Adventures of a Fantasy Fan: Part 3

Keto could, of course, return to his marching war party and tell those that sent him that his party fled in the night out of fear and his goblin commanders would not likely bat an eye at his story. Goblins have always been a resourceful and despicable race, yet dependability and loyalty were not common traits among this small statured race of green, orange, and yellow skinned monsters. Thus, Keto should have returned. All of his logic told him that he would survive longer in his war party but something was wrong, or at least, something felt wrong about returning.

Something was indeed "wrong" with Keto, in terms of his race's usual disposition. Keto had killed his kin before this most recent massacre, yet never so unprovoked as the occasion in the cabin. He had no regrets as warfare amongst the goblin kind were far more common than war against the humans. Keto had acted on his own. That was unusual.

Keto was a well trained forward scout for an ancient goblin tribe from the North, from the foot of the Dragon's Tooth mountain range. His tribe, the Vactea, were a large and powerful clan indeed. They controlled a large swath of land in the North and existed, and reproduced, unchecked by humans and other goodly races. Their numbers had swelled beyond the capacity of the Dragon's Tooth. In the past, frequent and deadly human war parties had rampaged through the mountain range thinning the Vactean numbers and sending the survivors running through the mountains to find holes in which to crawl. But in the last generation, there had been only one human raid on the Vactea.

That raid ended terribly for the humans who were caught off guard by an untimely spring snow storm. Those few that survived the weather met gruesome deaths at the claws and teeth of the beasts in the Dragon's Tooth, none survived to return to the town of Last Haven. Since then, nearly twenty years, the humans of Last Haven and the new outpost of Laybren have kept themselves far from the dangerous mountain slopes.

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On the word of the tribe shaman, the Vactea clan warriors left their rocky homes and marched South into the realm of men. The one-armed and withered orange-skinned shaman came to this decision as a result of a vision induced by the spewing vapors of shaman herbs. He saw, in his prayers of intoxication, the Vactea clan and all goblins of the land living in the forests and rolling hills to the South. He saw a successful clan, a health leader, a thriving goblin population and a destroyed human town. Tamoz, the shaman, had never felt such a strong guiding presence in his daily prayers before. In all his years he had never been so touched by the blessings of Gromth, the chaotic goblin deity.

Immediately after his holy encounter, he met with the clan chief. Bachu the Ugly had been the clan chief of the Vactea for a decade, which is a rather long time to be in such a dangerous and sought after position in the goblin hierarchy. Bachu came to power after he defeated his own father in combat. Bachu poisoned his father's grog one night and when the grog seemed to be taking its effect, Bachu made his patricidal move. He was over anxious and before the poison had taken his fathers strength his attack was met with more than a little resistance. In the fight, Bachu took a sword slash to the face, leaving him with a hideous scar from forehead to jaw and blind in one eye. His grievous wound earned him the surname to which he affectionately referred.

Tamoz and Bachu met late one evening after Tamoz's vision in the clan chief's cave.
"And when I closed my eyes," Tamoz exclaimed while raising his hands to the air, "I saw the Will of Gromth."

"Th-The Will o' Gr-Gromth?" One stuttering goblin body guard asked incredulously.

"Yes. Me s-saw Gromth's de-s-signs for Vactea. Great designs He have." Tamoz said, mocking the interrupting goblin's speech impediment.

Bachu waved his hand as a signal for the stupid goblin to shut his mouth and for Tamoz to continue. Although Bachu was not a terribly religious man, he knew the power superstition and religion had over his clan. He also knew the immense power that Tamoz held as chief shaman. To most of his goblin clan the shaman's word on religious matters was law. That power made Bachu nervous. His position in the clan was unrivaled, yet this shaman and his religious blather played an essential role in the culture of his tribe. Perhaps Tamoz was stretching his reach, he thought.

"Gromth wants me- us, to lead the tribe South, into the lands of the humans. He wants war on the humans. I have seen the future in my vision and I-"

"And you what?" Bachu interrupted. His interruption startled Tamoz who jumped at the sound of the imposing war chief's voice. " 'Will lead the tribe against the masses of humans raising your staff high in the air and calling the name of Gromth.'" Bachu bellowed a laugh, patting his leather armored chest. "Do not forget your place dear shaman. I lead Vactea."

For now, Tamoz thought. "Indeed. Which is why I have come. To discuss the importance of my vision. Gromth demands this of us. I saw a city destroyed and a tower-"

"A tower?" Bachu interrupted again with a smile, knowing this interruption would infuriate Tamoz. "Towers hold wizards, shaman." He scoffed.

"And the only tower in the south is in the human town of Laybren." Tamoz said bravely. Although the witty shaman, witty for a goblin that is, was quite powerful in the tribe, his offensive, martial prowess left much to be desired. He feared the strong war chief, whose corded muscles and unrivaled height made Bachu look more human than goblin, albeit a green one. Yet, Tamoz feared Gromth, his wicked and horrible god, more than this mere mortal in front of him. "So we know where we must go." He finally said with as much conviction as he could muster.

Bachu paused for a long moment, reading Tamoz. He was trying to understand what gave the shaman the audacity to come to his cave and tell him how and when to conduct a war. He touched his calloused green hand to his face and shook his head. The idea was ridiculous, of course. There would be no feasible way for the Vactea to raid and besiege the walled and magic protected town of Laybren. Not now and not with his current numbers. Yet, he knew the predicament he had been thrust into. He could not deny to Tamoz outright because that would be blasphemy in the eyes of his people, the raid is apparently demanded by Gromth. To ignore such a omen would bring chaos and internal strife to the clan and would likely lead to a civil war, an all too common goblin affair. But, to go through with this haphazardly planned attack would be suicide. Bachu contemplated throwing his spear through Tamoz's heart to silence him, but he didn't know who knew about the dream.

Finally, he sighed in resignation, "Very well, but it cannot be done alone. Send word to the other tribes in the North. Tell them that Bachu and the Vactea march to bring revenge and death to the humans of Laybren." He stood from his hide-adorned rock throne and raised his his arm, spear in hand. "To war."