### Chapter Seven: The Passing of Skollvaldr
The goblins traveled through the night, shadows creeping over the vast, open plains as they left behind the desecrated site of the Koopling massacre. Their anger simmered beneath every step, each bitter memory spurring them forward into the bleak unknown of the mountain range ahead. When dawn finally broke, they stopped at the base of the towering peaks, collapsing in a tight circle under the shelter of a rock face. Their muscles ached, their breaths came heavy, but the flame of vengeance had not yet cooled.
The next day, they resumed their climb, the morning air biting and thin as they edged their way up the craggy slope. The memories of the Koopling massacre pressed on them still, their rage flaring with every rough foothold, every gust of frigid wind that snapped at their patched skins. They aimed for the mountain’s peak, hoping to gain a vantage point that would guide them home. The skins they’d gathered from the plains were now wrapped around their hunched shoulders, cloaks to shield them from the cold that grew sharper with each step.
As they climbed, Guckle grumbled, his teeth chattering. “Blasted cold—makes me miss the swamp mud back home,” he muttered, tugging his fur tighter around himself.
Shookle’s eyes narrowed, his voice low. “You’d think even a rock had more warmth than this blasted place.”
“Bah, if I wanted frostbite, I’d have stayed in the Blue Wizards’ dungeons!” Garlof hissed, pulling his short sword closer to his chest as if the cold itself were a silent enemy to be fought.
The grumbling continued as they pressed on, boots crunching against the frosted earth, breaths puffing clouds into the frigid air. Their bodies moved stiffly, but their minds stayed sharp, the memories of the Kooplings feeding their anger, driving them to push past the exhaustion, the cold, the relentless wind.
And then, rounding a bend in the mountainside, they froze. A radiant, eerie glow flickered from up ahead, casting an unnatural light against the sheer cliff walls. Skollvaldr, the Mountain Giant, loomed before them, his immense form shadowing the path like a living avalanche. They stood paralyzed, transfixed by his otherworldly presence. Twenty feet of raw, primal force, his glacier-blue skin shining with the chill of ancient winters. His beard fell in snowy, frozen braids, and his armor—bones of forgotten beasts laced with fur and frost—caught the sparse sunlight like a ghostly shroud.
The giant’s head turned slightly, his glacier-blue eyes narrowing as his nostrils flared. He’d caught their scent.
“Goblin stench…” his voice rumbled through the pass, each word heavy and sharp. He hefted his warhammer, a monstrous weapon of glacial ice etched with runes that glowed faintly, the air around it crackling with frosty mist. With a roar, Skollvaldr swung the hammer into the cliffside, sending shards of rock flying and a shuddering echo down the mountain.
The goblins scrambled into cracks and crevices, diving into the narrow gaps in the stone, clutching their stolen cloaks tight against their skin. The smell of frost and ancient stone filled the air, mingled with their own rank, earthy scent. They clung to the mountain with trembling limbs, hearts pounding as the giant’s hammer smashed into the stone again, the sound a thunderous assault that threatened to shake them loose from their hiding spots.
Skollvaldr snarled, his breath a gust of icy mist. “Come out, you wretched creatures! Let me taste goblin blood!”
The goblins huddled deeper, each one silent and still as Skollvaldr prowled along the ledge, hammer raised, his frustration building. He bellowed once more, swinging his hammer in a wide arc that bashed the cliffside, sending a cascade of rocks crashing below. Yet the goblins held their ground, refusing to betray themselves. After what felt like hours, the giant let out a final snarl of rage. He gripped his warhammer tightly, and with a grunt of frustration, turned away, his massive footsteps shaking the earth as he lumbered off, vanishing into the mist.
Only when the last echo of his heavy footfalls faded did the goblins dare to breathe. One by one, they emerged from their hiding places, brushing frost and stone dust from their bodies. Their eyes met, wide with a mixture of fear and newfound resolve.
Climbing higher, they eventually reached a narrow ridge, stepping out onto a snow-dusted peak. They gathered, their ragged cloaks pulled tight, staring out at the vast, endless stretch of mountains and valleys that lay beyond. It was a breathtaking, desolate expanse, framed by jagged peaks dusted with snow that glinted under the sun’s dim light. Shookle’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the rugged horizon, his breath slow and steady.
“A long way home,” he muttered, voice hard and resolute.
But they had each other, and they had the fire of vengeance burning in their veins. They’d face mountains, giants, and whatever else dared to block their path. Nothing, not even Skollvaldr or the Blue Wizards, would keep them from finding their way back.
Entered by: 0x712b…E85C
### Chapter Nine: The Enchanted Feast
Weeks had slipped by in the endless mountain passes, the goblins toiling through the cold that clung to them like a second skin. They were weary, their eyes bloodshot, and their packs nearly empty of what little food they’d taken from the plains. Every peak they scaled seemed only to reveal another ridge waiting beyond. But at last, the slope softened. The elevation dropped, and with it, the biting chill of the high mountains began to ease. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and pine as they descended into a lush valley.
The sight of the valley felt like salvation—a basin carpeted with greenery, dense woods giving way to a narrow stream that trickled down from the snow-capped peaks above. Its water sparkled in the soft light, winding through the trees and pooling in clear, inviting pockets. But it was what stood on a small, flat patch of ground near the stream that made every goblin’s mouth water.
An old plum tree, gnarled yet proud, its branches heavy with fruit. The plums were deep, dark purple, nearly black, swollen with juice. They hung in thick clusters, glistening as if each one were a polished gem, and their sweet aroma drifted on the breeze, wrapping itself around the goblins like a spell.
Shookle licked his cracked lips, eyes widening as he took in the tree's bounty. "Look at that… fruit as fat as a goblin’s head."
Guckle’s stomach let out a low rumble as he grinned, his gaze fixed on the plums. “Juice drippin' already, just beggin’ us to take a bite!”
Garlof’s mouth watered as he wiped a bit of drool from his chin. "I’d wager a hundred blue wizards don’t even know fruit like that exists!"
They didn’t hesitate. Hands outstretched, they scrambled toward the tree, each one grabbing as many plums as they could carry, sinking their jagged teeth into the juicy flesh. The first bite was unlike anything they had ever tasted—soft and sweet, with a richness that melted across their tongues, flooding their minds with warmth and light. They devoured one plum after another, the juice dripping down their chins, staining their fingers and lips a deep purple.
They ate and ate, each plum somehow more delicious than the last, the fruit’s intoxicating sweetness seeping into their very bones. Slowly, though, their thoughts grew muddled. The world around them softened and blurred, and time itself seemed to twist and stretch. They felt themselves sinking into a hazy bliss, their minds drifting as if caught in a warm, gentle fog.
Garlof let out a loud, boisterous laugh, the sound echoing strangely through the valley. “Look at me! I’m… I’m King o’ the Mountains!” He stumbled over to a rock, wobbling as he raised his hands high, eyes wild, before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
Guckle, his eyes half-lidded, swayed back and forth, muttering nonsense as he held another plum to his lips. “This… this is real food. Never goin’ back, nope. Stayin’ here, just me an’ the plums…”
Even Shookle, always the most guarded, couldn’t resist the fruit’s pull. His head lolled to one side, eyes glazed as he chewed slowly, savoring each mouthful as if in a trance. His vision spun, flickering with strange images of vast, flowering orchards and endless feasts.
Hours passed, or perhaps days—it was impossible to tell. Each goblin was lost in his own dream, bewitched by the tree's magic, as they fell into strange, half-waking visions. Some saw themselves as great warriors, others as kings. They laughed and stumbled, dancing with the phantoms of their own imaginations, each new bite sending them deeper into the enchanted stupor.
Then, through the haze, something stirred within Shookle’s mind. He blinked, his gaze sharpening as he looked around. The ground was littered with plum stones, the remnants of their feast, and his companions lay sprawled around him, their skin tinged with a sickly purple, their eyes red and bleary.
He staggered to his feet, the fog lifting as he realized the terrible truth. “Oi! Wake up, ye lazy rats!” Shookle roared, grabbing Guckle by the scruff and giving him a sharp shake.
Guckle moaned, swatting Shookle’s hand away, but his eyes cracked open, dazed and confused. “Wha… what’s happenin’?”
“We’ve been lyin’ here for days, ye fools!” Shookle snapped, slapping each goblin in turn until they groaned and blinked, reality slowly coming back to them.
Garlof grimaced, clutching his swollen belly, his mouth and teeth stained purple. “It… it was the plums! They… they bewitched us.”
Together, they stumbled to the icy stream nearby, where they splashed cold water over their faces, groaning as the shock of it hit them. The chill was sharp, biting away at the fog of the plum’s spell, bringing them back to themselves. The enchanted haze faded, replaced by a raw, aching hunger and an emptiness that gnawed at their bellies.
As they wiped the water from their faces, Shookle glared back at the plum tree, his face twisted with disgust. “Curse that tree and all its cursed fruit! Never again, I say.”
The others nodded, rubbing their aching jaws and groaning as they felt the aftereffects of their feast.
With one last look at the valley, they pulled their cloaks tight and moved on, the cool valley air a bitter reminder of the enchanted trap they’d barely escaped. Ahead lay the endless valley, stretching out like a labyrinth under the sun.
Entered by: 0x712b…E85C
