Waking up to the smell of the Sewers and the feel of filth underneath him was hardly Skrakch’s ideal but it was definitely somewhat nostalgic. Pulling himself upright with a yawn, the Ratling began to absentmindedly pluck bits of mulch out of his fur.

The Ratling, satisfied his fur was back to its best, straightened his leather armor and reattached his trusty bandolier. He fluffed up his whiskers and felt ready to face the morning. Well, as ready as he could be of course. As much as it pained him to admit to himself, he’d feel a lot more prepared if he had Winifred or, Hells, even Zacharias with him. As crazy as the Halfing was acting at the moment, it could be an asset in this situation.

He watched as Meek went about what was presumably his normal morning routine. It mostly seemed to consist of the diminutive creature rolling around in a pile of mud before pulling on his ragged clothes, accidentally putting his left leg through a hole in the cloth, rather then the actual pantleg.

Sighing to himself, Skrakch peeked through the opening flat of the hut.

In contrast with the previous day’s chaotic activity, the village seemed to have settled down. The few Goblins that Skrakch could see were scurrying from shadow to shadow, no doubt trying to make themselves scarce.

Skrakch knew that it was pointless. In all the time that he’d known Blazock, the Ratling had never seen one of his summons go unanswered. The ancient Chosen Goblin held a tight grip on the village and its inhabitants. They were treated more like livestock or servants, each one was as expendable as the last. In fact, if Meekknuckle prediction was correct, the Ancient Patriarch was more than willing to sacrifice a few of their lives in order to satisfy the Iskrin.

There wasn’t much that Skrakch could do for them though. So the Ratling tried to put that thought out of his mind as much as he could. He’d been there before. The once-servant had lost count of the amount of brown Iskrin he’d seen tossed by the wayside by Jace’s father once they had lost their use.

Skrakch stepped out of Meekknuckle’s hut, leaving the small Goblin to continue his morning ministrations alone. Ornn, as usual, was standing guard outside the small home. The Golem hadn’t moved an inch, content to simply ensure his Master was safe.

“Good morning Ornn,” Skrakch greeted. He knew there wouldn’t be a response from the stone creature but, Gods Below, he was craving some iota of normalcy. What he wouldn’t give to be waking up in the Slums right now, which was a sentence he thought would never cross his mind.

He recalled his promise from the previous evening. Was he going to need to save Meekknuckle? The little Goblin would likely be accompanying him upon Blazock’s orders but what if the old mage had designs on sacrificing his own son? Skrakch wasn’t some kind of hero. Could he really risk his own neck for the hapless idiot? If push came to shove, could he really put himself in the line of fire like that?

Either way, he'd probably be best to bring the scamp along with him, no doubt Blazock would want Meek involved. Turning to re-enter Meek's less than stellar abode, Skrakch noticed a shadow fall over him.

Suddenly, a massive stone hand clamped down upon his shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground. Freezing in place, he turned his head to see Ornn staring directly at him. The massive Golem locked eyes with him for a moment, his gaze unyielding as he slowly shook his scowling visage in clear denial of Skrakch's plan.

“So…that’s a no to bringing Meek huh?” Skrakch said with a nod, too shocked to do anything but gingerly agree with Ornn. He wriggled free from the stone hand and stepped away from the entrance to the hut. “That’s awfully…thoughtful of you Ornn. I’m sure our mutual friend appreciates you looking out for him yet again.”

Quick steps had him distancing himself from the Giant Golem, even as his mind began to run a mile a minute. It was definitely Ornn who'd engaged him there, no sign of Meekknuckle giving him even a vague hint of an order.

Once he’d gotten a safe distance away, Skrakch did the most sensible thing that he could think of. Breaking into a full-bodied sprint away from Ornn. The Ratling had been surprised to get a response from the giant stone beast. How many times had he mocked Ornn straight to his face not realizing that it was capable of understanding him?

Hells, how many times had he threatened Meekknuckle with some kind of harm, or even his life, while the Golem was in range and could’ve so easily crushed him? He’d always known that the Golem was capable was following orders but he’d assumed that had been some system that Meek had worked out between them. He supposed he really needed to stop endangering the diminutive creature…

So distracted by these thoughts, Skrakch barely noticed as he quickly arrived at the village’s gates. He almost went headlong over a pile of wood that had been carefully packed and wrapped in some kind of leather and twine. Glancing around him, Skrakch realized that there were quite a lot of trade goods piled and parcelled up. He could see everything from more planks of wood, to various metals. There was even a barrelful of Garrolyte, a purple mushroom that was only grown in the most humid parts of the Sewers.

As he looked over the wide variety of goods, Skrakch noticed that, for once, the village gates had been left wide open. A small stream of Goblins was making their way through it in a crocodile formation, each wielding a rusty spear and little else. Maybe one in ten of the creatures was dressed in something resembling armor but most of them were wearing the customary rags. Skrakch supposed they were meant to be assisting Blazock’s personal guards for the Tribute. It was hard to take the critters seriously. They were more than likely going to end up injuring themselves more than any opponent they may have to face off against.

Making his way through the gates, Skrakch spotted Blazock himself perched on a nearby pipe sticking out of the wall. The height gave him a perfect vantage point over the proceedings as he directed various Goblins to various tasks. The wizened mage was leaning heavily on his walking stick. Occasionally he would use it to swat one of the Goblin underlings if they didn’t leap to his commands fast enough.

As his Master spotted him, Skrakch forced himself to plaster a smile upon his face. There was no reason to give the ornery bastard cause to turn his ire against him, especially when they were heading out. Blazock beckoned him over with one twitch of a finger, the thick yellow nail looking particularly sharp. Skrakch scurried over to him at once.

“Come Rotten One. We’ll be leading the way. Let my sons and daughters do all the heavy lifting. We have much more important matters to discuss,” Blazock floated effortlessly down from the pipe, landing on the ground lightly. “I’ve been meaning to teach you a new Rune. Perhaps we can find the time to practice along the way,”

Skrakch watched in disbelief as his Master turned away from him to berate a Goblin who’d dropped its spear. As he moved into line behind the wizened Goblin, he was mightily tempted to simply knock him out and head for the hills.

But the promise of learning a new Rune glittered before him… a new spell to add to his growing arsenal…

It would appear that a little risk was going to be worth the reward after all.