Skink: The hero

The sewage tunnel reeks of rot and wet stone. Skink wipes grime from his brow, his tattered robes clinging to his slim frame as he stares down the hooded figure.

A new figure, Merrick, steps from behind a sewage pipe, his heavy cloak dripping with sludge. He ignores the goblin and points toward the exit, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of a rusted shortsword.

Merrick turns on his heel, his cloak swirling as he marches into the darkness of the secondary tunnel. The Stranger stays back for a heartbeat, his eyes glinting with amusement beneath the heavy hood.

He gestures toward the tunnel entrance before following Merrick, leaving Skink alone at the junction.

Skink lunges forward, his tattered robes flapping as he executes a perfect, silent slide across the slick mossy floor. He slips past the damp archway and comes to a halt right behind the cloaked duo, his jagged blade held with practiced, if slightly theatrical, poise.

The Stranger stops abruptly, the tunnel floor giving way to a sudden, murky drop-off that reveals a swarm of glowing, pale eyes peering up from the depths below.

Skink strikes an exaggerated pose, chest puffed out and arms spread wide over the abyss. His confident grin falters as the glowing eyes in the pit blink in unison, revealing dozens of razor-sharp, jagged teeth rising toward the ledge.

The swarm surges upward, a writhing mass of scaled, subterranean limbs clawing at the stone rim, forcing Skink to scramble back as the floor begins to crumble under the weight of the encroaching horde.

Skink pivots with supernatural grace just as the stone ledge disintegrates. His boots find purchase on a protruding pipe, and he vaults over the gap with a flourish of his tattered robes, landing nimbly on the far side of the crumbling edge.

Behind him, the wall of glowing eyes spills into the passage, the sound of hundreds of claws skittering against the stone echoing like a swarm of angry locusts. Merrick and the Stranger are already sprinting into the dark tunnel ahead, their silhouettes fading into the gloom. The path ahead is narrow, slick with sludge, and rapidly filling with the chittering shadows.

Skink throws his hands wide, fingers dancing in a complex weave. He channels his pride, whispering a jagged, half-remembered syllable of Infernal, and suddenly, his silhouette shimmers. To the advancing swarm, he appears to be a towering, multi-limbed nightmare, a creature of smoke and teeth. The leading wave of skittering shadows screeches, colliding into one another as they recoil from the sudden psychic blast of terror.

The swarm hesitates, a sea of glowing eyes blinking in confusion as they crawl over the discarded debris of the pit. The path forward is briefly clear, though the illusion flickers like a dying torch.

As Skink turns to dash, his foot catches on a slick, moss-covered pipe. He lunges forward, arms windmilling, and lands face-first in the muck. The illusion of the towering demon shudders violently, fading into wisps of pathetic gray smoke before vanishing entirely. The swarm, seeing the goblin sprawl into the filth, lets out a collective, chittering hiss of realization.

The swarm surges forward, a sea of chittering mandibles and pale limbs flooding over the broken edge of the pit. They are feet away from Skink, their hunger palpable in the stagnant air.

With a fluid, cat-like twist, Skink springs from his prone position, his boots finding purchase on the slick stone. He performs a spinning back-flip over the lead wave of chittering horrors, his tattered robes swirling like a dark cape. He lands perfectly between Merrick and the approaching swarm, his jagged blade held in a flamboyant, theatrical pose.

The creatures hiss, momentarily stunned by the goblin's sudden, acrobatic defiance. The swarm crests over the rubble like a dark, shifting wave, their pale limbs raking the stone walls.

Skink lets out a high-pitched, echoing whistle, expecting his loyal goblin cronies to burst from the drainage pipes to swarm to his aid. Silence answers him, save for the rhythmic dripping of foul water. Suddenly, a single, terrified goblin stumbles out of a side-vent, trips over his own oversized loincloth, and crashes headlong into Skink, knocking him directly into the path of the oncoming swarm.

The swarm surges forward, a sea of glowing, hungry eyes now mere feet away. The bumbling goblin scrambles to his feet, shielding his eyes as the chittering mass prepares to overwhelm the group.

Skink stands perfectly still, his eyes wide and blazing with a manic, unearned, and absolutely legendary confidence. He puffs out his small, mud-streaked chest and lets out a guttural, terrifying roar that echoes far louder than his small frame should permit. The swarm of pale, chittering creatures skitters to a sudden, shrieking halt, their glowing eyes pulsating in confusion as they recoil from the goblin's sheer, radiating audacity.

The creatures press against the tunnel walls, cowed by Skink’s inexplicable bravado, providing a narrow window of opportunity to sprint past the pit’s edge toward the shifting shadows of the exit.