Here's my plan. Cyclophan posited.

Oh boy, here we go.

You haven't even heard it yet.

No, no. Go right ahead.

So you were talking about setting up a snatching spree-

Can you hear anything I say?

In the cave, yes. I can hear it through the wyrm shard. But I can also hear every lie in this world as it's being told.

You can what?!

I'm a god.

Okay, given. That's still pretty powerful.

Well... maybe it'll inspire you to show some deference.

Uh-huh.

...The snatching spree. I want you to bring some chickens.

The goal is mainly human women.

I know. But you'll be raiding farms anyway, and chickens I can evolve into more cockatrices. Think about it, you can breed a whole flock of them.

That's a good idea. I'll keep it in mind. Well, goodbye-

Wait. One more thing. Not just any chicken will do.

What are you talking about?

I can't make a creature closer to divinity than it already is. So the chicken has to have the potential to become as powerful as a cockatrice by itself.

...

What are you talking about?

How do I put this. The cockatrice you're eating the eggs from every morning?

Tiresias. Yes.

She carried a potential inside herself, even before she became a cockatrice.

Not the potential to turn people to stone, surely.

No, I diverted it into a different kind of power. If properly trained, Tiresias could have developed higher strength and combat capability. She had a level of divinity, however small, that I was able to exploit. I turned her into a creature that was no more powerful than she could feasibly become. That's how evolution works.

So you can only uplift creatures to their maximum potential.

That's right. However, you'd be surprised how much potential even a weak animal can have.

So what kind of chicken should I look out for?

A big one. As long as it's big, it'll be alright. Also, you might want a rooster, to get chicks.

Scratch was about to put away the pipe, but he had a thought. Having more monsters in your tunnel diverts more magic your way, doesn't it?

Y-yeah. You guessed my ulterior motive.

Are the side walls not enough?

Currently the goblins were busy with two major construction projects. One was a latrine pit, the other was the interior design of the tunnel.

The slope downwards was tiled with hewn stone stair steps and the exposed walls between the scaffold supports was covered with birch wood planks. Besides helping divert the flow of magic it gave a home-like feel to an area that already led down in-use rooms and mines.

A bit more never hurts.

I'll give you your monster coop. But with all that magic stacking up, I expect to be evolved soon. You hear?

Scratch put away the pipe. With the new information about the limitations of evolution he had to adjust his expectations. Still, the alliance with Cyclophan was probably a net positive, for now.

Mabel was despondent. She had spend a whole day distancing herself from the actions of her sister, who had landed herself into trouble when it turned out their plan was based on outdated information. Various guild members had approached her about the subject, even Mac himself had shown up in person. She had had to thoroughly rebuke and disown her own sister.

She had succeeded, but it was still a stressful time.

And now she had to spend the rest of the day baby-sitting a connection of her husband. The spoiled Tanner boy from a western barony.

"Give me a healing potion." Tanner whined, as if the substance was cheap to come by.

"You have already been healed." She sussed him. "You just need to wait for the pain to disappear."

He pouted in self pity. "That damn Nightshade guy. I'll get him next time."

She knew it was expected of her to stay respectful, but she couldn't help criticize the young adult. "What were you thinking challenging an adventurer of his caliber to a duel? Be glad he didn't find out about your contraband at least."

He didn't look at her. "How dare he... Doesn't even remember my name..."

Mabel exasperated and turned around, throwing her hands up.

Right at that moment there came a knock on the door.

Thank Geros. Mabel praised the earth god in her mind. Some distraction.

The distraction in question was her husband, taking some time off from his busy schedule to check up on them.

"How's my lowblood peasant shark of a wife doing?" He cooed.

She kissed him on the cheek. "Waiting for her dishonored posh noble of a husband to show up."

For a marriage of convenience their relationship was reasonably affable.

"Mister Harkness." Sebastian stood up to properly address a noble of equal rank. "I have suffered the most ignoble humiliation by the hands of-"

"Sebastian, friend, sit down. I've heard about your little encounter." Harkness laughed. "I'd be hard not to, it's the talk of the town."

Sebastian breathed in through his nose in indignation.

"But currently," his host continued, "there is the issue with my sister-in-law. She has transgressed seriously against the guild, and used our name..." he touched his wife's shoulder when he said that, "... to do so. So you understand it's a delicate issue that requires most of our attention."

Sebastian fell back on his chair.

"Our trader will arrive in tomorrow." Mabel said. "Then we can supply you with the requested item. Until then, please, stay out of the way of adventurers."

"Well?" Scratch stood on top of an upturned clout of earth to see overhead the goblin horde. "Is everybody here?"

The goblins scrambled to find their assigned partners. Scratch had paired them off so it would become clear when somebody was missing.

The current collection was made up out of goblins from different tribes.

The cave goblins were represented by Scratch himself, Kicker, Second and Dumb.

The hill goblins had contributed six warriors and the river goblins five.

After a full day of travel it was time to take a rest and count heads.

"Everybody's here." Dumb relayed after it had been established.

"Okay, good. Put on your helmets."

The headgear was distributed from the sled. They had struggled to gather enough iron, and had even had to convert some pans in order to outfit everyone. However, Scratch considered it a necessity for his plan. The head is the most important part of the body to defend against injury, and with a goblin it was the closest thing within a human's arm's reach.

The helmets had iron plating on the outside to ward of damage, and soft fur on the inside to soften the impact. They weren't shaped perfectly to the head and mostly protected the top of the skull.

Dumb nudged Scratch, who was still standing on an elevated position, in the thigh. "Tell them the plan."

"Right. Everyone!" He clapped his hands. "Just beyond here is a farmhouse. Where humans live. In a few moments we're going to drop in and take some things. Now. This isn't going to be a spur of the moment snatching spree, this is a deliberate plan of attack. So we're going to assign some task forces..."

Wilfred let himself down in his old rocking chair. He rubbed his painful ankle.

"Will you go see a healer 'bout that?" His wife, Sara, admonished him.

He grunted noncommittally. He had expected the goblin's bite to heal in a few days, but it had been months now. It didn't seem to worsen at least, the bite mark had simply healed wrong.

"They never did send anybody over did they?" Sara wondered aloud.

Wilfred grunted disapprovingly.

She continued "They must've thought it'll be fine, what with the culling. But they're not the ones living all the way out here."

An agreeing grunt came from Wilfred.

"Darling, will you say something?"

"Say what?"

Before a marital dispute could break out there came the sound of shattering glass and a scream from their daughter.

"Pumpkin? Pumpkin!?" Both parents jumped up and ran towards the room of their young daughter lain to rest.

The girl was sitting curled up on her bed, on the floor was a rock surrounded by shards of glass from her small window.

Sara immediately stepped over the glass to pick up her child. The girl was beyond the age where she would normally be carried around, but with the glass covered floor and the intensity of the situation the rules were different.

"Sara, wake Jonas up and take Letta to the basement. There's somebody out there." Wilfred took charge to defend the home, he immediately entered the kitchen grabbed the biggest knife they had.

"Mommy..." Letta grabbed her mother in a helpless gesture that was unbecoming of her age.

"Your father will take care of it, let's sit in front of the fire for a bit. Okay pumpkin?" Her mother stroked her hair.

Despite her comforting words Sara was concerned herself. Normally the most dangerous thing in these lands were the occasional gaggles of goblin one could encounter when strolling the woods. What could be coming to people's houses and attacking them? Bandits? Perhaps a migrating orc band? She could only hope it turned out to be nothing more than teenage hooligans from another farm.

When Wilfred stepped out of the house the world was pitch black. Streaks of yellow firelight poured from his house, illuminating only the ground close by. In the distance he could see small humanoid figures, glowing eyes piercing their silhouette, staying carefully out of the light.

His fourteen year old son Jonas exited behind him, still groggy from sleep and not saying anything. He was holding a broom.

Wilfred squinted into the darkness. "Who is there? Show yourself."

"Who indeed?" The voice coming out of the dark was balanced and articulate, but high-pitched, like a young boy.

Wilfred grasped his knife tighter. It sounded too coherent for a goblin.

"Don't you have any others sons? Where are they?" The figure in the darkness inquired.

"Inside." Wilfred bluffed. "And they're trained adventurers, both of them."

"So you don't then." The figure noted, he whispered something to one of his compatriots, who ran off. Wilfred almost jumped at the sudden movement.

"Why don't you put down the knife, we wouldn't want anybody to get hurt."

"Yeah?" Wilfred stepped backwards towards the house, pushing back his son. "Well maybe I do. Maybe I want to put the hurt on some snot nosed hooligans throwing in my windows." He wasn't backing away from the fight, he was getting a better defensive position on the front entrance. The dark figures weren't drunk vandals, they had an insidious aura to them.

Eventually the leader of the troupe stepped forward into the light, his arms spread as if it was a gesture of goodwill.

The creature had some outward similarities to a goblin. It was short, with green skin. But its straight back, beige tunic and wide brimmed metal hat betrayed it as something else. One of its theatrically outstretched arms held a stone-tipped spear, in the yellow streaks of light only the lower half of its face was illuminated, the eyes were obscured by the dark shadow of his hat, though one of them shone menacingly in the dark.

"What can we call you?" The goblin creature called out to him.

"I'm Wilfred. And this is MY farm dammit! Who're you lot then?" Cold sweat broke out in Wilfred neck. The enemy was too calm.

"Wilfred. You like living out here? Can't be easy, with all the monsters giving you trouble."

The creature's words didn't make any sense. Monsters were found everywhere, in fact, this was one of the lowest level zones on the continent.

"What monsters?" The farmer asked suspiciously.

"Uh, well, goblins for example."

"We ain't got no trouble with goblins."

The figure started chuckling. Some more open and loud laughter came from behind him. "Wilfred. I beg the differ."

First kept his scratching under the metal plate on his head. "Don't like." He complained about the headgear.

In his own group First was the leader. But in the capturing task force he had to defer to the goblin called Dumb, it felt wrong.

It wasn't the First hadn't wanted to participate in the snatching. It was known that the cave goblins had an edge over the other tribes. Something as dangerous as a snatching would definitely become achievable with their special way of doing things.

However, even if it was temporary, to an alpha male like First taking orders from anybody felt like a demotion. And it didn't help that Dumb was so insistent on maintaining authority.

"Keep it on." Dumb hissed. "And keep a lookout. When we get the message-"

At that moment the cave goblin called Second appeared. "Scratch says there's no more fighters in the house and we should go."

"Okay, let's go." Before Dumb had finished his short sentence the rest of the task force had already gotten up and was storming the house.

Nestor hadn't grown up as a kid wanting to be a smuggler.

Like all young boys he had fantasized about becoming an adventurer. Later, when his vision of the future became more grounded, he had expected to inherit his father's farm and take care of the land.

The gods had other things in store for him. A few bad years, monster raids, poor weather, had bankrupted them and he had been left destitute.

For years he had been peddling cheap trinkets before catching a break. Smuggling for the thieves' guilds payed his dues, it kept him clothed and fed. If there was ever a time that he would feel guilty about going against the kingdom's laws, that time was long passed now.

The pay was good, it was safer than adventuring, he didn't have to worry about internal city politics, and he got to see parts of the world. Currently he was in one of the east-most places known to man.

It didn't look any different than any other temperate biome.

Travel to Eston was always mind-numbingly boring. There were no sights, no people. The closest baron's residence was days of travel away, nothing but dirt farmers could be found in Eston.

That's why he had a slight relief in his chest hearing the local group would meet him halfway and buy the goods at the border.

However, besides relieving it was also slightly disconcerting. "What's changed?" He asked the horseman.

"Uh..." The bandit wasn't a particularly bright looking fellow, his jaw drooped as he tried to formulate a coherent thought. "So... we're selling it again in the city. We're inserting ourselves into the line."

This gave Nestor pause. The bandit recognized his unease and realized he had said something stupid.

"Is there some struggle for control going on?" Nestor asked slowly.

"No! Well... a bit." The bandit adjusted his scarf nervously.

If the Eston thieves' guild had a schism with their bandits, then dealing with the rebels could antagonize the leadership.

His own employers wouldn't be happy about that.

Then again, he could hardly turn around with his caravan, and the bandits did control the forest not part of the magical witchwood, encompassing all possible smuggling routes.

Nestor put up a fake smile. "Ah. I guess it's none of my business. Go and tell your boss all special requested items have been accounted for, and I'll wait here at the border."

"Y-yeah. Will do." The bandit said relieved, as he galloped off into the night.

Nestor shook is head. And I thought I'd gotten away from politics.

Dumb, followed by eight goblins, most of whom of the river group, bashed out the remaining glass in the broken window with the end of a flat plank.

Then he agily laid a plank over the window sill and ran over it through the opening in a continuous movement.

One for one they landed on the bed and jumped on the floor, avoiding most of the shards.

"Be silent." Dumb ordered, not silently at all.

The door of the room was already half open and lead to a short hallway.

The task force sneaked through one after the other, and encountered a branching path.

Where the room they had entered through had a little candle by the side of the bed, here the entire floor was bathed in orange light by the hearth fire pouring through from under the door across from them.

To their right was a half-opened door leading to another empty bedrooms, and to their left the kitchen, which led to the front entrance. In their hurry to respond to the provocation the humans had left the doors wide open, and First could see the backs of their defenders.

"You, you and you." Dumb pointed to First, Swim and Blink. He knew their names but he decided to just point. "Stay here." And he gestured for them to wait behind the corners. They had to keep guard for if the men of the house went inside again.

Jonas looked at his father uncomfortably. The man was too proud to let the monsters walk over them, but they had no idea how many there were, or even what threat level they were.

"W-" Jonas got a lump in his throat, turning to the enemy. "What do you want?"

"That's a good question lad." The leader said warmly, lowering his arms and resting the bottom of his spear on the ground. "You see, we're very destitute beings. And we couldn't help but notice your house, full of just the kind of things we need. We'd like to make it ours if you don't mind."

"What!" His father screamed. It was not a question.

"No no. Of course you'd mind. That's why we brought the weapons." The monster laughed as if the explanation would resolve things.

"Don't you think you can go around robbing people unpunished." Father roared in his fatherly, authoritative voice.

"What an interesting thing to say, Wilfred." The creature said, still smiling warmly. "Are you trying to convince us to kill the witnesses?" He walked forwards, the rest of his troupe followed after him, a semicircle of almost a dozen of the goblin-like creatures stepped into the yellow light, casting stark black shadows and darkening the ground.

"Creatures like us, you know, have precious little to lose." The leader proclaimed, his inflection betraying no anger or adrenaline. "We're already kill-on-sight." He raised his head to reveal a makeshift eye patch, the scar of his ruined eye extended outside the covered area and touched his temple, it was horizontal and thin, like the entry mark of a hoe.

Jonas lost his nerve at the enclosing horde and jumped forward, swinging at the leader with the broom handle.

The smooth treated wood struck down on the creature's head, making a cracking sound. Exactly the part protected by metal.

At that point the fighting become chaotic. The goblins dove in on the duo like ants, combating the wild swinging of their weapons with overhelming stabs from every direction.

The farmer and his son were sliced and cut at their various extremities and almost fell over their own feet backing into the hallway.

A loud clang came from inside, and Jonas' mother screamed.

"Sara!" His fathered yelled, forgetting his own fear and turning around.

As the farmer sprinted back into the hall his shins were bashed by wooden clubs, knocking his legs out from under him and making him bust his jaw on the thinly carpeted floor.

It was an ambush in his own home. The three goblins waiting around the corners quickly jumped on him to restrain his limbs, wrestling the knife out of his hand.

"George, please, listen to me. It doesn't have to be this way." Barbara pleaded with her fellow thieves' guild member.

The younger man tried to ignore her as he stood in front of the underground cell.

It was night in Eston. She had been locked away in a hidden dungeon for half a day while negotiations went on on the surface. She had expected her more successful sister to plead her out, but once evening had rolled around, it became clear that Mabel had disavowed her.

"George. George." Barbara's voice went up in pitch to that of a little girl, projecting an aura of helplessness.

George sighed. "Do we really need to do this?" He asked his fellow guard.

The enormous man heaved and let out a deep and rumbling voice. "You's girlfriend tried to pull a sneaky on us. Y'know the rap, leadership can't show weakness. 'Sides, can't keep her around inna city y'know, 'cause she knows to much about the guild."

What the man said was true of course. The guild could only operate by projecting power, and disgraced members were a big liability for a criminal organization.

At that moment the captive's brother-in-law opened the door leading to the small dungeon. "We're moving out. Nestor's caravan is arriving soon, we can give her to the bandits then."

"Mister Harkness!" Barbara took a break from sulking for more pleading. "Please tell them that this is all a mis-"

"Gag her." The man ordered.

Barbara kicked and screamed as the guards restrained and gagged her again. Her wild resistance distracted them from properly frisking her and finding the small vial of mana toxin still hidden underneath the folds of her clothes. She didn't know how yet, but she was going to use it to make a daring escape.

"We can kill her ou'selves ain't it?" the large thief posited.

"Don't be silly, Zell." The disgraced knight answered. "We'd be stuck with a body. Getting rid of prisoners is exactly the kind of thing that we keep the bandits around for."

After all of that the trio dragged her away, to be handled by the bandits.

"What a strange home." Scratch said, climbing up in a rocking chair while some of the other goblins where jumping on the couch.

The rightful residents where on their knees on the living room floor, rope binding their wrists behind their back. They had given up struggling some moments ago, the father only after being severely bruised.

"You don't know anything." Dumb said, feeling too smart to join in the couch jumping. "You brought way too many goblins."

"There's too few people here." Scratch murmured.

He hadn't been a history buff in his previous life, but he knew that medieval families were supposed to be large. A farmer should have at least three sons that had made it through the vulnerable stages of childhood to help him with the field work.

Moreover, the rooms were too big. It was an English style house, carpeted on the inside, wooden walls and a big central hearth. It was reminiscent of the many bed-and-breakfast places on the British countryside. However, those places where heavily altered from their historical form. Often the barns and animal sections had been converted into housing. People from that time had lived in much smaller spaces.

Scratch smacked his forehead. He was being foolish. It had been clear for months that this place wasn't on earth, in any time. It was folly expecting it to conform to its inspiration in any detail.

No, this world was obviously created. A little fantasy theme park with real magic and monsters. The creators wouldn't enforce such rigid detail when the natural laws and economy were already so radically different.

Taking a stroll through the one-family home that was being ransacked by goblins confirmed that there had never been more people in the residence. One bedroom with a shared bed for the parents, two bedrooms for the two children.

The entire structure was a single-story and all rooms connected to the central hallway. The kitchen betrayed a diet that would be kingly to a real medieval peasant, meat, confectionery, ripe fruit in early spring. These things weren't present in particularly great amounts, but their very presence alone was something to take note of.

Then, in the bathroom, the biggest anachronism of all.

"Toothbrushes." Scratch mumbled in astonishment. "Plastic toothbrushes."

A twist on the handle showed that they weren't quite like the ones he knew from earth. The material was more easily deformed. Rather, it seemed made of some sort of transparent non-sticky resin, molded into a toothbrush form.

When he thought about it, the family did seem well groomed for isolated dirt-famers.

His exploring was cut short by the sound of fighting in the living room.

One of the goblins had tried to force himself on the young girl, and this had made the father go berserk.

So now everybody was beating on the men of the house again.

Scratch clapped in his hands. "Everybody. Calm down. Go gather up the loot, we're leaving as soon as possible. And you-" He pointed at First, who had tried to breed with the girl. "Control yourself, that sort of thing comes later. Go and capture their chickens."

When the goblins, inflamed with direction, spread out to take things, Scratch, flanked by Kicker and Dumb, went on to question the family.

"I'm going to ask you as series of very simple questions. Just answer them truthfully and we won't have a problem."

"Go to hell, goblin." The father spit blood in his face.

"You-" Kicker was about to attack, but Scratch held out his hand to stop him.

He wiped the blood of his cheek and looked Wilfred in the eyes. "I understand your position, Wilfred. Don't think I don't sympathize. You're the man of the house, you have to stand up to protect your family." Then he leaned in. "I'll tell you right now that the best way to protect your family is to do as I say. You understand that, right?"

Wilfred didn't respond, but the look in his eyes seemed defeated.

"Good." Scratch patted his cheek and stood up straight, he began walking past the faces of the kneeling prisoners. "Who owns this land?"

"I do." Wilfred said weakly. The conversation was set against the background noise of his daughter softly whining.

"Are you a noble?"

"No. I am a farmer."

Scratch nodded. Their society was completely different from that of feudal Europe. "Who do you pay taxes to?"

Wilfred sounded hoarse. "The king."

"Why?"

"H-he's the king."

"Look!" The son interjected. "What do you want?"

"No stupid questions." Scratch admonished him. "Now, how do you protect yourself against monsters?"

The family fell silent. Perhaps from their perspective, that was a stupid question. Or they feared the answer would lead to another fight.

"'vnturers." The son mumbled.

"I'm sorry? What was that?"

"He said adventurers." Second clarified. "The culling."

"We get adventurers to clear out the goblins every year! Is that what you want to hear? We're only defending our home."

"Well, you've failed." Scratch commented. "And that's it? That's enough? None of you ever get captured?"

"No."

"Then where do the new goblins come from?" Scratch asked. He was getting agitated.

"Failed adventurers and lost hikers." The boy said.

"Jonas!" His mother protested.

"Well it's true! Stay in the forest and stick to the people there! That's always been enough for you. If you're ransacking farms, they won't send adventurers. They'll send the army!"

A silence hung in the room after that outburst, the only noise being the little girl's sobbing.

Scratch smiled. "Thank you Jonas. That'll do for now." He turned towards First of the river tribe, who had appeared and was standing besides him. "I'm guessing everything is loaded up."

The goblin nodded.

"Good, then we're moving out. Before the neighbours come take a peek or something. Try not to rape them as you load them up by the way."

First rolled his eyes as he and one of his brothers took the youngest, who started screaming again. Kicker and some others grabbed the mother, leaving the men behind.

As they were about to leave Dumb stopped him. "What are we going to do about the army? What's an army?"

Scratch shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"And these guys?"

"Well, that depends. How about it guys? Any heroic rescue mission planned?"

Jonas stared at the ground, his father looked at Scratch with a stare of intense hatred. "I will never rest monster, not until you and-"

"Okay, you've convinced me." Scratch stated. "Kill them."

Nobility

There are four levels of nobility, each corresponds to a level or divinity and an adventuring rank.

The lowest rank of nobility are the knights, who make up the king's army. They are as exalted as D rank adventurers.

Above that are the barons and baronesses, who look out over baronies and command the knighthood. They are as exalted as C rank adventurers.

The counts and countesses, who control countships by setting trade regulations and commanding the barons in their territory, are as exalted as rank B adventurers.

The duke families, that control the large duchies dividing up each nation, are as exalted as rank A adventurers.

Lastly, the royal family of each nation is as powerful as a rank S adventurer.

Households pay their taxes to the king. Although most of it stays under the control of their count and is used to finance public structures such as roads, castles and bridges, a significant portion is used to maintain the livelihoods of the various ranks of nobility, except in the republic of Grienice, which enforces a strict regime of equality.

In order to maintain the natural rights of noble titles, nobles only marry suitors of equal divinity. This is why the adventuring rank was developed, once an adventurer has cultivated to their maximum potential, the rank they achieve with this reflects their divinity.

The names of noble ranks can differ in different countries. In Reddington a count can sometimes be referred to as an earl, while in Blurich most dukes call themselves herzogs.