AN: 4,200 words is more than I usually write. I can't guarantee any length of future chapters.

The… thing, he guessed he could call it, was a wretched little creature. It was like a severely famished child, its limbs and face stretched over its bones, the joints sticking out like it were a skeleton, the ribs showing on the chest and back, and its belly severely distended. Although in this case, he wasn't sure if it truly was distended, as the disgusting little thing had clearly been gorging itself.

And although the body was vaguely shaped like a child, that was where the similarities ended. The hands and feet were long and bony, at all the wrong proportions to be like a person's. The limbs were likely too long for its length of torso. Its nails, long and yellow, were chipped and cracked. A ragged loincloth was worn around the waist as the only item of clothing. But its head, its head was something else. A long, beak-like nose jutted forwards at an odd angle like it grew like an afterthought. Long, pointed ears came out from the sides of the head, adorned with cuts and scratches like a stray dog's. It had numerous broken teeth, most of them fangs, and they were a deep yellow. And finally its eyes. Its eyes were the worst of all, being goat-like, just one additional detail to drive home how alien this thing was from all things good and proper.

The thing crawled around pathetically for a few seconds before its brain realized it was already dead, its organs trailing behind it as it tried to claw its way towards the door. He wanted to stomp the thing where it was, to punish it for daring to think itself deserving of even a chance to escape its fate. But instead the trooper listened for more of them as his eyes drifted back to the carnage in the center of the room. This truly was the worst thing he'd seen in his life. Part of him wanted to be glad it was some creature that ransacked this place and not man. But he couldn't find any pleasure in the proof that no human was the perpetrator. The dead were dead, and no moral high ground could provide justice in that.

He had to break his tunnel vision. He didn't know how many more of these detestable creatures there were, although he did know he had to get out of there. No matter how weak those things were, apparently they were much more dangerous in larger numbers, or had much more powerful friends who did the bulk of the fighting. As he peered out of the window, it looked like wolves had teamed up with bears. Doors were smashed in, window shutters were torn out. Carts were torn asunder and the pack animals were slaughtered just like the people in this house. But no bodies.

Oh, there was plenty of blood. Pools and splashes of blood, chunks of gore, and streaks in and out of doors decorated the town like holly leaves at Christmas time. But aside from the occasional body part, where were the bodies? This family was obviously slaughtered in their own home, but he doubted every single person was inside and waited for their own deaths. There were none displayed outside, none killed and left for the rats. They, or at least most, were taken for something.

A slight patter in the back room caught his attention and he whirled around to face it, his Colt pointing at the door. But instead of another one of those hideous beings was an empty door.

Well, time to leave, he thought. And it was either fight out the way he came, or risk ambush in a new path through the front door, and he knew how the odds were with the second option. Keeping his handgun trained on the door, he slowly fanned around, re-clearing the room degree by degree. Again he was forced to force himself in to get to the last corner. And taking a deep breath, he crossed the threshold, gun at the ready. And just as he did so, the room was exactly how he had left it only a few minutes ago.

The rug, the table, the bookcase… The rug.

Someone, or something, had straightened the rug out. He glanced out the window and saw his dutiful mount still there, waiting for him. Although now that this village was dangerous, he knew he had to get back if only to keep the horse safe. Right next to the rug was that couch. If something made that noise, and it wasn't his imagination, it would be hiding under there. He approached it slowly. Thankfully there was a skirt that reached down and touched the floor, so whatever was under there couldn't directly see his boots.

He dropped to a knee and leaned down to his side so that his shoulder was almost on the floor. While his Colt was aimed at underneath the couch his saber lifted up the skirt in a sudden fashion. What greeted him was not one of those creatures, but rather a more familiar sight. A young boy, hardly old enough to help out on the farm, was hiding under the couch, cowering away from the dying light the trooper let in. His eyes soaked with tears and trousers soaked with piss, shaking was all the kid could do.

Eventually, the boy realized he wasn't dead yet. He slowly opened his eyes. The trooper had since lowered his pistol, the boy obviously not being a threat. The boy sniffed in relief as more tears flowed. He regained his composure after a few seconds. A small, meek voice made itself heard.

"What happened to my parents?"

His heart was broken as he lifted the child up onto his horse, although this was not a new situation to him. He'd done this exact song and dance plenty, both during the War and out west after raids by Indians. He didn't let the kid into the other room. He didn't know if the kid saw the remains, but he certainly didn't want to give him a second look. Instead he had instructed the boy to go back and hide under the couch while he grabbed some belongings from his bedroom. Clothes, mostly, in a small satchel. His shoes from besides the front door. Some other things a young kid would need to survive on his own. Finally he had stopped in the only remaining room in the house, the master bedroom. The kid would certainly want some things to remember his parents by. Those small mementos were stuffed into the bottom of the sack.

By the time he pulled the kid out front under the couch and they had mounted up, it was fully night time. And this night time truly let the trooper know he was a fish out of water. Two moons. There they were, one huge, one small. One red, one green. Two damn moons. Clear as day; he could see the texture of their surfaces.

This wasn't another country. No, not even close. Not another continent. Not South America, not Asia or Africa. A fish out of water didn't even begin to describe it.

The trooper urged the horse forwards at a quick trot. The three moved away from the edge of the forest, but not near the village either. Hopefully out of bow range of any monsters lurking in the dark. He had the suspicion, to put it lightly, that things only got worse at night.

He eventually found a large road that was well worn. It cut a clear path through the forest, a path wide a very wide clearance on either side, likely on the way to a larger town. Once he got on the main road, the trooper spurred his horse onwards and the trio galloped away into the night.

Of course, even a mighty warhorse had its limits. They had slowed down after a short while after escaping the village. They had taken a short rest in a secluded area for a few hours, not long enough for anything tracking them to catch up, and had made it to a more established town an hour or two after sunrise. The boy sighed with relief at the first signs of civilization. They'd passed a couple miles of farmland first, the boy waving to the farmhands near the road.

The trooper was glad. He didn't want the boy as the final casualty of that village attack. Of course the time for proper mourning would come, but in the meantime he was proving himself a tough young lad. After they had awoken the boy had asked him a few questions: where he was from, what he was wearing, what his weird weapons were, if he was an "adventurer" sent to save the village, and other questions of the like.

Well, if he was an adventurer, whatever that was, he was a bit late on that. But one thing was nagging on his mind. Why did that attack even happen in the first place? As he caught sight of the town, it was not a brand new outcrop. It had walls. Stone walls. Where was their army to root out those bastards before they became a problem? This civilization, whatever it was, was obviously powerful enough to have a military.

He eventually came up to the gate of the town. Alright, now that he was up close, perhaps the walls weren't as impressive. They were still functional, just not massive like a castle would be, about the height of a person and a half. Enough height for ranged weapons to have a line of sight over the battlefield, and for anyone on the ground to need some equipment to either break through or climb over. The guard at the gate waved him down.

"What brings you here? You don't look like you're from around here," the guard asked.

"A village was destroyed. This boy is the only one I could bring back," the trooper answered. The boy's attitude soured at the reminder and sunk back into himself.

"I see," the guard said, nodding. "The Temple can take care of him. It's down the main road, can't miss it. What hit the village? Demons?"

At the casual mention of the word "demon" the cavalryman could only suppress a shiver. He shook his head. "No, at least I don't think so. I don't know, I killed one small green little bastard. Was he one?"

The guard hung his head, muttering under his breath. "Ah shit. Sounds like goblins. You'll want to stop by the Magistrate's office about that to submit a report," he replied. "Go on through."

Goblin? What in Hell? While he was of course familiar with the name, back home they weren't even a myth. Just an entirely fictitious tale from ancient European superstitions. Then again, the proof tried to stab him in the back just last evening.

"Thank you, sir," the trooper said as he entered the gate.

The two gate guards looked at each other. "What the hell is he wearing?" one said.

The other shrugged. "I'm more curious about his weapons. Yeah he's got a sword. But then he has that crossbow, without the bow part."

"Ah, whatever. I'm not paid to think."

"You got that right."

He certainly drew some stares, he thought to himself. Although he would have caught some looks in an American town, these were different types of looks. Even the Chinese would find familiarity with him and his dress; to these people, he was more alien than the literal other species that walked the streets. And by the Lord, were those people alien to him.

Short, tall, wide, skinny. Normal ears. Animal tails. Skin. Fur. While normal humans were the vast majority, there were enough people in this town that he got an eyeful of about everything. To include the particular way many of the women liked to dress. Although that's a thing for later, he told himself. He had a mission on hand.

First stop was the Temple. It was easy enough to find, with it right along the main road and dressed up like any other cathedral he'd seen in his life. The clergy, as well, were similar to Catholics, although they had a good number of nuns, veils and everything. The habits of the clergy were a pristine white, like silk, with what looked like gold thread that was expertly sewn into them. A few of the nuns caught his eye, especially with the… different way they dressed, but he mentally slapped himself upside the head for that. Different culture or not, a woman of God (or whatever god they served, at least) was still a woman of God.

Letting the kid go wasn't as emotional as he expected it to be. For his part, he supposed he'd simply handled war orphans a few too many times. As for the kid, he had a lot on his plate. The clergy were as routine as they could be as if they were picking up the morning newspaper. Not to put bad word on them, he thought, but this must be depressingly routine.

The Magistrate's office wasn't too far further. While large, it was certainly humble, even when not compared to the opulent Temple. It was certainly professionally built and upkept, but it was made more like an office building than the kind of opulent estates most politicians liked to work in. There was a small pole out front to hook the lead of his horse to. He'd hoped they were for common use, at least visitors, although on second thought he imagined any officials inside had a stable somewhere to keep their horses all day in.

He removed his cap as he entered the lobby. It was clean and neatly furnished. There were a few rows of waiting benches, but not many, and they were arranged around the edges of the lobby with a few in the center. Luckily they were about empty this early in the morning and the young woman at the front desk cheerfully waved him over. She was dressed in semi-formal attire but nothing that couldn't be comfortably worn every day. A loose gray jacket with a silver necklace adorned her neck, and her hair was cut to chin length. He supposed that the few people in the benches were already helped or here for someone else.

"Good morning, ma'am," he greeted.

She blushed slightly but didn't otherwise react. "Oh, hello," she replied. She studied him quizzically. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"How could you tell?" he joked with a small grin. After a pause he continued, "No, I'm not. I was here on my way in and I ran into a ransacked town. I'm here to file a report with the authorities."

No need to be too specific. No need to spill his life story with every person he bumped into.

"Sorry but the Executor handles that," she corrected. "She's across the street, with the blue doors."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, turning to leave. Of course, being given the run-around by the government was a thing here too.

The Executor's office, meanwhile, was a bit more decorated, reminding him of a military headquarters. It would appear that this was like a police station, although he saw what seemed like lower ranking military officers milling around too, in service uniforms rather than armor or labor clothing. There was a main hallway leading forwards to a T-intersection with smaller ancillary hallways going off to the sides before then. To the left though was a small room with a window where a young man and older woman sat.

While the man, dressed in some light gear, presumably for guarding the front desk, eyed him lazily, the woman barely even registered his existence for a few seconds. She looked like the most stereotypical receptionist you could think of, to include the reading glasses and retention chain. Eventually she finished the form she was on before looking up at him. "Complaint or request?" she asked.

"I was sent here from the Magistrate," the trooper answered. "I ran into a ransacked village on the way in."

"A report then," she said. She pulled out a new form and filled out some information on it. She handed it to him. "Fill this out and return it, please."

He did as instructed. Luckily the language was the same (what a wild coincidence, right?) so he was able to fill out the form without issue. Upon receiving the form, the woman handed it off to a younger clerk who retreated into a door behind the desk. She reappeared after a few minutes without saying a word, immediately sitting back down to resume her work after giving her elder a slight nod.

The receptionist turned back to him. "The Executor will see you right now, then. Go down the hallway, take a left at the end, straight, up the stairs, then…"

The Executor was younger than he expected. Much younger. She looked even younger than him, especially with the make up she could afford. Her white office blouse suited her nicely and the frilly bow under her chin complimented it well. She had a jacket hanging on a hook near her desk, a dark, high waisted one with gold trimmings above the cuff and along the edges of the lapels. He saw she had a skirt going down just below her knees, which wasn't too tight but wasn't too loose either. Brown hair was tied back in a loose ponytail that reached down below her shoulders, although he couldn't tell how far from the front. Between her hair and the bow, her face was framed perfectly, and her small, round chin matched her slim nose. Her lips were thin but prominent, nicely accented by the modest lipstick she wore. Large, round eyes adorned her face, bright green pupils returning his gaze, and he just couldn't help but sit there and keep noticing more and more features about her, and keep memorizing in detail every inch-

She confidently strode towards him, shaking his hand warmly. Her skin was soft, very soft, and he could faintly smell perfume and lotion as she got close. She could certainly wrap any man she wanted around her finger, and probably some women too. He politely reciprocated, ensuring he wasn't unprofessional in regards to his personal interests.

"I'm glad you came in such a hurry, mister," she greeted. "Attacks on villages are rare, but they do happen too often."

"Once is too much in my opinion," the trooper replied.

Her answer was a smile that, were they in a casual setting, would have stopped him cold. "It was the strangest thing," he explained. "I thought it was abandoned when I first came up to it."

"Why don't we sit down? I'm sure you had a long journey," she offered, motioning towards a chair in front of her desk.

He accepted and the two sat back down, he himself quite enjoying the softest cushions he'd sat in for perhaps the last year or two.

"So why don't we start from the beginning? You're obviously not from around here."

He nodded. "That's correct, ma'am."

"I'm the Frontier Town Executor," she introduced. "The Magistration is in charge of the judicial system here, and I'm the head of their law enforcement branch. That includes the town watch and any militia that we draw up."

"I am Corporal Johnathan Cawl, United States Army Cavalry." A very confused expression grew on her face.

"Well that explains the strange dress, Corporal."

"Yes, ma'am, I don't think I'm near my home anymore," he went on. He certainly wasn't a proper ambassador to an entirely new country either. Ambassadors and diplomats normally reported to Congress, or the President, something like that. And here he was, a meager foot soldier in the Army. "I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I first ran into a village a few miles south of here."

"And it was destroyed."

"Not quite," he clarified. "Plenty of damage but I couldn't even tell until I'd headed inside, looking for someone." With sword and gun, he didn't add. "It looked abandoned at first, until I got inside one of the houses."

"And it was a slaughter," she guessed. Rather, she knew. Like she said, these attacks must happen too often.

"Absolutely." He paused for a second, his head dipping low as memories flooded back. "I found one survivor. Dropped him off at the Temple."

A genuine, warm smile nearly split her face in half at that remark, before returning to a more neutral scowl as she continued. "Were there any… hostile individuals in there?"

The trooper nodded. "One. A little green, uh, thing. Wasn't too much trouble on its own, though."

Her expression immediately soured. "Goblins," she said, practically spitting the name out. "Did you see anything else?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I hate to say it but by myself, and a kid to protect, I couldn't go further into the village as much as I wanted to." How much he wanted to being none at all, but he left that part go unsaid as well.

"That was the right choice. We wouldn't know about this until it was too late if you weren't back here now."

"Too late?" he asked. "No offense, but I think now is a little more than too late."

She solemnly nodded. "It may seem like that if you don't know how goblins operate," she said. A flash of heat washed over the cavalryman's face briefly. "You see, Goblins don't have livestock or agriculture. They live in caves and ruins outside, away from civilization." She gave him a stern look. "They don't have women either. They start off stealing chickens and goats and cows. Then they move onto women. They need the women to breed."

A knot formed in his stomach. He could only think of all those poor villagers now, and what the survivors must be going through at the hands of those little demonic bastards.

She continued, "That village was only a few houses, right? Five or six?" He nodded. "They grow their numbers in their caves until they can raid small clusters of houses on the edges of larger towns. Eventually they get large enough and attack small towns. Do you see where I'm going?"

He took a deep breath. "I do, ma'am." He pondered this for a second. These creatures, they were evil incarnate. Straight from Hell. "But why does the military do nothing? I mean I get the town watch not being able for much, but they're taking down whole villages!"

"I agree," she replied, "but there's bigger issues at hand. The Demon King is raising an army against the Kingdom where most of the military is tied up."

"So it's a manpower issue," he said, shuddering to think of a man, or creature he supposed, fearsome enough to earn the title of Demon King. "Or political."

"A little of both, I admit," she replied. "Goblin problems are normally left to adventurers. Usually villagers will catch signs early on, like suspicious tracks or missing livestock."

Or missing women.

"Then the nests are taken care of before they get too big and they don't cause too much trouble. But sometimes that isn't always the case, as you've seen. By the time they're enough of a threat that it's worth pulling the military away from the front, they're too large to easily stop."

"And the army arrives too late anyway," he added.

"Exactly," she agreed. "Unfortunately we've been relying on adventurers to take care of the nests before they grow too large. But even then, we're often relying on more powerful adventurers for larger nests and hordes."

"What's an adventurer? I heard that word earlier."

"Individuals belonging to the Adventurer's Guild who take up quests submitted by people. Anyone from farmers to nobles."

She pulled out a blank sheet of paper and began writing. After a few lines, and after some clarification and additional input, she finished the letter, folded it inside an envelope, and closed it with a wax seal.

"I believe we may have a common interest," she ventured. He nodded, understanding what she was getting at. "It seems to me that you're itching for some resolution. If you accept, take this and head down to the Guild Hall and give it to the receptionist there. There's one certain adventurer who would like to take this quest up. If he's available."