“I don’t know man. I thought I heard something back here. Didn’t you?”
Imp number two gave a heavy sigh. “I guess. But I don’t see any-”
“Hey! What’s that?”
“It looks like an axe.”
“Maybe the dwarf’s?”
“I don’t really think that was a dwarf. It looked more like a bearded hobbit that went emo.”
“That is basically how I imagine a dwarf would look.”
“Well, maybe...”
“Look, I don’t really care. That’s an axe, and that looks like a hole in the pissing floor.”
“Oh shit!”
“Wait. You don’t think...”
“I honestly don’t wanna know. If those NPCs see this, then they are going to force us to search that hole.”
“That’s what she-”
“Oh, can it! They might even send us up to level five to give you-know-who a report. I say we keep the axe, and forget about this whole thing.”
“Less work, no piss. Works for me.”
“How long you think it’ll take to fix the cafeteria? I’m starving.”
Gitch strained his ears to hear anything after that, but there was only silence. The two imp-players must have continued their conversation outside the destroyed bathroom. That was okay, he had heard enough. He could care less about their construction turn-around times, but he had caught a few useful nuggets of information. The rakatu’s name was Zargath, and he was on level five, which was ‘up’. Assuming that he was level one, that was a long friggin way to travel by himself. The first floor had been bad enough, how was he supposed to get through four more?
As he looked down his pipe, he recalled a memory from years ago. He splurged and bought Tommy this old movie. There was a young kid, his name was Barry or something, and he was sent to this big magic castle-turned-school. The problem, besides loads of adolescent drama, was a racist killer snake roaming around the castle. The good guys eventually figured out that the giant snake had been in the pipes all along. The thing was able to move around wherever it wanted.
That snake might have been on to something! Not about killing people or the racism, that was bad, actually kind of evil, but the sneaking part was genius! Gitch knew it would suck, but it beat going topside and fighting hordes of enemies by himself.
For once, he was glad for all the super-clogs he had dealt with in his time as a maintenance worker. They were beyond disgusting, but the untold hours spent fixing those ancient pipes gave him an intricate understanding of plumbing. Assuming the level of detail in this world continued, he might just be able to navigate his way up to the boss in record time! Unfortunately, he didn’t think Guinness would send a representative to witness and record his gross accomplishment. With a sigh, Gitch waded upstream, grimacing deeper with every step.
Gitch stuck close to the wall where the current was weakest and kept his wings tucked back. He would have given all his silver to be able to fly above the filth, but there was simply no room. He had to take a break every so often to regenerate his stamina. He wouldn’t call himself a wimp, but he wasn’t used to so much walking, especially against current. Since his initial encounter with Dwik, he had made it a point to fly as much as he could. Now Gitch was feeling the burn.
Gitch cast Trilit at each stop. He would lob a ball as far as he could in either direction for some enhanced visibility. He held onto the third, just in case something with large teeth leapt out at him. There very well might be midget-gaters roaming the pipes, or maybe something much worse. He nearly fell over backwards when he tossed a ball of light and it stuck to something large not four feet away.
It was a wall. A simple wall, with no teeth, claws, or murderous intent. Just a simple, ugly wall of stone. A steady stream of water spilled out of a small hole near the top, but otherwise, it was a dead end. Gitch looked around for another connecting line, but to no avail. This section of the pipe was wider and deeper. He could freely stand and even stretch his wings a bit, but there was no visible exit along any of the three walls.
It didn’t make any sense! Turning around was no good, the current was definitely heading out to the lake. There also would have been no reason for each floor to run separate lines out; not when gravity was at work, and the pipes could just flow into each other.
On a hunch, he took one of his balls and chucked it into the air above his head. It sailed for a good two feet, before colliding with the roof. Gitch looked up at it, a smile stretching his face. That was no roof! He was staring at the bottom of a flap for the sewage backflow valve. It’s what kept the floors above from flooding in case the lake back-flowed into the bottom level. They typically only opened from the other side, but he was guessing the installers weren’t planning on him strolling up with opposable thumbs.
With a flap of his mana-infused wings, he flew up to look for anything that might give him leverage. After just a few seconds of careful inspection, he spotted a small lip near one edge. It wasn’t much, but he gripped it with both hands and pulled down as hard as he could.
YOU HAVE SUFFERED 14 PHYSICAL DAMAGE!
“OWW!” Gitch yelped. The flap swung down, hitting him right in his noggin. The impact sent him down, plunging headfirst into the disgusting ‘water’ below. The dumb flap swung out much easier than he had assumed, but he still felt like he got hit in the head with a manhole cover. By the time he recovered, the flap had already closed back up. He wiped some of the sludge off his face and flew up to try again. He found the lip again, this time easing it open. He swung around so that his head was towards the floor and flew backwards into the hole. Once he was sure his head had made it through, he let go. He righted himself and stared down his new pipe. “One down.”
He stepped away from the flap and saw he was in some sort of holding tank. Once the water from this level reached a certain threshold, it would dump through the opening to the pipe below. He flew up to where the second-floor pipe joined the tank and touched down into knee-high filth. He waded down the long pipe, this time taking fewer breaks to recover his stamina. The reduced water level made it that much easier to keep going. He came to the end of the line sometime later. It was impossible to tell how long, but he did puke twice. He supposed that could be a type of measurement. “A ‘two-puke’ long pipe,” he said aloud. It was almost funny, but he didn’t laugh. This was not really a place for laughter. Or fairies.
He repeated the process to move to the next level, and then the one after that. The fifth and final floor’s pipe turned out to be only zero pukes long, not that it was any shorter. His stomach was completely empty, and the water was only half an inch high. It was enough to cover his ankles, but much more manageable than the lower levels. He didn’t even need to stop and take a break, though he did move slowly so he could carefully scan either wall.
He finally spotted what he was looking for along the left side of the pipe. It was a Gitch-sized offshoot, just like the one he had crawled out of on the first floor. He crawled into the hole, ready beyond belief to catch a whiff of clean air. He wriggled his way up, this time bypassing the metal drain. There was no way he would be able to open it, and knowing his luck, any attempt would probably be loud enough to bring the big bad Zargath down on him. He was no trained soldier, but even he knew that he was not in an ideal fighting position.
He kept crawling until he came to the doody hole. Gitch was eternally grateful that it was currently unoccupied. He pulled himself out, careful not to hit his head on the bench. As soon as he was free, he launched himself into the air and inhaled deeply. Just being able to breath the musty, slightly sulfuric, cave air felt like a dream come true. Anything was better than the crap he just went through.
Chapter 28
After taking a moment to collect himself, he flew over to the outer door. He cracked it just a smidge, and slowly peeked his head out. There were no tables, no spoiling food, and most importantly, no imps on the other side. Instead of being attached to another cafeteria-type room, this privy emptied out into
the middle of a large hall. To his left was a set of stairs that led down to the lower levels. To his right was a 15-foot-tall skull. It was dark, ominous, and filled Gitch with trepidation. Each eye socket held a blue flame, and its mouth was upturned in an evil grin. The front two teeth had been knocked out, and it was through this gap that Gitch could see a room beyond.
“That is one creepy friggin door,” Gitch whispered to himself. “It’s no wonder the imps dreaded coming up here.”
Something told him that this skull was not mere decoration, but had once upon a time actually belonged to some monstrous creature. He slowly flew towards the skull-door, landing a few feet in front of its jutting chin. He cast a look up, only to see both flaming eyes staring back down at him. Appearing to stare, Gitch thought with a gulp, not actually staring. Surely the dead thing was, ya know, dead. Psyching himself up, he sprinted into the mouth, not pausing to wait for the deadhead to get a taste for fairy. He didn’t stop until he dove through a large hole in the back where it would have been connected to the spinal cord.
He stood up quickly, not bothering to shake off the dust and muck that clung to his body. He was far past the point of no return. Nothing but the cleansing baths of Fae-thil could hope to cleanse him of his accumulated filth. Foregoing his care of personal hygiene for the time being, he examined his new surroundings.
He stood at the edge of a pit that easily filled 90% of the giant cavern. The drop down had to have been six stories, easy, and ended not with a rocky floor, but a liquid darkness. Small bubbles popped along its surface, and there was a constant sizzling noise reverberating around the chamber. He had found the portal.
There was a platform in the center of the pit, supported only by a stone bridge that jutted out from the ledge Gitch stood upon. A beam of black energy poured out from the bottom of the platform, extending all the way to the portal below. On the platform stood three figures. One was standing in the center of a small glowing circle of purple glyphs. His back was turned to Gitch, so the only features he could make out were a pair of horns sticking out of his head.
The second figure kept disappearing in and out of view. A heavy mist surrounded most of its body, but Gitch thought it looked humanoid. He was standing closest to a dark pedestal that held a snowy-white orb. The figure pointed a bony finger at Gitch and whispered something to the third and final creature left on the platform.
This creature, easily nine feet tall, began slowly walking towards him. It had the face of a lion, but with just a faint outline of a crimson mane. A long tail swung behind him, and the thickest muscles Gitch had ever seen bulged from its massive body. He wore a set of thick leather armor, but held no discernible weapon within its giant paws. Somehow that concerned him even more.
It took the creature only a few strides to reach the end of the bridge. He stared at Gitch with icy-blue eyes and smiled at him, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth. He flexed his arms, and Gitch could hear the strain of the leather pulling at the seams. Much to his surprise, the lion-man made no attempt to speak. Evil bosses always delivered a speech before battle. It was basically their M.O.
Instead, he pounced with the grace of a cat, landing nearly on top of the surprised fairy. Gitch thought lion-man would be some bumbling, clumsy oaf. Full of muscle, but next to no agility. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The giant feline reigned down a furry of swipes with his massive paws. Gitch was able to dodge most of the attacks, but one of the fully extended claws did catch him on the side of the leg.
YOU HAVE SUFFERED 74 PHYSICAL DAMAGE!
With only 87 points of health remaining, he knew he wouldn’t survive many more attacks like that. Gitch did the only sensible thing he could think of. He flew directly over the pit, as far from Schwarze-lion as he could before taking a moment to assess the situation.
Neither of the other two figures made a move on him, so for now, Mufasa was his main concern. He hadn’t used any weapons, so perhaps he was some kind of monk? If that was the case, he could just fly a little closer and pound him with some good old-fashioned fairy magic. It was a good plan, and all those in favor agreed.
Gitch moved forward, ready to execute his awesomeness. He didn’t learn the dive bombing skill for nothing, after all. When he was just 3 yards out, he cast wing blast, hoping to disorient him a bit before swooping in. Gitch felt his wings extend as a large burst of air rushed past his head. He smiled as he readied his next spell.
YOU HAVE SUFFERED 49 PHYSICAL DAMAGE!
“FUUUUUUUUUU-OWW!” Gitch shouted. A loud crack echoed around the chamber, and he looked down to see a large gash in his belly.
“Crap bag!” Gitch said, as he looked back up to see lion-man holding a long-braided whip. How had he missed that?
The big guy had already pulled his arm back for another strike but was sent staggering back by the force of the Fae spell. His blue eyes flickered and a confused look crossed his face. In a guttural voice, he spoke for the first time. “Fairy?”
He sounded uncertain, but shook his head and cracked his whip once more. Gitch just dodged the attack and quickly retreated back out of reach.
“Alright, so the stupid part of my brain came up with that plan. Smarty, it’s time for you to step up. What do we know?” he asked himself. The creature was either an idiot, or being controlled by one of the figures on the platform. Gitch wasn’t sure which was more likely, but the answer could very well mean the difference between life and death for the fairy race. Fortunately, he had a way to find out... as long as he could avoid the sudden onset of whiplash.
Gitch flew back towards the bridge, zigging and zagging at random. The whip cracked again and again, but Gitch was able to evade each attack. When he was 10 yards out, Gitch shouted, “Tribux!” He threw one ball of light at the whip-cracker, but it came up short, soaring under the bridge and through the portal far below. Cursing his luck, he flew even closer, turning his body so that he was standing upright. He stopped, lined up his shot, and channeled his inner Kershaw.
The lion-man smiled at seeing the fairy stall in the air. He didn’t even try to dodge the pitched light, as he brought the whip around to deliver the final blow. Gitch saw the tiny ball smack his target, center-mass. The lion-man fell over backwards, head hanging off the backside of the bridge. He was completely unconscious.
Gitch would have jumped for joy, but he was already in the air. That would have been a little redundant. His spell hadn’t damaged the beast at all! The only reason he would have been knocked unconscious, and not taken damage, was if he was of a positive alignment! It stood to reason that positive aligned creatures, like himself, would be friendly towards one another, or at least not direct enemies. If that was true, then lion-man was probably bewitched, and he already had an idea for how to break the spell. Gitch landed on the bridge next to the slumbering creature and laid his hands on him.
Mana Influx Target: Croken
Mana Received: 10 points
Chance of Spontaneous Combustion: 25%
Options Available to Yazzik Race:
Flight (1 hour)-2450 points
Heal-296 points per wound
Hasten-980 points
Options Available Due to Active Effects on Target:
Dispel Enchantment: 98 points
Croken? Croken?!? This-he searched for the race once more-yazzik was his brother, Tommy! He found him!
He had a couple dozen questions for him, but they would have to wait. The number one reason being he was still unconscious. Two, the ghost-man was now slowly gliding toward them. Gitch hurriedly directed another 88 points of mana into his hulk of a brother, hoping he wouldn’t explode before they had a chance to speak. Perhaps Tommy’s luck was better than his? It could hardly be less. The large body flashed pink, but soon returned to its normal golden-brown. Gitch prayed it worked, but he wouldn’t know for sure until Croken woke.
The second figure stepped onto the bridge, drawing close enough for Gitch to see that he was definitely not a ghost. Two large ears protru
ded from its ashen head, and its long snout was pierced with a small bone. It carried a dark staff with a blue flame issuing out from its top, which appeared to be the source of both the surrounding mists and possibly the enchantment behind Croken’s aggressive behavior. It wore black robes and a crimson pendant on an iron chain, and unfortunately for Gitch, a red dot hung over his head. When it spoke, it was with the cold, distant voice of the damned.
“You are not welcome here, fairy. You and your kind have imposed on this forest long enough. Your blood will water the trees of death, and our beasts will feast on the flesh of the Fae! You can see for yourself what happens to those that stand in the way of the mighty Zargath!” He pointed a bony finger at Gitch’s catatonic brother. “I think I might save you though. Having a fairy pet will be… amusing, to say the least.”
The sight of the rakatu terrified him to be sure, and his speech didn’t fill him with the warm and fuzzies, but just knowing that Tommy was here gave him all the strength he could hope to ask for.
“Yeah, not gonna happen. There’s only room for one up in here,” Gitch said, tapping his temple.
“Oh, I agree!” he said with a devilish look on his face. It took Gitch several seconds to realize something was wrong. He hadn’t lost any more health and his stamina was replenishing nicely, but his mana bar was dropping like him on his first flying lesson. He had landed on the bridge with nearly 70% mana, and even with dumping 98 points into Croken, he should have around 50% remaining. He was now at 35% and dropping! Gitch looked up in astonishment.
“I can see by the look on your face that you are beginning to understand the situation. Even the strongest of fairies would not be able to last more than five minutes. I don’t think you will make two.”
He was right. By the time that depressing little speech was over, his mana was down another 4%. He didn’t dare fly away. It would cost even more mana, and there was no way of telling how far this debuff reached. Also, he couldn’t just leave his brother. He kicked Croken as hard as could but too little effect. He hopped on his massive chest, and jumped up and down repeatedly, but he hardly stirred. Croken was just as hard to wake as Tommy had been on Earth. He was on his own again, go figure.
Manifest Page 37
