Category: Short Story

This follows Damage Management Team Part V, Part IV, Part III, Part II, and Part I…

Grunk nudged me awake. “Get up, Tell. Time to go.”

I rolled over with a groan. “Are we seriously doing this?”

A stoic nod. “I think so. Is there a better option?”

“We could keep heading outwards…”

Grunk looked sideways towards the cluster of adventurers, Omish among them. “I don’t think they would let us. Lack of trust and all that.”

“Yeah… I have this fleeting hope that we still have options,” I mumbled as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “I need to feel like we are not doing something entirely idiotic.”

“Our lead is already shot. We don’t have a portal. We don’t know where a portal is,” Grunk frowned suddenly. “And I don’t know why, but I… believe them.”

“Believe them what?” I asked.

“I believe them about the Underfell, and the Wizardking… do you think it is a coincidence that our lives are short? We just accept it? I mean if I have a chance to live another thirty, fifty, seventy years? Is that worth it? If I can help the kids in my village live longer? Or Omish? Or even you, you hardass? Honestly, I would do it. I don’t know why, Tell, but I believe ’em.”

I felt some pressure at the back of my eyes like a tear needed to form. I pushed it down with a sense of righteous Goblin anger. Gobs don’t cry. “Alright, alright you sentimental lunk. Help me up. But what about the Underking stuff you said before? Him giving us power, and all that?”

Grunk looked at this hands, embarrassed. “Can’t both things be true? Now, I am not sure it is worth the cost. By the way, the little fire mage was asking about you.” Grunk offhandedly mentioned as he slapped dust from my shoulders.

“Hmmm?” I tried to act nonchalant. She was a smoke show. What was it with magic and sheer undiluted hotness going hand in hand?

Grunk grinned slyly. Pervert. “Asking where you grew up. Told her I had no idea.”

“Yeah you do. Stoccard-on-the-Well.” I made a face at his apparent lewdnes. “You going senile?”

A semblance of his own nonchalance via a shrug. “Maybe I didn’t think it was for me to share.”

“Hmmm.” I agreed emphatically for all the reasons he already knew. Grunk was a bastard.

“Let’s go my little Goblins!” Christoph announced from the door. “Miki, light the way!”

Miki tapped her wrist twice, and her staff appeared in her hand. She was a full blown mage, there was no doubt. Being able to summon a staff of power? Check. Being able to focus magic without it? Check. A goblin mage. The world was queer as fuck. Her staff end, terminating in a small blue jewel the size of an eyeball, radiated overly bright at first, then shifted downwards to a muted soft glow.

Yet, I still had to squint. “Maybe we should walk in front,” I muttered.

“We will walk in front of you all,” Grunk announced much more loudly.

The tall knight looked uncomfortable. “If we are together, we are safer, are we not?”

“If we are in front-” Grunk tried.

“They can see better. The light we need hurts their eyes,” Miki finished.

I scrunched up my nose in annoyance, but Grunk squeezed my wrist. I smiled instead. A big fake eat-a-big-fat-bag-of-troll-testicles kind of smile. “That’s right. And when we step into a razor trap, you will only get splashed with a tiny little amount of our blood.”

“Stop it,” Grunk whispered.

“No,” I whispered back.

Fror looked uncomfortable. “Razor traps? Is that a thing?”

“Oh yes,” Omish jumped in with glee. “Entire cows are rendered down to their prime cuts. Imagine a whirlwind of razor wires spinning about like a small tornado… slicing and dicing until all that is left is only chunks. They are aw-www-www-esome.”

“Great,” Streya smugly frowned. “Yet another scary thing to put into my book.”

“Book?” Omish looked confused.

Fror shook his head. “You had to ask.”

“Pay no attention to my dwarven friend. It will be the talk of the homeland. I am thinking using the title ‘The Underfell Guide, or perhaps, the The Idiot’s Guide to the Underfell, or maybe even, The Underfell and You, a Survival Guide. The title needs to be workshopped.”

“I would say.” I muttered.

“What would you call it then?” Streya looked at me sternly, but it wasn’t anger, it was… curiousity?

“What is it about? Like, uh, what is it focused on?” I tried to salvage my offhanded smartass remark.

“Oh, it is all the things. It is meant to be the source for new adventurers. At some point, the Underfell is inevitable for any growing population. Villages attract entrances. We don’t understand the mechanism, but when the village reaches a certain size, a dungeon entrance opens nearby. I am hoping to create a guide on all the ins and out of surviving, even thriving, in the Underfell. How to sleep, how to eat, how to avoid the traps, how to fight the monsters, how to survive. All the important bits.” Streya waved at the dubndub we were all filing out of. “How to use the washrooms… no one knows about how they work! Firewood? Waste gates? Fresh water? It is remarkable.”

“Not that remarkable. The Brownies have to put their dead somewhere,” Grunk sighed.

A horrified look came over Fror’s face. “What?”

“Brownies. When they die, they become wood. They are shuttled to the nearby burial site… which are the fire boxes in the dubndubs,” Grunk explained.

“We were burning corpses?” Fror’s eyes were the size of dinner plates.

“Its fine. They want it to be that way. Funeral pyres and all that. Its how their departed return to the Spirit Realm.” Grunk said. “And the smoke gets the harpies high.”

“By the Fist,” Fror had turned white as a sheet.

“Oh, its fine. Its fine! Everything is fine!” Grunk waved at him apologetically. “A little funeral, a little hookah action, everyone wins!”

“After all, don’t dwarves turn to stone when you die?” I asked.

“Absolutely not! Where did you hear that nonsense?” Fror protested.

“Around.” I tilted my head to my shoulder as an explanation. It was common knowledge.

“When we die we are just like any other living thing, we leave a corpse behind.” Fror grimaced.

“I think you would make a nice cornerstone if you did turn to stone.” I added thoughtfully.

“We don’t turn to stone!” Fror insisted. “But thanks. Cornerstones are important.”

I smirked. “This way.”

We walked down the wide hallway, the three of us in front, the four of them a few steps behind. The far end was lost to the dark, but with the steady mana glow behind us, I could make out a fair bit of the details. There were pressure traps across the full length of the corridor about two meters ahead. I held up a hand for everyone to stop and glanced across the length of the ceiling.

Small nozzles along the edge. Acid traps. Nothing like being dissolved and cooked at the same time! Slime shit. Literally. That meant that there was a slime cell nearby…

“What?” Christoph whispered.

Omish pointed as if it was obvious. “Pressure triggers.”

“Where?” Christoph squinted as if he needed glasses.

“How did you survive to get that big, human?” I laughed.

Christoph smiled in self-deprecation, “Lots of good food from a great mom, little goblin. How else? Teach me. I want to learn. How do you see them?”

Christoph kneeled down, his armor clinking lightly against the stone floor. Streya leaned over next to him, a little sketchbook in one hand and a well chewed pencil in the other.

Omish looked at me questioningly. I waved for him to continue.

“See the ridges on the stone? Its faint. All along the edges.”

“Noooo, oh yes, I do see them. Like scratches! Yet the plates are the same height as the stones around it?”

Omish made his hands flat and put them side by side as if representing the stones. “The pressure trigger relies on a static fluid pressure underneath. Its called hydraulics. The edging where the stone meets other stones allows smoother movement so the trap is triggered successfully. If they were perfectly flush, dust and dirt could make the trap stick. There is a trap disable along the line of the stones… we just have to find it, flip it and the static pressure will be negative. The trap can’t be tripped.”

“Why would there be a mechanism to turn it off?” Streya asked in a mild whisper.

“Why are you all whispering?” I teased. “The traps cannot be set off with sound. We have to be able to disable traps to work on them. Everything down here requires maintenance.”

I patted the tall knight on his blonde head and strolled along the length of stones. I flipped my trusty knife out of my belt, stuck the square edge of it against the disable stone, and flipped it up. All the pressure traps sucked downwards a few millimeters, as if relieved. Which in a sense they were, when you thought about it.

“Interesting.” Christoph stood up and walked over the stones.

“What is interesting is that you could have still tripped it there, bigfoot.” I grimaced. “Policy states not to intentionally step on traps even if they are in a disabled state, as the trap can still be triggered.”

“Oh! Oh!” Christoph danced forwards a few steps and looked at the three of us goblins with guilt written broadly all over his face. “Are we ok?”

“Are you melting into a screaming pile of goo?” I asked.

“Nooooo…” He exhaled, trailing off.

“Then you are fine.”

A look of relief crossed his features.

“Seriously? How do you survive?” I asked again.

Streya made a few scribbles in her little black notebook. “Why are they called dubndubs?”

That caught me offguard. “Sorry?”

“We call them washrooms… where we camped last night.” She clarified further. “You keep calling them something else. Something I don’t recognize. Like a different tongue? Dub-in-Duubs? Is that High Latter Orcish?”

“Nope, just laziness. Waste and Water rooms. Double U, Double U. Dubndub. Dubndubs plural.” Grunk explained. “In training, wthey are called safe rooms. No traps. No lairs. No distractions.”

“Why?” Fror asked confusedly. “It is a dungeon!? We are in a dungeon, right?”

“Yeah so?” Grunk raised his unibrow on one side.

“It kills explorers! It is designed to harvest lifeforce. Why put in safe places?”

I internally agreed. It never had made sense to me either. Don’t get me wrong, they are very useful. But that means they are useful to everyone, and that’s not great for us when the goblin killers feel nice and cozy (and fuck those guys sideways).

“Because they serve a purpose. It is an ecosystem. For the Underfell to persist, it has to be in balance. The dubndubs create balance in lots of ways. They serve water, they haul waste, they are used for transfer points for all sorts of community byproducts.” Grunk seemed to enjoy teaching the adventurers. “Each dubndub is at a critical junction on that part of the floor, and it is there for a reason. The communities around it need them.”

Streya put her hands up, pencil and notebook both held askew. “Hold on. Communities?”

“Yeah. Communities. These acid traps,” Grunk pointed at the nozzles. “Waste product from a cell of slimes. They are up there, or nearby, living their slime lives, doing whatever slimes like to do. I have no idea. They are slimes. As far as I know, the height of their civilization is forming geometric shapes. Tetrahedrons. Cylinders. Cubes. And digesting things.”

“This is wild.” Streya sounded like she on the verge of outright giddiness.

“How did you think this all worked?” I asked sardonically.

Streya’s eyelids spread wider as she thought about it. “From our side of all this, one day a dungeon entrance appears. Monsters start to come out at night to steal our livestock and our children. When that dungeon entrance appears that day, through the curse of the Wizardking, we are no longer able to delve near them. Our shovels stop turning the earth, our mattocks do not carve stone, and the wells cannot be dug any deeper. For some communities, that means fleeing at a minimum. Others are able to make do. Some thrive when they get lucky with where the dungeon entrance appears and they just have to guard their town from the monsters. For most villages, the dungeons are a pox. A plague. To us, it is a form of warfare being used against us. Sometimes a dungeon entrance sinks back into the earth and life picks back up… but that is rare.”

“It’s not warfare. It is our homes.” Omish’s nose wrinkled at the thought.

“Yes. That is true.” Streya nodded thoughtfully, turning back to her notebook and scratching out her secret thoughts.

“Slimes. Yuck.” Christoph shuddered.

“I agree,” Omish smiled. “Yuck.”

“We can keep moving,” Miki sighed. “As interesting as this is, we are still on the first level. The only way we win all this is if we keep making progress down.”

“By killing the Wizardking?” I asked. “Is that winning?”

No one replied. But some uncomfortable looks floated between the adventurers.

“Surface dwellers…” I muttered it under my breath. Grunk nodded sagely.

“How far down is it?” Christoph asked as he turned inwards to head towards the end of the hallway.

“How far is what?” I sighed. I knew what he was asking, but playing dumb apparently was also in my wheelhouse.

“The Halls of the Underking start at level one hundred and one.” Grunk’s voice was positively glowing with pride. “But even we don’t know how deep it goes. Need to know basis. And we don’t need to know.”

“Did you say one hundred and one?” It was Fror’s turn to make a face.

I loved seeing that face. What was that? Dismay? Defeat? Ooooooh, please let it be defeat! Turn around and flee, suckers.

“I have made it to fifty five,” Christoph said offhand. “Granted our mage had to emergency portal us out, but we did get at least halfway before. That counts for something, right?”

I was impressed. I had never gone below ten (for obvious reasons, such as dungeon management teams primarily having the bulk of their work closer to the surface.)

“Fifty five?” Omish whistled. “That’s not bad.”

“I lost half of my party,” Christoph frowned heavily. “It seemed bad at the time.”

“And you wanted to try again?” I teased. It did not sound like teasing. Grunk gave me a disapproving look.

“I have my reasons,” Christoph said tersely.

“We all have our reasons,” Miki admitted. “Alright Team Kelpie, where is the nearest stairs?”

I have no fucking idea, lady. But instead I said, “This way.”

This follows Damage Management Team Part IV, Part III, Part II, and Part I…

“Soooo… how long have you been in…?” Fror leaned back as he asked the question, not sure where to take it.

“Dungeon Management.” I inserted for him.

“Right. Dungeon Management?” Fror leaned back over the pleasantly crackling fire. “Grunk?”

“My entire adult life… so about fifteen years?” Grunk flicked a toothpick into the fire, watching it catch as it fell amongst the embers.

“Teller? How about you?” Fror was being polite.

He wasn’t a total orc taint, but he was still a dwarf, and an explorer. So he had a couple strikes against him. And I was going to hold them against him. I was goblin. We are great at grudges.

“I started in Dungeon Management after a stint in farming. It was what my dad and mom did, but it wasn’t for me. I have been at this for only six years.”

“This is my first year,” Omish volunteered.

Christoph chewed on a bit of journey cake, nibbling the corner thoughtfully. “When you do start working?”

“Five,” Grunk offered.

“Wow. Five years old.” Christoph nodded. “How long do Goblins usually live for?”

“My grandpappy died at the age of thirty. But I would be most of us kick off well before that.” Grunk shifted in his seat and I knew that he was farting. He would blame Omish if anyone looked uncomfortable.

No one noticed.

Does that mean that everyone was farting?

Should I be farting?

I had never hung out around a fire with a party of explorers before.

“Wait, that can’t be right.” Streya hooked her thumb and finger into some old bow twine she was refining into lashing. “I met Miki, what? Twenty five years ago? When I had my outparty?”

Miki winked salaciously. “Your fifty fifth! I remember that! Oh, I got so drunk!”

“You set the salad bar on fire. My da was pissed.”

“Who wants salad at a coming of age? Come on, Streya, beers and steaks. That’s all you need!” Miki laughed.

“Hold on. Back the fuck right up-” I interjected across their jog down memory lane.

All four of the explorers stopped and turned expectantly. Miki made a face. Something between an eyeroll and admonishment.

“Let me ask you a question first, Teller. Why do you think Goblins only live for twenty five years? And before you give me some bullshit… think about this. Christoph? How old are you?”

“Twenty eight.” The human meat shield replied.

“Fror?”

“I just had my one hundredth and fourth.” The beard with arms replied.

“Streya?”

“Eighty even. Still a maiden.” Streya crossed her huge hairy feet like she was keeping a secret.

“And I am nearing fifty.” Miki finished. She waved at me as if I needed permission to answer her dumb question.

“Stress?” I offered lamely.

Grunk nodded as if what I said made perfect sense. Omish, poor kid, looked so confused his might spin backwards and fall off.

“No. Not stress. This is an extractive ecosystem. This whole thing.” Miki waved her arms erratically.

“The whole thing? What whole thing?” I said.

“The Underfell.” Christoph said kindly, his voice was gentle. A stark contrast to the huge sword at his waist.

Grunk shook his head emphatically. “That is a lie.”

“I assure you it is not,” Streya said.

Miki continued, “Three hundred years ago the Underfell Wizardking was just another guy. War came to his part of the world-“

“We all know the story,” Grunk crossed him arms, his body reflected his opinion. “His family, his people, all of them were killed. He searched the world to find a way to protect others, those that could not protect themselves. He created the Underfell, reshaping the world to allow those that had been beneath the heels of the world above to have a place down below. He locked you all out from those protected spaces. He gave us the ability to choose for ourselves.”

“That is what they told you?” Miki was making that confused face again.

“That is what happened,” Grunk asserted firmly.

“Oh that is what happened, alright. But not for the reasons you think.” Miki snapped her fingers, a set of sparks lighting the space. “And you do NOT have a choice.”

“I have a choice.” I said.

“You have the illusion of a choice.” Miki fired back. “But you are inside one of the largest lifeforce generators ever devised. And everything you do is to keep it running. Smoothly.”

I frowned angrily, “This is dumb.”

“It might seem that way. But the Underfell Wizardking did not win three hundred years ago. He was defeated.” Fror recalled sadly. “Many were lost that day. My father included. Many tens of thousands of good people were lost. We believed it was a mighty victory under the direst of circumstances.”

“So you are telling us, that the Underfell Wizardking… fucking died? And then created the Underfell? And he just decided to hole up for three hundred years?” Grunk said, his lip curled like he was smelling a shit smeared across this upper lip. “This is bullshit. Look at all that he has done for us? For all the species underfoot of the ‘humans’ and the ‘elves’ and the ‘approved races’.” Grunk added air quotes for each, as if he was using prejorative slang. “The WizardKing has done more for all of our lot than any of your kind. What have you ever done? I mean besides kill us?”

Fror showed his teeth (a mash of white squares nestled in the darkness of his bushiness), “You think the dwarves have had it any easier? Or the Elves? Or the Humans? Or the Halflings? Our kind have seen violence and death just as much as your kinds, and usually at the hand of you and yours.”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Christoph sighed. “Can we just agree for right now that none of us wishes harm to any of the others?”

Everyone nodded slowly, except me.

“No.” I grimaced. “I very much wish I could harm all of you. For being dumb. Grunk is right. We were the ones being stepped on. When have goblins ever won anything? We are not even in the middle of the food chain compared to all of you. And the Underking has been nothing but a protector for us.”

“I know you believe that…” Miki tipped her chin upwards, looking at the ceiling as if she searched for inspiration. “But the Underking is using you. All of you.”

Streya pulled an old flechette arrowtip from a pocket to pick at her teeth with the sharp point. “Teller. Look at me.”

“What!? I mean, what are you? A stunted human?” I said angrily. I don’t know why I was so upset. Something boiled in my gut, and everything they did was pissing me off. Grunk seemed uncertain, and Omish looked like the fucking idiot he was.

“I am a halfling. We are not human. We are not dwarves. We are our own. I have traveled very far and wide. Across the continent to the seas of the east, the deserts of the south, and the northern wastes, and in all of that travel, I have learned that there is much evil out there-“

“No shit.” I mumbled hotly.

“Let me finish. I have seen many evils, but they are simple evils. Mundane, even. Selfishness. Gluttony. Envy. The protection of kith and kin at the cost of others. Evil that seems to come out of good, out of love, but is a harm to the greater good. That is where our people’s struggles comes from, Teller… bad communication. Lack of patience. Lack of empathy. Lack of understanding. But the Underking is something else. He is evil personified… and the fact that he is causing you harm and you do not even realize it, that should be a consideration in just how evil he is. He has bent the world to his whim, and that is evil of a wildly different sort.”

Grunk groaned with a lilt of admission, as if it all made sense.

“It is no different than a dragon hoarding untold wealth that will never be spent,” Miki said. “The Underfell was created for one purpose and one purpose only.”

“And what is that?” Omish’s voice was full of wonder. Just a stupid ass kid entranced by a story.

“To keep the Underking alive,” Miki finished.

“I don’t believe it.” I groused.

“Come with us then. See for yourself,” Miki ventured. “Better yet, prove us wrong.”

“If I prove you wrong… what do I get out of it?” I tried.

“Knowing that you are right.” Streya offered with a shrug.

“I will go.” Grunk said.

I hit his shoulder. “Grunk!”

“I will go too.” Omish grinned. Yep he was hooked. Dumb shit intern.

I would have hit him too, but Grunk was in the way. So I hit Grunk again. He looked at me sidelong, annoyed as hell, but he did not move otherwise.

“What about you, Teller?” Christoph nodded encouragingly.

What about me? I grabbed my gauntlet, leveled it, and the red beam turned the knight’s top half into a red mist. I jumped into Miki with my fist extended splattering what was left of her pretty skull into Fror’s eyes. Then I death-beamed the stunted half-human thing, turning her midsection into a gaping hole of charred nothingness. She plopped backwards like a felled tree. Finally the dwarf roared, and I punched him as hard as I could in the face. His head popped free like a cork, bounced twice and hit the door with a dull thud. I cheered in victory, roaring over their carcasses. Omish clapped in admiration… while Grunk was in shock. And he shit himself again.

“Teller?” Christoph repeated. “Are you alright?”

I looked at the party of adventurers, inwardly bummed my fantasy was not true. I nodded. “Fine. I will go too. But only because someone needs to watch these two.”

I hit Grunk again.

“Stop it.”

“I need to get it out of my system, Grunk.”

“Then hit the guy with the armor,” Grunk said.

“If it will help, that is not a problem,” the infuriatingly nice knight smiled.

Fuck.

“I am going to go lay in the bench and attempt to sleep.” I grumbled sullenly. “If the world ends, please don’t wake me up. I rather die oblivious.”

I got up and did exactly that. I dropped my gauntlet from my hand next to me, curled up around it and somehow managed to go to sleep surrounded by the ancient stone, its presence making me feel like I was home.

… Even if it was killing me slowly.

This follows Damage Management Team Part III, Part II, Part I…

Grunk shook his head at me sternly. His face, his eyes.. all sending the direst of warnings that he could muster without using his voice.

As if I was telepathic, I could almost hear it anyway: Don’t you fucking do it, Tell.

He signaled (open to some interpretation mind you) that if I revealed ourselves, he would personally brain me with his chisel (by holding the chisel up to his own temple). Yeah, the implication was clear enough. I wouldn’t blame him to be honest, and I would probably deserve it.

Take a deep breath and think this through Tell, I thought. I glanced down at the stones between my knees, trying to be rational.

At best, three goblins popping out of the wall would result in our immediate deaths. There were at least three individuals on the outside of this box that knew how to use the sharp implements of death , and they had made it this far using said instruments of death… so… if three goblins just materialized, one would most likely die on a sword, one on a knife, and one on an axe. And worst case, all three of us could be incinerated alive until we were dead-ish.

Alright. Revealing ourselves would be a terribly bad, awful, short-sighted, idiotic thing to do. See? A good think after being threatened with involuntary lobotomy has its place! A win!

Omish sneezed.

He grabbed his honker of a nose with both hands and looked at the two of us with eyes the size of dinner plates. Grunk was furious. I probably looked relieved. (I felt relieved at least.)

So now, when someone died by a chisel to the skull, it was not going to be me (silver lining.)

The dubndub was utterly quiet. The fart of a mouse could be heard, if there had been a mouse nearby, and said mouse had been in gastrointestinal distress. Phphbt! I wanted to make the sound just for a laugh. But now was not the time.

The next sound was undeniable. The sound of a long silver blade being unsheathed from a hard scabbard. That was literally the sound of the death. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhink…

I wondered how many goblins had died after hearing a noise like that? And with a measure of grim certainty, I knew it was going to be at least three more.

FUCK.

I looked hard at Grunk, mouthing the word, “Options?”

Grunk’s nearly imperceptible head shake mirrored my own state of mind. We were literally in a box of stone with someone that apparently had an allergy to staying hidden. What else could we do? We were not going to tunnel our way out. Two things could happen. They would realize that they were not alone and have the very pretty goblin fire mage blow us up, or they would have the dwarf start swinging at walls and do his dwarven-destruction-of-stone thing that dwarves got hard little peens doing, and either way, we would have to crawl out of here, fighting or dying.

We all collectively held our breath.

I ventured a look out of the peek hole that Grunk had made for me and I came eye to eye with another Goblin eye. Her eyes were pretty too. (Get a grip, Tell.)

“Its a pack of goblins. Probably dungeon management,” Miki sighed dismissively. “You can put your sword away, Christoph. Your axe too, Fror. The worst these guys will do to us is give us bad directions.”

“Harsh.” I mumbled. Maybe she wasn’t that pretty after all.

“Keep an arrow ready just in case, Streya.” Miki added.

Well that was just plain rude. I raised my voice, “We mean you no harm.”

“Come on out, and we will determine that for ourselves.” The human Christoph said calmly. He at least sounded level-headed. “Keep your knives in their places and nothing will need to get messy.”

I heard him whisper, “That sounded tough, right?”

“Yes, you sound very tough.” Omish replied, sounding like a freshly kicked puppy.

“Sorry,” Christoph said. “You guys have great hearing for being in a stone bench.”

“Great eyes too,” Miki said with a bit of thought carrying in her voice. She was thinking out loud, and I did not like the sound of it.

“If we come out, will we be safe?” Grunk asked.

“If you stay in there, you definitely won’t be, because that means we will have to come in after you,” the dwarf Fror growled. “I might have to hurt you on principle if you make it my problem.”

“We are coming out,” I said.

I pointed at our roof hoping that Grunk would knock out the top. Easier for us if we are all exposed at once and not crawling out of the end like idiots. I peeked out of the hole and they were all standing away from the bench, the short human-ish one called Streya had an arrow in her bow, but it was not raised. That may be a good sign.

The goblin had a her palm raised halfway, a little gout of flame spinning on her palm like a miniature tornado. That was definitely a threat. I heard a fair-barker in the back of my head, STEP RIGHT UP, STEP RIGHT UP, AND GET INCINERATED! ALMOST FREE!

Grunk ran his fingers on the side of his hammer, fingering a sigil, and the cores hummed in response. He swung once, pushing the stone upwards with the hammer just like he had when he had made the door for us into the hallway. The hammer remained where he placed it as the stone seat swung upwards. We stood up slowly with our hands above our shoulders in unison, like we had practiced beforehand.

It would have been funny if I was sure this was not how we were about to die.

“Cozy in there,” Fror harrumphed.

“It felt safe until someone sneezed,” I muttered.

“You are the leader,” Miki addressed pointedly.

“Not the old one?” Christoph made a face.

He was sooooo tall. I would have to be on stilts to just look at him straight in the nipples. The short human-ish one with the feet was only up to his waist, but she even seemed bigger than me. She probably wasn’t but every one near the hero in armor just appeared to be more imposing. Maybe it was the armor.

Or he was just a big scary dude (that was probably it.)

“The old ones are too smart.” Miki tittered. “They are old because they have learned to keep their heads down. Its the ones that are old enough to want more, but not too old to know better. That’s why the leader is this one.”

“What about the other one?” The dwarf said.

“He is a baby.” Miki smiled knowingly. “Apprentice?”

Omish nodded slowly.

“Where is your fourth?” Miki continued with a raised eyebrow.

“We don’t have one,” I said.

“We did.” Omish added quickly. “We lost him a couple rotations ago.”

Streya nodded sagely. “They are both telling the truth.”

How would she know? “How would you know? Maybe he is out getting us help? Maybe I lied?”

“Streya is from a tribe of soothsayers. She can detect falsehoods.” Miki sighed heavily. “So no one is out there getting you help. They don’t even know you are lost do they?”

I frowned. She was mean. But I could not take my eyes off of her. I felt my face flush.

“Oh, he is blushing.” Streya laughed.

Miki lowered her voice to a sultry register, “It’s not because he is embarrassed.”

My face went even more flushed. I finally lowered my eyes. I could die. Just box me up in the bench and let me rot peacefully in the dark.

“What were you doing in here?” Fror asked.

“We…” I started.

“Speak up. And know that I will have an arrow in your shoulder if you lie,” Streya threatened.

“I believe you,” I replied. “Can we lower our arms?”

“No,” Streya flatly replied.

“Its a long story,” I tried.

“That is true, but you are going to tell us the short version,” Streya said.

“We are dungeon management, Team Kelpie…”

“Cute.” Miki sighed.

With a half-hearted glare I continued, “We were deployed to room on level two to fix a collapse. We weren’t able to fix it in time, and the room fell in with our portal inside of it. We made the choice to head outwards-“

“Outwards?” Christoph the human monster asked.

“Outwards versus Inwards. Outwards is towards the surface, inwards is towards the lower levels.”

Miki made another thinking face. “Huh. Go on.”

“We were hoping that we could encounter another Dungeon Management team and use their portal to get home,” I finished. Then I glared wholeheartedly.

I left out the parts about why the Kappa room collapsed (explodey hexcore) and the ant colony (red beam of death and explodey ant heads), hoping those parts of the story were on a need to know basis. And this group of explorers definitely did not need to know.

“That is truth.” Streya acknowledged.

“Why were you in here? Hiding?” Christoph said.

“We were resting. We heard someone coming, and we are goblins,” I sneered with the obvious.

“Watch your tone.” Fror growled back. “Or your head may not be connected to your neck much longer.”

“Fror, friend, step back,” Christoph put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “What do you mean by that? What does being a goblin have to do with anything?”

“Goblins get blasted. They get massacred. They get chopped. Diced. Sliced. Shot down. We are treated like fodder…” My voice was raising again. I wanted to punch the dwarf in the face with my gauntlet of explodey heads. “And people like you, you people, kill us without so much a second thought. That is why we hide. We don’t want to be murdered in cold blood by a party of assholes who could give two shits less how many goblins that happen to die along their way. It happens all the time! Because WE DON’T WANT TO BE MURDERED!”

It was the dwarf’s turn to lower his eyes. Even the smaller human-ish Streya looked conflicted. Miki was grinning devilishly.

“We try not to kill anything,” Christoph smiled kindly. “We only defend ourselves when we are attacked.”

I thought it sounded like he was telling the truth. That bugged me. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had that huge sword that I wanted to believe him or because the tone of his voice made me want to believe him.

Streya’s eyes were hard, her brow was furrowed, like she was evaluating something about me that I did not understand. “He hears truth.”

Well that pissed me off even more. Could I red beam them to death before I was impaled by an arrow? Probably not. Well… shit on a stick.

“We have a goblin in our party. Do you not see Miki right here? She is with us. Obviously we don’t kill goblins for sport,” Christoph waved futilely.

“And if he tried, I would just turn him into a crispy armor-enclosed human steak,” Miki grinned.

“I have never heard of a goblin mage. Never.” Grunk finally spoke up. “Arcanists, sure. But never a full blown mage.”

Miki grinned again, that devilish glint in her eye. She repeated my line back, “Its a long story.”

“We can’t let them go.” Christoph waved at us, speaking about us as if we weren’t right in front of them, awkwardly standing in a coffin of our own making (gallows humor).

“We can’t take them with us,” Fror frowned. “They will slow us down.”

“Streya, what do you think?” Christoph tilted his head.

“I think we should be careful. They are not for us, but they are not against us. And that means danger. No loyalties.”

“Hmmmmm.” Christoph stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully. “Miki?”

“I think they should come with us.”

“What?” I said and the dumb dwarf said at the exact same time.

I made a face (probably a bad one). Fror just set his mouth in a firm line. I could barely see it under the huge bushy beard, but I got the gist. I glanced at my compatriots. Grunk looked resigned to a fate, and Omish appeared to be on the verge of fainting. He was paler than the tall human. I would say a greenish-white at this point. I had seen greener molds on cheese.

As if coming to a final decision, Miki waved at the three of us with a wide declarative swing. “They are goblins. They can see, hear, smell, and navigate better than all four of us. They can see traps. They can hear trouble. They can smell out food and water. I can’t do those things because of my acclimation to surface life. But they can. They don’t even think about it. Do you see torches? Do you see a mage among them for light? They navigated the good old fashioned way. The way my mama would have. I say we take them.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” Grunk asked sullenly.

“We set you on your way, when we know that we are clear to do so.” Christoph shrugged. “We are headed downwards.”

“Inwards.” I corrected.

“Yes,” he looked at me shrewdly. “Inwards. Indeed.”

“Can we put our hands down now?” I asked, again. “My arms are going to fall off at the shoulder.”

Miki looked us over. “Those two can. You can’t.”

“Why the fuck not, lady?” I asked.

“Because your gauntlet is absolutely roaring with mana right now.”

“Mana? That is reserved only for living things,” Streya squinted at my gauntlet. “That is definitely armor. Not a living thing, Miki.”

Miki took a step forward and held out her hands. “Show me.”

I sighed for the sheer art of pissing her off a small measure of what she had caused me to feel so far. “Why?”

Miki lowered her voice as if the two of us were alone. “Because I want to look at it. You don’t have to take it off, ok? We are not thieves. It is still yours.”

Hmmph. I kept the groan inside my head. “Fine.”

I lowered my armored right hand into Miki’s waiting own. I swear I could feel her touch through my gauntlet, and I had the brief, one could almost say fleeting, sensation that I could stand like this forever. She smelled amazing. Was that vanilla?

She rolled my right hand over in her own, as she studied the gauntlet’s hexgrid that extended down the back of my hand and onto my wrist.

“Was the hexglow always purple?” Miki asked.

“Yes.” I replied.

“That is a lie.” Streya offered her opinion.

“No one asked, you. What are you anyway?” I shot back.

“Be nice.” Miki admonished. “When did the hexglow turn purple?”

“Today. Or yesterday. I am not sure what day it is,” I corrected as I made eye contact with Streya. “We have had a bit of a hard time since the collapse. I may have passed out one point from exhaustion.”

Miki looked over her shoulder at Streya, and the stout woman nodded. “True.”

“What caused it?”

Let’s see how accurate that Streya’s sense of truthiness powers were. “I honestly don’t know what caused it to turn purple.”

“Also true,” Streya shrugged again.

“Interesting. It seems that something was invoked. Your gauntlet is housing a soul.”

“That is news to me, lady.” I sighed.

“True again.”

“Could you stop it?” I asked politely. Well it may have felt polite. The way it came out of my mouth it did not sound polite. I hoped that no one was paying attention.

“Alright little goblins, you can climb out of the bench. We are going to start a fire and set up camp. I have first watch.” Christoph said, the last part was for his party, not us.

Or maybe it was for us. He would be watching. They would all be watching. Shit on a stick (again.)

“We don’t have an excess of provisions, but you can share what we prepare,” The knight continued. “If you are able to track more food down, that is.”

Grunk spoke up, “We can.”

Miki let go of my gauntlet and clapped her hands together. “Alright that is settled then. What are your names?”

“I’m Teller. That’s Grunk, our newbie is Omish. And you are Miki, he is Christoph, Streya, and the dwarf is Fror.”

“Very good,” Miki nodded thoughtfully. “Smart too.”

They all had backpacks and bedrolls, and they let them drop to the ground, falling into a routine that I had a feeling was well established. They each seemed to have a job in setting up camp, and they fell to their parts.

The dwarf pulled a length of blackened lumber from his bag along with a cast iron skillet.

Grunk walked over to the wall. “You can save your ironwood for later on. These dubndubs have wood boxes.”

“What? Dubndubs?” Fror eyes went wide. “Show me the wood!”

“This symbol here?” Grunk pointed at the triangle over his head. “Tap here.”

Grunk elbowed the wall and it pivoted open. “Not constantly replenished, but the brownies…”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Fror laughed loudly, interrupting Grunk’s explanation. “We have spent days fretting over firewood. You my are my friend, …Grunk was it? Yes! Let’s get a proper fire going, eh Grunk?”

Grunk nodded, letting his previous explanation go, and instead started pulling firewood from the box.

How did they not know about the wood boxes? Did they know about the clean water? Did they know about the waste grates? Did they know you could shower in a dubndub if you needed too? By the Underking, no wonder these asshats died so often. They had no idea of the basics. No concept of inwards or outwards? No sign reading? No pathing details. I bet they didn’t even know the pattern of the logic rooms! Idiots.

They were babies. Wee babies with bonnets and nappies, just wandering the Underfell. They were going to die… it was just a matter of time.

We could use this to our advantage. They would have to take care of us… until we run across a point that we can escape. Some opportunity would pop up eventually, we just had to keep our eyes open for that moment. Make sure they were nice and comfortable with us and the could give them the slip, work backwards and find a dungeon management team. Maybe after watching them all die. Painfully. That would be almost perfect.

Timing. In the end, it was all about timing.

Thinking all this through, I was not paying attention to what the others were doing and I realized I was just standing in the box like an idiot. Grunk was helping build the fire, Omish was asking a million questions a minute of the tall human in armor as they set up camp, and I was still standing in the box with my gauntlet arm slightly extended in front of me from where Miki had released it. She was doing her part at the fire, making small flames catch at the smaller tinder.

Streya made eye contact and she started to chuckle. “Have you never met a girl goblin before, young one? Do you think she is pretty?”

“No.” I outright refused a bit too quickly.

“Ah… that was a lie. But you knew that already.” Streya started laughing. A deep rumbling belly laugh.

I grinned for a second at the sound of her laugh, but I shifted it to a nasty frown the moment she looked at me. That only made her laugh harder.

I pouted.

Still standing there like an idiot.

Dammit.

This follows Damage Management Team, Part II, and Part I…

Something hit me at speed. And time slowed down to a crawl.

There are moments in my life that I would hope would flash before my eyes when I am about to die. Like, I would see glimpses of childhood, growing up in the village of Stoccard-on-the-Well. It was probably the third largest Goblin village on the continent, nestled in the heart of a lonely mountain about a two hour walk in the Underfell. I would see my mother. I would see my father. I would see my siblings. I would see us hunting. Fishing. I would see us laughing in our cozy Goblin kitchen, tearing into a flank and greasily making fun of each other’s eating habits. I would see that one girl. You know the one, Teller. The pretty one with the long ears.

But no. As I was flung across the open space of the ant nest column, and I looked downwards into the dark depths of my impending death, none of those memories crossed my mind’s eye. Not a single great moment arose from the depths of my consciousness, and instead, you know what I got?

The urge to scream. That’s it. This is how you die, Teller. Screaming like a little baby Gob as you fall to your death towards the crushing darkness, only to be eaten by ants the size of stupid ass dogs.

But hey! At least I would be dead when they would eat me.

Then time spun back up, and after being flung, I hit the far wall and amazingly did not fall to my death. The warrior ant that had flung me in such an insulting manner was apparently surprised I did not fall to my death either.

The ants rushed us from all sides.

Grunk and Omish landed near me. Omish pulled his lighttosser and fired a bolt at the nearest cluster, and the flare shattered as it hit the lead ant in the head, spraying fuel and flame all over the rest. The light in the dark tunnel was brighter than it had been so far, and I watched as Grunk come to terms with his death as he simultaneously pulled his chisel and his hammer from his belt, the grizzled veteran making the choice in taking a few six legged freaks with him.

I looked at my Enchanted Power Gauntlet Mark 4. My baby. And she hummed. She was alive! Thank the Underfell Wizardking.

I flicked my fingers over the control grid, and with a start, realized none of the controls were the same. The nobs, the nubs, the depressions were all laid out differently. And the colors! It hummed with a fell purple light, not the customary arcane blue that it had before.

With dawning horror I realized the purple ball of death that I had grabbed in the Kelpie pool room was something more than just another power source. It must have been an engine hex core. I had somehow, mysteriously, miraculously just had my EPGmark4 upgraded against my will and with zero technical or arcane knowledge.

AND NOW I HAD NO IDEA HOW TO OPERATE IT.

A couple ants lunged in from my right, and I swung with my EPGmark4 encased fist. The balancers hummed, and the control I felt was immense. It was like dancing. I twirled, and my fist crashed into both ants. The first one’s head caved inwards like it was made of paper, and my fist smeared the first ant’s head bits across the face of the next one as it continued, caving the next exoskeleton inwards as well. The ants behind them stopped, confused.

Imagine the scene. Three goblins. And not even big goblins. Just regular old maintenance goblins, standing in a row, dirty and disheveled. The one on the far left is screaming at the top of his lungs, swinging his discharged lighttosser like an axe, as a trio of ants burned nearby in a hastily assembled bonfire of limbs and fuzzy carapaces. Then in the middle, a grizzled, slightly overweight, veteran goblin slamming his hammer into the forehead of a warrior ant, sending the oversized pinchers flying outwards as if he had just hit a mandible ejection button. The last, but not least, leader of this motley group, covered in fresh ant goop, roaring as if he had just taken down a minor god all on his own.

The ants stopped.

They slowly backed up and seemed to regard us, antennae waving to and fro confusedly.

“YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT, YOU HAIRY FUCKWADS! OMISH WILL BURN YOU ALL!” Omish screamed fervently, his eyes bugging worryingly from his skull. At some point he had pulled a flare dart from his belt and was brandishing it like a knife.

Grunk was breathing so heavily I thought he was about to have an apoplectic fit. He held his hammer over his head like he couldn’t decide to chase the ants down or put himself out of his misery.

And all I could do was marvel at my gauntlet like an idiot. There were four red nubs along the knife edge of my right hand, and another on the inside of the wrist… almost like…

I laid my left hand across the back, and sure as shit, all my fingers lined up with the red nubs. They glowed briefly as each finger made contact, and as my thumb came to rest on the last nub, the fingers of my gauntlet straightened of their own accord and my palm…

Growled?

It quickly shifted upwards in tone, transforming into something like a banshee’s high pitch scream…

THEN A RED FOUNTAIN OF ENERGY POURED OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING PALM AND OBLITERATED AN ENTIRE COLUMN OF ANTS.

I yanked my left hand off the gauntlet, looked worryingly at the remainder of what I assumed would be now very pissed-off ants (their antennae had stopped waving altogether, which had to be bad), and I felt my face scrunch up with embarrassment as black ash that was previously their compatriots drifted downwards all around us.

“Sorry?” I tried.

The hissing noise that came back at us was nothing short of shit-your-pants-terrifying. The column of ants that I had just obliterated had left a nice empty ramp upwards though. That was nice.

“RUN!” I yelled. I hauled ass up the ramp, into another tunnel. Grunk flung Omish ahead of him, and turned to swing his hammer at the wall. He pulled his hammer hard across the face of it, and the metamorphosis of rock spell of the hammer did its job. A wall formed behind us, blocking our pursuers for the moment.

“I have no idea how long that will keep them.” Grunk put his hands on his knees and was attempting to take some very deep breaths. “Next time you decide to deathray something, you should let us know, first.”

“I had no idea that was going to happen.” I admitted. It sounded lame to my own ears.

Omish’s face appeared to be covered in something like surprise. It might have been shock. I wasn’t sure. But then his eyes somehow went even wider than before and I was certain that he had blown a brain vessel.

“That… that… was FUCKING AWESOME!” Omish squealed. He held his hand up, mimicking my gauntlet. “It was like all AAAAAAAAAAAH and then WOOOOOOOSSSSSSH and then… was that ash? Am I covered in Ant ash?” He sat down heavily as he came back to himself. “This might be the best day of my life.”

“We still have to make it behind that explorer party.” Grunk grizzled. “Let’s be honest, it might be the last day of your life.”

“Seriously, Tell, what the fuck is going on with your EPG?” Omish laughed.

“I wish I knew, Om. Grunk, look… the hexgrid is… different. Like the controls are not the same.”

Grunk took a few steps and slipped his tools back into his belt. He took my arm into his hands and looked over the gauntlet cautiously. “Well it’s purple.”

“Yeah, no shit.” I sighed. “What else do you see?”

“I have no fucking idea, Tell. I have never even heard of something like this. Mickroof was a great artificer, but this is beyond what I know of his work. This is… something else.” Grunk tapped his knuckle against the side of the metal.

It knocked back.

“Was that you?” Grunk looked at me.

“Uh, no.”

“Huh. Possessed Gauntlet. That’s new.” Grunk nodded. “Thought I had seen it all.”

“You have never been on your own before? Remember? Never cut off from a portaling?” I teased.

“Today is just full of new for you Grunk!” Omish grinned. “What’s that saying? Old gobs can never learn new tricks? Or was it a new gob can’t learn old tricks? I can’t remember.”

I laughed. “Shut up, Om. Come on.”

We trudged up the tunnel and after a few minutes of quiet walking upwards, we came to wall. Cut and carved stone. Not ant. Big development.

Grunk pushed past me and laid his hands on the wall. “Ha, this is new to me too. The backside of a wall.”

He pulled his chisel and hammer from his belt, and thumbed a sigil on the side of the hammer’s head. He lightly tapped the back of the chisel and cored out a peekhole out like he was uncorking a bottle. He put his eye to the hole and Omish and I collectively held our breath.

He leaned back. “Looks empty. Another hallway. There is a dubndub to the right across the way. I don’t see anything else.”

“What should we do, Tell?” Omish whispered. “Are we still on level two? Or is this one?”

“We have been heading upwards for a stretch. Why wouldn’t we be on one?” I scratched my chin. “We could be?”

There was a faint angry hissing behind us.

“I don’t think we have a choice.” I amended. “Go!”

Grunk nodded, repeatedly tapped his chisel in the shape a relative Goblin sized door, and then slammed his hammer against the center of the mass like it was a door knocker. The section of wall pivoted outwards.

“Neat!” Omish noted.

“You haven’t had to repair a labyrinth yet, have you?” Grunk teased. “It’s how we traverse the maze.”

I tilted my head towards our new exit.”Come on.”

I ducked through the entry way, Omish followed behind, his lighttosser in his hands, and finally Grunk. He pulled the hammer and the door slid shut as if it had never existed. There was a slight sizzle as the rock fused back together. Grunk slid the core back into the hole and tapped it lightly with his hammer. Another sizzle sound and the wall was exactly as it had been.

“When do I get some enchanted tools?” Omish whispered in awe.

“When it is the right time for you to get enchanted tools, numbnuts,” Grunk whispered back.

I sulked slowly across the tiles, keeping my eyes wide for traps, wires, and the like between us and the dubndub. The fell light of the ceiling stones helped me pick way towards the water and waste room, and thankfully there was nothing. I pushed the door open, held it for the other two, and then closed it in a rush. I slung the lock shut, and prayed that no one would wander along to test it.

I needed a nap. The chemicals in my bloodstream were finding ways to exit, and the fatigue was hitting me hard. I slumped against the door.

Grunk sat down heavily against the wall, tilting his head back in repose. Omish just laid flat on the stone floor.

“What a day.” I groaned under my breath. I cradled my EPGmark4 in my lap and closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but it had to be longer than a few minutes. When I came to, Grunk and Omish had a small fire going in the warming pit, and they were drinking some of Grunk’s breaktime tea that he carried in his backpack.

We should probably inventory our gear. I can’t imagine we have much in the way of supplies. Or food. My stomach growled as if on cue.

“We may starve to death.” I grumbled.

“Nonsense.” Grunk smiled. “I have jerky!”

“And when that runs out?” I said.

“Then we eat Omish!” Grunk laughed brightly.

I made a face. So did Omish.

“Hey, I am sitting right here!” Omish complained.

“Don’t stress it Om. We both know you would taste terrible.” I stood and walked over to the small fire. “Any more tea?”

Grunk handed me a small wooden tea cup with a wink.

“Thanks Grunk.” I took a sip. It was warm and delicious. Grunk handed me a piece of jerky, and I bit out a chunk savagely.

“There is actually plenty of food to be had in the Underfell. Just have to go looking for it. Mushrooms, gardens, groves, fish in the pools… even bigger game if you are for up it.” Grunk said thoughtfully. “The Underfell is world unto itself.”

“But what’s the point?” Omish asked.

“The point of what?” Grunk asked.

Omish waved at the group sitting around the small fire. “What we do?”

I spoke up. “We manage the dungeon. Fix what needs to be fixed, help where we need to help. You know this, Om.”

“But WHY?” Omish overemphasized the point.

“Do you ever wonder why we don’t live on the surface?” Grunk asked.

“Uh, we don’t like the surface.”

“No,” Grunk shook his head. “The humans, the elves, and the ones they deem ‘good’ species lay claim to the surface. The rest of us have to rot at the edges. We have to stay in our realms.”

“That makes sense,” Omish nodded. “Goblins can be bad, alright.”

“But you are asking why the Underfell exists. This is why.” Grunk said. “What if we aren’t supposed to stay in our realms? What if the surface belongs to all of us? I will tell you straight up Om… humans and elves can be just as evil as any orc or dragon. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t get it.” Omish shook his head. “That is not a why.”

“The Underfell exists to provide a home to those that aren’t allowed to have one. Up there. And in creating it, the Wizardking worked magics that have had lasting impacts on the world above. They topsiders see him as a great enemy. They seem him as a devil. In reality, he is a savior. He gave us power. He gave us control over our own lives.”

“True, true, Grunk. That he did.” I tipped my cup towards him. “He took all the scattered peoples, Om. He took all of us and he made us something new.”

“So he just creates dungeons that anyone can wander into?”

I tapped my chin. “Yeah, what’s up with that?”

“I honestly don’t know. Obviously, the Underfell Wizardking knows something we don’t.” Grunk admitted. “Maybe the exchange is important for some reason. It has to be.”

“It keeps us in a job!” I grinned, knocking the rest of the tea back. “Although our lead is definitely shot now.”

“Team Snake can suck a dick.” Omish frowned heavily. “Ratking too.”

“Maybe they got shit assignments too.” Grunk said.

“Maybe,” I nodded.

“Maybe we got lucky, and that nasty Ratking leader got her mouth blown off!” Omish grinned.

It seems everyone hated that one.

I glanced down at my EPGmark4-something and noted that it was off again. By its own choice? Does an enchanted gauntlet just get to decide when to itself off? It had learned to knock? It had learned to shoot a death ray. Hopefully it didn’t learn how to consume goblins that stick their hands in unknowingly.

I pulled my right hand out slowly and besides that bit of a tacky moisture feeling that I always had on my skin after taking the EPG off, everything looked completely normal. All five fingers, all my skin, and all of my pre-existing bruises and scars were accounted for. No new bruises and no new scars. I flexed my hand with a hesitation, like it wasn’t my own.

Grunk huffed. “It is just an enchanted gauntlet, Tell. Not the devil himself attached to your arm.”

“Did you not see the gnarly beam of total destruction come out of it?” I raised my eyebrows up as far as they could go. If I had been wearing a hat, it would have been pushed off.

“Well, yes… that was a bit odd.” Grunk conceded.

“A bit odd? Grunk, dude, its a power gauntlet. It is for construction! Designed for a goblin… like me… to do construction-y stuff. Earthmoving! Preparing materials! Not shooting beams of death!” My voice was rising of its own accord. “And bashing in the heads of a couple ants with a single swing? This was supposed to help goblins like me avoid using a shovel and a mattock, not cave in any skulls that get in the way!”

My gauntlet vibrated like an instrument strong for a hot second and then powered up. Grunk and I looked at each other and then to the gauntlet. The artifact rolled over and spread its fingers, forming a hand shaped gauntlet crab. It scuttled towards the door, hovered next to it like it was listening, and then scuttled back to me double time.

Omish was so invested in his jerky, he didn’t notice the EPG walking around of its own volition.

My gauntlet leaned against me and then butted me. Then butted me again.

“Why is your EPG bouncing against your thigh?” Omish said airily.

It pointed a finger at the door. Then again. Insistently.

“Douse the fire,” I whispered. “Gather the things.”

“Why?” Grunk looked at me weird.

“I don’t know why, but I think someone… or something… is coming.” I whispered again. I slid my hand into the waiting gauntlet. I got the sense it was like a puppy dog, just waiting to be petted lovingly.

Omish doused the fire, and pushed the wet smoking remnants into the drainage grate.

“Grunk, quick. Build a box against this wall, something that nestles in the corner. Make it like a bench or something simple that we can hide in.” I gathered all of our things as Grunk tapped a sequence out on his hammer. “Shit! Omish, unlock the door. Fast!”

Omish nodded and padded off.

Grunk tapped the stone lightly, and folded out a stone ledge from the wall, and another from the floor. I crawled into it, pushing our stuff ahead of us. Omish followed close behind, and then Grunk came in behind and closed the end with another slice from the wall. The joins sizzled briefly, and I knew it would blend right in. Grunk tapped a couple peek holes for us and we collectively held our breath.

The door opened.

“Oh thank the heavens above! Its a bathroom!” A human in silver armor walked in, a long sword at his waist, and a leather satchel across his back. “I feel like we have been attacked and wandering for days without a good place to rest.”

“We have been attacked. And have been wandering. For days.” A deadpan female’s voice came up from behind. A small diminutive woman, she had bow over her back and a pair of knives at her waist. I thought she looked like a human, but she was too short. And she had no shoes on. Big hairy feet instead. Not a dwarf either. I had no idea what she was.

“That golem was unexpected,” a third voice came up behind. It was definitely a male dwarf, the massive axe on his back was impressive. “Thing must have been sitting there for years.”

“And that is why you have me. To reduce things like that to slag.” A fourth voice said.

My eyes went wide.

“You are the best fire mage I have ever met, Miki.” The dwarf laughed.

I looked sideways at Grunk and then over at Omish, and they couldn’t believe it either.

The fire mage was a goblin.

A very pretty female goblin with gorgeous long ears. I felt a twinge in my gut.

Holy shit – ah…

Holy shit.

Holy shit!