Ch 06: Bug Hunt

The Five Bug-Hunters:
Gherota, Human Fighter, Level 1
Gurnlocke Fisk, Dwarf Warlock, Level 1
Mairrethid, Human Wizard, Level 1
Mez Gobbo, Goblin Rogue, Level 1
Schlobrock, Ork Cleric, Level 1

First Ch 01: Poot's Angels

Previous Ch 05: Human Resources

The five were quickly closing in on their destination. They had found and captured the house where Poot told them they would find goblin thieves and his stolen property, but instead discovered four well-armed human shepherds. After a fight and some interrogation, the smartest of the humans explained that they were being paid to safeguard the entrance to an underground complex, as well as giving them advice on dealing with the first few traps and monsters. Mez conducted an initial scouting mission around the first traps at the bottom of the secret passage’s shaft. After success with absolutely no surprises, the five left the two surviving captives tied and gagged on the floor of the house, and valiantly followed Mez into the hole.

Mairrethid went first, followed by Gherota, Fisk, and Schlobrock. By the time they reached the bottom, the floor-trap had reset, with the sliding sand noise gone quiet. Mez whispered to Mairrethid, directing him to throw an overriding lever again, and then the four followed him, across the landing and into the tunnel beyond the door.

“Good enough so far?” Mairrethid asked, quietly.

“Yep,” Mez said.

“So, then, the next and last bit of information Burt had was that we’ll come to a large, chained monster standing guard,” Mairrethid explained. “Everyone ready?”

His comrades nodded.

Mez said, “I’d volunteer to scout ahead, but I’d rather not stumble headlong into this monster. We know what’s coming.”

“Agreed,” Mairrethid said.

“So put Gherota in front, followed by Mez, me, Mairrethid, and Schlob in the rear,” Fisk offered.

“In dhe rear widh dhe gear,” Schlobrock mused.

“Is Gherota willing to accept a suggestion from you, Fisk?” Mez asked.

“I prefer to lead, actually,” Gherota said.

“Good then,” Mairrethid said. “We’ve got a marching order.”

“Is a marching order some kind of combat formation they taught you at university?” Fisk asked, sarcastically.

“Dungeoneering 101,” Mairrethid quipped.

The five formed up into a line, marching single file down the center of the tunnel. They moved slowly and cautiously. Gherota had sword and shield drawn. Mez had his crossbow cocked and loaded in his right hand, a torch in his left, and a knife in his teeth. Fisk carried his warhammer hefted over one shoulder. Mairrethid balanced a torch in one hand and his staff in the other, which he waved about every few seconds to send an incorporeal glowing light spell on ahead of the group. Schlobrock kept her attention behind them, as best she could maintaining forward movement anyway, and held her oversized axe in both hands.

“You realize we’re taking Burt at his word that there are no more traps in the tunnel, right, Gherota?” Fisk needled.

“He’s been truthful so far,” Gherota snarled back.

“I dhind you owe her a beer or zix if dhere aren’d any more drapz,” Schlobrock said from her place in the back.

“Fair enough,” Fisk replied. “It’ll be double the gloating if she puts her foot in some kind of goblin man-trap.”

“Shut up, everyone,” Mez hissed while keeping the knife between his teeth. “We’re working.”

Mez was being more than prudent. He had heard the quiet breathing of a large creature, and he reckoned that it was the monster Burt talked about. If it was, then it definitely knew they were there, and was trying to keep quiet. It was clear that none of the others heard it yet, but it was definitely close. He made a silent decision to keep quiet, since he figured the beast would have a long chain, assuming it was chained at all, and their own use of torches virtually guaranteed it a surprise attack--one that would be far more effectively repelled by the armored Gherota.

Fisk noticed how Mez subtly tensed up, preparing for violence. Well-aware that goblins tended to possess better senses than dwarves, he took it as a sign of coming violence, even though he was completely unaware of what Mez was picking up on. He shifted the grip on his hammer and started working his fingers in the practiced motions of his favorite offensive spells.

Mairrethid and Schlobrock, who had missed the signals in Mez, both read the body language that the dwarf was broadcasting, and made their own preparations for violence. Gherota alone, walking alone at the front of their column, was unprepared for what happened next.

The creature launched his attack from the shadows, from about fifty feet away, just as Mairrethid’s light spell was about to reveal it. It was the size of a horse, but had the shape of an insect, and bounded forward with great leaping strides from each of four legs, charging straight for Gherota.

Before it got a chance to close the distance, Mez had already danced ably to the side of the tunnel, unleashing a small crossbow bolt into the surging mass. The monster had a hardened shell, gray and mottled to blend in with the rock and earth of the tunnel, and his bolt was turned away.

Almost as quickly, Fisk had appeared to the other side of Gherota, clapping his hands and drawing an unholy gout of flames up from the tunnel the floor. The monster hissed and screamed, though it was unclear if the painful shriek was a vocalization or something more anatomical, like shellfish being dropped into boiling water

The monster surged through the conflagration, undaunted, picking up wisps of ethereal fire that continued to burn. It crashed into Gherota, slashing with its oversized, swordlike forelimbs toothed with bladed spikes. Gherota was almost overwhelmed, but managed to keep her shield and sword between her person and its strange, scything arms.

“Pull back, so I can blast it with a shockwave,” Mairrethid said.

“Nah,” Gherota grunted, instead planting her feet and delivering a punishing blow to the monster’s center-of-mass with her shield, knocking it backward a few yards.

“Good enough,” Mairrethid mumbled, unleashing his exploding force-blast spell. He didn’t manage to adjust his aim quickly enough, however, to the monster’s new position, and his spell narrowly missed.

Schlobrock pushed past Mairrethid and the others to the front rank, taking a stand next to Gherota. The monster was reeling, scuttling about on its four legs, but preparing to counter-attack. Schlobrock raised her axe overhead and prepared to receive the charge.

When the monster rebounded into the fight, it ignored Gherota and aimed for the less-armored Schlobrock. The ork was faster, bringing her now-glowing axe down in the monster’s slender torso, setting it alight with the holy power of her guiding spell. The hit did nothing to deter the monster, however, who tore into Schlobrock, savaging her chest with its toothy scythes and knocking her to the ground.

Gherota responded quickly, her sword guided by Schlobrock’s lingering spell, and swept the monster’s front legs with a sword-stroke. Following up with a spinning kick to the creature’s side, the monster slumped and then toppled to the ground, momentarily helpless.

Fisk relished the success, casting his energy net on the monster and sucking greedily on its life force.

Mez took advantage of the opportunity to get behind the monster, dancing along the side of the tunnel and coming up behind it. He slapped the monster with his torch, getting it to flex and expose what looked like a weak spot in its shell. Mez plunged his knife in.

Mairrethid scratched his chin, unsure of how best to take advantage of the monster’s situation, but couldn’t think of anything. He fired off a magic missile, adding a small contribution to the savage abuse it was taking.

The monster’s joints clicked as it regained its footing, now closer to death than life, but nonetheless mad as hell.

Schlobrock crawled to her feet again, but Gherota refused to let her take a position next to her.

“Let me hold the front line, Schlob,” Gherota said. “We’re winning this fight and it is no time to take foolish risks.”

Schlobrock shrugged, frustrated but unwilling to argue. She let her axe hang at her side in her left hand while her right produced a javelin from the quiver on her back. She threw it at the monster, missing despite the point-blank range. “Like raindropz falling on an illidhid’z head,” she muttered.

“Illiad?” Mez asked, bobbing and weaving to find his next point of attack.

“Illithid, I think,” Fisk said, doing much the same. “Demon-faced brain-sucker from the depths of the world.”

“More like an octopus than a demon. Or a cuttlefish,” Mairrethid observed.

“Is an octopus something you college boys do to each other on moonlit nights,” Fisk asked sarcastically.

The monster ignored their exchange, looking somewhat beleaguered by the cumulative damage, sparring with Gherota for an opportunity to strike at the less-armored and un-armored allies behind her. The monster surprised everyone, however, when it spun around suddenly and snapped its arm like a trap on Mez’s leg. The monster tossed him into the air, and quickly followed up with a cleaving slash to the chest and shoulder, puncturing vital organs and sending Mez into unconsciousness.

Additionally, the persistent flames from Fisk’s spell that had been burning the monster were extinguished by the sudden movement.

“Crap!” Fisk said, firing off a blast of eldritch energy. He was slightly panicked, missing.

Gherota responded with double-slashes from her own weapon, both times hitting but failing to bring the creature down. Mairrethid added another magic missile to her attacks, but it just wasn’t enough to stop the monster.

Schlobrock spoke a prayer, pouring healing magic into Mez, but it wasn’t enough to wake him up. “He’z really hurd,” she muttered.

The monster was facing Gherota again, leaving Mez to bleed to death behind it. It’s face looked on, expressionless, a broad triangle with bulbous, multi-faceted eyes and four massive, independently moving teeth oriented around a tiny mouth. Its scything arms were raised and outstretched, ready to snap on Gherota the moment she came into range. Its four slender legs propelled it forward.

Fisk delivered another eldritch blast, hitting once again. The monster kept coming.

Gherota defended herself with sword and shield, but when the monster came, it was too quick for her. Its arm pummeled her shield, and she managed to keep it between herself and harm, but the other arm maneuvered more precisely, dancing around the defensive posture of her longsword. The hit caught her low in the torso, punching through and tearing her scale jack as it ripped into Gherota’s belly.

She grimaced against the pain, returning the attack with a sword-slash of her own, dragging the blade effectively across its face and drawing forth green and red body fluids.

As Mairrethid packed one final magic missile in against the monster, its strength finally gave out, and the beast collapsed.

Gherota didn’t waste a second, decapitating the monster with a single stroke, certifying the end of the fight.

Schlobrock rushed to Mez, praying over him a second time as she reached for herbs and bandages scattered about her person. This time, the magic was enough to wake the goblin up. She continued treating him with conventional medicine while he regained his bearings.

Mez gasped for air, wincing against the pain of breathing as his torso was still badly maimed. He muttered, “...got cocky...”

“I’ve never seen a creature like that,” Gherota said, poking at the monster’s corpse.

“I believe I’ve read about these before,” Mairrethid said, stroking his chin. “A cave mantis, I gather.”

“I might have heard that name before,” Fisk said.

“Never heard of them, myself,” Gherota said dismissively. “Wicked claws, though. You think the ork will take them as a trophy?”

Schlobrock didn’t respond, apparently ignoring the conversation as she gave all of her attention to the wounded Mez.

“No chains on it,” Fisk observed. “You think your guy was lying?”

“He wasn’t specific about the monster, so there haven’t been any real inconsistencies yet,” Mairrethid said. “You do raise an interesting point, though.”

“What’s that?” Fisk asked.

Mairrethid continued. “Well, a cave mantis would belong to a certain class of life forms not particularly known for their intelligence, basically an oversized insect. If they kept it chained up as a guardian, that might make more sense, but I’ve never heard of a successful effort to train such a creature as a guardian or for anything else.”

“If you’re talking about hard-shelled bugs, don’t the dark elves’ spiders fall into the same group?” Fisk challenged. “And they train those bugs as mounts and stuff.”

“Interesting point,” Mairrethid conceded.

Fisk continued. “Of course, the alliance between elves and spiders is all about worldly sorcerers and the pacts they make with their bitch-goddess. If something like that is going on here, we’d better be on the lookout for spell-slingers and black magic.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Gherota said, grimacing.

“You and Schlob got chewed up a bit too,” Mairrethid said to Gherota. “You think we should head back to the surface and give you all a chance to catch your breath before we go further?”

“Absolutely not,” Fisk quickly argued. “Our prey may realize there has been an intrusion, and the element of surprise is too important to us. There might be a whole goblin tribe down here.”

“Or something else,” Gherota said, poking at the monster again.

“Let’s keep going,” Mez said, weakly but with resolve. “I want to be back in Red Rock day after tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re well enough to go on?” Mairrethid asked.

“Sure,” Mez said, flexing his muscles under Schlobrock’s bandages. “I just don’t know that I can take a whole lot more abuse today.”

Schlobrock had already moved on to tending to her own wounds. She spit up some herby paste she’d been chewing on, rubbing it into a laceration before covering it with a bandage. She looked up at Gherota and offered some, hand outstretched.

“No thank you,” Gherota said politely, despite the wave of mild nausea provoked by Schlobrock’s small wad of green and brown herbs, what looked like animal hair, and orky saliva.

“Zuid yourzelb,” Schlobrock said, stashing the wad in a hidden pouch and preparing a bandage for herself.

“Gherota,” Fisk counseled, “you need to do something about the rip in your armor, if not the wound underneath. I’m not traveling anywhere with an amazon sporting a naked midriff. I have principles.”

Gherota replied with an obscene gesture and then went searching for metalworking tools in her pack to shore up and rejoin the damaged pieces of armor. She did a good job, though it was little more than a patch-job until she could see a real armorsmith for help.

Soon enough, they were on their way again.

Next: Chapter 07

Regarding Ch 05...

I had thought I would post something longer and bigger for Chapter 5, reaching something of a minor conclusion because five is a nice, round number. (Sorta.) Then I realized that I had 5,000 words and still wanted to go further before wrapping things up. I decided to scale it back to the much more easily consumed 2,500 words and post now.

So, it is a good time to ask... is the length for each installment good?

Any other thoughts?

Anyway, I'm trying to steer things back in the direction of my first chapter, because I got some good feedback on that and none since. There were some good points made. I feel I've indulged my imagination a lot but let the writing suffer, moving quickly through things I should take more time to describe. And some other content stuff. I meet few of those goals with Chapter 5, however.

Anyway, let me know what you think.

Ch 05: Human Resources

The Five Amateur Law Enforcement Enthusiasts:
Gherota, Human Fighter, Level 1
Gurnlocke Fisk, Dwarf Warlock, Level 1
Mairrethid, Human Wizard, Level 1
Mez Gobbo, Goblin Rogue, Level 1
Schlobrock, Ork Cleric, Level 1

First: Ch 01: Poot's Angels
Previous: Ch 04: [Unforgiveably Stupid Title]

 

A businessman named Poot hired five mercenaries to travel into the hills and recover the property that a band of goblins had stolen from him. Following his map, they found the house, but it was occupied by four human shepherds, rather than goblin thieves. When the five very politely tried to ask a few questions, the humans drew swords and provoked their own destruction, in no small part due to the five’s increasingly effective teamwork in combat.

Two of the humans, calling themselves Burt and Lenny, surrendered just in time to avoid being brutally slaughtered. Schlobrock and Gherota each took possession of one human, using size and strength to restrict the captive’s movements. Mez painstakingly searched each before tying him up. They each had a few coins, a hidden dagger, and not much else. Mairrethid and Fisk got a head start on searching the house.

“Aren’t you going to ask us some questions?” Burt asked.

“Nope,” Fisk said, chuckling. “I have a theory that if we just torture you both badly enough for long enough, the psychic disturbance of your suffering will resonate in the ether between worlds and touch the minds of your friends. If they are fools, they will have nightmares about what we’re doing to you. If they have a sensitivity to magic or some understanding of the true nature of power, they’ll come to rescue you. And when they do, we’ll capture and rob them just like we’re doing with you.”

“What books have you been reading, Fisk?” Mairrethid asked.

“Good books,” Fisk replied.

“You are completely insane,” Gherota accused.

“But you’re going to let me torture them anyway, aren’t you?” Fisk challenged.

“Well,” Mez said, weighing in, “we’ll let you test your theory if these guys aren’t incredibly helpful.”

“I get it, I get it,” Burt said. “What do you guys want to know?”

“We’re looking for loot that got boosted from Red Rock,” Mez said, casually. “You two know anything about thievery in Red Rock.”

“Well,” Burt said, “there are a couple joints like this up here, where bandits and thieves hide out between jobs. We four usually work the caravan trails to the north. I know some goblins about a half-day’s ride from here who work Red Rock.”

“Did you lead us to the wrong house, ork?” Gherota challenged Schlobrock.

“Yeah, I did,” Schlobrock replied. “Dhe bezd way do zneak up on dhe bad guyz widh your zkinny azz clanking around in dhad dumb armor waz do go do dhe wrong house.”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Mez chided, firmly.

“I can give you directions...” Burt offered.

“Schlobrock,” Fisk said, “break some of Lenny’s fingers.”

The ork complied without question.

“Stop!” Gherota screamed.

“Really,” Mairrethid said, “I can’t tolerate you treating another human like that. He has done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t go soft on me, too, Merry,” Fisk threatened.

Mairrethid shifted to Dwarfish, “You’ve done a good job of scaring them, Fisk. Now let me see if I can build a rapport, so that they actually answer my questions.”

Fisk groaned with displeasure, answering in Dwarfish. “I defer, Wizard, but they had better give you something usable.”

“Gherota,” Mairrethid said, in Common, “help me take these prisoners outside so we can talk properly. The others will continue searching inside, here.”

“Fine,” Gherota said, grabbing Lenny away from Schlobrock and taking Burt in her other hand. She marched the pair outside, with Mairrethid following.

“Look,” Mairrethid said, “those other three don’t like us humans much. I can protect you from them, but only if you help us out.”

“But we don’t know anything about business in Red Rock,” Burt protested. “Except for the goblins we told you about.”

“How far away did you say they were?” Mairrethid asked.

“A half day,” Burt answered.

“On foot or by hoof?” Mairrethid asked.

“By... do you have horses?” Burt asked.

“You’re saying a half-day by foot?” Mairrethid pressed.

“No, it is a half-day by horse,” Burt answered.

“Earlier you said a half-day’s ride,” Mairrethid pointed out. “What you meant is that it is a full-day on foot, right?”

“Yeah,” Burt said.

“But you didn’t say that,” Mairrethid said. “So I’m wondering why you thought we had horses.”

“Hold on,” Burt said, trying to interrupt the rapid-fire pace of dialogue Mairrethid was trying to maintain, “just because I said ride doesn’t meant that we thought you had horses.”

“But you don’t have horses, do you?” Mairrethid said.

“No, but--", Burt started to say before Mairrethid interrupted him.

“Fisk and the others are going to torture you to death, based on exactly this kind of inconsistency, Burt,” Mairrethid said, slowly and measuredly. “You can’t lie your way out of this. You can’t even talk your way out of this.”

Burt bit his lip, unsure of how to respond.

“I can protect you,” Mairrethid said, “but only by distracting those other three with information that helps them. They aren’t going to leave this place until they either have what they want or until they are convinced they’ve extracted every clue and bit of information they can from the place. Now think, Burt. What are they going to find inside of there?”

Burt stayed silent.

“You hear them tearing it apart, right?” Mairrethid asked. “You four were armed and capable, so we know you’re hiding something. Is it what we’re after?”

Burt whispered, “Maybe.”

“What do you have to tell me that will help me convince the others that there is nothing to gain by torturing you?” Mairrethid asked.

Burt looked at Lenny, who was slipping into shock over his wounds and broken fingers. He answered. “You’ll find a secret door, near the hearth, a trap door down into an underground complex.”

“And?” Mairrethid pressed.

Burt continued. “Well, it leads to the goblins you’re after. They hired us to guard the entrance, pretending the be shepherds. Whatever you’re after, you’ll find it down the hole.”

“That seems like something we would have come to on our own,” Mairrethid said. “I think you realize that.”

Burt frowned, but went on. “When you clear the tunnel shaft, there is a landing at the bottom. The landing is actually a false-floor, and when you put enough weight on it, it will give out and drop you onto spikes below. There is a lever behind the fifth-from-the-last rung that you flip to stabilize the floor.”

“How does the trap reset?” Mairrethid asked.

“It is timed, about five minutes I think. There is another lever on the other side of the door, off the landing, which works the same way, for people who are leaving.”

“What door?” Mairrethid asked.

“There is a door that exits the landing.” Burt bit his lip again. “It is also trapped. The lock is clean, but when you pull on the door ring to open it, you get a blast of knock-out gas. Turn the door ring before you pull it. Turn it a quarter circle.”

“What comes after that?” Mairrethid asked.

“Lots of tunnel,” Burt said. “I’ve gone down there, snooping, when I figured none of the goblins were around. I didn’t get all the way inside, though, because they’ve got a big monster chained up down there. You would have to deal with that before you go any further.”

“What kind of monster?” Mairrethid asked.

“I don’t know,” Burt said, “but something big. You can hear it breathing before you see it. Something with big teeth. I backed off as soon as I realized it was there.”

“Fair enough,” Mairrethid said. “What do they have going on down there?”

“I don’t know,” Burt replied. “They are making something that they bring out in small barrels. Like beer or liquor or something. I’ve asked a few questions, but they just tell me to mind my own business.”

“Do they take anything down with them?” Mairrethid asked.

“Food, sometimes. Who knows.”

Mairrethid nodded with finality. “We’re going to leave you both, tied and gagged, in the shepherd’s house. If you’ve lied about any of this, and any of us survive it, you will suffer greatly before you die.”

“Goes without saying,” Burt said, with resignation.

“Let’s see what they’ve got going on inside,” Mairrethid offered.

“Okay,” Gherota said. She had a slightly dumb-founded look in her eye, but was following Mairrethid’s lead. She had held the two captives throughout Mairrethid’s questioning, and now marched them back into the house, following him.

Inside the house, they had torn the place apart. Everything that had been up against the walls was on the floor, with barrels and crates cracked open, and chests opened and overturned. Even the stew pot had been tipped over, spilling its contents into the fire. And they had found the secret trap-door near the hearth.

“We found a secret door,” Mez said, beaming with self-satisfaction.

“What did he give you?” Fisk asked Mairrethid, accusingly.

“He told us about the door, and the traps that are waiting for us down the hole.” Mairrethid said.

Mairrethid proceeded to fill the other three in on the details Burt provided in his interrogation. Mez had a few additional questions about the traps, which Burt answered reluctantly. Fisk pressed Burt on why the goblins had gone underground and hired human sentries, but Burt didn’t have anything more to say than he did to Mairrethid, even after Fisk reverted to threats of violence.

Mez finally interrupted the dwarf to rattle off a quick catalogue of what they had found in the house, commenting that there was little of value but more than enough to establish the house as a functioning thieves’ hideout--thieves's tools, maps, and records around contacts in a number of communities, including accounting ledgers. He admitted that Mairrethid’s interrogation appeared to have been a more successful intelligence-gathering effort than their own search of the home. Mairrethid accepted the compliment with grace and poise, while Fisk grimaced sourly.

“So, we need to go down the hole, but we’re worried about traps,” Mez said.

“And our information isn’t reliable,” Fisk added.

“May not be reliable,” Mairrethid corrected, “and I agree, that we should proceed with caution.”

“Underground zmellz like dird,” Schlobrock added, grinning.

“Indeedy,” Mez said. “I think I’m best qualified as a lockpick and trapsmith, so I’ll lead the way. You four stay up here.”

“What about putting a rope on you, so we can pull you up if something happens with the traps?” Mairrethid suggested.

“Pit traps and sleep gas could be a nasty combination,” Mez agreed, “but I don’t like the idea of you restricting my mobility.”

“Your mobility will be restricted by the shaft,” Fisk disagreed, “and whatever you run into, you’re better off with us pulling you back up.”

“If the mages agree, then I guess I’d be stupid to refuse,” Mez said.

“Don’t act like that’s such a surprise,” Gherota snarled.

The others ignored her and got to work, delving the shaft. Fisk helped secure one end of a rope around Mez’s waist, and Schlobrock prepared to belay the other end. Mairrethid borrowed one of Gherota’s torches, lighting it with a blast of sparks from his finger, and then dropped it ahead of Mez.

The torch’s light revealed a shaft that opened up from its yard-wide entrance to about ten-feet diameter. Iron rungs on one side created a stable-looking ladder down. The shaft sunk about fifty feet down, ending in a wooden floor. A door opposite the rungs appeared to be iron-shod wood, with both a key-hole and pull-ring, matching Burt’s description. The walls of the shaft were alternately hewn living stone and patches of mortared stonework.

“If you lied about anything, or didn’t tell us everything,” Fisk threatened Burt, “and our man gets hurt, I’m going to remove your eyes, replace them with your testicles, sew your mouth shut, force a full pint of lamp oil into your nostrils, and set you on fire.”

Burt shuddered.

Mez descended, using the ladder rungs while Schlobrock fed out the rope. Mez was careful, testing each rung with his foot and slowly committing his weight.

When he reached the fifth-from-last rung, he found the lever Burt had described, nearly invisible against the rough stone behind it. He pulled a magnifying lens from a beltpouch to examine the mechanism, and then a small chisel to try to expose the parts hidden behind the stone. He satisfied himself that there was no needle-trap ready to hit him in the face, but was generally mystified by the trap beyond that.

He held his breath and pulled the lever.

A weight shifted behind the wall, and he heard a hissing sound, perhaps from falling sand. It was a sound he had heard before in a certain kind of trap-reset components based around weights and hourglass-like mechanics. He moved more quickly down the remaining rungs. Schlobrock had choked up all remaining slack on the rope before Mez tested the floor, and he did so carefully before he committed his full weight.

The floor held.

Mez crossed the landing to the door, drawing his chisel and lens to conduct a similarly careful exploration of the door and its trap. Satisfying himself about the lock, hinges, and everything in between, he picked the lock. Following Burt’s advice, he turned the door-ring a quarter-circle before pulling it.

The door swung open, with no blast of gas or any other trap going off. Mez disappeared from the landing, entering the new tunnel.

The gas-trap mechanism was fully exposed on the other side of the door, with a fragile blown egg-shell, sealed with wax, suspended under a hammer in a glass tube backed up with a bellows. The bellows was linked with a rope and pully to the tunnel wall, so that it operated as the door opened--and it had operated when Mez opened the door, thought harmlessly since the hammer had not yet fallen on the eggshell. Mez cut the rope, broke the glass, and stole the egg, wrapping it in a kerchief and hiding it in a scroll tube.

He went back to the shaft, keeping his weight off of the floor, and waved for the others to join him.

“I guess Burt did okay,” Gherota said, smirking.

“Merry did okay,” Fisk corrected her.

Mairrethid nodded, with appreciation. “Let’s gag them and make sure they are sufficiently tied up, and then head on down the hole.”

“Down dhe hole,” Schlobrock sung quietly to herself, “Here we go, down dhe hole...”

Next Ch 06: Bug Hunt

Ch 04: X Marks the Spot

The “Legend of Gurnlocke Fisk” Dancers:
Gherota, Human Fighter, Level 1
Gurnlocke Fisk, Dwarf Warlock, Level 1
Mairrethid, Human Wizard, Level 1
Mez Gobbo, Goblin Rogue, Level 1
Schlobrock, Ork Cleric, Level 1

First: Ch 01: Poot's Angels
Previous: Ch 03: Burning Things Builds Friendships

The five crept on their bellies, peering over the edge of a hill overlooking an unremarkable one-room shepherd’s lodge. It was twilight, but after a day’s ride, they had finally found the thieves’ hideout marked in Poot’s map. The goblins they were expecting to find inside would have a statue work 500 gold to Poot, and they meant to recover it and collect the reward.

Mez had gone ahead to explore the area covertly, reporting back to where the other four had tied up their horses. He led them to a spot that had one of the best vantage points of the area, so they could discuss a plan of attack.

“No defenses or sentries,” Fisk appraised, “but any attacker is going to have to cover a good hundred feet of open ground to get inside. And if they have dogs, or pet wolves, they’re sure to hear us coming.”

“My thinking, too,” Mez agreed.

“It looks like a pretty standard layout for this kind of thing,” Mairrethid said. “Shepherds bring their flock up here to graze through summer, then take them back down before the snow comes. House is enough to keep ‘em warm and dry, but not much else.”

“Let me guess,” Gherota snorted, “you took a class in sheep at University.”

“Something like that,” Mairrethid grumbled.

“When I was scouting the joint earlier,” Mez added, “I saw humans down there. They could have been Merry’s shepherds, but certainly weren’t Poot’s goblins.”

“Huh,” Fisk exclaimed. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“Led’z ask dhem,” Schlobrock answered.

“Just go down there and ask them about goblins and the statue and whatnot?” Mairrethid asked.

“Yeah,” Schlobrock said.

“What if they are innocent?” Gherota argued. “What if Poot’s information was wrong?”

“You move in quick with overwhelming force, weapons drawn clear directions for them to surrender,” Mez said.

“I believe we should be able to effectively dissuade a bunch of shepherds from forcing us to get violent,” Mairrethid agreed. “We can leave them with that eleventh horse if we got it wrong.”

“Hold on there,” Mez started to argue.

Fisk nodded. “And if they grab weapons and fight back, it is probably because they are more than just shepherds.”

“Let’s try to avoid lethal force, even if it does come to that,” Mairrethid counseled.

“Do you know that sleep spell you wizards like so much?” Fisk asked.

“No, I don’t,” Mairrethid replied. “I don’t waste my time on silly illusions and enchantments.”

“A mage after my own heart...” Fisk chuckled.

Gherota continued to shake her head, protesting. “I’m more worried about whether the dwarf, the ork, and the goblin can hold back long enough for us to find out who we’ve got inside the house.”

“Don’t be unreasonable, Gherota,” Mairrethid chided.

“Don’t call me unreasonable, Merry,” Gherota snapped.

“Look,” Mez said, “we’ve got a plan that we are all happy with. You’ve had your say and we’re all getting pretty tired of your ‘protect the innocent, be respectful of the dead’ bull hockey. You can stay here if you want, but we’re going down there.”

“Yeah,” Schlobrock added.

“You feel that way too?” Gherota asked Mairrethid.

“Actually, I’ve come to appreciate your shrill nay-saying,” Mairrethid answered. “But other than that, yes, I agree with Mez.”

“Fine,” Gherota said, pulling her sword, “let’s go shake our weapons at some shepherds.”

“Sounds like a good time to me,” Fisk chuckled.

“I think we should wait for nightfall,” Mez said.

“No,” Gherota argued, “because we may not be frightening enough if they can’t clearly see what a bunch of depraved, murderous dogs we are. If we attack under cover of darkness, they might think we’re only regular thieves and try to protect their homes and their livelihoods.”

“Hold on...” Mez started to argue back.

“She’s right,” Mairrethid said, “let’s attack now.”

“No,” Mez said, “I’m tired of her talking that way to me. I’ve been nothing but nice, and I’ve really tried to get along. This is what she says to me? Now we’re going to resolve this.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started, you wolf-spawned backstabber,” Gherota fired back.

Mairrethid tried again to intervene. “If I could say something...”

“Don’t pretend you’ve got a problem with Mez,” Fisk waded in, “when we all know your real problem is with me.”

“My problem is with both of you,” Gherota snarled, turned to face the dwarf. “My problem is with any...”

Schlobrock rubbed her eyes, muttering in ork.

“Okay, now you guys are being way too loud,” Mairrethid interrupted, more forcefully this time, “and as Schlobrock has pointed out, we’ve got signs of life below.”

They turned to look. A human head appeared in the house’s doorway, peering up at where the five were hiding on the hill above.

“There goes our sneak attack,” Mez grumbled.

“You’re becoming a liability,” Fisk said, stabbing a finger at Gherota.

“Your mom is a liability, dwarf,” Gherota answered.

“And we’re going to deal with this some more later, aren’t we?” Mairrethid said with finality.

“Now dhey know we’re here,” Schlobrock observed. “Led’z go down and zay, ‘hi.’”

“Just, ‘hi’?” Gherota asked.

“It makes sense to me,” Mairrethid reasoned. “With the surprise element gone, there’s no real reason to strike first. We don’t give up our capacity for violence by going down there peacefully.”

“I think the original plan still makes the most sense,” Fisk said, disagreeing.

“With the tin can clanking around, we probably couldn’t have sneaked up on them anyway,” Mez said, jerking a thumb in Gherota’s direction. “Just let me do the talking when we get down there.”

“Fine,” Fisk said, resigned.

“Whatever,” Gherota agreed.

The five stood up, allowing themselves to be seen. Mez raised one hand, waving, and bellowed, “Hi!”

The shepherd’s head disappeared back inside the house for a moment, and then reappeared. He answered, “hi!”

The five exchanged glances and then, following Mez’s lead, started walking down the hill towards the house. The shepherd disappeared back inside, closing the door.

“What do you think?” Mairrethid asked, whispering.

“I don’t know,” Mez replied, whispering as well. “Don’t arm yourselves, but be ready for a fight.”

“They’ve got cover in there and might decide it is easier to try to scare us off with arrows than risk a chat at closer range,” Mairrethid reasoned.

“The walls are stone, but the mortar looks more like mud. I’m sure there are buttressing timbers, but we can punch through and get to them if they make us.” Fisk grinned, cracking his knuckles.

“Quiet,” Gherota hissed. “We’ll deal with that when we come to it.” She added as an afterthought, “If we even have to.”

They came down from the hill and crossed the bare-earth yard around the house. There were shadows behind the door and shuttered windows, but no one had poked their head out again. The five were all starting to feel jumpy to various degrees, like they were walking into an ambush, but they kept to the plan and followed Mez’s lead.

Mez addressed those hidden inside of the house. “We’re five adventurers searching for a lost treasure in these hills. We would love to share your fire and chat about landmarks and whatnot. If you’re agreeable, we can pay for our dinner, as well.”

The door opened and a human stuck his head out. “Well, hello there. Come in on and get warmed up then.”

“Oh, how kind,” Mez said, politely accepting and managing to conceal how surprised he was by the easy invitation. He kept his weight down and his eyes wide, scanning his peripheral vision as he walked through the door, pulling his large, toothy goblin mouth into an approximation of a warm smile.

The other four filtered in behind him, similarly hiding surprise and edginess to varying degrees.

Inside, they found four humans, all young men, and the furnishings that would be expected. There were signs of dinner and drinking on a rough-hewn table by the fire, with chests and stools pulled around it to serve as chairs. The walls were roughly what Fisk had predicted, rubble piled and sealed together with mud and clay, backed with wood. Racks and hooks against the walls suspended tools, strips of meet, and bunches of onions. There was other clutter scattered across the room--barrels, cots, piles of blankets and furs. The supposed shepherds were standing at various places around the room, roughly equidistant and with their backs to the walls. They didn’t appear to be armed, but they were all in positions where there might be weapons close at hand. Bulky clothes and lamb-skin parkas left open the possibility that they wore chain shirts or other armor, but there was nothing definitive along those lines.

“Take a seat, and help yourselves to some of the stew,” the shepherd who opened the door said. A large ceramic crock was hanging by the fire, with its lid ajar. A kettle of hot water was whistling faintly.

The five spread out across the house, but didn’t sit down, continuing to defer to Mez’s lead.

“I’m going to come clean with you boys,” Mez said. “We’re looking for something and heard it had been hidden in this house.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” the shepherd by the door said, “because we don’t leave anyone alive to talk!”

The four shepherds all reached for well-placed, hidden swords. The five were ready for something like that to happen, and went for their own arms almost as quickly, but the shepherds managed to get off a first round of attacks. Mez was ignored, with the shepherds directing at his larger comrades. Mairrethid managed to dodge the attack, but the other three were all hit, including Gherota through her thick armor.

“I wish we could get a few of them together,” Mairrethid said, parrying the shepherd’s sword with his staff. “My spells work better when they are bunched up.”

“Hold on,” Mez said, stepping next to Mairrethid. With dagger in hand, he quickly feinted, slashed, stabbed, and feinted again, provoking a response from the shepherd. With the shepherd attacking, off balance and frustrated, Mez tripped him, using the his own momentum to hurl him, tumbling, over ten feet away and crashing into Schlobrock’s opponent.

Mairrethid followed up, hurling his transparent orb of concussive force after the tumbling shepherd. It packed into Schlobrock’s opponent, bursting with a crack and further battering Mez’s rag doll. The force explosion was shaped away from Schlobrock, who was unharmed.

Sensing an opportunity, Gherota danced around her opponent’s second strike and then abandoned him, rushing to Schlobrock’s side. “Switch places with me,” she barked.

Schlobrock complied, unslinging her axe and charging towards Gherota’s opponent. She scored a minor hit, her axe turned away by chain mail. “Dhey habe armor!” she called to her allies.

Gherota left her shield hanging on her back and drew her sword, facing the two shepherds and wedging them against the wall. In such close quarters, she slashed at one and easily passed the blade through to the other.

One of them groaned, coughing blood, clearly badly hurt but not quite done fighting.

Fisk snarled with frustration at being hit, stepping back from his attacker, and throwing up a curse and his energy-sucking spell. He managed to get enough distance to avoid getting slashed again, but with the close quarters in the house, it would be difficult for him to keep shifting away.

Fisk’s attacker stepped into him, making another successful sword thurst, though the blow was entirely absorbed by the shield of captured life force Fisk had constructed.

Fisk cast another spell, but in doing so left himself open to attack, and the shepherd took advantage of it, scoring another stabbing wound. Fisk finished the spell, nonetheless, bathing his opponent in an eruption of flames from the floor. Fisk grinned with satisfaction, finding his second wind, while the shepherd crumbled weakly.

“Need help?” Mairrethid asked Fisk, looking for his next target.

“This one is mine, and don’t any of you dare touch him,” Fisk barked enthusiastically.

Schlobrock’s opponent brought his sword around, scoring another hit on the ork. She grimaced in pain, chanting a short healing prayer over herself.

“Mez,” Schlobrock called, “led’z do dhiz one like lazd dime.”

Mez grinned, dancing across the room to take up a flanking position opposite Schlobrock, feinting against the man to get his attention. Schlobrock shifted, taking full advantage of the numbers and position, and delivered her spell-charged, glowing axe-blade to the shepherd’s shoulder. Mez responded, using the now-familiar magic to guide his strike, delivering a savage series of stabs to the man’s kidneys and back. The shepherd sputtered a large gout of blood.

Gherota was having her own fun. One of the two shepherds she had pinned tried to make a run for it, rushing to the aid of Mez and Schlobrock’s new chew toy. Gherota delivered a roundhouse kick that stopped him in his tracks, knocking him back against the wall. The other shepherd had learned enough to keep his guard up as he slid far enough away that Gherota couldn’t pass her sword from his ally into him with a single motion, like last time, but he was still too far inside her kill range to be comfortable.

Both shepherds retaliated weakly, with one scoring a hit that Gherota shrugged off defiantly.

Mairrethid still wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, with no shepherd threatening him and all four roughly taken care of. He wasn’t interested in contradicting Fisk’s order, and Mez and Schlobrock had already brought their man close to death. He had an idea to help Gherota, but the spell’s blast radius was too large. He decided to try it anyway, though, turning away from combat to face the wall away from combat, stepping close to the center of the room, and carefully gauging his blast.

Clapping both hands, palms parallel to the floor and fingers outstretched, he conjured a blast of thunder that tore into the side of the house. Chunks of the wall were blasted outside, but not enough to bring the wall or the house down. His calculations were accurate, and the edge of the sonic conflagration touched the shepherd who was trying to slide away from Gherota, without hitting Gherota too. The force of the blast pushed the Shepherd back into her killzone and adjacent to his ally.

Grinning like a wolf, Gherota executed the same cleaving strike again, passing her sword through the first man and into the second, dropping the man dead.

“Very clever,” Mez observed.

“Mazderbul,” Schlobrock applauded.

 “Thanks,” Gherota mumbled, turning her full attention to the badly injured shepherd who still stood.

Meanwhile, Fisk and his opponent were locked in deadly combat. His opponent managed to score another sword thrust, scoring a deep wound. Fisk bore the pain, trusting his sturdy dwarven constitution, and channeled it back into his existing spell, fanning the flames and burning his enemy further. Sensing that the man was growing ever closer to death, Fisk raised his fist for the killing blow, pounding a blast of eldritch energy into his rival’s face at point blank range.

The shepherd’s head came apart in large pieces of wet meat, shattered bone, and half-vaporized skin. Wisps of life force wafted from the corpse and were greedily devoured by Fisk’s outstretched hand.

The remaining two shepherds were badly injured and in trouble, one continuing to be flanked by the powerful ork and the deadly accurate goblin, the other eclipsed by the shadow of Gherota’s sword, with two mages baring down on him behind her.

“Lenny...” the one said to the other, uncertain.

“Yeah, Burt,” the other answered. “Let’s hang ‘em up. We surrender.”

“I surrender,” the first said.

They dropped their swords.

Mairrethid paused, in the middle of casting a spell. “Lenny and Burt, I presume?”

“Yeah?” Burt answered.

“Alright, let’s tie them up and ask some questions.”

Next Ch 05: Human Resources