If donkeys could talk, Glintsprock's one would have been telling him to fuck off. The creature had been with him from the start of the tour and was becoming increasingly agitated by the smells and strange goings on from the inside of Glintsprock's carriage. The carriages belonging to the other band members were pretty disgusting, but Glintsprock was concerned that his was starting to stand out. At this point, it was probably the most vile of the lot... apart from Muckfang's. Nothing and no-one was as vile as anything Muckfang was involved with.

       As he approached the carriage, the donkey's ears flattened against its head. Its foot stomped against the cold, hard, ground, and it glared at him with absolute venom.

       "It's not my fault. Things will be better when she's been fed a bit more. You know I have to do this,” Glintsprock said, even though he knew that trying to explain the situation to the donkey was pointless. It wasn't necessarily that he thought the animal didn't understand him, more that it no longer cared for his excuses. His voice was quiet, so there was no chance of his fellow band members overhearing him. He knew what would happen if they were to find out he'd been stealing their earnings to feed a dead thing.

       After checking there was no-one around to spy on him, he opened the door to his carriage and hopped inside. Almost instantly the smell of death and decay hit him. The situation had worsened since he was last in here, and that was only just before that night's show.

        "You look well,” he said to the thing that looked the opposite of 'well'.

       "Shut up," Basalt said, as putrid lumps of flesh dropped from her bones. "You better have some gold for me to eat.”

       "Er... sure,” Glintsprock replied, trying his best to hide his nerves. His voice seemed determined to betray him as it came out all high-pitched and wobbly. "It's only a couple of coins. The people here are poorer than we thought. They're not paying us much, and there's fuck all to pickpocket.”

       "Give them to me!” Glintsprock couldn't remember the wotdafuq ever being this demanding when she was alive.

       Balsalt snatched the coins from him with her boney fingers and dropped them into her mouth without even examining them. A small look of relief crossed her features before disappearing.

       "It's not enough,” she said, her voice a mixture of anger and desperation. Glintsprock knew that the desperate were prone to incredible acts of violence and depravity, so he didn't see this as a weakness. So far, nothing about Basalt could be seen as a weakness; not even as her body rotted and wasted away.

       "I need more,” she said. "Do I need to remind you what will happen if I don't eat?”

       "You'll die... again,” Glintsprock replied.

       "And then what will happen?”

       "Your ghost will tear me a new one... and then you'll kill me.”

       "Exactly right,” she said. "So it's in your best interest that I eat enough to get to full strength. Once there, I'll leave you be. Mostly. Until then, if I die, you die. And I'll make sure that your death is far worse than mine.”

       'Lovely,' Glintsprock thought. 'Absolutely lovely.'

       "We'll be leaving this place tomorrow. Can you hold out until our next show? Maybe the next town will be richer?"

       "If I wait any longer, I'll be nothing more than a bad attitude and a pile of bones. Besides, from the sounds of it, you're in danger of losing your steed.”

       Outside, as if on cue, the donkey stomped its feet again.

       "And your friends are going to start getting suspicious about the smell soon. You know you're on borrowed time.”

       Feeling defeated, Glintsprock sighed. She was right. He had to act fast.

       "I'll see what I can do.”

       Glintsprock's shoulders slumped as he climbed back out of his carriage. His body was tired and achy, and the adrenaline from the show was already wearing off. All he wanted to do was eat, terrify a local or two, and then go to sleep. Was that really too much to ask? Of course it was.

       "Keepin' the party goin'?” One of the other goblins - Muckfang - asked as Glintsprock once again tried to assure his donkey that everything would be fine soon. Again, the donkey wasn't having it.

       Glintsprock made a noise that might've sounded like a 'yes'.

       "A goblin after my own heart! Steer clear of the first dwelling as you go in. A couple of us have already scared them pretty well. Any more and they'll be dead for sure... or they'll be wise to our tricks and will find a way to kill you before you even have the chance to get in the door.”

       Whilst on tour, there was an agreement amongst the goblins that they wouldn't kill and/or eat any of their audience. It just didn't seem right, and would pretty much guarantee that they could never play in that town again. So, they'd decided that eating whatever livestock and/or food given to them by the township was fine. As was a bit of recreational terror. After all, a goblin's gotta goblin, right?

       "Thanks, Muck. Any other places I should avoid?”

       "Unless you're up for a challenge, I'd stay well away from the blacksmith. I don't think anyone's tried to scare him yet, but he's got some pretty hefty lookin' hammers and swords.”

       "That shouldn't be an issue,” Glintsprock said. Goblins were made of surprisingly strong stuff, meaning that most weapons were next to useless against them. Most of the time, the only way to kill them was with magic or by hanging.

       "Take your chances if you want... it's your funeral. I just got a strong feeling when I walked past that place. Like something in there was enchanted.”

       "Thanks for the warnin',” Glintsprock said, deciding that the blacksmith really wasn't worth the trouble.

       Until an idea popped in his head. And he hadn't even chewed his toenail! At this rate, he'd be a certified genius by the end of the week.

       "What if it's not a weapon that's enchanted?” he asked, partly to Muckfang, but mostly to himself.

       "If you think it's worth the risk, that's up to you. Have a good night though, whatever you decide."

       "You too, Muck.”

       Muckfang started to walk over to his own carriage when he stopped, sniffing the air. "I've gotta say Sprock, your carriage has an interesting aroma. You'll have to tell me your secret sometime. Mine still smells a bit bland. Unhomely, y'know?”

       "I'll think about it,” Glintsprock said as another idea came to him; he was really on a roll. "It's a family secret so usually I guard it well. But, for you... for a small fee... I might be persuaded to spill the beans.”

       "Hmmm.. what are ya thinkin'?”

       "You got any gold?”

       Muckfang rubbed his chin in thought. "Might do. Might do. I'll have a look. Let's catch up tomorra and work out a deal.”

       The goblins shook on this before going their separate ways. Grimacing, Glintsprock wiped his hand on his trousers not wanting to know what the sticky residue was that Muckfang had transfered onto him.

       Despite being disgusted, Glintsprock smiled. For the last couple of weeks, he'd been worried that one of his band mates would ask about the smell coming from his carriage. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might be able to profit from it. Or, if not profit, then go some way to save his skin.

       So, it was with a little spring in his step that Glintsprock made his way through the caves to the blacksmith's dwelling.