The Quest for the Golden Egg
This large goblin carried a platform overhead with a smaller goblin standing atop — Gretel, the Lucus Witch. A goblin ever so clever, wiser yet not wearier than the world, and if it was possible for a cohort to have a leader, then Gretel would be the Grand Matriarch of the Moldfold. Among her ranks were Goblidigo, wearing sunglasses missing one lens, and Glimwog, who had begun chanting gibberish with Goblidigo as Grizzle, the large goblin, lowered the pedestal carrying Gretelstiltskin.
“Thlothus you specklefeck we know you have a plan. Otherwise why would you call the cohort together like this? What do you need from the Grand Gretelstiltskin the Great?” Gretel spat out her words with a bark that implies a bite that wouldn’t back off from a fisticuft with the fabric of reality itself.
Thlothus spoke up ever so bravely, “It’s not that simple, it’s this simple: in need of soakedshrooms.”
“Nonsense! Unless… is it for Glugubrius?” Gretel looked with a wry glance.
“You read my mind!” Thlothus said excitedly.
Gretel responded rather plainly, “Well if your plan is to trade him soakedshrooms for golden eggs then that’s a genius plan—it’s my plan that we do every Tuesday.”
“And it was always your best idea! Other than that time the cyclops was moving the cave to the citadel ruins.” Thlothus reminisced. Thive joins in, “I remember all the thweet thweet loot we got after dethtroying him!”
Gretel redirected the conversation back to the task at hand, “Yet the soakedmushrooms are expensive to make—so you need to catch Glugubrius before he trades his egg or gives it away entirely. I want the full golden egg for this batch and I want a bill of sale for my records. Last week, things didn’t exactly go to plan.”
Glimwog, with a booger dripping, backed Gretel up with utter nonsense, “Bow bubow bowshaow dowlauuuu”.
Goblidigo popped the other lens out of the glasses to look intelligent, and pulled out a scroll.
“Ahem, all written materials must be penned in Latin, that’s a rule that we must follow at all time, especially the present, but it’s not mutually exclusive for the sun and the moon to rise out of bed on a Saturday morning with a strange feeling that they left the oven on at the office before they went back to the context I should be giving you for this super important rule, notice how I haven’t broken it? I speak, I don’t write. Anyway, yeah the Sacred Army is imposing hefty taxes, like three high out of three. Thereforest, we save a Glugubrius-sized amount of money if we keep tidy records—in the language the pigmen co-opted from the elves’ religion, I know it’s a low blow.”
Thive laughed at Goblidigo, “Hehehehehe low blow thobth.” and Glimwog riffs with more nonsense, “Blow thobs throbs nobs boobs bobs.” which Thive found hilarious.
ACT I — THE GOBLIN 