“Okay, so I guess it’s not just summoning,” Ike explained to Stony through a mouthful of jerky. “Any time I make an enchantment that reproduces a spell, it automatically tacks on a class requirement whether or not I code it. Seems limiting if you ask me. A druid could use a spell meant for a shaman, but a rogue can never use an item with a healing spell. There go Ada’s dreams of playing a healer. Hmm. But what if I...?”
The orb of light drifted in a lazy circle around Ike’s head as he stared at his enchanting interface. He knew the inanimate object couldn’t understand or respond. That wasn’t the point of the exercise. Describing the problem out loud was helpful in its own right and had done wonders in taking Ike’s mind off his predicament.
He was so engrossed in his tinkering that it was several minutes before he noticed the corpse of the vulture rustling. He stopped talking mid-sentence and slowly traded his jerky for his short sword, never taking his eyes off the vulture as he rose and tiptoed around the campfire.
“Damn it,” Ike muttered to himself. “You don’t smell bad because you eat carrion, do you? You smell bad because you are carrion. Is it even a question? Of course this game would have giant zombie vultures.”
With a thought, Ike directed Stony to shine over the dead bird. The corpse lay still, but a shadowy form crouching behind it fell backward and let out an inhuman shriek.
Ike took the opportunity, vaulting over the vulture and pressing his sword down at the creature before it could get back to its feet.
Ibril Thorntooth Level 2 Class: Scavenger Race: Goblin Attack: 1 Defense: 1 Health: 6 / 6 [https://litrpgbook.com/wp-content/relic-tamer/ibril-thorntooth-partial.jpg]
Ike recognized the goblin before the character window appeared. “Wait a second. I know you. Ibril!?”
The stout green humanoid lay on his back and held his hands up in submission. His lack of clothing other than a tattered loincloth did nothing to improve upon his state of indignity. He croaked several words in his language, which were already foreign to Ike but made even more incomprehensible by the uneaten mouthful of vulture flesh between Ibril’s pointed teeth.
“Of all the places to see you again,” Ike said, shaking his head. He eased off the goblin but kept his sword at the ready, considering his options. “What do I do with you? Kill you? Seems harsh, especially when you weren’t eating anything I planned on keeping. Scare you off? I get the feeling you’d just follow us.”
Ibril rose carefully, his eyes on Ike’s sword, cringing as if expecting to be struck. He croaked a few more words in goblish and swallowed the half-chewed vulture meat apprehensively.
Ike rubbed his eyes. “I guess there’s no harm in sharing a fire for now. It’d give me some company at least. Then we can figure out what to do with you in the morning.” He moved back to the other side of the campfire, gesturing toward the vulture with his sword along the way. “Go ahead. Eat your fill.”
Ibril’s brow furrowed. He cocked his head to the side, taking a tentative step back toward his meal.
Ike sat down and waved toward the bird again, keeping his sword in his other hand. “Go on. Have a bite to eat, and I’ll figure out a way we can chat in the meantime.”
It was nerve-wracking trying to concentrate on enchanting with the goblin nearby. Ibril stared at Ike from across the campsite, his beady eyes watching for signs of movement with all the intensity of a feral animal. Meanwhile, the goblin would take great, sloppy bites, pulling away the stringy meat of the vulture. The noise was revolting. Ike regretted his decision and wondered how he’d missed the goblin’s repulsive eating the first time.
It took a few minutes, but Ike was eventually able to combine the effect from his Rapport enchantment with a bit of code he’d gleaned from a trinket that enhanced health regeneration in a rest area.
Topaz Ring has gained the enchantment: Fireside Chat
Topaz Ring’s remaining enchantment capacity: 0 / 2
Mana: 10 / 10 (-7)
You have learned the enchantment: Fireside Chat
You have gained experience.
“Can you understand me now, Ibril?” Ike said.
Ibril stopped mid-bite, vulture meat trailing out of his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “Milk hair speak goblish again?”
Ike nodded. “Sort of. I don’t know your language, but I made some magic so we could talk while we’re by the fire.”
Ibril’s eyebrows lifted in concern, but he stepped over the vulture and hunkered closer to the fire. “Why does milk hair give Ibril big bird?”
Ike shrugged. “I wasn’t going to eat it. It… doesn’t taste good to humans. You seemed hungry, so you’re welcome to it.”
Ibril’s eyes narrowed. “You give to Ibril? Want nothing? You leave Ibril in tree.”
Ike took a deep breath. “Last time we met, we were enemies. You attacked us. We attacked you. Think of it as a peace offering.”
“Piece?” Ibril asked. “You say bird taste bad to humans. You want piece?”
“No no, peace,” Ike said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It means we agree not to fight each other.”
Ibril gave Ike a long, measured look. “Yes. Ibril not want to fight. Ibril get out of tree. Run to clan, but clan is running from stone circle. Big scaly king is dead.” Ibril gave a pointed look toward Ike’s chest. “You kill king of clan.”
Dragonhide Jerkin Durability: 12 / 12 Finely-made leather torso armor made from dragon scales. Defense: 6 Value: ? [https://litrpgbook.com/wp-content/relic-tamer/dragonhide-jerkin.jpg]
Ike looked down at his new armor. Giovanni had been as good as his word. By the time the party had left Weir, Ike was wearing a jerkin of dragonhide leather fit for royalty. He’d only been wearing it a day, but it was so light and flexible he’d almost forgotten it was there, all while having a defense rating second only to plate armor. His Appraisal skill wasn’t high enough to tell him what it was worth, but he guessed it was worth the gold king he’d offered for it and then some. He hadn’t cared for the dragon’s natural red and had opted for Dusty to color it the stormy blue-grey of his own aura.
“I did,” Ike said. “Does that make you angry?”
Ibril shook his head. “Ibril scared of king. King make big clan. Now many small clans, so Ibril leave.” The goblin crooked a finger toward the wagon. “Ibril hide in wagon. Does not know it is milk hair wagon.”
Ike chuckled. “A stowaway, huh? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were apologizing.”
Ibril scrunched his nose up in confusion. “What is… pollow jize?”
Ike sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind.” Again, he considered his options. Ibril seemed civil enough for the moment, and Ike couldn’t help but notice the goblin had gained a level and a class. The last time he’d seen that happen to an NPC, little Myra McCulloch and her wolf Sunny had been a tremendous help.
Ibril returned to chewing on the vulture, so Ike picked the conversation back up: ”So you left your clan and you snuck into our wagon. I can let you keep riding with us, but only if you can help us somehow.”
Ibril chewed the thought over along with a bloody mouthful of gizzard. “You want Ibril help?”
“Like a clan,” Ike said, gesturing broadly. “Maybe a clan you’ll like better than your old one.”
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Ibril let out a rhythmic croaking sound that Ike could barely recognize as laughter. “Milk hair want Ibril in human clan? Stupid milk hair. Goblin and human always fight.”
“We’re not fighting now,” Ike said. “You’re warm and safe and have lots of food.” He gestured toward the vulture. “Help us and this can be every day.”
Ike could see the idea germinating behind Ibril’s eyes. The only way goblins seemed to interact was by attacking, stealing, or fleeing. The only leaders they knew were bullies. It made sense that one would have a hard time accepting an idea like cooperation. But the game had dropped Ibril in front of him for a reason, and Ike had learned to embrace those opportunities.
Ibril sat back contentedly, his stomach swollen to humorous proportions. He tore a shard of bone from the vulture’s innards with a sickening snap and picked his teeth with it. “Yes,” he said at last. “Ibril join human clan. Help milk hair for more big food.”
Ibril Thorntooth has joined your party.
“Good,” Ike said, smiling at the notification. “First things first, then. My name isn’t milk hair. Call me Ike. The others will be back tomorrow. We can introduce you then. Now, let’s see how you can help.”
Ibril Thorntooth Level 2 Class: Scavenger Race: Goblin Age: 13 Sex: Male Height: 122cm Weight: 44kg Agility: 6 Insight: 4 Mettle: 2 Might: 4 Vigor: 4 Wits: 3 Attack: 1 Health: 6 / 6 Defense: 1 Mana: 0 / 4 Skills Cowardice 2 Night Eye 2 Treasure Sense 2 Escape 1 Mining 1 Spells Devour Minor Burrow Minor Stench Retreat [https://litrpgbook.com/wp-content/relic-tamer/ibril-thorntooth-level-2.jpg]
Ike rubbed his chin and frowned. “Well, most of your stats aren’t anything special. You’re great at getting away from a fight, so you won’t be much help in combat. Devour lets you eat pretty much anything without consequence; good thing you used up all your mana doing that or else you might’ve gassed me. You’ve got a nose for treasure, which seems handy, and you’re well-suited to spelunking if we’re ever in a cave.”
Ibril leaned on his side and put his feet up on the log while continuing to pick his teeth. “Ibril live in cave. Find many shinies, but scaly boss take all.” He burped.
Ike let out a breath. “Well, not everything I’d been hoping for, but I think we’ll be able to figure out some uses for you. Don’t worry about the shinies. We split whatever we find, which means you’ll get your fair share.” Ike yawned. “In the meantime, it’s getting late. You’re welcome to sleep in a tent if you like. Just be sure to ask before you mess with anything else.”
Ibril watched Ike with undisguised suspicion as Ike ducked into a tent and began removing his gear to lie down. It made sense. Ibril had never been treated with anything but contempt, even by his own kind. And Ike’s instincts were screaming at him that this was a bad idea on paper. Letting a goblin have the run of the camp was unwise to put it charitably.
Guilt was a factor. Ike had planned on returning to free Ibril on the party’s way back from Blackstone Gulch. When Ada nearly died, that plan had gone out the window. Then the goblins raided Weir and Ike had to slay a dragon. He’d been too preoccupied to worry about a goblin they’d left tied to a tree. Ibril’s Escape skill told Ike all he needed to know about how that had ultimately ended. It left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Trust had to start somewhere, too, and this was the fastest way to test if the goblin could hack it as a party member. If Ibril ran off, stole something, tried to attack the horses, or the like, Ike wouldn’t have any difficulty cutting him loose. If Ibril stuck around and didn’t misbehave, Ike would have some proof to convince the rest of the party not to kill him outright. It was a risk, but it was a calculated risk that should pay off either way.
Despite the goblin’s presence in the camp, Ike had no problem drifting off to sleep. When he did, his dreams were fitful and indistinct. He saw a strange gauntlet on an altar, heard the echoing murmurs of a crowd in a wide chamber, smelled something dry and musty like old paper, and felt the floor give way beneath his feet.
Ike woke with a start, sitting bolt upright on his bedroll and panting. “Another prophecy?” he wondered aloud, then saw sunlight filtering in through the flap of his tent. He thought he tasted blood, but touched the inside of his cheek and came back with nothing but saliva. “Why do prophecies always have to be like having sleep apnea?” he grumbled as he rose to greet the morning.
“Ike! Get down!” Clay thundered. Ike saw the large man leap from the back of the wagon and rush toward him brandishing his sickle and shield.
“Wha…?” was all Ike managed in response before Clay had nearly bowled him over. Ike fell hard onto his backside as Clay stood firm against whatever threat he’d perceived.
“Another goblin!” Clay said. “Come here, you little green devil!” He pounded his shield with the haft of the sickle in an intimidating manner.
“Wait, Clay. Don’t…,” Ike said, wincing from the pain of his fall and trying to shake away his dreariness. There was a startled shriek, then green smoke clouded Ike’s vision. He tried to say more, but the overwhelming smell of rotten eggs filled his nose and mouth. He coughed, rose, stumbled in a random direction, and tried his best not to throw up.
By the time Ike recovered enough to speak, he saw Clay standing by the edge of the camp. Ibril stood nearby, held fast by a strangely elongated tree branch. “Don’t worry, Ike. I’ve got this one.” Clay raised his sickle to deliver the killing blow.
“Stop, Clay!” Ike yelled. “That’s Ibril. He’s… well, ‘friend’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use. He joined the party last night.”
Clay kept his sickle raised but stationary, casting a worried glance over his shoulder at Ike. “He was sneaking into the camp. He just attacked you with… whatever that gas was. I know I’m not that smart, but I feel like this doesn’t take a genius.”
Ike brushed himself off and walked up beside Clay. “It’s just a misunderstanding, Clay. Is this branch yours? Can you let him out? I’ll vouch for him.”
Clay hesitated for another second before lowering his sickle. The elongated branch unwound itself from the goblin. Clay kept one eye on Ike and the other on Ibril. “They’re thieves and killers, Ike. You sure about this?”
“Sorry about that, Ibril,” Ike said. “Clay didn’t know you were helping us. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” Ike raised his eyebrows at Clay expectantly.
Ibril’s expression was hateful. “Ibril remember barrel breaker. Like to hurt Ibril,” he spat. Ibril knelt to retrieve something from the ground. “Even when Ibril helping.” The goblin held both hands out to Ike, showing a small mound of fat, wriggling grubs.
“What did he say about me?” Clay snarled, half-raising his sickle. “I could tell. The little bastard is talking dirty, isn’t he? What’s that he’s got? Something poisonous?”
“Clay!” Ike reproached. “Put the sickle down!” Ike took a deep breath and struck a more conciliatory tone. “Look, you two can’t understand each other right now. Let’s all sit down, eat breakfast, and I’ll see what I can do about that.”
Clay and Ibril glared daggers at each other, sitting on opposite sides of the now-extinguished campfire in sullen, angry silence. Clay dropped logs onto the fire with unnecessary force. Ibril popped grubs into his mouth and chewed noisily, squinting as the big man got the fire going.
“This was not the way I wanted to start the morning,” Ike said, more to himself than to them. He gathered up a stray rock and some long grass, then cast Lesser Reshape. Since it had upgraded from Minor Reshape when he’d last leveled up, it could shape stone as well as non-living vegetable matter. He fashioned the materials into a crude pendant, then sat between the two bickering party members and opened his enchantment interface.
“You’ve seen what they do,” Clay grumbled. He filled a pot with water, tossed in a handful of coffee grounds, and held it over the fire. “They attack old ladies, steal livestock, and burn homes. They’re greedy, rotten little parasites.”
“Barrel breaker just as bad as scaly boss,” Ibril sneered. Slimy flecks of grub flew from his mouth as he spoke. “Big and strong. Hurt and scare goblins. Take all. Goblins get nothing if lucky. New clan no different from old clan.”
Ike could feel his blood pressure rising as he listened to the two of them harp on each other without understanding a word of what the other was saying. He rose and walked over to Ibril. “You’re right. Barrel breaker… Clay isn’t very nice to you. We’re going to work on that. All of us. To start, you two need to understand each other.”
Ike held up the pendant. “I’m going to make some magic so you can do that. Can I take some of your mana to make the magic work? After that, this will be yours to keep.”
Ibril looked from Ike to the pendant, a puzzled expression on his face. “You make Ibril understand human talk? And give shiny?”
Ike nodded. “It’s that apologizing thing we talked about: it means we’re sorry and we don’t want to fight with you anymore. Deal?”
Ibril nodded slowly. Ike leaned in and used Siphon Mana to recover the necessary mana drain, then enchanted the pendant and handed it to Ibril. It wouldn’t leave the goblin with much mana to work with, but that was fine with Ike after being exposed to Minor Stench. There had been nothing “minor” about it.
Pendant of Collaboration A crude pendant made from stone and twined grass. Collaboration: Allows the user to understand and be understood by party members. Value: 30 [https://litrpgbook.com/wp-content/relic-tamer/pendant-of-collaboration.jpg]
Ibril put the pendant around his neck. “Barrel breaker understand?”
Clay raised his eyebrows and sat up a little straighter. “I do, but who is barrel breaker?”
Ike gestured toward Clay’s shield. “One of his nicknames for us. He calls me ‘milk hair’.” He stepped between them. “Let’s start over, then: Clay, this is Ibril. He left his clan and stowed away in our wagon. He’s interested in helping the party. He can smell treasure, among other things. He spent the night here without causing any trouble. I know it’s not much, but it’s a start.”
Ike turned toward Ibril. “Ibril, this is Clay. He’s our fighter. He protects us, which is why he tried to hurt you. He thought he needed to protect me from you. He’s a really nice guy. If you get on his good side, he can make berries and fruits grow the same way he did with the tree branch.”
“Foodsies?” Ibril asked, grinning with excitement.
Ike nodded. “You’ve both had a hard time with the other’s kind, but you don’t have to fight with each other. I’m not asking you to be friends; just be nice and don’t fight.”
Clay and Ibril sat in silence, staring at each other. Clay’s pot began to bubble. Ike held his breath, wondering if that would be enough to break the ice.
Ibril was the first to speak. “What barrel br… what Clay have in pot?” Ibril asked.
Clay tilted his head and gave a slight smile. “It’s called cowboy coffee. Care to try some?”