Cyclophan's stubbornness made demands of the goblins.

When the crystal dug further into the yielding stone it dove headfirst into a current of rushing water. A special task force handling newly developed and specialized tools had to widen the opening and divert the flow so it didn't pour into the cave and escape through the other riverbed.

The task took up manpower and had distracted Scratch from the issue with the wolves, but Cyclophan insisted on the benefits. The other river came from the surface and joined with the one they knew to pour out from a cliff into the sea, so it did not form an entry point for dangerous subterranean monsters. Additionally, the uncovering of this waterway had exposed to them a great deal of rock wall on which pockets of minable material could be seen, most crucially a large deposit of gold, which glistened through the clear water right in front of the new opening.

Mining these generous gifts posed an engineering challenge. The water current wasn't particularly strong, but their bodies were light and the presence of water itself was a detriment to the confident swing of a pickaxe.

With ropes, sticks, and leverage they managed to reposition Cyclophan's shard, so that its drilling nose pointed upstream. This way, its continued digging would widen the space for the water to flow, at least upstream. Downstream they had to do this by hand.

Even though the room was still quite narrow and full of water, they could chip away some of the gold nuggets with hammer and chisel, where pickaxes were inconvenient.

-

All together there were multiple benefits to be wrought. Cyclophan gained more dungeon to focus his arcane flows, the goblins had access to more valuable materials that they used in their interaction with humans, and a tunnel was being dug that could one day be used as a sewer.

This last point Scratch kept to himself. He had the suspicion that the evil god would object to being used for such a purpose, so he hadn't made any absolute statements on the reason for the chosen direction, thinking the being would be able to discern them as lies.

He had discussed the direction of the dungeon with Cyclophan through the blue grass communion, in which Cyclophan had mostly been adamant to remind him to build a grate in the cliff wall. Such a thing would function as a door to prevent the now rushing flow of magic from leaking out, apparently.

-

It wasn't until he had the meeting with the bandits that Scratch remembered to check with the feral child Pentajo, that had been raised by wolves. In order to determine a future for the creatures.

Pentajo had been adopted among the youngest generation of goblins. Just like them he was a blank slate that needed to be taught everything, including how to speak.

The goblin mother, Barbara, kept a distrustful eye on the stranger, but let him join in the business of her own children.

With the older goblins increasingly put onto specialized tasks, it came down to the young ones to fulfill household chores such as cleaning, sewing, and caring for the animals. They learned how to do these things while doing them, and about other things, such as reading, numbers, and human society, with special lessons given at the end or beginning of the day.

Scratch had stopped personally imparting knowledge, and had delegated that task to the crippled Linus, who also led the morning meditation when the boss was preoccupied.

-

The day Scratch came back to interview the creature he was scraping a fox pelt with a sharp rock.

All of them were working together to create a fur coat for Barbara. Scratch encouraged this kind of extravagance, since it demonstrated the perks of being a goblin mother to the bandit women.

"Hey there fellas," Scratch ruffled the hair of one of his nephews, "I'll be borrowing the wolf kid for a moment."

Pentajo didn't realize they were talking about him, and went on with his task with single-minded obliviousness. Someone pulled on his hair to get his attention.

"Pentajo! Hi, come with me." Scratch gestured for him to leave the workplace, and they walked to the log seats around the fire pit. Pentajo, Scratch, and Mac as backup, to help seem more friendly.

Scratch draped himself over the seat and began talking at the guest. "You're having a good time? Learned any new words?"

"I... know words. Yes."

"And are you happy?"

"Ha..?"

"Do you you like it here? The clothes, the food, daily cleaning..."

Pentajo looked down at his new tunic, covered a bit more than a loincloth, and it smelled a lot better. "Yes... I like. I like a lot."

"Let me get down to business Pentajo, the wolves."

The wolf boy didn't say anything, he looked expectingly at the goblin boss.

"How do you ride wolves?" Mac clarified.

Scratch leaned forward. "We need to know the way to control them, otherwise we can't keep them here."

Pentajo shook his head violently. "No control. Wolf is..." he tried to come up with a fitting term, "wolf is boss."

"Wolf is boss? What does that mean?" Scratch grunted in annoyance.

"Pentajo cleans the fur of the wolves, I think they keep a goblin around as helper." Second posited.

"Ugh, Lydia was right then. This all is a waste of time." Scratch stood up. "Either skin them or throw them out, whichever causes less trouble."

At these words Pentajo began to panic. "No skin. Let free. Wolves say nothing here for them, will flee and not come back!"

The two paused. "The wolves... say that?" Mac asked incredulously.

"These bosses of yours can talk?" Scratch added.

Pentajo looked down at the ground. "Can not talk back. Goblin can't say wolf words."

"Pentajo...." Mac said hesitantly, looking back and forth between him and Scratch, "could you show me what wolf words sound like?"

-

The wolves stayed on for just a few days more, while the goblins found a way to communicate with them.

Imitating the grunts of orcs was painful, but the subtle howls and barks of wolves was impossible. But by now, they had fully internalized the method of using tools to achieve what their bodies couldn't.

A variety of wooden whistles and flutes saw the inside of the building where the cages where. Second and Yuki were removed from the mining team to develop howling tools.

They could only properly observe the natural conversation between the canines when Pentajo was there to calm the creatures, while listening to these sounds they quickly learned to understand the language for themselves.

Eventually a horn that made use of a vibrating iron lip to imitate the hoarse barking sound made the first few words that were comprehensible to the wolves.

Pentajo was allowed to attempt communication with his masters. "We... Can... Speak."

"What is this?" One of the males grunted. "Words?"

"That is impossible." The eldest responded. "They're just... imitating our voices." She sounded less sure at the end of the sentence.

"Must... Serve... Bipeds." Pentajo tried to plead with them to see them out of their constraints. Though there was no room for intonation with the instrument.

The words were clear enough to take away all doubt. The goblin spoke their language. They also greatly aggrieved the eldest wolf.

"How dare you! Betrayal! You tell your new friends that we would rather die than be a slave to them."

Pentajo's eyes shot full of tears at the hostility between them, and he ran out.

There were some improvements to the device after that, allowing full and clear sentences in the warg languages. But inter-species relations remained cold.

Cyclophan later offered a brief hypothetical as if it was advice. If only the wargs didn't have the blessing of their god, I could mellow them out. They're still beasts after all. Scratch, if one of them denounces their god they'll lose their blessing and I will be able to influence their mind and body.

The core business of the goblin and bandit village was the trade of illicit merchandise through the monstrous forest.

They would take the contraband from one end of the forest to the other, and then take home vital living requirements that their employer had provided. It was becoming more pressing now to have access to these jobs, the bandits had lost most of their possessions and livestock and relied on the hunt and dried food rations to survive.

The goblins were wasting meat on games with wolves, and the flour and beans in storage were running out. The bandits were hungry and eagerly looking forward to the spoils of the next mission.

-

Having been alerted in advance of a new caravan, the troupe now set out with their own wagons. The supplier was a merchant from the north that would like to hang on to his own transportation, thank you very much.

Once again, Barbara, a former thieves' guild member, was there to inspect the wares. It didn't seem like there was anything untoward going on with the crates of bottles and flasks, but when she noticed a significant number of alchemical ingredients she became visibly excited.

When the bandits were on their way, she shared the cause of her excitement with the bandit leader.

Harkness was guarding the rear, the other bandit combatants were spread out around the procession, so the Grienicians were outside of earshot.

"Okay..." she began, "...remember how we need allies in the city, but we can't get into contact with anyone?"

Harkness side-eyed her. "Yes?"

"I have been away from Eston for longer than I've been a part of it now. But I know how to make connections, the thieves' guild associate dealing with alchemical processes is old Minster's assistant. I know him."

Harkness nodded, looking straight ahead. "Then to convince this person to go through us directly."

"That's right." Barbara smiled smugly. "Fyro, that damn posh bastard-"

"Do you know his name?" Harkness, herself of a noble lineage, interrupted.

"Uhm... it slipped my mind. But we can leave a note with the supplies. A meeting place, where we exchange birds, make plans for the future."

The bandit leader suppressed a sigh by clenching her jaw. This overly optimistic ambition had been the cause of all of the peasant woman's troubles, even if she didn't recognize it.

"Why not." She said eventually. "No harm in trying."

-

While the humans guarded the goods, the goblins met up with family and friends from the allied tribes. When they passed the tree tribe, Brittany herself was there to observe, along with many of the new members.

She stood over her smaller minions like an exalted overlord. They had dressed her in the finest furs and stolen clothing they had and deferred to her slavishly. It wasn't until she nodded that her goblins mixed with the visitors to share stories.

"The lady treating you fair?" Scratch asked Runt, who he had installed as the puppet leader.

"Brittany is our fairest prize." The goblin responded, his vocabulary had improved maximally under the guide of a human. "Her sons are strong arms for our nest, and the fortifications have protected us against all beasts of the wild."

"Your fairest prize!" Scratch laughed heartily. "I like that. Well said. A few more of those prizes and the whole forest is in our- I mean under control."

But when he spoke to his own sibling, Kicker, he pressed a less optimistic issue. "No tensions I hope. If history tells us anything is that the mother will like her sons more than the ones that gave them to her." He whispered under his breath.

"If that happens, do we side with Runt?" Kicker asked, just as quietly.

"Side with the tribe. We don't want the mother to leave, but we don't want to lose the ground either."

-

The scheming and planning for eventualities was not apparent to the bandits.

Barbara had excused herself to catch up with Brittany and Harkness stood alone. To her it seemed like a classroom of young children laughing and playing with each other.

"The slave women are looking well fed, while we chew on wild game and Fyro's rations." Aimone was speaking to Gildo, but she stood close enough to overhear their conversation.

"Makes you think why they're not all banging at one-eye's door, ey?" Gildo dug his finger into his nose. "If they get treated so well."

"Mannagia, stupido. Who would make that trade? Brood sow for food. They'd rather starve."

"We've been invited to many times." Harkness added. "Scratch has propositioned all bandit women to become mothers to these tribes."

"Even you?" Aimone asked incredulously.

"...No. Not me personally." She hadn't thought about it before.

"You know what I think?" Gildo finally stopped digging into his nose. "I think he only needs one to set an example. Once it's someone you know making the deal, it doesn't seem like a big deal anymore. And you get to wear mink."

Aimone flicked his ear. "How rude to say to a lady!"

But Harkness wasn't offended. She thought deeply about the words.

The words were no longer on her mind when she met with the thieves guild that same day.

There was animosity between the Harkness cousins. But each needed the other.

Lydia said as little as possible and simply stood aside while the subordinate thieves unloaded the carts.

Fyro instead spoke as much as possible. "Have you been enjoying your time amongst goblins? Maybe you have. We brought soap like you said you needed, but I suppose we're not a family anymore are we? We're trading partners now."

The thieves, who could no longer rely on free labour from the bandits, and had to buy the contraband from them directly, had been charging the forest inhabitants for their food and hygiene instead. This time the former knight had brought a larger and more varied supply than normal. He had also increased the price.

His allies wouldn't starve under these prices, but they'd feel the drain on their resources in an already vulnerable time. And the number of options dangled in front of them many things that they could not afford.

Crates of dried fruit and meat, enough to feed the humans comfortably for at least a month by themselves. Soaps, shampoos, and toothpaste. Even some low quality magical gemstones for spell functions.

Lydia furrowed her brow at this luxury, normal for the average citizen, out of reach for those in their position.

"Only take what you can afford of course." Fyro spoke smugly. "The soap is nice, but you wouldn't want your vanity to get in the way of feeding your people, would you?"

"Let's just take all of it." Scratch hopped on to the scene, trying to walk while simultaneously retrieving something from a satchel at his waist.

Fyro wrinkled his nose at the sight of the one-eyed goblin with the missing teeth. "Do you even understand what we're talking about."

"Do you?" Scratch retorted un-eloquently, he dumped the freshly hewn gold nuggets on the ground.

The thief raised his eyebrows at the riches.

"We do live in a gold mine, but that doesn't mean these are like pebbles to me. I know that you're skimming us, the question is why."

"I can't measure this, we don't have a scale." Fyro stated, referring to the coin value of the metal.

"We do." Lydia responded.

Scratch continued without pause. "Is it because we don't have any other fence? But you don't have any other smugglers, how about we take this food and take a vacation for the next month or two, would that gel with your plans?"

"Does this goblin speak for you?" Fyro asked angrily.

"He's a co-founder." Lydia was happy to see the little creature rile up her cousin so easily.

What he said was true. The bandits had the ability to hurt Fyro as well. They could stop smuggling for as long as their supplies lasted, a bit like coming out on strike. This would break the short term promises and contracts Fyro had made with his trading partners and diminishing his respect within the guild.

"But you're a smart guy, you would know that." Scratch waved the thought away. "You must have an alternative, someone else to do your dirty work... do you?" He looked up, staring straight into the former knight's eyes. "Are you a good bluffer, Fyro?"

In an angry huff Fyro turned around, not to have to look into Scratch's one piercing eye. "The price stays were it is, go on then, weigh the damn gold."

-

When they had determined the value of the nuggets, the bandits actually received some change.

Fyro's subordinates weren't at all as emotionally invested in the exchange as he was, and helpfully loaded the supplies into the bandit's caravan.

"Was that wise?" The bandit leader asked the goblin boss.

"Fyro and I are just playing, we both know- O, uh, Beatty won't miss a couple of gold nuggets if it stays between us."

She gazed at the profile of face. "Are you not afraid your mine will catch the eyes of others?"

He gave her a quick glance. "Barbara told me you two have found an 'in' into a better partner, is that true?"

She sighed. "That's what she says..."

Back in town the humans were overjoyed with the unusual wealth. It was enough to make them forget the days of hardship before, when Scratch's mismanagement had made them go hungry.

"Och, bath oils." Denise exclaimed, picking up a flask from one of the crates being unloaded. "That takes me back, as a young lass I used to love the vanilla smelling ones." She then sighed, "that makes wish we had a hot spring hereabouts."

Aimone frowned, "you've not seen bath oils since you were a child? You couldn't have been that deprived for forty years."

"Thirty," she pressed, "and bath oils are a luxury in the first place. We live in tents."

"What is it? What does it do?" Her young daughter asked.

Cobaline had been born in exile, the luxuries of civilization were foreign to her.

"It's for bathing with. It'll make you feel and smell nice, very expensive." The mother tried to explain.

Harkness appeared next to them, she had a tendency to move without pushing the air out in front of her. "We wouldn't have been able to afford it without a donation from the goblins."

"The resources of the town belong to all of us!" Scratch's voice called out from somewhere, "we'll be using the supplies as well. Primarily..."

He burst out from the bottom of a crate, holding up a jute sack of grains. "This!"

"That is chicken feed." Harkness remarked.

Cobaline giggled. "You can't eat that!"

"I know that. It's for our chicken... -adjacent birds that we have."

"You've got chickens?" Cobaline was surprised.

"You think we got our eggs from the seven-eleven? Lydia, you've seen them."

The bandit leader nodded. "They keep captured monsters at the bottom of the cave."

Aimone clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Some people would call that a dungeon."

Then Scratch realized he may have said too much. "It's just a chicken coop, like you don't have any of those."

-

That evening the denizens of the fledgeling town ceased their work and came together to enjoy the spoils.

Drinks were poured from carafes of wine, fruits and candies were consumed, and music was played.

The lute, harp, and flute that the goblins had stolen from adventurers and homemade drums from wood and animal skin were enough to come together as a fully fledged orchestra. They perched themselves on top of the platform and played a random medley of tunes. It was chaotic and directionless, but the chords agreed with each other and it made for suitable accompaniment to a night of revelry.

At one point Scratch, already slightly inebriated, climbed up to the platform and began speaking without filter.

"Thank you everyone! We're having a great time tonight, and we've been having a great time all week. I would like to thank our ministers of agriculture and waterworks, everybody clap!"

He began clapping, it was mostly other goblins that followed his directions and erupted into applause.

"And let's not forget all the hard workers making our roads and buildings," he continued, "our tools, our metals, hunting food, keeping us safe..."

He put together humans and goblins as one in those last lines.

"But most of all, I would like to toast to mothers!"

"Oh no." Somebody groaned in the audience.

"Because it is because of our mothers that... uh... Well, that we're here at all. You all know Barbara, today we met Brittany on the road. These are brave women, mothers to goblins. It is by their guidance that we shape our society. Barbara, stand up, some applause for Barbara please."

The display was awkward, but the enthusiasm of the goblins made it feel like a real celebration.

"We need more like you Barbara!" Scratch called out. "I implore all of you women out there. Pick up the mantle, you won't regret it."

It wasn't the first time Scratch had advertised to the bandit women the benefits of becoming a matriarch in one of the satellite tribes. This time, Lydia Harkness made a decision.

-

When the music had stopped and most had gone to bed, she crouched down next to the goblin boss while he was admiring the newly finished watchtower.

"It's coming along very well," he remarked, "it gets uneasy between us sometimes, but I think together we're stronger."

"We owe much to the goblins as well." She answered.

"That's what I meant."

Unprompted, she brushed his hair with her hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Your hair, it's getting longer, do you want me to wash it for you?"

If you was surprised by her proposal he didn't show it, and she led him into her personal tent, where she kept a bucket of water for washing purposes.

"Sit here, like this, and take off your shirt." She instructed.

His tunic was the only piece of clothing he wore. She felt a brief pang of guilt, as she was about to indulge in her worst instincts.

"Shampoo was an invention by the Sunflower hero," she mentioned as she soaked his hair with water and some droplets of the fragrant emulsion, "a champion of our nation that brought abundance and prosperity to a starving people."

"Is that so?" He didn't show much interest.

"Our civilization is build by heroes. Special people that elevate society with their ability. We revere and love our heroes."

He didn't say anything.

"Scratch. I have fallen in love with you." She kissed his neck.

He tensed up, "what are you doing?"

"I'm taking up your offer, Scratch, I want to make a family with you. Not with a tribe, but with you."

"I-" He did not see a rational reason to refuse.

That night they laid together. More as bonding lovers than to breed.

"We have fed you and healed you. Why do you denounce us still?" The goblin spoke through the horn, in order for the wolves to understand.

The one speaking was not Pentajo, but Mac, who had since learned their language better than his own.

"I care not for your food, beast!" The eldest wolf barked. "I may be old and nearing death, but I would rather die to the crows than live as a servant."

The other captured growled a bit to affirm her point.

The goblins spoke amongst each other, and Mac returned to the horn. "Then we shall set you free and be burdened by you no more. But you will not die to the crows."

The wolves looked at one another, the distrust for the goblins clearly displayed in their body language.

"We shall grant you a gift of youth, so that you may lead your pack for many more years, whether it is here or in the wild beyond."

"I am wary of your gifts, biped, but I will accept your terms for our freedom."

-

Without human help this time, the goblins dragged the eldest warg wolf with them on a leash. She was more compliant this time, as it was part of a deal to see her and her kin freed.

The path led into cave, through the wooden foyer, down the hewn staircase, through the hall and down a hole into the open space with the underground river.

The wolf and the geese were immediately disagreeable with each other, making loud noises.

"Silence!" The horn barked. "You, pack leader, do you wish for life over death?"

"I do." She responded, eager to get the formalities over with.

"Then you denounce the gods that bind you to your short-lived form."

"I suppose."

"Say it, say that you denounce Noruk."

She hesitated. You were not supposed to denounce your patron deity, every warg pup was anointed with Noruk's blessing upon their birth. But she never knew what this blessing was actually supposed to do. Looking at her life so far, it couldn't have amounted to much. "I do. If it grants me life, I denounce Noruk."

Suddenly the shadows in the cave became starker, stretching out as snake-like demons. For a split second she felt an intense fear, then she became unnaturally calm.

The fur on her tail and feet darkened, her nails and teeth grew longer, and the bones in her body shifted into a sleeker form.

She was granted a longer life. Denouncing her god and allowing in the influence of Cyclophan gave him the ability to evolve her into a longer lived species.

Wind Wolf

Family: Beasts

Threat Level: D

Reward: 15 copper pieces

Combining the the prodigious fighting ability of dire wolves with the cunning and teamwork of warg wolves, wind wolves are destructive pests. They can live for up to eighty years and can be recognized by their inky black fur and large fangs. It is not uncommon for isolated wind wolves to become alpha leaders to wargs or normal wolves, they can therefore occur as boss monsters in a wolf suppression mission. Defeating an entire pack of wind wolfs is a level D party quest that can result in a promotion to level C.

Wind wolves possess the Pack Hunter nature, allowing them to communicate with each other to co-ordinate attacks, without being able to speak. They also possess the wind walk ability, enhancing their speed with gusts of wind. Their fur, when harvested properly, can be used to give the wearer similar abilities.