Goblins always remind me of little annoyed kids. Cute little buggers. Anthony squatted beside Tommie so the goblins weren’t forced to look up, a common courtesy when dealing with the shorter races.
Anthony understood Gob, so he could hear what they were both saying.
“Gnome Tommie, tasty foods came, has tall shiny man with him. Want to talk to master, lord, tippy top boomer!”
Boomer was actually said in common.
Many historians think that explosions were only a later addition to the goblin’s lifestyle and lives because it isn’t part of their original dictionary. Wonder what crazy bas- tard taught them how to make things explode.
A voice came back from inside the house. “They come with more tall people? Stabbys?”
“One stabby, big stabby, and small quick stabby,” the goblin at the door replied.
“Take stabbys, let them in,” the other voice said.
Much more articulate; their squeaks are more pronounced. It must be a hobgoblin.
The goblin and Tommie talked again before Anthony and Tommie gave him their swords and Tommie’s dag- ger. They disappeared and a moment later, the door was opened.
They ducked into the house beyond but it quickly opened up so Anthony wasn’t hitting his head on any- thing, showing that there must be at least one hobgoblin inside.
The goblin brought them forward, puffing out his little chest. His crooked overbite made him look more adorable than powerful.
They passed other goblins that were living on bunk beds. Some were sleeping; one was laying off the bed, letting out little snores as spit ran down his face and fell on
the floor. Other goblins were moving different things around the room.
They entered the communal area, where there was a pot with food being made. A tired-looking hobgoblin sat in the middle of the room next to the pot where the meal was being made.
“You know, many people think that hobgoblins are an- gry all the time. They are most of the time, but most of them are just annoyed. Looking after twenty to fifty gob- lins at a time is enough to drive anyone a bit loopy,” An- thony said.
“If they don’t have anything to do, then they can get into trouble,” the hobgoblin said in a gruff voice.
Anthony hummed and gargled before talking in Gob. “My name is Anthony. I was wondering if I could ask some questions about the boom boom that happened the other day. Could I talk to your head alchemist? I am friend of goblins and of High Hob Council,” Anthony said. “I am neutral and hope that I can help in solving this crime.”
The goblin looked at Anthony and then to Tommie. “You trust?” he asked Tommie.
“Seems trustworthy,” Tommie said after a few moments.
Anthony nodded at Tommie’s response. “Too few peo- ple don’t understand the value that hobs and gobs place on trust and their word.”
“Few take time to learn about it,” Tommie responded.
The hobgoblin looked at them both before talking in Gob.
“Wake head boomer. Bring other hobs,” the hobgoblin said.
The goblins chittered and left, moving down the corri- dors to the other rooms. The whole house was set up in a circle, with one main entrance and other hidden en- trances and exits and areas that the hobs and goblins lived and worked in.
Other hobgoblins appeared. They were much larger than the goblins. Their skin was gray and they had pointed ears instead of the goblins’ floppy ears, and they had two big teeth that stuck out of their lower jaws.
Many people thought that they and the orcs were cousins because of the greenish skin and the teeth, but the hobgoblins were wiry and not thick-built like the mad orcs, who were recognized as part of the extensive beast man race.
“Hob Drull, ruin sleep time. Should be important,” one said, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.
“Human and gnome guest?” “You bring head boom?”
There was a dull shake in the room as some smoke ap- peared from a hallway.
A smoking and blackened goblin returned, holding up their hand and opened its mouth before it fell forward on the ground.
“Who woke me from my booming sleep!” a much loud- er hobgoblin said in Gob.
A goblin wearing blackened goggles and a bandolier of different containers entered the room, looking at every- one there.
“Greetings, high boomer. I am Anthony, come to ask about your booms!” Anthony said.
“Human who knows booms?” “Booms yes!” Anthony said.
The goblin head alchemist looked entertained as she took the main seat in the house.
“Sort out smoky gob.” She waved other goblins about. Seven of them swarmed the small goblin, grabbing their head, arms, legs, and, in one case, a toe, lifting the smok- ing goblin, bouncing them with every step. They carried them out; the poor goblin let out groans as it hit the ground with the bumpy ride.
“The explosion the other day, was that you?” Anthony asked in common.
“Bah, silver sprite and red boom powder? Simple sim- ple? All power, no boom boom!”
Anthony looked at Tommie.
“They like to make good, powerful-looking explosions.” “Was it a powerful explosion?”
“Yes, but not that colorful,” Tommie said.
“Art through explosives!” the head alchemist said with pride.
“Nice booms! Colorful booms!” the goblins said like a school of repeating children.
“So, are all goblin booms the same?” Anthony asked.
“The same? Bah! Booms are booms! Every goblin should have their own boom!” the alchemist said.
And we have left real sentences far behind, ladies and gen- tlemen! Anthony then frowned. “So the explosion at the water plant?”
“No colorful boom, no goblin art! Was powerful boom, but no BOOM. Goblin show their skill, not hide it!” the head alchemist said.
“So someone who wasn’t a goblin wouldn’t have adver- tised this,” Anthony said.
“Strange words, confusing human,” another alchemist said.
“So who other than the goblins would make explo- sives?”
“Other races, explosives, pah! Humans skittish and scared. Gnomes all numbers and words!”
“Gnomes testers, always curious, but only few with booms, most on machines and tech-nology,” the goblin alchemist said, finding it hard to form the words.
“Which gnomes are interested in booms?” Anthony asked.
Tommie had a grim look on his face but he didn’t say anything.
“What that gnome name?” The alchemist turned to the hobgoblins.
“Uhh, Talywack?”
“No, like Smikenwoss,” the other said. “Wenic?”
“No, but Wemic?”
“Wemtic, that’s his name,” the head alchemist said. The other hobgoblins looked pleased with their “help.”
“Do you know anything about this Wemtic?” Anthony asked them.
“Sad gnome, lonely gnome, lost his tribe,” a hobgoblin said in a sad voice.
“Big tribe or close tribe?” Anthony asked.
“Close tribe,” another hobgoblin said.
So he lost his family. Less to lose, and there might be more behind it.
“He focused on boom boom, strong but no looksie,” the head alchemist said.
“He say why he wanted to make boom?” Anthony asked.
“Get justice, restore balance for his close tribe,” a hob- goblin said.
“Did he say how?” Anthony asked.
“No.” The head alchemist shook her head.
Seeking justice, but one’s personal justice—might not be the law’s or other’s justice.
“Do you know this Wemtic?” Anthony looked at Tom- mie.
“I do.” Tommie sighed.
“Thank you for bringing us into your home. May I know your name, Great Alchemist?” Anthony spoke Gob as he touched his head and chest before offering his hand, a sign of thanks among goblins.
The goblins and hobs were stirred before respondi
ng with the gesture.
“This one is Gixai.”
“Have a great day!” Anthony said as he left with Tom- mie.
“Bye, metal tree-man!” one of the goblins said in their high-pitched, almost child-like voice, waving as he left.
The others all chimed in, waving their hands as if they might fall off and grinning as they repeated the first’s words.
The hobs grumbled and complained as they sorted out their tribe. But Anthony saw the shine in their eyes and the flick of their ears, showing their pride of the tribe and their happiness of being treated equally.
Anthony exited the door with Tommie beside him. “This Wemtic, what do you know about him?”
“He’s an old gnome, wanted to remember his heritage. His great-grandparents established Laisa in the age of gnomes due to how close the gnomes were with the elves after the last great war.”
Anthony remembered that time. He looked back and saw row upon row of war machines—technological be- hemoths with encrusted power stones. At their heart lay elven mages, using their magic to operate the machines and attack the enemy, increasing their strength.
He returned to reality once again, Tommie not noticing anything.
“The goblins came some time later, seeking refuge here. They had been allies with the gnomes and the elves and they accepted them. Then the humans took over Radal about ten years ago and commanded the other races in Radal. Five years ago, a human council was put in place. They sent resources and items to the emperor, but in do- ing so they took from the other races. Winter came ear- ly two years ago and we didn’t have enough food. Prices went up and because of the high taxes, we didn’t have enough to pay. People were dying of starvation. Wemtic was a great engineer. He was looking at making a place to grow food in the winter so that people could survive.
“He had a young wife and daughter. They went out one day to get food. He completed his winter growing house and wanted to celebrate with them.” Tommie let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. He looked at his feet, gath- ering strength to say the rest of the story. “There was a riot at the market. The guards came in to re-establish or- der. A fight broke out and the guards attacked. People fled, but Wemtic’s wife and daughter were caught up in it all. They were trampled to death. Wemtic was beside himself. He cried over their broken bodies. That winter growing home? The lord found out about it; they wait- ed until he was at the funeral, then went to his home to steal his plans. Wemtic came back to his house to find them looting the place. They said that they thought he was a leader of the riot.”
Tommie let out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh, his hands in fists as tears hung in his eyes. “Stole his winter grow- ing house plans. But Wemtic was a gnome through and through. He always kept his secrets hidden. He came
back to a house that was ransacked—his bedroom, where he’d woken up to his wife’s sleeping face; his workshop, where he would spend his days, teaching his daughter gnome technology and where he would be dragged from by his wife; his kitchen, where he would eat meals with his family and play with his daughter. They even tore up his daughter’s room where she would sleep. When they found that they didn’t have the plans, the lord sent his guards over again to loot his house. Wemtic was beaten black and blue for ‘resisting.’ He didn’t give the plans up. It wasn’t about the plans any- more; it was about the lord, about the guards. He started drinking at my dad’s place, kept saying that if the gnomes were in charge, if it was his father or his grandfather’s generation, then they wouldn’t have stood for this. That there would be food for the people, that there wouldn’t have been a riot.
“They came again and again. He would show up with bruises and cuts; he accepted them, started saying that he deserved them for not standing up for his wife and child, for living in a city ruled by humans.” Tommie looked at Anthony suddenly, realizing he said some- thing wrong.
“Go on,” Anthony said softly, showing he wasn’t affect- ed.
“He took the beatings, his house was broken into; still, he hasn’t given up the plans. He spends his winters going around, looking after the other gnomes. Treats the gob- lins nice, too. He’s a good man,” Tommie said.
“Even a good man has his limits,” Anthony said. A part of his nonexistent gut twisted hearing the story. “Where is he now?”
“He is probably at home,” Tommie said. “Okay, let’s go and talk to Wemtic.”
Tommie nodded and led the way. “So, are you some kind of roaming knight?”
“I’m a Guardian.” Anthony saw Tommie’s frown. He felt a pang of loss but covered it over with a light tone. “I guess we’re not as widespread now. We have an oath, not to one race or to one god, but to all of the people who call Dena home, no matter the race. We look to protect and safeguard the people of Dena, allow them to seek justice, to be protected in their times of need. We all have different positions. There are fighting Guardians, governing Guardians, and so on. We walk the world without a country but with our oath and support of oth- er Guardians.”
“So you don’t fight for humans?” Tommie asked.
“I fight for Dena. If there is a human, gnome, goblin or any sentient creature who is in danger, they can seek a Guardian’s protection. That does not say that someone under the Guardian’s protection is above the law. If they are charged with a crime, they will have a trial according- ly.”
They walked in silence for some time.
“You’re a strange human,” Tommie finally said. “Thank you,” Anthony said in a happy voice.
Tommie smiled and shook his head. “So what are you doing going into the Deepwood?”
“Need to see an elf about a letter,” Anthony said. “An elf about a letter?”
“You know—an adventure, a quest, an all-important journey, to find oneself and to find the meaning of the world, and set injustices right and seek the answers to elusive, barely veiled mysteries!”
“You make it sound like we’re in some kind of adventur- ing story.”
Anthony sneezed abruptly, making Tommie jump.
“Ah, sorry about that,” Anthony said as Tommie calmed himself down.
“That’s Wemtic’s place,” he said.
Anthony looked at the house. The garden was over- grown, pushing up against the small stone wall that was broken in places. The tiles on the roof had fallen down and different parts of the house showed scorch marks.
It looked uninhabitable.
“He tried repairing it in the beginning but then guards would undo his work when passing by. Turned into
something of a game for them as they were bored on pa- trol,” Tommie said.
He pushed the gate that was hanging off its hinges. The stone on either side showed signs of being broken and repaired so many times that there was nothing to repair anymore because it had been worn away completely.
Tommie knocked on the door and waited but there was nothing. “Wemtic, it’s Tommie, Todd’s boy!”
Still, there was nothing.
Tommie opened the door. “The guards might have been around again.” He entered the house.
“Wemtic, are you there? It’s Tommie!” Tommie kept calling out as they entered the house. Only silence met them.
Anthony looked into the kitchen. A small fire was going and on the wall, there was a painting. It had been de- faced repeatedly.
Anthony ground his teeth together and clenched his fist. Wemtic had painstakingly cleaned the painting again and again. His own features were lost, but his smiling wife had her arm linked into his and their daughter looked like a bouncing bundle of energy as she sat on her mother and father’s knee.
Among the destruction, their smudged portrait stood out.
Anthony went over to the painting, looking at them. A heavy feeling fell over him.
“Step away from them.” A cold voice that had long since stopped caring came from behind Anthony.
“Wemtic!” Tommie looked at the hunched gnome, who was leaning on a simple wooden cane.
“I didn�
�t think you’d fall this far, Tommie—betraying your own kind.” Wemtic held out a device in his hand. “One more step and I’ll take you and this house down with me!” Wemtic warned, shaking the device.
What have you been through? Anthony wasn’t scared of the explosives. Although others would see the angry an- archist who was willing to do anything, Anthony saw a man in incredible pain, pain that hadn’t been allowed to heal, that had been turned into anger.
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