Grok stared suspiciously at the surrounding trees. This wasn’t his first woodland adventure, and he wanted to be sure it wasn’t his last. Unlike the normal Goblins, he was an elite Hobgoblin, specifically, a Wood Hob.

While the rest of his company wandered around making more noise than a mating festival, he sneaked around the perimeter, checking for ambushes. Word had gotten out through the grapevine over the last few weeks.

The woods were alive…

…and they were not friendly.

From the recent bulletins among the scouts, there was a high likelihood of the woods being semi-aware. Normally, the generals would order the place burned down, however this time, things went slightly different.

Grok stared at the trees around him again, remembering what he witnessed. When the ogres in charge of the fire squad had attempted to burn the trees down, they were slaughtered. A creature the scouts called the ‘Red Death’ had murdered every member of the fire team, with unbelievable speed before disappearing back into the woods. Even worse, the few trees that managed to be lit on fire, bizarrely, ate the flames and grew stronger.

Much stronger.

Woods that grew stronger when burned, trees that were practically alive, entire companies vanishing into thin air, this whole campaign was a disaster. Grok knew the generals wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it was clear they were alarmed. He could tell from the amount of patrols being reduced, and the complete lack of any major forward pushes these last few weeks.

As such, like any good Wood Hob, Grok had decided his primary objective was no longer to hunt humans.

No, he had a much more noble purpose.

A purpose that caused him to be completely cautious, and at times like these when he felt like he was being watched, to hide. The deepest shaded tree shadows covered his form as he invoked the specialty of Wood Hobs.

His purpose was simple as he saw the first faint stirrings of the trees around his company.

Staying alive.

Too bad he couldn’t risk warning the others though, they cooked a good half-roasted pig.

***

The generals were gathered around the map, but instead of joy, their expressions ranged from fury to dismay. If one was able to look closer with divine perception, they might even see a slight glimmer of fear in many eyes.

The armored figure at the head of the table said, “Is it….elves?” after glancing at the drow general nearby.

“Impossible. We slaughtered every elf to the last man, woman, and child. None escaped. There is no way it can be elves!” the leader of the drow magician squad shouted. He was practically frothing at the mouth in rabid anger.

“There is always the possibility this was a remote group unconnected with the others, Forest Elves have always been an insular splintered group. They might have cut themselves off thousands of years ago. It’s not like those High bastards would bother checking up on them, unless they had a resource worth keeping tabs on.” the orc general said, his tone arrogant.

“The possibility of there being a rogue group of Forest Elves that just happen to be guarding the forests leading to the Barrier Oak’s lair, and by proxy the main gateway to the human lands, is absurd.” The drow general didn’t bother backing down and glared at each of the other generals, “I’m sure you all are just as aware as me that Forest Elves considered the Barrier Oak to be a betrayal of the Forest. A tree dedicated to helping a race other than elves? Blasphemy. They would never defend such a thing.”

The armored figure at the head of the table nodded to himself, it was that very logic that made the elves both a suspect, and at the same time exonerated them.

“If it’s not elves…” the goblin shaman behind his general hissed, “Then how do you explain the Red Death. That creature is a machine of absolute murder. Not a single squad, had any survivors, except for Grok. If that cowardly Wood Hob didn’t have the sixth sense for danger, he would likely be a corpse just like the rest.”

“Agreed.” the giant general thundered in a booming voice. “The creature known as the Red Death has costed me more good men than the entire previous series of wars on this world. We’ve lost storm giants, mountain giants, swamp giants, even our own forest giants were no match. The complete lack of blood on the few corpses we could reclaim before the forest devoured them, is disturbing as well.”

The vampire general said hotly with an arrogant sneer, “This creature isn’t one of the Nobles. There is no scent of death that matches our race at any of the kill sites.” He paused, his manner becoming polite. “Has anyone else noticed as well?”

“How only magical, or strongly mage aligned members of our forces die?” the orc general spoke out thoughtfully. “None of the non-magical orcs were attacked, but that is scant help. The woods alone seem to devour any non-magical creature without insomuch much as a scream escaping. Orcs are as brave as any other, but when hundreds disappear with merely a whisper in the wind, it is…distressing.”

At the head of the table the full plate armored figure gestured for silence and said, “For now, pull back our forces. I’m sending a full report to His Majesty.”

All the generals around the table, along with their accompanying staff shuddered.

“It is likely we will be punished, but failure does not mean death when there is nothing we can do to stop the current issue.” the armored figure continued, “Continue sending our best scouts forward, like that Grok fellow. We need to know exactly what we are dealing with.”

***

Grok was pissed. It wasn’t enough that his last outing had been an example in what a dedicated tree could do to a goblin, no, now the generals wanted him to get information.

Find out what you can Grok. Get some information Grok. Try to locate the enemy Grok.

If only he could locate the damn goblin general into one of the horrors he’d seen on his trip.

Grok cursed quietly under his breath as he snuck through yet another forested glade filled with sunlight, green grass, and pixies.

The pixies might look like tasty snacks, but he’d seen the results of their anger. The last scout paired with him had disregarded his warning and tried to eat one. The combination of magical spells they used on him had left the idiot as a permanent piece of burning wood, screaming for all eternity.

Pixies, sleeping glades, mutated forest monsters, living trees, Grok had seen things that indicated to him clearly one thing.

This route was closed.

Permanently.

The generals needed to get their heads out of their asses, and move the army elsewhere. There had to be other entrances to the human lands, ones that were not defended by death itself, in all its green glory.

Grok glanced around before freezing in place.

Not more than ten steps away was a gorgeous female figure looking away from him.

She had a form that would probably have evoked the immediate desire to mate, if it wasn’t for one small detail.

The panic inducing light cloaking her entire form in hideous blood colored red.

Grok despaired as he realized his luck had finally run out.

Could he run?

Unlikely.

The speed of the Red Death was well known. He wouldn’t get three steps before his heart joined the masses she’d devoured already.

Perhaps she hadn’t seen him?

Glowing emerald green eyes roved over him as she turned back to face his direction.

He held out a faint hope she couldn’t penetrate the shadows he was hiding in.

“Hello, goblin.” the Red Death said, looking straight at him.

A hope that was shattered moments later.

Deciding that there was no point in attempting to delay his painful death any further Grok stepped out from the shadows of his hiding spot.

“My, not a normal goblin. No, no, you’re something more.” the woman said stepping closer.

Grok drew himself up proudly, “Grok, First Scout of the 177th. I’ve got medals, just not on me at the moment. Best of the best, Wood Hob extraordinaire.”

“Wood Hob…” she said, circling him. “Fascinating. A derivative of the normal goblin archetype.”

His skin crawled as he realized his worth was being weighed against immediate death. Grok watched as her eyes faded into a thoughtful look.

“Be honored, my tree is close to awakening. He likes new things to experiment on, and you are a perfect gift.”

Grok was happy he was going to survive, until he realized the word ‘experiment’ sounded similar to something the drow magicians told slaves.

“Could I, uh, decline this honor?” Grok said, hopeful.

“Of course!” the Red Death said, clapping her hands in glee. “I’ll just kill you now then alright?”

Grok coughed into a fist. “I’ve always wanted to visit a tree.”

What was that saying the chieftains always babbled? Discretion is the better part of staying alive to run away?

Meh. It couldn’t get worse, right?

Grok sighed as vines began to wrap him up like a dumpling prepared for the pot.

Of course it could.

His luck was never that good.