“Yeah? What’s it do?” Garon asked.
Glub told them, and Garon nodded, as the starts of a plan started to form inside his bovine noggin.
“Found a kettle!” Zuula announced, just as Kayin came up from the cellar, dragging along a cluster of butcher knives.
Garon nodded in satisfaction. “How they looking out there, Celia?”
Cecelia paced around the common room, peering out the windows. “I see the one with the mitre. I can’t exactly tell, but I think he’s buffing a few of them that are wearing furry hats and metal helms. Like helms that cover half of their bodies.”
“Berserkers and Knights, probably,” Zuula said. “Dis be bad.”
“There’s also a couple on the rooftops wearing pointed cloth caps with feathers. Archers.” Cecelia said.
Then she ducked, as a javelin sped through the window, narrowly missing her face. “Yep, archers. Wow, pity my dodge skill is maxed.”
“You didn’t get a few levels from that chase?” Garon asked. “I upped Ruler twice.”
“Different skillset. And that’s upping your level one, I’m trying to rebuild level fives. Anyway we’re running low on time. What’s the plan?”
Garon grinned and beckoned the toys in close. “Here’s how we’re going to turn this thing around...”
*****
A few minutes after they started their desperate plan, Threadbare sent a Simple Decree, used in a manner that most rulers wouldn’t.
The decree was simple.
Your Ruler has declared a Royal Decree!
“Nobody die. Again.”
“Now!” Garon called. “Everyone, get to your places!”
Zuula poured a flask into the bubbling kettle, then slammed the lid over it as smoke started to roil up. She beat feet into the kitchen with Kayin following.
Garon nodded to Glub, as they climbed into the chimney, leaving the blob that was Glub’s least water elemental bouncing happily in the main room.
Cecelia smiled and settled back into the cupboard they’d found for her, leaving the wooden cat outside. She held her hands over her ears and said “Dollseye!”
From the chimney, Glub fired up his bardsong, using the one he hadn’t had occasion to try yet.
It was called Salty Song, and it was ANNOYING.
And thanks to the acoustics of the chimney, every Gribbit within a three block radius was subjected to it.
It ground at their Moxie, tore at it, not much at first because Glub’s skill in it was very low, but the skill only improved as he sang.
Inside her cupboard Cecelia grunted and tried to ignore it. It wasn’t easy, and some of her own Moxie drained. But knights and steam knights both had charisma as a boosting attribute, and she had the Moxie to wait it out, she thought.
The Gribbits didn’t.
The Gribbits attacked, just as Garon had hoped.
They would have anyway; those were definitely pre-battle buffs their cleric was handing out, but this made them jump the gun a bit. That was the first part of Garon’s plan, draw them in before they were good and comfy.
And so after a few volleys of javelins arcing over the roof, which didn’t do much beyond splatter Glub’s elemental, the Gribbit Knights rushed the barricade, using their armored helms as battering rams, clattering in through the wide doorway. The table took a few hits then shuddered back, as the three armored Gribbits looked around, saw the wooden cat, and frogpiled it.
That’s when the Frogzerkers gave mighty bounds and leaped over the walls, running on pop-eyed rage and croaking battle cries, holding salvaged wood-chopping axes in their hands and looking around for unengaged targets.
They found none.
Behind them, hordes of regular, unjobbed Gribbits poured in, spears ready, and lidless eyes open, staring around. The wooden cat rocked and fell, battered to pieces, but the song still echoed.
They looked to the chimney, and the steaming kettle in it, with the fire merrily going. The song was loudest there...
And just as Garon had hoped, one of the Frogzerkers knocked the kettle aside with a contemptuous blow.
Green smoke exploded throughout the inn, and the Gribbits croaked in dismay and coughed, trying to back out. They jammed the entrance and the windows, screeching in dismay as red numbers rolled up from their fat bodies—
“Now!” Garon shouted. “Fight the Battles!”
—Cecelia burst from the cabinet, butcher’s knives whirling, pot lid and sword in hand. “Shield Saint! Dolorous Strike! Dolorous Strike!” She wasn’t as strong as she’d been as a human, but wherever her sword stabbed, a Gribbit died. The butcher’s knives focused on a single target at a time, hacked it down, then moved on with gory efficiency.
“Backstab!” from the direction of the kitchen, and then Kayin was among them, using the smoke for cover and shanking with a poisoned steak-knife in each hand. “Poison Blade!” She’d call, whenever the green sludge that Zuula had helped her prepare started to fade. Whenever the skill kicked in, one of the vials tied to her back would vanish, and her blades would re-coat with venom.
Garon fought the Frogzerkers, weakened from their poison but no less deadly. But his wooden form was sturdy, and he was about as strong as they were, without needing rage to boost himself. And every time they dealt him a good hit, he’d go defensive, and call out “Blood is Gold!” One of the coins set into his side would clink and vanish, and he’d heal.
For his part, Glub stopped the song, dropped from the chimney, and started hauling Gribbits corpses toward the most cracked part of the floor.
And whenever he dropped one off, Fluffbear’s little black paw would come up out of the crack, touch it, and say “Zombies!”
The dead Gribbits rose and, without directions, went after the nearest living things with delicious brains.
Which happened to be living Gribbits.
It was glorious chaos, and though to the Gribbits it probably felt like a hellish eternity before the survivors got clear, it was probably only a minute, at the most.
Garon dispatched the last of the Frogzerkers with Cecelia’s help and glanced up, as water splashed down from above.
“Dude, they’ve got a Water Elementalist!” said Glub, as large balls of water catapulted in to douse the smoke, arcing from the direction of the lake. “A really good one!”
“Start up the song again! Everyone, phase two!” Garon bellowed. “Archers next!”
“Okay dokay!” Fluffbear squeaked and left the party. “Invite Zombie!” she said, following it up with four more castings, then commanding the ones that remained to go and eat archers.
The rest of the toys barreled out the door, with Glub switching back to his salty song, and Cecelia pausing to grab one of the Frogzerker’s axes and animating it. They ran straight into the Gribbit Knights, who desperately tried to break their charge.
“As if! Rammit!” Garon bellowed, lowered his horns, and bulldozed one through the adjacent ruin’s wall. Then Cecelia was on the other ones, with Kayin flipping over them to stab at the froggy bits the helms didn’t cover.
Javelins came at the golems, clipping and wounding them, hindered by the archers having to aim around their friends.
And then the remnants of the mob that had rushed in croaked hearty cheers as a dozen of their surviving friends stumbled out of the remnants of the fog.
Cheers that died in horrified throats, as they saw the bloody wounds of the ‘survivors.’
Cheers that turned into screams as the zombies, with Fluffbear and a mildly-poisoned Mopsy in the middle, made a beeline straight for the Archers’ perches. Hastily the javelin tossers hopped for cover as some of the regular Gribbits turned and fled, having quite enough of THIS, thank you very much.
Some of them didn’t flee far.
“Call Vines! Call Thorns!” Zuula said, grinning, as from the mossy and overgrown roofs, plants grew spikes and lashed out at the Archers.
And as they fought, the Gribbits retreated. They’d been put on the back foot, ran into too many s
urprises at once, and needed a few minutes to figure out how to adapt and overcome.
But that was a few minutes that Garon wasn’t about to give them. “To the pond! Bring the barrel!”
Cecelia nodded, then ran to grab it. It was still a bad solution, but if things went poorly, they’d need it.
They fought their way after the Gribbits, who were low on Moxie now, low thanks to the salty song, and disheartened by the surprise the friends had sprung on them. The friends hacked and stabbed at the ones they could catch, downing them then moving on as fast as they could, keeping rolling, trying to turn it into a rout...
...which lasted until they reached the town square again, and saw what awaited them.
“Dey gots a queen!” Zuula yelled.
Eight feet tall it towered, as fat and long as two draft horses together, glaring down at the golem friends with beachball-sized eyes. She wore a crown on her head, and the rolls of fat underneath her maw shook as she pointed a massive webbed paw at them and croaked deafening words.
“Uh,” Glub said, pausing his song. “She says we are not amused.”
Then the queen turned to her fleeing subjects and belched out a rapid fire series of words that spoke of duty to tribe, queen, and damply, and the routed Gribbits slowed... stopped... and started to regroup. Behind them the Gribbit cleric followed, healing the wounded, and glaring at the friends.
SPLOOSH!
And then a robed Gribbit was there, perching on the queen’s back, resplendent in a wizard’s hat, and waving a bent staff with a goldfish bowl on the end of it towards them. The water of the pond roiled, and lifted up, forming itself into a ball.
“Oh, there’s the elementalist,” Garon said. “Shit! Watch out!”
The ball arced toward them, and they scattered— not fast enough, as Cecelia took it head on, and it knocked her back down the street. A red ‘84’ floated up from where she fell, and she got up, glaring.
“No! Slow Regeneration!” Garon yelled to her, and then he had no time for words as the rallied Gribbits charged him, and Zuula and Kayin fell in next to him, covering his flanks. Glub switched to his heartening song and tried to stay clear, punching with tiny wooden hands whenever a Gribbit came after him. Fluffbear and Mopsy brought up the rear.
The upside was that at least the Gribbits weren’t trying to swallow the friends. They’d learned their lesson from the last time they tried it, and while they didn’t know if all of them were as splintery as Kayin, they weren’t about to take the risk.
“This is bad,” Garon whispered, as spear after spear rattled off his chest, gouging and forcing him back. They were in the open again, and the Gribbits were all around them, but even then they’d have a chance. The tribe was wounded, depleted, and most of their combat job elites were down.
But the queen was here, and to his horror he saw her wading forward, massive bulk shifting as she stepped almost daintily towards the battle. And up top the elementalist grinned in froggy glee and manipulated up another ball of water, readying it for a throw...
“Bahninate!” Madeline howled, and the watery ball exploded into steam. The water elementalist shrieked, stared up, then hopped down into the pond again. The queen screamed, bulk shaking as the dragonfire just tagged her, searing her wide back. She opened her mouth to tongue the tiny dragon out of the sky but hesitated. These things were splintery, right? Then Madeline was past and up, and away.
And Garon smiled, as a black form sprang out of a nearby ruin, and two of the Gribbits in the back of the mob died. He fought harder, laying about him with his axe, dropping a Blood is Gold as necessary.
From the lake, water lashed up at Madeline, and she answered by dropping gouts of fire, as the two Elementalists lashed out at each other. The Gribbit had levels and skill, but Madeline had much greater mobility and the whole sky to dodge around in. Eventually the Gribbit would fend her off and return to the fight, but that was fine. She was buying them time, and that’s all they needed.
“Call Vines! Call Thorns!” Zuula hissed at the queen. This was draining, but she’d leveled up back there a couple of times and refilled her sanity, so that was fine. The queen snapped through the vines without stopping, taking the scratches on her hide, glaring at the little dolls that had so wounded her tribe, hurt her people. Zuula sighed. “Fine. Fast Regeneration. Beastly Skill Borrow: Owl.” she rose into the air, spirit wings shimmering from her back, as she called upon her totem. Darting toward the queen with her well-practiced triple digit flight skill, she harried her, slowing her down, and causing the giant ruler to thrash about with her paws. For once the frog couldn’t eat the annoying little fly, and oh, did it gall her!
“Excuse me,” Threadbare called, through his Minorphone.
The battlefield paused, as the fighting stilled, and everyone looked back.
“Is there some way we could work this out? I’m very certain this is definitely a misunderstanding.”
“You want me to translate that?” Glub said, taking the opportunity to pick up one of his severed arms.
“Yes, please.” Threadbare said, strolling down the street, with every buff active, adjusting his jacket as the Gribbits stared at the sharp-dressed bear.
He was very glad he’d used Dazzling Entrance before coming into sight.
You are now a level 9 Model!
AGI+3
CHA+3
PER+3
Your Work It Baby skill is now level 41!
Your Work It Baby skill is now level 42!
Your Work It Baby skill is now level 43!
Your Work It Baby skill is now level 44!
Your Work It Baby skill is now level 45!
Checking Dietary Restrictions time counter...
Your Dietary Restriction skill is now level 45!
Buff adjusted accordingly.
Oh, well, that was nice.
Glub croaked out words to the Gribbit queen, using his knack for languages. The queen croaked back.
“She says your people threatened her eggs and killed many of her tribe. She wants to know why she should not keep fighting here.”
“Back off a bit, Mads,” Garon called up, and the little dragon wheeled away. A watery globe arced after her, but the queen turned and slapped her consort lightly, and the ball dispersed into droplets.
“Did you threaten the eggs?” Threadbare asked Cecelia.
“No, we found them and were looking at them when they attacked us.”
“Ah. I see. Please tell her that we mean her eggs no harm and would have left them alone, regardless.”
“Well, actually—” Zuula began.
“Would have left them alone, regardless,” Threadbare said, with long experience in dealing with Zuula.
The little shaman shrugged and returned to shore.
The queen considered that, running her eyes over the remnants of her tribe, and croaked.
“She says this may be so, but her people are dead, and she does not see why she should spare you.”
“Spare us?” Threadbare said, moving up to where ten Gribbits lay dead in a heap. “Mercy, no. We’re sparing them.” He beckoned, and Pulsivar oozed out of the shadows, purring, and rubbing a bloody cheek against the bear’s paw. “Please let her know that if she wishes to continue the fight we will, but we came here to fight goblins not her people.”
That seemed to make her happy. “She’s bitchin’ a lot about goblins and telling me the awesome tale of how they won their home,” Glub said.
“Ah, okay. Listen to her. Please tell me when she’s expecting me to be appreciative.” For his part, Threadbare smiled and nodded whenever Glub gave the signal. It really wasn’t too different from his early days, listening to Cecelia’s stories and woes back during the tea parties, before he understood what she was saying.
And it worked.
CHA +1
“All right,” Glub said, much later, after some negotiations. “Boss, you’re gonna repair and forge their armor and weapons, since they don’t have a proper smi
th and montage the smith job to one of their own. In return they’ll forgive us our trespass, and the deaths, and let us leave in peace.”
“And we get nothing but departing safely, but that’s all right,” Garon said. “We came in here to grind levels, and sweet Ritaxis, did we ever.”
“There’s still a few more we could get,” Kayin said, glancing back to the barrel Cecelia was sitting on, now. “I mean, it’d be kind of a jerk move, but... we are up against the Crown, and if we don’t pull off that very sneaky mission, we’re gonna die in Fort Bronze. A little more experience could give us an edge.”
“Mm.” Threadbare said. “You’re thinking of using Zuula’s poison stocks?”
“If we dump it in the lake, then they all die. And their kids. And the pond and the land around it are poison for years,” Cecelia said.
“And what do you think of that?” Threadbare asked.
“I think my father would do it without hesitation, to make us all stronger. So fump that noise.” Cecelia’s mouth set into a line of determination. “If you can’t get strong without being evil, you don’t deserve to be strong.”
“Works for me,” Garon said. “I was going to try to threaten them with it if we got in a bad spot, but I really didn’t want to use it. It really was a last-ditch maneuver.”
“Let’s agree to not do that or things like that, then.” Cecelia said. “No matter how bad it gets, genocide isn’t an option, okay? I made that mistake last life, I want to start fresh with this one.”
“I think we’re all good with that,” Threadbare said. And the rest of them nodded, one by one. Kayin and Madeline were a heartbeat behind the others, but no one called them out on it.
“All right,” the dapper teddy bear decided. “Tell her I agree to her terms. Everyone else, feel free to hang about if you want or go get the camp in order. After I’m done, we’ll pack up and leave peacefully.”
“I almost feel guilty,” Garon said. “We got these levels, and you’re going to have to lose a day montaging.”
“I got a level of golemist while you were fighting,” Threadbare said. “And model because evidently they like my hat.” He hadn’t missed the fact that the tribe had spent most of the negotiations staring at his headware. Given that the sole concession that Gribbits made in the way of clothing was hats, it wasn’t too hard to figure out the object of their gazes. “And besides, the stronger you all get, the better off I am. It’s good to be king, after all.”
Threadbare Volume 3 Page 5
