Bypassing the question of why there was a voice in his head Corbett looked at the Clerics fingers. They were indeed twitching, or they appeared to be. This was a talent many magic-users and energy manipulators employed to be able to talk without speaking.
‘…apologising in advance…’ The thought echoed through Corbett’s mind.
He acted as he usually did, without thinking past the threat and moving directly to the response. Quickly, he extended his arms and pointed his fingers. Producing the intense heat in the roof had seriously depleted his reserves but there was still energy inside him to channel a furious lance of flame towards the Cleric.
But the holy man was no novice, he knew to expect a reaction from a magic-user under threat and deftly turned the spell. The flames did not extinguish but instead turned at a thirty-degree angle away from him. He immediately followed up with a forceful push of his hand. Energy flowed from him and punched Corbett squarely in the chest. The wizard lifted a couple of inches of the floor, toppled backwards and slammed onto the floor.
‘Fucker!’ He wheezed, then scrambled back to his feet.
The Cleric was approaching him rapidly and had drawn an ornate dagger from his belt. If it was time for fisticuffs then he had clearly used all of his energy. Unfortunately, Corbett realised that he had also drained his last of his own tank.
‘Shit.’ He thought.
He was rubbish at fighting and even more terrible at dodging angry people with weapons.
‘Back off Priest, or I’ll…’ He attempted to threaten. But the Cleric was having none of it.
‘You’ll do nothing! You reckless pyromaniac. Gods willing, I will strike thee down for your ineptitude.’
Corbett frowned. ‘Thee? Really?’
‘He’s going to try and smite you with energy drawn from the realm of Diaogness. The dagger is a conduit.’ The voice said.
‘Diaogness? That’s very pure power. Very holy. The Lord of Diaogness probably wouldn’t like that. He gets very snippy about abuse of his Power
Given Freely for the Purpose of the Betterment of Others.’
‘Yes he does.’ The voice agreed. ‘Do you know what you need to do?’
‘Yes.’ Corbett replied.
He did nothing.
On Demons
The conversation in Corbett’s head had taken place as though the two were chatting over a coffee. This is because most Demons can manipulate time in very small increments. So long as the person they are talking too doesn’t move, doesn’t focus upon anything other than the Demon’s voice the creature can create a sphere around them vastly accelerating the thinking time within in it, making the outside appear to move at a reduced rate. This is great when trying to determine what kind of ale you want while at the front of the line and hadn’t bothered thinking about it because you were pissing about with your change or wondering if you had enough shirts. Now you have what appears to be precious minutes of decision time.
Demons cannot naturally enter our world. They have no powers that allow them to cross time, space, or to slip into other dimensions. They have to be dragged from their own place of origin, summoned by a spell or in some exceptional cases the command of a deity. There is one other way however, one that is a universal situation that every single creature, corporeal, incorporeal, supernatural or natural take advantage of, someone leaving a fucking door wide open.
Wizards are the worst culprits of the arcane world. It is true that Shamans, Witches, Sorceresses and Necromancers each perform manipulations of the very foundations of existence, the Essence that is the force of all things, and that these manipulations can cause tears, or make porous the film of energy that divides all realms. But these students of eldritch law study methods of containment and repulsion of demonic influence and infestation. When wizards rip into the fundamental elements of the cosmos and fashion them with their will Demons, who exist within the membrane that separates dimensions, rush towards the wound that has been torn into it before the vastness of an infinite energy source can repair it. It is a fleeting moment.
But some Demons are quick on their toes.
Carl, one of the Demons in Corbett’s head is a Clurichaun. Physically manifesting as a very short, impish creature, it is renowned for its love of mischief, song, dancing and getting riotously pissed.
They are notorious for being able to detect and slip into any dimension where the species has developed the ability to ferment hops. Unfortunately, despite their keen senses when sober they are utterly defenceless when drunk and as such are easily dispelled from this dimension by a number of arcane means. It is stated that in the country of Ireland, on the planet of Earth, if you keep a public house and your cellar has not been invaded by at least one Clurichaun, your beer must shite.
It was Corbett’s rending of the cavern that tore a hole in the Essence. With no cellar available within the short distance the Clurichaun could only travel to its next best shot at enjoying some time amongst the mortals by sneaking into the weakened mind of the Wizard. And now it nests within his thoughts, hidden amongst his synapses, where it is very difficult for a Sorceress to probe with magical tendrils, or for a Witches hex to expel him.
Not all Demons are as benign as a Clurichaun. In fact, most definitely aren’t. Their number is Legion, which is the biggest number that doesn’t use actual numbers. The next highest is ‘metric fuck-ton’. There are Demons at large in almost all worlds, having gained access to the world and have been able to draw enough energy to maintain their presence. For it is understood that any creature not of the dimension it has invaded exists on borrowed time. To maintain their presence, they must be able to consume Essence, and this can take many forms.
A Vampire for example is a formerly natural creature that has been possessed by a demon, and it exists by drawing Life Essence from the blood of its victims. Just one Vampire can infect others and produce its own extended family of similarly blood-hungry thralls. Considered to be the sexiest of Demons, second only to the Succubi, Vampires tend to keep their distance from Wizards. Because fire.
Zapping Rats Part 2
The cleric threw forward a wave of concentrated holy energy and its golden light, beautiful to behold, washed over Corbett. It swirled around his body, its force lifting him a little so that he rose to his tip-toes then, then as though a hard wind had suddenly changed direction it WHOOOSHED back towards the Cleric, struck him and fused his bones together.
The cleric screamed in agony as the light split into dozens of beams from a core located in the centre of his chest. For a brief moment each moved like search lights seeking something in the cavern. He was then obscured by a blinding flash.
Corbett heard the Cleric crumple to the floor. Smote. Proper smote.
Using God given energy for a purpose not originally intended did not go down well with the said God. Trying to burn a man alive who offered no violence to the vessel had resulted in the magical energy reversing upon the holy man. Sometimes inactivity was the best solution and Corbett had mastered doing nothing in a time of crisis a long time ago.
‘Ooh.’ Corbett said, looking in fearful awe at the slightly smoking body of the Cleric, ‘that must have hurt.’
‘He was burned from within his soul by the light of a God.’ The voice informed him. ‘Getting your nuts caught in your zipper wouldn’t even come close to the level of pain.’
‘Zipper?’ Corbett said.
‘Doesn’t matter.’ The voice replied. ‘The portal has opened wizard, you have seconds to get through.’
Corbett spun to face where the Bulette lay, barbecued by his own flatulence and a few tons of molten ceiling. A shimmering Gate had appeared to the side of it.
‘But I haven’t any swag!’ He exclaimed, his mouth and eyes wide with horror at this thought.
It had taken them just over a week to fight their way through this dungeon, he had almost died four times and that was
excluding the assault by the mental Cleric.
‘You can have all the swag you can e
at, forever if you like. But you’ll be stuck in this dungeon with it.’ The voice said in an annoyingly nonchalant manner.
‘Bloody hell!’ Corbett barked as he started a sprint towards the portal. ‘Bloody hell! bloody hell!’
He reached the Gate and dived through its hypnotic swirling centre. He thought he might have heard it pop out of existence behind him. He also knew that he now had a passenger.
Carl had been with him since and had eluded numerous attempts to extricate him. By the time Kezra had found her way into his mind Corbett had pretty much gotten used to him.
He could be annoying. Fucking annoying in fact, but he also knew a lot of stuff about other Demons that had come in handy and had saved his skin more than once, and so he tolerated Carl while the Demon was awake and relished the periods, which could be extensive, while he was asleep.
‘So, what’s going on. Are you actually contemplating a Quest?’ Carl asked.
‘Yes.’ Corbett said.
‘Because they’ve worked out so well in the past?’
‘Fuck off.’ Corbett replied.
‘Jeremy!’ Kezra exclaimed.
Corbett groaned. Bad enough he should have demons nesting in his mind, but that one of them was a sarcastic know it all and the other a hypersensitive mom really took the piss.
‘I’m sorry Kezra.’ Corbett said. ‘I’ve had a bad day.’
‘Oh, Mr Grumpy Chops.’ Kezra said, as though trying to lighten the mood of a six-year old. ‘Would you like me to sing you a little song?’
‘Oh fuck no!’ Corbett said, loud enough to have eyes and heads turn his way.
‘S’all right.’ He said, holding up his hands. ‘I’m just a bit mental. Touch of the old Demons.’ He said and tapped at his temple.
The eyes and heads turned slowly back to what they had been focusing on previously.
‘I’ll sing you the song of Rodnick, the Warrior who lost his sword. That will cheer you up.’ Kezara said and began to warble out an entirely tone-deaf rendition of an old army song, which she had no idea was totally sexual in nature.
‘Nice one Corbs.’ Carl said. ‘I’m not sticking around to listen to this. I’ll be back later. Try not to get me killed before I do.’
And he was gone.
Corbett could feel the exit of the Demon from his consciousness. Where it went he didn’t know but its absence was always tangible. He did have some measure of control over them both but rarely exercised it. For a start it was tiring to keep booting them out. Both of them got bored very quickly and each had only limited amounts of energy available to them at any given time.
He had been instructed that bound demons, those that didn’t have enough power to try and escape your mind were often very useful and that they could teach you ancient spells and reveal eldritch knowledge. But his rarely did. For a start Kezra was almost certainly insane. Her mood swings veered from annoyingly cheerful to blindly psychotic, she had no eldritch lore to offer, unless it was to do with recipes for chicken, wholemeal bread or how to get stains off cloth. Which in all honesty had come in handy a few times, but other than that she was essentially just taking up space.
Carl knew stuff. His Demonic knowledge was impressive, and he had also shared a few minor Demonic spells that Corbett could use without breaking his Oath. He was very rude, very cynical and could be extremely vitriolic in the presence of other Demons. Except with Kezra, who he appeared to tolerate but mostly ignore.
At least he had gone now. And Kezra would almost certainly fade once she had finished her godawful rendition of Rodnick. She appeared to be weaker than Carl, or perhaps he used his energy in a more measured fashion and could therefore hang around in his consciousness a little longer. The bottom line was that with both Demons out of the way he could concentrate on
getting some work, preferably something a step up from rat zapping.
There were plenty of bars, one or two on every street. Drinking and carousing was a popular pastime almost everywhere but in the Town it was especially so. Who didn’t want to enjoy a decent carouse before facing possible death in some otherworldly dimension? And if you got back, what better way to celebrate than getting absolutely shit-faced and probably dying in a bar fight?
He decided to try his luck at a place where there were fewer customers loitering outside, and where other people in robes appeared to be thin on the ground. He had already received shifty looks from others of the magical persuasion as he passed them by. Competition was fierce at the moment. A lot of wizards were out looking for work. Even Necromancers, who normally shied from group activity, preferring to do their weird shit alone and in dark towers where no one could judge them for their dalliances with the dead and appalling fashion sense, were out in force.
He had once managed a decent scam with a Necromancer named Bilious Hextargon (although his real name had been Frank Pimsley). He had persuaded the landlord of a busy village pub that he could take care of the man’s almost perpetual rat infestation in his cellar in return for a weekly dividend. Each Friday, Corbett would venture down into the vast cellar and blow away hundreds of rats, clearing them and keeping the landlord’s barrels and sacks of bar snacks safe for a short while, but the rats would soon return, just in time for Friday’s weekly zapping session in fact.
What was actually happening was that on Thursday night, Frank would sneak in to the cellar and raise from the dead all the previously annihilated vermin so that Corbett could be called upon to kill them all over again. The landlord, not noticing the gradual decline in the health and appearance of the rats was oblivious to this.
It had worked well. Until eventually Toftus, a Rat Demon, had cottoned on to the abuse his minions were getting and had combined all of the little furry bastards into an enormous Undead Zombie Rat Monster. The thing had eaten Frank, destroyed the tavern and chased Corbett through the village. Fortunately, a group of adventurers had been passing through and had taken care of business.
Carl still referred to ‘The Rat Incident’ whenever Corbett tried to persuade him that he had a ‘great idea.’
‘There isn’t much carousing going on.’ He thought, and also realised that Kezra’s song had finished. She had slipped back into the recesses of his mind.
He approached a bar where a beefy doorman with a razor-sharp haircut stood, idly picking at something up his nose.
‘Greetings Sir.’ Corbett said. He smiled.
The doorman fixed him with a neutral stare. Corbett really didn’t think he had smiling down at all. All he ever got was people who looked at him as though he were trying to sell feet.
‘Yes, well, I was just wondering why there’s not a lot going on. You know, there’s lots of people but not much in the way of… things happening.’
‘Gates innit.’ The doorman said.
He was a big man. Suited to the job in looks and demeanour. His expression was one of permanently angry confusion. His nose looked odd, as though someone had tried to add a second one to the first. Corbett imagined it had been beaten more often than carpet.
‘The Gates or… a Gate.’ Corbett carefully enquired.
‘All of em innit? Ain’t none.’
‘It’s all of them. And there are none of them.’ Corbett said, trying to piece together the limited statement into something with a little more explanation.
‘Yer.’ The doorman said. ‘No Gates, no business.’
‘Ah…’ Corbett said. ‘There’s a dearth of Gates and so business is slow. No one in the mood for celebration.’
‘S’what I said, innit.’ The doorman replied.
‘Indeed you did.’ Corbett replied, and repeated his attempt at a friendly smile. The corners of the doorman’s eye’s tightened. Corbett decided not to attempt a smile again today.
‘I guess that means that there’s a lot of folks looking for part-time work. I don’t suppose your boss…’
‘Landlords already got three wizards on split-shifts.’
The doorman looked at his finger tip to see if
he had managed to extricate the offending something from up his nose. He frowned. Then wiped his finger on the sleeve of his jerkin.
‘I see.’ Corbett said, disappointed.
It would be hard to get even a shit job like rat-zapping if every damn magic-user in the region was in the same situation. ‘Anything else going?’
‘I’ve heard there’s a new healer type what’s come in.’ The doorman said.
‘Oh?’ Corbett said, surprised that the man apparently had his slimy finger on the pulse of the town’s comings and goings.
‘Yer.’ The doorman said.
He then looked at his fingernails and examined them as though he had just had an extending and shaping session at Madame Foo Foo’s.
‘Course, he could be anywhere now.’
‘Ah.’ Corbett said, the penny dropping.
He dug deep into his robe but the only coin his fingers found were two copper pieces.
‘Look, this is the thing. I’m skint mate. So how about a Covenant?’
‘I’m listening.’ The doorman said, although it was hard to tell if he was, as he insisted on maintaining his fingertip perusal to convey pointed disinterest.
‘Five percent.’ Corbett said.
‘Fuck off.’ The doorman grunted. ‘I could get five percent from a bloody Rangers pet gerbil.’
‘Alright, fair enough. Ten percent. That’s pretty decent if no one’s bringing any swag in right now. I’ve got every intention of Questing successfully. I’m coming home with all the loot.’
‘Fifteen percent.’ The doorman countered. ‘I’ve had a score of blokes saying the same thing and they’ve all come back without a pot to piss in. Them’s thats come back at all that is.’
‘Fifteen percent!’ Corbett was outraged. ‘What are you? A fucking literary agent?’
‘I’m the geezer who knows where there’s a freshly arrived Cleric who’s already getting the attention of some adventurers. I reckon fifteen percent to a motivated fella like you, who has a town full of competition, is a bit of a steal. Reckon maybe I should be pitching twenty percent to some Sorcerer, or one o’ them Warlocks mebbe…’
Rocks Fall Everyone Dies Page 12