They all agreed that it was Ak’s fault. Poog, Reta Bigbad, Mogmurch, Chuffy Lickwound, even Mogmurch’s toad Amfibier agreed—in a gravelly voice that sounded nothing at all like Mogmurch muttering through closed lips. Ak had been the first to climb into the back of the wagon, and so the other four goblins had no choice but to follow him, only to become trapped when the longshanks and his two terrible horses had arrived, forcing them to cower under a tarpaulin as the wagon rolled into... a human village? The sounds and smells were inconclusive.
“Didn’t want to,” Ak said mournfully. “Reta said she would bash me if didn’t.”
Reta smacked the other goblin hard across the back of the head. “Was a test!” she snapped. “You coward enough to go just because I tell you? Weak, Ak. We all very disappointed.”
The other three goblins, and Amfibier, all muttered in agreement. It was not the first time Ak had disappointed them all, and it would surely not be the last. After a few moments, the muttering trailed off into awkward silence.
“What do we do now?” Mogmurch said in a harsh whisper. “Longshanks gone. Don’t hear horses. Maybe it’s safe outside, maybe good time to flee.”
“Yes, maybe,” said Reta. “Ak. You go outside, check and see if it’s safe to come out.”
Ak looked warily into his companion’s faces, his eyes narrowed. “This also a test? If I go outside, I fail again, Reta hit me?”
“No,” Chuffy responded. He pulled a jagged, filthy blade from a sheath at his belt that looked like it was held together with tar, leather straps, and spite. “You stay in here, I stabs you. Go check now. If anything kills you, make lots of noise, so we know not safe to come out yet.”
Ak’s head cautiously emerged from under one corner of the canvas drop cloth, almost immediately followed by the rest of his body as someone behind him delivered a swift kick to his backside. The goblin landed in a heap, glancing furtively around as he took in his surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a dimly lit barn. No longshanks (or worse, horses) were in sight, but there were two more wagons, one to either side. Someone had pulled back the canvas covering the nearest wagon, revealing a rack of colorful kites and an opened crate. The crate was packed with straw to protect its contents, but Ak could see enough to immediately recognize what it contained.
The goblin’s beady red eyes went wide. He clambered up and into the wagon, thrust his hand into the crate, and pulled out a decorated red paper tube about the length of his arm, attached to a long stick and trailing a short length of fuse. Fireworks! The best kind of fire! And fire was already the best kind of almost anything. A slow smile spread across Ak’s face, taking several seconds to traverse the distance from one ear to the other. This was going to change everything. Once they saw what he’d found, his companions were sure to be so grateful that...
“Stupid!” someone yelled from the other wagon. “You dead yet? Or it safe to come out?”
Ak looked down at the rocket in his hand, his toothy grin somehow growing even wider. “Just moment,” he said “Found something! You wait there, I show you!” His other hand went to the pouch at his belt, which contained a cache of special ingredients belonging to Mogmurch—ingredients so volatile and dangerous that his alchemist companion had insisted that only Ak could be trusted to carry them—and drew out a single tindertwig. He struck the twig against the rough surface of the canvas, lit the fuse, waited for a tense moment, grew tired of waiting, and jammed the burning twig into the back of the rocket. There was a blinding flash, a deafening report, and Ak was knocked flat on his back. Somewhere nearby, he could dimly make out the unmistakable sound of goblins suffering painful burns, followed by muffled cursing and scrabbling as his companions vacated their hiding place, which quickly gave way to shouts of excitement as they spotted Ak’s discovery.
His senses were still clearing when Reta grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet. “Ak,” she said through gritted teeth, staring into his eyes as they struggled to focus. “You try to kill us. With firework.” She motioned to the gently smoldering wagon behind them, then to the other goblins greedily rifling through the opened crate. “But. You also find us many, many firework. You are forgiven, Ak. Today... today you are one of us.”
A single tear of pure joy ran down Ak’s cheek. “R-really?” he whispered.
Reta smiled, her mouth bristling with needle-sharp teeth. “No,” she said. “Not really.” She gave him a hard push, and Ak topped backwards over the edge of the wagon. Before he could hit the ground, the rocket that Chuffy had stuffed down the back of his leather jerkin went off, propelling him across the warehouse and into the darkness of the hayloft overhead with a strangled yelp and a gout of colorful flame.
Goblins and fireworks. What could possibly go wrong?
Illustration by Kiki Moch Rizky fromGoblin Firework Fight
Behind Reta, Poog and Mogmurch were busily pulling more fireworks out of the crate. “Smoke bomb,” Mogmurch said, lighting the fuse of a wrapped paper bundle and tossing it aside with an exasperated sigh. “Not explode. Not start fire. No point.” Poog nodded in agreement, holding the end of another lit tindertwig to the fuse of a bright purple rocket, then deftly spinning the rocket around to use its fuse to light another, even larger, green rocket. He was still clutching both when the door flew open at the other end of the barn.
“Who’s in here?” bellowed a tall figure, silhouetted against the light streaming in from outside the barn. The goblins froze. A second shadow, four-legged, growled deep in its throat and stalked ahead of its master into the barn.
Poog panicked. Immediately. “DOG!” he shrieked, lowering the green rocket so that it pointed at the oncoming animal a split second before it went off. The rocket missed the dog by more than a goblin’s full height and shot directly out the open entryway, where it struck the inner wall of a stable next door and ricocheted wildly from stall to stall, trailing a shower of sparks. A moment later, the purple rocket in Poog’s other hand went off, striking Mogmurch squarely in the face. The other goblin’s skull-faced helmet flew off as he toppled backward into the crate, followed by the sparking purple rocket. The straw cushioned his impact for a brief moment before bursting into flames.
“GOBLINS!” the longshanks in the doorway yelled, taking a step back as the dog, followed by two others, charged snarling into the barn. Poog shrieked in terror and leaped from the wagon, scampering across the cluttered floor and clambering up the assortment of riding tack that hung on one wall of the barn, with Reta right on his heels. There was a tremendous crack, and a blast of heat and smoke washed over them as the wagon below erupted in a massive storm of shrieking multicolored fireballs. One of the fireballs, shrieking slightly louder than the others, darted across the floor and up a rickety ladder toward the hayloft.
“That way!” Reta snarled at Poog, gesturing toward the loft as she began to swing, hand over hand, across the wall of saddles and wagon wheels. Below, the dogs barked in rage and confusion as something else caught fire with a satisfying whoosh. There were more longshanks outside now; she could hear them. More dogs, too.
In the loft they found Mogmurch, still smoking but no longer actually aflame, peering out a small window that opened out over the street. A moment later, Chuffy hauled himself up and over the ledge, blade clenched between his teeth. He scowled down at Ak, whose unconscious body was still sprawled face down on the floor where he had landed at the end of his brief flight. “Stupid Ak,” he said, delivering a scornful kick that elicited a weak moan. “Mess everything up for us. Again. Now we stuck up here, probably die.”
“Yeah, not look good,” Mogmurch said. “Longshanks busy trying to put out stable fire. Way too many dogs outside, though. Maybe we throw Ak down, run away while they eat him?”
There was a moment of silent contemplation as each goblin briefly considered who they might be able to bully into dragging Ak to the window. Outside, a panicked human voice screamed, “It’s spreading! Dawnflower’s grace, stop it before it reaches the alchemist!”
Poog broke the silence, chuckling knowingly as he put his arms around his companions’ shoulders.
“Friends, friends,” Poog said, closing his eyes and shaking his head softly from side to side. “You really think Poog not have brilliant escape plan for just this moment? You forget why we call Poog the smart one?” Sliding one hand into his belt pouch, he withdrew the item inside with a flourish, grinning widely as he looked around for approval.
Reta was not impressed. “Yes,” she said. “We all have fingers, Poog. Finger not what we need right now, Poog.”
Poog glanced down at the mummified digit in his hand, scowling, and tossed it away before quickly withdrawing a second item, which he dutifully examined before displaying it to the others. “Not that. Have lots of things in here.” He took the rough wooden whistle in his hand and put it to his lips, then blew silently.
A tense moment passed.
“It broken?” Chuffy started to ask. He was interrupted as a grand commotion erupted somewhere outside. Something large skidded across the cobblestone street and crashed into something else with a dull thud. A chorus of canine yips broke out, only to be drowned out by a furious bellow that trailed off into a high-pitched squeal of rage. The five goblins crowded to the window.
“SQUEALY NORD!”
A huge pig was charging haphazardly through the crowd, scattering longshanks and dogs alike. As the last of the dogs turned tail and fled, the pig positioned itself in the street directly below the window, looking up at them expectantly. They jumped as one, pouring out of the window just as the hayloft went up in flames behind them. Poog wrapped his arms around Squealy Nord’s neck and prodded him gently on one flank. “Run, Squealy Nord!” he shouted. “Run like wind!”
They met with little resistance as Squealy Nord raced up the road leading out of town, bellowing, snorting, and squealing in equal measure; the dogs had scattered, and the longshanks, easily distracted, were busy attempting to extinguish the flames. About a quarter mile outside the village walls, the great swine slowed to a trot, and the goblins allowed themselves a moment to cautiously look back. Sure enough, no one had followed them. Also, Poog was missing.
“Reta,” Mogmurch said. “Poog fall off. We go back, get him?”
Even at that distance, they all felt the shockwave from the massive blast that came next. There was a deep, shuddering boom, and a colorful cloud in the shape of a flower bloomed over the village, mingling with the thick cloud of black smoke already spreading over the countryside. On the wind, they could hear the distant sound of screams.
“Nah,” Reta said. She slid a dried truffle from her pocket into Squealy Nord’s mouth and patted the massive pig’s shoulder. “Poog fine, he find way back. I hungry. Let’s go get food.”
About The Author
Andrew White (he/him) is the lead front-end developer on paizo.com and an occasional Pathfinder and Starfinder freelance contributor. His first published credit was a gigantic fey scallop that loves rap battling and puppet shows, and his most recent is a one-shot adventure about a silver-tongued swarm of insects, a misanthropic spider robot, a jaded cowboy squid, and a magical hacker who is also a telepathic bear teaming up to rob a space train together. He has a Twitter where he mostly just retweets his more eloquent colleagues at @plaguecontrol.
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction and including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
