“Can you even lift it?” Rose almost snorted.

“Can,” he nodded. The longsword looked almost hilariously large against the gob's smaller form but he easily hoisted it with one hand, doing an experimental swing. “Can borrow?”

“Sure, what little difference it will make,” she muttered darkly, looking towards.

“K,” he nodded, then his other arm reached for that strange little tooth amulet around his neck. With a quick motion he tore it. Then he began to grow. Taller than any goblin Amir had seen, taller than most humans really. The somewhat thin frame filled with bulging muscles, the shade of green of the goblins skin became a bit lighter.

“You!” Rose exclaimed. “This breaks the Treaty!”

“Treaty say no new hobs,” Gobsmack turned a shrug into a stretch. “Not new.”

And who would dare claim he was new? If nothing else, the scars proved the opposite. So many scars everywhere. How was it even possible to survive as many wounds, even over a lifetime? Amir felt like a fool for ever thinking the man a boy. For all his features still seemed youthful, there was no sign of it anywhere else.

“Amir, you ask about story of what humans call king. Fine, can tell.”

“Right now?” Amir questioned the Ursine were still somewhat hesitant to start another attack after seeing the goblin transform but they were beginning to regroup.

“Might be last chance,” the hobgoblin nodded, then began. “He was Allkind, for he loved gobs more than anything.”

“He was a brutal tyrant,” Rose interrupted, a hint of blood on her breath.

“Brutal, yes,” Gobsmack nodded. “Tyrant, no. Tyrant mean rule by force, rule by cheating. Allkind was not tyrant. Every gob chose him. All of us followed Allkind. If he say die, we know it was for gobs. If he say live, we know it was for gobs. But he was not king. Stupid, smart. Cruel, kind. He was himself.”

“His murderous, genonical, self,” Rose spat.

“We were stupid,” the hobgoblin did not refute her words. “Shamans tell Allkind we needed more. Gobs were strong now, one people. We could trade, demand from stone homes. First, he sent messenger, tell them what want. The humans laughed and killed the gob. So then Allkind knew wrath. He not see people - he saw not-gobs.”

“One gob died. I not know the name. That night, Allkind gathered every hob and shaman, then walked. Next morning, we stand before the high stone walls. Allkind screamed and cried. He want every man and woman who decided to kill his gob. The answer was arrows. So, Allkind tell shaman Callthorn to raze the city. Then we kill everyone.”

The ursine were almost done reforming by then. The disarray Rose’s rampage and goblin appearance had caused was disappearing as their leaders set the unruly warriors back into a proper line with yells and wild gestures.

“But it was stupid. Humans don’t forgive. Elves don’t forgive. Dwarves don’t forgive. So more come. More gobs died. Allkind cry at every grave, then swear that for every dead gob he would destroy city. And we follow him, because we know he would cry for us as well. Break the world for every one of us.”

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Rose stared, mouth open. She did not quite interrupt that time.

“We could not win. Stupid, we did not know how many enemies were. City after city, more came. Just like when one gob died, humans did the same. Allkind did not understand for too long. Too angry, too sad. He killed.”

“More gobs fought, more gobs died. He knelt by every grave and died a little with them. Then raiders began sneaking behind us. Killing weak, killing hurt, killing children. It became clear: Gobs would lose. Gobs would be despised, hunted, extinct. Just like we not show mercy, they would not either.”

The Ursine had finally reformed and were slowly, carefully, approaching the new threat they could see. Had most of them ever even seen a goblin before? Much less a hob. The fear of the unknown was clearly on the verge of being overcome though.

“Then he call himself Allfool, for he fail gobs more than anyone. He parlay with your king, knowing the price. He would die for us. He did die for us. So that the king would swear to not kill every gob. But he was stupid and not know human king do not speak for all humans. Not other species. Today, many still pay price.”

The Gramma stared at him. There was still heat in that gaze, that could not be extinguished with just words. But something else as well. Something complicated. Something that would need to be digested and processed.

“Can’t blame for doing bad things in anger, I did same,” he glanced at Rose for the last time. “But I still believe in dream. Things become better. Not better than before Allkind, but better than after Allfool. Maybe one day, things become good. So again, I fight for all gobs. Is also our city. Is also our future.”

Then the bearfolk were almost upon the bridge and Gobsmack rushed to meet them. Shields were raised, ravenous claws traced his path. He heaved the sword and charged. Some talons scratched him, leaving bleeding gashes - he was not as good as Rose, not nearly. The hobgoblin could not dance in between the claws… but he was larger. Far stronger than the swordswoman even at her prime and his skin was hard enough that the natural weapons oftentimes failed to actually wound.

Then he was in the middle of them. The bear folk were stronger than human men, perhaps not much weaker than even the massive hobgoblin. But Gobsmack had two war scars for every one of the warriors in their formation. He swung a glowing blade that did not even slow when it clove through wood or bone. And he did not hesitate, did not know fear, never flinched in pain.

Some of the Ursine still fought him with berserk ferocity, with claw and even tooth. Perhaps it was the raw physical strength in front of them that awoke something truly feral, urging them to rush ahead. Then they all perished. Fewer left a mark at that price. For the first time the warriors found themselves undeniable surpassed in raw might. The line stepped back and the hobgoblin pursued them in a frenzy. He forged ahead, all the way to the midpoint of the bridge with sheer savagery. His green blood mixed with so much of the gray, one could barely tell just from how many wounds the hobgoblin bled.

There was no lull after the frontline retreated. The bear-folk did not need to see their foe bleed - they could smell it. He broke the next line the same way. Then the third, the fourth, the fifth… By the 15th he was slowing down. The bear folk were not. The opposite in fact. They were driven by rage over their fallen comrades. Indignation over being stopped by one opponent twice. Frenzied beyond reason.

In the 18th a claw found its way into his gut. It pierced through a spot where two prior strikes had only left a gash, then went all the way in. Hobgoblins were known to be resilient… but it was not the kind of wound people are known to recover from. There was a howl of bloodlust as the warriors saw their prey truly injured. More approached and were still cut down.

Then dusk finally came.

Amir felt the shift in a way he never had before. The moment the sun disappeared beyond the horizon something else filled the air. He looked over at something that urgently demanded his attention. There, on top of a mill not that far North of them, two figures stood. One hooded, one with bowstring drawn.

The arrow was let loose and the world flinched.