## STORIES

### The Hand of Friendship Algren always knew he was different. For starters he could use magic which immediately set him apart. He was also far older than most of his kin. His intelligence kept him from making the reckless decisions that plagued his people. It was rare that his kind survived a decade, let alone the centuries that Algren had. Born into a clan of hundreds and not one among them shared thoughts or values. He was smart and wise, while those around him were impulsive and vicious. In fact his differences were so stark, his people always turned on him. He had been chased from clan to clan for centuries, always managing to use his magic to escape. But this last time something had gone wrong. He was unable to access the Weave. He was captured. His own people were now preparing to eat him. You see, Algren is a Goblin, and while some Goblins rise above their common nature… most simply stab, steal, burn, smash, and if and when possible, eat the problems presented to them.

Algren sat in his cage pondering his fate and as he was prone to do. Centuries of life and pondering such things had brought him no answers. He stared out at the other captives among him. Many surface folk were in cages near his own. He had encountered their kind from time to time, but not often. Perhaps he had not looked far enough abroad, perhaps he should have looked upward, to the surface. It was a naggin thought, one that ate at him, eventually becoming angry to have not had such a thought earlier. He had always looked for companionship and a like mind among his own kind. For all his thought prowess and wisdom, realizing that holding on so long to such a foolish hope was a grave disappointment to himself. One that he was unlikely to ever be able to rectify.

Fate is odd. Whether you believe in the cosmic tapestry of destiny or of divine hands beyond mortal comprehension or perhaps something else entirely. If you live long enough, the mounting count of coincidence makes it more and more intellectually difficult to not place your faith in something. That day Algren the Goblin found it impossible to not believe in providence. It was as if his very thoughts and ideas of finding camaraderie among those outside Goblin culture brought about his deliverance. And with so many things natural to his people, change came with an explosion.

A group of adventurers had come down from the surface world to rescue the other captives. Algren watched as these surface worlders cut their way through the dozens of Goblins that made up this particular clan. Eventually the members of the Clan had either been killed or had fled deep into the caverns of the Underdark. The adventurers had begun the task of freeing the captives. They had looked Algren’s way, but had not given any sign that they were going to free him. And so Algren cleared his throat and spoke to the Dwarf passing near him.

“Excuse me, good sir. Do you by any chance speak my language?” The politeness of the Goblin stopped the Dwarf in his tracks. Malrom Steelgrit had long ago served as a soldier in the Black Tooth Wars. It was a bloody and violent exchange between local Goblin Clans and the Dwarves that had lived there for centuries. Malrom had learned two things during that war. One hot to speak Goblin and two how to hate them.

“What kind of trickery is this!” He exclaimed. “Deleran! Pieter! Over here! Come! You must witness this marvel.” The group that had just decimated Algren’s most recently adopted clan gathered around the cage.

“My name is Algren,” He began politely. “And while I am a Goblin, I was born some centuries ago with a mind and a spirit quite different than any other of my kind. As you can see, they had no love for me. I was to share the same fate as the captives here. We were to be eaten.” While Malrom translated Pieter, examined the tattoos on Algren’s arms.

“I recognize some of these symbols. Ask him if he is skilled with magic.” The Wizard said to Malrom. “If so, that may explain his attitude, but it also may make him extremely dangerous. Although, he is likely suffering from the same Weave blockage that we are. He may be unable to cast spells. If that is the case… then he is truly unique.”

The conversation continued, and Algren made his case. He wished to be set free and escorted to the surface in order to find those of like mind and morals so he may at long last find a place of belonging. The notion caused quite the debate between Deleran Callington’s adventuring party. Most were of the persuasion that this Goblin was likely dangerous. They were about to decide to leave him to his fate, but Fate is odd.

Malrom spoke up. “We’ve all killed monsters. Some of them creatures…. Most of them folk gone bad. But none of ye have been in a war. War does a thing to your soul that battles do not. There is something about this Goblin that has chipped away at the hardness of my stone cold heart. In the war all we saw and all we knew was that Goblins were vile and vicious little creatures, nothing more than monsters… but here… here is one that defies all such notions. It done something to me. Something deep. You don’t think about it in war, but… I’ve watched Dwarves act just as viciously. Slaughtering entire villages of Goblins with merciliness and ferocity. It was war, and the business of war is ugly. But here my enemy has a soul, a face, and kindness. He seeks values and friendship. He deserves to be free.”

Malrom broke from his friends and brought his axe down upon the cage lock before anyone could stop him. At first Algren recoiled. The Goblin had watched the debate, and was insightful enough to have caught the distrusting glances. However, as the cage door slowly swung open, the Dwarf stepped into the opening, his hand extended in friendship. Algren took that hand and left his centuries of captivity in a culture that only brought him suffering behind. He took the hands of friendship and returned it in kind for centuries to come. }}