ZachSkye

Hey there! There's a recipe down at the bottom of this chapter, and as of Friday (12/24) this will be all caught up, meaning the posting will switch to once a week. Hopefully, in the future, I'll be able to switch to two chapters a week, but right now I've been writing a nice backlog! (It also takes time to test some of the recipes.) Hope you enjoy!

  Chains rattled, Strum groaned and tugged at the manacles on his wrists. He slumped on a shabby wooden stool and stifled a yawn. He ached, it turned out when a brute like a troll grabbed you, they tended not to treat you delicately. Phizos, the gremlin who captured him, walked around on a wooden table with a triumphant smile. A lesser goblin would shake his fist in rage. Strum interested himself more in gathering information, taking another glance at the pair of orcs that guarded the door.

  Strum felt himself shiver as the orcs flinched from the gremlin’s gaze. An orc doubled the punitive gremlin’s height and bulged with muscle. Yet these two treated him like a chieftain.

  The hobgoblin leaned back on the stool and watched the pacing gremlin pause, and dig through a small sack. Phizos withdrew a cigar with his mouth, then lit it with a sudden spark of magic.

  Even such a minuscule amount of magic radiated like waves through the air, washing over Strum and triggering the same sensation he felt near Mallik’s chamber. Too many unknowns stemmed from his reformed body. As Phizos took a deep puff off his tobacco stick, Strum suppressed any urge to talk. Like a game of stone-war there was an advantage to waiting for your opponent to make the first move.

  Phizos swaggered around the table, stopping before Strum and leaning forward. Ocher eyes strained with bulging red veins rested an inch away. The gremlin exhaled, causing Strum to erupt in a fit of coughs. “What kind of goblin are you?” Phizos sneered and flicked ash onto Strum’s skin.

  “I don’t uh, know,” said Strum, catching his breath. A thin trail of smoke rose from the burning ash on him, yet he felt no pain at all.

  “Whole tribe like you?” Phizos sniffed him, moving to the table edge.

  Strum’s eyes itched from the smoke, so he craned his head away. The room they’d brought him into reeked of mold. Half the furniture in the small stone room near rotted into nothing. He held a small consolation in his heart that neither Pox nor Yrx witnessed him get dragged in.

  He had managed to put together a few details. This fort housed around fifty monsters, with different ones coming and going all throughout the day. Though their goal here remained elusive, aside from simple growth. The only advanced race nearby were the dwarves. Normally such forward outposts in a Dark Lord’s army predated an assault. Phizos stomped his foot on the table, causing it to shake. If the gremlin were any bigger, Strum was certain the table would have broken apart. “Answer me!”

  “No, they aren’t. I’m uh, different,” Strum responded and erupted into a coughing fit.

  Phizos frowned, before screwing his face up like he licked a lemon. “Don’t matter much to you, sneaky goblin. Your kind isn’t important, eh?” Phizos paced away, waving around his lit cigar. He reached the opposite edge of the shabby table and looked at the drop to the floor, then at the guards. The gremlin pointed a clawed finger at the orcs. “Platter, now. I’m hungry.”

  They looked at each other. One leaned his spear against the wall, and the other let his axe clatter to the ground. At an unspoken agreement, the two began a game of stone cloth shears. Or he assumed that to be the intent. Hard to tell considering both orcs continued to only throw out stone. Each time growing more frustrated at the stalemate. Each meaty green fist balled to resemble the stone. All monsters knew the game, often played for betting in the Shadow-Axe tribe.

  Phizos fumed and trembled as their game dragged out from seconds to minutes. His clawed fist curled and uncurled.

  He lept off the table with a roar, and swaggered over to the towering orcs, his head tilted upward to look at them. Neither noticed his approach, far too enraptured in their contest.

  In a huff of rage, Phizos put out his cigar on the closest one. The orc yelped and stumbled the wall, sending its spear clattering to the floor.

  “You. I’m done with this. You’re getting me the food. If I have to wait for two more minutes, the next cigar is being put out on your forehead, dumbo!” Phizos shook with small-gremlin rage.

  Strum watched the two large masses of muscle obey the tiny tyrant. He covered his face with his hand. Suppress the urge to smirk. Angering him does you no good. This arrangement betrayed his expectations of a Dark Lord’s army. Wasn’t this a typical loose army, fed by consuming stray tribes and monsters? A normal evil army held itself together with might. Not this.

  Shouldn’t their power structure demand brutality? Goblins and gremlins sitting at the bottom of the ladder, with larger deadlier beings on top.

  Trolls hauling trees at the instruction of a gremlin? Deference shown towards creatures that they could crush with a finger? Strum even saw a couple of humans cooperating with kobolds. This place was less like a rolling ball of destruction, and more like a bureaucracy married to a dictatorship.

  “Your employees are rather, uh incompetent.” Phizos stopped shaking and threw a side-eye towards Strum. He tossed the half-burned cigar on the grown and lit another. What a nasty habit. With a languished expression his eyes shifted back to his victim. Phizos giddily blew smoke at the leftover orc, causing it to cough.

  “Employees? I don’t pay them. Hell, none of us get paid.” The gremlin waved the cigar, walking back over to the table, almost below it due to his small stature.

  Without any instruction, the coughing orc rushed over and lifted Phizos on top of the table. The gremlin smoothed out tufts of fur, then leaned back. “They chose to serve. It’s worth their effort.” More ashes flicked on the table, adding to several burn marks already present on the wood. Strum bet this little addict caused a forest fire or two in the past.

  “So, you uh, don’t pay them but it’s worth their while? Excuse me? I don’t understand how that works. There’s a reason monsters follow directions. Be it threats or power.”

  “They get to be much bigger than pathetic little war-bands, sneak. Part of building a kingdom. Such a thing has rewards beyond their meager imagination. All it takes is a little obedience and hard work upfront, then they’re rewarded. Food beyond comprehension, freedom, and trampling their enemies.” Phizos spread his arms while speaking, tone rising. “It takes a special monster to conquer all! Then to provide for its subjects!”

  “I thought Dark Lords were all from advanced races.” Strum tapped his fingers on the table and leaned forward.

  “No, the one we serve isn’t some pathetic human or elf trash, Cygan is the greatest among monsters. A thousand humans would fall in battle against him.”

  “Excuse me for being, uh, skeptical, I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

  “The power of a dragon surpasses everything.” Phizos took a deep inhale from the cigar, the red cherry burning bright in the dim room. He waved a hand, “Finest Dark Lord there has ever been, sneak. You’re lucky, I have a special offer for you.”

  Strum froze in place, pinpricks on his skin. He had to have misheard the gremlin, the smoke must have gone to his head and confused him. Dragons were creatures of myth. They holed away in secluded places and didn’t give a fuck about others. Let alone seek the title of Dark Lord. Nobody except the advanced races ascended to that. He reeled, eyes widening. His heart hammered as Phizos smoked with satisfaction.

  Should he grab Regis and flee? This was more than they bargained for. If the dragon caught their scent, it’d consume them.

  “Cygan will be coming soon,” the gremlin added, his mouth opened to continue until a knock shut him up. The other orc returned with a platter balanced between his massive mitts. It held an arrangement of meat and cheese that artfully decorated the surface of the wooden platter. Ranging from prosciutto to salami, cheddar to goat cheese, the variety surprised Strum. A jar glistened gleamed in the middle, filled with dark purple jam.

  A pungent smell of blueberry danced with vinegar wafted from the platter as the orc set it down. Notes of garlic, onion, and contradictory cinnamon swirled from the jar as Phizos picked it up. The gremlin rubbed his stomach and tossed his cigar behind him, taking a seat next to the platter.

  “Smells good, doesn’t it, sneak? There are benefits to having such a giving Lord.” The kobold held a small knife, sticking it into the jam jar as he licked his lips. “Ever smelled something so delicious?” Strum opened his mouth to respond, but Phizos cut him off. He waved the knife coated with the blue-purple mix in the air. “Of course not! You’re a goblin. Your kind eats mushrooms with rats, and squats in caves.”

  Strum kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to reveal anything about Regis. He’d indeed smelled things just as delicious as the jam and meats, but his mouth still watered. There’d been no time for breakfast this morning. Setting delicious food so close yet out of reach had to be a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Phizos spread the textured jam on a thin wafer, then crowned the wafer with cheddar and prosciutto. Holding the miniature delicacy between two clawed fingers, he revealed a cruel smile.

  Phizos stood up, leaning close to Strum, but far enough away to wave the food between them. Strum twitched and readjusted himself, faking disinterest. The predatory smile grew.

  “Looks good, right? Must get tired of rats and mushrooms in that puny cave. Let me explain the deal. Real simple, sneak. You come work under me, on behalf of Lord Cygan. In return, both you and your tribe will eat better than you ever have before. Among many benefits.”

  Ah. Bribery. A respectable strategy, one that caught Strum by surprise. His mask slipped and a frown appeared. Phizos smiled wider in response, misinterpreting the expression. Clearly, the gremlin figured he’d cracked through Strum’s will. Once more Strum felt confused by the strategy of this army. Recruiting through food and benefits? It refuted expectations. A Dark Lord was meant to crush and take. And if that Dark Lord was a dragon? Persuading lesser beings should be far below it. “You uh, make an interesting offer. But not much of one considering I’m locked up. If I said no, where would that get me?” He shook the manacles around his wrists.

  Phizos leaned back, plopping the succulent snack in his mouth. A faint smile erupted while he chewed. As he gulped, he tapped his chin. “Most goblin wouldn’t think of that. Your kind is used to thinking with stomachs and other parts.” He paced over to the tray and sat down once more to assemble food. “Consider this a measure to keep you in place while we talk. Usually, goblins are little savages.”

  “You didn’t, uh, explain what would happen if I declined.” Strum struggled to keep his expression even. Back held straight. Phizos sighed and lowered his shoulders. Then turned around with a small cracker smeared in purple, dotted with blueberries.

  A scowl sat on his face. “Personally? Can’t do much about it. Explicit orders. You’ll be sent on your way, and a report made up the chain. Someone more specialized in these affairs will advise on how to deal with it from that. But you don’t want that.” He pinched a bit of meat on the cracker. Clambering to his feet and walking over. “C’mon. Make a deal with me. You’ll get more for yourself. Trust. Me. Here, a taste of what I can offer, sneak.”

  Phizos delivered the cracker and meat parcel into Strum’s mouth. His taste buds erupted. The flavor of blueberry saturated with vinegar and garlic waged war on his tongue. Unlike Regis’ food, this combination did not carry him along with pleasant waves. Brutal and warlike, it screamed and demanded attention.

  Flavors slashed at one another with weapons forged by the six basic tastes. Sweet clashing with savory, bitter rammed into sour. All of it underscored on a battleground of full-flavored meat. It ran rampant like an angry goblin war party and marched straight to his gut.

  In the end, it left him wanting more. A desire to understand what occurred in his mouth. Such a strange meal to knock his senses around, seduce his tongue, then disappear in a mystery. His reactions painted on his face as he swallowed, invoked from his stomach. Phizos beamed at the advantage and folded his hands behind his back.

  “Lord Cygan has made it clear how to grasp victory. All it requires is to conquer not through arms, instead to conquer the enemy’s heart. That is the path to domination. They will not hold resentment. Lord Cygan turns them into willing servants. By replacing their culture, customs, and minds, he faces no long-term resistance. This is the true path of a Dark Lord.” Phizos bowed his head and closed his eyes. He let out an airy breath of reverence, before looking at Strum again. He held out a claw and tilted his head at the smear of blue jam left on it. “That chutney you tried is but one of many fine dishes provided by Lord Cygan. Bend your knee. Convince your tribe to renounce your brutish ways. What do you say, sneak?”

  “…I decline,” Strum said. He closed his eyes and expected the worst.

  Phizos licked the stained claw and shook his head. “So be it. Guards, see to it our guest meets with Murdoc before he’s escorted out of the fort.” The gremlin gathered up the platter and hopped off the table. He walked towards the doorway and an orc opened it for him, pausing within the frame. “This is a standing offer, sneak. You’re smarter than your kind. Make the intelligent decision. Lord Cygan values intellect and cunning. You’d do well here. Return to me with information about your tribe, and I’ll see that you’re put in a suitable position.”

  The two orcs looked at each other as the gremlin walked out, munching on the meats and chutney.

  With an unspoken agreement, they started up with another round of stone cloth shears. It took them half an hour to finish. It ended with a fumble as spear orc tried to throw yet another rock, and instead threw shears. Compared to orcs, goblins were geniuses. Wort ran intellectual circles around those two. Strum had seen one of his kin drool on themselves, then blame a goblin next to him for spitting. Truly, orcs were unique.

  Murdoc was a human, one who wore a large pointed hat and refused to speak to him. She walked in, burned sage, and then chanted a phrase. Leaving Strum irritated and provoked by the taint of unknown magic tied to him.

  But he accepted the treatment with silence, excepting worse to come. Yet, they remained true to their word, turning him out of the fort. The ancient forest loomed like a predator as night approached.

Click the spoiler below to open the recipe!