Chapter 2: The First Challenge
Stryg went through his normal routine throughout the day; washing the tribe’s clothes and cleaning the hunter’s tools as was expected of the children. In his free time he trained until he had trouble breathing, then went to watch the few hunters who had stayed that day in the hopes of learning something from their own training exercises.
As the sun began to set Stryg was called over by Second Mother. While everyone else had tents to sleep in, even the chieftain, the Mothers lived in a log house, as befitted their station.
Stryg took a deep breath and walked into the house. Several Mothers were waiting inside, each held a small bowl of ceremonial paint.
First Mother, leader of the Mothers and matriarch of the tribe, stood in front of the others. She was considered a great beauty, even among other sylvan tribes. She had an uncommon button nose and a small round face, framed with black hair and the occasional strand of grey.
First Mother was the oldest goblin in the tribe, at 38. While goblins could live twice as long, most never made it past their twenties, the dangers of the forest proving too great.
Like many other species, goblins began to slow down and grow weaker in their thirties. At which point the tribe deemed them too weak and threw them out, leaving them to be food for the wolves and dire bears. The Mothers were the exception, since their job was to raise the children, it was fine if their physical abilities slowed down. Though First Mother still seemed as capable as she was twenty years ago.
“Shirt off,” she said in a stern voice.
Stryg nodded in obedience.
First Mother walked around him, looking him over, “Since the day you were born we have watched over you, Stryg. You were always different from our other children.”
“Odd,” Sixth Mother coughed.
At 24, she was the youngest Mother. She had been the prettiest goblin of her generation and had been honored with the role of a Mother early on. The status had only made her arrogant. She also seemed to love poking fun at Stryg, the weird one, whenever she had the chance.
First Mother looked back, her yellow eyes narrowed, “Anything else you’d like to say? Or should I just punish you now?”
“No, please forgive this foolish one,” Sixth Mother blushed and bowed.
Stryg fought to keep his face passive as he felt a rare moment of satisfaction.
After a long pause, First Mother slowly turned back around, and dipped her finger into a small pot of red paint, “You are lucky it is Stryg’s birthday. As I was saying, we have watched you grow through these years, Stryg. Despite your struggles, which there have been many, you have never given up pursuing strength. In no small sense, you are the runt of your generation.”
Stryg wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or sad at her words.
First Mother smeared the red paint on his forehead and cheeks, “For that I am proud of you, child, many goblins in your place would have given up by now.”
He couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Such praise was rare, especially from the leader of the Mothers.
First Mother frowned, “Which is why you must not fail. I know you are smaller and weaker than the others, but you have worked hard. Do not let your countless hours of training fall short during your first night challenge. Our Blood Fang tribe does not need weak goblins.”
Stryg felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. The threat was real and he worried what she would do if he failed. No, he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t afford to.
He gulped his saliva down, “I won’t fail you, First Mother.”
She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You best not. I will not have one of our children bring shame to me.”
Stryg didn’t actually consider himself one of the Mothers’ children. She had made that clear ample times throughout his life, but he didn’t think it smart to correct her words.
First Mother took a step back, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get him ready.”
“Yes, First Mother!” The other Mothers spoke in unison.
They each began to apply paint of different colors over Stryg’s skin.
“Not you,” First Mother pulled Sixth Mother’s hair back.
Sixth Mother yelped in pain, and dropped her bowl, “I’m sorry, First Mother!”
“Not yet, you’re not. Did you think I’d just let you go?” She hissed.
Another woman silently picked up the fallen bowl. The Mothers continued to paint symbols on Stryg’s body, their backs turned to their sister’s plight. Stryg watched in silence.
“You keep acting up. I should have punished you long ago,” First Mother kicked Sixth Mother’s knees from under her.
Sixth Mother whimpered in fear. First Mother slapped her face with as much strength as she could muster, letting her claws scrape over the cheek. Sixth Mother screamed in pain and fell over.
“You're this pathetic and yet you dare interrupt me!? If you weren’t a Mother I’d have thrown you out as scraps for the wolves,” First Mother shouted.
“It won’t happen again! I promise!” Sixth Mother cried.
“Believe me, I’ll make sure it won’t.”
She sucker-punched Sixth Mother. The younger woman gasped and fell to the floor. First Mother smiled, revealing her small fangs.
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“Say it. Admit you’re weak!” First Mother yelled.
Sixth Mother whimpered quietly. Stryg was surprised at the situation. He knew the Mothers shared an intimate relationship with one another, some more intimate than others. Everyone knew that Sixth adored First. So it was a bit strange seeing First Mother be so cruel to her. Stryg had underestimated her ruthlessness.
“It’s done,” Second Mother said quietly.
The Mothers stepped back from Stryg. Painted symbols of spears, trees, and fangs, covered his whole chest, back, and face.
First Mother sat on top of Sixth’s back and smiled at Stryg, a dangerous gleam in her eye, “Look closely at her, Stryg. It doesn't matter who you are, this is what happens when you don’t know your place.”
Stryg nodded with solemn expression. He understood her words clearly. Goblin culture centered around who was stronger. One had to make sure that the rest knew their place among the tribe.
“First, Stryg’s paint is finished,” Second Mother spoke as she bowed her head towards her leader.
First Mother nodded, “Good. You may go.”
Stryg bowed quickly and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Stryg, don’t you dare lose your first night challenge. Consider your life forfeit if you do,” she warned.
Stryg swallowed, “Yes, First Mother.”
He left the tent with hasty steps, leaving only the whimpers of Sixth behind. Despite the sacred nature of a Mother’s position, no one would come to help Sixth. First was the matriarch of the tribe, not even the chief challenged her authority on matters concerning the Mothers.
Looking ahead, Stryg saw a large bonfire at the center of the village. The majority of the tribe stood around the fire, except the children. Besides children, the Mothers were the only ones who didn’t participate in the night challenges.
Stryg took a deep breath, this was it, what he had been training for. Tonight he would become an adult.
The sun had almost disappeared from the horizon, bathing the village in soft maroon light. Stryg reached the blazing fire pit and waited patiently. He tried ignoring the onlookers, instead he straightened his back, planted his feet apart, and turned towards the chief.
“I, Stryg, son of the Blood Fang tribe, greet the chieftain,” he tried his best to keep his voice from breaking.
The chief looked him over, noting the painted symbols on his skin.
“You have come bearing the marks of our tribe,” the chief’s voice boomed in a deep tone that belied his size.
The chief stretched his green arm out, pointing towards Stryg, and looked at the crowd. “The markings, not of a boy, but of an adult. Tonight, Stryg turns eighteen, he is no longer a child. But!” He raised a finger and paused, “To truly become an adult Stryg must prove himself as one of us. How?”
“Challenge!” The crowd yelled in unison.
“Challenge, challenge!” They all chanted.
The chief slammed his spear into the ground, “Then a night challenge we shall have!”
The crowd cheered in approval. Various female goblins walked forward forming a line. The rest of the goblins backed away and spread to form a circle around the women, chief, and Stryg.
Stryg tried to ignore the fear in the pit of his stomach. He had to focus, this was his moment. He couldn’t fail. Like other goblin tribes in Vulture Woods, the Blood Fang tribe followed the tradition of the night challenge.
Most nights adult goblins would meet around the village fire. They each had the chance to show off their skills in a night challenge, a hand-to-hand battle against another, to prove their worthiness as a potential mate.
If the challenger lost, they’d be humiliated, and would lose the right to challenge anyone for some time. If they won they would prove to those around that they were a strong goblin, a potential worthy mate. And if they impressed the right person, then perhaps they might win that goblin’s favor.
The original goal of the night challenges was to breed out the weak from the tribe and only have the strong sire children. Although, through the years it had devolved into trying to impress the most pretty or handsome villager. Still, goblins never wanted to sleep with a weak goblin, only the strong.
The chief cleared his throat, “The tribe’s shaman, Crovor, should be here to give a blessing for your initiation, Stryg, but he went out early this morning and has yet to return. So, I shall do the blessing in his stead.”
The crowd grunted in affirmation.
The chief pointed the spear at Stryg, “Honor and glory stand in front of you. Be strong. Be quick. And above all, take what is yours.”
The crowd cheered, eager to see bloodshed. Stryg swallowed and smiled, less certain than he wished.
The chief patted Stryg’s back and pushed him, “Choose!”
Stryg stumbled and quickly tried to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and looked at the array of ten goblin women in front of him. Stryg was surprised that so many had volunteered. Usually, it’d mean they were all interested in sleeping with him and wanted to test him, see if he was a worthy mate. But Stryg worried that they all simply volunteered because they were interested in the chance to clobber and shame him in front of the tribe.
The women were all under twenty, so they were his generation. He grew up around them, and none of them had ever shown any interest in him. At least he didn’t have to face any of the older goblins, he supposed.
This was his first night of adulthood, he was expected to challenge, moreso he couldn’t afford to lose, unless he wanted First Mother to kill him. Stryg had to be careful with his choice.
On one side stood Srixa, she was as tall as any male goblin, standing at 4’1”. She was quite pretty, with smooth skin, and a large bust that most men couldn’t keep their eyes off of. She was also one of the most skillful hunters in the tribe, definitely the best hunter in their generation. But she was also said to have quite the sadistic streak, and that was saying something coming from the Blood Fang tribe, who prided themselves with their ferociousness.
Srixa was known for challenging the more handsome goblin men, sometimes cute women too. Srixa would then beat the ones who accepted with ease, impressing them and everyone around. By morning the goblins who had slept with her were always covered in bruises and scratches that weren’t even from the night challenge.
Stryg knew Srixa wasn’t interested in ugly goblins, and while he wasn’t ugly, he was different and that was enough to put him in the ugly category for most goblin women. So, she definitely just wanted to fight him.
Srixa didn’t even bother glancing at Stryg as he walked down the line of women. They both knew why. She’d beat him bloody if he tried challenging her.
Stryg looked at another, her name was Bril. With voluptuous small curves, she was undoubtedly the prettiest of the younger generation. She was also quite the skilled huntress and could handle her own against all but the strongest.
Bril bared her teeth at him, her small fangs glinted in the firelight. Curiously, this only made Stryg want to challenge her more, but he reigned in his lust and pride. Tonight wasn’t about trying to impress the prettiest goblin in the hopes of sleeping with her. Tonight was about proving himself as a strong addition to the tribe, a goblin worthy of respect. He could only gain that respect if he won his challenge.
The first night challenge was the most important in any goblin’s life, if they failed, then it proved to everyone that they were not worthy to be a member of the tribe. Stryg would not let that happen to him.
He turned away from Bril and looked at the others. After looking past a few more of the challengers, he made his decision.
Stryg raised his finger and pointed, “Gathi.”
No one would have called Gathi a beauty, nor particularly strong. She was a gatherer and therefore not a very skilled fighter. There was not much honor or praise to be won by defeating her. However, impressing her, the other women, or the tribe, wasn’t even on Stryg’s mind. All he cared about was having an actual shot at winning. Bril and Srixa would have pummeled him to submission. But, Gathi, there was someone Stryg had a chance against.
The crowd cheered as Stryg announced his challenge. The other women backed away into the crowd.
Only Gathi and Stryg stood within the circle now. Gathi crouched, her arms spread to her sides, claws shaking in anticipation.
She growled, “So I’m supposed to be the weakest?”