I accepted the villagers’ offer to keep myself out of the way while they cleared the bodies from the trail. After suggesting we leave them as a warning to whatever followed, Romund explained to me that there were still a few small hamlets that would need to use it to reach Pitchhollow. Rotting carcass clearance on top of a desperate flight for safety wouldn’t be ideal for them.

“My messengers should be reaching the villages right about now. I just hope they haven’t been attacked like us,” he continued.

“Would it be better for me to head back and check?” I suggested.

“If they have, I’m afraid to say it’ll be far too late by now. It was only by miraculous fortune that you stumbled upon us when you did.”

“Glad to be of help.” I left out the part about waking up in one of their beds after travelling from another dimension. “Let’s just hope they leave us alone between here and the fort.”

“Garrison,” Romund corrected.

“Fair enough,” I replied absently, my eyes drawn to the body of the warg who had perished at my feet. “What is that?” I asked, walking towards the twitching creature. Well technically the belly was twitching, not the body itself.

“Oh, she was pregnant,” replied Romund as he walked back to gather up the others. “It’ll be dead soon. At least we won’t have to worry about it eating us when it grows up!”

I was transfixed on the struggles taking place beneath the taut skin. As ghastly as the mother had been to look upon, in its dying moments it was nothing more than a scared animal seeking comfort. Had it been for itself or its unborn, though? I had no clue about the psychology of wargs, nor most animals when it came right down to it. The pup’s movements started to weaken and my panic flared.

“What are you doing, you pillock?” I asked myself as I equipped my dagger. “This is going to end so badly.”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked a spot as far away from the impression of paws as possible and slashed downward. Like a lanced boil, the pregnant belly deflated and the amniotic fluid poured out, covering my feet and lower legs. As vile as it was, my excitement overrode the need to go and dive in a river. My companion log grew by one when I picked up the ichor soaked pup and severed the umbilical cord.

Companion Gained – Warg (baby)

Description – A distant ancestor to the more common wolf, wargs are far larger than their lupine forebears. Capable of hunting alone or as part of a pack, they are fierce predators. Once trained, wargs forge a lifelong bond with their master. Requires milk to survive.

The little ball of slick fur started to choke so I turned it over and hooked my fingers into its throat to pull the swallowed tongue free. I received a healthy nip from its razor fangs for my troubles that penetrated to the bone. Leaving the healing to my natural constitution, I pulled out a cloth and gave the creature a quick wipe down.

“Same trick as before?” I asked, looting the group of adult wargs.

My inventory filled with a stack of fur, claws, and meat that I would look over later. Among the prizes was a copious amount of warg milk in neat little bottles. I slipped the teat of one into Wargy’s mouth and stashed him safely into my pack. I also took the time to feed my other companions who were growing rapidly. It was becoming a full on menagerie in my pack. I didn’t know if they served a purpose other than awesome, and not so awesome in Spidey’s case, travelling buddies. They had no combat stats to speak of, no tab to pull up their attributes or abilities. Still, I did what I always did in games; I gathered all pets to me. That was enough for now.

“Mark? Are you done?” called Romund from up the trail.

“Nearly!” I replied, heading towards what remained of the rider’s bodies.

Name – Goblin Warg Rider

Description – The smallest of the goblin warriors are picked to master the wargs as their lack of bodyweight aids in their symbiotic combat. They eat with their animal, sleep with their animal, fornicate with… Ok, too much information. Let’s just say bestiality isn’t as frowned upon in the realms of goblindom. Who are we to judge what happens between consenting… things?

Weakness – All

Immunities - None

I pocketed the available coins and moved on to the loot which was far more interesting.

Item – Goblin Die-Nah-Might? (uncommon)

Type – Weapon (explosive)

Description – A highly volatile concoction held in small clay jars that are lit and then thrown. Spontaneous combustion can be caused by – naked flames, clothed flames, water, shaking, coughing, oxygen, lack of oxygen, and gentle breezes. In fact, the chances of you getting this to work are less than one in three. Luckily for the wielders, Gutrender has an enviable prosthetics program that uses the latest in goblin ingenuity. Who needs a functioning hand when you can have a hook?

Requirements – None. For the love of god, don’t even think about it!

Effect – Causes explosive and shrapnel damage in a small area

Misc – None

I wasn’t averse to unleashing some bombing goodness on my enemies. I just had to try and make sure I wasn’t among the casualties. Or at least have a sturdy hook ready to go in the event of a missing limb.

Achievement Unlocked – Chad the Impaler

Description – Fifteenth century Wallachian princes have nothing on you. As Vlad Dracul laid waste to the invading Ottomans, so too shall you strike terror in the hearts of your misbegotten enemies. Leave their screaming forms riding the stake into an agonising death. Plant your bloody flowers on the battlefields that all may know your evil and quake at your approach. Carve your name in the annals of history as the legendary vampire does.

Reward – Țepeș Stakes (Spell)

My eyes darted back a line. “Wait… does? What does that mean?” I asked. “Is that a typo or are you telling me that the Dracula is still alive on our world?”

Nothing replied except for the distant chitter of a forest critter. It had to be a language issue. There was no way a secret like vampires would be kept under wraps with the prevalence of video technology in the hands of nearly every single person on the planet, was there? Hang on! Didn’t video capture use mirrors? If that was the case, the bloodsuckers could walk right past in velvet jacket and spread collared dress shirt. That left a dubious knot in the pit of my gut as I took the remaining loot from the corpses. Pushing the dread aside, I opened up the spell tab to check my new ability.

Item – Țepeș Stakes (rare)

Type – Spell

Description – Vicious pikes burst from the ground, impaling your enemies.

Requirements – Int 10

Effect – Causes piercing damage to enemies. High chance to cause bleed debuff.

Misc – Strength and diameter of stake eruption increased by Int

“That’s awesome!” Apart from my lack of stats to use the thing, anyway.

I joined the convoy and cautiously approached my psychotic steed. Lady whickered as I neared and tried to twist her neck back to the pack of apples.

“Hold on, Miss Kills-a-lot and I’ll get you one.”

My eyes were drawn to her lower legs and the black gloop that stained them. I promised myself that I’d give her a wash as soon as we hit the next stream and slipped the girl two apples before climbing back in the saddle. My back started to complain immediately but it was something I’d have to get used to. I doubted there was much in the way of taxis or cross country rail travel available; it was either foot or hoof.

We set off in tandem and I walked Lady up beside Romund’s wagon.

“It’s been quite the day, hasn’t it?” he asked, gently jigging the reins.

“It’s been a real eye opener,” I agreed. “Would you mind telling me more about what’s been happening?”

Romund blew out a whistling breath. “That’s a dark tale indeed. Are you sure you want me to tell it?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I replied. “Have the goblins always been a problem?”

He nodded. “Going back as far as my grandfather’s, grandfather’s grandfather. Legends say that the poison in the mines twisted the men who toiled in the deeps. Orcs and goblins used to be folk just like you and me. Can you believe that?”

“You don’t?”

He scoffed. “The only resemblance I see is that they walk on two legs. I’d be more believing that the miners found something down there that they hadn’t counted on. Gutrender is just the latest to take command of the green rabble that fills the caverns. For hundreds of years the orcs were the stronger of the two races. They would use the goblins for fun and food. As terrible as a full army of orcs marching on the lands of Kherrash may seem after tonight, it was always repelled with minimal casualties. They took a fortress once or twice, but it was short lived and the Grand Marshals always sent them fleeing back into the depths.”

“What’s changed?”

“This is the second time they have emerged in the last fifty years with one of the goblins as their master. Strog NoNose was the first, and he was also the first who used their bizarre technology. Whatever it lacked in accuracy, it made up for in devastating damage. To both sides, that is. As many of the orcs fell as our troops. We lost most of the north-western territory that time. Three small garrisons and two of the larger castles. Most of the able-bodied men were drafted to put them down. Masons, tailors, farmers. Everyone.”

“You fought?” I asked.

“Heaven’s no. I was only a little spit of a thing. It was my father who left the fields to go and reinforce the army. He came back deaf and nearly blind. And to his dying day two decades back, he’d cough up a mix of black gunk with pools of blood. Whatever was in the smoke of their fire weapons was enough to rot him from the inside.”

“How do you think their armies have managed to win so decisively after all the previous tries?”

“From what I gleaned as the routed men passed through, their technology is now perfected.”

My memory flashed back to the what I can only assume was a more volatile dynamite looted from the goblins. It didn’t seem that perfect if they required a constant supply of fake limbs for their injured, but I kept the information to myself. “You said your father was injured by their fire weapons. Did he ever mention what they were?”

“I’m afraid not. You have to remember he was a farmer. The sword in his hand felt as strange to him as that horse feels to you. All he remembered was charging forward into the battle, the sounds of piercing screams, then silence. Most of the men had blood running from their ears after the battle was won and they never heard another sound as long as they lived.”

Concussive blasts? If that was the case, the title tinkerer was woefully inadequate for a race that had mastered projectile explosives, artillery by the sounds of it, in a time of arrows. We were in major trouble. “Why didn’t they ever follow the armies back into the mountain to finish them off for good?”

“You can’t understand how vast the cave systems are. Even if the marshal took everyone he had, they could search for a year and still not find their home, nest, whatever they call where they dwell.”

“Why not seal the mountain and starve them?”

“That was tried many decades ago. For every rock we used to choke the entrances, it was just a matter of the orcs picking them apart. I don’t know what they use for food in the deeps, and I don’t want to. Cannibalism is a part of it, but for their sheer numbers they would need something far more plentiful, otherwise they would already be extinct.”

After witnessing their lust for the villager’s meat, I imagined human cattle in the darkness, churning out children that would be used as a food source. Then I did a quick calculation of the time and effort that would be required. Nine months to birth, however long to nurture them to a suitable size, plus all the food required to keep the mother alive throughout the entire process, multiplied by however many prisoners. To my relief, one plus one didn’t equal two in this case. They wouldn’t have the discipline to maintain the farm for more than a few days at most before fighting over the scraps.

Romund caught my expression. “I’ll wager you wish you’d stayed in Brite’On?”

“It wasn’t really an option,” I replied, “Though I do miss the place.”

“Were you exiled?”

“In a way, yes, but not for anything bad.” How could I explain it in terms Romund would understand? “I guess you could say I was sent away to help people.”

“Ah, a champion! Then we truly are fortunate that you found us when you did, Mark. May I presume to ask, does Brite’On have more champions in our lands?”

Once again I came up against the paradox that indeed there were other champions, but on a different plane of existence. Was Cris sat in the saddle of Lady right now, talking to Romund about her origins in America? My brain ached at the impossibility of it all. “I don’t think so,” I replied honestly.

“Ah, that is a shame. If ever there was a time for champions to rise, it is now. A dozen of you would turn the tide, I’m certain of it.”

“I’m afraid you’ve only got me,” I chuckled.

Romund winked at me. “That’s good enough, Mark.”

We trotted on, leaving the memories of the night’s horror behind us.