Ruby gazed into the flowing brushstrokes of the oil painting. The fine canvas created a stark juxtaposition to the dirty floor of her meager cabin. In the style of the day, the landscape depicted a rocky cliff above a restless sea. Apart from tall grasses and a neat line of cypresses, there was nothing but emptiness atop the craggy plateau. The choppy wash in the foreground depicted the head of a single dolphin among the foam and waves and a few gulls glided along in the upper quadrant of the painting.
Few Goblins of Valenaria had ever seen the Azure Archipelago of their ancestors, Ruby notwithstanding.
It was a place she had often dreamed of from the dusty interior of the serf’s shanty. Hope of reaching those distant shores had never crossed her mind. The humans had subjugated their people for a millennia, and when they vanished, the Elves had no qualms about continuing the work. The cruelty of Elves was no match for the abject malevolence of humanity, but the tyranny of their bonds was just as real.
Life at Bowhen Manor offered no room for advancement, no freedom of movement. Ruby had spent the thirty years of her life gathering wheat and threshing it. She had no other education—could not read nor write. Her and the thousands of other Goblins that lived under that agrarian order knew only service to the Elven Lords.
Ruby never had any hope of seeing the Azure Archipelago… until today.
“Come on, Ruby, we’re going to miss the announcement,” cried her husband.
The pair of weathered laborers put on their threadbare moccasins and left the shade of the cabin for the oppressive heat of the mid-day sun. They joined the streams of other Goblins on the muddy path to the manor house.
Word had gotten around that, on this day, Lord Sarkin Bowhen was set to make an announcement regarding the rights and privileges of the Goblin serfs.
Had the Goblin Envoy been able to coax a deal out of the Consortium?
There was an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation among the crowd as they made their way through the endless fields of grain, onward towards the grand wooden pavilion which had been constructed for this very occasion.
“Bruto, do you think that the Lord has the power make us citizens of Ilfindium?” asked Ruby.
“I doubt that he would, even if he could. Make no mistake, Ruby, the Lord Sarkin Bowhen is a full vicious man. Any rights he grants will come as a result of pressure from the Consortium. Any salvation we gain today will come from the work of the free Goblins in the west.” Her husband did not let the joyous mood of the others distract him from the truth of the Elves. Whatever today’s announcement would bring, it would ultimately be for the enrichment of the Elves.
The pavilion was constructed from the towering timbers of the great redwood forests. A center-line of beams stood easily over a hundred feet and the entire space could house a gathering of over six-thousand. A large contingent of Elves stood on the sprawling platform at the far end. From high rows of wooden bleachers, a brass band bellowed the lock-step notes of Ilfindi marches, as the crowd grew and grew.
The onlookers were already jam-packed into the expansive structure when Brutto and Ruby arrived, but the Goblin woman not wanting to miss a word of the announcement pushed her way to the front.
“I’ll meet you back at the cabin,” she yelled over the clamor of the crowd.
“Ruby, wait…” but she was already moving fast through the crowd.
The Goblins at the front were mostly well-dressed compared to the lowly Ruby. They were likely tradesmen and house staff, the ones who were given at least a pittance of material wealth in return for their servitude. They were all beaming. For Goblins life had been good to them, and they eagerly awaited the news of the next blessing to enter their fortunate lives.
The band ended their repertoire in a resounding wah, then a towering, majestic figure came to the front of the stage.
“Many of you may recognize me, and to a vast many more I may be an unfamiliar face, but all of you have lived upon my lands. Today all of that changes: no longer are they my lands but our lands!” He made the grand delivery of someone well-versed in rhetoric and elocution.
“I, Lord Sarkin Bowhen, have had a vision of the future… We cannot weather the crises of this age without a new pact between the Elves and the Goblins. Too long has our story been that of an overbearing father and a disobedient child. Where does that leave us when the child is full-grown? The rise of radicals like the outlaw Luca Xeshi represents one possible outcome, but what if there were another way? What if us Elves could be better stewards of the Goblins beneath us? What if we could teach the Goblins more than the yolk and plow? What if we could be equal partners in the venture of prosperity?
“With the power vested in me by the Ilfindi Empire, henceforth, no Goblin living in Valenaria will be called a serf. The Goblins of Bowhen Manor are now and forever to be recognized as Goblin Freemen—honored subjects of the Ilfindi Empire!
“We grant to each of you the freedom to marry as you choose, to select that work which suits your talents, the right to own land and property. But do not be mistaken, there will be no handouts in this new era. You will learn to work for that which you take. Prosperity is a hard-earned reward, and only those with a great tenacity of spirit will be able to enjoy the fullest fruits of liberty!
“This is why we’ve created a plan to help those who want to distinguish themselves in the new system. For the first time in history, the Ilfindi Legion will now accept Goblin men into their ranks. If you dream of leaving the toil of the fields for a world of adventure—where you can earn up to a half-guilder per month—then this is the call you’ve been waiting for. Together, Goblin and Elf, will wrest control of this continent from the tyrannical Dwarves and restore order to Valenaria!”
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There were uproarious cheers from the crowd and the band began to play the grandiose march music once again. A group of some fifty Legion Recruiters came down from the platform and started passing pamphlets among the newly emancipated Goblin Freemen. Ruby had gotten swept up into a conversation with a group of house servants—women ranging from the age of twenty to fifty-four.
“Does this mean that we’ll be paid a salary for our service?”
“Will we have to pay taxes and what of our homes, will those be deeded to us too?”
“I think that we’ll have to work for all of it, as the Lord said, but what an amazing thing… to be free to go as we please,” said Ruby. Her mind drifted to the oil painting and to her children, Gio and Bria. Where were they now? If only they could have stayed.
The Lord descended the stairs of the platform and approached the circle of women.
“My Lord,” gasped the women who made deep sweeping bows.
“Please, there’s no need for such formalities. We must learn to be equals,” said the imposing Lord Bowhen. “What do you ladies think of today’s announcement?”
“I think it’s a wonderful demonstration of the great wisdom of the Elves,” said a squat-looking, yellow-skinned Goblin. “I have four sons and hope that every one of them will take up the sword and join the Ilfindi Legion.”
“Very good,” said Bowhen. “Dear ladies of Ilfindi, I have a favor to ask… The Lady Bowhen and myself are throwing a private celebration at the manor house. We felt that it would be appropriate, considering the occasion, to invite some of the common Goblins, as it would give us a chance to better understand each other. Would you lot fancy coming up to the house and joining in on our festivities?”
“Of course we would!” squawked the fat Goblin.
Ruby thought of Brutto, and that she had promised to make him his favorite snake steak for dinner, but she was so starstruck by the magnificent Lord that she could not resist the offer. She nodded and smiled, butterflies fluttering in her empty stomach.
Bowhen and his entourage led the women out the back of the pavilion and up the cobblestone drive that lead through the wrought-iron gate of the manor house.
The elegant mansion stood alone, perched on the top of a well-manicured, gently rolling hillside. The party continued into the dark foyer of the house, past marble busts of some seventy Elven emperors, and onward to the entrance of the great room. Two guards opened the giant-walnut doors of the room and, in the dim light of the torches, Ruby could see that all the Elves were wearing porcelain masks.
“I didn’t know this would be a masquerade,” said Ruby to the fat Goblin.
Bowhen made a sharp turn for Ruby. “There are some among the Elven court who will try to dismantle the achievement that we’ve accomplish here today. My associates are all on the side of the Goblins, but they do not wish to have their identities compromised so early in the game. Please join us.”
The lay of the ballroom made for a shocking, bizarre scene. There were various cliques of the masked Elves standing at different stations around the room. Lord Bowhen stood at the far end of the room watching it all and anxiously hovering over a plaster pool of some midnight-black liquid.
Different groups of Elves each grabbed one of the Goblin women, encircling the poor lady and asking strange, prodding questions.
“What fear lives in the heart of a Goblin?”
“Has anything you’ve done made your life better?”
“Do you believe your life has any meaning?”
By now the Goblin women were all separated, each suffering their own personal litany of abuses and revilement at the hands of the masked Elves. The whole affair made Ruby terribly uncomfortable. She scanned the room for an exit, but the all doors were closed, bared and guarded.
She could see some of the engagements becoming violent. She avoided all the groups and slipped through the room mostly unnoticed towards the far side with the pool, but the Lord Bowhen saw her coming and snatched her by the arm.
“And you have the pleasure of being my guest of honor, you mud-faced slag.”
Ruby screamed and pulled away, but it was no use. The villainous Bowhen produced shackles and a chain from his coat pocket. Ruby fought back and bit his hand, but he was too strong. Bowhen employed brutal force in attaching the cuffs to her wrists and securing the chain to a bracket in front of the black pool.
“Why are you doing this?” cried Ruby.
The wicked Lord paid no heed to her desperate cries.
One of the masked Elves approached Bowhen and whispered into his ear, “The Flea will be here soon…”
The torchlight suddenly flickered and waved-about wildly, then seemingly from out of a shadow appeared the sinewy form of a man. The figure wore a blackened-leather jerkin and hood. As he approached Bowhen, Ruby could see the waxy, colorless face of the man—as if he was sickly… almost bloodless.
“Have you done as I bid, Lord Bowhen?” The accent of the man was altogether foreign… no Elf nor Goblin nor Dwarf nor Gnome had ever talked with such strangeness.
The Lord took to his knee at the sight of his unholy master.
“The attack on the train went as planned. The die is cast and soon there will be war between the Diggers and the Elves.”
“The Diggers?” The flea spat in the face of Bowhen. “You think that I care about the fate of worthless Dwarves? I want the blood of the gnomes… the treacherous Crafters.”
“Master, please have mercy on me. I misunderstood your request.” Lord Bowhen was trembling. “I will alter the gambit to ensnare the Crafters as well. You will have the blood of all gnomes.”
“Yes! Yes!” hissed the dark apparition. “Now, Lord Bowhen, are you prepared for the rite which will mark your initiation into the Pallid Lodge?”
“I am devout. I come alone to the mission of the Pallid Lodge. I am prepared to dedicate myself to the eternal work.”
The Elves in the room all congregated around the black pool. They no longer wore any masks, revealing their sickly pale faces.
“You have passed the Test of Allegiance. Now, approach the Pool of Transmutation and prepare for the Test of the Flesh.”
Bowhen knelt before the black pool, his face a dark reflection in the liquid. The Flea came from behind and clasped Bowhen’s neck before submerging the head of the Elven Lord in the ebony fluid. At first Bowhen was stoic, but panic soon took over the body and the Elf jerked around, madly trying to come up for air, but the Flea did not let up. After ten minutes the movement stopped. It was another five minutes later that the Flea pulled Bowhen from the dark pool of alchemic water. He laid the drowned Elf on his back in front of Ruby.
The Flea took a cloth from one of the other Pallid Initiates and wiped the black slime from Bowhen’s face, which now had become as ghastly white as the others. Without breathing the Lord Bowhen opened his eyes and began to blink.
“Arise, Initiate Bowhen. And feel the boon of a new immortality.”
Without sitting up, Lord Bowhen sprung to his feet.
“I feel so… powerful. Powerful and… hungry.”
“Yes. Yes. You will learn to cherish the hunger. Let it guide you in the final test: The Test of Mercy.”
Bowhen’s eyes lit up as he gazed upon the shirking Ruby. The bloodlust of the ruthless Lord urged him on. He toppled the Goblin and began tearing into her like a rabid dog. With full vicious effect, Lord Bowhen tore through Ruby’s skin, and proceeded to suckle at the bloody lacerations.
The world around her faded away and as the life seeped out of Ruby, her last thoughts were of that dusty oil painting—the rocky cliff, the gulls, and the solitary dolphin, pressing its way through the waves.