The Enjoyment of the Soakedshrooms
Goblidigo handed Glugubrius a quill and pointed out the signature line at the bottom of the scroll as Thlothus put the soakedshrooms on top, obscuring the terms.
“Beautiful! I agree on all accounts and swear an oath and all that. I’m very excited for these. You all should join for some bites!” Glugubrius happily signs the document and swings his arms up in invitation. “I won’t refuth” Thive replied with excitement.
Glugubrius sat around a campfire surrounded by those little goblins. They all began to eat those fungi of disgustingly contradictory flavour profiles — soakedshrooms, with a refined palette, you’d taste fermented root beer with old pennies and cough syrup — but a meaty funk slowly rises to burn before leaving a strange cooling heat, like mint and wasabi with salt being pressed into a wound. It’s not just your tongue that tastes it — but your insides begin to hallucinate their own tastebuds.
Glugubrius melts into his log chair and begins to reminisce. “This one time a child, a regular kid, looked up to me and asked sincerely if I was God. Asked if I ever was a child, and I couldn’t answer, so the kid concluded I must be God.”
Glugubrius sees a glimpse, an ungraspable value locked behind the flames. “The kid said I was bigger than the legionaries and the whole sacred army, all because I gifted gold, instead of imposing tax. I started crying into my basket, I was a wreck.”
Glugubrius just stares into the flames. “This kid told me that God wouldn’t cry… I don’t think that’s true. I don’t get any pity from the almighty. I gave the child the egg I had promised to the elf who was going to heal my limp. I’ve pretty much walked the limp off anyway, but that elf mage never forgave me for breaking the deal. I’ll never see that elf mage again now that the entire species retreated to Latium through Lucus.”
The goose nestled between Glugubrius’ feet. Glugubrius chuckled, “Heh, limping. I’ve got a story about limping.”
None of the goblins were listening or paying any attention to Glugubrius — everyone was in their own world.
“One time this old guy came limping down the road. I had just traded my last golden egg for twenty seven genuine self-portraits of Cthulhu and a new tobacco pipe. I had to decline his request for food, and he told me,
‘If you are only charitable when you can afford to be, that’s no virtue at all… that’’s wickedness.’
But see I watch my leaky bucket leak drop by drop and I don’t fix the dripping. I could fix it. But I don’t. I struggle to get up every single day. Terry is the only creature beside me, my day one, my purpose in life. And yet I can’t be satisfied caring for only her — but each time a creature needs help, I need to help. When in comes to me, I just need to rest. There’s no end to my rest. There’s no peace in it. That wouldn’t change if I took my rage out on others or if I sat on a pile of gold.”
ACT I — THE GOBLIN 