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