The Gardens of Rodyr’s mansion were a far cry from what Skrakch would consider ‘safe’ but just being free of the damned Arena and tasting the above ground night air had Skrakch’s whiskers trembling in excitement. The once finely manicured gardens looked more like an empty battlefield than an artistic canvas ready to win a gardening competition at this point.

Bushes were torn apart, some were punctured with massive holes. Others had been reduced to piles of leaves and bent twigs. The topiaries, which had once been carefully clipped to resemble Minotaur heads, had been torn asunder by the cleaving swords of the Tomb-Makers or ripped into pieces by the claws of their Ghoulish foes.

The hoards of flowers, which had once been the jewel in the crown of the gardens, had been pulled up and were trampled into the grass and soil. The air was an odd mix of clashing scents from the crushed blooms mixed with the stench of the rotting bodies of fallen servants and Ghouls.

Still , even in the oddly quiet night the Rogues had escaped too, there were plenty of reasons for Skrakch to keep his eyes peeled, so the Iskrin dutifully kept his gaze roving as he visually scanned the ruined hedge maze and stomped down flowers.

The path Ornn was leading them down was on the opposite side of the estate that they’d entered but the tableau that awaited them mirrored the front entrance.

Bloody bodies and deep cuts were commonplace, remnants of the few survivors from the initial Ghoul swarm lying dead by Tomb-Maker blades. There were less corpses than before, but considering the sheer number of Ghouls he’d killed with his new spell…

‘We checked a few bodies and called it a day. Idiots.’ Skrakch chastised himself as he continued holding Winifred’s nearly lifeless body steady, resisting the urge to check her many wounds, especially the worrying stump adorning her right arm.

‘Time enough for that when we get out of here, though normally I’d give her a potion. Or get Meek to deal with it...’ The Goblin in question wasn't in much better shape than Winnie, slumped against the barrel-shaped cup of earth that Ornn had stuck them in. ‘Not that I’m complaining, but the rockhead could have gone for something more stylish.’

Which was how Skrakch found himself finally able to take a moment just to think, even if he absentmindedly kept his head on a swivel. Being on edge and aware of his surroundings had quickly become second nature for the Ratling over his meagre seven years of life.

'Ornn was sentient.'

Not just a weirdly intelligent or sophisticated Golem, but a full blown creature with thoughts and… well, maybe not desires, but the pile of stones clearly had its own set of principles.

It explained why Ornn had gone charging after Winifred at least, ignoring Meekknuckle’s warning cry. The brainless idiot was trying to protect the best fighter the Golem had ever met. Winnie had quite literally ripped Ornn’s arms off, and the dolt still sought to protect her.

‘It was heartwarming in a way,’ Skrakch mused to himself, one of his claws idly tracing the stone underneath him. ‘And I’d best not call Ornn brainless out loud any time soon. His ability to shape the stone around him is clearly new, I wonder what prompted the change.’

Thoughts spinning a mile a minute, the furry Mage had to admit he hadn’t the faintest clue. A lot had happened in quick succession, and frankly Ornn’s change wasn’t the most important thing to focus on at the moment.

Neither was the arrival of yet another Chosen, the damned monstrosities crawling out of the woodwork. It was something of a hard pill for the Iskrin to swallow.

After all, he’d done so much over the past few weeks and months, when would it be his turn? Surely, something he’d done had been worthy of being granted such a power? Why, after everything, was his own damned Pact still eluding him?

Skrakch could only assume Winifred’s ascension to their ranks was at play somehow when it came to the new Chosen's rapid appearances. The brawler had certainly been laser focused on getting a chance to go toe-to-toe with one herself, not that it seemed to go well for her.

As it was, Winifred was fully out of it, her sweaty head lolling to the side as Skrakch tried to hold her steady. If she’d looked a little rough around the edges before her final attack on the Shade, the blasted woman looked closer to a Ghoul than a living human now. He’d never seen her skin look so pale, her lips, at least the parts not crusted with dried blood, were almost white.

Skrakch was certain that her blood soaked armour was hiding even worse wounds. He somehow doubted that even if he had a healing potion left to give her, it wouldn’t do much.

Hopefully Meekknuckle could help on that front once he was back on his feet but that was another of Skrakch’s doubts. Healing cuts and closing wounds was one thing, but fully recovering a lost hand? Especially one lost in such a magical manner?

That was the sort of thing you heard of from high ranking priests of the Gods Above, not a fledgling Goblin cleric to a fickle God Below. Maglubiyet wasn’t known for his healing touch, so much as his brutal enslavement of his own race.

‘And that’s supposedly from -before- he became a God of Chaos.’ Skrakch shook the thought from his head as he finally spotted the gate Ornn had been leading them to, and the real issue that needed to be addressed.

‘Zacharias.’

He wasn’t sure if the Halfling was really as confident as he seemed, considering they weren’t exactly that far from where the Chosen had been battling it out, but Zach was shining a bright grin towards his approaching companions.

‘He’s never been the friendliest sort but he’s never bailed on us quite like that before.’ Skrakch could feel the heat of anger rising in his chest just looking at the Halfling, but the Ratling tried to keep it off his face as Ornn adruptly came to a complete stop by the half-twisted gateway.

“Lovely to see you all in one piece lads, mostly anyways.” Zacharias said smoothly, without a sliver of contrition in his voice. “I’ve got the gate unlocked, so we’re good to go.”

“Good to go? Damn it Zach, you left us to die. Twice!” Skrakch felt his voice raise an octave as he struggled to keep his cool. “I ought to gut you where you stand, you little shi-“

The Halfling cut Skrakch off with a short guffaw, before wrenching the servant’s gate open to let them through. “Listen mate, I’ve been upfront with you since the beginning. We’re a team, right up until you try and get me killed. I’m a thief, Squeakers, and so are fucking you.”

“We. Are. Thieves.” Zacharias enunciated with more raw venom in his voice than Skrakch had ever heard from him. “I’m not your fucking best mate, I’m not your meat headed pal, and I’m certainly not your little muppet of a pet Goblin.“

“The second we saw that the plan wasn’t feasible, we needed to leave. Period. No fucking ‘ifs ands or buts’. You and Winnie’s nonsensical delusions of grandeur shite are fuck all to do with me. Until, that is, you expect me to walk to my own death for them.” The Halfling spat each word, glaring upwards at Skrakch as the Ratling stood there frozen.

“So yeah I bailed. What did you expect? Really think about it, Squeaks. Not everyone is on a time limit like you, I’ve got plenty of years of life left in me. And I’m not gonna throw ‘em away on a bunch of fucking idiots.”

Skrakch wasn’t sure how long he spent just looking at the Halfling as Zacharias’ chest heaved in big gulps of air, the self-proclaimed thief glaring at Skrakch with all he had.

“You know…” Skrakch finally said, looking away from his companion before him. “I would have chased you into that room too, if it was your hare-brained charge into danger.”

The Ratling missed the slight look of shock that washed over Zacharias’ face, before it morphed into a tight grimace as the Halfling’s facial scars drew themselves into angry red lines.

“Then you’re a fucking idiot Skrakch. We’ve worked together for years, and I’ll tell you now, I’d leave the lot of you behind again in a heartbeat. It is what it fucking is.” He finished, folding his arms across his chest with an air of finality and giving an adamant nod.

With a quick responding nod Skrakch turned back to the Halfling, keeping his face cast in an intentionally professional manner as he suppressed a sigh and looked past Zacharias and out of the estate.

“Noted.” Skrakch answered simply, staring down at his former companion. ‘And that’s what he is. If I can’t trust him even a little… what difference is there between him and the Denmother? She didn’t expect me to survive either, but I showed them both. We all did.’

“We’ll table this for now, deal with it once the others are awake.” Skrakch finished the conversation simply, before nudging Ornn with his foot.

“Alright, we need to get out of here. Ornn, can you shift into something less noticeable… and less likely to leave a trail of property damage behind us?”

Honestly, he still wasn’t entirely sure if the Golem could hear him especially with his Core nowhere in sight, but it wasn’t long before the rumbling of stone sounded out.

Ornn seemed to pull his surroundings towards himself as the ground seemed to rush upwards in a swell of Mana and the Golem's Core broke through the cobble yard floor of the Garden path.

The shape that Ornn chose wasn’t one Skrakch was familiar with seeing, the Golem simply settling for a large boulder-shaped lump for a torso, with two ungainly looking stumps for legs. In fact, the only part Ornn seemed to give much focus too were the two large arms he’d adorned with dirt.

As the ‘barrel’ holding the trio of Meek, Skrakch and Winnie began to collapse, Ornn happily shuffled Meekknuckle to rest on top of the most abundant dirt piles, the Goblin slowly shuffling himself into a comfortable position.

Skrakch might have even enjoyed the slightly comical sight of the odd-shaped Golem swaddling Meekknuckle in his arms, if he hadn’t been suddenly forced to deal with Winifred’s full weight.

Scrambling to keep the Chosen from colliding with the ground, Skrakch shot a baleful eye towards Ornn, before muttering to himself. “Well, shit. We aren’t getting far if Ornn isn’t helping move Winnie. Got a plan for that, Zacharias?” He added, taking great care to sound as sarcastic as possible when saying the Halfling’s name.

“Actually, I do.” The Halfling nodded and stepped out of the estate for a moment and Skrakch could hear murmured voices from around the corner. Tensing up slightly, the Ratling kept a wary eye on the entrance as he watched Zacharias swiftly return with his usual grin on his face.

“Oh, you’ll love this, Squeaks.” Zacharias chortled, waving his hand behind him before barking out a terse order. “Get the woman into the cart. Help the Ratling too, if he accepts it.” The Halfling called out behind him.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Whatever Skrakch had been expecting, like hired thugs to shank him and rob him blind, he certainly hadn’t been prepared for a group of brown Iskrin to jog into the estate, a large wagon made of gold-plated wood dragged along behind them.

“Wait, what the Hells?” Skrakch muttered in disbelief as the Iskrin at the front of the group ran up to him and opened its claws questioningly towards him.

It had been a long time since Skrakch had last interacted with his own kind but unlike most humans, it wasn’t too tricky for the Ratling to pick out the discerning features of the Iskrin lining up in front of him.

The lead arrival was a younger female of their species, and she was surprisingly healthy looking for a brown Iskrin with a rather thick coat of hair. Most Iskrin that Skrakch saw in the city had been unkempt and unwashed, slaves treated indifferently by their masters so long as they fulfilled their purpose. They tended to have filthy overgrow claws or patchy ragged coats stained with filth, treated as less than the trash they often found themselves squatting in.

These distant relatives of his though… they had a certain weight to their frames, perhaps kept even healthier than Skrakch himself. He was shocked to notice that most of them were missing the usual pockmarked look common to brown Ratlings, Skrakch included.

They were even fully clothed and not just in sloppy undergarments or bits of cloth. Dressed in matching uniforms, each wore what appeared to be black servant’s livery including a pair of Iskrin-designed boots.

It was an odd thing to notice and an odder thing to fixate on, but all Skrakch could think of as he looked at their boots was; ‘Why did I never think to make boots that let my claws stick out. That’s just a great bloody design, really.’

Even the ‘golden’ wagon had a certain appeal to it, unlike most of the rickety pieces of garbage Dray’Mel merchants commonly used.

It looked as though it had been hand carved from a wood that Skrakch didn’t recognise. It was almost as though the entire carriage part, designed to carry passengers, was made out of a red tree trunk that had been painstakingly hollowed out. The wooden wheels appeared to be lined with a bronze-like metal to protect them, the spokes gleaming. His admittedly cursory glance didn’t spot a single nail holding the wagon together, the realization surprising him.

‘Elven made then? The carriage itself at least, not the plank of wood stuck on the front for the Iskrin to grab onto…. Still, this would cost a small fortune.’

“Come on Skrakch, don’t make me order them to grab Winnie, we need to get going if we’re making it back to the Den before the Tomb-Makers return.” Zach said drolly, as Skrakch jerked back from staring at the Iskrin.

“Hold your fucking horses, where did these… these Ratlings come from? Since when could you afford hired help? Much less bloody indentured servants?” Skrakch couldn’t help but raise his voice at the end of his sentence, eyes flitting about in open disbelief.

Zacharias snorted, and waved towards the wagon. “Listen for a second, and you’ll notice why we’re in a rush. I’ll tell you about my new help as we travel.”

Warily watching Zacharias and his minions, ‘none of which looked half as good as he did’, Skrakch turned an ear skywards, listening intently. The only sounds he could hear were the noises of a city waking from a long night and… ‘The horns stopped?’

Hesitation be damned, he wasn’t going to end up cleaved in twain like Rodyr’s minions.

Shrugging Winifred’s heavy body towards Zacharias’ new hires, Skrakch scrambled his way on top of the wagon as his clawed toes dug deep into the wood, and helped pull Winnie up on top beside him as deftly as he could.

With practised ease, Zacharias deftly scaled the side of the wagon and casually waved his hand forwards. As the Iskrin resumed their brisk march, Zacharias shot an amused look towards Skrakch.

“Glad you finally noticed. Whatever had the Tomb-Makers all riled up finally got itself squashed no doubt, though Gods knows how long it’ll be till they get themselves sorted. No reason to loiter though, eh Squeaks?”

The cobbled street below them passed by with surprising speed as the Iskrin jogged in lockstep with one another, each movement made with diligent precision as they made their way out of the remains of Rodyr’s estate and the Residential District.

Not far behind them, Ornn trailed the wagon with thundering steps, the few people awake and preparing for their day fleeing the area as soon as they saw the twisted procession travelling the streets.

Compared to facing the Chosen, this should have been a minor surprise in the grand scheme of things, but Skrakch was struggling to wrap his head around it.

There were a dozen questions running through his head, but only one seemed the most obvious. “How, Zacharias? How did they get here already? How did you afford them? And how the Hells did you think I was going to react to this shit?”

Lazily waving his hand as the wagon was pulled down the Residential District street, Zacharias answered with a laugh. “What, you assumed I spend all my gold on wenches and beer? Did you forget that I stepped in for Sykes, after his oh-so-unfortunate demise?”

“I’ve been carving out my own little slice of the pie and you’re looking at one of my more recent innovations.” The Halfling continued with a surprising amount of pride in his voice. “Sykes' men were always one step away from mutiny. Hells, that’s true for most criminal organizations. But with Ratlings? These poor bastards are just happy to be working in decent conditions.”

“Honestly Squeakers, you’re the reason I thought of it. You’re a clever little shrew of a thing so I asked myself, 'why weren’t all Iskrin in Dray’Mel just as crafty, just as useful?' Turns out the answer was simply untapped potential.” Zacharias laughed, leaning forward off the wagon and shouting out.

“Double rations if you get us home before dawn break!”

Skrakch would have scoffed at the announcement if the wagon hadn’t begun picking up speed. There’d been a time where he’d wanted to save his fellow brethren but he’d failed. Time and time again, they’d refused to see the truth that they didn’t need to be slaves -or- servants.

‘And Zacharias was the one to help them?’ The idea stung at him, his already tired mind reeling from the revelation as Skrakch took in the Iskrin pulling the wagon, talking amongst themselves as they jogged.

He couldn’t make out the words, but one interaction gave Skrakch pause above all others: one of the Iskrin laughed. Freely and openly. Skrakch had never seen another brown Iskrin laugh in his life, much less do so in sight of their supposed master, and the sight of it burned at him.

The rest of the wagon ride was made in relative silence, Zacharias happy to ignore Skrakch as the Ratling adjusted to this new piece of information.

Soon the streets began to narrow, the roads became less well maintained, and the Iskrin-led wagon had to slow as they entered the Slums. It seemed Zach’s hires were well versed in their craft however, making their way through winding streets and kicking sleeping bums out of the way as they navigated cramped alleyways. Hells, they were even adept at dodging the piles of shit and piss that littered the filthy cobbles.

Skrakch could recognize most of the more popular buildings they passed, heading further and further into the heart of the Slums, until he sat upright as he finally realized their destination.

“No! Gods damn it Zacharias!, this is too far. Even for you.” Skrakch made to jump off the wagon, but Zacharias leaned over and hooked his hand on the Ratling’s bandolier.

“Don’t be a baby, you act like this every time you see Kristoff.” Zacharias pulled Skrakch off balance, keeping him on board. “Plus, we’re going behind his business, not inside of it. I own his warehouse now.”

“You’re his boss? Fire him. Do it.”

“Quiet Squeakers.”

The wagon came to a drundling stop in front of a large building that had clearly seen better years. Nearly three stories tall, the stone columns holding the walls up seemed to lean heavily to the side, and the entire place had a thick cloying smell to it that pervaded your nose.

Not too far off however, was a smaller replica of the same building, the only difference being the large, ‘hideously ugly, over the top grandstanding’ sign that read ‘Kristoff’s Magical Emporium and House of Worship; Newly Renovated!’ in a purple font that hurt Skrakch to even look at.

Hopping down from the idling wagon, Zach beckoned the lead Iskrin over to him, giving them a wide grin. “Excellent work, see to it the men get double the rations, Craw. But first, let’s get our guests situated, shall we?”

Slamming a fist against her chest in an approximation of a salute, the Iskrin, apparently named ‘Craw’ of all things, nodded in appreciation before moving to squeak at the Ratlings, though it wasn’t in any tongue Skrakch knew.

It was enough to get Skrakch’s nose twitching as he made his way over to them, curiosity driving his approach. Sadly, the Ratlings turned a wary eye towards him as he ventured forward, ceasing their conversation before he could piece together their words.

Craw moved swiftly to stand between the other Ratlings and Skrakch, once more slamming her chest guard in greeting. “Ah, honoured Elder! It is this one’s honour to meet you! Lord Zacharias has told us many tales of your exploits.”

‘…What?’ Skrakch thought, in shocked confusion.

“…Wait, what?” Skrakch said as he stared dumbly at the Iskrin standing in front of him, mutely trying to wrap his head around her words.

Before he could eloquently continue his conversation, Zacharias wrapped his healthy arm around Skrakch’s shoulder. “Don’t be like that Squeaks, these guys are practically family at this point! Ah, to me, not you…” He finished with a laugh, before waving towards the warehouse's entrance, a nondescript iron door that seemed to have been bent from the inside.

“Someone get that open please, we've got two humanoids in need of alchemical attention.” The Halfling directed the surrounding Ratlings, each one seemingly happy to jump at his every word. “Craw, get someone to grab Kristoff, we’ll likely need his healing abilities as well. Don’t let him shrug this off, I don’t care how close he is to a supposed breakthrough.”

“Oh, and someone get the shipment door open, the Golem isn’t going to fit through the front.”

As the Ratlings scurried into action around them, Skrakch pointed a sharp, accusing claw towards Zacharias. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here but if you don’t start making some sense I’m going to gut you like a fish. These… these replacements won’t stop me.”

“Squeakers! You wound me.” Zach laughed drolly, turning to wave at the heavy warehouse door as it opened. “Just step inside for a second and it’ll all make sense.”

Skrakch turned to watch as the strange brown Iskrin gently lifted Winifred from the wagon and began to guide Ornn out of sight, with Meekknuckle waving weakly towards Skrakch as they trundled along.

Letting out a weary sigh, Skrakch listlessly nodded to Zacharias. “Fine, but if this is a trap, kill me quickly okay? My head feels like it’s about to burst as is.”

Laughing louder than strictly necessary, Zacharias just waved Skrakch through the doorway in a lordly fashion. He hadn’t been sure what to expect but as the Rune Mage crossed into the warehouse, he felt his heart as it fluttered in his chest.

The smell of incense was thick in the air, the pungent aroma of dozens of different ingredients being smoked, boiled, simmered down to nothing, wafting over Skrakch.

Dozens of cauldrons had been set up in rows of four, each larger than he was tall and wider than that too boot. Swarming over the pitches of boiling liquids were more Iskrin than Skrakch had ever seen in one place. Each brown Ratling was carefully measuring beakers of toad’s saliva or Ghoul tongues, arguing with one another as they jostled to add their piece of the alchemical concoctions.

Skrakch had no words, only turning a befuddled look to Zacharias as the Halfling stood there with a smug grin.

“What’s the only thing more useful than one Alchemical Rat?” Zach mocked in a sing-song voice. “A hundred of them, of course.”

The sight was both beautiful and terrifying to Skrakch as he watched his brethren hard at work. On one hand, he’d never seen or heard of such a large-scale setup of potential potions or elixirs. On the other hand…

“You really are trying to replace me.” Skrakch said softly, watching a nearby potion as it began to bubble over the lip of the cauldron.

“Not quite.” Zach said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “They’re doing alright considering who’s teaching them, but I need better results. And more importantly, I need this.”

Skrakch turned to see Zacharias holding a crimson vial of Dragon’s Blood, the liquid shimmering as if it was still alive. “I need to know how to make Dragon’s Blood, or this whole thing goes belly up.”

“…I’m not sure how many ingredients I’ll waste.”

“Sky’s the limit mate. Can’t cost me more than not getting a new source of the stuff, I’ll tell you that.”

Nodding absentmindedly to himself, Skrakch rubbed a paw across his whiskers as he considered it. A chance to replenish his own stock of ingredients on the witless Halfling’s coin? Plus unrestricted access to whatever new and exotic ingredients he could get his paws on? He’d surely be stupid to say no. And indeed, if things did go ‘belly up’ as Zacharias put it, then he, Skrakch could always cut and run…

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” The Ratling said, holding out his paw.