This thing that humans called a “wagon” was bumpy. Unreasonably so. Were it not for the fragility of his costume, he’d just walk along. But alas, he couldn’t afford for them to find out he was actually a goblin. Not when they were so obviously convinced that he was human.
So, Chef was stuck suffering through every bump. Every divot. Every damn hole poked at his fraying sanity. In an attempt to avoid killing and eating all the humans around him in a fit of rage, Chef spent a lot of time trying out his new meditate skill.
Because yes, he was still hungry.
With the gentle green glow of meditation, Chef could endure a lot. It was potent enough a rest that part of him wondered if he’d even need to sleep anymore. After all, he could make it through a full day of travel like it was nothing. Well, at least until the smell of cooking pulled him forcefully from the trance.
I am really fucking hungry.
So hungry, in fact, that several people looked towards him at the sound of his stomach fighting his other organs for dominance. What else could that growling and rumbling be if not an animal defending its territory? He felt a sharp pinch and knew that the battle was concluded at least temporarily. Not today, spleen. Not today.
The metal man wandered over after a prolonged minute of organal warfare, war between organs, face unreadable behind his metal helmet.
Was there even a face behind there? Chef was beginning to doubt it. The man never took the thing off though, which led credence to the theory that he was secretly just metal.
The metal man spoke words that meant something to him, presumably, and the general meaning seemed simple enough. Something something cauldron of food.
So, Chef nodded and followed the man to the cauldron. Looking inside, Chef felt quite disappointed both by the content and aroma.
Pitiful. These humans were proving to be less than goblins in almost every regard. His meals were far better.
Chef made his way back to his bag, grabbed his pot, and poured the little remaining grease into the pot. He summoned some spices and other flavor enhancers, grabbed his big spoon, and got to work making this awful soup into something edible. After a few minutes, he tasted the concoction. Satisfied, he put his pot into the boiling liquid, pulled the dripping metal out, and walked away.
The humans looked at him in awe, no doubt impressed and excited about finding the first real cook of their sad, pathetic, miserable, ugly, fat, stupid lives. Now, how to eat this without drawing attention…
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Fresk could feel the tension rise when the creature started adding things to the pot, but the aroma wafting off of it was hard to deny. He could also tell that he wasn’t the only one to lean forward when it began to summon things from thin air. But even still, when it greedily took half their food, his charges nearly rose up in disbelief.
Nearly. They knew all too well that he was the expert when it came to monsters. They also knew that their combined level was less than his. In no world would they pick a fight that he told them he couldn’t win.
The thing wandered off into the night, holding a small pot dripping with soup as he went. The entire camp was still, unsure how to proceed. There was a sizzling sound as the creature walked away, presumably the burning of the dead flesh it encased itself with.
Then, it pulled the wolf head back, held the pot up high, and proceeded to tilt it towards itself, dumping the soup into a hidden, gaping maw. Steaming soup slid down the pot before it disappeared forever. Hardly any soup dripped from the affair, and Fresk was watching very closely. It didn’t even appear to chew or swallow. It just consumed.
Within seconds the pot was empty and the wolf head was put back on. One of his charges looked close to tears, the man presumably fighting against true, primal fear for the first time in his life. No, these people weren’t going to do a damn thing about their food being taken.
They’d just have to be hungry.
Eventually, someone decided that they had enough, bravery and hunger pushing them to take a bite of what was left. Tears sprung to his face and half a dozen people tensed up in preparation.
“It’s delicious…”
Disbelief filled the camp, but when the man himself continued to eat spoonful after spoonful, the others had to give it a try. With enough evidence, Fresk gave in as well. If the thing was going to kill them, it surely wouldn’t have wasted its time with poison. Not when it was clearly so much more powerful than them already.
The pot was empty when they settled in for the night, everyone finding room for more soup after just one spoonful. Even Fresk had to admit that it was delicious.
They settled in for watches, but the creature just returned to its perch on the first wagon. Sitting there, glowing gently.
It didn’t need to sleep. It was always awake, always watching. Fresk decided in that moment that he’d help the town when they got back. He’d warn them about this thing, explain the danger it posed, and get them to understand that they mustn’t antagonize. No matter what.
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They did not have the coin to hire anyone capable of dealing with this creature. They’d just have to live with it.
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Chef was pulled from his trance as the metal man approached him. Instincts took over and tore at the meditation, bringing him to his feet before he could remember or take in the surroundings.
He was still up on the wagon.
He snapped back to reality and, yep, there came gravity. Fortunately, his stats allowed for a much more rapid recovery than would have previously been possible, allowing him to land in a crouch as the sun beat down on him and his stomach once again went to battle.
Chef hissed, primal instinct driving him once more to take action. He held on through an extreme display of willpower that would be spoken of for generations to come. The metal man would live to see another day. Or at least he wouldn’t die just this second.
Chef made no promises about the future.
The metal spoke, something about it not attacking or not being a threat. That much was certainly true. His Intuit had assured him that at best the metal man was his equal, more likely his inferior. The metal man was also didn’t seem to be terribly intelligent either. Really, how less of a threat could one man be?
I’ve taken shits bigger than him.
Chef was always prone to hyperbole.
Wait, Chef realized as the metal man slowly backed away.
I haven’t shit since getting Endless Stomach. That can’t be good. Or can it? Oh, the metal man is coming closer.
He handed Chef something that could be construed as food. Presumably jerky. Looking it over though, Chef could have been convinced just as easily that it was leather. Honestly, it could have gone either way based on smell and texture. He let the thing disappear into the breadbox before getting back on the wagon.
Metal man didn’t move for a long time, shook his head, and then spoke more inferior non-goblin words. Something about easy killing.
Humans were so bizarre. He strung together a response that ignored his worthless words.
“Ready. Move. Now.”
The man stood at attention, spoke more, and then wandered off to prepare the others. Chef felt like he was understanding more of what the humans said then he did the day before, but admittedly he wasn’t paying much attention either way.
He returned to his meditation, content to wait through another day.
“Hey!”
That had been his plan anyway.
“Hey mister!”
Chef was developing a theory. The theory was that the smaller the biped-
“Hey weird mister!”
The more intelligent it was. It started with how he compared intellectually to the humans.
“I know you’re listening. You stopped glowing.”
It was reinforced by the tiny terror sitting next to him. The others were clearly fooled by his costume, thinking him to be some hermit from a cave like he had eloquently claimed. But the small one had seen through his ruse.
“I have a question.”
It continued to speak, completely unbidden and unwanted. Chef worried, wondering what master plan he might fall into.
“Why do you wear that bloody wolf?”
Chef understood most of what the child said after listening to them for so long, but he still had little confidence in his understanding of their language. Especially when spoken so quickly. He was even less confident in his ability to replicate their words, which would further out him as a non-human. So, he simply shook his head.
“Hmmmmm. Ok. But hey what’s the glowy thing you do?”
Chef was beginning to realize that the small one would not leave until he gave in to a demand, but he’d have to get it to slow down before he had any hopes of getting it a satisfactory answer.
“Slow. Less fast.”
The creature pondered his words for a while, acting confused. So, Chef decided to amuse it. If the small one kept its revelation to itself so far, he’d just have to take a chance.
“Speeeaaaak. Slooooow.”
He said as slowly as he could to get his point across. The little one nodded along in understanding.
“Whaaaat iiisss thaaat gloooow yoooouuu dooo?”
Chef finally understood the question, but admittedly still didn’t know the answer. But the intelligent being before him would know if he lied just as assuredly as it knew his disguise to be just that. So, he would do what he hated doing the most.
He’d tell the truth.
“Not know. Skill. Meditate.”
“Oooohhhh so it’s a skill. That’s neat I have some of those. Oh right, slowly. I get it. Slow talk. Talk slow. It’s called meditate? Never heard of it. I have one called intuit. Do you know what that does?”
Chef understood the game now. It was trying to test him, see if he was worth keeping around. If he knew nothing, if he couldn’t even contribute something so basic to its knowledge base, then Chef would be outed to the group.
Weak as they were, if they ganged up on him they could at least drive him off. Chef wasn’t the strongest. Though admittedly he hadn’t looked at his status lately… maybe when things calmed down and the interrogator left.
For now, Chef would have to prove his worth. That or kill everyone which would get him no closer to flour. What a tactical move. The small one was a dangerous foe indeed to consider so much.
“Intuit skill. Gives. Uh. Think?”
Chef gestured as he tried to find the word, the small one guessing to help him out.
“Think? Information? Knowledge? Idea?”
“Yes. Idea. Give idea. Strong. Weak. Thing.”
“Oohhh. So, intuit tells you if something or someone is strong or weak?”
Chef nodded, following along now that the creature spoke more slowly.
“It tells me you’re super strong. Is that true?”
Another trap. Chef had used intuit on the creature several times and each time it told him the same thing. But Chef knew better. Chef knew that he wasn’t stronger than Chief or the glowing bear. He wasn’t even stronger than the wolves were. But he ate them all nonetheless.
The creature before him was smaller and weaker than Chef, but his skill couldn’t tell him for sure who would win if they went all out on each other. He doubted any skill ever could. But he couldn’t tell this thing that he was weak either.
After a while, Chef nodded.
“That’s cool! How do you get strong? How many skills do you have? What level are you? What classes do you have? What’s your name?”
Chef listened and tried to follow along as the thing’s speech increased in speed. He just tilted his head slightly grabbing the last word from the rest. What questions he had understood he definitely didn’t want to answer.
“Name?”
This seemed to give the thing pause. Chef panicked for a moment and nearly summoned a cooking fire underneath the creature before he got a response.
“What do you call yourself? What do people call you?”
Well, that was one thing he could share.
“Chef.”
The creature’s eyes lit up at that as it looked towards Chef with excitement.
“A Chef! I’m an apprentice cook actually. Not by class, obviously, but my dad is a cook! Oh, I’m Mirri! I am called Mirri. Nice to meet you, Chef!”
Chef was optimistic that this would buy him some solace for a while and went back to meditating.
“Hey.”
An assumption that wouldn’t last long.
“Hey mister Chef!”
Well, how many more questions could it have?
…
Chef spent the next two days riding on the wagon, cooking their food, and meditating. Every waking moment was spent dodging questions from a 7-year-old.