Harkness had been scouting the area.
Her training as a knight allowed her to jump from tree to tree unseen, like a cat in the knight. The Harkness family had always practiced acrobatic combat and stealth, long before the adventurer's guild had classified such a skillset as 'rogue'.
A rogue's skillset was still inferior to that of a ranger for the purposes of scouting and tracking, but she felt confident enough in her conclusions about the surrounding forests. In her treetop exploration she got a closer look than when they had raced through it towards the mine on horseback.
Nothing lived here. There we no birds, no insects, and no squirrels. Only the occasional slime to clean out leaf piles and fill the goblins' pit traps. Even the plants seemed sparse and weirdly bald, starved of sunlight beneath an open blue sky.
There were no great packs of warg wolves roaming these lands. Beasts avoided it. The small group that had stalked the perimeter walls hadn't been confident, but desperate. She had observed their movements from up high the previous nights, they had been intimately aware of their own weakness and had avoided the guards she had stationed at the gate. What had appeared as a captured morsel, the small goblin lifting along with the pack, was actually a warg rider.
Her thoughts turned to Scratch's dog house. It seemed clear to her that Scratch had ambitions to domesticate the warg wolves after having seen dogs, and the reports of a warg rider probably cemented the idea in his mind. "Let's have a word with this rider," he'd responded. How could she explain what she knew? By what authority could she tell a goblin how goblins lived?
Perhaps it was true after all. Perhaps warg riders did control the wargs on which they rode. All she knew was that no human trainer, save for those of the monster tamer bloodline, had ever managed to make the animals subservient. It was the understanding of all people that the warg riders were controlled by the wargs, rather than the other way around. The wolves would use goblin hands to open doors and remove traps so they could hunt humans more easily.
-
As she considered these questions she suddenly noticed a melodic song reverberating through the trees. Alarmed by the sudden presence of other life she froze up, and held herself still against the rough bark of an old pine.
Underneath her ambulated a duo of adventurers. One a bard, playing a sad melody on an infused violin, the other a ranger, carrying a long stick with which to spring traps. Both were men.
She briefly considered dealing with them herself, but she couldn't be too sure of their capabilities. There wasn't much reason for experienced adventurers to wander here, but their equipment seemed more expensive than that of a rookie, and she wouldn't have any recourse should she attack an underestimated enemy with no allies near.
The two seemed to be taking a direct route to the mine. She decided to follow them, since she had decided to head back anyway, and wanted to spy some more on the trespassers.
She was able to stalk the two for minutes on end without being noticed, people rarely look up, and the sad string music drowned out the rustle of the leaves.
Eventually one of the men began to talk, the ranger in front. "Ey, can't you play sumthin' nicer? Like a traveling song or whateva."
The violinist gave a large theatrical sigh and put down his instrument. "This is the song of this forest, my dear. The trees speak to me in the form of music."
"Oh yeah?" The two kept walking, as their conversation was just a means on end to pass the time. "What do they say, their momma die or sumthin'?"
The bard began to play again. "All things are dying around here, this is a land gripped by darkness and fear. No coincidence, considering our holy mission."
"What? Your goblin threw the lands into darkness?" The other scoffed.
"If not the goblin, then something that works through it. You led us around the large nests, didn't you dear? Those are not typical of level F territory at all."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Our goddess of light would not mark for death a goblin if it wasn't important."
"Perhaps it is a trick, or a metaphor."
"Pshaw, you're mixing up your gods, dear."
The subject of conversation began to interest Harkness. Benesant, the goddess of light was the chief god, the highest deity. She concerned herself with the vanquishing of demons and world-ending threats. If she had marked anyone for death that person could only be an enemy of good. Scratch was the one strengthening the goblin tribes with his knowledge sharing and trade, if he was an enemy of goodness itself then that would mean her entire troupe was conspiring with evil. She couldn't even claim to have been deceived, though Scratch didn't know it yet she had seen through the lie of him being a tamed monster some time ago and continued their cooperation due to faith in himself.
She wanted to put the possibility out of her head. Goblins captured and raped peasant women, that was for self preservation. Many of the more powerful beasts killed people to feed on them, and those weren't considered enemies of goodness itself, merely hazards. Besides, the goblins had shown willingness to compromise on that front. She felt that it while as rejects of society both goblins and bandits had to make hard choices, but those couldn't be judged by the same standards as those of unpersecuted people. The idea that they had sinned so gravely that Benesant herself took an interest was absurd.
But... the will of a god would have to be channeled through an exceptionally devout follower, like a priest. If these two believed they were on a holy mission from the goddess of light, they must have been sent on it by a cleric. Now that she thought about it, didn't Scratch mention payments to Eston's pastor as blackmail material to the guild staff?
That had to be it, this whole thing was a political game of the thieves' guild. Harkness was content at having found a justification not to change her ways. After all, she was finally starting to enjoy herself.
----------------------------------------
"Yo, hablas inglais?" Scratch called out.
He seemed to be the only one not noticing the threatening tension in the air. George and Biter were flanking his side, and further away Huckabee was keeping a watchful eye. Though goblins had bad intuition for danger, they could understand the low baritone rumbling emerging from the wolves' throats. Nico and Bello, the dogs, had picked up on the hostility and took on protective stances in front of their masters.
The one Scratch had tried to speak to was the feral goblin hiding out in the dog shed. It was a skinny young thing, visible ribs and in-set eyes. But seemingly in command of an impressive mute of hounds.
"The meat is for the dogs. We would like to invite you inside for a warm meal." He turned to his guards, "does anybody know more orc words than me?"
"Not for 'dogs'." George responded.
Scratch tried some simple phrases they used to barter with former orc vassals, but the warg rider didn't respond, only shrinking further back behind the construction.
"He doesn't understand." Biter commented.
"Yeah, I got that, thanks."
"Maybe he only speaks wolf."
"'Speaks wolf?' What are you talking about? That doesn-"
Nico barked as it seemed like the graying wolf was about to make a sudden movement.
"Let's get back inside, this is pointless. When Lydia gets back we'll wipe them out."
He whistled at the dogs and the group began to retreat.
"Why did we do this in the first place?" George wanted to know.
"Appeasement. Peace. What-have-you." Scratch responded. "But now it seems like they're not a threat and they're not an opportunity, so we'll revert to our default 'Em-Oh'."
"Killing them." Biter hummed eagerly, gripping his weapon."
"Yeah, when the nice lady with the magic fire powers comes back, buddy. Patience."
-
The wolves were satisfied after having scared off the goblins and went back to their meal with a bit more confidence in their claim over the area.
The population kept a nervous eye on the wild animals while going about their business finishing off the buildings and maintaining their possessions.
It wasn't too long after that the bandit leader did return. The treeline ended before the town began, so she elegantly landed on the ground and walked the rest of the way.
Huckabee, on guard at the gate, was there to greet her. "Boss! You're back, the wolv-"
"Get the goblin fighters at the gate Huckabee, there are adventurers coming."
"R-right." He turned around to call upon the residents, leaving her at the gate with the other guard, Gildo.
The bard and the ranger hadn't such an intimate knowledge of the forest's hills and slopes, so she had managed to get ahead of them, but they still arrived before the goblins had assembled.
"Are they that fearsome?" Gildo asked, as the two became visible. The bard readying a violin, the ranger a longbow.
"They got this far." She readied her knives. "That means they are not to be underestimated."
"I see."
-
However, before clashing with the bandits, the adventurers made the decision to switch directions towards the wolf pack.
"Take care of the beasts, honey, you know what happened last time," the bard sang as he strung his violin.
The ranger, suddenly empowered by a magical note, fired off an arrow. The projectile flew farther than would otherwise be expected and hit a wolf before the pack had even taken noticed of them, killing it instantly.
A chaotic scattering occurred among the canines, with some of them scampering off while three of them rushed straight at the attackers.
The ranger managed to hit one in the leg, downing it and drawing a short sword for the clash with the others.
The bard continued playing a painful discordant melody.
While the wolves circled the adventurers, occasionally going in for a bit only to be forced back by the deadly swing of a blade, the goblins gathered at the gate.
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There were ten goblins and five bandits, Harkness included. The goblins had lined up in a defensive shield wall, with spears poking from behind the shields. The guards were standing behind with cross bows, she stood in front with only her knives.
"Looks like our two problems are taking care of each other." Said Scratch from between the horde of goblins. "We can just let them fight."
"Or we can kill them right now." Aimone launched an arrow of pure ice at the scuffle. With its high speed and gentle arc it reached the enemies immediately, but right before hitting the ground it suddenly exploded into countless crystal shards.
"Ah!" The bard yelled as is violin was struck out of his hands.
"Ha! Bulls-eye." Aimone boasted.
With the magical notes abruptly stopping the ranger's movements slowed down, and the wolves seemed to find renewed strength. They pounced upon their enemy and had his throat ripped out in seconds.
The bard dropped his violin bow and panickingly manifested a spell between his hands. "Stay back! Rhada's-"
But whatever he tried to do barely singed a wolf ear as it crushed his wrist between its jaws and he went down screaming in pain.
Scratch gave the eager bandit an annoyed side glance, but the development was hardly cause for concern. "Fine then, let's put down the animals ourselves. Lydia?"
She looked at him. "They've been scared off Scratch, the oldest stayed behind to distract the enemy. They do that."
He stood up straight and lowered his shield, breaking the formation. "You know what? I have an idea. Let's just take these inside.
"What!?" Aimone was incensed.
"In a cage, in a cage." Scratch waved off his concerns.
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When the man-things had arrived the eldest had acted out of pure instinct. While the pups fled she rushed forward, forcing the beings to contend with her instead of chasing after the young ones.
Almost immediately she was struck down. A pointed object shot through her front leg and she fell to the ground.
A wound like this was certain death. A fear of the unknown gripped her as she lay there, panting heavily due to the pain. She stared at nothing in the distance as she could hear her pack mates fight ferociously for their lives. Then came a horrifying crashing sound and the fight went silent.
Now she would have to wait. Until she bled out, succumbed to infection, or was picked apart by bottom feeders. Perhaps the man-things would take a shining to her pelt and kill her for it. Degrading as it may be, at least they would grant her a quick death.
She did hear footsteps behind her, though in her current state she struggled to twist her head around far enough to see them.
Standing between her and the enemy stood her biped. The creature hadn't been taken along with the fleeing pack, instead of slinking away into the forest by itself it had chosen to defend its master. It produced a dry hiss from its mouth, in imitation of the wolves' intimidation methods.
The enemy wasn't impressed. It produced sounds similar to that of a man-thing, though its smell was in-between that and the smell of a more tameable biped.
Without much ceremony her pet was restrained and she was grabbed by several strong hands. She protested heavily and began to bite and scratch, but she could hardly resist them any more than the biped could.
-
When carried to the other side of the wall the adult wolves could strongly identify the smell of man-things. It had been masked by the smell of blood and excrement before, but up close the nature of the nest could not be ignored.
"Kill me then!" She heard one of her comrades shout. "Kill me!" It was in vain, no creatures possessed the gift of speech other than the wargs, Noruk's chosen. Though it was easy to sympathize with the need to vocalize one's frustration.
"Have patience." She meekly brought out. "Death is not known to drag its heels beyond one's due."
The male whined sadly in response.
But death made them wait, as the man-things brought them to the inside of a larger construction. There they were locked beneath angular shapes, cubes with rows of bars instead of sides. The underground was lined with rough stone, with felt uncomfortable beneath her thinning fur.
There they were, three of them, each in a different enclosure, the others pacing nervously, she waiting to bleed out. It was a dark and scary place to die, but at least it was warmer than outside.
A good while later the man-things came back, this time taking with them one that smelled of incense and blood.
The eldest was helped out of her cage, though firmly held down again.
She growled as the man-thing touched her wound. It hesitated, but continued after a nod from the one-eyed biped.
The thing tore out the object with a painful abruptness and then showered her leg in a healing glow. At once the pain subsided and her skin knitted back together, leaving a bald scar. Which they wrapped with a white fabric.
Her pack's own biped was let through to hug her, but then quickly separated as they shoved her back in the prison.
They stayed in the building for a few more moments, observing the wolves, making noises at each other and pointing at things. Then they left.
-
The three wolves were kept there for two days.
They were visited by the childlike pair, who were less friendly now that they had shown aggression against their friends.
"What do you want!?" She demanded to know, when the strange wargs came sniffing into the space.
One of them tilted its head at her words but did not respond. They went around the floor looking at the captured wolves in different angles and taking in their smell.
"What is this place, and what do you want with us? Come on then, speak!" She became frustrated trying to get a response from the strangers.
"Speak!" One barked back. "Speak! Speak!" It had no idea what the word meant.
Around dusk they were fed, stone bowls containing residual meat and ones containing water were placed in front of each of them by the smaller bipeds. Their own was not among them and when she tried to communicate with these ones they just became scared. It was like they were feral, though better fed.
The strangers received meals too, they were fed at the same time, right in front of them like a communal feeding.
At night they would hear the howling of the younger pack members, most were grown but not fully mature and survival without their elders proved hard. They howled back, to let them know they were still alive.
They would speak to each other during the day, but the peculiar staring of the man-tamed greenskins muted their speech into suspicious murmur.
-
After these two days the eldest was taken out of her prison.
She expected to be killed and skinned, but instead was bound by a restricting collar around her neck and led around the camp.
The person holding her leash was the strongest among the man-things, the female. Her grip was strong enough to prevent her from yanking free, but there were also others within smelling distance, keeping an eye on her, and she wasn't led anywhere close to the more vulnerable of the residents.
These walks became routine for each of them, though the hand that held the leash was eventually delegated to lower ranking members. It provided an opportunity to stretch their legs and catch fresh air, not to mention relieve themselves of the digested food when it had passed through their bodies. Though they could do without the mocking laughs of the child-like pair that ran around them unrestrained.
Eventually, they saw the return of their own biped, who's grooming she had gotten used to. The others had allowed it to resume its duties and it entered the cage, to the seeming amazement of the man-things and bipeds, to comb her fur and clean out the dirt.
"Small thing. We are trapped in this place, you must find a way to undo us of these chains so that we may escape and rejoin our pack." She told him.
The small thing looked her in the eye and cast down its eyes in deference.
Despite their plans they grew used to their life. It was rare that they could enjoy such regular meals, and the lack of travel was a relief to her aging bones in particular.
----------------------------------------
Scratch didn't have the captured animals on his mind. He had left that process to Harkness and his nephews.
The days leading up to the next appointment with the thieves' guild he spend in the depths of the cave. He had recruited Second and George in some sort of digging project, for which they smelted and crafted iron equipment.
After a few days Stanford, the healer, felt that he had to bring up the cumbersome beasts that Scratch himself had insisted they take in. He decided to use his status as Scratch's "minister of agriculture" as an excuse to bring it up. Having given a managing role he had a place in the meeting that was planned ahead of the coming exchange.
It was in Harkness' tent that they convened.
The bandit leader was there herself, to preside over the meeting. She took on an unusually casual attitude, leaning over her desk.
Aimone, who had been worked half to death organizing a decent water tower, sat on the carpet.
And Stanford himself was pacing up and down the tent opening.
The goblin boss was making them wait. It gave a clear signal that he had other things to spend his time on, and that the time of the humans wasn't necessarily as valuable. Either that or the childlike goblins had lost track of time.
-
"Stan the man!" The creature finally arrived, wiping his gravel stained hands on his equally discolored tunic. "How're things?"
"Ah, Scratch, we've been waiting for you, please come in." Stanford gestured inwards.
"Oh, thank you very much." Scratch imitated his polite way of speaking in a theatrical and slightly hurtful manner.
"Scratch!" Harkness' face brightened up seeing him, and she stood straight up. "I think we can begin. Our next appointment is near the old ruins. I have prepared a map."
On her desk lay a highly detailed map of the rivers and landmarks in the area. It stated 'Rank F' very clearly in one corner. She had already marked their fledgeling town and the previous trade route on it with black ink.
"Huh? Oh, about what's our territory." Scratch said when glancing over the parchment. "I'm afraid we can't expand right now, so we'll have to track back and enter via our earlier route like this."
"Like this?" She brought her fountain pen to the paper.
"Yes, but I'd say: 'use a pencil for this one'. All we need is some women to take charge and all of this could be subdued." He gestured over the forest region on the paper.
She put her implement away. "You've been asking for volunteers from my people for weeks."
"Goblins are children," he explained, "the way to control them is to give them a parent. That's why I need mothers for these places, to install civilized families and prevent brats from claiming them."
"But who would sell their body like that?" She asked.
He didn't seem to get the intent behind her question. "If the price is high enough, who wouldn't? We just need to demonstrate the benefits a bit better."
-
After that they pressured the Grienician a bit to talk about his department of waterworks.
"Si, it's done. A water tower." He sighed.
"I saw it when coming over here," Scratch responded, "but is it functional?"
"It keeps the water in. We clean the water. What else is there for it to do? It's functional."
"Now then!" He smacked the larger man's back. "You must be proud!"
"Pshaw. A week of working clay, building scaffolding, mixing actual cement." He spat. "And all we got is a tiny stump."
"Just imagine how much harder it would've been without Barbara lending you all those goblins."
That didn't cheer him up. "This is no living. No mages, no guild workers. We eat what we catch like animals."
Scratch put his hands on his hips. "Okay," he sighed, "let me show you something."
He gestured for all of them to come outside.
"Your perspective is a bit better than mine, with the extra height. But just take a step back and look at it, you know what I call that?"
In front of them was the platform, around which a paved road led to the newest constructions. Two long rectangular buildings flanked either side of the path, thing-walled barns with sloped thatch roofs that housed various wares and some cages. Behind the top of one of them the completed water tower was visible, a stone brick cone just less than two stories tall. The top was open and the decorative battlements in the design had never been added. The road continued and tapered off beyond that, towards where the goblin huts and forge produced thin strands of smoke.
"Because I call that a skyline baby!" The goblin boasted. "Soon we'll be erecting housing, and we'll be a real town. Well, not soon, but..."
"Mannagia. Forget houses." Aimone grunted. "We need sewers, or at least a real river to take away all this filth."
Scratch chuckled knowingly. "We're working on it."
-
It seemed like the others thought the meeting was adjourned, but Stanford held them back with his own agenda. "Ma'am. The warg wolves."
She nodded in understanding. "Scratch. The wolves we've been grooming and feeding. Did you have any plans for them?"
He had to think for a moment. "No. I mean, if Pantajo didn't have anything to offer, I suppose we can call it a failed experiment."
"Pantajo?"
"Yes, you know, he came with the dogs? Didn't have a name so I gave him one."
"We haven't spoken with any Pantajo." Stanford commented.
"We'll do that first. If, after that, we still don't see any way to work with his animals, we bury the lot of them. Sound fair?"
Harkness shook her head. "You can't train warg wolves Scratch, it's impossible."
He narrowed his eye. "How're Nico and Bello? Well behaved?"
"Uhm, sure? We had to discipline Bello in the beginning, but they've been good boys."
"I think it's very possible Lydia. I have faith in us."
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Grienice
Faction: Grienice
Size: A
Level: S
The city state of Grienice makes up one of the four realms by itself. It sustains itself via trade with the other countries and the cultivation of expert craftmanship within its academies.
Several centuries ago the people of Grience were ruled by a corrupt and degenerate noble class, under the leadership of the Lily hero, Augustine, they rebelled and overthrew their masters. Ever since the state has had a system of radical equality. No feudal lords and knights protect this city, all warriors are conscripts or mercenaries, and the ruler of the nation is chosen via a national election every four years.
Grienice is most renown for its mighty aquaducts, build by the Grienice family in times of the monarchy. These mighty constructs carry even large freight ships over the populated streets below. It is because of these auqaducts that the transport of goods inside the city is so easy, and why it continues to exist as a mighty trading nation.
Within Grienice stands the magic academy for water magic, which allows entry to anyone regardless of birth. Its citizens usually have affinity for water magic.
Because of its size, Grienice has many adventurer's guildhouses within its walls. Monster activity within its sewers and abandoned buildings provides enough challenge to build up a steady demand for them.
Crafting guilds in Grienice are highly esteemed institutions, with strict hierarchies. The wares coming from this city are of utmost quality.
Thieves' guild activity is endemic to the city, and some districts are populated exclusively by members.