Chapter Va - Into the Goblin Village

<<Sunset - Day 20 - Early Spring - The Moonlit Tower - Wilderness>>

Cithrel spends the day studying the tower, tinkering and retinkering with its protocols.

Drace spends the day convincing Draern that it's fine, it's safe, it's totally okay. There's a good reason the tower doesn't have windows: they would mess with the relocation manifold, or whatever Cithrel called it.

In the end, Draern is convinced. The next cycle is scheduled for sunset. Provisions are gathered in case you spin off into a temporal paradox, which Cithrel assures you is totally improbable.

Omirius' skeletons observe passively.

In the study, Cithrel braces for the transition. The timing of the jump is easy; the destination is trickier. In fact, other than generally specifying a cardinal direction and how much time you want to pass, identifying a precise location is quite difficult when you have never been there before. Cithrel thinks that it would be relatively easy to program the tower to jump back to, say, the River or a trading post or a village where you have been previously, but jumping into the unknown is quite another thing.

When the time comes for the tower to phase out of existence for a few moments, Cithrel slips into a short trance. In the trance, Cithrel feels like they have jumped up off the ground and into the clouds. Cithrel had specified a jump to the north and so the perspective of the trance is of the tower "leaping" north. Then it begins its descent and Cithrel only has a few seconds to decide where to go. There's about as much control as one would have during free-fall, which is either exhilarating or terrifying depending on your perspective.

Cithrel targets a foothill that leads to the mountains to the north. It might have been a hard day's march from the previous location of the tower, but here it takes less than a minute. When the tower lands, Cithrel falls back into their body and is shaken out of the trance.

Drace and Draern barely register any movement other than some subtle vibrations. The front doors fling open once the transition is complete and the skeletons step out to stand guard. They almost immediately raise their spears and shields!

Outside, Drace and Draern see a large party of very short demihumans. They might best be described as goblins, but they only reach up to your knee.

They seem excited, but it's difficult to tell if they're agitated or exuberant. "Sky-men! Sky-men!" they say, pointing at Drace and Draern. They also raise their weapons - adorable little shields and spear barely the size of an arrow - at the skeletons, although this seems mostly in response to the skeletons' defensive posture rather than any real intent to attack the skellies.

"Sky-men! Sky-men!" they keep shouting, skipping and kicking in miniature little frenzies. They are barefoot and wear primitive tunics that don't appear to have ever been washed. Draern's enhanced senses seem to suggest as much too.

Draern remains suspicious to the safety of the tower and starts with loading a fair amount of grass for Wolf and other provisions for Rima, his companions and himself into the entrance hall. He struggles a while with water provisions but eventually opts for a solution using a deer skin. He does not have time to properly treat it, or clean it, but inside out the grimy side does not affect the water quality. He makes a mental note to upgrade the storage capabilities of the tower significantly.

As Drace has explained to him, the tower can travel far distances and Draern thinks a fitting name would be Fardis. But as it has too much of a flatulent ring to it, he thinks, maybe better to change it. Tardis, maybe?

As night falls, everyone gets ready and Draern grows more and more anxious. This time he stays in the entrance hall with Rima and Wolf. It feels like a new chapter is starting.

Once "landed", Draern sighs with relieve and is among the first to step outside, only to stumble back from a cacophony of sounds and smells that wash over them as the door open. Who would say these small creatures could produce such noise. And smell...

"Piloting" the tower proves to be an exhilarating experience. Cithrel hadn't been certain of the Tower's transportation mechanics. They had theorized that it folded space, existing in two points at the same time until it "let go" of it's previous location, space snapping back into position like a rubber band. The leaping caught them by surprise, but it wasn't unwelcome.

It takes the young elf a few moments to regain their sense once the jump is complete. Once, they are finally back in the here-and-now, they look at Omirius and grin. "Incredible," they say with a chuckle. "I'm... not sure I can adequately describe it. It was like being a giant, ghostly frog making an enormous, terribly quick leap."

Their discussion is cut short by the commotion outside. Cithrel hops to their feet and rushes to the study's door. They leap off the stairs. Focusing the surrounding aetheric energies, they slow their fall (OOC: using Leap of Heavens to negate falling damage) and land softly on the Tower's ground floor.

Outside, they find their companions and the skeletons faced with the group of small demi-humans. Cithrel bows to the strangers. "Greetings. I am Cithrel, and these are my traveling companions, Drace and Draerngromlaes. We do not mean you any harm and I apologize if we are trespassing on your territory. We can leave next morning if you wish it, but I would rather we spend some time trading information and learning about each other, if that is acceptable to you."

When Cithrel descends from above and lands gently on the ground, the goblin-folk completely lose it.

"SKY MAN!" the exclaim with wide eyes as they point and shout at Cithrel. They throw their weapons down, fall to their knees, and prostrate themselves. They bow and chant and seem to sing something in their guttural tongue as they apparently worship you.

Drace watches Cithrel's descent with a smirk, knowing that the scholar would never have intended for this flourish to be so impactful. "Yes, all hail the Sky-man," he whispers to Draern and Cithrel. "Humour aside, we must hasten to learn more of their mythology, now that you may well be a central figure within it" he adds.

"Oh, no," Cithrel mutters as the goblin-folk prostate themselves and begin to pray to them.

This need not be a bad thing. Superstitious people are easily manipulated. They must know the terrain, they could help you with your chosen project.

Cithrel frowns at the intrusive thought. These people did not deserve to be used, but perhaps they could find a mutually beneficial agreement. The elf sits down on the ground, crossing their legs, and think about how to best defuse the situation. They listen to see if they can pick up a pattern in the chant, to see if it is repeating. If it is, they wait for a cycle to compete before speaking up. If not, they listen for a dip in a chanting. "Thank you. You honor me beyond what words can express. Please, you have done enough. Stand and let us speak together."

Drace walks around the group of prostrated worshippers, and looks around.  Where had the tower landed? How did these small-folk live? How scarce was their access to water? Their odor was one thing, but the risk of illness and contagion could be non-negligible.

Drace sees that the mountains to the north are still covered in snow. Presumably this melts and supplies local rivers and streams.

The tower seems to have landed on top of a hill. Toward the bottom of the hill, not far away, appear to be a collection of stone huts. Perhaps that is their village.

The goblin-folk leap to their feet and try to seize you! Or, more accurately, they try to pick you up. They start with Wolf but Wolf is a horse and far too heavy. They try with Rima, but Rima growls and barks and they run away. Then they try with Drace and Draern, but they're too heavy so they give up. They settle on Cithrel, who they manage to scoop up with dozens of hands. They begin to cart her off, either to be worshipped or eaten. To carry Cithrel they've dropped all their weapons, so they don't appear to feel threatened. Or, if Cithrel is their prey, they're making no efforts to dispatch the elf.

Two goblin-folk run down the hill yelling and flailing their arms and generally seem to be trying to alert others. The other goblins try to carry Cithrel down the hill. One or two others try to take Drace and Draern by the hand to lead them down the hill too.

Perplexed by the commotion of the little people Draern follows, also to remain close to Cithrel. If they try to throw her down a cliff to see her fly again, he'll be ready to protect her. So he hopes. If she needs it, remembering her leap down the enormous tower.

He notices his stomach rumbling. In Llaigisian he tells Cithrel "Maybe you can ask your following to roast us some meat?"

Cithrel weighs their options. On the one hand, they had no idea where the goblins were taking them. On the other, they had dropped their weapons and done nothing aggressive towards them or their companions. For now, they decide to follow without resistance, curious to see where this is going and confident about their ability to extirpate themselves should the situation become dire.

They hear Draern call after them, but they can't understand their words.

The goblin-folk march you downhill. They seem to be singing and chanting.

When they get to the village, other goblin-folk appear, seem amazed, and do the same.

All three of you seem to be venerated. Cithrel seems to receive a bit more of the adulation than Draern and Drace.

In the village, there seems to be some consternation and confusion. Some goblins argue. At first it's not clear about what. Eventually they bring out some chairs and put you on them. Of course, since the goblin-folk only come up to your knee, the chairs are comically small. They try to put three under Cithrel but the chair shatter as soon as Cithrel sits on them. The goblin-folk seem to be greatly embarrassed by this and beg forgiveness.

Food and drink are brought. Unfortunately, they are so small that what might be a single serving for them is only a mouthful or two for you. The goblin-folk scatter to gather more. They seem a stressed about the issue.

The frantic pace of the goblin-folk slowly begins to wear on Drace's nerves. Considerable energy expended to limited effectiveness. He watches them for a few moments more before raising his voice to draw their attention.

"Be. Still," he calls to them, emphasizing both words with his hands. "Your hospitality is sufficient." He looks at the community before them, looking for some kind of reaction to his actual words (as opposed to his tone or gestures). Can they even understand him?

They clam up in response to Drace's instructions, but they have to work at it. Their enthusiasm is building up under the surface. It looks like they're flexing hard to avoiding singing and dancing. A few of them might even be holding their breath. One is starting to change colors, from a muddy brown to a redder shade of muddy brown.

Drace is sorely tempted to wait and see whether the ones who are holding their breath would exhale or collapse, can one be too daft to live? but is not one for unnecessary cruelty. While he is loathe to repeat himself, he does so.

"Your hospitality is sufficient. If you have a person or people who lead you, we would speak with them. Either way, we do not require more from you at this time. Please, go about your normal tasks." He continues to scan the crowd, looking for how his words are being received and trying to determine if their time here would require judicious use of short, simple sentences.

The goblin-folk holding their breath are eventually forced to breathe normally again. They pant and wheeze after they exhale.

At Drace's words, they look confused. They exchange glances. Eventually they shrug. Two dozen walk back up the hill and circle the tower. They seem to be calling to the sky.

The others look around awkwardly. It's obvious that they aren't comfortable not waiting on you. Some try to go about their chores, but they always do it with an eye on you.

One steps forward, either the requested leader or simply one that's bolder than the rest. "Sky men!" it says, then gives a grandiose bow. It remains bowed, averting its humble eyes from yours.

Cithrel tries to keep up with the excited whirlwind of activity surrounding them. They take the food and drink thankfully, but after a while they're not sure where to look and who to thank or what to... there<s just so much! When Drace takes charge and gets their hosts to settle down, Cithrel breathes a sigh of relief.

Cithrel smiles and gives encouraging nods to the goblin-folk as they look to them for approval. As they work, Cithrel looks around, looking for traces of magic. If the tribe has a shaman, they may be better equipped to understand.

When the presumed leader steps forward, bows, and remains prostrate, Cithrel looks to their companions, a bit overwhelmed. They look back at the goblin. "Thank you for this most gracious welcome. We are humbled by your hospitality and graciousness. Please, rise. Let us speak as friends."

Once Draern realises that the goblins don't pose a threat, he turns his attention away. He doesn't understand their excitement and it does not seem to be of any help to them.
He looks around and tries to find an elevated point nearby. From there he takes a good look around and tries to find familiar landmarks. This whole tower teleportation business is still very foreign to him and he tries to discern how far they "jumped". While he stands and stares into the distance, Rima comes up to him. He starts caressing her head and ears. "Strange times, eh?"

The sun is setting. Draern is enough of an outdoorsman to know where the sun should be in the sky and how that compares to his previous position. He estimates that the tower has jumped north by about the same as a hard day's ride on a good horse. Looking south, he can see the hills where the tower (probably) came from. To the north, snow-capped peaks. The hill that the tower landed on looks like one of the last wooded foothills before things turn into rocky mountains to the north.

The goblin-kin rises at Cithrel's instruction. "Not friend," he corrects. "You, sky-man. Me, humble servant." Another bow. "We have waited long and patient. Now you are here. Your command, sky-man? We serve." Yet another obsequious bow.

"Tell us of our legacy and history with your people; regale us." It might be dangerous to indulge this collective fantasy, but Drace can think of no other way to surface the information necessary to understand who exactly this community believes them to be, and what will be expected of them.

The little fellow looks confused.

"Sky-men watch from above," he says, pointing a finger up in case Drace doesn't know which direction "above" is.

"Sky-men know history. Sky-men know all."

He looks at you searchingly, as if you are testing him.

Drace looks at their interlocutor in silence for several moments.  On one hand he is relieved that at least one of these fellows has the wherewithal not to obey every last request unquestioningly, on the other this was one of the few instances where it would have been quite helpful for the request to have been heeded.  "I would not force you to tell us your stories."

He looks at Cithrel with a tilt of his head to convey your turn. and thinks ruefully about the many lessons that he could yet learn from Draern, who had wisely not engaged with any of this.

Cithrel shifts uncomfortably where they sit. Deception was a poor foundation for a relationship. "I think you have mistaken us for someone else," they say carefully. "Though we did travel through the sky and know quite a lot, we do not know all. I don't think we are those sky-men you speak of."

"We can still be friends. Drace," they say, gesturing to the harmacist, "can heal your injured. I have knowledge of many things and know a bit of magic which could be of use to you as well. These things we can offer in exchange for your hospitality."

Cithrel scans the assembled goblin-folk to ascertain their reaction in case they need to jump to their feet and run.

The little goober looks incredulous.

"How many sky-men can there be?!" he asks in an exasperated tone. He points to the sky, then points to the tower, then to the sky, then to the tower, then repeats the process a couple times for good measure to convey the absurdity of there being sky-men other than yourselves.

A thought occurs to him. He claps a couple times and says something in his native tongue that sounds like gibberish to you. Many of the other goblin-folk make sounds like eep! and eek! and scurry around in a flurry of activity. After a moment, they emerge from their huts dragging heavy sacks toward you. They struggle with the effort even if the sacks are quite modest by human standards.

The sacks pile up and pile up. As goblins continue to gather more sacks, the goblin-spokesman says, "Behold!" with a theatrical flourish. He then opens up one of the sacks and hundreds of copper coins spill out. Even from a distance, it's clear that the metallurgy and coining are comparatively crude, with many different shapes and sizes of coins.

"Just as you instructed, sky-men!" he says proudly. He looks pleased and clearly expects you to be pleased as well.

Draern rolls his eyes and sighs. "Why do you tippy-toe around the little buggers?" , he turns to the little folks and barks (a bit more roughly than intended) "You, get us some water and you, tell us about the surroundings, where can we hunt?"

The goblin-kin jumps up straight, almost like a military stance. You practically expect him to salute Draern.

"Yes, sir!" he says, then barks some gibberish at some other nearby goblin-folk. In truth, they look delighted at the instructions. They race off and return with water. It looks clean, like melted snow.

"Mountains and mines!" the goblin-spokesman responds to Draern. "Rocky! But the glittery stuff, yes!" He points the mound of copper coins, and again looks proud of the output.

"Hunting downhill! Down in the trees!" He points to the trees that are lower on the hill, maybe a kilometer down. "Birds! Eggs! Squirrels! Sometimes a goat!" He rubs his belly at the thought of it.

Presuming that you are interested, the goblin-folk bring you three roasted squirrels.

While their interlocuter is giving his peers orders, Drace leans towards Draern. "It was to limit the risk of this tiny horde turning violent," he says quietly.
There were a number of scenarios that Drace was considering, but his mind kept coming back to what happens if the village decides that they were being deceived. Whether they ended up overwhelmed by the villagers, or were able to rout them with ease, he wasn't particularly keen to have to contend with waves of outraged liliputian fighters.
"Admittedly, your way is effective," he adds with a rueful smile.

The hurried obedience impresses Draern. He takes the water and drinks.

Later that day, he walks up the hill again, gazing over the distant forest. This was his home. For a very long time and as much by necessity as by choice. But the running was only by necessity. Enough! No more running! It's time to grab control again. This tower might end up being a blessing in disguise. He had seen what impression it left to people. It should be easy to collect a following, a group that is theirs to command, an army. They could rule the area, be everywhere in no time, move troops around in the tower. No castle would be safe from them and they could never be besieged. A wide smile spreads on his face. The others won't be so excited about this idea. I have to be smart about this.
He returns to the group and says "Rima and I will go hunting for some larger meal. And maybe we can take something along, who knows how the next stop looks like." Hopefully more populated... With that, Rima and Draern walk downhill towards the forest.

<<Dusk - Day 20 - Early Spring - The Moonlit Tower - Wilderness>>

Draern rides downhill. The sky is getting dark but light isn't a problem for Draern. A trained woodsman and hunter - with the senses of a wolf - he doesn't have any trouble picking up on the trail of a mountain goat. He follows the scent trail as easily as if it were highlighted in yellow on the ground. The goat is a decent-sized male with a shaggy coat leftover from the winter. Its horns are sharp and could do some damage. In fact, it looks like it's intending to do some damage to Draern for trespassing on its turf...

An arrow through the goat's neck disabuses it of that notion. Dressing it is equally easy. The testes and genitalia go first. Then Draern makes a small incision in the gut, making sure not to puncture any of the organs. He frees to colon and tug the organs out towards himself. Then he slices through the diaphragm walls, working all the way through to the spine to separate it. The last step is the most dramatic: he takes hold of the windpipe, severs it, then yanks firmly on the windpipe to remove all the entrails in one strong movement. They fall on the ground in a squishy, soggy heap.

Being a tanner by trade, Draern can't let a fine skin go to waste, but he decides to do that back at the village so that he's not carrying around a skinned carcass. He lets Rima go to work on the goat's guts and, when she's done, slings the goat over the back of Wolf for the walk back up the hill.

Arriving in town on horseback, Draern feels like a king. The goblin-kin greet him with ooos and ahhs and wide-eyed wonder. Draern skins the carcass and the goblin-folk immediately set up spit to slow-roast the goat for a midnight feast. They lick their lips so eagerly that Draern is sure that they'll soon be eating out of his hand, both literally and figuratively.

Cithrel looks at the mound of copper coins. They smile weakly at the beaming goblin-folk. "Thank you...?" they say uncertainly.

"Um... If you'll excuse me, I have some... uh... important sky-man business to take care of." The elf retreats from the village. They make their way up a nearby rocky outcrop and set up their tools. Work always helped them clear their mind, and so they set to do some progress on their maps of the Wilderness.

The vantage point provides a great view of the surrounding area and Cithrel seems to have found a spot where the wind is gentle, which allows them to move their task forward quickly and with exactitude.

As the sun begins to set, they make their way back to the settlement in time to see Draern return with his catch. More than happy to let the woodsman be the center of attention, they find a seat to watch the meal's preparation.

Draern let's the little people prepare the feast, while he skins the goat and starts preparing the skin. He gathers some sticks and bark and lights a small smoky fire. He then hangs the skin over it and leaves it there, keeping the fire smoking.
He caresses Rima behind the ears and makes plans about constructing shelves and boxes for the tower.

Seeing the joy with which the small folks attend to their needs and that Draern, the most cautious of their triad, did not his hackles up, Drace decided to allow himself to be a little less guarded. It was nice to be attended to by people acting of their own free will, and having never encountered this people before there might be much for him to learn about their health, anatomy, and knowledge of intoxicants and poisons.

He walks around the settlement, taking stock of the general health of the population and scanning for anything resembling a healer. He also tries to spot what might pass for a school, or a place where children congregate. After the last village, he was curious to see how the youngest of any people were being indoctrinated and what it could indicate about local culture.

Cithrel must work quickly. The dying light in the east will be gone in mere minutes. Cithrel does have some tricks up their sleeve: the earth emits just enough magical energy for the outlines of distant peaks to be visible. Contrasting that with the murmur of energy from the surrounding gaiasphere and there's just enough ambient "light" to complete the surveying work.

~

Draern's work is easy. The biggest challenge is interference from the goblin-folk who insist on helping with the gathering of sticks and bark unless they're explicitly told to frag off. They watch Draern closely, studying his technique. Not only is it an audience but it is an unusually attentive one.

~

Drace observes the villagers. His general conclusion is "strong backs, weak minds". The majority seem to be miners and have a semi-permanent stoop to show for it. There are many repetitive-motion injuries, but also some impressive shoulders and biceps. Their minds are basic; only a few speak Trade Cant, and most of them aren't terribly good at it. The spokes-goblin is by far the most fluent.

Some small goblin-kin eyes watch Drace from their low-ceiling huts. Drace discerns a struggle among the parents: to get their wee ones down for bed, or to let them see the fabled Sky-Men. The latter seems to win out in the end. Babies and children are brought forth, seemingly for Drace's blessing. Their little eyes stare up at him in abject wonder, interspersed with deep yawns due to the darkening hour.

Drace doesn't identify a school. Sanitation seems to be poor, which is to say he doesn't notice any communal latrines. Goblins seem to relieve themselves wherever it is convenient to do so. No food grows locally, so they must be hunting and gathering in the valleys below, or perhaps they use some of their mineral wealth to trade for necessities.

Speaking of mineral wealth, they seem to have taken it upon themselves to gather the bags full of copper and to deliver them directly to the Tower. Nobody asked them to do this as far as you can tell; they seem to be doing it of their own volition. The skeleton guards, observing your interactions, seem to have decided to let them little goonies pass. There's a heap of copper coins and nuggets steadily accumulating in the bottom of the Tower, and the never-ending procession of goblins leading from the village to the Tower and back again strongly suggests that the pile will continue to grow.

Cithrel observes the proceedings with interest and begins to note a few of the same things Drace has. They discuss this state of affairs with the Healer and begin taking some notes. "Perhaps we can repay their kindness and show ourselves worthy of their admiration. There are definitely a few things that could, um," they say as they watch a goblin relieve themselves against the side of a hut, "be worth reforming..."

Over the course of the evening, Cithrel starts drawing up plans. They are unsure if the goblin-kin will take well to them, but the exercise keeps their mind busy and soothes their discomfort with their hosts' adoration.

Unlike Cithrel, Draern is starting to take a liking to be treated as a king and he basks in the admiration. His hole life, he was following orders or buckled under the ones above, or after him. Now for the first time he is the one in charge and applies what he experienced to the ones following his orders.
Accordingly, during the feast, he always has a one or two goblins attending to his every wish.
The next morning, he starts working on his improvements of the tower. Taking a group of goblin folks to the forest, he finds straight trees, fells them and has them carried back to the tower. There he starts cutting the trees into planks for the shelves he has planed for the entrance hall, the storage to be.

<<Night - Day 20 - Early Spring - The Moonlit Tower - Wilderness>>

It is night. The goblin-folk have roasted the mountain goat caught by Draern. They are dancing and singing and feasting. The goat is a special treat for them and seems to amplify their revelry. Although they are simple folk, they seem to be familiar with fermented beverages. They drink and fart and generally get sloppy, although it is clear they are having a good time.

You seem to be the center of the celebration, as the goblin-kin toast your long-awaited arrival. They do whatever you ask and - far from being annoyed - seem to be delighted by any task you assign them. In fact, giving them things to do seems to trigger a state of excitement bordering on rapture. Perhaps there is a moment or two when they struggle to perfectly understand Trade Cant, but once the notion has been conveyed they fulfill the request with great zeal.

A small hill of copper coins have been delivered to Omirius' tower. Omirius has not emerged from the tower and seems to be content to stay indoors. The tower is scheduled to leave the following evening at sunset so you have a bit of time to decide what to do.

"Sky-men," the goblin spokesperson says obsequiously with a bow with the others dance around you in a festive circle, "we know from the stories that you will not stay for long. When might we hope for your return?"

Cithrel clears their throat. In their hands, they're holding a stack of parchment affixed to thin wooden boards held together with coarse string. "We have prepared revelations for you, to thank you for your faith and hospitality." They untie the string and show the spokesperson the first of the board. On it, they had drawn simple diagrams explaining the process of building a latrine. "This one will teach you how to have a cleaner, healthier village."

They hold up another board. That one had diagrams with instructions on basic agricultural concepts and crop rotation using plants Cithrel had seen around the village. The third board they show has instructions on how to build sturdier huts. "Tomorrow, I will explain it all to you to make sure it's all clear. Once we have left, we will only return once you have learned all of these lessons."

It felt wrong, playing to the goblin-folk's superstitions, but nothing Cithrel had done or said had managed to shake their faith. At least, this way, it could serve to better their lot.

The party immediately stops when the little goblins realize that they are being presented with gifts by the Sky-Men. Their jaws drop and their eyes go wide and they quickly gather to venerate the thin wooden boards.

"Sky-Men... have blessed us... with instructions?" the spokes-goblin says with abject wonder.

The spokes-goblin studies the boards. "Sky-Men wish for us to... make water only in certain pre-specified places?" he asks somewhat rhetorically while studying the first board. "Well that will be tremendously inconvenient..." he trails off, before his eyes dart to Cithrel to see if they have noted his momentary resistance. "But it will be done!" he finishes with revolutionary fervor.

He stands and holds up the boards as the others gather around him in a ring. He gives a fast speech in the local gibberish language. The goblins oo and ah at the imparted knowledge. At the conclusion of the speech, they leap to their feet and race into action! The fact that its night and pitch black has no bearing on their zeal. Within moments, pickaxes are being swung and holes are being dug and rocks are being moved. Their work is energetic to the point of being feverish.

"Thank you, Sky-Men!" the spokes-goblin says with a deep, reverential bow. "You do us too much honor!"

The party is now over; it's time for the goblins to work.

Drace watches the goblin-folk relentless mobilization with admiration. "Ants having found sugar," he remarks. "I would like to back here on occasion to observe their development. This could be a formidable..." He shared a look with Draern before continuing, knowing better than to call the village a resource - Cithrel would not like that not one bit. "Exercise in catalyzing social development.  Would that be possible?"

He was not sure what use could be made of these little people, and so worst case they would simply improve their lot. There were worst things that they could be doing during their travels.

"Could've waited until after the dinner with your fancy speech, eh?" , Draern mumbles grumpily under his breath, as all goblins rush away towards Cithrel. The two goblins he had commanded to serve him, even dropped what they were carrying. He gets up with a curse on his lips, when he feels something wet on his hand. Rima's wet nose touches him and when he looks down into her eyes an overwhelming feeling of longing and sadness washes over him. He has been so consumed in preparing his little revolution, his kingdom, he forgot where he came from. He shares a knowing, albeit slightly guilty look with Drace and then adds "We have to go. We will be back. Tomorrow, maybe.." He turns around as he is and he follows Rima into the darkness.

They have been running for hours now. Draern just follows Rima into the woods, past dark groups of trees, across small creeks, around lakes glittering in the moon light. Away from the goblin village, the air is fresh, clean and as he realises revitalising. The dark, grumpy thoughts blown away, he keeps running with Rima until his lungs are burning.

They sit on a large boulder, overseeing a small valley. Draern can feel the sadness is gone from his companion and made place for satisfaction and relief. "I'm sorry old girl. I forgot about you."
After a while, they continue slower, again Draern lets Rima lead the way. He knows she will lead them back to the camp, because she knows he wants it. But it will be a longer walk.

The Sky-Men are not completely abandoned by the goblin-folk. A few goblins remain behind to ensure that the Sky-Men are warm, fed, and have as much to drink as they want.

Cithrel's grandeur keeps the elf warm and comfortable regardless of the conditions. They have no trouble resting wherever or whenever they wish to rest.

Drace is not so fortunate in terms of his magicks. But the goblins that remain behind keep the fire stoked and layer animal skins on him until he is warm. He can sleep in the village or in the tower, wherever he prefers.

Draern, in comparison, has a cold night ahead of him. The terrain is composed of hills and mountains and the spring season is not so advanced that all the snows have melted. While it does not rain overnight, there is a bitter wind that cuts through the valleys and races up the hillsides. Walking helps keep Draern warm, but only up to a point. To be comfortable he'll need a fire and some sort of shelter. Neither are a challenge for an accomplished woodsman like himself.

Rima is able to catch as many rabbits as she wants. They are called "forest snacks" for a reason. The only downside is that they make a wailing, piteous cry between the time they are caught and when they are dispatched.

Overnight, the goblins work themselves to exhaustion. They finally collapse in the middle of the night, many of them falling over in the ditches they are digging. If Cithrel tours the village they will find that the goblins are following their directions. Nobody would confuse the little goobers for engineers but their labor is practiced and focused. Ditches have been dug and some rudimentary walls are being formed with gathered stones. Given the goblin's enthusiasm, Cithrel imagines that the latrines will be complete within the day.

<<Morning - Day 21 - Early Spring - Goblin Village - Wilderness>>

In the morning, the goblins slowly rouse themselves, then rebuke themselves for their exhaustion. They offer an unending stream of apologies to the Sky-Men, flagellating themselves for their stupidity and their work ethic. Their intelligence might be questioned by their work ethic is beyond rebuke. They eat and drink as they work, then stop to relieve themselves in their newly-dug ditches. They smile and proudly present their expulsions to Cithrel. To the best of Drace's knowledge, they appear to be healthy excretions.

Whatever the goblins had planned for the day, they're not doing it. There's a village-wide effort to construct the latrines to Cithrel's specifications. A few remain to serve the Sky-Men and others tend to the children who are too young to work, but otherwise they're full-speed ahead at implementing Cithrel's plans.

In terms of crops, Cithrel has noticed some isolated patches of hardy cereals: rye, barley, and oats. The plans are not segregated but instead mixed together. There are also a good number of potato plants. These are also haphazardly placed rather than systematically planned and planted. There are also some carrots, radishes, and turnips, plus some sort of squash plant that Cithrel has never seen before.

With the communal, collective effort of the village, the latrines quickly come together.

It becomes apparent that the Sky-men will leave tonight. The goblin-folk appear to be saddened by this development but they don't try to talk you out of it. They seem to have expected it.

After lunch Cithrel walks the village through basic agricultural concepts plus instructions on how to build sturdier huts. She has a captive audience who listen with rapt attention. There is, of course, a question of how much they collectively understand given their limited Trade Cant, but the spokes-goblin is there and occasionally translates some of the more esoteric concepts into the goblin-tongue. The notion of fertilizer, for example, is challenging to express in Trade Cant and it takes a few different approaches to convey the matter accurately. Accurately-ish. They seem quite fascinated by fertilizer - "oo"ing and "ahh"ing in a way that might seem sarcastic from another audience - to the point where you wonder if it is being embellished in the translation.

When that's done, there's a farewell feast for the Sky-Men at dinner. There are roasted animals and singing and celebration. You are objects of worship and at this point that the goblins encourage you to return soon.

"It has been so long, Sky-Men," the spokesgoblin says with a reverent bow. "We had to wait so long for your arrival. Not since my father's father father's father's..." He counts on his fingers but then runs out of fingers so he ends after ten fathers. "...since the Sky-Men grace us with their presence. Please, let it not be so long next time. Let it be one lifetime instead of ten so that the stories about you may stay fresh and live and grow! Just like the foodstuffs planted in feces." He smiles at his fertilizer metaphor.

You have no idea how long they live and so have little clue how much of a timespan the little creature is conveying.

After the feast, they accompany you back up to the Tower, singing and dancing all the way. You step inside and see the generous mound of copper and silver that they've piled up in the entryway of the Tower. It's up to your knee, which is about as tall as the little goblin-folk themselves.

The goblins wave and cheer and weep and lament. You catch tears streaming down their faces as you look back before the doors close. Then the skeleton guards of the Tower step inside, the doors slam shut with excessive force, and the goblins are gone.