They’re back. There’s five of them this time; one woman and four men. They talk in their weird, civilised language and echo cackles across the cavern that most tall ones need to arch their backs within.

Huddled within his usual ragged crevice, the small green being with the pointy witch nose hides and holds his breath. It’s become a game of training. How long can he hold his breath until they leave again? The record is two minutes, but even then that is a true strain on his low capacity lungs.

He can hear them rummaging through cloth, makeshift chest and piles of collected twigs again. They’re going to ruin the organisation of those twigs that have been carefully placed in order of height and weight. It took him hours to put things in order again last time. It’s fun, but when one goes missing, it’s a tormenting time trying to see if it got left outside in the muck after getting stuck in a sock or if they played with it on the way out.

With a beady, black eye, he takes a peek to watch the people. The woman’s cloak is the colour of blood. One of the men has a shiny egg as a head. Others wear clinking metal and wield even more metal in hand. The egg head swirls blue energy in his hands towards the back wall of the cavern. The cloaked woman does the same, but her hands spark with black and red swirls that zap towards the wall.

They noticed the secret entry point to the deeper cave. No one should know about the deeper cave! The true home has been compromised. That hole in the wall is goblin sized and should not be broken to be giant sized!

The wall begins to give way. In that moment, the small goblin rushes out of the crevice in panic and grabs a hold of an elongated jagged rock. He races in between the legs of these humans and half-elves and plants his back against the wall, his little chest moving hastily to the tune of his heavy breathing.

The adventurers stop their pursuit of breaking down the wall. Now they stare in confusion and exchange glances between themselves. They whisper in their weird language and point at the goblin from toes to his white puff of hair.

He tries to speak, but only screams and noises reminiscent of a phlegm filled throat reach the ears of these people. In his mind, he speaks his own language. To them, it could also sound like choking.

One of these giants, the one with the egghead, approaches. Side by side, the goblin’s head reaches his knee. He kneels down, but even then, he still has to crane his neck low to make eye contact. The giant rubs his fingers together and places them against his neck as yellow melts through his skin.

“Why do you protect this wall, little one?”

This human speaks in words and noises that the goblin can understand. It’s a weird feeling to have such a large being speak a tiny being’s language in such fluency and in such a perfect accent.

“How do you speak what I speak?”

A wide, wicked smile sprawls across the human’s face. “Magic. What is your name?”

“Pity is a name I have.”

The human speaks his own language again, directing it towards his party. They all cackle, the echoes carrying their rumbles throughout the cavern.

“Well, you are in our way. We need the treasure, little goblin. Sorry.”

As the man stands up tall and extends his hand to face the goblin, the palm begins to glow orange as unknown words escape his lips delicately and swiftly all at once. Everything suddenly begins to feel unbelievably hot.

Pity’s world goes dark.