It’s been a rough couple of days and a lot has happened since I last wrote.
Quick summary: I just escaped from Sinruth’s army camp in order to warn the city of Brindol in hopes of earning my freedom to go home. However, I got wrangled into taking down Sinruth, since I knew the way (plus, there’s this really possessive Elven woman who’s trying to claim me as her pet).
As we got deeper into Castle Rivenroar where Sinruth set up base, we rescued some hostages and eventually hunkered down for the night. During the night, Sinruth passed by incredibly close, and so the team decided to take advantage and take the fight to him. And that’s when I learned that life is a cruel prankster.
Sinruth is my father.
When I was a kid, my dad escaped our village when adventurers attacked us, thinking we were a threat to their city’s safety. He left me with my Uncle Jaka and Aunt Beru and went back to find my mother. He never returned. Needless to say, with a goblin’s average life expectancy, I figured he died out there somewhere. Uncle Jaka and Aunt Beru raised me up in a small village far away from any “civilized” settlements. We didn’t want to compete and risk losing what little we already had.
And so these years went by, and my dad, who was still alive, actually managed to become captain of a hobgoblin horde. He changed his name to Sinruth to instill fear and respect from his subordinates, and went on to “restore the honor of our goblin race.”
Unsurprisingly enough, the people of Brindol didn’t take too well to this news, and now I’m stuck between a rock father and the rest of the hard place party (who, coincidentally, were the ones who attacked my village so many years ago).
I didn’t want to choose between either of them, but they were determined to kill each other. We’ll cut to the end and say it was not a fun time for everyone involved.
My dad, scary as he was, couldn’t hold out.
I had to do some serious soul searching that night…
I could have killed them all while they slept… I thought about it… they probably would have killed me, and I probably would have been fine with it. At least I’d be with my family again… But all that would do was just be another bloodstain on fabric of history. It wouldn’t wipe the slate clean, wouldn’t wash away the sins of our past, our collective murders against one another.
I thought, “If I’m gonna die, I might as well die trying to make a difference.” I’m gonna change goblin relations. I’m gonna uphold my father’s goals. Not through bloodshed, not through a back-and-forth dialogue of, “He killed, she killed…”
I’m gonna show the whole world that goblins are to be respected, not feared…