The goblins were in an uproar. To an outside observer, their conversation would have sounded like this:

“Grak, grak, scra!!!”

“Grak raa, scra, gra rak rak rak!!!”

This was because the goblins’ preferred language was Gob. Luckily for story, this language will be translated, starting with what the goblin messenger said to his nervous leader:

“Immortal Sage! Our formerly delectable morsels have been duly consumed. What of our reply?”

“Please elucidate further on this matter of great intrigue.”

“The Gardalria Disciple is surrounded by piles of bones. She even swallowed their skulls!”

“A savage end,” the goblin sage said. “To be devoured, raw and uncooked. I should have expected Gardalria to wield no less judgment against those apostates.”

The sage was in truth quite pleased. He had taken possession of the kitsune matriarch’s mansion, a smattering of large bamboo buildings that overlooked the town.

The matriarch’s complex not only had a wonderful garden with somiel flowers in full bloom; it also had a pantry stuffed with fruits and delicious, civilized, cooked, smoked meat.

“Not as tender as roast human, but tis a suitable replacement,” the Sage mused as he chewed. “Messenger. I question why you’ve interrupted my mastication to convey such non-urgent news. Your ugly face gives an ill-taste that ruins my meal.”

“Gardalria’s wrath has not been sated,” the Goblin Messenger bowed. “She demands further sacrifice, lest she consume us all.”

“Fascinating…” The sage stroked the two hairs on his chin.

Gardalria was a powerful goddess. And occasionally, she was said to possess those that she favored, granting them powers equal to her own.

But while the common goblin believed Fen was possessed, the sage had his doubts. A favored foxgirl was preposterous! He had been slowly starving her in hopes she’d either prove her godhood by surviving, or show her mortality and perish fast.

This man-eating incident was wholly unconvincing for either side. She could just be an ordinary kitsune gone feral: when called to madness, a kitsune could prey on weak humans, consuming them raw and uncooked like savage cavemen.

But having someone who claimed to be ‘Gardalria’ in their custody was good for goblin morale… so long as she remained submissive towards the tribe.

“What does she desire?”

“She demands for food and drink to be left inside the temple. Enough to sustain three stout men.”

“That trivial? Why even have me intercede?” the sage said. “Give her dregs from the kitsune storehouses. No catastrophe can be wrought from a mere feast.”

“Grak grak scra,” the messenger affirmed, as he did as his chief commanded. Gardalria was given the “finest” peaches and apples, while the sage made sure to hide away the best meats.

The next day, the sage settled down for another meal. This was his favorite time, his personal time, spent gorging gloriously on food . Rich, bountiful, uninterrupted flavored meats spurted on his forked tongue.

The door flung open.

“Goblin Sage! Goblin Sage! Her wrath continues!”

“Your face is a continued offense to my senses, messenger. What must you ask of me this time?”

“Gardalria demands furniture!”

“Furniture?”

“She bids that a temple is ‘a place where the Goddess dwells.’ Hithertofore she demands a dwelling’s proper furnishments.”

The messenger delivered her full request list.

“Preposterous!”

This was proof of mortality the goblin sage was looking for— had anyone heard of a Goddess who demanded tables, chairs, dressers, bath buckets and ‘a snug catbed for feline pilgrims in which the Goddess shall certainly never nap?’

The sage hurried from the mansion, leaving his meat to cool.

“Goblin Guard B! Goblin Guard L! Open the temple — I’d like to have a word with this so-called Goddess.”

The false disciple lay relaxed on the altar; in fact, she was bathing there. She nestled in a hollowed-out basin in a pool of holy water, and was cleaning her feet and tail. She wore nothing but her wrathful mask.

“Strange Disciple!”

“GOBLIN SAGE ,” the false disciple called. Then “”GOBLIN SAGE” again, as she switched from Andrestian to Foxcall.

Goblins could understand Andrestian, but they didn’t speak it very well. Meanwhile, Foxcall and Gobchit had the same roots, so the goblin spoke Gob and the foxgirl spoke Fox and they hoped it would all be well enough.

“IT IS TO YOU I OWE THIS HOSPITALITY, I TAKE?”

“Yes, yes. We treat Gardalria well. Guard her and protect her. We do not neglect her like the savage Kitsune Clan.”

“I WILL GIVE YOU THE THANKS YOU DESERVE.”

She tossed two bruised peaches at his feet, and a rotten apple that burst into pieces.

The Sage ignored the insult. Even if she were an imposter, he’d rather not tangle with a naked feral man-eating fox just yet. His staff glowed as he quietly prepared a fire spell.

“You wish to add on to the furnishments that have already been provided. On its face the request seems reasonable.

“However… there’s this little matter, you see,” the Sage said. “You have ears and a tail… and while kitsune can be counted among your worshippers, I was curious why the great War Goddess Gardralia would choose a fox as her vessel. Wouldn’t a warrior prefer hard scales over soft, penetrable fur?”

The ‘Goddess’ soaked in the water.Then she splashed out, hair flying, tail raised and with her mask all askew:

“YOU DOUBT MY LOYALTY?”

The Sage whimpered.

“I don’t doubt it, Goddess. I just question it.”

“WITNESS MY ALTAR. OBSERVE ITS STATUETTES. MAN, WOMAN, FOX, GOBLIN… AMONG EVERY RACE, THERE ARE THOSE WHO ARE CALLED STRONG. EVEN A FOX ALONE CAN STAND TALL.”

She tossed some bones; the long, lanky skeleton of the man whose Andrestian had been mumbled low and was impossible to understand. His bones were wide as a canine’s and had been stripped entirely bare.

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“Twas a question, Gardalria! Twas just a question! I shall depart.”

“AND WITH GIFTS, YOUR PEOPLE SHALL RETURN.”

The sage pushed the temple door shut with a beam of fire, panting. The goblin guards on the town street looked at him and the elder goblin waved them away, as his breathing gradually slowed.

On reflection… when it came to divinity, a ‘strong presence’ and a ‘powerful voice’ were meaningless traits. Why, he, the goblin sage had such charisma and while Gardalria favored him he was no God himself. Plus, that disciple hadn’t even realized the mask’s true powers—a false god she was indeed! Pah!

He spat, and the spittle landed upon the unfortunate goblin messenger, who had just returned.

“Immortal Sage, Immortal Sage,” the messenger said. “I saw a great fright cross your face. Shall we deliver unto her the fine couches and footstools she desires?”

“Fright? You misunderstand me! What you’re witnessing is great anger at your personal incompetence!”

The sage beat the messenger with his magic staff.

“Moron! Imbecile! Give that lazy cur some wooden planks and let the divine Goddess build her own furniture! If she sets a fire, we’ll put it out, and if she carves a wooden club then we’ll simply beat her to death with our own. A compromise like that should be obvious to any lizardbrained goblin official.”

“As you say Immortal Sage.” The messenger bowed.

On the third day, the Sage was relaxing once more. This time, he had found the Kitsune Matriarch’s vapor pipe and had stuffed it with a somerial plant from the garden.

He lost himself in its steam. If he allowed himself to drift, then perhaps he could witness a vision with the true Gardalaria to advise him. In the wavering smoke, he saw a wisp of a foxtail. How would he triumph over that subtle vixen…? Through incineration, or a sword through the heart? Or perhaps in a traditional roast?

“Show me, War Goddess…”

The door slammed open.

“Immortal Sage! Immortal Sage!”

“Did I not tell you to quit disturbing me?!”

But this wasn’t the goblin messenger. This was a brand new gob.

“Ah, I recognize you, goblin messenger b. I have some choice words reserved for you and your superior, but get on with it for now,” the sage said as he puffed rings through his nose.

“The Goddess demands a last sacrifice. She wishes for wealth, calling for all the metals that we can provide.”

“What? Does the disciple demand an allowance?”

He blew into the second messenger’s face; the latter hacked and coughed as he tried to sputter out a reply. Goblin messenger b shared the same ugly, unrefined mug as the first: instead of fierce yellow their eyes were dull blue, and the sage was glad to cloud them.

“She must know that goblins prefer more bountiful material, like those of wood and stone. Refuse her.”

“Ack… acktually Sage, goblin messenger a has already solved the problem.”

“Oh? Has he learned from his mistakes?”

“When she asked for furniture, we gave her the wood. Thus messenger a decided that in place of metal, we could give her the kitsune clan’s old ceremonial arms.”

“Morons!” The sage shrieked. “Even if she’s not the Goddess, if we give her a good weapon, she’ll have our heads!”

He raced as fast as he could on his stubby legs and two-foot staff. Goblins cannot sweat, but he could taste fear as he licked his eyelids.

He arrived at the temple; a crowd of goblins loitered around a pile of weapons and the temple doors remained sealed.

“Praise the one true Gardalria! These mouthbreathers have yet to give her the spears! Messenger b! Messenger a! I’ll Put them back in the armory immediately!” the sage said.

The sage and his warriors then pushed open the temple doors. The Goddess towered over them, and the goblin soldiers shuddered, drawing back. Only the Sage approached as he tap-tap-tapped with his cane.

She was dressed for war. She wore mythril armor, a cloak and leather gloves, and her arms were stretched out wide; masked, angry, and still. “We do not fear you!” The sage said. “The false goddess who ate the false adventurers will perish to the sage’s flames!”

She was silent.

“You lack presence, false disciple.” The sage crept to the altar, eyes jittering. “We will not be intimidated!” He shouted, as the soldiers dragged both their feet and their spears.

“...I will not be intimidated!!!”

He cast fire from his staff. A small ball burst forward—and did nothing against the mythril armor or the mask either. The tall figure did not even twitch.

He winced and cringed, and the goblin soldiers all ran back. But the counterspell he expected never came. The sage moved in close and cautiously took the sacred artifact.

There was no face behind it, and there was no body either. In fact, the mask had been attached to a rotting wood plank cross.

“Srak!!!”

This goblin phrase had no translation; it was simply a four-letter word.

***

Rick, Pern, and Fen lay hidden behind some temple rocks.

Yes, Rick and Pern were perfectly alive. They had used the wolf bones they’d collected to create false skeletons and give the goblins the illusion that they’d been eaten by Fen and died.

They’d hidden in the temple’s secret passage, sustained themselves on the offerings the goblins gave them, and used the wooden scraps and their old clothes to build an imposter Fen. That way the goblin guards wouldn’t notice that all three had escaped until after the third day.

“It worked! It really worked! My genius is making me tremble…. among other things.” Pern kept shivering. She was back in her cold leather pelt.

“The armor did make me a terror to the goblins. But right now’s a scary time for us…” Fen said. “Rick, will we really be okay?”

From their hidden perch, they saw the weapon-deliverers being chewed out by the sage. Then the two chastened gobs slinked away, irons spears piled up to their chins.

“Our metal’s leaving now!” Fen muttered, and Rick spoke next:

“Good. Let’s hurry!”

They darted down the path to town and followed the suppliers. Soon there were no rocks to hide them, and they ducked into a home. The town’s bamboo huts were nestled close together with open windows and as the goblins ambled beside them they jumped between the sills.

“Watch out. We’re reaching the end of the ro—ow! The hell did you just paw!”

“Apologies, E-Rank. Since I have a single tail, my balance is quite poor.”

Hop, skip, jump. They leapt ahead of the goblin lackeys at the end of a long stretch of nearly empty homes. They tip-toed past a sleeping goblin in the fourth-to-last house, and Rick bashed a gob into unconsciousness in the penultimate one.

“This final window’s tighter than the others. Careful.”

Rick went first, then Pern, who squeezed through and cracked the frame. Fen went last, and her flowing robe got caught on a stuck-out nail.

“Eek!”

She was caught in broad daylight, and squirmed as if trying to shed a cocoon. Her tail swiped everywhere and as she scratched at the catch the pile-carrying goblins approached them. When they passed the alley, she’d be seen!

“I have you!” Pern said. She tried her best to slide between Fen’s leg and the frame but only succeeded in jamming her own hand in a spot that was profoundly awkward. Rick took Fen’s arms, ignored the caught cloth and pulled her as hard as he could.

FWEETTTTT.

She collapsed over him, a long slit in her dress torn up to her thigh. The goblins passed the gap, turned, and entered a final ally lined with warehouses. It was lucky that they didn’t hear Rick’s pained grunt when Fen landed her whole body upon the closest thing a man had to a tail. He wasn’t a fox, so he preferred it if that spot didn’t split.

“What’s next, Rick?”

“Death…”

“If I may, I believe E-Rank said some words about ‘beating them senseless’.”

”Not yet.”

He peered at the gobs, who were in a dark area tucked away from the rest of town. The carriers dumped the weapons; the taller goblin produced a set of keys, and then the two began to chat. It was the perfect time to strike, but…

“Wait for it,” Rick muttered.

The goblins stopped at a wide building, and slid the door open. This was a warehouse full of weapons, with clubs and sticks, swords and daggers, plundered kitsune naginata—and Pern’s Thunder Sword hung on the rack.

***

As goblin Messenger a and goblin Messenger b put the weapons away, they continued to complain: “Ra ra ra (another useless job as always).”

“Grak ra ra ra (I should have followed my dreams as a cannibal cook).”

“Ra ra ra ra. (Not in today’s economy). Grak ga gra gra (Did you hear something?)”

“Ra ra ra HOLY SRAK! (HOLY SRAK!)

Rick punched one, and Pern body-slammed the other. They both crumpled like dead snakes.

“Strength in numbers only works when you’re strong,” Pern said. “Otherwise it’s just mooks against Gods.”

“There’s your Thunder Sword,” Rick said, as he found some nice metal spikes to put between his knuckles. “And now that we’re all warmed up…”

“We sneak around. Take them out one by one. And train up Fen!” Pern said.

The foxgirl stumbled around with naginata about twice as tall as she.

“With that mask and mythril armor distracting them, we'll get ‘em all before we’re caught!”

Thun. Thun. Thun thun thun.

Thun. Thun. Thun thun thun.

“Before we’re caught…”

They left through the warehouse’s front door—and as soon as it opened they saw the source of the drums.