The streets of Graspedseduce were as empty as they'd ever be. At this hour of morning the only things moving were the guards and the rodents, the latter of which the former would use for conversation during the duller patrols. Two dwarves skulked about the alleyways, passing undetected through the shadows and dousing street lanterns as they went, until they found their destination. They knocked on a thick iron door with the provided knocker of a horseshoe.
"Who is it?" called a gruff voice. The shorter dwarf Bomrek could hear nothing of the inside proceedings.
Fikod, the taller one, answered. "Glittertomes," he said. The name was a recognized fake. One could never be too safe, as of late. He casually glanced over his shoulder. The alley was dark and bereft of life, with only a small amount of space between buildings. This was a ramshackle part of town, a place where disrepair was a way of life, since most of these particular houses had belonged to philosophers, legally forced into hiding some decades ago. It was known that Queen Led was still quite preoccupied with eradicating those lovers of wisdom left - like Bomrek and Fikod - who still walked the streets of Graspedseduce, concealing their love of wisdom behind closed doors.*
Bomrek stood with his back to the wall, his cloak drawn up, alertly watching the alley's entrance for activity. "Urist isn't coming tonight," he said, somewhat somberly.
"Yeah, I know. Poor guy," Fikod said with his eyes closed. He shook his head. "Can't imagine what it's like."
"Who sent you, Glittertomes?" The steely words rode through the closed door.
"Nokzamungèg," Fikod said. The word carried the ideal with which the Earthen Sock was formed. After a few seconds, there came the clicking noise of unbolting locks. The heavy door creaked open.
“Inside,” whispered a nervous voice.
Fikod made a gesture telling Bomrek to go in first. He strode in with Fikod close behind. They entered into a room filled to the ceiling with weapons; the swords were proudly mounted on studs in the walls, the axes lay readily on tables, the spears were hidden, buried in the floor. Above the doorway sat several cages, waiting to be dropped. A chained dog sniffed at Fikod and wagged its tail happily.
The door closed behind them, and Bomrek met eyes with a harried looking dwarf, who stood by the door with an axe at his side. He fervently nodded as he recognized the visitors. “Good, you found the place,” he said with visible relief. “Urist was discovered earlier today. The tavern won't be safe for years."
“We heard.” Fikod rubbed his beard. "They're starting to make sweeping searches of every building in town. To stay ahead of them, we'll have to move every night. We'll need to dig a new town before long."
The meeting was already in progress. Bomrek and Fikod crossed the room to join.
"The Queen is not just a tyrant, she is a monster! One does not let a monster or its children live!"
"She won't die of old age, just look at her. She should have died years ago."
"I hear she uses the blood of babies to preserve herself."
"We must all agree there is no other choice. The Queen and her heiress must die."
"They must die."
"They must."
Bomrek and Fikod looked at each other. They had already sworn the oath. To speak it now was simple.
"They must."
Muttering agreement passed from the mouths of all present. To his own chagrin, Bomrek found himself smiling at the thought.
"And how do you propose we manage to get to either of them? Do you expect the guards to just drop their weapons and let us have at their Queen?"
"I have no training, no rank. I want to kill the Queen myself. I want to feel my axe cut off her infernal head. My wife was killed during the Smashing... it was her baby..." the dwarf began to cry.
"Damn the guards. They'll be red ribbons soon."
"We'll call on all dwarves in Dastot Cog to fly the banner of the Earthen Sock and we will take back our kingdom!"
"For the Earthen Sock!"
"For Dastot Cog!"
*The Queen's hatred of philosophers was broadly held as related to the dissertation, published by one Rith Idrith (a post-Uristolean), which claimed that Queen Led suffered from "acute psychopathy, induced by a traumatic encounter with the infamous yeti Chilldrilled, who ate her cat in front of her when she was a little girl."* * *
There was some sort of holiday celebration, it was a party. Lots of ale. Then a long trip. A retreat. And there was a strange wood, and a bridge that spanned one canopy to the other. It was mahogany, brick, and it led to the market... It was to the west, and there were pools, gardens, it was an inn... a shore, with the sickly colored green sky and rusty wooden walk and then, nothing.
When Lur awoke, it was probably some time after all this dreaming, because he recalled only the ghost of who and what he had seen. It had felt chillingly real, and the people there, he'd known them, but their identities escaped in the daylight.
He sat up and tried focusing on the shapes around him. Here was a finely decorated room, sitting on a bed with a thin glass of water next to him. A candle was still burning strong, though much of the wax had been eaten away. The sky was on the verge of blue, but it was early morning, and no sun yet threw its color to the world.
He was naked, and noticed his damp clothes hanging on the ledge of an open window. He remembered falling into a frozen river that had quite instantly thawed once he had walked halfway across. He couldn't escape. His limbs scrambled for some kind of traction against the current, to no effect. The water entered his lungs and burned fiercely. That was before he forgot where he was, when everything went dark.
He must have been rescued, but by what? Lur wasn't aware of anyone living in such a remote part of the wilderness, and travelers were rare and not often the sort to casually risk their life for a stranger's. He moved stiffly out of bed. A yellow-brown robe was draped over the edge of the bed, and he changed it to it slowly. He hadn't yet become accustomed to sleep as mortals know it, and the experience always left him feeling drained. He groggily rubbed at his eyes to remove the debris, and ambled over to the windowsill. There he beheld a stunning view of the river he had tried crossing, as well as the mountains and woods far beyond, wrapping around the base of the taller crags and peaks that led the woods into wetland far to the south. A flight of birds left their roost in the trees and took off into a pale orange sky.
"Engrossing view, isn't it?" said a low voice from behind. Lur twisted to the origin of the voice, and saw a blonde elf in a red tunic, holding a glass lantern high in the air. A bow was slung across his back, matched by a quiver of arrows strapped around his thigh.
"In a few hours, the sun will rise over the trees, and the reflection on the water will be grand beyond words." The elf breathed in, as if he could smell the sunlight.
Lur frowned. He should have known the elf's birthday, his family history, the reasons for his scars, his blood type; but for now, the former god knew not even the elf's name. His old nature was becoming nothing but a distant memory. He struggled for the pieces he was missing, tried to order his thoughts the way he used to know how to, but it was becoming as foreign to him as the very room he was in.
"Where am I?" he wondered aloud.
"You're at an abandoned inn I have adopted for my purpose," said the elf. "My name is Iwo. I found you in the river, where you were dying."
Lur made no effort to move his frown. "Well... Thanks," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was rather decent of you. How did you find me?"
"You were bellowing quite loudly," said Iwo. "These ears do more than adorn my face, you mind. Your screams drew every hungry beast the forest has to offer. We are doubly lucky I found you when I did."
Lur nodded, wondering when his headache would go away. "I imagine you are hungry," said the elf, and he pointed with his free hand down the hall to his right. "I will prepare a dish of herbs for breakfast. Please come downstairs at your leisure."
Lur scratched his back as the elf departed. Donning a pair of slippers found under the bed, he thought of repaying the elf's kindness one day, when he was a god again, if that day would ever come. Lur largely ignored that last side of possibility, reasoning that the hope of regaining his godhood was all that kept him from immediately seeking the quickest and nearest brothel to spend his next forty years.
He came down the stairs after a few minutes, and passed the front door at the bottom, turning right and heading down a wide hall that was halfway open to a sitting room by the side. The inn could have seated fifty or so during its operation, but most of the room was occupied with cobwebs thick enough to suggest that the place had lain empty for centuries. The boarded windows allowed little light, but this wouldn't bother a dwarf much. Lur sat down to a few plates of leaves and berries set on the nearest table. A decanter of wine sat invitingly in the middle.
The wine was delectable and consumed with standard rapidity, but Lur wasn't hungry for the bitter-looking meal before him, and left the table in search of something redder and fleshier. Even elves were given to eating meat on occasion, and there was bound to be some nearby. He had just entered the kitchen when he saw Estun the Psycho Analyst laying stiffly across the floor, bound and gagged with cloth.
"Estun?" said Lur, his eyes widening. There was no reply.
"I thought you'd recognize our other guest. Please make yourself comfortable, but any sudden movements will take you to a similar end." Lur turned around slowly, and saw that his host had indeed drawn a heavy wooden bow and was aiming at him with a precise and unwavering grip.
The ex-God of Jealousy held his now-mortal breath. In all the eons of godhood, in all the forms he had been worshiped in, he had never once considered that he, well, might die. Even after becoming mortal, he had brushed the thought aside each and every time it had been evoked, but now, faced with peril, he was aware that he was quite mortal, and compared to the arrow pointing at his head, very small.
Lur knew all about death -- he knew that normally, after the initial horrors of painful body-shedding, that the overall effect of being dead wasn't so unpleasant -- but he had too much at stake in this life to lose it. This, and that the reigning state of things couldn't recognize normal if kicked in the face by it, and Lur did not want his next incarnation to be a violent-tempered fire-breathing vomit blob.
"This human has identified you. We have tracked you for days. I have orders to bring the dwarf known as Lur back alive. I would rather be paid for this task, but I will sell your bones, if I must to make due."
"I'm gonna sit," said Lur with a grimace.
"I'm glad that you will," Iwo said with a warm smile. He turned his aim and fired at the front door of the inn, some distance down the hall. The arrowhead splintered into the wood and stayed there. The elf nodded with approval. "Please eat while I prepare the animals. We will be walking."
Iwo left the inn and audibly locked the door behind him. Lur cast about for any windows that were not boarded up. There were none. He considered prayer. Then he checked on Estun to find him breathing, but out cold. Estun's head bobbed like a listless doll in defiance of Lur's shaking.
Wretched heartbeat, Lur thought. Quiet down! He picked up a table, regarded Estun, thought about hitting him with it, and moved over to the window. He knew the elf would hear him, but if he was quick enough, it wouldn't matter. It was a hefty 'if.'
Bracing himself, Lur charged at the window, table-first. The broken pane of the window shattered further as the table triumphantly sallied through the boards and fell out the window into the tall reeds outside. With an exclamation of victory, Lur grabbed hold of a broken table leg and dove through to the outside.
"What are you doing?" said Iwo's voice somewhere to Lur's right. The elf was looking at the broken window with a puzzled expression. "I meant what I said about the bones."
Standing up, with a yell and all his might, Lur threw his makeshift weapon at Iwo's head. The elf drew his bow and batted the spinning table leg out of the air.
Lur charged. Running away was pointless, the elf could probably outrun him, and an arrow certainly would. He hoped to close the distance before the elf had a chance to fire. A hand-to-hand fight was his chance. As he drew close enough to throw a punch, the elf stepped deftly to the side and cracked Lur in his head with the bow.
He picked himself up, but not before he felt the dart sting his neck. All was blurry. Before long, he was unconscious once more, and he dreamt of gallows and virgins.
Poll
281 (87.8%)
Author
Topic: FailCannon: No Rest for the Wicked (or anyone else) (Succession: Battlefailed 2) (Read 939468 times)