Chapter 14: The Goblin's Revenge

The goblins hunched together, whispering and chuckling as the plan came to life before them—a most foul gift for the Blue Wizards, with fire ants and rot ripe enough to make a bog blush.

Giblet’s scheme had taken shape over the past twelve days, each goblin laboring with twisted satisfaction as they worked toward a delicious revenge. Half a day back, they’d uncovered a massive fire ant nest—those nasty little creatures, with bites that turned skin to fire, blistering the flesh. Perfect for wizards who deserved worse than any goblin would dare speak aloud. They’d filled delta gourds with sticky honey, trapping the furious ants inside with just the smallest pinholes to keep them alive and writhing.

Meanwhile, Guckle and Garlof took to the land, scavenging for the vilest things they could find—dead fish, moldy mushrooms, bits of old swamp sludge, and any rotting carcass they happened upon. They mashed and boiled their findings into a black sludge that bubbled and stank beyond imagination, cursing the wizards with each squelch. Even the goblins’ own noses curled at the brew, which, as they liked to say, could’ve knocked a buzzard off a dung heap.

Finally, twelve days passed, and all was ready. Giblet called them together, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he went over the plan, savoring each step. Shookle nodded, Guckle and Garlof spat curses at the wizards under their breath, and, one final time, they cackled over the thought of Blue Wizards gagging on the smell and itching like a flea-ridden troll. When night fell, they slipped out toward the bastion.

The place was imposing, yes, but the goblins had little sense for such things. Fifty feet of stone, all blank and cold, with just a slit of a window at the very top, no light inside. It seemed almost asleep, unguarded. Giblet spat to the side, half in disappointment and half in disbelief. No wizards on watch? Too good for guard duty, eh? Their luck, it seemed, was in.

Silently, they crept to the sewer grate. Guckle pried at it with his filthy falchion, and with a final heave, the grate clanked free. The smell of wizard waste was nothing to a goblin used to swamp muck and midden heaps, so they scampered in, hands and knees in the muck, cackling under their breaths as they imagined the wizards’ faces once the gifts were unleashed.

They crawled through the dark, dank sewer, following the stench till it opened into a pit. Here was their target. Giblet grinned, holding his gourd of ants aloft like a chalice, and, one by one, they threw them down, gourds breaking and cracking open as the fire ants poured out, hundreds upon hundreds, scattering in all directions. The goblins watched with wicked glee as the little creatures surged, flowing into cracks and crevices, a writhing red tide of fury.

Next came the sludge gourds, each foul concoction of dead swamp and rotting carcass heaved down with relish. The gourds broke apart, releasing a sludgy, oozing wave of putrid liquid, filling the pit with a stench so strong it hit the goblins, making them cough and gag even as they sniggered. They shoved rocks, mud, and anything they could find back over the sewer entrance, sealing it up like a tomb, and scurried off into the night.

Inside, the bastion stirred. Wizards—clean, delicate, pampered sorts—awoke to the first stings. Little pinches, then bites like fire on their arms, their legs, and, oh, especially their bums. They screamed as the fire ants swarmed, crawling up robes, biting and biting. It was as if the very walls had turned against them, spilling pain and horror on every inch of skin.

And then… the smell. Oh, the smell! A thick, humid cloud that seeped from every crack and corner, rising up like the breath of something long dead. Wizards coughed, gagging, clamping hands over their noses, stumbling from their beds and tripping over each other as they ran for any sliver of fresh air they could find.

Some tried to cast spells to cleanse the place, but they only spread the stench more, carrying the rank smell into rooms and halls it hadn’t yet reached. The very walls seemed to hold the stink, the stone itself absorbing the rot so it clung and lingered, a foul miasma that thickened with each passing hour.

But the goblins were not finished yet. The allure of true vengeance stirred within them. As the wizards flailed inside, panic rising like the rancid stench, the four goblins conspired once more, their hearts racing with a thirst for blood. They crept back to the bastion, guided by the screams echoing through the stone halls.

Surprising two unsuspecting wizards as they fumbled toward an exit, the goblins pounced with the ferocity of a tempest. Guckle's blade found one wizard’s belly, the edge slicing through flesh with sickening ease, intestines spewing forth in a grotesque display. The other, caught off guard, barely had time to react before Giblet crushed his throat, the built-up anger pouring forth in a flood of exhilaration.

The night grew still, save for the ragged breaths of the goblins and the fading gasps of the wizards. They dragged the lifeless bodies back to the sealed sewer entrance, where they strung them up like grotesque trophies, the moonlight glinting off their bloodied robes. Giblet took a shard of glass and carved into the stone above them: “Revenge for Kelpie Bay.”

As the goblins stepped back to admire their work, a sense of triumph washed over them. Their laughter mingled with the soft rustle of the night, echoing the darkness that had long been their home. At last, they had claimed not only their revenge but also a twisted kind of glory. Outside, the night echoed with goblin laughter—high, cruel cackles that carried over the fields as Giblet, Shookle, Guckle, and Garlof tumbled together in fits of glee. They danced in the moonlight, jabbing each other and clutching their sides, cackling till tears rolled down their grimy faces. For miles around, any creature awake that night would have heard it—the joyous, wicked laughter of goblins who had finally had their revenge.

Entered by: 0x712b…E85C