Showing posts with label Labyrinth of Onzozo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Labyrinth of Onzozo. Show all posts
Friday, February 12, 2010
Chapter XXIII: Bongo vs. North
North immediately knocked Bongo’s dagger out of the way, the spikes on the club he wielded catching it underneath the pommel and forcing Bongo to move with the momentum or be disarmed. The Beastmaster rushed in as the Ranger parried his attack, his elbow smacking against Bongo’s jaw. Bongo reared back, but twirled as North moved in to bring his club against the side of his face, bringing his knife down in the same motion. North, however, met the blade with his club again, and the two locked there for a moment, weapons joined, and then both broke free at the same instant, leaping backwards away from the other.
The Beastmaster wasted no time in resuming his attack, swinging his club with bone-crunching velocity as he quickly closed the gap between himself and Bongo. The archer could scarcely believe the assault that he was under, the speed at which North wielded that strange club of his. It was all he could do to avoid the strikes directed at him, which seemed to be everywhere at once, completely preventing Bongo from doing anything but staying on the defensive. Ducking and pivoting, he avoided strike after strike, but North pressed on with no sign of slowing. Shooting his arms out and shoulders back, Bongo fell backwards, taking the impact of the ground on his spine willingly at exactly the moment North came forward, swinging. In the same motion, Bongo pressed his feet up into the Beastmaster’s gut, and with a mighty heave, hurled him head over heels towards the wall even as he rolled back, spinning as he did so to regain his vertical base.
The soles of North’s feet tapped against the wall of Onzozo, and his legs bunched in immediately, absorbing the impact and then catapulting him forward. Before Bongo could react, the tamer tackled him outright, shoving him to the ground and rolling to his feet, smashing his club down on the ground where the Ranger now lay prone. Reacting on sheer instinct, Bongo twisted out of the way, rocks splintering and filling the air with a haze of stone shards as he arched and rolled to avoid the rain of blows North attempted to crush him with. With a desperate arch, he brought his dagger forward, catching North’s club against the blade. North’s lips temporarily curled in dissatisfaction as his blow was blocked, but almost immediately the club came up and down again, hammering against Bongo’s weak defenses. He ground his teeth, madly trying to think up some sort of strategy to counter the insane speed the Beastmaster seemed to possess.
With all the speed he could muster, Bongo let one more shot echo off of his quickly-denting knife, then as the next one arched downwards, he darted to the side, leaping to his feet as North’s club again left an impact wound on the stone ground beneath them. In a flash, North was already turned around and swinging again, the air around his club whistling as it was cut by the speed of his motion. This time, acting with a plan formulated in the spur of the moment, Bongo lured North in, the club coming so close that he could feel the wind from its lightning-quick strikes slicing into his skin, and just before it made contact he deftly crouched at the knee, the beastmaster again striking the rock wall of the labyrinth. Lancing his hand outwards, Bongo took hold of a spray of stone debris knocked loose, and with skilled precision, flung the dust and rock directly into the eyes of his opponent.
North gave a surprised cry, clutching at his eyes as his vision was obscured, giving Bongo the perfect opportunity to strike. The Ranger did not take it. He was too taken aback at what he saw as soon as North had released his club.
The weapon hovered in mid-air, unaided, striking at the cave wall North had just hit. Twice, three times, and again, it attacked of its own accord as Bongo stared, open-mouthed. An instant later, North had recovered himself, and his hand snatched the weapon out of the air, anger showing through on his face for the first time. For Bongo, however, the reaction was entirely different, as he reversed the grip on his knife, a ferocious, macabre smile spreading across the Demyn’s face.
“I’ve got your number now!” he shouted, and came forward, knife flashing. North immediately raised his club in defense, but that was exactly what Bongo had been counting on. In the middle of his thrust, Bongo released his knife, never losing his forward momentum. Here was his gamble, which could mean everything if he was right.
He was. The club continued moving not to strike him, but the knife it had been raised in defense against. North realized what was happening, and fervently struggled to halt the flow of the weapon, but it carried his arm downwards and across, striking the discarded blade twice more in the span of time it took Bongo’s fist to connect directly with North’s now-unprotected face. Bongo’s follow-up knee struck the Beastmaster in his fur-padded gut, doubling him over even as his assailant grabbed hold of his arm, and, with a backwards drop, pulled North down face-first into the stone-and-dirt ground of the Labyrinth of Onzozo. Blood spurted forth from North’s nose as he hit, and in the moment of shock, the club he wielded went flying from his hand, skittering off into the darkness.
Bongo pulled the Elvaan man to his feet, but was surprised as, with quickness he had not counted on, North slammed an elbow into his cheek. He felt pain surge up his jaw as North wiped his nose, drawing his hand back and staring with fury at the blood now streaking the white fur he had garbed himself in. Immediately, he was back on the attack, coming forward with a wild swing which Bongo side-stepped, placing his hand on North’s shoulder as the man flung himself forward and grabbing hold of his arm, with intent to break it at the elbow. To his surprise, North pulled himself in, negating the pressure, and his foot found a target in Bongo’s knee, knocking him off balance. In the same fluid motion, an uppercut took Bongo under the chin, and he felt himself spit out blood. Staggering backwards, he managed to stop himself just as North threw a blistering-fast kick directly at his face. The Ranger’s hands grabbed it centimeters from where it would have made contact, and with a great heave, Bongo pulled North in and twisted his leg around, the force pulling the Beastmaster from his feet and slamming him side-and-shoulder first into the ground.
Before Bongo could even think about pressing his advantage, North’s legs were entrapping his, and he cried out as a push behind his ankle braced by the Elvaan’s leg in front of his shin sent him sprawling to the floor. Bongo turned, raising his arms in defense against anticipated attack, but North took the opportunity to dive off into the corner where his club had slid towards. Bongo scrambled forward, diving to cut the Beastmaster off, and landing on top of him with impact that drove the air from both their lungs. North gasped in breath, turning to face Bongo with rage in his eyes as he threw another punch that tagged the Ranger right across the check. He made a grab for his club, lying but a mere few feet away, but with force borne of anger, Bongo turned, recovering quickly, grabbing his foe by the hair and smashing his already injured face into the rock. With a shout of effort, he bodily hurled North to his feet as he himself rose, running across the cavern length and hurtling the Beastmaster into the wall. North, stunned, staggered backwards, and Bongo, like an angered Wivre, charged forward to finish it off.
In a flash, North’s foot spun around and caught Bongo directly across the face, and he could feel teeth loosen in his skull. Twinges of black crept along his vision as North, face a mess of blood from broken nose and a now-bleeding forehead, suddenly charged forward, his shoulder taking Bongo in the sternum with such momentum that the Elvaan actually flung him off of his feet and sent him sprawling over his head, to come crashing down on his back. Grabbing him by the green folds of the jerkin he wore, North hurled Bongo to his feet and tossed him bodily against the rock wall, coming forward with a brutal punch to finish his opponent off. Even with pain and dizziness wracking him now, Bongo felt distinct pleasure at the sound North’s fist made against the rock as he twisted his head out of the way, and the beastmaster splintered his knuckles against the stone.
Thus he could scarcely believe it when North’s other hand caught him directly in the gut. Doubled over, he gasped for air, but North allowed none of it. He brought the arm with his now-broken hand down across the back of Bongo’s neck, and then with great effort, tossed him contemptuously down across the ground. Bongo skidded to a stop, rocks scraping at his skin, gasping for air as North, wounds and all, calmly walked to the opposite side of the cavern to retrieve his club. Despite the blood flowing in a steady stream from his face, North’s lofty, dismissive face looked almost the same as it had when Bongo had first seen him, save for that there now clearly existed a smoldering anger burning behind his eyes. With all the concentration he could muster, Bongo tried to regain his balance and push himself up, hands fumbling for something to hold on to. As North nonchalantly bent down and picked his club back up, Bongo stumbled upon what he immediately recognized could be his one salvation.
“I warned you,” North said, voice raspy with the effects of swallowed blood and a broken nose, “if you’d given up without a fight I would’ve let you take your chances with the demons outside. It might have gone better for you.”
Two more steps, Bongo thought. Come two more steps, you lip-flapping son of a whore.
“I’m a vegetarian, personally,” North informed Bongo, taking a step forward as he raised his club over his head, “but I’m sure you’ll make a fine meal for my pets.”
North brought his club down, intending to smash Bongo’s skull, coming forward one final step as he did so.
Like a snake, Bongo struck. It happened so fast North barely had time to register what was happening before the Ranger had made his move, and by the time it was over, he stood frozen, hand gripped like a vise around his club, using all he had in him to keep it from moving as he stared into Bongo’s eyes.
Eyes which rested directly down the shaft of the arrow now scraping the skin on his throat.
In one incredible motion, Bongo, having come across his bow, had clapped it into place directly behind North’s head, the bowstring pulled back as far as he could hold it, an arrow nocked and ready. With the bow itself wrapped around his neck, if Bongo were to let go, he’d impale the Beastmaster through the throat with the release. For a tense instant, the two stared at each other, and as a bead of sweat formed on North’s brow, Bongo smiled a bloodied grin.
“Drop the club.” He whispered, then gathered up the blood in his mouth and spit it forcefully out the side to the ground, where it made a thick, dark red patch. “Drop it,” he repeated, “or all this fighting suddenly might tire me too much to hold my bow steady.”
The club dropped to the ground. It leaped back up, hitting the ground again, and then once more, but finally fell silent as its owner slowly raised his hands into the air.
“Very fancy weapon,” Bongo complimented, glowering at North. “Must make fighting pretty easy when your club does it for you.”
“You idiot.” North spat out contemptuously. “That club,” he continued, eyes narrowing, “is the least of my weapons.”
With an earth-shattering blow, Bongo was flung backwards. The string of his bow released, but his arrow had already been snapped in two, both pieces clattering harmlessly to the ground as the string stopped against the plated tail of the Mushussu which had been up until now observing the fight silently. Bongo, gasping, stared at the thing as it reared up behind North, pulling its stingered tail free from the ground even as the Beastmaster stepped aside, dropping down to one knee where the giant beetle he had come in with caught him, then warningly hissed towards the amazed Bongo.
“You never got it, did you?” North marveled, shaking his head. “Everything that just happened was purely for my amusement. This is my kingdom, these are my subjects, and in here, nothing happens unless I decree it to be so. You were just spectacle to keep myself entertained.”
Bongo’s eyes went wide and he felt for the first time a twinge of fear in his gut as the Mushussu, pulling back its stinger, advanced on him with clear intent. Panicking to keep his wits about him, he dodged a thrust from the tail, struggling to keep clear of the thing’s deadly claws as it swiped at him as well.
“The poison of a Mushussu doesn’t kill right away, you know,” North mocked from where he sat, guarded by his pet beetle, “once it stings you, it could take days, even weeks before you finally succumb to the pain and delirium it induces. Sure, I suppose its possible you could be healed, but,” Bongo cried out against the fire in his ribs as the tail struck him in the side, sending him reeling down to the ground where he barely managed to keep from striking his head on the rocks, the skin on his hands peeling as he halted himself with his palms. “that would entail me letting anyone hear your screams.”
The scorpion charged forward now, driving its stinger directly towards Bongo’s heart as North laughed in the background. Whether what happened next was instinct, subconscious planning, or pure luck, Bongo would never know.
With speed he did not believe he had left in him, Bongo drew out his second knife, the one he had kept hidden in case of an emergency, and sprung from where he had been lying even as the massive stinger of the scorpion drilled into the ground, sending debris scattering out like a tiny explosion. With its tail embedded in the stone even momentarily, Bongo, with a guttural cry wrapped his powerful arm around the neck of the creature and, with all his might, squeezed. It cried out, a high-pitched, whining squeal, and Bongo drew his knife against the edge of its massive protruding fangs as its natural venom dripped down out of them. North’s laughter halted abruptly as Bongo drove his poisoned dagger directly between the eyes of the Mushussu. It gave one final, piercing cry, and then like a puppet cut from its strings, crumpled to the ground in a heap. Bongo rounded on North, already roaring in anger, and with his eyes blazing, hurled his envenomed weapon directly at the Beastmaster’s face.
The beetle did not hesitate as it sprung forward, and the dagger sunk deep into its armored hide. Falling to the ground, it beat its wings in pain, eyes desperately searching for its master.
“Galahad!” North cried, his voice wraught with pain not borne from his injuries. The beetle weakly tried to rise, but could not respond to his cry. North, his face a black cloud of rage as tears of blood streamed down his face, whipped around to Bongo as he rose from beside his stricken pet. “I will KILL YOU for that!”
“I’ll dig the both of you matching graves!” Bongo roared, coming forward with a cry matched by North as the two of them hurtled towards one another, each intending to end the others life with his bare hands.
Bongo pulled back with a startled oath as a wall of flame erupted between them, the cavern suddenly alight with fire from nowhere. Bongo pulled his arm up as a shield as the inferno licked at his flesh, but just as suddenly as it had appeared; it vanished, leaving Bongo with only spots to blink from his eyes. Then, with a mighty roar, the source of the fire became clear.
Standing just behind North, garbed in a tightly-bound robe of alternating black and white, a curved and crooked staff glowing with peals of conjured energy grasped between the pale skin of her hands, a dark-haired woman had suddenly appeared, her face twisted in anger at the sight she saw. One woman in a cave was not what had Bongo worried, however. It was the fact that floating beside her, flames bubbling from his molten skin, was the demon god of fire, Ifrit.
“Thank you, November.” North said graciously, a fearsome smile spreading across his face as he looked directly at Bongo. “I trust this means you dealt with the others?”
“They were done before I ever even laid hands on them.” The woman replied in a deep voice twinged with the accent of Selbina. “One blast from Leviathan and they crumpled like dolls.” Bongo’s heart sank. In the midst of everything, he had held in the back of his mind the idea that at any moment, his friends might come in and turn the tide of battle. With a single sentence, this woman had crushed what little hope remained in him. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh as he fought to raise his fists again, and at least go down fighting, at least plant one more good punch across this self-absorbed Beastmaster’s ridiculous grinning face before they took him down for good. Regretfully, he realized he was not going to have the chance to avenge his fallen comrades.
Bongo opened his eyes, focused and driven. In front of him, the Beastmaster and the Summoner stood poised and ready to obliterate him where he stood. Clenching his fists together, the Ranger called Demyn bunched the muscles in his legs, preparing for one final launch into combat.
The lightning blast which struck the woman from behind emitted a scream which echoed throughout the depths of the Labyrinth. The magical aura surrounding her body shook and pulsed as it absorbed the spell, dropping her forward to her knees. Before North could even around, the sound of a blade slicing through the air cut through the cave, and Ifrit, dispelled to nothing but a pale shadow as the one who summoned him had her concentration shattered, vanished completely as a gleaming great katana pierced through its body. The Beastmaster dove backwards, avoiding a cut that would have sliced him wide open, and snatched his club off of the ground with a startled expression, raising it defensively before him.
Glowering, eyes glowing with the energy surging through his body, Qwid emerged from the shadows with lightning still bursting forth from his palms. November hastily threw her palms up, and with a furious burst of energy from the ground, a pair of granite hands caught the blast of energy meant to cook her where she stood. With a roar, Titan emerged from the ground of the cave, and under the beckoning of the woman November, even as North pulled her to her feet, cast his arms out in a defensive shield around the duo.
“Leaving us for dead, after all we’ve been through,” Qwid hissed, the Red Mage’s magical energy still visibly surging around him, “that’s the first and only mistake you’ll live long enough to have made with me.”
“It was just insulting,” Hubby said without mirth, “and really? I’m in no mood.”
Bongo, realizing what was happening, felt his facial expression turn from disbelief to a terrifying grin as he bent his neck to one side, bones making an audible cracking sound as he did the same with his knuckles, leveling his gaze on North.
“Now then,” Bongo said intensely, “time for round two.”
The Beastmaster wasted no time in resuming his attack, swinging his club with bone-crunching velocity as he quickly closed the gap between himself and Bongo. The archer could scarcely believe the assault that he was under, the speed at which North wielded that strange club of his. It was all he could do to avoid the strikes directed at him, which seemed to be everywhere at once, completely preventing Bongo from doing anything but staying on the defensive. Ducking and pivoting, he avoided strike after strike, but North pressed on with no sign of slowing. Shooting his arms out and shoulders back, Bongo fell backwards, taking the impact of the ground on his spine willingly at exactly the moment North came forward, swinging. In the same motion, Bongo pressed his feet up into the Beastmaster’s gut, and with a mighty heave, hurled him head over heels towards the wall even as he rolled back, spinning as he did so to regain his vertical base.
The soles of North’s feet tapped against the wall of Onzozo, and his legs bunched in immediately, absorbing the impact and then catapulting him forward. Before Bongo could react, the tamer tackled him outright, shoving him to the ground and rolling to his feet, smashing his club down on the ground where the Ranger now lay prone. Reacting on sheer instinct, Bongo twisted out of the way, rocks splintering and filling the air with a haze of stone shards as he arched and rolled to avoid the rain of blows North attempted to crush him with. With a desperate arch, he brought his dagger forward, catching North’s club against the blade. North’s lips temporarily curled in dissatisfaction as his blow was blocked, but almost immediately the club came up and down again, hammering against Bongo’s weak defenses. He ground his teeth, madly trying to think up some sort of strategy to counter the insane speed the Beastmaster seemed to possess.
With all the speed he could muster, Bongo let one more shot echo off of his quickly-denting knife, then as the next one arched downwards, he darted to the side, leaping to his feet as North’s club again left an impact wound on the stone ground beneath them. In a flash, North was already turned around and swinging again, the air around his club whistling as it was cut by the speed of his motion. This time, acting with a plan formulated in the spur of the moment, Bongo lured North in, the club coming so close that he could feel the wind from its lightning-quick strikes slicing into his skin, and just before it made contact he deftly crouched at the knee, the beastmaster again striking the rock wall of the labyrinth. Lancing his hand outwards, Bongo took hold of a spray of stone debris knocked loose, and with skilled precision, flung the dust and rock directly into the eyes of his opponent.
North gave a surprised cry, clutching at his eyes as his vision was obscured, giving Bongo the perfect opportunity to strike. The Ranger did not take it. He was too taken aback at what he saw as soon as North had released his club.
The weapon hovered in mid-air, unaided, striking at the cave wall North had just hit. Twice, three times, and again, it attacked of its own accord as Bongo stared, open-mouthed. An instant later, North had recovered himself, and his hand snatched the weapon out of the air, anger showing through on his face for the first time. For Bongo, however, the reaction was entirely different, as he reversed the grip on his knife, a ferocious, macabre smile spreading across the Demyn’s face.
“I’ve got your number now!” he shouted, and came forward, knife flashing. North immediately raised his club in defense, but that was exactly what Bongo had been counting on. In the middle of his thrust, Bongo released his knife, never losing his forward momentum. Here was his gamble, which could mean everything if he was right.
He was. The club continued moving not to strike him, but the knife it had been raised in defense against. North realized what was happening, and fervently struggled to halt the flow of the weapon, but it carried his arm downwards and across, striking the discarded blade twice more in the span of time it took Bongo’s fist to connect directly with North’s now-unprotected face. Bongo’s follow-up knee struck the Beastmaster in his fur-padded gut, doubling him over even as his assailant grabbed hold of his arm, and, with a backwards drop, pulled North down face-first into the stone-and-dirt ground of the Labyrinth of Onzozo. Blood spurted forth from North’s nose as he hit, and in the moment of shock, the club he wielded went flying from his hand, skittering off into the darkness.
Bongo pulled the Elvaan man to his feet, but was surprised as, with quickness he had not counted on, North slammed an elbow into his cheek. He felt pain surge up his jaw as North wiped his nose, drawing his hand back and staring with fury at the blood now streaking the white fur he had garbed himself in. Immediately, he was back on the attack, coming forward with a wild swing which Bongo side-stepped, placing his hand on North’s shoulder as the man flung himself forward and grabbing hold of his arm, with intent to break it at the elbow. To his surprise, North pulled himself in, negating the pressure, and his foot found a target in Bongo’s knee, knocking him off balance. In the same fluid motion, an uppercut took Bongo under the chin, and he felt himself spit out blood. Staggering backwards, he managed to stop himself just as North threw a blistering-fast kick directly at his face. The Ranger’s hands grabbed it centimeters from where it would have made contact, and with a great heave, Bongo pulled North in and twisted his leg around, the force pulling the Beastmaster from his feet and slamming him side-and-shoulder first into the ground.
Before Bongo could even think about pressing his advantage, North’s legs were entrapping his, and he cried out as a push behind his ankle braced by the Elvaan’s leg in front of his shin sent him sprawling to the floor. Bongo turned, raising his arms in defense against anticipated attack, but North took the opportunity to dive off into the corner where his club had slid towards. Bongo scrambled forward, diving to cut the Beastmaster off, and landing on top of him with impact that drove the air from both their lungs. North gasped in breath, turning to face Bongo with rage in his eyes as he threw another punch that tagged the Ranger right across the check. He made a grab for his club, lying but a mere few feet away, but with force borne of anger, Bongo turned, recovering quickly, grabbing his foe by the hair and smashing his already injured face into the rock. With a shout of effort, he bodily hurled North to his feet as he himself rose, running across the cavern length and hurtling the Beastmaster into the wall. North, stunned, staggered backwards, and Bongo, like an angered Wivre, charged forward to finish it off.
In a flash, North’s foot spun around and caught Bongo directly across the face, and he could feel teeth loosen in his skull. Twinges of black crept along his vision as North, face a mess of blood from broken nose and a now-bleeding forehead, suddenly charged forward, his shoulder taking Bongo in the sternum with such momentum that the Elvaan actually flung him off of his feet and sent him sprawling over his head, to come crashing down on his back. Grabbing him by the green folds of the jerkin he wore, North hurled Bongo to his feet and tossed him bodily against the rock wall, coming forward with a brutal punch to finish his opponent off. Even with pain and dizziness wracking him now, Bongo felt distinct pleasure at the sound North’s fist made against the rock as he twisted his head out of the way, and the beastmaster splintered his knuckles against the stone.
Thus he could scarcely believe it when North’s other hand caught him directly in the gut. Doubled over, he gasped for air, but North allowed none of it. He brought the arm with his now-broken hand down across the back of Bongo’s neck, and then with great effort, tossed him contemptuously down across the ground. Bongo skidded to a stop, rocks scraping at his skin, gasping for air as North, wounds and all, calmly walked to the opposite side of the cavern to retrieve his club. Despite the blood flowing in a steady stream from his face, North’s lofty, dismissive face looked almost the same as it had when Bongo had first seen him, save for that there now clearly existed a smoldering anger burning behind his eyes. With all the concentration he could muster, Bongo tried to regain his balance and push himself up, hands fumbling for something to hold on to. As North nonchalantly bent down and picked his club back up, Bongo stumbled upon what he immediately recognized could be his one salvation.
“I warned you,” North said, voice raspy with the effects of swallowed blood and a broken nose, “if you’d given up without a fight I would’ve let you take your chances with the demons outside. It might have gone better for you.”
Two more steps, Bongo thought. Come two more steps, you lip-flapping son of a whore.
“I’m a vegetarian, personally,” North informed Bongo, taking a step forward as he raised his club over his head, “but I’m sure you’ll make a fine meal for my pets.”
North brought his club down, intending to smash Bongo’s skull, coming forward one final step as he did so.
Like a snake, Bongo struck. It happened so fast North barely had time to register what was happening before the Ranger had made his move, and by the time it was over, he stood frozen, hand gripped like a vise around his club, using all he had in him to keep it from moving as he stared into Bongo’s eyes.
Eyes which rested directly down the shaft of the arrow now scraping the skin on his throat.
In one incredible motion, Bongo, having come across his bow, had clapped it into place directly behind North’s head, the bowstring pulled back as far as he could hold it, an arrow nocked and ready. With the bow itself wrapped around his neck, if Bongo were to let go, he’d impale the Beastmaster through the throat with the release. For a tense instant, the two stared at each other, and as a bead of sweat formed on North’s brow, Bongo smiled a bloodied grin.
“Drop the club.” He whispered, then gathered up the blood in his mouth and spit it forcefully out the side to the ground, where it made a thick, dark red patch. “Drop it,” he repeated, “or all this fighting suddenly might tire me too much to hold my bow steady.”
The club dropped to the ground. It leaped back up, hitting the ground again, and then once more, but finally fell silent as its owner slowly raised his hands into the air.
“Very fancy weapon,” Bongo complimented, glowering at North. “Must make fighting pretty easy when your club does it for you.”
“You idiot.” North spat out contemptuously. “That club,” he continued, eyes narrowing, “is the least of my weapons.”
With an earth-shattering blow, Bongo was flung backwards. The string of his bow released, but his arrow had already been snapped in two, both pieces clattering harmlessly to the ground as the string stopped against the plated tail of the Mushussu which had been up until now observing the fight silently. Bongo, gasping, stared at the thing as it reared up behind North, pulling its stingered tail free from the ground even as the Beastmaster stepped aside, dropping down to one knee where the giant beetle he had come in with caught him, then warningly hissed towards the amazed Bongo.
“You never got it, did you?” North marveled, shaking his head. “Everything that just happened was purely for my amusement. This is my kingdom, these are my subjects, and in here, nothing happens unless I decree it to be so. You were just spectacle to keep myself entertained.”
Bongo’s eyes went wide and he felt for the first time a twinge of fear in his gut as the Mushussu, pulling back its stinger, advanced on him with clear intent. Panicking to keep his wits about him, he dodged a thrust from the tail, struggling to keep clear of the thing’s deadly claws as it swiped at him as well.
“The poison of a Mushussu doesn’t kill right away, you know,” North mocked from where he sat, guarded by his pet beetle, “once it stings you, it could take days, even weeks before you finally succumb to the pain and delirium it induces. Sure, I suppose its possible you could be healed, but,” Bongo cried out against the fire in his ribs as the tail struck him in the side, sending him reeling down to the ground where he barely managed to keep from striking his head on the rocks, the skin on his hands peeling as he halted himself with his palms. “that would entail me letting anyone hear your screams.”
The scorpion charged forward now, driving its stinger directly towards Bongo’s heart as North laughed in the background. Whether what happened next was instinct, subconscious planning, or pure luck, Bongo would never know.
With speed he did not believe he had left in him, Bongo drew out his second knife, the one he had kept hidden in case of an emergency, and sprung from where he had been lying even as the massive stinger of the scorpion drilled into the ground, sending debris scattering out like a tiny explosion. With its tail embedded in the stone even momentarily, Bongo, with a guttural cry wrapped his powerful arm around the neck of the creature and, with all his might, squeezed. It cried out, a high-pitched, whining squeal, and Bongo drew his knife against the edge of its massive protruding fangs as its natural venom dripped down out of them. North’s laughter halted abruptly as Bongo drove his poisoned dagger directly between the eyes of the Mushussu. It gave one final, piercing cry, and then like a puppet cut from its strings, crumpled to the ground in a heap. Bongo rounded on North, already roaring in anger, and with his eyes blazing, hurled his envenomed weapon directly at the Beastmaster’s face.
The beetle did not hesitate as it sprung forward, and the dagger sunk deep into its armored hide. Falling to the ground, it beat its wings in pain, eyes desperately searching for its master.
“Galahad!” North cried, his voice wraught with pain not borne from his injuries. The beetle weakly tried to rise, but could not respond to his cry. North, his face a black cloud of rage as tears of blood streamed down his face, whipped around to Bongo as he rose from beside his stricken pet. “I will KILL YOU for that!”
“I’ll dig the both of you matching graves!” Bongo roared, coming forward with a cry matched by North as the two of them hurtled towards one another, each intending to end the others life with his bare hands.
Bongo pulled back with a startled oath as a wall of flame erupted between them, the cavern suddenly alight with fire from nowhere. Bongo pulled his arm up as a shield as the inferno licked at his flesh, but just as suddenly as it had appeared; it vanished, leaving Bongo with only spots to blink from his eyes. Then, with a mighty roar, the source of the fire became clear.
Standing just behind North, garbed in a tightly-bound robe of alternating black and white, a curved and crooked staff glowing with peals of conjured energy grasped between the pale skin of her hands, a dark-haired woman had suddenly appeared, her face twisted in anger at the sight she saw. One woman in a cave was not what had Bongo worried, however. It was the fact that floating beside her, flames bubbling from his molten skin, was the demon god of fire, Ifrit.
“Thank you, November.” North said graciously, a fearsome smile spreading across his face as he looked directly at Bongo. “I trust this means you dealt with the others?”
“They were done before I ever even laid hands on them.” The woman replied in a deep voice twinged with the accent of Selbina. “One blast from Leviathan and they crumpled like dolls.” Bongo’s heart sank. In the midst of everything, he had held in the back of his mind the idea that at any moment, his friends might come in and turn the tide of battle. With a single sentence, this woman had crushed what little hope remained in him. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh as he fought to raise his fists again, and at least go down fighting, at least plant one more good punch across this self-absorbed Beastmaster’s ridiculous grinning face before they took him down for good. Regretfully, he realized he was not going to have the chance to avenge his fallen comrades.
Bongo opened his eyes, focused and driven. In front of him, the Beastmaster and the Summoner stood poised and ready to obliterate him where he stood. Clenching his fists together, the Ranger called Demyn bunched the muscles in his legs, preparing for one final launch into combat.
The lightning blast which struck the woman from behind emitted a scream which echoed throughout the depths of the Labyrinth. The magical aura surrounding her body shook and pulsed as it absorbed the spell, dropping her forward to her knees. Before North could even around, the sound of a blade slicing through the air cut through the cave, and Ifrit, dispelled to nothing but a pale shadow as the one who summoned him had her concentration shattered, vanished completely as a gleaming great katana pierced through its body. The Beastmaster dove backwards, avoiding a cut that would have sliced him wide open, and snatched his club off of the ground with a startled expression, raising it defensively before him.
Glowering, eyes glowing with the energy surging through his body, Qwid emerged from the shadows with lightning still bursting forth from his palms. November hastily threw her palms up, and with a furious burst of energy from the ground, a pair of granite hands caught the blast of energy meant to cook her where she stood. With a roar, Titan emerged from the ground of the cave, and under the beckoning of the woman November, even as North pulled her to her feet, cast his arms out in a defensive shield around the duo.
“Leaving us for dead, after all we’ve been through,” Qwid hissed, the Red Mage’s magical energy still visibly surging around him, “that’s the first and only mistake you’ll live long enough to have made with me.”
“It was just insulting,” Hubby said without mirth, “and really? I’m in no mood.”
Bongo, realizing what was happening, felt his facial expression turn from disbelief to a terrifying grin as he bent his neck to one side, bones making an audible cracking sound as he did the same with his knuckles, leveling his gaze on North.
“Now then,” Bongo said intensely, “time for round two.”
Chapter XXII: What Lurks in Shadow
The caverns of Onzozo were still, save for the occasional drop of condensational water onto stagnant puddles gathered underneath ancient stalactites. There was not a sound, not a breath, nothing stirring whatsoever in the bleak stretches of darkness which tunneled below the earth. All was in silence, save for the thin echo of wind from outside billowing down those endless corridors, creating a sound like a deep, ever-lasting sigh emerging from the depths. It was into this blackened void that Bongo cast out his thoughts, seeking; searching for some sign of whatever it was that had its eyes on them.
Even in the apparent solitude of Onzozo, he could sense that he was surrounded. He could feel, through the great connection of all living things which Rangers were most in tune with, the creatures darting in and out of the caverns all around him. There were just too many of them though; they moved quickly, never letting him settle his focus to determine what was what, and were so numerous that it threatened to overload his senses. The only thing he could be absolutely certain of was that he felt no direct aggression towards his person, at least. They knew he was there, and they were watching him, but he could tell that they were not going to attack while he was on his guard. No, they were waiting for something, and it was that coordination, that restraint, that most alarmed Bongo.
Monsters did not act this way left to their own devices. It simply did not happen, and any Ranger would say the same. There was only one circumstance that precluded natural monster activity; the usual pack-like mentality and territorial violence. That condition always included, in every recorded instance, the presence of an outside force acting upon the will of the monster to make it deviate from normal behavior. Bongo knew what was happening, and redoubled his efforts to focus his thoughts, search out one life form in particular. Somewhere in the twisting maze that was Onzozo, there was a Beastmaster playing games with them, and the Hume had decided to change the rules.
He walked on alone, the mighty war bow he had used on so many battlefields strung and ready to fire at a moments notice. Dantrag and Luma had gone off to search one end of the caverns, Qwid and Hubby the other. Bongo, as the only one who might be able to sense what they were looking for without seeing it, had gone on alone. While Qwid could find his way around using magic, and Luma, as a Mithra, could see fairly well in the dark, Bongo had only his skills as a Ranger to guide him through the depths. Dantrag had objected to them splitting up, but it was the only way to ensure that one of them might find their tormentor. Leaving was not an option, especially now at night, when the demons would be patrolling in full force, but nor could they stay here under threat of being attacked while they slept. No, finding their invisible antagonist and ending his game was the only way this could reach an end. Feeling his way through the damp, slimy walls of the labyrinth, Bongo pressed onwards.
The monsters in Onzozo were keeping a very specific distance away from him, and he gave a growl of frustration as they continued circling as he moved forward. Whoever they were dealing with, he knew exactly how to throw a Ranger off of his trail, confusing his mental scan with quick movements and varied types of monsters, threatening to overload his mind with the information. Bongo grudgingly withdrew the scope of his search, keeping focused only on what was just in front of him. Immediately, he cursed himself for doing so, playing right into the hands of whoever was pulling the strings here. He was dealing with a professional, that fact was starkly clear.
Bongo was so momentarily caught up in his anger that he almost failed to notice when the monsters began closing in on him. Almost as if they somehow knew he had stopped seeking them out momentarily, suddenly a group of them were surging forward, several, from each direction. With a vile oath, Bongo nocked an arrow into his bow. This was it; the Beastmaster had made his move.
Caverns away, Qwid and Hubby slowly crept through the labyrinth, keeping close to the walls. The Tarutaru had conjured a small globe of light just above them, banishing the deep darkness into which they tread enough so that they could at least see in front of themselves. With only the pale orb as guidance, they had trekked downwards, past the roaming Cockatrice packs and crawling leeches, narrowly avoiding the notice of the Goblins which held sway over the Labyrinth, deeper and deeper down into the tunnels, to the area they now faced. It was a wide, open cavern, with the peculiar moss which grew in Onzozo giving off a haunting pale glow which covered the entire area. What was more than that, however, was that this part was plainly inhabited. There were no less than a dozen Torama patrolling the grounds, and they knew that there would be no sneaking by them.
“Damn,” Qwid swore under his breath, “he’s really done this well.”
“Who’s done what?” Hubby whispered, hand grasping at the hilt of his blade.
“Whoever is controlling these monsters,” Qwid said, drawing back a few steps from the mouth of the cavern they had discovered. “I don’t think we snuck by those monsters earlier, Hubby. I think they let us through. Now . . . “
“We’re trapped.” Hubby finished, grimly. His eyes narrowed; whoever was doing this either did not know what was happening in the outside world, or simply didn’t care. To cause this much strife for anyone still alive in these times was abominable, but for Hubby, it was one more distraction keeping him from beginning the search for his wife. That, above all else, was unforgiveable. “So we cut our way through.”
“I don’t like it, but we may not have – hold on a second.” Qwid turned around sharply, his slim rapier flashing out of the scabbard at his side. The black jewel embedded in the staff on his back pulsed as he summoned the magic inside of him, and Hubby twisted his head back to see what he was looking at, but only saw darkness staring back.
“What are you looking for?” Hubby asked silently, crouching down into a stance prepared for an attack.
Qwid said nothing, but only gestured forward, into the dark caverns surrounding them. Neither spoke a word, looking only onwards, knowing that whatever monsters they had passed by on their way to this point could now be charging at them from behind. The Hume and the Tarutaru both stood at the ready as from down the corridor, they began to hear a deep, heavy breathing, a perpetual growl that echoed all around them. It was low and angry, growing slowly closer, and both began to perspire under the pressure of anticipation. They all knew the stories about the killer Manticore lurking in the depths of Onzozo.
It took Hubby a moment to realize he was not, in fact, sweating. Water was forming around him.
“That’s not – “ Qwid began to shout, but it was too late.
A jet of water shot out from the darkness, striking Qwid like a hammer. The Tarutaru was flung fully off of his feet, slamming into the wall of the cavern as the pressure burst hammered into him. Hubby tore his great katana free of his scabbard, charging forward into the darkness as his chi roared into his body, but was met by a forceful slap which struck him from chest to cheek, sending him sprawling down across the floor. He struggled to rise, but another blast of water drove into him, and he collided against the rocks with great force, darkness swirling in on the edges of his vision.
As he started to black out, the serpentine form of Leviathan, the water diety, drifted over his body, and standing just behind him, he could make out the form of a robed woman maliciously grinning.
“Did you hear that?” Dantrag whispered to Luma, who was crouched down low behind a rock as she surveyed the roaming Sea Monks wandering the depths of Onzozo. Her ears twitched and she turned back, motioning for silence, a single fang biting down over her lower lip. The Sea Monks in front of them drifted about, seemingly oblivious to their presence, but Dantrag was no longer concerned with them. Somewhere, distantly, he had just heard what sounded like a cry for help.
“No, Luma, I just heard – “
“Silence!” Luma cautioned, not turning to face him, but gesturing with a clawed hand. There was something in her harsh, hushed tone that made Dantrag realize she was warning him for a reason. Slowly, Dantrag inched his way up the rock face, peering over to the other side. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.
In the center of the other Sea Monks, dominating the room, he could clearly make out a kraken so enormous it may have well been three times the size of the others. It was enormous to behold, and its eight tentacles seemed like tree trunks scraping the ground as it drifted over the damp ground beneath it. The other creatures moved carefully around it, almost deferentially. The massive kraken appeared disinterested in the others around it, though they were obviously quite aware of the larger one, and moved in accordance to wherever it was going. It was clear that amongst the beasts of Onzozo, this monstrosity was their lord.
Dantrag slid down the rock face in amazement, looking with wide eyes up at Luma, who continued examining the creature fiercely. Dantrag could see her hand grasping for the hilt of her blade, and for a moment, it seemed like the best move to make would be flight. However, the way they had come led only back through an encampment of Goblins which called the Labyrinth home. They were backed into a corner; there was no way out of this one without fighting. The only choice they had was if they wanted to attempt to take on an entire cavern full of beastmen, or launch into an attack against a family of Sea Monks, including the colossal one commanding them. Dantrag ground his teeth together as he pulled an axe free from his belt.
“A trap,” Luma suddenly said under her breath, “fell right into it, we did. Not good.”
“What?” Dantrag whispered back up at her.
“Lured here. We were lured, and we took the bait.” The Mithra seemed more than a little agitated at their current situation, and Dantrag felt nervousness creep up in his stomach as he realized that she was right. “We’re right where they want us, and they’ve already got the others.” Her ears twitched, and Dantrag suddenly understood that she could hear as sharply as he could, maybe even better, and those cries from before had not gone unnoticed.
“Okay.” The Elvaan said, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. He focused, thinking of their situation, plotting out his solutions, analyzing which would be best. Beasts or Beastmen, someone pulling their strings, a pincer trap they had already fallen into. “Luma,” Dantrag muttered, casting his gaze up to where the Mithra was standing, still staring at the mutant creature, “you ready to fight?”
Luma’s lips curled back, revealing her glinting fangs. “Fight?” She asked. “I could fight. Which way should I aim my sword?”
“Let’s creep out of here and go pay those Goblins a visit. The only way out of a pincer attack is to fight right through the middle.”
Luma gave what resembled a grin as she slowly withdrew her great katana, peering back at the way they had come. “There were a lot of those nasty things,” she said, gripping her blade with both hands, “and only two of us.”
“Yeah,” Dantrag said, giving a cautionary look behind himself to make sure the Sea Monks hadn’t heard him, and then sliding back into the shadows, “I feel bad for them, too.”
The Manticore cried out as an arrow lodged deep inside of its chest, and then fell to the ground, raggedly gasping as Bongo, eyes blazing, drew forth another arrow. Ignoring the pain in his shoulders, the weariness in his bow arm, the burning of the tears down his back the beast had made when it clawed at him before it died, he swung his bow around and let another volley fly. A cockatrice behind him took one in the side, and gave a screech as it retreated, wounded. There was another beside it, and it gave an angry cry as it came forward, charging towards Bongo with a primal shriek. The Ranger easily side-stepped the beast, a flash of light glinting as the steel of his dagger flew into his hand. With a fierce strike, he slashed open the side of the monster, even as he ran forward, away from the now-wounded beast.
It rounded on him, blood in its eyes, but then gave way to a choked gurgle as an arrow took it full in the throat. The cockatrice wavered for a moment, and then toppled over, dead. Blood pooled at the ground at Bongo’s feet, even as he pulled another arrow back. They were still all around him, but there, just outside of his range of vision, lurking in the shadows . . .
“You got too close!” the Ranger shouted as he let an arrow fly. It sang as it flew into the darkness, towards the target Bongo could sense, but not see. For just a moment, he had finally felt a human presence, and knew instantly that his quarry was near. Had it been one of the others, he would have recognized the unique feel their energy gave off, but this was different. Someone he didn’t know, someone standing with the beasts without fear of attack. This was the Beastmaster he had been looking for, and one slip-up was all it took. With an echoing thud, Bongo heard his arrow take root.
His smile quickly faded as he heard the sound of skittering across the granite floors, and into the narrow range of his vision, which had by now become adjusted to the dark, a towering scorpion came into view. Just in front of it, a beetle, wings flared, came down to the ground, an arrow caught between its powerful jaws. With a deliberate demonstration, it bit the projectile in half, letting it clatter harmlessly to the ground. The scorpion, a Mushussu, came in closer, fangs dripping venom as its tail arched backwards dangerously, the stinger on the end as big as Bongo’s forearm. The Ranger drew another arrow, eyes narrowing as he sneered at the creature.
“Good catch, Galahad.” Came a voice, startling Bongo momentarily. The scorpion halted, and the beetle remained in front of it, menacingly leering at the ranger in front of it. Bongo did not lower his bow, though his arm cried out in warning against the strain he was putting on himself. The monsters around him, dead and wounded in four directions, gave testament to the number of arrows in his diminishing quiver he had let fly in the last few furious minutes. Bongo’s senses were screaming at him now that what he was looking for was right in front of him, but all he could see was the scorpion. It did take up most of the small tunnel entrance, but still, that should be no reason . . .
That’s when it hit him. The voice was coming from on top of the Mushussu.
There were two taps as leather-soled boots hit the ground, dropping off of the scorpions’ back. The man who came forward was dressed in a collection of varied animal furs and horns, and held a strange, curved club in one hand, blunt on one side, and jagged spikes jutting out of the other. His furs were strapped to him, his entire wardrobe crudely made and almost beastial in its appearance. Still, he carried himself with an undeniable air of power and confidence, and by the way the beasts around him took a step back as he approached, it was no wonder. This was a Beastmaster, and he was in the seat of his power.
“So you’re the outsiders trespassing on my territory.” His voice was low and guttural, sounding like a monster’s snarl as much as a human voice. He was Elvaan, that was immediately clear, but appeared stocky and tanned, with a slight shadow of unshaven beard growing on his squared jaw. Steely gray eyes looked Bongo over, seemingly ignoring the arrow pointed at his head. With a scoff, the Beastmaster folded his arms, the club touching just over his shoulder. “You don’t seem like anything special to me. How did you defeat so many of my pets?”
“Why are you doing this?” Bongo demanded of the stranger, his words an angered growl. “We only came in here to escape the demons. There was no need for this.”
“You shouldn’t have disturbed my pets.” The Beastmaster replied, a glower settling in on his expression. “I don’t care what’s going on outside, this is my home, these creatures are under my protection. You threatened them, I responded it kind.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Bongo growled, drawing back his bowstring.
“No,” the man said, taking a defiant step forward, “I’m one of the only sane things left in this world. You’re crazy to think you’re going to beat me.”
“On the field of battle, they call me Demyn.” Bongo told the man, ignoring the muscles aching for release in his arms, using all his strength to keep his bow from shaking. “It’s a name I have earned.”
“Well they just call me North,” the man said, “and maybe you haven’t noticed, but demons haven’t posed any threat to me.” With a flourish, he brought his club forward in an offensive posture, legs suddenly braced for the attack. “Don’t throw your life away. Give up now and I’ll make this easy.”
“Exactly what I was thinking!” Bongo cried as he loosed his arrow. North sprung forward at the same moment, and the club and arrow collided in the air even as Bongo pulled his knife free and ran towards the Beastmaster. With a clash that sent a shower of sparks into the air, North’s club struck the arrow right out of the air, and his momentum carried him directly towards Bongo's flashing dagger.
Even in the apparent solitude of Onzozo, he could sense that he was surrounded. He could feel, through the great connection of all living things which Rangers were most in tune with, the creatures darting in and out of the caverns all around him. There were just too many of them though; they moved quickly, never letting him settle his focus to determine what was what, and were so numerous that it threatened to overload his senses. The only thing he could be absolutely certain of was that he felt no direct aggression towards his person, at least. They knew he was there, and they were watching him, but he could tell that they were not going to attack while he was on his guard. No, they were waiting for something, and it was that coordination, that restraint, that most alarmed Bongo.
Monsters did not act this way left to their own devices. It simply did not happen, and any Ranger would say the same. There was only one circumstance that precluded natural monster activity; the usual pack-like mentality and territorial violence. That condition always included, in every recorded instance, the presence of an outside force acting upon the will of the monster to make it deviate from normal behavior. Bongo knew what was happening, and redoubled his efforts to focus his thoughts, search out one life form in particular. Somewhere in the twisting maze that was Onzozo, there was a Beastmaster playing games with them, and the Hume had decided to change the rules.
He walked on alone, the mighty war bow he had used on so many battlefields strung and ready to fire at a moments notice. Dantrag and Luma had gone off to search one end of the caverns, Qwid and Hubby the other. Bongo, as the only one who might be able to sense what they were looking for without seeing it, had gone on alone. While Qwid could find his way around using magic, and Luma, as a Mithra, could see fairly well in the dark, Bongo had only his skills as a Ranger to guide him through the depths. Dantrag had objected to them splitting up, but it was the only way to ensure that one of them might find their tormentor. Leaving was not an option, especially now at night, when the demons would be patrolling in full force, but nor could they stay here under threat of being attacked while they slept. No, finding their invisible antagonist and ending his game was the only way this could reach an end. Feeling his way through the damp, slimy walls of the labyrinth, Bongo pressed onwards.
The monsters in Onzozo were keeping a very specific distance away from him, and he gave a growl of frustration as they continued circling as he moved forward. Whoever they were dealing with, he knew exactly how to throw a Ranger off of his trail, confusing his mental scan with quick movements and varied types of monsters, threatening to overload his mind with the information. Bongo grudgingly withdrew the scope of his search, keeping focused only on what was just in front of him. Immediately, he cursed himself for doing so, playing right into the hands of whoever was pulling the strings here. He was dealing with a professional, that fact was starkly clear.
Bongo was so momentarily caught up in his anger that he almost failed to notice when the monsters began closing in on him. Almost as if they somehow knew he had stopped seeking them out momentarily, suddenly a group of them were surging forward, several, from each direction. With a vile oath, Bongo nocked an arrow into his bow. This was it; the Beastmaster had made his move.
Caverns away, Qwid and Hubby slowly crept through the labyrinth, keeping close to the walls. The Tarutaru had conjured a small globe of light just above them, banishing the deep darkness into which they tread enough so that they could at least see in front of themselves. With only the pale orb as guidance, they had trekked downwards, past the roaming Cockatrice packs and crawling leeches, narrowly avoiding the notice of the Goblins which held sway over the Labyrinth, deeper and deeper down into the tunnels, to the area they now faced. It was a wide, open cavern, with the peculiar moss which grew in Onzozo giving off a haunting pale glow which covered the entire area. What was more than that, however, was that this part was plainly inhabited. There were no less than a dozen Torama patrolling the grounds, and they knew that there would be no sneaking by them.
“Damn,” Qwid swore under his breath, “he’s really done this well.”
“Who’s done what?” Hubby whispered, hand grasping at the hilt of his blade.
“Whoever is controlling these monsters,” Qwid said, drawing back a few steps from the mouth of the cavern they had discovered. “I don’t think we snuck by those monsters earlier, Hubby. I think they let us through. Now . . . “
“We’re trapped.” Hubby finished, grimly. His eyes narrowed; whoever was doing this either did not know what was happening in the outside world, or simply didn’t care. To cause this much strife for anyone still alive in these times was abominable, but for Hubby, it was one more distraction keeping him from beginning the search for his wife. That, above all else, was unforgiveable. “So we cut our way through.”
“I don’t like it, but we may not have – hold on a second.” Qwid turned around sharply, his slim rapier flashing out of the scabbard at his side. The black jewel embedded in the staff on his back pulsed as he summoned the magic inside of him, and Hubby twisted his head back to see what he was looking at, but only saw darkness staring back.
“What are you looking for?” Hubby asked silently, crouching down into a stance prepared for an attack.
Qwid said nothing, but only gestured forward, into the dark caverns surrounding them. Neither spoke a word, looking only onwards, knowing that whatever monsters they had passed by on their way to this point could now be charging at them from behind. The Hume and the Tarutaru both stood at the ready as from down the corridor, they began to hear a deep, heavy breathing, a perpetual growl that echoed all around them. It was low and angry, growing slowly closer, and both began to perspire under the pressure of anticipation. They all knew the stories about the killer Manticore lurking in the depths of Onzozo.
It took Hubby a moment to realize he was not, in fact, sweating. Water was forming around him.
“That’s not – “ Qwid began to shout, but it was too late.
A jet of water shot out from the darkness, striking Qwid like a hammer. The Tarutaru was flung fully off of his feet, slamming into the wall of the cavern as the pressure burst hammered into him. Hubby tore his great katana free of his scabbard, charging forward into the darkness as his chi roared into his body, but was met by a forceful slap which struck him from chest to cheek, sending him sprawling down across the floor. He struggled to rise, but another blast of water drove into him, and he collided against the rocks with great force, darkness swirling in on the edges of his vision.
As he started to black out, the serpentine form of Leviathan, the water diety, drifted over his body, and standing just behind him, he could make out the form of a robed woman maliciously grinning.
“Did you hear that?” Dantrag whispered to Luma, who was crouched down low behind a rock as she surveyed the roaming Sea Monks wandering the depths of Onzozo. Her ears twitched and she turned back, motioning for silence, a single fang biting down over her lower lip. The Sea Monks in front of them drifted about, seemingly oblivious to their presence, but Dantrag was no longer concerned with them. Somewhere, distantly, he had just heard what sounded like a cry for help.
“No, Luma, I just heard – “
“Silence!” Luma cautioned, not turning to face him, but gesturing with a clawed hand. There was something in her harsh, hushed tone that made Dantrag realize she was warning him for a reason. Slowly, Dantrag inched his way up the rock face, peering over to the other side. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw.
In the center of the other Sea Monks, dominating the room, he could clearly make out a kraken so enormous it may have well been three times the size of the others. It was enormous to behold, and its eight tentacles seemed like tree trunks scraping the ground as it drifted over the damp ground beneath it. The other creatures moved carefully around it, almost deferentially. The massive kraken appeared disinterested in the others around it, though they were obviously quite aware of the larger one, and moved in accordance to wherever it was going. It was clear that amongst the beasts of Onzozo, this monstrosity was their lord.
Dantrag slid down the rock face in amazement, looking with wide eyes up at Luma, who continued examining the creature fiercely. Dantrag could see her hand grasping for the hilt of her blade, and for a moment, it seemed like the best move to make would be flight. However, the way they had come led only back through an encampment of Goblins which called the Labyrinth home. They were backed into a corner; there was no way out of this one without fighting. The only choice they had was if they wanted to attempt to take on an entire cavern full of beastmen, or launch into an attack against a family of Sea Monks, including the colossal one commanding them. Dantrag ground his teeth together as he pulled an axe free from his belt.
“A trap,” Luma suddenly said under her breath, “fell right into it, we did. Not good.”
“What?” Dantrag whispered back up at her.
“Lured here. We were lured, and we took the bait.” The Mithra seemed more than a little agitated at their current situation, and Dantrag felt nervousness creep up in his stomach as he realized that she was right. “We’re right where they want us, and they’ve already got the others.” Her ears twitched, and Dantrag suddenly understood that she could hear as sharply as he could, maybe even better, and those cries from before had not gone unnoticed.
“Okay.” The Elvaan said, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. He focused, thinking of their situation, plotting out his solutions, analyzing which would be best. Beasts or Beastmen, someone pulling their strings, a pincer trap they had already fallen into. “Luma,” Dantrag muttered, casting his gaze up to where the Mithra was standing, still staring at the mutant creature, “you ready to fight?”
Luma’s lips curled back, revealing her glinting fangs. “Fight?” She asked. “I could fight. Which way should I aim my sword?”
“Let’s creep out of here and go pay those Goblins a visit. The only way out of a pincer attack is to fight right through the middle.”
Luma gave what resembled a grin as she slowly withdrew her great katana, peering back at the way they had come. “There were a lot of those nasty things,” she said, gripping her blade with both hands, “and only two of us.”
“Yeah,” Dantrag said, giving a cautionary look behind himself to make sure the Sea Monks hadn’t heard him, and then sliding back into the shadows, “I feel bad for them, too.”
The Manticore cried out as an arrow lodged deep inside of its chest, and then fell to the ground, raggedly gasping as Bongo, eyes blazing, drew forth another arrow. Ignoring the pain in his shoulders, the weariness in his bow arm, the burning of the tears down his back the beast had made when it clawed at him before it died, he swung his bow around and let another volley fly. A cockatrice behind him took one in the side, and gave a screech as it retreated, wounded. There was another beside it, and it gave an angry cry as it came forward, charging towards Bongo with a primal shriek. The Ranger easily side-stepped the beast, a flash of light glinting as the steel of his dagger flew into his hand. With a fierce strike, he slashed open the side of the monster, even as he ran forward, away from the now-wounded beast.
It rounded on him, blood in its eyes, but then gave way to a choked gurgle as an arrow took it full in the throat. The cockatrice wavered for a moment, and then toppled over, dead. Blood pooled at the ground at Bongo’s feet, even as he pulled another arrow back. They were still all around him, but there, just outside of his range of vision, lurking in the shadows . . .
“You got too close!” the Ranger shouted as he let an arrow fly. It sang as it flew into the darkness, towards the target Bongo could sense, but not see. For just a moment, he had finally felt a human presence, and knew instantly that his quarry was near. Had it been one of the others, he would have recognized the unique feel their energy gave off, but this was different. Someone he didn’t know, someone standing with the beasts without fear of attack. This was the Beastmaster he had been looking for, and one slip-up was all it took. With an echoing thud, Bongo heard his arrow take root.
His smile quickly faded as he heard the sound of skittering across the granite floors, and into the narrow range of his vision, which had by now become adjusted to the dark, a towering scorpion came into view. Just in front of it, a beetle, wings flared, came down to the ground, an arrow caught between its powerful jaws. With a deliberate demonstration, it bit the projectile in half, letting it clatter harmlessly to the ground. The scorpion, a Mushussu, came in closer, fangs dripping venom as its tail arched backwards dangerously, the stinger on the end as big as Bongo’s forearm. The Ranger drew another arrow, eyes narrowing as he sneered at the creature.
“Good catch, Galahad.” Came a voice, startling Bongo momentarily. The scorpion halted, and the beetle remained in front of it, menacingly leering at the ranger in front of it. Bongo did not lower his bow, though his arm cried out in warning against the strain he was putting on himself. The monsters around him, dead and wounded in four directions, gave testament to the number of arrows in his diminishing quiver he had let fly in the last few furious minutes. Bongo’s senses were screaming at him now that what he was looking for was right in front of him, but all he could see was the scorpion. It did take up most of the small tunnel entrance, but still, that should be no reason . . .
That’s when it hit him. The voice was coming from on top of the Mushussu.
There were two taps as leather-soled boots hit the ground, dropping off of the scorpions’ back. The man who came forward was dressed in a collection of varied animal furs and horns, and held a strange, curved club in one hand, blunt on one side, and jagged spikes jutting out of the other. His furs were strapped to him, his entire wardrobe crudely made and almost beastial in its appearance. Still, he carried himself with an undeniable air of power and confidence, and by the way the beasts around him took a step back as he approached, it was no wonder. This was a Beastmaster, and he was in the seat of his power.
“So you’re the outsiders trespassing on my territory.” His voice was low and guttural, sounding like a monster’s snarl as much as a human voice. He was Elvaan, that was immediately clear, but appeared stocky and tanned, with a slight shadow of unshaven beard growing on his squared jaw. Steely gray eyes looked Bongo over, seemingly ignoring the arrow pointed at his head. With a scoff, the Beastmaster folded his arms, the club touching just over his shoulder. “You don’t seem like anything special to me. How did you defeat so many of my pets?”
“Why are you doing this?” Bongo demanded of the stranger, his words an angered growl. “We only came in here to escape the demons. There was no need for this.”
“You shouldn’t have disturbed my pets.” The Beastmaster replied, a glower settling in on his expression. “I don’t care what’s going on outside, this is my home, these creatures are under my protection. You threatened them, I responded it kind.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Bongo growled, drawing back his bowstring.
“No,” the man said, taking a defiant step forward, “I’m one of the only sane things left in this world. You’re crazy to think you’re going to beat me.”
“On the field of battle, they call me Demyn.” Bongo told the man, ignoring the muscles aching for release in his arms, using all his strength to keep his bow from shaking. “It’s a name I have earned.”
“Well they just call me North,” the man said, “and maybe you haven’t noticed, but demons haven’t posed any threat to me.” With a flourish, he brought his club forward in an offensive posture, legs suddenly braced for the attack. “Don’t throw your life away. Give up now and I’ll make this easy.”
“Exactly what I was thinking!” Bongo cried as he loosed his arrow. North sprung forward at the same moment, and the club and arrow collided in the air even as Bongo pulled his knife free and ran towards the Beastmaster. With a clash that sent a shower of sparks into the air, North’s club struck the arrow right out of the air, and his momentum carried him directly towards Bongo's flashing dagger.
Chapter XIX: Sea Shores and Campfires
Tikinas had to literally be restrained to avoid attacking Menphis once she finally broke free of his shadowbind. Once Captain Kattrina had made it clear she was going to add a new air hole to the first person that made a move to attack anyone else, she had nudged the other Mithra free, shadowbinds being notoriously easy to break free of for everyone except the person caught in it, and not a second later Tikinas was going for the Ranger’s throat. The shot Kattrina fired appeared, to Zealot, much more of an unintentional miss than another warning, and as such, he had maintained his spot peacefully standing where he was. Ayn now held Tikinas by the arm, and Menphis stood a good distance away from her menacing eyes as Kattrina, her deadly hexagun still drawn, eyed the group suspiciously as she held it out, never lowering the barrel.
“Kattrina.” Ayn said, his voice at a steady timbre, “I’ve heard of you. We work for the same – “
“Aye, I know it.” Kattrina interrupted, eyeing Ayn with an untrusting gaze. “I know enough of yer description t’tell that y’be Ayn, th’ Boss’s own true favorite. An’ mebbe y’are, but mebbe y’ain’t. I remember hearin’ about th’ ninja, but none o’ these other scrubs is mentioned in anythin’ I heard ‘bout ye.”
“They are . . . an unfortunate development.” Ayn explained, looking disdainfully towards where Zealot stood with Greyheart. “I assure you they aren’t a regular part of the entourage.”
Kattrina scowled, turning her gun on Menphis, who responded by stretching out his fingers, lowered towards the holster at his side.
“An’ who’s this fool, then? Ye said yer name’s Menphis. That don’t answer much.” Kattrina demanded.
“No idea, he followed us here and attacked us.” Replied Ayn. “Feel free to shoot him.”
“Try it.” Menphis responded, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’ll have a bullet through your heart before you can even pull the trigger.”
Kattrina let out a growl, clicking the hammer on her hexagun back, and in that same instant Menphis’s own short-handled gun came flying out of his holster. Kattrina bared her teeth as she found herself staring down the barrel of Menphis’s weapon, and the wounded, unshaven man holding it seemed itching to pull the trigger. The two held each other dead in their respective sights, neither giving the other the slightest hint as to whether or not they would make that fatal squeeze or not.
“Ye seem t’have been through a lot, ranger.” Kattrina said warily, “ye c’n barely keep that hand steady.”
“You’re not far enough away that I’d miss,” Menphis replied, “and I only need one shot.”
“True, so . . . “ Kattrina extended her arm straight, the pirate lining her gun up level with Menphis’s head, “what makes this so important t’ye?”
The question hung unanswered for a long moment, and the tide sprayed a blast of icy ocean water across Zealot’s side as his gaze darted back and forth between the two gun-toting strangers in front of him. His long, silver hair hung down wetly in front of his face now, and most of them were beginning to feel the chill of the spray which had been battering them for the better part of an hour now. The tide retreated momentarily, and with a twitch in his eye, Menphis slowly lowered his gun, sliding it back into the holster at his side and shaking his head, not even looking at Kattrina anymore.
“A friend of mine was murdered. I thought these people might have something to do with it. I came down here to check them out, they attacked me.”
“We attacked you?!” Tikinas burst out, a kunai sliding smoothly out into her grasp. “You shot me!”
“Cry me a river.” Menphis shrugged, “I could tell you were going to make a move if I didn’t.”
“Drop it,” Kattrina warned, as Tikinas’s hand flashed back, ready to launch her throwing knife straight between the ranger’s eyes. Tikinas did not lower her arm at first, directing a baleful stare towards Menphis and then Kattrina, but finally let the weapon slide back down as Ayn gave her other arm a tug.
“Ladies, ladies,” Greyheart suddenly chimed in, stepping out from behind Zealot. The Elvaan man, amazingly, was still completely dry, and seemed to be radiating heat. Greyheart, Zealot realized, was using his magic to keep himself from getting damp like the rest of them. He stepped towards Kattrina confidently, scarcely restraining the way he was eyeing her. “We’re letting our tempers flare because of all this water. You both just need some place warm to cuddle up to, am I right?”
“Elvaan, ye’ve got about three seconds ta – “ Kattrina began, but Ayn cut her off.
“Captain,” the thief said, careful not to let go of Tikinas lest blood be spilled, “you command the Sea Horror, right? Is it around?”
“Aye,” Kattrina replied, adjusting the brim of her three-cornered hat with the barrel of her hexagun, “she be about.”
“Listen, that’s the reason these idiots followed me and Tikinas. That unconscious Paladin, who is by far the most useful of the three, needs help, and we can’t give it to her here, plus, I’ll be honest, we just want to get the hell away from here. We’re looking for passage to Norg, and if you can provide it, I’m sure the boss will be indebted.”
“Ha!” Kattrina barked. “Th’ boss ain’t likely t’admit a debt t’anyone f’r any reason. But I see yer point, Ayn, yer tryin’ t’tell me lettin’ you lot on deck won’t go unrewarded. Well,” she said, trailing off a bit, “I’m afraid that’s not as easy as it sounds anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Ayn asked, warily.
Kattrina exhaled slowly, and for the first time, she turned away from the group, her hexagun spinning around on her finger before landing in its holster by her side. She said nothing, and the sound of the ocean spray coming in on the rocks was the only noise for quite awhile as she looked out across the waves, face unreadable. Ayn appeared just about ready to speak again when Kattrina finally broke the silence.
“The Sea Horror, she be a good vessel.” The Captain began, idly kicking a stone out into the foam. “Aye, sound as a stone, she is, and quick as th’ wind. She’s weathered many a storm out on those open seas, and me crew has felled more than one strange ‘n ferocious beast roamin’ th’ waters. A good vessel, aye.”
“Captain,” Zealot cut in, realizing what she was saying, “did something happen to your ship?”
Kattrina let out a laugh, a brief kind of bark that died quickly. The pirate looked down, shaking her head, one of her fangs peeking out from her mouth and overlapping her lower lip. “The Sea Horror? Nay, she be as seaworthy as th’ day her sails were first unfurled. She’s got ‘er anchor weighed a half mile down, ‘n another one a’ the caves ‘round here. I was out scroungin’ fer food when I found you lot screamin.’ The ship be fine.”
“Then what,” Zealot started again, but Kattrina was already continuing.
“When those things came, out fr’m th’ sky, they swarmed all over. Thems in my crew what wasn’t torn apart got cast down inta the kraken’s bed. The Sea Horror . . . she ain’t but a ghost ship now.”
Kattrina sighed, looking wistfully out to the waves, as the others all exchanged a glance, save for Menphis. The ranger only stood with his eyes on the pirate, fingers tapping the handle of his gun with a dead look on his face. Ayn let out a breath in frustration, throwing down Tikinas’s arm, who immediately went for a blade. She no sooner had it in her hand than looked up and found Menphis’s gun already drawn, and pointed at her, though the green-cloaked man still looked forward towards Kattrina. She let out a low growl, but did not release her kunai.
“I had thought that this be it for me, truth told.” Kattrina said, still looking out towards the waves. “I only heard th’ lot of ye carryin’ on such because I was out searchin’ for a good spot t’lay these bones t’ th’ sea. There ain’t much use in th’ world for a pirate what ain’t got no ship, an’ without a crew, that’s what I am.”
Zealot grimaced nervously as the Mithra suddenly turned back around, a glint in her eye and a grin on her face as her hexagon spun around on her finger, and with a sudden slash through the air the dagger at her side was drawn in her free hand. She laughed that harsh, sea-air weathered bark of a laugh again, and cast a sweeping gaze over the contingent of those gathered in the small alcove, the chamber of her weapon spinning and locking into place as she leveled it menacingly forward.
“Little did I suspect, me wanderings would bring me t’my brand-new crew. Ye want t’go t’Norg, ye miserable land-lubbers? Then I suggest ye all start learnin’ how t’trim th’ sails, ‘cause yer th’ newest deckhands a th’ worst scourge e’er t’ sail th’ ocean blue. Fr’m now on, yer werkin’ f’r me, so get yer waterlogged hides in gear, an’ let’s get a move on!”
Ayn, Zealot, Tikinas, and Greyheart all exchanged looks of shock and rising terror as it became clear that they were the new crew of the Sea Horror, and the cackling Mithra in front of them was suddenly very much in charge of their fates.
“You know,” Hubby said, rubbing a whetstone against the edge of his blade, “we really ought to start calling you something else. You know. Considering.”
Demyn looked up at his comrade from the fire he had been staring into. Ever since their daring escape from Buburimu, they had been trekking carefully northward, trying to avoid traveling at night, when the demon patrols were at their largest. Hubby had regaled them with the tale of his narrow brush with death at the hands of the beast which had attacked Mhaura, the battle against demons to help Jinxie escape with the blindfolded Mithra, and how their new ally, Luma, had spotted the duo just in time to save them from the demon attackers which had nearly overrun them. Together, Demyn, Dantrag, Hubby, Luma, and Qwid had managed to make it relatively to safety; or, as safe as the Labyrinth of Onzozo ever was.
The fearsome den of beasts was home to dozens of tales about killer monsters and things of horrible, murderous wrath which would lay low any travelers who ventured too deep into the twisting, catacomb-like tunnels of the maze. Some said there was a torama which could kill a dozen men, others spoke of an old Goblin wizard who wandered the caverns, luring people in with trinkets and then burning them up for soup stock. Some even said that there was a manticore living in the labyrinth that feasted upon human flesh and rested upon a bed made of the bones of his previous meals. Whatever the truth was, be it the tales about enormous mantas or mutant toramas, it was impossible to ignore the fact that the Labyrinth of Onzozo was a dangerous place to be, whoever you were. For the five survivors of Buburimu, however, this had become their only refuge.
“The demons, right.” Dantrag said, roasting a chunk of cockatrice meat over the open flame they had set out, watching its juices glisten against the light. “It really doesn’t make a person feel at ease to be around someone with that as a name these days.”
Demyn scoffed, but gave no response. He didn’t care particularly what people called him; “Demyn” had been a result of his prowess on the battlefield long before the plague which had swept forth from the other realms came down and blighted the land. Luma, standing watch at the mouth of the cavern they had hidden inside, curled up her lip and rolled her eyes upwards thoughtfully, pressing a finger to her mouth as her tail idly swung back and forth.
“Hmmm . . . “she said, pausing to consider her words. “They are right, you know. Doesn’t sound happy. Demon? Bad! I couldn’t trust a demon.”
“She makes a good point, you know.” Qwid spoke, walking over to the fire with his tiny legs, warming his hands against the damp chill the labyrinth provided. “It’s always been pretty sharp before, but I think you’ll find it’s gone slightly out of fashion.”
“Ugh,” Demyn grunted, slamming a newly-fletched arrow into his quiver and setting it down beside his bow, “is this seriously an issue? Are we really talking about this right now?”
“Hey,” Hubby said, as if uncaring, “just trying to let you know how it sounds. If you want to have the same name as the enemy, that’s your – “
“Bongo.” Demyn finally said, exasperated. “I used to be called Bongo. Before I met any of you.”
“Bongo.” Luma replied, rolling it around on her tongue as if trying it out. “Bongo. Bon-go. Bahngo. HA!” She nodded, turning back out towards the cave tunnels around them and nodding. “I approve of it! Bongo it will be.”
“Your name is really Bongo?” Dantrag asked, looking over at his old friend curiously.
“It’s a name, isn’t it?” Bongo responded. “Can we just forget about it?”
“I just thought – “ Dantrag was about to continue, but halted when the sound of something skittering away caught his ear. He turned quickly, and saw that Luma’s nose was twitching and her eyes were wide. She had heard it too, and her hand had gone to her great katana in an instant.
“What? What is it?” Hubby unfolded his arms and leaned forward, looking around cautiously.
Dantrag motioned for silence, his elongated ears probing the cave for more sounds. Distantly, he could hear it. Something moving away from them, rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, that if he could still make out the sound, it meant that it must have been very close indeed when it started running. Dantrag stood up, looking vainly around in the dark for some kind of clue as to what it was, but found only the uninviting depths of Onzozo looking back at him.
“Whataru, er, dammit, what?” Qwid demanded, looking nervous at the sudden shift between the Elvaan and the Mithra.
“Something down here,” Luma responded, “very fast, too.”
“It was here.” Dantrag added, not taking his eyes off of the dark. “It was right on top of us. There’s something in this cave with us . . . and we’re being watched.”
“Kattrina.” Ayn said, his voice at a steady timbre, “I’ve heard of you. We work for the same – “
“Aye, I know it.” Kattrina interrupted, eyeing Ayn with an untrusting gaze. “I know enough of yer description t’tell that y’be Ayn, th’ Boss’s own true favorite. An’ mebbe y’are, but mebbe y’ain’t. I remember hearin’ about th’ ninja, but none o’ these other scrubs is mentioned in anythin’ I heard ‘bout ye.”
“They are . . . an unfortunate development.” Ayn explained, looking disdainfully towards where Zealot stood with Greyheart. “I assure you they aren’t a regular part of the entourage.”
Kattrina scowled, turning her gun on Menphis, who responded by stretching out his fingers, lowered towards the holster at his side.
“An’ who’s this fool, then? Ye said yer name’s Menphis. That don’t answer much.” Kattrina demanded.
“No idea, he followed us here and attacked us.” Replied Ayn. “Feel free to shoot him.”
“Try it.” Menphis responded, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’ll have a bullet through your heart before you can even pull the trigger.”
Kattrina let out a growl, clicking the hammer on her hexagun back, and in that same instant Menphis’s own short-handled gun came flying out of his holster. Kattrina bared her teeth as she found herself staring down the barrel of Menphis’s weapon, and the wounded, unshaven man holding it seemed itching to pull the trigger. The two held each other dead in their respective sights, neither giving the other the slightest hint as to whether or not they would make that fatal squeeze or not.
“Ye seem t’have been through a lot, ranger.” Kattrina said warily, “ye c’n barely keep that hand steady.”
“You’re not far enough away that I’d miss,” Menphis replied, “and I only need one shot.”
“True, so . . . “ Kattrina extended her arm straight, the pirate lining her gun up level with Menphis’s head, “what makes this so important t’ye?”
The question hung unanswered for a long moment, and the tide sprayed a blast of icy ocean water across Zealot’s side as his gaze darted back and forth between the two gun-toting strangers in front of him. His long, silver hair hung down wetly in front of his face now, and most of them were beginning to feel the chill of the spray which had been battering them for the better part of an hour now. The tide retreated momentarily, and with a twitch in his eye, Menphis slowly lowered his gun, sliding it back into the holster at his side and shaking his head, not even looking at Kattrina anymore.
“A friend of mine was murdered. I thought these people might have something to do with it. I came down here to check them out, they attacked me.”
“We attacked you?!” Tikinas burst out, a kunai sliding smoothly out into her grasp. “You shot me!”
“Cry me a river.” Menphis shrugged, “I could tell you were going to make a move if I didn’t.”
“Drop it,” Kattrina warned, as Tikinas’s hand flashed back, ready to launch her throwing knife straight between the ranger’s eyes. Tikinas did not lower her arm at first, directing a baleful stare towards Menphis and then Kattrina, but finally let the weapon slide back down as Ayn gave her other arm a tug.
“Ladies, ladies,” Greyheart suddenly chimed in, stepping out from behind Zealot. The Elvaan man, amazingly, was still completely dry, and seemed to be radiating heat. Greyheart, Zealot realized, was using his magic to keep himself from getting damp like the rest of them. He stepped towards Kattrina confidently, scarcely restraining the way he was eyeing her. “We’re letting our tempers flare because of all this water. You both just need some place warm to cuddle up to, am I right?”
“Elvaan, ye’ve got about three seconds ta – “ Kattrina began, but Ayn cut her off.
“Captain,” the thief said, careful not to let go of Tikinas lest blood be spilled, “you command the Sea Horror, right? Is it around?”
“Aye,” Kattrina replied, adjusting the brim of her three-cornered hat with the barrel of her hexagun, “she be about.”
“Listen, that’s the reason these idiots followed me and Tikinas. That unconscious Paladin, who is by far the most useful of the three, needs help, and we can’t give it to her here, plus, I’ll be honest, we just want to get the hell away from here. We’re looking for passage to Norg, and if you can provide it, I’m sure the boss will be indebted.”
“Ha!” Kattrina barked. “Th’ boss ain’t likely t’admit a debt t’anyone f’r any reason. But I see yer point, Ayn, yer tryin’ t’tell me lettin’ you lot on deck won’t go unrewarded. Well,” she said, trailing off a bit, “I’m afraid that’s not as easy as it sounds anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Ayn asked, warily.
Kattrina exhaled slowly, and for the first time, she turned away from the group, her hexagun spinning around on her finger before landing in its holster by her side. She said nothing, and the sound of the ocean spray coming in on the rocks was the only noise for quite awhile as she looked out across the waves, face unreadable. Ayn appeared just about ready to speak again when Kattrina finally broke the silence.
“The Sea Horror, she be a good vessel.” The Captain began, idly kicking a stone out into the foam. “Aye, sound as a stone, she is, and quick as th’ wind. She’s weathered many a storm out on those open seas, and me crew has felled more than one strange ‘n ferocious beast roamin’ th’ waters. A good vessel, aye.”
“Captain,” Zealot cut in, realizing what she was saying, “did something happen to your ship?”
Kattrina let out a laugh, a brief kind of bark that died quickly. The pirate looked down, shaking her head, one of her fangs peeking out from her mouth and overlapping her lower lip. “The Sea Horror? Nay, she be as seaworthy as th’ day her sails were first unfurled. She’s got ‘er anchor weighed a half mile down, ‘n another one a’ the caves ‘round here. I was out scroungin’ fer food when I found you lot screamin.’ The ship be fine.”
“Then what,” Zealot started again, but Kattrina was already continuing.
“When those things came, out fr’m th’ sky, they swarmed all over. Thems in my crew what wasn’t torn apart got cast down inta the kraken’s bed. The Sea Horror . . . she ain’t but a ghost ship now.”
Kattrina sighed, looking wistfully out to the waves, as the others all exchanged a glance, save for Menphis. The ranger only stood with his eyes on the pirate, fingers tapping the handle of his gun with a dead look on his face. Ayn let out a breath in frustration, throwing down Tikinas’s arm, who immediately went for a blade. She no sooner had it in her hand than looked up and found Menphis’s gun already drawn, and pointed at her, though the green-cloaked man still looked forward towards Kattrina. She let out a low growl, but did not release her kunai.
“I had thought that this be it for me, truth told.” Kattrina said, still looking out towards the waves. “I only heard th’ lot of ye carryin’ on such because I was out searchin’ for a good spot t’lay these bones t’ th’ sea. There ain’t much use in th’ world for a pirate what ain’t got no ship, an’ without a crew, that’s what I am.”
Zealot grimaced nervously as the Mithra suddenly turned back around, a glint in her eye and a grin on her face as her hexagon spun around on her finger, and with a sudden slash through the air the dagger at her side was drawn in her free hand. She laughed that harsh, sea-air weathered bark of a laugh again, and cast a sweeping gaze over the contingent of those gathered in the small alcove, the chamber of her weapon spinning and locking into place as she leveled it menacingly forward.
“Little did I suspect, me wanderings would bring me t’my brand-new crew. Ye want t’go t’Norg, ye miserable land-lubbers? Then I suggest ye all start learnin’ how t’trim th’ sails, ‘cause yer th’ newest deckhands a th’ worst scourge e’er t’ sail th’ ocean blue. Fr’m now on, yer werkin’ f’r me, so get yer waterlogged hides in gear, an’ let’s get a move on!”
Ayn, Zealot, Tikinas, and Greyheart all exchanged looks of shock and rising terror as it became clear that they were the new crew of the Sea Horror, and the cackling Mithra in front of them was suddenly very much in charge of their fates.
“You know,” Hubby said, rubbing a whetstone against the edge of his blade, “we really ought to start calling you something else. You know. Considering.”
Demyn looked up at his comrade from the fire he had been staring into. Ever since their daring escape from Buburimu, they had been trekking carefully northward, trying to avoid traveling at night, when the demon patrols were at their largest. Hubby had regaled them with the tale of his narrow brush with death at the hands of the beast which had attacked Mhaura, the battle against demons to help Jinxie escape with the blindfolded Mithra, and how their new ally, Luma, had spotted the duo just in time to save them from the demon attackers which had nearly overrun them. Together, Demyn, Dantrag, Hubby, Luma, and Qwid had managed to make it relatively to safety; or, as safe as the Labyrinth of Onzozo ever was.
The fearsome den of beasts was home to dozens of tales about killer monsters and things of horrible, murderous wrath which would lay low any travelers who ventured too deep into the twisting, catacomb-like tunnels of the maze. Some said there was a torama which could kill a dozen men, others spoke of an old Goblin wizard who wandered the caverns, luring people in with trinkets and then burning them up for soup stock. Some even said that there was a manticore living in the labyrinth that feasted upon human flesh and rested upon a bed made of the bones of his previous meals. Whatever the truth was, be it the tales about enormous mantas or mutant toramas, it was impossible to ignore the fact that the Labyrinth of Onzozo was a dangerous place to be, whoever you were. For the five survivors of Buburimu, however, this had become their only refuge.
“The demons, right.” Dantrag said, roasting a chunk of cockatrice meat over the open flame they had set out, watching its juices glisten against the light. “It really doesn’t make a person feel at ease to be around someone with that as a name these days.”
Demyn scoffed, but gave no response. He didn’t care particularly what people called him; “Demyn” had been a result of his prowess on the battlefield long before the plague which had swept forth from the other realms came down and blighted the land. Luma, standing watch at the mouth of the cavern they had hidden inside, curled up her lip and rolled her eyes upwards thoughtfully, pressing a finger to her mouth as her tail idly swung back and forth.
“Hmmm . . . “she said, pausing to consider her words. “They are right, you know. Doesn’t sound happy. Demon? Bad! I couldn’t trust a demon.”
“She makes a good point, you know.” Qwid spoke, walking over to the fire with his tiny legs, warming his hands against the damp chill the labyrinth provided. “It’s always been pretty sharp before, but I think you’ll find it’s gone slightly out of fashion.”
“Ugh,” Demyn grunted, slamming a newly-fletched arrow into his quiver and setting it down beside his bow, “is this seriously an issue? Are we really talking about this right now?”
“Hey,” Hubby said, as if uncaring, “just trying to let you know how it sounds. If you want to have the same name as the enemy, that’s your – “
“Bongo.” Demyn finally said, exasperated. “I used to be called Bongo. Before I met any of you.”
“Bongo.” Luma replied, rolling it around on her tongue as if trying it out. “Bongo. Bon-go. Bahngo. HA!” She nodded, turning back out towards the cave tunnels around them and nodding. “I approve of it! Bongo it will be.”
“Your name is really Bongo?” Dantrag asked, looking over at his old friend curiously.
“It’s a name, isn’t it?” Bongo responded. “Can we just forget about it?”
“I just thought – “ Dantrag was about to continue, but halted when the sound of something skittering away caught his ear. He turned quickly, and saw that Luma’s nose was twitching and her eyes were wide. She had heard it too, and her hand had gone to her great katana in an instant.
“What? What is it?” Hubby unfolded his arms and leaned forward, looking around cautiously.
Dantrag motioned for silence, his elongated ears probing the cave for more sounds. Distantly, he could hear it. Something moving away from them, rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, that if he could still make out the sound, it meant that it must have been very close indeed when it started running. Dantrag stood up, looking vainly around in the dark for some kind of clue as to what it was, but found only the uninviting depths of Onzozo looking back at him.
“Whataru, er, dammit, what?” Qwid demanded, looking nervous at the sudden shift between the Elvaan and the Mithra.
“Something down here,” Luma responded, “very fast, too.”
“It was here.” Dantrag added, not taking his eyes off of the dark. “It was right on top of us. There’s something in this cave with us . . . and we’re being watched.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)