the goblins, despite the rather bloodthirsty folk songs which they repeatedly give vent to, are neither cruel, nor particularly good guards.
It therefore doesn't take more than an hour of pushing the mine cart to find a time when your left entirely alone with most of the goblins either off on a tea break or over at the far end of the diggings where apparently gotroth the merciless has stubbed his toe quite painfully.
Siezing your chance, you sprint for the passage leading back towards the dungeon crossroads.
You run swiftly, swirving around large rocks and bumping over small ones, hereing goblins voices and shouts behind you. However, you have far longer leggs than the goblins not to mention a hed start which means even their fastest runners are soon left way behind.
Putting on an extra burst you dive into the north corridor and begin running, the going far easier now owing to the much smoother floor.
however, you have completely forgotten the fact that nobody has cleared up the set of old goblin pickaxes you tripped over earlier and they're left exactly where they fell, all over the corridor in a tangled heap.
For the second time in two hours the shaft of a pickaxe catches you betwene the ankles as your attention wanders and you find yourself crashing to the stone floor.
Unfortunately for you, the stone floor is already populated with a host of fallen pickaxes, ---- one in particular which is pointed upwards at a most inconvenient and rather fatal angle.
You now find yourself firmly, distinctly and rather gorily stuck on the end of a pickaxe in the middle of a corridor with lots of very unhappy goblins just behind you, goblins who really don't like their reasonableness being presumed upon twice in such quick succession.
The only really good thing to say is thanks to the angle of the pickaxe and what it has pierced, you only last up to verse 7 of what shal we do with a sober goblin, and sinse verse eit apparently involved a bottle opener, that's actually quite a relief.
you may now most deffinately and completely be described as of the deceased persuasion, or to put it more bluntly, you are dead!
The horrible dungeons of dreadful doom.
copywrite2011 by Dark.