Mikhailis let out a shaky sigh as he settled himself down in the secluded storeroom, his body still aching from the battle with Vyrelda. He winced as he adjusted his weight on the small wooden stool, the bruises across his body screaming for relief. But there was no ti for rest, not now. He pulled out a parchnt from his makeshift bag, unrolling it on the floor in front of him. His fingers felt stiff, every movent a reminder of just how close he'd co to death earlier.
"Alright, let's get to work," Mikhailis muttered to himself, pulling out a piece of charcoal.
He began by drawing a rough map of the goblin fortress. The layout was simple but effective. He started marking the key areas—Goblin Apostle's quarters, the weapon storage, the prisoner holding area, and the weak spots in the defenses. His hand moved quickly, his mind recalling every detail he had observed during his ti inside the fortress. Each room, each hallway, even the cracks in the stone walls—anything that could give Elowen's forces an edge.
Next, he focused on the patrol routines. He wrote down the timing of each patrol, noting how they changed throughout the day. He marked the routes the goblins took, the number of goblins per patrol, and the areas they covered. He knew from observation that the goblins weren't always consistent in their routines, but there were definite patterns. The most dangerous tis to approach the base and the tis when the guards grew complacent—he noted it all down.
The more information I can give them, the better prepared they'll be, he thought, a determined glint in his eyes.
He wrote down the total number of goblins in the fortress—fifteen hundred, give or take. He separated them by their roles: the regular Thalorian goblins, which made up the majority; the hobgoblins, tougher and slightly smarter; the shamans, who wielded their rudintary dark magic; the Goblin Champions, the powerful enforcers; and finally, the Goblin Apostle—the leader. Each role had a different function, and Mikhailis made sure to be thorough in his descriptions.
He then drew small symbols to represent the different goblin types and their positions in the fortress. The shamans were usually near the beetle pits, where they conducted their strange rituals. The champions were stationed closer to the Apostle's quarters, acting as personal guards. He noted the changing tis for guards and highlighted the monts when the base was at its weakest—usually during the early hours of dawn when the goblins were switching shifts.
They really do get lazy around that ti, Mikhailis mused, a small smile pulling at his lips. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.
Once he had sketched out everything he knew, he leaned back, inspecting his work. The parchnt was covered in notes and drawings—a detailed layout of the goblin base, complete with patrol schedules and defensive weaknesses. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
"Alright, Rodion," Mikhailis muttered, his gaze shifting to his glowing tattoos.
"Ti for you to do your part."
The tattoos glowed brighter for a mont, and then Rodion's voice filled Mikhailis's mind.
"Oh, thanks for the overwhelming enthusiasm," Mikhailis said, rolling his eyes.
"Alright, here's what I've got."
He began explaining each part of the parchnt in detail. He went over the base layout, pointing out the key areas. He described the goblin types, their roles, and where they were stationed. He listed the patrol routines, emphasizing the tis when the base was least guarded.
Rodion listened in silence, the only sign of his presence being the occasional flicker of light from the tattoos.
Mikhailis nodded, watching as the tattoos glowed with a steady light. He took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety.
"Tell them the best ti to strike is tomorrow night," he said, his voice steady.
"During the shift change. That's when their numbers are lowest, and the guards are tired. It's the best shot they've got."
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