Goblin of Peace

The following takes place following: A Waldron Welcome

The Master and Waldo enter a tavern. The regular patrons all turn and stare at them.

They both sit down to a beverage. Two slightly drunk men stumble over to Waldo.

Drunk 1: We don’t take kindly to strangers… nor to the likes of little green men.

Drunk 2: What are you anyway? An extra terra… extra t… one o’ them funny little alien critters? One of the men hiccups. Waldo looks to the Master, who gestures for him not to react.

Waldo meows like a cat. 😼

The drunk recoils, turns to his friend, then looks back at the Master.

Drunk 1: That be one sickly lookin’ cat you got there. What is it? From China or somethin’?

Master Devlin: Excuse me, sir. We are just sitting down to a quiet drink.

Drunk 2: And who the fuck are you supposed to be? Strange pointy lizard man?

wF: He’s Dutch! Or Irish… both, actually! Also French. But he’s definitely Chinese. Also Arabic.

Drunk 1: What in tarnation… Tacitus… this here green cat be talkin’!

Drunk 2: I don’t give a goddamn. You, lizard boy—I’m talkin’ to you! What the hell are you, and why’s your ugly mug in my town?

Master Devlin: I have every right to be here, sir.

Drunk 2: Is that so? And where’d this “right” come from? Ain’t nobody got rights in Waldonia.

Master Devlin: I own the land just north of here. Devlin Manor. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

Drunk 2: ...You’re... you’re of Clan Devlin?

Master Devlin: That’s right.

wF: They’re French. Ye better watch yerself.

The Master smacks Waldo.

Drunk 2: Umm… we’re… we’re sorry to bother you, Sir Devlin. Come along, Lyle...

Drunk 1: What the hell is a Devlin?

Drunk 2: Never mind. Let’s go...

The Master drinks his ale.

wF: Goodbye Lyle! Bye Tacitus!

Master Devlin: Waldo, eat your apple sauce.

Waldo scoffs into his apple sauce.

The bartender comes over with a round of drinks.

Bartender: From the gentleman at the bar... for the misunderstanding.

The Master acknowledges.

wF: Bah. Send it back...

Master Devlin: Why do you want to send it back?

wF: They are dirty peasants.

Master Devlin: And you live in a skip. What is worse?

wF: Irrelevant.

Master Devlin: Yet you’re in a tavern with them. Also, you are perpetually filthy.

wF: We was emperor. And warlord. Also married into the Von Hildendorf dynasty. Wiffuhuh is ruler class. We simply dress as a commoner… to escape the pressure of palace life.

Master Devlin: Corrections:

1. Waldo will be emperor... in some 500 years, but not yet...

2. Waldo didn’t do anything as a warlord. He just told people he was and it caught on.

3. Not legally married to Von Hildendorf yet, so not binding.

4. Waldo dresses lower than a commoner. Commoners at least have some pride. You have more of a dirty street urchin appearance.

wF: Blah blah blah... details... Earth Clan... We had a perfectly good excuse for a brawl and yet you ruined it...

Master Devlin: Reformed, huh?

wF: Yes. Just brawl. No murders.

Master Devlin: Empty your pockets.

wF: No, Master Devlin. It is you who is speaking out of turn.

Master Devlin: ...What?

wF: You heard, flatfoot! Waldo is tired of the Master speaking out of turn. It's time the Master showed Wiffuhuh some ryespect. We are future emperor. You said so yourself. Also we are elder... much, much elder.

Master Devlin: I am your Master and you will show me some ryespect.

wF: You show it first, and we shall reciprocate. Anyway... what we do now? Have you had any scripts? The editor hasn't sent anything.

Master Devlin: Hrmmm...

A large, bulky bald man walks into the bar. He approaches the two drunks. They whisper and point at the Master.

The bald man walks up to Devlin and Waldo.

Bald Man: Hey you... I hear you're one o’ them Devlins.

Master Devlin: That's correct.

Bald Man: Big-time clan leader man, huh? Then why you hangin’ round with this...

He places a dominant hand on Waldo's slimy scalp.

Bald Man: ...This slimy green freak? You both a couple of faggots or something?

Master Devlin: Faggots, huh?

wF: Excuse me, sir. My hetero life mate and I are just here for a quiet drink. We want no trouble. For you see, we are travelling priests. Here to spread the gospel of the Editor...

Bald Man: Priests, huh? Well if there’s one thing I hate more than Devlins and faggots... it’s priests. ’Specially faggot priests... But 'Specially Devlin faggot priests!!! How about I show you what I like to do to them when they walk into my bar...

He places a threatening hand on the Master’s shoulder.

The Master turns to Waldo.

Master Devlin: Come on, Waldo. Looks like war has been declared.

He thrusts his elbow into the bald man's gut, then socks him in the jaw. Tacitus and Lyle rush to aid their friend, tackling Devlin. The Master grabs them and knocks their heads together, then tosses them both across the room. Lyle crashes through a window.

Devlin turns to Waldo, who is calmly seated at the bar.

Master Devlin: Come on, Waldo! What are you waiting for?? BATTLE!

wF: Noooo, Master Devlin... We don't want a war... We told you, we is reformed... A goblin of peace now...

A random patron strikes the Master with a pool cue. He turns, unamused, and headbutts him. He catches sight of the bald man again—now brandishing a knife. Devlin waits for him to strike, then effortlessly disarms him and stabs the knife into his left buttock. The man screams. Devlin finishes him with an open-palm strike to the face, caving his nose in. He collapses on the floor and starts twitching.

Everyone looks on in shock. The bartender pulls out a shotgun.

Bartender: That’s enough, Ed dammit. You boys best get outta here.

Master Devlin: Hrmm. Fine. Come along, Waldo...

They step outside and walk down the street.

Master Devlin: I just don’t understand you, Waldo. First you berate me for not starting a bar brawl. Then when a second opportunity arises, you shit yourself.

wF: The Master always says Wiffuhuh shouldn't be violent. You say Waldo must learn. Yet you chastise Wiffuhuh for not resorting to violence over mere insults.

Master Devlin: I feel this is a trick. Have you actually reformed? Surely not. I’ve tried for years to teach you. Sometimes you behave, and then the next thing i know, i have a Goblin Brand blade in my gut.

wF: Of course we have! Waldo is reformed. A noble goblin and peace advocate. Like the Travers man...We do not twick. Wiffuhuh just wants a peaceful holiday adventure.

Master Devlin: Then why do you carry so many weapons?

wF: Self-defence, of course. Speak softly and carry a big stick, my dear dragon. Or in Wiffuhuh’s case, many small sharp sticks. So... Where to now?

Master Devlin: Hmm. Well... this town has a box factory. We could go there?

wF: Okay! Ed pops out of a nearby dumpster.

Ed: HOLD IT!

Master Devlin: Oh. It's you...

Ed: Yes. Me. Ed. What the fuck are you doing?

Master Devlin: What?

Ed: A box factory?? What kind of content is that??

Master Devlin: I don't know what to do... Besides, we just had a bar fight.

Ed: Yes, and now you want to go to a box factory? I don't think so! The bar fight was okay, I guess, but I've come to expect some wacky shenanigans and biting social satire. You two chuckleheads better get your act together and make some good content—right quick. Do something!

Master Devlin: Yeah, yeah...

Ed opens a manhole and jumps in. There's a splash.

Master Devlin: Why are you showing up more and more? I’m not keen on it. You don’t need me to remove your teeth again, do you?

Manhole: Someone needs to keep you in line... Think of me as your Director.

The Master unzips his trousers and squats over the manhole, unleashing his bowels. A shriek echoes from below.

wF: 🤢

The Master pulls up his pants.

Master Devlin: I’m sorry, Wally, but it was necessary. Now, back to the matter at hand. Will you return to your lessons, as a reformed goblin who is finally learning?

wF: No. Not at all, sir.

Master Devlin: ...What?

wF: It’s time to accept the lessons are a lost cause.

Master Devlin: ...But... what about your training?

wF: It’s time for Wiffuhuh to leave school. It’s not for us. In fact, this is where we part ways... Thank you... Steven. It’s been an interesting century...

Waldo extends a flipper.

Master Devlin: Ohh...Well… I... I see. Umm...

The Master returns a claw. They shake. It leaves his claw all slimy.

Master Devlin: Where will you go, Waldo?

wF: No idea. But we’re eager to find outs. It’s time for a new adventure.

Master Devlin: Why the sudden decision to leave?

wF: Not sure. It just feels like time. Also, Mr Travers needs you more, we reckon.

Master Devlin: Very well. I will not stop you. Though... you do realise we’ve had a few of these bittersweet farewells over the years?

wF: Of course...

An old western stagecoach pulls up beside them.

Master Devlin: Well, looks like this is your ride, Waldo.

wF: Yes, quite...

Waldo hops aboard.

wF: Well, so long...

Master Devlin: Farewell, Widdle Frunkut… and please, for the love of god… stay out of trouble.

wF: Sure thing...

Master Devlin: Oh—just one last thing.

wF: Yes?

Master Devlin: Despite everything we’ve been through… all these years... Was I a good master?

Waldo pauses, thinking.

wF: Hmmm... Nope! Goodbye!

The coachman whips the horses, and the stagecoach disappears into the distance.

Master Devlin: Ohh... 😢

He quickly realises Waldo has stolen his wallet. He sighs and gives a dry smile.

Manhole: Don’t cry, Danny...

Ed climbs out of the manhole, an alligator’s jaws clamped on his leg. He casually pries the gator off and tosses it back into the sewers.

Ed: That’s better. Anyway, that was a surprisingly nice scene. Fitting of a season finale, I reckon.

Master Devlin: Quite. Well, if you’ll excuse me...

The Master walks away. Ed follows.

Season Finale.

The Waldoverse continues in Season 7