Chuffy show Mogmurch how sneaking is done!
Immediately in front is front gate in all its fronty-ness . A single rickety farm gate allows passage through the wooden fence here, below an archway made of broken branches and bleached bones. A sign hangs from the arch, its words scrawled onto the wood with what looks like blood. Three severed, maggot-covered goblin heads sit on poles driven into the ground to the left of the gate. A second sign leans against these poles under the heads.
First sign say "Trespsrs wil b eatn!". Second sign say "Yous gobluns YUM! Send moar gobluns!".
On west end , an upturned boat, an old river barge by the look of it, sits in the mud here. The boat’s stern has been built into the fence, and a large hole has been smashed in the southern side to provide entrance to the dark hollow created by the hull.
You hear faint squealy noises.
Around north-side , three decrepit henhouses slump battered in the mud here. The nervous clucking of several chickens can be heard from within.
Everything else hard to get angle on.
"Poog no like the writings. Writings bad. Poog think maybe burning writing good. That way there no more writing, and that way there much more fire!"
Poog makes with the rummaging around in his pack, locating his holy flint and tinder, and his less holy torch. Poog gleefully lights his torch, mischief burning in his huge googly eyes.
Poog runs towards the signs, eyes gleaming with hatred. The flame of the newly lit torch licks his long ear as he charges toward his target.
The grace with which Poog jumps into the air is indescribable in any goblin tongue, and can perhaps only be appropriately captured in one of those long German words that have a very specific meaning and like 8 syllables.
Poog's back arches as he brings the torch above his head with both hands. The flames dance gleefully forward, then back, then quickly forward again as Poog brings his improvised flaming weapon down upon the blasphemous scrawls on the wooden, creaking, signs.
In the distance, Poog can hear Zarongel chuckle in delight.
In distance, Poog hear Zarongel chuckle in delight!
Chief Mogmurch scratches his chin craftily. "Fire pig probsly in groundboat," he quietly postulates. "Us can fire it firstly, also cause diversity to draw out Munchmeats. Put bottle of fire on groundboat, bomb it from distance, make big noise! Big creeps come out, diggity smack! Us have them surmounted and supplised!"
Chief Mogmurch begins phase one of his clever plan, sneaking over to the boat and using a potion of levitation to hover up and balance an alchemist's fire on top.
Poog begins to think he understands the Mogmurch plan.
Poog think understand Mogmurch plan.
Poog understand plan!
In actuality, Poog stopped listening to Mogmurch right after he said something about "fire it firstly." Poog believes that this is where he comes in. Poog will attempt to sneak into position near the overturned boat, and then he attempts to set that boat on fire with his flaming torch. Failing the torch, Poog will use magical means to set the boat on fire.
Mogmurch sneak to boat, with Poog close behind... and on ground. As Mogmurch approach, he get good glimpse of contents inside. A sound of porcine recognition issue forth...
"Oink"
Gods, what is that figure? It strums a chord my mind has not experienced in many moons. That bare skull, that devil-may-care attitude towards munitions... that grin. Oh, that foul grin -- I thought I had witnessed the worst but Zarongel proves yet again to be the bastard humans report him to be.
So... the one called Mogmurch... what will it be? Am I to be your slave yet again? Perhaps some shred of mercy exists in what qualifies as a heart and I may yet slip these surly bonds of mortality. Or is your work darker yet?
IT SQUEALY NORD!
Chief Mogmurch grins from ear to ear as he hovers dramatically above his old foe. "We meets again, porkbeast. As survivor of Licktoads and chieftain of Birdcrunchers, Mogmurch's will be made mantifest..."
It occurs to me that Squealy Nord may, as before, be unable to understand my fluent goblin rhetoric, he considers.
"Poog!" Mogmurch hisses, "It Squealy Nord! Use Zarongel's tongue in your mouth! Convict him to help us, or face fiery flaming wrath!"
Poog's initial reaction to being bossed around by the floating masked goblin is no so bueno.
I show mask one Zarongel in him's mouth! Poog thinks to himself.
"Poog show smarty mask one Zarongel alright!"
Poogs hands begin to glow, and Zarongel erupts from the Goblin's outstretched limbs in the form of a Firebolt!
With a flash, a bolt of fire spring forth from Poog's hands. Bathing pig with flame, his current state and current predicament knock him unconscious.
"How smarty mask one think that?! huh? Poog da bestest always and Zarongel prove that no bossy bossy Poog around. All hail Poog hot heat firey flame of Zarongel hands of goblin burn piggy swine maneuver!"
Poog dances wildly, having stopped the menace of the vile Squealy Nord. His celebration gets grander and grander his song reaches fever pitches and decibels never before achieved by modern goblin.
At the climax of his song, Poog bends over directly in front of Reta, goblin derriere precariously perched under the fightin' goblins nose. He wags said backside back and forth singing, "Noony Noony squish toad balloony"
Poog dances away, perching himself close to the hole in the wooden boat stern. He delicately places his ankles behind his ears. He reaches his around behind his weaselly goblin hamstring, praying to Zarongel as a small flame rises from his index finger.
Poog takes aim, tightening his abdomen, preparing for holy flamtulence.
The stars align, and for a brief moment time stands still. Someplace on The Cage, a young Goblin, empowered by faith in the heathen hero-God known as the Bark Breaker, melded two gifts most profane -- the product of the miracle of nutritional digestion, and the spontaneous creation of fire, powered purely by faith. However, this was no simple union.
Once, there was a red dragon. A mosquito supt from the blood of said dragon, and was soon after caught in the web of a spider. Shortly after being consumed, a rat managed to pluck the arachnid from the web. The rat met its demise by a bird of pray. The bird was captured, its wings clipped, and placed into an unsanctimonious concoction referred to as a pie. This bird died, and was consumed in its entirety by a goblin.
The gout began silent, and burst forth with a roar rivaling large hunting cats. Tongues of flame reach ten feet, easily, as a steady stream of hydrocarbons helps fuel what appears to be an endless torch issuing forth from the rectum of Poog.
Alas, like most things, the moment passes. With a high whine, the flame stops, though the effects will be felt and known for years to come.
Chief Mogmurch's jaw drops as he floats in stunned silence for a few awe-struck seconds. As the tremendous burst of light, sound, and stench passes, he realizes: that was EXACTLY the kind of diversion we needed!
Even if, you know, it wasn't what I planned to begin with. Ah well. Adaptation is key to exemplary strategy.
"The butt-flame ruse," Mogmurch intones as he alights on the ground, "was a distaction!"
He creeps north along the fence to hide until the beastly farmers lumber out to investigate.