“No know how work for mad dungeon,” Gikx said, hunching over a patch of dirt in the dark cave. He clutched a twig and busied himself by drawing crude figures in mud. For any goblin, other than Vraz, the unentertaining reality of watching Yrx and Pox would drive them mad; However, he enjoyed the quiet.

Let the dungeon fixate on Wort and their bread. The constant smell of pine was beginning to give him headaches.

Obsession defined Regis. The dungeon constantly shifted that fine-pointed focus between his food, equipment, and employees. So, it was hardly surprising when that focus narrowed to his new baker, though Vraz found that appointment surprising. He didn’t begrudge the annoying toad, in fact, he felt a kinship for the poor bastard. Wort had suffered under the heel of oppression that this barbaric tribe inflicted, same as himself. From constant belittling to poor living conditions, they abused Wort just as they had Vraz. Because the hobgoblin was a bit slow for their low standards. Truly, he wanted Wort to thrive in his new position.

Not even a twinge of jealousy, mostly because he hated baking. Vraz sighed as Gikx stopped drawing and glanced in his direction. The two prisoners rested past the goblin, shoved in the corner of the cave. Struggling together in a rope wrapped around them.

“It’s not so bad. He teaches, you learn. Though, I’d do without his self-obsessed attitude all the damn time.” Vraz untied the red bandanna around his head and ran his finger over the coarse cloth, red was the primary color of the Rust-Moon tribe. His heart ached.

“Yell all time! Dumb stone!” Gikx flung his stick, the piece of wood whacked Yrx and caused the bound prisoner to give a muffled yelp. Gagged shoved in their mouth to prevent the constant and annoyingly open plotting for escape. Vraz did not want to deal with it. They debated, loudly, which one of them would chew through the rope and which should snatch a rock to smash into the head of their captors. Pointless plans, as they never got anywhere.

It only took an hour of goblin sitting for boredom to consume his mind, Gikx sulking in a corner only hastened the erosion of his patience.

Vraz didn't feel like wasting more time. What was a little bit of trouble? Vraz retied the bandanna around his head and made his way to the twins—Yrx and Pox were two halves to one dumb whole — Mallik took the two of them in at birth. Educating them with religious fervor and obedience.

While they looked similar, Pox busted his nose as a child, after healing it remained misaligned. Enough to tell the difference. Vraz leaned over and yanked the cheese-cloth gag from Pox's mouth.

“Now! Yrx! Break the ropes! I’ll bite his ankle!” Pox screeched, the two franticly scrambling in the mess of rope.

Vraz waited patiently, the muffled noises of effort from Yrx and Pox’s attempt at escape were music to his ears. Two minutes later saw the twins panting, having only covered themselves in more dirt “Done?” Vraz asked.

“Gikx no know why talk to. They dumb-dumbs.” The hero walked over, shaking his fist at them. Vraz winced. Yikes, must hurt to have Gikx call you dumb.

“Mallik will rip out your heart—the ground father will drag your soul… to… the…” Pox ran out of steam, breath heavy. His face planted against the ground, making it hard to breathe without inhaling dirt. Vraz shoved the goblin onto his side with his foot, then rested his foot on Pox's side to pin him. “…we will get out. Then have revenge.”

“What do you know about revenge? The Shadow-Axe tribe takes. You know nothing about what that word means.”

Pox growled, making a strained noise that failed to incite an ounce of fear. “The dwarves! The mad dungeon! You all will pay! We follow none but the holy Ground-Father, who has spoken his words of enlightenment to us. The Ground-Father knows all and has seen our success! We cannot be stopped!” Both stopped struggling, too tired to continue. Vraz tilted his head, eyes narrowed.

“The fuck do dwarves have to do with any of this? No one has heard the Ground-Father, not you or your Shaman.”

"Blasphemer! Mallik hears the Ground-Father! Even we have heard the holy voice! Through the mirror, he whispers our destiny! The Honorstone clan will pay a blood price, and the dungeon will be conquered. Come winter the dwarves will wither on the ground in their tunnels clutching at their throats!” Pox burst into a fit of erratic twitching, eyes wide and yellow teeth displayed in a grin. “Weep and pray for redemption, foul sinner!”

Vraz’s alarm bells went off. Between the venomous tone, and name-dropping their dwarven trading partners, it was clear that this zealot knew more than he should. Knowledge of the Honorstone clan had died with his tribe.

He steeled the surprise from his face and pushed for more. “…How is that supposed to happen? Divine punishment?”

“Yes! Glorious divine punishment! He led the Great Shaman to a cavern full of that which will make his will a reality. Free me and even a filthy sinner like you will find redemption!” Pox slammed his body in a sudden jerk, trying to break free. Yrx joined his brother, turning the two into a struggle-bundle.

Neither were weak goblins by any measure, the rope strained tight as they threw their all into the attempt. But the rope was of human make, plundered a year ago when the Shadow-Axe tribe attacked a caravan. They exhausted themselves, yet the rope held firm. Vraz remained silent, thoughts spinning. Cavern? Mirror? And the dwarves, I wonder…

“…Gikx, has Strum heard any of that?” The scrawny hero had already crouched back in the mud, bored by the conversation and once more drawing figures into the dirt, this time with a finger.

“Gikx think no. Only talk escape. Say Strum bad. No talk when here, except escape.” Pox stilled.

“You heard nothing, Sinner! I said nothing! You heard nothing! Quick Yrx, bite through the cloth and rope! Faster!” The commands were pointless, his twin simply flailed. Vraz shoved the cloth back into Pox’s mouth, then moved to Gikx.

“Cheer up, hero. I have a feeling you’ll be done with this job soon. Things are going to get interesting." Vraz stopped and gave a thoughtful look at the hero. "Drop the fighting with Regis. Isn’t doing you any good. Let it go, you don’t work together anymore. You like Strum right? Work with him instead. The rest of your tribe is fucked, but that doesn’t mean you gotta be, right?”

Gikx stopped drawing, clenching his fist as his face reddened. “When Gikx feel low. Dungeon make lower. Gikx high now. Higher than tribe. Dungeon put back low.”

Vraz leaned down and set a hand on his shoulder.

“We don’t know the good or bad we’ll run into in our lives. But if we only look at the past, we shut out sight of the future. It’s only hurting you, Gikx. Look forward to what you could gain by working with Strum. I know you can, you’re the hero, aren’t you?” he gave Gikx a wink as the goblin stared back in silence.

“Gikx tell truth. Gikx no kill wolf. Not hero.” A tear rolled down his gaunt cheek. Gikx quickly covered his face. “Dirt in eye!”

“Wrong, I’ve seen you walk into a forest filled with massive creatures. You didn’t hesitate. All to help a friend. You’re more hero than anyone else in this damn tribe.”

“…Vraz think?”

“Yea. Now c’mon, go pack your stuff up. When I tell Strum what that dumb-ass said, I think it’ll be time to move on,” Gikx nodded and stood, walking over to his bag in the corner. A typical goblin collected what they could, but being a privileged hero of a tribe allotted him more resources than most goblins. A perk that Gikx had taken to like a fly to flame—The pile of unnecessary crap he shoveled away formed clear evidence of that fact. Vraz rubbed the back of his neck and watched the twins struggle violently in the corner.

Regis supervised Jilde as she shoveled bread into burlap sacks. She managed to squeeze in a majority of them. The frantic baking produced far more loaves than expected. Too many, in fact. Jilde and Strum could not haul them all, meaning they left a plethora of loaves lining the stone counters. At least Regis could sell those to the tribe, he held no blame for Wort.

Wort had done it all under his instruction, somehow the single-minded work ethic of the hobgoblin meshed well with constant micromanagement. The only annoyance about the arrangement lay in the goblin's eccentricities.

Any time he told the hobgoblin to clean or perform a regular chore, Wort began to act up and cause problems. Yelling didn’t seem to teach him anything, either. Quite an annoying corundum, one he hoped to balance later.

Wort snored in a corner of the pantry, having appropriated Vraz’s sleeping spot. While the noise irked the dungeon; however, given how the tribe horribly treated the toad, Regis allowed it for now.

Soon, no one in that miserable tribe would have the gall to offend him or his employees.

Regis slipped into the lull of an inactive kitchen, passively running his awareness over his domain while plotting expansion. Three essences breached his domain. Interesting. The core floated to the entrance. He wondered if some foolish goblins had dared one another to intrude, again.

As he paid closer attention, he realized it was not just some dumb goblins, but that massive nimrod of a chieftain, Rurk. After such a productive day too. How unfortunate. Regis prepared himself, observing as the chieftain and his two brutes strode into the kitchen. Rurk behaved as if he owned the place, inspecting the bread.

The chieftain's grotesque nose sniffed as his head swiveled to and fro, taking in everything and anything in Regis’ domain.

“What a true displeasure to witness your superbly horrid existence, Rurk. Vacate my kitchen.”

“Strong words, dungeon. As if I’d choose to spend a moment in this pisshole if it wasn’t for a reason, don’t forget whose tribe you suckle from, parasite. My. Tribe. Mine. Mine. Mine!” Rurk roared, hands flying into the air as he spat. Hot hate flowed outward in waves.

Regis deigned to not entertain such childish behavior, simply floating away from the trio of intruders. Wort snored heavily in the pantry, completely unaware. Regis cared little for the rules of others. Within this space, within his kitchen, Regis reigned supreme. King, Shaman, or even Warlord, all bowed before him in his kitchen.

The trio of fools puffed their chests up at the dismal. Sharing a glance before choosing to continue their inspection. No doubt the dimwits struggled to puzzle out the purpose of his equipment.

Weep idiots. Behold the gorgeous culinary instruments with which I compose majestic meals. Can you comprehend with your pea-sized brains?! Regis buzzed with joy at the twisting expressions of confusion on a hobgoblin’s face while it looked at several knives. Still, these intruders were unwelcome. Even if the kitchen were dead at this time, Regis could ill-afford these imbeciles to grow used to walking in whenever they pleased.

“Explain your purpose, as far as I’m aware you and I have no business. I scarcely desire to deal with your useless clan, other than as customers. I have my employees, we tend to our own affairs.” Regis hummed and drifted in front of Rurk. The chieftain’s lips puckered. Such an abhorrent face. Even for a goblin. It was scarred and pocked from disease, his visage might inspire fear in other goblins. But to someone of Regis’ status, it was just unpleasant.

Rurk slammed a hand on his chest and gave a vicious snarl. Despite outward appearances, the dungeon detected a tendril of unease in the goblin’s emotions. I can see your heart, fool. The chieftain finally spoke, “I heard that a lot of that ‘bread’ left this kitchen.”

“Why would I care what your worthless ears hear?” Regis asked, his dealing with the dwarves was none of Rurk’s business. It didn’t matter what the chieftain thought. Regis would do as he willed, and if a fool stepped in the way they were bound for an unpleasant fate. Nothing prevented a star from shooting into the sky.

“That bread was not sold to my tribe,” Rurk threw his hands out, his green face flushing.

“So?” Regis cut in. Even with a dead kitchen, he did not have time to waste on fools or pompous asses.

Rurk gave a nod to one of the thugs. The bulky hobgoblin ripped a pan off the counter and tossed it at the stone floor. Loud clanging rang through the kitchen at the painfully obvious intimidation tactic, Regis felt distinctive disappointment at the display. Fixing the pan would only take fifteen minutes. The dungeon currently thrummed with more essence than ever before, thanks to the recent string of sales.

“Where’s that bread going!?”

“Why would I answer? It’s not your affair how I chose to conduct my restaurant. Do I tell you how to manage your savages? Perhaps if I did, then you’d realize the full extent of your inefficiency, overall deficiency, and utter lack of competence as a leader; consequently, perhaps you’d spend time not wasting mine. I scarcely understand how something of your pathetic nature exists in the same world as someone of my majesty.” Rurk’s face contorted, crimson. Pleasure jolted through the dungeon. Each needle of annoyance he could stab into the chieftain was a worthwhile victory. His personal payback for the fool wasting his time.

“Who are you selling the bread to? Tell me! I will ruin you! Mallik backs me! Me! I know bread is leaving here, he said so. Where is it going? If my tribe isn’t eating your food, who is?!” Rurk screamed and stomped.

“You dwell within my domain at my grace. Monitor your tone. Or else.“

“Is that a threat?! Are you mad!? I am Chieftain! My tribe obeys my words as if they were from the ground-father himself. You would be wise to do the same!” Rurk screamed and marched towards a counter. “All that you own belongs to me!” He eyed the winter solstice loaf, licking his lips.

His hand snapped forward, clawed fingers digging into a loaf. Baleful eyes glared at the dungeon. “You owe me, dungeon. I’ve let you leech from my tribe. It’s time to collect for tolerating you for so long!” His claws dug deeper into the winter solstice loaf, a grin on his face. He threw off any semblance of restraint, tearing into the bread with a bite. Followed by pure pleasure and pride as he took Regis’ food inside of the dungeon’s kitchen. Flames spiraled into columns from the fire runes on the stovetop.

Rurk smirked wider as his two thugs shared a look, they retreated from the rising flame and guarded their chieftain against the growing fire with their bodies. Regis stilled in front of Rurk as he erupted into a vicious laugh. “Passable! Your food is just passable. Make something better next time. Something goblins wanna eat—like meat! Or mushrooms! But I suppose that bread was fine. Not your best work, though.”

“…” The flames continued to spiral and grow, breaking off the stovetop and surrounding the trio of goblins. Rurk’s laugh choked into silence, sweat running down his face.

“If you recall, I explained to you that you shall be charged twice the worth of my food, given your disrespectful behavior. I will now inform you that the loaf you’ve chosen to steal a bite from, is our newest menu item. The most expensive thing we’ve made to date. Tell me, how do you intend to pay?” Regis floated out of the grasp of the trio as the hobgoblins tried to nab him. Flames coiled like a cobra as the pillars merged into a single being, wrapping tighter around them. Sweat glared against their skin, the once bold presence of the chieftain degraded into fear and submission.

Rurk shook, before puffing his chest and attempting to bluff his way out. “Everything in this cave belongs to me! Including this bread!” Rurk paused, before making the poor decision to take another aggressive bite. He shook, and stank of fear, but stood by his conviction.

“How do you intend to pay?”

“I owe you nothing! A chieftain doesn’t pay for food, he takes what is owed!”

“Wrong. All pay.” The goblin sat in his domain, Regis intended to take what was his. A tendril of the dungeon’s will shot through the chieftain’s core. Rurk shuddered. The smell of brimstone tainted the kitchen.

Without any warning, Regis collected on the bill. Essence flowed out of the chieftain and into him. A sugar rush of power, rapidly siphoning away his fee. Rurk’s skin grew sallow, his posture weakening. No matter who came to his restaurant, one constant remained—his customers paid what they owed for what they purchased—no exceptions to this rule. Chieftain to King.

Rurk sank to his knees as essence flooded outward. His two guards blocked from retaliating against the dungeon thanks to the inferno separating them.

”S-s-stop,” Rurk gasped. More essence flowed. The sallow skin bleached to a sickly yellow as the chieftain collapsed. Brought just shy of death before Regis cut the flow of energy.

“You have my sincere appreciation for your patronage of this establishment, please visit again soon.” Regis hummed as the payment reached its conclusion. The two bodyguards leapt to action as the pillars of flames retreated to the runes. They grabbed the chieftain under the arms, swiftly dragging him away before anything worse could happen.