CHAPTER 1.23 - FILTHSTINK ASCENDENT
Rian takes a deep breath.
Things have returned to an odd peace. The goblins, seeming to have taken the idea of revolution to heart, had their pair of captured kin returned to their justice. This manifested in the tribe immediately falling upon them with kicks and claws. The erstwhile guards died slowly and in great pain. Between them, Rian and Glorp explained this to the non-goblins as necessary for the tribe. Partly, they were ridding themselves of tyranny. Most importantly, though, they were taking an active part in that liberation. They were also channelling the loss and horror of recent times into something (slightly) healthier than they otherwise might.
Anuk seems to have taken to the street-, or more properly cave-, justice most naturally. Seems she had no need for Graasht’s supporters to be drawing breath. Instead, she’s moved over to investigate where the pair of goblins was apparently trying to use flint and tinder to ignite the pile of bones.
Hugo remains hard to read. He obviously had complex thoughts about the brutality but hadn’t complained, nor tried to speak for the guards. He had seemed more concerned for the terrified red squirrel in his tunic. The little man was now cross-legged on the floor before a small pile of items. The gold ring Fruk was wearing, a pair of shiny goggles from one of the skulls on Brog’s throne and most of the hobgoblin’s equipment were laid out in front of the trancing halfling. Glorp had explained that the skull was from the gnome engineer who built the tunnel trap. The old king seemed to believe that a trap was no use if anyone else knew it even existed. As far as Hugo was concerned, anything remaining shiny and well-tended in Filthstink must be magical. And those goggles were gleaming.
Rian worried most about Thae. The half-elf undoubtedly held moral beliefs beyond those of a goblin, had looked ready to throw up or intervene as the guards were slowly pummelled to death. Then again, the cleric had also been concerned for the welfare of the children, who had been coming to consciousness while the tribe’s revenge was carried out.
Thae is unsurprisingly talented at tending to the young victims. They’re scared, exhausted and remain surrounded by scary monsters. The acolyte’s comforting, compassionate tone’s working wonders. Recalling the feeling of Thae’s magical healing at the critical moment in his fight, Rian’s certain that the kids’ bruises and abrasions didn’t really require divine intervention. But it had felt amazing behind the agony of his ribs knitting back together. And it must have helped them overcome their fears: the little girl, Erin, is now checking her brother over for injuries. The little boy seems to have been lifted out of his trauma enough to be squirming, almost giggling, saying “Tickly!”
As he watches this little touch of normalcy, Rian realises that Thae’s looking him straight in the eye. He worries for a moment that the half-elf’s going to complain, declare that there are still monsters unslain in this cave. Instead, Rian’s surprised, humbled by one of Thae’s characteristic smiles. The gesture communicates such trust, such support, that Rian knows what he must do.
-x-
It isn’t the first time he’s navigated the fickle trust of goblins, and he would like to think that he has a talent for it. Then again, he’s thinking about a single tribe and they weren’t exactly great at contemplation. Glorp isn’t the first intelligent goblin he has encountered but seems to channel it in a very different manner to…well, to Rek and his band. He’s used to a more animalistic shade of cunning, a short-term cutthroat guile with very little consideration for the future. Glorp, on the other hand, seems to possess a keen interest in both the past and what is to some – even if this is restricted to his traumatised little group and their interests. Not that Rian has any intention to swindle or mislead the tribe, merely…steer them a little. But therein lies the problem.
For all of their self-depricating, self-villainising philosophy, he is mindful that goblins always wished to feel they were coming out on the top of every deal. Albeit with a very different system of values than the average human. Rian contemplates Fart’s pride over the heaped pile of goblin shit, of the girl’s hands. It was, in his experience, very easy to offer a scrupulously fair deal that meant nothing to the little horrors. The weird twist in their whole worldview could render a simple mistake into a perceived insult. ‘How dare stoopid hooman offer stoopid shiny disc?’ Not that they couldn’t learn the concept of coins, but if a thing didn’t have immediate utility or value it might provoke a lot of anger. Short-limbed anger, but those limbs were beclawed and backed up with serrated teeth. And numbers.
Still, he had navigated this before and steered a family into a clan. A successful one too, and peaceful. For a very goblin-specific value of ‘peaceful’, that was. But there’s the chill at the base of his spine. For this to work, he’s going to have to say some things, some delicate things in a language that is not designed for subtlety. And like any group subject to being bullied, Rian has witnessed the potential for becoming bullies inside goblins. Their strange kindness and absence of judgement curdling suddenly, unexpectedly at the slightest perceived whiff of weakness from another. And a miserable joy in leaping onto the opportunity. But he can’t not try, and everything tells him the time is now.
-x-
The Filthstink goblins, having exhausted all legitimate targets for their adrenaline and ire, are becoming restful. He can guess how things might turn.
Rian swallows his fears, clears his throat, bellows in goblin:
“Brothers and sisters! Look at this!” He raises his arms, turns in a circle to indicate the whole throne room. “Today started with goblins under Big Ones’ feet…” ‘Big Ones’ was goblin for…just anything imposing enough to bully them. “…but now, thanks to you and to…” He casts around, realising he hasn’t seen Glorp. Looking down, Fart is standing close by him, claw still dug into the hem of his cloak. And behind her, almost hidden by the cloth, the old man is still catching his breath. Rian scoops up the surprised Fart, swinging the material out of the way as Glorp is revealed, shock on his craggy face. “…and to Glorp and Fart, you are now free Goblins!" Glorp looks like he could cry, especially when the crowd begins hooting in response. Out of the side of his eye, Rian can see the kids taking fright to all the noise, but Thae quickly makes a game of it, laughing and replicating the goblins’ catcalling. The children lose their inhibitions, joining in with the noisemaking. Fart looks delighted, adding what sounds more like a “Whee!” than anything else to the raucous proceedings.
He places the goblin girl gently to the ground, where she embraces an almost weeping Glorp. Rian decides to change tack for a moment, let the old goblin recover some. “What the tyrant Graasht…” The crowd is definitely enjoying audience participation, as hisses and boos roll across them like a wave. “What the tyrant made you do almost spelled doom on The People.” He points across the assembled goblins at the last words. He’s never heard goblins refer to themselves positively, or even neutrally, but he’s trying to lay down new habits. “BUT THE PEOPLE HAVE TRICKED DOOM!”
“Goblins are sneaky, goblins are cunning, GOBLINS CAN TRICK FATE!” He stops, feeling the crescendo of these people so recently downtrodden. He almost feels dirty for what he’s about to do.
The goblins’ exultation dies down somewhat, twists towards guilt or even shame as Rian indicates the human children. The kids, caught revelling in copying very rude-sounding goblin noises, seem chided, frightened at the whole room’s eyes upon them. Thae, ever the protector, encircles them, subtly pulling them up to their full heights.
“The humans would have slaughtered us!” Rian continues, hoping none of his audience notice him shift himself into the tribe’s side of the narrative. “But now we can give them a gift. They might still be angry, but the kids will tell them how the tribe saved them, who the monsters really were!” There’s more shifting in the crowd, the little creatures balancing the risk and possible rewards of this gamble. Glorp, having re-gathered himself, pipes up. “We tell the Humes we sorry!” He points around to the party. “Even betterer, THEY tell the Humes!” Rian grins, realises this mad plan might work as Glorp’s certainty shifts the mood of the tribe. Time to bring this together.
“Yes! We will tell the village about your bravery, protecting their children! But the humans are hurt, they are in trouble!” Oh, this crowd could shift into something very nasty for Highbarrow if this doesn’t work, but he’s committed now. “They didn’t have Glorp and Fart to protect them.” The pair look up at Rian, confusion in their eyes. He smiles, pushing his features into a grin even they can read. Trust me, it says, trust your giant goblin friend. “They didn’t have mushrooms to keep them from starving, good advice to keep them from stupid decisions.”
He thinks for a moment that he’s gone too far, that he’s losing his audience. Fart’s staring at him, face twisting towards tears. He’s certain he’s missed some subtext – some goblin-y context – and somehow fucked things up miserably.
But then, at first as isolated mutters, steadily growing in number and volume, the goblins start cheering their mushroom farmers. Rian thinks he might lose his composure when one of the praising chants starts up as “Good Fart!” But at least the goblins are carrying this in the right direction. The pair at the centre of the attention seem astonished, yet Fart gives Glorp a long hug, then propels him forward. He looks old, frail…overwhelmed, but he rallies.
“Rian told me the village has no food. Goblins hunt, goblins…” He looks at Rian, nods. “…The People hunt, find food for stupid Humes. Prove that goblins better than bugbear!” The tribe is cheering, all their anxieties and uncertainty rerouted. Rian hears a chant gaining momentum, “King Glorp!”, sees the old goblin’s face sour at the thought. As they hear the whole tone of the clan shifting, Rian’s friends are pulling in around him. Even Hugo, idly twisting Fruk’s gold ring on his finger, has appeared behind Glorp. He claps the old goblin on the shoulder even as Glorp exclaims “Glorp no king! The People need no king! King just bugbear with other name!”
The dampening effect on the crowd’s mood is immediately apparent, perilous. Rian quickly explains to his group what has been said. Hugo’s expression again shifts away, deep into thought, but returns quickly. He signals to Glorp, indicating to Rian that he should translate. As he has no better ideas, Rian agrees. He hopes dearly that the halfling isn’t going to throw sparks into this powder keg.
Hugo begins.
“Even when people have kings, they don’t always have the right one. Sometimes a person is the leader, but a Regent rather than a king.” The goblins are pretty confused by this. Hugo grins, broadly enough for the goblins to see that it is a grin, but one expertly dripping with goblin mischief. “Glorp can be the Regent for King Nobody, King Nobody ever!” Hugo’s eyes widen as his idea gains momentum. He hurries over to the pile of tribal bones, pointing excitedly.
“Use your people’s bones to build a big throne!” Rian becomes hesitant as he translates this sickening thought, but Hugo looks up at him, challenging, urging him to trust. He finds himself nodding, tries to shape the thoughts as accurately as possible. “A big throne that any king would want to sit on. But it’s a test!”
Rian begins to smile, sees Glorp’s mouth slowly drop open in amazement. Hugo pushes on: “All of you will know what this throne means. The beloved bones from which it’s built…”
Hugo’s cut off by Fart. Through tears, she shouts “It mean if anything want to sit on throne, it enemy! We kill!” Glorp is nodding, sounding tired but triumphant, saying “And it mean we never forget the price of king.”
