It takes you longer than you'd care to admit, psyching yourself up for the speech you're going to have to deliver. Telling everyone who just lost a friend that you could, maybe, have done something. Eventually however you run out of ways to procrastinate under Mercy's careful gaze and force yourself to walk, one foot in front of the other.

The others are already gathered in the arena. Most of the magic has calmed into hot wind or the smell of flowers by now, although the sandy floor still glitters with glass and there is nothing to be done about the broken stone spike that now juts from the floor. The remnants of Mercy's sanctuary still squats in the centre of the room like a wounded animal, occasionally lashing out in a shower of greenish sparks when one of the few remaining magical effects drifts too close.

You look down at them, the ragged ranks of those who fought for you, and you are forced to admit that Mercy has a point. As much as the idea still makes you uncomfortable, it isn't just your own feelings you need to consider. A full half of the goblins from the Longteeth tribe are dead and gone.

You look down at the small puddle of blood at the top of the steps, and then around the room. The soot that cakes the walls. The blood that was spilt. The small crater that is all that remains of a kobold who was willing to fight.

You open your planning menu and, with a little thought and the eyes of everyone on you, commission a small sign, or plaque, out of your single gold ore. Casting your eyes around, eventually they settle on the pillar that sits in the room beyond the arena, the strange square cavern that you placed a pillar in with no thought nor reason.

To the nameless four, who gave more than their lives in my defence.

You place the blueprint there, only two foot above the floor. Chest height, for many who live here. You can feel your kobold drones start to work on it, the gold vanishing from your inventory.

Only then can you bring yourself to meet the eyes of everyone gathered before you.

“I'm sorry.”

Your words, quiet as they are, cause a susurration through the small crowd.

“I am sorry because, in my selfishness, I have disrespected you. And those who we have lost. And now I come to you when you are hurting to ask for your forgiveness and to give you a choice.”

You pause for a long second. You can see confusion on many faces before you, more obvious on the more expressive faces of the goblins.

“There is an ability not on any character sheet, possessed by uniques... those with Names. One that I learned of some time ago and promptly committed myself to never using again.”

Another deeper breath. No going back.

“I can take you out of the cycle of rebirth. You will be given the respawning power of a unique, to wake where you fell with no more side effects than you would get from a hard blow to the head.”

More whispers, but these ones were expected. Harsh, growing. Demanding. Angry looks at the gaps in their number nearly make you turn from the crowd, but you refuse. You will see this through.

“But,” and the crowd goes silent and still once more. “But.” you say again, quieter. “But doing so comes at a terrible price. You are removed from the cycle... and instead bound to me.”

The silence is deafening, broken only by another spurt of sparks from Mercy's shield finally giving up.

“You get to live a life. A full life. But by removing the ability of the gods to refresh you... the only way out is annihilation. And if that were to happen to me, it would happen to anyone I did this to, no matter where they were, no matter their feelings on me. It is, in a very real way, slavery of the soul.”

One of the goblins speaks up first.

“How?”

His voice is croaky, although from species or emotion you're not sure. With a start, you recognise the hammer tucked into his belt. It belonged to one of the goblins that fell.

You open your mouth to answer him, but you're beaten to it. It's Sapphire. Her eyes are almost closed as she looks up at you.

“He gives them a Name.”

She turns on the spot, looking at each of those around her, before she turns back to you.

“That's right, isn't it?”

You can't read her gaze. You nod. You have to hope that she believes you, that you had no idea what you were -

“Do we get to pick our own?”

Your eyes snap to one of the kobolds. The yellowish one, the monk equivalent.

“No! Red Scale bless us! He choose!”

One of the goblins.

“What kind of names can we have?”

“Chieftainess, help! What name good?”

“Ooh, ooh! Can I be called Mercy?”

“Watch it titch.”

The arena descends into chaos as the various goblins and kobolds bicker with each other. Sapphire climbs the stairs to stand before you. She smiles and hugs one of your arms.

“You're not mad?”

“Of course not. Maybe I would have been, once, but you didn't know and... really, what choice would I make?”

You lean down, and nuzzle her, letting out a sigh in the process as tension bleeds from your shoulders. Sapphire disentangles herself from you and pokes you firmly in the leg.

“Stop trying to do everything yourself sir. We're here to listen to you and help.”

You nod in thanks before a small grin breaks out. “You've still lost naming privileges by the way. I'd hate to think what you'd name these guys.”

She steps back and shakes a finger at you. “That's it! I'm going to prove I can name things. I'll be right back.”

You watch her stomp away, wondering where she's going, before your attention is brought back to the group below. Feathers and Mercy are corralling them into a rough line. Mercy looks at you, a smug smile on her face.

“They're all going for it.”

You rather pointedly look away from her as you descend the steps to stand before the line. At the front are two of your more recognisable goblins – the last two of Feather's tribe, the one eyed fighter and the one who moved into your kitchen.

The one eyed one is first.

“Do you have a preference?”

He looks at you for a moment then shrugs. “Feathers good name. Easy name. She wear feathers.” He gives a short nod, but that seems to be as much as he wants to say. The cook chimes up from behind him, more eloquent.

“Many goblins would struggle to remember names that aren't obvious. And don't be afraid of upsetting them either.” He makes an exaggerated performance of covering one eye with his hand.

You raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs.

“Very well. One Eye?”

One Eye nods. “Good name. I have one eye.”

He seems totally serious, and moves to stand several feet away. The cook steps forwards. You haven't even opened your mouth before he speaks.

“Charlemagne”

“What?”

He shrugs again, fishing his ratty chefs hat out of a pocket and perching it on his bald head. Somehow, the name fits perfectly.

“Huh.”

Charlemagne goes to stand by One Eye. Next is one of the kobolds – the female with the impressive rack of horns who you designated as the leader of their little troupe. Also, you're pretty sure, the one who asked to be called Mercy.

“Any suggestions?”

“No sir.”

Piss off Mercy and confuse everyone... or not... The battle rages for a few seconds before you shake your head. It's probably not worth it in the long run.

“Any ideas Mercy?”

“Eh. Kobolds are a bit better with abstract names. Might help differentiate the two groups as well. Still best to avoid Hero names though.”

You nod as she talks before looking back the the kobold, looking for inspiration. Red skin, but so do most of the others, let alone yourself. Large horns then? What kind of top heavy things are there? Your mind pulls a blank.

Upside down mountains? People wearing backpacks? Trees?

You jump on the first vaguely sensible thought that crosses your mind.

“Willow.”

She nods, relief that the much longer naming process was at an end. Next comes the shield kobold with his strange eyes.

“Suggestions?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough. Bulwark.”

He nods and walks past. Hey, no one said they all have to be great.

Next are the three remaining goblins from the Longteeth, huddled together.

“Any ideas?”

The one male holds up his hammer. One of the females points at a cut in her ear, still a little bloody. The last begins to look around wildly, patting herself down.

“Alright then... I guess? Hammer and Notch-ear.”

You turn to the last goblin, who is still desperately searching for a distinguishing mark. Honestly, you'd stop her and call her something like Blue-eyes, which she is the only goblin to have, but watching her try is funny. Then Hammer steps up to her and with great solemnity throws sand in her face.

While she spits and coughs, he points at her while looking at you. “Sand.”

You're about to protest but the now named Sand gives a thumbs up and walks off.

Goblins are weird.

You're down to the last two kobolds – the monk and the kleptomaniac who is looking especially shifty as he tries to hide behind her. You roll your eyes but turn towards the monk, asking the near rote question.

“Any ideas?”

She shakes her head, and then pauses, considering. After a few seconds she speaks, her voice soft.

“Something... yellow?”

I mean, who are you to argue? You named yourself Red Scale.

“Sienna? It means a yellowish brown.” pipes up Mercy from where she is leaning against the arena wall. You raise your eyebrows at the kobold, who nods.

“Sienna then. A good name.”

And then you turn to the last kobold.

“Alright boss?”

You look down at him without answering until he deflates.

“I'll put it back once I have a name boss.”

You nod once. “Name?”

“Uh... Jack?”

You're already done with this whole process.

“Sure, why not?”

The newly named Jack grins and goes to walk past you. “Cheers boss.”

Your tail stops him and his grin falters. He looks up at you. “Remember. Put whatever it is back where you found it.”

“Ah. Yes boss.”

To your confusion, Jack turns and walks back into the arena pit, but you're distracted from his progress by a shriek from behind you. You turn in alarm, to see a large, white spider emerging from the jail stairway – a familiar large, white spider. You ready yourself to attack, but your confusion only mounts when Sapphire steps out from behind it and places her hand on it's thorax.

“Everyone!” She calls, stalling the aggression in the air. “This is my newest companion, like Hyena. I was going to tell people before I brought her out, but someone,” she mock glares at you, “Doesn't think I can name things.”

You're not sure if you should laugh or not.

“OK Sapph, what did you call her?”

Sapphire puffs up her chest in pride.

“Steve.”