The smell of meat cursed the Arrowaltz camp, and racks of dead animals stood every dozen paces--no one could possibly bat an eye at one collapsing, right? That’s why Adria had to ram one with all her energy. To make a show. It toppled over and the ground around the heart of the camp shook. Meat and antlers spilled out, some sizzling in the campfire.

Eyes wide, Adria gasped and started loudly apologizing. Apprentices got up from their seats, rushed over, and started cleaning the mess. Quickly, attention shifted away from her. But she needed more--a distraction that would keep her away from everyone’s mind no matter what. So, in fact, she needed a catastrophe. Turning to the bubbling steel pot over the fire, in her pocket, she felt the vial stolen from Rivers. Her nails popped the cap, and she tossed it into the pot.

Nothing happened. And as the seconds dragged on, she started praying.

Come on! Please… work! she thought and then her mind went blank. What, exactly, did she want to happen? A disaster, a catastrophe… An endless list of things could be called that. This was a terrible plan. Unless I visualize what I want to happen?

It was a long shot, but worth a try. Adria wouldn’t get an opportunity like this again. She took a deep breath and pictured tentacles swirling out of the pot of soup, terrible beasts emerging. And something tapped into sorcery flowing inside of her.

A moment later, lights appeared in the pot and danced around it. The soup changed colors. Shadows shifted inside. These anomalies chained every stare and last drop of attention in the camp.

It... Worked?

Free from unwanted followers, Adria scurried over to the prison tent.

La’Var snapped awake in his cage. He rubbed his eyes and stared at Adria in surprise. She smiled back. Yeah, I came back for you. Don’t think that I’m some sort of traitor, she thought, searching for the key in her pockets.

But as La’Var’s surprise died down, he returned to an expressionless glare. At heart, he still held some sort of grudge.

Adria put the key in the lock and twisted it. Behind, footfalls approached. Her heart dropped, but she didn’t turn around and finished unlocking the cage.

“Sister of the woods, what are you doing here?”

Spinning, Adria whacked the side of River’s head. As he stumbled, she scrounged for the bone dagger. Hand shaking, handle firm in her grip, she stabbed the hunter’s side. She sliced across his shoulders. She pierced his chest. He groaned, and aimlessly throwing his arms around, knocked the glasses from his face.

Adria dropped the dagger and grabbed his head. Relentlessly, she beat it into the crate until Rivers’ nose started to bleed. He went quiet. She took a deep breath and put her head against the Arrrowaltz’s chest.

His heart still beat.

She let go and turned around. The bloodied crate rose up from the ground. It shook and trembled with Martin cursing and growling inside. Adria hopped up to the tips of her toes and released the spirit. Martin whizzed around the crate, clawing the air, then froze.

The ghost heard the bustle outside and turned towards La’Var’s open cage, and Rivers, who was collapsed on the ground.

Landing on the ground, he cackled and stretched.

“How wonderful it is to be a free man again!” Martin said. “You know, if you want to, I can lock you up in that crate just so you can feel this amazing, spectacular, ecstatic!”

“A thank you is enough,” Adria said and turned to La’Var. “I am sorry. Yes, I pretended to be a goblin. I didn’t do it because I wanted to break Saint Goblin’s rules or do anything bad. I wanted a peaceful life and I saw it in the inn, and I loved that inn and wanted to stay there forever. And I never meant to get you into this!”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

A faint smile slowly crept up La’Var’s face and he stuck out a hand. Adria reached out to shake it, but the hunter moved it out of the way.

“I usually don’t ask questions I don’t have to,” he said. “But now you owe me a long explanation--what you said will not suffice.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you everything when we have a free second.”

Finally, Adria shook hands with the hunter and pulled him up to his feet.

Under his breath, he began whispering a to-do list.

“Get our meats, kick the Arrowaltz asses and get out--”

“There’s no time for revenge. If your blood’s really boiling, you can act it out on me once we get out.”

The hunter goblin cursed but agreed with Adria. They tossed Rivers into the cage and hurried out of the prison tent, splitting in the middle of the camp: La’Var went to steal back the game, Martin searched for a transport and Adria hurried into the main tent. Through the open entrance, the view was clear of the chaos around the campfire.

The flames blazed and spread to the tables whilst apprentices rushed with buckets to put them out. From smoke and light, a three-meter-tall figure of a Verti deer had arisen from the pot and gnawed at the hunters.

Aaron, the fat hunter in red, fired the copper cannon at the apparition, dodging its attacks, shaking the ground with the weapon’s thunder. Clay, the hunter in steel armor, downed bottle after bottle, and his mouth widened to the size of a head. He threw up a powerful stream of black liquid, which started to evaporate the Verti deer’s spirit.

Just this pair of hunters could take down a small army.

Adria stole the grimoire from Rivers’ room and searched for La’Var and Martin. The hunter goblin and the ghost were in the back of the camp, untying a caravan, designed for three apprentices to drag. Four leashed hounds barked wildly at the party. La’Var tossed the wyrm, Verti deer, and Thing meat into the caravan and hopped on.

Adria and Martin looked at each other.

“I can’t do it,” Adria said, showing all her wounds. “You’re going to have to drag us.”

“Oh I’d gladly be a slave,” Martin said. “But I’m running out of energy myself.”

Adria waved at the barking hounds.

“Then eat them.”

Her voice was stern -- she sounded like Saint Goblin giving orders. Gladly, Martin accepted the words and moved in on the hounds. Adria looked away. Kill or be killed, repeating, she hopped into the caravan.

They rode out of the hunting camp--apprentices’ screams, Arrowaltz orders and the thundering of cannons fading out behind them--and made their escape from Gothsin Forest. Adria, La’Var and Martin, she noticed, effortlessly brought chaos wherever they went. A level of chaos so absurd and, in a strange way, stylish, that even the most cursed fellows to roam the planet would have to try their hardest to match.

Adria uncovered the stolen food and potions and handed them to La’Var. The food vanished in his green mouth, and he burped

“Wonderful. Now I can really forgive you,” he said. “Not as good as U’lis’ food, but more than good enough for a starving goblin. Ready to tell me everything?”

“I guess.”

“I’m massively intrigued,” Martin added, in between huffs and puffs of dragging the caravan.

With the woods becoming familiar once more, Adria cleared her throat and told of her true origins, along with every other secret she’d kept from the hunter.

“Adria, Saint Goblin saw good in your soul and after spending all this time with you, I see that you’re a good human as well. You belong among us. But I owe Saint Goblin everything I have, my life even. I can’t keep your secret,” La’Var uttered. “I have to tell her and she’ll judge you how she will.”

“I survived escaping Black Ice Bastion and a wyrm attack -- I’ll survive her wrath,” Adria said. “As long as the inn carries on.”

The caravan slowed.

“I think you should come out and see this,” Martin said.

Adria and La’Var hopped out of the caravan and walked around to its front. In the distance, Saint Goblin’s Inn flickered in and out of existence. The barrier was on the verge of total collapse. And around the outskirts of the inn, waited an army of peasants with pitchforks and scythes, retired soldiers with their old swords, and young kids with homemade weaponry.

A man sat atop a horse in the middle of the army. He wore a yellow cloak and a metal crown. There were shadows and castles on the banners on his sleeves.

The King of Dark Alleys.

“Great goblin hunt,” Adria uttered, remembering the hunter’s words. “Rivers told me about it. The folk of Gothsin is going to break into the inn and slaughter us all.”

“May the Twenty Gods curse that damn King,” La’Var hissed. “It wasn’t enough for him to just hate goblins. No, he had to make half of Sparkling Valley want us dead as well…”

“Looks like they’ve surrounded every way into the inn,” Martin said. “Have any clue how we’re going to get past them.”

“We’re going to do it the same way we snuck into the catacombs in broad daylight.” Adria began weaving her hands and whispering spell words. When she finished, the caravan disappeared.