And this is Yeza, my friend I told you about. That's Ironbone, Durza, Dreeg, Knife-Chewer, and Pebble-Crusher."
One of the goblins snarled.
"You have food?" said Durza.
Reema rested the sword over her shoulder like a dish rag. She watched them all with the discerning stare of someone calculating potential earnings. Stump braced for a scolding.
Instead she smiled. "Well, what are you waiting for? There's plenty of room inside."
There was no room inside.
They stepped through a sweaty wall of heat. It curled like a fog around newly purchased tables of varnished wood and delicately carved chairs, and the dozens of guests who occupied them. A chandelier threw golden mycolight across the bright and polished frame of the inn, setting aglow the red and blue drapes beneath the ceiling. They undulated from wall to wall like a suspended sea of cloth and were bracketed by striped and wavy banners of crimson, emerald, gold and sapphire. Bright, bold letters announced the name of The Nobodies at every turn.
But none of it was quite as striking as the giant Stump at the far end of the bar.
The goblin face was painted on a heavy strip of cloth crowning the beer kegs. It watched over the tavern with unblinking yellow eyes and a wide, toothy smile of horrific proportion. Beneath it the wood of the barrels shone in the soft light of the inn, and copper mugs sparkled on their racks.
"Sweetbite ribs. Slow cooked pork glazed in spiced honey 'n beer. Served with a side o' dripwine soaked carrots 'n mushroom beet toss," said Morg, reading a menu he'd fished from a table. He cocked an eyebrow at Stump. "We in the right place?"
"They've been busy while we were away," said Stump, noticing the hole-less floorboards and the lack of leaky rafters.
Reema, having rushed to the bar to rest the sword on its hooks, swept a tray into her hands and confidently strode between glassy-eyed patrons. She yelled something to Jin, who replied with the sizzle of grilled meats. Steam coughed through the kitchen doorway.
After delivering drinks to a table of lizardfolk, Reema veered back to Stump and said in a panicked rush, "Hope you like the look of the place. I thought blue and red might be a good colour scheme for your company going forward, but it's your decision of course. Do you like it? Not too pointed, is it? Jin says the face is a bit much. Is it a bit much? It'll all feel less crowded once we add the hearth, by the way."
Stump blinked up at her. "Hearth?"
"We're at the tail end of summer and Jin and I plan on keepin' the place warm for the winter. Once that wall..." She waved away the rest of the explanation and started for another table, but added, "Oh, you've got a number of quests on offer in that book of yours."
"This is where you live?" said Yeza, once the cellar door thudded shut behind them.
Stump was about to apologize for the musty dampness of the place, but found her eyes glimmering with comfort. The other goblins wandered about, appraising dusty nooks and nodding approvingly at the darkness.
It's the closest thing to a goblin cave in the Shadowlands, he realized. But it was much smaller than their old home, and the advancing stacks of barrels and crates were threatening what little turf remained of their company hall.
"Think we should expand?" he said.
A sack landed at Morg's feet. The treasure within clinked when he tapped his foot against it. "We're startin' to get the income for it," he said. "Why don't we take a gander at our ledger?"
They threw open the heavy tome atop their tiny map table. Yeza peeked over Stump's shoulder, but made a disappointed grumble when they were met with stained yellow pages.
"It's empty," she complained.
"Just wait," he promised.
She gasped when smoky curls of ink appeared from the arcane depths of the book as if scrawled by an unseen hand. The words of their company stats took shape.
Membership - 3 (+2)
Active Quests - 0
Completed Quests - 8 (+7)
Avg Income (weekly) - 5.6 silver (+5.6)
Expenditures (weekly) - 1 silver
Net Gain/Loss - 4.6 silver (+5.6)
Treasury - 11 silver, 10 copper (+11 silver, 10 copper)
Location - Fame
Grimsgate - 17 (+17)
Hogg's Hollow - 3 (+3)
Guttershine - 2 (+2)
Brinetown - 1 (+1)
Aubany - 2 (+2)
Stump's eyes watered at their increasing fame. "Look! Grimsgate's doubled since before we left for Peaktree!" he said.
"Aye. Judgin' by the state o' the inn I'd say Reem's had a part to play in that. Means we should be gettin' some o' them higher payin' jobs comin' our way, 'n we're well past the ten required for copper," said Morg. "Not to mention word o' yer goblin slayin's goin' to spread soon enough."
"She did say there were offers while we were away," said Stump, leafing to another page.
Blink And You'll Miss Him
Pog, a stagfolk child from Brinetown, has lost his rat Blinky. He believes a street gang of children known as The Scrap Gulls have stolen him. Pog can be found in and around Salt Square most days.
Rewards: 2 copper, a bag of sea glass, a cracked shark tooth, and a string of oyster shells
Morg scoffed. "Quests in Brinetown are goin' to be on the low end o' pay with our fame so low in the district," he said, breathing down Stump's neck.
"Let's do it," said Stump, without hesitation.
"Eh? Yer ears workin' alright, gobby?"
"If our fame's low in Brinetown, shouldn't we increase it?"
"Our coffers is what needs increasin'."
"Can't we do both?"
The dwarf ambled around the table, flattened his palms on either side of the book, and leaned over it. "We need silver. Gold. Enough to build our defences 'gainst the Ocelots. Meanin' no offence to this stagfolk lad, but copper 'n seashells are a touch below our current needs."
"We'll take it," insisted Stump. "We have all that treasure from the cave we can sell for gold and silver. Besides, you never know what sorts of friends we'll make looking for a lost rat."
Morg groaned and shook his head, but swallowed whatever argument was forming in his throat. "What's the next offer?"
Beneath the quest more ink bubbled to the surface like blood from a fresh wound.
Hogs In The Hollow
Old Ma Bryggin, proprietor of Plank Runners, a delivery service in Hogg's Hollow, requests your help in calming the waters of a coming turf war. Two copper companies, The Drowned Hogs, from Guttershine, and Brass Ring, a dwarven company from Hogg's Hollow, have fallen out over stolen quest rewards, and their feud threatens to disrupt local businesses along the border of their districts. Head to Plank Runners for more details.
Rewards: 2 silver
"There," said Stump, turning the book to Morg and tapping his finger on the smokey entry. "Two silver. We can take this one too."
The dwarf squinted and leaned close to the page. After a thoughtful hum and a pensive scratch of the beard, he said, "Two silver in the hollow? Our fame's only three."
"You don't trust it?"
"This Bryggin lady's offerin' two silver to stop a turf war that hasn't started, 'n she's offerin' it to a company barely known in her part o' the Downs. It's got the signs of a trap company all over it."
"And if it's not? You said yourself we need silver."
The wood protested when Morg sank into a chair. He drummed his fingers on the table. "If I agree to head over 'n see what I see o' these Plank Runners, would that appease ye?" he said.
"Do you want me to send someone with…" Stump's offer fizzled as he turned to the goblins. Durza and Knife-Chewer were engaged in a brawl, and Pebble-Crusher was trying to eat the fungal collection Dreeg had neatly laid out on the floor for examination. Ironbone split his attention between conflicts with the exhausted authority of a father with too many children.
Following Stump's gaze, Morg snorted. "Better take 'em to be registered as mercs, first. They're goin' to need some disciplinin' before we assign 'em to anythin' important." He nodded to the ledger. "What else? Anythin' from Grimsgate?"
"Here's one," said Stump, tracing his finger along a third offering wedged beneath the other two.
The Curtain Falls At Dawn
Glinnir The Broken Bard, previously of 'Moon's Lament,' has written a play. She refused to share details of the plot or names of the cast, for fear of their safety, but is intent on having her words read to the people of the Downs. All she needs is assistance on dynamic lighting, stage set-up, and possibly armed protection on the night of the performance. Find Glinnir at the Cantankerous Tankard on the seventh of Umbrene after the markets close. If she does not find you there, she will take her quest elsewhere.
Rewards: 15% of play earnings (negotiable) + Free ticket to the performance
"Umbrene?" said Stump, looking up from the page.
"Next month. We're in the last days o' Fallowane, summer's end," said Morg. "Don't matter, though, as we'll be turnin' this one down, yeh?"
"We'll take it."
Another grumble escaped Morg. "Ye think it's wise to show our faces at the tank?" he said.
"If I go, it doesn't have to be my face I show."
It took a moment for Morg to grasp what he meant. "Aye, but it's weeks out, 'n no guarantee o' any sizeable reward."
"So we'll accept it, and do the others in the meantime. Let's see—"
Morg slammed his palm on the page, giving Stump and Yeza a start.
"I 'preciate what ye mean to do with yer company with these small quests, 'n I'm with ye, otherwise I wouldn't be seated here," the dwarf began. "But if—no, when the Ocelots come knockin', 'n you've got a mind to say no, then we need all the hired swords we can get. Means we've got to take the quests that pay, 'n we've got to do 'em now. Most companies don't spread thin through the districts. They settle in Guttershine or Brinetown or wherever, 'n build their fame. That's how ye make bronze, 'n it's how we fight."
"Do the Midnight Ocelots focus on only one district?" said Stump.
"No."
"Then we can't either."
Morg's jaw tightened. "But they're a silver company, well beyond the might of any this side o' the Blightwater. They've got no less than a hundred in their employ, and maybe as much as five hundred. I don't mean to take from our victory at Peaktree, but we're not dealin' with a wild goblin horde. These men are smart. They're capable. Don't think cause yer gobby friends call ye slayer o' kings that yer in any state to break the reign o' the Pale Lady."
Her reign, Stump thought. He didn't want to doubt Morg's rugged mercenary instincts, but like Durgish had said in the cave, kings weren't really kings. Thrung was a monarch, until he wasn't, and all it had taken to convince those who bowed down to rise up and end his reign was a little bit of sunlight.
Once the remnants of his army were registered at Penny Hall, the Nobodies would reach copper, and they would be more equipped than ever to take on the forgotten quests of the Downs. The ones no one cared for. Glimmer was important, but if Stump had taken only one lesson from Peaktree, it was that solidarity is what brought down kingdoms.
"If they have five hundred, then hiring a few more to our company isn't going to decide if we win or lose," said Stump. "But if we make ourselves known in all four districts—Hogg's Hollow, Guttershine, Brinetown, and Grimsgate—and bring those under their heel to our side, well... maybe that's enough."
Morg's chair squealed as he leaned back with a tired sigh. "Aye. Maybe it is. Or maybe we're like to join the graveyard o' fools who tried their hand at playin' hero."
Despite the ominous growl of the dwarf's words, Stump allowed a sleepy smile.
"The graveyard's not big enough for them to bury us all," he said. "We just need to remind people."
Morg's eyebrows met over his nose. "Remind 'em o' what?"
"That there's no room for kings here in the Downs," said Stump, remembering the words of Jeyenne at the Rookery, and the minted coin of resistance she'd handed him. "Not now. Not ever."