by Pirateaba
The system was simple among Goblins and universally understood. If you were special, you’d turn into a Hob. That meant getting bigger in some way, stronger, and generally, smarter. Hobs were natural leaders, material for Chieftains, and savage fighters. They could stand toe-to-toe with the average Silver-ranked adventurer and were smart enough to use tactics in battle or implement their Chieftain’s orders with finesse.
Rags wasn’t a Hob. She should be. But she wasn’t. It was one of the puzzles Pyrite was working on in his head. He had a few. He thought about many things, but didn’t have solid answers for a lot of them because he wasn’t as smart as Rags. He wondered why Rags wasn’t a Hob, first off.
He wondered how magic worked and if he could teach himself some. He hadn’t found a spellbook yet, but he had hopes of convincing Noears to teach him when the Goblin had time.
He thought about the last Goblin King, and why he had died. Pyrite wondered why the Goblin King, Velan, had been known as Velan the Kind. He wondered what that Goblin King had known, what he had thought.
Pyrite sometimes questioned what the stars were. They hung in the sky at night. But why only at night? And why were some different colors? What did they mean? Also, why did their positions change with the seasons? He’d tried mapping them over the years, but he’d given up. Not enough parchment to be scavenged.
He wanted to know what Rhir was like. Goblins knew of it as a place where death was kinder than living. But what was it like? And what was Chandrar like, or Baleros, or Terandria? Most Goblins had never heard of those continents, but Pyrite had.
And how had Tremborag turned into the giant form he used to slaughter those Gold-rank adventurers in battle? Pyrite had seen him do that once before, when he was young and still living in the mountain. Before he’d run away. How had he done that? Could other Hobs do the same?
Exactly what was the thing Garen Redfang had shown Tremborag in secret, the thing that had convinced the Great Chieftain to ally with him and Rags’ tribe? Pyrite had seen them talking with it. It had looked like a key, and both knew what it was. What did it unlock?
And what—
Pyrite farted. He blinked, and felt a bit of dirt hit him in the side of the head. He looked up and saw Rags poised to throw. She showered him in dirt and Pyrite closed his eyes. She edged around the fire and he sighed.
These were just idle thoughts. He had many of them. Pyrite sometimes wondered if he thought too much. Probably. But it was good to think, and for Rags’ tribe to have systems that made sense.
Already her Goblins had learned to fight in a different way, in formation with the aforementioned pikes. They had adopted crossbows for use alongside their slings, and had begun to train in their off time thanks to the Redfang Goblins. They had begun to learn different things.
They were growing smarter. It might not apply to every Goblin, but as a whole, the intelligence of the tribe had risen notably from the average tribe. Pyrite knew that; his tribe had been competent enough, being able to mine and sort out minerals from rocks when he’d shown them, but he’d still had to direct his Goblins and manage them constantly. These Goblins had begun to think about what they should do in a given situation.
And they were the same Goblins. But smarter. Yes, smarter. Pyrite had seen a Goblin who’d been in his tribe figure out how to start a fire. And Pyrite had been shocked, because when he’d been in his tribe, the said Goblin had injured himself twice by sticking his hand into a fire and screaming when it burned.
But that was to be expected. You see, Goblins stole everything. And what they couldn’t steal, they copied. And what all the Goblins in Rags’ tribe were stealing from her was intelligence.
Pyrite paused. Stealing might not be the best word, but it was appropriate. Perhaps…the huge Hobgoblin’s forehead wrinkled with concentration. Goblins had no word for it, but the word ‘borrowing’ sprang to mind. It was an unfamiliar concept. Teaching? Perhaps teaching was it.
By and large, Goblins were only as good as their Chieftain. They learned from example, and so a tribe became molded after their Chieftain. Their best qualities were passed down, which was how Garen Redfang’s tribe had become so mighty, and how Rags’ tribe was learning to think.
It was a beautiful, wonderful thing. And it made Pyrite think on some nights that he’d made the right choice. To stick by Rags instead of abandon her in the mountain. Because she could lead the tribes. She could become the Chieftain they needed. She might become a Lord. She was special.
The sun was rising. The Goblins chattered or ate silently. Rags got a second bowl of soup. And in Pyrite’s mind, a few words joined together in his head.
The wretched few gather;
Under her command.
Her back they follow after;
She alone knows the plan:
To live and strive and struggle;
And claim a Goblin’s land.
So we fight and travel;
Until our final stand.
Pyrite’s nose wrinkled. Where had that come from? That was…odd. He’d heard similar words before, sung out loud by Humans shortly before his tribe had leapt out and slaughtered them. But why had he thought them?
They fit together, in a way he liked. Still, it wasn’t that good. The entire thing was too simple, like he was.
Still, there was promise in them. ‘Claim a Goblin’s land’ had a nice ring to it. With a bit of work, and more fancy words, it might be worth saying aloud. Pyrite considered writing it down for a second and then thought better of the idea. There was no point.
Besides, he couldn’t write.
—-
Time passed. Pyrite finished another bar of soap and gave up on eating the rest because Rags kept throwing things at him every time he farted. He wrapped the soap up in wax paper and fished around in a little bag he kept at his hip. He pulled out something else to eat.
It was a rock. Rags stared at Pyrite as he put one of the smooth stones he’d taken from the lake’s bed into his mouth. It was hard, dirty from the pack, and had a bit of moss on it. He began to crunch it into pieces.
Smooth rocks were fun to eat. There was something satisfying about savoring their texture and then crunching them up into dust. Of course, they weren’t good to eat too much of, so Pyrite switched from the stones to thick slabs of bark taken from the trees when he got bored.
In time, other Goblins approached the fire. They were all important, and Rags and Pyrite greeted them with grunts, shoving over to make room around the fire. In time, all the Goblins that needed to be present were, and they looked at Rags expectantly.
They were Noears the Goblin [Mage], Poisonbite, a skirmisher and raid leader who liked to poison her daggers, Redscar, the former Chieftain of the Rockfall Tribe, and…Greybeard.
Pyrite eyed them all as they sat around the fire, saying little but speaking volumes with their actions. Goblin politics were complex, and each one represented a powerful voice in her tribe. Each one was important.
Noears and Poisonbite were obvious. They were normal Goblins, not Hobs, but they represented Tremborag’s faction that had broken away to join Rags. Noears was a [Mage], a rarity among Goblins and he could throw lightning. That made him special. As for Poisonbite, she was a good leader and fighter, and that mattered because other Hobs had let her represent them.
Between them, they represented a solid portion of Rags’ tribe, but it was the scarred warrior who sat on his haunches next to them who was perhaps the most influential figure besides Pyrite and Rags. Redscar represented the whole of the former Redfang tribe, the elite warriors that had united under Garen Redfang and then left to follow Rags. He was a fierce warrior and the one Rags listened to often in combat.
Next to him, the Rockfall Tribe Chieftain sat with a second bowl of soup in her hands. She was the Goblin who represented all the other tribes. She wasn’t exceptional in any way, but she was a good shot with the longbow she carried and she had a place here because the other former tribes wanted one of their own to
be heard by Rags.
And the last was Greybeard. Pyrite included him in the group of counselors to Rags because the old Hobgoblin wandered over often. He liked to chatter during such sessions, but Rags put up with him despite that. That was smart.
Pyrite nodded to Greybeard and offered him some bark. The old Goblin laughed and sat next to Pyrite, warming his feet by the fire. He had a white beard and he was older than any other Goblin that Pyrite had ever met. By far.
Across the fire, Redscar was eying Greybeard. Pyrite could tell the other Goblin was wondering why Greybeard was here, but he said nothing since Rags did not. Pyrite knew Greybeard should be here. He was important. Very important.
He’d solved part of the mystery of Greybeard long ago. The rest Pyrite had been content to wait and find out later. He wondered if Rags would notice Greybeard for what he was first, or if he would tell her.
So. The other Goblins sat around the fire and waited for Rags to speak. Each one was a powerful lieutenant who could speak to her without fear. They all had their own opinions and desires, and so they came each morning to talk and sometimes argue and persuade Rags to listen to them.
They were not like the Hob factions under Tremborag. Not. But they were still representatives of different ideologies within Rags’ tribe. It had to be that way, but the key was that they did not squabble for power. They had a Chieftain, that was that. There was no…ranking between them.
Goblins were.
Today’s strategy meeting was about what to do today. Pyrite listened.
“Should raid more caravans. More food. More steel. Good steel.”
Poisonbite sat forwards at the fire, looking eager. Of course, she had been used to raiding for supplies since that was her old job in Tremborag’s mountain. She liked the way Rags did things. Outnumber the caravans, scare them away, and best of all, you didn’t have to risk getting hurt. You just scared the Humans and let them run.
“Should find better place. Too much same spot is bad. Go south.”
A dissenting opinion came from Redscar. He crossed his arms, looking annoyed. His posture spoke as much as his words. His opinion was clear. He wanted to find a more defensible location. Actually, he wanted to go back to his home in the High Passes. The Redfang tribe clearly wanted an actual fight, not raiding, and they were growing antsy with inaction.
“South? Towards Goblin Lord? Yes. Lots of fighting there. Bad fighting! Or want to hide?”
A cackling laugh came from Greybeard as he gobbled down another bowl of soup. Everyone stared at him, and Rags turned to Noears.
“Not Goblin Lord. You. You said there is another tribe. Where?”
She had a map. Noears squatted by it, scratching at the holes in his head where his ears had been. He pointed.
“There, Chieftain. The Undercrawler tribe. They dig.”
“For stones?”
Pyrite sat up, intrigued. His love of mining had set his tribe apart from the rest. He liked shiny rocks, even if eating them didn’t agree with him. Noears shook his head.
“Just dig. Eats lots of bugs.”
Rags studied the map. Pyrite saw that they were a half a day’s march from the Undercrawler Tribe’s location. Half a day with Rags’ [Fleet Foot] skill, that was. She nodded.
“Good. Could use diggers.”
All the Goblins stared at her. Poisonbite scratched her head.
“Why, Chieftain?”
Rags scowled as if it was obvious.
“Good for digging! Dig holes for traps. Dig places to pee. Dig hole to toss stupid Goblins into!”
“Oh.”
Pyriate nodded. He’d come up with the same conclusion himself. Rags pointed at the map, and then looked around the fire. She chewed her lip before giving orders.
“Find Undercrawler Tribe. Steal more food. Find better place. Go now.”
Redscar smiled, satisfied, and the other Goblins nodded. Poisonbite didn’t look too upset. Rags had outlined their strategy, which translated into Pyrite’s mind, meant first of all marching towards the Undercrawler tribe, no doubt to recruit them if possible. Rags had assimilated a few local tribes and she was clearly trying to increase her tribe.
Additionally, she’d also specified the need to raid for more food as a concern, which meant she was still focused on building up their supplies. That meant they’d hit a caravan on the road if they found one, although she clearly didn’t think that was likely. Pyrite didn’t either; word had spread about the marauding Goblins and only an idiot would take to the roads where they were nearby. Then again, idiots were plentiful.
Lastly, they were heading south and scouting for a second place to build their camp if they decided to head south. A good place to sleep and strike from. All things considered, she’d appeased everyone’s wishes and set some good, open-ended objectives for her tribe to pursue in lieu of better ones. Of course, she hadn’t said all that out loud but they’d all gotten that from her posture.
That was their mission for the day. The other Goblins nodded, and Pyrite began to execute Rags’ orders. He was her second-in-command and thus expedited the process. He walked over to a Goblin loitering around, licking her empty bowl of soup and poked her.
She looked at him. Pyrite grunted.
“Go that way. All.”
He pointed southeast, in the vague direction Rags had specified. The female Goblin nodded. She wandered off with her bowl, and poked another Goblin. She repeated more or less what Pyrite had said, then she and the Goblin she’d poked went off to find more Goblins to poke.
That was how the Goblins worked. True, they could have used a horn call or some other system, but Goblins were a social bunch. As soon as they realized something was happening, the other Goblins began to move with the rest, even if they didn’t know exactly what it was they were doing.
Within twenty minutes, all the thousands of Goblins in Rags’ tribe had packed what needed to be packed, lined up by the groups Rags had painstakingly assigned them to, and were marching away from their camp. It would have brought tears to the eyes of some military commanders, but it was normal for the Goblins. They didn’t waste time since they didn’t usually have time to waste.
—-
The march out of the forest was swift. It was a small forest, for all the trees were very tall and wide. The Goblins began to cross into the relative open, sticking to hills, other stretches of rougher terrain, but not trying for too much stealth. Their advantage was the speed of their march and the fact that they were too big for most threats.
They crossed a road and scared a City Runner out of his mind. He ran away screaming and some of the Goblins raised their crossbows, laughing. They were shouted at by the Hobs in charge of their group and Rags. No killing Humans. Or Drakes. Or other species, if they could help it, really.
She had a soft spot for Humans, though. Her tribe had killed very few of them in the time that Pyrite had been with them, and she’d been only too willing to liberate the ones kept captive in Tremborag’s mountain. She’d met a Human, once, it was rumored. A strange Human who lived around Liscor and fed the Goblins and Rags often.
Pyrite would have loved to meet her. He’d never met a Human who hadn’t tried to kill him. His first memory of a Human was being stabbed by a farmer with a pitchfork on a raid. That day, the [Farmer] and his helpers had been too high-level and too many. They’d slaughtered the Goblins who’d come to steal eggs and chickens. Pyrite had crawled away in the mud and nearly bled to death.
Memories. The Hob walked along, munching on bark. It didn’t bother him to remember. Not more than it did to know that the Goblins had come back the next night and slaughtered the entire farm. That was how it was. Death was a Goblin’s life. There was nothing they could expect beyond that.
But they should. Pyrite’s hand clenched and crushed the bit of bark. He stared at the fragments in his hand, and gave up eating for the moment. Instead, he increased his walking pace and moved past other Goblins towards a pair of Goblins riding Carn Wolves and
arguing hotly. Rags was shouting at Redscar as Pyrite approached.
“Will not fight. Pointless. Waste of Goblin lives!”
The warrior bared his teeth at Rags.
“Must fight. Not strong if not fight. Death means stronger Goblins who survive.”
“This means Goblins don’t die and win.”
Rags pulled out her black crossbow meaningfully. It was huge, and Redscar nodded grudgingly. But he pointed to the weapon.
“One. Many Goblins. Is not enough.”
The other Goblins had copied the design, but there was no making something of the same quality as the Dwarf-made bow that Rags had found. She scowled, but couldn’t come up with a good response.
His turn. Pyrite grunted and both smaller Goblins looked at him.
“Fight what?”
The Redfang leader grinned up at him.
“Eater Goats.”
“Eater Goats?”
The name of the monster was unfamiliar to Pyrite. Redfang nodded.
“Big herd in High Passes. Will fight. Eats Carn Wolves. Good fight. Makes tribe strong.”
Eater Goats? And they ate Carn Wolves? Pyrite was familiar with the huge red wolves that the Redfang Tribe rode. And he wanted to train the new Goblins by making them fight those goats? He really was crazy.
“Stupid.”
Rags muttered the words, but Pyrite could see she was mulling the idea over. Her tribe was filled with Goblins, but only a few were elite warriors. Tremborag’s Goblins had quite a lot of battle-ready Hobs among them, and the Goblin Lord’s army had well-equipped Goblins of their own. Apart from her Redfang elites, Rags lacked the same kind of fighting force. Pyrite was about to ask Redscar exactly how many Goblins survived an encounter with Eater Goats when they heard a Goblin cry from the front.
Instantly, all three Goblins raced to the front of the line, argument forgotten. They saw a Goblin pointing and turned left, saw a tree.
And then saw what hung from it. They found the Undercrawler tribe too late. Humans had gotten there first.
