Snorri’s hand moved quickly across the workbench as he methodically assembled the coponant and ingredients. His mind finally began to calm as his methodical Gnomish intelligence kicked in and he slipped into a state of deep concentration. While he worked, Snorri began to take in the enormity of the last few days events. He knew that, by now, he was most likely the last gnome alive within the mountain. He pushed away the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him and forced himself to be logical. "Arracop,” he thought to the spider. "I have some questions for you.” It was a while before the spider’s clicking came barreling through his mind, followed by a deep rumbling. “what about?” Snorri paused for a moment before pouring a black powder in precise amounts into several glass vials and sealing the top with metal caps made of some redish metal alloy. “Our bargain.” Snorri thought back. After more Fang clicking, he presumed the spider was waiting for a more specific question. “I’m pretty new to this whole combat thing, but can you tell me just how much of this has been, well, me?” he asked, continuing his delegating work.
"That," came the spider voice after more clicking. "It is hard to say. I am capable and have been dedicating most of my time to, for the matter, activating your skills remotely. but I am unable to grant you skills of my own, then allowing you to hear in the tongues that I too can understand.” Snorri’s mind suddenly flickered with understanding, quickly taking in the new information as he finished his work with the second group of components and moved along the bench to the third. “So you, I, and we can use more than one skill at a time?” he thought to the spider. “Yes, you are starting to begin to understand. During your previous battles, you have been using both your combat and intelligence skills; for example, none of my previous wielders have been able to use my blade as a truly effective ranged weapon. Did you not wonder how you never seem to be off target?” The spider rambled while Snorri came to the closing few steps of his engineering session. “So apart from that, are you doing anything else?” he thought to the spider inside the weapon. The fang clicking returned this time, somehow conveying a mild annoyance: “Aside from many of my warriors having experienced a certain blood lust, usually manifesting as a lack of pain and an overwhelming sense of rage whilst in battle, does that sound familiar?” The spider somehow teased him.
Snorri drew in a deep breath; it did, in fact, explain how he had managed to stay alive so far. It also meant that now that he had finished his work, soon his rage would return. Snorri guilty pulled a brown leather back pack from one of the gnomish corpses on the floor by his work bench. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled off the gnome’s heavy work boots. Snorri, like most of the gnomes in the colony, usually chose to be barefoot, but the gnomes of the industrial sector worked with heavy machinery, so most of them chose to at least keep a pair at their workstation. After he had finished fastening the work boots, he returned to his table and hastily packed away the objects he had built. Six of the powder-filled vials—a large metallic tube with a carefully gear mechanism attached to its side and a small metallic disc with a dark red gen attached to its centre—were packed away methodically, and Snorri swung the bag onto his shoulders.
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As Snorri wrenched the workshop doors open once more and returned to the tunnel, a familiar feeling of rage began to wash over him. He began to spin the magical sword on its chain. A low, menacing whistle wung down the tunnel. “How many?” Snorri thought of the spider with a snarl. “Eight hundred and seventy-four." Came the spider’s voice in a gleeful hiss.
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Arrablac The goblin'ventor had always been the smartest of his brothers. After the war council, he gathered his men. 100 or so goblins in the finest goblin plate mail headed out into the vast network of tunnels, caves, and chambers in the mountains. He had sent runners ahead, lesser goblins he had pressganged into his service to look for anything that still had light. After the first three had led him proudly to the fires the goblins themselves had lit, He had regathered the runners, and after an execution or two, they had once again surged ahead of him. After hours, they finally led him to a long, dark tunnel somewhere in the heart of the mountain. As he had stepped fourth into the chamber, he had been met with a true wondrous sight.
The chamber consisted of large glowing crystals of a blue mineral of some kind. complicated-looking networks of wires and pipes leading from each towards a vast central control panel. Arrablac swung his large crossbow-like weapon over his shoulder as he approached the control panel. “Defensive formation!” he said, well absentmindedly, as the last of his cadre entered the chamber. more to keep them out of his way than to actually have them defend against anything. His troop finished assembling themselves in concentric rings around the console. Arrablac began to press blindly at the buttons on the console. The lighting crystals on the chamber ceiling flickered on and off. He stroked his chin. This technology was like nothing he had ever seen before.
“What do we do now, boss?” one of his men asked from behind a full helm made of goblish metal with a red plume protruding from the top. "Now, leitentant, we do as the Warcheif has asked of us, then we take our gold and leave,” Arrablac snapped at the leitenant. “Now shut up, all of you. I need to think.”
"Yes, boss," the armoured goblins or his unit yelled in unison.