Tears of Liscor, page 46
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
They were both armorers and weapon smiths. Shorthilt had gotten a small armory of weapons from Erin, and the best Goblins used those. The rest created a terrifying arsenal out of wood, bone, and rock. With Shorthilt’s help, they learned that you could put an edge on an entirely wooden axe that could cut as finely as any metal one. His Goblins trained and worked on the weapons for all five tribes, although they only used blunt weapons while sparring. Because no one wanted to lose an arm.
If those two were the frontline warrior factions, the other three Goblins occupied more useful roles, at least when it didn’t come to the fighting. For instance, Badarrow’s group was comprised solely of [Archers]. While it was the smallest of the five factions due to the Hob’s grumpy nature and the complexities of wielding a bow, Badarrow and his archers did almost all of the hunting. They could kill fish with their arrows, and any bird flying overhead was soon a pincushion.
In his quest for the perfect arrow, Badarrow and his tribe slowly knocked down every tree in the area, obsessively fletching and shooting the precious arrows at targets both night and day. Badarrow could usually be found on the roof of the Dropclaw bat cave, shooting arrows at targets with his students. If you were lucky, he’d slip up and you’d catch him smiling.
While Badarrow’s faction was the smallest, the largest by far was the group of Goblins that followed Rabbiteater. Like the other Goblins, they learned to fight Redfang style, but that wasn’t the focus of their group. No, instead they cooked.
Yes, cooked. Rabbiteater spent more time copying Erin’s food and learning from the master herself than he did training. As such, his Goblins wielded the ladle and spatula and learned how to debone fish, fry bird meat, and wash their hands before every meal.
Rabbiteater also taught them how to look for traps, forage for food, weave nets, and make the most comfortable beds, as befitted a Goblin who had truly been the jack-of-all-trades among the five Hobs. Now, of course he was a [Champion], but to his admirers, the ability to produce tasty food and create dental floss far outweighed mere combat. Rabbiteater’s group was thus envied and scorned by the other four factions, although no one complained when it was time to eat.
And the last faction was Numbtongue’s. Unlike the other groups, they didn’t spend their time copying the Hob’s every action. Rather, they generally just sat around and listened. And learned.
Numbtongue sat in his cave and played on his guitar. He had an audience; hundreds of green bodies sat around him. Crimson eyes followed his claws as he played a song he’d learned from Erin. But no one made a sound. The Cave Goblins listened as Numbtongue played a classic from Erin’s world. Or something close to it.
“I don’t know exactly how it goes. But it, uh, sounds like this. Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo…no, that note’s a bit higher. Hey, do you want me to write this down?”
Of Erin’s many talents, writing sheet music and playing instruments weren’t one of them. But she could at least hum the melody, and Numbtongue would spend hours recreating the songs. Now, he strummed the guitar and brought a song from her home into this cave. It was a melancholy song if you were sad. Or a beautiful one if you weren’t.
His guitar sang. Sparks of electricity shot from the chords and danced across Numbtongue’s fingers as he played. The battered, twice-repaired guitar echoed in the cave. The bass was deeper than it should be for the size of the instrument. The notes echoed as Numbtongue sped up, switching to another song. And his audience listened, captivated.
Curiously, none of the Cave Goblins joined in. They just listened as he played. When Numbtongue stopped, they’d make music. His group had begun hitting rocks together, making crude drums, and trying to replicate the guitar without success. They’d kept the other Cave Goblins up at night with their racket. But when Numbtongue spoke or played, they just listened.
It bothered the Hob, to be honest. Because his Cave Goblins were acting much like he did around Erin. He had a deep suspicion that they’d listened to every word he’d said to Erin—and everything the Human said on her daily visits to the cave. His faction was probably at least semi-fluent by now, but like Numbtongue, they refrained from speaking except when excessively poked.
Music, speech, and obviously, fighting. Those were his Cave Goblins. And they were his. Numbtongue had never felt as protective of a group of Goblins before. They were like children, although some of the Goblins were older than he was. But he was a Hob, and they looked at him like…like…
Like he’d looked at Garen. As a small Goblin looked at a hero. Someone who they aspired to be like. That bothered Numbtongue because he knew he was no Garen. But no matter how many times he tried to shoo the Cave Goblins away, they kept following him. So in desperation, he tried to be the leader they expected of him.
He should probably show them how to hit things now. Probably. But Numbtongue played on. His fingers danced along the guitar strings. It was so unlike the rapid, brutal way of fighting he’d learned. That was an art too, but a violent one, with sudden starts and stops and blood. This—this was beautiful.
The cave was dark. Rabbiteater had moved his cooking fires outside because of all the smoke. But the flashing electricity illuminated the cave each time Numbtongue played a chord. That was why he was given a respectful distance by his audience. Numbtongue didn’t know why he’d gained the [Electric Chords] Skill or, as he’d become a Level 25 Bard, [Lightning Melody]. Both Skills were clearly related to his class, but why were they electricity-based?
Erin had speculated that it was because Numbtongue had been playing the songs she’d taught him on the guitar. Why or how that mattered was a mystery, but apparently, Humans played on guitars that used lightning all the time in Erin’s home. She’d tried to explain it to Numbtongue, but her words had made no sense.
No sense, unless you noticed how sometimes Erin would say things about her home that everyone else paid attention to. Pisces, Ceria, Typhenous…all the Antinium…they knew something about Erin. And the Hobs knew that they knew, although they didn’t know what it was they knew. She came from somewhere far off. Somewhere unlike anywhere in this world. From…another world? How? And why?
Thoughts like that made Numbtongue’s head hurt, so he played another riff on his guitar. Fine, [Electric Chords] was a good ability to have, even if using a guitar in combat wasn’t the smartest of life choices. But [Lightning Melody]? How would that work?
He’d woken up to hear the glorious announcement in his head today. Unlike the other Hobs, Numbtongue and Rabbiteater had been leveling fast; both had gained two levels this week alone somehow. It was probably because they were fulfilling the requirements of their class. Shorthilt, Headscratcher, and Badarrow could train, but they didn’t level nearly as fast as they would fighting monsters. On the other hand, Numbtongue had all the time to play his guitar in front of an audience. And Rabbiteater…well, he might just be leveling up by existing.
And now Numbtongue had another Skill. Was [Lightning Melody] a powerful one? He thought it was. Part of him had been worried he wouldn’t get any useful Skills for fighting, but his new Skill seemed to indicate he could summon lightning. Like a [Mage].
But surely it wasn’t that easy, right? Numbtongue frowned and shifted his grip on the guitar. He shifted up the tempo of his playing and chose a fast-paced song. If Erin had been present, she would have recognized the tune Numbtongue was shredding on the guitar.
Fast. Faster. Numbtongue imagined calling the electricity flying from the tip of his guitar and into the instrument. He could hear Rabbiteater cooking outside, smell roasting fish. On the roof of the cave, Badarrow was shouting at his students as they fired arrows—
No, focus. Draw energy into the guitar. Numbtongue’s clawed fingers flew across the strings. Electricity shot from his hands, making the nearest Cave Goblins flinch back. Sweat began to bead on Numbtongue’s forehead. He reached the climax of his solo and shouted as he raised the guitar up over his head.
“Hiyah!”
All the Goblins in the room ducked. A few errant sparks of electricity shot from Numbtongue’s chords and hands, but nothing happened. The Hob stared at his guitar and then looked around. His students stared back at him. Sheepishly, Numbtongue lowered the guitar. He began to strum a gentler song, coughing in embarrassment. Maybe he needed to sing? He knew all the words to a lot of the songs Erin had taught him, but it was embarrassing to do it in front of an audience. Especially if they joined in.
There was still a feeling of tension in the guitar, though. Numbtongue frowned as he played on. It did feel like the electricity was gathering, but how was he supposed to unleash it? Maybe he needed this ‘electric guitar’ Erin kept talking about?
The Hob played five more notes, and lightning shot down from the sky, blowing Badarrow off his perch and sending his students fleeing. Numbtongue looked up when he heard the screams and raced outside with the others. He paused when he saw Badarrow lying on the ground, weakly waving his arms and legs, and stared at the smoldering crater that marked the spot where lightning had struck.
“Uh? Uh?”
That was all Badarrow said for a while until the color came back to his face. When he did finally manage to sit up and got an explanation from the babbling Goblins around him, he chased Numbtongue about, shouting and kicking at his back. By the time Badarrow had vented his considerable pique, Headscratcher had returned with his group. The Hob slowed to a stop as he ran towards the crowd of Goblins. Sweat was covering his bare chest, and he was naked save for a pair of pants and the enchanted axe on his belt.
He’d taken his group on a run. Headscratcher stared at Numbtongue’s guitar as they explained what had happened, and then he nodded.
“Sit?”
The four Hobs present looked at each other. They nodded. Numbtongue looked around.
“One of you find Shorthilt. Tell him we are going to have a war meeting.”
——
War meeting. This was another thing they were teaching the Cave Goblins, something the Redfangs had learned from their tribe. The five Hobs sat in their cave while Goblins crowded around them. Many had to sit outside, but whatever was said or done was instantly conveyed to them.
Numbtongue shifted uncomfortably as he sat next to Shorthilt and Rabbiteater. This was an old practice. It was a Redfang tradition after encountering a tough foe in the High Passes. The entire tribe would sit together, just like this, and come up with a plan to defeat their enemy—or avoid them. It was just like this, except it wasn’t like this.
Normally, Redscar would be…there. Right across from Garen Redfang himself. The best warriors and Hobs would be sitting in the center, with the weaker ones slowly radiating outwards. Instead, it was the five Hobs sitting in the center and all the Cave Goblins watching. It felt different. Wrong. And yet, it was all the Hobs knew.
Headscratcher opened the war council up by clearing his throat. The Hob couldn’t speak the common tongue well, so he defaulted to the Goblin’s tongue and sign language. Only Numbtongue spoke in common for the benefit of his faction.
“Lightning attack good. Is good Skill. Not hurt Badarrow is good too.”
The other Hobs nodded. Badarrow growled.
“Stupid Skill.”
“Good Skill. Powerful. Like Silver-rank spell. Tier 3.”
Shorthilt shook his head. He nodded at Numbtongue, who nodded back. Badarrow folded his arms and grunted moodily. Rabbiteater grinned.
“Powerful! Can do again? Many times?”
“No!”
All the Hobs reacted when Rabbiteater pointed to the guitar. Numbtongue shook his head.
“It takes a while to work. The Skill is not…convenient. But I think I can do it again. It’s probably stronger on cloudy days.”
The Goblins glanced towards the cave entrance. The rainclouds that haunted Liscor were still pouring. It was definitely a phenomenon of the weather; in their cave outside of Liscor, they often got showers, but only in the floodplains were the rains ever-present. Headscratcher nodded.
“Is good. Skill good. Could hurt Gargoyles with lightning.”
“Mm.”
The other Hobs nodded. That would be useful. Shorthilt looked around in his seat at the watching Goblins.
“Gargoyles tough. But new not-tribes strong. Maybe enough to fight in High Passes?”
The other Redfang Warriors considered the question. They glanced at their factions, assessing. Of course, they were all regular Goblins and thus a lot weaker than a tribe with Hobs, but Numbtongue thought that was a temporary situation at best. Recently, several Cave Goblins in his faction had begun eating far more than the others. And some were getting…big.
“My warriors strong. Could beat regular Goblins in fight.”
Headscratcher nodded decisively. Shorthilt raised his brows.
“Good. My group could kill Eater Goats. Maybe.”
The two Hobs stared at each other appraisingly. Badarrow rolled his eyes.
“Going to High Passes?”
He interrupted the beginning of an argument. Both Hobs quieted down. At last, Headscratcher shook his head.
“Good food here. Nice…place.”
The other Hobs nodded in agreement. This was a nice place. And yet—what came next? They’d agreed on the essentials. Their Goblins were getting stronger. Numbtongue being able to call down lightning, however sporadically, was good. But what came next?
“Fight in dungeon? Hunt down hiding Raskghar? Eat fish? Train?”
Rabbiteater counted down their options. The Hobs nodded. Each option sounded good. And yet, they knew that these were all transitory activities. Numbtongue was the one to say it.
“When the rains stop, what will we do next? We’re in the middle of the road and close to the city. And Erin cannot feed us forever.”
The other four looked at him with expressions of resignation and dismay. Numbtongue felt guilty himself. Why did he have to say it?
None of them wanted to think about what would happen soon. They knew this wasn’t sustainable; despite Rabbiteater’s faction constantly fishing and Badarrow’s group bringing in food (and Headscratcher occasionally killing something while on his runs), Erin was essentially paying to feed all the Goblins. She was constantly bringing in bags of flour, produce, and so on through her magic door. And while she claimed she was ‘good for it’ thanks to the bounty Ilvriss had paid out, Numbtongue was aware of how much she had to be spending per day.
“It’s a lot of money.”
He hunched his shoulders. Headscratcher nodded slowly. He looked towards the far end of the cave. There, propped up against the wall, was the door. While the Cave Goblins had placed bedrolls and supplies practically everywhere else, the spot around the door was kept clean, and no one was allowed to sleep there. It was like a shrine, although the Goblins had no understanding of what a shrine was. But they venerated the spot nonetheless because of where it led.
“Can find more shiny metal in dungeon. Probably.”
“How much?”
Shorthilt wrinkled his nose. The Goblins knew in abstract how much gold was worth, but they hadn’t placed any value on it. The reaction of the adventurers had told them what they’d given away, but the Goblins couldn’t bring themselves to covet the useless, glittering stuff. Headscratcher frowned.
“Don’t know. Numbtongue find out? Go get food and check?”
He looked carefully at Numbtongue. So did the others. Numbtongue froze.
“Why me?”
The other Hobs rolled their eyes. Only Numbtongue could read, obviously! Rabbiteater kicked Numbtongue in the side, and Badarrow leaned over to poke him. Numbtongue growled, but in the end nodded.
“Fine. I’ll see what the menu says. Or ask.”
He stood up. The other Goblins moved back as Numbtongue moved to the door. He glanced back at the other four Hobs as they began to discuss more training and the idea of hunting something bigger down, like a Rock Crab. But that was all for show. He knew that Headscratcher’s idea about finding money to pay Erin with was just that: an idea.
It still didn’t solve the problem. It still didn’t change the fact that there were too many Goblins and they didn’t know what to do. Numbtongue knew that, and it weighed on him. Soon, very soon, they would have to do something. He placed his hand on the door and felt the trembling that told him it was connected. He wished, at times, that he wasn’t the only one who could speak Erin’s language. Because that meant that someday, perhaps very soon, he would have to be the one to tell Erin goodbye.
But for today at least…he stepped through the doorway into The Wandering Inn and inhaled slowly. The air was warm, and the inn was bustling. Gnolls and Drakes waited tables while a smattering of people sat and ate. Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, all looked up when Numbtongue stepped through the door. There was a moment of hesitation, but just that. Then they turned back to their food. No one screamed. No one grabbed a weapon. And Numbtongue felt safe here.
That was happiness.
——
“Numbtongue! Are you here for today’s lunch? Sorry, it’s not done just yet. I’m showing Pebblesnatch how to make it. Mind waiting for a bit? Can I get you a beer? I have a dark lager.”
“A what?”
“Um…a kind of beer? Here, I’ve marked the keg so I know exactly which kind it is. Hold on, Ishkr, toss me a clean mug! We’re all out over here!”
Numbtongue blinked as Erin waved energetically at a Gnoll heading out of the kitchen. He saw Ishkr toss a mug in a lazy arc at Erin. The [Innkeeper] jumped up for it. And missed.
“Uh oh—”
The Hob snagged the handle of the mug and handed it to Erin. She smiled sheepishly at him.
“Thanks, Numbtongue.”
“You’re…welcome.”
