Gob gob goblin (Patreon)

by Chanx

"Oooh, you have good eye my friend. This genuine goblin dagger. Makes whoever owns invulnerable to goblin attacks. Work like charm."

The young hero didn't trust the shadowy figure too much. He knew he was bartering with a goblin itself, but he didn't have many choices.

His last adventure had left him broke and without a sword—shattered thanks to a pernicious tribe of those same green-skinned pests, who had enchanted one of their shields with some pesky magic.

No money, no way to buy a weapon, no journeys to kick some goblin butt.

So when he spotted the little makeshift stand in that dingy alley, he decided to give it a shot… and, surprisingly, luck was on his side. Amid the piles of stinky junk and half-rusted trash, the shady, cloaked goblin had something actually useful.

"And you’re saying this will make me invincible against goblins? Your own kind?" the young man asked, raising an eyebrow but still casually interested.

"Yes yes, me don't care about me kin! Me just want to make good blingy, eheh..." the goblin answered, his red-pupiled eyes gleaming with greed.

"You know I’m going to find you if this dagger doesn’t work as promised, right?" the young man remarked, giving the goblin a menacing glance.

"Oh no no! I guarantee! Money back if not fully satisfactory" the little creature assured, raising his clawed hands and taking a small step back.

The hero smiled, satisfied with the fear he had managed to instill in the goblin vendor. Those little monsters had plagued the town since its foundation, establishing various tribes and villages around the settlement, raiding and attacking innocent merchants and travelers along the way.

He never liked the bunch, so he was quite pleased when the king placed a public bounty on the goblin chieftain. That was why he had begun assaulting goblin camps, searching for their leader—but without any luck. Everyone claimed the chieftain was a powerful wizard, but the hero refused to believe that creatures of such limited intellect could wield magic.

"I'll take it!" the hero said eagerly, tossing three bronze coins onto the merchant’s crooked table—without noticing the sly grin spreading across the goblin’s lips, revealing two rows of sharpened fangs.

The moment the adventurer grabbed the dagger, clenching his fingers around its hilt, a strange wave of warmth flooded through him. It felt as if someone had just raised the temperature, washing over him with a pleasant heat.

Then he noticed it.

The hooded goblin, the stand… they looked bigger. No—everything around him seemed to be expanding. The entire alley was stretching wider and longer.

"Wha...what is happening?" the man stammered, his voice cracking—like a second puberty, only in reverse.

"I'm shrinking!" he realized, eyes widening as he stared at his own hand. His glove had vanished, revealing little splotches of mossy green rapidly spreading across his pinkish skin.

Panicked, the hero jumped back, trying to throw the dagger away, but his fingers—now elongating and twisting—remained tightly clenched around the weapon, which pulsed with an ominous green glow.

"Mean man likes kill me kin" the merchant chuckled, his wild grin widening.

"Dumb king with gold on head says land belong to men, but goblins were here first."

As he spoke, his right hand shifted—his monstrous claws retracting into fingernails, his green skin lightening into a healthy shade of pink.

"Mean man is scary, but dumb. Don't think goblin can wield magic," the creature sneered, pointing at him with an increasingly human-looking index finger. "Me think mean man needs change of perspective."

"No… stop…" the adventurer muttered, his voice trembling as a strange sensation overtook him. His ears stretched, growing pointier and larger, heavy and sensitive—so much so that he could suddenly hear a group of silly human women gossiping about the most handsome guard… Heh. Dumb humans.

No, wait—why was he thinking that?!

Panic surged through him as he turned to flee, but the sun’s rays suddenly felt harsh and intimidating for some inexplicable reason. His body hesitated, and before he could react, he stumbled over his own growing feet, crashing to the ground. Gasping, he propped himself against the alley wall, horror-stricken as he stared at his bare feet. They were elongating, turning a sickly shade of green, and an unwashed, musky stench filled his flaring nostrils.

But as he struggled to push himself up, another realization hit him.

"Why can't I stand straight?" he asked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, raspy whimper "My... my back..."

He tried desperately to fix his posture, to straighten his stance the way a proud hero should—but no matter how hard he forced himself, it was as if he had forgotten how. His chest refused to puff out, his shoulders slumped forward, and his knees bent into an instinctive crouch. His spine painlessly shifted, subtly twisting and curving in places, molding him into a shape far better suited for sneaking and slithering through the shadows.

And why would he want it any other way? Why would he want to stand tall like those vain, arrogant humans? Always strutting around, oblivious—while their precious "shinies" were plucked right from under their noses...

He blinked. His once-human eyes were now blackened, his pupils tinged with a sinister red hue.

Fight it.

Desperately, he searched for something—anything—to ground himself. His heroic garments! Yes, his armor, his—

His breath hitched. His chest was bare, hairless, and entirely green, reeking as if he had rolled in the mud for weeks without washing. And yet… the scent was familiar. Comforting. The scent of his tribe.

His trembling, clawed fingers grasped at the crude necklace now hanging around his neck—a primitive ornament adorned with the teeth of an orc warlord, slain by his kin last winter.

A flood of memories crashed over him, clouding the logical part of his mind, while something deeper—something ancient—stirred within him.

Instinct.

"My clothes!" he finally gasped, only now realizing that even his pants and belt—along with his empty scabbard—were gone, replaced by a dingy loincloth barely preserving his modesty.

"All my stuff is gone!" he cried out in vain.

"Of course it's gone" came a voice, now less menacing than before—mellifluous and scheming instead. The dark-mantled figure slowly pulled back his hood, revealing a face that was no longer entirely goblin. His fangs had dulled into human teeth, and his pointed ears were shrinking, rounding out as his transformation neared completion.

"Goblins don’t need adventuring gear" the sorcerer remarked with a slight chuckle.

"N...no! I'm not Gob... Gob!" the former adventurer protested, his words faltering. His hair grew longer, twisting into two tight braids, but at the sides of his head, strands began falling away, crumbling into glimmering magical dust. Within moments, his once-thick locks had vanished, leaving him with an odd, patchy mohawk.

"Of course you are Gob," the sorcerer cooed "You’ve always been Gob. And since you were so eager to put an end to my poor kin... one day, you’ll be very helpful in repopulating it."

Gob froze.

A strange, hollow sensation bloomed deep within his body—down in his core. It lasted only a moment.

And then... it was gone.

Something was missing.

Something had been there before.

And now, it simply wasn’t.

Gob looked down at his—her—loincloth in confusion, her mind foggy and disoriented. She couldn't quite grasp what had just happened, only that something had changed. Her heart pounded, fear creeping in.

Why was she standing here?

Why was she alone?

Why was she in a city, far from her tribe?

And who was that mean human standing in front of her? He had done something to her, changed her in something different... something she didn't like.

A hiss built in her throat, her instincts snapping to life.

"Help! Turn Gob back!" she shrieked, her small, sharp fangs flashing as she bared them at the man.

"You don’t need to be afraid, my precious little goblin" the sorcerer soothed "I won’t hurt you. But I suggest you hide... and flee."

A deep, primal instinct stirred in her chest.

"Need hide... flee..." she echoed, nodding slowly.

The sorcerer gestured toward the alley "There’s a hidden passage out of town. You’ll be able to squeeze through and reach the forest that way."

Gob hesitated, staring at him, uncertain if she should trust him or not. But... did she have any other choice? She was alone. In an unknown place. Her tribe was far away.

"Gob! Gob!" she hissed once again, snapping her teeth in warning at the strange man.

"Don't forget your dagger, little monster."

As if commanded by his words, Gob’s clawed fingers shot toward the weapon lying forgotten on the ground. She snatched it up and scurried away, her small, wiry form vanishing into the shadows, darting past the cloaked figure with goblin-like speed. She moved instinctively, avoiding the hideous brightness of the sun.

The man watched her go, a slow, sly smile spreading across his lips.

He turned, catching his reflection in a filthy spoon still resting on the makeshift stall. A human face grinned back at him.

"Let’s enjoy this disgusting humanity a little..." he mused, chuckling to himself before stepping out of the alley.