Scud stared down at his hand, opening and closing the fingers. It looked as if he had never seen his own hand before. To be brutally honest, Scud looked like the type to forget what his own hand looked like. The eyes were a bit too wide, the ears a bit too droopy. He looked the sort that had only dreamed of eating lead paint chips.

Movement pulled his attention from his hand to the goblin coming up to his side. Where Scud was short and thick, in both senses of the word, Drok was thin and wiry. With a cruel looking knife instead of the standard issue club that Scud used, he was a poster-child for the evilness of goblinkind.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Settling in fine?

MicksAndMoans: It’s weird. How do I have a name? And how do I know your name?

ShieldOfLeonidas: It’s part of what makes Echoes like us awesome. When we spawn, we can have memories, emotions, fighting styles, all sorts of things loaded in our brain.

ShieldOfLeonidas: No need to learn our lines, they’re already part of us.

Drok poked Scud with the tip of his dagger. “Hey, let’s go look.” He said and stole off into the darkness. Scud looked around him, to see if anyone else would care, but the other goblins in the area seemed to be paying him no mind. He picked up his club and trundled after Drok.

The winding tunnels wove around and around. Strangely, while he would be hopelessly lost in most places, Scud knew the warrens better than the back of his unfamiliar hands. Soon, Scud had joined Drok at an overlook on the top level.

From there, the shadows concealed them as they looked out on the strange creatures who had invaded their home. Well, part of their home. No one really lived on the top level, but it was akin to someone claiming your front yard as their own. Not as intrusive as it could be, but certainly not comfortable.

“Hmm. Ten of them.” murmured Drok beside him. “We need to see how strong they are. Scud? Ya wanna go down there and wack them a little?”

There certainly were… many of them. Scud’s brow furrowed as he tried to get a grasp on the number of them. Numbers weren’t his strong suit, though, and once it got beyond the fingers of a single hand, it started getting hazy.

There were certainly more than just him and Drok, that was for certain. And while Scud was stupid, he was certainly not dumb enough to go down there. He had the heart of a true goblin: a coward’s heart. He had no intention of cutting his life short by stumbling out to where he’d be outnumbered. He shook his head violently.

“Nuh nuh, Drok! I don’t wanna go-” Drok’s hand slapped across his mouth, stifling the tail end of his protest.

“Sssshhh! Quiet. You’ll give away our hiding place, numbskull. Are you trying to get us killed??” Scud tried to shake his head violently again, but Drok’s hand interrupted the movement. The thin goblin cautiously removed his hand and Scud, having been in this sort of situation before, clapped his own hands over his mouth. Drok nodded, then peered out over the room. No one had heard them.

“I think that one’s a mage, and that one’s an archer.” muttered Drok. “I only see one wearing armor? What sort of guild only has one tank?” Drok frowned, looking at the invaders below, then smiled. It was a cruel smile, one with a lot of teeth.

“Oh, Scccuuuddd” sand Drok softly. I bet you can’t hit that one with a rock.”

Scud huffed. Drok was always doubting his abilities at rock throwing. He was the clever one, why couldn’t he remember that Scud was the best there was? Wasn’t Drok there when Scud threw a rock at the wasp nest? Or when he pegged the sleeping bear in the nose? Or when he bounced a rock off the goblin queen’s spoon, so she got soup all over her? Scud was the best, and Drock should know that.

Admittedly, with all the confusion that happened after Scud nailed one of his shots, he couldn’t blame a goblin for being a tad forgetful.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“I can hit anything!” he hissed at Drok. “Which one?”

“Hmm. How about the one in the dress?” Drok said, pointing at what Scud couldn’t recognize as a wizard of some kind. “Like knock his hat off or something.”

“Huh. Easy. Too easy. I’m gonna bounce it off his stick and then knock off the hat.”

Drok squinted down at the people below. “I dunno, Scud. That shot looks impossible, even for you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well…” Out of his pouch, Scud pulled out a cloth bundle of his throwing rocks. Other goblins didn’t really seem to get it, for them, a rock was a rock. But for Scud, each rock was different. They flew different, they bounced different, they hit different.

Drok watched as Scud agonized over a selection of identical rocks, looking over the ledge a few times before selecting one, presumably at random.

“Okay,” continued Scud. “Watch this.” And the stubby little goblin extended his hands forward, took three quick steps, wound up, and threw.

Well, presumably he threw. Drok had taken the opportunity during the elaborate pitch to sidestep out of the line of any potential return fire, just in case.

The rock flew through the air, with just a hint of spin, ricocheting off of the bejeweled wizard’s staff and knocking the pointed hat right off of his head.

“See Drok! I did it! Easy!” Scud turned. “Drok? Where’d you go? Drok?”

Drok was too busy observing the people below to answer his goblin brother. The adventurers were acting strangely. Drok was a crafty goblin, good at surviving when others weren’t so lucky. Possibly due to Drok’s interference, but that was neither here nor there

The surface folk were acting weird. Drok had been in enough little skirmishes to have a guess at how they should have acted. What should have happened, when a rock came out of the shadows, was that they should have tightened up as a group, the big fighter guy out in front to block blows, and then the wizard and the archer and the others would fill the shadowy bit with all sorts of bad things for Scud.

Instead, there was almost a goblin-like camaraderie, meaning the wizard was the center of attention while those around him pointed and jeered. It didn’t seem quite as cruel as how goblins would do it, as there would be some kicking involved, surely, but down below, it seemed to be all in good fun.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Hey, Herbert. Great work on the language futzing. I’m only catching one word in ten. Feels realistic.

Herbert: Thanks!

MicksAndMoans: I’m not catching any? Is that because of a low intelligence stat or whatever?

Herbert: that

Herbert: Also, Drok seems to have a bit more life experience. The more you hang around other languages, the more you can glean.

MicksAndMoans: Huh. Neat.

MicksAndMoans: How did I make that shot? That shouldn’t have been possible.

MicksAndMoans: By like, any definition.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Ah, we call that Agent’s Will, or Will

Herbert: We call it intent

ShieldOfLeonidas: Agents call it “Intent”

ShieldOfLeonidas: :points-up:

ShieldOfLeonidas: Since Agents ARE the world, things like physics work like they want.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Reality is rather subjective, as you may have noticed.

ShieldOfLeonidas: And if you telegraph what you want to the Agent, and the Agent agrees that it would be cool.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Or realistic or whatever.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Then things happen more the way you want then the way it should.

Herbert: This is a secret thing, btw.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Ah, true. You can’t normally talk about it outside of chats like this.

ShieldOfLeonidas: Knowing about the Will is one of an Echo’s most powerful tools.

A shout from below brought Scud out of his reverie. He looked down below. The human in the dress had put its hat back on and was yelling… something. The stout goblin looked back at Drok with a shrug.

Drok had an ear cocked in the direction of the heroes. “I think,” he said slowly, as if disbelieving, “He wants you to throw a rock again.”