If I knew my fantasy games, places like this were supposed to have treasure. And nice as it was, my new staff didn't seem sufficient.

  Quint led us to what must have been the chieftain's tent. It looked slightly less shabby than the rest. There weren't any holes in the fabric covering it, for one. The tent's color had a faint memory of at one time being rich burgundy with a golden trim. Goblins must've looted it somewhere and then kept abusing it until the fabric turned all earthy and frayed.

  I searched that tent before but didn't find anything of interest inside except for a collection of bent spoons. They didn't appear expensive and I wasn't thrilled by the idea of sharing cutlery with goblins, so I left them be.

  Ignoring the spoons, Quint dashed for a basket where the apparent goblin leader kept his spare clothes. Gaudy, tattered, and way too small for either of us. Quint threw the basket aside after grabbing an old pair of hose. He used it to move the dirt underneath, revealing the top of a wooden box about a foot in length.

  That Perception of his must've been working overtime. No way anyone was spotting that thing simply by looking around. I wanted to ask Quint how he did it. I then remembered my fight with the Sensate where I was pulling combat moves I never knew I had in me.

  Quint brought the box up to his eye level. There was a tiny padlock keeping the lid in place. It would be easy to pull that thing apart with my bare hands. Quint had a different idea. He found the lone fork among the goblin chief's spoons, and bent its prongs in a peculiar way. When he was done, the utensil looked like it was throwing out the devil's horns.

  "Reckon this should do the trick," Quint said as he went to work on the lock. It clicked open within seconds.

  "Well ain't that something?" Quint said. "I'd only ever watched a video or two on lockpicking from a colleague. Never even tried it for real. These skills do work."

  By that point I was breathing down Quint's neck, curious to see what was inside. He popped the lid just as I leaned in.

  At the very top was a piece of cloth wrapped around two coins. These were larger than the previous ones and gold in color. One side of them was still dedicated to what I was assuming was the phoenix bird, while the other showed an image of two crossed swords. It made little sense to me why Swords would be gold and Crowns copper, but now was not the time to puzzle over that.

  Aside from the coins, there was only one other item in the box.

  Dragon Tooth

  Since dragons don't die from old age, their loose teeth are exceptionally rare. Despite that, they're not particularly valuable. Dragon teeth are only useful in fringe alchemical recipes and as an object of bragging among knights whose armor is too smooth and shiny to have ever survived an encounter with a beast like that.

  I was about to inform Quint of the full extent of my disappointment when I saw him take a closer look at the tooth.

  "You hold your horses just a second," he said. "I might know what this whatchamacallit is."

  I examined the tooth again.

  Dragon Tooth of the Instant Soldier

  The forefathers' legends tell us the tale of a king whose name was stricken from the annals when he was deposed by his brother. He spent months in exile, praying to the gods from dawn till dusk. For his piety, the king was granted a boon. A necklace of dragon teeth that, when thrown on the ground, became an army of masterful warriors who never tired. The deposed king then used his new army to sack his old country and salt the land where it stood. It is unclear how much of this story is true, or how large that necklace had to be to produce an army capable of conquering a kingdom. What's undeniable is that to this day people keep finding such loose teeth.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Throw on the ground to summon a Dragon Warrior for a single battle or until he is killed.

  "That's more like it." I patted Quint on the shoulder. "Good job on that lore check."

  "You think that's how I knew what this was?" he asked with a shudder, visibly uncomfortable with the existence of skill checks.

  "Makes sense to me. Now, unless you see any other hidden caches, it's time for us to head out."

  As we were about to do that, I realized that regardless of what our character sheets said, neither of us was prepared to venture out into the unknown and survive in a hostile environment.

  Quint was wearing a pair of suit pants holding up the holster for his empty revolver. His button-down got ruined by the Sensate's blast, so he had to ditch that, revealing an off-white wifebeater. The quiver of javelins was slung over his shoulder. He was clutching the goblin box under one arm and was using the other to clumsily hold onto the tinder pouch and a coin purse with half a dozen coins inside.

  I originally wanted to keep all our cash pooled, but Quint insisted it was bad luck to have an empty wallet. Ordinarily I would've scoffed at such superstition. In our circumstances I didn't want to chance luck being a hidden attribute.

  In a way, I was an even sorrier sight. My clothes may have been more suited to outdoorsy activities - I did have a jacket on. But the positives ended there. I had the staff resting on my shoulder, with the pot dangling off it behind my back. The same hand holding the staff was gripping the falchion. The shoddy sword constantly tried to slip away. At least it was dull enough that there was no chance to accidentally lop anything off. In my other hand I had the two pieces of my cane, while my coin purse was sticking out of my jeans. Mine was the fatter of the two but still bordered on malnourished.

  "You haven't found anything resembling an inventory screen?" I asked Quint.

  "Don't think so."

  "Well, shit. We're not getting far like this."

  Quint adjusted his grip on the box before looking me up and down.

  "You could lose those sticks," he suggested, eyeing my cane.

  "Those sticks saved me, hell, they saved both of us." I didn't add that they were also my only connection to our past normal lives. "Besides," I said, "I don't see you ditching that six-shooter of yours. Sure, it's not broken, but at this point it may as well be a shitty hammer."

  Quint directed a withering look at me. It was obvious from the way he patted his hip that his attachment to his gun was similar to what I had with the cane.

  "Alright, let's do like the infomercial guys and find us a better way," I said, changing the subject.

  We refocused our efforts on looking for stuff that would make us more travel-ready. Even with our skills, the best either of us could craft on the spot were very basic bindles. Considering the materials we had to make them from, we weren't too into the idea.

  Quint then pointed out that we had the cauldron. I corrected him to call it a pot. Naming conventions aside, his point was that we could use it to store things while we were on the move. The tinder pouch, both pieces of my cane, and Quint's lockpicking fork all went in. I barely noticed the weight change. On my end, I convinced Quint to abandon the goblin box.

  All that already made us considerably more mobile. And we weren't stopping there.

  Goblins may have been short and skinny, but when designing their belts, the Sensates were clearly guided by the one-size-fits-all principle. They were wide and had seemingly countless hooks and loops on them. You could dangle pretty much anything from there.

  My new belt had a wide loop of leather that could be used in lieu of a scabbard. The falchion went there. On the opposite end of it I hung my coin purse and advised Quint to do the same.

  As he was working on attaching it to his belt, he said, "I tell you what, Buck. You call it a coin purse again and I walk." He froze for a second, gritting his teeth. "Well, maybe not walk but refuse to cooperate."

  "What's the problem?" I asked, confused.

  "Ain't no way I'm wearing a purse. It's a coin pouch," Quint insisted.

  "Let's split the difference. I'll give you the pouch if you stop calling my pot a cauldron."

  The sounds of a branch cracking followed by a shrill gasp cut our banter and turned our heads towards the trees.

  A goblin stood there in the undergrowth. He had a spear in one sallow hand and was holding onto a tree trunk with the other.

  Seeing goblins dead was one thing, but looking at a live one with his beady eyes and sharp yet wrinkly features? That was strange and disconcerting.

  "They ransacked the camp. The buggers be killin' everyone. Save me, boss," the goblin screeched as he spun around, stumbling on a root in the process.

  Without me having to ask him, Quint pulled out a javelin and launched it at the creature.

  It was a good toss that flew straight and true even despite a definite bend in the missile itself. It would've pierced its target if not for sticking into the ground several yards from the monster, allowing him to make his escape.

  Quint had the skill and Agility for the throw. He just lacked the Strength to send the javelin far enough. I blamed that on my choices, patting Quint on the back in a gesture of encouragement.

  "I'm sure this won't lead to anything bad," I said.

  "Where do I buy me some of that confidence, hoss?"

  Billy Joel Facts - Chapter 11: