> The Warbringer’s Companion
>  by Pony Paradox
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Daddy's Warbringer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Were gonna die. Right here, on this messed up world of talking horses and bipedal dog men, Fizzle and Grunt will meet their end. I’m sure there’s something poetic about this, if I tried hard enough, but then again, I hate poetry.

“Why are we here again?” I ask, cradling my last bomb as the Diamond dogs slowly closed in on us.

“Save ponies.” was his simple answer, his iron grip tightening on the hilt of his great sword.

“Yeah, I know the mission, Grunt. I mean... Why are we here? Since when did we go out of our way to save a bunch of talking pack animals?” I’m usually pretty calm with the big guy, but this was a stressful situation. I didn’t even like these freaky locals; what did I care if they were sold into slavery? Not my problem, and it shouldn’t have been Grunts, either. If they didn’t look so much like that damned doll...

“Grunt, these guys are not Swiggybooze. The similarities are just a coincidence, and I don’t want to die for it!”

“Save. Ponies.” I stopped complaining when I heard the determination in his voice, and I knew, suddenly, that things were gonna turn around on us. There was something he wasn’t telling me...

As if on cue, there was shouting from the back of the crowd, and I could barely see diamond dogs being thrown carelessly into the air as something bounded towards us.

“Is... is that..?”

“Yes.” Grunt’s smile was all the confirmation I needed.

“There they are, Ruska! Lets pound these puppies!”





So... writing. Why not? I always enjoy taking up new hobbies, and what with all the adventures I’ve been having lately with my new friends, writing seems like the perfect choice. Besides... speaking of adventures, I’m going through a real doozy of an adventure right now!

My name is Fizzle. Just... Fizzle. And I’m happy with that name, thank you very much. And what I do? Alchemy. Basically... I take some stuff, add some other stuff, give it a bit of a magical charge, and voila! Instant potion! Or explosion. Well... actually, usually it’s an explosion. But I swear, I usually plan the explosions! As for my other stuff... well, it can do all kinds of things, like make you bigger, or smaller! Or harder to hit! Or more healthy! All kinds of things, really.

I also have these... other potions I can make. Sorry, but these ones only work on me. Coded to my genetics, you see. And what they do... well, they change me. Physically. For a short time, anyway. Gives me all kinds of advantages... I can become tougher, or faster, or stronger... Kind of a nice little boost for a little guy like me.

Didn’t I mention? I’m a Goblin. That’s right, capital G. I really am that important, you know.

So, yeah. Concoctions that change my physical attributes. I call them mutagens, and they change the way my body works. Specifically, they mutate my limbs and musculature.... and to an extent, my brain, as well. That’s the down-side. There’s always a downside, you know. No matter how good something seems, there has to be a downside. It’s like the very universe itself was designed with total fairness in mind. Silly, I know, but go adventuring for a while, and you’ll start to notice how meticulously balanced everything seems to be...

Am I on a tangent? This feels like a tangent. I’ll stop now.

So... them’s the basics. Fizzle, Goblin, Alchemist. Potions, explosions and mutagenics. And bawdy songs. I really love bawdy songs.  There once was a lady, the lads called her Lucy, but Loosy was more then her name...

So! As I was saying, epic adventure! And for someone like me, who took a direct role in the colonization of the Greenbelt, established a nation, toppled warlords, and took down the all-powerful Lich Asgaroth the Flayed (with bombs, I might add), when I say it’s an epic adventure, you better believe me. 

Okay... so maybe I didn’t do any of that on my own. Maybe I had some help. Maybe there was a stealthy Drow, and a plucky Cat, and a very un-offensive sorcerer, and a really big, bear-riding barbarian helping me. But I was there! I swear! I even really did throw a bomb at that Lich! And without my potions, do you think the others would have stood a chance? Nope! None! Well, maybe some. They’re pretty good, after all, as far as adventurers go.

Right! Back on track! Man, writing a coherent thought is hard work!

So it was a sunny day in the Comelands. Yellowed grass rustled across the endless rolling hills to a faint autumn breeze, while a flock of game birds took flight, startled by the long strides of the creature under me. Well... one of them, anyway. See, technically, I wasn’t actually riding Ruska, so much as riding upon the shoulder of the massive orc barbarian who was sitting astride the great northern Grizzly. That’s right; I’m so important that my mount has a mount. How cool is that?

Please don’t let Grunt get a copy of this. I don’t think he would appreciate the joke. Or even understand it.

We didn’t really have a destination in mind, Grunt and I. It had been years since we’d tamed, mapped, and even populated the Comelands, so it wasn’t as if there were any real adventures to be had here. But, since the worst we might have to deal with might be a few Trolls and the odd Tatzlwurm, it was a great place for a stroll. Call it a vacation.

Well... it would be more accurate to call it ‘Grunt decided to take Ruska for a walk, and I happened to be seated on his shoulder at the time.’ You would be amazed how many adventures have started this way. I took the opportunity to sing a song I just made up about the bartender and his ugly mug, while mixing up a few volatile ingredients in case we actually did run into those aforementioned Trolls. Seriously... those things must breed like rabbits, considering how many of them we seem to run into out here.

Grunt, like usual, wasn’t talking. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s stoic, or just too dense to formulate conversational topics. I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. Grunt and I... we have an understanding. A bond, if you will. Whatever you call it, it’s stronger then a simple friendship, or even mutual respect. We just... go together. I really don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like his stature is incomplete without me sitting there on his shoulder, and vice-versa. Except, you know, the opposite. Because I really hope Grunt never decides to sit on my shoulder. But as I was saying, it doesn’t matter if we never really talk to each other... that unspoken connection is still there. I don’t say this often, but I would die for the big guy. I don’t know if I can say the same for him.... but I like to think so.

And there we were. Me singing, Grunt... not singing, and Ruska taking us both for a ride to an unknown destination. It was then that I did something I don’t normally do; I asked Grunt where we were going. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a pretty laid back kind of guy. Go with the flow, as I say; in most cases, the flow being wherever Grunt and Ruska decide to go. Sometimes things get exciting, and sometimes things don’t. Whatever the case, I would take it in stride. As a result of my adventuring apathy, I rarely ask questions. Never-the-less, here I was, suddenly compelled to know what grand venture lies before me... almost as if such exposition would somehow benefit the progress of some unspoken story.

“So... where we headed, big guy?”

“East.” No kidding.

“Well... yeah. I mean... what’s East?”

“Hills.”

Okay, why was I doing this again? It’s not like I cared, really. Still... I continued asking. Asking Grunt for information was going to require a more direct line of questioning.

“Alright, Grunt. You are right... there are hills to the east. What I’m asking is... what’s in those hills? What are we looking for?”

“Dunno.”

ARRG. Why was I doing this again? I might as well ask Ruska. Alright. One more try.

“You don’t know. Well, that fair, neither do I. The question is... Why? Why are we going East, into the hills? I thought you wanted to try out that new tavern? Have a few drinks? Maybe start a fight? What spurred this unexpected venture unto the unknown wilds of the Comelands?

His answer was as simple as his others, but a lot more revealing. And when I say revealing, I really mean confusing. You’ll understand in a moment (or fail to, as the word ‘confusing’ would imply).

“Swiggybooze.”

“Oh, right. Swiggybooze.”

I suppose I should talk a bit about Swiggybooze. Basically... Swiggybooze is a toy. A little wooden pony with a white mane. He even has a cartoonish mug filled with beer carved into his flanks. The thing with Grunt is that he’s protective of it. No, really. No one but Ruska and his ‘Kitty’ get to even get close to it half of the time without the forcible removal of limbs or intestines.

That, and the fact that its his security item. It also seems to talk to him. I don’t really know if that’s just Grunt, or if the thing is actually able to talk to him. Either way, it usually can be used as a way to incite Grunt into action. Or cause him to burn down a whole village. I still don’t know where it came from, since, as I said, he doesn’t talk much, but he’s had it for all the years I’ve known him.

So. Swiggybooze told him to go this way? Good enough for me. I stole a glance at the tiny wooden pony as it bounced merrily along, suspended by a rope which looped around his neck. It seemed so strange to me that a big, raging, barrel-chested barbarian would so lovingly hold onto such a childish item, but I knew better then to get between Grunt and his Pony Doll.

The autumn day became an autumn night, when suddenly Grunt motioned for Ruska to stop. We didn’t seem to be anywhere special: a rather plain hilltop, just as grassy as the rest. There was a small cliff on the north-north-west side, and a few moss-covered boulders poking out of the yellow sea around us. There was a small tree here, which was almost noteworthy, considering how few trees there are in the comelands, but the thing was barely more than a sapling. It’s the kind of tree you see in a cage in front of a rich person’s house. You know the type. Short, skinny, and a small bush of leaves on top. Wouldn’t even make a decent fire.

With a casual swing from Grunts greatsword, the living kindling was put to use (like I suspected, the fire was rather mediocre. Trust me, I know a thing or two about fires) And soon we were seated around something pretending to be a roaring campfire (No, I will not let this go!). All and all, a dull end to a dull day, but that was no matter. Like I said, I’m a pretty laid back kind of guy, and since Grunt was kind enough to carry my Portable Alchemy kit, I had plenty to do.

As a matter of fact, I had been experimenting with a new potion lately. Keep in mind, however, that when I say potion, I really mean ‘chemically-infused-stuffed-jalapeno-pepper’. What? Cooking isn’t really all that different from Alchemy, when you break it down. Why not combine the two? I had this theory about the particularly spicy acids inherent in Peppers that I wanted to test out. So, I carved out a few Peppers, stuffed in a mixture of Cottage Cheese and Sulfur, and stuck them all into a big bottle of Brine to pickle properly. Of course, the brine was also somewhat treated with a teency bit of Magnesium. For that extra kick, you know. This is either going to be delicious, or deadly.

Grunt, in the meantime, took the time to prepare the fresh Venison that he and Ruska caught earlier. It was a sizable buck, but he still wanted to get as much meat off the bone as possible. After all... he was Grunt, and that means protein. And as for me? It’s a little known fact that when a Goblin only eats five times his bodyweight in any given day, he’s considered malnourished. Even though I only weigh about forty pounds... well, do the math. Yeah, we eat a lot. Part of the reason I like cooking.

If it’s any consolation, most of us actually are malnourished.

There we were; Grunt butchering a stag while I firmly attached the lid to my bottle of soon to be pickled potions, when our meager campfire exploded. For most people, this would mean screams of fear, or at least shocked indecision, but me and Grunt? Well, we were seasoned adventurers! (did I mention that yet?) Grunt was on his feet in a flash, great sword in hand and a deadly gleam in his eye (which I recognised as the beginning of a battle rage. Trust me... once you see Grunt go into a battle rage, you don’t forget what it looks like). Likewise, I was standing behind him, a small round bomb in one hand, ready to be ignited, and a large green marshmallow in the other. Oh yeah, baby, we were ready for anything.

That’s what I thought, anyway, until I saw what was standing in the epicenter of our pathetic campfire’s less pathetic explosion.

At first glance, you could be forgiven for mistaking the being before us as an orc. After all, it had all the basic features normally associated with the brutish race: Greenish-blue skin, wild and unruly hair, massive lower jaw and tusks... and yet, there was something else about him, as well. Keep in mind that Grunt is massive. Even by the standards of his race, he is particularly large muscled. So, keeping that in mind... this creature dwarfed him. Seriously, this thing was so huge, that even Grunt barely stood past its waist. It was wearing extravagant hide armour, adorned with tribal looking skull-and-bone fetishes, and over his back was casually slung the hide of what could only be a dire bear. His right eye was wrapped in bandages, and seemed to bleed constantly, as though his eye were only recently lost. In its hand was a cruel looking double double headed axe, which also seemed to be dripping blood.

Suddenly, the monster’s face contorted into a snarl, and it let loose a blood-curdling roar which seemed to resonate with the very hills themselves. In it’s one good eye, I suddenly saw Endless fields of battle, strewn with the dead and dying, broken banners, ruined and burning cities... I saw clashing armies of Orcs and Men... I saw Blood and Sweat and Bone and Steel. I say the Green General himself, astride his Direwolf Longfang, and he slew the senate of the Sword Lords and finally claimed Brevoy as his own. I saw all of these things... and yet, time had not passed. Whatever this creature really was, it it’s eye was the carnage and destruction of war. The cold and bloody truth of battle. This thing wasn’t just an orc... it was as if it embodied all that the orcs stood for. All that they were. All that violence and rage, condensed right now in a single body of flesh and bone.

And right now, it was charging.

Now, I like to think of myself as a fairly stout fellow. Maybe not, you know, physically stout, but I have faced down Giants and Dragons, Mad Kings and Undead Monstrosities... but in the gaze of this being, I was absolutely powerless. Despite my fame, and despite my accomplishments, I was a mere insect to the likes of this creature, whom I was sure just crawled up from the furthest layers of the Abyss. Luckily, it didn’t even seem to see me. For once in my life, I was happy to be insignificant.

Grunt, however, didn’t seem to be so lucky.

I should point out that there was something in Grunt’s eyes, as well... something that I’d never seen before. I’ve had time since then to think about it, and I believe that what I was was resolution. Grunt knew that, despite his strength, he would be no match for this being, and yet I could see that he would not give in without a fight. With a mighty howl of his own, he met the charging monster head on with a flash of enchanted steel.

The otherworldly creature struck first, twirling his orcish weapon in a blinding flurry, which reminded me of a clockwork propellor which had amused me when out group had ventured to the home of the Tinker gnomes. With a flash of sparks, Grunt met the whirling weapon with his own, though the force of the blow knocked him back several feet. I could see pain in my comrade’s eyes as his arms absorbed the shock. The being was not deterred in the slightest as he prepared a second blow, forcing Grunt to duck and roll to avoid evisceration. As soon as Grunt recovered, an axe head was already falling towards him, and would have split him in half had he not jumped backwards at that very moment. However, this time, Grunt was not fully clear of the blade, as it tore a bloody line down his abdomen. 

For his part, Grunt ignored the damage, finally returning with a flurry of his own. His Great sword flashed up and down, and then left to right in a grand haymaker, but the creature deflected the blows as easily as if Grunt were merely a child. However, I knew Grunt well enough to see what he was really doing... and sure as rain, with a quick grunt of “Ruska, Kill!” He gave one final, overhead attack, putting all of his strength into the blow so as to force his opponent into a defensive posture, and giving the huge bear an opportunity to attack. Ruska pounced...

...And the creature casually swatted the bear away like a pesky fly. Head over haunches, Ruska soared through the air, over the edge of the small northern cliff and away from sight, a trail of blood arching through the air in her wake. 

This, I knew, was where things would turn. There were two general rules to follow when fighting with Grunt: One, never make a grab for Swiggybooze. In fact, this first rule was a pretty good rule in general. The second? For the love of god, don’t hurt Ruska. Remember when I mentioned that I had a connection with the big guy? Well, this was nothing at all compared to the connection he shared with his notorious war bear. More then once, I have seen the tide of a battle turned because a foolish swordsman would manage to graze Ruska’s flank. Once, I saw Grunt lay waste to half a battalion of our own archers because one of them mistook Ruska as a wild bear, and thought to score himself a trophy kill. 

And yes, I know how many soldiers are in a battalion. I stand by what I said. The resulting PR work was a nightmare, let me tell you.

A deep, feral growl snaked it’s way up from Grunts bowels, and his eyes turned red. With a burst of movement, he was swinging again and again at the orc like monstrosity. Also, I noticed that his approach had changed. See, normally Grunt takes a fairly straightforward approach to fighting... hit it as hard as you can, again and again until it stops moving. Usually, this tactic is actually pretty effective, but I think at this point that even his dense minds could comprehend that this tactic was futile against such a being. As a result, there was a lot more than brute strength behind each attack... there was also a sort of rage-fueled cunning behind his strikes. Once again, I could see that Grunt was doing much more then trying to land a hit.

The creature continues to deflect blow after blow with relative ease, but it was on its toes. The ferocity of Grunts swings presented no room for it to make an attack of it’s own, though even I knew this wouldn’t last forever. As if on cue, one of Grunts swings went wide, leaving him open for an overhead slash... Which he barely avoided himself. However, this was his moment. His opponent was fast, but Grunts surprising feint had left it open! Howling with victory, Grunt swung his blade with all his might and all his rage...

The dust settled, and I stared with shock at the scene before me. Grunts attack should have been successful... would have been successful... had the monster not simply caught the great sword in his empty hand. A trickle of blood, as if from a minor wound, trickled from the monster’s hand along the length of the blade. As I saw the last of Grunts rage leave him, battered and fatigued. This was the end. I knew it, and so did the monster. Dropping his weapon, he balled his free hand into a fist, and punched Grunt with force enough to crack ribs.

Once again, this should have been the end. But then... you don’t know Grunt.

There was a loud, cracking thump as the massive fist connected with Grunt’s chest with all the strength of a being that could knock a Grizzly flying through the air. Grunt was, likewise, knocked off of his feet, but as the creature held fast to his great sword, so too did Grunt. The barbarian was flung through the air in a horizontal arc, and I grimaced as I saw the skin of his shoulder stretch as it was pulled out of place, but he held on, even through the pain. The force of the blow was enough for Grunt to use his own body's momentum to swing himself up and onto his opponents massive forearm, and wrench his blade free. With one, final cry, he raised the blade above his head and swung downward, connecting solidly with the beasts face.

The enchanted blade barely left a scratch on the monster’s forehead. 

Finally spent, the heroic barbarian tried to resume his battle stance, but his ruined arm was clearly paining him. His opponent, this Arcon of Rage, hadn’t even broken a sweat, while Grunt was broken, battered and winded. It was then that the creature finally spoke.

“I see. So then, my child. You are worthy, after all.”

It’s voice was calm as the wind, yet as wild as a thousand orcs charging into battle. It spoke without cynicism, but held infinite malice. It was a Father, proud of his Son, maybe for the first time in the son’s lifetime. And what Grunt said next surprised me.

“Thank you... Daddy Gruumsh.”

As soon as he uttered that name, it all made a certain sense. Gruumsh, Patron of the Orcs. We were in the presence of a God, and this battle was a test. And although Grunt had clearly lost the fight, he had shown a ferocity and determination, even in the face of divinity. He had landed a blow against the father of War and Destruction, and had shed its divine blood. In short... he had impressed him.

I, of course, was still cowering in a tight ball as far from the fighting as I could get.

Long moments passed, as the two powerful fighters simply regarded each other; one with respect, and the other with awe. I have to admit, even I was pretty impressed with how things had gone, even if I was trying to dig a hole into the side of the hill with a bit of stone. Not saying I was, by the way.

But I mean, come on. This was indeed Gruumsh, of that I had no doubt. Father of all of orc kind, Avatar of War and Bloodshed, God of both Evil and Chaos, and all around not a nice guy. So, you know. Give me a break, would ya?

Grunt, however, had nothing but reverence in his eyes... well, almost nothing. I could also see... worry? That’s not good. If Gruumsh was to detect some kind of weakness...

“Ruska...”

Oh. Right.

The deity was silent for a few moments as it read Grunts face. 

“Your pet is alive, if barely. Commanding it to attack me was foolish, but gave me a unique opportunity to truly test the limits of your rage. You were not found wanting.”

Grunt simply nodded... even he could see that sparing Ruska’s life was an unusual act of kindness on the God’s part.

“I also know that, had you been properly prepared, upon the back of the mount, the battle would have gone... differently. I spared her not out of pity. I spared her because she makes you stronger. She is your weapon, as much as your blade. Remember that.”

As inspiring as this all was, I still had one question (that I wouldn’t voice for all the treasure in Brevoy). Why? Why had Gruumsh come here, now? Why challenge Grunt? How could a little battle and pep talk like this possibly serve the purposes of a god like Him?

And then, he answered my unspoken question.

“Rise, Grunt, for I am in need of a champion. A powerful warrior and a paragon to represent all of orc-kind in a distant world. I have chosen you, and tested you, Grunt, because you have excelled where others of your kind have failed. Even the so called ‘Green General’ was found wanting, in the end. He accomplished much, but could not land that deciding blow.”

The connotations of this sentence were staggering... the Green General was a powerful orc warlord, renowned through the kingdoms of the north for raising an army from the scum of the mountain tribes and conquering the mighty Sword Lords of Brevoy. He was reviled all across the land as the favoured of Gruumsh, but if he was tested, and had failed...

I really doubted Gruumsh gave second chances. Wow... the next few years are going to be exciting, if the Green General is dead.

Not that I would get to see them, of course. Hehe... this is foreshadowing! Maybe I really can do this writing stuff!

So... back to the present issue... what did Gruumsh mean by “in a distant world”? Was he sending Grunt away? He wouldn’t do that... would he?

“You will, by my magic, be sent to a distant world, where you will represent me in the presence of all the gods of the cosmos.”

“Where?” Ah, Grunt. Don’t ever change.

“Some weak world called Equestria. The creatures of this land have only a child’s notion of war. You will show them what true savagery means. You will burn their cities, and slaughter their armies. You will face the others, and you will emerge victorious. You will teach the Equestrians to Fear the word Orc.”

Did he say “others?”

“Yes.” Was Grunts simple yet meaningful reply. “Ruska?” he continued, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Ruska will be the beast which harolds your name, the mighty mount which carries you to glory!”

“Okay.” He sounded... contented. So. This was it then. Grunt was leaving for another world, to lay waste to its cities and peoples at the behest of his God. And, I supposed, I would be stuck here.

“What about me?” It was merely a squeak... a murmur... but have you ever tried to hide your voice from a god? Just for the record... you can’t.

“Ah. And so, the weakling you call companion finds its voice.”

Eep.

“And what should I do with you, then, insect?”

“What... me? Oh... I wouldn’t bother with little old me! I promise... I’m not even worth your time!”

“Little man comes.”

What? 

“What?”

“What?”

“He comes, or I not go.”

There was a moment of silence, in which I didn’t know weather to be happy or terrified. Did he just... backtalk Gruumsh?

“Do you dare to backtalk your God?”

“Yes. Little man comes. He is weapon, like Ruska.”

“And yet, you did not use him as such when we fought.”

“Didn’t need to.”

Oh snap. You know, for all his density and blunder, I sometimes wonder if there’s really a deep intellect in that tiny orc brain of his.

“Very well. The insect shall accompany you. Perhaps the peasants of Equestria will learn to associate his terrified squeals with their own approaching doom.”

I may have left out the part where I was squealing like a frightened baby throughout the fight. I mean, come on, though. Wouldn’t you?

“He comes.” This was not a demand, so much as a contented confirmation, and was punctuated with a smile. Can’t say I blame him... If I had won an argument with a god, I would smile, too. Assuming I wasn’t dead.

“There is one final thing.”

There always is, isn’t there?

“Your weapon. It is unbefitting of a warrior of your caliber.”

Are you kidding? Does he even realize what we had to go through to get that stinking sword? It was forged in the fires of hell, and cooled in the River Styx. Over four thousand years ago, its wielder was swallowed by a freaking Torrasque, and we had to follow that beasty around for months, digging around in its mountainous waste piles just to get it. And trust me... that is not as pleasant as it sounds. 

Grunt christened it “Smelly chopper.” Red still hasn’t forgiven him for that one.

Gruumsh took hold of the ancient, indestructible blade, and it instantly melted into slag. I can’t even tell you how much that hurt me. However, he then took that slag, and reshaped it. Once again, it held the shape of a great sword, though it definitely had a more ‘orcish’ look to it. It’s blade was somehow... fuller, than before, it’s edges serrated, and it’s surface dark, as though covered in soot... or ash.  It did have a faint sheen, though if you looked at it from the right angle, You could barely make out a scene of wartime desolation... Broken bodies... Mourning widows... that scene meant only death...

Suddenly, I snapped out of... whatever trance I was in, though the cold certainty of doom had not yet left me. Huh... nifty trick.

Finally, to complete the weapon, Gruumsh removed one of the bone fetishes from his armour, and reshaped it as a rudimentary hilt. The pummel of the hilt was reshaped into what appeared to be a sightless eye... the lost Eye of Gruumsh. Indeed, if the historians of the future were to ever study this blade, there would be no question as to who forged it.

“A virgin blade, made from my own power. This will be my blessing to you, mortal. It’s name has yet to be decided.”

Oh no. oh, please tell me he isn’t letting Grunt name it!

“Daddy’s Warbringer.”

Ye gods, that was... hmm. Actually... that’s not bad. Bit silly perhaps, but we can just call it Warbringer, for short. Yeah, come to think of it, it’s actually pretty fitting! and here I thought he would call it ‘Mr. Squishy’ or something to that effect.

“Yes, I feel that this is a fitting name for this weapon. Very well, then. Are you ready to depart?”

“Heal Ruska first. Then, we go.”

“Hrmmph. You are very demanding of your God.”

“Daddy Gruumsh is god, but Ruska is weapon, like sword. You make sword better. Now make Ruska better.”

“Very well, then.”

There was a brief flash of light, and suddenly we were standing at the bottom of the hill, near the battered and unconscious form of Grunts closest friend. 

“Ruska!” For the first time since the battle started, Grunt dropped his guard, falling to his knees and tending to his fallen companion. Ruska was in a bad way, and I wasn’t surprised. After all... she was a heavy girl, and she fell with a lot of momentum. Her muzzle was clearly broken when Gruumsh has slapped her, and one of her hind paws was badly broken. There were also clearly internal wounds as well, judging by the state of her breath, which came in short, rattling breaths. I has seriously never seen the mighty bear in such a bad way before, and it actually kind of hurt to see her like this. After all, even though she wasn’t my bear, she and I have had our moments together... like that time the two of us hid in a wagon full of skins, for example. Overnight. The first time I met her.

I’d felt like a plushy. Good times.

I could see that if she didn’t receive some kind of attention, she would definitely die, and even powerful magic would leave her crippled, most likely. Granted, ‘powerful magic’ and ‘divine intervention’ aren’t exactly on the same level, are they?

“It okay, Ruska. Daddy Gruumsh fix you, make you better.” Grunt held her head lovingly, even as the God of Orc’s began to pour his essence into her, slowly but expertly healing her wounds. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time the God had ever used his powers this way, healing a living creature directly.

It probably was, and judging by his expression, he didn’t particularly enjoy doing it. After all, his domains were war and destruction, not healing. Still, he continued his work. This ‘champion’ thing must have been pretty damn important to him.

Finally, he was finished, and the first thing I notice, and she stood and nuzzled her master, was that she was bigger. I had to squint, to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but no, she was definitely bigger. There was something else about her, as well... a sort of gracefulness? Not that she could really be called graceful, mind, but her movements seemed more fluid than usual. Then, there were her eyes. Where once, they had been a fairly standard brown, now they were distinctly red in hue. Not quite Albino, but noticeable.

“You claim this beast as a weapon. Very well then. A weapon should be an extension of a warriors will, and a conduit of a warriors rage. She is now both. She retains her own will, but she is now linked to you. She will understand your commands without them having to be given. She shares in your strength, and has gained a modicum of your intellect as well.” (I had to try very, VERY hard not to snicker at this. Don’t... Snicker... At... The God... Of carnage...) “Furthermore, she now shares your rage, as well. Her pain will be your pain, and your pain, hers.”

Waitwaitwait. I’m starting to put two and two together here, and I don’t know if I like what I’m coming up with. He did all this because Grunt identified Ruska as a weapon, right? But... didn’t he also identify me as a weapon as well? 

“And as for the Goblin Worm.”

Oh gods... here goes! I squinted my face, as though doing so would somehow spare me the worst of Gruumsh’s... whatever he does.

“... he is below my notice. Consider his life my gift.”

Wait... what? That’s it? But... but... I’m important too, damn it! I once tricked the Royal Archmage of the Golden University to trap himself inside a pocket dimension! I raised an army of Goblins and took back the Vally of Blood from the Frost Giant Hamjir the Frozen King! I was at least as useful as Grunt in all of our adventures!

Not that I would voice any of that, mind you. Still a coward, and he’s still a God of Murder. Still... a tiny bit of recognition would have been nice. 

Like a cool magic robe or something? Maybe a new hat? I could really use a new hat. My hat has never been the same since that incident with the Dryad.

Right! Stuff happening! I can talk about my hat later!

“Now, you are ready.”

Wait... what? As in... right now?

“Errmm... no offence, but were not exactly packed for-”

And then next thing that happened would be best described as “Fwoosh.”




























Now, I know what you must be thinking.




What happened with all that exposition on Swiggybooze?
> Welcome to the Everfree part one: A Wooden Reception
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

So... where was I again? Oh, right.

Fwoosh.

It was all over rather fast, to be completely honest. One moment, we were standing at the bottom of a small cliff, and the next, we were in some kind of dark forest. The trees were thick all around us, and the canopy way above us only allowed for a faint trickle of sunlight... which was kind of disturbing, since it was getting on late evening just a moment ago. The ground was littered with fallen detritus from the branches above, and there was no clear path or direction through the mossy trunks.

Description like that helps the reader visualize the setting, you see.

Not to underplay what happened, but the act of traveling to a different world was depressingly uninteresting. Oh sure, suddenly we were somewhere new, and there was daylight where it used to be dark, but there was no light show! No rushing wind, no sparks, no... anything! It was just us, standing somewhere new. I didn’t even feel dizzy. 

I mean, even that little teleportation to the bottom of the hill had a bright flash! I was expecting to be hurled through some kind of swirling vortex, or to fall out of the sky, or something. This was more like... blinking. Somehow the lack of magical pazazz made even the transportation to an entirely new world totally mundane.

Oh well, we were there. Might as well make the best of it.

“So... different world, huh?” I might as well try to spark some conversation.

“Yes.”

Oh, right. Almost forgot who I was talking to.

Suddenly, my stomach rumbled. Thinking back, we were just preparing our supper when we were so rudely interrupted by the God of Frightening Death, and we never got a chance to eat. Clearly, hopping from one world to another did nothing at all for an empty stomach. I also noted that, although it was daytime now, we never actually had a chance to rest before coming here. Clearly, it was Gruumsh’s divine plan for us to die from exhaustion and starvation.

Alright, so I may be laying it on a bit thick, but I was hungry and still a bit put off about being ignored earlier.

Well... standing around here wasn’t going to solve any of our problems. First thing to do: get us fed. Whatever kind of world this was, these woods didn’t really look too special, and in fact, looking around, I could recognize some of the local flora. Combine that with the sound on insects in the air, and I was fairly certain these woods had to contain some kind of game animals.

“So, Grunt, buddy. Think you could get Ruska to rustle up some grub? I’m starved, and Gruumsh didn’t exactly let us take our dinner with us.”

I shut up as soon as I saw Grunt and Ruska, and realized yet another problem... Grunt was still injured. Bad. There was deep bruising all across his torso, not to mention the nasty looking cut on his abdomen, and his shoulder was still out of place. His face was turning slightly blue, as well, and I really don’t think that’s a good sign. 

Although she was no longer injured, Ruska looked kind of out of it herself, and I remembered something Gruumsh had said about her. “Her pain will be your pain, and your pain, hers.” Did that mean that she could literally feel his pain? Wow, was I glad he didn’t do that for me.

Well... before we could do anything else, we needed to take care of Grunt’s injuries. If only we had some kind of cleric with us. Or maybe even some kind of, I dunno. Magical healing potion? Too bad neither of us knows how to make one of those.

Aww, come on, I’m just kidding. I didn’t talk at length about being an alchemist on the previous chapter for no reason, you know!

My kit, unfortunately, was not with us when we made the journey, leaving me somewhat short on materials, but I’m a clever little goblin... I’ll be able to make due, it’ll just take a bit more time than usual. Besides, I can’t just pump Grunt full of healing potions and expect him to be fine... despite popular belief, healing magic doesn’t actually work like that. If I didn’t set that shoulder first, it would heal all wonky, even with the potion. 

“Sorry big guy... this won’t feel good.” I started to take hold of Grunts arm, intending to wrench his shoulder back into the proper place, but with a grunt, he simply pushed me away. Taking hold of his shoulder with his good hand, he gave it a sharp twist, and I heard it pop back into the proper alignment. His face was stoic, but a low whine from Ruska betrayed both of their pain.

“Show off.” 

I mumbled to myself as I took inventory of my personal stock. Being an adventuring alchemist means that you can’t simply keep all of your active ingredients and catalysts in a separate container... you never know when you have to work on your toes. 

Lets see... bull fur, sulfur, a jar of potentially dangerous pickled peppers, a vial of Ruska’s saliva, a mixture of lavender and cotton leaf... ah, here we go! Poppy extract! Just what I needed! now, I just needed some vanilla extract, marshmallow, and my own secret ingredient. What? if I told you what it was, it wouldn’t be a secret!

Now would be an ideal time to explain a bit more about how my potion making works. Generally, I can make two kinds of potions. The first kind is your typical potion: a vial of nasty tasting liquid which has some kind of magical effect on the drinker. These things require a great deal of concentration to create, and generally a bit of monetary investment, as well.

The other kind of potions I can make are called extracts. Extracts have the same effects as a potion, but are simpler in their creation, and have a shorter lifespan. Extracts are cool, because I can make them out of almost anything, most of the time. All I have to do is give them a little bit of a charge from my own life energy (not nearly as bad as it sounds, I assure you) and they’re good for twenty-four hours. Give or take a minute or so. The downside is that I can’t just give my extracts away... the moment they leave my possession, they lose their charge and become inert. With a bit of ingenuity, I have learned how to administer my extracts to my friends, but I have to do it through a direct blood transfusion. Not exactly pleasant, nor ideal in the heat of battle.

Lucky for us, this wasn’t the heat of battle. Throwing all the ingredients together, I gave the vial a little shake. Then I let a tiny portion of my energy flow into the mixture, causing it to glow with a faint but reassuring blue light. With the extract complete, I quickly tossed the vial into the injector (made that myself, thank you very much) and jabbed it into Grunts arm. 

Immediately, I could see the potion taking effect. The swelling in his shoulder went down, the gash on his abdomen closed into a thin scar, and colour began to return to his face. I can’t say that I managed to heal all the damage he’d taken, or even most of it, really, but both he and Ruska were looking better. His ribs were probably still a mess, but for now, at least he was in one piece. I suppose I could make him another potion, but my energy reserves are limited; I can only make extracts like that a few times each day. Another reason why real potions are better, I suppose.

Well, that’s one problem taken care of. As long as nothing too exciting happens in the meantime, Grunt should be fine to move around and stuff. Im my wisdom, I decided to share that very feeling with him.

I don’t know if you know this, but the universe hates it when you speak your confidence. If you say something like “Well, that’s the worst of it!” you are sure to bring disaster to yourself and your loved ones. The same goes for saying something like “As long as nothing exciting happens, you should be fine!”

As if on cue, a piercing howl filled the air around us. First, it was simply a single note, Resounding between the trees which surrounded us. Then, it was joined by a second note, and a third. There was something distinctly alien about that sound. I’ve seen my share of wolves (and this certainly sounded like wolves to me), but I have never heard a howl quite like this.

Soon, a cacophony of lurid howls filled the air all around us. Grunt grunted, gripping his new weapon in his good hand, and Ruska took a battle-ready stance, pawing the ground and growling. I was ready as well, with a bomb in each hand, but I was not particularly looking forward to this. I knew Grunt wouldn’t be at his best without some proper rest, especially after exhausting his rage while fighting Gruumsh. Rage is a powerful tool, but it leaves a warrior winded if they’re not careful. Grunt would still be formidable, but too much exertion and he could really hurt himself.

It was then that the first creature jumped out of the foliage. At the time, I had never seen a creature like it, though I now know that it is called a ‘Timber Wolf.’ (funny thing I would learn about this world? Whatever gods were responsible for its creation really liked puns. Seriously.) What I saw was some kind of hybrid between a tree and a wolf. It was clearly lupine in shape, but instead of fur and flesh, this monstrosity was covered in jagged wooden outcroppings. It’s eyes glowed an unnatural yellow, and its snarling maw was filled with sharp, splinter-like teeth. It circled around us, it’s low growl reminding me of the sound of a saw mill, and a saw cutting through lumber.

(See? Puns. Get it? ‘Timber’ Wolf? Literally a wolf made of timber? Okay, I’ll stop now. At the time, I didn’t appreciate the joke anyway.)

As it took us in, several more lupine shadows began to stalk around us as well, all just outside the range of our vision, darting behind boulders, trees or bushes, always just in the corner of our eyes. Standard wolf-pack tactics. Likely, they were hoping that I, the smallest of the group, would run, so that they could chase me down. Instead, I threw a bomb in the leaders face.

I know what your thinking. “Fizzle, that was a bit rash, don’t you think? For all you know, they were perfectly sentient, and perfectly harmless!” To which I respond: Screw that! You ever take on a pack of wolves before? They don’t circle their ‘happy new friends,’ they circle their prey! And these things weren’t just wolves, either... they were some kind of freaky wooden construct, made to look and act like wolves, or some kind of fey aberration, or maybe something else really scary. I wasn’t going to let it strike first, that’s all!

Also, didn’t you know that Goblins hate wolves? Creepy things. Especially the wooden kind.

The bomb connected squarely with the things face, it’s porcelain shell cracking, the reactants... well, reacting while the catalyst sped the process with explosive results. With a burst of splinters, the wooden monstrosity was fully engulfed by flames, howling with what I assume was the dying lament of a wood creature burning in an agony of fire and pain.

“Hah! didn’t like that, did you, Fido?” There are few things more satisfying then a good fire, and I was pumped. Surely, with their alpha engulfed, the other’s would flee! After all, wolves are creatures of instinct, and are natural cowards once their pack-tactics fail.

Stupid, stupid me! never, EVER assume something is easy!

Against every rule I ever thought I knew about wolves, the rest of the pack attacked! One even leapt directly over the flaming remains of his friend, landing directly on top of me, while others took turns snapping at Grunt and Ruska. With a strained heave of his sword, Grunt swatted away my new friend, but this left him open to the wolf at his side. It took the opening and immediately tore a small chunk from his thigh. Ruska was faring better for the time being, but the majority of the wolf’s were on her, taking turns snapping at her as she swatted at them. 

Grunt angrily grasped his attacker by the throat, lifting it easily and tossing it aside, but the one he attacked earlier was recovering before my eyes. Another quick bomb took care of that, but I only had so many of those.

“Grunt, buddy, I know you like to see these things through, but I think now might be a good time to exercise plan B!” I was really hoping he would ask what plan B was, but of course he didn’t, the spoil sport. “Err... plan B is get the hells out of here!”

You might have figured by now that Grunt is not a runner. He was a warrior, through and through, and would see almost any fight through to victory. Right now, though, we were outnumbered and low on steam, and these wolves were relentless. Who knew how many there actually were of them? I figured our best bet for now would be to run, but convincing Grunt of this would be tough work.

Two more wolves lept out of the shadows at that moment, confirming my fears that there were more of them. One of them sank his teeth into Grunts sword arm, while the other was swatted easily away with a swing of his Warbringer. Meanwhile, another of the wolves had found it’s way onto Ruska’s back, and was repeatedly gnawing on the back of her neck while she tried to shake it loose. 

Grunt shoved his remaining opponent away, charging toward Ruska’s side, but was instantly surrounded by three more of the beasties. With a mighty cleave, he reduced all three into splintered husks, but the attack came at a cost; the strain on his recently injured arm was just a tad too much, and with a sickening pop, dislocated a second time. Still, he trudged forward, tearing the wolf from Ruska’s back and slamming it to the ground, reducing it to lumber.

Still more of the creatures were pouring out of the woods toward us. Two of them charged directly at me, and one of them went down with a fiery crack. The other was slightly scorched by the bomb, but still managed to chomp down on my shoulder, which hurt like hell, by the way. I was bowled over again as wooden teeth rent my flesh. In a panic, I reached into my pack, and withdrew a small hypodermic device, which I then jabbed into my own thigh.

Pain erupted across my body as muscles bulged, skin tightened, and bones snapped and popped to deal with the abnormal mutations to my form. Thick, uneven patches of hair erupted from my arms, and my abs and arms doubled in size. A cloud began to settle over my mind as the mutagen took effect, increasing my strength but mudding my intellect in the process. I really hate using these things, but I can’t deny that they’re effective at what they do.

Now, I was certainly no Grunt, even after the mutagens effects, but the burst of strength was certainly what I needed at the time.

“Get. Off!” snarled a voice much deeper than my own, as I pried the wolves jaw open and pulled my arm free. Still holding the wolf’s mouth wide, I shoved one of my bombs into its throat and lit a fuse. With a kick, I sent the creature sprawling and choking to the ground, where it exploded, showering the area with burning kindling. 

See? I keep telling people not to underestimate me, just because I’m usually the smallest in the group. But does anyone ever listen? Nope! Not until I pull something like that, anyway.

“So, as I was saying,” I grunted with my mutated vocal cords, “Ready to go yet? ‘Cuz I’m ready to go.”

“Can’t go, fighting!” As he shouted his reluctance, Grunt was in the process of crushing one of the wolves with another one of the wolves. I knew this was gonna be difficult.

“Yeah yeah, I get it. Grunt make squish, and all that, but we're getting our butts kicked!” I pleaded, tossing a bomb at another wolf who had decided to join the party.

“Tree doggies not kicking. Biting!” Was the matter-of-fact reply. Well, couldn’t really argue with that. “Goblin man run. Run like scaredy goblin! Grunt fight!” He had one of the wolves in a headlock, and punctuated every other word with a punch.

Ugg... did it always have to be like this? There seemed to be no end to the monsters, and even Grunt only had so much stamina. Both he and Ruska had several fresh wounds, and the wolves were starting to wear them down. Time to dust off the old charisma.

“How do you think Daddy Gruumsh would react if you were eaten by wolves, less than an hour after starting your new quest?”

“Daddy Gruumsh want Grunt to fight! Not run like sissy goblin!” Another wolf tossed aside, a nasty gash in its side.

“Okay, yes. But you know what Daddy Gruumsh wants more?” Grunt didn’t answer, so I continued. “Daddy Gruumsh wants a champion. If you fall here, who’s gonna make the world burn?”

Grunt seemed to consider this for a moment, knocking away two more of the wolves. “But what about wood doggies?”

I had to tuck and roll to avoid a pounce. One of the creatures had made a lunge for my face, and only with my temporary strength boost was I able to hold it back.

“We can... Always... Come back... For them...”

The wolves teeth were sharp, and cut deeply into my fingers as I tried to keep it at bay. Something you should know about me is that I’m not very strong. Even by the standards of my people, I was pretty weak. So when I tell you I enhanced my strength, I’m not really saying much. Even now, I was probably only slightly stronger then a sick human, and the Mutagen was starting to fail. Any second now, the wooden aberration would be at my throat, and I would be a goblin shaped dinner. I watched in horror as it drew ever closer, my ruined fingers dribbling blood into its splintery gullet.

Suddenly, a powerful hand had wrapped itself around my neck, tearing me (painfully) away from the wooden monster.

“Goblin man is right.” Grunt said as he plopped me down on his good shoulder, giving the blood smeared wolf a swift kick to the chops. “We make Squishy doggies later. Ruska! Come!”

In fact, Ruska was already there, obeying the command before it was even given. Soon, he was mounted up, and we were making good speed through the unknown forest, an army of bizarre barking wolves hot on our heels, while I coughed and sputtered at Grunts rough handling.

Ruska is fast. Something about the way Grunt had raised her made her much more fleet of foot then the average grizzly bear, but the wolves were keeping pace.  One of them had managed to catch up to us, snapping at Ruska’s tail and receiving a mouth full of great sword for its trouble. Yet another leapt at us from a large boulder, but soon tumbled to the ground as a yelping ball of fire.

Still, things weren’t looking good. We had no idea where we were going, and the wolves were much more familiar with the woods then we were. Any second, we could find ourselves drowning in a river, or leaping off a cliff... 

Or bounding into a clearing absolutely littered with pretty blue flowers. Kind of anticlimactic, if you ask me. The clearing was lined all the way round with huge boulders and dense foliage, effectively trapping us. Well... so much for running. Ruska skidded to a stop, an Grunt quickly spun her around in a one-eighty, all of us ready to make our final stand.

None of the wolves entered the clearing.

That was either really convenient, or really worrisome.
> Welcome to the Everfree part two: Mysterious Blue Flowers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

What happened next wasn’t particularly interesting. You know, scan the perimeter, set up camp, that kind of stuff. I used up all of my extracts healing Grunt and myself, since we were both a bit worse for wear after the battle, and I tried to figure out just why those wooden mutts didn’t follow us into this clearing. Looking around, the only thing I could see that really seemed any different from the rest of the woods were the exotic looking blue flowers which covered the ground.

I knew that some creatures had aversions to certain plants or herbs. Vampires didn’t like garlic, werewolves didn’t like monkshood, that kind of thing. Perhaps these blue flowers repelled them, somehow? Whatever the case, they seemed harmless to us, so I gathered as many as I could and used vines to tie them around the perimeter, hopefully fortifying our position even further. I also took a large number of samples for future testing. Perhaps I could weaponize them?

After that, we slept. I mean, we were exhausted even before that big ass fight, and now, we were positively tuckered. Rather than posting a watch, I set some fairly simple traps using gunpowder, set to wake us should anything try to breach our perimeter. It wasn’t perfect, but we both needed a full night’s rest after our ordeal.





“Fithle... thomthing’s wrong.”

I awoke, groggy, to the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling my name. Actually... scratch that. There was a hint of familiarity to that voice - I just couldn’t place it.

It was then that I remembered the events of the previous day, and jumped to my feet, ready to deal with this intruder.

Standing before me was an orc... but not the orc I was expecting. This orc, while definitely as tall as Grunt, was way too thin and gangly. In fact, I would say that he seemed like the thinnest orc I had ever seen. His face had the signature orcish tusks, but was pockmarked with acne, and his limbs were as thin as a ten-foot pole. The strangest thing I noticed about him were the strange blue splotches covering his body, like some kind of rash.

However, despite his bizarre appearance, there was something distinctly familiar about him.

“Grunt, buddy... wake up. We have company.” Without taking my eyes off the stranger, I patted to my right where Grunt should have been sleeping, but felt nothing.

“Fithle, ith me!”

I could barely make out his words around a thick lisp, but I caught the insinuation.

“Uh... Grunt?”

I frantically looked around for my barbarian friend, but he was nowhere in sight.

“What the heck did you do with my friend?” I asked, getting slightly panicky. Was this orc some kind of powerful sorcerer? Had he done something with Grunt? He would have to be strong indeed to have done away with the chosen of Gruumsh, but it didn’t feel right. The creature sighed with exasperation.

“Fithle, you idiot. I told you! I’m Grunt! I thaid thomting wath wrong, remember?”

I peered closely at the strange orc in front of me, suddenly realizing why he seemed so familiar. First of all, he was wearing Swiggybooze. No force in the cosmos would be able to take Swiggy away from Grunt. The second thing I noticed was that Daddy’s Warbringer was sheathed on the strange orc’s back, and seemed to be quite a burden for his weak frame. Finally, I looked into his eyes, and there, I could definitely see that he was still the same Grunt I knew. Well... more or less. More less then more, I think. Whatever.

“Grunt? What the heck happened to you?” I was standing by now, and the ground felt inexplicably hard beneath my feet, but I ignored it for the time being.

“Well, it theems that these flowerth have had thome unexplained effect on my phythiology.”

Something else was wrong.

“Grunt... how do you even know what physiology means?” I was going to add “You’re a moron” to that, but I decided against it. Grunt was silent for a long moment, and I could see his face scrunch up in thought (which was something I can honestly say I have never seen before). Then, something seemed to click inside him, and he let out a yell.

“Aaahhh! I’m thmart! Why am I thmart? I’m not thupposed to be thmart!” He grabbed both sides of his head and flailed slightly as he lamented. “Fithle... I’m thinking of things! Big things! Things like... morality and Philothophy! Gahh... my brain ith full of thought! Get it out, get it ooooout!”

I can sincerely say that I was at a total loss as I watched the smarter, weaker Grunt thrash upon the ground, or smack his head against trees and rocks, as if he could bash away the unwanted intellect. Which, in retrospect, he probably could, but not in a good way. Once a sizable gash began to form on his forehead, I decided to intervene. Approaching him from behind, I took his hand in my hoof and tried to talk to him.

“Grunt, look. Whatever this is, I’m sure-”

Wait a second.

Wait a Second.

Did I just say hoof?

As in... horse feet? That kind of hoof?

No... no it can’t be.

I slowly shifted my gaze to where my hand should have been, only to learn that yes, indeed, it could be.

Instead of a hand, I had a hoof. A freaking hoof. As in, no fingers. Hardened calcium buildup. Fetlocks. Oh gods... I had a hoof, and I noticed that it had that same splotchy rash as Grunts body.

Here’s something else about Goblins that you’re going to need to know. We have a genetic fear of horses. Seriously, it’s more of a phobia then just a simple fear. Those quadrupedal monstrosities terrify us in any form, from Centaurs to donkeys. Anything even resembling a horse has the tendency to send all but the bravest of goblins running and screaming like frightened children. So, perhaps you can understand why I would be a little apprehensive about what I saw sticking out of my arm.

And my other arm, by the way. That one had a hoof as well.

With trepidation, I looked down at my otherwise mostly unchanged body, and saw that my feet had been replaced as well.

The good news is Grunt was no longer smashing his head off of things... he was much too busy watching me freak out.

“HOOVES! Freaking HOOVES! Why the hell do I have hooves?!?” Now it was my turn to cause myself some bodily harm, bashing said hooves off of the same rocks and trees that were already somewhat stained from Grunts earlier attempts to stupify himself. As this act only seemed to serve to cause me pain, I tried to run to the other side of the clearing, for my bags, only to learn that Hooves really were not made for Bipedal movement. Later on, one of our group members would often point out the Irony that the hooves had, in fact, saved my life. I try not to talk to her when she does that.

As I hit the ground, I heard a soft whistling noise and felt a sharp sting as something grazed my cheek. It’s true, I’ll admit, that had I not tripped over my new hooves, I would be dead. But really, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.

“Grunt! Get down! Sniper!” I shouted as I scrambled to put a rock between myself and my unknown attacker, even as another projectile caught my hat, tugging it from its sacred place atop my head. I could see Grunt also diving for cover, as yet another missile came barreling towards him.

“Warths Clareeth!”

“Who?” I shouted back, confused.

“Clar... umm, Ruthka?”

“Ruska? I don’t even know! She’s your bear, shouldn’t you be keeping tabs on her?”

“I’ve been thomewhat preoccupied!”

Accentuating his point, a quarrel rebounded from the rock beside his head, and landed in the dirt. It looked like a crossbow bolt. At least I knew what was shooting at us now.

Then, for a while, nothing happened. after several moments, I dared to peek my head over the cover... Only to pull it back as another bolt was launched towards my face.

“Great. Now what?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Well, we thould be thafe here for a while - theeth rocks are providing uth with full concealment, granting uth a mathive bonuth to out AThee.”

...

“What?”

“Our Armour Clath... oh never mind. They cant thoot uth if they cat’n thee uth.”

“Now that I understand.”

And so, we waited there. And we waited. And we waited. We still had yet to actually eat anything since we arrived in this place, and the hunger was really starting to get to me, growling loudly at random intervals and making me feel weak. Every now and then, I would test whether or not the sniper was about by peeking over the cover and pulling my head back right away. I would have used a rock or something, but sadly, I lacked hands.

Sometimes, when we’re in danger, we have the strangest priorities. Right now, for example, I really wanted my hat. It was an old and ragged hat, and I had been wearing it since I’d starting adventuring. There had been more than one occasion in the past where I had nearly lost my life trying to recover my iconic headgear, and I would never leave it behind.

Unfortunately, it was just out of reach right now. I tried to use a stick to pull it closer, only to remember that I lacked digits at the moment. If I were to try and break cover, I would undoubtedly take a quarrel for my efforts, and I didn’t really want that. At the moment, it seemed as though my precious hat was so close, and yet, so far away. I shed a single tear at the thought that I may never recover it.

Just then... it shifted slightly. What was that? Was it the wind? No... there was no real wind in the clearing. So how did my hat move? As I watched, it wiggled again, and then started to creep towards me.

Was it possible that my hat, under the influence of these mysterious blue flowers, had developed sentience? Was it trying to come closer to me? I had always secretly wished that my hat could have a life of its own, and a few of the scorch marks on its brim had resulted from testing in that very field of study.

Soon, the hat had reached me, bumping against my be-hooved leg, not once, but twice, as though it were trying to get my attention.

“Umm... hello?” I ventured to speak with it, feeling more then a bit silly as I did so. “So, what. Are you, like, a living hat now?”

Unsurprisingly, the hat didn’t answer, instead bumping against my leg one more time. This time, however, I could feel that there seemed to be something inside the hat that had some weight to it.

I tried to pick it up, forgetting once again my predicament. With a sigh, I squeezed the top of the hat between my two hand-hooves (fore hooves?) and lifted it from the ground.

“Hey, Grunt? I think I found Ruska.”

Grunt and I weren’t the only ones affected by the flowers. Ruska, it seemed, had been transformed from a scary, raging grizzly, to an adawable wittle kawaii desu grizzly cub. It seems that when my hat was knocked from my head, it had landed on top of her, hiding her from sight. Well... I suppose this means we're not about to be saved by a surprise visit from a snarling bear, after all. Shame, that.

“Oh my goth, Ruthka!”

Following an unspoken command from her master, the Ruska cub began plodding towards Grunt... and right into the open.

“Ruthka, No!”

Remember when I said that no one hurts Ruska? Well... try adding to that the fact that Ruska was now particularly vulnerable (and ridiculously cute). Grunt might currently not be in any shape to fight, so he did the only thing he could think of to do, Jumping from cover and covering Ruska’s small body with his own. A small bolt barely grazed him as he covered her.

“Don’t thoot her! Don’t thoot Ruthka!” Grunt pleaded with our unknown assailant, and, miraculously, wasn’t shot for his troubles.

Grunt simply stood there for a while, taking a protective posture over his altered friend. For a long while, nothing happened. Did asking nicely actually work? I was baffled. I should try saying please the next time something was trying to kill me. “Please, Mr. Dragon, Don’t turn me into a pile of smouldering goblin guts!” Perhaps this ‘begging for my life’ thing actually has merit? Then again, it’s never worked for me before.

A minute passed. Then five minutes. Then, I lost track of time, because I don’t have one of those nifty watch things. Neither me nor Grunt moves a muscle, as though afraid the mysterious sniper would suddenly change their mind.

Eventually bored, I decided to test the waters.

“So, uh... yeah. This mean you’re gonna stop trying to kill us now, or what? ‘Cuz, I’ll be honest, I’ve really gotta pee.”

“Don’t antagonithe them, Fithle!”

“Okay, are you sure you’re still Grunt? Besides, I’m pretty sure that they are the ones antagonizing us right now. Last I checked, this is a new world, and I’m pretty sure we haven’t been here long enough to make enemies just yet.”

“Maybe tho, but they’re the oneth with the crothbow, not thooting at uth right now.”

“Ya know Grunt... you are not supposed to be the voice of reason in a situation like this.”

“Yeah, I know, right? That’th kind of thcary.”

We waited another indeterminate amount of time, still receiving no answer (or bladder relief, for that matter). Eventually, I just couldn’t take it any longer.

“Look... uh, whoever you are. I’m sure you have better things to do then keep us pinned here, right? And we have better things to do than be pinned. So, how about we parlay? Work this out like gentlemen? Maybe take a short bathroom break?”

“Later you can take a leak. It’s time to run, and not to speak!”

‘Huh... so it’s a girl. And she speaks in rhyme. That’s new. And what kind of accent is that?

Wait, what does she mean, time to run?’

And then, I learned exactly what she meant, as the trees behind us parted, revealing the largest, scariest, most messed-up-looking fatherloving bear I have ever seen. Remember how I was talking about how big Ruska is? Well, this thing was slightly more than twice her regular size. It’s body was a darn, almost translucent midnight blue, and throughout its coat were small specks of light which distinctly reminded me of stars. Speaking of stars, by the way, there was a massive five pointed star right smack in the middle of its forehead. This thing wasn’t a bear, it was a god damn devourer of worlds.

The good thing is that I didn’t have to use the bathroom any longer.

One thing about Grunt hadn’t changed as he drew the greatsword from his back... and nearly dropped it from the weight. The bear-monster simply roared.

“Fithle... I can’t thwing my thord! It’s too heavy!”

“Well then, my friend, I think it’s time to follow our exotic sniper’s advice.”

“Meaning?”

“RUN!”

I scrambled to my... err, hooves, with some difficulty, and soon I was scrambling to the edge of the clearing. Remember when I said that hooves were simply not made for bipedal running? Once again, I found myself flat on my face. Desperately, I scrambled up onto all fours, most likely looking ridiculous, but not really caring at this point. I could move a bit more easily this way, but my body, despite having new footgear, really wasn’t made for this kind of running. At least I could keep my balance, but my movement was awkward, and much too slow for my tastes.

As I passed my bags, I didn’t even stop to pick them up. Instead, I bit into the leather strap with my super sharp Goblin Teeth, dragging them behind me. Wow, this was uncomfortable. Here is me, hunched over and trying to run awkwardly on all fours, with all of my worldly possessions hanging from my mouth. Smelling like piss. Seriously, not my best day.

I chanced a look behind me to see Grunt, also looking slightly awkward, in clothing that was quite a bit too big for him, carrying both a baby Ruska and a sword that was nearly as big as he was now. Closing in on him fast was the demon bear, its eyes bloodshot and mouth frothing.

Just then, Grunt seemed struck by inspiration. He whipped himself around, facing the charging behemoth as it lumbered towards him, a grin spreading across his freckled face (which would seriously take some getting used to).

“Thop, beatht, and behold! The power... of D’AWWWWW!”

With that, he thrust the baby Ruska forward in his arms, presenting her cuteness to the rampaging monster.

“Ruthka! Activate maximum cuteneth!”

I have to assume that Ruska must have done exactly as commanded (I couldn’t actually see her very well from my hiding place), because the monster stopped its charge. It took a few tentative steps towards the adorable cub, sniffing it with enough force to rustle the nearby brush, and then nuzzling her gently. For about the fifth time that day, I was at a loss for words. So this thing was really just a big softie?

“The normally docile Ursa appears to be sick. I wonder what’s afflicting it?”

The voice of our earlier assailant sounded nearby, but I still couldn’t see her, so I kept my attention focussed on what she called the Ursa. While I’m no expert, it did look rather sick. Its eyes (whose irises were disturbingly humanoid) were tinged yellow, and bloodshot. There was a rather large buildup on snot on its nose, and the saliva around its mouth seemed a tad... foamy. But, if it had rabies, it wouldn’t have stopped, would it?

“What’s the matter, big guy? Why are you tho angry?” Of course, Grunt actually is something of an expert, at least concerning bears. After all, he had been taking care of Ruska for as long as I’ve known him... and that’s been a long time. He always seemed to know when something was wrong with her, so it’s no surprise that he would also be good with other bears.

I call him the Bear Whisperer.

He stroked the creature’s large muzzle a few times, wiping away some of the rather nasty foam from its lips. “You look thick (I think he meant sick). Thith dothent look like anything I’ve theen, though. What happened? What made you like thith?”

“What the hell is going on! Why haven’t you destroyed him, beast?” A new voice, echoing through the woods. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, all at the same time. Not nearly the same as Gruumsh’s voice, mind you. I assumed this was a more mundane trickery.

“Thow yourthelf! What did you do to thith poor bear?”

“Actually, I think I’ll stay out of sight, for now. And as for what I did... see for yourself. Ursa! Sit!”

On command, the bear monster sat. Even despite its size, this would not have been all that unusual in and of itself, as it’s hardly impossible to train even monstrous creatures. Grunt had Ruska, after all. However, there was something about the bears expression that I found off-putting as it sat. Almost as if it were sitting against its will.

“Stand!” The bear stood back up. “Now, hind legs only!” It stood to its full height, its head nearly reaching the canopy above. “Dance!” On command, the creature began to dance, in a fashion similar to how I’ve seen Ruska dance for Grunt’s accordion in the past. Once again, the main difference was that Ruska would always dance because she wanted to... and trust me, there have been times when she didn’t want to. When Ruska didn’t want to dance, she wouldn’t. End of story. This creature actually looked... embarassed? Could a bear look embarrassed? This one did, anyway. Maybe it was slightly sentient?

“It’s a simple spell, usually, but here it seems that magic works differently than home. I had to supplement my usual spells with some local herbs and poisons. Just enough to dull its senses, mind you, and weaken its resolve.”

“What you have done is without forgiveness! Show yourself, witch, that I might end this!”

Wow... she’s good at that.

“Now, that is hardly an incentive to reveal myself. Has that ever worked for you before, Zebra?”

Zebra? What’s a zebra?

“What you’ve done ith monthterous! Thet him right!”

“Well, well. You’re one to talk, orc. Do you not also keep a pet bear about? That one right there, in fact?”

“That’th different! Ruthka’s my friend, not a thlave!”

“That’s rich. Really. I can sense the magical connection between you two. She’s as much a tool to you as this beast is to me. A broken tool, at the moment, but still a tool. Arguing with me makes you a hypocrite.”

Grunt looked shocked. “No... no! Ith different! Ruthka -”

“This conversation’s boring me now. I really don’t care. Beast! Kill them!”

Tell me something: What do you think is the best way to bring a philosophical discussion on the morality of free will to a screeching halt? I personally have to say “killer giant bear” has to be pretty high on that list.
> A Lesson in Dramatic Irony
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again, we were running. Been doing a lot of that since we got here actually; I really hoped it wasn’t going to become, like, a theme. Teenager Grunt, with his long, loping strides, and me, awkward on my new hooves. The lady who had been sniping us before was still nowhere in sight, and a harsh, feminine laugh echoed through the woods as the mind-controlled Ursa simply flattened the forest in its way. 

“Grunt... you’re all smart now, right? What do we do?”

“You’re athking me? Uthually, I jutht hit thingth untill they thop moving!”

“You can try that if you want! Might buy me some time!” We both knew he would stand no real chance the way he was... he could barely even hold that sword of his, let alone fight with it.





Things were looking bad for us. The trees and rocks were slowing the massive bear down, but we were still only barely keeping ahead. In desperation, I tried to prepare a bomb, but again, hooves. Hooves ruined everything. I actually managed, eventually, to pull one out of my pack, but I immediately fumbled it, nearly scorching Grunt and myself in the process.



Gahgahgahgahgahlah!” I choked slightly on it.

“Fithle! You’re not a horth, you’re a goat!” I was disgusted by the mirth in his voice. Wholly inappropriate in this situation.

“I’ll get your goat if you don’t shut up and keep running!”

And so we ran. We ran, and we ran, and we really had no idea where we were going. As long as it was away from the foam-mouthed behemoth, we didn’t really care where we were going. The bear’s crash had given us some time, but it had recovered quickly, continuing its tenacious pursuit. Trees rushed past us on either side, while branches, thorns and other sharp nature stuff tore at our clothes and skin. We were starting to get tired, while the growling monstrosity behind us continued to gain ground.

After a moment of searching, Grunt managed to produce the small purple bag, containing one of my more... controversial creations. Basically, it’s a yellowish powder whose sole purpose is to cause uncontrollable sneezing! I had gotten into a habit of using it on Red whenever I got the chance, so he wouldn’t be so sneaky all the time. It’s hard to sneak up on someone when you can’t stop sneezing!

I immediately ran to the aid of my transformed friend, who was covered head to toe with a slick, lime-green ichor. I promise I tried very hard not to laugh... but come on. What would you do if you found your friend literally soaked in bear snot? Even Ruska looked miserable, with her fur matted down by the nasty nasal ooze. Meanwhile, sneeze after sneeze rocked the landscape.

“I - *snick* I can’t believe you *guffaw* used the whole bag!”

Grunt wiped the majority of the gunk from his face. “Thut up. It worked, didn’t it? How long ith that gonna latht?”

I did some mental dice rolling and calculations for a moment, before coming up with a figure.

“We should have about an hour, with that much powder. Assuming whoever that creepy voice belongs too doesn’t do some freaky magic stuff.” With the last of the giggles out of my system, I was ready to be serious again. “We should probably move before we get hit with another sneeze.”

With that, we were off again. We kept a somewhat fast pace, but we were much more relaxed now that we weren’t in mortal peril. We could hear the sneezing of the massive bear for a good couple of miles, so we figured we had put a fair amount of distance between us. We seemed to be heading even deeper into the forest, since the trees and bushes were getting thicker. I warned Grunt not to touch anything... especially after what happened last time.

A loud rumbling of my stomach reminded me that we had still not had time to find food. Unfortunately, I didn’t trust any of the vegetation in this place, and the only animals we had seen were either a hundred feet tall, or made of wood. Seems like we're going to have to go hungry for a little while longer. Perhaps it was my hunger that had distracted me as we walked, because I suddenly realized that it was very dark. With a small amount of focus, I adjusted my eyes to the color-blind night vision inherent to goblins (as well as to other creatures, of which orcs were included). Seriously, can you believe that so many creatures can’t see at all in the dark?

“Any idea when the lights went out, big guy?”

“Actually, I jutht notithed.”

There was something off putting about this particular part of the woods... somehow, the trees had taken on a more sinister appearance. Most seemed to lack any kind of leaves, and the branches all seemed to be more jagged and angular than normal. This place was making me so jumpy that I nearly screamed when I turned a corner and looked right into what appeared to be a snarling face!

Yes, nearly. You don’t really think I would be scared of a tree, do you? Do I look like a dwarf?

Once I had calmed down a bit, the tree actually almost looked silly. It seemed like something right out of a bard’s ghost story!

“Hey Grunt, look at this!” I declared, sticking my head inside the ‘mouth’ of the tree.

“I really...”

“Oh come on, you spoil sport, I’m just fooling around. You afraid I’m gonna get a splinter?” I pulled my head free, crossing my arms in indignation. 

“Fithle... that’th not the only one.”

“What?” Sure enough, I realized that we seemed to be standing right in the middle of an entire glade of scary-faced trees. I’ll admit, while one was just silly, a whole bunch like this was actually pretty creepy. When you’re an adventurer like me, you learn pretty quickly that unnatural darkness, creepy atmosphere and scary effigies all in the same place are rarely a coincidence. As if to cement my point with pathetic fallacy, a chilly wind rustled through the haunted looking trees, raising the hackles on the back of my neck. 

Man, it was cold without my hat. Where was my hat?

I turned back to the tree I was fooling around with, and went pale. Found my hat. It was sticking out of the corner of the tree’s mouth. Which was now closed.

“Oh.” I guess I forgot that just yesterday I was attacked by monsters made out of wood.

Perhapse the tree felt that it had not made enough of an impression on me by eating my hat, because right then, its gnarled, claw-like branches shot out towards me! I backed up quickly, but my clumsy (goat?) hooves stumbled, dropping me painfully on my butt. One of its wooden claws just barely grazed my arm, tearing my jacket near the shoulder. 

“Grunt! This is a bad time for a grudge match!”

“I’m not doing thith on purpoth, you idiot! It’th got my handth!”

It took me a moment to sort through his lisp. So, he was stuck? The old Grunt would never get stuck like that! I rolled out of the way of a few more flailing tree limbs. Suddenly, as I was rolling, I felt something prick my side! 

“Ow, what the heck was that?”

As if answering my question, I felt my body begin to change shape. My arms and legs got longer, and I could feel my teeth elongate inside my jaw. An itching sensation spread across my body as thick hair rapidly grew in thick patches. My muscles also mutated, and much of the sluggishness caused by my hooves (which were now inexplicably sharp) seemed to evaporate. I had accidentally injected myself with a mutagen! But which one?

One of the clawed appendages shot towards me. I responded by rolling over backwards, and kicking the claw with one of my rear hooves. The sharpened hoof cleaved easily through the rotted wood. Looks like it was the agility mutagen! The dramatically good timing of that accident didn’t go over my head.

With a temporary burst of skill, I launched myself upright, no longer awkward on all fours. I should say that I really, really love the Agility mutagen. Imagine if, for a few minutes each day, you could just do away with all of the sluggishness and awkwardness of your regular, flawed body, and become a total badass? It makes you quick enough that the world around you seems to slow down, just enough to be noticeable, and gives you wicked claws, to boot. the only downside is that it tends to come at a sacrifice of wit, throwing common sense right out the window. Still... totally worth it.

Speaking of having a lowered wit, it occurred to me that there was only one way to save my friend at that moment. With a very un-Fizzle-like snarl, I charged at Grunt, leaping into the air and wrapping all four limbs around him, tearing him from the tree’s grasp. The resulting cuts on his forearms were, as far as I was concerned, a necessary pain. The glare he gave me suggested that he disagreed.

Either way, we were moving again, albeit rather slowly. Even with my enhanced reflexes, it was getting harder and harder to avoid those grasping claws. Grunt, who didn’t have the benefit of a forced mutation (unless you count the whole ‘smart teenager’ thing, which I didn’t), was having less luck then I was. Still... we seemed to be making progress.

Never tell yourself “At least we're making progress!” The universe loves itself some dramatic irony.

One of the branches reached out, tightening a claw around Grunts arm. In a feat of awesome role reversal, I severed the branch with a punch, but not before another of the wooden claws managed to wrap itself around the hilt of Grunts blade, tearing it free, and slicing my pack open in the process!

If a tree with a face was silly, and a moving tree tree with a face was a bit scary, then a moving tree with a face and holding a great sword forged by the god of warfare himself is, frankly, stupefying. Or, at least, it should be. The logical thing to do in this kind of situation would be to call the sword lost, and run like hell. 

“That thword...” grunt uncharacteristically monologued, “... wath a gift.” The trees stopped their thrashing, as though they were listening to Grunt speak. I’ll admit that I was myself a bit enthralled. Grunt was, after all, a man of few words. “But, it wathent a gift from my mommy. And it wathent a gift from a friend. It wath a gift from the god of my kind. Daddy Gruumsh.” I noticed he didn’t lisp Gruumsh’s name.

“All day, I’ve been running, like a thcared child. But I’m the chosen of Gruumsh. God of orcth, and Chaos, and War. I am a Barbarian King, and I will not run any more.”

Dang. Grunt should do that more often. The lisp didn’t even ruin the effect of his speech. The trees seemed to agree, as they hesitated to make another attack.

As he spoke, I could hear a high-pitched growling from my right, and I could see that little Ruska was also being affected by Grunt’s growing rage. Clearly, the strange magic which had turned her into a cub had done nothing to damage the spiritual connection between herself and Grunt. Her ears lay flat to her head, her eyes started to glow with a soft red light (which was new, by the way) and her teeth were barred. Right now she looked more like an angry badger then a bear cub. An insanely cute badger, mind you. Still... I wouldn’t want to per her right now.

“Ruthka!” Grunt snarled, sounding almost exactly like his old self, and Ruska darted forward... fast. Like, really fast. She closed the distance between herself and the sword-weilding tree in almost no time at all. The tree reacted by slamming the great sword into the ground where it thought Ruska was going to be, but she easily dodged out of the way.

With the distraction, Grunt also charged the tree, ignoring the sweeping attacks of the other clawed branches as he closed in on his target, leaping right into it’s bows. One branch tried to scratch at his face, but he caught it in his fist and bent it backwards with a loud Crack! I idly realized that the old Grunt would have done so with much less effort, but I was never-the-less impressed with with the skinny orc’s ferocity. Grunt tore at the tree’s leafless limbs, while Ruska ran circles around the trunk, drawing its attacks.

They were fighting effectively, but the lack of Grunt’s usual strength was making it a hard fought battle, and he had taken several hits. Ruska was faring better, her small size making her a difficult target, but she was unable to do more than superficial damage to the possessed shrubbery. I knew I had to help - thankfully, the other trees were so enraptured by the display that they were ignoring me completely. Utilizing my agility boost, I made to charge at the tree... but a swing from Grunt’s weapon made me rethink that strategy. Grunt and Ruska were too close to the Sword to be a threat to them, but I was not.

I scanned the area furiously for a plan B, before my eyes fell upon the ruined remains of my pack. There, laying among the various pouches and vials of of irritants, solvents and catalysts, was a largish, broken glass jar, it’s spicy contents spilled upon the ground. A wicked grin split my features.

This was gonna be good.

I dashed towards the debris, and the sword-wielding tree made another swing at me as I did so. I dodged the attack, and attempted to grab one of the spilled stuffed peppers from the ground. Sadly, I still lacked hands, and only succeeded in smooshing it against the bottom of my hoof. Well... at least is stuck there. With a flourishing backflip, I landed on my hind hooves just outside of range of the tree’s sweeping blows, and licked the ruined appatizer from my hoof.

Remember back when I made these babies, right before I was Fwooshed into this awful place? I said they would either be delicious, or deadly. Turns out, even despite the little bit of dirt and grass that was also stuck to my hoof, it was both.

The jalapeno is, by itself, probably one of the most tasty non-meat delicacies in the seven known kingdoms. So much flavour is packed into that tasty little fruit, complemented by a refined spicy burn... just hot enough to give it a real kick! Add in a healthy dose of cream or cottage cheese, and you get an hors d'oeuvre to die for. But... with the right magical ingredients, that ‘spicy kick’ could have a lot of potential. At least, that was the theory. I still had no idea what this thing would do to me. For all I knew, my head could explode, and if the burning in my mouth was any indication, that might actually happen.

Then again, you’re reading this right now, so it’s probably safe to say that it doesn’t happen.

My mouth was on fire. Literally, there were flames dripping from my mouth. My oral cavity should have been reduced to a charred wreck, but it seems that the magic of the ‘potion’ prevented that from happening. I inhaled deeply, intending to blow a cone of flame like a dragon... sadly, it seemed that only my saliva actually carried the Magical flame, and the effect was rather uninspiring. However, this did give me a new idea.

The spiciness of the pepper had given me a surplus of mucous, which I immediately snorted into the back of my throat, collecting it into a small ball inside of my mouth. Rather than risk hurting my friend, I decided to test the first projectile on the tree nearest to myself. The effect was much more satisfying that I thought it would be. 

A great, big ball of burning boogies blasted the bothersome baddy, setting it abruptly ablaze. The tree writhed in pain, and those nearest to it leaned away, as though they were afraid that they would also catch. Incidentally, the tree currently grappling Grunt also ceased its movement... allowing a still enraged Grunt to finally wrench his weapon free. With a frenzied spin, the enchanted blade easily sliced through the living wood, sending the battered tree crashing to the ground.

For the first time today, we could fight back. Man that felt good.

“Yo, Grunt.” Flaming saliva dripped at my words. “I gotta get my hat back.”

I was answered with a guttural howl of rage.

For the next few minutes, we cleaved and burned out way through the enchanted grove (what else would I call it?) teaching these killer flora a thing or two about attacking peaceful strangers. The trees, for the most part, shied away from us, but we did not spare them. Tree after tree fell to Grunt’s swinging sword (he was much more capable with it since his rage seemed to enhance his strength) as a volley of flaming goober made a bonfire of those that remained. Soon, there was nothing left of the grove but a pile of charred timber. Now those faces were neither silly, nor scary - they were just dead.

“That’s what you get, stupid trees!” I spat on a nearby sapling, just to drive my point home. I was disappointed to see that this time, it was just regular spit. I guess the effects of the pepper had worn off. The mutigen had done so a while back, as well, meaning I was once again a (relatively) normal goblin.

I couldn’t entirely remember which tree had taken my hat, but searching the glade turned up some interesting results. Several of the trees had what seemed to be the slightly charred remains of the local wildlife. Blackened bones and freakishly elongated skulls told us that we weren’t the first creatures to get attacked in here. Even better, some of the creatures seemed to have had possessions! Most of what we found had been ruined, either by digestion or fire, but we found a fair number of small gold coins (Slightly smaller than the gold coins Grunt and myself already carried, and Imprinted with some kind of “pieces, but with horses” symbology) which we assumed to be the local currency. We found some kind of mostly ruined saddle, which seemed to be made for form over function, and inside one tree, there were a number of slightly scorched daggers. I decided to take these... if I ever got my hands back, those would come in useful, as I was actually pretty good at throwing things.

Something I found particularly disturbing about the remains was the number of hooves I saw, while there was a distinct lack of hands or feet. Perhaps it was just a coincidence?

Eventually, I found my hat, which aside from a tiny bit of soot and dirt, was miraculously undamaged. Funny thing about my hat... it was in a fairly poor state of repair to begin with, but it never seemed to get worse, even despite the trials I put it through. It’s been stabbed, shot and chopped, blown off my head in terrible snow storms and washed away by powerful currents, and now, even caught in an inferno. And yet, it still looked as new as the day I pilfer- I mean, found it. Which wasn’t great to begin with.

Someday, I’m going to write a dramatic irony guidebook, and fill it with all of the phrases that should never be said. Key among them will be phrases such as “At least it isn’t raining!” “That was easy!” “Just one more to go!” And, my new personal favorite: 

“Well... that’s that taken care of. I doubt that we’ll run into anything worse than that today.”

> Talking Striped Horses from the Ninth Layer of Hell
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe you fools fell into my trap!”

Crap.

Did I really choose to come to this place? I’m pretty sure I asked. In fact, Gruumsh didn’t even want to send me... so why the hell am I here? So far, it’s been nothing but one shit storm after another. Well, things were about to get a whole lot worse. And why is that, you might ask?

For starters, more killer plants. I was starting to sense a theme here. This hours variety was a bunch of vines that suddenly sprouted out from the ground, tangling us into a gigantic knot. Of course, my fire lugies had worn off hours ago, and even with his rage, Grunts current form was still too weak to just yank himself free. Ruska, it seemed, had been clever enough to avoid the trap, and had run into the woods... not that I thought she was gonna save us, the way she was now. I assumed Grunt was ‘ordering’ her, through that freaky psychic link they had, to stay away. I was being held upside-down by one of my ankles (or are they fetlocks?) and once again, my precious hat was just out of reach. And the disembodied, feminine, all around malicious voice was back, too. 

And I still hadn’t had a bite to eat.

“Thow yourthelth, vile temptreth!” Did he really just say that?

“Hey... d’you think you could turn me upright? I’m getting kinda dizzy!” I had to have my priorities straight.

An echoing laughter filled the air around us, sending shivers down (or, in this case, up) my spine. I had heard this very same kind of laugh many times before in my life. The Lich King Asgaroth laughed like this when he trapped us in that maze dimension. Gro’thak the Barbarian laughed like that his army had us surrounded. I laughed like that while I was being tied to a harpoon, with the intention of being shot at the Kraken. It was a laugh of impending victory (or, in my case, a maniacal lapse of judgement), tinted with a hint of malicious intent. It almost never bode well (especially during said Kraken encounter).

“I will admit, you two gave me some trouble. I suppose it was my own fault for trying to make a sport out of killing you. No matter. Now that I have you, I see no reason to hide myself.” Boy, this chick really didn’t know anything about cliché villain tropes. She could have killed us right there, but instead, she decided to show herself? That’s, like, the first step towards being defeated! What, was she going to tell us her evil plan, too?

The creature which stepped towards us from the unnatural fog surrounding the entangled clearing was vaguely humanoid in appearance, possessing a shape which could be accurately described as female. Instead of clothing, she appeared to be covered head to toe in some kind of thick bark, with several small branched poking out at odd intervals and sprouting leaves. Her face was free of bark, but nevertheless appeared wooden and gnarled, giving her a rather ugly appearance. Atop her head, like a gaudy hat, sat a large, sickly pink flower. She was grinning at us like she had just remembered some really funny joke, but didn’t want to share it. I really hate it when people do that.

“I can only hope that the others are as easy to catch as you were!” I was right. Here comes the ‘evil plan’ monologue.

Or not. Extending her arm to the right, a large, spiked club began to take form from the bark-like appendage. Huh. So she really was just going to just kill us. I couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or terrified.

“Wait! Aren’t you forgetting something?” I shout at her, desperate for any kind of distraction. She aimed her bemused expression at me, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t think I am, little fool. I’ll kill you both, and be one step closer to overall victory. It’s really rather straightforward.”

“How would killing uth bring you clother to victory?” Grunt asked, picking up on my desperate gambit like the sharp little orc he apparently was now.

Now the plant-thing looked incredulous. “What could I possibly gain by wasting my time sharing my designs with my victims? That would only serve to distract me from my goal. After all, do you really think I would share my life story with every one of my victims?”

“Well, you just gonna kill us anyway, right? What are you gonna lose?”

“My patience, for one thing. This drivel is wearing thin on me as it is.”

“But wouldn’t it be tho muth more thatithfying to you if we knew who had defeated uth, and why?”

She deadpanned. “No. I tire of this game. Prepare to return to the pathetic gods who sent you here!” She raised the large club above her head, ready to crush the life out of me, when a flaming projectile caught her unexpectedly in her right shoulder. 

The bolt itself did very little damage to her, but the flame spread quickly, engulfing much of her left side. With an unearthly scream, she began to flail, desperately trying to douse the flames which were beginning to consume her, when another blazing bolt grazed the flower atop her head, igniting her there, as well. With her concentration broken, the vines holding us in place began to retract into the ground as the spell dissipated. Naturally, I landed on my head. Grunt recovered more quickly, and soon his rage was reactivated, and he was charging towards our flammable enemy.

However, before he could reach her, she conjured some kind of bright flash of light, blinding me for a few moments and causing Grunt to stumble. When we recovered, we could see a badly charred woman sprinting towards the edge of the clearing, and Grunt gave chase. Grunt was always way faster than anyone else I knew, and he closed the distance quite quickly. He raised his Warbringer, intending to sweep her feet out from under her, when suddenly, she jumped - right into the side of a tree.

Now before you laugh, you need to understand that I literally mean right into the tree. As in, she hit the tree, the bark rippled, and she disappeared inside of it, leaving nothing behind but a trail of smoke and a frustrated barbarian. In a fit of rage, Grunt struck the tree. While his sword didn’t quite go all the way through, the force of his swing was enough to send the large tree crashing towards the forest floor. I held my breath, wondering if this was the end of her, but the angry disembodied voice which echoed from the woods dissuaded that notion.

“Damn you! Damn all three of you! Your clever tongues distracted me, and made me vulnerable!” Sure, let’s go with that. It was totally planned that way. Yup. “Do not think, however, that you have seen the last of Fiona, Queen of the Spriggans, and champion of the Queen of the Air and Darkness!” Well. That was both cliché and long winded. And what kind of name was Fiona for a queen of Spriggans? 

Well, I didn’t really have much time to contemplate things, considering the flaming missiles which, moments ago, had come flying out from the fog. I wondered if the mysterious sniper had saved us intentionally, or if ‘Fiona’ had simply been a convenient target. Either way, being in the middle of the clearing had left me with no cover, so running was a bit pointless. Instead, I fumbled with my hat, before gazing in the direction I assumed the shots had come from.

“So, uh, yeah. Scary rhyming sniper lady. Are you gonna try to kill us again? Because I’m getting a little sick of things trying to kill us today. Our luck can only hold out so long, ya know?”

“I apologize for my past transgression; it seems that I have learned my lesson.” I was right... it was that same, creepy rhyming voice from before, though I still couldn’t see the source. It was a distinctly female voice, heavily accented, and far less malicious than the other mysterious voice we’d been hearing all day. “I hunted you for being strangers, but the small one proved you were no danger. She came to me, so full of strife, and brought me here to save your life.”

Wait... small one? She brought her here? Was she talking about Ruska?

“Good... I was hoping thhe would find you.” Wait...

“You mean... you planned this, Grunt?” I was shocked. There was no way.

“Well... yeth,” he began. “After the thniper attacked uth the firtht time, thhe thudden’y sthopped thooting after I grabbed Ruthka, remember?”

“Uhh...”

“And then, thhe tried to warn uth about the big bear thing that tried to kill uth.”

“Right...”

“Well, thhe was obviouthly thtill going to be interethted in uth, but wathent going to make any dethithins until thhe thaw how we handled the bear.”

“Hey... not so many s’s... you’re getting hard to follow”

“Thorry. Tho anyway, we probably lotht her while we were being chathed, but thereth no wat thhe mithed uth burning down that pothethed glade.”

“Okay. I’m still not sure I -”

“Tho, when we got catpured, I knew thhe would be nearby. I thent Ruthka to find her, becauth I athummed that thhe had mithtaken uth for the reathon thingth were going all thrange around here.”

“Indeed, that had been my folly. Have I mentioned I was sorry?”

Grunt took a deep breath, before finishing his convoluted plan.

“I altho figured that the thpriggan wath her true target, tho if thhe were to find uth being held captive by the monthter, thhe would uthe her thniping thkills to aid uth!”

(I would like to take a moment to apologize for the excessive lisp. I suppose I could have had Grunt explain things without it, but I really wanted you to appreciate what I had to go through to understand that garbled mess of t’s and h’s. Thanks for understanding. We now return back to the previously scheduled... whatever this is.
-Fizzle)

I opened my mouth to say something... and then I closed it. Then, I opened it to say something else. Still nothing. Half of my brain was trying to understand that Gods-forsaken lisp. The other half was trying to comprehend how Grunt had actually thought all of that out... and how he was actually right. Thankfully, a slur of rhyme interrupted my thoughts before my brain could explode.

“Forgive me, please, if this is rude, but I really feel I must intrude. Out here, we are sitting ducks. If we don’t seek shelter, we’ll be -”

“In trouble?” I finished, intending to cut off the expected expletive. 

“... out of luck.”

Oh, come on. You were thinking it, too.

“Do you have a plathe in mind?”

“Fourteen miles to the west, you’ll find a cave where you can rest. Beneath the weeping willow tree, you’ll find the place where you should be. A small and cozy little cave, and it has a spring where you can bathe.”

“What about you? We still haven’t even seen you, and I think we have some questions to ask.”

“A cure for your Joke must be brewed. I’ll also rustle up some food.”

My stomach gurgled rudely at the thought of food. That was good enough for me. I didn’t know what she meant by ‘joke’, however. Frankly, at this point, I didn’t care. We had been running and fighting all freaking day, and I was ready to just curl up and sleep.





Thankfully, “Beneath the weeping willow tree” was not quite as riddelish as I was expecting. There was literally a gigantic willow tree, sitting on top of a bluff, and underneath was a small cave. Now, when I say small, I’m not saying it was tiny. A large cave would potentially run for miles through tunnels and caverns. This was about as spacious as a small house, and the entrance was just covered enough that you would have to be looking for it to find it. A small, cool spring dominated the left side of the cave, just as the mysterious rhyming stranger promised, and there was still more than enough room for three people to set up camp (assuming the third wasn’t totally huge. I wasn’t going to discount anything), plus a bear. The first thing I did was lay out my belongings.

I had lost a great deal of personal effects since I started this journey the day before, and I had very little left to work with. Thankfully, I had scavenged the rest of my pepper potions, though they were a bit covered with dirt and ash. I was nearly hungry enough to eat them all right then, but thought better of it. I had a few random extract ingredients left over, but those would be easy enough to replace. I still had my patented potion injectors, which was good, and a small jar containing samples of the blue flowers I highly suspected were responsible for our current appearances. I really wanted to boil them down to their base components to learn what caused the transformative effects, but alas, I was lacking not only a lab, but hands, as well. 

Speaking of which, my hooves were scraped, chipped and cracked in several places from the mad running I’d been doing today, and were really sore. I didn’t know much about the things, given my particular aversion to the subject, but I assumed that badly damaged hooves were not a good thing. At any rate, dipping them into the spring felt really good, and hopefully, doing so would wash away the dirt and other contaminants from the cracks and wounds.

Grunt was also once again scraped and bruised, though his wounds were all superficial. He fussed rather adamantly when I tried to remove a splinter... however, in retrospect, hooves weren’t exactly the proper tools for the job. Still, it was nice to know that neither of us were too much worse for wear.

Ruska was, of course, unharmed. She did still share in Grunt’s minor aches and pains, but even baby Ruska was a tough girl.

I spent the next hour examining one of the golden coins I’d found.  The first thing I noted about the coin was that it was smaller than a standard coin, as I knew them. As strange as it might sound, it was also more... round. Almost as if more thought was placed into the dimensions of the coin then into it’s volume. 

Upon further inspection, I could tell that the coin itself was not actually pure gold - what, I’m an alchemist, remember? If I couldn’t tell the approximate the carat amount of a piece of gold just by looking at it, I would be a pretty shitty alchemist. The weight was off, and it wasn’t quite soft enough. I would call it only forty percent gold. Maybe another forty percent bronze, but I would need my kit for proper testing.

While most coins were stamped rather sloppily with either a letter, or a simplified coat of arms, simply to broadcast where said coin was minted, these ones had a more intricate  (and slightly disturbing) design. It appeared to be two winged horses, circling a small globe. One was engraved completely, where the other was merely an outline. The result was that one appeared to be darker than the other. On the other side was a half and half image of a sun and moon. There were also small characters around the rim, but I couldn’t recognize them.

Grunt and I waited for the mysterious rhyming woman. We waited, and we waited. Minutes turned into hours, and we waited some more. As the sun started to set outside out little hidey hole, I had arranged and rearranged out belongings nearly thirty times, just to stave off the boredom. Still, our benefactor had not arrived.

You would think that talking to Grunt would be a great way to pass the time, right? But the funny thing was... I actually prefered talking to him when he had nothing to say. It was... simpler, then. More importantly, I never used to have to decipher his language. I mean, I could understand him and all, but get smart Grunt talking about something that interested him, and it was all fthfhththfhfth for hours. That starts to wear on a guy.

Eventually, Grunt started humming and clapping his hands, while Ruska did a little dance. It was cute, but it didn’t hold a candle to their usual show. Did I fail to mention Grunt and Ruska’s accordion hijinks? Another one of the big guy’s hidden talents was playing the squeeze box, and over the years, he and Ruska had made something of a routine out of it. If you’ve never seen a massive bear dance on two paws while a nearly equally massive orc plays the accordian, well then you haven’t really lived. it fills a hole in your life that you didn’t even know was there. I remember once I had made this super rare poison, and Red needed a cunning plan to sneak it into this Dwarven King’s chalice. There we were, arguing about the best way to go about things, when suddenly Grunt starts playing the accordion. Ruska hops up, starts dancing, and soon the entire hall, King, counselor, guards and all, are singing and clapping along. No one even saw Red sneak right up to the throne and add my secret sauce to his beer.

What followed, I imagine, is a thousand years of peace for the Ironhill clan.

Eventually, despite my rumbling belly, I felt my eyelids becoming heavy. I really, really wanted to stay awake, at least until I had some of the food our unseen ally promised us (the Spriggan had called her a Zebra hours ago, but I had never heard of such a race), but sleepiness and boredom really do not mix well. It was not long before the dimly lit cave (and Grunts cheerful humming) faded into nothing.





I stood once again in my proper, anatomically correct body, amidst a vast field of tall yellow grass. 

Yeah. Dream sequence. I really am going there. Deal with it.

The field stretched before me in every direction. High above was nothing, and I felt as though I could see up into forever. As I stared into the infinite sky, the world was lit by a flash of light. Suddenly, it was no longer filled with nothing. Though the sky was still dark, in it’s center was set a blazing celestial body, half sun and half moon. I could nearly picture the not-quite-gold of the coin it was carved into.

Then, just as suddenly, something else filled the sky. Two massive, horse-like creatures, one black and the other white, took to the sky, each laying claim to one half of the impossible orb. The white horse claimed the sun, and it’s mane was all the colours of the dawn. the black horse called the moon it’s own, it’s mane the ethereal darkness of the night sky.

Suddenly, the two beings looked at me, and my heart filled with dread. They were smiling at me, but their smiles looked sad. I didn’t care. I turned from them, and I ran. I ran and I ran, for what felt like miles, and yet the horrid, winged equines never seemed to fall behind.

As I rad, I suddenly felt my body begin to transform. First, my hands and feet vanished, to be replaced by hooves. Not pointed, goat like hooves like before, but flat, dull horse hooves. My jacket began to cling to my body, and suddenly morphed into a fine layer of greenish fur. My hair became longer, and I felt... something... grow from my posterior.

I tried to scream, but I could feel my mouth changing as well, so that the only noise I could create was a long, hellfueled whinny.





I awoke in a cold sweat to the comfortable smells of boiling lavender and sulfur, a scream still on my lips.

Grunt, who was sitting not all that far from me, looked worried. “Fithle? Ith everything alright?”

It took me a few moments to calm down, and a few moments longer for my eyes to adjust to the dancing light of a nearby fire.

“Oh Grunt... thank the gods it was just a dream! There were horses, Grunt - Horses! Some kind of... God horses! Two of them! A White one and a black one, and I think they had something to do with the sun and the mood, for some reason. It was horrible!”

“You know, Fithle, you’re probably going to want to get over that whole hippophobia thing of yourth. Altho, Thae arrived.”

“Since when did you care whether or not I liked the things? Also... they who?”

“What? Not they... Thae. With a thee. Arrg... never mind! Thee for yourthelth!” To make his point, Grunt motioned across the cave, where a large cauldron was bubbling over a fire. I could barely make out some kind of shape, just on the far side of a thick sheet of (Probably benign) green gass.

“Ah. So the small one finally awakes. Good. There are many potions yet to make. The tall one says you are alchemically inclined. Perhaps you might add your experience to mine?”

I rubbed some of the sleep from my eyes, and yawned. “So wait... you’re an alchemist, too?”

“I have dabbled in the herbal arts. Such a useful practice in these parts!” I still couldn’t get a good look at her, which was it’s own brand of maddening. All day, I’d been hearing a voice with no face to attach to it. Now, here she was, right in front of me, and I still had no idea what she looked like. What I did know, however, was that her ‘alchemical equipment’ was more than a touch out of date, and her technique rudimentary. Yeah, I bet she really could benefit from my experience.

“Well...” I started out in my patronizing way as I began to close the distance between us, “While I won’t discredit herbology’s part in potion making, I think it’s important to remember that herbs and spices only go so far towards achieving a desired effect. For example...” I take a small handful (hooful?) of reddish dust from the floor as I explain, “This cave dirt is high in magnesium. In a large quantity, this has the potential to make a pretty cool explosion! However, with just a little bit, judging from the smell of your concoction...” I rubbed my fore hooves together, sprinkling a small amount of the magnesium-rich powder into the pot, where it ignited with a rather impressive spark and puff of smoke. Immediately, the green vapour began to dissipate. “... it should be just enough to burn off some of your excess vapours, without negatively affecting the reaction of your base chemicals!” 

My face was full of pride as the green gass slowly began to fade away. However, as the room began to clear, and I could start to make out the creature before me, my pride slowly melted first into incomprehension, then into grim understanding, and finally, into abject terror. 

Standing unnaturally on it’s hind legs was a true perversion of nature. It’s flat, unshorn hooves gripped a stirring stick, which would undoubtedly be used to beat me to death. It’s grizzly, pointed ears were filled with all manner of self-mutilations. I couldn’t tell if the strange markings all over it’s body were some kind of tribal tattoo or simply the ‘natural’ coloration of it’s mangy hide. It’s elongated snout seemed to sneer at me with an unearthly hunger. 

“Well, you may colour me impressed! Of us two, sir, you are the best!”

As the devil steed spoke its demonic rhyme, I did the only thing that could plausibly be done in my current situation.

With a squeal, I fainted.

















Hippophobia: An intense and irrational fear of horses and horse like creatures. Yes, it’s real. And no, it doesn’t include hippopotamuses. Grow up, would ya?
~ The more you know, by Fizzle the Goblin ~