Zal’Rodal awoke buried in a mountain of stolen grain, the kernels shifting as he stirred. He opened his eyes and slowly adjusted to the dim light of the campfire, the only source of warmth in the cavernous room. Various trinkets, baubles and pilfered scraps of little worth were scattered around the room, covering the floor and plastering the walls.
The room’s only other occupant stirred also. Guglak turned his green head, bulging yellow eyes blinked in the flickering glow, framed by tangled strands of hair plastered to his brow. His wide mouth opened revealing rows of crooked teeth and jagged tusks gleaming in the firelight. His hunched body moved awkwardly as he scuttled toward Zal’Rodal, one claw-like hand skittering on the ground like a third leg.
"Master, Master," the green creature croaked bowing low. "You wake now? Guglak wait you, Master. Guglak prepare meal for Master." Guglak stretched a gnarly arm towards the fireplace, his blackened claws pointing to a roasting rat impaled on a crude wooden spear. "It nearly ready Master, come, come," Guglak beckoned, hopping from side to side.
Zal’Rodal sighed and rose, sending a great wave of grain to scatter across the cave floor and walked towards his measly meal. The rat sizzled in the flames, its juices dripping into the embers below. He bit into the rat, juices flowing down his chin, he thought of better times. Times in which he wouldn’t have to count himself satisfied with a roasted rat and stolen grain, where he would do more than command a measly band of goblins. He glanced around the room, noting the absence of the goblin rabble, only Guglak remained, but of course, Guglak was always with him.
"Do you know where the others are?" Zal’Rodal spoke in a heavy voice, "I would hope they are doing something useful with their time,"
"Of course Master, goblins work hard for Master, yez. Others just guarding entrance… Master not worry, yez?" Guglak’s yellow eyes darted to the cave’s entrance before snapping back to Zal’Rodal. Spittle flowed steadily through his crooked teeth as he spoke, "Do you want me to getz them, Master?"
Zal’Rodal gave a curt wave of his hand, dismissing Guglak to do just as he suggested. The goblin scampered off into the darkness of the tunnel. Alone again, Zal’Rodal leaned back against the pile of grain. His current hideout was little more than a filthy cave, his army of darkness no more than a band of goblins, and his treasury filled with nothing more than scraps found on waylaid travellers. He envisioned a future in which he would rule out of a great dark citadel, its shadow spreading across the lands of all who might defy him. His enemies trembling and fleeing in his presence. A faint smile crossed his lips as he savoured the last bite of rat.
A piercing screech shattered his dreamland, jolting him to his feet. The scream echoed through the tunnels and was immediately accompanied by frantic and uneven footsteps. Zal’Rodal turned toward the entrance, his eyes narrowing as he waited to see the source of the disturbance. Out of the shadows, Guglak burst into the room. He flung himself against his master’s legs, clutching them tightly, his small body trembling, even at his full height the goblin barely reached Zal’Rodal’s waist and Guglak was considered to be on the taller side as far as goblins went.
"Master, lightz, lightz in tunnelz!” Guglak cried out, his voice shrill with panic, “Theyz're coming for uz! Youz muzt protect Guglak, Master!"
It was in these moments that Zal’rodal felt some margin of strength. His servants useless though they were relied upon him. Soon the same fear that gripped Guglak’s small black heart would seize his enemies, the Dark Lord would make sure of this.
He shoved Guglak aside, the goblin skittered across the stone floor. Soon the tunnel was filled with the flickering light of torches. There was only one thing, that would dare march into a goblin cave, torches in hand, and scaring his most loyal servant into submission. Adventurers. Filthy adventurers, truly the scum of the world. If it weren’t for adventurers and their so-called heroism, men like Zal’Rodal would have conquered the known world ages ago.
The adventurers crashed into the room, leather boots trampling the trinkets that his goblins had worked so hard to acquire. Their faces illuminated by the light of both torch and campfire, seemed fresh and untroubled. There were two women and a man in the group, though they looked more the part of youths rather than seasoned warriors. They carried themselves with youthful confidence, their chain mail and leather armour gleaming as if newly purchased. Their weapons were a mixed arsenal of bows, swords, and magic wands. On the other hand, Zal’Rodal wielded nothing but a goblin-sized sword, a crude, chipped blade that while menacing a goblin’s hand seemed awfully inadequate in his own.
It was time for Zalrodal to give the adventurers what they came here for, he straightened himself and spoke in his low voice "Who dares enter my lair, I am Zal’Rodal lord of this place! Leave now or count your lives as forfeit, brave adventurers! I Zalrodal will destroy your puny attempts at..." his speech faltered, the adventurers weren’t listening. They had started whispering amongst themselves casting occasional glances at Zal’Rodal.
"Let's just kill him and get the loot," one of the adventurers said, her voice carried despite the attempt at discretion.
"C’mon Alex, Shouldn't we let him finish talking at least?" the wizard asked, lowering the rim of her pointed hat to cover more of her face “He might say something cool and surprising towards the end.”
"It's alright, he won't say anything interesting anyway, we might be able to buy something good if we put all this trash together. Let's just get it over with," Alex said.
One of the adventurers lunged at Zalrodal, his sword raised high, the blade catching the firelight as it slashed sideways. The blade whistled through the air above Zal’Rodal’s as he ducked under the blow. He immediately countered with his goblin sword. The crude blade struck the chain mail eliciting a brief cry, but the young adventurer barely faltered. The Dark Lord put some distance between himself and the swordsman, “Not bad, but you will have to do better to best me!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Another adventurer raised a bow, the string taut, the arrow loosed in a blur, cutting through her blond locks. The projectile slammed into Zal’Rodal’s shoulder. Pain lanced through him as blood pooled around the wound, but he stood tall, gripping the shaft of the arrow.
“You think your puny weapons can harm me?” he roared, his voice reverberating through the cavern. He yanked the arrow free and threw it to the ground, dodging another wild swing from the swordsman. His blade lashed out again, forcing the young warrior to stumble back.
Zal’Rodal turned to the remaining adventurers, expecting them to be cowed by his display of power. Instead, he was met with a different kind of threat. A red glow flickered above a spellbook as the mage of the party, raised her crude wooden wand. Her voice rose in a melodic chant, weaving words of power. The room was filled with an ominous red light.
“Fireball!” she cried.
Zal’Rodal barely had time to react before the spell detonated. A roaring wave of flames surged toward him, consuming everything in its path. His vision blurred, the room fading from red to black as pain overwhelmed him.
The last thing he saw were the nonchalant forms of the adventurers, silhouetted against the raging flames and Guglak diving out of sight into the pile of grain. As his lifeless body slumped to the ground, flames still licking at his charred form, the adventurers began rifling through the room, gathering every last piece of treasure.