A putrid smell woke Grandmother Dexter. Its disgusting scent was a slap to her dreams, sending her back into reality. One she refused to believe. How did the world become a fantasy? Her grandson tried explaining what was happening, but it was even more confusing. The only thing she understood was that she was somewhere else and had no way back. It was a dream; she lied to herself. Moving from her bed she struggled in the darkness. With a desperate tap of the light switch, the light spared to life. Her raw power accidentally powered her house, allowing her house to still function. Quickly slipping into her bath gown, Dexter moved into the living room to find her grandson. Surely he had found a way back by now.

Stepping into the room, she wrinkled her nose at the full breadth of the foul miasma fog that had first woken her up. Scanning the area she looked for some possible reason, locking on Bob's sleeping body.

What did he do? Dexter spoke, looking at him. Coughing, she stepped towards the switch, powering the lightbulb. This sudden light revealed the sprawling, chaotic mess of her grandson. To the left of Bob's snorting body, a messy sandwich split off on a titling plate. He didn’t even have a shirt, only boxers. He was lying on her leather couch in boxers.

His body covered her brown leather, water droplets glistened in the light of her bulbs. Her grandson didn’t bother with a shirt laying bare chest and toilet barely wrapped around his waist. Crumbs and other sauce sat over his face like war paint and his left leg sat on the ground like uncoiled rope. He embodied a true slacker

“Christ, why does he do this?” Dexter growled, looking at her grandson with pure disappointment. Then the more pressing smell pushed her forward. Side-eying her grandson, her disappointment boiled into rage.

What did he do? How is he sleeping with that smell? Dexter scowled. God had always been good and although her grandson had many faults, she would always believe he could do better. However, days like this often ruined that faith for her. Sighing, she turned away, shuffling over to her light switch and flicking it. It turned on as she grumbled, her annoyance growing into a seething rage.

“Every blasted time. Why does he never listen? Is he deaf? “She bitterly spat, stepping back to her grandson. Her long-spoken grievance rang out as she moved closer to her kitchen. Then a crack rippled through the air, shocking her for a moment. Her grandson yelped out as something struck him, pushing him off the couch. Luckily, the table and her plate were not broken, but her grandson was slightly bruised. The large welt on his cheek looked like a ruler had struck him in the face. Shaking his head, he looked up, unsure of what had happened.

“How many times have I told you not to sleep on the couch? You could have punctured them with your elbows. I tell you this every day. Every Time?” She ranted, looking back at her grandson. A red mark smeared on his cheek as he looked around unaware. Then, as he registered the smell, his face morphed into utter disgust.

“Wait, what the hell is that?” Bob sputtered, slowly getting off the ground. “That is oh.. oh no.”

For the first time in her life, Dexter saw a serious, determined look appear on his face. His eyes darted about, and red sparks appeared at his fingertips. Dashing forward, he rushed past the dining room, slowing down to the kitchen sink. As Bob’s thunderous sprint came to a swift end, he stared, dumbstruck, at his own mistake. Dexter simply shambled over, confused, yet slightly proud of her grandson. However, as she saw the backdoor ajar, that pride turned into a bitter fury.

“Are you dumb or daft? Why did you not check to ensure anyone could have come inside?” Dexter shrieked while lightning sparked off her frowned brow. “Every night I tell you this!”

"I'm sorry. Maybe I was focused on what was happening outside." Maybe just once, I was tired and dozed off.” Bob retorted, heat simpering around him. "I was worn out after fighting a giant rat and all those mosquitoes."

"All the more reason for you to ensure you locked the doors.” His grandmother replied. Punctuating her point, an unearthly wind slammed her room door shut while Dexter turned to face her fuming grandson. Sure, he may think himself big and bad, but he was nothing to those in her past. She had seen truly dangerous men, and nothing Bob could do would measure up.

“Fine, I get it. I messed up! Give me a break.” Bob yelled back, moving to the fridge.

“Don’t turn your back on me!” She screamed with a thunderclap that threw Bob to the ground. Stumbling down to the ground, Bob remembered a simple fact. His grandmother had a cosmic power that she couldn't control. And he had enraged her.

The houses shook as thunderbolts cracked around Dexter, power oozing out of her eyes. That golden eldritch energy colored the air with the sweet scent of thyme. Her disgusted face was highlighted by the energy that surged through her very being. Like a banshee, she shrieked out, “Why I never! No one has ever talked to me like that! How dare you? Don’t test me, boy!“

Cowering, Bob moved back, avoiding the stray sparks and the eruptions of fire. Like an insect in the face of a hurricane, all he could do was dodge. Bob fled, merely watching the calamity that was his grandmother. His back slammed against the back wall of the storeroom, a straight line from the back door. With his hands raised over his face, he finally retorted. “Ok! I get it, please stop-”

Clank.

It silenced Dexter's anger and Bob's fear like a judge's gavel. Turning slowly to the washroom, the two stood up. Bob solemnly placed his hand on the door separating the front of the house from the back. Quickly turning it open, he expected some beast or other nasty thing, but nothing was there. He defiantly strode forward toward the danger. First, he checked the bed and the other side of the room. His eyes scanned the other room, the place without a lock, finding nothing out of place. But his grandmother remained standing at the door still, supervising her grandson's attempt at a search. Her anger shimmered until she could not hold it anymore. Then Dexter began again.

“Did you make sure the things were in the right place?” Dexter asked, looking at Bob.

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I do that?” Bob retorted.

“Don’t raise your voice at me. Clearly, like you locking the door, that must be a fantasy.”

“Well, something clearly is inside,” the boy responded sheepishly from the ground.

“Yes, go find it! You're the man of the house!” Dexter roared, launching Bob up to his feet.” Must I tell you everything?”

“No, I will get on with that.”

Irritatedly, Bob walked out the door. He hoped the pressing threat was a monster, something nasty. Big and bestial, so he could have just cause. He needed to hit something so he could get the aggression out. Moving forward, he stepped to find his weapon, grabbing the long wooden stick from the forest. Dexter moved behind her grandson, rapidly growing bitter from the mess in her home. On her two shelves, powder soap spilled over the large blade on the ground. The chemical litter also tipped over, but luckily, they never pierced the bottles. However, the floor shined as some strange fluid also littered it. It seemed like water, but the large circles smelt a bit like mud. That clue sent Bob’s mind ablaze as he opened the door. Inside his bathroom, he heard the sound of sobbing from the bath.

Bob moved forward, stepping gently with the stick, primed to skewer the intruder as quickly as possible. Each of his steps was a slow step beat as he moved to finish it quickly. Then he heard the sobs and revealed what had entered the house. Speeding up, he nearly slipped on the soap, but he steadied his flailing body. Turning to the bath, the sobbing grew quiet. A tiny figure stood watching the monster about the size of a small child with long, strange ears.

Slowly, Bob stepped forward, thrusting the stick forward. Hit the head of the intruder, Bob capitalized, revealing the creature. A small goblin lay on the floor, a hand rubbing its left eye. Its beady cat eyes stared up at Bob's scornful face, like a wounded cat. To bob’s interest, the goblin was muscular and seemed to be a more pale green, unlike the deep puke green of the males. The nose was slightly smaller than the male’s massive all consuming nostril, looking far more logical. The teeth were still jagged and still needed a cleaning, but at least they seemed intact.

“Knew it,” Bob stated triumphantly, grabbing the scruff of the goblin's little neck. Surprisingly, for Bob, it worked much like a cat. The goblin seemed shocked. Bob’s confusion grew as the skin was surprisingly soft and seemed pleasant to the touch. It wasn’t even slimy. The goblin was surprisingly light, dropping the blade from the beast's belt.

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The frowzy creature struggled for a moment, but as Bob lifted it above the toilet, it stopped. It was not unwomanly. With the right curves and some of the proportions intriguing for some, but the goblin unkept nature kept Bob’s wilder thoughts down. Even if he was a sick bastard, the scent was a good word for any idea like that. Even the boots were a muddy mess that needed to be sunned and cleaned for at least a week. Still, there were some excellent traits of the goblin. It was shapely, and if the goblin was cleaned, wasted, and even perfumed perhaps.

“So gob how do you want to die ? ” Bob mused, stepping past the toilet and grabbing the goblin that sniffed. The flapping ears tickled Bob's nose, and the scent was much worse up close.

“Please don’t kill me,” the small creature pleaded in a strange, low, scratchy tone. “I don’t wanna die.”

“Too late.” Bob grinned, opening the door and tossing the goblin down onto the ground. The goblin slid across the mess she made laying before Dexter's gobsmacked face. The tiny green creature glanced up at Dexter with weepy eyes.

What is that? How can it be? Dexter screamed in her own head. It was so weak, shaking in terror, wearing disgusting clothes. It broke into her home and now seemed to cry in fear. Like a child. Her mind could barely handle this strange moral dilemma. Should she kill it? Can she do this to someone who was so childlike? But she had to, right? Her thoughts fought a brutal war with her mind as she looked at her grandson. But it was the goblin that gave the Hail Mary to her ideas.

“Please don’t kill me,” the goblin pleaded to Dexter, the powerful creature in front of her.

Staring at her grandson, she finally chose. For the safety of both her and her grandson's soul, she would have to make a choice. That thought, that idea was a gift and awakened her mind. Glaring down at her grandson, she spoke.

“Is that how you treat a young lady? You need to make sure this does not happen, Bob.”

A pregnant pause sat between both Bob and his grandmother. His grandmother's radical words shocked both Bob and Jill. Bob's confusion contorted the rage into a comical caricature of expression on his face.

“B-but it’s not human…” Bob sputtered, looking at his grandmother.

“She is a young lady and you should show her respect.” Dexter retorted.” You need to get that look off your face.”

Wait, what? Bob thought, gulping down and looking at the goblin that seemed prone on the floor. Shifting Bob could weakly plot in his own head. Argue? Can’t. Maybe I could kill it later? I need a test dummy for the system.

While Bob debated the merits of goblin murder, that said goblin was happy. Her luck was much better than expected. If it were like the orcs, she would have been on the pike as soon as they found her. The hobgoblins would have taken her eyes and tongue. Sure she was scared, but she lived another moment. That was more than the stronger creatures expected. And the old woman seemed strongest, so all she could do was beg for her mercy. It was not hard. She already was doing it.

“Mercy mistress! please spare me?” Jill asked tentatively. She prayed she would be released.

“Nah. She stays here. This is my friend. She just was confused. Right?” Bob spoke, glaring at the creature on the floor.

Blinking, the goblin rose, confused. Thus her instincts spoke to her with the first rule of the goblin: obey the strongest around.

“Yes master, I am Jill Bili Grinny. We are friends, oh supreme master.” She brow-nosed the old lady.

“Alright, Jill. Well, she needs to be cleaned up either way. Just call me Sash, little one "Dexter.” BOB! Clean this place up and make sure the place is locked before you go to sleep.”

“Wait, you never let me call you that. Where are you going ?” Bob questioned.

“You came up with it. You used to call me that all the time when you were a child. Cleaning this up clearly. “

Holding out her hand to Jill Dexter had not expected the little thing to take it. But Jill took it quickly, nearly pulling Dexter down. But the new power Dexter held gave her a strange strength. A sweet providence showered her as she took the little creature to her bathroom. As they left, the little Jill could not help herself tilting back a stunted bob with a dirty grin.

This left Bob in a mess. That shimmering rage erupted as Bob released. Slamming his dist against a wall, he thought over what had just happened.

“Did I just get outsmarted by a goddamn goblin?” He growled, just soft enough not to be heard,

Jill walked through this new place, this new valley of gods. These were such strange things that would be great treasures at the camp. The sink thing would make her beloved and not whipped by the overseers. She wanted to touch them and learn more about them. But this aged woman seemed to drag her past these wonders, unfazed. Holding this elder's hand was also relaxing.

Jill had never seen a human this old. Or any creature this old. Hobgoblins elders never left their keeps and the orcs just killed anyone who couldn’t keep up. Her hand clapped this lady, merely enjoying this foreign comfort. The two walked to a simple hall as she moved to a strange new locale. The hall was painted lemon yellow and with a tall ceiling above Jill's own head. It was much bigger than Dexter, clearly she had some troll or giant to craft it. Well, everything in this strange castle was bigger than her.

Despite this, the strange lady called Dexter moved past the hall and entered a white room. Jill’s confusion grew as she saw the throne at the other end of the wall. It was about the size of Gray Blade's throne. Unlike it, Jill couldn’t understand why it was here, and there was a strange sink across from it. It seemed made from the same material and even had a metal top, as it seemed to pipe on the top. Jill would learn what a tap was.

Tubs Jill had a reference for. Those were torture weapons, often filled with boiling oil. The goblins were often tied down, so they were always screamed in the end. Gray Blade made a point of eating the remains to make the same point he always did. Desperately, Jill started to struggle, pulling away from the lady. Annoyed by her actions, Dexter's arcane power sparked with her words.

“Don’t pull now. Stop tugging on me.” She grunted the ground, pushing the goblin forward.

Jill’s strength failed. Under some strange magic this old woman wielded. First Dexter took her to the tub's edge, staring hard at her. Then the old lady pointed down at her with the voice of authority.

“Take off your clothes,” Dexter kindly said.

Those words drained the blood from Jill's face. That was what the Hobgoblins said before pot. She could try to fight, but Dexter’s arcane might destroy her within a blink of an eye. Weakly shaking, she began with removing her breastplate and cover, that cheap brown leather. Then she removed her boot, dropping the muddy shoes onto Dexter's bathroom ground. Next, she removed the muddy pants and shirt, leaving only the soiled cloth that tied down her breast.

“That too, all those things will have to be washed. “Dexter commented.

With a sniffed sob, she removed the wrap that stood by her for the week. There she stood, as naked as she was born, expecting death. However, Dexter merely grabbed her hand, tossing her into the tub’s edge. Like a wet fish, Jill was tossed inside the tub. Unlike the black ashy pits that had crisped bones and marrow, it was clean and white. Nothing was in it save the strange chrome pipes that glistened in the sun.

Scared, Jill looked up at the strange lady, who watched her with expectant eyes. Gesturing to the strange taps Dexter simply watched. Slowly moving to the strange taps, Jill placed her hand on the blue tap. Glancing back at Dexter she gulped, looking for some mercy. Hopefully, she could escape. Perhaps she could be spared.

“Turn it on. “ She said, looking down warmly. “Just turning the knob.”

Jill felt it was a nightmare. Panicking, she turned it, expecting death. Instead, liquid drained down on her, blinding her for a moment. It was a clear liquid and ran off her skin as Dexter's moved forward with the strange bar of green material. She screamed upon feeling it, for the boiling oil would have destroyed her skin first. Then her muscles would cook, melting off the bone and destroying her insides. At least that would be over quickly.

Unknown to Jill, the water began a cleaning process, loosening the hardened dirt on her. Thus the goblin’s cleaning began.

The first layer of dirt drained off with just the water. Then Dexter looked at the little creature noting what would be needed. Soap a lot of soap with conditioner with some strong brushes. Then she would need at least razors and scissors to cut away at the long mangles of hair that would need maintenance. As she thought of what she needed, the items appeared on the floor beside her. Instead of questioning it she simply began to clean brushing furiously. Jill other hand screamed learning about cleaning.

,

It took thirty minutes of hard, brutal scrubbing to get nature out of Jill's head. The dirt and grim tainted the tub and at least two rags were painted black. The forest’s remains trickled down the drain as Dexter moved to the hair. It was a mop of messy kinks, knots, and dirt. But with perseverance and grit, Dexter managed to get it clean. Of course, Jill protested, screamed, and generally acted like an infant in a cold shower. However, Dexter had dealt with those behaviors with her children and grandchildren. So through muscle memory and hidden magic, Dexter managed to clean the creature. This revealed Jill's true hair color; a strange brown that had streaks of white, and despite the rough nature of the goblin, the hair was strangely silky.

Taking a break simply sitting on the toilet, she watched the little creature. It stood naked and shaking as it looked around. Strangely, it was a mix of shrunken parts with adult additions. Dexter could only say it was like dwarves she watched as a child, which would make sense as she was apparently in that fantasy. It looked like a wet kitten with large eyes staring up at Dexter with unsure betrayal. The hair would have to be cut along the nails and teeth would have to be cleaned. Still, she looked much better now and the once oppressive scent was gone. All she needed was a towel. Raising her hand, an arcane force answered her simple need; summoning a bright green beach towel in her hand.

This magic thing is not so bad, I suppose. With the towel, she moved forward, wrapping it around a little creature that was nostalgic for her grandchildren, even Bob.

“Why did you do that?” Jill asked, shivering from the cold green skin that steaming in the evening.”Wait, what are you doing ?”

“You needed to be cleaned up. You have more dirt than a garden. Come now, let’s get you dried off.” Dexter cuddled, wrapping Jill. She lightly tapped the creature, much like a toddler drying her body. This was the final connection for Jill. After all, Jill never had a true mother’s touch. Within Jill's subconscious mind, a bond was made, one that, despite herself, hoped would never break.