The Ironsong Tribe

The goblin walked through the doors of the guild hall and took a deep breath. His red eye scanned the area noting all of the changes. He whistled softly and examined some of the rebuilt areas. “Ziz iz good work.”

The forsaken, sitting on the couch by the hearth, bent over a pair of books looked up at the newcomer. “That is an interesting accent you have there, goblin.” Rincewindy set the pen and book down and walked over to him offering a hand. “I’d say originating from Tanaris...but...I also detect a bit of a gnomish accent also. Interesting. What’s your name?”

“My name iz Fixxit Blastcutter, but you may know me better az Zquigviciouz. ...What?”

Rincewindy drew his hand away from the goblin. His voice grew deathly cold, “What are you doing here? Come to finish the job? Lucinther should have killed you the moment you stepped through the doors.”

“Now, hold up zhere! Finizh what job? I gave your tribe information about the attackz on zee barrenz and zee wolfmen. What do you accuze me off?”

Rincewindy remembered quite clearly the night which the attacks occurred. He remembered seeing the small gnome bent over a bomb. He remembered attacking him, and he remembered with clarity the knives going into his back. ‘Compliments of Squigvicious,’ the human had said. Rincewindy reached into his tunic and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He carefully unwrapped the blades. These were no ordinary weapons, they glinted in the daylight, and Rincewindy could feel a deeper magic embedded in them. Both had ivory carved handles, one with ruby gems, one with turquoise. His voice was breathless as he spoke the next words, “How do you explain these, then.”

Squigvicious’ eye lit up at the sight. “Where did you find zhese? I thought zhey were lozt to me!”

“They were in the possession of a human. I acquired them on the night that this hall was destroyed.”

The goblin sobered up at the words. “Ryak...Zat iz hiz name.” The goblin ran his hand through his hair. “He iz zee one zat took zee knives from me. He iz zee one zat iz in charge.”

“In charge of what?”

“A group of elite mercenariez, a covert offshoot of zee SI:7. I waz captured by zem after I zent my last letter to you a little over a year ago. Zey made me drink a potion zat made me answer zheir questionz. I tried to rezist zee compulzion, truzt me. Zey zaid zat zhey would make you zuffer for azzociating wiz me--”

Rince held up a hand to stop him. “Your accent is grating on my bones, goblin. How do I know you’re telling the truth? You said they made you drink a potion that … forced you to tell the truth?”

The goblin nodded. “It waz horrible...like drowning. And zee longer I rezisted, zee worse it got. Look, I want to make good wiz you guyz. I can zee by zee lookz of your complex here zhat you’ve had to make extenzive repairz. Please tell me zomezhing zat I can do.”

Rincewindy sighed. Either this guy was a really good liar, or he was telling the truth. “Alright, I’ll make a deal with you. These look like they mean a lot to you,” he said indicating the blades. “Well, the library here means a lot to me. It would be a great help if I had someone read the text information to me so that I didn’t have to go back and forth between books. I am asking you to do this.”

“Read bookz. Iz zat it?”

“For the most part. We’re going to work on your accent...soften it up a bit.”

The goblin looked at him, incredulously. He reached out his scrawny hand to shake the forsaken’s hand. “Deal.”

“Hold up. There’s more,” Rincwindy said. The goblin’s face soured ever so slightly. “You also have to help out the other members of the tribe with their needs. Of course nothing unfair or completely out of the question, but you do owe us a great deal. Deal?” He held out his bony hand.

“Deal,” the goblin said shaking his hand.

Rincewindy shook the goblin’s hand. “For the love of the dark lady, go eat something. You’d almost pass for a forsaken, and that’s the last thing we need.”

((Feel free to add your own personal requests for the little green guy!))