A Story of Hussst and Inky
as told by Hussst

Three goblins walked into the bar with a bold swagger that belied their small size. They sat down at a table, glaring at the other patrons. They obviously wanted trouble, but these days, who didn’t?

Each held up a single finger and said, “Kimsa Cervezakuna.” Clearly, that meant something in the goblin language, but no one here spoke goblin. And clearly, they did not speak anything else. (Not surprising, goblins are haughty and tend to believe that “everyone speaks Goblin if you say it loud enough.”) They repeated the phrase louder and more angrily. I might have ignored them altogether, but one took out a dagger and jammed it into the table for emphasis.

“Kunan!” he yelled, grabbing a barmaid by the arm. “Kimsa Cervezakuna, kunan!”

This wasn’t something I normally would have gotten involved with, but when there’s a fight brewing, I start paying attention fast. Reaching out with the psionic mind power that is the birthright of my race (sapphire dragonborn), I read his mind and discovered that Kimsa Cervezakuna means “three beers,” and kunan means “now!”

Silently, I informed the waitress, who quickly held up three fingers and said in the local tongue, “Three beers.” Her meek and cowed expression caused the goblins to laugh as they let her go to get their drinks.

I started to survey the room. Everyone is welcome in this bar—the Cè Liáng—and I am not the bouncer, but if there’s trouble, I want to protect myself and any friends (including my favorite barmaids) who are here. Since the goblins kept talking, I continued my psionic eavesdropping.

The goblins picked up their conversation right where they’d left off.

“Sure,” one of them said, “but what about the Emberclaw? That’s close to their turf.”

At the mention of the Emberclaw—the gang of bandit raiders I belonged to—my brow darkened, and I went on even higher alert.

“They may be formidable, but they’re spread too thin,” the second goblin replied. “They simply won’t have the manpower to grab the mine back. We should be able to hold it and blackmail the rest of the peninsula by withholding the coal.”

They prattled on, unselfconsciously. Goblins are known for going on and on, which normally makes them boring to listen to. But if one understands what they’re saying, it often means they give away their plans in depth—if one has the patience to listen. Agonizing though it was for me to be patient (this is normally the sort of thing my forest gnome partner, Inky, listens to; he’s a very patient fellow, but he was home reading his books right now), I managed. The gist of their long-winded conversation was that a group of goblins had captured the Gymtheium Coal Mine, the major source of coal for the region.

Needless to say, this was very disturbing news. Fifty years ago, a perpetual winter had set in. People needed to heat their homes and shops year-round. The frost meant crops died unless farmers maintained braziers to warm and keep them alive. Since the trees had shed their leaves and branches in the long winter, the world’s supply of firewood was all but gone. Without coal, life in our world would come to an end. Those who controlled the coal supply could demand any price.

Up until now, the Gymtheium mines had been run by a highly religious group of dwarves, who considered supplying the coal to be a sacred duty. They distributed the coal with fairness and generosity, and there had been no reason to worry about the supply. It was just considered a given.

But if the mines had been taken, that was a different story. The goblins were becoming more vicious and unpredictable, but at the same time, much more ambitious. I had known that wandering bands of goblins raided the lands, but taking the mines was a chilling new level of audacity.

I thought about the situation. Baba, the head of the Emberclaw gang, had sent me on a mission to find the source of this unending winter, and I couldn’t afford a distraction. But the structure of society was falling apart due to the chaos of the winter, and something like this could result in a disaster from which no one would recover. This disaster was also an opportunity for the Emberclaw to seize power. Baba had a bold plan: use our reputation as fearsome opponents to create a territory ruled as a warlord’s domain. By demanding lower tribute than other bandit tribes—or even kings—we could gain loyalty with minimal violence. Territories under our control would flourish, and Emberclaw would ascend.

If the coal supply fell into greedy hands, however, all of this was in jeopardy. Power would shift to the mine’s owners, and everyone (except those owners) would suffer. The goblin was right: Emberclaw was stretched thin. While more fighters were joining us, keeping villages under control required manpower. Things could fall apart quickly, and goblins were vicious enough to ensure they did.

I had to act quickly. There was no time for planning; this was a moment for decisive action. I thought about enlisting adventurers I’d met in town but dismissed the idea. They couldn’t be trusted. Many would want the mine’s wealth for themselves, while I wanted it for Emberclaw. Baba would ensure the coal was carefully distributed, but only Emberclaw could wield its power effectively.

I knew I couldn’t do this completely alone, but I wasn’t alone. I had Inky. Though he wasn’t a member of Emberclaw, his loyalty to me was absolute.

The goblins took the decision out of my hands. They foolishly drew their weapons and approached me.

“Bet we can take him,” one of them sneered, still thinking I didn’t understand. “Three against one—he’ll run like a coward.”

Foolish words.

When they got close enough, I snapped my fingers and unleashed a thunderclap. The air shook violently, and two of them collapsed. The third staggered, clearly in pain, but remained standing. He swung his scimitar at me. It was a solid swing, but it failed to penetrate my natural armor. I shrugged off the pain. Nimbly, he ducked to avoid a retaliatory blow from me and kept himself safely out of range of another thunderclap.

We were in a crowded bar. I couldn’t let this goblin escape, but my spells risked harming other patrons. The goblin knew this and used the close quarters to his advantage. Indeed, one-on-one combat in such tight confines played entirely to his strengths. For a moment, I was stymied.

Then inspiration struck. I cast magical darkness. Despite the goblin’s ability to see in normal darkness, this was a magical, absolute void visible only to me, its caster. While he stumbled into tables and chairs, I closed in and slashed with my blade. The blow was true, and the last goblin was no longer a problem.

I released the darkness, apologized to the bar owner, and left a generous tip to cover the mess. As for me, there was no time to waste. I hurried back to my rooms, where I found Inky sitting in a chair, reading.

“What’s up?” Inky asked.

I quickly explained the situation. Without wasting a second, Inky got ready. In fact, Inky was almost always ready. His adventuring kit was perpetually packed, and I swear he slept in his armor. This fit perfectly with my lifestyle; as a bandit, I was used to expecting an assault at any time. Inky and I made a good team.

We proceeded to the stable where Buttercup, my horse, was kept. We rode together. Buttercup was a strong and sturdy steed, and Inky was small enough that the horse hardly noticed the extra weight. We moved quickly and reached the mine by sunset the next day.

When we arrived, a huge crowd of people was clamoring and begging for coal.

“Please,” they cried. “Without coal, our crops will die!”

The goblins, clearly well-armed, were reveling in their newfound power. They stood bunched at the mouth of the mine.

“Let us consider your offers,” one sneered. “Coal does not come cheap!”

The peasants first offered the standard price, then ten percent over. The goblins laughed and demanded triple. The peasants pleaded, “We can’t afford that! PLEASE! Our families will starve!” The goblins were unmoved.

Desperate, some peasants pressed forward with pitchforks and staves. Against the armed goblins, this would only result in a bloodbath. The goblins formed a phalanx, ready to slaughter the attackers.

But the goblins hadn’t reckoned with Inky and me. During the commotion, Inky had stealthily made his way to a vantage point above the mine entrance. As a goblin archer began to fire on the crowd, Inky launched a psychic blade, and the archer fell. The goblins tightened their formation—exactly what I needed.

While Inky was getting into position, so was I. The neatly grouped goblins were an easy target for a blast of my dragon breath, and the guards at the front were no more.

The peasants cheered and surged toward the mine.

“Wait!” I called out. “There are probably more goblins inside, and they’ll have ambushes prepared. Let Inky and me clear them out first!”

Although many of the peasants didn’t speak Common, they understood the message and stayed back, looking at us expectantly.

“Well,” Inky said, “now comes the hard part—hunting them down. And remember, no firebolts. That could set off a blaze we’d never contain.”

“I won’t start a fire,” I replied, “but we can make the goblins think we have.”

“What’s your plan?” Inky asked.

“How do miners know there’s oxygen in the mine?”

“They keep canaries,” Inky replied, grinning as he caught on. As a forest gnome, he could speak to small animals. If we convinced the canaries to play dead, we’d have allies.

Next came the stagecraft. I produced a thunderclap—not for damage, but for its intimidating sound. Simultaneously, Inky used his psionic powers to convince the canaries to feign death.

Using the spell Move Earth, I collapsed part of the mine entrance, leaving only a small crawl space. Inky then created minor illusions of brightly burning fires. (The fires looked convincing; we were counting on the goblins not being too bright.)

The goblins panicked as expected. They ran toward the entrance, now blocked, and found no escape. To add to the illusion, I cast a minor spell to create a puff of gas that smelled like a coal fire.

“Please!” they shouted. “Let us out! We surrender!”

I used Move Earth again to create a small opening, just large enough for them to exit one at a time. There were thirty of them—too many for us to fight under normal circumstances, but the will to resist had gone out of them. The mine was ours.

The peasants handled the goblins. Four or five escaped, but they were scattered and no longer a threat.

Inky and I sent one of the canaries to Baba with a message explaining that he needed to take charge of the mine. For the next two days, I used Move Earth to extract enough coal for the peasants—not for free, of course.

Soon, a contingent of Emberclaw arrived to secure the mine, accompanied by a dwarf miner. Whether this dwarf had escaped during the goblin takeover or had been recruited afterward, he was invaluable. Dwarves in need of work weren’t hard to find these days. The mine was now under Emberclaw control. Coal prices rose slightly, but territories under Emberclaw’s protection received discounts. This made their crops cheaper and helped solidify our growing influence over the region.

Inky and I returned home and treated ourselves to a couple of long, hot baths.