I wake up with a searing pain in my head, the light coming in through the window shining much too brightly to not be offensive to my eyes in the delicate state I’m in

“ugh, note to self, never try to out drink a human again”

What can I say? Its a goblins pride how much he can drink!

But four and a half feet of Goblin and more malt than I can remember don’t blend well.

More importantly where in the hells am I?

It looks like a human house given I can only barely reach the floor from the top of the bed with my feet, at least I can see my boots in the corner of the small room and I seem to have fallen asleep in my clothes, if you can call them those.

See, we goblins live in tribes on the fringes of civilisation, either trading or raiding to get by and while my tribe is one of the former the old traditionalists in it refuse to but anything more than food and resources from the humans, and so my clothing amounts to a crude and colourless kilt over loincloth and some furs our ‘Tailor’ has stitched together.

Personally I’ve always wanted some human clothes, they look so comfortable and unlike fur probably don’t pick up smells like sailors pick up lovers’ pox, but I may as well kiss my inheritance good-bye if any of those old goats saw me in human clothing.

These musings take me to the edge of the room to my boots, thank Gortan my people are actually quite adept at making shoes, our cobbler trained under a human one and so actually knows what he’s doing, and even taught a few others so that when the old duffer keels over the clan wont lose the trade.

As I slowly slip on my shoes a voice blares throughout the house “TEVCLAN MY FRIEND ARE YOU UP YET” Goodman Taverd- the local forester’s- voice ringing through my ears and I struggle to keep whatever is left in my stomach, my ears ringing like the human noon bell, sending a piercing pain through my skull with every syllable

“Goodman Taverd please be quieter, my head feels like there are oxen running around in it”

“NONSENSE THIS IS A PERFECTLY GOOD MORNING WITH PLENTY OF WORK TO DO, COME, YOU CAN GET SOME PORRIDGE DOWN YOUR THROAT AND THEN HELP ME WORK LIKE YOU PROMISED LAST NIGHT”

Ugh, I cannot remember for the life of me what I promised to do but I know I’m definitely not going to enjoy whatever it is. I stand up having put my shoes on then walk through to the man’s living/dining room/kitchen seeing the six foot tall Goodman with his shaggy black beard, broad shoulders and big chest-the man is pretty much the opposite of a goblin-

“Good morning Goodman” I said hoarsely, “Ho friend you sound rough, here take some porridge it will do you the world of good” he says as he proffers a wooden bowl filled with sweet smelling oats porridge,

I take it over to the small table that’s in the corner of the room, put my porridge up there and then began the perilous ascent of the ridiculously tall rickety wooden stool, this takes me around a minute with some tense moments on the swaying stool, but I managed to steady myself and sit at the table and slowly started spooning the porridge into my mouth with my headache abiding to a degree.

“So anyway” Taverd started “I reckon you can go out and get me some kindling from the under-brush, I can never get to there properly and the local lordling keeps getting on my arse about how ‘It looks so incredibly untidy’ its a forest what does he expect, I swear ever since he visited that elven forest city to the north the little prick has been filled with ‘useful’ advice that’s annoyed just about everyone in the village”

I don’t really have anything bad to say about the local lord and his son, I mean they don’t go goblin hunting like some lords do so I’ve no problem with them. As we finish our porridge and make our way outside Taverd goes to chop some firewood as I head into the forest.

I.

Hate.

Forests.

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I think furiously as I walk from the trail to the main road covered in cuts and nettle rashes.

The part of the forest that prick wanted me to clear was filled with thorned branches and stinging plants of all different shapes and sizes, it took me three hours to clear and with the hangover making those three hours feel like ten.

I suppose that’s my fault for drinking, but he brought the malt out! at least he gave me five copper coins for the trouble.

That somewhat pacified me.

Somewhat.

That brings my total wealth to one hundred and ten coppers, just over a silver, I’ve been saving for a while and finally have enough for the long knife I need to join the chief’s war-band.

although its more like a mercenary group at this point, with different human lords using us to keep other, more belligerent local tribes in line and using us as scouts on campaigns, what can I say?

Green skin blends perfectly with the long green grass that blankets this counties hills and fields.

And despite not raiding to get by my tribe of about three hundred grown adults and roughly 400 children still is the biggest in the area.

You may be wondering why our clan isn't bigger if there are that many children usually about, and that’s because most of those little scamps when they grow up leave for lands with more goblins in them.

And yes I realise the irony of having an emigration problem due to a lack of people

I am the son of the petty chief Grimlack, who controls and is responsible for the 60 of those little green souls who are in the Tall-foot clan, named so because we’re a few inches taller on average than the rest of the tribe, the rest of the tribe are split between the far-eye clan, the Long-ears clan and the main chiefs’ clan, the Long-strider’s.

Money in the main chiefs war-band is good, with everyone getting to keep what they can loot from our skirmishes from other tribes. There’s usually plenty to go around there.

As I crest the rise on the next hill I reach the 3 story stone watchtower that marks the end of human territory in the area. Its always manned by 3 guards from the lord, his commitment to protecting the small village of Crestval that I was just leaving.

“Going back to the wild ah see stumpy!” one of the guardsmen shouted out

“well Tommens I can only plough your wife for one night, she can’t handle me for any longer!” I shouted back while the other two guffawed

“I’d believe that if your prick was big enough for the eye to see yah wee green arse” Tommens retorted. Laughing with the other two.

Me and Tommens grew up together at the same time with both of us around twenty we have a good laugh at each others expense,

I continued past the tower and down the road for about a mile before turning onto a path little better than a goat trail. By now the traces of my hangover were almost completely gone, a wonder what some work, walking and pissing into the bushes can do for a hangover, truly amazing.

One hour down the trail and then I can see it in the distance, little columns of smoke rising from communal fire-pits all around the highest hill in the area, with stick and skin huts, well over one hundred of them clustered into four separations all ringed off by a rickety wooden Palisade that’s about 6 feet tall.

An incompetent imitation of the twelve foot one surrounding Crestval, human construction is hard to copy when your half their size.

As I approach my tribe the stench of it hits me first, and suddenly my stomach remembers my hangover unexpectedly, leading to me puking for a minute and then gagging at the smell until I acclimatised to it again.

Ahh, home sweet home.