"Constable."

"Goblin."

Scratch presented Constable Harkness with a quasi-polite smile, the constable repaid him with a surly curtness and disregard for his title.

One might say the man did not put as much work in the smooth working of their relationship as the goblin did, but then again, Scratch's faux charm wasn't meant to placate him.

It was a continuous and venomous attack on his senses.

The constable hated fake geniality, and the goblin made sure to be as transparently fake as possible in his presence.

They were bitter enemies.

"You've met the suspect?" The constable asked.

A young rank F adventurer had been captured trying to sneak out of the township. The guards had never even noticed her sneak in.

"Please, please. Take a seat."

"I'd rather stand."

"Constable, I insist."

And the constable was left not much choice but to take seat in the manor that housed his disowned daughter and her monster spawn.

He groaned uncomfortably in the flower patterned cushions. "I do insist you answer my question. Have you met the girl, Letta?"

Scratch didn't sit down, but instead lit a cigarette. He had a toy made of flint and nickel bands that could produce sparks if you squeezed it. "I certainly have."

"So you admit it then!"

Scratch sighed, looking at him dissapointedly. "Admit to what?"

"That you and your spawn were the ones to brutalize her. In your... underground... maze."

"Undergrou-" Scratch blew smoke out of his nostrils. "That's a fine recounting of events! You have seen the basement constable, you can judge its maze-like qualities, but brutalizing her!? Why I never. Surely a baronet of the king has the right to defend his own life when attacked? I don't suppose she told you how she nearly severed my daughter's foot."

"There may ha-"

"Your grand-daughter constable."

Harkness was about to continue, but paused to give Scratch the evil eye for that comment.

Scratch puffed on his cigarette smugly.

"The allegation..." Harkness began slowly, "goes deeper than that. The report being that the underground structure extends deeper than your basement. Ending in a massive fortress encaging a dragon."

Scratch waved away his words, swirling his smoke around. "The 'report' in question being the fantastical justifications of a juvenile criminal. You have explored the basement yourself constable, on multiple occasions. A dragon! There might have been a dragonbat, scaring the young girl."

The constable grinded his teeth. The baronet's lies didn't need to be convincing, he had the people's support and he outranked him. Without proof, he had nothing. And the girl didn't have anything in the way of proof either. In fact, he was starting to doubt her story himself. It had been a bit too good to be true after all.

"I know exactly what's going on here..." Scratch said, as he put out the cigarette in a portable ashtray.

His fine suit had useful pockets like that.

"What do you mean?"

"It's happened every year now for years, hasn't it constable? Some would call it a black stain on your reputation- not me of course- some people. Young people from Eston come to the Promise and..."

"The culling." Harkness said.

The territory awarded to the goblins by royal decree was out-of-bounds for adventurers. It was illegal to hunt goblins under the baronet's protection.

Yet every spring, there were hooligans from different regions wanting to participate in the nation wide culling event, when goblins' numbers were suppressed during early spring.

The more advanced tribes and hobgoblin patrol only provided an exciting additional challenge.

It was a crime.

It was murder.

It had happened at least once each year that the constable had had his post.

"I'm afraid our Letta has simply made an early start on what has become... a local tradition." Scratch shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid of what the count might say if there was an official charge for her. About you, I mean."

Harkness jumped up. "There will be a fair trial Scratch. I will take this girl to Eston. To be sentenced there. There will be no extra-judicial executions on my watch."

"Even at cost to your own reputation?"

"Justice has no price."

Scratch shrugged. "That is all very fine. But I expect you to report on this matter tonight as well."

"Tonight? What's tonight?"

"The most prestigious occasion! I expect you in black ti- no, in white tie. Wear your medals if you have them."

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

Scratch had organized a dinner party for Adventurers' Guild staff and Constable Harkness was hideously overdressed for the occasion.

There was a tension between the knighthood and the adventurers at any time. But seeing the lower nobility dressed up in the pomp and spectacle of a gala, while they were dressed practically, lit the embers of disdain in their hearts.

The guild members that become staff, after all, were those that hadn't been able to leverage their achievements into a noble title and were still, technically, peasants.

"Have you met Severus Harkness?" Scratch asked a bearded man from the sister location. "The captain to the trainee regiment for fifteen years, I understand. You have your experience with overeager young men, don't you, Harkness?"

Harkness closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. Everything the baronet did was so painfully transparent.

Even now, he had introduced him as a veteran, rather than a constable, under which capacity he was actually there. Just to increase the weight of his words.

"There really is no comparison." He said through his teeth. "Overeager young knights rush into enemy territory. You are talking about criminals. Who attack the king's allies."

The guild staff member harrumphed indignantly, "Well I don't see young knights conquering undiscovered dungeons either," unwilling to cede even the smallest comparison to the army.

"Yesyesyes," Scratch prattled, "and that's why- as you say- there is a natural solution to this issue. A channeling of... of the productive energy towards a productive cause. Don't you think?"

"You're still on that?" The bearded man sighed, "no, of course you are. That is the whole idea behind this occasion in the first place, innit? Well it's not up to me, it's your own guildmaster ya need to convince, Linel."

"I completely understand," Scratch lied, "I hope you will stay for dinner at least."

"Of course I will."

Scratch handed Harkness his drink. "Will you excuse me? I'm needed elsewhere," absconding as soon as his business was done, "I'm sure you two have a lot to discuss. Regarding... violence- I dunno."

"So," the man said, as soon as Scratch was gone, "I understand ya hacked on of our members' arms off."

The constable cussed internally at Scratch.

-

There was still an hour and a half of aimless chatter and drinks to go through before the food would be served.

Scratch's parties were like that. He liked making people wait on him.

Or maybe he just liked talking.

Harkness looked on with tired eyes at his Baronet making the rounds between officials and doing his best to chat them up.

Adventurers were disturbingly at home amidst the den of monsters.

Only the guildmaster, Linel, didn't receive the goblin's personal attention.

Feigning interest in his interlocutors during that crawling time, Harkness kept him in the corner of his eyes always.

If there was an attempt by the baronet to subvert the authority of the guildmaster by going around him, he didn't know on whose side he was.

Scratch didn't deserve his title, but Linel acted like he already had one.

Glancing over the attendants like that, his eyes met those of Lydia. The daughter he had disowned.

There were no other bandits inside the building while the esteemed guests were there, but her relationship to the baronet apparently warranted an exception.

He averted his gaze. Couldn't stand looking at her.

She had changed more in these five years than in the ten previous ones.

No longer was she called by the Harkness name that had been stripped of her, and the old vestiges of nobility had been discarded.

In the room, absentmindedly stroking the baronet's head, was a wolf of a woman.

Wild hair, wild eyes, and adornments of fur and teeth.

It aggravated him to no end that she could live so blithely, unconcerned with the life that she had thrown away.

The incubus were there again, whispering in Scratch's ear.

It still had that appearance, that shameless celebration of her sins.

It was supposedly a captive monster, Scratch never missed an opportunity to let it advice. He nodded along as the demon's obscene tongue flicked back and forth while speaking.

Then, when it had finished, he clapped his hands. "Everybody! I you would follow me to the dining room, I believe our entree is ready.

-

If there were any company the Promise had any hope of impressing with their creations, it would be adventurers' guild.

The hardy survivalists were not the first to insist on the precise etiquette of nobility, and they were the most delighted at being served rare and dangerous monsters as food.

The seating had been arranged such that Harkness sat next to Linel at one corner of the long table, so that the guildmaster had no neighbour other than himself. Not likely by accident.

The evening was dominated by Scratch, extensively describing the meats and ingredients of every course, and regaling the guests with wildly unbelievable tales on how this or that creature was caught and prepared.

The adventurers were in the palm of his hand.

And whenever there was a lull in his spotlight, when they paused to eat and the guests broke up into smaller conversations, the demon was there. Very much unlike a captive. Whispering into his ear.

Eventually, even Linel had to break silence. "How can you condone such blatant demonic subversion, constable?"

Harkness side-eyed him and took a drink. The goblins had seen fit to pair their fancy dinner with heavy liquors. "The count condones it. I suppose it's his belief that one can not get much more corrupted. Than being a goblin. No actual *citizens* live in his territory. Anyway."

"Hellscape," Linel muttered under his breath. Clearly not having enjoyed himself as much as the others.

"I take it. That you are not to keen on moving here. Then."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Not over my dead body!" He said a bit too loud. "I don't know what Scratch's agenda is, wanting the guild house in this place."

"I believe the idea is to revive the culling. But under Promise supervision. Targeting rebellious tribes."

"No, that's not the reason, that's the excuse. He must want-" He stopped himself mid speculation. "Anyway, it's preposterous. The adventurers' guild is for humans. I won't allow it."

"And it is your call. Isn't it?"

"I am the guildmaster, aren't I? Everything that happens to a local branch is up to the local guildmaster. Even the region overseer can't force me into any decision, only replace me."

Harkness smiled darkly, "then I suppose you must be wary. That the overseer doesn't enjoy himself too much. Today." He nodded towards the bearded man, who was happily clapping along to Scratch's impromptu musical number.

"No. He and I are on the same side... of the issue."

"I see."

After that, they managed not to speak again for the entire evening.

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

After the party, the sun had gone down, and it was a considerable travel distance back to Eston.

Fortunately, all invitees had considerable magical might and were in the company of mages, who could their party back to whichever city in the region they would so choose.

However, one guest did not leave so early.

Chatting out on the starlit trees, overseer made as if to leave alongside his subordinates. Supposedly all the way back to the region headquarters in Linefort.

But when he was the last person standing on that paved road he killed his candle-light spell instead and snuck back inside under the cover of night.

Overseer Brent was not a member of the Thieves' Guild. He simply took their money.

He had taken their money to make Linel guildmaster in Eston. He had taken their money to escort his underlings into the fairy forest. And he had taken their money to aid in the secret mission of an F-rank adventurer.

That last thing had come to bite him in the ass, and it was the only reason he had accepted the invitation to the goblin baronet of the Promise's dinner party.

The girl had squealed to the baronet. Now the letter burning in his breast pocket had dropped some not-so-subtle hints at his guilt. It was time to nip the whole thing in the butt, before it could hurt his professional reputation.

-

The baronet sat leaned back at the head of the dinner table, with his feet upon the table.

His was scraping a desert tray with his fingers and did not notice the overseer sit down.

"I coulda ragged ya, before you ever knew what happened, innit?" he said.

The goblin looked up with a finger in his mouth. "You sure have a way with people."

The man relaxed his shoulders and leaned back, the gesture allowed him to surreptitiously take stock of his surroundings.

Scratch wasn't naive, there were bodyguards looking on from hidden places. But they would be no match for him, he was a rank C mage. He had the ability to stop time.

But violence wouldn't get him what he wanted right now.

The wrestled the letter he had received from his breast pocket (it had been stuffed back in its ripped open envelope), and threw it into the cleaned out desert tray. "Where is the girl, then?"

Scratch fished it out with his clean fingers. "The girl is safe, in Eston."

"Hmm, guarded by your three dozen or so werewolves ya mean."

He looked at him. "...Hopefully, you didn't come to bargain for the idiot back."

A shimmer of powerful magic rose up around the two of them, the overseer baring his fangs. "I d'nae come to *bargain* for *anything*. I accepted this invitation out of... let's say goodwill, yeah? 'Cause I like you, and the wee little performances you put up in this silly carnival. I'll warn you now that you have only survived for as long as ya have because the major servants of the Liege have more important matters to break their heads over than some piddlin' wyrm shards. If ya want to continue as you are for any while longer, it is best not to *catch* their *attention*."

Scratch nodded. "I can see that you-"

"You d'nae see anything. I'm telling ya: stay meek and stay silent." The overseer spoke over him.

They stared at each other for a couple seconds longer.

Then Scratch spoke again. "How does 2-point-five million sound?"

"Wot?"

"In gold. Two-and-a-half million over the course of a year. That's our projected revenue for if you started selling sweet crimson in Linefort. One of my boys has become quite the math prodigy, you can trust his numbers."

The overseer was completely knocked off of his train of thought, and was rolling on top of the plains of empty thought as it raced by him. "What are you talking about?"

"You like money?" Scratch said slowly and condescendingly, despite his better efforts, "you get money. We bribe you."

Finally, the words clicked together. "Yer saying you have the resources to set up the whole of Linefort with crimson?"

"With you as our middleman, of course. We have deliberately avoided supporting the businesses of our rivals. But we can extend our supply to meet any reachable demand. Against... certain assurances."

The overseer stared at the eyes of the wolf woman that lit up the dark in the far side of the room. Then he began to laugh.

"Hahaha! So ya damn near threaten me with your little note, and you put be in a bad way. But, when I arrive, I got to hear that you plan to buy me out!"

"Of course I plan to! Brent. You should have told me sooner that you were a rational man! I mistook you for a goon you know, one of his servants. It wasn't until this week that I found out you're a man after my own heart, when you showed that you're in it for yourself."

"Hey-hey." The overseer cooled the mood with a sudden rebuke. "I have principles. I'm not some two-timer that can't be trusted you know."

"But you've taken money against the Liege's interest before, haven't you?"

"I- And what of it?"

"Listen," Scratch shook his head, "the way I see it; people like use two, who have no principles, are the only people that *can* be trusted. We can always be relied on to act consistently self-interested, can't we Brent? And I can trust that you'll stay on my side for however long it pays better than betrayal."

Brent swallowed his protests. "How much pay are we talking about exactly?"

"Two-and-a-half million in a year."

"You know... alright!" It didn't make much sense for him to insist on faux respectability in front of a goblin anyway. He had taken enough bribes to know what he was by now. "Yeah. To being in it for the money!"

"I'll drink to that." Scratch grabbed two unfinished drinks from the table and handed him one.

They clinked them together.

"Cheers. So what's the assurance?"

"Fire Linel. Get me someone that's willing to move the guildhouse to the Promise. You know, someone... malleable."

Brent nodded. "I can do that, but I need an excuse, don' I? Can't just replace him for no reason."

"You'll get your excuse. Your excuse and your Crimson."

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

It would be some time before the Liege's influence in the region would be cut off. In the meantime, regular life went on.

The household took care of laundry, tanned hides, and trimmed the plant-life.

And at the end of the week, they set out to patrol the territory.

A battalion of horseback riders, coaches and many wolves set out of the front gate, looking much more like an oversized hunting party than a military troupe.

While the hobgoblins blew their horns and galloped forwards in the freedom of the unwalled road, Scratch and Lydia had their private coach riding in the back.

She sat on her knees on the floor, her head resting on his lap. "Scratchie?"

"Mhm?"

"What's the real reason for pushing the guild to change locations? Do you really believe that would stop these incursions?"

He looked down at her.

Her eyes had changed colour since she had first obtained the wolf spirit. The thoughts and shapes of werewolves could often leak into each other, from man to wolf and vice versa. But Wendy and

Harkness had melded into each other deliberately, so that even in her human form she had a wolfness to her.

Her personality had changed as well. She no longer spoke in the halted manner that her father still did.

"Well, it has to be a little true." He said, "after all, it's not like there's no goblins to kill at all. We just have to show them what banners belong to the rebellious tribes. It will make these patrols safer if we have the muscle suppressing the rebels and monsters."

She stared up at him, saying nothing but staring expectingly. There would be a 'however'.

"...However," he relented, "and I can't imagine they haven't seen through this, the real reason is to grant our town a crumb of legitimacy."

"You are still afraid that, at any day, the count can rescind your title and occupy the land." She said.

He sputtered, "well he can, can't he? Wasn't there news from the border? That the Blurich kingdom has, among its demands for the peace treaty, the demand that we two specifically are executed?"

"Oh Scratch. The Blurich crown has been making long lists of ridiculous demands on our kingdom ever since I was a little girl. They're not truly interested in peace."

"Well... anyway, the count has an excuse if he ever feels like it. But luckily, this society is wacky and the state does not enforce a monopoly on violence. There's also the adventurers' guild."

She buried her face in his thighs. "Hmm. The adventurers won't fight on our behalf if the king declares us outlaws."

"You say that but... the adventurers' guild is an independent, stateless enterprise. Right?"

"It is."

"And it controls the largest collection of combined manpower there is."

She sat up to look him in the eye at the earnestness of his argument.

"I think that, if the guild really likes this location, the state would be rather inclined to keep their viewpoint in mind. At least more so than, say, the cobbler's guild."

Lydia mulled it over. "Sure enough, that is correct. But only if they *really* like it. The greater Eston region is no adventurer's playground howeverr, there are no rare materials or challenging monsters.

Unless you intend for them to explore our dungeons..."

"Don't worry, I'm not endangering Ritter's precious wyrm shards. That guy scares the hell out of me. No, it'll be rebel suppression most of the time. The plan is to overpay for it, a little protection tax if you will."

"I shall trust in your wisdom." She said.

A horrible racket came from outside to wagon, as the hobgoblins clashed with a well-armed goblin throng.

Scratch's ears pricked up, "ah, talking about rebels, they-"

But Lydia had already assumed her wolf form and jumped out of the window.

-

The moon was out that night.

Their magical vision showed them the geometric lines and shapes beaming down from the celestial body onto the surface.

The favored territory was more farmland than forest, but outside the outer wall there was still a sea of greenery. The moonlight couldn't penetrate the thicket of winter branches and it had a dark and mysterious aura.

That forest was filled with magic. Wyrm shards from the second segment that had been converted into small dungeons.

They were the most common target for dissenting tribes, who saw them as potentially useful weapons or bargaining chips against the Promise. Or, for the more naive broodmothers, as treasure to sell once she ditched her sons for a new start in who-knows-where.

There was an index of loyal and rebellious tribes, and what banners they marched under. In theory the enemy could be recognized by the banner they had with them, or by the lack of a banner as it may.

However, usually they could be identified easily enough by their decision attack the patrol on sight. Goblins were childish by nature and not the greatest tacticians in large groups.

It had become routine now for the hobgoblins to slaughter rows upon rows of poorly equipped boys rushing at them from the underbrush, and they felt nothing doing it. But Scratch averted his eyes.

Only when they were dead did he step out of the coach to discuss it.

"I think these are Mira's." Jasper said, "they're all newborn."

"That woman... she's destroying her body churning them out like this." The father sighed.

"Either that, or she has captured women to breed for her." Lydia suggested ominously.

"Do we know what they were doing here?" Scratch asked.

"Mira has been moving from place to place with her core family," Jasper said, "we think these raiding groups are food scroungers. They orbit the brood mother. So when we meet them, she has to be nearby. Maybe half a day's walk? We let one escape."

"A-ha. To lead us back to the pack, very clever."

Jasper nodded, "It's like we do when hunting pigs."

"I'm sure Jasper remembers we have tried something akin to this with Mira before," Lydia commented, "I was able to follow a boy to her location, but by the time I had summoned the kids she had already moved."

"They're like a whole tribe," Scratch said, "are they really that stealthy?"

"There are wind magic spells to cover one's tracks."

"Mom, what if you take a few dogs with you this time and attack Mira immediately once you see her?" Felix suggested.

"The group has to be weakened by now, you've been harassing them for months." Scratch mentioned.

"But will the boy make the same mistake."

"Absolutely."

"Yes."

"The big drawback of using a constant supply of newborns is that your troops aren't accumulating wisdom," Scratch elaborated, "that's how our system replaced the feral tribes in the first place."

"Then I will stalk the survivor," she said, "will you continue the patrol over the main road?"

"Sure, we still need to deliver the sluts at the hotspring their groceries and listen to the proper colonies' complaints."

"Then I will see you tomorrow." She crouched to kiss him on the lips and then transformed.

As was her way, she was gone within seconds. Trotted off with two wargs.

-

Continuing on it would get too lonely for Scratch to sit in the coach by himself, so he attached himself to the throughbrace of the wagon and leaned from its side the wind in his hair.

This way, he could freely converse with the hobgoblins.

"Are the sluts dangerous?" Jasper asked.

Scratched raised his eyebrows. The crass language felt out character for the gentle boy, but he was only copying his father.

Hobgoblins even more than their smaller brethren, would often adopt words in their vocabulary long before figuring out their exact meaning.

"No, not to us. They can do some damage, but we're the only ones supporting their lifestyle. They wouldn't dream of hurting us."

Jasper seemed more focused on keeping the horse in line with his legs than listening, but he continued the conversation to be friendly. "You always used to say humans never do anything that isn't in their self-interest, but you don't say that so much anymore."

"I suppose I don't...", he looked at his son struggling to dominate the equine, "you know I've been taking a lot of what the wretched little pervert has to say into account. He seems better at predicting people than I am. I still maintain that... as a group... over the long term, human beings can't deny the natural path. But I've had to come to terms that there are plenty of people like your grandad in the world as well. Irrational, blinded by ideology."

"So the sl- so Laurus' girls..." Jasper had subconsciously caught sight of Scratch's reaction at the word use and changed his way of speaking, "they're not blinded by ideology, are they?"

Scratch laughed, "oh boy! No they are not. Cruel maybe, to their boytoy, but definitely rational."

Their conversation fell quiet for a bit as they looked on at the wildlife going by.

Jasper smiled broadly.

"What's gotten into you?" Scratch asked.

"I've never seen you so happy for so long at a time!" Jasper laughed.

"What? Am I so serious? I'm happy more often, aren't I?"

"Yes, but then you start thinking." Jasper imitated his thinking expression, which was tremendously contemplative.

"Hhm, very funny," Scratch said, not laughing in the slightest at his impression, "you should join the circus."

They didn't speak for some more, simply enjoying their moment of peace.

"I suppose I have been thinking less lately," Scratch said. "For the first time in almost seven years... there's not so much to think about. We're rid of outside threats, we're getting the guild house, and the Liege's hold is breaking apart. All our problems are solved."

A raven cawed.

It had been sitting on the driver's box for two minutes now, waiting to be acknowledged.

It was Ritter's familiar and it had a note tied around its leg.

Scratch spat on the ground. "Teach me to knock on wood."

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

The workshop was wide open to the cold mountain air.

The gates were several stories tall to let siege harnasses walk in and out, and the dwarves kept them swung wide. They didn't mind the cold.

Letta shivered as the worker finessed the metal apperatus to the naked skin of her shoulder.

"Sit still mädchen, do you vant zhis or not?" He asked.

Although he was a broad man with a bushy beard he was shorter than even herself. An abhuman.

She looked at him curiously. In her home country he would probably have been a free man and respected member of a guild.

In Blurich, he was a slave.

The shop owner came by to cast her long shadow over her.

A thin and tall human in a form-fitted military inspired outfit, as all people of status wore in the city. She had a red arm band right below the shoulder with her house's insignia.

She had the most striking scar on her face.

"By zhe vay, I vill not ask you to verify zhese papers. I know zhat zhey are false." She said.

Letta didn't move. "I- I..."

"It does not matter. Ve know vho you are, Brent's silence is more easily sold zhan bought. However, zhe crime of vich you are accused... is not a crime."

Letta finally managed to breathe out.

"Zhe gear should be vorking now." The dwarf said, please try it.

She stood up and flexed her new prosthetic arm. It was surprisingly light.

"Aluminum, only dwarven craftsmen are able to mine it."

"Thank you," Letta said as she began practicing her moves with an imaginary sword, "I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to support the deception any longer, as I'm sworn never to tell a lie again."

"Zhe king has ordered garrisons of siege harnesses from redsmiths all over zhe country," the owner said, "var vith Reddington is imminent now. Soon you vill be able to return for revenge."

"Not yet," Letta balled her prosthetic arm into a fist, "first I need to become stronger. Strong enough to kill a dragon..."

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

Fullmetal Gear

A fullmetal gear is a prosthetic limb to replace one lost in combat, such as an arm or leg. These products are attached to the body by bloodsmiths and are more common in the kingdom of Blurich than in any other realm.

Adventurers equipped with fullmetal gear are able to outfit it with upgrades, such as hidden weapons, tools, or magic gems. However, be aware that no gear can ever be upgraded to be superior to a flesh and blood limb. Adventurers that contemplate losing an arm to replace it with a gear would do well to remember the lack of maintenance, healing receptability, and dexterity that a real hand provides.

Fullmetal gear are not by default considered weapons, and a user is not expected to unequip in state buildings or noble palaces. However, they are categorized by weapon grade, and regular citizens may not possess steel gear. Bronze and brass being the most common types.