Critical Failures VI (Caverns and Creatures Book 6)

by Robert Bevan

  Each group intercepted the other's catch and secured the netting.

  A dozen more crossbows released simultaneously, most from shooters who were still managing to remain concealed. A few of them who had obviously rolled poorly on their Hide checks, were easy to spot, crouched behind trees, rocks, and bushes.

  Barnabus dropped like a sack of pin cushions.

  “Snuffles! Porkpie!” said the pixie who sounded like the one who'd jerked off Chaz the previous night. Dingletits or something. “Hurry! Run!”

  The boar ran from their loosened straps, but a net shot out at Dingletits, who had managed to avoid getting covered in flour, making the net look like a sentient blob made out of ropes.

  “Cooper!” cried Nabi. “Take me! Take me now!”

  As if he didn't have enough shit to deal with right now, she was also going to dump on him the added pressure of finding a way to let her down gently.

  “I cherish our friendship too much. I don't want to ruin what we have.”

  The holographic image of Nabi glared at him. “Take me out of the water and use me to fight the goblins, you fat stupid fuck.”

  “Oh, right.” Cooper shrugged off a couple of crossbow bolts as he ran to the Pool of True Sight, appreciating that Nabi was picking up some colloquialisms from him.

  The water was pitch black, with zero visibility. He was going to have to feel for the axe. He reached over the oak roots which formed a side of the pool and felt around under the water. It was warm and slimy, slick with an oily film on top. Fortunately, it wasn't very deep.

  The bite of another bolt in his ass, and the thuds of two more hitting the tree right next to him told Cooper that his time was running out.

  “Get in the pool!” said Nabi.

  He jumped over the roots to take cover in the pool.

  Finally, he found the axe's handle. He pulled it out of the water, causing Nabi's image to disappear.

  Hurry! It's up to us now. We must save them!

  Wonderful. She was back inside his head.

  The scene didn't look promising. Barnabus was a goner. Chaz and Zagnuts were both down. All of the pixies which had been covered in white powder were captured, and possibly some others as well. A couple of goblins had fallen, but more remained than what Cooper thought he could reasonably handle between only himself and Nabi. Then again, reason was never his strong suit.

  He stood tall and raised Nabi high. “I'M REALLY –”

  Somewhere between half a dozen and eight dozen bolts tore into Cooper's chest, arms, legs, gut, and ass. The last two things he felt were a splash and a fart which may or may not have been just a fart.

  Chapter 36

  If Dave could count himself lucky about anything in his current state, it would be that his Base Movement Speed seemed to be doubled in rat form. It was bad enough to suddenly discover he was both a murderer and a monster, then to have the townsfolk try to lynch him for merely existing, not to mention having to trudge aimlessly through a sewer to get away from them. At least he was eventually able to outrun them.

  But now that he thought about it, the sewer wasn't as bad as he remembered from his previous experiences trudging through it. It was funny how viable a traveling option sewers were in this world. Dave had been in some tight situations back in the real world, but had never once even entertained the idea of crawling down a manhole and fleeing danger through his neighbors' liquid shit.

  Maybe he should have. At least the sewers back home could be counted on to be relatively free of monsters. Dave was scared, and telling himself that he was the monster people feared did little to help. They didn't fear him. Not like someone fears a prizefighter or a bear. He was no badass. They feared his disease. Lycanthropy was the leprosy or AIDS of this world. They feared becoming what he was.

  Well fuck them. He didn't have leprosy or AIDS. What he had wasn't going to kill him, after all. His disease was actually a blessing when you got right down to it. Sure, he might lose control of himself a couple of times a month, but that could be mitigated. All the rest of the time, he had new powers. He could shapeshift. He was a lot tougher to kill. He could finally move at a reasonable speed. This was way better than merely not AIDS, in fact. This was fucking awesome.

  And as long as he was looking on the bright side of things, the smell down here wasn't so much offensive as it was... acquired. Being in rat form to better stay out of sight from any predators or pitchfork-wielding redneck townsfolk, he had his nose right down there at shit level. It wasn't necessarily a scent he'd try to bottle and sell, but it had an earthy quality that wasn't entirely unpleasant, like a strong cheese or one's own fart.

  Dave slowed his pace, then stopped walking altogether. His pursuers had stopped pursuing him a while ago. As a matter of fact, he wasn't sure if they'd even set foot in the sewer proper. They probably got justifiably freaked out by the pile of chopped up bodies lying just outside of it.

  Unfortunately, his dwarven Darkvision didn't work in rat form. He must have had Low-Light Vision as a rat, as he'd been able to see where he was going this far with next to no light, but now that he was getting closer to actual total darkness, he couldn't see five feet in front of him.

  That seemed unreasonable. Didn't dire rats live in sewers after all? How did they survive down here without being able to see? How was he going to survive? Blindness aside, what the hell was he going to do in the sewer? He couldn't live down here. There was nothing to eat, and there was someone, or something, apparently hunting down and slaughtering wererats.

  He just needed to wait a few minutes, make sure the mob had dispersed, then think of somewhere safe to go. The Whore's Head was certainly off the table for now. He could go to a temple and beg them to cure him, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to be cured. Perhaps a blacksmith? He could explain his situation, and pay a couple of gold pieces to be locked in a strong steel cage while he wasn't in control of himself. Or hell, maybe just another place with a cellar. The Whore's Head Inn had a cellar. The Pissbucket Tavern had a cellar. Dave wasn't the first person in the world to contract lycanthropy. Surely it was a common enough issue that there was standard established protocol (beyond lynch mobs) to accommodate people like Dave who chose to make the best out of their situations and voluntarily have themselves locked up overnight during the full moon. It was probably a bustling industry.

  It was just a matter of figuring out a way to ask people without freaking them out.

  Do you know of any temporary lycanthrope housing facilities? I'm asking for a friend.

  That probably wasn't going to cut it, especially if he was naked. His clothing issue would need to be addressed before he worked on his pitch. Some of the dead bodies outside had clothes on. Most of it was torn to shreds, but it might be a solid starting point. If he was able to scrape something together which would allow him to walk the streets without calling too much attention to himself while he searched for better options, he could find a tarp or an old blanket or something and pass for an ordinary vagrant. Then again, rooting through a pile of corpses and stripping their clothes off would make for a whole new level of awkwardness if anyone caught him doing it.

  Maybe there was something down here he could use. He couldn't think of what, exactly, he might find in a sewer that he'd want to wear outside, but people dumped all manner of garbage down here. Literally anything that covered his junk would suffice. It was worth a peek anyway, just for the offhand chance that it might obviate the corpse-stripping option.

  Bracing himself for the pain, he focused on morphing back into a dwarf. It got easier to bear each time he changed forms. The exception this time came not from the changing itself, but from the overpowering stench of shit, or rather his reaction to it.

  Vomit exploded out of Dave's mouth, and a little through his nose. Tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. The smell hadn't changed at all. How did he possibly think this was okay just a moment ago? Then it occurred to him. He was a rat. Rats are accustomed to living in shit.
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  He wiped the tears out of his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then threw up again. He'd been in a lot of low places in life, but this might be rock bottom. He sobbed softly and wiped his eyes again, resolved to not turn back into a rat before he made use of his Darkvision.

  Four dire rats, two wererats in hybrid form, and a naked half-orc with a dong hanging down almost to his knees were staring back at him.

  “JESUS CHRIST!” Dave immediately covered his junk with both hands.

  “Get him,” said the impressively endowed half-orc.

  The others charged at Dave. He reverted back into his rat form, not because he fancied his chances of being able to escape, but more so that he wouldn't have to suffer revulsion at the stench of shit on top of whatever they were going to do to him. And if he was being totally honest, also because the half-orc's giant dong was making him feel a little inadequate.

  Chapter 37

  Stacy claimed to recall having seen mountains on the northern horizon before she hurled them both off the Crescent Shadow. And now that he thought about it, Julian seemed to recall having seen them too. Of course, that could have very well been the powers of suggestion and wishful thinking playing tricks on his memory. But with nothing else to go on, and a seemingly endless expanse in every direction, north was the direction he guided the magical horse they were riding.

  “I suppose it's possible I was mistaken,” said Stacy about an hour into the ride when the horizon continued to offer nothing but more sand.

  Julian suspected she was right about having been mistaken, but that didn't make much difference at this point. “We've already committed time and miles to this direction. We might as well stick with it.” In the haste of their departure from the Crescent Shadow, they hadn't prepared for a trek through the desert. They had no water and no food except what meager fruit they could conjure up by peeing on the sand, and that wasn't going to last long. They had a couple of days tops, and Julian's limited number of Mount spells meant that they'd be doing more walking than riding.

  “Maybe we'll be able to see something useful at night.” Stacy spoke cheerfully, but it sounded forced to Julian. The fact that she felt the need to boost his morale was kind of demoralizing. “Who knows? The glow of city lights, a fireworks show, a wizard battle, a fire-breathing –”

  “Look!” Julian pointed ahead at a speck on the horizon. It wasn't civilization, a shimmering oasis, or a Dairy Queen, any of which he would have been beyond grateful for. It probably wasn't anything that would help their situation in the least. But it was something besides sand, and that was enough to justify a bit of excitement.

  As they rode closer, the object on the horizon appeared to be some kind of creature.

  Stacy rested her chin on Julian's shoulder. “Is that a centaur?”

  “I don't think so,” said Julian. “The lower half doesn't look very horse-like.” The legs were shorter than a horse's. More like a lion maybe. The torso was definitely humanoid though.

  “It's kind of weird how it isn't moving at all.”

  It was completely motionless, sitting on its hind legs and facing east with its arms folded across its chest and a stern expression on its human-like face. Another strange feature was that it was charcoal grey from head to whatever passed for toe. That hadn't seemed so strange from a distance, because Julian thought it was silhouetted. But now they were close enough to make out color and texture, both of which suggested it was made out of stone.

  “It's a statue,” said Stacy as Julian cautiously slowed his horse.

  Julian was no art expert, but this thing looked to be extremely well-crafted. In fact, the sculptor might have gone a bit overboard with the unrealistically perfect abdominal muscles leading down into the feline half. It was just as it had appeared from a distance. A statue of something like a centaur, but with the lower half of a lion instead of a horse.

  “Is that even a real creature?” asked Julian.

  Stacy hopped down off the horse and approached the statue. “It's beautiful.”

  Julian followed her gaze to its abs. “It's an adequate piece of sculpting.” He told himself it was silly to feel jealous of a statue. Especially a statue of a monster. But even putting that aside, he couldn't help but take issue with the sculptor's decision to include a belt around the creature's waist with a scabbarded dagger. Either go for the gusto and put a weapon in its hand for an action pose, or don't include the weapon at all.

  “Why would someone abandon such a magnificent work of art out here in the desert?” Stacy's gushing did little to help Julian get a grip on his irrational feelings.

  “Maybe it fell off the Crescent Shadow. It could have been a gaudy decoration outside of a casino or something.”

  Stacy shook her head. “There's no way it would have survived the fall in such good condition. Look at how detailed it is.” She leaned in to inspect it more closely. “Look at the hair. Some of it looks to have been carved into individual follicles.”

  Julian had a sudden revelation. “I know what this is!” He walked wide around the statue, appreciating the detail in the lion fur, the back muscles of the human-like torso, and the finely detailed hair which hung down past the shoulders. “Holy shit!”

  “What is it?” asked Stacy, sounding a little concerned. “What did you figure out?”

  “This is no statue. I mean, it is. But those individual hair follicles weren't chiseled. They were real.”

  “I don't quite follow you.”

  “This game borrows a lot from ancient mythologies. Think Medusa.”

  Stacy smiled. “I think you've got your mythologies mixed up. Medusa wasn't a lion person. She was the lady with the snakes for hair.”

  “That's right,” said Julian. “And what happened to people who looked at her.”

  “They turned to –” Stacy gasped and gawked up at the statue. “No fucking way!”

  Julian came around to meet her at the front. “What else could it be? It's just like you said. That's way too finely detailed to have been the work of even a master sculptor.”

  Stacy scanned the horizon in every direction. “Does that mean Medusa is roaming around here in the desert?”

  “Not necessarily. She's just the first thing that came to mind. I'm sure there are other kinds of creatures in this game that can turn people to stone. In fact, it's probably safe to rule out Medusa.”

  “Why's that?”

  “Look at his posture, all proud and confident. Not a worry in the world. Medusa was supposed to be horrifying to look at. He should be more like this.” Julian made his best horrified face while raising his arms to shield his eyes and stood completely still for a second.

  “Maybe she was wearing a hood or a mask or something and caught him off guard.” Stacy pulled her own hood over her head, keeping her face hidden in its shadow, and sashayed toward Julian. “Hey there, big boy. What's a fine-looking lion man monster thing like you doing all alone out here in the desert?” She suddenly pulled back her hood, exposing her face, and hissed at him.

  Julian jumped, then shrugged. “I suppose that it could have gone down like that.” He looked back up at the poor bastard's petrified face. Something was off about it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. “Was it smirking like that just a moment ago?”

  Stacy eyed the statue's face. “I.. I don't know. It seems like I would have –”

  “Good afternoon, travelers,” said the statue.

  “WHA!” cried Stacy, her right fist flying toward its face.

  The creature, obviously not a statue, caught Stacy by the wrist with one hand and gently placed the other over her fist. It's skin, fur, and hair changed right before their eyes. The stone color and texture gave way to yellow fur, dark bronze skin, and hair as black as ink.

  He looked into Stacy's eyes as he brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. “The desert is home to many dangerous beasts, but every so often one may find a flower of immeasurable beauty.”

  Laying it on kind of thick there,
buddy. I don't know what kind of woman you think a hamfisted line like that works on, but Stacy –

  “Well ain't you a charmer.” said Stacy, pulling her hand back, but not quite out of the lion man monster thing's grip. “What's your name?”

  “I am Strovgar. And who might I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  “My name is Stacy. This is my friend, Ju–”

  “StaCEE!” said Strovgar. “The angels weep at such a beautiful sound!”

  Stacy waved. “Oh stop.”

  “You have traveled far, and are weary. Stay with me for a time, so that we may enjoy the pleasure of each other's company.”

  “Sorry,” said Julian. “We'd love to, but we got lost, and we're not sufficiently equipped to be traveling in the desert. We can't afford to waste any more –”

  “Oh come on, Julian.” Stacy looked at him and tilted her head. “One more hour isn't going to make that big a difference.”

  “One more hour?”

  “Tell your sister she needn't worry,” Strovgar said to Stacy. “For you are not far from the village of Tamar.”

  “Hey!” said Julian. “I'm not her sister. I'm a man.”

  Strovgar spared Julian a brief glance up and down. “A thousand apologies, Julia.”

  “Julian.”

  “I was fooled by your delicate body and pretty dress.”

  “These are sorcerer robes.” Julian hoped that stressing the word sorcerer might be perceived as a warning, but hearing himself say it aloud made him feel like a huge dork. Change the subject. “And what are you, exactly? I'm not familiar with your... um... species.”

  “I am a lamia.”

  “Oh,” said Julian. “Cool.”

  “And this... man...” Strovgar glanced Julian up and down again as if to concede that Julian barely passed the technical definition of the word, then turned his attention back to Stacy. “He is your lover?”

  Stacy shrugged. “We're taking it kind of slow.”