“Yah ma’am’s a kipper!” Zacharias yelled out after an extremely drunken Ogre that he’d just won a hand of Five Finger fillet against, the Ogre stumbling away to find something to quell his bleeding hand.

The Halfling weighed his newly earned bag of coins with one hand and let out a roaring laugh as he slammed back the last dredges of his drink with the other, more of the cheap ale ending on his clothes than in the Halfling’s gullet.

“What in the Nine Hells does that even mean?” Skrakch sighed, sipping his own beverage as he gave a sidelong glance at the drunken lout at the other end of the tavern table. “I swear, if I hadn’t met other Halflings with the same accent, I’d assume you were just making it up on the spot.”

“Short man never make much sense, but that because he too short to think good.” Meekknuckle agreed, his head pressed against the wooden table top. “Smartest people Meek know all tall. More room for ideas to grow.”

“That’s…” Skrakch rubbed at his temples as he resisted the urge to sigh again. “Seriously, you’re not even drinking Meekknuckle, why are you spouting nonsense? Winnie, back me up here.”

The last of the companions answered with snort, the brunette leaning back on her creaking chair with a grin. “I dunno, the Goblin has a point. Us “tall folk” do have the best plans, might be because we have the most room tae-“

“Exactly!” Meekknuckle interrupted the Chosen, suddenly sitting upright. “Winnie real smart, but smartest is Ornn! Meek always like his plan, cuz he always want to rest!”

At the Goblin’s proclamation, the assembled Rogues stopped to stare at Meekknuckle before each began to chortle while the diminutive Goblin puffed out his chest with pride.

Skrakch pushed his chair back with a scrape, eyeing the mostly empty tavern floor as the morning light petered through the boarded windows of the Plagued Rat.

Only the die hard drunks and gamblers remained. Either collapsed over the stained tables, or desperately trying to compensate for a night’s card game losses by playing ‘just one more hand’. It was a depressing sight for sure and one the Ratling usually chose to avoid.

“Well, that’s my cue to call it a night. One more stupid comment like that, and I’m liable to start clawing the lot of you.”

“Aw, come on Squeaks! The night’s still young!” Zacharias cajoled, even as he nearly toppled out of his chair.

“You should be happy, you twit. I need to go make sure Kristoff hasn't sabotaged any of last night's potion batches with his ‘helpful’ nonsense.” Skrakch spat acidly.

Delicately thumbing through his many bandolier pouches, Skrakch pulled loose a few silver coins before tossing them on the table. “You’re all welcome to come back with me, but I’m not helping carry Zach. Last time he got this tanked, he puked all over my best tunic.”

“You mean, your -only- tunic!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Skrakch waved off the Halfling’s slurred rebuttal and began making his way out the tavern door, cringing as even the small bits of sunlight that broke past the dour clouds above him were enough to momentarily blind his tired eyes.

Thankfully, most of the streets surrounding the Plagued Rat were quiet enough this early in the day, as the residents of the Slums weren’t exactly known for their early morning work ethics.

No, the only people hustling through the filthy alleyways were other drunks or addicts, stumbling back to their own little slices of home, too drunk or high to pose much threat.

Even the pickpockets were mostly absent, knowing that most of their potential marks had already turned in what little coins they had for a taste of Dragon’s Blood, or a more… physical touch.

Taking a deep breath of foul air and exhaling through his nose, Skrakch began moving forward at a brisk pace. Just because the streets were empty, didn’t mean it was a good idea to loiter. Drunk or not, few citizens of Dray’Mel were kind to an Iskrin who was out on their own.

Keeping a wary eye on any nearby shadows was second nature to Skrakch at this point though, so the Ratling made good time as he picked his way back to Kristoff’s warehouse.

It was still a bit surreal to the fledgling Alchemist that Zacharias had somehow put together an entire warehouse dedicated to crafting cheap potions and elixirs, but Skrakch wasn’t going to complain.

The Ratling had already restored most of his stock of minor healing elixirs, and his new minions were getting the hang of brewing various potions.

Of course, most of their efforts went to making cheap knock off narcotics for Zacharias to peddle, but Skrakch was more focused on his own gains.

‘Though Zacharias has been surprisingly focused on learning how to make Dragon’s Blood.’ Skrakch idly rubbed his chin as he walked down a dirty alleyway. ‘Normally he gets these ideas in his head, only to drop them when something new catches his eye.’

Frankly, Skrakch hadn’t minded the chance to try his paws at reverse-engineering an alchemical recipe, but his initial efforts had been… middling, at best.

‘Still, it was great practice. Just a shame it was for some useless drug, not for anything actually useful.’

Dragon’s Blood was all the rage at the moment, it’s users getting more desperate for their illicit fix as the city’s supplies dwindled, but Skrakch couldn’t give less of a fuck.

‘Gold coin can only get you so far in life, and I’m not interested in stockpiling my own share of our loot.’

As he splashed through a puddle of what he dearly hoped was only dirty water, Skrakch kept his eyes peeled and moved with a quick pace.

‘No, I was going to spend my cut of the Purene Ruby’s heist on making new potions, but that’s been covered and then some.’

‘So what should I spend my share on?’

With the fallout of rescuing the succubus for the Denmother, Skrakch had been far too distracted to wonder how selling the artifact they’d stolen was going, but now that he thought about it…

‘I wonder how far along Kuosh has gotten in the process? Yes, I should double check with him, and maybe grab a bite to eat...’

The thought had the Ratling drooling, but Skrakch shook his head and attempted to plaster a wise smile on his face.

‘Yessss, it’s my duty as the group’s official leader.’ The Iskrin lied to himself and took the next turn out of the tight alleyway, making his way towards where he knew Kuosh’s food stall would be waiting for him.

While the cramped streets were a disjointed maze of dilapidated houses and littered debris, Skrakch knew the Slums like the back of his furry paws.

Slipping through open windows was easy enough, the Iskrin taking the quickest path to his destination.

‘Sure, I startle a few squatters as I go, but I’m not wasting time -following laws- or anything else half as silly.’

It wasn’t long until Skrakch hopped off a slanted rooftop and cleared a final half-broken wall, before Skrakch started to see more early risers making their way to and fro.

Unlike most Slum denizens, people living in the Merchant’s District tended to be early risers, bakers blearily kneading dough, craftsmen pumping iron, and hawkers setting up their stalls.

Still, there was a muted sense of unease in the air, each citizen staring wide eyed at anyone who came near, as if they were expecting an attack at any time.

It had only been five days since the Tomb-Makers had sounded their warhorn and departed from the city enmasse, but Skrakch could still spot the massive Skeletal Guardsmen who’d returned to watching over the streets.

He hadn’t had a chance to catch the Undead’s movements, but rumours were that the Guardsmen had been surprisingly quick in their movements, and even faster to cut through anything barring their path.

Skrakch could even spot a few merchant stalls that had been bashed into little bits, marking where the nearest Guardsman had rushed to the East.

The remnants of the stalls had clearly already been picked through by looters or, perhaps the owners themselves who’d been desperate to salvage what they could from the wreckage.

Knowing the direction the Undead had traveled was interesting… but without a way of knowing fully what was beyond Dray’Mel’s walls, it meant little to the Ratling.

Skrakch wasn’t half as deluded as Zacharias was, believing himself the center of the world, but it still gnawed at him to not know what the Tomb-Makers were up to.

Still, the shifty eyes of the people and their general panicking ways weren’t Skrakch’s problem, so the Ratling was quick to move on.

‘The simpletons should be scared.’ Skrakch groused, baring his teeth at some baker’s apprentice who stumbled too near him. ‘And not just because of this sudden march. It wouldn’t take a Guardsman more than a dozen moments to clear this entire street of life.’

But that was an uncomfortable truth, and few people were keen on focusing on their inevitable end. If Skrakch had more time, maybe he’d have ended up the same but…

Skrakch could practically feel the Tomb-Makers brand on his wrist, and he knew the ticking countdown by heart.

One Month, twenty five days, and less than three hours...

‘Two measly fucking months, before the Rune activated and the Wraiths drag me off to the Butchery.’

‘Two months until I’m dead and gone.’

Ignoring the disdainful gazes of merchants and craftsmen both, Skrakch tried to focus on anything else but the rising panic in his chest.

‘I was meant to have been Chosen by now. I’ve -earned- it. More than Winifred has, certainly.’

The Runic Mage ignored the little mocking voice in his head, shaking the untrue thoughts away. ‘No, Winnie has done great things too. I just… need to do something equally as spectacular. Clearly. Easily.’

With his recent work alongside the Iskrin slaves of Zacharias’ new ‘business venture’, he’d taken his eye off the prize. Acted as though he had months, years left to obtain his goal. He’d been stupid. Naive almost. He was going to have to double down on his original goal of obtaining the status of Chosen.

Distracted as he was, Skrakch nearly stumbled into the back of a cluster of citizens, each murmuring to one another in hushed tones as they crowded the centre of the streets.

The closest of the idiots had even dropped her basket of bread, the rolls of dough lying carelessly in the dirty street, momentarily forgotten by the young baker.

‘What in the Hells-‘

Even as Skrakch opened his mouth to harangue the fools blocking his way, the Ratling caught sight of what everyone was staring at looming above them all.

Standing near the shattered remains of an unlucky merchant's stall, a Skeletal Guard rested perfectly still as it held its massive greatsword in a fleshless one-handed grip, the pointed blade resting against the cluttered street floor.

Its empty eye sockets flickered with a deep burning flame, ceaselessly enacting its eternal vigil, but that wasn’t what had captured everyone’s attention.

It should have been a normal sight for any citizen of Dray’Mel, as hundreds of the guardsmen were scattered throughout the city, enacting swift justice to anything that disturbed the peace.

Skrakch had spent years of his life carefully watching dozens of the Tomb-Makers brethren, waiting to see if any of his ‘four-fingered’ discounts would bring down death upon his head.

Nothing he’d even done had ever motivated the Guardsmen into actually bothering to move though. Only a direct threat to a citizen would propel their Undead watchers into action, a rare sight even in the dingiest areas of the city.

No one wanted to risk nearly certain death after all.

No, Skrakch had plenty of experience with watching the Guardsmen, but he’d never seen one in such rough shape.

The damned Undead were usually enough to inspire fear into the living with a single look at their imposing frame, but the poor soul looked half dead…

‘Well, more half-dead than usual.” Skrakch corrected himself as he started pushing his way through the dazed crowd.

The Guard looked like it had been mauled by a Houroun, its enchanted iron chest plate scored by long furrows and gashes. Worse was the Undead’s bony skull, its helmet forcefully caved inwards and with only one eye socket left intact to glare from.

The bones that showed in the gaps between the armor plates were either horribly cracked, deep fissures that displayed the marrow within, or missing entirely with only jagged stumps of the bone they were originally connected to remaining.

Skrakch hardly even had to crane his neck upwards to see this, as the Guardsmen appeared to have been cleanly bisected in half, the Undead’s hips and legs nowhere in sight.

Hells, the only way it was still upright was because it was holding itself aloft by virtue of its grip alone, eerily keeping its balance by squeezing the hilt of its greatsword with an iron hold. .

‘How did it even get back here in this state?’ Skrakch cautiously approached, eyes peeled for any sign of movement from the barely intact Skeleton. ‘It only has one bloody arm left, did it drag itself back here, sword still in hand?’

It was almost comical to see the wretched state of the Tomb-Maker, but as Skrakch neared the Undead’s form, the Ratling watched as its remaining eye snapped towards him in baleful warning.

Stopping in place, Skrakch tried to resist his urge to flinch backwards as he stared at the Skeleton Guards open chest cavity.

Because lodged deep past the Undead’s broken rib cage, Skrakch could make out a hunk of bloodied carapace of some kind.

‘No, not a carapace… It’s some kind of stinger.’ Skrakch shuddered slightly as he made out the pointed end, wedged in place.

‘Looks like whatever attacked this Guardsmen didn’t survive the assault, but what the Hells could have done this?’

It wasn’t any beast that Skrakch had ever heard of, though that didn't narrow it down as much as he’d have liked. Few citizens of Dray’Mel had the opportunity to see what lay beyond the city's walls, after all.

‘Though maybe that’s for the best, hrm…’

A loud shout from behind Skrakch pulled him from his thoughts, two disgruntled looking humans beginning to push and shove at each other. No doubt the idiotic excuses for humanity were arguing about some inconsequential nonsense.

Keeping an eye on the Undead Skeleton, Skrakch began moving towards Kuoush’s food cart, his mood thoroughly dampened.

He didn’t exactly know what the battle damaged Tomb-Maker meant. But whatever it was, it wasn’t anything good.

But a small voice still tickled at the back of the Ratling’s mind.

‘If it’s something that can mobilize the Tomb-Makers, maybe it’s finally something that can earn me my deserved Chosen status…’