The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  Silence. Perfect, so quiet you could hear the snow fall. No Goblin here had known the last Goblin King. And Rags had never known the one before him.

  Curulac. Who had he been? The oldest memory she had experienced hadn’t hinted of him. She could only look back to the Goblin King’s youth now.

  “What were they like?”

  Greybeard paused. Then he pointed up and smiled.

  “Like stars.”

  Rags looked up at the night sky. She stared as some clouds shifted and the stars emerged. She understood. Distant, radiant things, untouchable. Unreachable.

  “How can I become a better Chieftain?”

  “Learn.”

  That was all Graybeard said. Pyrite stared at Rags and shrugged. He fished the bone out of the fire, cooled it in some snow, and began to chew it to bits.

  Rags got up and walked away from the fire. She walked around her camp once, twice. She checked on the wounded, but Pyrite had given potions to those that needed it. She watched the sun rise, and then found the Redfang warriors.

  They were quiet too from last night’s battle. But few of them had died, and they were already beginning to train as the sun slowly rose. Rags stopped before Redscar with her buckler and sword. He was doing pushups. He paused, and then turned his head sideways as Rags got down on the ground and copied him.

  “Chieftain. Bad form.”

  “How?”

  “Like this.”

  He corrected her arms, made her place her hands wider, straighten her back. Rags grunted as she struggled to hold that position. She was fit, but not like he was. After a while her arms began to hurt, but she kept lowering herself to the ground and lifting herself up slowly.

  “Good. Slow. Do twenty more.”

  Redscar supervised her as Rags did more pushups, determined not to cry out. She knew other Redfang warriors were watching her. When she was done, she was sweating with exhaustion in the cold.

  “What now?”

  “Now—other exercises. Want to try?”

  “Yes.”

  Rags followed Redscar as he performed various stretches and moves which made her muscles burn. When he was done Rags felt as if she’d never been more tired. She hadn’t known just doing things like lifting her legs over her head could get so tiring.

  “Chieftain is not bad.”

  Redscar grinned at Rags. He had a sword in his hand. She eyed it as she sat up.

  “What now?”

  “Now? Sparring unless moving.”

  Rags made a face. She hated sparring. She’d done it with Garen and leveled up, but only a bit. She pointed at the other Redfang warriors. They were locking blades, letting each other parry blows, strike at each other. When they were actually intending to hit each other they used dull, wood weapons.

  “Does it work?”

  “Works. You will level.”

  “Haven’t much.”

  Rags caught a tossed practice sword and hopped back as Redscar slashed at her. She held her buckler up and jabbed at him, keeping him away. He slid forwards and nearly broke her guard with a heavy blow.

  “Garen Redfang only beat you up. Training means winning too.”

  Pyrite and Greybeard found Rags training with another Redfang warrior as the rest of the Goblins finished packing up the camp. Rags was exhausted. She’d lost to Redscar every time they’d sparred, but won twice against some of the weaker Redfang warriors.

  Greybeard cackled as he saw Rags bash a Redfang warrior in the head and then poke him hard in the gut with her wooden sword.

  “Hah! Chieftain is strong! For Goblin.”

  “Not for Hob.”

  “True.”

  Redscar watched approvingly from the side. He and the other Redfang warriors had observed Rags’ progress and she felt they were more accepting of her than they had been. She wasn’t nearly as good as they were, but she had kept up with them.

  “Will train every day?”

  Pyrite glanced at one of the Redfang Hobs who was dueling four Goblins at once. Rags nodded. She saw Poisonbite and Noears had come by as well. Poisonbite was watching some of the male Redfang warriors who’d stripped down to almost nothing with interest. Noears was watching the female ones with interest.

  “Will train. Pyrite, you will too. All warriors will.”

  “Yes, Chieftain.”

  Rags nodded appreciatively at him, but Poisonbite scowled. She folded her arms, looking unhappy at the idea of that kind of exercise.

  “Goblins do not train.”

  Rubbing her sore arms, Rags eyed her. Poisonbite was one of the typical Goblin warriors. She liked fighting, but didn’t like practicing fighting. You either fought or rested. She answered the female Goblin shortly.

  “My Goblins will.”

  “Is it Goblin?”

  The challenge came as Rags was picking up her short sword. Rags whirled, fury in her eyes. It wasn’t a direct attack, but it was as close as any Goblin had come. Poisonbite flinched a bit, but she didn’t back down from Rags.

  “It is Goblin. Goblins must be strong.”

  “Training is not Goblin.”

  Poisonbite didn’t quite dare meet Rags’ eyes. Rags hissed. Why were Goblins like Poisonbite so small? So…?

  She had her sword in one hand. Rags longed to raise it, but someone hurried in front of her. Greybeard. He had a bowl of soup in his hands and cackled at her in that deceptive tone of his.

  “No angry, Chieftain. Calm, yes. Eat food. Is tasty. Eat.”

  She stared at him. Two innocent eyes stared back. Greybeard was pretending to be…senile again. With a noise of disgust Rags seized the bowl. She found she did feel better after a few mouthfuls of food, but she still eyed Poisonbite angrily.

  “Did the Goblin Kings do that?”

  “Do what, Chieftain?”

  Greybeard stared at Rags innocently. She stared back.

  “Did they do it? Train?”

  “If they did, it was Goblin.”

  It was a non-answer. Rags made a noise of disgust and hurled the empty bowl at Greybeard. He caught it and cackled.

  “Training is good! Makes Goblins strong! If Chieftain says so, is it not Goblin?”

  “It is good. And it will make Goblins live.”

  That was all Rags said. She stared at Poisonbite—the other Goblins refused to meet her eyes. But Noears calmly nodded.

  “Yes Chieftain.”

  That would have to do. Rags nodded. But Redscar intercepted her as she went back for a second helping of food.

  “Chieftain. Where now?”

  Rags stared at him blankly. Then she remembered. They were camped out here, with provisions depleting with each meal. What should they do now?

  She only had a vague idea. Rags hesitated, then pointed south.

  “Go home. Fight Goblin Lord. Make base.”

  Redscar nodded.

  “Old Redfang base? Good. Defensive.”

  “Maybe.”

  Rags pondered. She was more concerned about the immediate march.

  “Must hunt. Get food. Also—Humans.”

  The Goblin bared his teeth, making the scar on his face twist.

  “Lots of Humans, Chieftain. To kill?”

  Rags hesitated. That certainly seemed to be their only choice. But…

  Too weak. Rags felt the same pang in her chest. How could she lead her tribe when she couldn’t be fighting in the front? No—how could she order them to fight Human adventurers, who might kill hundreds of them?

  She was not Tremborag. But she was a Chieftain now. She had the class. Rags felt it. The thing she’d felt since waking yesterday.

  Pressure. And a bit of fear that she wasn’t good enough.

  But she was Chieftain. Rags squared her shoulder and stood tall. She looked down at Redscar, though he was physically taller than she was. But Rags stood ten feet tall. She was a Chieftain. And inspiration flickered in her mind as she stared across her vast tribe, thousands strong now.

  “We will go south. And
Humans? I will beat them all.”

  “You, Chieftain? How?”

  “With head. Not arm.”

  Redscar stared at her. Then, he smiled.

  “Good. That is why we follow you.”

  Rags grinned in reply.

  —-

  It was a large adventuring group that found the Furgather Tribe in their home. Over forty Bronze-rank adventurers and six Silver-rank adventurers attacked the tribe’s camp at midday. They slew the Chieftain and fought the Hobs with overwhelming numbers while the others held the Goblins at bay.

  They had come to wipe out the tribe. The Goblins were pressed up against a cliff wall, unable to escape. Old Goblins and children fled the adventurers with blades, who cut down all Goblins without distinction. If some hesitated when they saw the infants, well, they were new. The Silver-rank ones had taken more than one extermination request.

  The Furgather tribe wasn’t a strong one. They had preyed on villages, stolen rather than killed. They were weak, the weakest of monsters in a place where only the strong survived. Now, the remaining Goblins cried out as they formed an ever-shrinking core, trying to defend their friends and families.

  They cried out for someone to save them, knowing that no one would come. Knowing there were no gods, and certainly none for Goblins. But someone did hear them.

  A wolf howled. The adventurers heard the sound and some turned to look. They saw a wolf sitting on a distant hill. One of the adventurers with [Keen Eyes] cried out and pointed.

  “Mounted Goblin!”

  There was indeed a Goblin mounted on the back of the Carn Wolf. She had a crossbow in her hands and she was aiming it at the adventurers. Instantly, they turned—ten Bronze rank adventurers keeping the remaining Furgather Goblins pinned while the rest spread out. Where there was one Goblin, they knew there would be more.

  But they were not prepared for the army that came over the hill. Goblins, a huge mass of them, flooded over the hill. Not just any wild Goblins either; the adventurers saw a row of pikes forming a wall aimed at them, while the rest took positions behind them.

  Thousands of Goblins. Some sat on the backs of huge red wolves, others were the dreaded Hob variants, tall as any Human and far stronger than most. And the Goblins standing on the hill all had crossbows trained on the adventurers.

  They had height, numbers, and everything else on their side. The adventurers froze with fear. They saw huge Hobs, a match for any Silver-rank adventurer among the Goblins’ number.

  They were going to die.

  But the Goblins didn’t attack. They held position, waiting. And then the Goblin the adventurers had first seen rode slowly towards the tribe. She was small. Young. But she was their Chieftain.

  And she saw what the adventurers had done. The Goblin looked at the dead bodies of the Furgather tribe’s warriors and sighed. Then she looked at the adventurers. There was something cold in her eyes. But all she said to them were two things.

  “Drop weapons.”

  The adventurers stared at her. Rags pointed at one of them—a Silver-rank [Ranger] with a bow.

  “Drop. Or die.”

  She hesitated. The other adventurers waited for her cue. Did they fight and surely die, or surrender and…? They knew what Goblins did to women.

  The [Ranger] chose to fight. She swung her bow up, but lightning struck her and eight arrows struck her before she could draw the arrow in her bow. She fell, and the other adventurers cried out—eight arrows had struck the [Ranger], but stray shots had landed among them.

  “Surrender.”

  That was all the small Goblin said. The adventurers threw down their weapons, realizing they had no chance. The Furgather Goblins rushed forwards, crying out with rage, but the Goblin on the wolf shouted something at them in their own language.

  It was a strange group of forty nearly naked adventurers who ran from the place where the Furgather Goblins had lived. Their armor was gone, as were their weapons. But they were alive, which was more than could be said for many of the Furgather tribe. They sat, mourning their dead as some were made into food.

  Rags found the one of the Goblins who might be in charge. He stared up at her, afraid of her Carn Wolf and her strange tribe. She nodded to him.

  I am Rags. Flooded Waters Chieftain.

  He gabbled his thanks at her. Rags cut him off. She pointed at his tribe.

  “Can rebuild. Or follow.”

  Then she turned and rode away. Her tribe followed. The Furgather Goblin stared at her back for a second, and then called out. His Goblins followed Rags’ tribe.

  —-

  An hour later, a large caravan moved down the road, headed towards the city of Ostegrast. It was a large caravan as they went. Over thirty laden wagons rumbled down the road, protected by a force of nearly a hundred [Guards] and [Mercenaries]. Around these lands, there was safety in such numbers. The [Traders] and [Merchants] in the convoy sat comfortably on their mounts, secure in the knowledge that few monsters would dare attack them.

  But then they heard the drumbeats. At first, it was just an odd sound that made some of the Humans pick at their ears, wondering if they were hearing things. But then they heard the sound grow louder, and knew it was no illusion.

  “An army?”

  The [Merchant] in charge of the caravan rode up beside the [Mercenary Captain], a tall man who used a broadsword and shield. The man frowned as he looked towards the horizon.

  “I haven’t heard of one. And they wouldn’t be beating the drums. There’s no war going on!”

  “Then what—”

  The question went unasked. The drums suddenly grew louder, and more sounded from the opposite direction of the caravan. It slowed as all of those riding had a terrible premonition.

  “Can we get off the road?”

  “Too late.”

  The mercenary drew his sword and shouted orders. The caravan moved into a circular formation and the guards spread out to guard their charges. And all the while the heavy beats grew louder and louder.

  The drums thundered. They sounded more like crashing metal than a conventional drum. The rhythmic thumping went through the bones of the Humans who stared around in fear.

  Then they saw the Goblins. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They seemed to appear from nowhere out of the snow. And indeed—some of them were sitting up and brushing snow off of their bodies. They had been lying there, waiting for the caravan.

  It was a trap! The [Guards] closed ranks around the frightened [Merchants] and [Traders]. They held their weapons up as an act of defiance more than anything else; against so many Goblins and surrounded as they were, there was no hope of survival.

  A Goblin rode forwards. Rags had the gem of [Terror] in one hand, but she didn’t want to use it. She wanted those horses and the cargo—intact.

  The Humans were waiting for death, but they weren’t prepared for the Goblins on the other side of the road to part ranks. They stared at the opening formed and at Rags with suspicion and fear.

  “Leave wagons. Run. Live.”

  Rags grinned at them, her black crossbow resting on her Carn Wolf’s head, much to the beast’s annoyance. The Humans hesitated.

  Goblins? Acting like bandits? It was unheard of. Goblins would rather just slaughter all of them, surely. But this Goblin was giving them a way out.

  The mercenary captain was first to move. He cautiously called out, and his soldiers shuffled towards the gap. The [Merchants] and [Traders] shouted at them to stay, but no one in the convoy was going to die for nothing. Soon, all the Humans were standing away from the wagons. They stared at Rags, as if afraid she was going to order her Goblins to attack now.

  “We can leave? You swear it?”

  One of the Humans called out uncertainly. Rags rolled her eyes she waved her hands.

  “Shoo. Go away.”

  She gestured, and the Humans slowly backed away towards freedom. Only when they were past the last Goblins and dared to race away on their horses did Rags signal her Goblins t
o move in.

  The cargo was full of food and other goods, a bountiful shipment meant to keep the Human city well supplied and make the [Merchants] and [Traders] rich. Rags grinned as she and Pyrite inspected the boxes.

  “Lots of horses.”

  She liked horses. They were good at pulling things and tasty, too. Pyrite was also smiling. There was some dried jerky in the crates that he was already testing.

  “Do again?”

  Rags nodded. She figured she had one day before word got out. Goblins raiding the roads was bad for business, and surely an army would be sent to destroy them. But by that point she’d be going south, to war with the Goblin Lord.

  And perhaps…perhaps the army sent would be slower than most. Because Rags had only killed five Humans today. Only the ones who would rather die than give up their goods or throw down their weapons.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was her plan. Goblins could be like bandits, who were more like people than Goblins. And she could win battles with her head and without losing a single Goblin, which was better than them dying.

  She smiled at Pyrite. He chewed some jerky and offered her some. She waved it away.

  “Is this good Chieftain thing?”

  He shrugged.

  “Scare the Humans. Good plan. Is fun.”

  Rags nodded. She stared towards the sky. It was daytime, so the stars weren’t visible. But she wondered if the Goblin King had been like this. Once upon a time. Had he wondered if what he was doing was right? Had he made so many bad mistakes?

  She didn’t know. Rags could only trust herself. So she called out and her Goblins cleared the road. They could raid one more caravan. Then they’d be heading south. Towards Liscor. Towards war and death, Rags knew. But also to a small inn she’d missed. And an innkeeper that Rags wanted to speak with, to talk with. To ask her questions and hear her reply.

  South.

  Back home.

  Wistram Days (Pt. 3)

  The stone halls were dark at night in Wistram. True, the mage-lights provided decent illumination, but the magics that controlled them dimmed the intensity of light each floating orb of light or eternally burning torch gave off.