Morglum the Hobgoblin, or Boss Morglum how he liked to be called, wasn’t having a good day.

Life as the chief of a goblin tribe was supposed to be easy. Laze around, mistreat the subjects a bit, eat from the pantry, mistreat the subjects another bit, make big announcements while waving the club, kill some animals, things like that.

The previous chief, a wizened goblin that answered to the name of Vixxit, had nurtured great ambitions. Under his command, the tribe started to raid the human farmers down in the valley, stole some cattle, even took prisoners. Morglum could still remember how nice they squealed. That was why he respected Vixxit. The old wretch had a horrible temper and a worse smell, but damn if he could put together a plan alright. Problem was, he liked his peace, didn’t want to risk some of those iron men from the city coming there. Still, he respected the chief, he really did. He hadn’t ever washed the stains off his club. Out of respect.

Still, as much as he had respected he old guy, he couldn’t really think why a chief would desire go searching for trouble. Projecting a raid, leading it, it sounded all so tiring, so exhausting. Wasn’t enjoying the good simple things enough? Laze around, eat good, send the boys out to steal something, get the bigger share and maybe throw some cuffing around because it isn’t enough?

It sure was enough for him. The guys liked to grumble from time to time, tell that he wasn’t “adventurous” enough, but they were hotheads all, and a couple of whacks were enough to put them back into line.

He liked to think of himself as a cautious and prudent leader, the big picture kind of guy. And also he really disliked having to get off his chair.

And that was because he wasn’t having a good day.

Wheezing under his fat bulk, Morglum waddled down the rocky corridor. Thick rolls of fat slapped and roiled with each hurried step. Two of his “honor guards”, goblins slightly bigger than the average, armed with rusty hachets and fur hats still encrusted with fat, opened the way, or at least that was they were supposed to be doing. Instead, they hollered and pointed wildly, like overexcited squirrels. Another pair of guards, the ones that drew the shortest straws, were too busy trying to help him drag his bulk forward and not die in the attempt to do the same.

“Yeah, i get it, shut up.” Morglum panted. He’d liked to add some kind of physical encouragement to the order, but decided to be merciful for this time. Also, he kinda needed to focus on his breathing.

By the concentrated efforts of him and his guards, the Boss made his grand entrance into the great communal hall.

It was a large cavern strewn with refuse and rubble only half-mindedly pushed out of the way, like someone had began to clear them but then forgot what he was doing and left it like that. Someone could have called it a dump, and the horrible smell would confirm the idea, but to Morglum was the center of his Kingdom, the place where the tribe met to listen to his wisdom.

Only that time it wasn’t him seated on the big rock used for annoucements, with all the tribe gathered to listen.

Morglum narrowed his eyes against the stinging light coming from the exit. That was why he didn’t come out during the day. And also during the night, but that was beside the point.

Anyway, it was that a goblin up there, saying something and holding a branch?

The guards said something about a “gray angry fire”, but that looked goblin-y alright to him.

That reassured him. A goblin couldn’t be much of a problem, couldn’t it? He would have the ruckus out of the way in no time.

He was so reassured that the only thing that stopped him from slumping down - he forgot he wasn’t at his usual chair - were the alarmed squeaks of the two goblins still struggling under his bulk.

Morglum almost jumped, threw some glares and smacks around and advanced in the hall.

“What the heck is happening here?” He wanted to speak with a thunderous voice, like a great and powerful master, outraged at having that intrusion in his home. It came out like a overweight frog wheezing out his last. Close enough.

He put both hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His life was supposed to be easy. Why had he to suffer like that?

The grey goblin stopped whatever he was saying to shot a look to him. He didn’t quite like it, but was a bit unsure why. For some reason, he felt the sudden need to become smaller.

“Are you the chief of this place?” The grey goblin said, and his voice thundered into the chamber, rebounding from wall to wall.

While the crowd of goblins went “oooh”, Morglum nervously raised a hand to straighten up his crown of bones and twigs. His thick fingers found only a greasy dome, making him realize that he forgot it. He ruffled his lanky hair, just to keep his hand occupied.

“Ye?” He said, still trying to figure out why he hadn’t liked that look of earlier.

The gray goblin stabbed a long finger toward him. “You’re lucky!”

Surprise made Morglum forget his quandaries. “Me?”

The gray goblin nodded sharply, eliciting another “oooh” from the goblins, that swerwed their heads left and right like a field of sunflowers to keep up with the speech.

“You are!” The gray goblin repeated, thumping the staff on the rock. “Because you will guide your tribe to greatness!”

Morglum narrowed his eyes, struggling to follow. “Me?” He repeated dumbly, unsure of where that was going.

The goblin threw him another of those unpleasant looks. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I am a great mage!” He screamed suddenly, making all the gathered goblins jump. “And i come to bring you to a land where you won’t have to ask for anything! A land where you will have everything you want!”

Excitement rushed across the crowd.

“Things to burn?” A goblin asked shrilly, all excited.

The gray goblin nodded sagely.

“Things to eat?” Another one asked.

“Things to cut?” A third one followed.

One after the other, the goblins jumped up to ask if their favorite thing ever would be there in that land of dream. The questions ranged from pitching screaming baby pigs into a bucket of water to burning down the wood, passing through a wide arrangement of cutting, dismembering, maiming and eating, in different orders. To each question, the gray goblin replied with a sharp nod, each time eliciting another wave of cheers.

While the crowd went into a frenzy, Morglum watched with rising horror. He was so stunned that he almost didn’t cuff the guard that tried to cheer as well.

Eventually, he couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Stop! Stoooop! Shut up, all of you! Shut up!”

All the goblins were startled into silence by the sudden outburst, snapping around just in time to see him try to catch back his breath.

“I dunno…” Morglum wheezed. “I dunno what kind of non-sense are you spouting, but… the tribe goes nowhere! We are good where we are!”

That elicited a wave of disapprovals.

“Boss Morglum ruins the fun!”

“He always does!”

“Me want land! Me want cut things!”

“Boss Morglum not adventurous enough!”

And there they actually started a chant that mocked their chief’s lack of enterprising spirit.

“Shut up!” Morglum’s shout sent them all reeling back like startled piglets.

“I… i dunno where you came from, you… you gray thing!” Morglum angrily waved a meaty fist in direction of the gray goblin. “But you better get back there before i… i…” He trailed off, ears sagging. The gray goblin’s gaze felt like ice in his gut.

“So, are you not going to lead your people in the land i promise?” He asked. With the light streaming from the entrance over him, he looked to Morglum like an statue carved out of ash.

The hobgoblin threw quick glances left and right, briefly noticing how his guards had disappeared. He passed a warty tongue over his lips. Suddenly, he didn’t feel very sure about his choice of words.

“I mean, maybe?” He tried.

The gray goblin shook his head once, sharply. “No maybe or buts. Yes or no.”

Morglum passed a hand over his forehead, finding it covered with sweat. “But… the tribe… and my chair… i mean, maybe?”

The gray goblin’s eyes narrowed. “I figured that much.” He pointed the staff toward him.

By Goblins’ standards, Boss Morglum’s rule had been boring and unconfortable, with no raids, no fun and a lot of the pantry going down the chief’s gullet. Still, his end by “explody fireball whoosh thingy” went down in the history of the Rocklickers Tribe as the most entertaining, most spectacular and without a doubt most funny show the goblins had ever seen. It also immediately cemented the position of the Gray Angry as the indisputabile chief and idol of the tribe. After that show of power, the goblins were ready to follow him at the ends of the earth.

They would probably rethink the choice, if they knew what Gorren had in mind for them.

Standing into a crouch, Iliel Grayleaf brought the fistful of dirt close to her face. She sniffed, and her features twisted into a grimace.

Goblins. She was right.

The elf got up slowly, her cloak shimmering briefly before taking the same color of the road. The still-living wooden badge of the rangers of Lirmath, sewn on the front of her battered leather armor, gleamed red with the last light of the day.

Iliel calculated that her quarry couldn’t be more than a hour away. Still, it was concerning.

Judging from the number of tracks, it seemed like the entire tribe of the Rocklickers descended into the valley. Even more concerning, they didn’t bother to try and cover their traces. Goblins didn’t make for the smartest apples, - none of their attempt would fool an elven ranger- but usually they tried at least.

Except when they came to raid.

She started into a sprint, following the tracks down the muddy road. The sun was just about to disappear behind the mountains, the sky a brilliant orange about to darken. She didn’t pay mind to it, couldn’t. The goblins had excellent nightvision. They always raided during the dark.

From one of the numerous pockets of her outfits, she took out a small bottle and downed the content. The potion sent shivers running through her, that disappeared quickly.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the world had changed. The darkening was gone, replaced by a stark focus. She could see everything clearly, like she wasn’t moving under twilight but under the midday sun.

Yes, elven sight and all. Still, a little help was always welcome. Especially now.

She briefly stopped at a bend of the road. The tracks deviated from it, plowing straight into the woods. Iliel’s eyes, her only feature visible between the cowl and the facemask, narrowed. There was a human farm in that direction, and following it the goblins would stray close to the fields of the sprites.

She resumed her chase. The forest appeared like a vision devoid of colors to her magic-enhanced sight, like if someone had sucked away all the life and left a perfectly sharp image into its place. She didn’t like it, but she liked even less how the trees welcomed her. There was tension radiating from them, the unease of someone having an unwelcome intruder in their home.

Iliel fastened her pace.

She heard the sounds before actually seeing the fight.

Repressing the impulse of keep running, she slowed and started to stalk forward. Without a sound, she made her way between the trees. The tension had blown into full alarm there. The forest’s agitation pressed agains her mind like a the crying of a baby. It made her heart clench, but discipline kept her from rushing forward.

Hiding behind a tree, she peeked at where the sounds were coming from.

Before her, the trees gave way to a verdant glade. A small stream burbled happily in the middle of it, sneaking its way between mounds of soft moss. Delicate, silvery trees leaned over the water, shimmering softly in the darkening light. Little dwellings dangled from their branches, made from intetwined leaves and bark. The air was made alive by a myriad of floating lights.

It would have been a place of peace, but in that moment it was in chaos.

The lights, that Iliel knew to be sprites, the little spirits of the woods, and their companions the fireflies, swirled madly everywhere, filling the glade with dancing shadows. Many of the trees showed broken branches and one had almost been toppled.

The source of the disturbance was straight in the middle of the glade. A wonky, half-sled half-carriage had been pushed against the leaning tree, probably the reason for its state. Atop of a small mountain of what looked to be trash, the ugliest goblin Iliel had ever seen waved a long staff around. He was gray like a corpse and his black eyes burned like coals. The sprites weaved and swirled around him like angry flies, but the goblin held them at bay with furious swings of his weapon. Iliel’s eyes widened as she saw that the bulbous tip of the staff was sorrounded by an halo of energy. That goblin was a mage!

All around the glade, dozens of goblins swarmed like cockroaches, smacking, grabbing and breaking whatever they could find. They gibbered and laughed, tittered and screeched, hollered and kicked, an avalanche of green bulbous heads and grabbing hands. While the majority was only concerned with making mayhem, Iliel noticed with dismay that some held rough cages and, with the help of long reeds, tried to capture the lights.

The sprites were putting up a valiant resistance, throwing branches at the invaders and stabbing them with long needles, but the goblins were barely slowed down from their efforts. Already a bunch of cages containing buzzing lights had been heaped at the feet of the cart, with the goblins clumsily trying to get more prisoners.

Iliel felt her heart beat faster. The sprites hid the places where they slept with illusionary magic. Even her kin had to ask them for permission to reach their dwellings. How had those savage goblins managed to find one? Was the magic of that gray goblin?

With fluids movements, she took out her bow and nocked an arrow into it. She took aim at the goblin shaman on the cart.

What kind of abomination was that? He felt so… wrong! That feeling pressed against her senses like a slimy hand. She had never felt something like that, such a sensation of utter wrongness. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t natural, and her elven nature, deeply attuned to the world, just recoiled from it. Such hatred, such anger. Even so distant, she felt like she was standing before an open fire. Goblins were known for their mutative natures. Was that “thing” a result of one?

It didn’t really matter. If she knew something about goblins, it was that they were cowards at heart. Take down their leader and they would scatter.

She took careful aim on the creature. The goblin snarled and waved his staff, unaware of her. Breathing in, she pulled her arrow back, hold it like that for an instant, and let go.

The gray goblin fell from the carriage with a shriek, arrow sticking from his chest.

Iliel jumped out of his hiding spot and into the glade. Some of the sprites recognized her and cheered. Some of the goblins recoiled with surprised shrieks. The majority kept looting and running, unaware that their leader had been put down.

As expected. Noisome creatures.

Ignoring both parties’ reaction, Iliel made her way into the chaos. With quick, smooth motions, she slung her bow and unsheated a long knife. She had to make sure that the mage was dead and, more importantly, make sure the goblins knew.

A goblin, busy laughing madly and waving a torch, threw a shriek at seeing her and stopped so abruptly that the one following him smacked against his back. Iliel kicked him in the face, breaking his nose and sending both tumbling away. She tripped another one that was trying to catch a firefly with a cage and slashed open the obejct, freeing a small swarm of lights.

Still she kept her attention fixed on the cart.

Slashing and kicking whatever goblin tried to stop her, she made her way to it. She quickly circled it, going for the place where the shaman had fallen.

Her eyes widened at seeing nothing but trampled grass. She felt a movement behind her. She ducked, just barely avoiding the staff’s heavy head. Whirling around, she slashed with the knife, meeting only air.

The staff whoshed against her head, forcing her to jump back to avoid having her head caved in.

She landed at some distance, taking a stance.

The gray goblin watched her with hateful disdain, pushing himself completely free from the trash where he had hidden. To Iliel’s surprise, he grabbed the shaft protuding from his chest and yanked it out with a snarl. The arrow bounced against the grass, the point slightly dulled.

Iliel’s loathing increased. What dark magic was that? Her arrow should have penetrated more than that!

It didn’t matter. She would finish it by blade.

She took in her situation. The goblin had the high ground and a longer weapon, both giving him the longer reach. Still, it was always a goblin, weak and pathetic. This one showed strange powers and feral cunning, but she was confident she could easily take him out in melee combat. But no, she had to be quick. She would just snipe him down from his perch with an arrow.

That thought had just finished passing through her mind that the goblin pointed the staff toward her and started mumbling.

Iliel dashed forward. Forget the bow, she had to stop him before he completed his spell!

The reason why mages needed support was very simple: you couldn’t focus on casting spells and the fight at the same time. A mage needed something to protect him while casting his cantrips. Alone, he would just be skewered before having a chance of doing anything.

Goblins were aggressive, horrible creatures. When one of them obtained magic, usually by mana crystal influences or some other strange means, he had the power quickly going to his head. Thinking himself invincible, he started taking chances and relying over his magic to pull him out from any confrontation. Those types usually ended splattered the moment they faced a competent warrior.

In that moment, Iliel felt she was facing one of those types.

She jumped over the cart, knife poised to strike, sure that blow would be the decisive one. She had barely put her foot over the cart that two goblins jumped out from under it, grabbing her ankles.

Taken by surprise by the sudden weight, the elf had to scramble not to fall. She flailed with her arms, trying to remain standing, but the goblins jumped down the cart, pulling her legs back. She smashed face-first against the cart, the trash scattering everywhere.

Stars dancing before her eyes, she tried to raise, but the staff hit her wrist, sending the knife spinning away. The two goblins jumped on her back, punching out the little air left in her chest. Four gnarly hands painfully grasped her head, forcing her down.

In the corner of the eye, she saw the bulbous head of the staff whooshing towards her. Pain erupted. She let out a choked scream. A moment before darkness enveloped her, she realized to have committed the same level of rookie mistake she thought her opponent had: she understimated her enemy.