Brown, by Committee

I gave the goblin war three hours. It lasted twenty-four minutes. I have known longer arguments about soup.

Two goblins gave up their mail on request, in the manner of goblins, which is by no longer needing it. Wyson the gardener sold me two woad leaves for twenty coins and did not ask what a Chronicler in rune platelegs wanted with woad. Aggie the witch made the dyes: blue, then red from Wydin's redberries, then yellow from onions I pulled on Fred's farm with my own hands. I mixed the orange myself. Something struck me on the road and I declined to die of it. Draynor will hear of this.

Orange was rejected. It clashed with a general. Blue was rejected for being insufficiently brown. Brown, which was the colour the mail came in, was chosen. Peace returned to Goblin Village, and with it a boredom so complete you could lean on it. They paid me in gold.

I should add that for the whole of the Labour my own counsel was unavailable. Something in the back of my head kept saying the same refusal in a foreign tongue, over and over, about browsers. I did not listen to it. The goblins did not either. I suspect this is how most treaties are made.

I am now Tailor to the Goblin Generals. I note it once. Tonight I stand on the road to Death Plateau. It took me twenty-four minutes to end a war, and so far a drunk guard named Harold will not play me at dice.