Run Fast, Win Glory - 1
Note This story is also a game. I wrote it with dice, so, at times, I had no idea of what was going to happen. Like in a role-playing game, I rolled to check how fast a character ran or if a goblin was able to do this thing or that. Expect a bit of chaos!
The ancient tradition of running from goblins
Old men, long dead, had written that in the region of Lión, humans used to prove their worth by challenging goblins to a hunt.
This is how it was done: a young aspirant will come to the locals "Maestres de la Carrera" and ask to be included in the "scroll of preys". The Maestres will consent, provided certain conditions were met. Above all, that the aspirant would be reputed to be true to his word, of a gentlemanly character and not wanted by the Crown. Secondly, that he was fit for the race, old enough, and know and consent to the consequences of defeat.
Then, once a month, the Maestres walked to the "place of peace". The scroll would be read to the goblins own Maestres, and these would choose one. The chosen prey, would then go to a designated place, to be chased by four chosen goblins. Victory meant glory, fame and silver, defeat meant to be remembered among those brave enough to risk the freedom that they lost.
A new prey
Ruit was one of those boys who woke up at dawn and ran to the town's plaza for a job, any job. That had served him well enough for seven years, as he was thrifty, honest and didn't ask too much to life. Too much of a wild spirit, he hadn't applied for an apprenticeship, a decision he regretted dearly. For he was getting too old to be an errand boy, and the army was his only hope to prosper. Well, that, and
"Ruit de Galgos, the Goblin Maestres have called your name."
"But... wasn't Francena going to go?"
"She relinquished her place. Will you go?"
"Tomorrow?!"
"No, the Goblin Maestres have acquiesced to grant you a week. Next Monday, come to the guild house, we shall lead you to Monteniebla, where the race will begin. And so, boy, will you come?"
"Who, me?"
The whole plaza of Udueña was watching.
"Yes, you're next in line, though if you would..."
"I'll go, I'll go!"
Udueña cheered out. The other errand boys cried out "gramps, gramps, gramps" as if it were the name of a heroic knight of ancient fame. Ruit joined in, running around the plaza, followed by all who called themselves young, none of whom could keep up with his pace. Yes! He will do it! He'll get the pot of silver, buy four mules for himself and become a proper trader, with hired hands and everything. Udueña will be proud of him, news of his victory will come to his mother, his siblings will cheer wherever they'd be. Nobody would ever look at a Galgos as some sort of failure... only because his father had been too fond of wine and the paid love of bad women.
New chasers
Elbrut chief of the goblins of Labaga, had solved a problem, choosing the chasers for the new prey. It hadn't been as simple as selecting the faster and wiser. The chase, you see, had to be fined tuned so that the human preys had, if at all, a bit of an advantage. Otherwise, the humans won't race often, if at all, and you won't want that. The "Carreras" were free of risk, but they could be more profitable than raiding.
So he had chosen goblins just as young as that Ruit, decent runners but not too good and, essentially, not the best among the new warriors. These were named Zrancho, Bocancho, Kamon, and Ordura, the only girl among them. Elbrut trusted they'd give a show good enough for the human minstrels. These too will be allowed to ride in goblin lands, so they would tell how great of an adventure it all had been. The flow of new prays wouldn't stop.
Failure
Ruit was standing on the ruins of an old home. The place was tricky, but the rules of the carrera had that he could not leave the start circle until he spotted at least one goblin. And those creatures are masters at hiding. Bocancho had got the best place, sitting astride on the root of a thick branch, a million leaves shielding him from view. Now he only needed to wait for the prey to run right under him. As for why Ruit would do such a thing, no god could have fathom. Zrancho got a straighter strategy, just run for the boy and get him, Kamon followed after him, because he lacked any better ideas.
Ordura tried smarter. "We should surround him first, get too him later." But non of the goblin boys followed her advice as, it was too flat boring. So she attempted to do it on her own and, as Zrancho and Kamon ran for the catch, she made a wide circle around the boy.
And, well, the whole thing ended up too swiftly. Ruit saw Zrancho from almost a mile away and fled at once. Zrancho had given his position way too soon, so Ordura had no chance to intercept the human boy. It all went far too easy for Ruit, rested, fresh, he just went out of sight and, after not a long while later, he reached a point seven miles away from the start circle, victorious and free.
Interviewing the champion
Along with the participants and the maestres, Elbrut, the rules also allowed for bards to witness the race. These will tell the story all around the county. Many will listen to their stories; for a copper each, they'll be entertained and, hopefully, get valuable information for their bets. For this event, being Ruit a fresh nobody, only Retrefe showed up.
Retrefe was a fine old dwarf, as thin as dwarfs go, his beard stone gray, his face wrinkled in deep furrows. But he could still run and jump, loved to sing and, crucially, owned a fearless pouncing pony, so he could follow the action almost as if he was one of the chasers. Normally, this will be quite exciting but, in this one, he only got anger.
"The half wits!"
Retrefe didn't expect too much good out of goblins. But these had been just too stupid. Age and inexperience wasn't much of an excuse, either. He'd witnessed more exciting games of hide-and-seek in every village he'd ever roamed.
Interviewing the champion was his last, rather forlorn, hope. If the boy did say something wrong, or flashy, he'd perhaps could give the race a spin and get a few more coppers. Just enough to buy the favors of certain kind of persons he often visited.
And so, he jumped off his pony and ran, as much as he could, to Ruit, shouting "Congratulations, young runner, you made it!"
"Yeah! I knew I could do it."
"So, how do you feel?"
"A winner!!! Yeah!!!"
"Oh, so, is it a hero's welcome awaiting you?"
"Yeah, mates will be buying cakes, all sorts of stuff, we'll be throwing a feast!"
"Mates?"
"The other market boys!"
"And, after that?"
"I don't know, how much did I make?"
"12 silvers"
"12?! That much?!"
"Yes, that much." Retrefe chuckled. His own cut from the betting had been 6 silvers, just for being there.
"Hm... I guess I'm paying for my feast myself! So much money."
"Oh, good friend you are, good mate you are, I say. But, what will you do, champion, when the feast is over."
"Why? Train up for the next one."
"The next one? Don't you think you should wait for a year or two?"
"Me? Why?"
"Well, most do, at your age."
"I'm not most! Rarrrr!!!!"
"Oh, you know what, I love that attitude. You'll race again and I'll be there, to tell your story."
"Wow, thanks! You'll have to come to my party, it's all on me and..."
And so, this is The End
Until the next race.