The not-immortal Blacksmith

2nd of Amsiel, Morning,

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Goblins.

-

After the outriders came back and reported seeing a large group coming towards the caravan on the road ahead, Maxwell stood with the other defenders at the titular front of the circle of wagons. He stood and waited for most of an hour, as the smoke from the fields drifted across the road, then shapes began to appear in the distance. Tall, wide shapes, at least a head taller than a man. Then more shapes appeared behind the first group, these slightly shorter than the first. Then child sized shapes.

Some of the combatants let their weapons droop, while others brought weapons to the ready position. Max stepped out in front of the group alongside the caravan master, and the pair waited. When the figures in front of them came clearly into view, the caravan master took a half step forward, "Welcome, friends?"

"Hu-Man!" The Orc swung a huge club at the caravan master's head. "You die for crimes!" The caravan master threw himself backward. Max drew and fired his revolver. The Orc screamed mid swing, dropped his club, and fell. Max took a step back and readied a follow-up shot when the unthinkable happened.

A horde of the small Goblins themselves, floppy ears flying in the wind, screamed with glee and charged him. The yells from the Goblins varied, but boiled down to something along the lines of "It's BOOM-BOOM-IN-SKY man!" and Max cursed, remembering a time when he had been a tinker, and had put on a "fireworks" display for a Goblin clan.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

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The circle of wagons had been expanded in an attempt to contain the hundred some members of the Goblin clan. Not that there were enough wagons to really do much, except to provide islands of light in the ocean of darkness. The least flighty of the Goblins, George; the head of the Hobs, Grug; and the head of the Orcs, Glug; sat with Maxwell, his family, and the caravan master around a large cooking fire in the middle of the encampment.

"The humans stole our dead, planted bodies, and have terrorized the area for the past two week." Glug said, before taking a sip of yellow tea from a gigantic tankard.

"We have been trying to hunt them down, but with keeping the little ones contained and safe, things have been difficult." Grug continued the story in his soft voice, one of many differences between the Orcs and the Hobs.

"And we had to run around! And fight humies! And then run away so we didn't get caught!" George added, a huge grin on her face as she devoured an apple, seeds and all. "It has been fun! …And sad." A frown crossed her face. "Very sad."

Grug and Glug nodded at the pronouncement, with Grug giving a deep sigh.

"So, that's the long and short of it. We don't know which group of humans is behind the attacks. We don't know what the purpose is. We do know that we will have to move the clan out of this province, and through another's territory to a place of safety. We do not wish to leave our lands, we have several friends across the area, and many trading partners in a number of the holds here." Glug said. "But it is either depart, or make war; and I believe the Heretic knows what a war can do to a people and the land."

Max and the caravan master nodded in agreement, then gave each other a nod. "We're going north east through the province," the caravan leader said. "You could join our caravan at least that far. We can't guarantee safety, but we can, at the least, act as a social buffer for your travels."

Max continued the line of reasoning, "There is some possibility that passage through another clan's territory could also be negotiated."

George, Grug, and Glug stepped away from the fire for a few minutes, then returned. "I believe we have an agreement." Grug said in his soft voice.