Night fell on the slums outside Ritherhithe, but it didn’t stop the activity of the inhabitants thereof. The goblins of the city were determined to take their families and flee, and they weren’t going to lett anything as small as the city guard and militia keep them cooped up; not with a Goddess and [Classes] on their side anyway.

“Everything is packed and ready to go Grandmother,” En reported as Sigrid watched her new [Knight]s run through some quick drills with their [Anysize Needle]s. It hadn’t taken them long to get the bright idea to spar between themselves; just to get a feel for their new abilities of course. But once they started the skills had come pouring in. Essential ones like [Basic Footwork] and [Weapon Mastery] were available to almost everyone, while some of the more inventive goblins had ended up with their own specials like [Needle Joust] and [Knitwork Net]. Now the group were running through practice drills provided by [Knightly Drills] and were clearly improving by the second.

They were by no means a smooth, efficient fighting force. But there were maybe a hundred men blocking their escape and they wouldn’t be expecting any kind of armed or [Skilled] resistance from the goblins they were trying to subdue.

“Alright,” Sigrid said, committing herself, and them. “Let’s do this.” She turned and walked toward the road out of town, speaking softly to herself as she did so. “[Don’t Make Me Get The Spoon].”

The oversized cooking implement appeared in her hands as she marched forward and she raised it above her head, hearing the cheer of hundreds of goblins behind her as they fell into step. She then pointed it forward. “Onward! To freedom!”

—

Commander Dawson was bored out of his skull; he, and more than a few of the guard and militia under his command, had been camped out on the road here for five days now, making sure the goblins didn’t leave Ritherhithe without the council’s permission. It was a stupid waste of time and manpower, if he were being honest. So what if the goblins got up and left? How much damage could their absence actually do? Sure, they worked a lot of the nearby farms, but a good portion of the city’s food came from the out villages, and maybe a lot of them worked as cheap labor, but there were always people to fill those positions, weren’t there? Then there was this whole religious angle, gods what a mess.

Who’d have thought a new goddess would just show up and decide to pick up goblins as her holy people or whatever? Good thing she couldn’t be very powerful yet or he bet there would have been nasty repercussions for what they were doing right now.

“Sir,” Johannson, his right hand man, said. “Sir, there’s a bunch of goblins coming down the street in ranks sir.”

“What?” Dawson asked, looking up from the knife he’d been sharpening, then turning his head toward the road. Johannson was right, there was a mass of goblins coming down the road in what looked distressingly like professional soldierly lines; more there was someone walking in front of them, holding a giant wooden spoon in one hand and waving it about like a conductors baton.

“Okay boys and girls,” the commander said with a sigh as he sheathed the dagger and pocketed the whetstone. “Looks like its time to earn our princely salaries.” He stood and stepped onto the road, his guards and many militia members following them.

“Alright!” he hollered, holding up his hands. “That’s far enough! You folks know that goblins aren’t allowed past this point account of the quarantine!”

The goblins slowed and stopped but the woman leading them kept right on, coming to a stop only when she was a bare three yards from Dawson. There she stood, six feet tall, silvery-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and vivid blue eyes boring into him like twin thunderbolts. She planted the base of her spoon on the cobbles between her feet and rested her hands on its head as she evaluated him.

“Jacob Dawson, son of Elloise, daughter of Tabitha, daughter of Gretel, Daughter of Tracy,” she boomed, naming his mother, his grandmother, and what he assumed were his more distant female relatives. “Why do you bar these pilgrim’s path? Have you not been informed that they walk in my name?”

Jacob Dawson didn’t quite feel his blood run cold, but it certainly chilled slightly. Either this woman was a priestess channeling her goddess, or worse, some kind of avatar. Still, he reminded himself, not a very powerful goddess, or she’d just impose her will.

“Sorry Ma’am, but I’m afraid only the Pilgrim that entered earlier can leave under that dispensation. The rest are still citizens of Ritherhithe and subject to the quarantine,” he said, sounding far more steady than he felt, even as those about him shifted in unease, having drawn the same conclusions he had.

“I see. And if they choose to no longer be citizens, no, let’s be clear. The slaves of Ritherhithe. What then Jacob grandson of Tabitha and Jessica? Will you do your masters bidding and collar each and every one of them? Tie them down and let them up only to work? Cage them? How far will you sink? How will you make your grandmothers weep?” her voice was full of scorn and contempt, and in it he heard the echoes of heartbreak and sorrow that would certainly come from such actions on his part. And he wavered. For a moment the words were on his lips, the order to step aside and let them pass. But only for a moment.

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Shaking himself he spoke, but couldn’t quite keep a quaver out of his voice. “Call it what you like, this is about public safety,” he said, though the lie was bitter on his tongue. “You may pass Ma’am, but they may not.”

The grandmother inhaled deeply, her expression that of a woman about to administer a lesson. “Very well. On your head be it then.” With a quick kick of her foot the spoon flipped up into the air and she caught it with one hand. Raising it to the sky she shouted a single word.

“ADVANCE!”

This time Jacobe’s blood did run cold. She couldn’t be serious. Those goblins might be marching with near military precision but they were unarmed and unarmored. Against his units they’d be massacred. She was leading them to nothing but death! But… suddenly the goblins weren’t unarmed and unarmored, many of them were carrying oversized knitting needles, others giant spoons, and almost all of them were wearing a knit item of some kind. Be it just a scarf, or an armband, or even a knit cap. Somehow his instincts screamed at him that those unassuming knitwear items were as protective as any breastplate or chainmail he dared match them against.

The ones holding needles seemed to ripple, and suddenly they were riding all sorts of fanciful knit beasts from chickens to wyverns, to otters, to dragons. The whispered words “Grandmother Goddess” rising from their throats like some kind of bizarre battle cry.

Looking from the goblins, to the old woman, Jacob knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

“It’s too late for regrets Jacob grandson of Tabitha and Jessica,” she yelled over the slowly rising chant of the goblins behind her. “Defying gods has a price.” And that was when the first muffin landed behind him.

—

Sigrid couldn’t have timed the first [Muffin Cloud] so perfectly if she’d wanted to. The explosion rocked the formation of the defenders before her, sending many of the people therein into a [Food Coma]. A status effect she’d specially designed to knock out instead of injure. Grandmas didn’t kill you with food, they just stuffed you so full you passed out, after all.

More muffins rained down and some shields came up while the smarter of the defenders scattered, trying to become more spread out. The [Knitwork Knights] and [Grandchildren] took this as their cue to engage, the first charging into the fray on their [Knitwork Steeds] and gently trampling any who didn’t get out of their way into [A Fluffy Pile] because that’s how grandma’s knit blankets always made you feel. The [Five More Minutes] rider would make sure they’d be out of the combat for at least that long, perhaps double or triple that if they were particularly weak willed.

Finally came the clergy, their spoons falling mercilessly, pounding [Remorse] into any guard or militia member foolish enough to get close.

The goblins took their own hits of course. Sharp swords found green flesh and drew scarlet blood, blunted only slightly by the [Armor of Love], but each time a goblin was wounded they were pulled to the back where a [Helper] waited to feed them a [Cookie Cure], sealing up their wounds, restoring strength, and putting them back on their feet.

In this fashion the battle went on, taking no more than perhaps a minute to conclude as nearly three hundred goblins steamrolled almost a third their number in professional and enlisted defenders. Finally there were no more city defenders left standing aside from one Commander Jacob Dawson, who stared at his downed compatriots in slack jawed incomprehension.

“This time,” Sigrid said to the shocked man. “The price is pride. I have taken yours this day. You will forever be remembered as the man overcome by baked goods, spoons, and stuffed animals.”

The commander just looked at her in mute, dumbfounded incomprehension. “But remember, Jacob, grandson of Tabitha and Jessica. The price could have easily been in blood; for not one of your soldiers still stands while my grandchildren are whole and hale. So now, I think, as the victor it is my turn to dictate.”

She looked down her nose at the commander and spoke, her voice ringing with authority. “I am the Grandmother Goddess. I am Grandmother to All Those Who Need It. These are my Grandchildren and I shall not leave a single one in the hands of those who would deal with them dishonestly. Take that message to your masters. Tell them to send it to the other cities, because if I must come and wrest my grandchildren from their grasp there will be a price. And this time, it will be more than their grandmothers can bear.”

Commander Dawson swallowed hard, his hand spasmodically clenching on on the hilt of his sword. He then forced himself to relax, dropping the weapon. Slowly he nodded. “As the Grandmother Goddess wills,” he muttered, bowing his head.

Sigrid strode confidently past the beaten man, not bothering to guard herself from attack or retaliation; there would be none. She raised her spoon high and waved it forward. “Onward! We’ve a long walk ahead of us!”

The goblins about her cheered, and hollered, others ran to the back of the column where younger goblins and children had been waiting with carts and bags. Kids were boosted up onto [Knitwork Steeds] even as carts were attached to the same creatures, and bags were passed out only to be shoved wholesale into the pockets of [Grammy’s Little Helper]s thanks to their [Kitchen Kaboodle] skill. The people were gathered up, and the march began.

Sigrid watched it all with an eagle eye, waiting for any trickery or trap to spring. For the guards to get up and continue the fight perhaps, or for a new army to come marching down the road. It didn’t happen though and soon all that was left on the rough cobbles were the entangled, sleeping, sobbing members of the Ritherhithe militia and guard.

[Divine Rank increased from 3 to 4.]

[New [Skill] slot unlocked.]

[New [Celebration] slot unlocked]

[New [Ritual] slot unlocked]