by Josh Powell
"We're here," Arthur said. "Thank the dwarfen gods, we're finally here. Observe, the entrance to the Mines of Moog."
A rusted and ruined rail track ran through a small valley between two not overly large hills, continuing into a cave dug into the side of a cliff. Weeds had grown up, over, and around the tracks, and a mining cart lay overturned, rusting in front of them. Bones of various creatures lay sorted in piles strewn about the entrance to the cave, a pile of femurs here, a pyramid of skulls there.
"Well, then," said their noble traveling companion, "here is where we part ways, I'm afraid. Gurken, Pellonia, Arthur, you have my gratitude for allowing me to accompany you this far on your quest. I have quite the story to tell the archduchess. She will not be able to resist me after this tale of my bravery and adventure."
Our compatriots said their fare thee wells to the good nobleman, thanking him for the ride, the refreshments, and the company. They watched as he rode away in his carriage.
"I do think I'll miss his sweet cakes most of all." Pellonia sighed.
The three turned to face the mines, well aware that within they would have the chance to perform many brave deeds of daring, facing dangers unknown. Should they survive, their deeds would be immortalized in song and tales, and a powerful artifact of the temple, the Orb of Skzd, would be reclaimed. Fail, and they were far, far from any help, any aid, any succor. Die and they would remain deceased. But did they pause? Did they hesitate? Did they entertain any notion of delay on their quest?
Out of the mouth of the cave lumbered a figure so large it had to hunch over and squeeze through the opening. Small boulders were loosed from above as the cliff rumbled in complaint at the rough treatment. The rocks bounced off the creature and thudded to the ground. The hills shuddered against the creature's strength. Its flesh, swampy green and moist, seeped a elven steel colored fluid out of small pustules all over its body. It's claws, as long as Gurken's legs, scraped against its fangs as it picked something out of its teeth. The creature dislodged a chunk and casually flicked it away. It landed in front of them and rolled to a stop at their feet. It was a severed hand.
"Trolls," Gurken whispered. "Arthur, perchance might you magic us a ball of flame? Or cause it to fall into a deep slumber?"
"Um, well, as to that…" Arthur stammered. "I'm afraid not."
Gurken furled his brow. "You've spent ten years in wizarding school, wizard. What did they teach you?"
"Well… mostly grammar. I'm afraid that I'm only of the tenth rank. Wizards don't get to the really good stuff for another thirty ranks or so. Besides, I don't have an orb to focus magic."
Gurken stared at the wizard, unable to comprehend what the wizard did the honor of telling him. The ground trembled as another troll pushed through the cave's opening. "Aahm ungry," it bellowed.
"Maybe," suggested Pellonia, interjecting, "we should find someplace to rest the night, and enter the mines in the morning?"
"Yup," Gurken agreed, nodding with approval a bit too quickly. "One ought not enter a dungeon without being fully rested. At the top of one's game, as the elfs say."
"Indeed," said Arthur, stamping a hoof. "Let's follow that trail up the hill and see if there is an area of sufficient comfort and discretion where we may set up camp." They scurried up the trail, taking care to remain out of sight.
After walking some distance and reaching the top of the hill, our brave adventurers came upon a tiny hovel; that is to say, a small building made of dried mud, covered with a thatch roof, and having a door constructed of twigs.
"Hullo," Arthur called. "Is anyone home?"
"Hush!" Pellonia said. "Who knows what dangers lurk within? There could be more trolls!"
"Trolls? In there?" Arthur pointed down at the hovel door. "The door can't be more than four feet tall. Don't you think a troll would build something a bit larger?"
"They could be box trolls," said Gurken.
"What's a box troll?"
"They're like trolls" - Gurken stuck one hand out flat, holding it as far above his head as he could reach - "but smaller." He moved his hand down to waist height. "They tend to live in boxes; hence, box troll."
"So, not a box troll then," Arthur said, gesturing toward the hovel.
"Oh, they could be country box trolls. It is rather difficult to find a box so far out of the city."
Pellonia nodded at Gurken's wisdom.
Arthur clenched his teeth. "It's… not… a box troll," he said.
"Fine. Fine," Pellonia said. "Please, continue then, by all means."
Arthur was about to continue when a pile of twigs crested over the side of the hill. They watched the pile of twigs move toward them, its forward progression arrested by bumping into Arthur's leg. The pile grunted. A small humanoid face popped up over the bundle of twigs. Gray hair protruded from his ears and nose and surrounded his face in a peppery mane. His eyes bulged out of his head when he saw them and he gave out a yelp, throwing the twigs in the air. He was naked, though a thick tuft of hair concealed any naughty bits. And he was dirty, very, very dirty. And small, no more than two feet tall. At the most. He took off in a sprint as the twigs came raining down around them.
Before he had gotten three strides, Arthur grabbed him by the hair - on his head - and lifted him into the air.
"Box troll?" Arthur asked.
Gurken sighed. "No, this creature is remarkably more disgusting and annoying. It's a knoll dwarf."
"What's a knoll dwarf?"
Gurken frowned. "The most cultured and majestic of dwarves is the mountain dwarf, of which I am one." Pellonia and Arthur crinkled their brows at the thought of Gurken being considered cultured or majestic. "We build our cities in mountains; hence, mountain dwarf. Hill dwarves are far rougher, uncultured creatures in comparison. They don't build cities; they build villages. Can't fit a city in one hill, you see. Knoll dwarves" - he pointed at the creature - "well, one can't fit more then a single family on a knoll. They're quite uncivilized, feral creatures. He probably has rabies."
"I don't have rabies!" said the knoll dwarf in a high-pitched squeak, swinging his fists through the air.
"He talks!" Gurken said, mouth agape.
"Of course I talk!" squeaked the knoll dwarf. "What do you think I am? A mound dwarf?"
Pellonia looked at Gurken in askance. Gurken closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Put me down!" the knoll dwarf peeped.
Arthur set him on the ground.
"What's your name?" Pellonia asked.
"Moog," he said. "I'm a mender."
"A mender?" Arthur asked. "We could use one of those." Moog grinned.
"Oh no," said Gurken, shaking his head and pointing at Moog. "I'm not traveling with that." Moog frowned, his head and shoulders drooping.
"Gurken!" said Pellonia. "Be nice!" Moog raised his head and smiled. She turned to Moog and said "Moog, we're looking for an orb about yay big." She cupped her hands together. "It probably looks very valuable."
Moog just looked at her with confusion in his eyes. He scooped up a ball of mud and handed it to her, smiling.
"Ug, no. You know, an orb. A sphere? It's like… a ball. Round?"
Moog shrugged.
Gurken rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the twigs and drew a small circle in the dirt. Moog's eyes lit up.
"Yes! I know what that is!" said Moog.
"You do?" asked Pellonia.
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"I'm not going to tell YOU."
"Why not?"
"It's mine."
Gurken, Pellonia and Arthur looked at each other. "Is it, perchance, in there?" Arthur asked, pointing at the hovel.
Moog ran to the door and hugged the hovel. "You can't go in there! It's mine!"
Arthur picked up Moog by the hair again and opened the twig door. The door broke off in his hand.
"Hey, that's mine!" shrieked Moog.
Pellonia walked inside.
"Mine, mine, mine!"
It wasn
't quite dark inside, as the poorly thatched roof let in a bit of light, but one might charitably say it had a bit of dimness to it. There was nothing inside but a small pile of dirt. As Pellonia brushed it away, a bluish light peeked out of the ground, growing in strength as the orb was uncovered. Moog continued his barrage outside. "Mine! Mine! MINE!"
The orb was covered in small glowing runes. The blue light dimmed when Pellonia picked it up. It was made out of a platinum colored metal and was warm to the touch. It hummed with power and the air around it stirred. Pellonia stared at it, watching as the runes twisted, moved, and disappeared, leaving the orb a polished metal without ornamentation.
Pellonia brought the orb out with her, holding it up so everyone could see. "I think I broke it," she said.
"Mine!" yelled Moog, this time in despair. Pellonia tossed him the orb. "Here," she said.
It struck Moog in the head and dropped to the ground. He scowled while rubbing his head where it had struck.
Arthur set Moog down. Moog picked up the orb and said "Mine," grinning from ear to ear.
Gurken and Arthur looked at Pellonia. "Well, he's coming with us anyway, right? Might as well let him hold onto it if it makes him happy."
"Mine," agreed Moog.
"Oh no," said Arthur. He let out a loud groan. "You've got to be kidding me."
"What?" asked Pellonia.
"I've only just understood something. Gurken, what exactly did the priests say about the location of the orb?"
"Just that in order to get it, we'd have to endure the Mines of Moog. Why?"
Pellonia groaned.
"Mine," said Moog, rubbing his orb and smiling.
Episode Six
The Berserker and the Patrol
"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "But I cannot do it. It would be undignified." Arthur pranced along the path back to the village, tail swishing from side to side and occasionally lashing out to smack a fly off his ivory colored posterior. Antic slept curled up on his back, pincers vibrating in a contented purr.
"You're a centaur now! You're half-unicorn! There is nothing undignified about it!" Pellonia stomped her feet in frustration. "My feet hurt!"
"I walked seven days on they way to the mines without complaint while you luxuriated in the nobleman's carriage. You can walk," said Arthur. Gurken, walking beside his companions, raised an eyebrow at Arthur's dubious claim to have made the journey without complaint, but held his tongue.
"Arthuuuuurrrr. Carry me!" Pellonia traipsed along, dragging her feet and balancing Moog on her shoulders. Except for being two feet in height, Moog resembled a naked old man. Matted gray hair mushroomed out of the knoll dwarf's ears and nose, and he maintained a peppery mane about his head and neck. Resting his elbows on top of Pellonia's head, he grinned joyously, revealing five crooked teeth. He held the Orb of Skzd in his hands, the object of their quest.
Moog sighed, a long and happy sound. "Miiiiiiiiiiine."
"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "But as you pointed out, I'm likely half-unicorn. The first ride given by a unicorn is special - it creates a bond between the unicorn and his rider. Besides, I'm honor bound to only allow maidens upon my back."
"I AM A MAIDEN."
"Ah. Um, I see. Yes, well, that's only because you're a little girl, so that doesn't count. You must be of sufficient age that being a maiden means something. Talk to me again after you fall in love. Perhaps I'll give you a ride then."
"That's not how it works!"
"Now, now. I'm the one that's half-unicorn. What are you going to believe, some dubious tales you've heard from misinformed bourgeois, or the word of an - actual - unicorn? Nope, you're just going to have to trust me on this, that's the way it works." Arthur thrust a finger into the air, to both accentuate his point and demonstrate that it was final.
"HALT!" came a voice from in front of them.
They looked at the man who had so eloquently and concisely delivered a command that both conveyed the information he wished them to receive and had the effect he desired. Everyone halted.
The speaker was a man dressed in leather armor and a leather cloak, carrying a spear of not unimpressive length. The symbol of the village to which they were returning was painted upon his leather chest piece. Behind him were a half-dozen more people with weapons of various length.
"Who travels upon the King's Road?" he said.
Gurken took one step forward, and turned to look back at his friends. "Don't concern yourselves. I've got this."
Pellonia and Arthur hesitated, dubious of the wisdom of allowing Gurken to "get this." In the moment of their indecision, Gurken took the opportunity to proceed.
"Good sir!" said Gurken, addressing the patrolman. "It is I, Gurken Stonebiter, avatar of Durstin Firebeard, templerager of the Stonebiter clan. We've returned from our quest, in triumph, I might add in case there is any confusion on that score. We're prepared to receive all the glory and adulations that I am confident this will entail." With this, he paused, waiting for a response.
The patrolman raised an eyebrow and scratched his cheek.
"Do you have a pass?"
"I'm sorry," said Gurken. "I don't understand that which you have the honor to ask me."
"A pass. Do you have a pass to travel on the King's Road?"
"Have you not heard a word I've spoken?" Gurken was becoming rather irritated. "Does one ask a hero triumphantly returning from his quest for a pass? I think not, good sir, I think not!"
"I'm afraid that I still need to see that pass."
"I see," Gurken said. He scrunched his brows in contemplation. His eyes grew wide in sudden understanding. "Yes, of course, good sir." Gurken said. "You require proof that I'm the avatar of Durstin Firebeard. Very well."
"That's not wha-" The good patrolman never got to finish his thought.
Gurken pulled out his axe and raised it above his head. Dagaz, the dwarfen rune of awareness and security, blazed upon the axe head in a fiery inferno. Flames shot into the heavens in a column of blazing glory, bathing those within its sight with a searing heat.
"Here is my pass!" Gurken said with a confident smile.
"He's got an axe!" one of the men yelled. "Get him!" yelled another.
Gurken stood there, entangled in a web of confusion. Time seemed to slow, giving Gurken the opportunity to consider.
Why are they attacking? he thought. Perhaps they're attacking an unseen foe behind me. Well, as to that, I see no foe behind me. Furthermore, consider this arrow now impaled within my chest - either they are lousy shots or they are attacking me. Now, having presented my pass, a patrol would stand aside and allow me to pass, not attack me. Moreover, a patrol would be trained in the skill of archery and would not strike an ally unintentionally, and thus they must not be a patrol. Since they are not a patrol, then they must be brigands impersonating a patrol. Yes, that must be it. Brigands. I know well how to deal with brigands.
Not being one to turn down a challenge or back away from a fight, or to consider such questions overly long when battle presented itself, Gurken's vision turned a glorious blood red. Time accelerated quite intensely, perhaps to make up for its previous sluggishness, but nonetheless moving ever faster with no more time for Gurken to consider.
A powerful hunger and lust for battle burned inside, and he roared in glee. Gurken raised the axe above his head and leapt towards the patrolman closest to him, flying through the air and swinging the axe in what was sure to be a mighty blow.
A fraction of a moment before the blade of the axe interspersed between the man's eyes, the patrolman was pulled backwards so that it passed harmlessly before him. The patrolman stumbled and fell to the ground, where, by all accounts, he continued to lie for the remainder of the battle.
Behind the patrolman stood a woman with skin of alabaster, eyes of amber, and a ponytail of jet-black hair that came down to her ankles. She wore a burgundy dress interlaced with gold ribbons. On her feet were golden sandals with cords tying them on and then wrapping up her legs. Her ears came t
o sharp and distinctive points. An elf.
"Little one," the elf said to Gurken. "Calm yourself, it is a simple misunderstandi-"
Gurken took a swing at the elf's neck, a strike not unlike those that had decapitated many a foe and brought many a discussion to an end. With the grace of a leaf fluttering in the breeze, the elf rolled her head to the side, her ear kissing the flat of the blade as it passed. Her arms flowed around the axe, one under and one above, and she swayed into it. The axe popped out of Gurken's hand, spun around her shoulder and came to a stop in one of her hands, pointed towards the sky.
The half-dozen patrolman turned and ran in various directions. Arthur and Moog gawked. Pellonia said, "Oh, no."
The elf smiled a crooked smile. "As I was saying, littl-"
Gurken roared and charged.
The elf, holding the battle axe with one hand on the shaft, let the head fall in an arc, using her elbow as the fulcrum. She stepped behind the axe's head just as Gurken swung at her; he connected his fist with the axe's head instead of hers.
The axe was far too heavy for the elf to use in the traditional manner of hacking and hewing, though she seemed no less effective for it. She followed the axe in smooth, supple motions. Wherever it wanted to go, she went, providing opportunities for it to turn, pivot, or swing. To those watching, it was not at all obvious which was leading and which was being led. They flowed as one.
Arthur stood, mouth agape, staring. "She's so beautiful," he said.
Moog slid off of Pellonia's shoulders and onto the ground. "So pretty," he said.
Pellonia rolled her eyes.
Gurken lunged at the elf, teeth bared and growling. The elf stepped forward into a crouch and spun to a standing position as Gurken flew by. She grabbed onto his belt with one hand, using his momentum to spin him around with her, and set him down gently on his feet facing away from her. "Show-off," Pellonia mumbled under her breath.
Incredibly confused by the sudden disappearance of his foe, Gurken whipped his head around. As he turned, the elf kept pace with his head, so that she remained out of sight.