Chapter 13: Opportunistic Advantage Part 1

A scarred, pink, wrinkled, emotionally splintered creature sat on a river bank, cleaning some robes. His antennae drooped with his expression, a scrunched grimace of pain. Forgive his haggard, haunted appearance and try to admire that he was doing anything at all. A creature in such a sorry state could be said to be pitied. He would not appreciate it.

Lester’s experience in life had thus far been questionably neutral. Tragedy and sorrow had been an overwhelming portion of his lot for the most excitable events in his life. Still, in the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t had much room to complain that his continued existence was insufferable.

His existence continuing while being able to enjoy the company of those he cared for was his most considerable ambition and a relatively easy one most days. Contentment is a low bar when you focus on the simplest of pleasures.

His mother, Choch, had always called him an optimist for maintaining such an even keel after seeing him experience what he had during the Goom’s escape from their previous settlement. Lester didn’t think of himself that way. Giving in to the “gloomy goomies,” as his late father called them, didn’t improve things.

Sure, he could be sad following some events, but moving forward accomplished more than dwelling for too long. Experience the bad emotions while you need to, then put your effort into improving things. When that crushing weight of pointless sad wants you to do nothing, even cleaning your burrow can be enough of a small start to get you moving again.

He was cleaning his robes.

Smashed bits of apple, juices from those cursed fruits, and debris from his forced flight to the closest water source had stained them badly. The final involuntary attempt at drowning himself in the muddy river near their home had not helped his immediate mood.

The trek back to the site of the battle and what he had found there had pushed him close to giving up entirely. Seeing the mutilated bodies and pieces of one’s family scattered across the clearing had not been a healthy, positive experience.

After the hours he took to bury what was left of his kin at the scene of the battle he had been forced to flee, he had returned to the bank of the pathetically small, weakly flowing river to get something started so he didn’t give in to despair. Sitting on the bank as he scrubbed his robes on a large rock, he let the water washing over the cloth drag a portion of the vortex of emotion away.

Things were bad. Most of the goom had been killed. He had been unable to find any sign of Gomm or Choch, so there was some hope but not much of it. The heavy drag marks he had spotted leaving the clearing told him capture had been a possibility for his last family members.

That wasn’t much better than death. The humans eventually tried that in every place he remembered living. Finding out what they had done to the goom they captured last time had caused them to move to this more remote area, to begin with. It had happened again.

Lester’s small ambitions of being content with existence weren’t enough anymore. He needed to be more aggressive. As he scrubbed the robes, his epiphany struck him as an appropriate response. Goals would help him move past this. He was doing something productive towards an achievable objective. Yes.

He needed to be more proactive if he wanted to be content. He paused in his scrubbing as he tried to list his goals to himself. It was important to visualize what you wanted to accomplish.

To begin with, he wanted to find his family, destroy human civilization, and start over somewhere quiet after making that farmer pay for calling all this down on his family’s heads. Three goals seemed enough, for now, four if you counted the last as separate tasks. It was an easily managed amount, clearly outlined in detail, and, at the same time, not too elaborate.

The best way to achieve his first goal was to get information on what had happened to his family. He needed to find out if they were taken and where. The second might make him feel better if he started indiscriminately stalking and killing all humans, but he would fall short when they retaliated by hunting him down. That must be a longer-term goal requiring even more information and much preparation. The last two could solve themselves once he had accomplished his second big Goom goal.

He settled on his immediate task by shaking his head and scrubbing more vigorously. Finish cleaning his robes, then information gathering. He had goals to accomplish.

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A few hours later, Lester was balanced precariously and impatiently on a tree branch outside the human settlement. A scarred, hairless goom in worn battle robes would have been a sight that caused too much excitement if he were spotted on the ground. Frustration at his current gambit taking too much time was wearing on him.

It wasn’t his favorite way to get around, but the humans he was stalking through the forest’s edge rarely looked up, so it was sufficient for his purpose. He gently and smoothly slipped from branch to branch, following the small patrol of soldiers. The setting sun and slowly fading light helped his efforts to go unnoticed.

The three men below him were talking as they performed their patrol, and Lester hoped this group would talk about something more valuable than the last four groups he had stalked for hours. He would have gone into the town proper, but there were too many eyes there for him to sneak around and eavesdrop on anyone important with his limited resources.

He didn’t have enough to cover him for long in the town. Sadly, this was his best bet for finding out what had happened, and he hoped this patrol provided the information he needed. If he needed to, he could do selective surveillance of a few targets in town, but he didn’t want to risk discovery if he could avoid it.

Fortunately, these three seemed more interested in discussing recent events than the last few groups. Lester did his best to remain unobserved as he listened in. The tallest blond soldier was speaking with laughter evident behind his words,

“So, we were running around after those little bastards all over the damn town. Some of them ran into Mistress Milligan’s shop, and some of the boys was chasing em’ out before they could start tearing up her work. One of the beasties got stuck in a dress, jumped out the window, and started running away.”

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“Well, me and the others wasn’t gonna be the ones explaining to that harridan how one of her dresses was ruined on account of stabbing the damn thing, so we sent Johansen after it.”

“He ended up chasing it around and around the main fountain square. Lord Adder, his own self, joined the chase after a bit until Captain Lowry stepped in and ended the beast. Hahahaha! Poor Johansen, looked even more scared them two had to help him out.”

The shortest black-haired soldier piped up,

“This was just before the butcher shop battle, whadn’t it?”

The third sandy-haired soldier stopped walking, removed his helmet, and held it over his heart,

“Those poor sausages.”

The other two also stopped and removed their headgear in respect for the ruined breakfast meats. Two sad little words flowed in respect from two of the men.

“The sausages…”

One of the soldiers added,

“I prefer bacon, but still, that’s no way to treat breakfast.”

The two defenders of sausage glared at the third aberrant heretic, and he fell silent. After a few moments of the now slightly awkward silence, they replaced the helmets and continued their patrol and conversation. The blond responded to the question,

“Aye, after we cleared the varmints out of the butcher’s place, we spent the rest of the day chasing them out of the rest of the town. I think Corporal said the total count came upto over fifty of the buggers, not counting those others them adventurers took care of.”

Black hair asked another question. In the nature of a sometimes convenient universe, it was a question Lester was keen to hear the answer to. Finally, he had been growing impatient. He contemplated murdering these idiots to increase the patrols and get better conversationalists out here in the woods.

‘No,’ he thought, ‘the next ones might be more competent.’

“Dinnit they capture some of the beasties? That sounds much harder than just stabbin’ em’.”

Sandy Hair responded,

“Das’ what Corporal said. Three of em, the big bad-gir, and two of the little white-furred ones who started this whole mess. Don’t know what they wanted with em, but taking em’ to the capitol gets em’ out of our hair, so doesn’t much matter, do it?”

Blondy piped up with what he considered juicier gossip,

“I don’t know about that or want to know all the detail, but did you hear what that knowet-all did to Lord Adder and our county? You have to have heard by this point.”

Sandy replied with curiosity.

“No, what?”

Blondy looked satisfactorily outraged to be sharing offending gossip, a rather odd look for such a well-built man, in Lester’s opinion.

“He forced a conscription for the adventurer’s guild. They ship farmer Jenkins off in the mornin’, and I heard the lord volunteered that Milligan boy into it as well.”

“The miller’s kids? Which one? She has five. She might have a temper, but she seems eager enough in the bedroom with that many kids. Who knew a seamstress could be lusty?”

Blond-haired Georgie’s mouth twisted at that, but he didn’t stop sharing the juicy gossip he had learned.

“Shut up, Clyde. This is why the only woman who will give you any attention is Kitron. It was the youngest, that Robby boy who runs messages for some of the village.”

Black-haired Berry chimed in,

“Isn’t he a little young for that? He’s what? Nine?”

Georgie shook his head,

“He’s ten, and it’s not a bad thing for him to go. Lord Adder wants him trained up to be one of the county’s new luciloos.”

Clyde whistled low and long,

“That’s a cushy job for a fifth son. Wandering around the forest, eating whatever you like, never having to help with the harvest. Lucky little bastard.”

Berry looked like he was getting ready to beat Clyde for jealousy of a ten-year-old. The Goom crouching in the branches above the trio didn’t know what the chubby black-haired man would do to the other, more physically fit Clyde. Lester thought that another human being better at keeping up with his training to be more dangerous was not a fortuitous match-up for the overweight man.

Berry said scathingly,

“How is he a bastard if he is the fifth son, you idiot? The first few might have been, but the milligans have been married…what? Fifteen years now? Georgie, you would know.”

Lester ignored the reply of the gossipy blond Georgie and slipped away through the branches quietly. The men were now bickering more than gossiping at Clyde for being antagonistic in his replies. The three soldiers noticed nothing as they continued their patrol.

Human mating ritual times were not crucial to the information Lester needed. This whole exchange had been lucky, but he needed more detailed information on this Milligan family.

A plan was forming in his little scarred head, but he didn’t have much time to carry it out, and the more information he could gather, the better he could enact it. This Robby could be his way to a position in the human hive where he could rescue his family or at least find them to start the rescue.

Lester checked his deep pocket and found a few golds left to fuel some of the spells he knew for concealment. To work correctly, he would have to acquire more for the long-term, risky idea. He would need either a decent pile of gold or another source of rare materials to consume.

The coming weeks would be dangerous without a way to use the skills he had available to him. Some humans were observant enough to be dangerous to his plans, especially in such a large city.

Putting thoughts of the future aside. Lester moved to the edge of the woods, withdrew and ate a gold coin to provide the magic for his concealment spell, and pushed into the town to find the home of this Milligan family.

The spell encouraged an observer to view him as a natural part of the scenery. Using it inside the house of Jenkins had been relatively cheap, so he had faith he could maintain it for at least long enough to get more information.

It would aid him in traversing the town as long as he didn’t act violently. The less attention he drew to himself the lower the maintenance of the spell would cost.

The soldiers had mentioned a miller, so he headed toward the large mill on the outskirts with its attached home.

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