“Oh ye gods! Why is this happening!? Fuck, uh, I don’t know that I can salvage this part. I just need to leave some empty space, or a call for a fresh leaf or parchment. There must be a poetic way to describe necrophilia! I’ll figure it out later!”

(Clearly, he did not.)

— The Ballad of Sir Joe, by “Golden-Voiced” Garbeaux.

We ducked back around the corner, fairly hiding from the noisesome lovemaking, if it could be called love the Duchess was making, “This is insane,” I said, “If you two hadn’t gone off without me to have an orgy this wouldn’t be happening,” I whisper-screamed at my companions.

Aimee avoided eye contact, scanning the crowd forming in the square for whatever reason. McGrue, on the other hand, shoved his finger in my face. “Back off, Gabbo. You don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I think I know something. I think the wife of the ruler of this town is fucking a corpse right n–oh fuck there he is.” Over McGrue’s shoulder Lord Veineux, riding on his litter and carried by four stout men, entered the scene.

Aimee did a double-take, thinking faster than the rest of us, “Okay, I’ll warn her,” she said, bolting for the carriage.

“No! I … he is coming this way,” I whimpered, McGrue remained still, staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice as the ponderous bulk of the merchant-turned-gentry made his way over.

He took a deep breath, “Still haven’t learned how to lie, eh Gabbo?”

“You don’t understand. He caught me as I was trying to follow you two and had four of his men hurl me at the carriage. I don’t think he likes me.” Without turning my head I watched as a squad of guards fanned out over the square, seemingly securing it now that Veineux had arrived, “or maybe he doesn’t like Joe?”

“Just follow my lead,” he said, ears twitching, as if listening to the Grain Monger’s sandals scrape the cobblestone. He laughed as if I’d said something funny, I laughed in turn, then, turning, he caught Veineux right as he arrived, “Well, hello!”

This put him back on his heels, recoiling from the manipulations of a muscular half-orc, “Er, yes, hello. Nice to see you here … with Garbeaux? Who are you, exactly?”

“Nice to meet you, sir, the name’s McGrue. Sargon McGrue. And who are you?” he asked, grinning with a saccharine smile.

“You’re McGrue? I did not know you were a … half-orc…” Grimacing, he shook McGrue’s hand as it was proffered.

“So you’ve heard of me? That’s odd,” said McGrue, smile fading a touch. “I don’t announce myself much, you know. I am merely a humble servant.”

“Yes, and I am the Duke of Veineux. Have you seen my … my security detail? I thought they were over here.” For no reason that I could see the Duke began to scowl.

“Didn’t I just see them spreading out over the square?” asked McGrue, still vigorously shaking Veineux’s hand.

“Those are the security for the big party! Night two of Grainfest, dammit!” Veineux pulled his hand out of McGrue’s grip, “A dozen men, my personal detail. They were to meet me here!”

“I don’t know about them, sir, but your wife was looking for you. I believe she went that way,” I said, pointing away from our carriage.

Grunting, the Grain Monger, Lord Veineux, whatever you wanted to call him stalked in the direction he thought his wife to be. I took a deep breath, “Good work, getting him away from the carriage. What was all that about his guards being here?”

“I…” I began, trailing off, “They approached the carriage. That’s how I knew about the Duchess being in there with Joe.”

McGrue’s eyes narrowed and he turned to glance at the Grain Monger’s sizeable backside, “Did they now?”

Running, Aimee appeared again in our midst, “Okay, took care of that.”

“That’s amazing!” I exclaimed, “How did you get the Duchess to leave the carriage?”

“I … didn’t. She said she was ‘going to finish real quick’, and so I watched until the coast was clear…”

Walking up behind Aimee, grabbing her by the shoulders and leaning around to look at myself and McGrue, the disheveled form of Duchess Veineux shot us a smile, “Whoever invented the hinged codpiece is a genius. If he still lives we must see if he will relocate here.” She grabbed Aimee’s shoulders, from the front this time, “Can you imagine what sorts of gadgets he could invent for us girls?” she asked, booping Aimee’s nose before half-walking, half-skipping back into the party. It was notable that she clearly saw her husband but turned off towards the festivities anyway.

“Oh…” Aimee wretched, “it smells…”

“The Grain Monger definitely does not like us, and I think I see why. The way she barged in and did … that … I doubt it was her first encounter with Joe.”

“No kidding,” said Aimee, “and I know he smelled when he was alive, never taking off his stupid armor, but to not notice the stink he’s making now…”

“Barrel’s right on top. Just need the brine!” laughed McGrue, rolling his eyes.

“We need to get out of here. Now. Move on to finish our mission,” I said.

“No,” objected McGrue, “We still need an argument with that fat pig.”

“Audience, dear,” said Aimee.

“Right. The Goblin King is in or at least near Veineux’s territory. If anyone can point us towards him, it's the Grain Monger…”

—

Time wore on, the sun set, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. I had not realized it at the time but the parade was almost entirely made up of shop carts; portable storefronts, some of which had not been licensed to do business in the opening days of Grainfest, but now gathered together here to fuel a spending spree. Most carts served liquor, some sold fine goods, and a few were exotic goods from far away.

I stood in line, growing ever more frustrated, for I had not asked the Grain Monger what he knew of LePhisto, this latest and, so they say, greatest Goblin King. Aimee and McGrue were elsewhere in the packed crowd, trying to solicit information from vendors who were from areas near the city and from city guards, respectively.

My line, of course, was to speak to the Grain Monger. Give a coin and ask a favor. Nearly every petitioner merely asked his blessing, for he had latched onto the idea that nobility ruled by holy decree. In essence he either believed that the gods favored him or just wanted the people to believe it. They’d tithe a single copper coin, ask, be tapped on the head and called “blessed”, then go on their way. I hoped for a bit more.

The line had, at least, moved quickly, but, since it wrapped almost around the square, I’d been subjected to many a sales pitch. Even now, as I neared the front, “Come get your Fl’ukhas! Fl’ukhas here!” came a gutteral voice, butchering the common tongue. I turned my head.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

It was a horrible, floating eye monster! Near spherical, but with rounded points that formed a diamond shape, it had crablike appendages and scales everywhere. When it spoke the voice came from it’s underside, where you’d expect waste to be expelled. I didn’t know what a “Fl’ukhas” was, but, to look at it, it appeared to be a slimy rainbow, cut into thin slices and skewered for easy consumption. Unfortunately, I made eye contact, “Uh…”

“Hello there, sir, care to sample a Fl’ukhas? Meat and orglespink from the far planes in a convenient package. Only one silver.” I could see that his cart was half-filled with the stuff and one of the crates it came in was, instead, filled with silver.

“Well, I’m not sure!” I replied, nervously, “What meats? And what’s orglespink?” I suspected that it might be the part of the skewer that glowed.

“So glad you asked so everyone can hear. The meats are top quality, and orglespink is the flesh of what you would consider plants, or possibly fungus, on your world. Wholly inedible to an Abyssal crab like myself, but humanoids love it! Plus, it’s not at all addictive.”

“Why … why would you mention that?” I blinked.

“Because Fl’ukhas are the only non-addictive thing I sell. Why? You want something addictive? I got drugs. I got so many drugs. Some might kill you. But it’s a great way to go!” the crab replied as it opened a different crate.

“No! No, not necessary. I would love to try a Fl’ukhas. Can you break a gold piece?”

“Well, I’m not a bank…” looking at his crate filled with silver, he pondered, “though it would be easier to carry gold than a gold coin’s worth of silver back through the portal. Sure!”

We made our transaction and the exuberant outsider made change as I began munching, “Oh, say, I appear to be glowing a bit.”

“Yup, that happens sometimes to casters. Just rub your magic focus over your chest to siphon off the excess magic.” The crab focused his eyestalks in multiple directions, slicing them into more Fl’ukhas with a laser from his large central eye.

“Oh … I don’t have any focus. My master tends to smash my instruments.” I replied.

“Ha! Seriously? It’s Joe, right? Mulfinger? That guy’s an asshole.” laughed the creature.

“Yes! You know him!?” I was amazed.

The crab’s central eye and both stalks rolled, “Know him? He killed most of my family! All we did was a little homesteading. We’d almost exterminated all the pests in the space, y’know, humans, dwarfs, stuff like that, and it was time to clear some space.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, “you said pests but then said they were … people?

“Eh, people is a relative term,” said the crab, gesticulating, “They weren’t Abyssal Crabs, y’know? Anyway, we’re just minding our own business, and I guess the last of the humanoids were clustered in this bar. We break through the wall, start liquidating the last of the vermin and, get this, my uncle spills Joe’s beer. He goes nuts. I’m just glad I was in the back ranks and didn’t die when he started swinging that sword of his around. The force-wave from it took out the support pillars and collapsed the building.”

I blinked several times, staring at the crab, took a nibble of my Fl’ukhas (surprisingly tasty) before finding the words to respond. “To be clear; you do know that you are surrounded by humans, dwarfs and others right now, right? And that I am a human?” I asked, feeling ethically superior. I then took one step because, finally, the gnome at the front of the line finished sucking up to Veineux.

“Okay, look,” started the crab, clearly annoyed, “Let’s say the story was different. Say we crabs were humans, the land was a forest instead of a town and the humanoids in the story were rats. Whatever we grow the rats will want, they’d invade the spaces we made for ourselves if allowed to stay and carry diseases that can hurt humans. The humans kill a few thousand rats, maybe the same rats in your Fl’ukhas, before, I don’t know, super-rat starts wrecking humans. Whose side are you on now?”

I paused, mouth open, the meat and alien plant skewer hovering in my hand, “Pardon, did you say this meat is rat?”

He looked annoyed, “Not the point, but yes. What? It’s well-cooked.”

“I just thought it was some sort of alien meat,” I said, unsure whether or not I should be upset.

“Look, I told you, orglespink is plants from where I live. We can’t eat it but humanoids love it because of the magical properties. If the meat was from the Abyss I would’ve said so. Now answer my question!” he shook a claw at me.

It was tasty so, against my better judgment, I took another bite, “Fine, I see your point. But now that you know humans you understand the value of our lives, right?”

“I value my finances so, yes, so long as you humanoids keep slingin’ silver my way then I appreciate you.” He extended a claw, which I shook like a hand, while continuing to eat the Fl’ukhas, “I’m Floon, by the way.”

“Garbeaux. Charmed,” I replied. The line moved again but at least I’d made a friend during this interminable wait.

—

At last I was at the front of the line! I felt such jubilation as the alabaster turnips swirled about my head. This didn’t seem odd at the time, for, of course, the Grain Monger, was a bizarre pig-faced tentacle monster. Flying turnips seemed normal by contrast.

“Ah, Garbeaux, we meet again,” the piggy squealed, “Come to seek my favor? That will be a token tribute of one copper coin.”

I tossed a silver coin into piggy’s carnivorous plant and drunkenly sing-talked at his rotating melon head, “Hell-ho!” I began, “The gobbling king boy? Where he be!?”

“What? I … oh… Why would you partake of that damnable crab’s hallucinogenic concoction before speaking to me? I thought you were a bard, not a fool.” Piggy was cranky!

“That king’s gobbling all over your lands, man! C’mon, you want him gone, right? Tell me something good.”

“Why? The goblins don’t bother me and, so long as they keep my waste pile from building up too high, I can keep this grain shortage going.” He looked so mad his eyes glowed red. That is to say it seemed like his eyes glowed at the time.

I was flabbergasted, shaking my head and nearly falling, “But they’re killing your people!”

“My people? Look, something needs to keep the population down. If it’s goblins then so be it. Next!” He dismissed me.

So I grabbed him by the lapels, “Please! If you can’t think of the hogs and the sows at least think of the little piglets! The gobbling king is making them into porkchops!”

Recoiling, enraged, but not wanting to make a scene in front of the gathered masses, he grabbed my wrists, “Fine! If it will get rid of you I know where they have a settlement to the north. Let me see your map…

—

Having gotten one good piece of intel I staggered out of the square, barely aware of reality but knowing that I needed help. My companions weren’t anywhere that I could see, not on the square and not with the carriage. Somehow, I managed to find my way to our hotel, thinking to wait out the effects of what the extraplanar crab had sold me. Being a closet, no candle lit, I stumbled and flopped onto a lumpy pile on the bottom bunk bed. It screamed at me.

I screamed back, “Ah! What’s happening!? Am I flying?” There was a whirlwind of motion around me.

With a snap of the fingers the candle on a nearby crate burst into flame. The motion had been McGrue pushing his way out and putting on pants (again), while Aimee pulled the blanket around her naked body and, obviously, was the one to magically light the candle. “Damn it, Garbeaux, what now?”

“I got drugged!” I warbled, “The orglespink! It’s a-magic! Make you see the things!” I held my skewer aloft.

“You were eating orglespink!? That stuff makes you see the true nature of people, but you can’t trust anything else you see. Also you feel pretty awesome,” she said, stroking her chin.

“No! Not awesome! ‘Cause I got the magic powers but I never use ‘em so no focus! Gimme the focus!” I said, grabbing Aimee, only to get pulled back by the nostrils. McGrue was being a meanie.

But he was also a very scary monster made of solid gold, “Not a three-way, Gabbo!” he growled.

“Sargon, please. He’s got,” she held the skewer up and counted the layers of orglespink, “About quadruple the safe dose of a magical drug in his system. Can’t you see it glowing through his digestive system? We need to siphon the magic off.” She dug through her satchel, the only bag we were allowed to bring in the inn other than coin purses, then gasped, “The skull focus. It’s not in here.”

“What do you mean?” asked McGrue, “You’ve been using magic. I saw you.”

“Yes, I can cast without a focus, dammit, but a focus makes it easier and amplifies the spell. Plus, if we don’t siphon it off, Garbeaux will never know how awesome orglespink feels. He’ll just trip balls until he passes out for, like, a day!”

“I care about this not at all. He interrupted us twice, Aimee!” He threw his hands up.

“The first time wasn’t even me! Now let’s get dressed. It must be in the carriage. I hope you at least got something out of all this, Garbeaux. I’d hate to think you were just wasting time all day,” she frowned, slipping into her dress.

“I got a big x!” I howled, dragging out the i in big, “And you two were having … no effort put forth to gather information! Why was it all me again?”

McGrue slipped into his vest, “Never mind that, Gabbo, let’s just get on with it. Maybe you’ll be bearable once we suck the magic out of you.”