“Utter fool. Attempting to subvert my will, stealing from my customers?! He DARES disrespect me with this level of brutishness?” Regis floated around his employees, his attention fixed on Strum as the hobgoblin tended to an angry Vraz. Bruises discolored the cook’s green skin, transforming it to an ugly dark purple. Yet, for all his injury, Vraz was more lively than ever. The scrawny cook shook and muttered, his dark gaze roaming the room as if looking for something to stab. 

For all that hate boiling in his employee—his rage did not compare to Regis’s own simmering anger. Like this petty little demonstration from the chieftain stood a chance in hell at halting him. No. Rurk should have known better, the donkey required a lesson to teach him his place.

Gikx slammed the flat of his blade on the counter, growling. “Gikx chall-enge Rurk. Become new ch-ief-tain.” 

“I’m uh, well, how to put this. Rurk is strong and tricky. Even with our traditions, I doubt he’d choose a challenge without a trick,” goblins functioned off a hierarchy of strength. However, random bouts issued to overthrow chieftains long fell out of favor. It wasn’t feasible for long-term tribes to function with that level of unpredictability. 

A shaman long ago declared that the right of challenge demanded two conditions. First, it needed the blessing of the Ground-Father, given by the shaman. Second, the chieftain chose the nature of the confrontation. Most assumed this meant a straightforward brawl—with the chieftain simply picking both weapon and location—but in the past, crafty chieftains had abused this to alter the term of engagement to provide themselves an advantage. 

Regis held onto this information so thoughtfully provided by his manager. As a dungeon, he might bypass and force them into his service against their will, but to him, that wasn’t an option. Besides, Gikx didn’t stand a chance. 

“We shall not engage these savages on their own grounds, to do so would be showing this filth a degree of respect, he has no right to. No. This savage needs to understand his place. He does not rule over me or mine, as for my customers—they are my business, not prey for him to leverage.” 

Wort belched, waking him up from a nap. Sleepy eyes settled on Vraz. “Vraz fall?” he asked.

“No. Fucking bastards tried to push us around. I didn’t let them get away with shit—we should track down that asshole in charge and sink a knife in his gut. Damn this tribe’s rules—“

“Pick on Vraz? Not nice. Wort teach lesson!”

“Yes! Yes! Gikx come too!” The goblin hero clambered onto a stone countertop, flexing a non-existent arm muscle to display his ‘might.’ Strum sighed. 

Regis didn’t bother to chastise the fool for putting dirty feet on the clean countertop, he wished badly to witness the brazen chieftain brought to his knees. Strum maneuvered towards the exit, blocking the door from any would-be-assaults.  His gaze ran over them all, tempering him with a bit of levelheadedness, deescalating the situation. Wort’s hand hesitated over a rolling pin of war as Strum cleared his throat. 

“Uh. Settle. We can’t attack like that. Think about it, Mallik would exile us without proper backing—unless you intend to go to war with the uh, whole tribe, this is a horrible plan. Even then they’d unite against us. We don’t have enough support. Half of them still see Regis as the mad dungeon.” 

“It is true that I abhor violence, however, a lesson must be taught that this brute shall never forget. Propose a better solution than beating him senseless, and I promise to consider it.” Regis floated away, ignoring the shouts of Gikx as he and Wort worked one another up. 

Vraz leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. It would take a day or two to fully recover. This act took a toll on their plans, but more importantly, hurt his star pupil. For that, Rurk deserved no forgiveness.

Even from here, the dungeon heard the eager chatting of the goblins outside the kitchen. Witnesses to the brawl. This is what they’d eagerly waited for—they lusted for blood and desired for a long time to see the mountain of tension in the Shadow-Axe tribe come to fruition. Yet, Strum was right, there were far too few actually loyal to the dungeon to take over the tribe through diplomacy. Finally, Strum spoke.

“It’s simple. We uh, well. We do what we’ve been doing already—except, with a bit of a wrinkle. Full-on bribery. Is it possible to er—do something like those cookies? We can uh, distribute them for free, that will go quite a ways with the goblins.” 

“You desire magically unstable food? To which end? Those without use of mana will be devastated. As annoying as those savages are, I refuse intentional harm to my customers. It’s a matter of principle; I would refuse to serve raw meat, or allergens to a customer with allergies, so too will I refuse to inflict intentional mana sickness.” Vraz opened his swollen eye, pulling the strained red bandanna down further, and slipping to the ground to rest. 

“Not uh, quite what I had in mind. No, the concept—infusing magic into your food. Like a spell. I don’t know much about how it works, but is it possible to have an opposite effect, like infusing it with a sense of loyalty? Make it more addictive? Contentment? Stable instead of unstable?”

“Perhaps… I know too little still to provide a confident answer to that query. At least, I can guarantee a meal that qualifies as ‘comfort’ food for these savages. Such things usually sway people. However, implanting positive aspects into ingredients with magic is intriguing." The crystal zoomed away, already headed towards the pantry. Though he could extend his perception to encompass it, he found a certain comfort in the ritual of dwelling in the same room as he considered his ingredients. 

Comfort food, while enticing, wasn’t a regular aim for his culinary pursuits. Within the high-class culinary world, stooping to home-style nostalgic tastes was too difficult to predict. Sure, a typical comfort food elevated or revised held the ability to sway hearts, but it was rare he had such intimate knowledge of a critic ahead of time to capitalize on. However, goblins were much easier prey in that respect. They mostly consumed meat and mushrooms—creatures of opportunity.

Not like himself, nor those in his life who he cared for. Those special people he often went out of his way to cook things that they…

Regis paused, an awful shock running through him. Strum winced and leaned against the wall as the dungeon broadcast the mental equivalent of nails scratching a chalkboard. 

“Uh—Regis, are you—“ 

“Everything is fine,” The dungeon lied, slipping a knife into his thoughts and cutting off the pain fogging his mind. Wisps of memory that brought no benefit, touching them provoked awful feelings he’d rather do without. He didn’t understand, and that scared him. Better to be rid of them. He returned to the matter at hand.

Crafting comfort food for goblins. It meant targeting the foods that brought them the purest pleasure. Their diets derived from mushroom and meat, to that effect, he’d already ordered complimentary ingredients from the dwarves in preparation for future meals. After all, even with market expansion to the dwarves, goblins remained his primary customers. The basis for his dish began to form. 

Something old, with a dash of new. A high caloric intake utilizing abundant protein and carbohydrates to please their palates. They longed to fill their bellies, often going long periods of time with hunger, to that degree, he would make something to fill their stomach in a manner they often went without. Blending mushroom and meat, then complimenting it with more earthy fulfilling flavors to enhance the meal. If he were to account for mana perhaps he should target an aspect of that they surrounded themselves with. Those mud caps, while dilute in earth mana they were an ideal test ingredient. He might be able to draw them away from a naturally dull flavor with garlic and potatoes—perhaps some essence manipulation to pull their natural flavors free. Then, lastly, a fine crust to pocket all of the flavors. Yes. This can work.

Blending together not only his own tenable grasp on mana, but also finding a way to combine his cook and baker to craft a full dish—one that took a step further past a normal mortal meal. A grand dish; a simple concept. The sheer paradox in the goal sent a shiver of excitement through his psyche. 

“We will begin preparation. Once Vraz recovers we will have enough food to ‘bribe’ these savages.”

“Right, I uh, believe in you. For now… Gikx, I need you. We have some work to do.”

The hero halted his roar, looking at Strum with dumb wide eyes. He’d gotten far too carried away with inciting Wort, it was painfully obvious he’d missed the entire conversation. His sheepish eyes roamed between the dungeon and Strum.

“Off my countertop, or I shall have you baked in the oven you worthless—“ 

Strum walked through the goblin cavern with the tribe hero at his side. Groups of goblins whispered at their passage, occasional gestures thrown their way. Taking Gikx along served a selfish reason, as the hero was well-liked by the Shadow-Axe tribe. Both his feat of strength in killing a dire wolf and his rise from being a simple goblin made him relatable to the common goblin. A hero they could see themselves in. By presenting Gikx walking side-by-side with him, he implied Gikx stood on the side of the dungeon. Even if the hero had no clue about appearances. 

Could one call it manipulative? Sure. Gikx shoved a finger up his nose as they walked, completely unaware of what he signaled with this act. To win, sometimes a goblin needed to do what they had to. Gikx willingly threw his lot in with them, and Strum would take advantage for all it was worth. 

There was a second reason he needed Gikx—the pretext. A reasonable excuse to intrude into Mallik’s domain. The shaman already made moves against them, so if Strum turned up alone, then he'd set the shaman immediately on alert. But Gikx provided a distraction while Strum kept his eyes out for the mirror. 

As they passed through the tunnel leading the shaman’s chambers, Strum a cold trace of magic passed over him, like walking through a spider’s web.

He hesitated before continuing onward, carefully allowing Gikx to take the lead. He looked behind them, a barren natural cave wall. Paranoia? Did they trigger some sort of spell? Too late to go back now, he had to commit to the plan.

They reached Mallik’s inner chamber—pillows sprawled across a purple carpet. A small table rested in the center of the room, incense burning away atop it, littered around the corners were treasures. Though, the biggest dominating object in the chamber was the luxurious feather stuffed bed. How much of this decor had been an offering to the Ground-Father? A sage scent burned in the air, reminding Strum far too much of the witch who’d haunted him with her ward. 

Gikx grumbled, striding into the room like he owned it. Eying the leftover cups on the table, no doubt remembering the hallucinogenic mushroom water.

Strum ignored him, making his way through the piles of treasures. Mallik being gone was the ideal circumstance to search for the mirror. Gems, necklaces, and ornate statues flecked with gold and silver made the majority of it. Not a single mirror. Grotesque wealth on display, a true example of how much a goblin with an ounce of power might wring out of their tribe. All of it did nothing for the tribe. Just gathering dust.

Gikx leaned over and sniffed the cup, wincing. “Bad water.” He noted, before looking at Strum who’d grown more frustrated at his continuous failure to locate the mirror. “What do?”

“Looking for a uh, mirror.” He said, carefully replacing a necklace studded with rubies on top of a stained red velvet cushion. 

“Mi-rror hide?”

“I’d think it’d be somewhere in this pile…” Strum frowned, nowhere among the flashy goods. Surely a mirror fit right in with the rest of these treasures. Goblins had few opportunities to look at themselves, aside from reflections of stale cave water, so such a treasure was a clear status symbol. Gikx mumbled and walked to the oversized bed.

“Fancy bed! Why Gikx no have! Too soft!” he shoved with abrupt spite. 

An oiled-skin wrapped object, roughly the size of a plate, sat right where the mattress normally rested. Gikx snorted, not noticing at all. 

“Wait—“

Strum rushed over before Gikx could nab the package—retreating and unwrapping the black leather. Revealing a mirror edged in brass. His sixth sense rang out as he observed the mirror, something lurked beneath its surface. Concerned, he wrapped it up again and puckered his lips.

 “—And just why in the name of the Ground-Father are the two of you in my chambers uninvited?” Mallik shrieked from the tunnel outward. No time. Strum tucked the mirror into the back of his tunic, desperately pushing the bed mattress back.

The two of them turned to the entrance of the chamber, to address the returned Shaman. 

ZachSkye

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