by Pirateaba
Right? Toren tried to frown, but the closest he could do was tap his knucklebones against his skull a few times. This was a conundrum. Didn’t he have anything he liked doing?
Well—killing things. And leveling up. But was there anything else? Surely there was. Toren thought hard, abandoning his hiding spot to stand up and pace about in his intense concentration.
And then heard a sound. It didn’t come from the world around him. Rather, it echoed in his mind. It came up from some hidden place in him. A sound. No—not a sound. A voice.
Music.
Once upon a time, the skeleton had heard music. He had stood in an inn, watching a girl sing. He had never known music existed until that moment. And he had heard the words, and they had burned themselves into his soul.
Music.
Toren’s fist rose. He punched himself in the head as hard as he could, but it was too late. The music was in his head again. He immediately hit himself in the head with a sword to make it go away.
But the music still remained. It wasn’t a sound he could run from, and he couldn’t forget it.
It haunted him. The skeleton had no brain that could decay, no memories that could fade and tarnish with emotion and age. For him, every time he heard the song he was caught in the same moment, listening with wonder and awe.
It was too much. Too much to bear. Toren dropped his sword and threw himself onto the ground. He thrashed about, sending snow flying, getting up, throwing himself on hard dirt again. Trying to hurt himself. Trying to make the music go away. He didn’t even notice the armed people staring at him until one of them cast a spell.
—-
The adventuring team stared at the skeleton flopping around in the snow like a fish in silence for a few minutes.
“Is it some kind of rare undead, do you think?”
One of the adventurers, a [Fighter] holding a sword in his hands—whispered to his two companions. They just shrugged, staring at that thrashing skeleton in confusion.
“I don’t know. Maybe something went wrong with it?”
“Looks like it. But it’s probably the monster that’s been causing all these disappearances over the last few days.”
“Should we kill it? Or—maybe capturing it would be better? Would the Guild give us a bounty for that?”
The adventurers stared at the skeleton. He was throwing himself around like a dying fish, banging his head against the ground, rolling about in a ball…
Eventually, the mage in the three-man team cast a spell.
“[Pebbleshot]!”
It wasn’t a high-Tier spell, but the bits of stone the female [Mage] levitated up and hurled at the skeleton had quite a lot of force behind them. One cracked into the skeleton’s skull and fractured the bone on his forehead. The skeleton lay on the ground, seemingly stunned, and then got up. He stared at the Bronze-rank team silently. Then he grabbed the sword as his side and ran at them.
Another pebble smashed into his forehead. Toren stumbled back as more hit his arms, his body—
The spell wasn’t really a good one to use on a skeleton. Over half of the stones the [Mage] sent smacking into him just passed through his body or bounced off without doing any real damage. Still, it was annoying. Toren staggered as another one struck him directly in the center of his chest and then he overbalanced.
The three adventurers watched as the skeleton fell backwards, disappearing over a slight mound of snow. The two warriors—a young man and a woman, holding a sword and spear respectively—were ready in case the skeleton charged. But he didn’t appear once he’d fallen.
“Do you think it can’t get back up?”
“Could be. Let’s advance—cautiously.”
The three moved forwards a few steps, watching the spot where the skeleton had gone. They’d gone about six feet when an innocuous patch of snow next to them suddenly shifted.
Toren arced out of the snow like an angry bone-fish, slashing wildly as the adventurers screamed and tried to defend themselves. He cut at the mage as she screamed, managing to slice her deeply on one arm and down her shoulder across the chest before the [Fighter] thrust her out of the way. He slashed at Toren while his companion struck at the skeleton from the other side.
“Don’t let it get away!”
One had a sword, the other a spear. Neither was particularly useful in damaging the skeleton, and Toren ignored the few light cuts he received while he tried to hack at the man with the sword.
But the adventures, for all their poor choice of weaponry, were a team. While the [Fighter] blocked and dodged Toren’s attacks, his friend struck Toren from the side and behind, hitting the skeleton with heavy strikes of her spear.
It was annoying. Toren stepped back as the [Fighter] counterattacked, bringing his sword down in a two-handed cut intended to smash Toren’s skull. He leapt backwards, but a spear struck his spine and made him stumble forwards instead.
“Got you!”
The [Fighter]’s sword slashed out horizontally towards Toren’s neck. But even as the sword touched the skeleton’s neck, Toren’s entire body blurred.
“Wh—”
The man’s words cut off as Toren’s own sword slashed at his arm, impossibly quick. The blade cut down to the bone and even into it—Toren wrenched away the sword as the [Fighter] screamed and his comrade shouted in confusion.
[Mirage Cut]. In satisfaction, Toren watched as the man cried out and clutched at his useless arm. One down. He turned to the spear-wielder—
“[Pebbleshot]!”
A stone the size of Toren’s palm smacked him in the head. He rocked backwards on his feet and took a step back to stead himself.
New plan. Kill the [Mage] first. But when he raised his sword, he found that all three adventurers were…running?
“Get away!”
The woman with the spear had abandoned her weapon to help her friend run. The [Mage] was casting [Pebbleshot] at Toren, slowing him down as they ran back towards the main road.
Briefly, the skeleton considered giving chase. But in the end he just shook his head and lay back down in the snow. He was too busy thinking to bother chasing them, especially if it meant being hit by more pebbles.
However, the sudden burst of violence had cheered Toren up considerably. He’d completely forgotten about the music, and so he went back to his original line of thought.
Very well, if he had things he liked and disliked, then what about things he wanted to do? That was another intriguing question, and again, something Toren had never thought of. But now that he was free, what should he do?
Staying here to ambush passersby was losing a lot of its charm. Toren wanted…to be stronger. He wanted to level up freely, like he’d done when Erin hadn’t needed him around her inn. Yes, that was it! Toren would level up. Only after he’d gotten strong—much stronger than he was now would he worry about his kill list.
And on that note…Toren remembered the adventurers who’d beaten him with ease, quite unlike the ones he’d just routed. Griffon Hunt. All of them—and especially the [Scout], the one who’d shot him through the head—were far more powerful than Toren was, he was sure of it.
Becoming as strong as them was a good goal, wasn’t it? Toren stood up decisively. It was settled. He’d become stronger by killing things.
It had taken the skeleton many days to come to this conclusion. But the difference between Toren’s line of thought before and now was clear. Before, he’d just killed to level up, and because he wanted to. Now, he wanted to kill to level up to be as strong as the Griffon Hunt team. There was a huge distinction between such pointless actions and his new goal.
But where should he do it? Toren hit upon his first problem almost immediately as he dug around in the snow. Killing people on the road was all very well, but it was rather slow work, and people ran away almost every time. Wasn’t there somewhere better?
That was when Toren realized there was somewhere he could be. He looked up instinctively, his head turning south…sou
th east. There was something in that direction. Or rather, something called to him, prodded at some sense in the skeleton’s mind.
It wasn’t far away, and it intrigued Toren. That was a good a place to start as any. So the skeleton quickly unearthed the battered bronze armor he’d hid in the snow and put it on. So adorned, he began to march through the snow. He was going to level up! Level up and then—
And then he’d see whether or not he felt like killing Erin Solstice. Of a certainty, he was going to kill Lyonette and everyone else who’d annoyed him at that damn inn.
—-
This is a story of a band of Goblins. They were a dangerous band of warriors—no common Goblins with rusted weapons and feeble bodies, but armed elites. Each one was over Level 10 in a combat class, and they were all armed and armored.
From their levels alone, they were each a match for any Bronze-rank adventurer. But in terms of experience, they were vastly more competent than any greenhorn with a sword. Each of the Goblins was a veteran warrior, one of the best fighters in the Redfang tribe.
And they were being led by a Hobgoblin. With him at their head, the Goblins were more than a match for any unprepared Silver-rank team. They were thirteen strong, a band of Goblin warriors.
And they were lost.
None of them mentioned this fact, however. They walked through the snow, rough cloaks held up against the wind as they marched on in tight formation. They were elite warriors, able to cope with any threat. What was being lost compared to fighting a Wyvern?
The trouble was, it was hard to fight sore feet and the nagging feeling that you were in the wrong place when you should be doing something else. The truth was, this group of Goblins was ill-suited for their task.
Namely: kill the Human. And that was the problem. When the Goblin warriors had been given their task by their Chieftain, the famous Garen Redfang himself, it had all seemed to easy. They’d immediately set out after being dropped off by Carn Wolves close to where the Human had last been spotted, walking on foot and away from the main roads to avoid unnecessary conflicts.
But then pesky questions had begun circulating throughout the group. Doubts that plagued even the most stalwart members. Questions like, which Human? Where was she going? Why an [Innkeeper]? Was there danger? Would she be protected? Was she going to go into a city and if so—were they expected to fight their way in? And most importantly…
Why not tell their current Chieftain, Rags?
All of these questions were pressing and important, but perhaps none more so than the last one. That was because while the Goblin warriors were fine with a little geographical displacement, or even chronological displacement if it came to that, they weren’t comfortable with disobeying their leader. And Rags was their leader, not Garen.
It was a complicated situation. In fact, for the Goblins, this current moment was the most politically fraught time any of them had even experienced. Normally, being a Goblin was simple. All you had to do was survive, and obey the Chieftain. There wasn’t even a third requirement. That was how simple it was.
But in a strange twist of fate, the Redfang tribe, invincible in the region around the High Passes that they’d claimed for themselves, had suddenly become subservient to a tribe that up until very recently had been little more than a ragtag group of weaklings, even by Goblin standards. But the new, young and undeniably attractive Rags was a decisive and intelligent Chieftain who’d conquered many tribes by force.
Even so, Garen Redfang would have been able to crush her by himself. And he nearly did—except that he’d thrown the battle between him and her. All the Goblins knew it. Garen had taken only part of his forces to fight her, and he’d raided her tribe with quick attacks rather than commit to a full battle except at the end. He’d given the position of Chieftain over all the tribes to her.
That wasn’t actually the problem either, though. Garen was a great warrior and an excellent leader in battle. But as a Chieftain his abilities to manage his tribe were below even a common Hob’s which is why Rag’s sudden leadership had been welcome. Even if she was only technically a Chieftain directing other smaller Chieftains rather than a Lord in control of all the tribes…it was much better than having Garen in that role.
And yet Garen was still somehow in charge, or at least, he acted like it. And he’d told the Goblin warriors not to tell Rags, which was odd because he shouldn’t have been ordering them around to begin with if he wasn’t the Chieftain or if she hadn’t told him to.
It was all very complicated, and because it made the Goblins’ heads hurt, they’d just gone alone with what Garen had said. But now, as they marched along and looked for a girl whose name they didn’t even know…
They were lost. None of the Goblins said it. At first, it had been too embarrassing to say. Saying it would have been a sign of weakness, or doubt in their former Chieftain’s orders. They’d faithfully hunted for the Human female [Innkeeper] day after day, keeping silent, maintaining the illusion.
By this point, not saying they were lost was a point of pride among the warriors. As if by not saying it, it would somehow make things better than if they were admitting they were lost.
Still, it was day six and something had to be done. The warriors eyed each other as they walked, and the Hobgoblin leading them grunted irritably. This couldn’t continue. Some of them had mates they wanted to get back to, and others were simply and understandably bored of walking around in circles.
All twelve normal Goblins and the Hobgoblin in charge were male. It wasn’t that Goblin women couldn’t be warriors—it was just that mostly, they were too busy being pregnant or taking care of children. But of the female Goblin warriors that did exist, none had been chosen to go on this mission.
Mainly because all the Goblins would have fought for her attention, including the Hob. And she might have fought them back if they got annoying. And the fighting would lead to sex, and the sex would lead to babies. And before long, it wouldn’t be a group of Goblin warriors wandering around, but another tribe.
The first Goblin to break the unspoken rule of silence was Badarrow. That wasn’t his name of course—the Redfang tribe had no Shaman, so they had no names. And unlike Rags who had been named by a Human of all people, and Garen Redfang who had two names, none of these warriors had any proper name.
So instead they had nicknames, which were as good as names except that they weren’t actual names. The Goblin who irritably made a comment in their primitive language as they sat around the fire was named Badarrow.
Badarrow was so named for his hatred of poor quality ammunition. Rather unusually for a Goblin, he refused to even touch any arrow with poor fletching, misshapen arrowheads, or bent shafts. He was an excellent [Archer] and he had the distinction of having killed two Silver-rank adventurers in battle, although this was slightly less impressive when you considered that he had just sat comfortably behind the actual fighting and taken both adventurers by surprise.
Nevertheless, he was a strong warrior and didn’t care for the opinions of anyone else. Which is why he scowled and said a Goblin curse word as he snatched the bowl of watery mush the Goblins had made for lunch.
It was just pasted roots and a tiny bit of meat and bones they’d saved from one of the hares Badarrow had shot yesterday. It wasn’t a bad meal for a normal Goblin, but the Redfang warriors were used to meat meals and lots of it.
All Badarrow said was the curse word, but it was the opening of a metaphysical discussion for the Goblins. It was true that their language was extremely primitive, but the Goblins made up for that fault by reading deeply into each other’s body language and feelings. Goblins lived in close-knit quarters, so their ability to read each other almost bordered on the telepathic, at least for those who knew each other well.
Badarrow’s comment was indeed aimed at their poor food, but it was also a remark on the person who’d put them in a situation where all they could eat was this. It was an attack on Garen Redfang’s leadership—a subject on whic
h even his tribe was split—and obliquely, a reminder that the Goblins had a better leader whom they were not obeying by being here without her knowledge or permission.
The Goblins considered this comment for only a second. Many would have refused to dive into an argument with Badarrow, but the Hobgoblin, known as Grunter, just grabbed one of the shoddy wooden bowls and downed his gruel in one go. Then he grunted. His name was largely obvious to most Goblins, although some still needed to have it explained to them.
On first glance, Grunter was just burping, or grunting irritably as was his wont. But his prompt, business-like consumption of his meal indicated to the other Goblins that he at least was ready to keep following orders.
That came as no surprise, really. Hobs sometimes questioned their Chieftain, or even fought for the leadership spot, but those who had no such ambitions were always rock-steady behind their Chieftain. So Grunter’s interjection was not so much response so much as an opening statement warning the other Goblins that they were still largely indebted to Garen Redfang, despite their current predicament.
The next to comment was a Goblin sitting next to Grunter. He was known as Headscratcher—not for penchant for deep thought, but rather because he probably had lice. He poked his sword with one claw, a reminder of their task. But he also took a bite of his gruel, and even though his had a few fragments of meat, he made an unhappy face.
The other Goblins held their breath. This was a deep statement that cut to the core of what they were doing. Headscratcher had pointed out that yes, they were being sent to kill a Human. Nothing was wrong about that, but it was another reminder of Rag’s relationship to Humans.
Word got around. Even though the Redfang tribe hadn’t mingled long with the Flooded Waters Tribe, they knew Rags was friendly with at least one Human. And she often stayed at an inn. If this was the very same [Innkeeper] they’d been sent to kill, they would most certainly be in deep trouble for doing anything to her.
