Smells and sights bombard my keen elf senses, but it’s the shrieking which sets my nerves on edge; threatening to overwhelm me. I bring my fingers to my ears to grant a momentary reprieve from the cacophony of shouts and screams.

I glance to Cinnamon concerned with how she is handling the near deafening din of the trade hall with her sensitive ears, but she seems unconcerned. Being a person born with naturally heightened senses, I suppose she has long ago learned how to block out unwanted noise. I on the other hand, feel like a superhero whose powers have just kicked in.

Cinnamon reaches out to touch my arm and mouths something, worry written on her face.

“Pardon?” I drop my fingers and concentrate my focus on her lips. Use them as an anchor in the sea of sound.

“I asked if you are alright?” She says.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I let out a sigh of relief as the noise drops down. Her voice comes to me with clarity; the racket still there, but now subdued. “I just needed to pop my ears.”

“Oh, I understand.” She gives me a nod and her closed eyed smile.

Cinnamon opens her eyes and her cheerful smile drops a little. "Umm, Brian. I have a question. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I couldn't help overhearing when you were talking to Mr. Plogz that you know about airships. But you told us..." She nods her head toward the pack on her back where Kryst was still hiding. "Well, you said that you had never seen an airship before?"

"Hey, yeah! Carrots has a point." Kryst says and I see her peek out between a few leather straps.

DOH! I hadn't thought of that. "I wasn't lying, ladyfriends." I give my companions a shrug and toss in a hint of a smirk, "I have never actually seen an airship, not like the one at the dock, anyway. As you know, Cinni-buns. I'm not from around here."

"Oh yes, Suckyville, right?" Cinnamon nods.

"Yeah." I chuckle, "But I have also done a lot of reading and... research on all kinds of subjects." Technically that was true. How many countless hours had wasted away just looking up pointless snippets of information on the internet or watching science and life hack style Youtube vids?

A man shuffles between us to step through a small swinging door and out into the throng of people shouting and shoving as they cluster about in a confused mess. Luckily, we didn't have to push and fight our way through the stock market-like main assembly area with the rest of the merchants and traders, having been taken into the back of the hall via a side door by our goblin guide.

We’d spotted a few guards near the main entrance, and there was another posted in the 'office' subdivision where we now stood waiting. But, judging by his advanced age and the way he sat snoozing in his padded, threadbare chair in the far corner, I wasn’t too concerned with him taking notice of us.

My eyes scan the clusters of desks and clerks, searching for Plogz amongst them. He had disappeared a few minutes ago, along with one of the workers who he’d conscripted to haul our sacks of monster bits.

There had been a few parts I had decided to keep. The snake scaled Naga skin for one, as well as a section of Drayger hide, some claws and teeth, and of course, the bone pistol handles I had started carving in the early hours of the morning. The rest had been gathered up and whisked away, leaving me a little anxious that we might have been ripped off.

Perception: Success!

My restless concern dissipates when I spot Plogz making his way back toward us; a bulging coin purse and small leather scroll case in one hand, and his walking stick held casually in the other.

I give a grin when he gets closer, not only because of the security blanket feeling of a bit more money in my pocket, but because I was looking forward to picking up our conversation.

During our walk to the trade hall, Plogz had questioned me fairly extensively regarding the usage of various building materials and the how and whys of my proposed solutions to a wide range of magitech based problems. There was a certain level of pride that I felt in being able to answer most, if not all, of the queries with the same level of expertise that I had demonstrated while repairing his leg.

The knowledge was just... there. The same as with the assortment of other skills I now possessed.

It was a weird sensation. To suddenly have expertise in a variety of 'professional' fields. After all, I’d never really been that great at anything before. Sure, I was pretty good with numbers, and I didn’t completely suck when it came to customer service. But, past that? My grades back in school were passable at best, and pathetic at worst. With no real talents to speak of I had become one of the faceless masses that made up the working force.

"I think you’ll be sated with the received price." Plogz says. Drawing close he hands over the pouch. "Fifty gold?"

I go lightheaded for a moment. By my comparable reckoning to dollars that was somewhere in the range of twelve to thirteen hundred bucks!

“Father bless, brother! You da man.” I say with a wide grin. Pulling open the draw string I stare down at the glittering coins then show them to an equally pleased Cinnamon.

The goblin takes the compliment with a small dip, then patiently waits as Cinnamon and I take a moment to share the coin evenly between us.

"And, promise fulified.” Plogz says holding out the scroll case when we have finished stowing away our money.

"What is this, Mr. Plogz.” I ask, taking the small leather tube.

"Your sigil stamped papers, of course. The Goblin Union welcomes you to the fold, brother in trade. If you wish work, naturally you'll need to pay the monthlies. However, I’ve covered on initial and also your stamp fees. On account of your assistance with..." He drum beats his metal leg with his cane.

"Wait? What!?" I boggle at the case then pop it open, tapping it against my hand to free whatever was inside. A steel ring set with a slightly raised cog tumbles into my palm a moment before a rolled parchment slides partway out.

Studying the ring for a moment I see that it is etched with small symbols on the otherwise plain band that correspond to signed and notarized stamps on various pages of the now unrolled parchment papers.

Perk: Goblin Guild Member

Perk: Recognized Guild Qualifications: Foundry

Perk: Recognized Guild Qualifications: Gearsmith

Perk: Recognized Guild Qualifications: Gunsmith

Perk: Recognized Guild Qualifications: Shipwright: Sky

Perk: Recognized Guild Qualifications: Wargear

"Mr. Plogz, I don't know what to say. Thank you." I say, slipping the ring onto my finger.

"No thanks mandatory. I can tell you know your trades good and healthy. Could use a gaggle more of you around here to ply your fixings."

Prickles of doubt fill the edge of my thoughts. The pride I had felt before souring my stomach. Back in the really-real world having a comparable set of skills to what I have here, and the recognition to go with it, would take years, most likely decades of study and practice. Did I really deserve what had basically just been plopped into my lap?

"Speaking of.” Plogz interrupts my self-deprecating thoughts. Pulling over a chair he hops onto it then dips a hand into his pants pocket and produces a small, silver cylinder. He holds it up to show me. “Grabbed this from your specifics. If it proves not a bother, would you mind finishing?" He asks, smacking his leg once more.

****************************

After making the final adjustments to the mechanized goblin appendage, Plogz once more ushers us outside, this time escorting us down toward the piers. Again he steers us away from the few guards we see posted about the port, taking us around buildings and down side routes.

We pass a series of warehouses where more workers, both goblin and not, move goods to and fro. Pallets are unloaded and restacked with wooden and metal containers, they are once more hauled skyward, swung over head, and then lowered over the edge of the cliff toward the water docks below.

“Gosh, things sure have changed since I was here last.” Cinnamon says glancing around as wide eyed as I surely was. “There was only the single pier before. Now it looks to be at least three Airship berths up here."

“Four, in actuality.” Plogz points toward the end of the docks and then down toward the cliff drop-off. “With a pair more mid-build just lower.”

“Buncha tourists."Kryst says from her hiding spot, "What you need to do is leave the sky to the professionals. Clearly, if you were supposed to be flitting about in the air, you’d have wings.” Kryst lets out a humph, “You know, like decent folk.”

“Shuddap.” I grin, poking the knapsack with a finger.

“Hey.” Kryst pauses, and similar to a cat in a paper bag, the knapsack rumples about with her movement. “Don’t make me come out there.”

Cinnamon and I share a smirk as we follow Plogz toward a set of steps that lead down to a series of large metal stages, ringed by waist high rails.

"How often do ships come through?" I ask.

"Near constant by sea." Plogz says pointing to the wide river snaking through the forest from the lake to the ocean. "Skyships? With the uptick sale of Redtree ash, leaves and wood off cut. One every day or couple now." He points to some of the crates being loaded.

Sure enough I see one of the open metal containers is indeed filled with piles of grey-white ash. There are also huge table sized wedges of dark wood that remind me of the slabs used for granite countertops in all those, oh so popular, flip your home improvement shows.

The goblin pauses at the top of the set of stairs with me. While I take in the view, Cinnamon walks a little ahead.

"They cut and sell the Redtree?" I ask, "Isn't that bad? I mean anyone ever think that's what is causing it to become as sick as it clearly is?"

"Leaf harvestation, pruning minor roots and branches, even direct building construction in the wood has never raised trouble before." The goblin shakes his head, "Besides, the parliamentary has an Arch level Geomaister for consultation of such topicals."

"That wouldn't happen to be a Lepuri fellow named Midnight would it?"

The Goblin nods in the affirmation. "It would."

"Huh." I give a glance to Cinnamon who has now moved down onto the lower walkway.

Was Cinnamons family member ultimately responsible for what was happening here? And if so, what was the end goal? The guy seemed to be the one who was the go-to expert on the tree. Some sort of druid or something.

That knowledge alone sets butterflies loose in my stomach. Who knew how he would react with me having eyes for his... granddaughter?

I literally shake the thought from my head. Cinnamon had said that she hadn't been home in a long time. So how well did she really know him anymore? I had adored Uncle Doug for years, but it wasn't until I grew up and learned that the reason his visits were so infrequent and ultimately stopped completely, was due to his incarceration for some rather heinous crimes.

Trade seemed to be flourishing in the city, but at what cost?

Was all of it just some shortsighted, money grab by these people? A kind of strip mine, gold rush, 'fracking' mentality. Plucking away at feathers, uncaring that eventually it would kill the goose that laid their golden egg?

I let out a sigh. All of these issues would have to wait until we meet him I suppose. Then again, who was I to question any of what was going on here. After all, this wasn't my world.

As if to punctuate the thought I glance back to the Skyship at the other side of the docks. Under the bright sun, color hues shift over the large gold painted eagle that adorns the prow, its wings sweeping back along the bow to near mid-ship. I wonder, is it a magical effect or just the expertise of the woodworkers carvings that make the feathers and wings appear as if made of red, orange and yellow flame.

"Brian?"

I pull my attention away from the magical craft and look to the goblin.

"After we get your lot settled. Bonders sealed, a square or two in your belly and a few snores stored behind the eyelids. Well, I have a pondering." The goblin scratches the light stubble on his chin, "See, I have me a few quandaries that I think you could lend fingers to fixing. If you be up to the challenges, of course."

I suck my teeth a little. "Thing is Mr. Plogz, we are trying to keep a low profile, remember? I don't want to draw any attention toward us with the guard."

"Nope, not a lick of that. You have my stamp, no question." He says. "This be more of a personal ask."

"In that case, sure, Mr. Plogz. I don't see how I can say no." I grin. If it was comparable what was needed to repair his leg I could hardly wait to try my hand at it.

"Fine showing! Knew I could count on you to assist!" Plogz smiles, "Lad, I have a real fonder for you. Real go and getter to be sure. Fact is, I'd swear you have a little goblin green in your linage."

"I highly doubt it, Mr Plogz. But, if nothing else, I'll take that as a real compliment."

"As intended, my Shadowson." Plogz says, "C'mon then, best keep moving ahead." He motions toward the lower level where Cinnamon stands waiting. With a nod I hurry down the stairs to catch up. Plogz pauses at the top of the steps, instinctively reaching for the banister to crabwalk down, in that elderly person way.

Like a bolt of lightning, the realization that he no longer needs to must hit, and a wide, beaming smile cracks across his face. That same arc of lightning then jumps to me, as I too grasp just how long and severe a crutch that badly calibrated leg of his must have been.

Quickly catching up with a proud stride Plogz leads the way onto the metal stage structure and to the closest of a half dozen or so platforms that stick out from its edge.

He exchanges some clicking snorts in ‘goblinese’ with a few workers who simply nod or laugh in what I can only assume is some sort of workplace banter. One of them makes a hand motion to Plogz leg and cane to which he turns and points back toward me. I reflexively puff out my chest when the squat goblin dockworker gives me a approving nod.

Waiting until we have all piled onto the indicated platform the other goblin waddles over to push a hinged gate closed behind us. The sliding deadbolt styled lock ringing against a bell on the frame.

Plogz gives a nod, grabs hold of a metal leaver on the back edge of the platform, squeezing the release grip. Safety locks pop up from the edges with a sharp kachunk and a moment later he cranks the leaver back. In response machinery whirs and the platform vibrates as it begins to descend.

Gears turning as it rolls along a raised track, I give Cinnamon a nervous smile and take a step forward to peer over the rail.

Immediately my sphincter tightens from the feeling of vertigo, sending a tingle racing from my groin, up through my stomach to flash up my spine at the sight of the near vertical drop.

Gripping the banister in a white knuckle hold I see what must be homes and stores built into the side of the rock face. Tunnel and borehole entranceways which give several sections of rock a Swiss cheese appearance. The only apparent access granted via long walkways and interconnected elevator platforms; similar to the one on which we now stood.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. I’ve never been scared of heights, but I wasn’t necessarily a fan either. I just had to think of it as a theme park ride. Like an open side and topped elevator, or a slowed down rollercoaster.

A very scary, steampunk ratchety, clockwork rollercoaster.

Again, my groin tingles in trepidation.

We haven’t moved far down the wall, only fifteen to twenty feet from the drop off, when I hear a shout from behind. Turning I see the sexy-hot, airship Captain from before racing along the walkway toward the steps leading to the elevator platforms.

We lose sight of her for a moment but then there is a cry of fright from the 'security' goblin at the gate above. The ringing of the bell at the gate above us is followed by a scraping sound as she slides down the slight incline and freefalls the last twelve or so feet to land in between Cinnamon, Plogz and I with a bang.

The platform shudders with the vibration of her impact and the gears shift then slip. The platform dropping under our feet.