The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  It was only when they got this big when Snow Golems got less funny. In the Winter, Snow Golems could get very big very fast, and hill-sized ones like these were to be avoided at all costs. So long as you kept your distance though, you were still pretty safe. All a Snow Golem could do at range was hurl part of itself at you. That was a concern with such a huge one, but they had terrible aim.

  Giant Snow Golems weren’t too dangerous…unless you happened to walk past one while it wasn’t moving. Then the Snow Golem would grab you and swallow you whole. The stones, shards of ice, and crushing pressure of the Golem’s body would grind you into paste quite quickly.

  Oh, and cities, Rags supposed. If a Snow Golem found a city or village it would have to be slain quickly or lured away. Otherwise the city would be destroyed.

  But all in all, it wasn’t a threat. Rags was just relaxing as the Snow Golem became a distant mound slowly moving on the horizon when she heard another call go up.

  “Attack! Monster!”

  It was Noears who delivered this report. Rags turned left and saw something coming at her tribe through the snow, leaving a geyser in its wake.

  Yes, most monsters usually fled a huge force of Goblins. No lone Mothbear would attack a vast tribe, even if it was starving. But some monsters could prey on Goblin tribes, attacking fast and taking away their victims. Other monsters were just insane.

  Which kind was this? Rags couldn’t see the monster amid the churning snow, but she shouted and the nearest group of warriors rushed forwards. They all had pikes she was glad to see, and they formed a wall, aimed at the approaching monster.

  Rags waited, tense, astride her snarling wolf. More Goblins were rushing towards her, but they’d get here after the monster. She had to weather the first assault. And now, as the monster charged her Goblins she saw what it was.

  Half of a thing. At least, that’s what Rags thought. The creature was dark green, skin full of crags. It looked…like half of a body. The upper half.

  Huge, terribly long and powerful arms with massive claws that dragged it forwards. A torso of some dark green hide armored with what looked like scales of metal. But no lower half. And no head. Rags saw a gaping mouth where the neck should be, but no eyes.

  It was some kind of horror, some monstrosity. Rags felt her Goblins shudder, but she shouted at them to hold position. There was no time to load her crossbow—Rags pointed at the thing and cast [Firefly].

  The flaming insect-bird burned at it struck the monster, but the searing heat seemed to do nothing to the monster’s thick hide. Rags pulled the gem of [Terror] from her belt and held it up. Only briefly—it would affect her Goblin warriors too. But though they shuddered as the effects struck them, the crawling thing only dragged itself forwards again, ignoring the magic.

  Hold ground!

  Rags screamed it at her warriors, and then the crawling monster crashed into the rows of pikes. It didn’t slow, and it didn’t stop. Rags saw the wooden tips of the pikes breaking as they snapped under the monster’s charge.

  But some stuck into the creature. It jerked as two rammed deep into it, drawing viscous green blood. But it still kept coming.

  Goblins screamed and the formation broke as the pikes failed. The crawling thing snatched up five Goblins and pressed them against it’s oval mouth full of teeth. Rags saw the Goblins screaming, flailing—then only blood.

  “Chieftain!”

  Lighting struck the crawler as it dropped the remains and crawled towards Rags. She pulled her mount back as Noears ran forwards and zapped the crawler. It didn’t flinch as it kept coming.

  “Redfang!”

  Another cry. Redfang warriors on Carn Wolves sped forwards, slashing at the dark green hide of the crawler’s back, drawing blood. But their weapons failed to cut deep as well, and the crawler swung at them, knocking one Goblin off his wolf.

  “Surround! More pikes! Get Hobs!”

  Rags screamed at her Goblins, trying to organize them. She brought every pike she could to bear on the thing—giving her Goblins a chance to hurt it as it charged them. She had crossbows pelting it, but still the crawler kept charging into the ranks of her warriors, heedless of the horrible injuries it was taking.

  In the end, her Hobs had to wade in and bash it to death. The one with the mace managed to break something in one of the arms, and the others held the second down while Pyrite and the strongest Hobs beat at the thing. It took a long time to die.

  When it was over, Rags counted the dead. Thirty five Goblins had died, eight of them Redfang warriors. She felt disgusted at herself and angry at the thing—when Noears told her it was a good battle she nearly struck him.

  “Killed too many!”

  He just shrugged. He was sweaty from casting so many spells, but he looked better than her Hobs. All of them had taken wounds, especially the ones who’d had to hold down the thing’s good arm. Rags shouted at one to get a potion and the Hob gratefully went to get one from one of the wagons. She glared at Noears.

  “What was?”

  He shook his head as he stared at the dead green thing, lying in a puddle of its own gore in the stained snow.

  “Crawler. Armored one.”

  Rags eyed the dead monstrosity. None of the Goblins were willing to get near it, although a few with pikes kept poking it to make sure it wasn’t faking.

  “What is?”

  He didn’t know. Some kind of failed mage experiment maybe? Whatever the original had been, it had found a way to multiply over the years. It was just one monster among the ones around Invrisil, if a rare breed. The crawlers were suicidally aggressive. They’d attack anything edible, regardless of the danger. That they were still around was a testament to how hard they were to kill.

  Rags stared at the dead Goblins, already going to a wagon to be chopped up later for food. She looked away.

  She hadn’t participated in the battle. Oh, she’d organized her tribe, but Rags had only cast one spell. She’d had to lead, not fight. And her Goblins were dead because of it. It made Rags feel sick to her stomach, but she could only move on.

  The Goblins left the crawler behind. None of them wanted to try eating it, and Rags wasn’t sure if it would be safe. She had the Goblins who’d gotten blood on them scrub the places clean with hot water, and then she marched on. They weren’t far from the village now.

  It was late in the evening when Rags saw the village, a collection of rundown buildings in the snow, looking for all the world like an abandoned settlement.

  She wasn’t fooled, though. As soon as she saw the village Rags immediately ordered all the non-warriors to pull back a few hundred feet with a good-sized detachment of warriors to guard them. The rest of her warriors she took with her.

  To battle.

  The Goblins who lived in this part of the continent shuddered as they approached. They knew what this place was. The other Goblins picked up on the mood, but Rags kept them going.

  And as they approached the village, the keen eyes of the Goblins began to pick out the inhabitants. They wandered among the ruins of their home, shambling, ignoring the freezing snow.

  Zombies.

  It seemed like the light was darker around this place, or maybe the sun was just setting quicker. But this was a famous spot. A village of the dead. A place where the dead could not die.

  Zombie villages weren’t unheard of. If a horde killed off an entire village, they could soon all become shambling undead creatures. But this one was…unique. Because these zombies didn’t move from this village. They guarded their former home in death as they had in life.

  No one knew why. But though adventuring teams had been sent and monsters had clashed with the undead, no one had been able to raze the village once and for all. There were simply too many zombies. With each death, a new one rose to join their ranks so that this village was small, but Rags knew hundreds or more than a thousand zombies had to be hiding in the snow, or in the houses.

  No one came here. There was too much death. Overwhel
ming death. That was the consensus among Goblins and Humans, it seemed. This village of the dead was a beehive waiting to be disturbed. And once it was, it would consume whomever was foolish enough to trespass here.

  But Rags wanted a fight. She had her sword and buckler out and she was leading her Goblins herself—against her commander’s objections. Pyrite was walking next to her, axe on his shoulder. He’d only nodded when she said she wanted to test her forces against this village.

  Rags called a halt as she saw the zombies take notice of her warriors. She began organizing them, putting pikes out front, having her crossbows move to the center while she pulled the wolf riders back for quick attacks. She was going to attack this army of the dead with her new formation and see how well it held up.

  It felt wrong to make her Goblins fight after the crawling thing, but Rags had decided to do it anyways. The way they’d broken when it had gotten past the pikes proved that she needed to drill them, to make them into a unified fighting force.

  The zombies came in a shambling mass. They didn’t run, but they moved faster than Rags would have liked. She eyed them, watching for the telltale sign of Ghouls or other undead stalking along the mass of zombies, but found none around the outskirts of the village.

  More were rising from the snow. Rags looked at her Goblins warriors. She had a good box formation—a phalanx if Rags had known the word—going on. But she didn’t want to remain stationary.

  “Pikes!”

  They stiffened as Rags raised her voice. The Goblins warriors holding the pikes were not elites. They didn’t like being in front without Hobs, but Rags wanted to prove to them her new tactics would work. She shouted at them and they tensed, leveling their spears at the sea of dead bodies coming at them.

  “Charge!”

  Rags pointed her sword and the Goblins around her ran forwards, screaming in both fear and rage. She ran too.

  The pike Goblins hit the zombies hard. Rags saw countless bodies being impaled on the spears, and those that survived ran into the Goblins in the formation with swords who hacked at them. Rags shouted, and the pikes fought for a few seconds before attempting to disengage.

  It was hard. She ran forwards, cutting and found Pyrite and other Goblin warriors were at her side. They forced the zombies back and the Goblins ran, some abandoning their pikes despite Rags shouting.

  Rags thrust her short sword into a zombie’s head and watched as it fell. But only seconds after it had fallen she saw it trying to get back up. She cursed. This wasn’t what she’d thought would happen at all!

  This village of the dead refused to die. Zombies came back to life…in a manner of speaking. When killed, they would reattach their severed limbs, regenerate burned skin. Rags had heard it was possible to kill them by disintegrating them or chopping them up into really small bits, but it was hard to do that when countless more of them were attacking you.

  She’d thought it would be a good group to test her warriors on. But these zombies came to back life fast. Rags burned the corpse with [Firefly] and shouted at her warriors to retreat.

  They did so, the Hobs moving back last. They were far stronger than zombies and easily cut the dead apart. But they kept coming back.

  This truly was a village that no one could use. Necromancers couldn’t control these strange zombies, and it was pointless to try and eradicate the bodies. They just kept reforming, making the dead villagers and countless victims over the years into a truly immortal force. And if it were just zombies it would be fine. However…

  “Ghouls!”

  Rags heard the cry go out. She looked over and saw Poisonbite shouting. Crossbows loosed and Rags saw darting shapes streaming out of the village stumbling, but more came on. She shouted and the Goblins around her started running in a true retreat.

  “Chieftain!”

  Rags heard Pyrite and turned to see a Ghoul leaping at her from the left. She cut at it and dodged it. The Ghoul landed, one arm dangling uselessly. Rags stabbed at it. She got it in the throat, but the Ghoul just impaled itself further on her blade as it rushed at her. Rags bashed it with her buckler, but the Ghoul cut her. It ripped at the leather armor on her stomach and Rags gasped as she felt something slice her belly. Then it struck her on the head and the world went dark.

  “Chieftain!”

  Something shook the ground around Rags. She stumbled, flailing with the buckler but the Ghoul was gone. Rags fell back. So. She couldn’t kill one Ghoul? She really was…

  She felt someone pulling her back. Away…

  When Rags woke up, her tribe was marching quickly. She sat up groggily, but it was dark. She realized they were marching away from the village and dropped her head back to whatever she was lying on.

  Rags slept.

  —-

  When he was young, the Goblin King often caught the many varieties of insects in his jungle home. He would study each one he caught before eating them. Some were brightly colored beetles, others worms with wings, or biting insects made far too large. Many were poisonous and kept him sick. Others were actually tasty, or had beneficial effects.

  The Goblin King learned which were good and taught his friends and tribe. So it was that he became a [Healer] long before he became a Chieftain of his tribe. And he never forgot, even when his [Healer] class was merged into his [Chieftain] class…

  Rags sat up. She covered her aching head in her hands and then realized she was healed. She was healed—

  And she was in camp. It was late at night, very late. Goblins were camped…where? Rags looked around.

  They were sitting in the middle of the snowy plains. Far, a few miles away from the village. Far enough that Pyrite must have decided they were safe. He’d saved her.

  Rags remembered what had happened in jolts as she struggled to her feet. She felt tired—weak. And ashamed.

  “Chieftain.”

  Someone came towards her. A huge shape. Pyrite. He saw Rags was up and immediately called out. A Goblin ran over with hot meat on a stick. Rags tore at it greedily as Pyrite led her to a fire where the ground had been cleared to sit.

  Goblins were lying or sitting in small groups in the cold night. Many of them glanced up at Rags passed by and then looked down. She couldn’t meet their eyes and the food in her hands cooled as she lost her appetite.

  “Eat. Sit.”

  Pyrite sat Rags down. She found herself sitting at a small fire with the Hob and one other Goblin. Greybeard smiled at Rags as he chewed on some tough meat.

  There was something in Rags’ eyes. It made her stare at the fire and it was in Pyrite’s gaze and Greybeard’s as well. Not reproach; that would have been easier.

  “How many dead?”

  That was all Rags asked. Pyrite thought.

  “Less than a hundred.”

  He didn’t lie, but Rags didn’t want to know how many less than a hundred really was. Ninety nine? She stared into the fire.

  “My fault.”

  None of the Goblins around her replied. They knew it was true. Rags had made a mistake. She’d taken her Goblins here to fight—because she’d wanted to fight. She’d wanted to prove she was a good warrior and a Chieftain. All she’d done was get Goblins killed.

  “Chieftain wants to be a warrior. Is not one.”

  Greybeard cackled and Pyrite poked him hard, making the older Goblin yelp. Rags said nothing. She bowed her head.

  A bit of envy. A bit of frustration. She did want to be a better warrior than she was. She liked being a Chieftain, but it hadn’t been enough, had it? So she’d killed over a hundred Goblins today with her pride.

  It was painful. And yet Rags still felt the same desire in her chest. The urge.

  “Too weak. I am weak.”

  She looked at Pyrite. He paused, and nodded.

  “Best leader is smart. But strong is also good.”

  “I must be strong.”

  Greybeard nodded. Pyrite nodded. Rags knew the Goblins pretending to slumber around her agreed. A Chieftain could be cunn
ing, but she had to be strong enough too. Strong with her head, strong with her body—Rags desired both.

  “Tell me about the Goblin King.”

  Rags said it suddenly. She looked at Greybeard and the old Goblin froze. Pyrite looked at Rags.

  “Long time ago.”

  “Yes.”

  Long for a Goblin. But not for a Human. Many had been alive when the last Goblin King had, and Tremborag had fought with him. Surely this old Goblin knew the King. Rags remembered the Goblin King as a small Goblin, foraging in a jungle and was suddenly consumed by curiosity.

  “Who was he? Why did he kill? What does it mean to be Goblin?”

  The Goblins fell silent. What few that had been eating paused, and Rags knew that they weren’t pretending to look away. All eyes turned to Greybeard.

  And he—lost his usual grin. He stopped eating and stared into the fire. And when he spoke, his voice was deeper. It wasn’t crackling and merry, but somber. Quiet.

  “The Goblin King was a peaceful King for many years. Six years he ruled and we lived without fighting.”

  Rags stared at him. She had never known that.

  “Without?”

  “Without.”

  Greybeard tossed an unchewed bone into the fire and watched it crack.

  “We made peace with the Humans, Gnolls, even Drakes. On this continent. On Baleros we forged alliances. While he lived, Goblins were only hunted in a few places, and most of us prospered.”

  He only acted stupid. Rags stared at the old Hobgoblin and looked at Pyrite. He looked at her, calm and unsurprised. He knew Greyberad was smart. How?

  “You remember?”

  Rags saw Greybeard turn. His face was caught by the dim firelight and she saw a younger Goblin there. How old did you have to be to have your hair turn white? He grinned at her, exposing his remaining yellow teeth.

  “Know him? I saw him die. I was there. I remember the Goblin King, Velan. And as the Humans and other races named him: Velan the Kind. And I remember the King before that. Curulac of a Hundred Days.”