the smuggler’s bible


The goblins chatter in a half-circle around Bloodtooth. At first, a few little ones try to slide behind him, but he shuts that down quick. One squeals and scatters back into the crowd with the others, leaving its hand on the ground, trembling and clutching at nothing.

“Need a plan,” Bloodtooth mutters, eyes darting in search of a weak point in the throng. “First, identify a target and—”

The goblins part in a slow ripple to reveal a seven-foot bruiser who takes a running start and lands a shot on Bloodtooth’s shield that numbs his arm to the elbow.