Rain, tears, and sweat

The sky wept up a sudden spring storm, threatening to drown the bushes and flowers in its tears. Wergnar and I ran through the drenched forest, our fresh kill over my shoulder. We hurried our way back to the Narzakii hunting lodge where the rest of our group was gathered.

The wooden lodge stood deep in the coniferous woods, on land owned by the Narzakii family—territory owned specifically by Ragnulf Senior. This lodge was his private property, a base where he and his five children toiled away the entire day, only returning to town at dusk.

Morning had barely settled when the storm swept in without warning, driving Wergnar and I to seek shelter in the lodge. Inside, we found nearly the entire Narzakii household gathered—at least those who worked here. Others I had never met and likely never would: Ragnulf Sr.’s two wives who remained in Casbriga, as well as Ragnulf Junior’s wife and their children, who all shared a single home. The Senior’s wives oversaw the household in town, while the Junior’s wife tended to raising her two little ones.

“Welcome back,” Wergnar’s sister greeted us as we cleaned our feet with towels. Goblins hunted barefoot, so our feet were drenched in mud.

“Dad,” Wergnar spoke up, “it suddenly started to storm outside. It’s better if we stay inside for the time being.”

Ragnulf Sr. stood up with the help of his other daughter, and made his way towards us. He looked down at Wergnar. “As if you would know, pup. Don’t start talking like that until you become thirty or kill a dread lynx by your hands,” he paused, and then added, “like your brother.”

He turned towards the door, and looked outside. “Well, it’s nothing my lodge can’t handle!” he bellowed a pride-induced chortle as his daughter guided him back to his seat. “I built this bad boy to withstand Judgement Day!”

“Father, you know you shouldn’t blaspheme against Anz like that,” his daughter reprimanded him.

“Heh. You’re right, sweetie.”

Uncherished, Wergnar looked down.

…

Five minutes later, everyone had settled down.

Ragnulf was skinning the deer we caught while Lobnar was busy repairing the broken tools we brought in. The two sisters, Ulfilia and Fridloba, were preparing to cook something. They usually made us simple lunches, but right now, they seemed to be getting ready to make dinner instead. I guess they were expecting the storm to last for a while, so they would prepare dinner in the case we would have to spend the night at the lodge.

Actually, the fact that the sisters are cooking at the moment is even more peculiar, seeing as they were doing so in my presence. Whenever I found myself in the lodge for whatever reason, the two sisters would always go up to their room and stay there until I left. Ragnulf Sr. and his sons never left me alone in the presence of the sisters, always keeping an eye on me. I knew that they trusted me with their lives, but the thought of leaving a unrelated man alone with their womenfolk was completely contrary to their values. I assume it’s the same for all goblins, or at least my tribe. But the fact remains that they were cooking in my presence this time around, so I guess they really were expecting the storm to continue for a while. An exception in such a case is warranted.

In any case, Wergnar and I took a seat at the table, next to his father. I started the conversation surrounding Kragnin—why they hadn’t mastered it, and if they were interested in doing so under my tutelage.

Ragnulf Sr. explained in his usual ungentle tone that, as a hunter, he never had the time nor incentive to become a Crawgoblin. Day-in and day-out, he had to be hunting and make a living so he could provide for his family. His profession was a family trade after all, so joining the tribe’s warriors for an unknown amount of time in the hopes of learning how to control his Kragnin was too risky of an invest to take, lest his family lose its source of revenue. Perhaps if he had older brothers to manage the family business, he could have gone off to train, but even then, becoming a Crawgoblin served very little purpose in hunting. He would be able to hunt in more perilous woods and catch prey through sheer strength rather than technique—just like I did—but a Hobgoblin could hunt decently enough to make a living, so there was little incentive.

His story reminded me of Ekermun, who said that he trained to become stronger for his tribe. He asked his tribe’s Crawgoblins for advice, went out into the wild, and killed dread lynxes until he figured out how to utilize his Kragnin, eventually leading to his ascension. I wondered how what his background was: Did he not have a family trade to maintain?

Either way, Ragnulf Senior’s reasons for remaining a Hobgoblin were rational. Crawgoblinhood would do him good, but not enough to strive for it, even if he did have an opportunity. Being a Crawgoblin is always better than being a Hobgoblin, but becoming a Crawgoblin is often worse than simply remaining a Hobgoblin.

Alas, his children shall most likely follow in his footsteps if they seek to maintain their family business. I think it’s sad, because becoming a Crawgoblin would be beneficial nonetheless, especially to the tribe—they would boast mightier warriors after all. Not to forget that once you reach Crawgoblinhood, all of your descendants would be born as Crawgoblins, never regressing back into Hobgoblin or Goblin form. It’s a generational investment. If Ragnulf Sr. had become a Crawgoblin before fathering his children, they would have been born Craws.

Teaching them Kragnin and elevating their stage of ascendancy was the least I could do after all the skills and companionship they have provided me with. Without them giving me a job as a hunter, I would still be considered an unemployed brute by the tribe. I owe them.

“By the time the storm finishes, I will have made you all into Crawgoblins. You best believe it.”

***

WERGNAR

Maybe it’s presumptuous, or maybe it’s not, but I saw chief Albar as my friend. He was a man around my age and he treated me as my own person, instead of as just an extension of my older brothers and father. I could tease and be snarky to him, and he would gladly play along rather than ignore me—it’s like he has known me for years.

However, this short-lived friendship between a Hobgoblin and Goblin King was destined to end the moment…

“Wergnar, you’ll serve as a demonstration to the rest.” Albar said, putting his hand on my shoulder and guiding me to the center of the lodge. My father and brothers stared at me. Don’t look at me, I’ll just disappoint you again, I thought to myself.

“N-no thanks. Lobnar could do it better than me, so…” I resisted. I looked at my father, and felt my shoulders slumping, my knees buckling, and my gaze averting.

“Don’t worry,” Albar said, his grip on my shoulder gently tightening. “You speak my language, so it needs to be you.”

I looked at him in surprise. We constantly bantered and talked about nonsense whenever we were paired for hunting, but I had only known him for about three months. Do I really “speak his language”?

Alas, I had to refuse. My forehead was getting wet once more, except this time it was my sweat instead of the rain. My face reddened as my sisters turned around to cop a look at our so-called demonstration. Under my family’s gaze, I could not feel at peace, so I did not want to do this.

“Deep breath, pal,” Albar said. I took a moment, and felt his grip on my shoulder loosen. I would take a breath, calm down, and then refuse him. I’m scared that if I outright refuse again, I would lose my composure.

“That’s the first step, everyone. Breathe deeply, close your eyes, and listen to your heartbeat.” I did as he said. My nerves went on a hike, and I suddenly managed to collect myself. Something about listening to your own heartbeat unruffled me.

“Imagine the heartbeat. It’s no longer your own body doing it for you—it’s YOU that is beating your heart. You are pumping the blood through your veins powering your body.” Albar went quiet. He let his mental sketch sink in and marinate in our minds. I felt my blood pump in my fingers, like they had a heartbeat of their own. Wait, no. I wanted to refuse him, but for some reason, I was pulled by his words. I must imagine myself consciously pumping the blood through my veins, I thought to myself. Maybe I really do speak his language?!

“Now…” Chief Albar went on to detail how we could pinpoint our Kragnin and take control of it. Something about imaging a second heart in your body that pumps extra energy into your veins. We had to imagine ourselves getting stronger and faster, according to him. I understood what he meant, though the rest looked on in confusion. Yes, I did feel something inside of me. I felt a fire charging up my body with vigor and power. My heart burned. My arm—I felt its muscle swell. My body contracted, my chest puffed out, my muscles surged with strength, and I felt capable of world domination. With this power, I can take over the entire planet and kill all those who oppos—

I promptly collapsed.