Realm of Monsters

Stryg went through his normal routine during the day. Washing the tribe’s clothes and cleaning the hunter’s tools as was expected of the children. In his free time he trained until he had trouble breathing, then went to watch the few hunters who had stayed that day in the hopes of learning something from their own training exercises. As the sun began to set he was called by Second Mother. He took a deep breath as she ushered him into a tent. Several Mothers were waiting inside, each held a small bowl of ceremonial paint. 

First Mother, leader of the others, stepped forward. She was considered a great beauty among the tribe. She had a small round face, with a button nose, unlike most of the women’s hook noses, framed with black hair and a few strands of grey.

Coincidentally, Stryg was the only person with grey hair in the tribe, although he was born with his, another testament to his oddness. First Mother had gained hers through time, she was the oldest goblin in the tribe, at 38. Many goblins never made it past their twenties, the dangers of the forest proving too great. They began to slow down and grow weaker in their thirties. At which point the tribe deemed them too weak and threw them out, leaving them to be food for the wolves and dire bears. The Mothers were the exception, since their job was to raise the children, it was fine if their physical abilities slowed down. Though First Mother still seemed as capable as she was twenty years ago.

“Shirt off,” she spoke in a stern voice.

Stryg nodded in obedience.

“Since the day you were born we have watched over you, Stryg. You were always different from the others.”

“Odd,” Sixth Mother coughed. At 24, she was one of the youngest Mothers. She had been the prettiest goblin of her generation. She had been honored with the role of a Mother early on and the status had only made her more arrogant. She also seemed to love poking fun at Stryg, the weird one, whenever she had the chance.

First Mother looked back, her yellow eyes narrowed, her slit pupils constricted to small slits, “Anything else you’d like to say? Or should I just punish you now?”

“No, please forgive this foolish one,” Sixth Mother blushed and bowed, her shoulders trembled. 

Stryg fought to keep his face passive as he felt a rare moment of satisfaction. 

After a long pause, First Mother slowly turned back around, “You are lucky it is Stryg’s birthday.” She dipped her finger into a small pot of red paint, “As I was saying. We have watched you grow through these years, and despite your struggles, which there have been many, you have never given up pursuing strength. In no small sense, you are the runt of this generation.”

Stryg wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or sad at her words.

“For that I am proud of you child, many goblins in your place would have given up by now.” She smeared the paint on his forehead and cheeks.

He couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Such praise was rare for him, especially from the leader of the Mothers.

First Mother frowned, “Which is why you must not fail. I know you are smaller and weaker than the others, but you have worked hard. Do not let your countless hours of training fall short during your first night challenge. The Blood Fang tribe does not need weak goblins.”

Stryg felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. The threat was real and he worried what she would do if he failed. No, he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t afford to. He gulped his saliva down, “I won’t fail you First Mother.” 

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You best not. I will not have one of my children bring shame to me.”

Stryg didn’t consider himself one of her children. She had made that clear ample times throughout his life, but he didn’t think it smart to correct her words.

First Mother took a step back and turned around, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get him ready.” 

“Yes, First Mother!” The other women spoke in unison. They each began to apply paint of different colors on Stryg.

“Not you.” First Mother pulled Sixth Mother’s hair back. 

Sixth Mother yelped in pain, and dropped her bowl, “I’m sorry, First Mother!”

“Not yet, you’re not,” She hissed into Sixth Mother’s ear. “Did you think I’d just let you go?” 

Another woman silently picked up the fallen bowl. The women continued to paint symbols on Stryg’s body, their backs turned to their sister’s plight. Stryg watched in silence.

“You keep acting up. I should have punished you long ago,” First Mother kicked Sixth Mother’s knees from under her. Sixth Mother whimpered in fear. She slapped Sixth Mother’s face with as much strength as she could muster, letting her claws scrape over the skin. Sixth Mother screamed in pain.

“You're this pathetic and yet you dare interrupt me!? If you weren’t a Mother I’d have thrown you out as scraps for the wolves,” First Mother shouted.

“It won’t happen again! I promise!” Sixth cried.

“Believe me, I’ll make sure it won’t.” First Mother laughed and sucker-punched her. Sixth Mother gasped and fell to the floor. First smiled, revealing her small fangs. 

“Say you’re weak. Say it!” First Mother screamed.

Sixth Mother could only moan in pain. Stryg was surprised at the situation. He had known that the Mothers shared an intimate relationship, so it was strange seeing First Mother being so cruel towards Sixth Mother. Then again, First Mother was cruel in general.

Second Mother spoke in a quiet voice, “It’s done.”

The Mothers stepped back from Stryg. Painted symbols of spears, bows, and fangs, covered his whole chest, back, and face. 

First Mother had moved away from the slapping, Sixth Mother was now licking her lover’s feet with fervor. First Mother spoke with a sadistic resonance, “If you don’t do a better job, I’ll cut you up and eat you myself.” She stepped on Sixth’s head.

Stryg knew she meant it, he was stunned at First Mother’s willingness for brutality. Goblin culture centered around who was stronger. One had to make sure that the rest knew their place among the tribe. It seemed First Mother knew it very well.

“First Mother, Stryg’s paint is finished,” Second Mother spoke as she bowed her head towards her superior.

First  Mother licked her lips, “Good. You may go.”

Stryg nodded in quick fashion and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Stryg, do not dare lose on your first night challenge, consider your life forfeit if you do,” First Mother said.

She was now kneeling on the floor, her thighs clamped around Sixth’s face, choking her. Despite the obvious pain and lack of air, Sixth seemed to be oddly smiling.

Stryg swallowed, “Yes, First Mother.”

He left the tent with quick steps, leaving only whimpers behind him. Besides the children, Mothers were the only ones who didn’t participate in the night challenges. So, along with being the matriarch of the tribe, First Mother basically had a group of lovers to herself. Not even the chief challenged her authority. 

Looking ahead he saw a large bonfire and the majority of the tribe standing around it. He took a deep breath, first he’d have to win the challenge ahead of him. 

The sun had almost disappeared from the horizon, bathing the village in soft maroon light. Stryg reached the blazing fire pit and stood a few feet back. He tried ignoring the onlookers, straightened his back, planted his feet apart, and turned towards the chief.

“I, Stryg, son of the Blood Fang tribe, greet the chief,” he tried his best to keep his voice from breaking.

The chief looked him over, noting the painted work. “You have come bearing the marks of our tribe,” his voice boomed in a deep tone that belied his size. 

The chief stretched his green arm out, pointing towards Stryg, and looked at the crowd. “The markings, not of a boy, but an adult. Tonight, Stryg turns eighteen, no longer a child. But!” He raised a finger and paused, “To truly become an adult he must prove himself to be one of us. How?”

“Challenge!” The crowd yelled in unison. “Challenge, challenge!” They chanted.

The chief slammed his spear into the ground, “Then a night challenge we shall have!” The crowd cheered in approval. Various female goblins walked forward forming a line, while the rest of the goblins backed up and spread around to form a circle around the women, chief, and Stryg. 

Stryg, tried to ignore the fear in the pit of his stomach. He had to focus, this was his moment. He couldn’t fail. Like other goblin tribes in Vulture Woods, the Blood Fang tribe followed the tradition of the night challenge. 

Each night adult goblins would meet around a fire and had the chance to challenge each other to a hand-to-hand battle to prove their worthiness as a potential mate. If the challenger lost, they’d be humiliated, and would lose the right to challenge anyone for some time. If they won they would prove they were a worthy mate among the tribe.

The goal was to breed out the weak from the tribe and only have the strong sire children. Although, through the years it had devolved into who wanted to sleep with the most pretty or handsome goblin. Still, goblins never wanted to sleep with a weak goblin, only the strong.

The chief spoke while looking at the line of women, “As the tribe’s shaman, Cruvor should be here to give a blessing for your initiation, but he went out early this morning and has yet to return. So, I shall do the blessing.”

The crowd grunted in affirmation. 

The chief turned towards Stryg, “Be strong. Be quick. And above all, take what is yours.” The crowd cheered, eager to see bloodshed.

The chief leaned over to Stryg, “It seems you are ready.” He patted Stryg’s back and pushed him, “Choose!”

Stryg stumbled forward, he looked at the array of ten goblin women in front of him. He was surprised so many stepped forward. Normally, it’d mean they were all interested in sleeping with him, but Stryg worried that they were all just interested in getting the chance to beat him up.

They were all under twenty, so his generation. At least he didn’t have to face any of the older goblins. This was his first night of adulthood, he was expected to challenge, moreso he couldn’t afford to lose, lest First Mother kill him and eat him as goblin stew. He had to be careful with his choice.

On one side stood Srixa, she was as tall as any male goblin, standing at 4’1”. She was quite pretty, with smooth skin, and a large bust. She was also one of the most skillful hunters in the tribe, definitely the best hunter in their generation. She was said to have quite the sadistic streak, and that was saying something coming from the Blood Fang tribe, who prided themselves with their ferociousness.

Srixa was known for challenging the more handsome goblin men, sometimes cute women, and beating the ones who accepted with ease. By morning the goblins who had slept with her were always covered in bruises and scratches that weren’t from the fight. 

Srixa wasn’t interested in ugly goblins, and while Stryg wasn’t ugly, he was different and that was enough to put him in the ugly category.  So, she definitely just wanted to fight him. She didn’t even bother glancing at Stryg as he walked down the line of women. They both knew why. She’d beat him bloody if he tried challenging her.

Stryg looked at another, her name was Bril. With voluptuous small curves, she was undoubtedly the prettiest of the younger generation. She was also quite the skilled huntress and could handle her own against all but the strongest. 

Bril bared her teeth at him, her small fangs glinted in the firelight. This only made Stryg want to challenge her more, but he reigned in his lust and focused on trying to find someone he could actually win against.

After looking past a few more, he made his decision. He raised his finger and pointed, “Gathi.”

Gathi wasn’t particularly pretty, but she was a gatherer and from what he could recall she wasn’t a very skilled fighter. The crowd cheered as he spoke. The other women backed away into the crowd. 

Only Gathi and Stryg stood within the circle now. Gathi, crouched, her arms spread to her sides, claws shaking in anticipation. She growled, “So, I’m supposed to be the weakest?”