by A Uscila
“He is?” – Bob’s voice echoed from within the helm, the tone ominous, instead if sounding bewildered as it no doubt was – “You are?” – He repeated, only this time addressing the question directly to the goblin, the helm’s slit turned towards him.
“No no no, of course not! I meant it! You are, without a doubt, professionals at what you do! Word carries around. All those successful ambushes and battles! You just blew-up a damn fort, for peat’s sake!” – Slicknick defended himself with slightly too much fervor, which was not lost to Wail’s keen eyes. Was that compliments or mockery? It was quite hard to tell and frankly, Wail was too paranoid to be sure. Everything always seemed like a personal insult to him.
“Heh, I guess we did, didn’t we?” – Bob asked rhetorically, his helm moving about in annoying scrapes, as the naïve fool looked at each of his companions, a slap echoing in follow-up.
“Fine, you can tag along. Whatever” – Finally relenting, Wail turned and stalked off towards the entrance to the dungeon, a red-mark left on his forehead. Eyes sliding over the looming entrance to it – empty and abandoned, a big gaping hole at the bottom of a towering cliff. Looked like a simple cave, nothing promising. Yet, the sociopath could not help but hope for some leftover weaklings to kill down there, because a certain amount of venting was in high demand.
“Why do you always have to be such a push-over?” – Of course, Willow would not simply let the matter settle, inserting a loud-enough complaint for Wail to hear.
Yep. Quite in high demand, indeed.
*******
A fireball slammed into the face of a robed adventurer with a satisfying puff, followed by his swears and a high-pitched roar as a fire-spitting demon leaped upon him and finally – by the desperate shouts of pain and horror as the poor bastard was ripped apart in a searing fury. Not a pleasant way to go and the thought only further adding to the already present smile that Wail carried around. With deep satisfaction, he looked as the few adventuring strays were caught and butchered by his merry band of miscreants, troublemakers and untrustworthy creatures of horror. An armored fella was pummeled down by Bob’s persistent swings of the sword, smacking loudly upon the shield that the victim hid under – only to be stabbed from behind by Slicknick, who seemed quite reluctant to be content with only one thrust and followed up with at least a dozen more. Another, clothed from head to toe in rugged leather, was unfortunate enough to have both of his lower limbs rendered useless with Willow’s accurate shooting, only to fall victim to minion number one and a band of raised undead, sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bones filling the air.
Yet the most unsettling thing, by far, was Wail’s ever-present annoyance – ever clinging to his robed leg, pure eyes darting here and there, as if afraid to miss even a single detail of the horrific scene, yet taking it in with not even a twitch of the brow. Facial features displaying concentration, interest and an excited quiver of the lips, the last part uncertain, yet the warlock had little doubts regarding it. Truly, if left alone, the little child would grow up to be a monster in her own right. One that Wail shook at the thought of facing. Clearly – an abrupt and unexpected accident was in order. A little ruthlessness wouldn’t hurt, he was being too soft with the kid, to begin with.
It was not the time for that kind of parenting, sadly, as one of the beasts that was so recently chasing around the panicked group of adventurers, turned its’ attention to Wail with a throaty growl. An oversized, hairless, poor excuse for a dog – though only it’s disposition could be surmised as such - pale, sickly flesh, hanging flabs of skin and a distracted, bloodshot stare. A gobulf. It was the size of a pony – a pony with lethal claws and a long fang-filled snout. Its’ sharp, barred canines were enough to make one think twice before setting the pup on fire. Gaze set on the scrawny warlock, the beast snarled in a disgusting spray of sticky slobber, the disturbing gaze measuring the magician’s nutritious worth.
Well, the sight would indeed make many think twice. Many that is, except Wail. He even had the audacity to take his time and regard a dark blob that floated along the rocky ceiling – its’ outlines barely visible as the summon blended in perfectly.
“Can you get any more useless…” – He mumbled grumpily under his nose, all the while conjuring a flaming projectile in his right hand, juggling it while narrowed eyes turned back towards the supposed threat , attempting to stare it down – and it was half as tall as the warlock, while on four legs – “Growling at me, eh? Well, I’ll have none of that…” – and with a healthy flourish of the hand, the projectile flew and hit the bipedal horror straight on the nose, the ball of fire exploding into multiple scorching tongues, licking at the snout in quite the unpleasant manner. At the very least, it looked quite annoyed, maybe even positively outraged – as its’ head shook energetically, shaking off any leftover sparks or embers, followed by a positively blood-thirsty glare and a nerve-wrecking roar that came-out from the very depths of its’ throat. Jaws opened as widely as seemed possible, sharp, jagged teeth coming into full-view. Truly, a terrifying sight, only it was put to an abrupt end as Bob came into the picture – or to be more precise, cut in. With Souleater gripped tightly above-head and a timely descent, Bob fell upon the four-legged thing with great fury, turning the ear-numbing roar into a wounded yelp, as the accurate and bone-breaking swing of the pulsing weapon put an end to any and all attempts of resistance. With a heavy and sudden thud, the foe fell to the ground – head and right shoulder cut-through and crushed by Bob’s effective means, the threat dealt with and over, before anything unsightly could happen to the warlock.
“That will teach you” – Wail mumbled under his breath, as if it was he and not Bob that put-down the beast so smoothly. Taking credit for the hard work of others as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Luckily, the laws of Alternative Reality were always there to balance matters and provided a suitable means in doing so.
Willow glared. Sorro snorted. Bob shrugged. And two dozen of the same species stepped into view from within the darkness beyond – while Slicknick finished up the chain of events with a panicky shout.
“Fuck!” – Quite apt. Wail couldn’t have put it better himself and would have, if not for a sudden idea that simply demanded to be prioritized. He glanced at Vivian and slightly bent down to be better heard.
“Look, aren’t those puppies interesting? Want to go and pet them?” – The deranged warlock inquired, an index finger pointed at the slowly approaching line of beasts, while lips twisted into an exceedingly creepy and unnatural smile.
“Can I?” – With widened eyes staring right back, the child inquired uncertainly, as if afraid that her ever-mean savior was only tempting her.
“Of course…“ – He began – “Ouch!” – Ending with a wounded exclamation once a certain female with less than a gentle touch intervened – slapping the devious magician over the back of his head.
“Stop messing around, you idiot!” – She berated.
Wail’s eyebrows dived towards each other, clearly a display of dissatisfaction over the misunderstanding, his eyes soon latching onto the charging pile of metal that was Bob – the underlings’ blade raised high and ready to wreak havoc, an ominously echoing bellow coming from within the helmet he wore. Not too far behind, Sorro sprinted on all-fours towards the same direction, a maniacal cackle left behind in passing.
At least someone was enthusiastic, unlike certain individuals. Still quite displeased, regardless of the uplifting charge performed by the two previously described, Wail turned to regard the ever-oppressive Willow with a glare of his own, only to notice a flashing figure in the corner of his vision. Like the warning bell of pale, singed skin and melted-over armor that he was, minion number one was in the process of fleeing in a peculiar mixture of a sprint and a limp. Funny how Wail only noticed the walking-corpse when it was either running away or doing something reckless and unexpected.
Soon enough, the fleeing figure of Slicknick and his kin dashed pas, Wail�
�s gaze tracking their sprint in a daze, only to notice Willow and her slowly widening eyes as they stared over his shoulder. The act was soon followed by her abrupt flight together with everyone else – though, only after she grabbed onto the giggling Vivian. Finally, with goosebumps running down his back, Wail decided to turn around and inspect what was so scary, as to make everyone flee so – which he did, only after stepping to the side and allowing both Sorro and Bob to dash past.
“Run!” – A passing warning thrown at his feet like table scraps. Wail would surely need to discipline that damn metal-barrel one of these days. Today, sadly, Wail had other, more pressing matters to attend.
A stampede of positively hungry looking bipedal hounds was quickly closing in, their numbers enough of a reason for the cowardly retreat by every single so-called comrade. Good thing that there were still plenty left-over raised cannon-fodder to distract the mutts, while the mastermind himself can retreat in style. With no frantic hurrying that would end up being made fun of by any who observed and especially Willow once she was somewhere safe, Wail shifted into a retreat. There was something genuinely irksome with people pointing fingers at you and laughing – especially when there was more than one at it. Wail could only frown at the thought and struggle to repress old, unpleasant memories, threatening to resurface. Funny how some things always seemed to lurk under the surface, silent and forgotten – right until the moment something related raised it all to a headache inducing nightmare. Good news – Wail didn’t need to put in much effort to avoid such a scenario this time. Bad news? Apparently, those four-legged circus freaks were way more capable and numerous than expected – the undead minions being overrun and ripped apart in seconds, while a few hounds decided to ignore the few decomposing obstacles and went for the bony chew-toy himself – forcing poor Wail to go against his wishes and break into a panicky, desperate sprint. Which did pay off in a sense, as he soon caught up with a few of his own – mainly Bob who was trailing behind everyone else in a steady scrape and rattle – an embarrassing display, surely. Especially when even the limping alarm-bell was keeping a solid lead on the underling, with Willow up ahead, a few allied-goblins scrambling around her position, while Sorro and Slicknick were maintaining the spearhead of their trailing rout. Wail’s Soulfiend? Last time he saw it, the waste of mana and souls was leisurely floating about somewhere above the stampede of beasts. What a prick – it basically had the VIP seats to the rout that was far from over due to all that barking and snarling that came from behind. Wail could have sworn that the sounds were getting closer – that was why he took extra effort to shout about orders whenever a possibly exploitable obstacle turned up ahead.
“Somebody immobilize him!” – He shouted through ragged breaths, a finger pointed at a lone adventurer that was busy fighting off an ape-like creature of grey fur, sharp claws and jagged fangs - a goblin-yeti, as some call them. His order seemed to have been for naught, since either nobody really saw it or simply did not pay any attention to – since the warlock was at the very end of their procession and looking back seemed like an action demanding too much effort. Effort to which none was willing to commit, especially when it was quite obvious on its’ own, what Wail was going on about – thus whoever passed the unsuspecting victim the closest, would end up responsible for carrying out the order. Which ended up being Slicknick, in this case. With a quick and unnecessarily elaborate roll, the goblin cut-across the victim’s achilles tendon with a flourish of a dagger – a painful yelp and a stumble coming in reply from the innocent casualty, while the previously fought monster capitalized on the opportunity and proceeded to perform a full-body tackle on the poor bastard. Wail could only slap his forehead with an open palm in frustration. A lot of help that would provide – seeing as once the adventurer was done and over with, the monster would turn its’ attention to the fleeing group and join up with those already present. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested anything in the first place, but seeing in how much of a pickle his group was, Wail just couldn’t resist sharing the misery around. Made it seem less horrible when everyone else was fucked as well. Heck, a few more monsters creeping on their heels wouldn’t change much at this point. But a little fire would, probably.
Sorro was one step ahead regarding that thought, as a large sphere of billowing flames arched over his head – an explosion, followed by pained yelps and angry snarls reaching his ears soon enough. Wail, being quick on the uptake, performed a quick glance-back, assessed the situation and finished up with a sinister grin and a snap of the fingers. His grin getting wider once the leftover flames exploded in a spectacular show of flying bits of singed flesh, another round of pained yelps, general disorder and chaos. A few more moments bought as the stampede seemed to choke upon itself, a large part of it ending up in a ball of snarls and tangled limbs.
Heck, Wail even had the nerve to somewhat slow down to cast his favored Soul Syphon upon their heads, eyes catching that annoying floating blob in his peripheral vision.
“Yeah, that’s right. None for you” – He mumbled.
*******
Huffing and puffing, two individuals were climbing up a set of steep stairs, their narrow outline carved into a cliff, which loomed over the black depths of Festering Gut, the bottom shrouded by pitch black, while the steps themselves angled down in sharp turns. Luckily, the climb was already over, as one of the two finally reached the flattened top, his features coming into view under a flickering torch-light – a fellow in fur-clad leathers, a two-handed, double-edged axe strapped to his back. A rugged man of long, greying hair and a plentiful beard of the same color – his gaze glaring down at the stairs he just managed to finally beat, taking in the fact that only every third flight could be seen from way above. Falling down would be quite the painful endeavor.
“God damn it Irvin, this is the last time I’m tagging along for this dungeon. Fuck these stairs” – finally, his glare turned to regard the complaining comrade – a fellow clad in chain-mail upon worn leathers, a round, iron rimmed shield on his back, while a one-handed mace hung from the waist. Ocean blue eyes stared back at Irvin from beneath light-yellow bushy brows, which contrasted peculiarly with a short haircut and a cleanly shaven, round face.
“Shut it Carl. You know you’ll come crawling back tomorrow just the same” – Irvin shot back, his beard tugging to the side as if the man was sneering underneath.
“I’d rather spend the whole day looking for fitting shoe-sizes for overweight, angry women than climb up these stairs again” – apparently, the jeer was ignored, since Carl started another round of complaints once he finally reached the flattened top of the cliff and stopped to catch his breath.
“Hah. Like you have a choice. It’s your job, after all” – With another verbal jab thrown back casually, the axe-wielder didn’t seem bent on waiting around, as he turned to continue on – stepping towards a three-man wide tunnel, its’ rough outline seemingly carved into the rocky wall with no other visible alternative for an exit point.
“Don’t remind me” – Carl sighed in defeat, only to follow his colleague soon after.
Yet both stopped in their tracks once a few specks of light flashed at the far end of the dark tunnel, echoing rumbles reaching their ears soon after.
“You saw that?” – Irvin asked absentmindedly, his gaze lingering as if expecting to see the phenomenon happen again.
“Yeah, heard it too” – His shield-carrying buddy shot back – “Look!” – He added, as another series of flashes took place – this time closer, the rumbles coming sooner and louder.
“I don’t like this” – With the two-handed axe already in hand, Irvin stepped closer to the tunnel, all his concentration clearly set on its’ interior. Muscles, no doubt, kept tout under all that leather and fur.
“Maybe we should…” – Carl began uncertainly.
He didn’t get to finish, since a sudden flurry of motion came into view. In a panicky sprint, a group of hunched-over figures darted out from within the tunnel
and around the two stunned fellows.
“Out of the way!” – With the foremost shouting quite rudely in passing – an almost child-sized fellow of pale, disfigured features.
“Fuck, move!” - Before they could register who they let through, another set of feet darted past, leaving behind a comment no less rude, though way easier to forgive as their eyes caught onto beautiful, feminine curves beneath tight-fitting black leathers, while barely registering the giggling child that was tugged under one arm. Something that the two noticed only after both stepped back and turned to regard her backside, though wisely chose not to stick to the action longer than a moment or two – which might have had something to do with how quickly the lithe figure darted down the stairs and out of view.
As both turned back towards the tunnel, the sight of two pools of molten flame staring back came into view. An aureole of red forming around a black mane of flickering flames, with an added bonus of a sharp-toothed snarl and the scraping of claws against rock for effect – truly, Sorro was outdoing himself, as the demon passed without any obstructions, only to continue on after the two previous groups without adding anything. Clearly, it was satisfied with the frozen, pale looks that both Irvin and Carl gave as tribute to the show.
“What the fuck was that…” – Irvin mumbled rhetorically, once Sorro darted out of sight, his voice barely carrying to Carl over an ominous rumble that seemed to be getting closer and louder with each passing moment.
Carl gave him a look, eyes darting back towards the tunnel before any form of a reaction could be provided – with the axe-wielding companion following with exasperation, the weapon clutched tightly and readied for a swing. Clearly, he was fed up with the nonsense.
Too bad he finally got around to acting at the wrong time – sounds of loud rattling and scraping reaching their ears, while a moving mountain of metal came into view moments later, a glint of red flashing in passing just as Irvin swung down his own weapon. A pained shout coming from the axe-wielder as his trusty weapon bounced off the metal plates in a scrape, while he himself took an unsteady step back – a free hand held against the gaping wound on the side.