Sunlight seeped through the sole window in the shabby and cramped storeroom that Jagster, without much consideration, had elected to pass out in. The warmth struck Jagster’s face and stirred the goblin awake.

The consequences of his poor decisions the night before immediately made themselves known via the pounding in his head. Hindsight had the habit of making people feel like fools and Jagster was feeling mighty foolish. As the goblin regained his faculties, he tried to recall where he was and how he ended up here. It was a somewhat difficult process given he refused to open his eyes on account of his hangover.

Eventually, Jagster’s contemplation was disturbed by a sound. He was unsure of what the sound was until he heard it again and realized they were steady footsteps clobbering across a wooden floor that creaked as if straining from even the slightest weight.

Whomever made the noises were, by the goblin’s estimate, wearing sturdy boots of the type medium-sized humanoids often sported. Using ears cleverly evolved to get by in complete darkness, Jagster determined that the footsteps were too light for the lumbering orcs and too heavy for the fleet-footed elves. He found himself reasoning that these were the footsteps of a human.

“What the hell,” went a gruff voice precariously near Jagster. Something they were holding fell to the ground with a flop and a strong stench filled the goblin's nostrils. Jagster presumed it must have been a sack of fish.

“Hey, Jonah!”

Jagster heard more footsteps followed by a younger voice calling from somewhere above him. “Yes, sir?”

“We got any gobbos on the passenger list?” the gruff voice inquired.

“Not that I recall, sir," retorted the young one.

Passenger list. Creaky wood. Fish. Voices echoing from above. As everything became clear to him, Jagster felt his lips turning downward into a scowl of intense displeasure. He was on a boat. He hated boats. Why in the world did he decide to sober up on a boat? Before he could put much thought into his predicament, however, he felt himself being yanked up by the scruff of his jacket.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a stow-away,” the gruff voice said with a distinct hint of menace that the goblin heartily disapproved of. The voice belonged to a human, who began shaking the small man in his grip, thinking him still asleep.

“I’m awake,” Jagster declared, popping an eye open. “No need for the brutishness, bud. An' can ya tone it down? I gotta bitch of a headache.”

Jagster was so uncharacteristically broad for his people that, if he wasn’t green, he could be mistaken for a long-limbed dwarf. His thick black hair was well kept, and the perpetual gleam of his sharp brown eyes was dulled by a pair of red tinted glasses that sat precariously on his face.

The human scowled. He was a middle-aged man with dark skin and equally dark hair that grayed on the sides. He sported a rather impressive beard. Impressive, at least, to the almost clean-faced goblin, as his kind were not particularly skilled at growing facial hair. In fact, the goblin’s own outgrown sideburns and uneven stubble were likely as hairy as a goblin could get.

“Oh?” The man huffed. “So, you speak the common tongue, eh?”

The common tongue. Jagster held in a scoff. Humans seemed to be convinced that they were the base species from which all others sprang. Jagster was unsure of the specifics, but it had something to do with their most prominent religion.

Despite certain peculiarities of his nature, Jagster was not a religious man. The goblin knew that gods were undeniably real as he had some experience with them and, on one unfortunate occasion, was nearly killed by one. Jagster didn’t very much like most gods. They were, in his words, “apathetic dick-heads with swollen egos and impossibly high standards that are entirely unworthy of worship”.

The man shook the goblin again and shouted at him. “Eh? You listening to me, you little turd?”

Jagster, dragged away from his thoughts back into unpleasant reality, replied with as much charm as he could muster. “Yeah, buddy. I’m listenin'. I taught myself the—ah— ‘common tongue’. A few other languages too. Orcish. High Elvish. Dwarvish. Specks of Draconic here and there. I’m a real polyglot.”

The man’s face became skewed. “A poly-what?”

The goblin looked at the man for a moment, unsure whether he used the wrong word or if this human was just of the uneducated sort.

“I can speak many languages,” he eventually said.

“You think you’re a real clever asshole, huh?”

“I try.”

The man violently shook Jagster, causing the little man to burble unhappily as a small amount of vomit found its way out of his throat before sliding back down.

“What’s your name?”

The goblin stuck out his hand and offered his best smile. “I’m Jagermick Rollinrock. But you can call me Jagster! That’s what everyone calls me.”

He was, of course, lying. While he was referred to by the Rollinrock name recently, this was not his birth name. Also, nobody, absolutely nobody— not a single soul— called him “Jagster”. Both his name and supposed nickname were thought up by him on a random whim quite recently.

“Rollinrock,” the man muttered, ignoring Jagster’s outstretched hand.

“Yup.”

“That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well. I hear it'll be a common phrase one day.”

“Meaning what?”

“Probably somethin' to do with… Noise?”

The man scowled and shook his head. “Stupid. Just stupid.”

He looked intently at Jagster. “What are you doing on this ship?” he growled.

Jagster met his gaze and, with a serious expression, said, “I got very drunk. I don’t really remember the rest.”

The two men stared at each other for a while. Eventually, the human chuckled. Though there was still tension crackling in the air, the human relaxed ever so slightly.

“Alright then,” the human said. “You don’t seem like you’d cause enough trouble to be worth throwing overboard. So, if you promise to keep your grubby little gobbo hands out of our cargo hold, I guess there’s no harm in keeping you around until we reach port.”

Jagster smiled his business smile and offered a salute. “No grubby hands on cargo. Got it.”

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The man dropped Jagster hastily, just like the bag of fish he was holding moments ago. The goblin, still not quite having full motor function due to his incredible inebriation from the previous night, stumbled for a bit to avoid falling on his behind. He eventually plopped himself back onto what he was lying on earlier, which, he now realized, was a case with a tarp over it.

“So… How long is it until we reach port?” Jagster asked, still smiling.

“Probably a month or two.”

Jagster’s smile slipped away. “You shittin' me?”

“No, I am not. We are crossing the ocean.”

“The whole ocean?! Well, fuck me.”

“I’d rather not,” the human said wryly.

After explaining the situation to Jagster, the human introduced himself as the first-mate and told the goblin to stay put until he informed the rest of the crew of his presence. Jagster was happy to oblige as he nursed his hangover. Eventually, the man returned and told Jagster he was free to do what he liked, within reason.

With the approval given, Jagster climbed out of the cargo hold and rubbed his eyes when met with the bright sunlight. It appeared to be midday, meaning he was likely a good half-day from port. Longer if the vessel set out at night. There was not much chance the captain would turn around for one measly stowaway.

Jagster took a few deep breaths, tasting the salty wind and deciding it was preferable to most flavors of air. While the wobble of the ship would take a bit to get used to, he had sailed before and, while hating it, wasn’t prone to sea-sickness.

Once the goblin’s eyes, evolved to be better suited for the dark, became accustomed to the afternoon sun, he began to take stock of his surroundings. He noted various members of the crew, all human men, tending to their designated tasks. Several among the crew eyed him suspiciously but said nothing on account of the first-mate clearing his presence.

One crewman, upon making eye contact with Jagster, slid a finger across his neck, displaying the oldest of nonverbal threats. Jagster gave him a wink and made a heart shape with his hands. The man tensed as if he was going to charge at him, then returned to his task of mopping the deck.

Jagster shrugged and moved on, hoping that would be the extent of the animosity he received on this ship. He had been living among humans for a while now and had become decent at staying in their good graces. However, more often than not, he’d run in to deadbeat racists looking to kill a “monster”.

The ship was not the usual sailboat that Jagster was used to. It was, instead, one of the recently invented steamships. It wasn’t too surprising. Humans, who were less magically inclined than other races, were an inventive bunch and tended to have the best technology.

Jagster, wandering aimlessly, eventually found himself at the bow of the ship gazing at an absolutely ridiculous woman. She was leaning against the railing to watch the clouds pass by. One hand rested on her cheek and the other tapped out a rhythm on her thigh.

The strange woman was tall, even taller than most humans. Her lithe form featured skin that was almost a bright orange and long straight hair that flowed in the breeze, almost blending into the background of the sea due to its aqua blue color. She wore a purple gown adorned with pink trim, arm-length black gloves, a red ascot and, barely visible beneath the wave of her long skirt, black boots.

Jagster, never one to engage in what other civilizations called fashion, found this woman’s outfit so egregiously nonsensical that he almost failed to notice the two antennae protruding from her forehead.

“Hello, goblin,” the woman said, not even making an effort to look at him. “I hear you’ve accidentally joined us.”

Jagster, feeling that something was off about this woman, frowned for a moment. Though her posture and voice were cool and relaxed, something about her sent danger signals ringing in his head.

“That’s the long an' short of it,” Jagster said, forcing himself to offer a smile. “It’ll be alright, though. I won’t cause trouble.”

The woman’s sharp green eyes shifted to Jagster. With a knowing smile she said, “If you say so, little man.”

Jagster’s smile faltered in response to this. He had the distinct impression she, somehow, knew better. He would, as he always did, test the limits of his cage. He would amuse himself with how far he could get away with his nonsense via nothing but wit and charm. This always, invariably, led to trouble. It was the little game that he played everywhere at all times. His personal joke to the cosmos.

Jagster did not like the idea of someone else being in on the joke.

“So, there any other passengers?” Jagster asked, hoping that this woman and the, as of yet, unpleasant crew were not the full extent of his company.

“Yes, there are a few,” the woman said, turning so that she properly faced the goblin. “My hired help and a girl I’ve taken a keen interest in. I’m sure you will meet them all in turn.”

“In turn,” Jagster repeated. “That’s no fun. I prefer meetin' people in groups.”

Jagster whirled around and began heading back towards the mast. The captain’s quarters and guest quarters ought to be around there, he figured.

“My name’s Daphine O’Dora,” the woman said as he walked away.

“Didn’t ask, lady,” Jagster called behind him.

“So, you didn’t,” Daphine said, quietly.

Daphine O’Dora was not accustomed to people being cold to her. Her people were especially good at making those around them relaxed and comfortable, their innate charm making them beloved by all in a way that was hypnotic. It was an old magical trait that the origin of which was long forgotten.

She mused on this for a moment, before deciding it ultimately didn’t matter. It was not as if she needed everyone to love her. While she allowed herself some level of vanity, egotism was unbecoming of a person.

At first Jagster made his way towards the captain’s quarters above deck, then thought better of it. He felt it might not be good to bother the person that can have him thrown overboard just yet. Best find a way to have a few drinks with them first. He’d never been on a steamship, but sailors were sailors and they all loved swapping stories over mugs of ale.

Instead, Jagster made his way to, where he presumed, the passenger quarters were. The ship was too small for the crew to have their own rooms, so any individual room not designated to the captain must belong to the passengers. Or, so he guessed.

After a short moment, Jagster found himself in a passageway below deck with doors on each side. Before he could muster up the courage to knock on one, the door in front of him burst open, smacking the goblin in the face hard enough to send him reeling.

“Oh, gosh,” a human woman huffed as she stumbled into the hall, half tripping as she tried to slow her rushed actions. “Ahm sorry. Ah didn’t’ notice ya there and ah opened the door so fast an’—Are ya okay?”

“Uh. Fine,” Jagster said, rubbing blood from his nose. “Just fine. Dandy. Where the hell’s the fire?”

The woman’s eyes went wide. “What fire? Where?!”

“It’s a turn of phrase,” Jagster said, wondering if illiteracy was common among humans, despite himself having been taught to read by one.

Jagster eyed the woman, getting a good look now. She was somewhat short for a human, had olive skin and a stocky build with dense muscles. She wore a blue apron dress, a white blouse, sandals, and had her auburn hair tied into a ponytail. Concern flashed through her blue eyes and gentle face, which looked like it spent far more time smiling than not.

“Oh,” the woman said, as if she didn’t quite understand. “Are ya sure yer okay? Ah have bandages in mah room.”

“I think I can get past a nosebleed without bandages, thanks,” Jagster said, the sting in his face leaking into his tone of voice. “So, what’s with the rush?”

“Ah need to make lunch,” the woman announced. “Ah should've started a couple hours ago!”

“Shouldn’t the cook be doin' that?”

“Bah,” the woman scoffed, her anxieties vanishing without a trace. “Me an' mah friends eat slop? No siree. Plus, Daph even bought me all sorts of spices an' stuff ‘fore we left!”

As she spoke, the woman moved towards the stairs leading to the deck. She had regained her sense of urgency, having made sure she didn’t hurt anyone. Much.

“Before ya take off,” Jagster said. “What’s yer name?”

“Ahm Annette,” the woman said, turning to Jagster and giving him a small wave as if greeting an old friend. “Who’re you?”

“Jagster.”

“That’s a real funny name! In books an' things goblins have real scary names an' are mean an' scary people. But ya don’t seem mean at all!”

“Caught me on a good day,” Jagster said, giving her a genuine smile. “Alright. I’ll see ya around.”

“It was nice'ta meetcha,” Annette called as she made her way up to the deck.

“Likewise.”

The exchange with Annette left a warm feeling in Jagster. She didn’t seem like the brightest lady, but not many people were that kind to goblins.

Unfortunately, his heart immediately sank back down to its usual depths when he felt a knife at his throat.