by Pwyll Duggan
That's my cue and I dive away as the popping sounds start. His roar is drowned out by the explosions of fire, ice and the crackle of electricity as the mines go off. Sickening splatters sound all around me as crocodile parts start landing. The scraping sound of boots skidding to a halt reaches me as I stand. Four ogres are gawking at the scene before them. I bend over, pick up an arm and remove the bracer there, sliding into a pocket.
"He should have zigged when he zagged." blank stares then snarls are the reply I get. "Everyone's a critic."
They fan out, poleaxes out in front, ready. Random pieces of hide, cloth and leather are their only armor. Pig ugly faces sneer at me as I reach over for my staff. I catch my breath while spinning the staff, slowly at first, going from one hand to the next, like a band leader with a baton. I build up speed as the ogres are unsure but smart enough to surround me with my back to the gate. I spin faster, grip slowly moving to the end of the staff, trying to match their reach. One steps a little closer as I strike.
Staff end whips around, smacking the axe head on his polearm. It’s knocked away fast, the ogre losing control. The flat of the axe belts the next ogre in the face, blood spraying everywhere. I pull the staff back, guiding it with my right hand and then thrusting with the left. The end impacts the ogre with the uncontrolled polearm in the neck, crushing his windpipe as I step towards him with the blow. Right arm slides along the staff, finding a spot to grab as I reverse my facing.
Throwing the staff as a spear at the ogre striking from my rear, his polearm striking the stones where I was standing. His sternum cracks as the staff powers into him, breath blasting from his lungs. The incapacitated ogre is grasping his face, blood still pouring down. The last is trying to maneuver into a striking position, shoving his mate with the broken face out of the way. My arms go up in a cross, blocking his strike on my bracers, clanging ringing down the tunnel. He pulls back as I move under his reach, left arm telegraphing my punch. He twists, punch crunching his left elbow. My right goes low to the back. I start to crouch, working my way down his side, punches rippling flesh in waves. The polearm rattles on the stones as he falls.
Spinning I see the last ogre is trying to run. I pick up the polearm, bouncing in my hand to test the balance. I bend back and throw hard. It sails through the air, cutting into the ogre's lower back. He slides to a stop, blood beginning to pool around him instantly, pole sticking up in the air. It just needs a flag.
Looking left and right and up the spokes, nothing is coming down the tunnels. I gather the polearms on the tunnel wall, axes to the floor. The ogres have little on them. What food or water I see I am so not taking. Food is not supposed to smell like that. A little search yields a few coins. More searching digs up the missing wrist of the Croc guy. I pocket that bracer too, see what I can get out of it later. Ripping some leather and hides to shreds, I weave two loops to make a brace over each shoulder, if I need to carry anything I find.
I slip one of the bracers over my right forearm and feel the heat flow as I connect to it. Two potions. I appear one and sniff it. Similar to my healing ones, only smaller. What the hell I drink it. The itchy burny feeling flows over my chest, wounds closing leaving a red angry claw mark. The other is the same and I swallow that one down too. More wounds close and some of the stiffness leaves. I'm staying at the same health, not getting to full but not going backwards from the fights. I pull that bracer off and put on the other one. Empty. Such is life.
The polearms are long and huge. The axe heads are curved, joined to the poles at two points. One near the top of the axe curve, one at the bottom, leaving a gap between wood and blade. I reach down, hand gripping behind the head. Mmmm, knuckle dusters - punching blades, like a Katar. I step back, moving the shafts at an angle on the wall and kick, about 6 to 10 inches from the blades. A few attempts and I break the shafts, leaving a jagged wooden spike at each end. I put one in each hand and concentrate, trying to push them into the bracelet things. Straining I keep pushing with my mind when there's a pop and they disappear. On the edge of my mind I can feel them in the bracelets, with my last potion.
I get more leather and hoop the last two improvised katars on my belt and grab the staff. Heading off into the dark tunnel, I wonder where it leads.
More fighting and killing would be an accurate guess.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Creeping along the side of the dark tunnel, I'm slowly distancing myself from the remains behind me. Sounds of feet, cries of pain and the constant ring of steel against stone flow up the tunnel, from both ends now. Shouted orders, telling slaves to keep working come readily and steadily. The occasional shout from a familiar hideous voice breaks thru the background noise. "Find Him!", "More food!" "Where's Chomper?" repeats in a cycle, every few minutes.
The end of the tunnel finally gets more defined. Smallish opening, blocked by various rubble and refuse opens onto a ledge overlooking a large cavern, at least partially natural from the stalactites on the ceiling. Prowling forward I can see a small fire pit, unlit and a cooking tripod near it. Huge iron cogs and wheels lean against the right stone wall, broken cables coiled haphazardly in the area or the tunnel entrance.
Two orcs, bows and quivers on the ground are sitting on stones at the ledge, looking down into the cavern. They’re sharing a bottle, passing it back and forth.
"Snapper will get him." One comments, passing the bottle. The other laughs lightly and grabs the bottle by the neck.
"Dude took the mistress' leg, demolished the Snotters Inn, shot her out of the air and disappeared. If the Ogres weren't blocking the mine shaft I'd have run already."
"Fuck him. No Shielder has ever survived when they opposed The Ladies."
"No one ever killed two of them either." The other gulps the last of the bottle, goes to throw it over the edge, pauses, looks at it and places it down.
"You're right. Fuck it. After the cull tomorrow, even if we get upped, head out via the old stables. Kin got wiped out at The Grove. Blockade duty is a death sentence and She just keeps eating anyone who gets too close."
"Yup - good three years. Even if I get Ogre'd or Troll'd tomorrow, I'm out. Head west to those villages. No Night ones, crappy hills and all. Steal me a slave or two and bail."
"Kron's got that duty tonight, going down the shaft and bringing them up. Good cover that. We could use it."
They both nod and think in silence as I creep forward, up to the rubble now. I stay low, not peering over, just listening.
"Get Gun and Tokk too. We move down the skaf, across the bridge, get them for a 'patrol' and round up a few slaves. Use them for food if we need too, get to Wilhelm tomorrow night, sell some slaves and raid over there."
"Yeah - fuck it. Get me some juicy humans, fuck off then fuck them. Hehehe nice plan." They congratulate themselves as I try and move up, without knocking the rubble. Something rattles, and I freeze. I hear blades drawn and more swearing.
"Bloody hell. I'm off to patrol."
"Let's go." I hear them shuffle off, then the creaking of wood under their feet as they walk away. It fades into the existing noise and I wait, resting.
Waiting I shuffle myself into a gap, against rubble and wall. I listen, trying to picture what is before me and what to do. They have slaves. Slaves they rape and eat. Probably some from The Grove, some villagers turned Shielders too I would guess. And they are culling them tomorrow to 'up' more soldiers.
What do I do? What do I do? Shit, what should I do? At home I'd call the cops and wait - report what I could see. Nobody to call here, no reinforcements. Only me. Me.
Spirtia regen'd, one healing potion, little armor and no arrows. Princess is still out of range, but not as far as before. I need an army and a distraction. I need more information. I peak over the rubble and no-one is on the ledge. I move silently as I can to the end of the tunnel and look out left, where the noise of the orcs disappeared.
A small wooden bridge heads over to another, larger, ledge. The bridge is atop a huge scaffold sys
tem going down the cave face, levels every 20 feet. Snotlings are picking away at the walls, small rubble rolling down and off, falling to the floor of the cave.
Under the large ledge must be an entrance to something as large groups of greenskins move in and out. Some are eating on the way out, others going in tired and dirty. Barracks or quarters for them? The cave widens at the top, greying sky peaking over the line of plate wearing Ogres covering the mine exit. A litter or sedan chair is on the ground at the entrance, evil Mother Harpy resting in it, gobbling down food. Ugly as ever, her foot is still missing. It's seemingly regenerating very slowly. She's still screaming at people. Over the exit are a bunch stone supported rooms. No ladders or steps lead to them at all. Guess she doesn't want to fly up injured.
Opposite the barracks is an ore dumping ground and the open forges. Greenskins mix with other races, working the ore and making large ingots. Mine carts come and go, following a rickety train line down further underground. I spot the bihorn again, hauling carts up, being whipped when she's too slow for the goblin overseeing her work. The whole cavern is open and huge.
Sounds echo off the stone walls. The constant sound of picks working from the snotlings, making rubble that gets taken to another area. Snotlings and gobbers along with other demi-humans carve the rubble to more of a brick shape, piling them to a side.
Two tunnels go deeper. The one with the mine carts and another, blocked off with spiked barricades. They love those spiked things. The middle of the cavern is open ground, piles of rubble and broken detritus spread over a huge area. Cave is wider than I could shoot a bow, in any direction. I hide back down the tunnel. So, the other tunnels lead to the barracks area, near the Mother Harpy's rooms and somewhere else up that way. This tunnel leads to what looks like a ruined elevator or crane, so they don't use it.
The tunnel that leads deeper behind me leads off into the unknown. I need to get to the mining tunnel, free the slaves and get out. Easier said than done. I can explore the last tunnel, see if that gets me better options. Or climb down the remains of this winch and head to the main tunnel, probably amassing a huge following, training all the mobs behind me. Straight to all the slaves. Not good that.
Two torches left, explore for one then come back. If night is falling gives me 12 hours before they start culling and a few hours for those orcs to get their plan in motion. I crouch low, staff parallel to the ground and I move as fast as I dare back to the carnage I caused.
It seems my carnage has attracted an audience. A crowd is scattered around the area, looking at the remains of the ogre's and Chomper.
"No way I'm telling her." Floats out of the crowd of gobbers and orcs. The edges of the mob are staring off into the various tunnels, fear in their eyes, edging back towards the tunnel to the barracks. "Maybe it was the Dead?"
"Yeah right, they'd be running out it to the caves by now, trying to eat everyone - that’s what they do."
"Should we check the barricade?"
"Sure, I'll let you."
"Great - I'll do that, and you can tell the Mistress." Snickers and laughing comes from some of the mob.
"Fuck."
"You said it. My gang, to the barricades. Good luck Gun."
A group peels off from the mob and heads off into the tunnel away from everyone. Cursing, the rest of the mob head back. I wait for the last group to get out of sight and turn to follow the ones that will lead me to my distraction makers.
Staying to right side of the tunnel, the grumbling gobbers are easy to keep up with. They joke and complain, never turning back to check if they are being followed. The further we go, the more the tunnel is choked with rubble. Areas that have collapsed, rock slides, broken carts and benches strewn all over the place. A clear path leads down one side. The tunnel turns left 90 degrees, heading towards the cavern. Firelight flickers along the walls and the low murmur of voices fills the tunnel. The smell of smoke and cooking drifts down too.
Watching the gang turn the corner I get closer to peer around the corner. Fifty feet ahead the tunnel is blocked by a rough wood wall, gaps in the wood showing spikes and the tunnel beyond. A small camp is on this side, gobbers and snotlings around a fire, some glancing through the gaps in the wood. They are quiet. The reason is the moaning coming from beyond the wood wall. Slow and low, the moaning never stops. The odd red eye can be seen thru the gaps. A huge double gate crosses the middle of the wall, tree trunks barring it.
The gang starts whispering to the guards and the moaning increases. Banging starts on the wall. Then wailing. The hairs on my arms and neck start rising. The wailing passes through you, chilling you to the core. This is not going to be one of my brightest ideas.
Call of Cthulhu time - the slowest gets eaten first. I check the rubble pile behind me and find two sides of a metal cart. I don't want to kill the gobbers, but I need to open that gate. I just don't want to be near it. Delay and fireball then I step out from the wall and discus spin, then throw the side as an alarm cry goes off. The goblins all turn to me, drawing weapons as a spinning flat sheet of metal sails over their heads, splintering into the gate. The gate shakes back and forth from the impact, more banging starting up.
Gobbers look at the metal, then to me. They watch me cover my ears and duck behind the wall before they realize what's up. The gate explodes, and the noise is drowned out by the moans and screeches of the dead as they pile thru the gap, trampling their own injured as they go. Peaking I see goblins fall and the wave of dead pouring out of the gap. They seem fast and I am close. Too close. I turn and run.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Motivation makes a man move fast. The moaning of the dead really powers the adrenaline thru your system. Superhuman strength makes you fast. Screaming dead makes you faster.
Observing that some are just skeletons, weighting less than 20 lbs all dried out, animated by magic making them fast and untiring really pushes your buttons. Just glad they cannot navigate for shit.
The last gobber fell under the horde as it turned the first corner. They're that fast. And really hungry. I leap and dash over rubble, doing an excellent parkour impression as I sprint. The volume of noise behind me is tremendous. They're impacting on the debris, knocking bits over, crushing each other and screaming. Their sounds shooting past me, echoing up the tunnel. I'm not subtle here at all.
The intersection in front of me is a hub of movement. Gobbers and orcs trying to set up a barricade. More arriving every second, spears and bundles of wood dropping on the ground. Stomps of ogre's rushing to the spot. The hideous grating voice ordering troops into position, on top of her litter, carried by four ogres. Howls of alarm echo in the moaning, arms pointing me out. I bring up the extra metal sheet. So much for using it to slide down the wall to the cavern now. I put on more speed, sheet out as a shield, running for the darkened tunnel, which happens to be behind the first troop line.
Things bounce off the makeshift shield as I reach the skirmish line. I push the shield forward and let it go, going for the slide to home. A poleaxe bisects the metal as I pass under an ogre. My feet hit an orc behind it, and I use that to get me to my feet, slamming my elbow into his face. I push my weight around, using his body as a shield and keep running, ignoring the flash of white armor and the flapping of wings. I bounce off the tunnel wall and sprint down the tunnel as a wave of bones impacts the line of greenskins.
I chance a glance behind me. The blonde in white armor is racing to keep up with me. Behind her is utter chaos. Screams of the dead match those of the dying. Flashes of fire, shards of ice and the streak of lightning burst forth, tearing the dead to pieces. Good luck to them, I've got work to do.
I can't slow down otherwise I'll get bitch slapped, well stabbed by a bitch. I really don't need lessons on how to breathe thru a sucking chest wound or holes in my neck.
The end of the tunnel is racing towards me as I pray to the agility gods for this to work. I leap forward into a slide, aiming for the left corner of the tunnel exit. I shoot out, both of
my arms reaching for the scaffold hand rail, wanting to use it to stop and fling me onto the walk way. It does neither as I grab it, ripping it from the scaffold. It slows me as the rope handrail goes taunt, then snaps the next handrail support off. I jerk up and then fall another 10 feet as it does it again, shaking the whole scaffold dangerously. I almost flip over as another handrail rips out of the wood. My weight then falls, pulls back as my flip stops, yanking once more on the rope. The scaffold tilts, teetering on the edge of failing as I drop down, letting the rope go. A loud crack and the scaffold collapses while I run to the open forge.
Dusk cloud billows behind me amidst the shrieking of snotlings. I don't slow down, punching an orc in the face as I pass. I rip a shovel from another and club the next in the face with it, running to the forge. An arrow splits a broken crate to my right, so my mad dash turns to a madder dodging run. An annoyed wail comes from behind as the arrows stop after a few more attempts. I can hear fluttering wings behind me, so I brake and dive roll left. Something impacts where I was, glittering dust exploding into a cloud.
I stay left, whipping the shovel around, a ringing gong sounding the impact on an orc's head as he comes around a pile of stones. Nice dent in the shovel now, making it more spatula than shovel. Black bolts impact the stone around me, searing one shoulder in the process. Grimacing I dash right, dodging more bolts. I put on more speed, hoping to out distance her as I near the forges. That goblin overseer bastard is whipping the bihorn as I race in. I jump up, knees together and knock him off the ore carts as I pass over them. I land and roll, shovel swinging low, edge first. The Goblin's head rolls away as I look for ammunition.
