11th of Gremlin's Grin

I woke up today and thought, "This is it. This is the start of something wonderful."

It was not.

I'm now sitting at a banquet table with a group of people I'd never want to share a meal with - mainly because most of them are currently trying to figure out how to get me to eat my own victory plate, which looks like it was created by a sadist with a love for surprise flavors.

Let me describe the "Victory Feast" in detail so you can fully appreciate my misery:

1. There are unholy meats on the table. One of them looks like it's been kissed by fire and then insulted by a wizard. | 2. The bread, which I assume was once dough, is now something resembling a brick, but with more personality.| 3. The drinks are? questionable. One's glowing, the other smells faintly of regret. The third is in a mysterious cup, which someone insists I "taste and enjoy" because no one's died yet. That's oddly reassuring, I guess?

Oh, and Vince is sitting next to me, practically salivating as he contemplates a goblet of potioned pickles. Yes, that's what it's called. Potioned pickles. Why? Because why not?

I, however, am focused on the mystical glow of my elbow. It's still flashing like some sort of disco light every now and then, and I swear it's mocking me. That could just be my imagination, though.

The banquet's host, the Duke of Reproach (who's wearing a hat so large it may or may not be capable of holding a small army), raises a glass and starts speechifying. His words drift in one ear and out the other, because frankly, I'm too distracted by the dance of the cursed sausages (they move on their own). I can't decide if they're more of a hazard or an art form at this point.

The Duke is saying something about "ancient traditions," but I'm more concerned with the fact that the tablecloth keeps trying to strangle my spoon. I'm trying to avoid eye contact with it.

I finally take a bite of my victory plate because apparently that's what heroes do.

I immediately regret it.

It's bitter. Lumpy. And it feels like the entire dish is alive - each bite is like biting into a tiny, sentient potato that knows it's going to be eaten and just wants to make it hurt.

There's laughter around me, but it's mostly from Vince, who has now gotten himself into an argument with the Duke's Hat about the morality of pickle-related sorcery. Apparently, it's Vince's second passion after? being annoying.

Suddenly, my elbow gives a bright pulse, and I feel like something terrible is about to happen. Not just the usual terrible, mind you, but terrible with a capital T.

And then I hear it:

The ground shakes.

No, the whole hall shakes.

And that's when I realize:

This banquet isn't just a feast. It's a trap.

A portal opens right in the middle of the banquet hall, and out steps a massive, armored creature, half-horse, half-worm, and all kinds of wrong. It roars, and I think I saw Vince wave at it. Honestly, I don't know how to process that.

"Ah, I see you've triggered the Ritual of the Great Disruption," says the Duke, clapping his hands in an almost casual way.

Now, I don't know what the Ritual of the Great Disruption is, but based on the monster now charging at the table (with its stomach full of fire), I don't think it's something I signed up for. The creature's armor is ridiculously shiny, so I guess it wants me to know that it's important.

The Duke - in his infinite wisdom - says, "It's a challenge. Just defeat the creature, and you'll be rewarded with a lifetime of glory."

A lifetime of glory?

Sounds nice, but I'm thinking about the lifetime of pain I'll experience if I have to face this? this? thing. I'm still struggling to digest the weird pickle, and now this thing is making it impossible to focus on my already distracted life.

Vince's face lights up as if he's about to sell me some kind of remedy for my elbow glow. He suddenly gets very energetic and says, "Klem, you can do it! You just need to strategically tickle it! Think about it - no one expects a monster to be ticklish!"

I? I don't know where to start with this. But strategically tickling a monster feels like an awful idea.

At this point, the creature is galloping toward me, snorting fire, and shrieking in a way that could probably shatter glass (or at least disturb the villagers from 5 miles away).

I do the only thing that makes sense. I throw a plate of mystical glow food at its face.

It doesn't work. It just makes it angrier.

Vince, now convinced that we're in some kind of high-stakes food fight, decides to toss a potion of pickle-breathing air at the creature, which only causes it to sneeze and burn a hole in the ceiling. I'm not sure if that's a victory or just another seriously bad decision.

I can only assume this banquet is now a disaster, but one that will become a legendary story at least, even if it kills me.

I guess, in the grand scheme of things, that's all anyone really wants, right? Glory through absurdity.

I'll just have to figure out how to survive first.