the smuggler’s bible


They give Bloodtooth another shot—some gobbos holed up in a cave on company land. Of course, there is a wizard.

Later, he hunches behind a boulder as hot magic whizzes over his shoulders. A glob lands near his foot and wriggles until he brings his bootheel down hard—eldritch, he guesses. The shaman chatters somewhere in the dark, something high and fast and probably vulgar. More magic splashes bright green against the wall.

Bloodtooth counts the goblin ears already hanging around his neck and thinks about the things he’s willing to do for money. Crom knows he needs it.