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geffbob · 3 years

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Elf & Dwarf part 1

With hair of gold, with hair of coal

With grace and elegance, with strength and poise

With fire in her eyes, with death in her hands

Two souls bound, two souls, until the end

“What’cha writing there love?” - said Gerdam, curious and confused. Coming back with wood slumped over her shoulder. She set it down with a large bang and began picking off leaves.

“A poem” - replied Mileasia. Looking out into the distance. The hilltop they were currently resting on was warm with the evening sunlight. Both the horses were fine to just eat grass as they rested.

Gerdam’s heavy armour was resting on a rock next to them. Dwarven armour typically consists of leather, dwarven metal (sturdier than regular metal and blue, dwarves will refuse to share the way dwarven leather is made to non-dwarves, unless you’re a very trusted close friend) and belts. While lightweight, it can be uncomfortable and cause a lot of chaffing after a while, and both magical beings wanted to rest.

While relaxing, Gerdam likes to wear typical dwarven clothes; soft white long sleeved cotton shirts with buttons, black pants, held up with a belt (knife permanently in the belt, obviously) and plain leather shoes. Her hair is long, brown and has several braids. Like most dwarven women, she has a long brown bushy beard which she considers to be her pride and joy, regularly commenting on “slicing the hand of whichever whoreson that dares to touch it”. Her armour, however, is a bit bulkier. A dwarven metal helm that has a retractable faceplate, a dwarven metal breastplate with leather armguards (dyed blue) with a slot on the back for a sword (seldom used) and a chainmail skirt which, strangely, never makes any clinking sounds. Her armour would have fur with it, yet she had it removed a few weeks ago because of the heat. A belt holds up the skirt and attaches it to the armour, which in turn allows Gerdam to hold an unreasonable amount of objects. Knives, pouches with herbs, bombs, bandages, more knives and obviously, alcohol.

Mileasia is worlds different from Gerdam, as she is wearing nothing but a white cloak with a hood that shimmers in the sunlight. Clearly magical, as it is always clean, and any substance slides off it, particularly useful for close range encounters. It is very difficult to see any of Mileasia’s features, yet, her ears do poke into her hood and her face can be seen. Blue, serious eyes that always seem to be looking at something contrasts heavily with Gerdam who has lovely green eyes and a constant smile on her face. There is obviously a parting in the middle of the cloak which exposes Mileasia’s body, and the jet-black skin-tight leather armour underneath. No weapons are seen, yet she always seems to have one ready. However, unless she’s about to kill something, Mileasia doesn’t open her cloak, only occasionally removing her hood when she’s indoors, to be polite.

It was a beautiful end to a beautiful day. Mileasia and Gerdam had been working all of yesterday and the day before. As they were both proud members of the Adventurer’s Guild, Gerdam had the wonderful idea to accept 6 missions around the Catherm area. Catherm was a decently sized town, close to the grand ocean. Dwarven territory by law, but with many human residents in the area a lot of dwarves call the region “The Pinklands”. Mileasia knows better than to argue with Gerdam’s “incredible judgement” and “perfect decision making”, so they had to complete all of these missions with very little rest over the next 2 days before they expire.

The first mission was simple goblin clearing, as simple as going to a cavern and ridding it of the pests. Gerdam’s signature “hit the wank-a” technique worked flawlessly, and by 10am Monday morning, the cavern was clear and all that was left was a bunch of goblin corpses with flattened heads.

The second mission was a lot more difficult. A farmer in the area had lost track of a bunch of his livestock, most importantly, his award winning “cow de lait”. This one took 5 hours and was without doubt the worst part of Mileasia’s day. Upon realising that the cow was stuck in a bog, Mileasia tried simple levitation magic to get it out. And yet, all the magic did was force the cow into panic, making it thrash around and get further stuck in the bog. Magic force doesn’t work if what you’re forcing, forces back harder. Gerdam realised that they wouldn’t get paid if the “bleeding cunt of a cow” didn’t survive, so she opted to dive in after it, getting herself stuck in the process. Mileasia, after likening Gerdam’s attitude, intelligence and actions to that of the currently drowning cow, had to jump in after the both of them, this time, with a rope around her. Gerdam would not speak for several hours after she was rescued from certain death by bog. Even when they discovered the reason for the disappearance of the livestock was that of a wolf-lord in the area, Gerdam’s mood didn’t improve until well after the wolf was cut to pieces and served for dinner in the town square. Mileasia knows that Gerdam only needs a few shots of “Gohm’s Grog*” before she forgets all her worries and dances with the human children until bedtime. Always an adorable sight.

(*Popular Dwarven drink. Recommended doses: 2 shots intoxicates any full grown human. 1 shot for elves. 3 shots for orcs. 5 for dwarves.)

The third and fourth mission were done on Tuesday in the morning. Both of them were interconnected. Bandits had taken residence close to the overpass from “The Pinklands” to “Wilbur’s Barrow” which was halting trade in the area. A lovely and strangely quiet trader wanted an escort over the bridge and out of the city, “Two birds w’ one stone” as Gerdam so eloquently said, so they set off to deal with it.

Most of the conversation on the road towards the overpass was Gerdam trying to irritate the lady into talking, and yet despite her best efforts, the lady wouldn’t say more than a few words to everything she said.

“So, ya like having dwarves and elves do everything fo’ ya, is that it lassie?” – started Gerdam, bored, tired of sitting on the back of a cart and wanting to do something fun, like annoy humans. “No” – she whispered back

“Ah, so you consider yourself independent, that right ae?” – Gerdam continued

“A little” – again, whispering

“Then why d’ ya bloody need an escort? You’re young, strong, I bet y’ could lift a sword, tackle a bunch of them to the ground and cut their willies off w’out much hassle, why dunnae ya?” – Gerdam said, sparked about something

“Gerdam, stop it” – said Mileasia, calmly. She was looking into the distance and had to turn around to look at the two. Noticing that Gerdam was practically leaning over everything in order to yell into the lady’s ear, she touched Gerdam’s shoulder and continued. “Not every human likes fighting, some simply wish to survive.”

“How bleedin’ boring” said Gerdam, slouching down. “Y’d think ye humans would wanna kill something every few minutes wit’ how bloody many of ye there are, like bloody rabbits, except less cute. Ya keel over dead and another 50 of ye replace ya instantly.”

“I don’t like fighting” – replied the lady, still very quietly.

“See, now leave her alone Gerdam, sit next to me and enjoy the ride” – said Mileasia “Fine” – Gerdam replied.

When they arrived at the overpass with the strangely silent human woman, they saw exactly what the problem was. There was a fallen trunk of a tree on the road. Any passer-by would leave their carriage and go to move the trunk, be with magic or with force. Upon doing so, an archer would yell from the bushes and side forest land, challenging the potential tree-mover to try their luck, drop all their valuables and pass unharmed, or attempt to draw their weapon and see if they can draw faster than an arrow can fly. Mileasia opted for neither, teleporting behind the archer instantly and holding a knife to his throat, asking politely for the location of the other members of the trope. She received no answer, however, as she was ambushed on all sides. Gerdam was quick to respond, sprinting as fast as she could to the surrounding forest area and spinning in a circle, felling a few trees and crushing a few men against them, breaking bones, splintering spines and cracking ribcages. Mileasia also wasted no time, teleporting again 10 meters into the air and pulling an array of knives from her cloak, throwing them precisely against the group of men. Pinning several of the unfortunate souls to the ground by their necks. The luckier ones raised their shields, only to be met with overwhelming force, as Gerdam’s studded bat smashed through their wooden shields like they were made of glass, and crushing those with metal shields against the ground and surrounding bush area, which she then used to bounce on to crush more “crying gits” as they were called. The leader of the trope appeared out of the shrubbery, most likely from the small camp that was behind it. Brandishing his war-axe with pride before being subsequently attacked on two fronts from both the dwarf and the elf. He had no chance, being knocked into the air from the club (being welded like a bat) and slammed with a ball of electricity, exploding into several chunks of flesh, bone and blood. Mileasia simply used her cloak to absorb the impact, shaking off the more troublesome bits afterwards, then casting a small cleansing spell on Gerdam’s clothes, which she grumbled a “thanks” for, before moving towards the camp.

As they found out, there wasn’t just bandits there, they had set up explosives all around a cage and were holding some prince hostage. To start off with, Gerdam was against the idea of rescuing the prince, stating “well if we recuse the poor bugger, we should hold him hostage ourselves and keep the ransom”, which was countered by:

“I understand, however, you must realise that becoming a wanted criminal in the region is certainly not part of our itinerary for today, besides, where shall we keep him? He cannot walk behind the horses as he is too fat and will simply stumble. Nor can he ride either of our horses because he will simply attempt escape, and I shall have to kill him” - replied Mileasia

“I’m right here ladies”

“And he smells, he’s probably not showered in days” - said Mileasia, ignoring him completely. “I do not wish to drag a plump foul smelling pink-skin around like a war trophy” - she continued

“Again, right here” - mumbled the prince

“Oh, I suppose ye know what’s best f’ him then don’ ya? Shall we just march off into the sunset and leave him t’ his own devices? He’ll get killed by some tiger o’ something if we let him go now” – Gerdam replied angrily

“I can take care of myself” - said the prince, more confidently this time

“Quite hun, grown-ups are talking” - replied Mileasia.

The prince stayed quiet.

They eventually decided on a small plan for him, he would travel with the “quiet weird cart lady”, the name Gerdam had given to the lady they were supposed to escort until the next town, where most likely some wizard would pick him up and take him to his nearest castle or whatever. The lady suddenly became very talkative when the prince got on her cart, despite his broken appearance and smell, asking him a whole range of questions. Gerdam commented on this, stating that “she’s either a racist or very horny”. The prince assured the elf and dwarf that no harm would befall the lady nor him. Mileasia gave him a potion of confusion anyway, with explicit instructions to “throw in the general direction of the assailants and they shall leave with haste, with thoughts of wild beasts raining death upon them”. If they survived, the mission would be completed. If they didn’t survive, then more than likely, they’d receive a very strong worded message from some guild leader that they would promptly ignore.

When they turned around and started walking back to the closest settlement, they heard a loud noise. One of the bandits had snuck onto the cart and was holding a knife to the lady’s throat. The prince, was hiding a basket, trying not to be seen. Before Mileasia could teleport over there, the lady got up, grabbed the bandit by the arm and flipped him like a pancake into the dirt ground in front of her with a satisfying *thud*, crushing his back and knocking him out instantly. She turned around, waved at the 2 and shouted “I DON’T LIKE FIGHTING BECAUSE I ALWAYS WIN”

“So, she’s just horny then?” – Gerdam said

“Yes” – Replied Mileasia

The fifth mission was Gerdam’s favourite. Many dwarves love going underground, and while Mileasia much preferred to stay with her feet firmly planted on trees, she didn’t ‘hate’ underground, more what’s found underground. A Dwarf had simply lost her wallet in a chasm, and was too busy to go get it. “You can have whatever you find in it, there should be a few hundred golden pieces. Consider that your reward. I need the documents that are in there. I’ll give you 50 more pieces if you don’t read them.”

This one they thought would be absurdly easy. At first. As dwarves have night vision, it wasn’t hard for Gerdam to walk around and search the bottom most tunnels for a missing wallet. Mileasia, however, needed to use a magic made light source to walk around without falling down a few hundred meters. They split up after an hour of searching and went in opposite directions. Mileasia has a fantastic sense of direction so she had no problems navigating the tunnels. Gerdam, like most dwarves, has no problems walking underground either, but was bored and opted to ´follow her nose´ and blunder around aimlessly.

Eventually, Gerdam found a small hole in one of the underground tunnels, thinking it to be strange, she walked in and was greeted with an interesting surprise.

Mileasia, after getting annoyed with finding nothing, retraced her steps and realised that Gerdam was missing, and when she found a trail that entered a wall with no opening, she knew that there was only one thing that could have happened to Gerdam.

“Gnomes” – she uttered.

There are 4 magical races in the world, humans in the south, dwarves to the east, elves to the west and orcs to the north. They are called the “4 magical races” because they fulfil 3 specific criteria. They can all use magic, they are self-aware and no 2 creatures are the same. While other creatures can use magic, they aren’t all self-aware. Gnomes fall under their criteria. They are very magical, and yet they share a hive mind. They can talk freely, and yet if you’ve met one gnome, you’ve met them all. They don’t care about any race but themselves, and are more than willing to live underground or in small locations, sucking moisture from rocks or stealing supplies from the surrounding areas without drawing much suspicion. They are genius level mathematicians and will be found working in banks or loan companies on occasion, but they will never even consider being friendly to any race that talks to them unless they want something. Even then, “hello” and “goodbye” aren’t in their vocabulary.

Mileasia blasted open the hole in the wall and held out her hand, with 4 knives floating around it, ready to be shot at full speed and walked in, expecting the worst. What she found instead surprised her, but didn’t shock her.

Gerdam was in the middle of an arena of rock, set up like a very large and crudely made boxing ring. She was without her armour and had her clothes ripped up. The light sources around the room were stolen human and dwarven candles. She was bloody, covered in scratches and had been bruised. Her sleeves to her shirt were ripped and her muscles bulged out. Surrounding the underground rock ring were a large gathering of gnomes, all shouting and cheering. Facing Gerdam was a giant tunnel bear. Similar to a brown bear but completely blind, black fur, had reenforced claws that are used to tunnel and was considered a “very scary predator” underground, feasting on dwarves and other underground inhabitants frequently. And yet, Mileasia simply made the knives disappear, sat down next to the ring and pulled out a book. Gerdam had been working hard these past few days, she deserved a break.

“Come here ya big black fucker!” – she shouted “I’ll scream at ya so ya know where I am, make it fair!”.

The bear obliged. Swinging down and towards Gerdam, she dodged out of the way to the side and swung up with a fist, punching the bear straight in the jaw and knocking its head upwards. The bear growled and swiped again blindly, scratching across Gerdam’s chin and causing her to reel backwards. The gnomes cheered in unison.

“That it? I’m not even hurt!” Gerdam screamed, rushing the bear with her arms outstretched, picking it up by the waist and sandwiching its arms against its body flipping it over her body, pile-driving it into the ground headfirst. She rolled out of the way and stood back up in a fighting stance, ready for the next swipe.

The bear rushed her from the ground, jaw open, baring all its teeth. It got around Gerdam’s neck and tried to bite down, but Gerdam had already put her hands in-between the rows of teeth and was pushing back with force.

“Nice try ya bastard! But you gotta try harder than that!”. Gerdam screamed and pushed the bear’s face away, punching it again straight in the nose, breaking off a piece of the bear’s tooth and forcing it to recoil, howling.

Gerdam at this point ran back to the corner of the stone ring and started to climb, reading the top of the stone wall and looked down at the bear, as it was getting up again with a little bit of difficulty. And yet, Gerdam showed no mercy, as she jumped off the wall and kicked the bear in the face, slamming its head against the ground with her foot still in its face, crushing its head against the floor and then jumping off, doing a small front-flip and landing. The bear lay unconscious and Gerdam was met with overwhelming applause from the surrounding gnomes.

Gerdam raised her arms triumphantly, bowed and went to talk to one of them, who gave her the armour back, as well as an extra present, a small black wallet, which Mileasia knew probably belonged to the dwarven woman they spoke to earlier. Gerdam placed her armour back on and walked towards Mileasia. She simply nodded, put her book away and stood up. Clearly taller than everyone else in the cavern by at least a full metre. She then chanted for a few seconds, outstretched her arms and formed a small portal, which they stepped through and arrived back on the surface, only a few hundred metres from the home of the Dwarven girl that gave them the mission.

“Underground gnome fighting rings aren’t very common, are they?” – said Mileasia.

“Nope, they wanted some fun in exchange for the wallet. I gave them a fight they’ll tell their grandchildren” – Gerdam replied.

“Gnomes live to about 600 years old, you’ll be long dead before they even consider having children, let alone grandchildren”- Mileasia replied, casting a spell and hovering her arms over Gerdam’s head

“And yet they won’t forget my performance for a second, was the best bear fight I’ve had in weeks!” – Gerdam replied, her wounds starting to close and heal, while her clothes began to nit themselves back together. – “Let’s deliver that wallet and head back to camp”

“Agreed” – Said Mileasia. Smiling.

[GB1]Female Dwarf, Gerdam. Female Elf. Mileasia Crowguard. Gerdam rought, violent, big club, big temper, big ego. Fun.

Mileasia. Soft spoken. Wears robe constantly. Leather skintight armour underneath cloak. Ex-guard to the king. Best friends. Go somewhere. Do something. I know what they do but I don't want to tell you

#fantasy #short story

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geffbob · 3 years

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First short story I’m proud of part 3

Both of us head to the part of the chanting that we hear the loudest. Both of us look down and start to focus. I’ve never really been a prodigy in magic. I never paid attention in magical theory class; I was too busy looking at the teacher. A lovely dwarven girl that wouldn’t even give me the time of day if I asked her a thousand times to date me. But every human knows how to create fire. And every human knows how to blow something up. And when you want to blow something up with magic, and you’re next to an elf. Something’s about to get blown up.

We look at the ground and I start to feel it. It’s like a tingling feeling overwhelming you, crawling up from your lungs. “Breathe” I hear Miss L’ark say. “Breathe, magic comes from inside you, from your spirit, from your soul. Basically, from your stomach”. I breathe. And shoot. Rupturing the ground underneath, me. Herah does the same, only about 20 times bigger. Fucking elves, always having to one-up us. Whatever. I’ll take it. We dive down the hole and land at the bottom. Herah falling gracefully as all elves do, and myself crashing down like a boulder, rolling over and striking the first thing I see. My sword’s already in the person before I even realise what I’ve done.

“IT’S A FUCKING KID” I scream. Dropping my sword. The kid falls to the ground with a huge blade sticking out of them. I look around in a panic. I’m in an underground chamber of sorts, the walls are too close together. There are candles and blood everywhere, people surround me. I don’t know how far away they are, they’re sitting in some wooden seats, or wooden altars. Drawings of some unknown beings litter the room. Portraits, landscapes, stars, monsters, people. The cultists are looking stranger than I would have expected. Some old, some young, some underage. All wearing the same cloaks. All chanting. None have even noticed that I’m here. None seem to care.

The kid looks at me and holds onto the sword, trying to pull it out of him, cutting his hands in the process. He gurgles something and looks at me, before screaming. Screaming louder than any human has ever screamed before. Louder than any being is able to scream. I don’t have time to cover my ears before I feel a substance around it. The elf, again, has put her spell on me. I feel something soft and – white? – around my ears. How does it feel white?

Whatever. I look back at the kid and he’s no longer there, he’s different. His face contorts, his body shapes, his back breaks again and again, the screaming gets louder, I feel like if my ears weren’t blocked with whatever’s over them, I’d be throwing up right now. His legs grow longer and wider, his face changes into two, then three, then four, then a thousand. The room lights up, the chanting grows louder, the people are screaming now, the candles are glowing with a large light. The walls are closing in, the space is getting smaller, I can’t stop it, I can’t pick up my sword, I can-

I get slapped harder than I’ve been slapped in my life.

“GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF YOU SHITTY HUMAN” I hear, looking at Herah. My face is burning, and her hand is outstretched. “BLINK YOU MORON”

I blink and look around again. These fucking assholes. The room isn’t shrinking, the chanting isn’t getting louder, but the thing I’ve stabbed clearly isn’t human. My fucking claustrophobia is getting to me, and considering I just thought I killed a child, there’s no wonder I’m freaking out. It’s growing, changing its face and body, growing with a sickly feeling, like a caterpillar emerging from a cocoon. I step back, picking up my sword as I go. I can’t hold it in one hand, it’s far too heavy. So, I have to hold it with both. I feel like I won’t shake as much if I’m holding onto it.

I look up.

The ‘thing’ towers over me. It’s like a giant centipede. It’s made up of about 5 pulsating white balls. The bottom most one is on top the ground, it’s covered in legs, human legs, insect legs, animal legs, it drags itself along the ground with surprising precision, considering how fucking huge it is. The second blob is full of cuts and arms, human arms, insect pincers, animal paws, everything. The same goes for blob 3 and 4, with the topmost one having the face, or should I say, faces. It’s changing expressions and screaming louder with each subsequent face. I don’t recognize any faces on the being, except for one. The old man from earlier. Blood is leaking from their eyes, noses and mouths. Unimaginable torment. It sounds like it’s in pure agony, and yet, all the faces are looking right at me.

“Tits” I say.

It lunges at me, crashing down with a thud. It’s at least 5m tall and clearly not wanting to talk. I jump into a fighting stance and Herah does the same. She shouts to me

“DISTRACT IT FOR A FEW MINUTES, I’M GOING TO STOP THE RITUAL”

I turn and look back at it. Pus is coming out from the damaged parts of it when it slammed into the ground, healing up the wounds almost instantly. How the fuck do I fight this.

Herah runs to the nearest cultist, grabbing them harshly and pulling them down, she starts muttering some sort of spell and something leaves her fingers and goes into the cultist’s body. I can’t see any more of it because the blob monster’s already gotten back up and is raring to charge at me again.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU” I should, spinning out of the way and dragging my sword along its side. Sending pus everywhere.

It screams, violently, and heals itself up. Turning around and hissing at me. The faces start to converge and point at me. I hear sizzling and realise what’s coming too late.

“SHIT” I yell, as molten hot blood shoots out of its face(es) and hits me square in the chest. It burns like nothing you can imagine, but thankfully this armour I’m wearing isn’t just for arrows. It at the very least can help me not die from blood magic, but a few more of those and I’m out.

I look back at Herah, she’s trying something else with the same cultist now. She’s pulled the cultist to their feet and are now trying a different spell, this one’s green. Great. Green magic.

I turn back towards the grub. Before it has a chance to shoot magic again, I force myself up and lunge towards it. Cutting off a few of its limbs in the process. Blood shoots out of them and sprays up at me, just as hot as the mouth blood. It then turns around and slams into me with the other side of limbs and extremities, pushing me against the wall and keeping me held there with multiple extremities. It screams and converges its faces again, pointed straight at me. This time, I can’t move.

“DAMN” I yell, and drop my sword, pulling out my dagger and throw it at the converging point. It hits with a satisfying chunk and forces the being to rear backwards. I breathe, pick up my greatsword and slam down on the back part of it, cutting into the joining parts of the bottom blob and the penultimate blob. Screaming as I do so. It lets out a yell even louder than the last ones – something I didn’t think possible. I look back at Herah and she’s trying more magic, this time, blue.

I just hope it works.

I cut again, and again, and again, but the parts just won’t separate. It jumps and tries to crush me with its weight, but I dodge out of the way and jump towards a wall. I hold onto the wall, focus my energy, and have it explode out, breaking the wall and pushing me towards it with incredible force. I don’t think it was expecting that as I cut through the part I was just slashing. So fast, in fact, that I cut straight through it. Separating it from its other parts. Unable to move itself, it merely shrieks and screams. Old news at this point. I remind myself to thank the elf for the ear buds before yelling and charging again. I jump up and pull the dagger out of its face, cast a quick fire spell and jam it into the penultimate (now the final) part of the giant blob creature. With the burning dagger inside it, I don’t think it’s able to regenerate. And I can focus on the other parts of it. As it’s now a stationary object, in a manner of speaking, I’m able to focus on the more important part. Its mouth.

I leap up and try to cut, but every time I do so, it just drops pus and regenerates quickly. Clearly, it’s not making much of a difference whether I cut it or not, so I change my tactics. I run around the room looking for something to use. A torch, a knife, anything. While I can’t find anything good, I dodge over another blood splurt attack and grab a candle, now burning brighter than I’ve seen regular candles burn. I swiftly cut it in half and pull out the string. As I expected, it’s dwarven silk candles. These candles can burn for about 20 days non-stop without much trouble and it’s all in the dwarven string that’s inside it. The wax is just regular old wax from bees or whatever. I start running around the room, cutting candles as I see fit, pulling out the string and tying them together. Dodging the attacks as I go. Jump, cut, spin, dodge, cut, dodge, spin, dodge, cut, dodge, spin.

I look back at Herah. She’s trying something red now, there’s red clouds coming from around her. I have no idea what she’s doing but I can’t figure it out, I’m busy.

Once I amassed enough string, I cast a quick fire spell and light it all up. Immediately, it catches fire and starts to burn. A long, slow burn. Perfect.

I leap towards the thing and spinning cut the “neck”. Jumping back as I do so, while still holding onto the burning candle string. As I do so, I chuck it inside the being, setting the inside pus part of it alight. Like all dwarven products, they don’t stop working if there’s blood on it. Dwarves are disgustingly efficient.

The strings burn inside the blob worm, causing it to scream up into the ceiling and claw at its neck, but its extremities are too short. It can’t even attempt to get it, let alone pull it out. I set my blade alight with another quick fire spell and start swiping at it, it can’t reach me because it’s too busy trying to pull out the burning string, so I swipe, again and again, jumping into the air and pulling down, cutting through layers of fat, pus and blood, weakening it with every strike. It starts spinning and screaming and shooting blood at random. Its faces scream in anguish and despair, but it can’t get me. Nothing can get me. I’m not A class for nothing. I blast off the ground and swipe at it, causing it to jump, again, and again, and again. Until finally, I cut something hard inside it. I look back and see what I cut. It looks like a heart. A heart of metal.

“Huh” I say. As it falls over.

It crashes to the ground with an earth shattering thud. All the pus and blood from it starts spilling out of all the wounds I put on it, covering the middle arena in liquids and mucus. My eyes start to water as I realise, I might have some of it on my face, so I pull out some tissues and wipe my face. I didn’t get any pus on it, but I’m definitely going to need a shower after this.

I turn around and look up at the surrounding area. And notice, everybody’s dead.

Herah is there, holding the final cultist member in the air. The member doesn’t even seem to notice, as he just continues to chant. She cuts his neck open with a knife, spraying red blood everywhere like a cloud. So that’s what the red cloud things were before. Of course.

“Herah. It’s over. I killed it.” I say, turning to her.

She’s covered in blood. It’s almost sickening. But she does what any elf would do in this situation and casts a quick cleansing spell on herself, draining all blood and mucus from her person and basically restoring her to how she looked earlier. I almost forgot how much I hated elves.

“I see” she says. Breathing heavily

“Are you okay?” I say, looking at her.

She drops the body on the ground and puts her knife back in her belt. “I’m fine”. She says. Clearly lying, but I’m not about to comfort her.

We look around at the beings. And then I look up into the sky. It starts to get lighter, as the wind starts to go back to normal, and the feeling I get of something being wrong goes away. While it’s not gone, it’s certainly a lot better than before.

I look out of the hole we made and at the old man lying against the house, but he’s not there. He’s directly above the hole, looking it. His eyes are closed. He appears to have dragged himself over and was watching us fight. I don’t know when he died, but it looks like he has a smile on his face.

Good.

Herah holds onto me and jumps, pulling me into the air. We leave the hole and she drops me onto the ground. Next to the old man.

I look over and see it, next to the man, he’s written 4 numbers on the ground.

5218. TY.

“What does that mean?” Herah asks.

“Valt number, inside his house. TY is thank you.” “Oh”.

I walk into the house. It smells like death in here, but I wasn’t about to leave empty handed. I just killed a giant fucking slug monster and I want some sort of recognition from it. Immediate gratification if you will.

I open up the safe and have a look inside. 2 gold bars and a book of cooking recipes. Whatever. I pocket the lot of them.

“You’re robbing the house of an old man, a lovely old man that reminded you of somebody. I saw it in his eyes, do you humans feel no shame?” she asks, bitterly.

“Not really” I reply. “Besides, he told me I could do it.”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that human. Where I come from, we respect our dead, and besides, he never invited you into his house. Which if I remember correctly, is complete taboo in every culture imaginable”

“Oh whatever. You don’t report my slight pilfering and I won’t report your mass slaughter in there”

“I did what had to be done human” she scoffs. “You would do well to do the same.”

Whatever, I think. It’s going to be a long walk back to the guild. And I need some sleep. I’ll tell everyone about what happens tomorrow. I’ll let Herah deal with the bureaucratises.

The next day, after some rest. I head back into the guild. I wave to a table of adventures and sit down next to them. They’re talking about something cool as usual, although I’m not paying much attention.

“So, it’s all done then, you got your payment? How are you doing?” says one, turning towards me. “Everything’s done. Herah took care of it. She’s not happy because I made her do my paperwork, but a gold bar changed her mind. Speaking of which, I got something for you.” I say. Handing over the book I have.

“What’s this?” the man asks, turning it over.

“Old recipe book, one of its kind. I heard it’s got a lot of cool things in there; I know how much you like cooking.”

“Thanks” Geff says. “Appreciate it.

#fantasy short story end

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geffbob · 3 years

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First short story I’m proud of part 2

I don’t really like having to deal with many things at once. When I was just starting out, it was simple. You go to the guild, you flirt with the lady behind the counter, she gives you your mission and you go on your way to kill x amount of goblins or clear the road or arrest the cultists that are trying to summon a black god or help the farmers rid the land of pests. Now things are more complicated. More complicated than I want them to be.

It wasn’t long until we arrived at the portal. Most places around the kingdom have little gateways to other cities, this helps for travel time as most people really don’t want to walk for 5 days to get where they want to go. The problem was, the sept wasn’t stupid. They knew that we knew what they were doing and trapped the portal. I don’t know why we didn’t see this coming. I was just talking to Herah (the elf) and noticed that the portal was slightly darker than usual. It was getting to about twilight and I didn’t really think much of it. We soldiered on and walked straight into it. Huge fucking mistake.

Portals are usually over in half a second. You go in, you feel immense force on yourself and you’re out. It’s slightly sickening the first time, but you get used to it. What’s not normal, is when it lasts for more than half a second and you feel something worm its way inside your head.

The first thing I noticed was the pain. Like a ringing in my hears like a thousand children screaming all at once. Next was the imagery. Images of torture and violence aren’t uncommon in these types of spells, but they never get easier to see. I saw everything. My mother being slaughtered and desecrated. My father having his skin removed. My brothers being burnt on crosses. My sister being ripped to shreds by trolls. And the screams. They wouldn’t stop screaming the entire time I was in there. It took me a while to realise that the screaming I was hearing was them screaming. My father, mother, sister, brother. All of them yelling at the top of their lungs while they get pulled apart and torn into the most horrific sights that plague my worst nightmares. Again, and again. And I can’t close my eyes, because they’re just behind my eyelids. Hellish fiery landscapes of pain and destruction, with my family being the centre point for all of it. Every time I look away, they’ve had something worse done to them. Things that would kill normal humans, being done to them time and time again. It was unbearable. Unimaginable. The amount of torture I saw just in the space of 10 seconds felt like forever. And then I remembered what they taught me at the guild.

“You’ll be given visions of pain” – my old teacher said. An old orc, in his late 200’s. He probably only had a few years left in him and he was probably the best psychological combat teacher I’ve ever had. I remember being cross legged, in a circle around him, as I sat down with about 20 other kids as we listened to whatever he had to say.

“They’ll attack you at your most weakest because your brain does it for you. You think about things you love all the time, that’s what keeps you going. And yet, you can’t stop them from attacking those memories because that’s exactly what the spell does.” – he turned over his sword while saying this – “It attacks your most vulnerable part. The thing you have to remember is that it’s not real. Tell yourself that. Again. And again. And again. Figure out what’s wrong. Something’s always wrong in them. Focus on something that’s different than reality and use that to pull yourself out of it”

He’s never let me down, old Gog. Never.

I search for it. I don’t want to look at what they’re doing to my family, but I can’t help it. I need to see. I need to watch for a sign, something different. Something that’s not right. Clothing. Faces. Eyes. Hair. Weapons. Something’s not right about this and I need to see it.

Father being skinned. Screams. Mother being stabbed. Screams. Brothers cutting each other apart. Screaming. Sister being pulled apart by trolls. Screaming. Screams. The screams. My sister doesn’t scream like that. My sister hasn’t screamed in her life. That’s not her scream, that’s a baby’s scream. The baby of that old lady I spoke to yesterday. My sister doesn’t scream like that. She’s never screamed. My sister doesn’t scream. “MY SISTER DOESN’T FUCKING SCREAM LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING CULTIST BASTARDS”

I yell, pushing towards the image. The troll looks at me now and drops her body. Walking towards me. Thumping with every step he takes.

“I KNOW YOU’RE NOT FUCKING REAL, GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD” I scream, louder, over the sounds of my other family members. Over the sound of everything. Make my voice louder than theirs. Show them that I’m not afraid. The troll bends over to look at me and reaches down.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU” I scream. Loud. Louder than I’ve ever screamed before. My throat is on fire right now, but I have to hold on.

“DON’T TEST ME COWARD”

��JACK”

I snap myself awake. I look down and realise I’m holding Herah by the neck, up in the air, with my knife drawn and next to her face.

“Herah!” I gasp in surprise. Shit. “Are you okay?”

I drop her to the ground and crouch down, trying to see if she’s okay. She coughs and pushes me away

“I’m fine! Human! I’m fine! Over there!” -she says between coughing- “Behind the- the fucking – behind the rocks!”

I turn around. Noticing for the first time where I am. It’s a small village, slotted in-between a few grassy hills with some roads leading up and from it. The portal took us out onto the top of a hill next to the village. There’s farmlands around us but all the livestock is dead with flies buzzing around. Trees sway slowly in the breeze, in different directions. Air current is off here, the wind doesn’t work like it. I get this overwhelming feeling that something is wrong. I look down at the village and notice that some shapes are coming out of the houses. I don’t really have time to see what they are, as I spot something shuffling next to the rocks.

I leap over. I’m not a very good magic user, but I know enough propulsion force to leap across the ground without letting the enemy get a chance to react. And she didn’t have time. I draw my greatsword and hold it over my head, looking down on her, stepping on her chest. I notice what she’s wearing before anything. She’s plain. Nothing’s off about her, save the eyes. She’s wearing a loose fitting brown cloak with inverted 5 pointed stars on it. Her head’s shaven and her eyes are black. I don’t know if it’s make-up or soot from some sort of fire. They stare back at me with fear, like she’s genuinely terrified to see me. I don’t blame her; I’m wearing loose fitting black plate armour with black leather pants and jet-black boots. My hands are covered by black fire-proof gloves. The armour, however, is a little special. I tried to get something arrow proof and invented by elves because it’s very light weight and very practical. I’m holding a greatsword over my head with both my hands and have my knife on my belt, ready to be drawn at any moment. And while I don’t look too bad when I’m walking down the street, as a black cloak usually covers everything. When I’ve got my weapons drawn, it’s nigh impossible to not be afraid of me.

I slightly lower my guard, doing a feint. She sees me do this and snarls, chanting quickly and without hesitation. Of course, her fear was a ruse. It’s always a ruse. I don’t bother with the rest of the feint. I drop my greatsword down with barely any force. It impales her neck and pins her to the ground without any effort. I would have sworn these people were armoured, as most cultists usually are. But this one was basically naked under her robes. Her spell gets cut off before the good part. I see her hands were outstretched. Could have been a fireball. Could have been poison. Could have been another vision of pain. Who’s to tell. Either way, it’s over.

“I’m sorry…” – I begin. Walking towards the elf. But Herah stops me.

“Don’t be. I expected a human like you wouldn’t be able to stave off the spell. The second we went into the portal I knew something was wrong, so I quickly cast a protection spell without even thinking about you. I should’ve known you wouldn’t have noticed” “But I did notice” – I retort “I managed to pull myself out of it”

“No, you didn’t. You were about to cut my face into ribbons. I was able to cast a small nox spell over by the rocks to stop the visions briefly” “And I then pulled myself out of it. I noticed that my sister’s screams weren’t real” “Ah the old ‘it’s not real’ tactic” she stops and thinks for a minute. “Well, I suppose you might have got out of it. My spell was only just starting to work, and you were slowing down. That probably explains your yelling about wanting to kill me”.

I pull my sword out and re-sheath it. “Well, we know they’re here. Do we head back for reinforcements?”

“No” she says. Looking at the sky. “Too late now” “What the hell do you mean too late?” I reply, getting angry now

“I’m saying it’s too late”. She turns and looks at me. “I’m not stupid, neither are you. You see it, too can’t you? They’ve started early. The wind’s wrong. The sky isn’t blue. It’s too dark. Too quiet. And the town’s gone. Everyone in it is dead. A sacrifice to their ‘great lord’” she says, holding her hands to hear ears. I think that’s how elves do their bunny fingers thing when they’re being sarcastic. “It’s too late. We stop them here. Ourselves.”

I look up at her. She’s quite funny looking, a librarian in a town of the dead. And yet something about her makes me think that she knows what she’s doing. Probably the fact that her eyes are glowing, and her hands are smoking. Elves wield very powerful magic, the strongest out of the 4 magical races. Humans being second. Dwarves being third and orcs being fourth. Elves barely even fight up close if they don’t have to. Why would anyone need to stab someone when you can just fly over them and shoot lightning down?

“Fine”. I say. “Where do you think they are?”

She looks up to me and points at the map inside her book. “Here”.

Underground. In the middle of the town. Of course, it would be underground. The one thing I hate the most about the guild. Most of the monsters come from underground. I’m not good with tight places. I’m not good with underground places. And I’m certainly not good with underground tight spaces. But I can’t tell her that. So, I just nod.

As we walk closer to the town re realise what we’re dealing with. These cultists aren’t even remotely considerate with how they deal with the dead. Bodies are everywhere. Strewn in the streets like roadkill. Families hang out of the windows with holes where their hearts would be. Cut with puncture wounds all over themselves. A city of about 30 or so people, no guards, no protection, away from all the fighting. These people thought themselves to be the safest people on the continent. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s people lining the streets with their bodies cut into little pieces. Arms, legs, heads. Some are cut up. Some are desecrated. Some are just left upside down, with all the blood leaking out of them like a butcher’s shop. The blood itself is still fresh and moving. Moving?

“Why is the blood moving?” I say “Watch. It’s all going into the same place isn’t it. Straight into the centre. Follow it”

We walk for a few minutes before finding the spot. They’re not even trying to hide themselves now, this is their last ditch effort. They knew they would be found and they’re trying to finish everything as fast as they possibly can. I don’t know if a portal will be opened, or if they’ll be saved, or if they’re just trying to sacrifice themselves to the god so they get eternal salvation in their next life, but they’re trying everything they can in order to finish up. And they’re doing this fast. And sloppy. One of the villagers is still breathing. As I rush over to help, I start hearing something.

Chanting. And it really doesn’t sound human.

“Are you okay old man?” I say, bending over to help the man. He’s clearly damaged. Under a lot of stress and badly injured.

“I’m fine” he whispers back. Looking around. There’s tears in his eyes. “Everyone’s dead, aren’t they?” “Yes.” I reply. I don’t know what else to say. “We need to get you to a hospital”

“Do you see a hospital around here boy?” he says, barely. “I’m not getting out of this alive. And if you jump down there, neither are you.”

“Then should I just kill you now?” I say, drawing my sword. He’s not wrong. The only way he’s getting out of here is if a mage appears out of nowhere and picks him up. And it’s more likely that the sun will explode before that happens. Mages barely leave their blasted guild.

The elf.

I turn to her, and she shakes her head. Fucking useless. One would think elves could at the very least cast a small teleportation spell to the nearest town. But when you think about it, the shock alone would kill him. Organs tend to bounce around in portals created by the magical races.

I look at her and mouth ‘he’s not gonna make it’. She closes her eyes and looks away. Looking for an entrance to the underground part.

“What can I do for you then old man?” I say.

“Are you going to kill them?” “I’m going to stop them.” “I don’t want you to stop them. I want you to kill them” – he coughs – “send a message to all the other psycho bastards.”

“I’m not getting paid to kill them”

“In my house, there’s a safe. If you kill them. I’ll give you the password. – he looks up to me. “They killed my daughter. She’s lying there, on the ground next to your elf. They gutted her like a cow. Make them suffer. Please.”

I think it over. Our goal is over when we stop the ritual. If I jump in there and the elf blows up the book, they’ll scatter and escape, and then we can let the hunters after them. Mute bastards, the hunters, with their large fucking dogs, they’ll find them in the next few hours, and we’ll be fine. But they’ll just be arrested and put to trial. Probably rot in some gaol somewhere. But they won’t die.

“Okay.” I say. Without thinking. “I’ll try”

I stand up and look at the elf. She heard it all. Of course, she did, big eared fucks constantly listen in to things that don’t concern them. She looks at me and starts to open her mouth”

“Don’t” I say “Don’t what?” “Don’t say anything”

“You humans make promises you can’t fulfil all the time, thinking you’re all heroes or saviours. Do you honestly think he’ll still be alive when you get back? Do you honestly think you’ll kill them all? You’re going down there and making them scatter.” She’s yelling now. “The ritual will be over and your silent humans with their big dogs can come and pick them up later. If you fight them you will die, don’t think for one second that you’ll make it out of there alive if you start swinging your sword around spilling blood. Just stop them.”

I stop and look at her. Before I say anything, I draw my sword, flip it over my head and look at myself in it. There’s blood on it from that girl I killed just before, but I can still see myself. Blue eyes, blonde hair, small facial hair. I haven’t shaved yet. And I’m fuming. I’ve never been good at expressing emotions, so whenever I get upset or I’m feeling down, I look at myself and find out what I’m feeling from that.

I feel angry. And not because she’s still talking

“And another thing, if you get yourself killed you can’t pay me for your time. I’ve given you hundreds of secrets regarding daemons and you KNOW I can’t give you them for free. I’m charging you for services rendered…”

“I’ll kill them”. I say. Looking at the old man. He’s breathing slower now. Looking at his daughter. Slumped against a house, blood all over him. He probably has a few more minutes left in him.

He remind me of dad.

“Fine.” She says. “But if you get hurt, I won’t save your ass. I’ll just take your sword and armour. It’s elven anyway” “Fine by me”.

#fantasy short story

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geffbob · 3 years

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First short story I’m proud of

I was given a mission just this morning. While I am only A rank, this doesn’t change the fact that some of my missions can be dreadfully dull. See, when you start out, you’re put into C rank automatically. C ranks are given basic training, basic equipment and told “make a name for yourselves”. And while I did do just that, I didn’t think that I would make it all the way to A rank. I have killed an uncountable amount of monsters, I have donated a lot of treasure to the guild, I have fought and paid and watched quite a few good men and women die over the years, but being here in A rank makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. And yet, whenever I get told “hey, your help is needed to beat a group of pigspawn over yonder” I always ask why a group of C ranks can’t do it. And the answer is always the same; “they’re too strong for C rank, too many for B rank, and it’s a lot cheaper to pay 1 A rank to do it”. Cheapskates.

So, I get up, get dressed, grab my equipment and get on my way. Kill a few lesser beings, receive a measly payment and go back to the guild common room to talk to a few of my friends.

The missions as of late haven’t been anything special, it’s mostly just observation and escort. However, over the past few days I’ve had to deal with quite a few farmers trying to move their equipment up north as quite a few southern settlements have become locations for a lot of magical activity. First it was the rift gates opening in Charonsville, goblin rampages in Hamlettown, and insect storms on the elven borders. While these seem mostly unrelated, recent intel has tracked these occurrences to a sect that’s working in the aera. Bunch of crazy fucking bastards.

A lot of morons do this, the amount of magic our world uses attracts a lot of attention. Attention mostly from higher beings. Whether these beings are malevolent or benevolent is a chance that not many people want to take, and so quite a few of them get scared and try to pray to the “bad ones” so they don’t get fucking slaughtered when the gods finally get bored of observing and want to come down to intervene. Not understanding that if you’re fucking praying to gods, they’re going to notice you first. And if they’re the type of gods that want to consume any and all magical life, then you’ve just become the first to die. The best way to stop this from happening, is to stop making them notice you in the first place, let the mage’s guild deal with them, I don’t want to think too hard about being devoured by a 500m long asshole with tendrils for eyes and whose shriek causes all your organs to fall out of your body. Just don’t let it come to this planet while I’m still living on it.

So, these recent attacks have becoming stronger and stronger. Recently there was a livestock transmutation, where a bunch of sheep grew 3 times in size and turned into “Sheekem” as the elves call them. They’re basically just ware-sheep. Big soft bastards that tore through a village and ripped about 8 poor villagers to shreds. A mage had to come in to stop them, as the local guard had no chance with their armour, and even he had some difficulty. The best way to stop sheekem is to pacify them, revert the transmutation so to say, but if they’re being constantly transmutated from another source, then there’s nothing you can do. So, this mage asshole thought it would be a great idea to call a storm down and zap the 3 into oblivion, and while that worked at first, the idiot forgot about the magical fires that start because of it. Completely obliterating the town hall and severely burning a few more people. So, while he without doubt saved the village, he didn’t realise how badly he cocked up until a bunch of angry townsfolk came out of the hall holding unconscious crispy children in their arms. Poor bastard is still rebuilding the village today and he probably will be doing so for the next few weeks. Mages doing manual labour, shocking I know.

These attacks were traced to one source. The aforementioned sept in the aera has been stirring up trouble. They’re trying to operate in secret, but thankfully the guild employs a lot of experts in demonology just for these occasions. All the trouble that’s been happening over these months are side effects of rituals being taken place, which is apparently what is happening according to this demonologist that I’m escorting. I had to look after the defenceless sod while I walk down south, and they would not stop talking.

“…So, the main thing to take away from this is that most of the people in the area have been evacuated. Which I think isn’t the best idea because it honestly causes a lot of panic and worry, which exactly what we’re trying to stop y’know?” -she looks up longingly at the clouds- “But at the same time, I feel like many people are glad to get away from violence. You humans really like living in your little settlements and I know you can’t stand to stay away from them for more than a few days at a time, but then you go ahead and go on vacations for months, what’s up with that?” -She turns to me quizzically- “Why do you do that? Why not just live in the vacation site? It’s a lot more fun that way because you can just…”

Oh. And she’s an elf. About 1.5m tall, still 50cm shorter than me, but I am wearing armoured boots while she looks like she’s dressed for the library.

She looks like a typical elf for the most part. Long golden hair, a green hairband, flower behind her ear which apparently doubles as a pen, she’s thin, wearing a white dress with light green leaf patterns on it. A brown belt with a set of tools that I have no idea what they could do. Long thin arms with blue painted nails, holding a brown leather strap book which she occasionally writes in by telekinetically using her flower/pen when she sees something that interests her. She’s wearing shorts that go down to her knees and look to be made of some elven material which I hear is “super soft” and “better than anything you humans can make”. And like most elves, she’s barefoot.

“Do all elves talk this much?” – I bitterly say. I’m already tired of her and it’s been 20 minutes

“Not all elves, in fact, some of us don’t talk at all. Like, they only open our mouths to sing. But singing isn’t uncommon with us elves, I mean, our language involves singing, but what I mean is we like to sing songs instead of sing conversations, y’know?” -she turns her head and looks at me- “Like how our conversations are ‘spoken’ by singing, but songs are different because they involve ‘MORE’ singing y’know? I mean, you’d have to be an elf to understand it because I doubt you would get it, you’re only human after all…”

Please make it stop

“…Anyway, the point is, you have to be extra careful when you head into this area, I know you think you’re sooooo cool by being A class and everything, but you’re not S class, so you can’t get cocky.” - She stops me and jumps in front of me, touching my chest- “You’re just here for observation, you come back, report what you found and then you might be able to go with the search and destroy team that will take out the sept. Don’t do anything stupid okay? Because I’ve read your file, and you really like using that big sword of yours to cut anything that you don’t really like.” -she finally noticed how I’m looking at her, and then glancing at my sword- “In fact, I don’t really like how you’re looking at me, can you stop please? Like, I know you’re probably a racist and everything, but you could really stand to be a bit nicer to me considering you’re with me for the next few hours…”

Please god

“How old are you?” -I ask

“I’m technically a teenager but I mean a teenager in your years is slightly different in my years because obviously we elves live like 10 times longer than you humans so I suppose I would say I am about…”

“how OLD are you?” -I interrupt

“56” -she replies, after a shocked pause

“So, you’re older than me?” “Yes, but also no”

“What do you mean?” “Well, I’m still a teenager in my culture, but I’m double your age in yours. So, you can decide how you want to talk to me”

“where did you learn common speech?” “I went to an all-girls high school in one of you human settlements, I studied with a group of teenagers and they taught me everything about how to speak”

Taught common tongue by teenage girls. Figures.

I look up. I wonder if it would be more trouble to kill myself or her

“So, explain to me again how these things are related, and briefly this time as I wasn’t paying attention last time” – I say bluntly

She turns to me, shocked and clearly angry “Bjar def forden góp human, you could at least pretend to pay attention to me”

I don’t know what she said, I don’t think I want to know

“Look. The first sign that it’s a sept was the rift gates. The sept has been forcefully creating gates to other places. If anyone starts praying to the gods, then the gods send their spawn into the world to ‘clear it out’ so to say, which in your terms means killing and consuming everything in the area until there’s a sizable space for the demon to walk through.” -she stops and looks at her book- “So, whatever created these gates, let a bunch of monsters out into this world which we need to find”

“Don’t rift gates appear randomly though?” “Yes, they do. Which is why we didn’t think anything of it at first. But then the other things that happened caused me to wonder if the gates weren’t random after all”

“How do you mean?” -I ask

“Well all the spawn from the original gate had a red star on the forehead. This could be just coincidence, but there’s a particularly annoying demon that lives within a star cluster close to this planet. It could be trying to reach this planet though a portal being created by this sept”

Crazy ass fucking cultists. I swear

“So, what about the goblins? They’re from this world”

“Yes, but they don’t usually frenzy en masse like this, goblins usually live underground and attack travellers that walk by. These ones were organized, picky, sadistic. They were clearly influenced by something.” “The sept?” “Most probably. We managed to evacuate the town in time, but the ones that were late were ripped apart and consumed. Goblins don’t usually eat human flesh, but these ones were either starving or possessed”

Charming. I didn’t hear anything about anyone getting eaten

“Insect swarms?” I ask

“Side effect. Look here” -she turns to a page in her book

“I don’t speak Elven”

“Can you do anything apart from grunt and complain? I was about to translate. You can look at the pretty pictures in order to entertain your monkey brain”

Never mind, I think killing myself would be faster

“Upon the formation of statues to Gar’Doth’Gun, the daemon we think it is, locusts in the area will begin to enter a frenzy as the residual influence of his greatness will enter their minds and possess their bodies, causing a metamorphosis, increasing their size and aggression. They will sting and strike until they are dead”

“That explains those poor elven wankers” “More humans were attacked than elves there. Thankfully no deaths, but some really need psychological help, you humans really have weak minds y’know? No elves needed help after that” “Us humans aren’t born with the ability to shoot flames out of our fingers like you elves” “Well maybe that’s because you’re inferior”

“Hey! we can use magic too” “Nowhere near as good as us”

I feel like I’m going to scream

“The Sheekem in the area were done differently. When you chant Gar’s name for a long period of time, he will try to enter your body. We’re fairly certain that the sept were in the area and trying to get him to enter, however, something went wrong. Either they chanted his name wrong, or were more likely, interrupted. The influence spread to the neighbouring farmlands and he possessed 3 sheep there. The cultists needed to escape and so the distraction of them decimating the city worked wonders”

“So why are these all linked?” “Here” – she says, turning to another page of the book

“What is that?” I say, a bit worried now “A map of this area. Take a look.” – she points to a point – “rifts” – she points to another and draws a line from the original location – “goblins” – another – “locusts” – another “sheep” - finally down south – “our next destination”

It’s a pentagon. The lines form a perfect pentagon.

She draws a star inside the pentagon, each point matching up perfectly with a point.

“inverted star, we’re headed to their final ritual. We need to stop them soon”

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