Strum followed the chief and Gikx out of the kitchen. The sun had risen just four hours before, already his day had sunk to a low that seemed impossible. Gikx, the little bastard he was, should have been out in the forest somewhere either lost or dead. Not back here with a dead dire wolf. How is this even possible?

Like most mornings Strum started his day by getting up and giving his legs a stretch with a quick walk outside of the Shadow-Axe’s cave system. Part of his daily ritual included taking a glance at the farm he oversaw, making sure the two goblins didn’t neglect their care of the plants. That and to make sure their goat hadn’t been murdered in the middle of the night. Regis wasn’t aware, but Strum had already replaced two of them. This damn tribe had an obsession with stabbing things.

Today, while he was hunched over looking at the small patch of earth they’d planted some select vegetables in, a group of goblins had come yelling and cheering from the forest, carrying that damned dire wolf’s body and chanting ‘hero.’

There in front of the crowd, the smug bastard he was, walked Gikx. Even having the audacity to shoot a wink at Strum as he passed like they were co-conspirators.

Now Rurk was cozying up to the scrawny bastard and pretending they were buddies all along. Rurk talked about how he knew Gikx would find his place in the tribe, how he was looking for someone with some real backbone, all of it clear manipulation. Now that Gikx had political capital, it behooved the otherwise uncaring leader to get on the good side of the new hero. That and the fact it was well known that Gikx vehemently disliked the dungeon.

“Don’t worry Gikx. We’ll prove to the tribe just how wasted your talents were trying to please that defective dungeon. Just think, all of that wasted potential of our tribe being spent trying to keep it happy,” Rurk spoke louder than normal, likely so the goblins trailing the hero could eavesdrop.

Fuck this is bad. Strum rubbed his forehead, following along as the chieftain brought Gikx into his private chambers. Few goblins were permitted entry here. While Rurk may not have liked it, Strum was one of the privileged few. Another one of those lucky goblins was currently sitting on a pile of furs, nursing a cup of mushroom-water. Shaman Mallik raised his bushy eyebrows at their entry, looking at Gikx. “Ah, the hero has returned. Blessing from the Ground-Father for your success.” Strum’s heart skipped a beat. He’s on board with this too.

Power in the Shadow-Axe tribe was divided into three pieces. Rurk as the chieftain of the tribe had the most power and sway. As the shaman, Mallik held the spiritual heart of the tribe. His goals to please the Ground-Father often sent him in opposition to the chieftain. Spawning a delicate game of goblin-politics as the two constantly competed for more influence.

Strum was the odd one. As the representative of the dungeon and the recent source of the improved food the goblins enjoyed, he held a modicum of power in the tribe. Rurk detested this, while Mallik had thus far been relatively neutral about the dungeon.

But now they had a hero. Gikx the slayer of a dire wolf. One of Regis’ disgruntled ex-employees. Someone who wanted to get rid of Regis just as bad as the tribe’s chief.

“When you were born, I had a premonition” Mallik mused, looking at Gikx with a glint in his old eyes. “I saw you, small-one. The Ground-Father whispered to me, ‘Keep your eyes on Gikx. He shall herald big changes to the Shadow-Axe tribe.’ Here we are, a day of celebration for our new hero, champion of the Ground-Father.” Gikx gave a repulsive smile. Strum sighed. This was nothing but grotesque acting. This whole play was put on to appease a goblin with the intelligence of an earthworm. Behind the curtains of this play, it was just another power struggle.

“Ah, but Gikx here wants to be chieftain one day. He may have been heralded by the Ground-Father, but if he were to be my right-hand-goblin...” Rurk bellowed out a big fake laugh. Mallik frowned but it hid it quickly by taking a sip of his mushroom-water. “Well if he did that, one day, he just might succeed me.” Gikx looked between the two with wide eyes.

“Gikx be tribe chief?” the scrawny goblin asked.

“Why limit your potential to just being a tribe chief? Any dense goblin could settle for that,” Mallik shot a pointed look at Rurk, accompanied by a fake smile. “You could be greater, Gikx.” The Shadow-Axe chieftain growled in response.

“Gikx be greater than tribe chief?” said Gikx, his tone filled with awe.

“There is no greater position than tribe chief,” asserted Rurk, folding his arms. “Or do you need to be reminded of that, shaman?”

“Really? I believe that before the Ground-Father’s eyes, a lowly chieftain sits far below one of his chosen,” the shaman took to his feet, stretching. “I assume you brought the dire wolf’s corpse to my chambers so I could properly prepare the ritual.”

“Ritual?” the chieftain asked, cocking his head. “I sent it to that damned dungeon so we could celebrate our new hero with a feast.”

Mallik shook his head. “Foolish chieftain, I shall go to the kitchen and harvest the heart before it’s too late - Though, I should let the tribe know that they have nothing to fear from the Ground-Father, despite our chieftains absolute failure to perform his duties in service of him.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Rurk roared, following the shaman out of his chambers. With the two of them gone, Strum could breathe a little easier. Time for him to gather his thoughts. Gikx walked over to the leftover mug of mushroom-water, taking a deep sip of the shaman’s drink.

“Gikx thank Strum. Gikx find wolf corpse on ground Strum left. Now tribe know Gikx great,” the scrawny goblin wrinkled his nose and set the cup of mushroom-water down. His pupils slowly reached an unnatural dilation as he looked at Strum.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t leave a corpse.”

“We alone. No need lie, Gikx owe Strum. Strum leave dead wolf in forest for Gikx,” Strum’s eyes went wide at the declaration.

“Uh.”

“Butchered. Absolutely butchered,” Regis whined, looking over the mutilated wolf’s corpse. It seemed even when slaying a beast, the useless goblin couldn’t bother to do anything cleanly. There were three deep tears in the ribs. Somehow or someway the goblin also severely burned the left flank of the wolf. Why had the little wretch been carrying a torch anyway? Goblins could see in the dark. Lastly, its head was half-chopped off. “This will not be easy. Vraz. You are far beneath the skill and dexterity required to harvest effectively from this mangled corpse.”

Vraz growled, recklessly stabbing the wolf corpse with the fillet knife. He began to pace around the small kitchen. “That bastard - slew my whole tribe, just to sit there and rub it in my face. I should have stabbed him.” Regis ran his senses over where the knife protruded from the wolf.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t manage to mangle our ingredients even further past what that useless goblin accomplished. I do not care for your petty dramatics with the Shadow-Axe tribe. Such ridiculous grievances are beneath my interest.” Regis hummed, scouring his memory for ideas on what they would prepare with this corpse. First, they would have to reclaim as much meat as they could from it.

Past that, the Shadow-Axe tribe was large. If they were going to feed the whole lot of them in one big feast, just how much of his limited stock would they use up? No matter how the crystal wrapped his thoughts around the task, it seemed too much for just one goblin to cook in two hours. We must act swiftly. “Grab the chef knife.” the dungeon commanded.

Vraz stopped pacing and looked at Regis with a scowl. “He murdered my tribe and just threw it in my face. Now you expect me to cook him food?”

“Creating great things is what matters above most. The legacy of our greatness should be put above all. Limiting what you can achieve by focusing on small insignificant details will in turn make you insignificant. Do you wish to remain an insignificant and useless goblin, Vraz? Or do you wish to surpass that sniveling little chieftain?”

“Murdering my entire tribe is not an ‘insignificant detail,’” Vraz yelled. Regis merely gave another short hum as he reconsidered his approach.

“If you do not wish to end up like them, then I suggest you begin cooking. I do not doubt Rurk will terminate your existence if you prove useless to the tribe.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. Just drawing attention to a fact,” Vraz growled, but paced back over to the wolf corpse, hand going to the knife stuck in it. “That is not a chef knife. That is a fillet knife.”

“A knife is a knife!” Vraz yelled, yanking the fillet knife out of the corpse.

“Incorrect. Each knife has a different reason for its existence. Much like you goblins. Some, like Strum, are versatile and can do many jobs. Others, like you, have a much more defined role. If you keep beating my fillet knife against the counter, it will quickly morph its purpose into one much like Gikx. Useless trash.” Goblins like Vraz were better served by discarding their petty grudges. Great beings like Regis could afford to hold on to one or two.

“Fine!” Vraz yelled, but politely put the knife on the counter. For once, it seemed Regis had found a goblin who didn’t fling things when frustrated. Rare. The goblin wandered back over to the two other knives, his eyes darting between the two. “Which is which?” he asked and then paused. “And what are they meant to do?”

“The chef knife is the longer blade. It is the most versatile in a kitchen. It can be used for cutting meat, vegetables, herbs. Even nuts. The one here is one of a basic variety. An average-sized blade. Typically, if we were to butcher a corpse of this size, I would want you to switch between using a blade like this with a cleaver. We are not that fortunate.” Regis explained. For once, a goblin had asked him what something was for, rather than forcing him to drill the lesson into its unresponsive brain.

Vraz glanced at the paring knife. “And the other two?”

“A pairing knife - the smallest one - is primarily used for delicate cutting, peeling, and mincing. Used for far more precise tasks. A fillet knife is most useful when preparing fish. Very helpful in handling the small pin-like bones. It’s the most recent addition to my kitchen, I formed it in the hopes that very soon we’d be able to secure a steady supply of fish from the nearby lake.” Vraz nodded attentively and picked up the chef’s knife, looking it over.

“Where do we start?” Vraz asked, looking at the corpse on the table. Regis vibrated. Good question. The corpse had already been bled, likely from the goblin leaving it on the forest floor. It didn’t seem like it’d be much longer before decomposition set in.

“Find where the stomach is, then cut it out. We need to dispose of its innards. After that, we’ll handle the skin. If you manage to not royally ruin our primary ingredient by that point, we’ll be able to cut the meat into more manageable pieces. I think I have an idea of a dish we can serve - something that might be possible within the time constraints. This won’t be my best work, but I’m afraid I have few options with an unskilled goblin like you. Get to work.”

Vraz didn’t even issue a complaint, maneuvering the dire wolf corpse on the table. Maybe. Maybe we can pull this off. Regis floated over the goblin’s shoulder, watching the knife closely as the goblin cut into the wolf's hide.