Further indication that it was the site of a religious ritual is plain from the fact that various measurements-ten yards, twenty yards, thirty, and so on-are marked along one side of it in ancient goblinese, indicating, clearly, the path along which religious processions proceeded.]
Squee get so mad, he kick da bomb, an Fizzer cawt it before it bloo up an ran back up to da field. Squee run after him and try ta grab him, but I push him down an den we run off. Squee chase affer us, tryin ta grab da bomb, but we kep tossin it ta each odder.
[Ar-basinno's note: The Squee and the Fizzers engage in a ceremonial dialogue, each clearly responding with predetermined questions and answers, manipulating the sacred objects while passing along the holy road. We can be confident that the whole ceremony was witnessed by awe-struck devotees, who probably consumed the sacred drinks, as well as ritual-based food, during the event.]
[Note in margin: Well, when it comes to consuming sacred drink, whether of his own making or drawn from a tap, Ar-basinno's on familiar ground. I've seen him go through four bottles of wine during an evening's carousing. L. B.]
Fizzers sister an modder wuz watchin us an dey started yellin an laffin an cheerin.
[Ar-basinno's note: "Sister" and "Mother" here are obviously metaphorical. These are references to the high priestesses of Squee, who now join in the ceremony.]
Den dey wuz throwin grass clumps at us an dey started wavin roun big clumps a grass an jumpin up an down. We wuz laffin reely hard.
[Ar-basinno's note: Very important. As the procession of "bugs" led by the Fizzers moves toward the Squee manifestation, it is joined by the high priestesses, who wave plant fronds, thus signaling the coming of the new year through the benevolent agency of the Squee. Thus we find confirmation that the Squee cult was a fertility religion. I have discussed this subject extensively in my well-known and highly respected work The Regenderization and Dis-sexification of Goblinesque Interaction in the Period of Antiquity.]
[Note in margin: Oh, please! Ar-basinno has an amazing talent for overlooking the obvious. His interest in "fertility cults" was probably fueled by the fact that his wife left him- understandable, since he used to start every morning by reading sections of Regenderization to her over the breakfast dishes. When she left the house for the last time, she also left him with a black eye, which he explained to his colleagues at the university as the result of walking into a lamppost. Most of his acquaintances assumed from the shape of the bruise that his wife had heaved the "well-known and highly respected" work at him. L. B.]
So any ways, everbudy in da town come runnin and wuz watchin us throw da bomb aroun whan Fizzer drops it an it blows up. We found part of Fizzer on top a me roof later.
[Ar-basinno's note: Clearly the culmination of the ceremony is the ritual sacrifice of the high priest, or Fizzer, while those around him chant praises to the Great Squee. One can imagine the scene clearly: the pure white robes of the acolytes, the rich golden trappings of the high priests, studded with gems that gleam in the sunlight. The air is filled with the sound of songs bringing praise to Squee, asking the gods to bless the coming harvest with their beneficence. The archpriestess (referred to in the document as the "mother") stands astride the Fizzer, a jeweled dagger in her hand. It glitters against the blue sky as she slowly raises it. The chanting rises in volume, and then she slashes it down in a mighty stroke. Blood sprays upward, splashing her robes with the water of life, and the crowd gives a mighty shriek of delight and religious ecstasy.]
[Note in margin: Pure romance! Ar-basinno should have written stories for a living. L. B.]
Da game wuz fun an so we do it again. Dis time we had too teems an dey wore diffrnt shirts. We thrued da bomb to Quilk an he run wit it to try to get to da odder end of da field til da odder teem catch him an beat him wit clubs an stuff an he wuz down. Den we do it agin til da odder teeam (we called dem da Raiders cuz dey raided us an tried ta steal our bomb) got da bomb and den dey run wit it.
[Ar-basinno's note: From this fairly confused passage, we can infer that the ritual slaying of the Fizzer was followed by an orgy, involving all the participants in the ceremony.]
[Note in margin: Of course. All of Ar-basinno's theories involve orgies sooner or later. L. B.]
We had ta name our teem an we coodnt think a somtin til somebody, I tink it wuz Fizzers cozin Farf who wuz throwin da bomb most, sed we should pack beatle bugs fer lunch nex time cuz he wuz hungry.
[Ar-basinno's note: Again the reference to increasing the number of "bugs, " i. e., followers necessary for the ceremony.]
So we callin ourselfs da Packers.
[Ar-basinno's note: It seems clear that this religious cult split into several competing factions, which evidently led to religious wars. This probably explains why this cult was eventually wiped out and has left only faint traces in goblin culture today. From the extent of the destruction in the cult, we are safe in inferring a series of increasingly severe religious wars and crusades carried out by the "Raiders" and "Packers" upon one another, resulting in their mutual extinction. I propose to deal much more extensively with this issue in my forthcoming book, The Shattered World: An Investigation of the Goblin Religious Wars and the Collapse of the Cult of Squee.]
[Note in margin: The gods preserve us, he proposes to write another sleep-producer. L. B.]
Anyway da game is fun an now we play it all da time cept peeple don lik getting hit wit clubs, so we had ta tell everybody no more of dat, jus grab da guy wit dat bomb an push him down. Also wes runnin out of goblin bombs an people don like throwin dem so much cuz if dey drop em dey get blooed up. So maybe well uze somfin else. Like a ball. We wuz tryin ta cide what ta call da game. Somebody sed we should call it Ball kickin wit Feet, but we all laffed. Den I sed we should call it affer food, cuz it makes us feel like eatin after. So we dacided ta call it Cricket.
So concludes this remarkable document, the most detailed and persuasive evidence for my theory of the cult of Squee yet adduced. The author of the document even gives a name to this important cult: Cricket. I take considerable pride in presenting this evidence to refute the ignorant attempts by certain of my colleagues at the Argivian University to dismiss my research and request that the regents of the university take it into consideration when discussing my application for future resources to continue to investigate the exciting and intriguing pathways opened up by this find.
Note appended to the above:
To the Regents and Masters of the Argivian University, from Lavino Bar-bassanti, late of the university.
As you can plainly deduce from the above document, old Ar-basinno has gone completely around the bend. His "theory" of a goblin religious cult of Squee, which he began developing twenty years ago, has been preying on his brain, and now he's taken it to new heights of lunacy.
As I mentioned above in a marginal note, I was with Ar-basinno when he investigated the ruins at The Flarg. Since he was drunk most of the time, there was little he saw and less he remembered. He's right about the field, though: Sarapinna and I found it more or less the way he describes. It was striking only in that whereas the rest of the settlement had fallen into ruins after the human raids that laid waste to the area, the broad field was actually well-preserved. I don't deny that it was a place of importance to the goblins, but Ar-basinno's idea of religious rituals has no evidence for it at all.
I told him as much at the time, but he wasn't inclined to listen, and I felt it was best to keep quiet and hope the whole thing would blow over. We found the spheroid objects, wineskins, and whistle exactly as he says. The garments were in pretty bad shape, but I could make out the word "Raiders" on one and "Packers" on the other. On each side of the field were places where there had been some sort of arrangement of benches. Ar-basinno is right in saying that whatever was going on there was seen by a gathering of goblins.
At one end of the field was a large rock, on which, at some time in the past, someone had chisled some numbers and words. It was hard to make everything out, but there was something about "downs. " However, we were unable to decipher the word's direct translational meaning.
Personally, I believed the whole discovery was far less significant than Ar-basinno wanted to make out. Back in our tent, he kept babbling on about the "most significant archaeological find of the century" and the "physical foundation of the science of goblinology" until I had to hit him over the head with a flagon of wine to shut him up. The next morning when he came to, the idea of a religious cult was firmly ensconced in his mind, and nothing I said could dislodge it.
We argued about it almost the entire way back to Argivia, and shortly after, as many of you are aware, I departed from the university rather than suffer through further association with him.
I strongly urge you to ignore this whole affair and offer Ar-basinno the prospect of a quiet retirement to some obscure location within the university. Whatever went on at The Flarg on that field, I doubt it had any lasting significance for goblin culture. At best it was some sort of ritual-certainly not religious-that was brief and probably didn't involve any great numbers. It seems clear to me from the document that "Cricket" was a game, and who can imagine any society spending a great deal of time and resources on a mere game? The Crucible of the Orcs Don Perrin
The mage Elkan stood beside his field commander, General Groth Jonar in the small sitting room off the library. His red robes flowed around him in garish expanse. He was a young man with a shock of blond hair and his cowl hung back on his red robes.
It had been a hundred years since the ice had receded from the lands of Dominaria, and for thousands of years before that, ice had ruled. The Kjeldorans had been formed from survivors of the advancing glacier wall, but they had fled to the east to find a better homeland-one that would last until the world could find warmth again.
Those first Kjeldorans had settled in a land previously claimed by the Balduvians. For nearly four centuries now, the Kjeldorans and the Balduvians had been at war. The Balduvians had faired worse than the well-organized, well-trained armies of Kjeldor, but Elkan was going to change all of that.
Elkan had ambition. He had always sensed that the age-old problem with Balduvian strategy was that no general could risk an army, since a force was far too important to their survival. An army that does not take risks is an army that always loses. True, the Balduvians won many battles, but they never won a campaign. That was why its people were living high in the mountains instead of on the fertile plains now claimed by Kjeldor.
Turning the failing axiom on its head, Elkan came up with the perfect solution. An army of expendable troops could win and keep winning, but at a terrible cost. He needed troops he could throw away and yet have more, and more after that. The orcs, he found, were his willing pawns, delivered by their most famous general, Jonar.
General Jonar was a tall orc warrior. He always wore his armor, his baton always by his side. The story of his rise to clans master and general of the orc armies was a long one, and he told it at every battle victory feast. He had a reputation for victory, although that had failed him in his last attempt. He had been disgraced by his defeat at the battle of Balesh Pass, his orcs running before the might of massed piked infantry. Jonar needed another victory to regain his standing within Balduvia and within the clans of the orcs. It was the only reason he listened to the young mage.
Elkan maintained a small suite of rooms in the secondary keep of the Balduvian stronghold. He was a junior mage and young even for that. Most mages did not qualify for such a position or such rooms until at least mid-life. He had gained advancement quickly.
Balduvia was under attack by General Varchild and the Kjeldoran Knights. Varchild was a new general who was gaining a reputation that was great for the Kjeldorans but was sapping the morale of the Balduvians. It was a time of severe strife for Balduvia, but it was a clear opportunity for an ambitious young wizard.
The mage and the general looked over the map for the battle that Elkan had planned. Jonar leaned forward and traced an area far south of the Balduvian stronghold near the approaches to Kjeldoran lands. The area circled in red was to be the most likely place to stop the army as it crossed from the plains and foothills below to the high ground of the mountain passes beyond.
"They will attack us here. I have no doubt. They must press the pass before we have forces available to stop them, " Jonar said, stabbing a finger at the map.
Elkan snorted arrogantly at the remark. "Why would they attack us here? Kjeldor does not have stupid generals, and I hear this Varchild is smarter than most. Why attack us while we still have complete access to the powers of the mountains? They will lure us first into the plains and use their knights to fight us. "
The point was a valid one and had been proven in several battles before. Both Kjeldoran and Balduvian mages had shown that they could draw mana from foothills, but the closer a Balduvian mage came to the plains, the more danger he was in.
"You do not understand, " the general retorted. "If we know that they will attempt to lure us, then we will not bite at the lure. Instead, we will feast later on the entrails of their mounts."
"You see my point precisely," Elkan replied, undeterred. "If we stay in the mountain passes, they will know where we are. They will devise ways to kill us. General Varchild is no idiot. We must take the fight to the enemy on her ground. She won't be ready for us, and we'll have the advantage."
"You cannot walk onto flat ground and pretend to have an advantage," Jonar barked. "You have not seen the White Knights and their thundering charges. They are a terrible sight to behold."
Elkan raised an eyebrow. "A little timid are we? I see that Balesh Pass is getting to you. Let me worry about the strategic, General. You worry about the tactical. After all, it is the strategic that cost you your position with the Balduvian Guard. I think the gold I am paying you should easily compensate you for your risk."
Jonar nearly ended it right there. It would have been simple to draw his dirk and slam it into the mage's chest. The blood would have matched the color of the robes so well, he thought to himself.
After several moments of silent struggle he was able to regain control over his emotions and let his reason carry the day. He still needed all the things that the mage promised. He could not go on without a victory, and no one else could provide the funding or the support necessary to provide for an army.