by Neil Hartley
~ * ~
Fyy Fleetfoot trod carefully as he stole up the passage. The hunting group had learned the hard way that this particular dungeon had more than it's fair share of traps and dangerous creatures. Already Hammath Highhand was holding five arrows he would have to take back to the Forest. Five arrows he would have to present to families who would see their sons and daughters no more.
Fyy shook his head, his long hair whipping to the side. Concentrate! He admonished himself. Grasping his rapier for comfort he peered up the dark tunnel with keen amber eyes. Was that movement ahead, in the infravision range? He stopped advancing and stood silent and unmoving as only a seasoned hunter could, becoming part of the environment, at one with the surrounding stone.
Stone! If only he was back home, surrounded by the mighty trees of Jollygreenwood. Already there had been talk in the party about turning back. Only honor kept them searching.
Fyy was the very image of a woodland elf. Tall, thin, garbed in green with a feather in his cap. He had a long bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back. At one hip swung a thin sword, its silver pommel elegantly designed with runes etched into the metal. Long blond hair hung down to his shoulders, covering his pointed ears, which were currently straining to catch the slightest whisper.
There! Again, a flicker of something ahead. He should report to Hammath. Stepping backwards he started a noiseless retreat. It came as a shock then, when there was a low whisper in his ear.
“Going somewhere?”
Fyy turned, pulling on his sword. Something smashed the side of his face, taking skin off, crushing his cheekbone and sending him flying into the wall, which he bounced off.
The elf spat out a tooth and scrabbled backwards, trying to focus with one eye filling with blood. He saw nothing, yet the front of his tunic was pulled forward. He kicked out and his foot connected. There was a grunt and Fyy's arm was twisted backwards at the elbow, breaking the joint with a splintering sound. He screamed in agony and tried to escape the grip, but whatever it was lashed out again, smashing him in the ribs and knocking him to the ground.
Fyy's thoughts turned to flight, and he grasped at the floor, attempting to pull himself along with one good arm. There was a sharp pain in his leg, and he cried out as a chunk of flesh was torn from his thigh.
He felt strong fingers grab his neck, and his head was lifted up and then smashed into the hard stone cobbles. Lights flashed before his eyes, and agony echoed around his being as he was brutally abused by the unseen attackers.
The last thing he was aware of was the sound of hard breathing, and cold jaws wrapping around his jugular, biting deeply, and feeding on his white Elven meat...
~ * ~
“You are a cowardly beast, unworthy to wield one such as I.” Darkblood hissed as Dreth wiped some remaining Orc king gunk off the blade. “A fiend like you should revel in blood and slaughter. With your half-life and my powers we would be an unstoppable force for evil!” The sword pulsed a dark, throbbing light as it spoke.
“Hah. Didn't do much against Mr. Golem did you?” Cuthbert piped up from his perch on top of a boulder. “What was it again? Oh yes...” His tone took what he intended to be a high pitched girly voice. “Oooh, that so hurt me! Boo hoo!”
“You are a worthless piece of mangy flesh!” roared the sword, red flashes of energy crackling down its length. A wave of hatred emanated from the weapon, which left the zombie totally unconcerned.
“Better than an old bent piece of metal! Didn't do your previous owner much good when he came up against Dreth now, did you? All talk and no gore, that's your problem.” Cuthbert stuck the remains of a rotten tongue out and attempted to blow a raspberry, but only succeeded in spitting it out. “Ahhhh mmu uuunng!” He mumbled, scrabbling after the mouth part.
Darkblood laughed in malicious glee as the zombie scuffled around, trying to locate the errant item amongst the pebbles and rocks. “I would have sliced this pathetic excuse for a guardian in two, had my owner had the wits to use me instead of grabbing for his mace,” he said.
“Enough you two!” snapped Dreth, sheathing the sword and standing up. “Where is that wizard? How long does it take to relieve yourself?”
He looked around. They had passed over the canyon of the Beholder without incident, and were now in yet another cavern, the walls the same dull red color, slick with condensation. They had paused briefly to allow Redthorne to perform his toilet, and act which he wasn't keen to perform in front of them.
“I’ll go and look for him,” said Percy.
“No need.” A figure loomed up out of the gloom. “I’m here. Let us proceed.”
“Mmmm unngg!” protested Cuthbert, still on all fours. He lifted a rock and paused for a moment as some small insect attempted to squirm away. He picked it up and crunched down, chewing awkwardly.
“We can get you another tongue later,” said Dreth. “Let's move, we’ve wasted enough time already.” He turned and walked off.
Cuthbert took one desperate last look around, and then stood up and hurried after them.
“Asssbbbd” he spat.
They traveled on, rocks and pebbles clattering underfoot, the sounds echoing around the large cavern.
“How big is this dungeon anyway?” asked Redthorne.
Dreth shrugged. “I don't know really. Pretty big though. It’s been around for a thousand years or more, so they say.”
The wizards stroked his beard in thought. “And in all that time, no one has ever claimed the treasure?”
“Not that I know of,” said Dreth. “But then no one tells me anything.”
Redthorne opened his mouth to speak again, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by shouts and screams from Percy.
Dreth hurried forward to see the zombie rolling on the floor. Attached to his neck was a small fairy-like being, wings flapping as it bit into the undead’s throat.
“Get it off! Get if off!” screamed Percy, pulling at his attacker. “OOooowoOOwww!”
Dreth stepped up, but before he could take any action the creature let go and shot backwards into the air.
“Urg! Disgusting! Rotten meat! Yargg!” The small figure recoiled, spitting and wiping at her mouth.
“What do you expect?” yelled Percy back, clutching at his torn neck. “Serves you right! Hope you get food poisoning! OOow!! Little bitch!”
The flying attacker looked around as the others approached. She was small, about twice the size of a man’s hand maybe. Dark hair floated about her head, and tiny wings buzzed behind her as she flitted to and fro so fast it was hard to make out her features.
“Fresh meat!” she cried, spying Redthorne and darting forward, a blur in the air.
Fast as she was, Dreth was faster, intercepting her and batting the diminutive aggressor away with his hand, causing her to tumble backwards and land roughly on the ground.
“Ow! Watch it ugly, or I’ll bite your ears off!” She sat up holding her head.
“You can try,” said Dreth standing over her. “Now, tell me who you are before I step on you and squash you like a bug.”
The small figure spat and stood up uncertainly. Dreth squatted down and examined her more closely. Now she was still enough to make out her features, he could see a pretty face surrounded by long dark hair. She looked like a tiny human female, maybe early twenties, clothed in a simple black dress which looked like it had seen better days.
“Draw a picture, it will last longer,” she said nastily. “Who the hell are you anyway?”
“Name’s Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. What’s your moniker shrimp?”
The small woman sighed and sat down on a pebble. “I’m Smudge, Fearie from the Black Garden.”
“The Black Garden? Never heard of it,” Dreth said.
“It is some way from here, presumably anyway, near a hidden entrance to the dungeon. I was with a group when a large
party of elves came through. They captured me but I managed to escape, and now I’m lost. Hungry too.” She eyed Redthorne meaningfully.
“Since when do Faerie go around eating meat and attacking innocent zombies?” complained Percy.
“I said a Fearie, not a Faerie you blundering fool!” the small creature sneered at him. “There is a noticeable difference. Fearie are superior in almost every way.” She sniffed a superior sniff to emphasize her point.
Dreth stood up as Smudge launched herself into the air again, flitting about like an oversize black wasp. “Well, you’re welcome to tag along with us if you want, but no biting the wizard.”
“Hmmph.” She sniffed again. “He’s probably too old and stringy anyway.”
“Here, take a snack from my supplies,” said Dreth, gesturing at Cuthbert to open the bag. “They’re a bit old I’m afraid, but better than nothing.”
Cuthbert passed Smudge a hand, which she struggled to carry, finally settling down on Sprat’s head to eat it as they walked.
“Tell me about these elves,” said Redthorne. “What tribe were they from?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged the Fearie, her mouth full of finger. “They all look the same to me. Seemed pretty determined to get into the dungeon though. Very strange actually, Elves don’t usually care about treasure, at least as a community.”
“I see,” said Redthorne and fell back a little, deep in thought.
“Something wrong?” asked Dreth.
“What? Oh, no, nothing.” The wizard waved a hand in dismissal and then looked up. “I think we’re coming to the end of this cave.”
Dreth noted the change of subject but didn’t comment. The cave was indeed narrowing. Off to one side a stout wooden door was set into the wall, looking totally out of place in the rough rock.
Cuthbert placed an ear to it and listened for a moment. “aarn eearanfuu,” he mumbled.
“What?” asked Percy.
Uuuu aad... uuu aaaarn eeer ufffuuu”, Cuthbert repeated.
“I think he said he couldn’t hear anything,” said Dreth. He pushed at Percy. “Open the door, see what’s behind.”
“Bah. Bully,” the zombie muttered, but pulled on the portal anyway. It creaked open to reveal a gray stone dungeon tunnel behind, running left to right. The undead stuck his head through and looked carefully around. “Can’t see anything,” he said and stepped through.
The floor immediately gave way beneath him, dropping him into space. There was a scream, a moment of silence and then a dull thud.
“Uuueee!” shouted Cuthbert, and ran forward to peer into the trap.
They all looked down into the pit. Percy was lying on the floor, a large spike through one leg. “Help!! Help! Get me out of here!” he screamed.
“Shhhh!” said Dreth, making gestures with his hands. “No telling what monsters around here.” He looked up. “Smudge, Spit, go and check out the passageway a little, make sure nothing is coming. Cuthbert, get the rope out and haul him back up.”
Smudge mumbled something about being ordered about, but flew off a little way down the tunnel. Sprat did the same, sliding past the trap and grumbling about how some people couldn’t remember his name.
“Oooooohhh, what a day!” groaned Percy from his landing place. “First bitten half to re-death by a flying black midget, now my best leg ruined! And I think I’ve broken a rib too.” There was a cracking sound, then a squelch as he pulled something free from his chest. “Yep. Look at that. No good to anybody now.” He threw the bone away, and then saw something lying nearby. “Hey! I’ve found some treasure!”
“What is it?” Hissed Dreth, still worried about attracting attention. “Pass it up!”
“Ho! Wouldn't you just like that?”
“Pass it up or we leave you down there to rot,” said Dreth. Then, because he was a bit of a stickler for detail, added: “More.”
“Oooh, one day you are going to get what’s coming to you.” Percy grunted as he threw the sack up. It fell back and hit him in the face. “Ohhh! For Fugg's sake. Why me?”
Eventually, with a lot of groaning and complaining both Percy and the sack were recovered. Dreth snatched the bag away from him. “Now, what have we here?” He said, and opened it...
~ * ~
Silth Harshlore peered around a corner and scowled, his white teeth gleaming against black skin. Curse this area! It all looked the same. He slid around the wall and moved smoothly forward, eyes darting left, right, up and down, checking for traps as he went. He had already nearly been skewered by spikes and squashed by falling rocks. This was a perilous region.
He found a small alcove and, after checking it carefully, squatted down to rest. How could they have lost it? It must have been stolen, despite what Scut had said before the squad leader had gutted him for dereliction of duty.
Anyway, if they didn't find it they would all be made an example of. He fingered his sword. Perhaps he should try and make it out on his own, he knew of a colony not too far away, in the Shadow Mountain Range.
Silth's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something approaching. He stood up and moved back against the wall, further into the shadow, as a hulking figure loomed into view.
The solid form of the Golem stopped, and Silth cursed as a piercing red glare swung around to appraise him.
“I am Silth Harshlore, Drow Elf scout. I carry nothing of value, killing me would be pointless,” he said boldly as the eyes drew close.
The Golem bent over to address him face to face. “Where are they?” it asked.
“Where are who? My party? I will not tell, gut me if you will, for they will do worse should I betray them.”
“I am not interested in your pathetic group. I’m searching for the one called Dreth.”
Silth shook his head. “Never heard of anyone by that name. I’m not from this area though.”
The Golem rumbled and drew closer, the eyes seemed to burn into him, and for a moment Silth thought his time had come. Then it stood up again and stepped back into the passageway again.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Silth leaned against the wall. There was a sudden 'click' and he just had time to look around before the trap's darts skewered him.
He grabbed at his side as acid sizzled and smoked, burning his flesh away. A fiery pain spread down his body as clothes and skin succumbed to the corrosive. The Golem watched, unmoving as he slumped to one side, his internal organs now exposed to the air.
“Help... me,” he gasped, holding a hand out towards the stone creature. His fingers started to dissolve where he had touched the dart, and one fell off. As he dropped to the floor in agony the watching giant lost interest, and turned away to clump off down the corridor.
As his liver was eaten through, Silth thought he heard it humming to itself. Then everything went black.
~ * ~
“What,” said Dreth, pulling a bundle out of the sack, “in Dreg's name is this?” So saying he held up, by a leg, a chubby baby wrapped in a ragged cloth.
“It's a baby elf! A cute, young, juicy baby!” exclaimed Percy. “Oh please, please! Give me a bit! I have never tasted baby elf before! Just and arm, or maybe a leg.”
“Uuuugg uuuuur!” agreed Cuthbert.
Dreth held the baby upside down and looked at it. It gurgled and attempted to put a fist into its mouth. Big green eyes stared at him in a sickeningly cute way. He grimaced. “Very well, but I get the liver and the brain. Here, slice it up.” He started to pass the infant to Cuthbert when he was interrupted.
“HOLD!!” Redthorne stepped forward, his staff blazing light. “I had forgotten what foul beasts you really are! I will not allow you to devour this innocent.”
“Oh foo! What are you going to do Mr. Wizard?” asked Percy, though he eyed the pulsating staff warily.
“I will use all my power to stop this depraved act, even if it costs me m
y life,” replied the mage.
Dreth paused, the baby still held in one hand, and looked at the scowling Redthorne. He glanced over at the zombies, who would have been drooling if they were capable of such. Even Smudge was licking her lips.
“Well, I don't know. I mean it is a baby. We don't often get such a morsel down here you know...”
“You may kill me,” growled the wizard, “but I will take the zombies and the flying shrimp with me at least. And who knows? You may find you’re not so tough yourself.”
Dreth scratched his ear and thought about it. He was fairly sure he could take out the wizard, but the mage had the right of it. It was likely that Redthorne would do a large amount of damage before he could stop him, and Dreth couldn't really afford such a setback.
“Here then, you want it, you look after it.” He passed the baby over to the wizard, who nearly dropped it in shock.
“Aaaawww! What did you do that for? Do you know the last time we had a baby down here?” moaned Percy.
“Uuuhuuu!” said Cuthbert.
“That's right! Never! You’re such a spoilsport.” Percy folded his arms and tried to sniff.
“Uuu uuu uuhhh ahhh uuuung?” asked Cuthbert, gesturing to the baby and his mouth.
“No, you can’t have its tongue. It’s too small anyway,” said Dreth. “Now, fix Percy up. We still have that Golem behind us, remember?”
“Bah. This will come back and haunt you, mark my words,” said Percy. Still, he held out his leg as Cuthbert reached into his bag and drew out the zombie fixing kit.
“It can't have been in that pit very long,” said Smudge, hovering over the infant, which clapped its hands in delight.
“You’re right.” Dreth looked about. “Whoever left it may still be near. We’d better be careful.”
“At least it seems to be in good health,” said Redthorne. He leaned his staff against the wall and made a complicated gesture. There was a flash of light and a bottle of milk appeared in his hand. “Dinner time.”
“Very convenient,” said Dreth. “You always carry a milk conjuring spell with you?”
“I am a wizard of the 11th order of White Light, capable of many spells beyond your ken creature,” replied the mage haughtily, as the baby sucked happily at the meal.
