Goblins.

  Sly, two-legged creatures, most often green in colour, regarded by most other 'two leggers' – especially the tall, lanky pink coloured fellows – as nothing more than vermin. Though not particularly strong, or bright for that matter, these monsters seemingly exist in every nook and cranny of the world. Be it the harsh deserts of the South, the freezing expanses at the far corners of the North, or the maze-like sewer systems of the elven-made cities, you will, like it or not, find them just about everywhere. Some philosophers, key word some, have even labelled goblins as one of the three constants of nature itself.

  'Dirt, water, and goblins!' Preached Alvaro The Bright, an intellectual still cited in books written centuries after his time. That being said, he ended up being burnt at a stake for allegedly conspiring against the Crown, so the verifiability of his statements is quite debatable.

  Be that as it may, his untimely death did happen around the time when any unlucky soul that even thought of disagreeing with the king or his family got charged with good ol' conspiring, a fact the followers and students of his strange works do not forget to mention. Ever.

  None of this, however, concerned a certain young, energetic goblin currently crouched behind a rather large bush. His eyes were bloodshot, darting around in search of even the slightest movement. In his trembling hands, the youngling clutched a poorly crafted arrow, nocked on an even cruder bow.

  The goblin and the bush, both dark-green in colour, were stationed at the edge of a small riverbank. Behind them stretched a seemingly endless forest, a forest which many animals, beasts and monsters proudly called their home. Said riverbank was a popular drinking spot for a plethora of these wild animals. And yet, not even one of the forest's residents came by on this particular sunny day. In fact, the young goblin's eyes hadn't seen much of anything in the last three days combined.

  The adolescent goblin’s name was Gromp—a fitting example of his kind's infamous naming prowess. And in this very moment, Gromp was, for the lack of a better word, fucked.

  You see, as many before him and many after, his time had come to complete the Coming of age ceremony, or ‘’Kafka’’ as his tribe called it. The ceremony's objective was simple. One must hunt an animal in the span of three days, upon which they bring their hard-earned spoils back to their tribe's chief. The bigger, and more impressive their catch is, the more respect and power they gain within their little community.

  The little ones brought back rabbits, larger fish, or even wild boars if they were lucky. Not even once, however, in the short history of the Chipped Ear Tribe as it was called, had a goblin come back empty-handed. Never. Not even once.

  The little goblin's head churned for a way out of this mess. He needed a plan, and he needed a plan fast. Unfortunately, his head was not exactly used to this much thinking, and quickly started to ache. Gromp, as most of his fellow goblins, preferred to do instead of think. In spite of this, his brain managed to spit out a final idea, before finally giving out.

  What if I just steal someone else's prey? After all, I'm not the only one doing the ceremony!

  A wild grin spread across his face. Gromp, in the five years he had spent among the living, had yet to lose a single fight. It is what had kept him alive so far, yet also what had kept getting him in trouble for as long as he could remember.

  He sucked at everything else – whether it be setting snares, gathering fruits, or crafting weapons and tools he always, without exception, found a way to disappoint. Now, however, it was his time to shine.

  He snorted in self-approvement of his brilliant idea, and stood up to stretch his aching body. He turned, bones creaking, when suddenly something caught his eye.

  Across the river, the usually still forest stirred with movement.

  His spirit invigorated once again, he ducked right back behind the bush he had grown so familiar with, instantly discarding his previous plan. As his breathing grew quicker, he brought the bow up with his trembling hands, as slowly as he could muster. He finally saw a chance, and he wasn't about to let it go.

  Approximately thirty pounding heartbeats later, the goblin’s future prey stepped out of the foliage on the other side of the shallow river. But contrary to his expectations, his prey was no animal.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Well, that would depend on who you asked, as some called them half-pigs. Most simply called them orcs, however, since the previous name would suggest these monsters are also half something else, and even the idea of sharing fifty percent of their body with an orc simply did not sit right with most of the ''enlightened'' races.

  Gromp silently observed the orc as he slowly nocked his arrow, trying his very best to avoid any sudden movements. Upon greater inspection he realised that the orc, unlike himself, was not currently in the process of hunting. He lacked a bow or any other long range weapon as far as Gromp could see, not to mention the fact that they were both quite deep in the Chipped ear tribe's territory. The young goblin smelled trouble.

  He scrunched up his eyebrows, momentarily losing himself in his thoughts, staring off into the distance.

  Are the orcs preparing for war? Again? But then, why would there be only one?

  The young goblin could not make sense of the situation, and his brain, already tired from the previous abuse, was not of much help either. And so he decided to stop all of the useless thinking and instead to simply kill the intruder. As far as he knew, bringing back the head of an orc would greatly please his chief. Hopefully.

  By the time the goblin snapped out of his daydream, the orc was already well on his way across the river. In the winter, heavy downpours would greet this forest and the mind-bogglingly large mountain range from which the river flew, making passing the river nearly impossible. There were parts of the stream where giant rocks were neatly arranged to allow for crossing, however very few goblins dared to cross it as the boulders were far apart and rather slippery. At this time of the year though, the river was not very deep and flew at a leisurely pace.

  Gromp squinted and tilted his head forwards, attempting to inspect the orc in further detail. His adversary was trodding through the river with a steady pace with tattered sandals in one hand and a stone hatchet in the other. He winced with every step, as the river's floor was covered in small, surprisingly sharp rocks flown down from the mountain range.

  The orc was at least a head taller than him, not to mention considerably wider. He wore only a loincloth, and as most of his brethren depended on his kind's thick hide for defence.

  The goblin nervously licked his lips. The more he tried to calm his hands, the more they trembled. As the orc neared the shore, he slowly drew his bow, the arrow threatening to slip out of his sweaty hands. He took aim, licked his lips once again, exhaled deeply as his fellow tribesmen taught him… and shot. As the arrow sailed through the air, time seemed to slow down for the young goblin. Suddenly, he was hit with a joyous realisation.

  It's going to hit. It's fucking going to hit!

  With an audible *THUNK*, the crooked arrow embedded itself in the right side of the orc's chest, the momentum coupled with the sudden shock causing him to fall on his back. Crimson blood dyed the river, as it had many times before.

  ‘'I did it! I fucking did it!'’ Laughed out Gromp, throwing his hands up in the air.

  He ecstatically jogged out from the bushes, before stopping dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. The orc, grunting with every movement, astonishingly rose back up. His cold, unwavering gaze traveled up and down Gromp’s body before settling on his eyes. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he picked up his hatchet and broke off the arrow's shaft, throwing the now useless piece of wood behind him. He exploded forward.

  The enemy's movement woke Gromp from his daze. He quickly unsheathed his trusty dagger and dropped into a fighting stance.

  I coated that arrow with paralysing venom! How the hell can he still move?

  Refusing to overthink, Gromp shut off his brain and sprung into action. He closed the distance in a flash, cutting off the orc's advance before he could reach the shore. Howling with rage, the orc drew back his rear leg and swung his axe in a powerful arc, aiming to split Gromp’s skull. But his blade found only air.

  Gromp snickered – the winner was already decided. He sidestepped the orc's wide swing with ease, before swiping his hind leg from under him, sending the boar tumbling backwards. He fell and unceremoniously smashed his head against the rocks, light leaving his beady eyes, even more blood dirtying the calm waters.

  *THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.*

  As the deadline of the ceremony swiftly approached, Gromp merrily walked back to his tribe. He almost felt like running, if not for the orc's corpse we were dragging by one leg. These monsters were just about as heavy as they seemed, so Gromp quickly abandoned the idea of somehow carrying him back. Nevertheless, he was adamant about bringing back his whole body, as the orcs' meat was considered as nothing less than a delicacy that was sure to please the chief and the elders.

  *THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.*

  How did this guy get so fat, anyway?

  *THUMP. THUMP. THU-*

  Just as the dead orc's head was about to hit yet another protruding root, Gromp finally arrived at a grand cave entrance. One did not need to be a specialist on monster communities and the like to recognise this cave to be the goblins' territory. Around the entrance lay various carapaces—animal and otherwise—rotting in different stages of decay, alongside broken or rusted human-made weapons and tools.

  Nonetheless, the most striking aspect of the cave entrance were two wooden poles, one on each side of its gloomy opening. Both were adorned with a skull, and one would in fact need to be specialised in monsters and the like to know that, surprisingly enough, they both belonged to goblins. As it turns out these creatures love war, and if they cannot find it outside the tribe, they simply start fighting amongst themselves.

  Gromp took a deep breath, pushed his chest forward, and straightened his posture. As a final touch he also adopted a smug smile, before striding into the cave with rejuvenated enthusiasm.

  Firstly, he made his way across a giant cavern, in which most of his fellow goblins resided. He glanced to the far left side of the dark room, where his meagre belongings lay scattered. Only flies buzzed around as he walked through, with no green skin in sight.

  Figures. They must have already started.

  Before he realised it, he was already standing at the end of the first cavern. Before him stood the entryway leading to the next room, only a dirty bear hide separating the two rooms. He could hear many muffled voices on the other side, some of which he immediately recognised even if he could not make out the exact words that flew from their mouths.

  He straightened his posture once again – it had already reverted to his usual slouch in the brief couple of moments he took his mind off of it – and stepped forward. He swatted away the leather separating the caverns, bright lights instantly assaulting his vision. His time had come.