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Realm Wardens, Novella


Was he a coward or a hero, you decide.

In the modern age of Totriga, Gronk has become a goblin of two legends. Depending on the location you come from and your stance on war will dictate the story you choose to believe.

Gronk was known as a mighty warrior. Never lost a battle. Every fight and fray he jumped into, he won. His enemy would turn tail and run at the first sight of him.
Well… that is one legend.
They also knew Gronk as a coward. His bark was worse than his bite in any fight. Any sign of trouble and Gronk was searching for the nearest exit.

Legends of Gronk is a novella in the Realm Wardens series. It's set 3000 years before Blood Magic takes place. Find out how some legends can be both truth and fiction.


Book 1

Book 2

Book 3


Book 5

Book 6


Chapter One

Gronk stared up at the tiny window in the cold cell where he sat. The window was so small and so high no one could ever get through it. The bars were not necessary and more for decoration. He picked at the scab on his wrist where the metal cuffs
chafed. He had finally figured out how to rest his foot so the cuffs around his ankles didn’t make his feet go numb.

     Thirty days he’d been in the cell, but it was worth it. Telling his master to sit on his dick and spin was not only hilarious but
completely worth the punishment. The worst part was the one meal a day. Fresh bread and water, the worst. Fresh bread. They might as well not feed him at all. Everyone knew the best part of bread was the mold, that’s where the tang was.

     His new cellmate had only been with him for one night, but he wouldn’t stop staring at him. Gronk debated propositioning the goblin, it had been thirty long days since he had a release, but the constant stares irritated him.

     Finally, his cell mate said, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask.”

     Gronk lifted an eyebrow, wrinkling his forehead. “What’s that?”

     “I’ve only ever heard stories, but it’s you isn’t it? You’re Gronk. The greatest lover of all time, right? That’s you, right?”

     Gronk smirked. “I wouldn’t say of all time.”

     “The night of eight women, was that true? Eight women at once? Do you really have a harem?”

     “I’m afraid that’s not true my friend.”

     “Oh,” The goblin’s face and shoulders dropped and the disappointment in his voice was palpable.

     “It was ten women at once. I wouldn’t call them my harem though.” Gronk smiled and winked at the goblin.

     He opened his mouth to speak but Gronk held up a finger to silence him.

     The outer door of the dungeon slammed shut and the clack of boots on the stone floor came closer.

     “Hey, gobber, you awake?” a king’s guard shouted from outside his cell. “King Godfrey and Queen Misandria want to speak to you. Let’s go.”

     Without looking at his cell mate, Gronk eased himself off the floor and shuffled to the door as it was pulled open. He knew the drill. He was off to find out if the king is satisfied with the length of his punishment. Would he spend more time in the dungeon or be sent back to his master? It was times like these he wished goblins could use magic. The magic the humans used in the Totriga Realm needed to be spoken in the human tongue. Most goblins had difficulty pronouncing human words.

For goblins the magic never worked.

     The guard shoved Gronk. He lost his balance and did a quick shuffle to avoid falling over. The walk from the cell to the king’s hall was a long one. Gronk wasn’t sure if the sun was still up by the time they reached it.

     Large, thick, floor-to-ceiling wood doors led into a grand hall that could have fit at least three hundred. Gronk’s ancestors had built this hall, three—no four—generations ago. The king’s greatgreat-great grandfather had stormed the goblin Realm Vrimever and captured everyone, burning down every tiny village along the way. It had proved to goblins that no humans could be trusted. Their cruelty knew no bounds, and this king was the cruellest so far.

     Until that point no goblin had set foot in Totriga, the Anchor Realm of the sixteen Realms. The mistrust between the humans
and goblins had run deep, even back then. The stories he’d heard his entire life said the Vrimever Realm was no longer liveable, empty and barren, his people unable to ever return.

     Gronk’s chains dragged and scratched along the marble floor, echoing through the hall as he half walked half dragged his way to stand in front of the monarchs. The king’s and queen’s crowns were adorned with purple and blue gems that were a bit dull, lacking any sparkle.

     He would recognize goblin gems anywhere. How many of his people had died so these humans could drape themselves in them?

     “What say you, green skin?” the king asked.

     Gronk dragged his large grey eyes away from the gems to the king’s face. He tried his hardest to keep his snarling and eye rolling to a minimum.

     “What say you?” the king asked again, then leaned over to the queen. “Does this one speak our language? I swear, most are no better than beasts.”

     The queen gave a small head shake and covered her nose and mouth with a silk handkerchief. Gronk had no idea if she said anything.

     The king nodded to the guard next to Gronk and he received a blow to the back of the head that knocked him to his knees. He rubbed his head and felt a small trickle of blood on his fingertips.

     “I will only ask one more time. What say you?”

     “I beg ’givenness, your ’jesty. My tongue crude and ugly.”

     The king rolled his eyes. “Uncivilized gobbers can’t even speak properly.” He returned his attention to Gronk. “Perhaps I
should liberate you from your tongue. You’ve stood before me on several other occasions, have you not?”

     Gronk didn’t want to answer. He had, and this time he might be hanged for it. He heard the creak of the guard’s armour. He cringed and said, “Once, maybe twice.”

     The queen stood and stepped off the dais. A guard followed her as she approached Gronk. She studied him. “Do you have a brother? Or perhaps a son?”

     Gronk swallowed hard. Queen Misandria was radiant, for a human. He glanced at the guard before saying, “Brot’er.”

     “Hmm.” She turned and made her way back to her seat. She turned gracefully, her gown readjusted by the guard as she sat. “The two could be twins, but they are so different.”

     “What do you speak of, my Queen?” the king asked.

     “His brother is one of my man servants. They are identical but for a mole on my servant’s left cheek.”

     “Does this mean you wish for me to go easy on the green skin?” the king asked.

     Gronk could hear and see the disappointment on the king’s face at this possibility.

     The queen’s gaze fell on him again. There was a pregnant pause as Gronk felt his life hanging in the balance. She didn’t say a word, merely turned to the king and nodded.

     He let out a heavy sigh. “Very well, but this will cost you. Send him back to his master after”—he paused, giving the impression he was carefully considering his next words—“after thirty lashings; one for every piece of bread he was given.”

     The king’s smile was smug and Gronk wanted to tell him to sit on his dick and spin. All humans were the same, cruel to the end.

     “T’ank you, ’jesty, for your kindness.” Gronk bowed his head as he was shoved toward the doors of the hall. He’d been lashed before, had the scars to prove it, on his back, hands, and legs. He would rather be lashed a thousand times than sent back to his master.

     The only good thing was that his master didn’t want Gronk, or any of his other slaves, to remain on his land at night, so he got to return home to be with his family. At least that was something he could look forward to.

     He was dragged from the hall and into a side courtyard where a single post stood in the center of a large circle. It was surrounded by wood benches for spectators. The king liked having spectators, usually goblin slaves to remind them to stay in line.

     The guard lifted the chains on Gronk’s wrist and hooked a ring onto a spike in the pole. Gronk had to stand on his tiptoes to keep from dangling. The guard struck the back of his head, slamming his face into the pole. He felt warm blood trickle from his nose.

     “Filthy gobber,” the guard said in Gronk’s ear. “You’ll wait here until the king is satisfied there are enough people to watch.
Your punishment is being announced now.” He shoved Gronk’s head again before walking away.

     The hot sun beat down on him. Goblins were sensitive to direct sunlight, which was why most who worked in the fields wore
protective layers. The masters didn’t want their workers collapsing from heat exhaustion and sun blisters. Gronk’s shirt was in tatters long before he was hung from the pole and soon he felt the blisters forming on his face, hands, and head.
    He lost consciousness from the heat, so he had no idea how long he hung there.

     The sharp sudden pain of a whip hitting his flesh woke him and a small cry escaped his lips, more from surprise than anything. But it was enough to encourage the guard to strike him with more force. With each stroke of the whip Gronk heard the crowd cheer;not many goblins in the group today.

     The humans gleefully counted out each lash, the guard goading them on, making a show of it, feeding off the excitement. Gronk kept his mouth shut and tried to think of happier times. There were so few of them; the short stints he was able to spend with his family, a few hours here or there. Most times they just hoped their homes wouldn’t be raided at night; searched, inspected, belongings broken and tossed about. The guards claimed they were looking for contraband, but it was just a ploy to beat down the goblins and destroy what few material goods they had.

     But not anymore. A small uprising was being planned. Gronk sent out whispers among the goblins, quietly getting word to the farmers, cattle herders, masons, and the like. Many didn’t believe he could pull it off, Gronk was known for his sexual prowess, not his courage. He always ran from a fight. But Gronk believed goblins could rise up and break away from the humans.

     Thoughts of freedom were enough to get Gronk through the final lashes and the extras the crowd called for. Thirty-seven lashes. He struggled to remain on his toes. He didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him dangle by his wrists. The guard stood back and joked with his comrades while the spectators filed out of the arena.

     Once it was empty he pulled Gronk off the post, keeping the shackles on him. He yanked on the chain, trying to get Gronk to move faster down the back halls of the castle.

     A castle goblins had built.

     They finally stopped at a side door, small, not meant to be used by anyone over five feet tall. The goblin entrance. The slave door. Located by the sewage line. So they had to be careful where they placed their feet, especially those who worked as servants to the royals.

     The guard removed Gronk’s shackles and, without a word, shoved him out the door. Gronk stumbled and tried desperately to avoid the stream of piss and shit in front of him. But he was weak from sun exposure and the whipping and landed with a splash in the shit river.

     Gronk heard the guard laugh as he slammed the door behind him. Too weak to move he debated staying where he was. Two pairs of hands grabbed his arms from either side. He lifted his head and saw his two friends, one who worked the fields, the other with the blacksmith. Both were treated far better than him. He spent his long days shoveling horse shit from his master’s large barn. The king’s horses were kept there so it had to be pristine at all times.
    “Your mother is worried,” Creax said in their native tongue.

     Gronk moaned. “I’ll make it up to her. Surely the fields aren’t finished being tended to? You’ll find yourself in the dungeon in
shackles if you aren’t careful. You as well, Esits. What will the blacksmith say?”

     Esits shook his head. “Don’t worry about us. We need to get you some medical assistance before infection sets in.”

     They worked their way through the back streets and behind the castle to the small goblin encampment west of the city, mostly small makeshift huts made from old linens and mud bricks. Their streets were more small pathways, barely wide enough for two king’s guards to walk side by side.

     They reached a hut in the center of the village. Without a word they pushed the dirty burlap cloth to the side and stepped in. The room was lit by a single candle on the table and a fireplace on the opposite side.

     “Oh. My dear Gronk.” An older female goblin with deep wrinkles and the grayest of hair rushed to them. “You really must
stop antagonizing your master. You’re lucky he’s letting you come home tonight and not making you work off the last thirty days.”

     “I’m sorry, Mother,” Gronk said struggling to raise his voice above a whisper.

     Creax and Esits looked at the floor.

     “What?” she asked. “Tell me what’s happened?”

     Creax cleared his throat and looked to Esits. “I heard my master speaking with Gronk’s.”


     “His master doesn’t want him back. He’s been disowned.”

     Gronk didn’t want to hear anymore. He needed to rest. Being disowned meant the king would choose where he would go, and for Gronk it could only mean one of two things… the mines or, worse, Drakeonem Realm and the Dragoons.

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