Chapter 22

The cave that made up the surrounding environment was lit by a ring of torches all along the edge of the circular wall. There was a single door, metal, that led outside of the spacious room. The walls were made of rough stone, and one of the walls had a deep gash in it. At the base of that gash, there lay a body, crumpled and bleeding.

The body was strange, almost human like in nature, but some traits that were definitely those of a beast of some sort. Sharp claws adorned the fingers, the teeth were jagged and sharp, the ears pointy and narrow. And the skin was a dull white color.

The body lay groaning, blood seeping out in a pool around it. Death was fast approaching it.

That's when the door opened, to reveal a dark figure covered in a blood red robe. The figure walked into the room with confidence, power, as if it had the right to be wherever it wanted to bed. They strode over to the broken lump of body, and bent down over it. "Durenhal." The robed figure's voice came out deep, soothing, elegant. It could be the voice of a charismatic politician, or the voice of a cunning enemy. "Get up, Durenhal."

The body that lay on the ground, Durenhal, just lay there groaning, their weak attempts at speech and moving being rewarded with more agony. "Durenhal, you already failed in your attempt to establish yourself as a figurehead. Your army is defeated. You are broken and helpless." And then the robed figure grabbed Durenhal by the throat and raised his face up to be eye level with theirs. His eye holes were an abyss of mangled flesh curling itself inward around the nonexistent eye. A hint of amusement could be heard in their voice. "You were defeated by two weakling humans, and a human that was strong, yes, but another insignificant cog in the machine. Really, I should leave you here to die. But I can sense the hatred in you, that burning desire to kill!" He dropped Durenhal onto the ground, the soft moans of pain being interlaced with furious gasps of air.

"And so, I offer you another chance, another opportunity. I will heal your injuries, but just barely. I will give you back one of your eyes, but only so that it barely works. And only when you have proven that you can be of some use, and not just another one of your idiotic kind, then I will give you the full use of both of your eyes, understand me?" He looked down into the body below him. The contempt and disappointment was clear in his voice. "This is why goblins are the lowest of the lowest, the shit at the bottom of the barrel." He said this under his breath, keeping his thoughts to himself. He spoke at a loud volume again, and said "If you want another chance at life, pick yourself up right now. Pick yourself up if you can still fight, and still want to fulfill that weak dream of yours! Pick yourself up, the chosen goblin!"

And with a grunt of exertion, Durenhal managed to pick his upper body up and leaned back against the stone wall behind him, his gasps of breath echoing loudly around the chamber. Without a word, the robed figure cocked his head in the direction of Durenhal, and all the blood in a pool around them began to slowly creep its way back to Durenhal. Then, amazingly, the blood began to seep back into his body, entering all the exit wounds. When all of the blood was off the floor, the wounds of where blood was coming out slowly started to close, the skin reattaching itself cell by cell, until all that was left was pale skin and dried blood.

"I'll be back to collect you. Until then, harden yourself, build your strength. We are going to need it." And with that, the robed figure left the room, closing the metal door behind him with a loud thud.

Durenhal scowled at the back of the figure with his one bloodshot eye, before anger overcame his face. "You think goblins are the shit at the bottom, huh? I'll fucking show you, I'll fucking show everyone of those high and mighty bastards. But first…" He shot himself up and landed on his feet, wobbling slightly. "I will use them. I'm going to kill those humans, get my eyes back. I'm going to fucking win!" He said that last part with a shout, the echo of which caused those words to be heard multiple times.

Those thoughts ran through the mind of the goblin. Thoughts of revenge, thoughts of victory, thoughts of making those who had looked down on him pay for those actions. And thoughts of fulfilling his dreams. Thoughts of a world where the weak would be able to live their lives without the worry of those stronger taking that very life they cherished. And so Durenhal got to work. He stayed out of sight of the humans, who kept coming down into his home every day. He stared at them from the shadows, hating them, loathing everything they stood for while they cut down all more and more of his family. And he plotted. For the day he would have the opportunity to strike.

And what a glorious day it would be.