Goblin Diplomacy

"Blades out, but not swinging," I said, eyes on the lookout. "If this goes well, we don’t need to kill anyone."

Karlach groaned softly. "You sure know how to ruin a girl’s morning."

"Be ready anyway," I replied, stepping up onto the broken path.

The goblin watchpost was crude but functional—half-barricades made of splintered wood, rope bridges creaking in the wind, and a few half-burned banners hanging limp. Four goblins stirred as I approached, weapons raised instantly. The two wargs beside them growled deep and low, lips peeled back over yellowed teeth.

One of the goblins stepped forward, a warped spear pointed squarely at my chest. "Wadda ya want? You a True Soul or what?"

"Yes," I said, calm and clear. "Of course I am."

He squinted. "Prove it."

"I don't need to waste my time with you. I have a meeting with the commander. Information about the grove."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Karlach's mouth open—but I gave her a quick motion. Not now.

The goblin’s beady eyes narrowed. He looked between us.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, boss. Didn’t know. You’re good to go. Didn’t mean nothin’."

We walked past them with minimal flair, their eyes following us all the way.

The trail bent northward, through a narrow rocky pass and into heavier terrain. The sounds of the camp began to rise—crude drums in the distance, barking laughter, metal on stone.

The others stayed close. No one spoke until we were well out of earshot.

Karlach was the first to break the silence. "You plan to give them info about the grove?"

Lae'zel scoffed. "Another delay. First we protect the grove, now we help destroy it?"

I turned, slowing my pace. "Alright, this is the plan: We infiltrate the goblin camp, learn their movements, find out who calls the shots, and lead them into an ambush at the grove. That way we keep the druids and tieflings safe and wipe out the threat in one stroke."

Karlach gave a short nod, though her eyes stayed wary.

Shadowheart narrowed hers. "You're awfully confident they'll just let us walk around inside."

"They think I’m a True Soul. That gives us somethin to work with."

Karlach, walking a step ahead, glanced over her shoulder. "That whole True Soul thing. The goblins back in the village said the same."

I shrugged. "If they think I'm someone special, I might as well go with it. Odds are, we’ll find out what that means once we’re inside."

Lae’zel had been quiet throughout, seemingly distracted—perhaps still adjusting to how her changed form moved under armor.

We pressed on. The terrain shifted underfoot. Rocks gave way to worn stone paths, interrupted by the occasional crude torch jammed into the earth. The stench got worse with every step.

When the ruined fortress came into view, the full scale of the place landed on the others. A massive bridge arched over a deep cliff, reinforced with scavenged wood, bone spikes, and mismatched metal panels. Beyond it, flickers of firelight danced acros cooking pits in the open courtyard, in the back the crumbling keep stretched tall.

Drums pounded in a lopsided rhythm. Screams—some laughter, some not—echoed through the stone.

I paused at the edge of the bridge, the others gathering close. I glanced toward the keep.

"Let's go, then."

Shadowheart gave me a look. "If you're sure..."

Karlach cracked her knuckles. "Can’t wait."

Lae’zel said nothing, but her grip on her blade’s hilt tightened.

I looked forward again, across the bridge. The wind shifted, and the full scent of the camp rolled over us. Charred meat. Old sweat. Cheap wine. And the foul stench of goblins.