“Yeah,” Bern Sandros affirmed. “That’s definitely better than a pole or a stick. And when he’s done with that, I can go forward and check the lids for any sorts of wires, pressure springs, latches, yadda yadda that might cause some chaos. I’m well-trained in finding such things.”
“Sounds great. I’m brilliant. Let’s do it,” stated Tracy. With a few arcane gestures, and a bit of unnecessary hopping, a dainty hand made of blue and white crackling energy came to focus, not appearing so much as just suddenly being noticed. Tracy Riley gave a little grunt, and it began to move forward.
“Bern keep looking about, and when you feel confident the place has been sufficiently probed, go on in and check it more precisely for traps. Then let’s tear those sarcophagi open.”
The rest laughed at his remark.
Tracy grinned.
“Shut it or I’ll sufficiently probe you.”
They all shut up about it, though not without a snicker or two.
Carric’s brows furrowed, and he frowned.
“Should we worry about the morality of doing this?”
“No, Carric. The slavery our ancestors endured over the millennia of Gharagian Goblin rule entitles us to anything entombed here,” resolved Bern, his face unreadable but his tone well understood.
Plus, we’re maybe talking mad coins and gems, the human thought to himself. No way some squirrelly nonsense is gonna get in the way of all this.
The others murmured assent unaccompanied by any pretense of a debate. Carric nodded without hesitation and the operation began in earnest.
Chapter 13: Operation Corpse Slap
Flipping his hands about in searching, arcane maneuvers, Tracy focused intently as his spectral mage hand moved about in an awkward fashion, its abilities now a part of his own sinewy body. The hand staggered in its manipulations, not unlike the victim of partial paralysis, but it succeeded in pushing this and prodding that. It swept over the chamber in a strategic way, slow and methodical. The storm wasn’t letting up any time soon, and they were all alive with youthful exuberance and energy at the powerful novelty and excitement of their first dungeon dive. Soon enough, though, Bern stopped him.
“Looks alright to me. I’m going to head in and check it out at the source.”
Bern padded forward lightly with balance and dexterity, making sure to keep his weight well-spread and his senses sharp in case of trapped tiles or hidden pits. His feet moved daintily, and often on tiptoe. He was a ballet natural who had, due to his own life growing up on the streets, found a more insidious calling. But not having had the money to attend such schools did not mean the inability to appreciate them. The street urchin had snuck into many concerts. The flowered white dresses, and the muscular, catlike men, had impressed upon him the beauty and power of grace.
He slipped up to the first sarcophagus without even the whisper of sound, moving in poetic arcs and weaves of the body to defy the very physics of worldly acoustics. With care, he made his way to the beautiful carving upon its lid, standing up toe to head and facing them with what one might imagine to be a stern and disapproving, yet lascivious, look.
Nothing happening, Bern Sandros thought with relief.
He looked back to the party with a smile, letting them know that everything was fine. Then he moved to the second. Nimble fingers felt about the carved figures, and then the lid of the thing. He traced the groove with intense concentration, close and careful fingers riding it through its entirety.
Nothing here either, the rogue thought. The street urchin inside him almost cried at how easy it all was.
The tremendous width of that well-satisfied second grin threatened the very borders of his face and, perhaps, even extended into a fourth dimension. He swaggered a bit as he made his departure from the room.
“Yenrab, your go, mate,” he quipped in a sarcastic air.
Yenrab was dexterous but not exactly graceful. More of a dodger and a brawler, he simply lumbered up to one sarcophagus, then the other, tearing the heavy stone tops off of them and tossing them disdainfully into the corner.
Tracy whistled from the door.
“Skeletons.”
“I bet they’re magical and that they are going to attack,” blurted Carric in an intense and rapid fashion. “In the ballads, they always do.”
“Yenrab, get back here. Guys, I have an idea!” Tracy said, raising his hands up in a little dance of self-approved victory. Everyone looked at him in an inquisitive fashion.
Yenrab lumbered back to the rest, taking an almost motherly position in front of them all as he used his muscular bulk to shield the others from what might come. They all gazed over the half-completed task before them, waiting for the dead to rise and do battle. If a cricket resided here, this would be the time at which it would have decided to play its songs.
Tracy sighed, and the others followed his lead.
“Here is what I am thinking. I’m going to bring my mage hand back, and I am just going to slap the crap out of those skeletons until they get tired of the mess and come get us.”
“Heck yeah!” enthused Bern in great cheer.
Images of a comedy performance flitted through his head, in which dancers got conked and slapped to great applause and laughter. The man always good for a bit of a show.
“What if they aren’t enchanted?” Carric hesitated.
Bern paused, rolling the data through his brain as if he were the member of some sort of forum that tasted and tested such information before coming to a consensus.
Tracy, though, looked a bit malevolent as he laughed.
“Then I guess we’ll be getting in a few retaliatory lumps for our ancestors, eh?”
They all chuckled a bit at that as the sorcerer brought back his ethereal extension, which rotated and then gave the skeletons the middle finger.
“Yeah. Enchanted or not enchanted, they deserve it I guess,” Carric agreed, trailing off a bit at the end
“Heck yeah, they do,” Tracy chimed in confidently as he prepped for his next bout of cantrip magic, the sort of sorcery that used little energy and could be used quite continuously in the right conditions.
Whispering the hand out to where the skeletons rested, it probed at the centuries-old bones, first slapping the figures about their skulls and then proceeding to pull them out, one rusty sounding snap at a time, and throw them down upon the ground in disdain. After pulling out this bone and that, to no reaction from the skeletons, the party looked at one another in glee and then proceeded to move back into the chamber. Yenrab grabbed up one in a hearty fashion, swinging it into the wall and absolutely shattering it, to gleeful laughter and applause. Bern smacked the skull off the other with an awesome sidekick, pounding it off of the opposing wall in a show of athletic mastery. Carric, in turn, jumped onto its rib cage, which itself gave way with a crack and a collapse. Tracy, not absolutely sure how to show his anger and disdain in this new and foreign culture, humored himself by running a bony finger about the room and through the air, putting it through this inappropriate place or that. The craziness of youth, encapsulated within the world of magic and mayhem about them, found a bit of blissful paradise within that chamber that hour, and long would they all remember it.
***
When their primal excitement finally exhausted, the young adventurers stopped for a breather and reflected upon the facts of the place. They were now free to probe the depths of the chamber. Each peeked over the lip of the stone coffins, now lying upon the floor horizontally in the skewed positions young Yenrab’s tosses had put them in. As a team, they peeked over en masse, first the one, then the other. And then they laughed and grinned, slapping hands, offering handshakes, and just beaming with delight. Dipping their hands in, palms up and together, they scooped and tossed, tipped and spun those dulled but authentic piles of gold, silver, and copper coins upon which the maidens of yore had attempted eternal rest. The party resounded in luck-greedy guffaws as they purveyed and then calculated the value before them—only one
was actually correct but this is neither the time nor the place to get into who it was or why it was he—they all knew it wasn’t enough to get rich, but so wonderfully, by the grace of the gods, they had received what was a heck of a bounty for just an hour of work. They would dine well when they finally got to the city of Gennopolis, and they would shop heartily besides.
When they were done playing with their wonderful gains, the party put their coins together in a common sack for future purchases and division. They did so with exhilarated and shaky hands. For, as children often realize after opening that first gift on Mythys the Rotund Day, they too had realized that this was just one of what must be assumed many gifts or rooms in this place. How many more coins were there? Were there gems as well? Diamonds? Emeralds? Statuettes? Gold fever is a word used to describe the insane amount of optimism that drives people to brave the elements and lack of civilization in places like Joldarrion, that cold and dreary land of gold and silver deposits in the harsh and martial nation of Frostmount. I suppose treasure fever is what keeps adventurers going to face monsters of every type and caliber in the least hospitable and most horrific of places. They all had treasure fever, and like many young adventurers, the disease blinded them to the potential dangers ahead.
Bern was in a sort of dreamlike reverie.
Man, that was intense. Absolutely top kek. The assassin-to-be looked at his nimble, bow-calloused hands and reflected upon the first time he’d cut a purse. His first job and his first payment. The pursuit had been harsh, the mark not nearly as stupid or unaware as the paymaster had told him he’d be. Small feet pivoted and slid in desperation, moving the gutter boy into an alley so dirty and fetid that it might well have been the lair of some horrendous beast.
The guards, clad in mail shirts, jingled and jangled as they jogged. The mark ran alongside them, with a stupid and righteous grin on his privileged face. The eyes gleamed with words. I’ve got you, gutter trash. You’re going to lose a hand, and I’m going to laugh when they take it.
Bollux. Young Bern looked around in frantic desperation. There had to be a way. An exit. He could feel tears coming to his eyes.
And then they were dead. A masked figure swathed in midnight-blue leather armor and shrouded by a cloak of the same had leaped out of nonexistence and danced through all three of the men. Their heads leaped and arced, the blood flying freely in an arc through a sky so sunny that the sharpness of the glare stabbed into his brain.
He stared at the darkness-made-man, struggling to keep sobs from overtaking him.
“It is okay to cry, young one, after the fight and the loss of life. Be more careful, child, and when you come of age, come find me.”
And then he had faded into the background again and was gone.
This here adventuring; this was so much better.
Looking through every nook and cranny, he felt a bit depressed, though, when the last coin had been put into the sack.
“Mates, this has just been top-notch, really. We’ve well pilfered this place, and I hope those stupid goblins have lost their rest and their peace. Now, what do you say that we hop to it, and we go through the next door?”
The party nodded in high spirits, just as eager to find out what else waited for them within the ruins. They bounded out of the room and down the corridor to the next room.
Chapter 14: Six Is a Party!
Despite their eagerness, they were still wary of the structure within which they now adventured. They checked their steps after the main room, moving carefully, with Bern at the front, searching the tiles for various oddities that might depict dangerous things.
To their happy surprise, there was nothing.
Now, at the cusp of the next chamber, they looked inside. It wasn’t much. No one knew what the actual purpose of the room may once have been. Nor, at this point, did any of them really seem to care. No, all eyes were, at present, fixed on a single point. A treasure chest, quite large, sat upon a dais at the far end of the room, like a shiny ripe apple to be picked. Surely, this place was too good to be true!
The thief moved ahead in an expert and wary fashion. He could feel his gut retch as he did so. Something felt off.
“This one isn’t gonna be so good, my friends. I can feel it,” the rogue made known.
Tracy looked curious. “How can you feel danger?”
That man, sometimes woman, sometimes both, possibly also neither, is a bit trying at times, Bern thought, as he stopped in his tracks and looked back at them.
“It’s a feeling you get. Like, in your gut, man. Something just doesn’t feel right,” he said with patience, trying to move passed this bit of dialogue. He imagined that some godlike being sat over them, recording their actions, and agreeing with his opinion on the matter.
Yenrab nodded, sage-like, as he judged their conversation.
“One should always trust their gut. Especially over their brain. When you leave the brain in charge, all it does is make you fat and lazy. The gut, well, it knows when you are hungry and when you are not, and it never tells you what to do or how to do it. Ya know, it just warns you when it thinks there might be some problem.”
Tracy nodded at the information, looking enlightened. Bern Sandros suddenly felt a bit tired, and fought off a confused headache.
“That’s not what I . . . I mean, mate, what the . . . You know what, no, never mind. Well said, Yenrab. Just, everyone, shut your mouths for a bit and let me get this done.”
The wild mage appeared to change his lips into some sort of fastening device, which he then closed. The rogue groaned, and then restarted his gambol of the grave robber, lunging nimbly and pirouetting when necessary upon toes as light as feathery down.
Nothing clicked, clunked, or zwibbled beneath his agile movements. With a mental sigh of relief, he realized that the path to the chest was clear.
Alright. Good. This still doesn’t feel right though. Step two it is then.
Bern Sandros darted his fingers out, steady and expert on the outside, but a quivering and quavering mess within. It was always a frightful thing to search for traps, but it was especially frightful when you expected one to be there.
If only Tracy’s glowing hand could do this, he thought. He had watched it probe and prod, and he knew, though, that it wasn’t nearly agile enough for such a task.
Caressing the dusty stone, the rogue moved his hand downward to its lips, gently feeling through the cracks as well as he might. It was more than enough, for he could feel the slightest of disturbances in the miniscule hinge that resided between the top and bottom halves.
“Oh, traps and treasures,” he cursed. It came out quiet, bland, and half-hearted, though, as he wasn’t actually very disappointed at having proven his instincts correct.
The rogue’s nimble fingers slipped underneath, searching for its source as he muttered to himself. He called out to his fellows behind him.
“It’s a trap. I’m looking to disarm it.”
Bern paused, thinking. Maybe he didn’t have to do anything at all? That bizarre wild mage from Freemeet might have something up his sleeve, after all.
“Could you do something about this trap with your mage hand, sorcerer?” Bern asked with professional acumen.
“It can knock things about, lift minor weights, and pull with infantile might, but it lacks the strength and manipulative skills to do much more than that,” answered Tracy in a reciprocating voice.
“Yeah, I was afraid of that. Alright, I’m working the lid, and . . . shite!” the man proclaimed, dropping down and minimizing his silhouette whilst bounding back.
The lid popped open with a hard clack, and five heavy darts blasted at him from inside. Thuck, thuck, two landed, striking hard between the studs and striking flesh, while three others flew past. Bern immediately thought of poison, but after a few moments, he realized that whatever they had been coated with had probably flecked away in the centuries past.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” Yenrab was concerned, but he quickly smiled
in humor as the wannabe assassin smiled back and gave him a thumbs-up, a gesture he didn’t know or understand, but the smile was enough.
Bern Sandros worked his hands and fingers about just a bit more, searching the box for additional traps. And he found nothing, to his relief. It was time.
“There is nothing here everybody. Not anymore. I think we’re ready. Let’s let the big guy in. Yenrab. It’s your turn at the wheel of luck, mate.”
Yenrab moved forward, his massive bulk tight with nervous apprehension as he lifted the chest and turned it over, spilling its contents all over the floor.
The flood that released from the chest was quite numerous. There were a plethora of coins of silver, copper, and electrum, though, disappointingly, nothing of the gold or platinum variety. But, more importantly, there were some jewels and gems. For novice adventurers, it was an absolute jackpot.
“Heck yeah!” Carric spun a dagger in his hand as he grinned wildly at their good fortunes. “There’s plenty of treasure and not a fight in sight! If this is what adventuring is all about, gentlemen, I think I could really and easily get used to it.” Never had he heard of a tale with such an easy quest.
The party was less wild this time as they thought about the even greater wealth that surely lay deeper within the fortress. The adventurers stuffed the coins and gems into the party sack, now bulging considerably, with Yenrab giving a happy grunt as he hefted it over his shoulder. Everything felt absolutely wonderful.
They made their way back into the main room. Checking out the front door, Yenrab looked about at the sky. The hail was done, but it was still a horrendous night for those things and beings trapped outside. The lightning and thunder were less now, perhaps, than it had been, but the drops that splattered his paddle-sized outstretched paws as they reached out to feel what was there chilled him and numbed his fingers.
Not a problem, he thought. We’ve got a lot more stuff to check out, I’m sure.
“How’s it looking, Yenrab?” the sorcerer asked.
How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 10
