Garblack and a unit of thirty of his strongest goblin warriors charged through the tunnel with roars and screams. Of all the fights a goblin could have, the dwarves were the best—a perfect match in size and stature, the battle between the two sizes was always a fierce clash. Deep down, the goblins knew that if they could pull off this raid, their horde would go down in the legends of the tribes. The first of Garblack's horde broke from the tunnel ahead of him, and the yelling and screaming died down. A dull throng of disappointment flowed through the goblins, and the unit began to slow down. Garblack pushed his way through the goblins out of the mouth of the tunnel. “What the heck are you boys doing? I told you to kill every bloomin' dwarf you see when you get out of the tunnel!” Garblack yelled to his unit, reaching the front rank and pushing his way out in front.
The goblins looked at their leader confused. Garblack continued to yell at them until one of them finally pointed behind the boss’s shoulder. “WHAT!?” Garblack screamed at the goblin too busy yelling at his own men to bother turning around. “Boss, there ain't no dwarfs..” said the pointing goblin. Garblack spun around. The tunnel he had chosen from the fifteen or so his forces had dug had been meant to break through into a dwarvish stockroom. As he spun, Garblack set eyes on twenty or so terrified looking dwarves in the white robes of the Vault Technician Guild. “Appraisal,” Garblack squealed in Goblish. The goblins believed that saying the name of skills made them more powerful, although it is unknown whether this is actually true. Twenty number fives glowed in light green characters above the gnomes' heads.
“‘Ere, Grut, have we got anyone in the horde weaker than a five?” Garblack yelled back into the tunnel. After ten seconds or so, Grutt's voice came echoing back up the tunnel from the rear of the unit. “No boss. We made sure to make sure we only brought 5 and bigger!” Garblack smiled. “WELL THEN, BOYS,” he yelled to the unit at large. “Looks like Gnomeses is on the menu tonight.” And with that, the War Horde of Garblack charged forth into the unarmed gnomes.
******************
“Arracop,” Snorri repeated to himself. The word tasted like blood. The vast spider shivered in something like pleasure or pain, its vast carapace shrieking like twisting metal. After the beast had seemingly recovered, it moved its vast metallic body around, so it was behind the gnome's back, leaning in close to whisper its next question into Snorri's long pointed ear, “All your kind who have come before you have declined my power. Why do you seek it now?” in a hushed whisper.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Snorri paused; the vault technician hadn't had time to finish his presentation. He was slowly working on the hypothesis that maybe the artifact was not, in fact, cursed but contained some sort of entity, Arracop. Whatever it was must be somehow trapped inside the artifact itself. Snorri shivered at the thought of the seventeen known who had been here before him. Had they conversed with the spider thing too, or merely been eaten? He had to think of an answer to the entity question and quickly. He shivered slightly as he told the spider a secret he had never told anyone. “I want to be strong.” He felt guilty for saying it. It was forbidden in gnomish culture to even think about gaining levels in a skill other than that assigned by the high council. Snorri, for some reason, had presumed Arracop would live by gnomish principles too. Snorri presumed wrong.
“Good, good,” the spider creature roared, rearing its head high up to scream the words to the vast chain-infested darkness above them. “It is settled then,” Arracop said, circling its body once more to in front of Snorri. “I will offer you a bargain, Snorri Snorrinson,” Arracop said. Snorri raised an eyebrow; he had never told Arracop his full name. “Snorri Snorrison, I, Arracop, will grant you strength beyond all your kind are destined to possess, but the price is henceforth… ONE THOUSAND SOULS.” Arracop finished, one thousand eyes fixing on the gnomes in a somehow deadly serious expression.
Snorri swallowed. “You want me to kill one thousand Gnomes?” he asked the creature incredulously. No wonder seventeen gnomes had refused before him. Of all the crimes of the gnomish colony, Gnomocide was by far the worst. “If you wish, any sentient race will do. Accept or die along with everyone else in your mountain,” Arracop hissed.
Snorri hesitated. He weighed his options. He could either accept the creature's bargain and have to leave the mountain and live in exile, or he could decline, be eaten himself, and seemingly somehow unleash the thing on the mountain. Ultimately, Snorri muttered hesitantly, “I accept,” hoping that once he woke up, he would be able to ask Professor Henders and figure out a way to back out of the bargain. The demon didn't answer. Instead, it dove forward with impossible accuracy, sinking two fangs as big as long swords deep into the flesh of Snorri's chest. The gnome screamed in pain as darkness began to cloud his vision. The last thing he heard was the spider creature's deep rumbling voice roaring, “You have seven days, Snorri Snorrinson.”