Level One God

Every instinct I had screamed for me to run. Just one tomte gave me about all I could handle. Six would surely be an instant death sentence, even with the nasty stuff I had inside my Alchemist’s Kit. That took fighting off the table, for now.

I assumed a relaxed posture, opening my arms wide and smiling. “Thank God!” I said. “I was hoping I’d find you guys. I ran into someone—he must have been your friend. He’s hurt pretty badly back that way.” I pointed in roughly the direction I came from. “I tried to patch him up but didn’t have enough supplies, so I came out to look for help. Oh, and there was a big fire a little ways back. I lost my clothes in that…”

My made-up story had gone pretty well, I thought. But now I remembered I was wearing a makeshift skirt of dead, bloody tomte clothes tied together. Slowly, I lowered my hands, covering as much of it as possible.

The six tomte shuffled into view from their hiding places. They gathered in a conspiratorial clump in front of me. They huddled their heads together as they talked in low, rushed voices.

They were holding a variety of weapons. I saw a bow, a slingshot, a club, another knife, a spear, and one wielding what looked like a really big pumpkin. I wasn’t sure if the pumpkin was a weapon or just something he happened to be holding, but I didn’t think I wanted to find out.

Their hair came in all colors, from white to blazing red and everything in between. Each tomte in the group was unnaturally wrinkled and sour-faced, with big beards and silly hats. There was a tall, pointy hat similar to the one I’d seen earlier, but most had random styles. One looked like a fedora, and another was like a top hat.

The gathered tomte occasionally looked up from their huddle, eying me suspiciously.

Finally, one stepped forward from the group. He had white hair and a red tophat. He was also the one holding the pumpkin. “Was it Greg?” he demanded. “You seen Greg?”

“Greg? Um, actually, I forgot to get his name. White hair?” I said, lifting my hands to pat my cheeks. “Big beard? Pointy red hat and boots with bells on them?”

Nothing got much of a reaction until I mentioned the boots with bells.

“Jinglefoot,” one whispered. “You seen Jinglefoot? He hurt?” It was a red-haired gnome now talking from the back.

“Pretty badly,” I said, desperately hoping they weren’t about to blame me for it.

The one with the pumpkin, who seemed to be the leader, nodded slowly. Then he hacked up a thick wad of spit and launched it to the ground between us. The others followed his lead, peppering the ground in a quick, phlegmy barrage.

For good measure, I spit in their general direction, too. They seemed to like that.

“Hope he’s hurt bad,” the leader said, sounding giddy. “Hehehe. Hope he gulps the last gulp.”

The others giggled at that.

And they’re all insane. Wonderful.

“Yeah, totally,” I said. “I wasn’t a big fan of him, to be honest. So you guys don’t like him, either?”

“Jinglefoot is walkin’ the long walk. Bye-bye, no talk,” explained the pumpkin holder.

“Right. He did look like he’d been walking a while. Boots were filthy.”

More giggles.

A tomte pushed his way out from behind the leader. He pointed his spear toward my crotch. “She will want to meet him.”

Was he talking about me, or…

“She will,” all the others echoed, almost by reflex.

I raised my eyebrows. “Who is ‘she’?”

“The big one. Come, follow. We’ll show the way.” The leader turned and started walking, sounding almost happy. “Chop chop,” he said, jerking his hand when he saw I wasn’t moving. “I’ll cut ya’ if you keep just standing there. Hehehe.”

“Chop chop!” the tomte chanted.

I gulped and started following behind the small group. They talked among themselves some, but their conversation seemed to be all themed around cooking. From the sounds of it, they had been gathering ingredients for dinner, and they were all excited to eat. Sometimes, they blurted out completely random phrases out of nowhere. Other times, they sounded almost coherent.

I looked over my shoulder and swallowed down some panic. Based on the tooltip I’d seen with my helmet, I didn’t think I was safe with these things. Running was an option, but it didn’t feel like a very good one. One of them had a bow, and there was also the slingshot. Besides, “Jinglefoot” had no problem throwing a knife at me from pretty far away. He was also fast as hell. I was running full speed, and he’d been right on my ass.

Maybe this was fine, though. Sure, they were all creepy and seemed like they had several screws loose. But what if they were taking me to meet some friendly grandma tomte who wanted to feed me soup and thank me for telling them Jinglefoot was dead? Just because it was generally a bad idea to interact with cursed tomte tribes, that didn’t mean it was always a bad idea, right?

For my own sanity, I decided that’s all this was. I had been invited to meet Grandma. I’d stay on my toes, of course. If they tried to talk me into becoming part of dinner or donating my skin, I’d find a way to escape. Somehow.

We only walked for about ten minutes before we came within view of what looked like a little forest outpost. There were walls, towers, and even a gate surrounding a dozen or so tiny homes. The whole thing was miniaturized, though. I was pretty sure even my dog, Big Boy, would’ve looked too big in there. Their perimeter wall would’ve had trouble keeping a human toddler from breaking in.

The leader tomte jogged ahead and held his pumpkin high before the gate. Two more tomte appeared in the towers on either side of the gate.

“It is big!” the leader announced.

“It is big!” the tomte in the towers repeated, voices struck by awe.

“Open the gate!” someone shrieked.

The gate lifted, and the tomte led me through, apparently without considering that I wouldn’t fit through there.

“Should I…” I said, pointing at the opening. I could’ve maybe army-crawled through, but I wasn’t certain. “I’ll just—” I put my palms on top of the wall, hitched myself up, and swooped my legs over like I was skipping line dividers at an amusement park. “Respectfully,” I muttered.

Nobody seemed offended. They didn’t even seem to think twice about my makeshift skirt of tiny clothes. Honestly, these cursed tomte guys seemed really chill so far. Maybe my tooltip was the paranoid one.

The inside of the fortress made me feel like I had stepped inside one of those oversized train displays people built—the kind where a hobbyist spends years perfecting all the details. It was quaint, with wooden houses that reached no higher than my chest. Smoke rose up from chimneys, and there were tiny little clotheslines with red knickers and hats out to hang.

I was smiling and enjoying the sight of it despite the still-not-zero chance these things were going to try to kill me.

I took care to watch my step, though. I was fairly sure I’d just crush straight through these houses if I tripped or brought my weight down on them.

“This is a great village,” I said.

The leader grunted, apparently eager for me to follow him to the building that looked the most important. I hoped he realized I wasn’t going to be able to fit inside… I trailed after him and the others as we cut through the center of the little town. Tomte kept stopping to stare slack-jawed at my helmet or point and whisper. I couldn’t blame them. If I hadn’t been worried for my life, I probably would’ve taken it off and stared, too. It was mesmerizing.

“I never got your name,” I said. Best to keep trying to be friendly, after all.

The leader of the group looked back and thumped his chest. “This one is Secrettooth.”

“Oh,” I said, not having to pretend to be impressed. “Do you actually have a secret tooth?”

He cackled, dancing up and down in frantic, stomping steps. “Nice try, nice try! You want to see my secret tooth? Thems that seen it sleepin’ the long sleep. Hehehe.”

“Right.” I aimed a nervous finger gun at him, smirking. “Almost got ya.”

“Surely did, surely did!”

So Secrettooth and I were practically buds now. I was pretty sure, at least.

The little village was buzzing with activity. Tomte carried bundles of herbs and vegetables about. Some were heading toward a large cauldron at the center of town giving off mouth watering aromas. We walked past a large prep table where a row of tomte were chopping and adding ingredients to the stew. I noticed one or two female tomte, discernible only because of their large breasts. Otherwise, they were just as heavily bearded, wrinkled, and cranky-looking as the others.

All the tomte—even the ones by themselves—were constantly talking. They muttered, sang tuneless little songs, or sometimes talked over each other at concerning volumes.

I took one quick look around, thinking how I must have truly gone insane. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was having an average day. I had an average level of boring dread about where my life was headed. An average level of anxiety about things like bills, taxes, and that wedding I really didn’t want to go to coming up—the one where I reluctantly agreed to be a groomsman. It was only because I felt bad for the guy, but now…

I blinked. The thoughts of my ordinary life felt painfully foreign as I watched a real-life tomte walk inside the important building near the center of town.

Even if I was already kind of fond of these little guys, I still had my inventory grid pulled up, and I was ready to pluck my bottle out at a moment’s notice if needed. My tentative combat plan was to hold the potion menacingly, and back away while making as many threats about what its contents would do to the first tomte who tried to touch me. The first one to get close would catch the potion in the face, assuming I didn’t miss my throw. The next would get a spiky headbutt.

After that? I could either run away screaming or try to go full-blown Godzilla on their little town and take as many of them down with me as I could. I would reserve the right to choose whichever felt most appropriate at the moment, thank you very much.

A female tomte emerged from the house. Secrettooth came out from behind her and gestured extravagantly, bowing at her back.

“This one is Glimmerbang, our wise leader!”