“Gez knows these forests better than anyone!” yelled Gez. He pointed in the opposite direction of where they were heading. “This way is no good!”

Each goblin from the Durg generation laughed while one, Lerk, spoke in the most country accent a goblin could get. “I don’t care for the direction, and we have rifles, we have food, we will start our own tribe.”

Gez grabbed his rifle and pointed it at the traitors, and snarled, “Do you have no loyalty?”

The group laughed again. “We have loyalty to ourselves!”

Gez felt anger flush through his body, they hadn’t even been traveling a day, and they were ready to turn and run with spoils that the chieftain gave to them. Gez moved his finger to the trigger, putting the goblin, Lerk, in his iron sights. His goblin instincts were burning a hole in the back of his head, kill, kill, KILL. It kept repeating itself, that was until one of the Ertz goblins stopped him.

“Don’t waste your ammo; Durg has always been scum,” Gez lowered his stare from the sight to look at the goblin. He recognized him as Krez. “You’re the leader. Let’s go in the way you say,”

Gez was hesitant to turn away from the traitor goblins, but he ultimately agreed. “Through the dead trees, orc territory.”

Krez, Gez, and the third goblin, Frek, let the Durg Goblins leave with their weapons, food, and armor. It certainly wouldn’t be the last time they’ve seen each other. Gez would make sure of it.

The now three goblins had to continue the mission understrength.

“Orcs? Bah!” Spat Krez. “Bone-headed beasts. Is there no other way?”

“Behind us is the dead… lands,” Gez started to say and then started to smile. The Durg goblins were headed in that direction. Under his breath, he muttered, “No one knows these forests like Gez,”

“Which orc tribe?” Asked the third goblin.

Gez shrugged. “Gez knows the forest, not territories.”

“Bah!” Spat Krez. “Then let’s go.” Krez shouldered his rifle and turned the other way.

Goblins naturally had a high ability to sneak around. So reaching the orc compound undetected was an easy feat.

“There they are!” Gez whisper-shouted and pointing into the pit.

Krez hissed and pointed his rifle at the first orc he had seen. His finger on the trigger, just waiting to make the perfect shot.

Gez reacted immediately and told him to “Wait.” Gez paused for a minute and said, “Gez counts three of us and twenty of them.”

“So?” Krez hissed. “Orcs are dumb! One of us is worth two hundred of them!”

Gez looked down into the pit; it was a standard ironworks, built by another of the primary races during the goblin purge and then abandoned. The majority of the orcs had been coming in and out of the mines.

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“They outnumber us!” Frek panicked, gripping his rifle’s barrel even harder. “We should come back with more!”

“No!” Spat Gez, “We are Khargol, we don’t run! We are the face of our return to power!” Frek went silent. He wasn’t a coward, but he was right. They needed to cut their numerical disadvantage.

Gez had to get creative with the hand they had. They were concealed in a heavy forest. Granted, there weren’t any leaves anywhere, but if they took off their helmets, the natural goblin skin blended in quite well with the black trees of Khargol. They also were surrounded by tons of rocks. Looking down in the pit, He saw what could make or break this invasion, barrels of explosives.

Gez immediately started sticking his hands in the dirt, beginning to digging a hole. “Pits! Trenches! Dig!” Gez ordered. Frek and Krez needed no other motive; they started on the trench, alternating for hole duty and trench duty.

Night had fallen as they finished up the last hole, and the goblins were covered in sweat, dirt, and mud and were pushed to the brink of exhaustion. So they returned to the main trench for a brief rest. The trench was in the perfect observation position, far up a hill and giving concealment; if the orcs ever had found them, they’d have to climb up a steep incline tiring themselves out.

Gez, Frek, and Krez sat in the open trench hole they made, their arms were burning, and their eyes cried for any manner of rest, but they were ready to fight. The trio made a silent agreement, nodding in confirmation. Gez took a deep breath, threw himself over the trench wall, and began his descent down the hill. As the only light source was the moon, Gez’s descent down into the brush below was nearly undetectable by the few guards placed on night watch.

The stench of orc was like a wall of a revolting mire. The piggish creatures weren’t often known for their hygiene practices. Often they would dig a hole for communal use and then leaving the shit to ferment. The other primary races covering the nose and mouth would alleviate the discomfort, but goblins have an enhanced sense of smell. Gez could practically taste orc shit.

He kept an eye out and traced the movements of the orc guards as he ran to the nearest barrel. Opening it, Gez found several sticks of dynamite, jamming them in any pockets that he could. And then he retreated, climbing claw over claw up the hill.

“OI!” Yelled an orc, presumably catching a glimpse of Gez, who did not even dare to look back. “LOOTERS!” Then the distinct sound of bells came after.

Gez immediately sent himself tumbling into the pit. Frek and Krez immediately opened fire.

The bullets flew downrange, hitting the first orc in the gut, the caliber wasn’t large enough to cause fatal damage, but then the third and fourth came through breaking off the tusk and penetrating through an eye.

Gez picked up his head, watching the two shoot as rapid as possible, trying to do as much damage as they could with their limited ammo.

Downhill the orc bodies began stacking as they tripped over one another, not necessarily dead or dying, but halted. Gez turned in and started smacking two rocks over each other to begin the process of a small fire.

“Stop!” Gez yelled while smacking on their backs. “Gez has the next part of the plan!” He grabbed a stick of dynamite, put the fuse over the fire, and tossed it down and into a large group of piled-over orcs.

Goblin see-Goblin do. One stick of dynamite turned to two, then three, and finally into six. Killing over ten and wounding over six. Finally, however, success cleared a path for the remaining orcs, the biggest and most resilient of them.

They barreled up the hillside like it was nothing. Then, they screamed in a berserk rage, eyes black and mouths wide open drooling viscous slops and saliva.

Until they began falling into the pre-prepared holes, the holes were also filled to the brim with sharp rocks and stick, making removal dangerous and painful.

The trio picked up their rifles and began firing, quickly dispatching the last of the orcs. Aiming for the head became real easy when they were stationary.

After an hour or two since contact, Gez finally announced, “Khargol victory!” the other two goblins joined in on the celebration. However, battle fatigue does set in hard, and they all collapsed until morning.

After a quick clean-up of any wounded and not yet dead-enough orcs, Gez looked over the horizon and saw them, the goblin army. They were green, armed to the teeth with rifles and primitive weapons; today marked the first day in the long campaign that painted the region of Khargol in blood.