The Morgle Unmasked: Chapter 1, Part 1

7 September 2026

We begin the first chapter of Book 3 of The Redemption series, The Morgle Unmasked, checking in with the morgle in his lair. . . . (28 December 2015) The full ebook version of this book is available for purchase from all ebook sellers. We remind all that the first book in this series, Chosen of the One, and the second book, Staff of Shigmar, are both free from Smashwords! Glossary links: Book 3, Book 2, Book 1

Chapter 1, Part 1

We have further discovered that it might be possible to attune the rod or staff to a particular individual or group, preventing the artifact of power from being seized by an enemy, even actively attacking the enemy who attempts to take it from its rightful holder. . . .

from Annals of Melbarth, Seventh Series, Early Lectures of the Hierarchs
Lecture by Sedra Melbarth

Atno 3524, “The Great Year,” Spring

Motodu was weary; the battle had drained him, using the rod had drained him, and he was more hungry than he had been for a long time. He rang the nearby gong, calling in one of his servants. One came almost immediately, her webbed feet slapping on the cold stone floor, and she bowed on one knee, her dark green, wet-looking hair brushing the floor as she placed her hands on the stone in front of her. She, like all the pleugle, had only two fat fingers on each of her webbed hands, with a short thumb beneath, green skin that looked oily, gills for breathing underwater on either side of her long neck. Her head and face were narrow and long, nose flat with narrow slits, eyes bulging out of the sides of her head, mouth that went all the way back to the tiny flapped holes that were her ears, with short tentacles dangling over her mouth.

“Master,” her voice hissed and bubbled, “you have returned. What do you wish?”

“I hunger,” Motodu said, his voice hissing and bubbling behind the long green tentacles that covered his mouth, the tentacles twitching convulsively.

“At once, master,” she hissed, bowing again then rising to go, her feet flapping across the floor.

“Hurry,” Motodu added. “There isn’t much time.” He sat down, fingering the diamond-topped rod he held clutched in his two-fingered right hand. He wondered how long it would be before the Great Lord learned of his failure, and the loss of the legions he had used to assault Shigmar, the city of the kailum. The power of Shigmar’s staff was phenomenal, and he had barely escaped the wave of destruction. What had happened to the company he had sent to capture the chosen who had both staff and sword? The last report he had received said that they were approaching the city, followed by silence, followed by the wave of power released by the staff, which meant that the chosen had somehow escaped and activated Shigmar’s staff. He needed time to think, but he was so weary from the battle, from controlling so many minds, that even with the power of the rod it had been extremely draining. He resisted the urge to ring the gong again as he knew his servants had to descend to the dungeon level of Morokolu to retrieve one of the prisoners. He focused on the rod, trying to draw more energy back into himself, but there were no reserves left, the huge diamond as dull gray and empty as the rod itself: he had drained the last reserves opening the archway to return to his fortress deep in the Mariskal, leaving his entire army to face the power of accursed Shigmar’s staff alone.

The door opened, and two pleugle servants forced a struggling wetha into the room, holding her by either arm. She looked up and saw Motodu moving toward her, and she screamed, thrashing around trying to escape. Motodu touched her with one of his fat fingers, and she stopped struggling, standing rigid between the pleugle servants, who released her and backed toward the door, bowing. Motodu circled behind her, grasping both her arms with his two-fingered hands. The wetha’s eyes were wild; Motodu’s tentacles, covering his mouth, moved and wrapped around the wetha’s head. Her eyes widened as the tentacles tightened around her head; she began to struggle again, opened her mouth to scream, but the scream trailed off, turning into an empty sigh, and her eyes went blank even as her body went limp. There was a crunching sound, followed by a squelchy, sucking sound, and the morgle released her. Her head slid out of the tentacles; her body slumped on the floor. The two servants came forward eagerly, grabbing the limp arms and dragging her from the room, her blood dripping onto the stone floor from a hole in the back of her head. A flat, lizard-like creature, about three feet long, scuttled across the floor, licking the blood from the stone and following the two servants out of the door.

Motodu went back to his desk and picked up the rod; harsh laughter came from behind him.

“Stimulating, that,” the voice laughed, “although I would have used her before eating her brains.”

Motodu turned quickly, holding up the rod, the diamond glowing with sickly green light. “I do not have your puri appetites,” he hissed. “What do you want, ponkolu?”

The winged fiend stepped forward, and the scent of burning sulfur and smoke filled the room. Motodu coughed once.

“I’ve come to take you to the Great Lord,” the ponkolu growled; “you should have come straight to him, once you had fled the battlefield, leaving all the Great Lord’s forces there to be destroyed by the accursed ones.”

“I do not think so,” Motodu hissed in reply, sending a bolt of green power at the ponkolu.

The winged monster of Gar deflected the bolt, which smashed into one of the room’s walls, burning a hole through it. “I was hoping you would say that,” he grinned, showing his fangs. He shot a bolt of red flames at Motodu.

“Plotoskoit,” the morgle hissed and surrounded himself with a shield of flowing water, quenching the flames with a bubbling and hissing of steam; the ponkolu continued to chant, pouring more energy into the flames that now engulfed the morgle. He laughed, thinking he had overcome the wielder of the Rod of Melbarth, when a storm of icy arrows flew out of the flames, ripping through the ponkolu, whose laughter suddenly changed into a scream of pain. Motodu moved out of the flames as they died, reaching out to touch the ponkolu, who went immediately rigid. Motodu moved behind him, the tentacles hanging from his face quivering with excitement as they wrapped themselves around the ponkolu’s horned head, whose eyes widened then went blank as his scream of pain changed into an empty sigh. There followed a crunching sound, then a squelchy sucking sound, and the limp body of the ponkolu slumped onto the floor. Motodu staggered back, his tentacles quivering, and all his nerves tingling with the power he had consumed. He turned and hammered on the gong.

Moments later, his female servant came in and saw the body of the ponkolu. “Master, no!” she screeched. “What have you done? They are the Great Lord’s favorite pets!”

“Silence, Fatawssy!” he hissed at her. “Take the body below; make sure there is nothing left!”

“Yes, my master,” she replied, bowing. “I’ll see that everyone joins the feast.” She called for the other two servants, who entered with the lizard-like creature following. They went to the body and dragged it out, the lizard-like creature again following and lapping up the smoking blood spilled on the stone floor.

Several hours passed in slow silence; Motodu waited, ready for what must follow. With an idle flick of the platinum rod, the diamond flashing with orange light, he repaired the freshly-burned hole in the wall, and he waited. Finally, he felt the room change, smelled the odor of burned sulfur and smoke, and saw a pair of ponkolum stepping out of the wall and into his room. Again, he shot a bolt of sickly green flames at them, but since there were two, one of them deflected the bolt while the other sent red flames at Motodu, who barely had time to raise his shield. Hissing and steam filled the room; both ponkolum poured more power into the flames. Motodu felt his shield weakening as he felt his oily green skin dry and begin to burn. When his shield collapsed, he was surprised to find that the flames no longer surrounded him. He looked up, and felt a hand clamping around his neck; he was lifted struggling into the air.

“You know what the price is for betrayal?” a voice rumbled from behind him; bottles fell from the shelves around the room; the ponkolum grinned up at him, as they reeled back and forth, trying to keep their feet while the floor of the room shook. “I might have forgiven your failure, but I cannot tolerate betrayal.”

A hand reached from behind Motodu, catching the two-fingered hand gripping Melbarth’s rod. White light exploded from the diamond atop the rod; the hand trying to grab the rod was flung back. The last sound Motodu heard was a scream of pain and anger joined with the sound of crunching bones, followed by darkness and silence. . . .

On Wednesday, we will continue with this chapter, shifting to our heroes. Until then, we remind all that the first two books of this series, Chosen of the One and Staff of Shigmar, are free from Smashwords. Get this book, The Morgle Unmasked, from the links provided. Good reading!