This will be easy. I’ll just use my loyal Gubweh servants to beat back whatever strange, mystical beings these things are. And, if there’s something special and new about this dark energy, perhaps I can use it to my benefit. “Your name is Lyrie, right?” I ask the elf. She’s quiet and now the panic has really set into her eyes. They look sullen, and tired. The wrinkles of somebody who has experienced their first misery are beginning to set in. For me, that was at the age of 6, and I vividly remember it. I shattered a fine piece of china, and saw in the porcelain dust and cracked blues and whites the very essence of beauty, dashed across the ground. I blamed the disaster on one of the maids, before my father returned home, and punished her, firing her. However, in that destruction, I would learn my first tragedy, and my first real loss was that day, with that vase.
“Yes, I’m Lyrie.” She finally responds.
“So, these people who got killed, how do you know them?”
“They were our neighbors in Bluewood.”
“But, did you know them personally?” These people are soft.
“No, not really. But, I’ve never seen such death before. Such destructive forces of evil… They aren’t of this world.” Suddenly, one of the scouting goblins blows his horn. For all their peacefulness and docility, these goblins are excellent at hunting goats and other wild beasts, and make excellent instruments to accentuate this fact. Perhaps I can record their playing and sell soundtracks at some point. “They must be here!” She starts to shake.
“It’s okay, I’ll handle this. I’m very competent.” I reassure the woman by reminding her of my skill. I am the Chief Officer, and it’s for a reason. Two goblin scouts run back down the hill, in an uncoordinated gallop. They can hardly move properly, I can’t expect them to fight, yet. And I stand taller than everybody I’ve met here so far, so surely this will be no different.
I walk up the hill, calmly. If the great darkness of this world is anything like the rest of this world, this battle will be a cakewalk. Practically tutorial mode, for a guy like me.
“You there!” A booming voice calls out from beneath a massive suit of incandescent purple armor, glowing with a radiant, ominous energy. “Fall to your knees, fool!” The armor stands almost a foot taller than myself, and has a deeper and more intimidating voice.
I clear my throat and step forward. “Aha! Clearly, you’re mistaken. My name is Mark Whooten, I am the Chief Officer here for the Gubweh Tribe. You are the one who will fall to your knees!” Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, I feel myself reeling and keeled over, wind knocked out of me, after the figure delivered a quick blow to my lower gut. A metal fist encloses around my shirt and lifts me off of the ground.
“You are a fool, and I should kill you now, to grant you a final mercy. But, you look entertaining. And in this world, I will surely need entertainment in the future.” The man tosses me backwards, and I land roughly on my back, harder than when I first arrived here. Fuck. I hope the goblins haven’t already started charging for medicine, I should take advantage of their nature one more time. The figure lifts its foot and slams it down on my ankle, snapping it. I scream out in pain, but the blood rushing into my mushed ankle and through my ears deafens out the own sounds of my pain. I writhe on the ground beneath the man’s foot, who suddenly summons a mystical halberd, seemingly from nothingness, and poises it at my neck. “Now… What is your name, again?”
“M-Mark Whooten.” I carefully say the words, taking care not to flex my neck else I scratch my well maintained skin. The halberd wobbles slightly, as though the set of armor is suppressing a laugh. “Very well. Mark Whooten,” the armor repeats my own name back to me, as though in a voice of mockery, “we will meet again. And next time, I will not be so merciful. But, when served with a playground like this, nobody wants to be stuck waiting for the next swing to open up. They want to be the first one on the swing. And I will be the first one on the swing.” My ankle still cries out in pain, and my foot is clearly broken in multiple places. The figure turns around, and two spectral ghosts appear to flank it as it walks away. Fucker.
“Mark! Are you okay?” Skan runs up to me after the figure is away.
“No, I’m not fucking okay. My goddamn leg is broken. Look at it! Fuck! Come here!” I find myself shouting at a nearby goblin, who hoists me up off of the ground and to my feet. I place one hand firmly on his head, and alleviate any weight from my broken ankle. “Your name is Crutch, now, goblin. Now learn my stride and help me walk.”
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As I rest in bed, another day or two has passed. I taught the goblins how to make a cast, and a few other basic medical techniques, using my superior intellect. However, they lack modern medical supplies, which will have to be remedied, likely by monetizing some form of magical medicine they have here. My limbs seem to heal faster than in the real world, but my leg still cries out in pain when I put pressure on it. I had Crutch fashion me a cane made out of Bluewood, the blue wood that drips with a blue sap, cut down from Bluetrees, in the Bluewood region. The people here have no sense for advertising. Surely, once I am in charge, I’ll go through and rename these pitiful things with much more interesting and apt names. Perhaps… The Cobalt Forest… or, maybe, Cerulean Clearing. Where they’ll build a lumber yard, at my instruction… It should be done soon.
Ugh. This time spent in bed is time wasted, when I could put it towards fixing this world. And that man, or woman, or powerful being. That evil suit of armor that crushed my leg. I’ll kill them. But, that power… conjuring mystical weapons and servants… glowing. I want it. I want to harness it. A hostile takeover of whatever that is. I desire it, and need it.
“Mark!” Crutch enters the medical tent. In his hands lies a beautiful staff, with a few embedded Stones of the Moon, strange spherical white stones with a spiritual resonance here in Tollaria. The goblins claim they have magical attributes, but I have yet to see it harnessed in a meaningful way. The blue wood contrasts with the brilliant white stones in a mesmerizing fashion.
“Five Yummynuts, boss.” I smile.
“Of course. You’ve earned it, Crutch.” I hand him the Yummynuts, and he hands me the cane. A beautiful transaction. He earned every one of those Yummynuts. Luckily, in this society I continue to forge, I am the central banking authority, and can control the flow of Yummynuts.
He scurries off with the Yummynuts in his small leather pouch. The goblins have begun to fashion leather pouches out of goat hide, recently, and started trading Yummynuts for basic services around the camp. I’ve even seen a few of them wagering Yummynuts on a strange game called Gemgroke, where they race worms in a circular track around a gem, and the first worm to circle the gemstone in the middle three times wins. Not all of them have realized that the interior worm has an innate advantage, but the few smartest goblins who play the game have begun to favor it over others. I anticipate their invention of betting odds, surely soon to come.
“Skan!” I call the man over. Ever since the purple armored man had come to our camp, he and Lyrie had been sleeping in the medical tent with me, and checking on me through the days. “I need more water. Could you please get me some?”
“Of course, boss. Would you like the citrusfruit in it?” I’ve also shown some of these uncivilized people the appeal of slicing a citrus fruit and putting it into water. However, they don’t have lemons, or even limes here. Just a strange fruit called a “citrusfruit,” which tastes like a hybrid between an orange and a peach. It’s quite light, somewhat tangy, and soft enough to bite into. Perhaps if more of these fruits were available in the real world, more people would be so happy and good-natured, they’re delicious. I look down at the slice of fruit in Skan’s hand. “I’ll pass, thank you.” They’re too good. I don’t trust them. Not until the cost on them is a price, and not brainwashing, or whatever makes me believe such drivel about the world being a better place.
Lyrie sits down next to me. She’s slowly recovered from seeing whatever small number of deaths she bore witness to, but it’s taken a while. After her initial hysteria, she was silent for two days, and has slowly opened up again. Scouts haven’t reported the reemergence of the Purple Armored Man, or however he’ll be called from now on. I’ll let the goblins choose that. “Mark… I want you to teach me how to fight.”
“Why?” This is new.
“I want to protect my family, and my people. We have never had a threat like this before, and since you’re so strong and powerful, you can teach me. Bluewood is in danger as long as that Purple Armored Man is around. Fighting isn’t in our nature as a people, and it is a foreign concept to us, but this is a strange time.” She frowns. “I need to learn how to fight! I need to get stronger, and level up my skills!”
An idea comes to mind. “Certainly. If we’re to defeat the dark energy that’s polluting this world, we need to fight. So, I can offer some classes, and you, and the goblins, and even Skan can grow stronger. I can even…” Yes. I can absolutely turn these hopeless peoples into my own private force. “I can even give premium lessons, with a basic subscription plan. To those who desire to lead their own groups, and be ready. The world is changing, and the security that will be provided with my premium lessons. It will be invaluable. My leg will be healed soon. And then, my premium classes will begin. And, for you, Lyrie, I’ll give you a special price.” I do the math in my head. I can’t raise the cost too high, but I need it to have a floor, otherwise the margins won’t be worth it. And, if I can turn these fools into warriors, I can strike back at that damn Purple Armored Man. And I’ll be the boss around town. “3 Yummynuts for you a session, and 5 for any goblin who wants to learn.” I trained in basic martial arts, as well as took self defense classes. My expertise will elevate these uncivilized peoples, just like my monetary system has.