Goblin Gigs: Dungeon Dasher Book 1 Preview Chapters

Chapter

“Oh, baby, yes! Yeah, yeah — oh, it’s been so long!”

I jerked up in bed, got caught on the blanket I had wrapped tightly around me like a mummy, and toppled over to slam face-first into the bedroom floor.

“Oh, yeah, fill me up, baby! Give it to me!”

“What the fuck is that?” Heather demanded, sitting up as well. She looked at me as I managed to get my head above the bed again. “What are you doing on the floor?” Her eyes darted to her other side where Grimelia had been sleeping. “Where’s —” Her eyes went wide and she stared at me. “Is she — are you —”

“Cover me with it, baby!”

“Oh, thank, god,” Heather whispered, turning to look at the bedroom door, which was where the voice was coming from. “For a minute, I thought —” She scrambled across the bed to peer over my side. “Okay, yeah, just making sure. Anyway, what the fuck is —”

“Oh! OH! OH! Yeeeeaaahhhhh!”

“— that.”

The screams were coming from outside the room, through the closed door still blocked by the couch we’d put behind it, again at Heather’s insistence, but they were loud as hell.

“And where is Grimelia?”

The toilet flushed in the bathroom. Then again. And again.

“You have to let the tank fill, Grimmy!” Heather yelled. “I don’t get her fascination with that thing — she flushed it, like, six times while we were getting cleaned up yesterday.”

“That’s it, baby! I’m there! Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh, petunias that’s so good!”

“And who the fuck is that?”

“That pixie,” Grimelia said, coming out of the bathroom.

I stared at the bedroom door. “How many of them are there? Are they having an orgy down there or something?”

The little goblin hurried past the bed. “Come, catch pest.”

“Is it an infestation?” I asked, scrambling to my feet. “Are there, like, pixie exterminators?”

“Don’t hurt the pixie!” Heather demanded. “Pixies are —”

“Pixie stupid nasty,” Grimelia said.

I got up and turned on the lights, then we shoved the couch out of the way and went into the hall, switching on the light there.

“Again! Yeah, again! There’s so much of it — I want more! Cover me, baby!”

“Um, Heather? Maybe you should stay up here? Safer and all?”

I didn’t think there was any real danger, but whatever was happening downstairs I didn’t want Heather to have whatever nightmares seeing it might bring on.

“Hell, no. I wanna see this.”

“I’m sooooo fuuuuullllll!”

Grimelia didn’t even try to hide our approach as we entered the kitchen — I’d have tried peeking around the corner or something before flipping on the lights and grinning down at…

There are some things that shouldn’t be described … but I’ll try.

Pixies are small — a little over a foot tall.

This one was female — a very small, very humanoid, very-female, female.

Her dress was green, a sort of short-skirted sundress.

The dress was on the floor a couple feet from the plate of honey, leaving a very female, very naked pixie … in the honey.

Covered in it. Head to toe to dripping dragonfly wings.

Face up in the plate of honey, spread-eagled, with one knee drawn up and cast to the side.

It was like a hive of bees had bukkaked an anatomically correct Barbie doll.

“Baaabbbyyy!” the pixie moaned, raising one hand to drip honey into her open mouth while the other slid over her slick thigh to caress her … well, dripping mound.

“What. The. Fuck.” Heather said.

“Is why I say make honey wide, not deep,” Grimelia said. “Pixie drown in goblin-dick of honey.”

It took me a second to realize she was using it as a unit of measurement — so pixies could drown in a little less than an inch of honey. Good to know.

“All pixies honeysluts,” Grimelia said, reaching down to grasp the pixie’s wing and hold it up.

“Hey, don’t hurt it,” I cautioned.

“Hurt me, baby! Make me clean my plate!”

“Can’t hurt pixie,” Grimelia said, shaking the little thing violently.

“Hey, stop!” I cried as drops of honey spattered all over the kitchen.

“No worry, Master. Pixie clean up.”

Grimelia swung the pixie over her head and down into the sink with a loud thwump, then turned on the water. She peered over the edge of the sink for a second, then ran to our new trash can and began digging through it.

“Hah!” Grimelia cried triumphantly, coming back with a tiny white and red packet of salt from our burgers earlier. “Not-food fast-food have something good, at least.”

“Wait!” I stopped her. “What does that do?”

“Salt burn pixie, make —”

“Nope, no burning, give me the salt.”

“But Master —”

I held out my hand. “Salt. Now.”

Grimelia grumbled but put the salt packet in my hand then went back to the sink. She peered over the edge and turned off the water.

“Why you here, pixie?” she demanded. “Who send?”

The pixie was sitting up now, leaning back on splayed palms, and sputtering as water ran over her face. Her hair was blonde, half wet and half still honeyed, and draped over her shoulder to cover one of her grape-sized breasts.

“I’ll never talk, ya moldy-faced ground crawler!”

Grimelia turned the water on and off several times, dousing the pixie then giving her just enough time to start yelling again before dousing her once more.

“Sure — pslurfp — torture — pslurfp — the innocent — pslurfp — and the weak! pslurfp — ya clit-cursed — pslurfp — callowlilly!”

“That was harsh,” Heather muttered.

“Eh,” Grimelia said, turning to us. “First part true — can’t argue.”

“Wait,” I said, “you, the girl goblins, got cursed too?”

“How?” Heather asked.

Grimelia’s face went blank again and her voice took on that monotone.

“Just as the males of goblin-kind were cursed with tiny dicks by Frantag, the orc god’s power worked his will upon their women. Even whilst lamenting the lost pleasures of their husbands’ manhoods, the goblin ladies found their own source of pleasure … changing. Shifting. Moving, over the next few weeks and months, down and in, farther and farther into their inner-depths — so deep that no one, nothing, surely not the newly tiny dicks of the goblin men, could reach it.”

“Oh, it can’t be that far,” Heather said. “You just put your fingers like … this, and use a lot of — what? I’ve seen videos.”

Glowing letters appeared before my eyes.

Quest Available

Flick the Goblin Woman’s Bean

Do you accept this Quest?

Yes                                             No

“No!” Heather and I yelled at the same time.

I definitely wasn’t taking that one — probably make me run all over the place fucking goblins.

“What?” Grimelia asked.

“Never mind,” I told her.

“What is it with this place and sex curses?” Heather asked.

“Lord Mercer!” the pixie yelled. “Lord Mercer, My Lord, my Sworn Liege, tell me but I’ve served you well these many years and I’ll pass these, my final moments, glad for a life well done.”

“What?” How did the thing know I was now Lord Mercer? And was it dying? How hard had Grimelia slammed it into the sink? “How do you know me?”

“Ah, Lord Mercer, now your uncle’s dead, for, if you’re here in his place, then dead he must be.” The pixie bowed her head and sobbed. “My Lord then.” She looked up at me. “My Lord now. As for my last moments?” She nodded at me. “Your fell servant’s fair ministrations have seen to that. Too much honey and a rattled brain have left these old bones to sway their way toward eternal rest.”

She crumpled to the bottom of the sink, mouth still moving, but the words so faint I couldn’t grasp them.

“Ah, Master?” Grimelia said, “Never trust —”

I leaned forward, trying to hear her words — maybe she’d give me some clue to that other world and my uncle’s actions there. Closer and closer, I could almost hear her, but only almost, until my face passed the edge of the sink and the pixie … leapt to her feet, swinging her tight little fists at my nose. Not to the sides, like a punching bag, but both fists straight up, into my nostrils, where she grabbed two handfuls of nose hair and yanked!

“Take that, ya’ aphid-addled moss-pate!”

Blinding pain shot through my head.

“Aahhhggg! Gid id od be! Gid id od be!”

I grabbed the pixie to try and accomplish just that — my hand closed around her and pulled … sliding my palm and fingers over … nubile, honey-slick, very female bumps.

“Why, you … how fresh!”

The pixie yanked again and I felt several nose hairs give, but that pain was nothing compared to the ones that stayed attached.

“Oooowwwfffuucckk!”

“Swing it this way! Alex! Swing it this way!”

I was now spinning around the kitchen, swatting at the malevolent little bitch currently trying to rip my brain out of my head. I tried to find where Heather was in my spinning vision so I could face her, but the fucking pixie had wrapped her legs around my neck — they wouldn’t go all the way, but her tiny heels dug into my skin like they had spurs on them and she was pulling my throat into her crotch and squeezing her thighs together like she was trying to choke me.

“Alex! Stop spinning!”

I froze, holding my hands away from the thing so Heather would have access for whatever she had planned — hopefully not a knife or something. The pixie yanked on my nose hairs again and I didn’t care if it involved a knife. Get this little nostril-leech off me and I’d take a couple — wait … when you try to choke someone, you apply steady pressure. The pixie kept jerking my throat into her, sliding herself up and down —

What the hell — was the pixie humping my Adam’s apple?

Something wet and sticky covered my face a moment before something else slammed into my nose.

“Ow! Goddabbit!”

A few more nose hairs lost their battle, but the pixie released the rest and her little fists slid out of my nostrils.

“Fuck!” I yelled, wiping at my face so I could open my eyes.

What I saw was Heather holding the plate of honey she’d slammed into my face in one hand with her other holding the little pixie face-down in what honey hadn’t transferred to my face.

Grimelia was behind her, on the floor, with both feet kicking in the air and clutching her stomach as she rolled back and forth laughing.

Chapter

“Oh, why, my good Lord Mercer, why do you allow this? Have I not served you well?”

“You tried to rip my brain out through my nose,” I countered.

“I were honey-drunk an’ fair frightened, m’lord, hardly thinking, I were, an’ ya can’t —”

I nodded to Grimelia.

The little goblin was standing on an ottoman we’d dragged to the kitchen so she could get leverage on the pixie she held at the bottom of the sink.

“Gah-fawg!” the pixie screamed as Grimelia dropped a wet dish towel over her face and pumped the faucet over and over again.

Yes, we water-boarded a pixie.

Apparently, pixies didn’t like getting wet.

“Answer question,” Grimelia snarled. “What pixie do here?”

“Yeah,” Heather demanded, “why’d you lock Alex on the other side of the door?”

“Lorb Bercer bade be!”

“I did not,” I said, firmly — I think I’d remember giving orders to a pixie.

“Nob Lorb Bercer, Lorb Bercer! Bore buncle!”

“Uncover its face,” I told Grimelia.

“It? It?” the pixie snarled as soon as Grimelia pealed the wet cotton back from its snarling lips. “Why, yer mispollened pistle! I’ll wilt yer manhood fer that!”

Heather loomed over the sink. “Touch his manhood and we’ll see if Uncle Jack’s garbage disposal still works.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Not that it’s doing anybody any good,” Heather muttered.

“Hey!”

“When’s the last time you had a date?”

“Is that really relevant now?” I asked nodding at the pixie.

“Ah, it’s that way, is it?” the pixie cackled. “It’s a good rogering she’s after and he’s not — bloody hell!”

Before either I or Grimelia could react, Heather shoved the goblin away from the sink, grabbed the pixie around the torso, and flipped her upside down to shove her head into the sink’s drain — all while reaching down to fling open the cabinet door and flip the garbage disposal on.

“Heather!” I tried reaching for the pixie, but Heather knocked my hand away and positioned her back to me so I couldn’t reach the sink.

The pixie’s screams overrode the roar of the disposal until Heather switched it off, pulled the pixie out of the drain, and stared into its eyes.

The little creature still had eyes, and a whole head, which I was a little surprised about — the same couldn’t be said for the long, flowing, golden hair she’d had at the start, which was now chopped to a variety of lengths, the least of which being practically nothing attached to bare and bloodied patches of scalp where it had been ripped free.

“Have we now clearly established a boundary?” Heather asked, squinting at the pixie.

“Aye, mum! Yes, mum! A boundary clear as day and not to be crossed, mum!”

Heather nodded. “Good. Now answer our questions.” She sniffed. “And I want my body wash back, you little shit! Today!”

“What?” Grimelia asked, peering into the cabinet under the sink.

“That’s the switch to turn on the garbage disposal.”

Grimelia flipped the switch on and off and the pixie screamed again, apparently so traumatized that the mere sound of it set her off.

“Ah shit!” Heather yelled, tossing the pixie into the sink.

I jumped forward, ready to shove the thing down the disposal myself if it had hurt Heather.

“What? Did she hurt you?”

“No — it shit itself!” Heather put her soiled hand under the faucet and turned on the water, which, coincidentally, was just above the pixie who lay dazed in the sink.

Grimelia flipped the switch and the pixie screamed.

*

The pixie sat on top of an upside-down red cup on the dining table, wrapped in a dry washcloth we’d found in an upstairs closet, shivering and staring forlornly at a long strand of golden hair she held in her hands.

“Me hair,” she moaned. “Me lovely hair — Lord Mercer, yer uncle, loved me hair. Said it were like spun gold, he did.”

Grimelia turned the disposal on and the pixie screamed, dropping her hair, as well as the washcloth, and trying to hide under the cup.

“Grimelia,” I called sternly.

The goblin muttered but turned off the disposal.

“That wasn’t the question,” Heather said.

“But I told ye!” The cup only came down to the pixie’s thighs and she had to fold her wings in what was clearly an awkward way, but she kept it over her head. “Lord Mercer the elder, he bade me stay here an’ wait for his heir, he did, so as to teach the lad the ways of Arctara!”

“So you lured him over there and locked him in?”

The red cup moved up and down as the pixie shrugged. “Seemed right at the time.”

“And then you decided to reopen the door for me to go over there?”

“Lord Mercer was slow to return,” the pixie said.

“Look, you,” Heather said. “I’m not buying it.”

“Um, maybe she’s telling the truth?” I suggested. I’d decided not to call the pixie “it” again after her last reaction.

“Do ye see, wench? Lord Mercer believes me! Ye petal-bare pansy!”

“Hey, now!” I scolded the little thing.

I’d honestly thought some of Grimelia’s comments about pixies were, maybe, a bit … well, racist? Having met one, I was now okay with that.

“Apologies, Lord Mercer, apologies — it’s only that serving your uncle, the late, belated, Lord Mercer, was my life, My Lord! To know he’s gone to the great beyond, to see you here, all strapping manhood in his place, fairly stirs my passions beyond all control.”

“Why does she keep talking like that?” I asked Grimelia.

“Talk like pixie.”

“Yeah, but she’s, like, switching from all formal and fancy to … whatever the hell the other thing is.”

“Pixie crazy.”

“I’ll shew ye crazy, ye nettle-humper!”

“Look, you little trailer-trash Tinkerbell,” Heather growled, “you lured him downstairs in the middle of the night then locked him on the other side of that door in his fucking pajamas!”

“I thought pixies were kind and beautiful,” I whispered to Heather, a little shocked by her change from not believing Grimelia about pixies to shoving one head-first into a garbage disposal.

“Fuck pixies,” Heather whispered back. “Bunch of nosy, loud-mouthed little busy-bodies.” She turned back to the pixie. “In his pajamas,” she repeated. “Only a complete idiot would think that was something Uncle Jack would want!”

“Or pixie,” Grimelia said. “Pixie more idiot than idiot.”

“Don’t!” Heather yelled, cutting the pixie off before she could have another go at Grimelia.

I stepped up to the table and edged Heather out of the way. “Hold on,” I said, grabbing the cup the pixie had over her head and lifting.

The pixie had dropped the washcloth when she tried to cover up with the cup, so I was once more treated to tiny, pin-prick nipples staring up at me from the centers of grape-shaped breasts — the pixies eyes were green.

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes, thank you, Lord Mercer, for remembering the courtesies. Livinia Thistlebottom, at your service, m’lord.”

“Livinia?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“All right, Livinia, what did my uncle tell you to do? Exactly.”

“Aye, Lord Mercer. Your uncle, the late Lord Mercer, may all the gods bless and keep him close, bade me stay here on this blossomless plane of existence until either he returned or … didn’t.” Livinia bowed her head. “To await your coming and teach you all you might know about Arctara.”

“Locking me over there without even telling me about the place isn’t exactly teaching, you know.”

“Oh, aye? And what should I have done? Welcomed you at the door like this?” She threw her little arms wide and spread her wings — four of them, like a dragonfly’s. “Lord Mercer, your uncle, warned you’d have no knowledge of Arctara, nor magic, nor any being but human, and you’d likely run screaming from the porch.” She shrugged. “I’ve not enough strength in this nectarless void you live in to chase you, so thought it best to get the running and screaming and such done on the other side.”

It was stupid, but then the pixie must have a brain the size of a raisin, so maybe it was the best logic she could come up with?

I sighed. Despite the real danger Heather and I had been put in by the pixie’s actions, neither of us had been really hurt and I thought the pixie had probably been punished enough for it — any time Grimelia or Heather glanced toward the sink, Livinia would flinch, wide-eyed, and grasp her butt.

“All right,” I said, picking up the little creature’s dress from its place on the honey-spattered floor. There were a few drops of honey on it, but it was mostly clean — and the pixie herself had been rinsed enough to become mostly honey-free, as well. I held the dress out to the pixie, a little tired of being stared at by pointy-grapes. “Get dressed. I have a few more questions, but then you can go.”

“Go?” Livinia took the dress from me but didn’t put it on.

“Yeah,” I said. Maybe Uncle Jack might have left her here to teach me some shit, but I had Grimelia now, as well as being Lord Mercer. The mayor had told me there were a couple retired adventurers in Dunbarrow, so I could probably get better info from them than the pixie. “Go back to Arctara or whatever.”

“But…” Livinia actually looked distraught. “But I’ve only ever served the Lord Mercer! All my life, m’lord! Ever since Lord Mercer plucked my tulip I’ve served!”

I was really hoping plucked tulip wasn’t a euphemism and, by the look on her face, it seemed like Heather was hoping for the same thing.

“Well, I don’t need any service and I’m not doing any tulip plucking,” I told her. “So tell me what you know about Uncle Jack. Where’d he go? Is there a chance he’s alive?”

The pixie’s shoulders slumped. “You’d send me away, m’lord? I’ve … displeased you in some way?” She hung her head. “But … where’m I to go? I’ve no garden, no flower patch in Arctara. Nothing to return to and … this world is near barren and…” Tiny shoulders started shaking. “Shall I be outcast, m’lord? Having to sneak and steal for my very life?”

“Is pixie-trick,” Grimelia muttered. “Always whine and cry. Nothing ever pixie fault.”

“Shut yer gob, ye stamen-sucker! Lord Mercer’s to decide me fate, not you!” Livinia glared at the goblin, who’d come over from the sink now that it looked like we wouldn’t be needing more garbage disposal noises. “Yer fault he’s not trusting me, ain’t it? Settin’ out honey and all — give My Lord a poor first sight of me, you did!”

“Whine, cry, blame everyone,” Grimelia said, nodding. “Is pixie way.”

Maybe — but what if she wasn’t? What if the pixie really had served Uncle Jack? I didn’t see any reason to disbelieve that — I mean, why else would the pixie be on the Earth side of the portal and waiting for me to arrive?

So — would I be missing out on some value Uncle Jack found in having the little shit around, or, maybe worse, turning away someone he might have felt an obligation to?

“Alex,” Heather said. “I’m with Grimmy on this one — whatever your uncle asked it to do, the thing’s been nothing but trouble so far.”

I nodded — still, would Uncle Jack want me to just turn Livinia out?

“Wait!” the pixie yelled. “I’ve remembered a thing!”

“What?”

“A book! Lord Mercer said I were to give you a book!”

“What book?”

“A journal, I think he said — aye, a journal!”

“Okay.” I held out my hand. Obviously, the pixie didn’t have a book on her, but I thought the meaning was clear.

Livinia looked uncomfortable. “It’s … ah …”

Heather narrowed her eyes. “Where’s the book?”

The pixie bit her lip and her wings drooped. “The library?”

“What shelf?”

“Perhaps in Lord Mercer’s desk?” the pixie suggested.

“Right,” Heather crossed her arms. “There’s no fucking book.”

“There is! Please, Lord Mercer — it’s only the horrors I’ve been through, what with your diabolical machines and still a bit of honey in me! I’ll remember! I swear it!”

“All right, I’ll think about it.” I glared at the little pixie, who was still naked and holding her dress in one hand.

“Alex —”

“We’ll see what happens,” I insisted. “Maybe Livinia can help us in some way — and if Uncle Jack did leave a journal, I want it.”

“Thank you! Thank you, Lord Mercer! You’ll not regret it, m’lord!”

“Already regret,” Grimelia muttered.