To Define Suffering.

Moderators: Forum Moderators, Active DMs

Post Reply
User avatar
ImWithThisGuy
Posts: 50
Joined: Fri Nov 09, 2018 3:34 am

To Define Suffering.

Post by ImWithThisGuy » Wed Aug 21, 2019 2:23 am

(This is a short story I've been working on while bored, meant to introduce a new character sooner or later. I'm not a particularly great writer, And this is actually the first time I've ever written out a full story like this, so any feedback is welcome, as well as advice! Thanks for reading, Hope you enjoy it!)
((PS: It gets a bit dark at points, But I promise it makes up for it!))
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The chanting reverberated through the dark caves; high pitched cackles and foul shrieks echoed alongside them as the goblins cheered their approval of the Grand Ritual. Two rows of braziers burned fervently, though the darkness of the caverns seemed to grasp at the light, allowing them to only to cast a dim orange glow on their surroundings. Tribal drums struck in an impending rhythm as the sacrifices were brought forth; Eight in total, all children.


They were shoved toward the head of the room, toward the altar and throne. They were clad in thick chains, their crying and whimpering inaudible through the clamoring of the goblins. Behind them was the King and his advisers, two shamans by the names of Rashcast and Grond. It was their responsibility to oversee the ritual, and ensure that the gods would be pleased by the offerings.


The drumming accelerated as they neared the Altar; and the goblins cheering ever louder, causing the ground to tremble. As the King seated himself, And Rashcast raised his staff, the drumming and the clamoring stopped, leaving only the soft chanting of the now quiet priests. He looked out over the clan of nearly a hundred in number and grinned wickedly, before speaking.


"We gather because the humans do not meet our demands! Them do not give us offerings! Them do not build shrines to the Great Ones! Them even dare send adventurers into our caves to kill us!" The goblins jeered as Rashcast pointed to the far wall riddled with grisly trophies; One could only assume that is all which remains of said adventurers.


"Them insults us, calls us weak! Calls us pests!" The goblins booed and sneered. "Them know what we do if they not obey, so we steals their children, and now sacrifice them to Great Ones!" He shouted over the throng of goblins growing more excited with the speech. He turned back, and offered a short bow.

"The King will now choose the Butcher!"

The Butcher in their clan was an honored role given to a clan-member chosen during rituals such as these. Their duties consisted almost entirely of slaying the sacrifices, and selecting their means of death. It was a respected position in regards to bolstering spirits and in showmanship. To the average goblin, it was a great chance to gain reputation and respect; So it came as little surprise when many goblins riled themselves with pleas to the King to be selected for the task.

The King rose and stepped forth, not bothering to silence the clamor as it would be impossible. He hated the job personally, and couldn't care less whom was chosen for it; It was a job for weaker goblins, and therefore meaningless to him. He spent a moment to gaze over the clan lazily, before pointing to a fittingly small and young goblin for the job, and ushered him forward.

The goblin did so with excitement, trailed closely by several others in hopes that it was them that had been chosen. After shooing the rabble, the king asked the goblin's name. "Him is called Obhim! He replied. The king grunted and spoke a final time, "Behold, Our Butcher!" Before raising a fist to the crowd and seating himself comfortably once more.

Disappointed they had not been chosen, the goblins cheered anyway, now excited for the main event of the ritual. Rashcast offered Obhim a lithe and bloodstained dagger, while Grond grabbed a child and threw him onto the altar. The goblins began crying out their favorite ways of sacrifice in hopes that Obhim would oblige them.

"Cut off him head!", Or "Slit him throat!" They demanded, among other such atrocities. It was his choice as Butcher to decide how, but he quickly realized the more gruesome and cruel his verdict was, the more respect it would earn him. He thought of the most vile thing he could, and lifted his dagger high.





Over the next several weeks, the clan gathered another dozen or so prisoners, once again primarily children that they had stolen away in the night. They were locked in cells, and with hopes of another ritual, Rashcast and Grond were shown the captives. When they were found as suitable sacrifices, and the humans had still not met their demands, another ritual was planned to occur within the fortnight.

They increased their demands for the hostages, but by now, it was clear the humans either would not, or much more simply, could not meet them. The two weeks quickly passed, and and the preparations were complete. The goblins gathered once more; They chanted ominously, struck their drums ceremoniously, and reveled in their sadistic mutiny.

Obhim was called forth once more, and even greeted by shrieks of excitement from the clan, and they chanted the nickname he earned a few weeks passed..: "Flay-fingers!", "Flay-fingers!", "Flay-fingers!" Obhim swelled with pride, and he marched dutifully toward the altar, holding up a trophy he wore around his neck which he had collected from the last ritual.

Before he could arrive, however, the cheering stopped abruptly. The drums were no longer beating, and the chanting had halted entirely. All eyes fell to a single human male, whom had somehow gotten passed the guards without so much as a sound. He was a haggard, weathered man, and was covered in injuries from head to toe. He hunched over slightly, making him appear far shorter than he already was.

He wore no armor at all, and his clothing consisted of only a simple loincloth, and a pair of shredded wrist-wraps bound together only by crimson cords. He bore no weapons, and he walked with a gentle limp. When he had seen he had their attention, he spoke gently, though clearly and with conviction.

"Please.. Please, you must release these children. He said, "You may take me in their place if you must; I cannot bear to see them suffer."

The goblins howled in outrage at his presence, drawing their weapons and cursing the man for interrupting their ritual. A score of them descended upon him, and struck him inumerous times, swinging their blades and clubs wildly. The man made no attempt to resist, nor even evade their attacks. He bleed freely, But did not sway.

The goblins wore themselves out striking him, and he seemed to take no end of punishment from them. This unnerved the goblins, and the King stood in frustration, and bellowed, "Bring him to me!" The goblins drug him forcibly to the front of the room, though he still did not resist. They threw the man onto the ground before him.

The King snarled at the man, but the man only repeated himself; "Please, you must free them.." The king drew his axe and pulled over a child and held the blade to the child's head. "What can you offers us for the children? Will you offers us golds? Will you serves as slave? And build our statues to Great Ones?"

The man's features shifted only briefly; showing a flicker of anger. He stood, and nodded to the King. "I can do those things. Now release the child. And send them all to safety." The King snickered, and ordered chains to be brought forth for the man, whom was promptly restrained. Then he sneered, and stated, "Now you watch them die, Foolish human."

The goblins cheered, having believed to gotten a slave as well as their sacrifices.. But it was only then that the man's features hardened, his brow furrowed, and he stood at his full height. His eyes glowed a brilliant gold, and he ripped the chains that bound him as though they were nothing but wet paper. His form exemplified a pure and righteous fury.

In an instant, he stepped forward, and struck the king in his chest, sending him flying fifteen feet to the front wall. The goblins shrieked, and attacked him cumulatively, but he struck them all down in rapid succession, his fists flying like whirlwinds striking out against those that attacked him, his holy wrath seeming to light the cavern to the ceiling. In just a single moment, every single goblin had either fled, hidden, or fallen. He returned to his previous position, hunched and weathered.




Obhim watched in horror from behind a nearby brazier, his clan falling in it's entirety to the man. He shook with fear, and only hoped that the man would not look his way. Fortunately he did not, and instead turned to the children, freeing them from their bonds, and tending to what wounds they had.

"You can come out, over there." The man said, though he did not turn. "Please do, I wish to speak with you."

His heart sank. He felt as though he had no choice, he could not outrun the man, and his hiding place had been discovered. He remained motionless in his fear, but the man did not seam to mind. Instead, he spoke again. "You have done something horrible, I know this. To harm a child is among the most wretched things one can do in this world."

The man finished his work with the children, and approached the brazier. Obhim still couldn't move, his legs feeling as though they were sealed to the floor. The man peered down at him, and there was a compassion in his eyes, though tears streamed down his face. "You have inflicted True Suffering in this world.", He stated flatly.

Obhim remained as tense as ever; But if the man had not attacked him so far, perhaps he had nothing to fear. Then, as the man looked him over, his glare fixed on Obhim's trophy, still bound around his neck. His features shifted once more to anger, and Obhim had never been so scared in his life, which flashed before him.

He wet himself.

The anger did not stay however, and the man knelt down to him, and stared into his eyes, as though searching for something. "You think you understand what True Suffering is.." He stretched out his hand, "But I will show you. He rested the hand on Obhim's head.

His vision faded, and when it returned, he saw a white haze. In it was a single child, one he recognized as a child from the Ritual. As he looked at them, he felt their woes, and he sensed their fears. He witnessed his atrocities upon them once more, in a different light. He felt their inflicted pains and their aches, and he could barely withhold it. Then he saw seven more. And the process repeated seven-fold.

His mind grew fuzzy with remorse and regret, and he could think nothing else but for the evil he had committed. He thought his visions were over; that there were no more to come. After all, he had only done those things to the children. But then he saw their families. They stood in silent solemnity and despair. Before them rested an upright stone, and they mourned for it. Mothers and Fathers. Brothers and Sisters. Friends, and Mentors. They all mourned the loss of their loved ones, whose lives were too short to understand what pain their passing caused.

He saw in that moment, what True Suffering was. He realized that the definition was impossible, and that it's presence was all encompassing. To explain True Suffering was beyond comprehension; one could not do it by studying it. Nor could they by inflicting it on others. To Define Suffering, they had to experience it for themselves.

He regained consciousness, but could barely see the wall in front of him; his eyes were so blurry with tears. The man was gone, with no trace left behind. The children had departed as well, and all was silent. He wiped his face and looked down at his hands, which were in fact unharmed. To his surprise, however, he found a red cord tied about his wrist.




Thanks for reading!

Post Reply