The local countryside enjoyed a sunny day on the seventh day of the 4th month, Bloomtide. The chirping of birds filled the air along with the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Amidst a clearing in the woods, a figure materialised nestled in the wildflowers and waist-high grass. The man wore nothing but a strip of black cloth, its frayed edges hanging loosely around his legs, barely functioning as pants. His black unkempt hair was as wild as the flora that surrounded him. The figure lay there for a moment, a stark contrast to the vibrant colours around him. Suddenly Zal’Rodal’s eyes snapped open, his purple pupils adjusting to the light flowing through the ceiling of leaves. The scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers filled his senses. He wondered how he reached this place, the last thing he remembered was the roaring flames crashing into his body. Yet here he stood, unburnt and breathing.
Zal’Rodal did not believe that the events he remembered were all part of some sort of bad dream. There was no explanation for why he was sleeping in the middle of a forest. Something strange and out of his control must have happened, something he would have to figure out eventually. However, more importantly, he had to figure out where he was. He looked around the forest taking in every detail. He recognised nothing. There was only one thing to do when lost in a forest, choose a direction and continue walking till he reached its end.
With no clear path before him, the Dark Lord wandered through the woods, bare feet trampling over grass, root, and stone. The longer he walked the clearer the light became as the trees in his path grew sparse. Before he was finally able to leave the forest, a projectile struck the side of his face, leaving a red mark on his cheek. The weapon in question bounced off his body and onto the floor, the acorn lay at his feet. He glanced around, his dark brows furrowing in indignation. From a high branch, a group of squirrels perched together, their tiny faces quivering with what could only be laughter. One particularly bold offender hefted another acorn, preparing to hurl it in his direction. This was an insult he could not tolerate. He picked up a stone and threw it at the wildlife, causing them to scatter and squeak in panic as they retreated into the woods. That should teach them not to mess with their future overlord.
Outside the forest, Zal’Rodal was greeted by the familiar sight of the Eberon River and the accompanying countryside. There were the peasants he usually raided sowing their fields which promised another good raid in the future. Wealthy peasants were peasants worth stealing from and he would require a great deal of loot to build up his empire. Having found his bearings the Dark Lord made his way towards the familiar cave hideout. The adventures could have left something there or may even still remain there, the perfect opportunity for an ambush, surely this time he wouldn’t be taken unawares by a fireball. As he approached the place of his demise he began to see the slain bodies of his former minions. Goblins the lot of them, nobody truly worth having around in a fight. He could not remember their names, but then again they were probably just called something like Gluk. He tried to make himself think of the goblins as useless, that’s what a Dark Lord should feel like, but he would miss their silly antics.
Zal’Rodal approached the cave entrance when he heard a rustling in one of the nearby bushes, he turned to face the threat of the ambushing adventurers but instead was met with a tiny green face covered in tears. The creature erupted from the shrubbery, its fleshy tongue flapping in the wind as it rushed towards him. “Master, Master, youz return for me?” Guglak spoke as he threw himself at Zal’Rodal’s feet, “I knewth Master wouldn’t abandon Guglak!”As pitiful as he was, the old goblin was a comforting sight for Zal’Rodal. It meant that at least one of his minions was still alive and that his fledgling empire had not been completely destroyed. If he could have hoped for a single survivor it would have been Guglak, truly loyal minions were hard to come by in this sort of business. “Tell me what happened after I disappeared, make it quick.” The Dark Lord commanded.
“Big fire, Master Burn. But Master disappear, saved from big fire, yez, yez!” Guglak spat out, “Filthy dventurers, try to steal all the treasure, but Guglak hide with treasure,” The old goblin held forth a folded piece of cloth in in which a number of old trinkets were gathered. “I not fight, not strong like Master, but Guglak good, Guglak save treasurez!” Zal’Rodal grabbed the treasure out of the goblin’s green claws, his fingers tracing the last remainders of his meagre wealth. He folded the cloth into a sack and stuffed it into the rags he wore as pants. “Guglak?” he said.
“Yez Master? How can I serve?” Guglak replied bowing deep. The Dark Lord turned towards the forest again and spoke, “Lead me to more of your brethren, I require more minions if we are to conquer the world. We won’t be able to conquer anything with just us two.”
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“Yez, Master, follow Guglak,” the goblin said, hopping eagerly away from the cave entrance. “Forest Goblin, new leader, Uglik,” he spat the name out in derision. “Not issue, Master beat Uglik, no issue, yez.” He disappeared into the brushes, snapping branches and crunching leaves with every step he took. Losing him would be impossible even for the most incompetent of trackers. Zal’Rodal sighed seeing his servant's figure disappear into the woods and bent down. He pulled a crude blade from one of his former minion’s lifeless hands. The blade was chipped and uneven, not really something a Dark Lord should be using but it would do for now.
The forest closed in around them as they trekked deeper into the woods from which Zal’Rodal had just returned. The Dark Lord thought that he knew these woods and their winding paths well but it was clear that there was still undiscovered territory. The forest around them grew darker, hidden from sight from anyone with any sense to them. A sour, acrid stink filled the air, growing stronger with each step. The smell was unmistakable: goblins.
“Here,” Guglak hissed, crouching low and parting a bush with his clawed hands. Zal’Rodal knelt beside him, pushing the branches aside to get a better look. Smoke curled from a fire pit in a small clearing, and the sound of arguing goblins filled the woods. Zal’Rodal’s eyes narrowed as he studied the chaotic scene ahead, his grip tightening on the hilt of his stolen blade. Before them a group of goblins went about their daily chores, skewering and roasting rats, squirrels and any other critter unfortunate enough to cross their path. That’s what they get for throwing acorns. Most of the other goblins spent their time drinking the strange brew they called dlud. The remainder of them seemed to be doing their hardest to bash each other's skulls in for one affront or another.
Zal’Rodal looked at his goblin companion’s face which protruded through the leaves to his left and asked, “Which one is Uglik?” Guglak pointed a crooked finger at one of the goblins standing near the fire pit. He was taller than most goblins but not as tall as Guglak. The goblin boss wore a suit of armour consisting of disparate pieces of mail held together by a mesh of belts and ropes. Uglik was currently partaking in one of a goblin leader’s favourite pastimes, yelling at subordinates.
There was no reason to wait. Zal’Rodal emerged out of his hiding spot, the black cloth he was wearing trailing behind him. He put forth the crooked blade and stood straight before the assembled goblins. The Dark Lord was an imposing figure even in his meagre regalia, standing taller than three goblins stacked atop one another. “I Zal’Rodal, challenge you Uglik! Prove that you are capable of leading your brethren, or join me. I shall lead you to destroy our foes and gather great treasures.”
The goblin leader looked at Zal’Rodal, he was about to command his fellow subordinates to swarm the newcomer. He would surely serve as an improved dinner compared to the rats. The goblins however all gathered behind Uglik and pushed him towards the imposing figure. Cowards the lot of them, he thought. He looked at Zal’Rodal and then again at his goblin fellow just to make sure that they would definitely not fight at his side and yelled, “I willz kill youz! We willz feast on youz flesh,” the goblin leader charged at Zal’Rodal, crooked blade in hand.
Zal’Rodal leapt forward to meet the oncoming goblin. The Dark Lord might not be a master swordsman but a goblin would not, could not spell his doom. Uglik jumped to the side as quick as a rabbit, trying to find a blind spot. His blade found purchase in Zal’Rodal’s side as he drew first blood. Zal’Rodal swung his blade in response gracing the top of the goblin’s pointy ears. He immediately followed the swing with a downward stab, the goblin nimbly dodged the blade and struck at the outstretched arm. Zal’Rodal’s arm flared up in pain.
Zal’Rodal took a step back, trying to create distance between himself and the goblin. Uglik proved himself to be a far stronger adversary than expected. He stretched out his blade following the goblin's every move. Uglik jumped forward again staying on the right and injured side of his opponent, the goblin kept Zal’Rodal’s blade in sight as it lunged for the killed blow and found himself hoisted in the air. Rough fingers grasped the wiry neck of the goblin who now found himself in the air looking down at Zal’Rodal’s face. He started shaking Uglik till he dropped his blade and then started bashing his own free hand into the goblin's stomach. Uglik’s eyes bulged with every strike and his mouth opened soundlessly.
The Dark Lord hoisted the goblin leader once again for all to see. He looked at Uglik one last time before tossing him to the ground before him. The goblin warrior was now a sputtering mess on the forest floor. “I will be your new leader!” Zal’Rodal proclaimed, “You do what I say and you will have treasure and food abundant!”
Uglik raised himself off the ground to look at the one who bested him, “yez master, we followz youz, youz bringz shiny to clan.”
“If you follow me, your hands will be overflowing with treasure. We shall start by gathering more of your kin that dwell in this forest. Then we shall raid the villages of men, we will fill our camp with their gold and our stomach with their food! Will you follow me?” Zal’Rodal asked the assembled goblins, it was a rhetorical question of course. Anyone who wouldn’t follow would soon find themselves at the wrong end of a blade.