Chapter Text
Beneath a summer night sky brushed in lavender and heat, two moons hovered close together like sisters whispering secrets. One glowed a gentle red— soft and wine-colored like distant firelight— while the other shimmered green, faintly phosphorescent and haloed in pearly mist.
The stars freckled the velvet darkness in a scattered sprawl, some flickering like distant lanterns, others steady as glass beads on a black velvet cloth.
The air hummed with residual warmth from the day; fragrant with dry grass, campfire smoke, and the sweet bite of blooming nocturnal lilies.
Nestled within the frontier hills, the village of Riverwood lay half-asleep behind its walls— a humble scatter of thatched rooftops and oil-lit windows protected by a ring of vertically stacked logs ten feet high.
At the village’s only gate, two men of the local militia stood in post beside a crude sign that read “No Entry After Sundown.”
Their armor was neither intimidating nor complete: patchy sets of leather plates over simple linen shirts, scuffed boots, and helmets that looked more like upside-down cooking pots than actual protection.
They clutched their repeaters more like bored shepherds than vigilant sentries.
"Man, I swear, Marvin," said one of them, squinting toward the horizon as if he might spot a roast pig wandering in from the hills. “Soon as I clock out, I'm hittin' Chilly’s tavern for some baby back ribs. Real sticky ones. You ever had ‘em with that smoked pear glaze? Makes your eyes roll back like you’re bein’ baptized.”
His companion, shorter and perpetually pinched-looking, blinked slowly. “Brooklyn, it’s past midnight. Chilly’s is closed.”
Brooklyn froze like a man who had just realized he’d left his bath running three towns back. “... Son of a—! Damnit! Really? Aw, c’mon, why didn’t nobody tell me? I got myself all worked up, man! I even skipped my second snack for this…” He vented, before muttering a string of half-hearted curses under his breath, and then beginning to click his tongue as he aimed his repeater into the distant trees— pretending to fire imaginary rounds.
“Pew, pew! Pow-pow! Oof— headshot. You see that, Marv? Took out that tree like a champ.”
The stout man in question proceeded to raise an unimpressed brow at the other man. “… Are you really playing make-believe with your gun right now?”
Brooklyn, still peering down the iron sights, shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I’m performin’ tactical drills— there’s a big difference.”
Marvin let out a long sigh just as Brooklyn’s jaw slackened mid-‘pew.’ His repeater then slowly lowered, as his eyes widened— becoming fixated on something slinking from the tree line.
Emerging from the underbrush like a fantasy misplaced from a bard's erotic ballad, came a goblin girl.
She was small with vivid green skin that shimmered faintly under the twin moons. Her long black hair draped past her waist in gentle waves, and her figure— plump, and naturally voluptuous— shifted with every exaggerated sway of her hips.
She wore nothing but a makeshift bra stitched from leather and twine, and a pair of matching panties so skimpy that barely concealed her thick patch of pubic hair that was sticking out.
Her expression was one of exaggerated flirtation— lips puckered in a kiss, eyes half-lidded with cartoonish allure.
Brooklyn suddenly slapped his friend’s arm like he’d just spotted a celebrity. “D-Dude. Dude. DUDE!!! Goblin girl. Hot goblin girl. Over there. She’s makin’ goo-goo eyes at me, bro. She winkin’!”
“… A hot goblin girl?” Marvin echoed, while squinting back at him— visible skepticism on his face. “… You’re messing with me, right?”
“No, no-no! I swear on my cousin’s used wagon title, I ain’t bullshitin’ you, bro! Just go grab the scope and take a gander for yourself!”
With another groan, Marvin trudged over to the shared gear sack slouched near the gate, rummaging until he pulled out the brass telescope. “If this is just you screwing with me again—”
“— I’m not! I’m not! Hurry up, before she runs off into the sexy mist or somethin’!”
Grumbling, Marvin slung his repeater across his back and raised the scope— extending it with a metallic click. He lined it up, adjusting the angle.
Then his mouth opened wordlessly.
On the other end of the lens, the goblin girl had stopped by a stone, blowing kisses directly toward him— her eyes gleamed with mischief. With one crooked finger, she curled it toward herself— beckoning him forward like a green-skinned temptress at a costume party.
Brooklyn leaned in close. “You see her, Marv?”
Marvin nodded slowly— jaw slack.
Brooklyn grinned. “I’ll take that as a ‘Hell yeaaaah!’”
With a sudden movement, Marvin tossed the telescope to the ground and straightened up. “I-I gotta go talk to her!”
Brooklyn stuck out his arm across Marvin’s chest, stopping him mid-step. “Whoa, whoa, whoa— what do you think you’re doin’?”
Marvin blinked. “What do you mean what am I doing? I’m going to say hello to her.”
“Not with a fuckin’ gun you’re not!”
“Huh?” Marvin looked down. “Oh… Right,” he murmured, as he tugged awkwardly at the leather strap over his chest— glancing back at the goblin like a high schooler debating whether to bring flowers or just wing it. “… Yeah, I guess an armed guy rushing a half-naked lady in the middle of a secluded field would be a… Bad look.”
“Gee, ya think?” Brooklyn said, deadpan.
Marvin then looked back at him— visibly a little lost. “So... What do we do?”
Brooklyn scoffed. “‘We’? What’s with this ‘we’ business? You think this is a buddy system now?”
“Well, yeah,” Marvin muttered. “I figured we’d both go say hi.”
Brooklyn cackled. “So what, we just… Walk up there, and run a train on that fat green-ass real quic—”
“— N-NO!!!” Marvin protested, as he immediately turned red in the ears. “I-I just th-thought— we could just introduce ourselves!”
Brooklyn laughed aloud, before reaching up with one finger to wipe a pretend tear from his eye. “Oh, yeah, that’s what she wants: small talk! Look at her, Marv. You think someone wearin’ that at midnight is just lookin’ for lip service? That girl came out here to play!”
Marvin tilted his head. “Okay, so what are you gonna do then?”
“I’m gonna leave my repeater right here by the gate,” Brooklyn said, puffing his chest. “And I’m gonna go over there and spit some fire while you stand here and keep watch.”
Marvin frowned. “Why?”
Brooklyn stared at him like he’d asked if water was wet. “Because in case she’s bait, someone’s gotta stand guard.”
“… So why can’t I go while you keep watch?”
Brooklyn bristled. “Dude, c’mon— she totally wants me.”
“Yeah, but… What if she wants me more?” Marvin retorted— crossing his arms.
A pause.
Brooklyn licked his lips, then muttered, “I’m just sayin’, statistically speakin’, between the two of us, I’m the hotter guy.”
“E-Excuse me!?”
“Look, buddy, you can have yourself some sloppy seconds when I’m done plowin’ her,” Brooklyn grinned, “Let me soften her up for ya, so she’ll be more open to it.”
That was the final straw, as the two launched into a flurry of light punches and shoves— hurling petty insults.
“You couldn’t soften your way out of a paper bag!”
“At least I don’t smell like cheap cologne!”
“You’re just mad ‘cause I got a better mustache!”
“Oh, you wanna go, pal?!”
They barely noticed the creeping rustle of grass between their squabbles, nor did they hear the soft padding of footsteps in a full circle around them.
When they finally did stop bickering, both men froze— they were no longer alone.
Encircling them, armed with spears and crude bows, stood at least a dozen goblins— short, stout, and wearing handmade armor from stitched bark and copper scraps. Each one had their weapons trained on the two idiots in the center.
The voluptuous goblin girl strolled forward from the shadows, that same cocky smile plastered across her face. In one hand, she twirled a long coil of rope like a practiced rancher.
Brooklyn stared at the rope, then the goblins, then back to her. “Ohhh boy… Marv, I don’t think we’ll be the ones doin’ the plowin’ tonight.”
“J-Just sh-shut up,” Marvin hissed as the goblin girl stepped up— reaching for their arms.
Brooklyn gulped. “Y-Yup… This is definitely not the kind of tying up I was hoping for.”
The silence of Riverwood shattered with a thunderous ‘CRACK’ as the village’s front gate, previously locked and considered “good enough” security by the local council, splintered open like soggy bread under a boot.
A deluge of chaos spilled in, led not by warhorses or monsters, but by goblins mounted atop shaggy, wide-eyed donkeys— donkeys who screamed as if they were in a war. Their hooves kicked up dry dirt as their riders cackled and brandished everything from rusty pitchforks to bent fireplace pokers.
“YAAAAAHH!!! MAKE WAY, YE BALD-HEADED MILK SUCKERS!!!” Hollered a green-skinned goblin in mismatched boots— her long red hair flying as she waved a garden rake over her head like it was a sacred relic.
Her donkey slammed straight into a stunned militia guard who barely had time to lift his wooden shield before being bucked into a nearby cabbage cart.
The rest of the guards scrambled; most of them still buttoning their tunics or trying to remember where they left their swords.
One let out a startled yelp as a donkey plowed into him, knocking him flat before licking his face.
Another guard attempted to sound the emergency horn— only for a goblin to leap from her donkey and swat it out of his hands with a frying pan.
“Boys, we’re havin’ COCK stew tonight!” One shouted, grabbing the man’s pants and yanking them down before pushing him into a rain barrel.
The goblins continued to pour in like an uncoordinated tidal wave— many of them yelling nonsense or war-cries that sounded suspiciously like unintelligible words.
Some were armed with bows whose arrows had feathered ends made from molted chicken fluff. Others held clubs carved from broken chair legs or unbent fireplace pokers.
A few of the goblins had no weapons at all— just bags to loot and powerful calves for sprinting.
“Oi! Wake up, ya cunts! It’s plunderin’ time!”
They began banging on windows, scraping their claws against shutters, and tossing pebbles at rooftops. Inside the houses, panic brewed. Lights flickered to life behind curtains as villagers peeked out in horror and immediately dove back behind furniture.
“Barricade the doors!”
“They’re ridin’ donkeys!”
“What the hell is that green one doin’ with my sundress?!”
A large, muscle-bound goblin woman kicked over a flowerpot before cupping her hands around her mouth. “Oi! Any handsome boys in this dump? Mama’s lookin’ for a good time, and I’ve got me some bloody low standards!”
She licked her lips and winked toward a terrified teenager, who immediately locked himself inside a doghouse.
Nearby, a gang of goblins went to work.
They lassoed cows, pigs, and even a stunned chicken that simply accepted its fate and sat in the cart. Stolen wagons were loaded with hoes, rakes, half-filled barrels, scarecrows, sacks of onions, and more than one confused goat.
A pair of goblins broke into a shed and came out moments later riding a pushcart full of moldy cheese and someone’s wedding tuxedo.
“I got it! I got the loot!” Shouted one, before immediately getting smacked in the face by a wind-blown clothesline.
Inside one garden, a goblin girl tried shoving an entire pumpkin into her satchel. “Damn thing’s bigger’n me hips! Don’t care, it’s comin’!”
Elsewhere, a trio of goblins, having discovered a stash of paints and brushes, were busily defacing the side of the tavern.
“Oi, paint me like one’a yer fancy elvish girls,” said one, posing with a tankard in hand as the others scrawled lewd graffiti beside a stick figure with a suspiciously large rear end.
Inside the tavern, however, the situation escalated.
“This’n smells like me ex-husband!” Shouted one goblin, who was cradling a smoked ham like it was a newborn.
“Oi! Someone open this cask- wait, this ain’t ale, it’s... P-Pickles?!”
Their joy was short-lived, as from the shadows emerged a chef— red-faced, ladle in hand— and perched upon his shoulder, a small rat with an apron and a cleaver strapped to its back.
The rat squeaked once, then leapt.
Chaos erupted.
Screams and tomato sauce splattered the walls as the rat and chef tag-teamed their way through the pantry. One goblin tried to fend them off with a stolen baguette. Another tripped and face-planted into a pot of lentils.
Emerging from the tavern’s cellar, several goblins sprinted out onto the streets— shrieking joyously with crates of liquor. One goblin stumbled over herself but managed to save her loot.
“DRINK FOR THE WILD!!! PISS FOR THE REST!!!”
Then came the dogs.
Someone released the village hounds— shaggy mutts, bred more for companionship than combat, but who took personal offense at being robbed.
The moment their paws hit the ground, they were off, snarling and barking, chasing goblins up trees, over fences, and through hedges. A few goblins tried to beat them off with sticks, only to get tackled into barrels or bitten into submission.
Yet, despite the setbacks, the goblins kept at it with infectious glee.
Meanwhile, at one particularly stubborn cottage, a group of goblins shrieked in gleeful menace outside the door, rattling the handle and pounding the shutters.
“Oi, open up! We just wanna say hullo!” One female goblin cackled.
Then— BANG!!!
The door exploded open and a grizzled old man in his nightshirt stepped out, wielding a twin-barrel boomstick with murder in his eyes.
“… Git.”
The goblins in front of him froze mid-cackle.
“… Oh shite.”
They soon scattered like roaches, as he fired a warning shot into the air. He immediately gave chase— still in socks, with his beard flapping wildly. “I’ll rip and tear you all a new asshole, I will! Come back here and get your just desserts, you little thieving piles of SHIT!!!”
It might have gone on longer— had a thirty-pound cheese wheel not chosen that exact moment to roll down from the village hill, bouncing once before plowing into the man and the goblins alike.
They all went down in a tangled heap of yells, limbs, and lactose.
Back near the village square, a group of goblin girls stalked toward the bakery, peeking in the window.
“He’s kinda cute in a doughy sorta way,” whispered one, pointing at the baker who was cowering beneath his counter. “Bet he’d look real good covered in MY icin’!”
They giggled, with one pressed her padded breasts up against the glass— letting her long tongue roll out past her bottom lip, as she grinned deviously. “C’mere, muffin boy— I got sugar you ain’t even heard of in me own ‘cups’!”
She was promptly sprayed in the face with a flour bag through the mail slot.
The invasion was a masterclass in chaotic ineptitude and gleeful vandalism. Milk jugs were emptied for no reason. Someone replaced a weather vane with a sock puppet, while one lone scarecrow was crowned the new mayor. Goblins climbed roofs just to toss shingles at each other like Frisbees.
Eventually, the ransacking tide funneled toward a quiet home at the far end of the village— a little cottage tucked behind a row of hedges, with smoke gently puffing from the chimney and soft lamplight glowing behind its windows.
The walls creaked faintly with every sharp slam of a goblin’s club, and the windows rattled in their frames beneath the echo of jeering voices just beyond the barricades.
From the narrow slats of boarded shutters, a pair of wary auburn-brown eyes tracked the swarm outside— Vivianne crouched low, one palm pressed against the worn wood of the windowsill as her gaze flitted between shapes moving in the moonlight. Lanterns overturned in the street across from her front yard cast long, jerking shadows that danced like ghosts across her floor.
A crooked face smushed against the glass just inches from hers— a yellow-eyed goblin with rotting teeth and a wooden spoon in one hand, which he waggled threateningly in her direction.
Vivianne didn’t flinch, but her breath caught in her throat as another arrowhead tapped softly against the window frame— mockingly, rhythmically, like a child rapping on a fish tank.
A trio of goblins raised their bows, laughing as they mimed firing— the strings left slack to emphasize the game they were playing.
“Yeh watchin’, girlie?” One sneered through a gap in the shutters. “Ain’t no prince comin’ fer ye!”
She groaned under her breath, shifting just enough to drop the curtain between them. Her hand trembled slightly as she pinched the fabric closed— heart pounding even as her expression remained tight with restrained scorn.
Then came the hooting, the howling, and the crude chants in their slurred, singsong voices— each syllable bouncing off the walls like wine spilled across a white cloth.
“Go on, Moira! Show ‘er how we say ‘hello’!”
Vivianne blinked, confusion cutting through her dread for half a second— then watched with a grimace of dawning horror as one of the female goblins strutted into view; her short, plump form egged on by the raucous cheers of the others.
She paused just outside the broken gate, facing the cottage with hands on her hips and a lewd grin spreading from ear to ear.
“Y’wanna peek, ya stuck-up bitch?!” The goblin woman yelled with relish.
Then, in a motion so vulgar it seemed deliberately theatrical, she hoisted her ragged tunic up over her head— baring her green-skinned breasts and shaking it mockingly in the candlelight. The mob exploded into cheer, shrieking and whooping and stamping their feet in delight.
Vivianne recoiled, face wrinkling in utter disgust. “Oh, gods,” she muttered, averting her gaze as she turned her back to the window— pulling the curtain fully shut with a sharp tug. “You filthy little beasts...”
The cheering only grew louder in response, mixed with high-pitched cackling as the goblin woman took it a step further— pressing her surprisingly endowed tits directly against the window, and smearing them obscenely with sweat and leaving streaks behind as she shimmied against the glass.
The door rattled violently.
“Wot’s wrong, then, ye prissy lil cunt?” One of the goblins called from outside, while slapping the wood with the flat of a blade. “Too dainty to party?”
Another voice chimed in, “She’s afeared, lads! Tuck yer tails— she’s shutterin’ like a lamb in a wolf’s den!”
Then came the sharp ‘crack’ of a rock smashing through one of the side windows. Glass sprayed across the floor— shards tinkling across the rug.
The goblins howled in triumph, thumping the walls with clubs and fists, trying to jar them loose with brute noise alone.
Vivianne’s composure slipped.
She backed away, biting down hard on her trembling lip as she turned toward the center of the room. Her footfalls were quiet but fast, near frantic, as she made her way to the living room hearth.
Kneeling swiftly, she pressed a palm against the aged wooden floor and felt around for the familiar groove near the edge of the rug. Her fingers found it— smooth, worn from use— and she hesitated only a moment before lifting the corner of the rug and brushing it aside.
Behind her, the muffled noise of something prying at the barricaded front window made her heart stop.
Her breath hitched, as she cautiously turned her head over her shoulder.
A single wooden board had been wedged outward by just an inch— just enough for a long, clawed hand to snake its way inside.
Vivianne tensed, reaching for the fire iron beside her—
But the goblin didn’t reach for the lock.
Instead, he raised one stubby finger— and promptly flipped her off.
She blinked in stunned disbelief.
Then, without a word, the goblin adjusted the curtain from inside— fussing with the edge until it fell neatly into place once again— before slipping his arm back out through the gap and vanishing with a satisfied giggle.
Vivianne exhaled slowly, incredulously, a bitter edge curling the corners of her mouth as she muttered, “Degenerates…”
But the momentary absurdity passed like a breeze through brittle leaves.
With the wall of noise rising again— the pounding fists, the lewd songs, the shattered glass crunching under boots— Vivianne returned to the panel in the floor. Her hands hovered over the seam as she swallowed hard. The lump in her throat felt solid now, like a stone lodged behind her ribs.
She knocked gently— once, twice, then again— her voice low and tight.
“Ren...?” She whispered. “Ren, are you alright...?”
Silence.
Only the jeering of goblins and the relentless pounding of the front door.
She leaned down fully, pressing her cheek against the floor— lips brushing the grainy wood.
“Ren,” she said again, a little louder. “P-Please… Please— answer me…”
Nothing.
Her voice trembled, barely audible over the growing racket outside.
“Ren,” she begged, voice cracking, “S-Say something...”
No reply.
Only her own panicked breath against the dusty wood, and the faint moan of wind leaking in through broken glass.
“I… I-I’m opening it,” she whispered at last, more to herself than to him. “I’m opening it now, okay…? Don’t be scared…”
She scanned the room one last time— half-expecting one of those laughing little monsters to burst through the window and grab her by the hair.
When nothing happened, she reached forward quickly, hooking her fingers beneath the hidden seam and lifting the floorboard.
Her breath caught as she tilted the panel up.
The space beneath was empty.
For a full second, she didn’t move— eyes wide, lips parted in silent shock.
Then she reached in with one arm, frantically feeling along the interior; pushing her hand through dust and old splinters in hopes of finding some hidden compartment, some crevice, some impossible little hole where he could’ve hidden himself.
But there was nothing.
Not even the faintest trace of warmth.
Vivianne sat frozen— knees on the floor, one hand still buried in the hollow beneath the cottage, the other pressed against her chest as her breathing quickened.
The color drained from her face, her limbs turned cold, and her vision blurred faintly as the sounds around her dulled into a distant, muffled ringing.
The pounding on the walls might as well have been thunder on a faraway plain.
The jeering and taunts became formless noise, the laughter echoing in her skull like cruel bells.
Vivianne couldn’t move.
The floorboard slipped from her grip and dropped with a hollow ‘thud.’
And there, in the stillness between heartbeats, the first shudder broke from her lungs— and with it, the rising edge of a panic that had waited too long to erupt.
To Be Continued…