Duval Estate.

Gerard sighed and rubbed his eyes in annoyance as he beheld the spectacle before him. After everything was in the process of being put back together after the last catastrophe they now had to deal with this frustration. What was it that had the butler so vexed, one might ask. Well it was quite simple. People. That was the source of his frustration. Well, more specifically goblins. Which were people. Sorta. To some people. Somewhere. Maybe.

Despite his efforts to earn his people some measure of legitimacy and respect, his kin were less inclined in marching in that direction it seemed. As evidenced by the fact that the workshop, forge, AND church were all now at war with one another. How did this happen? He didn't have a single iota of an idea.

So there he found himself, standing before a battlefield strewn about with dragues wielding a strange assorted mixtures of haphazard metal war machines, oils and powders of various concoctions, and the suffocating air of incense. Plus bodies. Not Noble Goblin bodies oh no, these were the bodies of the odd spectator that died from whatever collateral damage that left the battle zone. The dragues themselves were dressed in all manner of war-kits that either didn't fit or could barely be called as such. Oh and no small shortage of spawning pools that berthed more of the pitiful creatures to eagerly, and more oft than not confused, grab whatever had fallen nearby and rush headlong into combat against its kin, usually dying not long after having the cycle repeat over and over again.

What few bodies of dragues didn't last long as the method of traditional goblin reproduction commenced, liquifying the remains into pools the color of a dirty dishwater green with the rare single corpse left alone quickly being picked off by whatever got to it first, usually its kin nearby.

It wasn't exactly rare for dragues to target and fight one another, especially during their work, the opportunistic little bastards. But this was full on combat with actual crafted weapons and armor and... well Gerard would say tactics if it wasn't more of a brawl with more than a fair few dragues taking swings at their own "side".

Gerard glared up to the perpetrators of said conflict. His own kinsmen. The Noble Goblins that organized the church services, those that ran the workshop conducting their own experiments in typical goblin fashion of throwing everything together and seeing what didn't blow you up, and those in the forge that had been busy crafting armor and weapons for their forces.

Unlike the menial massacre, the Noble Goblins actually seemed quite... relaxed? Gerard sighed. This was going to be a headache, he thought as he marched across the blood, gore, and spawning pools of the impromptu battlefield and towards his kin. Despite the fact he was in the middle of a warzone, each and every drague screeched, sometimes literally, to a halt when Gerard entered their line of sight. Only to then promptly resume their attacks once he was clear of the immediate location of the skirmishes.

"Please tell me that there is a reason for this... spectacle." Gerard stated with no small amount of contempt as he gestured to the dying dragues behind him.

"Field Testing." The Noble Goblin that ran the forge stated simply and bluntly.

"Field testing what?" Gerard asked.

"What does it look like?! Our inventions and innovations!" The Noble Goblin from the workshop stated in an annoyed tone.

"And piety!" The priestly Noble Goblin chimed in enthusiastically.

Gerard sighed.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?! Because we need to test things and we're not doing it on ourselves!" The workshop gobbo stated.

"But why this?" Gerard stated and once more gestured to the death and gore behind him.

"Expendable." The forge gob declared.

Gerard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was already getting a headache.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Yes. I am aware they are expendable. But the crux of my question is why here and why now?"

"Because those seeking the Lord's light must be challenged!" The priestly gob declared zealously.

"What he means to say is that we have few opportunities to test our experiments outside a controlled setting. We can mix and match powders and oils all day but we won't know what will come of them in an intense setting."

"Armor and weapons need proving." The forge gob stated just as bluntly.

"And the warriors of God are too valuable to expend on mere tests! But once the meek die in His service, those that follow His light will be better!"

"The first two I understand. But how does sending dragues to die help inspire your followers?"

"Just as the lamb is laid upon the alter of our Lord, so is the drague sent to die to inspire!" The clerical goblin proclaimed.

Gerard still wasn't sure what the point of the religious goblin but he was already dealing with an issue that needed addressing and didn't want to add religious/philosophical teachings to the mix at the moment.

"Fine. But why did you feel the need to do this out in the open and not someplace less... collateral prone?"

Just to add to his point was some strange spike launcher a drague wielded shot what appeared to be a railroad spike that pierced the brain of a goblin bystander watching the carnage from nearby. Which didn't deter the goblins in the slightest as the growing audience cheered and took turns throwing crude weapons into the mix just for the hell of it.

The three Noble Goblins just shrugged. The workshop goblin spoke up in an unsure voice.

"Peer review?"

"Well whatever it is you want to call it. Stop. It is already bad enough that people think us savages on account of the thuggish Red Caps and their barbaric actions in town. It is not helped by goblins being goblins. And it certainly does NOT help to have this-" Gerard paused just long enough to see some sort of spiked oval leather ball flying through the air before smashing right into the face of a bystander.

"Blood sport! If you must do this at least do it out of sight!" Gerard commanded.

"But-"

"Out. Of. Sight." Gerard hissed.

The three Noble Goblins grumbled and one of them blew a whistle and got everyone's attention.

"Games over! Go home!"

The bystanders booed and threw all manner of rotted food and weapons onto the battlefield before inching away when Gerard glared at them. With this resolved, for now, Gerard fixed his uniform and turned around with a huff and made his way past the field of battle. Which was more reluctant to halt the 'game' as dragues seemed conflicted as to what to do. Continue to fight or follow Gerard's orders.

It was about an even split as some left to return to their duties while others rushed each other with a manic grin and wild shouts before gutting one another. Gerard shook his head and sneered. Such a violent spectacle was unbecoming of the Noble Goblins. If it were the grunts that orchestrated such a thing he wouldn't be surprised, if it were a Red Cap even less so. But to find that what he thought was a war between Noble Goblins was little more than a blood sport was indignant and infuriating!

He already had a hard enough multitude of tasks that had higher chances of disastrous failure as resplendent success. On top of that the actions of Mortimer, the nobles, and conflicts OUTSIDE of the estate! He seethed as he returned to his study to file paperwork. He found comfort in such work. Something about putting word to paper was calming and therapeutic to him. That and the tobacco pipe he's begun to puff.

He's seen Mortimer and others smoke cigars and cigarettes. Both of which he found smelly and foul. But there was an elegance to the pipe that he enjoyed. Tasting the spiced tobacco rather than smelling the cheap stuff the goblins had in bulk in an effort to calm their worse tendencies.

That was his calming routine. Pipe and paperwork. Maybe not in that order but one wouldn't be long without the other of late. Of course he knew the hazards of smoking tobacco, even tasting tobacco like cigars and pipes. But they all needed a vice, at least his was a private vice that didn't conflict with his work. Like watching those pitiful creatures bash in the skulls of one another.

That and he was in his own office, where he didn't have to worry about the outside world seeing him. Not that it was a habit that was undignified. Smoking a tobacco pipe was all together seen as more acceptable than puffing away on some cheap overpriced smoke. Of course he was looking forward to adding tobacco to the list of cash crops they'll begin to sow and reap come spring. He's done some research on some interesting blends that he wished to try.

Especially ways in which to hide certain things within cigars. Poisoning via tobacco wasn't either a sure thing nor quick. But there were apparently several ways of sneaking something within a stogie that would make cancer the least of one's concerns in the near future.

But something for another day, Gerard thought as he continued to balance the books and write letters to those that needed addressing. His thoughts turned to that country boy that had arrived in town looking for his sister. The sister that was one of those that perished when Mortimer and the goblins assumed control of the Estate.

While he hoped the boy would leave, he doubt it. He was certain, no more than certain, he was positive that the boy was still in town and more than likely seeking out any lead on his sister that may prove unfortunate for the Duval Estate and the goblins by extension.

So he had a plan to deal with it. Then another plan should that fail. Then another. With the way things tend to pile on and hit them unexpectedly it was simple thinking to have several plans for when such occurrences took place.

Like some hayseed potentially becoming a problem.

But he wasn't worried. He would be taken care of. The nobles would be taken care of. Their enemies would be taken care of in a most beneficial manner. Even Mortimer should that day ever arrive. The only problem with that last one was the ogre sisters that shadowed Morty like some sort of lost lamb.

He had plans for them as well. Of course he did. But he wasn't so bloodthirsty and ambitious that he would have the three of them killed all together just because it appeared more convenient. That was how Mortimer worked and it's already proven to be a very bad, and quite short term, way of thinking that he wasn't going to even entertain.

There was a time, place, and opportunity of such actions to be taken. None have arrived. Though with the Colonel's growing ties to the National Guard perhaps he could do something with that? The Red Caps were already brutish thugs, giving them modern training and weapons was a terrible idea, he thought as he scribbled away.

Where a pen would suffice the Red Caps resorted to a sword. Where he relied on charisma and cunning, they fell back on brutish instinct and behaviors. Yet they thought themselves better than goblins, Gerard snorted derisively.

He'll show the thugs. Good things come to those who wait and plan. Fortune did not in fact favor the bold. Only death favored them and if the Colonel thought that he didn't have teeth because he wasn't a Red Cap, he'll have another thing coming.