Let his Stoneworking skill lead the way.

Mal wandered away from the goblin encampment, thinking about all the stone weapons he would need to make to fully arm the goblins. Saying it that way gave him pause. Was he making a mistake outfitting a small army practically right next door to his new lair?

No, it would be fine. The goblins… had been his enemies at one point, maybe? A long time ago, though. Now they were not only friendly, but they had a trade agreement. Plus, goblins were weak. This was a fact that the goblins themselves were quite familiar with. Making an enemy of Mal would not have worked out well for them even before he became a lair boss. Now he was undeniably a better friend than an enemy.

So. Stone weapons. A whisper in the back of his mind from his newly upgraded Craft (Stoneworking) skill told him to find a riverbank. He vaguely remembered a stream coming down from the mountains and into the forest somewhere around here, so he set off in search of it, still keeping just outside the tree line.

It didn’t take long at all before he stumbled upon a stream that had cut a small channel a few feet deep into the rocky ground. It was a little thing, hardly a brook, but his skill said it would do. He stepped right up to the edge and peered down, looking for the “dark rock” that he would hopefully recognize when he saw it. He saw a hint of darkness and kneeled down to inspect it.

Useless rock. Trash.

Shards. Hmm, how about that one- Mal was yanked out of hyper-focus on his skill by a heavy impact that knocked him sprawling. Splayed on his stomach across the creek bed, he felt sharp lines of pain as something carved into his back. Mal cursed. He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, and now he was paying the price. He rolled over onto his back, causing more sharp pain, but giving him a brief view of his assailant before it lunged for him again.

Brown Bear, Level 5
Monster, Beast, Bear

It was big. Bigger than Mal. Any further analysis was cut short by the urgency of a mouth full of sharp teeth barreling towards his face. Mal held up a hand and caught the thing on the neck, holding it at bay, then quickly added a second hand as the weight of the bear bore down on him. It roared at him, mouth inches away from his face. Spittle sprayed and the bear’s foreclaws gouged deep into his chest. Red blood flowed freely over the goliath's ashen skin.

Mal roared back as he struggled with the overbearing weight of the gods-damned bear. His ass was wet, and at least good two feet below the rest of his body due to the channel carved by the stream. His leverage left much to be desired. The grizzly took full advantage, savaging him with its claws. Mal’s lifesblood poured into the stream below him.

There’s no way I let this thing kill me, he thought, and accessed his inventory. He had to remove one hand from its neck, and it pressed close enough that their noses almost touched. He glared into its beady black eyes. Finally, his strength gave out, the brown-furred face dropped a little bit more, and the next time its jaws closed, they finally found purchase.

But not on Mal’s gray flesh.

At the last moment, he turned his head to the side and stuck the “small stone club” in between the bear’s jaws. The beast growled and tried to pull its head back, but Mal used both hands to keep the makeshift bridle firmly in its mouth.

Furious, the bear renewed its **** with its claws, carving new furrows down his torso. Mal pushed the bear up by its mouth as far as his long arms could reach and pulled one leg up between them. With a stone bridle, a roar of pain and rage, and a powerful kickpress, Mal flung off his assailant and scrambled to his feet.

The grizzly rolled onto all fours, spat out Mal’s club, and probably a few teeth as well. Then they stared each other down.

Beasts, especially strong ones and any that could be considered carnivores, were aggressively territorial. The brown bear was no exception. Its beady eyes stared Mal down, trembling with hatred. There was no way it was letting this two-legged intruder get away with this. It leapt across the narrow creek, aiming to bowl Mal over again and finish the mauling it had started.

Instead of impacting Mal’s badly battered body, instead it met his club. His other club.

Large stone club, weapon (club). Common. Very slow attack speed. Damage: Strx3 bludgeoning.

The grizzly was strong. It was durable. And it had sharp claws and teeth that were perfectly designed to rend flesh.

But it had chosen as its prey a goliath who was also strong. He was also durable. And he had the advantage of reach and a very heavy rock.

The first blow stopped the charge cold. The next battered it across the head and shoulders, rattling it.

The third knocked it into the channel. It was only a few feet lower than before, but it meant Mal could now easily stay out of reach of the thing’s claws. And if it tried to climb out and escape, it would have to do so while being pummeled by an unreasonably-sized club.

It never even tried, snapping and swiping in futile rage until the club descended a final time. The beast slammed into the ground and lay still.

Brown bear has died.
You have defeated a level 5 beast! +250 XP

—---------

The goblin shaman surveyed her tribe with a sigh. Organized chaos was the most she could hope for in the best of times, but the days since the update things had been far more on the “chaos” side. Their prior routines were all useless; no one could perform their normal roles. Instead she was left wrangling them individually, barking out instructions one after another to different groups, only to have to return to the first group and repeat herself because they’d forgotten their task. This group was supposed to comb through the forest looking for something that could be used to make temporary shelter that wouldn’t count as “changing the land,” but they had almost immediately gotten into an argument that now had fallen into a pinching, hair-pulling dogpile. The shaman moved towards them, ready to slap some sense into them, but they stopped on their own, looking at something in the distance. Following their gaze, she gasped.

What looked like a large, grotesque monster was shambling towards them. A dusky red with streaks of bright red covered its bottom half, while its top half was massive, wide, brown and furry. She almost called her tribe to ready for battle, but the pile of previously-bickering goblins weren’t showing alarm. They were young, and her eyes weren’t what they used to be, so she hesitated. What am I not seeing? She reluctantly held back her call to arms, trusting their judgment as she waited for the creature to get closer.

When it did, she realized it wasn’t a dark red monster with enormous fuzzy shoulders: it was big grey, covered in dried blood, and carrying a dead beast on his back. A large beast. What was that thing?

“Why you all standing around like braindead stupids? Big gray hurt! Killed big scary bear! Someone help!”

Hearing one of the younger goblins call out snapped the shaman out of her shock. She had only reached adulthood and gotten her spawn point a few weeks ago, and here she was reacting to a situation before the shaman herself?

The elder goblin stepped back into her role with her customary fervor. “Pile of stupid goblins! Go help big gray carry deadmeat. ‘Prentice, see to his wounds. We need water from stream - who was making new bucket? Bucket ready yet?” The camp scrambled to obey her orders, and those who weren’t ordered simply scrambled. Even her ‘prentice showed an unusual eagerness as he grabbed some healing herbs and rushed over to big gray.

Once the organized chaos began to get a little more organized, she finally strode over to the big bloody fool.

—---------

Mal was tired, and he hurt all over. When a handful of excitable greenskins came up to him offering to take his burden, he didn’t question it. He just let the huge weight fall off his shoulders with a sigh, ignoring the cry of dismay as one goblin almost got caught underneath the dead grizzly as it fell.

“Haha, one-ear almost got squished! Could have called you one-flat-ear!” Mal tuned out the bickering and continued staggering forward until another goblin rushed up to him, this time the shaman’s apprentice. The young goblin slowed awkwardly as he reached Mal, clutching some aromatic plants.

“Hello again,” Mal said tiredly. “What have you got there?”

The apprentice looked down at the leaves in his hands and replied, “Healing herbs. The… shaman said to look at your wounds. Err,” the goblin’s face paled as he took in the extent of Mal’s injuries.

“Okay, sure,” Mal said, and plopped down to sit right in the dirt. The apprentice approached, muttering to himself as he inspected the damage. Mal didn’t realize he had zoned out until the goblin’s voice intruded again.

“Got any water?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any water?” the goblin repeated. “We need- we should wash your wounds before using the herbs.” He gestured to the small, sad pile of greens he had placed on the ground next to him.

“I don’t,” Mal replied, frowning. Strange that neither of the adventurers had containers for water. Wait. Why was that strange?

He was pulled back from his scattered thoughts by the arrival of the shaman. She looked him over, briefly glanced at her apprentice who was fidgeting with his “healing herbs.”

In a soft voice, she asked her protégé, “Can’t clean his wounds?”

“No water,” he confirmed.

The shaman looked back at Mal, then looked pointedly at the dead bear before returning to her loud, mildly-combative self. “I bet you want us to forage the bear, hm? Even with no weapons to trade yet?”

“No…” Mal replied tiredly. “We can split the meat.” He gestured blindly back to where the passel of goblins were trying, unsuccessfully, to move the corpse from where he had dropped it. “I killed it, you dress it, we split it. Seems fair.”

“Fair,” the shaman repeated, tasting the word. “Okay! Goblins will forage the bear, we split meat and other resources. Deal. Now,” Her tone changed. It was quiet again and- was that a hint of gentleness? “You need water and we have no bucket yet. Can you walk? Back to the stream?”

Could he? He didn’t want to. He wanted to lie here in the dirt and sleep until he felt better, but that would mean he’d be here until tomorrow at least. And he really didn't want to lie in this dust for most of a day.

“Probably. Yes,” he amended. No matter how tired he got, it seemed he could always keep going if he needed to. I guess that’s my Constitution at work.

With a mighty groan he got his legs under him and hauled himself to his feet. Wow. From this angle he could see the goblins scurrying around. Scurry, scurry. Except for the shaman and her apprentice. And the mohawk girl. She was hovering nearby, and scowled when he caught her staring. Heh. She still doesn’t trust me. I guess I know whether I can trust the goblins, though. If they wanted to kill me right now it wouldn’t even be too hard. Whoa…

Mal wobbled, causing the goblins closest to him to jump away in alarm, but he got his balance and turned back towards the stream. It seems much farther than it did earlier. Nevertheless, he began his trek back to the site of the battle. He plodded along, with the apprentice following a short distance away.

Probably so I don’t fall on him, Mal thought, smiling. Oh and the mohawk girl is coming, too. Good for her. Make sure the big scary goliath doesn’t eat your future shaman. The current shaman’s shouting voice faded away as Mal’s world condensed down to the ground in front of him. All that mattered was the next step. See the ground ahead, find a flat spot that won't trip you, swing your foot, step. Step. Step. Step. Time lost all meaning, lost in the step. Suddenly, mal went to take a step and the only thing in front of him was a babbling brook in a deep channel. He’d made it.

—---------

Mal woke up some time later to the sound of hustle and bustle. The goblins had apparently all moved to the stream. Two of them seemed to be arguing about the best way to start a fire. Mal sat up, wincing as his wounds protested even that small amount of movement.

Some of the “healing herbs” fell off his body as he sat up. They seemed to have been pressed to his wounds and then tied down with long pieces of grass, which had snapped as soon as he moved. The blood and dirt had been cleaned off of his wounds, though, so that was nice. He looked around to thank the apprentice or the shaman, but they weren’t nearby. Instead he saw two goblins crouching beside an unlit campfire.

“No you cotton-headed dumb-dumb. Hit rocks together, make spark. That best way to make fire go.”

“No, you loony - it like brain cooked in the sun too long. Rub sticks together, that best way to make fire.”

Mal pulled the lit torch out of his inventory. “Hey, guys?”

They glanced at him, then did a double-take. “Where he get that?” one whispered loudly.

“Dunno,” the other replied. “Go ask borrow it.”

“You go ask.”

“Seriously,” Mal called out, waggling the torch. “Light your fire. I’d do it myself, but,” he sighed, “I’d rather not move.”

With exaggerated caution, the two goblins tasked with firestarting approached Mal until they could take the torch from his hand. The campfire lit easily, and soon, the smell of roasting bear filled the air.

The chaotic mania of the goblins transformed as if by alchemy into industrious activity. Some were gathering firewood, some were breaking or chopping it. Others were processing the corpse of the bear, intent on letting none of it go to waste. Still more were foraging for berries, nuts and roots, bringing them back to add to piles before heading out again. And there were always plenty of eyes on the forest.

“Dead animal smell attracts trouble, always,” the elderly shaman explained. “The fire usually keeps them away, but trusting ‘usually’ is a good way to end up dead.”

The smells of cooking filled the area and the atmosphere grew festive. Mal learned that the bear had been a problem for a while, picking off hunters and foragers that strayed from the group or lost focus at the wrong moment. Add that to the fact that anyone killed since the update wouldn’t respawn, and they had been very hesitant to send people into the forest in search of food. The tribe was hungry. So suddenly feeling much safer and having a huge windfall of meat was something worth truly celebrating.

As the sun finally set, the feast began. Everyone was stuffing their faces, laughing and singing. Mal, as the wounded guest of honor, was not permitted to move, and instead had a goblin assigned to hand him anything he asked for. Due to the legendary distractibility of goblins, this meant that Mal ended up having to grab the first goblin to walk into reach any time he wanted another handful of berries or another piece of bear steak.

Even the shaman and her apprentice relaxed a little, the elderly leader holding court by the fire while her scion sat silently beside her wearing a small smile.

The only person who didn’t seem to be celebrating, strangely enough, was the girl with the mohawk. She seemed to be sticking to the dark edges of the party, right at the edge of the firelight. Often she was simply staring out into the darkness, but a few times Mal caught her looking at him, a strange, thoughtful expression on her face.

Eventually the hour grew late, and Mal’s eyelids began to hang heavy as the events of the day caught up with him. He groaned as he laid down right where he was, and within minutes he was fast asleep.