Goblin Castle

 

It's been 12 months since the Old Goblin told his tale to the subscribers of my Patreon. But we can't keep his rambling reminiscence behind the paywall for ever! So here's his story of:

Goblin Castle

The Old Goblin sucked on his pipe, emitting a cloud of dark fungus smoke that sank down to the dark tiles. “Let me tell you young ones, the story of how we won this castle.”

“Old Goblin, Old Goblin,” squealed Bluestone, the smallest of the goblinets on the floor around his chair. The rest nodded with varying enthusiasm, chewing on the dried toadstool he had scattered to them.

“Castle,” snorted Guisarme-Voulge, stirring at the pot balanced on the broken-legged stove. No one paid attention to him.

“This was back in Ought Four, in the reign of Lord Vladimir The Abominable. We’d been conscripted into the 43^rd Greenback Brigade. Changed sides three times, moved to different wars twice. Crossed the Ashburn Mountains, the Silent Sea, marched across Far Ansolia, then back again.” He sucked thoughtfully on the pipestem. “A lot of marching.”

“The reconnaissance companies had vanished into the Blasted Swamps, the combat engineer battalions in the tunnels under Mount Venom. So it was us who were sent forward to prepare the battlefield. And what should we see?”

“The castle?” squeaked Bluestone who had heard the story before. The other goblinets murmured their appreciation.

“A watchtower,” sighed Guisarme-Voulge, pouring in chopped black mushroom. Heavy, sour steam rose.

“Yes, the castle,” said The Old Goblin. “And under it the cellar.” He blew out more smoke, and now the whole of the cellar room had a layer of thick oily smoke.

“And then the battle!” Bluestone was impatient.

“Ah the battle. From the north the dragons, they turned the sky black with their wings.” (“And smoke,” said Guisarme-Voulge.) “From the south the ogre regiments, trampling the ground. From the east, the elf-riders, sun shining from their lances. And the west great war Behemoths, the height of twelve goblins.”

“Twelve Bluestones?” said Bluestone, eyes boggling.

“Twelves Old Goblins! Well that battlefield was no place for a goblin, that’s what we thought. And so we hid… ah, took over in the cellar for three days and three nights. And when that was over, what did we find.”

“Dinner’s ready!” called Guisarme-Voulge. “Behemoth stew, get it while it’s hot!”