"A truly odd creation." I muttered, still trapped in study.

  Everyone else in the camp had gone to sleep. They had crude fabrics woven together into sleeping bags. Crafting was this little tribe's way, and it showed. Some of these sleeping bags had odd enchantments. Most of them were practical, creating shifts in temperature or keeping bed bugs away. However, one was truly weird; it apparently ensured whoever slept in it would dream of romantic encounters. And from the sounds a particular Skav was making suggested he was having repeated encounters.

  After the mini-feast, Nutnug toasted my victory over him, having no shame in the defeat. Even his fellow Skavs were jubilant. Strange race, they seemed to find joy in success and failure. They were very interested in our weapons and armour. Several of these Skavs tried to caress them like they were precious rings in need of a volcano. Luckily, there were no deft hands lifting our property. I think Nutnug had a talk with them and prevented any theft.

  Now, only a few of us were awake. Xyn was tired as hell. She tried to stay awake by repeatedly turning ethereal, but the strain of repeated use just cancelled that out. It did, however, get a lot of attention from the Skavs. Many tried to put their hands through her. Some were not so subtle about jamming them through her intangible form. They got a punch to the face the moment her fist became solid. The Skavs took it well; most of them laughed cheerfully at their downed fellows, and a few downed fellows were carrying on as well.

  So there I sat on a bit of wood, still assessing a magic spoon. Faint snoring filled the air. Xyn was sleeping soundly in a borrowed sleeping bag that apparently never got cold. It was just me and Rak sitting by the fire. Turning to my last remaining companion, I was concerned for him.

  "You don't want to sleep?" I asked.

  I knew it was hypocritical since I was staying awake way beyond my bedtime. However, after taking a few sips of a certain beverage and sleep was now not an option. The buzz was still there, and I loved it.

  "A Garathi doesn't sleep much, so we never had much use for it." He explained, his shoulders hunched and his right arm moving up and down.

  "Really? That must be weird not sleeping." I said that, knowing full well the times I had stayed up for days.

  "Most of us just have brief stone time; it's far more relaxing."

  A sound tickled my ear, a scraping effect, like graphite against leather. Curious, I leaned over, putting the spoon away. What I saw was a worn journal, leather-bound and brown. Rak was carefully sketching a familiar form. He was sketching a Skav, and it was quite good, very fitting of its likeness. The sketch was of the creature lovingly licking swords. The model sat a few metres away, head tilted, hands clutching his weapons as if they were his lovers.

  "I didn't know you drew."

  "There are many things you don't know about me," he answered with a little snark in his voice.

  "Touche brother. No doubt I have many mysteries as well."

  Silence descended, and I watched as he sketched a rather excellent likeness of the weapon fondler. I tried to ignore the Skav, but when your pal was drawing him, you couldn't, really. The swords he clutched were of poor make, but he seemed to love them with an unhealthy affection.

  "Is this a hobby of yours?" I asked.

  "It started when I was young and pilfering old temple libraries." He said, finishing his sketch and blowing the fragments away.

  Upon the completion of his sketch, he began carefully composing a title for the page. In the Gothic style, he wrote "Skav" at the top, just next to a small sketch depicting the named creature. What followed was his writing paragraphs of everything he knew about the race in question. He learned most of it from querying Xynthia on the subject. And basic observations of the Skav in its natural habitat.

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  "Is this a bestiary?" I questioned, tilting my head to the side.

  "Bestiary?" He turned to me, pencil paused.

  "A journal detailing different species and races, their features, capabilities and natures." I started listing.

  Thinking it over, Rak frowned, parsing my words before nodding. "Yes, I think it is." He turned a page, displaying the sketch of a Volkaran.

  I let him return to his writing after he promised to let me peruse his book and settled back to watch the fire. I had studied the spoon and thought I could duplicate the enchantment and perhaps even create a skill based on it. But that would be for later. For now, I wanted to relax and have a smoke. Withdrawing a cigarette, I lit it, taking a deep draw of the smoke. As it filled my lungs, I sighed in contentment, ignoring the potential damage this toxic thing was doing to me.

  "Alright, time to check my character sheet." I muttered.

  Giving a cursory look, I noted I had levelled up quite a bit and had several attribute points. Wondering where I should put them, I dumped all into Force. It was my major attribute and saved me frequently. Feeling a slight tingle race across my body, I knew my barrier had strengthened and the power I could bring to bear was far more formidable.

  Other notifications were stuck in the queue. It looks like Jen implemented the rank-up feature for my skills. Several of them had gone up in rank. Increasing the power and lowering the cooldown for several of them. Pleased with the progress, I itched to develop more skills and refine this system to a razor's edge.

  "What Joey has, it food?" Nutnug saddled beside me.

  "Nah, buddy, it's a cigarette, not food." I explained, taking a puff.

  "Cigarette?" He tried to sound out the word and failed.

  "Yeah, it's meant to relax you, inhaling the smoke like this." I showcased the process from start to finish.

  "Ah, like a pipe." He withdrew a wooden pipe from a pocket, sprinkled some leaves and lit it.

  Giving it a quick sniff, I recognised the scent. A sharp and acrid undertone, the smell of grass and herbs. Incredibly distinct and I immediately draw the name from the corner of my mind. Chuckling, I couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The little goblin was smoking weed, probably a high-grade weed, likely magical. I considered asking if he was selling, but decided not to take up another habit.

  "We swap?" Nutnug gestured to his pipe and then to my cigarette.

  "What the hell, sure."

  And so that's how a gargoyle man, a clerk and a scavenger goblin ended up smoking cigarettes and weed all night long. The potent stuff buzzed me quickly, and I relaxed, going with the flow and letting the situation take me. That night, we held many insightful conversations. So many academic and gentlemanly discussions.

  "So, do you guys have females, and if so, how do you reproduce? Make the beast with two backs? If you know what I mean." I asked the important questions.

  "We don't have females, Joey," Rak explained, eyes bloodshot, the line of his mouth stuck in a curve. "We carve our children from each other's bones."

  "Okay, you will need to explain that." I leaned over after taking another puff, the world spinning.

  "When a Garathi desires a child, we mate with another by turning to stone while in physical contact. Once the deed is done, we separate but allow a fragment of ourselves to remain, to grow and prosper into a mighty stoneling." He thrust his fist forward, proud of explaining their stone banging.

  "Stone banging until you rock. You just blew my mind, Rak." I mimed my head exploding. "What about you Nutnug, I don't see any women around? How do you do the deed?"

  "Nutnug does not know what this deed is. But there are no female Skavs; we are born of the dungeon." Nutnug said proudly.

  So it was true; they are aberrant dungeon-born. The rumours were true — that the dungeons would one day hold anomalous creatures outside the typical pattern. No doubt, Skavs are just a mutated offshoot of the goblin. But last I recalled, goblins had females, at least I think they did.

  "Dungeon-born, cool." I said, nodding along, trying to keep my brain in check.

  Glancing around, I wondered where Jeremy was only to find him curled up with Xyn. The pair had been thick as thieves lately, though I'm not sure why. But ever since he started chatting, he has been very personable with people. A real people person, that cat. Shrugging, I returned to the conversation.

  "You were born of the dungeon; I have heard of such denizens. May I ask why you are outside your realm?" Rak queried, asking the right questions.

  The Skav paused, eyes glowing ominously in the moonlight, pipe smoke wafting upwards between his eyes. Silence and the crackling of dying fires was all that filled the void. At last he spoke, and with the weight of history.

  "Nutnugs tribe was forced to leave by our kin. New dungeon lord, cruel dungeon lord. Corrupt our kin. We Skavs no kneel, fled we did."

  Those two words were not something I wanted to hear. Dungeon Lords were relatively new in Grimgard but well within the rules of dungeon magic. And to an extent they were beneficial for guiding the ecosystems of dungeons, taking the load off us Clerks. However, most of them were not the nicest of fellows. That one having it out for my new buddies made me anxious. I took that worry to my sleep, crashing out shortly after. Probably all the weed and nicotine, but I was so chill as the world vanished.

  That was until I awoke to screams and large, rough hands gripping me tightly. "Wake up! Attack!" A voice yelled into my ear. Groggily, I opened my eyes to fire and brimstone.

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