The Goblin Corps
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Welcome to the Goblin Corps. May the best man lose.
Morthûl, the dreaded Charnel King, has failed. Centuries of plotting from the heart of the Iron Keep, deep within the dark lands of Kirol Syrreth--all for naught. Foiled at the last by the bumbling efforts of a laughable band of so-called heroes. Still, after uncounted centuries of survival, the Dark Lord isn't about to go down without a fight, particularly in battle against a mortal!
No, the Charnel King still has a few tricks up his putrid and tattered sleeves, and the only thing that can defeat him now may just be the inhuman soldiers on whom he's pinned his last hopes.
blood on the skin and tattered clothing and realized the man must have been alive when the root punctured his flesh. The tree stabbed him?! Gork felt a sudden need to lie down. “Oh, it did not!” Cræosh snapped when presented with the kobold's theory. “You have any fucking idea how stupid that sounds?” “Yes, I know very damn well how stupid it sounds!” Gork said, a hysterical tremor in his voice. “Of course it sounds stupid! It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, let alone said! And as soon as
watering in anticipation of the opportunities. He was called Gork by those outside his own race—an undignified epithet at best, but the closest most people could come to the strange bark that was his true name. At just a hair under three and a half feet, he was tall for a kobold. Although the pebbly, lizard-ish texture of his stone-gray skin prevented him from growing hair, his face and snout sprouted the occasional whisker, useful for feeling his way through small, darkened caves. His irises
anything but hostility in the gravelly tone of kobold voices. “Oh, I think so,” the human told him, smiling arrogantly down from above, a bothersome demigod. “I think you can hand me the crystal.” “What crystal?” The soldier frowned. “Don't play games with me, you little shit. I saw the whole thing. See, you only got the thing because one of my platoon was distracting the fat guy. Way I figure, that entitles us to half.” Gork shrugged. “Can't give you half, can I? It wouldn't be worth nearly
mages. But this tactic…may have caught him by…surprise.” She shrugged slightly. “After six hundred years…it might become difficult to…react to unexpected—” “No!” Cræosh and Gork, perhaps remembering the ogre's last outburst, took a step back. “Charnel King not surprised!” Belrotha insisted. “Him know what he doing! Him rule for lots of years!” She shook her head, and her voice grew softer. “Me rule Itho for only few seasons. But that long enough for me to know that nothing ever go right.
thought was hers. Oh, had he heard about that, over and over. Those goblin bastards had sullied his victory. Thomas and the others had been heavily associated with him in the minds of the unwashed masses, and loved almost as well as he. That he couldn't protect them from the ravages of Morthûl's slaves had been a fearsome blow to his reputation. Yes, he was most directly responsible for the Allied victory in Kirol Syrreth, and that overshadowed everything else; nevertheless, he couldn't help