“Oh, I’m pretty sure they’d know just from one look at you.” Garon said, shaking his head. “All right. Let’s get montaging. If we start now, we should be finished before noon tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 2: HECK COMES TO FROGTOWN
Noon rolled over the village of Grubholm. Once a trapping and farrier outpost at the edge of the marsh, it had fallen a decade ago to monsters. Evacuees had spoken of eyes in the night, twisted little men striking from the dark places of the marsh in the dead of the night. Enough had died that the surviving families threw up their hands, packed up their supplies, and headed out for greener pastures.
Abandoned by civilization, filled with monsters, it was now only really useful to adventurers looking for experience and loot. Like the seven toys, and their mounts, who moved slowly along the old road, eyes wide for trouble. Threadbare, Graves, and Pulsivar had remained at the old farm. The first two did so because they’d siphon too much experience, and they could spend their time animating toys and letting soulstoned villagers romp around and Pulsivar because he didn’t seem to care to come along. Dude had some serious napping to catch up on.
Zuula led the way, glancing around, following goblin sign, looking for signs of the twisted little baby eaters.
Kayin and Madeline took the flank, with Keen Eyes up, ready to Wind’s Whisper back if they ran into something that required silent warning.
Garon and Glub backed Zuula up, walking in step with her.
And Fluffbear rode Mopsy, guarding the rear, glaring around for goblins to smite or babies to save. She wasn’t picky. And her Inspiring Aura buffed the Moxie of her nearby friends, so it was a good spot for her.
Cecelia rode one of the wooden wagon-pulling cats, animated, and about the only thing they had that was suited to her greater size. The parties had been sorted out... Garon had Zuula, Glub, and Madeline, and she had Kayin and Fluffbear. That seemed like the best split and ensured that Mopsy got experience too and that each leader had a scout to listen for.
It didn’t mean they couldn’t work together, just that they wouldn’t eat into each other’s experience too much. Cecelia and Garon had spent most of the walk up towards goblin turf planning out scenarios and strategies.
But for all their troubles and preparations they weren’t ambushed on the way.
Not when they moved past shoddy barricades, broken and covered with moss, old skulls on pikes now rusty and shattered.
Not when they crossed over into the edge of town, past fire-blackened and crumbled hovels made from bits of other buildings but now abandoned.
And not even when they came to the town square, at the edge of a shallow pond that stretched off to more marsh in the distance. The silence rolled on, quiet and unbroken save for the clattering of Garon and Glub’s steps. Zuula halted there, turning around, squinting at the buildings and checking the burned sigils on their side, rubbing them with her cloth fingers.
Finally, Garon tapped Zuula’s shoulder. “Well? Where are they?”
Though he tried to keep it quiet, his voice echoed across the marsh. In the distance, a bird took off, hooting.
“Dis sign be old. Way older den de stuff inland.” Zuula said, shaking her head. “And de ruins... dey wrong.”
“Yeah,” Kayin said, fading in from the left. “I looked through a few. Goblins WERE here, but... well, you’d better come see this.” She motioned, and the group followed her around from the square to what had once been a town hall. Now the roof was gone, fallen in or fallen apart, leaving only a foundation, a few wooden walls, and a few floorboards.
The cellar below was filled with slimy water, weeds and goop and round spheres as big as beach balls. Gelatinous, with some sort of greenish embryo curled up within each, they were clustered together six or eight in a bunch. They twitched and pulsed in the noonday sun, and as soon as Zuula saw them, she nodded once, and said a single word.
“Run.”
“What?” Garon said.
“RUN!”
And from the pond, from the marsh, and from other dark, wet places, came the sound of dozens of large throats croaking, as giant green THINGS hauled themselves out of their hiding places...
Grubholm had been raided into ruins by goblins; it was true, and for a time the twisted little creatures had celebrated their victory and bred happily in that lush place, with plenty of food and empty ‘bigger’ houses to infest. Access to the main roads of the kingdom also let them send out raiding parties when their population got too high for the area to support, which was about every four months or so. The raiders either came back with shinies and bigger meat, or they didn’t come back and that was less mouths to feed, so it was all good.
And for a few years, it had worked.
But the weakness of goblins is that they have no real loyalty to each other. It’s all they can do to be a tribe or even a family. Goblins live in a society where everyone is always out for themselves, for everything they can get, and no one else truly matters.
Which is why the Gribbits had broken them like a rotten twig.
Gribbits aren’t much taller than goblins but are quite a bit wider and longer. They can swallow goblins whole, which is bad enough, but worse than that, they’re organized. When a Gribbit attacks, he or she does so knowing that his entire tribe is right next to him, hitting the enemy all at once with everything they’ve got.
Even though they’re physically weaker than humans, the fact is that Gribbits don’t do things by halves, and they don’t run unless the whole battle line runs. Unlike goblins, who will gleefully abandon each other at the first sign of trouble.
And worst of all?
Like goblins, and raccants, and other smart tribal monsters, Gribbits could sometimes have jobs.
Zuula had recognized what they were dealing with.
And the other golems trusted Zuula enough to follow her lead, which is why they bolted, which probably saved them casualties right there and then.
“Get to cover!” Garon shouted, as wolf-sized frogs waving spears and clubs burst out of the water. “We’ll find a safe place to Fight the Battles!”
“I’ll pick up rearguard!” Cecelia called. “Shield Saint!” She hauled out the old pot lid she’d found in the farmhouse’s kitchen, and readied the small sword Threadbare had made her, bounding over on the wooden cat animi. The faster Gribbits closed, aiming for Glub and Garon, the slower members of the parties. But Cecelia got in their way, slashing at them, making them hop back to their front lines, their rapidly-closing front lines.
Garon glanced back, saw they wouldn’t make it. If they were caught out in the open, they were dead. Fortunately, he knew what his people could do. “Mom? Shaman slowdown two-fer?”
“Call Vines!” Between Cecelia and the Gribbits, vines tore loose from the crumbled ruins and burst up from the marshy ground, flailing and wrapping the oncoming Gribbits. Zuula smiled, slowed a bit, ignoring Kayin as the catgirl assassin tugged on her arm, and waited. Waited until Gribbits were hopping over, working to get their tangled brethren free. Waited until she had the most within her affected radius. And then... “Call Thorns,” Zuula whispered and grinned with half-orky glee as the Gribbits’ croaks turned to screams. And scream they should! Every vine or piece of vegetation within that area had just grown two-inch thorns.
“Hahahhaha! Take dat!” She laughed. “Go up against a shaman, you get—”
WHACK!
Kayin hadn’t been trying to get her to run faster. Kayin had been trying to tell her that the Gribbits on the flank had moved in while she was busy dealing with the ones behind.
The club knocked the little plush shaman across the street, where another Gribbit waited, stretching his maw open wide...
...to be denied, as Missus Fluffbear leaped Mopsy in the air and caught Zuula, whirling the cat around as soon as she hit the ground, and speeding toward the others.
Meanwhile, Kayin snarled at the one who’d clubbed Zuula. “Hindering Strikes!” Three quick tendon-slicing slashes with her litt
le dagger later, the Gribbit was in no shape to jump after her as she ran.
But it didn’t have to run. Kayin made it ten feet when she heard a whiplike snap behind her and felt something wrap around her waist as she was jerked backward. “No!” She yelled, as the Gribbit snapped her into its fleshy, slimy mouth...
...and paused.
Toy golems are adorable and give healing hugs.
Baked clay golems are immune to fire and can be gorgeous if made in a certain way.
Wood golems? They’re splintery. Every time they’re struck or grappled, some of their outer layer spikes into their attacker’s flesh.
And this Gribbit had just stuck her into his mouth, which was way, way softer than his skin.
The little assassin found herself spat out, covered in frog blood. With catgirl agility she hit the ground, rolled, and came up running. “Faster Than Death!” she yelled, outpacing the Gribbits who were moving in on both flanks.
“Get up here, man!” Glub called back to the stragglers. “Heartening song! Move those muscles, run those feet! Keep on fleeing, or we’re dead meat!”
Didn’t really have a beat, but they were strengthened nonetheless. The ones in his party, anyway.
Cecelia’s group didn’t have to worry about that now that Kayin was out of danger and booking it. Fluffbear was mounted on Mopsy, and Mopsy could move. The wooden animi was a bit slower, but Cecelia’s Horsemanship skill made up for that.
That only left one more member of Garon’s party unaccounted for, up until she came down out of the sky like a red streak, divebombing the closest pursuers. “Bahninate!”
Fire exploded from the little dragon’s maw, carving a streak through the first third of the Gribbit horde, and they screamed and fell back, some falling, dying—
—up until a Gribbit wearing a mitre hopped up from where he’d been observing the fight and started croaking. And as he croaked, Gribbits healed, falling back to the lake and getting out of the fight.
“They’ve got a cleric? No fair!” Kayin screeched.
“Get up to tha inn!” Madeline screamed back from above, her voice fading as she looped around the sky. “You can... hold on....”
Garon stiffened as she wind’s whispered him. “There’s an inn down that road!” he said. “It’s mostly intact; we’ll make our stand there! Follow me! Forced March!” Garon, Glub, and Mopsy sped up. The shaman poked Fluffbear, hopped down from the mini-cougar, and paused to take a look back at the chaos.
Some Gribbits had fallen, perhaps a dozen or so between the worst of the vines and the dragonfire, but the wounded ones were being hauled back for healing, including the one who’d tried to swallow Kayin, who was pointing at his tongue and pointing at the little toys.
“Damn...” Zuula said, turning and running.
Gribbits were a threat, and that was true. They worked together, and that was worse. But the main reason they were a problem for her little coterie? Gribbits learned.
The inn was on a rise. It wasn’t much to look at, and, like the rest of the buildings, its roof had rotted and fallen in years ago. Goblin graffiti sprinkled throughout suggested vulgar things in their crude language, which was why Glub was laughing and taking notes, but nobody else really cared. Garon stomped around, testing the creaking floor, and checking the walls. “Secure the Perimeter.” he nodded, in satisfaction as his skill told him what was what. “There’s a family of raccoons in the basement, but that’s it.”
“Raccoons means Gribbits don’t come up here much,” Zuula hissed, waving Kayin and Fluffbear and Mopsy in through the doorway, before she grabbed one end of a mossy table and strained to try to shove it in front of the entrance.
“I got yah,” Madeline said, wings clacking as she clattered to the ground, and got the other end of the table with her jaws. Between the two of them, they got it into place just as Cecelia leaped her animi through the window.
“They’re slowing down, I think,” Cecelia said.
“Yeah. Zuula, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is this?” Garon said.
“Eight,” Zuula decided. “Gribbits pretty smart. Dey also nuts about protecting territory. Gonna be hard to get out of here wit’out casualties.”
“We could just pile everyone into one party except for Madeline and the wooden cat, put up forced march, and book it,” Garon said. “We outran them on raw speed that last time.”
“Outrun them ta where?” Madeline said. “They’ll chase us to the wagon and Graves. Then they’ll have someone to attack who is actually capable of dyin’. And if he goes, then we got problems.”
“We’ll have problems if any of us die here too,” Cecelia said. “We’re out of reagents for making new golems, even toy golems. If anyone dies they’ll be in a soulstone until we can find the dwarves. So no heroic sacrifices, okay?”
“You have plan?” Zuula asked, moving from window to window, hopping up and hoisting herself to peer out of each. “Cause dey do. Dey setting up circle—”
“Perimeter, Mom,” Garon interrupted.
“—circle around inn. Back a ways, but dey makin’ it clear dey watching.”
“I could go burn ’em out,” Madeline said. “I don’t think they gaht a countah to me.”
“Don’t bet on that,” Cecelia said. “I learned about these things in my suppression classes.”
“Your what now?” Glub asked.
“The Crown has a problem with nonhuman races. We get taught the most efficient ways to kill them. It’s... yeah, it’s not very nice. But on Gribbits, the doctrine made it clear that they adapt to the tactics that people throw at them. So if you use a strong one early on, then odds are good they’ll come up with a counter. And there’s no way they’ll ignore a flying dragon that can roast them wholesale.”
Garon nodded. “Okay. Madeline, go back to the camp and tell Threadbare we need him and Pulsivar. Then come back with them, stick low if you have to.”
“You sure, Gar?”
“Go. We’ll be fine.” Garon held up a handful of soulstones. “I grabbed one for each of us.” He put them in the dirty hearth, then swept ashes over them. “Anyone dies, they’ll be here.”
“Smaht.”
“Wait,” Zuula said. “Before you go, get Zuula’s barrel out of de pack, yeah?”
Madeline shrugged and squirmed her pack free from her back. Kayin helped her get it down, and they drew out the small keg emblazoned with poison symbols.
“Dat be our endgame,” Zuula said. “We get dat in de pond, every one of dem die. But... only want to use it if really, really necessary.”
“Yeah,” Fluffbear said. “They’re just defending their homes! It would be bad to kill all of them and their little babies too! I’m proud of you, Zuula!”
“Actually Zuula was gonna say it would mess up de plants and poison de land here for a few years. But sure, whatever.”
“Oh.” Fluffbear sagged down a bit. “Still proud of you.”
“Tanks.”
“How territorial are they?” Garon asked. “Do we know that? Do we have to wipe out every last one to get away clean?”
Zuula rubbed her chin. “Haven’t fought Gribbits since Zuula was child. Ah... half. Get dem down to half, dey usually call it quits. I t’ink. But pond dis size, spawning pool dat big... need to take down four, five dozen to do dat.”
“Hey, am I free ta leave? Go get help?” The dragon asked Garon.
“Yeah, go Mads, it’s cool.”
Madeline got to the clearest part of the room. “Scaly Wings!” she flew up and out—
—and swerved, as two volleys of javelins, some of them on fire, hissed up towards her. Madeline yelled as a few raked along her side. But she got away, heading south, back towards the camp and aid.
“Countered,” Cecelia nodded grimly. “Those fire javelins, those are an archer trick, right? Shouldn’t they be using bows?”
“Nah. Works with any ranged weapon. Bows and crossbows are just more efficient,” Kayin said, staring out from the cracks in
the table that made their makeshift barricade. “Had a girlfriend once, back in our guild. She was an archer/assassin who sniped, killed from a distance. Had a blowgun for emergencies, and her tricks worked fine with it.”
“Girlfriend?” Cecelia looked at her in surprise.
“Yeah. Um, is that a problem?”
“No, no. Just... huh. Didn’t know that.”
“What’s to know? I used to like women. Back when I had parts to do something with, anyway. But we’ve got killer frog guys right now, desu.”
“Right.” Cecelia cleared her throat. “We’re up against a horde. Kayin, please see if you can find me some knives or stabby things. Fluffbear, I’m leaving the party; you’re the leader now.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m alone I can have six animi, and this should help make up for them outnumbering us.”
“Smart,” Garon said. He popped open his chest, and drew out stacks of coins, slotting them into the holes carved into his sides. “Zuula, is there anything you can do with that poison barrel that isn’t genocide?”
The little shaman pursed her cloth lips and considered. “Maybe. Gonna depend on whether or not we got a kettle all up in here. Still got to be careful. We don’t breathe. She does.” Zuula pointed at Mopsy.
“If she gets poisoned I can cure her,” Fluffbear said. “So long as it’s not too nasty.”
“Glub, do you have anything that might help?” Garon said. “I don’t know Bard stuff too well.”
“I’m new to this myself, mister boss dude. Got some water elementalist stuff, but it’s all level one. Still that’ll get us an elemental so booyah. As far as bard stuff goes... Uh... I can sing a song that distracts everyone who hears it.”
“That’ll hit us too, so pass.”
“Heartening Song makes you all stronger and sturdier. Rejuvenating Song makes you heal slowly and regain stamina faster. Just that Cool makes me cooler. All the time. My borrowed skills are Knack for Languages and Mend. Fortune’s Fool makes me be more fortunate, don’t know why I’m a fool for it... oh, hey, Salty Song! This might work!”
Threadbare Volume 3 Page 4
