The Wandering Inn_Volume 1, page 146
What disturbed Rags greatly though was their location. She and her Goblins had crept through the snow, ignoring the freezing temperatures, to the edge of the trees. They’d done this against all their instincts, and Rags had only come this far out of curiosity.
Her curiosity being, why the Workers were still here and not fragments of flesh and exoskeleton raining from the sky at this point. She knew these trees. They were death.
In fairness, Goblins classified almost half of the world as ‘death’, but they had a far more nuanced view of death than other species. Their species had over twenty words for death, and that meant they could define death in an almost unlimited number of ways.
Goblins pessimistically defined death as a probability, or perhaps an inevitability depending on how you looked at it. For instance, a lone human traveler was only ‘possible death’ for a group of Goblins, and if a tribe was nearby the unfortunate human was only ‘death for one or two’. By contrast, the Rock Crab had been ‘near certain death’ for the individual Goblin or small party, but only ‘many deaths’ for a tribe.
But the trees here, this forest, was absolute death. Goblins avoided the area, having learned the exact range of the explosive bark from trial and error, as it were.
That was why Rags was astonished to see that the Workers were not only moving among the trees, but chopping them down without being perforated in a thousand places. Why? Was it magic?
No—none of the three people here win only moment she heas capable of magic like that, Rags was certain. She knew Ceria could do magic, but she also knew the half-Elf had been badly injured, as evidenced by her skeletal hand. Moreover, Rags saw no wand or stave, and she couldn’t sense any magic coming from Ceria.
And Klbkch and the Drake certainly weren’t capable of magic. Although of the three, they bothered Rags far more than Ceria.
Klbkch for instance. The Antinium was clearly distinguishable from the other Workers, thanks to his unique build. He was taller, leaner, and had only two arms instead of four. He was also ten times more dangerous than the others.
Rags still remembered his death. She hadn’t been part of the ill-advised group of Goblins that had set out to kill Erin and avenge their Chieftain, but she’d watched as the Antinium and one of the Workers had carved their way through the ranks of the Goblins. Even though they’d killed him in the end, it had only been because he’d been protecting Erin.
And now he’d come back to life. His body might have been changed, but he smelled and acted the same. That terrified Rags.
But while Klbkch was a silent enigma, he was nothing compared to the Drake. Rags knew he had a name, but she refused to remember it.
The Drake. He was known by the Goblins of the Flooded Waters Tribe, oh yes. He had killed more of their kind by himself than the rest of the other guardsmen combined. He was faster than any Goblin—faster than arrows—had skin tougher than metal, and he could kill even a Hob with his bare hands.
He was a monster. He’d killed the Goblins who’d raised Rags. He was her enemy, even if he didn’t know it.
But there was nothing to do about him but avoid the Drake. He could easily slaughter Rags and all the warriors she’d brought. No matter what Erin said, they had to keep their distance from him.
Speaking of which, where was he? Rags narrowed her eyes and scanned the forest. The Drake had been talking to Klbkch only a second ago, but now he was gone. Where had he gone? To piss? Or—
“Got you!”
Rags heard the terrible voice too late. She twisted, but Relc grabbed her out of the snow and threw her through the air.
The Goblin felt herself flying, a dizzying, rushing weightlessness broken by terrible pain as she hit a tree and bounced off. She landed in the snow, winded and curled up reflexively into a ball of pain.
She didn’t think for a few minutes, only lay there as she heard the Drake laughing and her warriors screaming. The screams grew fainter, and she realized they’d fled. As was only sensible. But it left her alone, and in only moments she heard voices above her head.
“I knew it! I saw one of those pointy-eared freaks poking his head out of the snow, and I knew she had to be nearby. It’s that stupid Goblin!”
“I am not familiar with this Goblin. You say you know her?”
That was Klbkch. Rags tried to uncurl, but the pain was still too much. The Drake replied irritably.
“Yeah. Erin took her in. Her name is Raggy or something stupid like that. She’s been hanging out at the inn and playing chess.”
“Chess?”
“Yeah. Crazy, huh? I wanted to get rid of the little bugger, but Erin won’t let me. Her tribe’s been causing chaos while you were dead, and now it looks like she’s got an ambush party waiting to attack us.”
She heard the menace in the Drake’s voice, and that made Rags move. Ignoring the terrible pain in her back, she uncurled and looked up. Relc and Klbkch were standing over her while Ceria stood just behind them, staring at Rags.
Was this the day she died? Rags knew she had no chance if it came to a fight. The Drake could kill her with one claw. But she stood up anyways and reached for her sword.
The Drake growled at Rags, looming over her.
“Drop it.”
His voice sent a thrill of terror down Rags’ back. But she still gripped the hilt of her sword with one hand. She was terrified of the Drake, but so what? Rags was always afraid, but she never gave into the fear.
Klbkch laid one hand on the Drake’s shoulder as he gripped the shaft of his spear.
“Calm yourself, Relc. I would not wish violence here.”
“She was spying on us. Don’t you think we should do something? What if they were going to attack?”
Klbkch’s voice was an oasis of calm. He pointed at Rags.
“Erin Solstice harbors affection towards them. If she discovers they have been slaughtered, she will react poorly.”
Calm, and coldness beyond anything Rags had known. She was sure that if his needs called for it, Klbkch would kill her without batting an eyelid. Not that the Antinium had eyelids.
“Moreover, I do not believe even Goblins would be foolish enough to attack a larger force by themselves. No, I think Rags and her group were following us to see what we were doing. That is all.”
The Drake glared at his friend. He pointed at Rags.
“They killed you. Killed. You. You’re telling me you don’t want to slaughter every one of these buggers we find? They’re filthy little cowards, the lot of them.”
The word burned Rags. But of course there was nothing she could say. Klbkch paused, and then went on without changing pitch.
“My feelings do not matter. Erin Solstice has been deemed important to the Hive, and for that, her cooperation is needed. Let the Goblin go.”
The Drake glared at his friend, but then he cursed long and loud. He turned, and Rags breathed out just slightly. Maybe, just maybe—
Relc turned back and raised his foot. Rags saw only a blur and then—
—-
She woke up with a terrible pain in her jaw. Rags knew it wasn’t broken, but it hurt!
Relc was gone. Klbkch was gone. But someone was standing over her, and it wasn’t one of her Goblins.
“Rags?”
Ceria the half-Elf bent down and reached out for the Goblin. Rags’ reaction was immediate. She rolled away from Ceria and sprang to her feet, backing away from the mage warily.
“I don’t mean you any harm. I just wanted to make sure—”
Rags pulled the small jar of acid from her belt and Ceria paused. Rags hadn’t dared reach for it with Relc because he was too quick, but she held it out between her and the half-Elf warningly. It was a threat; not something Rags intended to actually make good on.
It worked. Ceria paused, and stood up carefully. She regarded the little jar of acid, knowing full well how dangerous it was. But she didn’t panic. She looked Rags in the eye.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. Relc shouldn’t have kicked you like that.”
So. It had been the Drake. Rags felt her chin. It felt like it was about to fall off, but if that was all she ended up with, she’d count herself lucky. But then why was Ceria concerned about her? Rags was still wary.
“I’m not looking to do anything with you. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it while you were asleep.”
That was true. Rags hesitated, and lowered the jar of acid. Ceria watched her tuck it into her belt and shook her head.
“I need to talk to Erin about her giving you those. That girl—”
She paused and shook her head again.
“What am I doing, talking to Goblins? Look, I don’t really care what you and your little group were doing watching us. But I have a message for you.”
A message? Rags’ ears perked up slightly. Ceria looked serious as she pointed at Rags, and then out across the plains.
“Leave. The Watch is going to wipe your tribe out or drive it off in a few days.”
Rags absorbed the information silently. She didn’t doubt that it was true for a second. Not because she thought Ceria was honest, but because she’d predicted it was coming.
More patrols through the plains. More guardsmen spotting Goblins but not attacking them, just following them for a while. The picture added up. Ceria’s words just confirmed Rags’ hunch.
Ceria didn’t seem surprised Rags wasn’t surprised. The half-Elf thrust her good hand into her pocket.
“I don’t know if you really understood that, but I hope you did. Not that I want your tribe to live or anything. I’m just telling you this so Erin doesn’t get upset. I owe her a lot.”
That was true, but Rags didn’t see how it had any bearing on the current situation. She wasn’t Erin’s pet or anything like that. But it mattered to Ceria, clearly. The half-Elf looked at Rags balefully.
“I remember the last Goblin King’s rampage from the sea. He left a sea of fire and destruction across three continents. Even if others underestimate your kind, I know you can be dangerous.”
Goblin King? Ceria had known the last Goblin King? Rags was suddenly intensely curious. No Goblin she’d ever met remembered the Goblin King, but of course they all knew of what he’d done. But it was clear that Rags’ opinion of the late Goblin King was not Ceria’s.
“If it were me, I wouldn’t shed a tear if your kind died out. But Erin likes you and I owe you for rescuing me from the ruins.”
Ceria sighed. She raised her skeletal hand and stared at it for a second. Rags stared too. She’d never seen an injury like Ceria’s before. Of course she’d seen frostbite, but never a skeletal hand that stayed together like that. Was it magic?
“You know, if your kind didn’t steal or attack innocent people, you might actually be tolerated. Perhaps not. Even half-Elves live on the edges. But you—”
Ceria broke off. She paused, looked at Rags, and for a moment her expression softened.
“There’s no place for you anywhere in the world. You have my sympathies. From one outcast to another. But take my advice and get lost. Today.”
She walked away. Rags was left alone in the middle of the stripped clearing, only a cluster of stumps indicating where all the trees had been.
Now then, what was all that about? Rags had no way of making sense of what had just happened. She took a seat on a stump, perched on the edge, one hand under her chin as she tried to think.
Ceria had warned her. Rel—the Drake had expressed his hatred for Rags and her kind and Klbkch had seemed indifferent. Was any of it a lie? Rags wished she had a Skill to tell the difference.
She often thought of Skills, and the ways in which she could use them. It was an odd thought to have, because most Goblins didn’t have any Skills to speak of. But Rags had earned several, and increasingly, she’d begun to question which Skills she might one day obtain and how they might help her survive longer.
She ascribed these un-Goblin like thoughts to the [Tactician] class, but the truth was simply that if Rags had been a human, she would have been a genius. Since she was a Goblin, she was more of a legendary being in their eyes. She was one in a million—perhaps one in a billion.
Which still didn’t make Rags all that special. Goblins reproduced so fast that even some insect species couldn’t keep up. Their kind lived and died like mayflies, and their children were able to walk and fight within days of being born.
And they died just as quickly. So Goblins would mate and reproduce as fast as they could before their half-lives ended. Even in the winter, more babies would be born and die.
The Goblins would normally starve, even with kills like the Rock Crabs to sustain the tribe. So many new lives were a strain on any ecosystem. But that was why the dead were always brought back. They would be eaten, and life would begin again.
It was the way of things. But some days Rags wondered why it had to be this way. She wondered if there was something to do that would take her tribe out of this cycle of death that was their way of life.
Or failing that, her at least. Rags wanted to live. It was all she thought about. Living, and dying. But for the first time in forever, she actually had something that could help her accomplish her goals: her classes.
Goblins could level. It was just rare that they survived long enough to gain more than one or two levels.
For instance, every Goblin including Rags had at least one or two levels in [Scavenger] and [Warrior]. But what was interesting to Rags was that they seldom leveled up higher, even the old ones.
Goblins that had lived for three years or longer were only Level 9 in the [Scavenger] class. And the highest-level [Warrior] Goblin that Rags could remember was the old Chief. He’d been Level 18 in the [Warrior] class, and he’d been a Hob.
But Rags was unique. Not only did she have eight levels in the [Warrior] class – the highest in her tribe – she also had a [Mage] class, which was practically unique among Goblins. And of course a class that was unique, the [Tactician] class. Rags was a Level 11 [Tactician]. That practically made her a Hob herself, but she still hadn’t started growing.
Hobgoblins were the next step in Goblin evolution, insofar as Goblins ever evolved. They were still Goblins, but ones who, for whatever reason, entered a sudden growth spurt. Strong Goblins who were either Chieftains or stronger, faster, or tougher than normal would suddenly begin eating twice their weight each day. They’d grow constantly, until they were suddenly as tall as Humans and in some cases, twice as wide.
These Goblins were the leaders of tribes, the shock troopers in any Goblin group and the only way Goblins could take on deadly monsters. It was a given that most tribes would have around one Hobgoblin, or Hobs as they were known. The Flooded Waters tribe’s single Hob had been their Chief—until Erin killed him, that was.
But while Rags had leveled up as much as any Hob, she hadn’t gotten any bigger. That happened too sometimes, but she was still disappointed. She would have liked to tower over the other Goblins, but being small also meant she was less of a target.
Her concerns over being a Hob were only a small part of the questions in her mind. Rags shifted in her seat and winced as her fist bothered her injured chin. She had to think. Thinking was one of the only things Rags could do, and if she didn’t, she and her tribe would die.
Why did Goblins not level up that much? And on the other hand, why had Rags leveled up so quickly? Was it just because she was special?
Then again, every Goblin in the tribe had leveled up at least twice after killing Skinner. Even the ones who’d only cut a tiny slice off of him. Why was that? What made Skinner different from a traveler on the road, or a Rock Crab?
Maybe it was because…he was dangerous. Because the Goblins had fought, against something truly dangerous. Because they hadn’t taken an easy fight, for once.
Were Rock Crabs easy to kill? …No. But it was practically a given that if an entire tribe of Goblins attacked, a Rock Crab was going to die. It was a safe fight for the tribe, if not individuals.
But Skinner—yes, Rags remembered that night. The Goblins had known he was weak, known he was running. But they hadn’t known if he was able to kill them. Over a hundred of them had charged, and if they’d been a tiny bit slower or if Skinner had been just a little bit stronger, they might have all died.
Yes, that was it. They’d risked everything. And that, surprisingly, was rare for Goblins. As a general rule, Goblins did not pick fights that were even remotely risky. That was tough since everything was stronger than Goblins, but they always attacked with overwhelming numbers, and by surprise if they could help it.
Maybe that was why Goblins didn’t level much. And Rags—she’d leveled because when she played chess she always did her best. And when she learned magic, she worked as hard as she could to listen and learn from the smelly mage Pisces. And fighting—
She’d killed all the Goblins who’d wanted to be Chief themselves. She’d led her tribe against many monsters already, always from the front. She was brave and she risked her life.
That was why. That was the key. That was what Rags needed to leverage if she wanted to survive.
In the quiet falling snow, Rags could think clearly. The cold was getting to her, but she had enough furs on to keep herself warm for now. And the winter air was clarity. It was a reminder of death, and how close her tribe was to it.
The cruel truth of it was, the Flooded Waters tribe was the weakest in the region. While the humans, Drakes, and Gnolls living in cities and villages didn’t really regard Goblins as more than pests roaming the countryside, there was actually hierarchy even among Goblins. Tribes were their own separate entities that controlled a territory, fighting other tribes and roaming bands of wild Goblins to maintain their dominance.
Dominance of course being the right to prey on stray livestock and keep just under the radar enough so that high-level adventurers weren’t dispatched to get rid of them. It was still a lot of power, considering how many animals could be killed and how many useful little items could be stolen while keeping a low profile.
