"The goblin, like any other monster, is an automaton." I lecture Mills and Christina, gesturing at the bullet riddled corpse strung up at the entrance of the camp, "Driven by a single minded directive to murder and destroy."

Jabbing at the carcass for emphasis, I ignore the slightly gamy scent rising from the ripening flesh. A small wiry creature, with hard knots of muscle all over its body. Its only possessions being a crudely made iron dagger and a clutch of javelins. A scout type that had been sent ahead of the rest of the pack to pin down the exact location of the camp. Mills' guards pumped this sucker full of lead using their muskets, but his buddies managed to escape.

Meaning the rest of the pack will be making their grand appearance in a few hours time. 

"Observe how the goblin warrior carries nothing more than his arms." I continue the presentation, "No personal possessions that point to some form of private life. No tattoos that identify a tribe or affiliation. This is a creature bred for one thing only. War."

"Senior Brother Nair?" Christina raises her hand hesitantly. Good, at least she knows how to follow protocol when addressing me in front of outsiders. I nod and gesture at her to proceed. 

"I heard that the monsters had a culture of sorts?" Christina asks, "The demon king was certainly said to be intelligent."

"War dogs are intelligent." I shrug, "But that doesn't mean you can negotiate with them. Same thing with monsters of all stripes. Their brute instincts will always prevail."

Christina frowns, clearly not accepting my explanation. I decide to hammer in the point a little further. 

"Remember, out there its kill or be killed. And its not just your life on the line. Everyone here is depending on our victory. Got it?" 

"Yeah." Christina reluctantly agrees, adjusting her battle jacket to shield herself from the cold wind blowing through the camp. 

"My people emptied almost all their shot into that clown." Mills observes, poking the corpse with a gloved finger, "I don't think we have enough ammunition or men to hold them off if the main force actually hits the camp."

"A monster's body is literally soaking in magic." I elaborate, "That makes it incredibly resilient to mundane attacks. But that's not an issue for either Christina or myself." 

"Sure. Aren't you going to intercept them like the last time?" Mills asks, stepping away from the corpse with a look of distaste. 

"That would be my first choice, but the scouts showed up earlier than I expected." I answer, "Rushing to meet the pack would just tire Christina and I out. Better to stop the goblins right at the perimeter."

"That's cutting things really fine." Mills frowns, unhappy at my decision. 

"Its for the best." I elaborate, "We know where the pack will show up. I can prepare the ground to our advantage in the time left available to us. Your men can just sit tight and wait for everything to be over."

"Right. You're the expert." Mills hums, but he nevertheless looks nervously out toward the horizon. 

"I've been doing this for almost ten years." I reassure the client, "Everything's under control."

"Alright." Mills finally settles down and begins to walk away, "I'll be in my tent waiting for the good news."

....

I lie back on the patch of moist grass, the crystal spike towering over me providing some much needed shade from the morning sun. Ten years. Ten years of doing this. Has it really been that long? How many of these pacification missions have I been part of? It all starts to blend together after awhile. Like a particularly unsavory milkshake. 

Damn it. I need a big score. Not this 'kill goblin' bullshit that keeps falling into my lap. Never going to get a promotion at this rate. Word back at the keep is that Henrik is going to be kicked up to Captain soon. That's why the Knight Commander has been sending him so much new talent. All for the sake of Henrik building a new unit for himself. But the House keeps giving me these shitty assignments. Did I manage to piss someone higher up the chain off?

Should I leave the House of Robeur and become a free Magic Knight? There were nobles that hired Magic Knights as personal bodyguards, not through the knightly houses but on a personal basis. Mills was one of those guys, and he was smart enough not to openly advertise that fact. Its subtle, but I quickly sensed the presence of another sword master somewhere in the camp the moment Christina and myself arrived. I hear the pay for these kinds of personal engagements is way better than what I make now. And nobles aren't particular keen on risking their personal guard dogs, as exemplified by Christina and I riding out to do battle by ourselves, while the mystery sword master remains in the background. Probably getting ready to pull Mills out if the shit hits the fan.  

The only problem being personal engagements require personal invitation. And no one has seen fit to invite me to join their merry entourage. Should I just ask Mills to provide me with a reference later? As a member of the House of Rahm, his word is certainly worth something, but the need to lower myself to ask for a favor leaves a sour sensation building up in my mouth. And if Mills decides to report my request back to the House of Robeur, I would be screwed as well as a laughing stock. No one would outwardly say anything of course, but there's nothing more pathetic than someone wanting to jump ship but can't find another vessel to take him in. 

Fuck. 

" -enior Brother Nair?" Christina's voice interrupts my musings. 

"Have you ranged your magic yet?" I ask without bothering to open my eyes. From somewhere close by, I hear Christina's horse pace restlessly. 

"Yes." Christina confirms, "But is this really fine? You don't need your horse?"

"I need to stay behind to draw the goblin pack's attention." I explain, "Remember, once you exhaust your magic, ride back to the camp. Got it?"

"That would leave you alone against the entire pack." Doubt and worry permeates Christina's reply. 

"Its alright. Wasting goblins is bread and butter for sword masters." I grunt, picking myself up from the ground.

As I stretch to loosen up my muscles, my eyes spot a rising column of dust rapidly approaching from the distance. Wow, the pack is bigger than I thought. The Beyond must have spawned a goblin warlord. Turning back, I notice Mills and all his workers standing at the edge of the camp, looking on with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Live audience today. Better put on a good show then. 

I pull out a cigarette and clamp it securely in my mouth. Small tongues of flame flare on the edge of my fingers, allowing me to light up. I breathe deep, taking a hit of the cheap tobacco. By now the goblin pack had crossed half the distance that separates us. There's even a war chariot being pulled by a mutant two headed horse somewhere in the middle of the column. A swarthy, heavily armored goblin cracks at the reins while shouting orders to the pack. 

"There's a warlord." Christina tells me nervously, seated securely on her horse. 

"Mm. I'll deal." I shrug, not particularly worried. Christina's not telling me anything I hadn't already anticipated, "The pack is about to enter casting range. Get ready." 

Christina begins her chant as I step to the fore, drawing my old faithful from its scabbard. Its not the best sword ever made, but its the one my parents bought for me on the day I was accepted into the House of Robeur as an apprentice. Any doubts I have about my choice of career aside, the sword and I have trudged on together for the last decade. The fingers of my free hand flash through the rote glyphs, weaving magic into the weapon. 

I can see the leering and snarling faces of the goblins now. There must be at least a few hundred of them. But their weapons are dull and without a trace of magic. Good. 

"Rhino skin." I rasp, feeling the basic defensive spell sink into my epidermis.

My entire body feels heavier, and most importantly, harder. The spell weaves its iron threads deep, binding itself to my skin with an unpleasant tugging and piercing sensation. The first few times I cast the spell I nearly screamed in pain, so great was the discomfort. I'm thankfully used to it by now. It would be pretty awkward explaining to the client why I was screaming like a lunatic before the battle even started. 

"Call starlight, the judgment of heaven." Christina intones, both hands clasped in prayer as a vortex of magical energy erupts all around her. I stand taken aback by the sudden surge of magical power the apprentice is wielding. No wonder Henrik is paying so much attention to Christina. She's easily wielding the power of an intermediate level battle mage. 

"By my will and directed by my hand, go forth, Star Fall Cannonade!" Christina grandly declares, her voice piercing the sky.

The vortex of magical energy around her churns at this command, expending itself in a grand effort to rewrite the laws of the material world. Christina sinks into deeper meditation, wrestling with the spell she had unleashed, shaping it into the desired form. I feel the smothering influence of materialism begin to weigh down on her, seeking to snuff out Christina's magic. 

The heart of all magic is to make the impossible, possible. This stands in stark contrast with materialism, the inevitable mechanical laws which govern the processes of the world. The more outrageous the deed being committed, the more materialism fights back against this encroachment. That's why most wild sources of magic are inert, kept stifled by materialism's influence. You need a guiding mind to rouse the slumbering potential. 

Its why the rhino skin spell causes so much pain to inexperienced knights. Our bodies reject being turned into more than what they are. When a man is stabbed, he should bleed. That's what materialism has to say about it. The rhino skin spell laughs at that arbitrary limitation placed on us. Its also why monsters can shrug off being repeatedly blasted by muskets. Materialism has a very weak hold on beings so heavily infused with raw magic. Monsters need repeated reminders of the world's laws until they succumb.

A low rumbling echoes from the sky and the unhappy pressure weighing down on us is abruptly lifted. Materialism had been firmly put in its place by Christina. A murmur rises from the crowd at the camp and they cast their eyes upward expectantly. 

The spectators are not disappointed. 

A volley of starlight lances straight downward, right into the advancing column of goblins. With earth shaking impact, the starlight slams into the formation, causing a mushroom cloud to erupt. Cries of shock and pain are heard from the enemy side. By the time the dust clears, a good two thirds of the pack have been smeared all over the ground. 

"Huh." I mutter, barely managing to keep my shock in check. That's squarely in intermediate level casting, maybe lower advanced. And Christina's still an apprentice. Is she some kind of prodigy?

As I turn to ask her about the spell she cast, I see Christina wilt like a dried up flower from fatigue. I quickly gesture her to retreat back to the camp and she complies with relief on her face. Henrik had been pushing her hard, that's clear to see. I personally would never teach something that might cause an apprentice to suffer a heart attack. 

But then again, I would not bother teaching an apprentice anything in the first place, so I shouldn't be one to talk. 

I pull out the cigarette from my mouth and toss it into the sky, where it explodes in a shower of sparks. Little more than a petty magician's trick, but it does the job of drawing the pack's attention to myself. The goblins rally and begin charging towards my position, all thoughts of the camp or Christina forgotten. 

Time to get to work I suppose.