It all started in a small cave deep within the Bevirtain woodlands. It was a dingy little place, surrounded by tall pines and hidden by unchecked foliage.

A small opening, really only large enough for goblins to pass through, served as the den’s only entrance. Just beyond the entrance lie a cramped tunnel that stretched several meters before branching off into two caverns. On the left lie the cavity where the pack ate and slept. On the right was where the women were kept, and where I was born.

I remember it clearly to this day, the day I was born. I’d opened my eyes to see many things unfamiliar to my newborn mind.

First I saw my mother, a slender human woman in her twenties. I’d thought she was a corpse the first time I saw her. Pale skin covered in bruises and cuts; clumped hair ripped from their roots to reveal scalp; a face, probably once regarded as attractive, so swollen and thoroughly beaten that not a trace of beauty remained. But perhaps most damaged was her mind. Although still technically alive, her mind had broken long ago. Her eyes were devoid of sparkle, of humanity, of life.

I’d come to learn later on that my mother was kidnapped from a nearby village, like most goblin child bearers were.

Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, I didn’t feel much when seeing her suffer. Why would I? I recognized her as my mother, but there was no advantage in showing compassion towards her.

She was surrounded by half a dozen or so other women of the same state, wearing nothing and bound with crude rope. My siblings were all being born at the same time I was. I saw them pop out, frail and frankly hideous things, with their sickly olive skin and pointed ears.

When I looked up, my eyes were greeted by monstrous looking creatures. They were obviously smaller in stature, even compared to my mother. What made them monstrous was their features.

Although small, their slim, disfigured appendages were clearly laden with an abundance of muscle. Their backs were slightly arched and their legs were noticeably shorter than their arms. Their skin, ranging from olive to dark green, was covered in countless scars from many battles.

Their faces were perhaps most hideous.

Pointed noses and ears; menacing, beady eyes; a maw full of sharp razor teeth. They resembled beasts more than humanoids. At that point I didn’t realize that I’d become one of these hideous monstrosities once I matured.

Much after that moment was a blur. My siblings and I were brought into the other cavern where we saw fifteen or so adult goblins. Some were picking at bones, others sleeping on piles of dried foliage. We were brought to the middle of the cavern where the rotting corpse of some animal lay. All that was really left were some scraps of flesh hanging onto cracked bone.

The stench was atrocious, the sight of the maggots burrowing and wriggling around the flesh was making me want to vomit. To my disgust, my siblings were hungrily tearing at the scraps, ripping at the long spoiled tendons. They wrestled each other for every morsel of sinew, for every mouthful of putrid meat and lively maggot.

I backed away from the carrion, recoiling before the sight in front of me. One of the adults planted his foot into my small chest. The air was knocked from my lungs and I was thrown several feet before rolling to a stop. He yelled at me in a language that I could not yet completely understand, but could somehow comprehend.

“Ungrateful brat! If you don’t want meat then go starve!”

Before I could completely recover from the blow, I clenched my small fists, scrambling back to my feet.

Reluctantly, I walked over to the carcass, falling to my knees before it. I grabbed a rib from the pile, bringing it to my mouth. After multiple attempts, I braced myself and sunk my underdeveloped teeth into the meat, tearing off a sizable chunk of meat.

As my eyes watered from the noxious malodor, as the maggots squirmed and popped in between my teeth, I realized.

I hated these idiots that didn’t have an ounce of wit.

I hated these barbarians that kidnapped and raped for little reason.

I hated these gluttons that gorged themselves on putrid carrion.

I hated goblins.

I fucking despised goblins.

From the moment I was born, I knew that I would never be able to coexist with my own kind.

***

I was less than a year old when I killed for the first time.

It was on the day of my first ambush if I remember correctly.

During the eight months prior to this, I’d already matured into an adolescent goblin. I looked more or less like the adults in my tribe, if only slightly smaller. The village chief had decided that I’d grown strong enough to participate in an ambush based off of my physique; the only thing that I needed now was a weapon.

He led me into a smaller sub-cavern that I hadn’t known the existence of.

“Choose your weapon wisely, child. This is the only weapon that will be given to you. Any other weapons will need to be pillaged yourself.”

The room was stocked with various kinds of weapons, all in various states of disarray. I eyed my choices: a shortsword covered in scratches and rust; a dagger which had a distinct chip near the tip; and a handaxe that looked as if it were left at the bottom of a river for years. Everything else in the room was basically garbage, primitive spears and the like.

I placed my hand onto the shortsword, about to grasp it’s leather handle when I spotted something in the corner of my eye.

Laying against the rock wall was a long, hefty looking club. Unlike the stouter clubs that many goblins used, this one was obviously meant to be used with two hands. It was made of some gnarly twisted branch, rounded at the tip and hardened with flame.

I picked the weapon up with two hands, feeling it’s balance. It was heavier than I’d expected and was still fairly tip heavy, but it’s length granted it a larger range and allowed better handling. When I stood it straight up, it rose above the top of my head by a few inches.

“Ah, a long club I see. Good to see that you didn’t go straight for the shiniest weapon in the room like the others did.”

The village chief was probably the only goblin I even remotely respected. He was more literate than the others and had a vague sense of decency. He’d even ask the women for consent before having his way with them, not that he’d listen to their response.

After strapping the club to my back, we left the cave. It was daybreak when we exited, the birds were chirping about as the smell of dew permeated through the crisp morning air. Scouts had told us that a small merchant’s wagon was making its way through the woodland just a few miles from the den. It was only a single merchant, so it was a perfect situation to test out the greenhorns.

There were four people in our hunting party: me, the chief, and two other adolescents that came from the same brood as I. It was also their first ambush, and they were practically brimming with excitement. As for me, I couldn’t really care less. Why would I derive enjoyment from taking something’s life?

After several minutes of walking, the chief suddenly stopped. He motioned for us crouch, bringing a finger to his lips. He pointed to a dirt road that cut through the forest.

Rolling along the path was a small horse drawn wagon carrying barrels and crates full of untouched loot. The man riding the horse was a new sight to me. What struck me as most alarming was how large he was. Although he didn’t look very muscular, he was taller than even the chief. Frankly, we goblins looked like children beside him.

The only weapon he seemed to have on him was a shortsword that hung at his hip.

The chief brought us into a circle, speaking in a hushed tone.

“We’ll go ahead along the road and set an ambush for him there. I want you three in the trees, when he comes close, drop down and kill him quickly.”

One of the goblins raised his hand, looking at the chief stupidly,

“What about you boss? Wouldn’t you be able to kill him faster?”

“Idiot, how’re you newbies gonna learn anything if I kill him right away? I’ll be observing from a distance, so show me what you can do.”

The other two goblins nodded enthusiastically.

We stalked nearly a mile ahead of the merchant, staying quiet as to not be discovered.

Finally, we found a place that the chief deemed suitable for an ambush. The trees were thicker in this part of the forest, enough so that the branches arched over the trail. The foliage casted long shadows onto the floor, creating plenty of blind spots for them to hide in.

I was taught at an early age that most humans and sub-humans couldn’t see in dark places like we could. We were taught to exploit this weakness, to attack whenever our prey was confused or paranoid.

The chief hid in a bush near the side of the road while the three of us climbed into the trees, making sure to find positions that were covered by ferns.

There we waited, and waited. Finally, we spotted the wagon rolling in from down the path. We followed it with our eyes, soaking up every bit of information that we could.

Eventually it was nearly below us.

From the corner of my eye I saw the chief raise his fist into the air, signalling for us to pounce.

The two other goblins leapt from the branch right onto the human. Of course I didn’t follow right away, I wouldn’t be able to see how dangerous the human was if I did.

The two goblins, aided by the momentum from their fall, swung their weapons down onto the man.

The first missed by more than a foot and crashed face first into the dirt.

The second brought his club down onto the man’s shoulder, crushing it. It was obvious at a glance that something had broken. The man clutched his shoulder and cried out in pain.

In a flash of rage, or maybe fear, he booted the goblin square in the chest, throwing him several feet away.

By this point the other goblin had recovered from his fall. He picked the dagger off the floor and pointed it towards his prey. The human did the same with his shortsword. They began circling each other, waiting for an opening to attack.

After several seconds the goblin became impatient.

In a single lunge he closed the distance between them, aiming to plunge his knife into the man’s exposed neck. It was a reckless move that left him without any protection.

And he paid for it dearly.

The human took advantage of his longer arms and before the goblin could connect it’s stab he ran his shortsword through its chest.

The goblin spasmed completely skewered on the man’s blade for a moment before going completely limp. He fell to the floor, dead in a pool of his own blood.

I looked to the other goblin only to see that he was still on the floor struggling for breath.

It was my turn now.

Before I attacked I ran through the data I’d collected while watching the fight. The human and I had roughly the same muscle mass, but his reach was far superior to mine. In that situation I had two advantages. One was that he was already injured, meaning that his range of attacks were limited. The other was that my center of gravity was lower which meant he was easier to knock down than I was.

With this in mind I dropped down from the tree. I didn’t ambush from above because I wasn’t confident I could land the hit, especially considering how unwieldy my weapon was. Instead I faced him head on, making sure I had his attention as I approached him.

He raised his sword again and took a battle stance. The pain was still evident on his face.

This time he was the first to attack. He threw me a viscous swing which I’d avoided narrowly by ducking out of the way. He attacked me again and again, one strike after the other. I dodged each of them, barely avoiding each cut. Even after half a dozen swings I still didn’t attack.

This is because I wanted to be extra safe. Those first couple exchanges were simply to gather information on his fighting style as well as to find exploitable weaknesses.

After several more attacks I’d finally noticed something. The gap in between his swings was noticeably longer compared to someone who was using a two-handed weapon. It dawned to me that because he was using only one hand to swing around his sword, his handling wasn’t as superior. It would take more time to revert the path of the sword sword to take another strike.

After realising this fact, I came up with a plan.

The next time that he attacked I mustered all my strength and swung at him, aiming for his weapon rather than his body. Our weapons clashed together and his sword, being lighter, recoiled backward from the impact.

This left him completely open. He was off balance and his sword was nearly behind him, leaving his chest completely exposed. His eyes widened in fear as he realised his error. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to block the next blow in time.

Following the flow of the last blow, I surged forward and pounded the butt of my club into man’s face. He immediately dropped his sword and clutched his bleeding nose. He stumbled around, blinded by his own tears.

The chief had taught us the most vulnerable parts of a person. The eyes, neck, and armpits are some obvious ones, but the nose and groin were good targets for different reasons. When struck, they cause specific reactions that can’t be fought. When the nose was struck, for example, the victim would always clutch their face, dropping their weapon in the process.

I was glad that I’d paid attention to the chief’s lessons instead of playing around like the others did.

I exploited my lower center of gravity, unleashing a horizontal kick that swept his feet from under him. As he fell to the ground I raised the club above my head, bringing it down onto the man’s dome.

The gnarled wood struck his head violently but surprisingly his skull still remained intact. I pounded his head over and over but each time the club would just bounce off, followed by a thin trail of blood.

I never thought it was so hard to crack open a man’s head.

Eventually I threw the club down. He was still breathing, barely hanging on to consciousness; but at least he wasn’t moving. I searched around the ground until I found what I was looking for.

I hauled the large rock back to where the man was lying. The rock in particular was fairly large and jagged in many places, not at all like the smooth ones found near streams.

After a bit of struggling I raised the boulder above my head. Letting the rock’s weight do the work, I slammed it into the man’s head.

It caved in surprisingly easily, spraying viscera and pieces of brain in every direction.

Seeing this, the chief emerged from the bushes, walking over to me.

“That was quite an impressive fight, little one. I’d say that you already have more wits than your entire brood, if not half the entire pack.”

This didn’t surprise either of us much considering that I was the only one really paying attention to his lectures. After all I’d need these skills for when I’d eventually leave the tribe.

Of course I wanted to leave the tribe, all of them save the chief disgusted me to no end.

It turned to face him before speaking in the garbled goblin language,

“Quite the flatterer, aren’t you? Anyway, what happens to that one?”

I pointed toward the goblin who’d been punted by the human. We both walked over to him, examining the extent of his wounds.

There weren’t any cuts or gashes but he would occasionally let out a muffled cough, sprawing blood into the air. His chest moved up and down spastically and in uneven intervals. He was obviously struggling for air.

“Hmm… looks like a broken rib. His lungs’ probaby punctured and we’re too far from the healers… I guess there's no choice then.”

He picked up my club, handing it to me.

“Say, little one. How ‘bout I teach you how to swing that thing?”

We both gave each other sly smiles. The chief’s dark sense of humor was another thing that set him apart from the rest.

With him instructing me, we got to work on my training.