Mobart paces back and forth, his short and pointy ears swooning down with each worried step he takes. His humble tent covers his nervous attitude, letting him mostly think to himself to come up with a solution.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no, what should I do, what should I do!?"
He begins speaking to himself, his mind is too crowded to hear his own thoughts. His hands wave about, telegraphing his frustration away from his pale blue face.
"This won't please them, I need something better!"
He angrily points at the object in question on his desktop, as if he's trying to explain to someone where the source of his unease comes from. He picks it up, pricking red spots into his small hands.
"I tried to make something violent, but this?"
He throws the spiky ball at his tent wall, before clutching his head.
"Aarrrrgh!"
The spiky ball embeds itself into the tent wall, attaching like a piece of velcro. It serves some purpose for a party trick, but it wont help his goblin brothers take over the world, surely not. Against an armored opponent, it would merely bounce off the metal plating, maybe make a dent if one threw it hard enough. But nobody has ever heard of a weapon that harms the user as well on a battlefield, becuase such a weapon never makes it past the prototype stage.
Mobart clenches his fists, before relaxing them. The stage of anger drains away, leaving the Goblin Tinkerer with only mellow sadness.
"Oh, why cant they just accept my inventions, I mean they're great."
He plops down on his seat, looking over his ideas and blueprints.
"A motorized grappling hook, able to scale any surface?"
He grabs a different blueprint.
"Boots with specialized rocket engines, giving the user the power of flight?"
He whisks his hands into the air, kicking his chair out form under him.
"These would make the user have unmatched movement in almost any scenario, they're my best works yet!"
Mobart whirls around, his voice takes on a sarcastic tone.
"But nooOOoo."
"They only want a BIg SwORd."
He speaks with mocking intent, making air quotes with his sweeps his hands across his desktop, sending his scrapped and finalized papers off into the corner of his tent.
"Give me a big nosed break!"
Mobart's tent entrance flips open, he freezes in place.
"Small brain, we are here!"
Mobart messes with his homemade glasses, feeling his spirit and self indulgent rant drop. A goblin warrior, the most respected goblins in their clan, barges in unannounced. He followed by two peons, his personal guard.
Mobart picks his chair up, sitting on it quickly.
"Greegurk, you're here early."
Greegurk crosses his arms, one of his bottom fangs showing.
"Small brain doesn't argue with Greegurk, Greegurk here to see new weapon."
Mobart feels colds sweat run down his forehead, this is his last strike.
"The w-weapon, of course."
Mobart reaches over, grabbing his spiky ball off the tent wall. He winces when it pokes into his skin, but he present it to his superior.
"This is my invention, a projectile to stab into your enemies."
Greegurk snatches it from Mobart's hands, observing it. He makes a grunt of disappointment, before throwing it at one of his peons without warning. It strikes the peon in the side of he head, he jumps.
"Owie!"
The peon gingerly reaches for the ball, Mobart feels his heart sink. The peon plucks it off, looking at the ball with confusion.
"That hurt'ed."
Greegurk glances down at his hand, watching as some of his blood leaks out. He begins to growl, the angry gurgling raises in volume in the back of his throat. He thrusts his hand forward, grabbing Mobart's white shirt by the collar, wrenching him to his feet.
"That is last straw small brain!"
Greegurk's breath makes Mobart gag, he's tossed back at his chair, losing his balance. His glasses fall off, he crashes to the grass floor. He clutches his head, which smacked against one of the table legs. Greegurk grabs the spiky ball from his peon, befroe tossing it at the adjacent tent wall. It sticks in, but doesn't do anything else
"Small brain has embarrassed goblin tribe for last time!"
He nudges one of his peons, Mobart gets into a sitting position, trying to get back to is feet.
"Tie Small brain up."
Before Mobart could get an anchor to stand, his head is shoved into the ground.
"What?"
The two peons restrain him, before tying his arms together, looping it around to his legs. He completely locked in a fetal position, unable to tug himself free.
"What are you doing, I made you a weapon!"
Greegurk grinds his teeth, clutching Mobart's head.
"Small brain will be rat food, Small brain has no place as warrior.
Mobart is dragged out his tent, he tries to say something, but is gagged with rope and leather. Outside, the morning forest is filled with rows of tents, some goblin's practice against one another in groups, large fires cook up creatures caught in the woods. Archers fire at targets, warriors duel with swords drawn. Some of them stop, watching Mobart get dragged away. Laughing begins to rise up in the invading force, Mobart can do nothing but shed tears.
He's lived with these goblins for his whole life, even if they resented him, they are still family. But here he is, being dragged like caught food, and they all laugh at him. Nobody stands up for him, even talk to him before his unceremonious banishment. They all just laugh, before going back to their activities. Mobart knew how they felt, but the sting is still venomous. He's dragged to a cave, tossed down a chasm, and left for dead.
...
"Another one over here Bill!"
Ludo, the painter, shouts out, waving his glass around in the air.
Bill turns around, resting his arm on his bar.
"Coming right up, you messy artist."
Dolgen sits comfortably on a barstool across the room, he spins around, a grin flashing through his red beard.
"Ludo doesn't know when to quit, another one for meh too then."
Ludo gives Dolgen a self gratified look, the Merchant Edmund who sits across from Ludo finishes off his drink, aiming to strike a deal with the painter.
Bill fills out the orders, carrying two mugs of Ale out from his bar. The building is warmly lit by a fireplace, added with torches on the walls. Its still in the middle of the afternoon, but people seem to like a room room for drinking, and in Bill's opinion; The more customers, the better.
He doesn't talk to many about his past, but he loves listening to their, stories, their adventures. Everyone in this town is unique, so much to learn. Except for the dye trader, he does more self gloating than teaching. Bill hands Ludo his drink, the man almost immediately begins to down it. Edmund gives Bill a thumbs up, Bill only rolls his eyes. The man always tries to get on the good side with anyone with money, and then pulls out a random and low quality product, trying to sell it off.
Edmund drops the smile, looking around Bill. His eyes drop, pointing a stitched finger.
"The brat is back."
Bill knits his eyebrows.
"Adam isn't a brat, you shouldn't be mean to an orphan."
Its Edmund's turn to roll his eyes. Bill clears his throat, hearing small footsteps behind him stop.
"Can I help you Adam?"
Bill spins around, Dolgen's drink still in his hand. Adam is frozen, his face looks like he was caught with his hands in a cookie jar. The young angler is standing behind Bill's counter, reaching for a mug. Adam immediately stars to quiver his lips. He looks mad, Bill marches over, making a motion with his finger.
"Come on bud, you aren't old enough to drink."
Adam pouts.
"But, I'm old enough."
Edmund thrusts himself up, his white beard making a stark contrast to the wooden wall behind him. Ludo is passed out next to him, his drink spilled over.
"Having no parents doesn't make you old enough, you brat!"
Adam sticks his tongue at Edmund, Bill raises his voice.
"Was the insult necessary?"
Edmund continues on.
"It definitely is, that child never learns!"
Dolgen gets off his barstool, waltzing over to Bill. Adam whisks his arms into the air.
"Shut up Fatty!"
Edmund looks genuinely offended.
"Im not fat!"
Adam runs for the door.
"I don't care!"
Dolgen reaches for the drink in Bill's hand, letting out a gurgled sigh.
"This town is quite unique, but different tastes lead to conflict."
Bill cross his arms.
"Yeah."
Before Adam can reach for the front door, it swings open. Adam is startled, he stutters to a halt. Dolgen raises a bushy eyebrow, Bill squints. Bathed in the afternoon light, the newcomer, Jack, saunters into the building.
Edmund sits back down, embarrassed. Adam backs away, letting Jack walk in. He looks around with calculating eyes, landing on Bill and Dolgen.
He opens his mouth, his voice is lower than Bill expected.
"Are you the bartender?"
Bill doesn't show any sign of surprise or concern.
"I am."
Jack unrolls a paper in his hand, his strange sword stashed in a scabbard across his back. He gets right to the point, no pitch or volume change in his voice.
"I need two cups of distilled alcohol."
Adam slowly sneaks behind Jack, before making a run for it outside.
"Do you have payment?"
Jack fishes for something in a backpack Bill want able to see, pulling out a bag of coins. The clinking noise make Edmund's ears perk up.
"This should suffice."