The twilight in Newscar had a quiet warmth to it, a glow that wasn’t just from the gnomish lights strung along the pathways and carved into the walls of their burrows, but from the community itself. What had once been a harsh, unforgiving jungle ruled by survival instincts alone had transformed into something remarkable—a sanctuary carved from determination, ingenuity, and the leadership of their Sovereign.
Rose stood at the heart of it all, her powerful form basking in the soft illumination. Her golden-green scales shimmered faintly under the light, accentuated by the deep etchings of experience that marked her as the Matron of Scales. Hatchlings, no larger than her claw, skittered at her feet, some daring to climb onto her massive tail as she gently hissed to calm their exuberance. Her sharp eyes surveyed the bustling village with quiet pride, her nostrils flaring as she drew in the scent of progress and life.
Above her, the towering cliffside that had once been their only shelter against the cold upon first arrival, was now merely a backdrop to Newscar’s thriving activity.
The gnome-engineered warming caves carved into its base glowed faintly with heat and light, providing shelter and comfort even in the chill of the jungle night. Vines woven with glistening dew swung in the faint breeze, their strands threaded with copper and iron fibers brought by gnome traders—materials that had elevated their creations from rudimentary shelters to structures that echoed the sophistication of gnomeish ingenuity while retaining the organic beauty of lizard craftsmanship.
Rose tilted her head as she watched a pair of goblins argue animatedly over the placement of a new pulley system. Their tiny, nimble hands worked furiously to adjust the mechanism, which was a hybrid of lizard-tail sinew and gnome-forged cogs. Behind them, a group of hatchlings hissed with delight as they chased one another across the smooth stone paths that wound through the village. The sight brought a soft rumble of contentment from Rose’s chest.
It was moments like these that reminded her of why they had endured so much, why Jannet had pushed so hard for trade and cooperation with the gnomes despite the natural wariness of their kind. At first, the rings and voices had been met with distrust. The lizards of Newscar weren’t accustomed to tools or speech beyond their leaders instinctive memetics, but with time, even the most skeptical among them had come to see the value in what Jannet had worked tirelessly to provide.
And yet, for all their progress, there were still those who clung to the simplicity of their old ways. Rose’s gaze shifted toward the outskirts of the village, where #1 stood perched on a flat, sunning rock. The twilight bathed his dark scales in shades of blue and silver, making him appear even more stoic than usual. His posture was rigid, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon as though he could see beyond it, through the jungle, past the mountains, and to wherever their Sovereign roamed.
Rose approached him slowly, the hatchlings trailing behind her with curious chirps. #1’s expression didn’t waver as she came closer, but his tail flicked slightly in acknowledgment. She held out a small bundle toward him, the gemstones embedded in the rings glinting faintly in the dim light.
“Here,” Rose said, her voice soft yet firm. “The last set of gnome rings. I wanted you to have them.”
#1 glanced at the rings, his golden eyes narrowing slightly after adorning the rings. “Unnecessary,” he said in a low rumble. His words were clipped, as they always were when forced through the unnatural medium of speech. “Did not need them before. Do not need them now.”
Rose chuckled, a deep, melodic sound that carried warmth. “You’re as stubborn as ever,” she teased, her tail curling slightly as she settled beside him. “But I’m not here to argue. I just thought you might like to have them. They’ve brought us so much—tools, knowledge, a way to communicate beyond hissing and gestures. Look at what we’ve built, #1. Look at Newscar.”
She gestured with her tail toward the bustling village, her tone softening. “Remember when it was just us? Just you, me, and Jannet, trying to carve out a space in the jungle? It wasn’t long ago that we only had the human nest to cling to. Now, look at what we’ve created.”
#1’s gaze followed hers, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of their thriving community. Lizardfolk of all sizes moved through the village, their scales gleaming under the gnomish lights. Goblins darted between them, carrying tools and supplies for their endless projects even more had joined under Baby Goblin from the north, while hatchlings clambered over the intricately carved structures that served as homes, workshops, and gathering places. The air was alive with the sounds of activity: the faint hum of jungle machinery, the hiss of lizards communicating in their natural tongue, and the occasional burst of laughter or chatter from the goblins.
“Better than human nests,” #1 admitted after a long pause, his tail twitching slightly. “Still prefer simpler times. Did not need... rings, lights, tools. Simpler.”
Rose hissed softly, a sound of both amusement and affection. “You’ve always been a purist,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing. “But simpler isn’t always better. The rings and voices have given us so much. They’ve helped us survive, thrive. Jannet saw that potential, even when we couldn’t.”
She paused, her gaze drifting upward to the pale crescent of the moon hanging low in the sky. “Do you think he’s all right out there?” she asked quietly. “Jannet, I mean. All alone.”
#1’s tail stilled, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured but firm. “Jannet is strong. Strongest. His task is hardest because of it. But he will not fail. He will fight, not for himself, but for us—for the little ones. For those weaker than him. That is what it means to be Sovereign.”
Rose’s gaze lingered on the moon as the hatchlings at her feet clambered onto her tail and back, their tiny claws pressing against her scales as they chirped and hissed in play. She let out a low, thoughtful hum, her heart heavy with both pride and worry. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly, more to herself than to #1. “He’s done so much for us. I just hope he remembers to take care of himself, too.”
The two lizards sat in silence for a while, their eyes fixed on the glowing village below. The warmth of the gnomish lights, the hum of activity, and the soft rustle of the jungle beyond filled the air with a sense of peace. Yet beneath it all, a quiet tension lingered—a shared understanding that their Sovereign’s journey was far from over, and that the fate of Newscar, of their people, rested on his broad, scaled shoulders.
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On another random morning in Newscar. The first light of dawn crept through the dense jungle canopy, painting Newscar in hues of soft gold and emerald. The village stirred lazily, lizards stretching on warm stones, hatchlings chattering among themselves, and goblins bustling about their early tasks. Near the base of the cliff, nestled into the workshop caves, a small, odd structure stood out against the otherwise organic aesthetic of Newscar. It was a hut, just large enough for a lizard, cobbled together with precision and ingenuity. Inside, the air thrummed with tension, and the faint smell of mana-stone smoke hung in the stillness.
Deep in the workshop, Randle stood with his usual intensity, his scales flecked with soot and his golden eyes gleaming with excitement. Beside him, Sharpbright, the gnome artificer with his perpetually wild hair and stained overalls, wore a grin that teetered between exhilaration and madness. Around them, goblin and gnome assistants darted between workbenches, laden with tools and materials, their movements as frantic as the sparks flying from the latest project.
The contraption at the center of the chaos was something entirely new—a walking wagon, an engine-powered monstrosity made from a blend of lizard sinew, jungle vines, and gnomish metalwork. Its skeletal frame loomed over the workbench, and the mana stones embedded in its engine core pulsed with an unstable, flickering light. The contraption sputtered and coughed, exhaling smoke in uneven bursts.
Randle adjusted the ring on his claw—a ring of tongues paired with a ring of comprehend languages—tools he had grown adept at using as one of Newscar’s inventors and leaders. The rings allowed him to understand and communicate with the gnomes who had shared their knowledge, stories, and ideas with him. What began as hesitant collaboration had grown into something much more ambitious: a quest for innovation that would bring Newscar into a new era.
“Careful, careful!” Sharpbright shouted, his high-pitched voice cutting through the workshop’s din as a goblin assistant stumbled with a mana regulator. “If that regulator tips, we’ll be cleaning soot out of our scales for weeks!”
“I’ve got it!” Randle hissed, his claw darting out to steady the component. He tightened the fitting with practiced precision, his nostrils flaring with the tension of the moment. “There. That should hold.”
Sharpbright let out a bark of laughter, his soot-covered face splitting into a grin. “You’re as quick as ever, Randle! But tell me, are you sure this is the morning for experiments? The last time we tested one of your ‘upgrades,’ the entire workshop stank of sulfur for days!”
Randle huffed, his tail flicking dismissively. “Upgrades are necessary, Sharpbright. Upgrades are what will keep Newscar strong. My Sovereign taught me that much.” His voice softened as he added, “And besides, today feels different. I prayed at the cairn this morning, and I could feel Spotted Eye guiding me. This will work.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Sharpbright’s grin faltered slightly, replaced by a glimmer of respect. He nodded, his tone growing quieter. “Then let’s see it through. For Newscar. For progress.”
Randle nodded, his resolve hardening. He stepped back, motioning for the others to clear the area. The goblins scrambled to find cover, ducking behind workbenches and crates, while the gnomes exchanged nervous glances but followed suit. Sharpbright moved to the console, his hands hovering over the controls.
“Ready?” Sharpbright asked, his fingers twitching in anticipation.
Randle’s golden eyes locked onto the walking wagon, his voice steady. “Do it.”
Sharpbright flipped a series of switches, his motions quick and deliberate. The mana stones embedded in the wagon’s core flared to life, their light intensifying until it was almost blinding. The engine roared, a deep, guttural sound that shook the ground beneath their feet. For a moment, everything seemed to hold its breath.
Then, an explosion rocked the workshop.
A plume of smoke erupted from the wagon’s engine, followed by a series of loud, sputtering pops. The assistants cried out in alarm, scrambling further into cover as tools and components clattered to the ground. Sharpbright was thrown backward, landing in a heap against a stack of crates. Randle braced himself against a workbench, his claws digging into the wood as he stared at the smoking contraption.
The jungle outside erupted with noise as startled birds took flight, their cries echoing through the air. Lizards and goblins from the village rushed toward the workshop, their eyes wide with alarm as they spotted the thick smoke billowing from the cave.
Inside, the chaos subsided just enough for the smoke to begin clearing. Sharpbright coughed, his voice strained as he shouted, “Randle! Are you alive, or do I have to build a contraption to drag you out of here?”
Randle’s head rose from behind the workbench, his face covered in soot but his expression triumphant. “Alive—and so is it. Look!”
All eyes turned toward the walking wagon, which stood trembling but upright. The engine sputtered again, but this time, instead of stalling, it roared to life. The wagon’s legs—long, skeletal constructs reinforced with sinew and bone—shuddered before taking their first, tentative steps. The contraption moved, lurching forward with a jerky, uneven gait.
Sharpbright’s eyes widened in disbelief. “By the gods, it’s working!”
The goblin assistants erupted into cheers, their high-pitched voices filling the workshop as they clapped and jumped with excitement. Randle stepped forward, his tail swishing proudly as he watched the wagon take another step, then another. The engine’s hum grew steadier, the sputtering replaced by a rhythmic pulse that echoed through the cave.
“We did it,” Randle said softly, his voice tinged with awe. “We really did it.”
Sharpbright climbed to his feet, brushing soot from his overalls as he approached the wagon. He placed a hand on its frame, his voice uncharacteristically reverent. “It’s not just a machine, Randle. It’s a step forward—for all of us.”
Randle nodded, his gaze fixed on the walking wagon as it moved across the workshop floor. “Upgrades, Sharpbright. That’s what Jannet taught us. Always upgrade. Always improve. For Newscar.”
As the cheers continued, Randle felt a surge of pride and determination. He thought of Spotted Eye, of the cairn where he had prayed that morning, and of the Sovereign who had inspired them all. This was only the beginning. Newscar was growing stronger, and with each new invention, they would carve their place in the world.
The wagon continued to move, the group realizing it had no driver scrambled to stop it from running wild.
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The walking wagon creaked and groaned as it traversed the uneven jungle terrain, its spindly legs carefully negotiating the twists and dips of the path. Lil Guy sat on the reinforced leather bench near the front, his tail twitching in rhythm with the hum of the wagon’s mana-powered engine. Despite its utility, he still hadn’t quite gotten used to riding on the strange contraption. The gentle sway as it moved, the occasional lurch when it hit an unseen root—it was all so… unnatural. But as he glanced behind him at the neatly stacked crates of smoked meat and shimmering gemstones, he had to admit it was better than hauling everything by claw or cart.
Behind the controls, Baby Goblin sat with an air of calm concentration, her small hands gripping the steering levers. She had proven to be the best driver among them—steady, deliberate, and with a knack for keeping the wagon from smashing into obstacles. Lil Guy had tried driving once, and they’d nearly crashed into the side of a rock outcrop, sending a full load of goods tumbling into the underbrush. Baby Goblin hadn’t said a word about it afterward, but the teasing looks from her and the other goblins had been enough to dissuade him from trying again.
The wagon rumbled on, the sound of its engine a low, constant backdrop to the chatter between its passengers. Lil Guy leaned back, his claws tapping idly against the edge of the bench as he turned to Baby Goblin. “You know,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I think you like being in charge up there. Makes you feel important, huh?”
Baby Goblin shot him a sidelong glance, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Someone has to keep us on the trail. Unless you’d rather I let you drive again, Lil Crash?”
The goblins patrolling alongside the wagon burst into laughter, their chatter filling the air. Lil Guy rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Let the professional handle it.”
As the wagon creaked onward, the two fell into a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional comment about the state of the jungle or the goods they were hauling. Lil Guy glanced at Baby Goblin, his expression softening. She wasn’t just a skilled driver or a sharp-witted companion—she was his best friend. Always had been. Even before they’d gotten the gnome rings that let them chat with ease, their unspoken bond had been something unique. They understood each other in ways words couldn’t quite capture, a connection forged through countless hunts, shared meals, and quiet moments beneath the stars.
The path grew narrower as they approached a bend, the dense jungle pressing closer on all sides. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth mingling with the faint metallic tang of mana emanating from the engine. Lil Guy leaned forward, scanning the trail ahead, but before he could say anything, Baby Goblin suddenly tensed.
“Stop,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the rumble of the wagon. She pulled the levers, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt. The goblin guards walking alongside immediately stiffened, their hands moving to their weapons as their sharp eyes scanned the surroundings.
“What is it?” Lil Guy asked, his tail twitching as he peered into the underbrush.
Baby Goblin didn’t answer right away. Her gaze was fixed ahead, her usually playful expression replaced by one of wary focus. She raised a hand, signaling the guards to hold their ground, then pointed to a spot just ahead of the wagon.
At first, Lil Guy didn’t see anything. But then the shapes emerged—three small figures, their movements hesitant and nervous as they stepped out from the cover of the foliage. They were thin, painfully so, their limbs frail and their ragged clothing hanging loosely from their gaunt frames. But it wasn’t their appearance that caught Lil Guy’s attention—it was the ears. Tall, triangular cat ears twitched atop their heads, and long, slender tails swished behind them, barely visible through the tattered fabric of their clothes.
The smallest of the trio, a child who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, sniffed the air, their wide, luminous eyes locking onto the wagon. The others, perhaps a few years older, stood protectively in front of the youngest, their bodies tense and their ears flattened in fear. They didn’t speak, but their eyes darted between the goblins, the wagon, and the towering jungle around them.
“Catfolk,” Lil Guy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He had heard of them before—Jannet swore he had seen one as a hatchling. But these children looked nothing like the proud, strong catfolk he’d imagined. They were scared, malnourished, and clearly alone.
Baby Goblin didn’t hesitate. She climbed down from the wagon, her movements slow and deliberate as she approached the children. “Guards, stand down,” she said firmly, her voice calm but commanding. The goblins exchanged uncertain glances but obeyed, lowering their weapons and taking a step back.
The children flinched as Baby Goblin approached, their eyes wide with apprehension. She stopped a few paces away, crouching to their level and holding out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her tone gentle. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
The youngest child whimpered, clinging to the leg of the tallest. The older ones exchanged wary glances, their ears twitching as they sniffed the air. Baby Goblin didn’t move, didn’t rush them. She just waited, her steady presence a stark contrast to the tension in the air.
Finally, the oldest of the trio spoke, their voice hoarse and trembling. “You… you smell different.”
Baby Goblin tilted her head, her expression curious. “Different how?”
“Not like humans,” the child said, their nose wrinkling slightly. “Not… bad.” its face betrays the child slightly.
A faint smile touched Baby Goblin’s lips. “That’s because we’re not humans. We’re from Newscar. It’s a safe place, and we can take you there if you want.”
The middle child, who had remained silent until now, took a hesitant step forward. “Safe?” they echoed, their voice laced with doubt.
“Yes,” Baby Goblin said firmly. “Safe. But first, let’s get you something to eat. You must be starving.”
She turned and gestured to Lil Guy, who quickly rummaged through one of the crates on the wagon. He pulled out a small bundle of dried meat and approached cautiously, his movements mirroring Baby Goblin’s calm demeanor. “Here,” he said, holding out the food. “It’s not much, but it’s good.”
The youngest child hesitated for a moment before reaching out with trembling hands. They snatched the bundle and retreated behind their siblings, tearing into the meat with a ferocity that made Lil Guy’s heart ache.
Baby Goblin stood and addressed the goblins around her. “We’re taking them with us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Load them onto the wagon. We’ll figure out the rest when we get to Newscar.”
The guards nodded, and Baby Goblin turned back to the children, her voice softening once more. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, her eyes meeting theirs. “We’ll take care of you.”
As the children were carefully helped onto the wagon, Lil Guy climbed back onto the bench beside Baby Goblin. He watched her as she resumed her place at the controls, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a quiet determination.
“You’re something else,” he said, his voice filled with admiration.
Baby Goblin glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Someone has to be,” she replied simply, before pulling the levers and setting the wagon in motion once more. The jungle closed in around them, but for the first time that day, the air felt a little less heavy.