Post by Monday
((
Storybook))
“How’d we end up here again?” Khaz muttered, standing up to his waist in noxious water. He wore fine mail armor, covered by an expensive leather hooded cloak, which covered his armor from the rain falling from above. “I swear I never heard a word about trudging through a swamp.” He continued to grumble under his breath.
Funden chuckled slightly, but never moved his head. He was a shorter dwarf with short black hair, wearing less expensive armor than Khaz, but both were weathered to about the same degree, the two having been constant companions for many years. Despite the other dwarf’s slightly snobbish and cultured demeanor, he was an incredible swordfighter and duelist, and had never shied away from any situation, no matter how much he grumbled.
“We’re ‘ere because th’ elf paid us to come ‘ere,” Funden said. ‘Here’ was a pool of disgusting water, tinting sickly green by the pervasive plant life, just north of the Blasted Lands. Funden was crouched in a small thicket, which covered him and his rifle, which was currently trained on the pass just south of them. “And because I think ‘e may be right.”
Khaz stopped his mumblings and glanced up. Funden knew him well enough to see the fear in his eyes. Not fear for himself, or even for the others, but for what would happen. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “The Legion might have forced some passed the blockade at the Dark Portal?”
Funden nodded quietly. “Aye. I went to check meself, and there were definite signs o’ demons. Burned footprints, th’ smell o’ blood everywhere, and ye know th’ rest.” He kept an eye to the scope of his rifle, which had recently been outfitted with a new scope he had bought from a mage, which separated heat signatures. Damned handy, in his opinion. “Th’ question is... where are they?”
“Massing for an attack,” Fjarn rumbled unexpectedly. Khaz jumped slightly, not realizing the others were listening. Funden was surprised as well, but kept his eye to the scope and his rifle trained on the small gap between the hills and the path leading between them, the only way into the Morass.
“I have a mind to agree,” Funden said. “They can slip past one by one, but they know eventually they’ll get caught and th’ game will be up. The soldiers of Nethergarde don’t play nice with demons. Thus, they will rush all at once, and force past whatever hurried Nethergarde soldiers stand in their way, then probably hide out in the Deadwind Pass. We can’t let ‘em get that far.”
“Well, if they mass all at once, it’s not like they’re gonna get anywhere.” The speaker was a yellow haired dwarf, who had a long rifle laid out on the ground the same way as Funden. His name was Thorgrim, and he was the resident demolitionist.
Khaz turned a curious eye on him. “Why?” he asked.
Thorgrim grinned. “I’ve just got a few charges set up in tha’ pass over there. One click o’ th’ button and BAM! No more demons.”
Khaz’s face broke out into the first genuine smile he had since they had entered the swamp. “Now that’s a sight I’d pay to see.” He tiled his head at Thorgrim. “But it gets even better. I’m getting paid to see that!”
Thorgrim smiled back. “And I get paid to do it! I love how these things work out sometimes.”
Funden held up a hand, and they all quieted. “Down there,” he hissed. Distantly, they could hear the sound of swords clashing.
And screams.
Thorgrim glanced up from where his rifle was trained. “Ah crap. Those are Shivarra,” he muttered. Khaz winced.
“Oh, Light,” muttered Fjarn. “They’ll tear th’ guards apart. Thorgrim, best be ready.”
Thorgrim nodded and put his eye back to the scope. He flipped open the metal container next to him and held a hand over a large red button, marked with an explosion and bones flying everywhere. Fjarn raised an eyebrow at the box, but shrugged and waited.
Eventually the sounds of fighting quieted down. “Maybe the soldiers beat them?” Khaz asked hopefully.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Funden replied. His words proved true. Thirty seconds later, distorted shapes started filtering out into the pass. “Demons ahoy,” Funden called. “Thorgrim, now!”
Thorgrim slapped a hand gleefully on the large red button, and ahead of them, in the gap, the charged he had hidden exploded in a burst of heat, light and sound, which could be felt from their position. “Khaz, Fjarn, check it out. Me and Thorgrim’ll cover ye.”
Khaz raised his eyes to the sky above, then quickly lowering it to stop rain from getting into his eyes. “Thank the Light,” he muttered, climbing gingerly from the pool where he was hidden and shaking the water from his cloak and armor. Drawing his sword, he motioned for Fjarn to follow, and started forward, slipping along the edge of the mountains and moving towards the pass at an oblique angle, to conserve any surprise they had.
Fjarn trundled afterwards, carrying his large two handed mace with him. He made more noise than Khaz, but both were fairly silent, and considering that the demons were likely deafened by the blast, it didn’t really matter anyways.
Khaz stopped next to the pass and waited for Fjarn. “Right, you go first. I’ll cover your sides.” Fjarn nodded agreeably and stepped out into the pass. As he did so, the lumbering, gentle air fell away from him, revealing a tight, focused and intelligent face. Khaz slipped out just behind and kept a close watch at their back and sides.
The pass was empty.
Khaz frowned. “That’s not good,” he muttered. “I suggest we retreat, and then decide where they went.”
“Agreed.” Fjarn started backing up, when a burst of fire closed over the back of the pass, blocking their escape.
“Did you think I’d let you leave so easily?” asked a silky smooth, baritone voice. A cloud of bats descended in front of the pair, and formed into the shape of a dreadlord. Fjarn took a quick intake of breath.
“Vas’karaz,” he breathed. Khaz turned a questioning eye on the dwarf. “He was behind the whole madness at Andorhol,” Fjarn said, never taking his eyes from the demon, who stood, grinning slightly. “He was disguised as Jessica, forcing us to make a run through Andorhol instead of going east to the Light’s Hope Chapel.”
Khaz turned back to the demon, and suddenly the quiet fires of rage were kindled in his eyes. “Damn you, demon. Damn you to hell, like you did to me.” He took a step forward and flourished his sword absently.
Vas’karaz laughed quietly, not moving to block Khaz’s sword nor retreat. “I’m afraid that it was entirely the fault of your captain that you were left to die in that city,” he murmured. “I merely accepted your aid.”
Fjarn swept a hand through the air, and quiet surge of energy flowed out of him, knocking the dreadlord back several paces. “Enough,” he said. “You will let us go, or we will kill you. Your choice.”
Vas’karaz tilted his head. “Well, considering that if I let you go, you’ll return and attempt to kill me anyways... I think I’ll slay you here.” Without further ado, he lifted a hand and senta surge of dark energy at Fjarn, knocking him off of his feet and into the wall, where he struck his head and was knocked unconscious.
The demon smiled and stalked towards Khaz, moving slowly, but surely. “Rage, how I savor it,” he said, and a purple tongue protruded from his mouth, licking his lips slowly, taking pleasure in the dwarf’s discomfort.
Khaz frowned, backing up. “Thank the Light that isn’t too creepy or anything,” he muttered, bringing his sword up, glancing behind him. Turning back to the demon, he glared. “Last chance.”
Vas’karaz laughed. “Why would I do that?’ he asked, steadily advancing.
“Two reasons,” Khaz replied. “One, you’ve got the ‘smug evil villain’ look, and that generally doesn’t work out well for the villains.”
Vas’karaz cocked his head to the side, turning it almost horizontally. “And reason number two?”
“Too late,” Khaz said, and dropped flat. The sound of thunder echoed throughout the confined passage, and the flames died away, dispelled by the holy bullets whipping through it. Funden strode forward through the embers, holding Fjarn’s gatling gun with both hands and visibly straining, but his accuracy was still perfect. Bullets whipped into the demon, and he cried out in surprise, staggering backwards as multiple large, burning wounds opened in his flesh.
Vas’karaz snarled and thrust a hand forward. Locusts and other insects flashed from his hand and at Funden, who turned the gun on them instead, destroying the fabric of the spell holding them together. The dreadlord transformed into a flock of bats, and flew above them onto the cliff, then reformed.
“Clever,” he boomed. “Using the consecrated bullets to save your friend. Very clever indeed, but it won’t - *CRACK*” Whatever the dreadlord was going to say was cut off as his head exploded in a welter of blood, bone, smoke and ash. Right afterwards, his shoulder exploded, blown away by another explosive round. The body collapsed and returned to the flock of bats, which took off in every direction. Funden sent a few halfhearted shots at them, but missed.
“Well, got ye all safe now,” Funden said, setting down the gun and going over to kneel by Fjarn. “Best get Fjarn back to a healer though. Nothin’ I can do fer a head wound.” He grabbed Fjarn and turned, slinging the dwarf over his back, and started towards Nethergarde.
Thorgrim arrived a moment later, grinning like a madman. “Did you see those rounds?” he said, patting his rifle lovingly. “They said it wouldn’t work, but I showed them...” He continued in the same vein for several minutes as he started after Funden.
Khaz picked up the fallen gatling gun and started after the other three, keeping up the rear. Something felt wrong, but he couldn’t think what...
He moved ahead of Thorgrim, who was busy muttering under his breath, and fell into step next to Funden. “You think Fjarn will be ok?” he asked.
Funden nodded. “Oh yeah, ‘e’ll be fine. I just would rather err on th’ side o’ caution and not ‘ave ‘im need a healer than have ‘im die from trauma without us seein’ a healer.”
Khaz felt that no response was needed, and so they plod together in companionable silence, until the gates of Nethergarde came into sight. They got a priest to come down and look at Fjarn while the two sat down, grateful to be on dry ground, instead of a swamp.
The priest looked up a few minutes later. “He had a minor concussion that I set right, but otherwise he’s fine. That’ll be fifteen gold.”
Funden grumbled as he pulled out the coins and handed them over. “Should we stay fer the night ‘ere, or take a gryphon back to Darkshire?” Funden asked, checking the light. It was about midafternoon.
“I’d like to stay here,” Khaz responded. “A bed and a chance to clean my armor and weapons sound nice. What about you, Thorgrim?”
Silence ensued.
“Thorgrim? Did you see where he went?” Khaz asked Funden. Funden shook his head. “He was behind you, I think.”
Khaz turned and scanned the land, seeing nobody. “Thorgrim? THORGRIM!”