The Goblin Wars

"There weren't always Dragons in the valley." That's how the king's lecture had started. There weren't dragons anywhere until the dragon god Lumo arrived and drove them out of their hidden caves on the Winged Mountain leading them in a world-breaking assault. His presence corrupted the dragons, twisting them from beacons of wisdom sought on pilgrimages to monsters that slaughtered their way across the once peaceful kingdoms of Therra, claiming new lands as their own. Three years of fire and death left the populations decimated and ancient treaties broken under the weight of accusations of withheld help and draconic alliances.

The straps of his Ginkgo root buckler dug into his green skin as Grimble shifted the weight, resting the shield on a rock while Verge attempted to inspire his subjects. His voice reverberated off of the stone walls of the entrance chamber, drowning out the echo of a slow drip originating deeper in the labyrinth of chambers and tunnels that made up the goblins' home. Legend said that the surface's ceiling leaked worse than theirs.

Verge stood perched on a rock in the constant darkness, delivering his speech in front of the massive stone slab separating them from the surface. He smacked his black shield with his black curved sword to drive home the story of a time long before there were goblins under the Elven city of Elvigil or even goblins at all. He mixed the history lesson with promises of vengeance as the chamber filled with anxious goblins preparing for the approaching battle. On the other side of the barricade, elves would be preparing for a culling, they won't be expecting significant resistance. Even with surprise on their side, Grinble doubted the charismatic king and his guaranteed victory.

The chamber continued to fill and Grimble found himself in the middle of the throng, shoulders pressing into the goblins next to him and theirs into him. Standing in front of a sea of green faces Verge compared himself to Lumo and the other goblins to those once peaceful mountain dragons. Instead of hiding in caves fearing ambitious trophy hunters that stalked the mountain chain, they were trapped underground in a sealed tomb being culled by the elves to prevent their subterranean prisoners from becoming a threat. Verge had yelled until his voice grew raspy and was no longer powerful enough to drown out the distant drip. He shared his plan to usher in the age of the goblin. They were guaranteed to succeed as long as they stayed close to the black tree Frigast.

Less than a year ago Grimble and Verge had survived by turning over rocks in forgotten chambers hunting for insects and fighting off other less successful goblins. The complex unorganized network of chambers and connecting tunnels were dug when the original chambers became too crowded. It was in the original chamber off of the entrance to the goblin's world where they had discovered the black glass-like material that was exposed during one of the recent earthquakes. Verge reached it first and the look he had shot Grimble after he first laid hands on the black mass told Grimble that if he got any closer it would cost him his life. When Verge returned holding a large piece it was clear that he had changed. He began ordering the smiths to work with the black material to make Frigast, his sword, shield, and the suit of armor that he hasn't taken off since first being helped into it. *

It wasn't clear when exactly Verge had gained control, but there was never any resistance. It might have been when he used the black chunk to lift their bloodlust and grant his people self-awareness and intelligence, or it might have been when he used the same chunk to cave the skull of anyone who questioned him. Whenever it was, no one argued when he claimed a large chamber as his own while the rest of the goblins shared a series of smaller crowded rooms, it was just the way things should be.

Verge climbed down from his rock and moved through the chamber crowded with goblins dressed in scraps of armor salvaged from the site of past culls. He took his place next to the cluster of goblins carrying the stone bowl that held Frigast. Grimble shuddered thinking of the compost beneath the twisted jagged trunk of Frigast with its bare branches reaching for the surface. The words of Verge's speech became a distant memory as his gift waned and the bloodlust returned. Grimble's identity weakened and his vision blurred with a crimson fog. He faded into the goblins around him as instinct urged the horde to attack the barrier of their prison. This year would be different, Grimble clung to the thought as if it was the last remnant of his existence. The snarling mass pushed forward, the promise that this year would be different burned into their minds. This year when the door opened instead of losing ten thousand souls, they would gain access to another world. There weren't always dragons in the valley, and before today there were never goblins on the surface. They would ascend and take what could have been shared. Reclaim what was theirs. But it would start with waiting. It would start with not attacking. With the last breath of their dying egos, the goblins slid masks made of leather slug hides over their eyes.

The massive stone slab shifted and began to slide open allowing the surface's blinding light to pour into the chamber, it had begun. This year would be different. Before the slab was completely removed from the entrance, a barrage of arcane power entered the goblin labyrinth disappearing at the edge of the invisible barrier created by the magic absorbing bark of Frigast. Lightning bolts, fireballs, and thick white beams of light fizzled harmlessly in front of the horde. Let the elves think they are winning. Wait. This year would be different. Wait for him.

The collective consciousness of the goblins rippled with urgency, FORWARD. Moving slowly not to out-pace the tree they slashed into surprised enemies. Bloodied elves fell holding wounds, reaching out for magic that wasn't there. The barrier moved forward as they carried Frigast with them, its black surface thirsted for arcane energy. As the magic reliant elves found themselves unable to access their weapon of choice, the goblin hoard pushed forward with indiscriminate brutality.

As the tree left the confines of the goblin lair its reach increased, leaving a large section of the city without any defense. As the tree reached the surface, so did he. Wearing armor made of the same black material as the Frigast, he ascended the stairs of his prison and entered his new Kingdom. The Goblin King had arrived.