The first goblin born by the lake was a rancid, feral thing. From the earth it grew with spindly limbs and gnashing jaws, its ill designed teeth stabbing its own mouth and its misshapen eyes hardly able to take in the world around it. This thing, which bore no memory or capabilities, was little more than a mongrel; from its birthplace it dashed into the forest, led only by the most primal of instincts- the desire to eat. It found small creatures that scuttled between the trees and grabbed them with crooked hands, stuffing them wholesale into its maw. Flesh, bone, feather, fir, claw, and beak. Anything the goblin could fit in its mouth it would chew and swallow, and when the forest creatures grew too wary of it for it to catch them it began to devour plants and twigs and mud. Sometimes this would make the goblin sick enough to retch up its meal, but then it would just eat it all again. The creature was hardly able to understand what hurt it or what could be making it sick.
For three days this first goblin roamed the forest. It fought with wild beasts and, when they proved too mighty, ran yipping and howling into the woods until it found a place to hide. It ate anything it could find with reckless abandon until its body was covered in sores and rashes and its throat and excrement were bloody. On the eve of the third day, as the setting sun painted the lake where it had been born a golden red, it finally returned to its birthplace. It sat beneath a tall thing that was not plant or tree, the birthing thing of goblins. With a heavy body and a mind devoid of thought, the goblin closed its eyes... and died.
So is the story of many first goblins from many seeds in many places. The goblin died cold, half mad, and dumber than any animal that is born naturally into the world. Even so, this goblin died incredibly important. As life left its body, the birthing thing shifted against its back. The goblin sank into the thing that had given it life, and as it did its memories, precious and few, seeped into the birthing thing of goblins. All of its experiences over the last three days pooled within her, and as they coalesced she became aware. It was a dim sort of awareness, not quite intelligence or sapience, but it was the awareness of a living thing. The birthing thing took this awareness and wove it into the seeds that she grew, and when they fell two goblins rose from the earth. These goblins were still feral, still bestial, but they were slightly, just slightly, smarter than their predecessor. They understood what might make them sick and what might fill their bellies, and they knew what beasts would tear at their flesh and what beasts they could bite and chew as food.
These two goblins prowled the forest for two full weeks, learning much more than the first goblin had. They learned that water was necessary to drink, that different beasts roamed the night than those who roamed the day, and that the gold night numbed their limbs and brought them closer to death. These goblins slept huddled together most nights beneath the birthing thing, and during the day they prowled the forest and hunted prey. They would not live forever. On the last day of their life they stumbled across a great beast, a thing of thick fur and sharp claw and mighty strength. It roared its fury at the goblins and attacked, and the goblins were too slow to escape and too weak to defend. One goblin was torn in half, and the other only managed to escape with mortal wounds by hiding in the trees. It waited as the beast devoured its kin and then, half dead, dragged the sibling's corpse back to the birthing thing before it finally died. Again the thing took her children into herself, and again she lived their memories and gifted them to her seeds. New goblins were born, more aware than their lost elders, and the cycle continued on.
Four goblins came to life this time, and with the wisdom of their predecessors they learned caution. They roamed together in one band, always wary of beasts they now knew to be predators as they hunted for smaller creatures. When they found plants they could eat, they ate them with glee, and when they found plants they weren’t aware of they ate them to see what would happen. One goblin died from this very early on, but they were laid to rest beneath the birthing thing without mourning or hassle. The three remaining goblins took to spending their days in relative peace. They learned from the memories of their elders and from their own careful hunting that most of the dangerous beasts roamed the same areas of the forest as they hunted for prey, and that they could weave fine paths between the territories of predators. This knowledge let them venture farther out into the wilderness without more deaths, and they found that there were many cliffs in the forest that held networks of caves. One goblin entered this cave and found the great furred beast there in a deep slumber, and they realized that the caves were home to many beasts. Some were small and leathery and made for good food, but others were dangerous and hostile when the goblins drew too close.
When the goblins walked for a full day away from the birthing thing, spending the night huddled in a hollow beneath a fallen tree, they found a mighty trail that cut through the forest. It was like the animal trails of the woods, the dirt trodden and dead and unable to grow plants, but it was wider and longer than any other trail the goblins had seen. A truly massive beast must have mad e a trail like this, larger than any of the cave beasts or predators they had seen. They skulked around this trail that night beneath a thicket of bushes, wondering what manner of creature might come down this path.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that they got their answer. The hiding goblins were woken up from a midday nap by a strange sound, one they hadn’t hurt in the forest before. From beneath their thicket they peeked out and found that there was a thing on the trail. Wood made up the thing, much like the wood of trees, but this thing was without bark or branches like the trees of the forest. Wheels were holding up the wooden thing, and the goblins realized that the sound they had heard was the sound of the wheels creaking beneath the weight of the wood as they churned the dirt beneath them. It was pulled by two large beasts, although they weren’t as menacing as the furred beast of the cave, and on the wood thing there sat an animal. This animal looked very much like a goblin, or so the goblins believed. Its skin was different, and it was much larger than the goblins, but it hand hands like theirs and a face that was similar enough. It held something attached to the horses as it rode on the wood thing, and as it passed them the goblins saw that there were more of the not-goblins sitting in the wood thing, making strange noises with their mouths as they handled bizarre items that did not feel like they were of the forest.
This was all very shocking to the goblins, who, in the short month since the birthing thing had grown and grown them in turn, had only seen beasts of fur or feather. Although they couldn’t talk, the goblins came to a unanimous conclusion as they exchanged glances and gestured towards the wood thing. Two of the goblins scuttled out from beneath the thicket and began to walk towards the not-goblins curiously. If they were like goblins, they might help the goblins in some way, and if they weren’t they might be prey- so was the simple thought process of the young goblins.
As soon as the not-goblins spotted them, they began to shout. It wasn’t like the cries of animals in the forest, but it wasn't any sound the goblins had ever made either. From their sides and backs they pulled out strange things, things that were long and caught the sunlight in brilliant flashes that dazzled and awed the goblins. As the goblins stared at the shiny things, however, the not-goblins approached, and before the goblins could realize what the strange creatures were doing they were attacked. The shiny things were swung down upon the goblins with frightening speed, and the goblin in the thicket watched in horror as its siblings died. One goblin was cut in half with a strangled cry, and the other had its head crushed down into its body with an awful crack that echoed through the woods. The not-goblins, satisfied, returned to their wooden seats and continued on their way, not even bothering to eat the dead goblins for food.
An hour passed before the final goblin was sure that the not-goblins had left, once the rolling wheels and chattering voices had disappeared far into the forest. From the thicket where it had been hiding the goblin scampered out, its eyes darting in search of other dangers, and collected its falling siblings. It did not mourn the other goblins, but it knew that they all needed to return to the birthing thing. With some effort it began to drag both of its siblings into the forest and back the way it came, relying on the memory of their path and the distant call of the birthing thing to guide its way. The journey to the great trail had taken a full day of walking before, but now that the goblin had to drag its siblings and avoid predators that might hunt their dead flesh it took three entire days to return. By the time the goblin reached the birthing thing it was dying itself, starved and dehydrated and tired beyond its body’s capacity. All it felt when it collapsed on the cold grass by the birthing thing, however, was relief. It had returned had made it.
Something close to shock filled the birthing thing as she absorbed her three fallen children. The memories, the experiences of the dead goblins filled her to the point that she felt like she was overflowing, and with that came a sensation of wholeness. Understanding. Around her stretched a forest filled with creatures, beasts that could hunt and be hunted. The birthing thing could see all of the trees that her children had walked among as clearly as if they were laid out before her, and beyond that she was beginning to understand, through the many sights and sounds that existed within her among the many memories, how the things of the forest fit together. More interesting than even that, however, were the creatures that had killed two of her children. The things that were not goblins. They had wielded shiny things that cut and bludgeoned painfully, killing the goblins much better than even claw and fang, and they had made sounds foreign to the natural noise of the forest. As the memories of seven of her children filled her with images that she could relive perfectly and endlessly, something akin to intelligence was blooming within the birthing thing. She realized that the sounds the not goblins made felt so strange because they were different than cries altogether. Meaning- that was what set apart the noise. They had made a sound when they saw her children, and they had made sounds as they pointed at each other or made gestures. Although she didn’t know the word for it, she had a general sense that this was communication, and much like cries of fear or rage or some of the animal calls that meant food or anger, only much more complex. Over and over the birthing thing wondered at the sounds that the not-goblins had made as they pointed at her children as they prepared to kill them.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Goblin.
A truth. The birthing thing and the goblins it created had almost known this word. When they thought of themselves, they thought of themselves as goblins. Before, it hadn't been with this arrangement of noise, but now that the birthing thing had heard it she knew it was true. They were goblins. Excitement filled the birthing thing as she came to understand a word. There were more things to understand just outside of herself, and her children could see them. They could gift to her their memories, and together they could know the world and its many dangers. When the birthing thing dropped her seeds this time she, for the first time, pushed something other than her collected memories into her children. She asked them to do something for her- for themselves.
Ten goblins rose from the earth. They looked different than their most distant predecessor; their limbs were less gangly and more precise, and their teeth didn’t cut their own gums. These goblins had more knowledge, too, and with that knowledge came a capacity to intake even more knowledge. More than that, though, they knew they were different from their predecessors for one reason above all. As they opened their eyes to the world, a purpose filled their chests.
Noise that carried meaning. Objects that could kill better than teeth or claw. It wasn't words or commands that filled the goblins, but pure meaning that made their first breaths eager and their hearts excited. They had a reason to live given by the birthing thing- the birther of goblins- and if they accomplished it they would help her and all goblins that came after them. Eagerly the goblins gathered together in a circle, their quiet grunts and itching the only sound in the lakefront where the goblin birther grew. They sat for several long minutes, their yellow eyes dull with concentration on their vague thoughts, before one of them took the initiative and slowly, sloooowly pointed at one of the other goblins.
"Ga... gaw.... gobli...n." The goblin's voice was broken and rough as it forced its numb tongue to shape the sounds. The goblin it pointed at nodded vigorously- it knew this word. The first goblin nodded back and pointed at itself. "Gobla... gob...lin." It's siblings grunted their agreement and began to point at one another, declaring themselves 'goblin' as they worked their tongues for the first time. This went on for ten long minutes before the first goblin turned towards the forest that bordered the lake. A look of severe concentration scrunched up its face as it stared at a nearby tree.
. “S… sa…” A few experimental sounds left the goblin's throat as it pointed towards the tree. "K... kat... Sa..." It's mouth worked heavily, and several times it had to stop to lick its lips or chew on its tongue, as if trying to force the muscle to work. The other goblins didn't interrupt, only staring at their sibling with rapt attention, enthralled at this stunning development. "Ska... Sak... Saka." The goblin slouched as it finally managed to jam the sounds together into something that the goblin felt would work. It wasn't dissimilar to the sounds the not-goblins had made, and more importantly than that it held meaning.
The other goblins stared at the tree in astonishment, working the sound out with their own tongues. It had a word. Saka- tree. They began to point at other trees and say the new word, the first word in their own language. Now that the first step had been taken, the other goblins felt eager to continue this new thing they had; they began to point at everything they could, declaring names for them with clumsy tongues. Sometimes a goblin would name something another had already named, of course, and then they would fight with punches and kicks until one of them gave up. The winner got to keep the name, and the other goblins got to watch their siblings fight with whoops and cheers. It was fun for the goblins, and that was also interesting and new. Their predecessors hadn’t had time to enjoy much of anything, but these goblins were having a good time with their duty. Maybe it was the duty itself that let them have fun?
When the goblins ran out of things to name in their immediate area they decided to take their new activity deeper into the forest. In one pack they tumbled through the woods, frightening insects and small critters with their chaotic procession. Whenever something ran away from them they would point excitedly and name it with their new, simple tongue- often naming several animals the same thing. They didn’t quite know the difference between any two critters if both were small and furry, even if one was a rabbit and one was a squirrel. At some point during their journey, one goblin picked up a fallen tree branch. Half the branch had broken away, leaving only a two foot long stick nearly three times as thick as the goblins gangly arms. They pointed it out to their siblings with an eager sound.
“Saka,” it said, pointing at the nearby tree. Then it pointed at the fallen branch. “Saka… Sak.” The other goblins nodded appreciatively at this name and were about to continue onwards, but the goblin stopped them with a sound. They turned impatiently, grouching and jabbing each other as they waited for their sibling to work out something in its head.
The birther of goblins had given them two duties. They were fulfilling one, much to their collective pleasure, but what about the other? The not-goblins had their shiny things that killed goblins. The shiny things were straight. Come to think of it, the branch that the goblin held was pretty straight too.
An idea clicked in the goblin's head, and it called one of its siblings over. The sibling hobbled over and sat down in front of the goblin with a grunt, sticking a finger up its nose to pick about as it waited. The goblin with the branch raised it in imitation of the memory of the not-goblins and, with a cry, swung it horizontally with as much force as it could muster. The tree branch collided with the sitting goblins head with a dull thunk, sending it toppling to the ground with a deflating whine. It crumpled into a twitching heap as the other goblins stared in shock at the goblin with the branch.
That had done much more damage than their fists could! Save for the now unconscious and twitching goblin on the ground, all the goblins shouted in amazement as they crowded around the goblin with the branch. This is what the birther of goblins wanted! It wasn’t as shiny as the things the not-goblins used, but it was just as good for smacking with! They all cheered excitedly and danced around the unconscious goblins body, gabbing excited half words that didn’t have any real meaning. The goblin who had swung the branch held up its hand, and all the other goblins froze, staring.
Slowly, it mimed swinging the branch again. It looked around and said another new word reverentially. “Svaw,” it said, miming the swing again. Hit. Then it pointed to its tree branch. “Svawsak.”
The gathered goblins gasped at the meaning their sibling was implying- a hit-stick. It was genius! They cheered again, and this time they began to scatter around the forest nearby, kicking through the grass and bushes in search of their own hit-sticks. Even the goblin that had been smacked, once it woke up, took part in the excitement, albeit with a scowl and a thumping pain in its head.
When the goblins continued on their journey through the forest, they did so carrying tree branches of various sizes on their shoulders. Whenever they stumbled on slower or less aware animals that they knew they could hunt, the goblins would pounce on them with their new inventions and beat the poor beasts to death with gusto. Tot he goblins delight, this method killed the creatures they hunted much faster than they would have trying to pounce on them and beat them with their fists or bite them to death.
For hours they hunted and dashed about the forest, naming what they could and killing anything that they thought wouldn't just kill them. When they finally returned to the goblin birther it was already long past dark. Starlight bounced off of the surface of the lake in a rainbow of rippling light that soothed the tired goblins as they crowded near the thick base of the goblin birther. With yawns and sleepy grunts, the goblins curled up in one great heap beneath the arched cap of the goblin birther, their limbs curled around their hit-sticks and their breathing quickly fading into raspy snores that filled the night.
The birther of goblins could not gaze down lovingly at her children. She had no eyes with which to see her progeny, no limbs with which she could hold them, and no voice with which she could whisper soothing words. Yet she knew they were there. Like spots of pressure in the void of the world around her, her children weighed on her mind as they pressed against her base and slept. She was young, and all the gifts her children brought her were revelations that painted the world. Images and sensations and the emotions that wrapped them all together. Memory. It was also so fresh and foreign that it ached, and even now, beneath the distant blanket of the stars, a new sensation settled onto the birther of goblin's soul. One she hoped beyond hope she could share with her children someday.
Peace.
