《Goblin Musicians》


 Chapter 1. Poetry at the Crossroads

    "Make way, make way!"


    Swort danced over the road, randomly ramming his mallet on the snaredrum as he shouted for all bystanders to step aside. The irregular, random rhythm of the drums was accompanied by an off key melody from a fife and random crashes on the cymbals. For Swort and his companions, owning an instrument was enough to call oneself a musician. He ignored the frowns of the dwarves and trolls that towered all around him. Instead, he kept a steady, wild gait towards what he thought to be the center of the crossroads. The bells sewn into his clothing jingled with every vigorous step. Entertainers and musicians enjoyed a doubtful measure of protection from Warlord Skrut that ruled this region, so it was only natural that Swort and his friends has picked up the instruments. Their weapons laid unused in the bottom of their cart. Two traditionally garbed gnomes dragged the heavy trunk on wheels behind them. Their pointed hats and red jackets were torn, grimy and travel stained. Dust puffed up around heavy shackles that fastened their ankles to the cart.


    ?Make way, make way¡± Swort cackled.


    ¡°Make some space, you big lumps of meat.¡± Peevy shrieked, vigorously dancing in a wide circle, pushing into trolls and dwarves wherever he could.


    Swort chuckled, Peevy always thought he was bigger than he was. He then turned himself to circle a wide perimeter to clear the area. It took a while for the crowd to clear, but finally Kras kicked the gnomes to start up preparations. Their shackles clinked as they hurried to fasten all the straps and belts and turned around the cart to create a mobile make-shift stage. With the stage set up Swort rammed a final, uncontrolled roll on the drum.


    Swort wrung his hands, then eyed the clearing. Not many were paying attention to him or his friends. Now they reached the middle, it was clear the crossroads was divided in two camps. That was always the most favorable situation, he wrung his hands again in anticipation. Wherever groups gathered, money was to be had. Wherever opposing groups met, even more money was to be had. One just needed to find the right way to extract the goods. Swort was sure they found the right way. He glanced back at Peevy and their eyes locked. Peeve nodded slightly and for a second, he grinned sly. Wort nodded. This was going to be good.


    During normal circumstances, the crossroads were deserted. The roads leading to it empty, save a few travelers and an occasional merchant train. The crossroad marked the border of the Dwarven Kingdom to the North and the land controlled by High Warlord Skrut. Time and time again, the land between the two capital cities had been pillaged, burned and destroyed. Any kind of disagreement was settled by axe, hammer and shield. Violence never deterred goblins, but drew them closer. Wherever people were killed, unattended and no-longer owned goods were easily obtained.


    Swort clambered onto the make-shift stage, the bells sewn into his clothing emphasized his ascent. He signaled towards Kras who started to beat a slow, irregular beat on the drums. With a wild, flourishing movement he conjured five colorful balls from his sleeve and started juggling, meanwhile observing the crowd around him. Such gatherings could be dangerous, so one always needed to be careful.


    ?Hurry up already.¡± A deep voice boomed from the trolls side of the crossroads.


    Trolls never liked waiting. Anything else other than right now was considered waiting. It meant that most trolls spend their lives in a state of anticipatory anxiety or deep disgruntlement. Swort eyed the other side of the crossroads. The dwarves stood in calm order, waiting for the show to begin. Some of them frowned whenever a troll shouted encouragement to start.


    Peevy joined Swort on the stage. A long drawn high pitched trill piped from the fife, while Kras increased the tempo on the bass drum to a vigorous pounding. Slowly but surely, the heckling of the trolls died off. As soon as the majority paid attention to the stage, Swort hurled the balls at the gnomes and smiled at the gathered crowd.


    "Gentlemen and nearly gentlemen!¡±


    He thought he had seen some slender, less hairy figures among the dwarves. Unfortunately one could never be sure that those were females. He thought he could hear some female voices being raised. Some trolls laughed under their breath. He ignored the voices and waved his hands in delicate patterns in front of him. He had learned that from a magician. The hand movements would impress people for sure.


    "I bring to you, a poem that has never been recited. A poem, so well made and so delicate, you might not fully comprehend."


    Some trolls laughed, as if he had jested. He had, but they did not know. He stuck out his hand, palm up. Almost immediately, one of the gnomes handed im a scroll. He had to scratch at the seal several times, before he managed to roll out the scroll. Scraping his throat he prepared himself for the dreamy way he heard priests chant prayers.


    "The poem is called Dwarves are dumb by Swort the Goblin.¡±


    Dwarves are the masters


    of all things dumb


    They''re brains


    hardly bigger


    than a Goblin''s thumb.


    They like to drink their bellies


    full of ale


    just to deal


    with a dwarven female


    Females faces


    roundish


    and greasy


    Get past their breath


    makes the rest


    fairly easy


    Female beards


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.Compete with those of men


    Enter a room


    smile


    it empties again


    Male Dwarfs knuckle under


    only they


    truly understand


    Ask for marriage or feel the back of her hand


    Back to beard


    the fluff on their faces


    Cornered


    still trying to erase their traces


    Roars of laughter burst from the trolls. Swort eyed the hulking greenskins as he let their mirth roll over him. They laid sprawling on the ground or slapped each other on the shoulders, shaking with laughter. A group at the edge of the camp pointed and laughed at the dwarves on the other side of the road. He felt a smile creeping on his face, this started off well and this was only the start. Peevy wrung his hands beside him, a wide smile reflecting Sworts''. Swort squared his shoulders, then continued to recite the poem in his chanting fashion.


    Breath like a sheepdog


    And moldering cheese


    Churning the air like a festered disease


    No dwarf knows


    the identity


    of their father


    that¡¯s why every dwarf is a brother


    Silly choice of weapons,


    both hammer or axe


    confronted with real warriors


    they fall in stacks


    Not particularly bright


    dwarves are


    pretty fat


    They eat everything in sight


    Excavating holes


    deep into the ground


    So none can see how they bum around


    Their god


    reflection of their mind


    is probably a fraud


    With each sentence, Swort saw how jaws tightened and frowns were drawn. He smiled as he recited the last line of the poem. He bowed quickly before the meaning sunk in. He hoped that Warlord Skrut''s protection would be enough to protect them from harm. As expected, the dwarves exploded in anger and insults and threats washed over him as several dwarves rushed towards him with drawn weapons. Verbal abuse towards entertainers was generally accepted. Among some races it was stimulated and seen as valuable feedback. Physical violence however was frowned upon. A solid elbow nudged him in the side and Sworrt tumbled over the edge of the stage. The hulking trolls had surrounded it and were waving heavy clubs at the dwarves. Swort clambered to his feet and Peevy appeared.


    ¡°Nice!¡± Peevy smiled feral. The incoming dwarves came to a halt. ¡°They''ll settle down soon and then I''ll throw in the second. I just hope ..¡±


    ¡°They''ll be too busy!¡± Swort interrupted him and threw the colored balls at Peevy. ¡° Tell Kras to entertain them with this. I''ll prepare the gnomes.¡±


    Swort grabbed the shackles of the gnomes and reeled them in. Both gnomes slid in a sitting position over the ground. In a single motion he grabbed both of the gnomes, then balanced each in a hand.


    ¡°You know what to do¡± He whispered towards the smallest of the gnomes, then pulled their small hats over their ears. ¡°And you know what will happen if you don''t return..¡±


    Swort smiled while he whispered, cautiously pulling a painted stick with a small red hat out of a drawer from the upside-down cart. He undid the shackles from the smallest gnome, then dropped him on the ground and reattached the shackles to the stick. The gnome disappeared in a flash between the huge troll feet.


    ¡°Well my little friends¡± He put both of the gnomes into their cage. ¡°Too many big feet, we don''t want you cuddly wuddly to be crushed. So you stay here till we leave the camp. You can run and play later.¡±


    He put the cage on the side of the stage. Kras was having troubles keeping five balls in the air, puffing and huffing as he dropped two in rapid succession. He grimaced, but kept juggling the three balls in a slow and clumsy pattern. Peevy stood next Kras, no hint of the earlier smile on his face. He gestured towards the dwarves and towards those that stormed towards the stage earlier. They stood like sheep, facing the towering trolls.


    ¡°It was merely jest, my bearded friends. No harm intended indeed. There is no need for such un-pleasantries. If you''d be so kind to return to your respective positions?¡± Peevy slapped the troll in front of him on the shoulder. ¡°Thank you for your concern big brother, but we''d like to continue now... So, if you please?¡±


    The dwarves still looked grim and clutched their weapons while they looked up to the wall of trolls that separated them from the goblins. They kept silent and exchanged a few sheepish looks amongst each other. They shot another few glances at the trolls and turned around to return to the rest of their kin. The trolls shrugged and hobbled after the dwarves toward the edge of the clearing.


    Peevy thanked the crowd for their patience and consideration and Kras landed in a dry thump next to Swort. Peevy had kicked Krass of the stage and as always, a roar of laughter washed over the clearing. It never mattered who the spectators were, some uncalled for cruelty always lightened the mood. Kras moaned softly next to him. His dim brother finally started to accept his fate. Peevy already started the announcement of the next poem.


    ¡°... poem was especially written for the intellectual troll. Never before have I had the honor of recital this master piece for such an honorable crowd as this one before us.¡± Peevy announced in a loud voice and help up his hand towards Swort. ¡°The scroll please?¡±


    Swort felt himself grinning in anticipation as he handed over the roll of paper. The word intellectual seemed to resonate among the trolls, though their expressions showed they didn''t know what it meant.


    ¡°Without further ado, I present to you the great poem called Trolls are smelly by Peevy the Goblin¡± he shrieked at the top of his lungs.


    I once sat on a log


    when before me came a smell


    fouler than the dirtiest trogg.


    Foul, dirty almost tainted


    I am sure that anyone else


    would have fainted


    Smelly but mostly distressed


    A troll came by


    The foul stench, worse than the pest.


    Anyone else would be killed with a whiff


    only a small sniff


    enough for me, to jump from a cliff


    closer and closer,


    Every step, every breathe


    the smell got even grosser and grosser.


    As with the first poem, many trolls shouted insults and threats at Peevy as he recited his master piece. Swort could see that most of the trolls didn''t fully understand, but insulting and threatening an entertainer was just an exhibition of plain, good manners. The dwarves however held their bellies while laughing and held on to each-other with mirth. The dwarves that had been agitated before, were not pointing at the trolls and laughing at them.


    nose so big and ripe


    trolls are so incredibly ugly


    I''m lacking words to describe


    With muddy and grubby eyes


    It looked at me cross-eyed


    and said he was wise


    Then why dont you bathe


    I asked him


    he told me its faith


    The trolls'' creator


    does not like it clean


    anyone who washes is a violator


    He said the rules are quite clear


    no washing no bathing and no cleaning


    For little ones, it is purely fear


    As Swort hoped, Peevy didn''t manage to reach the end of the poem. The insults and threats faltered and died down as the group of dwarfs at the edge grew bigger. Though most of the trolls didn''t understand Peevy''s affronts, they did understand the taunting behavior of the dwarfs. Trolls were never patient creatures, not with waiting nor with the behavior of others. While Peevy recited the last lines of verse, the trolls charged the taunting dwarfs.

 Chapter 2. Treasure

    The metallic sound of weapons clashing rung through the camp of the trolls, the air thick with the smell of blood, smoke and sweat. The sun cast long shadows throughout the camp, but the setting sun had not yet tempered the battle that raged around Swort, Peevy and Kras. Swort sniffed the air. He loved the smell of blood and sweat, it usually meant he could pick up some new stuff he never thought to own before. He could do without the fire, but it could not be avoided in their line of work.


    ¡°Come masters, it''s here. Yes, yes,¡° The gnome squeaked and pointed at what looked like a tent. ¡°You wanted a big chest? Yes? Pipron find chest, the biggest you ever see. Pipron good gnome.¡±


    ¡°It better be something interesting this time.¡± Peevy said and pushed the gnome ahead. ¡°I''m done with the rubbish you consider treasure. Hurry up!¡±


    ¡°Pipron find real treasure this time. Yes. You will see and love Pipron. Yes yes yes. This way, Masters¡±


    The gnome bounced on his feet with excitement, then darted over the stone ground towards the tent. Which seemed to be a canvas thrown over two sticks and a few cords to tie it all down. The sides were hanging down and the strings waved lazily in the soft breeze. A blanket-roll stuck out underneath one side of the canvas and a monstrous armored boot laid in the entrance. The gnome clambered on top of the boot, then motioned for Peevy and Swort to follow.


    For the last months Peevy trained the gnomes to find the right kind of treasure. The gnomes idea of treasure was tainted by poverty and a low standard in general. The first times the gnomes returned with useless rubbish, flimsy pieces of clothing or almost inedible food. Peevy decided to use rougher, more violent methods after the gnomes had led him to stale bread and moldy barrels. He found it was hard to train the gnomes to find treasure, when you lacked the treasure as an example.


    Swort squared his shoulder, then sauntered after the gnome towards the tent. The bells in his robes jingled with every step. It was important to pretend to belong in the camp, if you just looked nonchalant or busy enough, people didn''t question your whereabouts. He heard Peevy mutter under his breath. The gnome chose the most showy and risky place to wait for his masters. Those gnomes really didn''t get the idea of thieving. He hoped that this time, the gnome found something worthwhile.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    At the entrance of the tent, he felt his eyes widen with surprise. A huge, ornate and official looking chest was chained to four stakes on the ground. The lid decorated with intricate golden patterns, small paintings of flowers and animals, was closed with a solid iron lock


    ¡°Yes! Good gnome!¡± Peevy rushed towards the ornate chest and put his hands on the lid. ¡°It seems, you have just found yourself an extra good dinner gnome. Maybe this time, you can have an extra piece of bread.¡±


    Peevy knocked on the chest. Swort could only hear the knock of his fingers on wood. The chest was full. The chains meant that the chest wasn''t only full, but contained something precious. Swort smiled feral at Swort, then started yanking at the pins that the chest was chained to.


    Swort didn''t enter, the filled decorated chest seemed off. It was hard to imagine that a troll owned a chest as such. If one did, any troll would guard it with his life, and would not leave it in a badly set-up tent. Something wasn''t right, but he couldn''t find what it was exactly. Peevy on the other hand, did not share his apprehension. Sworts'' friend puffed with exertion as he pulled the chains again. It didn''t budge.


    Peevy stuck a grimy hand inside his robes and rummaged in his pockets. He searched for a while with the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, then pulled out a set of different lengths of pins with different shapes.


    ¡°If we can''t take the chest, we will just fill our pockets with gold.¡± Peevy stuck two pins inside the lock and started pushing, pulling and turning the pins inside the lock. ¡°at least these stupid bells will finally be useful. Keep an eye out will ya.¡±


    Few trolls wandered around the tents as most of them had attended the entertainment on the crossroads. The ones that were around, didn''t look or glance at in his direction at all. Weapons crashed on one another in the distance, he could hear occasional explosions whenever dwarfs discharged their pistols. Swort took up post outside of the entrance. Tents were set up all around them. Most of them a simple cloth with a stick. Only a few trolls had put more effort into setting up a tent by finding an extra stick. Fire pits were randomly scattered among the almost deserted tents. A large fire pit was set up in front of the tent, and rows of logs circled around the pit.

 Chapter 2.2 Treasure (2)

    ¡°Aaahaa!¡± Peevy held up the lock in triumph, a greedy smile on his face. The muscles in his neck and arm bulged as he tried to lift the lid of the chest. ¡°It''s too heavy for me to lift alone. Swort! Come quickly.¡±


    With united effort the goblins opened the chest, but instead of the expected glow of gold and jewelery, the top of the chest was remarkably dark. A pungent smell of urine, mold and stale sweat drifted from the open chest and invaded Sworts lungs and sent him into a fit of coughs and retches. He held his chest as he breathed superficial to suppress the tickling in his throat. He then held out his hands in front of him and puffed as Peevy roughly climbed onto his shoulders to take a look inside the chest.


    ¡°What the... ¡° Swort couldn''t see Peevy''s expression, but the disgust in his voice was undeniable. ¡°Why would anyone.. Yugh!¡±


    A moist, flimsy fur dropped on the ground next to Swort and all over his boots, followed by a dry boot with holes in the nose. A cacophony of clangs rung his ears as Peevy dropped a score of open cans on the ground and he brought his hands to his ears to block the prying sound. Jolts of pain ran through his shoulders as Peevy jumped to dig deeper into the chest.


    ¡°Interesting¡± Swort could hear Peevy mutter under his breath and another jolt of pain ran through his back as Peevy jumped again and the pressure of his boots disappeared.


    Swort looked up to see Peevy sit inside the chest. Staring at fists full of shiny, golden paper he held up in the air. The paper looked as if it was of the expensive kind and elaborate, silver letters decorated the middle of the pages. Small holes seemed to indicate the papers could be torn neatly into squares, the insignia on the sides of the paper were unknown to Swort.


    ¡°Whats''da?¡± Swort asked Peevy who frowned at the printed silver letters on the papers.


    ¡°Some kind of coupons for Madame Zelena''s beauty station for trolls.¡± Peevy replied. He threw a fistful of coupons at Swort. ¡°Says here the dwarven Madam Zelena offers all trolls a discount on baths and the scrubbing of tusks.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Thats'' why the trolls are here.¡± Swort laughed out loud, looking out of the tent. Outside in the darkening sky, he could still hear weapons clashing and trolls singing verses of his poem. ¡°I wonder how welcome they are after this encounter¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait...¡± Peevy brought the coupons closer to his face, then burst into a wild laugh. ¡°I''m not sure how welcome they are, but the coupons expired three months ago already. I''m afraid Madame Zelena prefers to not have them on her doorstep at all.¡±


    ¡°The paper seems valuable though and the silver writing might be worth something at the least.¡± The bells on Peevy''s robe jingled a he stuffed hands full of coupons into the pockets of his garb, then threw hands full of coupons at Sworts feet. ¡°Perhaps we can find some buyers when we finally made our way to the capital of the orcs.¡±


    Paper did not attract Swort much, the prospect of hauling such a bulk of paper for a possible profit even less. Instead, he walked around the shaggy tent, hoping to find at least some kind of real treasure.


    He inspected the boot that the gnome had clambered on meticulously, but found it was discarded cause it was just a plain old boot. The tent was otherwise sparsely decorated. The moldy rug on the ground likely was the most valuable item inside and that was probably not gonna sell. Swort felt heavy inside. They had spend so much time and effort into the ruse, only to find useless garbage that only held value for trolls. He intended to have a very intimidating discussion with the gnomes as soon as they reached Kras at the outskirts of the camp.


    Where was that gnome anyway? Swort realized the gnome had been silent since they entered the tent, which was uncommon for the tiny creature. He eyed the tent around them again, but the gnome was nowhere to be spotted.


    ¡°Where is that tiny little - ¡°


    ¡°There they are!¡± A squeaky voice interrupted him. ¡°See, they pillage your tents and try to take your riches for themselves. Yes. Bad bad goblins. Pipron told you truth, did he! Pipron is good gnome. We caught them red-handed! Yes we did."


    Swort spun around, but two huge dirty fingers closed his wrists in an iron grip. A strong force pulled him off the ground by his neck. Swort shook like a cat, hoping to wrestly free of the hold. The hand shook him roughly back and forth, something cracked loudly in his neck, his head shaking from side to side.


    ¡°Lemme go, you dirty son of a trogg!¡± Peevy wrestled with a set of hands on his own, but the troll that held him just laughed at his efforts.


    ¡°Look a tha,¡± The breath of the troll smelled like rotten fish. A tuft of hair crowned the bald spot between his ears and the small gnome perched on the trolls shoulder. ¡°Yer think ye can steal from ther Trolls, ey?¡±