The ceiling of stone, he stared at it again for what felt like the ten millionth time. By now he had memorized the texture and look of it, he could close his eyes and picture it perfectly in his head. When he got bored, unable to sleep, he would unfocus his eyes and find all sorts of shapes in it, trying his best to find something new that will stimulate him enough to call the monotonous task of falling asleep fun. He hated it.
His back ached, the furs underneath it provided no semblance of warmth or comfort on the equally hard and boring stone under him. He could think of equally many things he hated about this pile of furs that tickled his bare back into rashes, but he wanted to save his energy.
Sitting up, he was reminded of the stench of the cavern he slept in. The smell of dust, dirt, blood and shit were all too common in this hell hole. His compatriots, goblins as he and they were, aren't the cleanest humanoids. Lucky were the days when a group would wander in from a hunt that they chased through a river, waning the pathetic smell of their backs.
Standing up, he patted the dust and dirt off of himself, before heading toward the only exit of the sleeping cavern. Hanging a left the next chance he got, a far less smelly and far more exciting room was beheld to him. Busted armour and weapons lay in front of him, dents, chips and scratches covered every square foot of whatever material each gear was made of. Stepping inside, his situation of clothing became stark, other than a fur skirt and a few straps to help keep it up, he was naked.
Not much was needed to cover the body of a goblin, being only a few feet in height at most, typically frail and thin, only an animal or two were needed to create gear. That, or only one set of human's gear was needed to create two sets of gear for a goblin. This strategy, although quite logical and obvious, was not employed by this group of around two dozen oblivious and idiot goblins. Instead, each goblin claimed their own gear in this very room each day, first come first serve, only to end up back here the second they return with food.
In the back left corner of the room was likely the best piece, sought out by each goblin and claimed first thing in the morning. The aforementioned piece of gear was simply a small gambeson, no doubt originally owned by some halfling man that died long ago. The simple set of padded armour was a dirty dark green, undoubtedly far darker than intended, due to the dirt and mud stains that cover the thing. Cuts and scratches lined its surface, one particularly large one marked itself in the middle of the back, clearly the defining blow that landed it in this group's stash.
He never had the chance to put it on, he never awoke early enough or was fast enough to get a grab of it. But now, it was in his grasp, everyone was asleep and tired from an extended day of hunting, but he was awake and full of energy. Putting it on, he was reminded of the stench and idiocy of his kin, it felt like it was in disrepair and about to fall apart any moment, not to mention the smell and look of the thing. All that would change soon though, he would make sure it was well maintained from now on. The gambeson did much better work at covering his naked body than the fur skirt did, his entire torso, arms and legs were no longer exposed to the elements. It wont do him much good to protect himself against a dagger or sword to the back, as evidenced by the hole in it, but it was far better than a fur skirt. With it donned, he searched for a weapon. There were many items available to him, daggers, swords both long and short, greatswords and everything with its own blunt and slashing variants. To him, everything was relatively one size bigger than he needed, but the stash was not short of halfling and dwarven possession. Picking through a pile of dulled and dented swords, he grasped the hard wooden handle of a rusty stiletto. The long dagger was the length of his forearm and the width of two of his fingers, likely the possession of a human rouge who thought themselves sneaky enough to sneak inside and assassinate the group.
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With the dagger in hand, he made his way out of the stash and back into the sleeping quarters. His bare feet patted across the cavern floor until he took his weight out of his steps. Anyone without darkvision would not be able to see or hear him approach. Arriving in the rancid cavern, full of the unconscious bodies of his kin, he walked up to the nearest one. He did not know what drove him to do it, but he only saw this goblin in front of him as something that needed erasing, killing, in the most efficient way possible. It was like something tickled the back of his head, encouraging it and asking for it, he answered.
Driving the sharp point of the stiletto through the eye socket of the goblin, it stopped moving immediately. He halted his motions, trying to stem the feeling of excitement, preventing it from escaping his lungs in twisted laughter.
Perhaps it was the hate of their monotonous and meaningless routine, maybe he was simply trying to disassociate from goblins. Or, maybe it was some carnal instinct that if he killed enough of them, he might just become something far less boring than a cave goblin.
With one dead, he could move onto the next. The process was all the same, stab them through their eye, stem the excitement, move on. As he repeated the process it became smoother, faster, easier. With his feet and stiletto drenched in blood, he left behind the dozens of dead bodies he once called kin. Heading back to the stash, his gambeson felt tighter on his body, it was loose not five minutes earlier.
Searching through the assortment of armors, he found a metal helmet. Its heavy iron making was dented and scratched in all sorts of ways. The helmet was largely once piece, with very few separate parts, consisting of a metal neck guard, visor, and main head piece. Loosely fitting it over his head, he closed the visor. His eyes strained to see through the extremely small holes that dotted the visor, it would be a pain to spot anything smaller than a rabbit. Not a single inch of his stone grey goblinoid head was visible, and it had the added benefit of protecting his throat and skull.
Next to worry about were his hands and feet, they were the last remaining proofs of his blood heritage. The gambeson ended at the wrists and ankles, showing his frail appendages. Perhaps if he trimmed his nails and washed up he could pass as some sort of half blood halfling half-orc person. Doubtful, he searched around for some sort of covering. Finding nothing but a pair of mismatched boots and gloves that were too big for him currently. He glanced down at his torso, patting the gambeson. It had certainly grown tighter after all the killing he did, and he doubted that it was the gambeson that changed sizes. Pocketing the gloves and putting on the boots, he decided to hold onto them and grow into them later.
He was outfitted, pending some buffing out, polishing and definitely some scrubbing, he was ready to brave the wilderness alone. The walk to the entrance of the cave system was not a long one, it went through many twists and turns, even a claustrophobic crawl space. Once he finished crawling, he was met with the sounds of crickets and the smell of fresh clean air.
Overlooking the forest at the foot of the mountain he once called home, he could see his destination. A human settlement, a small town with thick wooden walls that stands tall in the forest. Even if he must sneak in and avoid interaction at all times, it would be worth it to stay there just for the stimulation and star filled ceiling. Who knew, maybe he could continue to grow and fully pass as a human in the future.
Stepping down the mountain, it was a short and practiced trip to enter the forest. The ground underneath him was turned into a small animal path by the frequent use of the goblins. Following said path was typically just another part of a boring day, but now, being alone gave it a new meaning. A forest surrounded him on all sides, blocking his vision from all prey and predators without a group two dozen strong to dissuade them. It was an exhilarating thought, that anything could jump out and grab him, tear him apart and gobble him up. Clenching his stiletto with iron grip, he walked soundlessly through the forest.
The path in front of him turned to the right, leading him to a stream of water. By following this, he figured he could arrive at the human settlement without getting lost. Following the stream was quite easy, it became effortless once the stream widened into a small river. His journey might take a few days, he hoped in his heart that he would encounter something exciting.