Snorri squelched through the damp tunnel, doing his best to avoid touching the stream of brownish water flowing between his feet. “Where are we?” came Arracop’s voice from deep within Snorri’s mind. “I believe this is a waste pipe.” Snorri thought back. “Where have you been anyway?” he asked, having only just realised the spider had been silent during his last few battles against the goblins. Arracop’s fang clicking sounded through the gnome’s mind. “Do you have any idea how much concentration it takes to activate another being's skills and abilities? let alone, as well as doing that, I also have to act as a goblish to the gnomish translator. I have been busy,” ranted the spider. Snorri thought back over his last few fights; he hadn't noticed at the time, but he had apparently been combing both his intelligence skills of Gnomish senses and engineering with his newly gained strength skills of weapon spin parry and weapon throw, all without realising he was doing it.
Snorri squelched on through the darkness. The map had drawn the tunnel as nearly two kilometres, but Snorri’s entrance point had been midway down the tunnel; by his estimate, he only had another five hundred of so metres before the tunnel should open out into the wast management center. “How long has it been?” asked the gnome, hoping the spider would have a better sense of the passing of time than himself. “It has been just over 24 hours since the goblin’s broke through into the mountain. What I need to remind you of means you have six days to fulfil your bargain, Snorri.” The beast reminded the gnome. Snorri rolled his eyes at that. The spider, who apparently dwelt within his blade, could be very single-minded at times. "Yes, yes, one thousand souls, one week. i remember.” Snorri thought back in a tone of annoyance.
“Nine hundred and thirteen souls. 6 days.” The spider thing corrected him. Snorri blinked at that; he hadn't actually considered that the green-skinned monsters had souls. Apparently the spider cared not for what creature the soul came as long as its hunger was satisfied. Somewhere far behind Snorri in the tunnel, Snorri heard the sound of metal whining as, somewhere deep within the mountains, a valve opened. and the trickle of brownish water between Snorri’s feet became a stream. The little gnome sped up, trying to get to the tunnel’s exit as quickly as possible. He was maybe half way there when he heard a rush of water behind him and was swept forward on a wave of Gnomish filth and sent hurtling down the tunnel.
Snorri shot out of the tunnel’s exit with a mighty splash. He instinctively swam upward. As his head broke the water, Snorri breathed in a deep, rancid breath, and with a wave of sheer terror, he relished his mistake. The tunnel had emptied into a large takeover of some kind. Panic set in as Snorri realised the water level in the tank showed no sign of a slow, currently heavy surge. Within minutes, the pocket of stench-filled air where Snorri’s head bobbed just above the sewage would be gone. Snorri let out a scream of rage. How could he have been so stupid?
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The sounds of feasting goblins rang out around the strange chamber as Arthur looked down at his troops. After he had led them from one of the many breaching tunnels the goblins had blasted through the gnomish colony, he and his unit massacred their way through the gnomes of the wast management center. The entire slaughter had taken them less than three hours. In the time since he had granted his troops a moment of respite. For the first few hours, he posted guards at the chamber entranceways, but after hours of battleless boredom, he allowed them to rest too. Several green goblin fires had been hastily started around the room, and after an hour or so of arguing over whether or not the strange little creatures were poisonous, the goblins had forced the smallest of their number to try some of the cooked gnome. After the goblin survival, the rest had been quick to begin cooking the remains of their enemies.
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Arthur surveyed the room. When he first entered the chamber, he had made straight for a raised platform in the centre of the room, reasoning it would be the best place for him to be able to shout orders to his forty or so goblin warriors. The room’s contents were mostly pipes webbed across the chamber's ceiling, all leading to one large metal tank in the centre of the room. Arthur climbed down from his platform. As he crossed the room, one of his warriors got up from the place he had been sitting and joined his leader. “What do you think is in there, boss?” Asked the warrior as he reached Arthur’s side, following the goblins leaders gaze and joining him to stare up at the large metal tank. Arthur let out a long goblin breath to give himself time to think before he finally gave his warrior an answer. "Well, you know how we think these things are either dwarfs, wizards, or dwarfwizards.” He began before the warrior interrupted him. “Ain't no wizards, boss. Wizards would have killed us,” the warrior said with some authority. Arthur snarled and punched the goblin in the stomach. The goblin grunted in pain. “Think about it, idiot. Wizards are worthless without their magic potions,” said Arthur.“Don’t see how that has anything to do with the tank," the warrior weezed, straightening himself up. Arthur pointed up at the tank. “What if there are potions in the tank? just in there for the taking?” Arthur asked the warrior. The goblin warrior looked up at the tank, his eyes narrowing. Arthur could almost see the gears in the creature's head turning. “Then we should tell Garblac, right? He is the warchief, right?” The goblin spoke to Arthur slowly.
“No way. We picked this tunnel. Whatever we find here is ours.” Arthur said this to his warrior. “In fact, it is best to close the doors. I don't want any of the others to get any of our potion either. just us a lot.” The goblin warrior nodded stupidly and ran off to secure the chamber's doors. Arthur circled the tank. On the side closest to where he was feasting goblins, he found a small round hatch, clearly meant to empty the large tank. Arthur pressed his ear against the hatch. It was the strangest thing. It was as if he could hear the potion sloshing around with its potential store of magical power. Arthur was vaguely aware of his troops gathering behind him. The sounds of feasting have died away. The little goblin clasped his hands over the hatch's smooth metal handle and began to turn. The goblin warriors waited with baited breath. Excited to gain the strength of Dwaves, wizards, or dwarvic wizards.
“Ready boys?” Yelled Arthur Turning the hatch handle The hatch burst free with a bang. An ocean of Gnomish excrement poured forth from the vast tank. A wave of brown liquid swept from the tank. Throwing Arthur off his feet. Before the goblin had time to bring himself to his feet, the chamber's water level had risen up to the creature's neck. All around him, goblins failed and shreiked as they tried to force their bouncencyless bodies to float. The last thing Arthur heard was one of his goblin warriors screaming at him, “AINT NO POTION BOSS." Before Arthur slipped below the sea of flinth
A tiny, three-finger Gnomish hand burst from the water and clutched the raised platform. The goblin leader had been surveying his troops in the moments before. Followed by the tiny brown-stained form of Snorri, it dragged itself from the sea of sewage now filling the chamber. The gnome drew in a deep, desperate breath. He was wretched as he vomited onto the small, raised platform. He looked out at the chamber, blinking filth from his eyes. “Well done,” came the spider’s voice. “You survived”
Snorri ignored the spider. As far as he could see, his position on the platform was probably the safest place he could be at the moment. The room was seemingly goblin-free. Snorri curled himself into a ball on the small platform, and doing his best to avoid the smell, he managed to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.