For decades, the Spiritscale Clan, had been prospering in relative obscurity. Their small village was isolated, with neither the mineral resources, nor plentiful timber to make encroaching on their territory a profitable, pursuit. And without anything worse than the local wildlife to worry about, the small clan thrived.
But goblin history is not sown from smiles and full bellies, but forcefully thieved from gnashing teeth and blood. And this tale is no exception. Perhaps by some karmic retribution from Lady Fate herself, the goblins of the Spiritscale Clan came face to face with a scourge the clan had avoided for years...
Adventurers.
Though they may have avoided conflict for many years, one does not live in a goblin clan without picking up some middling amount of fighting skill. When the two fiends were identified approaching the Clan's Village, the chief, the teller, and five of the clan's best warriors rose up to meet them. The two groups met on the outskirts of the village.
Though the goblins had naught but copper weapons against the Fighter's steel armaments, and their teller could never match the Wizard spell-for-spell, the goblins did not fear. They had the advantage of numbers, and with the aura of courage exuding from their chief, that would be enough. They were strong! They were many! Even the Fighter seemed unnerved at the very sight of them.
"So, uh. Wiz - I don't mean to be a bother, but perhaps we should regroup with the rest of the party and come back for these goblins in the morning."
"Relax. I got this. That moderately-locked chest is as good-as ours."
The Chief and his warriors stood tall! They were not dazed by the Wizard's dazzling lights. The chief let out a war cry, and was halfway through commanding the charge when they heard four collective gasps behind him.
With a sickening flare of color and sound, the Wizard's spell was revealed for what it truly was -- not some piddly, low-level illusion spell, but a high level conjuration instead!
"Dude! You just took out seven goblins at once!"
"Pretty neat trick, ain't it? Now let's grab our rightfully-earned loot and call it a day!"
In less than a round, all of the Spiritscale warriors had been mercilessly plucked from their home entirely. The seven luckless goblins knew nothing for several agonizing...seconds? Minutes? Hours? With naught but the unrelenting whorl of colors, lights, sounds, and sensations, even time itself seemed irrelevant.
Suffice it to say that, eventually, they... arrived. Ejected wholesale into an alien desert of orange sands and screeching winds. The Chief was out of his element. Even the teller was out of their element. For though their teller had viewed many visions in their time, they had never before seen...
Goblins in Hell
The Spiritscale goblins were frightened, the Teller most of all, but it is the Teller's job to give direction, and it is never seemly for a Teller to show hesitation or fear. Though they were just as confused and disturbed as the rest of them, the Teller did their best to handle the questions presented.
"What were those bright lights?"
"It felt like my insides were on the outside!"
"Are we dead?"
"What did that human do?"
"Is the village safe?"
"What happened to our weapons?"
And the question, repeated louder and more often than any other:
"Where are we, Teller?"
"Kinsmen, please!" (The sheer amount of willpower it took for the teller to manage without stuttering, we shall never know) "We are clearly out of our element here. We are far from home, without food or supplies, and very probably in grave danger. There is only one sensible option to do."
"We pray to the ancestor spirits that watch over us, that they may enter our bodies and guide us in overcoming this obstacle of fate."
Alone, stranded, lost.
This is the story, of the Goblins in Hell.
