Snorri tried to grasp at his chest as he regained consciousness, but his body seemed to be pinned down with rubble. After the ringing in his ears slowly died away, Snorri heard squealing voices from the classroom beyond his pile of rubble. “I'm telling you this ain't a dwarf!” one voice was yelling through mouthfuls of some kind of food. A number of others grunted in agreement. “I'm telling you. I saw one with a beard when we were in the tunnel. These are dwarfs or I ain't a goblin,” another lower pitched voice answered. A number of yelping laughs answered this, in between loud, noisy chews.
“DON'T MOVE!” came the loud voice of Arracop into Snorri's head. The gnome attempted to splutter but was thankfully still pinned down by the rubble. “How can I still hear you?” Snorri thought at the bodiless voice that had echoed through his mind moments before. “You and I are bonded now. I've found over the years open communication works best with my bearers,” Arracop's voice came again in his head.
Snorri suddenly realized something made of a cold dark metal was now enclosing his right wrist. He tried to struggle but quickly stopped when one of the voices yelled. “HERE, that rumble's moving.” Snorri froze. “No, it ain't,” came another voice. More chewing noises echoed around the room. “It did look,” came the first voice again.
“I told you not to move!” hissed Arracop's voice in Snorri’s head. The rumble burying Snorri suddenly began to move, and two long hands with long fingers, sharp nails, and dark green skin reached in and grabbed Snorri by the left arm, beginning to haul him from the rubble. Suddenly, Arracop's voice began speaking very quickly, “Snorri! You have one chance to survive. Do you understand? It has been so long since I have tasted battle. These creatures have no idea. No idea.” The rubble began to roll away from Snorri as the goblin dragged the gnome from the rubble. Arracop continued to scream inside Snorri's head, “You must have the element of surprise. It is the only way. The only way, Snorri...”
The rumble that had been burying Snorri's head rolled away, and his eyes slowly blinked away the layers of dust. Snorri realized he had a heavy metal object clutched tight in his still buried left arm. Arracop's voice began to shout clearly in his head, “Strike now, Snorri, for the throat. Strike now and survive.”
Snorri focused his vision on the broad-shouldered creatures pulling him from the rubble. It clearly hadn't noticed he was conscious yet, or simply didn't care. Three more of them sat around a smoldering, smokeless green fire in the center of the classroom, feasting on large legs of roasted meat. “GOBLINS DON'T FARM, SNORRI,” Arracop began to cackle in his mind. Snorri's eyes widened as he noticed the goblin sitting atop piles of blood-soaked academy robes. Snorri began to snarl in anger. “Good, let the anger flow, Snorri. Do it now, strike for the throat. Avenge the children,” Arracop whispered darkly.
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Snorri roared as he pulled his right arm and whatever was in his right hand free of the rubble. The goblin hauling him by the left arm let out a shocked “What the fu-” as the roaring gnome leapt toward him. Snorri swung his right arm for the goblin's head. The rusted sword from the glass case swung through the air and sliced cleanly through the goblin's neck, sending a shower of bright green blood across the room. The goblin's shocked-looking head tumbled through the air and hit the floor with a dull thud, intricately carved runes blazing in small purple fire across the large blade. The rust running across its ancient surface flaked away, and the long curved blade appeared to shrink into a smaller, dagger-like size. The handle extended, and the eight links of chain linking the pommel to the cuff shimmered from rusted iron into a dark metal of a similar kind to the webs of Arracop's realm.
As Snorri looked at the blade, magically transforming in his hand, he heard the sound every gnome in his colony dreaded hearing. A loud chime echoed around the room. The goblins didn't react. Snorri knew only he could hear it. The sound died away. Letters slowly burned their way into Snorri's vision, the same white sparkling text he saw when he used the appraisal skill. His heart sank as he read: LEVEL UP! STRENGTH LEVEL ONE ACHIEVED!:
NEW SKILL: BASIC RANGE
NEW SKILL: BASIC MELEE
YOU ARE NOW LEVEL FIVE.
“YESSSS,” Arracop hissed. “This strength, I haven't felt this good in years,” his voice almost purring. “We may survive this yet, Snorri.” Snorri was sure he could hear the spider's fangs clicking as if in thought, “Why does your heart not sing for battle, Snorri? Is this not what you bargained for?” Arracop asked in Snorri's mind. “I will be exiled after this...” Snorri thought to the voice of the spider. “Excellent,” roared the spider. “See, you already believe you can survive...” There was suddenly a roar from the other side of the classroom.
The three other goblins had finally noticed Snorri and their now headless colleague. Snorri instinctively clasped Arracop’s now much longer handle in two hands, the dagger-sized blade a perfect sword in the tiny gnome hands. “That one just killed Bill,” growled the largest of the three goblins. The other two turned their heads toward Snorri, sniffing the air as their beady eyes focused on him. All three of them drew long, crudely forged blades from the ground beside them and stood up menacingly. “Sneaky fucker. Got him when he didn't have a sword,” snarled one goblin to the other two. “Yeah, Rob. We'll show him you don't mess with goblins. He's only puny,” the smallest goblin said. He was no bigger than Snorri in size. “Careful, Davak. He's the same level as you, you know,” said the biggest goblin. Davak spat on the floor. He began to charge toward Snorri, dropping low to the ground as he charged across the ruined classroom.
“THROW ME!” yelled Arracop.