Buck Wild

There are many ways one could describe Buck. Noble, selfless, intelligent, sociable, charming, cunning, caring, a snappy dresser, loved by all and heroic beyond measure!

However, doing such would get one labeled as a liar almost immediately.

That is how Buck sees himself, not how the world sees Buck. There is a substantial divide between the world Buck inhabits and the world everybody else lives in.

Descriptions that would not make one a liar could include but are not limited to: Recklessly brave, breath like a dead camel, delusional, fearless, unpredictable, strangely joyful, manic, short of temper, and height.

Buck was a soldier, well kind of but not really. Technically not an actual member of any armed forces, more an enthusiastic fan. A sort of war groupy. A war whore if you will, without the actual whoring. Well for the most part there was that one incident involving the donkey and stable fire, details are hazy and nobody talks about it. They never actually proved anything, anyway moving on.

Growing up he had a fairly standard life by goblin standards. Filthy, poverty-stricken, brutally abused by creatures larger than himself for sport. When that's all you know it seems normal to constantly get kicked in the face, sleep on rocks, and eat bugs as a civilized person eats popcorn.

A cruel, violent, utilitarian existence, he loved it. He excelled at it. After all, that was all he knew. Until by chance, his path crossed that of a wandering bard and he learned of stories, art, and things beyond his imagination. That day his life; much to the chagrin of many other inhabitants of the world, his life would change forever.

Buck (as he would later be known in the series of calamitous events that constitute his life) was going about business as usual. It was a beautiful lazy spring afternoon, the smell of daffodils drifting casually in the breeze. Sunlight peeking timidly through patches of clouds, flirting with the land below, casting loving glances to all the creatures with its warming touch. It was a good day to be alive and for this group of unfortunate bastards who chose to take the shortcut trail through the rocky pass, the potential to have a good day being alive was still on the table, but that window was closing rapidly.

Buck and several other goblins,(that despite spending almost the entirety of their lives together he had never bothered to learn their actual names simply referring to each one as ugly or ass-nose or some other profane descriptor) were in the process of robbing the small group of travelers at knifepoint (as is tradition) when one of the travelers, in an act of bravery most unusual for the situation came forward and suggested a trade, the likes of which Buck had never heard before.

Buck being particularly bored that day, and noting they really had nothing of value, humored the boldness of the act and listened half-heartedly. Erstwhile picking various bits of detritus from between his teeth with his trusty knife. They were definitely the most colorful and interesting lot of idiots to pass this way in recent memory. They were garbed in strange clothes and carried objects he had never seen before.

Buck’s sense of whimsy won out over his usual boredom-based brutality and he decided to actually hear the weirdos out. Why not? Buck thought. After all, he can just stab them up after (as is tradition) if they don’t prove entertaining.

“I can offer that which no others can, I shall trade you that which cannot be taken with violence. My group and I are traveling bards and can offer you songs and stories from across the many lands we have traversed. Wonders and woe alike. In exchange for our freedom, we would offer you entertainment that will change your life.” said the most glittery dressed of them.

The group was a small but dedicated group of performers, and bard-to-be’s. Although that meant nothing to Buck at the time.

This intrigued Buck. Stories and art weren’t concepts that were prominent in the world he and his fellow vagabonds mired in. They had some odd items with them as well, metal tubes with holes and wooden boxes with strings. He had heard of these things before, instruments or something like that.

It’s hard to tell at the best of time what odd pattern of chemicals and electric signals passes for thought inside bucks head but in this instance, they all unified into one solid pattern, the consensus was yes.

“You know what? I accept your offer! Let’s hear it, use the tube thing and the twangy box, or else.” Buck chuckled.

This prompted a burst of outrage and malcontent from a couple of the other goblins not on board with this idea. After administering a swift shit-kicking and a stern reminder that this is not a democracy (oddly enough Buck knew what democracy is, but not what a flute or lute was, his knowledge is a mystery to even the gods sometimes) to well he couldn’t remember their names but they would be known as “boot in ass”, and “double broke nose” for the remainder of the day at very least.

Now, goblins are not known for being particularly good on their word or creatures of honor and repute but Buck was, partially because he was too narrow-minded to be deceptive and so the performers played the performance of their lives. Literally.

Buck was enthralled, as they danced, sang, and cavorted. Stories that Bucks sheltered life had never even thought could exist flooded over them.

Heroes and villains. The larger-than-life battles, mystical creatures, evil wizards, and epic adventures! The wealth, the power, the music, and most of all the fame!

Inside Buck beside the place where a heart should go (metaphorically speaking of course) sprouted a tiny seedling named ambition. This was a drop of water to a thirsty man, a mere taste on the dust-choked tendril of the seedling of a dream planted within Buck.

The hours passed by swiftly, Bucks tiny mind filling with possibilities beyond anything he ever imagined. He desired more. That night true to his word the travelers were released by a stary-eyed Buck floating about in a trancelike state of bliss. An emotional cocktail unknown to a creature such as Buck. Buck went to sleep that night and for the first time in his life dreamed of things beyond rocks, and who needed to be hit with them.

His world seemed so small and suffocating now, by comparison. A tiny tyrant of a world one lane wide. This would not do. He needed more.

Without so much as a goodbye to assnose, who’s his face or what’s his guts Buck sped out into the night after the travelers.

Driven by purpose and familiar with the terrain it didn’t take him long to catch them.

Much to their horror, they found themselves ambushed for the second time in a day. This time, however, was only one goblin. But it was almost more terrifying than before. They recognized Buck as the violent leader from the previous mugging and the look of excitement in his eyes gleaming with a particularly viscous form of fervor. They all expected this was the end, he had come to finish them after all. Never trust a goblin, they should have known better.

Buck leaped onto the leader with the glittery vest with enough force to knock them to the ground before they had a chance to react. Buck squatted on their chest, grinning wide as the day is long, jagged teeth reflecting the moonlight giving an almost demonic cadence to the visage.

The others froze breathless, tangled in the tensioned web of the moment. As Buck leaned in intimately close to their leader’s face. Bucks breath wafting over the leader’s frightened features, a low crawling fog of onions, and something that might have once aspired to be vegetable but never quite made the grade, flowing into the pinned leader’s face.

“I had the greatest idea! Have I got a deal for you!!!” Buck screamed unintentionally in exuberant delight (Buck was never great at social skills or emotional regulation of any sort for that matter).

Buck’s offer was simple and in his mind more than generous. He would travel with them and see the world, hear their stories, and in return, he would demonstrate his ability to stab things until they were no longer effectively things, in the group’s defense of course.

They fill him full of stories and travel and he will fill whatever prevents that full of holes.

One cannot blame the bard and the group for what they did next. After all, given the circumstances of having an odorous, manic, blade-wielding bandit with breath that could lawfully count as a weapon in several counties pinning their leader to the ground. The response was what one would expect.

“But of course my exuberant friend! We would all be honored to have such an…err enthusiastic companion to join along with our group!” the leader said, with a painted-on smile all the while the voice in their head screaming “What have I gotten us into…”.

Time went by and it turned out to be quite fortunate for everyone involved, which was a pleasant surprise for the wandering troupe. Despite personality challenges and brash behavior, the little goblin proved to be an incredibly capable guard. Hesitation was not a concept Buck understood or had even heard of. If his brain has a fear center it was the size of a pea or lentil or some obscure minuscule gland of a gnat. This would come in handy on several occasions, when coin or silver tongue was not enough to avoid trouble a suicidally brave stabbing machine was handy to have on hand. There were more than a couple of incidents that lives were saved by excessive screaming and putting pointy objects into squishy bits. Let your imagination interpret that how you will.

What’s more, Buck was true to his word and didn’t ask for pay or material goods aside from food. It was also pleasant to tell stories to somebody who drank it all up.

As time passed Buck developed a strange relationship with the group. Some would call it friendship, others sort of coworkers but it was a strange brew that bordered some complex feelings. There was admiration, merged with a steady drip of fear. A couple of shots of respect a dash of trepidation and a slow boil of worry and endearment that comes with long travel with an emotionally unpredictable companion. They however understood that Buck was not evil or vile, simply a product of his own life, and even grew to like him to some degree.

Respect and friendship are somewhat unfamiliar concepts to Buck accustomed to fear and domination. So this was probably the closest thing he had known to family or friends or other words beginning with “F” associated with positive feelings.

The group knew that under their travels there was a problem percolating. When Buck met the real world there was going to be a problem. The admiration for the heroes in the stories, they saw the desire for fame and heroism in Buck’s heart, but they all knew the truth of the world that Buck did not. Goblins were not heroes in the eyes of the world.

They were living on borrowed time, eventually, society would meet Buck and they knew it but they maintained the precarious balance until then. He was after all a hell of a guard.

As time wore on Buck learned many stories and songs but something bothered him bout all of it. Now Bucks is not or has never been the brightest, but even his little mind eventually churned up a quandary about all the stories that he would voice to the group.

Why were there no goblin heroes of legend? Why are there not ballads of the valiant goblins striking down tyranny and saving the kingdom? Slaying the dragon or putting the vampire to its eternal rest freeing the country? It's all elves, men, dwarfs, Gnomes, dragonborn, and halflings!

“Where are my people in all these tales?” Buck asked, sincerely.

The answer to this question was an uneasy one. You see in all the tales, goblins were actually presented as villains, monsters, and generally slain by the heroes. The bards had retold the stories but swapped out the part of the goblins with zombies or devils or whatever else was handy at the time. Under no circumstances did they think it wise to antagonize a goblin whom they had once watched headbutt a locked cage open for no other reason than being too lazy to walk ten feet to grab the key.

It was at this point they gambled and hoped they had formed enough of a relationship to prevent Buck from having a complete meltdown and taking them all with him.

They all gathered and opened up; being completely honest about why goblins had never been mentioned in the stories as heroes. So the bards retold some of their stories involving goblins without censorship.

“The world does not have a kind view of your people. I have seen the stories are not true as I've come to know you and we are not so different aside from circumstance, but you must be aware of it. Especially when we get to more civilized areas,” the leader said with reluctant confidence.

Buck, sat fingers tented, staring into the ground. He could have been mistaken for a statue were it not for a noticeable sporadic eye twitch, and periodic grinding of teeth.

They all sat in silence, muscles tensed as they watched the sprockets and cogs inside Bucks head twirl and sputter attempting to process what he had just learned.

Buck knew that, well to be fair all the stories weren't completely without merit. Goblins were malicious bastards, that ain’t a lie.

Hell, his life was a testament to cruelty up until he left it all behind, but that's not what bothered him. Life was harsh and they lived the only way they knew given the options they had. The fact that all the other “Good” races got to be heroes and his people are only seen as monsters did. There were other tales of wicked humans, greedy dwarves, and sadistic elves, but they also had time in the light as champions and saviors. But not the goblins, always evil, sneaky little monsters, gross little people whose lives don't matter. Live in the dark and the shit, not a choice we made. His blood boiled at the thought of it. We aren't perfect but we are capable of whatever anybody else is!

It was at that moment Bucks mind exploded his former dream of being a traveler, and the swirling torrent of thought reformed into something much much worse. He would be a Hero of legend! He would be the first goblin hero and show all those other snooty humanoids that they aren't monsters, well technically at least.

Now Buck doesn’t think as quickly as most other creatures, so this whole process dragged out for the better part of fifteen minutes in dead silence.

When he raised his head the look in his eyes at that moment is almost indescribable but likely one of the reasons the bards silently but unanimously decided despite the protection he provided and the affinity they had developed they needed to get away from Buck as soon as possible. Buck was going to be a problem, a colossal problem. Pound for pound they could scarcely imagine anything being more problematic without being literally explosive.

The uncut ambition in his eyes burned to witness. The intensity of will. The stuff of legends (although none of the bards would ever admit it aloud) would hopefully be counteracted by the gullibility of their soon-to-be-former companion.

The bards needed a way to get rid of Buck, and they knew just the ticket. Stories brought him along and they would get rid of him. They set to work making up an epic tale, song, and dance so catered to Buck’s particular eccentricities it could not fail.

Over the course of the next few weeks, while Buck slept or was predisposed with other activities well out of earshot, the bards gathered and conspired. They created a series of stories to plant the seeds of military ambition in Buck’s head to grow with whatever other ideas rattled around in the confines of the dark cauldron that was Bucks tiny mind. Bit by bit night after night they composed in secret the ballads that would rid them of the ticking bomb that was Bucks ambition. They wove tales of scrappy upstarts who found glory in the military, as all of the absolute greatest heroes did (don’t ask their names, don’t worry about it you haven’t heard of them trust me). Some became knights, others noble generals to lead nations against great menaces saving the land. One was even so bold as to wed a queen and become a just king adored by all. All the many stories had a common theme. They started in the military and then ended in glory, riches, and legendary renown. Such a carefully crafted string of unmitigated bullshit. Buck fell for it, hook line and sinker.

Over the next couple of days, Buck formed a plan, or rather a guideline. Okay, it was a loose association of ideas and a general direction. Plans hurt Bucks head, and he needs to use that head to open up things that didn’t want to open (so it’s always best to keep it in tip-top shape, safety first after all).

Buck lived in the moment and that was fine all he needed to do was take it one step at a time. He’d find his way to legend and glory, just had to start down the right path and the rest would sort itself out. Every story of the great heroes and heroines had a common starting point, and even Buck could put that together enough to give him the idea for his first course of action. That was at least clear-ish. Military. Join the army. Can’t do that sticking with these soft-bellied songs spewers, though he would miss their stories, glory awaited and Buck had a legend to carve.

When Buck informed the bards of his departure plans they all feigned surprise, but were surprised themselves by the little bit of genuine melancholy they felt for deceiving him. This feeling however evaporated a couple of hours after Buck left when they discovered Buck had robbed them in the night and replaced their coins and a few other valuables needed for life on the road with rocks and mud.

“Okay, old habits die hard. They shouldn’t have lied to me! At least I didn’t stab them. Being my best goblin from this point on. Only hero shit. Only hero shit. That was the last of bandit life. Fresh start, focus up. Living my best life now. Hero of legend, saving the world. Showing those stupid ass other heroes who’s the best. Who’s the best? You’re the best. God damn right I am. Thanks, me. ” Buck muttered to himself heading into the wilderness in search of a road to civilization large enough to warrant a war machine. Sack of stolen, I mean repurposed adventuring gear in tow.

Buck’s goal was simple, which was fortunate as mentioned previously planning and Buck have an oil and water relationship. They touch but don’t mingle well, in this instance that was enough and he immediately set out to join the army at the nearest city. What army didn't matter, he didn't give a horse fart what army, what supposed cause they fought for or whom they would be fighting. All he needed to know, he knew. The army is where it all begins.

That is where heroes are forged after all! His epic tale would begin there, or so he thought.

After some wandering and events best left out for reasons of decency (there was a badger involved, and long story short Buck and nature, in general, are on uneasy terms to this day) and maintaining the theme that this is about the origins of a hero.

Buck eventually found his way to civilization, following the thrum of drums, cart traffic, and the smell of masses of beings crammed into tiny poorly ventilated living spaces (sort of reminded him of home when he stopped to think about it).

It was upon arriving at civilization Buck would encounter the first of many challenges.

For the world is a complicated place and the dreams of one particularity psychotic-looking goblin from a craggy mountainside in the obscure parts of the asshole of the continent do not mean a whole lot when confronted by military doctrine.

See goblins, are looked upon by a large amount of the civilized world as a type of vermin. The army embodied this mentality to a toxic degree as well, although this particular society liked to present the idea of unity and equality, the military complex didn’t embody it on the inside.

Although officially the military claimed “All races and creeds accepted!” as plastered on recruitment posters and boards across the city. The truth is much different. Now If Buck could actually read more than a handful of words he would have likely thought to point out the posters, but literacy took more focus than Buck could spare at the time. Staying focused on his task was paramount, fine print (even when bold colorful, and taking up more than half of the ad) was not something he had time for.

After some time he meandered his way to an army recruitment office. The recruitment which was assumed to be a sure thing as armies tended to need all types (including fodder) was expected to welcome Buck with open arms, this was after all a hero’s path and he was a hero at heart.

Buck was rejected from service for being “too short”. Officially that is what they told him, and his dreams dimmed a bit but the weight of his ambition would not let that logic slow him down.

Buck stayed around the city doing odd jobs, slowly learning how “civilized” society worked, classicism, social systems, mercantilism, and the complexity of it all made his head hurt. This wasn't as straightforward as the stories made it seem. They made no mention of all this actually, so it must not have been important he reasoned. This is because he lost focus. He needed to reassess his goals.

It was simple. Step 1. Military, step 2. excessive violence, step 3. Hero, Step 4. Rub into face of all stupid uptight races, maybe the halflings too, play that by ear. Step 5. Kill god? No, that doesn’t feel right. He scratched that out. Step 5. Become a god.

Much better.

It was during what we shall refer to as Buck’s civilizing phase he discovered that dwarves, gnomes, and even a few halflings had been accepted into the armed forces without issue. It became apparent even to Bucks tiny mind it wasn't about height. This was about what he was.

So Buck pondered and pondered and pondered. It was an excruciating amount of pondering for Bucks impulsive soul but it would bear fruit. The idea finally came, and it wasn’t actually as bad as you are probably assuming.

Buck recalled how goblins had first tamed wolves, and worgs. They sort of hung around the area and ate scraps, scared away other creatures, and after a while they just sort of developed an alliance of proximity. If it worked for wolves, it could work for Buck. He’s better than a wolf after all. All he needed was to wait for a war.

Luckily Buck didn't have to wait long as war broke out frequently, such was one positive side effect of the turbulent times. A couple of regiments begin to march out for some foreign destination. Buck thought if they won't accept me officially maybe I'll just show up anyway and do war things, so he followed the column from a safe distance awaiting an opportunity.

When they stopped to set up camp and before they could establish any effective perimeter Buck simply walked into the camp among all the soldiers and support staff milling about. He meandered his way around the camp looking for a group that he could blend in with. He however being a goblin started drawing attention from several sentries, he kept moving even as one decided to pursue. To avoid a confrontation Buck ducked into a recently erected tent, housing a couple of company horses.

Buck immediately went to calm the horses who were startled at his sudden appearance. Buck had always had a way with animals, and horses being notoriously easier to calm down than the wolfs or worgs which he was accustomed to (also much less bitey). With a couple of whispers and a hand motion, the animals settled. Buck turned to see the sentry standing behind him.

“What are you doing skulking around here? Didn't think the army accepted your kind...speak quick.” He said, sword drawn and poised.

“Umm I'm not part of the army. I just tend the horses!” Buck said patting the closest horse on the rump. It neighed in approval.

“Stable work, that makes sense, that sort of work is more suited for your kind. Among the horseshit, bet you feel right at home.”

The sentry eyed the horses’ calm state as it plopped casually beside Buck.

“Carry on, the animals seem to like you at least, must be the smell they relate to. Don't let me catch you skulking around though, otherwise, there will be trouble.” The sentry said as he proceeded to leave the tent, only to be stopped by a half-orc woman in partial platemail. The pauldrons bore captain markings.

“This isn’t your post. Who were you talking to and why are you in here?” She demanded, a stern look pasted on her face.

The sentry saluted instinctively. “Saw that one skulking through the camp and came to make sure he wasn't up to anything sir.” The captains’ eyes narrowed menacingly.

“Erm mam.” The sentry quickly corrected, fumbling awkwardly. The captain changed her expression to an overly toothy smile, head craning ever so slightly to the side.

“Dismissed.” She said, turning away without any further consideration as the sentry clumsily exited the tent distressed to the point of tripping.

“Now, who are you little goblin, and why are you here?” The captain inquired.

“I've been sent to take care of these horses, I'm the new stable hand,” Buck replied, what he thought would be a genuine smile across his face (it was not).

“That lines not going to work on me. This is my command and I have not been informed or asked of additional help.” She said raising to her full height, placing one hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Talk now, and be honest. All I do is whistle and more soldiers than you could count will be here in a heartbeat. Lying to me will not end well for you.” She stated coldly.

“Not that I would need their help to deal with you.”

At that moment for a reason he barely understood himself, he decided to be completely truthful. Buck would later attribute this impulse of sincerity to destiny calling him to hero hood.

Taking a deep breath Buck began his tale “Aww hell. You might want to take a seat this could take a while. Well, you see..”

And so Buck recounted his story omitting the vast majority of heinous acts he had committed along the way. To save time, of course, heroes have nothing to be ashamed of and that's why he didn't bother telling absolutely everything. It was just about saving time. He spoke of his desire to be a hero, the bards and traveling, denial from the army, and his brazen infiltration into the camp. Which was embarrassingly easy in hindsight.

“... and that's when that dick-nosed sentry chased me in here and I started grooming this mighty creature.” He said scratching the horse’s belly, as it whinnied in delight.

The captain sat motionless, hand still on the hilt of her sword. Minutes went by as they sat in silence, aside from the ever-present flies and the occasional murmurings of the horse. The captain arose, contemplative expression and tented fingers replacing the defensive posture prior.

“Hhmm, well this is rather unusual but I believe everything you said. I too have known prejudice most of my life. Rising to my station was not an easy task. Being a half-orc woman I am no stranger to discrimination, I empathize with your desire to prove the world wrong and be a hero for your people. I can also tell you that heroes are few and far between, the tales bards tell and reality are often very different. The battlefield teaches this lesson to many.” She said.

“I’d like to learn those lessons! You're a captain can't you recruit me?” Buck said excitedly. His throat trembled and many tiny electrical impulses shunted through Bucks mind as it tried to will his gangly tongue to form a word he’d never spoken before.

“Plll-pll-pleeeas–Please!?” Buck spat out, more as a visceral action than the spoken word.

“If I could I would let you join the battalion, honestly I would but that is not an option. There has never been a goblin in this army in a combat role and it would be noticed immediately. Also, your being here puts me in an awkward situation. You did technically sneak into an active military operation and that should be punishable but at the same time, you are pretty much the exact opposite of a deserter. There are rules for that but not for this situation. This is very much a grey zone. Nobody sneaks into the army” She pondered aloud.

“I can handle my own, I assure you.” Buck pleaded.

“I've got it. Seems you do have a way with animals, otherwise Marigold here wouldn't have let you touch her. She's quite temperamental, generally, I'm the only one she trusts. Actually surprised she didn't stomp you into a fine paste for approaching her now that I think about it.” She chuckled. “My little infiltrator, you are one of the regiments’ new stable hands. I cannot let you join the fighting forces but a goblin serving as support staff wouldn't break any rules or draw too much attention. You aren't part of the army so to speak. It is by no means a glorious job but you would be allowed to travel with the battalion. It will give you the taste of war you crave, see if firsthand and how heroic tales are not what they seem. Take care of the animals and I shall write you into the register as support staff and give you a staff insignia. Then you will be part of the war effort, nobody will have cause to question or challenge why you are here. Just don't go around trying to act like the enlisted. Now I won't be paying you though and after this, you are pretty much on your own. My empathy only goes so far and I will not risk what I've earned.”

Eyes bulging with excitement Buck said something else he had never spoken to another living creature aside from himself. Buck said thanks.

“Thank you! This is the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me willingly.” He said barely holding back a tear.

“Don't make me regret it, now I'm off to attend to other matters, I'll put you down in the registry when I can. Good luck.” She said turning and leaving the tent.

“I'm in, I did it! I'm in the army.” Buck exclaimed to Marigold.

The captain burst back into the tent. “Forgot to ask your name for the registry.” She said.

Buck turned quickly pivoting on his heel at the sudden interruption. Slipping on the fresh horse plop and stumbling forward headfirst into a nearby empty bucket. Wedging his head almost perfectly. He jumped to his feet in a panic covered in horse muck and struggling to remove the makeshift helmet.

Years of iron military discipline, grim battlefield experience, and long life of hardship could not have prepared the captain against the hilarity of the spectacle playing out before her.

She almost doubled over in the laughter at watching the shit-covered goblin dancing around trying in vain to remove a bucket from its head. A string of profanity vulgar enough to make a seasoned sailor blush echoing out from the bucketed ballerina.

Tears filling her eyes from laughter, she withdrew from the tent. “You know, come to think of it maybe it's best I don't know the actual name, better for deniability. I'll just call him…Bucket.” She chuckled, clutching her abs sore from laughter wandering back into the evening, regaining her composure as she went.

What happened in the moments after that witnessed only by Marigold, and a couple of other horses whose names have been lost in time would be one defining moment of Bucks story towards, well heroism is a debatable term in hindsight, let’s just say this is the reason Buck is Buck.

Screaming profanity and hopping about in a mad attempt to remove the bucket he bumped into one of the horses. Which horse, he couldn't tell, what he could tell was it was in good health from the force of the blow that followed. The good news was the bucket came off, the less great news was that it was in several pieces and he was cascading through the air concussed and about to make a graceless landing headfirst into the earth.

Now to say Buck was an intelligent goblin before the accident would be a mischaracterization. Mediocre at best was generous. What can be said is that the romance of hoof, bucket, and head did not do his level of intelligence or understanding any favors. He had survived the blow only by the grace of the protection of the bucket but it would leave lingering damage to an already fragile mind. The pea-sized fear center that had also existed previously within Buck, did not survive the impact and was atomized entirely. Buck lay unconscious in the muck for quite some time afterward.

The captain returned later and witnessed the sight. Deciding that she may not have made the best decision but feeling infinitely bad for the unconscious creature her pity overwrote her better judgment and decided on a little gamble. Taking out a dagger she took the insignia she had brought “Bucket” and scratched out the last couple of letters.

She left the insignia with the name “Buck” on the unconscious goblin. This would be the last direct contact, it is best to distance from this now and probably forever. “Good luck, you are going to need it.”

Now as you might have ascertained, Buck was not his actual name before this. Among the many things that horse-kick knocked out of the misshapen hate-filled little head of his was his original name.

It now lays on a patch of dirt somewhat with a couple of his missing teeth and a large part of his sanity. Along with the perception of reality shared by most sentient creatures, or particularly intuitive moss.

So violent was the kick that it retroactively knocked any knowledge of his actual name from this story entirely.

The goblin awoke to a pounding headache and noticed the insignia. It read “Buck” (and by some mercy, he could still read) and that is when Buck was born.

The last thing he remembered before that moment was that he was IN the army, he took care of horses, everyone is an asshole for reasons he couldn't quite understand anymore, and that he was a hero of legend! That's all there was to it. He was a soldier and a hero and nobody or anything could convince him otherwise or stand in his way.

This is of course complete delusion, but it all worked out strangely enough.

Buck, just sort of hung around and cared for the various horses and animals of the camp, and did a hell of a job of it. After some time the soldiers started to talk to him as he was always hanging about. Originally it was done out of boredom and to bully him but after a little bit, they started taking a shine to him. There was an odd charisma to the delusional stablehand who thought he was a soldier, and constantly spoke of epic battles and being a hero of legend. They all thought it was a hilarious joke that he thought himself a soldier, and nobody ever corrected him. Why ruin the fun? A marching force can me a miserable mirthless place and one must take what fun they can find.

Time went on and although he never was officially trained by the other soldiers, he watched and spared with them when they were bored or drunk (which was fairly often) and did drills and such all of his own volition. He proved to be a surprisingly skillful fighter and the joke battles soon became true tests of skill and strength under the disguise of sparing with the stablehand. None of the soldiers willing to lose to a stablehand would admit they gave their all at times, but they did and Buck learned military form and tact by experience. Tending the horses and constant riding made the saddle his second home.

Buck never participated in any official battles, although he was around for them. Support staff, aren’t given weapons or armor and as much as he wanted to ride into the fray he was stopped at every turn.

This was until one night that would forever change the narrative of Buck Bucket (sort of, it still involved a bucket). It was a chill night, on the cusp of the seasons swapping duty. The sun had long since retreated and the few awake in the camp huddled around cookfires to stave off the biting cold, drinking heavily to celebrate a successful minor skirmish earlier in the day.

The cavalry unit Buck was attached to, positioned on the outskirts of the war host, consisting of a few tents and a makeshift stable. Buck had just finished tending to the last of the horses and was proceeding to feed some of the donkeys and pack mules when he was called over to mop up an incident of a Sargeant celebrating a little too much and leaving a mess for the stablehand to “battle”. It was while tending to the conflict of the evening stew that the first rumble was heard, quickly rising to a thunderous roar.

The enemy had sent a small contingent of mounted skirmishers and some foot soldiers through the surrounding forested area around the host to hit the supply line from behind. They expected them to be drunk and overconfident from the skirmish earlier. They were right, the army hadn’t taken precautions against riders on account of the difficult terrain and being near the rear of the host.

The roar of hooves on earth erupted as the riders swept into the area, followed by screams and the cries of panicked dying soldiers.

The soldiers were taken completely by surprise, most sleeping, drunk, or in the limbo state between the two could not manage to coordinate any semblance of a counterattack among the chaos.

Buck, however, did not struggle to act. Panic requires a few key elements that Buck did not possess. One is thinking and understanding a situation, another would be contemplation and understanding the consequences of said situation and the last would be the ability to experience fear. As previously mentioned, Buck almost always lived in the moment unless he was living in the moment right after the immediate moment. The prior immediate if you will. Hesitation does not affect Bucks’s actions and all that remained of the biology responsible for a fear was a ghost fart of a memory thanks to an unnamed (and completely blameless) horse. What did exist was a manic level of ambition, instinctual mastery of violent actions draught up from vague recollections and feelings from a time he doesn’t remember, and the opportunity for a real battle in the army.

“HERO TIME!!!!” Buck screamed with such fervor that the din of battle was momentarily shamed into obscurity.

Now Buck being Buck, didn’t let a little detail such as complete lack of weapons or armor discourage what would be an EPIC first battle. Hell no. That would have been hesitation, that would have been thinking and Buck was a god damn hero, they don’t think they act and it always turns out fine.

Buck kicked over the bucket spilling (most of it) the recently regurgitated remnant of a military-grade meal, sweeping it onto his foot and launching it into the air in one unusually graceful motion.

While it spun midair rotating gracefully, Buck used the mop in his hands as a pole vaulting up the side of the nearby donkey onto its back, landing in a perfect straddling position, facing forward eyes ablaze with determination. Leveling the mop shaft horizontally as a lance. The bucket completed its final rotation descending onto Buck’s head forming a helmet, the handle coming down slipping under his chin. With one fluid motion of his hand, Buck brought down a slap directly on the ass of the ass, and with that two braying ass’s launched into the fray of battle.

The pure spectacle alone should have been enough to make the enemy question continuing the attack, there is a level of insanity that is best left untouched even by war-hardened killers. The bobbing bucket vomit helmet, donkey riding, mop lance goblin charging the heavy cavalry lead horses alone and head on caused an eruption of laughter, whoops, and incredulous expressions.

The ensuing massacre was the less humorous aspect for them. If one believes in God’s or fate one will have to take this event as a case study in their twisted sense of humor. Ineffable one might even say.

You could debate how much of what occurred next was skill and how much was blind luck but in the end, it occurred regardless.

Buck and his ass, being much shorter than the assaulting horseman did not collide on even terms. The horseman not used to striking at such a small opponent mistook the distance of the attack. The spear narrowly missed Bucks face, sliding perfectly between his neck and the metal handle of the bucket snagging partially on the metal as the spear tip sunk into the bucket itself. Simultaneously Buck struck out at the rider but knowing he couldn’t hit him aimed instead for the horse’s legs. The mop handle wedged between the forelegs momentarily as it went taught before the force of the impacting caused it to shatter into chunks. The horse stumbled, going down hard on its face. The look of surprise and horror on it’ master’s face could only be properly described by a poet.

As the horse, went down, going into a roll the rider attempted to wrestle the spear free and go into a tucked position himself for the impending impact. However it was wedged into the bucket attached to Buck, and when he swung back Buck went with it, additional propulsion provide from the momentum of the exploding mop (and weighing maybe 50 pounds soaking wet) Buck was launched off his ass into the air behind the first rider. Bucket lifting off and spear disconnecting as Buck cascaded directly into the path of the second cavalry rider.

Spinning midair to face the oncoming rider, still, death gripping the now splintered mop handle for all it was worth. Instinctually he spread his legs and braced to land bare saddle style as his body was accustomed to whenever he was midair, as the only time this usually happened was when he had to mount something larger than himself. Technically that was still true in this case.

The second horse’s head weaved left and Buck squeezed past contacting the rider instead. One foot flat on the front of each shoulder. Suddenly an audible squeak as Bucks heels slipped from the metal pauldrons, continuing his journey forward. Stopped only by the intimate meeting of the rider faces and Bucks crotch. Knocking the rider’s half helm off in the process.

You may have heard of romantic notions such as love on the battlefield, this was not one of those occasions. This was a greasy wham-bam of battle and nothing more.

This moment is when an unexpected series of events turned into all-out calamity and Buck ceased to speak intelligible words in favor of a rapid-fire series of profane comments. The likes of which shall not be repeated here.

The impact and shock of the sudden lower space to face embrace caused Buck to wrap his legs around the rider’s head with the strength of a vice. Further adrenaline surged through Buck and in a snap reaction, he threw the mop and fragmented handle as a spear towards a third rider. Propelled by the sudden extra energy of the panicked fling mixed with the momentum it had previously been swung it flew straight and caught the third armored rider in the small opening between their helmet and the gorget of their plate mail. Embedding the splintered handle deep in their neck. The rider grasped at it in horror, unable to extricate the bloody treant limb from its fleshy prison and pulling on the horses’ reins in the process. The horse and rider cut into the path of another two riders causing them to collide into a tangled heap of horse and humanoid forms.

Bucks crotch blinded the panicked rider, as Buck grabbed his hair, and ears directing the man as a horse in a bridle. Laughing, screaming, and swearing profusely while pulling the man’s ears left and right, his motions mimicked by the rider as his horse ran in circles cutting down those unfortunate soldiers on foot all around. Until the horse crashed into a cooking pot, crumpling to the dirt putting an abrupt and soupy end to the stampede.

Buck and the rider’s sordid affair parted ways, not on the best of terms. Buck hit and rolled coming to a stop upright on his feet, covered in soup, some vomit, blood, and one can only imagine what else. He stood up surrounded by several awe-struck enemy foot soldiers, and he did what a hero would do. Buck stood tall, looked to the ground around him, and noticed the body of the man who had stolen his mop with his neck (how rude). Buck wretched the blood slickened wooden shaft out, raised it above his head, and let out what he believed was an epic rallying speech. Which didn’t really amount to anything tangible aside from a bunch of slurred profanity, chittering out of the mouth of a gore-drenched monster waving a broken mop handle around in a frantic fashion. Buck tends to slur whenever he gets excited and he was running on overdrive.

Whether the surrounding soldiers thought Buck was some form of hag casting a vile enchantment or summoning magics from the nightmares of man and beast or if the act of witnessing a bucket helmed goblin slaughtering several veteran-heavy calvaries and their mounts with nothing but a mop, a donkey, and what appeared to be blind rage finally sunk in. They all stopped and began to flee at once. Not just them, the entire raiding force halted and shifted into a full retreat. Their spirits were broken by the insane charge of what clearly could only have been some type of demon. Their retreat underway Bucks comrades were able to organize and mount a counterattack.

That night Buck gained, the respect and fear of a good many soldiers on both sides of the war.

Buck Wild they called him after that night.

He’s still not part of the armed forces officially but nobody is willing to tell him that. Even if they did it’s not like he’d listen. Bucks is a hero (at least in his world), and minor details like that are beneath him.

This is a brief account of the origins of Buck Wild or Bucket as he's known by a select few for varying reasons.

The psychopathic, dauntless goblin soldier, who isn't technically a soldier. Who fears nothing and believes he's a hero. Step one is done and step two is well underway. The world will respect goblins after he's done! Now to do this like a hero of legend in the most over the top needlessly excessive way possible, because that's what heroes do and how legends grow. He’ll show them all goblins can be hero’s even If Buck has to kill everyone to prove it. But that's okay too right? Anyone in his was must be the bad guys, after all this is Bucks story and heroes can’t do anything wrong, that's for villains.

-= Epilogue=-

Several years later...

A group of soldiers huddled around a small campfire, fighting off the chilling touch of the eve with the inner warmth of nostalgia. Idly exchanging stories and keeping watch. The veterans imparted wisdom to several of the greener recruits (along with some dramatic flourish of course).

"You did not serve with Buck Wild. He's not real. Those stories are all ogre muck, they're just fun stories. There's no way a goblin has done any of that. " Scoffed one of the new recruits.

"Hahahahaha, I get that, that's fair. It is insane, I wouldn't believe most of it myself especially, at your age, had I not met him myself during the marshlands campaign. That was a bad one. We were holding a small keep, pushed back to the inner walls by a throng of the risen dead. Their bodies pressed in, limbs hammering against the gate. There were few actual soldiers there, most were militiamen and even I was green as fresh grass back then. Our huddled mass on the breaking point, fear had overtaken us. The horde before us, moaning and the smell was overwhelming. The smell was the second most memorable thing that occurred at that moment. A loud belch overcame the moaning drawing my attention upwards towards the rampart. There stood a goblin, who turned and posed as if set to deliver an epic rousing speech. I’ll never forget what he said.

“Remember, if you’re stabbed, shot, or mauled don't just slump down and die put some dramatic flair into it. We are making a legend here, at least throw yourself off of the damn rampant screaming, and would somebody start a fire or two!? I should be surrounded by explosions or at very least a significant amount of flames at any given time! The glow really accentuates my badassery! Is this your first time fighting an undead horde?! Where are the torches and black powder? Unbelievable, God damn amateur hour around here. What are you all staring at? Get at it! These corpses aren’t going to double kill themselves. Now if any of you know a bard make sure to include this next part in the ballad of badassery, Buck out!” he yelled, before kicking a barrel of pitch over the side of the rampart onto the assembled dead below, gripping a lit torch between his teeth and diving headfirst off the rampart out of sight.

“Now I have no idea if that was supposed to be a rousing speech or stage directions and I never saw him again, but I’ll be damned if the gates never breached. There was a lot of fire and screaming on the other side, and when hours later we opened the gates. There were a lot of charred bodies and no sign of the goblin, I would later come to realize was Buck Wild,” the veteran said, shaking his head and stifling a laugh with a mirthful smile.

“That is just as ridiculous as the other stories, and you didn’t actually see it either," the green as weeds recruit countered while maintaining an incredulous look.

The loud crack of bending wood shattered their conversation. The soldiers spun, weapons drawn, posed in defensive stances towards the oncoming clatter or trees, and stomping of heavy footfalls. The gigantic form burst into the light before them, wood chunks and dirt spraying over the assembled group.

“TROLL!!!!” They all screamed in unison.

The slathering beast reared up and then stop suddenly at full height. It was then they noticed a spear between the troll’s mouth, held horizontally as a bridle by two ropes.

“Hey! Any of you seen a donkey around here? I lost my ass earlier, think it might be around here somewhere.”

“Did that troll just talk?!” Screamed the green recruit.

“Trolls don’t talk you dolt.” Came the reply,as a small humanoid figure poked out from behind the troll’s head.

“Are you riding a troll!? How!? Why!? What sort of madman are you?” Asked the recruit, face drained of any color, whilst contorting in confusion.

“Like I said lost my donkey, couldn’t find a horse and well anything is a mount if you're brave enough and I wasn’t about to walk!” Replied the snickering goblin atop the muscle of mountain and teeth, it commanded.

The recruit stared dumbfounded, while the veteran sheathed his weapon. The veteran gestured to the figure atop the troll.

“Believe me know? Tell my young friend here who he addresses.” The veteran stated confidently.

“Buck, but most call me Buck wild, now have you seen my ass or not?”

The assembled soldiers stared in blind disbelief. The braying of a donkey was heard somewhere in the distance.