Deep in the dankest chamber of Mudwick Isle, the Goblin Council of Elders huddled around a flickering torch, their faces etched with concern and confusion.
"Are these guys serious?" whispered Elder Gnarltooth, barely audible over the dripping stalactites.
"Indeed," said Elder Fungella, nervously twirling a strand of her beard. "They seem rather intense, don't they?"
"And humorless," added Elder Gurglax, taking a swig from a flask of mushroom brew. "Not a single chuckle from the Grand Inquisitor, even when I offered him a nose nacho."
The Spanish Inquisition threatens the Goblin Nation's way of life and its lucrative black-market mushroom trade. But the elders cannot risk another international incident by resorting to their usual tactics of violence and mayhem.
"We need a subtle approach," said Gnarltooth, stroking his chin. "Something that sends them packing without too much fuss."
After much deliberation and several more swigs, the Council settled on a plan to turn the Inquisition's own rigor against it.
"We invite them to a grand feast," Gnarltooth proposed. "But instead of our usual delicacies, we serve a banquet of bland, tasteless gruel. No spice, no flavor, no fermentation. We call it a Test of Faith, a challenge to see if they can truly appreciate the simple pleasures of life."
The elders chuckled at the thought of the inquisitors choking down flavorless mush.
"And if that doesn't work," Gurglax added, "we still have our secret weapon: the Goblin Glee Club. A few rounds of off-key chanting and out-of-tune lute and they'll run for the hills."
The Council dispersed into the night, laughing through the dark corridors, confident that its cunning, and its cooking, would prevail. Nobody remembered to tell Gurglesnot.
