I remember when I was a little grot, not much bigger than a snotling. It seems like such a long time ago, memories faded from the ravages of time. A simpler time when I had time to play simple games like "Pin the spear through the Snotling" or "Smear the Dwarf." We were a simple family, smallish with only 72 brothers. With such a small clan we had just enough time to scavenge fungus and play our games but enough space to grow in our own ways. Life was as good as it could get for a young goblin. It all changed that summer. What seemed like the normal summer squig infestation was really the harbinger of my torment.
That summer the squigs had been out of control. By June we'd lost 14 brothers to squig accidents; that's almost tragic! Don't get me wrong, Squigs taste 100x better after they've eaten a goblin, and after I'd eaten those 14 squigs I didn't exactly miss my brothers. It's still hard to lose that many people you hardly knew and not feel bad. Squig attacks were at a 100 year high. We did our best to kill and exterminate as many as we could (it was the best we'd eaten in years to be honest) but for everyone one we killed there were seven more. This was beyond a simple infestation, it was as if they were migrating or being driven! Could the dwarfs finally be purging their mines? Or was it something else.
Just our luck. It wasn't anything so simple as a bunch of stunties driving food towards us, or even an out of control squig population. It was the biggest greenskin Warband I'd ever seen. Ugh. I love killing and looting as much as the next guy but those guys are Fanatics! And to top it all off, they're Gork and Mork FUNDAMENTALISTS! Couldn't it be the Bad Sunz? Or Yellow Suns? The freaking Bloody Moon Boys!
No sooner than they descended onto our plot I was conscripted. As much as I always said I'd stand up to those guys and refuse service, they were just bigger than I am. I always knew I was a coward, but I didn't realize I was a legendary coward. So I meet up with my Nob to get my assignment and lo and behold I'm thrown into a squig pen with the rest of my siblings. Something about needing someone to drive these dirty stinky little pests. I always thought it was a joke really. You know, "How many goblins does it take to herd a squig? Answer, how hungry is the squig!" Turns out not really a joke.
Squigs are a nasty thing. I wish this job on no one. Rotten smelling, giant teeth, super-aggressive, exactly like an orc but wilder, shorter, and a bigger mouth. So there I am with 50 of my closest relatives preparing to get eaten. Chomp chomp. It's not fun being in a live action PacMan when you aren't PacMan. The death toll was staggering. Praise be Mork that when it came my time to jump in a Squig gullet they had already eaten all the other goblins. By luck, design, or Morky intervention the squigs were too full to eat me. As unlikely as it sounds, that is how I became a Squig herder.
Edited, Sep 4th 2008 5:07pm by baelnic