You are not allowed to smite a mortal just because they get the better of you.

- The Lore of Above and Below, Verse 4.

“I don’t think you’re a tahnago,” Snotgut said, without concern.

“What? Of course I am, look at me!” Chaos snapped.

She was not pleased. While it was true that the little goblin was a sneak, and therefore more perceptive than most mortals, Chaos hadn’t expected him to see through her disguise so quickly. She glared at the little goblin, daring him to say more. He did.

“A tahnago would have killed me to assert its dominance,” he explained. “They’re touchy like that.”

Chaos bit her lip in frustration; the goblin was right. She had forgotten how grouchy a typical tahnago was. She scratched the side of her fat face with one long leg and hissed quietly to herself. The goblin did not care. He had noticed a crack in the cave wall and peered in. A dozen shining eyes glared back out at him.

“That swarm of huge rats is watching us,” he said conversationally. “But they aren’t trying to bite me.”

“Yes. They’re under my command. Don’t eat them.”

“What about just one?”

“No!”

“Well… can I have this pile of rat fur, then?”

Chaos sighed. Goblins had so little focus.

“Let us play a game, goblin,” she said, and the goblin sprung to attention. “The game we shall play is a question-for-a-question. Do you know it?”

“Yes.”

A question for a question was one of the oldest games gods played with mortals. The winner would be the one who learned the most and shared the least. The Lore was very clear on the rules: trickery was allowed, lies were not. Chaos smiled in anticipation. It had been too long since she had played a game, too long since she had made mortals cry in frustration at the way she could twist words to say nothing. The goblin didn’t stand a chance.

“Ask your first question, little goblin.”

“Can I eat this fur?”

“If you like,” Chaos said, rolling all of her eyes. “But let’s not count that as your first question.”

“Mmm, tasty... um, if you aren’t a tahnago, what are you?”

“I am a promise, a whisper, a threat,” Chaos whispered. Her words were entirely true and not at all none helpful. That’s how Chaos liked to play. Then it was her turn again. “Where did your goblins come from?”

“Outside,” Snotgut replied, searching the crack in the wall for more fur.

Chaos rolled her eyes, but he had given her a true answer, so she couldn’t argue. The goblin withdrew from the crack, a fat worm in his hand. Chaos looked away as he bit down on it.

“It’s your turn to ask a question,” Chaos reminded him.

“Is it?”

“Now it’s mine. Are there towns and cities nearby, in the outside world?”

Towns and cities had temples, which tended to be sensitive to things like the arrival of the goddess of Chaos. The priests and priestesses would be sure to tell the deities they served, which would indeed include Order. Temples, then, were trouble. Chaos liked her cave, her rats, and her new goblins. She didn’t want to leave them to find a new dungeon.

“A few farms and a town, but nothing nearby. Grey places, with long straight streets, with lots of humans.”

That sounded like the Empire of Order. Her brother quite liked humans, although she had never known why.

“Your turn,” Chaos reminded the goblin.

“Oh! How did you make the dancing fire elementals for the nest?”

“I command the fires. They do dance as I will it. Tell me more of the outside world, goblin. Are there any titans nearby?”

“Titans! Bah!” Snotgut said, and spat on the ground. “No titans.”

Chaos smiled. Titans were worse than priests, and they all served Order.

“Why do you need goblins for your dungeon?” Snotgut asked suddenly.

“I have plans,” Chaos said. “To send fire burning through these lands, to disrupt and dismay, to create and ignite. For that I’ll need an army. I can offer power, goblin, beyond your wildest dreams”.

“You shouldn’t lie in the game question-for-a-question,” Snotgut protested. “That’s cheating!”

“I didn’t.”

“You did! Nobody offers goblins anything, we have to take it. That’s why we’re always stealing stuff. The only person who ever gave us anything for free was Chaos, and you aren’t her, are you?”

He meant it facetiously, but it was still a question and had to be answered. That was the game, and Chaos always played games to the very end, win or lose. She slapped her stone throne and hissed, but there was no way around such a direct question.

“Yes, I am Chaos,” she admitted through clenched teeth.

She let her disguise fall away for a second, revealing her true, broken form. Snotgut stepped back from the fires that ignited in her eyes, fierce and wild. Then she was a tahnago again, hideous but hidden.

“Oh! Wow! So… is it my turn to ask a question, or yours?”

Chaos roared in anger. “The game is over, goblin! You win! If any of my family find out what you know—”

She wanted to kill the goblin immediately, but that wasn’t allowed, of course, or else no mortal would survive the game of questions. A wise mortal would have fled, taking their new knowledge with them. Snotgut, however, shrugged and sat down to rest his feet.

“My mother whispered stories of you as she nursed me, mistress. Chaos, the fun goddess, the roaring laughter, who cared for goblins, who led them. Even in the library where I lived, the humans would only whisper when they talked of Chaos. Who could harm Chaos, goddess of fire?”

“Alone, none. Together, many. But I have never heard of a goblin serving in a library. What did you do there?”

“Slept in a cage over a fire, mostly. I like the fumes when my master brewed potions, but it was a dull place, and I was happy to escape.”

“I can relate, goblin,” Chaos said. “So… you will not betray me to my family, then?”

“Nah, I don’t like the other gods much,” Snotgut said. “I’d like to stick around. All of the stories say you are fun to be around.”

Chaos smiled. She liked stories.

“And what will your story be, goblin?” she asked.

“Mistress?”

“Look into my eyes.”

He met her gaze. There were few mortals who dared to meet a deity’s eyes, for to do so was to stare into the abyss and see the abyss staring back. It was an assault on the mind, a challenge to the very soul of a mortal. Snotgut blinked. He had been a simple goblin with no ambition beyond finding something to eat, someone one to fight, and somewhere to fall asleep afterward. But now he had seen the universe, and he wanted more.

“What will your story be, goblin?” Chaos asked again.

“I will be mighty,” Snotgut said immediately. “I will be the goblin king, and creep through the night to steal a princes’ crown, a nun’s song book, a banker’s keys. I want to sour milk and pick the petals off roses. I want emperors to fear me, heroes to hunt me, mothers to whisper my name into naughty children’s ears. That is what I want my story to be, mistress.”

“You are ambitious, goblin. I like that.”

Every mortal had the fire of ambition blazing inside their souls, but most let it burn down over time until it was warm, comfortable, predictable embers. Feeding the fire of the soul until it raged red-hot was dangerous, as likely to lead to incineration as illumination. Doing so was the path of a hero. And Snotgut, the skinny, one-armed, bat-eared goblin, was on that path. But he was also pathetic, least and lowest amongst all heroes.

“Can I be your champion, mistress?” Snotgut asked.

Chaos laughed. Serving as a deity’s champion was an honor that came with great power. In the past, heroes had battled dragons and stolen legendary treasures simply for the chance to ask Chaos if they could be her champion. She had turned most of them down, too.

“I don’t think so, goblin. But you can still serve me. You shall be… my head of inhuman resources.”

“Really?” Snotgut asked, impressed.

“For now. But tell me, goblin, what brought you to my territory? I didn’t think I was powerful enough to attract mortals, yet.”

“We were running through the mountains, looking for a place to hide. The cave looked good.”

“Hide? But what do goblins need to hide from?” Chaos asked. “Goblins aren’t scared of anything, not even death.”

“There are worse things than death, mistress,” Snotgut said.

“Like what?”

The elementals in her throne room called out a warning: there were new mortals in the tunnels. Chaos was still casting a fireball when a gang of snake-headed mortals burst into her throne room, hissing and swinging long chains over their heads.

“Like them,” Snotgut said, helpfully. “The slave catchers.”