David Lingard: Author
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Chapter 17 – Dead & Deadlines
🕑 Added 2024-05-24 16:00:11 +0000 UTC
"Grim!" Henderson shouted as he raced down the stone steps from his master bedroom within Castle Valeri to the throne room.
"Grim!" he repeated, though he didn't wait for an answer. "Bring me some breakfast to the throne room; we’ve got work to do!"
Henderson barrelled into the throne room a moment later and took his seat as lord of the castle. Following him, Grim appeared and came to a halt before Henderson, the hob clasping his hands in front of his stomach.
"How may I assist you, my Lord?" Grim asked.
"You can start by bringing me my breakfast, like I asked," Henderson said. "Then we can get down to business."
The sleep had rejuvenated Henderson no end. The time to himself and the quiet in a soft, warm bed had allowed him to absorb the gravity of his new situation, but also it let him realise the opportunity it afforded him. He was a Lord. It didn’t matter how or why, but if he truly was going to be a Lord, then he was damn well going to act like one.
"One moment, my Lord," Grim said and just as he finished speaking, a little green goblin rushed in with a small wooden plate of food. It was a mixture of some things that Henderson didn't really recognise and some effort had clearly been put into making the dish presentable.
The goblin handed Henderson the plate, bit his bottom lip, and backed away slowly. Henderson watched as Grim’s head tracked the goblin along his path and he couldn’t help but notice the slightest look of disgust on the hob’s face.
"Is this the level one goblin?" Henderson asked, not looking down at the plate perched on his hand.
"Indeed, my Lord," Grim replied.
"Huh," Henderson said almost absently. "So this is the food we brought back?"
"Indeed, my Lord," Grim repeated.
"Beetle?"
"Some of it, yes, my Lord. It is quite the delicacy actually. I know that it is not a normal dish for you humans, though I feel that the more sophisticated palate…"
Henderson didn’t let Grim finish his sentence, picking up a scoop of everything he could on the plate and shovelling it into his mouth, making eye contact with the hob the entire time. He’d been tired and now he was rested. But that brought with it a new priority: Henderson had been starving.
And the funny thing was, the food actually tasted pretty good.
"Very well done, my Lord," Grim said, almost sounding impressed. "Now you said that we have some business to attend to?"
"Indeed, my loyal subject," Henderson said in a rather mocking tone. "Why don't you have a look at our available Chaos Points and tell me what we have to spend on this fine morning."
"Forty-one Chaos Points, my Lord," Grim replied without missing a beat.
"Correct!" Henderson replied. "Forty… wait, forty-one? But the quest gave me ten and I'd already used the rest, hadn't I?"
"My Lord, is there something wrong?" Grim asked.
"Tell me where all these points came from," Henderson ordered.
"Of course, my Lord. We received ten points from a completed quest as you have mentioned, then fourteen points from the fourteen level one creatures under your control, fourteen points from the seven level two creatures, and three points from the single level three goblin you have here."
"And you're telling me this now?" Henderson growled.
"My Lord?"
"Why didn’t you tell me all of this was coming?"
"My Lord… you, uh, didn’t ask."
Henderson’s face turned bright red and when he spoke again it was through clenched teeth.
"The next time you think I should ask something, TELL ME TO ASK!"
"Of course, my Lord."
Henderson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to remind himself that this was actually good news, and the one thing he’d had planned when he thought he only had ten points available he could still do. And in reality, now he could do a lot more.
"Forty-one points, Grim?" Henderson repeated once he’d regained his composure. "Then let’s get down to business, shall we?"
"Of course, my Lord."
"Goblin butler?" Henderson said to the goblin who’d brought in his breakfast.
The little green goblin stiffened at the mention of his presence and looked pleadingly to Grim, whose lips ever so slightly curled up at the edges. It was clear the hob thought this goblin was about to be given a job to do.
"Thank you for bringing me my food this morning," Henderson said. "For this great act of kindness, I’d like to bestow upon you the gift of two levels. So that's six CP, right Grim? Leaving us with a cool thirty-five?"
"My Lord‽" Grim practically spluttered. "But that…"
"That would mean there isn't a single goblin in Castle Valeri who is of a lower level than any hobgoblin, damn, you're right Grim. It’s almost like that was done on purpose, wasn't it? Oh but don’t worry my loyal servant, we do still have thirty-five CP to play with. And that means a whole load of levels to dish out, doesn’t it?"
Grim seemed to relax a little, but his posture still betrayed his distaste at the goblins outstripping his kin.
"The gatekeeper ogres, they’re useful beasts aren’t they?"
"Indeed, my Lord."
"Level three for all of them. Eighteen CP, right?"
"Yes, my Lord, but…"
"Seventeen left to spend, Grim. I wonder where it should go…"
"My Lord, it would be prudent to…"
"That’s right, the dire wolves!" Henderson announced as he snapped his fingers. "Let’s bring those other four up to level two. That’s four more points down and fourteen to go, Grim."
"My Lord, you can't seriously be doing this to punish…"
"Oh Grim, I’m doing nothing other than increasing the stature of this castle, wouldn’t you agree?"
"Yes, of course, my Lord, but…"
"But you were hoping that the hobgoblins would be among those who received my favour today? Is that what you were going to say, Grim?"
"Well, my Lord," Grim replied slowly. "It is nothing against the other races…"
Henderson snorted, though Grim continued.
"But the hobgoblin race has been regarded as a race of creatures attuned to fighting and war for many centuries. To defend this castle without them would be a difficult task to say the least. My advice would be to at least have a few of them levelled up as high as possible."
Henderson scratched his chin. "So are you saying that the hobs are just better fighters than the goblins, or wolves?"
"Hobgoblins love to fight, my Lord, simply put. Allow them the opportunity to show you how much these creatures adore the act of killing, and I know that you will not be upset with the outcome. The other creatures… they are acceptable as soldiers, but as the saying goes, my Lord, they will need all the help they can get if they want to survive."
It was exactly what Henderson wanted to hear, and he could barely contain his excitement at the fact that his plan had worked so perfectly.
"I hear you, Grim," Henderson said. Then he closed his eyes for a long moment and continued: "We'll use six points in levelling three of the goblins up to level three."
"What?!" Grim could barely contain his outrage.
"These goblins, Grim, they’re going to need all the help they can get if they’re going to survive, right? And if the hobs are as good as you say they are… well, there are eight of them, two at level two – so they should be fine, right?"
"My Lord…" Grim simply couldn’t shake the shocked expression from his face. "That isn’t… that’s not… the hobs will be instrumental in the defence of this castle. They need the opportunity to grow and thrive just as much as any of the other races!"
Henderson grinned again. "Are you sure they love fighting as much as you say they do, Grim?"
"Yes, my Lord," Grim nodded enthusiastically. "You should only have to give them the chance to show you!"
"Great!" Henderson replied, clapping his hands once. "Hobgoblin fight club it is!"
"Uh…hobgoblin fight… club?"
"Don't look so worried, Grim," Henderson replied. "You just said the hobs want to fight, and that they’re good at it and want to prove themselves. So, we have eight hobs, right? So that’ll be enough for them all to have a good chance to prove themselves." Then Henderson clicked his fingers. "No actually Grim, let’s make this into a tournament! Eight hobs, seven rounds where they can all fight each other once! That’s twenty-eight fights and by the end we’ll have a clear winner, right?"
Grim simply stared at Henderson, entirely speechless.
"Oh come on, they don’t have to kill each other, do they? Just let them all duke it out. Prove to me that they’re the fighters you’re telling me they are and then we’ll make some provisions for the future. Who knows, maybe we should have a prize for the winner? Three levels or something?"
Grim still didn’t respond.
"What’s the matter, Grim? This was your idea, wasn't it?"
Grim bit his lip and shuffled his feet ever so slightly, and after an uncomfortable pause, he muttered under his breath. "And they call us the monsters…" then in a more sociable volume: "Of course, my Lord. This is a wonderful idea that I have no doubt our hobgoblin complement will embrace for the opportunity that it is." The hob then gave a low – almost definitely sarcastic bow before straightening himself up to face Henderson again.
"No weapons though," Henderson added thoughtfully. "Fists only." His words reminded him of something else as he spoke them though. "Actually Grim, where do the weapons come from here? Are all the goblins just like… born with them or something?"
"Born with…?" Grim replied with a look that betrayed his thoughts of the question and of Henderson’s intelligence. "No, my Lord," he managed to catch himself. "As I said they do usually arrive with something of little use, but also we do have a small stockpile of arms and armour here in the castle, though it will not suffice if our forces grow in number. We can either retrieve the weapons of those fallen in battle – on either side of a fight of course – or we can invest in creating a forge and an armourer for the castle. Such places would need to be manned as well."
"A forge?" Henderson asked. "Is that something the goblins can work in?"
"Indeed most creatures can run a forge, my Lord, save for those without opposable thumbs. You may wish to try to coax a dire wolf into manning the workshop, though that is entirely at your own risk, my Lord. What is more likely, is that upon building the forge, new creatures will become available to summon who are specifically trained to man such a building upon their summoning."
"So… if I didn’t ask any of this…" Henderson said slowly, "then we would’ve just run out of weapons and any new goblins I summon would be unarmed?"
Grim winced slightly at the mention that Henderson planned on summoning goblins – something that Henderson had done on purpose – though he nodded. "It is something that is not an issue at this moment, but could become an issue later, my Lord, yes. Though you did manage to discover that if we were to run out of food, then we would all die, all without asking me the question."
"You know what, Grim," Henderson replied. "The more you speak, the more I feel like the hobs are going to fall further and further behind in the pecking order of Castle Valeri."
"I have the same feeling, my Lord. Though I must once again stress that the hobgoblin race will be instrumental to the survival of this place, and indeed you, as its Lord."
It sounded like a threat to Henderson, but again he managed to force himself to ignore it. Ever since his training with the Nest Guardian, he’d been a lot better at controlling his temper, even if it did flare up again on occasion.
"Well then Grim," Henderson said, "I say for the next few hours we just do our best to keep out of each other’s way, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, you’ve got a job to do, haven’t you?"
"I do, my Lord?"
"Yes Grim, you’re going to have to get a fighting pit set up, because Gods know I’m not getting my hands dirty."
"At once, my Lord."
"Call me when you’re done Grim, and… no surprises, OK?"
"I wouldn’t dream of it, my Lord."
