Princess Constance Meets the Goblin

If an encyclopedia of knowledge possessed a soul and somehow died and was reborn in the flesh of a young, blonde child, and allowed to run rampant amongst libraries of priceless knowledge the majority of her young life then that would describe Princess Clara Constance.

She possessed knowledge in excess, yet somehow lacked the capacity to to notice that the goblin seated right before her did not care one iota and was on the verge of absolute boredom, not simply because her narration was as dry and barren as a desert, but that the goblin who held some parchments detailing her secret resignations was far removed from being feral goblin. As far as he was concerned, those "other" goblins simply did not exist when they were not within his line of sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

Whether the princess heard his subtle growls of annoyance she gave no hint of hearing or noticing. The goblin's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the first hint of anger cracking that carefully-cultivated air of nonchalance that the princess herself was blind to.

Apropos of nothing, the goblin turned away from her and began to rummage through the chests and boxes arranged around her writing desk and the perimeter of her tent. Like a thief in the night, he pulled the wooden lids open one by one, yet unlike a thief in the night, began blatantly and recklessly pulling out sheafs of parchment, lines upon flowing lines of her writing in perfect penmanship etched with loving care upon the fragile sheets, crumpling them in claw-like fists and throwing them out of order.

He tossed them to the floor like so much garbage.

The little creature moved from one chest to the next, heedless of the mess he was causing, leaving behind a chaotic pile of parchment on the ground even as he violently threw open another chest filled to the brim with gewgaws and trinkets. He stared at the glimmering jewels for a moment, a hideous grin cracking his already ghoulish visage, before scooping them up by the handful and shoving them into his oversized vest and trouser pockets.

Princess Clara, of course, saw this, her protests meek and helpless, so unused to such brazenness, her mind pinned in place as she passively accepted this violation of her private space, 'W-wait... th-that's- ah, never mind...'

The jewelry and random gewgaws meant little to the princess, such trinkets meaningless to her for her manner was never one for ostentation. The goblin could steal into the night bearing all of her golden accessories and never be seen again and Princess Clara Constance would not give the loss a second thought. The jewels, the diamonds, the precious stones, those did not hold a fraction of the value that the princess held in her passion and this is why despite volumes of her notes - poetry, records, random trains of thoughts, treatises on hundreds of subjects both obscure and otherwise - lying on the ground in a disorganized pile, she was thankful the goblin did not stuff them into his pockets as well.

She sat there in silence, looking away and unable to do much other than fold her hands on her lap and grit her teeth, for she simply had no idea what to do while the goblin practically looted her precious belongings and causing such a ruckus that she was thankful she was not in her old home. Such noise would not have gone unpunished by her strict parents.

At length, he came back, what ever pockets he had were filled to ripping from heavy objects that glittered and shined, some worthless, others not so. He stared at the princess, breathing through his mouth, his soaked-dog stench causing her head to feel light yet she protested not for fear of raising the creature's ire. She couldn't meet his gaze.

'W-well... if you'd like to l-learn mo... more...' she stuttered, her awkwardness getting the best of her and forcing words out to banish the anxiety she felt.

The goblin cut her off with a raised hand as Princess Clara started to narrate - as from memory, it seemed - the various expeditions the various kingdoms and races had launched attempting to eradicate the earliest known settlements and clusters of feral goblins that had done nothing but pillage the kingdoms' outlying settlements and kidnap the women for the more unspeakable tendencies that the feral goblins were known for.

'Not only are you very, very smart but you also sure know when to stop talking,' he said with no small hint of sarcasm in his voice. His anger was largely gone; sated, after a fashion, from the distraction of stealing and the sight of a beautiful lady simply blooming with fertility, The goblin gazed intently at her in the same way a starving lion stares at a bloody hunk of meat - open-mouthed and utterly focused. This flustered Princess Clara to no small extent and she was immediately aware of her own social shortcomings, reactively bracing her blanket closer against her bosom.

'I... I apologize. I don't... I don't talk to people and you are a goblin and I assumed that since you were... are a goblin you'd have an interest in your kind's past, um... assuming you did not know of your kind's past. The Libra Agris and the Libra Fornix detailed all manner of details of your history and your biology and...' the princess was beginning to go off on another nervous narration and it was plainly obvious now that such a reaction came because she singularly had no idea or capacity how to properly socialize with any other individual and that an automatic reaction was to simply speak of the knowledge she'd accumulated in her years spent cloistered amongst her favorite things.

It was becoming more than obvious that if there was something that the Princess Clara Constance herself was fond of, it would have been the accumulation of knowledge. Not for the power such knowledge possessed, but the act of studying and learning and piecing the parts of the puzzle together was its own reward. Such satisfaction filled in for the appreciation and approval that was lacking from cold and distant parents each time she reviewed her old notes or penned new ones with a passion that was bordering on obsession.

The goblin held up a hand again when it became obvious the princess was about continue endlessly, 'Flies on shit, wench!' he snarled at her, the goblin's temper fraying somewhat and causing him to bare long, yellowed canines, 'Goblins or the bastard stuck-up kingdoms who've tried to kill them off do not mean anything to me so you can shut the hells up.'

He clambered up on the bed and stood on the sheets, his muddy feet tracking filth across the fabric, the loot in his pockets tinkling loudly, 'Do you know what I care about?' he loomed over her, face once more concealed in shadow, yet the yellows of his eyes still boiled with the suggestion of the rise and fall of pulsing rage.

'Well, do you?' the goblin demanded, vehemence stained his voice when the half-naked girl did not respond at once, anger, hot and roiling, simmering in his eyes.

The diminutive goblin moved to her side, pressing his puffed up chest against her shoulder as he tried to cut an intimidating figure. This close, his stench was close to nauseating, courtesy of damp pauper's clothes that looked to have been worn nonstop since the start of this war. Seated, the princess was eye-level with the goblin, yet this discrepancy flew over her head as she averted her gaze away from his, like a child being scolded by a terrifying parent or a whipped dog before its wrathful master.

Princess Clara bit her lower lip, trembling somewhat, 'I... I d-don't kn-know...' flustered unto her limits, and all she could do was shake her head slowly. She kept her gaze away from the goblin, and it was obvious that she was gripped to the core by inaction borne of fear of punishment, 'P-please...' her voice barely above a whisper, pleading, '...leave.'

The goblin tensed at this implicit insult to his pride, for the petty nature of goblins allowed few exceptions to offenses to what passes as their version of creaturely honor. Bitterness and anger, barely contained, simmered just under the surface of their personalities, for harsh and winding was the road to premature sentience for their kind and even harsher still was the consequence of coming to terms with one's own stilted, deformed nature.

To look upon one's self and see, with just enough spark of self-awareness, the ugliness in yourself and your people, and then be forced to watch in amazement at those of the other, more gifted races and marvel at their greatness and beauty, yet posses not enough consciousness to look inward and embrace the inherent strengths that underpinned and defined goblinkind and caused it to flourish... that bred an undercurrent of bitter jealousy and brooding resentment, and nowhere else was this more apparent in the Five's resident tribes of goblins, both feral and otherwise.

Chased constantly from what ever land they had come to call home and forced to live nomadic lives, driven nearly unto extinction by a world envious of their bitter determination to not be stamped from the face of existence, and forever balancing on a knife's edge between life and oblivion has caused what is an estimation of goblinkind's collective unconscious to forever be primed for the utmost violence if it meant living and reproducing for just one day more.

It could be said to be a piteous existence, to be bound to a lifetime of self-loathing, damned to a life whose only outcome could be nothing but jealousy and bitterness devoid of luxuries, only counterbalanced by brief bouts of frenzied lust with whomever or whatever catches their animalistic fancy.

This goblin, however, had a tiny bit more measure of patience than the average, and that was enough. Instead of lashing out and giving in to the primal temperament that was always on the verge of breaking loose and wreaking violence and debasement his kind was burdened with a reputation for, the first thing he did was the last thing anyone expected; he apologized.

'I'm sorry, wench,' he said, sounding sincere enough and allowing her fearful trembling to ease just a little bit, 'Goblins... we live short, miserable lives.' he placed a hand on her shoulder and eased her around to face him and her eyes flitted up to meet his for one long second before looking away again, 'No goblin actually wants to be a goblin or reminded that they're goblins.'

Princess Clara nodded slowly, hesitantly, 'I... I see...'

'To be reminded that you're a goblin is to know that he whole world is above you. You could die any moment and even the flies sucking on your morning shit would not give a single care.'

An awkward moment passed, carried over only by the first uncertain drops of rain on her pavilion canopy.

'W-what do you care about...?' Princess Clara asked, meekly, and though asking questions was not something she was accustomed to, the goblin unnerved her somewhat, 'Surely...' she turned her eyes towards him though still avoiding his faze, still clutching her blanket close to her. The goblin reminded her of a coiled snake, a creature with a capacity for great violence and exhibiting utmost dominance, wearing the whisper-thin mask of the faintest sentience and she felt the first hints of curiosity and fascination dangerously mingling with the fear she felt. Such trepidation was tantalizing in its own way.

'Me? A great many things, wench,' the goblin said dismissively as the threat of violence evaporated from his demeanor like morning fog against the rising sun and he sat down next to her, well within her personal space, 'Far more than the average shit,' the goblin was hesitant, secretive, even, 'But I want to know about you. I know you're a princess. What's an interesting thing a princess like you can tell me about yourself?'

Princess Clara was caught wrong-footed for, apart the usual questions servants asked to serve their liege, nobody ever asked her questions, least of all questions that delved into the hobbies and interests that made her the lady she is today. Not that she had ever put herself in a position to be asked, anyway, 'Me? Well... I... I am to be married off... Fairpeach Kingdom... Prince Erik Fairpeach...'

The goblin cupped a gnarled hand against one of his large, chewed up ears, 'Speak up, girl! You're a princess, not a field rat.'

'I'm to be married off to Prince Erik Fairpeach of Fairpeach Kingdom, and...' her sentence came to an abrupt halt when the goblin laid a hand on her rump, feeling very vulnerable next to this creature despite still maintaining some dignity in her pink panties and her blanket, '...I l-like to read books and wr-write...'

'Yes, yes, so boring,' he interrupted dismissively, 'but tell me something about yourself that's actually interesting.'

In truth, Princess Clara Constance did not really consider herself an interesting person at all. She had tried to bury herself in her reading and other hobbies and other things that caught her interest and consumed most of her waking hours that were not taken by royal obligations such as her tutoring, swordsmanship practice, and training to be the perfect queen, but had she actually indulged in any hobbies that others might consider... interesting?

She struggled to consider the things to say this goblin, for even if she felt bad that she had hurt his feelings earlier, she did not know what to say to him. She was again on the verge of simply clamming up but the felt compelled to say something to him because she felt a measure of happiness that he had forgiven her for her earlier indiscretion.

After a few long moments, however, she decided to tell the staring goblin why she was here in the first place.

She dared turn her eyes towards his own and noticed for the first time his oddly-shaped pupils. His gaze would have been unnerving if it came from a goblin stalking her in the dark, but now that she'd heard him speak and come to glimpse briefly the spark of his emotions, she felt something else now...

'I'm not to be married to the prince in Fairpeach Kingdom... I-I am to be tested to see if I am worthy to carry the Fairpeach name first...'

Princess Clara uttered those words softly, shame tinting those words as she looked away from the goblin, her cheeks flushing visibly red even in the pavilion's weak lighting.

'Why? You're a princess. He's a prince. You two marry and become king and queen,' he openly gawked at her body and the massive breasts that she held hidden behind her thin blanket, 'And after a few years you shit out a few kids and retire to sniff flowers all day or drink ale or what ever it is you royal bastards do when not counting the coins in your treasure chests and ordering miserable servants to make you laugh.'

The princess was about to respond when the arm around her ass climbed just a bit higher to rest on the narrow point of her waist. It was a firm grip, a strong grip. One to do any swordsman or blacksmith proud. She jumped in surprise, and though she withered a bit from the attention, the action was not entirely unwelcome, the sensations not entirely unpleasant. He pulled her against his side and though she hesitated at first and had half a mind to pull away... she found herself pressing against his side, damp clothes stuffed with her belongings and all.

'So... why?'

Princess Clara hesitated, as if caught between whether to proceed or dismiss this line of conversation entirely. However, she felt that it would be best if she was truthful, 'If I could have your word that you would never speak to anyone of what I am to reveal to you... my family's honor is at stake.'

The goblin's thin lips bent into a crooked smile and it was obvious it was as an earnest expression as he could make and to the fullest extent his wretched kind could achieve, 'You have my word as a goblin and as a soldier of the Five.'

'Very well...' the young princess sighed, the tension she did not know she felt falling away from her in thick waves. She felt obligated to say it because she still felt bad that she had hurt his feelings earlier, and that she somehow owed it to him to make it right, 'M-my house... my family is on the verge of ruin. The fates have not b-been... kind to the Constance royal house.'

Princess Clara sucked in a soft breath and clenched her fists beneath her blanket, as if the strain of giving voice to a painful truth physically pained the princess herself, 'Our arable lands have been nearly tilled to exhaustion, our rivers are slowly running dry, and there is very little of value to be had in the Constance kingdom other than our aging people.'

'And why are you here?' the goblin asked at length, his curiosity piqued now. He inhaled her bodily fragrances, a rare treat to one such as he even if he was no stranger to the touch of females from the superior races.

'The Fairpeach house has been kind enough to have me wed one of their younger princes, but only on the condition that I satisfy their honor. If Prince Erik Fairpeach deems me worthy of their family name then they shall open up their coffers to the Constance royalty and invigorate the Constance lineage and kingdom with new blood and new people. A lot rests on my shoulders, and the burden of this responsibility is as great as the opportunity it represents for my people.'

To anyone with more brains than the goblin the pain in the princess' voice, the shame of belonging to one of the exalted houses that saw its people too old to till new lands, its riches ebbed away through cruel destinies, would have been obvious.

The goblin scratched his head, not entirely understanding what all of this meant. From his simple view of the world, royalty meant royalty and there was very little - if any - variation in between the stations of nobility. He looked around the princess' pavilion in an attempt to see for himself what the princess' story meant and if it had an impact on her present circumstances. He didn't.

Her pavilion was littered with royal fineries that were beyond compare, sporting the finest fur rugs that lined the floor, and old, ancient tapestries that proclaimed the Constance house's lineage back to more than a thousand years. Her bed was the most comfortable the goblin had ever, ever sat upon, and her blanket was made from the finest silks any amount of money could buy and nothing seemed out of place. To the untrained eye.

To those of a more esteemed pedigree, they would see that the pavilion itself was patched from numerous tears and holes, the wolf-pelt rugs were moth-eaten, and the silk blankets were old and careworn even if they were made from the most expensive fabrics to be found in Ylmandoras. The princess' formal attire, which was placed upon a rack close to her bed, looked like they would barely fit around her bosom and were from a style of fashion at least two decades behind.

The one thing that the goblin could, in fact, relate to within this entire pavilion was a set of shining, rose-gold and pearl white armor that looked to be forge-fitted for the princess herself - gigantic breasts included - and looked to easily be worth a few nights in the most expensive and exclusive brothels surrounded by the most gorgeous wenches and drowning in ale while fed an endless amount of the most succulent meats to be had anywhere and still leaving enough to purchase one's own land and a number of serfs to till the soil.

The armor was pristine and polished to a mirror sheen, each plate crafted with the most love and care an artisan could bequeath his creation. Silver filigree edged its every plate and prayers of protection were engraved ever so lovingly over the plastron and high gorget and across the intricate visor of a tall, peaked helm.

Standing proud above each pauldron was an outstretched angel wing of hammer forged steel and each intricately engraved feather sported a wicked cutting edge. How the princess would use this in battle was beyond the goblin's current concerns. All he felt when he looked at its mirror-polished surface was the urge to bludgeon the knight who would be inside it to death and steal what belongings they possessed as well as the suit itself.