When it came down to it, for all intents and purposes, Grey Iskrin were just like Goblins. Not too bright but they were able to breed like rabbits. With the sprawling sewers of Dray'Mel being as massive as they were and the mostly uncharted cavernous Depths below that, there was a lot of room for both races to breed uncontrollably.

Still, any time the two inevitably met, it was a bloodbath. And unfortunately for the Goblin race, Skrakch mused, it almost always went in favor of the Iskrin. As armed as Goblins could sometimes be, Ratlings were just made better. Bolder and quicker than a Goblin, and less likely to laze around, the only issue with Grey Iskrin was their tendency to attack anything other than their own on sight.

And it was that aspect that made Skrakch’s plan perfect. He held out his paws as he tried to remain perfectly still and tried his best to avoid sneezing as Meekknuckle showered dust down upon him. It hadn’t been difficult, especially in the sewers to acquire enough dust to fully coat his fur.

Once he was covered and successfully grey looking, the now disguised Ratling had to fight the urge to rub his glorious umber fur free of the offending dust. It was truly heartbreaking to see such perfection tainted. Especially when he caught sight of himself in a shard of broken mirrors that had been dumped in the metal pile.

In order to keep his mind off his tragic appearance, Skrakch decided to run through the plan again. For a start, he needed to make sure that Meekknuckle understood it. When it came to the less than intellectually gifted Goblin, repeating yourself was just something that needed to be done with annoying frequency.

“Alright Meek, roll that grog over here,” Skrakch ordered. While he’d been dowsing himself in dust, he’d sent Meek and Ornn back to the Goblin village for a barrel of booze. They’d returned quickly, the massive Golem carrying the barrel on one shoulder and Meek on the other.

While Meek hopped on the barrel and ‘ran’ it over to him, a gleeful smile on his face, Skrakch pulled out a small vial from his bandolier. He popped the cork on the barrel and poured a healthy measure of his finest sleeping draught into it, mixing it in with a single clawed finger.

“This should be enough to knock out the whole lot of them,” Skrakch said confidently, stowing the remainder of the potion back in its slot. “All I need to do is roll the barrel over to the bonfire and let the filthy vermin have at it! The mindless idiots won’t think twice about easily found booze.”

He chuckled as he rubbed his paws together in anticipation. It had been an excellent idea of his!

“Once they start drinking this horrible Goblin hooch, the potion will work its way through their systems in ten minutes tops. Then all you and Ornn need to do is walk on through with a spear and take care of them. Sounds like a perfect plan, right Meek?” Skrakch continued to explain, puffing himself up with pride. “You have to admit that the disguise is truly a work of my genius!”

“What if grog taste funny?” Meek asked, looking worried. “You sure rats not notice?”

“Listen, Meek,” Skrakch shook his head at the Goblin’s stupidity. “This plan is going to work. It’s mine and that’s all that matters right? We go into it with confidence and anything is possible. Plus, if it all goes ‘tits up’ as Zach likes to say, there’s always Ornn as backup,”

The short Goblin nodded but still looked a little unsure. He quickly scurried back to Ornn and hid behind him. Ornn, of course, showed no expression or feelings towards the plan but stood at the ready which was enough for Skrakch. The best thing about bringing Meek along on such adventures was that the trusty Golem was always there too. Oh, how much easier it would’ve been to get the best of Gregore had Ornn been there! Skrakch would’ve paid a decent amount of coin to watch the boastful champion go toe to toe with a large stone homunculus!

Skrakch took the barrel and carefully started to roll it towards the makeshift camp. He was on high alert, making sure that nothing was sneaking up on him or about to attack. A couple of the Grey Ratlings were ambling around the perimeter of the camp, and looked at him in confusion, but swiftly continued to chitter at each other. Most of them were happy to argue with each other for space in the cavern, eager to get the best place to sleep, on top of the rags they used for bedding.

Keeping a brave face on, Skrakch focused his attention on the bonfire ahead, as it was where the most senior of the group had gathered, as well as the leader. As soon as they caught sight of him rolling the barrel towards them, the leader pushed its way past the others.

Taller than most of the Grey Iskrin around him, the Grey furred Ratling was the only one who carried a weapon that looked as though it had been taken care of. Unlike the other’s rusty excuses for spears and swords, the leader’s sword was polished and sharp, no doubt all the better for skewering its prey.

In fact, the leader was wise enough to wear actual armour, rather than loosely fitting cloths. It’s grey fur was mostly hidden by some soiled chain mail armour, that hung a little too tightly on its form. The beast was missing an eye, the wound hastily and unprofessionally sewn up, but it’s every action belied a certain feral cunning. There were further scars along his snout and his whiskers were kinked and curled over one another.

As the leader started sniffing towards him, it was all Skrakch could do to stay frozen in place. They weren’t clever, but the feral Ratlings were quick to resort to violence if they had any doubts. There would certainly be no smart mouthing his way out of this. He supposed, if worse came to worst he could always try offer up Meek as a sacrifice. That would certainly ensure Ornn would be kept busy. While the Golem tried to protect his master from becoming rat chow, Skrakch would quickly and quietly make himself scarce. Satisfied that he had a decent plan B, Skrakch felt more confident as the feral leader regarded him.

Eventually, after looking him up and down, the leader stepped forward to clap Skrakch on the back. Hefting the proffered grog barrel over it’s meaty shoulder, it let out a loud cheer that its men quickly answered ten-fold, the excited Ratlings eager to quench their thirst.

Following closely, Skrakch took a seat near the now roaring bonfire. The Greys had found some rotting wooden beams and constructed some hastily put-together seating. As Skrakch sat down, the two nearest Greys clamped their paws on each of his shoulders in congratulations. Satisfied that he had fully integrated with the clan, all he needed to do now was wait for them all to take a drink from the keg. Which, from the way the leader was attacking the cork, it wouldn’t be long!

With the barrel uncorked, the leader raised it high in the air and started to gulp down the poisoned booze, letting some of it dribble down his chest. He let out a crow of satisfaction before passing it around, each Iskrin eager to get their claws on the keg.

Eventually, however, the barrel ended up in Skrakch’s claws, the Iskrin around him hooting and hollering as they egged him on. He’d thought of this too. He raised the barrel to his lips and, for all the world it looked as though he were taking a hefty measure, but in truth he kept his lips in a tight seal so that none of the liquid got into his mouth. This did however mean some ran down his chest but whatever, it just made him look even more like an uncouth cohort, hardly a unique trait amongst the ferals.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh of pleasure, Skrakch made a show of wiping his lips as though he’d just partaken in a triple measure. He made to pass the barrel on to the next creature, before noting that some of the Iskrin had gone quiet. In fact, the leader of the ferals was staring directly at him with a confused look on his snout.

Looking down at his chest, Skrakch was quick to realize the issue. By avoiding drinking the hooch, he’d let most of it run down his fur. Fur that was currently showing off its wonderful brown luster. Hissing in alarm, Skrakch scrambled to his feet, before snatching the keg back to hold in front of him.

The full group of Grey Iskrin were staring at him now, so it was time to get clever. And what better way to end a bit of drinking, than blowing off some steam, Skrakch thought to himself.

Closing his eyes and reaching deep into his Core, he pulled a strand of Mana loose and sent it into the keg. Thanking his lucky stars that he’d picked up his newest spell, the handsome Ratling desperately burnt through thread after thread of Mana to inefficiently complete the rune.

Shrugging off a moment of exhaustion from draining nearly half his Core in one spell, Skrakch neatly engraved the rune of Gravity into the barrel's wood, priming the spell and the barrel both.

Carefully lowering the booby-trapped keg down by his feet, Skrakch gave his most disarming smile. Sadly, the Grey Iskrin were beginning to growl angrily, hefting their weapons as Skrakch took a few hesitant steps backward. Thankfully, most of them were looking woozy on their feet, but it was clear the sleeping agent hadn’t kicked in yet but it was definitely only a matter of time.

So Skrakch did what came naturally to him, and fled with his tail between his legs. Activating the rune on the keg and directing it to launch towards the bonfire, he quickly turned tail and ran.

As the feral critter's growling rose to a fevered pitch, Skrakch’s efforts were rewarded by a massive flare of heat and light burst out from behind him.

Rather than turn to admire his handiwork, however, the brown Ratling was already scurrying away as fast as his little legs would let him.

After all, cool Ratlings never looked at explosions.