Chương 4: A Buffet For Villains

The dead bard's head bounced over each and every rock and bump in the road as the goblins dragged him back to their village. I followed far behind, the trail of blood more than enough to prevent me from getting lost. Stick looked over his shoulder and waved at me as they moved through an open patch of trees.

"Just over here! Beyond the river!" They disappeared from sight, and I picked up my pace. The trees opened up to a small river, deep enough for fish, and narrow enough for a rickety bridge to cross over. Standing knee-deep in the water, two goblins jabbed spears at dark shadows, cheering as they pulled up a fresh trout. They waved and bowed to Stick, and eyed me with tentative glares. I waved, offering a half-smile.

"Hello. I'm Travis."

"Human?" one asked. Stick shouted over his shoulder, "Come to the circle! All will be announced soon!" The goblins gathered their fish and joined the entourage as we continued down the road. Smoke rose in the distance, and within a few minutes, we arrived at goblintown. Stone-brick buildings with thatched roofs wrapped around a large cobblestone circle, where several goblins ran about carrying supplies and tending to day-to-day tasks.

At the very center of the circle, a large stone statue jutted up, taller than any buildings. I groaned. The statue depicted a man wearing a set of heavy plate armor, raising a sword high. Beneath one foot, my old milk crate. I was wondering where that had went. Engraved on the stone platform below, the words "CARRION KING" were written in heavy, jagged lettering.

"Well, what do you think?" Stick asked.

"It's quite something. Is it supposed to be me?" The goblin's green complexion turned red.

"Oh no, do I offend you, Carrion King? It was something we started on your last iteration…I thought it would be something you appreciated." I waved my hands at him, placating.

"No, no, no! I love it! It looks just like me. I guess I just wasn't expecting something so formal. When I thought of goblin villages, I always thought of something more rough and tumble. This looks nice and proper!" Stick's blush turned from one of nervousness to one of being bashful.

"W-we've had a lot of time to prepare, my lord." Several goblins crowded around us, surprised murmuring and blank stares all directed toward me.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"A human!"

"The Carrion King?"

"He has returned at last?"

"Hail! The Carrion King returns!" It was my turn to blush. Stick banged his staff on the ground.

"Attention everyone! A great day has come. After hundreds of years of waiting, the Carrion King has returned! Soon the gates of the unholy Necrodungeon will reopen!"

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." I waved my hands.

"I'm still trying to figure out exactly what is going on here and—""Please, no need to be so humble, my lord," Stick said. The goblin raised his hands and shouted, "A feast must be prepared for the return of our king!" Several of the goblins clapped and hollered, but an even greater number frowned and crossed their arms. The two goblins with fish still stuck to their spears shrugged and headed back to the river.

The crowd dispersed, leaving only a handful of goblins surrounding us, inching ever closer, their smiles sharp and dangerous. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

"Don't mind them," Stick said.

"They just need to warm up to you. It's been a long time in the making, and I think I'm the only goblin around who remembers the oaths our ancient ancestors made to you!" He pointed to the corpse of the bard and nodded, and the rest took the corpse away, leaving us alone. The old goblin clapped his hands together and smiled.

"There is someone I would like you to meet, my lord."

"Father?" a new voice came on cue.

"Speak of the devil, and she may come!" Stick laughed. A woman appeared before us, almost an inch taller than Stick, a blade at either hip. She looked me up and down and tilted her head.

"I take it this is him?"

"Indeed. Did you hear the announcement? We are preparing a feast!" I offered my hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, er—""Hollow," she said, and looked back at her father.

"I just arrived back from scouting. Grelgo's men have been poking around again." Stick waved her away.

"Please, do not concern yourself with them. This is time for celebration!" Hollow scoffed.

"This wouldn't be the first time Grelgo has turned back on his word. If the Carrion King has truly returned…" She looked me over again and scowled.

"Then his prodding will soon become stabbing."

"We can worry about that when it comes, isn't that right, my lord?"

"Sure, I guess," I said. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Stick grinned.

"Hollow, why don't you show the Carrion King around? I'll oversee the rest of the preparations." He sauntered off without another word, leaving me alone with Hollow. She glared up at me, and I picked at a hole in my jeans.

"You can just call me Travis, if you want."

"Travis," Hollow chewed on the name.

"Interesting. I hate it."

"My mother gave it to me. Where does Hollow come from?"

"It was given to me because deep down, I feel nothing." The town branched off into four wings around the city square. No wing was much bigger than a city block, and each had its own specific use. Various-sized dwellings filled the first section—each humble and no bigger than it needed to be. Clotheslines hung out, and children played on the cobblestone paths. A cool breeze blew through the streets, the scent of campfires and cooking meat filling the air.

The day was almost perfect, if not for the perpetual stares of everyone we passed. From the way Stick spoke earlier, I had thought I'd be welcomed in with open arms. Instead, everyone here was downright hostile. I turned a shoulder to the glares. They would go away with time. Hopefully. The other wings consisted of the city's production. A butcher, a blacksmith, a fletcher, a carpenter. All this place was missing was a bank of some kind, and I'd be standing in a picture-perfect fantasy village.

"So who runs all these shops?" I asked.

"Not shops," Hollow hissed.

"We are not like you humans. The village is communal. We all pitch in. Have no use for your stupid coins."

"But aren't there other goblins around here? Do you not trade with them?" I asked.

"We trade when we have to. We have been mostly self-sufficient for the last several generations due to my father's hard work. But it is because of his hard work that we are also shunned by many of the other clans."

"You mentioned Grelgo. Who is that?"

"A warlord. And an ugly one at that." I bit my tongue instead of asking more questions. She didn't want to be here any more than I did, so why belabor the point? We continued our walk to the last, and by far the biggest building in the village. A church. Almost three stories high, the intricate stonework looked unlike anything else in the city. Strange, twisted patterns formed between the various-sized blocks, all flowing to a set of great wooden doors at its center.

The faint smell of incense carried out into the street.

"This leads us to the last place on our tour. The temple." Hollow pushed open the door and waved me inside. A red carpet ran down the center of the room, with pews lining either side of it. At the back, a stage, a goblin-sized lectern at its center. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with intricate paintings, almost too dense to make out.

"This is where I spent most of my life," Hollow said.

"Before my father let me train to be a warrior. I was to be the next great priest of the Carrion King. But as the decades grew on he refused to pass the mantle. And now, well, here we are." I inched forward, jaw open as the paintings came into gruesome focus. A diagram of an underground structure sprawled out behind the stage, each floor painted in excruciating detail. Catacombs, foundries, a dark forest, an unholy church. And on each floor, depictions of blood. Gore. Murder. Beheadings.

A crooked figure in a black suit of spiked armor, bloody sword cleaving a group of cowering women in half. A dozen goblins crowded around a few humans with agonized expressions, feasting on chunks of flesh from severed limbs. A broken, leaning tower venting a steady stream of black smoke, small figures leaping from the shattered tip. And at the bottom of the structure, a man raised a red sword high while a sea of green goblins lay prostrate before him. I swallowed thickly.

"Please pardon my disrespect. It's just…my father has spent his entire life waiting for your eventual return. He's spoken so much about your meetings, and the years between your comings are filled with legends. But here you are now and…you just look like a regular human. No offense." I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the opportunity to look away from the paintings.

"None taken."

"All hail the Carrion King!" Stick shouted, waving at the others to join along. Tables filled the town square, filled to the brim with a preparation of food fit for royalty. Meats, veggies, and strange green and blue fruits filled giant platters. Stick sat me down at a high table just below the statue, placing a covered platter of food in front of me.

"You've done too much," I said.

"Nonsense! Look at the festivities!" Stick said.

"Everyone is coming around to your arrival!" Goblins cheered around me, grabbing steaks and servings of roasted potatoes and charred broccoli from the lineup. No one even looked in my direction.

"You sure they're not just excited about the food?"

"Of course! But who is the reason for the food? Eh?" My stomach rumbled, and I reached for a slab of meat across the table. Stick slapped my hand away.

"No, no. Please, I have something far nicer for you." I leaned back in the chair, looking down at the platter covered in old cloth.

"What is it?" Stick grinned from ear to ear.

"Please! Look for yourself! I do hope you will enjoy it. We scraped together what herbs and seasoning we have access to. It has been prepared with the utmost care!" He clapped his hands together and shouted into the dancing crowd.

"Please, everyone! The guest of honor!" All the goblins stopped and turned towards us, wide-eyed and smiling. Whatever was under here, it smelled delightful. I pulled off the cloth, and choked. Staring up at me was the musician's head. Like most of the other food, it had been charred to a blackened crisp—a fresh apple shoved into his broken jaw. I covered the head, leaning back into my chair and swallowing. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck… Murmurs echoed around me, and a tear ran down Stick's cheek.

"Is it…not to your liking, my lord?"

"I've, uh, I'm not—" I mumbled as Hollow met my eyes from across the table, a knowing smirk across her face. I cleared my throat. There would be a way out of this. I stood up.

"It is exactly to my liking. You all have done me a great service today, which is why I return the gift to you all. The finest part of the meal should go to the one who made the kill. Tell me, who fired the arrow that slew this man?" A collective gasp filled the crowd, but a single goblin raised his hand.

"I-I did, my lord."

"Then it shall be yours. Trade meals with me." Stick blinked.

"Are you sure?"

"I am positive. I will not let it be said that the Carrion King is a cruel leader."

"But that's exactly what you are—" Stick started, but I waved him away. He gave a curt nod and lifted the covered platter, bringing it to the scrawny goblin in the back. Tears filled the goblin's eyes as he uncovered the head, and he looked up at me with reverence. Stick came back with the goblin's plate, a half-eaten steak and an untouched potato. I grabbed the potato and took a bite.

"Mmm! Delicious! My compliments to the chef!" The crowd cheered, and Stick's skepticism washed away. He turned to his own food, grabbing a steak with his bare hands and gnawing down. Hollow's gaze found me again, a hint of disappointment in her down-turned expression. When I was sure no one else was looking, I spat the rest of the unchewed potato back onto the plate and stood.

"You must excuse me; I need to use the restroom."