A land of hills and ascendants

Ascendancy is a process whereby certain sentient species can evolve into higher levels of their race. Man cannot ascend. The goblin (Grazak) can ascend, and he becomes a Hobgoblin (Ozak). This is what my uncle, or perhaps, OUR uncle had taught me, and so I’m teaching you.

I heard a voice talking in my head. I was surely just dreaming. Last night—that fateful night where I had reborn and gone back to the shaman’s place—was left on a riddle. Of course, I knew the answer all too well, but the shaman put me to bed instead, and told me to rest up. He would do the same in his own bed, located above mine, reached through a twiggy ladder. Although the mattress did not reach the quality those back home, it was still decent enough to catch some Zs on, were it not for this voice disturbing my slumber, though.

A goblin ascends by training his body and besting others in fights, once he falls asleep, his body undergoes the process of ascendency. A Hobgoblin is born, and once this Hobgoblin masters the basics of internal energy manipulation, he ascends and becomes a Crawgoblin (Grutzak). The Highgoblin (Hohzak) is the next stage of goblin ascendancy and the final one before reaching nobility.

My head was throbbing, and my ears started to ring as the voice continued its lecture. I must have been lucid dreaming, because I was no longer able to unwind in my bed. Instead, I was shifting around uncomfortably, barely catching a wink of quality REM sleep. It felt like one of those hot summer nights after you moved around the whole day; despite your body’s exhaustion, you could not catch any rest in your sleep.

Rather than attaining more physical capabilities, the requirement to reaching Highgoblinhood is the attainment of higher cognitive abilities: leadership, long-term planning, self-discipline, mediation, and so forth. Usually, a Crawgoblin who undertakes responsibilities and leadership roles will find himself ascending to Highgoblinhood. His brain undergoes changes that leave him with greater intelligence than his fellow goblins, according to our uncle.

The voice had paused, and I felt a sense of relief wash over my body. It did not take long for the voice to start once again, and my body to stiffen once more:

Our uncle was born a Crawgoblin, but has since… and his father… our grand… fa…

The voice died off. I was at peace, at last.

***

After a quick breakfast consisting of bread and honey, the shaman and I left his lair and made our way to a forest some two hours away. According to the shaman, we were making our way to the tribe from which he and I originated to claim my place as the tribe’s leader. Apparently, my father, the shaman’s older brother, used to lead this tribe, but he was deposed and crucified for failing to reach their expectations. The shaman did not elaborate any further. It would be insensitive to do it now, but I was willing to probe for more information later. Would the son of a deposed ruler really be welcomed though?

About myself, firstly, I had slept for a long time, considering it was the afternoon. I must have been asleep for like, what, 12 hours? I guess it’s no wonder that I felt stronger than yesterday. I had an apparent growth spurt while I slept, as I now stood a head taller than the shaman, whereas previously, we had the same length. I realized something else: my looks. I had an onyx gray skin tone, and sharp nails. My hair seemed to be silver and was long enough to cover my ears. My body was toned and well-trained. I had difficulty seeing myself last night due to the darkness, but now I realized how beastly I looked. I hope my face at least looks human enough like the shaman, I thought to myself.

My clothing seemed human, just like the shaman’s, but was simpler and allowed for more nimble movements. My clothing was slightly padded, and I concluded that I must have been an archer or warrior before being reborn. I did not appear to have any weapons on me, though. I suspected that either the shaman carried my weapon, or it was stashed away at his lair. Either way, if the shaman was not going to mention it, I doubt I would need it today.

About the shaman, secondly, it seems like he did not have a good sleep. He was sluggish and stared at the ground as we were walking. Last night, I was tired, and all tuckered-out myself. It was a big night for the both of us, and yet he wanted to test me. I suppose it made sense to see whether I was competent or not if he was going to invest in me, and perhaps he was evaluating my responses instead of sleeping. Still, should he really go out in his exhausted state? Another thing I found peculiar was the last puzzle the shaman gave me last night. He did not allow me to answer it before going to bed, and even after waking up, he refused to hear my answer. Weird to test someone and then not listen to their answer, right?

About the our surroundings, thirdly, it was the spitting image of Spain. As a European, it’s quite common to travel around Europe for the holidays. Many folk visit Spain for its warm, Mediterranean climate and pleasant beach resorts. Me, on the other hand, as the true Austrian that I was, visited Spain to do some mountain hiking in the Pyrenees. Why go mountain hiking in Spain when you could do it in Austria? Well, because traversing different mountains is great fun. Mountains are not interchangeable, I’ll have you know.

We used to drive across the Spanish landscape to reach the more inland mountains too. Seeing this land spread before me, it reminded me of the Spain I saw on that road trip. The terrain was rugged and uneven. The ground was coarse, and the air dry. There were shrubs and dry grass on all hills, but some had dense forests instead. In the distance, you could make out the vague outline of a mountain range, and the sky was blue and devoid of any clouds. But despite the dry, Mediterranean climate and temperature, I did not get the feeling that this land was as starved for water as our modern day Spain was. Crickets were constantly chirping in the bushes I passed by, giving the place a real summer-feel. In the distance I heard a beastly wail. The wail was too far away to be audible were it produced by a normal beast. What kind of animal could wail so loud from so far?

By the time the shaman finished the justification for our journey, ending with his brother’s death, and after I had taken in the scenery, we reached the forest in question. The hills around us, as well as the forest, were clad in a deep mist. The wind was static, and no animal sounds could be heard any longer. No chirping, no wailing. I felt stuck in a vacuum as the silence threatened to rob me of my hearing. The slumping shaman entered the forest without a speaking a word and I followed.

As we walked, a shiver went down my spine. I felt unnerved. I could only see whatever was directly facing me, and when I peeked behind me, I saw a white void. When I extended my arm out, my hand was barely visible as the mist slowly crept up my arm. Even the shaman I was following seemed to be a mere mirage. It turned out—he really was a mirage. I crashed into a large tree—thinking I was following the shaman—and was knocked out for a loop. I fell to the ground.

Shifting my gaze around, I noticed the mist dispersing. I stood up and I saw a maze of trees illuminated by the sunlight, as a sense of dread slowly overtook me…

To my right, to my left, I kept on looking around. There was no one there. No animal, no shaman, no nothing. But there were eyes on me. I sensed it.

I slowly backed away from the large tree, scared witless. It’s not like I haven’t been lost before, so why was I so terrified?

“I seeee youuuu…”, I heard shrill, high-pitched voice echo in the distance.

O mein Gott…