There's a lot you can tell about a town from the state of the rooms in its inns. If the rooms were clean and well kept, Oozewart found the town to be full of secrets. If the rooms were dirty, they were still full of secrets, but those secrets were easier to find, usually hidden in plain sight, scuff marks in the dust, half burned letters in the fireplace. 

Oozewart was an expert in such things. But she hadn't always been. Back when she was a young goblin, still wet behind the ears (although, to be fair, her ears were wet even now… and sticky… it was part of her charm) and before she’d ever seen a portal, she had to learn these things the hard way. 

Like the time when she ended up in Obsidia. That had been a hard lesson to learn, but she was a better goblin because of it. Probably. 

*****

Oozewart was generally motivated by three things: brains (they were delicious), coin (who doesn’t love riches?), and trinkets (they were pretty). So, when the job in Obsidia came up, she leapt at the chance (although she played it real cool in front of the client - after all, she didn't want them to think they could cut the payment or something). She packed a bag with her current favourite weapon (at the moment, that honour fell to an axe) and a handful of lucky teeth, and was in Obsidia by nightfall. 

Even back then, Oozewart knew that night was the best time to enter a new town. Not least because most places would rather be infested by cockroaches than have a goblin stop by. 

She approached the town gates with no small amount of caution. Out of habit, she kept to the shadows, fighting the urge to turn on her invisibility. The scales on the back of her neck shifted, almost standing on edge. Her shoulder blades ached, and Oozewart could imagine someone staring at the spot between them. Someone aiming an arrow, perhaps. Around her, nocturnal sounds filled the air, but they were all normal, mundane noises. She was almost disappointed to hear nothing weird. A threat of some kind would mean that she had reason to feel on edge. 

There was, of course, one way she could see a threat. Y’know, if she really wanted to. All she had to do was use her night-vision… but then she could see THE Night-Visions. They'd be more than happy to give her something to be scared about. 

‘No fanks,’ she thought. As always, using her night-vision would be a last resort. Not because she was scared, mind you. Goblins feared nothing, at least that’s what they told themselves. She just couldn't be bothered to deal with the hidden monsters. It was laziness rather than fear. There was a difference. 

Swallowing her fear/laziness, Oozewart stepped closer to the gate. Even without her night-vision she could tell it was a big ol’ hefty thing. Huge metal bars, twice the height of the tallest troll… and iron too, if she wasn't mistaken. Not only was it good for keeping common or garden variety enemies away, but it would also help keep fairies out. Oozewart couldn't blame them for that - those little fuckers were brutal. 

“Who goes there?” a voice called out, but its owner remained hidden.

“I’ve been hired by your Grand Custodian to… er… deal with an issue…” she replied, as it occurred to her that she didn’t actually have a clue what the job was. She assumed she had to kill someone, but who or why was a mystery. She could only hope that she wasn’t supposed to exterminate the owner of the voice, otherwise this little conversation would really ruin the surprise. 

“Ah, yes, we’ve been expecting you.”

Oozewart wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but she walked towards the opening gate regardless. 

A figure approached and Oozewart raised an arm to protect her eyes, as her new companion’s lantern almost blinded her. 

“Welcome… er… Oozewart, is it?” the person - a human - asked.

Unlike many throughout Venari, Oozewart wasn’t concerned with people knowing her name. Sure, they could put a spell on her, but her name was her brand. It was how she got work. More importantly, it was how she got those shiny coins and trinkets she so desperately needed. Well, it was one way. The other way was a little more secret, and wasn’t one she advertised.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Good, I’m Archibald Pyre. Grand Custodian Cornelius Gloam has asked me to greet you this evening, and take you to your room. He’ll be along tomorrow morning to give you the full details of your task. He’s excited to have you here, we all are. This task will be a difficult one and many have failed, but we’ve heard you’re the right… er… goblin for the job.”

This felt like flattery and bullshit, things Oozewart hated with a passion, but she decided to let it slide on this instance. 

“I’m sure it ain’t nufin’ I can’t handle,” she said. “Hey, can I call ya Archie?”

Good ol’ Archie gave her a look that told her she could absolutely not call him Archie, so she followed him without saying anything else. To be fair, he didn’t really look like an ‘Archie’... or an ‘Archibald’... he was more of a ‘Human-Wiv-A-Stick-Up-His-Arse’, but if he didn’t want her to call him Archie, he definitely wouldn’t want her to call him that.

The gate closed behind her, but she didn’t see who did it. That made her brain itch a little. It felt like a secret or a deception, and she wasn’t a fan of those (unless they were her secrets and deceptions, in which case they were perfectly fine and should even be celebrated for their cunning genius). She didn’t ask about the mysterious helper at the gates, though. It wouldn’t do for her hosts to know they had her rattled. Not until she could trust them… and trust wasn’t in her nature. Or in her rulebook. ‘Rule Number 5,’ she reminded herself, ‘Trust no-one, not even yourself.’

*****

Archibald took her deeper into the town, showing off the perfectly paved streets and the gas street lighting. This was unusual for Venari, and Oozewart still hadn’t got her head around how these more modern towns worked. She did, however, know that gas could sometimes be used to make things go boom, although she’d yet to have the chance to put that into action. 

There were plenty of houses and shops, multiple taverns, and even a theatre. A carriage rattled past, travelling slow enough for Oozewart to be able to take note of the gold trim, and a little look through the window revealed a plush interior filled with a couple covered in jewelry. It was clear the people here weren’t struggling. Oozewart felt herself warming to the place instantly, but it wasn’t because of the perceived wealth (although that was bloody enticing). 

It was because it was quiet.

It felt… different.

There was an emptiness that she’d never felt before, but it was in a positive way. 

While Archibald prattled on about the most recent shows that had hit the stage in their theatre, Oozewart chanced her night-vision. 

Now, there’s something you should know about goblin night-vision. While it’s great that goblins can see perfectly in the dark, just like everything, it comes at a cost. In this instance, the cost is that goblins can see, hear, touch, and interact with Night-Visions. What are Night-Visions?, I hear you cry! They are exceedingly odd, but powerful creatures from The Void… and they are exceedingly dangerous. They’d tear you open and lick out your insides if you look at them funny. Or if you fail to say hello. Or if you say hello in the wrong tone of voice. As you can probably guess, dealing with them is excruciatingly exhausting, so it’s best to avoid them as much as possible… and that’s something that’s infinitely easier to do if you can’t bloody see them. 

With all that hanging out rent-free in her head, Oozewart tried out her night-vision and waited a few moments. 

And there was nothing. 

Archibald yammered on about a particularly successful play about pirates for several moments, and still no Night-Visions appeared. Oozewart could hardly believe it. She’d found the one place in all of Venari (that she knew of, at least) where Night-Visions didn’t reside. She tried to hold back a satisfied grin. Perhaps as payment for this very difficult assassination, she should demand a house here. This could be the start of a very comfortable life. A plan started to form in her mind as she imagined how she’d decorate said house, and if Obsidia had any rules on lawn ornaments made from skulls and bones. Oozewart couldn’t see why they would (after all, such decorations only increased the value of property in her home town), but she knew when populations were largely human (like this one) they could get a little weird about such things. Humans were so awkward. 

Without realising it, Oozewart had been taken down several roads and now had no idea where she was. The realisation that she hadn’t been paying attention shocked back into the moment. 

“... and many important people have settled here over the years,” Archibald was saying. She’d missed the first part of the sentence, but it didn’t sound like anything important. Just bragging. Oozewart hated bragging… unless she was the one doing it. 

“Watch your back,” a voice called, and Oozewart spun on her heel to find its owner. 

An old human woman hung out of a ground floor window. Her face was painted with symbols Oozewart didn’t stand a chance at interpreting and her outstretched hand rattled and jingled from all her bracelets and rings. These, however, did not look as expensive as those adorning the couple in the carriage. Alongside random bits of metal, these looked like they were made from things Oozewart had far more experience with. 

Bone.

“Ignore her,” Archibald said, as he tried to hurry Oozewart away.

“Keep to the shadows,” the woman said, as her voice faded away as the distance between them grew.

“What was that about?” Oozewart asked her guide.

“Oh, just ignore her. She’s just a witch that’s overstayed her welcome. Mad, too. Talks a load of nonsense. She scares the local children something rotten.” 

Oozewart nodded and decided not to mention that a goblin would probably scare the local children a whole lot worse. Instead, she said, “Is the witch the job?”

“Perhaps,” Archibald said. 

Oozewart growled and her companion flinched. All this secrecy was toying with her temper. 

“Er… I mean… Grand Custodian Cornelius Gloam will want to be the one to give you all the details. Tomorrow. In the morning. He’s very particular, you see.”

Oozewart growled again in response.

“Tell you what, I’ll just take you to your accommodation. Let's get settled.”

Within moments, Oozewart was standing outside an inn. An immaculately painted sign hung above the door, featuring a foot of all things. 

“The Golden Toe Tavern?” she asked. “Weird name.”

Archibald chuckled somewhat awkwardly. “Yes, quite. It comes from a funny little local legend. It’s all a bit silly really. I’m sure every town has little oddities like that. Anyway, please allow me to take you to your room.”

Looking back, Oozewart wished she had asked more about the silly little local legend.