“Gikx?” Strum asked, watching as the new tribe hero kept failing to climb a tree. Next to him was Rurk, wearing an annoyed expression. Ever since drinking the mushroom-water, the goblin was acting erratically, alternating between running around and staring off into space with his two over-dilated eyes. Mallik claimed the mushroom-water gifted visions to those blessed by the Ground-Father, citing that it must mean that the Ground-Father approved of the tribe's new hero. In ten minutes, Strum and Rurk would have to try to wrangle the drugged-out goblin to bring him to his celebration.

  What was more concerning to Strum was Gikx’s eccentric behavior prevented him from getting any concrete answers. Gikx was for all intents and purposes doing whatever he wanted. The goblin could barely even comprehend anything going on around him. With the goblin hero tripping on mushrooms, Strum couldn’t get any questions answered about that wolf corpse.

  Worry knotted up in Strum’s chest as he wondered what was lurking in the forest so close to their tribe.

  Another goblin warband perhaps? Sneaking around in the nearby forest? Orcs? They were a ways away from any human settlement.

  “Get down now!” Rurk stomped his foot and Gikx looked down at them. His arms wrapped around the tree making it appear as if the scrawny goblin held it in one big hug.

  “Gikx must climb. Gikx see colorful colors on tree,” he slurred, slipping further down. Strum winced, the bark rubbing against Gikx’s arms had to have been painful.

  “Who cares about colors! The ceremony is starting soon. The whole tribe is going to…” Rurk rubbed his temple. “Mallik you bastard. Did you plan this?”

  “Uh. Gikx went over and drank the mushroom-water on his own. Why did he do it? I don’t know,” Strum shook his head. Perhaps it had been simple dumb-goblin instinct, the same instinct that led dumb goblins to bad decisions on a daily basis. In a way, it was the source of almost all of the tribe’s major problems. Dumb goblins were easier to control than educated goblins. Strum had floated the idea of a teacher being appointed in the tribe once before, but that idea had been shot down by both Rurk and Mallik.

  “Stupid.” Rurk shook his head, watching as the goblin hero lost his grip and landed on the ground. Gikx blinked and stood up, looking at the two of them with two wide eyes. He cocked his head. “Right then, Gikx. You wanna be chieftain someday right?”

  “Gikx hero,” muttered the scrawny goblin in response.

  “Yes. Big strong hero. You know what big strong heroes do?” Rurk smiled, opening his arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

  “No, Gikx no know what big strong heroes do.”

  “They follow me,” Rurk explained, Gikx gave a wide smile and stepped closer to them. While they could have just subdued the drugged-out goblin and carried him back to the cave, it would not look good to the rest of the tribe. Strum had to wonder, just how good would it appear when the tribe saw their new hero in this state. Was it good for him if the tribe disapproved of their new hero? Gikx thought he owed him for the wolf corpse. On the other hand, Gikx hated the dungeon.

  The chieftain’s ploy seemed to work as the mushroom-inebriated goblin stepped closer. Suddenly Gikx darted forward, wrapping the chieftain in a hug. Strum looked over the scrawny goblin’s shoulder, watching as the chieftain’s face turned from green to red. Strum covered his smile with a hand. The forest around them was silent enough to hear a pin drop.

  Rurk roughly shoved him, pushing the intoxicated goblin to the ground. His eyes darted to Strum. “Not a word about this, to anyone. Ever.”

  Strum shook his head. “My lips are sealed, chieftain,” The scrawny goblin scrambled to his feet, a little teardrop running from his eye.

  “Come Gikx. Let’s…” Rurk sighed. “..have your celebration. Just like a hero deserves.”

  Gikx nodded, wiping his tear away. As they started making their way back towards the cave, Mallik ran out towards them, a pile of fur and feathers held in his hands. He looked between the three goblins and cleared his throat. “You are all taking much too long. We must dress our hero in the ceremonial garb and commence the ritual. Chieftain, do you plan on sabotaging all of our sacred traditions?” Mallik scoffed as he accused Rurk.

  Once again the chieftain’s green face flared red. Strum decided to cut in, “No, holy one. We were simply observing the hero as he… Had his vision, from the Ground-Father as you claimed. We could use some help preparing the hero." Mallik paused and nodded, accepting the answer.

  Between the three of them, they barely manage to wrangle the flailing scrawny goblin into the ceremonial garb of the Shadow-Axe tribe. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Strum took one last appreciative look at the ceremonial clothes.

  A tiger pelt harness wrapped around the scrawny goblin. Seemingly at random, different colored bird feathers poked out from the harness. Held together by fraying leather and some sort of herbal adhesive. Worse, was what the goblin wore on his head. It was supposed to resemble a horse’s face. However, the mask looked like it had been made by a two-year-old goblin child. Two puffy and over-dilated eyes stared back at Strum through the slits in the mask. Oh, gods.

  They marched back into the goblin’s cave system. The Shadow-Axe tribe had made their home here over a year ago, having migrated from the northern forests. Their previous home had been far too close to a new growing human settlement, and rather than rage an endless war that would result in tribal extinction, the bickering shaman and chieftain decided to move.

  It was in all likelihood the only reason the Shadow-Axe tribe still survived. Mallik proclaimed he had a vision from the Ground-Father that they must move south, and Rurk handled the logistics. The new caves they lived in were vast, with a section stretching far underground. But the tribe had been forbidden from traveling too far into the cave network after several goblins disappeared during initial exploration. So, they resided near the entrance to the cave network, taking up a total of eight caverns of varying sizes, not including the dungeon’s small kitchen.

  Since then the Shadow-Axe tribe thrived, dominating the surrounding tribes in the area. Forcing competition to subservience. If they refused or rebelled, Rurk drummed up his warband and wiped them out, like the Rust-Moons.

  Rurk led their rag-tag procession. Strum kept a constant hand on Gikx’s back, directing the goblin and making sure he didn’t wander off. As they walked through the caves, an assortment of goblins began to trail them.

  They made their way to the main cavern, where most of the goblins had set up their ram-shack huts and spent their free time. Mallik must have directed everyone to push aside their junk, as the center was abnormally clear. As they came to the open space, Strum could see Vraz arriving, accompanied by a light-skinned hobgoblin. The two of them hoisted a stone platter filled with food.

  Even from where he stood, Strum could smell the tang of garlic, underscored by the rich almost primal scent of meat. His mouth watered; a glance around him at some of the openly drooling goblins told him he wasn’t the only one.

  Mallik nodded, and left the procession, darting into one of the nearby tents. Gikx marched forward; right towards the food.

   “Circle. Everyone in a circle!” Rurk called out, gesturing wildly with his hands. Despite how entranced the tribe was with the plate of food, they understood enough to clear out of the goblin’s way.

  Strum didn’t need to push Gikx forward since the food plate was coming right to the center of the cavern. Rurk gestured for one of the goblins to grab a table. A meek little ruddy green goblin complied, dragging a log to the center of the cavern.

  With a grunt Vraz and the goblin hauling the food set it down. Strum took in the ruby-red meat; drizzled over the wolf were little blackberries glittering like little jewels as they crowned the main course. Tucked neatly around the side of the dish was a rough-chopped hash whose contents Strum could only guess. Gikx practically ran toward the dish; Strum grabbed the back of his harness and held tight, stopping the goblin from ruining the ritual.

  “Gikx hungry!” the goblin complained. A few of the onlookers let out a chuckle.

  “Everyone is... You, uh… Need to wait,” Strum replied, watching as Mallik pushed his way out of the tent, hand wrapped around the wolf’s heart.

  As the shaman parted the now quickly growing crowd, he held the wolf heart above his head. All told, the Shadow-Axe tribe was composed of sixty-seven goblins. A large tribe, but not anywhere near some of the overwhelming hordes that goblin tribes could grow to. In their local area, they were the biggest collection of goblins; but typically the bigger a tribe got, the more it needed an outside force to keep it together.

  Usually, this role was filled by either a dungeon or by some stronger creature, like a troll. On rare occasions, a dark lord would rise and gather many tribes together. Managed by an outside force, tribes could grow quite large.

  Already at this size, the Shadow-Axe tribe had begun to fall victim to the typical political infighting and power struggles. Its intensity only kept growing.

  Given enough time, Mallik and Rurk's fighting would split the tribe -- a fairly common fate of many of the larger unmanaged goblin communities, usually facilitated by a large fight. It always ended in either one side dead and the tribe significantly reduced or, more uncommonly, in two independent goblin communities.

  Mallik’s eyes flared violet, and the tribe grew silent. It was rare to see the shaman display his magic. Embers of violet rose from his hand; the wolf heart it held began to beat steady and slow.

  “Great goblins of the Shadow-Axe tribe. We gather today to witness the appointment of a new hero. Gikx, slayer of the dire wolf. If anyone seeks to challenge his right to this status, then before the eyes of the Ground-Father speak now.” The shaman’s eyes traced the goblin crowd. A couple of them tumbled back, afraid of his magic. No one wanted to take the challenge. Gikx lurched forward again, trying to get at the food. Strum gave him a quick tug to keep him in place.

  Mallik nodded as no one responded. Strum let Gikx go and stepped back, watching the Shaman walk directly to Gikx. The scrawny goblin tried to dart around the shaman to get to the food, but the shaman stopped him by placing a palm on his chest.

  “Gikx want food!” he complained, glaring at the shaman. Mallik held the heart between them.

  “I anoint you, GIkx, a hero of the tribe,” the shaman bowed his head. Standing as close as he was, Strum could hear the shaman give a terse whisper to their new hero. “Bow your head and close your eyes.”

   Gikx didn’t obey. Instead, he tried to push past the shaman. Strum could hear a couple of the unruly goblins nearby grumbling. Across from him, the chieftain sat with a malice-filled grin adorning his face. Figures he enjoys seeing Mallik struggle. If he was honest with himself, Strum felt a little bit of satisfaction that the drugged-out scrawny goblin was now someone else’s problem. The bitter tang of the blackberry caught his attention, his eyes flickered back to the food.

  When he managed to tear his eyes away, somehow the shaman had wrangled Gikx into bowing his head. Carefully the shaman held the wolf heart above the hero’s head.

  Gasps erupted as the heart was consumed by violet fire. Mallik stood still as the heart burned; its ashes crumbled from his hand and landed on Gikx's head. After the heart finished burning, Mallik ran his gaze over the rest of the tribe. “The Ground-Father approves our new hero! May we feast!” he clapped his hands.

  Without a second of hesitation, Gikx threw the horse mask off and darted past the shaman, practically knocking the stone platter off the wooden log in his gluttony. Gikx shoveled a handful of hash into his mouth, the rest of the goblins followed his lead, rushing forward and turning the area around the plate into a jumbled pile of goblin parts.

  Strum fought his way into the middle, grabbing a nice juicy cut of the dire wolf meat, wrapping a couple of the blackberry jewels with its tender meat. Without a moment of hesitation, he took a bite.

  His eyes widened as he chewed. The bitter tang of the berries burst as his teeth broke them, melting into the tender meat of the dire wolf swirling together and blending as the gamey nature of the wolf took the bitter notes from the berry and created something greater than its parts. Before he knew it, Strum had already shoved three more handfuls of meat in his mouth and filled his small stomach.

  Struck by his loss of self-control, the normally refined goblin made his way out of the crowd and shook his head. Regis, sometimes I wonder just why I try so hard for you. Then you go and make something like this. Strum licked his lips and watched on with a smile.

  His eyes lingered on a particular goblin who sat outside of the crowd. Vraz glared at the chieftain, arms crossed and with a scowl on his face.

  Strum had been the one to save him from meeting the same fate as the rest of his tribe. But clearly, the previous Rust-Moon member held contempt for the goblin responsible for slaying them. With a sigh, Strum shook his head. Nothing more I can do to help. Vraz turned away from the feasting goblins, stalking back towards the kitchen. At least he seems to know what he’s doing. I didn’t expect them to pull this off.