There was no doubt in his mind. Meekknuckle was convinced that he was going to die.

To be fair, half of the so-called ‘adventures’ that Skrakch dragged him on tended to end with near-death experiences. Hells, the last adventure that the damnable Iskrin had taken him on had ended with an all-out declaration of war.

It was a bittersweet thing, the burgeoning war between the Goblins and the Iskrins. On the one hand, it seemed as though Meek's work may be done for him. If the Iskrin wanted to take down his father, The Patriarch, then so be it. Meek wasn’t going to look a gift-Golem in the mouth after all. It would certainly make his job a lot easier.

But then, of course, there was the issue of the village. And more importantly, his Goblin brethren, his brothers and sisters. Those that remained after The Patriarch’s latest purge would no doubt be forced to the front lines to fight in his name. The plan was already underway in that respect. The village had increased its fortifications and any Goblin that wasn’t elderly or infirm was given weapons training by his father’s guardsmen.

Meek knew that he should be back home, trying to do what he could to shield his remaining siblings from the upcoming battles, to try and somehow convince his father that they were needed elsewhere. But he felt as though he was being controlled by something far greater than the concern for his brothers and sisters.

His cowardice.

It was his greatest failure in life. Goblins didn’t have the best reputation for courage but even the smallest of his kind was far braver than he was. Luckily for Meek, he had Ornn to, sometimes quite literally, hide behind. But even Ornn hadn’t been able to help him when he’d suffered a call that had been far too close for comfort…

Shortly after the war had been declared and the Goblin tribe had returned to their village, Meek had got it into his head that the best thing to do would be to speed up his grand plan.

He could wait for the Iskrin to do the job for him but that had its drawbacks. What if, by sheer dumb luck, the Goblins won the war? it would make Blazock crave greater and greater power. If his siblings survived the fighting, then they’d end up being harvested by the Goblin Chosen!

No. If only he could end the Patriarch’s cruel reign of terror, then perhaps he could avoid the death sentence currently hanging over his family.

So he’d hidden away in his hut, trying his best to come up with a plan. He’d decided to keep things simple. An assassination attempt. The idea was ludicrous, a Chosen dying to a single Goblin? In truth, the young Goblin didn't have the greatest confidence in his own plan, but perhaps simplicity was it's own strength.This plan would be as simple as it could be, no need to rely on outside forces.

Meekknuckle wouldn't need to rely on Skrakch or either of his loudmouth cronies. Even Ornn would have to stay behind, the Golem was far too heavy footed to sneak.

Meek could do this alone. After all, who would think it strange that a son would come to see his father?

He’d waited until the village had settled down for sleep. It had been a long, fraught few hours. Most of the villagers were discussing the war and seemed eager to whittle away the hours, working through what the coming battles would mean for the village. To keep things normal, Meek had gone to the Goblin's tavern and listened to his fellow Goblins as they’d got drunker and drunker, their worries morphing into foolish declarations of ‘Grawp take on three Iskrin and win!’ or ‘Bash no worry about War! Goblins always win!’

Finally, when silence had fallen across the village, Meek had sneaked away to his father’s home. Gaining entrance had been easy enough, there were countless ways into the building that Meek had discovered when he was a youngling. He’d armed himself with a vicious-looking curved dagger. His older brother Zarx had made it for him. A week later, Meek had been forced to watch as Zarx had fallen at the hands of their father.

Meek had stolen through the various rooms, dodging sleeping guardsmen who had nodded off at their posts, until he’d found his Father’s sleeping quarters. The Patriarch was sleeping soundly in his bed, so very safe in the den of his power. Meek had crept up to the older Goblin’s sleeping form, heart pounding in his chest as he carefully watched the rise and fall of Blazock's chest.

His fingers had tightened around the grip of the dagger. In his mind’s eye, Meek had seen all of his brothers and sisters fall to their knees, begging for mercy as his father cruelly stole their lives. He raised the dagger above his head…

And he’d never brought it down.

Meek’s hand shook as he held the dagger aloft. He looked at his father’s sleeping form. He tried to picture the older Goblin’s horrible crimes, the brutal Purges, the looks on his fallen siblings faces…

All it would take was one swift movement. The blade was sharp, he knew that much. It would take seconds and Blazock’s throat would be slit. All Meek would need to do was watch as his father’s blood left his aged body and his reign of terror would be finished.

And yet, he looked nothing like the evil dictator that so often appeared in Meekknuckle's mind’s eye.

Deeply asleep, Blazock looked every one of his advanced years, looking like a peaceful old Goblin, happily snoring away.

Could Meek really…?

Meek gritted his teeth, praying to Maglubiyet to strengthen his resolve. The Halfling… Winifred… Skrakch, each of them talked of killing like others talked of what they’d eaten for lunch.

Meek had never taken a life before. It seemed so easy. One life for the sake of countless others, but now that he was staring his opportunity in the face, he was beginning to doubt that he could do it.

Every day since that dreadful night, Meek could only curse himself for his weakness. He’d stood over his sleeping father, the perfect opportunity right in front of him and he’d done nothing. The Goblin had felt the dagger begin to vibrate as he trembled. His resolve, which had been so strong while he’d been planning the hit, had crumbled away.

He’d tiptoed away from the bed, back through the rooms and he’d escaped from the building, hurrying back to the safety of his hut. Ornn had wordlessly resumed guard outside his door, Meek had even fancied that he’d seen a look of pity cross the stone face as if his friend knew what he’d tried and failed to do.

Curse his cowardice!

If only he’d been able to go through with it…if only! It would have made everything so much easier would it not? His father’s chokehold on the village would be gone. His brothers and sisters could live out their lives, free from the fear and inevitability of becoming pawns to make The Patriarch’s power even greater. Hells, maybe the death of the Goblin leader would mean the war wouldn’t have to happen.

Meek shook himself, his large ears flapping. The Ratling had caught him at the perfect time. What better way to make up for his bout of cowardice than by facing a Chosen Shade?

What he hadn’t expected on this quest was to be hounded by a large pack of Ghouls. They’d started their ruthless attack instantly, forcing him to desperately summon Maglubiyet’s unholy light on them so that he could reach his trusty Golem companion. Ornn was a few dozen steps ahead of him but the distance may well have been miles with the sheer number of Ghouls that had swarmed out of the walls and into the Arena.

When Ornn had first barreled into the former pit fighter’s circle, Meek had been too trapped in his own thoughts to stop him. The lumbering Golem that he thought of as a friend rarely needed direction. He was usually quite content to stay by his side, keeping him safe from any foe.

Unfortunately, Meek had clearly underestimated just how much Ornn had bonded with the others. The Construct had seen Winifred’s charge and had instantly moved to help protect her.

It was foolishness in the extreme. Winifred, or ‘Scary Lady’ as he tried to correct himself, had broken Ornn’s arms into piles of rubble less than four months ago. But then, Ornn had always been a surprisingly gentle soul. It was part of the reason why Meek felt so safe with him at his side. Perhaps he’d let it blind him to the truth.

He forced himself to wade through the waves of Undead flesh and searing flames. Meek could feel the rotting bodily fluids coating his entire body as he flinched at each leaping Ghoul that rushed towards him.

It felt as though the damned creatures had become one with the Arena itself. The floor, each wall, raining down from the ceiling in an endless tide. They came from every single direction so that Meek never knew where to look next as he dodged rotting hands that tried to grab every part of his small body.

Rubble from the destroyed room was everywhere, creating barriers that stopped him from reaching Ornn as quickly as he’d liked to. He slipped on the wet mounds of stone, almost falling straight into the arms of his attackers once or twice. If only Ornn had stayed where he was supposed to!

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And yet, Meek actually rather liked Winifred. Considerably a lot more than he did Zacharias anyway. It would’ve made things ten times more annoying and, dare he admit it, terrifying if he’d been forced to chase the Golem down because of the Halfling.

Despite his irritation and fear, Meek couldn’t deny that it had been almost inspiring to watch Ornn in motion. The Golem rarely chose to act of his own volition. Did the Construct ever feel fear? Meek had wondered that before. He’d often watched his gigantic friend in action and fantasized that that could be him if he was not so held back by his own overwhelming sense of terror.

But there was a big difference between being a diminutive Goblin and an almost indestructible stone Golem. His looming protector rarely encountered an enemy that could take one of its strong blows head-on, much less return such an attack in kind.

And so it was surprising, and indeed terrifying, to see the Golem’s charge get intercepted by a large Ghoul that seemed to resemble an Undead Minotaur. Meek had heard enough stories of Rodyr to recognize the creature. It barely seemed concerned by the charging battering ram of sentient stone that was headed its way.

While not as spectacular as Winifred’s enhanced speed and movement, Ornn’s every step had shaken the ground beneath them, each step slowly gaining momentum and picking up speed until he was in striking distance of his foe.

And yet the Minotaur had casually tossed aside its meal, barely bracing itself before intercepting the charge. It was stone colliding with rotting flesh and yet neither gave an inch, the sheer force of the blow sending two nearby lesser Ghouls flying across the Arena, only to splatter against a broken wall in an explosion of blood and viscera.

Meek dived behind the remnants of an over-turned chair, using it as a makeshift shelter as he watched the two battle. If it wasn’t so terrifying, it would almost be comical in a way. There were no clever tricks or well-thought-out battle tactics. Both creatures chose to ignore defense in favor of trying to bash the ever loving shit out of each other instead.

With every meaty blow that was thrown toward Ornn’s scowling visage, the Golem neither dodged nor blocked. Instead simply leaned into the hit and attempted to land an equally powerful blow on the Minotaur Ghoul in return.

Blow after blow was exchanged with neither combatant showing any signs of backing down as flesh ripped and stone started to crack. Meek knew he was going to have to do something soon as every moment more and more of Ornn was being sheared away under the Minotaur’s brutal claws.

“Gods Below be damned Meek, cast a Barrier!” Skrakch suddenly called out from behind him. The Ratling was in the middle of the sea of Ghouls, his magical scepter spouting tunnels of flames toward the swarming foes. “We’re not going to last much longer without it! Stop hiding and start doing something, you idiot little cretin!”

Meek crawled out from beneath his shelter, cursing the Ratling with various Goblin profanities under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Minotaur break off another chunk from Ornn’s shoulder. He was going to have to ignore the Ratling for now. Ghouls, as dangerous as they were to the inexperienced, weren’t really that much of a threat compared to the Minotaur.

The dead Lord of the manor was clearly the Alpha of the pack. The emergence of an Alpha increased the Ghoul threat tenfold. It wasn’t just the fact that Alpha Ghouls were always larger and more powerful, their bodies swelled with Necromantic Energies, but it was the increased intelligence that made them dangerous.

The former Lord Rodyr was a perfect example of an Alpha Ghoul at its most dangerous. Skrakch had told Meek all about the Minotaur, not only was he a cruel and conniving creature but he’d been a brutal fighter back in his glory days…

Ornn's very body let out a deep rumbling groan from the pressure between the two gigantic combatants, which snapped Meek back into the present. The Golem had never indicated that he was in pain before. Not even when Winifred had smashed his arms to smithereens.

The diminutive Goblin grit his teeth. Hands suddenly glowing with energy, he renewed his journey towards his friend. He focused his ire and distress on a nearby Ghoul that threatened to lunge in his direction. Calling out to Maglubiyet, Meek was able to smite the disgusting creature with righteous fire.

He wasn’t much of a fighter, he never had been. Meek was far more content to take a backseat on the action, preferring to defend with his Barriers or Heal his companions wounds. But he couldn’t ignore that, as a practitioner of Divine Magic, he was uniquely suited to dealing with the Undead. As he continued to move forward, he plowed through the relentless sea of Ghouls, his Divine healing turning into searing flames that cut them down like wheat.

“Fucking finally!” Skrakch called out as he slammed the top of his scepter down into a Ghoul’s head, causing it to explode outwards in a blast of fiery bits. “Keep that up and we might actually stand a chance!”

Meekknuckle ignored his furry companion. It became all too clear why he’d been dragged along on this latest ‘adventure’. Ghouls and other forms of Undeath, were more than just corpses that had been twisted into a mockery of life via spells or natural energies. The pervasive Necromantic Energy that fueled thier bodies was the magical opposite of the Divine Energy that had created the whole world.

Deep inside his father’s library there was a section stuffed with forbidden tomes. Meek had found a secret entrance leading to it when he’d barely been out of his Youngling years. He’d whiled away many an hour reading up on all kinds of obscure magic and yet the one thing every single book had agreed on was thus, any Divine spell that sought to enhance or mend a mortal’s body and spirit shall have the opposite effect on the walking dead.

It had seemed such a foolish notion to the younger Meek at the time but living in Dray’Mel had given him more than enough opportunities over the years to put the theory into practice. He had to admit to himself that it was more pleasurable to expend his Divine Energy on the Undead.

Using it on the Ghouls meant that he could truly let loose and allow his Mana to flow unrestrained. Healing the living was a much more meticulous task, requiring him to carefully guide it through his patient’s bodies until it reached the wound that he sought to treat.

He allowed himself a quiet cackle of joy as he channeled the Mana into yet another lunging Ghoul’s rotting face, the act burning it to a crisp in seconds.

But, for each Ghoul he struck down with his flames, another three would be upon him. Ahead of him, Ornn was still locked in mortal combat with Rodyr’s Ghoul form. The encroaching Ghouls seemed to be intentionally trying to push him away from the battling duo. It was yet another worrying sign of a guiding hand amongst the Ghouls, they were trying to isolate and overwhelm the Rogues, thus making it easier for them to devour their living foes.

It appeared that Skrakch had noticed this too, with his usual speed and grace, the Ratling landed silently beside him, brandishing his scepter like a rapier.

“We need to get out of here,” Skrakch said, deftly spinning around to attack the heaving Undead sea from behind. The Ghouls rasped and screeched as his magical flames turned them to ash. The scepter was glowing brighter than before, the metal in the rod making a low sizzling noise.

“Ornn!” Meek cried out desperately before he could stop himself. His eyes slid sideways, Skrakch seemed too busy fighting off more Ghouls to notice that he’d used his actual voice rather than the dumb tone he usually adopted. “Ornn!” He correct himself, lowering his pitch and slowing down the speed. “You no leave Meek!”

The swarming Ghouls were trying to throw the Golem off balance and distract him. Every few seconds Ornn would have to break off from his duel with Rodyr momentarily to pulverize a lunging Ghoul. This allowed Rodyr to gain a free hit on his stone companion, shearing off even more of the Golem's stone body.

A sudden flare of pain shot up Meek’s leg and he let out a cry. He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed one of the Ghouls laying in wait underneath an overturned chair. The Undead beast had sunk its sharp teeth directly into his thigh, and Meek could already feel the paralyzing sting of the Ghoul's saliva.

Letting out a strangled cry, Meekknuckle was nearly knocked off balance before the Ghoul was pierced through the skull, one of Skrakch’s clawed fingers deftly putting an end to it.

Before Meekknuckle could react, the Ratling grabbed him by the shoulders, “Meekknuckle, if you don’t cast a Barrier, there won’t be anything left of -us- to save bloody Ornn.” Skrakch growled, the Iskrin’s fur slick with Ghoul’s blood. “Hurry the fuck up!”

Casting one last look in Ornn’s direction, Meekknuckle cursed in his native tongue at the swarm of swiftly approaching Ghouls that swelled towards them in a flurry of gnashing teeth and grasping claws.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Meekknuckle focused on his Core as he chanted a prayer in his mind. Communing with Maglubiyet was an exercise in control, the Goblin God more than happy to take as much Mana as it could from its followers. Each mote of Mana offered was well worth it though, as a single fragment of Maglubiyet’s Divine focus concentrated on his believer, forming the offering of Mana into a true miracle.

Shimmering gold light coalesced into being around Meekknuckle and Skrakch, blocking any attacker from reaching them. Sadly, no power was absolute, the barrier being maintained by Meekknuckle’s sheer force of will.

No longer in movement, it didn’t take long for the roving group of half rotten Ghouls to surround the barrier, teeth breaking against the golden walls as the Undead desperately sought living flesh.

Stuck in place, there was no stopping the increasingly large pile of Ghouls from swelling in number. Soon, Meekknuckle couldn’t even see past the Undead, the sheer number of them canvassing the entire Barrier’s exterior.

“Use fire! Use fire now! Big fire!” Meekknuckle cried out nodding at the scepter in the Ratling’s paws, sweat pouring down his forehead and stinging at his widened eyes.

Safe momentarily under the Barrier, Skrakch let out a choking breath as he wiped blood from his eyes. “That’s just the thing, Meek.” The Ratling muttered, worry in his voice. “I’ve finally used the damn thing up.”

“Magic stick no work?” Meekknuckle said through gritted teeth. Coupled with the sheer effort of maintaining the barrier, plus the blossoming pain in his thigh, he was surprised that he could keep up his ruse.

“Just give me a moment and I’ll think of something!” Skrakch snapped back, rifling through his bandolier before coming up empty.

Closing his eyes, Meekknuckle focused all his attention on the barrier. One way or the other, the only thing he could do now was keep the Barrier up as long as he could.

He’d have to trust Skrakch to pull through… by the Gods, Meek really was going to die.