The town was a mess of winding streets and alleyways, and Glintsprock realised how easy it would be for him to get lost.

       'Maybe I should've got a guide,' he thought. 'Or a map.' Glintsprock loved maps. Not because he found them useful for navigation, but because there was something about them that captured his interest. He could sit and stare at a map for hours and feel completely entertained. He found it fun to imagine what went on in each of the named places. He wondered about the riches that lurked within castles and manor houses. He pictured the monsters that might live in the forests.

       But, alas, he had no map.

       So, he had to follow his nose. While his sense of smell was nowhere near as good as Muckfang's, Glintsprock reckoned he could sniff out the enchantment. Especially since he kinda knew where to expect to find it.

       As luck would have it, he didn't need to test his sense of smell straight away, as - just like every other gnome in this place - the blacksmith was still working hard, despite the late hour. The sounds of a hammer striking metal echoed around the street, allowing Glintsprock to find his way with very little effort.

       This was perfect.

       With his prey distracted, Glintsprock became invisible and sauntered into the smithy. It was a nice enough place, if a little dirty. Various projects cluttered the room in different states of completion. And, while the anvil and forge was the main focus, a space had been made for the blacksmith to make tea. What was it with gnomes and tea? Wherever Glintsprock went, they seemed to be utterly obsessed with the stuff. Well, that and ale... but rarely mixed together.

       Glintsprock circled the room, taking in as much information as he could.

       Unaware, the blacksmith continued with his work. In a fair fight, the gnome probably would have been able to give Glintsprock a run for his money.  His muscles had muscles, and Glintsprock didn't have to think too hard to imagine what it would be like to meet the business end of the hammer.

       At this point, some goblins may have decided that the stakes were too high and disappeared to find someone a little softer. But not Glintsprock.

       This wasn't because he was brave.

       This was because he'd just spotted a bag of gold at the back of the room. This blacksmith was evidentally very good at his job.

       Now, Glintsprock could have just taken the gold and run. In hindsight, that was probably the best option... but, he had his heart set on doing a bit of scaring. After all, a goblin's gotta goblin. Asking a goblin not to do any scaring was like asking a fish not to do any swimming.

       Glintsprock studied the blacksmith as he worked. This looked like a gnome who didn't scare easily. But everyone was scared of something - even if they pretended they weren't.

       Still undecided on what to do, the goblin crept closer to the gnome, careful not to make sound. Would a creepy laugh fill the blacksmith with fear? A ghoulish song? What about random objects being thrown around? There had to be something, and Glintsprock wanted to get it just right.

       After a moment's hesitation, he settled on a grotesque version of an old gnomish song. He'd picked up the song while travelling through another gnomish settlement, and had discovered that gnomes believed hearing the song was a bad omen. Glintsprock smiled. This was perfect.

       Unable to clear his throat or warm up, Glintsprock just launched straight into it, singing softly, but without doubt, loud enough for the blacksmith to hear.

       Or, at least, it would have been, if the blacksmith had stopped hammering for two bloody minutes. Come on, seriously, why wouldn't he take a break? It wasn't normal.

       Glintsprock moved closer until he was right behind the gnome. Close enough to feel his heat and smell his sweat. Definitely close enough now.

       The goblin began to sing.

       "The shadows call sounding sweet and true,

       Promising hope, but bringing doom,

       Hear these words to let the darkness in,

       Dreams and reality combine in a twisted din.”

       As expected, the gnome stopped hammering. Glintsprock couldn't see the blacksmith's face, but he hoped that terror was starting to settle into his features. It was a shame to miss that part, it was always a truly satisfying part of any scare.

       Now nice and warmed up, Glintsprock started to sing again. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he thought about what was to come. Any moment now, the gnome would tremble. Perhaps he'd cry out... or even scream!

       With great care, Glintsprock stepped around the gnome, eager to see his prey's face.

       But, when he met the blacksmith's eyes, there was no fear there. Just cool icy blue, like the surface of a frozen lake. This wasn't terror, this was calm. But it wasn't a serene calm, this was the calm that came with confidence. Despite Glintsprock's singing, this gnome didn't have a care in the world.

       A chill did a little dance on Glintsprock's spine, and he tried to shake it off like a stray dog shaking off rainwater.

       'Focus,' he thought, trying to get his head back into the game. He sang again.

       "The shadows call sounding sweet and true...”

       ... and this time the gnome joined in.

       His voice was low and gruff, but carried the tune far better than Glintsprock's nasally tones.

       "You think to scare me with bad omens?” he asked, looking directly at Glintsprock. The goblin had to check he was still invisible. He was. This was odd. "The only bad omen here is me.”

       Goblin smiles are notoriously terrifying, but the one now worn by this gnome could give them a run for their money on any day of the week. Glintsprock wasn't a fan.

       Deciding that maybe easier prey was a more appealing idea, Glintsprock took a couple of steps back.

       "Easy there, goblin,” the gnome said. "You came to play, right? The game's not over yet.”

       How could he see him? This wasn't the way it was supposed to go.

       As it appeared to be pretty pointless, Glintsprock dropped the enchantment. "Tell me,” Glintsprock said. "I have to know, how did you know where I was?”

       The gnome laughed, a big belly laugh. It should have been a jolly sound, but it was filled with something else. Something dark.

       "I just have good hearin',” the gnome said, with a shrug. "It was a lucky guess.”

       Glintsprock didn't believe that at all. Well, he didn't want to, anyway. Because if that was true, he just revealed himself for nothing.

       "Did you plan to frighten me, little goblin?” the gnome asked. Glintsprock bristled at the 'little' as they were pretty much the same height. Who did this gnome think he was?

       "It didn't quite work, did it?” the gnome taunted. "I think I need to give you a lesson in what fear looks like.”

       The shadows in the already dark room grew darker, and, despite his near-perfect nightvision, Glintsprock could only see his hands in front of him and the gnome.

       "What is this?” Glintsprock asked. "What's going on?”

       "I just told you. School is in session. Do pay attention as I hate to repeat myself.”

       Despite the heat of the forge, the air grew cold. Soon the temperature matched the ice in the gnome's eyes. Unable to fight it, Glintsprock shivered. Whether it was down to the winter conditions or panic tickling his senses he couldn't say. Something wasn't right here. A gnome shouldn't be able to get the best of him.

       But that was exactly what was happening.

       The gnome continued to sing the very song that Glintsprock had intended to scare him with. His eyes twinkled with malice at every word.

       "I know you know this already,” the gnome began, "but many of my people believe this song not only tells you when something bad is going to happen, but it actually invites evil into your world. I'm sure you would have been aware of such dangers before singing it.”

       Glintsprock knew about the bad omen thing, but that was about it. Besides, it was a song... what was the worst it could do? Get stuck in his head? He had to admit that it was rather catchy. Maybe they could work it into the Shit-Stained Lizardz's show... although, perhaps not when they played for gnomish audiences.

       "Do you know what evil you've invited, little goblin?” the gnome asked. His voice was smug, like they were playing a game and he knew he was going to win. Glintsprock shivered again.

       "Scared now?” the gnome taunted.

       "Not scared, just chilly.” Glintsprock rubbed his hands against his arms as if to prove his point. "Where's the warmth gone? Is your forge broken?”

       "No, I just find the cold helps with the kinds of spells I like to do.”

       Wait... spells?

       Glintsprock didn't like the sound of that.

       "Spells? You're meant to be a blacksmith,” Glintsprock said.

       "And you're meant to be a musician,” the gnome said. "And, yet, here we are.”

       "What kind of spells need the cold anyway?” Glintsprock's knowledge of magic wasn't anywhere near comprehensive, but he'd never heard of anything like this.

       "My kind,” the gnome replied. "The way I see it, if you're already as cold as a corpse, you're half way there.”

       At that, the gnome laughed. Glintsprock didn't get the joke, and he was about to say as much, but was left speechless when a bright blue ball of flame appeared in the gnome's hand. Well, it looked like a flame. If anything, it was even colder than everything else had become.

       "I need an army,” the gnome said. "And you, little goblin, will be my first soldier.”

       "What does a blacksmith need an army for?”

       "YOU IDIOT! I thought we'd established I'm not just a blacksmith. How many blacksmiths do you know who can do this?”

       Frustrated, the gnome used his free hand to wave at the forge and it levitated up from the ground.

       "I dunno,” Glintsprock replied. "I haven't met all the blacksmiths in Venari. For all I know, that could be a common party trick.”

       Now, it should be noted that Glintsprock isn't necessarily brave. It's just that when the odds are stacked up against him and escape doesn't seem likely, he feels that his only course of action is to annoy his tormentor. Somehow, it's a technique that has served him well. Many may think that he puts himself in further danger. After all, who hasn't wanted to murder an annoying pest? But, he has perfected the art of being so annoying that he often manages to piss his opponent off so much that they're unable to do anything. Either that, or he distracts them so much that he has time to run away. Whatever the reason, his system has worked for him up until now.

       "IT'S NOT A PARTY TRICK, YOU UTTER BUFFOON!” The gnome's cheeks turned red and Glintsprock held out his hands as if to warm himself on them. The gnome slapped them away.

       "Do you not care about what I'm going to do to you?” said the gnomish wizard (because he had to be a wizard, didn't he? He was right about one thing, blacksmiths didn't tend to do spells and whatnot).

       "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's very impressive,” Glintsprock said with a grin. "But I've got places to be. We're on tour, y'know? So I can't stay here chattin' all night. Besides, I'd make a terrible soldier. I never follow orders, so it would be a waste of time.”

       "You'll follow orders if you're undead,” the gnome said.

       If Glintsprock thought the gnome had worn a murderous grin before, then this one was capable of killing entire worlds.

       "Now lets not be hasty,” Glintsprock said as he tried to back away.

       Usually, goblins thrive in dark conditions, but - whether it was nerves or villainous magic - this time Glintsprock could do little but fumble around. It wasn't long before he'd tripped over his own feet and landed in a small undigified heap on the floor.

       The gnome loomed over him, making him feel every bit like the 'little goblin' the wizard had named him. Glintsprock had never felt smaller or more powerless. Was he really going to die here? Like this? Basalt was going to be mad. He needed a plan. But there was no time to think, let alone chew on a trusty toenail for inspiration.

       As if he knew this, the gnome smiled. Raising his blue flame to the ceiling he chanted a few words of what sounded like nonsense.

       And then the blue flame disappeared.

       Was that it? Was that the spell?

       'Am I dead now? Or undead?' Glintsprock wondered, as he patted himself down. He certainly didn't feel any different. Why was everyone so worked up about death and undeath when you ended up feeling exactly the same? It seemed to be a load of fuss about nothing.

       "Your steed is on their way,” the gnome said.

       "My steed?” Glintsprock asked, thinking about his donkey. There's no way that donkey would come anywhere near this place; especially not with all the magic flying around.

       "Yes, you're going to be a soldier in my army. You're going to need a steed,” the gnome said. "She'll be here soon. After she's massacred this place.”

       A massacre? That didn't sound good. Would he die again? And, if he was undead, why did he feel like he needed to piss himself?

       "And now to get you ready-”

       "Wait,” Glintsprock interrupted, "haven't you done your spell on me already?”

       "What? No. Of course not!”

       "Then what was all that about?” From his spot on the ground, Glintsprock waved his arms about in way that he thought suggested magic. He even added in a few dance moves. One of them was 'the worm'. He liked that one.

       "I was calling your steed. Obviously. As I said.”

       "Hmm,” Glintsprock said. "If you say so.”

       This time it was Glintsprock's turn to smile. Through his powers of annoying stupidity, he'd managed to shimmy himself closer to a weapon. The blacksmith's hammer. As he wrapped his sticky fingers around it, he could almost feel his escape.

       —— "Nice try,” the gnome said, as he pointed a finger towards Glintsprock. Blue fire erupted from its tip and hurtled towards the goblin.

       Glintsprock made a noise that may have been a squeak as he rolled away from the fiery doom.

       "You can't avoid the ice fire forever,” the gnome said. "Sooner or later, you'll join me. It's inevitable.”

       "Bollocks to that,” Glintsprock muttered. His legs shook as he got to his feet, perhaps from the cold... Yep, he was telling himself it was because of the cold. The gnome fixed him with a frozen glare and Glintsprock flicked on his invisibility.

       "There's no point in that, we've established I know where you are. Besides, you're holding my bloody hammer!”

       Okay, that was a good point.

       Perhaps foolishly, Glintsprock dropped the hammer. 'There goes the weapon,' he thought.

       Without giving the gnome another look, Glintsprock ran for the door. Outside it, the darkness of the caves was broken up by the warm orange glow of lanterns.

       Oh, to fill warm again! It would be divine.

       Grimy feet slapped against the cold, stone ground, betraying his position even if the gnome couldn't see him.

       Still, it didn't matter now. Freedom was in sight. Not far to go.

       Glintsprock reached the exit and stopped. Or, rather, he stopped moving forwards while his legs continued to move. Looking down, he saw he was floating about five inches from the ground, his legs paddling the air.

       This time, he did turn to face the gnome, but not through choice. Instead, his whole body was turned in mid air and dragged back into the icy prison of the smithy.

       "It's time to meet your destiny, little goblin.” The gnomish wizard moved both hands around, ice fire building around each of his stubby fingers.

       Glintsprock gulped.

       This time the ice fire moved slowly. Agonisingly slowly. Illuminated by the blue flame, the gnome's face wore a smirk of satisfaction. This was the look of someone who knew they'd won. It was the look of someone who always knew they were going to win. Glintsprock hadn't stood a chance.

       As the magic drew closer, Glintsprock remembered the wotdafuq in his carriage. Sure, she was dying, but she was still an ally. For the first time in his life, Glintsprock attempted to reach out to another being with the power of his thoughts. Back when she'd been alive, Basalt had told him it was possible, so he had to hope that was still the case.

       'Basalt,' he pleaded. 'I need help.'

       Nothing happened.

       The magic drew closer.

       'Basalt, help me.' He repeated this half a dozen more times with similar results. He'd all but given up hope when he heard a familar voice. One that had haunted him not too long ago.

       'Fuck off,' she said.

       'I need help,' he tried again.

       'What do you want me to do about it, fucknut?' she asked. 'My bones and desicated flesh are held together by stubborness and spite until you bring me food. Until there's gold in my rotten belly, you've gotta fight your own battles.'

       Well, that wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for... but it was probably the one he should have expected. At least he knew the Brain Chatter thing worked. Something like that was always handy. Apart from at this particular moment.

       "Oh shit,” Glintsprock said, as a bolt of ice fire hovered in front of his nose.

       "Are you ready, little goblin? It's time to join my army,” the smug bastard gnome said.

       Before Glintsprock could answer, the ice fire reached out and touched the tip of his nose. The flame was so cold, it burned. Blisters formed and ruptured as what felt like an icy worm slithered up his nostrils and into his head. Within moments, he could feel it travelling through his body. Frost claimed his blood turning it to crystals, and seeped into his organs. It gripped his heart, slowing its beat to near nothingness.

       Meanwhile, the gnome cocked his head, and smiled. "Your steed is getting closer. I can hear her. Soon, all will be complete.”

       Glintsprock tried to send another Brain Chatter message to Basalt, but his brain was moving at a glacial slowness. He'd known she wouldn't have been able to help him anyway, but he'd wanted to say goodbye. It seemed like the thing to do.

       Gradually, Glintsprock's vision started to fade. Soon he would belong to the gnome wizard, and there was nothing he could do about it.