~Chapter 2
~Eliza
Incredulity twisted Eliza's features as she heard the opportunity the old man known as Brock, spoke off. Maybe, she'd misheard him, because there was no way in the seven hells, she was going to do wat they were proposing alone. Even hardened adventurers and the crazies known as slayers didn't do what he was proposing by themselves. And, those people had actual training when it came to slaying monsters. She was just the disowned daughter of a hag of a former adventurer.
She cleared her throat. Yeah, she'd probably just misheard him.
"Yes," Brock said, looking up at her with his cloudy beady little eyes inset into his prune like face, the tavern quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
"Can you repeat what you just said Mr. Brock? I'm not quite certain what you mean," she said, taking a seat at the clean but aged bar, a somewhat hesitant smile on her freckled face.
He nodded, his wispy beard and eyelashes swaying with his movement," I can," he said," I along with the town of Hamel-shire would like to..."
"Just kill those damn goblins and bring my wife back!" One of the town's folk blurted, his voice full of anger and hatred.
Eliza quirked an eyebrow as she looked for the source. It wasn't hard, despite the tavern being full of what must have been every person in town, there were only about three dozen people not including her crammed into the homely tavern. Now, that she was looking at the haggard and humbly-dressed crowd, she noticed that excluding herself and the bar maiden there was only one other woman in the place, and she had to be pushing a hundred or something with how she seemed to be doing an impression of a drooling and desiccated corpse.
It wasn't that unusual given that she was in a small town's local tavern, but it seemed like the entire hamlet had shown up and brought grandma along, it meant...
"For too long have we suffered! We finally have a chance to stand up against that green-skinned bitch and her children!" The shouting villager added, his mud-spattered face reddening with each word," with her," he said, pointing a meaty finger at Eliza," we might finally have a chance." A few of the gathered people muttered in agreement, some slamming their mugs of ale into the table," we can take the fight to those ugly bastards," another villager added.
"Yeah, and get my dear Rebecca back," another added, standing up, his face a gaunt sharp featured mess with puffy red eyes.
"We never should have agreed to that damnable pact," the first man added, drawing more muttered and boisterous agreement.
"Now, Solomon," Brock started, turning his hunched-over body to face the now feverish crowd," we are not going to..." he attempted to say, but his words were rapidly subsumed by the town's folk increasing fervor.
Eliza watched, her mind utterly disbelieving what she was hearing while her face returned to its state of complete stoicism. These people were crazy, and she was going to get the hell out of town before she was wrangled into something, she was no way qualified for. She might have been broke but she wasn't batshit insane. She'd have a better chance of living in the capital, even with the arseholes after her. At least they weren't crazy enough to try and attack a goblin warren with torches and pitchforks.
~Gertrude
Gertrude did her best impression of a strut, plodding after the stuttering runt she knew as one of her many children as they made their way through the labyrinthine corridors of Blackthorn Keep. The decrepit tower and outlying ruins much like the forest it resided in was expansive, convoluted, and filled with more secrets than a bog hag's cunt, but it was home, and Gertrude rather liked the accursed place. Besides, it was better than the hole in the ground most goblin warrens were located, and as far-removed from the trash heap she was birthed into. Though, looking around the aging stone and moss-covered ruins, she may as well have lived in a trash heap, given how her children treated her home.
Half-rotten refuse tattered, and insect eaten furniture and other finery lay scattered about or heaped into piles brimming with questionable items, while the maddened squeals and squawks of her progeny mingled with the moans and cries of their breeding stock.
The entire affair disgusted her and as she made her way to the balcony overlooking the chaotic rabble on the keep's grounds with the moon full in the night sky, she was reminded of the reason she put up with it all. The tower like her children were just a means to an end, and it was one she'd trade all of them to obtain.
"As...as you c. can see m. matriarch," the stuttering runt said, once she'd stopped at the balcony. "there're o. only five," he added, pointing to the huddled and frightened group of haggard humans, that would be their twice-yearly infusion of breeding stock from the outlying villages.
She gave a small nod as her gaze fell upon the cowering humans as they were led to the breeding pens by her slightly less-stupid children. The humans were all female, fertile, and exactly more of what she needed. Using humans as breeding stock wasn't the most efficient of things; she'd have much more preferred females from the other goboid races such as orcs and ogres, but they were hard to find and it was much easier to subjugate a human village, than fight several orc or ogre clans at once. And, she wasn't even going to consider capturing female goblins, for obvious reasons, given her past. Besides, humans were a practical choice, all things considered, even though their fecundity was only half of an average female goboid, and she wasn't about to fuck the runts she gave birth to. After all, she did have some class and...
Seeing one of her new humans' trip, face first into the shit-filled mud of the keep's ground before immediately being swamped by her horny spawn, Gertrude was once more drawn to the matter at hand.
The stuttering fool was right, there was one female missing, and she knew which of the ballless villages it was. The stupid hamlet had always been rebellious when it came to their protection payment. Why the idiotic humans put such value in each other was utterly beyond her. Kin were just pieces on a board to be used to ensure one's goals were met, whether that goal was survival or conquest it didn't matter. Grandma Tuga had taught her that from the moment she could walk, and it had served her well. She'd just have to teach the foolish human hamlet the consequences of not taking the lesson to heart, she thought, a smile crossing her rounded face.
It was time for a little lesson, and it was one she'd gladly give.
~Lisa
Lisa, Tom's only child and no longer the only fertile female within the town of Hamel-shire slipped out the backdoor of her father's tavern, the devolving argument of the town meeting droning on behind her. It wasn't that she didn't care for what was probably the most important thing going on in her little neck of the world, but at the moment listening to a bunch of mostly middle-aged men discuss the possibility of attacking a goblin warren was arguably the least interesting thing she could spend her time doing. Besides, she had plans for the night, and with her father and most of the hamlet busy arguing she was free to indulge herself.
Skipping across the hamlet's muddy excuse for a town center like a giddy schoolgirl, she slipped into the third most visited place in the village, Miller's apothecary. The building much like every other building in Hamel-shire was made of stone, mud, wood, and plaster with a stone chimney on top of a triangular roof.
A bell tinkled as she slipped into the store, making sure to check that no one was following her. It was highly unlikely given the town's current mood, but Hamel-shire was a small place and one never knew who was watching.
