Ya Can Only Count On Yerself
The waters of the swamp rippled gently as the inhabitants slithered their way through the mire. The moonless sky shined only speckles on the murky surface as it slowly waved. A frog sat still, eyeing for a mother mosquito to lay her eggs on the waters egg. Concerned with its stomach, it had no awareness to the predator that was lurking just behind it. Dripping mud, a head rose from the waters without a sound, waiting till the muck fell from it to open its eyes. With a jagged toothed smile, it poised to strike the amphibian, masked in the shadows from its view. The frog could feel a foul presence about itself but could see nothing until the move was made.
"Jackpot, ya varmint," a shrill voice cried as claws tightened around the filthy beast. It could only struggle as it watched its long time stalked meal splash away into the marsh. "Woo, boy. I dunno what ya might be, suckah, but I'll dare yer tasty." Not even bothering to wipe the creature off, or examine just what it exactly was, it was quickly slid down his rank gullet. Letting out a belch that stained the air, Bimblesnaff gave a comforting pat to his now swelled stomach and continued on his aimless way. His bare feet stomped through the muds as vines and hanging, dead wood were used to keep him from sinking along the way. When the trees were close enough, they were ascended and bound between, the air granting swifter movement than the mire. Lucking upon one of particular age, Bogg scampered up the timber for a gawk at the lay of the land. The dark night kept most of what he saw under her cloak, but the glistens on the waters could still be faintly seen. Occasionally, the reflections were broken by the growth of some vegetation or floating corpse, given the areas reputation. Squinting his beady eyes, although trained since birth to see in the sunless deep, the Ghobling caught a glimpse of his target. It was only a flicker, but the light was yellow. It was cast by a manmade light, a torch, candle, or lantern, and could not have been rebound from the sky in the thriving pool below. He had found his mark, the hidden, swampland stronghold of Damiasien's Arc.
Few have heard of the order, and that was the way they strove to keep it. Damiasien's Arc was a cult of thieves with magical intrigue. They applied both of their interests to acquire more skill in them through plundered, arcane devices. It began as a guild but shifted into more of a religion as their power grew. As the Arc rose, they erased themselves from memory, fueling rumors that contradicted the truth and other lies they spread to greaten the confusion of their legacy with the public mind. Only a few of their castles were ever built in the most remote of locations to prevent wanders from stumbling upon their secret. Forgotten, their numbers slowly diminished to leave room only for the elite. Rarely, scouts would search for those worthy enough to belong to the Arc at the time of another member's passing. The cult was so named since the founder, as archived in their sacred manuscripts, created a gateway that held the knowledge of the universe and its ways on the other side. This meant that any object could be found, as well as known how to perfectly obtain. Upon initiation, a recruit must pass through the arches. Assuming their mind remains intact, they become one with the order.
Bimblesnaff, of course, was aware of none of this. He had never seen nor heard of the organization before and had little interest with it. What did catch his attention was untold treasures. He only learned of the fort by a complete accident. In a nearby tavern, some illegal business was being dealt with under the table. Unfortunately for the secretive operatives, the lunatic was under that table. From a rambunctious night of drinking, the goblin eventually wound up on the floor and was kicked aside. Mistaken for a dog with mange (it was quite a night), he was left to lay. The maniac awoke to a tremendous headache and some gentlemen speaking. The inane banter bored him more than usual, but even his fractured mind could tell that their speech was off. Having spent enough time around thieves, which he called "family", he recognized their conversation as diverting speech. Something was going down, but he was clueless as to what, until, that was, it struck him in the face, literally. Documents were being passed out of the view of the tavern but were perfectly visible to his greedy eyes. Piecing together what little bits he could manage, he tracked the men for as long as they left a trail and then relied on what he saw from glimpses on the passed map. Considering that he followed the wrong man at first, he was still able to backtrack to the hazardous swamp before a shiny coin distracted him long enough to forget the entire matter. The marshland was very large, and he spent days trekking the filth until something looked familiar from the map. Bimblesnaff's hard work paid off in the end, as he found himself standing an eye's span outside the great, arched gates.
"A'ight, I ha'e been waitin' fer dis," Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a shiny coin. "Oo, so shiny!" The next several hours were lost.
Meanwhile, within the dimly lit confines of the stronghold, in a wide chamber lined with shelves of magically potent ingredients and artifacts, a hooded mage hovered over the floor in a deep trance, focusing on matters deep and ponderous. His meditation came to a crashing halt, as he did upon the floor. Another robed man, dressed similar but far less spectacular, rushed to his side.
"High Priest, High Priest," he called in panic, "what is the matter?"
"I felt a disturbance," the superior answered, regaining his composer and dignity.
"Something... evil, sir?" He grimly shook his head as his long beard was tucked back within his vestibule.
"No, far worse," he spoke with chilling words near a whisper. "It was something familiar."
Infiltration
The goblin greedily lashed his tongue about his lips, forgetful of the mire he had just travelled through or just uncaring of the fact, dreaming of the plunders that could lie within the stone walls. Even standing before the fortress, it was difficult to see through the night. Only a single window had a crack to which a gleam from a candle peaked through to the outside world, scarcely spilling the secret location. Having known no better, the structure would have been passed up, camouflaged into the surroundings and cloaked in an ominous fog. Bimblesnaff could see where the crafts of man conflicted with nature, however, as he had lived in many abodes crafted like their environment. His were not done for secretive hiding, of course, and more of sloth on the builder's part or poorly chosen supplies. The similarities betwixt the two reasons, however, were frightening. Gnarled branches of thin bog wood grew out from the edges, supporting the corners and window arches. They were grown around the unrefined stones selected to comprise the outer walls. Mud, moss, and vines were slathered about their surface, making the stronghold look like a craggy mound more than a structure. Any openings where covered by large pieces of stone, thick and heavy, deterring both entry and exit. The growths surrounding the window that disclosed the locale were beginning to whither away. A recent event, this had allowed the beacon of light to escape before its replacement. Over the gateway, despite all logic, they placed their required insignia: a sturdy, wooden arc, far too smooth and polished to be a natural occurrence. They tried as they could to mask it some from what few eyes would pass that far into the marshland, but they still had to let it stand out somewhat boldly for their pride. While it did stand out as the point of entry, it did no one any good knowing such. The gate was sealed magically and could only be opened through specific means known by those under the Arc. The notion of entering through the front door alarming the entire establishment and calling forth a swift death was never a worry for Bogg, but he had to find another way to get in, luckily for himself and his hide.
Latching himself onto the slimy rock face, his nails clattered dully as he scaled the fort. The front blended into the roof as the establishment tapered thinner as it grew higher, and the Ghobling soon found himself crawling rather than climbing. The black night sky offered little assistance for searching out an alternate route in, so the fiend had to rely heavily on touch. Spreading his sharp digits around the top, most of it seemed softer than otherwise. Shovelling through handfuls of the gunk that laid below, his claws eventually became wedged between close set stones. The lunatic was not one to give up, or, more to the point, one to learn. Turning about, he found himself another wide patch and started to burrow, reaching the same end. Trying to push aside the rocks, they would not budge in the slightest, so he had to move on. Repeating this series of events several fold, he quickly ran out of spots to grind through. Frustrated, he jumped to and fro in anger within the ring of upturned soil he had dug up. After fuming over this matter subsided, the idea of performing the actions he did on top below came to mind. Sliding down to the back of the structure, a feat he carelessly took to being ignorant of the dangers in the lightless setting, only surviving from the very spongy landing provided by the wetland, he took in a deep breath and plunged beneath the shallows to carve out yet another path. After a few dives, he felt some real progress was being made. The maniac did not even slow down when he felt a slight tremble, not wanting to risk slowing his pace.
"What was that?" demanded the High Priest, relinquishing his hold over an alter for support during the quake. Clutching a pendant around his neck, his eyes glazed over as he merged with the minds of all his underlings who wore jewelry of the same make. The items were originally intended for use of silent exchange within raiding parties on heists, but they had found other uses for them. Seeing out the eyes of all his inferiors, he could see nothing immediately amiss. Then, one of the fields of vision craned upward in response to another iteration of rumbling. In only an instant, the High Priest could be relayed the ceiling falling inward before the spectacle was cut short. "To the top floors, now!" his orders reverberated through their minds. Obeying immediately, all the visions began to ascend the levels to the attic. Some did not have to travel as far before being able to provide a sight of the problem. Large, gaping holes filled the middle of rooms as well as their ceilings, stretching out into the bare heavens. Others were able to witness the crashing stack of rocks breaking through there current level, setting only temporarily before resuming its descent.
"Sir," the first to reach the highest level, informed, "it seems that the roof has given way. It could be from a number of causes: time, workmanship, growths-"
"No, get closer to it," the High Priest insisted. Looking at the fringes of the hole, he noticed the scratchings. "Those are claw marks! But it was dug out in such a shape... Unbelievable! How could such a thing happen?" Amidst asking himself the question, its answer came to him. "Be on guard, all of you! We have an intruder in our midst. There is no telling where he could be, but he couldn't have gotten far. He's up there, somewhere. I'm sure of it." Meanwhile, in a much lower floor with no one around, a wall gave way as a muddy chute began dumping out revolting quagmire onto the floor with its nastiest content named Bimblesnaff.
Frustration
With a quick hop, a filth ladden blob stood upright, assuming a readied stance that faced about all the corners of the room prepared to take on all of its occupants, assuming there were any, despite not being able to see anything through the veil of mud. Wiping away the mess, Bimblesnaff found that the reason he was still alive was solely due to him being alone. Another point was scored for his undeniable ingenuity for infiltration, or luck. As he stood marvelling at himself for too long, the growing cold around his feet had risen to his waist. The swamp's contents, which he had braved, bore through, and struggled against, that had filled his tunnel, and pressured against the interior wall enough to make it cave in, was still gushing out onto the floor. With the entire marshland as a resevoir, the flow showed no sign of slowing down. Bogg cared little for that matter, of course, as he saw it not as a problem but an improvement to the room. Not only did it turn the chamber into a play pen but the stale odor of cleanliness was covered up. Freeing himself from the ever expanding mound of slop, the Ghobling turned to his compass as to where he should head. Waving around his elongated nose, he could distinguish more desirable scents coming from below. Soon, the many bounties of the pantry would be his. Then, after satiating his hunger and thirst, he would droll around for some shinies.
"This cannot be happening," insisted the High Priest to himself, over and over, never truly convincing himself, as he toiled through shelves of jars and bags labeled in forgotten runes. "This problem was dealt with ages ago. He should no longer be a threat. How did he even remember we were here?" Moving aside a very lumpy sack, he reached for a small chest. Closing his eyes, he spoke some mystic words that generated a click from the container's lock. The lid opened by its own accord, revealing a stash of glass vials. Each one was filled with glimmering twinkles that floated adrift within the clear walls, trying to set themselves free from their prison. Randomly pulling out tubes from different locations, he eventually came upon his target. "It is still here, all of it. We must have not extracted enough," he contemplated, replacing the box on the shelf. He held the tube close to his face, taking in the dazzling lights as he gently turned it about. "A lingering memory is calling him back here, then. He desires to be whole again, but that cannot be allowed. Too much disaster would occur if he remembered even a fraction of what he knew..." Clutching the amulet around his neck, his eyes stared out into the distance. "Klaas, have you found the intruder?"
"No, High Priest," the disciple of the Arc answered. "Every last one of us is scouring the upper levels. There is no sign of anything."
"Search harder," the superior harshly commanded. "Check the tiniest cracks and the darkest corners. This being is a master of guile, of craftiness, and of wit."
"Neato!" cheered the Ghobling. Holding a plank torn from a swiftly emptied barrel up to his face, he peered a single eye through the hole in the board, shifting it around to different angels. "I can see through 't!"
"Oh, yes, never let down your guard for a moment," grimly ordered the High Priest, oblivious to the follies currently underway in the same building.
"My liege, pardon me for my boldness in asking," Klaas humbly brought to attention, "but what are we to do if we actually were to find this intruder?"
"Why... you would contain him, of course."
"But, High Priest, we... would not know how," shamefully admitted the clan member. "If what you say about this being is true, he would be a powerful opponent. How would we, those trained in avoiding confrontation with stealth and secrecy, ever hope to stand up to such a foe?"
"Bound him, gag him, beat him," hissed the priest through clenched teeth, "just keep him contained. He cannot be allowed to escape or reclaim what he has lost." Releasing the charm from his grasp, he still spoke, if to no one but himself. "Trust me, he will be stopped. I shall make certain of it." Picking off certain ingrediants into his craddled arms, a mess of exotic and strange pieces was piled. "I did not have the courage to use it before, Green One, but times have changed me. If you will not let the past die, then I will have to remove you from existance." Checking the list of components on a scroll entitled "Ceremony of Banishment," with a deep sigh, he made his way to a large, iron cauldron and began the laborious task ahead of himself. "Before you only lost your mind. Now, you will lose your entirity."
Quickly bored with the stockade of bland, tasteless rations, Bimblesnaff only helped himself to five more packs, with two extra saved for later. Strolling out of the pantry, patting his now more bulged gut, he started down the staircase to the next level as, unbeknownst above him, a cascade of mud slowly began creeping down the steps.
Confrontation
Stumbling down the steep stairs, whose steps were nearly too high for his stubby legs and too thin for his wide feet, Bogg managed to reach the next floor without breaking any bones but still had trouble braking his gathered momentum before running into a wall. Bending his sore nose back out straight, or straight as it was, the Ghobling turned to find something he had yet to see in the stronghold: someone else. With a quivering jaw and widened eyes, the sparcely armored sentry pulled a horn to his lips and let out a mighty wind. Of course, all of the other disciples of the Arc were much too distant to hear even the thundering blare. He was the only one left behind, sworn never to abandon his post at the sacred chambers no matter what. After a series of trumpets, the guard's lungs began to tire, and the only effect his effort seemed to be causing was mild discomfort to the haphazard intruder's ears. Throwing the instrument aside in a panic, shattering the rune marked relic on the stone floor, the worried sentinal fumbled through his robes to find his weapon. It should have been at hand and ready, but this was the first time in recorded history of the Arc that a base of theirs had been infiltrated. There were several holes in the archives, but they could only base facts on what was there, not what was absent.
"H-hold it right there, y-y-you thing," stuttered the man as he ripped a metal cudgel from his vestments. The head was equiped with a single spike, projecting out horizontally, which caught on and tore off much of his sacred robing. "By Sidulisis, 'tis not my day." Tearing off the damaged cloth, he was left with the baggy sleeves of his uniform, held on by shoulder and breast plating, which connected to a chain coif about his head. From his chest down to his feet, he was protected by hardened leather. Shaking the wadded up cloak from his bludgeon, he waved it out forward threateningly. "Surrender now, and you will be treated peacefully."
"Do ya t'ink dat would e'ah work, now?" gargled out the goblin in his vulgar tongue.
"Um... no?" The sentry was not quite certain what the question was or if one was even being asked of him. Drifting in their peculiar silence, a battle cry finally emerged from the man as he charged the lunatic with arms raised. With a shrill shriek, the maniac cowered into a ball as the weapon was driven down into his back. His face was knocked onto the floor as a metallic clang rang throughout the chambers. Peeling off his face, Bimblesnaff saw the guard slightly dazed, his weapon still shaking with a low hum. The blow had landed on the oversized hook blade strapped to the green one's back. As chancy as the event seemed, given its proportions, the more unlikely outcome would have been missing it. Digging his claws into the stone blocks, Bogg spun his body around, sweeping the man off his feet. Losing control of his own revolutions, the Ghobling tipped over to his side after a few fast cycles, knocked onto it by the weight of his crooked sword. Before he could stand, or stop his head from spinning, a loud and pain-filled moan sounded as his orientation changed again, this time being flipped to his back. Unable to right himself, the fiend saw his problem. The protruding tip of his bent blade had skewered the falling sentinal. Removing the arsenal from his back, the goblin proceded to remove it from the man's back as well.
"Huh... Dat just seems a bit wrong ta me," the lunatic admitted. He was not a fan of battling, but this particular one seemed to leave him just a little disheartened in its speed. "Oh, well. Any win fer Bimblesnaff Bogg is a win he counts." With a shrug, he moved on over to the detailed doors that required the extra security as that very requirement looked up to make sure the intruder was leaving before resuming his feigned death. The wound looked worse than it was, but the guard was not paid enough to go through with anymore. After all, he was still keeping watch over the sacred halls. The attack was to his backside, so he could still claim a masterful sneak attack, the only kind that could, allegedly, surpass his order's own advanced training. After hearing the heavy doors parted and the naked feet plodding down the corridor, he sighed with relief. It was then, however, that he heard another sound from the opposing direction. It was a low, sloshing noise. Flipping his head in the other direction, he spotted a creeping mass of putrid matter already half way down the stair well.
"That's it," he boldly declared with his eyes turned upward. "I denounce my ways, alright? No more of this Arc business. I'm flying straight from now on. I get the picture. Just please, stop. Haven't I suffered enough?" He waited for some type of sign from up high and waited more as the watery scum pooled around him. "Hello? ... I repented. ... Oh, come on! This stuff really smells bad."
Instigation
The sickly fiend crept down the darkening hallway. No light was placed on its concecrated walls for purposes of utmost secretivity. As the illumination from the entry waned, a thin ray of brilliance beamed on. Ahead, a pair of doors allowed a crack of radiance to slide betwixt their meeting. Excited, Bimblesnaff galloped to the new room on all fours but ground his nails in the floor to bring a hault to his advancement when he heard a commotion within. Curious to what it was, and hoping it was a maiden's chambers, he peeked in to the goings on.
"Excellent," cackled a man robed in fineries. "Soon enough, that knave will not know what smote him, and, by the time he does, he will be dead." Stirring a smoking pot with a large, wooden laddle, the priest scooped out some of the ill concoction into a glass bottle and analysed the contents against a light. "Hmm, if this is to destroy the Ghobling wholly, it will need to be more potent. A bit more star's shadow should do the job." Turning around with a sweeping motion of his cape, impressing no one as he was alone but done out of habit, the magician marched out of the large chamber to fetch the ingredient. Bogg stared, jaw dropped, at the cauldron as he mindlessly opened the door. Trudging into the room with his mind at a loss, he could not find the words to describe his feelings.
"I... I dun believe it," he stammered. "Look at all these great foods!" His demeanor completely changed, the goblin pranced around joyfully beholding all the fine and rare treats on the shelves. "Oh, wow, newt eyes! Is dat a unicorn's stomach? An' da livers o' lions, tigahs, and bears, oh my!" Stuffing all of the old, dried body parts in his mouth that he could manage, he swallowed them, barely chewed, before repeating the process. After the fifth iteration, his gut began to quiver, having already taken a punishment from his earlier gorging. "Uh, I dun feel so swell," he confessed. "I t'ink I'm gonna hurl!" Cramming down only four more mouthfuls of anything he could grab, some of it not even edible, in an ill thought out attempt to bury the reflex in more food, he dashed over to the nearest container he could find: the spell cauldron. A putrid tide of animal parts, stomach acids, alcohol, and full week's worth of rations still in their packages were rushed forth, sinking fast into the enchanted brew. Dizzied by the extraction, the lunatic stumbled back and slouched against the wall. "Ah, man, now I gotta fill back up." As the maniac recovered from his daze, the door besides him opened as the human returned with a black vial. Focused on the task at hand, the slumped green freak passed his attention. In a stupor, the fiend rose and staggered down the new path before the doors swung shut.
"Hopefully this blackest of essense will rectify this serum," prayed the High Priest, cautiously tipping the slim vial to release but a drop of the star's shadows into the befouled mixture. Stirring the potion after the latest addition, it immediately changed to a darker and more vile color, fuming greatly. "Oh, yes! I had no idea that just one drop would turn it potent and deadly. This bodes well, indeed, but not for that fool. ... I didn't expect it to smell this bad... but that only means it will be more deadly!" His chorus of laughter rang dimly in the goblin's ears as he waddled through to the next chamber. His vision turning single once more, he was able to focus on the treasures that laid bountifully before him. Ancient tomes bound in the skin of great magicians, arcane scrolls pieced together from the tattoos of holy men, and other objects of mythic value that Bimblesnaff saw as entirely useless.
"What's dis? A lib'ary?" vented the enraged green skin. "What a waste o' m' time! Nothin' down he'e is e'en shiny." As he stomped about in anger, he felt something hit his head. Peering up, it happened again, splattering on his face. Wiping it off, his hand was streaked with fresh mud over that which was already dried there. Another drip came down, and Bogg moved himself from the way. Squinting at the ceiling, the cracks in the stone blocks were dripping down dirty water that was settled on the floor above. "Hm, fer a secure fort," he grumbled as he parted from the room, "dis place sure ain't holdin' up well."
Agetation
Mixing the spell cauldron with one stiff arm, the High Priest intensely studied the precise steps to his desired enchantment on the aged parchment, knowing full well that any miscalculations would alter the effect in ways never expected. He ran through mock castings silently to not trigger the already volitile concoction, perfecting the slightest bend of each finger. Maticulously, his attention was drawn into his trials, ignoring or dismissing any distractions that came his way from his disciples, even sending off the Ghobling that walked by him.
"..." His flight through the archiac glyphs came to an abrupt halt. "You!" roared the robed man. Before the goblin could react to the stranger's call, he was knocked back by an invisible force, crushed against the wall. The outstreched arm of the divine mage quivered as the pressure was maintained, but spells of such nature were not his focus and soon faultered. Reaching into the folds of his vestment, an awkwardly shaped, ritualistic knife was retreived. Gliding his fingers over the blade, a faint glow surrounded it before it faded from sight. Lowering his hood, after passing his hand over his body, he, too, escaped from the realm of the seen. Cursing and spitting, Bogg lifted himself from the floor, unclear as to what was going on, making the particular situation little different from any other he had experienced. Seeking to appease his wrath against his assailent, there was none to be found, yet the foul stench of red blood could still be sensed nearby. A spray of his own vital fluid arose from his arm as it was sliced to the bone. Little flesh covered all of his body, so the wound was not as severe as one would believe it to be. Clenching the laceration, the lunatic barked and snarled at where he thought his attacker to reside, still finding only empty space. While unable to be seen by others, the High Priest also could not see himself or his weapon, which made judging an attack quite unruly. The benefits still outweighted the banes. Twirling his body in a spinning strike, the wide slash ensured some degree of penetration and scored a gash along the fiend's back.
"Curses," grumbled the bleeding maniac. "I just knew dose pixies would be back ta finish da job." Darting his eyes beneath his brim for some trace of his invisible foe, a droplet hit the floor. Above it was the faint outline of a dagger's edge, stained with his own dark blood. With a sinister grin, he plunged forward with his hook blade. There were many ways, however, and positions the weapon could have been wielded by his advirsary, and guessing the correct side was a game of chance. Outside of an exclamation, the enemy emerged undamaged, yet there seemed to be something weighing down the already hefty bent sword. Running a sharp finger down its tip, it felt like cloth was on it despite none being seen. With another cut to the back, Bimblesnaff shrieked with anguish and anger as he faced about, smashing his jagged nightmare aimlessly about in a vain attempt to strike a blow. In shallow breaths, the now bulging eyes glanced to and fro with paranoid suspecion, nearly missing the floating knee cap. While such a sight would surely grab the immediate attention of any being, the Ghobling had seen such things at least twice during long shifts at the ale house. He was not an employee, but everyone just regarded it as an occupation. Alerted to the phantom joint by its lack of speech and coaxing to burn, maim, and rape, the green skin poised his wicked steel and sprung an assult. Bounding from the stone floor, the weapon's corner was dragged along, sparking on its passing, before getting lifted to a shoulder in the first broad stroke. As his body revolved in the act, the point was dropped like a hammer, piercing the floor. Rolling forward, his weapon was freed as he flipped around, taking another sweeping chop. Frozen in the stance taken after the manuever, three patches of red materialized in the air.
"You are as formidable as I remember," claimed a ghostly voice as all that could be seen was taken away once more.
"An' ya're as much o' a jerk, ya stupid fairie," snapped back Bimblesnaff, mistaking his opponent for an actual fey. A reply came in a single, unamused laugh.
"It matters not," the voice cried, drawing further and further away. "Soon, you will never be able to bother myself or any of us again." Sculpting a trembling ball of energy under his cloak of concealment, he took good time to amplify its power full.
"Are you sure you can't reach him?" the sacred hall's guardian questioned. Klass shook his head.
"He was performing a very delicate ceremony," expounded the fellow Arcker. "He must have removed his pendant to keep his focus."
"I'm surprised I got out of there," the sentry stated, wiping off more mud from his elbows, having crawled his way to safer grounds from below. "I thought, surely, the High Priest would notice all that is going on and had taken his own leave by now."
"The leak is getting worse, too," noted Klass. "The tunnel is just made wider each moment."
Packing enough force into the orb to shake a mountain snowless, the High Priest concentrated deeply to strike the naive goblin true with the blow. A large crash sounded as he was ready to release the deadly globe, sending it spiralling out of control and, eventually, boring through the ceiling. The cause of the distraction was the doors to the ancient treasury buckling as a tide of swamp water spilled from the shattered doors. The aftermath of the distraction ended much the same: refuse ushering in a wave of mud. The unmanned sphere did not cease its wild path and continued wreaking destruction in its ascent.
"What is this?" thundered the High Priest as muck splashed onto him from the rushing entry from both the doorway and the ceiling. Alarmed by the sudden speech of the stealthy foe, the target Bogg had been hunting was now clearly marked with grime, and, suddenly, they were in his world. Charging ahead, he slide along the slippery soilings with his claw scraping the floor along the way. Hurling two handfuls of slop, the goblin rolled onto his back to slip between the man's legs, snagging onto his enchanted robings and tearing off the lower part. Springing onto his hands, the fiend raked his talons across the priest's back, returning a favor before cracking his tail against it like a whip. Wrapping his stout legs about the human's waist, Bimblesnaff scurried up his front, rending the invisible vestments to shreds while plucking something shiny that caught his fancy. Erupting in a blast of force, hurtling the green skin far off, the battered priest staggered to his cauldron.
"It will not be this way," commanded the man, his voice grave. Rising over the pot with his arms posed in a bizarre fashion as cursed words were uttered, the mystic brew pulsed and churned, slowly emerging from the cold iron and taking shape. Bimblesnaff struggled to even stand rubbing his pounding head, unaware of the threat right before him. Following every aspect of the spell perfectly, as far as the priest had knowledge of, a writhing mass levatated from the pot with the faces of tortured souls imprinting themselves on its surface. "Green skin, be gone! Somi wa ketus-yyyeaaaarrrr!" The lunatic could not help it. He shook off his daze and beheld the horror before him, but, being a Ghobling, the suffering of others was his joy, and the faces of the damned that looked on at him only made him laugh the ear-splitting, blood curdling, mind-crushing cackle that his kind are known for. The globule shot forward in a blaze of magical energies, encasing the goblin. Its ingrediants were sullied, its casting was interrupted, but some effect had still managed to be summoned. As the spell faded away, the High Priest stared on in disbelief before collapsing against the emptied cauldron. Bimblesnaff was clueless as to what transpired but had been aptly scared into wanting to leave. Like an anwered prayer from some ungodly force, the hole in the ceiling fell in more as a pile of debris made a perfect exit.
"Whoa, wondah how dat happened?" pondered Bogg as he took his chance regardless.
"Hopefully," Klaas prayed wishfully, "the floors will be able to handle all of this extra load."
"But, didn't the roof cave in," mused the sentinal, "and destroy a lot of the floors?"
"That is true, but it finally did stop," admitted Klaas, pointing to the stack of debris. "I'm not sure why it did, either. I guess the lower floors were built sturdier." Marvelling at the piled slabs accumulated from floors up, it shook with a violent tremor as a waning orb rose up through a bored hole in the middle of it before vanishing. A long, loud creaking sound could be heard shattering not only the rafters below but the two men's hearts as the stack of rubble collapsed lower still, dropping all the way to the lowest reaches of the fortress, the sacred halls. In a panic for their leader's safty, which now was physically threatened, Klaas ordered all those under the Arc to cease their prior orders and attempt a rescue. Filing down the stairwells, a clawed hand reached up from the broken in hole, pulling itself through. Catching his breath, the Ghobling leaped towards the next gaping hole, catching onto the busted beams and other sunken materials. He repeated this until he had scaled from the forsaken stronghold and was free.
Actualization
The High Priest's blank expression stared down the pandemoneom invoked by the Ghobling's presence. The sacred chambers were befouled, a hole stretched from basement to roof, letting in the dawning sun's rays. He, too, was drenched in the wretched waters of the swamp, as was the archive of mystic texts and countless years worth of scavenged, rare, magical components. One loathsome being had done it all. The High Priest knew, looking down into the rising pool that once was the lower floors, that his chapter of the Arc was finished. Worse, if their blunder ever came to the knowledge of the Highest Arcker, then every last one of his disciples would be hunted down and removed without a trace that they ever even existed, himself included. Klaas and the hallway sentry pulled on their leader's arms, trying to awake him from his deep pondering.
"Sir, please," the equally disgraced member begged, "this level will soon be swallowed as well. We must flee."
"Why even bother, Klaas?" Broken, the authority and strength of their leader's voice had left him. He sounded like any other mortal, weak and vulnerable. Pulling off his hood, he tore it in twine as he screamed defiantly, falling to his knees which splashed the rising muck. "Everything is ruined, my sons, and it is all the fault of one man, one thing. The only small victory we can claim today is that he did not learn the truth, for I still have his captured essense right-" The broken man's face spiraled deeper into despair as his hands frantically grasped about his person, searching all pockets and folds. "No! No! It cannot be!" He thought deeply to their confrontation. The pilfer had happened so quickly, that he was unaware the item was even removed from his possession. "It truly is a grim day, my children, for now he will be whole again. There is no telling what may happen now that he is whole once more. May the gods damn you, Hlargasnorp Yuum! Damn you, I say!" The three men lowered their heads in quiet acknowledgement that their fates were sealed one way or another. The guard's head snapped abruptly as thoughts processed within.
"Sir, who is Hlargasnorp?" he inquired.
"Who else? That monstrous fiend who devestated our home and shrine!" lamented the shaken priest. "I shall curse that name for all time!"
"But, sir, that intruder's name was Bimblesnaff," the sentinal made light of, "Bimblesnaff Bogg. I am quite certain of this as, I too, will pray a plague upon it nightly." He received a curious glance from his former leader. Stern at first, it grew into bewilderment.
"But... if he wasn't... that means... who was... what?" The High Priest racked his mind with the endless conundrums that perplexed him at the time. "Then what the hell just happened?!"
Strolling cheerfully through the rank, morning mist, albeit rigid with a limp, the lunatic cackled to himself. Pulling out a thin, sparkling glass from his jacket, he marveled at all the shinies within. Immersed in the simplistic joy, he rapped a nail upon the clear wall, watching the glows dance as he did. Not satisfied with just the view, he struggled to remove the top for direct access to the glittering wisps. Fumbling the tiny vessel in his thick fingers, Bogg resorted to his normal problem solving method: biting. As his misaligned teeth worked the glass, it proved more difficult than he had anticipated, which, since his reasoning was so poor, he assumed would be like biting the head off a kitten: simple and fun. Finally managing one crack, a brilliant flash erupted from the crevice as dazzling lights spewed forth around him. Drifting about directionlessly, some floated away while others merely faded. Bimblesnaff was fascinated by them with a childlike awe, suitable since it happened to be his level of intelligence, swatting at them and chomping at others. In either case, they vanished afterwards. When he could see no more of the amusing twinkles, his speculated heart sank, and he looked to the vial for more, only to be disappointed again. It was empty, but this fact was not realized with the more urgent discovery. The contents of the vial had distracted him from realizing it before, and the green skin frantically studied his hands. Wasting little time, he pulled up a pant leg and even parted his jacket, but, in all cases, it turned out to be true. With a matter such as this, his anger focused his thoughts, and he thought back to the events in the stronghold. Before the spell had struck him, certain words were uttered. The phrase, "Green skin be gone," echoed in the Ghobling's head as he looked down to behold his bland, gray skinned hands.
"Dammit!"
