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Spring - Spring Scents - 5 (Hatchling Gold)
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In the vast expanse of Eirengard’s hall, every sound tended to carry.
While the echoes of Rhuktar’s words faded, somewhere in the mass of onlooking Fae and Enfaen, a hushed argument had broken out. Runid wasn’t able to trace the exact origin, try as he might by craning his neck. Suddenly, a small and dishevelled Goblánóir stumbled to the front after a savage push.
As all eyes turned to the small Enfaen, his knees started to tremble.
After a deep breath, he took a few courageous steps forward into the light of the fire and subjected himself to the glare of Rukthar, the puzzled gaze of Dumar, and the interested scrutiny of Runid. Surprise had widened the Monolith's eyes, and even Stonelore seemed to have inclined his body a bit towards the small creature.
“And who might you be?” Runid asked, his husky voice testament to centuries of appreciated spirits and pipes. He leaned forward in his seat, the chiselled throne adding to his height. His leather armour creaked despite being well oiled, and the metal embellishments on his chain of office sounded off a gentle chime.
The small and very young Goblin bowed but forgot to take off his helmet, which of course clattered to the ground. He scrambled after and planted it on his head, the helmet sitting a bit askew due to the haste with which it was crammed back on. His lower lip trembled ever so slightly, and he rubbed his sleeve over his nose before speaking.
“I am Slip of the Gûrdolgor Goblánóir,” he introduced himself, the voice revealing him as the Enfaen who had called out before. The Goblin realized that every single being in Eirengard focused on him and gulped.
“And you speak for all the Gûrdolgor Goblánóir?” Runid enquired, his bushy brows raised while he strained to maintain a serious expression.
“Nah - erm, I mean, no, Thane Eldersmith. Me’s a nobody, you could say.” Slip shrugged his bony shoulders.
“I already tire of all the formality, let us not overdo it,” Runid chuckled. “One of the titles will suffice to address me.”
The Turollgur Chieftain huffed, anger radiating off him while he tapped his foot.
“So, now that you have our attention,” Dumar said to the little being. “Tell us - who are you, Slip of the Gûrdolgor Goblánóir, and why did you feel the need to speak up while the Council discusses matters of great importance?”
“Well, uhm…” Slip coughed. “Our tribe was left homeless after a Turollgur Raid, and we was lost in the Wilds for some time,” he began, trying not to even glance at Rukthar while he spoke. It was obvious that the Goblin had to brace himself, almost as if the Chieftain’s wrath was a physical strain on his diminutive body.
The Keeper took pity. “Will you tell us what happened then?” Despite the Giant’s size, his tone was calm and gentle.
Hearing the encouragement in the Monolith’s words, Slip nodded and peeled his eyes away from the floor before he started to speak.
“Could’ve been a great adventure, first time out on our own. Our parents was gone; got split in the Raid, see. Still dunno where they are. But it was real bad, it was - no fun adventure at all. No food, no roof over our heads, an' nowhere to go. What did we know of livin' in them Wilds? Nuffin, that's what. So, we wandered abou' for a good while, but then them quakes started. Gave us quite the scare, an' jus' when we thought we was done for, some Volk travelling to the Forge City found us. Told us how we could try an' make a new life there, so we went an' joined 'em.”
“Is this going somewhere, or will we listen to the rambles of every critter that comes along from now on?” The Turollgur Chieftain interjected, his patience strained and fists clenched.
“Oh, shut it, Craglord,” the Deepholme Dwarrungar sighed. “Just let him finish.”
After quick glances towards Runid and the Keeper, Rukthar spoke no more as he saw that they shared Dumar’s interest in the Goblin’s tale.
“Well, we dinnae expect much, coming to the Forge City, see. We’d have been glad to jus’ be out of them damned Wilds, we would’ve.” Slip coughed and rubbed his nose once more. “But all them Volk dinnae even care that we was filthy an’ homeless. Took us right in, they did. We have our own cabin now, ‘cause some of’em went an’ built us somethin’ sturdy. We’s livin’ even better now than at the old homestead,” he said with a bit of marvel in his voice. “We was taught to mine an’ sell our findings for coin so we could earn a livin’, take care of ourselves. We miss the old parents ‘course, but there’s nuffin to be done abou’ that. We have a home, an’ Volk who treat us like kin even if we’s really not.” The young Goblin sniffled a bit, but then squared his shoulders and looked at each Council Member in turn, even Rukthar. His small chest swelled with pride as he spoke, and even the ashen green of his skin seemed to pick up more saturation. “Our new Volk told us abou’ the Thane, that the city is wha’ it is because of how he treats everyone right. And we belong now, too. There’s no single tribes. It’s all one big tribe. We got a new home because of him, really, so if the Eldersmith needs something to be done, we’ll do it for him,” the tiny Enfaen finished, his eyes focused on Runid while he fidgeted where he stood.
The old Dwarrun was left speechless, and after a moment he realized that his mouth even stood open. Luckily, his extensive beard hid this well.
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“Hear, hear. You honour your ancestors and the first Forge, Eldersmith. The City of Gûrdolgor has prospered with you as Thane at Emberguard Hold,” the Monolith nodded at Runid in appreciation. “It is a rare and valuable gift; being able to bring Dúrtharán together, to unite them. This is one of the reasons why we defer to your judgement and why you have been chosen to preside over Council proceedings. Regardless, we cannot send a sole Goblánóir, not even one this determined and brave.”
“Oh, I wouldnae go all on me own, Keeper.” Slip piped up and looked behind himself.
At this, two more Goblins were shoved into the light, one with a faded ochre skin colour, the other with a brownish taupe, but both as small as Slip himself. All three of them had the same narrow shoulders, the same big, shimmering eyes - despite the variation in colour - and the same knobby knees. The amateurish make of their clothes, sown from rough linen and enhanced with various pieces of leather and metal continued the shared look, finished off by the similar helmets. The two new Goblánóir shuffled their feet and kept their gaze locked on their toes.
“Me brothers Beaver an’ Knot would join me. We do everythin’ together,” came Slip’s cheerful explanation, while he rubbed his sleeve against his broad nose yet again. He pushed his helmet back, as it threatened to fall over his copper eyes. “Oh, an’ me wee sister Justine - we’d have to take her ‘cause we cannae leave her alone,” he added with an apologetic tone.
At this, a fourth and even tinier Goblin emerged out of the crowd, this time without a shove and on her own. Her helmet was too big and wobbled, it seemed to only be kept in place by the tiny Enfaen’s pointy ears and a rosy ribbon tied under her chin. The bright, leafy green of her skin and her golden-hued eyes were almost luminescent, standing out in the rather dark surroundings of Eirengard’s Hall.
Runid chortled despite himself as he registered the amused expression on the Monolith's face, the incredulous exasperation on Rukthar's, and the disbelieving stare of Dumar. He even felt the humoured interest of Stonelore, but as always, Viandrel’s features gave nothing away. He considered the four small Enfaen standing before him with steeped fingers under his chin. Thoughts raced through his mind.
“They might just be small enough to go unnoticed,” the Eldersmith contemplated, and the heads of his fellow leaders jerked towards him.
“Brother of the first Forge, have you breathed in too many smouldering fumes? While these Goblánóir might be rather crafty and resilient, I highly doubt their capabilities as fighters!” Dumar questioned Runid’s statement.
“Doubt?” Rukthar shouted. “Look at them! They’re as helpless as Hatchlings - I could snap them like twigs!”
"Please, Craglord. We all know of your strength and prowess in battle. Surely there is no need for violence here,” Viandrel said, the Dark Elf’s resonating timbre trying to soothe.
Runid wondered if the quiet tones of exasperation in her words were but figments of his imagination.
“Regarding the Goblánóir - even if they were to be discovered, I can not imagine how anyone could feel threatened by their presence,” she concluded and looked around.
Stonelore’s aura suggested cautious agreement.
“Brother Dwarrungar, haven’t you yourself said that we should not, in fact, send fighters? These Dúrtharán may be small, but it is obvious they are survivors. In this instance, the weakness you accuse them of might just be their strength instead,” Runid addressed Dumar, who still mustered the four Enfaen with doubt.
“The Eldersmith has a point,” Rukthar said, his voice calm and clear, surprising all of his fellow Council members. “We have to send someone; it might as well be them. Even if they are too slight to be formidable warriors, at least they are too honest to be thieves and too simple to be cunning,” the imposing Turollgur finished. Although the warpaint made seeing nuanced expressions on his face hard, the cunning glint in his eyes was unmistakable.
“If those four are courageous enough for this undertaking, I am grateful for their bravery,” Runid said and looked at each Goblánóir in turn. “We will join our collective efforts to prepare them as best we can and most of all, I want them protected. Whatever safeguards you might have, now is the time to offer them," the Eldersmith adressed his fellow leaders. "Of course, the Council will provide them with exact instructions, and the four have to follow these rules not just to the letter but also to the full extent of their intent and spirit,” the Dwarrun stated and looked at each of the four Enfaen with even more intense eyes.
“Erm, sure… Even if the Craglord’s words were a tad unkind,” Slip said, the faintest hint of unease on his perky features as his eyes darted to the Turollgur. “An’ even if we dinnae’ understand all of your words, Eldersmith, we’ll still go,” the slender creature declared.
“You would have to provide them with detailed explanations to every instruction - and also with more appropriate attire, Eldersmith. Come to think of it, the Darkin Protectorate might be able to assist in this regard,” Viandrel said. The hint of a smile played about the corners of her mouth - an occurrence so rare that Runid wasn’t sure of ever having seen it before. Yet, what worried him more was the fleeting impression of calculation he had caught in Viandrel’s eyes. “If the Thane of Gûrdolgor thinks they can do it, let us send the small ones,” the Sovereign declared and tapped her long and slender fingers on the armrests of her throne.
A hushed commotion of anticipation and expectant whispers went through the crowd gathered around in the shadows.
“Mmmhmmm,” the Monolith grumbled to concur and nodded his massive head, while Stonelore resonated wordless approval.
“Craglord, Warden,” the Runid addressed Rukthar and Dumar. “Would you be in favour of sending the Goblánóir?”
“If this is the Council's wish, and that of the Keepers, then Turollgur shall comply,” Rukthar replied, his voice flat and his face also devoid of emotion.
“Deepholme will also accept the decision,” Dumar added, looking at the Goblins with a thoughtful expression. “First, we will have to agree on the conditions, though.”
“Excuse me, honoured Council” the smallest Goblin spoke up, her voice so high it was more akin to the chirping of a bird than the usual rumbles and grumbles of Steinvolk. “If we are talking conditions, what about any gold we find? Do we get a percentage, or how does the esteemed Council want to handle this?”
Silence dropped - yet again - throughout the entire Hall of Eirengard.
“So much for them being simple, Rukthar…” Dumar growled. “Now the Hatchlings want gold,” he sighed and put his face in his hands.
Runid roared with laughter until his throat was hoarse, and his eyes glistened with tears.
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