《Grow Anything》 Leaving War Behind Chapter 1 Leaving War Behind Walking away from the war was never Trog¡¯s plan. Being told he was no longer needed and dismissed was a blow to his pride. For ten years Trog had fought with the vanguard, never failing to carry out orders. However, the newly trained troops were deemed ready to take their place at the front lines. All veteran soldiers who had permanent injuries, no matter how small, were given a discharge order. Trog was unhappy with the order to leave but couldn¡¯t get the officers to change their minds. His arms were blackened by Dragon¡¯s Breath attacks, even though the pain was manageable they would never heal. Trog wasn¡¯t exactly sure what he should do now. His friend Koma had suggested he head to one of the larger cities in the Joined Kingdom and apply to work in one of the Adventurer Guilds training adventurers how to fight. Trog''s style of fighting was great for close combat. However, Trog couldn¡¯t see adventurers wanting to learn to fight from a Goblin. Well, not without him proving himself by hurting quite a few first. What he needed was time to think so taking the long way back into the heart of the Joined Kingdom seemed like a good idea plus he knew there were a few small dungeons along the way and who knows maybe if he could loot an awakening stone and gained access to magic he would be allowed back in the war. He had some coin left from his weekly wages to last him a few months before he would need to be in a major city to collect his military service bonus. After a week of travel, Trog finally arrived at the first small dungeon. What he saw had him dropping his travel pack. Three dragonkin were having lunch, their feet resting on the bodies of two Joined Kingdom dungeon guards. Trog took a long look at their scales, not a single one had the bright coloring that marked all Dragon Breath users. Trog prepared himself, this wouldn¡¯t be too difficult, they were unarmed having left their spears leaning against the guard shack. Without another moment''s planning Trog charged in leading with a devastating blow to the blindside of the largest armed dragonkin and they fell instantly. Then it was on to the next one, instead of punching Trog extended his fingers and went straight for the eyes, the tips of the fingers of his gauntlets were extremely sharp and they blinded the second dragonkin. Turning to face the next one charging him not bothering to go for his spear Trog rolled toward him and with all his momentum landed a vicious blow to his enemy''s knee, trog couldn¡¯t help but grin at the loud pop the knee made as it gave out. As his opponent fell to the side, Trog grabbed the dragonkin¡¯s head, threw himself in a wild spin, and heard a snap as the neck broke. Trog then turned his attention back to the blinded enemy and after retrieving one of the spears he coldly thrust the point into his heart. He then took a dagger from the blind one''s body and slit the throat of the first enemy he had rendered unconscious. Trog had learned early in the war that if you don¡¯t finish your enemies when you can, they will try and finish you. Trog arranged the bodies and began to loot them when he heard horses approaching. Trog readied himself in case the approaching horse carried more dragonkin, but was put at ease as he saw Joined Kingdom banners. These were a new troop coming as reinforcements and he stood at attention as the officers approached. The lead officer was a young elf man but the orc to his left looked like a veteran and the human on his right had the look of a mage. ¡°What do we have here?¡± The elf seems amused at the sight. ¡°Did you find some bodies to loot, little one?¡± Trog was not surprised to be talked down to by an elf, elves above all races seemed to dislike goblins the most. Something to do with being so long lived. They remember when goblins were enemies to all. ¡°I was planning on buying a dungeon run on my way back to the central cities. I found these three here having killed the guards, Sir!¡± ¡°One goblin taking on three dragonkin?¡± the elf didn¡¯t look like he believed Trog. ¡°And those look like vanguard gauntlets, are you a deserter? It seems more likely you helped these three cross our borders and then when the guards gave their lives to stop them you must have come in and finished them off. Goblins tend to be sneaky that way.¡± ¡°I have a scroll that verifies my identity and discharge from the army in my bag over there.¡± Trog tried to keep calm as he replied. He could see that the orc and the human did not agree with the elf. The elf waved his hand for him to retrieve the scroll and he handed it to the mage. Scroll of Identity Military Issue Name: Trog Age: 27 Skills: Titles: None War Titles: Military Status: Magic Class: none If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Magic Skill: none ¡°Sir, it is true. Trog here is one marked with an injury discharge. It appears he also has war titles of¡­¡± The mage was interrupted by the elf ¡°Yes, yes I am sure¡± the elf brushed off the mage before turning to the orc. ¡°Loot the bodies and take anything of value.¡± ¡°Sir, these are his kills, and by rights, if a civilians risks their lives to defeat enemies of the kingdom are entitled to the first choice of loot.¡± The orc spoke with authority and grinned at Trog. ¡°Fine¡± the elf looked back at Trog ¡°Be quick and show me what you are claiming then be on your way.¡± Trog wasn¡¯t going to wait to be told twice he knew this kind of officer, if he took too long the officer might change his mind. With speed, Trog went over the bodies after removing their armor and checked their clothes for hidden pockets. Sure enough one of them had a small bag sewn inside one of his sleeves. Ripping the bag open Trog¡¯s eye widened at the sight before him. It was an awakening stone, but not just any awakening stone it was legendary. The golden color was unmistakable. He could go on hundreds of dungeon runs and never see a legendary drop. He quickly stood and walked to the elf trying hard to keep a smile from his face. ¡°I claim this sir.¡± Trob said as he held the stone out for all to see. The orc and human both had looks of amazement, the elf looked angry. A legendary stone could sell for enough money to buy any 10 normal-class stones. You could outfit an entire family with magic and become a power in the kingdom. Trog didn¡¯t have family, but this could be his way back into the war. It didn¡¯t matter what kind of magic class it was. As long as it could be used in war he would be taken back instantly. The elf held out his hand and spoke a word. ¡°Appraise¡± Trog wasn¡¯t expecting that but he probably should have. He could see the elf read the prompt that his spell had provided. Trog thought he saw a small smile come and go. ¡°Very well but on one condition, I want you to use it now. I will not have a legendary stone be carried around for some enemy soldier or bandit to steal like has happened to these idiots. Marcus here can provide the power circle for you so there will be no need to travel to a city.¡± Trog was taken aback, if the mage could draw a power circle for a legendary stone he had to be tier 5. Normally mages would charge gold to perform one, Trog hadn¡¯t even thought about how he would have afforded to do this in the city. His military boon for ten years of service might cover it. Trog answered quickly ¡°Agreed Sir! I hope this will allow me to be of use to the kingdom once again.¡± ¡°Oh I am sure it will.¡± the elf said as he turned his horse around pointing to the bodies and ordering his men to finish looting them. The mage dismounted and started to walk in a large circle around Trog. ¡°It will take me an hour to pace the power circle out. Feel free to have a seat.¡± The hour seemed to take forever and Trog''s grip on the stone never loosened. ¡°Alright Trog, please stand and hold the stone to your chest, I will then power the circle and the awakening will take place. Be ready for some discomfort if not outright pain. Legendary stones are known to be a little harsh on the body.¡± Trog stood and did as he was told. The mage bent down and Trog could see the mana flowing from the mage into the circle. As the circle began to glow he could feel the stone begin to shake. Trog held the stone tighter to his chest and prepared for pain but got only a warm feeling. It was almost as though he had just taken a shot of whiskey. His body felt good as if it had just been given a healing potion. Then the stone turned to dust in his hand and the power circle faded. ¡°Well, that wasn¡¯t what I was expecting,¡± Trog said to the mage. The mage smiled ¡°There is no telling his awakenings, now that you have access to your mana you can check your own status screen. Just think status and it should appear before you can find out what you unlocked. I am very interested to find out what class of magic you got.¡± Trog did as he was told and sure enough, his status screen appeared before him. Personal Status Name: Trog Age: 27 Skills: Titles: None War Titles: Military Status: Magic Class: Farming Magic skill: Grow Anything Trog was in a state of shock. Farming his magic class was farming! There was no way he would be able to use this to get back to the front lines. As he stood there stunned the mage spoke, snapping him out of it. ¡°What class of magic did you unlock?¡± Trog answered but his voice was soft, ¡°Farming¡± ¡°What?¡± the mage asked again. ¡°It¡¯s farming magic. I will never be allowed to go to war again, will I?¡± ¡°I am afraid not. Anyone with farming magic is forbidden from military service or adventuring guilds. Farming magic users are needed to work the land. It is a worthy life and you shouldn¡¯t look so down. This will guarantee you will be able to purchase land. And with a legendary type of magic, I bet you will never have to spend a winter worrying about food.¡± The mage answered, trying to point out the good things about farming magic. Trog didn¡¯t respond, he just picked up his pack and started walking. The look on the elf¡¯s face was sheer pleasure. He had known it was a farming magic awakening stone. His appraisal would have told him that much. He knew that farming mages were never able to rise in social status. Sure they could grow crops in the worst conditions but regular farmers with good land and skill could produce just as well. Farming Magic is considered the lowest form of magic. Only benefiting soil quality to help crops grow at higher qualities. Trog looked at his Identifying scroll as he walked. Farming was listed as his magic class clearly after his military status. Now he wouldn¡¯t even be able to set foot in a dungeon. However, he found it odd that the name of his magic skill wasn¡¯t listed. He rechecked his personal status and it was right there. Magic Skill: Grow Anything Does It Hurt? Chapter 2 Does It Hurt? Trog walked past the column of marching soldiers wishing he could join them, when he heard a horse approaching from behind. Turning to see who it was, Trog couldn''t help but feel relieved that it was the orc officer. However, the orc did seem to have a pained look on his face. ¡°Trog, the captain has ordered me to take your military gauntlets back to the front lines with us. He says that a farmer will have no use for them.¡± Trog felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, his body felt cold and the world seemed to darken. He could feel the eyes of the passing soldiers on him which just made what was about to happen so much worse. Slowly he unclasped the fasteners on his gauntlets and stilled his face to not show any pain. The gauntlets slowly slid from his arms taking the top layer of charred flesh with them. This was the outcome of charging through dragon fire so many times. The skin on his forearms and hand were forever burned and would never be more than thin and burnt. Trog could hear gasps from the young soldiers walking past him. The orc looked over his men marching and called out to them. ¡°This is Trog known as The Burned Fist or the Low Blow Legend. You should feel honored to have seen him at the moment he put his weapons of war down for the last time. Earning a War Title is what we all strive for and most soldiers retire or die before they earn a single one. War titles are not gained without sacrifice and excellence, and no one with a War Title should ever be dismissed or underestimated as a threat.¡± He turned back to Trog and reached out for the gauntlets not flinching as blood that ran out from the inside. And in a lower voice said ¡°Precision Brawling is an honorable skill, if I were you I would travel to an orc city. My people respect War Titles and will be glad to have a master teach such a skill to our young, maybe even the adventurers guild will hire you to teach." The orc took a healing potion from his saddle bag and held it out to Trog. Trog made no move to take the offered potion, ¡°Thank you for your words sir, but that potion like the gauntlets are made to be used by soldiers.¡± Without another word Trog turned and kept his head held high as we walked away leaving drops of blood on the ground behind him as his arms slowly began to scab over again. At least now the charred flesh would not attach itself to something that would rip the skin off again once it hardened. ~*~ Trog spent the night camped by a stream not too far from the main road. The sound of the water was peaceful and the few frogs he had found made a wonderful supper. The taste reminded him of home. Of course, the frogs at home were much bigger, they would have to be to survive the Great Green Swamps. Everything there wanted to eat you, these frogs were one-third the size of most juveniles from back in the swamp. The best thing about the frogs here was that there was no need to cook them. Raw and juicy, sadly there was no ale or mead to wash them down with but maybe he would find a village or town with a decent tavern in the next few days. Just as Trog was drifting off to sleep a battle cry broke the peaceful sound of the stream. Trog had heard cries like that before, one last shout of defiance for doomed soldiers making their final stand. ~*~ A few minutes before, not far south from Trog, a young halfling tumbled into a large gorge while running for his life. Bowen Thornside knew he was done for. No matter how fast he ran there was no shaking the bandits that had been after him. He had not seen the small drop and he had fallen into a large gorge. Now they had him surrounded and they took their time sliding down to block the only exit he could see. ¡°Well you have some quick feet halfling, I thought we would have had you long ago with those short legs.¡± The tallest bandit holding a club grinned at him as he spoke. ¡°I was just going to take your bag and let you go, but now my blood is pumping and I feel that the boys agree that we wanna see you bleed.¡± The other three men started laughing and started slapping their clubs into their palms. ¡°I told you on the road I don¡¯t have anything of value in my bag, it is just my research notes.¡± Bowen said a little misguided courage causing him to blurt out ¡°And you are too dumb to understand them.¡± The leader laughed and Bowen didn¡¯t even see him move before the club landed in his stomach. Coughing and trying to catch his breath Bowen looked up from where he had doubled over just in time to see the boot hit him in the face. The rest of the men just laughed at him and he rolled over and tried to get back to his feet. ¡°Come on Owen, it isn¡¯t even sporting like this. Let me give him my knife and see if he can do better.¡± one of the men said from behind Bowen This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Go ahead and give him one, it¡¯s more fun if there is a risk even if it is the risk of a scratch.¡± Owen and the rest of the men laughed louder and Bowen felt the knife land near his foot. Bowen was filled with rage instead of terror like any sane halfling would be feeling right now. He had finally completed his latest research and was in such a hurry to get some to work on a new recipe that he had chosen to travel through the night. This would not be his end, not when he could feel he was so close to a breakthrough. Grabbing the knife he stood and let his rage build in his stomach and it came out as an ear-splitting cry and he threw himself at the laughing man. The next sound he heard was the snapping of his forearm and the man brought his club down upon him. The knife fell to the ground and the pain made him feel faint. The men continued to laugh at him and one grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. The man bent close to Bowen''s face and softly said, ¡°Now hold still, this is going to hurt no matter what, but I want the lines to be straight.¡± All Bowen could do was scream as the man started cutting lines into his chest. Bowen didn¡¯t notice when the cutting stopped exactly, by the time he had opened his eyes back up the man on top of him was gone and he could hear the men shouting and screaming out in pain. Looking to his left he saw a goblin attacking three of the four men at once. He was so fast and seemed to keep his body lower to the ground than Bowen thought would be comfortable but the goblin moved with purpose as it almost seemed to crawl and roll under the attacks of the men. He didn¡¯t strike back often but every time he did there was a cry of pain from the men. Bowen couldn¡¯t help but wince as he saw one man¡¯s knee visibly pop apart. He went to roll to his side and the pain from his arm reminded him that he was hurt just as badly if not worse. As his vision began to darken, he couldn¡¯t help but smile, the last thing he saw before passing out was the goblin landing a blow directly into the groin of Owen. ~*~ When Bowen awoke the goblin was sitting in front of him holding a healing potion in one bloody hand. ¡°Welcome back to the land of the living my friend, it is lucky for you these idiots had a few healing potions in their packs.¡± Bowen sat up and immediately grabbed his arm. It was in a splint now but the pain was throbbing. ¡°Yeah, sadly they only had low-quality healing potions. I set the bone, but you will need something of higher quality if you want to use that arm anytime soon.¡± ¡°I have some back at my place,¡± Bowen said, gritting his teeth through the pain ¡°I should be able to make it there by tomorrow night.¡± ¡°Well that¡¯s good to hear, do you live in a village or town that has a garrison? I need to drop these men off and see if there is a bounty.¡± Bowen looked to where the goblin had indicated with a head nod and saw the bandits that had attacked him. They were all tied up back to back except for one who was lying down. The one on his back was obviously the one that Bowen had seen have his knee broken before he had passed out. Turning to face the goblin his manners finally came back to him and he silently cursed himself for his lap in manners. ¡°Yes, my town has a small garrison. My name is Bowen Thornside, thank you for saving me. What is your name, friend?¡± ¡°I am Trog, you are very welcome for the assistance¡± Trog held the healing potion bottle out to Bowen for him to take. ¡°You can use the rest of this on your chest if you want to reduce the risk of scarring or drink it to dull the pain from that broken arm.¡± Bowen looked at the potion bottle in Trog''s hand and it was covered in blood. He shifted his gaze to Trog''s hands and noticed that it looked as though he had peeled the skin of his hands and some of his arms. ¡°It looks like you could use it more than me, how hard do you have to hit someone to peel the flesh off your hands?¡± Trog let out a laugh.¡±I hit hard, but not nearly hard enough to peel the skin off. I suffer from Draconic Burn Syndrome so healing potions don¡¯t help much. You know what that is?¡± Bowen shook his head no so Trog continued. ¡°It¡¯s when you have had your flesh burned off so many times by a Breath attack from the dragonkin that their magic becomes one with your body. It makes it so your skin never comes back fully healed. It is thin and burnt like this here,¡± Trog pointed to a piece of blackened flesh near his elbow. ¡° It doesn¡¯t take much to cause the skin to peel off again and if you wrap it in bandages it will just stick to them and when you remove the bandages the skin comes off with it.¡± Bowen knew he had to have a look of horror on his face but he couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°So now anytime you punch someone you lose your skin?¡± Trog nodded ¡°Isn¡¯t that painful?¡± ¡°Of course it is,¡± Trog said with a grin. ¡°But you can¡¯t let a little thing like pain stop you from giving someone what they have coming to them.¡± ¡°Have you seen healers? Maybe the army healers will have a spell¡­.¡± Bowen stopped talking when he noticed Trog shaking his head. ¡°No cure for this I am afraid. I was just discharged from the army for having this condition, for the last 2 years I spent every day after a battle with the healers and alchemists,¡± Trog let out a little chuckle. ¡° I even let the elven priests perform a blessing of healing, nothing did more than make the same burnt skin grow, it just grew back a little faster and tended to get peeled off even quicker.¡± Bowen took the offered bottle from Trog and looked down at his chest. The cuts were closed but not having scars was more important to him than having to put up with the throbbing pain in his arm. After pouring the potion slowly over the cuts they healed quickly, now they didn¡¯t look bad at all and would most likely heal just fine. Now all he wanted to do was keep his mind off painful things like his arm or the idea of skin ripping off your own hands and arms for the rest of your life. ¡°So Trog, what do you plan to do now that you are no longer in the army?¡± A Good Night In A Garden Chapter 3 A Good Night In A Garden Trog felt much better once Bowen fell asleep. Once Trog had mentioned he had farming magic and would be looking into life as a farmer, the boy wouldn''t stop asking questions. "Is it true you can identify any plant? Can you enrich the soil? Will things grow even if you don''t water them? How much land can you use your magic on at once?" Trog always answered, "I don''t know; I have not used my magic yet." Bowen was the grandchild of a pair of alchemists with a small garden. He had been trying to help them grow rare ingredients so they wouldn''t have to buy them anymore or travel to the north to harvest the wild herbs since they were getting too old to make the journey, and the prices had been increasing. Trog didn''t have to put up with the questions long; after the ordeal Bowen had been through and the use of healing potions, he passed out within an hour. Allowing Trog to watch the prisoners and enjoy the peace of the night and the glow of the 6th moon. The 6th moon was his favorite, with its red light and the dark clouds that shifted along its surface. It added 30 feet to his night vision, a perk of being a goblin. Before long, the sun began to rise, and Trog brought out his travel rations. While he ate, his ears twitched as he heard the rhythmic pattern of boots coming down the road. Focusing on the sound, he couldn''t help but smile; this was a march, and judging by the sound, these soldiers were well-disciplined. To his surprise, another sound caught his attention, coming up on his right flank further in the tree line. These troops were on patrol and had more units ready to close in from the flank. Trog approved of the commander and stood tall, presenting himself to the patrol approaching him. When he first saw the commander, he knew his assumption was correct. The leader''s leather helmet had a green tassel, a sign of their rank as a lieutenant. The troops stopped once the lieutenant was within easy speaking range, and Trog''s instinctive training kicked in. He stood at attention and waited until the lieutenant gave him a nod. "Sir, Trog of the 3rd Dragonbane Regiment wishes to report the capture of four armed bandits and the rescue of one injured young halfling named Bowen Thornside. The boy needs a mid-level healing potion for a broken forearm. The three bandits are in marching shape, and one cannot walk due to a shattered kneecap. I formally request that you transport them to the nearest garrison for sentencing." Trog remained standing at attention and awaited the lieutenant''s response. "I, Lieutenant Garlan of the Sunhallow Village, agree to take charge of these bandits and the young halfling." Garnal took notice of the burns on the forearms and hands of the goblin before him. He had never seen wounds this horrific on someone not screaming in pain. "at ease, soldier." The goblin visibly relaxed, but Garland saw that his arms were still dripping small amounts of blood. "Are you sure you do not need a healing potion as well?" Trog shook his head. "No need; the skin never fully heals." Garlan stilled his face, not wanting to grimace at the sight. He had heard of permanent injuries suffered by the vanguard due to breath attacks, but he never imagined they would look like this. How often would you have to have your skin melted off before this happened? The only human he had heard of with this problem had chosen to have his arm amputated instead of suffering the pain for the rest of his life. He ordered his men to take charge of the prisoners and for his healer to attend to the boy. "Where are you headed? If you come to the village, there is a small bounty for capturing these men." Trog nodded. "I will come to the village. I promised Bowen I would have a look at his grandparents'' garden before I headed further south." Trog fell behind the troops as they marched back to the village. Bowen was in the center with the healer, but he looked back to ensure Trog was still following occasionally. It was a peaceful march, and Trog quickly fell into step with the rest of the troop. The land was lush and green, with spreading fields and meadows that seemed to shine as the sun hit them. The troop''s pace had the village come into view a few hours before sunset. The town was like any other. The military garrison was within a stone-walled portion of the village; the rest had sturdy wood buildings. Trog noted the tavern''s location as they marched down the street; nothing would end the day like a nice mug of ale. Trog and Bowen waited at the garrison''s entrance for the lieutenant to return with the bounty for the bandits. When the lieutenant returned, another man was with him. The blue band on the man''s arm let Trog know this was the captain, who most likely had overall command of the garrison. The captain was an older human with sharp features and a scar across his left cheek. "I am Captain Holt; my lieutenant says you served in the 3rd Dragonbane Regiment. I wanted to offer you a position in the garrison if you are willing. I know you were discharged for personal injury, but we would be honored to have someone with your experience here." Trog felt his heart jump before it plummeted down. He removed his pack and pulled out his Military Identification scroll. He didn''t say anything; he just handed it to Holt. As the captain read to himself, his eyes widened, and he started to smile, seeing the two war titles. The smile left his face as his eyes reached the bottom of the scroll. "You used a Farming magic awakening stone," he said in a tone that didn''t hide a little resentment. "Not by choice, sir. I was offered a stone on the condition that I use it immediately by a commander of reinforcements heading to the front lines. I thought it might get me back in the war, sir," Trog looked heartbroken and more than a little angry. "I didn''t even think to ask what kind of stone it was." Holt''s expression changed to fury. " Was he a young elf by any chance?" "Yes, sir." Holt clenched his fist as he swore. "That miserable, worthless excuse of an officer. To trick a soldier with a war title into a life of noncombat should be a hangable offense." Holt looked back at Trog and then gave him a salute. "I thank you for your sacrifice, and I wish there were a way I could still allow you to fight. However, the laws are clear. Please refrain from seeking to collect bounties in the future and redeem your land to begin farming when you find a place to settle. Sadly, we do not need magic to grow in this area. I take it you are headed further south." "Yes, sir, I hope to settle in the orcish lands." "That is a good choice. Your skills and war titles will give you more respect from common folk than elsewhere. Here, this should help in your travels. It''s not enough to get a mount, but it will help with expenses." Holt handed Trog a small coin purse. Trog thanked Captain Holt and Lieutenant Garlan, and then he and Bowen left and headed to meet Bowen''s grandparents. The Thornside Alchemy shop is one of the older buildings in town. It was built by Bowen''s grandparents when they were first married. Bowen held the door open for Trog and called out his greeting to the old halfling woman behind the counter. The look on her face went from pleased to worried to confused as Bowen started talking rapidly. "Grandma, I''m back, and I would like you to meet my new friend Trog. He saved me from some bandits and earned war titles fighting the dragonkin. Captain Holt wanted to recruit him to work with the garrison, but he was tricked into using a farming magic awakening stone, and now he isn''t allowed. Can he stay for supper? I am starving." Grandma Thornside had heard her grandson excited before, but this was a whole new level. She took a good look at the boy and saw that his shirt had been cut down the front, but there were only light scratches on his skin. The goblin man next to her grandson had the look of a soldier about him. He was bold like most goblin men, and his large ears looked like they had been cut numerous times with swords or spears. Most goblins develop a pot belly as they are out of adolescence due to the last activity needed to survive these days, but this man was very trim. Not much taller than a halfling, he stood like a straight and tall soldier, if you could call him five feet tall. Then she noticed his arms and a pained look came over her face. "Draconic Burn Syndrome?" she asked, hoping she was wrong and maybe she could do something to heal him. Trog nodded his head. "Yes, mama, but I have learned to deal with it." She nodded back at him. "Well, seeing that you saved my grandson, the least I can do is feed you a good meal, and if you need a place to stay, we have room." Trog smiled and slightly bowed to the woman. "Thank you. I will be pleased to join you for dinner, but I must insist on sleeping outside. Sleeping in a bed leaves a mess in the morning." Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Dinner was a feast compared to the trail rations and frogs of the past few nights. Bowen''s grandfather, Tumass, was a sturdy-looking halfling with gray hair and a boisterous laugh. Trog heard it firsthand as Bowen told of how he stood up to the bandits and then again when he described the look on the leader Owen''s face when Trog had landed the final blow to his groin. Tumass''s wife was Tiani, and she did not laugh hearing about Bowen''s journey. The fury on her face made Trog afraid she might break the mug she was holding. When Bowed finished retelling his tale, the conversation moved on to Trog''s plan for the future. "So, Trog, you''re thinking of starting a farm in the eastern lands?" Tumass inquired, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Yes, I have been told that orc lands have more land in need of magic farming. The problem is I have not done anything more than check my status with my magic. I don''t even know what other abilities come with farming magic." "Well, I can help you a little with that. I have known quite a few magic farmers in my life. I even hired one to help with the soil of our garden when we first built our shop here. First off, you should be able to identify any plant you focus on; I was told by one farmer that he could even tell what the plant needed once he had leveled the skill to tier 1. Now let''s see what else would be helpful?" Tumass tapped his finger to his bottom lip as he thought, and Trog noticed his wife roll her eyes. "Tumass, would you stop acting like you know more than you do? I doubt you remember anything else about that man who helped with the garden. You just stared daggers at him because he commented on how lucky you were to have such a beautiful bride." Tiani folded her hands under her chin and batted her eyes at her husband. Tumass lost the look of concentration and slammed his hands on the table. "He was a scoundrel that wanted you for his own! He is lucky I didn''t bury him in the garden when he finished! The way he looked at you and offered to come back every season if we needed him to." "Yes, he was a kind soul to make the offer," Tinai giggled at her husband''s red face. ¡°Is there anything else you remember that can help our guest?" Tumass grumbled under his breath about good-for-nothing elves before speaking up. "Of course, I remember more; I remember how the elf spread his fingers wide to cast the magic over more of the soil, and.....and....ok, that''s all I remember." "That is very helpful to know," Trog said, hoping to calm the old halfling down. ¡±Tomorrow, I would like to use your garden to test my skills. Having a garden of plants to identify will help me unlock tier one." Bowen sat up straight. He had an idea. "When you finish with the garden, I can take you into the woods nearby and show you where many water plants grow best along the river. There will be enough to unlock tier 1 by the end of the day, so maybe you can help me with the herbs I am trying to grow. You would be able to verify my theory on what they are lacking to grow with a simple touch." Trog nodded to Bowen, "That sounds like a great idea." With plans for the next day, they decided it was time for bed, and Trog made his way into the back garden. The air was crisp and smelled of the herbs and flowers that were in bloom near him. The seventh moon was out, and its green glow quickly led him to sleep. Trog awoke to Bowen calling his name. Sitting up, he saw the boy walking out the back door, holding a plate that smelled like cooked sausage. "That smells wonderful, Bowen. Thank you." "Well, we can''t start a day of skill training on an empty stomach now, can we." Trog ate his sausage as he and Bowen walked through the garden. Bowen ensured Trog touched each plant at least once to identify it. It was a simple task. All Trog had to do was touch a plant and think, Identify. Skill Plant Identification Name: Lavender Skill Plant Identification Name: Green Lock Skill Plant Identification Name: Black Root Skill Plant Identification Name: Red Poppy It was a very dull process for Trog, but he knew how skills worked in general. He would need to complete the task 100 times to unlock tier 1, and for something like this, it would have to be 100 unique plants to count. It didn''t take long to finish with the entire garden, so Bowen led Trog out of town and into the forest nearby to head towards the river, pointing out new plants to Trog along the way. Once at the river, it only took about an hour until Trog felt a change. He took a moment to bring up his status. Personal Status Name: Trog Age: 27 Skills: Titles: None War Titles: Military Status: Magic Class: Farming Magic skill: Grow Anything Farming Magic Skills: Trog let out a long sigh; he was finally finished. He tested the skill once more to see the difference. Skill Plant Identification Name: Cat Tail Requires: Constant Sunlight and moist soil or shallow water Needs: Nothing all requirements met Growth: 15 days or 25% mana til harvestable Well, that was the information he was expecting: to see what the plant requires and lacks to finish its growth. "Well, Bowen, I have unlocked Tier 1, so let''s head back and see what those unique herbs need to grow in the garden. However, before we do that, how about we stop by the tavern for an ale to celebrate, my treat." Bowen flashed Trog a large grin. "I was hoping you would make that suggestion. Most people that are not halflings assume I am still a child." "I know the feeling. It took me over a year to convince the humans in my unit that I was an adult. They can''t seem to understand what marks us as adults if they don''t live in areas where we are prevalent." Bowen looked a little ashamed. "I am afraid I don''t know how to tell an adult goblin from a child Trog; I would never mistake you for a child as you are now, but without your scars, I don''t know if I would be able to tell." Trog let out a laugh. "Ha, it is understandable this far north. Not many goblins travel this far away from the great swamp. As children, we have some dark patches of skin, which act as a natural camouflage to keep the little ones safe in the swamp. Once your patches are gone, you are seen as an adult. Mine faded in my 16th year, and I joined the military in my 17th year." Bowen looked shocked. "You are only three years older than me. I figured you were closer to 35 or 40." "No, just war aging." Trog gave Bowen a grin, and they focused on getting to the tavern. The tavern was called the Tall Goat. It had a giant wooden statue of a goat just inside the door, and a vast goat''s head mounted above the bar. The man behind the bar was human and gave them a welcoming smile. "I''m Glad to see you made it back safely, Bowen. We started to worry when reports of Bandits came to town." "Oh, I ran into those bandits, Marcus; lucky for me, my friend Trog here ran into them right after I did, with his fists." The man''s eyebrows rose. "Is that so? Then, friend Trog, your first drink is on the house. However, I will want to hear the tale." A good hour later and more than a few ales, Trog and Bowen returned to the Thornside shop. Both Tumass and Tiani laughed at them, and they swayed a little as they walked through the shop to get to the garden in the back. Bowen told Trog to go ahead while he went to get a few things from his room. Trog sat on a bench near the garden and took a deep breath, enjoying the smells from the garden. When Bowen came outside, he had his travel pack and a bottle of what looked like hard spirits. Bowen held up the bottle. "For every theory I got right, we each get a shot." Trog felt the smile grow on his face. "I hope you are as smart as you think you are." Bowen was more than just smart. He was brilliant, and with every plant and seed Trog touched, the requirements were almost precisely what Bowen had theorized in his notes. By the end, Bowen was tossing random plants to Trog, and when Trog said the requirements, they would cheer and each take another swig from the bottle. Then something unexpected happened. Bowen tossed Trog the small hand spade from next to the bench, and without thinking, Trog used his skill. Skill Plant Identification Name: small hand spade Requires: any soil and mana Needs: mana Growth: 100% mana til harvestable Trog drunkenly called out to Bowen. "Requires soil and mana." "Well, give it mana and put it in the dirt," Bowen said, laughing. Trog focused on the hand spade and tried to push his mana into it. He felt a question as he did. How much mana did he want to use? Trog thought back to the Identification prompt and thought, "Well, it said 100% till harvestable. Let''s use that." With that thought, though, Trog felt his mana flow into the spade, and it started to glow. He then slammed the spade into the soil and felt his head spin as he passed out. Bowen laughed as his new goblin friend passed out in the dirt. Then he stood up and immediately fell over, snoring once his head hit the ground. The Consequences Of Actions When Trog awoke the following day, he felt someone shaking his foot. The pain in his head was nothing compared to the burning feeling that pulsing through his entire body. It took a few minutes to feel that opening his eyes wouldn¡¯t cause extreme pain. As the light from the sun became bearable, Trog noticed that Bowen was staring at something to Trog''s left and still shaking his foot, trying to wake him. As Trog focused more on Bowen¡¯s face, he started to worry. It was a look of complete shock, and Trog wondered if something dangerous was beside him, like a poisonous snake or spider, next to him on the ground. Slowly, Trog turned his head to see what caused his friend''s shock, and his jaw dropped. Beside him was the small hand spade, its wooden handle now sprouting a long green vine that snaked across the ground. A green vine growing from the handle of a tool was not typical by any means. However, what was more shocking were the five small hand spades that looked to have grown from the vine like some kind of fruit. Trog reached out and touched the vine growing from the handle; its texture was smooth, and the leaves were soft. Skill Plant Identification Name: small hand spade Requires: any soil and mana Needs: Nothing Growth: harvestable In stunned disbelief, Trog turned to Bowen. ¡°It¡¯s a small hand spade plant, ready to be harvested.¡± Bowen finally seemed to snap out of it. He jumped up and started running toward the house. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back, so don¡¯t move.¡± Trog just stayed seated, the pain in his head and the burning sensation of his body not seeming to want to stop anytime soon. When the house''s back door opened next, Tumass and Tiani were being hurried outside by their grandson. Once everyone was outside, Bowen ran by them, and he quickly handed Trog a small vial. ¡°For the handover,¡± Bowen said as he opened a second vial, which he still had and drank. ¡°Thank you. Do you have anything for the burning sensation throughout my body?¡± Trog called back as he drank the small vial handed to him. Trog''s words drew Tumass¡¯s attention, and he rushed to look closer at him. Quickly, he inspected the goblin¡¯s eyes and then pinched his ear. ¡°Ouch! That hurts!¡± Trog called out, and Tumass called back to his wife. ¡°This idiot has mana sickness on his first day,¡± he turned back to Trog, ¡°You will feel this burn for the rest of the day, and your mana will not refill until you have had another 8 hours of sleep. What may I ask made you think it would be a good idea to use 100% of your mana? You must have seen mana sickness before while in the army.¡± Trog had seen mana sickness but hadn¡¯t realized how painful it was. More than once, he had to drag magic users off the field after a close battle. Still, he had a good reason, or at least it seemed like one at the time. ¡°My Skill said I need to use 100% to grow this,¡± Trog answered, pointing at the vine that had grown out of the hand spade. Everyone turned to look at the new addition to their garden. Trog felt a little better seeing the two old halflings'' jaws drop at the sight. Both moved closer, reaching out to touch the vine, making sure it was real. Then Tumass picked one of the new hand spades from the vine. He examined it closely and then used it to move some dirt in the garden. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°They¡¯re real.¡± ¡°Let me see.¡± his wife said as she reached for the spade he held. Quickly, he pulled it away. ¡°This one is mine, woman. Pick your own.¡± Tiani slapped his shoulder, ¡°You are such a morning grouch. Fine, I will pick my own.¡± Now holding her spade, her eyes widened in shock as she saw something Tumass had missed. ¡°Look, Tumass, it has the same crack in the handle as ours.¡± She quickly picked the remaining spades from the vine and turned them over, pointing out the same crack in the handle on each of them. Suddenly, the vine turned from lush green to brown and started to crumple away like dust, followed by the original tool still halfway in the ground. They all looked on in stunned silence as a breeze removed all traces of the original spade and the vine that had produced five identical tools. A few minutes later, they were all sitting at the table inside, the five duplicate tools laid out before them. Tiana had gotten everyone some bread and coffee while Trog had told them what had happened. ¡°Okay, so let me get this straight,¡± Tumass said while holding his forehead like it hurt. ¡°Your identify skill showed that you could use mana to grow these.¡± ¡°Yes, it said it required soil and mana, and it needed 100% mana until harvestable.¡± Tumass reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin. He tossed it to Trog. ¡°Use your skill on that.¡± Trog did as he asked and, to his shock, got a prompt. Skill Plant Identification Name: copper coin Requires: soil and mana Needs: mana and soil Growth: 100% mana til harvestable Seeing the shock on Trog''s face, Tumass started shaking his head. ¡°Oh, this is not good at all,¡± he said, touching Trog¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What do you mean not good? If Trog can grow coins, he will be rich and never have to worry. How is that a bad thing?¡± Bowen said, excitement in his voice. ¡°It is bad because if anyone found out what he can do, his life would be over. Think about it. What would the kingdom do if someone could grow copper or gold? What if it turns out he can grow weapons and armor? Do you think they will let him live his life free? They would want him locked away safely so they can use his skill. Say it¡¯s to keep him from being taken prisoner or something, and even if he wants to do that to help the kingdom. He will have a target on his back. The dragonkin or any other group might want just to kill him to stop him from being able to aid the war effort.¡± Both Trog and Bowen realized the old halfling was right. If anyone powerful found out what he could do, they would hunt him down. Tiani didn¡¯t like where this conversation had gone. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be afraid, Trog. You have found out what you can do in a safe environment, and we will never let anyone know what you can do. Plus, the original tool and vine turned to dust, so nothing will be left behind when you use your skill, making it easier to keep secret. However, spending as much time as possible figuring out precisely what you can do would be best. We owe you for saving Bowen, and you can feel free to stay here while you figure this out.¡± Bowen perked up, ¡°Since your identification skill doesn¡¯t use mana, we can spend the day identifying everything we can find to see what you need to grow different things. Then, if anything special is needed, we can make sure you have it tomorrow when you have mana again, and we can do some testing.¡± Trog smiled at his friend, ¡°I am glad you are excited about this. All I want is to soak in a cold river until this burning disappears.¡± Bowen realized Trog was in real pain, having never complained about his arms in the few days he had known him, even with most of the skin torn and exposed. ¡°Take the day to rest in the river Trog. Tomorrow, we can test the limits of your magic. I can spend the day thinking of ways to test the limits.¡± Trog was enjoying the cool water of the river on his body. He found some small boulders to rest his arms on to keep them out of the water. It would have been nice to submerge wholly, but small fish tended to try to eat the damaged skin from his arms. The spot he found was close to where they had been the day before, surrounded by tall cat tails and plenty of shade from the nearby trees. His mind raced with thoughts of why his future would hold now. The army might take him back if he could replicate weapons and armor, but there was no way he could lead troops into battle. They would end up putting him in a fort away from the front, and that wasn¡¯t the life he wanted. Being a trainer in an orc city still sounded like something he would enjoy. Many orcs talk about the adventure teams from their cities and their skills. If he could get hired by a dungeon patron company, he would have steady work as long as they have plenty of recruits. He had heard one of the soldiers in his unit say they wouldn¡¯t have joined the army if The Golden Ledger had accepted into one. Patron companies are a good starting place for anyone who doesn¡¯t have the coin to invest in gear but has some natural talent and desire to become an adventurer. The best companies don¡¯t just pay for your gear and guild membership but sometimes provide awakening stones if they think the adventurer has promise. The downside is that signing with a patron company means that everything you bring out of the dungeon belongs to the company, no matter how valuable. The idea hit him like lightning. He could start a patron company. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. You only needed enough coins to outfit your adventurers and cover their guild fees. His magical farming guaranteed him a land grant for farming, which he could turn into a base of operations for the company. The garrison would accept coins in place of crops for the taxes. He wouldn¡¯t need to hire trainers at first. He could only train them in precision brawling and not something like swordsmanship or archery, but put a group of 4 precision brawlers in spiked or bladed gauntlets, and nothing would stand against them for long. It wouldn¡¯t be the same as leading men into battle, but he could still use his skill and experience to create combat units. Preparing them for battle and testing them against the dangers of the dungeons would still prove to himself that he could lead, and becoming a patron company of renown would earn more respect he longed to bring to his race.
Bowen spent the entire day Trog was resting in the river, rewriting his notes from the night before. It was gratifying to confirm that his theories on what some plants needed to grow were correct. He started to notice some trends in the plants while he wrote. He started grouping each plant that needed specific amounts of sunlight and then noticing more commonalities. He used another page to group them by how much water they needed. With this new information, he started to see how he could rearrange the planting next season to simplify watering. If half the garden only needed watering once every two weeks instead of every day, it would save a lot of time. Once Bowen had rewritten his notes, he headed outside to work on a way to limit sunlight exposure to the plants. Settling on a simple covering that would shield the sunlight for most of the morning and afternoon, he wrote down the dimensions. He headed to the carpenter to see how much he would charge for a unique planter that only allowed direct sunlight for a few hours each day.
The second moon was still visible when Trog opened his eyes the next day. Its bright white cratered surface always comforted Trog as he saw the homes of his ancestors on the second moon. He had hoped one day to join them, but now those hopes were gone. Only great leaders who die in battle are welcome to join their ancestors on the second moon. This time, when the great welcoming happens, he will be forced to watch like he did as a child. He never forgot the first time he saw a warrior soul impact on the second moon. The bloom of gold as the impact happened was beautiful. His father had explained how past warrior leaders would welcome the souls of great warriors to join the ancestors to watch over their descendants. That was the day Trog decided he wanted to become a warrior. Today, Trog would start his new path not as a warrior but as a magical farmer. When Trog returned from the river, Bowen had a list of tasks for him. This morning would start with Trog doing nothing but using plant identification on everything he could touch. Chapter 4 continued After four hours of using plant identification on everything Trog could touch within the Thornside home, he was shocked by another unexpected change and brought up his stats. Farming Magic Skills: Trog quickly grabbed the item he had just set down. Skill Plant Identification Name: cloth napkin Requires: Needs: mana and soil Growth: 100% mana til harvestable Trog was in shock. The realization that he could grow more than vines and even grow trees that would produce items filled him with a sense of boundless potential. He guessed that the numbers stood for how many items would be made. Gathering funds would be much easier if he got his hands on some higher-tier soil. Bowen agreed with him once Trog informed him of the new information. Tiana overheard them talking about hiring someone to enchant the garden again and started laughing at them. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that, silly boys. Soil can naturally be better than tier 1 if you collect it from the right areas. Have you ever wondered why the forest can grow so thick or why the swamp lands seem overgrown?¡± Trog and Bowen looked at each other clearly, never putting two and two together. Tiana laughed even harder at the look of shock on their faces. ¡°We hire magic farmers to enhance soil so we wouldn¡¯t have to load wagons full of dirt and bring them back to the village.¡± Bowen looked at Trog, ¡°We need to get a wagon and some shovels.¡± Trog nodded. ¡±Before we can buy a wagon, we must grow some items to sell first.¡± Bowen smiled at Trog, ¡°I have a few ideas that might make things go a little faster.¡±
A few days later, far to the north, Aldon was called into the command tent. He stood tall as I walked past the orc soldiers standing guard. Aldon was pleased that his outstanding work in bringing the new reinforcements was recognized. Surely, he would be given command of a new unit made of other elite elven warriors instead of the mixed bag of soldiers he was in charge of. Having to deal with what he considered lesser races was tiresome. As he entered the tent, Aldon saw the orc and human officers who had traveled with him. Both men made the dwarf sitting behind the desk in the tent''s center look exceptionally small. But there was no mistaking the rank of the dwarf. The Golden tassels woven into his beard marked him as the General. Aldon quickly stood at attention and gave his salute. ¡°Captain Aldon, reporting as ordered, General.¡± He said in a robust and crisp voice. The General slowly pulled his eyes from the letter he was reading and regarded Aldon with a look that caused Aldon¡¯s stomach to turn. Then, as though it was never there, the expression on the dwarf¡¯s face changed. ¡°At ease, Captain, I just received a letter about you, and I had to confirm its contents with these two officers. It seems you acted in ways that have caught the attention of more than a few of your fellow officers. Such things never go unrewarded.¡± Aldon felt his chest swell with pride as the General continued. ¡°You even saw to it that a vanguard veteran was given a legendary awakening stone.¡± ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Aldon said, his smile spreading as he thought of the goblin he had tricked into using a farming magic awakening stone. The dwarf started to smile as well. ¡°I had heard of this soldier before, you know. The Burned Fist was well respected in the vanguard. I heard from his commander that he had hoped to rejoin the army once he had gotten ahold of an awakening stone.¡± Upon hearing this, Aldon¡¯s face lost its smile. ¡°Imagine my disappointment to learn that a young officer who had never seen actual battle tricked such a loyal soldier into using a farming magic stone. Which, of course, makes him unable to ever return to war.¡± The General also was no longer smiling at this point, and the tone of his voice started to turn violent. ¡°I have learned that you have unlocked Divination as your magical class, and detecting magic is your primary skill, which is how you used the basic appraisal skill to identify the awakening stone. Is that correct?¡± ¡°Yes, Sir.¡± ¡°Then, from now on, I am assigning you to the Vulture Squad, where your extraordinary skill will be most beneficial.¡± ¡°Vulture Squad, Sir?¡± The General smiled again. ¡°Yes, Private Aldon, the Vulture Squad is responsible for cleaning the enemy''s corpses of valuables. You will now use your detect magic on every corpse from the past battlefields in search of any magical items that might have been missed. Once you have done so to the satisfaction of the corporal in charge of Vulture Squad, we will reconsider your joining of the vanguard. Corporal Veden will be waiting for you at the north entrance to the camp. The Vulture Squad is starting its daily duty with the sun setting.¡± Aldon left the tent in shock as he made his way to the north entrance. What had just happened? Looking down, he saw the grey tassel hanging from his left shoulder, marking him a private instead of a captain. When he finally reached the north entrance, he saw a group of beastkin gathered. Each had light leather armor, and their bald heads and curved becks spoke to their ancestry. Of course, the Vulture Squad would be descendants of the great Vulture. The largest of them stepped toward Aldon and looked him up and down. ¡°Welcome to the squad, private. Since it¡¯s your first night, we will let you call dibs on the first rotting dragonkin heart if you are hungry.¡± The screeching laughter of the squad caused Aldon¡¯s ears to hurt, and he spent the next eight hours laying his hands on piles of now partly eaten corpses that his squad mates tossed to him, checking them for anything magical. When the night was finally over, Aldon started dreaming of losing a leg to rot so that he could be dismissed due to permanent injury. Anything would be better than having to hear the sounds of his fellow squad mates eating the organs of the corpses as they casually searched them for valuable items. Growing Sales Trog hadn''t believed he would ever be happy with farming magic, but as he awoke, there was a feeling of excitement and joy that battle had never given him. Smiling, he rolled out of the bed that the Thornsides had demanded he start sleeping in. Trog still slept outside of the main house and shop. The shed near the garden worked well enough for him, and he didn''t have to worry if his arms dripped a little blood in the moving on the shed floor. Opening the door, he saw the green leaves from his latest work. He had been slowly growing a few vines for the past ten days. He only put 10% of his mana into nine different "plants" daily. Today would be the final day, and they would be ready to harvest. His favorite part of his magic is that the vines reacted instantly when mana was applied, so they grew within a few minutes, and the "fruit" didn''t appear until the plant had 100% mana. This would make hiding what he was growing from other people easy while the "plants" grew. Trog couldn''t wait to harvest this crop. It was the most plants he had grown at once, and the seed items had cost them quite a bit of coin. Without waiting for Bowen to come outside to watch, he touched each vine and put the last 10% of the mana they required into them. Then, he sat back to watch, and the final growth happened. Slowly, the vines grew thicker, and tiny green bulbs started forming, then they shifted into something more. Every second, there was a pulse, and the green bulb''s shape changed, and then the color shifted. When Bowen ran out of the house with an irritated look, the process was finishing, and on the ground attached to the vines were fifty-one rabbit furs. Each was perfectly processed and rolled up, ready to be sold. Each one looked identical to the seed fur used, but with nine different seed furs, combining them and making them seem more diverse was easy. Bowen''s irritation vanished, and a huge smile spread across his face. "Today, we head to the market in Willant. These furs should sell for at least one to two gold each. That would easily be enough to get you a wagon and a mule." Trog smiled at Bowen''s words and quickly broke the vine off at the base, causing the entire vine to turn to dust. They had learned this was the simplest way to harvest the vines, a quick and efficient method that saved them time and effort compared to picking each item off the vine.
The road to Willant was well traveled, and Torg noticed the different crops growing in the fields outside the city. One in particular caused him to stop and take a long look. "What are they growing here?" Bowen turned to see what his friend was asking about and saw the large orchard. "I am not sure, Trog. Why don''t you touch one and identify it." "That''s a great idea." Trog walked up to one of the trees and used identification. Skill Plant Identification Name: Mature Peach Tree Requires: moderate sunlight and moderate water Needs: Nothing all requirements met Growth: 150 days or 90% mana til harvestable Trog couldn''t help but smile. "We have not tried to use my magic on actual plants yet. I will test it on one of these trees on our way back." "We might want to talk to the farmer before we do that." Bowen cautioned, "They may not like us harvesting one of their trees so early in the season. We can see if we can purchase a sapling from them to take home." "That sounds like an even better idea. I had no idea peach trees had such beautiful flowers, which look amazing in the rows." Trog smiled as he started walking. He found it funny that he was excited about using his magic to grow an actual plant.
Willant was a minor city in the north. It still had strong walls to keep out local animals or any monsters that might wander nearby, and many groups of adventurers could be seen leaving the city to go on patrol to ensure the monster populations stayed in check. The guards at the gates efficiently checked carts and collected entrance fees. After almost an hour, Trog reached the front of the line for foot traffic and placed his hand on the truth orb, glad he had found some gloves to wear that covered his injury. Stolen story; please report. "I am Trog, and I come here today to sell rabbit furs and plan to leave before nightfall. I carry no weapons but my two hands and have no desire to cause trouble." The orb glowed green, acknowledging that his words were not deceptive, and the guard nodded to him. "Welcome to Willant. The entrance fee is two silver." Trog paid the fee and made his way into the city. The streets were busy but easy to navigate, even for people as short as Bowen and himself. Bowen led Trog to one of the market stalls that had leather and fur goods. The old human man sitting behind the booth looked them up and down before speaking to them. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" Trog pulled one of the rabbit furs from his pack and placed it on the table for the man to examine. "We have furs for sale. Would you be interested in purchasing any?" The man made a show of looking closely at the fur and shaking his head disappointedly. "These furs are of poor quality and would only be good for making cheap pouches. I will give you five silver for this fur and any others of this quality." Trog felt his jaw drop. Only five silver! The tanner in the village had charged them one gold for each fur. He gladly spent the nine gold because the man assured him they would fetch two gold in the city. He was about to protest when he saw Bowen smile. Bowen stepped forward and picked up one of the fur pouches from the table. "These pouches are of superior quality. Forgive us for bringing you low-quality furs. We will head to one of the smaller shops. Perhaps an apprentice leather crafter will take our whole lot to practice with. Thank you, sir, for letting us know about the poor quality of our goods. We will trouble you no more, master¡­¡­." "Micha, my name is Micha." "Master Micha, we thank you for your time. Please forgive us for taking up so much of your time." Bowen took the fur from Micha, handed it back to Trog, and then started walking away. Trog was a little stunned but followed quickly. As they put distance between them and Micha''s booth, Bowen smiled at Trog. "He was trying to trick us. Mr. Harris has been a tanner for his entire life. All of his hides and furs are top quality. He could tell we were not in the leather trade and wanted to take advantage. It might happen again, but I have a plan. Wait here. I will be right back." Trog waited as Bowen approached a dwarf sitting at a booth selling ale and returned with two cups. Handing one to Trog, he motioned for them to keep walking. It wasn''t long before they found another booth selling leather crafts, this time a young dwarf woman. She smiled wide as they approached. "Welcome to Morgan Leather Works. I am Morgan. If you need fine dwarven-crafted leather, you have come to the right place." Bowen approached the booth and placed one of the furs on the table. "Master Micha told me that my fur was of such low quality that he wouldn''t pay more than one gold and five silver. When I protested and told him I would find another leather crafter to sell to, he pointed me this way, saying that your goods were of such low quality that you wouldn''t even be able to offer me five silver." Morgan''s face instantly went from pale to red, and she picked up the fur to look closer. "That sleazy old man wouldn''t know quality goods if you shoved them up his¡­¡­this is amazing. Where did you get it?" Bowen smiled, "From a tanner in my village. He is too old to make the trip to the city, so we offered to take it for him. I understand if you can''t pay more than one and five, but I would prefer to sell them even at that price to someone who wouldn''t insult the old tanners'' work." "I have tier 3 leathercrafting. I can easily produce items of rare quality, even with common-quality leather and fur. With fine fur like this, I might even be able to get an epic item made so I can easily afford to pay a fair price for quality goods. I will gladly pay two gold for such fine quality fur." Bowen motioned to Trog, and they each opened their packs. "We have fifty to sell," Bowen said. "Fifty!" Morgan''s eyes almost popped out as she saw the rolled-up furs packed tightly into their packs. She turned to a small boy playing on the ground behind the booth. "Mos, run and get your father and your uncle. Tell them I need them at the booth now. Hurry." the young boy nodded and took off, running as fast as possible. ""There is a tavern that serves good food just around the corner if you are hungry. If not, tell them I sent you and that you will meet me there in an hour, and they will let you wait without forcing you to buy anything."
"I am telling you they have fifty, and all of them were of such great quality that we might get enough epic items crafted to make it worth hiring an enchanter for a day." Morgan''s husband, Luke, turned to his brother. "how much more do you think we could charge if we got five items enchanted?" His brother Lore stroked his beard as he thought. "Easily one thousand gold, depending on the enchantment. At epic quality, the enchantments would hold better and probably last a year, maybe two." Luke turned to his wife, "So if we pay one hundred gold for the furs, then pay the enchanter another five hundred gold." A huge smile spread across his face. "If you get even two epic items from this, it will be profitable. Let''s do it." We Push Back The sound of marching filled the battlefield. The dwarven shield vanguard had been marching since first light, and they had been increasing their speed steadily. Domar''s heart pounded as he felt the adrenaline rush from the beating of the orc war drums. He felt as though nothing could stop them from pushing the enemy back. Looking over his shield, he saw the dragonkin army front line. He lowered his head and braced his heavy shield, and war cries joined the drums throughout the line. He felt the impact of the enemy and pushed with all his might. The enemy lines gave way, and the spearman thrust their spears over his shield. The line lurched forward again until it met resistance, and another hard push put the dragonkin on their back foot. The spearmen thrust out again over the shields. Domar felt he could do this for hours with the drums and war cries boosting his strength. Suddenly, the sound of the drums was drowned out by a monstrous roar. Doman''s heart felt as though it had been frozen solid in ice, and something huge slammed against his shield, knocking him backward. As he hit the ground, he realized he was alone. None of his fellow soldiers were around him. Above him stood a dragonkin the size of a house. It placed a foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground, and then it bent down, and he could feel the heat building in the dragonkin''s mouth. Doman tried to lift his shield to protect his face, but it had grown so heavy that he couldn''t. The dragonkin looked at him; its eyes were made of blue fire, and it grinned at him before turning to face his arm pinned to the ground by his shield. Doman watched in horror as the flames hit his arm, and the skin started to melt, then the muscles, and finally the bone. Doman sat up screaming, his left arm reaching to grab his right arm, only to feel his ribs. He dropped his head back to his pillow. Every night was the same dream, and he had to take a moment to remember that his arm was gone every morning. Doman wiped sweat from his face and walked to the wash basin by the door of his room. The cold water felt good but wouldn''t banish the memories of his arm burning. A month after the Draconic Burn Syndrome had taken effect, the pain had been too much for him to take. Doman chose to have the healers remove his right arm rather than live the rest of his life suffering from the burning pain. He had thought he could put it behind him, but the dreams followed him. Now, a year out of the army, he still lived in his family''s tavern. He could not do much work until he learned to use his left arm better. Looking outside, Doman realized it was past noon; he was thankful that his sister never woke him early, but he hated knowing she was running the tavern alone while he slept. As Doman entered the tavern''s main room, he noticed the crowd wasn''t significant. It dawned on him that it was a market day, and most regulars would be working their booths most of the day. Most customers were at the bar, and the old dwarves enjoyed their ale and chatting with his sister Nola. Nola noticed him and motioned with her head to a halfling and a goblin sitting at a table in the corner. Walking to the two men, he forced a smile to greet them. "Welcome, can I get you some ale and stew? The goblin looked up and nodded. "Ale and stew will be just fine." "Same for me," the halfling added. Doman went to the bar, and his sister had two ales and two bowls of stew ready for him to take in the basket. He felt foolish using it but couldn''t balance a tray with his left hand without spilling half the time. The door opened as Doman walked to the customer''s table, and he called out a welcome. His smile faded as soon as he saw the three men that had just entered. He knew the armored dwarf but not his two new companions. They were both young dwarves with leather armor with shortswords at their waist. Nothing would make Doman happier than being able to throw them out now, but he knew it would only make things worse. They would spread the word that his family''s tavern was unfriendly to adventurers, and business would suffer. After unloading the basket for the goblin and halfling, Doman made his way to the adventurer''s table. "Ale and Stew today, Kordel?" Doman tried to sound friendly but could tell he had failed. The armored dwarf smiled wide before loudly answering, "Of course, ale and stew, Lefty! For me and my companions here." As Doman nodded and started to walk away, the dwarf continued to speak loudly, "Lefty used to be a member of the Dwarven Shield Vanguard. He was very impressive, I am sure. Until, of course, he got a bad burn and couldn''t stand the pain, so he had them take his shield arm so he could come back home and bring us ale and stew." His last words were filled with venom. The armored dwarf laughed, and the younger two joined in. Rolling up his sleeve, the armored dwarf continued to speak loud enough for the entire tavern to hear. "You see this here," pointing to the scared flesh of his bicep. "I got this when I rammed into a lava golem in a Tier 3 dungeon. The skin will never be the same, and I will not lie. It was one of the most painful injuries, but I wasn''t cowardly enough to just cut my arm off so I wouldn''t have to fight anymore. No burn was going to keep me from the adventurer''s life." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. There was a loud sound of a chair hitting the wall, and Doman turned to see that the goblin had stood from his chair and was walking toward Kordel. "I will give you one chance to take back what you said and walk out of here," the goblin shouted. Kordel stood from his chair and approached the goblin. The goblin only came up to his chest, and Kordel puffed his chest out and put his hands on his hips. "I take nothing back, you runt of a goblin. Go back and sit down before I put you down." The goblin stared daggers at the taller dwarf, "There is something you should know about the vanguard." Kordel opened his mouth to speak, but before any noise came out of his mouth, the goblin dropped to a knee and drove his fist into Kordel''s knee. The pop was loud, and Kordel screamed in pain before an uppercut knocked the air out of him. Kordel fell back, knocking the table over. His leg was bent wrong, and as he tried to catch his breath, the goblin stood and walked to look down on him. Slowly, the goblin removed his two long leather gloves. The sight of his bloody fists sent a gasp of shock through the tavern. He held his bloody fist in front of the downed dwarf. "This is what Draconic Burn Syndrome looks like." He took one hand, and while everyone watched, he slid his hand from his elbow down to his wrist, easily removing a layer of burned black skin, and threw it into the dwarf''s face. "The skin continues to burn as it grows back, so it never heals." the goblin then got a wide grin on his face. "Oh, and what you should know about the vanguard is if you push one of us......We Push Back!" As the goblin shouted, he launched one last punch into the dwarf''s face, knocking him unconscious. He looked at the young dwarfs standing with dumbfounded looks on their faces. "You better take him to a healer and have his leg fixed." The two dwarves looked at each other, and then they each grabbed an arm and carried Kordel out of the tavern. As the door shut, Doman finally blinked. He had been stunned by how fast it had happened. Then he looked at the goblin walking back to his table. As the goblin took his seat, Doman saw his bloody hand reach for his ale. His fists might both be blood red now, but that was only because the impact of the punches had caused the skin to come off. They would have both been black. No, not black, burned. "The Burned Fist," Doman whispered. He had heard of a goblin who refused to leave the front lines even with Draconic Burn Syndrome. Many times in the camps, Doman had listened as the older vanguard soldiers told tales of The Burned Fist charging through dragon breath attacks and crippling the enemy lines. Doman hadn''t believed he was real, but the speed at which the goblin moved was incredible. Doman turned to see everyone else was staring at the goblin as well. Quickly, he pulled himself together. "Why is nobody drinking? That''s not the first time an adventurer has had sense knocked into him in a tavern. Enjoy the ale. The show is over." The older dwarves at the back turned back around and talked amongst themselves again. They were undoubtedly talking about what they had just witnessed but being respectful. Doman wasn''t sure what to do next. He wanted to say something to the goblin but couldn''t think of anything. Instead, he headed to the table that had been knocked over and cleaned up the mess. That included wiping the blood from the floor. His sister pulled him into the kitchen when he returned behind the bar. "Do you know that goblin?" she asked in a hushed tone. Doman shook his head, "No, but I think I have heard of him before." "What does that mean?" "It means I think he is war-titled." Nola was taken aback. "What? Really?" Doman Nodded. "I am not sure, but I heard stories of a goblin called The Burnt Fist. I didn''t think he was real, but after what I saw. It has to be him." "Well, don''t just stand around looking like a fool; take him a pitcher of ale and some good bread from Kate''s bakery. Oh, and take him something to wrap his arms with so he doesn''t bleed all over the table." Doman winched. "I will take the ale and bread but not ask him to wrap his arms." Nola put her hands on her hips. "And why not? Blood isn''t easy to clean from tables, you know." "Nola, if he wraps his arms, the skin will attach to the wrapping as it hardens, and when he removes the wrapping, the skin will also be removed. It would be like asking him to peel his skin off again once he leaves." Nola looked at him in horror. " OK, if it doesn''t come clean, we will just sand it down. Now go and serve him and his friend. If he tries to pay, don''t let him. I have wanted to see Kordel taken down a peg for months now. And since we didn''t do it, the other adventurers can''t blame us."
Bowen was a little shocked at what had just happened. He had known Trog was a good fighter; he had taken down four armed bandits, but the speed of the fight was ridiculous. Bowen hadn''t even left his chair before the fight ended. Not that he would have been able to do much. Bowen was even shorter than Trog, and dwarves were twice as thick as halflings, so throwing himself at one of the other dwarfs wouldn''t have helped. When Trog sat back down, he acted like nothing had happened. Trog just drank his ale and then started eating his stew. The leather gloves lay on the table, and his exposed arms left drops of blood on the table as he ate. Bowen was afraid they might ask him and Trog to go, but the man Trog had stood up for returned with a pitcher of ale and a loaf of warm, sweet bread, so he figured they were welcome to wait here for Morgan. Peaches And Steel Trog and Bowen didn''t have to wait long after finishing their meals for Morgan to arrive with two other dwarves. After exchanging introductions, Morgan and her husband Luke asked to see the furs to examine them. Both were pleased with the quality and had no trouble handing over the gold. When Morgan asked if they could get more fur of this quality, she thought she noticed the halfling start to nod his head before Trog, the goblin, told her that if they could, it wouldn''t be anytime soon. Morgan felt that was understandable and said to them that if he ever ran across more furs, she would love the chance to purchase them from him. Luke and Lore packed the furs into their bags, and the three dwarves left the tavern. Bowen gave his friend an odd look. "Why did you tell them it wouldn''t be anytime soon?" Trog leaned in close to speak softly so nobody could hear. "Because I only have one fur left over that we know is of the quality they want. We lucked out that we got such high-quality fur to start with. What if the next ones we get are only common? Better to not have them expect this kind of thing every time." "That''s is a good point." Bowen acknowledged "Plus, I want to work on other things once we get higher-tier soil." They toasted each other, finished the last of the ale, and then left the tavern. Trog thanked the dwarves for the fine meal and ale and promised to return the next time he was in the city.
The city was bustling, and Trog and Bowen had to carefully weave through the crowd, mostly made up of humans and elves. The humans were apologetic when they realized they had almost knocked the small halfling over; however, Trog received looks of disdain and sometimes a few choice curses to get out of the way. The elves gave no reaction and kept walking as if they owned the place. As Trog and Bowen approached the stable area, they passed by the garrison, where a soldier shouted out news from the war. "Reinforcements have arrived at the front lines, and a new push into Dragonkin territory is already underway. These young men and women seem anxious to prove themselves in battle after their years of training. We should remember to give special thanks to our veterans who held the line for so long to allow the training to occur. Many of those veterans continue to fight and are now leading these young troops into battle. By order of the council, all soldiers with permanent injuries have been discharged from service. We are all thankful they were able to return to their families." Trog didn''t stop as the man kept talking. It pained him to know he wouldn''t be one of those veterans leading a unit into battle. Trog shook the thought out of his head. He had a plan to lead. Focusing on earning coins to sponsor a team of adventures wouldn''t be the same, but it would give him more control. He would be able to choose who he recruited and how they trained. After more training with Bowen, he would leave and continue to the orc cities, where his War Titles would open doors for him. For now, he just wanted to get a few more things done. Get his wagon, a mule, and then a sapling from the peach farmer.
A few hours later, Trog was all smiles as he sat tall in the wagon. The mule moved at a steady pace that would get them back to the Thornside home just after dark. Bowen was laid out in the wagon, using their packs as pillows and snoring slightly. It didn''t take long before they passed the peach orchard. Trog turned off the road and headed towards the house. As he approached, he woke Bowen when he called out to anyone in the house. "Hello, is anyone home? I wish to ask about purchasing a sapling if possible?" Trog noticed the door open slightly but couldn''t see who was looking out. The door slammed shut before a high-pitched voice called out from behind it. "Go away! They are my baby trees. You can''t have any!" a child''s voice said, and it wasn''t long before another muffled voice could be heard before the child yelled again. "I don''t want gold. I want my baby trees!" The door opened, and a man walked out with a young girl struggling to pull him back inside by the back of his shirt. "I am Moe, and I would be willing to sell you a few cuttings if you want. The little one here will not part with the saplings we have." The little girl stopped pulling on the man''s shirt. "I get to keep my baby trees?" She turned and ran back inside. "Mama! I get to keep all my baby trees!" The man smiled and approached the wagon. "I will give you five cuttings for one gold. I can''t promise any of them will root for you, but with five of them, you have a good chance if you get them in good soil soon." Trog smiled and pulled a gold coin out of his pouch. After buying the wagon and mule, he still had over fifty gold coins left. "My name is Trog, and that sounds like a very reasonable deal to me." He handed Moe the coin and waited as the man walked to a few trees, using a knife to cut five branches off. Trog expected Moe to walk back over and hand him the branches, but instead, Moe walked to a small shed and came back out with a small sack. Moe then filled the sack with soil, drove the branches into the soil, and tied it closed around the branches. Then he dunked the sack into a pale of water. Only then did Moe hand the sack to Trog. "This should help you get started. You can leave all of them in the sack and plant them to see if one takes root, or you can put them all in separate sacks when you get home." "Thank you, Moe. I wish you a good harvest." Trog said, handing the cuttings to Bowen so he could place them in the back of the wagon. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Trog couldn''t believe his luck. He managed to get five possible peach trees. The mule couldn''t get them back to Sunhallow fast enough.
Once they were back at the Thornside home, Trog and Bowen removed the cuttings from the single sack and used some small clay planters that Bowen''s grandparents had in the shed. Once each cutting was planted firmly in the dirt, Trog placed his hand on one and used plant identification. Skill Plant Identification Name: Peach Tree cutting Requires: any soil and mana or any soil, water, and sunlight Needs: Mana or water and sunlight Growth: 32 days or 100% mana til rooted Trog wasn''t expecting to use his mana to root the cutting, but he couldn''t argue with his skill. He had to make a choice. Slowly root the cuttings all simultaneously, or speed one along now and finish rooting it tomorrow. His excitement for growing one of the beautiful trees he had seen won out, and he pushed 99% of his mana into the cutting he was touching. Trog watched as the branch seemed to glow with mana for a moment before returning to its normal color. Ten days later, a pile of tier 2 soil was in the corner of the yard, and Trog had five saplings ready to be planted. Trog asked Bowen''s grandparents if he could plant one in their backyard, and they were happy to let him. It took another two days to grow the tree from sapling to mature tree and then two days to make it ready to harvest. Now Trog sat looking at the fully grown tree with branches full of peaches. The smell was amazing. Bowen and Trog were shocked once they finished picking all the peaches when the tree didn''t turn to dust, unlike items Trog had grown with his mana. It turned out that growing a plant with his mana didn''t destroy the plant, and as long as the Thornsides kept watering the tree, it would continue to grow. This would make Trog''s plan much more manageable once he got his land. He could see an orchard of peach trees and make it seem like they grew normally once they matured. It would be an excellent cover for him while he used his skill to grow items for his adventure team. While Trog was imagining his future, Bowen was busy counting the number of peaches they had collected, and when he finished, he couldn''t believe it. "Trog, there are over 500 peaches here. You could sell these in the market and earn two gold easily." Trog looked at his friend in shock before a sly grin crossed his face. "I have an idea that might be better than taking them to market."
After putting the peaches into barrels, Trog and Bowen loaded them into the wagon, and Trog headed to the garrison. Captain Holt was happy to trade four steel ingots for the wagon full of peaches. When Trog returned with the ingots, Bowen was unsure why this was better until he realized that if Trog used the tier 2 soil, one ingot would turn into ten in two days, worth five gold. The next few weeks seemed to fly by as Trog and Bowen worked to prepare for Trog''s long journey. They focused on using Trog''s skill to get the herbs Bowen had been trying to cultivate in the garden to grow. They also sold a few ingots to the blacksmith and purchased large sacks. The day had finally come for Trog to leave, and his wagon was full of large sacks with tier 2 soil, each with either a vine or a plant sprouted from the top. It looked like Trog was traveling with potato plants growing in the back of his wagon, but inside each sack was a single steel ingot only 1% away from being ready to harvest. Once Bowen found out Trog could choose from vine or tuber when planting in the better soil, he explained why it would be better to grow both. "This way, when you are getting close to a town or city, you can have the vines produce a few ingots without digging them out of the bags as you do with the tubers." It made perfect sense to Trog. Digging through the soil was painful on his hands, but snapping the vine would instantly harvest the ingots without pain. So, unless he were ready to make a big sale, he would only harvest small amounts of steel. Trog was sad to leave his new friends but knew they would be fine without him. The herbs were growing well, and Bowen had enough notes to keep their garden well-maintained for years. It was time to leave Sunhallow and begin his journey south.
The week of travel was incredibly dull. Trog had gotten used to Bowen and his constant chatting. Now, it was only him and his mule. Trog did make sure to do as Bowen recommended and made sure to use his magic every chance he got. Every night before Trog would go to sleep, he would plant one of his peaches in the ground and put 99% of his mana into it. It allowed him to eat peaches every morning for breakfast. The sweet taste boosted his energy, and he was always ready to hop back on the wagon and start the day. He had passed a few small villages but didn''t stop to trade due to the looks he received as he entered. Humans primarily populated the towns, and they didn''t want him there, so he pushed on. It took him a second week to finally find a main crossroad. To his delight, a traveling merchant had set up a tent to take advantage of the location. "Hello traveler, I am Zoni. Please feel free to browse my wares. I have plenty of tools, potions, and enchanted items." The merchant was a young wolfkin. Trog had fought alongside many wolfkins, and he respected their ferocious nature. Zoni didn''t carry himself like the wolfkin Trog had served with. His body was hunched over to hide his true height, and he kept his claws tucked in the sleeves of his large robe. The wolfkin Trog had fought beside would never conceal their natural weapons or true height. It must be a part of their warrior nature, and this man, being a merchant, must not share the same views. Pulling his eyes from Zoni, Trog glanced over some of his wares. One item in particular caught his eye. "What is that small stone there, the one in a small puddle of water?" Zoni''s expression changed slightly, and he growled low as he spoke, "Nino, I told you to keep this thing off my table." A small wolfkin girl poked her head out from around some barrels. "But if it isn''t on the table, people can''t buy it." Her voice was soft, and she kept her gaze toward the ground. "I told you that nobody will want to buy a stone that slowly drips water on their table." Zoni turned to Trog. "Sorry, that is just a rock my daughter keeps trying to sell. It is an enchanted rock one of her friends made that, for some reason, she thinks will sell. The boy is young and in training, so his enchantments are not worth much. He has been enchanting random items to improve his skill, but nothing he has made is worth selling." Trog looked at the stone and had an idea. "I will trade you two steel ingots for the stone." Both Zoni and Nino turned to look at him. Nino had a look of glee on her face, her sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight, and Zoni just looked stunned. "You want to trade that much for it?" Zoni asked "I am a farmer, and I could use that stone to water a plant or tree that requires moist soil. It is too bad you don''t have more of them." Zoni looked as though he was in shock. "I hadn''t even thought of that." Trog pulled two ingots from behind his seat on the wagon. "Is it a deal?" he said as he handed the ingots to Zino. "Yes, it is a deal." Trog waved to Nino as he started to drive away. He heard her father asking if her friend had more water-dripping stones. The girl waved back as she nodded to her father, who immediately started to pack up his tent. Trog had a feeling that whoever this young enchanter in training was would soon see an increase in funds now that the merchant had found a possible market for the stones. As Torg drove away, he pushed his mana into the stone and placed it into one of the sacks of soil. A smile spread across Trog''s face as a new vine began to grow. Peaches For Dinner The forest was bathed in the golden light of the fourth moon as Trog settled in for the night. The light that broke through the leaves above was faint but still enough to see while making his camp. After months of travel, his journey was nearing its end. His wagon was now filled with more than just sacks of soil, but also with armor and simple weapons he had traded for as he traveled. Trading was much more enjoyable once he had passed the crossroads in the north. The diversity of the middle cities and villages allowed him to blend in more often. He even enjoyed food from the great swamp area when he came across a goblin-run inn. The flavors from his home had been a gift, and he slept like a rock with a stuffed belly that night. As a thank you to the owner, he had planted one of his peach saplings in their backyard. Trog didn''t speed its growth, but he left them a few watering stones he had grown. Trog had a large collection of the rocks now; he had grown them regularly and now had a barrel that always had enough water for himself and his mule, which he had named Dinner. Trog learned that if you share your breakfast peaches with a mule, they will start to demand them every morning, and they will not pull your wagon until you give in. Trog had begun referring to the mule as Dinner after the animal had stopped in the middle of the road for an hour. Trog fixed that problem now by walking in front of Dinner while eating a peach. Trog did make it a point to never give Dinner peaches for anything more than a breakfast snack. It only took one day of traveling with a mule that had eaten too many peaches to learn that valuable lesson. The road had been covered in mule dung, and Trog felt terrible for anyone who had to walk the road on foot that day. In four days, Trog should enter the barren lands that had given birth to the Orc people. In five days, he would see the barren lands painted with the white light of the second moon. The orcs he had served with had spoken about how much they missed the nights that the bright white of the second moon illuminated the land. Apparently, under the moon''s white light, you could see the reflections of the night critters hunting from a great distance. Witnessing the struggle for life reminded them that you needed strength to survive in the wild. It was something Trog was looking forward to, but for now, he would enjoy one of his last few nights surrounded by trees. The following day, after having his vine-grown peaches and giving one to Dinner, Trog was back on the road enjoying the cool morning until he heard something running through the brush. Suddenly, a young orc burst from the bushes and, upon seeing him, yelled, "Run!" Trog knew better than to question a terrified orc. He jumped down from his wagon and quickly untied Dinner''s harness. Trog didn''t want to leave Dinner bound to the wagon if he needed to defend himself. Trog turned to run but turned back around when he felt eyes boring into his back. Turning, he saw what had the orc running in terror, and he couldn''t help but smile. ~@~
Thra''s heart was pounding as she ran. She turned to see if the goblin had listened and started running with her, but she paid the price for the distraction. Her foot hit a hole, and she went down hard. She quickly crawled behind a large tree before trying to stand. Her ankle throbbed with pain, and she knew running at top speed wasn''t an option anymore. The sudden roar of pain that came from the road behind her sent a chill down her spine. She was about to start to run again when another roar of pain boomed out. There was no way that the goblin was making that sound. Her curiosity wouldn''t let her just run, so she started to circle back towards the road. She made a wide circle back towards the road, and then another roar of pain continued to fill the forest now and then. When the road finally came into view, she could see the goblin and a mule facing off against the troll that had been after her. The mule was rearing up on its hind legs and braying at the troll. As it stomped its front legs down, it kicked up dirt from the road with its rear legs before pawing more at the road. The sound of the impacts caused the troll to turn its gaze to the mule. As soon as the troll''s head turned away from the goblin, the goblin charged in quickly, and there was a crack as the goblin''s fist slammed into the side of the troll''s knee. The leg buckled, and the troll fell to its knee, letting out another thunderous roar. The goblin left trails of red blood behind him as he moved and began another charge at the troll, but he also smiled. The goblin used the back of the troll''s good leg, which was now stretched out behind it, to run up the creature''s back and landed another hit to the back of the troll''s head. When the impact drove the troll face-first into the ground, the mule ran in and planted a powerful kick to the side of the troll''s head before letting out another bray and moving away to a safe distance again. Thra could not believe what she was watching. This goblin was tiny compared to the troll, yet he completely controlled the battle. The troll continued to heal from every blow the goblin landed, and it kept standing, only to be knocked down again and again by the goblin. Each time the troll was laid out on the ground, the mule would charge in and add its attack. Thra was speechless and couldn''t look away until the goblin chose to attack something else besides the knee and head. The troll didn''t roar but shrieked in pain as the goblin ran out from between its legs. Then she turned away as the troll bent over and vomited in the road. The little goblin was bouncing up and down on his feet, waving his arms and calling for the troll to get up and come at him, but the troll turned around and started walking back into the woods, moaning in pain with every step. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ~@~
Trog felt wonderful after finally getting to go all out in a fight. He missed the rush of fighting for his life, and having Dinner join in on the fight was a surprise he had not expected. The troll was young but much larger than the mule. That, of course, put it at the perfect height for Trog to hit his favorite targets. Trolls had been one of the monsters he loved to fight back when training his precision brawler skill. They were slow-moving and would repeatedly fall for the same tricks until they were dead or chose to run away. It had been years since he had fought a troll, and he had enjoyed every moment of the fight. He walked to Dinner and patted the mule on the neck, promising to give him two peaches for breakfast, then felt a little bad for putting bloody hand prints on the animal''s fur. He had taken his gloves off and thrown them in the wagon before the fight so they wouldn''t fill with blood, and now he was making a mess. There was no helping it. He would be driving a wagon with blood on it being pulled by a bloody mule for at least a few days. After getting Dinner hitched up to the wagon, he continued down the road and saw the young orc standing beside a tree, staring at him. Maybe he wouldn''t have to be the goblin with the bloody mule and wagon after all. Trog stopped the wagon when he was close to the orc, noticing for the first time that it was a young female. She wore light armor that seemed to be made of some lizard hide. Her hair was braided with pieces of bone carved into spikes attached to the ends. The strange thing was that she had no weapons on her that he could see, which would explain why she was running from the troll and not fighting it. "Hello, Miss Orc. Thank you for bringing me a troll to fight, but try not to lead a dangerous monster to a road that could have travelers on it next time. Not everyone would be able to run as you did, and even less would survive a fight with a troll." Trog noticed the young woman''s shame when she realized what she had done. "My name is Trog. Don''t feel too bad, miss. When terror takes hold of us, it is hard to make good choices. This will help you remember always to have an escape plan when traveling in dangerous areas." The young orc nodded in agreement. "My name is Thra; I will make sure not to forget this lesson. I was tracking a lone dire wolf that had been seen in the area. Instead, I found the troll eating the dire wolf. My bow and dagger were useless against a troll, so I just ran." "As you should do when you encounter a foe who outmatches you. I take it you are an adventurer?" "Yes, I am. I am just a guild member, but I hope to get picked up by an adventuring team with a patron company behind it. There is a tournament at the end of the month in Skull Ridge City. It''s how the teams find new members most often." "Well, that''s good to hear. I plan on becoming a patron company as soon as I get my farm up and running," Trog said, sitting tall in his wagon seat. Thra looked at him. His hands and arms were dripping blood as he sat there smiling like a young orc that had just killed his first monster. She couldn''t believe that this goblin was a farmer. She was about to ask about it when he spoke again. "Thra, I was hoping you would do me a favor since I just chased off the troll chasing you. I can''t clean my wagon or my pal, Dinner, here while my arms are still bleeding. Would you mind washing the blood away? I have a barrel of water in my wagon you can use." "Of course, I owe you a debt for bringing you trouble." "Wonderful, and if you would like, you can ride with me into Skull Ridge City too. I need to see about claiming some farming land near the city." "Wait, that means you have a magical farming skill. I have never heard of a magical farmer being able to fight like that." Trog laughed as she started using the water from the barrel and one of his empty sacks to wipe the blood off his wagon. "Well, I was in the army before I got my awakening stone. I am a Master Precision Brawler and hope to train an adventuring team for dungeon runs." Thra''s jaw dropped. She had heard of precision brawlers before. It was an old skill from when orcs used unarmed warriors as a central part of their armies. It was a matter of pride and honor to battle at a disadvantage against the other races. And if he was a master, he could set her on a path that would make her valuable. "Master Trog, would you be willing to take me on as a student? It would be an honor to train as a precision brawler, and I would be willing to work on your farm as payment." Trog was caught a little off guard. He had known that orcs valued unarmed fighting skills, but the respect in her voice when she called him Master Trog was something he had never heard before. He could see the hope in her eyes as she waited for him to give her an answer. "Yes, Thra, I will take you as a student. I will also need your help finding an adventuring team to sponsor. I have plans for the future and want to get started as soon as possible." First and Last Steps Chapter 9 "Thra, I will travel down the road another mile or so before setting up camp. Take one of the bows and quivers from the wagon and hunt us some supper. I will camp close to the road so it will be easy to find me." Thra nodded and looked in the back of the wagon, shocked to see how well-stocked it was with weapons. She saw a longbow, a short bow, and even a recurve bow. Next to the bows were spears, swords, and even a mace. He had said he wanted to sponsor a team of adventurers, and based on the quality of the weapons she saw, he was serious about that. Thra gathered a bow and quiver and made her way into the woods. After the roars of the troll, she would have to travel a distance to find anything, but she had plenty of daylight left. Trog watched as the young orc moved purposefully into the woods. He needed to make sure he made camp before she returned and use his magic to start a new peach vine growing in one of his spare bags so it would be ready to harvest in the morning. His hands were still tender as the skin started to heal, but bleeding on the reins wouldn''t cause too much trouble as he traveled. As the sun began to set, the deep blue glow of the fifth moon could be seen above. Its swirling blue and white patterns could be hypnotizing, especially if you had eaten glow shrooms from the swamp. As Trog pulled off the road and began to set up camp, he took one of the peaches from a bag and pushed 95% mana into it, enough for the vine to fully form but not begin the production of the orb-like bulbs that would turn into peaches as it finished growing. He carefully wrapped the vine and tucked it inside the sack so Thra wouldn''t notice the new vine in the wagon. Trog didn''t think the young orc noticed any of the plants in the back after her eyes bulged at the sight of the weapons, but it was better to be safe for now. When Thra arrived at the camp, Trog had a cookfire ready. Thra held up four dead rabbits, and Trog nodded to her. "Well done. Do you know how to prepare and cook them?" Trog continued when she nodded. "Wonderful, then we eat before you begin your training. You will take your first steps to unlock the Precision Brawler skill tonight." Thra looked joyful as she went to work preparing and cooking the rabbits. When they finished eating, Trog took a few of the longest bones and told Thra to sharpen them. Once she had a nice point on one of the bones, they walked to a tree. Trog handed her a one-handed warhammer and told her to hammer the bone into the tree at her head height. "This is one of the simplest ways to start your training while we are on the road. Once I have my land, I will put together better training tools, but this will work for now. Your goal is to knock that bone out of the tree. It is a simple task, but you must swing as hard as possible. The farther the bone flies, the better. Oh, and only use your offhand." Thra stood in a fighting stance and swung her left hand at the bone. Her swing went under the bone, making her feel almost clumsy. Trog let out a laugh. "Ha, oh no. Not only did you miss the target, but that was so slow." Thra''s face began to show frustration. No orc liked to be laughed at because of their fighting ability. She set her feet and put more force into her swing, and again, she missed the thin bone. She cringed as she heard the laughter from behind her, and her anger flared. "Seriously? Is that all you have? I have seen goblin children swing harder than that, and they hit the target!" Thra''s anger fueled the next swing, and she put her weight behind it. CRACK! The pain that flared up as her fist collided with the trunk of the tree brought her to her knees. She knew with certainty that more than one bone must have broken. She had expected to hear more laughter behind her, but there was only dead silence. As she turned to look at Trog, there was no smile or even a grin on his face. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "Anger and rage work well for a brawler; with enough practice, you can even unlock a berzerker skill. However, brawlers focus on landing hard punches on any part of the target in front of them. They don''t need to control their swings much as long as they hit with power. To become a Precision Brawler, you must control your anger and rage. We focus on hitting a tiny target on the body with enough force to break it with a single blow. I could not have beaten the troll if I had not broken or dislocated its knee with every attack. And The troll would have easily crushed me underfoot or sent me flying with a kick. The penalty for not landing your attacks could easily be your death. This is a painful lesson, but it is one you must learn. We are done for tonight. When you believe you can control your anger, I will give you a healing potion to fix your hand. However, you will only be allowed one healing potion per week. So it is up to you to use it now or let your hand heal naturally." Thra looked at her hand. How was she supposed to let it throb in pain while it slowly healed and continue to train or hunt? How could anyone? Then she looked at her master and noticed his hands. They still looked raw, and she could see the fresh blood under the bright blue glow of the moon. She had gotten a good look at his hands when she had cleaned the wagon earlier, and it looked as though the skin had been peeled off after the fight with the troll. She had expected him to use a healing potion while she was hunting, but his hands showed no signs of it. She had heard of leading by example, but showing her that pain was something one could live with by letting his skin slowly grow back made her believe that he was the kind of master who would not expect her to do things he wouldn''t do himself. Someone that you could feel safe in following. Trog waited for a few minutes to see if she would ask for the potion, but when she nodded to him, headed back to the fire, sat down, and cleared a place to sleep with one hand, he couldn''t help but smile. Fate had granted him a tough first student, and he would turn her into a Precision Brawler who could kill a troll, not just chase it off. He used his feet to clear his place to sleep and turned in for the night. ~@~
Many miles away, a young frogkin named Robbi finished another water drop stone at the edge of a small pond. He placed it in a large barrel with the others he had completed over the past few months. Robbi had made hundreds of water drop stones after his friend had managed to sell his first one while on a trip with her father. It was not difficult since he was using small stones; it only took 5% of his mana per stone, but something felt different when he completed it. Pulling up his Status screen, he noticed a new line. Small Water Drop Stone Enchanting Skill: Tier 1: Enchanting new small water drop stones only takes 5% of your mana instead of 10% Tier 2: The rate of water drops has now increased to twice the original rate His jaw dropped as he read. Robbi was excited when he unlocked the first tier during the first month of work, but tier 2 was even better. Zoni had done a test when they returned to the village after selling the first stone he had made for his friend Nino. It had taken a whole day for the stone to fill a single cup, which meant it would take 16 stones to fill a bucket with 1 gallon a day. It was not the best, but Zoni figured that farmers and maybe even the military would like a ready water source. This new tier had made such a vast improvement. Zoni should be able to sell them for more gold. Robbi could already enchant full-time after the advance Zoni had paid him. His life had taken a remarkable turn, and he couldn''t be more thankful for the gift his grandfather had left him. It was the only awakening stone his grandfather had ever found as an adventurer. By the time he had saved enough to hire a mage to use the awakening stone, he felt that he was too old and had instead given the stone to Robbi. His grandfather passed away soon after, but Robbi felt that at this moment, he could feel his grandfather with him, proud of what his grandson had accomplished. Tomorrow, he would have to explain this to Zoni, and they could negotiate his payment for the next month''s work. ~@~
Far from the peace of Robbi''s pond, on a battlefield covered with fallen soldiers, an elf cursed as he tried to walk without falling as he returned to camp. It had been another long night of identifying objects found on enemy corpses, and once the vulture squad had finished, they had begun to feast upon the dead dragonkin. Aldon was thankful that the squad leader let him return to base instead of making him wait for the others to finish eating. It had been months of foul-smelling battlefields, and he couldn''t believe he had lasted this long without defecting to the Dragonkin Empire just to escape the smell. He had thought about it more than once until he remembered that the dragonkin would kill him on sight. They allowed no other races within their borders. Why must he continue to suffer like this? It was just a goblin, one stupid goblin. Had he been within the boundaries of his family''s estate, he would have just killed the goblin filth and been done with it. He could have turned the awakening stone in and gotten a reward or maybe even a promotion, but he had been traveling far from his lands and with two subordinates who didn''t realize who his family was. He sent a letter home explaining the situation to his father but had not received a reply. He just had to wait it out. His father would surely find a way to bring him back. Aldon noticed movement to his right the moment before the spear impaled him. He was driven to the ground as he looked up to see a dragonkin covered in mud and blood standing over him. A second was standing to his side, holding the spear in place, pinning him to the ground. "You sure it is worth attacking only one of them? We were well hidden." "This one is the elf reported to have the identify skill. Check him and see if he has anything on him." Aldon cried out in pain as the spear twisted in his side, and the dragonkin forcefully searched his pockets and satchel. "He has nothing; this was a waste. I am not crawling back into the pile of dead bodies again tonight. Let''s go back. Next time, we wait until the whole squad returns to camp. I want to watch those vultures burn." Aldons stared wide-eyed as the dragonkin spoke as if he wasn''t even there. He thought that, for a moment, they would leave him there and that he could crawl back to camp for help. But when the dragonkin yanked the spear from his side, an evil grin spread across its face. "Don''t worry, elf. I will ensure your organs are intact so your vulture friends have something to eat on the way back to camp." Aldon had tried to scream, but the spear was shoved into his throat, and no sound escaped as he felt his life fade to black. Skull Ridge City Chapter 10 Skull Ridge City The journey to Skull Ridge City was uneventful, and Trog used the time to train the young orc Thra. She showed great control and attacked each session with focus. It was nice when the 2nd moon came, and he had someone explain which creatures were which, as the battles for life and death could be seen throughout the barren landscape. Watching the struggles for life in this land that had so little was amazing. It may have been brutal, but seeing only the white sparkles of the moon''s reflection from a distance made it seem like a dance of lights instead of the last struggle of prey vs predator. Traveling with Thra had become routine after a few days. They would talk during the day about the area and the city, but at night, they trained. Three weeks of travel and training had passed before they saw the gates of Skull Ridge City. The giant skull hanging over the entrance gate looked to be of an old dragon. After fighting with the dragonkin for so long, Trog couldn¡¯t help but enjoy the sight of a dead dragon. After an hour of waiting in the queue, they approached the guards. A group of young orcs stood blocking the way into the city while an older officer called out. ¡°State your name and reason for visiting.¡± ¡°My name is Trog, and I am here to claim farmland and to train and sponsor adventuring teams.¡± The officer looked at him with a questioning gaze. ¡°You are a farmer, and you want to train adventurers?¡± Trog smiled at the old orc. ¡°I am a retired soldier who found a farming stone on my way here. I always planned to move to the home where my skill was born and train new warriors in the honorable Precision Brawler Skill. Now that I have magical farming skills, I can contribute more than just training great fighters for the city.¡± The old orc¡¯s eyebrows raised, and he stood taller at the name of the skill. ¡°It has been many years since we have had a master-level precision brawler. Would you mind if I used Identify to verify your skill level?¡± Trog wasn¡¯t upset at all by the request. It would be nice to have local verification of his skill. ¡°Please go on.¡± ¡°This will only take a moment.¡± the orc said as he held his palm towards Trog. In a low voice, he spoke, ¡°What should I know?¡± ~@~
Krakgar reached his hand towards the Goblin and used one of his favorite identification skills. He wished he could have used it without saying the words, but it had become a habit when he made himself seem more sinister when questioning criminals in his younger years as a guard. ¡°What should I know?¡± Unlike other identification skills, which generate a visual stat sheet full of useless information, Krakgar¡¯s skill lets him hear his voice in his head, quickly telling him essential information about the person. It makes figuring out who a real threat is simple. The voice spoke quickly and almost in a panic, which was not the expected response. ¡°Trog is a dual war titled Vanguard! One title was earned within the first three years of the war. The second title was earned after his permanent injury, which didn¡¯t stop him from fighting on the front lines. He has reached Tier 5 in Precision Brawler and Goblin Warcry. Show respect and let him pass, then inform the city leaders of his presence.¡± Krakgar respectfully bowed to the Trog as he welcomed him to the city. ~@~
¡°Welcome to Skull Ridge City, Master Trog. We are happy to have someone of your skill come to teach our young warriors¡±, the orc said as he gave Trog a bow. Trog felt reassured about his choice to come to an orc city. The respect the guard was showing Trog was something he hadn¡¯t seen since leaving the vanguard. He gave the guard a nod as he took his wagon into the city. Thra was a little shocked. She believed her master was indeed at tier 5, as he had said. She had seen him in battle, and it was amazing. But seeing the old guard''s reaction after using an identification skill made her proud to be his first student. She vowed to focus more on her training to not shame him when the time came to enter battle. The City was massive compared to other cities Trog had traveled through. He figured that space was not a problem here in the barren lands, unlike all other cities built around rivers and forests. The streets were wide, and everything was made from stone, and now and then, you could see older buildings with bones used as decorations. A few had noticeable human skulls. Trog¡¯s first stop was at the garrison, where he showed his identification scroll to the Captin on duty. He was then escorted to see the Quartermaster. It didn¡¯t take long to file the paperwork and claim Skull City as the location where he would collect his war pay. Like the guard at the gate, the Captain and Quartermaster bowed to him as he left to find a room to rent for the night. ~@~
Captain Gorshak shared a look with Zugdak, the Quartermaster, as the goblin climbed into his wagon and headed out of the garrison. ¡°I didn¡¯t imagine that, did I? I mean, you saw two war titles as well, right?¡± Zugdak nodded slowly, ¡°I had heard those titles before but didn¡¯t realize they were the same person. I did not think the war had gone on long enough for a Vor`kash to arise.¡± The Captain looked shocked, ¡°Wait, can he be a Vor`kash? I know he has the two titles, but he isn¡¯t an orc.¡± ¡°He earned two titles in just ten years of battle. Orc or not that hasn¡¯t been done in generations. You had better send a message to the Commander. She needs to know about this.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Ursa was enjoying her day off. So far, she had done three dungeon runs. The Tier 2 dungeon was no longer a challenge for her, but she was required to enter only the Tier 2 and below dungeons while in command of the city garrison. She was hoping to contract with a new sponsored team this year so that the garrison could have a chance to get some better loot and maybe some awakening stones. The nearby tier 4 dungeon was known for having common fire-type awakening stones. Nothing was better than sending well-trained, magic-wielding soldiers to the front. She looked down at the three loot chests she had claimed after finishing the dungeons. She had to make a decision. Open them and hope for some good weapons and maybe get an awakening stone, which was extremely rare for a tier 2 loot chest, or she would sell them at auction. She reached for the lock on the first loot chest, and a voice called from behind her. ¡°Commander Ursa, I have an urgent message from Captain Gorshak!¡± Ursa quickly pulled her hand away from the chest and reached for the runner''s scroll. A smile spread across her face as she read. Commander Ursa, Trog, a goblin, came by the garrison to claim his war pay. He had an identification scroll that the Quartermaster verified as military issue. Trog is a permanent injury discharge. More importantly, he has two war titles. Quartermaster Zugdak believes that this gives him the rank of Vor`kash. Please advise on how you would like to proceed. Captain Gorshak ¡°Tell the Captain to proceed as usual, and I will address this during the morning meeting tomorrow.¡± The runner saluted quickly and then turned to run back to the garrison. Ursa patted the loot chest before putting it into her dimensional bag. A Vor`kash was settling into her city. Recruitment would increase so much that she would need to extend the barracks. And a few loot chests might earn her some goodwin with said Vor`Kash. But first, he needed to meet with the city lord. ~@~
Lord Krato looked over the map laid in front of him. The map showed all the available land for any magical farmers settling in the area. Each location had various marks noting the land''s features. He would typically allow one of his subordinates to assign the land, but not this time. He was still focused on the map when his attendant announced that the Commander had come to see him. He waved a hand at the attendant, and soon, the Commander entered the room. ¡°My Lord Krato, I have learned that a Vor`kash has chosen to settle within your lands.¡± Commander Ursa was surprised the Lord didn¡¯t stop looking over the map when she announced her news. ¡°I have heard, Commander, but the Vor`kash has also chosen to claim farmland and plans to sponsor and train adventurers.¡± Lord Krato looked up in time to enjoy the shock on the Commander''s face. ¡°I am trying to find the best land for him to use. I am considering assigning him the land north of the tier 4 dungeon. It may not be the best dungeon for new adventurers, but I am sure he will have some veterans sign up when they hear of his title.¡± ¡°An excellent choice, my Lord. I was unaware of his plans. I was hoping to use him to promote recruiting efforts. That may not be possible if he plans on training adventuring teams.¡± ¡°We still might be able to make use of him for recruiting. I plan on offering him a training agreement.¡± Ursa was shocked. Training agreements were only offered to trainers with high-value Tier 5 skills. ¡°My Lord, what skill mastery does he have?¡± Lord Krato turned to face the Commander. ¡°Precision Brawling¡± ~@~
The streets of Skull Ridge were full of life as the residents went about their day. Thra led Dinner through the streets while Trog sat upon the wagon, taking in the sight of the city. To his surprise, a group of goblin children ran across the road, followed by two city guards. Trog quickly stood and shouted. ¡°Children! Silence and Stillness! Instantly, the four children skidded to a stop and turned to look back at Trog. The guards also came to a halt and glanced at Trog while still keeping an eye on the goblin children. Trog turned his gaze from the children to the guards. ¡°Forgive my neglect, protectors of Skull Ridge. What have my children done?¡± Thra turned in surprise as she heard his words. The guards stood a little taller when they heard the term of respect. Grik had been a city guard for years and had only been called a protector a handful of times. He stood tall and did his best to show the same respect to the goblin that addressed him. ¡°I must inform you that these children took food from a stall without paying. The penalty is one lashing for each of the four silver worth of the stolen food.¡± Trog''s eyes flashed to the children. ¡°Is this true?¡± the children nodded, ¡°Who is the oldest of you?¡± One of the children raised his hand and stepped forward. Trog looked down at the child. The young goblin male seemed well-fed and had no signs of abuse or neglect. ¡°As the oldest in the brood, you are responsible for paying for the crimes of your juniors. Present your back and prepare to be punished for the crime you should have prevented.¡± Grik was in shock as the young goblin turned his back to the goblin in the wagon. Before he could say anything, the goblin in the wagon took a rope from the wagon and swiftly unleashed four loud cracks as the rope left four marks on the young goblin¡¯s back. The marks were noticeable but did not break the skin. The young goblin quickly moved to join the other children. Grik was shocked at how quickly it had happened. ¡°Thank you for allowing me to punish these young ones. With your leave, I will make sure they get home.¡± Trog said and waited for the guard to answer. Grik nodded to the goblin. ¡°Uh, yes, you may take them home now.¡± Trog didn¡¯t wait. He motioned for the young goblins to get in the wagon and then for Thra to continue leading Dinner down the road. Once they were out of earshot, Trog turned to the oldest of the young ones. ¡°You took your punishment with bravery. I am proud of you for showing strength in front of your juniors. However, I am disappointed that you broke city law. I want you to lead my student Thra to the Brood Elders.¡± The young goblin nodded, jumped off the wagon, and motioned for the orc woman to follow him. The other three children were eyeing the items in the back of the wagon. The youngest closed his eyes and followed his nose as he smelled something sweet in one of the bags. Trog smiled as he watched the young one crawl from bag to bag, taking a deep breath to find where the smell was coming from. Trog reached for the bag holding the peaches and removed one from the bag. All three of the young ones locked their eyes on the sweet-smelling fruit. ¡°If you wish to eat sweet fruit such as this, you must ensure that you don¡¯t do anything that will force the guards to lock you in a cell. Prisoners do not get fruit.¡± The young ones nodded in agreement as he tossed the fruit to the youngest and told them to share it. It took them time to get through the city, but eventually, they arrived in an area that was noticeably different from the rest. The buildings were smaller, and the doors were barely large enough for a goblin to fit through if they turned sideways. It was common practice in the swamp to keep the large animals and monsters of the swamp from entering goblin living areas. Thra was surprised to find a gate guarded by goblins who were not wearing city guard attire. The young goblin leading her to this area looked back at Trog and waited until Trog waved his hand as if telling the child to go before he ran past the guards. The other three children in the wagon jumped out and chased after the older boy. The goblin guards didn¡¯t do anything to stop the children from running past, but as soon as Thra took a step forward, they lowered spears in her direction. She turned to Trog, who told her to wait with the wagon as he walked towards the guards. Stopping before the guards, he bowed his head and spoke. ¡°I am Trog of The Great Swamp, child of the grey rock brood. I come to give my all to the community.¡±