Hand of God (Quasi-SI)

[Donk]

2.02


Say what you will about riding a cart, it's goddamn boring. It was nice and all for the first hour or two, but things sort've tapered off until I was half asleep in the saddle. (Comfortable cushioned seat.) Times like these are when I would pull out a book and settle in for some light reading, but the only book I own is one for studying more magic. There's only so much you can hum or sing before your mouth gets dry.

At least the weather is nice, the mild snowstorms of past have left for the time being.

Case in point, barren hills and plains of snow for miles. Captain's log, day five. No intelligent life forms spotted. Morale is low. I believe the crew may be planning a mutiny. Snuffles keeps looking at me funny. I may have gotten through his disguise and discovered he, is in fact, a… horse!

Hey, look! Houses!

Well, cabins by the look of it. All spread out o'r the place. Nobody out and about, but that's to be expected in the winter times. By my account the- yep. Thankfully my navigational skills while subpar are up to snuff when all you have to do is follow the road. First route on my circuit through the country of Tristel.

According to my handy dandy map, it's the small hamlet of Hillsbury. Judging by the many hills, it's an apt name. Keep in mind, most of this is a rough translation. Months like September and January are eschewed in. This place actually has thirteen months, for some strange reason blah polar orbits blah blah. I don't even pretend to know the science behind why or what.

Anyway, Hillsbury is a hamlet attached to an actual town called Achre a few leagues away. Supports it with agriculture while the main town itself quarries the local hills for marble. Neat little system, actually. The majority of the cottages I'm seeing are built from stone, likely a result.

It's still a ghost town.

Only upon reaching the actual hamlet itself do I find something approaching activity. Snow has been shoveled and footprints litter the area. Seems to be a sort've half concentric half randomly placed grouping of buildings all centered around the strange tower emplaced in the middle. Four or five stories, has sort've a castle feel.

"Hello?" I query, breath frosting in the air as I urge Snuffles to stop thereabouts from the tower. Most of the market stands I can see have been taken down, dismantled and put away. The few left are forlornly covered in snow, empty of anything valuable. (Not that I would steal shit. Come on.) "Excuse me, anyone home?"

Silence.

"Welcome, stranger," a voice that scares the shit out of me says, belonging to a man who sidesteps from behind the tower. An older gentleman sporting a Santa Claus-like beard.

"Fffff- hello there," I reply, swallowing down the curse. "This is Hillsbury, aye? I mean, the hills make it obvious and the map has the tower on it so I imagined this is the place." The old man nods, eyeing down my cart, my horse, and myself.

"Indeed it is. Are ye a merchant?" he asks, curiously glancing to my ladened cart.

"Ah. No, I'm actually here to assist the town and support its endeavours. Part of a new, ah, system employed by the King." I smile awkwardly and point down to the red cross on my chest. "Government sponsored healer and cleric. I guess. Got the papers right here if you'd like to check them," I say, fumbling through the pouch at my waist.

The old man is… well, I can't tell what he's thinking. He simply nods before taking a glance at the papers. They have the King's seal and signature. Not that he's met the King. It looks official enough, at least to my own eye. "So… yeah, I'm here to help. Any injured, sickly or in need of assistance? I can drop off rations if some people don't have enough to last. Heh. Recently learned Mending so I can fix things too!"

God I'm so awkward. You are merely inexperienced, son.

"Hm…" the old man ponders before giving me a smile in return. "I am Hodrik, unofficial 'elder' of the village." He grumbles a bit, something about 'barely even fifty years old' before gesturing to a pole. "Tie up your steed there. You're weary and cold from the road, aye? The town has an inn, or rather, a meeting house that serves the job. The least we can do is offer warm drink and food."

"Thank you, much appreciated," I say with appreciation. As good as the wide cloak on my back is, it certainly isn't a space heater or anything. The mug of warm tea I had a few hours ago didn't quite last either. I follow after Rodrik after briefly tying up Muffles and leaving him some oats.

The building he leads me to is one of the larger ones, built from rough hewn stone and timber. As the door is open, a whumpf of warm air washes over the both of us, sending chills down my spine as noise and laughter emanates. The room is sort've like one of those viking beer halls, with long tables and plenty of people gathered around to drink and chatter. In the center lies the large open fire pit, and boy is it hot. I certainly make sure to leave the cloak near the rackets.

Rodrik leads me to one of the tables, gathered there a bunch of, well, old people. Varying from late forties to low eighties, most of them are beyond their prime and seem to have moved on to a political position in their retirement. People seem to respect them, at least.

"Who's 'at 'od'rek?" one of the men without teeth asks, his skin aged but his eyes hard. "S'from the Capital. No, not a taxman." The table seems to relax slightly, looking less hostile by the second. Rodrik pauses to hail a waitress while I take an awkward seat between two grandmotherly folk.

"Mmm… he looks highborn, Maisey, and he's fed well. He'd do great for Freyja's daughter. Yes?" They both cackle a little and I'm certainly sweating beneath my tunic.

"Ah… sorry, not here for any marriages or taxations or levies. I'm part of a new project, a government sponsored cleric sent to help out in the neighboring villages and hamlets. First of my order, I suppose. I do healing, and I can offer supplies and can fix broken things."

"Leave the poor boy alone you two cougars. Business first. He asked for sick and injured people. Anything on the grapevine?" Rodrick asks, letting the group gaggle about, exchanging words. "Timothy's son is sick. Might not make it through the winter," one offers. "Rodrick (not you Rodrick) broke his arm falling off the roof of his home. He'd appreciate the help," another says.

I nod before writing the various requests and offers in my handy-dandy ledgerbook. Turns out they've got a magic sort've pen. Cheap to make too. It's certainly a lot easier than quill and ink.

"Mmm… another thing you should know. We've been losing chicken and even a few sheep lately. There've been reports of little green men seen in the dark late at night. Goblins. They must've set up a camp in the area and are coasting through winter on our hard earned crop. While they ain't attacked anything, it's still a danger."

"Ah… Goblins? I'm not, ah, a fight-"

You must go. Cleanse this land. Protect them.

"Hah-hah… Goblins you say? I'm sure I can take care of a few grumpkins, what's the worst that could happen?"

 

[Donk]

2.03


It's as I apply healing energy through a small boy's body that I realise I have no idea how to fight, or beat a bunch of goblins. (The sickness in question is a simple cold, one easily treatable.) Depending on the kind of goblin available, I could be royally fucked. Then again they could also be weak little green men I can squash under my boot. I'd give it fifty fifty chances. Never actually read anything on the local 'wildlife' so I'm sort've going in blind.

Now would be a great time for my shonen powers to manifest.

"He'll be weak for another few days at most, but he's young and will bounce back quick. I recommend eating fruit at least once a week, and I'll also be leaving a package just for that. Nutri- oh, hello." I said, lost in the jargon for a few moments before I was hugged tightly, a flurry of 'thank you thank you' hitting me square in the face. It's nice and all, but I'm just not good with thanks.

Before I attempt to leave, something wooden is thrust into my face. A small, carved boat. "Thank you sir," the boy, one Jo, in a still weak voice says. "Take it." Ah. His mother shoves the boat into my hands, vigorously shaking them up and down before letting go and standing back. "Well… okay, thanks kid. I'll keep it safe."

Minutes later finds me leaving, a small wooden boat tucked into my pocket. With that last patient, my procrastination comes to an end and I'm forced to confront the situation at hand. To the east, among the empty hills lies a small band of goblin. Ten to fifteen at least, all preying on the lone farms and homes as they ride out the winter. My hand fondles the small wooden object as I begin to walk, unsure of what to do.

Many paths lie before you. What will you choose? The path of the warrior or the diplomat? The healer or the killer?

Not sure, Father. Can goblins even talk? Sure, some versions are able, but most are barbaric monsters that just need to be put down. Besides, even if I could roll a good speech check, there's no way for them to stay here. Ugh. Troubling. Hell, I don't even know how to track down a band of things anyway. I just started walkin-

Hey, look, a tower!

Huh. Similar enough to the one in Hillsbury, but noticeably different. Old, for that one. Crumbling partially, with layers of lichen coiling up its length. It's a shame I don't have any binoculars, or a camera. It's certainly a sight to see it rising above the hills, backdropped by the waning sun.

Eventually after yet more walking, I reach the tower. Empty, at least currently. There's definitely signs of habitation. Scraps of food, I think. (Gross.) Other knick-knacks. Some assholes broke the door down, but then again it could just be some squatter. Or teenagers. Entering the tower itself leads to the problem of the stairs themselves being broken. No way up. What little furniture left is also in the same condition. Empty too.

Welp, time for magic.

Divination is a useful tree of magic, certainly useful for figuring things out. I take a kneeling position on the stones before grasping my only piece of jewelry, one special little iron star before channeling energy and thinking really hard. That's sort've what magic is. No chanting unless you're specifically doing religious work. Just hard focus and thinking. Two circles of light form, before my eyes light up.

Flickers of images come to me as I look over the towe- oh. Looks like I was right when I assumed teenagers came here because that's lewd as fuck. Anyway, past happenings flicker in and out of the past. The workers building the tower. Soldiers and scouts actively using it. Falling into disarray and being abandoned. Goblins gathering around campf- oh, goblins! The spell gives out and I slump over, a little tired.

They are gone. Their meanderings only stay for days, at most.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," I mutter before standing back up and shaking dust off of my breeches. Mmm… oh, I know just the thing. More divination, hopefully a little clearer and easier this time. After casting, my eyes are drawn to the many, many footprints that litter the ground. Glowing a bright orange, they're easy to spot but there's too many to track just one. Save for goblin feet.

They were certainly here, but came and went. There's a path of orange leading away from the tower, heading Eastwards. Shouldn't be too hard to find them now.

Another twenty minutes of walking and I start to hear noises. High pitched yelps and growls, followed by the frantic clucking of several chickens. And one dog barking its head off. My walk turns into a sprint as I clutch the talisman in my hand tight, adrenaline starting to flow.

Gods, they're ugly little bastards. Children's bodies and too large heads, their skin is a dark and mottled green. What little clothing they wear isn't even scraps. While several of them raid a chicken house, others are focused on harassing the lone mutt, jabbing at it with their spears and drawing blood. You asses just lost a lotta points.

"Oi!" I call before beginning to cast. Bright lights appear above my shoulders in a semicircle pattern. Seven orbs of light rotate in place before blasting off, leaving me sluggish. The magic missiles hone in on their targets before impacting with the force of a hard punch, sending seven of the little gits sprawling. "Stand down! Or there'll be more from me. You goblins understand boom? Big boom."

They're stunned by the display of force, most of them scrambling backwards and away. The poor dog whimpers as it recognizes a person, ambling to my side and away from the evil gits. At this point I realize we're at a Mexican Standoff. There's twelve of them and one of me. Sure, I have super powers, but they also have pointy objects. I'm a defenseless caster. Can't really focus on spells when you're being jabbed full of holes.

Troubling. I think back to the earlier comment from Father. Sure, I could kill them and be praised for my efforts or I could do the right thing.

While not absolved of sin, they are not to be blamed for their state.

"You guys… are you hungry?"

 

[Donk]

2.04


Ah, food. The great equalizer. Everyone understands food, and everyone will accept a meal, regardless of race, gender, or place of birth. Unless you, like, don't eat food I guess. The metaphor kind of falls flat when you get to things that have no concept of food.

Though my question might have blue-screened these goblins.

"Human… no kill?" the largest of the group asked. Well, large compared to the others. He only reached up to four and a half feet tall. "No kill," I responded. This confuses them even more. While they all pondered the meaning of life or whatever is it goblins do, I slowly show my hands and bend the knee, examining the poor dog. A chocolate labrador riddled with small cuts, his fur matted with blood and dirt. Thankfully none of the injuries seem deadly or critical, and it's a simple task to apply healing energies.

As I slowly try and clean the dog off with a few rags, I look back up at the goblins. "I'm not going to kill you. I just want you to stop hurting other people. What better way than to make a good meal? Everyone enjoys a good meal." I nod my head. "I'm no warrior or monster hunter. Just a friendly medic."

"Why you no kill?" he asks after a few more moments of silence.

"Because killing is wrong." I reply.

"But…" one of the other goblins speaks, scratching his skull. "Killing good? Killing make survive. Why human lie?"

"I'm not lying. It's what I believe and it's what I strive to teach others. Look at it this way, from an efficiency perspect- wait, that's a little too complicated… huh, breaking into villages and stealing things is not a good way to do things. Would you rather eat, what, scraps of chicken? Or hearty and fulfilling meals? Wear nice clothes so you're not cold in this snow. Other things that you can't experience, scrabbling in the dirt with meager thievery."

Again, you can almost hear the gears turning in their heads as they think about it. Has nobody really actually tried to… y'know, speak to them and try and make things right? I suppose when they're literal monsters, nobody really tried. Or they did try and were unable to make a proper charisma check.

"We…" the main goblin says before stopping as another flurry of words are sent to one another. The goblin language is a little… crude, if I might say. While they have relatively high pitched voices there's certainly a lot of guttural barking and grunting. To be expected if I'm honest. "Great. I'll be ready in a minute, I've got to speak to whoever owns this place. You can ah… take the already dead chickens with us. Don't kill anymore."

Leaving the gobbos with that, I stride up towards the house, dog following my heels. It takes a bit of knocking, but eventually the door is unbarred and an older man peers out from the crack. "Are… are they gone?" he queries, taking a glance before jerking back again as he spots the small horde of goblins aimlessly standing around.

"Oi, oi, oi. It's okay. I talked them out of it. And, ah, here." I dig around for a few moments before pulling out a small handful of golden coins. "This should cover the costs." Yet again I'm being stared at blankly, this time by more human eyes. "Oh, and your dog, he's okay now. Why didn't you let him inside?"

The man sheepishly looks away, mumbling something about 'not enough time' before glancing back into his house. "You… keep the dog and go away please. I don't know what you want but thank you for the coin." The door is slammed shut. I look down towards the dog who whines at me. "Whelp, looks like you're coming too. Hungry?" The dog perks up at that, tail wagging.

It's a bit of a chore to lead the entourage of goblins back to the tower. Every five to ten minutes one of them gets distracted by something, or tries to start a fight, or some other frivolous act. Sheesh, they're like a bus full of kids. I do learn more about them at least. Their leader has taken on the moniker of 'Scar' by the frankly pitiful scar on his left cheek. It's tiny, yet he demands I call him by that. One of the others calls himself Chisel. With a stolen chisel, he has assumed the role of engraver. And by that, he mostly just writes graffiti on stone things. Was actually in the process of writing 'chizl wuz here' on the farmer's house.

Eventually we arrive at the Tower mentioned earlier. It's as good a place as any to set up shop. Since my arrival in Tristel, my skills as a cook have risen beyond their feeble status and ascended into Godhood. Okay, I'm not the greatest, but I can cook a mean rasher of bacon. No longer am I limited to frozen pizza and ramen noodles, preparing a good meal is easy and a natural routine. Speaking of cooking, roughly forty percent of my backpack is filled with the equipment and supplies necessary to make a meal.

As I clean, gut, and prepare the seven or so chickens slain (may their sacrifice be not in vain), I explain the process to several other goblins who seems moderately interested. By their record, they just hack meat into pieces and cook the result. Sometimes not even that. I shake my head as I continue, using the wood gathered by the group to set up a large barbecue.

While the food cooks, I procure a few fruits and vegetables before offering up apple slices to the group. It's a… mixed bag, but some seem to enjoy the red fruit. Next comes the dinnerware. I stole a bunch of bricks and cleaned them off with heat. They'd serve as decent plates. Chicken was meant to be eaten by hand anyways.

There might be no A1 steak sauce, but I like to think my collection of herbs and spices applied to a well cooked chicken leg knocked their socks off. If they had socks any to begin with. No, wait, Alder (one of the goblins who really likes trees) has socks. Unfortunately they were not knocked off when they experienced good food.

Still, to them it was a five star dinner produced by the greatest swedish cook to live.

The sides of what few greens I had was modest, but to be fair only a few were unpicky enough to try it, myself included. Dog enjoyed the bones and meat I supplied him as well. As for his situation, well… I'll keep him. I've also decided to unceremoniously name him Dog. Dog is a great name. It's not like they can speak or not, so it's reasonable on my part.

Bellies full, we all relax as the sun sets. They're a decent bunch, these Gobbos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's 2.04 done. You can expect the next chapter within' one to two days, depending on how The Muse is functioning. She is a fickle creature, prone to random bouts of destruction and creation.

 

[Donk]

While I might post this thing over on SB, a huge audience isn't the sort of thing I'm looking for. Plus it's a bit more comfortable here.

Anyway, 2.05 is done like dinner. Expect the next on within' one to two days, Muse permitting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2.05

"What," is the only response I get from Hodrik as he stares blankly at myself and the entourage of goblins behind me. And Dog. More bluescreens of death. He stares more as I awkwardly scratch my head, kind of tired of the whole 'wat' routine put up by everyone. It's to be expected, I guess.

"Before you… y'know, freak out, just try and listen to me for a minute? Let me speak my mind and explain my actions?" I say before continuing with my spiel. "Goblins are people too. They think, they breath, they eat, they talk. They do all the things a sapient being does… and while, sure, they're 'savage' and 'barbaric' us humans were just the same a few thousands years ago. We didn't start out building castles and serving five star dinners."

More speechlessness. "Oh yeah, and this is Dog." I point down to the animal in question, smiling as I scratch his chin.

"Anyway…" I say, "I'll pay for the damages they might have caused. All of it. From chickens stolen to property busted, I'll cover it for them. For your part of the deal I want assurance that you won't just, form an angry mob and kill all of them. Do the right thing, sir. Killing the lot of them is wrong. If you do a good deed, others in turn will do good deeds. If I help these goblins out they'll go on to, I don't know, stop other goblins from being evil."

Rodrik grits his teeth as he recovers, one hand wiping his face down. "I… I was expecting you to send 'em into the hills, kid. Not form a- a parade of freaks!"

I hold a hand up, frowning. "They're not freaks. They're people. Living beings. They have names."

"Aaaagh!" he groans. "I don't understand you at all, boy. Why'd you e-"

"'Scuse meh," a high pitched voice calls out.

Rodrik stares as one of the goblins step forward, Scar. "Good human come to us… and is nice. No one nice before. He feed good food. Is good. Make goblin re-reeelaiz being bad is bad. Shuld be good. You be good too?"

More blank stares.

Rodrik breathes in. And breathes out. "Ffffffffine. Gods above… Okay, ah," he pauses.

"Name is Scar," Scar responds.

"Okay, Scar… I'll try as long as you try. And no more killing chickens. Those are the town's life blood." Rodrik says, obviously hesitant. Scar nods right back, confidence gained after a morning spent teaching him about how to talk better.

After that was a bit of discussion and preparation. I called in a few of the favors I had earned, mostly spent gathering old children's clothing and outfitting the circus. That, and giving them a bath. You can't imagine how better things were after they were clean and not wearing rags. Instead of little monsters, they looked like… well, still monsters. Less so, I suppose. Some of them even looked cute all bundled up.

Reception was… so-so. While I had a fair bit of respect, that doesn't automatically remove years worth of knowing 'goblin equals bad'. A few people did try and warm up to the goblins, though. Jo and his mother Catherine for one. A few of the elders as well. While a touch rude, the goblins did their best to try and be nice.

My wallet on the other hand… kinda got tanked.

Unfortunately a good portion of my funds set aside for this venture have been drained, and while necessary to boost the good will of the villagers towards the goblins, kind of sucks. I mean, I probably wasn't going to use my riches for anything but it was nice having it… Oh well.

After introductions and cleanings, we gathered at the meeting hall for early dinner and discussion. One of the major problems plaguing the goblin crew is the fact that they have no jobs. With no way to earn money, they're kind've a bunch of homeless louts.

Industry and hard work paves a path through the future.

I get it, Father. They need jobs. No need for cryptic messages.

"So… before we move on I should ask all of you what your talents are. Ah, talents are things you are good at. Like, Chisel can carve with his chisel… good. Well, he could probably get better with time and a good teacher. Are any of you good at hunting?"

A few more stares, a bit of mumbling in goblinese, and a few raise their hands. Frog, Night, and Steve. Don't ask me where he got the name Steve from because even the other goblins don't know. "Good. You three could learn more about hunting and become professional. Good-er at your job. Bring fresh meat to the town by hunting down deer and other foresty animals."

"Din't yew say killin' is bad?"

"Ah. I did… didn't I? Okay, that's sort've complicated so bear with me." I sigh before gathering my thoughts. "A lot of things have life. The grass. The flowers, you, myself, the trees. Deer, rabbits, and wolves. All of these are given life by the Gods above. And while, yes, killing is bad… killing is necessary sometimes. So long as you do so respectfully and do not waste what is given. It can be taken away but not given back. Just think on it for a while."

So few know this to be true, but spreading it will bring life to bloom.

The rest of the conversation dwindles down as we receive food, mostly me handling things with Rodrik and talking to a few of the goblins about what their requested occupation might entail. While a simple dish, the local fare is good, especially when cooked with a personal touch. I make sure to send my regards to the local chef, Erlay.

A note to self. Don't give the goblins alcohol ever again.

It only brings doom.