“If only I had my damn spear, then I could use it as a walking stick,” Dalon said.

“Will this do?” Scoundrel asked, handing him the goblin guard’s halberd.

“Aye,” he said. Looking over the throne room. The hobgoblin’s body lay crumpled over his dais. His throne was a great dwarven chair, Ryder was unable to tell if it belonged to an actual dwarven king or just another piece of ornate furniture. An additional piece of decor that attracted all the party members was the corpse of the scale-beast adventurer. His torso and head were tied to a rack while splinters of bone stuck from where the limbs used to be.

Bell was the first to approach the body. She grew somber as she touched the scarred face of the beast. Whip lashings and deep slashes adorned him. Bell placed her hand on his chest, the radiating magic unable to grasp hold of any life. As she did, she felt the adventurer’s dog tag. She took the chain off his neck and read it aloud, “Rylee Tsothe. Star-ID being Heat-8791”

“And fallen in battle and left to rot in this cave. Grab his tag and let’s go,” Scoundrel said.

Bell rubbed her fingers over the talc dog tag. “No one deserves to be left to wither without the touch of the sun.” She proceeded to cut the straps of the rack and carry what was left of the adventurer’s body.

Dalon sighed, “Dammit, Bell.” He carried the chewed leg of the scale-beast and aided her in carrying the rest of the body.

“About time we find a way out of here. Boy, where’s the bread trail?” Scoundrel asked.

Ryder fidgeted with his sapphire necklace, I- uh- ran out.”

“You ran out!?” the party yelled unanimously.

“Well, we should find our back with ease, I believe we went… right?”

The party silently agreed to go left instead.

The twisting of stone hallways after hallway left them confused. They could not recognize any pathway as their torches dwindled. They stuck to the left-side wall until they found another set of doors, crudely cut out for the cavern opening.

“This isn’t it,” Dalon said sternly.

“No, but maybe it’ll lead outside,” Ryder said.

Scoundrel pushed against the doors that scraped along the stone and peered inside. The beast’s eyes sparkled, “Or a treasure trove!”

Durge and Scoundrel dashed inside the opulent room. Chests of silver, crates of fine dishes, and large urns were scattered throughout. Furniture and materials left to collect dust without any practical use from the goblins. Dalon shook his head as he and her stood in the doorway, still holding the body.

“We don’t have all day! Fill your pockets and get out!”

Ryder decided to peruse the wares as well, lining his finger against the slashed cushions and dusty paintings of a dwarven family. His eye caught the attention of a crate with a familiar stamp pressed into it. An ocean wave with a crown above it was the common symbol for the harbors of Locria.

Inside the crate was silverware, and inscribed along a fork were the initials of the same silversmith Ryder and Durge visited before the attack of the marauders. He smiled and gathered two of each type of utensil for himself and Durge before being lightly shoved by the oaf that was stuffing a handful of glimmering necklaces into his bag.

“Come on, Rye! If only Irid could’ve seen this! We’re rich!”

“We’re barely alive, Durge. Come on!” Dalon ordered, walking out the door.

Scoundrel stayed a bit longer but soon caught up, his rucksack about to tear from the weight. The party gathered at the corpses of the goblin guards outside the throne room. They took a few steps in different directions before Ryder called out.

“I remember this passage! The one we had to squeeze through!”

The adventurers hobbled over, weighted down by their loot and injuries. Ryder entered first and the rest followed to the narrow passage. It was awkward to haul the body through for Dalon and Bell while Scoundrel couldn’t fit through.

“Come on, Scoun! Your greed will be our demise!” Dalon exclaimed.

“I can fit! I can fit!” He tried moving his shoulders from side to side but that only ensured that his bag would be stuck, unable to walk forward or back.

“I can get out of this!” Scoundrel’s shoulders touched both ends of the wall, but luckily for the fur-beast, he was able to remove his arms from the straps of his bag. The rucksack held in place between the wall while Scoundrel combed through it, removing the less valuable items. Candelabras, ornate urns, and painted plates shattered on the ground. The bag slid down the wall, skinny enough to pull through.

Scoundrel looked back at his shattered loot as the party kept onward. Through more unfamiliar passages they avoided the pitfall and found the bread trail once again.

“Now we can exit with ease,” Ryder said, smirking.

“What a waste of—”

A loud shuffling of feet and short grumbles of goblin tongue were heard down the hall. The party stayed quiet against the wall, expecting a horde of goblins to crash into them. Their torches smoldered, producing barely a light. Scoundrel saw two small figures walk beside one another, walking slowly with arms carrying something.

As the goblins reared the corner, not noticing the light of the torches, they saw five intruders, blood stained and ferocious, staring at them with wide-eyes that intended to kill. They spat out the moldy bread that puffed out their cheeks and dropped the rest of the adventurer’s trail upon the stone floor.

In an instant before they turned around, Durge grabbed one’s throat. He tightened his grasp until the goblin squirmed in his hand for air, kicking and tearing at his hand. When its limbs fell limp, he dropped the goblin in front of the other bread thief and let loose a maniacal smile. The goblin gulped the crumbs in its dry throat and began sprinting.

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

“Smart goblin!” Durge said, running after it.

“Follow him! It’ll lead us out!” Ryder ordered.

The goblin twisted and turned down familiar passageways: past the spike trap that wounded Scoundrel, past the handprints and corpses of trainees, and eventually leading to the entrance hall. Warmth of the sunset brought great joy to the adventures as they saw the goblin scurry deeper into the mountains, but as dusk neared, so did the rest of the goblins. The party swiftly exited the valley of death and made their way into the edge of the woods before nightfall.

The corpse of Rylee Tsothe, the scale-beast, was placed looking eastward, forever gazing at sunrises for eternity. Bell muttered a quick prayer for him and joined with the rest of the party that headed northeast.

The cries of goblins echoed over the mountain range. The fall of a chieftain was no daily occurrence, it shook the clan to its core and the skirmishes over who would be the next leader began in the same hour as the corpse was found.

Durge cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, “I’m glad to be out of there, if we got lost, Irid said we would’ve transformed into goblins.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to be in there when the hunters discovered that body. We’d all have been left to rot in there,” Scoundrel said.

Dalon scoffed, “You didn’t seem to mind staying in there longer than we should have.”

“And yet your bag is bare of goodies,” the beast smirked.

“The only ‘goodie’ I need is the 50 shines in my pocket after this quest!”

Bell interrupted the bickering when a frightful thought entered her mind. “This may seem like a jest but how do we know this is the right axe? How do we know there wasn’t one in some other treasure trove we’ve yet to find?”

“Of course this is the axe, just look at it,” Durge said, admiring the weapon.

“What does the quest note say again, Rye?” she asked.

Ryder read the parchment line by line, over and over. The entire party prayed and pleaded in their head that the axe was the correct one.

“It says nothing.” The party sighed and lowered their heads. “Just a ‘runic’ axe. And this one has plenty of runes on it. Although I was unaware it was an amplifier as well.”

“This is the axe whether they like it or not,” Durge said.

“Perhaps we can bargain for gold from the steward if we tell of all the other dwarven treasures within the mountain?” Scoundrel rubbed his paws together.

“Is the greed of gold always on his mind?” Ryder asked the siblings.

“Always,” they replied.

The adventurers rested in shifts while a prepared pile of sticks laid next to them, ready to become a bonfire at any moment if goblins struck in the night. Anxiety of the cretins attacking seemed nonexistent to each of the party members, they’ve grown calloused and exhausted from the fighting. The thought of the goblins being preoccupied with fighting each other and choosing a new ruler, eased their minds.

Beams of light scattered through the green forest, signaling for the goblins to sleep and the animals to rise, five dirty adventurers being among them. Starving and wishing for a clean bed, they donned their gear, and trekked onto the arduous journey to Thrahnar.

The fields of dwarven chopped trees were a blessing and a curse in the midday for the party, no shade from the heat, but no shade to hide any ambushers.

“Do we know where we’re going?” Scoundrel said, panting.

Ryder didn’t bother checking his old map of Maria this time to know that they were presumably lost.

“All I know is that Thrahnar lies beyond the mountains. We merely have to find an opening that doesn’t involve us going over them.”

“We’ll be walking the entire damn range. I can already feel my legs aching,” Durge said.

The party walked until the summer sun had set. With no food, except for a few crumbs at the bottom of their pouches, they grew fatigued. Durge scouted around with Scoundrel, hoping to find anything in the trampled underbrush. He found an untouched lenk and brought it back to camp while Scoundrel came empty-handed.

Durge brought out a recognizable steel mug, stamped with the Guild Hall symbol, and poured his waterskin in it, along with the squeezing’s of the lenk.

He presented the drink, “This night requires lenk n’ ade!” Without the sugar or the cold waters of a winter spring, the drink was unappealing, but broke the monotony. “I shall share it first with Scoundrel. Although we may be sour to one another, may we pleasure ourselves in knowing this drink will be sour…er.”

The fur-beast stared into the mug, floating bits of rind, zest, and seeds swirled in the light pink water. He looked appalled and downtrodden. He lapped the drink with his tongue, shivered, and poured it onto the dirt. Even the grass wanted no part in absorbing the concoction.

Durge was about to become irate before the beast poured a drink of his own into the mug. “Try this instead.” As he took the cup, the party saw the unlabeled bottle of alcohol in his paws.

Bell stuck out her tongue, “Eww goblin booze.” The dark bottle showed no signs from the outside what it was, they only knew that it was darkly colored. When Durge sniffed the contents of the mug it smelt of sour fruit and alcohol. The oaf took a hefty gulp, leaving only a sliver of liquid left in the cup.

“It’s wine,” he said, scrunching his face and giving the mug back.

“At least it’s not more dwarven ale,” Ryder said, gesturing for it to be refilled.

Dalon and Bell filled their own vessels with the wine, they cheered and clanged cups with the rest of the party as the fire blazed through the starry night.

The 12th of Firth was hot as the days that came before. The forests, still barren, and the clouds, still speckled, tiny and few. To their surprise, the exhausted adventurers found an opening through the mountains by dusk. A natural valley that cut directly though the range as if the dwarves pierced the earth themselves.

“Please don’t be any more goblins,” Bell pleaded.

“No, no. Look! Torches! Carriages!” Ryder exclaimed, pointing toward the distant caravan heading northwest.

“The Gods favor us for once,” Dalon groaned.

“We should get someone to haul us to the dwarven city,” Durge said.

And as dusk set once again, the adventures made camp, now enshrouded by the darkness of the mountain valley. They made camp next to the dirt road that guided the distant caravan, hoping they’d awake to another coming in their direction. Scoundrel spotted bits of torch light upon the rocks above, short figures with blades attached to belts.

“We’re being watched by dwarves,” he grumbled.

“Good,” Dalon said. “That means we have no worry of goblins.”

“Why can’t we be there already!” Durge yelled into the air, flopping onto the dirt.

“Have patience my oaf-like friend, have patience,” Ryder said.

He replied with a loud groan. The lack of food and accommodation took a toll on him.

The sounds of wheels turning and horses snorting eagerly awoke the party before the dawn of day. In a daze, they donned their gear, grabbed their packs, and put on the friendliest faces they could manage. Although bloodstained and reeking of death, the wagon driver pulled to the side for them.

A dark-haired stone elf woman looked at the party in absolute disgust. The adventurers surrounded her empty vehicle and pleaded to travel aboard. They repeated the city-name of ‘Thrahnar’ and shoved a handful of necklaces in her face.

She looked at the back of her covered wagon, easily able to haul double their size. She gazed back toward the dirtied adventurers and their handful of jewels and sighed, putting her palm out for them to place them in. The party instantly started throwing in their bags, and themselves, into the cart. They rejoiced once the earth moved past without the need of them lifting a foot.

Ryder and Bell said their gratitude to the elven driver, “You have not the idea how long we’ve been walking. We thank you! I’m Ryder, and this is Bell, Dalon, Scoundrel, and Durge.”

“And what’s yours?” Bell cheerily asked.

No response was given. Whether she did not understand the common tongue or could care less to socialize with the beggars, she rode in silence, only focusing on her horse and the road. The party members agreed to stay hush, instead taking in the joy of being able to rest and progress to their destination at the same time.

Scoundrel was the only one who wasn’t half asleep or dozing off as they looked at the scenery. He stared at the personal chest that the driver had directly behind them. Only separated by a thin wooden board as a back brace for the driver and canvas blocking the sun, he opened the chest slightly with the tip of his claw.

Bell and Dalon were the first to notice him. “Stop it!” Dalon whispered.

Scoundrel jolted, rearing his paw back. The trunk’s lid left a quiet thunk as it closed.

“Sorry! It’s an unquenchable urge!

As the beast defended himself, the wagon came to a slow halt, and the elf turned around.