Moss

“There weren't always dragons in the valley. There weren't always demons in the dark. There weren't always calls from the ocean. There weren't always heroes to embark.” - The Few.

The forest held its breath as the crudely made spear was let loose. To many the death of this creature would mean little, but to this hunter it meant everything. From the murky shallows of the mire a moist reptilian monster rose from the reeds to assess its work. Spores and patience had coated its hide in an infested mossy cloak hiding itself from anything short of vigilance. Its primitive appearance hid not only its presence but its disappointment.

The deer was wounded, but not dead. The trail it left was easy enough to follow but finding it was not the concern. To even get this opportunity the hunter had budgeted every calorie to remain motionless, eating only what literally crawled into its mouth. If the trek didn't kill him, something else likely would.

To say he had a choice would be generous. Hunting any closer to home would risk hurting the territory. The prey had to be retrieved, another opportunity of its like would not arise before his strength left him. Pulling a particularly troublesome centipede from his snout he ventured forth.

He was followed, as expected. Even as cautiously as he skulked through the tree-line he knew moving would make him visible. All his sharper appendages and crafted carrion creations would mean little to a party of desperate goblins. It was only a matter of time and terrain.

The swamp he hailed from was a monument to the beauty of decay. For even in rotting wood and stagnant puddles there was life. A vibrant and passionate life determined to survive through sheer existential attrition. Which is why where the deer hobbled to was so substantially different.

The trail led to fundamentally alien ruins whose crumbling artificial themes contrasted heavily with the natural world he spawned from. Sharper angles, smoother surfaces, and colors unlike anything he had seen before dominated the architecture. Yet the air tasted far worse than any muck he swam through.

"Welcome to Ubway!" The woman said enthusiastically. No sooner had she let loose the words he had let loose an ax into her chest. The weapon was as crude as the spear, merely a sharpened thigh bone fashioned to a shaped branch, but it fell her to the ground nonetheless. A gut reaction that had saved him more then once. More importantly it was an unexpected kill he could claim.

A closer inspection of the corpse intrigued him. It was like a goblin but groomed, taller, with more rounded features. By far the oddest goblin he had ever seen. With the oddest lair he had ever scrutinized. The pale goblin was standing in front of a strange construction with transparent walls. Green and yellow colors dominated the interior where various structures were intricately organized into specific spaces. There were even freshly harvested food elements displayed on top of the main structure. Various parts of various creatures were presented and organized in a manner foreign to his kind. When he went in to inspect further he didn't hear her get up.

"Have you tried our oven roasted pigeon breast?" She asked with just as much enthusiasm, still bleeding from the gash in her torso. It surprised the reptilian so much he flung her into the wall with his tail and plunged his entire clawed hand through her chest. "If you're on a budget I like to add the onion sauce. It tastes almost the same as the onion pigeon teriyaki.” He roared with a sharp pitch. A precursor to the beheading. Ripping flesh from bone with crude but well practiced serrated teeth. “Would you like to make it a combo meal?” her head asked. Ferocity gave way to fear. Not to the grotesque scene he had created but to the weariness that was spreading throughout his limbs. He was already tired from the hunt, but this was a new fatigue.

The girl’s body moved around him as if it wasn’t lacking an important appendage. Grabbing what had been lost on its way to a separate room out of sight. “I’ll get back to you in just a moment. Thank you for your patience,” the head said. There was a heaviness to everything, even standing up was taxing him greatly. He had eaten poisonous creatures before without such effect, but there was no denying the reality of the situation. Even the blood on his claws were now turning from a dark crimson to a sickeningly bright yellow. This creature was, whatever it may be, a superior hunter. However, he was no stranger to being a stubborn prey either.

Under his mossy coat, wrapped in snakeskin, and coated in venom was a fang the size of a small dagger. A memento from a rather large snake. It would take everything he had, but perhaps he could convince this predator he wasn’t worth the effort today. “I would like to apologize,” she said walking back out, “My manager has told me that I can come on too strong.” Her head had been re-attached, her wounds disappeared, and even her clothes had been mended seamlessly. It was as if she was never maimed. She cracked her jaw. “As a sign of good faith from the Ubway corporation my manager has authorized a free combo meal. I hope there are no hard feelings.” He stopped reaching for the knife. Her last series of guttural barks had been oddly comprehendible and lacked any malice. “May I have a name for this?”

The hunter thought about the question. His tribe communicated through a series of calls but they were not as much for the individual as it was for whoever was closest. Only one of his kind had ever received such nomenclature and it was only because she knew better. “Moss,” he reluctantly muttered.

The girl quickly cut open a moldy piece of bread ladling some warm chunky slop across its insides. Finishing the crafted culinary construction with a sprinkling of tiny rocks. It looked truly grotesque, but the reptilian was weak and starving. At the first sign that this well groomed albino goblin was not trying to kill him he devoured the offering with great vigor. Taste had never been a consideration where he was from. One freshly killed alligator tastes about as well as a day old rat, but this horror handout was different. Even though it was composed of the same gore and viscera he was used to, it stimulated his tongue pleasantly like no other meal he has ever had.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said the girl, “But since we’re lacking any proper side or drink options we would like to offer some advice with the combo meal.” He felt better, unreasonably better. The poison had subsided with any trace of exhaustion he was feeling. Maybe for even the first time in his life he felt content. Not wanting to waste the opportunity to escape an open mouth he grabbed his ax to leave while he could.

“My manager informs me that your ‘Feast of Flies’ will be happening soon,” he stopped, “And your tribe’s offering will not be as desirable as the others.” He didn’t know how she knew such things, but she wasn’t wrong. The dragon had an unreasonable appetite. So much so that all the tribes had trouble providing an offering for such an event. The Trolls spent all year harvesting their own limbs, the rats cannibalize themselves in their fear, and the goblins wage war with the others for meat alone. Thanks to the one that knew better Moss’ tribe had provided sustainable offerings until the goblin’s began encroaching in their lands.

“From one food service to another, we recommend quality over quantity. A bit of salt could go a long way when it comes to winning favor.” She said, shaking the vessel for her tiny rocks. He entertained the idea for a moment, but decided against it. It was too risky. To change what had worked for so long would invite disaster. He spat out a particularly tough piece of cartilage and left. “Till next time, Moss.”

The deer’s trail led him deeper into the alien ruins. Choosing to die next to in the middle of a great dilapidated path with large multicolored contraptions littered across its length. The deer was large game, but the Ubway creature’s words hung to his thoughts. It would not be enough, and thanks to the goblin that had hollowed it out it would be even less than it appeared.

If Moss had not just eaten the goblin would have killed him. It popped out of the corpse with little ceremony, brandishing a crooked blade that hit its mark more then once. More than that the goblin was sticky making the foe hard to get away from. Moss bashed into anything and everything nearby, it croaked in pain as its fragile body was bludgeoned. Goblins tactics were limited but effective relying on three elements. Numbers were their primary means of offense, and when that wasn’t available they would resort to surprise. When that fails however, they use fire.

The goblin, feeling the fight not going in his favor, immolated himself with the black tar covering his body. Moss tossed him, ripping away part of the flora that clung to his hide to avoid being consumed by the flames. Even bathed in fire and agony the goblin remained animated, running back compelled to not be the only one that dies this day. Moss rebuked him with a spear, pinning him against the ancient alien contraption.

He did not speak much goblin, but the curse it spoke was common and familiar. “May Fride consume your tribe,” it choked as it burned alive. Moss was livid. The fire would reduce his enemy to ash and bone, nothing could be saved. The deer was no longer viable either. The goblin must have eaten it waiting to ambush him. As it stood he would return with nothing for his time or efforts. “Salt,” he groaned.