Chapter 7: The Goblin Fortress of Forbidden Things (Part 2)
When Darryl woke up, the first thing he felt was a breeze—chilly, sharp, and thoroughly disrespectful.
The second thing he felt was a stick.
A big, rough stick… wedged firmly under his armpits.
He groaned and blinked through the haze.
He was naked.
Tied to a pole.
Like a human kebab.
And next to him—also tied, also naked, also horizontal—was Ly.
“W-What… what happened?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.
“Oh, look who’s up,” Ly said sarcastically, her hair stuck to her forehead in wild clumps. “Prince Charming of the Goblin sluts. You passed out mid-undressing.”
“I—she kissed me! I thought it was a quest reward!”
“You tried to take off your own underwear with your teeth!” Ly shouted.
Darryl looked away, ashamed. “I was in the moment.”
“You were in heat.”
Before they could bicker further, two goblin guards grunted and began dragging the stick with them still tied to it. Their bare butts wobbled indignantly in the breeze, a sight that would’ve killed any remaining dignity if they still had some.
“Ugh. This is humiliating,” Ly groaned.
“You? You're always naked anyway! This is your Tuesday!”
“My Tuesday doesn’t involve being prepped like dinner,” she snapped back.
“Mine usually does,” Darryl muttered.
The goblins carried them deeper into the fortress—past dank tunnels, slime-coated walls, and a pit full of old skeletons holding signs like HELP ME, I DIED NAKED. It was not encouraging.
Eventually, they reached a rge, dark kitchen where a massive pot bubbled menacingly. A goblin chef stood over it, sprinkling something that looked suspiciously like toenails.
“Pce meat on spit,” it grunted.
Darryl's eyes widened. “MEAT?! I’m not marbled enough for this!”
“Silence!” the chef hissed. “You cook soft. Girl cook hard. Good contrast.”
Ly looked over at him. “You’re the soft one. I’m crunchy.”
“You’re useless!” he hissed. “Do you even have a css?!”
“I’m a druid!”
“You have never cast a single spell!”
“I HAVE AESTHETIC VALUE!” she yelled.
The goblins ignored them, hoisted the spit over the pot, and walked off to grab seasoning.
Now hanging over a bubbling cauldron of what looked like goblin chowder, Darryl struggled. “Okay. Okay. Focus. Escape time. How do we—wait, do you hear that?”
It was a bubbling. A slimy sloshing. Then a slow… drip... down his thigh.
“Oh gods,” he whispered. “They’re basting me…”
Ly screamed. “I’M A DRY RUB GIRL YOU MONSTERS!!”
---
They wiggled for minutes. No use. The ropes were too tight, their pride too slippery.
“I should’ve never kissed her,” Darryl muttered.
“No. You shouldn’t have moaned when she bit your ear,” Ly said.
“It was an instinct! I have sensitive lobes!”
Then suddenly—
SNAP!
A small crack in the wood.
Darryl blinked. “Wait… was that…”
The spit creaked again. The goblins had apparently overused it. It was cracked.
“If we swing,” he said, eyes wide, “we might be able to—”
“Fall face-first into hot soup?” Ly offered.
“No. Swing. Break the stick. Fall out of the ropes. Roll. Run. Survive.”
“That sounds like a Darryl pn,” she groaned.
“It is a desperate pn,” he said. “And we are very naked!”
“Ugh. Fine. Let’s swing our stupid, half-boiled bodies.”
They both rocked back and forth, side to side. It was wobbly, undignified, and occasionally involved skin spping where skin shouldn’t sp.
Crack.
CRACK.
SNAP!!
The spit shattered. They fell.
SPLOOSH.
Right into the pot.
Screaming. Spshing. Frantic fumbling. Two naked humans filing in goblin soup like cursed noodles.
The chef ran back in, screeching.
“THE MEAT IS ESCAPING!!”
Darryl elbowed him in the face, purely by accident. Ly kicked another goblin in the nuts, purely on purpose.
They rolled out of the pot, still slippery and steaming. Darryl grabbed a wooden bowl to cover his junk. Ly grabbed a dead goblin’s helmet and shoved her head into it.
“I don’t want to see this world anymore,” she muttered.
“Exit—exit—where’s the exit!?” Darryl cried.
They slipped, tripped, and charged down the hallway, soup trailing behind them like a shameful comet tail.
Behind them, goblins shouted in rage and panic. One screamed, “STOP THE PINK MEAT!”
“I’M BEIGE!” Darryl yelled back.
They turned a corner. A goblin archer fired.
The arrow struck the wall beside Ly.
She screamed and fainted instantly.
“OH COME ON!!” Darryl bellowed, dragging her half-conscious, naked body down the hall.
A pit opened ahead. He saw the edge and screamed. “NO NO NO NO—”
Too te.
They fell.
Down. Down. Into bckness.
---
THUMP.
Darryl nded on something wet and mossy. Ly nded directly on top of him.
He groaned.
She snored.
They were alive.
Barely.
He looked up at the stone ceiling, exhaled, and muttered, “If I survive this, I’m never
trusting women with pointy ears again.”
From somewhere behind a rock, a goblin’s eyes gleamed.
