Osamaru Ta
patreon
B2 - Lesson 12: "Always have a way out."
🕑 Added 2023-11-06 21:56:45 +0000 UTCNo Chapters this Wednesday or Friday (Nov 22 & 24) due to the holidays (Thanksgiving).
—————————————
The boar-like creature grunted as it used its large, crystal-like tusks to dig into the roots of the giant tree. When it found nothing, it moved on to the next spot. Occasionally, it would pull up a thick tuber or fat grub with an excited oink.
Dig, dig, eat, sleep, dig some more.
It was a simple life, but the boar creature wasn’t one to complain.
Suddenly, its large snout caught the scent of something new in the air. Something that made its mouth water and its simple mind light up. It didn’t take long for the boar to find the source of the smell, either. There, in a small clearing, sat a campfire, a fat, tasty-smelling bird spinning on a simple rotisserie. Beside the campfire squatted a small, humanoid figure with long, pointy ears, bark-like skin, and a bored look.
Not that the boar knew what either a campfire or a rotisserie were. But it knew what the strange creature beside the fire was. The boar had seen the creatures several times before. They were new arrivals in this underground forest, having only appeared a few months ago. The boar had mostly ignored the creatures. Sure, barkskins would hunt some of its lesser cousins, but individually, they weren’t dangerous, and the boar was smart enough to know how to avoid their larger hunting parties.
What drew the boar’s attention was the slowly roasting bird over the fire. Meat was a rare delicacy in this underground world. Not that living creatures were so hard to find, no, rather, because everything was always trying to kill everything else. Bodies never lasted long in a place where everything, even some plants, were willing and able to eat flesh.
If you wanted meat, you had to hunt for it yourself.
And be willing to be hunted, in turn.
The boar was a lazy creature, however. It much preferred the tubers that never ran and the sweet fruits that fell free from the trees. Sure, sometimes the grubs would pinch their snout, but they’d never broken skin. Not that they would turn down the offer of fresh meat if given the chance. Only that they often found it not worth the effort.
That said, it didn’t get easier than this, the boar thought to itself. Not only was the bird dead, meaning it couldn’t fly away (annoying!), but the only creature guarding it was just a single barkskin. They might have been dangerous in groups, but the boar had found they were cowards when alone. The boar would just have to scare the creature away, and all the delicious bird meat would be theirs!
It was the perfect plan!
The boar silently moved around the perimeter of the clearing to find the best possible angle. Once there, they gave a loud, low-pitched squeal and charged out from the forest cover. To the boar’s surprise, however, the barkskin didn’t run; it just sat there, turning the bird over the fire and watching.
This confused the boar. It wasn’t used to things not running when it charged them. Even some of the larger predators would think twice when they saw its beautiful crystal tusks, longer than a human’s arm, heading their way.
The boar quickly got over its confusion, however. So what if it didn’t run? It was just one barkskin. If it didn’t want to run, it would simply trample over the tiny creature, and then the boar would have two bodies to eat! All the better!
Its choice made, the boar lowered its head further and aimed the point of its tusks at the small creature. It drew closer with each breath and, in only a few strides, had almost cleared the open space between them.
Then, suddenly, the ground beneath the boar’s feet fell away.
The boar squealed again, this time in shock and fear as it plunged down into the deep hole. The last thing it saw before the sharpened wooden spikes at the bottom of the pit impaled its small brain was the sight of the barkskin grinning from ear to ear.
————————————
Antchaser laughed as he watched the large Crystal-Tusk Boar plunge into the pit. Some of the other creatures would have been more wary, but Antchaser had learned the boars were opportunistic as a whole. They could be sly and sneaky but show any kind of weakness, and they wouldn’t hesitate or doubt.
They’d been the best test subjects for his traps for years, and he’d been slightly miffed his first name hadn’t been ‘Boarslayer’ or something similar, instead of Pitdigger. The actual Boarslayer was a brutish goblin who would constantly charge at their prey with little more than a spear and shield. No proper plan, strategy, or even skill. Just a mindless, forward charge, much like thier namesake. Ok, granted, it worked most of the time, but that was only because Boarslayer was twice as big as most of the other goblins and owned one of the few marginally complete sets of armor in the village.
Antchaser scowled to himself and walked toward the edge of the large pit. He leaned over and stared at his latest catch, whistling to himself.
“Quite a big one, aren’t you? I wonder how you’ve stayed away from the other teams?” The goblin asked the bleeding, twitching body of the large boar impaled in his pit.
“Hmmmm… I might need to call a few others over for this one…” Antchaser muttered.
The boar was as big as the carts he’d seen some humans use on the surface. Far bigger than he could drag back to the village by himself. At least not without attracting the attention of something else. He could cut off the choicest parts for himself and carry what he could, but that would mean leaving the rest for the scavengers, which seemed like a waste.
Sure, he’d have to share with whoever he brought to help, but the loss would be negligible to leaving most of this behemoth behind. Antchaser stood, then wrapped the thick Ironfur cloak he’d been kneeling on around his shoulders. He then reset the trap, hiding the body from other predators who might be attracted while he was gone. The goblin pulled a drumstick from the roast over the fire before burying the rest in the fire’s ashes. The birds weren’t terrible, but they were oily and better suited as bait for his traps than a proper meal.
He absentmindedly gnawed on the drumstick as he carefully made his way past the rest of his marked traps in the clearing and headed home to the village.
————————————
The shouting was the first thing that told Antchaser something was wrong.
The goblins of the village could be rowdy sometimes, sure. Deep Goblins might have been more “civilized’ than their surface cousins, but they were still goblins. That said, they often limited their wild fights to holidays and celebrations. A Deep Goblin village on a normal day could be just as peaceful and safe as any human hamlet.
The second thing was the smoke.
The thick, choking smoke that only got thicker the closer he got to the village made Antchaser’s heart race. As soon as it clicked, Antchaser rushed through the forest toward the village. He stopped at the border of the clearing in which sat his village, his eyes wide.
The village was on fire!
Well, part of it, at least. The front gate to the sturdy wooden wall they’d finally raised was blown off its hinges, and much of that side was a ruined, burning wreck. What had happened?! Had some kind of beast attacked? Or maybe a larger tribe had found them? Competition for prime caverns was fierce, and this wouldn’t have been the first time their small village had been pushed out.
Then Antchaser noticed them. A group of figures poked through the wall’s rubble and moved the still-burning logs away from the rest of the wall to prevent the fires from spreading.
Most of them were goblins, some Antchacer recognized. They looked beaten and bloody, reminding Antchaser of how they’d been when they’d first arrived in this cavern. But a few others stood to the side, laughing and pointing at the struggling goblins.
“Adventurers…” Antchaser growled to himself.
Why did it have to be adventurers?!
The Deep People of the Crimson Mountains, as a whole, not just the goblins, had a… strange relationship with the Adventurers of Halirosa. For the most part, it was cordial enough. Many tribes would trade for surface items or equipment, and some larger tribes even had their own adventurers of a sort, with outposts in the city.
But other tribes treated the adventurers as invaders, delving into their homes and stripping entire caverns of anything of value. Grand wars had been fought over the millennia for control of the Deep Tunnels and their riches. More recently, things had calmed down, with both sides more willing to approach the table for discussion rather than waste time and warriors on wars.
But every so often, you’d still hear rumors of one ancestral cavern or another beset by treasure-seeking adventurers. And now they’d come to his new home. Were they cursed to always find some kind of trouble?! Why did the heavens hate them so?
Antchaser ground his teeth in frustration as he sneaked around the village clearing. No doubt there would be more adventurers patrolling around the area, so he had to be careful.
What he knew of adventurers told him he should run. He should get as far away as possible… but he couldn’t. This was his home. His family. He had to do something. Even if it was just confirming how bad the damage was.
————————————
The sneaking into the village part had been easy. They might have been adventurers, but goblins always had more than one entrance to their village, and many of them were hidden. One never knew when you had to make a hasty retreat in the dead of night.
But doing anything useful was proving more difficult. The adventurers numbered two dozen and were spread out through the village, ransacking the various huts for whatever they could find. Antchaser’s small village, in contrast, numbered roughly 200 individuals, with only a quarter of those being hunters or guards of some kind, meaning only 50 goblins had any real combat power. Outnumbering the adventurers two-to-one should have been an advantage... if most of the adventurers weren’t human or tall awakened beasts, almost twice the goblin’s size.
Coupled with the adventurer’s better gear, higher cultivation, and that 10-15 goblins were always out hunting at a time, Antchaser doubted the defense had lasted more than a few moments.
The half a dozen goblin bodies, most of them warriors, scattered around the village center attested to Antchaser’s assessment.
He hid under the supports of a nearby hut, concealed by the deep shadows, and observed the scene.
Most of the village had been gathered around the village center, women and children huddled close together while the bloody and beaten men circled them as best as they could. Most of the adventurers, those not watching the goblins at the gate or searching the houses, circle the group in turn, sneering and laughing.
The largest of them, a giant of a man who towered over even his fellows, spoke to one of the cowering elders, the old man’s face bleeding.
The elder looked up at the giant man and pleaded, “Please, sir! We’ve told you all we know! We’ve only come to this cavern a few months ago! Not even our best hunters have explored it fully!”
The giant of a man nodded sagely… then kicked the elder in the gut. It was likely a ‘light’ blow by the man’s standard, barely more force than it took to take a step with his massive legs. For the much smaller elder, whose crouched form barely reached a more standard human’s waist, it was enough to drive all the breath from his lungs and send him into the air.
The crowd of goblins gasped while the adventurers laughed as the elder tumbled through the air, then rolled to the edge of gathered goblins. Several men rushed to their elder’s side and tried to assist the shaking old man. Anchaser’s blood boiled as he noticed the elder cough up a mouth full of blood.
The giant adventurer spread his arms out and bellowed into the crowd. “Do you take me for a fool?! Such a rich trove of treasures, and you really expect me to believe you know so little of it? Now, I’m a patient man by principle—”
Several of the adventurers giggled, earning them glares that quickly shut them up before the giant continued. “—Yet even my patience grows thin. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask questions. Someone is going to answer them. If no one does, then bones will start breaking! Am I clear!?”
In his hiding spot, Antchaser clenched his teeth to the point he could taste blood. These bastards… he was going to… going to… going to what? Charge out there with his weapon drawn? Antchaser doubted he’d even make it to the giant before he ended up as just another body lying around the village center. Even if he made it to the giant, Antchaser was barely in [Silver Spirit]. The peak [Shackle Breaking] adventurer could squash him with a single hand.
Maybe he could sneak away. Seek help from one of the larger tribes or even file a complaint with Halirosa if he could learn who these people were. Sure, that meant exposing their new home to others. But it was better to share with a known force than whatever... these people had planned. Though both options assumed he could reach either by himself and not die on the way.
No… that would take too much time. Even if the Halirosa authorities bothered to do anything, it would be too late. Maybe he could gather the hunters who were still out of the village. They would be outnumbered, but they knew the area far better. They could—.
Antchaser’s train of thought was cut off as something grabbed his ankle and pulled him out from under his hiding spot, the goblin’s flailing grasp coming away with nothing but mud.
Soon, he was being dangled upside down by a lanky, weaselly-looking man. Antchaser struggled but couldn’t break the grinning man’s grip. The giant adventurer’s voice boomed from the other side of the village center. “What did you find, Seeker? Another hider?”
“Aye, it looks like it, Bosco. He even brought us a present! How nice!” The lanky man, ‘Seeker’, called back.
The giant man, apparently named Bosco, raised a brow at that. “Oh? Anything good?”
Seeker grinned and ripped the cloak from Antchaser’s neck. He rubbed his thumbs over the silky fur as she answered. “Ironfur leather. It’s not amazing quality, but it’s good enough, considering a bunch of goblins made it. It seems like they have been holding out on us! Then there’s the metal!—”
Seeker held up the cloak so Bosco could see the metal vine Antchaser had pulled out of the ant’s remains. “Worked metal. Mundane, but the workmanship and purity are astounding. Some of it I don’t even recognize. Now, tell me, little goblin, where did you get something like this?”
Antchaser didn’t bother to respond. Instead, what he did next surprised all the adventurers present. Like a cat twisting in its skin, Antchaser rose from his awkward position and grabbed onto a hidden dagger on his leg.
Before Seeker could react, Antchaser drew the dagger and slammed it into the man’s wrist. Seeker yowled in pain and dropped the goblin as he clutched at his bleeding forearm. Antchaser didn’t hesitate; as soon as he hit the ground, he righted himself and started running deeper into the village. He had to get out. He had to warn the other hunters.
As he rounded the corner of a nearby hut, he heard Bosco bellow out in rage, “AFTER HIM!”
