Not to be Left to His Own Devices
Cheerful rays of light beamed from the warming orb in the sky, blessing the greenery below with its gentle touch. A sea of grass stretched into all horizons, swaying softly in the cool breeze. The only interruptions to this visual unison were the occasional, colorful wildflowers or lumbering oak. Small animals frolicked to and fro in the blades while others bathed in the clear shine. Bees and other insects merrily hopped about the enchanting growths, dodging the brightly marked birds whom sought nectar from the same plants. A beautiful butterfly floated its way up into the branches of a tree to a slumbering creature, landing softly on its nose. There was so much peace, so much tranquility in this place, it was as though the gods set it aside as an example of perfection and-
"Crap," cursed the goblin with a snap as two glittering wings tumbled to the earth below. "That cursed thin' is still out?" he questioned, not bothering to move himself for fear of losing his place in the shade. "Strike it all."
The wretched, burning globe hung in the sky, casting down its blight unto the land. Its putrid beams corrupted the dirt, forcing horrible, green sprouts to emerge from it. This plague of life expanded out of sight. No where was safe from the tragedy. A sickening gale carried with it the disgusting odors of petaled plants whose revolting scent attracted the most hideous of beings, including small, furred bags of flesh with squared off teeth that bound upon each other without ripping the jugular out. Bimblesnaff could barely stand knowing such places actually existed in this world outside the scary stories he heard as a youth and pondered why it was he ever came in the first place. This very question stayed in his mind until the sun hid its face. His thoughts were not so deep or meaningful as to require such a time, but his recollection was another matter. The reasons by which he came to this place were still rather unclear to him, despite the day's worth of deliberation. As he leapt down from the tree, missing the landing in the dark, he did remember it started as most of his stories: at a tavern.
He was at a general surface world pub somewhere, most likely far away from his present location, gleefully celebrating a momentous day. Punctured, stabbed, and wrapped in bandages new to his usual attire, the joy was not for still having his life but finding a mead he had never before drank and not getting slapped by the bar wench for his typical behavior. Both of these were rare events alone, and therefore demanded proper commemoration from the lunatic. Sadly, in his quick decision making without regard for consequences, his prior oaths slipped from him, as soon did his prior meals. The first was to never get drunk again, and the second was never bet when drunk, made in knowing the first would never be followed. Seeing his great thirst, a few resident regulars to the establishment made a friendly, meaningless bet with the intoxicated fiend. It was almost won by the green skin, too, as he was only one barrel away from emptying the bar entirely. Accepting defeat, he made good on his wager since it did not involve money. Unfortunately, a seaman of a passing through vessel mistook the Ghobling for something he was not, plentifully filled with alcohol himself, and took him in his new, pink dress, as per prior agreement, onto his departing ship. It did not take long for the crewman to sober up enough and toss Bimblesnaff overboard as jetsam. He was pleased, when he came to on some barren beach, to find no unnatural aches or pains in his body.
Still dazed from his rough journey, the goblin stumbled his way to a lone tower on the shore. A rounded pillar of stacked, grey bricks, the construct's age was evident in the winding vines that crept from the many cracks in its weathered face, ultimately producing a thick, garden-like patch in the apparently abandoned battlements. He passed by a number of wooden stakes with boards nailed to them as he stumbled to the gateway but paid no heed to them. Having forgotten that it was an overindulgence of ale that brought him there in the first place, the kobold invited himself inside for a drink. What he did not know was this particular tower belonged to an aged, powerful mage with a youthful, fair daughter, who he kept locked within wishing to keep her away from men seeking her fancy. Their staggering age difference never was brought into question. The wizened wizard was appalled by Bimblesnaff's rude entry; "rude" being his choice word for it involved the utter destruction of the doors to enter the tower, pantry, bedroom, and about every other door in the building. The elder did not want any man near his innocent daughter and had, in fact, posted the many warning signs in the front of the prison to detour any trespassers. The goblin, however, could not read them since they were only written in the letters of man, elf, dwarf, orc, troll, ancient, squirrel, and goblin.
"That old man was a fool to think that any goblin could actually read goblin script," commented the aforementioned goblin audibly to his own recollection. While the unwelcome guest was swine and his deeds asked, if not begged, for his own demise, the mage was merciful to him since human women were not "his thin'". Additionally, the archmage was taken by how the inconsiderate, little being offered no special treatment in the face of someone far superior to him and treated him as he would anyone else. This special "charm" the maniac had on the wizard was truly just a combination of his standard brash demeanor and indifference to foreign cultures. The beady, subterranean eyes did not see a frizzled, long, white beard hanging over shining robes or a conical hat with an astral pattern. They merely saw a human, a human with a squishy face that made him laugh on the inside and, when not putting effort forth, the outside as well. Therefore, regardless of the means by which favor was gained, Bimblesnaff was given a chance to save his own life for the normally fatally rewarded actions. A vital ingredient for the wizard's studies and spells was a fungus that grew in a cave in the nearby forest, but this place was the lair of many goblins of the common breed. While the powerful sorcerer would have no difficulty recovering the mushrooms himself, he detested the foul musk of the green skinned races, but the Ghobling would, theoretically, not have any troubles braving the stench or recovering some of the specimen. The other choice presented to him was to merely take a bath and stay there with generous hospitality for as long as he wished.
"I just got this smell the way I like it," Bimblesnaff grumbled to himself as he approached the forest's edge, "and I'm not takin' anothah seventeen years to get it back. 'Sides, why'd I wanna stay wi' that geezah," he continued. "He had ol' people funk." Thin columns of frayed bark stretched skyward with loosely covered branches entwining each other in the canopy. Thoroughly exhausted from days of travel, the lunatic was pleased that his mission could finally be underway. As he braved the first step across the woodland's threshold, something caught his attention from his eye's corner. It was none other than the very wizard's tower from where his trek had begun.
"Oooh," murmured Bogg in realization as he slid his hands through the air in gestures of tracking, "he meant it was to my left."
Sagely Reminder
As the goblin stood dumbfounded in light of his own misdirection, a flickering, blue flame in the shape of an eye appeared before him, gaining its form from intertwining rays of light that sprung from the earth. The old mage had kept a magical trace on the fiend so that he would become aware when he returned to the tower with the gathered bounty. Sensing his arrival, the wizard greeted the retriever with a phantom presence that would allow the two to communicate at a distance while more important, wizardly duties were attended to. The green skin's reaction to its sudden appearance was expected to be that of shock, but not at the magnitude and length he did express it.
"AAAH!" girlishly shrieked the kobold. "I knew ya'd come back for me. I'm so sorry, Uncle Jybtro! I dinna mean to shoot it out. I dinna know that bow was loaded!" An annoyed grunt sounded through the spectral mediator.
"You rank dolt," the sorcerer's voice boomed, "I am no spirit of a relative's disembodied-" His speech changed direction once the idiotic words fully settled with him. "You shot out your uncle's eye because you could not see the arrow notched in a bow?"
"Ya're an eye?" exclaimed the lunatic, squinting his beady eyes. "Oh, nevah mind then." The annoyed grunt resurfaced.
"Listen, foolish one," continued the mage, "you have been away for some time on this fairly simple task. I trust you have acquired the mushrooms?" Panic began to take over the squat one, but his sharp mind soon gradually fabricated an excuse that toddlers might believe.
"Y-yes. Yes, I... did," lied the seedy being. "That is, I did haves 'em, mind ya. While a'comin' back he'e to ya, they we'e... eaten by m' dog." Tints of red sparked in the wavering messenger as ire started to build.
"There was no four-legged beast in your company when you departed, Bogg," the wizard enlightened, "and I doubt one of their sensitive noses would adapt to your smell in such a brief run of days."
"Well, of course not four, he lost two o' them in the accident. How could ya be so cruel?" whined the goblin as he turned away to dryly sob. Leaving him to his act, the mage waited a while before further belittling his unfortunate acquaintance.
"Could you cease this incompetence for a bit?" asked the old man, immediately followed by a chorus of laughter by both sides of the conversation. At an abrupt stop to the merriment, he inquired, "Seriously, where are they?" The fearful cringe of the tiny being fed him the sought answer. "Fine," he sighed with acceptance, "just be off to fetch them now, and try not to get distracted from the present task."
"Even by shiny thin's?" whimpered Bimblesnaff, whose plea went unheard or uncared for by the mage as he continued.
"If you should ever need to call upon me to have some simple fact pertinent to finding the ingredients," he stressed, "explained to you once again, whether it be what you are looking for, directions to its location, which direction is which, which direction the sun rises from, or what the sun even is," rigidly stated the old man with increasing harshness to his tone as he felt confident that all basic points were covered, "simply chant the phrase gluk gluk to bring about my audience." The wizard selected an incantation he was sure the green skin would not forget as it was from his very own race's vocabulary and had been used by him on several occasions. Translations were rather crude, but the general use seemed that of requesting spirituous drinks, only in a more debaucherous manner. "Directions are ways you can point to and travel in," the mage quickly added upon seeing the goblin begin to lift his finger and open his mouth. The swift response replaced these actions with a sagely nod. "Very good. Now then, be off!" In a bright flash, the ghostly eye had vanish, leaving only a dispersing wisp of smoke in its place.
Tightening all of his straps and bandages, Bogg readied himself for the first step into the noble quest of fungus collecting that he had been forced into with a threat on his life by an elderly, human man. Lifting a dirty claw off the ground, his leg hung in the air as he savored the moment... and then savored it for slightly longer. The flaming eye popped back alongside the goblin in a much less spectacular entrance than before. With a dull expression, it sprouted a skinny arm and pointed it in one of those "directions" toward the forest. With a snap and wave of his fingers in thanks to the levitating body part, he wandered into the woodlands.
Out and About
Dismal rays splayed themselves over the several tall columns of barren branched wood. The dull, dusty bark shone an ugly grey, careless to the enriching light that poured upon its surface. Dried out foliage sparsely littered the forest floor, cracking beneath the heavy footfall of the wandering goblin. With his already impaired overworld vision impeded by the lean growths, Bimblesnaff's path was forced to weave through the grove in wide angles, careful to ensure that the cave was not passed in not being seen. Long hours slipped by, hours that were lengthened from his frequent complaints and breaks of rest over the easily treaded terrain. Thankfully, this time was more comfortable spent thanks to Bogg's recently acquired travelling companion.
"I tell ya," the green skinned fiend wheezed in exhaustion from the meager activity as he collapsed upon a rock for another brief pause, "this is some brutal trip. How ya holdin' up, the'e? ... Aye, good ta hear." Lifting his hat from his crown but careful to still leave it masking the sun's beams, a putrid, brown colored, murky sweat was wiped from his sloping forehead. Sadly, this is not a characteristic of his species. "Aah... now I bet 'tis shiny an' clean," whimpered the maniac. "So, whe'e was I in m' story, bud? The pile o' fine ladies, the heap of gold, the stockade of ale, or the mountain of golden ale servin' ladies?" No response came from his new friend, but he carried on as though answered. "Well, sorry for ruinin' that part for ya, but 't shoulda been apparent. I am great, aftah all."
Ever since fabricating his three legged dog, the lunatic had realized how lonesome he had been in the last few days. Travelling around without someone to peer his own mind, which he saw as an accomplishment rather than a downfall, his eyes began hunting for something to accompany him on his little quest. Unfortunately, as pointed out by the "inferior minded" wizard, if any living creature was downwind from the goblin's odor, or upwind for that matter, they would not remain for around long. However, since animals "we'e stupid, furry jerks", a recently decided opinion largely formed by his lack of encounters with the beasts, a less animate companion was suitable enough for the time. It had its share of problems, but the stick served him well. Its largest advantage was not being a rock, which held the broken branches position priorly. Enraged at its heaviness,the stone was abandoned for not becoming lighter when instructed. While this process simply comprised of the earth piece being tossed over Bimblesnaff's shoulder, complications, as they always do, arose when it trapped his tail between itself and the ground. Hopping about madly in a vain attempt to quell the pain, the goblin's bounce soon shifted to a single foot when he punished the naughty rock with a swift kick. With his primary instrument of balance in throbbing pain and only a single talon to maneuver the unleveled floor, no time was lost in Bogg finding the ground. Rather than blaming whatever it was he had slipped on for his present position, Bimblesnaff credited it with saving him from the stone's trickery by "some means." This, of course, was not the stick, but, since it was near by, he considered the two to be the same thing. Shortly after, he pounded the original objects existence from his memory and never spoke of its horrors again, not that anyone ever listened to him.
As the underdweller marched aimlessly through the forest, which sadly occupied less time than his many stops, a sudden sound caught his attention. Originating from behind him, he sharply turned about to identify the source, hearing another loud noise from directly over his shoulder. Quickly glancing back, his head darted left, right, then finally down to see the top half of his twiggy friend. A peek back to level view revealed a timber standing right besides him and the light scratches in its bark that the snapping stick carved into it.
"Wow, George," he exclaimed, "ya're... uh... losin' weight?" Fleeing the murder scene to that of the sound he did not cause, what he had heard repeated itself several times. It was the weak cries of a young human boy, this fact known since the speaker stumbled into a small clearing. The lad was only a young child with barely any flesh on his bones. Dirt and grime splattered his form from bottom to top with the exception of the wet path carved by his tears. No shoes adorned his mud and blood stained feet, and the only article of clothing he seemed to have donned was a simple tunic constructed of holey, ragged cloth and a rope. A thick, greasy mat of tangles hung over most of his face, including his eyes. The youth headed from tree to tree in no apparent order, feeling outward with his hands to guide his way.
"Help," squeaked the weakened voice. "Oh, please! I pray someone can hear me." Mixtures of panic and overwhelming emotion caused the young one to fall to his knees in heavy sobs. "We're doomed. All of us, doomed..."
"What's wit' all the ruckus, now?" snapped Bimblesnaff, trotting out from some nearby shrugs in a calm and smooth manner, aiming to make as spectacular an entrance as possible when covered in the thorns and barbs of that very bush.
"Wha-what? Some one is there? Oh, thank you, gods," plead the child, darting his head to and fro in an attempt to hone in on his audience. Slowly rising to his feet, the boy waved his arms about, trying to locate the answer to his prayers. The lad was blind, which meant something very important to the goblin.
"He can't see a thin'!" Bimblesnaff was proud of his deducing ability. Aside from the otherwise obvious, an actual meaning was found. "And that means m' fantastic entrance was wasted on 'em," his thoughts continued as he brushed barbs from his garb.
"Kind traveller," boldly called the boy, unaware of the hideous form he was seeking, "I ask for your help in a matter most grave."
"Really," unenthusiastically responded the goblin, eyeing the human.
"Oh, yes, sir," the lad deeply professed. "A great, vile lord has enslaved by peaceful village, tormenting my people. I was able to slip through the town's borders to find help. I have been wandering for days now. Please, good sir, tell me you shall aid us." Sliding a large claw against his barely whiskered chin, Bogg considered the oblivious boy's proposition.
"Well, youngun, ya're in luck," the green skin declared, widening the child's eyes with hope. Placing a clawed foot upon the lad's chest, the lunatic thrust the youth to the ground in a forceful blow. Leaning over the terrorized, shaking body, the maniac hissed, "Ya're lucky ya're not a girl, so ya'll get off easy." Bounding away, only a haunting laughter stayed with the quivering boy.
Travelling late into the day, another resting period was required since Bimblesnaff had moved another eye's shot. Spotting a gentle knoll, he splayed himself over the rise in the ground as he pondered where the cave he sought may lie. In deep wonder, he rapped his fingers upon the hill's surface, resonating a hollow echo from the gapping cave entrance below him.
Into the Hole... er... ?
The loud, rumbling echoes that channeled from deep within the earthen opening served as evidence that the structure Bogg currently was perched upon was, in fact, the sought cave. The obvious, however, is not Bimblesnaff's strength.
"Aw, frig," swore the goblin while not making a single movement with his body. "I had ta go 'n choose ta sit 'pon a sleepin' golem, 'gain? Strike it all ta 'ell!" With a crawling speed, one of his filthy hands rose from the surface of the mound to his leather bound handle. Pausing to elude the thought slumbering beast to his actions, he tore his hook blade from its place on his back in a mighty, swift swing that buried its point far into the hill's side. With frenzied shrieks and cries, the thin ceiling to the cave gave way to his blind hacking, dropping the maniac to the not too distant floor. "Ha!" triumphantly declared the green one as he set back his weapon, "those earth golems just seem ta get easier and easier. Wonder why 'tis peoples fear 'em so?" Pondering, he wiped some of the collapsed soil onto himself. "Guess I'm just that good." As his eyes swiftly adjusted to their natural environment, a narrow, winding tunnel was spotted before him. "Great Gromf! This golem devoured a hole!" the lunatic continued to ramble in his delusion. "Wait, now I'm just bein' stupid," he foolishly realized. "Golems dun eat holes. He musta been guardin' it," he stated, returning to his original dim witted nature, "and its fantastic booty."
Journeying down the dark corridor, the walls of the passage constantly shifted in appearance. Parts were ribbed as if eroded by time, but other areas were cut off square and hard edged. The width of the way quickly lessened to a point where even his small figure could feel cramped. He pressed on further without even giving it another thought. This type of workmanship was familiar to him. It was a goblin's craft: simple, crude, ugly, and blessed to the nose. Getting into a goblin cave, regardless of how or why, while seeking just such a thing was not a happening to slip by him. This had nothing to do with logic or reasoning, however, but with just his terrible sloth. If he was here, he felt he might as well check it out. Faring deeper, the walls closed in to a point where his wicked sword could barely squeeze through. Its points and hilt scraped up against the muddy walls as progression was slowly made. The space as so tight, that his body had to slither across the slippery surface since his limbs could no longer freely extend. Reaching a downward slope, Bogg began to slide forward uncontrollable. Soon, his momentum was out of control as he raced over the not always smooth and rockless path. Unable to stop his slippery descent on the even slipperier walls, he could at least appreciate that it was the fastest and easiest way to his destination. Ejected into open space, he enjoyed the freedom of his limbs for a brief moment before slamming into the cold, stone ground.
"I guess that needed ta be done," Bimblesnaff sorely croaked as he lifted himself from the floor, making sure his limbs still functioned. As those words were spoken, his head cranked to the right to find a short series of steps that led to an unlocked, open door from which he could see the familiar trees of the forest he had just recently departed. Popping his just outside the doorway, an even more familiar site was seen of the sunken in "golem" not even a stone's throw away. "Luckily," noted the Ghobling, "no one will evah know o' this." His eyes slowly shifted back, while his head remained still, to peer out of the glass panel and at his audience. Crouching down, he studied the miniature figurines displayed in the case with admiration. "Damn! Now these guys got class. They have the full set o' the Bettah Than Man series. Oo! E'en the rare Fuath! 'Tis a shame I gotta pilfah from 'em." Having too much respect for the owners to steal one of the statuettes, but not enough to prevent him from breaking the glass, he was off down the proper corridor.
The kobold knew exactly what he had to do, planning it out exactly as he madly dashed through the dark, a process that was not straightforward or painless. Springing into the area, he would scamper along the wall to the fungus, snatch the mushrooms in his jaws, and then bound off back where he came. All the while, the slow goblins would be stupefied by his sudden arrival and departure and not know how to react, leaving him with a safe escape. The only thing he needed to do in order to procure this instance was obtain the element of surprise by not becoming blinded by the sudden presence of light and not smashing flat against a wall in this blindness. He liked his odds, which was always the first step to his failures.
Brilliance pierced his tiny, dilated pupils, filling his head with a painful sting. As his flailing body charged on into the brightly lit area, a sudden bend in the tunnel was not seen by his dazzled eyes, which he hit in a full sprint. Pressed against the bend, the booming thud caught the attention of the cavern's occupants, being a band of three goblins of the more familiar breed. The flattened form of the Ghobling peeled from the wall from the straightening of his massive nose and crashed dully on the ground. Things were not following his thought to be well detailed scheme.
"Wha' now dis be, Yormgij?" questioned the short, bald one of the trio who donned a rusted beaver that masked most of his face.
"Dunno, Konvated," replied the heftier built, taller of the goblins with a stout, wide nose and parted hair drooping over his eyes. "He ain't no one I dunno." Despite the possible threat, he still maintained holding a worn spear lined with the charred carcasses of various woodland creatures over the meager fire built on the moldy ground.
"He ain't nothin' ah evah seen," added the last, a long armed fiend who wore no shirt to show off the twisted structure of his thick, gnarled bones. "Looks like one o' us, but's got a tail stuck on da back o' 'em. Wha's da deal wit' dat?"
"Well, P'lt," the first revealed the third's name to be with a hiss through the aged grill, "ah dun think we likes uninvited guests in our hole." Dragging out a large stick from behind his person, a large, metal head was revealed on the end as he swung it forward.
"An' ya know wha' happens ta uninvited guests in dese parts," bellowed the rotund, second one with ashes tumbling from his puffy lips as he braced his pole arm, now less one cooked meat. Cracking the knuckles of his enormous, bony hands wrapped in chains, the half naked member of the throng tossed his single braid of hair from his eyes to better see the intruder as he approached him.
"Boys," P'lt snarled, "looks like 'tis rumblin' time!"
Who's Who Again?
Still disoriented, Bimblesnaff stumbled to his feet, bracing himself against the smooth, rock wall he had just been peeled from. With his element of surprise long since lost, killed, and buried under someone's floor boards, a quick analysis of his believed inferior opponents was in order, and that would be done just as soon as the room stopped spinning around him. Finding it difficult to hold himself upright, his hand slipped on a patch of cave slime, knocking him to the floor. Just above, a loud, metallic thud reverberated through the room as Konvated smashed his hammer at the previous location of Bogg's head. Clamping his ears from the ringing pain, he squinted his beady eyes to get a look at his attacker. At first, nothing could be distinguished in the blur, but a shape soon settled from the chaos. A simple, shining arc glistened through the haze, the lesser breed's hairless scalp. The size of the already small goblin, even by the race's standards, was made more dwarfed by his oversized equipment. Most likely stolen spoils from the battlefield of man-sized species, a large beaver peaked at his sloping forehead and spanned past the width of his shoulders, still allowing room for his small, pointed ears to stand up comfortably, if they could be called such. The lower breed had short, immobile structures stuck to the side of its head, unlike the lovely, long splendors that graced the heads of the true Ghoblings. Beady eyes shone from beneath jutting brows that scarcely climbed over the mouth guard's height. This piece was bolted to the top of two massive shoulder guards, which did not match and lost the meaning to their name as they covered the kobold well down past his knobby elbows. These two fragments were connected by some manner of belts which allowed them to hang around the goblin's body without falling around his feet. A veil of chainmail hung around this support system, faintly masking what little was not already covered by the oversized armor. Despite the trend, the remainder of Konvated's body was not slathered in metal, not because this was his desire but since he could not carry any more weight than he already had upon him. Tight cloth clung to his skinny arms and legs, clamped down at their tattered ends by thick, iron shackles. His thin, gnarled digits were left exposed so that his long, sharp nails could be put to good use. One of those uses became apparent to Bimblesnaff upon realizing that the foe he gazed at was in front of him yet he lay on the floor. Sluggishly rolling out of the way, the heavy end of the bludgeon crashed into the stone ground as its wielder let it drop from the wall he too was clutching to. The spin from his tumble grew vertical as the lunatic pulled it into producing a wobbly stance. Twirling about in his now dizzier state, he ran into, pleasantly, a soft surface. Too relieved that it was not rock hard, pointed, or acidic, he failed to take note that it was warm and happened to pulse. Before he could spout one of his humorous-sounding, underdweller curses, a series of meaty fingers clamped around Bogg's skull, lifting him off his feet.
"Lookit dis li'l guy. He's frickin' wei'd," the oafish voice of Yormgij sang. "He's got some nose on' 'em, too." Bimblesnaff could not believe he was being accused of such by the monstrosity before him. While goblins are a more variant race than most, this particular example exceeded the bounds he had ever seen before. In fact, disputes existed among surface dwellers as to which is the true basis for how the green skins should look. The tower of lard stood what may have been five feet tall. From the point of his pear-shaped skull hung down long, murkishly colored strains of hair. Each of the evenly parted halves completely blocked the view of his eyes and, assumably, blocked the view from them. The perfect grooming technique was not brought on by a comb but the bulbous snout protruding from his face, which was far from characteristic of his people. Shadowed by the girth of the nose, puffy lips stuck out between puffier cheeks, still speckled with bits of ash. Beneath his chinless neck, a tabard hung, splattered with stains and droppings that pondering the origin of made even the maniac cringe a little. A thin and worn tunic was donned under the food covered dressing, strapped to his bulging body by a very strained belt. Unable to see anything lower than his waist, since it was obstructed by that very waist, it was deemed as good as any other target his underhanded mind could think up. Drawing back a clawed foot, the lunatic swung it forward, but the blow struck with undesired results. Ricocheting back from the blubber, the force pulled his leg and attached body around the hand that tightly held him, twisting him until his heel came down onto his captor from above, striking him on the arm, breaking his grasp, and leaving his neck quite painfully stretched. Popping his vertebrae back into place after falling to the floor, a blackened spear poked through his coat as he knelt on the ground. His wiry frame lucked in the point missing any flesh, but his cherished jacket had earned yet another hole, feeling as though his very soul, a stolen soul but soul nonetheless, was just stricken. Bounding forward, keeping the shaft aligned with the puncture as to avoid anymore unnecessary damage to his cloth, Bogg propelled himself upward, latching his jaw onto one of the overweight fiend's stubby fingers. Forcing the wielder to drop his weapon was what Bimblesnaff expected, but, after chewing on the single digit what would fit into his tiny maw for some time, the fat laden giant grew annoyed of the bothersome nibbling and slammed the whole of the biter onto the cavern floor. Raising up a short, stubby leg, the oaf pinned down the intruder with the weight of his bulk to keep him still long enough to skewer like one of his well done treats. The still wet mud that had soaked through the tasked Ghobling's garments during his unforgettable entrance in combination with his natural sliminess, of skin, not personality, acted as a lubricant, spitting out the face down fiend from the larger's step. Lost to shortness of breath from having his chest's size reduced, the hook blader could only replenish his air supply in desperate wheezes as an enormous talon scooped him from the ground.
"Sometimes ah wondah why ah keeps ya losahs 'round wit' me," P'lt snarled as he held their quarry in a densely wrapped clutch. "A freak it may be, but a freak still falls all da same." Forcing open his weary eyes, the aforementioned freak peered at the third in the triad. At the peak of his slightly egg-shaped head, a coil of sturdily braided hair fell onto his bare shoulders and then to the floor. With almost no forehead to speak of, a pair of broad, flat brows rose from the even flatter slope of his head. The protrusions cast a dark shadow over his miniscule eyes, masking their nature and intent. His face was short and wide, with sharply angled cheekbones. His nose was merely nostrils marking the center of his face. Two short arches curled back from the side of his head with a thin membrane in between a shorter arc stretching from the bottom. Theses flimsy, ridiculous ears were studded with bits of ornamental metals, but not of the precious variety. They were pieces such as bolts and nails, none of which seemed safe to have had pierce the flesh without risking serious infection or tetanus. Two fangs rose over his lipless mouth, just above his square chin. This hideous concoction sat atop a sinewy neck set between two prominent clavicles that seemed to match the size of his overgrown ribs. His fleshless ribcage formed a wall of bone and skin around his chest, leaving no gaps for weapons to easily reach his vitals. Thick arms hung at his side, a surprising fact since there was no muscle to them whatsoever. As his limbs continued, their width increased in size, all from bone. About midway up his forearms, large links of rusting iron began to entwine, packing denser as they approached the knuckles. Razor sharp claws dangled from out this bondage on one while the others wrapped about Bimblesnaff's collar. This girthful body stood on a dainty waist, in comparison to the width of what it supported, with nearly no meat or organs visible on its stick shape. A course, frayed rope tied about his midrift held tattered pants to his thin form. From out of the ripped leggings, massive, knotted feet splayed out in long toes. All the while he was being studied by the lunatic, the opponent was being studied as well.
"Yer a strange lil' fella, ah'll give ya dat," hissed P'lt at the green skin hanging from his grip. "But ah doubt ya'll put up any much a fight. C'mon, take a shot. Ah da'e ya." Writhing weakly, no attempt at a blow was made. "Bah. What we'e ya e'en doin' he'e if ya ain't e'en gonna put up a challenge?" With a powerful twist of his body, the chain-fisted brawler hurtled Bogg at the nearby wall, delivering him flat against his back and hook blade, cracking a loud snap from his spine. Landing gingerly upon his toes, the maniac straightened himself with an undulating motion through his frame. With a piercing shriek, he stretched out his arms, legs, and tail, showing no sign of complication.
"Hey, thanks the'e, bud," the Ghobling snapped as his bandaged hand moved swiftly to his wicked sword's handle. "Dunno when that happened. M' back was all not right at all. Ya really straightened it out the'e. I should thank ya, an' I know the pe'fect present, too." Swinging out the hook blade from its secured placement, Bimblesnaff charged forward, wrought with laughter.
Rumble in the Cavern
With a wide sweep of the bent weapon, Bogg scattered his opponents. P'lt skillfully flipped back out of harms way while Yormgij merely took a single broad step to the side to evade. Startled by the sudden ferocity, he unintentionally tossed his currently munched upon foodstuff from his hands. Konvated was the only one of the three to remain firmly planted in his place, catching the jagged edge at the end of its path. The blade struck his thick, metal vestment with a hollow clang but had no other affects than that. Not a scratch was placed upon the breastplate, at least one that could be distinguished from the other several grooves and battle scars earned by the hearty armor. Amazed by the immobile tonnage of the iron jacket, the Ghobling became aware that the small sized guardian was already learned to his suit's abilities. Pulling his overweight hammer from the ground, the hefty maul clashed with the outstretched hook blade, knocking it from its catch in the armor and its wielder's claws. The chain swaddled bruiser, in his acrobatic retreat, planted his feet against the cavern wall he drew upon, launching his body outward at a horizontal. Meanwhile, the fat kobold brought his treat-lined pole arm into both greasy hands as he stepped back into the battle, slamming his spear to the earth in a chop. With his tool of destruction now raised, the putrid knight aimed to crush Bimblesnaff beneath the force of his mallet and gravity. As the improperly secured hilt slipped from the lunatic's filthy mitt, not having enough time to rightfully bind it to his hand in its quick draw, his fingers wrapped around the security chain that dangled from the handle's end. Quickly thrusting back his arm, he whipped the attached sword behind himself like a flail. Snagging the head of the falling hammer in its arc, the blade ripped the bludgeon from the attacker and hurtled it into the lardy gut of his ally, who dropped his skewer to clutch his abdomen in the passing pain. Swinging his arm forward, the heavy edge followed at his side before bouncing off a well guarded shoulder. Sailing towards the intruder, P'lt's target was interrupted by the temporarily suspended sword. The maniac felt the cold links pass through his talons as the shirtless brawler pulled it from him with the momentum of his body as he passed over head. Rolling himself smoothly to the ground with his limbs constructing a wide frame, he prevented causing himself damage from the stolen object. As all four of the goblins seemed to freeze, the burnt snack finally dropped to the floor.
"Wha' in Shtarf's Hell dis t'in' be?" the pugilist questioned in a momentary lapse while catching his breath. He shifted the position of the angled blade a number of times, unsure as to which way of looking at it would help find its identity.
"Fool," blurted out Bimblesnaff, "know ya not o' the mighty Ghoblin' Hook Blade, legacy of my people?" The three pairs of eyes stared deep at him, straining to find meaning behind his words. He knew this despite not being able to see most of them for he could feel them upon him. He had lived the lie for so long that it had become a truth to him, but, now that he was facing actual goblins, the falsehood of his forging blunder was revealed. Thanks to clever thinking, a compensation was devised. "That is, the mighty... human Hook Blade! ... legacy of... people?" The cover up was quick not good. Doubting brows hung far down over P'lt's eyes as he tossed the oddity out of the way.
"Bah! Ah'll scrap yer junk when we a'e done wit' ya," he snarled over the clatter, "and ah'll add yer chain ta m' collection." Holding a densely covered knuckle up high, he squeezed his grip to rattle the bondage.
"How many foes do ya fight with chains on 'em?" the puzzled, prominently nosed goblin inquired. A sense of P'lt's averting gaze was apparent.
"One, actually," he confessed. "He just had a lot o' dem on 'em. Prolly why da suckah was so slow an' easy ta kill." After scratching the back of his neck in the awkward air, the silence was cleared by Bogg.
"So, 'tis not really a collection but just some thin's ya picked up once?"
"Hey, ah gotta sta't somewhe'e," informed the bruiser with a sudden outburst. "Enough o' dis crap. He's askin' too much questions. Let's get 'em already!"
With the out of place shenanigans over and battle afoot, the lunatic came to realize that he was without a weapon. It also came to his attention that he did not need possession of a weapon as he was his own. A devilish grin cracked on his slimy lips leaking a low chuckle as the triad closed in around him. As this expression grew into a gapping, toothy smile, the chortle raised in decibel and pitch. The walls shook from the thundering echoes of his devastating laughter. His beady eyes rolled back into their sockets as his tongue thrashed wildly from the side of his mouth. Throwing himself into a fit of insanity, an abrupt reality check was in order when his dementia was not being fueled by the agonized screams of his victims. The three still stood, just as they were before, only with an even more confused guise about their faces. They gazed at him as though he was suffering from a spasm brought on by demonic possession. Another fact taken for granted by the regal coated maniac was the nature of his opponents. Typically, a hostile encounter with another green skin can be dismissed as an impossibility, especially ever since he was exiled from his homeland since they rarely venture from it. These goblins, while not the exact breed, still bore enough similarities. The normal, earsplitting grate of his voice was lost on those with the same vocal abilities.
"Oh... right," Bimblesnaff muttered as this knowledge came back into his acknowledgement and the three moved in closer to him. "... Damn."
Madness Ensues
No time was wasted dallying by the trio of goblins as Yormgij charged with his spear poised forward. Springing upward, Bimblesnaff landed his bare talons upon the weapon's shaft, flipping back off from it while his weight crashed it scraping into the rocky floor. Bracing his arms against the ceiling, the lunatic pushed himself downward upon the advancing P'lt, striking him on each shoulder. Crumbling the brawler's body onto the ground, the maniac bound off his prior target with a flying fist aimed at Konvated, remembering after he nearly broke every bone in his hand that he was not suppose to do that. Rolling about the floor while clutching his hand like a delectable infant, the other two fiends joined their armored companion to trap the intruder. The ire in his face changed to a different feeling. It was not fear or desperation but a tranquil gaze.
"Friends, why do we fight each othah? A'e we not all green?" he rationally called out. The three showed signs of the words impacting them, but their weapons were still held ready. "What great misundahstandin' led us, fellow green skins, ta fight amongst ourselves? This is truly a grim day." The solemn speech was felt hard by the encompassing triad as they all lowered their arms. Some even leaked a few tears. Reaching down a hand to help their former foe up, Bogg took it, looked deeply into Yormgij's eyes, or where he thought they were, and spoke, "Suckahs!" Pulling on the little giant's arm, he slid his slippery self beneath the oafish brutes legs toward his separated weapon. However, he had not properly gauged just how overweight his adversary was and became stuck between two, fat thighs. "Oh... well then... this sure couldn't get any worse." Flinching, he strained through one open eye up at his soon to be murderers as they rose their weapons high. Pausing, they nodded to one another and dropped them once more. Bimblesnaff was in no way an optimist, so he knew that they did not plan to let him live that easily. He only could imagine that, instead, they had a far worse fate for him than a humane bashing in of his skull. Feeling his confinement shake, he looked up to see Yormgij nodding sinisterly as well. "Ah, I dun like this at all..."
Abandoning a vertical stance, the fattest of the group slammed down upon Bimblesnaff, crushing him under a very sizable force. There was no way for him to pop out or skid off as the chubby cheeks had his body pinned firmly against the floor. The other two were aroar with nauseating laughter as they watched the Ghobling flail helplessly beneath their friend's rump. Given little room to breath let alone move, the compressed lunatic grew desperate. Struggling to identify his limbs' positions, he did find one option, but he was unsure if he should exploit it. It would be rather... disturbing. Chortling in deep bellows, Yormgij's eyes suddenly bulged from behind their veil of hair.
"YEEEOW!" Rocketing straight up from the ground, he clasped the center of his rear, revealing Bogg, hastily taking in air, with his knee pointed upward at a sharp angle. Landing back on the ground, the chubby brute could not have scurried away from the supine goblin any faster, still holding the location. "D-d-did ya just stick yer knee in m'-"
"Ya can't prove anythin'," quickly snapped Bogg as he pushed himself back to his feet. Delivering a very peculiar stare at him, Yormgij made certain to keep much distance between himself and Bimblesnaff, frighteningly holding forth his quivering pole arm to ensure it. Shoving his colleagues forward, a bass growl cut their chuckles short, focusing them on their task. Trudging forward, Konvated smacked the heavy hammer's handle against his hand while P'lt rounded back. Snorting, the guardian dropped his mallet and beckoned the maniac with his fingers, offering him a free shot. He was more than confident that nothing could penetrate his armor. Shrugging, Bimblesnaff brought down a clenched fist onto the suited goblin's unprotected crown, but, as it turned out, his skull was just as hard as his mail. Both yelped in unison while holding their respectively injured portions. While the bludgeon toter stepped off to the side, waiting for the pounding in his head to stop, a rattling blow struck Bogg in the back. He found the brawler with knuckles raised, bouncing to and fro. Despite both of his hands feeling like their bones had been shattered against rigid surfaces, the cocky lunatic figured he would be able to take on the advanced pugilist. Waiting for his opponent to ready his guard as well, an explosion of punches were launched. The Ghobling weaved with the strikes, moving himself directly into the path of each. The links surrounding the furious fists were not merciful to his face, but, luckily, neither was his creator. Almost feeling sorry for his less than skillful adversary, P'lt called an early end to the manual massacre. Pulling out a short length of the chain, the bruiser stretched it between his massive claws and twisted it around the now blood streaked neck of the intruder. As his tongue darted out from his putrid maw from the strangulation, he angrily grabbed the long, single braid of the boxer's hair and administered a similar choke. Neither of the two were willing to give up first, but one had an unknown advantage. From countless nights spent in tavern competition, Bimblesnaff had become rather skilled at a "Never Ending Mug" contest and knew how to hold his breath for a considerable amount of time. While the goals could not be more different from one another, the practice was identical. Frustrated, P'lt had to relinquish his hold in order to cut his own cherished length of hair with his sharp nails in order to save his own life. Feeling the shortened sprout of hair after springing away from his foe, he felt that his pride had just been hacked off. He was now truly enraged and called forth his allies to finally rid themselves of the nuisance.
"I would just give up now, guys," Bogg croaked through his collapsed throat. "That is, unless ya want me ta use m' ultimate spell o' destruction!" Threatening grumbles were the only response to obvious last ditch ruse as, once again, the Ghobling was surrounded by the trio. With a malicious smirk, he began to chant in a mystic fashion. Raising his hands to the ceiling, his arcane babble grew louder, but the three still advanced, calling his bluff. "Dosha amida higabu gluk gluk sakefy..." As his words trailed on, a bright blue flash filled the room. An eerie, glowing mass manifested above the lunatic, taking the shape of a blue flame. The triad stood frozen in disbelief that the foolish intruder could actually perform any type of magic. "I'd run if I we'e ya," he suggested with a devilish smile, "as fast as I could." With no desire to take chances, they bolted off in split directions, not desiring to witness or be subject to the remainder of the casting.
"Did... you need something?" the voice of the wizard questioned, projecting from the phantom eye. "I trust you summoned me for an important reason?"
"That's 'kay, boss, 'tis already done," the maniac ensured smugly. "Thank goodness that breed is so stupid, unlike my kind," he declared while eating something he just picked up off the floor and realizing that it was not food.
"You called upon me solely in order to scare away the villains I hired you to deal with?" he angrily screamed through the eye.
"Oh, so what?" dismissed Bogg. "'Tisn't like anyone died."
"Anyone," stated the wizard, "no. Any entire dimension full of sentient life forms, yes."
"Well, alright then."
Back in Inaction
Wiping his mouth clean of his recently retched acquisition, Bogg addressed the phantasmal messenger, "So, ol' magey one, guess this is all ya needed me ta do."
"... What," started the wizard, "was it that you exactly did?"
"Why, I scared off dem lousy lessah breeds so yer 'shrooms would be all good 'n' dandy for th' pickin'," Bimblesnaff proudly replied. "Was quite th' epic battle, I may say. Ya shoulda seen it. I had 'em quiv'rin' in der boots." He paused to reflect a moment. "Assuming boots could fit these divine structures we call feet," he tagged on, pointing to his horribly gnarled and revolting toes.
"Epic, huh?" questioned the sorcerer. "So epic, that you needed my presence to scare them away?"
"Why, ye-" The Ghobling stopped his tongue. "More to the point, I did yer sahvice."
"Why did you even fight them?" the mage continued to drag out the topic, perplexed by its notions. "The entire reason I sent you, smells set aside, was due to the fact that you would have better standings to negotiate with the scum."
"Negowhat?"
"Negotiate."
"Negowhat?" A harsh sigh could be heard through the eye of flame.
"It is where two parties come to a conclusion to a matter without the use of violence. In other words, it's a peaceful resolution."
"... Negowhat?" Some muffled cursing could be scarcely heard on the other side of the communication relay, despite best efforts to direct it away.
"Making bad things fixed without hitting, okay?"
"Ooh! That," Bimblesnaff came into a final realization. "Like comparin' pissin' lengths?"
"... Sure, why not," the wizard reluctantly accepted, not caring to argue the point further. "Just gather the fungus and have it back at my tower soon." The eye seemed to stare the goblin down harshly. "Unless retracing your steps is asking too much of you?"
"Probably," the lunatic slipped in while walking away, "but I should get these dealies back ta ya some time or anothah."
"Yellow?" blurted out the eye after directing itself to the lined, cavern wall. "Why are they yellow?"
"Whadaya mean?"
"They should be blue," it explained. "This is the wrong type of fungus."
"How do ya know they ain't blue?"
"... Because they are yellow," it repeated. "Yellow is not blue," it quickly added in upon seeing the goblin readying another worthless question.
"Ooh! I undahstand," the maniac lied. "So this means..." He never proceeded, awaiting the wizard to fill in the following words.
"You found the wrong cave. You'll have to try to find a different one," ordered the elder.
"What? I almost lost m' skin tryin' to get these ones," Bogg protested. "Why can't ya just use these?"
"Those lack any magical properties," educated the mage, despite the futility behind the action. "In fact, the only thing they do is cause people to discharge from their- ..." Loud munching from the goblin distracted his speech.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Yellow chunks tumbled from his stuffed mouth.
"... Never mind," dismissed the old man. "Oh, and, in a few hours, you might want clear up your schedule... for a long time."
"Scheduwhat?"
Later, Bimblesnaff was "persuaded" to continue his task in finding the correct cavern with the threat of a limb being relocated into an orifice. Emerging from the nicer cavern entrance he found, after the first and troublesome one, he contemplated which direction it was that he had came from, not wanting to doubleback just yet to the tower, a concept he would surely forget about when needed later. Looking over at the gentle hill, he knew that was his path into the forest. Turning about, he found a second gnoll, this one collapsed. Doubletaking, he placed a finger over the one mound while he turned his head around to get a look at the other, not trusting his eyes. There were, in fact, two hills directly on opposing sides of him, each with an opening. The first hill, the collapsed one, blocked his view of the second entry way. Now, it seemed, the second had interfered with him viewing the third.
"How many bloody cave holes are in this forest?!?" he cursed, dragging himself over to the next gaping entrance. Its wide, coarsely scooped out walls quickly funneled to a narrow point. Squeezing his lower half through, the less than broad shoulders caught on the rim. "Well, this is just dandy," he puffed, struggling to pull himself from or into the hole with his feet dangling.
"Hey, what's all this about?" a familiar voice squeaked from below.
"Looksit like some feet comin' down from the top hole," a certainly known voice bellowed.
"Some feet that I recognize from anywhe'e," added the known voice of P'lt, "or just a few moments 'go."
"So is that the runt ya we'e tellin' me 'bout?" a new individual spoke up. "Well, boys, let's see if we can't treat this problem done up right ways."
"... what?" asked Yormgij.
"He means we're gonna kill 'em," informed Konvated.
"Ooh, I understand."
Get It Going
Struggling to pry himself from the opening, Bimblesnaff could hear the clatter of weapons as the lesser goblins attempted to strike him from below. Due to his elevation, they had a difficult time accomplishing this and had to resort to throwing weapons and various out objects at his lower half. Not desiring any more bruises of the unknown nature to his legs, Bogg got the brilliant idea to utilize the unique shape of his blade to supply leverage and force himself from the tight hole. He should not be given much credit for the idea, however, as once he removed it from his back, it was learned that the sword was, in fact, what prevented his descent through the narrow orifice. Slipping through, the bend in the wicked cutter snagged, catching him before falling too far. His entire body now dangled from the ceiling, and he could see his attackers, the three he had encountered previously and a new foe, as well as the spear that stuck out from his haunches.
"I thought somethin' dinna feel right back the'e," the Lunatic addressed the problem as he pulled it out with one of his feet. This cave seemed to be less a dank clearing in the earth and more of a facility. It was like a long room, neatly squared where the walls and floor met, being nearly flat. They curved gently into the ceiling, sloping gradually to the hole he hung from. The walls were lined with several barrels and bags of unknown contents, while tables covered with fluid filled glass were stationed at the far end near some large machinery. The heap of crude metal looked familiar to the Ghobling, but only because it was a distilling piece of equipment. The entire arrangement of the room, in fact, gave the impression of a distillery.
"Ah, damn, did the saboteur get free?" questioned the grating voice of the unknown member of the four. It was short, frail monstrosity with an oversized head, too big for his body. A shapeless mat of animal skin hung from his head, pretending to be a cap. His eyes were covered by large, thick goggles, leaving little of his face exposed. He wore something like suspenders over a naked chest, but the straps continued over and around the large barrel docked on his stooping back. Plastered in X's, several pipes rose from its top and several hoses poured from the bottom of it, leading to a nozzle that the brewer held within his heavy, hide mitts. "That's too bad, I guess," he accepted while spitting out a sprig from his wide mouth. "Now 'tis gonna be harder to use this baby on ya." Directing the complicated nozzle in Bimblesnaff's upward position, a small flame appeared at the end as the massive backpack began to make a hideous noise, convulse, and spew forth steam from its pipes.
"Uh... negotiate?" the dangling intruder quickly spat out.
"Negowhat?" the four chimed in unison.
"I shoulda known," the maniac admitted, despite not truly knowing what he meant himself. Not liking the looks of the situation, however, Bogg relinquished his grasp in time to dodge a torrent of flame. The blast carried so much force behind it, the little goblin commanding it was knocked back into the stock supply. The lunatic landed safely, although clumsily, on the ground. Rolling to and fro while complaining about his leg being shattered in twenty places, P'lt lept forward to finish the whining goblin but was caught, literally, by the falling Hook Blade, being pinned to the floor in its arch. Having reclaimed his spear, Yormgij charged at their common enemy but had to catch his breath when half way to his target. Getting some lift by jumping onto and off of the bruiser's head, while smashing it fiercely into the stone floor, Bimblesnaff ascended to the top of a supply stack. Mocking them, he danced around foolishly, waving his arms in the air not too different than an ape. Enraged, Konvated smashed his mighty hammer into the ground, pounding constantly as he slowly advanced, "slow" being the fastest his armor allowed him to move. Still without a weapon, the Ghobling pushed down barrels near the edge of the tower, sending them rolling thunderously at his approacher, but they were met with no contest at the end of his maul. After the first one was torn to splinters, Bogg ceased his blasphemy, realizing that these divine vessels housed a delicious brew. While he tried to crack into one of the containers, the brewer pulled his colleague away from the stack as he doused the base of the pile in flames and took cover himself. Alarmed by the terrible sound generated by the steam pump's operation, and then piecing it together with the smoke he had been smelling for a while, the lunatic figured he could at least die how he always wanted to and slid into the recently uncovered barrel of alcohol. A massive and unnecessarily large explosion decimated the lower portion of the stockpile, scattering barrels, bags, fire, and wreckage alike throughout the cavern. As it erupted, it catapulted his chosen barrel into the curve on the ceiling, rolling him across the top of the room before the momentum ran out and he was dropped harshly on top of Yormgij. He had seen the object heading towards him, but, as he tried to escape its path, he, yet again, ran out of breath. Planks and metal rings soared in all directions as the long-nosed goblin's fall was broken on the squishy flesh of the brute. Tumbling in a tangled ball of his own limbs, Bimblesnaff threw himself up into a dizzy stance once he stopped and rose his fists in preparation to box against a stack of bags.
"This is gettin' a bit costly," Konvated pointed out as he pulled P'lt from out the Hook Blade, rather than just pull it from the ground. "We a'e losin' all our stock, he'e."
"I'm not lettin' him get 'way," the brewer roared over delayed explosions from barrels that had not had their walls burned through yet. "We gotta make an example outta 'em!"
"An example to who?" asked P'lt, rubbing the gashes he obtained during his "freeing".
"... Get 'em!" The goggled goblin led the charge with his tiny steps through smoke and shrapnel to where Bogg had just lost his fist fight to the inanimate objects. Konvated tried to keep up with the short legged leader while P'lt struggled to drag the Hook Blade, being unaccustomed to the extra weight of a weapon. As the gradual progression was joined by Yormgij, it truly became the slowest offensive ever launched.
Get It Gone
After being stuck, stabbed, exploded, plummeted, and boxed by something lacking hands, there was little Bimblesnaff could even have left to get accomplished for the day, save die, which he did not plan on doing until next week when the Thirsty Boar Tavern had advertised holding its Single Coin Stein Night, a special event he planned to make them regret. Coming to his senses, which for Bimblesnaff just meant the walls were no longer wobbling as much as they were previously, he spotted the slow procession. It was little more than a span of his arms outstretched away, but he still had time to rub his eyes in disbelief at their pace. Flipping forward, the lunatic landed his mitts upon the flame spouting nozzle, bashing it into the stone floor. Continuing with is acrobatics, he hurtled onward so that each of his feet touched down onto a shoulder pad of the guardian's vestment, straining his legs past their limit. Leaving Konvated in a crumbled mess, Bogg was able to leap out of the way as an unobservant P'lt tripped over his fallen colleague. His lack of awareness came from having to pull along the hefty hook blade which required him to turn his body about face and push with his heels. From his supine vantage point, the bruiser could see the maniac suspended temporarily in the air above him before crashing down with a sharp heel to the gut. Spotting his beloved and separated bent sword lying free before him, Bogg dove for his treasured weapon but found it had gained some unsightly weight. This extra mass came in the form of an angry Yormgij's foot, which presently was placed square upon its curved end. Bimblesnaff could only smirk devilishly as it was not a wise place to stand. Pulling up with a forceful jerk and yell, Bimblesnaff's scream melded into the shriek of the brute as his sole was cut deep.
"Heh. Too bad the'e ain't an easy way ta learn not ta do that," the Ghobling scoffed as he dragged up one of his bandaged wrapped feet for show. "See?" Why he ever stood upon the blade himself was not all too clear. Steadying his weapon for a powerful, full spinning chop, it became locked in its cocked position by an external force, the chained grasp of P'lt. Thinking he plotted out the perfect maneuver, the tailed goblin made quickened steps up the lardy goblin's front, aiming to propel his up and over, circling back down upon the brawler. His plan went to ruin as he did not possess nearly enough strength to carry himself that high into the air. Instead, his body just crashed flat onto the floor outstretched. His blade was freed, however, and thus it was deemed a victory in his eyes, or, as he knew them, "lady charmahs". To clarify, he sadly used this phrase to refer to both happenings that transpired in a favorable outcome to him and his eyes. Stretched out defenselessly before his chubby adversary, the fat one found the opportunity prime for a crushing body slam. As the air quickly vacated the maniac's lungs, panicked struggle tried to force the mass from him, but his limbs were pinned down flat. As the last bits of air passed his putrid maw, it was decided it might as well be doing something if not breathing. A baritone bellow boomed from Yormgij as he tossed himself off of Bimblensnaff, clutching his eye as a sanguine stream trickled about his fingers. With a sinister look about his brow, blood ran down Bogg's misaligned fangs. Not letting the girthed green skin off with just a face wound, he thrust a leg straight upward, burying his talon between fat laden thighs. As Yormgij rolled about the floor with one hand on his face and the other at his crotch, Bimblesnaff was sure that he would not be a bother for at least a little while. Rising back to his feet, now his attention could turn to-
"Think fast," ordered P'lt as a quick jab was planted across the lunatic's face. Snapping his jaw back into place, he delivered a yet more demented stare at his foe.
"No one tells me ta think!" Scraping his jagged sword along the ground, the vertical cut was blocked by the shackled wrists of the pugilist. The hook blade had now made it into the air, and, from here, it could deliver a series of heavy hitting blows aided by gravity, which is exactly the course of action taken. Against the onslaught, links began to split and snap as whole lengths of the chain fell from P'lt's arm. Catching one of the longer, falling segments, it was used to grapple the blade on its next strike, wrapping it securely and catching at its bend. The Ghobling held his sword tightly, not wishing to be separated from it so soon, but it was also held tightly by his opponent, putting them at a stalemate since both their choices of weapons were disabled. With a short hop, Bimblesnaff grabbed the bruiser's thick arms with his clawed feet in an attempt to off set his foe's balance and bring him to the ground. The brawler's stance remained as he proved as strong as ever. Additionally proving to that claim, he repeatedly slammed the collective mess tangled on his arms into the rocky flooring. After several falls, P'lt's arms eventually grew tired, and he had to cease.
"Ha, ya wee girl," Bogg mocked while still clutched to his adversary, laying on his back on the ground. "I've gotten worse beatin's from maidens!" This was a fact that was more true in this situation than other boasts of his. In attempts at swooning taller species' females, something he knew nothing of, even for shorter females, his last effort to "win them over" involved tightly grasping their legs and not letting go. It never once succeeded and usually resulted in his body meeting the nearest wall several times, but his perseverance paid off, although not in the area he had originally hoped for. Having been locked in confrontation with the pugilist for some time, the other of the three goblins had slipped the lunatics mind until some gnarled toes rested upon his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the absent guardian with maul held high.
"Hold still a blink," crept his voice through the iron grating. "It'll only hurt a lot." After a womanly shriek, Bimblesnaff's instinctual, cowardly reaction was to curl into a ball and cover his face. His fatigued attachment, caught off guard, was pulled along as the limbs he was bound to retracted, sending him as an interception to the crashing mallet. As the bloody crater fell with a dull thud to the floor, Konvated quickly tried to cover up his gruesome mistake by landing another blow, this time actually against the vulnerable intruder. As the hammer raised again, the Ghobling acted swiftly with his freed weapon. He thrust his arm straight up, which was actually parallel to the ground, and lifted, digging the jagged edge into an area that was a surprise to be discovered as unarmored for someone so well protected. As unfathomable pain and took over the metal coated goblin, his grip slipped on his heavy bludgeon, dropping its massive head onto his own. His body was fast to fall with the hefty weight to the ground his blood soon covered. Ripping the blade from the unconscious guardian's crotch, the lunatic sighed as he knew, for once, his weapon would have to be cleaned.
"What have ya done, laddie," wailed a voice from behind. "What have ya done to m' brothahs? More importantly, m' workahs!" Pulling out his nozzle, bent and sparking, the brewer waved it threateningly. "Burn, wretch, burn!" Rolling over Konvated's body, he pulled it up in front of his own body as he pressed himself down flat, taking cover. The maniac figured the oversized armor worn by the corpse would be wide enough to block most of the fire. No flame was ever thrown as the device, damaged from before, improperly functioned and triggered an explosion from the goblin's highly volatile backpack, which paled in comparison to the gigantic eruption which was triggered as the cave's other side of stockpiled goods reacted. The force was strong and sheer, growing steadily as more fuel was consumed in its radius. Tearing through the entire cavern in a single, destructive wave, nothing was spared. As the fiery tide passed Bimblesnaff, most all the force was absorbed by his inhuman shield before it was torn from him and smashed into a recovered Yormgij who was about to have his revenge against the hated Ghobling. While the deadly wake still carried enough strength to tumble Bogg about the ground a good number of times, he had eluded much of the damage caused to everything around him by the fatal front. He called his survival "skill" while others would call it "luck" or "a damn shame". Sitting up straight, he took in the magnitude of the destruction around him, shedding a single tear.
"Why did this have ta happen?" he moaned. "Ah coulda drank that ale!" Amidst his sobbing, a bright light contrasted against the charred surroundings and smoke filled air, taking the shape of a familiar eye set ablaze. "Oh, greetin', boss man," the hook blade's wielder welcomed, jumping to his feet. "I dun remembah callin' ya?"
"You did not have to," the elderly mage spoke through the flaming vessel. "I felt my tower shake and heard a grand racket. Somehow, I immediately thought of you." The eye slanted as its color tinted red.
"Aww, that's nice."
"... Do... do I smell charred flesh?" the old man asked.
"Er, no," Bimblesnaff lied. "That's the smell o' 'negotiate'," he poorly covered up. Being struck by a sudden thought, a rare event indeed, he questioned, "You can smell through that eye dealie of yours?"
"No, I cannot," the mage answered. "There just happens to be a breeze today." After an annoyed grunt, he continued. "Just skip the disappointing and horrifying explanation of what it exactly was that transpired," the wizard begged, "and tell me you recovered my ingredients."
"Ya dun have to worry 'bout that, pink skin," assured the Ghobling with no avail, "Ah've gone and taken care o' those pesky othah guys so 'tis all yers." Trotting down the long cavern with footfalls echoing throughout the emptied walls, he plucked one of the fungus, burnt black, from the walls only to have it crumble to ash in his hands. Trying another one, the same events followed. "Gimme a second, he'e." After about a dozen tries, the wizard had enough of the buffoonery.
"Cease this at once!" he roared with ire. "You incompetent, witless, brain rot! You have ruined my plans. Oh, the dark lord will not be pleased by this."
"Dark lord? That sounds," mused the maniac, "entirely unfamiliar."
"He is a cruel tyrant who commands over a small village nearby here," hopelessly explained the wizard. "He ordered me to create a spell that would make his subjects more 'orderly'. I needed this mushroom to create that enchantment, but now I will have to use the original formula I wrote, which causes burning pain and deformities."
"Hey, yeah, that sounds great," the goblin replied, not really caring about people. "So ya want me ta go an' stop this guy?" he suggested with a crooked-toothed smile.
"No! Oh, please, do not!" implored the mage. "If anything, he would probably use you as an instrument of torture against these poor people. Just leave here immediately and never return for the sake of all that is good and just."
"Can do," agreed Bimblesnaff who proceeded to walk to the end of the tunnel, failing to whistle merrily as he went, shattering the charred remains of someone with careless steps. Hovering in a mixed state of relief, disgust, and thought, the eye had one final comment for the lunatic.
"And the open invitation to my home and pantry is withdrawn," the wizard boomed. "I shall kill you on sight if I should ever see you again."
"Dammit!"
