Goblin Squad Member
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Despite the smells that generally come along with the beasts that are housed there, the sight of Serianna’s livery stable is welcome to the small group of tired travellers as they emerge from the Echo Wood. From the southern leg of Dagger Road they enter the boundaries of the town nestled in the trees surrounding Thornkeep - an odd group of sellswords and huntsman with a trader or two in the mix, all ready to end a profitable journey from the southern tip of the forest. They talk lightly and joke as they move up the road at a leisurely pace, enjoying the welcome warm air of a late spring evening.
“I swear to you, they were biggest you’d ever seen!” A young, scruffy man in a leather hunting vest remarks while holding a pair of melon-sized puffballs suggestively against his chest. “And when she brought me to her room she showed me a sacred Kellid dance of fertility..”
His travelling companions laugh as he bounces and sways in an absurd attempt to mimic an exotic dancer until one of the spherical fungi slips from his hand and bounces away in the dirt on the road.
“Sure there, and next you’ll say Lady Ivis is waiting up in your room in the Greenforest Inn.” Replies another man with dark chainmail and a greasy mustache over a crooked grin.
“I would never!” The first replies in mock indignation, “Be stupid enough to say it where one of the Baron’s goons could hear and drag me up for Lord Blackshield to cut out my tongue.” He adds as he retrieves his meal before it is trampled on by a passing rider.
“Besides, I have something much more appetizing than traditional, old Druscor fare waiting for me where I’m going. You should join me, there’s more than enough to go around.”
The other man gives an indistinct grunt in reply, but does follow the first along with at least one more when the group starts to break off in their own separate directions.
“Hey Asha, what about you?” The scruffy man calls after another, wearing a decent robe of spun yarn decorated with a variety of spidery runes who had begun walking a different way.
The man shifts a heavy pack as he stops, the beads in his long braided hair clicking softly as he turns back to wave them off. “Nah, not tonight, I need to get home before I go anywhere else.”
“Bah, you’re no fun!” Is the only response that can be understood as the small group makes their way through the remnants of the market crowd. Asha laughs to himself, holding out hope he will find some time to prove them wrong later.
He carries on to an area with mostly wooden houses, nearer the Brambleclaw goblins than anyone with a bit of coin to their name would generally like to live. The buildings are small and the residents tend to make light hearted jests about living in the most rundown part of this ramshackle fiefdom, but it is still familiar and will always be home. The welcome smell of dinner coming from many directions gives a bit more energy to the young woodsman’s step, and he soon finds himself reaching his family’s homestead.
When it finally comes into view however he is greeted with the unnerving sight of the wooden door hanging from the hinges while three plainly dressed yet very unpleasant looking men are stepping out of the open portal. He stops in the path with his breath nearly caught in his throat while in his mind he begins reciting the invocations that will turn his gemmed walking stick into a deadly weapon.
“What is this?” He manages in a voice that he can only hope is strong enough to command an answer.
The three men keep walking, hands close to daggers on their belts.
“Asha..” A voice from inside the house. A quick glance and Asha can see his mother. If she has been harmed he has not time to tell.
“What’s going on?” Asha demands as he fights against a growing anger, sure somewhere hidden safely under his robes a mysterious arcane mark is now glowing with power. The men are nearly upon him now.
Three men. Three daggers.
“Asha listen to me. Come here.” His mother’s voice is strong, but pleading. Yet without fear.
“Listen to your mother, boy.” The nearest thug says with barely a glance at the smaller man before him, his stride not broken as he advances.
“Collections were a couple days ago, damnit!” Fortunately for Asha, while he does not always know when to keep his mouth shut, he is smart enough to get out of the way of a charging horse.
And with a nimble step he also proves fast enough - narrowly avoiding a savage kick that surely would have left him reeling and vulnerable. He keeps his distance from the menacing trio afterwards and they leave satisfied with having made their point, and their quota. The one carrying the depressingly heavy pouch of coins is careful to let it bounce and jingle loudly as he walks away.
When they are gone Asha turns quickly and is greatly relieved to find that while most of his family are in the homestead, none of them had been harmed in the encounter.
“I think they broke the door because your father threatened to shoot one of them last time they came.” Asha’s mother explains in an almost humorously calm fashion while a group effort ensues to fix the hinges.
“Oh, yup, that’ll do it.” Asha answers back in an equally deadpan manner. “Where is he, just out hunting?”
“Won’t be back for another couple days at least, but says he’ll be bringing some nice meade from Fort Riverwatch.” One of Asha’s younger brothers offers in response. “And he told me to tell you to stop lipping off to those Empyreans, last thing we need is more trouble.”
“What do you mean?” Asha’s mother asks, apparently interested in that new message. Asha does his best to ignore it completely.
“Oh, I got to try some of that Emerald Spirit down in the Emerald Lodge. It really is as good as..” But before he can finish, four loud raps sound at the door - almost forceful enough to knock it right off its new hinges, followed by a loud voice from the other side.
“Collection day.” It booms.
“What the glorious hell!?” Asha exclaims and whips around, his wand already in his hand. Being the closest he is the first to the door and when he throws it open the hulking figure of a pair of hobgoblins looms oppressively over him. The odour of their breath and bodies overpowers the scents of his home and wash over everyone within while the hearth makes their eyes appear to glow with an evil light.
“Collection day, little man. You got a problem?” The one in front sneers contemptuously.
“They just came.” Asha answers defiantly, wand held visible but not quite in a threatening fashion.
“Weren’t us.” Snorts the hobgoblin in the rear. “Ironjaws don’t care ‘bout yer other debts. You sure that’s a man? Looks kinda scrawny.”
“‘be a pixie fer all I care. Collection day. Pay up if yer wanna keep our protection.”
For a brief time things were quiet. The seething rage inside the young man bound to this world for whatever purpose Pharasma has decided must have been plainly visible on his face. The hobgoblins drank it in like fine wine. Such a creature of violence and passion has never been so patient as what they were in this moment.
’I could destroy them…’ Thought the young wizard. ’With my thoughts and will alone I could shatter their fragile minds and sunder the souls from their bodies.’
The Mark of Pharasma burned with a blissful agony under his robes. ‘Even if I lost, I could return a hundred times. A thousand times until I have obliterated every piece of them that ever was and ever will be.’
The hobgoblins stared unblinking, rank with anticipation. One of them fondly slides a finger down the razored edge of ax larger than Asha’s head. A noise from behind..
Asha’s youngest sister coughs, and something falls to the floor, and the young man’s head turns back to the others.. The others who do not bear the mark.. Who would not come back.
‘I can’t protect them all forever…’
Asha lowers his wand, a light that was growing at its tip dims and winks out.
“What the matter, manling?” The second hobgoblin taunts, “Thought you had somethin’ to say?”
“We haven’t got any money today.” Asha’s mother interjects, a hint of nervousness finally breaking through in her voice after a very long, tense afternoon. “Please, come back tom-..”
“Not good enough.” The first hobgoblin cuts her off, hand beginning to move to remove his awful weapon from his belt loop. “Gonna have to show you what happens to people who don’t keep up.”
“Wait.” Asha says, not moving from his spot in the way of the door. Another very brief, uncomfortable moment passes, and then he tosses a small bag at the lead hobgoblin. There is a clink of coin as it bounces off his chest, but the brute does not appear impressed at the size.
“It’s silver.” Asha says, reading the thoughts that are written obviously across the creature’s face. “Just take it and go if you want to be able to enjoy more later.”
It seemed an eternity that they rolled the wizard’s words over in their minds, trying hard to decide whether there was enough of an insult or threat behind them to justify retaliation. Perhaps, just maybe wondering if there was something more to this tiny man with a big mouth, standing before them not quite showing enough fear..
“Five days.” He says and spits at the young man’s feet after he picks up the pouch. With his hand still on his axe the hobgoblin turns and leaves, barking out an order at his companion to follow him.
Nobody in the house says a word for a good while after they are gone, all almost afraid to breathe for fear it may bring them back. It’s Asha’s sister again that finally breaks the silence.
“Where’d you get all that silver?”
“Yeah, where’d that come from?” Another younger brother eagerly asks afterwards, “Have you been raiding the Empyreans? I heard you’ve been raiding the Empyreans!”
“What? Who said that?! I have not been raiding the Empyreans!” Asha responds in a exasperated fashion.
His brother gave him a disappointed look, to which he continues with a mischievous grin. “I’ve been poaching from the Empyreans’ sovereign territory.”
“Their what?” One of Asha’s older brother’s asked with a laugh.
“Oh, their sovereign territory is it, now?” Asha’s mother asks incredulously. “Have they asked the Echo Woods what it thinks of that?”
“I’m sure that’ll last just as long as the last ones who said it.” Jokes another of Asha’s siblings as they all set about to preparing a well earned meal. “I give it less than half the time Mosswater lasted.”
“Here now! You shouldn’t joke of the dead like that..” Scolds Asha’s mother in a well meaning way, and plenty of laughter can be heard from the homestead until all are ready to turn in for the night.
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Goblin Squad Member
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She returns to her companions, moving close to the sergeant and speaking in a hushed voice. "Hobgoblins. A small armed group were coming from around that homestead. No sign of raiding, but I'll bet my best dagger they didn't leave emtpy-handed".
The sergeant grunts dimissively. "Outside our territory. Look but don't meddle."
She can't keep the frustration out of her voice "So we are supposed to just watch as the goblins grow strong and fat and not do anything until they cross our border? I thought rangers were supposed to be wise?"
He gives her a disapproving glare, opens his moth to say something, hestitates. His face softens the tiniest fraction and he sighs.
"It's... complicated. It's not just that killing the collectors might get the farmers in more trouble than they're already in. Other groups would see it as agressive expansionism - just declaring borders is more than enough to make enemies. Unless they ask for our protection and pledge fealty, you stay out of it. And that's an order!"
"Can I at least go talk to the homesteaders?"
"Girl, you want to go there and offer more protection right after bandits and hobgoblins have collected their 'protection' fees?! If you thought rangers were supposed to be wise, then surely you can do better than that."
She grinds her teeth. "But... but if the hobgobs just happen to cross the border then?"
The sergeant shakes his head. "You never stop, do you? A'right. If you can trick the hobgoblins across the border, we'll ambush them. But I want absolutely no incidents"
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Goblin Squad Member
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Theodum went through the pile of reports that he got via various means to keep an eye on the surrounding lands.
Monster uprisings defeated - this message came from everywhere around. Bandits building a protection racket - no news. More orders of Emerald Spirit - when would they learn that the stuff never survived any cask in which it was poured beyond a 5 mile radius of the lodge.
Maybe they should try some lead lining and a fast rider. Surely the lead would have some negative effects on the well-being of the drinker - but if he tried the Emerald Spirit then that person was beyond such problems anyhow.
And just when Theodum wanted to shift the pile of papers to the side he noticed a small scrap - sighting of hob-goblins was all it said. Hm - did someone mix up goblins and hobgoblins or ogres and hobgoblins again - or was this for real.
This needed follow up. The woods to the east still were full of Bonedancer Goblins. So far the Lodge had been successful to dispose of any new leader they got.
But with a hobgoblin as potential leader - that would be bad news indeed. He surely would look out for any signs that there was truth in this small scrap of paper.
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Goblin Squad Member
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so a roleplay thread huh ..
He looked at the pile of paper in front of him. The role of Guardian of Light and Priest of Sarenrae at Keeper's Pass seemed to involve more politics and paperwork then anything else. Rarely did he ever get to do anything truly worthy of a Cleric of Sarenrae.
There was a tap at the door. With a sigh he grunted for them to enter. A timid acolyte quietly moved into the room.
"Yes?"
"Your Grace there are people poaching our resources."
"So they have not attacked anyone then ... and just what exactly are they are stealing?"
"well, iron Your Grace, and gold ore and maybe tansey Leaves"
He looked out the window at the excess piles of iron ore sitting on the edge of town awaiting eventual processing. " and we need to preserve these because?"
"We do not Your Grace we have more than enough."
" ... so do we have anything at all down here of great value, anything that is not easier to get up North?"
" ah .. maybe Buckthorn Berries, they are more common here Your Grace"
"Which are valuable because ?????"
"They are not sir, the Greenweed is far easier to find and far more useful"
He looked up from his paperwork and stared at the acolyte over the heavy reading glasses perched on the end of his large dwarven nose. "So why should I care about these poachers?"
"It's the law sir, it is our territory"
" .. and Keeper's Pass is a lawful settlement and Sarenrae is a lawful God?"
The Acolyte looked shocked.
"No - definitely Neutral sir"
"As neutral the law is there to serve us not rule us. Those laws are there to give us options if enemies or bandits harass our people, it gives us the freedom to evict known troublemakers. If you see them again tell them to get a permit it is free and we do not even charge royalties. If they get onto the lists we know they are well intentioned - they are perfectly safe then and will not be harassed."
"Yes sir, will do sir"
With a sigh he returned to the paperwork and large pile of permit applications. Was everyone under 50 a fanatic these days ?
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Goblin Squad Member
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Silkworm arched an eyebrow at her sister:
"So people are willing to pay bandits to leave them alone? Surely they must understand it only encourages them to come back? Have they no perspective?"
Her sister rolled her eyes. Why did she always have to do that? Disrespectful brat. Just because they were grown up didn't make her the older.
"So, tell me Silk, what would you do if armed hobgoblins showed up at your door?" she asked in the seemingly innocent tone that meant she was up to something.
"Duh! As if that could ever happen here. There are some advantages to living a civilized life, sis. If they managed to get past our sentries - which they wouldn't - I'd simply call the guards. Viola, no more bandits, and no protection payment".
That annoying smile again.
"Right. A civilized person would of course not pay protection money. So.. how's work? I guess you are busy as usual?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe it. Yrme and Michelle are pushing us hard, it's crazy the amount of rope they need. And cotton sheets. And armor padding. And we just found a better way of weaving enchantments into yarn, and now everyone want a sample of that as well".
"..and still not getting properly paid, just giving the fruits of your labour to those that claim ownership of the land by virtue of their military might? Tell me again how that is different from paying for protection."
What? How can she...
"But.. it's totally different, because..."
Silkworm feels her cheeks blush, both anger at her sister's lack of manners and at herself for not coming up with a snappy reply in time.
"...Because we're the good guys! My work strengthens the forces of good and makes the River Kingdoms a better place for the innocent. And besides, if you truly believed that you would never have..."
But too late - again - her sister has already dodged around the corner, laughing. Insolent child!
Eyraphel lifted his arm to inspect the fresh dent in his armor. It wasn't badly damaged, thankfully, but still it taunted him. He never would have taken that hit if he had his old bastard sword. He drew his longsword from the dead ogre's chest as it lay bleeding on the ground.
It just doesn't have the same range or weight, he thought.
He bent to one knee and rested his forehead on the sword's hilt.
"General of Vengeance, Angel of the Crimson Wing, I declare this foul beast slain in your name. The innocent of Brighthaven will sleep soundly that we have ridden the town of this skulking predator. I pray that you hear me now, as I beseech thee, Ragathiel, to guide my hand in my endeavor to further your mission while I am prevented from marching on the demons of the Worldwound. May your eyes be ever upon us and your wings shield us."
As he stood, he could feel the nagging in the back of his mind. He won't answer you. Mendev burns while you waste time here, and you've even given up his holy weapon. He stared at the longsword in his hand before sheathing it. It wasn't his fault the weaponsmiths have failed to produce a weapon with the right size and weight. For those trained to use it, the bastard sword was a marvel of balance and power, but the smiths keep claiming "the longsword is faster" or "you want a greatsword for powerful strikes." Few understood the bond Ragathiel's followers have with his faith's weapon, but then few are capable of wielding it as he does.
Perhaps the will of the goddess of fate bars the power of demigods from reaching this place.
Eyraphel paused, staring out from the edge of Brighthaven's cliffs. It was an interesting thought, but it felt almost blasphemous. Could he turn to a god who can reach their follows here? How could he, a paladin and devout soldier in the General of Vengeance's army desert his patron?
You have allies. You'd be a fool to do nothing while you seek guidance from an angel who may never answer you.
It was true. Even the Hand of the Inheritor, Iomedae's herald, had originally served Ragathiel, and though Eyraphel found himself without orders, he was far from useless. He drew the longsword once again and lifted it to the sun. The light gleamed off the sword, the trusted weapon of Iomedae's faithful, dimming only for the spots of fresh ogre blood.
I will offer my sword to the Inheritor. She will guide me back to Ragathiel.
He turned back toward Brighthaven and began the hike back. He wondered how the other Empyreans would treat his new resolution. He had recounted so many of Ragathiel's tales to them that he'd heard rumors of the men calling him the angel's son. Perhaps it was unfounded, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like that rumor, and with the other talk of "hobgoblins" and bandits about, the Empyreans needed a battle herald of their own.
I may be cut off from you now, General, but one day the son will return to his father's side.
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Goblin Squad Member
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His eyes swollen, and face redden from tears, the old lumberjack clutch at the small polished stone. A stone that was given to him, by a old drunk beggar, sitting outside of Beelzepub, the tavern in the Capital of the Empire, Golgotha.
He knew what to do with it, he's heard to the rumors and stories, of the magic stones that the Necromancers of Golgotha enchanted that allowed people to talk, and others listen.
But what he didn't understand, is how did a beggar come by one of these priceless stones. And not just any enchanted stone, one of THESE stones... Twirling it in his hands, he saw the small carving of a hand, on the smooth flat top of the stone.
His mind made up, the lumberjack pulled his knife from his belt, and slide it across his hand, drawing the crimson blood from his body. Gripping the stone in the bloodied hand, he recited a poem only the desperate would ever even think:
When the worgs of war are howling,
The fields empty of farmers plowing,
The children of widows are crying,
The warlords, sitting there smiling,
In will set the panic
When doomed is your land
Remember these words of magic,
and whisper "The Bloody Hand"
With knuckles gone white from squeezing the stone, the man heaved himself up. The tears flowing down his face once again, he walked out the door of his little shack, to a small freshly turned patch of dirt, the lumberjack crumbled to his knees. Staring at a small pile of rocks at the end of dirt, the man started to openly sob;
soon, soon my son. All will be right again, and that scum will be taken from this world!
After getting up from what seemed like hours of sobbing, the lumberjack turned to go back inside but was confronted by a cloaked figure.
no words spoken, the two just stared at each other. The man did not need the light of day to know who the figure was, gazing into the orange-red eyes of Tigari. There were few Tieflings in Golgotha, and even fewer who would be here, now.
Who? was all Tigari asked, in a voice just above a whisper.
He.. he..he killed my son, that bastard! He murdered him, then blamed it on that half-wit who lived next to him!
Tigari slightly raised his eyebrow, for he heard the stories floating around the slums of Auroral.
I know what really happened! It doesn't take much to realized! Just look at the size difference of their hands; between the halfwit and that bastard merchant Jonta Kal'gin.
Upon getting his answer, Tigari proposed the next single worded questoin.
Payment?
still locked in stares, the lumberjack new the only acceptable answer. For he was poor, and had not the money to offer.
I guess I'm lucky they sent you, for many have heard of the rumors and stories about you. I offer you the ultimate price, My soul
Of course they would send Tigari, for the moment the man spoke into the stone, the necromancers in The Bloody Hand knew of his situation.
Not many assassins will take payments other than coin. Yet for Tigari, there was a payment worth MUCH more then gold, but only those truely desperate would offer it.
I shall return after the deed is done as Tigari turned and walked back into the shadows.
Tigari though to himself; rolling a small knife with a dark green gem set into it's hilt
Once I fill this soul gem, I'll be one more closer of the many still needed to having enough, enough to draw the attention of that no good father of mine. THEN I shall put my skills to the test."