In the darkness, buzzed a swarm of flies, feasting upon a sea of rotten corpses. They were the same faces that forever rested at the base of Black Ice Mountain and some of the eyes of the ghouls of Saint Goblin’s Inn’s catacombs. Adria crawled up from the bottom of this wasteland of death. Her heart rushed. Sweat drenched her ragged clothes. And despite how hard she climbed, she couldn’t make it out: more corpses appeared, suffocating her further. And she couldn’t stop. Below, the Liar’s long, scaly fingers clawed towards her.

Adria couldn’t catch a breath within the mass of bodies. She began to hope that death would swallow her or that the Liar would catch up. Yet neither gave her peace.

It grew worse.

It wouldn’t end.

It was hell.

Adria snapped awake in her bed as the first rays of sun peeked through the windows of her quarters. She struggled out of the soft sheets and shook her head, hoping it would bring her back to reality. Last night’s happenings and the intense dreams afterward left her in a daze.

Bumping into things littered all over the floor, Adria sought out her clothes and the Mask of Roguish Disguise. First, she chucked the mask on and grit her teeth through the transition into a goblin.

On the other end of the door, witless rushed to the dining hall, like overzealous men charging into the frontlines. Once she was dressed—in a red skirt and white shirt—and cleaned up, she entered the flow of little green ones.

Above the entrance to the dining hall, the scroll of the Liar’s demands flapped about from the winds of the morning rush. Adria stepped out of the flow of goblins. She read the list of demands: the tables had to be arranged in specific patterns, the candles had to flicker with blue flames, the meals and drinks were a list of words she’d never heard and, worst of all, music had to play while the Liar dined.

He wants to turn the inn into Black Ice Bastion’s ballroom, she thought. Do you actually want to eat here? Or are you really coming for me?

The worries locked Adria in place. Her gaze unfocused and her mind wandered into the worst possible scenarios. Then, clutching crosses, Saint Goblin entered the dining hall. She finished her morning prayer and looked around. A few witless passed by her. She snatched them and yelled instructions in early goblin. They helped the head of the inn wobble atop a table.

“My children, this morning is the first of seven left until the visit of the Liar of the Abyss,” she announced. “It may seem like his scroll of demands is long and extravagant like a priest using tithe coins for his pleasure. But these stone walls have seen far worse. Even I have witnessed tougher battles. Keep your faith and keep your strength. The First Tribe of Philosophers once said that a clock nearing midnight makes the impossible an achievement. And so it will be. We will fulfill everything on that list. We will serve the Liar of the Abyss. We will save the inn.”

The witless exploded with excitement and began to jump about. Their little green arms and legs were ready to work until passing out. U’lis, La’Var and Ba’Gan understood reality and the gravity of the situation better, yet still, their faces brightened. Adria remained the only bleak pit in the entire dining hall. Her heart pumped hope as well. But knowing she would stand in the same room as the Liar made her feel like a prisoner learning when he would be brought to the Auditorium of Sorcery.

Saint Goblin began dedicating duties. The witless ran into dozens of directions while Adria and Ba’Gan were sent off to lay out a red carpet down the entire dining hall. They worked without uttering a word or looking at each other: Ba’Gan’s bigger right ear curled whenever he made eye contact.

With the carpet rolled out, they moved onto the tables and chairs. A few minutes of pushing them back and forth made sweat pour out of Adria.

Nevertheless, she did it with a smile.

This work made her forget all about the world and she didn’t want to do anything besides it. After last night, something gnawed at her, though. Something was missing. Action. Adrenaline.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, Adria repeated to herself whilst climbing a stack of chairs atop a table. At the peak, she balanced for a moment and then began replacing the chandelier’s candles with magenta ones. By the time the Liar would arrive, they would turn into blue flames.

There isn’t a single damn thing I like about facing death. But… Am I, right now, missing last night? Missing the nightly treks through northern forests? I hated those experiences, but if I knew I’d survive them…

Finished, she dropped down and put the chairs back into place. Saint Goblin waited for her with a piece of paper.

“Hah’Dria, prayers have been the inn’s song. But the Liar of the Abyss isn’t a believer. He does not get the concert of the gods’ whispers. He desires music and we shall grant it to him,” she spoke. “You move through the inn swiftly and serve drinks in the blink of an eye. You have nimble hands. We could use them for… other things.”

Saint Goblin, what are you trying to say? Adria put a hand over her mouth. No, don’t tell me you want me to—

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Sketch a wanted poster for musicians, dear. Promise them gold. Also, promise silver to patrons who bring along musicians.”

Adria sighed in relief then blushed.

How could I think… Forget it.

Nodding, she snatched the paper and sat down at a table. Whilst she sketched outlines, a witless ran out to bring a pen and some ink. The little green one returned with a leather briefcase of art supplies. Adria blew a layer of dust from it and unlocked it.

Carefully, Adria drew the poster with precision she’d never had before.

A few minutes later, the colorful, completed message, requesting all kinds of sound benders, dripped in Adria’s hands. She glared at its beauty. It was perfect. Perhaps even better than holding a newborn. After a minute of dropped-jaw, she collected herself and ran a finger across the paper.

Nothing smudged.

Grinning, Adria ran towards the entrance of the inn to hang the poster.

Saint Goblin caught her by the collar. Adria skidded to a halt, her intestines slamming against her ribs. She turned around, facing the wrinkly face of the green elder.

“The gods aren’t chasing you, my child,” the head of the inn said. “First show it to me.”

Adria unrolled the masterpiece. Saint Goblin stared at the paper with a blank expression.

“You missed the ‘D’ in ‘Wanted.’”

Adria slapped her forehead. With the typo fixed, she hung the poster by the entrance and returned as Saint Goblin said the final words of the prayer that pulled down the barrier.

The steel entrance of the inn swung open, adventurers and explorers entering. At first, there was a distinct lack of regulars and Gothsin inhabitants. I’d be scared to come back here after what happened, too, carrying pints, Adria thought.

After taking their first sips, the patrons praised the drinks… And the odd, new décor of the inn.

By midday, some familiar faces entered. Hushed tones reigned over the inn. A couple of times, customers flinched when Adria appeared by their tables. They worried that the inn was no longer a safe haven for all adventurers, explorers and everyone in between.

Adria hoped they were wrong.

Ba’Gan bumped into Adria, knocking the breath out of her. An empty platter dropped. As she stumbled backward, the shifty waiter quickened his pace: he didn’t even look back or utter an apology. Grumbling, Adria entered the kitchen.

You’re clearly mad at me, she thought, picking up a pair of cooked rabbits. And I’m disappointed, Ba’Gan. You could’ve cooked up an act of more wicked revenge…

The rest of the day passed quickly. Before she knew it, the last customers left the inn. Witless worked in tandem to carry the sleeping drunkards out of the dining hall’s corners. A band of little green ones tied a rope around a man with southeastern banners and shining armor and dragged him out. The steel entrance remained ajar and… spilled blood and fresh meat flowed into the inn.

Adria’s nose curled at the stench.

And it worsened.

Utter silence came over Saint Goblin’s Inn and shadows appeared at the entrance. Chills crawled over Adria and she stopped, twisting a rag.

A huge black hat with arrows, bullets and knives wrapped around it cast darkness over a green face, which frowned, huffed and puffed. The broad-bodied hunter goblin carried a cross of logs. Ropes tied a red-nosed, furry creature—like an ape with hairless limbs, and horns piercing its skull—to the cross. Crimson dripped on the floors and tables and drenched La’Var.

At the back of the dining hall, in the shade, La’Var dropped the crucified giant. The ground quaked, chairs toppling and wall banners flapping as if the inn had sneezed.

For a moment, the whispers in the walls and odd figures in the corners of everyones’ visions vanished. Even the spirits were taken aback.

The hunter groaned and turned to Adria.

“What a fine hunt and a beautiful day,” he said. “I can feel the forest missed me – thing after thing tried to kill me.”

Adria stared with a twisted face.

“What are you looking at?”

She pointed a finger at the crucified giant.

“Ah, yes – whatever you’re doing, stop it. I need your help.”

Adria sighed.

“Can you, for the love of the Twenty Gods, please explain anything?”

“What is there to explain? It’s a Horned Groundshaker: good for finding ghosts and bait for the creatures the Liar craves to munch on,” La’Var said. “Remember that you’ll help me in the Elder Hunt in exchange for my first dagger? Well, we’re hunting together sooner. Real creatures, not just…” the hunter trailed off, eyes focusing on something behind Adria.

She spun on her heel – a step away, Ba’Gan stood with extended hands.

Biting her lip, Adria dropped a pouch into the shifty waiter’s grip. Coins jangled. His bigger right ear curled, and his left jumped momentarily before he hurried out of the dining hall. Adria turned back to the hunter, a don’t ask expression on her face. The hunter laughed and began feeling around his belt. A sword unsheathed. He tossed it to Adria. Once she caught it, he waved after himself.

“Ready up for some nasty, mean, dirty work.”

Instead of explaining, La’Var knelt by the head of the immense carcass and cut at one of the dozens of horns. He stabbed and sawed and sliced for a while and got it out.

“Got it? It shouldn’t be too tough — getting them dead is the hard part.”

Adria took the Groundshaker horn and inspected it.

“You can keep this one.”

“In the north, they say you can snap this before killing someone to forgive your soul and guarantee the murderer a place among the gods.” She wrapped it around her waist then knelt beside the hunter.

“In the woods, no one says anything like that. If you kill a creature the right way, you don’t have to worry about keeping your soul pure, though after seeing what we did in the catacombs…I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, if your soul’s cursed, might as well not worry about it anymore too. We’re coming back tonight for the last time. We’re getting these ghosts out of the inn.”

Smiling, the hunter nodded.

Out of the dark corridors at the end of the dining hall, a witless rushed out.

“Prayer! Prayer! Prayer!”