SOLO: Unlocking Potential - Part 1

Unlocking Potential: Part 1

It was a quiet autumn morning in the hamlet of Tastow. The sun was just threatening to crest the horizon and peak above the distant treetops to spread its smile across the landscape. Dew had settled on the ground from the night before, leaving the grass damp to the touch and the windows of the handful of houses fogged over. The cool air of the changing of the seasons was slowly drifting through the town center, rustling the first of the fallen leaves that indicated the new season.

I was already awake and dressed for the day, as I was every morning. That morning was no different. Before the sun rose and before the rooster crowed, I made sure that I was out of bed and doing my morning routine. First things first, I went outside and used the outhouse and brought in a bucket of water from the well-pump. After pouring that into the basin in the kitchen and bath, I returned to my room to change for the day.

My room was small but I did not need much in the way of space anyway. I had a bed that was a little lumpy, but a few times a year mom and I would go and get more straw to fill it with. I tossed on my brown pants and white, short sleeve shirt. I made sure to pull the draw strings on the pants as tight as I could at the waist, and tucked the shirt in just to try and add a little more to it, but there was no helping just how skinny I was. I put my belt through the loops, pulling it on all the way to the holes that I had punched new to make it fit tighter. Then the second belt so I could hang my pouches and goodies on like my dagger and sling. Lastly my boots and I was ready for the day.

“Honey, I’m making eggs and toast this morning. Did you want some before heading out?” My mom’s voice was so musically perfect and lingered on the air. It made me smile. I grabbed my staff and my ocarina and ducked out of my room to the main room which was both the common room and dining. “Already dressed and ready to go, did you want to wait for breakfast?”

“I’ll just grab an apple and a piece of bread. I’m going to with Duncan and Mr. Tumlin to sell the sheep today and can’t be late.” I scooped up a shoulder bag and placed a half-loaf of bread and two apples into it. My mom gently placed her hands on the sides of my face with her thumbs on my ears and kissed my forehead.

“Don’t forget,” she said as she pulled the hood of my cloak up over the two horns on my forehead, “if you see anyone you aren’t familiar with, or Mr. Tumlin specifically says anything about not being seen…”

“Yes, yes. I must hide, I know.” She smiled and kissed me on the forehead again, and with that I was out the door.

I pushed open the door to the little house that I shared with my mom and inhaled deeply. I loved the very first part of the day, when the sun had not quite come up yet but there were dull reds and vibrant yellows starting to crest over the sea of emerald trees in the distance. I closed my eyes and faced the sun for a moment as it rose, letting the beams of light wash over me. I could feel the warmth across my face, as if my reddish-brown skin was absorbing it.

Suddenly a jolting cry of a rooster snapped me out of my moment of solace. I opened my eyes and snapped my head towards the coop across the street. The proud bastard was strutting around the cage full of hens, crying loud enough to wake up everyone in Tastow and maybe a neighboring village. I just shook my head. I really couldn’t stand Mr. Doodles, but he served his purpose and I knew better than to go too close.

Carefully, with my staff kept between myself and the rooster, I began walking down the dirt road towards my friend's house. Dustin was not an early riser like myself. I knew I was going to have to try and coax him out of bed. Though, from what my mom had told me, goblins were not typically known for their morning antics. I hurried over to his house and knocked on the door.

I politely stepped back from his house. It was modeled after what his family said was what they were accustomed to back home, wherever that was they never really said. (It was tradition in Tastow not to talk about where you came from or why you were in the hamlet). The house had mud walls, sturdy wooden supports at the corners and along the roof edges, with a thick mixture of tatch and sticks for the roofing. The door came up to my chest, so it was perfect for the goblin family.

Ms. Trugs opened the door with a toothy smile. Her lower jaw protruded about two inches beyond her upper and one of the lower fang-like teeth was long since broken off. She stroked her thick, green chins with sausage thick fingers that had knuckles like shooter marbles. “Valik, huul ghuuhec.”

“Good morning… I mean, Huul ghuuhec, Gheron Trugs.” I could speak some goblin, it was part of the living in Tastow. The hamlet was so diverse that you picked up a lot of languages and all my neighbors loved to teach me. “An Drorec kaarthec?”

“Very good Valic! You are so quick learning, I love so much,” Mrs. Trugs said with a laugh. She grabbed my forearm and pulled me in quickly, ignoring that I needed to crouch at the last second to get into the house. “No, Drorec is no ready... he is woke but ready not yet, no. You can go to room.”

“Thank you ma’am.” I said as I slightly hunched my back to walk towards the back of the house. The ceiling, though vaulted for the goblin family with Mr Trugs being three and a half feet and the tallest, was still short for my five foot two inch body. “We should be out soon.”

“Knock knock Dustin,” I said as I opened the door to my friend's room. “Are you up and ready?”

Dustin grunted his welcome, which I had long since learned was the best anyone was going to get from him before mid-morning. He was still struggling with putting on a boot and his rounded knuckles were wiping the edges of his eyes. I could see he still had yet to wash his face from the night before, his green skin was shining with oils and fresh acne. As he stretched he pointed towards the far corner of his room to a rough stick stand that had an even rougher looking set of iron armor on it. “You mine getting that for me?”

“You can’t get up earlier and get your own armor on?” I asked with a sigh. I walked across his room and pulled it off the wooden crossbars. It was heavy, despite the small size, and crudely made. He shook it free of the dirt from the previous time it was worn and not cleaned properly before walking back to his goblin friend. “If you woke up earlier you’d already be ready to go. Mr. Tumlin is expecting us.”

“You just pick at me because my room is bigger, we both know,” Dustin said with a laugh as he finished lacing one boot and pulled on the other. He took great pride in reminding me that his room was in fact bigger than mine. As he pulled on his second boot he looked up to make a cheeky grin and lost a leather lace in one hand and fell off the end of his bed. With a heavy thump he hit the ground.

I could not help but laugh, but rushed to his side nonetheless. “Your room is only bigger on the ground. Mine is taller because the roof is taller. I think the overall size is actually equal in the end?”

Dustin finished lacing and tying both boots on the floor and securing his padded cloth under-armor before I helped him slip into the jagged goblin iron mail scale mail. He went and grabbed his leather gloves and strapped his club at his side and gathered his short-bow and quiver. “You know,” he said thoughtfully as he picked at a fresh white-head with a jagged, yellow fingernail, “I think you like to use your tall as winning. But no, my room is bigger.”

I laughed and clapped him on the back. He chuckled and mockingly punched me with both fists in my stomach. For the past twenty years we had been friends, raised together almost since birth in this little hamlet. While raised differently, our moms - and his dad - were like a second set of parents to each other. “Your mom is making food, she wants you to eat but we need to meet Mr. Tumlin soon to take the sheep to market.”

“Goblin eat fast, we have time to eat. You can eat break fast too with.” He walked through his door and out into the common area and sat down at the table. I had long since learned that there really was no arguing with a goblin when they had made up their mind about something, especially when it was about food. So I joined Dustin at the table and smiled as Ms. Trugs showed her happiness with an ear to ear toothy grin.

I crunched on my apple as I sat at the table with Dustin. He had a large black bowl in front of him and was waiting eagerly for his mom to finish up with her cooking. I was leaning back on a small, stout chair that was not nearly big enough for me but was thick enough to bear my weight. Absently I stared at the ceiling as I pushed the limits of how far I could rock the chair with my knees pushed against the table to steady myself. Without warning I felt a sudden flare of pain across my knees, and within a breath heard the clap of the wooden spoon slapping them.

Instantly I fell backwards and landed on my back with my apple firmly clenched between my teeth, elongated and sharp canines digging all the way to the core. My arms were still flailing even as it landed and I felt the rough back dig into my back. Wincing, I rolled over on my side and pushed myself back up to my knees to crouch and pick up the chair. I turned around to the uproarious laughter of the Trugs family.

“Wha?”

They just laughed even harder as I tried to pull the apple out of my sharp upper teeth. My fang-like teeth were difficult enough to use to eat sometimes, but the soft flesh of an apple actually hurt to bite into too deeply. As I slowly wedged my teeth out I chuckled at myself, but not near as much as Ms Trugs who was almost in tears laughing. She was pointing and panting. Every time she tried to speak she would snort loudly and cover her mouth, only to laugh harder. Eventually I heard, between laughter, “Maan… maan kuush kelaan… a toklaal hec!”

Dustin slammed his fist on the table and was rocking with laughter, crying with snot coming from his nose. I corrected the small chair and wiped away tears of laughter of my own as I put the apple on the table and grabbed a bowl instead from the center of the table. “Ok ok, it isn’t that funny y’all,” I said while chuckling. “What did she say I looked like? I didn’t know those last words.”

My friend wiped his nose with the back of his hand and spread it across his pants. Shaking his head and trying to calm down from his laughing fit. He pointed at the apple and began laughing again. While he was trying to explain, Ms Trugs walked back to the brick cooking area and stoked the fire, opened a large iron pot and stirred the contents. “She said, you looked like a stuffed pig.”

“I’m done with you,” I said with a loud laugh. “Let's just eat and go before Mr Tumlin leaves without us.”

Ms Tugs brought us both a large bowl of runny grits and fresh butter. She put a chunk of some type of boiled meat in the bowls, and I graciously accepted. I had long since learned not to ask what the meat was at the Trugs house. I poked at it with my knife a bit, thinking it looked like a bit of stomach lining, but was just happy it was cooked - she must have known I was coming to eat. After breakfast we grabbed our stuff, said goodbye, and headed to Mr Tumlin’s house.

I walked out the door with Dustin and realized the morning had already started to get away from us. It was something I personally did not like. I was a stickler for making sure that I was not only on time, but early for everything. The fact that we were supposed to be at Mr. Tumlin’s house just after sunrise and I could see that the sun was already over halfway above the horizon made me want to walk faster. But Dustin was still chewing on a handful of meat and stretching as he walked out of the house.

“Hurry up, we're gonna be late and Imma blame it on you.” I pointed at the sunrise and he shrugged nonchalantly. It was something I loved and hated about my friend, he was very cavalier about matters at times. He knew that being on time was important to me as well, but it was something he did not seem to have a sense for. “Ya know how he is if yer late, get a move on.”

Dustin did pick up his step, if only but the slightest of margins. His iron mail clanked so loudly I’m not sure how the entire hamlet did not wake up if Mr Doodles had not already woken them up. He was just finishing up his to-go breakfast, filling in his rounded cheeks, when we got to the halflings house. “Dar, var… sorry, lets go.”

I rapped my bony knuckled across the large rounded door of Mr. Tumlins house. He lived closer towards the edge of the small town in a large hill-like home. It was unnatural with the setting, as there were no actual hills in the area. However, apparently where he had come from, it was common for halflings to build into the hills and establish their houses as part of the landscape itself. Before I was born he had moved to Tastow, built a house into the dirt about three feet with the rest going upwards, and covered it in dirt.

“Hey, you’re late!” Around the corner of the small mound we both turned quickly to the sharp voice of Mr. Tumlin. He had an air about him that commanded respect, though he was far too polite to demand it outright. I turned to look and he was wearing his merchant fineries. He had a simple tan shirt on with a blue sash across his waist, his belts and bags were strapped on as well. He also had pleated dark and light green striped pants tucked into gaiters, with feet exposed of course. Over everything he wore a deep crimson cloak. “Where have you been, I’ve been waiting. Let's go. Hurry up now. Come along.”

“Can’t go herding and selling sheep on an empty stomach Mr Tumlin,” Dustin said as he waved a half-eaten apple towards the man. I recognized it as my half-eaten apple but before I could say anything Mr Tumlin came around the corner up to us. His hands were on his hips and he was shaking his head. “Did you pack lunch? My mom gave me some to bring…”

“Pack a lunch? Did I pack a…” Mr. Tumlin marched up to the young goblin with such speed that it caught me off guard. Sometimes I was still surprised by how fast he could move for being only about three feet tall, but with feet that were so disproportionately large and bare. Aside from his stature, there was also the fact that he was a little rotund for a halfling at about fifty pounds and pushing the age of seventy-five. Yet, despite everything, his hair was still as platinum blonde as ever with barely noticeable patches of white interspersed in his muttonchops.

“Drorec,” he said, insistent on using the proper names of all members of the hamlet, “did I tell you to be here at sunrise?” The goblin nodded solemnly. “And is it sunrise?” he shook his head. “Late!”

I could not help but snicker, I knew he was not going to be happy and I had tried to relay the importance of being on time. But as I snickered and looked towards my friend I caught the icy blue eyed stare of the halfling locking with my solid, golden eyes. “You know better.” He said, pointing a finger at me. Despite being a full two feet taller, Mr. Tumlin might as well have been looking down on me with his scolding disposition. “Now. Let's go. We have sheep to sell. Daylight is already passing. Chop, chop!”

Quickly the two of us slung our bags across our shoulders and tucked away anything that we didn’t need to carry. I made sure that my hood was ready to be pulled over my head the moment we stepped outside of the hamlet. I also unslung my long oak quarterstaff from my shoulders and began using it absent-mindedly like a walking staff. Dustin pulled his shortbow off his back and made sure the mace at his side was ready for use as well in case he needed it. “A couple of knuckleheads. I swear. Let's go!”

The three of them set off through the street towards the opposite side of town where the pastures were to gather the herd. On the way Mr. Tumlin courteously stopped to say hello to Ms Trugs in fluent goblin. He waved to Mr. Chakub, a half-orc who had recently come to live in the city; inquired as to how he was doing and reminded him if he needed anything to just ask. Mr. Chakub nodded and gave a broken, toothy smile. As we walked the ten or so minutes it took to move across the main portion of the hamlet, he made sure to address everyone.

It was at the edge of town, next to the last barn, when he looked away from one denizen almost intentionally. Though, as polite as Mr. Tumlin was, he did so with a very happy cry of greeting towards someone on the opposite side of the road towards where we were heading. I looked back and saw at the entrance to the barn was the slim figure of a man, his skin leathery and tinted an almost sickly yellow color. Xozar was the name that he had given the community, but he had barely talked to anyone, preferring to be alone mostly though he always seemed to have a cat around him. The tall Gith was almost staring through me.

“Hey kid,” he said with a raspy tone, but also one that you not only heard with your ears but also felt like you were unnervingly hearing as a thought, “be careful out there.”

“Uhh… thank you?” I mustered, as best I could. He winked a pure black eye and showed his teeth, all of them fully sharp. It was, in a way, the most I had heard from him directed towards me in the years he had been in the hamlet. However, it also made me feel incredibly uncomfortable as well. I could not reason why he would be cautioning me so randomly, and without any additional details, but Mr. Tumlin was already walking away so I hurried to catch up as well.

The pasturelands of Scara Brae were a beautiful open expanse of fields that extended for as long as the eye could see. Tastow was one of many little dots of houses that would never be marked on a map or known to any outside travelers as anything important. Likewise, walking across the lands, anyone could see similar hamlets in the distance that could be missed if the traveler was just a few hundred yards off in a different direction. Slight rolling hills were the only natural barrier to miles of faultless lines of sight. Man-made obstructions such as short stone walls and the occasional mass acreage dedicated to orchards was the only other means of barrier on the horizon.

I loved when I could leave the small hamlet and walk through the open countryside. It felt like I was free and going on an adventure. At home, my mom was always watching over me, or had someone else doing so. Out with Mr. Tumlin and Dustin, and the pups helping herd the sheep, I felt unrestricted. I inhaled deeply and smiled, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sunlight on my face. My staff was across my shoulders with my arms crossed behind my head, holding it, and my eyes partly closed.

“What are you thinking?” Mr Tumlin’s words caught me off guard. I opened my eyes and looked down to him. His blue eyes were curious and his head slightly tilted. He had a long, thin pipe in the corner of his mouth and was puffing out thin clouds of acrid smoke that had a sweet undertone. “You always smile when we leave. Always smiling like you are now. Seems you’re lost in thought though. What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothin’ in perticuler.” It was not exactly a lie, but not the truth either. When I let my mind wander I never really had a specific thought that I focused on. Instead, it was almost as if I had a distant day-dream that was lingering just on the edge of consciousness that I could not quite understand… but also knew it was there. If I focused on it I could come up with something, of course, but that would ruin the fun. The closest thing to an answer would be the words of warning from Xozar, but I was trying to ignore those as much as I could.

“I’m thinking that we missed lunch,” Dustin said as he patted his stomach, his hand clanging against his iron armor.

“You ate your lunch. It was in your pouch, and you ate it while walking.” Mr Tumlin and I both laughed as he searched his pouch to confirm. He began searching for another pouch as if he had put it somewhere else. “Drorec, you ate it. We will be at the market soon. Once we sell the sheep we will get food and leave. Then we camp and eat.”

Dustin shrugged with his broad shoulders slumping a little in defeat. I shook my head and pulled out an apple from my sack as well as a quarter of a loaf of bread. I tossed him the apple and I could see him open his mouth to protest. “No, I fought witha apple today an’ I don’t wanna do it again. You can have that one too. I’m gonna eat the rest of this until supper.”

I took a big bite out of the remaining bread and watched as the dour expression on my friends face was emphasized, purposely, with a dramatic bite into the apple. He pursed his lips tightly and puffed his cheeks at me to make a goofy face in defiance. I just laughed and shook my head. Back to my own thoughts, we continued walking towards the small village of Berkton.

Berkton was what any good adventurer might consider barely a blip on the map of Scara Brae, but still bigger than Tastow. There was a short palacade of local trees surrounding defensively, the tops of the trees sharpened to points. A large wooden gate was open on one side, and having been to the city before, I knew of the other gate on the other side but no other way in. Above the gate was a walkway with stairs leading up to it on either side. It was there that the town militia watched people come and go, nonchalantly leaning on the gate walls everytime I had ever seen them.

The dusty dirt road that lead into the city was especially dry as of late. The carts and people walking on it kicked up a small cloud of dirt, but it was nothing abnormal for the season. Autumn was not particularly well-known for any rain, and it probably would be another month at least until any true storms came through the area. Those would make traveling the dirt roads cleaner, but with those rains always came the bitter cold of winter.

“We don’t need to go in.” Mr Tumlin said as he held out a hand and pointed towards a small enclosure. “Just get the sheep in there. They’ll fetch the buyer.”

Dustin nodded and began to whistle to the dogs and point towards the pens outside the village. One was very wide, big enough to hold a herd of cattle, and that was the empty one that Mr. Tumlin had directed us to go. As two of the dogs took off to flank the sheep, I whistled sharply and the other pair took the opposite flank.

Mr. Tumlin cleared his throat with emphasis. I turned to look at him and he pulled at his collar and indicated to pull my hood over my head. With an appreciative nod in his direction, I did so and adjusted the sleeves so they would cover to my wrists. The hood was slightly wider than average and allowed me to pull it over the small horns on my forehead without a problem. The shadow cast was enough to cover them as well as most of my face. I also put on a pair of thin gloves to cover my hands.

You don’t belong here, around these people.

The thought crept in instantly and I pushed it away. It was not the first time I had felt it, or felt like hiding myself was some type of punishment. I knew my skin had a red tint and I had horns, unlike anyone else in Tastow. It was something that made me unique, as my mom would say, not something that made me different in a way that would scare others. However, outside of the hamlet, I felt unsafe in my own skin.

“Val,” Dustin called over and waved his hands from the other side of the small herd of sheep. “Squeeze your side to draw them in!” He had the gate open and the dogs on his flank were darting in tandem across the line. I waved my hand to agree and whistled sharply twice. The two dogs on my side began doing the same but instead of holding a line they were creating a funnel. It was not much longer before the sheep were guided into the pen and the door closed.

“Just have to wait for Mr. Tumlin now.”

The halfling was peering at the two of them from a small line of other men, waiting to discuss business with the town merchants at a booth. With a puff of smoke from his pipe he raised it up, gesturing with a nod as if saying ‘well done’. Both Dustin and I waved and smiled in his direction.

Dustin and I passed the time by playing cards. He had an old weathered deck that had seen better days, a decade ago. There were a handful missing from the deck, and we both knew that. However, for some reason he could not keep track of which ones were missing. As it happened, if I could see the cards that had been played I was able to keep track of what was remaining in the deck. Knowing that alongside the missing cards made it simple to win far more hands than I lost.

“I’m glad we don’t play this for money,” my goblin friend said as he scooped up the cards and began shuffling their nicked and frayed edges again. Surprisingly, he was playing after losing a number of hands in a row, normally after that he would ask for a different game. “You should try and do it at The Game.”

“You know they won’ let me, I aint old enough for that yet.” We both laughed as he dealt another hand. It was supposed to be a secret back home, that the adults gathered together once or twice a month to play cards. I had caught my mom coming back from the game once. She looked surprised when I noticed her slipping into the house quietly, but fessed up and told me about the games. “Plus, if ya win enough then ya don’t have to do so many chores. If they let the kids play we’d be watching our parents herd sheep.”

Both of us burst out laughing, Dustin so hard he rocked back and dropped on his back. We had calmed down to an uncontrollable cackle by the time Mr. Tumlin walked up. “What is this?” He said, pointing the flute end of his pipe back and forth between us. He puffed it and shook his head, trying to disguise the smile behind his eyes. “Get up you two. We’re done here. Lets get supplies in town and off to camp.”

The three of us walked away from the livestock pens. Mr. Tumlin had a small sack of coin at his waist from the transaction and a bit of pep in his step. I knew he must have been able to haggle for a better price. There were few things that made him as childishly giddy as being able to haggle. The only other things I knew of were when the merchant from Stonevale came with a new shipment of marble, when he could play his recorder for the hamlet during feasts, or a fancy new pipe-weed found its way to him.

Overhead the lackadaisical guards of Berkton waved at us, as if saying hello more than anything. Dustin waved back. I, however, pulled my hood further up on my forehead to make sure I was well hidden. The sun was casting shadows so most of my features were well disguised, even my tail was behaving under the cloak. We slowly merged with the small stream of denizens, becoming part of the flow through the city towards the merchant district.

Even a few hundred feet away I could smell the spits. Oddly, the smell of the raw meat at the butchers was one that I could smell over everything. It was a metallic taste more than a smell that lingered on my tongue. I licked my lips as we got closer, pushing that thrilling sensation and goosebumps aside for the much more common desire for the spit-roast board. The smell of the fat rendering and dripping onto the hot embers… “That smell is amazing!”

The village of Berkton had a standing population of maybe a thousand or more citizens. It was a simple village and the marketplace at its heart reflected that fact. There were bakers selling breads and pies, the spits were going over open embers outside the butchers shop, and an array of local vendors were selling seasonal fruits and vegetables. Other stalls were scattered throughout the area as well though, ranging from fresh ground flour to blacksmiths actively hammering out horseshoes. The vendors behind the stalls were typically attached to establishments with only booths built outside. Other than the bustle of the citizens and visitors to the village, there was very little in the way of hawking in Berkton.

“Boys,” the halfling said as he paused mid-step. It was as if a sudden boulder had appeared in the stream of people, but like the fluidly of nature people parted and walked around the trio almost without notice. “Go over there and get us some boar. That is almost perfect. Just tell ‘em to wrap it loosely.”

Mr. Tumlin dug out some coins and put a small stack in either of our hands. I tucked mine quickly into the pocket of my cloak. Dustin used his opposite hand to try and count each piece, but I nudged him and he stopped halfway to put the coins away. I could, in the moment I saw the money, count that I had been given fifteen pieces and Dustin twelve. There was no need to show the coin in public though, that was something Mr. Tumlin had taught me well.

We walked away from him, swimming against the gentle but steady tide stream. Eventually we made our way to the butchers shop that I had smelled when we first entered the town. Dustin’s wide, green nose was pointed in the air, sniffing so fiercely that the second and third layers of his chin were giggling with excitement. I, on the other hand, found myself watering at the mouth at the smell of the uncooked meat that was hanging.

“How much should we get? I’m thinking enough for tonight and maybe for breakfast tomorrow?”

“I think you should get a couple pounds,” I responded, “And maybe make sure that you get a mix? The shoulder is tender but that belly is where the flavor is.”

“Oooh, yeah!” The goblin waved at the stout dwarf by the spits. The man's initial smile at new clients shifted to doubt, with a shadow of irritation. He walked up to the two of us, smoothing out his brown beard and running his hand down the short braid that extended past his chin. I could tell he was none too keen on goblins, but even more so was avoiding my gaze entirely. “Two pounds shoulder, one pound belly of the boar.”

“That’ll be 15 gold,” he said gruffly. Dustin pulled out his gold and slowly began to count it. He pushed the gold around his hand more than counted, and I quickly put another three pieces in his hand. I glanced over my shoulder to see if the shifting eyes of the dwarf was intended for someone, but saw nothing specifically dangerous. “Just wait here, and I’ll wrap it up for you.”

The dwarven pitmaster showed up moments later with chunks of meat wrapped in waxed paper and tied with twine. The juices were dripping through the folds, but the packaging would do nicely. The two large chunks were put in Dustin’s side-pouches. I kept an eye on him as he did so to make sure nothing was snuck away.

“How about we go look at the smith before we go find Mr. Tumlin?” He asked. I nodded and let him lead us back into the edge of the stream and down the pathways towards the smithy. All the while I continued to tug at the hood to pull it forward more and tried to curl my tail tighter beneath my cloak.

“200 gold... Each?” The flabbergasted tone was coming from a young man, attempting to haggle with an orc and a goblin. Preston was stroking his beard, pulling out loose strands and examining them before flicking them to the ground. The nervous habit was one that bothered him, but he was too deep in thought about the prices that had been given to him. “I can tell from here they're excellent quality, which is a testament to your skills. But, is that the best we can do here?”

The feral looking orc growled and bared his teeth. His toothy, extreme underbite seemed to protrude just a little more as he leaned in towards the boy. One deep red eye was focused on the haggler’s bright blues, where his other eye should have been was an old leather patch. He snorted and turned to an apprentice. Quickly the creature jumped up on an overturned crate by the table to interpret.

“Torvak is good known smith in Kerebas,” the goblin said, prodding a thick finger into the boy’s chest. He turned back and listened to the grunts and growls, guttural words coming from Torvak the orc. “He say, you take or leave. No more argue price.”

“Torvak, buddy, I wasn’t implying that you weren’t a great smith. By all means, I think your swords are some of the nicest I’ve seen on the whole island. That’s why I’m here, to make a deal with you. I can take these back to the capital and put them in my shop and you would be amazed at how quick they would sell. Let me do the travel for you, and you don't have to have beautiful pieces hanging on a backwall collecting soot.” Preston pleaded with the orc, trying to turn on as much charm and guile as he could. He pulled a small sack of gold from his belt and placed it on the countertop. “Look, here is seven-hundred gold.”

The goblin pulled the heavy sack of gold towards himself and opened it. His dark eyes reflected the glinting of the coins off the afternoon sunlight. If there was one thing Preston had learned quickly on Scara Brae, it was that goblins were as greedy as they were conniving. Shrewdly he looked back up to the younger human, scratching the edge of his cheek with a long fingernail. “What wanted trade for this gold?”

Torvak did not bother looking at Preston anymore, instead retreating back to his forge. “A consummate professional, just wants to get back to work. If this little imp could have just let me talk, he wouldn’t have had to bother the man.”

“A deal, here we go, finally.” Preston had found the Grak-Tong Smithy on accident while browsing the stalls of the market in Berkton. As a budding merchant, born and raised by merchants in Radasanth, he wanted to make a name for himself in trade. It was his experience and keen eye that had caught the layered steel blades hanging on the back wall of the shop. If he could get the smithy to work with him on exclusivity deals, he could make a fortune selling the weapons back to would-be adventurers and self-righteous idiots back in Scara Brae proper. “I want to look at those weapons on the back wall; the longswords, those axes, and that rapier with the basket-hilt.”

The goblin relayed the request to Torvak who reluctantly brought the rapier and other four weapons to the booth. They were placed gently on the table. “No surprise he didn’t want to part with them.” The boy thought as he cautiously lifted the rapier, “Even with steel, these are elegant, masterwork weapons.”

Preston tested the balance, letting the narrow blade hold perfectly steady on one finger just after the hilt. He slipped his right hand inside the basket hilt and admired the stunning detail. With a quick swipe he waved the weapon around, somewhat clumsily, and haphazardly to test it. As he did so he heard a welp of a shreak from his side.

“Oh! Pardon me!”

I found myself calmly dancing between people and shuffling through the small crowd. It was the most people that I had ever had to deal with at a single time, but it was exciting. Berkton was always like going on an adventure. Back home there was a single road that split the town, and everyone knew each other. Such was the way of the hamlet, but towns like this were filled with enough people that there could be strangers. It was a thrilling thought; living in a place where you could run into someone you didn’t know at all. Or, much less, people not from Scara Brae that had come to visit. Nobody visited Tastow, unless they intended to stay, and even then I didn’t know how they found us.

“Excuse me, coming through.”

While I used my staff in front of me to gently select my next steps, guiding people like sheep to let me through, Dustin was far less graceful. Despite his three and a half foot height, his frame was wide and he used it clumsily to push his way through. I could not help but snicker at my friend as he would come up to someone going the opposite direction, only to play a silly dance to figure out who was going to go which way to pass.

Eventually, we came up to a smithy. The Grak-Tong Smithy was our favorite in the city, partly because Mr. Grak was a master with metal, partly because Uncle Tong was always very kind to his nephew Dustin. It had been some time since we had last visited and both of us were looking forward to it. Dustin hurried ahead of me, excited to talk to Mr. Tong about any new creations.

It was then that I heard a cry of fear. People had filled in the gap left by the excited goblin, leaving me with no line of sight. But I knew that cry had to be Dustin. Frantically I shoved through the last layer of humanity between us and burst from them. The hair on the base of my neck shivered. My skin radiated a tingling feeling. A low growl came from the depths of my throat as I bared fang-like teeth and pointed the end of my staff forward.

A human had a long, thin blade of Mr. Grak’s pointed at Dustin. His arms were up defensively and I could see the fear as he looked only at the end of the blade pointed at him. I, on the other hand, was ready to attack and felt the warmth of my blood rushing through my body instantly.

“Oh, no no no,” the human called out almost immediately as I appeared. He cautiously placed the sword on the table with his right hand and held out his left showing it was empty. “This is not what it looks like, friend.”

“What. Is. It?” I spoke with a deep, grating tone. The voice that came out surprised me in a way, as if I was listening to someone else speak. “Explain.”

Preston withdrew as cautiously and quickly as he thought safely possible. With both hands raised, he tried to force a smile towards the new boy that had burst from the crowd. He squared his shoulders towards the child, wiggling empty fingers to show he had no other weapons. The merchant wanted to appraise the situation further, but the instance was one that had him looking fairly guilty of threatening a child. Additionally, there were a dozen or more people looking in his direction thanks to the scene caused by the red skinned boy.

“I put the sword down, you mind lowering your… staff?” He asked pleadingly while trying to crane his neck in different directions to ensure he was indeed looking at only a wooden staff. After being satisfied that the end was, indeed, not sharpened he sighed a bit of relief. “Look, the little green guy isn’t hurt at all.”

“Right?” Preston said as he looked back to the goblin youth and was leaning over to make sure. As he did so, the portly goblin put a boot directly into his shin. Immediate pain, the kind that your brain registers as a spot of lightning surrounded by fire, shot through his leg. “By all the blasted Thayne above!”

The goblin merchant started laughing. It was such a genuine, hardly laugh that Preston could not help but hope that meant that the situation was resolved. He found himself leaning back on the booth table and lifting his leg up, nursing it. He could already feel a lump forming just above his boots.

“You little green bastard,” he thought as he watched the younger goblin skirt around him towards the merchant. As he did so, the kid with the red skin and fangs - not to mention horns - lowered his staff and followed his goblin friend. While he passed by Preston he looked him up and down, sizing him up as much as accounting for the man. It was a feeling the young merchant was not too fond of, but only showed an open hand towards him.

Preston lowered his weight on his leg and could feel the throbbing node swelling against his pant leg. “That is definitely going to bruise and be swollen for days.” He turned towards the odd-pair as they talked to his goblin merchant. Surprisingly, the boy with the horns was speaking with both the goblins in what Preston could only assume was their native language. “Either that’s their language, or they all have snot on the back of their throat they’re trying to hack up…”

“Now that we’re all settled a little,” he ventured with a soft tone towards the kid, “My name is Preston, Preston Fletcher. Good to meet you. Are you and your friend ok? I didn’t mean to scare either of you.”

I could feel the heat in my body still boiling. Even as I walked past the human, who had taken a steel-toed boot to the shin, I took note of everything I could. He was heavier-set than I was, a fair amount taller as well. He had a single weapon on him I could see, some type of curved long knife at his side. I didn’t know enough about weapons to properly identify, but I estimated it to be fairly heavy. His clothes were not flashy, but obviously of higher quality. His beard was kept trimmed, and there was a scent of lilac.

How I knew lilac I was not sure. Or how I could smell him. The scent lingered and hovered around him like a cloud, faint. He had bathed within the past two days. Additionally, his heart rate had initially spiked, but the heavy tone was slowing just as quickly. This man, he was a calm soul. As I looked at a bead of sweat dripping down the edge of his cheek Dustin elbowed me.

My stupor ended abruptly and I snapped back. Never in my life had I felt like I could smell cleanliness, hear heartbeats, or almost taste the salt from someone else’s sweat. As i looked back to Dustin, it seemed that only a moment had passed. I turned away from the human and back to the pair of goblins.

<”Valic, how are you boy? Oh, he is nobody to worry about.”> Uncle Tong dismissively waved at the man, who was rubbing his shin. <”Some wanna be merchant, barak”>

I looked at Dustin and tilted my head at the last word. He mouthed nob with a cheeky grin, as if it was an insult. The man certainly looked like he was comfortable with money, I would have hardly considered him upper class. <”Doing well Mr. Tong,”> I said as I bowed slightly in respect. <”We just wanted to stop by and say hello since we were here for the day.”>

<”It is always great to see you and this little one,”> Mr. Tong said as he ruffled the greasy mop of hair on Dustin’s head with a bony hand. The two of them began talking about a new weapon Dustin wanted and I listened as best I could, certain words being completely lost on me. Some of it was regional diction alone. Mr Tong had spent the better part of his life traveling to and from distant, tropical lands where the language was almost different enough not to be understandable.

As I listened the man approached me with a kind greeting and extended a half-attempted apology. “I’m fine and so is he.”

“Mind telling me how a Tiefling wound up in some tiny village, speaking goblin?” The man asked me. I looked at him confused. “You know, it’s not common to see many Tieflings around this island. I haven’t seen one in Scara Brae at all since I got here at least.”

“What is a Tiefling?”

“Oh boy,” Preston thought as the unexpected question caught him off-guard. He slowly combed his gloved fingers through his hair a couple times before scratching his scalp. [I] “How do you explain a whole race of people?”

“Well,” he said, opening his mouth to respond, but he stopped with the shake of his head. He pondered the phrasing, especially regarding a tiefling. It was a group of people he had little interaction with, but the rumor was that a demon and a ‘core race’ made to create a half-demon. The darker rumor he had heard was about pacts with Haidian demonic lords. “You see,” he continued.

“How ‘bouts ya spit it out,” the kid said with a slight grin and a look at his goblin friends. It seemed he had grown a bit of confidence.

“Alright then,” Preston shrugged. He lowered his hand from his head and pointed it at the boy’s hair, specifically at the small horns protruding from beneath the mop. “You have horns, which by itself isn’t a giveaway since there are other... species that have horns like a satyr and fauns. You also have a red skin-tone, and I can see the sharp canine teeth when you smile too. And I bet,” he said confidently as the boy’s confidence began to wane slightly, “I bet if I was to guess, you have a tail that has a mind of its own too, huh?”

“What do you know!” The boy rushed quickly back into the crowd. As he passed by, he pulled his hood much higher up on his head and his face pulled deeper into the recesses. The goblin, with a half-skip to catch up, rushed by Preston as well, but not without another haphazard swing of a boot at his other shin.

“Oh, come on kid,” Preston pleaded as he dodged the goblins attempt. It was as much in frustration at the green brat as it was at his own frustrations having upset the young tiefling. The merchant cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice as he called into the crowd towards where the young boys disappeared. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said, I was just trying to explain what a tiefling is!”