When news of the Great Rift spread across Newerth, every citizen—Man and Beast alike—trembled at the thought of the gateway expanding into that bleak and ruthless realm. Every citizen, that is, except Merrick. When everyone’s favorite goblin shopkeeper heard of the vast alien wasteland, only one thought crossed his mind: Franchise!
Though it pained him grievously (much worse than any fleshwound those heroes suffered upon the battlefield, surely), he drew a Portal Key from his warehouse, decreasing his stockpile by one but not gaining a penny of profits, and teleported to the slopes of Krula with a new shop sign tucked under his arm.
He waved to Valreia the Riftwalker, who sat slumped against a rock with pages from ancient tomes scattered at her feet. Some of them seemed to be torn to shreds, and Merrick made a note to himself: Valreia may need glue. He brushed past the hideous purple tentacles slithering through the black maw to drop their darkness-spewing stalagnights in Newerth, then nudged his glasses higher on his nose and held his breath as he stepped into the Great Rift. Continue reading Merrick’s Plinko