by Sean Gibson
I should note that Whiska was a Ratarian, a rather interesting race of beings primarily found in southern Verdusk. As a people, Ratarians tend toward belligerence, rudeness, and coarseness. Whiska made most of her people look like choir boys (as opposed to chorus boys, which are a very different thing, and more in line—at least in some respects—with Ratarians). She was, however, a wizard of not inconsiderable power, though her raw ability outstripped her training. When you’re an adventuring group just starting out, though, you take what you can get, and it never hurts to have someone along for the ride who both enjoys killing things and is good at it.
“I can’t imagine you’re still hungry, Borg,” said Nadinta as the innkeeper set bowls of stew before them, “so if you don’t want yours…”
“I still want…stew. I like…eating. Mmmm,” replied the rock giant. Borgunder Gunderbor was a particularly immense representative of his people. His skin was rock hard (obviously) and nearly impenetrable to most mundane weapons (and even some spells). Rock giants aren’t stupid, but they are slow, both in terms of thought process and speech pattern, which makes them frustrating conversational partners. Despite their size and strength, they aren’t usually skilled fighters; they’re much better at taking punches than throwing them, and Borg was less adept than most at dealing out pain. Still, they can absorb such absurd amounts of punishment that they’re indispensable adventuring companions, and most of them (Borg included) are very sweet. As a result, he was, generally speaking, singularly exempt from being the target of Whiska’s ire.
“Well, then, eat up,” said Nadi. “You too, Whiska—we need your head clear before we head out.”
“This tastes like deer feces,” replied Whiska, loudly slurping her stew.
“Sorry it’s not to your liking—it’s all they’ve got tonight,” said Nadi.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” replied Whiska, sopping up some stew with a piece of crusty bread. “I just said it tastes like deer feces.”
The companions finished their meal in silence, notwithstanding the unappetizing sounds Whiska made as she worked her way greedily through her bowl. After a few moments of quiet digestion punctuated by the unique gurglings of a Ratarian stomach, which sound a little bit like an elephant choking on a ham, Nadi cleared her throat and unrolled a parchment on the table, revealing a crisscrossing maze of tunnels. “I think I found a way in—a discreet way.”
The companions leaned forward, both to get a better look at the map and to hear Nadi, who lowered her voice as she continued. “On the south side of the city, there’s an entrance to the sewers that isn’t used by the sanitation crews anymore—partly because they don’t want to go into that neighborhood, and partly because there’s not much need. Apparently, the residents there tend to use pots, streets, and people they don’t like as toilets, which means there’s not much use for the sewer other than for storm runoff. Since it rarely storms in Velenia, well, that’s not a huge concern.” Nadinta tapped the map. “That’s our way in.”
“You’re sure no one will see us?” asked Rummy.
“I’m sure someone will,” replied Nadi, “but they’re unlikely to be the civic-minded type who would notify the authorities. They’re more likely to be the stabbing type who steals purses.”
“I’d like them try to steal something off of me,” cackled Whiska. She pointed to the still-smoking cockroach corpse and crooked her finger.
“I’d prefer we didn’t leave a trail of death behind us,” replied Nadi, shaking her head. “We need to do this stealthily. We’re not being paid by the body.”
“We’re not not being paid by the body though, right?” asked Whiska.
“I guess that’s technically accurate, but…just don’t kill anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary, all right?” said Nadi.
“Humans!” seethed Whiska.
“I’m an elf.”
“Whatever! All you pink hairless ones look the same to me.”
“Assuming we get into the sewers without incident,” interjected Rummy, “then what? Where do we start looking for the statue?”
“Dr. Phelonious believes it will be located somewhere in the sub-sewer of the eastern quadrant of the city,” said Nadi.
“Well, that narrows it down. Shouldn’t take us more than a year to thoroughly inspect all of those tunnels.” Rummy frowned. “I know the good doctor is paying us well, but not that well.” He raised a finger and smiled. “Maybe we can talk him into a retirement plan!”
“Relax—he gave me a magical amulet that will guide us to the statue.”
“How?”
“It’s supposed to glow brighter as we get closer. He said it’ll work like a charm.” Nadi shrugged. “I guess it is a charm, technically.”
“The food…doesn’t taste…like feces,” said Borg. He looked thoughtful. “Not deer feces…anyway.”
“Thanks for catching up, big guy,” said Rummy, patting him on the arm. “Well, then, I guess we have a plan. When do we head out?”
“Midnight,” replied Nadi. “So, no more drinking.” She looked at Whiska, who harrumphed loudly. “Go get some rest and we’ll meet back here in a couple of hours.”
It was just past midnight when the quartet of adventurers left the inn and made their way through the darkened streets of Velenia. Despite her size, big for an elf, Nadi moved gracefully and silently, and Rummy did a passable imitation of her stealth, though his rumbling stomach would have earned more than one disapproving glare from Nadi if not for the fact that Borg, on account of having feet the size of a mastiff but the coordination of a newborn deer, and Whiska, on account of not really caring all that much about remaining silent and being much more interested in muttering imprecations about everyone she would obliterate if they got in her way, drew all of her attention.
After a while, Rummy shrugged and stopped trying so hard to mask his footfalls, even going so far as to start to whistle. Nadi gritted her teeth and walked faster. Rummy increased his own pace to catch up to her. “Hey, don’t worry so much—no street thug in his right mind is going to jump a rock giant and a Ratarian.”
“Borg’s about as dangerous with a weapon in his hand as a fish is with a sword strapped to it.”
“Yeah, but no one knows that…all they see is nine feet of gray muscle. The only one who might possibly be interested in accosting us is a drunken lady with a weird rock fetish. Or a drunken gent with one—I don’t judge or discriminate. Though, I must say, you’d have to be a little, well, off to want to make love to that.” He nodded toward their granite-jawed (and bodied) companion.
“That may be true,” replied Nadi, “for now, at least. Things will be different when we get underground.”
“You think there are things underground that are going to want to want to make love to Borg? Gross.”
“I give up,” said Nadi, throwing her hands in the air. The group walked the rest of the way in relative silence, coming to a stop when they reached the alleyway in which they would, according to the map, find the seldom-used entrance to the sewers.
Borg, whose strength matched his physique, removed the iron cap that covered the entrance, and the four adventurers fell back as they were pummeled by the stench of the after-meal remnants of a thousand unhealthy pub-goers. After a few moments of gasping and wiping watery eyes, Borg spoke. “I think…this is…the sewer.”
“Or Nadi’s mom’s boudoir,” said Whiska.
“My mother is nine hundred years old,” replied Nadinta, nonplussed.
“Exactly!”
Nadi shook her head. “I don’t understand Ratarian humor.”
“Ratarians understand humor?” asked Rummy innocently.
“Bah! Hairless dragon food!” Whiska shook her head. “Come on.” She started to climb down into the hole, scrabbling down the ladder that led into the sewer.
“Age before beauty,” said Rummy, motioning to Nadi to go first.
She stuck her tongue out at her diminutive companion, but moved quickly down th
e ladder.
“You’re up, Borg. Or down, I guess,” said Rummy.
“I’m not…dragon food. Just…hairless.”
“She was trying to be funny, big guy.”
“Just correcting…factual errors.”
“Always good practice.” Rummy watched Borg descend and then followed suit, stepping gingerly off the ladder into an inch-deep slurry of human waste. (Sometimes it’s fun to be the adventurer; more often than not, though, it’s much, much more fun to be the storyteller, especially if you prefer to keep your shoes free of feces. Which I do.)
Nadi nodded at her companions and took the lead, walking straight for fifty yards before taking a right turn, continuing on for twenty-five more yards, and then hooking a left, following the instructions on the map. Given that everyone in the group had some form of night vision, no one suggested they light a torch, which was just as well; the accumulation of excremental gases in the sludge they trudged through would have exploded the moment a spark touched the ground. Contrary to their approach aboveground, they walked in silence through the sewers, focused on inhaling as little of the filth as possible (except for Whiska, who not only found the stench bearable, but wistfully noted that it reminded her of both a former lover and her mother’s cooking).
A few moments later, Nadi raised her hand, signaling her companions to halt. Rummy gave her a questioning look, but she just shook her head and pointed to her ear. She leaned forward, listening intently, while Rummy, whose hearing wasn’t nearly as acute, nervously gripped the handle of his mace, a weapon that looked too large for him and about as comfortable in his hand as a quill snake. Whiska’s ears perked up and she raised her staff. Borg scratched an itch that appeared to originate in his crotch, but ran all the way up to his lower abdomen before making its way back to his crotch.
Nadi’s brow furrowed for a brief second before her eyes shot wide open. “Come on!” she shouted, racing down the corridor and looking frantically left and right. The rest of the group followed, confused by her sudden urgency and struggling to keep up. Eventually, however, they found Nadi standing in the center of a large chamber. She had her sword out and a grim look on her face. “Circle up—Rummy on my left, Whiska on my right, Borg at my back.”
“What’s going on?” asked Rummy, dutifully trotting to his designated spot.
Borg followed suit, though Whiska took her time, pausing to extract something from her whiskers, sniff it, and then pop it into her mouth. “What?” she said in response to Nadi’s disgusted look. “Part of a grasshopper.”
“Never mind—just get in position. We’re about to have company.”
Whiska shrugged and took her place, and the four waited silently. Nothing happened. They waited another minute, tense and ready. Still, nothing happened.
“Um, Nadi?” asked Rummy.
“Quiet!”
“Sure, but, uh, any idea what we’re waiting for?”
Nadi relaxed slightly. “I thought I heard something.”
“Was it rats?” asked Whiska. “You think it was rats.”
“Well, Whiska,” said Rummy, “we are in a sewer, and they do tend to…”
“It wasn’t rats,” interjected Nadi. “At least, not just rats—though I think I heard some of those too.”
“You humans…always so afraid of the rats!” Whiska grunted. “As well you should be—a single rat could gnaw your leg off, given enough time.”
“I’m not a human!” yelled Nadi, instantly regretting it.
“Hairless pinkie. Hmmph.”
“Just be quiet! All of you!”
The four of them looked around, seeking the source of Nadi’s concern, but they still heard nothing.
“I…wasn’t making…noise,” said Borg a moment later.
Nadi ground her teeth and relaxed her stance. She was about to tell her companions that they should start moving again when all four of them heard a long, low growl. Nadi whirled around. “Tell me you all heard that, at least.”
Rummy nodded. “What was that?”
“It was…that giant…cat bush,” said Borg, pointing toward where they’d entered the chamber.
The creature they faced looked like a cross between a panther and a shrubbery, all sleek black muscles and twiggy, leaf-covered spikes. Or, something that looked like leaves, anyway—they were actually razor-sharp projectiles that could be hurled by the beast and regrown over the course of a few days. Not exactly the kind of thing you want to run into in a dark sewer tunnel, or anywhere else for that matter.
“Okay,” amended Rummy, “what is that?”
The creature shot a pair of leaves toward the group, which Borg stepped in front to deflect, the missiles bouncing off him and doing no apparent harm. Nadi, sword at the ready, circled around Borg and yelled, “I don’t know, but maybe let’s figure it out after it stops trying to kill us!” as she rushed the beast.
“Relax,” said Whiska, sifting through pouches at her belt for spell components, “it’s just a bushlinks.”
“Really looks more like a panther than a lynx to me,” said Rummy, looking doubtfully at his tiny mace and then at their foe.
“Links—with a ‘k,’ you mostly hairless twit!” Whiska yelled in concession to Rummy’s beard. “Subterranean scavengers, mostly. They’ve got sensitive eyes, so they really hate it when you do this.” Whiska muttered two syllables and then hurled a handful of powder toward the creature’s feet. The instant the powder landed, a bright light flashed through the cavern, searing the retinas of everyone unfortunate enough to be looking at it, which was everyone except for Whiska, who had closed her eyes. “Close your eyes!” she shouted.
Rummy, clawing at his eyes, screamed, “Why not just punch me in the face and then tell me to duck?! Instructions come first, Whiska—instructions come first!”
“Oops,” said the Ratarian sheepishly, offering a shrug no one could see.
Nadi, who had closed swiftly on the creature, lashed out blindly with her sword in the beast’s general direction, which was fairly easy to locate due to its furious yowls. She felt the tip of her sword strike home, so she readjusted the angle of her blade and thrust forward hard, feeling it sink deeply into something soft and yielding. The creature’s yowls turned to yelps and Nadi opened her stinging eyes, blinking back tears as she twisted her sword and pushed in deeper.
A moment later, the beast’s yelps became whimpers; shortly after that, it ceased making noise entirely.
“Well,” said Rummy, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly, “I guess that’s one way to take care of a bushlinks. Bushlink? What’s the singular form?”
“I’m more concerned with whether there are any others nearby,” replied Nadi, squinting as she looked around the chamber.
Whiska shook her head. “Bushlinks travel alone—they’re very territorial.”
“How do you know all this stuff about bushlinks?” asked Rummy, curious.
“Oh, I don’t know, because I’m not a moron? Because I’ve read a book? Because if you don’t know how to kill what wants to kill you, you end up getting killed?”
“All good reasons,” replied Rummy cheerily. “Shall we?” He motioned for Nadi to continue on.
Nadi blinked her eyes one more time and nodded, resuming her position at the point and leading her companions on as directed by the map.
Over the course of the next two hours, they killed two snakes (neither of which was poisonous); got peed on by a snizzard (a breed of lizard that likes to hang out in urban subterranean areas and is known for both its disproportionately large and prominent genitalia and exceedingly voluminous bladders—yes, bladders, plural); heard some goblins snickering but didn’t see them; trudged through excrement and waste that was, at times, hip-deep for a less-than-thrilled half-dwarf, half-halfling; and found treasure that amounted to three buttons, a broken wine glass, half a spool of string, a few rotten apple cores, and two copper pieces, both of which Whiska gleefully laid claim to despite the party’s preexisting agreement to sp
lit all treasure equally. (Two coppers, incidentally, would be just about sufficient to purchase the apples they found the remains of, so it wasn’t exactly a windfall for the wizard; it probably had more to do with Ratarians’ love of shiny things, which they defensively insisted had nothing to do with their rodent heritage.)
There’s a saying amongst adventurers: it’s not a quest until you’re covered in snizzard pee and have shit on your knees.
Finally, tired and smelling like a furyak’s breath in the morning, the brave heroes reached the chamber that the map indicated held the statue they sought. They burst in, weapons and spells at the ready, expecting some fierce guardian, only to find dust, cobwebs, and about one hundred and fifty statues of similar size and appearance.
“Dragon balls,” muttered Nadi as she looked around in a vain effort to identify the statue. “I was sort of hoping it would be the only thing in here, or have a note on it or something. Is that too much to ask after wading through feces for the past few hours?”
“Stop worrying, you shaven sow,” said Whiska, picking up the nearest statue and dropping it on the brick floor, where it exploded into pieces. “Magical items are tougher than most.” She picked up another statue and shattered it alongside its unfortunate predecessor. A third soon followed. “Whichever one doesn’t break is the one we’re looking for.”
“I can…help.” With one mighty sweep of his massive arm, Borg sent a dozen statues tumbling to the floor; every one shattered. He smiled. “Nope.” He moved to another shelf and cleared it with the same result.
“Are we really sure this is the best way to find it?” asked Rummy, wincing as Borg sent another ten statues to their doom.
“You got a better idea?” replied Whiska, smashing a statue.
“Well, no, but maybe you’ve got a detect magic spell, or something that might—”
“Found it!” Whiska sang out, scooping up a statue Borg had dropped that didn’t show the slightest crack or dent.
“Are you sure that’s it?” asked Nadi.
