The river flowed with fresh and ice cold water. Sticking his bare toes in it was unpleasant but, the smell coming off his own body and gear was far worse. Taking off his helmet and gambeson, he set them on the bank, then stepped foot into the river. Shivering from the near freezing temperatures, he quickly got to work rubbing his body with his hands. Mud and dirt quickly came off, dissolving in the river and giving it a streak of brown. His grey skin underneath had never been so clean, it was course and still looked ugly, but it was free of dirt and grime. Next, was his hair and face. These two things had probably suffered the most. Taking his stiletto, still stained with any blood he couldn't rub off with his furs, he grab his long hair and cut it close to the skull. He knew that his hair probably now looked far worse than it did before but at least it was far shorter, cleaner, and acceptable. After giving his head a good wash in the water, he stepped out quite quickly.

His gear got the rough treatment next. Soaking his gambeson into the water was not enough to get the deep blood and dirt stains out, so he had to spend a good time scrubbing it with his hands. Dirt and grime came out with the work of his hands, but they could only do so much to help. After realizing the larger bloodstain marking the back of the gambeson was there to stay he moved on to the much easier helmet and stiletto. They both cleaned very easily, while he could not magically remove the scratches and chips, the metal somewhat shined with the removal of dirt and dust.

Now he could continue with far less concern, there were still quite a few questionable stains, but nothing that a traveler wouldn't obtain surely. Donning the soaking wet gambeson, he dismissed the thought of catching a cold, goblins were hardy against disease after all.

Moving on, he continued following the river. At this time of day the sun had just started to rise on the horizon, hidden beyond the trees to the right of him. The croaking of crickets gave way to the chirping of birds. Vultures flew overhead, circling in the air a few dozen paces ahead.

Most wouldn't find it an unusual sight, but anyone who understood the creatures would realize a deeper meaning. Something was dead, and the vultures were either waiting for something to leave or waiting for their bellies to empty. There were a few more hints to grasp from the scenario though, like the scent of blood and the taste of human that lingered on the tip of his tongue.

Walking forward at a more careful pace, he was more than ready to stab at anything that jumped out at him. The entrance of whatever gave the vultures their good meal was less than exciting. A large human female walked out of the brush and ticket in front of him. Her perception didn't seem to carry over in his direction, so he quite quickly hid among the foliage.

Bending down to the river in her studded leather armor, she washed her hands of the blood that soaked them. Her shaved head and tattooed face had splatters of blood. The studded leather was covered in even more, likely to leave an impossible to ignore stain across its torso. After her hands were clean of crimson, she unsheathed her shortsword and dagger, wiping them down with a cloth after she soaked them with water.

Not trying to make any assumptions of the girl, he remained hidden. Creeping in the direction the girl came from, he remained as silent as he possibly could. Only a minute away from the river were six more humans. Each one of them was a unique sight for his eyes. Two of them, in the same studded leath get up of the previous woman were standing quite menacingly over the other four. These two were holding the roughly same weapons, though one held a heavy shield insted of a dagger.

The four in front of them were cut from a different cloth. One of them lay prone and covered in blood, but seemed stable. The other three sat on their knees, their weapons were piled aside. They were not wounded, but had pained looks upon their faces none the less. As for their own appearances, one seems to be half-orcish, another was half-elven, and the other was human. Each had their own set of gear. The half-orc sported her own fancy robes, a decorative cloak of leather hung on her back. The half-elf had a very aggressive looking set of black and red leather armor, fitting to his form quite perfectly. The human had a simple chain shirt over what looked to be a pair of common clothing.

The worst part of the situation he chanced upon was the language barrier, he had no way to tell good from bad in this situation other than body language. The first impression here was key, it would be a huge influence on what kind of progress he makes toward entering human society.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

While he discovered a love for stabbing sleeping defenseless goblins, he hadn't much of a passion for stabbing large, armed, conscious humans. Wit was needed to deal with this, he had a plan brewing already.

Moving farther behind the two standing humans, he raised his posture ever so slightly in the half-orcs line of sight. She visible reacted, in a not so subtle way. He held up his palms to communicate her need for patience. She only tilted her head toward her human companion in response, said human gave her a questioning look, but sneakily scanned the forest. Once they established eye contact, he dropped back down into a crouch, hiding himself fully from all but the two aware of him.

The human broke eye contact and began using his shirt sleeve to clean his face. Our goblin friend had nearly started moving to enact his plan of distraction, but halted at the sound of a whisper in his ear.

The voice was quiet and masculine, but an issue arose, he couldn't understand it. It was human speak, the masculine kind. The voice continued on for a short while. The only words he could pick out and understand were ones like water, help, and kill, which he heard from many other humans he encountered with his now dead group. Stopping his movement, he looked back at the chain shirt wearing human, they were still wiping their face, but their eyes were locked on him and glimmered something magical.

Going about this the wrong way could lead to something fatal or ruin a big chance at an exciting companionship with humans. The best bet would probably be to bluff his way into using goblin as a proclaimed "second" language since some humanoids knew it.

Covering his visor with his hand to try and prevent any sound from coming out, he whispered under his breath in goblinish, "Do you speak goblin? I come from a place where common isn't exactly common."

He talked in his best human accent, something he picked up in one of his first encounters with one. Additionally, he pretended to struggle with the pronunciation of the words.

The response seemed to have some sort of response from the human, he saw his eyebrows furrow. Then, he got a verbal response, "Human at the river, one spell left, help distract them, don't need to kill."

The response was very fortunately in goblinish, it sounded ruggish and unpracticed, like a language someone just picked up recently. It seemed to work out though, for now, he seemed to have some trust.

He stepped back, further into the foliage of the forest, plenty of trunks and bushes between him and the others. Expecting some sort of wacky spell effect to aid him, he began to improvise.

He started with moving the nearby bush, grabbing it and shaking it violently. While the voice in his head had stopped, he heard voices from ahead. No idea what they were saying, he stepped it up, making random noises in goblinish loud enough for them to hear. Shortly after he started doing this, many voices saying roughly the same thing seems to come from the surrounds, as if there were really a large group of him. He continued talking, this was probably what that human was talking about.

Having no way to visually confirm any sort of success, he moved closer to the river. It was not long until he saw the girl who was cleaning herself earlier, she had her weapons drawn and at the ready, pointing in the direction of her allies. Seeing her so deep in focus, he moved next to the river, and snuck down the side of it toward her. She was so focused on the forest, looking for signs of fake goblins, she could not see his small form beside her.

Lunging at her side, he stuck the point of his stiletto between her ribs, sinking it in with the weight of his body. Attributed to her vitality, she screamed, but did not fall dead. She staggered heavily away from him, but he used his momentum to jump onto her, using the stiletto and her throat as a hand hold. He savagely headbutted her, using his helmet to his advantage. She could only scratch at his back with her dagger before his second headbutt connected, knocking her unconscious and likely very close to death. While just a scratch, her retaliation still managed to draw blood, adding another red stain to the back of his gambeson. Perhaps it could provide useful in convincing the others that it was his all along.

Taking the woman's dagger and retreating a few paces back, he head in the direction of the other group. Standing with his arm around the shoulder of one of the bandits was the chain shirt wearing man. The bandit he oh so friendly had his arm around was dazing into the forest lazily, his eyes gleaming in some sort of magic trickery. As for the other bandit, he was on the ground in front of the well dressed half-orc, who pat herself off casually. The half-elf stood next to her, kicking the corpse of the bandit mumbling something under their breath. The corpse had a line scorched into the waist of his armor, as if a hot rope was wrapped around him. His face, which was in the dirt, also had a large scorch mark on it which wrapped around the entire left side of his face.

The half-elf seemed to get bored not a second later, giving the corpse one final kick, then heading to their unconscious and bloodied companion. All too predictable, the half-elf kicked at her companion, except this kick seemed to be slightly more gentle and magical. Magical in the way that their boot glowed with radiance, like a midday sun. When the kick connected, the magical radiance transferred to the surface of the injured ones wounds, closing most of them. A healing spell, he thought, and applied in an ironic way by the most unexpected person of the group.

As for the human, he still had his arm over the bandit, talking to him as if they were friends. The bandit seemed to nod every once and a while at his words. As if the scene couldn't get creepier, the human unsheathe a dagger from up his own sleeve. With his left arm still around the shoulder of the bandit, the human stabbing his dagger into the stomach of the bandit. This seemed to knock the bandit out of whatever magical effect he was under, as he looked shocked. The bandit received a kick in the back from the half-elf, causing him to stumble toward the human, who swiftly sucker punched him. The bandit fell to the ground unconscious.

With all three dealt with, he supposed it was now or never. Standing up fully, he hid his daggers the same way he saw the human do, up his sleeves. Then, making sure as little of his grey skin was visible, he stepped forward.