By C. Payne
From Goblins & Galaxies #4 Summer 2026
Thomas stood in front of the Tattered Banner Inn, snow clinging to the brown fur on his face as he gathered the courage to enter. Noise and the smell of ale seeped through the inn’s battered wooden door. The ground floor of the Tattered Banner doubled as a tavern, and had a reputation as a rough place. He hoped it was true. There was rough work that needed doing. He hopped inside, shaking off the snow and pulling back his hood to free his long ears.
The tavern was a stark departure from the frozen stillness outside. Several groups of fellow Hare Folk sat at rickety tables, voices raised and whiskers wiggling as they argued over the spring planting to come. An otter barmaid delivered mugs of ale to them, her streamlined body dancing between tables and the occasional curious paw. In the corner a murder of crows cursed and cajoled each other while they threw the bones, cawing whenever coin was exchanged. Feathers flew as one accused the other of cheating. Towards the back of the tavern the innkeeper trotted from one end of the bar to the other, braided goatee swaying as he divided his time between the stew-pot and the tap. His frown seemed as old and worn as his horns. Thomas looked towards the hearth, noticing the odd mix of folk gathered by the fire. A vulture, rat, racoon, and possum, just as described. This had to be the group he was seeking.
The massive vulture leaned against the wall, gripping a mug, his crimson head only moving to drink. He was clad in sleeveless black armor instead of his folk’s traditional monk attire. To the vulture’s right was an orange and gray dusted rat, his heavy muscles and notched ears giving away his trade. He was adorned in the usual sell sword’s garb- a stained shirt beneath chain mail, thick leather breeches, sheathed steel at his side. His hands and tail moved wildly as he spoke with a raccoon dressed much like Thomas. While the peasant’s clothes and hooded cloaks they wore were similar, the two daggers hanging from the raccoon’s hip set them apart. The black fur around his eyes seemed to swallow the light, adding a broodiness to his animated demeanor. A possum sat in front of the fire, head bowed as she read from the book in her lap. Her pink nose and grayish fur glowed in the firelight. She wore alchemist’s armor, thick leather covered in pockets and pouches. Every so often she’d look up from her book to interject in the conversation.
He touched the bag of coin in his pocket, hoping it would be enough, and strode towards them.
“Excuse me Sirs, M’Lady, are you…” Thomas’s nose twitched as he second guessed himself. “Are you folk the Scavenger’s Guild?”
The vulture growled out a chuckle as the raccoon turned, a smile upon his face. “We are, though we are neither Sirs nor ladies, I assure you. You can call me Hugo.” He extended his paw. Thomas shook it, relieved.
“I’m Thomas Swiftfoot. I hate to bother you-”
“No bother at all!” interrupted the rat as he clapped Thomas hard on the back, pushing him forward a step. He was much shorter than Thomas, but was pure strength. “Sawyer Ban at your service, Sir Hare.” He squeezed Thomas’s paw roughly.
“Let him go before you break him, Sawyer.” admonished the possum as she rose from her chair. “I’m Althea Grey, and it’s nice to meet you, Thomas.” He offered his paw, and she shook it with her tail. Thomas looked up at the vulture, still leaning against the wall.
“Father Vulture, I assume?”
The vulture’s ebony neck feathers bristled as he looked down on him and hissed “Brother Vulture.”
“Brother Vulture, I apologize! I thought, well, I thought that all in your order went by Father.”
Brother Vulture snorted and dipped his beak back into his mug. Hugo put his arm around Thomas’s shoulder.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of vestments on my friend here, but did you take a good look at his arms?” Thomas realized that Brother Vulture’s arms were free of feathers, and covered in ritualistic scars. “Penance for his excommunication. Should you see similar looking Vulture Folk in the future, you’d do well not to call them Father.”
Thomas cast his eyes down. “I meant no disrespect.”
Sawyer laughed. “None was taken Sir Hare, else you’d be on the ground searching for your teeth.”
Thomas’s ears laid back on his head as he took a step back. Althea took his paw and gave it a reassuring pat before turning to her comrades. “Now now boys, let’s not scare off a potential employer.” She turned back to Thomas. “You are here for business, aren’t you Thomas?”
“Yes Ma’am, grim business.” He took the bag of coins from his pocket and sat it on the small table next to the chair.
Hugo clapped his paws together. “Excellent! Let’s get a few things straight before we start. We are not assassins, nor are we slavers or kidnappers. The grimness of the work you’re offering may be distasteful to us, and if so, we’ll decline regardless of the coin offered. Do you understand?” Thomas nodded. “Wonderful! How may we be of service?”
“Delilah, my young daughter. She’s been taken.” Hugo raised an eyebrow. “She was picking thistle near the forest’s edge yesterday afternoon. I saw two folks in red robes grab her and take off into the woods. I gave chase, but—” He shook his head in shame. “I couldn’t keep up with them.”
“They were faster than a hare?” asked Sawyer.
“Much faster.” The group exchanged glances.
“Do you live in a township?” Hugo asked.
“I live on the outskirts of Burrowtown, near Dandelion Fields. Why do you ask?”
“That’s King Lupin’s land and under his protection. Have you gone to the King’s Sheriff with this?”
Thomas spat on the floor. “Damn that hound! He couldn’t even be bothered to get out of his chair for me. I’m not a noble, I’m not rich, I’m low folk just like…” Thomas trailed off.
“Just like us. You can say it; we feel no shame in what we are,” said Hugo.
“Then you know what kind of help I received from the high folk.”
“A deaf ear and a boot to the ass, I’d imagine.” Sawyer’s paws curled into fists as he said it.
“Exactly. I tried to hire every sell sword and mercenary guild I could find, but none would take my coin. They all told me to seek out the Scavenger’s Guild.”
“That’s because we take the work others won’t. It’s a source of pride for us.” A mischievous grin spread across Hugo’s face as he said it.
Althea placed her paw on Thomas’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Thomas, why wouldn’t anyone take this job? Your bag of coin looks plenty full for what you’re asking.”
Thomas hesitated. “She was taken by blood mages.” A shudder passed through the group.
“Disgusting abominations,” snarled Brother Vulture. “Working vile magicks over stolen blood to gain life beyond their years. They’re an affront to the Carrion King.”
“Are you sure they were blood mages?” asked Althea.
“Yes. There have been rumors of a cult of them hiding out in an old stone hut deep in the woods. A small group of Hare Folk went to roust them last season, but never returned. Folks have been going missing since then. I followed their tracks yesterday, and they led to that same hut. Those tracks, they weren’t right.” He thumped his foot on the floor. “I should have gone in and saved her.”
Hugo rubbed his chin. “Rushing to your death wouldn’t have helped your daughter. I can see now why you were sent our way.” He glanced at the bag of coin on the table. “Nasty business clearing out this cult. I’m not sure that’s enough payment for so much risk.”
Tears welled in Thomas’s eyes. “Please,” he pleaded, “I’m not asking you to deal with the mages; I’m asking that you save Delilah; she’s just a kit. I’ve sold everything I own just to raise what coin I’ve offered. I have nothing left to give, and nowhere else to turn.” His breath hitched as he spoke.
The group silently eyed each other. Brother Vulture stepped forward. “I say yes. I would save the child from this horror.”
“Where my friend goes, I go.” Sawyer adjusted his scabbard as he spoke. “Besides, we can always use the coin.”
They looked towards Althea. “You know my answer is yes.”
Hugo sighed. “Infiltration and extraction are the name of the game here. We do our best to avoid a fight, yes?” They nodded in agreement. He turned towards Thomas. “We’ll return at daybreak with your daughter, or we won’t return at all.” He turned back to the others. “Everyone upstairs to prepare. We leave within the hour.”
Althea stuffed various bottles and vials into her endless pouches while Hugo secreted blades within his clothing, Sawyer sharpening his short sword all the while. Brother Vulture sat lost in thought, his great axe laid across his lap.
“Are we ready?” Hugo asked.
“Aye.” replied Sawyer. Althea nodded. Brother Vulture remained silent, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Brother?”
Brother Vulture looked at each of them. “We are doing holy work my friends. I know we do not share gods, but it would please me if you would pray with me before we depart.”
Sawyer sheathed his sword. “Of course, Brother. I’ll take any blessings I can get.”
They gathered in a circle and took to one knee, placing a paw over their hearts. Brother Vulture put his talons together and began.
“Carrion King, Father of the Mound, please hear your fallen servant. We go against those who would upset the blessed cycle, refusing your call by sending others to your court in their stead. I beg you, share your strength and wisdom so we may save the child and set these actions right. Should it be our time, may you find us pleasing upon your tongue. Light into black, black into light, without end.” With that, they rose and set out into the freezing night.
Their breath steamed as they surveyed the stone hut from the safety of the treeline. The crude map Thomas had provided led them straight to it. Beneath the full moon’s glow it was easy to see the five sets of tracks leading to the hut’s door. There were none leading away.
“Five to four.” whispered Hugo. “Not the worst odds we’ve faced.”
Althea pointed towards the lone window facing them. “No movement from the window that I can see.”
“Good” said Hugo before silently creeping through the trees to the side of the structure. He closed the distance, ducked beneath the window, and took a small mirror from his pocket. Holding it up to the edge of the window, he used it to peek in. Satisfied, he signaled that it was all clear, and the others joined him at the door. They entered cautiously, ready for anything. All that greeted them was an empty table, a worn rug on the floor, and a fire dying in the fireplace.
Hugo patted Sawyer’s arm and pointed at the old rug. “A piece of silver says there’s a door under the rug.”
“I don’t take sucker bets.” he replied as he pulled the rug away, exposing a trapdoor set into the floor. Brother Vulture reached down and gently opened it. A steep set of stairs trailed off into the darkness. Althea took two half-filled vials from a pocket and mixed them together. The concoction gave off a green glow, illuminating the first few steps.
“Shall we then?” she asked.
Hugo gestured towards the steps. “Ladies first.”
Althea drew her dagger with her free hand and started downwards, the others close behind.
The steps went deep, leading to a small room crammed with moldy shelves sagging beneath the weight of the various tomes and jars piled on them. To the side sat a desk lit by a single candle, open books spread across its surface. Across the room, another opening with descending stairs loomed. There weren’t any signs of the girl. Althea flipped through the open books as Sawyer and Brother Vulture searched the shelves for anything valuable. Hugo kept his eyes on the stairs. Sawyer poked one of the jars, jostling it. Milky fluid swirled, revealing several white-furred fingers suspended within it. He quickly stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. Brother Vulture chuckled. Althea looked up from the books, worry on her face.
“What’s wrong?” asked Hugo, eyes darting between the staircases.
Althea flicked her tail. “I’m pretty sure these books outline a summoning ritual. I’m having a hard time translating the text, but there’s something about a full moon rite, the blood of thirteen, and…” She squinted at one of the books. “The hunger from the stars. This is much more than just blood magick. We need to get Delilah, and we need to go. Now.”
They turned towards the stairs. The only way to go was down.
The smell of death hit them just before the steps emptied out into another room. It was narrow, a cell flanking either side of it and ending with a hallway that snaked away, obscuring all but the first few feet of it. The stench came from the cell to the right, which was filled with bundles loosely wrapped in stained and leaking linens. The cell to the left was empty, save for a tiny, unmoving figure huddled in the corner.
Hugo rushed to the cell door and began picking the lock, the others watching his back as he worked. As soon as the door opened Althea was inside, inspecting the prisoner.
“It’s her” she confirmed. “She’s unconscious, but she’s alive.” She fingered the grubby bandages on the child’s wrists, the white fur around them matted with dried blood. “The bastards have been bleeding her.” She took two wraps from her pockets and changed the dressings before setting Delilah upright. She pulled a small flask from a pouch and poured the contents into the kit’s mouth. “That should help. We need to give her a few minutes before we move her.”
Brother Vulture checked the door to the opposite cell. It creaked open at his touch. He stepped in and flipped back the linens on the closest bundle, revealing a porcupine arm half eaten by rot. He counted the bundles and hissed “Blood of thirteen.”
Althea looked through the bars at him. “What?”
“There are twelve bodies here.” He unwrapped another bundle containing a badly decomposed hare. The corpse had a strange knife clutched in its paws. “This one’s been gone at least a season. A remnant of the hares sent to roust the mages, I’d imagine.” He pried the knife away from the body and held it up. The knife’s blade was made from chipped crystal, its handle hewn from bone.
Althea’s eyes widened. “A banishing blade.” Brother Vulture tucked the knife into his belt.
“Ok,” said Hugo, “that’s our cue to leave. Sawyer, grab the girl. Brother, take the rear.” He looked towards Althea. “Let’s go.”
Althea shook her head, her fur bristling. “No.”
Hugo threw his paws in the air. “What do you mean, no? We’ve got Delilah, and by some miracle, she’s still alive. Let’s run while we have the chance.”
“We can’t,” she said. “This is bigger than saving a kit. They’ve already taken at least twelve lives; that’s reason enough to stop the m. Who knows how many more will suffer if they call down whatever they’re trying to summon? We can’t leave things like this.”
“She speaks true,” said Brother Vulture.
Before Hugo could argue further, they heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. Sawyer and Brother Vulture flanked the doorway, weapons drawn and raised. Althea put herself between Delilah and the coming danger, ready to fight. Hugo unsheathed his daggers and stood in the middle of the room. He’d give no quarter. The footsteps slowly came closer until a hooded figure in red robes appeared from the hallway’s gloom. It stopped when it saw Hugo, and threw back its hood. What it revealed shook him.
The blood mage’s face was an amalgamation of different folk, the consequence of lifetimes spent feeding on the blood of others. Feathers, fur, and scales all competed for space. A mass of eyes grew up the right side of its head, each one moving independently. Teeth and fangs crowded the mage’s lopsided mouth. Every nerve in Hugo screamed for him to run, but he stood fast. Sensing Hugo’s fear, the mage dashed out of the doorway towards him. Brother Vulture brought his axe down, cleaving deep into its malformed head. Before the body could fall to the floor, Sawyer ran his sword through the thing’s heart. It hit the ground and began to writhe. Brother Vulture swung his axe again, removing what remained of the head from its foul body. It spasmed a final time, then remained still.
Hugo sheathed his daggers. “Good job. I owe you both a drink.”
Brother Vulture grunted as he used the mage’s robe to clean the blood from his axe. Sawyer glanced at the remains at his feet.
“Make it two, and I’ll call it even.”
“Done.” He turned towards Althea.
“I’m guessing that whatever they’re invoking will be bigger and nastier than they are?”
“Yes. I’m guessing you see my point now?”
“Yes. I should have known better than to question your wisdom.”
Althea smiled. “You really should have. Now let’s finish this.”
They hurried down the twisting hallway, the sound of chanting growing louder with every step. The hallway ended in a large room lit by the hundreds of candles lining the walls. Three robed figures were kneeling before the massive altar in the center, their backs to the guild. The fourth cultist chanted and poured blood into the large ceremonial bowl at the heart of the altar, his head bowed. They crept forward, hoping to get within striking distance before being noticed. The mage standing at the altar looked up, and all hell broke loose.
It screamed a curse at them, filling their ears with pain and catching them off guard. The kneeling cultists sprung to their feet and rushed towards them, their hoods falling back to reveal more horrors.
Brother Vulture swung his axe a second too late, catching his target’s shoulder with the axes handle instead of its head. The force of the swing would have broken any other folk, but the mage was unfazed. It jumped on him, and he fell back, desperately guarding his face from its deformed paws as it clawed at him.
Hugo and Sawyer fared no better, circling around their attacker as the mage spit venom and struck at them with quilled paws. The mage landed a blow for every cut their steel made, embedding quills deep into them.
Althea weaved around the third cultist’s attacks, its claws and talons scratching the surface of her leather armor. She side-stepped a savage strike and swept his feet from under him with her tail. Without hesitating, she pulled a bottle from her pouches and threw it into his hideous face, breaking the bottle open. The mage howled as smoke rose. Fur and feather melted away, the skin beneath turning to liquid as the acid did its work.
The remaining cultists looked towards their fallen initiate, giving Hugo and Sawyer the opening they needed. Steel flashed in the candle light as they stabbed and hacked the cultist to pieces.
Back on his feet, Brother Vulture grabbed the mage’s head in his mighty talons and began bashing it against the brick wall. He didn’t stop until there was nothing left to hold on to.
Bloodied and eager to finish the fight, the Scavenger’s Guild hurried towards the altar. The last cultist pulled a knife from beneath his robes.
“Get him away from the bowl!” Althea yelled as he raised the knife. The mage slashed the blade across his throat, and stolen blood gushed into the bowl.
“Ia comedens tenebras” he gurgled out before slumping over. The air in the room surged towards the altar, snuffing out the candles, then exploded outwards, knocking them off their feet. Roots of purple light began creeping down the sides of the ceremonial bowl. They spread across the altar, bathing the room in black light.
“What—” began Hugo, his words forgotten as dozens of black, insectile legs started to emerge from the depths of the bowl. They were soon followed by a quivering mound of flesh with multiple mouths, each one speaking alien tongues in a different voice. Their minds reeled as they tried to make sense of what the blood mages had summoned.
“Brother! The knife!” Althea screamed, hoping there was still time. With a speed that belied his size, Brother Vulture rose and drew the banishing blade from his belt, feet already moving forward.
Eyes opened in the spaces between the mouths. They could feel the thing pushing its way into their thoughts, pressure building inside their skulls. Blood vessels began to burst in their eyes as they struggled against black out.
Desperate, Brother Vulture launched himself at the thing. The crystal blade entered the still-emerging abomination, grounding the magickal energy and drawing the purple light into it. The knife exploded, banishing the terror. Darkness and silence followed.
* * *
Thomas wept and took another swig of ale, emptying his mug. The sun had risen four hours ago, and there had been no sign of Delilah or the Scavenger’s Guild. The innkeeper’s hooves clacked across the floor as he brought Thomas a fresh mug.
“Be patient, and still your tears. They’ll return soon enough.”
Thomas resisted the urge to argue with him. He was Goat Folk; it would be no better than arguing with a rock. He buried his face in his paws and continued to mourn for his daughter. There was nothing else he could do. The inn door opened, rousing him from his misery. He turned, and there they were: the vulture, the rat, the racoon, the possum, and little Delilah. All of them bloodied, bandaged, fur and feathers filthy, but very much alive. Thomas bounded to them, snatched Delilah up, and hugged her to him.
“Thank the gods, you’re alive!”
“Yes,” Brother Vulture replied, “the Carrion King was kind to us.”
Tears of joy streaked down Thomas’s fur.
“I know I’ve paid your fee, but it’s not enough; it’ll never be enough to repay this kindness! I wish there was something more I could do.”
Sawyer looked at Thomas, then at his forgotten mug of ale. “Well, you could buy me a round.”
Althea dropped into an empty chair. “I’ll take one, too.”
Hugo smoothed the fur on his head. “One for me as well. Maybe it’ll cure my headache.”
Thomas looked to Brother Vulture, who nodded in agreement. “With pleasure! Innkeeper, a round for us all!” The old goat was quick to bring the mugs. Thomas beamed as he raised his mug high above his head. “To the Scavenger’s Guild, the highest of the low folk!”
*~*~*
C. Payne claims to be born in a cemetery, under the sign of the moon. This claim is currently unverified. He can be sighted haunting isolated stretches of the Florida Panhandle, and his work has been published in Witch House Magazine, Just Keep Up, and various other publications and anthologies.
*~*~*