War of Attrition

A/N: Finally got another one out! Its slowly inching forward, I promise! Thanks to all who have read and reviewed I appreciate it so much! And to those who are new, welcome to the story, I hope you enjoy!

“”= human speech
// //= goblin speech
thoughts will be italicized regardless of language.

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The summer quickly gave way to fall to a crisp first frost that for Inphyy seemed to come entirely too early. The goblin cities were very far north, not as far as the orcs, which were hardier creatures and thrived in the colder climates that humans didn’t occupy. With the first frost also came a visit from a very persistent Magistra.
//No. I’m not going. End of discussion,// Dwingvatt said crossing his arms as he glared across the table at the prematurely aged healer.
//Come on now, you have to take a mate, this is your last chance to,// Magistra said with a voice of eternal patience. //Besides your war-hero status-//
//Is useless,// Dwingvatt cut her off. He did not want to have this discussion. //You know none of the females have any desire to mate me, why press the issue?//
//I’m sure some of them have matured by now. I think Nacellaa was-//
//Please Magistra, don’t,// Dwingvatt sighed, this was a pointless battle. //She wasn’t interested in me before I left, she won’t be now. Neither will any of the other girls. It is a moot point. Just leave it alone.//

The healer scowled at her apprentice and sipped the tea in front of her. After a brief silence she spoke again, not to be detoured,
//What harm could it do to try?//
//And humiliate myself again? No thank you,// Dwingvatt snorted, drinking his own tea.
//Dwingvatt-//
//No!// “And quit doing that!” Dwingvatt snapped at Inphyy who had been sitting silently at the table with them and had been following the discussion in much the same way one does a tennis match, looking to each person as they spoke and then whipping back to look at the other.
//There’s no need to snap at her,// Magistra chided Dwingvatt. //Simply because you’re too scared to go to the end of summer festival-//
//I’m not scared!// Dwingvatt slammed his hands down on the table in frustration. //I’ll fucking go alright?// Then as if realizing the plain trap he’d just walked into he swore and glared at his teacher, as the small red goblin smirked, quite pleased with herself.
//I expect you to be there tonight, I’ll come over later this afternoon to help you dress. Beside if nothing else the experience will be a good one for Inphyy.// The older goblin smiled as the human perked, when she heard her name mentioned. Dwingvatt had kept to himself a great deal since he’d returned, for it had been nearly three months now. Granted he’d never been a social butterfly to begin with, and his land had been neglected for quite some time and having Inphyy in tow also didn’t help his already lacking social skills. He’d not even been to visit Magistra since he’d gotten back. The fall festival would be just the thing to force him into the social aspect again. No matter how much he hated it.

“So what exactly were you screwed into doing?” Inphyy asked him, after Magistra had left and they were walking towards the forest. Her captor was sulking and irritable, reminding her that he wasn’t that far from her own age, neither of them legal adults by human standards and that he was still incredibly emotionally immature.
“Screwed?” he tilted his head at the slang term, it wasn’t familiar to him. Human slang was always difficult to interpret.
“Tricked or mislead into doing,” Inphyy supplied the definition as she followed him as he detoured from the path into the woods, keeping a safe distance away from the axe he had over his shoulder.
“End of summer mating festival, happens every year after the first frost,” Dwingvatt explained, kicking at the base of a tree a few times before dropping the axe off his shoulder and hefting it up and bringing it down against the wood.
“What’s so bad about it. Sounds romantic if you ask me,” Inphyy said, taking a step back as wood chips began to fly. Dwingvatt stopped his attack on the tree trunk and looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Its nothing of the sort,” he said bitterly, resuming his work with renewed effort. “It’s a social popularity contest. The females chose the male they’re most interested in and then the union is consecrated by the healer, in this case Magistra. And then everyone lives happily ever after,” he paused for breath, straightening from the hunched position and cracking his back as he did.
“Oh. You’ve never been chosen have you?” Inphyy said, questioning herself as to why she was having this conversation with Dwingvatt when he had a axe with him.
“Remarkably perceptive aren’t you? Did you figure that one out all by yourself?” he snarled in return and resumed the work.

The rest of the afternoon passed with little discussion. Magistra eventually showed up and dragged a very disgruntled looking Dwingvatt away from the tree they’d been dismantling so as to stock up firewood. Left to her own devices Inphyy strongly considered making a wild break for it, however the strong northern wind reminded her that it would take at least three months to make it to the closest human camps and that winter was painfully close. Signing in resignation to the fact that she was indeed very much stuck here with a disgruntled, distempered and hormonal teenage goblin she gathered up the wood and axe and started carrying it back to the house. Several trips later she was finished and went into the house.

It took all her self restraint not to burst out laughing. Dwingvatt looked absolutely ridiculous and he seemed to know it too, Magistra was fussing over him, much like a mother does over her son before he goes to a big dance or party. His chest was bare and covered in necklaces of various lengths that were made of thinly woven gold and had crystals. On his arms were some sort of bracer or gauntlet that had been made from brightly colored leather and feathers, in this case a painful clash of orange and blue. His shorts matched also made of the same brightly dyed leather and feathers, a belt that was woven with loose locks of fur and had bright glittering pieces of crushed mica stone kept the thin looking material around his waist. Finally a set of feathered shin guards of sorts completed the exotic but out of place look.
//Doesn’t he look handsome?// Magistra said to Inphyy as she glanced at the human before turning back to Dwingvatt and starting to carefully paint black streaks in a design on his face.
//She doesn’t understand you,// Dwingvatt muttered, which earned him a glare from Magistra.
//Don’t talk, you’ll smear the paint and the design.//
//A sure tragedy let me tell you. Ow!// Magistra cuffed him on the side of the head and resumed painting the design on his face. Inphyy saw that it was taking the shape of a wolf, apparently a crest or totem for his family, as it had been on his cape as well. Inphyy sat at the table and watched with fascination as Magistra carefully painted the design.

Finally she finished and by then Dwingvatt looked like a person resigned to his fate.
“It surely can’t be that bad, can it?” she asked him as Magistra went to go pour a drink. Dwingvatt just glared at her. The healer came over and made him drink something, which ensued in another argument and ended with him drinking whatever it was and then both of them practically being dragged by Magistra to the festival.

The festival was being held at the center of the small village and it seemed as though the entire population was there, Inphyy lingered at the back of the crowd, as she was taller than even the male goblins. A few of the children that seemed to follow her captor wherever he went appeared and waved at her, chattering excitedly for a moment before crawling through the legs of the adults to get a front row view of the events.

A steady clapping and stomping started, a single deep voice wailed through the air, holding the note for a long drawn out moment before dropping into silence. There was a shuffling in the crowd and the potential males and females who were of mating age appeared in the center at opposite sides. The females as well it seemed, had gone out of their way to make especially elaborate costumes for the event. However theirs seemed to be must more tasteful and color coordinated. They too were covered with elaborate painted designs, more like the tribal tattoos of barbarians than the specific crests of the males. Their jewelry was finely woven gold earrings and necklaces that shimmered like veils as they moved.

Dwingvatt was standing at the back of the group of males, looking very much uncomfortable with the situation. He was the oldest one there, technically past the prime age for mate choosing, that and the bitter potion that Magistra had made him drink, that all the males drank was not helping his nerves. It was a potent mixture of herbs that increased heart rate and alertness as well as a folklore aphrodisiac meant to enhance masculinity in more ways than one and to cause a surge of testosterone through the body. This was a competition after all.

He was not unfamiliar with what would happen next. It was very much a male dominated event, the wild dancing and the gestures for dominance between the males as the females watched with careful, scrutinizing eyes. Try as he might, every single time Magistra had dragged him to one of these, this was his four time now, he would find himself giving into the euphoria of the drug laced drink and joining whole heartedly in the dancing and the primitive gestures for dominance that showed strength, and virility. Hoping in vain each time that he might, just might, get chosen. Was a mate so much to ask for?

Once again the clapping and stomping started and the competition began now that all were assembled. The males all looked about nervously, they were at best thirteen and all new to this. Dwingvatt sighed, he hated taking the lead, but he did. The dust rose as the other males started to get into it, the dancing began and they moved towards the females, a direct challenge, invading their space and getting close enough to touch but just barely keeping away. Maintaining control at all times. It was a very alpha male event, despite the final say resting with the women.

The women responded in like, suddenly surging forward as a group, a series of quick step motions making their golden jewelry jingle and flash in the dying light of the sun. They pushed the males back with delicate steps that suggested sensuality and the warm embrace of woman’s flesh. A rotation of the hips, and swirl of skirts and veils, the delicate and precise steps of painted feet, and a lift of the chest all of it erotic, exotic and teeming with instinct handed down through their genes and blood. DNA knowledge passed from generation to generation, better than any oral or written history ever could. All the while keeping their eyes locked on those of their potential mates as the crowd around them kept a steady beat with only their hands and feet, causing even more dust to rise as the males retreated under the advance of the women, as if overcome by the subtle and more graceful movements.

The exchange of movements between the youth of the sexes occurred several more times, each time becoming more brutal and desperate, as if trying to outlast each other, until finally one girl ran forward with the females’ advance and leapt on the male of her choice. He caught her in his arms and in a display of aggression that was so territorial it was almost dangerous, she grabbed at the decorated shorts he was wearing and grinned at what she found. Hands moving quickly as she moved around him, dancing and blocking the view for the most part, she took the hardened cock, thanks to the drink that they’d all had earlier, and stroked him to a hard cum. She took her hands away, covered in the thin sheen of his cum that had soaked through the thin material of the shorts and pressed them to her groin, the turned to the crowd and grabbed at his spent sex in a gestured that plainly said “This is mine! This is where my babies will come from!” Then taking his hands she pulled him from the center and into the crowd.

It was a flash of motions now that accompanied the accelerated stomping and clapping and females moved, no rules almost but each one seemed to have already made up her mind. The ritual act of taking the male’s seed symbolically into her womb was repeated by each couple and they dispersed. Finally Dwingvatt found himself standing next to last on the male’s side and one female looking almost indecisively between him and his competitor. She would move forward then retreat, then move forward again. The beat was now frantic, urging her to make the choice. She was a pretty girl. A red skinned goblin, with striking white hair, her body wrapped in the yellow cloth of a virgin. Her eyes met Dwingvatt’s and he knew.
“I’m so sorry,” she said looking at Dwingvatt as she, approached both males and then she leapt at the other male, claiming him as hers.

He knew it. Had known it all along. Dwingvatt turned and pushed his way through the crowd, wanting to get away from it. To at least save what little bit of his pride he had left. He was tired, sweaty, and his heart was going a million miles an hour AND he had a raging hard on. No more fucking festivals. To hell with what Magistra said. He discarded the outfit as he got near the edge of the village, dropping the gauntlets, and kicking off the shin guards as he stalked off into the forest. He pulled off the ridiculous shorts, gods did he hate those damn things and then naked in the cool fall air, walked towards the stream that gave way to a pool. Splashing water on his face and taking a handful of sand he started to scrub off the wolf design Magistra had painted on his face, muttering curses to himself all the while. He finally gave up on trying to get the design off his face when he saw that hardly any of the ink was coming off, it had been made of a strong mix of pigments from the roots that were native to region. Much like the body paint the females decorated themselves with for festivals or special occasions, it was semi-permanent, and he would be walking around with the wolf crest on his face for at least the next month. Sighing he submerged himself completely under the cold water for a moment, trying to pull himself together and recover what was left of his pride.

Unfortunately the potent drink that Magistra had made him take did not allow for him to relax much. His hard-on was painful now, the cold water doing nothing to detour it. Reaching a hand below the water, he touched the hot flesh and hissed at how over-sensitive it was. He just wanted to be rid of the blatant reminder that once again he’d been rejected, that he would be mateless. And he couldn’t even try out for the holy order of his people because of his human-esqu appearance. Dwingvatt groaned as he tightened his fist around his cock and in a few quick, hateful motions brought himself to orgasm, letting out a soft grunt of relief as he did. It was over for now.

//Dwingvatt?// a soft voice came from behind him, causing him to jump.
//Go away Magistra,// he said, scowling and turning his back to where the voice had come from, dropping lower into the pool, could he not have five minutes of peace? No reply came, but his ears pricked up as he heard the soft foot steps coming toward him and something put on the ground.
//I thought you might be cold. And Dwingvatt…//
He turned around about to reply, and his jaw dropped.
//I’m not Magistra…// Inphyy stood a few feet away from the edge of the pool and a towel was sitting on the rock next to the pool. The human was blushing furiously and looking incredibly uncomfortable.
//Since when were you able to understand?// he asked, his frustration with his own predicament diverted by this sudden and interesting revelation. Grabbing the towel he wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the cold water. Inphyy tilted her head to one side, her brows knitting, she didn’t understand.
“Not so fast, the way your verbs work, its very different,” she said, staying rooted where she was. Dwingvatt nodded, it was fair, the human and Goblin tongues were very different, it had taken him several years to become fluent with the human language.
“I see why you didn’t want to go to the festival,” Inphyy said, carefully edging closer to him. Dwingvatt made a non-commental noise and started to wring the water out of his dred-locks. “Everyone knows who they will pick before hand don’t they?” Inphyy asked, frowning slightly. Dwingvatt nodded.
“It’s a public announcement of it pretty much. All that’s left is for them to commit the actual act and for him to make her as his and they’re stuck together for life,” he shook the last of the water out of his hair, then stood and stretched. “Thanks,” he said motioning to the towel. Inphyy nodded, seeming to be half listening and followed him back to the house in silence. They were going their separate way to their rooms when she suddenly spoke again.

“Dwingvatt?”
“Hm?” He was tired and emotionally on edge still from the festival and didn’t feel like playing twenty questions about his culture again.
//I’m sorry you didn’t get chosen…// the human girl said softly. It was one of the few niceties that had come from her since she’d been taken captive. Pity was a natural reflex to someone who had just been rejected in front of everyone. Dwingvatt was not difficult to live with if her treatment was anything to go by. In fact, he would probably be even better to a partner. Dwingvatt looked at her thoughtfully before responding,
//Thank you Inphyy, good night.//