Coming back to the scattered corpses of everyone I once knew, only one thought really occurred to me: boy, am I glad I got stuck with the shit bucket.

I had just emptied out its putrid contents into the ditch when I heard the sounds of clanging metal and death. The heroes had sure made good work of our tribe, I had to give them that. The wreckage they'd left me with was no pretty sight. Little bodies chunked all around. Our badland refuge was burning and broken.

There was a rush of fury, of course, but then quickly a resignation. I had waddled my ass up here as fast as I could, but even if I hadn't hidden behind the rocks when I arrived, there was jack I could do. These adventurers were not classed out to fight a goblin tribe. They were classed out to fight the cursed fortress up the hill.

I could see it over the plumes of smoke and charred debris, past jagged black rock, and inhospitable waste. Dulanere. The old conjurer's keep. It was a big sprawling thing, built on top of the most convenient rock formation. Some of my people called it "the mountain," and still others called it "that house." It was a monster, tall and powerful. In contrast to the challenge it posed, we were just an appetizer.

Looking at my empty little hands, I had a decision to make. I could scavenge what I found from my dead kin and head for the hills, maybe to live and fight another day. Or... I could haul ass up there and try to get revenge. My race was known for their lust for vengeance, but hell if I was going to get myself killed over a bunch of ungrateful morons, gods rest them. There was, however, the matter of opportunism.

I'd counted the seconds the fight took, and if I had to guess? Those asshats were biting off more than they could chew in Dulanere. They'd made easy work of the tribe, but not too easy. If they met their match on The Mountain, then I would be there to pick the remains.

My stomach grumbled. This was going to delay lunch, I thought. Maybe I'd eat them after I cleared them clean of their gold? Now that was vengeance proper.

I took off running for the mountain, lurching along on stubby legs, and hopping to catch up. I knew where I needed to go, as I had been raised in these parts. Some of us liked to migrate, but not my tribe. We made our living in the shadow of the blackened hills. When my ancestors first came here, Dulanere was nothing more than a crumbling ruin. It was only sometime later that the spirits awoke on their own and the conjurer rose. Once upon a time we had even inhabited some portions of the old fortress, but now they crawled with ghouls and ghosts.

The ground rose sharply before me, and I pressed forward. No point in trying to hide from this one. I was going to be right there, watching my enemy as he made his first mistake. I had to be close to seize my moment. The sun was setting, and it turned the mountainside into a sea of long shadows. Huge as the badlands were, it was not a long walk now.

The adventurers had slowed down at the crest of the mountain. I got my first good look at them as they huffed and puffed for breath, standing over the felled body of some undead beast at the gates. There was four of them. A man, a half-orc, another man, and a gnome. Gods, I hated gnomes. The first man wielded some kind of strange spell blade, while the second was a hammer-wielding paladin, armored to the point of entombment. The half-orc was empty handed, or rather clawed. He was almost more a beast than a person. And the gnome? A spellcaster of some sort. Probably a wizard.

I'd seen a thousand like them come and go, and I had survived them all. My kind always bounced back, no matter how defeated we looked. Doubtlessly, there were other stragglers like me who would regroup to camp by nightfall tomorrow. But I was one of those rare creatures. Not only did I know how to survive, but I also knew when to take the lead. It wasn't enough to scrape by in this world, I tell ya.

My moment was not quite nigh, though. Once the gates opened, the heroes went inside, and I slipped in closely behind them. The haunted halls of the fortress seemed to wail as we entered. Shadows moved about, and ghostly voices rose, telling stories of terrible deeds. These were the sorts of places that my kin liked to live nearby, but not enter.

The party ahead stopped as they breached the fortress' courtyard. I ducked low behind a fallen cart to avoid being seen as that crafty gnome quickly cast his eyes back my way. I didn't dare move, and neither did the gnome. He was transfixed on something; I simply didn't know what it was. I waited for him to make his next move while the others were looking around the place.

There came a noise then. Like clashing steel.

All too late, the gnome cried out, "It's a haunt!"

"A what?" That was the half-orc.

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All hell broke loose as ghosts poured in from every direction. They were souls trapped in the reenactment of their own death, crushed in the epic pack of bodies assailing the fortress millennia ago. Their screams were horrible, and they attacked with wild abandon. Not directed at the adventurers, but in such a tangle that they instantly fell prey.

The half-orc was as quick to react as any of them, despite his confusion. He fell into a rage and began to tear at the half-corporeal attackers. The gnome revealed an orb from under his cloak, dashing out an area of oil across the ground that slowed the attackers, while the two men fought hard. Meanwhile, I simply ducked under the ruined cart and waited.

Ahead of me, the adventurers were doing well, but the situation was getting worse. They fought their way to the courtyard's end, but the doors were locked. Each one of them was busy fending for their own life, with no extra focus for a pesky locked door. That half-orc, barbarian I guessed, might have broken it down, but he couldn't be reasoned with in his savage state.

At this rate, these idiots would be dead before they even made it to the keep, and like hell would I be able to retrieve their shit in all this mess of angry ghosts.

The walls of this courtyard were stacked stone, leading up to a ledge where I was sure I could find my way in and down. I was damn fast and small, so I could easily slip my way under the legs of the ghosts. I knew what I needed to do, I just hated it admitting it. These fools needed my help.

And so? With my first chance, I ran for the walls and scaled them like a spider. I'd never been inside this place before, but I bet my left nut the layout wasn't complicated. If I could just find a way in, then I was golden.

My ticket came in the form of a dark hallway opening to the fortress walkways. Doors lined it inside, and I peeked through each one until I found the staircase down. From there I flew over the steps to reach the bottom and the back side of the courtyard's exit. It was locked, and all I had to do was throw off the bolt.

In that moment, the heroes crashed through the threshold as their weight pressed against the door gave way. I darted into the unlit hall before they could catch sight of me and dove to the floor. I heard them scrambling in confusion, but they weren't too bright.

"Must have broken down finally," the spellsword said, twirling his blade triumphantly as he stood.

I could see that the ghosts had dissipated as soon as they left the courtyard. The strange rules of a haunt. Though the door was slashed over with the man's pointless attacks, the gnome thought better of it. He inspected the piece of wood that had barred their way laying on the ground unbroken.

"Not likely," was all he said, eyes scanning down the hallway toward the darkness where I hid.

The paladin shouted gruffly, "We need to split up! One of us should stay here and guard the entrance to Dulanere."

"Not me," the barbarian said. "I'm ready for more action."

The spellsword sighed. "Are you kidding? Look at yourself. You can already barely stand."

With a call to his divine patron, the paladin summoned forth a white light on his fingertips that washed the barbarian over. "I've only got one more of those, so take care with your steps."

"Care!?" The barbarian scoffed. "I am unkillable!"

"I was speaking to Lang."

"Tut tut," the gnome chided. "All's well in hand."

The spellsword snorted, "That last bit felt very under control, I must say."

Lang shrugged. "You're an idiot. Of course you are. But with a little luck and my help, we'll all get out of this rich."

The group mumbled and grumbled complaintsomely on their way. They took very little caution throwing open the next door and barging through. I had to run to catch up but failed to slip through before the latch fell back in place. If I opened the door now to follow, they would surely know I was behind them.

"Shitfuck," I said, quiet.

They marched on down the hall until the sound of them faded. I had no choice but to find another way around. I carefully snuck to the next door and entered, slowly creating a mental map of the building as I went. My hallway ran parallel until it turned off to the right, which meant there was probably some kind of larger room now opening the way they'd gone, and I was merely encircling it. I followed my path as it turned left twice, and my suspicions were confirmed.

A set of proud doors connected me back to the room they'd entered. Peaking beneath those doors, I could make out something like a great dining hall. The heroes were putting down a few meager skeletons and getting ready to move on further towards the keep inside, where they would cross my path. It was about that moment when I saw the next inconvenience.

Connected to the great doors was an intricate mechanism, ready to spring a trap hidden fiendishly beneath a blood-stained rug. The pit was huge, easily encompassing enough space to take down the whole party if they clumped up. I gave it a quick look, lifting one side of the trap door and gazing down into the abyss below, only to see a sheer one-hundred-foot drop to some kind of wet and spikey cave. Impossible to climb safely.

"Son of a scum-bitch. Ya know what? Fine," I said, exasperated.

They were coming fast, so I worked like a madman disabling the trap without setting it off by accident. If those idiots fell down there, I'd never see a single piece of their copper.

By the time the heroes threw wide those doors without a care in the world, I was already far ahead of them in hiding again. The stairs to the keep were now plain to see, and they sauntered towards them full of confidence. Ready to take on the big bad conjurer himself without heads or tails of the little bastard keeping them alive.

Finally, I thought.

My people knew the legends of Dulanere. I didn't know what exactly was waiting at the top of the keep, but I had heard of the great evil that ruled the badlands and spread his undead taint. Something told me that whatever was waiting for them would finally do the job right. Then all I had to do was grab the loot off their corpses and get out fast before incurring his wrath.

If my streak of luck so far was any hint, that's not exactly how it went.