'A' leads the tally. So a-searchin' he shall go.
The adventurer stands on top of the tower, a breeze pulling his hair into a maddened tangle that suited his current state of mind.
Staring about him for a moment, he heads back down into the smelly recesses of the tower, contemplating his new name. For he could no longer simply be called Ņabsiz Manydoor. No, he needed a new name, for he was certainly a new creature beyond what the simple Manydoor could have imagined.
He decided upon 'Ņabsiz Tacaas Ofo Corust', which in the old tongue meant 'Ņabsiz Manydoor the Splash of Assembling'.
A fitting name, the unstable mind thought, as Ņabsiz stepped down the first of many stairwells the led to the tower's exit.
Once outside, he made his way next door to the Castle of Spiders, and began searching for an entrance.
The inside of this tower was noticeably cleaner. Although there were still a few bits of clothing lying in odd corners, there were no blood or vomit spatters on the walls, and no rotting corpses fouling up the floor.
Well, except for that one leg. The gladiator thought for a moment, and decided to put the reeking thing into his pack, in case he felt the need for it at some point. What he would use it for was unimportant, what was important was that he had it in case he did need to use it.
It made a rather unsettling *splurch* as it was shoved into the backpack, scaring the roaches that had been picked up earlier into darker corners of the leather bag.
He found another waterskin, drank what water was left in it, and then tossed it to the floor. He already had two, so there was no need for a third waterskin. Now, a rotting leg, that was worth keeping.
Apparently he had thought (or perhaps spoken, he wasn't too sure) too soon about this tower being clean. A pool of blood lay before him, still somewhat liquid due to its volume. The original owner of this blood, however, was nowhere nearby.
He eventually reached the top of this tower, and found a few weapons lying around, as well as some armor. He also found a backpack full of meat (it wasn't even rotten), and gorged himself on it until he could eat no more. He then began looking more thoroughly around the tower's roof, to see if there were any other interesting items up here.
It was dark now, and he had to get very close to each item before he could see what it was. He found a very nice looking twohander in a pile of small armor that was lying near a few dribbles of blood, but he ignored it for now. It would be too heavy to carry along on top of everything else he had in his pack.
He also found an elven amulet made out of birch, that must have been carved by someone who stuttered. It depicted the same event twice, the event being the rise to leadership of a certain elf over a certain elven something-or-other. He let it sit in its place on top of the tower.
And then something caught his eye, moonlight glinting off an object that sat in a hep of others off to his left. Moving closer, he found a shield, made entirely out of steel and just the right size for him.
He also found a backpack, inside of which was yet another steel shield, along with a steel warhammer. He had hit the jackpot!
However, carrying around all this would be a bit too much of an encumbrance. He began looking through his collection to see what should go and what could stay.
It was a tough decision. He had to drop both the pike and the warhammer in order to move at a relatively comfortable speed. He kept both shields however, and strapped both of them to his left arm. He suddenly felt much safer.
Casting a mournful look back at the pike, he began looking around again. He found a bracelet made out of some sort of cactus that looked rather painful, and decided it could stay where it was. He found a copper pike that had been planted into the roof of the tower, but it was too well-set to pry loose, and would have been too heavy to carry anyways.
Finding nothing else of interest other than a pile of goblin bones, he made his way back down the tower. Perhaps the third time's the charm?
However, on his way back down, a goblin armed with an iron hammer charged at the adventurer from the shadows!
The first shot was easily blocked, and the adventurer used this time to decide how to destroy this creature. He dropped his axe on the ground, and took out the bone he had picked up on the outside. His first swing at the guard was too slow, and the guard easily dodged it.
The adventurer then threw this bone at the guard, and it struck painfully against the guard's leg. A small amount of blood began to well up on the leg, but it was a fairly minor wound just the same.
The adventurer decides now would be a good time to put his shield to a bloodier use, and starts swinging it (them) at the guard, missing completely the first three times, before having the fourth shot parried.
Miffed, the hero reaches into his pack again. With a burst of foul air, and a soft squishing, he grasps the rotting leg and pulls it free from the pack. This, he decided, would be the goblin guard's death.
The soft, unwieldy, and oddly shaped leg was easily blocked and dodged by the guard. However, it was only a matter of time before the dull thudding of his kin's leg beating his shield wore his nerves down enough to cause a slight hesitation or misstep.
And so they danced. Ducking and charging and striking and blocking on the dark floor of the obsidian tower, locked in the intimate ballet of coming death.
And then the web of destiny trembled. The fates had pulled their thread for this adventurer.
The adventurer was laughing, howling maniacally as he swung his makeshift club at the goblin, small strips and chunks of flesh coming away from the bone and trailing behind it as it flew through the air, foul-smelling banners and pendants for a deranged kingdom and its knight of madness.
The guard rallied his strength and parried the leg, before turning and using the force of his spin to smash his warhammer into the adventurer's face, splattering the nose and hitting the head with enough force for it to be flung far out of its normal range of motion. The adventurer's neck didn't simply snap, it was ground to bits. A horrible grinding, crunching sound emanated from the adventurer's throat in place of the laughter that had been there so soon before, a wide-eyed look of astonishment dousing the crazed fires that once occupied his now quickly-glazing eyes.
His body, now useless, fell to the ground. His shields clattered meaninglessly on the floor and rolled away, and the stump of a leg thunked into place beside its former wielder like a dog resting near its master.
The guard raised his hammer again and brought it down on the gladiator's lower body, crushing it. He then brought the hammer up and down, up and down, in a macabre drumbeat as he exacted vengeance upon the adventurer's body, smashing bones and rupturing organs before finally bring the hammer down with full force on the hero's head, smashing it into a dull paste.
The last thought that passed through the adventurer's haunted mind before his skull was cracked open and the contents exposed for casual examination, was that he would not bleed to death. This death, his death, would not be anticlimactic.
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And so ends the life of our first contender. Who will step up to take his place? There is no end to the number of willing youths in this realm, and even if there were, there is no end to the number of realms, of worlds, of universes. They are all but dust, and serve no purpose other than your entertainment, dear audience...
His death was caused by a random guard carrying a non-ranged weapon. No bets were placed on this event by an audience member.
Place your votes on what contender shall next enter the ring of death, and fight for your pleasure! The game has not been lost, nor can it ever stop! Let blood spill!
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On a side note, I ask that you don't send me into that tower again. I got too caught up in the character, and couldn't keep the tone upbeat while writing. I'll make a new world (small to pocket sizes only, please) if there are enough requests for it, and that will yield fresh goblin towers for adventuring in.
This one, however... There's too much history in it. It's too damned thematic to be taken with a carefree perspective.
Author
Topic: Death and Glory! (Read 58237 times)