There was a Goblin in the woods.

 

He had no name. He had accomplished no great deeds to be worthy of a name like Glub the Scout who had found that wonderful place to raid. The farm. The Goblin without a name remembered the feast after all of the raiding was done. It had been nice. Lots of food and everyone in the Bitterbow Tribe had been happy. Which was an odd thing for Goblins. Usually they were sad or angry or wallowing in their own despair. But ever since the successful raid against the farm, the tribe was in high spirits. Even their grouchy and sometimes mean Chieftain was somewhat happy. But as much as the Goblin without a name had liked the feast. The Goblin without a name liked fighting more than eating.

 

The Goblin without a name was a Level 3 Fighter. He was born a Fighter. Up until the day of Glub's naming ceremony. The Goblin Fighter had only been Level 1. He had not known what a Fighter was for a long time. His mother had been a Fighter or so the Chieftain had told him. She had died fighting Humans. So Fighters fought. That was his purpose in this short little life. To fight. But for so long he had remained Level 1 because he never actually fought anything before. But that all changed the moment his Chieftain had chosen him to come along on the farm raid.

 

A terrified little no named Level 1 Goblin Fighter followed his Chieftain into battle against the farm. It wasn't so bad in the beginning. The little no named Goblin Fighter followed other little no named Goblins into a charge towards the farmhouse. That was when the dogs attacked. Four legged monsters that barked and growled and liked to play with their food. The first dog had grabbed a little no named Goblin and thrown it around. The Level 1 Goblin Fighter could hear the screams and had wet himself. It was all too much. Then the Farmer came stomping and yelling through a door.

 

At the sight of the Goblins. The Farmer ran at them with a sword in hand.

 

Three dogs and one Human Farmer. And the little no named Goblins were outmatched. The dogs kept grabbing Goblins and running away with the screaming Goblins. Sometimes the dogs would get grab on from one end and the other of a Goblin and pull. Like it was just a game to the monsters. The Farmer was remarkable with the sword. With one slash two Goblins lost their heads. They had tried to swarm the Farmer and the dogs. And while they could gang up and stab the dogs to death. The Farmer was far stronger and bigger than the little no named Goblins. He kicked and Goblins went flying. He swung his sword again and heads went rolling.

 

Until the Chieftain arrived.

 

The Farmer had not seen the Chieftain of the Bitterbow Tribe coming at him. The Farmer had been too busy with the little no named Goblins to notice. But someone had.

 

A female Human shouted from inside the farmhouse. "Palder! Hobgoblin!"

 

"Hobgoblin?" The Farmer turned mid swing and stared at the Chieftain. "Damn it all. Bel, stay in the house! Do not let Arlo out of the house. Just stay there. I will handle this monstrosity."

 

The little no named Goblins cheered with high pitched noises as their Chieftain joined the battle, swinging an old halberd.

 

This was not the Farmer's first scrap. He brought his sword up and with the strength of a Farmer and blocked the blow.

 

The Farmer grunted and heaved forwards trying to close the distance.

 

The Chieftain snarled and tripped the Farmer with the halberd's long handle.

 

The Farmer hit the ground with an "oomph!" And saw the Chieftain raise the halberd.

 

The Farmer was not fast enough and the head of the halberd buried itself into the Farmer's gut. Worn steel dripped with red and the Chieftain raised his blooded halberd over his head with one hand and roared. The Farmer felt at his open stomach and then there was a scream from inside the house and the little no named Goblins jumped on the Farmer, digging and tearing with their claws, and stabbing with their little knives. The screaming did not stop. Not even after the no named Level 1 Goblin Fighter cut the Farmer's throat, slaying the monster.

 

The screaming was starting to get on the Goblins nerves. But the Chieftain had only smiled and given his tribe their orders while pointing his halberd towards the farmhouse. "Kill all. Loud Human is mine."

 

That's when it had happened. The no named Level 1 Goblin Fighter heard an echo inside of his own head. An echo of his own voice, or what he thought his voice would sound like.

 

Level Up!

 

Fighter Level 2.

 

The little no named Level 1 Goblin Fighter felt something change after killing the Farmer. He felt a little different. The little no named Goblin Fighter changed the way he was holding his dagger just slightly. He would have a better grip this way... how did he know that?

 

But he knew. Because the little no named Goblin was no longer a Level 1 Fighter. He was a Level 2 Fighter. That meant the little no named Goblin was special. He was Level 2. No longer Level 1. That meant he was important. Would the Chieftain give him a name later?

 

Probably not. It was rare for the Chieftain to name a Goblin.

 

One of the no named Goblins picked up the dead Farmer's sword and the Chieftain claimed it for himself. Declaring that he would gift the sword to the worthiest Goblin in his tribe.

 

The little no named Level 2 Goblin Fighter had been the first to storm into the farmhouse after his Chieftain. His Chieftain went to the screaming Human and the Level 2 Goblin Fighter led the others down the hall and into each room. The went from room to room grabbing all of the new and interesting tools the Humans had. Then they went up the stairs and the Level 2 Goblin Fighter was stabbed through arm with a hay hook. He cried out and saw the not quite grown Human backing away cautiously. Strangely enough, the Human was crying.

 

The Level 2 Goblin Fighter did not know Human's could cry. It was so strange. Normally it was Goblins who cried. Goblin children at the least who didn't know better. So why was this Human crying? He was no Goblin. He was a Human. A monster. Humans hunted Goblins. They hunted Goblins and cut their heads off. Their Chieftain said so. And the Chieftain was always right because he was Chieftain.

 

The crying Human male backed away to a window, shaking his head. "Please."

 

The little no named Level 2 Goblin Fighter paused. Please? Please what? The word did something strange to the Level 2 Goblin Fighter's heart.

 

Please.

 

He remembered his Chieftain's stories around the fire. Stories about when their Chieftain had been a little no named Goblin just like the rest of them. He told them about the times when they were hunted by monstrous Humans. The Goblins had begged and wept. And the Humans had not cared for their tears nor their words, what few words Goblins knew. Because Humans are monsters.

 

The Human cried and begged. "Please."

 

If the little no named Level 2 Goblin Fighter had known the words he would have mocked the young man. Please? Where was our please?

 

The no named Goblin attacked. The Human had tried to fight back. But unlike the Farmer, this Human was smaller and not a Fighter. When the Level 2 Goblin Fighter came down the steps the other Human was no longer screaming. And the Chieftain was laughing.

 

The Level 2 Goblin Fighter left the Farmhouse with a dozen other no named Goblins and they began to hunt down the farm animals. Before the day was over. The little no named Goblin Fighter had leveled once more.

 

Level Up!

 

Fighter Level 3

 

New Skill!

 

Active Skill- Fast Cut

 

He had even earned his first active skill. Fast Cut. What ever that meant.

 

Now. The Level 3 Goblin Fighter walked through the woods with the Farmer's sword at his waist. It had been a reward for leveling so much on the day of the raid. It wasn't a name. But the no named Level 3 Goblin Fighter really liked the sword. He had spent the entire naming ceremony for Glub sharpening his new sword. Because it was a sword. And it was his. No other Goblin owned a sword besides the Chieftain. So Glub could keep his name. Who needed a name when you could have a sword!

 

Still though. It would be nice to have a name and a sword. After all he was just another little no named Goblin. But he was a Level 3 Fighter and he did have a sword...

 

Sword Goblin...

 

Fighter Goblin...

 

Sword Goblin fit better. There were several Goblin Fighters. If every Fighter went around calling themselves Fighter Goblin, then it would be the same thing as having no name at all. So Sword Goblin sounded better. Except what if one of the other Goblins found a sword? Then there would be two Sword Goblins! Sword Brothers! Brothers worth cool swords. Until more got swords. What if the entire tribe got swords?

 

The Level 3 Fighter sighed and pulled his sword from its sheath. He liked looking at himself. He was not a handsome Goblin but he still got quite a few looks from the female Goblins. Not as many as the Chieftain but still. There was little difference between him and the rest of the little Goblins. Glowing eyes. Sharp teeth. Pointed faces and noses and ears. And he was bald. He had no hair. Most of the males did not have hair. Most of the females did have hair. Did female Goblins like hair? How did the Level 3 Fighter get hair? The Chieftain had hair. Glub was growing little black bristles on the top of his once bald green head. Did names give Goblins hair?

 

The no named Goblin Fighter stopped looking at his reflection and held the sword by the hilt with two hands. He placed one foot after the other and tried to fix his balance. It was something he had learned from his last level up. Balance was important when fighting. Balance and form. So the Level 3 Goblin Fighter started to practice while patrolling the woods around the Bitterbow Goblin Tribe camp.

 

He tried not to think about his lack of hair. He tried not to think about the females that looked Glub's way instead of his own. He tried not to think of Glub receiving a name. And most of all, he tried to forget the screams that Human had made and the tears falling down the young man's cheeks back in that farmhouse. Because he was a Goblin. And they were Humans. Humans killed Goblins. So Goblins killed Humans. It was only natural. Like a form of balance. Like what he was practicing right now with his cool sword that had come from the Farmer who had died trying to protect his tribe from the Bitterbow Tribe.

 

The Level 3 Goblin Fighter's ear twitched and he turned sharply with his sword extended.

 

Another no named Goblin shrieked and dived out of the way of the sword.

 

The Level 3 Goblin Fighter stared at the other Goblin. Why was there another Goblin here? Did the Chieftain assign a different Goblin to patrol this area? Had the Level 3 Goblin Fighter been to distracted by his sword last evening and the Chieftain had said something?

 

No.

 

He would never have missed something his Chieftain said. No Goblin in the Bitterbow Tribe would dare not listen to their Chieftain. The Chieftain was important. He was strong and fought off the monsters, He was smart and he lead the tribe well. He kept the female Goblins pregnant. He was generous to give the no named Level 3 Goblin Fighter the dead Farmer's sword! The Chieftain was more than just important. Without him, the tribe would die out in days.

 

So then why was there a Goblin following the Level 3 Goblin Fighter?

 

The Level 3 Goblin Fighter's ear twitched again. Goblins had pretty sensitive hearing. It was a wonder that first Goblin had managed to sneak up on the Level 3 Goblin Fighter. Maybe it was one of the Rogue Goblins? A Thief Goblin? Did he want to steal his sword?

 

But no. More Goblins stepped out from behind trees. Not just Goblins. Little Goblins. Smaller than the Level 3 Goblin Fighter or Glub. These were children. Males and females. Nearly two feet tall Goblin children slowly and warily approached the Level 3 Goblin Fighter. What was going on here?

 

The Goblin Fighter took a step back when they kept walking toward him.

 

The Goblin Fighter started sweating. What was he supposed to do? What were all of these little Goblins doing?

 

One reached up and pointed at the Goblin Fighter's sword. It made a noise.

 

The Goblin Fighter looked at his sword and then to the child. Did the Goblin child want his sword? Why? The child was too small to use it anyways. The Goblin Fighter was almost too small for it. Besides. The sword was his! It was a gift from the Chieftain. There was no way he would ever hand his sword over!

 

The Goblin Fighter barred his naturally sharp teeth and growled at the children, pulling the sword close to his chest.

 

The Goblin Child flinched and drew back. The other Goblin children halted in their approach. Watching the Goblin Fighter with caution.

 

The Goblin Fighter eyed the Goblin child in front of him. It looked like... were those tears in the Goblin's bright eyes?

 

Yes.

 

It- she was crying.

 

The Goblin Fighter had made the Goblin child cry. He frowned and stopped hugging his sword. He had made a Goblin child cry. And it made the Goblin Fighter feel things in his chest.

 

What now?

 

---

 

This is what it felt like to be alive.

 

Not cooped up in a single room for an entire day. Not entertaining all of the people who were just waiting for you to die.

 

This was freedom.

 

The Human Male ran from the company of traveling Merchants and into the woods. He even ran past the Knights. He ran after the dog and the little monster. The Goblin. A Goblin.

 

Goblin.

 

He had seen them in paintings and in illustrated books. He had heard about the many atrocities the monsters committed. He had even dreamed of felling an entire tribe in his youth before he learned the cruel truth that he was never meant to leave the city where he was born. Never to look beyond those high walls. Always left on the ground to stare up at the birds and the clouds above, soaring over those walls.

 

He had try to escape the city of course. But he had always been too little. Too small and too inexperienced to get away from his watchers. Once he had given up on ever seeing outside those damned walls. He confined himself to the library. Buried himself deep in knowledge and stories from the outside world.

 

The world was a big place. Filled with many continents and kingdoms. And more than just Humans. There were Elves and Dwarves! Beautiful people with pointed ears and short squat people with a kinship for mining. And many more. And more than just other races. The world was filled with adventure and monsters. Monsters like Goblins.

 

He had never seen a Goblin before. Not until he had joined Wilfut's Merchant company on a shared journey. His trained eyes had been quick to notice the little green figure ducking from wagon to wagon. Green skin. Pointed ears. Small. A little shorter than perhaps a three year old boy.

 

He did not know how the little monster had gotten past all of the Knights. Then again those were another problem. Why were they here? The Merchants had said they were Knights from Wrunstead. That was certainly curious since King had a very vivid memory of Wrunstead being very unwilling to send aid to anyone not from Wrunstead in several instances. There was an ulterior motive there somewhere, King was sure. But it wasn't his problem. Because King had no problems.

 

But the Merchants did have a problem. A Goblin problem.

 

So a Goblin and a dog were running through the woods away from the Merchant Company.

 

And King ran after them with his sword in his hand, laughing in the name of adventure.