Chapter 65: Merry Gingerbread!

Horror comes in many flavors. For one colony of gingerbread gnomes, this Yule is deadly.

In the small village of Gnomia, in the small nation of Florifel, live a small tribe of gnomes, with small hopes and dreams.

They are the Gingerbread Gnomes. Creatures who have been made out of ginger, and flour. Last Yule, they all escaped the castle kitchen, and, once it was known that they could speak, were given citizenship.

After all, one could never say that king Allyn wanted to eat something that could speak, even if it was freshly baked, and with frosting.

So, the villagers in Gnomia made their houses out of ginger bread, with frosting, to add the brick effect, and got runes on them, so they could always be fresh.

And everything was fine…

Until a bunch of donkey-eared half-dragons came to the small settlement.

One dragon ate the town hall, and the gnomes had nowhere to meet and try to repel the attackers. One dragon ate the mayor, and the gnomes knew they would need to fight. Even if they would end up in flames.

The leader of the Gnomes, Jorgas, leads the feisty sweets into one last attempt at freedom.

Jorgas:

I take a sugar cane, and bring it down on the boot-clad foot of the strange dragon. Hands try to grab me, but I weave out of their range. With a scream, which holds all of my pain and frustration, I swing the cane at the ankle of the dragon.

"Oh, shit. It is going to make my pants sticky with sugar," I blink back tears. For, if I cry now, my mouth's frosting will get smudged, and I won't be able to eat. I must think about my survival. About the next day. If there is even going to be one.

"Brat, don't you think we should lay off the little gnomes. I mean, I doubt that a wizard is animating them," another dragon shifter says, unconcerned with the gnomes who are climbing his pant leg.

How dare he! How dare he think we are animated by a wizard? That we are not alive, that we don't deserve to be? How dare he!

I bite into the pant leg, and the dragon tries to shake me off. Even on one foot, he still manages to kick high. As expected from a dragon.

"But they are tasty," how I wish for him to whine in pain, and not as the petulant child that he is. No, not a child. An abomination, who should simply die!

How many of my brothers and sisters died tonight? First, we really wanted to give a soulless gingerbread cookie to the dragons, but then this beast. This very shifter, whose leg I have in my toothless mouth, ate the mayor.

The very same mayor, who had the bravery to stand up to a king, and a god, and plead for our lives with more than a little steel in his spine.

Rest in Peace, Rufus. For as long as I remember you, you will not be forgotten.

"This is a horrible way to celebrate Yule," another donkey-eared bastard says, and then moves away from the village. "Come on, let us go home."

"We can't go home," Brat says, and then picks me up. "Mom won't let us. We have to find our caves."

"The king will be furious, once he finds out what we did," another dragon whines. Just how many of the monsters are there? And what the hell is the matter with their ears? Just who breeds dragon shifters with donkey shifters?

"Hey, I am sorry," Brat says, as if this will ever manage to wash away his crime. "Look, we were hungry, and thought that a wizard was playing a joke on us. Sorry, little buddy."

I use the sugar cane, to force it in his nose. He snorts, as I push it ever further. Before I manage to twist it, he throws me to the ground, and then my cane soon follows me down.

"Ok, this is not fun. We better go, before we get arrested," Brat says, and then bents, so he can stare me into the eye. My only remaining eye. My other one is something that I lost when he threw me down.

"If we leave you and the survivors some gold, will you keep silent?" Brat asks, and I can see his teeth. He could bite me in half, but he would never snap my spirits.

"You will answer for this genocide, dragon. Mark my words!" With this, I spit some frosting from my mouth at the dragon, and he actually eats it.

"You won't survive, the way you are now," he presses a finger over my stomach, and then peels off a button. I scream at the pain, but don't cry. I want to see him, in my final moments. To curse him, and his brothers.

"Brat, don't eat them from the ground. Come on, let us just go," I see one of the dragons taking a hold of Brat, and then forcing him away from me.

"Fine, John. Let us go. It is not like anyone will believe a couple of cookies, over us," Brat actually barks a laugh, and I have never felt such hatred for anyone.

"When your happiness turns sour in your heart, you will know my name!" I scream after him, and hear his chuckling.

"Sure, let us see about that," Brat picks up a stone from the ground, and then throws it at me. My head gets smashed into a thousand pieces, and I black out.

This is not the end of Jorgas's tale. He will relieve this terrible Yule night, and the attack of the dragons, for the next 100 lives. Until, finally, he would manage to stick a candy cane into Brat's eye, and blind him. Long before the dragons made it to the village.

Jorgas would die, but he would die happy. For, the dragon might have eaten him, but he would never be the same again. Or, ever visit the small village of Gnomia.

Not this Yule, or the next.