"Were the goblins supposed to be a secret?" Dee whispered after the smuggler had left. "I mean, we reported about them, didn't we?"

Harkness sighed, fidgeting with a throwing knif. "The story we gave the guild is the one they gave us, a monster tamer's hideout guarded by goblins. Nothing more or less."

"So?"

"So to see traders or diplomats coming into our camp is suspicious. What mmust that guy be thinking, seeing us negotiate with them? They have to be of some use to us. With us flaunting our wealth just last month it's not that big of a leap to reason the existence of the mine."

"The mine is a secret?"

"Everything of value we can find here is a secret, Dee. We're weaker than ever, it'd be bad for too many heads of the leadership to turn our way."

"Pffff." Dee wiped her forehead, it was all getting too complicated for her.

"And there's another thing. We don't want to be seen associating with goblins too much."

"It's a bad look?"

"It's a bad look."

Nobody liked goblins. They were the ultimate combination of evil and pathetic. Centuries of dedicated extermination hadn't managed to wipe them out, only due to their prolific breeding, which was a disgusting abuse of the human form by itself.

"Never mind that." Harkness said out loud. "Tell me how Letta is doing."

Dee scratched her head. "Denise has been taking care of her, but she still won't talk. Not with her, not with Cobaline."

"Give her some time, she lost everything she knew, and she's been raised to hate bandits. We can't expect to be showered in gratitude."

"That's kind of what I wanted to discuss. With her family gone, is Letta a citizen or not? Does this make her a bandit?"

"It hardly matters, does it? We can't let her go back to society, she knows about us now. The duke's army would be on us like that." She snapped her fingers.

"That's harsh, boss."

"It is harsh. But I see no other path for us than to be harsh. The thieves' guild is sending us supplies because they need the smuggling route open for their business, if they didn't, they'd have us raid farms and merchants to survive."

Dee gave a bitter chuckle. "When that happens, we'll be real bandits."

Harkness gave her a serious look. "And we have no say whether it happens or not. We're outlaws, Dee, our fate is not our own."

The mining was on pause right now.

In order to smelt the last of the iron they'd gathered the goblins were firing up the charcoal kiln.

This would be the last big run of the process in a while and they were making it bigger than usual to get as much as they needed.

George was eagerly packing the wood and splintered horse bones with clay, with help and guidance from Scratch.

"If we burn it now, how come we can burn it again afterwards?" He wanted to know. Being now known as the smithing goblin he wanted to know as much about it as possible.

"We're actually only burning some of it. All this dirt is here to prevent air from getting to it, so not enough fire can form to burn all of it up. The heat evaporates all the moisture and turns it into a more efficient fuel, that's what you see leaking out at the bottom every time."

-

Once they had remade the kiln and started the fire some of the kids went on to climb on the tower.

Previously, their games had been straightforward, wrestling, hide-and-seek, fake fighting, and such. But now, after having been exposed to books and stories, Biter had organized a game of pretend.

Whenever the low hanging smoke of the charcoal kiln rippled over the forest floor it resembled the way the ocean looked in the black and white etchings in "Serpent's Way", the book about sailors.

"Heist the main sail, the tide is coming in!" Biter proclaimed as the smoke began encircling the tower platform.

"Aye-aye, captain." Kicker called back, apparently raising the sail by lifting it up like a shutter.

Fat was already pulling up the imaginary anchor with his hands.

"Hey-ho, mateys." Scratch said, peeking over the edge. "Will our brave explorers not forget keeping an eye out for adventurers?"

"First mate!" Biter commanded. "To the crow's nest, we must scan the horizon for pirate raiders!"

Benjamin, designated first mate by captain Biter, looked around for a mast with a lookout post that didn't exist.

"Ben, just go stand on that corner and watch the forest, okay?"

-

Scratch left them alone to play their game. It was good that they had a distraction, current policy had all sixteen goblins holed up in and near the cave.

They were able to stretch their legs, but only a bit, within the perimeter.

Currently Kicker, Biter, Fat and Benjamin were keeping a lookout and holding ranged weapons.

George was in the blacksmithing hut, keeping an eye on the charcoal kiln.

Scream and Digger were refilling the water purifier.

The rest was all inside the cave. Most of the older ones still preferred the foyer for hanging out in, but the younger generation was now partial to the dining room. Scratch had ordered Barbara to create a few candles. She wasn't an expert, but with a few practices she'd absorbed from her motheer during childhood she was able to create a few crude ones out of cooked animal fat. These fat knobbly things lighted up the room and allowed them to read there.

It couldn't really be referred to as just a dining room anymore, it served as an eating chamber, a study and a living room simultaneously.

He went inside to see how they were doing and find some activity to occupy himself with.

If all days were going to be as peaceful as this one, the whole culling thing was seriously oversold.

"Rolf, are ye alright?" Pete asked his party member.

The bard put his hands on his wounds for a healing spell. The cut was superficial and didn't require his strongest spell, but you never knew.

He then helped the ranger up. "Let us stay behind Della, tha's what a vanguard 's fer."

"I don' like dis." The aforementioned Della said, her back still to them as she watched her surroundings. "It shouldn' be dis hard."

"Maybe we're jus' out of practice." Rolf, said.

"Nah, nah." Pete said. "This time's different from last year."

Normally one wouldn't need to keep tactics in mind when hunting goblins. The classic party structure could be pretty much ignored as every member went out on their own to hack up any subhuman they stumbled upon. This year it was different, Rolf had gone off-trail to chase after a quintet of goblins but was unexpectedly worked to the ground by their spears and clubs.

"They must have picked up better equipment from the orc horde that went through here recently." He pulled on the strap of his lute to pull it over his stomach again. "Want me to try divining the threat of the forest?"

"Save your mana." Rolf responded, as he harvested the ears from the defeated goblins. "I have a feeling we might need more healing later on."

Even if the gods would report to him that the danger of the forest had risen slightly due to better equipped goblins, they wouldn't veer away from their mission just for that. They were the firsts to get to the area, able to do the first and most bountiful sweep of the territory. In a few days these woods would be teeming with adventurers and there wouldn't be much goblins left to slay.

-

And so they pressed on, hidden behind Della and her large oaken shield this time. Kids that grew up with stories about dragonslayers and the like looked down on wooden shields, but when fighting foes of one's own weight class and below, wood was more than sturdy enough, and the weight was more managable too. Spending too much on expensive equipment that you're not ready for was an unforgivably bad move for beginning aventurers. Even if Pete thought the green round thing looked kind of lame.

"There." Rolf, with his keen eyes pointed in the distance. "You see dat? Smoke."

"Damn. And I thought we were the first." Della cursed.

"Blimey." Pete looked at the wispy smoke plume above the treetops. "Camping out 'ere? That'll attract some goblins, won't it?"

"It's a good trick." Rolf agreed. "But you'll get big hordes, it's not for beginners."

"I'll say." Pete chuckled. "Let us meet up with them lot, an' see if they're in need of any rescue."

"Maybe save them from having to deal with too many gobs." Della smirked.

"All out of the goodness of our heart of course." He said.

"What is happening?" Letta spoke her first word in ages.

Denise, who was peeling carrots over a pan swirled her head abruptely towards her, but then decided that she didn't want to act too excitedly over the child's first steps towards trusting them.

"We're camouflaging ourselves." She tried in her most calming voice. "So we're not allowed to make any fire or make loud noises, that would attract adventurers."

All the fires in the bandit camp had been put out, many of the animals had been put to pasture away from the camp, and most of the loud activities normally making a ruckus in their surroundings were suspended. All bandits kept inside at the moment, life in the camp had fallen still.

"I'll scream." Letta said, although she wasn't screaming yet. "I'll scream and an adventurer will come save me from the bandits."

"Deary..." Denise looked upon her with a pitying look.

"I'll do it!" She said angrily.

"And then? Where will you go?"

Letta looked at her with big wet eyes, then she broke down. "I want to go ho-home! I wa-hant my mommy! Wuuuaaah!"

Denise hugged her and pressed her against her bosom. "Shhh, shhh."

Beth, one of the bandit warriors, peeked into the family's tent. "Is everything okay in here?"

Denise was holding the crying child and gestured for her to leave, to let them have some privacy.

-

Beth nodded with and understanding look, but stepped further into the tent and laid a spellrod next to the pan.

"The heating rod, for cooking." She whispered and sneaked back out, as Letta was venting her frustration on Denise's shirt.

"We'll get your momma back little girl. I promise we will."

"I haven't seen any of them goblins in a while." Rolf said.

Della had an explanation for that. "Maybe the other adventurers are too strong and they fled."

"That cannae be the cause." Pete explained. "Goblins are nah afraid of anything. That's why they make fer such good hunting. They don't run away."

"So... does that mean tha-" Della's sentence abruptely stopped as her heavy boot landed on a wooden object.

As her weight was put on the short end of a a sharp corner, it was pushed down and wedged the other side up. Like stepping on a rake.

A plank pierced at various places by sharp pieces of metal came flying at her shield. He training allowed her to immediately react and protect her face.

*fwack*

The weight wasn't much, but she hadn't blocked it it could have done serious damage with its sharp elements.

"What was tha?" Pete exclaimed in surprise.

Della took her foot of the trap but grabbed before it could fall back into the leaves. "Some sort of trap, ah think?"

"Too advanced fer goblins, to simple fer orcs." Pete mused.

"Think it's bandits, maybe?" Rolf suggested.

"Nah, if there were bandits here, we'd know about them. Bandits steal and rob, people tend to notice when they're stolen from and robbed."

Rolf thought deeply. "Look, if there ain't any goblins here..."

"We keep going." Della stated authoratively. "We can never become D class if we avoid things like this."

"Oh, I love it!" Pete sang. "We want ta be adventurers, we'll have some adventures! A mystery is an excellent way to start one."

"Maybe you'll get a song out of it." Rolf quipped.

"Maybe I will. Ye don't know."

-

From that moment on they kept an eye out for traps, and found them in no short supply.

They dodged a half chopped tree that was primed to fall over when a tripwire pulled away the support still holding it up, another splinter board like Della had stepped in before was spotted by Rolf and destroyed, and eventually they came across a pit trap.

"What'd we have here?" Rolf whistled as he nudged away some of the coverings with his foot. "Must have been a lot of digging. A trap like this."

"Whatever it is that's camping out here, it's been here a long time." Della said as she walked around the loose earth.

"Rolf, you're a ranger. Would ye say this is a decent trap?" Pete mused.

"Are you kidding? This is like what a kid would come up with. When we make snares we-"

"Eep!" Della yelped as a piece of rope tightened around her ankle and dragged her up.

"Yeah. That's more like it." Rolf said sardonically.

"Get me down, get me down!" Della yelled from her upside down position. The counterweight was hardly heavier than she was and she bopped up and down as its weight and hers fought for balance.

"Careful! You're right above the-"

Her shield dropped down and broke through the covering of the pit trap, revealing the sharp sticks underneath.

After that, the whole construction snapped under the repeated movement and heavy load, so Della came tumbling after it.

-

Her two partymembers quickly positioned themselves on either side of the pit.

"Della. Della, say something."

She groaned. Falling flatly into the pit she had had maximum exposed surface area to be penetrated by the sharpened wood pikes. Many of them had been stopped from entering her by her thick leather padding, but still heavily hurt her with their concentrated impact. And two had gone in her and out the other side.

Her right leg was held in place by a pike piercing it right below the knee.

Another one had enterd her right above her collarbone, a few thumbreadths to the side and it would have pierced her throat and killed her.

"I knew I was going to need healing." She gargled quippingly. "Get me out of here."

As she brought her left leg down to the ground to give her some stability she felt it slip against wet earth. "Guys, get me out of this..."

She stopped when she felt a cold slimy substance crawl onto her leg. In front of her, the blood trickling down the pike leaked onto a small pulsing slime crawling towards her face. She began to feel the burning.

"Aaaaah! Ah!"

Pete tried to step into the pit to grab her but pulled out his foot after stepping into one of the slimes. "What do we do? What do we do?" he whined panickingly.

Rolf fired arrows at the mass of tiny slimes swallowing their comrade. His weapon had to be the least effective for fighting this kind of enemy. "Can't you do magic? Do a fire spell or something!"

"I'm a bard not a mage!"

Under the screaming of their team mate, they both lowered themselves on their stomach and burned away at the slimes with the firestarter spell, the little flame for starting bonfires. But eventually Della stopped making any sound, dead.

"Eaten by slimes..." Pete was silent about it. If in her life Della had heard about an adventurer dieing to slimes she would have openly mocked them. That she would die in such a humiliating fashion was a depressing thought.

"Of all the cowardly tricks!" Rolf turned his eyes towards the smoke. The source couldn't be far off now. "We're definitely avenging her." He gnashed his teeth.

"And.. Ki-cker." Scratch pronounced the syllables as he wrote the word on the large framed piece of slate on the wall. They had finally made a purpose for the fourth side room after the bird had been moved out and farther down.

"Why the C?" Dumb asked, scribbling the letters on his own little piece of slate.

"Otherwise he'd be called Kiker, which is a much less handsome name."

Kicker nodded in agreement, he liked his name.

"Now that you all know how to spell your name, let's see you write each other's." Scratch said. "And I'll go check on the lookout.

Biter and his sailors had since been relieved from lookout duty, and now Scream, Second and Fyro were manning the tower.

Before he headed out, he took a quick glance at Barbara, who was now allowed to move between a few of the rooms at her own volition. She was still keeping the mysterious vial hidden, but it didn't seem like she was planning anything, simply reading in the candlelight of her own room.

They still had a large treasure of coin in their possession, but he had taken special measure to conceal it. The mined area below the sand layer had the day before been covered up with packed clay. The wealth had been hidden there. He didn't trust Barbara to know about it.

-

Outside the sun was going down, tinting the sky into a warm orange as he lifted himself up on the tower.

"How are things?" He asked.

"Boring." Fyro complained, sitting on the box of crossbow bolts. "No adventurers."

"Every day no adventurers show up is a good day." Scratch stated. "When there are ones that reach this place, then we'll know the trouble started."

"I think Fyro wants to move around more." Second said.

"Is that so, well maybe you'll want to join us check the traps outside the perimeter after sundown."

Fyro looked away. "Yeah. Okay. Fine."

Scratch flicked his ear.

"Hey, what?"

"That's for giving me attitude. And for not paying attention to the perimeter. We've got company."

From the edge of the platform two men climbing over the tree trunks that made up the perimeter were clearly visible. One holding a longbow, the other a guitar or ukulele of some kind.

"Are those adventurers?" Fyro asked, as Scream brought the crossbow to his face and fired.

"They don't seem very well equipped for fighting." Scratch said. "But let's kill first and ask questions later."

Second whistled on two fingers to alert the rest of the family in the cave.

Rolf nimbly climbed over the tree trunk onto the muddy grassland.

He turned around to help Pete over the barrier.

"Be alert." He said. "I see some characters on that podium over there. They might-"

An arrow shot through the air and right into Pete's thigh. "Aw, FUCK!" He cursed from the pain.

A sharp whistle came from the podium and Rolf returned fire as quickly as possible, striking down the crossbowman that had hit Pete. What are those? Halflings? He wondered, as he quickly knocked another arrow.

He put down some suppressive fire on the platform creatures and looked around for a more defensive position. He cursed. The tree trunks had been laid down in such a way that all trees and stumps were on the other side. To see the enemy he had to be on this side, to hide from them on the other. And climbing back right now meant turning his back on them.

"How's your leg?" He asked the bard.

Pete pulled the bolt out of his thigh, there was no arrowhead or barb to make it harder. With a simple healing spell the wound dissapeared.

"I'm running out of mana." Pete answered. "We dunnae have a vanguard to protect us now, so we better kill them quickly."

"We will." Rolf assured him. "But we need to close the distance and make it a melee."

"Consider it done." Pete grabbed his lute and inserted his last reserves of mana. "You know this one." He strummed a harmonious melody and the winds changed.

"What's happening?" The criminal mastermind was distressed, his troubles were supposed to be over after he had muscled out the Syndicate, but they were compounding.

First there was this fallout in the unions, he had barely turned his back and the power structure keeping his toadies in check collapsed. So now he couldn't use strikes against the police anymore.

Then a cop he bought got caught in an internal investigation and pointed their finger at him to save his own skin, so he had have a public hit to send a signal to the others that wasn't acceptable.

Now the hitman had gotten himself killed somehow, the code phrase was never relayed, so he had to come by personally to clean house.

It was like everybody he worked with was suddenly overcome with a complete and profound incompetence.

-

"I didn't sign up for this." The security guard of the highway hotel panicked. He grabbed for the door back to the lobby.

The mastermind sighed and drew his gun. "Stay here."

The middle aged man looked at him in shock.

"Now tell me what's going on."

The two gentlemen who were staying in room seven... Now I know that whatever a man does, or two men do to each other, in their own time and of their own volition, is none of my business, no sir, but the things th-"

"For heaven's sake, man, skip to the end."

"There was a fight, of some sort. A young man I've never seen come through this here door, he burst through the fishtank and talking all sorts of things about.. I don't know, justice, some goddess I believe? It was all very confusing. And I didn't sign up to have the building destroyed by hooligans during my shift! I'm calling the police."

"Now hold it right there, I bought your silence, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And we know each other well, I've met your wife-"

"Wife? I don't have a wife."

"Sister, I met your sister and you in your home." If this had been a properly planned operation he would have been able to read up on the stakes and assets and what his hold over them was. But it was haphazard damage control from a cascade of failures, he barely remembered the guard. "We had a nice little chat. I know her face, I know where she lives, you both live."

The security guard choked.

The criminal with the gun took a cigarette out of his pocket into his mouth, and then immediately put it back. He didn't have time to smoke. "Now listen here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or your sister, or your job, capishe? All that's going to happen; is a little shortcircuit in the fusebox, cutting out the lights, cutting out security footage, makes sense?"

The guard nodded quietly, eyeing the weapon.

"Then, you call the fire department."

"The fire department."

"Yeah, you know, the fire department, the firefighters, those guys. You know them?"

"I do."

"You do, great, splendid, excellente. So the firefighters show up, quell the fire. You're the big hero. Your boss gets his insurance money. Everybody's happy, big whoop. Alright?"

"What fire?"

"Oh, there'll be a fire. Now you show me where that fusebox is."

-

Once he had entered the cheap motel room, he put down his jerrycan of petroleum so he could inspect the scene.

The cop was strung up upside down above the bed, as had been planned. There was no sign of him going out fighting and taking his attacker with him.

In fact, the body of the hitman was sitting in the closet, on his knees and in the begging position. It almost seemed like he had been killed with a flame thrower, although his surroundings showed no scorch marks.

The criminal started pouring the fuel over the bed, pouring the last drops in a little trail towards the door.

Almost too late he realized he was not alone, on top of the single story building sat what looked to be a teenager. It didn't seem like he had seen him, he was retreated into his own world or else he was extremely stoic.. A young man he'd never seen before. Did he mean this kid? Why is he still here?

The teen seemed to be muttering to himself. "-what I had to do to service justice. But what if I had made him talk, we would've come closer to the brain behind- no, I understand, I apologize-"

No headset or phone in sight, he was a dangerous schizophrenic. A mad twist of fate that his agent would be wiped out by a deranged madman. But not a sign of a larger campaign against him. He gently placed the can down and backed out of the room. The wretch would make a good scapegoat for the arsony.

He lit a cigarette and threw it onto the petrol. The fire was flashy and immediate. Right, let's skedaddle. He told himself.

-

As he upturned his collar and briskly walked away to remove himself from the scene, he could suddenly feel the wind changing behind him.

As he dared to look the madman had jumped off the building and, taken by an unnatural slipstream of wind, propelled through the air. His feet touched the ground a minimal amount of time as he ran over the roads and beyond sight.

The whole situation was baffling and supernatural. What the hell is happening to the world?

When Scream released the bolt it hit one of the men in the leg, but barely stunned him. The other shot an arrow from his long bow, after barely taking any time to aim.

It flew through the air and hit Scream just below the shoulder, he fell to the ground.

Scratch tried to grab the crossbow, but an arrow was flying through the air and hit the planks just between him and the instrument.

Another one hit them on the other side of the weapon, near where Fyro stood.

Deciding to risk getting hit by another arrow Scratch lunged for the crossbow and turned towards the invaders.

The spectacle was a magical one, as he turned to them an unnatural headwind flared up. Leaves raced towards them from the forest and the bolt he shot was blown away by the elements.

Their enemy took advantage of the sudden gust and propelled themselves forward, taking enormous jumping steps to reach the tower in a few heartbeats.

The archer had thrown aside his longbow and was holding a large hunting knife, in a single bound he jumped up to the edge of the platform, holding the thing above his head. Scratch could see the white of his eyes, in this moment of concentration the hunter had no expression on his face. Whatever motivated this daring move couldn't be read. Scratch knew that face, it was the face of a professional killer.

The adventurer thrusted the weapon downwards, Scratch caught it with the crossbow. Even redirecting the attack wasn't feasible with the enormous amount of strength the individual possessed. So instead he pushed himself away from the attack and let go of the crossbow as it came crashing into the ground.

He rolled backwards over the splintery wooden planks, disarmed.

"You're feeling like a big man?" Scratch tried to see if words could bring him out of his concentration, but the attacker charged him as if he hadn't even heard it. Scratch sprung backwards again, over the other edge of the tower platform, and to the ground, this time.

-

The second attacker jumped up to the platform too, first putting one hand on the edge and then throwing both his legs over it. Second and Fyro immediately reacted by swinging at him with spears, he tried to defend his face with one hand and his instrument with the other, falling backwards again.

Instead of chasing after Scratch the first attacker turned around and swung his knife at Fyro, giving him a nasty gash on his right hand and making him drop the spear. He then went in close for the coup de grace.

His knife sliced at Fyro's throat just as his hand was hit by a comet-like pebble, redirecting the movement to make him cut only the side of the neck and causing him to scream in pain, but not drop the knife.

All the way back in the square stood Dumb, loading up another pebble into his sling. He had stayed behind to take a ranged shot while a horde of his goblin brothers poured forward in front of him towards the platform.

-

Arriving at the base a few boosted the others up so they could step onto the platform without putting themselves in a vulnerable position climbing it.

Scratch, who had just gotten the wind knocked out of him, recovered fast enough to help Fat throw Kicker onto the tower, Laugh and Abel got on in similar ways.

Suddenly the human was surrounded by five goblins, wielding long reaching weapons while he had only a knife.

This time they could see the emotion in his face. He was contemplating retreat, and then decided against it. He turned towards Fyro, whom he wanted to kill first, but noticed the young goblin's side arm, a human kitchen knife racing towards his stomach.

He thrashed madly at him with his own weapon and both had to distance themselves from each other not to take damage. The others all dove in on him simultaneously. A barrage of multiple attacks he couldn't deflect, but where somewhat stelped by his protective clothing.

He grasped Laugh's spear out of midair and yanked it out of his hands, trying to use it to swat away the others, but just as he did that Fyro's knife dug into the side of his ankle, making him lose his stance and allowing Kickers pointy iron speartip to slice into his upper lip and nose.

The man fell backwards, crying in pain, and tumbled off the tower. Where he saw his compatriot being held down and sliced open by Scratch and a few other goblins that had circled around the tower from both ways.

If there was anything to read in his face it was a sort of peace, an acceptance of his fate, right before his own throat got pierced.

Bard Class

The bard class is a support role, meaning it is not recommended for solo adventurers.

Adventurers registered as bards have access to infused instruments from the guild store, as well as musical training and spellcasting lessons.

Songs registered to the guild after being developed will be officially credited to the composer in guild records.

Parties with bard members may take divination or performance quests.

Bards are one of the rarest classes to reach S rank, though some examples exist throughout history. Nevertheless, it is a profession respected for its ability to protect against debilitating mental effects.