Gideon froze as the six goblins closed in, weapons glinting in the morning light. Three held bows, arrows drawn, though not tightly enough to suggest real concern. Two more carried spears, their crude tips angled loosely toward him. At their head stood the largest, shield strapped to one arm and a short sword in his hand, a dented human-sized helmet slipping nearly over his eyes. His stance made it clear enough. He was the leader.

  "Out!" he barked again.

  Gideon raised his hands slowly. He knew his place here. His dagger and spells would not save him, not against six armed goblins. Without prompting, he pulled the dagger from his belt, slid it into his bag, and tossed the bag toward them. They watched in silence as one of the spearmen picked it up. He slowly made his way out of the shelter he'd been in, and one of the spearmen approached. Then ropes were wound tight around his wrists, the coarse fibers biting into his skin.

  They pushed him into motion, and he walked, following them as they moved through the forest. When he slowed, a spear jabbed his ribs or an arrowhead prodded his back. Gideon took the time as they walked to use Identify on his captors.

  Goblin Spearman - Level 2

  Health: 30/30 | Mana: 10/10 | Stamina: 20/20

  Goblin Archer - Level 2

  Health: 20/20 | Mana: 10/10 | Stamina: 20/20

  Goblin Warrior - Level 3

  Health: 40/40 | Mana: 10/10 | Stamina: 30/30

  The other 2 goblins were much the same. Unnamed, and barely stronger than he was at Level 1. Unimportant. Gideon turned his attention to the shortsword wielding leader of the group, and was shocked by the result.

  Name: Throk

  Race: Goblin

  Level: ???

  Class: ???

  Health: ??? | Mana: ??? | Stamina: ???

  This gave Gideon pause. A Class? He'd never seen that before. The fact that his resource pools were unknown, as well as the new 'Class' line obviously marked him as different. Add on to all that the fact that when he tried to Identify Throk, although he got a whole lot of question marks, the information seemed more detailed than the other Goblins. He clenched his jaw and said nothing at first as they continued through the forest, but eventually his thoughts churned too loudly to keep in. “Where are you taking me?” he asked. Only soft laughter answered him. A spear jabbed harder. “I was surviving alone. I didn’t threaten you.” More laughter. “Do you even understand me? Who are you?” The leader, Throk, glanced back once, his expression souring. When the questions kept coming, his patience snapped. In a blur, he turned and smashed the hilt of his sword into Gideon’s temple. Before Gideon could even react, white light burst across his vision, and the forest vanished.

  When awareness drifted back, he was swaying. Ropes bound his wrists and ankles to a long spear carried across two goblins’ shoulders. His body sagged like a carcass, every step jolting his head. He groaned, trying to move. One of the carriers noticed, barked a guttural laugh, then shifted the spear hard. Pain exploded against Gideon’s skull again, and the dark swallowed him once more.

  The next time he woke, it was to the stink of shit, piss, smoke, and unwashed bodies. He lay on rough, dirty straw in a wooden cage at the rear of a cavern. His wrists burned from the rope. Half a dozen goblins huddled inside with him, bruised, hollow-eyed, broken things. He tried to ask them what was happening, but they never responded to his questions. "Guess Goblins aren't really the talkative type" Gideon muttered under his breath as he settled in.

  Hours passed. Gideon said nothing, only watched the activity in the cave.

  The tribe that'd captured him numbered thirty, maybe forty at most. A handful barked orders, carrying crude weapons or guarding the entrance, but many were weaker. Some limped, others coughed wetly into their hands. Children shrieked and darted between legs. Gideon saw one Goblin walk over to a corner of the cave, and deposit a fresh turd on a pile that was gathered there. His lip curled. No wonder these Goblins were struggling with sickness. They were sleeping less than 50 feet from a pile of their own waste. As he continued watching the cave, Gideon noticed the wounded Goblins had makeshift bandages made of dirty rags. Blood and pus seeped out from around the haphazardly applied wrapping, and he had to roll his eyes. Definitely not the smartest bunch, but maybe its the best they could do. He settled in, and waited. Even in his disgust at the frankly horrific conditions these Goblins lived in, he measured it against the forest. Here, there was fire. Here, there was food, however foul. Here, numbers kept predators at bay. He decided this was better.

  The other captives did not share his thoughts. They snarled and spat whenever guards came near. One cursed at a guard until his jaw was broken by a spear shaft. Another refused to haul firewood and was dragged away screaming. Even in the cage, they muttered vengeance, gnashing their teeth at captors they could not reach. Gideon hugged his knees, silent. The others saw only chains. He saw survival.

  Eventually, heavy footsteps echoed across the cavern. A shadow fell over the cage. The largest goblin Gideon had ever seen loomed there. Broader, scarred, radiating authority like a stormcloud. His eyes burned with cold confidence. Gideon looked up and met his eyes. The Goblins lip curled in a sneer. Gideon saw a metal canine on either side of his mouth, their points sharpened into wicked looking points. As he looked up at him, Gideon dared to use Identify on him.

  Name: ???

  Race: Hobgoblin

  Level: ???

  Class: ???

  Health: ??? | Mana: ??? | Stamina: ???

  Gideon was momentarily confused. He had never failed to get a name from his Identify before. The fact that this was a Hobgoblin explained the size difference at least. This Hobgoblin was on a whole other level from Throk. He snapped back to attention when the imposing figure began to speak. “I am Dravak Ironfang,” he said, his voice gravel-deep. “This is the Ironfang tribe. You belong to me now. A slave. You will work. You will bleed. If you prove yourself useful, you may one day live as one of us. Fail, and you will rot.” The word slave landed like a stone in Gideon’s gut. He hated it, but calculation steeled him. The forest had been worse. He lowered his head slightly. “...Fine.” Dravak’s mouth curled faintly. “Good.”

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  Gideon raised his chin. “Let me out. Give me my furs back.” The guards chuckled, but Dravak looked at him curiously and tilted his head. “Why?” “To cover my hands. Im ready to work now.” Gideon replied evenly. "Besides, giving them back to me is better than rotting in a pile.” The hobgoblin studied him for a long moment, then gestured. A warrior came up to him holding the bag that held Gideons meager possessions. Dravak took the bag, and peered inside. He took the dagger out, and dumped the rest on the floor. First he examined the weapon. "A fine blade, slave. I think I'll keep it." Gideon ground his teeth but said nothing. There was nothing he could do about it anyways. Speaking up and demanding his weapon back would likely only result in anger, and a beating. Dravak looked down at the hides on the floor, and slowly used his foot to shift them around as he inspected them. They were slightly better than his first attempt with the rabbit, but not by much. Jagged cuts, bits of flesh hanging on. Not good work. Dravak chuckled, and motioned to another soldier. "You can have these back. We have no use for these... hides" Dravak said to him as the soldier approached. The slight hesitation before the word "hides" told Gideon exactly what he thought of the work. The cage opened. The ragged hides were left on the ground at Gideon’s feet. He bent down and tore them into strips, then bound them around his palms and fingers. They weren't gloves, but they'd be enough to shield his skin from the filth.

  Then, without hesitation, he walked over to a nearby bucket, hefting it and marching to the reeking corner of the cave. Dravak and the Goblins of his tribe watched him curiously. Gideon set the bucket down, then bent over, and began his work. Piece by piece, he scooped the piled waste into it.

  The cavern erupted into loud laughter. “Look at him!” one jeered. “Crawling in shit like a worm!” another howled. “No, not a worm,” a third sneered. “A grub!" More laughter.

  The Goblins began chanting that word, pointing at him and laughing as Gideon kept working. The name spread fast, echoing across the stone walls. Grub. Grub. Grub. Gideon clenched his jaw but continued. Better to be mocked and alive than proud and dead.

  Then the shimmer came. He noticed a faintly pulsing notification in the lower corner of his vision. He groaned internally, and focused on it to open the System screen.

  [System Notice]

  Due to consistent external designation, your name has been updated.

  Name: Grub

  His chest tightened. He opened his status window, dread clawing at him.

  [Status]

  Name: Grub

  Race: Goblin (Juvenile)

  Level: 1

  Stats:

  Strength: 2 | Constitution: 3 | Dexterity: 4 | Intelligence: 4 | Wisdom: 2 | Charisma: 0

  Resource Pools:

  Health: 23/30 | Mana: 40/40 (+2/10 min) | Stamina: 20/20 (+2/10 min)

  The rest blurred. His old name, the last tie to his former life was erased, replaced by mockery. He was Grub now. The System itself had decreed it so. Gideon sat and stared at the screen for a short while before he eventually shrugged. His name was not important right now. Surviving and learning to live in this new world took precedence over something so trivial. If these Goblins wanted to call him Grub, so be it. Gideon, no, Grub, sighed and refocused on his horrible task. He finally finished, scooping the last piece into the bucket. He tore the furs off his hands and tossed them into the bucket as well. When he hefted the bucket and started toward the entrance, guards stepped in, their weapons raised. He froze. Gideon had not considered how this might look. "And where do you think youre going, little Grub?" one of the guards sneered as he hefted his spear in his hand. "Barely with us a few hours and already trying to escape?" scoffed the other, feigning outrage. Dravak silenced them with a single gesture and stepped forward. His eyes held a curious glint as he walked up to Gideon. "Where are you trying to go, Grub?" Dravak asked. There was no malice in his question, no mockery, just a light undertone of curiosity. "Out." Gideon responded. "I need to dump this somewhere." he indicated the bucket full of shit in his hand. Dravak nodded slowly. "I will walk with my slave" he said to the guards. They immediately relaxed their grips on the weapons and walked away, muttering something to eachother. Gideon heard laughter as he turned and walked out of the cave mouth, followed by Dravak.

  Outside the cave, the air was sharper, cleaner. Gideon took a deep breath of the fresh air. Inside the cave the air was stale, with a stench of shit and rot. "Is there a stream or river nearby?" Gideon asked Dravak. The Hobgoblin only nodded, still looking curiously at Gideon, and indicated a direction, up a slight incline. Gideon walked up the small hill with the bucket in his hand. Dravak followed along, simply watching silently. The slope climbed slightly uphill until he reached the top, where the land flattened. A stream glittered through the rocks. Gideon looked around and internally praised Dravak for his choice of cave. The slight hill in front of the mouth of the cave meant that the cave was easily defendable. Nobody could fire arrows very far into the cave from the top of the hill, and if they descended to attack they forced themselves into a natural chokepoint, which would allow archers to fire at them from inside the cave. He nodded appreciatively, and approached the stream. The water rushed by, clear and about 2 feet deep. It moved a lot faster than Gideon would have expected. Gideon tipped the bucket, letting the filth wash downstream, then plunged the bucket into the water and scrubbed it clean. He finished by washing his hands until the grime bled away, the cold stinging his skin.

  Behind him, Dravak finally spoke a single word. “Why?” Gideon did not look up. “Because I want to live.” Dravak regarded him in silence. Then as he turned back toward the cave, he said "You're a strange one, Grub." Gideon filled the bucket with clear water and followed silently.

  Back inside, the goblins kept their distance while Dravak was present. Their eyes tracked him, but not one voice dared rise in jeer or laughter. Only when Dravak left him alone did the whispers return, the cruel chuckles echoing faintly off the cavern walls. Gideon ignored them. The mockery barely stung; he had endured worse back on Earth. Being the quiet kid at school, the odd one out at game nights, the target of casual cruelty had taught him early how to tune out laughter at his expense. This was no different. Besides, what did their laughter matter when weighed against the truth? He had food here, fire here, shelter and numbers between him and the predators outside. Life as a slave was not ideal, but it was still a better fate than starving and bleeding out alone in the woods. If all it cost him was hauling filth or scrubbing hides, then so be it. He took his bucket of clean water and moved to where some of the sick and wounded Goblins lay. He knelt beside one who had a nasty cut on his arm, wrapped in a filthy rag. Gideon saw dark blood mixed with pus oozing past the rag, and smelled the rot on wound. The Goblin stayed lying down, staring at Gideon, but saying nothing. He did not resist when Gideon gingerly removed his filthy bandage. Gideon did his best to clean the rag in the bucket, with decent results. Once he was satisfied that the rag wouldn't be getting much cleaner, he gently wiped the oozing, infected wound clean. The Goblin hissed and snarled in pain, but did not stop him. Once the wound was cleaned to the best of Gideons ability, he cleaned the rag again in the bucket and then rewrapped the Goblins wounded arm. a soft chime echoed in his head, and he saw the telltale gently pulsing notification in the lower corner of his vision. He opened the notification, and read the System message in front of him.

  [New Skill Acquired: First Aid - Level 1]

  First Aid (Level 1): You can clean and bind simple wounds, stopping bleeding and reducing infection risk. Restores a small amount of Health over time. Ineffective on severe injuries.

  Gideon grinned when he was done reading. Not bad. The water in the bucket was now quite dirty, so he stood and walked back towards the cave mouth with the bucket in hand. The guards stopped him again, but Dravaks voice cut through the cave. "Go with him." Gideon glanced back towards the source of the voice, and saw Dravak sitting on a stone throne, which could just as easily be described as a chair, regarding him with a curious expression. When Gideon met his eyes, Dravak glanced quickly over at the wounded Goblin that Gideon had helped and then back to Gideon, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You heard him, Grub. Come on and let's get this over with" said one of the soldiers that had barred his path. Gideon turned away from Dravak and nodded at the guard, then followed him outside. He spent the next few hours making many more trips to the stream, and did his best to clean and rebandage the wounds that the various bedridden Goblins had. His new First Aid Skill came in handy, helping him identify which wounds were worse off, and subtly guiding his hands. When he was done, he wordlessly deposited the clean bucket back where he had found it and walked over to the cage. A guard unlocked it and let him enter, giving him an odd look as Gideon passed by into the cage.

  His work done, he sat in the shadows in the back of the cage, his back against the wooden bars. He began breathing slowly, relaxing and letting the noise of the tribe fade into the background. The name Grub still burned in his vision, stamped into his very status. His old self was gone, erased. But if the System had taken his name, then he would just have to make this new one mean something. He made a promise right then and there, to himself, and to the world as a whole.

  Grub would survive.