The dry grass of Southern Mercia along the Stride River scratched the young monster hunter’s legs as he walked along. He kept his dragon bone sword, Tierfyr, in a sheath on his belt and an enchanted shield strapped to his left arm, but there was a much more curious trinket hanging from his neck, nestled atop a red scarf; a green mask in the shape of a goblin’s face, bearing a turquoise gemstone surrounded by swirling vaporous energy.

  Friedrich paused and looked over his shoulder, seeing the sandstone walls of Abnar’s Watch, the City of Thieves, in the distance behind him. He had been walking along the road for over an hour, navigating the uneven terrain as he hunted for what the soul residing within his mask sought.

  He lifted the mask over his head and flipped it around to face him. “We must be close,” said Friedrich, looking into the empty eyes of the wooden goblin’s face as he spoke. “You will have the moment you seek, my friend. And when you do, I expect you to keep your end of our deal as the others before you have done.”

  The mask gave no response; there was no expectation of one. Friedrich gave it a silent nod and then placed the sturdy string back over his neck, letting the goblin stare out in the same direction he did. Truthfully, he did not know how much awareness it had while not resting upon his face, but it surely had some level of perception even if it was through the imprint it had left on his soul.

  Friedrich continued along the rocky path by the river, keeping a watchful eye on the cliffs. He doubted that the small brutes he sought had left the area for they were a stubborn plague upon any land they nested in. At least this time they had the courtesy to stay away from the main road most of the time. Sadly for them, most of the time was not good enough.

  “Footprints,” muttered Friedrich, kneeling upon the sand and examining both the tracks and the bent blades of grass leading away.

  He followed along, keeping close to the edge of the cliff. Before long, the yelps, grunts, and screeches of his quarry reached his ears. The beasts had olive skin and wore battered rags looted from travellers and the skins of animals which they had haphazardly fashioned into garments. Draped over their necks, wrists, and around their waists was clinking bones on frayed strings.

  Friedrich could feel the soul of the mask calling out to him as it watched the goblins cook their meals of fish and rats. As his eyes drifted around the camp, they reached a stack of smooth stones where one particular goblin sat. He wore a crown made of knucklebones and teeth and held an iron short sword he had pilfered from an unfortunate traveller.

  “Here we go,” said Friedrich gleefully. This should not take long.

  He stepped forward and put a thumb and index finger to his lips, letting out a piercing whistle that halted the goblins in their tracks. They remained perfectly still for two seconds until the call of their king spurred them to action. They grabbed their knives and spears and then charged for the intruder in their precious camp. How bold of him to approach, but it would be a mistake he would regret in his last moments. The intruder, however, knew that the stupid creatures had no idea who they were dealing with.

  “Come on!” he barked, drawing his sword.

  As a spear flew towards him, he raised an arm, blocking it with his shield. The magic of his enchantment shield reacted to the blow, flinging the spear aside with much more force than a normal shield would have. As the spear spun through the air, the goblins screeched in unison before continuing their charge.

  Friedrich twirled his sword around and then leapt to action. He ran into the furore of goblins, slashing and thrusting pointedly, cutting the green-skinned rats down to size with ease. With every blow that met his, he returned it tenfold, overpowering each enemy that dared attack. As the goblins fell, his vigour only grew as his fighting instincts took control.

  The goblins wailed in pain as they were deftly killed one after another, often multiple falling in single swings. After twenty had fallen, the king finally decided that he must act. He heaved himself to his feet, his bulbous belly thick enough that it may as well have been his armour. With a grunt, he lumbered to battle with his spike-skewered club.

  This was what Friedrich had been waiting for. He threw his sword into the air and placed the goblin mask upon his face. The power of the gemstone within the mask overcame him, twisting and warping his form into that of a goblin. His skin turned to green, he shrank and curled into a hunch, while his limbs turned from sturdy and muscular to spindly. As his sword fell, he caught it in a clawed hand and swung more wildly, cutting goblins down with both blade and nail.

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  The hefty king caught up to the slaughter and swung his club in an arc through the air. Friedrich’s blade met the heavy swing, but Tierfyr was not a sword to back down. The sword wedged itself deep in the club, sending tremors up Friedrich’s arm, but he held on tightly as the king tried to force him backwards. With a pivot and a pull, he freed the club from its master’s hands and spun around in a full circle. The bone club smashed into the goblin king’s stomach and knocked the heavy brute to the ground, sending him rolling across the dirt.

  Upon the sight of their king being made to look a fool, a trio of goblins leapt simultaneously through the air, swinging their rusty daggers. With a sweeping strike, they were felled and their blood rained upon the earth like water from a fountain. Through the rain came the charging goblin king, his fury beyond comprehension as he made for his mark.

  Charging against Friedrich head-on proved to be a fatal mistake as a thrusted Tierfyr pierced the king’s gut. His own weight did most of the work and the sharp steel tore apart his intestines as his face contorted with both rage and agony. Friedrich pulled the blade free and swung around in a full circle, depriving the staggering king of his head. The brute then fell to the ground with a thud. As the wave of dust billowed into the air, the few remaining goblins stood in shock. They sprinted for the river as Friedrich gave chase and then dove into the water, swimming rapidly and letting the current carry them faster.

  With a creaking cackle, Friedrich walked over to the dead goblin king’s corpse and leered at it before his crooked mouth twisted into a satisfied grin. He jammed his sword into the sandy soil and let his willpower fade away, giving the goblin the chance to take the reigns of his body. With a gleeful screech, the goblin picked up the dead king’s head and wrapped his gnarled fingers around the bone crown. He gave the head a vigorous shake, but the bones dug into the king’s flesh and held the crown tightly in place.

  No matter; there were ways to deal with this. The goblin put the head on the ground and took hold of the crown with both hands. He raised a leg and then repeatedly stomped on the king’s head until his skull collapsed and the crown came free. Excitedly, the goblin placed the crown upon his own head and threw his arms in the air, praising the great Friedrich who had given him this boon. However, he was not yet finished.

  He ran over to the goblin king’s stone throne, which was surrounded by sharp spears with many a skewered animal lying on the ground with the wooden shaft shooting out of their sides. The goblin leapt onto the throne, pirouetting in the air and landing on the seat with a thud. He growled and rubbed his sore rump before taking in a deep breath.

  “Kyaagh!” he squealed, but it was not a wail of anger. It was a cry of glee, so pleased was the goblin with his new role. The tribe may be dead, but he had usurped the throne and become their king whether they liked it or not.

  As the final minute of the masked transformation passed, the goblin relished every second. But all good things must come to an end and the goblin’s form shifted, returning to that of Friedrich who sat on the throne with the bone crown on his head and the mask hanging from his neck.

  He tore it away, snapping the string and spoke aloud. “I gave you what you wanted, goblin,” he said. “You had your moment as king and now it’s time for you to do my bidding as your master.”

  With a splintering crack, the goblin mask broke into a thousand tiny fragments of wood, releasing the turquoise gem which remained floating in mid-air. An ethereal vapour emerged from it, taking the shape of a goblin. Friedrich reached out to the creature, who wrapped its claw around his wrist with an ugly grin. The gem drifted towards Friedrich’s forehead and sat upon it for a moment before vanishing. The soul of the goblin had been drawn into him and he had no more use for the mask.

  Friedrich smirked as he looked upon the remains of the goblin camp. He reached underneath his scarf to where a lone mask remained, that of a young spider. He drummed his fingers on it for a few seconds before standing up.

  “Three down,” he said, satisfied that it had been a most productive day, but he had to be sure that he could harness the form. He suspected this one would be easy to manipulate.

  Drawing upon his greed, he willed himself to change forms. He shrunk down and became a goblin once more. After a quick stretch, he willed himself to return to normal and then began laughing to himself; what a day it had been. He had awakened his third soul mask, adding another fragment of power to his being that nobody could take from him by stealing his mask. It was bound to him and him alone.

  He walked around the camp, whistling as he looted the kupons the goblins had gathered. They cared for riches for the sake of being rich, having nowhere to spend their stolen money. Friedrich, however, had the city of Abnar’s Watch and its kupon-hungry citizens who would very happily take these tiny gems in exchange for whatever it was he desired.

  Friedrich drew Tierfyr from the ground, wiped the blood on the goblin king’s loin cloth and then sheathed it. With a smirk on his face, he departed the camp and made his way towards the distant city, looking forward to a rest in his bed after a job well done.