Chapter 4, Goblins in the Forest

In another part of the world a fire was burning in a hastily assembled hunter camp. Various traps lay strewn out on the ground, pikes and knives stuck in the dirt. Nets hung from the trees forcibly bent down to give protection with their leafy crowns.

An old shaman stood at the edge of the camp.

Sabi-Gxor, which was his name, looked at the young prince sitting idly by the fire and sighed, pressing his chin down on his long and gnarled staff. "You have a demon on your back, Zox" he grunted. "It feeds on your dreams and your hopes, leaving you listless." "Really? I was thinking I'm just naturally laid back" said the greenskin by the fire.

"No, no. You keep summoning it. It's called a spirit leech" the old man continued; slight amounts of spittle drooling down his cheek. He wiped it off and continued. "The things you say..: 'I can't be bothered!', 'I'm too tired..', that's how you keep summoning it. I can see it right now; it's gnawing on the back of your neck."

"I don't believe in your stories, herb-head. Go bother someone who does" the younger goblin said.

Oblivious to the younger one's dismissal, the old shaman continued talking; half to himself. He rocked back and forth, leaning on the staff. "I shall prepare something for you to drink. Something to poison your mind against the spirit leech, to make it leave you alone. I want my breakfast and you're not getting it for me as long as that thing's stuck to your neck."

He limped off, leaving Zox alone to stare into the flickering flames. Zox shrugged off the annoyance he usually felt when the shaman was in his presence. The old one's white milky eyes seemed to follow him everywhere and his constant constipation, farting and general rudeness all added to the things he disliked about him. It was not the farting, constipation and rudeness itself - all fine parts of general goblin culture - but the way he did it. He also refused to acknowledge Zox' stature as prince and kept talking to him like he was just another spawnling.

He kicked at a log; sending sparks into the early morning air. This whole business with traditions and going out into the woods to become a true goblin hunter would surely change once the throne was his. He could easily see himself sitting in his burrow deep in the earth for the rest of his days, feasting on the delicacies brought to him by his minions and laughing at the critters they would bring to amuse him.

Sabi-Gxor poked at the mosses around the camp and spent a good hour finding various vile ingredients; the final one being a large hark and spit right into the goblet. He presented it to Zox with a glare. "Drink it all up, little one." he said. "I promised your father to take care of you, and this is my way".

If Zox hadn't been too busy imagining his future throne room he might not have missed the slight hint of glee in the shaman's voice. Reluctantly he took the goblet and swiped it all in one big guffaw. "IIAAAAAARRGHHHH!" he shouted as the vile drink burned through his throat and into his belly. He jumped up and did a little jig on the spot; clawing at his mouth.

Sabi-Gxor laughed so hard he fell on his back. "Folish spawnling! You think you can make fun of old Gxor behind his back? Give me nasty glares? I know the forest, dirtbag" he said, calming down and sitting up again. "Now go and snare us some breakfast before I conjure up more nasty surprises for you."

Driven out of the camp by the the elderly one's walking stick, Zox only just managed to pick up a couple of traps before he half ran out into the forest, still coughing and with big tears in his eyes.

He wandered for a few hours until he felt less uncomfortable with the world in general. Despite the shock the concoction had given him he did feel invigorated and more energetic. Ever since leaving the comfortably dark burrow he had been feeling suppressed, as if the wide open spaces above him were making him inert and heavy. Now he focused his eyes on the forest floor and ignored the sun beaming down without mercy, sneaking through what shadows he could find.

He found a good hideout in a particularly large spruce with branches blotting out the sun completely. No grass or moss could be found underneath it, there was only a mat of pine needles and the occasional cone. The darkness and earthy colours made him more focused. He brought out his traps, and carefully rigged them all on the ground and in the trees nearby. There were a few bird snares and a rather large and cumbersome squirrel trap. Then he lay waiting under the pine.