Here's a story I wrote about a dwarf.
Thikut the pilgrim gazed towards the structure in the distance. The city had been looming on the horizon for some time now. He clasped his chestnut staff and plodded on, ever closer to the legendary city of Immortalhalls. Back at the mountainhomes, there had been whisperings of dwarves who had uncovered a spring laced with godly powers. The water from this spring could protect any mortal drinker from the ravages of old age.
The Dwarven council had tried to keep these rumors a secret, but the whole mountainhome was buzzing with the name "Immortalhalls" within three changes of the watch. The rumors might have eventually lost momentum and shriveled into mere scoffing, but the Underking's public discrediting of the rumors had reignited the fire of curiosity. Why would the great Underking bother himself with such a trifle if there was not an element of truth in it? Within another three watches, the pilgrimages had began. Young, brash dwarves whose beards did not yet bear a single streak of gray had departed the mountainhomes en masse, bearing expensive gifts to the lords of Immortalhalls. Mercenaries and retired soldiers made fortunes escorting these spoiled young stone-heads through the dangerous wilds.
Thikut had not been so hasty, though. He had taken it upon himself to research the matter exhaustively. Talk was not free at the Mountainhomes, but ale was cheap and adventuring dwarves were plentiful. Unfortunately, he only got idle chatter for all his efforts.
Just when Thikut had began to despair, the first of the mercenary escorts returned from Immortalhalls. When the dwarf entered a local pub, he was immediately mobbed. Dwarves crowded around him to the point where he could no longer raise his mug to his mouth. Thikut had the good fortune to be in the same pub. Upon seeing the mercenary, he immediately called the pub owner and reserved the grand dining room. Elbowing his way through the crowd, he seized the mercenary's arm and made signs to follow. Shrugging, the other allowed himself to be led into the dining room. The guards allowed the two to enter, but barred passage to the mob of immortality-seekers. Once in the room, Thikut offered the mercenary a seat and a drink. He called to the owner, who stood at the doorway, to bring the finest selection of ales and food. The other dwarf raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, but grunted in satisfaction as a tall mug was placed in front of him.
Throughout the meal, Thikut grilled the dwarf about his trip to Immortalhalls. The old veteran shrugged when asked if the rumors were true.
"I din't like the look of thee place," he remarked. "Big 'ole towers and gates in thee middle of a plain, not a mountain in sight. Not a prop'r Dwarven fort'ress." Thikut tapped the side of his own mug impatiently. "Two lasses, and three young brownbeards such as yerself. They saw them gates, near forgot to pay." He chuckled. "Ne'er seen such fat ones run so fast. All sons and daught'rs of them noble dwarves, I'd reckon."
Upon further inquiry, the soldier directed Thikut to a den on the outskirts of the mountainhomes. "Something 'bout a cult - and cultists, sounds very secretive-like." Thikut knocked on the den's door. After waiting for a few moments, a hushed voice hissed, "Pass-word?" Unable to think of anything else, Thikut whispered "Immortalhalls," to which the door swung open.
Three cultists stood in the room, all clad in brown leather robes and hoods. Gloves covered their hands, and veils obscured their faces. The entire room smelled strongly of frankincense and other exotic spices. "You seek the eternal life of Immortalhalls?" whispered one cultist. Finding himself suddenly unable to speak, Thikut nodded his head.
Four days later, he found himself approaching the legendary city. His heart pounded as the gates reared into view. His skin prickling, Thikut broke into a brisk trot, then into a run. He could scarcely contain himself as he passed through the gates. After a few minutes, he stopped to examine his surroundings.
The streets around him were desolated. Hastily constructed wooden shanties creaked in the breeze, shaded by great towers made of pure marble. Discarded digging implements and worn-out garments littered the ground. The place looked like it had been ransacked, but there were no signs of a struggle of any kind. Thikut wandered towards the middle of the city, not once encountering so much as a rat. He approached a large square hole cut into the earth, with a steep marble stairway leading down into the blackness. He stepped inside, and allowed his dwarven eyes to adjust to the darkness. A warm breeze issued from the belly of the earth, carrying a faint fragrance with it. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Thikut hefted his pack and tiptoed down the stairway.
Gloved hands suddenly seized him from behind. Thikut screamed in terror as a pig tail bag was thrust over his head. He felt his pack jerked from his back and his arms restrained with strong ropes. Shouting and kicking, he felt himself hoisted into the air and carried further down the stairway.
After several agonizing minutes, Thikut heard a door open in front of him and felt his back bump against something. He was thrown into was was probably a chair. He heard a door close, behind him this time. The bag was pulled off his head, but his hands remained bound. A figure crouched in front of him, clad in the same leather robes he had seen at the cultist's den several days earlier. Two more figures stood in the shadows to Thikut's left and right. One held the bag that had been over his head.
"I quite sincerely apologize for the abruptness," the figure said. Its voice sounded thin and hoarse. "I expect that you cane seeking immortality." Thikut slowly nodded, glaring at the figure.
"Rest assured, your faith will be rewarded," the voice continued. "You risked the journey by yourself, this dedication has proven you worthy to be a member of our order." The figure raised a gloved hand in a sign which Thikut guessed had some occult meaning.
"There remains only one more matter to attend to," continued the voice. "You must go through a - purification of sorts, for lack of a better word. Are you ready to begin the ritual, young one?" Thikut thought for a moment, then nodded slowly and deliberately.
"Outstanding," hissed the voice. "You will be welcomed among the ranks of our brethren."
"I do have one question before we begin," Thikut interjected. The robed figure rose to its feet."You said that it was 'necessary' to disorient me during my descent into this... place." The figure paused. "Why, pray, do you find this necessary?"
The figure chuckled as it raised its hands to its hood, which it slowly pulled back. Thikut's hair stood on end as he saw rotting, decayed flesh stretched over a yellowed skull. The creature's jaw hung open in a leering grin. One bloodshot eye stared directly at Thikut, the other had rolled back in its socket. A scream choked Thikut, but died in his throat.
"It is necessary," the ghoul rasped, "because you must never find the way out."
The two figures on the sides lunged at Thikut, who was powerless to do anything, with his hands bound. His scream found itself and echoed through the room as sharp teeth and claws tore at his flesh. As the room blurred before his eyes, he thought he smelled the aroma of frankincense.
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Topic: The Short Story Thread - Write and Submit, Read and Review (Read 592 times)