Vong shrugs at Ralith’s suggestion to take the goblins into town and says, quite non-committally, “It’d be nice to know that they know something before walking all the way back. And since Zer can—,”
“Zer Khaldun.”
“—talk to goblins it’ll save us a lot of trouble, you know?” He looks at me like a friend and asks, “What can we do to help?”
Vong’s charms do not work the same magic on me as they seem to do everyone else. But since he’s asking my advice this time, rather than demanding my service, I may as well reward that behavior.
“They will not respond meaningfully to me unless they believe me to be the chieftain of our group. You must all behave as my subordinates.” That tidbit is true, but also, perhaps, a good opportunity at conditioning the party to treat me in a manner aligned with reality.
Vong immediately sits down. Ralith and Pil follow suit, unsurprisingly. Twitch shrugs and sits. Rakatha is still smoldering, but that’s not a problem for the ruse. In fact, sitting is not necessary either; it’s more about displaying deference.
Rather than explain the subtleties, I walk over to the goblins. Still just the two are conscious, but one of the sickly ones seems to be stirring.
“Fight me you, no hair man. Fear not me you!” shrieks the one in the middle.
“Like not you fight me,” I respond in their tongue, wagging my finger. “Kill not you fast. Watch you first they,” I point to the other goblins. “Tell me now you, what tribe yours that come here mine?” I stamp my staff on the ground to punctuate the question.
The goblins react as expected to my show of dominance. They cower, uncertainly. Without a leader to play off of, goblins can be quite docile. It’s typically only when their alpha is leading them that they feel emboldened.
“Bearfang tribe we!” the one on the right says.
The one in the middle kicks him and corrects, “Bearbreath, idiot!”
Interesting. That is the same chieftain mentioned by the goblins at the creek.
“Why trespass Bearbreath to here mine?” I say, claiming that this is my territory.
The one in the middle laughs and says, “Own not you here, outside one. Own dummy humans here. Make they here green food and human kit. Destroy we all they have. Make we way for Warchief!”
“Why poison you well? Drink you also water. Danger to you,” I decide to ask about the farm since it appears that they are part of a larger campaign to sabotage the Buknar valley.
The two conscious goblins share a look and shrug at one another, then look at me and shrug again.
“Talk me Bearbreath. Where Bearbreath now be?” I puff my chest and extend my arms at my side in a display of intimidation. Goblin speech includes a fair bit of body language, so posturing is part of being understood.
The weak goblin opens its eyes just as I am doing this, and it screams, causing the others to startle and scream also. I can only imagine what this looks like to the rest of the party. It’s either very impressive or very silly.
“No, no, no!” cries the one in the middle. “Say not, say not! Kill me Bearbreath if tell me you. Kill now me you better than kill later me Bearbreath.”
The one on the right agrees, “Yes, kill we. Better dying.”
“Who this?” the weak one asks the others, apparently confused about the situation.
“Little boss that clan, this one,” explains the one in the middle, nodding to the party and then to me.
Little boss? That’s how they see me? Perhaps I’ve lost my touch over the past decade.
“Be not Bearbreath man friend?” it asks.
This appears to confound the other two. The one on the right asks, “Be you Bearbreath man friend?”
I lie, “Yes.” Best to keep lies simple.
The three look between one another. A hint of incredulity in their eyes tell me they are not entirely convinced.
I try a gamble, “Take me to killing spot many.”
This doesn’t seem to spark any recognition, but they regard me more seriously.
“Know already you where be Bearbreath then, say you killing spot know,” the one in the middle says guardedly.
This is not going as well as I’d like. The social hierarchy is instinctual in goblins, or else they’d have in-fought themselves into oblivion long ago. While more than ready to transfer loyalty to whichever new alpha kills the old one, they’re surprisingly difficult to take command of without proof of the last boss’s demise. Sure, any intelligent creature can fabricate that kind of proof, but it is generally easier to just kill the old chieftain than kidnap him.
I hadn’t had to best the alpha of the tribe I became the leader of almost accidentally. They came across me, retreating from their defeat against a rumored demi-god. Whether the Eighth Lord is truly part divine, or just a potent spellcaster, is not known. No one can reach his lair in Imraku to find out—everyone who tries dies in the process. Necromancy is the Eighth Lord’s specialty, so those who wander too close just end up joining his army whether they want to or not.
That tribe had not come anywhere close to penetrating Imraku’s perimeter, and none could really articulate why they had attempted it in the first place. Lost, hurt, and leaderless, the survivors literally ran across me as I hiked through the region. I recall that when I used a bit of low-level magic to deactivate the animated skeleton chasing them, they began praising me and following me. I tried to shoo them off, but they beckoned me to follow them to their home. It had been my curiosity that bid me to follow.
I didn’t speak goblin and relied upon magic to understand them. I didn’t think much of the creatures back then, but I enjoyed being treated with respect and so I indulged in it. I had food, shelter, respect, and even some treasure. They were amusing and hardly a nuisance.
It was only a year, but it was an informative one. Learning the goblin language and culture leaves me with a variety of tools at my disposal, and I can shape a goblin into a loyal, trustworthy minion given a few days.
These, however, are not my tribe. They belong to this Bearbreath. Is it a goblin or an orc or some other Horde soldier? At this point, I can’t ask or the goblins will know I am lying about being an associate. Still, they are only goblins—I can outsmart them.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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