The unnervingly low-pitched, churring song, underlaid by a quick rhythm of six anomalously heavy chitin-clad limbs beating and scraping on the rock surfaces around her, slowly became an unbearable earworm.
The rock surrounding her was, most likely, basanite, from the few glances she’d gotten at it whenever the electrical discharges shooting along the copper binding pathways of her staff had brightened the claustrophobic tunnels for the time it took to run from or to fight another one of these cursed bugs. Lately, fighting had worked. This time though, there were at least four of them.
The musical chitin-wearers chasing her were, most likely, man-sized mole crickets. Impossible by nature, of course, to have them become this large, but very fitting for the unholy dark underground that had become her new home suddenly.
For the past two weeks, these two things hadn’t left Gal’s mind. The problem, for now labelled P0, was that the aforementioned facts provided two contradicting explanations for the nature of these dark caves. One, the rock was clearly volcanic in origin, so these tunnels could be leftovers from magma channels. Two, the insects were fossorial, and could have used their overly large, sharp, meddlesome, sclerotised claws to dig the tunnels instead.
Clearly, finding out about the nature of her current surroundings had top priority, especially since she had no idea how she had gotten here, her only other clue being a monstrous migraine. Not knowing enervated her to no end. The impossibility to clear the conundrum of the above contrariety under the current circumstances had been a constant cerebral cramp for her. There, overly stilted thoughts like that were clear evidence for the high level of stress she was experiencing from not solving P0.
Sure, at first, when Gal had woken up in an black room decorated with glowing insectile carapaces while being investigated by these touchy hexapods, she hadn’t quite noticed the discrepancy. Gal didn’t easily admit it even to herself, but she must have been so shocked—a reversal that she was now feverishly working into her next very promising pun—that even now she wasn’t sure how she had escaped the situation and survived to the present day. To use a somewhat melodramatic metaphor, it was as if a chapter in her story was simply missing. To use more precise terminology, this case of retrograde amnesia was her P1.
Gal shelved the unproductive reminiscing and forced her mind to return to the presently pressing problems: The origin of these caves, i.e. P0, and the currently approaching horde of [Black Rock Gryllo]s, as her [OS] helpfully labelled them, a hopefully short-lived P2. Even though P0 seemed more interesting and, as iterated, essential, it was unlikely for her to find a solution without tackling the P2 first, while P1 was probably a sub-problem of P0. So she forced herself to get back on track to cross P2 off of her list.
A horizontal slit in the basanite right after a bend in the tunnels didn’t escape her attention even with the unfavourable light conditions her staff was providing and even while running at high speed for too long already. She managed to slip inside and started channelling energy into her staff, hoping for the probably rather dumb creatures to pass.
Their momentum did indeed cause the foremost two of the dark brown, bulky beasts to slide past her hiding place. For some reason, maybe the light or the smell or the feeling of the building energy—she would need to find out which it was to improve potential future win probabilities—they immediately found her. A bit more time would have improved her preparations, but she’d have to deal with it.
“[Ball Lightning]”, Gal superfluously but very satisfyingly intoned, and a white hot sphere of crackling energy shot out of her slit towards the towering black figures.
Sometimes she was actually quite happy to be alone, with no sword-level intellect knight or two-tiny-brains-in-a-too-small-sac criminal around to make doltish and salacious comments, not necessarily respectively, on how she conducted her affairs.
She jumped out into the tunnels and tapped one of the still twitching mole crickets with her stuff to give it a top-up of electricity. Then she slid past it to deal with the next one, using her staff like a spear to give her the maximum reach advantage. The next bug was already almost out of it, and she barely made it. These earth-dwellers were annoyingly resistant to her attacks. P3, she decided.
She finished the group by ramming the end of her staff into the surprisingly soft abdomen of the last cricket still moving on its own accord, the fourth one having taken the brunt of her initial attack.
Her [OS] chimed. She sighed. It would be another long and mostly dark day with only her brilliant investigative mind and inside-out seared bug soup providing nourishment for her sanity, constantly under attack by whimsical [Human Bug Zapper] and [Endurance++; (Taste buds)] [Achievement]s.
|| || ||
“Really, really, really, please just call me granny. I insist! I am your granny after all! I even got one of these funny [Title]s for it, you said it yourself,” I practically beg the prostrating women. I haven’t actually had anyone call me granny since forever. That might be because of the fate of the first few who tried back when I was a bit less accepting of the fact of life that is time. Of course, my actual grandchildren were always allowed to, encouraged even. There is no sweeter feeling than hearing a barely recognisable ’granny’ as one of the first words of your grandchild, after all.
Now, I finally get the chance to hear it again from real relatives and instead of them happily crowding around their visiting grandma they are all grovelling. I can’t believe my own flesh and blood is kneeling on the ground before me like I am some megalomaniac royal cutting off any heads taller than mine. Gods, that one had been a right nasty character, no wonder his own head didn’t stay with him in the end. At least the cheers of his former subjects had given the whole affair a somewhat happy end.
Seeing this behaviour in my kin, I don’t think I remember the last time I have felt so embarrassed. No, I think I do. It had something to do with the time I tried the forerun in the deepdwarven home brew lichen distillery. But that had been worth it at the time, at least, before I started to remember—and be reminded—in the morning.
Thinking of food though, I do have something prepared to break the ice. “I know! Who wants some sweeties from granny? Made from the honey of a [Dimensional Hoarder Bee]. Very good for you!” I try to entice them. I had them specially prepared by a master artisan to contain the lingering magic of the bee, giving a single piece of the hard candy the sugar content of a whole beehive.
I think I see a single face twitch, but the ice holds. “Girls, look at me, please. Look at your Granny Grethi Gob. I have not always lived it, but I have been granny in my heart ever since I got to hold my first grandchild in my trembling arms,” I start, “Ah, you wouldn’t believe how green and sweet that little goblin was. Even when she filled her nappy to the brim while I held her. Really, it was so much I wouldn’t be surprised if they named the tribe of her hopefully plentiful progeny Craplins, in her honour.” Am I getting a little bit of a reaction there? These kind of cute stories are always a hit.
Carefully, as if just looking at me is hard for her, the tallest of the women and apparent leader of the troupe raises her head and finally speaks up again. “If it pleases you, [The Emareseeay, The Grandmother] Grethi. We apologize if we’ve offended you!” she says with some trepidation in her voice.
“Just granny is enough”, I say, now with a light scowl at her insistence on the full form of that title, as if that was what I had meant. She recoils as if struck. It was only a very, very light scowl! “Sorry, g-granny!”, she cries out and I feel horrible.
“Come on, darling. I understand you’re just trying to be respectful towards your elders, but you’re making me feel real stuffy when I was just up for a little family visit,” I try to calm her down. At first she nods and sniffles, seemingly feeling better. As soon as I take a step towards her though—we’re still standing some goblin-length’s apart as if we’re not family at all—she and all the other women behind her drop even lower to the floor.
“Granny, it’s too much!” the tall one groans, barely managing to get the words out. Hmm, she certainly isn’t just showing deference any more. Suddenly, I understand. It’s one of these bloody things that are supposed to help you but only ever serve to make life even more complicated. What was it called again? It had something to do with that, in retrospect honestly rather childish, shouting match with old Aby. The grumpy gecko was driving people mad with his endless complaints and I had finally had enough of it. In the end, after I got him to properly apologize to everyone involved, there was some [Upgrade] telling me something like:
[Goblinoid Intimidation] upgraded to [Gobsmacked]
I still shake my head sometimes at these kind of jokes. Someone really needs to get their priorities sorted. Remembering the current situation, it seems that I am also such a someone. It takes me only a few more moments, barely enough to make the women on the ground fear for what’s coming next, to turn off [Gobsmacked].
For my great-grandchildren here, it is as if the cave ceiling had been at knee height before and now is suddenly lifted back to its previous and rather lofty heights. They get up like a bunch of springs, some moving so erratically they immediately land back onto the ground. “Oh my, sorry about that sweethearts. I completely forget about these kind of gimmicks sometimes. You see, things are a bit different were I came from just now. But anyway, now we can start over fresh. I don’t even know your names yet!”
“Thank you for you consideration, granny. If it pleases you to know my name, I am Irm”, the tall leader says in that infuriatingly obedient tone again. She doesn’t seem to understand that it’s not enough to just use ’granny’, you’ve got to feel it too. But since I don’t want to see her recoil away from me like before ever again, I don’t admonish her for it. See, all that time in the world’s rowdy underbelly hasn’t killed my social graces completely.
“What a nice name you’ve got, Irm! Why, the little craplin I was talking about was called Irm, wasn’t she? What a coincidence. Yes, I’m quite sure of it even. Wasn’t it me who came up with that name? Well, I am very happy to meet you, Irm,” I finally greet her properly. She looks at me with eyes wide like saucers. “Oh dear, the craplin from my story couldn’t have been you yourself could it? You’re certainly a tall one. I’d feel quite bad to have made you feel embarrassed in front of all the tribe here.” Reassuringly, she shakes her head.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
After a moment of obvious conflict written on her strong-chinned face she finds the courage to clear up the misunderstanding. “I don’t think so, granny. I was named after my great-aunt who I think got the name from her grandmother who got it from hers in a long-running family tradition. Dozens of generations I think!”, she explains, looking proud for a moment. “It’s only me who got it from my great-aunt, because all her daughters died in the last war between the tribes,” she then adds with the positive emotion again gone from her expression.
Some things to unpack there. Firstly, I am happy to see that she can talk without all the grovelling, as long as she gets started on a topic. Secondly, I’m concerned to hear there are hostilities happening between tribes. Maybe I’ll have to have a word with whoever is in charge of the more unruly ones. Thirdly and most importantly though, I am fairly certain no one in our tribe was called ’Irm’ before my granddaughter. When my daughter asked me to name her child, it took me a long time to find a name that would be special enough for the honour. The problem is, that would put the number of generations between us so high that I’m not sure my old heart can handle it right now.
I mean, there was that time when I and a few good friends of mine went to some strange alien plane to obtain a divine artefact that would allegedly stop the sickness of the young scion of one of the big houses ruling some city of the thin-eared platinum blondes. When we came back with the thing, it’s only remaining use for us was as a fancy bedside lamp. Said scion had died of old age a while ago. That rapscallion hadn’t even been sick either, he had just wanted the thing for some strange experiment that, by the time of our return, nobody remembered. Always the same thing with these fiddly mages types.
Anyway, even that couldn’t have been enough for what dear Irm was implying. Wouldn’t that make me—
Gratefully, at that point, I am pulled from the unpleasant mental calculation when Irm continues to speak. Judging from her look, my expression must not have been particularly pleased. “Not that I want to say you are wrong, granny! But this is an important thing for my family, because it’s such an honour to be named after the legendary [Tallest Shield of The Green], [Slayer of the Minotaur] Irm. It is said that she was so tall that the [Minotaur] had to tilt his head up to look her into the eyes when she killed him.” Irm is positively gushing now.
When she turns back towards me, the shocked expression is back in full force though. “G-Granny? What is—” I hold out my hand to stop her from falling to her knees again or such nonsense. It’s only a small tear of happiness, nothing more! Wiping it away, I calm her again by explaining, “Thank you, Irm, for telling me. Oh what a good thing! That the little craplin Irm, the lanky rascal that she was, would gain two such impressive titles! And they really did start to name people after her!” More salty water runs down the difficult terrain that are my cheeks. I wipe again and hug Irm. I think she might have started to back up, but in my emotional state, I must have moved faster than than is good manners. Only when her bones start to make some dangerous creaking noises, I let her go again.
“Sorry, my dear. It’s just, it has been such a long time since I’ve seen my family. And now I hear that it has in fact been much longer than I even realized. It’s a bit much all at once.”
It takes her a bit to breath again, but it seems I managed not to hurt her too badly. “It’s fine, granny. I couldn’t imagine. Is there anything I could do for you?”
Her heartfelt offer reminds me. Aren’t family reunions supposed to be a merry occurrence, with everybody seated along a long, heavily burdened table? “Well, if you’re asking, my dear, I think it would be more appropriate to get to know each other better sitting down over some nice meal. You wouldn’t happen to have any prepared?”
“That might be a bit difficult right now, granny. But if you’re hungry I’m sure there’s something,” she says, trailing off. Is there some event going on and I just missed it? They don’t look like their just returning from some festivities though. Unless these festivities were especially raucous.
“Ah, no! No, it’s fine, don’t worry. I have some rations left in my pack. Then let’s at least sit down together. Standing around like this is killing my feet,” I say, hiding my chagrin with an excessively pained expression.
When we are all sitting around together, everyone new close enough to make out their faces, I finally get to address the others in the room. As much as I try, I’m unlikely to remember the names and occupations of everyone here, but there is one other women, almost still a girl, that catches my attention. Her lithe build makes her look different from the others already, but instead of yellow or orange eyes, her irises are an unusually dark brown, too. And there is something wild in it. I just get that feeling.
When she introduces herself, starting with the same polite phrase as the others, the piercings all along the upper rim of her ears jingle. “I am honoured to be in your presence, granny. My name is Resi. I can do some enchanting, even though I still mostly fail.” They’re all so modest! I take it back, there’s nothing wild here! Me and the other girls surely weren’t like that when I was her age.
“That’s nice, Resi, maybe you can show me something later? I’m not an enchanter, but I had someone teach me some useful tricks for field maintenance once.” I offer and her dark eyes seem to light up at that for the first time since I’ve come here. Her enthusiastic nod is heart-warming, and the same organ pains me when she reconsiders immediately.
“It would not be appropriate though, I think. I’m not of the main family like Irm,” she dejectedly admits.
“Ah, I was wondering about that. Are you not a goblin then? From which tribe do you hail?” I ask, thinking I understood her reasoning. She and the others shake their heads in confusion. The truth, it turns out, is another culture shock my long absence has prepared for me.
“Certainly Resi is a goblin, her mother was born in this very cave. But her family is not part of the direct descendants of the great Irm like mine, nor of any of the original [Founders of Goblinkind],” Irm explains, “ Of course, all goblins descend from them, but only the most direct surviving maternal line of each founder can act as the main family of each tribe.
“That wouldn’t be enough to make her reconsider your offer, but for Resi, in fact, it is worse than being from a side family. Her family descends from the infamous Mena, known only for her title [The Affliction of Hope].”
This time, I cannot help but to get a little angry inside, causing some very pale faces in the group. I tell myself that these poor women aren’t at fault for how they were raised, and I manage to leak only a little of the violent emotion. In the end, it’s my fault, isn’t it? If I had been here, I could’ve had more influenced of the developments in my progeny.
“You all are my family. The whole tribe is family, and you are goblins, my tribe, my family”, I say sternly, but with as much love as I can put into the sentence. “And who are these [Founders of Goblinkind] supposed to be anyway? Never heard of anyone being called that.”
“The great goblins who lead the spread of our kind over all the lands! The mother of Irm and her siblings. They are, uh, thinking about it, that must have been, they are, actually, your very children, granny”, Irm says, starting out grand but then stuttering to a meek end.
There are, again, too many important points in that revelation to take it in all at once. And that is not even counting the disagreeable hierarchy of family lines that seems to have developed here.
Firstly, for my sprogs to have earned such an important sounding title! It makes my heart swell with pride again. I knew they were all doing well when I left them, otherwise I wouldn’t have. Still, I never would have thought they’d manage to be so prolific as to have the tribe swarm and spread so far beyond this small topside cave system. But I can see it immediately, they are my children after all. Secondly, I suddenly realize that I don’t even know how many of them are alive at this time and where I could find them, if they’re not here. With difficulty, I stow the burgeoning sadness away for now. Thirdly, if all goblins are descendants of my children— No, that must’ve been a misunderstanding.
“Irm, my ears aren’t as spry as they used to be. I thought you said all goblins were descended from my children?” I ask in as calm a voice as I can manage.
“Yes, granny. Thinking about it, that must be the meaning of your title, [The Emareseeay, The Grandmother],” she confirms guiltlessly. The confirmation hits me in the gut like a [Dire Troll].
Morosely, I voice what I have realized. “Then all goblins are my descendants.” Everyone around me nods as if they realize their great-great-…-great-grandmother has finally gone a little off in the head.
“No, you don’t understand!” I protest, “I might be a bit advanced in years, and I’m usually beyond these things nowadays, but, sometimes, you know, there’s still a bit of marrow in my bones, some fresh greenness itching in my skin, some grease in my joints. And sometimes, you want to go back to the basics, right? You can’t eat exotic foods from the most powerful monsters everyday, sometimes it’s got to be a good home-made barley soup. Right?
“Do you see my problem? If all goblins are my descendants, that barley soup was made a little too close to home for my sensibilities!” I implore my audience that has started to become divided into flustered, surprised and pitying expressions.
“Oh come on, I may be your granny, but I’m still a goblin. Us older folks have needs, too! Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become chaste like these virgin-worshipping followers of that one strange human cult that hopefully isn’t even around any more. Don’t waste god’s gift so needlessly!” I defend myself maybe a bit too strongly after that bout of over-sharing. I blame the shock. But, hopefully, they won’t notice. At the end of the day, I do want to make a good impression on my family, too.
Irm seems lost for words, so I turn to Resi and quickly change the topic before I lose more respect than I wanted to lose. “Resi, I don’t want to disrespect any younger traditions. But I won’t make a difference between anyone in my family, no matter if they’re the fourteenth daughter’s twenty-third child or whatever. And even if Mena has made some mistake in the past, that doesn’t change my love for her nor for anyone coming out of her line. Yes, she was always a little clumsy, but as the second youngest of my children, she sometimes did have a hard time. Even if I tried my best for her as I did for all the others.
“Bah, I’m not here to re-educate you all on what some maybe-stupid child of mine did or didn’t do. And even though I want to hear all about what happened while I was gone, there’s been a lot of telling people this or that, and nothing to show for it. And by now I really do feel hungry.” I didn’t even have time to get into my rations yet. Being the only one eating would’ve made me feel inconsiderate anyway. I get up from the ground and dust my trousers down a little.
“Didn’t you have some human lovers come over when I came in? I’m sure you were prepared for that, weren’t you?” Head-shaking is enough of an answer for me. Too bad.
“A surprise visit then? Romance isn’t dead yet it seems! Well, maybe in this case it is, sorry again about that.” I had almost forgotten about that little incident during my arrival. But we can deal with that later.
“If there isn’t anything prepared, just show me the kitchen and I’ll whip something up for all of us,” I declare. My recent experience in [Cooking] might have been focused on survival and rare monster materials, but using a real kitchen again can’t be harder than going without.
“Oh no, granny, we really couldn’t impose on you like that. We’re the hosts here, after all!” Irm quickly interjects while hurrying after me. I don’t argue back at that.
“Yes, granny, I could maybe show you some of my enchanting work while you wait for the others to make something?” Resi adds. Clever, this one. But a good idea nonetheless.
“Fine, fine, if you insist. Don’t make anything too fancy though, I can deal with almost anything as long as there’s cake in the end,” I half-jest. Some cake would really make all this new information go down more smoothly.
Resi looks at me like a child learning first-hand that their idolized hero likes to steal lollies. “Cake? But granny, tradition says that no real goblin eats cake.”
Oh dear.