The text prompt had just closed, and now I apparently had a “quest”. Wishing it was something less glib than “Survive the Crotch Goblin Attack”, I tried not to overthink it.

Turning in a quick circle, I attempted to ascertain the source of the noise, when I realized it was coming closer, and that there were indeed multiple sources.

“Hey, it’s cool! No need to do anything rash now, ok?”

I yelled out into the forest, realizing the sun had descended much too quickly for my liking. I could barely see the red sphere as it lowered into the horizon. There was still some light peering through the forest canopy. Barely enough to make out the small figure that emerged from the blackberry thicket, apparently unmolested by it’s thorns and brambles.

The… thing, I am guessing to be a crotch goblin, was a barely 3 feet tall brown ochre humanoid. While it exuded a menacing err about it, I found it hard to perceive this creature as any real threat. It was practically naked, save for what seemed to be a loincloth made of bark and vines.

I also noticed the goblin was essentially weaponless, brown and humanoid in shape. It took me a moment to register that at least these particular goblins were not in fact “green”, but a washed out tan color. Their skin was the same pallor as a dead tree, matching their bark adornments.

I was honestly nervous for a moment and debated running. That was, until I saw that this imminent threat was nothing more than some kneecapping little runt. Promptly, my anxiety subsided.

“Uh, hey little fella. Is there something I can help you with?”

I asked, thinking maybe I could reason with the small humanoid. It obviously used some sort of language, or at least I think that was a language I was hearing. It was either that or a nonsensical chant meant to keep their quarry unaware.

The goblin met my question with a fierce response as it outspread each of its unproportionately long arm’s and once again yelled:

”NOM-NOM!”

As it uttered its unfamiliar cry, the creature came leaping at my face, in a sudden show of dexterity that I wouldn’t have considered possible. Ultimately, a knee jerk reaction barely saved me from the attempted vertical face-plant.

Flinching from surprise as I stepped back had barely saved me from the festering looking claws that adorned each of the goblin’s fingers. It was a painfully effective lesson and demonstration of why this creature appeared to be weaponless. It apparently didn’t need one, which made me remember a crucial detail.

If the “slate knife” could be considered a weapon, and not just a rock, I would have at least been armed. But, the damn thing was useless to me for now as it was still tucked into my backpack with the other pseudo garbage I was packing. I didn’t even have time to curse myself for being unprepared for… apparently hostile wildlife before the creature forced me to dodge another attack.

Swinging its arms in madcap fervor, the miscreant came at me again and again. I was barely dodging each strike, while I attempted to kick the goblin away. My effort to even get space between myself and those swinging claws were yielding naught. I was just exhausting myself. My opponent apparently didn’t share in my physical weariness and, if anything, it seemed even further roused by my signs of depletion.

Other than the ostensibly bacteria laden claws, I didn’t see this new threat as being particularly dangerous. But boy, it sure was fast.

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As I started to swing wildly in an attempt to disrupt the goblin, I felt a distinct sharp sensation strike the back of my skull. Something was throwing rocks at me! I love getting stoned, but not in the literal sense.

Between the impending darkness and my disorientation from the oddity of it all, I was unaware that the chanting and cries had come closer. Another sharp stung alerted me to what I now saw to be another pair of humanoids, jockeying between trees and stumps for cover between their sharp stone strikes.

Each stone caused negligible damage, but it served as an effective method to keep me off balance as the first goblin made a successful strike. I hissed in pain as I stepped back a few feet, finally gaining a bit of clearance between myself and the melee.

Encouraged by its first successful gouge, the crotch goblin made a mistake that I instinctively capitalized on. As it lost contact with the earth, flinging itself toward me, I landed a kick that would have sent a pigskin flying 50 yards.

The blow landed squarely between the creature’s legs as it yowled, a cry reminiscent of a cat seeking amorous attention. As it landed in the blackberry thicket, leaving humanoid indentation, I tried to find sight of the other two little bastards, but it seemed they had fled at the defeat of a single member of their trio.

I was incredulous that the fight was over, trembling with adrenaline as I tried to catch my breath. I hardly had time to debate what the hell a crotch goblin was supposed to be or why it attacked me before my initial opponent once again rose from the bramble bolting toward me as if it were some fecal phoenix rising from its own excrement.

Damn thing hadn’t learned its lesson. I easily side stepped its enraged attack. Face planting into the dirt where I had just stood apparently stunned it.

I cursed myself again for not keeping my “knife” at the ready and pulled off my left sandal to beat the creature against the back of the head. I landed strike after strike, probably causing minimal damage, but it maintained the state of disorientation which allowed me to keep swinging without interruption.

It took several strikes before I finally made progress. A little known fact working in my favor is that the sandals provided in incarceration had sharp edges that, if brandished and applied at the correct angle, caused a welted scratch like a deep paper cut. I spent half my prison term practicing these strikes as I defended my pork rinds and ramen from would be subjugators. Finally, all my practice had a greater purpose than protecting my snacks.

It was disgusting watching the arterial spray as I finally contacted a perceptively vital vein. I didn’t want to hurt anything, not to mention kill this monster that reminded me of a 1st grader with a violent disassociative disorder. But, I didn’t think and reacted out of fear, anger and unreleased frustration. I eventually dropped the sandal, abandoning any attempt to merely pacify it, and struck with my fist into the miniature cranium as the goblin lay prostrate. I didn’t hear my own screams of “BUGGER OFF” until there was only a pulpy pile of gore before me attached to the small mottled brown form that was once the goblin.

Still sitting over the corpse, I disregarded the blinking symbol of an envelope hovering in my peripheral vision. Overwhelmed with disgust between the mess and the violence that I now saw myself capable of, I allowed myself to slump to the ground. I lacked the where-with-all to comprehend what had just happened, not to mention regain my standing.

I have been engaged in many fights over the years. It comes with the territory. Attempted robbery was just an anticipated issue that happened often when purveying various substances, even when I was just selling weed. But it was always that, a fight, violence to abet robbery, and not necessarily with the intention to kill. This wasn’t like that at all. This was a deathmatch that I had somehow won barehanded. Or half barefoot and barehanded, as the case may be.

As I got up to find the other two culprits, a weakened sensation followed by a light tingle coalescing through my left leg where the goblin had made its only strike brought me down.

Repositioning myself, I saw the wound, while not very deep, was a dark red color with a coalescing vibrant purple accenting the veins around the inflicted area. I’d never seen infection set in so fast before, and wondered if the goblin had fecal manicures or something akin to that nature.

As I stared at the wound, it became harder and harder to ignore the blinking envelope symbol hovering in my peripheral vision. Exasperated with the distraction, I tried to focus my vision on it intending to try to make it desist. Instead of going away like I wanted, when I focused on the icon, my status screen came up again, this time on the notifications tab. I apparently had two notifications that immediately displayed themselves:

You have defeated a “Crotch Goblin Agitator”.

You have gained a minor amount of experience. (+50 XP)

You have received a new debilitating status effect.

Festering Wounds

*3 points of damage over time every 2 minutes until cured.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I saw the second message. I remember I had 120 HP to start with. How much was I down to now?

I started blinking desperately, trying to open my “Status” screen when I regained sight of the other two goblins. And then another two, and another set after that. Shit, the first goblin was just a distraction. They fight like wolves, one jockeying for their prey as the others nipped and ran. Or in their case, threw rocks and ran.

I stared on in horror as one of the bark adorned goblins raised a larger rock with the obvious intent of attempting to stone me again. In a less than masculine moment, I flinched and didn’t see the stone as it contacted my skull before I lost consciousness once again. At least I think I lost consciousness. Once I was aware again, I couldn’t see anything but a less opaque text block than the previous ones in far more artistic script with serifs and bold print.

You have died, shuffled off this mortal coil, expired, succumbed, bit the dust.

Respawn available, Please pick a location: Closest Shrine - Closest Graveyard