This is not so dark. No actual violence, but there are depictions of non consensual slavery and references to permanent disabling.
Even less canon than the first though initially inspired by
Goblin girlrider pictures.When Zoog rode into Anzeg three days after his meeting with the Girlmaster it was trying to snow. Zoog wouldn’t admit it to his fellow goblins, but he was glad he was sleeping in a human cot in the inn tonight, and not another night out on The Stepp huddled under a blanket with his mount.
When he arrived at the inn the usual girl at the stable greeted him and took his mount in. It always disconcerted him when human girls spoke goblin tongue. It was common for folk in Anzeg to be bilingual. But girls talking goblin tongue just seemed wrong.
After paying for a room and stabling with the innkeeper Zoog wasted no time and walked over to the forge. The smith, a mountain of a man, was hammering out a sword on his anvil. He was stripped to the waist despite the cool air, his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. Whether it was from the work or the heat of the coals it was not clear.
The smith glanced up as Zoog walked in.
"Ah, it's the clever goblin again," boomed the smith. "Zoog 'tis it not?"
"I am Zoog."
"Can I be getting you a drink, sir?" The smith put down his hammer. "I've some goblin spirit stashed somewhere abouts."
"Really? I didn't think humans drank it?"
"Ah, before I was a smith I did some soldiering," he reached up into the rafters and brought down a bottle. "Some of your kin laid siege to Fort Stepwald while I was stationed there fifteen year ago. Lotta things got pretty tight. Drink ran out pretty quick. My Sargent had a cask stolen on a raid. He and I learnt to love goblin drink one night we thought would be our last. He was right. I, evidently, was wrong."
The smith produced two shot glasses from the same place the bottle had been secreted. He poured some spirit, handing one over he wordlessly drank the other in one go. Zoog too threw the drink down his throat. He was surprised at the strength of the spirit, the smith had taste.
"Good stuff," acknowledged the goblin.
"Thank you," the smith sat down on a wooden stool that looked fit to crumble under his frame. "You thought on my words from last month?"
"Yes, but I'm curious, why would you help goblin kin?"
"Same raid that netted us the cask we liberated a ponygirl. Zoe was her name. One of our guys shot her rider straight out of his saddle. So long story short we took the girl back to the fort. Her arms were ruined of course, but we gave her a yoke and she earned her keep bringing water to the troops during the day. Plus keeping them company at night, if you catch my drift.
"She and I got to talking. Told me all about how her rider treated her. How her arms were cut. How the rings were put in her. Was a sad story Zoog.
"Now I know goblin kin will keep on taking girls from the edge of our realm. 'Tis always the peasant girls from the little villages. So I'm thinking if the girls you take last a little longer, you won't need to raid as often. Then fewer girls get their arms ruined. Fewer reasons for goblin and man to fight."
"So what are these ideas, smith?" Asked Zoog.
"Before I answer let me ask you a couple of questions. First what is the main cause of death of your ponies?"
"Battle of course, but I can't keep a pony dressed in or carrying armour to offset this. They are transport most of the time."
"Okay, and the second most likely killer?"
"They just get sick so easy. Everything seems to rapidly end up as a respiratory sickness. They produce so much nasal mucus they seem to drown in it."
"Hmm, a horrid way to die. Tell me have you ever seen a human farrier at work?"
"I'm not familiar with that name. What is a farrier?"
"You've seen human cavalry yes?"
"Yes, it's terrifying on plains. But useless in our mountains."
"Well, because we make the horses we ride work harder than they would in the wild, we put iron shoes on their feet. A farrier is the craftsman who does this."
"You think we should give our ponies iron boots?"
"Zoog! We are being clever here remember? As a soldier I was put on many a forced march. Any decent soldier will tell you a good pair of boots is priceless. A soldier's idea of heaven is a full belly, dry feet and somewhere soft to sleep."
"It's a chilly day today. Look at the free women out on the street. How do they differ from your ponygirls?"
"We can't keep them in clothes. They need to shit and piss, they bleed each moon or so too. They run hard and sweat, are ridden through all sorts of terrain. Clothes are impractical, soon ruined and stink.”
“Hmm, let's take this to the horse traders down the street my friend Zoog. There are some things I think you need to see. While we are there can I send my wife to fetch your mount from the inn? She'll be here waiting for us when we return."
"What are you going to do to her?"
"Nothing harmful, I promise."
Zoog nodded his consent. The smith turned and bellowed into the dark recesses of the forge.
"Hen? Hen, go fetch the good Zoog's mount and prepare her with the new stuff."
A plump, rosy cheeked, woman emerged from the gloom. She smiled at Zoog."
"Sir, the name of your mount?" She asked.
"I named it Zell."
"Thank ye, Sir," the woman bobbed and left.
"Come Zoog, let's go look at horses." The smith lifted a leather vest from a hook and shrugged it on. As they left the forge he turned and bellowed once more.
"Boy, mind the coals."
At the horse traders Zoog looked up at the monstrous charger. The creature was nothing like the beasts a wealthy peasant may have to till his fields.
"Zoog, this creature has value, so we look after it. In fact there are whole industries devoted just to supply things to look after our mounts."
"We too have Girlmasters, smith. Saddle makers, bit crafters, too. A good ponygirl is prized in the mountains."
"Aye, we see the way you prize your girls goblin. The rings you put in their flesh and the pictures you put on their skin. It's clear you value them. I just think you need to add a couple of trades to bit maker and saddle maker 'tis all."
"What did you want to show me here?" Zoog was getting irritated. The patronising tone was wearing thin.
"In here Zoog."
Zoog followed the smith into the tack room.
Ruth sat in the hay and dosed. She loved it when her master rode her here. This was the second time in the months since summer ended she had been warm.
The first time had been a nightmare of emotions. When they had got close and she recognised human buildings she had thought she was going to be freed. The euphoria had been short lived. Next had been the shame of being ridden naked in front of free people. Yet they ignored her. Rage and anger followed quickly. How could they collude with the goblins to treat her this way? Then at the stable, whilst warm for the first time in three months, another pony had explained the pact that allowed Anzeg to exist.
Now she was just grateful to be warm. How pathetic was that? She had just run for three days straight. She could never have done such a thing before she was caught, but the green monster who sat on her back was ready with his whip if ever she slowed.
It had been snowing, the wind was biting. When they stopped he made no fire. She curled into a ball with her back to the wind and he threw a leather blanket over her. He then climbed under it with her. He fed her some jerky then curled into a ball by her belly. His snoring was legendary. Too cold to sleep properly she dozed in fits. At first light he had her up and running again. She knew now that Hell, was not a burning pit, but was unrelenting cold.
A woman came in to the stables. She looked around and spotted Ruth.
"Stable girl around, dear?"
"Not since she put me in here," answered Ruth.
"Are you the only pony here, dear?"
"I am at the moment."
"Ah, you'll be Zell then. I've been sent to fetch you by your Master. I'll just go tell the landlord then come back for you." The woman disappeared before Ruth could correct the woman.
Five minutes later and she was back.
"Listen, I'm not Zell, my names Ruth."
The woman stopped and stared at Ruth.
"But the landlord just confirmed you are. Oh, you don't speak goblin tongue do you?"
"No..." The penny dropped for Ruth. "He says it before each command... It's what he's named me..? I thought it meant 'prisoner' or ‘slave'."
“No pet, you’re called Zell now. It means ‘Spitter’ or ‘one who spits’ in goblin tongue.”
Ruth smirked at this. The woman raised a quizzical eyebrow at that.
“Day I got caught they dragged me on a leash over ten miles to some camp in the mountains. They then hung me by my feet for two days. No food only water. They took you down time to time to beat you. Sometimes to make you run on the leash with a bit in your mouth. If you were smart you used those occasions to piss or shit. Some weren't. If I could I’d spit in the faces of the bastards. Didn’t know they named me for it.”
“I see. Well you are Zell now. Umm, I have to halter you to walk you to the forge.” The woman held up Zell’s bit, taken from a hook on the post to her stall, and Zell dutifully opened her mouth.
Back at the forge Zell tried to get close to the fire. Just the short walk over had chilled her to the bone once more. Once the woman took the bit back out Zell asked her name.
“I’m Henrietta, the smith is my husband. Just call me Hen, pet, everyone does.”
“Okay Hen, why am I here instead of the stable stall?”
“Ahh, to warm you up dear, and perhaps prolong your life my sweet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My husband has a bit of a wasp in his helm about the way you pony’s are treated by the goblin folk. Your owner is quite high ranking. A chief of a small clan and a renowned scout. So Peter is trying to sell him on some ideas that will improve your lot.”
“Why? I thought no one around here cared.”
“People care love, just there are laws. Anyone stealing, freeing or damaging a pony within twelve leagues of here either hangs or is handed over to the goblins.”
“I know, and goblins don’t hunt for girls within that perimeter either.”
“So you are not touched. It does not mean folk don’t care.”
“So what is he trying to convince my owner on then.”
“Basic animal husbandry, dear.”
“I’m not an animal.”
“To the goblins you are. A meat one too. You girls don’t last long. Which is why Peter is trying to change things.”
“They eat us?”
“How long since they ruined your arms love?”
“I was captured about six months ago.”
“Seen your master hunt for food in that time?”
“No.”
“Has he fed you any meat?” Zell’s face went ashen. “I see by your face then he has.”
Tears welled up in Zell’s eyes.
“I didn’t know,” she protested.
“Hush dear, it’s not your crime. You have the right to want to survive. You just have to understand we are like goats or pigs to them.”
“Just when I didn’t think things could get worse. I wish to die sometimes. Mostly at night. I get so cold. Looks like it’s happening sooner than I thought.”
“Now dear don’t fret so. There is always hope. My husband once freed a pony. ’Tis how he found out how you’re treated. Is the why of why he is talking to your owner now. He’s pointing out you’re worth more than food in the pot, that you are worth treating better.”
“A pony was freed? Did they fix her arms?”
“No dear, she was given servant work at a northern fort. But you’re arms are not getting better ever. Now come over here and help me get you ready for their return. You’ll like this, it’ll make you warm. Tell me that design tattooed on your leg, did your present owner put that there?”
“I see what you are saying, smith. But girls aren’t horses.”
“No, so you’ll need different equipment. But if you look after a girl there is no reason why she should not last you twenty years instead of just two.
“When our horses get sick we don’t just give up on them and eat them. We have coats for them when it’s cold, and buildings to keep them in when we rest them. We give them the best food to give them energy.
“We look after their feet so they can run fast and armour them if we know we are going to fight. We rest them after hard work and ensure they are fit enough to do the work we need them to do.
"One of our knights will treat his horse better than his human servants.
"Zoog, I’m not trying to patronise you. Times are changing. Even here up north in Anzeg. I know you’re finding it hard to source girls these days. That’s because it takes nearly two decades for them to grow big enough for you to ride. You can’t just go raid for more like you used to. The source is finite and the Kings patrols are pushing further north these days.
"I just wanted you to see the array of equipment we make to control and keep our animals before I show you what I think would work for you. Lets go back now.”
Zoog surveyed his pony. He hated to admit it but she looked battle ready and fierce. But disconcertingly she looked happy too.
“So your idea is clothes, smith?”
“Not just clothes. No human would put this outfit on voluntarily. These are clothes only for ponygirls.”
The smith moved over to the very happy Zell. Her eyes were sparkling and the girl was nearly prancing with joy. It was almost tragic how happy these few changes were making her.
“Let me take you through it so you can see my reasoning. If I have something wrong we can work on it. I’ve come up with these ideas after talking to one ponygirl and living here in Anzeg for two years.
The smith lowered his massive frame to a crouch and he pointed to the pony’s feet.
“So first off, a pair of decent boots. These have a stout heel and a broad sole so she’s stable without her arms. The uppers are well polished and supple so she can run but her feet stay dry. They cover the lower leg up to the knee to prevent stones kicking inside, and so shallow water can be forded without removing them.
“Now on her legs we have a kind of chaps. Our human horse riders wear these to protect their legs from bushes and thorns whilst riding. Theirs would be loose fitting and worn over regular leg wear. These are modified for a ponygirl but serve the same purpose. So they are a tight fitting stiff leather. They only cover fronts and sides of the legs and are laced to a snug fit at the back. The knees are a suppler leather than the rest of them. Please turn around Zell.”
As the ponygirl turned the smith stood back up.
“Now she’s turned you can see the lacing and that her backside is uncovered, should you need to use your girlthrash. Again, the chaps have a polish applied so you can wipe off excreta and other mess just as if the legs were bare.
“The tunic is leather and fur lined. It’s very warm. I’d only put it on your pony in the winter or going into battle. The rest of the time in makes a great saddle cover. As you can see it buckles up the back, it could be made cheaper if it laced up the back. No sleeves obviously, you slide it in front of the saddle but put it over the saddle tree. Please turn back Zell.
The collar is tall and tight for three reasons. First it keeps out rain. Second it keeps in body warmth. Thirdly it offers padding to one of the few armour pieces I think are worth having. Again I’ve used a rain resistant leather, and the wife has recently decorated the breast with the sigil you tattooed on your pony’s leg.
“So the armour. The pauldron’s are small, light and tight fitting as there is little mobility in a pony’s shoulder. They’ll protect the pony from a deflected blow aimed at the rider.
The collar covers one of the most vulnerable parts of the pony. It could be made with tethering points too to aid husbandry. Clearly you'll not need one of those with such a stout ring in your pony's nose. The collar is snug fitting so it does not batter the pony’s chin while she’s running.
The helm is very light. Mostly leather it’ll defend the pony from blunt force weapons. These wing like pieces offer the rider some protection from arrows or other thrown weapons. As you can see they extend forward to blinker the pony’s vision as I showed you with our horses. The leather apron on the back of the helm protects the pony from the sun in the summer and the rain in the winter. The peak in the front will aid the pony’s vision in the rain and offer protection again from the sun.”
The smith walked back to Zoog as the goblin continued to stare at his pony. Zoog liked the way the chaps framed the pony's sex and that you could still see the three rings he had placed through her cunt lips. He liked too that the metal armour stood out against the glossy black leather. She was just a ponygirl but she looked like a warrior! He couldn’t fault the smith on his ideas either. It was very different. But by Fuul she looked fierce.
“How much extra weight is this?”
“A few pounds to be sure, but the warmth she’ll gain from them will reduce your feed costs, improve her range and speed in winter and prolong her lifespan.”
“How noisy is it? Can she move stealthily dressed so?”
“Try it out, take her out for a run, and see what you think. I could use the feedback.”
Zoog needed no further encouragement. Running up to his mount she knelt before he got there. She was actually keen! He climbed up and found a girlthrash resting across the front of the saddle. It was a long one but it had to reach under the saddle at the pony’s rump.
A light kick and she was off. There was a spring in her step and her stride was long. The smith had worked miracles. There was a slight creak of leather from the leg coverings. Surely that was because the leather was new. They could be decorated too!
The wings on the helm would need to be smaller. Zoog did not need to cower behind anything and they could foul his reach.
He realised he was getting stares as he rode down the street. No one was laughing. Quite a few kin looked impressed.
This was clearly going to work.
Peter, the smith and Hen watched the pair head off.
“That went well,” said the wife.
“Better than I hoped. He was clearly happy, though I nearly lost it in the middle. But she looked so good he was nearly bouncing to get on her. Genius move with the sigil, love.”
“He clearly liked the design and the chaps covered it over. Seemed obvious. What you going to charge him?”
“Nothing, Hen. I’ll tell him how much, then gift it, on the understanding he sends the rest of his tribe our way. We’ll get ten percent of the next thirty boots the cobbler makes and I can knock out pauldrons, helms and collars in my sleep. You’re going to be busiest making chaps and tunics.”
“You’ve done a good thing today husband. You know that poor girl didn’t even know her name.”
“Her goblin given name?”
“Yeah, she thought each time he said Zell he was calling her slave.”
“Hmmph, in a way he was.”
“I know, so I taught her a few more words while I dressed her.”
“That could spoil things, goblins don’t like their pony’s talking.”
“I know, I made her promise to wait until the deal was struck before letting on.”
“So what did you teach her, apart from her name?”
“Please, thank you, hot, cold, hungry, thirsty and Master.”
“Naughty, Hen, still that’ll help her.”
“I hope so, I hate to see them suffer like Zoe did.”
"Sarge and your sister died well and free, Hen.”
“I know, but only because you killed the goblin riding her.”
“I can’t kill all the goblins, Hen. But this way they’ll not take so many girls, and those that they do won’t have such a miserable time of it.”
“I hope so, Peter. I really hope so.”