Chapter 06 - Curgelek

Curgelek scurried down the alley after stealing the cat.

The bag he clutched tightly in his spindly fingers writhed with fear. His large ears twitched at every sound, alert for any sign of pursuit. The stench of the sewage pipe he’d crawled through to get here clung to his damp skin, but he paid it no mind. The lady he’d stolen the cat from had been watching from a window, but she did nothing as he got away.

"Quit yer meowin'!" he hissed, giving the bag a shake. The orange cat yowled in protest, clawing futilely at the coarse fabric.

Curgelek's heart raced as he reached the end of the alleyway. A rusted grate covered the mouth of a pipe. He didn’t want to crawl through the Human poop again, but this was the only way out. He glanced over his shoulder into the dark, eyes narrowed against the pelting rain, then dropped to his knees and squeezed through the opening.

Darkness enveloped him, the dank air thick with a stench of rot and waste. He grimaced, wishing he could pinch his nose shut as he sloshed through the foul water. The cat yowled again, louder this time.

"Shaddup!" Curgelek snapped, giving the bag another shake. "You're gonna be a right treat for me young ones, ya mangy fleabag."

The cat did not respond to his threat.

He followed the curve of the pipe without hesitation, his wide feet splashing through the shallow stream. Up ahead, lightning cracks filtered in. He quickened his pace, eager to escape the wretched stink.

Curgelek burst out into the night, the icy rain stinging his exposed skin. He found himself in a narrow creek, the murky water lapping at his ankles. All around stretched the flat farmlands around Danvers. Beyond the rolling hills, windmills, and grain silos, were dark, looming shapes of twisted trees and tangled underbrush.

A triumphant grin split his face, revealing a mouthful of jagged teeth. He'd made it out, prize in hand. Now all he had to do was make his way back to the safety of Keggma's Grotto and present his find to the younglings. They would love having a pet.

Slinging the bag back over his shoulder, Curgelek set off at a brisk pace, skirting the edge of the creek. The cat continued to struggle and meow, but he ignored its cries. His children would be overjoyed at the prospect of a new plaything. The cat would be something to occupy their boundless energy.

"Ya shoulda kept quiet, ya daft furball," he chuckled, giving the bag an affectionate pat. "Now me young ones are gonna have all kinds of fun with ya. Then we gonna eat ya.”

He was still a long ways from home, but it wouldn’t take more than half a day of running through the swamps. The alligator infested waters would clean the Human waste off his skin.

Other goblins ran through the night as well. Most of them were overburdened by giant bags full of shiny things they had looted. He ran faster than them since his load was far less and he was far more eager to return home and show off the cat.

Every so often, he'd give the bag a shake, eliciting a fresh bout of yowling from the captive feline. "Aw, good, you’re still alive,” he said. "Ya got it good, ya do. Prime lodgings and all the mice ya can eat!"

The cat didn't seem to like this idea.

As the first hints of dawn crept over the horizon, Curgelek felt his spirits soar. Soon, he'd be home, and his little treasures would have the finest new toy a goblin father could provide.

Curgelek hurried along the overgrown path, his bony legs carrying him swiftly through the tangled undergrowth. The bag bounced against his back with every step, its feline occupant letting out a wild meow.

Goblins trudged along behind him, their pace sluggish. They were weighed down by bulging sacks stuffed with pilfered trinkets and coin. Curgelek smirked as he passed them, their muddy faces twisted into scowls of envy.

"Why’d you take a cat, Curgel?" one called out, squinting against the drizzling rain.

Curgelek cackled, not breaking stride. "Gonna make a right nice treat for me young ones!"

The others shook their heads, muttering about Curgelek's strange penchant for stealing pets instead of valuables. He paid them no mind, focused solely on getting back home.

This part of the swamp was especially dangerous. Tons of alligators slept in the shallow waters, and he'd seen plenty of goblins get eaten before.

As if on cue, one of the goblins just ahead of him got plucked into the murky water. Splashing ensued, and a large alligator thrashed about, twisting the goblin over and over until he no longer moved.

Other goblins rushed over to where the alligator had just eaten one of them, and instead of trying to help, which he knew was too late anyway, they started fighting over his bag of stolen goods. Somewhere far behind him another alligator made a feast out of one of them.

He didn't let any of this bother him. Life was harsh, and the loss of it easy.

Up ahead, the trees thinned out, giving way to a vast expanse of murky swampland. The air hung thick with the sour stench of stagnant water and rotting vegetation. Curgelek's grin widened as the unmistakable pit of Keggma's Grotto loomed into view, a gaping maw in the heart of the wetlands.

Water cascaded over the jagged rim in a dozen frothing streams, spilling down into the chasm below. Curgelek's pace quickened as he neared the edge, his feet finding purchase on the slick stone steps that wound their way down into shadowy depths.

One by one, the other goblins followed, their heavy burdens slung across their stooped backs. Curgelek spared them a glance over his shoulder as he descended, his long ears twitching with each echoing splash of their footfalls on the wet rock.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The damp chill seeped into his bones as they delved deeper, and meager light filtered in from above. That was quickly swallowed by the gloom. Curgelek's sharp eyes narrowed, his pupils widening to compensate for the darkness.

A faint orange glow flickered in the distance, beckoning them onward. Curgelek inhaled deeply, catching the familiar scents of damp goblin homes, seared meat, and woodsmoke that always hung thick in the grotto's musty air.

With a skip in his step, he continued his descent, mind filled with visions of his younglings' delight. This had motivated him all throughout the night and into the day as he ran faster than the other goblins.

The cat let out a sad meow, as if sensing its impending fate, but Curgelek was deaf to its cries.

He scurried down the slick, rocky steps, the wriggling sack bouncing against his bony back with each stride. His eyes gleamed with triumph as the familiar sights and sounds of Keggma's Grotto enveloped him.

The first level was a sprawling warren of cramped, muddy tunnels, home to thousands of his fellow goblins. He listened to the cacophony of chittering voices, screeching laughter, and the occasional crash of breaking pottery.

Though he'd lived here his entire life, the squalid conditions of the first level never ceased to fill him with a sense of unhappiness. He glanced at the goblins he passed, their ragged garments adorned with bits of pilfered finery. He saw a tarnished brooch here and a gaudy necklace there.

His own clothes were little more than threadbare rags, patched and stained from years of wear. The other goblins sneered at him as he hurried by, their beady eyes narrowed with disdain. He could practically feel their resentment radiating off them in waves.

"Oi, Curgel! What've ya got there?" a gruff voice called out, drawing his attention.

He turned to see a knot of goblins huddled around a small fire, their faces lit by the flickering flames. One of them, a burly specimen with broken teeth, was eyeing the wriggling sack with undisguised interest.

Curgelek tightened his grip, pulling the bag closer to his chest. "Nothin' that concerns you lot," he sneered, his lip curling in defiance.

The other goblins erupted into a chorus of jeers and laughter, their harsh voices echoing off the tunnel walls. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, his long ears flattening against his head.

"Aw, c'mon Curgel, don't be like that!" the burly goblin chuckled, his sharp teeth bared in a malicious grin. "We're all friends 'ere, ain't we? Might even be willing to trade ya somethin' nice for that little prize of yours."

Curgelek hesitated, his grip on the sack loosening slightly. The prospect of a trade was tempting. He’d been wanting some new things for the house, but he’d been unable to find them when stealing from Humans. Trading the cat for those things might work out in his favor.

Other goblins always beat him to the theft of utensils, armor, and weapons. He liked the idea of strange finds anyway, and decided that unusual things were more interesting.

The thought of his children's delight when he presented them with the cat was too alluring to ignore.

"Piss off, Grull," he snapped, tightening his hold once more. "This one's for me young ones. You ain't gettin' your grubby mitts on it."

Grull's expression darkened, his beady eyes narrowing to slits. "Suit yourself, ya scrawny runt," he growled, spitting a glob of phlegm at Curgelek's feet. "Ain't like your brats deserve nothing nice, anyways. They'll get tired of it in minutes."

The other goblins erupted into jeers and laughter once more, their taunts ringing in Curgelek's ears. He felt his face burn with humiliation, his free hand clenching into a trembling fist at his side.

How dare they mock his children! They were the only thing in this wretched place that brought him any semblance of joy. He longed to lash out, to show these pathetic excuses for goblins just who they were dealing with.

But the weight of the sack on his back reminded him of his true purpose. He didn’t have a weapon anyway, and they were much larger than he was.

His younglings were waiting, eager to play with their new toy, even though they had no idea he had it. With a huff of disdain, he turned and continued on his way, the jeers of the other goblins ringing in his ears.

As he navigated the maze of tunnels, the sounds of revelry and chaos grew ever louder. Goblins of all shapes and sizes scurried about, their arms laden with stolen goods.

They each had glittering trinkets, tarnished coins, and the occasional discarded weapon or piece of armor. He was sure they would be selling or donating most of that to Keggma. The goblin chief always took his unfair share of everything everyone found.

Curgelek eyed them with a mixture of envy and disgust. Once, this grotto had been a veritable treasure trove, drawing adventurers and heroes from far and wide to test their mettle against its deadly traps and hordes of cunning goblins.

They hadn’t had to steal anything in those days. Instead, the adventurous came here to the grotto to steal from them. Sometimes they were successful and other times they died.

His father had been one of the best dungeon builders in the realm, crafting fiendishly clever contraptions that had claimed the lives of countless would-be heroes. But then Keggma had seized control, and everything changed.

The dungeon had been sealed off, its deadly traps dismantled. Now the goblins were little more than petty thieves, forced to scavenge for scraps in the human settlements dotting the countryside.

Curgelek's lips curled in a bitter sneer as he thought of Keggma, the fat, grotesque creature who had brought ruin to their once-proud domain. The other goblins may have accepted their lot, content to eke out a meager existence as glorified treasure goblins, but Curgelek seethed with resentment.

He remembered the tales his father told of the glory days, when Keggma's Grotto had been the stuff of legend. Brave adventurers would come from far and wide, seeking to test their mettle against the cunning traps and fierce goblins that guarded the grotto's treasures.

Curgelek had dreamed of one day following in his father's footsteps, of crafting his own devious contraptions to lure in hapless heroes. But now, all of that was gone, replaced by the drudgery of scrounging for scraps and avoiding the watchful eyes of Keggma's brutish enforcers.

As he navigated the maze of tunnels, Curgelek couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the grotto's former glory. He remembered the stories his father had told of the hunt, the rush of adrenaline as they laid their traps and waited for the next group of adventurers to stumble into their domain.

His father had even helped to build the amusement park that once dazzled and delighted.

But those days were long gone, replaced by the monotony of petty theft and the ever-present threat of Keggma's wrath. Curgelek's grip tightened on the sack, his sharp claws digging into the coarse fabric as he thought of his children. At least they would have something to look forward to. This would be a small respite from the drudgery of their lives.

With a sigh, Curgelek pressed on, his eyes scanning the tunnel for any sign of his family's meager dwelling. The sounds of laughter and chatter grew loud as he neared the heart of the first level, the air thick with the scent of roasting meat and the acrid tang of burning oils.

Goblins of all shapes and sizes milled about. He knew his own family's home was little more than a cramped, dirt-floored burrow, nestled among thousands of identical hovels that housed the poorest of the grotto's inhabitants.

While the goblins of the second and third levels lived in relative luxury, Curgelek and his kin were forced to get by on the scraps they could scavenge.

Curgelek's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a group of well-armed goblins, their sturdy leather armor gleaming in the flickering firelight. They strode with an air of confidence, their weapons polished to a keen edge.

These were Keggma's enforcers, the privileged few who had earned the fat goblin's favor through their ruthless cunning and unwavering loyalty.

Curgelek felt resentment as he watched them, their very existence a stark reminder of the divide that had taken root in the grotto ever since Keggma's rise to power.

There was no doubt in his mind that Keggma had ordered them to be prepared for the return of the raiding party. They would try to take all the best stuff for themselves before anyone could hide it.