From Common Thief to Goblin Shaman - A Steem Monsters Character Car...

The following story is my entry into the Steem Monsters Common Card Fantasy Story Contest for the Goblin Shaman. I hope you like it.

From the Steem Monsters contest announcement.

Potion and poison, his favorite tools, the goblin shaman is no fool.

I was supposed to be a forger of weapons. But fate often has other plans. In my case, the plan went beyond what any Ferexia could ever imagine, beyond the militaristic regime imposed by the efreet upon all of the Burning Lands, and beyond the attempts of Ulum to destroy me along with my family. It is by Mitreyya's good grace that I am alive, and that I, a low goblin, should be a shaman, seer of the future, maker of potions that heal body and soul, and crafter of poisons with equal power.

Early in age I was when a season of starvation struck the land. Meteor showers destroyed our way of life when the Great White Light swallowed everything in sight. My parents were conscripted for the Great White War. Father became a soldier, sent to the front line to trade his life for victory over the Khymians. Mother was sent to the Ashlands to harvest food for the Army of the Burning Lands, and I never saw her again.

Being too young for battle and left to fend for my own, a goblin has no status, I had little with which to barter and turned to a life of crime. I stole what I could to survive, learning to sneak into villages and out again without detection. What I could steal, I would eat. What I couldn't eat, I'd trade for meals or a place to sleep.

One day, I happened upon a member of the master race, a tall and dark efreet with a large bag of red diamonds dangling from her royal belt. It was the sweetest temptation. Many meals I could have had with that bounty, that marvelous loot.

I had snatched thousands of bags in my career and was certain I could hustle one more. As fate would have it, I nearly lost a limb when her bodyguard, a serpentine soldier whose face I never saw, dropped his halberd between us. Immediately, I was arrested, spared my life by the grace of Mitreyya, and sent before a tribunal to be found guilty of a high Culture Crime.

One does not escape punishment for one's crimes. Sentenced to death I was. But upon hearing the story of my life, how my parents gave theirs in defense of the Burning Lands, I was offered a life buyback and given into slavery to Malric Inferno, a high-ranking member of The Brewd.

Molten Mountain's forge factories do not offer the best working conditions. The days are long. The forgers are hot. Soot and ash clog the lungs. An ugly creature like me grows uglier by the forge. But it was an improvement over the life I had. How many years had I wondered where my next meal would come from? How I looked over shoulders, left and right, for fear that thievery would lead to sudden death. And a few times, it almost did.

In the factory, I never missed a meal. I always had a place to lay my head when ordered to sleep. Every day, every minute, was regimented, but I never feared for my life.

One day, while forging an axe, Malric sent for me. His roc messenger came to my forge and bid me to follow. Of course, I did. Little did I know that my work, and my fate, would soon change.

Forging was my life. Malric, no fairer an efreet ever existed, sent me deeper into the heart of Molten Mountain, to Mitreyya's Secret, the mountain's largest factory for forging magical weapons. The assignment required a special benediction from The Torch. Malric represented me with marvelous skill, laying out the benefits to Ferexia and the Burning Lands. In a few short days and a very long wait, by the good grace of Mitreyya, I was bestowed with the honor and the power to forge magical weapons.

The training was hard, more challenging than the heat of the forge factory, more gruelling than the long work days, and very dangerous. Half my class did not survive.

Goblins are not smart, but forgers of magical weapons must be the smartest. It took much concentration to study the magic that would keep the Ferexia army alive and well-equipped. Out of duty to my master and the living memory of my parents, I committed myself to being the best magical forger on Molten Mountain.

One day, we were attacked. It came like a storm from nowhere. Water flooded the mountain killing most of the forges, including Mitreyya's Secret. A cold stream swept me away, and I nearly drowned. I fell into a deep cavern and eventually rescued by special engineers trained for such tasks. Before I knew it, we were at war again. This time with ΛZMΛRÉ, who had attacked us to gain control of the Flame of Everlast.

I do not know when or how, but I was found unconscious in a swirling vat of watery death. Covered in soot and ash, the heat from my forge burning my skin into a boiling rash, steaming perspiration filling my lungs, I was in the firm grip of Ulum. How I would escape a goblin's worst fate is still unknown to me.

Once revived, I lay on a bed of burning coals under the watchful eye of a beholder, Queen of the Shaman, whose very existence penetrates the soul. She spoke a language I had never heard, placed her long, bony fingers over my eyes, and chanted in a whisper so loud it hurt my ears. For hours she prayed over me, chanting into my goblin ears, pressed her hands upon my fire-consumed chest, and cursed Ulum, praised Mitreyya, and called upon the valkyries to sing me into the halls of Infernus Aevum.

Calm came upon me like a flame in the night. It burned from the inside out. I could feel a change coming on, but I knew not what kind. I fell into a trance. My eyes wide open, brain tingling from the hot coals under my back, and my heart beating like it would explode, I transformed from an ordinary goblin into the not-so-ordinary shaman that I am today. I rose up. The beholder held my hand as I stood, my knees feeling weaker than ever before as my legs grew thicker and stronger. From out of nowhere, a skull-capped staff flew into my hands as if it had wings and it's very life depended on it. Then, I, too, began to chant, and the chanting did not subside until the fire within me burned out.

Today, I make potions from the liquid that we in Ferexia know as death. Water has special healing properties if it is mixed in the right way with the right elements of fire, smoke, and ash. Oh, and a few special ingredients which I will not name.

I do not know how this power came to me. I do not know why. All I know now is that my life, my very future, hangs on my using it to serve Mitreyya and the Burning Lands. My duty is to heal those who defend our land and to kill those who would destroy it. This I have vowed, and this I will do until there is unity once again.

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