What happened next wasn’t particularly interesting. You know, scan the perimeter, set up camp, that kind of stuff. I used up all of my extracts healing Grunt and myself, since we were both a bit worse for wear after the battle, and I tried to figure out just why those wooden mutts didn’t follow us into this clearing. Looking around, the only thing I could see that really seemed any different from the rest of the woods were the exotic looking blue flowers which covered the ground.
I knew that some creatures had aversions to certain plants or herbs. Vampires didn’t like garlic, werewolves didn’t like monkshood, that kind of thing. Perhaps these blue flowers repelled them, somehow? Whatever the case, they seemed harmless to us, so I gathered as many as I could and used vines to tie them around the perimeter, hopefully fortifying our position even further. I also took a large number of samples for future testing. Perhaps I could weaponize them?
After that, we slept. I mean, we were exhausted even before that big ass fight, and now, we were positively tuckered. Rather than posting a watch, I set some fairly simple traps using gunpowder, set to wake us should anything try to breach our perimeter. It wasn’t perfect, but we both needed a full night’s rest after our ordeal.
“Fithle... thomthing’s wrong.”
I awoke, groggy, to the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling my name. Actually... scratch that. There was a hint of familiarity to that voice - I just couldn’t place it.
It was then that I remembered the events of the previous day, and jumped to my feet, ready to deal with this intruder.
Standing before me was an orc... but not the orc I was expecting. This orc, while definitely as tall as Grunt, was way too thin and gangly. In fact, I would say that he seemed like the thinnest orc I had ever seen. His face had the signature orcish tusks, but was pockmarked with acne, and his limbs were as thin as a ten-foot pole. The strangest thing I noticed about him were the strange blue splotches covering his body, like some kind of rash.
However, despite his bizarre appearance, there was something distinctly familiar about him.
“Grunt, buddy... wake up. We have company.” Without taking my eyes off the stranger, I patted to my right where Grunt should have been sleeping, but felt nothing.
“Fithle, ith me!”
I could barely make out his words around a thick lisp, but I caught the insinuation.
“Uh... Grunt?”
I frantically looked around for my barbarian friend, but he was nowhere in sight.
“What the heck did you do with my friend?” I asked, getting slightly panicky. Was this orc some kind of powerful sorcerer? Had he done something with Grunt? He would have to be strong indeed to have done away with the chosen of Gruumsh, but it didn’t feel right. The creature sighed with exasperation.
“Fithle, you idiot. I told you! I’m Grunt! I thaid thomting wath wrong, remember?”
I peered closely at the strange orc in front of me, suddenly realizing why he seemed so familiar. First of all, he was wearing Swiggybooze. No force in the cosmos would be able to take Swiggy away from Grunt. The second thing I noticed was that Daddy’s Warbringer was sheathed on the strange orc’s back, and seemed to be quite a burden for his weak frame. Finally, I looked into his eyes, and there, I could definitely see that he was still the same Grunt I knew. Well... more or less. More less then more, I think. Whatever.
“Grunt? What the heck happened to you?” I was standing by now, and the ground felt inexplicably hard beneath my feet, but I ignored it for the time being.
“Well, it theems that these flowerth have had thome unexplained effect on my phythiology.”
Something else was wrong.
“Grunt... how do you even know what physiology means?” I was going to add “You’re a moron” to that, but I decided against it. Grunt was silent for a long moment, and I could see his face scrunch up in thought (which was something I can honestly say I have never seen before). Then, something seemed to click inside him, and he let out a yell.
“Aaahhh! I’m thmart! Why am I thmart? I’m not thupposed to be thmart!” He grabbed both sides of his head and flailed slightly as he lamented. “Fithle... I’m thinking of things! Big things! Things like... morality and Philothophy! Gahh... my brain ith full of thought! Get it out, get it ooooout!”
I can sincerely say that I was at a total loss as I watched the smarter, weaker Grunt thrash upon the ground, or smack his head against trees and rocks, as if he could bash away the unwanted intellect. Which, in retrospect, he probably could, but not in a good way. Once a sizable gash began to form on his forehead, I decided to intervene. Approaching him from behind, I took his hand in my hoof and tried to talk to him.
“Grunt, look. Whatever this is, I’m sure-”
Wait a second.
Wait a Second.
Did I just say hoof?
As in... horse feet? That kind of hoof?
No... no it can’t be.
I slowly shifted my gaze to where my hand should have been, only to learn that yes, indeed, it could be.
Instead of a hand, I had a hoof. A freaking hoof. As in, no fingers. Hardened calcium buildup. Fetlocks. Oh gods... I had a hoof, and I noticed that it had that same splotchy rash as Grunts body.
Here’s something else about Goblins that you’re going to need to know. We have a genetic fear of horses. Seriously, it’s more of a phobia then just a simple fear. Those quadrupedal monstrosities terrify us in any form, from Centaurs to donkeys. Anything even resembling a horse has the tendency to send all but the bravest of goblins running and screaming like frightened children. So, perhaps you can understand why I would be a little apprehensive about what I saw sticking out of my arm.
And my other arm, by the way. That one had a hoof as well.
With trepidation, I looked down at my otherwise mostly unchanged body, and saw that my feet had been replaced as well.
The good news is Grunt was no longer smashing his head off of things... he was much too busy watching me freak out.
“HOOVES! Freaking HOOVES! Why the hell do I have hooves?!?” Now it was my turn to cause myself some bodily harm, bashing said hooves off of the same rocks and trees that were already somewhat stained from Grunts earlier attempts to stupify himself. As this act only seemed to serve to cause me pain, I tried to run to the other side of the clearing, for my bags, only to learn that Hooves really were not made for Bipedal movement. Later on, one of our group members would often point out the Irony that the hooves had, in fact, saved my life. I try not to talk to her when she does that.
As I hit the ground, I heard a soft whistling noise and felt a sharp sting as something grazed my cheek. It’s true, I’ll admit, that had I not tripped over my new hooves, I would be dead. But really, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.
“Grunt! Get down! Sniper!” I shouted as I scrambled to put a rock between myself and my unknown attacker, even as another projectile caught my hat, tugging it from its sacred place atop my head. I could see Grunt also diving for cover, as yet another missile came barreling towards him.
“Warths Clareeth!”
“Who?” I shouted back, confused.
“Clar... umm, Ruthka?”
“Ruska? I don’t even know! She’s your bear, shouldn’t you be keeping tabs on her?”
“I’ve been thomewhat preoccupied!”
Accentuating his point, a quarrel rebounded from the rock beside his head, and landed in the dirt. It looked like a crossbow bolt. At least I knew what was shooting at us now.
Then, for a while, nothing happened. after several moments, I dared to peek my head over the cover... Only to pull it back as another bolt was launched towards my face.
“Great. Now what?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Well, we thould be thafe here for a while - theeth rocks are providing uth with full concealment, granting uth a mathive bonuth to out AThee.”
...
“What?”
“Our Armour Clath... oh never mind. They cant thoot uth if they cat’n thee uth.”
“Now that I understand.”
And so, we waited there. And we waited. And we waited. We still had yet to actually eat anything since we arrived in this place, and the hunger was really starting to get to me, growling loudly at random intervals and making me feel weak. Every now and then, I would test whether or not the sniper was about by peeking over the cover and pulling my head back right away. I would have used a rock or something, but sadly, I lacked hands.
Sometimes, when we’re in danger, we have the strangest priorities. Right now, for example, I really wanted my hat. It was an old and ragged hat, and I had been wearing it since I’d starting adventuring. There had been more than one occasion in the past where I had nearly lost my life trying to recover my iconic headgear, and I would never leave it behind.
Unfortunately, it was just out of reach right now. I tried to use a stick to pull it closer, only to remember that I lacked digits at the moment. If I were to try and break cover, I would undoubtedly take a quarrel for my efforts, and I didn’t really want that. At the moment, it seemed as though my precious hat was so close, and yet, so far away. I shed a single tear at the thought that I may never recover it.
Just then... it shifted slightly. What was that? Was it the wind? No... there was no real wind in the clearing. So how did my hat move? As I watched, it wiggled again, and then started to creep towards me.
Was it possible that my hat, under the influence of these mysterious blue flowers, had developed sentience? Was it trying to come closer to me? I had always secretly wished that my hat could have a life of its own, and a few of the scorch marks on its brim had resulted from testing in that very field of study.
Soon, the hat had reached me, bumping against my be-hooved leg, not once, but twice, as though it were trying to get my attention.
“Umm... hello?” I ventured to speak with it, feeling more then a bit silly as I did so. “So, what. Are you, like, a living hat now?”
Unsurprisingly, the hat didn’t answer, instead bumping against my leg one more time. This time, however, I could feel that there seemed to be something inside the hat that had some weight to it.
I tried to pick it up, forgetting once again my predicament. With a sigh, I squeezed the top of the hat between my two hand-hooves (fore hooves?) and lifted it from the ground.
“Hey, Grunt? I think I found Ruska.”
Grunt and I weren’t the only ones affected by the flowers. Ruska, it seemed, had been transformed from a scary, raging grizzly, to an adawable wittle kawaii desu grizzly cub. It seems that when my hat was knocked from my head, it had landed on top of her, hiding her from sight. Well... I suppose this means we're not about to be saved by a surprise visit from a snarling bear, after all. Shame, that.
“Oh my goth, Ruthka!”
Following an unspoken command from her master, the Ruska cub began plodding towards Grunt... and right into the open.
“Ruthka, No!”
Remember when I said that no one hurts Ruska? Well... try adding to that the fact that Ruska was now particularly vulnerable (and ridiculously cute). Grunt might currently not be in any shape to fight, so he did the only thing he could think of to do, Jumping from cover and covering Ruska’s small body with his own. A small bolt barely grazed him as he covered her.
“Don’t thoot her! Don’t thoot Ruthka!” Grunt pleaded with our unknown assailant, and, miraculously, wasn’t shot for his troubles.
Grunt simply stood there for a while, taking a protective posture over his altered friend. For a long while, nothing happened. Did asking nicely actually work? I was baffled. I should try saying please the next time something was trying to kill me. “Please, Mr. Dragon, Don’t turn me into a pile of smouldering goblin guts!” Perhaps this ‘begging for my life’ thing actually has merit? Then again, it’s never worked for me before.
A minute passed. Then five minutes. Then, I lost track of time, because I don’t have one of those nifty watch things. Neither me nor Grunt moves a muscle, as though afraid the mysterious sniper would suddenly change their mind.
Eventually bored, I decided to test the waters.
“So, uh... yeah. This mean you’re gonna stop trying to kill us now, or what? ‘Cuz, I’ll be honest, I’ve really gotta pee.”
“Don’t antagonithe them, Fithle!”
“Okay, are you sure you’re still Grunt? Besides, I’m pretty sure that they are the ones antagonizing us right now. Last I checked, this is a new world, and I’m pretty sure we haven’t been here long enough to make enemies just yet.”
“Maybe tho, but they’re the oneth with the crothbow, not thooting at uth right now.”
“Ya know Grunt... you are not supposed to be the voice of reason in a situation like this.”
“Yeah, I know, right? That’th kind of thcary.”
We waited another indeterminate amount of time, still receiving no answer (or bladder relief, for that matter). Eventually, I just couldn’t take it any longer.
“Look... uh, whoever you are. I’m sure you have better things to do then keep us pinned here, right? And we have better things to do than be pinned. So, how about we parlay? Work this out like gentlemen? Maybe take a short bathroom break?”
“Later you can take a leak. It’s time to run, and not to speak!”
‘Huh... so it’s a girl. And she speaks in rhyme. That’s new. And what kind of accent is that?
Wait, what does she mean, time to run?’
And then, I learned exactly what she meant, as the trees behind us parted, revealing the largest, scariest, most messed-up-looking fatherloving bear I have ever seen. Remember how I was talking about how big Ruska is? Well, this thing was slightly more than twice her regular size. It’s body was a darn, almost translucent midnight blue, and throughout its coat were small specks of light which distinctly reminded me of stars. Speaking of stars, by the way, there was a massive five pointed star right smack in the middle of its forehead. This thing wasn’t a bear, it was a god damn devourer of worlds.
The good thing is that I didn’t have to use the bathroom any longer.
One thing about Grunt hadn’t changed as he drew the greatsword from his back... and nearly dropped it from the weight. The bear-monster simply roared.
“Fithle... I can’t thwing my thord! It’s too heavy!”
“Well then, my friend, I think it’s time to follow our exotic sniper’s advice.”
“Meaning?”
“RUN!”
I scrambled to my... err, hooves, with some difficulty, and soon I was scrambling to the edge of the clearing. Remember when I said that hooves were simply not made for bipedal running? Once again, I found myself flat on my face. Desperately, I scrambled up onto all fours, most likely looking ridiculous, but not really caring at this point. I could move a bit more easily this way, but my body, despite having new footgear, really wasn’t made for this kind of running. At least I could keep my balance, but my movement was awkward, and much too slow for my tastes.
As I passed my bags, I didn’t even stop to pick them up. Instead, I bit into the leather strap with my super sharp Goblin Teeth, dragging them behind me. Wow, this was uncomfortable. Here is me, hunched over and trying to run awkwardly on all fours, with all of my worldly possessions hanging from my mouth. Smelling like piss. Seriously, not my best day.
I chanced a look behind me to see Grunt, also looking slightly awkward, in clothing that was quite a bit too big for him, carrying both a baby Ruska and a sword that was nearly as big as he was now. Closing in on him fast was the demon bear, its eyes bloodshot and mouth frothing.
Just then, Grunt seemed struck by inspiration. He whipped himself around, facing the charging behemoth as it lumbered towards him, a grin spreading across his freckled face (which would seriously take some getting used to).
“Thop, beatht, and behold! The power... of D’AWWWWW!”
With that, he thrust the baby Ruska forward in his arms, presenting her cuteness to the rampaging monster.
“Ruthka! Activate maximum cuteneth!”
I have to assume that Ruska must have done exactly as commanded (I couldn’t actually see her very well from my hiding place), because the monster stopped its charge. It took a few tentative steps towards the adorable cub, sniffing it with enough force to rustle the nearby brush, and then nuzzling her gently. For about the fifth time that day, I was at a loss for words. So this thing was really just a big softie?
“The normally docile Ursa appears to be sick. I wonder what’s afflicting it?”
The voice of our earlier assailant sounded nearby, but I still couldn’t see her, so I kept my attention focussed on what she called the Ursa. While I’m no expert, it did look rather sick. Its eyes (whose irises were disturbingly humanoid) were tinged yellow, and bloodshot. There was a rather large buildup on snot on its nose, and the saliva around its mouth seemed a tad... foamy. But, if it had rabies, it wouldn’t have stopped, would it?
“What’s the matter, big guy? Why are you tho angry?” Of course, Grunt actually is something of an expert, at least concerning bears. After all, he had been taking care of Ruska for as long as I’ve known him... and that’s been a long time. He always seemed to know when something was wrong with her, so it’s no surprise that he would also be good with other bears.
I call him the Bear Whisperer.
He stroked the creature’s large muzzle a few times, wiping away some of the rather nasty foam from its lips. “You look thick (I think he meant sick). Thith dothent look like anything I’ve theen, though. What happened? What made you like thith?”
“What the hell is going on! Why haven’t you destroyed him, beast?” A new voice, echoing through the woods. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, all at the same time. Not nearly the same as Gruumsh’s voice, mind you. I assumed this was a more mundane trickery.
“Thow yourthelf! What did you do to thith poor bear?”
“Actually, I think I’ll stay out of sight, for now. And as for what I did... see for yourself. Ursa! Sit!”
On command, the bear monster sat. Even despite its size, this would not have been all that unusual in and of itself, as it’s hardly impossible to train even monstrous creatures. Grunt had Ruska, after all. However, there was something about the bears expression that I found off-putting as it sat. Almost as if it were sitting against its will.
“Stand!” The bear stood back up. “Now, hind legs only!” It stood to its full height, its head nearly reaching the canopy above. “Dance!” On command, the creature began to dance, in a fashion similar to how I’ve seen Ruska dance for Grunt’s accordion in the past. Once again, the main difference was that Ruska would always dance because she wanted to... and trust me, there have been times when she didn’t want to. When Ruska didn’t want to dance, she wouldn’t. End of story. This creature actually looked... embarassed? Could a bear look embarrassed? This one did, anyway. Maybe it was slightly sentient?
“It’s a simple spell, usually, but here it seems that magic works differently than home. I had to supplement my usual spells with some local herbs and poisons. Just enough to dull its senses, mind you, and weaken its resolve.”
“What you have done is without forgiveness! Show yourself, witch, that I might end this!”
Wow... she’s good at that.
“Now, that is hardly an incentive to reveal myself. Has that ever worked for you before, Zebra?”
Zebra? What’s a zebra?
“What you’ve done ith monthterous! Thet him right!”
“Well, well. You’re one to talk, orc. Do you not also keep a pet bear about? That one right there, in fact?”
“That’th different! Ruthka’s my friend, not a thlave!”
“That’s rich. Really. I can sense the magical connection between you two. She’s as much a tool to you as this beast is to me. A broken tool, at the moment, but still a tool. Arguing with me makes you a hypocrite.”
Grunt looked shocked. “No... no! Ith different! Ruthka -”
“This conversation’s boring me now. I really don’t care. Beast! Kill them!”
Tell me something: What do you think is the best way to bring a philosophical discussion on the morality of free will to a screeching halt? I personally have to say “killer giant bear” has to be pretty high on that list.