The Goblin Hunter

Shaking. Heart hammering against his ribs. Bugguz squinted from behind the jagged boulder. The wagon was here. So close. The leather of the reins squeaked loud in the canyon quiet. His dagger—sticky with rust and something older—felt slick in his clammy palm. Jump out now. The thought clawed at his limited mind. Stab. Grab shiny stuff. He resisted. He knew better. The first goblin to show his face... was the first goblin to get cut. Finally, the heavy carriage wheels ground over the last rocky patch. The ambush zone. Still, no goblins moved. No one wanted to bear the risk. The plump merchant driving the wagon suddenly pulled hard on the reins, bringing the horse to a nervous halt. His voice, high and reedy, cracked into the night. "Did you hear that? Was that a noise?" Fear. Bugguz heard the tremor in the human's voice. The fear emboldened the goblins. The tense silence shattered. Screaming a cacophony of war cries, the goblin pack erupted from the shadows. "Dying time!" One cackled near the horse's head, waving a brutal cleaver. "We take shiny things! We get! We get!" another screeched, scrambling over the rock face. The two humans in the driver's seat screamed in unison. Their faces went pale as bone. But just as quickly as the goblin horde had charged, they stopped short. The front rank skidded to a halt, suddenly uncertain. Each one eyed the others, the initial surge of courage evaporating. No one, it seemed, wanted to be the first one to actually strike the humans. The mercenary drew his steel sword, brandishing the blade with a fierce, desperate arc toward the closing pack of goblins. The creatures edged closer, snarling with jagged teeth, only to dart backward when the blade flashed, playing a cruel game of cat-and-mouse. "Get back, you wretched fiends!" the mercenary shouted, though his voice dripped with an unmistakable tremor of panic. That fear was all the encouragement the pack needed. Emboldened by his terror, the goblins darted closer, taking bolder and more aggressive risks. "I'm not afraid of you foul beasts! Retreat or die!" the mercenary yelled, his knuckles white around the hilt. But the goblins could hear the raw anxiety echoing beneath his bravado. They cackled wildly, jabbing their crude spears and rusty daggers toward the men, lunging forward and snapping their teeth before springing back just out of reach. They relentlessly mocked the humans, their confidence swelling with every anxious stammer. Finally, breaking through the hesitant circle, one of the goblins nicked the merchant, and the wealthy traveler let out a sharp cry of terror. The scream giving the goblins the courage they needed. As the horde converged for the kill, the merchant seized the moment, driving the heavy wagon lurching forward just in time. The carriage surged ahead, and the goblins broke into a wild, frenzied chase. They were originally supposed to have surrounded the wagon from all angles, but in their chaotic, greedy scramble, they had somehow all ended up bunched together in a single mass. Teeth bared and weapons brandished high, the goblins rushed after the fleeing wagon as fast as their legs could carry them down the rugged mountain trail. A heavy cargo wagon, weighed down with chests and treasures, was never built for breakneck chases across jagged, unforgiving mountain terrain. Disaster struck in a heartbeat: the front wheel slammed into a protruding boulder, splintering wood and snapping spokes in a violent crack. Panicked screams tore from the throats of the two men as they abandoned the lurching vehicle, leaping desperately from the carriage to flee. Instantly, the bloodthirsty horde of goblins surged forward, eyes wide and teeth bared, moving in for the kill. All of them, that is, except for Bugguz. Bright metal. Running meat. No—food back here. While the rest of the pack chased the fleeing humans into the moonlight, Bugguz scrambled low and rushed behind the wagon, single-mindedly intent on securing his first dibs on the goods. While the distant screams echoed through the dark ravine, Bugguz struck paydirt. He sliced greedily into a thick slab of cured meat with his dagger, stuffing his jaws while a heavy wooden barrel tipped over, spilling golden ale across the rocky ground. With frantic, erratic thoughts clattering in his small skull, he gorged himself as fast as his teeth could tear, praying he could finish stuffing his belly before the other goblins realized what they were missing and came stampeding back. It didn't take long for the rest of the pack to abandon their phantom chase and swarm back to the broken wagon, their eyes locking onto the unguarded bounty. Within moments, the camp was a frenzy of guttural snorts and tearing teeth as they ravenously devoured the spoils of the ambush: blocks of aged cheese, hanging links of spiced sausage, and thick slabs of prime meat. It was a feast fit for royalty, devoured by scavengers. Bugguz paused, a chunk of salted beef half-chewed in his cheek, his small, beady eyes narrowing in irritation. They had come scurrying back far too soon. Not fair. Bugguz find first. "Maybe... they got the shiny-gold?" Bugguz rasped, his voice a low, gravelly whistle as he gestured wildly back up the trail. He hoped the mention of treasure would send the pack scuttling back to search the fleeing humans' pockets, giving him precious extra seconds to plunder the feast all to himself. The surrounding goblins completely ignored him, too busy stuffing their maws with dripping fat and stolen cheeses. Bugguz shoved another handful into his mouth, his cheeks bulging to their absolute limit. "They got pockets full of gold-bits!" he insisted around a spray of meat crumbs. Rekrek, elbow-deep in a looted chest draped with rich velvet, bared his yellow teeth and snarled over his shoulder. "Shut up, Bugguz." Bugguz was about to snap a bitter retort back at Rekrek when the feast abruptly ground to a halt. A high-pitched, warbling cry tore through the quiet mountain air, echoing sharply off the canyon walls: Ya-ya-heeeeeeee . Instantly, the entire pack froze. Jaws clamped shut on stolen meats, cheese wedges dangled forgotten from clawed hands, and dirty faces jerked upward in unison. Their wide, yellow eyes darted wildly across the rocky terrain, scanning the dark perimeter for unseen threats. Pagz twitched his torn ear, his snout wrinkling as he strained to locate the disturbance. "What make noise?!" he hissed in a harsh, rattling whisper, his shoulders hunching defensively over his plunder. Ya-ya-heeeeeeee —the piercing sound cut through the night a second time. There was no mistaking it; the shrill wail belonged to a woman. Bugguz felt a surge of irritation prickle through his chaotic mind, glaring into the dark shadows. "Why she make noise?" Bugguz demanded, his gravelly voice dripping with annoyance as he clutched his dagger tighter. Rekrek lowered his heavy head, his nostrils flaring as he tested the chill mountain breeze for scent. "Where is?" Rekrek rasped, his eyes narrowing as he scoured the cliffs. A figure rounded the rocky bend of the moonlit mountain path, clad in gleaming chain-mail that caught the silver glow of the night. Ya-ya-heeeeeeee , she warbled into the canyon once more, her high-pitched cry echoing sharply off the stone walls. Pagz blinked his yellow eyes, his snout twitching in total bewilderment. "She not see us?" he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp. "We kill! We will!" Rekrek growled, baring his fangs as he tightened his grip on his spea. Bugguz dropped low behind the splintered wagon wheel, his clammy hand tightening around the hilt of his rusty dagger. The woman continued her steady approach down the path. Bugguz swallowed hard, a knot of confusion twisting in his small gut. "She not see us?" he echoed nervously. "Hello goblins!" she called out cheerfully, her casual greeting sending a wave of confusion rippling through the pack. "Don't be afraid! I don't like delicious goblin soup!" The scavengers murmured among themselves, shifting restlessly against the piles of spilled golden ale, wheels of yellow cheese, and hanging links of spiced sausage. "We not afraid!" Pagz barked defensively, puffing out his scrawny chest. "That's good!" she replied, her tone uncomfortably bright as she closed the distance. "I have a treat for you." The goblins exchanged anxious, darting glances, their muscles coiled like springs. "What treat?" Minnow called out, his voice pitched high with skepticism. "I already said!" she chirped back, stepping closer under the moonlight. "Your favorite!" "What is treat?" Pagz demanded, his patience wearing thin. "I already said! Your favorite!" "She lying!" Minnow hissed, shaking his head frantically. "Lying!" Bugguz twitched, his mind racing through a tangled web of paranoid, disconnected thoughts. "Come closer and we kill you!" Rekrek bellowed, thrusting a clawed hand toward her. "Sorry! I can't hear you!" she called back innocently. A fresh wave of panic rippled through the group. "Lying! Lying!" Minnow hissed, his claws digging deeper into a block of stolen cheese. Ya-ya-heeeeeeee. Bugguz backed up another step, his scrambled thoughts colliding. She hearing. She lying. Lying! His eyes slid past her friendly smile, dropping lower, and locked onto the wicked curve of a heavy scythe held awkwardly behind her back. "Why have spear?" Minnow demanded, puffing up to try and sound brave, though his voice wavered. "It's my walking stick!" she answered with an absolute, beaming smile. A chorus of angry hisses erupted from the pack. "Lying! Lying!" They cackled and shuddered, a shivering mass of raw nerves. "You heard!" Pagz screamed, waving his arms wildly. "You heard us!" "What?" she called out, tilting her head, pushing the goblins even closer to the edge of panic. She lying! How she know treat? She lying! She hears! Bugguz repeated furiously to himself, his brain struggling to process the trickery. "That not walking stick! That spear!" Minnow shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. "Look, I'm using it to walk!" she responded cheerfully, taking another measured step forward. "You are hearing!" Pagz shrieked at the top of his lungs. "Come closer and we kill!" "What?" "Lying! Lying!" the entire pack of goblins screeched in unison, vibrating with frantic terror. The goblins stood entirely frozen, muscles locked tight as springs, completely paralyzed by how to react. The armored woman stepped closer, bending down with a wide, radiant smile, her bright eyes shining as though she were looking down at a cluster of adorable, wayward children. Who gets the first delicious treat?" she cooed, leaning forward and slowly scanning the huddled group with the tip of her spear. A collective shiver rippled through the pack, and the group backed away in unison. She paused, her smile widening as she extended the weapon, pointing the sharp spearhead directly at Mugz. "Do you want a treat? Very delicious!" she asked brightly. Mugz shook violently in sheer terror, his jaw slack as he whimpered, "What is treat?" Behind him, Bugguz’s thoughts spun in frantic, dizzying circles - spinning and spinning. He was so hopelessly confused that he didn't know what to do. He backed up even more, inching away until his spine pressed hard against the splintered wood of the wagon. Around the clearing, the goblins exchanged rapid, nervous glances—terrified to take their eyes off the grinning woman, yet desperately searching one another's faces to see if anyone else had the faintest idea what to make of this terrifying madness. " Surprise treat! " she suddenly yelled, pivoting with terrifying speed and driving her spear straight into Munk. Chaos exploded instantly. The goblins shrieked in absolute horror, slamming into one another as they desperately scrambled to escape, tripping over the spilled cheese and ale while she swung her heavy scythe and thrust her spear with a wide, manic grin. Bugguz bolted running as fast as he could. He slammed headlong into a fleeing companion, and another goblin smashed hard into his shoulder, sending him spinning wildly out of control. Frenzied and blind with terror, he righted himself and sprinted down the path as fast as his short legs could carry him. But panic had completely swallowed his senses; he paid no attention to where he was running, slamming violently headfirst into the rugged cliffside. Before he could push himself back up or clear his scrambled wits, a sudden, sharp, burning agony pierced straight through his back. Ya-ya-heeeeeeee. Candidus walked leisurely down the winding mountain trail, savoring one of the hunks of meat the goblins hadn't managed to spoil. Tucked safely in her pouch were eleven severed ears, a gruesome harvest that would net her twenty-two gold pieces—more than enough coin to sustain her for quite some time. The town of Fox Glove was drowning in a plague of greenskins, and with the local Lord having neglected the infestation for far too long, the bounty had swelled to staggering heights. To Candidus, however, the creatures were hardly a challenge at all; they were her specialized trade. The fundamental flaw of most novice warriors lay in their complete misunderstanding of goblin psychology. Knowing the creatures were inherently cowardly, foolish adventurers often made the fatal mistake of posturing, bellowing threats, or trying to intimidate them. But goblins, much like petty men, only saw such displays as an invitation to posture right back. They would feed on one another's erratic nerves, rapidly emboldening the pack until they snowballed into a chaotic, lethal swarm. Equally foolish was the choice of weaponry favored by wandering mercenaries. Swords, clumsy bows, and heavy maces were entirely unsuited for the task; the creatures were small, erratic, and constantly twitching, making them nearly impossible to strike with conventional blades or bludgeons. True goblin-hunters understood the geometry of the slaughter: a long, balanced spear was peerless for skewering them from a safe distance, while a curved scythe was devastatingly efficient against targets scurrying low to the ground. With eleven trophies secured and her belly full, Candidus strode onward through the moonlit pines, absolute master of a trade few others truly understood. As she walked on, she felt a fleeting pang of pity for the two men who had perished on the trail; the traveling merchant likely had no inkling that the region around Fox Glove was infested with goblins. Candidus could easily have reached them sooner, had the Adventurers' Guild not flatly refused to lend her a mount. Instead, they had demanded an upfront rental fee accompanied by a steep deposit. With only three lonely coppers clinking in her purse, she hadn't the slightest chance of securing a steed. She had argued fiercely that a horse would allow her to track down far more of the pests, but the Guild clerks didn't know her. They merely assumed she would abscond with the animal—or worse, that it would be torn apart by the horde while a lone woman foolishly tried to take on a troop of greenskins on her own. She sighed, cupping her free hand to her mouth. Ya-ya-heeeeeeee. The haunting, warbling cry pierced the cold mountain night, its sharp, mocking cadence echoing endlessly against the rugged canyon walls. But this was no mere vocalization; it was a calculated instrument of psychological warfare. To the wretched greenskins who had survived previous encounters with the solitary hunter, that specific, piercing resonance was an unmistakable harbinger of doom. The mere sound triggered an immediate, primal dread. Veterans of her previous hunts would instantly lock up, darting frantically for the shadows or collapsing into paralyzed cowering, their terror spreading through the troop like dry brush set ablaze. Once a goblin horde dissolved into a state of blind, unreasoning panic, their collective defense completely shattered—turning a dangerous pack into helpless prey, ripe for the picking. Plodding onward, she walked for several weary miles until the rugged canyon finally opened up into the quiet, rolling farmlands of Fox Glove. She drew in a deep, lung-filling breath of the cool night air, immensely relieved to finally be within reach of civilization. Soon, she would collect her bounty, treat herself to a lavish meal, secure a warm bed, and sink into a long-overdue bath. With a staggering sum of twenty-two gold pieces tucked away, she would be well-off for quite some time. As the distant, warm lights of the village flickered beneath the silver glow of the full moon, she could only hope the Guild office remained open this late. At last, the borders of Fox Glove emerged from the encroaching shadows of the night. With weary, aching legs, Candidus passed the town guards with a calm, polite nod, the sentries offering no questions to the seasoned hunter. She drifted through the winding, cobbled streets of the sleepy settlement, soaking in the midnight tranquility. Her peaceful passage was only briefly interrupted by the boisterous, raucous clamor spilling out from the Drunken Moon Tavern, where late-night patrons shouted over clinking mugs. Hurrying onward, she desperately prayed that the Adventurers' Guild office remained open; her dwindling pouch held a meager three coppers—a pitiful sum entirely inadequate for a warm room or a hot meal. As she bypassed the tavern, the noise quickly died away, wrapping the village once more in profound, heavy silence. Ascending the grand stone steps beneath glowing wall lanterns and a flickering iron brazier, she approached the heavy wooden double doors of the Adventurers' Guild. Though the main entrance was firmly closed against the night chill, a warm amber light poured from within, and upon stepping closer, she could spot the clerk through the window. At last, the borders of Fox Glove emerged from the encroaching shadows of the night. With weary, aching legs, Candidus passed the town guards with a calm, polite nod, the sentries offering no questions to the seasoned hunter. She drifted through the winding, cobbled streets of the sleepy settlement, soaking in the midnight tranquility. Her peaceful passage was only briefly interrupted by the boisterous, raucous clamor spilling out from the Drunken Moon Tavern, where late-night patrons shouted over clinking mugs. Hurrying onward, she desperately prayed that the Adventurers' Guild office remained open; her dwindling pouch held a meager three coppers—a pitiful sum entirely inadequate for a warm room or a hot meal. As she bypassed the tavern, the noise quickly died away, wrapping the village once more in profound, heavy silence. Ascending the grand stone steps beneath glowing wall lanterns and a flickering iron brazier, she approached the heavy wooden double doors of the Adventurers' Guild. Though the main entrance was firmly closed against the night chill, a warm amber light poured from within, and upon stepping closer, she could spot the clerk through the window. Candidus pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the warmly lit interior of the Adventurers' Guild. Behind the polished counter, the clerk stifled a wide yawn, her quill hovering over an open ledger. But as her eyes focused on the figure standing before her, her expression shifted into mild, unmistakable surprise. "Oh... it's you," the clerk murmured. Candidus offered a knowing, confident smile, reading the young woman's expression instantly. The clerk clearly hadn't expected her to return alive from a solo hunt against the region's goblin infestation. "I'm here to collect a bounty," Candidus announced brightly. The clerk blinked, her eyes widening in a second wave of astonishment. She set her quill down and shook her head. "Well, the Guild handles the official contracts, hires mercenaries, and organizes the job boards," the clerk explained, gesturing to the parchment-laden notice board on the wooden wall behind her, "but we don't disburse payouts here at this hour. All bounty claims are settled over at the Drunken Moon Tavern." Candidus felt a brief ripple of surprise, though it hardly posed an inconvenience; after all, the boisterous tavern was right along her intended route anyway. "If you don't mind me asking, why pay out at the tavern instead of right here at the Guild?" she asked, tilting her head. The clerk offered an easy smile, resting her hands on the edge of the counter. "The Guild isn't always staffed late at night, whereas the Drunken Moon keeps its doors open all day and all night for travelers and locals alike. Plus," she added with a knowing wink, "leaving heavy chests of coin sitting in an empty Guild hall makes it far too tempting for enterprising thieves to rob the place when nobody's around." "That works out well, seeing as I plan on staying there anyway," Candidus remarked. The clerk offered a knowing smile. Of course it did. "Say, could I get a copy of the Goblin Hive bounty?" Candidus asked, nodding toward the wall. "That's a serious pile of gold." The clerk arched a brow skeptically, making no effort to mask the condescension leaking into her voice. "Do you have a full team put together already?" she asked, leaning forward over the ledger. "I'll most likely go it alone," Candidus replied casually, "though I might pick up a few extras along the way." The clerk let out a sharp breath, barely suppressing an eye-roll, before pulling down a parchment scroll and handing it across the counter. "Just so we're clear, a goblin hive isn't just an outdoor camp—it's a deep underground warren," she warned, her tone tight with disbelief. "It's where they breed and nest, and it's brutally deadly. You're looking at close to a hundred of the wretched things packed into pitch-black tunnels. They're much more aggressive." Candidus merely smiled, accepting the paper. "Thanks for the tip," she said lightly, choosing not to waste her breath explaining that she was already intimately familiar with how goblin hives worked. As long as a single scout above ground recognized her haunting call, the terror would ripple straight down into the deep recesses of the hive, sending the colony into a panic and leaving the rest entirely to her. Tucking the bounty contract securely into her pack, Candidus stepped back out into the cool night air with a light, buoyant spring in her stride. Twenty-two gold pieces was a small fortune; soon, she would indulge in a hearty hot meal, a flagon of rich ale, a comfortable room, and a long-overdue bath. Returning to the quiet, moonlit lanes, she approached the rustic wooden sign of The Drunken Moon Tavern hanging over the wet cobblestone street. The boisterous ruckus spilling from within seemed even louder than before. What had felt like an irritating disturbance earlier now hummed with an inviting warmth, perfectly matching her celebratory mood as she stepped up to the door. She strode through the heavy oak doors, instantly enveloped by the thick, rich scent of fermented ale and the wall of boisterous laughter. On a small elevated stage near the back, a woman was playing a delicate wooden flute; though the melody was likely lovely in its own right, amid the chaotic cacophony of the room, it dissolved into just another layer of background noise. Weaving past the packed, rowdy tables, Candidus made her way directly to the back of the room. The burly bartender looked up from a mug he was wiping down, offering a welcoming grin. "Evening, traveler," he greeted over the din. "What can I do for you tonight?" Without missing a beat, Candidus reached to her belt and untied a small, heavy pouch, setting it squarely on the scarred wood of the counter. "Bounty for eleven goblins," she said smoothly. The bartender gingerly picked up the sack by its very fingertips, instinctively avoiding the dark, dried blood staining the coarse fabric. Before he could peer inside, a harsh, grating scoff cut through the noise from a nearby table. Candidus rolled her eyes beneath the shadow of her helm. She knew the routine by heart; had a male warrior swaggered in with the same claim, the room would have treated him with hushed respect. Instead, she was just fresh meat for cheap barroom mockery. She turned her gaze to the skeptic, a cool, razor-thin smile touching her lips. "What's the matter?" she asked, her voice dripping with lazy condescension. "Is eleven a lot to you?" A heavily armored mercenary leaned back in his chair, eyeing her slight frame with blatant disbelief. "Eleven?" the man muttered, shaking his head. "You better check to make sure those aren't dog ears." Candidus rolled her eyes, well accustomed to the casual arrogance of provincial mercenaries. If she were a burly man standing in those boots, the loudmouth would likely be staring in stunned awe instead of jeering. Turning her gaze toward him, she let out a dry, pitying smirk. "What," she drawled, her voice dripping with cool condescension, "is eleven a lot to you?" The mercenary didn't take the bait. Instead, he turned back in his chair and let out another sharp, dismissive scoff. "Eleven is a lot for anyone," he muttered, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby drinkers. "Either you just brought in some very expensive dog ears, the rest of your crew got slaughtered by those fiends, or—more likely—you stole them off a real hunter." While the doubter grumbled into his ale, the bartender ignored him entirely, methodically stacking neat columns of gleaming gold coins onto the wooden counter behind the bar. "I guess we'll never know," Candidus replied smoothly, turning her back to the doubter to gather her hard-earned gold. The bartender slid the neat columns of coin across the wood, offering an easy, crooked grin. "That's twenty two gold for your trouble, hunter. Though, if you're looking to pad your purse tonight, we're always hiring dancers—three silver for an evening's work, or seven if you bare it all. Plus tips." Candidus flashed a dismissive wave. "I'll pass." Swiveling back around to face the arrogant mercenary, she offered a smug, triumphant look. "See? Real." He shook his head stubbornly, his expression souring further. "Just because you managed to pull the wool over Rufus's eyes doesn't mean you're fooling me." Candidus scowled, a flash of annoyance finally snapping her patience. Without a second thought, she reached across the bench, snatched his heavy tankard of ale right out from under his nose, and raised it to her lips. "I'm thirsty," she declared flatly, immediately tilting her head back and downing the draft. Damn, she thought to herself, a brief flicker of self-criticism hitting her. The line was supposed to be 'All this talking is making me thirsty.' Heard it from a wandering bard once... oh well. "Hey! What gives?!" the mercenary roared, slamming his hand onto the table and half-rising from his chair with a furious glare She kept drinking until she had polished off nearly the entire mug, leaving only a stubborn tenth at the bottom. True, it would have been a smoother power move if she'd drained the whole thing in one go, but it still achieved precisely the effect she wanted. Lowering the frosted glass with a satisfying clatter, she let out a breath and grinned. "That was good." The man glared at her across the wood, his face flushing crimson. "That was completely uncalled for!" Candidus didn't offer a polite verbal reply. Instead, she let out a sharp, unrepentant burp right into the tense air between them. The warrior narrowed his eyes, studying her with a mix of irritation and grudging amusement. "Fox Glove has far too many ruffians like you tracking mud into the taverns." Candidus threw back her head and laughed, the sound bright, rich, and entirely unbothered. "Relax. I'll buy you two more drinks— with the gold I earned straight from the goblin bounty," she said, flashing him a playful, confident wink. The man's stern facade finally cracked. He let out a deep, booming laugh, relenting entirely to her brazen charm. "Well, if it's paid for by your so-called bounty, I suppose I can't say no." Turning to signal the bar, Candidus ordered two more fresh mugs of ale, a steaming plate of spiced mutton, and one of the finest, most expensive rooms the inn had to offer. With twenty-two gold pieces freshly secured, she could easily afford to live like royalty for the night. Carrying the heavy platters and drinks over, she slid gracefully onto the wooden bench opposite the mercenary. He took a long, appreciative pull from his fresh mug, his dark eyes darting admiringly over her chain-mail, the balanced spear resting beside the table, and the wicked curve of the scythe strapped across her back. Setting his mug down, he leaned in closer over the candlelit timber. "All jokes aside," he muttered, his tone shifting from mockery to genuine curiosity. "How on earth did you actually get those eleven ears?" Candidus smirked, slicing into her mutton with practiced ease. "Simple. Most warriors don't have the slightest idea how to fight greenskins." The mercenary raised a skeptical brow. "Oh? And what's your grand secret? Swinging a sword harder?" "Swords are entirely useless against creatures that-----------" "Ugh..." Candidus groaned, a dull, throbbing agony radiating straight behind her eyes. Pressing a trembling hand to her aching temples, she blinked against the morning light and surveyed her surroundings, trying to piece together how she had gotten there. It took her a few groggy moments to realize she was resting in one of the tavern's finest upstairs rooms, her heavy chain-mail and armor piled haphazardly across the wooden floorboards. How much did I actually drink? she wondered bitterly. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, a sharp spike of pain echoing through her skull that made the Goblin Hive bounty feel like a distant, impossible dream for another day. The luxurious accommodations suddenly reminded her of the small fortune she had secured the previous evening—and blood instantly drained from her face. The bounty. Frantically, she dove for her coin pouch, her head pounding with every sudden movement. Please tell me I didn't drink away all my gold. She hastily untied the drawstrings and peered inside. To her utter astonishment, the purse wasn't empty; it was practically bulging, heavy with a fresh weight of copper coins, a scattering of silver, and her remaining gold pieces safely nestled within. She gave her head a bewildered shake. How on earth had she ended up with more coin than she started with? Her skull throbbed far too violently to unravel the mystery right now. Deciding it was a puzzle best left for a sober mind, she abandoned the thought, reached for a clay jug of fresh water on the bedside table, and downed nearly the entire contents before collapsing back onto the pillows to sleep off the wretched hangover.