Consciousness breaches the ocean of eternal slumber as a meaty paw reaches towards blue sky.

“What year is it?!”

Chef’s brain was so addled by the suddenness of his sleep that he asked a question to nobody. What’s more, he wouldn’t have understood the answer if the forest or God himself had given one. Chef had never even seen a calendar nor had he been told the year by any non-goblins. And After Cave 17, or 17 AC, was not a metric that many living beings could do anything with. Primarily because he’d killed and/or eaten most of the people that used that metric in the first place.

But Chef was tired and unused to sleeping outside where the sun wakes you with blazing intensity. So, as he came to, he was at his most primal and degraded to base instinct.

Chef hissed at the burning orb keeping time overhead and scurried to where he could smell the smoked jerky, stuffing his face. So really, he was no different than normal.

It took empty hands and a chiming sound to oil him back to sentience, sadly not in time to save even one piece of jerky.

*Ping*

Congratulations! You have digested an entire Bear Druid, Guardian of Elluwaryn[67]! You have gained some of its stats and abilities.

Congratulations! You have become Chef/Baker[15]!

Congratulations! You have gained Health, Stamina, Mana, Power, Gusto, Ability, Intestine, and Hutzpah!

Congratulations! You have gained Meditation!

Meditation: rest your mind and body.

Chef, warring against his instincts as they drove him to dig through coals in search of more jerky that wasn’t there, activated his new skill.

A calmness spread through his being and a gentle glow enveloped him. Chef had accidentally found inner peace and all it took was ferocious and complete consumption of another living being. And a skill, of course.

As Chef relaxed in meditation, he found his worldly worries slipping away. Things that had bothered him either in the forefront of his mind or in the back of it for hours, days, or even years simply… didn’t matter anymore. No need to worry about things like “getting eaten” or ask questions like “what is hutzpah.”

And then Chef felt his mental state return to maximum and he dropped the meditation. Chaos returned immediately. He was hungry, bizarre as that was to him considering the entire bear he ate yesterday and the pounds of jerky he ate just now. An endless stomach really was a double-edged cooking knife: impractical, dangerous, strangely alluring, etc.

Hunger would have to become a familiar friend for Chef, an already fairly skinny goblin. But his ultimate goals and desires remained the same. If he was going to be ravenously hungry all the time anyway, he might as well eat the best food possible. For that though he’d need flour. And for flour, he’d need to infiltrate human society.

Chef knew where the road was and that humans used it. After all, that’s where they used to ambush humans stupid enough to travel in small numbers. But first he needed a disguise. They ambushed a whole lot of humans after all, and some even got away. Looking for the bear pelt, Chef realized it was in his stomach.

The whole outside of the bear had been burnt and cooked earlier, so it wasn’t practical to separate it out in the first place. It did make for good stew though.

Plan B then. Time to look for an intact wolf.

Chef ran around the tree, realized that the Turducken left nothing in its wake, and then wandered back to where Chief engaged his wolves. Unfortunately, Chief had a habit of smashing their heads which wasn’t great, but a couple had been killed by a different bear. One that was presumably of the non-glowing variety.

Using his knife, Chef stripped the meat off the hide. Then he wandered to the lake, filled up on water again, and began cleaning the hide as best as he could. Turned out his best wasn’t all that good. Since he knew nothing about tanning, so he had to settle for soggy fur as his clothing. But he did look stylish reflected in the pool before him.

Why just look at that fur!

He’d hollowed out the skull so that he could wear it, cutting holes in the face so that he could see. Perfect, no one would confuse him for a goblin now.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Wandering back to his clearing and suffering the growling of his stomach, he took in the sights and smells one last time.

“I will never forget you, big tree. My oldest friend.”

He patted the trunk fondly as he remembered nearly dying twice in as many days.

“Good times.”

Chef gathered up his cooking gear and the remaining spices, sad that he’d be hungry until he found more to eat. Then, he headed off towards the road, ready for adventure and excited for more baking!

----------------------------------------

It was a long ride from Berics back home, and admittedly not one that Fresk enjoyed. Part of it was the proximity to Elluwaryn forest at parts of the journey, but a bigger part was how many villages had lost people on this stretch of road. Not that Fresk had, but the risk was always there.

Enough risk that this time the village chief had asked him to come along and protect the caravan, if it could even be called that. Four wagons and a dozen people wasn’t exactly what he would have called a “caravan” back in his adventuring days, but settling down in a backwoods village forced one to make certain concessions.

Concessions like calling four wagons a “caravan” without rolling your eyes. Or even accompanying said caravan “just in case.” Fresk wasn’t exactly worried that something would happen to him on this journey though, his levels and gear would prevent that. No, he just didn’t want to have to do anything in the first place. If he wanted to accompany caravans and protect them from monsters and bandits, he would have stayed an adventurer and gotten paid much better for it. He would be going towards Berics, not away from it.

He wouldn’t have run away to a middle of nowhere village in the first place.

But here he was, all because he sucked at saying no. Riding in the front caravan as hushed whispers filled the air, people glancing at him to see his reaction.

He felt a ball form in his gut, refusing to let go as he braced his shield and put a hand on the pommel of his sword.

Not one hundred feet away stood a wolf on two feet, no more than three foot tall with a blank stare directed at him.

Somehow, Fresk had known today was going to be a bad one.

Once they got closer, he called the caravan to a halt and jumped down, making his way toward the strange creature, prepared for the worst. About twenty feet away, he activated his intuit ability to see what he was dealing with.

He immediately dropped to one knee, vomiting.

Impossible, what is something like this doing all the way out here?

His intuit ability was incredibly powerful, nothing should be able to deceive it. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the creature in front of him could kill and eat him on a whim. He had to escape, had to—

“Seek. Passage. Human. Flour.”

The beast spoke as it looked at him, unflinching and unfeeling. The moment of weakness should have cost Fresk his life, for the second time in his life actually. But once again he was spared and allowed to live a little longer, just without the parts that let him do so happily.

“The city is that way, they have plenty of flour.”

He pointed towards Berics, hoping that this thing would wander off when given direction. Instead, it seemed to activate some skill as Fresk felt an all to familiar pressure in his mind. It sought to dominate him, make him do as it pleased.

For a moment, he considered pulling out his sword. He considered testing the power his intuit told him this thing had. But survival instinct was a powerful thing. Hollow as his life was, it was still his life.

He didn’t give up control but listened when it spoke next.

“No. City. Human. Cave. Need. Flour.”

Speaking was a struggle for the thing before him, obvious as it was that the corpse it wore was unnecessary for speaking. Blood dripped from within and without the creature as it stood stock still, watching, waiting.

If Fresk gave it indication that its ability did not take hold, would it leave? Would it no longer see him as easy prey? Or, would it simply view him as an obstacle, trying its luck with the rest of the caravan. A caravan of people without his resistance to mental intrusion.

Fresk grit his teeth.

“Our village has some flour, but not much. We could bring some to you, but have none with us.”

His final hope, the most he could do without tipping his hand.

“No.”

And just like that, sorrow and fear claimed his mind.

“Take. Village. Flour.”

Fresk had heard tales of one lone monster annihilating entire towns or enslaving them on a whim. His fear in the moment was a potent thing for sure, but still he steeled himself and decided to try negotiating with the beast, unwise as it may have been. He might have run away were it not for the dozens of people behind him. People he’d gotten to know over the past three years. People that didn’t deserve to be enslaved by a monster.

“I will take you to the village, but you may only have the flour. The rest, food, people, everything else, that they can keep.”

He didn’t know where this bravery came from, honestly. He thought that he’d run again if he’d ever be unfortunate enough to find himself facing a true monster again.

I suppose once you get scared enough, the fear just doesn’t matter anymore. Or maybe I just grew a spine along with all that wheat and potatoes.

“Yes.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. Now he just had to convince the villagers to go along with this madness. That, or he’d end up less a guard and more a grave digger.

----------------------------------------

This went great! When the metal man walked towards him, Chef got nervous, but it was for nothing. Turned out that the metal was hiding a weakling.

I mean, who can’t hold food down? Eating is the best, most important part of living!

Chef nearly killed him right then, but it would all be for nothing if he remained flourless.

Earlier, when he had tried to convince the man, there was a moment when Chef thought it might all crumble around him. He even began to shake a bit, letting loose some pockets of undried blood from the pelt. Perhaps he should have washed it a second time.

But the man agreed! His plan was working and soon he’d be in a human village getting flour. Soon he’d be baking again. Soon, he’d figure out what these people were saying.

Shame that everyone didn’t just speak goblin.

After convincing the metal man and persuading the others in his group, Chef was ready to ride along with them.

*Ping*

Congratulations! Your Convincing has increased!

Chef knew goblins were dumb, but looking around he was happy to see that humans were too.

The fools, they think I’m human!