Rocks Fall Everyone Dies

by Eddie Skelson

  Let’s look at this in detail because if you really must watch a train wreck its always better to watch it in slow motion.

  Because he was walking with Francis, Andreton took the rear of the line with Felicity ahead of him. He talked to the Steppe-beast almost constantly, occasionally breaking out into a short song. Felicity was quiet and her mind on the possibilities of what might waiting for them at the Gate. She was concerned that only the Rogue knew the location of the Gate, and he wasn’t letting anyone in on that piece of information.

  She was pleased to have Andreton at her back because if the warrior was up front she wouldn’t be able to see a bloody thing past him and she wanted to keep an eye on the Wizard.

  Corbett walked with a contemptuous stride, muttering to himself. It wasn’t the demons in his head. They had been quiet. It was the cold. Although that isn’t entirely accurate, it wasn’t the cold, just like it wasn’t the heat, or the wet, or the wind. To be

  absolutely on the money it was the weather. Corbett disliked weather, generally.

  It was rarely ‘just right’ for him, and when it was, he would plunge into a fearsome depression because he knew that at some point it would not be ‘just right’. It would be ‘just hateful’ instead. The cold made his joints ache, the heat made his crotch sweaty, rain got him piss-wet through because he was always bloody walking and the wind was basically just obnoxious.

  With Felicity ahead of him and Daisy and Valeran walking side by side at the front of the line Corbett was as close to the centre as the Troll could hope for. Oculus Trolls are smarter than the average Hill or Cave Troll. They are patient and they have a limited understanding of the fact that humans like to dress differently according to what they do. The ones that would use channelled magic upon them wear robes and cloaks and have pointy hats. None of this group had a pointy hat but one plus one of them wore cloaks. The one at the back might be a giant farmer with a big weapon. So that made the giant farmer a warrior, but the Oculus Troll wasn’t worried about the farmer warrior with his giant cow because he had a special trick for dealing with them.

  ‘Dere be one plus one plus one plus one plus one other to deal with.’ He thought.’

  The Troll’s ability to count more than one thing earned him a great deal of respect among the Troll fraternity.

  As alert as Daisy was she didn’t actually see the Troll, she was only just a little more prepared when it suddenly rose from its camouflaged, crouched position and swung the huge log in its hand at Corbett.

  But this was enough for her to shout the wizard’s name in the hope that he would hear warning cry and dodge, just in time to avoid the blow. He didn’t.

  Critical Fumble

  Dorian travelled quickly and easily over the rocky land. His stamina was more than up to the task of a flat out run across terrain like this. He worked his body every day. Each morning he would run. Each evening he pushed his muscles by lifting leather sacks weighted with stones. When he was able, he devoted hours of his day to practice with his bow, with his sword and dagger.

  Removing the stones from his sacks he would fill them with soil or sand, depending on where he found himself on his travels. He could then punch and chop and slap at the bags. Sometimes suspending them from trees by a rope so they would swing, making his jabs and kicks work that little bit harder. He zig-zagged as he ran, never keeping a straight path if he could help it. No arrow would find its way to him, no sly dagger tossed by a lurking Rogue or other creature who was base enough to launch its attacks from the shadows would strike him.

  Donalt wouldn’t have known a fitness regimen if it arrived at his door wearing a leotard with ‘Contract Free Gym Membership’ emblazoned across its chest. His stamina was maintained by an almost constant need to stay on his toes. He had lost track of how many citizens, nations, assassins and other Rogues were after him. There were things Andreton had done to get them into trouble he probably wasn’t even aware of yet. And he wasn’t sure how many times a person’s heart beat per second, his job was to stop them beating, but he would have wager that his was constantly thumping three times faster due to stress. He was lithe, sinewy and taut and had reactions easily on a par with the Ranger.

  Watching Dorians graceful leaps and bounds made him think that there was very little that could unbalance a man with such an impressive athletic posture.

  But slipping on bat guano? That would do it.

  Dorian’s foot caught the rock at an awkward angle, and as the sole of his boot made contact with the unseen splat of slimy guano the impetus of his speed forced him to stagger and flail. He was falling and falling badly. His reactions were as fine and honed as any mortal man could hope to achieve but he couldn’t control this spill. He toppled over, twisted his body with breath-taking agility and was able to avoid dashing his head against a jagged spur of rock but failed to prevent his leg dropping heavily against another. He felt and heard the crack of bone and couldn’t help but shout in pain.

  The gathered rocks which had been his undoing at least prevented him from tumbling down the side of the rise he had been negotiating. Instead he was wedged between a clump of rounded lumps. He closed his eyes for a moment and centred himself. He had to adjust his breathing and re-route his pain. Adrenaline was already surging through his body and he used that brief chemical boost to extricate from the rocks. Reaching up with both hands and gripping boulders on either side Dorian hauled himself back to the surface. Donalt’s hand reached down to help pull him up.

  ‘Fuck me. I’ve seen fat people fall with more grace.’ Donalt said. ‘I honestly thought you were trying to fly out of that with how your arms were flapping.’

  ‘I slipped. My leg is broken.’ Dorian replied. Ignoring the Rogue’s lack of compassion.

  ‘Oh dear. That’s embarrassing isn’t it. What made you slip?’ Donalt then looked at the rock upon which he had seen the Ranger lose his footing. ‘Oh, ha! Bat shit. That’s priceless.’

  Dorian continued to ignore Donalt as the rogue chuckled. He hauled himself, with great difficulty to a flat area and examined his injured leg through his trousers. It was a break but looked to be clean snap.

  The Cleric would be able to fix this, he just had to get to him. The problem was Trolls. They had seen a few on his way to this point but these were not on the trail and shouldn’t offer any threat to the party, but they might be an issue for himself and

  Donalt now. Spyra wasn’t around. Scout was following, which was something at least, they had a chance of advance warning of perils that their earthbound eyes couldn’t see.

  Dorian didn’t pray or worship the Gods. Instead he was respectful of their power but had chosen long ago not to get involved with begging for their scraps. However, right now he wondered if it might be time to turn to Gaea, or Aegis, Thorna or Fenaria, Maiden of the Woods to get a hand here because he didn’t feel the Rogue was going to be very helpful.

  ‘So what now? Do we wait for them to catch up? Get the old fella on the case?’ Donalt asked, dropping to his haunches.

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ll need a splint for the leg if I’m going to move. I have a herb for the pain, I’ll reinforce it with a touch of Bazzle, but I’ll still not move very fast.’

  ‘Fair enough. Probably best we stay then.’ Donalt said.

  He was fine with this. With the Ranger out of action and no other prying eyes around he could take a good look at his map. He had volunteered to join Dorian purely to get a better idea of where they were without it looking like he clearly had no idea. ‘Do you want me to make a fire?’

  Dorian shook his head. ‘We had better not. The Trolls were a distance but if they saw a light…’

  ‘Yeah, fair comment.’ Donalt stood. ‘I’ll find a decent bit o’ wood for you. Can you use a staff in a fight?’

  Dorian nodded.

  ‘Yeah, course you can.’ Donalt said, not hiding the sarcasm. ‘I’ll see what’s out there.’

  At this Donalt sprang from the rock he had been haunched upon and
disappeared from view.

  Dorian believed the acrobatic exit was purely for his benefit. He couldn’t understand how he managed to rub people up the wrong way without even trying. Clearly the Rogue had a chip on his shoulder about something, but he had no idea what.

  ‘Maybe he’s just naturally ill humoured.’ Dorian thought. He looked up. Scout circled about him.

  ‘This is a mess already. This is a total travesty. My first actual task for the group and I’ve broken my leg.’ He wasn’t sure whether it would be exposure that killed him, some wandering creature, or abject embarrassment.

  He winced as his leg reminded him that it was badly injured.

  ‘Time for the happy grass.’ He said glumly and opened a pouch on his belt.

  He withdrew a small wax paper package and opened it up, then took pinch of the little brown shreds of dried leaf inside it and placed them onto the rock with his broken leg acting as a wind break. He then reached into the pouch containing the Bazzle and extracted a small vial. Inside this was black powder made from the Bazzle twigs he had acquired. He tapped the smallest amount he could onto the shreds of leaf and then pushed them together.

  With the base ingredients ready he took out an empty water flask and carefully scooped them into it. Finally, he added a large measure of water from his actual water flask. He then shook it. When Donalt returned he would take the elixir and they could begin their walk back. If he came back of course.

  To his surprise the Rogue reappeared not long after he had left and strapped to his back was a selection of strong branches. In his hand a length of wood that looked as though it had actually been grown to be used as a crutch.

  ‘How are we feeling?’ Donalt asked. ‘You had your Doctor Feelgood yet?’

  Dorian shook his head. ‘Not yet. When we start.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Donalt said as he placed the wood he had foraged onto the floor. ‘You might want to reconsider that. Bracing your leg with these things is going to sting a bit.’

  ‘No. I’ll take it. I’ll not be able to walk on it immediately afterwards so it would be a waste.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Donalt replied as he eyed each length of wood to determine which would be the most suitable.

  He maintained an air of disinterest, but the Rangers determination impressed him.

  ‘I have strong rope in my pack.’

  ‘That’s ok. I’ll guarantee mines stronger.’ Donalt said, and he produced a length of cord from within his jacket that looked as though it had a history of violence. Dorian said nothing but he watched with interest as the Rogue produced a knife from his boot that looked sharp enough to cut through stone and began to trim and shape the wood.

  ‘Is that dog around?’ Donalt asked as he worked.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a pet one before. Where’d d’ya get him?’

  ‘He’s not a pet. He’s a companion.’ Dorian replied. ‘And he’s from the Steppes, the same region as your friend I believe if I have his accent right. Voridia?’

  Donalt nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So how did you two end up as partners? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’ Donalt replied.

  ‘I’ve got time.’

  ‘No mate. You don’t. Because when I set your leg you’re going to pass out. I don’t care how many abs you have carved on that physique of yours, or how many press-ups you can do on one hand. When this fella straightens out you’re going to cry like a little girl and go sleepy byes while I strap you up.’

  ‘Trust me, I can take…’

  Donalt snapped the separated bones into place.

  ***

  ‘Arrrrgggggggghhh.’

  Corbett screamed as the log swung down onto him. He raised his arms in a futile attempt to prevent his head from being pushed into his stomach. To his surprise, rather than crushing his body into a bloody stain on the floor the log appeared to bounce above him.

  He stared at the Troll which had appeared seemingly from thin air and it stared back at him with angry confusion.

  ‘Jeremy!’

  Kezra’s sudden, sharp shout startled Corbett out of his state of shock.

  Words bubbled to his lips.

  Daisy, while she had not seen the Troll, saw what was to come next.

  ‘EVERYBODY MOVE!’ She shouted, grabbing Valeran and jumping to the side of the trail with him held tightly in her arms.

  Felicity quickly performed an intricate display with her fingers. Andreton stood directly in front of Francis and gripped Dennis in his hands.

  Corbett cast his spell.

  While Wizards are barred from many aspects of magic use in the mortal plane it is accepted that in self-defence, when a there is a genuine, recognisable threat to their lives and that force has been used against them, they are allowed to react in a responsible and proportionate manner. The adjudicators of what is responsible and proportionate are, unfortunately, the Gods. And Gods don’t have a particularly good record when it comes to proportionate responses. So when Corbett, frightened out of his wits, cast a fire spell to bathe the Troll in a flaming ball of superheated Essence he didn’t take into account its effect on his immediate surroundings which resulted in a conflagration worthy of sunspot activity. The Gods were, it seems, fine with this.

  Fire erupted from Corbett’s hands and expanded, encompassing the Troll and scorching the earth about him.

  Its heat washed over Felicity who had only just managed to cast a protective hex about herself. Flames boiled around her and she could still feel the intense heat of them, despite the protective folds of Hex-woven Essence diluting its power. Andreton reached a hand out, gripped the back of the Sorceresses coat and lifted her out of the way as the flames roared over and around her. His natural Voridian resistance to magic negated the heat. His loincloth, imbued with his sweat, was practically a magical artefact. Just one that no one else would ever want to use, let alone quest for.

  He then began to move slowly forwards, making sure his body blocked the searing licks that would ignite even the thick, resilient fur of the Steppe-beast.

  Daisy looked up from the floor. Satisfied that Valeran was unharmed, although he looked very surprised, she stood. Corbett’s flames died down. The Troll was still standing. In its massive fist the log burned fiercely. It was as though Corbett had decided it needed more killing power. Its eyes swivelled. Searching all around for the location of its prey. They were tearful and furious. Its skin changed colour, mimicking both the darkened earth and flames around it. Smoke rose from its body. But, it was virtually unharmed by Corbett’s thermal assault. And it was pissed.

  Having initially staggered backwards it now charged forwards, roaring with hate and evil intent.

  ‘Shit.’ Corbett squawked, and then he disappeared.

  The Troll swung the burning log at an empty space. Corbett had teleported twenty feet behind it.

  ‘Hiyahhhh!’ Daisy screamed as she ran forwards and she did so reached back and withdrew one of her swords. She leapt at the Troll, hoping to make it turn its full attention to her. This didn’t work.

  The Oculus Troll’s eyes at the side of its head saw the threat and it reacted well, bring the log back and swiping Daisy away as though she nothing more than an irritating insect. It had seen that a real danger was approaching, the big human with the axe. It wasn’t afraid of the farmer with his cow and his big weapon. This Troll had taken on many of these tiny humans, that dared to cross its territory. It knew their tricks and it also knew their weaknesses.

  It had not expected its attack on the cloaked one to be rebuffed as it was. And the cloaked one had done as they always did when attacked, it used fire. They almost always used fire. This was good for it, because the Troll was completely impervious to that particular element. Andreton charged at the Troll, raising Dennis high and then leapt.

  He bounded into the air with a leap that belied his weight. Dennis was brought right back, Andreton arched his i
ncredibly muscle-bound body and prepared to bring his mighty axe down, into the upper chest of the Oculus Troll.

  But the Troll simply stepped aside and watched with its rear facing eyes as Andreton’s awesome leap sent him on a collision course with Corbett.

  The Wizard squawked as the massive form of Andreton came flying towards him. He dived to the side as the warrior and his axe crashed to the ground next to him.

  Andreton sprawled across the floor but didn’t let his grasp on Dennis loosen.

  ‘Get up you bloody idiot.’ Corbett hissed at him. Meanwhile he backed up on his hands and knees, hoping to reverse himself behind a large boulder that would hide him.

  Andreton grunted as he stood. He turned to face the Troll and to shout a Vodrian oath at it. Unfortunately, the Troll was not in the habit of engaging in banter with its victims. It had closed the distance and swung its burning log into Andreton’s chest. Off he went once again. Through the air. Backwards this time. With Andreton and Daisy beaten away from its chosen place of combat the Troll stomped over to where Valeran was looking out from behind a boulder.

  ‘Agh, bugger.’ The Cleric said as the enormous creature bore down upon him. He called upon Boldoff to help his fairly loyal servant out with a little divine essence. He had prepared a reactive spell upon each of the party, who, as had happed with the Wizard, would receive a protective bubble of energy should they suddenly come under attack. Spells like this cost a great deal of a Clerics energy, especially as the damned thing had to be constantly channelled, whether or not it was triggered.

  Boldoff didn’t answer.

  ‘Bugger.’ Valeran said, he then gasped as a sea of writhing serpents appeared in front of him.