He couldn’t see within the quiet void except the pale half-moon that reflected upon the tranquil waters. It was only until splashes near the shore drew his attention. Bell was shivering with a rapid breath. Dalon wrapped her in the white cloak and carried her to the fire.

Ryder crouched near a goblin with Durge’s dagger in hand. The shriveled goblin gasped with stunted breaths. Its body was charred and paralyzed as it lay on its stomach. Ryder closed his eyes and gripped the dagger with sweaty palms.

Put it out of its misery. Put it out of its misery. Put it out of its- and the dagger entered the back of its soft skull. Ryder let out a smooth exhale before pulling out the blade and opening his eyes, brown ichor dripped along the handle.

He looked back toward the camp as Bell was being placed near the fire. Dalon draped her with more blankets.

“Is she going to be alright!?” Ryder asked.

“We have to let her get stable,” Dalon said, rubbing her arm. “Check on the rest and clear a perimeter, we have to move.”

Ryder checked on Durge first, he was asleep on the shore of the lake, snuggled with his mace while his boots sogged in the lakewater. Knowing Durge was fine, he went back into the woods, there was no sign of Scoundrel but the corpses of torn goblins were easy to see.

These goblins were impoverished and ill-equipped: grossly sewn together hides for armor, heavy tree branches for clubs, and shattered bits of metal for blades. The bows and arrows were flimsy and snapped with barely any pressure.

Scoundrel crawled away from the dark forest and went to the lake. A few strides away from the camp and unnoticed, he went to the crying dwarf Malomi. She hovered over her husband’s body, tears streamed down her clasped hands.

Her eyes went wide and her body froze as the beast approached her. Blood dripped from his claws and gray fur as he pulled Korif’s knife from his belt. “Thanks for the meal,” Scoundrel said with a wide bloodstained maw.

Camp was broken down and the fire left to blaze. Ryder and Scoundrel carried the sickly Durge while Bell hobbled alongside Dalon. Whispers of trees and the whimpers of Malomi were left at the abyssal lake when they headed southeast. It was past midnight. The only guidance of light was Bell’s cloaked lantern and Scoundrel’s eyes.

“What’ll happen to the lady?” Bell asked somberly.

“Either her fate leads her back home or she joins her husband once the goblins come back, it matters to us not. We should rest before the sun appears.”

A suitable field yielded to the tired adventurers for the night. In the morning, however, Ryder awoke to the sound of vomit spewing from Durge. He hacked, coughed, and groaned as he pressed his head against the ground. Dalon went over to the sickly oaf and handed him a waterskin.

“I just need to take a dip in the lake and I’ll be okay,” he muttered.

“We’re not near the lake anymore,” Dalon said.

Durge’s eyes squinted heavily as he looked around the sun-filled day. Only trees and more meadows surrounded him.

“There was a lake, right? And there was a dwarf or something.”

“Well, unless that’s piss sogging up your boots then I would assume so.”

Durge looked at his feet and could feel the wet leather touching his skin.

“What- then where’s Rye?”

Dalon looked over to the boy who was getting dressed and walking over.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Rye.”

Ryder yawned as he looked down at the oaf, “I’m glad you didn’t choke on your own mess. You’re forbidden from touching dwarven ale from now on.”

Durge groaned and rubbed his face, “Is that what it was?”

“Do you remember any goblins?” Dalon asked.

“Goblins? Is this true, Rye?”

Ryder nodded.

“Shit, I’m sorrys. Won’t touch it again.”

Dalon waved him off, “Just ready yourself. We’re moving again soon.”

Durge replied with a heavy groan.

As the adventurers neared, the lonely mountain seemed not as friendless when silhouettes of jagged rocks appeared above the horizon. Looking south, they could see the mountain range near the Catefur River.

“We near,” Dalon said.

“Should be there tomorrow,” Ryder added.

Durge stumbled over a root and held his head, “I haven’t been this bad since—”

“—Since you owned a ranch,” Ryder said.

“It won’t happen again. I hadn’t realized that booze was as stiff as it was.”

Ryder smirked, “A lot different than lenk wine at the manor or that watered down ale in Maria, huh?

“I could go for a tavern about now,” Durge said.

“I’d prefer you go to a bathhouse first, oaf. But speaking of taverns, I have to ask Scoundrel something.”

Scoundrel was toward the back of the group, peering far into the forest. “What is it, hayseed?”

“You’re a fur-beast, right?”

Scoundrel raised his fur-ridden arm and gave him a disinterested stare.

“When I first went to Maria I saw signs hammered near shops that read ‘Fur-beasts welcome.’ ‘Scales preferred’ and so on. Do businesses really disallow you from entering?”

Scoundrel snickered and gave an expression that made Ryder feel dim. “Any beast may enter any establishment they please. Those signs are there to warn others that it would be more enjoyable for each one's own kind. A bathhouse may say ‘Scales welcome’ but I may enter and feel myself awkward and overheating. We’ve had a few Feathers enter this tavern we Furs celebrate at but they never seemed to enjoy the rowdiness of it all- those pompous pricks.

“But that’s the reason for the signs, to warn other beasts that it may not be enjoyable for them?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Scoundrel nodded and said “you can fuck off now” with his eyes.

Hours of trekking through the ensnaring forests warranted frequent rests until nightfall. When it came to, Dalon and Durge collected as much timber as they could for the fire while the others set camp.

“We’re in goblin territory now. We’ll be taking watches in shifts. Starting with Durge, then Ryder, then Scoundrel, then me.”

“Hey! What about Isabelle!?” Scoundrel asked.

“Unless you have restorative magic, then I suggest you take watch. She’s the only support we have if potions are not enough. We need her tip-top.”

Durge grumbled, “How will we know when to end our watch?”

Dalon looked up at the sky and set points where the moon would be in the sky. “If the moon reaches here or if you’re drifting to sleep, then wake someone. Keep the fire low to avoid attention but if you hear anything, you feed the flames and you wake us. Understood?”

They all nodded or rolled their eyes.

Durge fed crumbs of crackers and honey to his gelatinous friend while Ryder continued reading from his journal. He reread the passages about goblins and searched for more within the hidden text.

“Did you know orcs are relatives to goblins?” Ryder asked.

“Makes sense. Does this mean Scoundrel is a relative of a you-know-what?” Durge said.

Ryder chuckled, “Could always ask.”

Durge grimaced and shook his head, “The damn beast has three daggers now.”

Ryder returned to his book, “It says here that goblins are the lowest in the ‘family.’ Followed by hobgoblins and then orcs. And that all goblins vary from each tribe or clan. The ones we- I faced were weak and cowardly, protected and armed with only scraps of salvage. But I’ve heard from Merrigold that ‘even the lowliest of creatures can cast magic.’ And goblins can eventually develop their own technology that isn’t pillaged from dwarven cities.”

“So?” Durge asked, playing with the slime.

“So! I’m saying what if this cavern we’re going to is an entire goblin kingdom underground!? Stolen from the dwarves and ruled by an orc warlord who can summon goblins from the very soil!?”

“Uh huh,” Durge said inattentively. A great smile grew across his face when he petted and prodded the jiggly acidic creature.

Ryder exhaled aloud and slumped to the trunk of a tree, reading through passages written by the mysterious adventurer once again.

“Durge, you’re up. Don’t get too distracted by that pet. All of you should rest now, tomorrow will be stressful.”

Bell, Scoundrel, and Ryder said their goodnights and headed for their tents while Durge was left to sit alone by the smoldering fire. His watch was largely uneventful, he played with the slime or twirled his mace while casually peering into the dark forest. He awoke Ryder with a swift kick of his boot before crawling into his shelter.

Groggy and dazed at the quick nap, Ryder took a swig of his waterskin and patrolled the perimeter of the camp. As the waning sickle moon pierced the wispy clouds above, he would sheathe and unsheathe his sword, practicing faster techniques. When he got bored of that he’d check his bow, his arrow fletchings, his chainmail, and the dagger in his boot. Owl hoots and chirps of crickets were the only events to stand out.

With the whispers of Ryder in his ear, Scoundrel awoke and yawned before scurrying up a tree. The black of the night appeared a light gray to him, he was able to see half a horizon away and gaze at the animals eyes that reflected the starlight. He preened his claws, fur, and chased the nocturnal wildlife until his shift was over.

Dalon was the last to awake until the blue dawn of the morning twilight blanketed the stars. He was thankful not to have his throat slit by goblins or vindictive party members. Bell seemed restored as she aided Dalon with his steel cuirass and greaves.

“Last day of travel, Iz.”

“Last day,” she yawned. “What are we doing after we turn-in at Thrahnar Hold?”

“Whatever you wish, but we have to survive first,” Dalon said solemnly.

Bell gripped his shoulder, “This won’t be like before. We’re both more experienced.”

Dalon sighed and held her hand for a moment.

The seventh day of travel began on the ninth of Firth, year 353. The weather was calm, hot air with a slight breeze through the green sunlit forest. The solitary mountain was now behind them and the jagged mountain range of gray rock faced them. Travel felt odd but the change of pace from tangling vines to gravel stone was pleasing to some.

Everyone in the party was stern and attentive, even Durge and Scoundrel. Sounds of swift movement between the barren trees would halt the party.

“Scoundrel, check it, “ Dalon ordered in a hush voice.

The beast creeped low with daggers ready. Hidden beyond the trees the party heard a clash, a high-pitched whelp, and then a bone-snapping crunch. He came back with the familiar red and brown ichor on his mouth. Scoundrel licked his lips and nodded toward Dalon.

“Dammit! They’ve probably been scouting us since this morning.”

“Let’s move quick and find the cavern. We won’t be overrun while it’s day,” Ryder said.

Dalon huffed, “Fine. Remember we’re looking for bunny ears on the entrance of a cave.”

The five picked up the pace, risking the noise from their clattered movements to avoid being trapped in goblin territory at night. Snarls, gruffs, chattering, and short whistles were heard throughout the base of the mountains, but that didn’t stop the adventurers. Any goblins that were easily spotted were chased, shot at, or hunted by Scoundrel. Three more goblin bodies were left to rot in the sun before the party found the stone pillars above the cave.

“Those must be the bunny ears,” Ryder said.

“They look more like horns to me,” Bell said.

“We know where it is, now we must find shelter. Evening nears and hordes of goblins will roam this range.”

“Let’s charge in there now!” Durge said, taking a step forward. He was hastily barred by Dalon’s spear.

“Fool!” Dalon exclaimed.

“We need a plan, Durge. An army of them could march out of there for all we know!” Ryder said.

“We scout for the night and enter in the morn?” Scoundrel asked.

“Aye,” Dalon nodded.

The party huddled in the small recess of the mountain, it was high up, shaded, and the land below was bare for all to see. Evening approached as well as the snarls and the grotesque shouts of the goblins. The land was enshrouded in darkness and the adventurers were ever-uneasy. Bell’s lantern, covered and hidden, provided minimal light within the alcove.

Scoundrel sat at the entrance, gazing at the bands of goblins skirmishing one another. Sounds of screams, cheers, scraping, and crawling haunted the adventurers. They all had blades or shields raised and ready.

“Why are you all so afraid?” Scoundrel laughed. “I will not die by goblins today nor tomorrow. Such lowly creatures of dirt and stone should fear you.”

“We’re outnumbered, Scoun,” Bell said.

“We are,” Scoundrel said with a wide stained smile.

Dalon huffed, “Then take the first watch, Scoun. Then Ryder, Durge, then me. We’ll rest as much as we can.”

In the moonless night, Scoundrel could see the shadows of goblins roam the land. Some hunted, set traps, fought, or partied. It was an entire community full of bickering neighbors that would kill one another over the smallest grievance.

It was hard to sleep for any member of the party tonight. Thoughts of the possible dangers and the imaginations of the goblin kingdom plagued Ryder’s mind until he was awoken by a scratch at the back of his neck from the ferret.

Ryder opened his eyes and sat near the entrance, sword in hand. He couldn’t identify any shapes or figures except for the wall he put his back to and Scoundrel who curled up into his tail. The sounds of gnarled chatter and the knowledge of being surrounded until morning was draining. He reached to clutch his necklace for comfort but nothing was felt except the collar of his tunic.

It turned into an immediate frenzy of him feeling across the stone floor. He tried moving the lantern in different areas but no jeweled necklace was found. He looked over the edge of alcove but, as expected, the outside might as well have been the depths of the ocean. A thought reappeared frequently as he searched, the scratch, the scratch, the scratch.

“Scoundrel!” Ryder pounced on the beast and put a dagger on his throat. “Give me my damn necklace!”

The rest of the party jolted awake in their restless slumber. Scoundrel, smug, and condescending as ever, laughed. “What necklace, hayseed?”

“You know damn well which one! I’ll slit your throat and find it myself!”

Dalon readied his spear but Durge was already pressing his mace against the back of the party leader’s head. He felt around his own neck and felt that the tiny vial and his friend were gone.

“Damn you, mutt! What’d you do with him!?”

Scoundrel cackled, “I’d lower my tongue if I were you. Unless you want me to add a yelp into the mix, then we’d have a lot more to worry about than a few necklaces.”

“Give them up, Scoundrel!” Dalon said.

“Guys, please!” Bell exclaimed in a hush.

Scoundrel was able to back away from Ryder and reveal the necklaces wrapped around his fingers. “A pure sapphire on your neck this entire time? You talked of your ‘manor’ in Locria before so who were your parents before you became orphaned? The son of a merchant now sunk in the Gulf of Gold? The treasury advisor’s son? The son of Countess Locria herself?”

Ryder’s teeth and fist clenched.

“That one, huh? And what about this vial? I heard slimes are a delicacy in some areas.” Scoundrel took the cork off and swirled it slowly. “Perhaps I’ll pawn the necklace, eat the slime, kill the oaf, and ransom off the heir of Locria to the pirates or giants? Maybe even the mysterious army that attacked your shores and murdered your mother?”

As Ryder and Durge leapt on Scoundrel and almost skewered through him, Bell and Dalon pulled them back and snuffed the lantern. The sounds of skittering, snarls, chattering, and whistles surrounded the alcove. The party crouched low and huddled to the far wall as a small boney hand gripped the side of the entrance.