Chapter 4 – Regular Losses

At least I was out of the tree. I had completely forgotten that transferring my Goblin Technology skills to the tribe transferred all the skills—including ones that weren’t exactly safe. Those explosive fermented fruits had just killed 2 of my 9 followers. The one that had thrown it, and the much-celebrated stilt-walker they’d elevated in a doomed attempt to reach me.

Still, I was alive and back on the ground. One by one, the survivors poked their heads out of cover and came to regard me, crouching down and pointing out various things about me to each other. Mostly my legs—or lack thereof. Before I could even ask them to do it, they were back at work fashioning a set of poles to use as primitive prosthetics and hoisting me up so that they could be affixed to my legs. I wasn’t sure if this was a result of knowledge transfer from myself, or if they were simply far more clever creatures than their appearance and method of communication would suggest. But once again, their versions seemed more effective and practical than my initial, rushed attempt with the dry wood.

“Thanks, guys,” I said. They all grinned and looked at each other beneath the skull hats. Two returned to the dog creature and set to the task of hoisting the limp carcass between them. I pinched my chin.

“Hold up. Bring me one of those poles and some of the vines. I can make that easier.”

My seven remaining tribesmen rushed to be the ones to fulfill my request, resulting in two separate fist fights and one goblin getting bit. But they managed to get the wooden pole and the improvised cord over to me. I set to work tying the feet of the carcass to the poles, and then indicated that one goblin should lift at each end. They did so, and their eyes widened in wonder.

They cheered, and several of them tried to muscle in on the pole to be the one to carry it. I struggled to walk along-side, and three of the excited goblins approached me with another pole and some rope.

“No!” I said, holding up my hands. “Freight only!”

Still, I could barely walk through the rough underbrush on the improvised prosthetics. Thankfully my new goblin body was super light, or I wouldn’t have been able to stand on them at all. I considered, and pointed at the leftover wood.

“Trim those down and leave the ones on the edges longer, then lay them side by side and tie them together.”

One frenzy of activity later, I had a reasonable approximation of an old-fashioned stretcher. I eased myself down onto it, then pointed at two of the goblins. “You and you, pick it up by those handles.”

With specific goblins designated, there was less fighting to be the one to carry me. The two I’d designated managed to take their positions with only minor blows traded over who would be in front and who would take the rear. Once that was sorted, they hoisted me off the ground.

I could literally see the understanding sweep across their faces as the technology skill spread. I didn’t know the mechanism—was this some sort of in-built goblin magic? Were they low-level psychics in some sort of goblin gestalt? Or just natural empaths?

“Alright. Let’s take it nice and easy. Back to the village, or wherever—woaaah!”

Goblins apparently have no sense of pace, which matched their general lack of any form of chill or caution. Anyone not assigned to the pole or the litter was apparently on bushwhacking duty, and they shouted as though charging into battle as they cut through terrain almost as fast as they ran, using just teeth, claws, and their simple stone knives.

The litter-bearers ran at full-tilt behind them, and I held on for dear life as they made their best effort to bump me off in their mad dash. Somehow, I stayed on. But I felt like fried rice being tossed around and flipped above a wok. I was going to need a better way of getting around.

The upside is that we made great time, and we weren’t attacked by any forest monsters. I assume few enough of them want to be caught in the path of goblin pathfinders, lest they be cut apart and trampled like the foliage. God knows the goblins weren’t shy about making their presence known.

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We reached a sharp, rocky bluff, and the goblins surprised me by not slowing down much at all as we hit the cliff face and started climbing. I held on for dear life as the litter bearers somehow managed to balance the weight of the litter and their new king while ascending.

The climb was harrowing. But, as far as the general location went, a bluff was a sound spot for a village. Elevated, isolated, with enough trees for shelter. Plus, a commanding view of the nearby woods and easily defensible from the top—save for one slope that looked slightly shallower than the rest. But something like that could be walled off and guarded. I’d have to survey the opposite side, later. Looking out, I could see other similar bluffs, and I wondered if they also held isolated goblin villages.

I didn’t have much time to enjoy the view. After a moment’s breather, the convoy returned to their frenetic pace and charged through the brambles straight to the goblin village.

While the bluff was impressive, the village atop was less so. It was more of a tamped down copse of trees with a lot of mud, a heap of bones, another heap of droppings, and a stagnant scummy rain-water pond distressingly close to both of the previously mentioned mounds. I had a feeling I’d be putting that immunity to most toxins to the test sooner rather than later.

As we broke out of the new trail we’d carved in the underbrush, the litter-bearers ground to a halt. I, having not yet invented seatbelts, continued forward. Luckily, I landed on my head, and bounced. I tumbled into the center of the village.

The litter bearers, having realized their mistake, squawked in distress and carried the litter over, trying to wedge it back under me.

“I’m good, I’m good!” I shouted, waving them back. “We’re here, right?”

Several more goblins were present in the village. They all oggled me with open amazement as the earlier members of the tribe proceeded to mime the entire process of my discovery. Several ran off and returned with stones and sticks and set to work crafting themselves basic stabbies of their own. The knowledge really did propagate just through proximity. I panicked and grabbed the nearest goblin.

“Make sure no one brings any of that rotten fruit in here. I don’t want to blow up the whole cliff side, got it?”

The goblin made an explosion noise and spread his hands apart.

“That’s right, no bada-boom. You see anyone trying to bring one of them in here, you bite them. Got it?”

My first guardsmen gnashed his teeth and grinned and began to scrutinize the other members of the village, who, themselves, were more interested in the corpse of the canine they’d brought back. They fell on the thing, ripping and sawing at it, pulling out soft innards and shoving them directly into their wide mouths.

I thought it would make me sick, but my stomach actually started to growl and my mouth to water so profusely that drool started dripping down my chin. One of my new subjects tore off a haunch and ran it over to me, a length of intestines still in his mouth. He slurped it up like a spaghetti noodle as he handed me the haunch. Red meat must have been the choice cut, if they were giving it to me.

The goblin in me wanted to tuck in, but enough of the human remained that still thought meat ought to be cooked first. Unfortunately, I didn’t actually know how to build a fire beyond the basic theory. I’d never even gone camping without a lighter and a bag of charcoal briquettes. All those primitive survival shows I’d binged in the hospital had taught me terms, and maybe a general order to apply them while I was stuffing my face with delivered pizza in the comfort of my bed. But the specifics? Well, it just made me realize how much work I really had to do. I shrugged, and sank my teeth into the raw haunch.

It was delicious. Something about the texture bothered the still-human part of my brain, but the goblin was all about raw meat. My jaw started to work on its own, buzz-sawing through tough meat, tendon, and gristle until all I had was a picked-clean leg bone. My stomach bulged. I must have eaten a significant percentage of my own body weight in just a couple minutes of frenzied feeding fugue.

My eyes started to droop. Something about the full belly and the dappled light filtering through the canopy conspired to convince me that speed-running civilization was a tomorrow problem. I looked around the clearing, seeing that many of the goblins were wavering on their feet and looking lethargic.

I suppose a nap couldn’t hurt. But I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to sleep. Did they have beds of leaves and grass? Or did they just curl up wherever they got tired? How did they stay warm?

A pair of hands wrapped me from behind, and I was tackled to the ground. I tried to struggle, but a second goblin threw himself on top of us, and then quickly, a third.

“Betrayal!” I shouted. “I thought I was your king!” I thrashed out, trying to work my way free as more goblins leapt upon me, forcing me back down to the ground. I kicked out, and I’m pretty sure one of them bit my arm.

Several more of the goblins belly-flopped on top of the growing pile, which quickly became a cage of slender limbs and bulbous heads, and… snoring? I stopped fighting and twisted my head around. Two of the goblins in the pile were fast asleep, and it sounded like the rest were well on their way. I guess a fed goblin was a happy goblin. Now that the sudden shock of being driven to the ground and dog-piled was beginning to wear off, the fatigue returned, and I found myself drifting off in the warm buzz of the goblin mound.