by Robert Bevan
That was really the point of no return. Being buried alive was one thing, but he couldn't let the final witnesses to his existence know that the last thing he did before his death was to shit himself. At least not at his age.
His armor suddenly felt looser, then he felt like he was being hugged by a crowd of cacti as every pore on his skin forced out coarse grey hairs. Then all the pain stopped at once. The transformation was complete.
Dave held up his hands. His fingertips ended in sharp claws which seemed more effective than a shovel at tearing through this dirt. His forearms were slender and covered with grey fur. Even the leopard fur on his left arm was a shade greyer.
He felt slimmer and more agile, like he'd easily be able to parkour his way out of the hole, but first he'd need to get rid of this armor. Not only was it weighing him down, but it was wrong for his current body style, more of a hindrance than protection.
“Jesus Christ, Dave,” said Frank as Dave frantically worked the buckles on his armor. “Was that a fart? Or did you go full Cooper and – Shit!”
Frank was standing at the side of the hole again, gawking down at Dave. Fortunately, Dave's fingers were much nimbler now, and he'd already gotten his backplate and breastplate unbuckled.
“Rhonda!” cried Frank. “Tony the –”
Dave hurled his breastplate at Frank, striking him in the forehead. There was no going back now. He slipped out of the rest of his armor and tore away the padding and shit-caked undergarments, freeing a tail he suddenly realized he had. After using some of the scraps to wipe his ratperson ass clean, he tossed the shovel out of the hole so that he wouldn't be completely unarmed. Then he leaped at a wall and used his right foot to shove his way up to the opposite side of the hole, where he easily grabbed hold of the edge and pulled himself out.
Frank lay unconscious, bleeding from the forehead. Dave nodded, self-satisfied with such a badass move. He picked up the shovel and thought about what to do with Frank. Squeezing the shovel handle, he thought about how easy it would be to give him a swift and painless death right now. That would be the practical option, especially since Rhonda and Tony the Elf might show up at any moment.
If it were Rhonda or Tony the Elf, he would have gone for the quick death. But he was sure Frank was the mastermind behind the idea to bury him alive. He needed to see Frank suffer.
Dave dropped to his knees next to Frank, licked the bleeding wound on his forehead, then spat in his mouth.
“NO!” cried Tony the Elf, lunging at Dave with a machete.
Dave barely had time to register what was happening. He instinctively raised his right arm to block the attack.
As he fell backwards, he saw that the blade came away a little bloodied, and there was a little bit of blood on his forearm which he could only presume was his own, but there was no actual wound. The strike had smarted a bit at the moment of contact, but it felt fine now, as if Tony the Elf had attacked him with a plastic prop machete.
Then he remembered. Lycanthropes got a pretty steep Damage Reduction from attacks by anything except silver or –
“Magic Missile!” said Rhonda. Two golden bolts of magical energy flew out from her palms and struck Dave on the right side of his chest and on his left shoulder. Those hurt like sons of bitches, and remained hurting. He received no Damage Reduction from magical attacks.
At least the jig was up. No more pretense about it. They were actively trying to murder him now.
“Whoa!” said Tony the Elf, holding up his left hand at Rhonda and his machete-wielding right hand at Dave. “Everybody calm the fuck down.”
Dave smiled to himself. It was pretty rich of Tony the Elf to tell everyone to calm down right after he'd attacked Dave with a fucking machete. Now that he knew that his machete was about as effective as his dick in his hand, he was suddenly the fucking Prince of Peace.
He could probably take them both down right now without breaking a sweat. After all, there were only so many Magic Missile spells Rhonda could have memorized, and Tony the Elf wasn't armed with any weapons that could hurt him. Still, they might overpower him, tie him up, toss him back in the hole and get back to the task of burying him alive. All the Damage Reduction in the world wouldn't save him from suffocation.
Now wasn't the time to fight. Now was the time to escape, let his body heal, and figure out how to get rid of his affliction. Anyway, Frank might have a little surprise in store for them tonight. Hell, it might even work out that Dave could pin Murkwort on Frank if anyone asked.
“Everybody be cool,” Tony the Elf continued, as if he had any control whatsoever of this situation. “Dave, just back away from Frank, and we can all talk this out.”
Dave considered standing there defiantly, challenging Tony the Elf to pull some sort of consequence out of his ass for not obeying. But backing away from Frank, as it turned out, would facilitate Dave's escape. At present, Tony the Elf, Rhonda, and the hole had him kind of surrounded. He could probably jump over the hole with no problem, but falling into it with both of them right there to do a rush burial wasn't a risk he was keen to take. A couple of steps back away from Frank (and Rhonda and Tony the Elf) would give him the path he needed to make a break for it.
Tony the Elf glared at Dave, like he was daring him to bend down and pick up the shovel as he backed away from them.
“Just go away and never come back,” said Tony the Elf. “If we see you here again, we'll be prepared.”
Those were some mighty tough words to essentially convey that they weren't currently prepared. Still, Dave chose not to pick up the shovel. The reward wasn't worth the risk of being tackled and subdued.
When he had a clear path, he bolted away as fast as he could, which was considerably faster than his normal dwarf running speed. The air rushing past his fur-covered face at that speed was exhilarating. That is, until he noticed Cardinian NPCs staring at him. Many cowered away, but some drew weapons and stepped in front of their loved ones.
“Shit,” Dave muttered to himself. Being a wererat was apparently frowned upon in the city. If any Kingsguard happened by right now, he might be murdered or arrested on sight. He had to find somewhere to hide and change back into a dwarf. But even then he'd be naked, which could also lead to him being murdered or arrested on sight. Come to think of it, maybe these people weren't down on him for being a wererat after all. Maybe it was the fact that he was currently naked. He looked down and found that, even in hybrid form his junk was dangling between his legs. His dick was smaller, paler, and more slender than usual, but there was no mistaking it for being anything other than a dick.
He put his hands over it and tried to explain himself, but all that came out of his mouth were horrifyingly shrill shrieks. His tongue, teeth, and the shape of his mouth made normal speech impossible.
“How dare you reveal yourself among the decent people of this city!” said a man wielding a normal-looking shortsword. This did little to clear the issue as to whether they were upset that Dave was a wererat or that he was naked, or which part of a possible combination of the two was the greater offense.
“Get out of here!” cried a half-elven woman. “Go back to the sewers where your kind belongs!” At least she was more straightforward, though Dave was a little surprised at what seemed like kind of a racist thing to say, especially coming from a hybrid of sorts such as herself.
An older human woman thrust her fists down by her side. “Someone fetch the Kingsguard!”
“No!” said the man with the shortsword. “There isn't time. It's better to rid the world of this monster while we have the opportunity. Look there, it's already hurt.”
The young woman next to him pulled on his sleeve. “They can't be harmed with normal weapons!”
“Nonsense. That's just what they want you to believe.” He pulled his arm free and started advancing toward Dave. Slowly at first, then more confidently as others were pressured to join him, lest they look like cowards.
Half a dozen men converged on him armed with s
words or daggers, except for one guy who was wielding an iron pipe. Damage Reduction wasn't the same as complete immunity. Getting the shit beat out of him by an angry mob with mundane weapons might be an even slower and more painful way to go than being buried alive.
Dave decided to take the racist half-elf's advice and seek safety in the sewer. He fled toward one of the exposed sewer tunnels, but hesitated when he came upon a pile of dead bodies. They looked like they'd been butchered to death by some deranged axe murderer. Many of them were missing arms and legs. And while there were also a bunch of severed limbs lying around, they didn't appear to match the human bodies that were missing the limbs. The separated limbs were more slender, and covered with fur. Dave wouldn't have known what they belonged to if he didn't currently have a full set of them.
Suddenly the sewer didn't seem like the safe haven for wererats the woman had suggested it was. But the angry mob was still coming for him, and it was a chance he had to take.
Chapter 33
Stacy's insides were still reeling from the pheasant, but she was confident that she'd further fertilized the Fertile Desert as much as she was going to for now. It felt good to be in her own clothes again, especially since the robe she'd borrowed from Darton was now torn into scraps, with about a quarter of it soiled and littering the desert floor. It wasn't her fault he didn't have toilet paper available.
She was folding the remaining scraps and stuffing them into her pockets for later use when a sharp knock on the door startled her.
“Give me a second,” she said. “I'm almost finished.”
“Sorry,” said Julian. “You know I wouldn't normally bother you in the bathroom. I just wanted to make sure you understood the gravity of the situation. We're in the hotel room of a man who just got arrested. The cops, or constables, or whatever they're called here, could be looking for us right now. This room has to be pretty high up on the list of places they'll search for us.”
“I get it. I'll be right out.”
“I know you're not feeling great, but we could find another bathroom. If you could just pinch off what you've –”
Stacy swung the door open, a little disappointed that it missed Julian, who had wisely decided to badger her in the bathroom from slightly to the side of the doorway. But his face looked so embarrassed and remorseful, not to mention kind of goofy now that he was back in that ridiculous serape, that she cut him off before he could apologize any more.
“It's cool. Let's get the hell out of –” Again, she was startled by a knock on the door. Only this time it was more than a mere annoyance, as it was the door leading out to the hallway, and it was clearly not Julian doing the knocking this time.
“They're here!” Julian whispered frantically. “What do we do?”
“Shut up for a second. Let me think.” The seeds of an incredibly stupid idea started to take root in Stacy's head. “Do you have one of those Web spells prepared?”
“I have second level spells available. I could use up one of my – Yes.”
“Follow me into the bedroom and take off your serape.”
“Jesus, Stacy,” said Julian. “Can you turn it off for a few minutes at least? We're in some serious shit!”
Stacy took a deep breath as she dragged Julian by the arm into the bedroom. “I understand that, and I'm trying to get us out of it. I need your serape.” She spoke in a deliberately patient tone, as she realized that she'd kind of walked right into that one. But honestly, how the hell did he imagine the Web spell was supposed to have factored into whatever pre-arrest quickie she'd supposedly had in mind?
“Okay, sorry,” said Julian, taking off his serape. “I'm just kind of freaked out right now, and I'm glad to hear you've got a plan.”
Stacy pulled the duvet off the bed and tossed it aside. “You might not be so glad when you find out what it is.”
“What is it?”
“I'll tell you later. Right now, I need you to stall whoever it is at the door. Use your Diplomacy skill, but maybe try to barricade the door with furniture if you can do so without sounding like you're doing so. I'm going to need a little time.”
“Right.” Julian ran out of the room. “Just a minute! I'll be right there.”
Stacy removed the thin sheets from the bed. Lightweight, durable, and very large. Just what she needed. With the dagger she kept concealed in her boot, she cut the fabric into the shapes she needed, then took them outside to the back balcony and started sawing away at the long bamboo stalks in the garden.
“I'm just lacing up my pantaloons!” said Julian as he tiptoed to the door carrying a single chair.
Stacy considered stripping the leaves off the bamboo stalks to minimize drag and maximize gliding distance. But the leaves might provide more surface area for the Web to cling to, thereby maximizing the odds of this thing working at all, and minimizing the chance of a sooner and more abrupt death. Also factoring into her decision was the time it would take to strip off the leaves. There was only so long Julian could keep up the getting dressed shtick. And depending on the severity of the crimes Darton was allegedly mixed up in, there were only so many fucks the authorities were going to give about whether the alleged accomplices they were hunting down were dressed or not.
After throwing handfuls of loose dirt all over the patio bricks until she was satisfied, Stacy spread Julian's serape flat on the dirt.
“What are you doing?” asked Julian, taking a curious peek at her handiwork. “I just had that cleaned!”
Whoever was at the door knocked again, this time louder and more rapidly.
“Keep stalling!” said Stacy.
Julian went back inside. “I'm coming! You just caught me at the worst possible time. I was in the bath, you see...”
Stacy laid the two large sections of bedsheet fabric perpendicular to Juilan's serape to form an almost unrecognizably thick T shape. Or perhaps a snow angel was a more appropriate description. Then she laid the bamboo framework down along the edges of the white bedsheet wings. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it would have to do.
“Julian!” she said as she lay between the wings, spreading her arms out and gripping the bamboo stalks framing the bottom of them, her legs lying along either side of the serape.
Julian appeared in the patio archway. “What is this? What are you doing?”
“I don't want you to take this the wrong way,” said Stacy. “But I need you to lie on your back so that I can lay my head in your crotch.”
“What?”
“Hurry up! Think of it like you're sitting on my shoulders, except we're lying down.”
“Why are we doing this?”
Stacy sighed. “Is it not completely obvious?”
“No,” said Julian. “It's not in the least little bit obvious.” Still, he followed her instructions and lay on his back scooting toward her until she could lower her head between his legs.
Stacy grabbed Julian's ankles and repositioned them so that they were crossed over her chest.
“Now stretch your arms out as far as you can to your sides and grab hold of those bamboo stalks.
“Okay,” said Julian, grabbing the stalks along what would soon be the front of the wings. “Now what?”
“Now cast your Web spell, silly.”
“On what?”
“On us!” said Stacy. “On this whole thing!”
“Maybe if I had a better idea of what we were trying to accomplish, I could –”
A small clatter of wood caused Stacy to jerk her head up. The room door was open a crack, blocked for now by Julian's meager efforts to barricade it, but that wouldn't last long.
“NOW!” said Stacy, bringing her head back down quickly.
“Oomph!”
Stacy realized she may have come down a bit hard on Julian's testicles. “Sorry. Now please cast the spell.”
Julian shifted his legs and ass around a bit, then said, “Web!”
The light dimmed as Stacy's vision filled with white sticky strands of magical adhesive.
Fortunately, she could still make out basic shapes well enough to do what she needed to do.
“Keep your legs tight around me,” she said.
Julian's thighs squeezed her head.
“Did I do it right?” he asked. “I mean with the Web. Is this the effect you had in mind?”
“We'll soon see. Remember to keep your arms spread wide.” Stacy sat up slowly, partly due to the weight of Julian on her shoulders, but mostly to make sure her contraption stayed together.
The loose dirt helped the web peel easily away from the brick patio floor, just as she'd hoped it would.
Standing up proved tricky with both of her legs glued to the serape, but her high Strength and Dexterity scores came through for her.
“Be careful,” said Julian nervously. “I can't see very well, and we're close to the edge of the – Stacy! What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?”
Stacy waddled to the edge, squatted, then jumped onto the railing. “No, I'm awesome!” She leaned forward.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” cried Julian as Stacy's head threatened to burst like a watermelon between his legs.
Stacy felt a rush of sensations all at once. There was the head-squeezing of course, the sudden rush of warm desert wind rushing up due to their free fall, the sudden rush of warmth on the back of her neck from –
“Are you peeing on me?” she shouted.
“I'm sorry!”
Stacy realized that the wind was still rushing straight upward, meaning that they hadn't yet leveled out. She also became aware that her arms were being jerked up and down.
“Stop flapping! This is a glider!” She would have liked to be controlling the front of the wings, but she needed her leg strength to work the tail.
Spreading and straightening her legs, Stacy pointed her toes toward the sky, then brought her arms down slightly to dip the backs of the wings.
“Pull your tips up!” she instructed Julian.
