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The Next Day...

"First Blood Mission," the Goblin's voice had a hard edge to it, a grim smile crossed his face. He sat with his back leaning against a large, cold statue. At one time, it might have been a tall, proud warrior, a knight, a hero, rain, snow, ice, and time had battered the sharp chiselled figure, leaving a smooth suggestion of a large man. Who or what he did to deserve a tribute like this was forgotten to the ages.

"First Blood Mission," he repeated, staring down at the seed on the grass before him. His smile faded. "You joined in hunt. We killed. We lived another day. For Goblin, this important."

How do you explain to a seed the importance of such a thing? Could it hear him, could it understand. He reached out a small hand, poking at the seed, watching it roll an inch, before resting again.

"This is day you get name. You live, you important," if not for the sharp, fanged teeth, evil pale eyes, and green skin, you might have almost taken his expression for one of fatherly pride, watching a son grow strong and tall.

"Name important," slowly the Goblin rose, his back sliding up the statue. He lurched forward, almost falling down upon the Elemini, catching himself on the edge of his toes, and slowly leaning back to an upright position.

His hands rose towards the sky, his fingers curled to clutch at the star speckled darkness above. The moon shone between his hands, his shadow surrounding the seed in dark knives.

"You live. No kill, but soon, soon you get kill, yes? You become strong and tall. I swear to Arin," a prayer and a promise, his voice slurred no words, every letter consice and powerful. His head tilted back, staring at the pale moon.

His hands exploded outwards, lowering slowly stretched out as far to the side as they could be, the Goblin rising on his toes as his hands descended. His eyes lowered from the lofty celestials, to the tiny, meek seed before him.

"Possessor of the Giant Pants! Tormentor of Theives, Raider of Ariel. In the name of the Great Tilik, I grant you the name..."

"Yava!"

The goblin's head rolled up again, to look at the moon, "Arin! Look down upon Yava. Give him power! Guide his blade, and confuse his prey!"

His head fell forward, chin resting against his chest. His legs gave way, his hands falling slack as the Goblin Tilik fell to the earth with a galomph.

A smile came back to his face, part cruel, part joyous, part prideful, "Yava... does name please you?"

well the command of 'eat' must have meant something to the little seed. It made a strange sound that was the cross between a crackle and a gurgle and then shook a little. ....then silence. And just in the moment nothing else seemed to be happening, little sparkles seemed to start emminating from the seed.

Now, the famous commander of Goblinoids, General Karzig, once said, "Hey, goblins are actually useful for something!" upon seeing the work of a Chirugeon. General Karzig was not exactly known for holding a deep respect for goblinkind.

Since then, they've always had an important part in the various societies, if you could call them that, more like roving, nomadic circuses, of Goblins. Alone in their race, those few that took the job became medics, of sorts. Quite talented too, though most would never dare visit a Chirugeon, unless it was their last hope.

Goblins, at least where the Great, Mighty Tilik came from, where not gifted with healing magic. Or higher brain functions (Usually, there were random genetic mutations and exceptions). Or a sense of compassion or bedside manner most healers needed. Instead, they had these, men. The word "Sawbones" seemed apt to describe the sort of 'surgical' butchery they practiced. After all, what fun was healing without cutting, hacking, welding, screaming, and other such things?

Tilik looked down, Yava clutched tightly in a sweating hand. He could see the home of the goblin surgeon, a bit larger than most, huddled under a high cliff space. The front looked like a normal, human hut. Maybe a bit crude, goblins weren't really known for craftmanship, or building up to code, after all. Tilik knew however that the home streched out backwards, deep into the cliff face, carved out of rock, as were most homes.

He looked down, one last time, at the sparkling, shining seed in his hand. The wind shifted, and the smell of fire, meat, and blood wafted deliciously, teasingly before his nose. He could feel his mouth water, even as he knew that smell came from no cooking fire, but the tables of the doctor.

You get better. Hurt lots. But better. Stronger. Eat more. Get tall, tough, Tilik thought down at the seed. He gave it a little squeeze, and wondered if it knew, or understood. Pigs never understood, they always squeeled, fought, kicked, struggled, no matter what their farmer said. Were seeds the same way?

With that sense of foreboding, he took a deep breath, puffing his chest out, as he strode towards the door. He could hear a crackle, a scream, and slowly, it died to a whimper.

Another satisfied patient.