DD1 ASC - Chapter 16 - Memories

The goblin could finally remember the war. He found it funny how the memories had slowly come back to him, first as a trickle and then as a flood, neatly slotting into place in his mind filling a vacant spot that he never knew was there. The old thoughts, although new to him, gave purpose to his once shallow instincts. One moment his entire life was dedicated to eating, breeding and killing the great enemy, and in the next, he remembered why. He ate so that he could become a strong soldier, he bred so that there would be more goblins to take his place when he fell, and he killed the great enemy because they were at war.

Why they were at war, he couldn’t remember yet, but now he knew that if there were enough goblins in the nest, then he would be able to remember the things that he had never forgotten. The memories brought with them more than just purpose; they also brought with them skills. Not the same skills that came with his species class like [Eat Anything] or [Breed Anything], but the mystical knowledge of how to do things. Things like making leather.

The goblin didn’t particularly enjoy making leather. It was a physically demanding task that was hard work on his wiry muscles and sensitive nose. Worse, he was surrounded by things that he wanted to eat but could not, not unless he wanted to risk the ire of the stick wielding overseer. A particularly ugly goblin with a poor sense of humour who was quick to bash anyone who stared too long at any of the reagents necessary to the tanning process. Still, as unpleasant as the work was, it was all for the war effort, so he endured. Returning each day to the leather hut to scrape flesh from the animal hides, before stretching and soaking them in the brain, piss and bark barrels in that order.

The memories that guided him through his work were so much clearer now. Where before he fumbled with his tools, constantly distracted by his hunger or tumescence, now he held his tools in a stable grip as with practised efficiency, he and the other leatherworking goblins produced leather for the tribe’s artisans to turn into stiff-looking armour. With every birth in the nest, things got a little clearer, his hands a little more steady and his distractions a little less pressing, a feeling that he knew he shared with everyone else in their little village.

He had only been here for a little under a week, and already he could say that his new nest was so much better than his old one, this nest was bigger, and for a goblin, size meant everything. While it was still unfortunately made from the derelict bones of the enemies' abandoned structures, he and the other goblins were all doing their best to remove the enemies' stink from the wood. Covering their new home in fine layers of goblin shit to ward away the enemies’ haughty noses as they prepared their camp for the war. He spared an idle thought for the fate of his old nest, and he wondered for a moment if they had finished coating that nest would the two enemies with the golden light and the big stick still have come to kill them all. Ultimately it didn’t matter; this new nest was strong, and if the enemy returned, sticks and light wouldn’t be enough to stop the valiant goblins from doing their duty.

As a result of its rapidly increasing size, there was never enough food in the nest. No matter how much they managed to hunt from the mother forest, most of the meat they gathered went to the breeders, who were, fortunately, all pregnant again with the next generation of goblins. As a lowly tanner, the goblin was only entitled to the scraps that the hunters brought back to camp. Their great enemy turned into mere prey as they were dragged kicking and screaming in their foul evil tongue all the way to the butcher’s block.

Already he had grown by leaps and bounds, his level rocketing from 2 to 4, and he could feel the changes that 5 brought with it on the horizon. He was still low levelled for a goblin; the hunters of the first and second generations had nearly reached 20 and were eagerly anticipating the new skill that their rank up would bring them.

He snuck his spindly hand into the barrel of mashed brains where the peeled alabaster skin of the enemy lay soaking just below the slurry’s surface, where the fats in the brains slowly softened the hide, a crucial step in the process. He discreetly brought a handful of the delicious grey pink substance to his mouth, earning himself an unexpected and painful thwack over the head. The green skinned culprit stood behind him silently triumphant, momentarily paused in his circular patrol of the cramped hut. His one job to ensure through the might of his sturdy stick that he and the other leather workers didn't eat all of the brains and uncured hides that were stashed alluringly in the room.

He bared his fangs in open challenge, letting out a low menacing hiss as was customary in these sorts of altercations. To not do so would be to volunteer yourself as meat for the pot during the next lean time, something that no sane goblin would do. The enforcer did the same, pointedly declining to relinquish the advantage of his big stick as the two goblins prepared to brawl inside the hut.

Their audience of fellow goblins stamped their feet and hammered their clawed fists against the wooden barrels in the room. The tempo of their improvised drums rising to meet the racing beat of his proud goblinoid heart. The drums abruptly fell silent, and they lunged for each other. The stick flashing through the air in a downward arc, catching him hard on the shoulder. His entire left arm going numb from the blow as he stepped inside the overseer's reach. His needlelike fangs finding flesh as he bit down into the ugly goblin’s shoulder. Something he found no joy in as he was going for his foe's narrow neck. When he was thrown off moments later after receiving a series of painful gouges from the overseer's claws, his mouth was full of delicious tasting green meat. Which he made sure to swallow only after making protracted eye contact with the overseer.

As [Eat Anything] filled the goblin with strength, his stick wielding foe roared in fury. His warbling cry reverberating through the small chamber as the overseer raised his club high again as he leapt across the room intent on crushing his skull beneath his stout authoritarian stick. A part of him yearned to flee or cower, but instead, he found himself jumping forwards to meet the overseer's flying charge as the two goblins collided in mid-air above the tanning barrels and their awed crowd of wide-eyed kin. As their limbs tangled, his claws found purchase in green flesh, digging deep into the overseer's stomach as the stick came down thrice in rapid succession. Ribs, hip and knee all blossoming with pain as they fell to the ground with the overseer straddling him. Together they violently crashed into a rickety table that immediately collapsed under their combined weight as he lay on the ground, unable to stand on his injured leg or crawl with his one functioning arm as the overseer continued to rain down strikes with the stick upon him, incensed by the handful of the overseers bloody flesh in his palm.

He had put up a good showing for his level so the beating didn't last for too long, and when he finally had enough feeling in his legs to stand again, he realised that something was wrong. The leather hut was now empty, the barrel of precious brain mush abandoned, and vulnerable to any goblin brave enough to eat his fill. He knew the war effort could spare it, so he didn’t hesitate and took his time enjoying the delicious meal as he recovered from his beating, the nutritious food speeding up his skill enhanced recovery. He thought that he could hear something in the distance, but with the fuzziness in his head, he struggled to focus on it. Instead, he put all of his energy into spooning the mashed brains into his gullet.

Name:

Species: Goblin

Age: 0

HP: 10/40

SP: 36/40

MP: 0/0

Strength: 0

Dexterity: 3

Vitality: 4

Intelligence: 0

Willpower: 0

Charisma: 0

Class: Feral Goblin - Level 4

Breed Anything - Level 3

Eat Anything - Level 4

Breed Anything level 3 - When implanting your parasitic offspring in a suitable host, your offspring will benefit from an increased rate of levelling and growth until they reach this skill’s level.

Eat Anything level 4 - You are able to derive nutrition from any form of biological matter without suffering the ill effects of food poisoning, contracting diseases or foodborne parasites. In addition, you may convert 1 pound of biological material into HP, SP, or MP at a 1 to (skill level) ratio.

His HP had just about crept up to the double digits when he decided to finally exit the hut. His stomach bloated and protruding, proudly displaying his triumph over the foolish overseer who had left the brain barrel undefended. Maybe now the elders of the first generation would see fit to give him a stick so that he could patrol the leatherworking hut instead, as clearly, their current choice was not up to the task. As the creaking door opened, he winked his one good eye in confusion, the other still painfully swollen shut, for what he saw in the middle of the nest made no sense.

[Spidersnake level ??]

The creature was exactly what it sounded like. A long chitinous snake 18 feet from tip to tail with 8 thin spider legs branching out from a single point along its midsection. Its head was predominantly that of a snake’s, resembling that of a blunted arrowhead only with a shiny green carapace and lacking in binocular vision. Instead its overly large forehead was dominated by countless compound eyes, blinking irregularly making for a truly unsettling sight.

The spidersnake was an ambush predator, poorly suited to a straight up brawl as it lacked the speed and stamina to chase fleeing prey. Instead, it would use its thin, almost transparent webs to sense for motion beneath its nest before it would suddenly descend lightning fast from the forest canopy, pinning its prey beneath its vast bulk as it pumped them full of its paralytic venom. Many a goblin had been caught unaware by this creature and died painfully as a result, which was why they gave its territory such a wide berth on all of their hunts. How the monster had made its way to their home was a mystery to him.

While seeing such a creature in the middle of the nest was extremely disconcerting, to see it tear its way through their best warriors was absolutely terrifying. Even with its higher level, the snake was moving way too fast, its bites pulping flesh when really its long fangs should only leave deep puncture wounds accentuated by spidering black veins as the monster's venom worked its way through its victim. He watched on in mute horror as a brave goblin of the second generation charged the beast, wielding a boar spear looted from the great enemy like a lance. The goblin screamed a warbling cry of rage as it plunged the metal blade up to the guard in the animal’s body, its chitinous carapace that had deflected their flint weapons so well parting like butter beneath the forged metal.

Thick ichorous blood pumped out of the wound, welling up around the head of the spear. The goblin tried to pull it out, to ready it for another strike, but the spidersnake reared up, taking the wooden haft out of the goblin’s reach. Flint arrows continuously pinged off its carapace, some precious few finding the joints in its segmented natural armour where they penetrated, causing more ichor to flow. The creature moved erratically, the combination of eight spider legs and a snake's tail allowing it to drastically alter its mode of movement at a moment's notice. Its jerking motions kept catching goblin warriors off guard. Its fangs penetrating the goblins’ comparatively small bodies, those lucky enough to survive the bites having to suffer through their limbs locking up in a rictus ball of pain as the creatures venomous bite did its grisly work.

Finally, after dozens of deaths, the spidersnake slowed before finally stopping. The creature rolling onto its back as it began to vibrate. Each of its spider legs curling up into a ball and then rapidly extending and contracting several times a second as its snake's tail and body thrashed hard against the ground. The surviving goblins stepped back and watched the creature, wary of a trap as it performed this violent unorthodox dance in the middle of what was supposed to be a battle.

The goblin hero who had first plunged his spear into the monster's body confidently strode forwards towards the creature, seemingly unconcerned by the beasts unexplained thrashing as he hefted a large flint axe high above its head. Then it exploded.

With a deafening thunderclap, the spidersnakes body erupted in a fountain of gore, sending fragmented pieces of chitin flying in all directions, completely shredding the brave goblin with the axe as chitinous shards ripped through the gathered crowd. Screams of pain and anguish were everywhere, as goblins lay dead and dying studded with shrapnel from the exploded creature.

The goblin looked around him at the carnage, seeing the survivors quickly rush about amongst those injured by the blast. Flint blades in their green hands as they quickly began murdering the wounded goblins, reclaiming the experience for themselves so they could better serve in the war effort. He realised then with his one good arm that he had better draw a weapon lest anyone mistake him for someone too damaged by the blast to make a speedy recovery, and with a hastily retrieved sharp rock in his hand, he set about murdering his former comrades.

As he wet his sharp rock with the blood of his own kin and found himself finally level to 5 as a result. The goblin allowed himself to savour the moment, a wide toothy smile on his face. Not just because he had finally bashed in the brains of the much-hated enforcer, but because he knew that the nest would recover from this setback stronger than ever. With the breeders unharmed and a new bounty of meat, this was a month's delay at most. The weak had been effectively culled from the tribe by the strangely exploding spidersnake, and now only the strong were left to better pursue the war. His grin stretched even wider as his increased level strengthened his connection to the memories despite the loss of many dozens within the tribe. He ran his narrow tongue over his multiple sets of needle-like fangs as the memories unbidden showed him a merry tune which he promptly began humming, the survivors joining him as they finished their bloody cull.

As he lost himself in the music, the wind changed. The warm breeze now blowing in his face instead of against his back, and for a brief moment, he smelt the faint scent of cinnamon on the wind. His mind newly awakened with the power of his memories instantly flashed back to the death and terror of the farmhouse, and he felt all of his ancestral instincts scream at him with profound and vivid clarity to run.

So he did.