Jatla is not a Shithole
A Story about Hiccup the Goblin
By Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2017 by Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2017 Boycott Books
Edited by Andi Marlowe @ www.andromedaediting.com
www.harmoncooper.com
[email protected]
Twitter: @_HarmonCooper
All rights reserved. All rights preserved. All rights ficked. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
----Other works by Harmon Cooper---
The Feedback Loop – A LitRPG sci-fi series filled with action, humor, and cyberpunk musings.
Book One – The Feedback Loop
Book Two – Steampunk is Dead
Book Three – High Fantasy
Book Four – Reapers and Repercussions
Book Five – The Mechanical Heart
Book Six – Cyber Noir Redux
Book Seven – Proxima Riven
Three Book Box Set
Fantasy Online: Hyperborea – A LitRPG saga set in a fantasy world known as Tritania and Tokyo Japan. Get it here.
The Last Warrior of Unigaea: A LitRPG about a Player Killer and his big bad wolf.
Life is a Beautiful Thing – A hallucinatory cyberpunk series. Box Set
Dear NSA – A collection of 12 satirical stories about the troubled times we share.
The Zero Patient Trilogy – A literary dystopian thrill-ride that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Book One Book Two
Boy versus Self – A psychological, coming of age thriller about an Austin,Texas artist struggling with inner demons.
Map of Hyperborea
Click to enlarge
Table of Contents
Map of Hyperborea
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: One Final Bet
Chapter 2: Spew Gorge’s Knitting Club
Chapter 3: The Boner Ointment
Chapter 4: Funeral Potatoes and Hot AzzBalls Dragon Wings
Chapter 5: Fright Knight at the Golden Swine
Chapter 6: A Typical Jatla Parade
Chapter 7: Botched Happy Ending
Chapter 8: Three Courses to the Finish Line
Back of the Book Content
Note to reader:
This book takes place one day before the start of the Fantasy Online series, which explain why Hiccup was sleeping rather than guarding the guild when Tamana was kidnapped.
Then again, he’s Hiccup, and he probably would have been gob-napping anyway.
Yours in sanity,
Harmon Cooper
Chapter 1: One Final Bet
“Double or nothing,” Hiccup growls. “No, make that triple, you fickered fick-faced squid shart!”
Barry the ink shadow, who sits in the back booth of a very dirty pub, laughs long and hard.
“Double or nothing, huh?” His voice is syrupy and high-pitched. He’s a younger shadow, noticeable in the way he holds his shoulders. “You’ve already lost twenty thousand rupees and all your fingernails, need I remind you?”
Hiccup snorts. “Remind me? No, you needn’t remind me, you dirty ficker! What fickin’ part of early onset Goblinheimer’s do you not understand? My fick, you’re worse than the tourists during the Jatla Theater Festival. Talk about a bunch of poofty snowflake donut hole fickers.”
“What do theater tourists have to do with our little game of Three Cards?”
“Little game? And tourists have everything to do with our little game, seeing as how you yourself are a fickin’ tourist, at least you claim to be.”
“I am.”
“But anyway, now that you’ve got me all fickin’ wired up, triple or nothing, mitherficker!”
Hiccup lifts one asscheek and lets out a squeaker, the sound of which wakes the hobgoblin sleeping at the bar.
The hobgoblin turns to them, scowls, and lays his head back on the counter.
Cards are scattered across the table separating Barry and Hiccup. Two knives stick out of the table, handles up, ready at a moment's notice.
While the scene may look incredibly tense to an outsider, and sure, there’s no love lost between Hiccup and Barry the ink shadow, the knives are actually part of the game they’ve been playing for the last thirty minutes called Three Cards.
Even your run-of-the-mill village idiot could understand a game of Three Cards.
First, get rid of all the even cards and the queens. Jacks count as eleven and kings as thirteen. The two jokers in a deck clear out all the cards currently in play. Shuffle, separate into stacks, and play the cards next to one another. If the numbers add up to a number divisible by three, stab the last card with your knife.
If you run out of cards, you lose. If you win all the cards, you win. If you lose a hand (an actual hand), you lose.
It’s really that easy.
“You have nothing else to bet me,” the ink shadow reminds Hiccup.
Hiccup throws back his pint of Horse Piss and slams it on the table. “I got something to bet, you filthy ficker, and it’s something octopus queefs such as yourself really seem to get off on.”
“Oh? And what is that, Hiccup?”
“Fick, fick, fick.” The goblin tears up. “I don’t want to fickin’ do this, but I’m about to win bigly here, so the risk is worth it. Fick me. You can do it, Hiccup. Shit, I’ve gone all third person here to control my emotions. My therapist said to do that. Fick him sideways. All right, Barry,” the goblin swallows hard, “I bet my chalupa.”
If the ink shadow had an eyebrow, it would raise as he asks, “Your what?”
Hiccup grabs his proof of goblinhood. “My fickin’ chalupa! If I win, I get everything; if you win, you get my chalupa. And we both know how much ink shadows like chalupas.”
Barry’s chin grows a few inches. He lifts a wispy hand to it, and rubs it as he considers the offer.
“I could use a goblin penis …”
“Couldn’t we all, buddy!” Hiccup laughs nervously. “Fick, what am I saying? Yes or no, Barry? If I lose, you get my chalupa, the twenty K, and my fingernails. If I win, I walk away scot free.”
“You’re on, goblin.”
Hiccup throws his hands in the air. “Again with my trigger word, huh? But you know what? I’m going to let it slide, this once, a gentleman’s gesture. Now, let me shuffle.”
“And let me cut?”
“Hello, sirs, would you care for another round?”
Hiccup nearly hops out of his seat at the sight of the poo fairy waitress that now hovers before them. Stinkerbells, as they are known colloquially, are fond of digging through shit in search of treasure.
When they can’t find treasure in turds, they usually take shifts at pubs.
“Dragon wings, lemon pepper, tell the chef – and boy fick am I being gracious by using that noun for him – to not skimp on the lemon pepper seasoning this time around. I know the shit is pricey, but if it’s on the menu, do it justice. Tell him to take pride in his work. It’s important. And of course we want another round. Now git, fairy!”
“You should be kinder to the wait staff,” Barry says after the poo fairy has sulked away.
“And you should keep your empathy to yourself and cut the deck.” Hiccup shuffles the cards once more and turns the deck to the ink shadow.
Once the deck is cut, the goblin distributes the cards. He arranges his small stack before him and focuses on one point, and one point only: the place where the cards will land.
Since Hiccup shuffled, the ink shadow begins. It isn’t long before they have a line of cards.
Slam!
The ink shadow drives his blade
into the last card played and Hiccup scoffs. “That…that’s not divisible by three!”
“A jack, two threes, a one, a five, a seven, a king. That’s forty-five.”
“Fick!”
The ink shadow takes his cards, and the two continue to play until Hiccup inevitably loses. Not for lack of trying – the ink shadow was just faster.
“And that, my friend, is how you win a goblin penis. Hell, I don’t even want the money or the fingernails, just the penis.”
“Fick me!” Hiccup grabs his toe knife and points it at Barry, tears in his eyes. “You aren’t taking my chalupa, you fickered kiddy ficker!”
Ink Shadow Level 20
HP: 2133/2133
ATK: 76
MANA: 219/219
DEF: 183
MATK: 139
MDF: 92
LUCK: 14
“What was that?” the ink shadow snarls.
The ink shadow is level twenty, Hiccup a paltry level eight. It’d be a pretty one-sided fight.
“A bet is bet,” says Barry, his form growing until he dwarfs the goblin.
(.)(.)
They’re lucky the pub is empty.
Aside from a hobgoblin with his head on the counter, the waitress, and a bartender, there’s no one around to see the ink shadow balloon in size, his menacing maw forming razor sharp teeth.
“You’ll … you’ll take my goddamn chalupa over my fickin’ dead body,” Hiccup hisses as he tightens his grip on his toe knife.
“You really want to die in Jatla?”
“Fick you!” he huffs.
The ink shadow laughs. “I suppose dying in Jatla is not such a bad thing. That said, it is quite a shithole.”
“What!? Jatla is absolutely not a shithole!”
The ink shadow laughs even harder this time, his form wavering. “Not a shithole? Damn, goblin, have you even been outside the doors of this pub?”
“Fick yes, I’ve been outside. I’ve lived in Jatla most of my life, work here too.”
“You? Work?” Barry’s form decompresses. “Out of curiosity, what kind of work would a portly goblin–”
“–Goblins are naturally robust, everyone knows that. Only the goblins that live out in Bawa Outpost are thin, and that’s because those malnourished mitherfickers don’t get enough food. Fick. I’m hungry. Where the hell is that waitress with my dragon wings?”
“You never said what line of work you were in.”
“I’m a security guard at a guildhall for a yet-to-be-named guild. Ha! You should see the two kiddos I’m working for. Talk about some virgin panty wetters. The one kid shoots marbles. Seriously. The female has a big-ass sword that she barely knows how to use.” Hiccup looks down to his toe knife as his eyes glaze over. “What’d you do to make me point this knife at you?”
“Your penis is mine. Now take your pants off, or should I take them off for you?”
“The fick you just say? I’m not going to die without my chalupa!” Hiccup swipes his toe knife at Barry.
The ink shadow drops his head into his hand. “I’ve said it once already, and I’ll say it again, to die in Jatla is not such a bad thing. It is quite a shithole.”
Both Hiccup’s bushy eyebrows rise as an idea practically slugs him in the face.
“Why are you looking at me like that, goblin, like you’ve seen your own mother naked?”
“I have seen my own mother naked and I’m not ashamed to admit it. But that’s beside the point. So. you think Jatla is a real shithole, right?”
Barry nods. “The shittiest of shitholes. The word Jatla actually means shithole.”
“No, it means filthy, and this city,” Hiccup coughs, unable to keep his own bullshit down, “is not a shithole. It is anything but. With that in mind, you ready to make one final bet?”
“Another bet?” Barry’s form relaxes even more.
“If I can prove to you that Jatla isn’t the shithole you say it is, I get to keep my chalupa.”
“What do I get out of this bet again, aside from the penis you already owe me?”
“Pfft! You get to have one of the best days of your life out of this bet. Even if you don’t agree, you’ll still, um…” Hiccup bites his lip as he swiftly considers his options. “You’ll still have the pleasure of enjoying a parade, going to an award-winning spa, eating at a fickin’ Michelin star restaurant, and staying at an all-inclusive resort. Just imagine it with me now: you’ll be treated like the Empress’s favorite fickin’ cousin, and you’ll still be able to make a decision as to if,” he gulps, “you’ll keep my chalupa or not.”
The ink shadow considers this.
“Come on, Barry, it’s a win-win if you ask me, for you anyway.”
“I’ll admit, it is an interesting proposition. And how long would it take for you to put this together?”
“A day, tops. No, fick that, by tomorrow morning. We’ll begin at a parade, hit a spa, go to a nice restaurant, and then you can stay in the best hotel in Jatla.”
“And I don’t have to stay in the room with you, do I?”
“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course we’re staying in the suite together! It’s my job to fickin’ entertain you, isn’t it? And no, before you get any sicko ideas, I’m not talking about blowing bubbles into your starfish or shaving your taint. Nope, I’m talking about good ol’ fashioned goblin entertainment. The, ahem, nighttime variety.”
“You are suggesting to get prostitutes as well?”
“Fick yes I am, and if I can’t impress you, you can have my chalupa.” Hiccup bites his lip. “So, that’s the bet.”
A hand forms from Barry’s murky mass. “Fine.”
“So, it’s a bet then?” Hiccup asks as he extends his own hand.
“It’s a bet.”
The two shake hands, Barry’s form solidifying for the moment it takes for their hands to lock and agree.
The waitress appears with the dragon wings on a tiny silver platter. As soon as she places the platter on the table, the platter magically grows to its normal size.
“I thought I told you these were to go,” Hiccup tells the waitress.
“I don’t recall–”
“–And another fickin’ thing, you forgot our pints. Make mine to go as well, and leave the bill with the ink shadow. I’ll join you at the bar. See you tomorrow, Barry.”
With that, Hiccup hops down from his high chair and gets as far away from the ink shadow as he possibly can.
Chapter 2: Spew Gorge’s Knitting Club
Hiccup is in a hurry when he gets back to the guildhall he’s supposed to be protecting. It’s a shitty little place, and he’s lucky his two employers are out leveling up, or possibly in the Jatla Woods somewhere doing some heavy petting.
“Those two fickers.” It’s clear the two, who he calls Marbles and Tammy, are meant for each other, but the Marbles guy is just about the biggest pussy he’s ever seen, and Hiccup has seen a giant pussy, so that’s pretty big. Tammy, on the other hand, seems to have a bit more confidence, but if she’s like any chick Hiccup has ever met, she’ll wait for the guy to make the first move, or at least pay her.
“Maybe Marbles should offer to pay her,” he thinks as he places his to-go items on the table in the center of the room. “Fick, focus, Hiccup!”
He quickly throws back his to-go pint of Horse Piss, and tears into the soggy sack of dragon wings. The wings go down, and as soon as he finishes the last one, he releases ructus from his nether cheeks that shakes the floorboard.
“Fick!” Hiccup checks his britches, and once he’s sure he hasn’t shit himself, or at least hasn’t shit himself that much, Hiccup waddles over to his personal belongings, which he keeps in a large chest by the door.
The goblin finds what he’s looking for in the form of a small, leather bound book. He flips it open to find Spew Gorge’s address on the third page.
Not able to come to grips with the fact that he has started to forget things – damn early onset Goblinheimer’s – Hic
cup keeps a journal with the contact details of the people he knows, or better, the people who owe him a favor.
“Same fickin’ address as last time,” Hiccup mumbles to himself as he heads out the door. He thinks about leaving a note about why he’s not guarding the place, but there’s no time, and he has less than twenty-four hours to show Barry the ink shadow the time of his life.
Hiccup turns right, heading towards a residential district known as Venom Spur, named after a particularly famous goblin.
“Get your cat tails here,” a gobliness calls out. She pushes a blue cart with three wooden wheels. Hiccup stops, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the smell of the barbeque cat tails covered in tartar sauce.
“Fick,” he licks his lips. “Nope, no time.”
It takes Hiccup all of twenty minutes to navigate through the crowded, filthy streets of Jatla.
As he enters Venom Spur, garbage lines both sides of the narrow road he has taken, most of it due to striking city workers. Trash collecting goblins are some of the best paid municipal employees in Hyperborea, but they go on strike as often as not.
“Here it is,” Hiccup says he stops in front of a two story Georgian style building.
“Fick!”
Hiccup recognizes Spew Gorge’s voice as the door to the building flies open. A bandit, an orc twice Hiccup’s height, spills out into the street.
Orc Level 4
HP: 340/340
ATK: 28
DEF: 38
MATK: 0
MDF: 35
LUCK: 1
Hiccup equips a tomahawk and a small, dinner plate-sized shield. “I got him, Spewy!” He bashes his tomahawk against the front of his shield.
“Hiccup?” a voice calls out from the open window. “Fick you!”
“Out of the way, goblin,” the orc says, baring his sharp fangs.
“Like fick I’ll get out of the way.” Hiccup slaps his tomahawk against his shield again. “Bring it, you ficker!”
The orc unsheathes a short sword. He places his sack full of loot on the ground, and brings his weapon to the ready.
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