Chapter 7: The Goblin Fortress Of Forbidden Things (Part 4)
“So let me get this straight,” Darryl said, crouched awkwardly behind a mossy pilr, “you want us to find a specific type of mushroom, burn it with rocks and twigs, and... poison everyone inside the fortress?”
The old goblin nodded solemnly. “Incomplete combustion of khorun-glen spores will suffocate even the strongest warrior.”
“You’re literally suggesting... gas warfare,” Darryl whispered.
“I am suggesting justice.” The goblin’s voice trembled—not with anger, but with the hollow tone of someone who’d been patient for too long.
Ly, who had been poking the ground with a stick for no real reason, sighed. “Do these mushrooms, like, look special? Or do we just poke everything that smells funny?”
“They’re pale blue. They grow in shadows, near goblin trine pits.” The old goblin shivered. “You’ll know them by their rancid cheese smell.”
Darryl swallowed the bile in his throat. “Awesome. Just what I always wanted. Death mushrooms that smell like feet.”
---
It took hours. The fortress was massive, with low ceilings and tight corridors that forced Darryl and Ly to crawl like regretful burgrs. Each time Ly bumped into him, she made exaggerated noises like, “Ugh, your back is so bony!” or “Stop crawling like a virgin snail!”
“I’m literally risking my life for your dramatic arc,” Darryl grunted.
They found the mushrooms just past a colpsed storeroom, glowing faintly like evil mood lighting. Ly gagged instantly.
“They smell like moldy armpit!”
“Perfect,” Darryl muttered. “Now we just need fire... in a damp cave... with no matches.”
The “primitive method” pn began with two rocks. Darryl struck them together. Nothing.
Then Ly tried. She hit her own thumb. She screamed, cursed, cried for ten seconds, then tried again. Somehow, she made sparks.
Darryl blinked. “Okay. Wait. Did you actually—?”
“Shut up, I’m a natural.”
“You tripped into a fire once and screamed for twenty minutes.”
“EXACTLY. Fire and I have a history.”
Eventually, the mushroom pile began to smoke. The air grew heavy. The old goblin dragged in broken wood to smother the fire, ensuring thick, dirty smoke.
“Stay near the floor,” he whispered. “Air rises. Death hangs above us.”
Ly immediately stood up. “I cant, my boobs wont fit"
Darryl tackled her to the ground.
---
What followed was chaos.
Goblins fled, hacking and choking. Some fainted. A few screamed about cursed spirits and smoke demons. The old goblin stood tall, arms wide, as if inviting the spirits of vengeance to flow through him.
Darryl pulled Ly by the wrist, coughing into his sleeve. “Time to go!”
She wheezed, “I hate mushrooms! I hate old men! I hate war!”
They stumbled out the back passage—the old goblin’s secret escape route—and colpsed outside into the sunlight.
---
Much ter, as the sun dipped low, Darryl and Ly y on the grass, covered in soot, half-dead but victorious.
The old goblin was gone. He had whispered a quiet goodbye, something about seeking the graves of his kin. Darryl hadn’t stopped him. Maybe he didn’t belong in a world without revenge anymore.
Ly turned to Darryl, her eyes dazed. “Hey... we actually did something... like, heroic.”
Darryl nodded. “Yeah. It felt kinda good. Almost like... an actual adventure.”
She sat up, brushing ash off her leg. “Darryl.”
“Yeah?”
“Your pants are still missing.”
He looked down. “...Son of a—”
---
That night, Darryl returned home with scraped knees, a headache, a 1 Jeans from thrift store and the smell of goblin smoke baked into his soul.
He unlocked the front door, expecting shouting, ughter, or maybe a bare-chested monologue from Chadriguez.
Silence.
He crept into the bedroom. The lights were off. No sign of movement.
Wife’s perfume lingered in the sheets, but no one was there.
He flopped into bed, groaning.
His muscles screamed. His heart pulsed with exhaustion. But for the first time in weeks, no one kicked him out.
A smile crept onto his face.
“See you next Tuesday.”
