Chapter Two

Even more Pingo Village!

2: Churpo Duh…Mooka Vingo Pingo (Chapter Two…More Pingo Village)

Yappa hammered the glowing blade in front of him before briefly turning to his gobling apprentices.

“Doo,” he said firmly. “Quit pumping the bellows and go fetch more water. We’re running low. Dappa, I need that flame hotter.”

The big gob turned back toward Dulp and Skippy. He released a sigh before addressing them once more.

“Sorry, fellas,” he shrugged. “Gotta get back to work. The Chief wants more blades to keep the orcs off us.”

“You fight orcs?” asked Skippy in surprise.

Both Dulp and Yappa burst out into stark laughter.

“Heckens, no!” replied Dulp with a shake of his head. “That’s sewercide! You might as well throw yourself down a murder hole…No, no. These blades are for trade…”

“It’s extortion,” grunted Yappa. “We hand over some weapons and stuff, and the orcs leave us alone. It’s as pure and simple as that.”

There was nothing pure about their little arrangement with the orcs, but as long as it kept the big pigs off of them, then Dulp was all for it.

Skippy’s Field Notes #9:

The gobs of Pingo Village have an arrangement with the closest orc village, that arrangement being as one would see for a shopkeep involved with organized crime, or as Dulp calls it, “A protection racket.” The Chief ensures that the village is “protected” against any acts of violence by paying off the finger-roaming, butt-swatting, meme-touting scum that are the orcs.

My plan here in Pingo is to collect as much data as possible, not just for posterity’s sake, but to offer a good and solid reason for the nobility of Hafenstadt to place Pingo under their protection. A few guards from the city will run off those pig-faced ruffians.

Though goblins, in general, are treated by the orcs like wedding gifts that no one wants, the goblin race still prefers the company of these barbaric pig scum to that of humankind…How curious…True, humans do tend to give gobs extended wedgies along with the demeaning job of being holders for apples during target practice, but I suspect that this is all in good fun.

With enough interactions between humans and goblins, I’m positive I can save this village…Urg! It’s all so frustrating! If only I could wrest this majestic, peaceful village from the foul, fat fingers of the orcs!


Humans actually do have some fascination with the goblin race, though such fascination is typically limited to…certain unsavory subjects. There is, interestingly enough, a whole seedy little side industry in the city of making pornographic material of bogos, small pamphlets of artistically drawn sketches of nudes of bogos in lewd sexual positions with humans, though I know nothing of these and suspect this is all just hearsay and rumor.

I’ve heard humans that like such pornographic material are call “bogies,” and that you can buy these indecent rags down near the docks at a little shop called Bottums Biggums for a mere silver Ser apiece. There’s also a bakery called “Edeltraud’s” that’s famous for selling quark cheesecakes right across the street. You should try the little golden poundcakes they make there.


“Eh,” shrugged Dulp. “Whatever works…Anyway…Skippy, Yappa…Yappa, Skippy. Okay, on we go.”

“Nice meeting you,” nodded Skippy.

“You too,” smiled Yappa. “I’m looking forward to that half…uhhh…White Skulls’ cuisine!”

“You got it!” grinned Skippy as he pointed both fingers at Yappa.

Dulp rolled his eyes and shook his head. Leave it to Yappa to show off. It wasn’t like he hated Yappa…Nobody hated Yappa…It was just…he was sooooo popular. It made Dulp mad sometimes and disgusted him most of the time.

“Showoff,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” asked Yappa in sudden alarm.

“Nothing,” said Dulp dryly. “Come on, Skippy. Let’s head over to the West Quarter.”

“Wait,” said Skippy as he looked around their immediate area. “I want to check out one of these hutches…”

“There’s nothing of interest here,” sighed Dulp. “It’s just our stuff.”

“Really?” asked Skippy.

Dulp could tell he was not convinced. The ugly little gob was making things difficult for him.

“What’s in that one over there?” asked Skippy.

Skippy pointed to the backend of a hutch directly off to their right, and Dulp immediately cringed at the choosing of that one.

“That’s…nothing important,” he said quickly. “Let’s just go.”

“No, wait,” said Skippy. “What’s in there? I want to know.”

“That’s where we keep the trinkets,” grunted Yappa, and Dulp could tell that the big gob had said that without thinking.

“Trinkets?” asked Skippy. “What trinkets?”

Dulp gave Yappa the nastiest glare he could muster, and the big blacksmith immediately winced as he realized his own mistake. Dulp looked back at Skippy and silently cursed himself for what he was about to say.

“Those are the trinkets we use during Rush Time,” he said unhappily. “We store all the trinkets we stea…uhhh…acquire in there.”

“Rush Time?” asked Skippy.

“It’s for the bogos,” grimaced Dulp. “If you want to catch a bogo, you have to have a trinket.”

Catch…a bogo?” asked Skippy in a weird voice.

Dulp leaned his round head slightly to the right as he inspected Skippy’s ugly face. There was a strange shine to the ugly gob’s blue eyes.

Yeeeeahh…” said Dulp cautiously. “We go once a year, during Spring.”

“It’s tradition,” grunted Yappa.

“Yeah,” frowned Dulp. “A horrifying tradition. Anyway…if you want to catch a bogo, you have to have a trinket for…you know…reasons. It’s something we do. The Chief calls it ‘Buy one, Get one.’”

“Fascinating…” said Skippy, and Dulp could swear he could see stars in the ugly little gob’s eyes.

“The trinket’s just the first part,” said Yappa as he hammered away at the glowing strip of metal in front of him. “You’ve also got to have a title.”

“A title?” asked Skippy.

“Yeah,” shrugged Dulp. “Some titles work better than others. My title is ‘Sneak About.’ My friend, Burto’s, title is ‘Foot Whacker.’ Yappa’s is ‘Blacksmith,’ while the Chief’s is…err…’Chief.’ What’s the title your people gave you?”

“My people typically don’t have ‘titles,’” said Skippy matter-of-factly.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to pick one,” replied Dulp. “Gobs usually get stuck with a title everyone else calls them, but you’re from the Skulls, so…”

“Hmmm,” said Skippy as he scrunched up his lips in visible thought. “I could go by ‘The Cook,’ but…nah. Even though I can cook better than most folks, that’s not really representative of me…”

Skippy did a little hop as he snapped the fingers of his right hand in excitement.

“I’ve got it!” he said happily.

He placed both hands on his hips, smiled, and then nodded proudly.

“I’m Skippy Not-Halfling,” he said firmly, “‘cause I’m totally not one.”

“Oh, totally,” nodded Yappa in agreement, and Dulp could swear that the big gob was being facetious.

Okaaaay,” said Dulp cautiously. “I guess that’ll work. It’s got to be better than some of the others around here…Anyway, let’s head over to the West Quarter.”

“Wait,” frowned Skippy. “What’s in the South Quarter?”

Dulp winced again at yet another question that may or may not have horrible consequences for answering it.

“That’s where the bogos live,” he grimaced. “If you value your life, stay out of there. Our females do not play nice. It’s the whole reason we have the trinkets.”

“So that we don’t get…uhhh…” said Yappa nervously. “Never mind.”

“Yeah,” frowned Dulp. “Never mind is right. There are far worse things than death.”

Skippy’s Field Notes #10:

This whole “Rush Time” tradition fascinates me. Apparently, during Rush Time, every able adult gob lines up in front of the Chief, they receive a “game plan” from the Chief, and then the Chief orders the whole lot of them to go to the East Quarter trinket hut and select a trinket.

They then rush the South Quarter en masse in order to “catch” a bogo. I don’t know much about it yet, but from what I understand, the bogos of Pingo wait in ambush whenever Rush Time comes around. All I’ve heard about it is that some gobs never return once Rush Time is over, though I believe this part to be nonsense.

Incidentally, the trinkets are apparently used to pacify any bogo that is “caught.” The better and more valuable the trinket, the less danger the gob in question is in.

These silly gobs actually think females are dangerous! How amusing!

The titles the gobs use, however, have a different purpose. The more important or impressive the title, the better quality of bogo you can catch. This has some imitation in human tradition, something I noticed quite often during my time at Hafenstadt.

I was nicknamed “Winky” during my stay at my fraternity, though such a nickname was never enough to impress the ladies in the neighboring sorority, though I did get to drink shots from between Gisela Braun’s bosom during one raucous nightly celebration.

Ah, what a memory!


Dulp waved bye to Yappa, and they began walking away from the forge and back toward the west. It was time to see the West Quarter anyway.

“So, let me get this straight,” said Skippy. “You only see your females once a year?”

“Oh, yeah,” nodded Dulp in vigorous reply. “Any more than that, and…whew! You don’t want to know.”

“But I do want to know,” smiled Skippy. “Don’t you see the bogos any other time of the year? How do they survive all by themselves in the South Quarter?”

They walked back into the Square and headed west, though touring the village was kind of boring. Even so, Skippy seemed to like it, and the Chief had said to do it, so Dulp just went with it. Skippy’s questions were annoying, true, but it wasn’t like Dulp was doing anything better today, so answering the ugly little gob at least passed the time.

“Eh, we have a courier,” shrugged Dulp.

“A courier?” asked Skippy.

“Yeah,” nodded Dulp. “We send Fancy over there every other day to pick up supplies and drop stuff off.”

“Fancy?” asked Skippy. “Who’s Fancy?”

“Fancy Niceclothes,” said Dulp as he rolled his eyes. “For some reason, he can go over to the South Quarter without getting torn apart. The bogos like him…Don’t ask me why.”

Heeeeey, Dulpy!” called out a voice.

“Speak of the Devil,” groaned Dulp as he facepalmed himself with his right hand.

He shook his head and lowered his hand just as Fancy came upon them.

The eccentric gob was dressed in tight burgundy trousers, a frilly white shirt, and a wide-brimmed burgundy hat with a shiny green feather in it. He even had on fine leather bearstrips to go with his extensively manicured feet.

Dulp had to admit that the new color combination went well with Fancy’s naturally light-green skin.

Oooo, who’s your friend?” asked Fancy.

“This is Skippy,” sighed Dulp. “He’s from the White Skulls. I’m showing him around.”

Fancy pulled out a white hanky that was tucked into his trouser waistline and waved it in Skippy’s ugly face.

“Oh, he’s a cutie,” said Fancy. “I’ll show him around anytime.”

“Yeah, about that,” frowned Dulp. “The Chief doesn’t want us getting into trouble, so don’t cause any. Not to mention, Skippy, here, is interested in the South Quarter, and—”

“Oh, honey, you don’t want to go there,” said Fancy. “The bogos don’t like visitors. Especially Lyga…Dulpy, here, would know all about that.”

“Please, don’t mention her na—” began Dulp.

“Who’s Lyga?” asked Skippy.

Dulp facepalmed himself yet again and wiped his hand down his face.

“Hippolyga,” nodded Fancy. “She’s the queen over there. She’s taken a liking to Dulpy here, though he’d rather not deal with her.”

“No shi—” began Dulp.

“She’s fixed his wagon a couple of times,” nodded Fancy. “Gave him a good spanking during Rush Time. I think she enjoys it.”

“Oh, for the love of the Great Go—” frowned Dulp.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” nodded Fancy with wide eyes, “but he’s her favorite. Last time, I rescued him when he was tied up. His little green bum was glowing like molten metal from all the swatting, and she had him by the ba—”

Oooookay,” interrupted Dulp. “Time to go. See you later, Fance.”

Skippy’s Field Notes #11:

Well, I’ve discovered the answer to the mystery of how the bogos survive without leaving the village. Fancy Niceclothes acts as a courier to them, bringing them raw goods. The bogos then put out finished products, which Fancy delivers back to the gobs.

Other than anything made at the forge, from what I understand, the bogos cook the food, make the clothes and bedsheets, and finish any other type of product the gobs may need finishing. They must take what they need and give the rest back to the gobs. It’s an impressive little system they have set up in the village, though I’m not so sure this would work in a civilized society.

Incidentally, Fancy has filled me in on some of the bogos and their names, though he can be rather difficult to understand sometimes. I know of Hippolyga, who the gobs just call “Lyga,” and she’s rumored to be the queen or leader over there, though I’m not exactly sure if that’s what her role is. There’s also Xenon, Bogo Warrior Princess, and she’s supposed to be rather fierce. I think she’s in charge of defense along with Tall Sally.

Speaking of the female residents of Pingo Village, there’s also Plain Jane, Curly Shirley, Maria Consuela Alejandra De León-Hernández, Olga the Grip, Sexy Allie Jenkins, Fat Mary, Jamie P. McGillicuddy, Akira the Blade, Jenny Crazy Eyes…There are too many for me to remember off the top of my head, but make no mistake…in the words of the great monster hunter, Ashton Captureton: “I want to catch ‘em all!”


“Oh, honey, behave,” said Fancy as he waved his hanky in Dulp’s face.

“That goes double for you,” frowned Dulp.

“You know I never behave, gorgeous,” grinned Fancy. “Bye, Skippy! Come visit me sometime! I give massages!”

Dulp pushed Skippy forward as he cursed under his breath, but the ugly little gob was hesitant to leave Fancy’s obnoxious presence.

“Does he really give massages?” asked Skippy.

“Trust me, you don’t want ‘em,” frowned Dulp. “Never make that mistake again. Anyway, here we are at the West Quarter.”

Dulp waved a hand in a semicircle over the nearly empty pens built in-between a few small hutches.

“This is the West Quarter,” he explained. “It’s where we keep any animals we acquire…chickens, some cattle, chickens, a few sheep, chickens…You know. Animals for eating and stuff. We had a doggo once for chasing off foxes, but he ran away…Too bad, too. I liked him. Named him…uhh…Doggo.”

“Uh, huh,” nodded Skippy in mild interest. “What are the hutches for? Keeping animal feed?”

“Uhh…like one,” shrugged Dulp.

“What’s that one for?” asked Skippy.

He pointed toward a small hutch at the end of the row of little buildings, but Dulp frowned upon seeing that one.

“That’s where Old Gob Withers used to stay,” frowned Dulp. “Haven’t seen him since I was a gobling.”

“Old Gob Withers?” asked Skippy. “Did he pass away?”

“Don’t know,” shrugged Dulp.

“Well, what happened to him?” asked Skippy.

Dulp could tell that the ugly little gob was not going to be satisfied with half-answers. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and took to the task of explaining this one.

“He was the closest thing we had to a priest,” frowned Dulp.

“I thought goblins had shamans,” said Skippy in visible confusion. “I didn’t know they had priests or clerics.”

“We…don’t,” replied Dulp with a frown. “And there are shamans in other villages, but not here. There’s Jenny Crazy Eyes, but she’s a witch, so that’s different.”

“Uh, huh,” nodded Skippy in obvious interest. “So what happened to your priest…uhh…Old Gob Withers?”

“Oh, he was a royal nuisance,” sighed Dulp. “He would come out eeeevery morning and start ranting about how the Great Gob created the world in twenty-three-and-a-half days and how we were all going to Heckens if we didn’t straighten up and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…It was super annoying.”

“Right,” said Skippy as he scrunched up his lips and nodded his head. “He does sound like a typical clergyman…Hmmm…But that doesn’t answer my question. What happened to him?”

“See how the door is boarded up?” pointed Dulp. “We used some of our best nails for that.”

“Uh, huh,” nodded Skippy. “And?”

“Oh,” replied Dulp. “Uhh…The Chief at the time…not the Chief we have now…The Chief at the time ordered the place boarded up after the incident with Handy and his idiot crew. Old Gob Withers just happened to be in there at the time. Yeah, he banged on that door for days before the banging stopped. Don’t know what happened to him after that.”

Riiiiiiight,” said Skippy with wide eyes.

Skippy’s Field Notes #12:

Goblin religion is a weird one, or I should say, gob religion, as the bogos seem to follow a different set of beliefs, though I don’t quite yet know what the females of the species believe in.

Apparently, gobs believe in the Great Gob, a single, supreme being in charge of everything, and that this Great Gob created everything in twenty-three-and-a-half days. This belief is shared amongst goblin villages abroad, though the belief varies village by village, and Pingo is no different.

According to the Way of the Gob, or the oral tradition that gobs follow, what we know as Central Earth is actually a giant “Pingo Pongo Table,” a table made for an odd goblin game using small bouncy balls and flat wooden boards used for hitting such balls, and the Sun itself is actually a giant flaming Pingo Pongo ball, not the luminescent ball of aromatic cheese that the civilized races all know it to be.

The Great Gob created Central Earth, which the gobs refer to as “the Great Table,” and this resides below the Made Place, where good gobs go after they die. Good gobs get “Made” after they die and enjoy all the amenities of such for the rest of eternity, but according to the Way of the Gob, bad gobs go to a place of fire and brimstone called “Heckens,” where they are tormented by the servants of one called “the Devil.”

These servants are entirely described as bogos, all of which do, and I quote, “terrible, terrible things to the poor, unfortunate souls trapped there,” end quote. I’ve only gotten a few descriptions of the torment in question, but most of it involves “eating tacos,” “having your face sat on by brown-eyed, extra-furry kittens,” and/or “being smacked in the face by large cantaloupes.”…I must admit, I don’t actually know what any of that means. Most of it has to do with torture to the face and tongue with things that even the most hardened gob won’t describe.

No worries. I’ll eventually figure out what they mean.

Interesting side-note: If you haven’t guessed already, Pingo is named after the sacred game of Pingo Pongo…Weird but fascinating!


“So what’s that hutch next to it?” asked Skippy. “And why is there a large bread pan nailed above the door?”

“We…don’t talk about that,” said Dulp as he rolled his eyes.

“No, really,” said Skippy in adamant insistence. “This is fascinating! What’s that hutch for?”

There was no getting out of this one. The Chief was really punishing Dulp for that last chicken.

“That’s where Handy set up his little ‘temple,’” sighed Dulp.

“Handy?” asked Skippy.

“Oh, yeah,” frowned Dulp. “This was back when I was little, so you have to take it with a grain of salt, but…Handy led a little cult back then.”

“Really?” asked Skippy with wide eyes. “What was it about?”

“He and his stupid followers confiscated that hutch just to mess with Old Gob Withers,” said Dulp.

“Mess with him how?” asked Skippy.

“They called themselves ‘the Panerians,’” said Dulp as he rolled his eyes. “Old Gob Withers would come outside in the morning and scream about how we were all going to Heckens, and then Handy and his crew would come out and yell right back at him.”

“Fascinating!” grinned Skippy. “So what happened to them?”

“I was getting to that,” said Dulp as he shook his head. “The Panerians would come out and yell at Old Gob Withers about how ‘there was no Great Gob,’ and how ‘the Great Table wasn’t created in twenty-three-and-a-half-days,’ and how ‘they didn’t believe in the Bread Monster.’”

“Fascinating…” whispered Skippy.

“You could call it that,” frowned Dulp. “They took to only eating bread, and they wore pans on their heads.”

“Uh, huh…” replied Skippy in visible confusion.

“Oh, yeah,” nodded Dulp. “Handy got it in his head to travel up to Dank Mountain to bring back some trolls with him.”

“Whoa, what?” asked Skippy. “But trolls will eat anything…Bringing back trolls? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Stupid, is what it is,” said Dulp. “They wanted the trolls to pull apart Old Gob Withers. You see, normally trolls don’t like the taste of our kind because chickens are a poison to them, and we gobs are inundated with chicken juices.”

“Makes sense,” nodded Skippy thoughtfully.

“But the Panerians only ate bread for such a long time that their chicken juices got replaced by bread juices,” explained Dulp.

“Did the trolls eat them?” asked Skippy.

“They only ate bread and wore pans on their heads,” said Dulp with a roll of his eyes. “What do you think happened to them?”

“So the trolls ate them?” asked Skippy.

“Such is the fate of all who walk the path of the troll,” shrugged Dulp.

“This is all very interesting,” said Skippy in visible contemplation. “What do you believe? Do you believe the Great Gob created the Great Table in twenty-three-and-a-half days?”

“Of course, not,” replied Dulp. “We gobs of Pingo aren’t like other gobs. We use reason and logic to explain the universe.”

Really?” said Skippy with a surprised gasp. “I had no idea!…So what do you believe?”

“Pfffft…” said Dulp as he waved off Skippy. “It’s a no-brainer. The Great Gob didn’t make the Great Table in twenty-three-and-a-half days.”

“Oh,” replied Skippy. “So how was it made, then?”

“Some other god made it in twenty-three-and-a-half days,” said Dulp in smug reply. “The Great Gob clearly stole it, as all good gobs would.”

“Oh,” said Skippy in visible confusion.

Skippy’s Field Notes #13:

The gobs of Pingo have a deviation from the standard norm of goblin religion. First and foremost, they don’t necessarily believe that a gob goes to the Made Place or to Heckens. If a gob hasn’t really done anything exceptional in their lives (relatively speaking), then they are reborn as a gob in Pingo to try again in their next life. Only gobs that are exceptionally good make it to the Made Place, and only gobs that are exceptionally bad are sentenced to Heckens.

Also, the gobs here believe the Great Gob stole the Great Table for his own recreational use, and that bogos were made as a divine punishment to gobs everywhere, a trial by fire in the lifetimes they live out here in Pingo. It’s even said that the worst possible punishment a gob can receive from the Great Gob is to be reborn as a bogo, thereby making them irredeemable in the eyes of their god.

I, personally, relish the thought of spending time with the bogos, and I will be sure to do so soon. I have a collegiate sketchbook and a variety of artist charcoals necessary for making in-depth studies of these mysterious, beautiful, and possibly-naked creatures.

As we all know, our view of the realms is quite different from that of these simple-minded, lowborn subhumanoids. We have a grand total of seven-hundred-and-seventy-seven planes, as compared to the gobs’ only three, and we have a god for each plane, as opposed to the gobs’ only single deity.

Obviously, we live on our own plane known as “Central Earth.” Then we have the elemental plane of sky known as “Central Air,” where Central Earth gets all of its heating and cooling. In fact, we have so many planes that I lose track of them. There’s also “Luminary” the plane of light and luminescent cheese. We even have the plane of “Ultimate Shadow,” because one of the gods or goddesses, maybe Nyx…I forget…forgot to pay the Luminary devotions for that particular plane.

As you can see, our pantheon and planar knowledge is clearly superb to the ridiculous notion that there are only three planes watched over by one deity. I mean, they don’t even have a version of Darnia! Who do they pray to in order to sew up holes in their socks? Where do they think the color selections of socks come from? By the gods, where do they think all lost socks go!

I swear, the more I learn, the less I know!


“Whelp, that’s the village,” said Dulp as he clapped his hands together, “…except for the South Quarter, that is, but you don’t want to go there. Anyway, let’s head back to the Chief. I’ve shown you basically everything. I mean, shoot, all we have here in Pingo, really, is the smithy, and that’s it. I don’t see why any of this stuff is so interesting…”

“Are you joking!” exclaimed Skippy in excitement. “This is all incredibly fascinating! Why, I can’t wait to learn more!”

“Good luck with that,” replied Dulp. “Aside from our raids, there’s nothing to really do around here…”

Oooo, a raid!” breathed Skippy. “I’d like to see one of those.”

“It’s…not like with the Skulls,” frowned Dulp. “I’m sure you’re used to mounting a big dire wolf and charging down into some human village, but we don’t do that here.”

“Okay…” said Skippy cautiously.

“Yeah, we just find nearby villages and nab stuff,” nodded Dulp. “Quiet-like so that we don’t get caught. It’s not like an orc raid where they bash in heads and stuff, but nabbing things is considered an honest raid here in Pingo, so that’s what we do.”

“What do you take?” asked Skippy.

“Oh, you know…” shrugged Dulp. “Anything and everything…Chickens, clothes hanging out to dry, pies on windowsills, chickens, various condiments, some tools, chickens, breath freshener, sometimes even livestock, like chickens…”

“Uh, huh,” said Skippy as he screwed up his lips in visible thought. “Interesting…Is that what the East Quarter is for, then? Storing stuff you take? Except for the animals, of course.”

“Oh, yeah,” nodded Dulp. “We run our stuff by the Chief, he takes some things, and then we lock the rest away.”

“What about all of the stories, then?” asked Skippy in confusion.

“What stories?” asked Dulp in equal confusion.

“You know…” said Skippy in a hushed tone. “Stripping young virgins of their heaving bodices…Kidnapping beautiful, nubile, semi-naked women from their beds in the middle of the night…”

The horror of that thought sank straight down into Dulp’s bones.

“Eww, no!” he cried, a little louder than he’d intended to. “Eww, by the Great Gob, no! Who would do that anyway? Why would you even ask that!”

Skippy looked a little taken aback as his blue eyes flitted back and forth for a second.

“No reason…” he said nervously.

Skippy’s Field Notes #14:

It seems my research is a little off, at least, when it comes to Pingo Village. The gobs here do not, in fact, steal women in the middle of the night, ravish them all night long, and then release them, fully nude, back into the village they came from. Other gobs from other goblin villages probably do that, but not the gobs here.

It appears Matilda Gourdpatch’s explanation of her pregnancy out of wedlock needs some inspection. She had convinced myself, along with many potential suitors in Poppy Seed, that goblins had indeed taken her in the middle of the night and “stolen her maidenhood by giving her a good bit of rumpy-pumpy,” sometime in the month of Mayurnis, back when I was but a small lad.

Personally, I believe her story; I just know now that it must have been gobs from a village other than Pingo…I do wonder, however, why her son bears a strong resemblance to Big Jürgen Müller, the traveling merchant from Hafenstadt…Eh, it’s probably just a coincidence.

I, for one, pride myself on the intense research I have done on this fascinating, if horrifying, subject by perusing the Royal Library at Hafenstadt. My theories on these horrific goblin practices are correct due to the sheer amount of time and effort I have put into examining all lore on these abductions, that lore stowed away in the dusty tomes I have searched through, and I have explored hours upon hours of the arcane material in question to ensure complete accuracy as such.

However, if anyone is interested, you can do some especially thorough research on the matter by reading the well-detailed and excellently-illustrated account: “Snatched at Midnight: Ingrid Swallows Green Sausage, Lewd Stories of Hafenstadt, Volume IV, Issue VIII,” or so I’ve heard.


“Ugh…I can’t even imagine that,” frowned Dulp. “Anyway, we should get back to the Chief. He’ll fill you in on what’s next…Now, me? My work is done for the day. I’m just going to sit back, relax, maybe eat some beef jerky…”

“Uh, huh,” said Skippy with a raised eyebrow. “I see…That sounds…uhhh…Anyway, I guess I need to talk to the Chief about some things, and then I’ll move into one of the hutches…”

“Whoa, wait, what?” asked Dulp in disbelief. “You’re actually going to stay here?…In Pingo?…In Pingo?”

“Of course!” smiled Skippy. “I can’t wait to see and learn everything about Pingo!…I mentioned that before, didn’t I?”

Dulp couldn’t believe his ears. This little bit of news was hard for even him to swallow…Apparently, Skippy was here to stay.

Goblins in the Mist: Chapter Two Copyright © 2021 Matthew L. Marlott

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