PART ONE

Wake & Escape

A loud shout from the Night Watch Legionary that could have very well been a term of endearment alongside an affirmation, though the tone was rather violent.

“Te moneo, infans caeni.”

The goblin had absolutely no idea what that meant, perhaps something about owing money, and possibly baby cancer. But the goblin didn’t need a translator to speak to the pigman soldier.
“Eat shit! You wart hog from hell!”

Imagine that, a hog with warts, and this one from hell spoke dead languages, as well as whatever you’re reading now. “You are under the authority of Tzvakdush, Vindex Crucis Fascium, you must stop or you will face the consequences.”

Such a horrifying name invoked terror prompting any reasonable creature to forfeit rabble-rousing for complete compliance to the state. Yes, you must consider the consequences you might face. “Oh I’m so scared. Tzvuck off!” The goblin made a run towards the graveyard. 

Off the goblin went leaving the pigman in the dust, yet it just happened that the Night Watch Legionary had taken a special interest in cardiovascular exercise recently — he was trained specifically for this moment. The goblin couldn’t keep away for long, and stopped, when wailing, screaming, roaring cries shook the ground leading to the graveyard.

“Which way?” the goblin thought, looking to the ogre haunted cemetery then looking to the path home, the streets of Capra Castra, infested with legionary swine.

The Night Watch Legionary grinned before lunging to grab the goblin — but the goblin did a badass spin and booked it toward the forest. “So long as I can get to Lucus—I’ll be safe for the night.” The pigman kept the tail, the goblin zigzagged, the pigman kept the tail, the goblin walked over the trap door and the pigman was trapped. 

Grizzle may be seen as brutish, off-putting, and confusing — he does come in clutch when the goblins need to evade a legionary in the forest.

“Thlothus! Grizzle! Hello?” The goblin called out, having arrived at the gates of Lucus.

An ominous laugh arises from the forest floor as red smoke seeps in from behind the trees.

The smell of smoldering sage and star anise, wormwood and cheese overtook the pine, moss, and dirty laundry stench that the goblin had arrived wrapped up in.

A raspy, hoarse, vindictive voice came cackling through the deep darkness.

“The truth of the ogres piety and virtue has been revealed.”

A figure obscured by red smoke steps out from the trees.

“His generosity is one of violence.”

From that dastardly red smoke, she emerged, disfigured by fire — her bandages concealed most of her face. “Yet he will still call it love.” 

Gretel scoffed. 

“My left eye saw what it was—and that was her final vision. Now, she will be brewed into a more potent soakedshroom and she will reveal more of what she has seen.” 

The goblin was shocked to see her, and ecstatic her survival was confirmed

“Gretel! You’re alive! Okay, I need your help with a manglement brew. I left Thive at the ogres shack. I saw Thlothus and Glimwog escape, I assume Grizzle got away too. Is Goblidigo alive?”

“No, my dear. Goblidigo’s head was bitten off.” Her compassionate delivery softened the landing of the horrific fact.

“Oh… right.”

The air grew thick, an unsettling potential for ghosts being present, the goblin looked around, scanning the space between the trees for the rest of the cohort. “Can Glimwog write in Latin?”

Gretel dismissively waved the goblin’s question away. “We have more pressing issues to attend to. We can discuss the job opening of Primary Assistant later. For now, what matters is that the violent ogre has violated his terms.”

Gretel pulls out a copy of the contract, with applicable clauses highlighted.

“We will need Tzvakdush to enforce it—I’m getting paid one way or the other. Whether it’s the Sacred Army enslaving that self-righteous fool and paying me until the debt is paid… actually that might be the only option. I highly doubt they will pay me out with a lump sum.”

“I have a warrant out for my arrest. I cannot be bringing a file to claims enforcement — I’ll be brought to Arx Fasciorum to be tortured before I get there to fill out an application. Unless… perhaps if I wear a disguise.” The goblin paced back and forth.

“Don’t worry. I’m having Thlothus go to Arx Fasciorum to complete the indentured servitude paperwork.” Gretel began to fill a briefcase with case law and petitions.

“Where is Thlothus?” The goblin asked. “I was going to ask for help carrying Thive to the graveyard. Hey! When do you think Grizzles arms will be healed?”

“Glimwog is attending to Grizzles needs. With the right potions, Grizzle will be healed without any memory of the pain at all.” Gretel continued to fill the briefcase, briefly holding papers to a shroomlight to confirm she was including the correct documents.

The goblin stopped pacing and looked right at Gretel.

“Timeline?”

“Who do I look like, gremlin?” She pulled out a rubber glove from her pocket and slapped the goblin with it.

“Smarten up before someone who doesn’t love you actually wants to hurt you. That’s not a question you ask of the Truth-Surviving, Strong-Spirited, the Magnificent, Miraculous, Majestic, Magnified Gretelstiltskin!”

“If you get any more great, you’ll need to add ‘goddess’ to your title.”

“That’s a great insight. Add it to my notes immediately.” Gretel, with an apathetic wave, dismissed the goblin — who then went down into her lair… the Gretel Cave.

There were shelves stacked with books, scrolls, bottles, and jars. Several pantries of ingredients, and non-ingredients like tar, sticks, and dices. The jars were full of a variety of items such as seeds, spices, fermented creations, and Goblidigo’s severed head. 

“AH!” The goblin, startled, screamed — and couldn’t stop screaming before leaning forward with a more intense scream to see with clarity that this indeed was the head of Goblidigo. Once that was confirmed, the goblin took a breath and said with a much more calm inflection, “Ah!”

The goblin continued scanning the items and then jumped at the discovery—a notebook with “Gretelstiltskin title and name ideas” written on the cover, with a quill beside a skull of a toad, hollowed and full of ink. “Here we are. Fresh ink? She’s already got some new ideas here.”

The goblin began reading out the draft names. 

“Vicepraeses Creationis, Koroleva Perlyna, Queen of Darkness and Light, Gretel the Terrifically Torched, Shcéal Fearrmáw—I wonder if she got that one from the Banshee—Führerin Dunklestelzenledin, Gwrach Trechel, and Vindexa Glorificia. 

Can’t imagine her using most of those. 

Let’s just tack on ‘Goddess Gretel’ at the end here. 

There’s space in the margin. 

Perfect! Let’s leave the book open on this page so it doesn’t smudge.”

The goblin looked at Goblidigo’s face in the jar before leaving. 

“Goodbye Amigo” is felt from the shelf each time the goblin remembers what Goblidigo looked like — that is what he looked like back when his head was on top of his neck instead of the top shelf. 

When the goblin re-emerged, the trees spun. Gretel gone. The goblin walked and tripped. The world unstable. 

The goblin, dizzy, laid center of the grove, mind raced without a destination.

Goblidigo is gone, but what of Thive? Glugubrius is still alive, and he is rageful… His generosity is that of violence. Now what will become of me?