Two groups of younglings stood on either side of a door. Two were much larger, both about the average height of a shorter human man. The others were a feminine twig of a gnome, and a juggernaut of a halfling, both under four feet in height. The rabble of trained black hand assassins were nothing to either group. As their time from knowing the pair was there and their meeting with their afterlife was less than a dozen seconds. And now, a thick wall of stone and a wooden door separated the two groups. Both had only half a minute at best before combat truly descended upon both sides.

****************************

The Glora Clan younglings quickly began a plan they called, The Silver Surfers. While the halfling girl loaded and hung the quickly stolen crossbows from her sides, the boy stood behind a corner from the door and withdrew from his pack of reagents, a beaker and a full dropper. His dexterous fingers had drawn the stopper free as he recited a specially crafted and altered spell. The words were less a classical arcane incantation and more the jingle a musical merchant might sing about his wares for attention. His hand flicked out, releasing a single drop from the tool. The dropper slid back into its holster beaker at the same time the drop met the floor and the jingle ended.

The single drop of liquid mercury spread out and started to grow and glow with the exhaustion of magical energy. In seconds, a long, floating board of silver hovered above the floor, waiting as the caster stepped up. The board started to move the moment his weight no longer touched the ground. Slowing to a stop in front of the halfling, she stepped up the head of the board. She knelt, bracing the large shield gauntlet against the board. She withdrew her great sword and braced it against the top of the shield.

Dark, tangling vines extended from her feet and her back as the boy leaned down and wrapped his arms around her waist. With the two properly secured, the halfling clicks her tongue, and her brother holds tight as the board shoots forward at nearly double the speed of a normal person. And crashed through the door with a battering ram shaped like a plate clad halfling.

Rage burned and smoldered in the younglings' hearts as they burst through the partly rotted door. The visions of death that had plagued them on the hour-long search down the sewers fueled both to show no mercy or hesitation.

****************************

As the pair had drawn closer and closer to the lab, ‘markers’ had been placed near the path they followed at intersections to other sections of the sewers. Most intersections were blank or had old and faded signs hung above them. Used by the civil servants for any maintenance needs. But those sections that were marked more recently, were ‘claimed’ by people or a faction. Usually by a sign or emblem.

Down the paths claimed first by the Black Hand, was simply a black painted hand with a glowing outline. But as they got further into their territory, the marks became warnings. Corpses that were enchanted with a spell to hide their scent were left rotting at intersections or openings. The corpeses could be fresh or old, young or elderly, slave or freeman, invader or guild member. The only similarities between them all were two things. A black, necrotic handprint on their face and a note that detailed the dead’s ‘crimes’.

The notes ranged from, “Sold out mission,” “Failed to task assigned,” “Entered our territory,” down to, “Questioned Council Orders,” “Failed training exorcise,” and “Because they annoyed their trainer.” The two younglings had passed a dozen of them on their way to the lab. Their anger made their blood run hot. But it turned to ice when they came across what was clearly a young half orc girl. She was wearing only a tight, revealing tunic, with her crime written on and used to cover her remaining dignity. “Wasn’t worth what we bought her for.”

From that body on, the two had silently agreed to punish whoever was down there. They had wanted to simply search and loot the lab. Now, they would settle for nothing but destroying it.

****************************

Hayle stood in a shadowed corner within the lab, hidden just 30 feet from the door. The chamber was a short and thick ‘T’ shape, where the dark stone brick gave way to raw sandstone and bedrock. The door would open into a wide and long central chamber with two wings to either side of the door for storage and special equipment or papers and books. The two wings were nearly 120 feet across from far wall to far wall. Both sunk in past the central chamber’s walls by around 30 feet. Leaving the large, central chamber nearly 60 feet across and 120 feet deep. Where the central alchemy station sat against the far wall, hedged in between two long strips of fungi that were planted along the floor.

The human woman watched the door where she had placed a hastily built trap. She had jammed two daggers into the door frame and placed a set of ten vials of their poison atop them. She had hopped when the two burst through the door, it would fall and splatter across their backs and give them an opening. Her metal companion stood mirror her in the opposite wing, ready to sling their poisons and potions.

Neither expected the size, nor the method of the two intruders. Riding atop a disk of silver, these raiders rode in like a bolt of lightning. Crashing through the door with all their speed as the lead one had braced themselves for impact at the tip. The force that carried them took them far past where the vials crashed behind them.

The board carried them into and past the ends of the wings, but with one less passenger. The plate clad juggernaut wielding two shields and a great sword larger than themselves, had launched themselves from the moving ride, directly at the spot the human had been hiding in. The councilwoman lunged out of the corner but was overwhelmed by the rushing wall of metal and violence.

A metallic meteor slammed into her side and shoved her against the wall and to the ground. The breath was knocked from her chest with brutal efficiency, her form splayed out as her mind rattled around wildly. Only for it to come back with a violent whiplash of pain. As the sword of the small menace seemed to ignore the weight held in one of its hands, and slammed it down into thigh. The heavily trained rouge didn’t scream out in pain, but rather seized the opportunity to focus her mind and power as the tiny juggernaut withdrew its sword to swing it down again.

The shadow of the metal fighter stretched over and ‘consumed’ the assassin. Her body melded with and shifted briefly into a world of grey and darkness. Appearing 30 feet away on the opposite wall of the wing, she finished her roll and rose from the ground, throwing herself into a standing position. With a wobbling stance she tried to limp away from the tiny maniac, making it a dozen feet before being reacquired by the menace. Seeing the creature spot her, she lifted her shortsword and hand crossbow. The bolt flew out first, glancing off the plate without injury. While a blob of darkness flew from the tip of her sword and landed in the center between herself, and the mad toddler sized threat. The magical darkness ballooned, filling the space, but not blocking her own vision.

The sphere of darkness hid her momentarily from the great sword wielder. But it didn’t hide her from the other threat in the room. The silver board had slowed and turned around, sitting about 50 feet straight past the entrance, and just between the path of fungi leading towards the lab. The small form, that to the human looked like a little girl from this distance, withdrew a small sphere of soft clay and mashed it between its hands, grinding it between her palms. The board shot forward, closing the distance, when two bolts fired from the hidden warforge. One sails forward ahead of the spellcaster, to glance off the armor of the menace, while the second catches the spellcaster as they sail closer to their companion.

The spell caster staggers, but continues casting, shifting their focus to the much closer hidden threat. With a sudden turn of the board that killed its forward momentum, their spell concludes, and an earthen hand rises behind the crouching alchemist. With a burst of movement, the alchemist tries to dash over the crate it is hiding behind. Only to have its legs grabbed and restrained with a powerful grip, the pulls from its metallic legs a groan of strain as it struggles against it.

But before the hand had completely grasped the warforge, the spellcaster was moving again, putting themselves closer to their captured combatant, and further from the human. With the hiss of a scalding skittle, the spellcaster drew flakes from a dried brick along their belt and tossed it into the air before them. The specks burst into spout of flames and careened into the restrained metallic golem. Singing it badly, but not taking from it a cry of pain.

As their companion made their move, the plate decked fighter ran around the sphere of darkness, and saw their target. With a surge of strength and speed, they flung themselves against the human as they tried again to flee further away. But to no avail. They were not able to escape the tiny beating. The greatsword swung out, stabbing like a serpent into the other leg of the human. They staggered and were met once again with the sweet kiss of metal that sent them to the floor with enough force to crack their skull with a disgusting squelch.

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The alchemist spun its head while struggling to see their companion bounce from the stone like a ragdoll. Blood running from her skull like a river. Only to be met by the three magical balls of force against its face that were formed around three tossed gold coins. Followed by yet another bolt of burning flames. As the bolt connected with their chest, the warforge manages to pull itself free from the crushing grip of the earthen hand and is swallowed into the shadows cast by the burning crate and teleport 30 feet away from the hand, towards the door. Without a moment of hesitation, it dashes for the crates of vials near the broken door, and grabs onto it just as the spellcaster refocuses on its now missing target.

The metallic menace doesn’t pay heed to their magical companion. They stare down at the now unconscious human woman and raise their great sword, stabbing it down with tremendous force, severing their head from their body in a single motion. The strike was so heavy that the rock floor shattered under the now corpse’s severed head. Without even waiting a heartbeat, the juggernaut throws itself against the warforge only twenty feet from it now. Slamming their shield against it.

The metallic frame of a much smaller stator rocked that of its larger opponent, sending them to the ground, and the crate of necrotic poison it was holding crashed to the floor beyond the two. The silver board was moving toward the warforge from the moment they regained sight of the construct. With a deep, feral growl, the spell caster’s nails grew longer, their teeth grew to sharppened fangs, and acid began to drip from the cane held in their hands. And once they drew close enough, just as the metal juggernaut brought the warforge to the stone floor, they brought the sharpened tip down squarely into the chest of bent metal.

This time, the construct did release noises, those of panicked, squealing gears as acid began eating into its internals. Their torso bent forward, wrenching the cane from the weak wizard’s hands, and launched itself up before the plate clad monster could get its hands on it again. They stood up and turned to smash a stack of three crates full of necrotic poison with both its metal arms. Scattering and throwing it in a wide arc around it.

The mounted gnome managed to glide back and out of the way. But the juggernaut wasn’t able to escape. They were soaked in a wide coating of necrotic poison. Their chest plate and down was covered, and the green liquid seeped into the cracks of their armor. Finding supple, vulnerable, and youthful skin below. She let out a tortured scream as she felt her budding breasts, stomach and crotch begin to burn and start rotting on the surface skin. She could feel every nerve burn out as her body fought it. For a moment, the weight of her plate and gear was too much, and she staggered for just a moment. Giving the warforge the chance to dash past the reeling blockade.

Grabbing one of the last remaining crates, it staggers past the flailing girl. And is swallowed up by shadows once again. Disappearing and reappearing outside the empty doorway.

With a growl filled with hate and pain, the juggernaut turned and raised a foot into the air. Not missing a beat, the spellcaster flew forward with the board, picking up the larger passenger as they passed. And pursued out the door, right on the heels of the dashing warforge. The board flying recklessly after the mechanical man.

In seconds, the combatants were on top of each other again. With a flying leap with enough force to dip the board almost into the ground, the juggernaut leaped for and bashed the fleeing alchemist to the filth covered sewer floor. Lifting their sword into the air, they brought it down with wrath and mad force. Down into the chest and through the glowing core in its center. Over, and over, and over again. Ignoring the burning sensation of more poison splashed onto her from the crate crushed in the construct’s collapse.

She swung the sword down for one final time, burying it in the dust that remained of the core, and collapsed against the impaled sword. The strength leaving her as the necrotic poison burrowed into her lower half, deeper and more intrusive than the first exposure. The spell caster grabbed and with an effort of extreme will, forced the juggernaut to move off the metal corpse and slowly pooling poison.

They had won and were mostly whole. But the juggernaut struggled to move. Their brother quickly stripped her of the plate, casting it aside and exposing the disgusting and nauseating black skin that tainted the tan skinned girl. He grabbed at the bag around her neck, and stuck his fingers inside. First, he retrieved an antidote salve and began applying it all over the slowly expanding poison spots.

As the cool, minty smelling salve touched her skin, the juggernaut felt the burrowing sensation of necrosis end wherever it was applied. Neither cared about shame as they had to act now before the situation turned truly dire. Next, he reached into the bag, imagining the ‘healing juice’ Agatha had described. And withdrew a small glass bottle with a cork, containing the sparkling liquid, Mvir Juice, The Goodberry’s Melody. Before his sister could register what was about to occur, he shoved the bottle into her mouth and forced her to swallow it all. He held it in her mouth and stared in the same demanding way their father could when there was no room for debate or argument. Only obedience. And drank it all, as tears filled her eyes.

****************************

An hour had passed, with color and life quickly returning to the darkened skin under the halfling’s armor. She sat with the last crate of necrotic poison beside her, looking at the 100 vials inside and grimicing in remembered pain.

Her brother, however, was up and moving around. He was sorting through the notes and records of the mechanical alchemist, Roran Dahn. The warforge they had slain halfway down the tunnels. He had also excavated and removed some of the strange fungi lining the path to the lab. From what he had gathered so far, they were meant to be air filtering plants. They lived off poisonous gases and the stale air that could be found in deep caves. They had used it to allow the fleshy members of the guild to be able to not start rotting when they came within 300 feet of the lab room. As the location required either an extreme amount of airflow, or it would be unusable for weeks, outside of the metal alchemist and those few with expensive warding suits.

The formulation created with Agatha’s help, was able to prevent the excessive buildup of gases and reincorporated them into the poison. Allowing Hayle, the other council member, to assist for the first time in weeks with poison creation. And now, all the alchemical records, notes, and formulas that were stored down in the lab, belonged to the Glora Clan. Free of the Black Hands’ clutches.

The halfling sat with her back to the wall, staring at her brother’s back. It was small, thin, almost femenin. But it was strong. Stronger than she was. She had not witnessed her family’s death. Only ben tortured with every stomach turning detail by her enslavers. But he had. He was a part of it. He was drowning alongside them, until he wasn’t. Until he was given a choice to drown with his family or live, alone.

He had chosen to live. If she had witnessed her clan’s destruction, she felt deep down, she would not have struggled to win the cage matches. Would not of had the strength, the ability, to gouge out the eyes, rip free the fangs, and break the jaws of a dire wolf nearly five times her size and weight. She would have allowed herself to be strangled to death in the first match. The images of her family’s tortured faces calling to her from beyond the veil.

Her eyes tracked him as he flicked about, piling documents and useful equipment in one place, and everything else in the far corner. Once he was done, he had a pile of documents as tall as their eldest brother. He let out a sigh and came over to sit beside her, his eyes closing in a moment of rest for the first time since she stabilized and brought her back to the chamber.

“Ya bolt wound close up alright?” She asked softly, looking at the bloody hole in his robes.

“Yes, the, um, the juice,” he said the last word softly, “worked quickly. The absence of the poison is how I am the one of us doing all the physical labor for once.” He smirked, lightly punching his sister’s shoulder, extracting an amused exhale from her.

“Sure, an’ now ya tired and gonna give yer injured sis the job.” She crossed her arms and said with fake disgust. “And ya were suppose’ to be the one with actual manners of us all. Spoke can fake it well enough, but ya the one who lives it right.” She watched her brother cringe slightly.

“I am sorry about that. And he is not that bad. He just has more...” He paused, trying to find a way to make their goblin brother not sound like the party animal he was. “He understands manners well, just does not see the need to use them outside his duties with soft skins outside the clan.”

The term for the less ‘monstrous’ races that was partly derogatory always felt off on both their lips. But they both agreed that it was better than what other races called those like their adoptive family members. Nearly all nicknames for them were completely derogatory and filled with spite. Even if they were supposed to be the ‘enlightened’ or ‘civilized’ races. Their family, and nearly all native Barg’s residents didn’t view the soft or tough races negatively. They understood that the races were different and prone to certain inclinations. It was simply a matter of fact to them all, one of nature and not choice.

But that knowledge, gained through living with their clan for over a year, hadn’t quite erased all the tension from the words. Especially when their parent would use much more insulting and vial language when speaking of elves than they had ever heard anyone else speak of another race. Even if the elderly goblin never acted with that level of vitrail to elves when interacting with them in public. It was a strange contrast that the siblings hoped to learn the answer for some day.

“... Ya need to rest.” The halfling spoke up after they both drifted into their thoughts about their sibling and family. “I ‘ve healed ‘nough to move the bigger stuff out or into the corners. Ya can recover for a while, and we can leave an’ start burning once ya can cast the disk again.”

The gnome looked up as his sister stood. Her blood and filth covered armor looked no less battle ready than when they had put it on above. His eyes tracked down her wide and strong back and just a little further down before he closed his eyes to clear his mind of those thoughts. He needed to enter a meditative state to regain the energy needed to summon his disk again. And hopefully, they can leave this place with their loot, screwing the evil bastards in the Black Hands at the same time.

****************************

Agatha looked up from her meal to stare into the crystal ball on the shelf that enabled her to see into the sewers and outside through it. Her somber look broke into a wide, cackling grin as she saw two small and victorious children walk down the tunnel with arms full of paper, and a floating disk loaded with high quality alchemy equipment.

“Ya youngins make an ol’ hag’s heart flutter.”

She cackled with glee as she sent off a message to the elderly goblin that their children were alive and successful. She stood up and strode out into the setting sun’s final rays to help the little brats get all that up and into her shop. She had some haggling to do.