Goblins. While technically a sapient race, they are regarded as vermin by most other races, since goblins often attack without provocation and kidnap females of humanoid races.
The reason for the kidnappings is clear, but extremely unusual. Unlike seemingly every other race (not including races that consist entirely of one gender, or are genderless) in existence, goblins are able to successfully produce children much more frequently when mating with other races than when mating with their own.
Their savagery, on the on the other hand, can be attributed to their tribalism. They view anyone not from their tribe, even other goblins, as enemies to be killed or enslaved.
Physically, goblins are inferior to most other races, with weak strength, low intelligence and thin skin. They use primarily clubs or looted weapons in combat, not possessing the ingenuity to create their own.
However, there are always exceptions. Occasionally, goblins with exceptional physical or mental capabilities are born. If they make it past their race’s very brief childhood, they generally become the leader of their tribe, resulting in a much larger threat than normal.
-An unknown scholar
I swing my mace up and down, up and down, flinging droplets of sweat into the air with every repetition.
Although I had said that the use of a mace is very simple, I still need to adjust to its weight and centre of gravity. Otherwise, if I swing it in the same manner that I would a sword, the power of the strike won’t be focused on the point of impact.
Well, its always difficult to do that perfectly – your enemy is usually trying to avoid your blow, so you rarely know when and where your weapon will hit precisely. Still, almost is significantly better than way off.
Unfortunately, with the move to Vaaslav city, my training cave is much too far away to use any more. And there still isn’t a usable amount of space or training area in the city – apart from one reserved for military use.
So, I can only do it here, on the grassy plains outside the city. Not as convenient or as prolific with things I can use for weight training as the cave, but things are rarely as convenient as that.
As I am training away, I hear angry voices shouting intelligibly behind me. Sighing, I stop and turn around. Goblins again. Barely an hour, and already another group comes along.
They are short, but still tall enough that it isn’t cumbersome to strike at them. With light green skin, little more than a few animal furs to cover their bodies and brandishing clubs at me, they almost look like little green cavemen.
Honestly, I could probably defeat them with one hand tied behind my back. But rule numero uno of combat: Never take your enemy lightly.
One of the other rules up there? Attacking first gives you an advantage. Unless your enemy is in a fortified location. Good luck getting an advantage then.
Wiping the sweat off my brow to prevent it dripping into my eyes in combat, I charge at the group of four goblins.
They try to spread out and surround me, but I dash to one side, leaving the one on the left facing me alone for a few seconds. A few seconds is all it takes.
Sweeping in with a heavy blow to the head before the goblin has even started swinging, the goblin’s skull caves inwards. If anything, their heads are softer than a human’s.
…I hate that I can tell the difference.
Grimacing at the sight of the gore covering parts of my mace, I kick the still falling corpse into the goblin behind it, causing the goblin to fall backwards with the body of its comrade on top of it.
By now, the other two goblins have made their way around to me, coming at me from either side of the fallen goblin.
I focus on the goblin on the right first, taking my left hand off the hilt of my mace. They both leap at me, swinging their clubs down at me from overhead. Swinging the mace up at where the right goblin will be in a second, I turn my head to face the other one.
So long as I didn’t predict that horribly wrong, my blow will hit it before it hits me. Raising my left arm towards the swiftly descending club, I angle it such that the club glances off my gauntlet. At the same time, I feel the feedback of my mace hitting flesh.
The goblin lands off-balanced, but then again, so am I. However, if my arms can’t attack right now, my foot will do just as well.
Drawing my arms back towards me, and disentangling my mace from the ruptured stomach of a goblin, I snap one iron clad foot out at the final goblin.
These boots have simple, rounded toes, so the strike doesn’t kill the goblin. However, the blunt force trauma leaves it doubled over, retching. After that it is a simple matter to dispatch it.
Wiping a fresh layer of sweat from my forehead, I sigh as the brief thrill of adrenaline fades slowly away.
Goblins are a nuisance to everybody. They attack travellers, merchants, even other monsters, making it harder for us adventurers to make a living. The guild even has a permanent extermination quest running for them: hand in the right ear of a goblin and you get a copper.
In other words, you can work at killing them all day, and only get a handful of coppers.
Not that there aren’t other monsters in the area. There are slimes, boars and horned rabbits, as well as a smattering of less harmful animals. About now you might be thinking that this place is your typical beginner area, right?
It might be, if not for the true rulers of the area – tigers. All I can say about them, is that I’m thankful that they’re usually solitary, nocturnal hunters.
They’re not even monsters either, just your everyday animals. It probably isn’t difficult for me to defeat one in single combat, especially if magic is involved. But tigers are prone to ambushing their prey, and a surprise attack by an animal that big can be deadly, even for hardened fighters.
Taking a coarse square of fabric from my pack, I wipe off the filth covering my mace and put it back on my belt. The cloth itself I wipe off on the knee-length grass around me, and put it away again.
I grab my knife and off the ears of the goblins: cash is cash. Seeing their expressions in death makes the work seem even more grisly, but it’s not as if I feel sorry for them.
They did just try to kill me, after all.
Putting the ears in a small pouch and cleaning and stowing the knife, I start heading back to Vaaslav. Maybe I should check up on the dwarves. The events yesterday made them remember all the death back at Ginerbe, and they went drinking to try and cope.
…Or just for the sake of drinking. Don’t know which.
As for myself, other than thinking, ‘that truly was a terrible night’ or similar things when I think back to the event, it doesn’t seem to have traumatised me at all. How strange…
Unless we find a way to reliably hunt tigers, this place isn’t challenging or profitable enough for us… we’ll probably move to a bigger city soon. But until then, training is the game.
(POV Xiltroth)
Dreary days, enjoyable nights. That’s how time had passed for the last few years, since he decided to fire my teacher.
Until tonight, that is. This time, when I got back to my room, he was waiting for me. He forbade me from going out at night again, and had a bolt installed on the outside of the window, as well as the original key lock to ensure I couldn’t use the same way to sneak out.
And so begins the most wretched days of my life.
Ten days later…
I dumbly stare down at the mechanical pieces in front of me, unable to comprehend how they might fit together, or find it in myself to care if they do at all.
Finding my thoughts drifting to martial arts, I jerk them back to the present. Thinking of that is just torturing myself, now that I can’t do it anymore.
So, I have nothing to look forward to in my life, if he has his way.
…I want to get out of here.
I glance at the parts again, looking blankly at them for another minute. Then, it feels as if my whole body is suddenly infused with energy, excitement bubbling over.
Why shouldn’t I get out of here? My father keeps exploiting me for his own gain, I couldn’t care less about him. And my mother died from sickness when I was young, so I don’t have anything holding me back!
And why can’t I escape? Even my father has no clue what I’m capable of, let alone the guards!
My excitement turns to determination. I’ll have to prepare for my escape. Or rather, the escape is the easy part to manage. I’ll need supplies, money… something to hold them in…
I begin to plan.
Scanning the grounds through my window using a telescope, I mentally track the movements of the guards.
It looks like they’ve changed their patrols since last time… I can only learn them all over again.
My ears catch the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and I shoot swiftly into bed, covering myself with the sheets and remaining perfectly still.
A moment later, a shaft of light spreads throughout the room as the door opens. I feel his gaze passing over me, then the door closes again.
I wait for his footsteps to subside, then get out from under the sheets again, observing once more.
I curse internally as I assemble yet another mechanism. I won’t be able to get money, it’s just impossible. He never gives me anything, and his own stash is too well guarded.
My mind churns through ideas as I go over the locations of every coin in the house.
Then my eyes drift towards my hands, and I smile.
I consider the problem of food as I munch at a plate of deliciously cooked venison and vegetables. There’s plenty in the kitchen, of course, but the chef is almost always in there, preparing food or newly bought ingredients.
But then again, it is a large kitchen, and he’s the only one in it. It shouldn’t be difficult to sneak into the pantry and grab a few things.
…With this, that should be everything taken care of.
Now all that’s left is to wait for the next time he goes on a business trip, so there’s less people coming after me when I escape.
(POV Aaron)
Over the past two weeks of training, I’ve found out a few interesting and annoying things.
First of all, although it may be a bit obvious by now, mana can’t pass through solid matter. Consequently, my gauntlets prevent me from emitting mana from my hands.
But that won’t stop me from casting magic, since I can just emit it from my face. What, you thought that it had to be emitted from the hands? Nah, it’s just an image thing. I’m more used to using my hands, so using them for magic is habitual, even if they aren’t always the best for the situation.
Also, the effect of my mana reinforcement has now reached more noticeable levels. It looks as if I’m somewhat talented at this.
…Why does that thought somehow irk me?
Another thing is my control of magic is slowly increasing. Now, I’m not saying I could prevent my mana from burning a tree, but protecting my clothes ought not to be much of a difficulty anymore.
Again, obvious, but wearing iron armour in the sun for too long makes it practically sear any exposed skin! I REALLY don’t want to experience what that would’ve been like without gloves.
And we’ll be moving to another city soon. The only iron rank requests we’ve seen during our time here are that one bandit elimination, and the tiger hunting ones that pop up regularly.
Me and the twins aren’t suited to dealing with stealthy types, so we can hardly do those without being in high levels of danger every time.
So – new area, new monsters, new people, and more money, hopefully.
There have been some interesting things here, at least from the perspective of a native of this world, so I can have a reasonable hope that there will be even better things to see in bigger cities.
Going and seeing for yourself is the way of the adventurer, right? You don’t wait for other people to tell you about it, or look at paintings, you walk the untrodden paths and see what there is to be seen.
…Not that this is an untrodden path, but that sort of adventuring can wait for when we’re a bit stronger. And have more people. Not like any of us three are experienced in wilderness survival.
And in one last piece of news, I’ve finally been able to take off my bandages. Now I have these badass scars across my face, and people aren’t looking at me strangely anymore!
They’re looking away in fright instead…
Well, this face suits an adventurer, I think. No veteran fighter is without scars, after all.
(POV Xiltroth)
Tonight is the night. He has finally gone on a trip – weeklong, no less – leaving only the guards and servants around the place.
I’ve already started carrying out my plan. I created a simple pack from some older clothing a while ago, hiding it in the hidden compartment that he still hasn’t found.
I start packing after lunch, since the maids clean after breakfast, and the compartment isn’t large enough to hold even a partially filled pack. Some carefully wrapped meats I pilfer after the meal, clothes, my lockpicks, a vial of particularly strong acid and a vial of potent poison secured in a padded container… the essentials.
Right now, I’m smuggling a few choice pieces of equipment from my workshop… I’ve never been questioned by the guards before, but I can’t help but anticipate the worst.
Even though I know that they can’t know, this irrational fear that they’ve already found out about my plans grows in my mind as I walk into my room.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I pack one of the pieces of equipment away in my pack and fit the other on my arm – an arm mounted crossbow.
Small by design, the power is less than a more conventional crossbow, but it’s also easier to conceal and carry around. I put on the pack.
Now comes the most terrifying part, even if I’ve done it a thousand times before.
First, getting out the window. Usually the bolt would be a problem, since I don’t want to damage the window, for obvious reasons. Now, however, I have no such qualms.
Taking out a large square of cloth from the closet and a few pieces of clothing I won’t be taking, I lay the clothes down in front of the window. My floor is wood, so any glass that falls might shatter and make more noise. As for outside the window, that’s grass.
Opening the hidden compartment for the last time, I take out a small container of glue, and laying the square of cloth down on the floor, start pouring the stuff all over it.
That done, I carry it slowly over to the window and slap it on the glass, pressing my hand over the surface evenly to ensure the whole thing adhered. Glue oozes out from the edges, which I would usually wipe with a separate cloth, but I don’t care about spillage right now.
Then after waiting a minute to make sure the glue has set in properly, I punch it sharply, holding my breath in anticipation.
I hear a low crunch and a few soft impacts on the grass outside.
Letting out my breath slowly in relief, I give the cloth a series of punches around the edges, the cloth falling through and onto the grass with another soft crunch.
Looking through, I don’t see any guards around. I pull the bolt and lift the window, the frame of which makes it slightly too narrow to fit through without doing so.
I pause for a moment. The window looks different, now. Before it was a path to a momentary escape, but now it’s a doorway to a new, unknown life. The thought brings a smile to my face.
Lifting myself up and out, I lower myself softly to the ground. Still nothing, but there will be a guard around here in a minute. If he could afford more than ten guards, this might be more difficult.
He always has two stationed at my workshop – it is his main source of profit, after all – another two at the entrance to the building, two at the safe, then four patrolling the grounds.
He used to just have the guards check this, and the opposite side of the house, briefly, but now the two pairs of guards patrol the entire perimeter – which they should have been doing originally, if he was thinking clearly.
The next time they come around, they will almost certainly notice the broken window, so I will have to create a distraction. Keeping low to the ground, I dash as far as I can until there is just ten seconds until a patrol turns the corner.
Turning around, I readied the crossbow and took aim.
I shoot the bolt at a window and flatten to the ground, watching as it smashes loudly through, just as a patrol rounded the corner.
One of them runs to alert the other guards, and the other starts looking around.
Uhh… I thought they’d both go inside, thinking it was a robber or something.
One is better than two, and I can only start crawling slowly backwards, constantly keeping an eye on the guard and checking for any others around.
When he starts looking and walking in my direction, all I can do is get up and start running towards the tree line.
Without even looking back, I can tell he’s chasing after me. And from the sound of it, he’s catching up.
I hear his footfalls getting closer, and just as I am about to reach the edge of the woods, I take a glance over my shoulder and my heart pounds in panic as I see him only a few metres behind me.
I stop and turn around as fast as I can, heart pounding even harder as his sword swings towards me.
Reflexively, I step in towards him, the sword narrowly passing by my side, and slam my palm into his stomach with all my strength.
Not waiting to see the result, I turn again and rush into the woods.
(POV Aaron)
The next morning me, Jakin and Boaz head to the next city, Xantor.
As we travel along the road, long grass gives way to fields of wheat, roaming cows, sheep and farms.
The path goes straight through the centre of a farming village, and continues on as we soon pass it by. Taking off my gauntlets, I stick them in my pack and shake the stiffness out of my hands.
Idly, I lace my fingers together, pushing the backs of my hands towards each other, cracking all my knuckles in one fell swoop. I then proceed to grasp each finger one by one, bending them sideways to crack the second joint, then after that, the last.
As I bend both thumbs abruptly, cracking them as well, I can’t help but notice the twins looking at me, wide eyed. “What? I have flexible fingers.” I demonstrate, putting my fingers up against each other and bending them over ninety degrees backwards.
They shake their heads simultaneously, turning to face ahead again.
I shrug helplessly, putting my hands loose by my sides again.
Gaze roaming around as we walk, I take in the sky; blanketed with white clouds, the woods off to our right; all tall trees and green leaves, the demon walking unsteadily out of them; collapsing to the ground after only a few metres – wait, what?
I hurriedly head over to the collapsed person, ignoring the questioning voices of the twins and just gesturing at them. As I get closer, I take in his appearance. White hair, dark clothes, wearing a roughly made pack and holding a wooden staff in his hands.
Reaching him, I turn him over. Weakly, he mutters, “Food…”
