Mushroom broth began to bubble in an iron pot, to its left a saute pan laid prepared with melted cave butter and truffle oil. A goblin hunched over a wooden cutting board worked next to the hot pan, his hands a slow clumsy mess as he cut into a potato.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong. How many times do I need to drill it into you, Gikx. Your knife cuts need to be faster - Look the butter’s burning now! If you would just cut the damn vegetables-”

Gikx threw the chef knife down on the mushroom-wood cutting board and cried out in rage. A second later the goblin flung the butter-filled saute pan onto the ground and stormed out of the compact cave-kitchen. The red crystal hovered in the middle of the room, aware that once again it was alone in its domain. If a crystal could sigh, Regis would have.

This was the third goblin this week that quit mid-shift. Now he was out of any employees to call in for the lunch rush. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The crystal raged, zipping about the little kitchen.

A hobgoblin wandered its way into the small cave, its spotted head still looking behind it before it turned to face the crystal. “Gikx quit too, huh?” The hobgoblin rubbed its bald head, looking at the dented saucepan on the floor. “Well, I’ll let the tribe know they have to sort out their own lunch.”

“Dinner too.” the crystal buzzed, flexing its control over the kitchen and turning the fire-rune off from beneath the boiling mushroom broth. No use wasting ingredients. The crystal turned its full attention on Strum the hobgoblin. “We have that new goblin arriving tomorrow, right?”

“Er, yea. His name is Vraz. He’s uh, actually from outside of the tribe. He joined after we slew his raiding party,” Strum bent over and turned the dented saucepan over in his hands, sniffing the burnt butter. “Try not to lose this one?”

“None of the goblins you’ve sent me have met my standard.” The crystal replied, already turning its focus on the pan. It would take some time, but it could be repaired by a proper application of will and mana.

“You know, I think you’re doing this whole thing wrong. I’ve heard rumors from some other tribes - dungeons typically eat people, right? We could bring in some humans for you to-” The red crystal began to glow, and the cave tremored. Strum bit his tongue and looked at the crystal with wide eyes. “Easy there, easy there, Regis. No need to get mad- I’m not trying to tell you how to be a dungeon, just trying to help.”

“I REFUSE to consume in that manner. Such behavior is base, far beneath a dungeon of my standing. I just need the right assistant and people will gladly line up to feed me a plethora of essence. All for the divine luxury of tasting my food,” Regis buzzed around the room again, already picturing his grand restaurant.

One where kings and queens came from all around to dine. Storehouses filled to the brim with rare ingredients. A place that contained staff so efficient that visitors to the restaurant would be whisked off their feet and set in front of a table.

The food would just cost some of their essence, given willfully. Traded in return for an unforgettable experience. Regis let his senses roam over Strum as the hobgoblin inched back towards the door. If only I wasn’t in a fucking goblin’s cave. My art would receive the praise it deserves. I could even employ a competent cook. It’d been Strum who’d discovered Regis. A year ago Regis barely had a sense of his existence, let alone that he’d been laying on a cave floor.

“Er, can I go?” Strum ventured, inching closer to the door. The hobgoblin knew better than to linger around when Regis was in a foul mood.

“You are dismissed,” Regis buzzed, watching as Strum set the saute pan back down on the rock-countertop. That hobgoblin had been his first and to this day, only real servant among the tribe. When Strum picked him up from that cave floor, a magical bond formed between them. This bond formed a source of intelligence for both of them. For Regis, it had granted sentience. In Strum's case, the hobgoblin brute now had enough wits to rival a learned human.

Unfortunately, those same wits led Strum to the conclusion rather quickly that he did not want to work in Regis’ kitchen.

This wasn’t the first time Strum chose to bring up Regis’ abnormal behavior either. Most dungeons simply ate whatever they could get their grubby little mana on. Reinvesting that essence into growth or raising monsters to kill more humans inside of it.

Regis had been different. From the moment he gained sentience the very idea of consuming a being’s entire life seemed abhorrent to the crystal. It disgusted him. Rather, images came to him of kitchens, knives, and fanfare that came with a real restaurant. Dreams of people from many different races and backgrounds eating his food and proclaiming to any that would hear just how grand his restaurant was.

Regis had a goal. One whose source remained entirely unclear to the crystal. Thoughts constantly popped into his mind. Recipes that seemed so familiar but far away, nearly all of them involving ingredients that he knew, but had never crossed into his domain.

This left him with strong convictions on what was acceptable or abhorrent, these convictions weren’t necessarily understood by Strum, but respected.

The crystal stretched out its influence, feeling that little connection of mana that flowed between him and Strum. Even outside of Regis’ domain, he could still sense his servant. All of the loyalty Strum had shown when Regis’ first awakened indebted the crystal to him. Strum would never have to lift another knife again. Regis buzzed in the empty kitchen. That doesn’t mean I have to be pleased with his absence. I haven’t had a goblin in here with half-as-much sense as that hobgoblin since he quit.

Regis focused on repairing the saute pan, after that was done he would spend the rest of the day like he spent most; hovering in the dark, dreaming of running a restaurant with food fine enough to serve kings.

“Listen Gikx, the tribe needs you in that kitchen to make the dungeon happy,” Strum explained, sitting cross-legged and staring at the hook-nosed goblin in front of him. Gikx, ever the charmer, spit on the cave floor in response. Strum sighed, the near-constant headache he had since meeting Regis flaring up again. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Gikx should be cutting humans, not po-tat-oes,” the goblin uttered the word as if his mouth was too disgusted to even say it. “Tribe should eat gruel. What wrong with gruel?” Gikx slammed his boney hand on the stone ground.

Strum didn’t miss eating gruel every day and knew very well that none of the other goblins missed the mystery-gruel diet either. The issue was that Regis kept driving goblin after goblin away from his kitchen. None of the poor bastards could last for more than a week or two before they stormed out, upset with the constant micromanaging and flaws the crystal pointed out. That and the insults. Not that I can blame them. That’s why I refuse to cook in that kitchen too.

Once upon a time, Strum had done quite a bit of cooking under Regis’ guidance. Just enough food for the crystal to gain essence by selling it to the tribe. Once the crystal had gained enough essence, it expanded its domain over the small cave and turned it into “a proper kitchen”. Since then the crystal's ego only kept growing.

“You know gruel isn’t as good as what Regis can create. I’ve seen you pay like the rest of the goblins for the dungeon's food.”

“Crazy dungeon. Mad. It will kill all of tribe,” Gikx pounded his fist into the ground again. Strum narrowed his eyes. Can’t have rumors like that going around. How am I going to pacify this one?

Balancing the tribe with the dungeon core had taken up nearly all of Strum’s free time since leaving the kitchen. Between the insane demands of the dungeon and the tribal instincts of the goblins, Strum found himself constantly having to smooth ruffled feathers by lying, manipulating, and even bribing the other goblins. All of it in order to keep the tribe from going off the deep end and either abandoning Regis or trying to kill the core.

Trying being the keyword. Strum didn’t know what exactly would happen if conflict broke out. Maybe Regis would decide that consuming something wasn’t as bad as he originally thought. Maybe the crystal would go mad and kill everyone including itself, admittedly Regis already was quite unhinged for a dungeon. The only thing Strum had going for him was that despite the dungeon’s habitual problem creation, it made great food.

Keep a goblin tribe’s bellies full and it turned out that they would look the other way for quite a bit of eccentric behavior. But even they had a line. The risk of crossing that line had led to many sleepless nights for the hobgoblin.

“You’re right Gikx, you’re far too important to be working in a kitchen with a crazy dungeon. You want the tribe to know just how great you are, right?” Strum began. He was well aware this particular goblin aspired to reach the heights of tribe chieftain. With how scrawny and weak Gikx was, that dream would never happen. The current chieftain was far too shrewd for any goblin in the Shadow-Axe tribe to pose a real threat. Aside from himself. But Strum wanted nowhere near the mess of leading a goblin tribe.

“Yes. Gikx very strong. Strongest goblin. Better than other goblins. Gikx should not be in kitchen cutting po-tat-oes.” Gikx nodded and puffed up his chest, causing Strum to sigh. Sometimes this is just far too easy.

“I know how you can prove yourself to the tribe. You’ll be a hero, and they’ll have no choice but to make you chieftain.” Greed filled the goblin’s eyes at the word ‘chieftain’

“Gikx want to prove to tribe he good chieftain.” the goblin rubbed its hands together.

Gikx, you poor, incredibly dumb soul. “Good. Well, Gikx, I’ve heard rumors that a pack of dire wolves has been moving into the tribe's territory. Now, I think if you were to go and slay one, then bring it back single-handedly…” Strum opened up his hands, leaving the rest to the goblin’s interpretation. Gikx grew wide-eyed.

“You no tell rest of tribe about wolf? Gikx be first to slay?” The goblin tried and failed to hide a grin.

“No, I thought to myself, who else in the tribe is more deserving to have a chance to show their might than Gikx.” Strum kept hamming it up, he found that most other goblins had an unhealthy fixation on their ego. The less important in the tribe you were, the more a goblin vocalized just how important they thought themselves to be. Strum liked to call it the Big-Ears-Big-Head Fallacy.

“Strum always smart. Strum know power,” Gikx flexed his non-existent bicep and lept to his feet. “Gikx slay wolf. Gikx be hero. Gikx be new chieftain.” Before Strum could even give directions as to where the dire wolves had been spotted, the goblin already ran off.

Well, that issue was resolved. With Gikx focused on hunting the dire wolves the goblin would either die in the process or get lost in the forest for a few days. Either way, no one would be talking about the dungeon going ‘mad’ and plotting to kill everyone. True or not, Regis irritated the tribe, more so than usual lately. Regis, if you keep this up the tribe is going to turn on you. If you die, what’s going to happen to me?