Redemption in Blackstone Hollows

Renaud Landry instinctively tested the heavy manacles that bound his wrists. His restraints were secure. The tall dark-haired man noted the irony of his predicament. “Sarenrae, grant me patience.”

A loud crack sent a sharp sting up his elbow.

“Do not speak that name here!” Slairk, captain of the goblin guard snarled as he swung the broad side of his blade into Renaud a second and third time for good measure. A cacophony of giggles erupted from two-dozen malevolent captors as Renaud recoiled in pain.

Renaud tempered his rising anger with conviction. He was here for a purpose and killing these goblins would only harm his agenda. He crouched to put himself closer to eye level with Slairk, and inclined his head is respect. “I am sorry. I will not do it again.”

The goblin paused in confusion, but then defaulted to violence as he delivered another painful string of blows. The laughter that followed was less enthusiastic. An apology and concession of respect was unfamiliar. The unfamiliar was cause for fear among goblins. Though they appeared to have the advantage – Liberator Renaud Landry, Champion of Sarenrae captive and surrounded – they were rightfully suspicious.

When he had delivered himself unarmed and unarmored to the gates of Blackstone Hollows, he had gambled that his capture would be recognized by the goblins as more valuable than his corpse. Slairk was known to be less stupid than the average goblin, and the gamble had, at least temporarily, paid off. Leading an army of warriors to cleave a path to the heart of the stronghold would cost many lives. If he could accomplish what he needed to by only risking his own, it was a gamble worth taking. Renaud sought an audience, not a fight.

“You are a testament to your people.” Renaud rose to his feet as he spoke to Slairk and continued his captive trek through the labyrinth. “I am grateful we have not met upon the field of battle.”

Slairk did not reply. Instead, he commanded his band of goblins to keep their blades pointed at Renaud and continue escorting him. Their torches illuminated the filthy stone catacombs as they traveled.

The subterranean goblin city was ramshackle and foul-smelling, with refuse piled stories high. Evidence of the ancient dwarven realm of Skasdraegrett, upon which Blackstone Hollows had been built, was still vaguely apparent. If nothing else remained of the underground metropolis, it was still evidence that Dwarven craftsmanship had withstood hundreds of years of goblin occupation.

A pang of regret cut at Renaud’s heart. If they knew of it, no dwarven king would endorse his plan, and all would harshly rebuke him. It had been a calculation on his part to keep his undertaking a secret. Entering Skasdraegrett with intentions other than furious liberation would be seen by dwarves as misguided at best and a betrayal at worst. The notion of conquering the caverns represented a glorious ambition of every dwarven ruler all too willing to spend the lives of their own kin.

He reflected upon the fact that, if he failed here, he would not be faced with the frustrating task of convincing a dwarven king that war should be a last resort. That burden would fall to others.

As his escorts continued their journey, their ranks were swelled by curious spectators. Mothers led dozens of inquisitive goblin children to steal a glance at the human champion in their midst. Taskmasters stopped work and allowed their crews to follow. Fungus farmers and hog shepherds joined the growing crowd. A growing cacophony drew yet more goblins from shadows and crevasses.

Renaud suppressed a grin. Perhaps more than others, these were the goblins who needed to hear his message. “You will reap much glory delivering me to your king, Slairk. You will soon be a chief.”

“Still your tongue before I slice it from your mouth.” Slairk replied with a snarl.

What seemed like hours passed before the throng arrived at massive steel doors. Though they were rusted, defaced, and obscured beneath effigies to goblin deities, the ornate edifice still bore two relief sculptures of dwarven warriors. At Slairk’s command rattling chains pulled the door open to reveal a massive throne room.

Renaud’s momentary satisfaction at having achieved the first part of his plan was spoiled by intense sorrow. This room was once the heart of Skasdraegrett. Dwarven nobles would have patronized the king with treasures forged by artisans of legendary talent. The king would have presided over feasts of comradery punctuated by musicians and singers from across the land. The room itself would have been a testament to people from across Golarion sharing the spoils of righteous divinity and prudent benevolence. Despite their obstinacy and saber-rattling, dwarves were virtuous people always ready – often too ready – to lay down their lives in service to an honorable cause. This room was once a place of virtue from which goodness flowed over the land and into the lives of the common folk.

Now it was a cesspit.

Slairk led the gathering into the chamber. Garbage towered against titanic stone pillars to serve as lodging for the many goblin chieftains and their bodyguards. The walls were scorched and vandalized with centuries of vulgarity. Caldrons of putrid bubbling slime sat upon cooking fires and filled the room with a crushing odor of sewage and rot. At the opposite end of the room was a dais upon which stood a throne of bone. Gold, silver, and other pillaged treasure lay in heaps throughout the space. Chieftains – analogous to the court of a human or elven ruler – were adorned in jewels, and leered form their perches throughout the chamber.

The goblin nobility flaunted the gaudy material trappings of their stature. Bruised and broken servants attended to their every whim. Whatever malignant business had been unfolding momentarily ceased, and all eyes were upon Renaud.

“What plaything have you brought me, Slairk.” The goblin upon the throne was ensconced. Age had withered the creature, and sunken yellow eyes darted about with malevolence. Skeletal limbs hung upon an emaciated frame. Filthy black robes draped the gaunt creature but revealed a bulbous pock-marked belly that clung to ribs and hips via flappy stretched skin. A tarnished gold crown far too large for anyone but a giant sat upon the king’s brow. Years of supporting the weight had malformed the goblin’s neck into an unnatural angle.

“Speak, human.” Slairk again slammed the broad side of his swords into Renaud’s elbow sending shots of pain up his arm. A roar of laughter erupted form the assembly of goblins that pressed into the throne room.

Renaud stepped forward. As he did so, he glanced around to spot countless goblins slinking about the walls, loitering at the entries to chieftain lairs, and hanging from platforms suspended from the ceiling. They wore black hoods to indicate they were the royal guard charged with protecting the goblin ruling class. They trained crossbows upon him as he moved. With a command from the king, dozens of bolts would end this endeavor.

With a good distance between himself and the king, he knelt upon the ground. He bowed his head and spoke. “Son of Hadregash and Venkelvore, Father of the Moonless Night, Grandfather of Worgs, Never-defeated Chosen Emperor of Golarian, Scourge of Lesser Races, God-King Reazz, I seek an audience with his infinitely terrible majesty.”

Renaud felt the essence of Sarenrae in his voice. If Reazz, his bodyguards, Slairk, the chieftains, or the vast mob of goblins could sense it, they gave no indication, save for a long silence that filled the chamber.

By now thousands of goblins had amassed at the periphery of the throne room. A semicircle of wicked figures held at bay by Slairk pressed around Renaud. Despite their unruly nature, none dared interrupt King Reazz as he was considering a human who had addressed him by his full and accurate title.

Reazz’s purple tung licked his broken brown teeth as he spoke. “Etiquette will not spare you, but it will buy you time, human. What are you called?”

The follower of Sarenrae remained kneeling but raised his gaze to match the King’s. “I am named Renaud,” he omitted his own complete title suspecting it would be a liability.

Another blow from Slairk fell hard upon his back and nearly sent him face-first into the floor. “He is known as Liberator Renaud Landry, Champion of… she whose name burns the tongue. His omission reveals his deceptive intentions.” Slairk’s blade dug into the flesh of his neck, and Renaud felt blood trickle down the back of his shirt. “He has killed many of our people. Bid me slay him here and spare the God-king’s ears his lies.”

In anticipation of violence, manacle laughter rose from the horde.

“I cannot lie,” Renaud interjected. “It is anathema to my patron.”

“Weakness.” King Reazz half snarled half chuckled. “Liberator?”

“My title is nothing in the presence of the God-King Reazz. I only desire to spare his terrible majesty the silly pomp and foolish pageantry of the lesser races.” Renaud spoke quickly.

“Why are you here?” Reazz fixed Renaud with a gaze that spoke of pure contempt.

Slairk withdrew his blade from Renaud’s neck and took a step back with a disappointed grunt.

“Your warriors have been raiding settlements throughout Druma, Isger, and Molthune. You have drawn the ire of the lesser races, and they are assembling against you. Heroes from across the Inner Sea and beyond seek glory and loot in the impending war.” Renaud rose to his feet and faced the goblin king. “I begged the false kings responsible for this affront to delay their attack until I speak with you.”

“Let them come!” Slairk snarled as he poked his blade into Renaud’s kidney. “My sword thirsts for blood, and I shall quench it with yours first.”

“Hold your blade!” bellowed King Reazz. “For now.”

The multitude of goblins shuddered and withdrew. Some goblins shrieked and flew from the scene in terror. Slairk sheathed his sword. “Forgive me! My reverence for the might bestowed upon his terrible majesty blinds me to his infinite…”

“Silence!” King Reazz shifted in his throne. The crown upon the malformed goblin antediluvian’s brow slid to cover one eye. The other pierced Renault with icy contempt. “The Goblinblood Wars ended in in such a fashion. I was there to witness our glory stolen from us and used what I learned to rebuild much of what we lost. It would be foolish to repeat the mistakes of the past, but it is our way to take from those pitiful beings who were made to serve us. Your false kings will break themselves upon the cliffs of Blackstone Hollows. Even if their foolish alliance were to follow in the footsteps of their predecessors and succeed against us, it will be costly for them, and we will rise again as we always do. Why shouldn’t I send your headless corpse back to your people with an invitation to war?”

“Because your warriors are not finding their way to Basalfeyst.” Renauld’s heart thundered in his chest as he spoke the words he had come to say. If there was a moment that would end with his demise at the hands of enraged goblins, this was it.

“Blasphemy!” Slairk again drew his blade.

A torrent of bellows and cries exploded from the vast congregation of goblins.

The King’s guard drummed their fingers over the trigger guard of their crossbows in bloody anticipation.

King Reazz himself became agitated and pushed himself upright in his throne. His huge crown slid over the other eye and his expression twisted into a snarl. “What did you say?”

Renauld twisted to address the crowd but dared not turn his back on the king. Slairk waived his blade menacingly in Renaud’s face but did not strike. “Your champions destined to serve the goblin Hero-gods immortal, your cowards and failures fated to nourish those same deities are not finding Basalfeyst in death. Every goblin who perishes is refused. Every one.”

“No!”

“My kin!”

“He lies!”

“Why?”

A discordant whaling roiled through the goblins. All had family and comrades who had perished. Each faced daily lives of indiscriminate violence with the certainty that their suffering would be rewarded in death. Epidemic diseases, bloody crusades, and vicious injustice were embraced as edicts of their malicious goddess. Without them each goblin’s eventual death, each demise of kin and kind lost what made goblins goblins: born to lead short violent lives. The very thought would be unfathomable for many.

A long stretch filled with a chorus of anger and sorrow followed. Renauld was too far away from the king to get a sense of his disposition, but he was close enough to Slairk. The goblin captain was struggling against every instinct that told him to kill Renaud. At the same time, he was coming to grips with his own mortality, the state of goblin-hood, and whether the Champion before him held any answers.

The captain met Renaud’s gaze with an inferno of rage. “You are lying” He whispered with a growl.

“You know I cannot lie,” Renuad whispered back. “But I can help you.”

“Silence! Silence!” King Reazz shouted for what seemed like minutes. Eventually his guards sent crossbow bolts slamming into the walls and floor around the crowd. Mere moments ago, they would have gleefully slain their own unruly people, but this new revelation made such a flippant act gravely consequential. Eventually the mob fell quiet, though the sorrowful crying of goblin mothers did not abate.

“It’s a trick. You are trying to trick us into stopping out raids.” King Reazz hissed. The tone in his voice betrayed his fear that the news Renaud had brought might be true.

“I study your ways. For some time, you have not included Lamashtu shamans among your raiding parties. Why?” Renaud tried to hide the confidence in his tone.

“We burned them!” Slairk answered.

“Why?” Renaud repeated, turning back towards the king. “Why did you kill your shamans?”

“They failed to deliver the blessings of Lamashtu.” King Reazz spoke before Slairk could reply. “They wanted us to remain hidden and withdrawn from the world of lesser beings. They grew too comfortable with peace, and lost favor with the Mother of Monsters. Their sacrifice was the first step towards redemption. The subjugation of lesser races is the last.”

“They didn’t lose favor with Lamashtu.” Renaud spoke first to the king, then to Slairk, then to the mob of goblins before pointing at the king. He reached up with chained wrists and pulled a totem necklace from within his shirt for all to see. “You did.”

King Reazz took a long moment to consider the Champion before him. His lips curled into a smirk. “Execute him.”

“Hold!” Slairk put himself between Renaud and the archers. “The human must finish before we slay him.”

An expression of confusion, then disbelief, then rage washed over Reazz before he screamed, “Execute them both!”

“Hold!” Slairk shouted louder.

Renaud glanced about the room. The kings guard ground their teeth in wicked grins that hungered for blood, but these were not witless rank and file goblin warriors. These, as Renaud had considered, were devotees of Lamashtu. Their loyalty was to the Mother of Monsters, not King Reazz. They would not fire until they had answers.

“I am your God-king and I command you to slay them!” King Reazz shrieked at the assembled horde of goblins. “In my name, rend them limb from limb and take your place as the next chieftain of Blackstone Hollows!”

A handful of foolish goblins sprang forward with rusty blades. Despite the revelation of their own mortality, the goblin impulse towards violence was not easily suppressed. Without pause, Slairk beheaded the nearest one. He turned to face the others, but before he could act a flurry of crossbow bolts thumped into the overly ambitious attackers.

“You and the king’s guard are of one mind.” Renaud spoke loud enough for only Slairk to hear.

Slairk whirled and pressed his blade hard against Renaud’s throat. His gaze darted to the totem necklace. “Speak plainly or die.”

Despite Slairk’s anger, Renaud knew the goblin was trapped. He had disobeyed King Reazz, making his life forfeit. Terrified that he might not find his way to Basalfeyst, his only shred of hope lay in the Champion’s hands.

“You can save your people.” Runaud whispered before speaking louder so that all could hear. “Your shamans foresaw that they would be made to take the blame for the failures of your king. Ever loyal to their people, they sent one of their number to seek council lest the goblins of Blackstone Hollows be forever barred from Basalfeyst.” When Renaud repeated the unthinkable, a shudder rolled through the assembly. “I was sent to return you to favor with Lamashtu by Shaman Nipsoldee. This…” he held the necklace higher for all to see. “belongs to her.”

“Why would a devotee of… Dawnflower… listen to a goblin shaman?” Slairk snarled.

“It was difficult at first, but Nipsoldee’s conviction was sincere. She taught me a great deal of Lamashtu’s tenants.” Renaud began.

“What does a human know of Lamashtu?” King Reazz interrupted. “I am her chosen emissary on Golarian, and your lies desecrate my throne room! Now,” the ancient, withered goblin rose his voice to address the chamber, “slay them both! In my name, in the name of Lamashtu, kill them!”

None moved to act. All eyes returned to Renaud.

Renaud continued after a tense moment. “Nipsoldee shared a woeful story that begins with the first edict of Lamashtu: to bring power to the downtrodden. She recounted the tremendous wealth that the goblins of Blackstone Hollows reaped, but she and her fellow shamans witnessed that those riches were not used to elevate the average goblin. Rather they stuffed a corpulent king’s already over-stuffed coffers. The chieftains, bribed by treasure that goblin blood was spilled to acquire, saw heresy for what it was, but did nothing.”

“Slay him!” a shout rang up from a bejeweled goblin wielding a silver-tipped spear. He sat upon a platform built upon a tower of filth. His personal guard eyed him suspiciously.

“Rip his tongue out!” Another cry came from a goblin wearing a golden suit of plate decorated with rubies. Immobilized by his armor, he sat upon beautiful elven pillows now stained beyond restoration. His gathering attendants stood silent.

“Brand his eyes and throat with a hot poker!” yet another chieftain snorted from beneath the weight of a bloated gut. Half-eaten and rotten food sat on plates stacked high around him. An emaciated servant chewed his lip in quiet reservation.

Still, no goblin – warrior, guard, or other – moved to silence the human champion.

“The blasphemy of the goblin king and complicit chieftains grew.” Renaud continued his story. “As the concerns of the shamans also grew, they became more vocal. Recognizing their own sacrilegious ways, the chieftains forbade the shamans from teaching Lamashtu’s first edict…”

A gasp rolled through the crowd.

“And thus, your leaders violated the Mother of Monsters second edict: the indoctrination of children in the ways of Lamashtu.” Renaud allowed his words to penetrate the minds of the audience. Disbelief gradually became discontent. The crossbows that had been pointing at Renaud, were now in search of other targets. A river of hostility gradually diverted away from Renaud and focused on the goblin nobility.

Renaud chose to stoke the embers of insurrection. “The shamans refused to provide Lamashtu’s blessings in the name of a heretical king, and they paid for their devotion with their lives… save Nipsoldee.”

A roar of anger rose from the goblins. Warriors turned their weapons towards their leaders. Even the king’s guard trained their crossbow upon Reazz.

“This is your moment.” Renaud whispered to Slairk. “I have done what I have come to do. What happens next is up to you.”

“Me?” Slairk’s malevolent demeanor was fused with petrifying uncertainty.

“You are the captain of the guard. Your leaders have betrayed you, and the goblins of Blackstone Hollows are barred from Basaldeyst. Your soldiers… your people need your guidance.”

A riot filled the chamber, and violence was only held at bay by the spiritual crisis that Renaud had provoked. Few goblins were prepared to die without the promise of an afterlife. To kill another goblin – even a heretic – seemed equally abhorrent. That the quandary itself had been created by a follower of Sarenrae added multitudes of complexity that was beyond the average goblin to even contemplate. In this moment, goblins could not be goblins.

Slairk gripped his sword tightly but remained paralyzed by indecision. “What should I do?”

“What would Lamashtu want you to do?” Renaud extended the totem to Slairk.

Another eternity passed in the moments it took for Slairk to grasp the question, but when he did, his lips curled into a wicked grin. The goblin captain snatched the necklace from Renaud and lunged towards the throne of bone. He leapt upon the arm rest next to Reazz. He rose his blade above his head and bellowed, “Slay the enemies of Lamashtu! Kill the heretics!”

“No, wait!” Reazz squealed.

Slairk plunged his sword into King Reazz’s belly. The riot exploded into a roar. Goblins swarmed their chieftains. Crossbow bolts flew in all directions. Screams and shrieks rang up as goblin nobility and a few loyal and stupid guards clashed with a furious mob.

Renaud wasted not a moment. With wrists still shackled, he launched himself into sprint towards the exit. He waded like a giant through roiling sea of goblins blinded to his presence by their thirst for retribution. As fast as he moved, the revolution followed, and the goblin city became a flood of righteous anger.

Ambivalence filled Renaud as he dashed over piles of refuse and through rank alleys. Every word he had spoken was true, and the goblins of Blackstone Hollows were now engaged in a moral purge of the very leaders that had brought them to heresy. It was a strangely admirable moment of redemption amidst a wicket folk and their wicked god. But goblins, being goblins, would not stop there. The redemption they sought in the eyes of Lamashtu also gave license to slaughter one another. The very moment salvation was achieved through the execution of the king and his chieftains was the same moment ascension – dissention – to Basaldeyst was possible, and therefore killing and dying no longer represented terrifying oblivion. They became religious tenants.

In the power vacuum that would follow, ambitious figures would jockey for influence. Power brokers would emerge. Alliances and betrayals would unfold. The corridors of the goblin city would run red with blood. It would be years before they returned to raiding and pillaging at their current scale.

And that had been Renaud’s plan all along: to risk his own life in the place of countless others. But also to facilitate redemption to the goblins even though that redemption was unlike that which Sarenrae offered.

Renaud emerged from the festering boil of Blackstone Hollows and took a deep breath of fresh air. The mountainous wilderness before him provoked an admiration that lingered with him upon his long trek back to civilization. Indeed, the gods worked in ways mortals could not understand, and he took great pride in being an instrument of divine will. Though Lamashtu and Sarenrae were opposed in nearly all things, on this, they were of one mind.

Goblins deserved redemption.