Chapter 2

The Goblin King’s Demand

“Is the dinner prepped?” Borgon said as he began dirtying the dishes.

Aiselda was wringing out the last drips of blood out of the dire weasel, “Indeed, how are those dishes coming along? You know The Goblin King only likes to eat off the filthiest plates, and grimiest silverware.”

“I mean, they’re pretty filthy and grimy,” Borgon lifted up a fork for his examination.

Aiselda walked over to confirm, “Could use a bit more beetle guts.”

“We’re all out of beetle guts!” Borgon exclaimed

“Did you check under the sink?” Aiselda reminded him.

Borgon had not checked under the sink. As he opened it a bevy of insects, big and small, spilled out.

“They’re getting away!” Aiselda tossed the dire weasel into a pot of boiling swamp water and grabbed her handy dandy insect catching broom and bucket.

Borgon grabbed a few handfuls of bugs before they scurried under the floorboards of the cabin, “It’ll have to do.” He put his catch in Aiselda’s bucket and began to squash them.

“We go all out for the ‘Goblin King’ for what? What as he ever done for us?” Aiselda asked indignantly.

“Now now Aiselda…. he may not be the Goblin King we voted for, but he’s the Goblin King we got,” stated Borgon.

“Is there anything I can do?” inquired Marty the animated skull

“Can you set the table?” asked Borgon

“No,” Marty said solemnly.

“Can you make the lilypad salad?” asked Aiselda.

“No,” Marty said unemphatically.

“Well, what can you do?” asked Borgon

“I can tell you... that the stew is boiling over!” Marty said nearly falling out of the cupboard.

“The stew!” Aiselda sprinted to the stove and turned down the heat.

“Can we salvage it?” hoped Borgon.

Aiselda took a sip, “Yes, I think so. Just need to add little dirt and clay.”

“Thank goodness, for a second there I thought we were in trouble,” as Borgon was about to find comfort in his ghoulskin armchair he was alerted by a ---

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Borgon shot straight up as one of *Ranger Slim’s arrows, “He’s here? He can’t be here!”

“I’m here!” The Goblin King proclaimed through the door.

“I think he’s here,” Aiselda said, “time to work some magic.” That wasn’t a metaphor. Aiselda the witch, indeed, started casting a spell. The table set itself, the stew poured itself into bowls, and the magical genie carpet flew out of the closet and laid itself in front of the door.

“Alright, everyone to their places, this is not a drill!” Borgon flew open the door and bowed to his majesty, the Goblin King, “Your… MAJESTY…”

“Is not coming.” Standing at the door was Gillgamer, the Goblin King’s head knight. Clad from head to toe in demon-plate armor holding a minotaur boned sword… It would have been more imposing if Gillgamer wasn’t 2 feet tall… which in his defense was pretty tall by Goblin standards.

“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” Aiselda said from behind the table.

“I don’t think I can say it any simpler,” snorted back Gillgamer.

“I think what she means is,’ Borgon thought for a moment: in order to choose his words carefully “Why isn’t he coming?”

“Well, that’s a different question now, isn’t it?” grunted Gillgamer.

Aiselda didn’t say anything in response. If there was one thing she hated it was people who were a stickler for a semantics… but she did think to herself… ‘you know what I meant you freckled face goober.’

“In response to you not being able to raise an army of the dead for the majesty to command, he has refused your invitation,” stated Gillgamer.

“You think it’s easy raising an army of the dead? I’ve been trying, alright.” pleaded Borgon.

“Not hard enough in the king’s mind, apparently,” snapped Gillgamer.

“Apparently,” Borgon repeated quietly to himself.

Gillgamer began to layout the king’s points, “He expects results Borgon, and you have not delivered anything. Not one shambling zombie, not one sulking Skeleton, not one bloodsucking vampire, not even a single wailing banshee.”

“Whoa, banshees are ghosts, not undead.” corrected Borogon.

“Regardless!” shouted Gillgamer, “If you don’t raise an army of the dead before tax season, the Goblin King has told that he plans to cut the kingdom’s necromancy budget in half.”

Borgon nearly leaped out of his skin “In half! I can’t even afford to buy spell components as is. Aiselda had to grind our last batch of bee bottoms by hand.”

Aiselda looked at her bumpy hand, “Had to pick out a lot of stingers that day.”

Gillgamer showed no empathy, “I don’t care and the king doesn’t care and as a matter of fact---”

Marty interrupted “Excuse me.”

Gillgamer looked around for the mysterious voice “Who said that?”

“I did,” said Marty.

“And who are you?” scowled Gillgamer

“Marty,” said Marty.

“You dare interrupt the King’s Guard,” Gillgamer shouted.

“I do,” said Marty calmly

“Well it better be good,” Gillgamer said doubtfully.

What Marty had to say was good“What if Borgon can get the Goblin King an army 100 undead by the end of tax season. Would you double the necromancy budget?”

“Double? Double… yes… I think it could be considered. Do you think you can do that?” Gillgamer turned to Borgon “Can you do that?”

“Yea… no problem,” Borgon said with absolutely no confidence.

“Well then. I can’t wait to see it. Let me know when you’ve done the deed and I guarantee the Goblin King will meet you in person.”

Gillgamer was about to leave before Aiselda stopped him, “Bowl of weasel soup for the journey home?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Gillagamer downed the soup and smiled “whoa, that’s good… I expect great things from your Borgon. Great… things.” Gillgamer slammed the door as he left.

“Thanks a lot, Marty. Tax season is only 3 months away. How in the unholy underworld am I supposed to raise an army of the dead in 3 months?” Borgon furiously inquired.

Marty smiled a wicked smile and assured Borgon “I have a plan… but first… we’re going to need to find and reanimate the rest of my body.”

*Ranger Slim is Borgon’s fourth cousin, twice removed. They usually only see each other every other 4th moon during the 2nd year of an equinox.