The first memories of my life have been the most influential, and have fully determined every moment thereafter. They say that experiences before the age of three years old are rarely remembered, and that a goblin generally has vague memories of childhood experiences.
What happens when the first memories formed in a young goblin are that of searing flesh, extreme pain, and the taste of blood without being able to cry out…
This is my very first recollection.
The struggle between my mother and the late Arthas almost proved to be her unmaking, but it ended with my very being. My development in utero was delayed due to the trauma inflicted upon my mother, and I was born with a variety of “inconsistencies” including webbed fingers and toes, meconium aspiration, as well as pump defects. I will refer to the heart as my pump for I do not have a heart. My mother and the other members of the clergy were able to use their powers of mending to correct the majority of inconsistencies; however, the pump problems were far too engrained into my being for the powers of magic to correct.
The first two years of my life then proceeded without incident, or so I’ve been told as I do not recall the first two years of my goblinhood. It wasn’t until I started running and moving quickly that my pump problems started to become problematic. Finally, the healers decided that I would not be able to defend myself in the chaotic world of Azeroth if they did not operate and fix my pump.
Despite their in depth knowledge of healing, the priests of my mother’s sect did not know anything of surgery. The word was spread through Azeroth and beyond that my mother and I were in desperate need of a physician with knowledge of the heart.
Over the course of the next 6 months my health had begun to dwindle significantly and black necrotic areas began to develop as lesions throughout my pump. Desperately seeking help from any who would help save my life, I was in dire straits and my mother was panicked.
Druids of the Cenarian Circle were consulted and were not convinced they would be able to help because their healing and knowledge is of the Earthmother and not of living goblins. The Paladins of Silvermoon were far too obsessed with their conquest over Arthas to be of any help. Finally, it was in the skills of the Shaman and their understanding of physical, elemental, and natural ways that she found a young troll witch doctor with the abilities to correct my pump; however, he had no way to administer any type of anesthesia without turning me inside out and into a toad. The “wise” mages of Dalaran were consulted and they decided to form an ice barrier around me and create a timewarp to expediate the correction.
It was five days before my third birthday and I can still feel the cold sharp blade cutting against my green flesh, the cauterizing flames impairing the bleeding, and the inability to move or scream, just trapped within the mage’s ice barrier with all those around me acting as if I would never remember a thing.