“Ah,” Toran exclaimed with quiet shock.   He looked down at Hohza, lying face-down on the floor of the elf’s shack.  The orc’s back was caked with mud and his feet hung over the brink.  Standing on the stoop, by his feet, were two goblins.  They stared up at the elf.  The young one nibbled his lip in fear as he wavered between fleeing and staying with the older one, who carried himself with a begrudged formality.

“I’ve you two to thank for brining Hohza here?” Toran knelt to scrutinize his pupil.  The orc had been in a quite a scrap, with fresh lacerations and bruises all over his body.  A lesser orc might be declared grievously injured, but the doctor knew Hohza has suffered far worse. “My name is Doctor Toran,” he introduced himself to the goblins without looking in their direction.  He extended his right hand towards them.

The old goblin crept into the room, stepping around Hohza’s feet, and shook hands with the elf.  “I am Glum, and my Apprentice here—"

“Senior Apprentice!” The young goblin interrupted as he followed his boss. 

“Right, the Senior Apprentice is Tad.”

“Well, Glum and Tad, I thank you for aiding Hohza,” Toran said.  In squatting steps, he circled around Hohza and settled at his head.  The orc snored in his sleep, although his chest rose in uneasy heaves and his back spasmed.  “I don’t think I will have further need for your services tonight however I wouldn’t mind you two staying a bit.” With a grunt, he grabbed Hohza under his arms and proceeded to lift him.  The stink of blood, sweat, and mud made the elf’s nose wrinkle in disgust.

“We could help you with—" Tad began, but Glum pointed the tip of his cane, a giant screw, toward the young goblin and he fell silent.

“I have elf magic aplenty,” Toran said to refuse the offer.  The denizens of this domain doubted someone of his slight build was able to handle the mass of muscle that was Hohza.  Toran had to admit he was surprised such diminutive creatures—even a pair of them—had managed to drag Hohza uphill.

Wrestling the dead weight of his pupil toward the operating table, Toran ignored the fresh stains of black mud and crimson blood on his white night shirt.  The goblins followed the orc into the home, each step deliberate and fearful.  After throwing the injured orc atop the table, muck slopping onto the floor, the elf sighed with relief.  “How could you have helped with that?”

Glum looked about the shack, a bemused smile on his face. “Tad, do you suppose those beams along the ceiling look sturdy enough?”

“Yes! We could use those sheets over there, draped over the chair as a hammock.” Tad pointed at the chair. “We’d roll Hohza on to it, then pull it up with—” He tapped his chin as he scanned the room.  “Those draw strings for the curtains.”

Glum shook his head. “No, no, those wouldn’t be nearly strong enough.  But see, under the Doctor’s table, there? He has rope.” The elder goblin pointed to it with his cane.

That length of rope had proven useful to secure patients for amputations.  Orcs had a natural inclination to punch someone attempting to saw off their body parts.  It could also be used to tie off parts to stop a patient from bleeding out. “I get it!  You’re an industrious sort.  However, your plan would have gotten mud all over those nice sheets,” he looked down and rubbed the back of his head as he thought about the ruined shirt.  “And it would have taken too long.”

Toran reached for a small glass bottle containing a healing ointment, a recipe from the sprites.  He popped off the top of the bottle and traced a symbol on the body of the container with the flat of his thumb.  Gripping the glass tightly, he flicked it toward Hohza several times.  As the ointment spread across the orc he coughed.

Being a doctor was easy with the use of enchanted medicine.  He’d normally not waste such a nicety on an orc unless it was a truly dire situation; they didn’t approve of being subject to magic, especially from the World of Light.  Hohza was more enlightened.  “All done,” Toran said, recapping the bottle.

“That’s it?” Tad asked as he broke away from his boss.  Toran, still holding the glass, looked down at the young goblin.

“Were you expecting incantations? Spectacular lights? Maybe even bizarre, terrifying sounds of otherworldly beings creeping into our realm, drawn by the arcane powers I invoked?” Toran replaced the bottle on his shelf.

“Yes?” Tad answered, looking away from the elf.

“Sorry, but while his injuries are deep and numerous, they aren’t fatal.  As such, it’s only minor magic that is needed to help him.” He repeated the motions he’d made when spraying Hohza with the ointment. “If it means anything, I made sure to give him triple the usual dose, when double should have been enough.” Tad’s sullen expression made Toran laugh.  He cupped his mouth to halt his outburst, fearing the goblin might take it the wrong way.

“Do you fellows drink tea,” Toran asked, hoping they wouldn’t find an excuse to dismiss themselves.  There had been few opportunities to entertain goblins in his thousand years in the Land of Darkness.  Even the lumbering trolls had proven more eager to sit with him … and they had to sit outside!

“It’s late,” Glum said.  He jabbed the pointed end of his cane into the floor.  The wooden slat crackled as the screw’s tip dug in. 

Tad headed for the door. “We really need to return to the goblin quarters.”

Glum turned for the door as well.

“Nonsense! It’s so late that you’re best off staying here. Besides—” With the aid of elf magic, Toran was now addressing them from his kitchen, fussing over a kettle on the verge of percolating.  “The tea is almost ready and it’s a curse to let elven tea go to waste!”

“A curse?” Tad asked Glum, fear making his voice quaver. 

Toran chuckled. 

Glum let off a heavy sigh.  “If you want, we can stay the night. But we’ll have to wake all the earlier to get to our shift on time!”

Chipper, the elf informed his guests: “I’ve plenty of spots where you two could sleep, and sheets to keep you comfortable.” Toran brought them both mugs that wafted a floral steam.  The goblins made themselves settled in among Toran’s piles of books which still waited to be properly shelved.  He would get to it someday; it had only been 1,000 years.

Toran stooped to hand Tad his beverage.  The young green goblin was eyeing the mug suspiciously as he cradled it in his palms.   “Don’t worry, it will help you to sleep.” The elf assured him.

“Thank you, Doctor Toran,” Glum said as he was handed his tea.

Toran settled into a worn armchair and took in a deep, relaxing breath before slowly blowing over the top of his tea to cool it.  “I must admit this might be the first time I’ve enjoyed the company of goblins in my home.”

Tad, the rim of his mug wedged between his lips as he took a hesitant sip, looked toward his boss.  Glum, seeming very unconcerned with what was likely his first meeting with an elf, and a friend of his Dread Lord at that, replied with surprising candor. “We’re not especially trusting of elf magic.”

Regret pinched at the edge of Toran’s mind at the trick he played when preparing the tea.  “Neither are the orcs or trolls.  They’ve only ever really encountered it at the hands of invaders.”

“Invaders rarely come into the Machines Works, though,” Tad added, his voice strained.  From the way he was puffing his cheeks, he likely found the tea too hot. 

“True, but we’ve tried to integrate elf magic into the Machines Works in the past.  They were complete failures.  Elf magic breaks goblin technology.” Glum sipped his tea, seemingly unbothered by the heat.

The Machine Works predated Withering Sorrows’ rule of this domain.  If the goblins had made these attempts during the 10,000-year reign of Withering Sorrows, then the Dread Lord wasn’t aware of it.  Did these goblins keep records that far back or had they conducted such experiments in secret, the elf wondered.

 Tad looked toward Hohza.  The orc was lying still on the medical table although he occasionally stirred and murmured in pain. “You’re familiar with Hohza and he doesn’t seem to mind you using elf medicine on him. Does he come to you often for help?”

“He is my protégé,” Toran answered after some thought.

Glum laughed.  “Are you a blade master, Doctor Toran?” He looked about for any weapons on display. 

The doctor still owned a saber, a souvenir of his mandatory term of service as a citizen of Yendell, but it resided in a box beneath his bed and hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries.  “From time to time an orc or troll displays an aptitude that can’t be furthered by the compulsory training of the Dread Lord’s army.  When that happens, I do my best to guide the development of that individual’s talent,” the elf answered.

The goblins shrugged at each other.

The elf rubbed his chin. Were there never goblins who didn’t fit into a life of toiling in the Machines Works?  Perhaps not, considering none had been sent his way.   “For example, about two hundred and fifty years ago there was a particularly bright troll named Orgunsir."

Tad snickered at the suggestion of a bright troll.  His tittering was so violent that tea crashed over the lip of his mug. It was a shame such prejudices existed even among these creatures.  Toran rolled his eyes and waited for the young goblin to regain his composure, which was helped along by the stern glare from his superior.

“Orgunsir had an aptitude for the arts,” Toran concluded.

“The arts?” Glum was as incredulous as his apprentice but contained it better.  Toran wondered if he was surprised by the suggestion that art could be appreciated in a Dread Lord’s domain or that a troll could be an artist.

“Oh, yes, painting in particular.  Make no mistake, Orgunsir could crush an orc under a boulder as effortlessly as any other troll!  However, when he wasn’t doing that, he had a compulsion to paint.  His works were, of course, quite crude when he was first sent to me.  I was able to teach him how to better capture lighting and figures in his work.  To visualize shapes and manipulate them in his mind so he could draw from imagination.  He became quite skilled.  If you would care to come here during the day, I could show you a mural of my home city of Yendell that he put on the back wall of this place.” Toran fell silent as he recalled the pride on Orgunsir’s face as he captured the way light poured in from the city’s mountain top opening and washed over the buildings.  The troll reveled in the etching the shadows of alleys against the light.  With a winsome smile, Toran remembered watching the oaf leaning against the wall, a paintbrush delicately pinched between his meaty fingers as he worked the details on the mural while he helped mix paints.

Then Orgunsir was called to duty.  He fought to defend the domain from a competing Dread Lord and didn’t return.  The paints went dry, the brushes were scattered to the wind, and the mural was never completed.  The elf fell silent as he stared into his cup.

“A troll who paints,” Tad wondered aloud.

“Sounds like the sort of odd thing that Ottis the Odd Goblin would come across.”

Stirred from a sudden gloom, Toran sat up.  “Ottis?”

“Oh. It’s just ... stories that we tell each other,” Tad said.

“You and Glum?”

“No. He’s a character most every goblin in the Machines Works knows about.”

Was this some folkloric figure, wondered Toran.  “Tall tales,” he asked.

“Anything is tall to a goblin,” Glum chuckled. “But certainly tales.  We mostly learn them as lessons in what not to do while working. Not watching pressure gages in the Steam Works or using a hammer when you should use a mallet. That sort of stuff.”

“Ah.” Toran took another sip. “I should like to hear some of these tales some time.”

“Tad here, he knows a bunch. He’s even trying to come up with some of his own!”

“Are you? A goblin who writes stories?”

Tad looked away from the elf.  He hid what little of his face would have been seen behind his mug.  “I don’t write. I just tell them.”

Surely, if these goblins had records going back more than 10,000 years, they made use of the written word.  Before Toran could explain what he meant, the young goblin changed the subject: “If Hohza is your apprentice, what is it you’re teaching him?  Does he paint, too?”

“No.  His speciality is something unique in the Land of Darkness: he’s a rebel.”