As he leaped off the balcony’s ledge, Skrakch took a moment to appreciate just how high up he was. It wasn’t every day you got to escape a building with more than three floors! He grinned at the rapidly approaching cobblestone and twisted his form to ensure that he landed feet first. He pushed a wisp of Mana down to his soles and activated the enchantment inlaid in his boots.

Feather Fall was perhaps his favorite spell he’d learned, Skrakch mused to himself as his downwards momentum suddenly cut by more than half. He idly traced the Mana being circulated through his body, pressing against gravity to lighten him.

As planned, he landed softly on his feet. He took a moment to wave towards the now bemused guards who peered down at him in confusion. It wouldn’t be polite to leave on bad terms, he cackled to himself. As he turned to run off, however, he suddenly felt a physical jolt of pain start to spread through his back. He staggered forward and turned to glare at the guard who was now busy reloading a frankly ludicrously large crossbow. Skrakch quickly stumbled to the right, as he heard the clatter of another bolt slam into the ground.

He hurried off into the mansion's garden, and couldn’t help but congratulate himself. Now, this was a plan! Any fool knew that any time you narrowly avoided death that often in succession, it only increased your odds of becoming Chosen. Tempted as he was to stop and see if anything about him had changed, the sound of guards yelling, and what appeared to be hounds barking, spurred his steps onwards. Avoiding death was the pivotal part, after all, Skrakch admonished himself...

Both he and Zach had meticulously mapped out the gardens as well as the mansion so he took a few twists and turns through the intricate hedges. Despite all the preparation that had gone into the plan, the Ratling was beginning to feel trapped. The guardsmen were quickly beginning to pinpoint his exact location. How they were Managing it, he had no clue but he wasn’t going to fail now, of that he was sure. For a start, he wasn’t about to give Zach the satisfaction of him dying and getting his share of the loot!

Skrakch ducked into a nearby bush and hid underneath the large kidney-shaped leaves. His admittedly barebones knowledge of potions told him that the bush was an Eremurus Laustris, an extremely rare plant that would’ve no doubt cost the massive minotaur a pretty penny. Several pretty pennies. Skrakch helped himself to a few of the leaves and stowed them away in one of his purses. Well, it would be silly to look a gift goblin in the mouth!

He laid in wait until the nearest guards came his way. A pair of Humans, dressed in bright and lively colors, was jogging through the garden. Wearing what seemed to be chainmail armour, Skrakch was happy to note it was mostly ornamental, the fools not even wearing helmets.

When they approached his fantastic hiding place, the dashing rogue burst forth from the bush and quickly plunged his claws deep into the nearest guardsman's throat. The unlucky guardsman collapsed to the floor almost instantly, choking and gurgling on his blood. The other guardsman leaped back in shock and Skrakch saw his moment to escape unscathed, swiftly scurrying away back towards the mansion. It was a shame that he couldn’t stick around to admire his work but it was clear the guards were pinning him in, securing the mansion grounds more by the minute.

It was easy enough to sneak through the darkened paths, and the Ratling thief took a perverse pleasure in catching a few lone guardsmen unawares as he moved back towards the mansion. Slitting throats was always a lot easier if the targets couldn’t see you coming. It somehow made it a lot more satisfying too, Skrakch tittered to himself.

Unfortunately, the guards that avoided his deadly claws were quickly calling out the bodies they found, and the bloodhounds that had been dispatched were doing a good job of tracking him, limiting his escape routes. He could smell their foul canine musk, hear their frantic sniffing and low growls. Hiding deep inside of another bush, a downy windroot this time, not so rare but still expensive nonetheless, he took stock of his options. Risk running outside of the mansion’s garden and getting nailed by crossbows. Re-enter the building and give up the cover of darkness.

Or, he thought to himself as he stared at a sewer drain, he could take the third option. Sewers weren’t so bad. It was a lot more of an attractive prospect than Human and dog stench clinging to his fur. He crawled forward and ripped the drain cover off, before beginning to lower himself inside.

The large puddle of muck that he found himself in wasn’t the most pleasant but it definitely smelled like victory. The Ratling couldn’t help but cackle softly again. His plan was going perfectly, there was no way he was getting caught. Letting his eyes adjust to the near-complete darkness, he pushed on through the sewage with renewed enthusiasm.

Each step that took him further from the mansion lightened his feet and spirits. Right up until he took a bend in the path, and ended up staring at a pack of ghouls, easily numbering in the dozens.

The average undead cannibal looked about as you’d expect the risen corpse of a long-dead villager to look. What little clothes garbed their flesh was torn and disheveled, their flesh rotting off the bone. But the worst of it was their tongues, long sinuous fleshy appendages dripping with a paralytic venom that could drop an adult centaur with a single slimy lick.

The ravenous undead were aggressive as Hells, known for latching onto their target and draining the blood from their bodies. To make matters worse, the ghastly creatures were also capable of regenerating from all non-lethal blows, allowing them to ignore any attempts on their un-life.

For a second, neither party moved as they stared at each other in surprise. Until suddenly, the ghouls lunged forward with a snarl. Letting out a deep curse, Skrakch ran back the way he came.

Still, as dangerous as his situation seemed… Skrakch grinned to himself. After all, it was a hallmark of the Chosen to be able to think on their feet. And a third run-in with death? Well, his status as a Chosen would be pretty much in the bag!