Chapter 33 – [Day 10] – “Tribe”
Parting the foliage I motion Bob to take the position to my side.
For the whole rest of the day until evening, we had been stalking the greenskin warband. Surprisingly they hadn't even noticed the missing goblin but honestly, I doubted that they even cared if a goblin or two went missing now and then. It probably happens every other day.
But finally.
We've arrived at our destination and the target for my plans.
Before anything had gotten into our sights, we saw the hobgoblin leader pull out a very big and hollow rock beetle horn and started to blow into it. Following that, was a loud deep, and monotone bass sound that radiated out in waves. Not long after was a similar sound the blared out in the distance.
Hearing that, the warband continued as if it was confirmation of something. If I were to guess it was a way to signal that they weren't a enemy warband approaching their tribe, and they had returned.
Only fifteen minutes later, we reached a clearing that helped our sights from not being obscured by the trees and foliage. And now laid out before me and Bob was flatlands, or at least for the rocky hills, and on those flatlands a tall wooden wall lining a what looked to be a moat.
If I were to guess, the walls were about an adult human male's height. The moat separating the walls maybe shouldn't be called a moat but rather a ditch, since there wasn't any water filling it.
It wasn't all that deep and you could easily crawl out of it but I do understand it would definitely help slow down any who tried to cross it. From what I could see, there was only a single bridge leading to an opening in the wall's defenses and there were standing four goblins with spears on as guards and look-outs.
One of the goblins standing watch at the gate began immediately scuttling back inside the settlement after spotting the warband emerge from the treeline.
Although I was itching just fly up and see how big the tribe's settlement actually was, I couldn't simply do that right now. So for now I just decided for us to wait out and watch the proceedings of the warband.
‹ Skrolk ›
Kicking a goblin to pick up its pace, I move towards the gate of the tribe.
For the last three days, we had been stalking through the hunting grounds gathering quite the bounty. But that didn't really make me happy all that much. That was mostly because it was only due to our "fearless" and "generous" chief's orders driving me like a horse and making my life shit at any and every possibility presented to him.
Not to mention the name which he always calls me by "Skrolk". I really don't want to get into the reason as to why he uses that name, but it isn't a pleasant memory. Only him and some of the hunting leaders dare call me this, I've already let know that heads roll when any other dares call me it, quite a few times to say the least.
But I simply cannot tolerate our chief. That fucking bastard is always out to mock me and order me around, if I was stronger I could kill that git motherfucker and become chief.
Unfortunately, I can't match his strength...
Well, I can at least take comfort in the fact that he won't be ordering me around for the next few days as the many rock beetles we've brought back will mean that a feast will take place tonight.
Walking through the gate, we enter the tribe. In the corner of my eye, I spot a goblin staring blankly out into the distance, with an obnoxiously dumb expression while eating some grubs off the ground.
Ugh... I can't believe I was once that dumb, it makes my stomach churn when thinking of the time before I turned into a hobgoblin. These pathetic, weak, and most of all dumb, goblins are almost more a pest than help.
I was suddenly pulled out of my thoughts as I heard someone very much not dear to me call out.
"Skrolk you git!" - ???
Sighing mentally, I turn to face the arrogant sneer of one of my fellow hunting leaders. This leader didn't really have a name to be called by, but he was usually called "Shoota" by the less intelligent goblins due to his weapon of choice being a bow.
But the reason why I despise this guy almost as much as the chief was that he was his arrogant puppy bitch.
Walking around with an imperious air and arrogant sneer on his face, he'd ridicule any daring to invade his sight. While he was the weakest of the four leaders, he was the chief's bitch and ass kisser so he had the power to throw around without any actual strength to back it up. To us greenskins, there isn't any more despicable type of greenskin, someone acting with power without actually having it.
Unfortunately, the chief didn't give a rat's ass about it since he was beneficial to him. So mustering up any ounce of tolerance left in me, I speak.
"What the fuck do you want you, pathetic lapdog git!" - Me
"(Scoff), you fink you're real clever huh? Anyways how do you suppose we're going to have a feast tonight when you git bring back such lousy prey?" - Shoota
Readopting his arrogant sneer he simply waits for my reply while tilting his head so he would simulate a feeling of looking down on me. But before I could even respond his derisive comment, his sneer disappeared and was replaced with anger as the goblin standing behind him spoke up.
"But boss, wasn't our loot last time smalla?" - Goblin
Hearing the goblin rat out his hunting leader with his stupidity, I couldn't help but launch into a fit of laughter as the hunting leader's facade of arrogance faltered.
In a fit of rage, the hunting leader pulled an arrow tipped with flinted stone and plunged it into the eye of the stupid goblin.
"YA STUPID GIT!" - Shoota
Staring at the now screaming goblin rolling on the ground, he glanced at the laughing me. Unable to find any smart words, he simply turned around and stomped off in fury and embarrassment.
Now that was really a sight for sore eyes. I needed that.
Walking into the middle of the tribe I stand in the feasting ground. The feasting grounds are something every tribe has, its where we feast, fight, and fuck. Every time a hunting party returns with the spoils of our hunts, we celebrate it here, and as expected there has already been set up multiple bonfires.
In the center of the feasting grounds is the fighting ring, which is marked by the blood of many goblins and hobgoblin from before. The feasting grounds are pivotal for any greenskin tribe, as it boosts morale, lessens the ever-growing fighting spirit of greenskins while stationed in the tribe, but most importantly spikes the population of the entire tribe.
Moving to the center of the feasting grounds I settle myself down on a cushion at one of four seats of honor. In total there is five seats, the biggest one being flanked by the other four, so two on each side. The biggest seat was, of course, the chief's seat, and how the seats of honor were assigned to the four hunting leaders was in order of power ranking.
First in ranking sat on the chief's right, the second sitting on his left. Third sitting on the second seat to the chief's side and the fourth at the remaining second seat on the left side.
I was ranked as third so I sat on the second seat on the right side. Currently, I'm the only one to have taken a seat, as the others have not arrived yet. I simply needed to rest my legs after returning to the tribe, so I could let the tribe begin setting up for the feast.
It didn't take long before it was dusk, and everything was ready and prepared. As all the goblins and hobgoblins assembled at the feasting grounds, the other leaders began arriving one by one.
The first one to take a seat after me was the strongest of the hunting leaders. He was a big and burly hobgoblin, who had a large metal cleaver stepped to his back. He was about the size of two fully grown hobgoblins males and sported quite the muscles. He didn't have a nickname other than what the goblins call him when not just calling him boss, which was "Basha" because he would literally bash in his foes.
The next to take a seat was the second in ranking, a female hobgoblin, referred to anonymously as the hobgoblin princess or beauty. This was because, to goblin and hobgoblin standards, she was absolutely beautiful. Although I would love to fuck her, that girl was a fucking danger. Nobody other than the chief even dares to try and woe her. But the number of hobgoblins and goblins she's either maimed, castrated, or straight up just killed for even trying, is a testament to her unwillingness.
Even the chief has seemingly failed all advances. While taking a woman by force is common day in greenskin society, and although the chief is quite a bit stronger than her, she would most definitely take an arm or a leg with her if he ever attempted. Her viciousness was palpable, even while she adopts her usual calm demeanor. Anyone of this tribe has learned not to stare at her if they ever wished to keep their lives, even the dumb goblins know that much. But it definitely wouldn't be the first time a dagger flew across the feasting grounds planting itself in a skull of someone who had dared to.
Pulling myself from my wandering thoughts, I looked to the last two arrivals. Upon everybody seeing these two figures approaching, all sounds and noises died down, leaving a deathly silence only broken by the occasional step of the two figure's feet.
In front was an extremely well-build and tall hobgoblin who had two very good-looking short swords, one strapped to each hip. The short swords were smooth and reflected at metallic polish declaring their pristine condition to any who looked. The hobgoblin was furnished in a leather vest and pants, leaving his strong and powerful calves and feet bare. His whole demeanor and the way he carried himself was imperious.
This hobgoblin was the chief.
Behind him was his lapdog, the bow-wielding fuck face hobgoblin leader.
Sitting down on both their seats, they glanced at all the goblins and hobgoblins assembled. After a long moment of scanning the crowds, the chief pointed at two goblins sitting in the masses. Springing up in both excitement but also nervousness, they moved to the fighting ring.
Surrounded by all the goblins and hobgoblins they stood facing each other. Staring at them both, the chief silently lifted a curled fist. Suddenly thumping his fist into the ground, he picked it up again slowly and repeated the motion. Following that the surrounding greenskins began mimicking the chief and pounded the grounded in rhythm.
Ever so slowly the pace started picking up. Matching the increasing pace, the two goblins facing off in the bloody fighting ring started circling each other. The rhythm of hundreds of fists pounding the ground grew ever faster and louder by each moment. Suddenly lunging, the two goblins viciously began pinning each other to the ground, and they started wrestling.
As the pounding cacophony of the hundreds of battle lust-filled greenskins increased, so did the viciousness of the two goblins fighting. Soon blood began spurting as flesh and skin were torn apart by biting and clawing.
Finally, one of the goblins finished the other one off, by tearing its throat out with a vicious bite. Letting out a scream of victory while covered in blood and wounds, the pounding of the goblins and hobgoblin grew chaotic and howls of glee rang out.
Suddenly all noise died down, as something strange happened within the fighting ring where the victorious goblin was celebrating.
A large hobgoblin figure had started approaching the ring and before long stepped into it. Turning around to see who had dared to interrupt its victory celebration, the goblin was only met with the world starting to spin before its eyes.
Rolling across the ground towards the seats of honor where I sat, was the head of the celebrating goblin.
Standing in the fighting ring now in dead silence, was a large pale-grey hobgoblin with a dark-red dagger dripping blood who was radiating a palpable sense of danger.
Slowly, the hobgoblin raised its dark-red dagger and pointed it straight at the chief.
Chapter 33 – [Day 10] – “Tribe”
Parting the foliage I motion Bob to take the position to my side.
For the whole rest of the day until evening, we had been stalking the greenskin warband. Surprisingly they hadn't even noticed the missing goblin but honestly, I doubted that they even cared if a goblin or two went missing now and then. It probably happens every other day.
But finally.
We've arrived at our destination and the target for my plans.
Before anything had gotten into our sights, we saw the hobgoblin leader pull out a very big and hollow rock beetle horn and started to blow into it. Following that, was a loud deep, and monotone bass sound that radiated out in waves. Not long after was a similar sound the blared out in the distance.
Hearing that, the warband continued as if it was confirmation of something. If I were to guess it was a way to signal that they weren't a enemy warband approaching their tribe, and they had returned.
Only fifteen minutes later, we reached a clearing that helped our sights from not being obscured by the trees and foliage. And now laid out before me and Bob was flatlands, or at least for the rocky hills, and on those flatlands a tall wooden wall lining a what looked to be a moat.
If I were to guess, the walls were about an adult human male's height. The moat separating the walls maybe shouldn't be called a moat but rather a ditch, since there wasn't any water filling it.
It wasn't all that deep and you could easily crawl out of it but I do understand it would definitely help slow down any who tried to cross it. From what I could see, there was only a single bridge leading to an opening in the wall's defenses and there were standing four goblins with spears on as guards and look-outs.
One of the goblins standing watch at the gate began immediately scuttling back inside the settlement after spotting the warband emerge from the treeline.
Although I was itching just fly up and see how big the tribe's settlement actually was, I couldn't simply do that right now. So for now I just decided for us to wait out and watch the proceedings of the warband.
‹ Skrolk ›
Kicking a goblin to pick up its pace, I move towards the gate of the tribe.
For the last three days, we had been stalking through the hunting grounds gathering quite the bounty. But that didn't really make me happy all that much. That was mostly because it was only due to our "fearless" and "generous" chief's orders driving me like a horse and making my life shit at any and every possibility presented to him.
Not to mention the name which he always calls me by "Skrolk". I really don't want to get into the reason as to why he uses that name, but it isn't a pleasant memory. Only him and some of the hunting leaders dare call me this, I've already let know that heads roll when any other dares call me it, quite a few times to say the least.
But I simply cannot tolerate our chief. That fucking bastard is always out to mock me and order me around, if I was stronger I could kill that git motherfucker and become chief.
Unfortunately, I can't match his strength...
Well, I can at least take comfort in the fact that he won't be ordering me around for the next few days as the many rock beetles we've brought back will mean that a feast will take place tonight.
Walking through the gate, we enter the tribe. In the corner of my eye, I spot a goblin staring blankly out into the distance, with an obnoxiously dumb expression while eating some grubs off the ground.
Ugh... I can't believe I was once that dumb, it makes my stomach churn when thinking of the time before I turned into a hobgoblin. These pathetic, weak, and most of all dumb, goblins are almost more a pest than help.
I was suddenly pulled out of my thoughts as I heard someone very much not dear to me call out.
"Skrolk you git!" - ???
Sighing mentally, I turn to face the arrogant sneer of one of my fellow hunting leaders. This leader didn't really have a name to be called by, but he was usually called "Shoota" by the less intelligent goblins due to his weapon of choice being a bow.
But the reason why I despise this guy almost as much as the chief was that he was his arrogant puppy bitch.
Walking around with an imperious air and arrogant sneer on his face, he'd ridicule any daring to invade his sight. While he was the weakest of the four leaders, he was the chief's bitch and ass kisser so he had the power to throw around without any actual strength to back it up. To us greenskins, there isn't any more despicable type of greenskin, someone acting with power without actually having it.
Unfortunately, the chief didn't give a rat's ass about it since he was beneficial to him. So mustering up any ounce of tolerance left in me, I speak.
"What the fuck do you want you, pathetic lapdog git!" - Me
"(Scoff), you fink you're real clever huh? Anyways how do you suppose we're going to have a feast tonight when you git bring back such lousy prey?" - Shoota
Readopting his arrogant sneer he simply waits for my reply while tilting his head so he would simulate a feeling of looking down on me. But before I could even respond his derisive comment, his sneer disappeared and was replaced with anger as the goblin standing behind him spoke up.
"But boss, wasn't our loot last time smalla?" - Goblin
Hearing the goblin rat out his hunting leader with his stupidity, I couldn't help but launch into a fit of laughter as the hunting leader's facade of arrogance faltered.
In a fit of rage, the hunting leader pulled an arrow tipped with flinted stone and plunged it into the eye of the stupid goblin.
"YA STUPID GIT!" - Shoota
Staring at the now screaming goblin rolling on the ground, he glanced at the laughing me. Unable to find any smart words, he simply turned around and stomped off in fury and embarrassment.
Now that was really a sight for sore eyes. I needed that.
Walking into the middle of the tribe I stand in the feasting ground. The feasting grounds are something every tribe has, its where we feast, fight, and fuck. Every time a hunting party returns with the spoils of our hunts, we celebrate it here, and as expected there has already been set up multiple bonfires.
In the center of the feasting grounds is the fighting ring, which is marked by the blood of many goblins and hobgoblin from before. The feasting grounds are pivotal for any greenskin tribe, as it boosts morale, lessens the ever-growing fighting spirit of greenskins while stationed in the tribe, but most importantly spikes the population of the entire tribe.
Moving to the center of the feasting grounds I settle myself down on a cushion at one of four seats of honor. In total there is five seats, the biggest one being flanked by the other four, so two on each side. The biggest seat was, of course, the chief's seat, and how the seats of honor were assigned to the four hunting leaders was in order of power ranking.
First in ranking sat on the chief's right, the second sitting on his left. Third sitting on the second seat to the chief's side and the fourth at the remaining second seat on the left side.
I was ranked as third so I sat on the second seat on the right side. Currently, I'm the only one to have taken a seat, as the others have not arrived yet. I simply needed to rest my legs after returning to the tribe, so I could let the tribe begin setting up for the feast.
It didn't take long before it was dusk, and everything was ready and prepared. As all the goblins and hobgoblins assembled at the feasting grounds, the other leaders began arriving one by one.
The first one to take a seat after me was the strongest of the hunting leaders. He was a big and burly hobgoblin, who had a large metal cleaver stepped to his back. He was about the size of two fully grown hobgoblins males and sported quite the muscles. He didn't have a nickname other than what the goblins call him when not just calling him boss, which was "Basha" because he would literally bash in his foes.
The next to take a seat was the second in ranking, a female hobgoblin, referred to anonymously as the hobgoblin princess or beauty. This was because, to goblin and hobgoblin standards, she was absolutely beautiful. Although I would love to fuck her, that girl was a fucking danger. Nobody other than the chief even dares to try and woe her. But the number of hobgoblins and goblins she's either maimed, castrated, or straight up just killed for even trying, is a testament to her unwillingness.
Even the chief has seemingly failed all advances. While taking a woman by force is common day in greenskin society, and although the chief is quite a bit stronger than her, she would most definitely take an arm or a leg with her if he ever attempted. Her viciousness was palpable, even while she adopts her usual calm demeanor. Anyone of this tribe has learned not to stare at her if they ever wished to keep their lives, even the dumb goblins know that much. But it definitely wouldn't be the first time a dagger flew across the feasting grounds planting itself in a skull of someone who had dared to.
Pulling myself from my wandering thoughts, I looked to the last two arrivals. Upon everybody seeing these two figures approaching, all sounds and noises died down, leaving a deathly silence only broken by the occasional step of the two figure's feet.
In front was an extremely well-build and tall hobgoblin who had two very good-looking short swords, one strapped to each hip. The short swords were smooth and reflected at metallic polish declaring their pristine condition to any who looked. The hobgoblin was furnished in a leather vest and pants, leaving his strong and powerful calves and feet bare. His whole demeanor and the way he carried himself was imperious.
This hobgoblin was the chief.
Behind him was his lapdog, the bow-wielding fuck face hobgoblin leader.
Sitting down on both their seats, they glanced at all the goblins and hobgoblins assembled. After a long moment of scanning the crowds, the chief pointed at two goblins sitting in the masses. Springing up in both excitement but also nervousness, they moved to the fighting ring.
Surrounded by all the goblins and hobgoblins they stood facing each other. Staring at them both, the chief silently lifted a curled fist. Suddenly thumping his fist into the ground, he picked it up again slowly and repeated the motion. Following that the surrounding greenskins began mimicking the chief and pounded the grounded in rhythm.
Ever so slowly the pace started picking up. Matching the increasing pace, the two goblins facing off in the bloody fighting ring started circling each other. The rhythm of hundreds of fists pounding the ground grew ever faster and louder by each moment. Suddenly lunging, the two goblins viciously began pinning each other to the ground, and they started wrestling.
As the pounding cacophony of the hundreds of battle lust-filled greenskins increased, so did the viciousness of the two goblins fighting. Soon blood began spurting as flesh and skin were torn apart by biting and clawing.
Finally, one of the goblins finished the other one off, by tearing its throat out with a vicious bite. Letting out a scream of victory while covered in blood and wounds, the pounding of the goblins and hobgoblin grew chaotic and howls of glee rang out.
Suddenly all noise died down, as something strange happened within the fighting ring where the victorious goblin was celebrating.
A large hobgoblin figure had started approaching the ring and before long stepped into it. Turning around to see who had dared to interrupt its victory celebration, the goblin was only met with the world starting to spin before its eyes.
Rolling across the ground towards the seats of honor where I sat, was the head of the celebrating goblin.
Standing in the fighting ring now in dead silence, was a large pale-grey hobgoblin with a dark-red dagger dripping blood who was radiating a palpable sense of danger.
Slowly, the hobgoblin raised its dark-red dagger and pointed it straight at the chief.
