Critical Failures II (Caverns and Creatures Book 2)

by Bevan, Robert

  Julian looked over the shoulder of the elf called Barry. According to the character sheet, Barry was playing an eighth level dwarven fighter. “So what level are you guys at in… is ‘the real world’ the appropriate phrase here?”

  “I’m a level four ranger,” said Tony the Elf. “Scorn is a third level wizard. Barry is a second level rogue. Dudley is a… what were you again, Dudley?”

  “I’ve got two levels of rogue and one level of fighter.”

  “That’s right. And Fritz,” Tony the Elf addressed the elf who had crafted the wooden dice. “What are you?”

  Fitz sighed. “I’m a second level bard.”

  The rest of the table pretended unconvincingly to be trying to hold in their laughter.

  “Fuck you guys,” said Fritz. “At least I can earn an income.”

  “Why are you all still at such low levels?” asked Julian.

  “There are a couple of reasons for that,” said Tony the Elf. “The primary reason is that fighting monsters is dangerous. The other reason… once you start killing things, it gets in your head. I’ve seen good men turn bad.”

  “You mean people from Earth?”

  “Yeah. The folks you see in here aren’t everyone who Mordred sent over. Some folks really like it here. They go native. There’s a few people scattered around town doing their own thing. They don’t like the idea of hanging out drinking in a tavern all day and night. They get apprentice jobs making horseshoes or blankets or whatever. The blacksmith’s assistant right up the road. He’s one of us.”

  “What’s so bad about being a blacksmith’s assistant?”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t finished though. There’s a group that call themselves The Four Horsemen.” The players looked at one another in silent repugnance. “Your friends met a few of them tonight.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Whatever the hell they want,” said Scorn. He lifted the bandana from his forehead to reveal a long scar across his right temple. “I got this for refusing to surrender the last chicken wing on the table.”

  “It was a hard decision to make,” said Tony the Elf. “But we kicked him out. His friends followed.”

  “Why was that a hard decision?” asked Julian. “It seems perfectly reasonable to me.”

  “They’re just kids. Like, middle school age. I mean, think of the shittiest kid you ever met. Would you feel comfortable just abandoning him in the middle of a foreign city?”

  “No, but –”

  “Well as it turned out,” Tony the Elf continued. “We should have been more afraid for the city than for those little bastards. This is all just one big party for them. They think they’re invincible, and so far no one has been able to prove otherwise.”

  “Have you tried talking to them?”

  “Ha!” said Scorn. “Have you ever tried to reason with a middle-schooler? Do I have to remind you that I was stabbed in the face over a piece of chicken?”

  “They’re only getting worse,” said Tony the Elf. “They all but worship Mordred, and he treats them like fucking pets. They’ve been shooting through levels, getting more powerful every day. God help us when they figure out he’s gone.”

  “What are they doing?” asked Julian. “I mean, are they killing people?”

  “Who knows?” said Tony the Elf. “They started out just taking what they wanted wherever they went. Snatching a purse here and there. Starting bar brawls just so they could slip out during the chaos without paying the tab. That sort of thing. But it looks like they’re escalating. The two we met tonight were more than ready to just up and rape your friend’s dwarf girl. My guess is that they’re getting bored without Mordred around.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Julian.

  Tony the Elf shrugged. “Roll up a character.”

  Chapter 8

  Chaz woke up to the sensation of being inside a rock tumbler. A dull pain in his head. The sounds of wheels turning and gravel crunching. Hooves? He opened his eyes. Wherever he was, he was moving very quickly. A sheer rocky wall was zipping past a dark window frame. He was in some sort of wagon.

  “Rise and shine, Chaz,” said Katherine. She smiled down at him from where she sat. He must be on the floor.

  He turned around to look at the window on the other side of the wagon. The view was as wide and open as the opposite side’s view was solid and unyielding. It was as if they were flying. A fat yellow moon sat bloated in the night sky, shining down on the city below. They must be several hundred feet up, traveling at crazy speeds up a path on a cliff face. He wrapped his arms around Katherine’s legs. She ran her fingers calmly through his hair.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” said an unfamiliar voice. Chaz didn’t know how he could have missed the guy with his purple suit and dazzling eyes. “You have nothing to fear. Enjoy the view.”

  “Who are you?” said Chaz. “Katherine, who is this guy? Where are we going? Where are the guys?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Katherine. “He’s nice.”

  “But who the fuck is he?”

  “Language,” said the purple-suited man. “I’ll have none of that in my coach or in my house, thank you.”

  “Katherine?”

  “He’s… um…”

  “My name,” said the man, “is Millard von Pleck, the fourteenth of my name, and lord of Castle Pleck.”

  “Jesus, Katherine!” said Chaz. “You got in this guy’s wagon without even learning his name? Didn’t you see any PSAs when you were a kid?”

  “He’s nice,” said Katherine. “Look at his eyes.” She tilted her head and stared at the man like a grade-schooler with a teacher crush.

  “Are you fucking high?” said Chaz, and almost immediately felt a smack on the top of his head. He looked up at the man called Millard von Pleck. “Ow, man! What the fuck?”

  Millard smacked him on the head again with a jockey whip. “Language.”

  “Knock it off, man!”

  Millard rested the whip on his lap. “You mind your tongue in my presence. And you should always mind your tongue in the presence of a lady.”

  “Katherine,” Chaz pleaded. “Why are we with this guy? He could be a murderer or a rapist.”

  Millard crossed one knee over the other and looked bitterly out of the window. “You can set aside your fear of being raped.”

  “I distinctly remember mentioning two fears.”

  Millard turned his gaze from the window and smiled down at Chaz. “You just mind your manners, son, and you’ll be quite safe. I assure you.”

  Chaz hugged Katherine’s legs more tightly. “It’s cold.”

  Millard poked his head out of the window and quickly back in again. “We’re nearly there.”

  A few minutes later, the swift pounding of hooves slowed to a canter, then a trot, then finally a walk before stopping altogether. Millard opened the coach door and stepped out. He assisted Katherine out next. Chaz was left to get out unassisted.

  Charcoal grey stone walls towered above him, maybe thirty or forty feet high. They were rough and crumbly, as if they hadn’t been maintained in a few centuries.

  “I hope you’ll pardon the rough exterior,” said Millard. “I find it helps keep away solicitors.”

  Looking at the walls brought on a dizzy spell. Chaz looked away, only for his gaze to meet that of the horse who had pulled him up all this way. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What the fuck is that?”

  Smack.

  “Ow!” Chaz turned around, rubbing the top of his head. He could have sworn Millard had been more than twenty feet away from him just a second ago. But there he was, standing right in front of him with the jockey whip in his hand. “I wish you’d quit doing that.”

  “You’ll learn sooner or later.”

  “What did you do to that horse, man?” said Chaz. “Is it even alive?”

  “Does it look alive?”

  It was a difficult question. It displayed a lot of the qualities one associates with life. It stood upright and moved around and ma
de horse noises. But it also had some characteristics that Chaz had always earmarked for signs of being dead. Its skin was rotting off, sticking so tightly to the bones that you could count them. A cockroach crawled out of its right nostril, up its face, and into its ear, and the horse seemed completely unfazed by it. Chaz staggered, but Millard caught him by the arm and held him up.

  “Stable,” said Millard.

  Chaz found his footing and stood up straight. “It’s okay. I’m cool, man.”

  The horse trotted away.

  “Where’s it going?”

  Millard gave him a contemptuous laugh. “The stable.” He let go of Chaz’s arm and offered his own arm to Katherine. “Let’s get you inside. You must be freezing to death out here.”

  She wrapped his arm around her waist and moved in close to him. She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t mind the cold.”

  Millard stared down at her. “Of course you don’t, dear.”

  “I can’t believe the sh—” Millard’s glare hit Chaz as sharply as the jockey whip had. “stuff I’m hearing.”

  Millard gave Chaz a satisfied nod and walked up to a set of huge, wooden double doors that appeared to be more sturdy than the stone walls they allowed entrance to. A pair of guards stepped out from the shadows of pillars to open the doors. They looked to be at least as big around as Cooper, but with a human build rather than that of a half-orc. It was impossible to tell for sure, as they were covered from head to toe in armor. Their helmets had no visors, but their faces were covered in what Chaz might have called a ski mask if he thought that folks around here were familiar with the concepts of skiing or bank robbing.

  The guards didn’t speak. There was only the slightest clink of metal on metal as each guard placed a mailed hand on an iron ring bolted to either door.

  “Open,” said Millard. A soft humming sound came from within the castle as a red light shone through the crack between the doors like the scanner in a supermarket checkout. It ran from the top of the doorway down to the floor, after which the guards pulled the heavy doors open. They didn’t squeak or whine on the hinges. It was total silence.

  “Come along, bard,” said Millard. “I’d like you to amuse us.” He led Katherine through the open double doors.

  Chaz took one last look down at the city below. Who knew what terrors he would run into on this mountain alone, on foot, in the dark? He would probably die of exposure before he had the chance to be eaten by leprechauns, or whatever the hell was waiting for him out there. He gauged his chances of survival after entering the castle as only marginally more likely, but at least he might be fed before he was killed. He hurried after Millard and Katherine.

  Chapter 9

  Cooper opened his eyes and sat upright as fast as a catapult being released. He sniffed the air. The scent was familiar, but seemed to be part of a long forgotten past.

  “Bacon?”

  “Rise and shine, fuckers!” shouted Frank. The young elf who had been tending the bar the previous night followed closely behind him, carrying two giant trays which were covered in piles of bacon. “The sun is up. It’s a brand new day.”

  The floor came alive with bodies moving like recently animated zombies trying to orient themselves. Only Tim was as quick to his feet as Cooper had been. Cooper frowned as Tim rushed over to the elf corner and snatched his sister’s character sheet out of Julian’s hand. Seeing the look of relief on Tim’s face, Cooper’s mind went back to the smell of bacon.

  “Where did you get all of this bacon?” asked Cooper.

  Frank kicked a dwarf who didn’t seem quite motivated enough to wake up just yet. “Our rangers and druids took down a few boars a couple of days ago. We’ve got pork chops for lunch.”

  Cooper’s eyes began to water. “I don’t think I want to leave this place.”

  “Well hopefully that’s a choice we’ll all have to make in the not-too-distant future,” said Frank. “Just mind you don’t fuck it up for those of us who do want to return to our homes.” He stood on a chair and raised his voice. “Now eat up everyone. Let’s make this a good day. Those of you with jobs, go to work. Bards, get on those street corners and sing your asses off. Wizards and sorcerers, start writing and brewing your most profitable scrolls and potions. Everyone else, see me for assignments. And anyone with ranks in either the local knowledge or Gather Information skills, please stay behind. Remember, everyone. We may have an opportunity to go home. It’s a long shot, but if it works, it’s going to cost money. So fucking whistle while you work.”

  The yawning mass of bodies unceremoniously scarfed back strips of bacon and drank cups of watered down beer until their bellies were full and their eyes were open. About a dozen people stayed behind while everyone who knew their jobs shambled toward the exit.

  Before anyone could leave, the door swung open, sending an elf flying backward to fall on the floor. In the doorway stood the baddest-looking motherfucker Cooper had ever seen. The figure all but filled the doorway, and actually had to duck its head under the frame to step inside.

  The sleepiness had gone from everyone’s eyes. No one dared move nor make a sound.

  Now that the figure had moved in from the light of the doorway, Cooper was able to get a better look. It was another half-orc, only this one was far bigger than Cooper. Charcoal grey armor covered him from head to toe. It was dented in places. Metal patches had been welded on in others. It had seen its share of action. The helmet was the same color, save for the two horns protruding from each side. The only pieces of the armor which didn’t match were the gauntlets. They were silvery blue, and polished to a reflective shine.

  “Good morning, Frank,” said the half-orc.

  Frank stood up straight atop the table. “What are you doing here, Eric?”

  “My name,” said the giant, removing his helmet to reveal a surprisingly handsome face for a half-orc, “is Pestilence!

  His presence was enough for Cooper to take a step back, but Frank stood his ground.

  “Your name is Eric Weinberg. You’re a pimply-faced little brat who takes his books and dice home every time somebody orders something other than pepperoni on the pizza.”

  “You forget yourself, Frank,” said Eric, or Pestilence, or whoever the fuck he was. He stepped forward, and the crowd gave him a wide berth. It only took two strides for him to be right in Frank’s face. Even with Frank standing on a table, this half-orc still stood over a head taller than him. “I could tear you apart right here and now.”

  “You can’t take us all,” said Frank. Cooper wondered whether the little guy was putting up a front, genuinely this badass, or just plain suicidal. “You forget our arrangement. We don’t bother you, and you stay away from the Whore’s Head. I repeat. What are you doing here, Eric?” Frank spoke his name as if he was daring him to make a move.

  Eric grinned. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll just get right to it. We haven’t heard from the Cavern Master in a while, and we were beginning to get concerned for our good friend, Mordred. I just wanted to know if you’ve heard anything. That’s all.”

  “I… um…” Frank broke eye contact with Eric. He was floundering.

  “Mordred went on vacation,” said Cooper. Somebody had to say something. “Just packed up and went to Pensacola. Said he’d be back in a week or so.”

  Eric walked up to stand face-to-face with Cooper. The big guy had a good thirty pounds on him, and Cooper didn’t think he’d be able to land more than a couple of punches before he was out of the fight… if it came to that.

  “And just what the hell is this supposed to be?” said Eric. “I feel ashamed to call myself a half-orc standing next to you. You are an embarrassment to your race.”

  Cooper farted. It was quite loud.

  “Ugh,” said Eric. “You are completely and utterly disgusting. Where is your dignity, man?”

  “Sorry,” said Cooper. “I must have left it in your mom.”

  Two or three giggles broke the thick silence, but they stopped abruptly when
Eric glared at the crowd, looking for the source.

  Eric grabbed the hilt of his sword and began to unsheathe it. He’d only drawn it a quarter of the way out when he stopped and broke eye contact with Cooper. Cooper looked around to see what had made him stop. There were at least a dozen sets of hands glowing blue, pink, and green, shining in the dreary dimness of the Whore’s Head common room. Julian held his fist cocked back, its familiar golden glow betraying a Magic Missile ready to be let loose. The thought of using a pussy spell like that against someone like this was almost enough to make Cooper laugh. Then again, a dozen Magic Missiles might just lay this fucker down. He’d at least be walking funny on his way out.

  A snarl from behind Eric caught the big bastard’s attention. A wolf loomed behind him, pacing back and forth between him and the door. Two more wolves lurked in the shadows, their eyes reflecting what little light there was in the room. Two cats scurried across a beam above Eric’s head. A hawk flew past, presumably just to make itself known. A few rats scurried purposefully out of the crowd to glare at the intruder. Even a fat little toad hopped forward. Ravenus flapped down to land on Cooper’s shoulder. Cooper, for once, was glad to have him there.

  Eric shoved his sword hard back into its scabbard and glared hard at Cooper. “This isn’t over…” He looked as though he wanted to continue, but dared not call Cooper another name, lest it come back to bite him in the ass again.

  He turned and stomped toward the exit. He opened the door and turned around. “This treachery shall not go unpunished!” The big bastard looked like he was going to start crying. Cooper almost felt sorry for him. Eric ducked under the frame and slammed the door behind him.

  The crowd remained silent. Cooper turned to Frank, expecting a scolding. It was laughable, really, he tried to convince himself. Him, being scolded by a gnome. But that gnome had just faced off against a bigger badass than himself. He actually felt a little nervous.