《Too Passive to Live, Too Weak to Die – My Goblin Life Begins》


 Chapter 1 - Pain and Rebirth

    Pain. Burning pain.


    Before I even had the chance to react I felt the tip of a steel-toed boot strike me hard square in the chest, sending me crashing to the ground and spilling the meager meal of gruel and dry beets I had prepared for myself into the wet mud.


    "Get up, filth!" A harsh voice barked, hot spittle flying into my face as I struggled to come to my senses, "Breaktime''s over! Get back to work!"


    I couldn''t immediately do as I had been told as I struggled to regain my breath, a painful squeaking sound pushing its way through my windpipe. My jailor, a rather nasty-looking orc, one protruding fang jutting out from beneath his pig-like snout, squinted down at me from above, a bloodstained leather whip grasped tightly in one of his stubby hands. Hanging from the other was the unconscious body of Gakk, an unfortunate goblin I had been having a heated argument with over a slightly off end of a sausage last night.


    "What''s the matter?" snarled my jailor through thick, spit-riddled lips, "Did the last whipping not leave enough of a mark?"


    "N-no..." I managed to squeeze out, tears stinging in my eyes from the steel-toed boot¡¯s impact that had, almost assuredly, broken at least two of my ribs.


    "No...?" The orc''s low rumbling voice belied only too well the rising anger at my insolence.


    "N...no, master." I caught myself quickly, trying desperately to get to my feet in the slippery mud beneath me. My eyes darted from whip to unconscious Gakk and back again as I chose my words carefully. "No, master... of course... V?rt meant no insult... no insult was meant..." Instead of standing up I fell to my knees in front of the creature before me, groveling in the filth in the hopes that this would soothe his anger.


    "Hm... But I think V?rt did mean to..." the thick, wet voice oozed with malice as the orc sneered down at me in the mud. "I think V?rt needs to show that V?rt''s sorry." And with that, the same boot that had so recently caved in my chest now hovered in front of me.


    "Lick it clean."


    <hr>


    Orcs. Oh how I hated them. Disgusting, loathsome brutes without a brain or concept of thought. They can''t lead, though they fancy themselves leaders the lot of them, and their only purpose seems to make the lives of those smaller and weaker than them more miserable.


    That, and to be slain by the Chosen, who saw no difference between the orcs and their pathetic, miserable charges. To the Chosen, we monsterfolk were all the same, gutter trash better off dead.


    Were it not for the orcs'' strength, in numbers as well as physical, their species would have long since gone extinct. But if the orcs enjoyed something else besides fighting and torturing the weak, it was to make more of their wretched kind which they did often and fruitfully.


    I felt my jaw tense and my teeth press together so hard it was like they would crack in my mouth. Anger roared in my veins, my blood boiling at this insult, at the unfairness of it all!


    I had done everything my jailor had asked of me. I had slept in the sty with the filthy pigs, I had eaten only the foulest and most disgusting remains that were too far gone even for my neighbors in the pens. I had been kicked around and beaten as entertainment, as punishment, as a fact of life.


    I was a goblin, the lowest among the greenskins, and it was my lot in life to suffer for the unforgivable act of having been born weak and pathetic.


    But this... Licking filth off an orc''s boot. This was too much. Even for me.


    I would revolt! I would rebel! Slit their throats in the night as they slept off their drunkenness. I would gather my fellow goblins and free ourselves from these wretched beasts and eke out a new life far away from the endless wars and-


    A line of fire ripped across my back, dragging me back into reality. My vision blurred and my pathetic cry was swallowed by the thick, stagnant air of the encampment.


    "Lick it."


    Cowering beneath the eyes of my master I crawled forward on all four, my long tongue slipping out as I braced myself for what was to come.


    I was thankful that no one else could see me. Not that I had much in the sense of honor to be protective of . Amidst the war-camp this small island of misery was easily swallowed in the ocean of horrors that the orcish warhorde produced on a daily basis. The screams, cries and pleas of their victims - sometimes Chosen, mostly lesser greenskins like myself - mingled with the guttural mockeries and laughter of a race that seemed to find no better joy in life than the suffering of others.


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    And better yet, the plight of those undoubtedly too weak to threaten vengeance in kind.


    No, no one would pay any heed to a goblin licking mud, and worse, off the boots from its master. Frankly, it was far from the worst punishment being dished out today.


    Yet the burning sting of humiliation twined itself into a pulsating ball of resentment in my chest as I fought back the urge to vomit. The stuff covering the boots was putrid, the stench unbearable, and it looked caked with layers upon layers of it. And there, mixed in with all the filth, was my blood. And that of Gakk who still dangled like a ragdoll from the tightened fist of our master.


    <hr>


    Just as I looked up at the boot, taking one last breath to steel myself for my task, my slaver¡¯s patience finally broke, and the dim-witted orc delivered another sharp kick. This time, it struck my face, and I felt the sudden, searing, white-hot pain of my nose breaking, blood rushing down my lower face.


    The kick was enough to send me sprawling, and my head spun as pain flooded my senses. I felt my consciousness close to fading away as a strange, whining noise filled my ears. I realized, as my master hoisted me up by the collar of the rags I wore to cover myself, that the sound was my own panicked, animal-like wailing.


    "Shut your mouth, or I''ll rip your head off."


    "Puh-puh-puh-please..."I stammered, blood still gushing out my nose. My vision came in and out of focus and it felt as if something vital had broken loose inside my head from the force of the kick.


    "Shut. Your. Mouth." The snarl was clear as day and I managed to stop my desperate pleas for mercy, feeling the hot, coppery taste of my own blood trickling down my throat.


    I knew I was going to die, then. With sudden clarity I knew he had silenced me simply because he wanted to kill me without having to listen to my pathetic crying.


    And with this realization, it was as if the shackles that had tied my heart down loosened¡ªjust enough for my mind to wriggle its way free and...


    And I felt peace.


    Not the kind of peace of a long, relaxing slumber, nor the peace of knowing you are safe with those who you love.


    This was the peace of death. And it freed me from my fears. I would look my killer in his eyes as he wrung my head from its neck and there was nothing he could do about it. I would curse him with all the hatred, and all the pain and suffering that he and his kind had inflicted upon me and all of the goblins who had slaved under their yoke.


    And as I stared into his small, pig-like eyes...


    A piercing chill shot through my skull, as if my brain had been dunked in ice water. My breath caught and I found myself gasping for air but unable to swallow even a mouthful of it. For a moment, the world around me rippled. The filth, the orc, the screams around me¡ªthey all blurred, swallowed by something else. A dark room. The smell of cigarettes and sweat. The desperate panting of a man at the end of his rope.


    <hr>


    I was in a sparsely decorated apartment, with only a pair of rolled-up futons in the corner. Faint outlines were visible against the wall where furniture had once stood, sold off to cover an ever-growing debt. On the floor by the entrance was a pile of letters, bills and debt collection claims. A scrawny, hunched-over man in an ill-fitting suit stood by the door, a note clutched tightly in his trembling hands. crumpling it as he read further.


    Then, tears began to trickle down his face as he threw the letter away and took out a small brick¡ªno, a phone. He called but the number did not connect and he cursed out loud, flying into a rage as he threw his old leather suitcase hard against the wall.. "So what if I hit them a few times?" He cried out, "So what if I bet on horses? Am I not allowed to relax after a hard day of work!?"


    I watched, disconnected, a pair of eyes floating in the air next to him. Yet I could feel the twin daggers of bitter resentment and overwhelming sadness twist in my chest, just as much as he felt it. It threatened to swallow me, to drown me in the black tar of despair.


    Then the vision faded into a gambling parlor. The smoke thick in the air, potted plants and walls yellowed by years of staining from the nicotine. There was a stench of stale, desperate sweat and cheap booze permeating the place and at the tables men willingly traded their lives and dreams away in the fruitless hope of winning big. He was not like them, the man in the suit. He was not an idiot. He was putting everything on the line but he knew he would win. Fate would favor the man willing to put everything on the line. This would bring them crawling back to him. They would come begging and crying for his forgiveness. Maybe he would take them back. After he made sure they knew never to betray him again.


    The eyes of the other men at the table watching him like sharks slowly closing the circle around their prey.


    Then, we were on a balcony, high above a city, its lights glimmering below. The faint sounds of cars and people barely audible as rain fell like tears from the sky. In one hand was the letter from before, in the other an empty bottle of cheap liquor. His face was twisted into a mask of bitter resentment and regret.


    It was all their fault. If they hadn''t been so judgemental. If they had ever tried to understand the pressure he was under.


    There was only one way out of this. Only one way to escape those cheating bastards. Maybe in his next life he would earn the respect he knew he deserved.


    As the ground rushed towards me alongside the man, we realized too late that there was no coming back from all this. His choked scream was the last I heard before I was suddenly pulled back, and I sputtered out through the blood trickling down my face before I could stop myself:


    "Kentaro...?"


    I knew it was his name. The name of the man whose last, fateful hours I had witnessed. I fought through the throbbing headache as I saw the man that the orc once was looking back at me from behind those small, yellow, evil eyes.


    For a few moments we were frozen, him holding me up and me staring into his soul. Then his grip loosened. Fear spread on his face like rings on a pond. For a moment, he was no longer the orc slaver who found joy in torturing the small and the weak. He was Kentaro, a failed businessman, a failed father, a failed man. And he realized that I knew who he was, and it terrified him.


    "How do you...?" The orc whispered, but I didn''t hear him finish his question. The last thought to pass through my mind before my consciousness failed me was a question of my own. A question of where I had seen that city before.

 Chapter 2 - Echoes in the Eyes

    I had no recollection of what happened after I passed out. When I awoke again, the cool air and the crackling of nearby fires told me that it was night time. Orcs had a strong love for bonfires, challenging each other to dance through the flames or sear their flesh in shows of strength and resilience. With a force as big as ours soon there would be no forest left to burn. Then our warband would move on¡ªto plunder, pillage, and defile whatever unspoiled land we found next.


    My entire body was trembling from the pain and exhaustion of what I had gone through. It wasn¡¯t an unfamiliar situation; I had long since grown used to my fair share of beatings. But this was different¡ªI felt as if the world had shifted around me just slightly. Like I had been frozen in time for a second and the rest of it had moved just a little out of sync. I felt clumsy, constrained, slow in thought and movement.


    Displaced.


    A difficult sensation to describe and harder to experience. As I was struggling to form even a single coherent thought, let alone understand what had happened to me, one simple truth settled over me¡ªI did not belong. It was as if I had always been wearing someone else''s skin, and for the first time in my life I had experienced what it would feel like to be free from the constraints of an existence too small for me to fit inside.


    A rustling sound pulled me out of my thoughts, and something hard and coarse pressed against my lips. For a moment I panicked, but as cold liquid poured down my throat tension drained from my muscles and I relaxed. A thirst I hadn¡¯t noticed until now crashed over me; the first gulp was like rain after years of drought¡ªlike the gods themselves had finally shown mercy.


    It seemed that I at least wasn''t in any immediate danger and so I drank eagerly of the bitter, yet familiar, concoction. Skrum. A brew that could charitably be described as beer-adjacent, fermented from the slag and sediment of orcish swill. There was barely any alcohol in it, just enough to kill the worst kinds of parasites feasting on the yeast, but to the small body of a goblin even a few mugs would send you into a stupor. At least it was somewhat cold, which I knew from experience would deaden the worst of the aftertaste.


    Cold skrum. A drink this passable was hard to hide from brutish, bullying orcs¡ªnot to mention larger, lazier goblins. Yet, whoever had the clever idea to sink the jugs in the river was now sharing their prize with me. I was beginning to understand who had saved me.


    "V?rt feel better?" a croaking voice asked. The sheer effort in their tone sent a pang of sympathy through me, despite the state of my own body. It was Gakk, the same goblin I had last seen dangling lifeless from the clutched fist of our orc slaver, and the leader of our pack. His neck was bruised badly from the tight grip of the orc¡¯s meaty fist and the older, one-eyed goblin struggled to hurriedly add: "V?rt better be thankful," reminding me that no good deed comes without a bill of charge amongst greenskins. "Gakk was saving skrum for better times, now Gakk will need to find more slag."


    A biting retort sprung to mind, but I kept it to myself as I slowly, and reluctantly, opened my eyes. Memories of what had happened washed over me, and for a moment, I feared that just opening my eyes would pull me into another vision. The prospect of experiencing another life, another death, so vividly forced me to glance away from the goblin that sat on a patch of dirt by my side.


    Gakk was older than me, significantly so, and the multiple lines of scars that criss-crossed his body spoke of a long life of suffering. The missing eye in one socket, which due to lack of protection and the state of our camp was always a weeping sore, was a poignant reminder of what he had gone through to stay alive as long as he had.


    "V?rt feels better..." I muttered, trying to buy myself more time. I winced as I sniffed the air, difficult with my still painfully-throbbing, broken nose, but I managed to catch a whiff of where we were through the sharp sting and faint smell of blood. The more ¡®prestigious¡¯ goblin servants¡ªthose deemed useful enough not to be immediately disposable¡ªwere allowed to sleep under carts, safe from rain and drunken orcs accidentally stepping on them. "V?rt just tired..."


    "Then V?rt get out of Gakk''s spot!" Gakk''s voice broke as he raised it slightly and he coughed a few times, making the situation all the more awkward. "Gakk paid back debt to V?rt, now V?rt leave!"


    "Debt?"


    "V?rt save Gakk from Mokhtan," Gakk spat, voice thick with wounded pride. "Now Gakk save V?rt from eaten by boars. Debt paid!"


    Silence hung between us as we processed what had just happened. From Gakk¡¯s perspective, this would have been the perfect opportunity for me to get rid of our pack chief and take the place myself. Gakk was old, but his mind was sharp, and we had come to butt heads more than once over decisions in the past. There was no point in loyalty for loyalty¡¯s sake among our kind, but then he didn¡¯t know what had transpired between me and Mokhtan.


    I was just about to answer when a loud belch from somewhere beside the cart shattered the pregnant silence. Indecipherable shouting and arguing followed soon thereafter and by the time the noise had moved on to somewhere else, it seemed neither of us had the energy to keep the conversation about debt going.


    I found my thoughts drifting to ways of thanking Gakk, which I then realized with surprised frustration at myself was ridiculous. Thank him for what? Goblins don''t thank each other! And I... was a goblin.


    ...Was I?


    My mind went back to what I had witnessed. The salaryman, desperate and reckless, the world that felt so strangely familiar with objects I had never seen, yet knew the name of. The man''s final moments before he... before we plunged to our death.


    The orc¡ªMokhtan¡ªwas a human. He had been that salaryman. I had seen his last moments.


    And if he had once been human... were there others? Other orcs who had been reborn into this life of brutality and malice? What about goblins? Gnolls? Elves and dwarfs? Was every creature here someone else before?


    My thoughts were spiraling out of control. Had I lost my mind? Maybe I¡¯d imagined it¡ªhallucinations from pain and exhaustion. Stranger things had happened to half-dead goblins. I had been beaten within an inch of my life. I had been looking death in the eyes. My mind could have easily snapped from the pressure but... if that had happened, would I even be questioning my sanity?


    I shifted slightly and realized Gakk had laid me on his only sleeping spot¡ªa torn, dirtied burlap sack beneath the carriage.I glanced over to thank him when once again my wounds made themselves known and my voice was caught in my throat. Instead I let out a groan of pain before slumping onto my back once more. All strength had drained from me and I felt myself fading fast. Yet before my eyes closed again completely, I caught the unmistakable expression of worry from the other goblin. As consciousness failed me I wondered¡ªwas I just seeing things, or was Gakk showing actual concern?


    <hr>


    I wish I could say I was allowed enough rest to recover, but to the goblins belonging to great Addrahk''s horde, there would be no pause to their labor. If you could move, you could work. If you couldn¡¯t, you were just as likely to be thrown in the pot and served for lunch.


    Were it not for the resilience of greenskin flesh, even among us lowly runts, the whole army would have collapsed upon itself within days. If we weren¡¯t fighting the Chosen, or other warbands, the soldiers of Addrahk¡¯s horde would get themselves into so many petty squabbles turned outright brawls that at least half of it were in a constant state of nursing what would be a mortal wound to a lesser creature. Orcs could easily survive losing limbs or entire chunks of flesh without much worry, and to a goblin a few broken bones or punctured lungs were things you slept off.


    Not that the pain had stopped¡ªit never did when you were of my kind. But we had learned to treasure any moment when we weren¡¯t nursing at least five separate fractures.


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    Gakk had kicked me (gently) awake as the sun rose over the horizon and handed me the very same sausage-end we had been arguing over before. We ate in silence, shoving the meager helpings down and trying not to pay our still-hungry bellies any attention. Gakk had given the maggot-riddled part of it to me, which was considerably gracious of him. There had been a dry spell in pillaging lately, which of course meant that whatever rations were available worked through a trickle-down effect and... I''m sure you can imagine what that meant. We were lucky if whatever there was to eat wouldn''t outright kill us, although generations of servitude to orcs had bred a certain resilience in the goblin digestive system.


    Even though every movement of my body sent shrill pain up and down my spine, I was alive, and a nagging thought in the back of my head reminded me to be grateful that Gakk had given up the only slight bit of comfort he had to help me recover.


    As we ate in silence I contemplated the situation; Gakk had been kind to me, but that wasn''t completely out of the blue. Both of us worked for Mokhtan, the orc that had almost killed us, although technically we were the property of Addrahk, the warchief; as were we all. Among orcs, the strongest one is always the leader, and as long as they remain unchallenged everyone and everything else, whether it is orc, boar, wolf, giant spider or lowly goblin, belong to them. Mokhtan had the enviable position of goblin herder, which meant he was in charge of "training" us to do our jobs.


    That, to put it more bluntly, meant he got paid to kick us around and beat us bloodied under the pretense of teaching us how to do our job. As long as we didn''t die... correction, as long as too many of us didn''t die, he had free reins to administer whatever discipline he saw fit.


    It surprised me that our ''benevolent instructor'' was nowhere to be found this morning. Mokhtan never missed an opportunity to whip the sleep from our eyes, yet no one in my pack had seen him when I asked.


    "Gritz says he saw Mokhtan get beat up good." Frink chittered in a smug voice, her wide, cat-like eyes squinting in delight, "If we lucky, Mokhtan gone for good." Modd and Sodd, the two youngest of our group, let out exasperated gasps and covered their mouths at the prospect of our tormentor being gone for good, their grins clearly visible from behind their bony hands.


    "Gritz also say moons go sleep during day," Gakk scoffed, his tone sour. "Gakk believe it when Gakk see it." Unlike Frink (not to mention Gritz), Gakk was experienced, the head of our pack, and at his words the twins immediately began nodding along, murmuring words of solemn agreement at Gritz¡¯s unreliability and their large ears waggling with every swing of their heads.


    They didn''t even have the wit to feel shame that they had so easily believed Frink''s story.


    Frink shrugged at the older goblin and casually used the claw of her left pinkie to dig something out of the corner of her mouth. "Just saying what Gritz say," she grinned, swallowing whatever she had found between her teeth after inspecting it. "But Mokhtan not here. Nor Mokhtan¡¯s whip. Easy day for goblins, no?"


    "No," Gakk muttered, his wrinkled face tightening in a bitter expression, "Not easy day."


    Our little group moved in close around him as he looked at each of us. I lowered my eyes as soon as I realized what he was doing; he was going to tell us some bad news, but I wasn''t ready to meet his eye. Even though I had decided to try to forget what happened with the orc, deep inside I still feared what might happen if I looked at Gakk¡­ or whoever he used to be.


    "Heard yesterday..." Gakk began finally, choosing his words carefully, "Heard Mokhtan being told before...." cutting himself off, Gakk gave me a meaningful glance, warning me not to mention what had happened after, "...before sleep. Warchief say, big meeting soon. Many warchiefs come here, plan big attack on Chosen city. Means more orcs. More goblins. More fighting. More dying."


    His words took a while to sink in, but as they did not even Frink was smiling anymore. A big meeting. A big attack. That meant more orcs coming soon. And with them, more goblins. Competition was fierce even between the packs within a single tribe. But introduce another tribe, and we''d be at each other''s throats. The orcs knew, of course, and they delighted in pitting us against each other to see which of us would come out victorious and covered in the blood and innards of our fellow runts. The winners would be rewarded just enough to instill a delusional sense of superiority before they were brought to heel and made to know their place., By that point whatever members of the other tribes remained were either dead or in no position to challenge the new order. There was no in-between. You crawled, or you were cooked.


    I knew this¡ªwe all did¡ªbecause it had happened less than a generation ago. That was when Gakk lost his eyes. That was when my mother died trying to fetch food for my younger brother.


    ¡­And that was when I killed my first goblin. I didn''t know his name, I never learned it, and I barely understood his language, but I choked him to death behind a barrel of toadstools while he tore a large hole in my left ear with a knife he¡¯d made from the thighbone of a direwolf. I still remember the way he wheezed as the last bit of air left him and his thick, wet tongue lolled out of his mouth. The knife, his knife, I still kept hidden, knowing I might need to use it myself at some point.


    Our tribe had won, but the sweet taste of victory had just meant more work with less hands to go around. Modd and Sodd had been barely old enough to walk back then and Frink, only a few years older, had taken it upon herself to raise them. Whether or not she had been successful the jury was still out on.


    Lost in thought, I glanced up¡ªand for the briefest moment, I met Frink¡¯s eyes.


    I hadn¡¯t meant to, and at first, I thought nothing happened. Perhaps it had all just been in my mind? But then I realized¡ªit wasn¡¯t that nothing happened, it was that time had stopped.


    None of the others were moving but the large, slit eyes of the female goblin were suddenly pulling me in¡ªyellow-green, speckled with flecks of gold. I couldn''t look away as they swallowed me up and¡ª


    <hr>


    None of the others were moving, but the large, slit eyes of the female goblin suddenly pulled me in¡ªyellow-green, speckled with flecks of gold. I couldn''t look away as they swallowed me up and¡ª


    ¡ªAnd in an instant, I wasn¡¯t there anymore.


    In the darkness of her eyes, I found myself in a room. Rows upon rows of benches stretched before me. A classroom. The sun was setting outside.


    I saw a girl weeping to herself, a pair of scissors in her hands, cutting her long, black hair with jerking motions.


    There were pieces of... something... stuck in there, gluing it together, and...


    As more of her hair fell onto the desk, laughter and hushed whispers echoed around her. Around us.


    I felt like I was being pulled under water¡ªunable to breathe, unable to think. Struggling against a rising dread and...


    "V?rt!?"


    Gakk''s voice yanked me back. I stumbled backward, falling onto my butt and clutching my head. Not in pain... not really... but I felt as though I had been doused in ice-cold water. The frustration, the humiliation, the bitter anger over what had been done to my¡ªto her¡ªhair welled up inside me, rising like bile in my throat.


    I hated them. I hated them. There was so... much... hate in me...


    Even as I gingerly stood, still clutching my head, my fingers ran through my own hair¡ªmatted and unwashed, but neither black nor sticky with gum. The vision faded.


    Frink was staring at me, wide-eyed, as if she had seen a ghost. Her lips curled back slightly, exposing her sharp fangs. She took a half step back, her ears twitching. She was hissing softly¡ªlike an animal warning a predator to back off. Like I had done or said something to threaten her.


    Modd and Sodd sidled up and sniffed me, a habit they picked up from the dire wolves whose dens they were made to clean, and nodded in unison.


    "V?rt smells scared," Modd sagely explained,


    "V?rt smells hurt," Sodd filled in helpfully, both of them nodding at me, then at each other.


    "It¡¯s nothing..." I brushed them off and turned back to Gakk.. "What can goblins do? Hide until it''s over?" I tried to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand and Gakk, perhaps understanding my desire, followed along.


    "No," Gakk tapped the edge of his empty socket, "Gakk smart. When V?rt sleep, Gakk call in old debt. Goblins serve dinner at feast."


    "No!" Frink nearly choked, eyes wide as saucers, "Gakk too smart for own good!"


    she shoved him, standing a hand or so taller than the older goblin, "Other goblins will hate goblins! Will make life miserable!"


    "Maybe," Gakk continued, not intimidated by Frink''s loud complaints, "But out of harm''s way first night. Know place goblins can sleep too. Far from fighting."


    Frink shook her head slowly, unsure how to react to the news. Modd and Sodd, meanwhile, were bouncing up and down in barely contained excitement, their eyes wide as saucer plates.


    "We go in warchief''s tent!?"


    "We feed warchief!?"


    Gakk slapped them both over the head and turned back to me, "We feed warchief and other warchiefs, and then goblins no need to worry about other goblins... or Mokhtan."


    I nodded slowly, finding myself liking the idea. Far from the usual spots for brawls, with the possibility of scraps of food and a safe place to sleep. Even if it meant the other packs would hate our guts for it, it was better than being pulled into some vendetta or full-on assault on another tribe.


    "V?rt likes it."


    "Good. We go to warchief then."


    And with that, the meeting was over. Even if Frink didn''t want to, it was four against one, which she realized with a sour grimace on her face. She fell in with us after kicking a rock across the dirt where we had been meeting as we began making our way over to the mess hall. There the cooks, captured and domesticated Chosen or especially clever orcs, were preparing a lavish feast for the upcoming gathering.


    Yet while Modd and Sodd were bombarding Gakk and I with hundreds of questions, I couldn''t think of a single answer to any of them. All I could see before me was the young girl cutting her hair and crying bitterly. And the hate she felt for her tormentors.


    I glanced back at Frink, wondering what she had done to deserve such treatment. But if she knew¡­ she wasn¡¯t showing it. Or maybe she had just stopped caring a long time ago.

 Chapter 3 - No Mercy Between Us

    Even though the sun had only barely peeked over the horizon, the camp of our warband was as alive©¤and as angry©¤ as an anthill being stepped on by a careless boot.


    Everywhere you looked the nimble shapes of goblins scurried between the unwashed, flea-ridden bodies of orcs and gnolls, darting under hanging weapons and squeezing through half-collapsed tents. Some were lugging freshly forged blades, still searing to the touch, while others were barely visible behind piles of ragged scraps of clothing in desperate need of washing.


    And then there were the lucky ones©¤entire packs working in unison to remove the night¡¯s unfortunates, hauling the bodies from whatever ditch they had been dumped into to have them put to better use.


    Accidental death by a slit throat or a crushed skull was a common night-time risk in a war camp of this size. And despite the frequent and brutal loss of life the warband never seemed to shrink©¤there were always more Defiled drawn to our warchief¡¯s banner, ready to devote their sometimes drastically short lives to his service.


    Everywhere, fights broke out©¤some to show strength, others out of boredom or pure malice. Any goblin worth their skin had learned the hard way how to spot trouble before it started, and the best would quickly find detours through the shifting corridors of crudely pitched tents, reeking latrine ditches and the massive, snoring hulks of drunken ogres to get their jobs done without hassle.


    Of course, there was no escaping dumb luck©¤ more than a few times I had been forced to witness a hapless runt suddenly ripped apart between the steel jaws of an ornery gnoll, or used as an impromptu target practice by hobgoblin archers desperate for entertainment, all the while thinking to myself how lucky I was that it hadn¡¯t been me.


    Once you gathered thousands of Defiled together in one place, it didn¡¯t matter how much they hated each other''s guts©¤under a strong enough leader, they would form into something terrifying: a rotting, writhing mass of sharp steel and pure hatred, moving forward until they finally crashed upon the walls of the Chosen.


    And then, as always, some hero¡¯s blade would cut clean through the warchief¡¯s neck and we would all fall into disarray, taking years to recover from the inevitable bloodshed and infighting for the title of warchief that was soon to follow¡­ after which the cycle would begin anew.


    And maybe that was just the way of things.


    Addrahk was not my first warchief. Gods willing, he would not be my last. This was the only world I had ever known©¤this endless, ravenous and self-consuming cycle of hatred and bloodshed.


    Yet¡­


    One day I would learn that it didn¡¯t have to be this way.


    At the moment, however, these things were far from my mind. I was following behind Gakk and the others of my pack as our leader steered us towards the warboss¡¯ encampment, snaking a path between crowds of greenskins, hound-like gnolls and the odd mercenary party©¤ looking possibly even more out of place and more uncomfortable than us goblins ©¤ trying to avoid unwanted attention.


    I lagged behind, still trying to make sense of it. Just like Mokhtan, I had seen something in Frink¡¯s eyes. Another person. And I knew¡ªwithout a doubt¡ªthat it was her. Just as the suit-wearing man and the orc had been one and the same. It had been just a flash, what could only amount to a few seconds, but the image had burned itself onto my retinas.


    I couldn¡¯t wrap my head around it. How had it happened, and why me? Had someone done something to me? A curse, a hex, a trick of the gods? Was I unknowingly triggering something each time I met someone''s gaze? It made the most sense, but I couldn¡¯t see why they¡¯d do it. I was just V?rt, one of thousands of worthless little goblins serving one of hundreds of warbands across the world. I was nothing special. I had no blessings, no birthrights, no fate. There was nothing I owned that was worth stealing. Just another faceless runt alive only through sheer luck.


    Why had Frink not confronted me about it? It was obvious I¡¯d scared her, but she hadn¡¯t said a word to me after it happened. Did she not remember? Mokhtan had, clearly, but Frink seemed to have forgotten whatever she had experienced, now busy chatting with the twins.


    The ice-cold grip on my mind had faded, but a creeping dread took its place. Would these visions keep coming¡ªuntil I lost myself in someone else¡¯s long-forgotten life?


    But if Mokhtan, that despicable orc, had been human, and if Frink had as well¡­ then what about me?


    Had I also lived as a human once?


    The thought was absurd and I wanted to dismiss it outright; I had only rarely met their kind, but at least I was more familiar with them than elves or dwarfs; after all, they were more plentiful, and more easily captured. But no matter which way you cut it, I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine myself having been one of those pale-skinned, tall and short-eared creatures.


    ¡­But the world I had seen©¤nothing about it was like this one, so then¡­


    ¡­What did that make me?


    A tide of anxiety welled up inside me, and I had to bite down on my lower lip to keep it from quivering. This wasn¡¯t where my mind should be¡ªI couldn¡¯t afford to get distracted when we were about to make a sneaky grab for safety in the upcoming feast and its bloody aftermath. If I couldn¡¯t pull my weight, I had a growing feeling my pack would eventually decide I was more trouble than I was worth. Gakk had already saved me once, and that alone was unusual. Expecting him to do it again? That would be asking for a miracle.


    <hr>


    Caught up in my thoughts, I didn¡¯t even notice when the others stopped in front of me¡ªuntil I bumped into Frink, who muttered a hushed curse at me. She barely turned her head to do so, and following her line of sight, I realized why.


    Ahead of us, a small procession of hobgoblins and orcs were entering the encampment, one of the many scouting parties dispatched to ensure that no enemy forces would ambush us ahead of time. A few of the warriors were wounded, wearing their blood-oozing cuts and scrapes with pride. Behind them, a cart carried at least half a dozen bodies¡ªDefiled and Chosen alike¡ªunceremoniously dumped into a pile.


    But that wasn¡¯t what had made my pack go quiet.


    Trailing behind the cart, tied together by a long rope wound around their necks and prodded by gleeful greenskins, were four beaten and broken Chosen.


    Adventurers, judging from their clothes and the large rucksacks piled next to the corpses. Two were male, two female¡­ or so I assumed; three of them hung their heads low in defeat, their features hidden beneath matted hair stiff with dried blood and dirt.


    The fourth, however, left no doubt¡ªshe was an elf.


    An elf. Her grace and pride were barely diminished despite her battered state. Her left arm hung uselessly at her side, twisted at a painful angle, and a swollen welt had shut one of her eyes completely. A rag had been stuffed into her mouth and tied tightly around her head¡ªa crude but effective way to silence spellcasters.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Even as an orc kicked her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling onto her broken arm, she did not submit¡ªher one good eye, an icy blue, burning with undisguised contempt. I found myself frozen in place, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before me. Despite everything, I felt a sense of¡­ envy for her. For her strength. And for her beauty.


    The vials of potions and salves tied to her belt shattered as she staggered upright. Her robes¡ªrich dark red with golden embroidery and purple trims¡ªgrew even darker as the expensive draughts bled into the fabric.


    I watched as the prisoners were dragged toward the same direction we were heading until they were swallowed by the crowd of ecstatic onlookers who spat and jeered at the fallen heroes. I felt no pity for them, but you must understand that neither did anyone else in that encampment.


    From the day I was born, I had been taught about the Chosen. No matter how much the orcs beat me, no matter how many of my kind were killed for sport by creatures bigger and meaner than us, the Chosen would always be the blood enemies of all green skin.


    I didn¡¯t hate them¡ªnot the way some goblins did. Watching them was like seeing a swan led to the butcher¡¯s block. Beautiful, otherworldly¡­ but in the end, it would be plucked, gutted, and boiled into something unrecognizable.


    Seeing them enter our camp, even in the state they were in, was like watching beings from another world where even their suffering was beautiful and more noble than ours¡ªbut that didn¡¯t change who they were to us. They were Chosen, our blood enemies. And in this world, there was no mercy between us. Not for them. Not for us. Had they caught any of us, the most mercy we could hope for would be a quick death.


    Yet I couldn''t stop thinking about her. The way she held herself, unbroken. The way she stared down her fate as if daring it to blink first. I had done the same. And for the first time, I wondered¡ªif I had been born different, would I have been standing in her place?


    "V?rt!" Frink snapped her clawed fingers in front of my face and I stumbled back, baring my fangs in surprise. "What¡¯s wrong with V?rt? Been acting weird!" The look on her face was similar to what I had seen on Gakk¡¯s last night. Worry. For a second I thought it was genuine concern, but I knew better; among goblins, there¡¯s a fair bit of leeway when it comes to crazy; everyone copes with the harshness of our reality in whatever ways they can but there¡¯s unstable¡­ and then there¡¯s unreliable. Or worse: untrustworthy.


    I tried forcing a disarming smile as I spit on the ground roughly in the direction of where the Chosen prisoners had been taken. "V?rt is fine. Just tired from beating yesterday."


    I shot a furtive glance at Gakk, knowing I was skirting the events of yesterday, but he was busy explaining to Sodd and Modd what they were going to do to the prisoners. Frink, however, noticed my glance at Gakk and lowered her voice:


    "V?rt and Gakk act weird all morning. Frink notices things." She pressed a claw against my collarbone, slow enough that I could feel it bite into my skin. "V?rt better stop being weird¡­ or maybe another goblin gets a chance to serve food at the feast."


    I waited for the second shoe to drop¡­ but it never came, so I nodded slowly, feeling a trickle of cold sweat down my spine. I had seen what Frink could do to those she didn¡¯t like and I had no wish to add my teeth to her collection.


    For a few seconds, she just stared, her expression unreadable¡ªbut even without meeting her gaze, I could feel the weight of it, measuring, weighing. When her shoulders finally relaxed, I wasn¡¯t sure if she was satisfied¡­ or just disappointed she wouldn¡¯t be getting another couple of molars.


    "Don¡¯t fall behind, V?rt. Not again." There was a sudden, slight smirk on her lips, but even though I had known her for years now, I had no idea what was going on inside her mind.


    I didn¡¯t question it. I just nodded and hurried to catch up with the others..


    <hr>


    "For the last time Gakk," Harrad grumbled as he hefted a massive pot of boiling stew off the crude fireplace and onto an oaken bench, charred black from years of use in the field kitchens. Wiping the sweat from his brow with a dirty rag, the old dwarf shoved the one-eyed goblin out of the way as he continued his work. "If Addrahk finds out I¡¯m playing favorites with his goblins, the next time one of his patrols go out they¡¯ll come back with a new cook who¡¯ll be serving dwarf stew."


    Despite being a Chosen, Harrad had spent enough time as a slave that he¡¯d learned the harsh, biting language of the greenskins, not to mention the pecking order. Gakk could hiss and spit and threaten as much as he wanted, but the dwarf knew that a Chosen slave was far more valuable than some wrinkled little runt with a chip on his shoulder.


    "Gakk not asking much¡­ just little favor between friends, eh?" our pack leader tried, changing the tune of his voice into a more pleading one, "...Dwarf know Gakk is good on word, yes? Remember? Gakk got dwarf new knife!"


    "You sure did," Harrad bit back, "and I spent an entire afternoon polishing the rust off," he nodded to the bench where a knife barely big enough to peel grapes lay unused and abandoned. "And it¡¯s Harrad, goblin."


    The two stared at each other at an impasse, neither side wanting to budge. I could see it©¤Gakk was losing him. If we wanted this job, we¡¯d need more than rusty knives and empty favors. And then©¤an idea hit me.


    "Sodd? Modd?" I said loud enough for the dwarf to hear me, but not too loud for it to be obvious I was speaking to everyone. The twins¡¯ ears immediately perked up as they both spun on their heels to look at me.


    "Did Sodd and Modd not say that dire wolf keeper was cooking meat with special spice?" My mind was racing to come up with a good enough lie that would catch the dwarf¡¯s attention and I felt my pulse quicken, my heart thumping against my ribs. I had no idea how smart this Chosen was, but what I did know was that Gakk had no more tricks up his sleeve©¤and we couldn¡¯t lose this chance.


    For a moment there was a very awkward silence before Sodd¡¯s confused face turned to look at Modd, his mouth opening©¤


    "Yes!" Frink suddenly cut in, stepping forward before either could ruin it as smooth as if she¡¯d planned this lie all along. Her confidence was enough to distract Harrad from catching on to the fact that the twins had no idea what was going on. "Frink remember! Modd and Sodd so full they roll back to camp! Orc say spice make even wolf turds taste great, yes?"


    Modd froze mid-though, his expression still halfway to saying ''What?'' but Frink wasn¡¯t looking at him©¤her eyes were locked on Harrad.


    The dwarf pretended not to listen, his hands deep in a bucket of water as he washed and scrubbed some beets for the warchief¡¯s lunch. He wasn¡¯t looking at us, but the beet in his hand had been scrubbed raw with no sign of the dwarf stopping.


    "Yes yes!" I continued, shooting a thankful glance at Frink, my heart racing as I kept building on the lie. "Saw where orc keeps spice too," we had the fish hooked, despite our meager bait, but now we had to reel it in. I lowered my voice slightly, as if I only now realized that the dwarf might be listening in, "Tied it high up in tent, yes? Means it important. Orc trust Sodd and Modd because they so good at cleaning, always do what told. If we get spice¡­" I hesitated and shot a glance over at Harrad©¤


    ©¤who immediately resumed scrubbing the beet,


    "...we give to other Chosen©¤someone who gets us in warchief¡¯s tent."


    I let the words hang in the air.


    Tension coiled in Harrad¡¯s shoulders, his brow furrowing in inner conflict. The beets lay forgotten in the bucket. Gakk was silent, licking his lips nervously as he glanced from us to the dwarf, worried the plan would fail.


    Just one more push¡­


    "Gakk, we go." Frink muttered, turning as if she were done with the whole thing. Her voice was curt, frustrated©¤like she was giving up. "Come."


    And the fish was in the bucket.


    "Now that I think about it¡­"


    Harrad¡¯s voice came slow, deliberate. He stood up, running his wett hands through his brown, tangled beard. His beady eyes glared at me from beneath two bushy, beetle-like eyebrows©¤and I could tell he knew he was being played. But he also knew a good deal when he heard one.


    "Gorma¡¯s pack has been showing up late and hung over one too many times and I¡¯ve been meaning to kick them out of helping me." He tapped his fingers against his belt, pretending like he was still weighing his decision. "You can take their place, but if they come complaining©¤" his eyes narrowed, "I¡¯ll tell them it was you lot who took their jobs."


    Gorma. Not the worst enemy to have in the camp, but far from the best. Despite the laziness of her pack, she had a reputation to uphold and years of working in the kitchens meant she was closely familiar with all the knives and forks you¡¯d find in there. Not to mention that she knew the warchief¡¯s slaves and servants well. There was no way she wouldn¡¯t find out before the feast.


    Gakk held out his hand as if to shake on it, but Harrad didn¡¯t even look at him. He was already back to scrubbing his beets, as if the conversation had never happened.


    We had our job.


    Now we just had to survive it.