CONSULT THE MAPS OF OG-GRIM-DOG’S WORLD HERE
A Dark Tale
It was the second night at the Flayed Testicles. And it was story time.
Not very much had changed since the night before. There was the Landlord, at the bar, preparing himself for tonight’s instalment. In between pulling pints and serving food, he could be heard doing vocal exercises, ensuring his voice was in good condition for the performance.
Close by sat the Recorder at his table. He wore the same clothes, in the same poor condition, as yesterday. It seemed that any money the Recorder earned (and let’s be honest, humble writers make ever so little), he had spent on the tools of his trade. A fresh pile of parchment sat waiting to be written on, and his quill rested in a bottle of ink.
The same old regulars of the Testicles were in attendance, seated in their usual places. But more customers had come tonight. Word had spread around town about last night’s revelations and no-one wanted to miss out on the sequel. Even some out-of-towners had arrived, from the nearby farmsteads and hamlets. In the quiet and peaceable backwater that was Magidu, tonight’s storytelling was box office.
Finally, everyone settled down and a hush descended on the inn. All attention was on the ogre standing at the bar and the figure at the table in front of him, quill now in hand, ready to adorn his pages with inky black text.
‘It is a dark tale we have come to tell tonight,’ intoned the ogre’s first head. The customers of the Testicles looked at one another with excitement, more than one commenting that they had goosebumps. There was something intensely satisfying about dark tales told late at night.
‘Interesting,’ commented the Recorder.
The ogre’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the comment.
‘Why is that interesting?’
‘Well, it’s just that the last story ended on a positive note. You had decided to leave the safety of your cavern in Darkspike Dungeon and strike out, looking for adventure.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the second head, slightly appeased. ‘But remember also, we had tried to become heroes and weren’t accepted. The Bureau of Dungeoneering banned ogres from adventuring and ordered us to leave Mer Khazer. Is it any wonder that we took a darker path?’
‘I suppose not,’ conceded the Recorder. ‘But that wasn’t your intention when you left your dungeon? I’m just trying to get your motivation right.’
The ogre shrugged. ‘Good intentions are one thing. Habits are another. Two steps forward and one step back. Do you think because we decided to change our ways, stop hiding from the world and embrace it, that it simply just happened? Life is never so easy, is it?’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ said the Recorder, enthused. ‘Let me just write that down,’ he added, and his quill scratched along the parchment. ‘You know, I really think that’s something we could improve on from last night’s story. No offence intended. Just make the whole thing a bit more original, and really try to say something, you know?’
‘I was saying the exact same thing before, wasn’t I?’ said the third head, looking across at his brothers. They said nothing in reply, but each looked a little glum. ‘This time, originality and creativity are the buzzwords. If this story comes across as corny, cheap imitation; or pastiche in any way—I really want you to say so. That goes for you lot as well,’ he added, addressing the rest of the Testicles. ‘We won’t be offended in the slightest. The last thing we want is for this to sound like some kind of lazy parody or rip-off.’
Stuck in the Mud
What are you doing in my swamp?’ Dog shouted at the goblin.
Grim sighed. It was very rude. And anyway, why was it Dog’s swamp? He was always so possessive.
‘I’ve come to deliver a letter,’ said the goblin, fishing it out of the sack that hung around his shoulder.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Grim. ‘It’s Gary, isn’t it?’
The goblin grinned, pleased that Grim remembered him.
‘Yes. I’ve been branching out into the delivery service. ‘Goblin Post: we go where others fear to tread.’ It’s becoming quite lucrative.’
‘How wonderful,’ said Dog sarcastically.
‘Og!’ Grim said to Og, his other brother. ‘Look who’s here, with a letter.’
Og woke with a snort. ‘What? Who?’
‘It’s Gary, from Darkspike Dungeon.’
Og’s eyes slowly focused on the goblin. He frowned. ‘I don’t recall a Gary from Darkspike Dungeon.’
Grim sighed. ‘Well, just read the letter, will you?’
Og took the letter from the goblin and gave him a coin.
‘Good luck with the business, Gary,’ Grim offered.
‘Thanks. Good luck with the…swamp,’ said Gary, before heading back the way he had come.
Grim walked off in the opposite direction, deeper into the swamp. In a clearing, underneath the stump of a long dead giant mallorn tree, was the home they had made. Grim got to his knees and his brothers helped him to crawl underneath into their house. Once they were seated by their window, Og and Dog took the letter from its envelope, and Og began to read.
Written at the Bruised Bollocks
Dear Og-Grim-Dog,
I hope you are enjoying your new home.
Things are no different here. Amid the adventuring, the political games continue. I fear that Director Barclay is planning a move against elves and halflings next. Sandon and I are trying to organise an opposition, but some adventurers seem to think they will benefit from our expulsion.
I have heard nothing more of Gurin Fuckaxe. I would love to come and visit you some time, when things have calmed down. However, someone was asking after you, and told me they intended on paying you a call! Brother Kane! Do look out for him, he may not be as competent at navigating a swamp as you are.
Well, that’s it from me for now,
Love Raya
Grim sighed. No-one spoke for a while.
‘How did we end up here?’ asked Og at last.
They had wandered aimlessly around Gal’azu for weeks. They had not been able to decide on a goal and had found nowhere hospitable enough to settle. They had found some peace in the swamp, but that was only because it was so wretched here that no-one else wanted it.
‘Because there’s no place in this world for a three-headed ogre,’ answered Dog bitterly. ‘In the civilized lands, the humans want to kill us; in the wilds, the trolls want to kill us. We were kicked out of the Bureau of Dungeoneering. Maybe we should just go back to our cavern.’
‘Oh no, please,’ said Grim. ‘Give it a bit more time.’
‘There’s no time for us,’ continued Dog morosely. ‘There’s no place for us.’
‘Going back there would be like giving up on life,’ Grim argued. ‘Something will turn up. Raya said Brother Kane is coming to visit us. Let’s at least wait here until then. You never know, he might be able to help us.’
Dog gave him a sceptical look. ‘You’re a fool if you trust that one. He’s hiding something. I can smell it on him.’