The hobgoblins took longer to grow than regular goblins.

They quickly learned to walk, but their short legs left it as an ungraceful waddle.

Throughout the day they mostly followed Harkness, as she managed her bandits and administrated the town. But taking care of their needs, food, cleaning, and the like, were Quiet and the goblins. The four were ambassadors of the goblin cave among the bandits tents, and formed a link between the two communities.

For that reason, nobody raised an eyebrow at Angus chewing on a chair leg when they came to visit the bandit leader.

"I'm happy that you came to this decision." Harkness told the woman in front of her while she was busy ignoring the hobgoblin.

"I'm not," she sighed in response, "but I know where the cards are. I used to be an adventurer myself, you know."

Harkness forced a comforting smile. Most humans tried their hand at adventuring in their youth, though most never made it out of rank F and those above rank E were very rare. The lady may have even slain bandits herself long ago, as part of a summer vacation. Now that she was one herself, she knew the size of the threat. Higher ranking adventurers would be on their doorstep soon, or even knight squadrons.

"Have you met Scratch's charges?" The bandit leader asked.

"I have, they're bright young boys. I just don't know about the... partnership." The bandit woman looked at Harkness' litter. Angus, who was still chewing, Ada, who was seated next to her mother and tried to imitate her expression and pose as much as possible, Jasper, who was hiding in a corner, and Felix, who was playing with throwing knives. The bandit leader had lain with a goblin and birthed them herself.

"They're a vital part of the exchange." The bandit leader stated. "I promise you that it doesn't take long." She reached over to stroke Ada's head. "And your own will be the most loyal."

"Right... Can you promise me I will be safe?"

Harkness hesitated. "I can promise you you will be safer. You will have an army of goblins protecting you. But absolute safety..."

The woman was taken aback.

Eager to close the deal, Harkness pressed her luck. "It'll be the closest someone like us can get."

She agreed to become a brood mother. And she definitely wasn't the first to do so, bandit women had been relocated throughout the forest for days now. It was easy building outposts and small forts with scores of obedient sons and the charitable donations from the cave goblins. Their claiming of the territories made it safe for bandits to travel between goblin nests on foot and meet with the matriarchs personally, confirming the success stories.

"Do you have any plans for the burrow?" Harkness suddenly asked.

"It's a watermill! My parents used to be millers, I think we can repair it before fall and poach some grain." The woman beamed.

The former knight was taken aback. The mill would have belonged to someone once, and had been taken in by monsters. But she hugged and congratulated her nonetheless, it was time for a new era.

"You're happy with the water tower?" Scratch asked the bandit while presenting a plate of thin black cookies, imported from a newly developing sister tribe.

Aimone declined. "You tell me. It's where everybody gets their water now, isn't it?"

"I'll have some." Second said, and he was given the whole tray.

The two goblins were having another meeting with their minister of water management in the overstuffed warehouse.

"I saw you put in some decorations." Scratch mentioned.

"Decorations? Managgia. I'm from the republic of Grienice, every child knows how to inscribe gems there."

The goblin boss gave him a questioning look.

Aimone sighed. "It's the water purification spell, anybody can put in the mana to cast it. So me and Gildo don't have to keep doing it."

A glint of understanding Scratch's eyes appeared. "Ah! Good goodgood. So any human can use it. That's fine. But you had more ambitions, didn't you?"

"What? Get out of this hell-hole?"

"I meant the sewers."

Aimone scratched the back of his head. "Yeah... if we could tear up the ground under your savage hovels until we find an underground river, we could make something like that."

Scratched waved his hand dismissively. "That's fine, all taken care of already."

"What?"

Instead of explaining, Second asked another question. "How can we drain the slime water into our underground tunnels?"

Aimone frowned. "That's not how it's done. We flush waste through the sewers before it attracts the slimes."

Scratch folded his hands together. "Are slimes that dangerous?"

"Not dangerous. Disgusting. Not that I'd expect a goblin to understand."

Second was about to get angry, but he felt the judging stare of Scratch and composed himself. "In any case, we have the water tunnel, now we want to use it as a sewer. You're the minister of water, figure it out."

With what he himself considered angelic patience Aimone ignored the contemptuous tone in the goblins demand and came down to business. "How deep is this waterway?"

"Ten feet at the tail end, twenty nearer to the cave." Scratch stated.

"Then we must construct an intermediary pipe. A shallowly buried drain that runs through the town and ends into the waterway. Make it metal or clay so it doesn't leak out into the soil. When the users dispose of their waste into the drain, they'll use tanks of water to flush it through into the sewers."

Scratch clapped his hands. "That sounds like a plan. Good luck on that minister."

"Wait." Aimone objected, but he didn't look annoyed or angry, he had the serious expression of a professional raising an important issue. "You can't use just any sinkhole as a sewer. Sewers have man-holes so you can descend to perform maintenance, or to let in exterminators if it gets bogged down with slimes."

"We can just get in via the cave." Second scoffed.

"The cave?"

"It's where we live, underground." Scratch explained. "Don't worry about the water way, it's not a sinkhole, it's infrastructure."

They were about to leave when Aimone threw out a statement. "I thought you lived in those thatch huts."

"Huh? Those are just for surface stuff." Second responded.

"Fire. A forge and a kitchen." Scratch explained.

"Cleaning sheets, tanning hides." Second added. "Oh, and woodworking."

"You know, everything with waste products."

"Ah." Aimone was a bit nonplussed, for the first time the creatures seemed capable of infrastructure of their own.

-

Not long after, the digging of a trench along the paved road began.

To his dismay, Aimone was trust back into the sordid world of manual labour. Having to guide the goblins personally on the construction of the surface channel.

The crew assigned to him was the same as the one that had worked on the deeper sewers. With their experience digging and building underground they had plentiful confidence in their own judgment for what needed to be done, and he would frequently rage through the work site, cussing at everything that moved over bricks haven been lain where clay was supposed to go or the trench being widened where it shouldn't.

Scratch would have observed and coordinated the effort, but an special occurrence distracted him and the entire project slipped from his mind.

The dove pen the bandits had brought with them suddenly housed an owl.

"It must be her familiar animal." Stanford mumbled as he carefully untied the pouch from the creatures limb. Referring to the witch, Lacrima, who had made a diplomatic visit not long before.

Scratch snatched the parcel out of the man's hand. "Yeah? Special magic?" He asked uninterested as he opened the thing up.

"Not too special, but powerful," Stanford placed the bird back in the cage, "a pigeon will only fly home, but a familiar can remember multiple locations."

"Straight to business I see, and some bribes at the bottom." Scratch fished out a long scroll with various instructions, a number of small ornate vials and a red chain necklace.

"Oh my! Is that a healer's pendant?" Stanford crouched down to inspect the object Scratch's hand.

"Let's see..." Scratch skimmed over the contents of the letter. "...partnership...loyalties...magic forces...blahblah, aha. Here it is: '-allow you to heal your creatures more efficiently.' I guess?"

"Splendid, absolutely marvelous." Stanford took the red chain and wrapped several times around his wrist. "I was taught healing magic in a convent. Not even the abbot had something like this. It allows you to feel the exact pains and ailments of your patients. He scratched behind his ear, "you've got a splinter in your thumb."

Scratch looked at him like he was stupid. "I know I've got a splinter. How does it benefit me to have you tell me?"

"It makes me a better healer."

Scratch grumbled disapprovingly and went over Lacrima's letter again. "Most of this is instructions on how to make her steel. Then at the end she mentions healing items to get us on her side."

Stanford was contemplative. "Weapon manufacturing? That's what she came here for, isn't it? Was it wise to agree to it? It was a supplier that we needed, wasn't it? Not another client."

Scratch didn't look up from the paper. "Sometimes you get an offer you're not supposed to refuse. When a known hustler drops by and your own goons are kissing her rings you make nice and do what she says. Besides, it's good to make friends in high places. Have one more person that has a personal stake in our survival."

Stanford fiddled with the chain. "I suppose so... So we're hoping she'll become a patron to the town."

"Patron! That's a bit-" Scratch suddenly frowned deeply while reading the text. "Hey, wait. This is addressed to Lydia!"

"Miss Harkness. Of course. You should probably take it to her."

Scratch's cheeks puffed up like a child. "No. She doesn't control things around here, I do."

Stanford clicked his tongue. "I think you'd find that Lacrima does."

Scratch snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "Cheeky. You're cheeky."

-

The vials were filled with rare chemicals. "Potions" as Stanford called them.

They ended up at least showing the delivery to the bandit leader, and she gave the okay for him to use them.

Most importantly, one of the vials contained a liquid that turned organic matter to stone. Using the healer's pendant Stanford was able to feel what part of the goblins was the unnatural 'false flesh'. A few drops from the vial petrified the foreign tissue, so it could be removed and the old wound healed with safer magic.

Soon a line formed, in front of his tent, of malformed goblins waiting to be restored.

"Will I be able to walk again?" Linus asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"If I could perform stronger healing magic..." Stanford clenched his teeth. "Perhaps one day someone can return your legs to how they should be. But at least we can remove this useless skin."

Not all goblins had been treated when the sun was about to set and dinner was normally served. Breaking their habit they dined separately.

The hobgoblins had been put to bed and fallen asleep when Second was being treated last.

Harkness took the opportunity to discuss a potentially unpleasant topic with Scratch in her tent. "You've been using dark magic."

"We've been using whatever we could get our hands on. What of it?"

"I... I don't want to think of you as evil. I want to believe that even if we're outcasts, we are capable of good."

Scratch grinded his teeth. "And dark magic is evil? According to whom?"

She took on a patronizing educational tone. "According to everyone Scratch. It's something you lean from childhood is against the gods."

"Against the gods!? What about killing goblins? Or bandits? What's the gods' stance on that!?" He raised his voice in anger. "I'm pretty sure your religion wants you dead. According to me apostasy is pretty fucking warranted."

"That's- What I mean is that it's dangerous. Dark magic always carries a cost, a risk."

"Yeah... you don't like risk, do you? That's why you let a decade go by without challenging Fyro. That's why you stayed camped out in one spot without ever changing."

"You-"

He was fuming now. "You think you can improve your life without taking risks!? Without breaking the rules!? That's how they keep you down you idiot! That's how they killed all those bandits, because you were trying to play it safe. Actually, you killed them!"

She slapped him across his face. It wasn't a powerful slap, but the difference in strength between them was significant. His head snapped to the side and he tasted blood.

"Scratch! Sorry, I didn't mean-"

He was calm now. "It's okay, forget about it."

"No really. I shouldn-"

"I said forget about it!"

They'd woken up Ada with their arguing. "Mama? Papa?"

"It's nothing baby, go back to sleep."

But the toddler refused and sat herself down on her father's lap.

The two had to avoid further divisive topics in order not to fight in front of the child. Both fancied themselves stoics, and both were ashamed of their flaring emotions.

The hobgoblins' parents continued to pretend there was no bad blood between them, and soon involved them in their training.

Scratch had let some of the older siblings take over instructing self defense lessons from time to time, but with his own children now given a front row seat he took the responsibility upon himself again.

The orange creatures did not grow as instantaneously as the green ones, but their growth was quick by any standards and after just more than a week they were large enough to practice on other goblins.

"That's right, don't try to force it..." Scratch guided his son Angus into redirecting a heavy blow, "you should be able to use your opponent's force against them. Try to lock my joints Angus."

After not immediately managing to pin his father's body using technique, Angus tightened his grip and lifted the goblin's body off the ground throwing him over his head with brute strength.

"Oof." Scratch landed and had the wind knocked out of him. He took a moment to recover and then said "or that, whatever works."

From within the group of diligently training goblins Ada's voice could be heard. "Raaaah! I am the greatest!" She was holding a struggling Fyro over her head with no regard for the actual exercise as hand.

"Yeah." Scratch narrowed his eyes. "I think you're outgrowing us. We should pair the four of you together, or maybe your mother..."

He was interrupted by Mac demanding his attention. "Scratch, Scratch... Scratch."

"What!?"

"Card." In his outstretched hands Mac held a whisk card. One prominently featuring Scratch's face.

In the picture, Scratch sat leaning back in a chair, like those from the farm they had raided and burned, holding various human stolen possessions with a smug smile. It said "goblin boss" on the top.

Glancing if anybody had seen it, Scratch quickly snatched the card. His simple tunic did not have pockets, but with some sleight of hand that Cyclophan had helped him pick up he was able to make the card disappear in the blink of an eye. It now sat face down against his skin at the shoulder.

"Did anybody else see it? Where did you find it?" The subject of the card wanted to know.

Mac shook his head. "Nobody. Bello found it."

The dog raised warg wolf barked happily from behind Mac.

"Pentajo and I were helping the wolves make friends with the tribes," the goblin went on to explain, "but when I saw the card I had to take it back."

"Well done. You're a good boy, that goes for both of you." Scratch patted Mac's shoulder. "Take over the class for me, I have to do something."

He ran off and left Mac facing an energetic and confident Angus.

-

Scratch's destination was a hidden location underneath the wolves' den.

One of the planks could come loose and revealed a small box. The old crate they had once used for crossbow bolts but had been replaced with superior equipment important from human society.

The crude wooden rectangle now served as storage space for the occult cards.

"Do not flash your fangs, it is the wise one." The wind wolf barked at the two younger wolves that were in the den at the time as Scratch jumped the small inclose to reach the hidden space.

"Thank you, Wendy, always a lady." He mumbled, though he knew she did not understand his language like her did hers or could know in any way that he had given her that name.

He pulled out the loose plank and plucked out the card from under his clothes. "Don't mind me, just stashing- AH!"

The darkness in the hidden space did not make way for the light when it was opened up. Instead, the darkness spread out, tentacles of inky blackness rose up and wrapped themselves around his wrist.

The wolves growled at the tenebrous limbs, feinting attacks but too scared to actually touch it.

Scratch eventually pulled himself loose from the grip, with faints lesions from the force. Then he violently slammed the plank back, forcing them back down.

He looked at the canines, they stared back at him. "Haha... Molds, am I right?" He joked.

I see you encountered my gift.

Yeah... trying to get back at me for something?

Scratch massaged the red lines on his forearm while smoking a blue grass cigarette. He hadn't had the chance to commune with Cyclophan all day, the chores of keeping the town going keeping him busy. But in the evening there was a going away party for one of the bandit women moving into the abandoned mill. He took some time for himself during the festivities to talk to the evil god.

For what? You turning my tunnel into a sewer? Not at all.

Scratch groaned at thee passive aggression. It's more dungeon. Isn't that what you want? To discourage people from finding you. This does that.

By filling up the path with shit.

Right.

Right. As I said, I'm not bitter at all. Or maybe you meant as attack because you had the false flesh removed.

That- You can't be worried about us running off anymore. After we've established ourselves so firmly.

It's still a sign of disrespect. And you know that very well.

Is that what you want? Respect.

Why not? I think I deserve some more respect from my champion. You haven't even thanked me for my present.

Thanked you?

You're welcome. It's a reward. I said that I would give you some demons if you opened up the second river for me and you did. So, with the increased power I was able to materialize a monster from the abyss.

You summoned a shoggoth under my floor to reward me!?

It's called a mimic. They can live in the darkness of closed chests and attack those that try to take the valuables. Very useful traps against raiders.

A very useful trap against me. Look, it hurt me.

It's just being playful, demons love to cause pain. I'll try to remember to calm the mimics' temperament when you or your friends open it up.

Oh, you will try, will you?

As long as you try to show some deference. There's one other mimic in the pot of coins you keep behind the wall.

-

Scratch massaged his temples and changed the subject. My nephew found a card in the forest.

Yes, so?

It has my face on it.

That happens sometimes. The world memories remember what no longer is. Something doesn't have to die for it to no longer be.

So... the description is no longer accurate to me.

Any reason why you would no longer be considered a goblin boss?

Scratch grinded his teeth. I can think of one.

Cyclophan managed to convey the sensation of him shrugging. You should have come to me sooner, to discuss our deal with the witch.

Our deal you say.

It is my dungeon. Whatevery smeltery gets build here is my business as well.

I had thought you'd protest. I was led to believe dark sorcerers were your natural enemy. You know, after one had come looking for you and we had to kill him.

What information do you have that I have not about Lacrima being a dark magic user?

I just assumed... I mean she's a witch.

?

-

Never mind. That's just me thinking I can coast by on common sense. Tell me what you wanted to discuss.

There is a large cavern directly underneath your wolves' den. Just a few dozen meters lower and as wide as a cathedral's hall. It's perfect for a steel oven.

An underground cave is perfect for a firepit spewing noxious gas?

Ever head of a chimney?

We have so much open space within the town walls. And the steel is something the humans know about. I thought we had reserved the underground for secret dungeon stuff.

You are forgetting that illicit steel production is a egregious crime amongst humans, and something you want to hide from the public eye.

I remember now. As opposed to witchcraft, huh.

It wouldn't be as much of a problem if you just killed captured adventures, instead of releasing them to tell their story.

We are underdogs Cyclophan. You punch down, you don't punch up, that's the first rule of diplomacy. We won't get any pity points killing anybody's family.

Goblins don't get any sympathy at all.

All the more reason not to poke the bear.

In any case, get my shard out of the filth tunnel and put it back where it was. I'll dig into the cavern and we'll be expanding the dungeon into the underworld.

I knew it, you just want more dungeon.

It just so happens that our interests align. That reminds me, there's a strong monster that I think would be great for heating up the oven. It's called a great salamander and it's stronger than-

"Are we still doing the new song?" Yuki came to ask Scratch about the going away performance.

"Of course." Gotta go, Cyclophan, we'll chat later. He put out the cigarette.

-

The song he had prepared with the boys was meaningful, and relevant to the current whispers amongst the humans about working with creatures that used dark magic.

Yuki plucked away at the harp when Scratch began to sing, and soon the other instruments joined in.

Good and evil -

And their merits -

Men have argued through history -

As well they should!

My philosophy

Any child can see -

"Good is evil -

And therefore

All evil is... good!

The song was about the folly of being good and the benefits of ignoring moral rules. With his perfect verbal memory he had been able to reproduce the song in its entirety from a musical he had seen in a previous life. It wasn't meant to convince anybody as much as to amuse himself. The improved recollection allowed him to enjoy music and singing like hadn't before.

Especially in the end when the singing sped up he lost himself in the joy of the moment and locked eyes with Lydia Harkness, his partner in crime.

Evil is viable

Good's unreliable!

Good may be thankable!

Evil is bankable!

She did not seem angry or stoic at all. Her expression was soft with sympathy and admiration. Perhaps she took the plagiarized lyrics to be a much more personal statement.

Mildred was in a foul mood. It wasn't often that she was in a good one these days.

She had recently lost two colleagues to a sudden show of power by the thieves' guild. What's more, she was implicated in it now.

Marie, Boris and her had been stopped from interfering with the growing goblin nest near the sea cliffs. Then Lacrima had killed Boris and forced her to help kill Marie.

Biting her lip in frustration the halfling mage took another gulp of beer. It was too late for anybody to be sitting in the cafe area of the guildhouse, but her being part of the staff nobody had told her to leave yet.

"Even Arnold has a hand in on it." She grumbled to herself.

The guildmaster had seemed like the harmless sort. He was old and not very diligent, but she hadn't taken him as corrupt. Then again, neither had she miss Lacrima herself, who apparently was the thieves' guild.

"What the devil are those villains even doing up in that region?"

"Excuse me," the girl that usually worked reception began, Mildred didn't even know her name, "perhaps-"

"I'm old enough to drink. Feck off."

"Yes, but... it is time to close up. And it would be better to go out the back. To avoid the gentlemen at the door, you see."

"Gentle...?"

"The winner of the culling event, remember? He is here every day, I don't think he has a home."

Mildred put down her cup. "Yes, the rank E vagrant. We wouldn't ordinarily call someone like him a gentleman."

The receptionist looked at her expectingly.

"The man is a hobo." Mildred explained. "A homeless wretch living off the guild."

But the other woman looked more sympathetic. "He's a hard worker. Would be able to afford a room at the inn if he took some quests of his own rank, I think, but he only slays goblins."

Mildred downed her drink and slammed it down. "Fine. Let's get going, before he charms you into marriage."

She ignored the childish insult as she led Mildred to the backdoor. "Shouldn't there be more goblin quests on the board, miss? People've been complaining about them running amok upriver."

"I just teach. You ask the guildmaster about that. Yeah... you grill him real hard on why there's no goblin nest extermination upriver..." Mildred chuckled to herself.

The receptionist was a bit non-plussed by this cryptic suggestion.

Mimic

Family: Demons

Threat Level: F

Reward: None

Mimics are a type of demon that impersonates treasure chests in order to attack unsuspecting adventurers.

They possess an animal intelligence, the ability to see, and long tentacles. They are completely black.

Mimics have no special resistances, but are especially vulnerable to light magic. When a mimic is killed they leave behind a treasure chest, the contents of which can wildly vary.

As demons, mimics will only occur in dungeons or the lairs of dark sorcerers. Since demons have no natural presence in the overworld and will only appear if summoned.

Though it has occured that beginning adventurers were killed by mimics, they usually at most manage to hurt them. With this, the owner of the mimic hopes to weaken their enemy and gain a better chance killing them.