I am Goblin. And I am Raider. And it’s been two days of bed rest after getting hit with a shovel by a fat human. Dagger is currently out raiding, and the only thing to eat are these poison berries, mushrooms, and, well, my uncle’s decomposing corpse.

I chose my Uncle Twig. He was skinny in life and is currently skinnier in death. My village sits outside a cave up in the barren mountains the humans call “Mount Gabo.” Probably named that because of numerous Goblin tribes that have called the various hidden valleys and plateaus home.

I will be fit to rejoin the raiding soon. I could, of course, injure myself again and stay home for a few more days, but neither Dagger nor Chieftain Chief will forgive me. There are more dangerous jobs than raiding. Like being practice for the Goblin shamans. They never go on raids, but they still need target practice to improve their master of the weird arts… and Goblins too injured to go on raids tend to be volunteered.

So I hope I heal up fast enough to be fit for raiding and don’t become shaman fodder. Or, I could run away.

I shake my head at that thought. Only Goblins with class Variant survive on their own—I don’t know where these stupid thoughts are coming from! I am a GOBLIN. We RAID! Or die at the end of a human farming tool.

I got to talk to the Chief. He’s an understanding Goblin and an entire Level 4. Level 4! That’s like several months of being alive! Countless days! He is wise, strong, and still young despite being Level 4, unlike the elders who tend to the Goblin children who emerge from the Cave of Wonders. He survived many raids and is only missing one eye due to raid-related troubles. Thanks to him, our village nestled between two giant rock formations is safe from foreign Goblins and other monsters.

I walk to Chief’s hut, which is located at the other end of the village, and up a steep hill. It’s the only “paved” road in the village, mostly because the younger Goblins are tasked with clearing the path of rocks, and their little feet compact the dirt as they work. I remember clearing this path of pesky rocks when I was a young Goblin and still beam with pride when I see the neat row of rocks I made.

The Chief’s hut has no guards like other Goblin chieftains. He doesn’t believe in wasting valuable Goblin power on trivial duties like sentries when there is plenty of good raiding to be done. I pass by some younger Goblins, barely 2 feet tall, pushing pebbles out the way and three struggling with a rock three times larger than the rest. And while I’d like to help them, it’s the best training they’re going to get before the real thing, so I wave and keep going.

I wait just outside the door for a moment, contemplating the real reason I made the journey. The Chief’s hut is a cobbled-together assortment of discarded human, elf, and dwarf furnishings, from couches to bedframes, held together by a base of thick logs that protrude from the ground at odd angles. It is the Goblin way to take what is thrown away and forgotten, and well…Goblinfy it. But why am I thinking about that now? Why am I here?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I knock on the door gently to not disturb some unknown piece of support and collapse half the tent on the Chief. That is the Chief's one rule when approaching him: always knock first.

The Chief cracks the door open, a single eye peeking around me to make sure I’m alone. Oh, the second rule when approaching the Chief: come alone. One Goblin is welcome. More than one Goblin, even from your own village, is mischief waiting to happen.

Once satisfied that I’m not hiding co-conspirators, the Chief opens the door and lets me in. He isn’t dressed in his traditional Chief garb, decked out in jewelry with a wolf’s skull adorning his head. Instead Chief is wearing an oversized pink bathrobe that looks fluffy to the touch, which is far from the fearsome raid leader but who am I to judge. His bone staff lies on the floor next to his desk, which is covered in papers written in Goblin. Chief writes letters to the other Goblin leaders across the mountain, though few know how to read.

He ushers me to a seat which was a stolen children's table in its former life while he climbs up the human-sized chair. After settling in, he leans over his desk and, in turn, over me, before asking, “What troubles you—”

“Rock.”

“Rock.”

For a moment, the question hangs there like an unclaimed fart. If I don’t say anything, I can just go back to my tent and be happ—comfortable. Or I can confront Chief with the truth. Fuck this.

“I’m tired of raiding.”

Chief’s face doesn’t change at first, but slowly my words dawn on him, and he begins to mouth a response before stopping himself. So I take that moment to try to explain.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a raider! I almost got Dagger killed!”

“I heard you saved his life by jumping in front of the human weapon,” Chief points out.

I shake my head at this to hide a slight blush. Being commended for bravery is rare among Goblins. But then I remember the image of Cousin Mushroom getting torn in half by that large mangy dog…

“I can’t…”

Chief nods and points to his missing eye. “Fear and raiding go hand in hand, son. Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my eye?” –Yes, many times, but I let Chief continue—“I was fighting this particularly large human. He must have been 6 or 7 feet tall. God knows what his level was. But I fought him anyway because he was an adventurer and back in my day this village was a real force! We raided the countryside, bringing back everything that wasn’t nailed down. We weren’t a war party, but a HORDE!”

Chief smiles a big toothy grin remembering the days of the Horde. The days of Goblin Supremacy!

“The humans who normally saw us as a nuisance sent adventures after us. The foul humans swept through the valleys and made it to the gates of this village. They were OVERPOWERED, I say! Immune to spells, immune to arrows, immune to everything we threw at them. We were afraid, son. I was afraid! But—”

Chief’s grin grows sinister as his eyes glint with power and malice. “GOBLINS. ARE. SUPREME! And we are supreme because we are RAIDERS! We waited until the human adventurers needed to sleep, then charged their tents two hundred Goblins strong. I led the charge against one of the humans who fought naked save for a great sword! And when he slashed through five Goblins, he missed me ol noggin by an eyeball—”

Then I faked my death.

“Having been hit but not dead yet, I lay there waiting for him to pass—”

Then I saw an opening!

“And as he continued to fight my brothers and cousins at arms, I saw his man bits hanging above me, and well, I STABBED ’EM in between the loincloths!”

And that’s how I became chieftain.

“And that’s how I became your Chief!”

I nod as he continues, “So you see, just keep raiding, son! I see a bright future ahead of you!”