Chapter 9 (Bard)

The lights of Grog’s Table peeked at us as we left the brush. It stood in the distance atop a tall plateau, explaining the name. Several natural and goblin-made bridges connected it to neighbouring cliffs. Several rocky hills dotted the near-flat city, and lights glimmered from the window holes marking them too. The system did say that the goblins mainly were subterranean creatures. I bet they lived within the plateau too.

At the centre of Grog’s Table sat a collection of tall, jagged rocks in an almost horseshoe formation. The fires were brightest there, and lights of several other colours accompanied it. I guessed it was where the chief or the shaman resided.

Getting information out of the spirit caller would’ve been ideal, but he had passed out after healing all the injured. Instead of bats, a green-trunked tree with golden leaves had manifested. It showered everyone with white, blue, and pink wisps who knit our wounds closed and wiped the blood away. The goblin that suffered kobold bite still looked sickly, but the wound had closed. The spirit most likely repaired the damage but lacked the power to extract venom.

When the branch manager told me I’d be facing trials, I expected hopping through portals and going through obstacle courses. Instead, the system found a way to work them into real-world events. Hopefully, the Trial of Wit wouldn’t involve combat. The aspect contained Charisma and Intellect, after all. Maybe it would let me continue as a one-trick pony and solve the problem with music once again. As long as the trial didn’t involve life and death situations, I’d be fine. Hopefully, the system would take pity on me and let me get away with a mind game or just ask me to entertain a tavern of goblins with music.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Arena Disk went in the opposite direction and had me face off against a monstrous snake and ask me to charm it either. Although neither my old life nor the new existence had proven particularly kind or forgiving, I didn’t expect things to change any time soon. Instead, I had always found the best out of the worst. When my band kicked me out before going big, I pushed on with solo gigs and found work as a cook. Thanks to my creativity and refusal to give up when in the shit, I rose rapidly through the kitchen ranks and learned to love that too.

“Problems might only have one solution, but how you get there is up to you,” my father used to say. Even though our communication waned due to my life choices as an adult, his words had shaped me into the man—halfling—I was today. I’d miss him too. We hadn’t spoken to one another in a couple of months and mostly updated each other through my sister. He was a good father, though. But, unfortunately, the things we had in common had reduced in number as I got older.

To busy my idle mind and keep depressing thoughts away, I practised the classic scales for improving speed and accuracy. Before the trial, my fingers had felt clumsy, and their movements weren’t as natural as before. I had to consciously move them along the fretboard and between strings to avoid mistakes. Now, thanks to the additional Dexterity, things felt smoother. I still hadn’t regained my old body’s finesse, but it was still a significant improvement.

Once the penalty from Coward’s Brand faded, I checked my attributes once again.

Brawn: 2
—STR 1| VIT 3
Control: 5
—DEX 6| ARC 4
Wit: 2
—INT 1| CHA 2

The boost to Arcana would help too. Following the trial, the clear puddle of mana in me had grown significantly. Yet, it remained clear and felt characterless. The branch manager had said magic wouldn’t just land in my lap. I’d have to go looking for a source.

Meanwhile, Sasha continued to feed on a trickle just as fast as my body could produce it. The faded pink and purple wisps in her core had regained their lustre. In fact, they appeared more prominent than before.

The clacking of wheels on a cobbled stone bridge snapped the soul caller awake. His eyes lit up when he spotted Grog’s Table ahead of us. He straightened in his braids and wiped the gunk out of his eyes, sitting up.

“Are all bards like you?”

I shrugged. “My master was, at least. He went by many names, but the most knew him as Freddie Mercury. Have you heard of him? He’s played for many queens around the land.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” the spirit caller answered. “You’ll soon discover that not all goblins are as well-spoken as me. I had the fortune of training under our shaman. He’s a Champion, you know?”

“Just a minor deity: Stevie Bone, Assistant to the General Manager of Death’s Mortuary Diskverse. He’s a champion nonetheless, and as a shaman, their interests line up brilliantly.” The spirit caller leaned closer, lowering his volume. “The chief doesn’t know yet, but he’s lured two champions to Grog’s Table already and brought them down with no issue. I believe the final Champion of Shadow is his next target.”

The candid information took me by surprise. I didn’t expect him to give up so much information without prompting. His voice carried a hint of pride too. The data would certainly help going forward. If the pride soul caller’s pride reflected his master’s, perhaps I could play off the shaman’s hubris.

“If he’s so powerful, why doesn’t he take over as chief himself?” I whispered.

“Chieftain Grog might be a champion, but his bloodline carries the mountain’s blessing,” Gark answered. “He and his ancestor’s have held the table for centuries and have dominated multiple champions. My master is strong, but he’s got a long way to go before he could even think of challenging the chief. Besides, every tribe needs a chief and a shaman. It’s too much work for just one person.”

Gark’s brows furrowed as he finished his explanation. It felt like it was common knowledge for Arena Disk’s residents. But, unfortunately, I didn’t know enough about this new world. Too many questions ran the risk of giving away my ignorance. I needed to think before I spoke, or I’d give myself away and make myself a bigger target for the shaman or any other champion.

“Don’t worry too much.” The soul caller patted my shoulder. “You’ve got my vote of confidence. Our warg master might be down, but everyone else will echo my opinion. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.” I sighed. “Your vote of confidence means a lot. Believe me, the last thing I expected when I started this journey was to end up here alone.”

“You’re not alone—” Gark stopped himself mid-sentence. “Hold on a moment. I didn’t get your name. What do I call you?”

I had spent the couple of hours while he napped, thinking about my new identity. It needed to be something fitting for a bard and memorable. At the same time, it needed to match whatever naming the hill folk used. A believable name would be vital to avoid the Cosmics’ and their champions’ attention. Unfortunately, I didn’t know the first thing about halflings or hill folk. However, their appearance and the system description matched that of my favourite race from Tolkien’s work. In fact, the new me carried an uncanny resemblance to my second-favourite fellowship member too. Therefore, I named myself after him too. Besides, a new world required a brand new name.

“Peregrin Kanooks,” I told him. Using the nickname would be a step too far, though. “I prefer Perry.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Perry,” Gark said, smiling. “You’re joining us in the Grog’s Hall for dinner and drinks. We’ll deal with whatever tomorrow brings in the morning.”

The goblin construction appeared shoddy when compared to the ruins where the branch manager dropped me off. Most of the wall consisted of uneven stone blocks and hastily nailed together wood planks patched the gaps in them. Time had attacks had worn and warped the metal gate at the bridge’s end too.

I held my breath, expecting stares, but everyone appeared much too busy with their own business. It wasn’t just goblins that walked the streets. Humans and me-sized individuals walked among them too. The latter had oversized heads, long pointed ears and no hair. Even though I wanted to know what they were, questions would give away my ignorance, so silence felt like the best option.

The few eyes that did drift to us either focused on the goats or greeted the surviving riders. It surprised me that no one—neither the gate guards nor the citizens—questioned them about the missing pair.

“Don’t you need to tell your friends’ families or report to someone regarding the deaths?” I asked.

“Not my job,” Gark answered, nodding at one of the riders. “Now that the party leader is dead, he’s next in line. He’s the one that needs to report, and then they’ll organise a warband to hunt the kobolds down tomorrow. They don’t come this far up usually. The warg master will want to know what’s going on. I, on the other hand, serve the shaman. As soon as the goats are in the cook’s paddock, I’m done. Master will want to hear from me come morning, but for now, you’re my guest.”

I nodded, watching the city of crooked buildings and giant tents as it passed by. The horseshoe of pointed boulders towered over them and grew as we ventured closer.