Tale Of The Goblin And The Elder

[the 1 bow 1112]

Gathering in Laz=dur, many orcs would retire into a large tent within the capital for the evening, to congregate and socialize with one and other. An orcish clanmother, appearing long in years would rise, and speak.

 

“Let met tell you all of the story, of the Goblin and the Elder.

 

Many moons ago, before the fated Clash of Clans war which aided in shaping the Warnation today as we know it, there were two neighbouring clans, living in the same region of the desert. The clan names lost to time, as during the war, they simply went extinct. Yet the tales of those within the tribes remain.

 

There was an orc, Marogg. Marogg was an elder of his clan, highly respected for his wisdom by his peers. Yet he took no mate, spawned no children, he, for all his knowledge of the world around him had only one true friend. Thorbad, a young brash orc who was renown for his capability as a warrior with fierce fighting skill, yet with his youth, meant that Thorbad had earned a reputation for being brash and compulsive. He rarely thought of his actions consequences, and this got him in a cascading amount of strife. Good Marogg however, was always there to aid his friend, and had become a mentor and father figure to him.

 

On this day, long ago, Thorbad bursted into Marogg’s blarg, out of breath, with words pouring out of his mouth quicker than he could form proper pronunciations for them.

 

“Marogg!” Thorbad called out, entering his mentors quarters, “I need your help.” The aged orc emerged from his room, brow araised.

 

“Again?” Marogg replied. Thorbad rolled his eyes and sat down, motioning for Marogg to do so also.

 

“As you know, I lost most of my belongings in that gambling mishap.”

 

“To which I payed the fee of.” Marogg said, grunting.

 

“Yes, well the chieftain of the clan on the other side of the dunes has put word out to all the clans, he has a daughter who he says is as big and strong as any orc and will give birth to a son to rival that of even Rax son of Krug!” Still panting, Thorbad grew more excited as each word was uttered. Marogg sighed, chuckling.

 

“You should not believe such proclamations. But, you came here for my help. What do you actually need?”

 

“The chieftain demands all those who would take his daughter as a mate must first present tribute, then defeat all other candidates in a klomp. The klomp, psh, that is no worry. But…”

 

“You need goods for tribute.”

 

“The better the tribute, the higher favour you gain. If I give the chieftain something really good, that means when I take his daughter, Ill be in a better position because I will have earned his respect..” Thorbad said with a grin.

 

“If you say so. But, all my goods are spent right now. Those who work for me are all tied up else where, I cannot give you anything. I can however, use my status to give you credit, so that if you were to borrow your tribute, I will repay it in full.” Marogg replied, pushing himself up. Thorbad followed suit and gave him a headbutt.

 

“Thankyou Marogg, once I win the klomp and take the chieftains daughter as a mate, you will never have to do something like this for me again.” Marogg chuckled once more, writing a letter of credit for Thorbad. There was only one in the clan who had such a vast amount of resources that they could lend Thorbad what he needed and not feel the sting of the loss. Grot.

 

A fragile and wrinkled goblin, Grot walked with a hunch, forever adding to his rather dwarfed size. The clan despised him, yet kept him around for his abundance of resources. Thorbad saw the goblin at the village’s market, buying boar meat.

 

“So you request two full cases of ferrum bars hmm?” Grot asked, in his trademark squealy yet raspy voice. Thorbad rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, the presence of the goblin almost sickening him.

 

“That is what I said, yes.”

 

“Yes, yes. Yes. Should I give this to you, the ferrum, on my good will?” Grot again asked. He knew the answers, yet it was as if he wanted to provoke the young orc.

 

“Grot, I have a letter from Marogg the elder. Within three elven months, he will pay the sum back in full.” Grot seemed to almost shiver at the name, Marogg.

 

“Ah, Marogg. He…is a good orc. I will need to speak with him though, determine the full arrangements of this deal.” Grot said, looking at the pound of boar meat he had just purchased. His gaze lingered, before returning to Thorbad. “Meet me at my office at sun down with Marogg.” And with that, the goblin hobbled off, and Thorbad returned to find his old friend.

 

It was as agreed, the trio met at the goblins cramped and stench filled ‘office’. It was a hut, with a latrine in the same room, ensconced with Grots goods and resources.

 

“So…Marogg, why does this boy come to me with your credit, are you too good to visit me?” The goblin sneered. Marogg grunted, going to lean against a pile of crates however the began to lean as soon as he did so he quickly relented.

 

“It is not for me, it is for Thorbad here, I have simply agreed to pay back the debt.” Marogg rebutted. Grot nodded over-exaggeratedly, plopping himself down behind his desk.

 

“And why is it that I must do such a thing? When everyone looks down on the goblin? When the pair of you make it so obvious it disgusts you so much to be here?” The two orcs were silent, not knowing what to say. Grot let out a hearty laugh, before grabbing a bone and a vial of blood, beginning to write on a piece of parchment. “Harh, but I am a generous goblin.” Thorbad and Marogg let out simultaneous sighs of relief, and Marogg stepped forward towards Grot’s desk.

 

“You write the terms?”

 

“Yes, so that there can not be any confusion. I will lend young Thorbad two full crates of ferrum, and over a period of three elven months, you, Marogg will return the sum to me.” Nods were exchanged around the room. Grot handed Marogg the paper, before drawing up a copy for himself. As Marogg’s eyes landed on the words, Grot called out and said them as well. “If Marogg forfeits the debt, or fails to pay it back, Grot is entitled to a pound of his flesh.” Thorbad sprung forward, snatching the paper from Marogg.

 

“Friend, I would not ask you to make that sacrifice for me.” Marogg looked at Thorbad, and gave a forced smile.

 

“Don’t worry, Thorbad. My workers will procure ten times that sum soon enough,” Marogg turned to Grot, “the terms are agreed upon.”

 

“Good,” Grot said, “Good.”

 

A few days later, with the two crates of ferrum, Thorbad began the journey over the dunes to the lands of the neighbouring clan. Several mounted grunts halted him, but once the young orc explained his business, took him to the blarg of the clan chief. Presenting the ferrum, Thorbad bowed his head respectfully as the chieftain approached, flanked by his daughter. He stole a quick peak of her. She was everything that had been promised. Tall, muscled, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. She was a warrior.

 

“Hah! Very good! I hope this one does well in the klomps. Looks like he’d make a decent match for Hera.” The chieftain proclaimed. Hera. A warriors name.

 

Over the next few days, the klomps for the mateship of Hera began. Thorbad did well, never once even being struck to the ground. He had made his way through to the final two. His opponent, a beast of an orc, by the name of Gogthraka. A champion of his clan, Gogthraka stood several feet higher than Thorbad.

 

The klomp began, with Gogthraka charging full speed at the smaller orc. Thorbad however, timed his strike to perfection, leapt forward and to the side, and struck Gogthraka on the skull flushly. The big orc dropped to the ground, knocked out. The crowd watching fell silent, before erupting in a mad roar of cheers. The chieftain rose, applauding.

 

“And so it is! Thorbad, has proven himself the most worthy orc, to take my daughter as his mate!” He shouted. Thorbad looked at Hera, and the two exchanged smiles. The pair became life mates, and Thorbad fathered many of her children. With the death of the clan chieftain, Thorbad ascended to the role, becoming a leader. The once young and brash orc had matured.

 

Had their story ended there, it would have been an uncharacteristically happy ending for our people. Yet it does not.

 

Three months passed. Thorbad sat on his throne in the hall of the clan, when a sand rat scurried up to his feet. It carried a note. Taking the paper, the new chieftain threw the rodent away and began to read;

 

Thorbad,

 

News has found me of you new title, I wish to congratulate you. I also have heard that you fathered children to this feroc, Hera. Again, congratulations.

 

I write to you on my last legs. A war, has broken out amongst the major clans. My workers out on their jobs have perished, I am left with no way of paying back the goblin what is owed. Our chieftain has agreed to let an unbiased elder decide whether Grots terms should be upheld. By all rights of honour, the goblins bond will be upheld. He seeks my life. I do not ask you to repay this debt, only that you come to see me before I die. For you were my truest friend.

 

-Marogg

 

Riddled with grief and guilt, Thorbad turned to his lifemate, Hera, not knowing where else to turn. She suggested that Thorbad go to the judging ceremony with twice the sum owed to Grot, an offer he could not refuse. Content with this idea, Thorbad set out back to his original home. However, Hera, having heard of the goblin’s stubbornness through hearsay, decided it would be wise to have a back-up plan just in case Grot did in fact refuse the offer. Being of a particularly large build, she could easily pass off as a male. None of the orcs in the other clan would recognize her regardless, so she would not be found out. Therefore, if she could somehow find a way to take the spot of the elder, she could make the judgement and save her lifemates old friend.

 

The day of Marogg’s judgement came. The dense desert air remained still as the clan gathered. Marogg and Grot stood on opposing sides, with the clans chieftain and elders all sat in a row. An empty seat rested in front of them. Suddenly, a young cloaked figure shoved its way through the crowd. The green skin spoke with an odd croaky voice. Hera. Her façade was convincing enough. As she went to sit down, one of the elders called out.

 

“Who are you boy?” Hera did not turn her head to look back, but simply responded with,

 

“My name is Tuska, I am the apprentice of the elder whom you elected as the judge. He is unwell, and has asked me to take his place.” A slight murmur chirped through the crowd as the rest of the elders began to discuss. One of the more experienced elders replied,

 

“I can vouch for this claim, he does have a apprentice, let the boy take his place.” Hera exhaled, this was a mere coincidence. She leaned back in the chair, looking at Marogg and Grot.

 

“I Tuska, have been informed of this matter,” Hera said, “You goblin, are Grot, yes?”

 

“Grot, yes. Grot, I am.”

 

“It is a strange situation you have found yourself in, goblin. But by all codes of honour, you cannot be denied what you are owed.” Hera then turned to Marogg. “You cannot return what you borrowed from this goblin?”

 

“No, I cannot.” At that moment, Thorbad burst through the crowd with several grunts behind him carrying four crates, packed to the brim with ferrum.

 

“Yes he can! Twice that much!” The chieftain shouted out. Marogg chuckled, and Thorbad nodded to his former mentor. “And if that is not enough, I would give an arm, my legs, my heart itself to see the debt repaid, and if this is not enough, it is clear this foul goblin is plain evil!” The crowd began to chant.

 

“KLOMP! KLOMP! KLOMP!” Marogg looked to Grot, his fated enemy, and rolled his aged yet bulky shoulders.

 

“Should we not settle this, as orcs do. Not holding court like the pinkskins?” The elder asked, moving towards the goblin, who cowered, lowering himself to the ground.

 

“NO!” Grot retaliated, “it is clear, you are bigger than me, there would be no contest” The crowd of orcs laughed, agreeing. Grot seethed with rage. “You all hate me, because I am a goblin? Why? Because I am smaller than you?!” Another goblin, this one from the crowd shouted back at him,

 

“No, we hate you because you are a dishonourable skah” More laughter. Hera motioned for silence.

 

“It is true, if the two were to klomp, there would be no challenge. Grot the goblin, you have been offered more than what you are owed, twice the amount. Take it, and let this matter be done with.” The mock-elder feroc declared.

 

“I will have my bond!” Grot growled out. “I do not want goods, I care not for metals. I want, my flesh, what I am truly owed. A pound of flesh, from the body of Marogg as stated in this letter.” The crowd broke out into another murmur. These, technical ways that Grot went about business were not orc-like, only adding to the dislike towards him. Hera sighed, slumping in her chair.

 

“It appears it must be so…the goblin and the elder made a deal. The goblin held up his end, the elder must do so as well. A pound of flesh.” All the orcs shouted in a ravenous up-roar, utterly against the decision, yet the law was the law. Thorbad pushed his way into the middle of the gathering, standing infront of Marogg, facing Grot.

 

“Take the flesh from me, it was for me whom the goods were borrowed for, so I should be the one that takes the punishment.” Hera’s eyes widened as Thorbad spoke, yet she quickly had to correct herself, for no one could know of her concern.

 

“…Does this…meet your approval, goblin?" She asked Grot.

 

“Very well.” He responded, crossing out the name ‘Marogg’ on the paper, changing it to ‘Thorbad’.

 

“Restrain the orc.”

 

“Good, judge.”

 

“The goblin is to take a pound of flesh, from anywhere that he chooses from the body of Chieftain Thorbad.”

 

“Noble, judge.”

 

“A pound, no more, no less.”

 

“Learned, judge.” Grot spoke again, pulling out a skinning knife. Thorbad was tied to a seat which had been brought in during the commotion. Marogg rushed over to him.

 

“Do not do this, brother.” The elder said. Thorbad smiled, saying;

 

“It seems I am saving you this time.”

 

“If I had a lifemate, children, if my wealth still remained, I will trade them all so that you did not need to give your life for mine.”

 

“I would have done the same. Goodbye, old friend.” Grot stepped forward, lining up the blade across Thorbad’s chest towards the right side, directly over the heart. As he etched it closer, Hera spoke up.

 

“But! Let it be known in this letter, it does not say you are owed blood. If a single drop of blood is spilled during the taking of the pound of flesh, you forfeit your life goblin. And, if the flesh you take is not a pound, if it is lesser or greater, even by the weight of a grain of sand, you again, forfeit your life.”

 

“Why such harsh punishments?!” Grot asked, still holding the blade.

 

“Blood, demands blood.” Hera said back. Grot held the skinning knife in place for a few more moments, pondering his next move. Eventually, he relented, pulling the blade away.

 

“I, I will take the ferrum.” Thorbad sighed in relief, as did the rest of the clan.

 

“No you will not.” Hera boomed, rising to her feet. “You chose the pound of flesh. If you do not wish to take it, then that is your choice.” Grot was left speechless.

 

“I-I-…”

 

“Krugs code has one more hold on you, goblin. Attempt, successful or not, to take another orcs life without proper cause warrants death. By you, not fulfilling your bargain, you yourself deem your attempt on Marogg the elders life, a non-proper cause. As judge of this gathering, I sentence you to die.”

 

Grot was promptly executed after this. Hera told Thorbad the whole story, and how she had come to take the elders place. She had simply knocked him unconscious before the trial. The two returned to their clan, and after much convincing, Marogg joined them. The three lived in relative peace until the clans eventual demise during the Clash of Clans war.

 

What can we learn, from the tale of the goblin and the elder?

 

Do not, put materials over orcish lives.

 

Use Thorbad and Marogg as an example of what it truly means to be bruddahs. Both, were willing to help eachother in times of crisis. Both, were willing to die for eachother. Orcs are at their strongest when united together. When you look at the orc next to you, and know he is willing to die for you, and you too, are willing to die for him, there is no greater nation, than one comprised of that.”

[Publius 4098]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.