Frank shook his head in disbelief. Just what the fuck was happening here? The true goblin took some kind of drug or, more likely, a magic potion and could suddenly keep a fallen goblin in a sword lock. This new standard of crazy he was working under still wasn't adding up in his head. What was worse was that the guy seemed to fight without any type of style or rhythm like Granspier had gone to great lengths to teach Frank to do. He might as well have been wielding a very sharp baseball bat, trying to bludgeon the fallen goblin. Whatever that potion was, Frank saw it put in the work to make this true goblin a herculean might amongst his otherwise frail and weak people.

The scout decided he would have to catch up with that guy later, if for no other reason than because he made for a damn excellent distraction. If Frank remained undetected with that guy stalking the halls, he could keep them both safer. For now, he walked back to the room he was in before with the goblin woman being tortured. She was still crying on the bed, and still bleeding like a steak in shrink wrap. Frank gently touched her shoulder and looked for her eyes to initiate [limited telepathy]. She didn't even flinch at the pain of the wounds on her shoulder being touched. Something felt very, very wrong. He couldn't just talk to her, though. He needed to see her eyes to get past the language barrier and see her back to safety. Or at least out of this room.

Frank wasn't getting anywhere by a nice suggestion, so he rolled her onto her other side and moved her sweat and blood soaked hair out of the way to get a look at her eyes. They were vacant, practically dead. In fact, if Frank couldn't hear small sobs coming from the goblin or see her blink he would have mistaken her for dead. He initiated telepathy and she took a long minute to finally accept it.

Frank started gently, unsure how to handle this situation. The pathetic thing in front of him began searching with her eyes, not out of curiosity but fear. A moan escaped her half torn open mouth. Frank wished he had some sort of healing potion for that, but as it stood all he had were the medical supplies in his backpack and he wasn't sure he could stitch her mouth together without causing more problems. Frank received no response, so he revealed himself to her, canceling [Total Invisibility].

The true goblin stared at him, eyes wide, but still not moving. Perhaps she was too weak? He might have to carry her out. But anywhere was better than this torture chamber, at this point.

He questioned with a look of genuine concern on his face. He tried not to stare at her most gruesome wounds. If she was in too much shock to feel them, that might be for the best.

She responded, finally. A blank glimmer of thought in her head, as if she weren't really there. Maybe, in her mind, this was all a fantasy she conjured. How long had this poor thing been held here?

Frank began to question how realistic her chances of survival were. He was hoping he could at least bandage some of her wounds and bring her to Brotlaavi. He was the most knowledgeable contact he had so far. In fact, probably his only contact he hadn't killed. Frank realized that he was definitely in over his head here, hostage rescue required a calmer set of hands than his. He tried not to show it, but he was shaking now that this goblin was talking back to him, still staring past him even while he was fully visible.

Images flashed through into Frank's mind. Memories of the things the fallen goblins had done to her. He couldn't believe the different forms of torture she had been subject to, outside of the more obvious forms of torture Frank realized this woman had her arms and legs cut off and reattached before. They apparently had a special type of shaman come in to "play" one time, he specialized in healing and had a fascination with the limits of mental strength. Frank witnessed the most horrific snippets of that experience and realized it was a miracle this woman was still in one piece. That healer was too good at his job, even if he was a monster himself.

Frank slowly came to a realization as this woman's experiences came through in a flood of terror. They kept the victims alive and treated their wounds with potions and salves. They had healing supplies here in this madhouse, Frank just had to find them! It was a special sort of evil that they kept healing supplies here, if only to extend the torture they could inflict upon their victims.

The goblin woman began probing at her wounds all along her arm, sticking her nails inside them so they could gush with fresh blood.

Frank recoiled at the cold finality she had in her voice. Then held her wrist to gently stop her from bleeding her wounds. At this she sat up, weakly. It was as if she finally realized Frank was really present in the room and not a figment of her imagination. Was she used to talking to herself so much that Frank was just another specter to bounce thoughts off of?

She finally asked, holding her jaw as she recognized intense pain where she had been cut. Frank nodded slowly. He was becoming less and less sure of what to do next. Or what would happen the longer he stayed.

He extended his hand, unsure of what else to do.

She struggled, a dark realization coming over her that she had forgotten her real name. She hadn't used it in so long that she didn't even call herself by her name in her head.

Frank tried again.

This time the girl looked around, searching the room as much as her mind for any hint of who she was. She found the headless corpse of her torturer on the bed still, Frank realized he probably should have moved that a while ago. She hardly reacted except to chuckle at it like some kind of joke. Then she saw the knife he held in a death grip and for the first time, she smiled. It was a gruesome, ugly smile because of the horrifying wound that knife had carved into her cheek the last time it was used.

Frank watched, frozen like a deer in the headlights. What was about to happen? Was she going to start screaming? Was she going to get up by some miracle and beg Frank to finally help her in earnest? Was she just going to run, realizing she was free of this horror?

"Plaything" picked up the knife, wrenching it from her captor's grasp. She stared at it, testing the weight, making slow shapes in the air with it. Then, still smiling she started carving pieces out of the headless corpse in front of her. Frank had killed a few goblins in his time on this planet so far. But he couldn't say he had the same crazed look on his face when he put his knife to a goblin's throat or put a round through their skull. It was purely survival and business to Frank. He had to kill goblins to complete his objectives and get home to Earth, to make life harder for the invaders to give Earth as big an advantage as possible.

But the sight of this goblin making cuts in the corpse before her was almost too much for Frank. It felt wrong, perverse, unhinged. He stepped back against the wall and covered his face with one hand, peering out from between his fingers uncomfortably waiting for Plaything to finish whatever she was getting out of her system. Hopefully she would figure out her name soon, he didn't like referring to her the way the fallen seemed to have done.

Perhaps what was more disturbing was that there was nothing happening in their telepathic link, he was just getting her point of view in real time, seeing exactly what she was focusing on. She seemed fixated on the dripping blood and the movement of the knife as it punctured the fallen goblin's skin. It was like she was mesmerized by it, and it sickened Frank to think back to what made her like this. He could only recall bits and pieces, but the impressions of what experiences she sent him chilled him to his bones. Pure evil, raw and uncut on full display. So much of it was obscured by flares of pain etched into the memories like fiery crimson ink on paper, it bled through and obscured anything more subtle on a different layer of her tortured consciousness.

Finally, the mad cutting stopped, bits of unidentified flesh stuck to the coagulating layers of blood on the knife. They slowly resisted the pull of gravity, much like how Plaything was resisting whatever dark impulses struck through her mind. Frank still wasn't getting glimpses of any of it, they may as well not have been connected anymore. It didn't feel right. It was like he had called and connected to one being, then another hopped on the line and kept breathing into the phone.

Then she turned to him, remembering he was around, that they both existed.

She whispered in her mind, twisting another knot in the scout's stomach.

Frank offered, and then crazed laughter began bouncing in his mind like a madwoman throwing herself against a wall over and over. A small, frothy, gurgling blood tinged echo of that same laughter began to pour from Plaything's mouth. She froze Frank with a stare, his legs were lead, but he felt like he had to move. Where? To the door? Downstairs to the bar? To the bed and by her side?

The goblin, painted by bloody wounds and scars, let out a hellish scream and turned the torturer's blade on herself. The blade stuck in her belly, she shuddered, then drew the thing across her body in one swift motion and force of will.

Frank watched in disbelief, all the knots of anxiety twirling in his stomach wound tighter and he began to hyperventilate. He couldn't bear to stay in the room any longer. He dashed out and held himself steady against the wall, his head spinning and his vision doubled. The sheer madness of the situation finally shook him, back and forth, up and down. His head was pounding like something had grabbed it and shook a cocktail with his skull. The system piped up, reminding him he wasn't dreaming.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

[Telepathic link closed with P+':

'What the fuck?' Frank couldn't read the gibberish the system was pouring on the display, it didn't look like a name, but it was where a name would be. The letters and out of place symbols flickered a few times and melted before displaying the same message with a revision.

[Telepathic link closed with Plaything. Subject Deceased]

Frank vomited against the wall, violently losing his dinner as the ringing in his head became unbearable. He lay there for a moment, drooling before he staggered over to the railing overlooking the bar. Three dead goblins lay there in addition to the 2 he just left in the room to his left. These were the same ones he helped the other goblin kill before he ran off yelling.

Not trusting his legs, Frank teleported behind the bar. He found a box of metal cups in good condition, and unsealed a clay jug of wine. He needed something to wash his mouth out with. He poured, swished, and then spat the mouthful of wine onto the goblins on the other side of the bar. Now it was Frank's turn to laugh. He knew exactly what his next move was going to be. He quickly pulled three rifle rounds from his reserve and loaded them into his current magazine. He was going to do exactly what the system asked of him.

He wasn't going to let a single fallen goblin leave this hole alive.

----------------------------------------

Frank made his way further into the strange complex the goblins made their hideout in. It struck him as odd for there to be a bar in a burial mound, but he just marked that down to him being in an alien world. For all he knew, elves had a cultural tradition similar to the practice of an "Irish wake" with lots of drinking and fond remembrance of the dead. Then he realized that there no bodies here. No caskets, no burial urns, not even bodies wrapped in death shrouds. Only the fresh corpses of fallen goblins and the true goblins they had killed before meeting their end, likely at the hands of that angry goblin fella.

Frank wanted to go catch up with him, but he held off. His cooldowns were all in order, however he wanted to make sure he dealt with any stragglers, and saved any captives left alive. He wasn't terribly lucky in that regard. He passed makeshift jail cells put together inside rooms that weren't made for the purpose, each of them filled with true goblins who were in various states of undress and with ugly wounds alongside the ones that spelled their doom. The staggering number of goblins held here got Frank thinking. Was the border camp the only place these people were taken from?

He thought back to what Plaything had said in the few moments she was lucid enough to speak. She mentioned Jaykra's estate, was that also a place goblins were pulled from to be tortured? How far did this ring of slave trafficking go? And why? What were they doing down here?

Frank kept checking through rooms, one after another. He realized this place almost resembled some sort of hotel or inn. Lots of small rooms, some with larger light sources hanging from the ceiling, other bigger rooms that could have been used for bigger gatherings. It made perfect sense except when he factored in the context of it being built inside of a structure meant to house the dead.

He followed the sound of fighting and yelling. He turned on his [total invisibility] skill when he could hear it closer, he opened a door and found a group of fallen goblins fighting that one angry goblin. They were all calling out in orgrauma to each other, probably the fallen coordinating amongst themselves, seeing as he couldn't exactly be sure what the other guy was doing. He hadn't seen any other living true goblins so the coverup operation must have been going smoothly, as grim a thought as that was.

The angry goblin was behaving very strangely, like he had tunnel vision to an extreme. Any time he would parry the strike of a goblin trying to flank him, he started to focus on them as if they were his only opponent. It didn't add up, and it wasn't an efficient way to fight. In fact, Frank wondered how he had fought so far into this place fighting that way.

Frank needed answers, this guy needed some problems taken care of. The scout brought several magazines full of solutions. He took aim at the fallen goblin sprinting for a fatal blow to their opponent's back, and blew him away with a clean headshot. The fallen goblins froze in place, looking back at their dead friend and to the direction of Frank's gunfire, unsure of what just happened. A fatal mistake for one of the remaining two as it created an opening for the psychotic true goblin rushing him.

As the two screamed at each other, Frank lined up another headshot on the third and final yellow-eyed goblin and punched his ticket to hell. Frank quietly walked over to where the true goblin was still bashing a shield into his enemy's face and tried to look him in the eyes. He didn't want his teleport skill on cooldown if this guy wasn't as friendly as Peace-Speaker Brotlaavi.

The contact started, and sat for a while. After about two minutes, the skill popped a window in Frank's vision saying it failed. Strange. It was like the goblin hadn't even acknowledged the attempt to reach him, most goblins he'd tried this on at least winced from the slight pain of telepathy being forced through to them. Could it be that he was so focused on his needless brutality that he hadn't felt the contact? Or did he not feel the pain to begin with?

Frank noticed a large cut down the goblin's arm and realized it might be the latter case. He didn't care because he didn't feel that pain. Scary bastard, this one. He needed a new strategy. Frank decided to start with getting the goblin's attention.

"Hey, goblin! Need some help?" He called out, the goblin looked up, his eyes wide like dark globes. Whatever he drank earlier, he was high out of his mind from just the little shot he drank. Frank heard a feral growling noise come from his mouth. Not a good sign. He tried to contact the psycho goblin again with telepathy. This time, it took.

The scout started, his rifle aimed at the psycho goblin just in case things went downhill too quickly.

The psycho goblin looked around, deep panting breaths heaving from his chest. Who was Vinta? Was that this guy's name?

The words this goblin, this Dontil, spoke came back staggered and hurried. It was like he was a caveman, scared out of his mind and struggling to keep his thoughts straight. If Frank hadn't seen him drink the weird potion back at the bar, he would have thought he had some kind of massive brain damage. Of course, that alone wouldn't have accounted for the incredible strength and speed he had.

The panting goblin was sweating a puddle onto the floor and charged for Frank, right where he heard his voice coming from earlier. Frank had already teleported behind Dontil, a silent action he had taken moments before when the telepathy took.

Frank slowly crept towards the goblin, now frothing at the mouth and looking around frantically. Frank tackled him and wrenched the sword from Dontil's grasp. The little bastard was damn strong, but a strong goblin didn't seem to mean an awful lot with Frank having sixteen points in strength.

Dontil was harder to keep down than Likra, but still Frank easily managed. It was like keeping a cat held in place. If it can't scratch you (or in this case slash open your arm with a sword) and it can't wiggle away there's no way a cat could escape your grasp. All it can do is cry about it and thrash around until you give it an opening. In Dontil's thrashing, Frank could hear a small noise in a pouch on the goblin's side. It could have been coins, but Frank checked anyway. What he pulled out were two bottles, one uncorked and stained with a thick black liquid, the other still corked tight and a dark green that looked almost black when light wasn't shining through it.

Frank quickly spared himself the trouble of getting an answer from Dontil and activated psychometry.

[Psychometry activated

Potion of Rage (empty): A mixture designed to induce anger and pain resistance in berserker type warriors. Benefits also include small enhancements to strength, speed, endurance. Side effects: mental clarity loss, frenzy, bloodlust, lowered spiritual defenses, muscle aches, heart failure with chronic sustained use.

Dosage intended for an adult orc, humans should take half dose, smaller beings avoid dosage or heavily dilute in water. ]

'A little overly specific, but good to know. Might be worth taking some of this back home, see what it's made of' Frank thought. He then put a finger to Dontil's neck and felt the goblin's pulse. It was through the roof, even for someone recovering from a fight. Frank didn't need any kind of medical training to figure out the green son of a bitch was a ticking time bomb, ready to drop dead any moment!

Frank accused.

Dontil barked back in his mind.

Frank mentally yelled at the goblin while he rummaged through his backpack for a bottle of water. Water is a precious resource, but if Frank could boil the water on this planet for soup, he was sure he could drink it if he needed to.

Dontil admitted between ragged breaths.

Frank cracked open a plastic water bottle and gently tipped it into Dontil's mouth. The goblin greedily drank it down, his body knew from beneath the haze of the potion that he was desperately dehydrated. The goblin finished half of the water bottle before he laid his head on the cold stone floor, panting like a dog.

Frank took the other vial, the one with dark green liquid and used psychometry on it.

[Psychometry Activated

Paralytic Blade Oil: A blade oil often employed by orcs and assassins wishing to even the odds in a fight, or to kidnap a target while they're disabled. When administered to a wound, the toxins within the oil cause a deep burning pain and interrupt nerve signals in the affected area. Healing potions lessen the burning pain and may remove the paralysis effect, but without proper cleaning the wounds may become infected if they are sealed too hastily by potion. Blood cleansing potions completely remove the effects of this oil, with nerve function being restored in seconds with quick action.]

"Jesus, is this stuff for real?" Frank took a look around and found a sword one of the goblins had dropped. He looked back to Dontil.

Frank patted the goblin on the shoulder, a poor show at selling his idea. But Dontil bit anyway.

Dontil relaxed, still feeling strain from the potion, but doing a much better job fighting off the effects. Frank teleported away to the body of one of the fallen goblins and picked up a sword. He felt a little stupid neglecting to pick one up back at the bar area, but better late than never. Frank used the sword to cut a makeshift rag from its previous owner's shirt and tipped a little bit of the blade oil into it, applying it to the edges of the weapon. Frank was finally going to use a sword while he was awake, and he couldn't wait to try it out!

Frank said as he once again took the time to reload his rifle, keeping a sideways glance on his intoxicated ally.