Once upon a time in Arobrixa...

Where would I be without my good ol’ uncle?

It seemed like I could skip the step of visiting each tiny, independent clan bordering my tribe, because my uncle had apparently invited all their clan leaders to pledge fealty to me already. Hearing of my exploits with the lynx den—which had greatly alleviated their plights as well—they came to me with nothing but gratitude and fidelity. They gathered all together in my Great Hall™ for the pledge. This pledge with the Crawgoblin village chiefs included no blood, but rather an oath. Meanwhile I sat on my elevated seat giving them all a stone cold, stoic look. That’s the best I could do in front of such a crowd. My uncle did all the speaking for me.

Again, where would I be without my amazing uncle?

After the chiefs had delivered their oaths, we withdrew to a private room in my Great Hall™. My good ol’ uncle drew up the vassalage contracts with all the village chiefs of the Ausmulii, including the newbies. Village chiefs were required to raise their entire military force at the capital’s behest, and they had to pay a tithe consisting of… half their land’s yield. Annually.

Actually… maybe my uncle wasn’t that great of a guy.

“Half is way too much for these villages to handle, uncle” I objected.

“It most certainly is not, for it should bring them greater wellbeing were they to contribute half their efforts to the collective tribe rather than their own localities,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Look at this way. These people have been busy fighting off wild beasts and struggling with instability and hunger. Now they have a glimmer of hope, and we want to deprive them of their hard-worked food? Let them catch a break and recover, for the time being.”

“I understand not your reasoning. These tithes will find function in the funding of roads, sewage systems, and great public works that shall rectify the barbarity of our culture, and lead us to be truly amongst the civilized, and as you seem concerned for the wellbeing of the masses, you should know that roads and sewage would bring nothing but great prosperity,” he countered.

“Yes, your argument is valid,” I assented, “However, by immediately taxing these folks, we will be hampering the development of their own communities in favor of this capital town. In the short-term, they will barely get anything in return, which is entirely unjust. They urgently need time to recover. And when we do start taxing folk, it should not be half of their yield. Just imagine working the fields for twelve hours a day, knowing that half of that won’t even go to you, nor to your family, nor to your community, but just to some folks far off so that they can build some grand palace.”

“I take exception to that as such a palace would do them a great good, for it will increase our standing with foreign emissaries and shine might in the face of friend and foe alike, lending us greater prestige and peace in the long-run. I must also add that no one tills the fields for twelve hours for that—”

“Ok, ok. Listen, I agree, but it is too much, too early. Let’s wait until everyone rebuilds their home, and re-instates their farm or craft before we tax them.”

My uncle remained quiet, and the silence lasted for minute as he contemplated the matter.

“Look, once we achieve our goal and found ourselves a kingdom for all of goblinkind, we can revisit this discussion. The levies remaining on stand-by will suffice for the time being,” I further assured him. Right now, our position, and the position of the common man, was precarious. I get his sentiment fully, but we need to win the fight before we invest into the distant future.

This one time in Dominus Carthago II, I upped the taxes in a newly conquered province in the hopes that I could squeeze out a few bucks to reinvest into the region. The building I wanted to build was a moot hill, that would increase the region’s loyalty. Instead, because of my severe taxes, the province became wrought with devastation as the development level decreased. It took years to rebuild the land, and in the end, it was more expensive than forgoing taxation in the first place. It might sound nutty to base real life decisions on games, but to me, the logic followed. My entire existence here is just my dream come to life! And my dream is a game!

My uncle continued his contemplation before finally speaking. “… As you wish.”

“Alright, good,” I changed the subject to the next matter. “With these clans behind us, we should shift our focus to the tribes. To be specific, we should make our way to the Bugretanii, you and I, along with a contingent of our most elite warriors, to help the Bugretanii in fighting off the humans…”

I explained to him my plan of winning the favor of the Bugretanii by saving them from the human onslaught, detailing how we were going to defeat them. My uncle wore a skeptical and somewhat irked look, but after sighing deeply, he complied, and we sat off. Three Highgoblins, each with ten Crawgoblins under their command, followed Wergnar, my uncle, and I as we marched east to the capital of the Bugretanii—Arobrixa.

Maraldnund and Hardalgmar stayed behind to manage the tribe, whereas Frakaldhelm handled matters of defense, as his new position of war chief demanded. The final three Highgoblins were employed as wandering judges in the tribe. They would move from village to village, helping anyone they could, and informing the capital of large-scale trouble, if necessary. These Highgoblins were relatively young, and this job also served as a means for them to find a wife, with whom they would eventually settle if they so pleased. This was a tradition amongst the Ausmulii goblins since the days of Zakilianric. I kept the system as such for the time being, though I felt the potential of these intellectuals was severely underutilized.

***

Zorian horses are utterly incredible animals. In only a single week have we managed to reach Arobrixa, a journey consisting of 400 kilometers of rugged fields, dense woods, and occasional rocky dryland. With our band of thirty-six warriors, such an expedition would take twice as long if we used normal, Earth horses on this terrain. Not that we had access to those, but you get the point. We did have to spend two days gathering enough of these Zorians before we could set out, but it was well worth it.

We had long entered Bugretanii. We stopped at villages along the way, and were generously provided with supplies and shelter any and every time. These taupe brown-haired goblins were incredibly hospitable, with many folks offering their own homes as lodgings for us. They invited us to their dinner tables, despite the fact that these were a warring people and in constant need of food themselves. I rejected all of their food, much to my men’s dismay. Instead, Wergnar and I asked permission to hunt in a local forest, and the villagers always consented, or pointed us towards an unclaimed hunting spot. We brought back food for our men ourselves. It was risky to move without a supply line and relying on the locals’ generosity, but we were in a hurry. Hunting would have to suffice, even though it was terribly inefficient and unsustainable for a moving band of Crawgoblins.

During our last village sojourn, as we rested up for the final part of the trip, the local chief informed us of a river named the Aro which we had to cross in order to reach the capital’s one and only entrance. It was just like Casbriga in that regard: a hillfort located on a meander of a river, with a sole gate to enter from. All the same, unlike Casbriga’s river, the Aro was particularly deep, and could only be crossed by way of a bridge. Thankfully, it had one, and a very sturdy one at that.

Our stallions pranced through the rocky plains leading up to the bridge, the wooden palisade of Arobrixa already in our sights—the burning palisade of Arobrixa, that is. The town was surrounded by tents, and campfires. A large crowd of armored men stood in front of the gate, swinging their battering rams against the gate. The town was under siege.

“It is futile to resist against the armaments of man, so it will be better for us to retreat and re-evaluate our plans since lending our assistance would spell doom for ourselves,” my uncle bluntly stated. “Let us move upstream, on that hillock.”

Some five hundred men. Forest behind them. Bridge leads to them, but is clearly visible. Cannot charge in, we’ll get crushed. Casbriga has a garrison of a hundred. And an army of two hundred-fifty. If Arobixa has the same, we’d have a combined force of around four hundred. Four to five. On defense, winning should be doable. But what if they don’t have that many troops? How can we join forces? Communication is limited, perhaps a smoke signal could work, but who knows if they would understand. Maybe sneak into the forest and ambush the besieging army from behind—

“High chief!” Wergnar’s shout snapped me back to reality. “Your orders?”

The squads looked to me for affirmation of my uncle’s plan, or any other order for that matter. “Uh…follow chief Aremfrid’s command for now.”

Both the skin tones of the horses and us goblins blended in with the rocky terrain as we discretely made our way upstream. With the town still in sight and the besiegers behind it, we dismounted our steeds, and I sent Wergnar out to scout while the other Crawgoblins took watch. My uncle and I sat down for a strategy meeting.

It went nowhere. While I was determined to help the Bugretanians right here, right now, my uncle was of the opinion that we should let the humans do all the work for us. The human besiegers weren’t here for conquest, but for plunder. So if we let them destroy the main force of the Bugretanii, we could swoop in after they leave and assume charge of their capital. All that would be left is consolidation of power by way of executing the remaining tribal leaders.

“A pragmatic measure that is feasible, effective, and will not cost us in material terms—only a fool would refuse to make use of these means to further his ends,” he concluded.

So anyone who disagrees with you is just stupid?

I burrowed my frown. “It will set a bad precedent. The Goblin King Albaric does not extend a helping hand to those in need, but is merely concerned with the acquisition of power. I don’t want to build a kingdom based on that.”

He gave a bewildered look. “Do you then suppose there to be other means by which you can emerge triumphant and dominant yet in an unweakened state?”

I looked down. I had no answer. I was being idealistic. You either do it right or you don’t do it at all. That is what I’d like my philosophy to be, but it should be evident to myself that I care more about power than ideals. Otherwise, I would not have devised a plot to take the Ausmulian chieftaincy by sheer force.

Yes. In the end, the means don’t really matter to me… right? Once I’m king, I can do all the good things, and—y’know—rebuild relations with the Bugretanii in the hopes that they forgive me. The time is ripe for power grabbing; acts of goodness can com later.

“You’re ri—”

“High chief, I bring news!”

Just when I was about to accept my uncle’s plan, Wergnar barged into the conversation.