If I were truly as bad as you say, wouldn’t I have been exiled my dear duchess?
-Rebel Black, the Shattering Tome
Runt had never left the Crypt, but suddenly, within a day he was being prepped for an expedition to gather a cube-monster. The Master was overjoyed with the Lady’s initiative, and the Lady had become instantly infatuated with the cube-monster.
Runt didn’t see what was so special about it, but what was he to deny the Lady’s whims? Either way, he was standing in the Lady’s ((SANCTUM)) as a set of clothing was being magically tweaked on his body. Instead of the soft furs and skins, he was now dressed in a thin cloth shirt, with a slightly thicker pair of pants that made him feel practically naked, and swaddled at the same time. The leather bag he was wearing kept swapping sizes as the Lady fussed. The worst development was that he had to wear shoes. They pinched his feet at odd angles, and he was certain that he was going to be actively injured by them.
A small bag of coins was tied to his belt, they weren’t sure what the coins did, other than that Dragons and Mortals seemed to like them, so he had been outfitted with several kinds. His dagger rested at his hip, but beside it was a second, weaker dagger, since Mortals never used dragon bone.
The lady settled on the larger bag, and Runt mentally went through the images of what types of plants he was supposed to gather if he saw them, and the secondary ((COMMAND)) to effectively take anything he didn’t recognize, if it wouldn’t put him in danger. His reddish hair had been cut short, and his piercings removed, and the holes closed. The Lady had even straightened his teeth, of all things, and removed the layer of protective yellow around them. Why, they hardly even resembled fangs now.
Runt supposed that was the point. He was being styled like a Mortal. The dirt under his claws fell away, and they were trimmed back by an inch. He had to bite his tongue to stop a growl from escaping his throat. Eternal Goodness, who knew that being disguised would be so… humiliating. After what felt like hours, the Lady decided he was suitably preened and he was officially ((COMMANDED)) to begin the expedition.
He sensed the Master’s amusement, and the Lady’s beaming enthusiasm. Runt left the Lady’s domain, and powerwalked (the Infernal shoes made it near impossible to run) to the nearest shortcut. After an hour or so, he made it to the first floor, his old home.
He was older than most of the Goblins there now, and he didn’t recognize most of them. The spawner must’ve been hard at work. They jeered at him as he walked past. Speaking in Goblin, but using slang he didn’t recognize. Every since the Lady had taken him, his thoughts had changed.
Inherently, it was harder to think, just as it was harder to lift things, and how his poison resistance had effectively dropped to Nul. But somehow, it was like he was allowed to think of more things. He didn’t just worry about eating, sleeping, getting the shiniest loot and fighting anymore. He was… strategic, maybe.
Runt ignored the other Goblins and approached the Entrance. The door creaked open just enough that he could slip out. He took a deep breath, and left the Crypt.
The door slammed shut behind him, and Runt hissed in pain. He pressed his hands to his eyes, although that didn’t stop more light than he could ever dream of from escaping through his eyelids. It was no wonder that the Mortals tripped over their own feet when they entered the Crypt. He scratched at his eyes until they stopped hurting. He barely opened them a crack, and more light flooded his senses. He cried out again.
Tears streamed out of his eyes, but he forced them to open. He stared downward, blinking rapidly until, blissfully, shapes began to form out of the bright light.
He was standing on something green. A plant he didn’t recognize. Runt reached down and snagged a few blades of it, then placed it in his bag. He looked up and screamed, then clamped a hand over his mouth.
It kept going up. He was surrounded by trees, by the Entrance, but still higher above them was an impossible blue expanse. The world outside was simply another room, another Crypt. The Master was large, but whatever had created the ceiling of the blue room was larger. It wasn’t the Mortals, surely, if they had done such a thing, then the Master would’ve been obliterated many Raids ago.
His eyes watered, and his head ached. The world was big. Runt’s perception of life shifted, and staring at the blue ceiling, with large tufts of smoke passing by it. Runt cried. And he wished that he never knew. Perhaps, if he had ventured outside during his service to the Master, perhaps then, he would not have been so shaken.
But the Lady gave him the ability to think for himself.
And with it he learned the existential terror that is emptiness. Runt lowered his gaze, his hands still clamped over his mouth, he slumped down against the door, and tried to calm himself. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was hanging upside-down, and that any moment, the infernal shoes would lose purchase and he would fall into the blue. Fall forever, because it was so eternally far away that he would never be able to reach the ceiling. He would die of thirst, because he could not hit the ground.
Runt forced himself to stare at the green plant. It seemed to fill every place in the ground. It did not fall, and it was smaller than he was. He took a deep breath.
He had a monster to find. Runt staggered to his feet. He looked at the trees, reaching upward toward the blue ceiling, facing toward the bright light that he didn’t dare look at. They weren’t like any trees he’d seen before. He slowly approached one of them, its branches were filled with green fruit.
He plucked one and sniffed it, then bit into it. The taste of poison filled his mouth, he spit it into the green carpet. He picked another and dropped it into his bag. Then he continued onward. Still refusing to raise his eyes. A little ways into the forest, there was a place where the green carpet had been recently tramped down. The soil had been cut into in thin strips and there were impressions of many shoes. The dirt was dry, and there were signs that it wasn’t the only time a large group had passed through, so Runt assumed this was path the Raiders took.
Which meant that they must’ve come from somewhere. A town, maybe? There were a few towns inside the Crypt. Although most monsters kept to their own, it was necessary to trade between floors…
Runt hefted his bag, and began to walk the path. He kept his eyes low, looking for new plants, not because he was afraid to look at the blue ceiling, no, he was a Retainer of the Lady. Fear was for lesser Monsters.
The path carried on for twelve or so miles, nothing that Runt didn’t walk in a day in the Crypt. Still, it was surprising how much more terrain it felt that one was traversing when there was so much open space around them. As he walked he occasionally stooped down to collect objects, an interesting looking rock, a handful of flowers, anything that the Crypt lacked.
He supposed that the Master didn’t often send out expeditions, he hadn’t sent one in Runt’s lifetime, at the very least. The Master had gotten gentler since the Lady had emerged.
His bag grew heavier, and the light grew dimmer, it was almost to a comfortable light level by the time he smelt cook fires. Above him, the blue ceiling had turned black, and uncountable pinpricks of white light, two large pale eyes stared down at him. Runt took solace that he was probably too small for them to take notice of.
The forest grew thinner around him, and it eventually opened to a reveal a large town, well, it was large compared to anything else he’d seen outside the Crypt. Wooden walls surrounded the main structure, which Runt thought was silly, wood could be burned.
Besides, the walls didn’t even cover everything, a dozen farms surrounded the town, the things they grew were interesting, but a deep feeling warned Runt away from them. Instead, he approached what looked like the entrance. Two mortals were stationed outside of it, although, Runt could easily kill them both.
They wore thick leather armor, and held spears at the ready, but they looked tired and talked in quiet voices. But Runt was here on a stealth mission. If he were simply to rush in and take what they wanted, burning the rest, how soon would the Mortals retaliate? He doubted he could take on the entire town. So instead, he approached the guards confidently.
“Hello.” He said, careful to speak in Goblin, rather than the tongue of monsters.
The two guards looked awkwardly at one another, they said a few things in a language he didn’t understand, they towered over him, but their guard was, ironically, down. He forced himself to look relaxed as the guard’s exchanged words between themselves.
“Can I go in please?” He said, trying his best to sound polite, and like what he guessed a Mortal would sound like. Just in case they secretly could understand him.
The looked at each other again. Before one of them shrugged and jerked a finger in Runt’s direction. The other one seemed apprehensive, but then he glanced at the glowing eyes and pulled on a chain which caused the door to open.
Runt strode through before the guards had a chance to change their minds. The town was filled with so many torches, he was shocked that it hadn’t burned down already. It stank of smoke and burnt oil. People scurried along in dirty clothing that looked twice as ragged as his own. Several youngling mortals glanced at his coin pouch, then at his daggers and scampered off.
Runt almost thought he would’ve fit in better if he wore his animal skins.
He palmed the thin sheet of iron with the image of the cube-monster. Along with its incomprehensible scribbles. The next step would be to find someone trustworthy enough to ask about it. Or someone who spoke Goblin. Preferably a Goblin.
There should be Goblins around here. The Master got the first Goblins from outside, maybe even from this town. Therefore, there had to be more somewhere. Runt kept walking. Eventually he became aware that someone was following him. And not doing a very good job of it. When he was still just a gremlin, he and his brothers would play stalk each other better.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He changed his gait slightly, and sure enough, a second pair of footsteps echoed behind him. They didn’t even seem to notice that he had done so. Amateur. Runt turned into an alley and hesitated as if he had made a wrong turn, then a shadow blocked the blaring light from the rest of the torch-loving town.
Runt spun around, only to find some kind of large Beastkin staring at him. The Beastkin spoke slowly, and with a mocking tone. Runt obviously didn’t understand him, but the Beastkin didn’t seem to notice. He was a reptilian, and his forked tongue kept swishing out of his mouth. He kept taking slow, heavy steps toward Runt. Runt put a hand on his dagger. His inferior dagger, he shouldn’t need his actual weapon.
He couldn’t exactly say, but he doubted that the Mortal was even level twenty. The man took another step. Runt threw the dagger. It was a clean throw, it would’ve killed, even with his reduced strength. But for some reason- it didn’t instead it hovered directly between the Beastkin’s eyes. The Beastkin froze, staring at the dagger.
“Thou hast a good arm.” A voice called out, his Goblin was slighlty coarse, but Runt understood it fine enough.
A man dropped down from the rooftops and landed between them. He plucked Runt’s dagger from the air and pointed it at him, handle first. “I’d suggest next time; you don’t aim to kill.”
Runt carefully approached and took it, darting back the moment he could. The man smiled, then turned to the Beastkin, he said something in the Mortal language. The Beastkin’s shock seemed to wear off, and he ran back into the main town.
“Well now, little one, you are curious, aren’t you?” The man said,
Runt wasn’t sure if it was their difference in accent, but he wasn’t sure what he meant. “I am Runt.” He said, figuring it was best to get introductions out of the way.
“Pleased to meet you, Runt.” The man’s nose wrinkled. “Who gavest you that name?”
“The Lady.” Runt said, suspiciously, still gripping his weapon. “Why didst thou interrupt my battle?”
“You speak formal.” The man said, “I interrupted, as you say, because you were going to kill that man.”
“Twas not I who chose to engage in combat, Sire.” Runt said,
He snorted, “No. No you weren’t, but such things are rather nasty, don’t you think? I’ve been watching you since you entered. You aren’t a child, are you?”
“What gavest thou the thought?” Runt said,
“Your size, mostly.” The man said, adjusting his cloak, “But I suppose that is my fault.”
“I would say that it is.” Runt said, “How might I call thee?”
“I am Sli’ver, and that is all that I’ll volunteer.”
“Silver?” Runt mused.
“If you wish.” Sli’ver said. “What brings you to Delnarin, Nulruntver?”
Runt hesitated, before running his tongue over his distinctly unintimidating teeth. “I hath been sent to acquire a creature for The Lady.”
Sli’ver cocked his head, “What sort of creature? Perhaps I can be of assistance…”
Runt didn’t believe him for a second. Of course, he didn’t have much choice but to accept his offer. He couldn’t read the local language, and he had no idea where to find anyone who spoke goblin.
“Twould be most appreciated.” Runt said, before pulling the metal sheet out with a flourish.
He held it out, but not close enough for Sli’ver to grab. Sli’ver, expectedly, approached. He looked at the engraving for a moment, before his eyes widened.
“Is that… Mithril? Thou art just carrying around a plate of Mithril?” He glanced around suspiciously, and lowered his voice.
Runt shrugged noncommittally. The Lady’s domain was plated with the stuff- it felt expensive, but what were matters of value to the Lady and Master? They did as they chose.
“How didst thou engrave it- Why, didst thou engrave it with a page from a children’s forging manual?” Sli’ver said, taking a step back,
“Twasn’t I, but The Lady.” Runt said, shrugging again. “Doth thou knowest where I might findth the creature?”
“That is what you’re focusing on?” Sli’ver said, he rubbed his eyes.
“Twas what I wast sent for.” Runt said,
“There’s a slime hutch on Endorin Street. They may have a Pale Slime… why in Mazre’s name do you need a Pale Slime?” Sli’ver said,
“Tis what the Lady desires.” Runt said,
Sli’ver blinked. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Which is the way?” Runt asked,
Sli’ver laughed. “If thou thinkst that I shall let thee out of my sight, you are mistaken, Nulruntver.”
Runt shrugged, he slipped the plate back into his bag and cracked his knuckles. “Lead the way, Sliver.”
Sli’ver smiled at his pronunciation, and slipped out of the alley, Runt followed, “Doth thy Lady not have spoken peerage?”
Runt had no idea what that was, but wasn’t going to let Sli’ver slight him. “There is no need for demarcation of Rank. The Master and The Lady are above, Mortal and Monster are below.
Sli’ver’s stepped faltered. “That is quite the claim.” He looked directly ahead, and began to walk faster.
“Not if thou thinkest.” Runt said, easily matching Sli’ver’s stride.
The rest of the walk was silent. Runt spent his time watching the Mortals scurrying along. There were plenty raggedy younglings, but the majority of those awake appeared to be strange folk with large eyes and gaping mouths. They had tails that swished in their wake and wore large over hanging clothing.
Nocturnali were only sparsely present in the Raid, but it was enough that Runt remembered their name. The smoke grew thicker the deeper they walked into the town, and it took on strange scents. It smelt like Alchemy fires, but without the painful chemical burn that often accompanied inhalation.
Beastkin sat behind stalls as Dwarves with low hanged heads passed food out to waiting Nocturnali. It was, in a way, not so different from the towns inside the Crypt. Eventually, Sli’ver stopped in front of a building and gestured to it.
“Theres thy Slime Hutch.” He said,
Runt nodded, it certainly smelt like monster. Sli’ver knocked twice on the door and opened it. Then he walked in with all the confidence in the world. Runt followed him. Inside was small, cramped and dim. A reptilian woman sat at the front desk, she smiled at Sli’ver when he approached, and said something in the Mortal language.
Sli’ver replied, and they entered into heavy conversation, occasionally gesturing toward Runt.
Runt would’ve liked to handle this part on his own, he had the picture, and was sure he could figure it out, but now, Sli’ver could double cross him and he wouldn’t know until it happened. Runt kept his best innocent Mortal expression on his face, and stared at the two of them, trying to understand the conversation by pure force of Will.
From the awkward glances he was getting, he may have been close.
Eventually, the woman left, and Sli’ver turned back to him. “She’s getting one.”
Runt nodded.
“She said its two silvers, but she’s charging you too much. Really it should only be about seventy coppers, but Xli have a nose for people like you.” Sli’ver said,
“I’m afraid I didn’t catch thy meaning,” Runt said,
“You have no idea of the value of anything, doth thou?”
“I canst manage.” Runt lied,
“Then pay two slivers, I doubt your Lady will mind.” Sli’ver practically sneered.
Runt sighed. The woman came back, holding a small box. She waved Runt over to the counter, she slid the lid off, and a slightly cloudy cube of gelatin the size of Runt’s palm stared back at him.
“Oh hoho? Whats this… a monster hath invaded the mortal den- to free his brethren from their prison, mayhaps?” The slime said, the woman seemed obvious to its speech, but Monster could always understand Monster
“The Lady and Master require your presence.” Runt replied, in the monster tongue.
“Wonderful. Shall we go?” The slime bounced out of its cage and scooted over to Runt, who plucked it from the counter top and placed it in his bag.
“Do not damage the gathered items.” Runt said,
“I understandth.” Said the slime.
Runt raised his head, and took a step toward the door. Only to find Sli’ver starring at him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. The woman inched toward the backdoor. Runt snarled, Sli’ver mouthed ‘feral’ and Runt rolled his eyes.
He tossed his coin bag on the counter, causing gold pieces of several sizes to scatter. Sli’ver drew a short sword.
STATUS:
Name: Runt
Mantra: The big fight, the small take.
LV: 35
EXP 0/35,000
Gender: Male
Affinities: Stealth
Class: Retainer
Race: Feral Goblin
Tethered: N/A
Traits: brave, tenacious.
Blessings: Blessing of Catacomb, Blessing of Sanctuary
Curses: Smallheart
Titles: Runt, Underdog
Notoriety: 0
Fame: 0
Infamy: 0
Kills: 12
INT: 11 (+1)
SOUL: 9(+2)
WILL: 11(+1)
MAG: 10 (+1)
STR: 10 (+0)
DEF: 10 (+0)
CONS: 11 (+1)
STATUS:
Name: Sli’ver
Mantra: unto and once again! for time does not wait.
LV: 23
EXP 20,221/23,000
Gender: Male
Affinities: Telekinesis
Class: Sword Wielder
Race: Nocturnali {Hearthorn Variant}
Tethered: N/A
Traits: Green skinned, Variance
Blessings: Blessing of the Hearth
Curses: N/A
Titles: Rebel’s Solider, Guardian of Delnarin
Notoriety: 3,329
Fame: 2,883
Infamy: 446
Kills: 27
INT: 7
SOUL: 4
WILL: 8
MAG: 6
STR: 14
DEF: 9
CONS: 7
