Author: PirateAba

Goblin Days (Pt.1) — The Wedding – The Wandering Inn

One of the benefits of being short was the Unpunchability Principle. It was one of Rags’ theories on the world: tall people felt a bit bad about hitting you. This applied even if you were at war; enemies tended to seek out the big and imposing types first. If they did go for you, it was because they thought you were small and, therefore, weak.

The entire world was heightist. Just like it was also rightist and, possibly, racist. People tended to favor right-handed things and liked tall and attractive people. This generally worked as a rule of thumb across species, though Rags would own that she had no insight into Selphids and a few other races.

All this to say that the Unpunchability Principle had worked well in Rags’ relatively short life. Until it didn’t.

The Great Chieftain of the Flooded Waters cartwheeled through the air, rocks and water spinning around her. The roar of Goblins filled her ears; she tried to curl up—hit a patch of rocks, and went bouncing as her side exploded in pain.

Her chest was one big lump of agony. She didn’t think she’d broken anything; the punch had launched her like a stone across the ground. Rags bounced again, hit the surf, and caught herself before she rolled into the sea. She got up, the surf stinging her back, checking her Wyvernhide armor.

It was, amazingly, unbroken. The tough leather lined with red Carn Wolf fur was fine. Rags pulled at her back instinctively, reaching for her prized weapon.

The huge, Dwarfsteel crossbow that had defined her rise to power. Snarling, she looked up as she saw Redscar lifting his swords, slashing carefully at the Goblins surrounding him. He wore similar armor to hers; his attackers were bare-chested, male and female, wearing only loincloths. A gigantic figure pushed them aside as he ran at her; he had to be twelve feet tall, and he looked like Grimalkin—green, huge, and smarter than Rags had thought.

Chieftain Naumel had a fist raised and more scars on one arm than Rags had ever taken in her life. He had an expression she’d never seen on a Goblin: the pure kind of smile that she associated with Mrsha or children. Enjoyment. But also—he whipped to one side, dodging her as she raised her crossbow and pulled the trigger—the look of a Gold-rank adventurer. That casual knowledge he could kill anything and anyone he wanted to.

Monster. The thought popped into Rags’ mind, and she discarded it at once as unworthy of her. She shifted her aim from his face to his right kneecap and pulled the trigger.

The Kraken Eater’s Chieftain dodged again in another burst of speed, but Rags didn’t hear the satisfying click and feel the thud of the giant crossbow fire. Instead, she heard a wretched creaking sound, looked down, and saw one limb of the crossbow was bent. The taut string was going t—

The Chieftain of the Kraken Eaters ran at Rags as the crossbow exploded and kicked her off her feet and into the surf. Rags, struggling to get out of the water, had a moment to look up and see him leaping into the air like a green comet of war.

She used her famously intelligent brain to come up with a thought:

This sucks.

The Kraken Eaters were a famous Goblin tribe known to Izril’s north as the most dangerous Goblin tribe still at large. They had, in fact, survived so many attacks that they were classified as a Named-rank threat. And they’d beaten Named-rank teams like Orchestra.

Part of the problem was that they were hard to track; armies coming after them found no Goblins. The Kraken Eaters stuck to the coastline, mostly, hitting villages or even towns with amazing ferocity, then retreating into the sea. The secret the Humans had yet to learn was that the Goblins swam like fish, even the huge ‘Great Goblins’ unique to this tribe.

Fomirelin; giants who could be over ten feet tall. Like Tremborag had been—but permanently huge. The Kraken Eaters were, thusly, a terror much like the Bloodfeast Raiders. One the Five Families might have eradicated, should have, arguably. But since the Kraken Eaters found easier targets away from Five Family lands most times, they were a lower priority. When they did hit a Terland settlement and the outraged Terlands sent a Golem Reprisal Force after them…the Kraken Eaters made cairns out of Golem heads and looted the bodies for metal for their armor.

They were led by Chieftain Naumel, a Fomirelin [Great Chieftain], who was a ‘battle maniac’ according to Anazurhe, the Goblin Witch Chieftain of the Molten Stone tribe. Naumel had resisted calls to join Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe, and he had been described as the sort who might have refused the Goblin King himself if he’d been alive when Velan had rampaged across Izril.

His warriors had once been captured and taken to Invrisil as part of a menagerie; Nolocks and a number of other warriors of the Kraken Eaters tribe had broken out of confinement and used hostages to escape the city. The Goblin [Skulker] had been content to murder anyone in his way, children or adults, and had refused to run when given an ultimatum at The Wandering Inn: he had chosen to fight and die.

The Kraken Eaters got their name from, of course, eating part of a Kraken they fought. Which sort of set the stage for their martial prowess. They loved close-combat, eschewing martial expertise like the Redfangs in favor of sheer strength and toughness. They subsisted off of what they raided and stole and replenished their losses by absorbing local Goblin tribes wherever they roamed.

Also, their leader was a piece of Creler crap.

That was the information that Rags had on the Kraken Eaters tribe. She had that kind of analytical breakdown about…everyone and everything. She could have written books on Erin. A one-page essay on Mrsha.

Okay, that wasn’t fair about Mrsha…Rags’ mind was organized like a filing cabinet, which she had in her office in Goblinhome. It did her a lot of good as she was picked up by her legs, spitting out seawater, and Naumel punched her again—then dunked her in the water.

“Give up? Give?”

Rags made the mistake of trying to spit out water, and she was half-drowned again by the time she emerged, flailing. She saw a huge grin on Naumel’s face. He raised a fist, and faced with the prospect of more punches to her face—Rags gasped a single word in Goblin.

“Give!”

He dropped her. Rags landed in the water again and hit her head on the stone shelf. This was no nice beach like she’d been led to expect all beaches to be. It was just a bunch of rocks that led out to sea on a coastline filled with seaweed and seagull poop.

When she surfaced, warily, ready to cast a [Fireball] in that bastard’s face if he tried to grab her again, Naumel was gone. He was striding back, fists raised, and his tribe was cheering. Rags swam after him and saw Redscar was down.

The two Frost Wyverns were snapping at the Goblins trying to climb on them, but all the Flooded Waters Goblins were pinned. A few Kraken Eaters had light cuts, but Redscar was being sat on by a Fomirelin. Rags saw him grimace and stare at her; the Fomirelin had five light slashes on her arms, which she was carefully applying spit to.

“New tribe! Kraken Eaters get Wyverns!”

Naumel roared in delight. His Goblins whooped and cheered and let their ‘comrades’ up. One offered Redscar a hand as the Fomirelin got off him. He slapped the smiling Goblin’s claw down.

Puzzled, the Goblin backed away. A Hob, bare-chested and grinning, threw an arm around Redscar. Or tried to; Redscar knocked the arm down. When the other Goblin spread his arms in a ‘what did I do?’ gesture, Redscar sheathed his swords.

The Kraken Eater Hob tried to grab his shoulder in a friendly way. Instead, he got a slap to the face. He blinked, then his eyes crossed, and he snarled. He raised a hand to grab Redscar in the ‘what are you doing, buddy’ kind of way, and Redscar punched him in the face.

The other Goblins stopped cheering as the Hob fell on his back. Redscar turned to Rags, who was poking at her ruined crossbow. It was further bent; the explosion had really damaged it and snapped the wire. Plus, that idiot had stepped on it! She gave Redscar a gloomy look, and he rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Naumel gave both him and Rags a curious stare.

Rags flipped the Great Chieftain of the Kraken Eaters off. Then she stowed her crossbow in her bag of holding and felt at her ribs. She hoped they weren’t cracked.

“This is a bad first meeting.”

She knew she should have tried the south instead.

Two Goblins sat in the spray of waves breaking on the stone shelf of the Taurrel Coast. A long and uninspiring curve of rocky frontage to the waves stretching across Izril’s northernmost edge, about midway through the continent. It ran up towards an outcropping of land jutting out to the sea; to the south, the barren rock gave way to a grudging beach and, beyond that, far more fertile land.

Terland lands. However, even the Golem-loving rulers of the north had little use for an expanse this barren. Not even fishing villages found the limpets and prospect of fishing against the ceaseless crashing waves appealing.

Indeed, as the two Goblins sat and argued, another wave hit a shelf of rocks fifty feet distant; the spray still wet both. The larger one didn’t move; he was like a boulder, bare-chested, covered with salt and weathered like the rocks around him, albeit with scars instead of barnacles and moss.

The smaller Goblin was rubbing at her chest. Her armor was wet. She was still drenched, and a broken crossbow sat in front of her as she fiddled with it, a glare written all over her face. When the water spray hit her, she glared across the entire ‘beach’ with the suggestion that she would personally not mind if this entire shelf fell into the sea.

The big Chieftain, Naumel, pointed at a bunch of Goblins skipping stones into the sea and prizing molluscs off the rocks for a snack. Some were roasting food on fires sheltered from the water by the press of bodies, but his finger aimed at a group of surly Goblins sitting next to two Wyverns, wings folded up miserably against the spray of water.

“I win. Your tribe joins mine.”

“No. Eat seagull poo.”

Naumel’s brows crossed. He was basking in his victory as he devoured day-old steaks. Rags didn’t eat hers. Firstly, they were a day old; no refrigeration or preservation spells on them. Gross, despite them being charred.

The other Kraken Eaters clearly thought it was a feast, but the Redfang and Flooded Waters Goblins were barely picking at theirs, and even the two Frost Wyverns were giving each other dubious looks.

Also, they had no spicing. Someone had done something with…salt? But Rags was used to preparation with her food these days. Would it kill them to have a side-dish of Yellats? A fork? The ‘plates’ were a mismatch of pieces of bark and what looked like fine china fit for nobles.

A Goblin child broke one of those expensive plates with a crash. Instead of a scolding, a Hob just picked up the shards, tossed them into the sea, and gave the child a piece of bark to continue eating off of. The entire tribe was feasting, eating from the ruined wagons they’d hauled to this camp. They were burning parts of it to fry up food and for warmth, and the rest were dividing up the loot.

Rags saw a Hobgoblin warrior trying on a brocaded silk shirt, eying the golden buttons and tearing them off and pocketing them before ripping the shirt off. He tossed it at a female Goblin, who began slicing it into pieces; she was making an extra-large toga for a Fomirelin, and the red strips of silk were being woven into the multi-colored, multi-cloth design in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

But it was, for lack of a better word, crude. Like the entire Kraken Eaters tribe, they had no real technology. Half of them had weapons that looked enchanted in some way. There were needles and even healing potions, but the gold buttons were being shared out like they were gemstones. Goblins were arguing and bartering for them so they could add them to coats or use them as fasteners.

Rags saw a Goblin turn over a set of empty wine bottles in exchange for the buttons; the wine bottles were also important because they were useful liquid containers. A little Goblin was tasked with filling them up with good water and putting them in a Chest of Holding.

This was a real Goblin tribe. An old-fashioned, traditional, raid-as-you-go group. Nomadic. Living off of whatever they could steal or pillage. Even the Redfangs had been more advanced than this.

A huge finger poked Rags again, and she turned to Naumel, who was chewing on two steaks at once. He was a huge Goblin. He had a broad, flat face, very like a shark’s, but his wits still reminded her of Grimalkin, not Relc. Untidy dreadlocks reminded her of the seaweed he had emerged from when she’d seen him attacking the caravan; a colossus rising from the deep.

His fist was as big as her head, and he delicately picked up the steak and waved it at her.

“Is good. Steak. You eat and smile. Your tribe…joins mine. When they come?”

He was still stuck on the issue between them. Rags folded her arm and refused to touch the steak.

“I beat you. You are Chieftain. You join my tribe. This is common sense. Everyone heard you give up.”

The logic, to the Great Chieftain, was impeccable. Rags knew this logic; she’d absorbed many tribes using it.

Goblin tribes who met and quarreled had two choices. Part ways or fight. If they fought, the winning tribe absorbed the other. Goblins who really couldn’t stand the confederation would leave, but by and large, most Goblins just adapted.

It explained why Rags had gotten five minutes into introducing herself before Naumel had punched her. The Goblin rubbed at her chest, and Naumel’s brows crossed.

“You lost. Want to bring all your tribe and try again? Is…cheaty, but I’ll win.”

He sounded dismissive, and Rags snapped back. In the common tongue, because she was tired of the cruder Goblin. He had a weird ‘accent’ too; his body language and some of his words were hard to read.

“No. I did not lose, fool. We didn’t fight! If we had fought, your Goblins would be dead. Redscar and my Goblin warriors didn’t kill them. I did not come here to fight and waste lives! If I wanted you dead, I would have cast [Fireball]. That was no fight, and I am not joining your tribe!”

The other Goblins sitting around their Chieftain looked up, askance, and Naumel recoiled from Rags. He stared down at her.

“But I won.”

“You punched me without warning! If our tribes fought, we’d kill each other. I came to make an alliance! To speak!”

She jumped to her feet; he was so tall it barely made up for the height difference. Rags was five foot something these days, but Naumel was too big to countenance. She’d never met a Goblin like him. Tremborag didn’t count. He’d been able to turn into a giant, one even bigger than Naumel, actually. But he’d had to revert back to the fat Hob after only a few minutes of fighting.

Naumel was like this…permanently. He wasn’t all muscle; he had fat aplenty, but that just made him like Pyrite. His face was a huge frown, mouth open as he chewed on his steak. Then he swallowed.

“You’re…strange. Strange Goblin. Bad loser.”

“I am not. I did not come here to fight!”

Rags stressed that. Naumel just glanced at one of his Fomirelin; there were over two dozen of the huge Goblins, and one of them tapped the side of his head meaningfully. Then made an expansive gesture around his stomach and slapped his groin hard. He winced; Rags didn’t know what that meant, but it wasn’t complimentary. Naumel nodded and turned to Rags.

“You is like that one. Tremborag. Strange not-Goblin. I don’t like you.”

He folded his arms and sat there, scowling. Rags bristled a moment, then exhaled in a controlled manner.

“I am not Tremborag.”

“You is.”

“I am the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe in the High Passes.”

“Don’t know what that is. Don’t care.”

“The High Passes—there?”

She whirled and pointed, but they’d gone so far north via the Wyverns that the High Passes…Rags’ finger wavered, and Naumel smirked.

“Is not that high or I see them. Some warriors go south as…Adventurer City. They say is just mountains. They say Redfangs good fighters. Those ones not.”

He jerked a chin at Redscar, who was sitting in a wide circle of isolation, a cutting insult among Goblins. The glowering [Blademaster] didn’t rise to the jibe, but Rags did.

“They did not want to kill your warriors. He could kill any Goblin in your tribe. Even your Fomirelin.”

She pronounced the word a bit awkwardly. It sounded right and Goblin-y, but she hadn’t known it until recently. Naumel’s eyes lit up with interest.

“Show. Cazmaw!”

His second-in-command leapt to his feet, another Fomirelin who had a huge, two-handed plank of wood studded with teeth. The axe looked dangerous, and it was definitely enchanted; Rags shouted as Redscar put a hand on Garen’s sword.

“Stop! No one is going to fight! You and I don’t need to lose our best warriors.”

Was Naumel mad? The Great Chieftain eyed Rags with disappointment.

“Whomever wins is second-best. After our tribes join.”

“They are not going to—I came to you for an alliance!”

“…What? Like Ogres and Goblins? You is like Tremborag. Blegh. Go away.”

He began throwing steaks from his platter at her. Rags shielded her face.

How bad could his tribe be? I should see if I can forge a pact with him. He can’t be worse than Ogres, I said. Tremborag’s a boor, I said.

After the third steak bounced off her arm, Redscar got up. Naumel paused a moment as the Hobgoblin strode towards him; Redscar was also shorter-than-average for a Hob, having recently become one, like Rags. But he had a hand on the hilt of one of the two swords at his side.

The Great Chieftain of the Kraken Eaters paused—then flicked a greenish steak at Rags’ chest. She didn’t move.

Redscar drew his sword and cut the steak in two. Or Rags assumed; she heard a gasp, but when she turned her head, he just had a hand on his sheathed sword hilt.

Show-off. She huffed at him, but maybe this would work. Naumel’s eyes certainly lit up. She expected him to applaud like some of the other Goblins were doing, but instead, he spoke, and his voice changed from the straightforwards, simplistic Goblin dialogue to something more…

“Ooh. Iai-Skill. Is that [Lightning Draw]? No…no flashy magic. Is that without a Skill? Can’t be; a passive Skill. [Blademasters] move their swords so fast it’s hard to see.”

Rags and Redscar blinked as Naumel switched back to a rather fluent form of the common tongue. Inwardly, she groaned.

Great. He’s a battle maniac.

Of course, she’d known that.

Naumel caught himself, then turned to Rags and adopted what she realized was formality for him.

“He good. Why he not fight like that? He stronger than you.”

Redscar bristled again. He barked at Naumel.

“Strength in weapons is not strength of Chieftains, goat-brains!”

That was definitely a Redfang insult. Rags tried to kick Redscar, but Naumel bellowed with laughter. He slapped his chest, raising a layer of salt dust that had accumulated on him from the breeze.

“Goat-brains! Hah! Strength is strength. Even Molten Stone’s Chieftain is strong in magic. Great Chieftain Rags…where is your strength?”

He eyed her dismissively, and Rags replied in a level, steely tone.

“Strategy. Building things. Taming Wyverns. Having pillows that aren’t moldy. Preservation spells so I’m not eating green meat.”

The other Goblins’ heads swung to her, most in confusion, but her Flooded Waters warriors nodded. Naumel opened his mouth and stared at his steaks.

“You don’t eat green meat? All meat turns green. Stupid.”

“Green meat is bad for you, idiot. You’ll get sick.”

“Not with [Scavenger’s Stomach] or [Barbarian Constitution]! Hah!”

From the way his people laughed…Rags looked around incredulously. Then she regretted taking a single bite of her steak out of politeness. She shook her head, trying to drag them on topic.

“Chieftain Naumel. My tribe is far from yours. Even if we wanted to join yours—which we do not—it would take months of travel to get here. My tribe has a home in the High Passes. I came here to see if our tribes could be friendly towards one another. In hopes of an alliance. You work with the Molten Stone tribe.”

“She does magic. I do not ‘alliance’ with Goblins. This wrong. You not Ogres. Nor Dorhmin. You say our tribes friendly…you don’t eat our food. You don’t fight us.”

“I brought gifts.”

Rags pointed at the small crate of spices, the healing potions, and even weapons she’d prepared as gifts. Unfortunately, what had been curated as a good gift for other tribes…Naumel glanced at dismissively.

“Food and weapons. Is easy to get. Potions nice.”

He seemed grudging about that, especially because Rags saw one of the Fomirelin jabbing him with a long stick. It was one of the female ones; she had, Rags, realized, the glimmer of magic about her.

A [Shaman] Fomirelin? She nodded as Naumel waved a hand.

“We take potions. I don’t like you. I beat you. If you are strong tribe, prove it.”

He had a glint in his eyes that said he wouldn’t give this one up, and Rags just stared at the smile, then turned to Redscar.

“Can you take Cazmaw?”

Every Goblin stirred. Naumel’s second-in-command rose eagerly to his feet as Redscar sized him up. The other Goblin set himself, hands on the hilts of his swords. He gave Rags a confident nod, but one without much joy to it.

He was still grieving Thunderfur. He would have ridden here on his friend and companion’s back if not for the Solstice. The joy he normally took in fighting…Naumel looked at Rags, and she met Redscar’s gaze.

[Silent Order]—Rags nodded at him, and he jerked his head. Cazmaw lifted his axe high with a roar of delight and, like Naumel, charged forwards, swinging so fast that Rags had to dive aside. Naumel rolled out of the way with a bellow of laughter. The Goblins surged forwards with a roar of delight to form a ring—Rags saw the bodies join together, then halt, dismayed.

It was so fast that Rags was barely upright before she heard a shout of dismay from Cazmaw and telling silence. She had to push forwards in the crowd of Goblins to see what Naumel clearly could view from his height. Then she grunted in satisfaction.

Redscar stood in a ring of bodies, sunlight streaming down on him and the huge Fomirelin. However, the light failed to touch Redscar; where it should have landed on him, there was only shade and patches of light.

His shadow; the shadows around him were scattered, like slowly-drifting leaves flurrying around him in a storm.

[He Walked and Shadows Split]. Rags still had no idea what that did. But she could guess from the cut marks running across the sand and up the haft of Cazmaw’s axe.

There were faint slashes on his arm, just now bleeding red—but the Fomirelin didn’t seem to feel the pain. Instead, he was staring down in dismay at the hilt of his axe; the other half was on the ground, cut in twain.

Redscar pointed a sword at Cazmaw’s stomach; the other he kept low to the ground. Rags grinned as she saw him nod at her.

“See?”

She turned to Naumel as Redscar sheathed his blades. Cazmaw picked up his axe head and showed it to the [Shaman], who threw up her hands and groaned. Naumel glanced at his lieutenant’s ruined weapon, at Redscar, and then turned to Rags.

“He didn’t stab Cazmaw.”

“Battle was over.”

“Cazmaw has his hands.”

“Do you want him to die?”

Rags snapped back, and Naumel half shook his head. He gave Rags a mystified, exasperated look, the exact replica of the one she wore.

“You…both you and Redscar are bad Goblins. Not-Goblins, like Tremborag. I don’t like you. And your name is bad.”

Rags rubbed at her face wearily. And what was she supposed to say to that?

What would Erin say? Rags had a moment of guilt. A flash of regret—for being here when she should have been trying to cross the sea. When she should have been there. And knew damned well why she wasn’t ready and why she’d only lead more Goblins to their deaths following Erin.

What would Erin do? Wave a white flag? Charm Naumel somehow with her zany antics and then ask him to fight and die against something that couldn’t die in a war Rags didn’t understand? Or maybe…

“—No, you’re a bad Goblin. And your name is stupid.”

Rags snapped back at Naumel. She had the satisfaction of watching his face go slack—then his eyes narrowed, and his ears twitched. Rags took two steps back and tried to dodge.

This time, she went flying so high one of the Wyverns looked up and caught her in its mouth. Which was, in theory, a good move…except that its intrusive thoughts won and it tried to taste her until its rider made it spit her out. Then Rags got up, shaking her head, as she saw Redscar stab Naumel—then go flying as well.

“I hate this tribe. [Mark Target]. Snapjaw—icebreath on him.”

The Hobgoblin nodded, and her mount, Icecube, inhaled. Rags had the briefest moment of satisfaction of seeing Naumel turn and his brows cross in confusion.

He’s never seen an elemental Wyvern before. When he saw the ice breath coming, she heard a very loud oath, and he tried to dodge as his tribe scattered. Rags staggered upright, snapped her fingers, and produced a huge orb of fire. She pointed at the Fomirelin [Shaman], who groaned and raised her staff.

“[Fast Fireball].”

The explosion made all the Kraken Eaters leap out of the way with honed reflexes; they knew a [Fireball] when they saw one, but the speed of Rags’ projectile made them keep backing away warily. They scrambled for their armor and weapons, and Rags turned to Naumel, fingers pointed. Then hesitated.

—A furious Fomirelin [Shaman] came roaring out of the cloud of ash and sand, staff raised, and Rags, Icecube, and Snapjaw decided it was time to go. The Frost Wyvern took a bite at the Fomirelin, and Rags saw the angry [Shaman] punch the Wyvern so hard he went reeling.

Aw. Naumel leapt into the air, and Rags groaned as she saw him coming at her.

…Maybe his tribe was better than hers. She wondered if you could lose brain power by getting hit in the head too many times. All this—and she had a wedding to get to.

She didn’t even have a speech ready.

In some many countless ways, Rags was a poncy Goblin. She forgot how other Goblins lived and behaved. So, by the contrarian laws of diplomacy, her fireballing the Kraken Eaters and ordering Snapjaw to blast Naumel was the best move she could have made.

Snapjaw got to see Naumel hugging Rags one-armed while her boots kicked a good four feet off the ground. She didn’t look happy. However, the Kraken Eaters were impressed by her magic, and it reset their relationship.

“Cold Wyverns. Is very nice. And you do magic! [Mage] and Chieftain. Why you not blast me first?”

Naumel seemed hurt, and Rags gave him a blank stare, which went to show Snapjaw just how different the two leaders were. She observed two interesting things, actually. The first was that Naumel was using Goblin to speak with Rags, as a Chieftain to Chieftain. But when he spoke, he said…

“Wivernan kumis. He pan smak. To óvan o selan-mil! [Mage] to Ulmanal. Menti uro zech o va tilin?”

The key part being ‘[Mage]’. That was in the normal tongue, or rather, English, as Rags kept referring to it. Goblins had no word for ‘[Mage]’.

Or rather…they did. It was ‘Ovanai’ according to Anazurhe. But you didn’t say that when you said [Mage]. Naumel had said [Mage], and the brackets were implied in how he said it. Snapjaw could almost see ‘[Mage]’ as opposed to ‘mage’.

…She had never thought about that before. It annoyed her, vaguely, because she knew it was Rags’ fault. Rags, as a Chieftain, influenced her tribe, and Snapjaw had these thoughts now and then. Which related to her second point—Rags wasn’t that good at diplomacy.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord who had recruited Snapjaw from her Big Eats tribe, had been far better at uniting Goblins. He would have approached Naumel ready for a fight and thrown down with the Kraken Eaters and chowed down on the steaks, whatever color they might have been. He understood Goblins of all kinds; Rags did not.

She was younger, weaker, even now, yet Snapjaw liked her more. Reiss had been a force that had called Snapjaw to war. Rags’ tribe was more peaceful. It was…a hard thing to think of the dead, especially since Snapjaw remembered how much she had loved Reiss. But it was true.

Anyways, the Kraken Eaters were all ready to try a second round of negotiations with the Flooded Waters tribe, but they were cut short; Rags held up a claw.

“Something’s coming. My [Advanced Dangersense] has gone off. [Risk Calculation] says the likelihood of discovery has risen from 11% to 85% in the next ten minutes.”

The Kraken Eater tribe stirred. Naumel glanced at the skies and grunted.

“Terlands. We beat Golems. They find us. Good Skill. We go. You coming?”

Rags glanced at Snapjaw, and the [Eater] tapped one wrist significantly. Rags shook her head.

“I have a wedding to go to.”

“What that? Eh—you go, go. Come back later.”

Rags strode towards the Wyverns as the Kraken Eaters began to pack. Not in a panic, but purposefully. Snapjaw wondered what was coming and adjusted the sword at her belt. It was a small group that had gone with Rags.

Redscar, Rags, Snapjaw, Cliffdiver, the other Wyvern’s [Beast Tamer], and six warriors plus Taganchiel, their second-best [Shaman]. A high-level party, if, perhaps, not the best diplomatically.

They’d left plenty of good leaders at Goblinhome if the worst came to it, but they weren’t in favor of fighting Gold-rankers or anything after the Kraken Eaters. So the Frost Wyverns grumbled, then rose into the air with laborious wingbeats as Rags lifted a hand in farewell.

“Keep eyes out. I’m calculating what’s coming for us.”

Rags was glancing at the sky; it seemed to be where the Kraken Eaters feared attack, but did Terlands have [Griffin Riders]? They’d seen one on the way north…but Snapjaw was no expert. She just urged Icecube to rise overhead as the Kraken Eaters prepared to head into the sea, their preferred escape route.

“I’m surprised the Wellfars don’t attack them, Chieftain.”

Taganchiel commented to Rags. Normally, he’d be in Goblinhome, but as Prixall had joined them…he was now no longer the best [Shaman]. He seemed pleased about it; the former Mountain City [Shaman] no longer had to bear the magical responsibility of the tribe. He’d often told Rags that Ulvama really was better than he was.

“Wellfars don’t want a bunch of angry Goblins climbing their ships, Taganchiel. Hold on. [Risk Calculation] isn’t showing me anything from the water. Let me reset.”

Rags slapped the side of her head and winced. Then she frowned.

“[Risk Calculation]. Aerial surveillance of the Kraken Eaters—96% by air. Hm.”

Rags had interesting Skills. Reiss had always been an amazing copier of anything he wanted. He had once out-eaten Snapjaw to recruit her to his tribe, and he could copy magic or swordplay—maybe not as well as his targets, but he remembered what he learned. Rags? Rags was all smarts.

She was, after all, a Level 39 [Great Chieftain] now. Even if she refused to tell Snapjaw her exact class. The Winter Solstice had levelled them all. Soon, she’d be on Reiss’ level.

[Risk Calculation] was an old Skill, but Rags had turned it into a huge asset. Her new ones—

Well, the Frost Wyverns and their Goblin passengers flew up lazily, and it was Taganchiel who saw the threat coming.

“Chieftain. That’s no ordinary bird.”

Rags and everyone else spun and saw something fly past them. It was a five-foot-long…Snapjaw’s mouth opened in horror and amazement.

“Golem Bird?”

Yes! If you made a bird out of ceramic or something, gave it green gemstone eyes, and let it ‘fly’ by what looked like powerful wind spells—it seemed to hover as it soared overhead, staring down at the Kraken Eaters. One look and Snapjaw got that uneasy prickling all over.

That’s how the Five Families spy on you? She’d never heard of a Golem that advanced. There were old tales in the south of Drakes with super-Golems when Zelkyr had lived…

The Kraken Eaters had clearly anticipated the bird because they were throwing things into the air, well short of it. Naumel actually managed to heave a stone straight up three hundred feet—but the bird was well clear of his shot. It circled a few times, and Snapjaw imagined every single Goblin present was being marked for an attacking force.

It definitely saw Rags and her party. However, unlike what you might expect, Snapjaw didn’t panic or try to hide her face or something. Instead, as the bird reacted to them by flying around the Wyverns now well clear of the Kraken Eaters, Snapjaw let go of her reins and raised two middle fingers.

The bird’s eyes were weird. Like Kevin’s phone, they had…inner and outer ‘lenses’, which seemed to focus on her. Rags slapped Snapjaw’s back.

“Stop that.”

She lifted a hand as Snapjaw folded her arms, giving the bird a slow nod. Snapjaw held her breath—but then the bird dipped its head, banked one wing, and continued surveilling the Kraken Eaters.

It nodded to her and flew off. Which was frankly amazing because if Snapjaw were a Terland agent watching through the Golem’s eyes, she would have instantly focused on the new Goblins with Frost Wyverns and raised all kinds of alarms. But none came; the bird kept flying over the Kraken Eaters, who were now mooning it—and the Flooded Water Goblins flew south.

No reprisal came from the army of Golems stumping across the ground or the Humans they passed over twenty minutes later. The Humans definitely saw the fliers; they looked up warily, then raised their hands and waved.

“Hello! Good to see you!”

Taganchiel shouted down, and after a moment, there was a distant shout.

“Hoi there!”

“Best of luck hunting the nasty Goblins!”

“Thank…you!”

Redscar slapped the back of Taganchiel’s head, and the [Shaman] stopped, but he was grinning giddily. So were the other Goblins; well, Rags had that expression like she was sucking on plums, but she always looked like that. The Humans continued on their way, despite the several Golems armed with giant greatbows that Snapjaw was sure could have hit Icecube in the air.

The Wyvern was the most confused by all this. He kept giving Snapjaw tentative looks as he flew, as if to ask, ‘huh? What’s going on?’.

She patted him on the neck, and he kept flying. No one had given the Frost Wyvern the memo. He probably thought he still looked like a handsome Dragon without forelegs, a pale-white mane blowing along his serpentine neck, azure blue wings spread as sun shone down the sapphire scales on his back and tail.

If he knew he looked like a tawny Griffin bearing a bunch of Humans on his back, he’d probably be very offended—and confused. But that was the power of a [Great Chieftain] like Rags.

Her new Skill. [Tribe: Guise of Neutrality].

So long as they didn’t attack, they’d look like Humans, Drakes, or anyone else. Everyone would perceive them as non-Goblins of some kind, usually the predominant species in the area, but they could deliberately adopt the same guise.

If they did attack, the Skill would instantly reveal them to whomever they were fighting against. But it wouldn’t break for more than one or two people unless the Goblins were continuing to take hostile actions. There were some things you could do with that, though the risks were naturally high. And if you were fighting on the side of someone, say, against Sword Crabs, no one would be the wiser.

It was a great Skill. It was a powerful Skill.

Rags was still sulking about being used as a punching bag by Naumel. Snapjaw nudged her.

“Big Naumel doesn’t have this Skill, eh, Chieftain? Now we’re able to go anywhere safe. Even Anazurhe was jelly.”

“Chieftain Naumel ripped off Kraken tentacle with his bare hands.”

“Eh. That his thing. Yours is tasty food and nice pillows.”

Rags gave Snapjaw a sour look, and the [Eater] sighed and dropped it. Rags was in one of her ‘I’m not good enough’ moods. Snapjaw wished Badarrow were here. He’d say something Erin-related, which would cheer Rags up or at least get her talking. Snapjaw missed Badarrow. She hoped…he was okay.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she raised her voice cheerfully.

“Hey, Chieftain, you ready for the wedding yet?”

Everyone turned to Rags, and her plum look intensified. She folded her arms.

“I’m working on my speech. What…should I say?”

Snapjaw gave Rags a round-eyed look.

“I dunno. I’ve never been to a wedding thing. I have a nice gift, though.”

She’d bought this lovely set of needles in a city for the bride. The groom…eh. You only had to do one wedding gift. Snapjaw was sure someone would have gotten him something. A wedding. Oh boy! Everyone was looking forwards to it, even Redscar.

“That idiot is getting married to a good Goblin. A great Goblin. Rianchi doesn’t deserve her.”

All the Redfangs nodded sagely at this, but one of the others chirped up as she rubbed at a bruise she’d gotten from the Kraken Eaters.

“Is good for him, though, Chieftain. He is worst Redfang ever.”

“Nah. Don’t be mean, Festerwound. He’s…”

Redscar stopped. He stared over the Frost Wyvern’s side, counting the remaining Redfangs and the new ones inducted into their elite warrior group, still named in honor of Garen Redfang. After a moment, he scratched at his head.

“If you count dead…”

Silence. The other Redfangs coughed into their fists as Rags and Snapjaw turned to them. Redscar hesitated, then put his best smile on the matter.

“Good thing he gets married.”

“Yah.”

“Definitely.”

“Poor Dyeda. Why she marry him?”

“When we do wedding thing, maybe we object for her?”

“But he not going to do better…”

“Good point. When someone objects, let’s beat them up.”

All the Redfangs nodded. Snapjaw wanted to protest that Rianchi wasn’t that bad. But then she remembered the one and only time she’d seen him training with the Redfangs. Rags sat back.

“What do you say in a wedding speech?”

“Nice things? Dunno. Let’s ask a Human, maybe? Let’s ask Kev—”

Then everyone fell silent.

Kevin was dead. Snapjaw took a long, deep breath, wishing she could eat the cold spring air to fill that hole in her heart. After a moment, she forced herself to smile again.

The wedding was still a good thing.

The wedding, the wedding. Oh, yes, the wedding. Rags knew it was in full swing even before she was close enough to see the High Passes as more than a distant speck.

How, you may ask? New Skills! The next day, Rags sent a [Message] after breakfast while she was in the air.

“[Memo: Fightipilota]. Fighti, are you able to return to the wedding? Status update: Magnolia Reinhart’s tasks. Kraken Eater tribe first meeting unsuccessful. Will return.”

She had a twenty-five word limit on the [Memo] Skill, but it let her encode [Messages] to her tribe across the world. In this case, given that Fightipilota was well into the New Lands…even by Wyvern, she’d be a week or more away.

Travel via Wyvernback was tedious, but Rags used her Skill to give orders and used the time to think. The Goblins with her were having lunch when she got a response.

“Chieftain, still searching for Humans. Not going to wedding. Don’t wanna. Kraken Eaters suck? Lotsa weird stuff. Will get samples. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

…Technically, that was twenty-five words. Rags decided to limit Fightipilota’s inn-visiting privileges. That was a luxury reward for Goblins in her tribe, and Fightipilota loved using the [World’s Eye Theatre] to watch movies. Most of them involving planes.

It was a strange life being a Flooded Waters Goblin these days. They were packing up lunch when they found [Traders] on the road, passing by their camp in an open field. Instantly, every Goblin raised their weapons and then had to remember—they were camouflaged.

Rags was still waiting for someone to see through her Skill, but most normal people couldn’t. Magnolia Reinhart and her servants in the High Passes had done it, but she was the highest-level [Lady] Rags knew of. Still…caution was advised, yet she couldn’t help but stride over as the [Merchant] greeted them.

“I never thought to see so many Griffin Riders of late! Hello, good folks! Where are you from? Might I interest you in a few of my goods?”

He had [Guards], who eyed Redscar and the Redfangs warily, but not with abject fear like they would if they could see the Goblins. And the Goblins…all shuffled behind Rags, suddenly shy, and she had to speak for them.

“I’m afraid we’re going to be in the air shortly. But perhaps we could see a few of your wares?”

The [Merchant] opened up his caravan slightly, and Rags learned he was someone who did the commutes coast-to-coast to import goods from overseas like Ailendamus glassware. He had stocked up on southern goods; an abundance of furs, gemstones from Salazsar, even a few crates of salt.

Nothing much appealed to Rags, but she bought some handsome fox pelts just to be…well, social. It made him smile, and Rags found herself chatting with him.

“An eye for commerce and the willingness to go a hundred miles is all I need for a guaranteed profit most times. Mind you, the sea’s messed with shipping so much all my goods quadrupled in price. I’d smile, but restocking them is going to be just as bad for me. Not every [Merchant] luxuriates in having to raise prices, you know. Pardon me—did you see anything from above? I do have to keep an eye on dangers. The Bloodfeast Raiders struck again. Well east of here. Poor village. They broadcast the entire thing, though no news channel would air it, thankfully.”

Rags shook her head, remembering Normen, and then had a thought.

“We did see something to watch out for. A day back—the Kraken Eaters tribe were on the coast.”

“The what?”

“Uh—the Goblin tribe? The big ones?”

Instantly, the [Merchant] and all his [Guards] looked alarmed. He grabbed a map.

“W-where? How close?”

Rags indicated the spot.

“We saw a bunch of Terlands chasing them too. But it looked like the Goblins were going into the sea. I’d…stay away from the entire coastline. They might come back, and you don’t want to be there when they do.”

The [Merchant] wiped at his brow as he hurriedly changed his planned course well inland.

“That’s…I shall do that at once. Thank you, Miss. In fact, I’ll send an alert to the Merchant’s Guild. Knowing the Terlands, they might not have…it might save lives if we tell the Mage’s and Runner’s Guilds. Thank you again! I never even caught your name, Miss—”

“Er—”

Rags floundered for a second, because ‘Rags’ was a suspicious name that might connect her with The Wandering Inn. Redscar cleared his throat.

“Chieft—Little Boss, we should be on our way.”

“Agh. I have to go.”

Rags pretended to be distracted, and the [Merchant] recognized the cue and shook her hand.

“Well, thank you again. Do look me up if you ever care for a travelling [Merchant]. Homeswey’s the name—farewell!”

Rags smiled at him and stepped back—then had a thought. She hurried back from the Wyverns waiting to go, and Homeswey turned back.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“Er—yes. I’m actually, uh, going to a wedding. Do you…what’s customary to speak at a wedding? I have to give a speech of some kind.”

To her surprise, the [Merchant] blinked and looked uncertainly at his [Guards]. One of them, a woman, tugged down a face-covering and grinned as the rest laughed.

“Ach, first one? Just don’t mention how shite the two were together! Say something nice! And wait till everyone’s drunk.”

Drinks should be handed out at the wedding. Do not mention their various flaws. The other [Guards] added a few notes, and Rags thanked them. She went back to her Wyvern, and they were off again.

She just…didn’t see why Dyeda and Rianchi wanted it so bad. Goblins didn’t have weddings. They didn’t even have ceremonies; Snapjaw and Badarrow started sleeping in the same room and that was it, and that was arguably fancier than most.

But the two wanted a real wedding, a Human one. Rags blamed Dyeda for that. She was a former Mountain City Goblin.

Something nice about the two of them…Rags sighed.

“I don’t know them that well.”

They weren’t warriors, and they weren’t officers she worked with often. They were two…Goblins. Albeit with somewhat unique classes, she granted. But neither one had even been to The Wandering Inn.

Though Rianchi had been friends with Kevin.

Flying back to Goblinhome took four days in total. You could do it in three, or even two if you were willing to exhaust the Wyverns. To cross all of the north that fast—from the High Passes to literally the tip of the continent—was insanely fast, even with a flying Wyvern. But Rags had a Skill, again.

[Tribe: Fast Travellers]. Another reward for her trials at the Solstice. Instead of the ability to avoid Naumel punches or reply in kind, Rags got a Skill she knew was more useful: she could head from destination to destination at great speed, though if she were exploring, her flight speed reduced by a third.

Even so, it took a lot of precious energy and time, so she was well aware of how fast things could happen in her absence. Like how Goblinhome looked as she arrived just in time for the wedding.

The mountain fortress was bedecked in color, even from above. Goblinhome had flowers stuffed out the arrowslits, hanging banners of cloth—colored bedsheets, mostly—and someone had a huge carpet they’d put down in the entryway. Half the Goblins had on fancy clothing, and Rags found a group of Redfangs, male and female, nervously adjusting suits with ties on them.

When they saw her and her expression, all the Goblins hurried away.

“Where are the flowers from? And all this clothing?”

This had to cost money! The Goblins here had a fortress set into the mountain, a camouflaged, trapped-out structure that any adventurers would have to pass through multiple killzones to get to. It had withstood Wyvern attacks—but it wasn’t rich.

Goblins mined the mountains, and they had furnaces and even a small amount of gemstones thanks to Pyrite’s old tribe—and they did hunt monsters, but there was only one way to get all this stuff.

Either someone had flown to Liscor or they’d used their black market connections to get the goods. Either way, Rags was pissed.

“Prixall!”

The new [Head Witch], Anazurhe’s daughter from the Molten Stone tribe, was already walking forward. She was an old-fashioned Goblin with elegant speech in Goblin and a lot of magical power. She saw Rags’ expression, halted, and pointed.

“It wasn’t my idea. It was Gothica’s.”

“Gothica. Bring her here. Now.”

Of all the Goblins in Goblinhome…the troublemaking [Goth] was one of the few new additions to the tribe. She did still visit The Wandering Inn from time to time, but as a contact; she was now a Goblin of Goblinhome.

She was also, unfortunately, a former resident of The Wandering Inn with all the baggage that entailed, and came sauntering down the hallway.

“Sup.”

“Sup, Chieftain.”

That came from the Goblin who’d fetched her, Leapwolf, the second-in-command of the Redfangs. Gothica gave Rags an insolent smile. She had on makeup that made the lines around her eyes even darker, hair dyed even blacker than normal, a weird, dark, maid-like uniform and even an umbrella that emitted shade, lined with bits of metal.

She loved sneaking up on people, being insolent, causing trouble—all things she claimed were important for her class, [Goth]. One of those things was also ‘sticking it to the man’, or in this case, Rags.

The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe was used to troublemakers, and she was in a bad mood.

“What did you do?”

Gothica sneered at Rags.

“Don’t gotta tell you nothing, the fuzz.”

She seemed uncertain about this line, probably because she got most of her ‘class’ from the Earthers. Including…

Rags shrugged. She made a gesture, and Snapjaw and Redscar grabbed Gothica by both arms.

“Uh. Wait. Waitwaitwait—”

Rags had taken off her boots, stretched, and had a bath by the time she came back and found Gothica. The two Goblins had hauled her off, dunked her head in a bucket of water, and then held her down on a mat.

The ‘torture’ involved several Goblins applying the most cheerful, brightly colored paints to Gothica’s face as she thrashed and cursed. Rags saw her sit up, behold her colorful expression, and shriek.

“Next time, we paint your umbrella yellow.”

Cowed, the [Goth] scrubbed at her face as Rags strode over.

“Where did the clothes come from?”

If Gothica had used up their precious funds…Rags would burn all Gothica’s clothing and replace it with the most cheerful wardrobe she could find. Nervously, the [Goth] replied.

“Lyonette! Wedding wasn’t that fancy, so I went to her and said…she bought everything! She says she has lots of gold. Calescent even sent cakes!”

Lyonette did all that? Penny-pinching Lyonette? Rags raised her brows. Something was up at the inn.

“I should visit soon. Fine. Where are the…married people?”

“Bride and groom, Chieftain. Everyone’s waiting for you. We gonna do the wedding now?”

Rags sighed.

“Sure.”

Much to her chagrin, they’d given her the choice of a dress or suit, either white or black, respectively. Rags told the Goblins to get bent and wore her armor instead.

A scowling Goblin folded her arms as she watched the banquet hall be set up with a wide aisle under an arch waiting for the two Goblins. It was a facsimile of a wedding; Rags had asked a number of people on the way south what a wedding should be, and the Goblins here had cobbled together this wedding with much the same understanding.

Goblins sat, muttering to each other in rows, Redfangs on one side near the front, Mountain City Goblins on the other.

Rianchi was a former Redfang; Dyeda, a Mountain City Goblin. Her closest family and friends looked nervous and tearful as they glanced at Rags; Rags just eyed Taganchiel, who had found some important robes and was standing in front of the altar.

“Where’s Dyeda?”

“Hiding in her rooms, Chieftain.”

“Why? There’s Rianchi.”

He was a tall Goblin, thinner than most Redfangs, without many scars and with long hair he’d combed flat for today. His hair was also purple thanks to Dyeda, something the Redfangs had gotten mad at him about.

He looked like you could knock him flat with a feather most days, let alone today, as he nervously laughed and joked around with Redscar and some of his old tribemates. He was…

Well, let’s put it like this. Even the Redfangs had Goblins who weren’t exactly as warlike as Garen or Redscar. If the ‘Redfang Five’ of Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, and Badarrow had been classic, even excellent Redfangs…Rianchi was the one who was relegated to cleaning Carn Wolf poo after raids.

He had a negative combat score when being assigned to combat groups. As in, when Redscar was formulating fighting teams, they thought they’d do worse if they took him along.

To be fair, in Goblinhome, Rianchi was more useful. Rags was surreptitiously reviewing her file as she scribbled her speech out.

“Dearly…beloved…wait, that’s not me. Uh…uh…Rianchi is a member of the Tinkering Squad in Goblinhome. He has no…he has few complaints about slacking on the job. He…likes…bicycles…damn.”

He was a…what was this class? [Gearhead]? Rags sighed. She just didn’t know him. The Redfangs clearly liked their wayward member; they were giving him good-luck punches, which seemed like they hurt.

He even had an older Goblin relative, an uncle, an old Goblin of twenty-four years, who was already drunk and kept coming over to embrace him. Goblins…didn’t have families. Rags had no siblings she could name.

She knew her parents were dead. Rags sighed as she walked out of the wedding hall. There were a bunch of Goblins on drums getting ready for the moment, and at least the food was good. Calescent had sent a lot back with Gothica.

“Dyeda? You ready?”

A bunch of Goblins, all female, threw things at Rags until they realized she wasn’t the groom or his ‘best people’ and relaxed. Rags saw they were all wearing white dresses, though the bridesmaids had each colored their head…veil…thing a different color. It wasn’t a bad look, but Rags blinked when she saw Dyeda.

Dyeda she did know, even if Rags had never used her services. She was an important Goblin in Goblinhome—again, not as a leader, but as an…important craftswoman. If any Goblin could be rich in this largely necessity-driven barter economy, she was rich.

Dyeda had a white veil and dress, which didn’t look bad, but what Rags was drawn to were her arms and upper chest, exposed by the dress. As always, you had to admire the work.

Dyeda was a [Tattooist]. In fact, this very moment she was tattooing something onto the arm of one of her younger bridesmaids. She had a long stick she dipped in black ink, and then she pricked it through the skin. She could use needles, but she had first learned how to do this in the Mountain City tribe, and naturally, the Redfangs loved her.

“Chieftain! Do I look good?”

Rags glanced at a long, feathered snake running up Dyeda’s arm and curling around her shoulder. That was one of about…fourteen tattoos that Rags could see? They were very good, but Rags had abstained from any despite Dyeda’s offers.

“Looks good. You ready? I think it’s almost time.”

“Yah!”

Dyeda and Rianchi. Now Rags remembered why she didn’t know Rianchi that well. The idiot had changed his name. Hadn’t he been called Rockmaul or something like that? Redscar had kicked up a huge fuss when Rianchi wanted his new name…

Before Rags could ask Dyeda anything, she heard music coming from the wedding hall. All the bridesmaids leapt to their feet and shooed Rags away. She saw Dyeda freeze and look so—nervous. Then Rags was striding back to the wedding hall, shaking her head.

It wasn’t that she hated weddings. It was just…that she didn’t see the point of this one. Yes, it was a ceremony, and she got Goblins wanting it. But it was a Human, a non-Goblin, thing. Why did they have to pretend it mattered?

—Or perhaps she didn’t quite get what it was like to love someone like that. Maybe she didn’t want to admit there was something there. She wasn’t sure if she envied the way Rianchi froze. His eyes flicked to the hallway as the Goblins lined up, ready to walk down the aisle.

As the Chieftain, Rags had a position behind Taganchiel. She saw the [Shaman] smiling as she stood, shifting from foot to foot, hoping no one noticed how much her legs hurt. When Dyeda emerged, all the Goblins cheered.

Rianchi stared at her as he stood in front of the altar. Rags saw his smile, hovering on his face as he fidgeted, and wondered…why he seemed so afraid. Then Taganchiel leaned over and whispered to her.

“Take a good look, Chieftain. It might be the most scared he’s ever been.”

He had been at the battle with Tyrion Veltras. Yet—Rags had to admit that Taganchiel might be right. She kept watching as the Goblins proceeded down the aisle to music. Then Taganchiel spoke.

“Welcome to everyone. I am Taganchiel. Today, I will be marrying Dyeda and Rianchi. If you have any objections—”

Rags saw the Redfangs half-rising, gripping their weapons, and heard a rattling sound. She looked right and left and realized the bridesmaids and best men—and one woman—were all armed.

That wasn’t customary, perhaps, but it was definitely Goblin. Taganchiel grinned as no one spoke; someone had a hand over Gothica’s mouth.

“Then I will marry them! After I say what a wedding is. A wedding is…a thing where two people get together forever. And pay taxes together. Making babies is optional. Today, these two will get married and make promises to each other. If they decide it isn’t working, they get divorced, but I don’t know what that is—”

The Goblins listened intently, some of them taking notes about this entire event. Rags, who knew all this, just tried to watch Rianchi’s and Dyeda’s faces. They kept smiling at each other, but they peeked at the audience, Taganchiel, and Rags. Searching for…approval?

Rags gave them her best smile, and they relaxed. She listened as Taganchiel ran through the customary things. Will you love each other? Say your vows…

They were odd vows. Rags had expected something more formal, but Dyeda opened a piece of paper.

“Rianchi, I promise never to tattoo a penis on your face unless you make me mad.”

Every Goblin started laughing at that, including Rianchi. Rags just scratched the back of her head.

Okay, so it’s not like a magical contract. She kept listening as Dyeda spoke.

“I promise to go out with you whenever you want to go riding and to always eat your fish if someone gives us fishies.”

Rianchi didn’t like fish? Rags glanced at Dyeda’s face, and the Goblin’s voice broke a bit.

“I promise not to be mad when we argue and to talk things nicely. And…to love you. Yah. That’s it.”

He was smiling, and Rags saw his eyes glistening. She glanced at the two of them as he almost went for a kiss, then broke off as Taganchiel chopped a hand between them.

“Ah! No kissing yet! Now you do it, Rianchi.”

She was sure his name had been Bonemace or something like that. Where had…Rags frowned at the taller Rianchi. He was a Hob…they both were. She was beginning to understand that Hobs might be grown Goblins in some way. Not an option, but what Goblins became when they were ready or needed.

He’d been small a while ago, just like her. What had changed? In his black suit, he looked lanky still, for all it fit him, and Rags saw his hands, as he held Dyeda’s, were stained black in places, despite his best efforts.

At first, she thought it was ink, but then she realized it had to be grease or oil stains. His name…ah. Now Rags remembered.

He’d changed his name when he met Kevin. The Goblin had been one of the ones always hanging around Kevin when the [Engineer] was showing off his skateboard or talking with them.

Rianchi. That wasn’t a Goblin name. That was…an Earth name.

Rianchi, named after Bianchi. Which was some kind of company that made bicycles on Earth. Rags checked her notes.

The [Gearhead Cyclist] had a different set of notes for his wedding. His vows began normally. He vowed to always help Dyeda put her inks away, to get her snackies if she was hungry…silly things that meant things to them and their friends. But what made Rags suddenly focus on the moment was when Rianchi turned to the audience.

The aisles were filled with Goblins closest to the two, but the front rows of both Goblins’ seats had gaps in them. Rags assumed that was for people like Fightipilota, who couldn’t make it, but she realized there were namecards there.

Empty chairs. Rianchi stepped down the altar and walked over to the first one. When Rags saw the card on the seat, she understood.

“Kevin. You’re dead, but it’s me. Rianchi. I got tall when you died. See?”

The Goblin broke from the traditions of Human weddings as they knew them, and Rags leaned forwards. She saw the Goblin speaking to the empty chair and realized what the Goblin was doing. He was smiling and pointing at Dyeda, who was wiping her eyes. But this was a Goblin wedding.

Many of the ones that should have been here wouldn’t be able to attend. So Rianchi spoke.

“And you, Chieftain Garen. And…and Ivywhip and Longsword. Orangepoo—all of you—”

His voice broke slightly, but he stepped back and pointed.

“Look. I found someone who likes me. Kevin, you knew her. Chieftain Garen, you always said I was bad at everything, and you were right.”

The Redfangs laughed, but they were listening, and Redscar had closed his eyes. Rianchi spread his hands and showed the empty chairs his stained palms.

“I make things now. Not important things, Chieftain Garen, maybe. Not real weapons. But I do it. I’m in a good tribe. I have Chieftain Rags—”

He glanced at her, and this time, Rags felt like someone hit her with a miniature bolt of lightning. Rianchi went on softly.

“I am going to make Dyeda happy. Promise, Kevin, my dude. When we have a baby, we’ll name them after you. But if they’re a girl, we’ll call them Kevina. Okay?”

“Maybe we work on the name, Kevin.”

Dyeda called out to more laughter. Rianchi stepped back, and his eyes were overfull. Then he turned and lifted a fist high into the air. The Redfangs drew their weapons and stood, pumping them into the sky.

Then, Rags felt it was a Goblin wedding in her bones. She turned, and Taganchiel spoke.

“Good. Now, by the power of [Shamans], I promise Goblins will remember this. Dyeda, Rianchi—kiss and be married!”

Rianchi and Dyeda turned to each other. He bent down; Dyeda pivoted and swung him around. They spun once, twice—and then she was leaning back in for a kiss.

Goblins started applauding. Rags saw the couple part after a few seconds and turn—and she wondered what the point of all of it was. She decided there was some point, some meaning. If only because of their silly smiles.

The sound of Goblins playing on drums and wailing on horns in the banquet hall was deafening. Too loud for Rags, but she wasn’t a partier anyways.

She sat, nursing a drink with a plate of food, at the head table as the bride and groom circulated the room. Rianchi and Dyeda were talking to all their friends, taking a few minutes for each conversation, but it seemed like a lot of work.

The Goblins not part of the wedding crew seemed like they were having more fun. They were tearing up the dance floor, which Rags suspected was why a lot of Goblins were on the wedding train to begin with.

Free food, an excuse to dance, and music? She watched more than one Goblin demonstrate that, in this field, they had never lost anything to the other races. For every Goblin doing the ‘wedding bounce’, there was another pair swinging each other around and laughing. Little Goblin children were performing a synchronized dance that Rags swore they must have mastered over the last few days. Then she saw a pair of Redfangs dancing, leaning on each other, back to back, shimmying outwards until they fell flat on their backs, laughing.

Snapjaw cleared the entire dance court by having Icecube lumber around, tail sweeping dangerously; missing Badarrow, Snapjaw was dead drunk already, swinging around her pet until Redscar pulled her off the floor.

Even Prixall and Taganchiel could dance; the Mountain City Goblin could apparently boogie or whatever the Goblins called it. Prixall had a traditional Goblin dance she was teaching all the bridesmaids—it was some kind of elegant walk and hand gestures that Rags suspected were both ornamental and magical in nature.

“Chieftain. Are you going to dance?”

More than one Goblin ran up to her, hoping for Rags to jump into the action, but the Goblin just glowered back.

She was making a list of things to bring back to the Kraken Eaters tribe and trying to calculate her schedule. If Magnolia Reinhart had more people in the New Lands to save…well, Fightipilota was leading one of the teams on that mission.

Visit the inn now or after the Kraken Eaters? Rags had a tribe to protect. She alternated between that, picking at her food, and studying her speech.

She had thought she’d give it during the ceremony, but apparently, when everyone was eating and dancing, there’d come a time for her to speak. In fact, Redscar, Taganchiel, and a number of other Goblins each had a speech, so Rags was glad hers was short.

She was waiting…and not nervous. It was just a silly wedding. And she was the Chieftain. But when she stood—her head went blank a bit.

“I am Chieftain Rags of the Flooded Waters tribe. You know me.”

There was laughter from her audience, but they were mostly quiet; one of the Ogres was hiccuping in the back, but he muffled his mouth. Rags looked at Rianchi and Dyeda. Say something nice?

She didn’t know them. But that was fine. Rags was a prodigy. A genius.

She also knew how to lie.

“When Taganchiel told me about the wedding, I thought it was a silly idea. Weddings? Why do we need that? I was going to say ‘no’, but he convinced me it would be a ‘small thing’. Hmph.”

Rags glanced around pointedly at the huge celebration, and the audience laughed. But she turned back to Rianchi and Dyeda. They were somewhat nervous, but they smiled as she nodded to them.

“Now I understand. Weddings are not about just getting married. They’re about this—”

She waved a hand at the crowd, the food and drinks and the Goblins chatting with each other. Rags kept speaking, not using her notes.

“Dyeda is one of the most important Goblins to Redfangs, to hear them complain about having to wait for her services. I think she’ll be very good for Rianchi—but him? He’s the weakest Redfang, so they say.”

Rianchi ducked his head to more laughter, but Rags went on.

“—The weakest Redfang, but who cares? He’s building the crossbows and traps and tools for Goblinhome. He knew Kevin, and he was friends with him. Rianchi is a Goblin who fits Goblinhome. Maybe not the tribe he came from, but here, I hope, as your Chieftain, he’ll be needed even more than Dyeda.”

She paused.

“…But I’m not letting him tattoo me.”

Laughter again. Rags smiled despite herself.

“I…wish they have the best life together. My gift to them is a special room they can share. Far from mine so they don’t bother me. And—”

She hesitated. This last one was a spur-of-the-moment decision she’d come to as she’d seen them being married, but she heaved a huge sigh. No helping it.

“—I hear there is something else the two forgot. Another tradition of weddings.”

Something else? Dyeda and Rianchi sat up, and Rags turned to them.

“It’s called a ‘honeymoon’. I have no idea why. It’s where the couple goes on a trip, probably to get away from their friends and family. Goblins can’t do that. We’re a tribe, and it’s not safe.”

Everyone sombered, and the two nodded, unsurprised; they’d probably expected this. Rags let the mood cool a bit, then quirked one eyebrow.

“But we are no normal tribe. So. Rianchi and Dyeda will get their honeymoon. If they don’t mind flying—I’ll take them on a trip of Izril. If they want t—”

“Yes!”

Rianchi leapt to his feet and high-fived Dyeda with both hands. Inwardly, Rags sighed. What have I gotten myself into? But she smiled and then finished her speech.

“Then have a wonderful life, you two. That’s an order.”

She didn’t really remember the other speeches. Rags sat down, took a long drink of water, and finally relaxed.

She supposed she must have done an okay job, because Rianchi and Dyeda came up to thank her, and the other guests told her she had done a good job. But inwardly, Rags concluded that weddings were more work than she’d thought.

Do I…have to do this each time a Goblin gets married from now on? She decided she had to delegate.

It was fine. Rags went back to her food with an actual appetite after the speeches, and the dancing began again. She did not participate in the dancing.

Rags had a date.

The date was with her pillows and her soft, luxurious bed after so many days of travel. She flopped into it and tried to sleep—but the entire fortress was echoing with so much merriment and sound that even her relatively soundproof rooms kept her awake.

Or maybe it was the unexpected moment. Either way, after a few hours of intermittent sleep, Rags rose and prowled the keep just past midnight.

Goblins were awake night and day, but it was more deserted, and she had just emerged from the kitchen with a gigantic cake slice when she realized the banquet hall had a number of passed-out Goblins. Rags avoided the slumbering body of one of the Ogres and tip-toed out of the keep.

It didn’t have balconies, but it did have a roof you could use for relatively lovely views if it wasn’t under attack. It was still chilly outside, but Rags’ armor was very warm, and she found a seat on a rock. She had the first huge bite of cake raised to her mouth when she realized she wasn’t alone.

Rags stopped—turned her head, and lit a finger up with fire magic. Rianchi and Dyeda were embracing, watching the moons rise as they stood on the top of Goblinhome.

“Uh. Hi. I’ll just—eat this in my rooms.”

Rags stood up, but the couple grinned.

“Is okay, Chieftain. We’re glad we found you. Thank you for the speech, again.”

Dyeda sat down, and Rags lowered her fork.

“It was nothing. Sorry it wasn’t better.”

“It was a good speech, Chieftain. No Chieftain ever said nice things about me. I’ll do good things for the Flooded Waters tribe, promise.”

Suddenly, they were sitting next to her, and Rags didn’t know what to say. The two of them were still filled with emotions; Rags felt guilty as she ate some cake. What did you say? They all watched the stars come out, and after a moment, Dyeda spoke.

“Chieftain. I didn’t say this to you. Maybe…maybe it’s bad to say, because we don’t know you as well as others. But can I say?”

“Mhm. Sure.”

Dyeda looked at Rags, then smiled.

“Then—Chieftain. You’re the best Chieftain we’ve had. Better than Tremborag or Garen or Reiss.”

Rags blinked. She sat there, nonplussed. That was a bold statement. Especially since Dyeda hadn’t known…

No, she had known Tremborag. As for Rianchi? He waved a claw.

“I knew Garen and Reiss, Chieftain. Back when he and Chieftain Garen knew each other, before he became Goblin Lord.”

Rianchi was older than he looked! Rags’ surprise aside, it was still an objectionable statement. She was still smarting from her beating up north and shook her head.

“I’m not better than they were.”

Dyeda shook her head insistently.

“Maybe not stronger, Chieftain. And maybe we not safer in Goblinhome. Can’t tell. Maybe—maybe we’re not even happier.”

She had a troubled look in her eyes, and Rags hunched her shoulders. Great. She hadn’t even passed the Mountain City tribe’s standards of living? But Rianchi patted Dyeda’s arm, and she went on.

“But you have something else, Chieftain.”

“Like what?”

The half-eaten cake was suddenly less appealing than Dyeda’s words. The smaller Goblin looked at the couple, and Dyeda struggled to explain.

“You…the tribe here…Goblinhome. It makes us feel like there’s a tomorrow for little Goblins. Not just ours. But for Goblins. Maybe we die. Maybe bad things happen. But maybe tomorrow is there.”

Rags thought for a second to give name to the feeling Dyeda described.

“You mean hope?”

The [Tattooist] made a dismissive, scornful sound.

“Psh! Nah, Chieftain. Not that silly thing. Something better. You—you have a good dream.”

Rianchi nodded his head up and down; Rags saw he’d removed his suit. He sat there, a button-up white shirt open as wide as it would go, and she realized he was actually hugely uncomfortable in the suit. He was normally in the outfit he used to ride bikes. Dyeda was in her dark clothing, hair wild with colors.

So Rags remembered how they looked today even as she tried to understand what they meant.

“A dream?”

Rianchi nodded. He grinned as he looked across the wild High Passes at their little fortress.

“A good one. If I wake, I’ll smile for a long time about it.”

If I wake. Rags’ gloom and her worries resurfaced all at once. It was why she’d gone north, why she had tried to make an alliance with other tribes.

“I don’t know if I’m that Chieftain, you two. The Flooded Waters tribe is good…”

But there was no other way up. No way, short of joining with another tribe or finding a relic somewhere, to make sure her tribe survived what might be coming. Named-rankers or Pallass or a city deciding to wipe her home out. Or…

The Solstice.

It always came back to the Solstice. To Erin…Solstice. Rags sat there.

“How am I supposed to slay her? That? What is she? I need to know the truth. If it was just making everyone safe and happy, I could rest easy. Something’s coming. I want you two to get old and fat and have lots of annoying babies. I will try, Rianchi, Dyeda. I don’t want to fail you.”

The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe sat, morose, uncertain, and the married bride and groom looked at each other. Then they hugged her.

“Chieftain—”

“Get. Off.”

Rags pushed at them, and they laughed at her, and she sat there as they shook their heads. Dyeda patted Rags’ shoulder anxiously.

“No one knows, Chieftain. But you are the best. We promise we’ll help—and go on the honeymoon, okay? But no one knows the truth or what to do about anything.”

No one had answers. That was…fair. Ish. Rags thought of that woman—Kasigna—and the instinctive hatred she’d felt. She thought of the statue in Erin’s gardens. Then she shook her head.

They looked at her quizzically, and Rags sat up. Her eyes roamed the High Passes and narrowed as they fixed on a point far lower, where she knew someone else was dancing. She felt a spark in her mind, and her eyes narrowed.

“Some people know the truth.”

She would have it, this time. All of it.

Authors’ Note:

The days have come again. Today, you have received a very short chapter by normal Wandering Inn standards. Tomorrow, you shall receive a chapter, and blimey if it don’t look like chapters for as many days as I can keep it up.

I have a backlog of (2) chapters, but I’ll keep trying to write them and post them day by day. I might slip and have to miss a day since I now take ‘days off’ for my ‘health’, but I can also just write like a 500-word chap…sigh. So let me talk about this short one I was going to start off with.

I had this concept. I’ve overengineered chapters. I think my flow’s different, or I’ve changed in writing. So I said—go back to the 1-chapter-a-day model. Remember how to write succinct, tight stories!

Well, I was 4,000 words into this chapter when I realized I was ⅓ of the way through one of my notes. A single line saying ‘Rags meets three Chieftains of the north’. I stopped and checked my outline for ‘Chapter One’.

There were nine other plot points. It was at this moment when I once again confronted the mismatch between how I outline and how I write.

So I cut down what I had in this chapter. I turned it into this. A short…er chapter. Tomorrow, I shall try again. It may be 2k words or less since it’ll be a day I normally break on. The point, you see, is not to make myself work too hard. It’s to go to my brain with an ultimatum: either you work a small amount and don’t overreach or you die for a week.

Let’s see if it works, but I am making the attempt. This is the Rags chapter/arc, and believe me, I went for a lot of things you may say ‘pirateaba, that’s crazy, what are you doing?’ for.

But the attempt shall be made because ambition matters. Also! The author bases none of the writing from any personal life experiences. All resemblances to people are coincidental…

Sigh. I dislike anyone saying I put myself into characters or the narrative, even if every writer can only draw from life. What happens when you experience things is that you think…and put some version of that into your story, sometimes. But differently. The wedding I went to wasn’t like this one in so many ways. And some things are maybe similar. But I didn’t get any huge slice of cake, I’ll tell you that. And no one’s punched me anytime I can remember. As for the rest?

Look forwards to more strange chapters coming up. Let’s see what this week brings.

—pirateaba

Pre-War Sprigaena, War Sprigaena, and Post-War Sprigaena by Nira!

Rags Jumping on a Hob’s Belly by Jegaevi!

Ulvama by ArtsyNada!

No Chess, Norm, and Darkness by Brack!

Tales of Alevica by LeChatDemon!