Chapter Seven

They make offers you can’t refuse!

7: Churpo Teeb…Marko Porko (Chapter Seven…Orc Trouble)

Dulp heard an unmistakable “Meep!” sound from off to his right. He turned his head, as did Skippy, and both of them viewed the unmistakable figure of Murt standing in the distance, the unmistakable look of pure terror upon his unmistakably pathetic face.

Dulp immediately released Skippy from his grasp as he sucked in his breath in frustration.

“Aww, crap!” he cursed. “Get him before he tells the whole village!”

Murt’s eyes went wide around as he fled toward the East Quarter, but Dulp had already known the little tattletale was going to do just that. For a whiney little baby, Murt had a very big mouth. He was going to tell the first gob he ran across that Skippy had just doomed the entire village, and that was something neither Dulp nor Skippy could deal with right now. They had bigger problems to worry about.

Murt was fast for a little boojum, but Dulp did not hesitate to run him down. He easily tackled Murt, they rolled in the dirt for a second, and then Dulp twisted the diminutive gob’s little arm behind his back.

“No!” yelled Murt. “No!”

“You didn’t see nothin’!” hissed Dulp in return. “Do you hear me!”

“Help! Help! Murder!” squealed Murt.

“Shut up!” yelled Dulp.

Skippy was at their side in a second.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” interrupted the ugly little gob.

Both Dulp and Murt turned to look up at Skippy, but Dulp knew that whatever Skippy was going to say, he was going to have to say it now, and he was going to have to be convincing.

Skippy looked upon them with those weird blue eyes of his, those eyes flitting back and forth in what looked like quick thought.

“I was just telling Dulp that…” stalled Skippy. “I was just telling him that I was…uhhh…thinking of kissing Jenny Crazy Eyes…Yeah…Yeah, I was thinking of kissing her.”

“Why would anyone want to do that!” asked Murt in audible and visible horror.

Skippy’s eyes flitted back and forth again as he came up with, Dulp hoped, a credible lie.

“Uhhh…Why would anyone want to…” stalled Skippy again. “Uhhh…Because…Because I wanted to tell everyone back at the Aca…uhhh…the White Skulls that I kissed the famous Bogo Witch from Pingo…Yeah, that sounds feasible…Kissing Jenny Crazy Eyes would give me tons of street cred.”

Murt looked truly confused, and that confusion was thoroughly mixed with shock and revulsion. Nevertheless, as bad arse as the White Skulls were, Dulp could not rely entirely upon Skippy’s street rep. He simply did not trust the little blabbermouth in his grip to not run his little blabber mouth.

“You don’t say nothin’, you hear me?” repeated Dulp. “If you do, I’ll rip your arms off and beat you with ‘em!”

“You can’t scare me!” squeaked Murt.

Skippy knelt down and patted Murt on his little shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Murt,” he said with a smile. “I’m not going to kiss Jenny Crazy Eyes now that I know it will doom the village.”

“You won’t?” asked Murt in a hopeful voice.

“Nah…” smiled Skippy as he waved off the whiney little gob.

Dulp could tell that Skippy was lying, but for Skippy to lie in this situation was a good thing. It would certainly save them a lot of trouble. The last thing they needed to do was panic the village.

“Now…” continued Skippy. “You won’t tell anyone about what Dulp and I were discussing, now will you, Murt?”

The diminutive gob in Dulp’s grip shook his head no, but his beady little eyes flitted back and forth in quick thought…Dulp didn’t trust him at all.

“No…” said Murt. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good,” smiled Skippy.

The ugly little gob placed his right hand under Murt’s chin and raised up Murt’s head so that he could look him square in the eye.

“You see, because I’m in good with Jenny…” smiled Skippy. “Because I’m in good with Jenny, I can go over to the South Quarter anytime I want. So if you do tell anyone…I’ll know. And do you know what happens then?”

Murt shook his head no…Well, as much as he could anyway.

“That means I’ll tie you up with a rope,” nodded Skippy as he continued to smile. “Yep, I’ll tie you up with a rope and drag you straight on over to the South Quarter…and then it’s Tea Time with Curly Shirley.”

Murt’s little face paled to a nice blanched broccoli color, and Dulp couldn’t blame him. To do something so awful, so horrible, even to threaten it, meant Skippy was about as hardcore as a gob could get. Even with all of his previous doubts about Skippy, Dulp was never, ever going to cross the ugly little gob, not in this life or any other.

“I won’t tell anybody!” screeched Murt. “I won’t tell!”

“Good,” said Skippy as he continued to smile. “Let him go, Dulp.”

Dulp reluctantly let the whiney little gob go. He didn’t entirely trust Murt, but if Skippy’s threat didn’t work on the little boojum, nothing would.

Murt ran off toward the East Quarter. Where he was going?…Dulp didn’t care as long as Murt didn’t tell anybody about the whole kissing thing.

Skippy’s Field Notes #33:

There is much to be said about Jenny Crazy Eyes. First of all, she’s younger than Dulp, around my own age, in fact, relatively speaking, as goblins live much shorter lives than we halflings. This, of course, makes her prime marrying age, though I haven’t given that particular course of action much thought outside of the various doodles in my journal on every other page.

Of course, if we did get married, I imagine we’d have to get married here in Pingo, as my own people would frown upon my bringing a bogo into my home village of Poppy Seed, and they would probably really frown on bringing a witch into Poppy Seed, but that’s neither here nor there.

We could, of course, if I were inclined to do so—which I’m not saying I am—have a five-star wedding with a caterer from Hafenstadt, a florist, my own private orchestra…Wait…Do goblins even marry? I think I may have to confirm that with Dulp. If they don’t have marriages, then I can always say it’s a White Skulls’ tradition…but that’s also neither here nor there.

Anyway…Where was I? Oh, yeah…Apparently, there’s a rumor which has been mistaken for prophecy in Pingo that any gob who kisses Jenny Crazy Eyes will bring doom upon the village. This is nonsense, of course, as it’s just propaganda used to discriminate against Jenny, which would explain her reticence for any meet and greets with gobs in general.

According to Dulp, no gob has ever caught Jenny, so that would make me the first to do so, but since I’m not actually a gob but a strapping young halfling lad, then Jenny still hasn’t been caught by a gob, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

Incidentally, if I did get married to Jenny—which I’m not saying I shall—this would give me free access to as many nude sketches as I would like of her, though only a true scoundrel would marry for such a reason, and the thought has never crossed my mind.

I, of course, have a general idea of what to do to consummate our marriage—not that I’m saying I’ll get married—Can’t tie this mad lad down!…Aha! I slay me—Anyway…I have a general idea of what to do to consummate our…errr…a marriage, and this is because I’ve done some research on the subject, but some things are a little fuzzy in the margins, so I think a lot of practice will be necessary if I ever do decide to tie the knot. I figure five or six times a day should sort it out.


Dulp turned toward Skippy and frowned. He needed to know exactly what it was Skippy had done, or everyone was deep in the bear scat if Skippy really had gone and done what he’d said he’d done.

“Did you really kiss Jenny Crazy Eyes?” he asked.

“Of course,” frowned Skippy. “And I liked it, if you want to know.”

Dulp swore under his breath. They were deep in the bear scat after all.

“You’ve doomed the entire village, you idiot!” he hissed.

“No, no,” said Skippy as he emphatically shook his head in denial. “That’s nonsense. Pingo is perfectly safe.”

“Oh, yeah?” asked Dulp in severe frustration. “How’s that?”

“That rumor about Jenny is just that…a rumor,” shrugged Skippy. “It’s all lies. Jenny is just a normal bogo looking for love, that’s all.”

Dulp thought about this, but he did not have to think for long. There was nothing normal about Jenny Crazy Eyes, and “love” was a human thing. Bogos looked for a good time, sure, but that good time involved bites, smacks, and lots of torture…Dulp had firsthand knowledge of that.

“You’re insane,” frowned Dulp. “And I don’t care if you are from the White Skulls…You can’t endanger the village just because you have some weird obsession with Jenny Crazy Eyes, probably the most dangerous bogo Pingo’s ever seen.”

He thought about this as he looked off into the distance, determined his assessment was correct, and then nodded his head in agreement with his own statement.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” he said. “I’d sooner kiss a bear than go anywhere near Jenny Crazy Eyes. She is nothing but bad news.”

“Oh, come on,” said Skippy as he waved him off. “You can’t really believe in some stupid rumor, right? That’s just the gobs talking.”

“It’s a prophecy, Skippy,” frowned Dulp. “It’s a prophecy Old Matron Bogo told everyone when Jenny was born.”

“Old Matron Bogo?” asked Skippy. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of her.”

“She’s like the Chief, only for the bogos,” said Dulp. “She’s the leader over in the South Quarter.”

“Huh…I thought that was Lyga,” said Skippy.

“Nah,” replied Dulp as he shook his head. “Lyga’s the leader of the bogo warriors. We don’t really have one of those over here…We gobs avoid conflict when necessary. The bogos, though?…Don’t mess with ‘em. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. I know you White Skulls gobs do all the fighting for your village, but here in Pingo?…It’s mainly the bogos that do that. We gobs of Pingo tend to run when there’s trouble.”

Skippy looked thoughtful as he placed one hand under his ugly chin and stared off into the distance.

“So, it’s a role reversal, huh?” he said, a strange twinkle in his eye. “Fascinating…”

Skippy’s Field Notes #34:

It appears my knowledge of Pingo is still sadly lacking. I had no idea there was a role reversal happening here between the males and females of this quaint little village.

I pride myself on being openminded and steeped in gender equality, so it comes as no surprise to me that there is indeed a role reversal in Pingo when involving the protection of the village. Apparently, the bogos do all of the fighting, but considering that females, in general, are harmless, helpless, and somewhat mentally lacking when compared to males, it’s no wonder that the goblins of Pingo were chased south by hobs.

Also, there is an “Old Matron Bogo” that I have not yet seen or met. Old Matron Bogo is the unofficial “Chief” of the bogos of Pingo, and she makes the decisions as to what the bogos do on a daily basis, or at least, the major decisions, if any. I can’t imagine what decisions those would be, as everyone knows females outside of the scholarly arts are mired in routine drudgery involving hearth and home, something no strapping young lad would ever tie themselves down to.

Personally, I prefer the pursuit of knowledge and my field work, but I do understand the importance of the daily routine maintenance of the home, which is what females were designed for, though I’ve discovered that telling them that gets you slapped hard, so hard that it spins you around and forces you to fall face first into a bowl of plum pudding on the Meyer Hall Mess table.

Of course, females are also meant for procreation, which is why they were divinely designed in form and figure to be beautiful, and why that form and figure is best viewed while it is in the nude, though I’ve discovered that telling them that gets you kicked between the legs hard, so hard that your voice is pitched upwards for the better part of the day, which is why you get chosen for the lead tenor in Hartmann and Lange’s classic musical, The Pirates of versteckte Insel.

Nevertheless, I shall have to ask Jenny about Old Matron Bogo, or better yet, set up a meeting with the old bogo to see if I can gain more access to the South Quarter, access outside of visiting Jenny. I’d also like to speak to Hyppolyga, because if she does lead the defense of the village, then she is the other leader I need to speak with.

Hmm…My research has suddenly become more complicated.



Skippy shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there,” he said after a moment. “What exactly did this ‘Old Matron Bogo’ say in her prophecy?”

“She said, ‘No gob of Pingo may kiss Jenny Crazy Eyes,’” replied Dulp. “‘To do so will bring doom upon the entire village.’ Those were her exact words.”

“Uh, huh,” said Skippy with a roll of his eyes. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“What?” asked Dulp. “Why not?”

“I’m not from Pingo,” said Skippy in a flat tone.

Dulp breathed out a sigh of relief. He had not thought of this loophole. Prophecies always had loopholes, and thankfully, Skippy’s horrific act just happened to fall into one.

“Oh, thank the Great Gob!” exclaimed Dulp. “I forgot about that.”

Skippy suddenly slapped him on the back, and Dulp looked upon the ugly little gob with no small amount of alarm. Skippy had a huge grin on his face for some unknown reason.

“Your forgetting is a good thing!” said Skippy in excitement.

“What?” asked Dulp in sheer confusion. “Why?”

“It means you’ve accepted me as one of you!” grinned Skippy.

Dulp rolled his eyes. To be accepted as a member of Pingo?…That was a pretty low bar to aspire to.


Dulp left his hutch as quietly as possible. Skippy was taking a nap, and he didn’t want to wake the ugly little gob, as he wanted to stay on his good side, mainly because Skippy had promised him another bottle of hooch in return for Dulp keeping his own mouth shut about the whole Jenny Crazy Eyes thing.

Of course, Dulp had no intention of telling anyone about that. That would be incredibly stupid, but Skippy didn’t need to know that. No, free hooch was free hooch.

He lowered his head in thought as he walked toward the Village Square. Skippy had made things more complicated, true, but the little bastage also came with some advantages. For one thing, no one was going to mess with Dulp as long as he hung around Skippy, and that suited Dulp just find. Some of the gobs around the village still wanted to crush his walnuts over the whole extra Rush Time incident, but Skippy was a mighty fine deterrent against such violence.

And, of course, Dulp was getting another bottle of hooch. With any luck, he could be a hoochaholic by the end of the year, and then maybe he could die peacefully in a drunken haze, thereby granting him immortality in the Made Place…It was something to hope for. The Great Gob would definitely reward him for that kind of glorious death.

He was lost in thought as he walked straight into another gob. He impacted hard enough to knock himself backwards to his rump, and he had to shake his head for a second just to get his wits back.

“Hey, watch it, you stupid dill…” began Dulp.

His voice trailed off as he stared at the thick brown leather boots in front of him, boots on big feet, feet waaaaay too large to be attached to any gob. His vision slowly rose upwards as he viewed leather and chain gear across olive-green skin, his vision creeping higher and higher until he was staring directly into the angry dark-eyed gaze of an orc, this particular orc’s ugly mug ringed by slicked-back black hair tied in a ball-knot.

“Oh, crap…” squeaked out Dulp.

“Whad’did you say to me, you liddle toad-licking turd!” barked the orc in front of him.

Dulp hopped to his feet in immediate response to that hostile tone. He was going to have to think fast and speak with a silver tongue, or he was going to end up as pig scat.

Skippy’s Field Notes #35:

First of all, this particular field note is not a rant; I just wanted to make that clear right now. I only write down unbiased and methodically-approached details for my research. I use the alchemy-arcane-scientific method for all of my studies. As such, I will explain a little about orcs.

Orcs are the most loathsome creatures on Central Earth. These nipple-twisting, noogie-swirling, racketeering pigs have caused no end of trouble for every other race out there. I swear, I don’t know what the gods were thinking when they allowed Porkos, the god of the Orcs, into their pantheon. I’d sooner deal with the gob Devil than have to deal with the putrid spawn of that vile deity.

First off, your typical orc is around six-feet tall, a little taller than the average human, and they’re all muscle with not much upstairs in the noggin department. Aside from their distinct lack of grey matter, these pieces of ham-smelling trash are typically olive green, brown, and black in skin color, though some are dark green, but that color is rare. They have black hair, dark eyes, pushed-in snouts that give them a piggish look, and wide jowls with two lower tusks that protrude up above their upper lips.

I once heard from the sorority girls that your typical orc male, otherwise known as a “boar,” has, on the average, a large member between their legs, but I suspect that this is just nonsense…Girls always talk like that. They’ll jump on anything with a lot of muscle and mock anything that’s small in stature…not that I’m bitter or jaded or anything.

Unfortunately, my sorority friends also seemed to have the misguided belief that strapping young halfling lads like myself have small members, but I pride myself on my own size, I being gifted as such in that department, a point I tried to make several times around the ladies at the Academy, that is, up until my fraternity brothers nicknamed me “Winky.” This nickname was obviously due to the evil eye I gave them whenever the topic came up.

 I eventually gave up trying to explain my position to the ladies, as the neighboring sorority girls would simply laugh and call me “Winky” whenever I did bring it up, and this became too irritating for me to put up with.

But that is beside the point. The point is that orcs are scum-sucking dog droppings with tiny wangles. End point.


“Oh…uhhh…I thought you were one of us,” said Dulp quickly. “I expect stupidity from my own people, as everyone knows how…uhhh…utterly worthless and stupid we actually are. I couldn’t possibly refer any insult toward the great Orc race…Sir. Everyone knows how magnificent and powerful orcs are, Sir. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. My deepest apologies, Sir.”

“Yeah, dat’s what I t’ought you said,” grunted the orc. “Now get outta my sight before I cave in your skull, you little snotball.”

“Yes, Sir,” bowed Dulp. “Whatever you say, Sir. If you need anything, I’ll fetch it for you, Sir.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the orc. “Now beat it.”

“Yes, Sir,” bowed Dulp again.

He made a hasty retreat, specifically back the way he came, back to his own hutch. There was no real safe place in the village—he definitely wasn’t heading into the South Quarter—but he could relax in his hutch, so there was that…It was like waiting out a storm. If it was one thing he had learned over the years…you didn’t mess with orcs. He’d let the Chief handle this one.

He had not gotten more than ten steps when he walked past a yawning Skippy, who was, unfortunately, headed in the direction Dulp had just turned from.

Dulp didn’t have to warn him, but he felt a sense of conscience strike him, something rare, of course, especially with him, but he decided to warn him anyway, even though this was against his better judgement.

“Skippy, wait…” he said, but his voice trailed off as he turned around.

Skippy was standing there in the Square, but before the ugly little gob was not just one orc, but five, five of the big pigs all standing in a line, all eyeing Skippy.

“Yo, get a load of dis mook,” said the largest orc.

This particular pig was at least six-foot-four, all muscle, broad-shouldered, all black skin with a smirk on his jowls that spoke of no-good intent. He was a black orc, one of the elite of some kind, and he even had the Bloody-Eye clan-symbol plastered across his fine leather-and-chain armor. He looked both important and terrifying.

The other four orcs were of two different colors, three olive green and one brown, and all of them were dressed in the standard chain-and-leather gear that most orcs traveled in.

Skippy was standing stock still, not saying a word, not moving, just staring at the five before him. Whatever was going to happen…it didn’t look good. Dulp could feel the hostile tension in the air.

“What’s a little buttahball doin’ in a toad-licker village?” asked the black orc. “Check out dis mook, Vinnie. Der’s a buttahball here.”

“Ain’t seen a buttahball in a stone’s age,” said the brown orc. “I t’ought dey all got eaten or somet’in’.”

Skippy’s Field Notes #36:

Orcs have a hierarchy based upon size and strength, though black orcs tend to be of the strongest breed, while the common olive-green orc is of the lowest standard. Their females normally come in a dark-green color, though any male of this color is typically treated like a “momma’s boy” and is usually the mockery of the clan they reside in.

A typical orc clan is comprised of various families that are led by “Dons” that hail under the chief of that clan, that chief otherwise known as “the Capo Dei Capi.” Within the clan are the separate families under each Don, and it’s not unknown for these families to kill each other, or in other words, put out “hits” on other family members. These families will have “Capos,” or captains, those family members who lead a crew. I suspect that the big black orc I ran into was one of these “Capos.” Hopefully, I’ll never meet another one.

From what I understand, a typical orc clan will have five to over a thousand Dons, depending upon how large the clan is. I believe the Bloody Eye Clan has a grand total of six hundred and sixty-six Dons, making it one of the largest orc clans in Auserset.

Incidentally, orc females are called “Sows,” and they’re treated like cattle. They’re basically property, and most of them are not even allowed to wear clothing, though I’ve only briefly studied the subject of nudity within the female orc community. These females are led by a “Comare,” or an elderly sow that has been given both status and recognition. Apparently, the more articles of clothing a sow has, the higher in rank they are.

As I loathe any interaction with orcs, I know nothing of the pornographic side-industry that deals in published material relating to sows, and such material is often mixed in with bogo pornography, though the two subjects are indeed two separate subjects, much like fantasy mixed with science fiction, and it’s really annoying when they’re all lined up on the same shelf as if they’re one in the same. Of course, I know nothing of browsing such materials for over an hour and then purchasing one of the expensive mint-condition black-wrapped specials that can’t be viewed from the outside, only to find out later that you have the wrong genre.

I will say that sows are rather shapely and have large breasts, but I’ve seen shapelier human women, so I guess you have to have a taste for that sort of thing. There are perverts that buy this sort of indecent material, and they’re nicknamed “Piggies,” but I can’t imagine having such a disgusting obsession, unlike the friendlier “Bogies,” who are, incidentally, much classier.


“Whadd’ya wanna do, boss?” asked one of the green orcs, the one Dulp had originally run into. “Somet’in’ funny’s going on here, Tony.”

“Do about dis squirt?” asked the boss, the one named “Tony.”

“Yeah,” grunted one of the other green orcs. “You want us to rough ‘im up or somet’in’? Maybe whack ‘im?”

“I don’t know what’s going on yet,” said the black orc, Tony.

He nodded his head in Dulp’s direction, and Dulp felt his adrenaline spike.

“You, you liddle toad-licker,” said the big black orc. “Go get da Chief.”

Thankfully, Dulp did not have to do anything of the sort, because the crusty, old, one-eyed gob he’d come to know and hate came walking up a second later. In fact, most of the gobs of the village came walking up, and a large circle formed around the small gang of orcs.

“What’s going on here?” asked the Chief.

“Dat’s what I should be askin’ you,” said Tony. “Who is dis mook, Chief? What’s a little buttahball doing in Pingo? Dis ain’t protocol. You know duh Duke ain’t gonna be happy about dis.”

Skippy’s Field Notes #37:

Orcs have their own slang for many things, but I find their slang for other races the most disturbing.

My kind, for instance, are labeled as “butterballs,” something I find both distasteful and highly insulting. Goblins are equally insulted as such, they being called “toad-lickers,” though I don’t exactly know why.

Humans are called “apes” for some reason, and I’ve heard that in foreign lands, there are strange animals that resemble humans but are covered in fur and smell like unwashed bottoms, and these animals also go by the title of “apes,” so I can only assume that “ape” is an orc insult for humans.

Dwarves are called “blockheads,” another insult, this one referring to the dwarven kinship with stone. Orcs and dwarves have a longstanding rivalry, so it does not surprise me at all that orcs have a special insult for dwarves as well.

Elves, on the other hand, are labeled as “razors,” as the orcs see elvenkind as both slender and deadly, and they have a strange fear of them.

I, personally, have never had a fear of elves. I have always seen elves as too popular and too prone to foppishness for my tastes. There were four of them at the Academy, Chadwinyoleigh, Lancelowen, Bradleyehnigh, and Brittneyowehn, though everyone always referred to them by their nicknames, Chad, Lance, Bradley, and Brittney, respectively.

Ugh…They were so popular, all of them so attractive, always wearing the latest styles, had everyone’s attention, had all the girls hanging on their every word…Even Brittney had every girl’s attention…Chad was their leader, and he would always brag about how many girls he’d had relations with in a week…Ugh…It’s always the Chads that get all the girls!…By the gods, I hate elves! I may even hate them worse than orcs…

You know what? Never mind.


“Skippy’s just a visitor here,” grunted the Chief. “He’s harmless. He’s just here to document our way of life…and that’s the truth.”

“He’s harmless, huh?” asked Tony. “He looks like a rat to me.”

Dulp could not believe what he was hearing. These idiots were so dense that they couldn’t recognize a White Skulls when they saw one, so his own mouth ran before he could stop it.

“He’s a White Skulls!” blurted out Dulp. “They’re the toughest tribe we gobs have!”

The Chief smacked his own forehead and ran his palm down his weathered one-eyed face. Apparently, this was not the answer the old gob had been looking to hear. He’d probably been looking to hear silence from everyone else, and Dulp only realized this until after his verbal faux pas had left his big mouth.

The orcs turned their attention upon Skippy, gave him the visual shakedown, and then laughed. All five of them heartily laughed at once, a group guffaw that shot right through Dulp’s own meager ego.

“He’s a White Skulls!” roared Tony in laughter. “Hey, Joey, Jimmy, Vinny, and Tommy! This buttahball’s a White Skulls!”

All five orcs bellowed in laughter again, and Dulp couldn’t help but grimace at this untoward response.

The leader of these pigs, Tony, waved his big right hand once, and the laughter stopped. He turned his attention upon the Chief, chuckled, and shook his head no.

“Dat’s what you told dese toad-licking brain-farts?” asked the black orc. “You gotta be scattin’ me!…Oh, dis is rich!”

The Chief looked supremely unhappy, and Dulp could already tell that unhappiness was directed solely at him.

“We worked something out to keep us in clutch,” grimaced the Chief. “We need the supplies.”

“Nuh, uh,” said Tony as he shook his head no. “All deals go tru da Duke. You get what da Duke tells ya you get. Dis ain’t happenin’.”

He gave a short whistle and nodded once in Skippy’s direction.

“Yo, Vinny!” called the black orc. “Waste this mook.”

“You got it, boss,” said the brown orc.

This “Vinny” pulled forth a wicked-looking, serrated, black-steel sword from his belt and stepped forward toward Skippy.

Whatever Skippy was going to do…it had to be done now.

Dulp took in a gulp of saliva as Skippy just stood there. The ugly little gob held a small, round, violet crystal in his peach hands, and Skippy spoke loud and clear for the first time since he’d encountered these pigs.

“8-6-7-5-3-0-9!” said Skippy loudly.

The brown orc, the one named “Vinny,” stopped for a second and eyeballed Skippy in confusion, the same confusion that was probably cast upon Dulp’s own face at that moment…and then all heckens broke loose.

Goblins in the Mist: Chapter Seven Copyright © 2022 Matthew L. Marlott

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