Harbingers of Change

The moon was bright tonight. A lone direwolf sat on a cliff as a lookout. Unlike others in his pack who had only dark bluish-black fur, his neck and paws were clad in bluish-silver fur and there was a dark patch of fur in the form of a star decorating his forehead. An outlier like him would likely not have survived childhood if not for him being one of the strongest of his generation.

Even his own father, the alpha of the pack, had considered just killing him off as a pup, but power is power. Among the entire tribe, only his father could defeat him.

The night was calm today, but it was no excuse to slack off and be careless. Within the last month, neighboring packs ambushed his brethren five times. Fights for territory were natural, but lately, attacks were careless, almost desperate. With packs growing larger and separating all the time, wolves fought for new territories.

The wolf scratched his side with his back paw and narrowed his vision, noticing subtle movements among the trees.

{ Movement. } He sends a warning to others. It was better to wake up everyone on a false alarm than face ambush unprepared.

He returned his attention back to the treeline below. Shadows moved here and there. He could hear the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves. With anticipation slowly rising, a familiar memory of his mighty jaws tearing the flesh of his own kind came to the forefront of his mind. To kill or be killed, to submit or conquer, was the simple law all monsters lived by.

{ Report. } A large scar-covered wolf said, appearing at his side.

{ Many moving behind the trees. What we will do alpha? }

{ The pack is getting ready. If we can, we fight. }

The first of the attackers came out of the woods, a large brown dire wolf with half of the left ear and the left eye missing. He let out a howl and then communicated,

{ I claim your territory! Submit or die! }

The massive brown wolf was the alpha of a rival pack they have fought more than once. A strong pack, but not strong enough to defeat them. One after another, brown direwolves came out of the woods. Right after those come black-furred wolves followed by dark ones.

The brown furred alpha had subjugated two other packs. The wolf with the silver furred neck looked at his alpha, his gaze containing an obvious question.

{Too many of them. We run. }

{ Run where alpha? }

{ To goblin territories. }

{ We anger God Veldora? }

{ God has not been seen for a long time. We take goblin territory; we worship God ourselves. }

If the alpha commanded, you either listened or challenged him. He turned and ran beside his alpha. For the second time in his life, his pack would have to run to new territories. The attacking pack charged at him and the alpha as they turned and ran. The familiar trees gave enough of an advantage to gain distance as they could maneuver between the trees just as fast as in the plains.

His heart raced and a feeling of shame ate at his pride, but it was better to run than die a foolish death by fighting a much greater number of attackers. At first, it was just him and alpha, but then another of his pack joined them..

More and more of his brethren appeared as they silently ran through the dark forest with only the moon guiding them. A direwolf like him didn't tire and didn't even need to eat if he wasn't very low on magicules. There was no need to worry about other creatures. Led by the alpha, direwolves were at the top of the food chain in these woods.

Then a faint smell warned him about opponents somewhere near. They had left the familiar territory and despite the fear of angering the Dragon God, this unfamiliar territory would be taken. The smell of goblins got stronger and stronger with each step. Filthy weak creatures, nothing more. Ten of them could barely stand up against the weakest of his kind.

The alpha beside him was getting pumped up. They would tear into goblins soon.

His nose was always on point and the group of goblins dressed in filthy brown clothes and equipped with rusted weapons came into view just where he knew they would.

The alpha charged the largest one in the middle of the group and he took it down with a single bite. The small creature's brittle bones broke between his mighty jaws, the blood splattering everywhere. It was not the tastiest meal, but if you are about to kill something, might as well not let the body go to waste.

He dropped the body to the ground, marking it as his meal, and looked for the next target, but there wasn't anything left to kill anymore. Every single goblin was dead, but to his surprise, one of the direwolves was twitching on the ground with a spear lodged in his gut. A lucky kill from the goblin side.

{ Spread out, scout for prey. We feast only when the territory is ours. Do not attack many of them alone. Goblins are weak but they can still kill us. } The alpha ordered his pack.

With his pack spreading out, the wolf with a silver furred neck also picked a direction and went scouting. They needed to find the main settlement and tear it down. Goblins, like many of the more humanoid creatures, lived in huts and reinforced their small villages. If his pack was not cautious they could lose more wolves. Goblins were the weakest of monsters, but careless attacks could get a few of them killed.

This unfamiliar territory teemed with smaller creatures. His predator nature urged him to chase the countless rabbits and the odd fawn that crossed his path, but this was not the time for such activities.

There was no doubt in his mind his pack would take over the goblin territory quickly and without trouble.

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The village elder woke up with a knot in his stomach, which he took as an ill omen. He had a hunch dark times were ahead and who knows how long his body could last strained as such? By now he was frail and the strength of youth was long gone. But not ignoring such feelings was the reason why he had survived to such an old age in the first place. The elder slowly got up from his grass bed and picked up a dirty-looking cloth from the ground. The dirty robe was still in good shape and there were no new holes in it today. He quickly put it on, grabbed the tall, wooden walking staff and walked outside.

The morning was always the busiest part of his day. The other goblins relied on him to organize work. A group of armed goblins was already waiting for him.

"Morning, elder." The group greeted him, a bit too loudly for his liking, but it couldn't be helped. The elder chuckled at the enthusiasm of the youth and spoke in a coarse, tired voice.

"Morning." He then turned to the tallest goblin in the group. He was taller than the others, with more refined features. If not for the green skin, he could be mistaken for a human.

"Rigur, my son, you will take the main patrol route as usual. Protect us all."

His eldest son, his pride and joy, was named by a majin years ago. To not use it in conversation would be a sign of dishonor towards the mighty being who bothered to bestow such an honor on a creature as lowly as a goblin. After all, if not for the naming, he would be just like everyone else.

"Of course, father, you can count on me," Rigur said and left with a third of the armed group.

"As for the rest of you, half of you will take the eastern route and the other half will take the northern route." Once the warriors dispersed, he walked towards the next group awaiting his orders. These goblins stood by a pile of bows and an orderly row of grass-weaved bags.

"Morning, elder." This group greeted him with the same enthusiasm as the previous one.

"Morning, young ones." Unlike the warrior group who all were of age, these were still growing. He lifted his hand and said while pointing,

"You, you, and you four. Take bows and go hunt. Just rabbits, no bigger beasts." The youngsters entrusted with hunting beamed with pride as they picked up the weapons while the rest of the younger ones sulked.

Their time to take weapons would come, but for now, there was a need to gather as much food as possible before the cold season came. It was likely his last winter, but that didn't mean he could just forget about others. He split them into three smaller groups and said,

"You all go gather apples in the big stone woods. You go gather roots in the old foxhole, and the rest of you go gather berries in the red hills."

With the main task out of the way, he could organize the pregnant females, children, and older goblins in local crafting and cleaning jobs, and then finally eat.

The breakfast usually was dried meat and a bowl of boiled roots downed with a herbal tea, and this day was not an exception. It was a simple but nourishing meal.

The rest of the day would go on as usual, giving advice to young ones and judging disputes. A rare and more exciting day would bring the kobold merchants to his humble village, but they visited recently and the next caravan would probably not be back for weeks.

The dog-like humanoids were smarter and stronger than goblins, but were one of very few species who were kind enough to interact with the lowliest of monsters.

The day, overall, was rather uneventful. There was just one fight where two of the young goblins boys fought for the same girl. The fight ended quickly as the bigger of two punched his opponent in the face, breaking his nose. The defeated boy was heartbroken, but a few wise-sounding words from the elder about looking for another mate gave him at least some hope.

Other than that, the day went by fast and with the sunset appearing on the horizon his old bones demanded sleep. The grass bed was just what the old goblin needed and sleep took him instantly.

He went through the same routine of giving tasks and organized today's patrols with other groups of warriors led by his youngest son. But as he ate breakfast, the bad feeling had gotten worse and food just didn't want to go down.

"Elder, elder!" A young warrior shouted from outside.

Fourteen heavily wounded goblins layed on the ground. Many had bite marks made by enormous jaws, some had missing limbs. And there was no sign of his eldest son. He swallowed hard at the horrible sight and asks with a shaky voice,

"What happened?"

"Dire wolves, elder. The whole pack roams around our territory."

His old face turned a few shades paler as he mumbles,

"Send runners to neighboring tribes. Dire wolves are too much for us to fight alone."

The wounded goblins were in a critical state. The tribe's shaman was doing his best to make healing salves from herbs, but it likely just prolonged the inevitable.

The worst news came sometime later. The group, led by his oldest son, was slaughtered. None survived, and he had lost not only his beloved son but the tribe's greatest protector.

And just when he thought things could get any worse, runners returned with news that no other tribe would aid them, leaving them to their own fate. The elder's despair grew with each moment. Unless some kind of miracle will happen, his tribe would probably get wiped out.

Gathering the entire tribe together was not a hard task. The entire tribe could be counted on the hands of ten goblins. Once everyone had gathered in the center of their village, the elder addressed the crowd.

"Direwolves walk around our lands. Rigur, our guardian, is dead. To survive we will build a fence around the village and we will start building it now. All other tasks are not important anymore."

The elder looked over the worried faces of his tribe and sighed heavily. If luck smiled upon them maybe half of them would survive against the much stronger monsters, but luck rarely smiled upon the weakest of monsters.

The old goblin returned to his hut and a strange feeling of being watched didn't leave him.

Edited by Edgy.