"Now dis is a great castle!" The wall was a cracked ruin of toppled stone, overgrown with creepers and weeds. The open portcullis loomed like a fanged maw, casting deep shadows across the courtyard despite the bright heat of day. The gatehouse was empty, and the only sound other than the goblin's babbling and the crunch of boots on gravel was the harsh croaking of ravens from the dead trees nearby. Gobskag continued to elucidate. "Look at dem walls!" he said, reedily, "It takes smart buildin' to make 'em crumble proper like dat. Not to mention gettin' it cursed just right. Spiders everywhere I bet. Dis place is dead magical, I can smells it." One of the men muttered something and cracked his knuckles. Jealous, probably. Gobskag's good fortune was obvious. "Where's the servant?" rumbled one of the other men, looking left and right with unease. "No one said anything about us having to [i]go in[/i]." "I don't like it either, but orders are orders." His companion was adamant. "The sooner we get this greasy little shit inside, the sooner we leave. So let's [i]move.[/i]" They crossed the courtyard quickly, the two 'escorts' shoving Gobskag ahead of them over the cracked cobblestones and wild, overgrown grass. Still there was nobody. Where was Gobskag's royal Mercenary welcome? He had the papers and everyfing. Yet not a single swordboy or flunky to be seen. I mean, they'd left the gate open for him at least. And the door was ajar.... Probably the door to the treasure room was ajar, too... Not to mention the larder... Gobskag grinned a conniving yellow grin and worked his twisted hands together unctuously. "Alright lads, youse done your jobs," he condescended to his bodyguards, "Dis is definitely the place. I'll just ah, sees meself in, heh heh... No harm in havin' a little bit of a poke around, heeeenh? Heh heh..." One long, skinny claw reached out for the door. "GROBI!" the raw, savage bellow echoed throughout the overgrown courtyard. "YE'LL NOT GET ME OFF GUARD YE DURNED UNCREATIVE GREENSKIN!" Gobskag froze. The flour-sack hood slowly turned to face the two men behind him, beady red eyes glittering with sudden, urgent nervousness. "Ehhhhnh..." he began, "actually, I fink this is a [i]diff'rent[/i] castle--" The foremost escort already had his sword leveled at the goblin's throat. "[i]In.[/i]" he ordered, grimly. [hr] Gobskag scuttled through the shadows, darting from one piece of furniture to the next, hauling himself up a spiral flight of stairs in the most hidden alcove he could find, flinching as the sound of breaking wood and something [i]huge[/i] hurtling bodily through the corridors nearby reached his flapping great ears. Surely there was an open window or a drain he could squeeze through. He'd find another employer, one who wasn't as keen to murder him as this one apparently was. "Gonna smoke us from afar, are ya?" a voice sneered from somewhere below "Thought you types were supposed to be tough." The goblin ducked, panting, taking a moment to realize he'd circled around and found himself at a rickety wooden balcony overlooking the dining hall. Skulking behind the railing, he peered down at the four men - wait, naff that: One man, one hobber(!) one stuntie with a shiny arm, and just now one a' them chaos boys -- all facing off and about to start bashing. Fear dissolved into opportunism and mischief began to percolate in the goblin's wizened little mind as he went from fleeing for his life to scheming to take somebody else's in the time it takes to flip a coin. So that were it. It weren't him they were after. In fact they hadn't seen him yet at all. He was in the perfect position for one o' them attacks of opportunity. He eyed one of the tarnished, cobwebbed suits of armor posed by the opposing wall, leering. Okay, sure, it was heavy. But the hostility and adrenaline of the imminent brawl below along with the presence of the murderous hobgoblin was enough to grant him a thin trickle of da green stuff, enough to bolster his puny physique with a hushed [i]Gettin' Tuffer![/i] zap, charging his little green body with revolting vigor. He pressed his hunching back against the metal armor, jammed first his Stikk and then his feet against the corner of the wall and [i]heaved[/i] with all the effort he could muster. The plated suit began to creak and groan as it slowly began to tilt toward the edge. "OI! Drop that damned pigsticker of yours, you green runt!" Alright, Gobskag thought, it weren't going to be what you'd call a precision strike. But, he reasoned, no matter who he squished, [i]someone[/i] was bound to be grateful. He'd side with whoever had more boys once the dust settled and... "We'll not be killed by any goblin ambush today, half-man." It was a moment after the point at which it was far too late that Gobskag realized the groaning wasn't coming from the armor at all. It was coming from the balcony. The beams, after far too long suffering the depredations of termites and damp rot, could no longer support the kind of pressure being exerted on them. One by one they began to cave, and right as the Dwarf was asking some sort of question the entire wooden platform buckled -- it, the suit of armor and the now panicking goblin all sliding like a slow avalanche toward the four below. It was an impossible situation. Gobskag did the only thing he could. "WAAAAGH!" he shrieked, plummeting.