A Story Through Different Eyes

[wangxiuming]

K'rt lay deathly still in the verdant green shrubbery of the Viridale forest; his bark-brown arms hung limply against the branches, and a small pool of green liquid was slowly collecting underneath his stubby legs. His chest was unmoving, and his glossy eyes stared blankly at the ground. By his side lay a broken dagger - the hilt had been snapped viciously in half by something with more strength than K'rt could have ever mustered.

In the distance, the sounds of laughter echoed. A group of humanoids - two humans and an elf - had just hacked their way through Muckspear village, laying waste to K'rt's home, slaughtering the inhabitants. It was a common occurrence now; why they refused to leave his brethren alone, K'rt could never fathom in the slightest. What few treasures they had gathered were all taken once again - gold, half-used potions, medical gauze, crude weapons of all sorts - but these things were cheap and easily crafted. Surely the human cities didn't need what little K'rt and his tribe had. And they called the goblins barbarians.

K'rt was sick of it. As the mocking revelry faded against the chimes of the forest, K'rt's eyes snapped back into focus. He got up awkwardly against the sharp thorns of the bush he had been lying in, patting the dirt and grime off his leathers in angry, sweeping motions. His knobby fingers extracted a putrid-green pouch from within a hidden pocket in his armor - juice created from mashed leaves, boar's blood and water was still leaking from the large stab-hole the human's sword had made. It wasn't luck that the blow had landed precisely on the pouch - it was years of practice against outsider attack, dodging death by feigning it.

Everything had to be perfect for such an attempt to succeed - there could be no sound after the wail of pain that was to signify one's shuffling off of the mortal coil. Any valuables - trinkets, gold, potions - had to be placed within easy grasp as to deter any examination of the bodies. Finally, the pouch of fake blood had to be breached without being noticed; it was a skilled goblin who could use the enemy's own weapons - while they were still in their owners' hands - to do so.

How pathetic, that we now revere feigning death as skill.

K'rt's real dream was to see the world, not to fight this futile war. Not when fighting involved constant retreat and slaughter, with no chance of victory and no end in sight. His best friend Hrl often laughed at his wanderlust, teasing him, calling him a "human adventurer." Indeed, K'rt had once almost pulled himself away from the misery of tribe life - he had packed what little belongings he had and planned to bid a melancholy and yet joyous farewell to his friends. If Hrl's mother had not suddenly fallen ill and passed, K'rt might have been halfway across the world by now - as it was, K'rt couldn't abandon his friend in his time of need, and so he stayed.

? and here he was again, wiping grime and dirt off himself. His eyes darted up to analyze the situation - countless bodies littered the forest floor, though many soon followed K'rt's example and began picking themselves up. The ones that didn't stir were lost, felled by the invaders. Most of those were young - brash and inexperienced, they were slain as often as they managed to kill. Hrl lamented their deaths every night, but K'rt's sympathies had long since turned stone cold. He didn't have the energy to waste shedding tears.

One of the younger goblins approached K'rt - his skin still had a deep sierra sheen to it, and his limbs lacked the oaken bark-like texture that covered the older goblins' arms and legs. The younger goblin seemed exhilarated, boasting about how easy it had been to fool the humans and elf. K'rt gently set the young one aside to carefully inspect the fallen. Good ? no one I recognize. At least I have that much to be thankful for.

No sooner had those words passed through his mind, did he see an old and solemn goblin carrying a broken body, the corpse mangled and mutilated. The bones were crushed and snapped, jutting out in shocking places. The eyes were still open, an expression of utter despair frozen across the face. K'rt could not believe it. Hrl was dead.

[wangxiuming]

\\Thanks Gairun

The funeral was nothing special. When death was a daily occurrence, it tended to lose its significance. That did not, however, stop the mothers from sobbing, the fathers from blank despair, and the siblings and children from swearing vengeance. K'rt watched as bodies of the fallen were thrown unceremoniously on top of each other in a large makeshift pit. He could just make out what might have been Hrl's terrified expression among the hundreds of corpses that now lay in a grotesque embrace. Four older goblins were followed by four younger ones, each carrying a lit torch. One by one, they doused the wooden tinder besides the pile of bodies with flame - soon, the smell of searing flesh invaded K'rt's nostrils. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few goblins lick their lips hungrily. K'rt had to forcibly stop himself from puking all over the goblin in front of him.

I need to get out of here.

He made his preparations that night. He didn't really have much - a few spare daggers, a crude makeshift bow, three potions he had managed to save, and a set of gauze. He tied the bow to his pack, stuck the daggers into his frayed boot, and then stealthily made his way to raid the camp storage tent for some scraps of boar meat. Food was going to be a problem - the goblins always hunted in packs, and without their support it would be hard to catch any edible prey. He would have to deal with that later though; for now he had enough rations to last him a week.

He knocked out the lone guard with relative ease - K'rt recognized the young goblin as the one who had approached him after their latest skirmish with those two humans. He was about to sneak a few pouches of the fake goblin blood, when he was interrupted by an unwelcome cough coming from the tent's entrance. It was completely dark - Selune had thought fit not to show herself on this fateful night - and K'rt could not recognize the figure that stood before him. Frozen, he prayed silently to the Mighty One that he too had not been seen or heard.

His prayers were not answered. A snap of flint and a torch was lit. The shadowy silhouette took on definition and the blood drained from K'rt's face. Before him stood the hulking form of the Muckspear Chief.

The next moments were a hazy blur. K'rt knew right away that the chieftan had recognized him - and that if he did not act quickly, the chieftan would soon be calling for guards to seize him, imprison him, maybe even torture and kill him for stealing from the camp, and that wasn't even considering his impending attempt to desert and abandon his tribe. He couldn't let that happen. In one smooth motion, he violently flung a pouch of the fake blood straight into the chieftan's face. The chief let out a suprised cry and stumbled back, knocking into one of the tent struts and collapsing the thick tent hide upon them both. Muffled yelps sounded out, but made little headway under the tent's boar-hide. A whirlwind scuffle ensued - at one point, both goblins had their hands around each other's necks, each trying to strangle the life out of the other. As they struggled to gain the upper hand, they began to roll in every direction, knocking what few shelves that remained standing to the ground.

It was the chief that finally managed to pin K'rt to the grassy floor. Sweat poured down their faces, and K'rt's heart pumped with fear at the intense fury that was in the chief's eyes. He tried to bring a bony knee up kick the chieftan back, but to no avail - the chief was stronger, faster, and heavier than he was. As the life was choked out of him, K'rt began to flail wildly - he no longer had the energy to even return the attack. His arms fell to his side, and there he felt his last chance to save himself. During the fight, one of his daggers had been knocked loose from his boot - it was now only centimeters away from his fingers. If he could just reach it ...

The chieftan pressed down harder on his throat, the powerful hands crushing the air out of K'rt and choking him. Eyes bulging, K'rt stretched as far as he could, desperately waiting for his fingers to touch cold steel.

And then suddenly, the chieftan's hands loosened. A look of complete surprise spread across both their faces, and they both looked down. K'rt's dagger stood protruding from the chieftan's belly. K'rt's victim gurgled, blood pouring from his mouth, and then collapsed onto the smaller goblin - K'rt lay frozen - for a second, he even marvelled at how different a carcass felt from a live body.

But there was no time - other goblins would have heard the fight. Shakily, K'rt stumbled to his knees, and crawled out of the tent. Already, in the distance he could see torch lights flickering on and the sounds of anxious goblins running towards him. K'rt grabbed his pack and ran.

[wangxiuming]

K’rt was no stranger to killing. But taking the life of another goblin … that was something he had never done before. He had known other goblins who had done so - indeed, it was no secret that Hrl had made a habit of splashing his dagger green with the blood of several psychotic chieftains – but to K’rt it was a new and decidedly revolting experience. He shuddered every time he thought about it, and he thought about it every time he looked down; the chief’s blood still stained his ragged leathers. Try as he might, K’rt could not wash away the puke-green tint.

It had been almost a week since he had escaped. As if to mimic his increasingly dour mood, the weather had quickly assumed its natural form, throwing torrent upon torrent of rain down on K’rt and his tiny pack. The downpour would have made navigating the forest difficult, had K’rt not remembered an old jingle Hrl used to mutter on hunting expeditions. To find our kin’s nest, follow the river south, not west. That river was the Muckspear’s only lifeline to their Spittlefist brethren in the hills.

It had taken K’rt a day to find himself at the riverbed. From there he had proceeded south for several days, aimlessly. Despite all his dreams of leaving the forest, to explore and to discover, K’rt really had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. When he used to imagine leaving the tribe, he always assumed Hrl would be at his side, that they would both decide their route and destinations. Whatever challenges had to be faced, be it navigation, hunger, stray humanoids and their ilk - they were supposed to face them together. Two friends against the world.

But Hrl was gone … and K’rt was alone.

Being by himself … another new experience. All his life, K’rt had lived within a bustling community of coexistence and co-dependence – now, he had to do everything on his own. He was used to spending days hunting boars and fighting or fooling adventurers away, content to know that when he returned, a warm pile of meat and berries, and a nicely wrapped cot and tent would be waiting for him. These last few nights had been spent desperately searching for anything that provided a sliver of cover against the rain and then gnawing on extremely tough pork jerky. Had Hrl been there, they might have laughed at all their misfortune …

Not knowing what to with itself at night, K’rt’s mind wandered in all directions. Daylight was at least consistent - it brought worries of food and supplies, of plans and how to carry them out. Already, he was running short on food and without any fishing skill, the river could at most provide him with water – he had even less success trying to catch the rabbits and deer that populated the woods. Still, these problems at least seemed to have solutions. The ones that plagued his mind at night were less accommodating.

This night, as he lay silently beneath a felled tree and stump, he thought about returning home and throwing himself at the mercy of his brothers and sisters; he would probably be executed – the dead chieftain had been well-loved by the tribe, and K’rt lacked the commanding and yet sympathetic presence that Hrl possessed.

His thoughts were interrupted by an uncharacteristic snapping sound. Something had crushed a twig, and loudly enough to be heard over the light storm that still assaulted the forest. And then he heard the unmistakable chatter of humans babbling at each other.

"Now, what do we have here?"

[wangxiuming]

"A goblin, all the way out here? Kind of far from home isn't it, Thomas? And look, it's all cozy-looking, sleeping under that root."

"Whatever, Toby. Hey, ya think it's got anything good on it? Last gob' you smashed had a pretty nice necklace. And seein' how you din't wanna share it with me, I was thinkin' I could get sumthin' special for my girl back home. Or y'know ... hock it off to the closest street vendor for some booze."

The humans had closed in on K'rt's campsite, mouths yapping away. They were ugly things, tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair on their heads. One of them had a fresh scar cut across his entire face - K'rt hoped it was from a goblin weapon. He couldn't understand a single word of what the two humans were saying, but he didn't like the tone - he was still flat on his back, unarmed and completely vulnerable. Desperate plans flashed through his mind, only to be shot down immediately. He was out-sized and out-numbered; a pure fight could only result in K'rt's death. He might be able to flee - his small size and agility gave him an advantage over their cumbersome bodies in the dense forest - but that would mean leaving behind all his supplies, everything. He could double-back and hope for the best, but somehow, he didn't think there would be much left for him to salvage.

The scarred one had encircled his small camp, placing K'rt squarely in between the two humans. K'rt needed to make up his mind now. His left arm was already resting on his tiny chest. With the tip of his fingers, he could just make out the edge of the one small pouch of fake blood he had managed to grab on his way out from Muckspear. This would have to do.

The volume of the two oafs' speech was getting steadily louder - an appropriate complement to K'rt's already racing heart.

"Thomas, you don't even know if the little bugface has got anything! What are you whining to me for?!"

"Cause, big bro! Ya ALWAYS gets the good stuff, and leaves me with the junk! Do ya know how big my gob dagger collection is now, huh? I have FIFTY of them butter knives, and they aren't worth the scraps o' bone they made of!"

"FINE, you spoiled brat! Take this damned goblin, and take the necklace too! See if I give a dead rat's ASS!!"

K'rt watched as the human further away from him toss his scarred companion a silver necklace. Something about the necklace flying through the air caught K'rt's eye, but his attention was immediately diverted at the sight of its human recipient. The human was smiling broadly - a truly horrendous sight. His eyes squinted up into little beads, like rats or insects, and his whole faced stretched and contorted. Even the scar groaned and shivered, unveiling the sickening red wound.

"Hey, thanks bro! And as for whether this one's got any of 'em necklaces, I'll just hafta ask, won't I?"

K'rt's disgust at the human's smile was interrupted by something far worse. With a burst of speed no one could have guessed could come from such a large and clumsy-looking creature, the scarred human lunged forward, grabbed K'rt by the hair, swung him around in the air, and then slammed his tired and aching body against the trunk of a tree. K'rt couldn't help but to yelp with surprise, and then felt a hand grasp him by the neck, holding him up against the tree. This was an all too familiar experience and his throat cried out for mercy, but his pleas were only met with a backhand across the face. He struggled only very little - he soon realized it was useless.

"Now, see 'ere ya little bugger-scamp! I wants ta know if you gots any of these 'ere treasures, ya see? Jus' tell me, an' I promise we don't hafta kills ya!"

The human was holding K'rts entire body up with only a single hand. Wid the other, he let the silver necklace he had just caught dangle from his hairy fingers. Waving it in K'rts face, he blathered on some more, but K'rt's attention was no longer on his captor, in spite of the pain that he was experiencing. That necklace ... it was so familiar ...

"You numbskull! That thing can't understand you! Goblins don't speak common, idiot! Just kill the thing and be done with it!"

Out of the corner of his eye, K'rt saw the human that was holding him up blush a deep shade of red. This was his chance! K'rt took as deep of a breath as he could ...

... and then blew out from his nose and mouth as hard as he could - a week's worth of snot and boogers flew out in a sickening spray all over his captor's hand. Shocked, the human cried out with his own disgust, and released K'rt from his grip to wipe his hand on the wet forest floor. K'rt landed on his feet, and wasted no time in darting to his own pack, just five paces away. From inside, he pulled out a short dagger. Adjusting his cloths, he made sure the blood pouch was still in place, and then brandished his weapon threateningly.

"Thomas Thomas Thomas ... well, you did say you wanted this one. You can take care of one measly goblin can't you? Or does 'big bro' have to come save the day again?"

"SHADDUP TOBY! Imma kill this one so dead, even the hells won't know whatta do with'im!!"

The infuriated human drew out his own sword and threw his entire mass at K'rt's small form. The attack was easily dodged. The human had no finesse - his swings were wide and left openings that K'rt could easily have taken advantage of - but K'rt knew he couldn't. Fighting would exhaust him, and he knew even if he could beat this large oaf flailing about in front of him, doing so would use what remaining energy he had left; then, the other human wouldn't have to do much to have Krt's head on a spear. All he could do was dodge ... and wait for the right moment.

It came suddenly, but K'rt didn't miss it. Years of practice against human invaders just like this one had served him well. He recognized an ill-based attack; the human had pushed with his sword in an awkward fashion that significantly reduced the weapon's reach. Simultaneously, K'rt nudged his body forward just slightly enough for the sword to pierce his shirt and the pouch. Puke-green blood spurted forth, and K'rt wailed with pain and death: "UUUuuaaaahhhh!!!"

He sank to his knees first, then collapsed backward against a tree trunk. Slowly, he calmed his breathing until it became unnoticeable. His eyes he left half-closed. Though they were unfocused, he could still see what was going on, in case anything went wrong. He saw the human in front of him pant with weariness, sweat pouring down his face and neck. After a few moments, he looked to his companion, and started his babbling once again.

"What'dya think big bro? I done got him good, din't i? Din't I, Toby?"

The other human approached slowly, glancing between K'rt's bloodied body and his friend. K'rts heart skipped another beat - the human had unsheathed his weapon!

"Better give it a few safety stabs Thomas. Don't you remember the last one we thought we killed? Faked its death, and then gave you that nasty scar...

...and then I had to smash its little body to pieces."