The preparations weren't for nothing. After three days Kicker, Biter and Slow had to fight off an ambush of six rival goblins while outside the main camp. They hadn't held back and had managed to kill the enemy, who had had a harder time fighting without footwear and with inferior weapons.

However, Slow had been fatally wounded. All three of them were now adults for their species, but they couldn't stop themselves from crying. First the second was devastated too, he had become attached to Slow the most of anyone.

After that, they would continue to see and fight goblins when straying far enough from the cave for food and water.

-

The state of emergency continued for about a week, during that time Scratch's condition deteriorated. He wasn't able to see his own face, but he could feel it falling apart. The open wound had become infected and diseased, beside the pulsing pain he was now experiencing a dizzying fever and he was unable to move. The others had put him in the cave to protect him from the cold winds and occasional drizzle. While in this vulnerable state, lost in the throes of suffering, he could not answer their kindness with gratitude, only self-pity.

-

"Have you come to watch me die?" He turned his head towards the younger First, who he had begun to call Second.

"I brought you these roots." The younger generation Goblin had become an adult in the blink of an eye and had already taken over Scratch's proper grammar from his older siblings.

Weakly Scratch forced himself to eat. He had taught the others about edible plants, even if currently fruit wasn't available there were still plants with roots or leaves that could be eaten. He had been able to point towards artichoke and bitter root and the boys had discovered others by a method of trial and error. By eating plants they were able to keep their hunting to a minimum, but the raw fiber wasn't very appetizing.

"Will you die?" Second asked cautiously.

"I will yes." Scratch sighed, looking up at the cave's ceiling.

"What can we do?"

"You can't do anything. It's... this eye." He held his hand up to his mangled face, careful not to touch it. "The wound is dirty. It's eating away at me, entering my blood."

"If we go to the river? Can we clean your wound?"

Scratch had explained this to his older siblings before. "No, the water here isn't clean. It's barely safe for drinking.

It's..."

He had to stop. Too much agitation and he would hurt himself. Right now his stinging wound burned, as if to punish him for talking too much.

He laid himself back down on the animal pelt. "Thanks for the carrots. Please leave me alone for now."

He closed his working eye and tried to fall asleep.

Currently there were 11 goblins in the tribe.

* Drool, the alpha male.

The warrior trio:

* First, his oldest son and rival.

* Teeth, First's helper and subordinate.

* Yeller, the number one hunter.

The last of the old guard:

* Quiet, a reserved but caring goblin.

* Scratch, an Old Soul.

The newest generation

* Second, a formerly bright-eyed kid, cowed by the horrors of war.

* Kicker, an hunter warrior.

* Biter, a warrior hunter.

* Dumb, a know-it-all.

* Fat, someone that's also there.

Note that these names weren't particularly descriptive, except for instances where the kids would choose to live up to them.

-

As it was now Drool had managed to instill some sense of authority on the younger generation. Scratch had elevated the group from a bestial existence to a primitive one, where they made and used their own tools and weapons, but he was weak and dying, so his authority was greatly diminished. Quiet was the one that had protected and taken care of them since infancy, but he was passive and easily silenced. (Besides, goblin childhood lasting only three days, it wasn't like they had build up a lot of memories together.)

First commanded respect for being on the forefront of taking care of everyone's safety, leading expeditions and fighting off invaders. However, precisely because he was away patrolling so often with the other warriors it was Drool that ended up with the most time with the others to cement his alpha male status.

Kicker and Biter especially had adopted the role of personal bodyguards and lackeys of Drool, something they enjoyed doing greatly.

-

Drool had to have a nagging suspicion of it and the others of the warrior trio were already aware, but First envied

Drool's position and wanted to take over. For that, he needed more popular support.

Multiple authority figures in the lives of the younger generation needed to denounce Drool's leadership. He reasoned that if there was consensus over Drool's unfitness, leadership would fall to him by default. The subject of fire was an excellent talking point to raise for this purpose.

"Do we have a chance without fire?"

He had gathered more of his siblings than were necessary to take care of Scratch during a waking moment. Everyone except Drool and his bodyguards were around.

A single bloodshed eye rolled listlessly around the room until it found First's face. It was the eye of someone too retreated in their own world of pain to discern the intent of others.

"No."

"Then... shouldn't we...?"

"No."

"Scratch?" The one asking that was Second, who had retreated more and more into the stench-filled cave that was

Scratch's deathbed after seeing his brother die. He had made up his mind to learn as much as possible from his older brother, before it was too late.

"Ugh-Ah!" Scratch convulsed because of the pain before speaking again. "You don't stand a chance either way."

He closed his eye again. Not expecting his word to be challenged.

"That can't be true!" Yeller exclaimed, talking over First who was about to say something very similar.

Scratch didn't open his eye. "Did Drool talk about the split, ever?"

"Yes." Second whispered.

"That story is a lesson."

It didn't seem like Scratch was going to explain himself so First turned to Second.

"What happened during the Split?"

"That... well you see-"

But he was interrupted by Dumb, who was eager to show his knowledge. "Drool was the leader first, you know? And the group was really big you know? But a bigger goblin came. And then HE wanted to be the boss and then-"

"The tribe was split into two, the two groups killed a lot of each other." Second finished the story.

"Yeah. But. They both want the knife. Right? Because that's how you know the leader." Dumb interjected quickly.

Scratch seemed like he was sleeping but he was fully conscious and thinking about the situation.

This is how these wretched things have lived for generations. Everybody is killing each other because they want to be top dog. Not to different from street gangs actually, just a lot dumber.

He opened his eyes and glanced at First again. "Nobody raised them correctly, they didn't know how to deal with each other other than violence. Even now, the main group is a fraction of what it was. I'm not sure any are alive that remember what Drool or the ruler's dagger look like."

-

Very softly, in a barely audible tone Quiet added to the conversation. "Why... can't we all be friends?"

"What?" Teeth was befuddled, either he hadn't heard his soft voice, he didn't know the word 'friend' yet, or he just didn't comprehend the sentiment.

Scratch would've laughed if he hadn't been in so much pain.

-

"Listen to me. First." Scratch grabbed First's arm as he pulled away. "You can't go around fighting for who gets to be the boss. Then the fighting will never stop and we'll all end up killing each other too."

First shook him off. "If this goes on, we will all be killed, no matter what we do." He then stamped out of the cavern furiously, Yeller and Teeth tottering behind.

"Hey Margaret! Are you leaving?"

Margaret had never seen the stable boy before, not that she could remember at least. But she had become quite the celebrity in Eston, so it wasn't strange that he would know her name.

"Oh, hi... uhh."

"Ah! My name George. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I just wanted to make a quick excursion so I'm getting Lady. Can you bring her to me?"

The boy had already opened the wide doors to the communal stable and invited her to follow him with a hand gesture.

"She's right this way, Miss. I've got to say, none of us had ever taken care of a pegasus before, she's quite something."

She followed him past the cells allocated for the horses of visiting merchants and adventurers, most where empty. At the far side of the stable a wider stall had been selected for Margaret's pegasus, Lady, to accommodate for its wings.

"I'm certain she's used to much better conditions. I'm sorry she had to make do with a commoner's stable."

Margaret put her hand on the white winged horse's nose. "I'm sure Lady can forgive you. Can't you girl?"

*Neigh*

Lady breezed and turned her nose away in an offended matter.

"Oh, come on missy. Can't you go one week without an army of servants brushing your tail?" Margaret teased her while stroking her neck. "I have the feeling I've been spoiling you."

"Uh.. Let me open up so she can get out." George said.

At those words the intelligent creature stepped back to allow him the room to do so.

"We have your special saddle right here in the back." He continued "I may not have seen a Pegasus before, but I know how a saddle works. If you take her to the front I'll saddle her up."

"Thank you. That's too kind."

"Not at all, it's my job."

-

Margaret comforted Lady while she was being saddled by a stranger.

"Just a few more days, okay? When Laurus is back we'll go west again and you'll be sleeping in Baron Chalmer's red stables. Don't you think that's nice?"

Lady whinnied as a response.

"Who's Laurus?" George interjected. His familiar tone was starting to bug her.

"Hmm? Oh. Just my future husband."

She could almost swear she saw Lady roll her eyes at that statement. The truth was that Laurus was universally adored, and had yet to return the affections of anyone. Everywhere they went he would leave a trail of swooning hearts among rescued maidens, noble daughters and fellow adventurers. Because of her fear of being rejected by a man she held such absolute devotion to Margaret had never dared to confess her feelings aloud, if he were to find out she had referred to him as her future husband she would probably die of shame.

"I-is that right." George said. "A nobleman, then? Or a fellow adventurer?"

"Laurus isn't just any adventurer. He's a genius, a Hero. He's going to be the youngest Rank S adventurer in history."

"W-well. She's all set."

Lady circled around and posed with her golden saddle, which could hold a rider while doing acrobatic stunts hundreds of meters in the air.

"You said you were only going on an excursion. Will you be back today?"

"I... might. I might camp in the woods. That's not a problem is it?"

"Not at all." George panically waved, wanted to quickly dispel the idea. "We'll be ready no matter when you return."

"Well... see you then." In one fluid movement Margaret jumped up the animal and was about to take off into the sky."

"Say... Margaret." George began. "This Hero Laurus, you're going out to look for him. Right?"

Margeret's face became slightly pinker. "It's... well. He didn't say when he'd be back. But... it's been a week now. So..."

George smiled. "It's nothing to be ashamed off. It's normal for lovers to get anxious when they're apart. I'm sure he feels the same way."

"Y-yeah." She quickly flew off without saying much.

Scratch woke up. It'd been a strange dream, he couldn't remember what it had been about but it didn't make much sense to him.

While sitting straight up he wouldn't quite tell whether he was still dreaming or not. There was an unnatural lightness to his being, the fever was gone and the pain from his wound was reduced to a muffled migraine. Somehow he knew death was closer than life.

He stood up, there was nobody around. The cave was devoid of life and the lands outside the entrance were flooded with a piercing white light that drowned out everything and made it seem like the featureless white void where he had met the goddess.

I wonder if I will see her again? Or if it was just a one-time thing.

He turned his head the other way, there was the underground. He walked towards it. How strange that when the darkness had previously filled him with existential dread, made him look away and ignore the hole it now seemed so inviting. As he walked into the depths his goblin eye adjusted to the darkness and the organic nature of the cave walls was revealed.

It looked like a tunnel dug by a worm, the walls showing spiral grooves and curving into a more-or-less round pipe.

At his shambling pace it took some time for Scratch to reach the end, on his way there he encountered a change in ground type, the packed earth turned to shale at a certain depth, after which it turned into what he thought could be magnetite or hematite, high quality iron ore. Normally one would onlly encounter these things in the form of veins between more mundane silicon rock, however, the rust and gleam reminded him of nothing else. Occasionally he spotted a glistening of pure iron in the cave wall, like that which could be found in a meteorite.

The tunnel continued through more rock types, gradually becoming steeper and going straighter down, until it eventually stopped where a cave-in had occurred some time in the past. Sand and other debris had poured into the cave and obscured the rest of the way.

A dead end. What a lousy last dream.

He looked around for something to happen or the dream to end but nothing came. So he was left with no recourse but to walk all the way back himself.

When you're in a bright tunnel, you go to the light. What am I? An idiot?

-

The climb back was less surreal, his surroundings were unchanged and exactly as they had been on the way there.

Somehow he could feel the weight of a waking body return to him. When he stepped into the lived-in area of the cave he was a corporeal person.

In the corner Quiet and Second were scraping an animal pelt. When they saw him they both stared at him in anticipation.

He looked at the place he had been laying, half expecting to see his own body. It was empty.

"Since..." He stopped himself.

Quiet and Second didn't say anything.

"I have a plan."

"Tax evasion?!" The police officer said incredulously and a little bit angry.

"Isn't that how they got Al Capone?"

The person giving the smug rhetorical response was his informant (read: snitch) in the underground syndicate.

"With this info..." He tapped the paper folder he had brought with him. "...all 5 heads of the syndicate can be put away for life. Any crimes they committed to get the money in the first place won't add much meaningful to that sentence."

"If the operations aren't exposed we can't stop them."

"Hmm? That's true. Does that mean you won't be taking my offer?"

The investigator balked at the criminal's presumptuousness.

The man made as if the grab the information and leave again. "I can understand perfectly well if your conscience is holding you back officer. Of course, this would make you a hero. I know you have political ambitions, so..."

The police officer rough-handedly grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back into the chair.

"Now you listen, maggot. You're nothing but a cog, alright? You're a paper pusher and you're messing with the big picture guys. You have no idea what's going on."

He got up intimidatingly close to the informant, looking to scare him into compliance. His subject fought back with a look of quasi-disinterest. Did he have an alternative buyer?

"You'll figure something out." He said without looking him straight in the eyes. "You'll propose a deal for some pointed fingers. Isn't that what cops do?"

"You... you! Are you really selling out your comrades? Don't you care about them?" He was just probing for a weakness now.

Instead the sociopath gave him a fake smile, looking him straight in the eye. "I guess we're all raised with different values."

Quiet and Second had some trouble explaining the situation to Yeller and Teeth, in the first place because they didn't really understand it themselves.

In the mean-time the other younger goblins had gathered around Drool and First, who were having their first public confrontation over the issue.

"This all just for you isn't it?" It was a question as accusatory as it was vague, from First, directed at Drool.

"Scratch help all of us. Help group." Drool, in his age, hadn't seen fit to adopt the talking patterns of his sons and still spoke simply.

"No. This group... you use us. Like..." He looked around trying to find the words. "...like we use what Scratch makes."

Drool hesitated. He didn't grasp analogy but he understood the emotion behind the statement, so he pointed his dagger at his eldest living son. "I am leader."

First just spat at his feet. A sign of disrespect he must have developed independently. "It should have been you."

-

Scratch didn't have the clearness of mind to pay attention to his surroundings. His bag-like footwear had been torn to shreds from everything he walked into and his legs were cut and grazed all over, particularly his feet. When he would notice the silhouette of what looked like his own species he gripped his new-made weapon and kept repeating the same lie.

Through all of this he was retreated in his own mind, mulling over one question.

Why am I doing this?

In his old life he would never have sacrificed his life for others. Quite to the contrary, he had on multiple occasions thrown others to the wolves to serve his own purposes. Why now, just when it seemed like he had regained the strength to move by himself and maybe do something to avert his own death, was he throwing his life away? Maybe he didn't have much to live for in this world anyway. Maybe the one thing he had dedicated most of his short new life to was about to be eradicated by outside force or inner strife.

"Don't go back." Was the last thing he had told Quiet. "Don't let them become like Drool was again. P-preserve this... this knowing, this learning."

Let that be my legacy at least. He had thought with it, while they were making the object.

-

Ivory was rather expensive in his old world and a big underground market existed for it. Not only because of its rarity, but because of its properties. Ivory can easily be carved into complex shapes without crumbling. With rust from the cave the color of poorly maintained steel could be replicated. Together these ingredients made for an outwardly convincing, but hardly functional, copy of Drool's knife.

That was the item so firmly in Scratch's grasp while he recited the same thing to his captors.

"I'm Drool. I'm Drool... I am Drool."

Why am I doing this?

Because they only ever wanted Drool.

Because with this, the rest will be safe.

Does that mean I have started caring?

The main group lived in an abandoned mining town. Their number was in the dozens and their were several human women being held somewhere.

A dilapidated human-made wall protected them against forest predators, for the most part. There weren't any goblins being dragged off by wolves when Scratch was being brought in at least. In any case the wall was broken up by many rotten gates and collapsed sections so residents were able to freely go in and out from whichever direction they came.

In the middle of the empty town a statue had been knocked over and its pedestal was being used to prop up a chair, making it a throne for their leader.

Their leader was not a goblin. Not like any of the other goblins. To begin with, he was almost twice as tall as regular goblins, not average human height yet but certainly imposing for someone like Scratch. On top of that, rather than moss green he was closer to burnt orange in skin color and small horn tips where peeking out of his forehead.

Behind him were more of his kind, stronger, better goblins that were being served by their smaller more numerous brethren. Food and water was brought to them in human-made bowls and cups and fed to them without them needing to stretch out their necks as they were lounging around on the ground, roofs and stairs.

"Drool come back!" The leader spoke. He didn't look nearly as old as Drool, but still tarnished by time and improper hygiene. "Drool give up."

"Yes. Drool no can live outside. Want mercy." His impersonation of Drool probably wasn't what would make or break the ruse, but it was better to be sure.

"Give knife." The rival leader said. One of the fake Drool's captors hurried over with the fake knife.

"Now is clear!" The orange goblin said, raising the object into the air. "Horns is boss!"

All goblins around cheered at varying levels of enthusiasm. There were more people in one place than Scratch had seen up till now in his new life.

-

Horns pointed at him. "Drool want mercy. Drool must beg."

Scratch stumbled towards the throne, being kicked from behind and jeered at.

He ended up at Horn's callused and infected feet.

"Beg." Was the order again.

"P-please... let me live." Scratch managed to get out while cringing away from the smell.

Horns looked at him quizzically. He didn't seem to recognize his face, but he shrugged off the doubts and probably chalked it up to the face wound. Drool had to have been fighting wild animals daily, of course he would end up mutilated beyond recognition. At the appeal for mercy the goblin boss smiled evilly. He had specifically asked for this so he could respond thusly:

"No."

With a wide overhead swing he stabbed at the creature at his feet.

-

Scratch closed his one working eye. Even if it wasn't the famous metal dagger the pointy ivory object would still kill him once it penetrated his face. However, he was completely calm.

Who'd think I'd lay down my life for another? Well, it was forfeit anyway. At least I can protect the kids from this violence and bloodshed.

It was at that point that his brothers came storming out of the forest in a cacophony of violence and bloodshed.

The main group wielded clubs and stones, Drool's sons were equipped with slings, spears and axes. On the village's even ground their advantage wasn't as big as in the forest but one of them was still worth multiple of the enemy.

Horns was knocked against his throne and off the pedestal by a well-aimed sling shot from Biter. The other elite goblins immediately got up, throwing their attendants on the ground in their hurry to repel the invasion.

The ranged fighters, Biter, Dumb and Quiet, stayed at a distance, guarded by the spear men, Second, Kicker and Fat.

The warrior trio quickly rushed forward to encircle Scratch and protect him from the encroaching enemy goblins.

Scratch glared at the weapon in First's left hand. It was Drool's dagger. "You bastards. What do you think I-"

"Scratch!" Yeller screamed, not able to look back to his brother as he had to focus on the enemy in front of him. "We need you alive. If you're willing to die for us. Please. Be willing to live for us. Okay?"

"We can't do it without you." Said First as he handed him the knife.

Scratch took the thing without really understanding.

"You said; if fighting makes you the leader, we'll always be fighting." First explained as he grasped the stone axe with both hands. "Then maybe, helping others should make you the leader."

That the ambitious First had yielded position of chief to him filled Scratch with an unknown sentiment he hadn't felt in two lives. He firmly grasped the rusty knife and took position among his comrades in the upcoming fight.

-

The orange goblins were the elite force of the main group, most warriors were regular malnourished goblins. All-in-all there were seven elite goblins, including Horns, and close to thirty regular ones.

Scratch's sling-users had their hands full keeping the regular foot folk at bay while Scratch and the trio were focusing on Horns and his kind.

Despite his painful new injury Horns thought he could rely on his human made sharpened weapon to win him the fight, but the fake weapon was quickly shattered with a parry from Teeth's stone-tipped spear. Horns was the first to die.

The others, though to a lesser extent, were also at a disadvantage due to their inferior equipment. They carried larger and heavier branches than their smaller cousins, powerful clubs that brought serious injury when they hit and were still painful when they merely grazed. However, Scratch's edged weapons brought serious injury when they grazed and completely debilitated when they hit. Because of this, Yeller, who was dual wielding two smaller spears, was able to take a hit from one enemy in the back while focusing on stabbing another and turn around to skewer the legs of the first opponent.

-

With their risky and fearless fighting style the band of brothers managed to throw the enemy into disarray and give themselves room to retreat and escape.

When Scratch and the others got back to sling users Quiet put down his sling and walked back to retrieve their secret weapon.

"We had to fight Drool to make this." Yeller said grinningly as he stepped aside to let Quiet through with his burning staff.

-

Apparently they had managed to restart the fire back at the cave and had carried a long stick with burnable materials tied to the end all the way to the enemy camp.

All Quiet had to do was let it drop and let the end fall on the heaps of dried leaves they had scattered in-between firing their slings. A wall of flame rose up between them and the enemy.

If the goblins had had a more tactical mind they would have realized the fire wasn't that intense and on top of that there were places were they could simply walk around them. However, for almost all of them this was the first time they'd seen fire and they didn't at all know how to respond. So they stayed behind, as if the orange flames were an impenetrable barrier.

With their target rescued and the enemy deterred the brothers wanted to make their getaway.

However, First and Scratch were stopped by Second.

"We have to make sure they don't recover from this. Women are what keeps a tribe strong."

When he explained that he didn't want to steal the women, merely set them free so the main group no longer had them, the others agreed to the feasibility of the plan.

Scratch was send back with the others after sharing the little information he had on the town's layout, as this whole thing would be a wash were he to die now, and First and Second circled around to execute their mission.

-

The thing turned out to be exceedingly easy. The town was in chaos over the fight happening and the women were kept by Horn's sleeping place, where he hadn't trusted anyone as guard near them. So all they had to do was remove a barricade and shout some words of comfort and encouragement to convince the captives to make a run for it.

Hobgoblin

Family: Subhumans

Threat Level: E

Reward: 3 copper pieces

Hobgoblins are the evolved form of goblins. They are mostly the same as goblins except that they're stronger and more intelligent (they are able to wield rudimentary magic). Normal goblin nests usually do not have hobgoblins in them, when they do they will eventually turn into hobgoblin nests completely, clearing a hobgoblin nest is an E-level mission.

When goblins and hobgoblins co-habitate the hobgoblins will rule over the goblins, as both are a species that values strength above all else.