It was business as usual at the inn, not a lot of people but each of them loud enough to fill the room with joyful banter. A particularly loud Goblin called for some more mead, because “it’s almost my wedding anniversary”. He gulped the tankard empty in one go and immediately asked for another because ”fuck being married”. The mead was a local specialty and rather potent. The Goblin was soon under the weather and started hitting on one of the Naiad barmaids.
“Hey girl,” the Goblin said “At first I thought that drink made you look even prettier, but then I realized, nah, that’s not possible.”
The Goblin erupted in a cackling laughter, tried to high five himself but only succeeded in smacking himself in the face. He took a tumble off the barstool and splayed out on the floor, started to snore. The servant girl moved the Goblin a little to the side, put a blanket over him and continued her work unperturbed.
Suddenly, the doors of the inn flew open and four ruff looking Goblins walked in. Everyone fell silent as the frontmost, probably the leader yelled “Where is that bastard of a Blueberry Pumpkinpatch?”
A Naiad whispered to her Dryad friend “Isn’t he that actor in the human world?” They giggled.The Goblin leader walked towards the two girls. He pulled out a knife and drove it deep into the table.
“I’m not here to waste time on stupid jokes. Blueberry Pumpkinpatch owes me a lot of money, and I intend to collect it as soon as possible.” The Goblin spat out, saliva flying everywhere. ”Now, I know he comes here frequently, so where is he?”
The two girls tried to get up and leave, but two of the henchmen held them down on their seats, the fourth guarding the door of the inn. No one could escape. The head Goblin pulled out another knife and put its point against the neck of the Naiad.
“I figure by now that you don’t know who we’re talking about, so there’s no point in asking you again. But I’ve always noticed I get my information much quicker if I threaten some pretty gall. You’re bound to have some savior wanting to come to your rescue.” The Goblin turned to the other folk in the inn. “Well, anyone care to tell me where I can find my money?”
No one answered. The chief Goblin sighed.
“You’re only making this harder on yourself. I’m not a patient man.” He went to stand behind the Nymph, pulling her head back by her hair and let his knife slide gently against her neck, drawing some blood.
“So, ANYONE?!” the Goblin roared.
“We don’t know any Blueberry Pumpkinpatch here, but if he’s a Goblin like you, maybe check under that blanket over there.” One of the patrons said, pointing at where the barmaid had hid the Goblin. The leader strode over to the bundle and thrust his knife deep into it. No cry, no yelp, nothing. The Goblin removed the blanket to reveal a sack of flour and a bunch of towels. Suddenly, the chief heard a shrill battle cry from above his head. The drunken Goblin, who was hiding behind the bar, jumped over it and straight onto the other Goblin. A fierce struggle began. At the same time, the Nymph and Dryad fell upon their hostile caretakers, quickly incapacitating them with their magical powers. The fourth Goblin was able to cut one of his assailants before he was put out of commission as well. The wounded man, a mousy Faun, was balling his eyes out, crying for his mother and saying he was going into the light, seeing his pet rock Gilford welcoming him.
“You’re shit at dying, you know that?” said his friend, seeing the wound was not nearly bad enough to be worrisome.
“Well, I haven’t really done that before, have I” said the mousy Faun, quickly realizing he wasn’t actually in any danger after all. He collected the last bits of pride he had left after his embarrassing display and went back to drink with his buddies, watching the fight between the two remaining Goblins. In the tangle of arms and legs, it was difficult to see who was who or which one was winning, but after a few minutes, the drunken Goblin had beaten his opponent. The four Goblins were thrown out into the pile of horsedung next to the inn, silently, but smelly, slinking away back to wherever they came from.
The drunken Goblin sat back down on his barstool, casually saying he should quickly down another drink because he needed to be home soon to celebrate his upcoming wedding anniversary.
“I hope you have the money to pay, if I hear you’ve been skipping on your… loans, mister Pumpkinpatch.”
“Who’s Pumpkinpatch?” the Goblin growled.
“Wait, you’re not the one they were looking for?”
“Well, I’m called McGuffin, so they either had the wrong name or the wrong Goblin.”
“So why did you fight if you had nothing to do with them?”
“They seemed like trouble. They threatened those two girls over there. I don’t like that. He was more of the ‘stab first, ask later’ kind too. They give Goblins a bad rep. So I did something about it.”
“By getting wasted, hitting on a barmaid and starting a ruckus like that?”
“Never said Goblins are perfect, mate.” The Goblin winked, emptying his mead.
“Another one,” he said. He frowned. And after a slight pause added, “Please.”
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