A circle of goblin shamans circled a pentagram pulsing in the middle of a charred surface. Hordes of goblins of all kinds and types surrounded them.
[Goblin shaman - Tier 1 - Elite]
Yes. Shamans, not mages. They stood even taller than their mage counterparts. A skull clattered and dangled on their long staff as they twirled it around.
Five… Five shamans. They danced and frolicked around the glowing red scribbles on the charcoal floor.
The humans stood, mouths agape. Arthur crouched behind the trees before the river. So far, none had encountered the transparent goblins. Perhaps they were hiding amongst their kind on the other side?
“Desmond. Odds?”
“I don’t know…” The old man, Desmond, scanned the ritual site. “Five elites… innumerable goblins. If… we drag the fight closer toward the river… fight on this side, and not there…”
“But their magic-“
“-I know.” Desmond crossed his arms. “We can’t sit here and take it all.” The old man leaned back, “Can’t finesse our way out of this one, I fear.”
Arthur dipped his head. “Shit…”
Desmond squinted his eyes. “I’m confident my magic is comparable to elites. And so are a few others, I reckon. Their numbers are the true headache.”
Arthur stood and faced his allies, “Well; you heard him. We’ll fight them on that side. Spread out as far as you can—be mindful of the invisible ones.” He said, keeping his voice low.
Desmond took the scroll and unrolled it. “Never used this before…” The text on the scroll flickered a radiant white. “[Detect]… This should help.”
Frail watched the scroll flare into flames. Tiny bright particles spread around them.
Move back.
Frail’s rogue shifted further away. Whatever [Detect] did, he wasn’t interested in finding out.
“Agil.” Justine beckoned the bald man closer, “You’re good with a bow… stand with us.”
The humans organized themselves into groups: the vanguard, led by the gruff man, Judas. Justine led the archers. The mages with staffs and thin capes stuck close to Desmond, leaving Arthur on his own far to the side.
Goblins and humans. Essences.
Frail detected his potential gains—the resulting corpses from this battle would be… tremendous. All he had to do was wait and drag the corpses once the skirmish ended. In fact-
“Wait-“ Sarah called out from afar. “Who’s there?”
His rogue froze in its steps. Did they find me? But I’m so far away… Did she use a spell without me knowing?
Hurried footsteps rushed toward the rogue’s position.
Shit.
“[Root]” Desmond chanted.
A tangle of root sprouted beneath his rogue’s feet. It coiled around its legs, then to its limbs, denying its movement.
Sarah slid into view. “It’s not a… goblin?”
“A… skeleton?”
“Undeads…” Desmond and the others caught up to her, “I thought we’d never seen one of these so soon.”
Raise your hands. Surrender—a gesture told without the need for words. The humans drew back when his rogue let go of its daggers and held its hands up.
“It… surrendered?” Damon spoke, planting his shield on the floor, panting. “I’ve never seen one before… Do they usually act this… humanly?”
He felt the daggers of a dozen glares pinpricking his skull.
Arthur nudged past the line of men, planting his feet a few steps away from his rogue. “Desmond… dispel your root.”
“But-“
“Just do it. If this thing wished to harm us, it would’ve done so. I think…” Arthur crossed his hands, “I think we can talk to this one—call it a gut feeling.”
The roots crumbled into ashes. “Well, your call.” Desmond sighed.
“Don’t run. We’ll kill you before you can take a step.” Arthur warned and placed the tip of his spear on the rogue’s skull. “Where do you come from?”
His skeleton cackled.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
I can’t speak.
At least they didn’t side with Hecratia. If so, they wouldn’t be on speaking terms. That did not imply trust; that depended on how both Arthur and he navigated this conversation.
Frail directed his rogue as if a mannequin.
The goblins… It pointed toward the ritual site. Arthur followed its finger. “You’re here for the goblins?”
It nodded. The humans cocked their heads, perplexed. “You… understand us?”
Frail ordered his rogue another nod. The humans whispered amongst themselves, expressing their bewilderment in their individual ways. So far, Frail anticipated disgust, but he saw nothing of that sort.
“Are you their ally?” Arthur caught on. He asked purely yes-or-no questions. “Their friend?”
Frail shook the rogue’s head.
Arthur lowered his head. “Huh… Justine, Sarah, and Adrian, watch him. Desmond, Judas, Damon, come with me.” They disappeared into the bushes.
Adrian kept watch. The grin in his eyes never faded.
### Damon ###
Four men stepped far from the undead, their heads swimming from confusion.
“It can help us,” Arthur whispered under the roof of leaves and trees. “I’m thinking about-“
“-Are you nuts?” Judas protested, barely keeping his voice low. “That thing isn’t-“
“-Human. Nor is it an ally. I know.” Arthur raised his hand. “From its mannerisms and answers… It’s safe to assume he understood human language. English, too, in particular.”
No. It can’t be a human.
“Wait, wait wait…” Damon raised his hand. “You saw the message when we spotted it, right?”
[Skeleton Rogue - Tier 1 - common]
“That’s a monster.” Judas insisted. “How is that even possible?”
Arthur shrugged. “I don’t care about the how—we’re not in a position to guess. We need to act. And fast.”
Desmond kept his lips shut. He listened and nodded.
The old man doesn’t seem to disagree… Damon looked toward the undead again. Of all the things he expected… allying themselves with a walking skeleton was entirely out of left field.
“And your… Goddess?” Judas glared at Arthur. “Will She mind?”
“She’s good with them,” Arthur replied. “She… spoke to me when I saw it. Said this undead can be helpful. Not all of them are, but this one is sentient.”
Judas sighed. “So the Goddess of Spear can talk, after all.”
A goddess? What is this, now? Damon scratched his head, “Hold on-“
“I assume everyone’s cool with it?” Arthur tapped Damon’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll explain later.”
Damon lost his ability to speak. To think. “Uh… Fuck… Okay.”
Arthur seemed to be more than what he appeared to be.
### Entity ###
The four men returned.
“We have a preposition. I’ll keep it short.” Arthur said, “Help us. We need all the hands we can get, and you seem to be the stealthy sort. We lack that.”
They want my help?
Frail ignored the moans of protest when Arthur brought it up to his friends. He sensed value in it—as long as the humans left him to his devices and ditched the corpses, he couldn’t care less about what they did. And if he helped them now… there might come a time when they could return the favor.
But could he trust them? Trust, by nature, incurred risk.
“We don’t have to be allies. How about a truce? No fighting between us,” Arthur said. “I don’t have worthwhile rewards to give you-“ He tilted his head, and Frail noted the spark in his eyes in the next instant, “-wait, maybe I do.”
He retrieved a swirling orb from thin air. “I found this from a dungeon. Don’t know what it does. It displayed a bunch of question marks when I examined it. If you help us… I’ll give this to you.”
[Swirling orb - Tier 1 - Construct slot - Uncommon]
[Drain to increase your construct slot by five permanently.]
Frail’s eyes widened. Where do you get this?
The skeleton rogue lowered its hand. What gesture conveyed agreement? A nod? Or…
Oh, I know…
His rogue gave a thumbs up.
“What the fuck?” He heard someone say.
Then he held his hand and urged them to stay calm.
Multiple skeletons rose from the bushes. Fifteen in total. Frail called upon them when they trapped his rogue. Just in case.
The humans’ eyes widened. Some raised their weapons in response, but Arthur’s wave stopped the escalation.
Arthur flashed a careful grin. “Looks like you’re not alone.”
###
Men and skeletons stood before the stream leading to the ritual site. The ones with flesh stood on the right, the bones on the left. None truly trusted one another, but they cooperated regardless.
“Plan is simple. We charge. Stand no further than 50 meters from me. Don’t let any goblins come close to our archers. We’ll let the sneaky ones deal with the shamans.” Arthur sneaked a peek at the four rogues hunched over on the far left. “Before we go…”
A cast of light swallowed his spear in a golden blaze. Its radiance bathed the humans with a flaxen veil. A buff? An aura? Some of the humans moaned from the warmth the veil clad them under, comfort etched on their faces.
Then he pointed his spear toward the site. “Start with the archers. We attack after the first three volleys. The… skeletons will handle the left flank. Keep your shields high and face the opponent. Remember our goal—we must end the shamans before their ritual concludes.”
Frail counted at minimum 60 of the normal goblins meandering about. A few screw-ups here wouldn’t hurt too much—the number of walking essences on the other side more than made up for any possible losses.
“One hour.” Arthur continued, That’s how long we have.” He raised his spear. “Go.”
Arrows zipped toward the unwary goblins. The men charged with Arthur leading the front. Frail’s constructs followed suit. It’d take at least a full thirty seconds of sprinting to reach the ritual site.
Bolts of lightning struck. Icicles hailed the battlefield. Then fireballs thawed the ice. The shrieks of goblins overwhelmed the volleys of arrows and magic, answered by equally loud human cries in return.
Their preemptive strike netted them a dozen goblin casualties. Despite that, their number didn’t seem to thin.
“THERE!”
Nightblades entered the fray. Steel clashed with reinforced clubs when the two armies met. Clangors of blades drowned the outcry of the skirmish.
The shamans moved to action. Skull staffs clattered as they raised those high. Frail watched emerald-tinted energy washing over the battlefield. Pulses that corroded life itself. The goblin’s weapons burned with green-tinted fires. Another weapon buff?
“Be careful! It’s the necrotic element! Don’t get hit!” Desmond yelled from behind.
Frail spotted a stray swing slipping through the shield of an unfortunate man. His skin hissed and bubbled as if burnt. The medley of battle silenced his cries of pain.
Necrotic. I’m immune.
Frail’s warriors met the goblins with a relentless battery of assault. The archers stayed a distance behind, and his rogues dispatched any stray goblins who slipped past his front-line. The ritual site loomed closer.
Emerald embers flickered in his skeleton warrior’s eyes.
Wrath. Speed draw.
With the skill activation, Frail breached the group of goblins and moved another step forward. Rogues… The mages.
Eleven goblins stood in his way. Five mages channeled their spells behind them.
Dark rush.
A blur of black smoke puffed. Frail studied the rogue’s vision—space seemed to bend under their lightning-fast speed. In a blink of an eye, the rogues’ blades reached the back of the mages’ necks.