The journey back to his village was not a long one and although Ninetoes knew instinctively the way back, he held no memories of the trail or, when it came into sight, his village.

As with most settlements of hobgoblins, his village was tucked away, hidden in a small valley and closed off from the “civilised” world by the deep forests of Myr. The only reasonable access into the valley was defended by a deep trench and wooden palisade, constantly guarded by two full squads of Dakhec Druul soldiers, led by a Druul Sarm.

As Ninetoes approached, he could sense the scouts hidden within the surrounding woods, placed to warn of an incoming attack. By the time his footsteps brought him to the base of the valley, the Druul would know of his presence, condition and lack of companions. He was prepared to accept punishment for his failure but it was a sad truth that such losses were accepted when dealing with Adventurers. He would likely lose honour and be forced back into the ranks, never again to be trusted with the ‘Glory of Command.’

He hoped that returning with some loot and the knowledge that his squad had successfully killed one of the Adventurers would help his case and that he would avoid execution.

While he walked, he enjoyed the warmth of what was likely to be one of the last days of Summer. His village (shouldn’t it have a name?) was well protected from the elements, sheltered from the worst of the Winter blizzards. Winter outside of the valley was extremely harsh. Hunting parties during the Winter months didn’t even bother to track and kill beasts, instead simply collecting the frozen corpses of animals and monsters alike.

The nearest human settlement was a week’s journey away to the north and was only braved during the winter in the direst of need. Most of the other races of Adrenon shunned the hobgoblins and all those they called, ‘The Dark Races’. In a harsh Winter, however, they were willing to trade to keep their fat bellies full. Ninetoes had never been out of the forest, the furthest he could remember travelling being to the ambush site.

Dark thoughts carried him the rest of the way to his village and soon he found himself stood before the tall wooden gate of the palisade, flanked on either side by the guard towers, each containing four heavily armed soldiers.

Above the gate stood the Druul Sarm, ‘The Doom Sword.’ He was tall for a hobgoblin and powerfully built. He wore chainmail, likely stolen during a raid or ambush, and strapped to his back was a heavy-looking greatsword, the favoured weapon of the best hob fighters. Over his armour he wore a black tabard with the Dakhec Druul’s insignia: a sword surrounded by a circle of black fire. Strangely, given the gaps in his memory, Ninetoes recognised this soldier and knew his name to be Krand.

Briefly pondering why he knew this hobgoblin’s name but those of his entire squad escaped him, he was taken by surprise at the Sarm’s barked order, “Down on your knees, Maggot! Hands above your head!”

Shocked by this treatment, Ninetoes didn’t immediately move to obey. An arrow whistled past his face, landing in the ground behind him. Harmless it may have been but the message was clear enough, ‘Obey. Or die.’

The sensible option was to do as he was told. As he sank to his knees, Ninetoes also kept his eyes to the ground, so as not to anger the Sarm and escalate the situation further. A few moments later the gate was opened and two soldiers came out to stand near Ninetoes.

“Strip him naked and tie his hands, the Krem wants to speak with him. And keep those bows on ‘im,” came the commanding tone of the Sarm.

The Krem was the council of his village, made up of the warriors who had wrapped themselves in the most glory. They normally only met to discuss the issue of war with other settlements; only the Gods knew what they wanted with Ninetoes.

Hoping that the common soldiers, like himself, would take a little pity on him, Ninetoes tried pleading with them in a whisper, “What do the Krem want with me?”

“Dunno,” whispered one.

“Shuddup!” the other said too loudly, catching the attention of the Sarm.

“No talking to the prisoner!”

“Prisoner? What in the Abyss?” shouted Ninetoes, struggling ineffectually to halt the two guards, who now held him by the arms.

“Heh! How did you ever earn a command? Look at his arms, I can get my fingers to touch,” mocked one of the guards. Even more strange, Ninetoes had always considered himself tall, or at least average height. Now, the guards, who were simply holding him upright, were effectively carrying him, Ninetoes being unable to reach the floor with anything more than what was left of his toes.

Ninetoes accepted his fate and allowed himself to be carried into the village and towards the Krem Hall. Only, they didn’t take him to the Krem Hall but instead towards the home of Elder Brev.

***

Elder Brev was different from most of the people in Ninetoes village. Not only was he capable of magic, he also just seemed to be more of... a person. Now that Ninetoes came to think of it, not only could he not name most of the people in his village, he noticed that for a great many of them he simply couldn’t remember anything about them. No, that wasn’t true. He knew, for example, that the women he had just been dragged passed were the washer women. They, well, washed the clothes. He could remember a lifetime of seeing them do this, talking to them, being at Festivals with them but nothing else, as though they were so insignificant as to be almost non-existent.

But Elder Brev was strange. People told stories about him. Like, when he was a boy, Brev discovered his affinity for magic when he was lost in the forest. Nearly starving, he was saved when a bear had brought him a dead fish. The bear had stayed with him and now looked as ancient as Brev did. There were other stories about the Elder too. Stories of adventures, of the tragedies that had befallen him. But, in all these stories, no-one else in the village was ever mentioned.

Pondering these thoughts, Ninetoes was carried into Elder Brev’s home. The main building itself wasn’t large but it was the best constructed in all the village. The walls of the ground floor were made entirely of stone, the second storey made of beautiful and intricately carved wood. No-one in the village knew how to build such structures and so everyone assumed Brev had built it himself, using his magic.

Ninetoes was brought through a small hallway into a large room that was obviously meant for relaxation, as the floor was covered in furs and soft cushions. Comfort was something not normally sought after by hobgoblins. Brev was so different in so many ways, yet nobody had ever commented on this. Already sat at one end of the room was Brev and with him were some of the other members of the Krem. None of them, however, was wearing armour, meaning this could not be a council of war. Everyone, including Brev, carried a weapon of course, they were Dakhec Druul.

“Welcome Farn,” said Elder Brev, motioning for Ninetoes to be released. After his rough treatment, the use of his rank was a surprise to Ninetoes. The guards simply let go of Ninetoes and he was pitched, unceremoniously onto the floor. Catching himself on his palms, he sucked in a sudden and sharp breath as the wound on his hand painfully reopened .

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The Elder Brev considered Ninetoes. “You make a pitiful sight. I’m surprised that such a weak-looking specimen managed to complete the Dakhec Druul training, let alone become a Farn. Your arms are too slim swing a sword and your colour is a maroon shared by only the weakest of our tribe.”

As Ninetoes rallied himself in the face of Brev’s harsh words and intense stare, his eyes locked with the Elder’s and something changed. A look of curiosity came over the Elder’s face.

“Here, let me see your hand,” offered Brev, standing and moving towards Ninetoes. Brev’s voice was soft but commanding and Ninetoes thrust his hand forward without hesitation. Brev took Ninetoes’ injured hand in his own and carefully unwrapped the bandages.

“You’ve bandaged this well. Were you trained as a Healer?” he asked as he worked.

“No Elder. I had the basic training, like all who aspire to be Dakhec Druul but found no affinity for the Healing Arts.”

Around the room, the members of the Krem murmured amongst themselves in a concerned tone as Ninetoes finished speaking. At a rustling sound behind him, Ninetoes turned to look over his shoulder to see the two guards had drawn weapons, with the ancient bear growling low in its throat.

“Peace. Everyone, calm yourselves,” commanded Brev and the murmuring settled down. The guards lowered their weapons but kept them drawn and ready.

As Ninetoes watched, Brev’s hand glowed a warm, green light and placed his palm to Ninetoes’ own. The dull ache in his hand ceased almost immediately and, as he watched, the rough and swollen edges of the wound sealed themselves closed.

Everyone knew the Elder had the power to heal with magic of course, but for it to be used to heal a Farn like himself and for such a minor wound... He attempted to stutter out his gratitude but words failed him. Elder Brev simply smiled at him.

Emboldened by Brev’s warmth, Ninetoes took a risk.

“Elder, why have I been brought here. I expected to report and be punished by the Curn. It is not so rare that a squad will be wiped out by a band of Adventurers or monsters. Why have the Krem been brought to judge my fate?”

Brev’s smile deepened and his face became melancholy. “Young one, you are correct. Whole squads are lost more than rarely and more often than not to Adventurers. What is rare, however, is for anyone to return.”

Leaving that to hang in the air, Elder Brev returned to his place at the back of the room, while Ninetoes knelt on the floor in the middle of the room.

Borik, Ninetoes’ Curn, rose to speak, addressing Ninetoes directly. “Farn, you were given command of a squad of scouts correct?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” responded Ninetoes instantly.

“And what were your orders?” Borik continued.

“Sir, to prepare an ambush on the human trail. Using this ambush we were to waylay travellers making for the harvest markets and secure as much loot and goods as could be carried back.”

“Then why do you return without your men or any goods?”

“Sir, we attempted to ambush a small group of Adventurers. I misjudged their strength and, although we succeeded in killing their Healer, they wiped out my entire squad.”

“But you survived.” Taking his focus off Ninetoes the Curn turned and directed his next words to the rest of the assembled Commanders, “so then, you are either a coward, in league with the enemy or blessed by the Gods.”

Ninetoes was shocked. He’d been so busy surviving, it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder why he hadn’t been killed in the battle.

“Sir, I…” he was lost, he had no answer. Adventurers never left survivors. There were stories of them keeping people alive to torture them for information, but they’d still kill the unfortunate captive afterwards. Ninetoes had even heard of Adventurers sending a single survivor back into a settlement to offer terms of surrender, but for a soldier to survive the battle and the Adventurers to just leave? It never happened.

The Carn continued as if Ninetoes hadn’t spoken. “The prisoner will be executed by hanging at dawn as a reminder to all who would abandon their brothers in arms. Take him away.”

Ninetoes was speechless, how could one error lead to this? What a fool, he should never have returned.

“Hold!” Elder Brev’s voice rang out clear and loud, “I still have more questions to ask before the Farn’s fate is decided.”

The Carn glowered but did not dare argue with the Elder in his own home.

“Farn,” the Elder’s rich voice brought Ninetoes’ attention back to the present, “What is your name?”

An odd question, to be sure. Ninetoes had lived in this village all his life, “Ninetoes, Elder.”

The stunned silence that followed that statement was oppressive, Ninetoes could feel the weight of it bearing him down.

“And, Ninetoes,” Brev smiled again, “when you awoke, after the battle, did you feel changed in any way?”

“I’m not sure I understand Elder, changed how?”

“Stronger or faster? Did you suddenly know things that you had no right knowing? Could you perhaps do magic, where before you could not?”

Ninetoes was prepared to argue no, that of course he wasn’t different, but then the events of the past few days came back to him in a flash. The desperate fight with the dire rats, bandaging his hand, the weakness he now felt in his arms.

“Yes Elder, I think I do feel different,” Ninetoes began to shake uncontrollably. Panicking, his voice rose, “What has happened to me Elder? Am I sick? Did one of the Adventurers do something to me? Please, help me understand.”

“Calm yourself Ninetoes. Since you woke up, did you discover any odd pieces of parchment amongst your belongings, covered in strange symbols?”

Ninetoes shook his head.

“Guard, bring me the Farn’s belongings!”

“Sir!” the guard responded, hefting Ninetoes’ pack and other gear over to the Elder. His weapons, Ninetoes noticed, were not with his other belongings. The Elder began to empty the dwarf’s pack, laying each of the items out onto the floor in a neat line in front of Ninetoes, largest to smallest. As he reached the vial of potion and the strange gem that Ninetoes had paid little notice to before he murmured a grunt of interest. With that, the great brown bear rose and padded softly around to Ninetoes’ flank.

Finally, Brev came to Ninetoes’ own satchel. He’d stuffed this into the dwarf’s superior quality backpack. Again the guard performed the same process, even counting out the silver and copper coins and stacking them in neat piles. Just as he’d found in his men’s packs there were twelve silver coins, fifteen copper coins and a day of rations. But, there was one more item in Ninetoes’ satchel, a single sheet of rolled parchment.

Elder Brev picked this up and unrolled it, taking a moment to examine it before passing it to Ninetoes, “Do you recognise these symbols?” he asked as he gestured towards them.

Ninetoes took the document and examined the symbols, knowing that they’d mean nothing to him as he had never learned to read. Focussing on the page he saw that it was divided into a number of different sections with symbols in different areas. Only, they weren’t just symbols, they were words, and numbers, and at the top in thick and striking letters was his name: Ninetoes.

That was enough. Ninetoes was done with being surprised for one day. Perhaps if he attacked the Curn, his superior would kill him and this fucking day would all be over! Or, he’d simply offer to dig his own grave and then bury himself in it. Anything to make this day end! Without realising it, he’d begun to hyperventilate. Hang on, hyper-what? How did he know that word or the definition that came with it? The edges of his vision started to blur and his chest started to ache.

“Calm yourself.” Elder Brev’s soothing words came with a warm and glowing hand on Ninetoes’ shoulder, “I have seen this before and can help you. But-” and then he leaned in to Ninetoes, whispering the next words for him alone, “-it’s going to get a lot worse first...”

Then he shoved Ninetoes back, using the momentum to stand, all in one fluid movement. Once on his feet he snarled angrily and kicked Ninetoes squarely in the chin.

Falling back, his head hit the floor. Taken by surprise, Ninetoes nearly lost consciousness but fought to stay awake. Foggily he could hear the Elder issuing more commands.

“Collect his belongings, he is to be exiled! He’s too dangerous to kill. Carn, order a full two squads to meet me at the gate. They’ll need half a week’s rations and be fully equipped for battle. Guards tie him up and then bring him to the gate,” and, after a short pause, “Well, what are you all waiting for? Move!”

Those words were the last Ninetoes heard, as the bear’s thick paw slammed into the back of his head.