Fifteen

Inside the crowded tavern, Jake led Wyrtt to a small table in the shadowy back corner. The raucous crowd quieted to suspicious murmurs and hard stares as the mismatched pair passed, then slowly returned to their revelry. 

"So tell me about these goblins that are causin' trouble," Jake said gruffly, setting two frothing mugs of ale on the table. 

Wyrtt sipped the bitter ale politely before speaking. "Well sir, the notice mentioned they are attacking homesteads on the outskirts of town. Do you know which clan they are from?"

Jake stroked his bushy red beard thoughtfully. "Let's see now...they ride in at dusk on great nasty worgs and wolves with slashes painted on their ugly faces. Vicious buggers, they are, killin' livestock and people without mercy, stealin' anything they can carry. We've lost good folk to their curved blades." He shook his head sadly. 

Wyrtt nodded grimly. "The slashed faces mark them as the Slash Fangs, my old clan." 

Jake raised his eyebrows. "Your clan, you say?"

"Yes, though they cast me out long ago for my scholarly pursuits and alchemy," Wyrtt explained. "We goblins are not supposed to value knowledge and science, you see. We are expected to pillage and fight."

"Well, scholar or not, these particular goblins are bloodthirsty monsters that need exterminatin'," Jake said bitterly before taking a long draught of ale. 

"I agree, and I aim to help however I can," said Wyrtt. "Have there been any recent attacks?"

Jake leaned in close, dropping his voice. "Just last night. Killed two farmhands in cold blood, burned down a barn, and made off with bags of grain and livestock. The survivors are holed up here in town, terrified to return home." 

Wyrtt's fist clenched around his mug. How far his old clan had fallen into depravity and violence! "Tell me where the farms are. I will stand watch tonight in case the raiders return."

Jake rubbed his stubbly chin and looked skeptical. "No offense, friend, but you're just one little goblin against a whole pack of bloodthirsty worg riders. I can't ask you to risk yourself like that."

"You forget, I am an alchemist," said Wyrtt with a crafty grin, revealing his pointed teeth. "I have some new explosive concoctions that will even the odds."

Jake slapped him hard on the back. "Well why didn't you say so earlier! In that case, we best start preparin'!" 

The pair spent the next few hours going over Wyrtt's battle plans and supplies. Jake offered him a short sword and leather armor, but Wyrtt declined - his mind and potions were his best weapons. As dusk fell, Wyrtt made his way stealthily to the ransacked farmsteads on the outskirts of town. The acrid smell of burnt timber still hung heavily in the air. His heart heavy, Wyrtt picked a shadowy spot between two buildings to stand watch and wait, bottles of potion at the ready.

Just as the moon reached its peak, Wyrtt's sharp ears picked up distant howls. Gripping two glass bottles of his newest explosive liquid fire potion, he steeled himself for battle. Soon, dark shapes appeared on the road, bathed in cold moonlight - eight armed goblin raiders astride two great shaggy worgs and six lean wolves, their faces marked with the signature gashes of the Slash Fangs clan. 

Wyrtt stepped forward from the shadows and called out "Halt, friends! These people have suffered enough. I beseech you, turn back now and cease this senseless violence!"

The goblins halted their advance, squinting into the darkness for the source of this bold challenge. "Who goes there?" shouted one in the coarse goblin tongue. At the sound of the arrogant voice, Wyrtt gasped - it was none other than his own brother, Slicer!

"Brother, it is I, Wyrtt," he replied steadily in their language. Angry mutters rippled through the raiding party at this revelation. 

Slicer threw back his head and cackled gleefully. "Well, if it isn't my weakling brother, the human and book lover! Here to beg for your new friends? You always were soft." 

The other goblins jeered at Wyrtt and brandished their weapons - cruel curved blades that glinted wickedly in the moonlight. But Wyrtt noticed one had hesitated - his old friend Jib, looking uncertain.

"Walk away now, Slicer, while you still can," Wyrtt implored. "You disgrace our kind with this senseless brutality. Turn from this dark path before it is too late!"

Slicer spat angrily upon the ground. "Still spouting that weak pacifist rubbish I see. Out of my way, traitorous whelp!" He leaned forward eagerily to spur his battle-scarred worg onward towards the village.

With a heavy heart, Wyrtt hurled his explosive liquid fire bombs directly at his arrogant brother. They shattered on impact, engulfing Slicer and his worg mount in bursts of swirling green flame. Their dying screams pierced the night. 

Chaos and shouts erupted among the raiding party at this attack. Enraged, they turned as one and rushed straight at Wyrtt, weapons ready to cut him down. But Wyrtt quickly hurled more potion vials, and explosions of fire singed fur and flesh. The wolves yelped in pain and fear, recoiling from the intense flames. "Flee now, or you will end up like him!" Wyrtt yelled furiously. 

But one large goblin with hate in his eyes drew a wickedly curved dog slicer sword and charged heedlessly through the fire. Caught off guard, Wyrtt fumbled to grab another potion bottle, but the goblin was almost upon him. At the last possible second, Wyrtt's fingers closed around a small leather pouch. He whipped it out and blew a blinding handful of fine powder directly into his attacker's face. The goblin stumbled back, howling in pain and furiously clawing at his burning eyes. 

Seeing several of their party fall to Wyrtt's potions and powder, the remaining goblin raiders turned and fled in terror, disappearing into the night. Only Jib remained behind, staring mournfully at Slicer's blackened corpse still smoking upon the ground. 

"I never wanted this," he whispered sadly in the goblin tongue. "But I was afraid to leave the clan." He shook his head, ashamed.

Wyrtt stepped forward and gently placed a reassuring hand on his slender friend's shoulder. "It is not too late to change, Jib. Help me build a new path for our kind, one of cooperation and compassion instead of violence."

Jib took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "You have shown me the way. From this day forth, my place is at your side, brother."

Together the two stood solemnly over Slicer's charred remains. Though it pained Wyrtt deeply to have killed his own kin, the innocent lives Slicer would have brutally taken had he lived weighed far heavier upon his conscience. He could only hope this dark but necessary deed would spare the village future suffering at his brother's hands.

As the first pale light of dawn peeked over the horizon, a new sense of purpose and resolve filled Wyrtt's heart. With his steadfast friend Jib by his side, he would find a way to guide his goblin people towards a more enlightened future of cooperation, not conflict. Though the road ahead would no doubt be fraught with challenge and sacrifice, this tragic night had proven that the path of peace is often the most difficult - yet most rewarding - road to walk.

Together, the two made their way back towards town as the morning sun rose. Outside the village smithy, the burly figure of Jake the blacksmith stood waiting anxiously for them. 

"There you are! Just the two of you return - what happened out there?" he asked worriedly.

Wyrtt related the full tragic story of the previous night's events. Jake clapped him hard on the back. "You done good, friend. Because of your quick action, we'll have some peace for a while." He turned to Jib with a mix of uncertainty and hope. "And this one is with you?"

Jib nodded hesitantly. "Jib is an old friend," Wyrtt explained. "He wishes to leave the violent ways of our tribe behind and start anew." 

Jake considered the nervous goblin thoughtfully for a few moments, then broke into a wide grin. "Well, I won't turn away someone seeking a fresh start and a second chance. If you're willing to work hard, I could use an extra set of hands at the forge."

Jib's eyes lit up happily at the opportunity. "It would be an honor to learn from you, sir. Thank you."

Wyrtt smiled proudly at his friend. Though their road held much uncertainty ahead, this small act of forgiveness and mercy gave him hope that human and goblin could live together in harmony.