“So far so good,” said Kevin over Message.

I responded with “Roger,” never breaking my gait. Compared to Woodsedge, this town - Colme, I think it was called - was a metropolis. The wide streets were bustling with all kinds of races. I took the time to get a feel for the numbers of each - the vast majority were humans, halflings were probably the next most prevalent at around 1 in 10, with dwarves not far behind. Elves were next at about 1 in 50, and gnomes, half-orcs and dragonborn were fewer still. I’d only seen one tiefling, and I have to say that Topher’s tusks weren’t half as freaky as horns and a tail.

We’d decided that I’d wander around the town to see if there were wanted posters or people looking for us. Kevin, wearing a hood we fashioned, was following and making sure nothing bad happened. Jenn was hiding just outside of town with orders to come looking for us if we didn’t come back by sunset. Topher was miles away, keeping an eye on the hole that led to the goblins’ camp. I didn’t want Topher so far away by himself, but he insisted he’d be fine - something about a lifelong dream concerning Whack-a-Mole.

I shifted the weight of my backpack. We’d collected the better weapons and a shield from our venture with the goblins, and if we could go about our business unmolested, I was to sell them off to fund better armor for Kevin and myself. I kept an eye out for places that might buy used equipment.

If we’d read the goblin’s map correctly, then each of the town’s four roads leading from it had an ambush party perched and ready. None of the talk around town seemed to be concerning travelers getting attacked, though - had word not spread? Did the goblins only just get started attacking people? The freshness of the corpses we found on the road supported that. Or maybe there wasn’t a camp at each of those marks - maybe each was a different exit from the tunnels, making it easy to abandon a location and start on another one if the military got wise.

“Still good.”

“Roger.”

Kevin was to keep me updated as we went through the city. Seeing how many people were milling about, however, made me wonder how he could spot a tail or anything else out of the ordinary in the sea of people. Must be a rogue thing. I’d been keeping tabs on demographics, but the faces were already blending together. I could barely differentiate races, let alone individuals.

“Might have something.”

My shoulders tensed, but I kept walking as normal. “Might?”

A few seconds passed before he came back with, “Probably nothing, but try stopping.”

I looked over to a building and pretended to be fascinated with it. He’d only have me stop to see if someone was following me, right? I waited for him to say something one way or another, but nothing happened. In an effort to keep cover, I looked the building up and down. It had four stories, which was pretty average for this street. I didn’t know enough about wood to determine what kind it was made of, but it seemed roughly the same muddy hue as the others around. In one of the second floor windows was a lady who saw me looking and smiled. I smiled back. It was then I noticed the sign posted above the door: ‘Betty’s Brothel of Busty Beauties and Bitty Boys’.

I’d officially chosen the worst building to stare awkwardly at.

“Okay, start walking again.”

I did so. Quickly.

“Yep, you’re being followed.”

Great, whoever it is must think I'm some kind of pervert. “Hooray. Anyone familiar?”

“Nope. Human, male, greying, unarmed.”

At least it’s not a squirrel. “How far back?”

“About thirty feet.”

I clicked my teeth together thoughtfully. “Trap him in an alley?”

“Sounds good.”

“See you soon.” I suddenly had no idea what to do with my arms - every movement seemed like it was too big or too little. What I wouldn’t give for pockets….

I had to go a little ways to find an suitable alley. While most of the buildings were detached from one another, they were also built too close to really allow anyone my size through (though I did notice various children using them). I only looked out of the corner of my eye, of course - I didn’t want to tip off my follower that I was looking for a turn. When I found one, I strode down it like I’d done so a million times before.

It was only five feet wide, about forty feet to the next street, and had nothing to hide behind. I slowed a bit as I walked. If the guy was thirty feet behind me, I could turn around once I was towards the end, and by then he’d be inside it with Kevin cutting off his retreat.

I was halfway down the alley when I heard “Wait, he just walked on.”

“Really? Is he doubling back?”

There was a pause. “No. Didn’t even look.”

“You’re sure he was following?”

“Yeah. Should I follow him?”

That was a bad idea. “No. Might want us separated.”

“Perhaps. Carry on carefully?”

“Sure.” Probably best if Kevin wasn’t seen standing around biting and whispering into a copper wire.

Military personnel would wear uniforms, or at least carry weapons, right? So who would follow me, if not military? I found I didn’t want to think about it. My best bet to find out and live to tell about it was to be on my guard.

This was bad, thought Yik.

Really bad. Terribly, awfully, calamitously bad. The implications it led to were frightening. And infuriating. Also worrisome. For the twelfth time since waking up, he decided he hated his job.

He looked around the cavern, shaking his head and tightening his lips. He’d been investigating the disappearances in his home city, Miczelberuft. There’d been roughly sixty in the last week - all warriors. Yik had hoped the cause was something simple, like an enterprising gelatinous cube or a rogue vampiric mind flayer. Sadly, it wasn’t. He’d jokingly thought it might have something to do with the surface as the trail led him further and further up, but he didn’t really believe it could be true until now. He wanted to go home.

He was staring at a war camp. Twelve bed mats, a few spare weapons, and three corpses of fellow goblins. Very, very bad. Glendalka, the Wise She-Goblin, had put a moratorium on raiding the surface world. Goblins were in a precarious position - they weren’t exceptionally strong, nor tough, nor smart, nor magical. Goblinkind was treated by other species as punching bags into which they also defecated. This was why Miczelberuft was hidden deep underground, and had to stay that way. While the Drow, Illithid and other Underdark races were unbelievably powerful and cunning, they would only use backhanded machinations to take over and enslave a city of goblins, whereas surface races’ default policy towards them was genocide. Keeping Miczelberuft hidden was a goblin’s first priority. If all sixty disappearances were warriors raiding the surface, the trail could lead back to the city. Very, very bad.

Yik examined the corpses. He’d seen many in his time on the job, and knew these had died fairly recently. Two were beaten to death and one was slashed with… a very long blade. Longer than most goblins would use. Was it bad he was hoping they died from an attempted mutiny? If the surfacers had found this place….

No, he didn’t see any signs of them on his way here, so there should still be time. He could collapse the tunnel. Ideally, that would keep surfacers from finding a way back to Miczelberuft, and he could go home and report his findings.

But that wouldn’t work, he realized. This cavern only had enough space for a quarter of the disappearances. There were likely other war camps, and he couldn’t go home until all of them were found - they might have tunnels that need to be blocked off as well. He wasn’t going to take the chance that they might be discovered in the days it’d take him to get back for help (days in the Underdark were measured by the 30 hour cycle of luminescent moss. Having no sun or weather, there were many other differences between the surface world and the Underdark. For instance, seasons were determined by a complex sloshing of factors, most of which pertaining to how pissy the Duergar Dwarf population was - “Oh, are the squatties raping and pillaging again? Must be Spring!” and so forth). Yik had to find the other camps. He spent a bit of time searching the cavern for maps or other indications of where they might be, but found none.

He took a deep breath, immediately regretting it as the stink of death filled his lungs. He wanted to go home. He analyzed his options through the view of what would protect Miczelberuft and get him back faster, but didn’t like what he concluded.

He couldn’t just wait around for one of the missing to show up and tell him about the other camps - they might not tell him, they might be dead already, and waiting in a cave with corpses is never fun. He also couldn’t search the tunnels for other signs of where the camps might be - it would take too long, and he daren’t wander alone in unknown tunnels when Spring was just around the corner. This meant he had to travel up to the surface and search.

As a part of basic education, every goblin is required learn about the surface world and spend a week surviving upon it. Yik remembered his own experience. The surface was quite nice - colorful, usually warm and almost never at the mercy of carnivorous jelly. He could sympathize with a goblin who wanted to spend more time topside. If not for the jerks living upon it, it would be an ideal place for goblins. His only qualm would be the terrifyingly giant eye of fire that loomed across the sky.

He stepped under the chute that led outside. There was daylight, so the eye was lurking around somewhere out there. That meant he would be more easily spotted by the surfacers. He prepared himself for the prospect of dealing with the other races, bringing to mind the lessons his father taught him on dealing with them:

“Always remember that surface dwellers believe they’re far superior to goblins - anything you say that doesn’t have the proper deference will get you killed faster than a bald dwarf pilloried in a room full of mind flayers. Now, because they believe they’re better than us, they find it adorable when they discover we have names - they’ll think you’re desperately trying to be like them, in their minds making you more akin to a pet than an adversary. If that doesn’t work, your last recourse is to crap your pants - I know it’s degrading, but they won’t want to have anything to do with you after that.”

It should be noted that Yik’s father had a long and distinguished career on the surface before finally succumbing to a horrendous case of diaper rash.

Yik started climbing. As was his habit when upset and doing something monotonously physical, he began muttering to himself (in Goblin, of course). “Stupid job. ‘Join the investigation team,’ they said. ‘Be a part of your community and keep it safe,’ they said. Now it’s, ’Hey, we got a shit posting, so let’s send Yik; he doesn’t have anything better to do!’ Great Glendalka, if we goblins are the lowest of the low, what does it say about me when I’m forced to do something no other goblin wants to do? That’s the reason I don’t have a mate yet - I let myself get balled over by authority. No she-goblin wants any part of that. Even if this ends up saving the Mic, my boss is just going to take all the credit. He’ll get an award for having the wisdom to send good old Yik. Everyone knows Yik doesn’t need awards, oh no. Yik’s happy with a pat on the back, yes sir. What, money? Yik doesn’t need that! Haven’t you heard? He’s happy just to make you happy, and he never asks for a bit of thanks. Yik’s a swell gob, yes he is. Knows how to roll over. In fact, if you—Hrk!”

Yik was just cresting the exit when something grabbed him, crushing his arms into his chest. His eyes bulged, partly from shock and partly from pressure, as he found himself face to face with a large, tusked humanoid.

“Hello there,” said the orcish man in menacing Common. “I was just starting to think I had the boring job, watching a hole. Can you believe how wrong I was, little buddy? But wow - I've always wanted to rip those damn moles out of the machine.” He squeezed Yik a bit harder, expelling all the air from his lungs.

“Hyrkglfligrpthff!” Was Yik’s attempt at saying “Hello, kind sir. My name is Yik and I’m crapping myself.”

“Now,” the man leaned in, a wide grin on his lips. “First thing’s first: Do you know how to count in Common?”

The last thing Yik heard before fainting was “Ew, what’s that smell?”