In depths not even the rangers regularly charted, the goblin tribe Fanx waited at their camp, both enchanted and terrified. Most goblins who departed their homes in Dustfare or the Marshlands went with aspirations that reached higher than the crude ceilings of their age-old hovels, at the cost of their connection to their cultural roots. However, not many goblins got the chance these days to explore just how deep the roots went, here in a place where all life felt like a single, converging ebb and flow of overpowering virility and sickening sweetness.

For Glem, the poacher who’d gotten them into this mess, it felt somehow both like love and scorn. His head swam with feverish emotions, but every time he tried to put them into coherent thoughts, it was just a painful reminder of how he’d never been any good at the words. Goblins had their own words - words were the thin partition between them and the wilderness - but not all goblins were good at them. Perhaps, however, if Glem had been a bit better at the words, he wouldn’t have needed to communicate with the big, shiny, pink lady in the traditional goblin manner… and, perhaps, would not have gotten wrapped up in his body’s potent drives. A thought did then occur to him, that maybe this was exactly why some of their kind sought to live in the new ways rather than the old; maybe the new ways weren’t something to fear.

His pondering was broken by the intrusive rustle of plant giving way to animal, and when he turned, four humies stood before him— two of whom he recognised. “Taku! Lindli! You bring new friends?”

“Indeed we do, Glem,” Taku answered. “May I introduce Sir Krey of the Knights Berodyl, and… Pippy.”

Big words, words that made Glem’s head spin, but he managed to maintain his focus. His first instinct was to reach out and touch them, but he restrained himself, remembering that humans didn’t usually take too kindly to that.

“I told you to introduce me as the Battlecaster Extraordinaire! Come on!”

Taku rolled his eyes. “Yes, but you also insisted on confetti cantrips, which we do not have; I was not about to half-measure it.”

“Excuses, excuses!” Pippy giggle-snorted. She bounced over to Glem, dropped onto her haunches as she landed, and ruffled his hair. “Hey there, gobby friend! What’s your name?”

“G-Glem,” he stuttered, pleasantly startled by the forwardness of this human. “Nice to meet ya.” His pupils dilated at the sight of the mace dangling from her hip. “Ooh… shiny goldy!”

“Oh, this?” Pippy drew Doom from the invisible clip she’d fashioned into her dress and held it out in both hands. “You like it?”

Glem nodded frantically. “Gobbies can’t resist gold shine, much nicer than gobbycopper.” He unslung his crudely-forged spear from his back, made of a material Pippy could immediately feel humming in the air; it was magic, and by no means anaemic at that. It shone with a bright orange-pink, splotched in places with verdigris.

“Ooh, wow!” Pippy oohed. “I’ve never encountered gobbycopper before! It’s beautiful!”

“We trade?” Glem said before he could stop himself.

Pippy took it well, putting her weapon back on her hip, and Glem shook himself sober of base avarice. “Sorry… shinies distract me.” He moved to the side of Pippy so he could speak to Lindli next. He spent a moment scrambling for words, but settled on simply asking: “are they okay?”

Lindli nodded. “Yes, Sajni and Pelenk are in good health. They remain at Littlenest.”

“Can see them?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Taku said. “It’s still not safe. That’s actually why we’re here; we need to continue preparing you and the tribe for potential battle.”

Glem slumped at first, making a quiet whining noise, but then straightened his back and thumped the butt of his spear against the earth. “Gobbies are scrappers! Gobbies born ready to fight. But… yes, jungle full of surprises, very different from Qiusyd… big surprisingly.”

“Qiusyd?” Pippy tilted her head.

“It’s the gobbo name for the Marshlands,” Lindli explained. “It’s really what everyone should be calling it, but…”

“Yes, yes,” Glem waved, “gobbies always in the backs of humies’ minds, gobbies no biggy to not-gobbies. Fanx show not-gobbies that gobbies mean business!”

“I hope so,” Taku smiled. “If we don’t get a peaceful resolution, I fear what kind of terrors Emerelda will be able to field against us. The jungle is deeper than it looks, as are its magics.”

Glem tried for more words, but was getting sick of all the talking now. He spun his spear in his hands and pointed it in a direction, leading the others that way back to the camp. When they arrived, Taku and Lindli were glad to see men, women, and even children hard at work preparing just the way they’d shown them; crafting little bows out of strong branches and plant fibres, sharpening thinner sticks into crude arrows, and weaving tough vines into shirts to use as fibrous armour. Some of them had even carved pot helms out of wood, padded on the inside with sap-glued moss.

Goblins were no strangers to fashioning tools and implements, but they were used to unearthing and infusing the metallic substance that had come to be known as gobbycopper; digging up metal, from beneath the soft, easily-parted surface of the Marshlands was not difficult, and the stone layers deep down were surprisingly rich in minerals. In the jungle, it was rich, fertile soil spread across millennia of clay and mud sediment, whatever trace mineral content there might’ve been being diluted and sucked up into the abundant flora for nutrients.

Glem didn’t trust plants that ate metal, and trusted animals that ate metal even less; the meat and hides of the monsters he and his fellow poachers had slain so far were feeding and clothing the camp, and would fetch plenty of coin when they made it home and could barter with the trading clans. Glem shook himself sober again, refocusing his thoughts to that of his infant son and the dealings with the elementals.

“Hold fast a moment, my friends,” Taku said to Krey and Pippy, he and Lindli wading into the three-foot tall tide of green tribesmen.

“There’s something pure about them,” Pippy sighed. “Something free and vital.”

“Despite the smell, you mean?” Krey riposted.

“Wooow,” Pippy booed, “I didn’t expect a knight Berodyl, of all people, to be so culturally insensitive!”

“I never said I thought less of them for it,” the knight continued to tease. “I must admit, seeing them like this is… enlightening, maybe. The last time I saw rangers and goblins mix, it wasn’t pretty. I suspect, if it wasn’t for the bikutā child, we wouldn’t be sharing a camp with them like this.”

“Why?”

Krey shrugged. “There’s nothing so deep or thoughtful to it. No matter how much you reconcile the differences between two peoples, those differences will always exist.”

“Those differences should be better appreciated…” Pippy lamented.

“I never said otherwise.”

The rangers returned, adorned with flower-chain circlets that had no doubt been planted on their heads by some of the younger goblins who were playing. “Right,” Taku breathed, “I think things are going quite well here. However, I was hoping you two could lend your respective expertises to our little friends.”

Krey’s tone turned tentative. “What did you have in mind? I’m no fighting instructor.”

Taku shook his head. “Don’t worry, you won’t need to be; goblins make better rangers than knights.” He turned his attention to Pippy. “I’d like you to head to that tent over there” - he pointed - “and sit down with the blackhoods, see if you can organise them a bit.”

“On it! Don’t know what a blackhood is, but I’m on it!” She began bounding in the direction of the tent immediately.

Taku spoke again now to Krey. “As for you and Lindli, I’d like you to stick with Glem and help the rest of the tribe make better use of their limited resources.”

“Sure,” Krey nodded, “I can do that.” Might actually be a nice change of pace, he realised.

When Pippy entered the tent, she was greeted by a circle of goblins sat on logs they were using as benches. Each one of them was totally naked except for the large black hoods they had draped over their heads, simply hoods with no actual garments attached. They all regarded her with wide-eyed curiosity, instilling in her a brief pause of spotlight syndrome. However, when a few of the nearer ones scooted apart to make a space for her, she felt her neck and shoulders relax, and sat with them. Across from her was perched a goblin woman who she suspected was their most senior, being visibly older and also having her hood hemmed and embroidered with thin swirls of sparkling gold thread.

“Welcome, welcome!” the crone crooned. “We not see many humies in our circle… no, not many not-gobbies. Perchance.”

“Perchance!” the other blackhoods echoed. “Perchance!”

Even Pippy was starting to feel the awkwardness of their language skills now… or, rather, lack thereof. Perchance, perchance… what? She cleared her throat. “Hi, yes, hello. Taku told me to come and… help you get organised?”

“Ah! Taku sends you! That is good! You must be using the shiny sparkies like us, then?”

Pippy suddenly understood, tilting forward on the log. “That’s right! I do the fighty magics!” Hey, I’m going native! She pressed on, trying to not lose her grip on proper diction. “I’m not super familiar with goblin magic, though. What do you fellas do for the tribe?”

Another blackhood spoke up now. “We light the fires and melt the shinies, but now we blast the baddies too! Big baddies need big blasting, y’see.”

“Oh yes,” Pippy nodded slowly, “I do see. I’ve blasted a few big baddies in my time.”

They all oohed and awed in chorus.

“Then,” the crone said, “you might bring bigger, blastier sparkies to us? Teach us, perchance?”

“Perchance!” They all concurred again. “Perchance!”

I think they used it correctly that time…? Pippy wasn’t sure anymore.

After agreeing, Pippy had been lead out of the tent by the gaggle of mostly-naked mages and toward a more open space they’d cleared out near the camp. “This where we come to practice!” One of them explained.

“Impressive!” Pippy breathed. “You managed to clear this space without compromising the camp?”

“The jungle humies helped,” the crone explained. “They have helpy magics folk with them, they made a big shush spell all around here! Nothing will feel the magics made here.”

Pippy nodded with understanding. Probably more shamans, likely with green or blue magic. “Alright then, how’s about you show me what you got?”

“With gladly!” The crone sang, and her students all hummed and chimed in agreement.

They hopped, skipped, and jumped around in something akin to a cheer formation, and from their fingers came flying dazzling displays of technicolour black magic, a dance of rainbows and symbols writ in light upon the air. Beautiful and charming though it was, Pippy could not decipher the practical application of the routine. Very colourful… but I’m not sensing much punch. If these were the blasty sparkies they were using to defend their tribe, Pippy wasn’t sure how they had defeated anything other than boredom. That’s when the routine arrived at its spectacular finish. They acrobatically came together in a circle formation, backs facing inward, and together threw their hands up. All the ambient mana, stirred from their vibrant dance, swirled into the centre above them, and together they fired an immense beam of white light into the canopy. The suppression field the crone had described prevented them from blowing a burning hole through the treetops, but even so, the power of their magic could be felt now. I think I’m beginning to understand, Pippy thought.

“Very impressive ritualism!” Pippy applauded. “However, I think I might be able to help you speed up the preparation time of your big finish. Black magic is potentially very powerful, and you know how to make it beautiful, but… it’s also one of the simplest breeds of magic. I could teach you something more… arcane.” She offered an upturned palm, and in it bloomed a small orb of shimmering red. The blackhoods all recoiled at this, oohing not in what Pippy expected to be awe… but in what sounded almost like panic. She dispelled her little display and tried to speak over them. “Hey, calm down everyone! It’s okay! Nothing to worry about!”

“I feel it!” The crone hissed. “This is the wiggle-waggle of red magic! Not the ziggy-zaggy of black magic! Why do you bring baddie-scheme-work to us?!”

“Hold on,” Pippy begged, “I don’t understand! Why’re you so scared?”

Then it hit her. “Oh… that’s right. In this world, red magic is rare and… exclusive.”

“Explain yourself!” The crone demanded.

“I’m so sorry; I’m from another world, one where red magic is just as common as black or white, or pyromancy or cryomancy or electromancy.” The five most common magics she could think of rolled off her tongue in an almost unintelligible babble. “I promise, it’s no baddie-scheme!”

“Hmm…” the crone stroked her chin. She walked up to Pippy ad placed a little green hand flat against her leg. A shiver rocked her body, and then she stepped back and looked up a her. “Yes… Taku did the trust of you, and I feel no baddie badness in you.”

Well, you wouldn’t, Pippy responded in her mind, you didn’t actually read me at all. She decided not to express that thought. “Thank you,” she said while bowing deeply. “I really think I can teach you some helpful stuff. Will you let me?”

The blackhoods looked at each other, and then started clamouring all at once. “Yes,” the crone answered coherently. “But nothing too spooky! We are still not the trusting of… arcane. Perchance.”

“Perchance!” They all parroted. “Perchance!”

Pippy felt a vibration of impending change in her mana; of good or ill, she was not yet certain.