William Leyman, Paranormal Detective

John Henry Gremkin had been through a lot in the last few days; he’d met some important people and learned a lot about his grandfather. Unfortunately for him London is not lacking in the presence of Fae, and since he was a Changeling who’d descended from Grem the Ogre, both sides wanted him to either choose to join, or (far more easily accomplished it seemed) to have him dead.

When the numbers had turned against him Henry had made like a rabbit and run, a dozen goblins on his tail. How many times had he wished that the video games that made Goblins out to be fodder to be true? Never so much as now with twelve of the swift, deadly hunters bearing down on him in the streets of London.

Back in Bean Town he’d have had them dead to rights with a territorial advantage, but this was a big new city for Henry and he was completely lost in a matter of seconds. Less than half a mile later he found himself in a dead-end alley staring down ten of them, two dead at his feet as he gripped his iron baseball bat.

Tracking was simple enough. He didn't even need to pull out tools or waste energy on spells or foci. He just needed to observe. The stench of goblin was easily followed, footprints and trails through scattered urban debris. Whatever had them in a hurry did not know its way around as well as the detective.

Eventually came the sounds. Conflict. Whatever it was, it was fighting for its life. Not for long if there were enough of the beasts to leave such an apparent trail. Caution lent itself to Will's steps and tracing, talon slipping into hand, glances cast around corners. Fairly soon he saw what he needed. A humanoid with a weapon of sorts (hardly one suitable for beating goblins) and roundabout a dozen goblins. The man obviously wasn't keen on making friends with beasts. Will could relate.