The goblins stared at Luke for a long moment, their yellow eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion. Luke froze, unsure of what he'd done wrong. Did he break some kind of goblin rule? Were they going to turn on him now? His mind raced, trying to remember if he'd read anything about goblin culture in his manga or games, but nothing came to mind.
"Uh… guys?" he said hesitantly, raising his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. "I was just trying not to die. No hard feelings, right?"
The spear goblin was the first to move. He stepped forward, his spear still clutched in his hand, and Luke braced himself for the worst. But instead of attacking, the goblin let out a loud, guttural cheer. The others followed, their voices rising in a cacophony of screeches and yells.
"You kill browny hair tusk!" the spear goblin shouted, clapping Luke on the back with enough force to make him stumble. "Strong! Strong goblin!"
Before Luke could react, the goblins swarmed him, lifting him off the ground and hoisting him into the air. He flailed for a moment, his sharp claws digging into the air as they cheered and chanted.
"Strong goblin! Strong goblin!"
Luke's initial panic gave way to a mix of relief and disbelief. "Okay, okay, put me down!" he yelled, but his protests were drowned out by their cheers. Finally, they set him back on the ground, and the spear goblin clapped him on the shoulder again.
"Take browny hair tusk to village," he said, grinning with his sharp teeth. "Big feast!"
Luke nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. "Yeah, sure. Big feast. Sounds… great."
The goblins quickly set to work, tying the boar's legs together with vines and hoisting it onto a makeshift stretcher made of branches. Luke helped as best he could, though his small goblin arms weren't much use. As they made their way back to the village, he couldn't help but notice the way the other goblins looked at him—some with admiration, others with suspicion. He kept his head down, trying to avoid drawing too much attention.
The village was… not what Luke had expected. There were no defensive walls, no grand structures—just a cluster of crude huts made of mud, sticks, and animal hides. The ground was packed dirt, littered with bones and scraps of discarded tools. Small goblins—children, Luke realized—darted between the huts, their high-pitched squeals adding to the chaotic noise.
As the hunting party approached, the village erupted into cheers. Goblins of all sizes emerged from their huts, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the boar. The children ran up to Luke, tugging at his loincloth and chattering excitedly in their guttural language.
"Uh… hi?" Luke said, unsure of how to respond. He'd never been great with kids, and goblin children were even more intimidating. They had the same sharp teeth and claws as the adults, and their energy was overwhelming.
The spear goblin pushed through the crowd, shouting orders. "Prepare feast! Browny hair tusk for all!"
The villagers scrambled to obey, some starting a fire while others began butchering the boar with crude knives. Luke watched, a mix of fascination and disgust on his face. He'd never seen anything like this before—not in real life, at least. It was like something out of a survival documentary, but with goblins.
As the village bustled with activity, a larger figure emerged from one of the huts. The goblins parted to make way, their chatter dying down to a respectful murmur. Luke's eyes widened as the figure approached—a hobgoblin, taller and more muscular than the others, with a thick hide armor and a bone necklace around his neck.
"Chief," the spear goblin said, bowing his head.
The hobgoblin chief nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the scene before landing on Luke. "This one," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "He kill browny hair tusk?"
"Yes, Chief," the spear goblin replied. "Strong goblin."
The chief stepped closer, towering over Luke. Luke swallowed hard, trying to stand his ground despite the fear creeping up his spine. The hobgoblin's gaze was intense, as if he could see right through Luke's green skin and into his very soul.
"You… strong," the chief said finally, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Good. Village need strong goblins."
Luke nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak. The chief clapped him on the shoulder—a gesture that seemed to be a goblin tradition—and turned to address the village.
"Feast tonight! Celebrate strong goblin and good hunt!"
The village erupted into cheers once more, and Luke found himself swept up in the chaos. As the boar roasted over the fire and the goblins began to dance and sing, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of… belonging. It was surreal, being celebrated by a tribe of goblins, but for the first time since waking up in this world, he didn't feel completely out of place.
The village feast was in full swing, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and the sound of guttural laughter. The boar—now reduced to a charred carcass—was being devoured by the goblins, who tore into the meat with their sharp teeth and claws. Luke sat on a log near the fire, a hunk of meat in his hands, trying to ignore the fact that it was still slightly raw in the middle.
Beside him sat the spear goblin, who was enthusiastically gnawing on a bone. Luke glanced at him, curiosity getting the better of him.
"So… uh, what's your name?" Luke asked, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.
The spear goblin paused mid-bite, looking at Luke with a puzzled expression. "Name?"
"Yeah, your name. What do people call you?"
The goblin grinned, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Grut. Me Grut."
"Grut," Luke repeated, nodding. "Okay, Grut. Nice to meet you."
Grut thumped his chest proudly. "Grut strong hunter. Kill many browny hair tusks."
"Yeah, I saw that," Luke said, his tone dry. "Real impressive."
The other two goblins from the hunting party—the one with the dagger and the one with the club—leaned in, eager to introduce themselves.
"Me Rok," said the dagger goblin, pointing to himself with a clawed finger.
"Me Zog," said the club goblin, thumping his chest like Grut had.
"Rok and Zog," Luke said, nodding. "Got it. I'm Luke."
The goblins stared at him blankly.
"Luke," he repeated, slower this time. "Luuuuke."
Grut tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Lok?"
"No, not Lok. Luke," Luke said, emphasizing the "u" sound.
"Lok," Grut said again, nodding as if he'd figured it out.
"No, it's—ugh, never mind," Luke muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, sure. Lok. Close enough."
The goblins cheered, raising their makeshift cups—which looked suspiciously like hollowed-out animal skulls—in a toast.
"Lok strong goblin!" Grut shouted, sloshing whatever foul-smelling liquid was in his cup.
"Lok kill browny hair tusk!" Rok added, grinning.
"Lok feast with us!" Zog finished, clapping Luke on the back so hard he nearly fell off the log.
Luke sighed, resigning himself to his new name. "Yeah, yeah. Lok strong goblin. Whatever."
As the feast continued, Luke found himself oddly… comfortable. The goblins were crude and chaotic, but there was a strange camaraderie among them. They shared their food freely, laughed loudly, and treated him like one of their own—even if they couldn't pronounce his name right.
At one point, a group of small goblins—children, Luke assumed—ran up to him, tugging at his loincloth and chattering excitedly.
"Lok! Lok! Tell story of hunt!" one of them squeaked, its eyes wide with admiration.
Luke blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… okay. So, there was this giant boar, right? And it charged at me, tusks gleaming like daggers…"
The children listened intently, their mouths hanging open as Luke embellished the story with dramatic gestures and sound effects. By the time he finished, they were cheering and clapping, their tiny claws clicking together.
Grut, Rok, and Zog watched from the sidelines, grinning proudly.
"Lok good storyteller," Grut said, nodding approvingly.
"Yeah, well, I've had practice," Luke muttered, though he couldn't help but smile a little.
The feast was winding down, the fire reduced to glowing embers and the goblins sprawled out in various states of food-induced stupor. Luke sat by the dying fire, picking at a piece of boar meat and trying to ignore the fact that it was still slightly raw. He was lost in thought when a shadow fell over him.
He looked up to see the hobgoblin chief standing there, his massive frame silhouetted against the moonlight. The chief's bone necklace clinked as he crouched down, his sharp eyes studying Luke with a mix of curiosity and approval.
"You," the chief said, his voice deep and gravelly. "Name."
Luke blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… Luke."
The chief tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "Lok?"
"No, it's Luke," Luke said, emphasizing the "u" sound.
"Lok," the chief repeated, nodding as if he'd figured it out.
Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, sure. Lok."
The chief grunted, apparently satisfied. "Lok strong. Kill browny hair tusk. Good for village."
Luke nodded, unsure of how to respond. "Uh… thanks?"
The chief clapped him on the shoulder—a gesture that seemed to be a goblin tradition—and stood up, addressing the few goblins still awake. "Lok strong! Lok good hunter! Lok feast with us!"
The goblins cheered, raising their makeshift cups in a toast. Luke forced a smile, though he couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. He'd gone from being a nobody in his old world to a minor celebrity in this one, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
As the chief walked away, Luke leaned back against the log, staring up at the unfamiliar stars. His mind wandered, comparing the goblins to what he knew of ancient human societies. If this were a documentary, he thought, the goblins would be fairly similar to Neanderthals—crude, tribal, and survival-focused. But there were differences, too. The goblins weren't harsh on their own, at least not in the way he'd imagined. They shared their food, celebrated their victories, and even seemed to have a sense of community.
It was strange, but also… kind of nice. In his old world, Luke had always felt like an outsider. Here, among the goblins, he was starting to feel like he belonged. Sure, they couldn't pronounce his name right, and their idea of a feast was a far cry from a five-star restaurant, but they'd accepted him. They'd celebrated him.
"Lok," he muttered to himself, testing the name. "I guess it's not so bad."