002

I've been tasked with tracking down a small group of goblins thinking they can strike out on their own. That's fine with me, really, but the chief needs to make an example out of them. Needs to show both the reach and extent of his power. Being his left hand, that naturally means it falls on me to make an example of these idiots.

Tracking is something that naturally comes to goblins. We spend our entire lives doing it. We track beasts, we track humans, we track our fellow goblins. When you live a life of barbarism like we do, tracking is a skill of utmost importance. Knowing where your potential enemies are? Potential food? Of course that's important. We're good at tracking but most goblins are sort of stupid. They're not great at preventing themselves from being tracked.

After a couple days of heading east and following a fairly obvious trail left behind by about five gobs, I finally come across their encampment. I say encampment but it's really little more than a clearing in the forest with a fire in the middle. I climb a tall tree, camouflaged amongst leaves, and observe them for a while. I watch them for a long time. I wait and wait. Eventually, they go out on a hunt and come back with a recent kill. A deer. I watch as they drain the blood, I watch as they butcher the carcass, I watch as they cook the flesh. They're all here, eating. I check my equipment--daggers, bags of stones, bags of sand--and everything is good to go. I climb down and I slowly approach. Hiding in the foliage and moving so slowly I'm not even sure I'm moving at all, I get close enough to one particular gob sitting atop a log.

Four of the five are fighting. Probably for some food. It's a perfect opportunity. I pull my dagger from my waist and reach out to the gob with my left hand, covering his mouth as I pull him backwards into my blade. It seeps through his back, between his ribs, and into his heart. He didn't even have time to make a sound.

There were five total. They won't notice me approaching their little rumble and that's exactly what I do. I grab one gob standing in the periphery and slit his throat. The others, shocked, all turn to me and draw their crude weapons. Clubs. I'm one of the few goblins fortunate enough to have a real weapon. A dagger might not be much but it's perfect for me.

I kick their friend, blood squirting from his throat, into the pile and rush the third, plunging my dagger into his stomach as I raise it, cutting a vertical gash that literally spills his guts. Before the other two even have time to react, I kick up dust and rush the fourth, tackling him to the ground and piercing his chest. The last manages to swing his club at me and I'm forced to abandon my dagger as I scramble away and to my feet.

He has a weapon and I don't. Seizing this upon this differential in strength, he shouts and charges at me with his club raised. Perfect. I reach into a bag dangling by my waist and pull out a fistful of stones, throwing them directly into his face. I take that opportunity of momentary distraction and blindness to pull a second dagger from behind my back and land it directly in his throat. Red always stresses the importance of backups. Preparedness, too.