(Hey, I’ve got news! Volume 2 of The Wandering Inn might come out as an e-book soon! The Audiobook is scheduled for September 10th! Madness! Find out more details here!)

Later, at lunch time, The Wandering Inn was faced with an unusual sight. And that was by the standards of the inn, which meant it was very unusual. Even unexpected. The crowd of Pallassians and Liscorian citizens couldn’t help but stare. One of the many tables in Erin’s common room, enlarged by the [Grand Theatre] Skill was occupied. That wasn’t the unusual bit. The unusual bit was who sat there, still smelling of mud and Shield Spider fluids.

An Antinium Soldier and a Hobgoblin. They sat casually at the table, next to each other, rather than across from each other. It was odd, perhaps, but the distance would have been stranger. And the two could watch more of each other’s body language like this. They spoke in bursts, in a private world in the public inn. The Soldier, Yellow Splatters, nodded as he glanced around the inn at the staring faces. Those he locked eyes with looked away quickly, but the rest just stared. He nodded.

“They do look. I knew it before, but now I see them more often.”

“Stare and stare some more. But if we stare, they run off.”

Numbtongue bared his teeth. Yellow Splatters looked about and met eyes with a Drake. Said Drake flinched. The Painted Soldier calmly held the gaze until the Drake looked away.

“Yes. This is true.”

Numbtongue nodded and shrugged. He looked down at the bowl in front of him and smiled. He’d just been served, as had Yellow Splatters. He showed the Soldier what was in his bowl and offered him his spoon.

“Have this. This is my best—no, favorite—food.”

The Painted Soldier stared into the bowl curiously. It was very…orange. He detected small, squiggly noodles in what looked like some kind of sauce. The Soldier took the spoon, which Numbtongue had been licking, and dipped it into the bowl. He sampled a spoonful.

“What is it?”

“Mac and cheese. Which is…noodles and cheese. Erin says it’s from her home. It’s good for the stomach. Lots of energy.”

Numbtongue patted his. Then he frowned.

“Wait. Can you eat noodles?”

Yellow Splatters paused.

“Yes.”

The Goblin frowned.

“Erin said…”

He broke off, clearly trying to recall that pertinent bit of information. Yellow Splatters shrugged.

“My Soldiers and I can eat wheat. It is just…uncomfortable. Later. This is good. The cheese is good. Try mine.”

He slid his bowl to Numbtongue. The Goblin frowned at the black dots with wings.

“Acid flies.”

He shrugged and took his spoon back from Yellow Splatters. The Antinium had been using his fingers. Numbtongue loaded his spoon and took a bite. He crunched for a second with a sound that made the nearby diners gag. Excepting the other Painted Soldiers of course. Forty-nine of them were enjoying their own bowls of acid flies at nearby tables. Numbtongue chewed and swallowed.

“Hm. Crunchy.”

“You do not like it.”

Yellow Splatters looked at Numbtongue. The Hob shook his head.

“Okay. Good for travel. Not enough taste.”

“I see.”

The two stared at each other. Then, silently, Numbtongue offered his bowl to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier tipped the bowl up and spooned the cheesy sauce out over the acid flies. He handed the bowl back and Numbtongue ladled some of the cheesy acid flies into his bowl of noodles. The two began to eat.

“Hm.”

“Good. Crunchy.”

“Yes. Flavorful.”

The two smiled. Mrsha, staring over the edge of the table, gagged. Numbtongue grinned at her.

“This is Mrsha. You know her?”

He looked at Yellow Splatters. The Painted Soldier stared at Mrsha. She stared back. He stared at her paws and remembered. The [Sergeant] nodded abruptly.

“We have met. Hello. I am Yellow Splatters. Do you remember me?”

The Gnoll cub sniffed at Yellow Splatters and frowned. But she looked at the pattern on his carapace and then nodded. Yellow Splatters hesitated and Numbtongue nudged him. The slight nod the Hobgoblin gave was enough. The [Sergeant] held out his hand. Mrsha sniffed it, then, carefully, held out her own paw.

She cautiously shook the offered hand. She nodded at Yellow Splatters, took another look at his bowl, and hopped off the table. The [Sergeant] watched her go. He stared at his hand.

“Soft.”

Numbtongue nodded after a moment. He eyed Yellow Splatters as he shoveled down more of his combination food. After a moment, Yellow Splatters returned to his meal. The Goblin considered the Antinium sitting next to him.

He didn’t understand the Soldiers’ reverence for everything. But he did connect with their love of good food. And more—he looked around and spotted a Gnoll passing by, holding a bowl.

“Ishkr.”

The Gnoll [Waiter] stopped. Numbtongue reached for the bowl he was carrying. The Gnoll sighed, but let him have it. The Hobgoblin placed the large bowl in front of Yellow Splatters.

“Try this.”

The Painted Soldier did. His mandibles clicked softly with the first bite.

“Soft. Cold. Wet. And sweet. What is it?”

“Ice cream.”

“It is cold!”

“Yes. Good, right?”

Numbtongue grinned at Yellow Splatters. And he was rewarded by an Antinium smile, mandibles raised and opening. The Hob was pleased—until he heard a voice snap at him.

“Numbtongue! Did you take the entire bowl? Ceria just helped us make that!”

Lyonette had noticed the purloining. The Hob hunched, but she strode over, hands on her hips. He pointed at the bowl as the [Princess] glared down at him.

“Sorry. Can I have some?”

“You already did. You mean for Yellow Splatters? Fine.”

The young woman sighed. Numbtongue brightened.

“Okay. Yellow Splatters. Now try this.”

He scooped the ice cream into the [Sergeant]’s bowl, covered it with acid flies, and held it out to Yellow Splatters. Lyonette looked queasy, but Yellow Splatters took the spoon and began to eat. His mandibles raised.

“Good! Cold and good.”

“Right?”

The Hobgoblin looked so pleased Lyonette didn’t have the heart to voice her own opinion on the matter. She turned, and saw another young woman making her away across the room. Erin did a double-take at the sight of Goblin and Antinium, and then at the ice cream.

“Ooh! That’s like chocolate chip ice cream! Hey Lyonette, how’d you make—oh. Ew. Those ain’t raisins.”

She paused at the table. Numbtongue looked up. He stared at the young woman. Erin stared down at him and blinked at Yellow Splatters.

“Hi Yellow Splatters. And…Numbtongue? You alright?”

“Yup.”

The Hobgoblin looked up, barely remembering why Erin would ask. She eyed his muddy, sweaty brow, the scratches on his right arm, and then Yellow Splatters. She opened her mouth and then frowned.

“Is that our ice cream?”

“All of it, yes.”

“And you just turned it into fly cream. Or—no, wait, that’s even worse. Iced flies? Ice fly cream. Ice cream with flies.”

Erin looked at Numbtongue, mockingly severe. He hunched his shoulders.

“…Yes? But it’s good.”

To prove it, he took a spoonful of the ice cream and dipped it in the flies. Erin closed her eyes rather than watch the rest. When she opened them, she looked at Numbtongue.

“Well. If you like it, fine. But don’t expect us to eat the crazy stuff you and Yellow Splatters eat. You two are so crazy—”

“We need the rest.”

Lyonette interjected. Numbtongue frowned. Yellow Splatters looked up. He gazed silently at his Painted Soldiers, who had noticed the strange dessert. Erin blinked at him, and then saw Numbtongue silently looking at her. There was a pleading look Erin hadn’t ever seen before. She met his eyes, nodded, and then turned to Lyonette.

“Give it to the Painted Soldiers, Lyonette. Let the Pallass group eat cake. Rufelt and Lasica know how to make ice cream anyways.”

“What? Erin!”

Lyonette protested. She met Erin’s look, saw the jerk of the head, and looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin looked up at her. Lyonette blew out her cheeks.

“I—oh, fine! We’ll make more.”

“Sorry.”

Numbtongue hesitated, because Lyonette did look peeved. The [Princess] shook her head.

“Sorry, Numbtongue. It’s fine, really. And hello, um, Yellow Splatters.”

She waved at the [Sergeant] awkwardly. Erin smiled at the two and followed Lyonette. The Hobgoblin and Soldier clearly heard Erin whispering to Lyonette as they moved backwards.

“It’s just ice cream.”

“Worth six gold! We only have a narrow window to make money—they’re already copying the recipe in Pallass!”

“So? The Antinium can have it. Numbtongue just invented their favorite dessert! Don’t be mean. He’s made a friend!”

Erin glanced back at Numbtongue and Lyonette relented. Numbtongue, sitting at his table, blinked. A friend? He looked to his side and at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium carefully spooned more ice cream covered in flies into his mandibles.

“My visual and auditory senses were improved by my Queen for my new role. However, it usually does not matter. Others seem to forget the Antinium are capable of hearing.”

“Or Goblins.”

Numbtongue nodded. He stared at Yellow Splatters. Again. He’d been sneaking glances all throughout their conversation. No, before that, even. While they’d cleared the Shield Spider nests. Marching to the inn…he’d just been watching Yellow Splatters. And Numbtongue was sure the [Sergeant] was doing the same.

It was hard to tell; the Antinium had eyes like bugs, so all he had to do was turn his head. But they were watching each other, this Goblin and Antinium.

They had exchanged few words since their conversation on the hill. Oh, talk, they’d talked like which nest to destroy next. And this chatter about favorite food, it had come up just before they’d come to the inn. That was the thing that threw Numbtongue every few seconds.

They were chatting. Just chatting, about nonsensical things. Favorite food? Numbtongue hadn’t had a favorite food before a month or two ago. His favorite food was the one he could eat without throwing up later. Any food when he was starving. But now…

He was chatting. Again, the Goblin felt an odd sense of imbalance, as if he’d spun around repeatedly and the world was spinning. Because this was not something that Goblins did. Not something he did.

Look at Mrsha. The Gnoll was experimentally sniffing one of the bowls covered in acid fly ice cream. Numbtongue offered her his spoon and she licked at the ice cream, avoiding the bug bits. He didn’t talk to her. Numbtongue liked Mrsha. And he was oh, so very grateful that she was willing to talk to him. Goblins had killed her tribe. But he couldn’t talk to her.

“Mrsha, don’t lick that! Numbtongue, don’t encourage her. She gets one dessert, and if she spoils herself, she doesn’t get anything else.”

Lyonette scolded both Goblin and Gnoll as she passed by, serving the precious ice cream to the Painted Soldiers. Both Hob and Gnoll child winced in their table and Mrsha, making low, insulting growling sounds, made a sign with her paws that made Numbtongue laugh. Lyonette looked back sharply and Mrsha disappeared as Numbtongue schooled his face to sobriety.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t chat with Lyonette either. He talked with her, although the [Princess] was very busy. But he did talk with her—Numbtongue had the impression Lyonette was still a bit wary of him. Well, he was of her. But they respected each other. And she was one of two people he ever conversed with. The other was—

“No ice cream! Sorry, we’re making more! Give us uh, five, ten minutes!”

“What?”

Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue looked to the side. Erin was informing Pallass’ crowd of the delay. They were outraged, as were some of the Liscorites. Liscorians? They were giving the Antinium and Numbtongue the stink-eye. Numbtongue didn’t care. His eyes were on Erin. She was shaking her finger at an angry Garuda visible through the magic door.

The portal hurt Numbtongue’s eyes; if you walked to the side, it became two-dimensional, until it nearly disappeared. And from the back, the door was just…a door. Standing up with a crowd gathered around it. Weird. The portal only activated from the front.

Numbtongue shook his head. Erin. She was moving around the inn, talking to the odd Gnoll that smelled like a dozen potions, Grimalkin, Jelaqua and the huge armored…Dullahan named Maughin. She was the person that Numbtongue spoke with most often.

No matter what, if she was busy or he was out of the inn all day, Erin always tried to find at least ten minutes, an hour, to talk with Numbtongue. Even if it was only having dinner in the same room like she’d offered tonight. She was kind. But Numbtongue couldn’t chat with Erin.

He talked with her. She was that kind of person. She’d listen to Numbtongue’s adventures seriously, his worries, and what he wanted. And when he told her, Numbtongue was sure that Erin was listening. If he had told her about his struggles, about being unhappy in her inn, he was sure Erin would have made resolving his problems a priority of hers. His world became hers. But Numbtongue didn’t want that. He was afraid of Erin’s kindness, as much as the hatred of others. He loved to talk with her. But it was talk.

And yet—Numbtongue’s eyes went back to Yellow Splatters. He jumped, and realized the Soldier was staring at him. Had been for a while. The Painted Soldier put down his bowl and pushed it forwards. It was cleaned of all flies and melted ice cream, completely. Which was impressive; Yellow Splatters couldn’t lick his bowl clean like Numbtongue. The [Sergeant] nodded again.

“They truly do not notice that we listen.”

“Who?”

Numbtongue frowned for a moment before he recalled what Erin had said. He looked around at her and Lyonette, rushing back and forth.

“Oh. Friends.”

The [Sergeant] nodded. He delicately reached for a cup with one hand. Two of his other hands were resting on the table; the last was flicking a bit of food from his mandibles. Numbtongue watched, fascinated.

“I have much respect for Erin Solstice. She is…important to Pawn. And to the Painted Antinium. And me. But I believe she is wrong in this regard. We are not friends.”

He paused. Numbtongue blinked at him. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“Goblins don’t have friends.”

The Antinium nodded.

“Indeed. The concept is foreign to Antinium. It is not a relationship that exists in the Hive.”

“Mhm. Same with Goblins. Goblins have a tribe. Or Goblins are in another tribe. Either way, Goblins are all Goblins. We don’t have friends.”

This time both Goblin and Antinium nodded. They were on the same wavelength. Goblins didn’t have friends. They were all Goblins. Sometimes you attacked another tribe, but you were all Goblins when you got down to it, you were on the same side. Goblins had too many enemies to make distinctions. And your tribe…Numbtongue thought of his fellow Redfangs and swallowed, though he had nothing to eat. You were friends with everyone in your tribe, or no one.

Yellow Splatters was still nodding.

“We are not friends. We have not established any grounds for friendship as I understand the concept. Nor have we formally declared it. I am also unprepared for such a relationship. I have not studied the subject from Revalantor Klbkch. Thus, we cannot be friends. I apologize if this offends you, Numbtongue.”

The Goblin considered this for only a moment before waving a claw idly.

“I don’t care. I don’t have friends. Except for Erin?”

He and the Antinium considered the [Innkeeper]. Yellow Splatters frowned, which in the Antinium’s face was represented by his antennae drooping and mandibles drawing together and lowering.

“Would she qualify as a friend? By that standard, then, all of the Painted Soldiers….”

“Maybe? Maybe she’s not a ‘friend’. Maybe…Lyonette? No. She’s not my friend. Mrsha?”

The two looked around for the Gnoll. Yellow Splatters scratched at one antennae gently.

“I was informed by Revalantor Klbkch that making friends with members of the Antinium not considered fully grown was something of a social fault.”

“Hm. Maybe?”

Yellow Splatters leaned over the table.

“How does one become a friend, anyways? I have heard they exchange blood.”

“Um…Redfangs do that.”

“Really? Are you all friends, then?”

“…No. Wait. Let me think.”

The Hobgoblin sat back, thinking. And there it was again. He was chatting with Yellow Splatters. Not talking about something huge and momentous, or deeply personal like with Erin. Just…talking about mundane things. Unimportant things, like friendship or favorite foods. It was so novel.

Of course, Numbtongue had done the same with Headscratcher, with Badarrow and Rabbiteater and Shorthilt and the others. But they hadn’t done this. They’d been a team; they didn’t often waste time talking when they could read each other so well. That was why this was so novel.

“Redfangs aren’t friends. Garen would have said so. We’re brothers. Comrades. Warriors. F-family?”

Numbtongue pronounced the word awkwardly. It was one of the first times he’d used it. But Erin had taught him the meaning and it was true of his old tribe. He looked down into his mug. Yellow Splatters looked at him and Numbtongue waited. But all the Antinium did was nod and drink from his own mug.

“Friends. Family. What…refreshing words.”

Numbtongue looked up sharply.

“Yes. They are.”

The two regarded each other a second time. And there it was. Numbtongue had waited for Yellow Splatters to ask a question. Any question. About the Redfangs. About Numbtongue’s past. About what he was…feeling. And he hadn’t. He didn’t need to ask. What was amazing, what was special, was the way the two knew each other. More than just acquaintances who’d met once before.

They’d fought on the same battlefield. And more—their lives mirrored each other. They understood something Numbtongue could never have explained to Erin or Lyonette. That mattered.

“I have thanked you for saving Falling Snow. I feel I should do so again, and for accompanying me while fulfilling my duties. And for sharing your food.”

Yellow Splatters was getting up from his table. Numbtongue felt a pang. He looked up as the Painted Soldiers noticed and immediately stood with their [Sergeant].

“You’re going?”

“I have no reason to stay. And my presence will allow a Painted Soldier to take my place. They will rotate into the inn so that all may enjoy the experience.”

“Oh.”

The Hobgoblin stared at the [Sergeant]. Yellow Splatters visibly hesitated and looked around the inn. Back at Numbtongue.

“I could sit longer. I…would not wish to deprive another Soldier of their time above. But…”

He hesitated and looked over. The forty-nine other Soldiers looked back and Numbtongue saw them communicating, invisibly, as the Redfangs might. As any Goblins would. He envied them and hurt at the same time. Yellow Splatters turned back to Numbtongue after a moment.

“I will stay. To acquire more information. If you would agree to keep me company?”

He looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin smiled. And as Yellow Splatters sat back down and leaned over the table, Numbtongue realized something. He wasn’t feeling unhappy. It still hurt, but he wasn’t dissatisfied. He was…he lifted his mug and sipped it, then noticed it was empty. Numbtongue absently waved at Drassi for a refill. For him and Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] accepted a mug with a free hand and then looked at Numbtongue.

“So. What have you been doing since the battle against the Goblin Lord? I was dead.”

—-

At first, it was just a continuation to the thirty minutes they’d sat and talked. Then an hour. And then two. By two and a half hours, Numbtongue had to pee. He got up, wandered out of The Wandering Inn, and joined the queue for the outhouses. There were five now; apparently two had just been dug. Even so, Gnolls and Drakes were standing in line and Numbtongue was grateful for the distance between each outhouses. It made the sounds a bit less…pronounced.

One of the outhouses had been built to accommodate a half-Giant. It was that one Numbtongue was in line for; he liked the space. The door opened and Maughin stepped out. Or rather, his body did. His head was still chatting to Jelaqua in the inn.

Numbtongue and the Drakes and Gnolls stepped out of the way, but the Dullahan’s body had some kind of instinctual awareness because he walked calmly back to the inn without any uncertainty.

“Ancestors, that’s creepy.”

One of the Drakes in line muttered. A Gnoll in front of him nodded and sniffed, then made a face.

“Ergh. That was a mistake.”

“You Gnolls have it rough around here, huh?”

The Drake looked sympathetic. The Gnoll just grimaced.

“Well, we grow up smelling everything. This is hardly worse. But whatever that Dullahan ate—”

“Don’t talk to me about it. I just had lunch. I’ll tell you one thing though, those forges Pallass has. If those Dullahans can work steel everyday like I saw them doing this morning—makes you think.”

“That Lism’s right? Or Krshia?”

“I don’t know! It just makes you think.”

The Drake grimaced. He looked across another line at a nodding Drake and then turned his head.

“It’s weird. I know it’s because it’s the crazy Human doing it, but she is our crazy Human. What do you th—”

He stared at Numbtongue and froze. He must not have seen the Hobgoblin, or mistaken green skin for scales. The Gnoll jumped when he spotted Numbtongue as well. The [Bard] looked at them as they edged closer to the big outhouse and closed his mouth. He said nothing and the line moved a lot faster. And no one got into line behind Numbtongue until he was done with his business and walking back to the inn.

That soured Numbtongue’s mood. It was still the same. So, when he sat down across from Yellow Splatters, he didn’t immediately speak. Which was fine; the Antinium was waxing eloquent after two hours of speaking.

“There you are. I was waiting for your return. Do you know that Erin Solstice is considering selling the Hive’s supply of Rxlvn?”

“What?”

“Our alcohol. It is…potent. I believe it is technically classified as a poison, but Miss Solstice has expressed interested in it. I was saying that I believed it would leave an impact.”

Numbtongue nodded restlessly.

“Maybe.”

He looked at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] was in a good mood, but Numbtongue was suddenly miserable again. Restlessly, the Goblin carved into the table with his claws, scratching the softer wood. He could feel eyes on him again. Of course, they’d been staring all this time. But his visit to the bathroom had refocused them on him and Yellow Splatters. The Antinium was getting looks of course, but it was on Numbtongue, the Goblin, that they were harshest.

Some of the Drakes by the door to Pallass had seen Numbtongue pass by on his way in and out. They were speaking to the people on the other side, explaining. Justifying. Numbtongue could catch fragments of the conversation.

“…well, yes, but—you know, about the battle…?”

“—not saying that I would personally—not allowed in the city, of course not! There was an incident—”

“Never in Pallass. Well, it’s just one. There were others, an entire damn tribe. Thankfully—”

The Hobgoblin’s grip tightened on the table. Yellow Splatters noticed and stopped talking. He looked up as Numbtongue turned. Both stared at the door, and the speakers there. They shut up.

Drakes and Gnolls stared across the inn at the duo. Some were just talking, enjoying themselves, watching the play. But too many went silent and still as they noticed the Goblin and Antinium looking. And silence was a plague. It spread.

As she circulated the room, Erin heard the sound die down. She looked around and saw the source. She might not have known what had caused Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters to look around, but she could see the tenseness. She began to push her way through the crowd. Too slowly; a Drake, made uncomfortable by the staring Hobgoblin, decided to make his voice heard. He stood up, a touch unsteadily and the alcohol slurred his tongue a bit.

“Hey! What’re you looking at, Goblin? And you—Antinium!”

The rest of the room fell silent. Temile, on stage with his cast, paused, and every head turned to the source of the shout. Numbtongue shrugged, a Goblin’s catch-all answer.

“Just looking.”

“Oh yeah? Look somewhere else. I can’t enjoy my drinks with a Goblin watching me.”

The Drake glared and tried to make a rude gesture. Erin pushed her way past a group of Gnolls.

“Hey! If you have a problem with Numbtongue, you can get out! Other people can take your place!”

“I’m not killing him. I read the sign. Just because I’m tolerating his presence, doesn’t mean I have to put up with him staring. See? He’s still doing it!”

The Drake pointed angrily at Numbtongue. And to be fair, the Hobgoblin was glaring. Erin hesitated. She looked at the Drake. He was drunk and he had faded green scales, mixed a bit with blue.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t say mean things. I bet that’s why he’s glaring.”

“Mean things? What, like the fact that it’s good that Goblins are banned from the city? Good. Pallass doesn’t let Goblins in. Why should Liscor? I’m fine with Dullahans and those bird-people, but Goblins? No. Never.”

The Drake took another drink, ignoring Erin’s glare. Worse, his words had a lot of silent support. Numbtongue looked around. He was tense. Erin just got mad. She thrust a finger at the Drake’s snout and he recoiled.

“Hey, I’m drinking here!”

“Hey yourself, buddy! You say that one more time, and you’re out! In fact, I should kick you out! Numbtongue fought for Liscor! His friends died because he helped stop the Goblin Lord! Goblins attacked Liscor and—”

“Shut up!”

The Drake hurled his glass onto the ground. It smashed, and Erin leapt back. She opened her mouth furiously, and at another table, Relc stood up with a groan. He abandoned Grimalkin and Embria and stepped forwards at the same time as Ishkr and a Drake.

“Alright, buddy. You’re drunk. Why don’t you pay up for the cup and liquid and leave?”

He raised his claws placatingly. The drunk Drake wavered. He might have gone without more than a fuss, but Erin was eying the broken glass and looking back at Numbtongue. She turned back and raised her voice.

“Yeah! Get out! We don’t need racist jerks here. Goblins aren’t all bad you know!”

The Drake stopped as he fumbled for his coin pouch, swearing. Slowly, he looked up at Erin. And his drunk anger faded and became something soberer. Darker. He pointed at Erin as Relc barred his way.

“Not all bad? Goblins killed my sister.”

The room went silent. Erin’s furious mouth closed slowly. Relc hesitated. The Drake looked around.

“I’m being unreasonable? Me? I’m sitting in the same inn as that thing because I wanted to talk to my brother.”

He pointed unsteadily through the door.

“I didn’t come here to cause a fight. But that thing’s here. Staring at me. You know what Goblins did, Miss Human? They killed my sister. My best friend. They were just travelling from our village to the city. It was a two hour walk! You could see them from the walls. But a bunch of Goblins killed them. Stabbed them to death and tried to eat them. You monsters.”

He directed that last at Numbtongue, spitting in his general direction. And all eyes fastened on the Goblin. Erin’s eyes went uncertainly to Numbtongue. Relc, looking around, made a judgment call.

“Alright, pal. We get it. That’s terrible. Really. But you’re drunk—”

“Get your claws off me!”

The Drake shoved at Relc, but failed to make the [Guardsman] fall back. He swore as Relc manhandled him towards the door.

“You didn’t save her! The City Watch saw everything and they didn’t stop it!”

“We can’t be everywhere. Keep walking.”

“Are Goblins supposed to be safe? Huh? I’m letting this one stay! Aren’t I the reasonable one? I’m not seeking vengeance. But why do I have to pretend that this thing isn’t dangerous? Goblins killed my sister! What do you have to say to that, Hob, huh?”

“Don’t answer that.”

Relc snapped at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin ignored him. He stared at the struggling Drake and around at the silent room. The judging looks. Slowly, Numbtongue stood up. He called across the room at the Drake.

“Humans killed my parents.”

The Drake paused. Relc, swore under his breath. Now the conversation had two sides. The drunk Drake shouted at Numbtongue.

“Oh yeah? Join the club! I’m not a Human, though. So if you think that—”

“Drakes killed my tribe.”

Numbtongue interrupted the Drake. He slowly pointed at Relc. The [Guardsman] paused.

“That one killed my Chieftain. That one killed thousands of my people. Because you didn’t open the gates after we stopped the Goblin Lord.”

Numbtongue’s finger pointed right, towards Embria. She looked up. And unlike Relc, there was little guilt in her eyes. Numbtongue looked around the room and then back at the angry Drake.

“I didn’t kill your…sister. Or friend. I didn’t know the Goblins who did. I’m not them. And your—people—killed more Goblins. Why should I tolerate you?”

He folded his arms, almost triumphantly. Daring the Drake to come up with a response. He couldn’t, Numbtongue was sure. But that surety—after a second of hesitation, a sneer crossed the Drake’s face.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re monsters. You can pretend you’re not. You can even speak. But everyone knows what Goblin Kings and Goblin Lords do. A few of you can be tamed. But that’s all.”

Numbtongue’s eyes widened. He took a step forwards and Erin blocked his way. She glared at the Drake and then around uneasily.

“Alright! That’s it! Relc, toss this guy out!”

“I need the magic door. He’ll just roll down the hill and come back up.”

Relc pointed to the open door as he restrained the struggling Drake. Erin nodded as Lyonette rushed over to change the setting. Relc didn’t budge as the Drake tried to elbow him and stomp on one foot. He had the drunk in a headlock. But the Drake could still shout. He cast one eye at Numbtongue.

“Go on! Kick me out! But everyone knows I’m right! Maybe Goblins can be safe! One or two. But no one’ll ever let a tribe stay around Liscor in peace! You know why? Because of the Goblin King! And it doesn’t matter how many of you die. Because Goblins—Goblins are animals. Get it? We’re Drakes. And Gnolls. And even damned Humans. We’re not animals, so we count. You don’t. Get it?”

Numbtongue opened his mouth. But he didn’t know what to say. He clenched his fists and Erin grabbed him. The Drake just laughed at the Hobgoblin’s expression.

“I’m right! See? It can’t even respond. See? I—”

Relc adjusted his hold and the Drake’s supply of wind cut off abruptly. He choked, and Lyonette raised her head as the portal in the magic door changed.

“Door’s open!”

“Finally.”

Relc grunted and heaved. The Drake flew through the door, scattering a crowd of potential guests. They stared into the inn as Relc looked over his shoulder. Numbtongue was shaking. His mouth was still open, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d never had to argue like that before. And he’d—

“It’s just a drunk guy. I guess Goblins did kill his family. But he’s wrong.”

Erin looked around in the silence. She met everyone’s eye, but few were looking straight at her. A Gnoll from Liscor murmured as Lyonette silently let people into the inn.

“He might be. But he came to the inn peacefully, Miss Solstice. Didn’t do more than complain. Which he has a right to, no? He lost his sister and friend. That he came here, knowing a Goblin was present, shows he was on your side. And Krshia’s.”

“So he has the right to say that to Numbtongue?”

Erin snapped back. The Gnoll didn’t reply. He looked away from her. And he didn’t leave, but the silence in the room grew more pronounced. Numbtongue looked around. He stared at the faces, some calm, some judging. Others, like Grimalkin, weighing him on some imaginary scale. And he hated it. Most of all though, he hated the ones standing at the back, in a group of their own.

Bevussa, Keldrass, Earlia of Gemhammer and Nailren of Kelia’s Pride. More—the Horns of Hammerad. A few other Silver-rank teams. Adventurers. They said nothing. But their looks told Numbtongue what they thought. Here was a ‘safe’ Goblin. One they wouldn’t kill.

One, and only one.

It was the same as yesterday. The same as the one time he’d gone to Liscor. Numbtongue clenched his fists, aware of every person who drew back when they saw that and his bared teeth. He searched for the right words. But he didn’t have them. And he wished he could tell that Drake how wrong he was. Of the Goblins he called animals. Numbtongue wished he could show him. But the others were dead and gone. And he…

The Hobgoblin moved. People jumped out of his way as Numbtongue stormed towards the stairs. Up them, towards his room. Erin ran after him, but no one else moved. They watched as he disappeared upstairs. And then Erin. And then the big Soldier got up and followed both. And after a few more moments, someone told a joke, the inn laughed, and it got back to normal.

The Goblin was gone. But upstairs, the Goblin was always there. And he was always a Goblin.

—-

Yellow Splatters stood behind Erin, listening. Just listening to Numbtongue and her talk. She was standing in the hallway outside his room. Numbtongue was standing in the doorway, Yellow Splatters closer to the stairs. The sounds of the merry common room drifted up. But above, the air was colder. More painful.

Numbtongue looked upset as he stood in the doorway. He had just stood there when Erin and Yellow Splatters found him. He hadn’t slammed the door or hid in his room. That was a thing for Human children. A door couldn’t stop an adventurer with a crossbow, or a spell. You had to stand and fight or run far away. And he had lost that fight. Yellow Splatters had seen his face.

Intriguing. The Soldier had never considered a fight could be won with words. But these ones had left invisible wounds. Erin was trying to mend them now, but it wasn’t working.

“It was just one Drake, Numbtongue. He won’t come back. I’ll make sure of it.”

“They all think that way.”

“Not all. Relc’s trying. You didn’t have to…I know what he did. But I think he’d even apologize if—”

“For Garen? He can say sorry to Garen, not me. If sorry brings back dead Goblins.”

Numbtongue sneered, his fists clenched. Erin fell silent. She looked at him, helplessly, angry and upset for him. Yellow Splatters saw that too. That was what drove the Antinium to Erin. The fact that she would be angry or sad or happy with them. For them. But now it wasn’t helping.

“You don’t have to—no. I mean—I know it’s hard. If there’s anything I can…what can I do to help, Numbtongue?”

“Let me go to Liscor.”

The Goblin looked up with burning eyes. Erin wavered.

“You can’t. I’m sorry. I talked it over with Zevara, Numbtongue. You’ll be in danger.”

“Don’t care.”

“You can’t fight them. Any one of them could hit you with a stone, or cast a spell, or stab you—”

“I don’t care. I want to go.”

“Why? What’s Liscor got? I can get you anything, Numbtongue! What do you want?”

“I don’t know. I want to go there and find out.”

The Goblin turned his head and stared out his window at the city in the distance. Erin bit her lip hard. She didn’t know what to say. Numbtongue stared past her at Yellow Splatters. The Soldier raised a hand.

“If I am intruding, I will remove myself.”

Erin jumped. She hadn’t realized he was here. Numbtongue just laughed. He stared at Yellow Splatters, and a flicker of envy entered his eyes.

“You can go into Liscor. Do they stare at you there? Do they say things? Like…”

He gestured to the stairs. The Painted Soldier paused, his arms folded.

“They stare. But they stare everywhere. I have not been addressed like you are. I understand that you are banned from Liscor.”

“Yes. They close the gates before I can get in.”

The Hobgoblin clenched his fists, staring blackly ahead. Erin’s face fell.

“You went again? Why does it matter?”

“They died for Liscor. I can’t go in.”

Numbtongue’s claws dug into his flesh. Erin opened her mouth, but it was Yellow Splatters who tilted his head. The Soldier had been enjoying his conversation with Numbtongue. He felt a kinship to the Goblin. But this line of thought confused him.

“Why does it matter? Is the worth of Goblins—and their deaths—truly linked to your right to be in Liscor? Is that what they all died for?”

Erin gasped. Numbtongue’s eyes narrowed and he tensed. But then he looked at Yellow Splatters and, slowly, relaxed. For anyone else, the question might have stung. But Yellow Splatters returned the gaze calmly. And after a moment, Numbtongue blinked. The Hobgoblin exhaled and shook his head.

“It’s not about Liscor. We—the Redfangs, the Flooded Waters tribe didn’t fight for Liscor. We fought because the Goblin Lord was bad. Bad Goblin. And for you.”

He looked at Erin. And her face went pale. Numbtongue turned from her to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier nodded.

“We fought and died for Erin Solstice as well. As Pawn requested. This is a fact, and what I understood of Goblins. So why does access to Liscor matter?”

The young woman looked from Goblin to Antinium. And suddenly she was unsteady on her feet. Numbtongue shook his head. He pointed at Liscor.

“So they do not forget. So they cannot forget.”

And the pieces clicked. For Yellow Splatter, they fit together in a moment. It took Erin longer.

“Oh.”

She softly uttered the word. Numbtongue looked at her.

“They say Drakes saved the city. Or…they fought off the Humans. They forget. But I am here. We were here! They stop talking about Goblins! About the Redfangs, the Flooded Waters tribe. They forget. The ones in the city, who never come here. They forget. Why can I not remind them? Why can I not go there, when we all died—”

His voice trailed off. That was it. It wasn’t that he needed to be there. He probably didn’t even want to go. But it was that he couldn’t. To Yellow Splatters, it was like knowing there was sky. And never going above again.

The [Sergeant] considered the Hobgoblin standing across from him. He didn’t know what to say. Numbtongue’s pain wasn’t his own. His cause wasn’t Yellow Splatter’s. He did not matter to the Free Antinium. And still—the Soldier slowly uncrossed his arms.

“The Antinium fought the Goblin Lord for Liscor. So did the Goblins. To not say that is a lie. We died. And we were there.”

He touched his chest with one hand and pointed two. At Numbtongue, and at Erin. Her face was white. But the Goblin only nodded. He met Yellow Splatter’s gaze.

“They died. All of them. You. And me. My Chieftain. Headscratcher. Shorthilt. Spiderslicer. Noears. Reiss. Pyrite.”

“Glorious Sun. Grassleaves. Six and Five. Red and White Flowers. Cold Blue.”

Yellow Splatters nodded. The Soldier’s colors, their symbols flashed in his mind. Numbtongue looked at him. And the Hobgoblin’s wide eyes conveyed a message without words.

You were there. You understand. You remember. Yellow Splatters nodded. He reached out and Numbtongue clasped his hand gently. Both of them heard a small sound and turned.

Erin was crying. She wiped at her eyes as water flowed from them. It was another strange sight. Yellow Splatters stared at Erin’s face. And—strangely—he felt uncomfortable. Pained. As if the tears were hurting him. It was like looking at a wounded Soldier or Worker. He touched his chest, averted his gaze. But the pain in his chest didn’t clear. And Erin kept crying.

“I’m sorry. I know I asked you, but I—I thought—I’m sorry—”

She hiccupped, and then began crying and hiccupping. Numbtongue looked at her, helplessly. He shook his head as Erin turned to him.

“That’s not—”

He looked at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium saw his mouth working and the words came into his mind first. He looked at Erin.

“It is not grief we seek, Erin Solstice. The cost was paid. Antinium and Goblins died. But if we were faced with the same choice, we would do it again. We won.”

Numbtongue closed his mouth and looked at Yellow Splatters. A flicker of something—a smile—tugged at his expression. He nodded. Erin shook her head. She was still crying.

“I—no. No. It was—”

She broke off and kept sobbing. But the tears didn’t last. Numbtongue awkwardly patted Erin on the back. She hugged him. Yellow Splatters looked at the Goblin’s face and gently copied Numbtongue, patting her on the back. And he met Numbtongue’s eyes.

That was what they couldn’t explain to Erin. The tears matched. But he and Numbtongue had something she didn’t understand. Pride. The dead had not died in vain. And all of what followed—Yellow Splatter’s resolve, Numbtongue’s desire for the dead to be remembered, to enter Liscor—stemmed from that.

They had not died in vain.

Yellow Splatters kept patting Erin until she let go of Numbtongue. The young woman dried her face. She looked helplessly at them and sniffed.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Numbtongue. I wasn’t thinking of how you felt.”

“It’s fine. Go lie down. Sleep.”

Numbtongue pointed to Erin’s room across from him. She wavered.

“No. I should get downstairs. Although—”

She noticed her wet apron and shirt. Numbtongue eyed her.

“Lyonette will be upset if you go down. Mrsha will howl.”

“Probably. And I guess everyone else will want to—maybe I’ll lie down. You’re sure you don’t want to talk?”

“Sure.”

The Hobgoblin smiled. Erin wavered, but he ushered her gently and insistently into the room. She eventually went, promising she’d be out in a little bit. The door closed and Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters looked at each other. And again, they felt at ease. Yellow Splatters stepped into Numbtongue’s room and the Goblin closed the door so they wouldn’t bother Erin.

“They can’t forget. Ever.”

He meant Liscor in the distance. It was different from Yellow Splatters. He shook his head.

“Memory matters little to the Antinium. We desire the expansion of our Hive. Revalantor Klbkch has a plan and I am helping to carry that out. I deem it worthy. But that is not what concerns me. The Painted Soldiers. My unit. We were weak. We are weak, still. But I was given a chance to strive again. So I will—I must become stronger.”

He held Numbtongue’s gaze. The Hobgoblin clenched a fist, understanding at once.

“Strong enough not for all to die next time?”

Yellow Splatters nodded.

“Yes. That is it exactly. I have more to protect. My…people need me to be strong. So I must be strong.”

The Goblin [Bard] smiled for a second. A trace of bitterness flickered in his eyes.

“Good plan. Doesn’t work for me. Mine are dead. Or gone.”

“Then why do you stay? What keeps you moving? What reason do you have to be alive?”

The question had no rancor; it was just a question from one warrior to another. Numbtongue smiled. He pointed at the door.

“Someone has to stay. To protect…”

“Ah.”

And that was the beauty. He didn’t have to explain why Erin had to live. Why her life could justify the countless dead. Yellow Splatters understood. He reached out and made a fist. Numbtongue stared at it, gently perplexed. The Soldier spoke calmly.

“It is good you remain here. You are strong. I have a strong body, gifted to me by the Free Queen. Thus, I am stronger than when I died. But I must level. That is what I intend to do. I lost all but six levels when I died. I have regained five already; I intend to reach Level 20 within the month.”

“To be strong. To be the strongest.”

Another nod. The Soldier kept his fist extended, towards Numbtongue’s chest.

“I must be the strongest of them all. And make them stronger. But do it with…kindness. I failed once before. It will not happen again.”

“Good. Be strong.”

Numbtongue reached out. His own fist extended and Yellow Splatters nodded. They bumped fists gently. Yellow Splatters regarded Numbtongue, his head tilting slightly back and forth.

“I understand now, why you are here. But what will you do? Train? Level? If you wish it, it would be possible for you to fight against local threats and patrol with the Painted Antinium. Your company would be enjoyable.”

Numbtongue wavered. He was pleased at the offer, but he shook his head in the end.

“No good.”

“Why?”

Yellow Splatters was honestly confused. Numbtongue struggled to explain. The best he could was by talking about the images in his head. The inferiority he felt when he picked up a sword.

“I know a strong Goblin. The strongest. He fought the…Human. Lord Tyrion. He stopped him. He was stronger than me. And he died. How can I be that strong? I am a [Bard].”

Pyrite. Shorthilt. Headscratcher. Each had been stronger than Numbtongue. And each was dead. He wasn’t as gifted as they had been in combat. And his class…Numbtongue closed his eyes and shook his head. Yellow Splatters regarded him.

“But they are dead. You could surpass their levels in time. Does a [Bard] not become strong?”

“Not like a [Sergeant]. Or…[Warrior].”

“Really. What does your class do?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“Lightning from the skies. But mostly—makes music. It helps a bit. Makes animals not bite. But it isn’t like…[Warmaster]. [Chieftain]. Or even [Savage Warrior]. Those are strong classes.”

“Really. They are not ones I am familiar with. But I do not know many classes.”

That surprised Numbtongue. He shook his head.

“I know lots. What do you have? [Sergeant]? Not a Goblin class. But could have…[Spear Soldier]. [First Sergeant]. [Captain]. At…Level 20? If you can upgrade. But [Warrior] classes are good. Sometimes better. [Sergeant] is officer. Good for leading, but sometimes weaker. Sometimes strong.”

“You know a lot about classes.”

“We had many. I was just a [Warrior]. But Garen knew many classes and there were many in my tribe. The Redfangs wer—are strong.”

“Stronger than the Antinium. At least, individually.”

Another nod. It came from both sides. Yellow Splatters was under no illusions. He sat on Numbtongue’s chair while the Hobgoblin sat on the bed, cross-legged.

“The power of the Antinium lies in our numbers. We die by the hundreds to kill a single high-level foe. This tactic…works. But it is not acceptable. The Painted Antinium—no, all Antinium must live. And yet, how do we overcome this difficulty? The Antinium have no [Mages]. No capacity for fighting at range. At least, the Free Antinium do not. I envy your levels, Numbtongue. The Antinium are too low-level, too focused in one area. We have [Archers] now. But magic is…if we fight the Goblin Lord a second time, we will die by the hundreds or thousands to bring him down.”

That was the [Sergeant]’s nightmare. Even if they tunneled, the Goblin Lord might collapse their tunnels, use the same spells to blast apart their ranks. It terrified him. The Hobgoblin sat on his bed quietly, listening to Yellow Splatter’s fears. At last, he shrugged slightly. Not out of indifference, though. He looked at Yellow Splatters.

“Do you have sneaky Antinium?”

“Sneaky Antinium?”

The [Bard] nodded.

“It’s how the Redfangs fought. We lost our [Shaman]. So we just used traps. Gold-rank Adventurers love teams with [Mages]. So we learn to attack them from one side. Ambush them—use big rocks or artifacts or sneaky Goblins to break their barriers. Then it’s easy. One arrow and—”

He mimed being struck in the chest. Yellow Splatters paused.

“I understand the Silent Antinium are a…Hive specializing in sneak attacks. But their forces are not part of the Free Antinium, or so Klbkch has explained to me. But you use traps? Belgrade makes traps. Tell me more. You are much more experienced than I.”

“Oh?”

Numbtongue looked surprised. And then pleased. He shrugged again, and then looked around. Then he went over to his desk. Erin had given him any number of things to occupy himself with. Snacks, a jar of cookies, parchment, ink, quills, a nail file—he grabbed the parchment and a quill and ink and brought it over. It was largely unused, although Yellow Splatters saw some lyrics on one sheet. Numbtongue unrolled the parchment and dipped his quill in the inkpot.

“Hm. This is how Redfangs attack [Mages]. Very easy? See? Pit trap here, archers here with cover, boulders here with slope, oh. Poison arrows. And Carn Wolf [Riders] here—and sometimes angry beehives. Or exploding things like Tripvine bags. Simple. Anyone can do. What do you want to know?”

Yellow Splatters stared at the trap. He hesitated, and then he raised three hands.

“Please explain everything.”

—-

Life had its ups and downs. You didn’t win every fight. And sometimes you cried. But the trick was to keep moving. To pick yourself up again. That was why after about forty minutes, Erin Solstice was able to leave her room and go downstairs with a smile on her face and reassure her friends. She’d had a few more tears, a handkerchief to blow her nose, and a nap. And really, it wasn’t her that she was worried about. It was Numbtongue.

She’d expected the Hobgoblin to be somewhere else. But to her surprise, he was in his room. He hadn’t even gone downstairs. Erin cautiously poked her head into the room, holding a tray with two mugs of tea.

“Heeeey guys. How’s it going? Um—everyone okay? Sorry for going off like that. Anyone want a drink?”

Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters looked up. Erin blinked as she saw them sitting on his bed and chair. They’d dragged the table over and they were gathered around it. The young woman smiled.

“Oh wow! You two are really getting along!”

“Hi.”

Numbtongue gave Erin a smile and accepted the tea. He seemed to be over his earlier frustration, and he’d clearly been absorbed by some kind of discussion with Yellow Splatters. Erin peered at the parchment as Yellow Splatters took a mug.

“Whatcha working on? Ooh, are those maps?”

“Tactics.”

Numbtongue tugged at one bit of parchment, looking slightly put upon as Erin peered around the table. She was clearly intruding. Erin made out a list of what looked like classes and Skills. And then she identified some of the drawings. Numbtongue wasn’t exactly an [Artist] and he was no [Tactician], so his picture of a Goblin stabbing an adventurer in the back was crude. But it got the point across.

Erin’s face fell a bit. She glanced up at the Goblin an Antinium.

“…You’re discussing fighting? Really? Nothing else?”

They looked at her blankly. What else would they talk about? Erin sighed, but she smiled.

“I’m glad. Hey, you could go downstairs. If you want! Or I can get you a snack.”

“I ate.”

“And I have imbibed adequate sustenance.”

“Right. Okay! Well, glad to see you two are making friends. Don’t let me bother you!”

Erin stepped back. Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters turned to look at her. After a second, Numbtongue coughed. Erin blinked.

“Oh my god. I’m my mom.”

“What?”

“I have to go. Sorry. I’m cramping your style! Oh no…I’m a mom. Wait, does that mean Lyonette’s the dad? Or the bossy older sister? Am I the dad?”

Erin groaned and slapped her forehead. Completely lost, Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue exchanged a glance. But they were relieved when she was gone. It wasn’t that Erin wasn’t welcome—it was just that both were well aware of how distracting she could be. And this was serious business. They leaned over the table again. Yellow Splatters nodded.

“Back to our discussion. Survival rates among the Soldiers is typically low when encountering powerful monsters. Belgrade’s traps do work well—I will suggest the ones you use to him. We also have magical items, but I am certain Revalantor Klbkch will not allow their use.”

Numbtongue nodded.

“Can make slings, though. Slings are good.”

“Indeed. I am not sure if a Worker can swing four slings at once, but that is a viable experiment.”

Numbtongue laughed, trying to imagine that. Yellow Splatters politely smiled. They’d been discussing how to fight, and to Numbtongue’s surprise, it was actually…fun. Talking about Redfang tactics and survival strategies with someone who appreciated it. Right up until you realized they might all die in one of the scenarios they were laying out.

The Painted Antinium were certainly unlike any tribe Numbtongue had met. They could overwhelm a foe just like Goblins, but their Workers and Soldiers were all a lot stronger than the average Goblin. By the same token though, they didn’t have strong Hobs or Chieftains, with the exception of Yellow Splatters. That complicated things, especially if your goal was to keep as many alive as possible.

Something occurred to Numbtongue as he looked at Yellow Splatter’s description of the Painted Antinium’s forces. Bow unit, low-level [Soldiers]…he looked up sharply, realizing there was an obvious discrepancy besides a lack of magic users and more sneaky and ranged types.

“You know what you need?”

“What?”

Yellow Splatters leaned forwards again. He was more decisive than the Workers, but when he listened to Numbtongue, he was a very attentive student. Who asked a lot of questions. Numbtongue grinned and tapped his belt. Next to the small satchel holding his mined treasures was a vial. He pulled it out and showed Yellow Splatters.

“Potions. Potions are good. All your Soldiers should have potions. Redfangs use potions.”

“I am intrigued. Tell me more.”

Numbtongue gave him a blank look.

“Potions. You use them. You heal. Or get effects. Like…spitting fire. Potions are good.”

Yellow Splatters hesitated.

“The Antinium do not use potions. Ever.”

“Really? What if you get hurt?”

“We have a healing gel. That we seldom use. Soldiers have a recovery area. There they live or die.”

Numbtongue shook his head. That sounded like a poor Goblin tribe.

“Potions heal everything fast.”

“So I understand. And the Hive has a supply. A very…large supply, in fact. But Revalantor Klbkch has designated such stores off-limits except in case of war, or emergency.”

“Okay. So get more.”

“How?”

“Steal? Kill adventurers? Or…buy?”

“Buy?”

The Hobgoblin nodded uncertainly. He wasn’t completely in on this concept either. But since the first two options weren’t viable around Liscor—

“Potions cost money. You have money, right?”

“I have a stipend allocated to me by Klbkch, yes.”

“Can you buy a potion with it?”

Yellow Splatters opened his mandibles slowly.

“…I have never purchased anything except for food from Miss Erin. Have you?”

“No…”

They stared at each other. Antinium and Goblins didn’t buy anything. But the thought was beguiling. And Numbtongue had seen Lyonette coming in with food that she’d bought with the shiny coins Erin gave to him. And Yellow Splatters had seen the same while marching through the city.

“You have coins.”

“Yup. See?”

Numbtongue found some silver and two gold coins stuffed in his desk. Erin had paid him for guarding the inn along with the other Redfangs. They’d been keepsakes. Useless. Until now. Yellow Splatters produced his own money pouch. He poured the coins onto the table. Numbtongue stared at the bronze, silver, and gold. Yellow Splatters stared at the pile and him.

“…Is that enough for a potion?”

“Maybe? Maybe one.”

The Hobgoblin had no idea. He thought about asking Erin. Did she know how much a potion was worth? Maybe Ceria? Yellow Splatters opened his mandibles and clicked, clearing his throat.

“I could…attempt to look at some in Liscor. However, I do not know if the [Alchemists] there would allow me into their stores. Obtaining potions…that would be very useful. Very.”

Numbtongue nodded. Potions were every Goblin’s dream. You could save your life with one. Even the Redfangs, who were rich, had coveted every bottle they found. Speaking of which…Numbtongue frowned at his belt. He had two healing potions. And another stashed under his pillow. Erin had given them to him, but she’d gotten hers from—his eyes widened.

“Want to look at some? I know a place.”

“In Liscor? You are banned from the city.”

Numbtongue scowled and then suppressed it.

“No. But I think—we can go there. Follow me.”

Casually, he left his room and went downstairs. Yellow Splatters swept his and Numbtongue’s money into his pouch and followed. Erin was downstairs, serving guests. They looked at Numbtongue when he came down, but no one caused a scene this time.

“Erin. Can we go somewhere? With the door?”

Numbtongue innocently walked over to Erin. She looked around suspiciously, but when she heard what he wanted, she nodded after a moment.

“Sure. I mean, if you’re just visiting her. Don’t let her rip you off! Tell you what—the Pallass crowd’ll riot if I don’t keep the door open there. But I can let you two through and…check on you in ten minutes? Just tell Octavia that if she scams you, I’ll rip off her arm or something. Got it?”

Numbtongue nodded eagerly. He beckoned to Yellow Splatters and Erin pushed her way towards the magic door. Lyonette looked anxious as Erin changed the door, let the Hobgoblin and Antinium through, and then came back.

“You’re sure that’s fine, Erin? Shouldn’t one of us go with them? Or at least, one of the Horns?”

“It’s fine. It’s just Octavia. Numbtongue promised to stay in her shop. And I’ll head over as soon as I finish setting up the fondue. Relc’s gonna love this. Hey, Relc!”

Erin waved and turned. It was just five minutes. Ten or fifteen at most. She’d be over as soon as she finished melting the cheese in the big pot. Pisces was providing the flame and Erin had already equipped Mrsha, Ceria, and Yvlon and Ksmvr with some long forks to dip sausage into the cheesy goodness. Relc was beaming as he rushed over with Embria following, and Erin was smiling too. She’d introduce the wonders of fondue to the inn, then pop over to Stitchworks and…deal with Octavia for a bit.

It never occurred to her to worry. Right up until her [Dangersense] started going off, that was.

—-

It was past lunch in Celum. And Stitchworks, the [Alchemist]’s shop owned by Octavia Cotton was not open. It was still closed, despite the [Alchemist] being awake. She sat in her shop, and for once, she was too tired to make a sale.

She knew she had to. The day’s payment had been twelve silver. More than half a gold coin! For an [Alchemist], it was doable. But Octavia had to sell, and sell well to get ahead of that. Let alone make money.

“But what’s the point? I might as well pack up rather than keep on here.”

Dully, Octavia stared at her racks of potions. The magical glow they gave off was usually enough to cheer her up. But today the colors just looked pale. Fake. Octavia was an [Alchemist]. She could see the low quality of her own potions.

She used to think she made up for quality with quantity, an affordable margin for both her customers and herself. She’d liked to imagine she was making her mark in Izril, despite the competition. Today? She wished she’d never left Chandrar.

Octavia stared at her potions. Then she stared out the boarded-up window of her shop. There were slits between the imperfect covering, but the pane of glass in her door also gave her a view of the street. She could see them, out there. They were watching her.

The [Alchemist]’s eyes flicked to her shelves. To the door. Then to another door, set in the back of her shop. It was a magic door. Or at least, the mana stone glittering in the doorframe was. But if Octavia opened the door, it would just reveal a wall. It wasn’t connected to Liscor at the moment. So she couldn’t just run through with all her gold and potions.

And even if she could, then what? Octavia shook her head. Assume she could get her gold, her equipment, and all her ingredients and wares through. She was still out the cost of her shop. Not to mention she’d have to set up in Liscor. If they even accepted String People. And would Erin let Octavia stay? Or—if Octavia opened the door and asked, begged for help…

No. Octavia shook her head and slowly got up. She went over to her shop sign and slowly changed it. Erin wasn’t going to come to her rescue. She, Octavia, had given up on the thought. Why ask? Octavia hadn’t gotten anyone she knew to slow down and hear her out. Bad pitches, bad timing…it didn’t matter. She knew all the Gold-rank teams had left Erin’s inn anyways. And who would answer her call if she did ask? Erin? That small Gnoll, Mrsha? Lyonette? The Horns?

“Say they did take care of…”

Octavia peeked out her door again and counted. Then she shook her head. And even if they got all of them, Quelm had, what, four times that many lurking about. He’d gone mad. And it was Octavia’s fault. Well, he’d started it by stealing her designs. But…

“Can’t wriggle out of it this time, Octavia Cotton. It was a bad deal and you knew it. You should have just let it lie. Now you’ve got to pay up. It’s just twelve silver. Twice a week.”

Octavia stared blankly at her shop.

“I have to move. To Remendia. Ocre. Or Esthelm. Yeah. They don’t have an [Alchemist], right? Or if they do, how good can they be? City gets sacked by the Goblin Lord—there’s bound to be plenty of business opportunities! I hold on, make a few preparations…Quelm’s not watching the gates, right?”

Her eyes flicked to the window, and then to the magic door again. If only—

“Erin. Ten gold? I could manage that.”

It was all her savings. But if Erin swung it for her…Octavia hesitated. Ten gold wouldn’t buy enough Silver-rank teams for a fight with that many thugs. Not to mention the City Watch wasn’t getting involved. They were bought-off. Or something. Quelm had Octavia’s gold. And his sales from the matches. And…

She was sitting behind her counter. Octavia buried her head in her hands.

“I thought she liked me. A bit? I know I’m a bit pushy. But I thought Krshia—or the Horns—we have a business relationship. I’m still selling to Krshia. Surely—”

She stared down at her counter it was swimming a bit.

“Did they all hate me that much?”

Nothing in her shop answered her. After a moment though, Octavia heard a jingle. She looked up. At least she had this. She put a smile on her face.

“Welcome to Stitchworks, friend! How can I interest you in my potions? Four silver off any first purchase and—ulp!”

She stared at the rough figure that had pushed open the door. Octavia slowly closed her mouth and sat down. The [Thug] grinned at her. He was rough-shaven and smelled of sweat.

“Morning, Miss Octavia.”

“Ah. H-hello. How’re things? Checking in on the shop? I paid yesterday, you know. Promptly and on time! There’s no need for…”

Octavia could normally out-talk anyone she met. But the words dried up as the man looked around her shop. She could see the long knife at his belt. But that wasn’t what terrified her. String People didn’t fear knives. It was fire she feared. Fire and those who caused it.

“Looks like you haven’t got much business. Alchemist Quelm’s concerned.”

“Is—is he? Well, you can assure him that I’ll get him his money.”

Esthelm. She could move tonight if she found a good [Wagon Driver]. And if they weren’t watching her shop. The [Thug] looked around and shrugged.

“So you say. But he’s concerned. And since he’s so worried, he sent me and some of the guys around to help you sell.”

For a second Octavia was confused. Was Quelm mad? Did he think this would be a good [Shop Assistant]? She stared as the [Thug] went over to one of her shelves of potions.

“Help me sell? He really doesn’t need to—hey! Wait! What are you doing?”

The [Thug] was grabbing bottles off the shelf. Octavia rushed around her counter.

“No! Those are mine! Here, you want next payment? I can make it! Tell Quelm—”

She grabbed at her money drawer and realized it was locked. The [Thug] just shook his head. He grinned at her, exposing bright, well-kept teeth. Octavia felt they should have been rotten or replaced by gold.

“Alchemist Quelm has decided there’s a new deal. You’ll be selling your potions through his store. You’ll get your cut—but everything goes through him, got it?”

He grabbed an armful of bottles. Octavia couldn’t take it.

“No! That’s my merchandise! If he takes that—”

Her income was liquid. Literally; more money was in the potions waiting to be sold than anywhere in her shop, even her safe. The [Thug] raised a fist as Octavia grabbed at him and she flinched.

“Don’t. We’re taking all of these today. Damn, we’ll need a wheelbarrow or something. I’m not carrying them. You’ll get two thirds—Alchemist Quelm gets a third. And he won’t even charge you a weekly fee anymore. Isn’t that fair?”

“He—that—”

Octavia gulped for air. The world was swimming. If Quelm did that, she’d lose far more than twelve silver every three days. A third of her profits? He’d be the only [Alchemist] selling in the city and she’d be unable to run. And both she and Quelm and the [Thug] knew it. He gave her another pearly smile.

“You can’t do this. This is too far. Quelm—I know we had our grudges, but this is robbery. I’ll go to the City Watch if you take my potions. I’ll testify under truth spell! I have friends in Liscor too. I go through that door—”

Octavia’s voice shook. The [Thug] turned to her. His eyes narrowed. Suddenly, deliberately, he dropped his armful of potions.

“No—”

Too late. Octavia grabbed one bottle, but the rest smashed on the floor. Horrified, she stared as four stamina potions and three healing potions mixed on the floor. That was—at least three gold’s worth of—she looked up as a boot smashed the glass shards flat. The [Thug] drew his knife with a snarl.

“And what? You tell the Watch or you go through that door, and your store won’t last till morning. Neither will you. We’re in charge now, not some [Guardsmen]. Or didn’t you hear what happened to Jeffil?”

Octavia froze, the last potion in her hands. She backed up.

“I heard. But—but—”

The [Thug] grinned unpleasantly.

“Too bad String People can just replace their arms, right? Don’t make us make an example of you. Be smart. Mabel the ‘Magnificent’ is smart. She’s working for Alchemist Quelm. You’ve got one chance to make the right move. Either you agree right now, or—”

He broke off. Octavia heard a sudden roar of sound and jumped. A familiar voice rang out in her shop!

“Okay! Ten minutes! Remember, stay inside!”

The [Thug] swore and ducked back. Octavia turned. The door to Erin’s inn was open! Her heart leapt, but the warning growl behind her made her tense up. And the door was closing as soon as it opened. Octavia opened her mouth—and then choked when she saw who was coming through the door. A Hobgoblin, and—

“What the hell is that?”

The [Thug] hissed at Octavia. Frozen, the [Alchemist] stared at Yellow Splatters and then looked around.

“An Antinium Soldier. And that’s…Numbtongue.”

“That’s a Hob! A flipping Hobgoblin!”

The man looked afraid, which pleased Octavia. She hesitated, looking at Numbtongue. He glanced at her and waved.

“We want to look at things.”

“Uh, okay! I mean, great! Pleased to have you here! And your friend! I’ll be over in a second!”

Octavia smiled nervously. Her eyes flicked to the [Thug]. He glared at her. Slowly, he edged back to her door and caught himself. He leaned over to Octavia and hissed.

“We’ll finish this later. Get them to go away.”

The Stitch-Girl hesitated. The [Thug] caught her arm, squeezing it tight.

“Say anything and we’ve got fourteen people outside your shop. Don’t be stupid. I’ll be right here.”

He bared his teeth. Octavia’s heart sank. She saw him go to the door and wave his hand urgently. Damn. If there weren’t more—she hurried over to Numbtongue.

“Hey, Numbtongue, right? Good to see you!”

The Hobgoblin eyed the [Alchemist]’s smile warily. He sniffed the air and frowned. Then he leaned around her and spotted the puddle of potions. His eyes widened. Octavia glanced at him and then the [Thug].

“Oh, that? Don’t worry about it. Minor spill. What can I do you for? Is uh, Erin—”

“In her inn. She’ll come later. We want to buy a potion. We have…money.”

Numbtongue waved vaguely at the Antinium Soldier. Octavia backed up a step as she saw the Soldier towering over her. Was it her or was this fellow big even for an Antinium?

“Uh—well, uh—a Soldier? I’m happy to sell to all customers, but how do I know what he wants? What you want? Does he have a name?”

Too late, Octavia remembered. You weren’t supposed to ask Antinium their names! She froze, but the Soldier nodded and opened his mandibles.

“Yellow Splatters. I was reborn and given a voice. I am looking to purchase as many potions as possible for this amount of money.”

He opened his money pouch. Octavia’s jaw dropped at the gold and silver glittering there. She could sell—her eyes darted to the [Thug].

“Great! I mean, wonderful! I—I can definitely sell you whatever you need. And, hey did you say Erin’s coming through?”

“In a bit. What’s this?”

Numbtongue replied absently. Octavia glanced at the potion he was indicating.

“Pepperspray Potion. Uh—listen, Numbtongue—”

“Miss Octavia! You’re gonna close up shop soon, right?”

The [Thug] called out from where he was standing. Octavia’s heart sank. He was eying her as he pretended to browse the shelves. And fingering the dagger on his belt. She looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin had a frown on his face as he looked at the [Thug]. Octavia inhaled.

She could tell him. But what if he said no? If it was Ceria, or Pisces, or Yvlon—not Ksmvr—she might have risked it. But she could see more people slowly advancing down the street. And Numbtongue? The Hobgoblin? Weakly, Octavia realized that the [Thug] was going to make her chase out Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. And Erin too.

Erin. Oh no. If she came by and started a fight, he’d knife her. This wasn’t any tough. They’d crippled Jeffil. And they were going to take her potions. How many did he say there were? Fifteen? Octavia looked at Numbtongue. The Soldier. Then she thought of Erin. If Erin got into a fight and they drew their weapons—

The sigh that escaped the [Alchemist]’s mouth was slow and long. And she wiped her eyes across her stained sleeve once. That was all. Then she gave Numbtongue a big smile.

“Actually, you came here just in time, Numbtongue. I’m doing a clearance sale. Reorganizing my stock. Whatever you want—it’s half-off. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it to you.”

The Hobgoblin did a double-take. So did the Soldier. He looked at her suspiciously.

“Really? Is this a…trick?”

Octavia had to admit that she’d never done a sale like that without some kind of trick. But today she just spread her hands wide.

“Nope! Let me get you your potions. I think Erin’ll have to wait on coming through; let’s do business before she gets here. Okay?”

“Are you sure?”

The Hobgoblin’s response was so normal, that Octavia wavered. She looked over her shoulder. And she tried to think of a code, something he could relay to Erin. But she was sure that the [Thug] would pick up on anything obvious like that.

“Just grand, Numbtongue. Just grand. What can I do for you?”

The Hobgoblin exchanged a glance with the Soldier. And Octavia could have sworn she saw the Soldier’s antennae do some weird twitching. But it didn’t matter. She’d sell them everything she could just to spite Quelm. And then let the gang take her goods. And then leave Celum or…she looked at Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. They looked strong. Stronger than the [Thug]. But there were a lot of thugs outside.

And she didn’t have anything to offer them. Even if she could warn them. It wasn’t a good deal for them. So Octavia bit her lip and smiled.

“Come on. Time’s money. What do you want?”

—-

There was someone else watching Stitchworks. The [Enforcer]. The [Nightstalker], and her [Blackguard] escort. They sat in the little bakery café. It had been a few hours, but they’d bought enough snacks and drinks to keep the [Baker]’s assistant quite happy to let them stay as long as they walked.

They’d been good for gossip too. The polite, well-mannered man with the hat who’d tipped well had asked any number of questions about Liscor and the magic door that the [Baker] in training had been only too happy to talk about.

Now they were watching the door as she reluctantly helped her master, who was actually a mistress, prepare dough in the kitchen. And at the table, the [Nightstalker], who’d been sitting and slowly drinking the hours by while gnashing her teeth, suddenly swore and sat up.

“Fucking rotted Ghoul dicks. What the hell is that?”

Even surprised, she was too professional to point at the [Alchemist]’s shop. Nor did she need to. The [Enforcer] and the [Blackguard] had seen the same thing. The [Blackguard] checked his blades. The [Enforcer] just tipped up his cap and sat up.

“Well, that’s not something you see every day.”

“It’s fucking insanity. What the hell’s going on in Liscor? No—where does that damn door lead?”

The [Enforcer] winced at the [Nightstalker]’s language. But he didn’t take his eyes off the strange pair who’d entered the [Alchemist]’s shop. He stared at the green Goblin and the insect-man as they wandered about the shop.

“I believe it’s a Hobgoblin. And that other one is…an Antinium Soldier.”

The [Nightstalker] settled back in her chair, but only slightly. She was gripping the stilettos concealed in her dress.

“They came at the wrong time. That [Thug] was just about to wrap up that shop with his gang.”

The [Enforcer] nodded quietly. It hadn’t been too interesting to see. Predictably, this Alchemist Quelm had sent a gang in to make sure his competition didn’t fly the coop as it were. Taking their goods and selling them through his store was a classic move that hadn’t impressed him or the [Nightstalker]. But now a wrinkle had entered the plan. A very big wrinkle with four arms and another one with green skin and glowing eyes.

“Hobs. Fucking Hobs walking about in daylight.”

“I heard there were some in Liscor.”

That didn’t come from the [Enforcer]. It was the first words the [Blackguard] had spoken. The man must have been rattled to break his silence. The [Nightstalker] glanced at the man and glared.

“It doesn’t change things. But maybe they’re our marks. Who knows? You see anything?”

She was clearly expecting the answer to be ‘no’. But the [Blackguard] leaned forwards.

“Yes. I do.”

“What?”

The woman sat forwards. And now her eyes were fixed on the two. She glanced at the [Enforcer] and leaned over to the [Blackguard]. He whispered urgently to her and her eyes widened. She kept her voice low, shielding her mouth, but the [Enforcer] wasn’t looking at her. He was adjusting his cap and sniffing the air. A foul odor drifted towards him.

“Well, this is a right mess.”

He muttered to himself, and reached for something concealed at his side. A bit of leather and lead, that was all. And inside the shop, the Hob and Soldier were wandering about, peering at bottles. The [Enforcer] could see them through the door and the boarded up window, moving about. The [Nightstalker] narrowed her eyes. She had a better vision Skill than he did; she could clearly see through the boards of wood.

“That idiot [Thug]’s still there with the Stitch-Girl [Alchemist].”

“Probably to make sure she doesn’t run. Not that she’d abandon her shop. That’s her livelihood.”

The [Enforcer] commented. The [Nightstalker] nodded, her enmity with him forgotten. Her painted nails drummed on the table. She glanced down the street. More people were moving towards the shop. The [Enforcer] grimaced; he saw the gang he’d met that morning drifting towards Stitchworks, as subtle as a cow walking through a brothel. The [Nightstalker] bared her teeth.

“Look. The Hob’s noticed the gang outside. See the way he’s looking over the shelves? So’s that bug. What’re they going to do?”

“Interfere?”

The [Enforcer] frowned. He could see the [Alchemist] tagging along besides the Hob, clearly offering him a potion. Was she trying to get rid of him? From the way the [Thug] was glaring, he’d made a threat. Get rid of them so we can take your inventory. The [Enforcer] shook his head. Classless. Embarrassingly rude. Unconscionable, even. He itched to intervene. But he had a job and that was to watch.

The [Nightstalker] snorted. She was eying the dozen plus men and women now loitering about Stitchworks. They were clearing the street; the passersby could smell trouble. They’d probably already seen Quelm’s thugs shaking down the [Alchemist] before.

“It’s not their fight. Two versus fifteen? And I saw a second gang close by. Looks like that Quelm has people looking for us after I stabbed that idiot. Would you take those odds?”

The [Enforcer] didn’t reply. But he knew even the [Nightstalker] and her [Blackguard] bodyguard would have hesitated if the fifteen had showed some teeth in the alleyway this morning. They might be low-level, but numbers were enough in a fight. A knife between the ribs was all it took, if you didn’t have the right Skills or magical equipment.

“They might have numbers, but it looks like they’re spooked by the Antinium and Hobgoblin.”

“Amateurs.”

The [Nightstalker] sneered. The gang was right outside the shop, giving the nervous [Thug] inside visible support. He looked relieved and began haranguing the [Alchemist] inside the shop. She stepped back to argue with him, pointing at the Hob and Soldier. The [Enforcer] cursed and craned his head to see.

The odd duo were talking, staring at a potion and occasionally looking at the [Thug] and at the gang outside. They were clearly aware of something, but how much the [Enforcer] couldn’t say. He’d known…well, Goblins were unpredictable sometime. And he’d never met Antinium. The sight of that Soldier made his skin crawl. But then the [Enforcer] saw the [Thug] reach his breaking point.

Inside the shop, the [Alchemist] was arguing with the man. He, impatient with her, nervous of the two strange creatures, did what came naturally to a man with her. As Octavia Cotton pointed at the magic door he lost his temper and struck her across the face. It was a light blow, but Octavia went stumbling back, clutching at her cheek.

The Hobgoblin and Soldier looked up. For a second, everyone, the gang outside, the [Thug], the [Enforcer] and the [Nightstalker] and [Blackguard] tensed. The Hob looked at Octavia, blinked, and then pointed at the bottle in his claws. The Soldier nodded and they went back to talking. They didn’t move and Octavia raised two placating hands as the [Thug] shouted something at her.

The [Nightstalker] snorted.

“They’re smart at least. Do we really have to watch this no-name [Alchemist] get shaken down or can we—”

The [Nightstalker] broke off, eying the [Enforcer]’s face. The [Blackguard] turned in his chair to eye the Brother as well. The [Enforcer] slowly tugged the hat lower on his head.

“I’m going to stroll closer.”

He stood up. He’d already paid for his food, so he left the table and the Sister of Chell behind. Slowly, the [Enforcer] strolled down the street. Inside the shop, Octavia was placating the [Thug]. And it seemed the Hobgoblin and Soldier had made their decision. He was showing a glowing, green and blue bottle to her and she was nodding.

The [Thug] stepped back, practically trembling with adrenaline as the Hob walked past her to the counter with the [Alchemist]. The Soldier stayed where he was, next to the door. The Hobgoblin turned as he passed the [Thug] and pointed to the bottle. The [Thug] recoiled and snapped something.

The [Enforcer] slowed as he saw the Hobgoblin raise the bottle and smile. It was a toothy, big smile that exposed his teeth. And his crimson eyes widened. He turned back to the counter as the [Thug] backed up. Then he whirled and smashed the glass bottle into the [Thug]’s face.

The sound of the glass breaking was audible from inside the shop. The [Thug] stumbled back, clawing at his face as the potion ran into his cut face. The Hob inspected the man’s face. Then he grabbed the man by the collar.

The [Enforcer] saw a blur of motion. He cursed and accelerated, casually walking towards the group of low-level criminals outside. They were staring into the shop, looking at each other. The [Enforcer] heard a shout from inside.

“Numbtongue, wait—”

The next thing the [Enforcer] saw was the body of the [Thug] flying through the boarded up window. He landed on the ground in a shower of wood and splinters, face bleeding. His friends recoiled. The door to Stitchworks slowly opened and the Hobgoblin walked out. He strode over to the [Thug], who was lying on the paving stones. The man tried to get up, gasping, his lungs and chest malfunctioning. The Hob regarded him. Then he waved at someone in the shop.

“You stay there.”

He turned and stomped on the man’s chest. The [Thug] screamed. His friends grabbed their weapons. And the Hobgoblin turned around. Fourteen Humans surrounded him. They had knives, clubs, a spiked mace, even a sword. He had his bare hands, two potions at his belt, and a small sack at his waist. No weapons. The [Enforcer] sniffed the air and smelled for death. He saw the Hobgoblin grin. And after a second, so did the man.

—-

There was no point to this fight. No benefit. Numbtongue raised his fists as the shouting Humans surrounded him. They were screaming, asking questions, making threats. As if they hadn’t seen him just throw their friend out Octavia’s window. They were clearly amateurs. When you saw an enemy, you didn’t shout at him. Numbtongue spun.

Instead, you did this. He lunged at the nearest Human, a man, and grabbed his arm. The fellow had a club and recoiled. He tried to yank away, but Numbtongue had his club arm. He raised his other hand to punch. Numbtongue was faster. He hit the man across the nose and heard something crunch. He stumbled back, screaming and Numbtongue took careful aim with his knee.

The crunch was the sound of Numbtongue’s knee hitting the man’s groin. Perhaps the man had had some kind of protective leather cup there. Either way, it was now part of his genitalia. Numbtongue let go of him and the man dropped, clutching at his privates.

“Dead gods! He got Blaikil!”

“Get him! It’s one Hob!”

The Humans were screaming at each other. Numbtongue swung around and saw the first one move. He dodged backwards as a knife swung at his stomach and grabbed the arm attached. His claws dug into the skin and whoever was holding the knife screamed and dropped it. That was sloppy. Numbtongue belted the Human woman in the stomach and jumped back as she threw up. He looked for the knife—

And someone slammed into him from the side. The Hobgoblin went tumbling as a huge man stuck him a blow across the face and kicked at him. Numbtongue rolled, sprang to his feet, and grabbed the leg as it hit him in the chest. He growled, and twisted the leg until he heard something go pop.

The scream this time was rewarding. The man fell, clutching his leg. But another swung and Numbtongue felt a spiked club tear across his chest. A tearing pain made him back up, shielding his face. The spikes tore at his arm, and the [Bandit] hollered.

“I’ve got him! Stab the monster! Stab him—”

His friends charged Numbtongue. Six on one. The Hobgoblin fell back, cursing. It wasn’t a good fight. They might be unprepared. They might be lower-level. But there were so many. Why take this fight? Why do it at all?

Octavia had nothing to offer Numbtongue. Nothing he couldn’t buy at another shop. And the trouble of saving her wasn’t worth it. Not to the [Alchemist]. Or the [Enforcer], or [Nightstalker] or gang. It didn’t make sense to them. But it did to Numbtongue.

Sometimes it wasn’t about what someone had to offer. Or about how useful a person was. It wasn’t about value, or cost. If you thought like that, people became numbers. And if you gave people value, what value had Goblins? If that were so, Erin Solstice would never have given a Goblin food. Or asked a Worker’s name.

As the gang swarmed Numbtongue, the door to Stitchworks opened a second time. The men and women closest to the door looked up as it opened a second time. They stared and screamed. The rest turned as a huge shape barreled out of the door.

It had taken Yellow Splatters eight seconds to walk around shop without bumping into anything. Now the Antinium charged. His fist took the man with the spiked club in the face. The man spun—the other three fists lashed out, pummeling the Human. Yellow Splatters turned and his hands grabbed a Human [Thief]. He lifted the screaming man overhead and threw him on the ground.

The gang stared at their friend as he fell. They listened to the sound he made as he landed. He didn’t move. Yellow Splatters looked around and his mandibles opened wide. His deep voice boomed as Numbtongue set himself behind the Antinium.

“Flee. Or stand and suffer.”

The Humans wavered. They looked up at him. A giant, a black-brown insect from the nightmares of Rhir. A Soldier. And behind him, a monster with glowing red eyes that grinned.

Goblins and Antinium really didn’t count cost. Erin had never counted the cost of kindness. You did what you did. And that usually involved hitting things.

Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters charged with a roar that shook the street. Two against thirteen. The Hobgoblin leapt and kicked a man in the chest, ignoring the sword that slashed at his side. His blood hit the street as he and the man fell. The Human reached for the sword—Numbtongue kicked him in the face as hard as he could. The man’s head snapped back and made a gurgling sound. But it wasn’t enough to kill. Numbtongue saw a confusion of legs as he rolled.

Up. He had to get—someone rammed into him from the side, a knife stabbing. Numbtongue felt it hit his gut twice. He sucked in, but the pain wasn’t even registering. And to the woman’s horror, he caught the bloody knife with one claw, ignoring the way it cut his palm. He tightened his grip as she tried to pull away.

“Dull.”

Numbtongue informed her before he put a thumb in her eye. Screaming, the woman let go and Numbtongue tossed the knife aside. Any blade he could grab that hard without losing his fingers was dull. It had still gotten his stomach. The Hobgoblin reached for his belt and saw someone swinging at his chest. He raised an arm and felt the impact as a [Highwayman] hit him with a cudgel. The man gaped and Numbtongue kicked him in the groin as he grabbed a potion. It was a winning tactic.

The Hobgoblin didn’t bother to uncork the vial. He tossed it into his mouth and chomped. Shards of glass splintered, cutting his mouth, but the cuts began to heal as the potion flowed down his mouth. Carefully, looking around, Numbtongue held the shards with his tongue and spat them in the face of the next Human he saw.

This was a fight. This was a fight! The Humans were everywhere. And though they outnumbered Numbtongue, he was not alone. Behind him, Yellow Splatters had his back to Octavia’s shop. He looked around as six Humans came at him at once. A man stabbed at him with a long-handled knife and the blade sunk into the [Sergeant]’s carapace. A few inches. Then the poor metal snapped.

Casually, Yellow Splatters backhanded the man with one of his four arms. Then he turned as another man charged him with a yell. The Soldier swung left with two arms into a man’s chest and stomach, and then left, hitting a woman across her scarred face and belly. Both Human’s bodies made dull, heavy sounds and their feet left the ground. When they landed they crumpled into heaps.

“[Power Strike]!”

Someone struck Yellow Splatters from behind. This time the Soldier’s carapace cracked as a fellow with brass knuckles delivered two powerful blows into his back. But aside from a green trickle that began to run from the cracked spots, the Soldier barely staggered. The [Brawler] paled as Yellow Splatters turned.

“Five Families save—”

All four of Yellow Splatter’s arms shot out. Two grabbed the [Brawler]’s fists. The other two began battering the man in the face and chest. After five seconds, Yellow Splatters let go. He turned around and the other Humans backed up.

“Antinium.”

Someone whispered it. The Soldier nodded. He looked at the weapons the street gang held. They were deadly in Celum. A club with spikes, a sword, a few daggers—they were good against Humans. Drakes. Gnolls and Goblins even. But the Antinium had been built for war.

“Come or flee. It makes no difference to me.”

He raised his fists and advanced. The others pulled back. Numbtongue, seeing Yellow Splatters advance slowly, shouted a warning.

“Dodge!”

The Soldier glanced at him. Then he twisted. Too late—the vial exploded and half of Yellow Splatter’s body was aflame! The Soldier made no sound, but instantly dropped and rolled. But the vial had been sticky oil. The flames refused to go out and the Humans swarmed the Antinium, kicking and beating at him.

“Off!”

Numbtongue leapt at the nearest one. The man turned and screamed as Numbtongue grabbed his arm, ready to break it. The Hobgoblin twisted and then felt an arm descend around his throat. He twisted—but too late. The man tightened his arm in a chokehold. Numbtongue gasped, staggering forwards and the man shouted.

“I’ve got it! Stab it—stab—”

He shrieked, clutching at arm and letting go of the choke hold. His friends stared at the huge chunk of flesh missing, gushing blood. Numbtongue spat the flesh and grinned with bloody teeth. He turned, head butted the man and heard a nose break again. Then he punched.

One rib. Three. The man gurgled and fell down. Numbtongue looked around as he grabbed Yellow Splatters and hauled him to his feet. The Soldier came up, wiping at the liquid. He clicked and Numbtongue grabbed for his other potion.

“Drink!”

The Antinium grabbed at the vial. Numbtongue whirled. There were…seven Humans left. They backed away as he bared his bloody teeth at them. They had wide eyes and they were panting, despite only having fought for—what, a minute? Less?

They could do this. Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue. Despite the numbers. The Humans weren’t ready for this fight! They might have killed once or twice, but they hadn’t fought in the battles Numbtongue had. They weren’t prepared for his ferocity or his willingness to do anything to win. Or Yellow Splatters’ strength for that matter.

But they did outnumber the two. Only six or seven now, maybe, but Numbtongue knew how this fight worked—he’d been on the other side of it countless times before. One high-level adventurer versus dozens of Goblins. He might cut them down, but if one managed to land a blow, or if he fell, he was dead. He raised his fists, looking around. If they could retreat into Octavia’s shop—grab some more potions—

Then ten more masked Humans ran around the street corner. And they were holding bared blades and clubs. One stopped when he saw Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters, but the man who’d run to grab them screamed.

“That’s them! Get them! Backup’s on the way!”

Seventeen Humans advanced. Nervously, but in concert. Numbtongue growled and Yellow Splatters, the flames still burning, looked about.

“The alchemist’s fire—”

“Back. Backs to the shop.”

The Hobgoblin and Soldier backed up. The Humans chased them. Only two had what looked like throwing weapons. Numbtongue ducked and Yellow Splatters blocked a throwing knife with one arm. It glanced off his armor, and another Human heaved a brick. It shattered on the Antinium’s other arm.

No more alchemist weapons. But some of the Humans were tending to their friends with potions! Numbtongue cursed.

“Them!”

He pointed. Yellow Splatters didn’t ask questions. The two charged, scattering the Humans before they could revive their friends. Numbtongue grabbed at a potion, twisted an arm out of its socket. Took a fist to the face. He snarled, kicked out, and hit a Human in the groin. It was a woman so she didn’t fall down from that alone. A second kick to the same spot dislocated her hip.

Numbtongue whirled, dodging another knife. He grabbed the arm and swung his elbow as hard as he could into the face that followed when he yanked. He cursed as he looked for Yellow Splatters, twisting out of the way of another Human and throwing him into his friends. This wasn’t how Redfangs fought! They outnumbered their enemies! And Numbtongue hadn’t brought his sword or his guitar.

He felt two—three pairs of hands grab him from behind. Cursing, the Hobgoblin struck backwards, but they were holding him still. And in front of him, a Human with a crossbow was aiming it. Real weapons. Numbtongue struggled as the man sighted, ignoring the peril to his comrades. He aimed at Numbtongue’s stomach—and a Human man standing next to him lifted the bolt out of the bow. The [Crossbowman] gaped—and the [Enforcer] stabbed the tip of the bolt into his chest and twisted.

The hands holding Numbtongue slackened for a moment in surprise. Numbtongue twisted, saw the first Human and leaned over and bit. The screaming woman clutched at her shoulder. The other Humans started back too late. Numbtongue yanked a head down into his knee and turned around. The man who’d stabbed the [Crossbowman] stepped past the downed archer; the crossbow was busted, having been slammed into the man’s chest until both bones and frame broke. He tipped his cap to Numbtongue and smiled.

“Pardon me, sirs. Saw you were in a bit of a scrap. And I’m afraid my fellows wouldn’t forgive me letting this rude lot go.”

So saying, he drew the object at his side and turned. An outraged [Footpad] with a garroting wire staggered back and Numbtongue saw his nose was broken. The [Enforcer] adjusted his cap, and then stepped forwards smartly.

He was quick. And as ruthless as any Goblin. The man stomped, broke the screaming [Footpad]’s foot, and knocked him flat with a blow from the leather sap he carried. Numbtongue stared as he turned around.

“Back.”

Numbtongue whirled, and his elbow caught a woman across the head. She went down in a moment. Absently, the Hob grabbed a man and put him in a choke-hold, keeping him in front of the man’s buddies while he watched the mysterious Human set to the people around him. What was he carrying?

A sap. It was a bit of leather filled with something heavy, extending the [Enforcer]’s reach by only a hand’s length. It wasn’t a tool any Goblin would use. But here? On these streets? The [Enforcer]’s hands were almost too quick to see! He was striking people with the sap, multiple times each second, elbow, arm, fingers, jaw—he stepped back as a burly man swung past him with a cleaver. The Brother raised his sap and stepped into the man with the cleaver’s guard.

“[Shatter Blows].”

His sap struck the helpless [Rogue] across the chest, the arm, the face. Numbtongue could hear bones breaking with each strike. The [Rogue] fell down. Numbtongue realized the Human he was holding was unconscious. He let go, ducked a swing, grabbed a leg, yanked up. It was easy to kick the Human on the ground.

Someone came at Numbtongue from behind, but they disappeared. Numbtongue whirled. And Yellow Splatters tossed the Human aside. Numbtongue looked up at the Soldier. And he saw Yellow Splatters turn.

“Cover me.”

And Numbtongue did. The moments blurred together. He stood with his back to Yellow Splatters, shouting.

“Redfang!”

And then it was like how he remembered fighting. The Humans were everywhere. But his friend was at his back. Numbtongue spun, kicking, grabbing for a weapon. A club—he swung it and the wooden club locked with a sword trying to take his chest.

More Humans! Numbtongue didn’t know where they’d come from. Suddenly, there were twenty around him! Yellow Splatters guarded with two arms, swinging with blows that lifted men and women off their feet and put them on the ground. But he was too big a target. Someone threw a bag and vines showered him and Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin fought clear and a mace caught him on the side of the head.

Reeling, he nearly tipped over. The [Brigand] tried to finish him off and a potion exploded in his face. He clutched at his eyes as a Pepperspray potion detonated. More Humans scrambled clear. But there were more of them as Numbtongue got up. Yellow Splatters moved back, guarding the shop as Octavia hurled potions out of her window. Numbtongue swung his club and hit something.

But they were losing? No. Yes. The [Enforcer] spun past him, dodging four people at once, his hat clean. But he’d taken a knife to the side. Numbtongue looked around.

So many Humans. Where did they keep coming from? He looked down at the club in his hands and realized he was bleeding. He felt at his side. An arrow stood out.

“Ow.”

The [Bard] grinned weakly. He looked around. And the Humans were closing in. He looked back at the shop.

“Numbtongue!”

Yellow Splatters roared as he threw another Human. But he was cornered, his carapace bleeding. Three versus twenty had been done. Three versus thirty was possible. But forty?

Numbtongue looked around. He was surrounded. A [Warrior] with a sword advanced, and Numbtongue saw four more Humans closing around from each side. The Redfang Warrior bared his teeth.

“It’s just one Hob. Kill it.”

Shakily, one of the Humans breathed. Numbtongue looked at him. But it was true. Numbtongue was just a Hob. Not Headscratcher. Not Shorthilt. If he’d had this club—Numbtongue blocked a slash from the [Warrior]. He staggered, slipping. Someone jumped in, stabbed Numbtongue along the shoulder, darted out. The Hobgoblin twisted his head, took a punch from a pair of brass knuckles.

If only I was Headscratcher. If only he were Pyrite. The other Goblin’s memories surged in his head. He’d fought Eater of Spears. He’d hurt Reiss! He’d stopped Tyrion Veltras. He could have won this fight. With fat. With strength. With skill. He would have seen them coming. The sword flashed at Numbtongue’s face.

Pyrite would have ducked forwards.

Numbtongue knew it. He ducked forwards and the blade flashed over his head. But because he was moving the Human [Warrior] actually ran into him. He tried to bring the sword down, but Numbtongue was under his arms. The Hobgoblin rose, staring at the sword.

Good sword. Pyrite would have taken it. How? Oh—

Another bite. This time down to the bone. Numbtongue felt a wrench as the [Warrior] yanked his arm free, screaming. But he’d loosened his grip on his sword. Numbtongue seized it. He eyed the blade.

Iron. Not too sharp. But decent. What would Pyrite say? Not good. But okay. The [Warrior] grabbed at a dagger. Someone charged Numbtongue. A dagger for his back. And Pyrite—

In the street, a Goblin turned. With one hand, he swung the iron sword in an arc. He brought it down and the hand stabbing towards his back fell on the ground. The Human holding it stared at his stump. Then he clutched at his arm and screamed.

In a dream, Numbtongue stared with interest at the Human. He looked at the sword, impressed. That was a good cut. As good as any Shorthilt could have made. He didn’t know how to do that.

And yet—he did. The Hobgoblin turned, and both of his claws grasped the sword’s hilt. He took a stance. A proper one, not like the self-taught [Warrior]’s fighting style he’d learned as a Redfang. The [Warrior] with the dagger backed up too slow. The Hob slashed his chest, leapt back, twisted, and cut. A second Human lost her hand, this time at the elbow.

The street—slowed. The gang of Humans backed up. Yellow Splatters, shielding his face, bleeding from a dozen injuries as Octavia tried to heal him, saw a Goblin turn. Numbtongue’s face was dreamy. But his sword swung in patterns and arcs, measured, warding his back and sides. And fingers flew. Hands cut down to the bone. Iron sheared through arm. Until the Humans were running.

Numbtongue cast aside the ruined iron blade. The edge was deformed from the last sword strike. A final Human charged him, not realizing her friends were running. She had blood in her eyes—literally. But his memories, both his and Pyrite’s, told him she was a high-level [Fighter]. Her brass knuckles had spikes on them—she’d gotten the [Enforcer]. The Hobgoblin looked down at his torn left arm, exposing sinew. And him.

The [Bard] might have hesitated, grabbed at the sword. But part of him said look. Numbtongue looked. He saw the woman’s muscles moving along her arm, and saw where she’d punch. Numbtongue stepped back, and the tips of the knuckles struck the side of his face. Then he stepped in.

His punch went through the gap in the woman’s guard. She stumbled back and Numbtongue follow