Heelinx
West perimeter, Forge city
"Grax say you ask too much. Say bad deal. No deal with you till want less." the hellfire scout put on a brave face, but it was clear he was close to wetting himself.
"Graxxx asssks for much from usss" hissed the trader.
Tweak was small even by the standards of scouts; a foot and a half tall. The basilisk he was negotiating with it was big enough to eat a stone ogre.
The basilisks were one of the few sentient species that lived in Ogriss. They had colonies stretching from the swamps in the west to the forests in the east. Because of the amount of land and food the massive reptiles needed, they were considered to be pests by everyone who came across them. Yet nothing could be done about them, as long as their ability to kill by looking at someone still functioned. There was a time when any meetings with basilisk was done through a hole in a wall to prevent any accidents, but some bright spark had come up with a solution a few years go. Just in time for Tweak to be pressed into service for the trading corps.
The basilisk (whose name was impossible for goblins to pronounce and composed mainly of s'es) was twelve metres long, two metres wide, had a tail like a lance, skin the colour of moss and wore a large pair of dark glasses to conceal his eyes. One of the Hellfire goblins had discovered references to this device in an ancient tome and had built several of them for the basilisks in return for the part of the - woods they owned. So now, talks with basilisks could take place face to face with only two pieces of black glass to protect anyone from their death gaze. Needless to say, the goblin responsible for the idea had been lynched by a gang of unhappy traders soon after he struck the deal. But Tweak, like all traders, was now expected to speak to this monster up close. He wasn't happy.
"Grax need piggies. You want too many. Says hissing things only eat them. Grax say thirty piggies for wood; no more."
"That'sss a better deal than before. But the sssenate isss very perssisstant in it'sss demand for five warpigsss per acre. I ssshall report Grax'sss new offer back to the sssenate."
The serpent uncoiled itself and slithered away into the trees, followed by his equally huge brethren whose huge bodies easily carried saddles laden with the tastiest goblin corpses and utensils designed so they could be used by mouths.
Now that the snakes had left, Tweak's bodyguard squad came sprinting down from where they'd been watching the negotiations and began hauling away carts of snake skins, teeth and venom. Tweak left them to it and headed back into the city. As he left he took out his wooden slate and gouged a marked next to the words 'Hissers, piggies for land'.
The next task listed on the slate was 'Blue gobbies, Moo-stones for coin/ru-stones'. Tweak smiled at that. It was always fun to sell moonstones to other clans since they were so damn expensive, and since they were vital for the survival of the goblins, all the clans who were unable to gather moonstones of their own had to pay whatever they were told to. Hellfire traders dealt moonstones with the Stormbringer clan (whose bizarre experiments prevent moonstones from landing in the mountains very often) and the Stonekrushers, who rarely left their caves.
"Good thing no krusher today." Tweak thought. Like most goblins, Tweak hated the Stonekrushers. The other clans all had their faults, like the Stormbringers being proud and arrogant and the Plaguespitters being absolute nutters. The problem with Stonekrushers was not that they constantly boasted they were the best. The problem was that they really were the best. Every goblin clan (with the exception of the reclusive Nighthorde clan) were openly jealous of the Stonekrushers, none so much as the Hellfires who lived so close to the caves that the Stonekrushers were always their first choice when looking for a fight. The Hellfire commander Grax was quite open that he'd buy any excuse to take a shot at the Stonekrushers.
Tweak hadn't had a visit from them in some time, which was good, and the Stormbringers wouldn't be coming till late evening, so he had the whole afternoon off; time he'd spend in his clan home reading, rather than going to the monthly warpig race. Being such a coward, he was too faint hearted to watch some poor suckers try to outrun a ravenous herd of warpigs. Besides, due to his recent failures with the basilisk negotiations, he hadn't been paid and had nothing to bet.
Tweak allowed himself an optimistic feeling. By the looks of things his day was going to end well.
He should have known his optimism was unfounded. He'd only been in the 'Barter Boyz' clanhome for ten minutes when the band leader, a particularly savage and burley lumberjack by the name of Arf, dragged him out by his bat like ears and began marching him at chainsaw-point through the streets.
"Gone to rest, sleepy scout?" he taunted in a high-pitched voice "Not now. You no work hard. Hissers still have wood. You do bad, you do more work, lazy Tweak!"
He buzzed the small goblin with the very tip of his chainsaw.
"Please!" the scout squealed "Can't help it, boss! Hissers mean bullies. Me too tired. Please; need rest!"
"No rest!" Arf laughed. "You help with fest-evil."
Despite his protests, Tweak was forced all the way from the city and into the forest to the south. As they travelled downhill he saw that all the obstacles had been set up for the race. The idea was that a trio of unfortunate goblins would be given a giant slab of meat each and would be required to run as fast as they could while being pursued by six warpigs, complete with their saddle mounted catapults. The course ran from one side of forge city to the other, then through a dense copse of trees, ending in a clearing to east where a vast dinner bowl waited for the meat to be thrown into; providing the runners made it, which they rarely did.
With a grating sigh, Tweak resigned himself to what promised to be an afternoon of hard labour and tedious festive related tasks.
The groan of hundreds of cloth shod feet and the howl of the goblin horde baying for blood penetrated the thick roof of the dungeon. As dust snowed from the high corners, Tweak wondered how on earth he'd gotten into this.
Tweak was now on the right end of a line of goblins, hefting a lump of raw flesh nearly twice his size. Arf had gone and nominated him for the warpig race!
Tweak just couldn't believe things had become so bad. He knew he was behind in his talks with the basilisks, but he never imagined it had gotten this bad. It seemed that the other clan members had grown tired of losing their privileges for their lack of progress, and had traded their worst performing trader in return for one bottle of ale and a cigar. Apparently, no one cared to take into account that his bad record was due to dealing with titanic sized snakes who could kill whole armies in seconds if they didn't like the deal they were offered; the lure of slight intoxication easily outweighed clan loyalty.
Tweak looked down the line at the other contenders. The one next to him was remarkably even shorter than him, only half a foot tall. This type goblin was more commonly known as a gnat, half formed midgets who worked turrets and guided titans. From the burns on his body, it looked as though whatever he'd been assigned to had been destroyed, and he'd been unfortunate enough to survive. Even with a piece of meat half the size as the others, the tiny red skinned freak tottered under its weight comically.
The third goblin along was taller than Tweak by a few inches. He was a scrawny looking lumberjack, his face half peppered with jagged splinters the size of bananas. The side of his face that wasn't nailed to his skull winced in torment. Whatever misdemeanour he'd committed to end up in the race had clearly happened recently.
"Hellfire's, prepare yerselves!" a hard voice cut through the darkness. An archer with bat ears larger than a normal Hellfire goblins strolled in front of the condemned, his natural red eye swivelling in a shifty manner, the green lensed plug in his right eye decorated with bronze studs to mark him as the leader of the 'Spit-turners' war band- the six squad band who ran the arrangements for the warpig race as well as the main prisons for the entire goblin horde. A tortured human scream wafted into the room before the archer shut the door he'd just come through- probably a Templar captured by the Stonekrushers during that battle a week ago.
"Race is about to start," the archer barked. "You know what to do. You run. You 'fraid to die? Well tough! You run, and you show how brave 'fires are. You drop the meat, you get even worse. Grax wants this good, so you make it good. You don't, then it's to the Master's lab-rat-tories."
The threat was unnecessary. Everyone was aware of the rumours. Their master, the human wizard Fraziel who'd created their race from the magic of the five moons, worked on more projects than just the great machine. Goblins who ashamed their clans or committed crimes against their fellows were taken to the Master's labs in the north and subjected to the most debased and agonising experiments conceivable, so the stories said. What exactly he was trying to discover was anyone's guess. Of course, being a human, it was entirely possible that he did it for its own sake- goblins were brutal in nature, but didn't torture without reason, and certainly not for pleasure, while humans were known to suffer from a condition called 'sadism' where they actually enjoyed seeing others in pain. Despite the barbarity of the human race, Fraziel was still the master of the goblins and they would serve him till their dying days. If a goblin set so much as a toe out of line, they'd be dragged to the Master's labs without a moment's thought.
"Grax is ready. Get going, an' run like yer mean it!" the band leader snapped at the three goblins. The three contestants were then seized by more guards and hauled through the dungeon to a gate. With grinding, groaning gears, the gate open outwards and rose upwards. The three goblins with their heavy burdens of raw meat were thrust out of the gate, to the roar of hundreds of eager spectators. Tweak screwed his eyes shut in the bright sunlight after so long in the darkness of the prison. He reached up and activated his scout pack which was still bolted to his torso. The visor clamped over his eyes and the periscope extended from his back, instantly adjusting to compensate for Tweak's sensitive eyes, through the scope, Tweak saw the stands lining the length of the race course, packed end to end with hundreds of goblins. Most were Hellfires, but there were even a few scattered groups from the Stonekrusher, Stormbringer and Plaguespitter clans. As ever, the Nighthorde clan was unseen, reclusive as ever. All of those present were baying for blood.
Over the glare of the sun, the wall of noise and the scent of perspiring goblins and barbecued snacks being sold to the crowd, Tweak saw Commander Grax taking his place in the royal box, flanked by bodyguards from his personal war-band, the 'Devils Advocates'.
"Hellfire's!" Grax called in a magically amplified voice. The crowds roared shrank in respectful chittering from the Hellfire goblins, mixed with a few catcalls from members of other clans. "Is now the weekend. Now we rest. Now Grax give you… the Piggie Race!"
An avalanche of cheers rolled over Forge city. To the left and right, Tweak heard the snorts and growls of warpigs fighting to escape their pens. Great timber beams held the staved monsters in place at the start of the race course. The walls were completely sealed, allowing not even a glimpse of the things inside.
"Gobbies!" Grax yelled. "Race begins!"
At the command, bombardier goblins in the royal box fired their long ranged mortars into the sky. Crackling with firework effects, they rained down on the warpig pens and blew them open. The warpigs, elephant sized brutes with oversized heads and tusks capable of skewering trolls, leapt from their confinement. The beasts were made with skin of red leather and yellowing teeth that allowed saliva to splatter through with every outward breath. Despite being unmanned, the saddle mounted catapults were an imposing sight. The creature's dull red eyes were scrunched in hunger driven fury.
None of the goblin contestants saw any of this- they were already sprinting at break neck speed down the race course.
The gnat was the first to go down. He made a valiant effort, but with the huge slab of meat he carried he looked like a joke, staggered from side to side as he tried to run. Two warpigs pounced on him, and with a series of squeals both from the pigs and the goblin, the unfortunate being was ground into the dirt and smashed apart as the pigs fought over the more interesting steak. The other four pigs took off after the two runners
Tweak ran like he'd never run before. Anyone who said that there were hounds in hell were idiots. With grunts and oinks the warpigs chased their quarry down the course, churning the earth into a swamp beneath their trotters. It wasn't long before Tweak and the lumberjack he was with came to the obstacles.
Wooden barricades of different shapes and sized, decorated with glyphs and mythical creatures rose up before the racing goblins. Most had to simply be climbed, while others had to be passed via other methods.
The lumberjack and even the much shorter Tweak managed to jump over the low beams that came first in the obstacles. The wall composed of logs that came after the fifth jump took a moment to scramble over. The precious seconds allowed the warpigs to get even closer, smashing apart the barricades they met to the applause of the crowd.
The next wall couldn't be climbed at all. Through a narrow gap, Tweak was forced to move sideways, holding his giant steak aloft. No doubt the lumberjack's strength allowed him to haul his burden through his gap a lot easier, but Tweak was stalled by trying to wedge the lump of flesh through. As he pulled on his load, a scuffle at the mouth of the gap caught his attention. A massive warpig head appeared, reaching into the hole with a clawed trotter. Panicking, Tweak pulled frantically at the meat, but it had become wedged between the two darkened walls.
"Why this happen to me?" Tweak moaned out loud. All he done was fail at a few trade negotiations, and now he was stuck in this awful mess. He tugged and strained at the meat, but it wouldn't budge, he nearly abandoned it, but fear of being sent to the labs made him cling on. Frustrated by being unable to reach and unable to knock down the extra thick wall, the warpig bellowed and shunted forward hard. The scrabbling red leg reached closer and closer, mulching the ground as it drew nearer.
Then the pig leg slashed down once, and Tweak felt himself falling back.
'I'm hit!' he despaired to himself, but a quick assessment proved that in fact he wasn't injured. After taking a moment to check, it seemed that the warpig had slashed a chunk of the giant meat off and was now swallowing it in one go. The ensnared chunk was worth a whole quarter of the large steak, and its removal had allowed the huge meat come lose from where it had been stuck.
If his time as a trader had taught Tweak anything, it was to never pass up a good opportunity. He lifted his load and scrambled towards the way out.
He emerged to the yells of the goblin spectators, most of them furious that he was still alive and therefore they hadn't guaranteed their bets. The strongest of the runners, the lumberjack, had been the favourite to die last, while the gnat had been favourite to die first- the now dead catapult operator had the odds of winning and surviving the race of literally a million to one (not that anyone had bothered to take that bet).
Ignoring the calls from the crowd, Tweak set off running again, seeing that the two pigs attacking the other goblin's gap had nearly ploughed a wall through the wall. The lumberjack himself had bungled the lead he'd taken by getting stuck at the next obstacle- a wooden wall higher than the others with stakes on top. The lumberjack had hauled his bulk over the lip of the wall, but like most goblins had got his slab of meat impaled. He yanked at the block of flesh with all his might, but only seemed to force it down onto the wooden spike even harder.
Approaching the wall, Tweak could see he'd never be able to climb over it. The sound coming from the crowd indicated that they doubted he'd make it either, but Tweak had already started devising a plan. As he came to the wall, he threw down the lump of meat he was carrying and jumped on top of it. Even though it was smaller after having been ripped at, it still gave Tweak enough of a boost to bounce up and grab the side of the wall. He pulled himself up quickly, cursing as he tore his hand open on one of the stakes, and got on top of the wall. Boos from the crowd dogged his every move as the watching goblins believed he was leaving the meat behind. Again, Tweak proved them wrong.
Placing himself between two stakes, Tweak tipped the top half of his body down towards the meat so that he was hanging upside down and activated his scout pack. The periscope extended to its maximum length, and using the image through his visor, Tweak probed for the tear in the meat left by the pursuing warpig. When he'd found it, he hooked it with the periscope and raised it up with painful slowness. As soon as it was in arms reach he grabbed it and used his weight to pull it over the wall. It got stuck against the sides of the wooden stakes, but with carefully movements he rolled it inch by inch, over, onto, and then off of the stakes until it tumbled off the top of the wall and landed on top of him.
Forcing himself up, Tweak picked up his giant meat and ran for it, just as the lumberjack finished ripping his piece in half to get it free. With a flash of shock, Tweak realised that he'd actually taken the lead. More cheers came from the crowd, this time more appreciative at the scout ingenuity. Tweak waved at the crowd and grinned to himself despite the sound of the warpigs knocking down the stake wall coming from behind him.
'Could get used to this', he joked to himself. That was before he ran headlong into a tree.
At the edge of forge city, the race went through the forest before moving to the final stretch. Bouncing off the cruel bark, Tweak quickly gathered his wits and entered the trees. In his moment of confusion, the lumberjack had overtaken and moved in front of him. He was only a few paces ahead of Tweak, and as such the branches he pushed aside sprung back into Tweak's face painfully, his tough skin and heavy bone structure not protecting him enough from the stinging limbs. Tweak fought on, hearing the warpigs thundering after them, felling stout oaks as though they were toothpicks. Tweak puffed out another exhausted breath. He was tiring, and so was the lumberjack. If something didn't happen to put the odds in their favour, they'd both end up dead. Tweak half considered tripping up the lumberjack so the warpigs would be distracted by ripping him apart, but he discarded the notion- such dishonour would be sickening for a goblin. That and the lumberjack would no doubt get up and slug him before he'd moved a foot.
The natural groove in the woodland floor indicated that the course turned a sharp right. Tweak turned, and immediately found himself rolling down a steep hill. While smacking into heavy tree trunks, he also got entangled in the legs of the other Hellfire goblin, who ended up falling down with him. The pair rolled like a pair of armadillos down the slope, shouting and moaning in pain with every movement. After what felt like an hour of spinning and bumping into things, the scout and lumberjack emerged from the forest at the end of the hill.
Tweak sat up slowly, groggily thankful that he was out of sight of the goblins in the stands who by now would have deployed telescopes to watch the clearing to the east where the finish line was.
The moment he sat up, Tweak was knocked back down again. Looming over him was the bigger and stronger lumberjack, glaring with rage.
"Stu-pid scout!" his fellow runner squeaked in a voice that didn't match his build, "You stay here now. Stay here for piggies."
Tweak went to protest to the suggestion, and for his efforts the other contestant kicked him in the crotch. The scout rolled about and moaned in pain as the lumberjack picked up his meat and ran. So much for honour amongst goblins.
The sound of approaching pigs forced Tweak up. With a bow legged dance he hurried after his opponent, threatening to fall under the weight he carried. The lumberjack was still in sight, struggling with the mangled mess his steak had become. Yet it only slowed him down a little, and if he got to the finish line first- well, it wasn't unknown for losers to be intentionally trapped from the safety if one goblin had already made it there. The lack of blood would leave many goblins feeling short changed.
Tweak pushed himself as hard as he could, not falling behind but not catching up either. The lumberjack was starting to get his ripped piece of meat in order, and the finish line was so close-
Then the lumberjack came across a hidden obstacle. The scrawny goblin tripped over a rope, his splintered face hitting the mud first. Before he could react, an explosion from a concealed barrel of black powder blew through the trees and knocked the goblin away. The flames leapt up into the foliage and burned hot. Tweak ignored both the fire and the dazed lumberjack as he sprinted past. Forewarned, he jumped over another rope crossing the path, just as he heard the sound of snorting warpigs and the lumberjack screaming in pain as he was ripped apart. Making use of the warpigs delay to fight over food, Tweak somehow managed to make himself run even faster.
As the scout left the skinny forest path and entered a clearing, he spotted the Hellfire encampment. There, in the middle of the clearing, was his goal- a giant yellow bowl. Made from a substance developed by the Nighthorde clan called plastic, the bowl was the product of study into texts of unknown origin. On the side of the bowl was written a single word, the meaning of which was also unknown, although many believed it to be the name of a mysterious deity called 'Fido'.
Tweak pelted toward the bowl, pigs approaching and snapping at his heels. Hellfires manning the gate around a clanhome called to him, though whether to encourage or belittle him he couldn't tell; nor care.
At last Tweak came within reach of the bowl. With all his might, he hurled his burden of meat into the bowl and ran for all he was worth to the safety of the clanhome. Once though the gates, the Spit-turner goblins slammed them shut and bolted them as the warpigs outside began fighting each other for the food they so desperately needed.
Free of the race at last, Tweak promptly fainted.
The next hour passed in a blur of euphoria as the warpigs were captured to be re-staved for next month, and Tweak was rewarded for surviving with a bag of coin from Grax himself, before the Goblin Commander kicked the scout down the stairs for costing Grax on his bet that the lumberjack would win.
The 'Barter Boyz' war-band weren't very happy to see Tweak back again, but after he offered to use his winnings (apart from what he'd had the sense to stash away before he got back) to pay for a celebratory meal they calmed down.
By the time the warband was finished with their cigars and hot dogs and pints of mead, Tweak was feeling pretty confident about his standing in the 'Barter Boyz'. Despite how unprepared the Hellfires were for a goblin to survive the warpig race, Tweak's success would bring his war-band plenty of fame and glory. His generosity to his fellows should keep them sweet for a while, and he still had plenty of cash left over to indulge himself in. Yep, things where looking up for him.
"Get up, Tweak," the scratchy voice of the war-band leader Arf intruded on Tweak's thoughts.
"What now boss? Work over," a half-drunk Tweak complained.
"No. You not done. Basil-icks back 'an say you short change 'em. What more land off us. You deal with it."
Arf shoved Tweak out of the clanhome in the direction of the western forests where the basilisk meetings always took place. Tweak turned back to his captain to plead for a break, but Arf cut him off.
"This teach you for losing my bet. Get on with it."
The door to the clanhome slammed shut. Tweak sighed in disappointment.
'Oh well,' he thought. 'Business as usual.'