FSE

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In the old quarter of Anteronia, some shops thrive on something other than the increased foot traffic of the main thoroughfares but instead cater to more discerning and discrete customers, whether this is because the owners pride themselves in the quality and exclusiveness of their work or if they want to keep their heads down and avoid the scrutinizing gaze of others, that is for each person to decide on their own. No matter what, one can find something they're looking for if one's willing to search with increased scrutiny and fewer scruples.

--Guide to Anteronia

---

The old cobbler's business on the corner in the Old Quarter shares many things with the pub next to it. One of those things is the old fiery-haired gnome who makes the place his place of business, catering to those weary travelers to soothe their broken spirits so they may forget their troubles and mend their broken boots so they may go and break their spirits all over again.

"Adventurin' is a dangerous cycle, boys and gals," the barkeep, Ole' Shorty, always says. He's the kind of businessman one often finds working on his own in the back, with a sour frown on his face whenever anyone wants to spill their sorrows to the bartender instead of drown them in his beer.

"Hey, Shorty," a rather drunk old timer says to the cobbler, who had been content cleaning a mug instead of listening. "Whatever happened to that new girl of yours, and what's her name...?"

"Shirley?" the gnome grunts. "I dunno where she's run off ta, surely. Can't keep people on board, even if I want 'em."

"It's a curious thing, " says the first drunk. "World's changin' fast with all the supernatural and the paranormal and whatsis and whosits showin' up. Can't keep it all straight no more. Glad Ole' Shorty's place is still just the same as ever. Shorty'll never change!" He raises his mug, which brings a cheer from a few other crowd members.

The door opens, and a small figure, even shorter than Shorty, steps through the door. Her form is hardly hidden behind the tiny pleated skirt and the frilly sleeveless top. A cloche rests upon her head, pushing her big pointed ears down to the point of brushing against her rusty brown shoulders. When she smiles, it is with teeth as white as milk and with sharp as knives.

Shorty pays her no mind as she skips along the floor and hops onto a stool sized for the smaller folk. Shorty steps off the raised platform behind the bar and stands on the floor to speak to her. "What can I get ya, lass?"

"Lookin' for somethin' special that only the drunken cobbler can provide."

Shorty pauses, placing his hands on the bar and leaning in, a growl in his voice. "Listen, lassie, I don't know what kind of game yer playin', but it's been long since anyone's called me that."

She giggles, closes her eyes, and swings back and forth in her seat. Her boss said: "If you don't wanna drink, you can help me with my heels."

Shorty slaps the bar. I'll be in the back if anyone needs me. Missie, you better not be playing me. Enter through the shop. I'll unlock it for ya."

The scant few moments that Shorty had to himself as he walked to his other establishment, past a display of already cobbled shoes and to the front of the building where the mysterious gal stands, bouncing on her toes, gives Shorty little time to figure out who she was and what she wants. But he lets her in when he opens the door, closing it behind him with haste and locking it.

"You aren't the typical client I take, lass."

She steps inside, her heels clicking on the floor. She picks up an old boot with intricate patterns stamped into it, turning it around in her hands. "Oh, I know."

"Well, state your business or be on your way."

She places the boot down and flashes that smile at him again. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Robin, and I'm your new insurance agent."

"Tis a shakedown, then?" Shorty says.

"Not quite," she says, placing the boot back in place. "I've come to update you on our newest arrangement and to make sure you understand how things will work from now on. Buuuut," she says, dragging that last bit out, "I've heard a few things about you I wanted to find out for myself."

Shorty snorts. "Listen, lass, I've lived long enough to know that a hobgoblin like yourself isn't going to be the kind to do anything overtly malicious or involve herself in organized crime. This has got to be some sort of trick of yers."

Robin's ears wiggle, and she shrugs. "Oh, Mistah Shorty," she sings. I'm well-informed enough to know that a leprechaun doesn't want too many people knowing what he actually is."

Shorty narrows his gaze and snarls. "What do you want, girl?"

"Just some information," she says, drawing her finger over one of the displays and examining the dust. She then licks it off of her digit and shutters. "About the war."

________________

Shorty folds his arm over his chest. The old leprechaun watches the hobgoblin as she stops in front of one of the displays, her bright eyes twinkling at a pair of crimson pumps set up for display. She picks one of them up, spinning them around, her fingers running over the sole and up along the heel.

"Not many people would be botherin' me about my old war days," Shorty says. "And even less would use such terms for it. Ask more of the taller folk, and you say it was more a failed rebellion or acts of terrorism."

"Ah, you're willing to tell me about it?" She asks, gasping.

"Stories are for payin' customers, and this ain't a story for the inebriated to half-remember."

"Got something like these in my size?" she asks. "I really admire the gold markings on them," she says, running her hand over the indentations of swirling symbols. "Do they mean anything to you, Shorty?"

The cobbler is already at the back of the store, pulling out a small case, which he places on the floor nearby. He motions to a small stool meant for the smaller folk. "Never any pairs of shoes here for someone who walks in last. A true master of his craft makes every work of art special."

The hobgoblin gal sits down, gripping the edges of the seat, smiling as he gets down onto his knees before her. He reaches into the bag, his eyes down upon the floor.

"It all started back when we were a younger race and when this was a younger place, dedicated to the feelings and forces of nature and to the gods who represented them."

He places a sheet of paper onto the floor, unfolding it and tilting it parallel to her seat.

"In those days," he continues, grabbing the other pump, spinning it in his hands, "we lived as we wished where we wished, without the trappings and the desires of the rigid do-gooders and order-seekers. We didn't need rules and whatnot, and we just were."

He pats the paper, looking up at her.

She nods, pressing her heel against the leg of the chair, pulling her stockinged foot out of her simple pumps, wiggling her toes in her new-found freedom. She does the same with the other one, stretching and curling her toes before she hops up and steps onto the paper.

Shorty pulls a pen out of his pocket, biting the tip and then parting his lips to let the cap clatter to the floor.

She watches him with keen interest when he moves his hands down, pressing his thumbs along the top and up to her ankles.

He watches with a stern focus before he nods and presses the pen to the paper on the back of her heel. From there, he drags the tip around, letting it make an outline.

She bites her lip.

"As for the war itself, I was in a division of my clan that wanted to keep the place as natural as it always was. I always wished to help newcomers instead of driving them away. Hold still, lass."

"It tickles."

He sighs and looks up to her. "Do you want these or not?"

She nods quickly. "Oh, I do, I do!"

"I need to get under the heel."

Okay, okay!" She huffs.

"Now, then, my old man was the leader, and he knew with the skills I had, I could help the army traverse large distances with much less money and far less danger to themselves."

"Old Boot-making Shorty, eh?"

He sits back on his knees, looking over the marks he made. "Aye, that was me, in a sense."

"Don't see a lot of regulation boots around here, Shorty."

"That's because regulation won't get you far, even if made well. Everyone's different. Sit back."

Shorty pulls out a ruler, grasps her by the heel, and presses the ruler to her side. "You don't have the marks of a soldier." He notes this, taking the end of his pen and brushing it along her toes.

She curls them, pulling back with a squeak. "W-whatcha doing, buster?"

"You're a girl who hasn't decided what she's going to do with her life, but you're conscious about what others think about you."

She brings her feet back in, gripping a horizontal bar between the legs. "You can tell all that just by lookin' at my feet?"

"I've seen many, lass. So, what's a gal with all the bluster like you looking for an old shoemaker like me? Tell me plainly."

Robin breathes in deeply, gripping the sides of her seat. She looks away, biting her lip, and then glances back at him. "I'm here for your shoes, mister, and I need some great ones that could guarantee the independence you and your fellows fought for all them years ago."

He runs a hand over his balding head and stands up. You're talking about magic footwear, but there are plenty of kinds like that. What do you look for freedom from?"

"For starters," she says, fluttering her eyes, "I'm sure you're looking to live a life where you don't have to dip into your treasure reserves just to work here in town. An old soul like you deserves better, mister."

"Your kind are a tricky kind, miss."

"And you know we're generally for the playful tricks, not the nasty kind."

"That was different," he says, picking up the paper and rolling it up. "Times change, and you could get in trouble just for the asking to buy enchanted shoes from me."

"All the more reason to trust me, Shorty?"

"You know a bit too much for my liking."

"So, what are you going to do?" she says, holding her hands out. "If we aren't working together, I could tell the boss that you're not cooperative."

He digs into his pocket and tosses a gold coin over toward her. "That should cover this month's insurance."

She pads over to him, grabs his wrist, and slaps the coin back into his palm. "And that should be a down payment for the magic item."

________________

The bustle of nightlife echoes through Anteronia as many people enjoy the delights that come their way. Shorty, however, stands in the back alley of his little two-sided business, a pipe in his mouth and a bottle in his hand. Smoke curls up, embracing the street light before fluttering off into the darkness beyond, disappearing like all the random population that passes by on a day-in-and-day-out basis.

But not her.

He hears the click of those pumps on the cobblestone road and quirks his eyebrow, stroking his red-mane chin when the hobgoblin girl approaches. Her smile is bright as the moon and about as dangerous as the beasts who worship it.

"Outstanding work, mister," Robin says. "My feet don't feel tired at all."

"Shouldn't," he responds gruffly, pulling out his pipe and dashing out the ashes. "I made 'em, didn't I? What more do ye want from me?"

"Just coming to collect."

"And here I thought you were coming to liberate me from needless expenses."

"You know that change takes time."

"Aye, that it does."

"And the grandest schemes require multiple running parts."

"Seems about right to me."

"So, you just need to wait a bit more," she says, fluttering her eyes.

"Truth be told," Shorty responds, tapping out the ashes of his pipe. "I don't know what it is I'm waiting for. But this time, I don't think you're here for something as simple as a gold coin and a pair of shoes."

Robin reaches into her dress, pulls out a small sheet of paper from her cleavage, and hands it to Shorty, who, undeterred by the dim light, reads over it. "I'm no soldier."

"It's not soldiering; It's spying."

"Same fuckin' thing." He says, pocketing the note. "If you want me to do this, it'll cost ya two months instead of one."

Robin shrugs. "I suppose I can scrounge up the cash somewhere else, then. But it needs to look legit; My boss needs to know I'm getting the goods from the real place."

He grumbles. "You're blackmailing me, now?"

"Your words, Shorty, not mine."

"Fuck it all," he says, pulling out a pocket watch. "We got time. Follow me."

The hobgoblin gal follows her halfling friend back into the kitchen. Shorty breathes a sigh of relief before he turns toward the freezer.

That's when a gnome burst through the door, carrying a slab of bee in his hands. He peers over his hold to see the two whistling. "Nice catch, Shorty, ole' pal!"

Shorty grumbles.

Robin giggles.

The two step aside as the cook heads over to the stove and begins to prep the meal, chopping up some vegetables and humming to himself.

"So, is this where the magic happens?" Robin whispers.

"Not quite," Shorty admits, motioning to the freezer.

She rolls her eyes, grabbing his wrist. "Well, then, better just roll with it."

Shorty is about to protest when Robin pulls him into the freezer, slamming the door behind the two.

Two sets of breath rise up in the small enclosed space. Shorty shoots a glare of pure annoyance over at the hobgoblin while she snickers and hops on a box, crossing a leg over the other. "And how are you going to explain this little situation?"

"Wouldn't be nothing to explain if you just waited out there."

"Oh no, you don't. I know tricks, and you're not going to trick me."

Shorty snorted, marching past her. He rubs his hands together and presses his palm to the back wall. Golden light reveals intricate patterns that form a door hidden in the frost-laden wall. The ice cracks and shatters, falling as sheets on the ground.

"Subtle."

"Lobbley overlooks this stuff. Man's nearly blind."

"Your chef? Seemed to notice me."

"Lobbley's also a bit of a lecher," Shorty says, standing tall as the walls open up. "Now, I am no bank, and I'm not taking any notes from you. I need real wealth."

"No problem, no problem!" She hops off of the box and gracefully upon her pumps. "Now, let's see that vault."

"Sure thing," he says, spinning around and grabbing her wrist. "But first, we'll need to make a pact."

For the first time, Robin frowns, narrowing her eyes. "So, that's how it is, huh? Don't trust me to keep my word?"

"Not as far as I can throw you."

"How's your caber tossing skills?"

"You've got to be joking. Now, hold still." He places his thumb on her forehead, takes a deep breath, and slaps his palm upon her fuzzy flesh.

"Yow!"

"There. Now we all know that you shall keep your word not to tell the secrets I'm about to show ya."

"I didn't say anything," Robin whines, rubbing her head.

"You were thinking it, or else it wouldn't work." He responds, stepping into the doorway.

Robin smiles and is immediately blasted with the gentle warmth of a summer's day. The two are in a small field, with twittering birds and the gentle breeze of spring. In the center of this harmonious chamber is a tall and robust tree, and sitting at the bottom of that tree is a golden kettle.

And in that kettle flows many gold coins.

"I only trade in legal tender, lass," Shorty says. "Best pay up, or pay the price."

________________

"Hey, Shorty! When's yer girlfriend comin' back?" Haven't seen her in a while!" The drunken patron snickers as he waves his mug toward the bartender.

Shorty hobbles toward the dwarf, pouring more fresh brew into the cup. "Cut out the nonsense, boy. I have no need for women in my life."

"Sure, sure," says the dwarf, chugging his drink down and slamming the mug on the table. Froth covers his beard, dripping onto the bar as a sign of appreciation only one mountain folk can provide. Now, I ain't one to be mixing with the goblin folk, but they've been pretty popular lately, comin' in from their little mounds out of town and looking for work here in the city. I hear a goblin gal will do anything to make ends meet, and the taller kinds?" He whistles, "They even put this town to shame."

"This town puts this town to shame," Shorty snaps back, wiping the table and taking the mug. "And you've been here entirely too long.

"Bah, can't a dwarf have his alcohol?" the patron burps, slapping the bar to produce jewels and ingots worth the price of his tab and then some.

"When my patrons begin to say things they'll regret, that's when they've had enough," Shorty responds.

"By my father's beard, you're smitten with the gal, aren't you? Looking to enjoy the spoils of wild delights in her bush, right?"

Shorty places the mug down, gripping the back counter. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with it," the dwarf says, cackling as he looks toward the others. "Ain't that right, boys? It's a cosmopolitan city, and Anteronia serves all kinds. Or, maybe you'd prefer it if she had a brother? I ain't judging. I hear they can be pretty enthusiastic little holes too."

Shorty huffs and spins around, hopping up onto the bar. He grabs the dwarf by the beard and tugs him upward, pressing his nose against the nose.

"This is a good pub. A place of respite against the woes of yer life. You want to break the sanctity of this church by forcin' me to talk about what I don't want to talk about? This is a place to break bread with other sorry souls, not to pry into the affairs of others. Do I make myself clear?"

The air in the pub changes for a time, a tense silence that pulls over the place like an Unseelie cloak.

The dwarf gulps, tapping his fingers on the bar. "You make a good point, Shorty. I don't want any trouble, and I'll... I'll get gone now."

"You best be, lest you pass out somewhere on the street where the monsters take ya."

The dwarf's barstool screeches as he waddles away.

When the doors open and Robin steps through, she gracefully spins out of the way as he stumbles through and lands face-first in a puddle, coughing and sputtering and running his hands through his matted beard.

"Well, it seems like a lively night, huh?"

Shorty doesn't respond. Instead, he gets to clean the mug.

Robin hops up to a seat at the bar, her stool squeaking back and forth. "Aren't you gonna ask me where I've been this whole time?"

"Two months," the red-headed bartender says, placing a glass in front of her.

"Excuse me?"

"That's how long you said you'd be away.."

"That's only if you got what I wanted."

He uncorks a bottle, pouring sweet wine into her glass.

Her ears perk up. "You got it!?"

"It was at no small cost," Shorty admitted.

"I must know all the lurid details," Robin says, crossing one leg over the other and swirling her drink. "As I'm sure they are quite lurid." She sips her drink, keeping an eye on him.

"Out in the open? Are you daft? I'll tell you later in the cobbler's place.

"I don't need new shoes."

"These shoes aren't for you."

"Now, you have my attention. Mind if I take my drink with me?"

"You good to pay?"

"Put it on our tab. However long this will offset you," she says, swiping the bottle.

With a grunt, the tender marches on to the back, opening the door for his associate and then looking over his shoulder.

The faces that were all glancing with curiosity immediately snap back to their drinks.

--

Over at the cobbler's, Shorty leads Robin to a room in the back, where various leatherworking equipment sits ready for use. The smell of the tanned hides that make up his craft suffuses every pore of the wooden walls and floors, and Shorty breathes deeply of it. Robin's nose wrinkles.

"Under most circumstances, I wouldn't associate with her lot," Shorty admits, approaching a shoebox made for folk of their stature. "But since you were so persuasive, I suppose I had no choice."

She frowns, looking at the box. "And what exactly did you do?"

"Can't spy on someone if they know you're lookin' at them." He says, handing the box to the hobgoblin gal.

"No, I suppose I can't." She admits, pulling the box open. "Mmm, these look nowhere near as good as the last pair you made me."

"They aren't supposed to look good. They're supposed to be inconspicuous," he offers. "These," he says, producing another box, an elegant wooden construction. "Are supposed to look good. Offer your enemies gifts, and they'll give you more than you ever would have gotten."

Robin takes the box and props open the lid, smiling wide as she looks at what's inside. "Ah, foot wrappings fit perfectly for a reptilian lady like her. Perfect."

"You'll be able to know what she's doing when you wear your shoes, just as if you took a walk in hers."

"However, did you convince her to let you make these for her? Surely, a wizard would know when something is cursed."

"I estimated them, but they should fit nice enough the way they are built."

"You didn't actually see her, Shorty?"

He sighs. "There's no way you're getting me to set foot in the trap-laden den of a kobold, let alone the tower of a kobold wizard."

________________

The damp cloth slides up and down along the length of the bar, leaving the polished wood with a shiny fit for a palace. Only the soberest of the patrons would care about such a thing, as the ones coming in later and later would see less and less of the beauty as it's covered in the night's grime.

Shorty slaps the cloth into its proper bucket, nodding to himself as the final touches made the establishment spotless.

The doors opened, and standing at the doorway is a large and imposing figure dressed in a heavy coat, buttoned up to the neck. Around their mouth is a tight scarf, and their bicorn hat sends a shadow over the rest of their face. They stand tall and proud, clicking the heels of their boots together. Through the silent command, two smaller, similarly-dressed individuals walk out. One wears a tight mask over his face, with only his harsh mouth revealed. The other covers her ears, but the eyes and the mouth are familiar to the old man.

Shorty grumbles, his hands tight over his chest.

The taller officer dips their head down low, hunched over as they enter the pub. They reach into their breast pocket and produce with their gloved hand a slip of paper.

Shorty takes it and reads it over. "Vice assessments? This far into town? I can assure you, there are no brothels here."

His gaze turns quickly towards the hobgoblin officer, burning a furrowed gaze at her. Still, the three move around the room, looking under tables and knocking their boots upon the floor.

The clomping and scuff make Old Shorty wince, and the whole time he looked toward the hobgoblin in particular and her tricky ways.

"You're showing me the back," she says, standing tall, her hands behind and her shoulders straight.

"Of course, you'll look back there." He grumbles.

"I can't hear you, civilian," she says, tapping a muff. "I am a judicator who shall see and speak but not hear."

"And, of course, you want to keep yourself talking," he mumbles.

"No tricky words, civilian. Just show me the back."

He grumbles and stomps back, his shoes giving off the most even gait and having the best support over the rest of the footwear in the building.

Once in the kitchen, the hobgoblin looks back into the main pub room and closes the door, sighing. "Whew, that was close."

"The hells are you doin', lass?" Shorty asks.

She frowns and taps her ear coverings again.

Shorty throws up his hands and scoffs.

"I need you to be my ears for now," Robin says, hopping onto a stool. She perches her boots upon the footrest, gripping the seat in her gloved hands.

He shrugs, raising his brows.

"So, I like to keep my eggs in different baskets, right? And you're one of my favorites, Shorty."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"Someone's out to get you, and I think it might be my fault."

He frowns.

"Turns out that wizard isn't exactly someone to be messing with. I tried to listen in on her activities, and she does most of the exciting stuff with her foot wrappings off."

He reaches into the freezer and pulls out a bottle, opening it up as she continues.

"And I think she noticed and might have tipped off the judicators... That or it was my boss at the, uh, insurance company. Anyway, I will find some evidence that you're being framed. But it isn't going to work forever. They'll find out, and they'll be after you. You'll need to go away from town, and, well, I wanna go with you."

He brings the drink to his lips and takes a swig, smacking his lips, watching.

She rocks her ankles, rocking back and forth on the stool on her seat, looking downward. "I've put on many hats and wore many different shoes, Shorty, but Anteronia is a big town, and if you're not a big fish, you're going to get eaten. Things are changin' around here, and that tournament only attracted bigger fish in the city's politics. I need to get going. You're my only friend around here."

Shorty moves his lips.

Robin frowns, shaking her head.

He steps up, placing the bottle on the counter behind her. He grabs her ear covering and pulls it aside, letting her goblinoid ear pop out and twitch.

"I said, lass, I don't want to leave, and your brain is too small for your head."

She snaps her teeth, but he pulls away, grabbing her by the cheeks.

Robin's eyes widen as she looks into the man's eyes, her grip tightening upon the stool.

"You have so much power here. Underworld, law enforcement, is that what you really honestly want? I found myself in a place I could live and a place could do what I wanted when I wanted. It's you who brought all this trouble to my door."

Her lips squished together, she asks. "Why dosh you do thish for me?"

He pulls his hand away from her, swiping the bottle and handing it to her. "You reminded me of someone long ago, who had their head too high in the clouds, thinkin' they can be king of the hills in a place that was quickly becoming flat.

She bites her lip and whispers. "Shorty, I'm scared."

Shorty rolls up his sleeves. "I'll take care of all of this."

She quirks her head. "But, Shorty, the judicators won't find anything here, and they'll get on their way."

"I said I'll take care of everything, not just them." He says this, walking back to the doorway. He pauses, looking over his shoulder, and states. "By the way, lass, you will call me Senan."

Robin bites her lip as the old loner passes into the threshold.

________________

Underneath the old two-store building is an old cellar filled with exceptional casks, ready for more discerning clients. Senan hobbles down the stairs and back towards the most aged barrels. He knocks thrice upon it and then twice more, and the door swings open, revealing a verdant glade behind. He steps inside and doesn't emerge into the pub for the rest of the night.

"Sorry, girlie," says Lobbley on duty. "Dunno where Shorty went, and all he said was for me to tend the place while he was on his sabbatical."

Inside the field is a small cottage. Senan pulls out a key from his pocket and clicks it into the lock, throwing open the door to the tiny abode.

"Say, if you're Robin, he did the say first drink's free for ya, though," Lobbley says, sliding the drink down along her way.

Senan reaches for the sword resting on the wall and the buckler hanging next to it.

"Did he say when he would return?" Robin says.

Sheathing the blade, Senan grabs the traveler's pack and stuffs it with the tools and equipment that would embarrass any adventurer.

"No, miss. 'fraid not. Shall I give him a message?"

Senan steps out of the cabin, dressed in leather armor, his face painted in the tones of the forest.

"Well, tell him he's being a big stinky old fool if he thinks he's doing me any favors!" Robin says, slamming the drink on the bar, and she hops off and heads out the door. "And if he never returns, I'm taking this place because that bastard owes me money!"

Senan steps through the glade, entering into the dense trees, disappearing from the realm of the Anteronian, and emerging beyond.

Robin steps out of the bar, grumbling and folding her arms over her chest, marching down the street with her head low and her cloche over her eyes. "Fuckin' stupid old man, going to do something stupid because of his stupid honor and pride."

From around the corner steps out a green gal with pointed ears, dressed for a night on the town with a tight-clinging dress and done up striking black make-up and multiple jeweled studs on her large pointed ears. She smirks as she looks over at Robin, standing taller than the hobgoblin, and then she smiles with wide, sharp teeth. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little trickster getting upset that her little tricks are getting out of her way?"

Robin snorts and steps aside, but the goblin woman steps her way, hand on her hip, tilting her bald head in her direction. "Oh, no, we don't. You're not getting away that easily. You've got a lot of nerve messing with a guy's livelihood, you know?"

Robin pauses and takes a double take, stepping back. "Doctor?"

She backs away from the goblin girl, only to bump into some big piece of hot meat. She tilts her head back, her ears flopping downward, when she sees the hulking brute of a goblin, his eyes completely blank, staring down at her with a frown.

"It's the miracles of modern medicine. You wouldn't know it because you live your life as a charlatan," she says, snapping her fingers.

The hulking goblin grips Robin by the arms, lifting her up with no issue. She kicks and thrashes, gnashing her teeth.

"And you're so feisty. You realize the reward of extracting your knowledge will make me a wealthy entrepreneur, yes?"

"I won't tell you nothin'!" Robin snaps.

The doctor smirks, reaching into her dress. From between her large breasts, she pulls out a small vial. "Oh, people will talk with the right applications. Now, let's step into my business, shall we?"

--

Miles away from Anteronia, a modest tower sits upon a small hill, yet one that would be tall and imposing to most kinds of folk. It is surrounded by natural forests and has a path that leads down into town, but the visitor does not come from the city--he walks out of the forest itself.

From one of the windows from the upper floor, the owner of the tower looks, carrying a mug in her pink scaled hand. As the armored warrior approaches, she sips the drink, a smile spreading across her beak-like snout.

The little adventurer clambers up the hill, approaching the magnificent magician's manor from behind, and he reaches into his bag.

"How cute," the wizard says. "Will he climb up with suction cups, or will he use a grappling hook?"

But Senan pulls out a small and round object, and he strikes a match, pressing it to the wick, and once ignited, he runs down the hill, covering his hat as he does.

The wizard spits her drink just a moment before the bomb goes off, rocking the tower's foundation.

Through the small hole, the intruder scurries through, entering inside.

"That shouldn't have happened!" The wizard growls, turning around, her ordinarily bright and happy eyes filled with the sparks of magical might and fury. "Oooh, he's going to pay for that. He's going to feel the wrath of Tik Tik!"

________________

Senan hangs suspended from slime and other bindings, dangling over a dark hole in a dark chamber. The clicks of clawed feet upon stone echo throughout the room as the older man opens his eyes, grumbling at the sight of the pink-scaled lizard standing before him.

She holds a large book in her hand and makes a show of licking her fingers before she turns the page. When she speaks, it is subtly broken but passable language.

"You not like normal gnome," she comments, pressing a clawed finger to her book. "You fair folk of different kind, yes?"

"As are you, I'd wager," Senan responds in that same language, his voice far more melodious than the harsh grumblings he shares in the trade tongue.

"Maybe somewhere in the family tree," the wizard admits, "but that was so long ago, it no matter, yes? What matter is you broke Tik Tik's tower, but why?"

"I had to get your attention somehow. You spell-slinging types usually aren't all that interested in hearing the plights of the normal folk."

She flicks her wrist, and his short sword unsheathes itself and flies through the air, landing upon her palm. "You came here ready to fight. This magic sword. Old magic. Could hurt, but not good enough beat Tik Tik on its own."

He shifts in his bindings. "I expected a fight but didn't expect it to be with you."

"Then, what were you expecting?"

"I want my shoes back."

Tik Tik chirps, clicking her tongue.

"Ah, I don't mean shoes that I would wear. I'm talking about the shoes that I made for a," he hesitates, thinking of the appropriate word in the tongue of the forest folk. What he chose approximates the common term for "friend." Still, with much subtler nuance than the term could ever convey, based on how one says it and the hesitation and inflection with which they say it.

Just learning the language, Tik Tik can only partially sure of the intention, but she smiles at the ambiguity. "Well, be this friend a hobgoblin?" she asks.

"Aye, that she is."

"Tik Tik caught girl spying," the kobold says, swinging the sword. It sings as the blade cuts the air. She snaps her fingers and whistles, playing with the blade more before a green ooze emerges from the doorway.

"You called Miss Tik?"

"Pick up magic shoes and bring them," she says.

"Right away," the slime girl responds, slurping back into the hall.

"You have me captured, and you'd give back what I came for?" Senan asks.

Tik Tik approaches the suspended man, golden light appearing at her footfalls when she steps over the pit. She delicately lifts the sword and lines it up to the sheathe, staring at him directly as she slowly inserts the thin blade back where it belongs. "Tik Tik like learn things. Leprechaun is interesting, and Tik Tik rather make new friend than fight."

"I don't know if I like the tone of your voice, lass, or if your intentions are so pure."

Tik Tik giggles, fluttering her big blue eyes. "Oh, Tik Tik not pure, not one bit. Let's share!" With that, she claps her hands, and the bonds that hold Senan dissolve into nothingness. The leprechaun falls, yelping loud enough to echo through the room before he lands upon the golden light over the hole.

"Trust Tik Tik not hurt friend though," she says, holding a hand out.

Senan stands and taps the toe of his boot on the luminescent ground. "Don't feel hurt if I don't trust you immediately. After all, you're the first to call me a leprechaun in a long time."

"Funny," Tik Tik says, stepping back. The slime girl returns with the pair of spying soles and deposits them in Tik Tik's hand with a glorping squish. "Because Robin say these leprechaun made."

He freezes, his gaze going from those shoes to his host. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out his pipe. "Oh, of course, she'd fuckin' spill the secret," he mumbles back in his common speech.

"So," Tik Tik says, bouncing on her toes, holding the heels of the shoes between her fingers, dangling the pair in front of Senan. "You make these, and the footwraps that let spy on me? Outstanding work. Tik Tik wonder how you measured well enough."

"It's a flexible material, and I didn't need to measure."

"These fit perfectly on hers. You measure hers?"

"It's my job."

"Is it something more?"

He puffs his pipe and steps past her off the floating nothingness and back onto solid ground. "This isn't a place to say."

"You have kink, Mr. Leprechaun."

"Call me Shorty," he says, puffing out some smoke. "Everyone does. "And no. No, I don't. I can just tell a lot from someone by how they handle their walkers, is all."

The slime forms into a small stool, and Tik Tik kicks her leg up, resting her heel upon her subordinate and leaning forward, hand on her toes. "What can tell about Tik Tik?"

"Are you going to pay me to make you some shoes?"

"Keeping you alive not payment? Dropping charges not payment? Not forcing pay for damages to wall not payment?"

"I get your message, but you're supposed to start with the least harsh one. Now, let me see."

The slime morphs an additional appendage to make a small seat for him. Shorty climbs onto it, bouncing slightly to test the firmness. Quite firm, surprisingly. He unclasps the kobold's buttons, unwrapping the leather wraps and placing them neatly aside.

"Different creatures have different methods of movement," he says, pressing his thumbs to the balls of the kobold's foot.

Tik Tik squeals.

"Don't be cute with me, lass. I know these aren't as sensitive as you let on."

"Hey! Tik Tik clean all the time!"

"It's not about being clean. It's about the wear you put on your body and the defenses it puts up. See here." He says, poking her with the hot end of his pipe just quickly. "You've developed a thick outer layer from all your working and traveling. This life locked away in a tower isn't for you. Yet, here you are, causing trouble for the people living in and around Anteronia.

"You'd rather Tik Tik stay away."

"I'd rather you help people if you want to be friends with them."

Tik Tik smirks.

________________

The temple of Justiciar is the center of all legal activity in Anteronia. Here, the Judicators work diligently to better themselves in mind, body, and spirit to become the eyes, ears, and mouths of the law.

A judicator brooks no patience for chaos or mischief. In this city, Chaos and mischief often come in the form of wanton public sexual expression.

Judith Wainwright sits at her desk, her fingers running over the reports left for her throughout the day. She checks off each approved punishment and fine with the proper pen and sips from her drink every three minutes, untimed but practiced.

A flash of light fills the room, and the warmth from the portal causes the captain to stand up and grab her mancatcher, wielding it with ease against the trespasser.

"No hurt, no hurt! It's okay!" chirps Tik Tik.

The captain sneers. Though she cannot see the kobold through her covered eyes, she can hear the tricky little gremlin regardless. "You're not alone, Tik Tik. Is this another one of your friends you want to bail out?"

Tik Tik giggles, placing a hand over Senan's shoulder and pulling in close. He looks a bit more green than usual and keeps himself quiet as his stomach churns from experience.

"Nope, he is friend looking for another friend. Very serious business. Call authorities, yes?"

The captain lowers her weapon, a sigh escaping her mouth and her shoulders hunching forward. "Just because you were given a pass for your past transgressions by Justiciar himself does not mean you can't move through the proper channels to talk to me."

"Tik Tik know Captain Wainwright knows how be flexible. See her in Tournament of Pleasure, yep!"

Captain Wainwright blanches, slamming her fist upon the table. "We shall not talk about what I had to do in the line of duty so lightly, wizard! State your business and be on your way."

Tik Tik steps aside, and motions to Senan. The leprechaun takes a deep breath, his hands in his pockets as he speaks up. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss. Though it pains me to get my nose into police business like this, I find myself stuck. My friend here can't seem to use magical means of detection to find a... friend of mine."

Tik Tik giggles at the intonation he gives, even in the common tongue. He glares at her.

"Missing Person's report? I can direct you to our officer in charge of such cases.

"There more!" Tik Tik says, bouncing.

"Thing is, Lass," the leprechaun says, removing his helmet and rubbing the bald portion of his head. "She's a bit of a troublemaker and has her fingers in many cogs in the city. I know her as a hobgoblin gal named Robin, and from what I can tell, she's a member of your organization."

Captain Wainwright strokes her chin, a contemplative hum rising from her lips. "We have a hobgoblin on the force, but her name isn't Robin."

"I thought as much," Senan replies. "It's with a heavy heart I have to inform you that the lass has herself a bit of trouble."

The kobold pipes up. "She spy on Tik Tik, but no press charge on that. She do it for crime family! Tik Tik know it because she run protection on Shorty's shop!"

Wainwright's lips twitch at that revelation. "I see, and why are you here telling me about this again?"

"Can't find her, your captain-ness!" Tik Tik says. "Know what family she work for? We figure out where go!"

"I cannot condone vigilante justice, you realize. Tell me everything, and I'll have a search ready for her posthaste."

"You need not worry about Vigilantism on my part, ma'am," says Senan. He reaches into his pouch, pulling a chunk of gold from it that he throws onto the table.

Tik Tik frowns, looking at him, and then to the trinket.

Captain Wainwright grasps the object, rubbing her hands over the marked thing.

"This is rather old," says the Captain, "But I recognize this badge of office. How do you have it?"

"I've lived a long life. Most of it's been quiet, and I've worn many hats in that time. Young Man, Soldier, Revolutionary, Officer, criminal, what-have-you. I wanted to have my simple life, but recent events have me leaving the comfort of my business. You need not send me any other officers, and I need not bother either of you anymore. Just tell me where to go, and I'll do everything by the book."

"It's an ancient book," Captain Wainwright says, placing the badge back down. She walks towards the back of her office, her finger running over the spines of a collection of dusty tomes on a high shelf. She finds one, pulls it out, opens it to the prescribed page, and runs her finger along the touch-based language.

"What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, and you don't need to know, as I'm sure you already know it."

Wainwright gulps, and then she slides back into her chair. She takes her note-writing pen (different than her document-checking pen) and scribbles down an address and some names. She takes the paper and hands it in front of her, hesitating a moment before she says. "May Justiciar's light be upon you, sir."

Senan takes the paper and nods. "Sometimes, the darkness we put ourselves in hides the true work of our lord."

With that, he turns and heads out the door, leaving the wizard to gawk and the captain to grab her drink, her mug jittering in her shaking grasp.

________________

Robin winces as the bright light flashes on her face. The small hobgoblin girl squirms in her bond as she's manacled to some sort of hard bed, her arms and legs spread far apart and bound by her wrist and ankles.

Behind her, the lumbering brute grunts and laughs, seemingly amused by some distraction of his own volition.

Aside from her, the form of the doctor plays around with the vial, now empty, a smirk upon her goblin lips.

But she can see and sense little else because Robin's head throbs to the beat of her heart, and her heavily lidded eyes do as much as they can to block out the light as she peers through her lashes.

A voice speaks up. It's not one that she's familiar with, but there's a snarky superiority to it. Male.

"A veritable treasure trove you have in your noggin, my darling." The voice says. With a hiss of air, the bed flings up to a vertical position, and the light shines primarily upon her head instead of her eyes.

The figure standing before her wears a tattered old suit, and his top hat has patches in there. His large nose, green skin, enormous ears, and wide eyes tell her little more than his origins.

"You're eloquent for a goblin," she grumbles.

He places his hand on his chest and bows his head. "And you're quite manipulative for a hobgoblin, and I would expect nothing less from a Justiciar spy."

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, trying to get that pounding to stop.

"Oh, there's no need to deny it. Your headache and disorientation are all evidence of the truth serum my lovely assistant has administered to you. You may not have remembered any of it, but that's how these things go. Rest assured, your secrets are now mine to do as I will."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, opening one eye.

The goblin walks over toward the wall. He pushes a button on a wall-mounted panel, which glows with arcane energy. "You're planning all sorts of nasty things for the goblin mob, and I'm sure they'll be more than happy to reward me for my efforts."

"If I am an officer," she says, her head held high, "Then kidnapping me is a serious offense."

"More serious than any other form of kidnapping, you think? My dear, it's only natural to cradle rob-it's the family business. Well, apothecary is the family business, but you know what I mean."

"What are you planning to do?"

"I'm just going to call your friends at the Family to let them know that their cute-as-a-button hobby is a no-good dirty mole. What anger there must be when their plots of anarchy are infiltrated by the arbiters of justice?"

"And who is the one who will be ruining my life?" she asks, keeping her eyes down, "And what are you going to do to me when you're done?"

He pauses, his finger right on the button, and then he pulls away. Spinning towards her, he tugs at his coat with his thumbs and smiles a big goblin smile. "Why, my dear, I'm practically a celebrity. And I want people to know that I'm doing this town service by exposing the truth! There are judicators among us, and they are traitors to our kind!"

As he speaks, the brute lumbers behind him, and the Doctor steps up beside him. He holds his hands wide, and tiny little gremlins hop up from the woodwork and land among him. One even pops out of his hat.

"I am the fantastic and marvelous Dr. Jeked. Business Owner, champion, and friend to all goblin-kind."

She tugs at her bonds. "You don't seem too friendly to our kind."

He taps his nose and shakes his head. "Ah, well, I'm helping the majority instead of being a filthy race traitor like yourself. I'm sure you can appreciate my loyalty since you've pledged yours to an organization that punishes the freedoms your ancestors so loved."

A gremlin hops up to the counter and presses its palm against the button. A moment later, the arcane whoosh communication filled the room.

"Attention, goblin family!" Dr. Jeked says, straightening his tie. "I come bearing news. I've dug up some dirt on a cute little hobgoblin gal in your ranks who has been siphoning your protection money to fund activities to undermine your operations."

There's a moment of silence where no one in the room speaks, but the hulking goblin grunts and giggles, holding up a book vertically with one hand.

"Hello? Family?"

The voice on the other side crackles through in a grumbling cadence. "I know who you are, Dr. Jeked."

Robin gasps.

The voice continues, "I know what you're capable of. If you want to end this quietly, you can return Robin, unharmed, to where you found her. I'll forget everything that's come to pass here, and you can walk away."

Jeked pulls his hat off, rubbing his bald head, grimacing. "Who the hob-goblin fuck is this!"

"You have one hour to return, Robin. If you do not. I will find you and take care of this myself."

The magical connection ends with a click, leaving Jeked and all his fellows to quietly turn to look at Robin.

Robin, for her part, puts up a big toothy grin. "So, whatcha gonna do?"

--

The carriage drops off the hobgoblin in front of the alleyway, and in her hands is a care package of various medicines and fizzy drinks. Jeked watches her out the window as it rides off, the Doctor sitting across from him.

"So, you're just going to let her go?" she asks.

Jeked taps his nose. "Oh, I think I got everything that I need from her. She didn't betray anything about her true nature. I hate that I couldn't hand her off more conspicuously."

"All those things she told us... she actually thought were true? Even I know my true nature, despite being so sophisticated; it's just second nature for me to realize the truth of my creation."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he says, smirking, folding his hands together. "Unlike the rest of my homunculi, this "Robin" actually thinks she's a real person!"

________________

Robin stands in the cold night air, rain gently pattering down over her cloche. The hobgoblin girl shudders and wraps her hands over her arms, her teeth chattering.

"Best be careful. That excitement can do some nasty business to your body." The voice that speaks up is grave yet fatherly. With a "thwip," the pattering of rain ceases on her head and instead lands on the umbrella above her.

Robin spins around, and standing, rolling an old green coat off his shoulders, is Senan. The old leprechaun hands her the outfit, which she takes, slipping onto herself.

"What are you?" the hobgoblin says.

"Lots of things," the leprechaun says, nodding.

"What... are we?" she asks.

He takes a moment to stand in the wet rain and reaches his hand out, close to her heart, but he sifts through the breast pocket and pulls out his pipe. "Labels mean little when you've been around as long as I," he says, placing the cold pipe in his mouth. "It doesn't do any good to quibble over such things."

"So, lots of things?"

"Same as you, I'd wager," Senan says. "All that matters is that you're safe."

"I manipulated you,"

"You can see what happens to those who cross me," he says, nodding down the road.

Robin starts to walk down the street, side-by-side with him. "I... suppose," she says. "But I didn't actually see what happened. What did you do to them?"

"There are some details that are a bit gratuitous to have for a story," he says, arriving at the bar's entrance. As he reaches for the door, she places a hand upon his.

"I don't want to be out in public just yet," she says.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, nods, and leads her to the cobbler. There, they arrive in the dark little room, with nothing but the shoes to be their company. He closes the umbrella, giving it a few shakes as Robin steps into the room, placing down the care package, taking off her hat and peeling off the old coat.

"The fire at the pub would probably be much more appealing to you right now, I'd wager," Senan says. Before he can say anything else, she's behind him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling her cheek against his back. Her shoulders quake in silent sobs.

Senan stands there a moment, but then he turns around, making sure not to break the embrace, and he places a hand upon her head, giving her a gentle pat, and pulls her in to rest against his vest.

Together, the two stand there, alone among the shoes, letting the night's experience linger and this intimate moment stay as the memory this day had provided.

--

Senan pours a heady froth of beer and slides it down along the table. The drunken dwarf catches it and chugs it with a happy "another!"

Robin steps up to the booth, dressed in a cute little skirt and blouse. Her footwear is stylish but practical. "What can I get for you two?"

Tik Tik looks to her dining companion for the evening, and Judith Wainwright, off duty and sitting with her gray eyes revealed, blushes deeply.

"What's the matter, 'boss'? Robin asks. "Sorry that I gave up a promising career for something simpler?"

"N-no, it's not that!" Judith says, pulling the menu closer to her face.

"Captain Wainwright needs to learn let hair down more," Tik Tik says, "So Tik Tik help her do that. See good things about Anteronia. It not all bad."

"Perhaps," says Judith, who lowers her menu. "And, work has been quite stressful lately; I suppose there's a part of me who admires the ability to give it all up."

"There'll always be work," says Robin. "You just got to know when it's time to let someone else do it for you. Now, then, can I get you started with something, or are you two just going to make eyes at each other all evening?"

--

Sitting on the rooftop of the two old buildings, Senan and Robin look over the city around them. Beyond, the tents are being set up for the mysterious carnival, which comes to town with promises of much more business than usual.

"You glad you hired me on, Shorty?"

"Aye, I suppose I am," the leprechaun said, puffing his pipe.

Robin pulls out her own pipe, finally carved into the shape of a scowling and bearded face. "You should try some of this stuff the Grand Caravan got from across the ocean-it's sweet.

"It isn't supposed to be sweet, and it's supposed to calm you down," he says.

"And why do you need to be calmed down?" Robin asks, a bright smile on her face.

"I dunno," he says, puffing out a ring of smoke. "It's just the way it is, I suppose.

Robin takes her own puff and blows out a long line.

"You know, it's bad for you," Senan says. "I only do it because I'm an old man, set in my ways."

"I'm a youngster still looking for my ways. Let me try this."

"Try? With all, you spent on it?"

She smiles and hands him the pipe and her pouch of the leaf. "Well, pops, you can have it because I decided it's not for me."

"I thank you for the gift."

"Think you'll tell me about your time in the Judicators? We're both retired vets now."

"Maybe we are," he says, "But you don't share glories with just one person. I've heard about an old officer's group, and maybe we should check it out."

"You know what pops? I think I'd like that."

And she leans her head upon his shoulder, sighing as they watch the nightlife pass them by.