Born a Monster

Chapter 18: Born A Monster, Chapter 18 – Goblins at War

Born A Monster

Chapter 18

Goblins at War

The goblin chief and chieftainess, who were each the supreme among their gender but not married as some barbarian tribes require, were both at a large table. The table was lit enough for goblin use by a glass beaker filled with phosphor moss suspended above.

On the table was a crude map of the nest. I soaked in details, and eventually found the controls to put an image of the map into my System. They were disabled, but I found them. Do people really pay three hundred development points just to take pictures?

Anyway, I saw very little around the flowing black robe Master Red Hare was wearing, special for this appearance. Goblin runners of both genders came and went.

Chieftan Gorruk the Mighty tried to direct the chaos, updating the position of a carved stone miniature that vaguely looked like a human with sword and shield. The position of that miniature moved with nearly every update. They were slaughtering us.

.....

Chieftainess Sarsha the Ever Beautiful, like me symmetrical for a goblin, directed a different manner of chaos, moving around about a dozen tokens, guiding them around and away from, rather than toward, the chieftan’s miniature.

Along the walls, taking up the bulk of the room, were forty or so goblins. They had quality knives and short spears and mail over leather breastplates. Half had bows built to their size. Some even had proper helmets.

Lurking against the other wall were five kobolds, looking deadly without needing a single weapon or speck of armor. Their leader, short and squat and dark as midnight, surveyed the table.

“Red Hare! They have brought the mage into the tunnels with them. Go remove him.” Sarsha screamed at us.

“My magics,” he explained, “are defensive in nature. I am not the witch doctor, I am the shaman. I can defend and support other troops, but sending me up against a mage is as certain as killing me here.”

“Shut your yammering.” Commanded Gorruk, “Or I will kill you here.” From his tone, the battle must have been going as badly as I thought. “Runner! Tell Gutter’s team to make sure this exit is out of view of the centaurs. Report back when he has done so.”

“That is mine to do.” Complained Sarsha.

“I didn’t catch scent of you doing it.”

“It’s too early. Are you panicking? Unable to guide warriors against any other than drunk fishermen?”

“Ehehe, you might be able to provoke me if I thought you had any idea of what was going on. Damn if Rakkal wasn’t right, though. These must be second decade adventurers. Hortiluk?”

The kobold commander rotated his head, and the ear nearest Gorruk rotated to face him.

“If you would, please, go position yourself to aid Sarsha’s movements.”

“It’s too early!” she complained.

Hortiluk nodded, and bolted off on all fours. His kobolds rushed off after him.

Cursing using words I did not know, Sarsha left the room, cloak sweeping the floor behind her.

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The miniature eventually reached the cavern next to mine.

“Calm yourself, young Goat.” Master told me.

“I can hear the combat from here.” I said.

“If that is true, then your hearing is quite superior to mine. Relax. We will see the combat from behind these fine troops.”

“Soon.” Said Gorruk, touching the handle of an axe resting against the table next to him. “Char Nose, take your half of the troops and Red Hare. We pincer them here.”

He pointed at the largest runner. “You! Remain here, tell everyone to get-”

But I was following Red Hare, who produced a slim rod of dark wood, a rat skull affixed to either end. He gripped it about the middle in his left hand.

Our route was circuitous, but I could hear the humans. One of them was shouting at Baldo, who shouted back. Both male voices, and neither of them sounded happy.

We rounded a corner, and suddenly I could see why. I don’t know what I expected the premier warriors of humanity to look like, but they were in a sorry state. The lead warrior had the remnants of a shield on his left arm, a short curved blade in his right.

I don’t know if I’d call it a sword, but it was too big to be a knife. It was the biggest blade the hunched warrior could use in what, for him, were cramped quarters. It moved quickly in his grasp, and where it moved, goblins died.

“He must be near human maximum.” Char Nose whispered. Then, “Bring him down, gang! Each human dead here saves hundreds of goblins later. Chaaaarge!”

The human was bleeding from the joints in his armor, but it was clear he had plenty of fight left in him.

“Lend me your mana, young Goat.” Said Master. “Now is the time to extinguish their light source.”

“But- the phosphor moss-”

“Isn’t enough for humans to see by. Now! Quickly!”

He raised the rat-rod, and chanted.

“Spirits of fire! Hear me, Red Hare, and obey! Cease eating that meager torch. Wouldn’t you rather have this tasty morsel? TRANSFER FLAME!”

The human screamed, struck from behind. He removed his burning cape, and cast it to the floor.

Red Hare shrugged, lowering the rat-rod. “That works, too.”

But it didn’t work. There was a female voice chanting, and a bright blue light illuminated the back of the warrior we were facing. In that initial moment of blindness, he killed the last two goblin youth between him and the tribe’s warriors.

Flurry of Action, a common warrior power, is an awesome thing to behold. The blades seemed to multiply, sparks flew, blood flew. There were a few dodges, but mostly our side were either attacking or blocking, parrying strikes almost too fast for the eye to see.

Wounded warriors filtered past us; Char Nose gifted each with a “well done” or “bravely fought”. Arrows rained down on the human, who had several sticking out of his armor. He had eventually been passed a new shield from behind, and already chips were missing from around the rim.

A shout to Baldo, and suddenly, an axe-warrior was before us. Baldo must have led the charge, for he was already wounded. Of course he was; he wore no helmet.

But his tiny axes moved with the same speed as the other, and goblins had to leave the fray in increasing numbers.

Char nose checked his helmet, tried to wiggle the spear point on his weapon. “You will see to my men?” he asked Red Hare.

“I hate you like a brother.” Assured Red Hare. “Let your soul worry about the torments of hell, and cry out in pain and loneliness. Not one more goblin warrior falls today that I can prevent.”

Human cries came from down the tunnel as Gorruk and his warriors arrived on the other side of the human war band.

“Come.” Said Red Hare. “We have other duties this night.”

From behind us, I heard “Come now, monster! Slayer of Goblins! Face me, for I am Char Nose, third among the warriors of this nest. I die this night, but I’ll see your soul ripped from your body first!”

“Just another goblin to me! Hyaargh!”

“Neeek!”

There was a loud clash, and then another, as a massive weight of metal striking stone.

“Baaaldooo!” cried a human voice behind us.

Then we were too far away for even my hearing.

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We stopped only long enough for Master to fill the skull and himself with necromantic energy. There was no shortage of it, that night. I was too cautious with my tapping, and got no tangible gains.

Then, we were outside, with the wounded, the females, and what few youths remained, mostly a hundred twenty or so yearlings. They formed a long wide mass, a total of just over half the nest.

They were moving west by southwest, toward the wide broad river I had followed inland so long ago.

It is impossible to move that many with anything resembling stealth. The centaur were on us within an hour. They fired their arrows until there were no more arrows. The tribe took them with stoic resolve, pausing only to end the suffering of those down and not yet dead.

And then they were gone, and there was only the trudging.

“Hurry up, Goat. Now isn’t the time to fall behind.”

I was busy relocating a hip that had reverted to my natural form. I stopped.

What WAS I doing? Wasn’t this my perfect chance to return to the clan?

Wasn’t this my perfect chance to join the tribe, to be free of the clan forever?

It wasn’t as if the goblins hadn’t treated me better. Had I ever promised to return?

My system had a list of things I’d promised to do.

[Once able, I will report once a week anything significant I’ve learned about the goblins.]

Well – crap. That was that, then. It was as easy as just falling far enough behind that I was forgotten.

I moved a bit off the path of our travel, in case Red Hare came back to look for me, then set to work on my goblin hip, to restore it to its proper form.

The timer set itself for one hour and seventeen minutes. How long had I spent as a goblin, again?

The timer ended before the transformation proper had. Every bone, every muscle, every organ just HURT. Each heartbeat sent a wave of new ache through my body.

I could stand, but my center of balance had changed; it was difficult to walk upright.

I had to smell the world through a haze of my own blood, and after so long without scales, they felt like a muffle on my sense of touch. Only my eyesight was sharp, easily seeing by the sliver of moon between the clouds.

I changed my auto-forage settings, and set off toward the forest.

It didn’t feel like heading home; it felt like betraying my tribe.

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.....

The longhouse had progressed nicely, only the roof remaining, an area that the centaur had issues reaching. There were ramps and scaffolding, but the centaur didn’t entirely trust the shaky platforms.

I didn’t get to work on the roof; I got to make the same reports over and over for that day. At night, I barely got to finish eating before I was being asked about what goblins were like.

“That’s horrid!” exclaimed Zinzelle. “Monsters, to use their children that way.”

Yneridd folded her arms across her chest, but said nothing.

“I’m not sure that matters as much as where they’re heading.” Said Ptolemon.

“Downriver, it’s not like they’re going to foul our water supply.” Said Chieftainess Meerdee.

“It’s winter, and they’ll be looking for caves.” Said Yneridd. “Has anyone scouted that far southwest? Where are they going?”

There was a pause; people were looking at me. “I have no clue, this migration thing took me by surprise.”

“You are a terrible spy.” Accused Tsamatta.

I bit back my response.

She continued. “So we’ve no clue where they’re going, only that they’re on the move. Hermetocrita, choose a scouting team.”

“That’s easy. Ynerrid and her family should go. Whatever they’re about, Ynerrid has the experience to discover it.”

“It seems to me,” said Meerdee, “that Ynerrid has been doing a lot for the clan lately.”

“I don’t mind.” Said Ynerrid.

“I could use some time off.” Said Myraenac.

Ptholometa playfully stomped near where he was laying on the ground. “You most certainly could. Get sleep now, husband. Tomorrow, we’re on the move.”

“We could all use sleep. Especially the children.” Declared Meerdee.

The children voiced other opinions, but herded themselves into the longhouse.

After so long among the goblins, the longhouse seemed ordered, at least what I saw of it. Parama didn’t want me in the longhouse at all, but Chalcopiye guided me to a corner and made sure I had a blanket. “Get what sleep you can, and wake me if the children wake you too early.”

I snuggled in the blanket like a cocoon, and rolled constantly to expose new sides of myself to what warmth I could get from the distant fireplace.

It wasn’t home, but sleep came eventually.

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