The four woke to the sound of goblins getting to work. As a group, they scrambled to Gobma. Gobma was still bleary eyed and squinted at the gremlins. A mug of steaming… liquid. He counted. Then counted again, and downed the last of his mug.

“Eleven… OK. That’s all of ya. I’ve got a headache, so get to work and don’t bother me.”

“Eleven? It was twelve yesterday.” Daggat couldn't help but ask. Then realized his mistake. Gobma threw the mug at him, which made a dong sound as it bounced off his head.

“I said don’t bother me!” He had a thoughtful expression. “But, this could be a lesson. One of you tried to run last night. Got all scared of just a bit of work.” He grimaced. “Wargs watch the territory around camp. He got ate. Not my fault.” He mumbled that last bit. “Now, get to work, or I’ll feed you to the wargs myself!”

The gremlins got to work. Rolling log after log towards the wall. Daggat tried to pretend to push, as he had before, but Klaw’s growl gave him the inspiration needed to put in his fair share of work. Hudd, the wounded gremlin, had a stick tied sturdily around his leg. Yet, he was still made to work. Despite his best efforts, he fell behind.

“Oi, cripple. No free rides under my watch. Get to work!” Gobma kicked him in his injured leg after his third break. Hudd fell to the ground crying in pain. Gobma chuckled to himself.

“He can’t. Leave him alone.” Zuss was the one to speak up. Daggat groaned. Of all the people to cause an issue, it had to be his sister.

“Yeah, and how’s that my problem?” He loomed over the gremlin. Zuss cringed away in a very non-Zuss manor. Klaw growled low. Daggat put a hand on his shoulder and he calmed.

“Gobma, er… boss.” Why Daggat was getting himself involved, he couldn’t say. All he knew was if Gobma attacked Zuss, it wouldn’t stop there.

“WHAT!” He turned on him. Now Daggat was cringing.

“Y… you don’t want him to push himself, really, do you?”

“Yeah. Funnier that way.” Daggat’s normal approach wasn’t going to work, it seemed.

“But, we want to push more logs, not less. Don’t you want to beat… uh… ” he glanced around and pointed at the nearest gremlin squad also pushing logs, “them. Right?” Gobma looked like he wanted to hit Daggat, but instead pinched his temples.

“What’s your point?”

“We could easily push more logs without him, so why not let him heal? Then, when he is stronger, we can push even more!” The rest of the gremlins glared at him, some groaned.

“How’s that work? Less gremlins, more logs? ARE YOU AN IDIOT?!” Gobma winced from the sound of his own yell.

“Wait! Wait, see, Hudd will slow us down. See? That is why we are slower. Right guys?” He nodded encouragingly to the gremlins. Zuss nodded and agreed, then Klaw. Following the strongest example, everyone else nodded along. Gobma growled.

“Fine.” Hudd smiled. “BUT!” Every gremlin cringed back. “If we don’t beat those idiots over there, then I am going to feed him to the wargs. AND you too, smart ass.”

Daggat cursed. The gremlins went back to pushing the log. Daggat approached Hudd.

“Thanks for the-” Daggat grabbed him by the shoulders and glared daggers at him.

“Listen to me! You are lucky. I didn’t pull your ass out of the fire out of the goodness of my own heart. Do you understand?” Hudd winced. He would have been larger than Daggat, but with a broken leg, he was now the weakest gremlin. A notch below Daggat on the social ladder.

“I’ll cover for you here. But you need to pay me back. Every night.”

“How? I have nothing.”

“Be my ears and eyes.”

“You want my ears?!”

“No… listen. You go into camp at night, right? Listen to what people say. Look at what’s happening. Then you tell me anything interesting. See?”

“Uh, ok?” Hudd smiled sheepishly.

“Just… listen for any mentions of levels, skills, experience, or anything you don’t know.”

“Maggat! This is your stinking mess. Help us clean it up.” That was Klaw, they were already pushing the log. Sneering, Daggat turned back to Hudd.

“For now, follow me.” Ignoring the insults streaming from the gremlins, Daggat led Hudd to the front of the rolling log. He squirmed. Daggat picked up a stone, and tossed it to the side. “We are going to move ahead of the log and move anything in the way. Got that?” Hudd nodded. Getting stuck on branches, rocks, and other debris was a big time waster the previous day. Daggat figured this was easier than pushing the log, but probably more helpful.

After the third log, Klaw stopped yelling insults at him, finally seeing the progress they were making. Zuss was the one to point it out, how much faster they were. Like tiny candles being lit in their heads, each gremlin understood. One by one, they started moving ahead of the log, moving stones to the side. Each gremlin had a satisfied look on their face. Daggat felt his eye twitch.

“You… IDIOTS! How can we ALL clear the path? Someone needs to push.” The gremlins stared at him for a moment, then looked back to the log. Glut pointed at Daggat, confused. “NO!” He sighed, and hopped onto a nearby stump. “Listen, we can’t all do this. Just two is enough, see? Hudd and I will keep going, everyone else just follow us with the log.”

“Why you?” Klaw asked. Daggat wanted to strangle him.

“Because I know which rocks to move.”

“Ain’t that hard. The ones in the way. Oh! Am I smart now, Dag?” Glut asked innocently. Gobma noticed the pause in work and started moving towards them. Daggat swallowed nervously.

“No, you ain’t. Gobma’s coming this way. Just trust me… when have I failed you all before?” The gremlins racked their brains trying to find an example of Daggat… well… interacting with them before. “Exactly… never!”

“Seems to me, the weakest should move rocks, other push.” Zuss spoke up.

“Yes! That’s why its Hudd and me. Hudd is hurt, and I am small. Simple as mud.” Daggat beamed. Gobma stubbed a toe on a discarded stone, cursing. Daggat started to sweat. He could feel Gobma’s boot already.

“But, you are not the weakest.” She coyly held her hands behind her back. “I’m just a girl. You boys are all stronger than me.” Daggat stared daggers at her. She stuck out a tongue at him when no one was looking.

“HEY! Get back to work, gremlins!” Time was up. Gobma was a few yards away.

“Fine.” He said quickly. No more time to argue. Swiftly making his way to the log, Zuss and Hudd picked back up removing stones from the path.

Resigned to his fate, Daggat performed actual physical labor. They managed to push 16 logs that day. When Gobma told them it was time to stop, Daggat flopped to the ground like spilled jelly. He had never worked a day in his short life before. Minutes latter he tore himself from the ground to head to the camp.

Suddenly, a large hand grabbed him by the back of the neck. He was lifted to be eye to eye with Gobma. His breath smelled of burnt grass, alcohol, and the particularly rank scent of aged goblin spit. “You got lucky this time gremlin.” His eyes unfocused. “Daggat. But don’t try to get smart with me. You pull anything like that again, and I’ll break you. When I speak, you listen. Understand?”

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Daggat nodded vigorously. He fought to keep a scowl off of his face. Then Gobma tossed him, roughly, to the ground. Two other goblin called out to him, and he wandered their direction. Daggat was left in the dirt, fuming. Eventually, his legs began to work again, and he crawled to camp.

Some idiot had left a bird roasting near a fire unattended. Daggat stuffed it into his mouth and scurried away. The previous day, he was overwhelmed with the revelry. Today, he wanted to explore. But first, he needed his backup. He found Glut slurping down a still wriggling toad.

“Glut! Come on, we have exploring to do.” Glut gulped, then gave Daggat a large smile.

“Sure thing, Dag. Where we going?”

“Just follow me and look tough if anyone tries to start something.”

The two of them scampered into the camp. Dusk was a busy time, it seemed. Goblins came and went from half tent, half shack like structures. Some just waking, others heading to their personal spaces to sleep. The communal kitchen was both for the nights meal or their breakfast.

Goblins tended to ignore them, but there was the occasional jeer from other gremlins. They had instinctively formed cliques of three to five. Daggat himself has done this. But, he ignored them. They wouldn’t attack him, not unless he had something they could take. Daggat had nothing, as did Glut.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for. The shamans hut. It was a solid structure, more solid than any other. Not goblin make, for sure. Rather, it seemed to be the remnant of a much older stone ruin with additions of logs and mud. Just from the outside, it stunk of rot, incense, spices, and mint. Smoke drifted out of the patchwork roof and, from the sounds, someone was within. Daggat rubbed his hands together.

“Glut, hey… can you do me a favor?”

“Anything, Big brutha.” Daggat hadn’t remembered when or how he convinced Glut that Daggat was his older brother, but it had stuck.

“Knock on that door.” Glut waddled towards the door without a word, excited to do something so straight forward. Daggat found a nearby hiding spot. Now, he only waited.

Glut knocked on the door. Nothing happened. Daggat mouthed at him to knock louder. Glut just turned his head, his ears flopping to one side.

“Knock LOUDER.” He hissed once he lost patience.

Glut kicked the door several times. A roaring “WHAT?!” resounded from within. The door slammed open, and the shaman poked his head out. This goblin, a nilbog actually, had red skin, rather than green. His ears had been burned off sometime in the past. Now, black and red lumps of flesh clung to the sides of his head. The shaman looked around. Glut looked up at him with a passing interest.

“What now?” Glut called to Daggat. Daggat just watched. The shaman then noticed the gremlin. He sneered, and kicked him. He flew with the grace of a mud ball, then tumbled to a stop a few paces from Daggat. Now Daggat knew what the shaman was like. Or, at least, he knew more than he did before. He was NOT one Daggat could simply ask about his mysterious powder.

“You alive?” He asked the groaning pile of gremlin.

“Uh huh, ouch…” He stood, wincing and rubbing at his stomach, where the shaman had kicked him.

“Good! Now, let’s not do that again.” Glut agreed. Diplomacy was not an option. So, Daggat would need to turn to trickery. He grinned and licked his lips. It was clear that the shaman had poor hearing. That could be useful.

Somehow, Daggat had to get inside. The shack was tight, the only entrance being the door itself and an opening in the roof to let out smoke. He chewed on this problem for a little while. He was interrupted by Gluts soft snoring. Briefly, he envied Gluts ability to sleep anywhere at any time.

It was getting late, and Daggat was still bone weary from before. But, he had a puzzle before him. He would not rest until it was solved. Ignoring his brother, Daggat skulked towards the hut. He circled it. There was a gap where the ruins met the newer construction. He clambered up the wall and peered in. Normally, he would be afraid of making noise. Not with this target.

Inside, the shaman was sitting on a small cot, eating something from a bowl. He scratched himself, then continued to chew lazily. Daggat frowned. He was expecting something more grand, more… mysterious. This was just a goblin having a late night snack. But, still, there were treasures in that shack.

Through the hole in the roof, Daggat had seen goblins enter the shack and leave changed. Larger, scarier, smaller, faster, some with flaming hair, some crackling with energy. All manors of changes and transformations. Those were the treasures he was after, not the actual trinkets that he had scattered throughout it.

After what felt like an eternity, the nilbog crawled into his cot with a groan, and rolled over to sleep. That was his chance. Daggat eyed the hole in the roof. It was situated directly above a large cauldron thick with burned scraps and sludge.

Quickly, he scurried over to Glut. He was still sprawled out on the ground, one snot bubble growing and shrinking in time with his snores. Daggat kicked him, gently, in the ribs.

“Get up. I need you.” Blearily, Glut followed. Two minutes later, Daggat was standing on Gluts shoulders. With a leap, he grabbed onto a convenient hand hold he had spotted earlier. Then he scampered to the roof. There were some advantages to being as light as a cat.

Nimbly, Daggat lowered into the shack and swung himself to avoid landing in the cauldron. It was cold, but even a half-deaf nilbog would hear the clatter if he fell into it.

The inside of the shaman reeked of body odor and charcoal. Hints of mints, herbs, and spices did little to cover the smell. The walls were absolutely cluttered with knickknacks and trinkets. Small bones, floating eyes in jars, dried flowers, and jars of who-knows-what. Ingredients for the concoctions. While fascinating, these were not what Daggat was looking for.

With the occasional glance to the sleeping shaman, he searched. He opened countless jars, bags, and boxes. One such box was full of useless gold and silver coins.

Then he turned his attention to the shaman himself. His eyes immediately flicked to a small pouch at his side. Did he dare?

Of course he did.

Luckily, Daggat had practice in this exact situation. Gingerly, he stood next to the cot. It came to just below his chin. With the care of a surgeon, he moved to untie the pouch. But there was nothing to untie. Rather, a leather loop was attached around the shamans belt. It couldn’t be removed without removing his belt.

Instead, he carefully undid the string keeping the bag shut. Fine, white powder spilled from the pouch. Daggat almost cackled in glee but covered his mouth to stop it. Immediately, Daggat tossed the contents of a random glass bottle and scooped the powder into it.

Now, he only had to get out. Luckily, the door would be locked from the inside, so all he had to do was open the door and… Daggat froze. There was a simple block on a nail that kept the door closed. It was latched at the TOP of the door. Who did that? In what world would anyone want to have to reach up to unlock the door? It was far to high for Daggat.

He paced in place for a while while deciding what to do, keeping one eye on the sleeping Shaman. He felt some respect for the shaman drip away. He was actively being robbed, and the shaman was just SLEEPING. No mind that it was Daggat robbing him, but still. You would expect some competence.

Daggat could not reach the block. Climbing the wall of trinkets would be a mistake. He might be the size of a cat, but he did not have the grace of one. He would likely wake the shaman that way.

The hole wasn’t even in the running for potential escape routes, it was far too high. Daggat shook himself awake as his eyelids became heavy. If he didn’t hurry, he would end up sleeping here. In his tired state of mind, he wished he could simply fly out. That sparked a memory. Why was he here in the first place? To figure out the shamans strange magics. Some of the goblins had left taller or stronger. If he could do the same, then he would be able to open the door or leap out.

Daggat more or less knew the process. He had spied on the shaman long enough. He would mix random objects in the cauldron, sprinkle the powder, then bring it to a boil. Whoever drank the concoction would change. But, he produced a lot at a time. Surely he saved some? Daggat did another once over of the shack.

Several jars were filled with liquids he didn’t recognize. Each of these had simple pictures or symbols drawn onto them. But he couldn’t make heads nor tails of what they meant. The shaman snorted and adjusted in his cot.

Daggat was short on time. He grabbed the first bottle he saw with any hint that it could help him. It depicted a stick figure drawing of a goblin above the clouds. Could this be flight? He opened and sniffed the bottle. Daggat gagged. It smelled of rotten eggs and sewage, but there was a hint of… morning breeze?

He glanced at the shaman. His face was visible. Drool began to pool in his wrinkles. He could wake at any time. Daggat steeled himself, then drank the potion.

The potion tasted as bad as it smelled, but it had a strange, light texture. Like he was drinking thick fog, rather than a liquid. Daggat then grabbed his aching stomach. He stifled a cry of pain. Panic began to overtake the pain. He had messed up. What was he thinking, drinking a random potion. It was poison, surely.

Rage threatened to boil to the surface. This was how it ended? Poisoning himself while trying to rob the shaman? How embarrassing. He stumbled as the pain grew. It was a pressure, a building force in his stomach and guts. At any moment, he would explode.

Daggat held onto the cauldron for support, and it fell. The clatter broke the silence. Snorting, the Shaman woke. Well, he was awake now, so Daggat didn’t have to hold back. He groaned in pain, low and long.

He looked up into the night sky as the shaman tried to take in the situation. From here, he could see the Fountain. A beam of light that marked the north. His legs began to shake, and he heard a gurgle from within his own body.

Finally, mercifully, just as he could no longer stand the pain, the pressure released. The explosive passing of gas sent Daggat hurtling through the hole in the ceiling. The shack shook from the force of the flatulence, and the deafening noise woke half the camp.

Daggat didn’t think. He only screamed while he flew through the air. Daggat was glad none of his siblings were there to see his shame, and desperately hopped the shaman wouldn’t recognize him.

Daggat

True Name: Daggat

Soul: Monster

Genseed: gremlin

Monster Level: 2

Attributes [1]:

Strength: 4

Dexterity: 5

Constitution: 4

Intelligence: 13

Will: 4

Charm: 4

Feats:

Encounter: True Angel

Biotraits [1]:

Base size: Tiny

Regenerative Teeth

Enhanced Night Vision

Rot Resistance

Other:

Variant: +10 Intelligence