The art of public speaking

We approached the crowd and made our way to the front. As we did, we heard the Highgoblin speak loudly, addressing both the Highgoblina and the crowd:

“O children of Ausmul! Never have we known a greater ruler than Zakilianric from the Habzakii clan, for indeed, he was its founder. We might not have lived under his rule, but we know of the tales from our grandparents. How they never went a day without a full stomach, how they never experienced loss in battle, how they never had children who talked back.” He paused as he let the crowd reminisce about the stories they grew up with.

“His days were great, and under his son Dagmulric, the days were good, and under his son, Albar, our days were decent. The Habzakii have served the tribe well, have they not?” He looked around the crowd as he stretched his open palmed arms to the sides. The audience grunted in affirmation, some raising their chins to the right.

“However… where have they gone these last decades? Aremfrid came and took our chief away, travelling Gobland in search of a good omen, or so they claimed. They returned fifteen years later with empty hands, and what did we do? We crucified Albar Habzakii for abandoning us and coming back with zilch! We have remained loyal to the descendants of Zakilianric, but the time has come to stop. We must stop! How much longer will we hold on to the past gone by? How long before we will have a Gnobble rule over us once more? How long before the dread lynxes attack and destroy us?!” He preached zealously. Upon his last point, the crowd was overcome with a sense dread, terrified of the lynx menace. He was clearly playing into their fears.

He turned to the Highgoblina. “Chiefess Maraldnund, how much longer? It is enough, I say. The time of the Habzakii has ended. It is time for the Ausmulii to turn over a new leaf, and elect a new clan to rule over us.”

“Chief Hardalgmar!” My uncle called out as we approached the elevated step on which the two Highgoblins stood. “What is it that you think you are doing, spouting your nonsense?” He said calmly, but firmly.

The audience and the two Highgoblins turned their faces towards him. Both Hardalgmar and Maraldnund stared in shock before composing themselves. Hardalgmar gave a chuckle.

“Welcome back, Aremfrid! You haven’t forgotten about us, it seems,” Hardalgmar said sarcastically. “I expected you to return another twenty years from now, so color me surprised to see you return within the year.”

“Aremfrid, what have you been doing?” A Highgoblin from the crowd began.

“Why, have you brought us an omen regarding Frasmul?” Another began. The other eight Highgoblins in the crowd joined in, heckling my uncle with questions, all clearly frustrated at him.

“Know who you are speaking to!” Maraldnund silenced the hecklers with her authoritative voice. “Does this generation not know respect anymore?” She posed rhetorically. “Who is the one most knowledgeable, strongest, senior amongst you all? Who here descends from Zakilianric and became the youngest Highgoblin in all of our kind’s history? It is CHIEF Aremfrid! Know who you are addressing, and do so with respect.” She said with a fury in her voice, like a mother reprimanding her child’s continuous transgressions.

It seems that Highgoblins are usually addressed as chiefs, probably because they were a step removed from Gnobblehood, but the other Highgoblins refused to treat my uncle with the same respect.

While this debacle went down, I debated with myself about making an entrance. I remained in the audience, a few goblins already turning to me with confused and awed looks, murmuring along. The Highgoblins all spoke with authority and confidence, probably utilizing their Edekrags to make impressions on the crowd as well as each other, but I did not know how to do either. All I knew was playing pretend, but perhaps that could work just as well. They do say “Fake it till you make it”, don’t they?

“Chiefess Maraldnund, it known that you and Aremfrid are the most venerable amongst our tribe,” Hardalgmar continued. I noticed that he was right: Maraldnund looked slightly wrinkled and more mature compared to Hardalgmar and the other Highgoblins. She looked akin to my uncle; older but still decently fit, like humans in their mid-thirties.

He continued, “but how can we possibly respect one who has robbed us of our structure and shown nothing for it? It is against our nature to rule by council; it is hierarchy we desire, but Aremfrid has robbed us of that with empty promises of a goblin kingdom. You do not dispute this… or do you, Aremfrid?”

“Whilst you rabble sit here discussing treachery to the Habzakii, as though our blood were already buried, yet it was my grandfather who lifted this tribe from obscurity, and it is his blood—the blood to which you owe eternal loyalty—that still flows before you,” my uncle spoke with arrogance in his voice. “You may argue that we have been absent, and indeed, I would not deny the patience you have demonstrated for sixteen years, but understand this: patience alone has not preserved you, for it is the Habzakii name that held this tribe together when hunger gnawed during the dread lynx outbreak, and when enemies intruded at Alisdat.”

“That may be so, but patience has run out and the time has changed. We face hunger and disorganization as our rivals exploit our disunity and outcompete us. They all have structure and hierarchy with a Gnobble on top. So, Aremfrid, what have you shown for all our years of patience?” Hardalgmar retorted fiercely, scowling as he did.

With my height towering above all the goblins, it was unavoidable for some Highgoblins to notice me. Two of them gasped and backed away from me, analyzing me as if their lives depended on it.

“The son of Albar,” my uncle began, “I have brought him here a renewed goblin, one who has ascended with the dragon’s blood, like the great hero Olfrik of times gone by—he is a Goblin King (Koninzak)!”

I nearly vaporized from the pressure as all the Highgoblins turned to me with skeptical gazes. I stood there like a child whose parent was busy praising him to other parents, unsure of whether to feel embarrassed or proud. Everyone was shorter than me, which gave me some surface-level composure, but generally, I was anxious. I am not an introverted person; I enjoy talking to people and do not shy away from it, and in private conversations, I can express myself without unease. Public speaking, on the other hand, was a complete different matter.

Hardalgmar sniffed the air. “You mean to tell me that this pup is Frasmul? A Goblin King without a smell of resolve?”

I walked up the step and faced the crowd in spite of my apprehension. With my arms spread out and my bravado in place, I steeled myself.

“Long have I—eh—watched the stars, knowing I was born… destined!” I rambled, my voice cracking under the pressure of my nerves. “Born to guide you into an age of prosperity! To lead the hunter to endless feasts! To… to… eh, ensure no goblin child ever goes hungry again!” I repeated the same talking point twice. Is food all I can promise?

Despite my anxious heartbeat throbbing in my chest, I felt a wide smile appear on my face. My eyes glittered with excitement as I felt my bravado start to give way to real confidence. My act seemed to work, at least on myself. However, all that comes up must come down, and I stumble over my cloak, and nearly plummet to the ground. I catch myself, and continue onward, but in a fast pace this time. Too fast.

“Yes! Yes, like my father, I, Albar—uh—the second will… etch myself in the tides of history! So pledge fealty and I will bring us a kingdom for all of goblinkind! I… we! Uhm… uh…” The words had jammed in my throat. My outgoing nature had carried my tongue forward, but under the weight of my nerves, my tongue betrayed me. My hands flailed around in grand gestures that gave a desperate, somewhat childish impression.

No one was laughing at my predicament though. This was no laughing matter to them. Instead, they gave me stern and serious looks, unswayed and unconvinced by my mess of a speech.

"Hear his heart, how it may lack polish yet compensates with fire and passion, an ambition to see our people rise beyond the stars and reach the station of man," my uncle spoke up, but the gathering remained quiet.

I cursed my imbroglio; I waltz in right as the people are fed up with waiting, and forced to speak publicly despite my insecurity in the field. Not to add, I enter not as a blank slate, but as someone who has burdened the tribe for years. I have to prove my worth twice; in general, and as an investment by the tribe. I felt embarrassed and lost.

I know I can be a king, I know it! They just have to give me a chance. Come on, let me show you that I am competent. I studied history and politics, I was the top student of last year, a ton of experience in making difficult decisions in games, and ambition to boot. Did I not far exceed most mundane monarchs with just these simple traits? Perhaps I could have taken a class in leadership and communication skills, but that’s neither here nor there. Is there not enough to my portfolio?

My internal cry for recognition had gone unheard as the congregation started to murmur amongst each other.

I mean, I had to admit. You cannot really walk into an organization, political or not, and just expect to be handed the reins. I have to prove myself worthy, and that usually takes time. With my negative reputation and terrible first impression, I would have to do more than give a speech. I understand that, but what is it I can do?

“You undoubtably smell like your father, and your dark skin and tall height testify to the fact that you have reached a higher ascendant form.” Hardalgmar said without a hint of snark or sarcasm on his face. “We shall test you to see if you’re worthy. All chiefs in favor?”

The Highgoblins murmured, quickly coming a conclusion.

“Aye.” Most said, while Maraldnund and my uncle consented by remaining silent.