Chapter 017 Bait

To him who is in fear everything rustles.

******

******

"Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow."

"I thought about a Beast Master Nature," the older man told Neron conversationally. "But we can't connect to the game as often as I like and didn't want to leave any pets alone for that long."

"Will you quit your whining?"

"It is a lot of work," Neron nodded seriously in response. "Jorry is pretty easy. I just need to keep him warm and feed him once in a while. Cuholy here is another story. I just found her the other day and she is a lot more work. Food wise and she needs more attention and care."

"But it hurts."

"Canines are like that." The mage holding Jorry nodded, not letting up the variation of Spark keeping him warm. "We had a dog, a pomsky, about a century ago, and he wouldn't do anything alone. The cutest thing, but a coward through and through. Always needed someone around or he'd howl and howl."

"So? Suck it up. If you can't handle a bit of brushing, then how are you going to handle a real fight?"

"Is that why we only have cats?" The girl, couldn't be older than fourteen, looked up at her parents in question. Her hands never stopped or slowed from the repetitive motions with the brush.

"But it huuuurttsssss." Cuholy cried out, squirming to try and save herself from the hands of her captor to no avail.

The Body stat was interesting, Neron thought as he continued his small talk about pets with the Morrison family. It had no outside effect on appearance, none of the three basic stats did, but it had the most obvious effect in its usage. Ostensibly, it increased the density of the body without changing its shape or volume, much like the Spirit did to the non-corporeal body. Yet the mass never changed, despite the laws of physics saying it should. 

Density was supposed to be D=M/V, and everything else in this world still followed that principle, whether it was material or organic matter. Ignoring impossible materials, a rock of a certain size and composition had the same mass in God's Nature as it did in the real world. Its weight was the same here as it would be on a planet of the same size in real life.

The same applied to people and animals. When Neron first joined this game, he weighed the same as he did now, despite putting a third of his levels into Body and gaining a few extra points here and there. Yet he was still denser. Stronger. Harder to hurt. It wasn't to any ridiculous degree. He was still low level and split his stats equally three ways, but it was noticeable even now.

If he and Liza Morrison had the same stats, then his greater size, reach, and mass would mean he could hold her at bay with one hand and no eyes. The same as he could do for any other fourteen year old girl that stood under a meter and half tall and probably weighed less than fifty kilograms. Even if she had trained in martial arts her whole life there came a point where size mattered and, so long as he wasn't stupid, there was nothing she could do to him.

In God's Nature, where she was clearly the bruiser of her family's little party by the knuckle dusters on her hand, it didn't matter that he was over a meter taller than her, three times her weight, and twice as wide. She'd fold him in half.

It was just a shame that it she had clearly dumped all her points in Body, instead of following the usual rule of passing some points into Control.

Well, it was a shame for Cuholy who the girl was brushing with entirely too much force.

"Ah," Olive Morrison let out a small noise in the middle of their talk and shivered slightly. It was followed by her husband and daughter doing the same.

"Well," Nat Morrison sighed out as Olive passed Jorry back to Neron. "That's us. We should get going. Our son is waiting for us."

"Aww," Liza pouted as she let Cuholy go, the fox yelping and scrambling to reach Neron and squeeze in the gap between his back and the wall he was leaning on. The girl's pout grew and she passed the brush back to Neron after Jorry had crawled into his shirt again. "I'm not that scary."

"You are dear," Nat said, ruffling his daughters hair and she batted his hand away with a glare. "It was nice meeting you Neron. Good luck out there."

"You as well," Neron said, standing to wave them goodbye as they left the Sanctuary plaza.

"I didn't like them," Cuholy said, glaring at where the family had left.

"Yet you did not struggle, even when it hurt," Neron pointed out and retook his position. "Why?"

"Well," Cuholy said as she climbed onto his lap once more, brush in her mouth from where he'd put it aside. She dropped it in his hand before continuing. "I'm bait, right? And it's not like bad brushing will kill me."

"You are bait, but that does not mean you have to suffer pointlessly," Neron chided gently as he picked up the brush and cast his fishing line out once more. "Once they are hooked, you can act as you will. I will ask you to do things, unpleasant things, but you are always free to speak up. If you had pushed her away or asked me to do the same I would have."

Cuholy did not answer.

Neron did not expect her to.

Nothing he said was wrong, he really would have taken the fox from the girl if Cuholy had made any action or request to that effect, yet at the same time he was starting to get a feel for her personality and what he'd noticed led him to believe that she wouldn't do something like that. At least not as she was now. His actions, as it were, hadn't helped in that regard. Not that he'd wanted them to.

His words were true yet they concealed the double intent that his actions held.

Bait might have a negative connotation but it also gave her a role, something she could contribute to the group. Made her feel useful, needed, and valuable. It gave her a sense of security that also made her see herself as one of them. And through it all, whether it was in the bath with soap or here with a brush, Neron used his actions to magnify that effect.

Canines such as foxes were relatively communal. While they could live alone, and many did, most of their lives was spent in a group. Either as kits with siblings and a mother, or with a partner then children of their own. And a huge part of that community was the act of grooming, of taking care of each others fur, keeping it clean of parasites and dirt and bugs and a dozen other things that got tangled in the long hairs. It was how they reinforced social bonds.

As Neron cast his net out for his targets, using his newest companion as bait, he did the same thing with the gentle touch of the brush. Careful not to be too forceful, or target those areas Liza had rubbed raw, Neron soothed the fox with steady, repetitive brushing.

She practically melted into his lap.

"How much longer?" Jorry asked after a few minutes. "It's getting dark."

And cold, went unsaid.

"Another hour," Neron answered as he kept up his cadence. "Less if the fish bites."

The Morrisons, as pleasant as they had been, had been the fourth failure since Neron had set up his line. To continue his metaphor, he had been forced to toss them back with the others to free up his bait once more. But that was how it went with fishing. You didn't choose who or what bit, all you can do was cast your line as best as you can to maximize the chance it is your target.

Not that Neron had ever been fishing. 

It was, however, a crucial part of human history, as with other food gathering activities, and it cropped up often in culture and philosophy. He wouldn't trust himself to catch an actual fish, but he understood the process well enough, even if only intellectually. And he knew the most important aspect of fishing is patience.

So he continued to gently brush Cuholy, much to her delight, and made certain she wasn't concealed from view. All the while he kept his vision carefully adjusted so he could spy on his target out of the corner of his eye.

Positioned as he was near the corner of the plaza right next to the main thoroughfare in and out of town, traffic was heavy and his view was impeded time and time again yet he remained in his place. He was far from the only one syncing up to the Sanctuary, benches and seats were filled and other idlers moved to and fro, killing the six hours it took for their spirits to be claimed.

Not everybody had the same patience to remain within the relatively restrictive area and Neron had caught more than a few only pass a few hours here before moving on, willing to tolerate the vastly slower sync time of being on the outskirts of the Sanctuary if it meant not dealing with the busy plaza. It wasn't that there weren't things to do or people to talk to, as Sanctuaries were almost always the busiest part of any town, but rather by their very nature there cannot be anything built on the Sanctuary itself... At least not for small, relatively new Sanctuaries like Provent's.

Calderine's Sanctuary was so large and old that it had expanded to encompass four blocks around it, including the original buildings. Those didn't get eaten by the revival points, though anything newly installed would suffer the same fate as all other constructions left on blessed ground.

The point was, this was a busy, cramped place without much in the way of comforts and everything within reach was expensive, exclusive, or exclusively expensive. Pretty much the only thing to do was to shop, to talk, or wait and most people, player or native, didn't mind a longer wait if it meant doing it meant avoiding the boredom.

Not that everyone present was syncing to the Sanctuary. In fact, they were the minority. This was still a hub full of people whose express purpose was to shop or talk. More than that, it was a point of prestige for institutions to have ownership of buildings surrounding the blessed ground. There was always something there from the local government such as a town hall, forum, or barracks. Similarly, there was always some edifice of faith, usually temples dedicated to one deity or another who was considered extra special to the town. Higher nobility, if there was one present, also maintained housing on a Sanctuary's borders if they could.

From there, things varied place to place. Wealthy mercantile firms or suppliers would sometimes have their centers in one of the buildings, usually with a shop attached. The Bank made a point of always trying to have their location beside the Sanctuary, but they couldn't always buy out an established and entrenched position. Other wealthy families would try and imitate the nobility if they could, to varying degrees of success. Finally, were the guilds.

Guilds were not, contrary to what some might expect, brought to Gods' Nature by Players. Guilds had a long history, both in God's Nature and in the real world. They were the precursors of unions, a group of like minded individuals who banded together to ensure that their interests were represented. Usually, they were represented of trades, jobs, or skills. The mason guild, the smith guild, the hunting guilds, and so on. Also like unions, they were a mixed bag of benefit and detriment to both their members, their societies, and their states.

One difference in God's Nature from the real world is that polities, no matter their form, didn't have a monopoly on violence. They simply could not. They might have the biggest fist, with the largest forces in number, and the greatest concentration of Jobs that facilitated violence, but the simple truth was that a single individual could grow strong enough to destroy an entire city or cause irreparable damage to a country. Even if they didn't win, they might still leave the polity damaged enough that it could no longer protect itself from monsters or other Blessed countries.

And everyone knew it, including the state itself.

Calderine's guild system, like the ones in Leidon, were a holdover from the Kalkos Empire. Each country had slightly different words for them, due to language drift over centuries, but the both translated to the same thing.

'Organized Killers.'

Other institutions had cropped up in the centuries since the Woe, such as Calderine's Halls and Leidon's Explorers, but Guilds had stubbornly clung on for the simple fact that the state wanted a system of organizations that would take in the individuals who were strong enough to cause trouble yet did not wish to join the army or guards.

With the arrival of Players, guilds grew exponentially more powerful. This was due to the simple fact that it was a system many people could understand and was present in hundreds of other games, practically as old as the RPG genre itself. Leidon, the first starting city, had been happy enough to fold this sudden influx of beings into their structures yet there was an unintended shift they could not have predicted.

Numbers.

Players, no matter how weak and ignorant they started out as, were vastly more inclined to the business of violence than Natives. They experienced significantly less pain. They perceived the world in a much less graphic manner. Their Nature system meant they weren't beholden to finding Jobs. 

And, crucially, most of them saw this world as a game. They were not worried about long term consequences, settling down and creating families, or the development of the society. All they cared about was levels, skills, points, deeds, and adventures.

A third of all people who bought a Pod wouldn't play God's Nature regularly. They simply didn't enjoy the hardship involved.

Half of all players of God's Nature did not enjoy combat. Pain, fear, or a simple desire for something else prevented them.

The remainder? The final third of all players? They overwhelmed established guilds with applications to get access to the resources and benefits involved. They created their own guilds to legitimize their organizations. And more kept coming. Because being in a guild gave so many benefits, from information, allies, equipment, and diversity of skills, that those not in them were disadvantaged compared to those who were.

Most key of all, was the ability of guilds to hold territory. A legitimization by the state that gave a guild an area and told them 'you have the right to all monsters and dungeons in this area'.

But with that legitimacy came expectations.

Neron, a corner of his eye on the entrance of the Hijal guild, tapped Cuholy's lower back three times in quick succession when it opened.

The fox didn't do anything drastic in response. As instructed, she simply started waving her tail more vigorously in its direction. Then she counted to five and, on a particularly slow pass of the brush she let out a high pitched yelp.

Eyes swiveled toward their corner of the street at the unexpected noise and Neron faked a grimace.

"You are okay girl. You are okay," he said, dropping the brush and hurrying to pat the fox as she drooped her tail and wined low.

"Is there a problem?"

Neron looked up and stopped himself from smiling. Two women stood over his little group, both dressed in light armor consisting of treated leather with hints of chain mail peaking out in the gaps. One wore a metal helmet concealing her hair while the other let her blond hair hang low in a pony tail. The one with the helmet was better armored in other locations as well, with metal greaves and gloves, and carried a shield on her back and a sword at her hip. Pony Tail only wore pants and boots, and her gloves were more leather. An unstrung bow sat in a sling along her back with a quiver of arrows hung at an angle on her lower back. Both their clothes were dyed green and blue.

After two guard patrols, the Morrisons, and a particularly nosy teenager, the proper fish had finaly bitten the hook.

"Ah!" Neron startled at their arrival and gave a nervous smile. "No, no, nothing wrong." He might as well have waved a red flag in front of their faces and they looked in on him. He sighed, confessing under their glare. "It is my Nature. It lets me control animals for battle but..." 

He paused as if unsure if he should speak more and subtly put more pressure on a finger touching Cuholy's head. She yelped again, turning and growling up at the two women.

"Rah. Grrr. I'm scary. I'm a violent animal whose going to, uh, bite you? Bite you! And, and claw you. Grrr."

"Whoa!" Neron hurried to pick up the 'violent animal' and her little legs waived frantically, as if trying to escape. "There, there. These are friends. Friends, not foe."

"If you cannot control your beasts, you will need to leave the walled area," the armored woman said. "You are responsible for them."

"No, no, I can control them," Neron hurried to say, raising a hand and scratching behind Cuholy's ears. She relaxed instantly. "See! She's calm." Neron held out the fox to the bow woman. "You can even pet her, if you want?"

Pony Tail looked amused, not threatened at all, and held out her hand to rub the fox on the head. Cuholy let her, even leaning into the touch, and the amusement turned into something more gentle as she continued to pet the fox.

"See," Neron smiled, letting relief fill his voice. As if the fox's action wasn't guaranteed. Just enough to hint a potential problem.

"Then what was that before," Helmet asked, taking the bait as she also reaching over to pet the creature.

"Ah," Neron sighed as if caught. "Like I said, it is my skill. It lets the animals I control have roles." Not technically a lie. It was just that they could have any roll they wanted. "Jorry here is a great scout, for example. But Cuholy, she is supposed to help me in fights. Only, I have not been able to find anything our level since I found her and its wearing on her." He sounded slightly despondent as he spoke, and quieter than humans were supposed to be able to hear, he further muttered under his breath. "And she is getting hungry."

He pretended not to notice the looks the two women shared.

"What's your level?" Pony Tail asked casually. Too casually.

"Twenty one," Neron answered with a sigh. "Too low level for any of the dungeons in the area... And I could not afford the entrance fee anyway."

There were four dungeons allowed to exist in the greater area around Provent, two of which were controlled by the town itself and the other two remanded to the Hajul guild for oversight. All of them were for monsters, and all of them were dangerous to even second Step players. It wasn't that Neron, or someone level twenty one, couldn't kill one of them with enough time and effort, but there was a fee for entrance to the dungeon and the returns on investment were not worth it for one or two kills with significant chance of death.

"Why don't you go to another town?" Pony Tail mentioned, not rushing into anything as she continued to pet Cuholy. "Iren has a few low level dungeons."

"I do not have the time," Neron sighed. "I have work in a few days and by the time I get there, find a job to get enough money to pay the fee, and then get to the dungeon, I will need to leave for days. Who knows what she will do without me there to control her and I can not afford the pet houses."

"Have you thought about a Hall?" Helmet asked, with a subtle enough inclination in her voice that if Neron hadn't been paying attention he would have missed it. "There are some good ones in town. The winter season just started. I'm sure they could take care of you until then if you are willing to put in the work."

"I already graduated one in Calderine," Neron shook his head with a sigh, once more pretending he couldn't tell the way their interest peaked as he gestured to the pin on his chest. The pin they had definitely noticed before. "Ysold's. It was a survival one. I learned the basics spells and how to live in the wilderness but it was not purely combat focused. There are not any Halls in town that will teach me new stuff without having a large entrance fee."

"Hmmm," Helmet hummed, continuing to pet Cuholy as she shared a look with her guild mate. "You're in a pickle."

"Tell me about it," Neron sighed, looking down.

"But I think we can help you," Helmet continued. Neron shot his head up, naked hope shining through his eyes and the woman smiled. "Provent actually has a bit of an issue on hand. Goblins." 

"But..." Neron furrowed his brow in confusion. "There should not be any goblin dungeons nearby?"

"There shouldn't," Pony Tail nodded. "In fact, it went unnoticed for a long time. Long enough to burst." Neron sucked in a breath in shock and Pony Tail hurried to explain. "The Hijal guild already fixed it. They went in an purged it as soon as we learned of it and wiped out the dungeon's spirit."

"But the goblins that were not contained will still be running around." Neron said excitedly as he perked up. Then he paused, tilting his head. "Are you sure it is alright to be telling me this? I thought guilds had a monopo- I mean, I thought they had first right to monsters in their area."

"The Hijal guild isn't like those other guilds," Helmet said with a kind smile. "We are always happy to help out other adventurers. Goblins should be just perfect for you, right? Then there's no reason we shouldn't share."

"If you are sure," Neron made an effort to look reluctant, but a transparent reluctance that they could totally see through. "You would be doing me a huge favor."

"We are happy to help," Pony Tail smiled, reaching into one of her pouched and pulling out a small patch of cloth embroided with the symbol of the Hijal guild. "Just show this to anyone you meet and tell them Saphronia and Peggy sent you to help clean up. They won't give you any trouble."

"Thank you," Neron said with a look of profound gratitude and relief as he took the badge. "Where do I need to go?"

It was all smiles as the women gave him direction and Neron hurried out of the Sanctuary plaza.

"You, my fuzzy friend," he told Cuholy as he let the smile drop to his usual expression. They turned a corner and headed toward an inn for the night. They weren't in any rush and so long as he stayed within the walled area he'd finish syncing to the Sanctuary during his sleep. "Were great."

"I know," she said through a foxy grin, tail wagging furiously.

"And now we have prey to hunt," Jorry said with relish as he popped his head out of Neron's collar.

"That we do," Neron nodded, tossing the badge in his hand. Beside him the tail stopped wagging and ears drooped.

"...yay..." 

******

Our journey cradle-ward was marked by two events of import.

Not passing the path the Blessed carved from sunrise to set. That went without issue. The pack was careful and the ravens vigilant as we traveled. Mostly by night and the moons' light. 

The Blessed were encroaching. They were not everywhere. Those days were lean, but productive.

The first incident was on a night where water fell from the sky. Clouds were heavy and blocked the moons glow. Our fur was damp and feathers wet, yet we moved on toward the moons' cradle. 

We traveled along a fissure in the ground. Our formation is as it has always been and will be till the moons crash into the ground.

The Father and Mother in the front, the young behind. The parents protect and warn, making passage through snow and rock. The young follow their paw prints, learning all the while. 

It is the way of things.

The ravens brought news of a light that night. Fire. Small, dim, and flickering.

Blessed. Six of them. Hidden in their skin shelters from the wet and cold.

They were foolish. No guard. No vigilance.

An opportunity, one we could not pass up after days of travel and lean pickings.

We fell upon them as one. Old or young, it does not matter. When part of the pack you move with it. You act as one.

Pups are to be left behind, protected and fed, but that was for hunting. This was not hunting. The pack had one that Was... A Self, in your words.

It made all the difference.

They died in their sleep. Choked cries of prey caught by predator unaware.

The ravens feasted on one. We, the others.

Do not blame us. Food is food. Grass cannot sustain us alone, neither can a rabbit or bird support the pack.

You must eat, we must eat. Your children must eat, our pups must eat.

Looking back, they were probably Players, but not as we knew them. Not as the fiends that drove us from our home. They were nothing more than pups themselves. Not in age, but in what matters. In wisdom.

Through their death, two more of ours Became.

Through their death, we were greater than ever.

Through their death, we became greedy.

It was that greed that led to the second event.

It was a moon later and we were deep within Blessed territory.

We had underestimated them. We had traveled moon-ward to escape them yet we found more and more of them. Their paths and dwellings. And these were not the thin paths and temporary dwellings of Players. These blocks of stone and cleared land.

We took what we could, be it prey or Blessed, yet we were pushed toward the setting sun. As the pack so lead the prey, so too were we being led to an inevitable doom.

... I get ahead of myself.

All you must understand is that we avoided large and entrenched territories in our travels. We rove clear of large groups of Blessed and would feed upon those few we caught alone or in small numbers.

Yet no more of ours Became.

It is not a guarantee, you must understand. There is never a certain path to Become. We know, instinctively, how to increase our chances. We must Do. The grander the Doing, the better out chances of Being. And there is no greater Doing than removing other's ability to Do.

Yet, the more of ours that Were, the easier our Doings. The easier our Doings, the less they were. Yet we all wanted to Be.

That want was our undoing.

We found a similar group to the first one. Larger, but not by much. Eight to their six. We still outnumbered them. It was still the dark of night with clouds and cold and a dim fire.

But there was no rain.

But there was a vigil.

We attacked anyway.

The vigil, we knew, had to be taken care of first. We drew close, hiding in the brush and the grass. We struck, three of us. One to distract, one to silence, and one to kill.

We almost succeeded.

It was a simple thing, a mere piece of steel against the neck... A gorget, I have heard it called. I do not know why, after divesting all other armour, that was the sole piece they kept during their watch.

It did not save their life.

It did give them time to call out, to cry for the others to rouse and prepare.

It did not save their lives.

It did give them time to grab their weapons, time to put up a fight.

Four of the pack died that night. I can't tell you how it happened.

I can tell you that I watched the Mother die.

I can tell you she clung on to life, to her Self, even as the spear bled her.

I can tell you we were all there, licking her wounds, questioning her, hoping she would survive even if we knew she wouldn't.

I can tell you the sounds she made, her spasms of pain, or the pattern of the blood on the dirt.

I can tell you when the light left her eyes.

I can tell you the exact moment she ceased to Be.

I can tell you the pack gained a monster that night.

I can tell you that monster saved us and doomed us.

******

Goblin was a catch all term.

'Monster' was the common term Natives used for any creature that could use magic, consciously or as a trait, and mainly used to distinguish those creatures from 'beasts,' which were nothing more than animals. Both monsters and beasts could have a Self, an awareness and consciousness that went beyond the inherent instincts of their race, and often beasts with Selves would evolve into monsters. As far as natural tools went, magic was hard to beat. Others, like Jorry, would evolve into a different type of beast. Always related in some manner to their current form, their evolution would still irrevocably change their racial characteristics. 

Jorry went from 'little snake' to 'bigger snake.' Knowing him as Neron did, he'd probably keep going until he was 'biggest snake' and, once there, turn into a dragon. 

That is, if his belief that the Self's desire influenced the evolution turned out to be true. 

There was no evidence to the contrary, but nor was the conclusive proof if so. Creatures with a Self were rare, ones friendly to the Blessed were rarer, and those observed before and after evolution were so rare as to have only a few dozen in recorded history. By their very nature, they were a subject where objective evaluation and study were impossible. Despite that, monsters, beasts, and their evolution was a matter of considerable interest for everyone in God's Nature. It was, to put it bluntly, a matter of survival on a personal and societal level. So they had discovered a few consistent patterns throughout history.

First was, as mentioned before, that if they remained beasts between stages of evolution then they would always be related. Sometimes distantly, but always connected in some way. 

The Natives, unable to develop theories of natural selection and evolution due to the chaotic nature of God's Nature, could not piece together the rules exactly, but a few Players knowledgeable on the subject had been able to narrow down the rules. Changes in 'Species' were the default, changes in 'Genus' was common, 'Clade' was rare but possible, and 'Order' had only been noted twice in all of recorded history. There had never, ever, been an evolution that changed a beast's 'Class.'

The second rule was that, once a beast became a monster, it could not become a beast once more. The inclusion of magic into the body was permanent. 

Whether this was because no beast ever wished to give it up due to the advantages it brought or if it were actually impossible, nobody could say with certainty. Neron personally believed in the former. If you could breath fire or reinforce your muscles with magic, you would not wish to exchange that with a non-magical body. It would be the equivalent of tossing aside a gun to use a rock for a weapon.

Third, an observable change was not, actually, necessary. Sometimes animals or monsters 'evolved' and there were no noticeable difference. 

Despite there being no observable changes, the creature in question would be stronger, smarter, more durable, and overall better than it was before the evolution. Most would simply consider this a type of monstrous evolution, with the infusion of magic into the body, but those who could perceive magic would swear up and down that it was not the case and this type of evolution remained a separate, hotly debated topic.

The final thing Natives could conclusively say regarding evolution was that it trended toward anthropomorphization. At least half of all evolutions into monsters turned the creatures in question into humanoids. 

This was because even if humans and the other humanoids of the Blessed did not have perfect forms, by any stretch, there was no denying the advantages a humanoid body had. Opposable thumbs to use tools and weapons. Bipedalism for longer sight range. Sweat glands for endurance. Binocular and front facing eyes for tracking prey. And, crucially, a higher than average intelligence. 

Ratmen, despite the name, were just giant rats. Their fundamental body structure hadn't changed and, for all that rats and mice had very dexterous hands, they still couldn't use tools with them. Animals were not dumb, and those with a Self that managed to evolve would naturally see the most successful predators as something to emulate.

Which left the Blessed with a problem. 

If a cat, a bird, a worm, or anything else can evolve into a humanoid form, and each individual will be different, let alone one from different species of origin, then how do you categorize them? Individually? You'd fill books and books with the subtle variations in color, size, fur, limb length, and a hundred other little variations. Something like that is possible in the real world, where humans are the undisputed top of the food chain and you could dedicate years and years to a species that remains consistent.

Studying something is a lot harder to do when it is trying to eat your face off. 

So, Natives gave these humanoid monsters a catch all name, and then Players translated that name into 'Goblin.'

Any humanoid creature, capable of basic tool usage and working in groups, fell into this category. If it was capable of being killed by a Native on their first Job it was considered a 'goblin.'

If someone needed a second Job, or a second Step Player, to reliably defeat the creature then they were considered a 'hobgoblin.' 

Anything greater than that got its own classification, and there were further subcategories of goblin or hobgoblin depending on their actions but those were the rules, by and large. 

And, due to the vagueness of this catch all term, when told he'd be hunting goblins, Neron had no clue what to expect. Upon originally catching sight of it at a distance, it had been hard to make out the details but as it drew closer, he could form some initial conclusions.

The creature had originally been a type of weasel or stoat, Neron decided. Its torso was extended, longer than average for most humanoids, making it taller than its short limbs would allow. It was still short, as far as these things went, and barely topped a meter in height. Fine hair covered most of its body, dark brown in color to help it blend in, excepting around the chest which was bare. Its legs were short, as were its arms, though both ended in five toes capped with short, sharp claws. Its face bore traces of its previous species, also covered in fur with short round ears, a short skull, and, when it opened its mouth, large teeth designed to tear flesh and crush bone. It wore no clothes, carried no tools, and was very clearly male.

It was also chasing a fox screaming in terror.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Cuholy wailed as she fled from the creature. "HELP MEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"... Are you sure we should keep her?" Jorry asked doubtfully. His voice was faint but still legible from his hiding place in the distance. "She's going to be a problem if she can't even keep calm around a single goblin."

Neron didn't answer. Unlike the snake, the goblin would be able to hear him.

"Killdiekilldiekilleatkilleatkill!" It chattered, deeper in voice than the ratmen had been but still a higher pitch than most humans. It ran after its prey with surprising speed despite its stocky limbs, its claws giving it traction in the uneven earth. It barrelled through the heath-land grasses and crushed the gorse underfoot in a leap, arms outstretched to try and catch Cuholy.

The fox screamed again, putting on a desperate burst of speed to turn at a thirty degree angle. She barely missed getting clawed as the goblin landed in a heap, limbs flailing fruitlessly as it rolled along the dirt. Short limbs quickly found purchase in dirt and it scrambled on all fours for a second before pushing its self onto two legs to continue its chase with continual cries of 'killkill.'

"WHERE ARE YOU!?"

Neron pursed his lips.

The plan was simple. They'd caught the trail of the goblin well before it had seen them thanks to the advanced senses of his companions. That let them plan sneak close enough to put it in view. From there, Jorry had concealed himself in a low brush while Neron lay prone in a small divot further away, being far easier to spot than either of the beasts. 

Cuholy was then supposed to show herself to the goblin. As monsters were want to do, it would chase anything it believed it could kill easily. It might be small compared to Neron, but it was still over three time Cuholy's size. She'd simply need to lead it near where Jorry lay. The black rat snake would launch itself in ambush at the creature's legs, tripping it up. From there, as it struggled to get free, Cuholy could double back to attack it from behind while Neron charged.

A simple bait and ambush tactic, capitalizing on both his companions abilities and temperament while also preventing the goblin from fleeing or calling for any others that might be in the area.

Only Neron had vastly underestimated Cuholy's cowardice, swayed as he was by helpful she'd been in town. She'd been reluctant to act as bait, certainly, but with a bit of prompting and instigation, had decided she would do so any way.

No sooner had the goblin caught sight of the fox, charging at her with a cry of 'Kill' did the small beast cry out in fear and run. Initially toward Jorry, as planned, it didn't take more than a second for the fox to turn in a wrong direction in her panic. She should still be able to smell him if she thought calmly for a moment, but panic was ruling her every action at the moment.

"I DON'T WANT TO DIEEEEEEEEE!"

Now they were running in circles a dozen meters away from Jorry and twice that from Neron. Cuholy was noticeably slowing. That part wasn't necessarily her fault. The area they'd been told they'd find the wandering goblins was across the river and over a day from town and a half day from the road. She'd walked that entire time despite her condition. A few days of regular food intake did not solve the long term effects of starvation and she tired quickly.

Still, if this kept up the goblin would catch her and kill her. 

Neron debated letting it. While it killed and ate her he could sneak up on it and kill it easily. She'd return in six hours and he could use the opportunity to reinforce the need to obey his orders properly.

...No, too risky. He had no idea how she'd react to the death so early in their time together and this was an opportunity all its own.

So, as subtly as he could, Neron raised his staff at an angle in the air while keeping his body pressed to the ground. He had to do it slowly as to not alert the goblin, but in a few seconds its metal tip was standing taller than the brush surrounding him, gleaming in the midday sun like a particularly shiny tree. When Cuholy turned in another attempt to escape he gave it a slight waive as if it was being blown in a breeze.

Her eyes caught sight of it and they widened in shock and relief.

"NEEEEEROOOOOOOON!" Her cry of joy was accompanied by another turn, putting her on track directly toward him. The goblin chased, continually spitting out the instinctual cries his skill translated into words.

Their rush came at an angle away from where Jorry hid and the snake let out a curse, slithering closer to try and intercept.

The pair passed him in a few heartbeats and in five seconds, Cuholy had reached Neron's hiding location. She jumped over the brush that concealed the little gully, the fall greater than she expected and let out a yelp of surprise.

The goblin chased straight through the brush after her, and hungry snarl on its lips.

And crashed into Neron's staff, braced against the ground in the nook of his arm. The tip dug into its solar plexus and it let out a grunt of pain as the air was driven from its lungs as its forward momentum was halted.

It fell, crashing to the ground atop the rim of the gully and the brush soon concealed it as it rolled beyond Neron's view.

"Got it!" Jorry cried shouted as Neron quickly rose to his feet. Then the snake let out a hiss of pain. "Hurry!"

Neron rushed up the dirt bank, bush scratching his skin, and caught sight of the goblin rolling on the ground, Jorry wrapped around the creature's neck and under its left armpit, tightening as best as he could. The goblin's other arm was free, however and clawed desperately at the snake, bloody scratches from short claws digging carved into the snake's scales.

Neron stomped on the free arm, crushing bone and muscle, and the goblin let out a cry of pain and fear.

Once, twice, thrice, Neron brought the metal tipped end of his staff on the creature's skull, each blow stunning it and cracking the bone. The fourth and final blow, backed by his full body weight, finally crushed it and bone gave way to squishy brains.

The goblin twitched one last time, letting out a death rattle and lay still.

Neron stood there, staff planted in the creature's skull body underfoot, and panted lightly. More from adrenaline than actual exertion, it was true, but the effect was the same. His heart rate was up and blood pumped in his ears.

"...Did you get it?" Cuholy asked gently from behind him.

Letting out an explosive breath, Neron released his staff to fall to the earth and bent down to pick Jorry up.

"Ow," Jorry grunted as he was lifted despite Neron's care to only grab uninjured parts. "Of course we got it! Not that you were much help. What were you doing!?"

"...Sorry."

"'Sorry' doesn't help anyone," Jorry spat. Neron knew he wasn't angry at his injury, even if it caused him pain. The plan had a risk of him getting hurt anyway. No, he was angry because of how she acted, not the result. "'Sorry' doesn't kill our foes. 'Sorry' is for grovelers, idiots, and prey. Save your 'sorry's' for someone who cares."

Neron didn't say anything, focusing on twisting his spirit in just the right way. The wounds weren't fatal, nor even that deep due to the angle the goblin had been forced to contort to reach Jorry, but they were bleeding. In under a minute, he had the subtle glow of Scab surrounding his hand which he hovered over the cuts in Jorry's flesh. Only then did he look to the fox.

Her ears were pressed against her skull, her snout tilted toward the ground and not meeting his eyes as she drooped, tail dragging through dirt.

Neron did not speak, not for a long moment as his spell worked to speed up Jorry's natural healing. When it ran it's course, he reached down to his hip, pulling the wine-skin and gently dribbling a bit over the now smaller wounds. Jorry twitched, letting out a faint hiss, but didn't complain as he rubbed the alcohol in. It wasn't hygienic or proper treatment, but it was better than nothing.

Cuholy was looking at Neron, her dark eyes wide and trembling.

"...sorry," she repeated, quieter, as Neron began focusing on a new cast of the spell. It should only take three or four more for the wounds to close. "I... I panicked. I didn't... I just... I'm sorry."

As the glow returned to his hand, Neron met the fox's eyes. She flinched, taking a half step back and drooping further.

Neron did not chastise her, admonish her, insult her, or berate her. He did not tell her what she did wrong and right, the consequences of failure now and in the future, or what he expected going forward. Neron simply held her gaze as he stepped to the side, showing the mutilated corpse of the goblin.

"Eat." If his order came out in a deeper and rougher manner than before, it was either because of his extended rostrum or unstated emotion. 

Neron let Cuholy decide which was true.

******

******