This is a Goblin Story.

Goblins.

Little green creatures with a taste for human flesh. Evil monsters with glowing eyes. Ugly faces with pointed noses and narrow heads. Poor hygiene and willing to eat their own dead at times. They smelled of filth and disease. Some were naked while some wore ragged clothes around their loins and some of the females wore tight ruined cloth around their breasts. They had long and jagged claws, some had knives, the warriors would have swords or spears after a good raid.

These were Goblins.

Most of them had no names. For only a Goblin who has accomplished something commendable to the tribe was worthy of a name.

In a forest in a Human Kingdom. In a little grove filled with nearly a hundred Goblins. The Chieftain of this tribe gave a little Goblin Scout a name.

"Glub," the Chieftain spoke for the entire tribe to hear. There was a chorus of cheering. The tribe of Goblins laughed and shrieked. The broke open the spoils of their raids and began to toast. They feasted on what little they had gained from an earlier raid on a farmstead. A few started having sex in the middle of the feast.

And all the while, the newly named Goblin Scout Glub sat in the center of it all. Repeating the name in his head so that he would never forget it. His name. Glub.

This was his story.

Though of course there were more important Goblins. Like the tribe to the south and the one in the Mountains. But Goblins were everywhere. Nuisances and cheap bounties in Adventurer Guilds all over the world. They would curse and mutter at how they deserved more coin for bringing in the head of a Goblin to the Guild and not to an Alchemist. That was their mistake.

But none of that mattered. For this moment, only Glub mattered. Whatever came of tomorrow could wait. Because this little Goblin Scout had a name.

Glub.

He looked around at his celebrating tribe. He looked up at his Chieftain who was not like the other Goblins in the tribe. For their Chieftain was a Hobgoblin. Far taller than the average Goblin. As tall as a Human and stronger too. He wasn't muscular nor was he fat, he was just a Hobgoblin. The only one this tribe has ever seen.

Glub looked up at the Chieftain and wondered if one day he would ever hear the voice in his head that told him he was a Level 2 Scout. He wondered if that voice would ever tell him he Ranked Up. Whatever that meant.

Because when Glub looked up at the Hobgoblin who had given his name today, Glub couldn't help but wish that one day he could become just like his Chieftain. No. Stronger. So strong that he could keep his tribe safe from wild animals, monsters, and worst of all, Humans.

They were everywhere these days. While it was true they provided the tribe with a nice snack and some good loot on occasion traveling their big dirt paths with their wagons. Every so often, an Adventurer would come. Sometimes more than one.

They would hunt the tribe. And kill Goblins. They would lie and wait and trap lone Goblins on their own, separated from the tribe. How did the tribe know? It was because the bodies would be found a day later, headless. Humans loved to take Goblin heads. Though sometimes they just took the ears, or the nose, or the teeth, or the eyes. But usually Humans just liked to take the heads. Maybe because Goblin heads tasted good to Humans?

Glub didn't know. What he did know was that Human meat wasn't as good as a fine cow. Now those were a treat. Though they could be dangerous prey. Several Goblins had lost their lives just the other day on the farm raid trying to hunt down one of the cows. The tribe found their bodies bruised and broken.

The Chieftain himself, enraged by the deaths of his Goblins, hunted and not only killed the cow but every single animal on the farm. Though the tribe was going to do that eventually, the Chieftain showed his hunting prowess as well as his strength when he butchered the farmers. They hadn't stood a chance against Glub's Chieftain.

Glub hadn't seen that part of the raid. He hadn't participated in the raid except to spy on the farm and give the all clear when not a single Adventurer could be spotted nearby.

Glub was born a Scout. He never knew his parents. It was a rare Goblin that could know his parents. Goblins died a lot, often leaving behind newborn babies to raise themselves in the tribe. It was fortunate Goblins babies were almost completely independent.

Glub watched his Chieftain lift up two small squealing female Goblins with one arm and a dented iron cup with his free hand. The Chieftain drank and then wandered off with the two female Goblins. One of them struggled to remove the cloth around her breasts while the other wrapped her arms and legs around the Chieftain’s arm. The Chieftain never broke stride as he carried them into the single tent in the entire Goblin camp.

Glub watched him wander off and wondered amidst the chaos as the celebration of Glub's naming turned more into a gluttonous and lustful evening.

If he could ever be more than just a little Goblin with a name.

The night continued. Goblins laughed and shrieked in-between great ravenous bites of meat. A pair of Goblins began fighting over the leg of a chicken and another Goblin had stolen the leg of meat during the squabble. Glub chewed on a large bloody piece of cow meat. None of the meat was cooked. None of the Goblins in the tribe were Cooks. A couple Goblins were jumping and shaking in a circle around a fire. A lone Goblin Fighter was sharpening his sword trying his best to ignore the wild party around him. And the celebration eventually came to an end with half naked and naked Goblins sleeping on one another in lumps and piles.

But not Glub.

Glub had climbed a tree and was staring up at the stars. It was there where he finally fell asleep and dreamed of becoming something more than just Glub the Goblin Scout.