Worldbuilding Prompt #957 - Biological Weapons, Goblin Style

This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Biological Weapons

It's intended to fit into a body of lore I'm starting to put together to detail the bronze age of my Dungeons & Dragons world. Eventually I'll have enough to enable running a game with a deep background !

This tale links in (indirectly) with another post I made recently; The Coppersmith's Kingdom

Enjoy !

Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio

No-one knew about the hidden path from the north of the Ingrim mountains down onto the southern shore of Lake Ingrim. No human, that is.

But now the path was crawling with goblins. Savage little fellows, armed to the teeth and with violence in their little black hearts. Their goal was simple; kill humans.

King Harbutt of the Cracked Fang tribe had heard the humans from Filrath were sniffing around the lakeshore, scouting out places to build strongholds. He'd decided it would raise the status of his tribe, and thus of himself, if the Cracked Fang warriors wiped out a few human outposts before the orcs got involved.

The goblins were notionally part of the Orc Kingdom of the Ingrim Mountains, but it was a pretty loose kind of kingdom, with different tribes of goblins, orcs and ogres all jostling for prominence.

So it was that this company of goblins found themselves struggling along the steep snowy path down to the lakeside. Sheer cliffs each side kept them hidden from view but did little to stop the snow blowing in flurries from all sides, or the bitter wind that bore it.

"Oi, Frogspine, stop crowding. I'll go at my own pace," one of the goblins in the crowd shouted back to the one behind.

"Piss off, Dungbreeks," was the laconic response from Frogspine to the creature a couple of feet in front.

The next in the column shouted out with a laugh, "Yer Froggy, you don't wanna follow Dungbreeks too close. There's a reason he got that name."

"Wassat then, Weestench ?" Frogspine asked, trying to hide his concern with curiosity.

"Same reason they call me Weestench, Froggy."

That was the point where Dungbreeks justified his name. As he slipped slightly on an icy patch, a huge sound rent the air. It was like an out of tune trombone blown by someone with asthma, or an elephant that had stubbed it's toe shouting it's pain with a staccato cry. A soggy, deep, wet sound that could only be called the classic raspberry. The sound echoed around the mountainside, and could probably be heard a mile away.

Unlike the miasma which followed it. That was concentrated in a far smaller area. Encompassing no more space than that filled by two goblins. Poor, unfortunate (and too close by far) Frogspine and Weestench.

Howling and coughing only made it worse. Every cough was followed by a need to inhale. An inhalation which caused them to imbibe more of the toxic air.

A louder voice shouted out. Their captain, Bigspawn Elfnutter.

"Stop holding us up ! What's going on back there ? No gabbing, or I'll come back and sort it out...."

It made no difference, the two goblins were on their knees, spluttering, retching and turning from grey to green.

Bigspawn shouted again, anger in his voice, "Right, I'm coming back there. What's going.... auuuurggh... fuuu.....eaaauuugh... wha ?"

He too had caught a whiff.

A goblin further back (and just in the safe zone) called out, "Oi cap'n, Dungbreeks shat hisself again. Thought it were just a fart, but it ain't. It's 'orrible !"

The captain, a goblin not so much intelligent as cunning, stepped back to a safer distance.

"Right. You. Dungbreeks. Take those breeches off and stick them in a leather bag. Wipe yourself down and stick the rag in the bag, too. I don't care if your bits freeze and drop off, it's not like you use 'em."

Then he looked at the two goblins on their knees. "I know you, Weestench. You can take the bag off Dungbreeks and carry it down the mountainside. Before you seal the bag, piss in it."

The goblins, not the brightest of creatures, started to catch on to their captain's idea. Bigspawn grinned at his evil plan.

"Yeah, Weestench. When we get to the human outpost, you untie the bag and chuck it over the palisade, as far as you can. Then we all storm in while the humans are busy puking their guts up. It'll be awesome."

Map by me of the Ingrim Mountains area of Argull, created using Wonderdraft.