"We received a message from the bandits." Mabel confided to her sister.

Her sister Barbara had been a prisoner to goblins for months in the self-same forest the bandits had set up their camp, but she had been presumed dead and had had to escape by herself.

"Apparently the orc situation has gone tits-up."

"Fuck." Barbara kicked a street dog into the canal, it yelped painfully but the sound was drowned out by the splash.

"So we're gonna have ta restructure the entire smuggling ring, don't we?"

"Yes, WE will." Mabel, who was of a higher rank within the organization, commented.

"Well... maybe it won' be so bad for us." Barbara pondered aloud.

"What makes you say that?"

"With the smuggling in hot water someone's gonna need to step up and find anotha scam to replace it, innit?"

"Ah. I see. You want us to drag power towards ourselves when the place is in chaos. Y'know Barb, we won't be the only ones trying to do something like that."

"No." Barbara tapped the side of her head. "But we'll be the smartest ones."

Mabel chuckled. "Do you have any plan at all?"

"With no more bandits and the duke's troops coming here to slay monsters we can't move smuggled goods around anymore, right?"

"Right."

"We've got a lot of fingers pie with smuggling, all those people will be out of a job. Probably enough to start a security play again."

"A protection racket? Barbara, we haven't done anything bigger than pickpocketing in decades."

"A bigger job, a bigger haul, Mabel. Don't tell me you don't want to rule this town. When the first official reports of orc activity come in we should already be making our play, before the others think of it."

It did sound attractive. Mabel was already halfway convinced that this change could mean a big opportunity for their family.

"-so I thought you guys must have been captured too." Patrick told the two other warriors present over the smoldering fire.

Dee had wrapped herself in blankets completely, she looked like giant cocoon with a human face poking out. "Really, by goblins? Are you stupid?"

Patrick sputtered. "H-hey, we didn't know how many there were."

"It doesn't matter how many there were." Dee said. "Harkness is a former knight, a hundred goblins couldn't touch her."

"That doesn't matter right now." Patrick looked around him, but it was too dark to really make out anything. "Did you know there's gold in the cave?" He whispered.

"Gold?" Said Huckabee. "That must be why Beatty keeps these goblins here, to mine it for him."

"You think so?"

"Do you see any other explanation?"

"I guess so. Who is this Beatty character anyway?"

Dee started talking with her eyes closed. "Nobody knows, not even the boss. She says there's no Beatty family in Reddington."

"So he's an exile from another country." Huckabee commented.

"Either that, or it's not his real name." Dee continued. "Anyways, the goblins let you go because they thought Beatty showing off his power was enough to keep us from harming them or stealing their stuff."

"Aha..." It seemed like Huckabee had gotten some insight from the explanation, but then he said. "I've got to take a leak." And stood up.

-

He stepped into the darkness. The forest around him was completely silent, no rustling leaves, no animals stirring, not even crickets.

This place gives me the creeps. He thought to himself as he lowered his pants to empty his bladder. Let's get this over with.

During his years as a bandit he had gotten used to not having any plumbing to speak off, but the goblins didn't even have waste buckets for defecation, it really was like camping in the woods during a trip. The forest around him was probably littered with frozen goblin turds, piled up over the months. That was going to attract a lot of slimes when temperatures were going to rise again. But goblins probably couldn't afford to think ahead that far.

The stream of urine made a consistent clattering sound on the crispy forest leaves, he had gone so long without relieving himself, the piss just didn't seem to stop.

"Hold it right there."

The voice of a goblin came out of nowhere in the darkness around him.

Huckabee tried to cut himself off midstream.

"Don't stand in my way." Another goblin said.

The strain on Huckabee's urinary tract trying to keep in a stream that he had already begun releasing was too much. "I can't hold it much longer." He said apologetically to whoever was threatening him.

"Not you, you idiot." The voice said. "I'm talking to the idiot with the weapon."

Teeth was seeing red when he approached the back of his target.

He had seen that face at the death of two of his brothers, he was the enemy, the greater power than struck them down. But now Teeth had power too. The intricate weapon of the pig creatures. He no longer needed to fear that specter of death, he would slay his nightmare right there.

"Hold it right there."

It was Scratch, he had suspected Teeth breaking his promise and had followed him.

"Don't stand in my way." Teeth growled. As long as Scratch wouldn't proceed to stand in front of the enemy he could take a shot.

"I can't hold it in much longer." The human whined.

"Not you, you idiot." Scratch berated. "I'm talking to the idiot with the weapon. Teeth, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"He killed Yeller." Teeth said, his voice cracking. "He killed First. It's his fault."

"Teeth..." Second was also there.

"He has to die." Teeth said, tears in his eyes obscuring his vision. "He has to. It wouldn't be... it wouldn't be fair if he lived."

"FAIR!?" Scratch slapped the back of his head while wrestling the weapon away from him together with Second. "Who taught you that word? Because I sure didn't."

The truth was that Scratch had used the word "fair" in conversation before, both seriously and ironically. He had spoken of people's "fair" share of work, "to be fair" in giving someone the credit they deserved, and insisting the boys would "play fair" when they were playing their games. All of these implied the existence deserved or undeserved treatment. Even if Scratch adamantly denied believing such a thing even existed.

"I have told you too many times already, no revenge killing. Are you incapable of following orders, or do you just not care?"

Teeth was still crying, it affected his voice. "He can't live. He can't! Not if they're dead!"

"You can't bring them back Teeth. Not with this." Second said, trying to be empathetic.

Teeth punched him, throwing him to the ground with a yelp.

"I see." Scratch sighed. "I can't control you, can I?"

Teeth's fists were still balled up, he spoke with his teeth clenched. "No. I have to do this."

"Okay." Scratch spread out his arms. "I'll give up telling you what to do, come here."

They closed in for a hug.

Then Teeth's face went pale.

Knowing the fold and cut of Teeth's animal skin shirt, Scratch had closed the distance between them and plunged the ruler's dagger between a seam at the armpit, hitting a major artery.

Teeth fell back in Scratch's arms, looking his brother in the eye, full of shock. His strength failed him.

"You know what the tragic thing is, Teeth? I didn't ask you to do what's best for me, I didn't even ask you to do what's best for the group, I wanted you to do what was best for you. And you just... couldn't."

As Teeth died Scratch layed him down gently on the ground.

Second had his mouth covered in horror. "Teeth for Huckabee..." He referred to it as a trade. "... why?"

"Only now do I realize I haven't been raising you kids correctly. I haven't transferred my values to you, and this is the result." Scratch put his hand over Teeth's eyes, ignoring the smell of a fresh corpse excreting waste. "I have failed as a guardian, and I won't make the same mistake again."

It was clear to Second that Scratch had considered Teeth a failed creation and had torn him down like an incorrect start to a house. For the first time, Scratch seemed dangerous.

Huckabee had heard it all, including the fatal stabbing, while being unable to stop urinating.

Only after the exchange was over did his bladder finally empty, he shook his member a bit to get list of the last drops and then pulled up his pants.

He turned around, it was still too dark to see. "Scratch? Goblin boss?"

"Yeah, we're here."

"I'm sorry." Huckabee tried.

"I'm sorry too. I can assure you it won't happen again."

The goblin had had to kill his own brother to avoid war with the bandit troupe. Even if Harkness would have understood the boy had acted alone, Dee and Patrick, the ones who were near right now, wouldn't have been so understanding of Huckabee's death and would have wiped the lot out, Beatty or no Beatty.

This death, too, Huckabee realized, is my fault.

He reached into his pocket for the card, realizing now that he should have brought it up earlier, if only he hadn't been so damn cowardly about the whole affair. "Can you come with me to the campfire?" He said. "I want to show you something."

-

When they were back Dee had fallen asleep and Patrick was half asleep too. They had neglected to set up a schedule for guard duty so the last one to fall asleep was the loser that stayed up all night. It seemed like that was going to be Huckabee.

He poked the embers with a branch and blew on the fire. He got some sparks and a little light, enough to see the outline of the goblin's face.

Scratch had gone back to wearing an eye patch over his missing eye, for aesthetic reasons. The goblin with him, with the big eyes, Huckabee thought was named Second. (Born seventh?) He had been nice to Cobaline, the little girl.

"Here." Huckabee handed Scratch the card he had found at Yeller's body.

The goblin accepted it with some trepidation. He looked at the image, of the goblin brothers standing around the mangled corpse in grief, with a look of confusion on his face.

"It says 'roadside burial'." Huckabee explained.

"What... is it?" Second looked at it from over Scratch's shoulder.

"It's a world memory." Huckabee explained, he tried to sound solemn and not let his surprise as the the goblins' ignorance shine through. "The world shows its memory in the form of these cards, they show events that happened or things that used to exist. There is a game that can be played with them, but they're often kept as keepsakes. A reminder of someone lost."

"And every event only creates one card?" Scratch said.

"Not every event." Huckabee responded. "Only special events, something that changes people, or the world."

"I was at this funeral. I didn't see any card appearing."

"No. It usually takes about a week or two for a world memory to materialize. You... do believe me, don't you?"

Scratch looked from him to Second and back again. "I don't see why you'd lie. Thank you for giving me this, Huckabee."

"No trouble." Huckabee sighed in relief. "I know you wouldn't want someone else to get their hands on memories about you."

Scratch gave a humorless chuckle. "I suppose that's an easy way for secrets to get out."

"No kidding! They say every noble family has a box of shame where all their scandals are hidden."

Scratch paused. "Couldn't they just burn them?"

"Oh no! World memories are indestructible in all ways, you can't get rid of them."

Scratch looked at the card again.

"Scratch... we should go back inside." Second said.

"I suppose you're right. Say goodnight to Huckabee."

"G'night Huckabee." Second mumbled and they both left him alone with his thoughts.

"Wake everybody up." Scratch told Second. "We're having a meeting in the dining room."

When one person was shaken awake they would proceed to make noise or touch others, quickly waking up the whole cadre.

-

Most of them were still half asleep when Scratch had them sit down around the table, but Second and the prisoners were wide-eyed and attentive.

"Just now," Scratch started "Teeth challenged my leadership, and I killed him."

"No." Quiet whispered.

"I'm afraid it's the truth. We liked Teeth, or at least I did, but he had been growing apart from us. This had to happen eventually."

"Why kill him?" Second had been there but he was angry at the decision and challenged Scratch right in front of everyone.

"Teeth was determined to break a hard-fought peace. I needed to stop him to ensure our survival."

"But-"

"I won't discuss it any more. The issue is awkward enough as it is. Tomorrow, I want two of you to go out and bury his body where we don't have to look at it, alright?"

The group murmured in resignation.

"Good. Then it's now time to go back to bed."

The kids stumbled towards their blankets again, they'd realize the full implication of losing their brother in the morning.

"Oh." Scratch remembered something. "Starting tomorrow, I'm going to teach a class on emotions after exercise." He looked straight at Second. "Some of you have been developing rather a lot of them."

"Who will stand guard?" Dumb asked.

"I will." Second answered, returning Scratch's gaze with equal intensity.

It didn't give Scratch pleasure playing the strict parent. He was pretty sure most parents were able to raise perfectly functional children without killing any of them. Although his own father hadn't been like that, neither Drool, nor the father he had had as a human.

Just doing the best with the tools given to me. He thought, referring to his upbringing, while rolling over on his blanket.

Death was such a peculiar thing. So final. You can't take back a murder.

Scratch was determined to not let it bother him. So you killed a sibling, you've killed siblings before. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

-

So you finally fell asleep.

"Oh lord, what fresh hell is this."

It is me, Scratch. Your saviour, your host, your god.

Before him was an ocean of pitch black water, from it rose a serpent the size of a building, the water steamed off him as if superheated by a white hot surface.

"S-satan? Wait, this is a dream, isn't it?"

I have come to you in your dream to speak to you. The form you see before you is your own mind's interpretation of my might.

Scratch thought for a second. "So everything I see is thought up by me. I don't suppose that means I can just change it."

Well... I suppose. Since you're now lucid you c- I shouldn't have told you that. With those last words the monstrous reptile shrunk down to the size of a cricket before his feet. Very funny.

Scratch shrugged and stomped on the creature. But in the contradictory fashion that is only possible in the world of dreams the monster was both stomped on and completely untouched.

Enough tomfoolery, I have not visited you today to play around with the fabric of dreams. I have come to make a deal.

Scratch sighed. "That's rather ominous, since the world memory explicitly called you an evil god. I don't think I can trust you, Satan."

The being vibrated in anger. The world memory!? That accursed log of lies? What does it say? It says I guided you, did it not? I saved your friends from fellow kind. Does that not show I can be trusted? And my name is NOT Satan. It's Cyclophan, god of Guile and Trickery.

"Yeah, okay." Scratch relented, but then immediately changed his mind. "No wait, there's nothing trustworthy about any of that!"

The tiny snake's form slumped over in defeat. Ugh, why does this have to be so hard? Monsters are supposed to be excited to get an evil god as patron.

"Wait a minute." Scratch sat down next to him. "How many evil gods are there?"

Oh. There's tons. Just today a rival god tried to find my core and take it over. That's what those orcs were here for, they served the evil god Manshuu, god of Bloodshed. Since you got rid of it, I decided to stop holding out for someone stronger and make you my champion.

Scratch had created a cigarette in his dream, but wasn't able to get the nicotine feeling from an imaginary object. "You were holding out for someone better, were you? That explains the guidance, you were trying to get me killed and replace me with one of those orange guys." He exhaled the imaginary smoke while talking.

Argh! The snake rolled over the floor in self-pity. You hate me. How will I ever start a dungeon without a champion?

"Hate you? Please, I'm older than I look you know. I'm not resenting you for doing what's best for you, I just don't see any benefit to myself entering in a deal with you."

Ah?! The snake perked up. But that's the part I haven't told you about, there's actually lots of benefits to serving an evil god.

"Well?" Scratch flicked away the cigarette. "Sell me on it."

Okay. So, first of all, a champion becomes very skilled very quickly. Champions of gods will can learn things that have to do with their aspect very easily. That's why all warriors and mages that have gone down in history were champions of gods.

Really? Any of them yours?

N-no. But still, you could be like them.

"Like them, huh? I become skilled in, what? Tricking people?"

Sleight of hand, actually.

Scratch looked at him like he was crazy. "Sleight of hand? You want me to sell my soul for stage magic?"

No. Just... do you have any wishes? Desires? You have to right?

"Now it's getting interesting. Sure, I have a couple of gripes. First of all, there's a yearly event coming up where humans kill goblins en masse, heard of it?"

I know of it, yes.

"I would like to stop it."

Cyclophan was silent. Do you have any other wishes?

"Right, so I didn't want society to keep killing us. I want a decent home to live in..." He thought back to the list he had made of the four curses imposed on him by the goddess. "I want to know more about this world and its rules and... I want to be stronger, to evolve."

Oh, yes! Cyclophan seemed pleased. Evil gods have made their champions evolve in the past.

"How does that work?"

I can make creatures evolve to a stronger version of their family of monsters.

"Can you turn me into a human?"

An example of a monster in your family would be hobgoblins, like the ones you had to fight off when you made fire.

"But not humans."

Humans... there are goblinoid monsters that can disguise themselves as human.

"So you can evolve me to one of those?"

Do you doubt my power?

"You haven't shown me much power yet."

That's true, that's why I need you to keep up your end of the deal.

"You do?"

Yes. I do. Currently I am inhabiting a wyrm shard, also known as a dungeon core. You'll find it if you restore the tunnel I dug. I need to have a continuous path of open space between me and the skies to accumulate power, that's what will allow me to exact my miraculous powers.

"So... we complete the mineshaft and that's it? That's my end of the deal completed?"

No! Definitely not. With a path opened up anybody can stroll in and reach my core. I need a dungeon of monsters to defend me. That's why I kept digging down, to increase the length of the path towards me, unfortunately it backfired and the thing collapsed. Cyclophan seemed absolutely exhausted just recounting the story.

"So you grant me power and in exchange I use it to protect you."

That is exactly right.

"As good as that deal sounds, Cyclophan, I don't think we're up to the task. I mean there's only eleven... ten of us. Ten goblins, that's not much of a security detail."

Goblins breed quickly. Scratch, I know you can give me a dungeon. I've dug through some veins of precious and useful metals, they're yours, use them as you see fit.

"Well... I suppose... if you were to dedicate yourself as I do to helping the goblin community grow and thrive..."

Cyclophan groaned. Very well. Power. Wealth. And my aid in building your home. Is that good enough for you?

With that Scratch gave Cyclophan the form of a man of equal height to himself, in order to shake his hand.

I don't suppose all of that is worth signing your soul to me, so I can be assured of your loyalty, is it?

"Why would I do that? When the current deal works for both of us."

Cyclophan's featureless form sighed. I knew it.

Scratch seemed be having a particularly good dream, he had a smug and satisfied expression on his face while sleeping.

Second refused to look at him. In the span of a single day a brother he had thought dead had returned, and then immediately died, another brother had died and it was yet another brother that had done it.

Staying up during the night wile the others were sleeping gave him some time to process it all.

What do I want? What can I expect? It was a more complicated question than he had thought it'd be. When he was still young his favorite playmate had been killed by a rival tribe. In the span of his following life the time they had spent together seemed short now, but the event still changed him. He was always the most scared to lose people, yet the least prepared when it happened.

Am I defective?

Other tribes dealt with death every day, they needed women in order to replenish their numbers. But the cave goblins, they were the goblins that didn't die, they had taken pride in that... Was that even really true? So many had died already. It wasn't reasonable to expect life continuing so peacefully anymore. Especially with the human attack that the prisoners predicted coming any day now.

-

There were no good and happy thoughts in Second's mind that evening, while he was keeping an eye out for intruders.

Eventually Quiet came to join him.

"Hi?" Second said, surprised.

Quiet gave a soft, inaudible reply.

They sat in front of the entrance, silently.

-

Eventually Quiet did say something. "Before you were born..."

It reminded Second that Quiet was older than him, he had memory of Quiet making sure they survived when they were infants, but later the brother faded into the background, just one of the group.

"...before you were born, the youngest was Runt. Drool killed him."

"Just like Scratch now."

"No... not like Scratch. Drool... Drool was afraid."

Second raised an eyebrow, but Quiet continued.

"Drool was afraid of everything. Of fire, of animals, of his own children. He killed Runt to prove he was strong, so we would be afraid of him."

Second stared into the sky, intentionally avoiding eye contact with Quiet. "Drool sure was awful, wasn't he?"

"Second..." Quiet touched his shoulder. "...Drool was a goblin. That's what goblins do."

Second shook off his hand. "So what? Why are you telling me this?"

Quiet was taken aback. He went silent again. "...I don't know... you were there..."

Second looked at him now, in anticipation.

"You saw Scratch..." Quiet had trouble saying the word. "...Kill... Teeth. Did he look afraid to you?"

"No. I don't think he felt afraid. Sometimes I think... he doesn't feel anything at all."

They didn't speak after that.

Whisk

Whisk is a game played using world memories, it is very popular among adventurers and certain nobles. The rules are simple, both players organize a deck of exactly sixty memories, which shuffle themselves into a random order at the start of the game. Each player adds the top 5 cards to their hand and draws an additional card at the start of each turn, the first turn is by the challengee.

The mechanics of whisk are enforced by the Whisk spell, which materializes the memories in the cards into card spirits, that can be commanded by their player. A player must practice and experiment with these cards in order to fully understand the extent of their abilities and effects, although there are many cards that are common and identical, whose effects are completely understood.

Broadly, there are three types of world memories: Entities, Events and Locations. These memories will appear in the world when something is destroyed or changed dramatically. Adventurers are the people most suited to find memories of powerful monsters, great disasters or dungeons, as they travel the dangerous places these things appear, while nobility are more likely to obtain memories of important people, intrigue and man made structures, for a less direct play style.

A game of whisk is won by reducing the opponent's magic points to zero, their deck being empty, or making them surrender. While in friendly games the amount of magic points one starts with is the same (usually 12000, the amount of attack damage a single elder dragon deals with a direct attack), in competitive scenes the amount of magic points depends on the amount of money betted and in whisk areans the magic points are replaced by the actual health of the player, as magic makes the memories life size and physical.

Rare and powerful cards can be worth a lot to collectors and professional players. That is why card hunters exist, professionals that specialize in finding and collecting rare world memories, sometimes even resorting to violence and theft to do it. Some individuals keep cards locked away in vaults, either as precious heirlooms, to avoid them being played against them, or because what is depicted on the card is something personally important to them.

A version of the Whisk spell exists called Greater Whisk, which creates a temporary whisk arena around the caster and allows them to use their deck in real combat. Since the spell is hard to learn, its mana cost is great, and real world enemies do not respect turn order, this is not considered a viable strategy for battle.