The basement was drenched in that damp half-darkness typical of places that haven't seen the sun in way too long. The stone walls sweated moisture, the wooden crates stored the scent of a past decade, and the air tasted like old dust mixed with silent despair — until that moment, when silence died, suffocated by a scream.
Lina.
The kind of scream that wasn't just fear, but a brain trying to decide between running, fainting, or setting everything on fire with boiling oil. She was frozen halfway down the stairs, her eyes wide like she'd just seen death — compact and furry.
"IS HE EATING THE CAT?!" she yelled.
I rushed to her before anyone else in town could hear that and decide to throw a torch through the window. I covered her mouth with my hand, pressing gently but firmly enough to hold the chaos at bay.
"Shhh!" I whispered, eyes wide. "Breathe. One. Two. Three. This is not what it looks like."
She stared at me like I was the co-author of insanity. And, technically, I was. I slowly released my hand. The silence lasted for half a second.
"WHAT IS THAT THING IN MY BASEMENT?!" she whisper-yelled.
"It's not a thing. It's a person. Technically. He even has a name."
"He's eating a cat!"
"One that was already dead. I think. Probably. Anyway, technically, it's the circle of life. Devourers devour. Nature thanks us."
She slapped my shoulder. Weak, but full of accumulated fury.
"That is a goblin!"
"Technically, he's an exiled K'tharnian, deposed king, stone sage, chaos companion. A real find. And now... he's our new roommate."
"You've lost your mind."
Oh, boy! It's time for my charmcraft system.
ENTITY PROFILE: CHARMCRAFT v1.0 – "The Fool's Disarming Smile" |
Type: Social Ability / Tactical Charisma
Classification: Dialogue Opener / Disruption Field
TRIGGER CONDITIONS
| Target displays emotional escalation (fear, rage, confusion)
| Environment is unstable; escape not viable
ATTRIBUTESCharisma Surge: +2 (humor as armor; redirection of tension)Emotional Timing: High (perfect comedic beat)Cultural Relevance: Absurdity bypasses logical resistance
| ABILITIES► "My mom had me tested." [Passive – Comedic Disarmament]→ On verbal use, reduces hostility of low-Will individuals by 1 tier. Initiates smirk, eye-roll, or reluctant laughter.
| WEAKNESSES→ Ineffective against characters with high Logic or zero humor tolerance→ Cannot stack with aggressive persuasion tactics
"I'm not crazy, my mom had me tested." I said.
Brelgrik, from the corner of the basement, raised his hand — still holding half a cat's head — and waved in a friendly gesture.
"Hello! You're pretty. Your basement is nutritious."
"Oh. My. God."
"Not God. Brelgrik," I added. "Common mistake."
She ran a hand down her face, paced in circles three times, nearly tripped over a crate of potatoes, and finally leaned against the wall — defeated by a logic that simply didn't fit into a sane person's world.
"What are you going to do with that?"
"Me? Do with that?" I smiled, looking at her with a certain intensity.
ENTITY PROFILE: "Praise as a Trapdoor" |
Type: Dialogue Maneuver / Influence Tactic | Classification: Role Reversal / Responsibility Redirect |
TRIGGER CONDITIONS
| Target resists direct order or guidance
| Leverage must be reframed as flattery |
ATTRIBUTESSubtext Density: Moderate (praise contains request)Social Reflex: High (elicits action through validation)Target Persuasion Threshold: High (requires relational leverage)
| ABILITIES► "You are the only person that i trust that can do this..." [Active – Compliment Transfer]→ Converts a task into an honorary role. Applies mild guilt-induction. If resisted, doubles effectiveness on second use.
| WEAKNESSES→ Ineffective on targets immune to praise or with high Self-Trust→ Detected easily by former manipulators
"Actually, I think you're the only person smart and discreet enough to do anything with him."
Before she could answer with an insult worthy of the situation, we heard a voice from upstairs.
"LINA?!" her father called out, dragging the syllables with sleepy irritation. "WHAT'S GOING ON DOWN THERE?!"
She froze. I froze. Brelgrik licked his dirty finger.
I looked at Lina like someone staring at a ticking bomb and whispered, barely moving my lips:
"Blame the cat."
"What?"
"The cat."
"What cat?"
"That cat. The one that disappears, makes noise, and everyone hates."
"The one your friend killed?!"
"Yes! That one. For all intents and purposes, it's still alive. So pin it on him."
She hesitated. I saw the doubt move across her face like a heavy cloud ready to pour down stress. But then she sighed and nodded.
"IT'S FINE, DAD!" she shouted back, her voice climbing in authority I didn't know she had. "IT WAS THE CAT! HE... HE WAS DOWN HERE MESSING WITH MY FABRIC BOXES!"
"THAT DAMN THING AGAIN?" the old man growled, sounding like the cat was a veteran war enemy. "I TOLD YOU HE'S A DEMON IN FUR FORM! I'LL KILL HIM!"
"NO NEED!" she replied, way too fast. "I already chased him off! Everything's under control! He ran like a rat when he saw me with the broom!"
Silence from upstairs. Long. Tense. Then the father's voice came back, mumbling and fading footsteps.
I exhaled without realizing I'd been holding my breath.
"That," I whispered, "was impressive."
Lina slowly turned. Her gaze was a mix of "I can't believe you dragged me into this" and "I will bury your body in pieces in my backyard."
She walked up to me without a word, and for some reason I don't fully understand, I thought maybe she was going to thank me. But no. She reached out and, with the skill of someone who grew up around troublemaking cousins, grabbed my pointy ear and yanked hard.
"Ow!" I winced, stumbling back. "That's no way to treat a hero!"
"You're not a hero. You're a disaster. I nearly had a heart attack, my dad almost came down with a club, and there's a goblin eating a cat in my basement!"
"He's not a goblin."
"He's not a goblin, my ass!"
"Okay. Sorry. But... come on, he'd make a great cat."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're going to pay me for this."
"I pay in gold, favors, or bad jokes. Choose wisely."
She let go of my ear with one final push, and I staggered back, rubbing the spot like I'd just survived an elven ambush.
"This is just the beginning," she said, turning her gaze back to Brelgrik, who was now trying to stack bones with the focus of a mad sculptor.
And I, for some stupid reason, felt at home.
Lina sat down on a pile of poorly stacked crates, arms crossed, brow furrowed, wearing the look of someone already regretting letting a smooth-talking outsider and a cat-eating goblin settle in her basement.
I, on the other hand, was standing in the middle of the scene, lit by a beam of light coming in through the tiny ventilation window like the universe itself had decided to give me a spotlight.
"Right, now that no one's died and the panic's worn off," I began, using the solemn tone of someone about to narrate an epic, "I think it's only fair I tell you where I've been these past few days."
She raised an eyebrow. I ignored it.
"I went... down. Way down. So deep even the rats looked at me with pity. I infiltrated a forgotten temple, faced traps, monsters, a deranged guardian, and... memories. And in the end, I came out not just alive — which is a miracle on its own — but with evidence."
I pulled from my bag a bundle of crumpled papers, worn-out seals, fragments of runes, and a bloodstained, dust-covered map.
"Evidence of what?" she asked, still suspicious.
"Of corruption. Embezzlement. Forbidden rituals. Proof that our beloved mayor — the charming public face of peace in Ashveil — is just the perfumed tip of a rotten structure. And the best part? All of it thanks to my new friend over there."
I nodded toward Brelgrik, who was now in the corner drawing a fish on the floor with charcoal and mumbling something about politics being made of bones.
"Are you serious?" she asked, clearly more attentive now.
"As serious as I can be," I smiled. "And more than that... it's undeniable. It's all here. All it needs is to be read."
She looked me up and down, still hesitant, maybe searching for a crack in my speech. Then, with a flicker of discomfort in her eyes, she asked:
"And him... the mayor. Did he do something to you?"
"Not to me," I said, crossing my arms. "But to the whole city. And if I may ask... to you?"
Lina hesitated. For a second, I thought she'd look away. But no. She stared back, steady, and said:
"No. He never tried anything."
I nodded, not looking away.
"That's good. It means he still cares about appearances. And you know what I think about people like that?"
"What?"
"I think people like that are very easy to destroy."
I walked over to an old shelf, knocked on the wood like it was a pulpit, and said, with the most solemn and sarcastic tone I could manage:
"I'm going to ruin his reputation. Not with a sword. Not with magic. Not even with a convenient case of poisoning at a public banquet — which, by the way, was a totally valid option. But no. I'm going to do it the right way."
"And what's the right way?"
"With ink. With paper. And with the most destructive headline Ashveil has ever seen."
She watched me in silence, and for a brief moment, I think I saw a half-smile form at the corners of her mouth.
"You're an idiot," she muttered.
"I am. But an idiot with proof. And now... with a goblin in the basement."
"Didn't you say he wasn't a goblin?"
"Force of habit."
Now that I had all the pieces in place, all that was left was to pay a little visit to Mr. Gideon Marlow.I just had to figure out exactly how I was going to present all this evidence and convince him to publish it.