Chapter 11

Steam Room Defenders:

Gherota, Human Fighter, Level 1. First and foremost a front-line swordswoman, and quite skilled. Irritated by Fisk's violent, exploitative worldview.

Gurnlocke Fisk, Dwarf Warlock, Level 1. A bitter spell-slinger with powers touched by brimstone. An advocate for Machiavellian methods and strategies.

Mairrethid, Human Wizard, Level 1. Student of mechanical magic and military theory, a war mage. Both moderate rationalist and mediator.

Mez Gobbo, Goblin Rogue, Level 1. Lockpick and shadow-skulking cut-throat. Motivated by enlightened self-interest, a mercenary.

Schlobrock, Ork Cleric, Level 1. Nature-worshipping shaman and medicine woman, with a huge axe. Has trouble pronouncing the letters F, S, T and V.

First Ch 01: Poot's Angels
Previous Chapter 10

 

The steam room door burst open.

Mairrethid already had his staff aimed at the doorway, and unleashed a blast of kinetic force against the elf standing in front of it.

The blast of force packed into the elf, doubling him over with a half-dozen cracked ribs. The kinetic charge radiated out, smashing into all five of the elves standing around him. Among them, there were five carrying sickles attached to a length of weighted chain--among them both the one originally hit and another standing outside of the blast radius. Another had a longbow, and a third carried a long dagger and hung back a bit from the others.

Fisk followed up with his own attack, first breathing an empowered curse and then latching onto the elf in the doorway with his own ectoplasmic tendrils to form an energy-sucking conduit. The elf twitched like a marionette and then collapsed, dying. Fisk relished the surge in his own power as the elf passed into unconsciousness.

Mez was quick with a dagger from his off-hand, tossing it against the elf with the long dagger, easily recognizing the enemies’ leader. He hit, with a solid strike.

Seven elves where in the hall, and one of them was down. They arrayed against Fisk and his allies, who were pressed into the back two-thirds of a fifteen-foot square steam room. This created a five-foot space that the elves had to cross to close with their enemy, maneuvering in through a doorway. Schlobrock and Mez flanked Gherota with weapons ready, while Gherota stood ready to take the best the elves’ had to offer on her armor and her shield. Mairrethid and Fisk stood behind them, hurling magic between their allies’ imposing presence.

The elf archer was ready, and he returned fire, slipping an arrow in around Gherota’s shield.

The elf with the long dagger darted in to follow up with his own deft knifework.

Schlobrock and Gherota were waiting for him with ready attacks, however. Schlobrock’s spear caught him first, charged with radiant light that poured through the gaping wound and lit him up like a flare for Gherota’s follow-up. Gherota gently turned into the elf, presenting her back for just a moment less than it took for the elf to land a blow, twirling quickly and following through with her sword. The result ripped through the elf’s throat, inches away from a perfect decapitation.

The elf continued to move forward, nearly collapsing against Gherota’s shield and stabbing around it--almost on instinct--before rebounding back into the hallway, fumbling a healing potion out of his pocket and downing it in a single gulp. His throat mended itself, more or less.

Another elf stepped over his fallen comrade and laid into Gherota, lashing at him with the chain first, and then the sickle. The chain did a little damage, and managed to tangle Gherota’s feet, while she easily deflected the more conventional attack from the sickle.

Another of the chain and sickle elves moved into the room, but he had to squeeze past his ally. In doing so, he drew attacks from the entire front line. Schlobrock skewered him pretty well, while the other two missed. The elf relished his opportunity--still breathing if badly wounded--to bring weapons to bear against Gherota, follow the double-attack pattern. Both ends of her chain and sickle hit, overcoming Gherota’s resolve and dropping her to the floor, dying.

Another elf squeezed into the room, using the distraction of his ally to avoid drawing any attacks against himself. He swiped at Mez with his chain, but the goblin easily dodged. He came around with his sickle, however, and managed to knick him.

The last elf to act used the full length of his chain to attack Schlobrock, through the doorway and past his allies. The attacked narrowly missed.

Three elves, all wounded, now faced the steam room defenders holding sophisticated chain and sickle weapons. Three of their allies where close at hand in the hallway outside, with the long dagger-wielding leader in the door, another chain and sickle elf and his side, and an archer behind him.

In the steam room, the defenders formed two ranks. The front was anchored by Gherota, who was unconscious due to her wounds. However, she was flanked on either side by Schlobrock and Mez, and backed up by the healing skills and magicks of her allies. The second rank include two magi, Mairrethid and Fisk, who continued to rain death upon their enemies from a distance.

Mairrethid had another spell ready, and conjured a large ball of concentrated heat right on top of the elf long dagger. He used the ball to lunge at his enemy, but the elf managed to dodge. However, the ball continued to bath everyone around it in scorching heat--with potentially lethal consequences.

“My spell will wear them down, so just hurt them bad, and that heat will finish them off,” Mairrethid said.

Fisk had his own spells ready to cast, but was waiting for a clear shot at the long dagger. He held steady and waited for the front line to clear out his enemies and prepare a clean shot.

Gherota held on to life, and somewhere behind her conscious mind, she knew that Schlobrock’s magic would return her to the battlefield, and with that second chance she’d answer for her hurt.

Schlobrock obliged, passing her holy words over Gherota while she plunging her spear into the healthier looking of the two elves in from of her. She struck, passing her glowing, guiding holy magic into the elf along with a nasty stab. This elf happened to be the one in the middle, who hadn’t made herself vulnerable to attack because he was the first to close with Gherota. That meant Mez could attack her target, and because Schlobrock was more confident in Gherota’s sword play, she passed the advantage of her fighting magicks on to Mez.

Gherota soaked in the magical healing energy of Schlobrock’s words, her wounds closing almost instantaneously. She stood, defiantly raising a sword that had never left her hand. With one stab, she passed her sword into the elf standing in front of Mez. He grunted painfully but defiantly as Gherota’s steel ran afoul of several vital-yet-not-immediately-fatal organs. Then she ripped it out, spinning the sword over the head of the middle elf and catching the third off-guard. The blade to the head was enough to take this third elf off his feat and lay him low.

Meanwhile, Mez used the distraction and drew his short sword through the still-glowing middle-elf’s chest with a cunning, disarming lack of interest. The elf fell to the ground, dying.

Fisk took advantage of all enemies between him and the long dagger elf being dropped to the floor--just as he had expected--and dropped his spell, summoning a wave of flames out of the ether and engulfing his target in a raging conflagration. The elf was dead before he hit the floor, and then continued burning.

“We were going to leave some alive for questioning,” Mairrethid hissed at Fisk.

“This dwarf goes to eleven,” Fisk said, clearly pleased with himself.

Gherota was back on her feet, and the rest of the steam room defenders were unharmed, except for Mez who had suffered a scratch. They maintained their starting posture, while their enemies were crippled and scattered.

The elves’ leader, with the long dagger, was dead and on fire. Three of the five who brought chains and sickles were dying on the ground. The two others, plus the archer, were all badly bloodied after twelve seconds of combat, and Mairrethid’s hovering fireball was blasting them with lethal waves of heat.

The elf archer turned tail and ran.

The other elf in the hallway followed him.

The elf in the room didn’t realize he was being abandoned, and flailed at Gherota with his chain and sickle.

Mairrethid let his flaming sphere wink out. Schlobrock moved to cut off the elf’s escape route. Everyone readied an attack for the moment the elf made a move.

And Gherota said, “We’re gonna kill you, unless you give up.”

The elf dropped his weapons, exhausted, standing on his last legs.

“We’ve got him covered,” Mairrethid said, meaning himself and Fisk who both had spells ready to deploy. “Tie him up, Mez. And let’s see about stabilizing the rest of the wounded.

“But I want to make them sacrifices to my black god,” Fisk whined.

“You can do that if this one doesn’t cooperate,” Mairrethid chided.

Schlobrock and Gherota went around applying bandages to the three wounded elves that remained, leaving them for Mez to tie up as none of them were conscious.

“Can you do something about him?” Gherota asked Fisk, gesturing to the corpse of the elf leader, still on fire.

“He’z quide dead,” Schlobrock said. “I can’d raize him.”

“He looks pretty razed to me,” Fisk chuckled.

“So, why did you try to kill us in the steam room?” Mairrethid asked the elf.

“Paid,” the elf gulped, “it was nothing personal.”

“Good enough for me,” Mairrethid said, grinning. “As long as you tell me and anyone else who asks who paid you.”

“It was Polygon Saul,” the elf explained without hesitation, “and he lives in the big house next door. He’s crazy, absolutely insane. I mean, if he finds out I talked and then catches me, he’s as likely to give me a promotion as to personally carve out my liver and eat it.”

“Huh,” Gherota exclaimed, overhearing the conversation.

“Will he have guards in the house with him?” Mairrethid pressed.

“Be sure of it. And he’s a mage, besides, so if you’re going to take him out, be ready for him,” the elf continued.

“You’re a smart one, elf,” Mairrethid complimented. “Now we’re gonna knock you out and stash you away until the fighting is over.”

Mairrethid cracked the elf with his staff and the elf went out like a light.

“Alright, so this plan is going better than I thought it would,” Fisk conceded.

“The merchant was right, that the whole town would turn on us if we barged into Saul’s place without justification. He may be a scumbag, but so is everyone in Red Creek,” Gherota reiterated.

Mairrethid nodded. “And, we seem to have a nack for digging in to a defensive position and destroying whatever comes after us. The situation did present us with an advantage.”

“It is a common dwarf tactic,” Fisk agreed, “but I’ve never liked giving up initiative.”

“Me eidher,” Schlobrock commented, “bud zomedimez dhere iz wisdom in playing dhe zpider.”

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