Chapter 34: Ch 34 - Dingo

Marke didn’t like killing goblins. He didn’t like fighting goblins. Marke didn’t like anything to do with goblins. Marke stabbed a goblin in the eye with his knife and swung a punch at another goblin. Both goblins died. Kente managed the level ups and assigning stats while Marke weathered the endless waves of goblins. Marke pushed the dead goblin off his knife so it fell away from him, tripping the next pair of attackers. Marke kicked one in the head as it fell. The other scratched at Marke’s leg, but his constitution stat was too high for that to do any damage. He picked up the scratcher and tossed it at the next two attackers.

Kente and Marke had been at this for days. Not only was it gruesome and draining, it was boring. Marke’s clothes were all tatters and he had used the last scrap of his footwraps to bind up a bite from the last Hobgoblin captain he had fought. Every time Marke decided he couldn’t take it any more, he backed down the corridor and ducked into the ‘Uncommon’ safe zone he had found. Marke decided he couldn’t take any more of this goblin grind and moved back towards the safe zone.

When the blue force field popped into place, Marke slumped to the floor, mentally exhausted. Kente was tired too, but he forced a false chipper tone as he spoke to Marke.

“Good news! Only thirteen hundred more goblins before we hit level 50.” Kente said. Marke groaned.

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Marke crushed the last goblin under a small boulder. He ignored the blue victory text, confident that Kente was managing it all. Marke looked around the giant goblin cavern, breathing hard. The goblin chief had died last week, but Marke hunted down all the stragglers and pockets of goblins he had missed on the way in.

“How many.” Marke said. “How many was that?” His voice has hoarse and rough. His hair had grown long and his bulging muscles strained the few remaining scraps of clothing he had. The woven basket sat on the ground behind him somewhere.

“That was all of them, pal. Hidden quest completed, ‘Every Last One’. Should be something on the ground next to you.” Kente answered.

Marke looked down and saw a sword. He flexed a part of his mind and got the identification.

Identify ---- Sword of the Goblin God (Rare, 200,000 Gold) - This sword was forged by the original goblin deity as a tool for controlling the unruly goblin hordes that roam their homeworld. It is granted to the entity that has killed more goblins than any other currently living entity. This is the first time a non-goblin has been awarded the Sword of the Goblin God. - Grants Epic bonuses to command and control skills when those skills are used on goblins - Grants Epic bonuses to damage against goblins

“This sword sucks.” Marke said. “Why would I need damage bonuses against goblins when I’ve already killed more of them than anyone else?” He asked.

“Yeah, that’s really disappointing.” Kente agreed. “Still, we’re carrying around worse stuff just in case we ever find people who want to buy it.”

Marke sighed and picked up the sword. “I just want a quest that rewards me with new clothes.” He complained. He walked back to his woven bag and stuck the sword inside. Marke hefted the bulging bag onto his shoulder and walked back towards the goblin chief’s throne. “Lets check out that magic nonsense behind the throne.” He said.

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Marke’s muscles were so bulging and rippling that he found it difficult to turn the pages of the book he was reading. “Found it!” He said. “Ha ha! It’s all right here. Oh man, I’m excited!” He held hand out, palm up, and chanted something under his breath for a full ten minutes. A blue flame ignited over his hand. It danced in the slight breeze like a storybook candle flame. Marke smiled at the little flame then smashed it into the network of runes, diagrams, circles, and other nonsense he and Kente had cobbled together. Blue light flooded the markings in an expanding wave, then flashed so brightly that Marke was briefly blinded and the edges of his leather shorts were charred. Before Marke’s vision had cleared, he knew they had succeeded.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“It worked!” Kente screamed in excitement. “IT WORKED IT WORKED IT WORKED! AHahahahahaaa!”

Marke felt towards his woven back and pulled it unto his shoulder. He could always sense its location, so being blind didn’t matter. Marke stood and took a deep breath in through his nose. He smelled trees, flowers, flowing water, stagnant water, fur, horses, leather-

An arrow cracked against Marke’s shoulder. His vision cleared up enough for his to see the shattered pieces fall to the ground. A stern voice called out to him in an unknown language. Marke grinned a maniacal grin as he looked up at the person mounted on a horse, aiming another arrow. Identify triggered automatically.

Identify ---- Name: Ryllae Sylsatra Level: 10 Race: Greater Wood Elf (Male) Danger: None - This elf is commissioned as a mounted ranged officer. Such officers are commonly employed to investigate anomalous occurrences outside the reach of the more well known branches of the elven military - This elf is scared and angry

Marke raise one hand, palm open towards the elf. “Hello!” He said. Marke caught the second arrow before it hit his face. He shook his head slowly, still grinning. “Kente, what level am I now?”

“Let me see, six hundred… yup. Six hundred thirty five with the experience from that big spell.” Kente said.

Marke leapt over to the elf in a blink and picked up the horse. Marke began laughing as he carried the struggling animal and rider while running pell-mell through the forest. After a few minutes, Kente managed to convince Marke to at least put the poor horse on its feet. Marke sat the elf on his shoulders and kept running, dodging dagger strikes to his eyes while jumping across small canyons, laughing the whole time. Marke eventually misjudged a jump and landed on a huge rotting log. He and the elf crashed through the log and into a muddy ravine. Marke’s laughing slowed as he examined the elf for damage. One major healing potion later, the elf regained consciousness on the forest floor next to the ravine.

“Hi!” Marke said. “Sorry about ruining your clothes.” Marke pointed at the giant hole through the chest of the elf’s uniform of light armor. The elf looked down at himself, confused and woozy. He poked a finger into the hole on his front, then into the hole on his back. “Yup.” Marke said, nodding. “It happens sometimes.”

“You remember that we don’t speak his language, right?” Kente said. Marke waved a hand by his ear, a gesture of acknowledging and ignoring he had started a few years ago, down in the tunnels.

“You know any translation magic?” Marke asked the elf. The elf looked up at him blankly, still poking at his clothes. Marke tapped his own chest. “Dingo.” He said.

“We should have changed that name.” Kente said. “You put that as your name after our last argument because I called you a dingo.”

And you were right. I was being a dingo. Marke thought to Kente with a smile. He held his hand out towards the elf. “Ryllae Sylsatra.” He said. The name felt odd in his mouth. The elf looked properly frightened when the hugely muscled not-elf spoke his name.

The elf straightened his posture and performed a seated bow. “Ryllae Sylsatra.” He confirmed. The elf held a hand towards Marke. “Deen-go? Dine-go?” The elf struggled with the first vowel sound.

Marke quirked an eyebrow and said the name more slowly. “Deeeeee-’go” He said, emphasizing the glottal stop.

“Dean-go. Deee… Deego.” The elf tried again. Marke repeated his chosen name until the elf could say it properly. “Dingo!” The elf said, finally. Marke laughed and clapped his hands. The elf looked around and asked a short question. Marke drew the outline of a horse in the dirt. The elf pointed at the drawing and nodded, repeating his question. Marke pointed in the direction he had left the horse. The elf looked that direction, then stood up and shaded his eyes from the sun to try and see further. Marke looked up at the sun.

“No moons so far, I checked.” Kente answered Marke’s unspoken question.

Marke began walking in the direction of the horse, trusting officer Sylsatra would follow.