“Yes. It is vital that you clean following every service. A pristine kitchen is an efficient kitchen.” Regis buzzed near the goblin’s head. Watching carefully as Vraz paced around grumbling. According to his employee, the tribe had enjoyed the food. While it was painful to see so many of his resources expended without payment, Regis chalked it up to a hiring cost.

One thing was certain: Vraz had proved himself more promising than any other goblin that the dungeon had run across so far. Reluctantly, the goblin took a rag and began to wipe down and clean the cooking equipment.

While the dungeon waited. he ran his senses over his kitchen. He wouldn’t truly be satisfied until the kitchen was completely in order.

Vraz wiped the counter with a sigh. He might be a good cook but didn’t quite understand the intricacies of the kitchen. As the goblin finished his assigned task, Regis moved him onto the second most important job: taking stock of what they had in supply. Unfortunately, the goblin couldn’t write so it would have to be a verbal and mental accounting of their supplies. Regis felt the employee leave his domain as he wandered into the crack leading to the kitchen stockpile.

His employee would be a while. That left Regis alone, again. In his domain. Nothing cooking. Not a single bit of essence gained from the intense workload they’d just been through. Regis vibrated with frustration; charging the chieftain triple on future orders didn’t feel like enough revenge.

I’ll plot something grander. Hmm. What exactly matters to that petty creature? His status in the tribe? Insights into other creature’s desires weren’t exactly the crystal’s forte. But with little else to dwell on, Regis focused on considering his revenge.

His malicious plotting was interrupted as Strum walked into the kitchen. His loyal servant absent-mindedly patted his stomach. The hobgoblin looked around with curious eyes. “Where’d Vraz wander off to?”

“Currently taking stock of just how many of my provisions were expended on this deplorable extortion by the tribe chieftain. Tell me, Strum. How exactly did a pathetic goblin like Gikx manage to slay a beast of that size?” Regis floated toward his most loyal servant.

“Er.” Strum paused and looked around behind him. “He didn’t,” the hobgoblin admitted, scratching the back of his head.

The kitchen shook as Regis flared with anger. “Are you telling me that the chieftain tricked me into wasting my precious resources - not only on a meal for a worthless ex-employee - but for no payment whatsoever!” Regis darted around the kitchen. Fuming, wanting to destroy… Something. The fire-runes on his stove flared to life as he flung his anger outward.

“Regis, Regis!” Strum yelled, breaking through the crystal’s rampage. Regis flared with light one more time before becoming still in the center of his kitchen. “It’s not like that- well, it kind of is. The truth is the Gikx found the dire wolf’s corpse and lied to everybody. Rurk doesn’t even know. He genuinely thinks that Gikx killed it. So does the whole tribe.”

“That does very little to soothe my aggravation over this frustrating situation,” Regis hummed, floating closer to his servant. “Inform me, my loyal servant. Just how you happen to have this knowledge. A truth that none of the other unintelligent beings are aware of?” The crystal underscored his words by flaring the fire-runes higher. It wouldn’t do to have his only loyal servant betray him.

Strum didn’t even flinch, looking at the fires with a droopy-eyed unimpressed expression. He looked back at the crystal and frowned.

“Sorry.” Regis apologized, aware that perhaps he had been a bit too suspicious. When he filled with frustration it was simply impossible not to release it.

The hobgoblin nodded his head, but otherwise ignored the apology. “Gikx confessed to me that he’d found the dead dire wolf in the forest. I couldn’t press him for more information since he was intoxicated on the shaman’s mushroom-water. I’m worried Regis. You took a look at the corpse, didn’t you? What killed it?”

“Now that I consider it, the wounds were abnormal for such a scrawny goblin to inflict. It had a rather disquieting scorch mark on one of its flanks. Deep gashes in the other flank. A gruesome slice to its neck. As to what killed it, how would I, the magnificent chef that I am, possibly have knowledge of what might inflict such wounds,” Regis floated around the hobgoblin’s head as Strum squinted and rubbed his chin.

“Well. You can use magic,” Strum pointed out, biting a thumb.

“You believe magic was involved?”

“I’m not sure. You said there was a scorch mark on its side. I just saw the shaman use some fire-related magic during his ceremony. Could Mallik have done it? But then how would it have gotten those other wounds? I just don’t understand.”

“It matters very little to me. Out Gikx to the tribe for his lies. Let the little bugger get what’s coming to him. That above all else would bring me pleasure.” Regis gave a sudden vibration, filled with glee at the idea of the bastard getting exiled from the tribe. I’ll never have to hear his asinine name uttered again.

“He thinks he owes me. Er, I think it might be better to keep him around. Even if the two of you hate each other, it could give me just a little more leverage over the tribe.” Strum rubbed his bald head with narrowed eyes. “Uh, for now we should keep this between ourselves. I need to figure out what killed the dire wolf… Do you think you could spare Vraz tomorrow?”

“I do not approve of allowing that little nuisance to get away with his fabrications.” Regis remained quiet as Strum didn’t react to the words. Eventually, he gave a low buzz of defeat. “However, I shall concede to your assessment of the situation. You are far more apt at managing public relations. I do not have the time nor patience to deal with such matters. As to my new employee… Are you sure you need him? His presence is sorely required in my kitchen, while he shows promise, he still must undergo considerable training.”

“I would like to have a second pair of hands with me. Since Vraz comes from outside of the Shadow-Axe tribe, I think he’s much more likely to keep his mouth shut about this than anyone else.”

Regis waited for a moment, considering the hobgoblin’s words. “Whatever you think is the best solution,” the crystal approved. He wasn’t happy. But, Strum was the best one equipped to deal with any problems not related to cooking. The hobgoblin nodded.

“May I leave?”

“You are dismissed.” Strum walked out of the kitchen, replaced shortly by Vraz. Regis informed him of his new task tomorrow; namely doing whatever it was Strum told him to do. The goblin just grunted an affirmation and went into a report about their remaining stock.

It was as bad as Regis feared. Their meager vegetable supply was running low. While they had plenty of mushrooms and an assortment of other various things Strum had managed to take from the tribe’s foraging, it was a mish-mash of stock. Nothing to plan a reliable menu around. Once again, they would be forced to cook what was on hand instead of a more put-together menu.

Finished with his report, Vraz took care of the last touches around the kitchen, setting things where the dungeon demanded and tidying it up to the same standard it had been when he first entered.

Vraz hesitated at the tunnel leading back to the rest of the tribe, looking at Regis while radiating a sense of… Nervousness? Hesitation? “What is it?” Regis, not the type to play games, buzzed.

For a second the goblin looked startled. He wrung one hand over another. “Er. Would it be… Acceptable for me to, uh… Sleep in the kitchen?”

“Absolutely not. This is a workspace, not a place of rest or relaxation.” Vraz deflated and looked back toward the tunnel, his anxious energy replaced by an aura of sadness. Regis buzzed with annoyance. “You may, however, temporarily house yourself within the storehouse. If you so wish.” It was easier to concede than deal with unhappy staff. Besides, maybe the goblin could keep pests from getting into the food`.

Vraz nodded, a big grin stretched across the face. “Thanks, Chef. I’ll be back with my bedding.”

“There better not be any supplies disappearing to midnight snacks,” the dungeon threatened at the goblin’s retreating form. He sat for a moment, considering the goblin’s sudden mood shift. Was it possible that something actually wanted to be near him more than strictly necessary?

Strum led the way out of the cave. He’d grabbed a rusty falchion and handed it to Vraz before they left. It was better safe than sorry. Not that Strum had swung a weapon before, but Vraz claimed to have experience.

The ground was wet from last night's heavy rain. The mildew smell and feel of squished dirt under his toes put him in a sour mood. Vraz by contrast seemed fairly content as they wandered through the woods. To Strum’s surprise, the goblin didn’t even bother to ask what they were up to. Just going along with orders, taking the rusty falchion and stomping through the forest behind him.

It took a good hour for them to reach the area that had the dire wolves reported. Strum used the opportunity to take a look around and gave Vraz directions to look for anything out of place.

After three hours of searching, Strum came up empty-handed. He looked at the seafoam green goblin and sighed. “Well, wherever he found the dire wolf, we can’t find it. Neither of us knows how to track. And we didn’t stumble across the site where it died. I don’t even think Gikx could remember where it was he found it. Maybe we should head back.”

Vraz shrugged. “I don’t mind being out here. It’s good to be away from that cave.”

“It’s absolutely awful out here. Wet grass and ground…” Strum paused for a moment as the pieces fell into place. “You weren’t sleeping where you normally do last night. Have things gotten worse with the tribe?”

“Yes and no," Vraz growled, kicking a nearby stone. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Strum "Your ‘tribe’ is nothing but a group of barbarians with no appreciation for anything more than killing. Even taunting me about my lost family." His fists clenched up and he pointed at Strum. "That is why I moved in with the dungeon."

Perhaps it will be just the thing to temper Regis. This could be good for me. He looked at Vraz. When he’d first convinced the tribe to spare the goblin, Vraz had been huddled in a corner shaking, a meek little creature. Now it seemed that even in the brief exposure with the dungeon, some of its arrogance was rubbing off on him. It might be good for Regis. But I don’t think this relationship will be good for Vraz’s personality. Strum shook his head. Oh well. What mattered more than anything else was that this turn of events was good for him.

“Huh?” Vraz looked around, his nostrils flaring and his eyes scrunched. “It smells… Is someone cooking rabbit?” Following the goblin’s lead, Strum began to sniff. A scent of scorched rabbit permeated the air. Although, it was hard to tell where it came from. His eyes roamed the tree line, and he could see a tendril of smoke rising from close by.

As he turned to tell Vraz, he could see the goblin’s eyes were already on the same tell-tale piece of evidence. “Move quietly,” he commanded the goblin, wincing as Vraz rested the falchion on his shoulder and barreled into the brush

They slinked through the forest together; quickly seeing the sparks and embers of the cooking fire. Luckily their green coloring helped them to blend into the forest, making their main focus on remaining quiet.

Not that Vraz was quiet. It seemed the goblin had little ability to move silently. But as they drew closer, the missteps and twigs breaking became covered by the deep and bouncing rhythm of people singing around the fire.

"Over the hills and down the mountain, Ol’ Iverd went his way

Looking for booze and gold, Ol’ Iverd would betray!

What a good for nothing, Lazy Lout!

Eventually, his luck would peter out,

Which is why we sing today-"

Strum narrowed his eyes, ignoring the words. Five small figures fumbled around the campfire. Three of them with bushy beards, two with long braided hair. Dwarves. Vraz gasped, and Strum clamped a hand over his mouth, pulling the goblin away from the fire. Only once he couldn’t hear the loud singing did he stop muffling the younger goblin. Vraz looked at him with wide eyes.

“The Honorstone clan,” he muttered shaking his head. “This isn’t good.”

“You know those dwarves?”

“Yes, everyone in the Rust-Moon tribe knows who they are. They shouldn’t be this far from their hold.” Strum had been worried about another band of goblins, or at worst, a pack of humans. But dwarves? There was not a more natural enemy to goblins than those short bearded bastards.