Chương 12: Chapter 10: The Ironfang Tribe

When Gideon woke the next time, he was subjected to a different kind of assault: a horrible stench. Piss, shit, smoke, rot, and sweat all layered together into a choking miasma. The air was warmer and thicker, like it'd been breathed too many times already and now barely had any life left in it. He lay on rough, dirty straw inside a wooden cage. The bars were thick branches lashed together, wide enough for fingers but not arms.

His wrists were unbound now, but they still burned where the rope had rubbed the skin raw. His head pounded, but he forced himself to sit and look around at his surroundings. Half a dozen goblins shared the cage with him. They were thin, bruised, and hollow eyed. One had a swollen cheek and split lip, another clutched a mangled arm to his chest, and a third sat staring at nothing, his eyes unfocused, rocking faintly to himself. Slaves, he realized. Other slaves, he corrected. He was one of them now.

He cleared his throat.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"What is this place?" None of them answered him, or even met his gaze. One glanced his way and then looked quickly away again, as if eye contact itself might invite punishment. Fine. He would watch first, and talk later, if they changed their minds. Gideon shifted closer to the bars, sat up and focused outward. Information was survival. What he saw was, well… disappointing was the only way he could put it. He didn't know what he'd expected, but this wasn't good.

The cavern he was in was quite a bit larger than he had expected, extending far beyond their cage. The ceiling arched overhead, about 20 feet high, the rough stone blackened in places by smoke. At the far end, sunlight slanted through the main entrance, where he could see the silhouettes of guards posted just inside the mouth of the cave. The cave mouth was large, maybe ten feet tall and ten or fifteen feet wide. He counted bodies next. There were fourty, no, maybe nearer fifty goblins in total.

It was hard to get an accurate count with all of the movement. A few patrolled near the entrance, crude armor strapped to their chests and arms. Others sorted through piles of scavenged goods: bits of leather, worn weapons, scraps of cloth. Smoky fires burned in shallow pits along one side, where some goblins roasted meat on sticks. Children shrieked and chased each other between the adults' legs. Near one of the walls of the cavern was the worst sight.

A pile of waste, not just from one day but what looked like many, was stacked in a corner. Goblin droppings layered and smeared together into a reeking mound. Flies clustered there in a buzzing cloud. It sat less than fifty feet from where several wounded goblins lay on filthy hides. Gideon grimaced. He continued watching from between the cage bars, and after a short while he realized that almost half of the goblins in this tribe were either sick or had obvious wounds.

He glanced back at the pile of shit in the corner, and his nose crinkled.

"No wonder they're sick," he muttered under his breath. He watched the sick and wounded goblins more closely. Some were laying on filthy furs, while others walked or limped around the cavern as they completed one task or another. Their bandages were nothing more than strips of dirty cloth wrapped haphazardly around cuts and gashes. Blood and pus seeped through. Some wounds were swollen and angry red, the skin around them obviously hot and inflamed even from a distance.

Others coughed and had weeping sores visible as they moved about the cave. Basic hygiene and wound care would likely save most of them. This cavern, this tribe, was... underwhelming. He thought about it, and compared it to his experience in the forest. Out there, one mistake, one momentary lapse in awareness, had nearly cost him his life. Out there, every rustle in the undergrowth could be teeth and claws and hunger coming to end his life. Here, at least, there was fire. Here, there was food.

Here, the tribe's numbers would keep predators at bay. As long as the tribe survived, so would he, even as a slave. It was filthy. It was brutal. But, Gideon reasoned, it was still better than dying alone in the woods. And, as much as he hated to admit it, it wasn't like he had a choice. He was stuck here, for the foreseeable future. Might as well try to make the most of it. The other slaves in the cage with him obviously didn't see it that way. They snarled and spat whenever a guard came near.

One cursed loud enough that a bored Warrior stepped over and cracked his jaw with a spear shaft. Another refused to move when ordered to haul firewood and was dragged out, beaten, and tossed back into the cage in a heap. Even inside the cage, they whispered about escape, about revenge. Their voices were low and harsh, their eyes burning hot with hatred. Gideon sat with his back against the bars, arms resting on his knees, and stayed silent. The Warrior from earlier still flashed in his mind.

He stared at his hands, replaying the moment his knife sunk into the soft flesh under the goblins ribcage. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. He found that he was still calm and rational, despite what he'd done. That was partly what worried him so much. If he had killed a human with a knife on Earth, even in a fight to the death, he would be an absolute wreck. He'd just done the equivalent here in this new world, and he felt… nothing. Not really.

He had just done what he had to in order to stay alive and continue surviving. Had this world really changed him so much in just a few short days? Was he really losing himself so quickly? He wondered briefly about how his parents would react if they could see him now. He shuddered at the thought and just wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head in them. He stayed like that as he waited for something to happen. Eventually, heavy footsteps echoed through the cavern as someone approached the cage.

Conversations quieted. Heads turned. A shadow fell across Gideon. He looked up. The figure standing there was not a goblin. He was too large and too broad across the shoulders to be a goblin. He stood at least a full head taller than the two guards standing beside him, and his skin was a mix of green and grey, his features sharper. Old scars crisscrossed his arms and face.

He wore mismatched armor scavenged from humans and beasts, strapped together into something that somehow looked like a proper set instead of junk. Gideon swallowed and used Identify. Name:??? Race: Hobgoblin Level:??? Class:??? Health:??? | Mana:??? | Stamina:??? At least that confirmed his race was different. And like with Throk, everything that might've mattered was hidden from his view. The hobgoblin's lip curled into a faint smile as he stared into the cage at Gideon. When he spoke, metal flashed in his mouth.

Two of his canines had been capped or replaced with sharpened metal fangs.

"I am Dravak Ironfang," he said. His voice was low, rough, and carried easily across the cavern.

"This is my tribe." His gaze swept across Gideon, cold and assessing. Gideon stared back.

"Normally, something as small and weak as yourself would be killed and left to rot in the forest, but Throk told me you proved yourself capable. Do not think this means anything to me, runt. You are our slave. You will work for us. You will bleed for us. You may live if you are useful. You will die if you are not." The word slave landed in Gideon's gut like a stone. He hated it. Hated the sound, the feel of it pointed at him. But the forest had been worse. Death had been closer.

This was ugly, cruel, and unfair, but it was also something he could work with. He dipped his head slightly.

"... Fine," he said after a moment. The faint smile widened on Dravak's face.

"No curses? No oath that you will have your revenge? Good. You seem to know your place." Gideon lifted his chin as he looked up at Dravak.

"No. They won't change my situation. I'm alive. That's all that matters to me right now." He paused for a moment before swallowing and continuing.

"Let me out, please. I'm ready to work and earn my keep. And give me my furs back, if it's no trouble." The guards nearby snorted with laughter, as if the audacity of such a request was a joke in and of itself, but Dravak raised a hand and the noise cut off. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked down at Gideon.

"Why do you want your furs?"

"To cover my hands," Gideon said evenly.

"I'm ready to work. And the furs are better used on me than rotting in your shit pile. I know they aren't worth keeping for anything else." A rumble of amusement came from the hobgoblin's chest, almost a laugh. He gestured, and one of the Warriors brought Gideon's bag. Dravak opened it, pulled out the dagger, and weighed it in his hand.

"This is a fine blade," he said.

"I will keep it." Gideon ground his teeth but stayed silent. He could guess that if he demanded it back, the best case was that it would amuse them. Worst case, he would get beaten bloody or killed. The dagger was gone. He just had to accept it and move on. Deep breath. Dravak tipped the bag and let the rest spill onto the cave floor. His eyes moved to Gideon's crude hides. He prodded them with his foot, flipping them over. Jagged cuts. Spots where meat still clung to the inside. Uneven thickness.

Most of them were slightly better than his first try with the rabbit, but that wasn't saying much. Dravak chuckled, a short rough sound.

"You can have these… furs," he said at last. There was a slight hesitation before the last word that made Gideon's ears twitch. He gestured again, and a guard stepped to the cage door. It opened with a creak. Gideon stood slowly and moved out of the cage to stand before Dravak. The ragged hides were on the ground at Gideon's feet. He bent down and picked up one of the larger pieces. He looked at Dravak, unsure if he should ask the next question.

"Speak," Dravak said.

"I see the question in your eyes. What is it?"

"Can I use the dagger to cut these?" Gideon asked. He looked at Dravak, unblinking. The two guards next to him bristled and lowered their spears, pointing the tips at Gideon's neck. Gideon raised his hands, eyes going wide. Dravak just looked at him, considering. After a tense moment, he grunted out a laugh, turned the dagger around in his hand, and presented it, hilt first, to Gideon. The two goblins looked like they wanted to protest, but quickly thought better of it.

"Thanks," he said as he gently took the dagger. He crouched down and began to cut his furs into strips. When he was done, he spun the dagger around, same as Dravak had done, and handed it back to him. He then bent down and bound his newly cut fur strips as well as he could around his palms and fingers. They weren't gloves, not by a long shot, but they would put a layer of something between his skin and the filth. Dravak watched him with a mixture of curiousity and amusement.

Then, before anyone could give him orders, Gideon stood and walked across the cavern. The goblin who'd opened the cage door looked like he wanted to shout something at Gideon, but Dravak held his hand up to forestall him. His head turned as he tracked Gideon's movement across the cavern. A bucket sat near the reeking waste pile in the corner. Gideon picked it up, moved over to the pile, set it down, and bent over. Before he could think twice about what he was about to do, he reached forward and began scooping.

The fur on his hands helped a little, but not nearly enough, and he gagged from the smell. Silence hung in the cavern for half a heartbeat. Then the goblins exploded with sound.

"Look at him!" someone jeered.

"The slave is crawling in shit like a worm!"

"Not a worm," another said as he howled with laughter.

"A grub!" The word caught in the cavern like dry grass with a spark.

"Grub!"

"Grub!"

"Grub!" They chanted it now, pointing and laughing as Gideon continued his self-imposed task. The name ricocheted off the stone walls, growing louder as more voices added to it. Gideon clenched his jaw but didn't stop. It was better to be mocked and alive than proud and dead, he tried to remind himself. He heard a soft chime echo in his mind, and ignored it. However, as he worked, the faint shimmer that had appeared in the lower corner of his vision kept catching his eye. He groaned internally and focused on it.

[System Notice] [Due to consistent external designation, your name has been updated.] New Name: Grub His chest tightened. He opened his Status window to double check. [Status] Name: Grub Race: Goblin Level: 2... The rest blurred. Gideon was gone. That name, the last piece of his old life, had been wiped from the System. Erased and replaced with mockery. He stared blankly at the System screen before him.