A Bargain, Made

Like the rest of the village, the chief’s hut was gone, though the pile in its place is larger than the other piles. What looks like the loot from the recent raid on Thaeldir’s Crossing is piled up next to it, but is set apart by both content and quality. Seated on a chest next to all of it is another goblin, easily the largest you’ve seen today. He’s dressed all in furs, and his exposed face and chest are covered in scars, heightening his hideousness with an air of savagery. He has a battleaxe laying against the side of the chest he's sitting on.

Krombor, Level 4 Goblin Barbarian

Monster, Goblin, Explicit

When the three of you finally reach him, he stands, and… he doesn’t quite come up to your shoulder. Not as tall as Brogung had been, but even this makes him a giant among goblins.

Gromgol and Lyrbek move to convene with him in their own language, and you step aside to look at the pile of loot. Only look—you are near to a deal, and you don’t need to ruin it by threatening their plundered wealth.

There are a couple chests, including the one Krombor had been sitting on. The others are open, containing things as varied as gold and jewels, fabrics both fine and mundane, and tableware. There are ceramic jars of varying sizes, with askew lids revealing wine and spices. There are bushels of grain, an intricately-decorated tome, an array of haphazardly-arranged weapons, and…

A glint of red, tucked away not among the loot, but the building supplies for the chief’s hut. You move to a better viewing angle, and see a small, red gem.

Could it really be that simple?

“Merovon.”

You turn. It was Krombor who spoke.

“You know what goblins need.” Krombor heaves his axe over his shoulder, “and you will sell knowledge, for good price.”

“Indeed,” you say, walking closer to them. The ore you need to remodel the entrance to your lair. A bit of extra ore, in case it was needed for more projects. A few other odds and ends, as you find appealing.

“Knowledge allow survival,” says Krombor, “but not certain. We propose new deal.”

Oh?

“Warrior help goblins find crystal. Then warrior take what warrior want from loot.”

You think for a moment. It makes sense that they want to do whatever they can to succeed in this. Your help couldn’t guarantee it, but it would be more than they could manage without you, more than they even know. But if you saw what you think you just saw, you might not even need to do that much, and yet be able to leverage it into far more profit. Not too much, you don’t want to alienate them, but the thought is tantalizing.

You wonder which of them came up with the idea. They seem to have agreed to it in while speaking among themselves, since the other two are standing behind Krombor on this.

“Very well,” you say, “I will help you find a Claimant Crystal, and afterwards will choose my payment from the profit of your recent raid.”

You reach your hand out to the three named goblins. Krombor grasps it. You feel the magic binding you to the agreement weave its way around you.

“First things first,” you say, “the Claimant Crystal can only be used by one individual, who will become the owner of the claimed land. All others in the village will be subordinate, will serve. With Brogung gone, you must decide which of you will lead.”

“Krombor will be chief,” says Krombor.

“Strongest lead,” says Lyrbek.

“As it always has been,” says Gromgol.

They must have figured that part out ahead of time.

You nod. “Generally, Claimant Crystals are appear in the possession of adventurers when they rise from second level to third. We, therefore, can most consistently acquire them by killing or tricking adventurers who have received their Crystals, but not had the chance to use them, yet.”

“Adventurers will come here, before long,” says Gromgol, “perhaps we can exploit their arrival to acquire this crystal?”

“Tribe in chaos,” says Lyrbek, “may still need cull goblins.”

“Warrior, what doing?” Ah, so Krombor was still paying attention to you. He may not be able to speak properly, but he has cleverness enough to still be paying attention to you. Perhaps a high Wits score?

What you are doing is moving back over to that discreetly-placed jewel from before. “I noticed something,” you say, “which may simplify things considerably.” You reach between the logs, and grab hold of it. You can feel its magic just from touching it. It…

“Is that..”

“Yes,” you say, “a Claimant Crystal. I said getting one from players was the general case. Somehow, Brogung had one already, but hid it instead of using it immediately. This one…” You pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “It feels different from the one I used. The magic is thinner, somehow.”

“You used one?” Ah, yes, you had neglected to mention that fact.

You give them your best disarming smile. “I tricked an adventurer out of one yesterday, and staked a proper claim to my home. It’s how I have my name.”

You walk over to Krombor, and pass it to him. “Do what comes naturally with it. Mine worked by crushing it, but this seems to be a different kind. I don’t know if it works the same way.”

Apparently, what comes naturally to Krombor is crushing. But instead of the faint glow you had known, it cast red light out in every direction. You can’t see the edge, but if made to guess you’d say it probably covered the whole village. Curious. You hadn’t measured distances, but your own territory did not extend far beyond the barrow mound.

You look at the screen that opens in front of Krombor.

Claimant Crystal used.

Alankor_Goblin_Village_Grounds_17.2_Location_1

Claim Land?

You cannot help your predatory grin. It was their home, but now you know its True Name. You aren’t sure if they even knew the power in that.

Krombor seems to be struggling with the words. Apparently he can’t read Common very well, if at all.

“Press the green to finish the claim,” you say.

Krombor nods at you, and does do. Immediately, the crystal breaks apart in his hand, and the air is filled with the sound of shattering glass. A red wave sweeps outward from him, through the village, before all the light fades.

Krombor looks down at his now-empty hand, then up at you. You gesture to the pile of resources. He strikes it. Before long, he’s filling a progress bar, pounding the pile rapidly. Suddenly, a Chieftain’s Hut appears around the four of you. You can hear shocked gasps and excited cheers from outside. The goblins quickly convene in their own language, before Gromgol turns to you.

“We are going to oversee to reconstruction of the village,” he says, “take stock of the loot here to see what you want.” Lyrbek says something. “The terms would also include the slaves you saw earlier. You can take a closer look at them, but we would request you wait until we’ve finished rebuilding, first.”

That seems reasonable to you, and you say as much. The three of them depart. You don’t voice it, but you don’t much imagine you’ll be taking any of the slaves. You don’t actually have anywhere you can keep them; they could just escape while you slept, and follow the Naiad’s stream down to Thaeldir’s Crossing. Or get eaten by a wolf.

The hut formed in such that it contains the loot entirely, thankfully, so you can take your inventory entirely inside. As you investigate the pile, it quickly becomes clear that you underestimated its contents; its depths are densely packed.

You can take it all. The terms of the pact didn’t set any limits to how much of it you could claim, and your instincts urge you to capitalize on that mistake. But after you had produced the crystal from its hiding place, you showed them that, if they had been more methodical, they wouldn’t have needed you. Take all of their treasure, and they could very easily resent you. You are stronger than any of the goblins individually, but their numbers make them stronger than you collectively. Their goodwill has a value of its own, and you can lose it if you push too far.

Your first step is to pile all the weapons off to one side—carefully, so as to not touch any of the metal. Damned iron.

You open the chest Krombor had been sitting on, and find your jackpot: it’s filled with ingots of gold and silver. Examining one of them, some deeper instinct tells you that one ingot was the equivalent of one unit of ore. Doing some quick math, you would say it has twenty-eight of gold, and fifty-six of silver. This, plus the coin and gems in the other chests.

“What the actual fuck?” Since when did Thaeldir’s Crossing have this much wealth? Did they raid a bank vault, or something?

Lyrbek said they managed to get inside the walls, and Gromgol made it sound like nearly every goblin had been there. Less generous minds would call that a horde. If they killed all the guards, a **** like that could knock over just about any building.

…Considering that, how did they only have two dozen slaves? Wouldn’t they–

No. No. No. Treasure now, analysis later.

After a moment’s thought, you decide to take some of both gold and silver. The silver matches your sword, and the gold matches your eyes. You take fourteen of the silver, and seven of the gold, and set them aside in a separate pile.

You spend the better part of an hour sifting through the main loot pile. You set aside three rubies, three sapphires, and three emeralds. You take a handful of coins, and they slip into your inventory of their own accord—it turns out there’s a special “Coin Purse” space in the inventory for storing only coins. Another handful brings you to fifty-six in total, and barely makes a dent in the chest.

You set aside seven amphorae of wine, seven bolts of silk, three panes of glass, seven sheaves of grain, and one jar each of three different spices. It still leaves the majority of the goods for the goblins to keep, and you can’t help but take this much. After living for so long on fish and berries and plain water, your mouth overflows at the thought of bread, of wine, of spiced meats wrapped in flaking crusts. You haven’t feasted since–

“This is the finest feast that Arkus has seen since the Shattering—the fruit of unity across the Shards. Summon the chef—no, the entire kitchen staff! I would praise them in person!”

It is the voice of your old master. The memory carries with it no visions this time, but you remember the smell of it. The smell of that feast, with the scents of over a hundred master-work dishes mingling in the air, and–

And your stomach growls. And you only have fish and berries in your inventory. You’d forgotten, but you’re pretty sure you can talk them into letting you use a fire to cook.

Looking back over to the loot pile, your eyes are drawn to the lone book in the heap. Its pages are intricately illuminated. Some scenes are oblique and difficult to decipher—one, you are fairly certain, has an image depicting the Shattering. Others are easy to make out—powerful beasts, mighty armies clashing, great spells being cast, a King being Crowned with the Sun’s Glory–

“We were whole when the world was whole. The world cannot be mended, but we can be. We must be.”

You slam the book shut. You close your eyes, and calm yourself with slow, measured breathing. You can’t read the script, but you know it. They are the same glyphs carved into the sarcophagus of your old master. Sylvan. That’s what it’s called. That’s what the language of the Fey is called.

You need this book. You’re taking this book. You need to find out what it says.

You hear someone enter the hut.