3d6 (Caverns and Creatures)

by Robert Bevan

  Dave rummaged through his bag. “Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” He pulled out a fragment of broken glass. “Goddammit, Cooper! You broke my booze.”

  “Oh shit. Sorry about that.”

  Dave got to his feet. “Let’s go get that little bastard.”

  “Wait!” said Tony the Elf. “We can’t just go charging in without a plan. What if there are more of them?”

  “What if, indeed?” Julian whispered to himself. Tony the Elf should have been able to hear him. Being an elf, Julian knew what Tony’s ears were capable of.

  “Now Cooper,” said Tony the Elf. “You’re the strongest, but you’re very noisy…”

  “Hey Tony,” whispered Julian. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.”

  “Julian,” said Tony the Elf. “You and I are pretty good at stealth, but you’ve got the added benefit of –”

  “Magic Missile!”

  “Well yes, among other spells.” With his eyes so focused on the hallway his partner had gone down, this Tony the Elf imposter didn’t even see the glowing bolt of energy headed across the room toward him. “I was thinking just magic in gen—Aaaauuuugggghhh!” The scream sounded less like an elf and more like a giant robotic insect.

  Tony the Elf instantly morphed into what Julian assumed must be the creature’s true form, because it sure as shit wasn’t any of theirs. It looked more like a Roswell alien. Tall, bald, grey, and gangly, with huge, shiny black eyes. Tony the Elf’s clothes still hung awkwardly on it. The machetes it carried were still very real.

  “Very clever, elf,” said the creature, though it didn’t have a mouth that Julian could see. Its voice didn’t sound exactly like Darth Vader’s, but more like James Earl Jones sucking down a helium balloon and talking through an electric fan. “You’ve discovered us for what we are. I suggest you leave this place at once, or you shall never leave at all.” It took off in the direction its partner had gone in.

  Julian sighed with relief. “They’re letting us go.”

  “Good,” said Dave. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Fuck that,” said Tim. He took a swig of stonepiss from his flask. “They just want to get rid of us because they know they’re outnumbered. I came here to loot some treasure and see some dead bodies. I’ll be damned if I’m not going to do one of the two.” He grabbed a candle off the floor and stumbled off after the doppelgangers.

  “Come on, Tim!” Julian called after him. “Let it go!”

  Tim belched loudly from down the hall. It was about as reasonable a response as Julian had expected.

  “We can’t let him go up there alone,” said Cooper. He followed Tim.

  “Shit,” said Julian. He followed Cooper, and Dave waddled along behind him.

  The hallway led to a stairwell. Cooper convinced Tim to let him take the lead, since he had the most Hit Points. The stairs were wet and rotten. They felt like they could give way with each step. The mildew smell on the second floor was nigh unbearable. There were two closed doors at the top of the stairs. One of them had some frantic shuffling noises going on behind it.

  Tim gestured to use the handle. Cooper nodded reluctantly. Tim held up his fingers. One. Two. Three.

  Cooper opened the door and the four of them burst in. A false Julian stood next to a closet on the other side of the room, frantically trying to put on his robe. It was a lost cause. He’d be dead before he could hope to put on his serape.

  “Damn!” said False Julian.

  “Ah!” said Tim. Julian turned around. Two Tims, identically dressed, locked elbows and danced around in a circle. “But how will you know who is the real Tim?”

  One of the Tims stopped the dance abruptly. “I pissed myself when you kicked me in the nuts.”

  Sure enough, the true Tim was identifiable by his wet pants.

  False Tim closed his eyes tight and balled his fists. He grunted until a small trickle of urine ran down his pant leg. It wasn’t nearly enough to be convincing.

  “This is just embarrassing,” said Cooper.

  “Enough of this foolishness!” boomed a voice from the other side of the room. A white, translucent image of the man from the painting downstairs appeared in a wall mirror. “You have failed me!”

  Both doppelgangers dropped to their knees and bowed on the floor.

  “We’re sorry!” wailed False Julian. It grated at Julian’s ears, like listening to a recording of his own voice.

  “Do I really sound like that?”

  Dave shrugged and nodded.

  “Please forgive us!” said False Tim. The pee stains on his pants grew more convincing.

  “Okay now,” said the ghostly image in the mirror. “That’s enough of that. Stand up and take your true forms.”

  The doppelgangers got to their feet. The one dressed like Julian looked as normal as an alien was likely to, but the one dressed like Tim looked ridiculous. Gangly as he was, he stretched his Tim costume to the limit. What were full-length pants now came up past the knees, soaking wet and squeezing his thighs. The tiny shirt and vest stretched around its ribcage, revealing his entire abdomen. Cooper started to giggle.

  “SILENCE!” boomed the apparition in the mirror.

  Thankfully, Cooper got his laughter under control.

  “Now,” said the ghost. “Who can tell me where you went wrong?”

  The doppelganger in Tim’s clothes hung his head. “I didn’t stick to the plan. I saw an opportunity to take the half-orc out early, and I took it.”

  “Wrong!” said the ghost. “No matter how meticulously you think you’ve planned something, it will never play out exactly how you think. Improvisation and adaptability are vital. You showed initiative in taking out their strongest fighter early on.”

  “We didn’t stake them out long enough?” said the doppelganger in Julian’s clothes.”

  “Wrong again! Three weeks is more than enough time to learn to mimic their speech patterns and mannerisms. You’re bloody doppelgangers, by the gods!”

  Julian cleared his throat. “They shouldn’t have left Cooper alive.”

  “Precisely,” said the ghost.

  “Dude!” said Cooper. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I couldn’t kill him,” said the doppelganger. “I needed him alive so I could continue to read his mind.”

  “Then three weeks was not enough?”

  “These people speak in strange ways. They speak of Hit Points and Saving Throws. It’s some kind of code I have yet to crack. The half-orc uses over twenty different euphemisms to talk about his penis.”

  “Then just don’t talk about your penis.”

  “That would compromise my cover severely. It’s mostly all he talks about. Anyway, I tied him up really well. He shouldn’t have been able to break out of those ropes.”

  The ghost raised its wispy, ethereal eyebrows at Cooper. “And yet here he stands.” As he appeared to be waiting for some sort of explanation, everyone else in the room looked to Cooper as well.

  Cooper mumbled something under his breath that Julian was quite pleased to hear, but was certain no one else in the room would be able to understand.

  “I’m sorry, Cooper,” said Julian. “Could you say that a little louder?”

  Cooper growled in annoyance. “Ravenus clawed through the ropes.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said the ghost. “What’s a ravenus?”

  The doppelganger in Julian’s clothes slapped himself on the forehead. “The elf’s familiar!”

  The ghost frowned. “This is most unsatisfactory. If you can’t successfully infiltrate this band of drunken delinquents, how do you expect to avenge my death? I should destroy you both right now.”

  The doppelgangers dropped to the floor, bowing and groveling. The one in Tim’s clothes pushed the limits of his pants. They ripped apart down the ass crack.

  Both Cooper and Tim began giggling.

  “Please, Lord Hildegarde! Don’t kill us!”

  “We want to have a family!”

 
“A FAMILY!” shouted the angry ghost. The house started rumbling as white fire burst out of the mirror. Cooper and Tim stopped giggling, in spite of the green shit splattering out of the newly-ripped pants. “Do you think I never wanted a family?”

  Julian was terrified, but knew he stood a better chance of easing the tension in the room than anyone. Diplomacy or death. He gulped.

  “Excuse me, my lord.”

  The white fire in the mirror intensified briefly as the ghost glared at Julian with wide, pupil-less eyes.

  Julian stood his ground, unsure as to whether it was the house that was shaking more violently, or just his legs. He did his best to maintain the appearance of calm, innocent curiosity, pretending his asshole wasn’t clenched tight enough to cut a steel rod in half.

  The flames settled down and the house downshifted from shake to gentle rumble. “Yes? What is it?”

  “I – I –” Come on, Julian. Keep your cool. “I couldn’t help noticing you bear a striking resemblance to the handsome gentleman in the portrait downstairs.” Too much? Does he think I’m coming on to him?

  “You mean the one that resembles the half-orc’s mother?”

  Tim whimpered. “Sorry about that. It was just –”

  “Aye, that was me,” said the old ghost wistfully. The house stopped shaking altogether. “That painting was commissioned just before the Great War. I believe you young fellows have a fancier name for it now. With the northern hordes advancing, and the city walls too far from completion, the king decided to abandon this region. Cut his losses, if you will.”

  “Is that right?” said Julian, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with the ghost in the mirror. In his periphery, he noticed Tim sneaking a peek into the closet the two doppelgangers had been using.

  “Aye, that’s right! Now, that decision made us a prime target for thieves and looters. One such opportunist was named Zachary Figg. He broke into my house in the middle of the night and murdered me in my sleep.”

  “You don’t say!” Julian made a concerted effort to pretend to be interested in this old man’s life story. The fact that this lonely ghost was so starved for conversation was likely the reason they were all still alive.

  “Robbed me blind, he did. And to make matters worse, this Figg went on to get caught up in the war. He rose through the ranks, and was eventually granted a lordship for valor. Valor! Can you believe such a thing?”

  “How did you come to find out about all of this, what with being dead and all?”

  “I still get my fair share of looters and squatters, much like yourselves and these two.” He nodded down to the two trembling doppelgangers still prostrated on the floor. “I get what news I can out of them before I decide whether to use them or kill them.”

  “Or send them on their way?” Julian added hopefully.

  The old ghost raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Not a chance.”

  The bedroom door slammed shut. A deadbolt slid into place.

  Julian resisted his urge to start crying and groveling. There was still Diplomacy to be done. He might still be able to be reasoned with.

  “You were murdered quite some time ago, weren’t you?”

  “Aye,” said the ghost. “It’s been nearly four hundred years, by my reckoning.”

  “Surely this Zachary Figg is long dead by now.”

  “Aye?” said the ghost, as if urging Julian to get to the point.

  “How can you take vengeance on someone who’s already dead?”

  “He ended my line. I seek to end his.”

  Simple as that, eh? “You mean you want to kill his descendants?”

  “My spirit will not rest until every last Figg – man, woman, and child – is slaughtered like the sons and daughters of the cowardly butcher they are.”

  “Dude,” said Cooper. “That’s kind of fucked up.”

  Julian glared at Cooper, but shared the sentiment. This old ghost’s sanity was as dead as his body. There would be no reasoning with him. It was time to start working on a Plan B. In the meantime, he needed to keep talking.

  “So that’s what the doppelgangers are for? To infiltrate House Figg?”

  “Aye,” said the ghost. “But as you can see, they’ll require a lot more training.”

  The doppelganger dressed in Julian’s clothes raised his head. “So you don’t aim to kill us, then?”

  “No, of course I’m not going to kill you. Worthless as you are, you have skills uniquely suited to my needs. Who knows when I’ll get another group of doppelgangers to sneak in here?”

  Both doppelgangers stood up. “Oh thank you, sir. Thank you.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the ghost. “Enough of that. But you need to learn ...”

  Julian retreated to where Cooper and Dave were standing while the ghost conversed with his two minions. Tim was placing something into his vest pocket with a very satisfied grin on his face. Julian gestured for him to come join the rest of them.

  Julian had an idea brewing. It wasn’t a good one, but it was better than trying to have Cooper bust the door down. They’d all be ghosted to death before he made it to the door. Julian’s plan involved confusion. It involved surprise. And like any of his other poorly thought out plans, it involved horses.

  “Stay close together,” Julian whispered when Tim joined the group. Taking the lead, Julian took a small step toward the center of the room.

  “Where are we going?” asked Dave. “I thought you were trying to get us out of here. The door’s over there.”

  “We’re not going through the door,” said Julian, taking another step. “Just stay close.”

  “… not enough to merely memorize patterns of speech and peculiar mannerisms,” the ghost continued lecturing the doppelgangers. “You must become your characters, know their desires, their motivations, their fears. Only then will you be able to exploit this information to convince them to kill one another.”

  “Horse,” said Julian once they had reached the center of the room. A spotted, brown draft horse appeared next to him.

  Dave buried his face in his hands. “I should’ve known. This is so fucking stupid.”

  The horse whinnied and brayed at the sight of the ghost, but Julian had been expecting that. He stroked the horse’s white mane. “Be calm, friend.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded the ghost. “This is my bed chamber, not a stable!”

  “Horse!” Julian said a second time, with an added bit of false confidence. A slightly smaller black horse appeared, and promptly started losing its shit.

  “Get rid of these creatures at once!” roared the ghost. His face contorted with rage, and white flames engulfed the frame of the mirror.

  “Um, Julian,” said Cooper. “If you’re trying to give this old dude a stroke, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

  The house shook violently. Julian had to hold on to Dave just to stay on his feet. The two doppelgangers stumbled toward the closet. The posts of the old, mildewed bed came loose and crashed onto the floor. The mirror exploded into a billion shards.

  Julian closed his eyes to protect them from the glass.

  “Shit!” cried Tim. “He’s here!”

  Julian opened his eyes. Hovering before, and slightly above them, the ghost pointed a white, translucent finger down at Julian. “You dare defy me? In my own home!”

  “Don’t let him touch you!” shouted Tim as the ghost floated toward them, never taking his eyes off Julian.

  Dave grabbed Julian by the serape. “If there’s a Phase 2 to this plan, now is the time!”

  “HORSE!” Julian shouted a third time.

  “Jesus Christ, dude!” shouted Dave. “You can’t solve all of your problems with goddamn hors—”

  A grey mare appeared right in front of them, facing away from the ghost. Julian patted it on its long face. “I’m really sorry, buddy.”

  The horse let out an ungodly howling noise that no horse had any business making when the spectral finger penetrated its flesh. It
fell to the floor, finally prompting the collapse Julian had been hopefully anticipating.

  What Julian had not been anticipating, as the second floor smashed into the first, was for the entire place to be engulfed in flames. The combination of Tim’s homemade candle holders, Dave’s broken booze, and Mr. Hildegarde’s rage-quakes had set the old house ablaze.

  Julian immediately started hacking as his lungs filled with smoke and dust. He shut his eyes to keep out the flying specks of ash. A cacophony of sound whirled around him as he tried to hold on to consciousness. The roar of flame. The cries of horses. Dave shouting.

  “Water!”

  A second later, Julian felt his body be picked up roughly and thrown through the air into a softer light and a cooler breeze. He landed on soft, cool grass. He forced his eyes open. He was outside. He was alive. He was – “Shit!”

  Tim flew out of the open doorway and smashed into Julian like they were long-parted lovers.

  “Move your fat fucking ass!” Cooper shouted from inside the burning house.

  “I’m going as fast as I can!” said Dave, waddling out of the house. His beard was black with soot.

  Cooper ran out behind him. Once they were safely in the grass, he tackled Dave. With Dave pinned on his back underneath him, Cooper grabbed him by the shoulders and repeatedly smashed his back into the ground.

  “What… the… fuck… are… you… doing?” asked Dave as the back of his head kept slamming into the ground.

  Cooper stood up. “Sorry, dude. Your bag was still on fire.” It made sense. It must have still been soaked through with top shelf stonepiss.

  Julian wiped the tears out of his eyes. “What do you suppose happens to a ghost when you destroy the place it haunts?”

  “No idea,” said Tim, taking a swig from his flask.

  “Let’s not stick around and find out,” said Dave, waddling quickly toward the front gate of Hildegarde Manor.

  The rest of the group followed him. From within the second floor of the house, Julian heard the tortured screams of a man who had just lost everything he’d known for the past four hundred years, as well as the tortured screams of two doppelgangers who were most likely on fire. He quickened his pace.

  “And by the way,” Dave said to Tim. “That’s my stonepiss you’re drinking.”