Chapter 1: The Wretched Wizard
Chapter 2: The New World
Chapter 3: The Journey Begins
Chapter 4: The Pig King
Chapter 5: The Baby Vampire
Chapter 6: Fruit of the Womb
Chapter 7: The Frozen Depths
Chapter 8:
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10:
Chapter 11:
Chapter 12:
Chapter 13:
Chapter 14:
Chapter 15:
Side-Stories:
From Chapter 3: True Desire
Chapter 1: The Wretched Wizard
“Foul fiend, prepare to breathe your last!”
The armour-clad knight swung his mighty broadsword in a perfectly-executed blow that should have seen his enemy’s head tumble from his shoulders to the ground, followed mere heartbeats later by the abomination’s body. Rather than the pleasing sound of steel sundering flesh and bone however, all that came in the blow’s wake was the whistle of the wind being sliced as the knight’s enemy literally disappeared bare seconds before the blade struck. The knight whirled violently in search of his prey, finding nothing.
“Coward! Have you no honour!?”
“Honour is of no use to the dead.”
The sound of that soft, dry monotone provoked an instant 180 from the knight, brandishing his weapon triumphantly at his opponent; a youth of no more than 18 summers, lean and dressed in form-shrouding, plain and durable clothing. Barely six feet tall, and least four inches of that was hat, he didn’t look anywhere near threatening. The only things that could be considered abnormal about him was that his long, scraggly, ill-tended black hair was metallic blue in colour for about an inch up from the tips and that the thumb and index finger of each hand bore long, pointed nails –perhaps three inches long each- and that all of his nails bore the colouration of rust-flecked iron.
But should one’s gaze go to his mismatched eyes, one green as envy, one red as blood, then one would see the source of his threat. Those eyes were cold and hard as an ice-shrouded blade- there was no warmth in them, no semblance of humanity. They were the eyes of a stone-cold killer, utterly devoid of pity. The boy’s posture was casual, despite the threat of the older, larger and stronger knight facing him, but those eyes betrayed his seeming ease, filled with implicit menace as he spoke again.
“I have no quarrel with you knight. I have committed no crimes against this land nor against these people. Leave me now, and I will spare you. Persist in your antagonism, and taste pain.”
He turned to leave, a small bag clutched in his hand, when the knight voiced a bellowing roar of defiance and charged him, swinging his blade in a strike that would have bisected the boy had he not disappeared again, dropping the bag onto the ground as he did so. Several roasted, honey-glazed chestnuts spilled from the bag, which the knight subjected to a contemptuous stare before deliberately lifting his armoured boot and crushing the bag underfoot, twisting his foot to grind them into powder. As he did so, an unearthly keen arose from behind him, a sound filled with pain and rage and which brought an unseen smile to the knight’s lips as he casually turned to face the distressed youth.
“Now will you fight me, foul sorcerer?”
“You filthy son of a degenerate incestuous goblin! I spent every last copper I had on that bag- that was my food for the next week! I tried to give you a chance, but you just wouldn’t take it! I call upon the breath of stars, to scorch the sky with fiery scars!”
"Another day, another death."
Had these words been uttered by any being other than one Vincent Del'Morte, a wizard of Allantria, they would have been taken for a boast. Instead, they were little more than a simple statement of the fact. Vincent's homeworld, Allantria, was a strange world, whose veneer of outer beauty hid inner corruption. If any single adjective could be applied to Allantria, then that adjective would be "cliché".
Allantria was a fairy-tale kingdom, with all the bad things that implied. It was a world where any man who had some skill with weaponry could take to the road and receive the adoration and obeisance of the common herd, a place where the nobility was almost worshipped, despite their careless and petty natures. It was a land where monsters were allowed to roam and to eat their fill until some wandering warrior's whim sentenced them to death, and where wizards such as Vincent were reviled, feared and hated as the worst monsters of them all.
As a consequence, this was far from the first pointless battle Vincent had fought and it was certainly not the last of them either. A wizard and the son of wizards, Vincent had been travelling throughout Allantria on his own ever since his family were put to the torch. Mother, father, little sister, his entire home, all had been burned by an angry mob of peasants, the very people who his parents had spent much of their energy protecting them from the ravages of a deadly plague. All he had left of them was the scarred and battered hat that sat atop his head, so worn and stained from use it was impossible to truly say what colour it had originally been. Sparing one last contemptuous look towards the crater, Vincent spun on his heel and headed away into the alleyways.
Vincent’s expression as he headed stealthily through the seedier parts of the village was that of any true wizard of Allantria who’d managed to survive as long as he had; apathetically neutral. Like all wizards who managed to survive he was long jaded to suffering– his own or that of others. As he walked, he thought, plans for the immediate future swirling and twisting deep within his mind; even by his standards it had been too long for comfort since he’d eaten last.
‘Perhaps I’ll get lucky and I’ll find some drunkard with some coppers left, or maybe a mugger will be stupid enough to try and take me. Then again, maybe there’s an inn with poorly-guarded hogs I can swipe…’
He hissed unconsciously as he realised that, in his distracted state, he’d almost walked out in the sight of a pair of the locals, currently engaged in some conversation or the other. Indulging a mild whim of curiosity, Vincent secreted himself out of sight in the nearest nook so as to be able to listen in on their conversation.
“They say the king is preparing to declare war on the country of Policia to the east.”
“Good! Those heathen bastards have been defying the will of Good King John for far to long!”
From his concealed position, Vincent grimaced with distaste; the rampant patriotism that infected all peasants of Allantria like a terminal virus was one of the many things he detested about them. He was shaken from his emotions of loathing and disgust as a third peasant came onto the scene.
“I truly doubt the king will risk war, especially now of all times.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard? The king’s only child, Princess Mary, has been kidnapped by a giant dragon!”
Gasps of shock from the other peasants whilst Vincent bore an expression of deep boredom; this sort of thing happened all the time in Allantria.
“Yes, they say it was a truly gargantuan monster, tall as a steeple, with wings that blotted out the sky! They say it attacked the royal coach whilst the princess was being escorted out to the royal summer home, slaying most of the guards and ripping the enchanted wood of the coach to pieces before carrying her away into the sky! The king has put out a call for a brave knight to slay the beast and save his daughter!”
“Lack a day! There was such a champion in this very village this very morning, but the brave warrior was slain most foully by a hell-spawned wizard! All wizards are evil, this is true, but truly this abomination was foul, clad in stinking raiments of ragged, festering human skin and with his beard clotted with human blood.”
“I heard that he had but a single jaundiced eye set in the middle of his forehead and a muzzle like a diseased boar, and that the entirety of his flesh was covered in greasy warts and foul weeping sores.”
Unbeknownst to any of them, the “foul sorcerer” was currently lurking within earshot and literally fuming with rage. It was taking all of Vincent’s willpower to prevent him from lashing out with his powers and blasting the peasants into ashes. Unbeknownst to him, his left hand had seized hold of the nearby wall, the wood of which was splintering beneath his furious grasp. That fury dissipated at the next words to emerge from the unwitting mouths of his potential victims.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the two monsters were in league with each other!”
“Aye, he slays the righteous men who would combat the dragon, and the dragon gives him the pick of its hoard!”
“Hoard?”
“Didn’t you know? The beast squats atop a mountain of gold and jewels, thrice the height of a man, in a secret lair at the peak of Crackspine Mountain, which is located in the depths of the Forbidden Swamps, three miles to the south from here.”
‘A mountain of gold and jewels, eh? Well now, surely the drake can spare a handful or two for a poor hungry wizard…’
Though Vincent knew to take rumours –especially rumours such as these- with a grain of salt, okay, make that a handful of salt; he was positive that the dragon would have at least some valuables stashed around its lair that he could sell to buy food. And if not, then he could always slay the beast and cash in on the princess- either by taking her back to her royal parents or by ransoming her off himself.
The Forbidden Swamps were a desolate place that most people were well glad to leave alone, brooding meres wreathed in mist and shadow, with the sounds of wildlife echoing from within. From somewhere in the swamp’s center, a towering spire of rock jutted towards the sky; too small to truly be considered a mountain, too tall and too harsh-looking to be considered a hill. Vincent stared at it from his position at the edge of the swamp and shook his head.
“That’s impossible… but then again this is Allantria.”
Dismissing the nonsensical geography as unimportant to his further goals, Vincent headed into the swamp. Though most would have a hard time moving through a place such as this, Vincent had been fending for himself in such inhospitable places for most of his life and thus made good time. And had a rather fulfilling journey too. Whilst he stopped to take a handful of relatively fresh water, he spotted the ugly form of an oozefish squirming through the mud below him. A quick, well-practised stab with his hand hooked the fish onto the comparatively solid ground where he was standing, where the flapping thing was quickly slain by having Vincent’s left thumbnail thrust into what was laughingly referred to as its brain.
Oozefish flesh was considered rank and nasty even when cooked, and few would have dared to contemplate eating it raw as Vincent proceeded to do, but Vincent was quite used to subsisting on such vile fare. And his continuing journey provided him with more of such unconventional but filling foodstuffs. A broken stump yielded several handfuls of finger-length fat white larvae, which Vincent knew from previous experience to be both edible and quite tasty. A cluster of mushrooms, three fat juicy frogs, a bulbous tuber and a careless crow completed Vincent’s catch of the day, providing him with the biggest meal he’d eaten in several weeks. Ripping the last of the crow-meat from its scrawny carcass, he flung the remains into the swamp and continued towards the mountain.
Finally, after several hours of slogging through muck and bog, Vincent stood at the very base of Crackspine Mountain. By tilting his head back as far as he could, he was able to make out a dark opening near the summit’s peak, reachable only by climbing up the jagged walls. He started as a sudden gust of wind brought with it a sound, something like a dark, menacing growl of fury, his hands instinctively moving into the position to cast a spell. When no raging dragon materialized, he returned his attention to the rock walls he now had to scale. This would be tough, but he had an ace up his sleeve; he held up his hands and smirked as the fingernails on the last three fingers of each hand extended and grew sharper to match the nails of his thumbs and index fingers, the process clearly visible because the fingers of his gloves had been sliced away at the top joint. With these to aid him in holding on, he began to scale the mountain.
It was a long, boring and arduous climb, the sole exception occurring when Vincent was roughly halfway to the cave and a foothold collapsed beneath him, sending him plummeting downwards to the jagged rocks. Thankfully, his frantic scrabblings with his talons meant that they quickly managed to anchor themselves to the rock, sharply and painfully arresting his descent. Vincent hung there motionless for around a minute, doing nothing other than swearing in Abyssal –a language very well suited for doing so- in a level, even tone of voice before resuming his journey upwards, swearing all the while.
Ironically, he was just about to run out of curses –well, curses that didn’t harbour occultic power- when his searching hand finally breasted the ledge that extended from the cavern opening. Hauling himself onto it, and taking the opportunity to stretch his cramped, aching muscles, he silently vowed to never again get involved in something like this. Retracting the talons of all his fingers bar his thumbs and index fingers, he snapped his right fingers to produce a faint corona of transparent grey flames around himself, near invisible even in the fading light of the late afternoon, before heading into the cave.
“Funny, it’s a bit small for a giant dragon…”
Deeper he ventured, the unearthly flames of his spell now casting a ghostly “null-light” that rendered the gloom as bright as midday to him, only to stop suddenly as the growl of rage sounded once again, though this time it was higher in pitch and sounded less like a sound promising menace and more like a groan of aggravation. Cautiously, Vincent began heading towards it- as much as he’d prefer to avoid confronting a dragon of any size, he could avoid it better if he knew where it actually was. The groan of aggravation sounded again, this time on the heels of actual words delivered in an obnoxious, high-pitched voice.
“I demand you release me at once you scale-covered horror! My father will never pay you the ransom you seek! He’ll send the bravest knights in the land to rescue me and my amulet!”
Vincent winced at the sound of that voice; that was undoubtedly the princess, and she sounded to be a sterling example of her noxious breed. But what was so important about an amulet? Dismissing such concerns as unimportant, he stealthily traced the voice to its source, looking cautiously past the “corner” of a cavern wall to take in the main chamber. And he was not impressed. At first glance, the chamber –roughly the size of the main room of a cheap inn- was empty, consisting of little more than bare rock with a multitude of animals skins laid here and there for carpeting or similar purposes. On his second glance however, he finally saw the princess- and more importantly, the dragon.
The princess was roughly seven years old or so by the look of her, a typical example of her species with long, elaborately styled blond hair and blue eyes. She was clad in a gaudy, overly fancy dress –one that had seen better days, given the numerous tears and mud stains- that made her look two or even three times bigger than she truly was with all its frills and bows and lacy growths. She had an air to her, an aura that immediately revealed her true bratty nature to anyone whose eyes were unclouded by patriotism. If not for the fact he had already hated her for everything she was, everything that she represented, Vincent would have despised her instantly.
“Yes, my father will send knights to save me! My magic amulet is too powerful and too precious to be allowed to rest in your slimy clutches!”
The dragon snarled audibly, attracting Vincent’s attention, and he didn’t blame it for being angry. He took this opportunity to study the creature –or at least as much of it as he could see from their relative positions- in preparation for his next course of actions. The creature was a little smaller than he had expected. Okay, it was a lot smaller- 6’ 3” at most, if he estimated correctly. Its long, sinuous tail thumped angrily against the ground, the sound it made drawing attention to the three short, barbed spines that grew from the underside of its very tip. Its great wings, powerful enough to carry it into the air if it so chose, trembled as the muscles powering them twitched and spasmed. Its webbed, taloned feet clawed gouges in the rock as it raked the soil in anger and a claw-fingered webbed hand lifted into the air by the dragon’s head, clenching it a fist and trembling with suppressed fury for a second before the dragon visibly forced itself to relax.
“Why you insolent little… no, I will not give in, I will NOT kill you–satisfying as it may be, your ‘precious’ father won’t pay squat for a corpse. I WILL begin the creation of my hoard, and I WILL do it with money from your ransom!”
“You mean I climbed all this way for absolutely no darkness-damned reason!”
The words escaped from Vincent’s lips without his conscious thought; even though he agreed with the statement that didn’t mean he wanted to shout it out to the whole world. Especially not whilst he was standing right behind the one creature he wanted to avoid.
“Intruder!”
Good for Vincent that he had well-toned reflexes; he threw himself aside as a beam of silvery-white energy darted from the dragon’s open jaws and smashed the corner he had been standing behind to rubble. In a single, swift, well-practised move Vincent rolled and shot to his feet, hands moving into a spell-casting position as he swiftly took in his opponent.
The first thing he took in was the dragon’s face; eyes the soft golden colour of amber with vertical slit pupils glittered in the null-light of his Twilight Flames spell from deep-set sockets that, coupled with the wide and flat nasal opening and the prominence of her facial bones, rendered its face skull-like, a pair of horns the colour of aged bone that jutted from either side of its forehead to frame its muzzle adding a further element of diabolism to its appearance. The second and third things, which blurred together in the realisation, was that the scales of its throat, chest, inner thighs and the underside of its wings and tail were charcoal grey, in comparison to the ebony-black of the rest of its scales, and that the dragon was, in fact, a dragoness- a female clad in little more than what could be best described as two loincloths, one in the normal place, the other wrapped around her chest.
All of this data was collected in an instant. Vincent instantly snapped into attention as the dragoness assumed a posture plainly intended to be threatening, but which came off to someone like Vincent as merely inexperienced. They stared at each other in silence for what felt like several minutes, with the dragoness the first to “break” and begin speaking. Vincent idly noticed that she sounded rather young –for a dragon- and that though her voice was filled with confidence there was an underlying tone of nervousness.
“So, you’ve come for your princess at last, eh? Well, the only way either of you are walking out of here is if you give me the gold!”
“And what will you do if I refuse?” Vincent replied; it shouldn’t really be possible to speak in a monotone and to smirk at the same time, but Vincent was managing it. The dragoness’ expression slipped, just for a heartbeat, before she recovered and gestured fiercely at several suits of armour lying against the cavern’s far walls.
“You think to defy me? Then look upon those who have done so before! They denied my will- and perished for their foolishness!”
Vincent did not look impressed, instead choosing to advance upon the dragoness, though not close enough that he was within easy reach of those fangs and claws. Still keeping his blood-red eye on the dragoness, his green eye moved to take in the armour before he returned his full attention to her.
“So, you slew the owners of those suits? You blasted them with flames, crushed them like insects and rent them asunder?”
“Well, I use a sonic beam instead of fire-” she quickly caught herself, shaking her head in self-fury at being distracted before snarling her answer at Vincent. “-I mean, yes! They fought bravely, but they were no match for my awesome power!”
“If that is the case, then why, oh scaly one, are the suits undamaged? And where are the marks of battle- the terrain scars that would surely result from such a fight?” On this line Vincent’s expression shifted from a mocking smirk to a menacing scowl. He held up one hand and focused magical energy into it; producing a globe of utter darkness wreathed in the same ghostly grey fire as currently surrounded Vincent himself. It pulsed ominously as he continued to speak.
“Don’t try to intimidate me you over-grown lizard! I am no metal-brained knight- no mewling, mindless peasant! I am a sorcerer- a master of the black arts! I have overcome horrors and trials the likes of which would reduce you to a shrieking infant!”
“Oh yeah? Well, sorcerer or not, no human can best a dragon! Your spells cannot hurt me!”
“Foul monsters- the pair of you! My knights will come for me and, when they do, you shall both perish like the filthy abominations you are!” shrieked the princess, squealing in fright as the energy ball that had been hovering menacingly in Vincent’s palm was suddenly hurled straight past her ear, blasting a small crater in the wall behind her.
“Keep your obnoxious mouth closed, wretched brat. We may need you alive but that doesn’t mean we need to keep you in your original form. I have a Human to Cockroach spell I’ve been wanting to test for ages…”
The princess instantly clamped her mouth shut in response to that threat, at which the dragoness looked impressed despite herself. She quickly resumed glaring at Vincent.
“And what do you mean WE need to keep her alive? I’m the one who kidnapped her!”
“True enough. But I walked several miles through villages full of peasants who wanted nothing more than to burn me at the stake, fought my way past the giant alligators in the swamp below and then climbed all the way up to this wretched cave with nothing but my bare hands- if you think that I’m going to leave here empty handed than you are sadly mistaken! I intended just to swipe a handful or two from your horde, but since you don’t have one then I guess I’ll just have to claim the ransom for Her Royal Pain there.”
“Over my dead body!”
“That can be arranged…”
The two were barely a heartbeat away from attacking each other when a brilliant flash of white light distracted them. When their eyes recovered from the glare they turned as one to the princess, now floating gently off the floor and surrounded by a nimbus of brilliant white light, her fingers toying with her amulet as she turned a malicious smirk on the duo. Vincent turned partially towards the dragoness, his expression betraying the aggravation his monotone voice concealed.
“You left her with her hands unbound AND you let her keep her possessions? What kind of hostage-taker do you call yourself?”
“Hey, I’m new at this!” she protested automatically, interrupted by a witch-like cackle from the glowing princess.
“No, neither of you will claim anything from me! You two are bad, nasty, wicked, naughty, evil people, and I don’t want you in my kingdom anymore! Begone!”
Before either of them could react, a massive blast of white light engulfed them both, overloading all of their senses. When the light faded, they were gone, and the princess smirked as she her personal aura of energy formed into a diamond shape, which grew brighter and then disappeared, taking her with it.
When the two told their tale later on, neither of them could ever truly describe the experience of “banishment”. All they could speak of was an all-consuming whiteness, like being at the very heart of a star, at the point where all senses are completely overwhelmed and something and nothing become one and the same. Then, all at once, the experience stopped and reality reasserted itself. Vincent blinked his eyes and then shook his head gently try clear away the fuzzy dots that flickered in front of his vision.
“Well, that was a wild ride.”
“Yaaagh! I’m blind!”
Vincent started at that sudden shriek, whirling to face the source- none other than the dragoness, who was frantically rubbing at her eyesockets with her hands.
“No you’re not; just calm down and give them time to readjust.”
She did as she was told, leaving Vincent to wonder –for a heartbeat- why he had bothered to help her when it was her mishandling of the princess’ bonds that had led to them being sent here. Wherever ‘here’ was. Put most simply, it was a mist-shrouded monochromatic wasteland; the grey-soiled ground was bare and desolate of anything except the occasional oddly shaped boulder, which jutted from the soil. There was no light, as such; everything just seemed to be illuminated by a constantly present grey-tinted glow. Even the mists that wreathed everything seemed to be grey in colour. It was a gloomy, depressing, unearthly place and as he took everything in a faint flicker of recognition began to make itself felt inside his mind. The dragoness, her vision finally cleared, took one long disdainful look at the scenery before speaking.
“Where are we?”
“Why are you asking me? Aren’t we enemies?” Vincent replied softly, still fishing for that annoyingly elusive flicker.
“I… don’t know. I guess… just answer the question!” the dragoness snapped at last. Vincent spared her a deliberately neutral gaze before returning his attention to the mists- it might have been his imagination, but he was positive he’d heard the sounds of movement; a sort of clicking, scuttling noise. When it failed to manifest again, by which time he’d finally managed to snare that flicker of recognition, he answered her in a soft, distracted tone.
“I’m… not entirely sure where we are. Though I have studied some of the eldest texts of the black arts, I have no experience in plane travelling. However, in some of the most ancient and powerful tomes of arcane lore, I have come across references to a place much like this… the Astral Wastes, they called it, a place older than the known universe.”
“Swell. So how do I get out of here?”
Vincent didn’t answer her- there was that sound again, louder, coming closer… the dragoness apparently mistook his distraction for deliberately ignoring her; she snorted loudly and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“I said-” she was interrupted as Vincent’s hand seized her roughly by the muzzle, clamping her jaws shut with remarkable strength for one so slight.
“Keep your voice down fool! The Astral Wastes are not uninhabited, and all that I have managed to find on the natives to this foul place suggests that they seek only to slay and devour ‘outsiders’ like us.”
The dragoness squirmed instinctively, trying to free herself, only to stop as she too heard the sounds that Vincent had been hearing, sounds which were growing louder and closer by the second. Vincent gently released her muzzle and she, in turn bent closer to his ear.
“We’re surrounded, aren’t we?”
Vincent nodded slowly and the dragoness’ eyes widened in fear. She looked in circles for the origin of the noise, distracted only when Vincent spoke to her.
“How much do you value your life?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Look, we aren’t exactly friends, but neither of us want to die here. Our combined power might enable us to escape this hellhole alive. So tell me now; do we declare a truce or is it to be every ‘man’ for themself?”
The dragoness looked into Vincent’s ice-cold, mismatched eyes, seeing deeper than any other had ever dared to look and knew, whatever else he might be concealing, he wasn’t lying to her about this. She looked out into the mists, taking in the alien terrain and listening to the things that were now beginning to gibber and wail faintly, before turning back to Vincent and nodding.
“A truce.”
Despite the fact the situation was far from ideal for it, there are certain instincts that cross boundaries and which can well up with surprising speed and force. Webbed hand met gloved hand, pressure was exchanged and they shook. And that was when, with a final unearthly shriek, the creatures began to pour from the darkness and attack. They were hideous in appearance; near-formless masses of decaying flesh roughly the size of wild hogs that scuttled along the ground of irregular clusters of spider-like legs. Their bodies surged and heaved to exaggerated degrees as they moved, as though the flesh was far more liquid-like than was normal. Three bulbous, milky white eyes grew from the ends of long stalks that protruded seemingly randomly from the creature’s bodies, and those bodies split virtually in half to reveal twisted maws filled with fangs.
Three of the things attacked the dragoness, who crushed the skull of the first with an open-palmed blow, ripped the second open with a swipe of her claws and met the lunge of the third by spinning around whilst at the same time lashing out with her tail; the extra momentum augmented the crushing blow of the tail, which sent the creature flying back to strike a boulder with a sickening ‘smack’ and fall still. And still the creatures came on, more and more of them pouring from the mists as the wizard and the dragon fought valiantly.
“I don’t know how long we can keep this up- there’s too many of them!” the dragoness shouted after using her sonic beam to blast a cluster of the creatures into mush, whilst Vincent used the Fireblast spell with which he had slain the knight that had attacked him in Allantria to scorch others to cinders.
“I agree. I recommend a strategic withdrawal.”
“Huh?”
“Run scales for brains!”
The dragoness didn’t need further convincing; she fired a final blast from her sonic beam and then took off, Vincent back-pedalling behind her as he cast further spells on those creatures that were behind them before abandoning his futile efforts to concentrate on following the dragoness. On and on they ran, strangely immune to fatigue, as the creatures chased them relentlessly. Finally, something like a mountain loomed ahead- a cave visible at its base. Wordlessly, Vincent and the dragoness ran into it, the dragoness charging ahead deeper inside as Vincent wheeled to fire off on last spell. A massive, vaguely lance-like blast of crackling electrical energy erupted from his outstretched, splay-fingered hand and smashed into the cavern roof, causing the ceiling to collapse and seal off the entrance. Satisfied that the creatures would be unable to follow them, Vincent headed off after the dragoness.
“What was that sound?”
“I just sealed the entrance- there’s no way they’ll be able to follow us in here now.”
“And supposing there’s no other way out of here, what then human?”
“Then we’ll make one. But that’s only if we have to. Come on.”
The duo walked deeper into the cavern in mutual silence, a silence that the dragoness eventually broke with a nervous cough.
“You… handled yourself okay back there. For a human.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And the same goes for you.”
Silence reigned yet again as the duo emerged into a large, vaguely circular chamber. Wordlessly, they split apart to examine the different regions of the cave. Vincent cocked his head to one side and looked puzzled, before heading over to touch a particular section of wall. He brushed the palm of his hand over it for a second, then twisted his head to call over his shoulder.
“Hey, dragon! Come over here!”
“My name is Naith, human.”
“And mine is Vincent, if we’re going to use names to communicate now. Anyway, Naith, come over here- there’s something behind this wall and it’s thinner than the others; see if you can break through it.”
He backed away from the wall as Naith approached. She stopped beside the wall, threw a smirk at Vincent, and then raised both her arms into the air, clenched her fists, and brought them down with all her strength against the rock. The thunderous echo of the impact bounced off the walls and a spiderweb of cracks showed upon the wall Naith had struck. Frowning slightly, she attacked the wall several more times, finally throwing a clumsy left hook that smashed a hole large enough for the two to walk through in the wall. Behind the wall was a secondary smaller chamber, within which a pulsing “bubble” of light throbbed and flashed. Naith backed away from it cautiously.
“What is it?”
“A planar portal- a doorway between the Astral Wastes and somewhere else.”
“You mean a way home? Then let’s go!”
“Wait! We have no way of knowing-” Vincent’s words of warning were too slow; Naith bounded across the floor and literally dove into the portal, disappearing in a heartbeat. “-Where that portal leads.” He sighed, then looked around himself and looked back at the portal. “Can’t be any worse than this.” He muttered, walking up to touch the portal, whereupon everything once again went white.
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Chapter 2: The New World
Vincent blinked away the blurred vision that was apparently a side effect of planar travel, scowling as he did so.
“I could really grow to hate doing that.”
When he regained his vision, the first thing that he noticed was that Naith was still present, standing not too far away.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you have left by now?”
“I fully intended to- I was just trying to figure out where ‘here’ precisely is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take a look over there- does it look like we’re still in the lands of King John?”
Vincent followed her gesture; the two of them were standing on a grassy hillock, beyond which lay farmlands and, squatting on the horizon, a towering castle, a city built around it. He shook his head once; he knew it was too much to hope for that the portal had returned them to the exact place where they had entered the Astral Wastes, and started forward- the hill was gentle enough that he could simply walk down it. Naith blinked in confusion as he started walking away from her.
“Where are you going?”
“I am going to that city up ahead to get on with my life- such as it is. What you do next is your business. We have escaped from the Astral Wastes and therefore need not tolerate each other’s presence any longer. I bid you good day.”
Naith remained silent for a second before hastily following him.
“Hey, wait up! I’m coming with you.”
Vincent turned partial and raised an eyebrow in query, though he didn’t stop walking. Naith looked flustered for a second before quickly responding.
“It’s not that I need someone to protect me or anything like that, it’s just, well, I need to know where I am before I can set up a new lair and begin trying to start my hoard. And it’d be a lot easier to find out things if I had someone who, well, looked more human to do the talking for me.”
“Are you proposing that we expand our truce to a partnership?”
“No way! Why would I ever want to work with a human?”
“This human happens to have saved your life in the Astral Wastes.”
“My life wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t come charging into my lair! I had everything under control!”
“Yeah, right.” Vincent drawled, prompting an indignant “Hmmph!” from Naith, though she didn’t stop walking along with him. Vincent didn’t point this out though; for one thing that sort of petty “point-scoring” was beneath him –at least in his opinion- and for another thing he was too distracted taking in the scenery. The forest that had seemed so lush at first glance had a strangely artificial quality, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Then it hit him what it was.
“It’s too quiet.”
“What?”
“Listen to your surroundings; what stands out?”
“Um… nothing?”
“Precisely- there’s no sound whatsoever. No birds, no insects, and no forest animals doing whatever the hells it is they do. Just us and the wind. It’s unnatural.”
“And that’s something you’d know about.” \
Vincent stared at her for a long second, and for a heartbeat Naith wondered if maybe she’d gone too far- the human was powerful, for one of his kind, but after an uncomfortable silence he simply smirked.
“Yes… I would know about the unnatural.”
As they made it beyond the forest and began walking through the outskirts of the farmlands, Vincent was proven right and that there truly was something strange going on- though it was well into the middle of the fertile growing season, not a field in sight bore the faintest sign of having had any crops even planted, not to mention that there was no sign of any of the farmers who should be tending to the crops that should be there. Out of curiosity, Vincent walked over from the road to stand partially in one of the barren fields, plunging his hand into the soil and bringing up a clump of earth, which he sifted through his fingers and examined.
“Hm… strange. I’m no farmer, but this soil looks… dead, lifeless. Like it’s been burned to ashes by some manner of incredible heat. Perhaps… dragonfire?”
He looked rather pointedly towards Naith at this final sentence, or at least so she thought as she shook her head in disagreement.
“Not likely. Dragons prefer meat to plants- and even then a single dragon wouldn’t deplete a food-source such as this place represents so badly. It might have been in a Dragonrage, but if so then there’s no reason why the buildings would still be standing- it would have torn them to rubble as well.”
Vincent nodded in confirmation of the truth of that statement. Dragonrage was one of the most well known fragments of esoteric lore in Allantria, and like all wizards Vincent prided himself on his knowledge of the esoteric. Dragonrage was a mysterious condition, even to dragons; a dark, all-consuming fury that could engulf a dragon and send them upon a psychotic orgy of destruction. If it had been a dragon under the effects of Dragonrage that had destroyed the soil like this, the entire region would be an ashy wasteland. Shaking off what dust remained on his hand, he returned to the road, his curiosity piqued- he had to find out what was going on here.
They were closing to the walls of the city, still having seen no sign of life, when a thought occurred to Vincent that should, in honesty, have concerned him before. He stopped and turned to Naith.
“Exactly what are you going to do? We’re both equally hated by normals, but at least I look human. A dragoness shows up in town and the people here are going to panic. Perhaps you’d best wait somewhere past the outskirts. We’re lucky I remembered that before we ran into any-”
“Put your hands up!”
“-Guard patrols.”
Vincent raised his hands into the air above his head, Naith doing the same, and slowly turned around, plans for launching an attack the instant the opportunity presented itself already flashing into existence inside his mind. Slaying those who had managed to confront him had been his intention, but the instant he laid eyes upon his captors all thoughts of resistance fled, driven away by shock and confusion.
There were far fewer guards than he had expected, especially seeing as how they had confronted him despite the presence of Naith, but it wasn’t their numbers that surprised him. It was their forms- they weren’t human. As Vincent took in the details, the best he could describe them was as some hybrid of human and animal. Their bodies were essentially human in structure, but they were covered entirely with fur. Their legs were animal hind limbs, complete with paws, modified to allow a bipedal stance, and their heads were those of animals, though perhaps slightly more expressive. They were clad in sparse clothing, mainly a chainmail vest and a loincloth, and each bore a spear, a cudgel and a sword, which they were pointing at Vincent and Naith.
As his mind flung itself back into gear, Vincent recognized the animals each resembled; a horse, a rabbit, a badger, something that could have been either an otter or a weasel and a final member –apparently the commanding officer- which resembled a fox. He also noticed that the creatures seemed to be as surprised at the sight of him as he –and Naith he noticed- was at the sight of them; the rabbit’s jaw had fallen open, and the otter/weasel’s spear was about to fall from its grasp. It was the fox who recovered its –his- wits first.
“What are we? What are you!” she retorted, the sudden outburst provoking a tightened grip on the weaponry arrayed against them. Vincent immediately stepped forward and seized her by the snout again, treating the creatures before them to what was intended to be a smile but, on his face, was more like the dying grimace of a poisoned man.
“Please excuse my associate, she can be somewhat impulsive. Is there a problem guards…men?” he finished, adding the term “men” out of a complete lack of anything else to say that couldn’t be interpreted as an insult. The beast-men looked puzzled, and Naith actually stopped squirming –futilely, a part of her noticed; how was it possible for a human to be so damn strong?- to look at him in confusion, wondering precisely what he was up to. The fox-man shook his head and gripped his spear in a warning gesture.
“You two will come with us; King Leonius will wish to speak to you strangers. Do not attempt to resist.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Vincent replied smoothly and evenly –one of the advantages of a monotone voice- before his eye twitched, the only sign of his recognition of the fact Naith had clamped her fingers around his hand and was trying to pry his grip loose. “My companion, on the other hand, needs a little convincing. If you gentlemen would give us a moment?”
He began to draw Naith to a spot further back, where he was sure they would be out of hearing, but the sound of the beast-men brandishing their weapons brought him to a stop. He heaved a soft sigh as he spoke to them without turning back to face them.
“Don’t worry; we don’t intend to run and I doubt we’d get very far if we did. Nor are we likely to attack you- you outnumber us and we’re unarmed.”
That seemed to persuade the beast-men, though Naith’s snort told him what she thought of that statement, and he drew her until they were standing at a distance he deemed appropriate from the beast-men, whereupon he released her.
“Thank you. Now what the heck is going on? Either one of us could take these turkeys! Why are you going along with them?”
“Look, I’ve been from one end of Allantria to the other and I’ve never even heard of creatures like this. We need to find out where we are before we can figure out a way to get back to Allantria, and the king of this place would undoubtedly be the best source of information. Unless you want to be stuck here and go without a hoard for the rest of your days?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around you- this place is dead, lifeless. There isn’t going to be any treasure here- they’ll have spent everything on food, and we have no way of knowing whether or not the whole world is like this.”
“World? Don’t you mean country?”
“I mean world. Legend has it that there are other worlds beyond Allantria, worlds that can be reached by braving the dangers of the Astral Wastes and I think we’ve just proved the legend true. So keep your intentions under wraps, all right? I’m not saying we won’t be throwing a killing spree, just that we aren’t going to throw one right now. Wait for my signal and follow my lead. Okay?”
“I don’t take orders from anyone, Vincent, but just this once I’ll go along with you. Besides, beats any plans I could have come up with.”
Vincent decided now was not the time to provoke an argument by answering that final sentence with a comeback. Instead, he simply led the way back to the guards, who were staring at them both in confusion. Without a word they surrounded the duo and began escorting them to the gates of the city and from there to the castle of King Leonius.
As they passed through the great gate into the city, Vincent and Naith both found themselves in for a shock. They had, with some difficulty admittedly, managed to mentally prepare themselves for the sight of a city teeming with beast-men, but that hadn’t prepared them for what lay behind the wall. In the past, the city had undoubtedly been a sight to behold, with beautiful buildings that were handsomely painted. Now, it was a decaying ruin; most of the paint had been worn or scratched away, and what little there was had grown duller and drabber, matching the damaged buildings. Roofs had been or were being torn away by the wind, the walls were cracked and battered and bare patches of dirt marked with the occasional scraggly clump of decaying brown weeds were the only signs of former flowerbeds, the dusty earth blowing from its former resting place to lie strewn across brick pathways. Not a beast-man was to be seen anywhere.
Then, as they passed deeper into the city, they began to see the locals. An astonishing variety of forms assailed their eyes; humanoid variants of cows, sheep, horses, rats, mice, dogs, cats, lizards and other, more exotic animals. As they crossed a bridge spanning what had evidentially been a strong, flowing river but which was now nothing more than a pathetic trickle of mucky water, inching its way downstream at barely ditch-level, they became aware of the fact the natives were staring at them - primarily at Vincent, who didn’t even need to look to know which direction he was being stared at from; he could literally feel their gazes.
The sight of a human seemed to be an immense shock to these creatures; fear, confusion, curiosity and wariness radiating off them like heat from a burning coal. The sight of his bare flesh and muzzleless face was causing an uproar, though the presence of Naith with her scales, horns, webbed talons and powerful wings likely wasn’t helping matters any. As they passed through the city, they generated a widening circle of gasps, bugged-out eyes and beast-men frantically covering their eyes and mouths as though to prevent drawing attention with an unexpected sound or to simply prevent themselves from viewing something deeply offensive- or terrifying.
Though Naith, far from used to large crowds, cringed and flinched away from the gobsmacked locals, Vincent was used to similar events occurring- though usually after his sorcerous powers were revealed. He kept his eyes straight ahead, following the fox-man Captain who was leading the band of guardsmen that had brought them here. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a smirk as the fox-man subtly altered his posture to that befitting a naval officer or a general who had captured a great enemy. Other than that, his expression didn’t alter at all until they passed through the central square, past a chipped and bone-dry fountain, where several beast-women actually fainted. Then, Vincent smiled, an evil smile that slithered onto his face like a poison-bloated serpent before vanishing a heartbeat later.
As they had passed the gaping peasants-equivalents though, Vincent and Naith had been observing them –with far greater subtlety than they were being observed- and had noticed several more disturbing elements. For a start, every beast-man bore an expression of deep-rooted sorrow and utter misery, an air of despair that pervaded the whole city. All of them were thin and grimy, as though they ate little and what water they did have was always drunk rather than wasted on cleansing. They were clad in grimy, well-worn rags, as though simply too uncaring to bother repairing or cleaning them. There was something else too, but neither of them could quite put their finger on it. Then, as the palace came into view, it hit them. Children. Not a single beast-man they had seen was below twenty-four or twenty-three of age, and that was the most disturbing thing that either of them had seen: even in the darkest, filthiest of Allantria’s cities Vincent had seen children.
The small group passed through the main gate of the castle, below a rusted portcullis, and entered the warping wooden doors that warded the entrance of the main corridor. Inside was much better than the slowly-crumbling outside, though the castle on the whole seemed to be weathering much better than the outside city was. They passed by mounted shields and weapons and complete suits of armour, the last especially modified to fit a variety of beast-men, all of them heavily speckled with rust beneath a layer of dust and cobwebs. Paintings, more than likely the previous rulers of the city with, perhaps, some famous individuals, had suffered from weathered paint, becoming duller and lacking in their former strength and passionate energy. Actual cobwebs could be seen hanging from the ceiling, and the sundry small ornaments of gold and silver were scratched, lustreless and –despite it being impossible- tarnished. Despite all this decay and lack of energy, a strange sense of pride and peace radiated from the stone walls.
The final pair of doors was thrown open, and the fox-man and his squad strode proudly and deliberately into the chamber beyond. There, seated on a tarnished, weather-beaten throne, a regal-looking lion-man sat in a badly scratched crown and worn clothing that was several sizes too big for him. The beast-men bowed, though Vincent and Naith remained firmly upright, the latter out of sheer obstinacy and defiance and the former because he was too preoccupied taking in the sight of the king; wise and solemn and so very, very sad. All was silent for several seconds, before the king –whose hand had been resting on his- hand? Paw?- lifted his head from its perch, stared blearily at them and finally spoke in a tired voice.
“Captain Rufus? What brings you here before me?”
“Forgive the intrusion my liege, but we captured these two strangers on the outskirts of the city. We believed them to be spies at first and, given their outlandish appearances, we thought it best that they be brought before you.”
At this the king blinked and truly looked at Vincent and Naith, whereupon his eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly in shock.
“Outlandish is correct Captain Rufus; never in my life have I seen such freakish creatures, and I have travelled most of the lands in the known world. That one” he pointed at Naith “resembles one of the legendary beasts of ancient lore, the dragons which the holy writings say departed our world long ago, but that other creature-”
“I’m a human being.” Vincent interjected –this was beginning to annoy him- but the king continued without any sign he’d heard him.
“-Is so unnatural in form that it can only be a demon from the blackest Netherhells. In fact, both of them are probably monsters spawned by the chaos that has swept the world, come to torment us further- well, that will not happen!”
By this final statement, the king was shouting and clenching his fist. Naith stiffened and Vincent subtly whispered to her from the corner of his mouth.
“Get ready to attack…”
Muscles subtly rippled beneath Naith’s skin as she prepared to spring forward and use her immense strength to crush those who stood against her, whilst Vincent’s fingers twitched in preparation for spell-casting, the sinews and tendons so tensed they softly cracked and popped. The anticipated battle never occurred however, as an aged voice suddenly rang out.
“Wait my lord! Look, look at the Tapestry of Prophecies upon the left wall; it may be that these two are those who have been foretold!”
Vincent and Naith started, blinking in confusion as they unconsciously slipped out of their battle stances to follow the voice’s advice, turning their gaze in the same direction as the beast-men. There, upon the left wall, hung a vast and beautiful tapestry, depicting a strange scene. A batch of golden scrolls were being raised into the air by a pair of figures, and four rays of light were emanating from the scrolls. Three of those beams struck hideous monsters, which were writhing in torment, whilst the fourth and final beam was illuminating a wondrous golden city. But what truly captivated their attention were the figures who were holding the scrolls. One of them was a lean and sinewy female figure; a stylised rendition of a dragoness with scales as black as ebony. The other was a male demon; flesh as pale as moonlight, with eyes of different colours and hands like clusters of daggers. It bore an elaborate multi-horned skullcap, and was also either wearing a vast and badly torn cloak or possessed of ragged wings.
Vincent tore his gaze away as a mad, gibbering cackle rang out and an unkempt figure tumbled into the light. He fought the urge to sneer disdainfully; this was obviously the equivalent of a palace seer, the only form of wizard tolerated by Allantrians. Vincent despised them, considering them deranged frauds who could not see the future as they claimed but simply babbled insane nonsense for the gullible populace. Despite his different looks, this one clearly fit the type; more than half-mad with a crazed gleam in the eyes and sanitary habits that would make a monkey blush.
The figure basically resembled a deer, though of slighter build and with very unusual antlers: they were sabre-like horns instead of the branching antlers he associated with deer, made more unusual by the fact that, spaced at equal intervals, rings of projecting horn grew from the horn’s length, giving them a rippled look. Vincent had seen such horns only once before; on the head of a demi-demon he had once partnered with. He pulled himself back to reality as the seer cackled again and began to speak.
“Yes-yes-yes! These are most surely the prophesised heroes! The ones who shall save us all and return the sacred scrolls to us! They-”
“Excuse me” Vincent quickly interjected “But what is going on here? We are strangers to this land, as you can tell by the looks of us, and we know nothing of what is going on. Where are we?”
“This is Chamlek, one the greatest kingdom in all of Syphony.” Answered King Leonius. “Now it is a barren, decaying ruin, but once this was a beautiful land, filled with colour and life. A curse on the day our Sacred Scrolls were destroyed…”
“That’s several times now you’ve mentioned ‘Sacred Scrolls’. What are they? And how are they connected to the decay afflicting your lands?”
“You truly must be foreigners to not have heard of the Sacred Scrolls. But so be it; at the dawn of time, Divine Powers of unknown nature came to the seething chaos that would become Syphony and poured forth their will, transforming the chaos into a bountiful world seething with riches and plenty. Then they departed the world they had created forever, leaving behind only one sign of their presence: a Great Temple, wondrous to behold, though no mortal being has done so for eons.”
“But the chaos from which the Divine Powers had sculpted the world did not like being shackled, and its attempts to break free caused terrible strife to befall the lands. When it looked as though the lands would surely be torn apart, a great hero ventured forth to the Great Temple, returning from it with a powerful magical artefact that would forevermore bind the chaos. That artefact was a set of Sacred Scrolls, bearing spells and divine knowledge known only to the Divine Powers. Using the Sacred Scrolls, the hero brought peace to the world. That hero was my ancestor, and he established this kingdom as a shrine for the Sacred Scrolls. But all that came to an end. Twenty-four years ago, the Sacred Scrolls were destroyed. How, we do not know, but since then chaos has swept the lands. My kingdom has become a barren wasteland; nothing grows here. No children are born, and soon we will be extinct. And with our passing, the chaos shall swallow this kingdom. Chamlek shall be reduced to nothingness.”
“That’s all very interesting… but where does this ‘Tapestry of Prophecy’ come into things? And what does it have to do with us?”
“I can answer that” replied the Seer. “My predecessor, who was the seer to his majesty’s father, discovered the Tapestry of Prophecy in an ancient chamber hidden in the deepest depths of the palace. With it were several tablets, covered in an ancient script. He tried to decipher the tablets for many years, eventually handing over his role to me so that he could concentrate more fully on his self-appointed task. Then, one day, less than a year after the scrolls had been destroyed, I found him dead in his chamber, a smile on his face, and the translations scrawled on parchment on the desk. They were a prophecy, and they went like this.” He noisily cleared his throat and began to recite in a distant voice.
“For a score of years less two, the chaos shall rule all the lands. Beasts hideous and wicked shall crawl from the shadows, all that is pure and true shall be tainted and befouled and the land itself will writhe and heave in torment. But then the Divine Powers shall take pity on their children, and from the lands beyond they shall bring forth two champions to save the people. And this is the manner by which ye shall know them:”
“She shall be one of the legendary Sky-Beasts, her scales as ash and night and horns adorning her brow. Her strength will be indomitable and her warcry shall sunder stone. Though her form is darkness incarnate, her spirit shall be bright as the sun and like the sun her spirit will illuminate the darkest night.”
“He shall be as a demon, a creature whose form has never been conceived by mortal. His naked skin shall be as smooth as silk and as pale as death, his ice-cold eyes bear the mark of the sins by which he was forged into being and his teeth and claws shall be like unto iron blades. Though he shall appear as calm and still as the twilight, within his fury burns like the very fires of hell and he shall use that flame to burn the iniquitous and the evil from the land.
“Together these two shall journey forth in search of the Great Temple, that the Sacred Scrolls may be rewritten. And the chaos will wail and scream and turn its powers against them, that their quest may fail and it shall be triumphant, but it shall do so in vain. The fell beasts that march beneath its banner shall be vanquished, their tortured spirits hurled screaming back to oblivion. Those who have succumbed to the tarnished allure of chaos will stand against them, but their deceptions and machinations will be for nought. The land itself, enslaved to chaos's whim, shall rise against them, but they shall free it. The chaos itself shall attack their minds and their bodies, but always the heroes shall overcome its efforts.”
“Their quest will triumph, for as hard as the chaos seeks to tear them apart it will instead bind them closer, and as of one mind and one spirit they shall face the great darkness and destroy it, that the Sacred Scrolls may be brought into the world once more and that peace shall reign again forevermore.”
Finally, the seer fell silent, leaving his words to ring out to the silent audience. It was King Leonius who broke the silence.
“And so you now know our tale and the prophecy that speaks of our salvation. The prophecy that could only have been foretelling your arrival. Will you help us? For once Chamlek ceases to be, the other lands of Syphony will surely follow it into oblivion.”
Vincent remained silent, wracked –for the first time in a long time- by doubt and confusion. On the one hand, he normally didn’t believe in destiny, but on the other hand that prophecy had sound so real. He’d never helped anyone before, but then again no one had ever asked for his help before either. Of course, he did find the irony in the situation –him, a monster in one world, being asked to save another- quite amusing. He was broken from his trance when Naith leaned across to whisper in his ear.
“Are we still going to fight our way out of here? Or do you want to go along with this prophecy-thing and try and help them out?”
“Why? Which course do you want to take?” Vincent whispered back.
“I want to help them. I mean, sure, this may not be the world we come from, but that doesn’t mean I want to see it reduced entirely to a barren wasteland.”
“A valid point, not to mention we have no idea how rapidly the degradation may proceed, or how long it might take us to discover a way of returning to Allantria. Very well then. Your majesty; we shall assist you- what is it that you require us to do?” The last sentence of this speech was spoken aloud, prompting expressions and exclamations of joy and hope from all the beast-men present. The king himself rose from his throne in joy.
“We thank you from the very depths of our souls, brave heroes. From the translated tablets and the Tapestry of Prophecy, we have deduced that the only way to cure the chaos afflicting the world is to bring forth a new set of Sacred Scrolls from the Great Temple. Your quest is thus two-fold; several years ago, we sent forth the greatest scholar in our kingdom to find the location of the Great Temple- we have heard nothing from him. Your first task is to find him –or his remains if that is all that is left- and then use his findings to search for the Great Temple. Once there, you must find a new set of Sacred Scrolls, and bring them back to Chamlek.”
He stopped suddenly, and looked towards the windows, Vincent and Naith following his gaze to see that the sun had passed below the horizon and that night had enveloped the land. They had not noticed because ignored servants had lit candles and torches as the light had dimmed. The king shook his head softly and sat back down gently.
“But the hour is growing late and night is a treacherous time to be out of doors. You may rest here tonight, and set forth on your quest on the morrow. Do you wish to partake of an evening meal with us? We have only simple gruel, but it sates the appetite.”
Both Vincent and Naith declined with shakes of their heads; Vincent could go for several days on the food he had eaten in the Forbidden Swamps and Naith would rather chew off her own hand than eat gruel. The kind did not look upset that they declined.
“Then my servants shall take you to chambers, so that you may sleep and be refreshed for your journey tomorrow. Good night. Sleep well.”
Sensing their dismissal, Vincent and Naith turned to face a pair of maids –mice-women- and followed them from the throne chamber. Tomorrow would be a new day.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 3: The Journey Begins
The sun shone down brightly upon the two unlikely travellers as the city of Chamlek receded into the distance behind them. Vincent and Naith had both been hoping when they’d awoken that morning that the events of the previous day had been nothing but a dream, but alas for them it was all too real. After a simple meal of boiled oats, which neither had refused because they had no idea where or when they might get the hance to eat again, they’d been directed to head towards the neighbouring kingdom of Fralla, and from there begin their search for the scholar Havadak, who King Leonius had described as an aged hawk-man with a slightly crooked beak and dull-yellow wing-feathers, splattered with ink-black markings. They walked along in silence until Naith finally spoke, the first of either of them to do so that day.
“So… is this normal?” Not really the best of conversation starters, but Naith had to break the silence somehow. Precisely why she felt like she had to do so, she didn’t know.
“What?” replied Vincent, more startled than his monotone voice sounded- he was used to the complete silence they had been travelling in, and the question itself was confusing.
“Is this how these quest-things normally begin?”
“How in the world would I know?”
“But… you’re a human. Your species goes on quests all the time.”
“True, I am human –much as I may hate to admit it- but I’m also a wizard. I don’t ‘quest’ any more than you or any one of your species does; the only thing I have to do with quests is when some knight or other decides that his quest requires he gut me like a fish. This experience is as new to me as it is to you.”
They walked on in silence for several minutes more. They were past the dead farms that ringed Chamlek now and entering the forests to the west of the city- according to King Leonius, this was the way to the kingdom of Fralla. They’d asked him if Fralla would be as barren as Syphony, but he’d simply shaken his head and said that he didn’t know. Naith idly reminisced on all of this before finishing and wondering how to try and break the resettling silence when, much to her surprise, Vincent broke it himself.
“Still… odd as it may be, it’s good to have some semblance of a purpose to life. I don’t know about you, but I personally have been getting a little tired of simply wandering around with nothing more to do than survive. It suited me earlier, true, but I’ve power enough now that most of the traveller’s threats are little more than nuisances.”
“Traveller’s threats? What are those?” Naith asked, as much from genuine curiosity as from a desire to keep the normally silent human speaking. Dragons and humans rarely interacted, and non-violent interactions were an even greater rarity. Vincent simply shrugged as he spoke.
“It’s just a general term for the problems that come to anyone trying to travel alone or in a small group. Harsh weather, hostile terrain, wild animals, bandit attacks...”
He’d barely finished saying “attacks” when an arrow suddenly whistled through the air towards his face, though in a blisteringly fast movement his hand had lashed out and deflected it sideways with enough force that it embedded itself into a tree. Naith swallowed her shock to move into a pouncing stance as a group of figures began to emerge from the dying trees around them, a variety of weapons levelled at them.
“Speak of the demi-demon…”
There were half a dozen of them in total, all of them resembling wild boars, four male and two female. Though still skinny, they were in better shape than the people of Chamlek, clad in bone-studded leather armour and wielding a motley array of weapons. The largest one, clearly the leader, bore a well-used sabre, whilst three of the others bore twin daggers and crude maces, made by hammering blade-tips, nails and fishhooks into stout cudgels. The final two bore shortbows that they kept trained on Vincent and Naith. The leader stopped his advance a safe distance from the two and shook his head slowly and dramatically before he exhaled a long, soft whistle.
“Well, well, well. Whut do we have here? Two guys trespassing on our road?”
“I fink dat one wid da horns iz a girl, boss.” Slurred one, whereupon the leader instantly whipped around and smashed his fist into the side of the boar-man’s head. Evidentially both of them were used to this, as the bandit that had been struck didn’t even flinch.
“Shaddap stupid! I’m the boss here! That means I got more brains and brawn than any of youse bums. I can see she’s a girl.”
“Pretty weird-looking girl at that.” Remarked one of the bow-wielders, prompting a furious glare from Naith. The leader nodded his head.
“Yer right there; I’ve never seen a lizard-gal with horns and wings before. Of course, lizards are kinda weird.”
“Hey boss, maybe they mean she’s someone important?”
“Important?”
“Yeah, you know, like a princess or somethin’. Princesses always got loads of money on ‘em.”
“And even if they don’t, they always got rich families who’ll pay a bundle for their safe return…” the leader mused, idly rubbing his chin. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, Naith almost would have laughed at the sheer stupidity of these bandits. It was then that one of the bandits finally noticed Vincent.
“Whoa! Look at that freaky little thing!”
“Yeah, what a weirdo! Dang, that must have been some fight you lost.”
“Maybe it was a bet that went wrong?”
“He looks like he busted his muzzle off falling outta da ugly tree- an’ like he hit every branch on the way down.”
All of the bandits began to laugh, Naith stifling her urge to join them when she caught sight of the gleam in Vincent’s eyes. Unnoticed by the bandits, his hands moved in arcane patterns as he whispered something that Naith just barely managed to make out. As far as she could tell, it went along the lines of “iron rust and rotted wood, the fangs of time do gear no good!”. At its conclusion, he stabbed with his hand in the direction of the bandits, producing a sudden flash of silver light that finally snapped the bandits out of their laughter. The leader leered at them and brandished his sabre.
“Alright, enough foolin’. You boys grab Miss rich girl there- don’t kill ‘er, but you can go right ahead and have some fun if’n you want, hehehe. Me, I’m gonna put this freak out of his misery- besides, that hat of his would look good on me.”
“And how are you going to do that without a weapon?” Vincent asked, prompting a puzzled grunt from the bandit leader.
“Whut are you talkin’ about? I gots a weapon right here!” he jabbed viciously at the air with his sabre to emphasize his point, then stared in confusion as the blade snapped off the hilt and dropped onto the soil, grunting in shock when the wooden hilt crumbled into dust in his grip. Similar confusion reigned as the other bandits’ weaponry also disintegrated; steel dissolving into clouds of rust and wood crumbling into rancid powder before their very eyes. Sharp squeals of shock followed as their clothing also rotted off their bodies, leaving six naked boar-men desperately covering themselves as Naith grimaced in disgust. The bandit leader squealed loudly in rage and confusion.
“Whut the hell did you do to us! You’ll pay for that!”
It’s impossible to say what he would have said or done next, for there was a sound like an overripe melon being struck with a hammer and his body went flying through the air to crash against a tree and flop bonelessly to the ground, blood gushing from the mangled stump where his head had sat. The other bandits went absolutely still, their petrified gaze fixed on Vincent and, more importantly, the Fluxblast hovering above his open right hand.
“Anyone else want to be paid?” he asked, his monotone voice somehow ringing with innocence. The bandits fled into the forest with a shrill chorus of despair, soon disappearing into the distance. Vincent dissipated the Fluxblast with a gentle flick of the wrist and Naith turned to him with grudging admiration in her eyes. After a few minutes of silent vigil convinced them that the bandits weren’t returning, Vincent and Naith resumed their travels. The silence once more tried to descend upon them, but Naith determinedly chased it away again.
“You handled those bandits pretty easily. I guess you really are used to this, huh?”
“Of course.”
“That was a nifty little spell you used too. I’ll never understand why most of you humans hate magic.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Say, how many spells do you know anyway?”
“Sufficient for most general purposes, insufficient to sate my thirst for arcane power. Why?”
"…Can’t you ever give a straight answer?”
“We’ve barely known each other a day. We need to know each other a little longer before you can be trusted with information just like that.”
“…You have serious trust issues, don’t you?”
“Trust is an illusion. I learned that lesson hard and well a long time ago.”
Naith couldn’t think of anything to say in reply to something like that, instead simply shaking her head and following Vincent along. Finally, after about an hour of travelling, Vincent tripped over a clue as to where to head next. Literally. He stumbled over something that, when examined, turned out to be a flagstone that had been knocked down, perhaps by bandits. Vincent idly scraped away the moss and grass covering it –come to think of it, the land around them did look more alive than it had previously- to reveal the legend “Now entering Kingdom of Fralla”. Vincent stood up, looking to the horizon as though a village of some sort would be there, then sighed. Naith tried to inject some lightness into the moment.
“Well, at least we reached the border. Can’t be too much further to the first sign of civilisation, right?”
Vincent stared at her, a perfectly blank expression on his face, and Naith rubbed the back of her head and grinned sheepishly before he started across the border and she joined him. As they walked, the land subtly became less and less barren; the leaves on the trees began to change from dull brown to green and the surrounding land went from ashy barren to small tufts of grass here and there. Soon the land looked like a forest from Allantria, with tall trees heavy with leaves, the ground covered with grass and the air filled with the sounds of insects and birdsong. Naith swore she actually caught a glimpse of a deer bounding away into the undergrowth.
“Well, this place actually looks normal. Or at least a lot more pleasant than the wasteland we were trudging through before, eh?”
Vincent didn’t even give any sign he’d heard her, simply continuing on as a scowling, grumbling dragoness followed. As they continued on, the land actually became even more fertile. Soon, the only sign of the path was that the grass covering it was shorter than the waist-high stuff lining the path, and the trees towered so that they formed an impenetrable barrier to the sun’s light. Naith definitely caught sight of deer now; heavily pregnant does, usually accompanied by several fawns, that slipt away as silently as possible into the thick grass. She shook her head in disbelief as they came to a thicket of branches that intertwined to form a head-level (for Naith) barrier).
“What the heck is going on here?”
“I don’t know. Something to do with the ‘chaos’ perhaps? King Leonius did say that each kingdom was affected differently.” Replied Vincent as he bent himself backwards at the waist until he formed a right angle and walked beneath the branches, instantly straightening himself once he passed beyond the barrier. Naith boggled for a second at this display of limberness before slashing at the branches with her claws until she ripped, cut and tore a gap through which she could pass. She had barely made it through when, with an ominous-sounding chorus of creaks and groans, the branches visibly began to regrow, intertwining themselves into an even thicker barrier that also descended closer to the ground. Naith blinked rapidly, a sign of confusion in dragons, and Vincent quirked an eyebrow.
“Interesting. It would seem that this land is suffering the exact reverse of its neighbour; hyper-fertility in comparison to utter barrenness.”
Onwards they travelled, the plant-life so tall and thick now that it blocked virtually all light, forcing Vincent to cast the Gloomlight Shroud spell he had used in Naith’s cave back in Allantria to see. The sudden sound of a series of high-pitched yips startled the duo, instinctively prompting attack positions as, with a loud rustling, the source of the sound leapt from the grass in front of them. A fox, a normal Allantria-style fox, darted across their path as a pack of kits followed it. And ‘pack’ was definitely the right word to use; Vincent managed to count at least fourteen before he lost track and they all disappeared into the thick undergrowth. Both Vincent and Naith sighed and shook their heads in disbelief at how jumpy they were before heading onwards.
As they went on, the path became ever more overgrown, the surrounding plant life growing to such heights that it closed in above the path, rendering it a floor-padded cavern with unsolid walls and a ceiling that hovered well above their heads. Naith barely repressed a shiver as the formerly present sounds became muted and the light was extinguished and Vincent flexed his fingers as though preparing to cast a spell.
“A perfect place for an ambush, wouldn’t you say?”
A sudden duet of growls cut off any answer Naith may have had. The sound of rustling filled the air and the “walls” to either side of the path rippled as two forms pushed through the long grass and stalked onto the path. Wolves, non-humanoid but of incomparably massive stature; each one of them could have looked Naith in the eyes without even needing to tilt its head. Despite their size, Vincent remained nonplussed.
“Just two wolves? Either of us could take two wolves.” Vincent scoffed, extending his talons. Naith looked past the two snarling beasts that blocked their way and gulped before tapping Vincent on the shoulder and motioning in the appropriate direction as a dozen more wolves, all of a smaller size than the two before them, slinked out of the darkness. Vincent stance grew tenser and his gaze hardened.
“Okay, a whole wolf pack is a bit more of a threat.”
Naith joined Vincent, tensing for battle, as one of the giant wolves lifted its head in a mournful howl. The other wolves retreated back into the walls, clearly aiming to make use of the cover to their advantage; whilst the giants drew back- evidentially they weren’t intending to join the oncoming battle. Both Naith and Vincent turned and twisted, attempting to track the movements of the animals in the thick undergrowth, before Vincent turned to Naith.
“Can you fly?”
“Can I fly? ...What sort of questions is that? Of course I can fly- these wings aren’t just for show you know. Why do you ask?”
“Take to the air then; these creatures will have a harder time hitting a target that isn’t on the ground, and it also reduces the chance I might hit you with a spell by accident.”
A part of Naith wanted to deride Vincent for his suggestion, but she knew that what he said made sense. After seeing what sort of mess his Fluxblast spell had made from that bandit, she definitely didn’t want to get hit by one herself; while her armour-like scales probably would have saved her life from a single Fluxblast, she still hated pain. Before she could even think about unfurling her wings however, the first wolf attacked, leaping from the grass behind her, jaws agape. Reacting on pure instinct, Naith whirled around to face it and snatched the beast from the air, talons latching tightly into flesh before it found itself being flung upwards. It barely had the time to voice a single yelp before Naith’s tail swung around in a crushing blow that sent it flying back into the undergrowth, bones audibly snapping as a result.
Naith was already moving once her blow had been struck, completing the spiral she had begun to face the other way before launching herself into the air- though she couldn’t go too high without breaching the “roof”, she was still high enough to be difficult to strike. Spotting four more wolves erupt from the walls to try and ensnare Vincent in a pincer movement, she quickly flew to intercept. Vincent managed to pick off three of his attackers with Fluxblasts, the mystic bolts hurtling through the air to throw mangled carcasses back across the path, but the fourth covered the ground too quickly for Vincent to blast it. It lunged for him, only to be intercepted by Naith as she darted forward and hurled it aside with an eviscerating slash from her talons.
As the latest corpse hit the ground, a chorus of howls and cries erupted from around them. With a final howl, the two giant wolves turned tail and disappeared into the undergrowth, the other wolves apparently following them. The duo remained battle-ready for several more minutes before relaxing and heading onwards, Naith deciding to keep flying rather than walk. At least, until Vincent complained.
“Will you stop hovering around like an oversized bat? You’re making me nervous.”
Grumbling to herself, Naith complied. Onward they travelled, at a slightly quicker pace then before, worried that some other band of predators might try its luck. They noticed as they went on that the grass was beginning to diminish, the tunnel opening up so that they could see trees again, even if they couldn’t see the tops of those trees. Naith greeted this revelation with a smile, whilst Vincent grew tenser, as though he were afraid that the diminished cover would reveal even more enemies. A sudden rumbling growl instantly provoked a rapid spiral and unsheathed claws, only for him to blink in confusion at the sight of Naith with a sheepish expression on her face and a claw pressed to her stomach.
“Ugh… I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat on you?”
“No. And how can you be hungry? We ate just this morning.”
“Hey, one measly bowl of boiled oats is far from a satisfying meal just for the morning- and besides which, fighting and flying both build up an appetite!”
“So does casting spells, you don’t hear me complaining.”
Naith growled, though whether the sound was coming from her throat or her stomach was hard to determine, but continued walking- if only because of the faint hope they’d find something edible if they kept going. Finally, the abnormally huge plant life began to recede into something far more normal, enabling Vincent to cancel his Gloomlight Shroud spell and see normally. And what he managed to see was his first sign of civilisation; a farm, fields brimming with absolutely monstrous crops. A hungry moan reached his ears and he turned to see Naith, her attention fixated on the crops, eyes glazed and licking her lips.
“I’m far from fond of vegetables, but look at the size of them! Let’s eat!”
Before Vincent could say or do anything she took to the wing and darted off towards the farm. Shaking his head in disbelief, he followed her as quickly as possible- truth be told, he wouldn’t turn up a chance at a meal either.
‘She didn’t move this fast when we were being chased through the Astral Wastes!’ Vincent thought to himself, shaking his head as he increased his pace; Naith had escaped his sight almost a minute ago. He slowed down to move with greater caution as he came closer to the farm’s boundary fence; like any Allantrian Wizard, Vincent was well educated in the ‘etiquette’ of “scrumping”- as the practise of stealing food (especially from farms) was known. It was a strangely elaborate code, designed to minimize both the chances of being caught and the potential rage of the victim.
He slipped through the fence and headed into the field, noticing instantly the presence of a footprint embedded deeply in the soil. Clicking his tongue, he scuffed it out with his own boot and headed further in. Naith had made a fairly obvious trail, and Vincent had to erase the signs of her passage as well as his own as he went on. With the ease of long practise he moved silently and without leaving a trace, finally managing to sneak up on Naith, who was hunched down near a tomato plant –bulging with fruits the size of Naith’s clenched fist- and gnawing industriously on a cucumber as long as Vincent’s forearm. Lying beside her was a similarly sized corncob with a bite taken out of it and an apple the size of a bullock’s heart –and yes, Vincent knew how large that was- in a similarly mangled state. Vincent shook his head and gently reached out and tapped her on the back of her head.
Her reaction was immediate; she spat out the mouthful she was chewing, almost choking, and spun around, wings flapping like a startled bird’s, forcing Vincent to step back quickly to avoid being buffeted by her wings- or raked open by her wildly slashing claws. She stopped the instant she realised that it was Vincent, looking somewhat embarrassed- though whether the shame came from the fact she’d tried to kill her travelling companion or from the fact he managed to sneak up on her was anyone’s guess.
“A little warning wouldn’t have killed you ya know!”
“But you almost did, hmm? And you’re a beginner at farm raiding, aren’t you?”
“How can you tell- I mean, what do you mean?” Naith hastily corrected herself, prompting one of Vincent’s all-too-familiar-for-her-liking smirks.
“For a start the fairly obvious trail you left –I covered that up for you- for another the fact I managed to sneak up on you-”
“You can sneak up on just about anything- you’re the sneakiest, creepiest human I’ve ever met.”
“-and finally, you forgot the golden rule.”
“What golden rule?”
“The golden rule of farm raiding; always eat every last scrap before you start on something else; nothing gets a farmer madder than seeing half-eaten foodstuffs left lying around.”
Having said this, he reached down and picked up the corn- or at least tried to. Naith snatched it from beneath his fingers and clutched it to her chest with the cucumber and the apple, growling deep in her throat at the human. Vincent blinked twice, slowly, but said nothing as Naith ate rapaciously, simply shaking his head and carefully walking over to a potato plant, from which he dug up one tuber and began peeling it with an index nail. He took a few bites from the denuded tuber, then scowled at the sheer noise Naith was making as she ate.
“Do you want us to get caught? Slow down and stop making such a hog of yourself- you’re loud enough to wake the dead! You’ll bring the farmer after us!”
“Relax Vince” Naith replied in between slurps, lip-smacks and gulps “he’s way too busy to come after us. At least for a while. I know just where he is” She swallowed the last of the apple and giggled, something that provoked a quirked eyebrow from Vincent.
“First things first… don’t ever call me Vince! Secondly, do I really want to know what he’s doing and how you know it? Thirdly… you giggle?”
“No… I don’t think you want to know what he’s doing, and as to how; I flew onto the roof and listened in on him and his wife from there. And yes, I giggle- do you have a problem with that?”
“It just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d do.”
“Are you saying I’m not a female?”
“No, I’m saying that you’re unfeminine.”
Vincent ignored Naith’s scowl to simply finish off the potato he was eating, whereupon he shuddered with disgust.
“Ugh, I’d rather eat raw oozefish than raw potato. What else is there around here?”
He walked off, leaving behind a very sickened Naith- though dragons could digest just about any quasi-organic matter, there were some things even they wouldn’t eat. Oozefish was high up on that list. Ignoring his companion’s disgust at his preference in meals, Vincent had slunk into the orchid, admiring the trees heavily laden with fruits of immense size. An apple and several types of berry vanished with relative speed– sluggish compared to the rate at which Naith, who had followed out of curiosity, was making them disappear, but quite a deal faster than normal and in an extremely efficient manner. Like a shadow, Vincent slipped between the trees and bushes, always aiming to keep himself in a position where he was difficult to see yet where his view was relatively unobstructed. Despite Naith’s assurances, he didn’t want to risk being caught- or even seen.
“I’m thirsty now. Wonder if there’s anything to drink nearby…”
It took all of Vincent’s self-control not to slap his forehead in disbelief as Naith simply strode through the fields as if she actually had a right to be there. Naith ignored him as she pushed through the orchid to find a paddock filled with cattle. Literally filled with cattle; dozens of cows, stomachs bloated by pregnancy and gorging, trotted past each other, lowing loudly in discomfort from painfully swollen udders- they evidentially hadn’t been milked for quite some time. Naith looked around before spotting a large bucket, capable of holding maybe five litres of milk at least. She grabbed it and casually swung herself over the fence into the paddock, moving cautiously through the herd until she managed to make it to the side of one cow, whereupon she slowly squatted down and began to milk it, much to Vincent’s confusion.
“You know how to milk a cow? I thought you’d never raided a farm before.”
“I haven’t, not really, but I’ve done this once or twice before when I felt like it. Besides, these things are so swollen with milk I barely have to do anything.”
Her bucket now full, Naith lifted it to her muzzle and began drinking, tilting back her head so that she could pour the fluid down her throat with greater ease. Vincent could only stare, a slight queasiness stirring beneath his mask of a face, as Naith managed to polish off five litres of milk without even stopping to breathe once. Once the pail was drained, she casually let it fall to her side, still loosely held by her right hand, as she wiped her muzzle with her left arm and belched loudly in satisfaction. Vincent simply shook his head and decided to satisfy his thirst by drinking berry juice.
After feeding some more, they both decided to press on; they’d been at the farm for far too long already, and besides which they’d eaten enough to satisfy their hunger for a while. As they were just reaching a safe distance beyond the fence, Vincent looked back towards the farmhouse to see the door swing open- they’d gotten away just in time. They travelled onward in silence, though a far more comfortable silence this time, a silence spawned from full stomachs and the desire to allow digestion to proceed as easily as possible. As was becoming the usual, it was Naith who broke the silence, after she finished picking a last scrap of food from her teeth with a talon.
“You know, if all the farms around here are like that, this place could make a fortune exporting to Syphony. Wonder why they don’t?”
“Probably too hard to get through the border- you remember those wolves, don’t you?”
Naith nodded in agreement; such predators would be far too much for mere farmers to handle. As they walked onwards, Naith decided to stretch her wings a bit, flying upwards above the treetops, whereupon she called down to Vincent.
“I can see the castle! I think it’s only a few more minutes of travel from here!”
As it would turn out, the journey was much shorter. Unlike Chamlek, the city surrounding the castle was an immense sprawl, a great number of newly and clearly hastily-built houses erected outside the city walls, shambles of wood and the occasional mess of tile, smaller extensions protruding from them like tumours. As they walked into the city, the noise struck them like a hammer blow. The normal sounds of a city were there, oh yes, but they were completely drowned out by the sounds of construction as more houses and extensions were erected. And the sounds of construction were almost drowned out by the sounds of children, of youngsters playing and babies screaming to be fed or changed or held and, just barely at the edge of hearing, the sound of couples engaged in intimate acts. Naith whistled softly.
“Overpopulation is definitely a problem here. I’ve never seen so many people in one place before.”
Vincent slowly nodded his agreement and without any further conversation the two of them walked down into the city. Unlike in Chamlek, they attracted no attention, but that may well have been because of how massive the population was; they just failed to stand out from the crowd. In the first few minutes after they’d entered the ring of houses beyond the city walls, they’d seen more people –well, beast-people- then they’d seen in Chamlek. They couldn’t help but notice that every woman they passed was either heavily pregnant, surrounded by children, or both. And Naith pointedly ignored every alleyway and reasonably deep alcove they passed- all of them were occupied by frantically pairing couples. In addition to those flocking around their mothers, children were everywhere; a seething tide that surged and flowed like an undercurrent to the crowd, until Naith had the feeling she was less walking and more wading through a sea of kids.
“Where the hell are all these children coming from?” she asked rhetorically, prompting a headshake and a warding gesture from Vincent.
“Oh no- don’t look at me! I’ve done many things in my life, but giving ‘the talk’ to a dragoness who’s probably older than I am is an experience I am not going to gain!”
“It was a rhetorical question dummy. Besides, I know where babies come from.”
“I’m afraid to ask the obvious questions there. So I’m not going to ask. Come on; we need to get further into the city.”
Somehow, they managed to make it to the gates in the city wall without any incidents. Well, until they actually reached the gate anyway. When they made it there, they spotted a raccoon-man running toward them, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder, racing as though he was scared for his life. The reason for his fear quickly became apparent; three beast-women –a mouse, a squirrel and a skunk- were chasing him, expressions of utter fury on their faces. They were slower and less agile than the man they were chasing though, due to the fact each was heavily pregnant, gravid stomach bulging out to several feet away.
“Please! It was an accident! I was told it’d prevent this- not make it worse!”
Vincent shook his head in disbelief whilst Naith whistled a low note and then softly giggled.
“Someone’s gonna regret something tonight” She said, Vincent nodding in agreement “though I can’t help but wonder what the story behind that is.” *
Vincent spared one moment to give her an askew glance before continuing onwards, Naith jogging to catch up. Soon they had made it to the central square, from which multiple paths branched off in different directions. Naith glanced around, curious about the fact that the number of people on the streets had dwindled, along with the sounds of construction –though the sounds of children still rang out- whilst Vincent stared at the pathways, a troubled expression flickering onto his face.
“Hrnnn… now which way was it?”
“Something troubling you Vincent?”
“Yes… King Leonius instructed us to head to Fralla, and from there take a different route… but I cannot remember which path to take.” He replied, gesturing towards three signposts reading “Grey’s Peak Mountains”, “Vitriol Fields” and “Lake Icthys”.
“Why not just guess? Pick one path and try our luck on it?”
“No, no, that’s no good… suppose we pick the wrong path? We’d waste valuable time going the wrong way, and how would we tell if we were even going the wrong way? No, there has to be a way to figure this out…”
“*cough* Excuse me? I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Is there any way I might be able to help?”
Vincent and Naith both blinked, then looked upwards to see a window had opened in a nearby house. Protruding from it was the head of a tiger. Through the window, they could hear the sounds of babies crying and children squabbling.
“Perhaps… though I rather doubt it. We were told that Havadak, a scholar from the kingdom of Syphony, passes through this city some time ago. We seek to follow him.”
Vincent replied, monotone in inflection and plain in expression as always. The tiger looked thoughtful and scratched his chin for a moment before replying.
“Hmm… now that is a tricky question… but you’re in luck; he stayed with me and the missus whilst he was here, and I remember the path he took when he left.”
“You do? Then please, tell us, it’s important we know.” Naith asked. The cat looked down at them, apparently taking stock of them, before he replied.
“Come inside and we’ll talk. We might be able to strike a bargain…”
He disappeared back inside and closed the window, whereupon Naith turned to Vincent.
“Do we trust him?”
“Do we really have much of a choice?”
Naith shook her head in answer to Vincent’s rhetorical question and followed him as he strode over to the door and turned the knob. A blast of heat and myriad scents assaulted their noses, the smells of food and many bodies crammed in close together washing over them like a tide. A chorus of hungry mewling greeted their ears and Naith instinctively drew back.
“Maybe we should just go and ask the king?” she questioned, whereupon Vincent shook his head.
“Who says he’d have the time, patience or even be inclined to help us? No, we have a possible source of information right here, and I say we tap it. There’s surely little harm that can come to us from listening to his proposition anyway.”
With that said, he stepped inside, Naith reluctantly following him and closing the door behind herself. Inside, the house was as crowded as they had anticipated; the vast majority of it consisted of a single large room with scattered piles of blankets that evidentially served as sleeping places, as well as at least half a dozen cribs that looked to have been crudely assembled from chunks of furniture. Four of the cribs were occupied by squalling cubs, being gently hushed by four more tigers; adolescents by the looks of them. Five more cubs, of an indeterminate age somewhere between that of the babies and that of the adolescents, darted across the chamber, caught up in a rough-and-tumble game of their own making. Naith and Vincent both stepped into the chamber with obvious nervousness and hesitation.
For Naith, this could be chalked down to simple lack of familiarity with both houses and being around the number of people she was around. Vincent’s hesitation, however, was unusual- whatever reason he may have had to be so nervous, only he knew what it was. As they came in, they noticed that the chamber was surprisingly clean; especially given the number of children present. As the youngsters darted past them, so caught up in their game they didn’t even notice the presence of the dragoness and the human, Vincent and Naith both wondered where the mother of this large family had to be. A light, growling giggle drew their attention to another, smaller chamber; they walked past the adolescents –who were staring at them, dividing their attention between the strangers and the babies- and through the doorway to find the source of the sound.
An adult female, clearly the mother, stood in what was obviously the kitchen. Like virtually every woman they’d seen up to this point on this day she was massively pregnant, white-furred stomach proudly jutting out to such an extent she couldn’t reach around it any more. She was gently resting it against a bench and, as she turned to see them, the mystery of the empty cribs was solved; two more babies were suckling hungrily from milk-engorged breasts, so large that it was doubtful she would have worn a top even if she weren’t breastfeeding. The only clothing she was wearing was a simple skirt around her waist, just long enough to reach her knees and thus preserve her lower modesty. She blinked at the sight of two strangers in her house but, much to their relief, didn’t panic.
“Oh? Who are you? Why are you in here?”
As Vincent and Naith tried to figure out what to say to that, the tiger who had called them in appeared on a set of stairs that –rather improbably- were leading up from the kitchen.
“I asked them in dear. They might be able to help us.”
“Oh, in that case, make yourselves at home dearies. I’ll just put these two down and see about feeding Tommy and Sylvia.”
She stepped out of the kitchen, Vincent and Naith moving aside to let her pass through, and the tiger –evidentially her husband- smiled softly after her before snapping his attention back to the (extremely uncomfortable) duo who had just walked into the kitchen.
“Please, come upstairs; we need to talk.”
They came upstairs into a small room lined with windows, with numerous pots filled with soil and vegetable plants placed beneath each window. Three seats, and a smallish bed, were the only furniture. The tiger took one seat and Vincent and Naith each took another as the tiger cleared his throat and began to speak.
“Well, I take it you know what’s wrong- with both this kingdom and, considering you’re after Havadak, the world.”
“Yes. Fertility-related chaos as a result of the destruction of the Sacred Scrolls housed in Chamlek. This kingdom has become afflicted with hyper-fertility, in contrast to the utter barrenness afflicting Syphony. Your crops and livestock are growing rampantly, but so is your population. Correct?”
Both the tiger and Naith stared at Vincent after that cold, factual statement before the tiger shook his head and resumed speaking.
“Right. It’s been getting steadily worse for about fifteen years. My wife and I were childhood sweethearts; we married young and had our first litter during the very first year of the chaos. It was quite a brood by the standards of those days; three sons and a daughter. We thought ourselves amazingly blessed, until the news began to spread of other multiple births. And then things began to really progress; as you saw, my wife is pregnant for the fourth time, and I personally know people who’ve had over eight litters! Not only are our numbers swelling immensely, but our people are slowly losing their minds, being consumed by their sexual urges! Our king spends so much time with his queen and mistresses that he doesn’t even concern himself with the business of ruling the lands. I fear it may not be too long before the entire land becomes little more than a never-ceasing orgy.”
Naith shuddered at the thought, though Vincent’s expression didn’t change a flicker. He simply leaned forward in his chair and broke the silence with his dry, level monotone.
“And that is why you must help us- Havadak was sent to find a way to the Great Temple, and a new batch of Sacred Scrolls. Our mission is to find him, or his remains, and ensure that they are brought back to Syphony and put an end to this madness. Don’t delay us about that mission- for your own sake, if not that of your kingdom.”
Vincent’s little speech could have been quite persuasive –perhaps even inspirational- if only he’d actually allowed at least the tiniest fragment of emotion to enter his voice. As it was, the tiger simply shook his head and answered.
“I want to help you, and I will, I just need your help first. You see, I’ve figured it out; the longer you spend outside in this land, the greater the effect it has on you- your horniness and fertility are tied somehow to the amount of time you’ve spent outside. Don’t worry” he interjected, seeing Naith’s horrified expression “It only affects you if you were in the kingdom on that night the scrolls were destroyed. But irregardless, that’s why I need you two. You see, whilst I can provide vegetables for my family, we need meat of some sort, and I simply can’t afford to go out and get some. Especially not now, whilst my eldest daughter’s in her first heat. I need you two to go to Lake Icthys and bring back as much fish as you can carry. If you’ll do that for me, I’ll tell you which road to follow to find Havadak. Do we have a bargain?”
Vincent and Naith looked at each other, exchanged a wordless conversation, then looked back at the tiger before simultaneously nodding their heads and speaking in perfect unison.
“It’s a deal.”
As one, they stood up and walked downstairs, walking past the nursing mother and the sullen adolescents to exit through the door and follow the path to Lake Icthys. The path soon led them to a small forest. Well, small by Fralla’s standards- the trees couldn’t have been more than three-dozen-feet tall at least. The branches generally pointed towards the sky, but the grass here was of a particularly rigid variety that, combined with its great height and thickness, forced Vincent and Naith to use their claws to cut their way through. It was a slow, laborious process, but to their pleasant surprise the grass wasn’t growing back behind them instantly. Naith shook her head as they clawed their way directly into a roadblock; a thick mass of vines that dripped from the branches above to form an entangling curtain that the duo had to rip their way through.
“I’ve heard of having too much of a good thing before, but this is ridiculous.”
“Shut up and keep slashing.” Vincent growled, so infuriated by a vine that persisted in dangling into his face that he lunged for it and bit it savagely, producing a sound like rusty iron blades clashing against each other and severing it neatly. Finally, after further effort and more than a few choice words –more from Naith than Vincent, surprisingly- they reached the lake, a pleasant mile-wide expanse of clear blue waters.
A surprisingly large “island” floated out in the middle of the lake, connected to the shore by a rather decrepit pier, upon which grew a single towering willow tree, its branches gently swaying as though welcoming them both to its abode. The duo decided to walk along the pier to the island- the two had obviously been connected for a reason, and both figured it was because the fishing would be easiest out near the island. As they did so, Vincent noticed a boat that had been tied to the pier and which had been capsized- it was more dangling from the rope than it was floating. That was unusual, and that made him wary. Especially when he went for a closer look and found massive bite marks on it.
Once they reached the island, Vincent went to its “shore” and looked down into the water, seeing a sight that, despite the fact he had been expecting it, still managed to shock him. And it wasn’t the willow tree’s roots bursting out from beyond the shore to dangle in the water either. The water literally swarmed with masses of fish, fish in all shapes and sizes, fish spawning and hatching from eggs to grow to full adulthood before his very eyes. Vincent shook his head in disbelief.
“Well, this shouldn’t be too hard.”
So saying, he crouched down on the shore and stabbed his hand into the water in the quick hooking motion he had developed long ago for capturing fish without any form of fishing tackle. Much to his shock, he failed to catch any; they all darted away faster than he pulled his hand out. He scowled and tried again. And again. And a fourth time. Each time, nothing; he came ever so close, even feeling one fish slip between his fingers, but each and every time they managed to escape. He sat back on his haunches and scratched his head, a long-absent look of puzzlement making its way onto his features as he contemplated his failure, until the sound of unrestrained giggling drew his attention.
“And I suppose you could do better?” he snapped at Naith- well, snapped as much as it’s possible for a monotone to snap. That complete lack of emotion in his voice was really beginning to get on Naith’s nerves; he showed it on his face, why not show it in his voice? She gave no sign of what she was thinking though, instead simply grinning at him in the draconic fashion.
“Of course. Name one thing a human can do that a dragon can’t do better?”
Rather than wait for Vincent’s vitriolic reply, she simply lashed out into the water, so fast her hands were a blur of black, hooking four good-sized fish onto the ground. This stilled Vincent’s tongue, but didn’t prevent him from giving her a sullen look as she caught seven more fish in quick succession before suddenly diving into the lake with a powerful splash, drenching Vincent in the process. He shook himself off indignantly before glaring at into the lake as Naith surfaced, chewing on a fish that she quickly gulped down. Vincent shook his head in disbelief.
“You’re STILL hungry? Are you sure you’re really a dragoness and not the ugliest damn sow I’ve ever seen?”
Naith threw Vincent a dirty look, followed by a deliberately misaimed sonic blast that shot past his head and missed the willow tree. It was an excellent shot, though rather disappointing in that he didn’t even flinch. Naith dove back under the water, aiming to catch a large number of fish and fill her belly at the same time. When she surfaced, her latest catch dangling from her jaws, she spotted Vincent staring at her before he began yelling something she couldn’t make out due to the distance between them. Her eyes widened as he suddenly launched a Fluxblast right at her! She dodged to the side, an act that proved to be unnecessary as the spell whistled through the space that would have been just beside the tip of her left wing. And something that had been sneaking up behind her screamed in equal parts pain and rage as the spell struck true. Naith spun around and couldn’t help the shriek that spilled from her throat at the sight of the monstrous predatory fish that was ceasing its pain-wracked thrashing to come at her again, a beast several times larger than she herself was.
“…Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it… well, the thing looks edible… give me a hand with it; why waste our time on small-fry when we can bring this big momma back?”
Naith nodded her agreement to that, but still plucked her previous catches from the ground and tossed them inside the corpse’s mouth for safekeeping whilst she and Vincent struggled back to Fralla with it. The journey back was even longer and more arduous than the journey to the lake had been, thanks to their burden, but finally, after a lot of straining and swearing, they made it back into Fralla as the sun was beginning to go down. As neither of them were able to spare a hand, Naith ended up knocking on the door by using her head- for once appreciating the thickened bones of her skull. The door slowly swung open, revealing the tiger-father- whose jaw quickly dropped at the size of the fish being carried by the duo. He quickly ushered them inside, provoking joyful uproar from the other members of the family. Vincent and Naith gladly dumped the fish in the kitchen, whereupon the adolescents fell upon it with knives and began carving it apart under their mother’s watchful eye. It was then that the father finally shared his knowledge with Vincent and Naith.
“The day he left me, he told me that he intended to travel to a village just beyond the Grey’s Peak Mountains. But please, the day is growing old and you are both surely exhausted. Stay the night with us, and taste the fruits… er, fish… of your labour.”
“No, thank you, but we cannot stay. The journey is undoubtedly a long one, and it is best we start early. Besides, we cannot possibly impose on your hospitality… and besides which, we prefer to sleep outside anyway.”
“Very well then. Know that you will both always be welcome among us.”
“You are too kind” Vincent replied, gently leading a speechless Naith out of the house and down the road leading to the Grey’s Peak Mountains. They had just made it beyond the shantytown ringing the city when Naith finally erupted.
“What the hell was that all about! Why are we spending the night out here on the road when we could be in a nice, warm house?”
“Oh, so you like the idea of sleeping in a room with eleven children of assorted ages?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, Vincent led them off the road into a nearby hollow surrounded by bushes, where he casually flung himself down and stretched before moving into a sleeping position, Naith slowly and somewhat reluctantly joining him on the bare ground, though well on the other side. She idly thought back over the events of the day as she allowed her fatigue to take hold.
“I’d never want to have that many kids.”
“*yawn* Of course not. I wouldn’t want you to have any kids either” Vincent replied sleepily, Naith using the last of her energy to glare at him before she too fell unconscious.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 4: The Pig King
The journey to the Grey’s Peak Mountains was indeed as long as the tiger had warned them. Vincent and Naith had been walking for almost a week now, and only now were the first glimpses of a mountain range becoming visible at the edge of the horizon. Through their travels, interrupted only on occasion by the attack of a pack of wild animals or an ambush attempt by bandits, they had left Fralla’s impossibly overgrown wilds behind and entered a far more normal land. They walked side by side down the road in relatively companionable silence, as Naith stretched her arms before placing them behind her head, tail swishing gently as she made a soft, crooning sound, drawing Vincent’s attention.
“Something troubles you?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything is fine- I mean, just look around; since we came to this world we’ve seen one place that was slowly dying, and another where it was swollen fit to burst with life, yet this place looks normal. It’s almost like being back home in Allantria.”
“Except for the fact no one’s tried to kill us yet.”
“What about those bandits earlier this morning?”
“As I see things, bandits are no more people than a poisonous plant or a raging storm is a person. They’re just there and a nuisance. When I say people, I mean the natives.”
“…Whatever. The point of the matter is, this place has nothing out of the ordinary going on.”
“Correction: nothing out of the ordinary going on that we’ve seen.”
“…Must you always be so negative? So paranoid?”
“It isn’t paranoia when they all truly are out to get you. And it isn’t being negative, it’s simply being prepared for the worst, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right.”
Much to Naith’s disappointment, Vincent didn’t even glare at her in retaliation- much as she would deny it, provoking a reaction from the sorcerer was something she found very much a challenge, and thus a good way to kill time. Her disappointment didn’t last long as they made out the rudimentary shape of a crude structure through the trees of the forest through which they had been travelling. As they followed the path along, it brought them straight to its front; the building, vaguely shack-like, had been constructed so that the path ran straight through it. Clearly a waystation or guardspost of some kind. Vincent stopped dead and stared at it for several seconds, and Naith wondered if he was contemplating whether to use it, go around it, or simply blast it out of the way and keep going. She knew that’s what she was contemplating. Finally, Vincent walked forward and knocked on the door, and Naith felt a strange stab of disappointment that he’d chosen one of the more peaceful options.
He knocked loudly against the wood, but there wasn’t a sign of any activity within. He banged again, louder this time, but still nothing. And that was when Naith gently pushed him aside and smashed her fist against the wood, hard enough to produce a thunderous sound and cause the wood to crack and splinter, but not enough force to bust through. Twice more she smashed into the wood before the sounds of someone frantically scrabbling around inside made themselves audible as a reedy, obnoxious voice came to their ears.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming- I’m coming! No need to break the door down!”
With a dramatic flourish a small hatch was flung open in the door and a muzzle poked through. The beast-man it belonged to reminded Vincent of the starving, feral dogs that roamed the backstreets and dark alleys of Allantria, with a little city rat thrown in for good measure. His nose twitched and his facial-fur was heavily coated with specks of food and matted with grease; he was definitely not one of the cleanest people they had ever seen. He looked disconcerted by their appearance for a second –something they were fast becoming used to- but quickly pulled himself together; sloppy he might be, but there was some discipline in there. Somewhere.
“Who goes there? State your name and business.”
“I am Vincent Del’Morte, and this is Naith. We are on a journey to the Grey’s Peak Mountains and wish to pass this… obstruction.” Vincent replied. The guard looked puzzled for a second, then pulled his head back inside and slammed the hatch shut. They could just barely make out the sounds of conversation coming from inside before the hatch was opened again and a new muzzle poked forth, this one belonging to a filthy, one-eyed rat.
“Da road to da Grey’s Peak Mountains is blocked off by order of King Cerdos of Gastria. No one can go dere widdout his permission.”
“Very well then… can you let us in so that we can go and talk to him about getting permission?” Naith replied. The rat looked confused and retreated back inside, once again closing the hatch to muffle the buzz of conversation before flinging it open and poking his head out again.
“I guess we can do dat. Come on t’roo; da kid’ll take ya to da castle of His Majesty.”
Once more the hatch closed, but this time there came the sound of two individuals struggling with something before the door swung open, revealing a passageway straight through the building to the other side, the dog standing within the gap. Being able to see all of him didn’t raise their low opinion of his hygiene; he was covered in grease and foodscraps and other sundry filth, an odour that reminded Vincent all-too much of one of the grungy backstreets of Allantria wafting from his body. He pulled off a –sloppy- salute and began to march down the road, Vincent and Naith following at a relatively stink-free distance.
In a deceptively short amount of time, they had reached the city, and Naith couldn’t help the faint hum of approval that reverberated within her throat. Unlike Chamlek, this city wasn’t a dying, life-bleached ruin-to-be, nor was it a metropolis seething with overabundance like the villages of Fralla had been. Instead, it was a normal, healthy city, outlying farms burgeoning –though not abnormally so- with life and with a respectable amount of well-fed peasants going about their daily business. It was a picture of peace, respectability and, above all, normality. Vincent heard Naith’s vocalisation and subtly moved closer to her so that they could whisper to each other without the chance of their “escort” overhearing them.
“Don’t let your guard down just yet. This is unfamiliar territory for both of us, so stay alert.”
“What for? I mean, just look at this place- everything looks so… normal.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. Haven’t you ever heard that truth? There’s no way of knowing what might be concealed beneath this place’s facade of innocence. Take a closer look…”
More to humour her travelling companion than out of any belief he might actually have a point, Naith did take another look. A long, slow, deliberate look that revealed that there might actually be some snakes in this garden. Despite the obvious prosperity of the fields, she spotted more than a few locals clad in little more than rags with a hungry look to their eyes. Dozens of guards –far more than was normal for a city watch- were scattered around, all of them feral-looking dogs like their escort or vicious-looking rats. The locals also seemed to be afraid of the guards, casting their eyes downward or even trembling slightly whenever one came near or cast its eyes upon them. Naith’s eyes narrowed as a young bird-girl clad in rags suddenly appeared from out of an alleyway, running for her life with a snarling dog-guard chasing her.
“Stop thief!” he barked, brandishing a spear as though he were about to throw it. Naith would have started towards the guard had it not been for Vincent suddenly grasping her shoulder.
“Don’t. We mustn’t get involved...”
He made a curious gesture with his free hand, whereupon the pursuing guard suddenly slipped in something and went crashing to the ground, enabling the bird-girl to make it to freedom. Vincent released Naith and continued walking, whispering a final sentence as the dragoness looked between him, the dazed guard and where the bird-girl had disappeared before hurrying to catch up.
“…At least, not obviously.”
As they reached the castle gates, where their escort was dismissed and sent back to his post by one of the castle guards. Strangely, all of the castle guards were boars, in comparison to the rats and dogs of the town guard. As the guard brought them inside, they were unaware that the bird-girl that Vincent had saved was secretly watching them from the shadows nearby. The castle guard led them through numerous hallways where empty picture frames hung instead of the usual expensive artworks, as well as several former monuments and sculptures that had all been destroyed. As the guard led them to the throne room, they became aware of a distant chorus of rather unpleasant sounds, which grew louder and more distinct as they approached the doors through which lay the throne room. When those doors were dramatically flung back, it was all they could do not to recoil in disgust.
A chorus of grunts, squeals, belching, slavering and the other sounds of noisily feasting assaulted their ears, the sounds they had only heard faint whispers of earlier. The stench of rotting food, soured wine and numerous sweaty, unwashed bodies crowded together assailed their noses. But it was the sight of what lay within that was the greatest blow to their sensibilities. The chamber they now looked upon resembled a throne room less than it did some crude feasting hall; the majority of the center of the room was taken up by a great table, groaning beneath the weight of more foodstuffs and drinks that Vincent had ever dreamed of during his most fevered starvation-spawned dreams.
The rest of it was taken up by a seemingly random assortment of great piles of discarded plates, cutlery and food scraps and mounds of carpets and pillows. In these latter objects lounged the primary occupants of this shrine to gluttony; humanoid pigs, all of them gorging themselves on the banquet on offer as numerous other beast-men of all species –whose fearful gazes, cowering manner and unobtrusive sidles marked them as slaves, in mind and body if not in name- attended to their every whim.
And these pigs needed them; each and every porcine creature –all of them clad, if barely, in garish finery that clearly marked them out as being nobility- was fat to the point of obesity; three chins was the minimum norm, and many looked to be so fat that it was doubtful if they could move any more. But that was nothing compared to the creature that clearly presided over this whole debacle. It towered to a height of maybe eight feet, and it was at least that wide at the waist- if not wider. It was a repugnant mass that seemed to consist from the neck down of little more than rippling layer after layer after layer of blubber, the grease and scraps from its most recent meal nearly dislodged by the rivers of sweat that visibly poured from its flesh.
A great fleshy face lifted to peer at them, and Vincent couldn’t help but wonder how its tiny eyes, nearly swallowed by its flabby cheeks and puffy brows, could even see them. Its jowls shook before it spoke in a surprisingly rich, baritone voice that sounded far too cultured and elegant to be coming from such a repugnant body.
“Who are you that have been brought before us? And why have you sought an audience with us, King Ceros of Gastria?”
Vincent repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the use of the “royal We”, instead choosing to simply answer the obese hog’s questions so that they could hopefully get out of this disturbing place as quickly as possible.
“I am Vincent Del’Morte, and this is my travelling companion Naith. We are travellers who seek to climb the Grey’s Peak Mountains, and were told that you must first approve all access to the path that leads there. We ask that you allow us to pass on to the Grey’s Peak Mountains; we have… business beyond them.”
Vincent fell silent and waited as the king visibly thought about their request, idly stroking one chin with a sausage-like finger before he spoke again.
“Very well. We agree to your request. But firstly, you look as though you have yet to eat. Please sit, refresh yourselves, and then we shall see about getting you a signed permit from the Captain of the Royal Guard.”
Naith’s expression instantly perked up at the mention of food, only to fall into a sad and pleading expression when Vincent brusquely shook his head at her before speaking to the king.
“Whilst your gracious and generous offer is appreciated your majesty, I fear that we truly cannot stay.”
“But Vincent…” Naith pleaded “can’t we stop for just a little while? I’m hungry…”
“It is vital that we keep moving.” Vincent replied. Naith drew herself up to her full height, intending to use that to her advantage in the vicious argument that was about to erupt, when King Ceros interjected.
“Now, now, there is no need to fight. Why don’t you go with my guards to see the Captain and receive the permit, Goodman Vincent, whilst the lady remains here and refreshes herself for the journey? After all, getting the permit properly signed will take some time.”
Vincent was silent for several long seconds, then nodded his agreement. At a gesture from the king, the guard who had escorted them there led Vincent out of the room as several servants brought over a pile of cushions and carpets, a small table and several plates of foods and bottles of wine for Naith, who eagerly fell upon them. At least, for the first few minutes, after which she slowed and looked puzzled.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No, the food’s delicious… it’s just, well, there’s this really peculiar aftertaste…”
“That would be the knock-out drops, I’d expect.”
“Knock-out drops! What-ugh!”
Naith tried to stand up, to launch herself into the air, to attack the king, to do something- anything! But instead the soporific venom flowing through her system knocked her unconscious and sent her toppling to the ground as the king began to laugh, a deep rumbling bellow that was soon taken up by the other pigs of the court. Meanwhile, unaware of what was happening to his partner, Vincent was completely lost in a semi-maze of rooms and passageways. Somehow it had transpired that he was walking slightly ahead of his escort, who subtly stopped to allow Vincent to get even further ahead.
“Are you positive this is the right way? And shouldn’t you be the one in- hey!”
Instincts and skills honed over years of dangerous living threw him aside as a sword’s blade whistled through the air where his head had been. Vincent rolled across the floor and flung himself to his feet in a single swift movement, extending his claws, baring fang-like teeth the same rust-flecked iron in colour as his claws and hissing like the father of all vipers as he did so.
“Treachery! I should have anticipated such as this! Die!”
As the guard voiced a squeal-like battlecry and charged towards him, Vincent’s mystical energy flowed once more in the pattern that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat, the Fluxblast hurtling from his hand to spatter the guard’s brains across the walls. But the damage was already done. Like ants from beneath an overturned stone, more guards boiled out nowhere to bear down upon the sorcerer in a great wave. Fluxblast after Fluxblast poured into their numbers, drenching the floor and walls in blood and creating piles of the dead, injured and those who’d simply tripped or slipped over the obstacles that had once been their comrades.
But still that wasn’t enough to thin their numbers, and all too fast they were upon the human. Vincent slashed open a throat with a swipe of his claws, skewered another guard’s brain by thrusting his talons through its eyes and twisted like a greased eel to bite out a massive chunk from the jugular vein of one guard who tried to grapple him. Realising their numbers threatened to overwhelm him, Vincent did the only thing he could do; he turned and ran down the nearest unblocked corridor. Fast as possible, he raced down the corridors, killing any guard that appeared with a Fluxblast or, if they appeared too suddenly, simply delaying them with a slash of claws; all that mattered to him was that he kept on moving.
The sudden appearance of a gaunt wolf-man clad in dirty, ragged clothes but wielding a well-cared-for sword brought Vincent to a screeching halt. He readied himself to attack, but the wolf lunged forward first. Rather than Vincent though, his target was a guard who had somehow managed to sneak up behind him. The guard collapsed to the floor trying to scream through the hacked-up mess that had been his lungs as the wolf seized Vincent’s wrist and tried to drag him down a new corridor.
“Come on! This way!”
Vincent truthfully had no idea who the wolf was or what he was planning, but anything was better than waiting here to be slaughtered. He stopped resisting and allowed himself to be led along comparatively empty corridors, picking off any guard that showed up with his Fluxblast spell. Finally, his new companion led him out of the palace and across its decorative grounds to the wall, where a rope and grappling hook was hanging. The wolf instantly began climbing, but Vincent balked at the foot of the wall.
“Come on! We have to get out of here!”
“What about my partner? I can’t just leave her behind! I gotta go back for her!”
“Impossible! The guards would be on you in a second! Come on- I promise you she’ll be safe! Besides, we will come back for her, but first we need to save our own necks!”
Vincent hesitated –strangely puzzled as to why he wanted to go back for Naith in the first place- but came to a decision when a thrown spear rattled off the wall, far too close to his head for comfort. He sprang at the rope and scaled the wall like a spider up a tree, halting at the top for just long enough to direct a piercing stare towards the palace before springing down to the ground on the other side and running after the wolf. Soon the two of them had made it into the seedier parts of the city, the ones Vincent knew had to be there but which the guard had deliberately led them around. The wolf halted at the end of an alleyway, peering out around the corner for guards as Vincent finally caught up to him.
“Alright, now spill it- who are you and why did you help me? I was foolish enough to let my guard down back there- I won’t be led into another ambush.”
“My name is William and I am the leader of a small resistance group dedicated to fighting the tyranny of King Ceros and his gluttonous court. I was actually sent to spy on the castle, when I saw you fighting…”
“You thought to save me and thus earn yourself an ally against a common enemy? I will consider your offer, but I must know more first. Tell me everything…”
“First, we need to get to safety. The coast is clear- follow me.”
William led Vincent through the seedy alleyways until they reached a particular decrepit building. William unlocked the door and then led Vincent inside, pausing only to relock the door before descending down into the basement; a surprisingly large chamber housing several more beast-men of various species- all of which bore surprisingly well-cared for weapons that they held raised to attack before they recognised William and stood down. They eyed Vincent cautiously as he followed William over to a scarred and heavily worn table, joining the wolf in sitting at it as two mugs of ale were placed before them. Vincent cautiously ran a finger around the rim of his and licked it clean, waiting several minutes before nodding and taking a small sip, whilst William drained half of his in a single swallow before speaking.
“I assume you have seen the king and his court, yes? Grotesquely fat, constantly feasting and attended to by slaves?”
Vincent nodded in the affirmative.
“Well, this was not always so. Around seventeen years ago, our land was ruled by a harsh king, who taxed the peasants cruelly but otherwise protected us from threats from outside. Then, one day, a clan of pigs came to inhabit our kingdom- the first of their kind to do so. This coincided with the king levelling his cruellest and harshest tax yet. The leader of the pigs, a charismatic fellow with sound tactical knowledge, rallied the peasants around himself and spear-headed an attack against the palace, overthrowing the king and executing him. In gratitude for his deeds, the populace declared him the new king, and he made those of his clan that had survived his royal court. Alas, barely a year would pass before he began to become as cruel a tyrant as his predecessor- or perhaps even worse.”
The wolf took another swallow from his mug before continuing.
“You may not have known this, but our land has become extremely fertile since that day; fields that were entirely harvested one day are fully replenished the next, and the livestock has never been so fertile- cows regularly produce triplet calves, and there is so much milk for sale it’s possible to bath in the stuff. And we need it; as the king and his court became more tyrannical, they also became more gluttonous… it’s as if they simply can’t get enough to eat; the peasants work virtually around the clock to harvest and prepare food and drink for them to feast upon, and there are dark tales that those who fail to provide sufficient food are themselves served up on the table! We must overthrow these gluttonous monsters, or they will kill us all!”
The wolf took a final draft from his mug as Vincent’s eyes narrowed in thought. He took another sip from his own mug- and promptly spat it out as something caught his gaze. A pig- there was a pig here in the basement! He leapt from his chair, talons extending, and lunged towards the creature in a blur of movement. If it hadn’t been for the surprising speed of William, who leapt to interpose himself between Vincent and his target, the sorcerer would have eviscerated the porcine creature, which cowered away from the glowering human as he tried to make it past the lupine rebel.
“This is former princess Abigail, the only pig to have avoided the fate that has befallen all the other nobles of the court. She is vital to our plans and to the future of the throne.”
Vincent, though he didn’t show it, was puzzled by the last part of that sentence- until he realised that, like virtually every other woman he’d seen since he came to this world, Abigail was heavily pregnant- the ragged remnants of what had once been expensive clothing straining to contain milk-swollen breasts and failing utterly to cover her gravid stomach. Still keeping his expression blank, he walked over and resat himself at the table, waiting for William to do likewise before speaking.
“So… you want my help to take down this cursed tyrant of yours, yes? First, tell me what exactly it is you need.”
“Primarily, what we need is manpower. Though all of the peasantry despises King Ceros, most are too afraid of him and his guards to do anything. Of those who have joined our cause, many are incapable of fighting- we have thirty, perhaps forty people in total who are capable of actually going to battle. The guards vastly outnumber us.”
“Hmm… is there any chance that any of the guards could be persuaded to join the rebellion?”
“No. All of the old guard are either dead or have already joined our cause. The new guard, the boars, the rats, the dogs, aren’t fit to bear the title- they’re all criminal scum; murderers, bandits, brigands and cutthroats lured in from outside of the land for the promise of amnesty and payment in food and privileges. None of them would bite the hand that feeds them. And there’s little to no chance of any outside aid from the kingdoms beyond this one- most of them are too concerned with troubles of their own.”
Vincent nodded thoughtfully before draining the last of his mug and standing up.
“I may have a way to help you get the… ‘manpower’ you need… but it won’t be easy… or exactly pleasant…”
“Anything! Tell us what you need from us!”
“From you? Little more than directions to the nearest unattended cemetery. There is a certain ritual I know that will provide the first step in acquiring some… ‘assistance’.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘ritual’? And why a cemetery?”
“Just get me there, and all will be revealed…”
William shook his head in lack of understanding, but got up from the table and headed up the steps, Vincent following close behind. Once outside, it was but a short journey to the abandoned church and the surrounding graveyard. There was no need to be cautious here; one of King Ceros’ first decrees had outlawed the religion practised in this temple, and had even gone so far as to force them to establish a new graveyard. By this time the sun was beginning to go down and William shivered unconsciously in instinctive fear as they walked through the rusted gates and past the crooked headstones, an eerie mist beginning to rise all around them. Vincent, on the other hand, seemed to be comfortable in the setting- in fact, he actually seemed to be admiring the scenery. It was here that Vincent took the lead, leading them deeper into the graveyard before finally settling on one particularly ancient grave. He stood over it and nodded in satisfaction at William.
"Yesss... this will do perfectly..."
With slow, deliberate movements he peeled the glove off of his left hand and then used the talon of his right index finger to gently slice into the underside of his wrist. As the blood seeped from the wound and began spilling down the sides of his wrist to drip onto the grave, he began to whisper a strange series of chants and incantations. The wolf shivered as though he has just been exposed to a sudden blast of ice-cold air; though Vincent's tone was strangely melodic, and he did not understand the language the sorcerer was speaking, he could feel the wrongness -the evil- in the words as they spilled into the cool evening air.
Steadily Vincent chanted, slowly growing louder, and the wolf noticed that streamers of sickly, dark crimson vapour were beginning to waft from the growing pool of blood-soaked soil. He became aware of a distant pulsating sound, like the sound of a drumbeat -or a heartbeat- working in time to Vincent's chanting. As he watched, the soil of the grave slowly began to shudder and gently move, cracks splitting its surface as though something were forcing its way up from beneath. Vincent's chanting grew louder, firmer, and the pulsating sound came nearer and nearer as something broke through the soil like an oversized mushroom- it even looked something like a mushroom; a great fleshy pod-thing pushing its way from the grave dirt.
It squatted there, brooding with malignancy, as Vincent's chanting reached a crescendo, whereupon it began to shudder and heave, its flanks pulsing as though something where squirming and writhing within. A sudden geyser of vile fluids spurted from a rent in the thing's surface, further tears forming as the creature within ripped its way free. The wolf had no choice but to step back, hands flying to his muzzle in equal parts disgust and horror at what emerged as the stench of disease and putrefying flesh filled the air.
The creature that emerged bore a hideous resemblance to the human, in that its pustulant, open sore-speckled hide was devoid of fur and that its face bore no muzzle, but its features were twisted and bestial, with a mouth filled with broken, filthy fangs. Jaundiced eyes stared at all around it with unsurpassed menace, and it clenched talons caked in foulness as though it longed to be ripping flesh. Its hide, a repugnant mixture of greens and blacks and purples in colour, was covered in weeping sores and open wounds, maggots squirming within, and was stretched tightly over twisted, malformed bones. Its putrefying organs had distended to such an extent they had ripped through the skin of its abdomen, dangling about its knees like a gruesome skirt.
William had to repress the urge to vomit in disgust, and lost the battle of wills to keep from doing so when he realised that the numerous blisters, warts and tumours covering the beast would occasionally burst as he watched, allowing disgusting, partially-formed things to half-skitter half-slide half-swim down a river of corruption until they managed to find a new place on its body to nestle themselves, suckling upon the foulness like hideous offspring. Vincent looked completely unaffected by the grotesque appearance of the creature, simply favouring it with a stately bow and a further outburst of that eerie language, prompting the creature to return the gesture and then to speak in return.
The two conversed for several minutes, speaking to each other in that twisted tongue and occasionally emphasizing particular worlds with gestures. William couldn’t follow a word of what was being said- until the creature made a particular gesture towards him and Vincent answered it by shaking his head gently and speaking in the common tongue.
“No, tempting as the offer is, I’m afraid his soul is not for you.”
William started and his hand instinctively went to his sword on hearing that. Vincent and the creature ignored him, if they noticed his reaction at all, and it was the creature who spoke next- also in the common tongue.
“You seek my power, but you will not offer anything to pay me for it?”
“Did I say that? No, oh father of a thousand plagues, I did not. With your power augmenting my own, I intend to summon an army of lesser creatures and bind them to my will. And an army needs to be used after all…”
“Used against whom?”
“Within this land, there stands a castle. Within that castle, dwell creatures whose souls are utterly consumed by darkness, creatures to whom gluttony and sloth have become a way of life. In exchange for your… ‘donation’… I offer you the souls of those creatures, down to the last sliver of essence. Enough raw mystical power to increaser your own might by ten-fold, and who knows? Maybe enough to elevate you from a demi-demon to a true demon…”
William stared in horror: he’d thought this abomination was just an ordinary monster, but a demi-demon!? What had he gotten himself and his fellow rebels into?! The beast began to make a gurgling, wheezing, hacking sound and for a slim second William thought it was choking. Instead, he realised the beast was laughing uproariously, before it lashed out and snatched Vincent’s wounded hand by the still-bleeding wrist.
“You got yourself a deal!” it roared before suddenly exploding in a massive flare of sickly green fire, a sudden conflagration that engulfed Vincent and left William covering his eyes. When he dared to look again, the beast was gone- without a sign it had ever been there. Vincent, on the other hand, was pulling his sleeve back over his now-healed arm, a strange glow in his eyes.
“Ah, yesss… I’d forgotten how good that felt…” he murmured, before becoming aware of William’s presence again.
“You’re still here? I thought you high-tailed it when we switched to Common… And don’t think about bringing up any sort of ‘moral objections’ to what you just saw- you asked for my help and this is what I do. Go back to your people and muster those of them able to battle- you are to attack the castle tonight, at midnight. I will already be there, with your new allies. Go, now! Time is wasting.”
William wanted to say something –anything- but simply couldn’t find the words to speak. Instead, he simply shook his head and did as he was told, shuddering as he heard Vincent resume chanting behind him.
Though William hadn’t told his fellow rebels how their new “ally” was going to help them –the truth being Vincent’s plan was a mystery even to him- they still readied themselves for the anticipated attack. As William stealthily led his fellow warriors through the dark streets, silently murdering any of the tyrant’s guards that they chanced upon, he wondered precisely what the human was planning: he doubted it was a stealth attack, like his fellows believed it to be. He felt a sudden, inexplicable stab of relief that Abigail had remained behind with the other rebels who were incapable of joining them on this mission.
They were just leaving the outskirts of town when they heard the sounds on the wind; cries of defiance and fear, the sound of blades clattering against armour and the screams of the wounded. A battle was clearly already being fought at the palace and, as one, William and the rebels began racing towards it, stopping only to skirmish with town guards who had heard the noise and begun drifting towards the conflict. What they found when they reached the palace was something they never could have imagined.
A hole had literally been smashed in the great wall that encircled the palace, and beyond that the palace guard fought desperately against nightmarish creatures whose forms bore a strange resemblance to the human who had undoubtedly summoned them. A phalanx of guards voiced a battlecry and charged across the battlefield, only to have both their battlecry and their charge answered by a creature that lumbered towards them with deceptively slow speed and bowled them over like playthings. It was a towering behemoth of putrefying flesh and rusted metal, eight feet tall at the very least and with muscles to put a living creature to shame. It roared, the sound echoing within the fully enclosed metal helmet it wore, and in its right hand it held a thick chain connected to a solid iron ball that probably weighed two or three times more than the average bear, twirling the great iron mass as though it was weightless before bringing it crashing down with hideous force upon a luckless guard.
As the rebels leapt through the hole into the palace gardens, they realised two things. Firstly, someone –or something- had lit numerous heavily blazing fires, providing ample illumination for them to see (not to mention plenty of smoke). The second thing was that they weren’t entirely sure that being able to see was such a good thing. As the undead juggernaut crushed enemies to pulp with its ball-and-chain, a trio of what looked like human knights clad completely in rusted and corroded fullplate armour raised their equally rusty blades in mocking suit before voicing a battlecry.
“For injustice and wrongs!”
No sooner had these words spilled into the air then they separated, each attacking a nearby guard with cruel and merciless efficiency. William couldn’t help but wince as one of them backhanded its chosen victim across the face before viciously slashing its blade upwards between its victim’s legs. He ducked as the juggernaut backhanded the last of its opponents so hard it not only killed the guard, it sent the body flying through the air at roughly head-height. Snapping out of his shocked trance, he found that the other rebels had beaten him to it and were already helping the various abominations in their battles against the palace guards. Tightening his grip on his sword, and swallowing his embarrassment, William went to join them.
After a few seconds, he began to wonder if he and the rebels were even necessary here; Vincent’s abominations –who else’s abominations could they have been?- were brutally skilled at killing, and seemed to be taking every possible pleasure from what they were doing. As he watched, a creature that basically looked like a scarecrow with a pumpkin for a head clumsily swung a machete at a guard, ignorant of the flames slowly dancing across its form due to a recent splash of burning oil. The guard easily parried the blow, then countered with an elegant slash that neatly removed the scarecrow-creature’s arm. It looked stupidly at its severed arm for a second, then bent down and picked up the blade in its remaining arm, only to have the guard lop off that arm as well. Twice more the guard swung his blade, removing each leg and leaving the scarecrow creature to flop and twitch on the ground like a landed fish.
The guard sneered and raised his sword for the next strike, only to have a second juggernaut loom out of the darkness and crush his head between the palms of its hands.
William shook his head and quickly refocused his attention on himself- as great as the toll the creatures were inflicting upon the guards was, inattention still could threaten his life. He started as a guard suddenly rushed out of the darkness towards him, screaming like a soul in the deepest thresholds of agony, and instinctively spitted the boar upon his sword. As he jerked his blade free and let the corpse fall to the ground, he grimaced with disgust as he realised that the rapidly-cooling body was covered with voraciously feeding vermin- leeches, cockroaches, maggots, spiders, ants and other, more disgusting things were industriously stripping the flesh from the bone. In fact, they’d been doing so whilst their victim was still alive. He quickly turned away to avoid vomiting as the bugs began swarming to and into the stab wound, the better to access the softer internal tissues.
There weren’t many opponents left to face them now. In addition to the rebels, and the creatures William had already seen, he vaguely managed to make out several dozen of the scarecrow creatures, five more of the dark knights in rusted armour and a third juggernaut, this one wielding a massive maul. A final gaggle of guards, about a dozen or so, came fleeing desperately out of the gloom, only to be swept up and engulfed by a wave of flames. As the flames died down, an inhuman cackle spilled into the air as Vincent strode through the smoke and past the burning corpses, a dozen creatures like vicious wolves with oversized fangs and a dozen tentacles growing from their body following at his heels like a pack of hunting hounds from the deepest Netherhells. Actually, that’s probably what they were. William couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as Vincent’s mismatched gaze met his, his crimson eye glowing with infernal light.
“I’m sorry, it seems we didn’t leave anything for you and your rebels to do. But you can’t blame us- how was I to know that these enemies of yours were so gutless and incompetent?”
William didn’t –couldn’t- answer that, so he simply shook his head in exasperation. He called to his own followers, Vincent’s abominations having already started storming into the castle, and they followed the twisted sorcerer into the palace. There was some resistance, primarily from those few guards who’d seen what was going on through the window and chosen to stay behind in a desperate attempt to hide and/or barricade themselves, but far less that William was expecting. None of the guards who remained behind stood a chance, the scarecrow-creature (Haggworts, Vincent called them) eagerly wandering away in small packs to spread throughout the castle and kill any remaining resistance- though only after Vincent assured William that they wouldn’t hurt any of the slaves. With them went about a dozen creatures Vincent called Crawling Ones; great swarms of vermin that could unify to assume a grotesque mimicry of the humanoid form- it had been one of these creatures that had been devouring that guard. In addition, William ordered his rebels to go with them- it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Vincent’s word… actually, it was that he didn’t trust the sorcerer.
So that meant that the forces steadily making their way to the throne room consisted of William, Vincent, eight “Rust Knights” (the dark warriors in corroded armor), three “Necrotic Hulks” (the undead juggernauts) and a dozen “Colmillos” (the wolf-beasts). A rather small band, but Vincent assured him it would be more than sufficient. The doors to the throne room were, as William had expected, locked, but a single blow from the Necrotic Hulk’s maul smashed them into splinters. William darted past the behemoth of undead flesh and rusted iron, dramatically leaping into the chamber and brandishing his sword in the most menacing manner he could think of.
“Vile tyrants! Your downfall is- nigh?”
The throne room was utterly bare of life- there wasn’t a pig in sight. As Vincent headed into the chamber, William dazedly stumbling along beside him as Vincent’s creatures followed, he took in the full devastation. The great table lay shattered into fragments upon the floor, broken plates and food scraps scattered everywhere along with ripped-open pillows and shredded blankets. Feeling the carpet suddenly turn sticky beneath his feet, he looked down and swallowed noisily at what he saw. The carpets were heavily stained with blood, and as he looked around he spotted fragments of porcine bodyparts scattered across the room. Vincent squatted down near a virtually complete leg and gently raised it up with the tips of his claws, noting the semi-translucent mucus that dripped from it with scholarly detachment as he examined the ragged joint.
“Interesting… the cut’s too ragged to have been made by even a rusty blade, but it’s too fine to have simply been torn loose… this was bitten off.”
“Fascinating… not. What the hell happened here?” William asked, Vincent dropping the limb and heading further into the chamber as he replied.
“I have my suspicions, but, for all our sakes, let’s pray they’re not… aw, damn it.”
William was too busy staring at what had been the throne of King Ceros to even think about what Vincent’s statement might have meant. The once-mighty chair that had been capable of supporting even the king’s obscene bulk lay in splinters, the wall behind it smashed down. After a moment, William realised that a few, strange-looking symbols were still visible on the floor, each of them softly pulsing with a faint, dull red glow. Vincent bent down to trace one with his finger, hissing softly between his teeth as he straightened up.
“I was afraid of this.”
“Of what? Afraid of what?” William demanded, anxious to know. Vincent didn’t answer, simply shaking his head and running off through the hole that had once been a wall. His voice drifted back to William, who had started running after him- primarily to avoid being trampled by the sorcerer’s pet monsters.
“There’s no time to explain it properly, and you wouldn’t understand anyway- just move! We might be able to intercept him if we hurry!”
Uncomprehending what Vincent was talking about, but choosing to trust the sorcerer and his knowledge in matters obscene and blasphemous, William followed him and the monsters. The trail of –whatever it was that they were following- was pretty easy to track, consisting as it did of smashed walls, crushed furniture and a copious slime-trail. Soon they had left the palace, gone through the grounds and were heading towards the city. It was when they reached the city that they heard the screaming, and saw the panicking people fleeing in all directions. Vincent didn’t stop –didn’t even slow down- instead dashing away in the exact opposite direction as the crowd was flowing, slashing out –non-lethally- at any who were too slow to give way to him. As William and the monsters followed, they finally found themselves face-to-face with the cause of the panic- and all William could do was stare at it in disbelief.
The creature squatting in the middle of the street was vast- immensely so. An essentially slug-like body that had to be at least two-dozen feet long, and three times the height of the average beast-man at the thickest part of its length. At the front end, another dozen or so feet was held upwards in a loathsome parody of a torso. Two massive arms drooped down to touch the ground, emerging roughly at the point where the “fore-body” sprouted from the “rear-body”. Further up on the fore-body, roughly where the arms would normally be, there was ring of ridiculously long and skinny arms, each tipped with spindly-fingered claw-bearing hands. Finally, facing up into the sky, was a monstrous, bloodstained muzzle that broke into several independent “jaws”, snapping together on the remains of some poor, helpless victim. A fur-covered arm, the last remnant of what had once been a living creature, slipped down the beast’s throat with a final gulp before it voice a gurgling roar and slowly turned to stare at Vincent and William with a ring of cruel, jet-black eyes.
The left lower arm raised itself into the air, slowly and deliberately, before slamming down to dig into the cobblestones, the creature doing the same with the right arm to help itself haul its massive bulk to face its opponents. Seen from the front, it was as wide as six people standing side by side and, as it slowly dragged itself forward, further fine details made themselves apparent. Though they had originally thought the creature to be smooth-textured, it was in fact composed of layer upon rippling layer of fat, the whole squamous mass glistening beneath a thick coating of mucus. As if that wasn’t disgusting enough, the thing was infested with disgusting maggot-centipede creatures that writhed and squirmed across its skin and wriggled into and out of the folds of its flesh. The final detail was that there was a thick chain wrapped around its right lower arm, one end trailing away to connect to a much smaller figure, wrapped from head to toe in chains and struggling for all she was worth.
“Naith!”
William blinked in confusion- that was Vincent’s partner? Then that must mean that the identity of the creature had to be… he boggled as the answer made itself clear in his mind.
“Impossible! King Ceros!”
The monstrous beast voiced a gurgling growl of laughter before speaking in a choked roar.
“I see you recognize me, rebel. How does it feel to know that this is the end of your puny rebellion- and your equally worthless life? You had no hopes before, but now there is no power in the world that can face me! First I will crush you, then I will devour the rest of your filthy companions- except my daughter, of course. The punishment of seeing everything she believed in destroyed should break her spirit and quench the fires of her defiance. Once she has delivered those half-breed bastards you afflicted upon her I will consume them in the greatest of feasts; my bloodline and that of my enemy merged together will produce a most sumptuous meal.”
Vincent blinked in confusion; he’d had no idea that William was the father of Abigail’s children. He quickly dismissed it as unimportant, whilst beside him William flared with a combination of righteous fury and protective rage.
“You will not touch her!”
So caught up in his emotions was he that he grabbed his sword and charged towards the monstrosity that had once been the tyrannical ruler of this place, heedless of the fact that he didn’t stand a chance against such a beast. Vincent shook his head in disdain before signalling to his creatures to attack and distract the former king before he made a meal out of the wolf. William’s sword slashed into the blubbery flesh, cutting a long but shallow gash, before he dodged a clumsy blow from the beast’s lower arm. With inhuman coordination, the Rust Knights closed in on Ceros’ slug-like lower body and began slashing at it like frenzied threshing machines, repeatedly targeting the same line of flesh over and over so that they finally managed to cut through the blubber to start reaching the vulnerable tissue beneath, inducing roars of rage and slight pain from the beast.
The Necrotic Hulks had a worse time of it; their blunt weapons couldn’t make a dent in the jelloid mass of fat that was their opponent, and in a single lunge the creature managed to seize one of them, drag it off the ground and remove its head and a good portion of its torso with a single bite. Still, the two Necrotic Hulks remaining managed to hold back the beast; such was their strength and the fury with which they were striking. William danced around the massive body, striking out at any available opportunity, even managing to lop off two of the spindly arms that grabbed out at him. A particularly massive specimen of the worm-centipede things that were crawling over the former king leapt out at him, aiming to bite, but was blown to pieces by a Fluxblast.
All this while, Naith struggled frantically with her bonds, trying to take advantage of the distraction to get loose and take part in the battle. Finally, she pulled away from the creature as far as she could, stretching the chain taut. And that was when one of Vincent’s Fluxblasts lashed past and snapped the chain off near the creature’s limb, sending Naith tumbling onto the ground. Sitting back up, she quickly managed to shake the chains loose and then pull them off of her body. Able to use the strength of her hands now, she snapped off a sizeable length of chain and glared at the squamous form of King Ceros- now it was her turn to fight.
Vincent scowled as he launched Fluxblast after Fluxblast at his target, the sheer quantity of its flesh absorbing most of the damage harmlessly. King Ceros roared again and surged forward with a surprising degree of speed, hurling William and the surviving monsters –it had managed to crush three of the Rust Knights flat by literally rolling over them- to the ground. With powerful strokes of its lower arms it sent the Necrotic Hulks flying before looming over the prone William, the wolf having been temporarily glued to the ground due to having landed in a puddle of slime. It raised one limb, plainly intending crush him into pulp as it grumbled out words.
“Fool! Did you truly believe you could defeat me? I am all-powerful! I am-erk!”
Seizing advantage of the monster’s distracted state, Naith had flown up behind its head and looped the chain she was carrying around what could only be called its neck before flying away as fast and hard as she could at a perpendicular angle, ensuring the chain pulled taut and sank deeply into layers of flab. She sneered at the obscene creature as it grasped pitifully for the chain with its necklace of hands, all of them simply slipping off its slick flabby flesh.
“You talk too much and you eat way too much. Now shut up!”
She pulled even harder, doing her best to strangle the beast as it gurgled and flopped around in a desperate attempt to shake her loose. Vincent took this as an opportunity- he’d held this off before, to avoid catching his own allies in the blast, but as William managed to struggle free of his mucus bondage and his own creatures slipped away he called out the words of power.
“I draw upon the breath of stars, to scorch the sky with fiery scars!”
Unlike when he had faced the knight in Allantria however, this Fireblast didn’t manifest as a fiery bolt of destruction. Instead, what could only be described as a swirling cloud of flames roared down from the sky to a point just in front of Vincent, bending into a right angle to blast as a line of seething fire that hovered bare inches above the ground straight towards the doomed King Ceros. By the time it had reached him it had coalesced into a strangely fluid orb, which erupted into a mass of burning pseudopods and flaming tentacles that lashed out and hungrily wrapped around King Ceros’ length before the main “body” of the spell engulfed him like an amoeba with its prey. The screams of the former ruler of Gastria, coupled with the strangely appetising scent of roasting pork, filled the air and Naith quickly dropped the chain and darted off into the sky as the spell greedily devoured the ex-devourer.
Within an hour, by which time the Fireblast spell had finally reduced the corpse to the finest of ash and died out, celebration filled the streets of Gastria. William, as was to be expected considering he was the leader of the rebellion, was hailed as a hero- but so were Vincent and Naith, much to their surprise. The crowd of jubilant beast-man whirled and danced and sang around the utterly lost duo, who simply found themselves being carried by the tide. There were handshakes and congratulations, Vincent even found himself embraced by an enthusiastic –drunkenly so, he would later vow- she-wolf.
He quickly squirmed free and slipped away, glaring at Naith as she giggled at both his actions and the expression on his face when he’d been embraced, and smirked when Princess Abigail bounded out of the crowd and glomped William with an ecstatic squeal of joy, sending the two of them crashing to the ground. Not that they stayed there long- the other rebels had soon borne them onto their shoulders and began to parade them around the square. Vincent made out something along the lines of the kingship being offered to William, but the rest was lost in the furore. Stifling a yawn –it had been a long day even by his standards- he slipped through the crowd with the ease of long practise and headed for somewhere secluded to sleep. Much to his surprise, Naith trailed him- even going so far as to sleep in the same inn, despite the fact that she could have stayed for free at any inn she chose.
The next morning, the two were guests of honour at a celebratory breakfast feast- though much to Vincent’s shock Naith actually declined to eat. At first anyway. After about an hour she started eating, though at nowhere near her usual speed or quantities. He blamed it on trauma from being forced to spend so much time with that demi-demon, King Ceros. Yes, demi-demon; the markings around the ruined throne, the slain (and obviously eaten) nobility, all pointed towards a successfully cast Ritual of Ascension. Vincent had no idea how the king had managed to find a complete copy of such a spell, considered by many the ultimate spell of black magic, and truthfully didn’t care. Finally, the feasting died down to the degree that William –now King William of Gastria- called a toast.
“To Vincent and Naith- the saviours of our fair kingdom! Know that our land will always be open to you!”
Even Vincent couldn’t keep his expression calm at that, rubbing his head and actually looking somewhat sheepish, whilst Naith went so far as to blush. Receiving the passes that would allow them through the outpost, they continued their journey. They had only been on the road for perhaps three hours when Naith spoke up.
“Say, Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me… why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you come back for me? Why did you save me? I thought you hated me- why did you risk your life to rescue me instead of simply heading out of the kingdom and destroying any obstacle in your way?”
“Firstly, I never hated you, I hated how we were forced to work together. And besides which I wouldn’t –couldn’t- abandon anyone to a monster like that demi-demon.”
Naith stared at him –could he really mean that?- when Vincent quickly interjected a final comment.
“Besides, who can tell- I might need that brute strength of yours somewhere along the line.”
Naith rolled her eyes and shook her head- this human was twisted to the core. But perhaps there was still a sliver or two of a more palatable persona in there after all.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 5: The Baby Vampire
It was maybe a few hours after leaving the kingdom of Gastria that Naith made the now-familiar crooning sound that signified that she was thinking on some matter that puzzled her.
“What is it now?”
“I was just wondering about King Ceros, that’s all. After what King Leonius told us when we, uh, ‘volunteered’ for this job, I wasn’t expecting to encounter things like him.”
“Who could have known? But it’s obvious that the chaos wouldn’t affect all lands in the same way- that would have been too orderly.”
Lacking both the desire and the ability to rebut that statement, Naith simply nodded and continued walking. Of course, it wasn’t long before the ambience of the day began to get to her. It was beautiful sunny day, with plenty of warm breezes and an open sky that just seemed to be calling to a flyer like her. She unconsciously stretched her wings and flapped them experimentally before realizing what she was doing and restraining herself, earning a curious glance from Vincent.
“If you want to fly, then go right ahead. I complained the last time because the last thing I wanted whilst we wandering through a tunnel of grass was to have you whirring around my shoulders like a mutant moth.”
Naith chose to ignore the insult implied in that and instead concentrate on the positive side- that Vincent had just given her free leave to go flying. Unfurling her wings, she leapt into the sky, spiralling higher in the manner that had been engraven into her very bones by generations of instinct and years of practise. As she soared along the thermals, revelling in the twin feelings of the wind stroking her scales and the sun caressing her back, she noticed something greyish-brown drop from the air into a copse of trees just ahead. She considered flying after it, but instead chose to land- flying through thick woodlands was more risk than it was worth.
“Wonder what that was… a bird of some sort?”
She started when a scream suddenly split the air, Vincent extending his claws in preparation for another battle. Barely a heartbeat after it had ended the two of them were racing into the copse, Vincent replying to Naith’s last question over his shoulder as he ran.
“Somehow, I doubt it.”
They barrelled through the copse, Vincent falling slightly behind to let Naith forge a path with her superior strength, before suddenly bursting into a clearing where a shadowy figure was perched over a motionless form. Naith immediately launched a sonic beam at the creature, instinctively considering it the threat, but the creature launched itself into the air and flew away, strangely ponderous in the air but still moving quickly, before the bolt had even left her mouth. Naith considered chasing after it, but the creature had quickly disappeared from view and she chose instead to assist Vincent, who was currently crouched over the fallen figure and carefully examining it.
It turned out to be a poodle-woman, clad in a pink dress that had been torn open around the stomach. Strangely, even had the cloth been whole it still would have been far too large for such a petite woman. Vincent gently pressed a hand to the side of her neck and held it there for several seconds before nodding at Naith.
“There’s a pulse and she’s breathing- she’s alive. It’s weird… she’s so cold.”
His hand gently trailed down her body, past curiously engorged-looking breasts to touch her bared stomach, which was flat but had a strangely flabby appearance, the skin stretched slightly as though the poodle had only recently lost a large amount of weight. Finally, below her navel, he discovered an obvious bite mark, and here his brows knit in confusion.
“Strange… this looks like the bitemark of a vampire… but that makes no sense…”
“What do you mean? Why doesn’t it?”
“Well, for a start, this woman was attacked in broad daylight and the perpetrator fled into the sky past the coverage provided by this copse- sunlight is the bane of vampires, the touch of a single shaft through a closed window burns them to ashes in a heartbeat. Secondly, look at the position of this bitemark; I’m far from an expert on the female anatomy, especially in regards to these beastmen, but I’d say it’s positioned over the womb. But why would a vampire strike there? Vampires are in essence lazy and gluttonous; they want maximum extraction with minimal effort. That’s why the stereotypical vampire always bites the neck of its victims- there’s a major artery there. This doesn’t make any sense.”
Vincent’s ruminations were interrupted as the poodle suddenly voiced a soft whimper and trembled. Vincent hastily pulled the flap of her dress back over the hole before softly speaking to her.
“It’s alright now, you’re safe.”
“My…my baby…”
Vincent looked in confusion at Naith, who simply replied with a faintly puzzled blank look and a shrug. Now it was Naith who stepped closer and spoke to the clearly distressed poodle, her ability to actually voice emotion making her the better choice to communicate with the poor beastwoman.
“There was no baby around when we got here. Listen, where’s the nearest village? We’ll take you there to get some help.”
The poodle whimpered softly again and gestured with a weak, trembling hand. Naith bent down and carefully scooped her up into her arms and began walking in the direction the poodle had indicated, Vincent trailing slightly behind. It wasn’t long before they left the copse and entered a village- and for once it actually looked normal. No decay, no overpopulation, no oppressive guards; just groves of fruit trees and well-tended houses. Of course, the illusion couldn’t last forever- it was only too soon that they could feel the aura of gloom and misery that engulfed the village, the depression a palpable thing in the air, and as they walked through the streets they saw more women wearing too-large clothing, weeping in the embrace of their husbands.
“Leya!”
Another poodle, a man this time, came charging towards them only to screech to a halt several feet away; evidentially his concern for the poodle-woman, most likely his wife, was at least equalled by his fear of the dragoness and the human. Naith smiled at him in what she hoped was a non-menacing expression and gently held her arms out, clearly offering the poodle-woman to him. Gingerly, cautiously, he stepped forward, clearly anticipating a strike from either of the duo before him. When this attack failed to materialize, he gently reached out and took the poodle-woman from Naith’s arms, holding her tightly to his chest and beginning to weep.
Vincent and Naith could only watch in silence as the two poodles disappeared back into the streets, the air of misery suddenly surging with strength until Naith felt like she was physically bearing a great weight upon her shoulders and it took all her willpower not to weep. As always till this now, Vincent seemed unaffected by the emotions of others, remaining unbent and unconcerned and keeping his eyes fixated on the approach of an elderly stallion. Clad in a once-fine cloak and ornate medallion, now shabby and worn, he nevertheless bore an indisputable air of quiet dignity even despite the misery surrounding them.
“Welcome travellers. My name is Grandstaff, and I am the mayor of Branus village. It has been a long time since we last received visitors from the direction of our neighbour, Gastria.”
“There were some… problems… with the ruling family there. They’d just fixed it before we came through” Vincent replied, smoothly as only he could be. The uncomprehending stallion simply nodded and gestured towards a particularly grand house.
“Listen, I may have a proposition for you… if you care to follow me into my home?”
Vincent turned his gaze to meet Naith’s and, after a second of wordless communication, they nodded in unison before he turned back to Grandstaff.
“Certainly. There are some questions we need to ask you anyway.”
He led them into the stately building, which evidentially served as town hall in addition to his own personal quarters, judging by its size. Up a flight of stairs he led them, into an office decorated with woodcuts and windows of stained glass and where dusty tomes and ancient books were piled upon an old wooden desk. The stallion sank into an old leather-bound chair with a faint sigh and gestured towards two more seats, evidentially meant for seating those with whom he met. Vincent and Naith did as he gestured, with some caution on Naith’s part- she was more used to perching on a ledge than sitting on a chair. Grandstaff pulled out an elaborately decorated pipe from a desk drawer and filled it with tobacco before taking a deep breath. After exhaling the resultant smoke cloud with a sigh he began to speak.
“I have little doubt as to what your question is going to be about, and it ties to my proposition for you. You see, around eight months ago, our quiet little village came under siege by a most terrible enemy. What can only be a vampire.”
“Impossible. That woman was attacked in broad daylight.”
“I know that young… thing, but all other signs point to it. What is more, this is some strange new breed of vampire- it doesn’t prey on blood.”
“Then what does it prey upon?” Naith asked.
“So far the only people it has attacked are women. Specifically, pregnant women who were well into their pregnancy. Like poor young Leya.”
“She was flat as a board when we found her.” Vincent pointed out.
“I know, and that is the true horror of this creature. Though those who have been attacked have never been able to describe the creature, they have always reported the same experience and suffered the same symptoms. The beast bites them upon their gravid stomach, and then they feel a strange sort of ‘hollowness’, of emptiness, whilst at the same time they feel as though they have become one with their attacker. The experience lasts for mere seconds, then it fades and the creature flies away. Whilst its victim is left with an flat, bite-scarred belly- their unborn child having been sucked from their womb.”
Naith’s insides squirmed in disgust “It eats children?”
“No. At least, not exactly- all victims have reported the sole physical feature they could remember was that the beast bore a massively gravid stomach of its own. In no report has the size of it ever dwindled- in fact, it has grown larger as it feeds. I fear that the beast is stealing our children so as to pervert them within its own womb, corrupting them and transforming them into a new legion of monstrous spawn. Fortunately, it seems that the procedure requires nine months after the first attack- which means there are at most three weeks remaining before it completely warps our children. And this is where you come in- please, for the sake of our children, will you slay this monster and free us from its curse?”
Vincent and Naith were both silent for several seconds –she because of nervousness, Vincent’s reasons were anyone’s guess- before Vincent began stroking his chin thoughtfully. Despite the fact it was really off-topic, Naith couldn’t help but remember that she’d never once seen Vincent shave- yet still his face remained bare of hair even though he was clearly of age.
“I’ve dealt with vampires before and doing so is always a tricky business. It’s no undertaking to take lightly. I need more information- going in half-cocked is a sure way to get killed. Are there any details you can give us on the creature? Any clues as to possible strengths or weaknesses or personal details that might give us an advantage?”
“I’m afraid not. We simply don’t know anything about this creature, though we have deduced that the creature makes its lair in the forest nearby. There is one thing that might be of interest; the first victim, a skunk, says she heard the creature mumbling about an amulet before it flew away, and all of the other victims think they saw such a thing dangling about its neck. Perhaps this amulet might be the source of its ability to steal our children? Or its immunity to sunlight?”
“The latter sounds likely- I’ve seen such talismans before. The former though, I have no way of knowing. But what if the amulet isn’t the source of its ability to steal children? What then? I know of no way to return your children to you.”
The stallion sighed heavily.
“If that is the case, then you must slay the creature- and with it our children. Better that they die than be transformed into monsters. Here, take this stake and this hammer; they are heirlooms handed down by the founders of this village. Also, these necklaces of garlic should keep the creature at bay. As far as we know, its lair is somewhere in the east.”
Vincent nodded and took the offered items and the first necklace, Naith taking the second one with obvious reluctance- dragons disliked strong-scented plants, and garlic definitely fit the bill. As the two walked out of the house and began heading to the forest, Vincent plucked a bulb from his necklace and, much to Naith’s confusion and disgust, ate it raw.
“What are you doing?”
“Something I recommend you do as well. A necklace can be torn off, but a breath heavy with the scent of garlic can repulse a vampire.”
“Not to mention anything else with a sense of smell.” She grumbled, before heeding his advice and plucking one off. She popped it into her mouth with an expression of distaste.
“Don’t swallow it whole; chew it thoroughly so the scent is good and strong.”
Naith did as she was instructed, shuddering with disgust all the while. As they reached the forest, she turned towards the human.
“What can you tell me about vampires? I mean, out of the two of us, you’re probably the expert on them, right?”
Vincent looked puzzled for a second, than began reciting all of what he knew on the creatures. Naith’s parents had actually told her about vampires –and many of the other creatures of Allantria as well- but their lessons had always bored her and so she’d never really paid much attention. Vincent however, not only knew more about them than her parents had –at least, as far as she could tell- he also told her the information in a way that didn’t bore her, peppering the details with observations, side-notes and even a few personal anecdotes. Soon she knew more about vampires than any Allantrian peasant would ever know.
Vampires were amongst the most feared creatures in Allantria, perhaps even more feared than dragons or wizards. Scholars of monstrous biology argued whether they should be classified as “mere” monsters or whether they should be considered demi-demons. Irregardless of what you considered them, they were powerful undead beings armed with a variety of supernatural powers, the most common and least of which were superhuman strength, speed and senses, the ability to fly and nigh-invulnerability coupled with eternal life. Of course, these powers came with drawbacks. A single shaft of natural daylight was instant death to these nocturnal predators, which were also consumed by an insatiable thirst for the blood of living beings. Like all undead, white magic was their bane and items enchanted with holy energies repulsed them, as did the scent of garlic and roses.
It wasn’t long before they were soon quite deep in the forest. Surprisingly, the aura of sorrow that had been hanging over the village was just as strong here, despite the fact that there were no sentient creatures living here. Well, other than the very creature they were coming to destroy anyway. Naith took one look at the maze of trees and shook her head in disbelief.
“In the forest to the east… they couldn’t have been a bit more specific? We could spend years running around in here without ever finding the thing!”
“Don’t worry yourself my scaly sidekick, I have a method of finding more useful information.”
“You do? …And call me your sidekick again and I’ll kick your head off!”
“Yes, I do. You recall our… ‘delay’… in Gastria?”
“How could I forget?”
“You remember how I summoned and forged a pact with a Plague Spawner to help defeat King Ceros? Well, the night after the celebration, he appeared to me in a dream to offer a reward as thanks for destroying King Ceros.”
“Dream… wait, did he show himself as an ugly, hunch-backed pox-faced human in filth-stained jester’s garb, carrying a pus-dripping bone staff?”
“Er… yes. How did you?”
“He showed up in my dream too. Didn’t say anything; he just laughed like a maniac then hit me on the head with his staff. That’s when I woke up. What happened to you?”
“Strange… I wonder what gift he bestowed upon you? He gave me the power to communicate with vermin.”
“Firstly, that is disgusting, secondly, how could that be of any use to us?”
“You’ll see. Now find somewhere and stand there- don’t move, don’t speak, don’t do anything.”
Feeling more than a little insulted, Naith huffed loudly and stalked over to lean against a towering oak tree. Vincent, if he noticed he’d offended her yet again, didn’t give any sign of it, instead simply spreading out his arms in a dramatic gesture as he began to vocalise a strange, almost musical sound. It wasn’t really language as such, more a melodic series of humming, interspersed with the occasional whirring click. As he continued, Naith became aware of a strange rustling sound, emanating from all around them. She looked around, but couldn’t see anything- then she began to feel a strange, tickling sensation. At first she put it up to nervous twitching, a side-effect of the adrenaline beginning to course through her system- until she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. She twisted her head to see what it was… and her eyes almost bugged out in shock and horror.
Dozens upon dozens of spiders and other insects were swarming in a living tide of legs and chitin down the tree and, by virtue of the fact she’d been leaning against it, over her body. They crawled along her shoulders and over her tail and they slid down the inner membranes of her wings as they instinctively flared. She was a heartbeat away from leaping away from the tree with a scream –anyone who dared to call her girly would have gotten their head staved in, but let’s see how you’d react if a mass of poisonous spiders were crawling all over you- but Vincent’s warning rang in her mind and she stayed still as stone. Though when one particularly large specimen managed to find its way into her chest bindings she was sorely tempted to scream.
The assorted creepy-crawlies all ignored her however, simply walking over her as though she were a twig or a pebble in their path. The vermin swarmed on Vincent’s location, falling into a massive mass that slowly began rising upwards until a crude facsimile of the humanoid form stood before him. Vincent’s vocalisations changed, less of a melody and more a series of clicks that closer approached language. The swarm-thing standing before him responded in the same way, occasionally making a clumsy gesture of movement. Finally, after several minutes, the human and the vermin nodded at each other and the swarm dissolved back into a carpet of vermin, which disappeared into the grass.
“You can move now Naith, I have the information we needed.”
Naith nodded, took several steps away from the tree, then calmly took a deep breath and screamed as loudly as she could without launching a sonic ray. Releasing the fright and disgust was pleasant. The fact that she startled Vincent so badly he actually leapt up into the branches of a nearby tree and was clamped somewhere near the tip of the trunk in a blink of an eye was an added bonus. She smirked up at him as he glared down at her before launching himself down to the ground, landing in a display of surprising agility.
“So which way do we go?”
Vincent didn’t answer, instead simply walking in what Naith presumed to be the right direction. She rolled her eyes as she followed him.
“He can dish it out, but he sure can’t take it…”
Vincent evidentially heard her, as his reply was in Abyssal, which meant that it was undoubtedly offensive, guaranteed to be illegal and more than likely physically impossible. Other than that though, their travels proceeded unhindered- for about ten minutes. Naith became aware of a distant crashing and unintelligible growling perhaps a heartbeat after Vincent did, both extending their claws and moving into their familiar fighting positions as the source of the disturbance came crashing out of the trees. Naith repressed a nervous gulp, though much to her annoyance Vincent seemed unaffected as usual.
Standing before them, towering over them in fact, was a beast-woman- a bear of some sort. Unlike the other beast-men they’d seen until now, this creature favoured the animal side more than it did the human- easily eight feet tall, her muscles visibly rippled with strength beneath fur that was (thankfully) thick enough to make up for her lack of clothing. Hands that were more like paws flexed claws like daggers, and her yellow eyes practically glowed with fury as they peered over her muzzle, lined with fangs that seemed too big for her mouth. She took a step towards them, saliva dribbling from her jaws, before throwing her head back and roaring, revealing as she did so the slightly flabby belly and swollen breasts that the duo recognized as signs of predation by this vampire-creature. No sooner had this revelation come to them then the beast’s head lowered back towards them, a near-unintelligible litany spilling from her foaming jaws.
“My babies… took my… babies…”
Naith stepped back from this creature, unconsciously flapping her wings as she did so. A bad idea; the beast caught sight of the movement and her expression grew even more furious- if that was possible.
“You!”
Before anyone could say or do anything, she roared in fury and barrelled towards Naith, dropping to all four for a burst of extra speed. Naith instinctively launched herself into the air, but the bear-woman was moving with such speed that she managed to clip Naith’s legs, yanking her from the air and flinging her to the ground, where she rolled and slithered through the leaf litter in a desperate attempt to regain her footing. The bear-woman loomed above her with a roar, one paw poised to strike, but she flung herself aside to avoid being struck with a Fluxblast, though the arcane bolt still managed to clip her side.
The creature turned and would have begun charging in Vincent’s direction had not Naith managed to regain her footing and, after taking wing, slash at her back. The beast’s thick fur and touch hide meant that the wounds were minor, but it was enough to draw her attention back to the dragoness, who quickly flew out of reach. She led it a merry dance, constantly darting in to swipe at it with her claws before flying back out of reach, leading it around the clearing. Whilst she did this, Vincent could not launch a Fluxblast for fear of striking his draconic ally, so he settled for the newest trick in his arsenal and began to call upon the vermin of the forest. It was far from an orthodox tactic, but in a way that’s what made it effective.
Within minutes a tide of venomous spiders and centipedes, coupled with a literal armada of wasps, was flowing into the clearing and attacking the bear-woman. An individual pest probably wouldn’t have even gotten her attention, but in such numbers the pain of their stings would definitely get her attention–and the venom that came with it could be lethal. As the bear-woman slapped frantically at the swarm, Naith seized the opportunity presented by her opponent’s distracted state to rocket towards her, turning at the last instant so that her heel crashed into the side of the bear-woman’s head, knocking her to the ground and striking her unconscious.
“Nice kick.”
“Thanks.”
Vincent moved so that he had a perfect shot at the bear-woman’s head and raised his hand, bringing a Fluxblast into existence with deliberate slowness. Before he could release the energy blast, spattering the unconscious creature’s brains across the forest floor, Naith’s taloned hand suddenly seized his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He met Naith’s steady, unyielding gaze with his own inscrutable gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes silently for several seconds in a battle of wills before Vincent finally conceded victory by causing the arcane energy built-up in his hand to dissipate. Once he did this, Naith released her grip on his wrist.
“Fine. But if this comes back to bite us in the ass, I will kick yours.”
“Promises, promises.”
Vincent’s expression didn’t even flicker at Naith’s comeback, and he simply turned and strode off into the forest, the smugly grinning dragoness following him as they left the unconscious bear-woman behind them. It wasn’t long before they had reached what Naith assumed to be their destination; a small hill with a wide-mouthed cave leading into its depths. Vincent looked at it and shook his head.
“Why do they always choose caves?”
Naith looked at him in confusion, but the sorcerer didn’t elaborate. Instead he simply pulled on his Gloomlight Shroud and began walking into the cave, the dragoness following. As it turned out, neither her ability to see in the dark nor his magic was necessary; the cavern was filled with strange mushrooms that glowed with a faint blue light, providing just sufficient light to see by, which prompted Vincent to cancel the spell- no sense in wasting power, and he had a feeling he’d need it soon. Both he and Naith tensed as they heard a thin, sorrowful wail echo from deep within the cavern. Could there possibly be someone else in here? The sudden touch of Naith’s hand on his shoulder almost brought Vincent whirling around to slash at her with his claws. Instead, he simply froze with tension until the sound of Naith’s voice revealed that she wasn’t a threat.
“You do have that stake and mallet, don’t you? Only I didn’t see where you put them away- and that outfit of yours doesn’t look as though it has pockets.”
Vincent lifted an eyebrow at her remark, but without speaking removed his hat –something that Naith idly recalled she’d never seen him do before- and reached his hand down into it, pulling out the stake and hammer. Then, after making sure she’d seen them, he dropped them back into the hat- which swallowed them without the faintest sign of their presence. While Naith blinked in incomprehension, he swung it back onto his head and stealthily walked off into the gloom. Stealthily and silently as possible, they moved deeper into the cave, hearing the wail again, louder this time. Finally they stumbled upon a massive, dome-shaped chamber wherein they found the source of the cries and the creature they had been sent to slay. As it turned out, they were one and the same.
At first glance, the beast wasn’t that impressive. Rather fittingly, it was bat- and a rather short one at that; she was exactly the same height as Vincent, if not an inch or two shorter, though her prominent ears gave the illusion of greater height. She was all but naked, her clothing limited –as far as they could tell due to the dim light - to two small patches of cloth positioned over massively swollen cleavage, the material so strained that it creaked ominously with each breath she took. Her arms were willowy, ending in hands tipped with two fingers and a thumb, each bearing a curved talon. From each arm, a cape-like wing membrane extended, given functional form by a trio of long, pliable bones that were currently folded up along her arms. The rest of her form spoke of the same sort of sinewy grace, thin and small.
The only aspect that didn’t fit was her stomach. She was massively, monstrously pregnant. She didn’t bulge, she was beyond that, her hands gently tracing patterns across a massive near-perfect sphere of taut, fur-covered flesh, so big that, had she been standing, the bottom of it would have been barely an inch off the ground, if not scraping it. The skin was stretched so tightly over the brood of children within that they could plainly see them moving, and Vincent swore that he could hear the faint cries of babies emanating from the globular mass. Despite the fact that the two of them shouldn’t have been visible from their position, she turned her head in their direction.
“You’ve been sent to kill me, haven’t you?”
The tone of her voice made it clear that it was a statement and not really a question, so Vincent and Naith cautiously stepped out of hiding and began approaching her, wary of every movement as they tried to get into nominal positions to attack- though she looked too heavy to move, they had no way of being sure of that. Their actions, and their continued silence, answered for them. She sighed loudly and gently stroked the top of her bulbous belly before speaking again.
“I knew it was only a matter of time… before they sent someone to deal with the monster I had become.”
“Had become?” Naith asked, unable to stop herself and earning a steely gaze from Vincent. The bat simply nodded her head.
“I was not always the bloated abomination you see before you, a thief of unborn is not what I was raised to be. I once lived in Branus, the only bat in the village, but other than that I was a normal woman. I even had a man I loved… a wealthy skunk by the name of Frederick. But his parents opposed our love, and against our will he was married to a newcomer to the village- a panda who had made a sizeable fortune by trading in rare and exotic things. I travelled abroad when their engagement was announced, seeking to acquire sufficient treasure that I could contest the panda for her dowry, but by the time I had returned… their marriage had been consummated. She was pregnant- bearing the child that should have rightfully been mine!”
She clenched her right hand into a fist, her expression becoming one of rage and Vincent and Naith both tensed in preparation for an assault. Instead, the bat’s stomach visibly rippled and shook as the unborn children within stirred into motion. At this the bat relaxed and resumed stroking her belly until the children ceased to move. Both her stolen offspring and her rage soothed, she continued with her story.
“I retreated to this forsaken place to grieve, the hurt being too painful to remain in the village. All I could think about was the child growing in HER belly, the unborn infant that I should have been carrying. Hate and rage warred with grief until I feared I would go mad! And then… he came to me. I do not recall his face, and he didn’t tell me his name, but he claimed that he had a way to help me. It was he that gave me this amulet.”
Here she stopped to gently trace a large, ornamental medallion on a chain dangling around her neck. The piece was quite tacky really, and it was only a combination of the dim light and the distraction of the sight of the bat that had prevented them from seeing it before.
“I didn’t believe him at first, but I decided to put the amulet on- after all, how could it hurt? That night, however, a strange feeling, almost like a gnawing, nagging hunger, overwhelmed me… I found myself stealing into the village, towards Frederick’s house… the house I should have been sharing with him. I crept into the room where his wife was sleeping– he was not by her side, or else I would have turned back. And then…”
“You bit her?”
“Yes. Sinking my fangs into the swollen orb of her stomach, I felt a strange sensation of fulfilment wash over me as her stomach shrank- and my own began to bloom. When it was over, her unborn child was kicking in my womb. Hastily I fled, flying back to this cave- the man had told the truth! If I but wore this amulet for the next nine months, the magic contained within would alter the child in my womb, rendering it truly my own. But the magic didn’t stop- every night, the craving returned, growing stronger and stronger… I couldn’t resist it! I had to go hunting again, and each time I did a new babe found its way into my womb! As the months passed, the cravings grew fiercer and fiercer… until, well, look at me.”
Her eyes, ears and head all drooped, and Naith couldn’t help the sympathetic expression that she developed. Vincent, on the other hand, remained his usual cold self, walking up the bat until he was close enough that he could reach out and touch her belly, gently trailing his right index claw across the stretched skin.
“Truly a sorrowful tale. But that does not excuse the fact that we have been sent to eliminate the threat to the village. However…”
Whatever Vincent had been about to say next was cut off as the bat suddenly hissed and lashed out at him with her arm, the blow coming with such swiftness and suddenness that it struck him and sent him flying through the air to land painfully on the ground.
“No! I’m too close to the birthing time! I will not let you take my child from me!”
She flung back her head and screamed, a skull-splitting pulse of sound that had Naith and Vincent clutching their ears in agony as she took to the wing with surprising grace and speed for so bulky a creature. As Naith shook off the effects and snarled up at her, preparing to take to the wing, Vincent regained his own senses.
“The necklace!”
“What?”
“Destroy that amulet of hers, and all will be restored to normal! You’re the only one who can fly, so you’ll have to do it.”
“What about you? Why can’t you help?”
“My magic is too focused on destruction- I’d splatter her across the cavern roof if I tried to intervene. No, this aerial battle is up to you and you alone.”
“Swell.” Naith grumbled before launching herself to face the bat, the latter fluttering erratically around the cavern roof- partially because of the difficulty caused by her engorged stomach, partially because that’s how bats always flew. As she flapped to reach the same height, Naith wondered how it was she’d gotten into this mess when, over a week ago, all that she’d had to really worry about was how to start her personal horde. She quickly snapped back to reality as the bat dove towards her, a warcry trailing behind her on the very edge of hearing.
Aerial combat was always a pest to handle at the best of times. In an enclosed space like this, facing an opponent whose flight patterns were impossible to predict, it was far from ideal. For several minutes the two winged women wheeled and circled through the enclosed space, occasionally making mock-charges towards each other in an attempt to startle their opponent into making a mistake, such as flying into a stalactite. Down below, all Vincent could do was watch with a carefully blanked facial expression. Idly he conjured a Fluxblast and contemplated burning a hole through one of the bat’s wings, or blasting a stalactite free so that it brought her down with it, then dismissed them as too much risk.
Up above, the bat suddenly broke away from one of Naith’s mock-charges and dived down towards the cavern floor. Though it looked as though she was committing suicide, Naith knew she was trying to pull of a “slingshot manoeuvre”; by pulling out of the dive at the last second, she could use her momentum to propel her with greater speed out through the doorway and into the forest. If that happened, there’d be no way Naith would be able to find her. This thought had no sooner zipped through the dragoness’ mind then she dove after her opponent, wings tightly folded against her body to help improve aerodynamics. And that was when her opponent twisted around to stop in midair and, pausing only to smirk at her, let her have it with another brain-scrambling scream.
Naith lost control of her body and dropped like a rock, but she still had enough control remaining to angle herself so that she collided with the bat, knocking the two of them towards the ground. The bat screeched and clawed at the dragoness, whose hastily flared wings were now responsible for keeping them both aloft, but Naith managed to seize the bat’s wrists in her own hands and hold her back. The duo wrestled in the air, pushing each other back and forth as they tried to gain the upper hand. Vincent’s advice flittered through Naith’s consciousness and, seeing the medallion swinging freely through the air around the bat’s neck, she instinctively lunged for it and snapped her jaws around it. As her subconscious berated her, telling her that she couldn’t even bite through ordinary metal let alone this enchanted stuff, she felt the amulet break between her teeth with an audible CRUNCH.
“NO!”
The despairing cry that erupted from the bat’s throat sounded nothing like her, a deep, monstrous baritone that echoed around the cave as a sudden burst of energy hurled Naith away from the bat’s form. She just managed to catch herself before she hit the ground, joining Vincent in staring gobsmacked –the remains of the amulet spilling unnoticed from her jaws- as the bat hung in midair as balls of brilliant light began to emerge from her gravid form. As they did, her belly and breasts began to shrink, until she was as flat as she had –presumably- been before, whilst the cavern was filled with globes of energy that gently drifted and tumbled to and fro.
As the bat slowly drifted down to the ground, the air was filled with a chorus of coos and giggles and the globes began to fly away, passing through the solid rock as though it wasn’t even there. Naith herself gently touched down and shook her head in disbelief as Vincent, pausing only to scoop up the amulet (with a slight grimace) and toss it into his hat, moved towards the silent, still bat.
“Okay, there is no way in this world or ours that I’m going to believe that you could have possibly known that would happen!”
“Suit yourself. But until and unless you learn how to use wytchsight, you’ll have no choice but to take my word for it, won’t you? Besides, I’m an expert with curses. Albeit my focus lies more in laying them then breaking them…”
He trailed off idly as he stopped beside the bat, now lying upon the floor, trembling slightly and softly whimpering but otherwise unmoving. Vincent gingerly clasped a hand upon her shoulder, but received no reaction. He gently shook her and, when she failed to respond, let go and straightened up with a thoughtful expression.
“Now the question remains; what do we do with her?”
“What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious? We take her back to the village of course.”
“Why? Have you ever seen a lynching girl? Because I have –more than I care to remember- and let me tell you it isn’t a pretty way to die.”
“A lynching? Why bring that up?”
“You are kidding, right? You know that’s what’ll happen when they see her- it’s basic human nature, and more than likely beastman nature as well.”
“Well, we can’t just leave her here- I mean, look at her! She barely has the will to live now- she’s as much a victim here as anyone else! We can’t- I won’t!- leave her behind.”
“Suit yourself. It’s your funeral. Or rather, hers.”
Naith gave Vincent a dirty look, which he shrugged off as normal, before stooping down and gently picking up the bat, who didn’t resist or even react in the slightest. She then turned and walked out of the cave, Vincent trailing behind. Other than Naith gently cooing to the bat in an effort to stop her whimpering, which prompted an observation from Vincent about maternal instincts that would normally have had Naith blast him with a sonic beam, and the suspicious absence of the bear-woman when they passed through the clearing where they had fought her, the trip back was uneventful.
The former air of sorrow that had permeated Branus had not only been removed, it had been completely reversed. Laughter and happy exclamations filled the air, and couples that had once been engulfed in silence now embraced each other in pure joy- well, embraced as well as was possible when the female was heavily gravid. As Vincent and Naith watched, an exhausted but exhilarated male poodle came running down the road, with a rat in a doctor’s uniform close behind him, and darted into a house. Of course, such a scene of tranquillity couldn’t last forever, and it all came to a screeching halt when a gravid fennec spotted the shivering bat in Naith’s arms.
“The vampire! They’ve brought back the vampire!”
In an instant the atmosphere changed to one of mingled fear and rage as some villagers –mostly, but not entirely, pregnant women- ran for shelter while others formed a rough semi-circle in front Vincent and Naith, bloodlust and fear warring with each other for dominance of their hearts. Naith flared her wings nervously, cradling the now-fully aware bat to her breast as Vincent began to focus his mystical energies, arcane flux visibly crackling and arcing across his body to earth itself randomly into the ground- a sight that was clearly intended to cow those opposing him. Whilst the villagers didn’t dare get near the two, that didn’t stop them yelling abuse at the whimpering bat.
“So you finally show your freaky face, eh? Come away from there and get what you deserved, ya monster!”
“Yeah! How dare you show your face here after what you did! You’ll not take our babies again!” Yelled one particularly swollen otter-woman. At this the other members of the mob yelled in agreement and began to surge forward, only to screech to a halt as a Fluxblast detonated in front of them, showering them with dirt.
“The next to move catches one of those between the eyes. And don’t think I’m bluffing- I’ve killed more people than you’ve had hot meals. I just saved your village, but that doesn’t mean I won’t burn it to the ground if you anger me. This woman is no threat to any of you anymore- you have your children back now. Why don’t you just be thankful that your lives have returned to normal?”
Naith nodded her agreement to Vincent’s words before speaking herself.
“Like he said- everything’s fine now, so why spoil this occasion with needless negativity? Rejoice that you have been reunited with your children and get on with your lives. Besides, she’s as much a victim as you were- she was possessed by a cursed artefact; she didn’t want to do it!”
“There’s no excuse.” The bat said quietly, gently freeing herself from Naith’s grip and walking forward. Softly pushing Vincent’s arm down, she stepped forward to the mob, stopping mere inches before the crowd before beginning to speak again.
“I allowed my personal pain to consume me, and in doing so I brought nothing but pain and misery upon you all. I deserve to die. Come, exact the justice that you deserve- I will not resist.”
The mob was silent for a moment- perhaps swayed by the genuine guilt and sorrow in the bat’s voice. Or perhaps the thought of someone simply allowing themselves to die –or of actually ripping someone apart with their bare hands- was too much for them. Either way, the aggression bled out of the mob and it quickly became nothing more than a milling group of people. Grandstaff pushed his way through the group to stand before the bat.
“Your guilt is genuine and, as the children have been returned, there is no need for further punishment. As these two adventurers have claimed that what happened was not of your conscious doing, I hereby decree you innocent of kidnapping. However, unless a villager wishes to vouch for you, you must hereby leave this village forever. Is there any who will speak for her?”
The crowd murmured and whispered frantically, but no one spoke up. Vincent and Naith, relaxing now that it was obvious there would be no further bloodshed, watched as the bat’s ears drooped and she turned to leave the village of Branus.
“I will!”
The bat’s head shot up, her ears extending firmly and pivoting in search of the voice that had spoken. An incredulous expression showed on her face.
“It can’t be… Frederick?”
The crowd seemed to part as a figure strode eagerly forward; a handsome –as far as Naith and Vincent could tell- skunk with a pair of golden earrings in his right ear and an elaborate silver piercing beneath his left eye. Like most beastmen, he didn’t wear much in the way of clothing- but what he did wear was beautiful high-quality stuff. The bat turned, almost reluctantly, to face him and took a few tentative steps forward. The two stopped when they were within arm distance of each other, both apparently too afraid to take the next step forward. The bat looked exalted at first, but then her expression turned sorrowful and she turned partially away.
“Why are you speaking up for me? You have your wife at home and with her child returned I doubt she’d want me in the village.”
“Edwina…” Frederick said sadly, a hurt expression on his face. As Vincent silently mouthed the bat’s apparent name in disbelief, the skunk gently reached out and caught her by the shoulder as she turned to leave.
“Don’t bother Frederick. Whatever we once had, it doesn’t matter now that you’re married.”
“But I’m not married- haven’t been for several months.”
“What?”
“I never stopped loving you Edwina, believe me, but after my parents forced me to wed that woman I had no choice but to lie with her. I tried to refuse her, but she had learned… things… on her journeys that let her make me do what she wanted. If I tried to refuse going to her bed, she would drag me there. She ignored my protests and… stimulated me- I couldn’t resist her. When she finally conceived, despite my loathing I was relieved- it finally meant that I could avoid her bed. But when the child was stolen, she was furious. Not because she cared for the unborn infant but, as I later found, because she has ties to a slavery ring; she had intended to sell the child to them and attribute its loss to it having died of a sickness or by accident.”
“She what!” Edwina roared in fury and the sudden commotion amongst the villagers who hadn’t begun to drift away proved that this was actually news to them. Frederick nodded before speaking.
“I was furious when I found out what she was. I presented the evidence to my parents, and we were divorced. Once she had fled the village, my heart filled with joy- I was free to marry you now, my love, but you weren’t here. I still want to marry you Edwina… if you still feel the same way about me.”
Edwina’s mouth dropped in disbelief and she stared up into Frederick’s eyes for several seconds in complete silence. Then, in a move that was literally faster than the eye could follow, she was kissing him for all she was worth, her arms wrapped around him in an almost desperate embrace. Though initially startled by the sheer passion of her reply, Frederick was quick to return the sentiment; kissing and embracing her back in a display that caused Naith to giggle and prompted rolled eyes from Vincent. Finally, reluctantly, the two broke lips and settled into a comfortable hug.
“I take it you accept my offer, my love?”
“This would be a perfect moment… if I wasn’t so sad that your first child has returned to the womb of that monstrous woman by now, and that means you’ll never know its face.”
“You mourn a child that isn’t your own?”
“It may not have been mine, but it is yours.”
“And I wouldn’t discount it as belonging to you yet Edwina.” Vincent suddenly interjected, provoking curious and disbelieving expressions from the couple. Vincent simply pointed at a point above their heads and past them. Following his gesture, they watched in amazement as a happily babbling globe of energy drifted from the sky and gently touched itself to Edwina’s stomach, vanishing into thin air. As others stared in amazement, Edwina’s stomach began to steadily swell until it was that of a woman in the final stages of pregnancy, prompting a squeal of joy and excitement from the bat and a smile of purest joy from the skunk as he placed a disbelieving hand on her bulging belly.
“I guess that it sensed the love that we share for each other, and thus it chose to remain with you- with the woman who should have been its mother from the beginning.” Frederick beamed, prompting a beatific smile from Edwina before she began kissing the skunk passionately. Within seconds the two were oblivious to the world, too caught up in each other to notice the smiles of the other villagers as they began returning to their own lives.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Vincent groaned. Naith turned to glare at Vincent, but noticed that he actually did look a little green around the gills. She shook her head in disbelief as clasped a gentle talon upon his shoulder.
“Come on; let’s leave those two to catch up. Besides, it’s lunchtime, and I think I saw an inn somewhere.”
Vincent eagerly followed the dragoness as, latest good deed now finished, she resumed her primary goal of searching for her latest meal.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 6: Fruit of the Womb
The sun shone down bright and relentless upon the duo as they travelled down the road, the heat lessened by the occasional gust of chill winds. After taking lunch in Branus –fortunately for them the owner of the inn had both heard about what they’d done and was a mother-to-be herself, which meant that they got a free meal– they had accepted the offer of Frederick and Edwina to spend the night in Frederick’s house. Any thoughts they might have had about extending their stay in Branus had been negated when Edwina had gone into labour sometime during the night- Naith was both disbelieving and somewhat envious that Vincent had effortlessly slept through the whole process. By morning, the skunk and the bat were the parents of a healthy baby hybrid girl- who had evidentially inherited her mother’s lungs. That was what had driven them out of the village- and they hadn’t really gotten very far before Naith had demanded that they stop so she could catch up on the sleep she’d missed.
Much to her surprise, Vincent agreed, which meant that they hadn’t really left the town’s vicinity until sometime past noon. It was now two, maybe three days from the village, and they hadn’t encountered a single soul so far. The level ground had given way to a slowly but steadily rising hill, and the forest was beginning to thin out- they were clearly reaching into the mountains. Of course, this information wasn’t worth much to the travellers; ennui was beginning to set in with surprising potence, aided by the fact that there hadn’t even been any attacks by wild animals or even bandits.
Naith was so bored that she’d even tried to pass the time by making conversation with Vincent, though more from lack of anything to actually argue about than anything else. To her disappointment, she may as well have tried talking to a rock- Vincent remained tight-lipped and wouldn’t tell her anything about his life. And the one time she’d asked about his family, he’d fixed her with a gaze that was so cold and lifeless she hadn’t dared to ask again. But then, she actually could understand why he didn’t want to talk about that subject; family was a rather sore topic for her as well. Still, she wished he’d say something –anything– to take her mind off the journey. She didn’t mind this “adventuring” thing so much now; it was just that walking from place to place was so boring.
Vincent, on the other hand, was preoccupied with his own thoughts. Firstly, the current pattern of events was weighing upon his mind; though the fact he was being called upon to help others should have galled him –it DID gall him– there was still a strange undercurrent of feeling, of an emotion he couldn’t identify but which he vaguely recalled feeling in the past. Back when his family was still alive. He quickly shook off that trail of thought- he had other things to worry about. Primarily, the side effect to his recently acquired “gift” of being able to speak with vermin. You see, no such “gift” from dark entities came without some form of drawback, and Vincent was experiencing that drawback right now. An insatiable hunger was gnawing frantically at his innards, competing with an overwhelming feeling of nausea and a deep, pulsing pain that seemed to be making his bones throb. But this hunger couldn’t be satiated by simply eating, oh no, Vincent would need to consume a very specific item to quell this hunger. The only problem was how to find it without letting Naith know; this was definitely not information he wanted to share.
“I… I need to take care of something.” Naith suddenly said. Vincent looked at her in confusion for a few seconds, before her embarrassed expression and posture made it clear what she meant. As understanding dawned, he quickly waved her away, whereupon she gratefully vanished into the trees. This was his chance! Vincent quickly turned and darted away in the other direction, moving quickly and stealthily through the undergrowth. Though his gift had been stripped from him temporarily, the same mystical flux had augmented his senses of scent and hearing. With these senses, it wasn’t long before he found his prey, scurrying through the leaf litter. A rat. The instant it sensed his presence it darted off, but it vain. Iron talons flashed down and encaged the squealing rodent, before it was lifted to a gaping maw ringed with iron fangs, shrieking once before they clashed together and butchered it into easily swallowed chunks.
Vincent swallowed heavily, long familiarity with such meals preventing him from gagging on the fur and sundered bones of his meal, then gently licked the blood from his fingers, sucking softly on the talons to be sure that every single drop was removed. Retracting his claws, and licking his lips, he quickly made his way back to where he and Naith had split ways. The pain was gone now, and he estimated it would be at least a month before he’d need to feed like that again. The only problem was that Naith was waiting for him when he returned, though he quickly waved her off with a casual reply of his own.
“I had something that needed taking care of too.”
Once more they started down the road, in quiet ease for about an hour before they heard an all-too-familiar rumbling sound. It had almost become a ritual, Naith’s stomach would growl, she’d place a clawed hand upon it and mutter about being hungry, and as such neither of them actually said anything about it. As neither of them was carrying any food, she resigned herself to being hungry until Vincent bothered to forage for edibles, or until they found somewhere they could take some food. As it would transpire, the latter event was to occur- though they would soon wish they’d left well alone.
Naith suddenly stopped walking, took several deep breaths through her nose, then spread her wings and launched herself into the air without saying a word. Vincent stared after her, then shook his head with a faint smile on his face. She could be so impulsive sometimes. Casually, calmly, he followed her, eventually tracking her to an orchard filled with trees bearing a strange fruit, like a peach with an apple’s skin. Naith was perched in the upper branches of a tree, almost hidden from view by shiny green leaves, gorging herself on fruit. Walking over to stand below her –though making sure he wasn’t close enough that she could dump fruit cores on him– and seized by a sudden surge of curiosity, Vincent reached up and plucked a ripe fruit hanging within reach. He held it close to his face, gently turning it this way and that as he looked it over, before giving it a soft sniff. With one claw he gently pricked the skin, sniffing again at the small puncture before touching the juice-moistened talon to his tongue.
He promptly spat in disgust- the fruit was as bitter and vile as anything he’d ever tasted. A disgusted expression on his face, he carelessly dropped the fruit, idly noting the way it burst open on contact with the ground to spill semi-liquid flesh upon the soil. He stared up at Naith in disbelief; she was gorging on the fruits as though they were sweet candy. As he shook his head he suddenly caught sight of something situated at the foot of the tree. He walked over to get a better look, then quickly called up to the feasting dragoness.
“Naith!”
“Huh? Oh, hi Vincent. You should try some of these fruit- they’re delicious.”
“They’re also forbidden.”
“What?”
“There’s a sign here- do not eat fruit. I think we’d better get out of here before the farmer comes.”
“What? But, I, oh, very well. I think I’ve had enough anyway.”
Vincent chose not to take advantage of that opening she had practically gift-wrapped, preferring to concentrate on getting out of here without being seen rather than to start up one of their little “contests”. Naith dropped down from the tree and, pausing only to wipe her muzzle clean of juice, joined Vincent in moving away from the signs of her feasting as quickly as possible. Though both were tense for several minutes, after a vengeful fruit farmer failed to materialize they began to relax. Relatively speaking. Things were normal… until Naith suddenly voiced a noise that was half choke and half strangled belch. Vincent turned to see her with her hands clamped to her muzzle, embarrassment, confusion and nausea fighting for control of her face. Blushing fiercely, she ran off into the bushes so that Vincent couldn’t see her- though he could hear her all too well. Finally, she emerged, wiping her muzzle and looking… still sickly, but less so than before.
“Ugh… now that was nasty.”
“This is why you shouldn’t eat so much. Especially fruits you know nothing about- they could have been rotten, or even poisonous.”
“But they smelled and tasted so good!” Naith whined, in a tone that struck Vincent as being way too much like a little kid’s. He repressed the urge to smile at the ridiculous mental image that conjured up. As they set off again, Vincent blinked subtly; as she walked up to stand beside him, he could have sworn that Naith’s belly had grown a little. He shook it out of his head and chalked it up to the visible effects of gastric tension coupled with the angle and the lighting. But then again, every time he glanced at her, her stomach seemed to have swollen a little further.
As they travelled on, it quickly became apparent that Naith’s abdomen was indeed beginning to bloat. As Vincent tried to figure out how exactly to breach this fact to Naith, the dragoness suddenly stopped, arms wrapping around her undeniably swollen middle as she huddled into herself. Vincent found himself unconsciously stepping towards her, as though about to offer help. This was a great surprise to Vincent; after all, there was no way he’d be able to help in the first place, and in the second place since when did he ever help anyone? His surprise at his actions was quickly driven overwhelmed by his surprise at her actions- as he reached out to touch her shoulder, Naith snarled and whirled on him, snapping at his fingers like a vicious dog. He withdrew his hand in an instant, staring at her in disbelief as she flared like an angry hawk, eyes glaring at him with hate and rage.
“Don’t TOUCH me! I don’t NEED your help- I’m fine! I’m not some sort of WEAKLING!”
Vincent was actually backing away at this point. They fought on occasion –heck, it was practically a hobby– but she’d never been this aggressive before. She’d never gotten angry with him over nothing before either, come to think of it. Then, without even the slightest warning, her mood did a complete 180. She went from looming over Vincent to cowering at the sight of him, her jaws trembling as she huddled into herself, a faint whine escaping her involuntarily.
“I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me! I didn’t mean it!”
“Alright, snap out of it.” Vincent remarked, stepping forward to deliver a ringing slap to Naith’s cheek. While he shook the life back into his hand, Naith slowly cracked her neck before standing up and shaking her head softly.
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“I’ll say- what the hell was all that about? I knew you shouldn’t have eaten those fruits- vomiting, extreme mood swings, gastric bloating… they’ve either poisoned you, or you’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” she yelped, finally noticing her woman-starting-the-second-trimester bulge. She stared at Vincent with such horror and fear in her eyes that even the self-professed heartless sorcerer felt a twinge of pity for her suffuse his cold, black heart. That didn’t mean his next words were any less cruel though.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. After all we’ve seen, is the idea of a fruit that knocks you up really that impossible?”
“You have to help me!”
“Precisely how? What could I do?”
“Y’ could try being a bit more sympathetic towards her fer a start.” Came a voice from behind the duo. Vincent whirled to face the voice, naturally (and somewhat eagerly) expecting a bandit of some sort. Instead, he came face-to-face with a brown-furred rabbit beastman, who –ears notwithstanding– was at least a foot shorter than Vincent. He was dressed in nothing more than faded and well-worn overalls, numerous holes mended by stitching patches of different material over the top, and a flat straw hat with holes through which his ears protruded. Coupled with the unlit corncob pipe that dangled from the side of his mouth, and he was far from an intimidating figure. Still, there was something about him… a strange sort of quiet dignity to his bearing. He looked at Naith –and more specifically at her sprouting belly– and shook his head softly.
“Pardon me fer not introducing myself; I’m Theodore Blan, an’ I’m the owner of this here orchard. An’ from the looks of things, it looks like ya ignored the warning sign I put up.”
“Please forgive my companion- she is such an impulsive creature, and her appetites tend to cloud her thoughts. Can you possibly find it in your heart to reverse what has befallen her?” Vincent replied, and Naith was torn between rage at his demeaning her and admiration at how smooth and slick his words came out, for all that they were emotionless in tone. Theodore sighed softly and shook his head gently.
“I’m not sure that I can young’un. Y’see, as ya figured out, the curse of this place leis in the fruits. Me an’ the missus were the first ta find out about it… but that’s a long story an’ ya don’t have the time fer it. Let’s just say that any gal that eats one o’ them fruit ends up having a baby fer each fruit she ate, after the four stages.”
“Four stages?” Naith said, swallowing heavily. She did not like the way this was going. Theodore nodded grimly.
“Mhmm. Th’ first stage is, as ya’ve seen, nausea an’ mood swings, with slight swellin’ of the belly ‘n’ breasts. Fer stage two the belly keeps growin’, sometimes steady-like, sometimes in painful spurts. Stage three; the breasts start leakin’ milk. An’ the final stage is the birth itself. I ain’t never seen a reaction so severe as yours little lady. Jus’ how many fruit did ya eat anyway?”
“I lost count… fifteen at least, no more than twenty at most.”
“Jumpin’ Jehosophat! I ain’t never heard of anyone eat that many fruit afore! I’se learned a few tricks that can put a stop ta the pregnancy, but they don’t work on anyone what’s eaten more n’ three of the fruits. I’m sorry little lady, but there ain’t nothing I can do. You’s either gonna have the biggest litter these here parts has ever seen… or you’s gonna burst trying.”
Naith voiced a squeal of equal parts fear and sorrow before folding herself up within her wings, the faint sound of sobbing just audible from within. In a move that he would later admit had come as a shock to himself, Vincent stepped towards her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before twisting his neck to address Theodore.
“There must be something that we can do!”
“Th’ only other option would be ta pay a call on Donner Marvins. He owns an orchard of his own a ways down the road; when our fruits started getting girls pregnant, his fruits started making ‘em unpregnant. Y’see, all ya gots ta do is eat one a’ his fruit fer each of ours ya ate, and each fruit ya eat cancels one babe in yer womb. Good luck getting any from him; he always was a tight-fisted skinflint, and when all this started he took it as an opportunity to get some real money. There was a riot an’, well, most of his orchard was burnt up- he’s only got three-four trees left, an’ he guards ‘em like they was his virgin daughters.”
“You needn’t worry about that- by the time we’re through with him, he’ll be begging us to take the fruit we need. Come on Naith- we have to hurry.”
“Hold on there young fella!”
“What is it?”
“Y’ can’t just let yer friend run around like that- she’s gonna be stark naked soon!”
Both Vincent and Naith blinked in confusion, then looked at the dragoness’ chest. As the rabbit had said, Naith’s bosom was also beginning to develop, her chest bindings beginning to grow taught over their swelling mass. Somewhat embarrassed despite herself, Naith snapped at the rabbit out of instinct.
“So what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I have any changes of clothing on me!”
“Why don’t you two come back to my place? I kin loan ya some of the clothes the missus wore when she got cursed, and while yer getting changed I kin tell ya fella how ta get ta Donner’s orchard.”
“HE/SHE’S NOT MY FELLOW/GAL!” The two bellowed in unison, but followed the sheepish rabbit all the same, snorting in distaste at his mistake as they did. Them; a couple? Yeah, right! Within minutes they had arrived at a decently sized and well-built house- Naith was handed over to a female rabbit, evidently Theodore’s wife, who hurried away with her into the house to get the aforementioned clothing, while Theodore himself quickly but firmly explained the directions to Donner’s orchard. As Naith finally emerged in a knitted dress that was so oversized it practically swallowed her, bulge and all, Theodore gave them one final warning.
“Be careful you two. After most of his crop were burned, Donner hired hisself a mess a’ guards to keep what fruits he had left safe, an’ traded a mason some of his last remaining stock to build up his place- it’s like a fortress now. Getting in ain’t gonna be easy.”
Neither the dragoness nor the human bothered to answer him, instead simply walking in the appropriate direction as fast as possible. Unfortunately, for Naith, that wasn’t very fast at all- her continuously swelling belly was beginning to hamper her ability to walk, even her superior strength unable to prevent the distended mass from forcing her to waddle rather than walk. Even worse than that were the occasional sudden, extremely painful growth surges, where the pain caused her to huddle into herself and clutch her belly, feeling it growing beneath her fingers. She couldn’t help herself as a soft whimper of pain slipped from her at the latest surge, capable of thinking of nothing more than how grateful she was that the scales of her belly had yet to separate- perhaps as a consequence of how tough dragon scales were, the skin beneath was extremely soft and sensitive.
Throughout it all, Vincent said nothing, simply keeping his stride measured to match Naith’s and stopping to wait for her when she experienced a growth surge, showing none of the irritation that surely had to be swelling inside his heart at how frequently he was having to stop now. Despite appearances, indeed despite his very nature, he was actually concerned for the dragoness- impromptu allies of convenience they may be, but that didn’t make seeing someone whom he actually knew fall plague to the curse of this world any less unpleasant. Finally, Naith’s growth surge ended, her stomach now visibly bulging through the massive dress –exactly why it was so large raised questions in their minds that neither particularly wanted answered– and the two resumed travelling. For at least a minute. Then Naith suddenly stopped and simply sat down on the ground, much to Vincent’s incomprehension.
“Why am I even bothering? I can barely walk now- I’m just slowing you down. I may as well just sit here and wait to burst.”
“Is that so? After all we’ve been through, bandits, wild animals, monsters, you’re just going to give up? And here I thought you were somebody worth respecting- not some sort of snivelling weakling.”
“Snivelling weakling! I’ll show you snivelling weakling you pasty-faced heartless maggot!” Naith roared, suddenly launching herself clumsily from her position in a furious attack upon the sorcerer. Vincent easily dodged her assault, skipping backwards out of the range of her frantic claws with a wry grin upon his face.
“Now that’s the dragoness I know. Now are you really going to just let this thing beat you? Or is there fire in your heart after all?”
Naith’s scowl faded as she realised that, for whatever inexplicable reason, Vincent had actually tried to restore her confidence and drive– and more shockingly actually succeeded in doing so. But still, the fact remained that she simply wasn’t going to get anywhere by walking. Then, it hit her.
“My wings!”
“Eh?”
“Dragons can still fly unhindered even when carrying several times their own weight. That means I should still be able to fly even with this belly of mine.”
“But I thought you couldn’t fly in clothing as restrictive as what you’re wearing?”
“I can’t, but that’s easily fixed… turn around!”
Naith had seized the hem of her dress in preparation to begin pulling it off, but paused just long enough to bark those final two words. Realising exactly what his female counterpart intended to do, Vincent quickly spun around- just in time to ensure the faintest hint of crimson that had crept onto his normally deathly pale cheeks went unnoticed. Naith quickly pulled the hand-made dress off, and froze for a second as she took in the great orb of her belly, and the smaller but no less impressive orbs of her breasts, her chest bindings having been removed and tucked into her loincloth when she’d put on the dress in the first place. Shaking herself back to reality, she rolled up the dress and tossed it at Vincent, unsure whether to be surprised or disappointed that he managed to catch it –without looking back– before spreading her wings and beginning to flap them with all her strength.
Despite her earlier claims about the strength of dragon wings, she was still surprised that she actually managed to get off the ground. Swallowing her shock, she instead concentrated on flying in the right direction, Vincent following as fast as he could. And keeping his eyes firmly fixed downwards. Naith progressed much faster now, even though it was a struggle as the force of gravity tugged at her swollen stomach, and it was merely minutes before she finally set eyes upon Donner’s orchard. As Theodore had warned, the place was a fortress; a rectangular box of stone walls well over a dozen feet tall, each wall host to several guard towers, surrounded by ashy plains, grass only just beginning to re-establish itself. Naith was close enough that she could just make out the presence of guards in the towers, their general demeanour suggesting that they were of a higher quality than the ruffians she and Vincent had encountered in Gastria.
She quickly slid back into the canopy; the absolute last thing either of them needed was to be spotted. Hesitantly she moved through the branches, her stomach now looking ready to deliver quadruplets and beginning to become a strain even for her superhuman strength. Waiting for her human comrade to catch up to her, she took this opportunity to manoeuvre herself so that she could take in the defences of the place they were aiming to break into. There was only one doorway that she could see, and it looked like there were at least two sentries clad in full-plate on guard duty. Though the walls were beginning to develop a coating of vines and moss, the growth was as yet too underdeveloped to support even the weight of someone as slight as Vincent. What was worse, there was absolutely nothing growing in the burned area- even the charred tree-stumps that should have been there were gone. Most likely they had been pulled out, and Donner had given his guards instructions to destroy any possible cover that might have grown, thus giving his archers unrestricted access to their surroundings. That would only make their task harder.
Speaking of which, her keen sense of hearing alerted her to the fact that her human ally was fast-approaching the spot beneath the tree. Truthfully it actually could have been someone else, but there were two key sounds that identified him. Firstly was the “snikcht-snikcht” noise of his talons scraping against each other, a sound vaguely like someone sharpening a knife. Finally, and most importantly, who else in this land but Vincent could possibly be swearing in Abyssal? Naith quickly and quietly descended from her perch to land beside him. Well, not really so quietly; a particularly important tree limb snapped beneath her bulk and she literally fell out of the tree, spared a painful fall only because dragons, like cats, were naturally adept at landing upon their feet. Or in Naith’s case, on her buttocks. She gingerly rubbed her sore derrière and almost squawked as something soft and shapeless settled itself upon her head, before she recognized it to be the maternity dress she had been wearing before.
She quickly pulled it on, and while she was not yet large enough that she had to struggle to do so, the shapeless mass of fabric no longer concealed her gravid state in the slightest, instead framing her globular belly almost perfectly. In fact, she was just giving the edges a few delicate tugs to make sure nothing unseemly was exposed (though why she was bothering, given that she normally ran around in little more than a loincloth, was anybody’s guess) when Vincent finally turned around.
“So what are we up against?”
“I saw one door, and the walls look too high to climb –I doubt I can fly again as well. I saw guards in the towers, armed with bows if I guess right, and at least two sentries in full-plate at the door.”
“Great. This is not going to be easy. I think it’s best if you stayed here.”
“I’ve told you already- I don’t need molly-gaagh!”
Naith was cut off by a sudden screech of pain, falling to the ground and clutching her belly in agony as the most painful growth spurt yet struck her; she felt like each and every egg in her womb had suddenly developed a coating of white-hot spikes and was now jabbing at the inside of her womb as hard as they could. Vincent hesitated, an expression of confusion and even worry on his face. He bent down on his knees and stretched his hand out as though about to place it on Naith’s womb, then shook his head before turning and running towards the orchard as fast as he could. If he didn’t get Naith those fruit, then all the sympathy in the world wouldn’t help.
One of the worst things about this ruined field was that there was no cover, which meant it was barely heartbeats after he’d started before arrows began to rain down from the guard towers, though not a one struck him. Whether because they were initially aimed to intimidate or because Vincent was naturally adept at dodging projectiles (as any Allantrian wizard learned to be) was anyone’s guess. In return, Vincent raked the top of the wall with Fluxblasts; though the volley of spells wasn’t exactly accurate –he was still human, albeit working to change that– more spells struck archers or blasted chunks out of the masonry then sailed off into the sky.
In fact, Vincent was so distracted launching spells at the guards on the walls that he failed to remember the presence of the guards at the door- he almost ran right into them. Instinctively he slashed out at the face of the nearest, but his claws simply scraped harmlessly along the iron faceplate with an ear-splitting screeching noise. He managed to dodge the blow of the guard he had struck, but the other guard’s mace smashed into his upper arm with a dull but audible “crack” sound. Vincent went sprawling, his right arm flopping around lifelessly- more than likely broken. If the guard was hoping that Vincent would cry out though, he was sorely disappointed; Vincent was both thoroughly inured to pain and possessed of a will of cold iron. Flipping himself over so that his good arm was free, he launched twin Fluxblasts- and at this range nobody could miss.
He lurched unsteadily to his feet, his good hand instinctively moving to clutch his damaged arm before he caught hold of himself and lurched forward through the gate. He was just a few feet through the other side when something slammed into him from behind, the sudden and considerable impact almost knocking him sprawling. He rolled with the impact and thus both kept his balance and quickly brought himself to bear on what had knocked him over. Naith. Her belly had grown so massive that rips were beginning to appear in the dress, through which he could see small –but growing– patches of dark flesh where scales had evidentially separated. She was clutching herself and whimpering softly in pain, and the sight so distracted Vincent that the first sign he realised that they had been surrounded was when a cluster of pikes were levelled at his head.
For the first time in a long time, Vincent was paralyzed by indecision. He had a spell that could teleport him to safety with a thought, but the spell couldn’t carry any passengers. And he couldn’t just leave Naith here. A small portion of his mind raised the question why that was so, but its tiny voice was quickly drowned out as an irritatingly high-pitched tittering giggle suddenly rang out. The guards stepped aside, still keeping their weapons trained on the duo, as perhaps the weirdest beastmen the duo had seen yet suddenly stepped into view.
Species-wise, he was a cardinal, as indicated his brilliant crimson plumage and the shape of his vibrant orange beak. He was clad in a motley, garish array of clothing in all the colours of the rainbow bar purple and whose materials ranged from thick, near royal-quality cotton to cheap bits of silk. Finally, various gaudy and tacky pieces of jewellery and finery adorned his body, the whole effect somewhat eye-wincing even to someone as proudly un-fashion-conscious as Vincent. He clutched an ugly, long- shanked pipe, the bowl (carved in a grotesquely amateurish mimicry of his own face) wafting foul-smelling greenish smoke, in one scaly, spindly talon of a hand. He inhaled deeply from the pipe, blowing twin streamers of green smoke from his nostrils before making that horrible giggle again as he looked over the captive duo.
“My oh me… what do we have here? More trash come blowing into my orchard? Oh dear… now what is this ugly creature? What manner of disease could possibly leave its victims so deformed and unsightly?”
Vincent’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, but anyone who was paying attention would have heard the metallic scraping sound as he ground his teeth together, a normally self-destructive act but, in his case, it actually sharpened them. If he heard him, Donner didn’t give any sign of it, simply walking around to get a better view of the whimpering, growing Naith, whereupon he giggled again.
“Now what have we here? Oh my, so, so very pregnant, isn’t she? And look- she’s still growing. I think she may very well burst soon. Now won’t that be a fun sight to see?”
“You sick little…” Vincent snarled- he’d had enough of this! He quickly called to a mind a spell he hadn’t used since the two of them had been sent to the Astral Wastes and, with a single alteration, he quickly cast it. A circular wave of crackling electricity and pure force erupted from his upraised hand, a short-ranged pulse of magic that sent the surrounding guards flying- though Donner was unfortunately beyond the range of the spell. With his single good arm, he quickly launched a multi-shot Fluxblast at the walls before turning to launch more at the guards who had begun swarming into the yard at the sound of Donner’s terrified shrieks.
Once she figured out what Vincent’s plan was, Naith instantly forced herself to start crawling to the other end of the yard, where she could see a trio of heavily overgrown trees. The effort was incredible; not only was she wracked with pain, but her belly was both incredibly swollen and still growing. Finally, the pain seemed to stop, but the stretching feeling was replaced with a feeling of tightness- especially in her chest. Naith meeped in shock when she suddenly felt moisture on her chest, stopping what she was doing to confirm the twin spreading patches of soaked material. A guard attempted to take advantage of her distracted state by approaching from behind, but Naith’s powerful tail quickly sent him smashing into a wall with skull-crushing force. Shaken back to her senses, Naith resumed her desperate struggle towards the overgrown trees; the pain and the stretching were gone, but the tension in her chest was now being accompanied by a series of painful cramps that settled about her lower abdomen. Almost like… contractions. Naith didn’t even bother to repress the whimper that escaped her as that realization sunk in, instead redoubling her efforts to reach the life-saving fruits.
Finally, she was below the tree, the blue-skinned apple-like fruit dangling like the fruit of Tantalus just above her head. Grunting at the most recent contraction, she sunk her claws into the trunk of the tree and then pulled herself slowly to her feet. She reached upwards but was shy of the fruit by a single inch. Knowing that if she didn’t get that fruit NOW, she was going to go into labour, Naith growled and used all of her strength to leap upwards, ripping the fruit from its branch and greedily devouring it.
When she later told her tale, she would liken the resultant sensation to that of intense relief, yet tinged with an irrefutable element of despair, as though the erased infant was mourning the fact that it had never been given a chance to live. Temporarily relieved, Naith smashed her fists into the trunk with all of her available strength, shaking down a torrent of ripe fruit. As the contractions returned, she fell to her knees and began devouring the harvest.
At the other end of the orchard, Vincent ducked beneath the desperate swing of the last surviving guard before plunging the first two fingers of his left hand into his victim’s eye-sockets, the talons bursting the eyeballs and plunging through bone to impale the brain within. Withdrawing his gore-coated hand and stepping back to let the body fall to the ground, he surveyed the corpse-littered killing field, chest heaving with exhaustion after casting so many spells and the effort of such desperate fighting. In fact, he was so exhausted that he didn’t even notice Donner charging at him until the crazed cardinal had bull-rushed him to the ground, pinning Vincent’s one good arm beneath his body and snarling at him as he brandished a dagger. Vincent stared up at him, expressionless and collected as though prepared for death, when a familiar ripple of soundwaves lanced through the air and struck the bird-man dead in the chest, blood fountaining from his beak as he flew through the air to land dead on the ground below. Vincent pulled himself to his feet and looked in the direction the sonic beam had come from to see Naith, back to her normal, slim self, looking back at him with an expression of equal exhaustion on her face.
“You alright?”
“Yeah. Thanks to you holding them off. What about you? That arm looks like it’s busted.”
“It is, but there’s a spell I know that can fix it. Turn around.”
“What? Why?”
“Suit yourself, but this isn’t exactly gonna be pretty to watch.”
He walked over to the crushed corpse of Donner and knelt down beside it as he opened his jaws, the bones unhinging with a sickening crack. Naith’s eyes widened and she instantly spun around and began walking back towards the trees, preventing herself from seeing what was going on even if she couldn’t keep herself from hearing the hideous sounds of bones crunching. Strangely secure in the knowledge that Vincent wouldn’t try and ogle her, she pulled off the borrowed dress, wincing at the great ragged hole where her stomach had burst through and at the soaked chest. Deeming it ruined beyond repair, she casually tossed it onto a low-hanging branch before tying her chest bindings back in their proper place. Giving them an experimental tug to ensure they truly were in place, she turned back and walked to meet Vincent, currently wiping his face clean (in a surprisingly elegant –even dainty– fashion) with a scrap of Donner’s clothing.
“I tell you, that’s the last time I eat strange foods.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. So where to next?”
“Further up the mountain- where else?”
Vincent shrugged and simply began walking out of the orchard, Naith easily catching up. As they left the orchard and began following the road further up into the mountains, Naith turned to Vincent with an embarrassed look on her face.
“I want to say… that is, I wanted to tell you… to let you know…”
“Don’t worry about it. We help each other- that’s what partners do.”
“Partners?” she muttered to herself as Vincent walked on ahead. She shook her head once and then smiled softly before catching up, a final word escaping on her next breath.
“Partners…”
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 7: The Frozen Depths
Ever since they had come to this world, there had been a natural feeling of awkwardness between the two travellers, the feeling only disappearing when they found themselves caught up in some problem or the other or when boredom became overwhelming.
In fact, next to that awkwardness, boredom was the biggest personal problem- especially for Naith, whose attention span was evidently much shorter than Vincent’s. Then again, that wasn’t really that unusual- dragons tended to be rather fickle and flighty creatures, despite their long lifespan. Things weren’t helped by Vincent’s solitary nature either- whenever Naith’s boredom led her to talk to him about anything at all, his responses were always so cold and mechanical that he both intensified the awkward air between them and made her hungrier for answers. He also absolutely refused to reveal anything personal about himself, simply going silent and ignoring her until she finally gave up in resignation.
In return, Naith had decided to do the same thing if he asked personal details about her- though to her disappointment Vincent rarely said anything other than simple notices, such as comments on food supply (or the availability thereof) or possible dangers. The sole exception was when the two of them began one of their little arguing spats, which the two had almost come to regard as a game- seeing who could outwit the other in a duel of words. Though much to Naith’s disgust it was normally Vincent who came out on top.
Though as they had ascended into the mountains after that whole business with the impregnating fruit, boredom had been the least of their worries. Thanks to the cold winds that cut through their bones like a scythe through grass, growing stronger as the two made their way deeper into the mountains. Vincent pressed ahead, resolutely keeping his eyes firmly fixated ahead of himself and away from the sight of a cold woman (well, dragoness) in tight clothing.
“M-maybe I should have kept that d-dress after all…” Naith chattered, rubbing her arms and body to try and keep herself warm, the chattering of her teeth proving the failure of her efforts. Though dragons were more tolerant of the cold than normal reptiles, and could actually grow accustomed to it given time, they were still cold-blooded and Naith’s lack of the normal fire breath didn’t help matters.
Of course, Vincent wasn’t exactly comfortable either- he was warm-blooded but he was also very slightly built and dressed in clothing more suited for a warmer climate. The exertion of reaching this spot had caused him to sweat, and that perspiration was now beginning to freeze solid beneath the caress of icy winds. As they travelled onwards, the sky grew dark with clouds and snow began to crunch underfoot. Vincent’s clothing was fast becoming sodden from the slush, and that moisture quickly turned chill in this weather. Naith’s bare feet were agonizingly painful; the combination of extreme cold and sharp ice flakes causing her to leave a trail of blood behind her. Finally, Vincent broke the quasi-silence, trying to keep the shivering from his voice.
“Damn this cold… are you sure you don’t have any sort of fire breath?”
“P-positive…we dragons develop our b-breath weapon –or breath weapons– shortly after hatching… I never gained fire breath.”
Then, as if to convince him, she began to, for lack of a better word, dry-heave, an action which eventually resulted in a short “pulse” of sonic energy. A very ill advised action, it would turn out, as the sound of cracking and splintering ice and rock filled the air. The resultant mad dash was a very frantic and painful course of action, but the two of them just managed to dive clear as an avalanche closed off the path behind them. Vincent was the first to lift his head from the snow, his hat somehow managing to have stayed perched on his head. He took a long look at the blockage as Naith struggled upwards onto her feet. She hung her head with a sullen look, anticipating the verbal barrage that was due. Somehow though, the fact Vincent simply turned and continued walking, without even throwing her so much as a disappointed look, hurt even worse than a tongue lashing would have.
As they travelled, time ceased to have any meaning- all that existed was snow and darkness and howling winds. Vincent stubbornly stumbled forth, fighting the exhaustion and cold plaguing his body, cursing himself for this mortal frailty. When he looked back, he could see that Naith was just as bad off as he was, if not more so, and that alone convinced him to try and find shelter. Leading her aside into a large snowdrift, he used a simple incantation to conjure forth a tiny ray of flames, using it to melt a suitably sized hollow. Naith eagerly stumbled into it, curling up against the far side as Vincent sat down near the entrance, using another spell to conjure a smokeless fire that would burn without fuel.
“I… I need… sleep…” Naith mumbled, eyes slowly blinking from a combination of exhaustion and a cold-induced stupor. Vincent simply nodded in return; though she had hid it well, he knew that fruit incident had seriously sapped her strength- she needed to rest, and it was best that they try to conserve energy (and body heat) in this weather.
“Sleep then. I’ll keep the flames burning.” He whispered, mentally cursing himself for displaying weakness. Naith simply nodded gratefully before lying down, curling up and closing her eyes. Soon she was fast asleep, and Vincent couldn’t help the soft ghost of a smile that gently made its way onto his face. Though he tried to fight it, his exhaustion was getting to him as well and, despite his struggles (aided by the knowledge that if he didn’t keep the fire alive they would both die), he slowly slipped into unconsciousness. Just before it all went black, he was positive that something else had entered the hollow.
Warmth. That was the first thing Vincent noticed; the change in temperature. Could it be that he was dead? No, that wasn’t a valid explanation; Vincent knew all too well where Sorcerers –especially ones like him– went after death, and a cautiously opened eye confirmed that this definitely wasn’t the Black Pits. Still faking unconsciousness, he gazed around the room, a dark and shadowy chamber just barely lit by a small but intense fire. His gaze went to the fire to confirm a sudden suspicion and, yes, it was indeed magical; emanating from a small stone. Trying to keep his movements as subtle as possible, he confirmed that Naith was also there- lying rather close to him to be precise. Though her presence was currently less of a concern to him than the absence of his hat. He finally spotted it lying close by –too close to the fire for his personal comfort– and instinctively lashed out to snag it and pull it to him, an action that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Look’s like the ugly one’s awake.”
Realising that there was no point in further pretence, Vincent simultaneously sat up and swept his hat onto his head, his iron will enabling him to mask all signs of the pain the action caused him. He scanned the shadows for the origin of the voice, finally spotting the owner; a polar bear beastman. At least, Vincent thought he was a polar bear; this beastmen somehow looked more… “primal” than normal. Vincent didn’t know how to explain it, nor could he really figure out what made him look that way. At least part of the cause might be the overabundance of fur though, the great masses of white hair that swathed him from head to foot. So great was the quantity of hair that the beastman had little need to wear clothing for protection, and indeed his sole garb was a loincloth-like belt, more of a convenient pouch for holding things than clothing. He and the polar bear stared at each other without speaking for several seconds, apparently both taking stock of each other, before there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. From the shadows stepped a she-wolf, of equally abundant fur- especially around the tail, which probably wouldn’t have looked out of place on a skunkette. It was this newcomer who finally broke the uneasy silence.
“So you’re awake at last? We were worried for a moment. But what of your companion? Is she alright?”
Vincent didn’t reply, instead simply leaning across to gently grab Naith by the shoulder and shake her softly. The dragoness simply furled her wings lazily and yawned before curling up tighter.
“…Jus’ five more minutes momma…”
Vincent repressed the urge to do… well, he wasn’t entirely sure what sort of response that should invoke. Instead, he simply splayed out his fingers and extended his claws before driving all five talons simultaneously between Naith’s scales to prick the sensitive flesh beneath. The damage was minimal, if it even deserved to be called damage, but the shock was considerable. As evidenced by the way Naith suddenly shot awake with a pain-filled shriek that rattled around the room. Vincent, naturally, withdrew his hand post-haste, putting on his best blank look as Naith glared at him, failing even to notice her current surroundings as she did so.
“I hate you.”
Normally, this would have been the start for one of their verbal battles. But these were far from normal circumstances. A sudden blast of icy wind had them both shivering from the unexpected shock, and as the flames of the fire-stone flickered back into full life a third beastman appeared. His exact nature was hard to determine, primarily because he wore clothing that was suitable for such cold conditions, but he seemed to be something like a mountain lion. He shook off some of the frost and snow clinging to his clothes, breathing heavily as though he had just experienced something physically draining.
“The storm is really picking up out there, and I couldn’t find any trace- hey, they’re awake. Was there anyone else with you two?”
“No, just us.” Naith said, finally realising just where she was and –quite naturally– thrown somewhat off-balance. Vincent, on the other hand, was a lot more adept at coping with situations such as this. Not to mention he’d been awake longer.
“Okay, now who are you people? And where are we?”
“You are in the Frauwsthime, and those who dwell in the valleys below call us the ‘Furriers’- the Dwellers in the Cold. We prefer to call ourselves the Mountain’s Children. So what brings such unprotected beings to our land? Surely there are easier ways to commit suicide.”
“We are many things, but suicidal is not one of them. We were simply seeking to pass beyond this mountain range and were simply caught unprepared for the climate conditions here. I don’t suppose you could be of assistance to us?”
“I doubt that we personally could be of much help to you- we haven’t traded with low-landers for some time, and we’ve virtually exhausted all our reserves of mountain-suitable clothing; all we have are a few stockpiles for newborn children.”
“And those are fast running out...” muttered the mountain lion. Naith fluttered her eyelids in confusion, whilst the polar bear nudged him in the ribs. Vincent had a sneaking suspicion of what reason might lie behind that cryptic response, but thought it best to keep such thoughts to himself for the time being.
“Are you sure that you cannot provide us with any further aid?”
“…Perhaps Sayla, the High Priestess…” began the wolfette, only to be cut off by the polar bear.
“Are you crazy! Outsiders are forbidden-”
“These are far from normal times! And these two might be able to help us- they must have some skill, or else they would never have made it here on their own and without any form of weaponry or armor! And besides which, we really don’t have a choice- not only are we unable to descend into the depths, none of us can be spared anyway.”
“Let me guess… you’ve been having problems recently and you’d like us to try and sort it out?”
“How did you…?”
“This isn’t exactly new to us. Come on, take us to this High Priestess of yours- and you may as well explain yourselves along the way.”
“All right… come on.”
The mountain lion grabbed the flaming stone, which did not burn him, and Vincent and Naith rose to their feet and followed the trio into the caverns. As they travelled, Naith idly noticed that her wounded feet had been bandaged, and when a questioning glance thrown at Vincent was answered with a shake of the head, she figured it must have been the Furriers. She quickly snapped back to reality as the wolfette began to speak.
“Centuries ago, our ancestors dwelled in the valleys below these mountains, until the day the woman who would become the first High Priestess, a vixen by the name of Adriana, began to have prophetic dreams that called her to the mountain’s peak. Gathering a small group of faithful friends, she began her ascent- but she was unprepared for the bitter cold and the howling winds, and soon most of her companions were dead. The survivors sought shelter in these very caves, but she left them with the last of their supplies to continue alone to the mountain’s peak. There, at the very top of the mountain, she finally succumbed to the cold- but she did not die. As she lay there in the snow, the life fading from her eyes, the Spirit of the Mountains appeared before her.”
“A spirit...” Vincent whispered to himself, a spark of interested flickering into his soul. None of the others heard him though, or saw the calculating, scheming glint that briefly glittered in the depths of his mismatched eyes before he stifled it.
“Drawn by her determination, her strength of will and courage, it bestowed its blessings upon her, making her the first of the High Priestesses. With its power, she returned to her surviving followers and carved out a new kingdom for them, here in this maze of tunnels. She ruled wisely for many years, establishing the foundations of our civilisation, and when she died she was succeeded by her first-born daughter, a white vixen who bore a grey slash across her forehead, the mark of the High Priestess which has since been passed down from generation to generation. It is through their power that we have continued to thrive.”
“And let me guess; now something… ‘unusual’… is happening, right?”
The Furriers looked at Vincent suspiciously, then resumed walking onward when he failed to react. As they travelled deeper into the tunnels, the light of the burning stone glittered from traceries and stalactites of ice that had somehow formed upon the walls and ceiling respectively. Vincent looked back towards Naith just in time to see her stare in fascination at one particular stalactite before she broke it off and began to suck on it like a piece of hard candy. He would have rolled his eyes in disbelief, but figured she probably needed the fluid and thus chose to ignore it. As they progressed, they began to see new Furriers, usually in pairs or small groups that were talking to each other or even huddling together for extra warmth- Naith had to fight to repress a giggle at the sight of one particularly fluffy pair, though she was unsure whether they were simply cuddling or doing something a bit more adult.
Finally, the group reached a particularly large and impressive-looking stone door. Vincent quirked an eyebrow at the sight, but went unnoticed as the wolfette simply voiced a peculiar bark that caused the door to slide sideways. What lay beyond was quite a sight, even to Vincent. The chamber was lit by several firestones, their mystical flames revealing the numerous illustrations painted onto the rock and embroidered onto tapestries, all of which prominently featured a white-furred vixen with a grey slash across her forehead- though the actual features differed from image to image. Vincent figured that they must be relics of previous High Priestesses, illustrations of particularly noteworthy events. He was so absorbed with the imagery that he failed to notice the chamber was actually occupied until his brain finally registered the sounds he was hearing. When he finally saw the source of the sounds, he quickly averted his eyes, though he failed to blush the way Naith was doing.
At the other end of the chamber, seated upon a throne-like mound of pillows and blankets, was a heavily gravid arctic fox well in the throes of labour, five female Furriers attending to her as she began to crown. Her mane-like mass of headfur had been woven into a series of braids set in a line that brought to mind the crest of some strange bird, each braid tipped with an ornamental pendant crafted from jewels or precious metals, and her tail had been treated in much the same manner. Her stomach and bosom, so swollen that they were readily visible through her mass of pure-white fur, which had apparently been shaven and were clearly slicked down from sweat, heaved as she grunted from the strain. Finally, the kit slipped free into the world, voicing a high-pitched yip as one of the attendant females gently severed the umbilical and placed it upon its mother’s teat.
“Perhaps we should come back at a more… appropriate time?” muttered Naith. The High Priestess evidently had sharp ears, for she shook her head and answered Naith’s rhetorical question, the pangs of labour apparently having left her for now even though she clearly still had more children to birth.
“I’m afraid that there won’t be a more appropriate time. Come in, and let us speak. You are the ones who seek to journey beyond Grey’s Peak?”
“That we are. We are told you could assist us… but I assume that you will need assistance from us first, correct?” answered Vincent in his normal plainspoken manner, prompting Naith to elbow him (rather painfully) in the ribs and whisper quickly to him.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to speak to her like that- the last thing we need is to have these folks mad at us.”
Vincent fixed his cold eyes upon the dragoness, only to be interrupted by a bark of laughter from the High Priestess.
“I am not so easy to offend as that. Besides, he speaks the truth, and we have no time for fancy- UGH!”
She grunted in sudden pain, her hands moving to cradle her belly as she arched her back. Before Vincent and Naith’s stunned eyes, her stomach began to swell, a faint creaking sound filling the air as it inflated. Naith couldn’t help but remember her experience with the impregnating fruit, but this growth spurt was both more even and evidently less painful than hers had been. In fact, as the High Priestess’s belly grew even larger, she moaned in ecstatic bliss. When it was perhaps twice the size it had been when they’d entered, it stopped growing, Sayla voicing a moan of mingled pain, pleasure, relief and disappointment as it did so. Coming out of her trance-like state, she gave it a reflexive caress before turning her head to a nearby attendant.
“Well? How many?”
The woman, some manner of mountain goat, swiftly moved forward and ran her hands over the fox’s belly, reflexively smoothing her dishevelled fur as she did.
“Another six, m’lady.”
Sayla looked as though she was holding back a groan as the attendant gently took the kit from its mother’s teat and quickly headed for a nearby curtain. As she brushed it aside and passed through it into the chamber beyond, Vincent and Naith caught a glimpse of a chamber filled with children of various ages and attendant nurses. Vincent gave it a particularly hard look before turning his attention back to Sayla.
“Allow me to guess; your pregnancy will not end, correct? You simply continue to produce children, irregardless of how many you give birth to?”
“You have the right of it. But how did you…?”
“Figure it out? Logic and deduction are skills of mine I have long honed, and you are not the first cursed individual we have encountered in our travels. We will assist you, if there is anyway that we can.”
Naith blinked- Vincent, actually volunteering to help of his own freewill? Had the world gone completely mad? She held her tongue though; this was neither the time nor the place to speak of such things. The Furriers and even Sayla looked at the duo with hope and gratitude in their eyes, the High Priestess speaking as quickly as she could as she felt her womb begin to clench again.
“May the Spirit bless you! I am sure that the cause of this lies with the Spirit of the Mountain; when I first fell pregnant, I felt my ties to it grow weaker, as though the Spirit had somehow been cut off from me. I can draw just enough energy to sustain this place, and myself, but I cannot call upon its power to free me from this hateful curse. You must descend into the mountain’s heart, for it is likely there that the Spirit has been bound- though I do not know what sort of dark magics could accomplish such a deed. My people have long been forbidden to go there, but you are outsiders and not of the faithful- it is not taboo for you.”
“How are we to find this place then?” asked Vincent. An attendant quickly disappeared into a second chamber and returned with a map-engraven bronze tablet, which she gave to Naith with a reverent movement. Sayla nodded at the attendant before speaking again.
“That map was fashioned by Adriana Herself; it will guide you to the Heart. Please, hurry! Deliver us from this scourge!”
Vincent inclined his head in a respectful manner whilst simultaneously clapping his right hand over his heart. He then whirled on his heel and departed the chamber, Naith fluttering her eyelids in confusion before hurrying to catch up. Vincent snatched the tablet from Naith’s hands as she drew level with him, eyeing it intensely whilst Naith eyed him suspiciously.
“What’s your game Vincent? You never volunteer to help anyone.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about- I have no ulterior motives.”
“Yeah right, and I have two heads.”
“Dark powers forbid- you eat enough with one head.”
Now Naith was really suspicious; first volunteering, now a lousy comeback? Just what was going through that shifty mind of his? Her concerns disappeared for the moment as Vincent led them over the border between the caverns where the Furriers dwelled and the uninhabited caves. The transition was readily obvious as they stepped from the heated, lighted caves into dark and frigid tunnels, the sudden blast of chill air (the darkness was easily countered) prompting Naith to shiver. Vincent didn’t even pause, his only acknowledgement of the inclement conditions the ghostly shroud of gray flames that flickered into being around him.
His mind seemed utterly focused on some unknown goal, the human was so distracted that he failed to notice the way his breath steamed into the air, realising the cold only when Naith’s teeth started to chatter. Even then he didn’t speak, instead simply reaching into his pocket and drawing something out. Naith’s eyes widened in shock as she realised what it was; a firestone! Gently holding it in front of his lips, he blew upon it softly, causing it first to glow like a newborn ember, then to slowly blossom into life. Once it was burning brightly, he passed it to Naith, who took it and eagerly bathed in its warmth before directing a suspicious gaze upon the human.
“Where and how did you get this?”
“Back in the High Priestess’s chamber- I figured she could spare one, especially seeing as how we’re helping her.”
“Okay, now how did you get it?”
“I have light fingers, let’s leave it at that…”
Naith couldn’t think of anything to say, especially since his quick-thinking had just saved her from a double-dose of frostbite, so she settled for simply warming up. Vincent waited for the dragoness to finish absorbing heat, and then resumed walking, Naith bringing up the rear. At first, Naith was on alert, the warmth emanating from the firestone clutched tightly in her fist ensuring her senses stayed in top shape, but eventually her guard dropped as she directed her attention towards her surroundings. The walls of stone were covered in smooth, delicate “growths” of ice, forming all manner of fantastic shapes and designs that sparkled and glittered in the light of Naith’s firestone. So entranced was she that she failed to recognize that Vincent had stopped moving until she ran into him. She opened her mouth, though whether to apologise or to berate even she didn’t know, only to feel the all-too-familiar grip of those preternaturally strong fingers closing upon her muzzle, silencing her again.
“Shhh…”
Other than that cautionary sound, a vocal symbol that meant “be silent” for human and dragon alike, Vincent spoke not a syllable as he released Naith as suddenly as he had seized her. Naith swallowed her indignation; she’d learned over the course of their travels together that Vincent was naturally sensitive to the presence of danger, and she wasn’t about to ignore his warning this time. Especially seeing as how she could hear something echoing faintly from the distance; a sort of chiming, chinking noise. She followed Vincent’s example and kept as still as possible as the source of the sound finally came into view.
It was a moving sculpture of crystal- no, not crystal, ice- a pair of hexagonal pyramids joined blunt end to blunt end, so that the razor-sharp points jutted skyward and groundward simultaneously. From the exact center of each face grew a long and wickedly barbed limb, vaguely reminiscent of an insect’s limb. The tips of each limb jutted towards the point of their respective pyramid, which meant that the creature would be able to walk upside down or right-side up and still have six limbs to deploy as weapons. It was perfectly transparent, enabling the two adventurers to easily see through it, and bore absolutely no signs of anything that could be considered organs- sensory or otherwise.
It halted a few steps away from the duo and swayed gently from side to side, with only their respective instincts saving them as it suddenly lunged forward, six upper-limbs scything for their throats. In her leap backwards, Naith accidentally dropped her firestone, which clattered across the floor to land roughly below the creature. It skipped backwards and swung two limbs downwards simultaneously, trying to impale the stone and forgetting about the two of them. And that was when Vincent struck, thrusting a hand out and voicing a sound like a ravenous bonfire he sent a plume of flame that reminded Naith uncomfortably a normal dragon’s breath weapon howling forwards to engulf the creature. The creature, despite lacking anything even resembling a mouth, managed to voice a sound like a mirror screaming as it shattered, literally disappearing in a great hiss of boiling water as smoke billowed. Then Naith realised it wasn’t smoke, but steam; the creature had literally evaporated without even having the time to melt first. The caverns were silent again as Naith reclaimed her firestone, then broke the silence.
“What the frozen hells was that?”
“An Paraelemental of Ice- a spirit-creature from the Demielemental Plane of Ice and Cold. They rarely manifest themselves in the physical world… then again, this is their idea of a perfect place to live. And where there’s one…”
Naith tensed as the sound from before repeated itself, this time in triplicate. She readied herself for battle as Vincent did the same, idly finishing his sentence as he did so.
“…There’s usually more.”
Sure enough, three more paraelementals emerged from the darkness with their eerie, musical sounds. Naith readied herself for battle, but quickly found she needn’t have bothered.
“I draw upon the breath of stars, to scorch the sky with fiery scars!”
With those words the tunnel was engulfed in a writhing sea of flames, the screaming, shattering noise of the paraelementals competing with the “hiss” of steam. As the flames vanished as quickly as they had come, clouds of steam drifted upwards to the ceiling, the water coalescing back into liquid form only to freeze instants later, forming a wall of ice that closed off the passageway. Naith turned to Vincent with a wounded expression.
“You could have let me do something!”
“We don’t have the time for you to play. Just make a door so we can get out of here.”
She sniffed indignantly, but smashed the ice-wall into debris, enabling the two of them to keep going.
Time seemed to fugue after that incident; the two were positive that they had descended deep into the depths of the mountains, yet the time since their battle with the paraelementals was so short that should have been impossible. When Naith commented on how they seemed to have gotten so far in such a short time, Vincent had chalked it up to powerful magic and having no reason to disbelieve him the dragoness had fallen silent. Finally, the tunnel they had been following gave way to a massive dome-shaped cavern, and both Vincent and Naith stopped still at what they found.
Much like in Sayla’s chambers the walls and even the ceiling of this cavern were engraven with all manner of clearly religious imagery, though now it was all but obscured beneath layers of ice. Statues and what were presumably the remains of offerings lay encased beneath mounds of snow and frost, but it was not these that drew the attention of the sorcerer and the dragoness. At the furthest end of the chamber stood a great pillar, seemingly growing from the very rock, and atop that throne-high pillar stood a massive block of ice. To Vincent’s eyes, it practically pulsated with mystical energy, and both he and Naith could faintly make out a form encased within the cloudy substance. They would have gone for a closer examination… if not for the fact that they had some other business to take care of first.
The chamber had another occupant; what Vincent instinctively knew to be a very powerful form of Ice Golem. It was a towering, roughly humanoid figure; Vincent estimated it to be about twenty feet tall. Its legs were little more than twin pillars of ice, leading up towards to an impossibly thin and flat torso. From that sprouted a heavy chest, a definite if inhuman musculature depicted by the enchanted ice of which it was composed. Its upper arms were ridiculously scrawny, especially considering the fact that they gave way directly to a set of massive wrists that were at least three times their thickness. A squat, bestial head sprouted directly from its shoulders with no need for a neck, a mane of spikes bristling down its back. It threw back its head and roared like a feral beast before dropping to all fours and charging.
Vincent and Naith easily separated, dodging to either side to allow the ape-like mass of ice to barrel past them. It wheeled, talons shrieking against the stone as it arrested itself. Naith clapped her hands over her earholes in agony, and as she did the creature straightened itself. It thrust forward a malformed limb in Naith’s direction, causing a brilliant, ring-encircled beam of silvery light to blast forth. The mystical bolt would have struck the dragoness square in the chest had not Vincent shoved her out of the way first. Naith shot him a grateful look, especially after seeing the jagged wall of icicles that had sprouted in the shadow of the beam, but there was no time for talk as the beast hurled itself at them.
Vincent’s Fluxblast bounced off the golem’s skull, barely swaying the construct but distracting it long enough for Naith to slam into it in a powerful tackle. She tried to make a second attack, but the golem reacted too fast. It was all she could do to roll with the blow as it caught her and sent her tumbling across the floor. Vincent paid no attention to her plight, instead simply chanting the invocation to his Fireblast spell. But an Ice Golem is a far more powerful creature than an Ice Paraelemental, and the spell didn’t destroy it. What it did accomplish, however, was to cause the golem’s outermost layer to “run” and then freeze solid, effectively gluing the creature to the floor and semi-paralysing it. Vincent smirked as he partially turned towards Naith.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Blast it!”
Naith hesitated for a split-second, and then unleashed a sonic beam that struck the golem in its chest and blew a hole the size of a cartwheel through its torso. There was a disbelieving howl of rage and fury as the golem first became riddled with cracks and then shattered into pieces, which themselves dissolved into water before refreezing as a single lump. Naith and Vincent eyed it warily, ready for any possible surprise resurrection, but the ice knot didn’t stir and their attention was instead drawn to the column by the sound of ice shattering. As they watched, the great ice block broke into thousands of tiny shards, tinkling gently to the ground as a figure became apparent amidst the ice fragments.
This was undoubtedly the Spirit of the Mountain. He was a magnificent figure, tall and radiating an aura of power and majesty. In form he resembled a handsome blue-furred buck with snow-white eyes, his antlers adorned with amulets reminiscent of those worn by Sayla. His countenance bore an expression of beatific serenity, and frost-laden mists danced about his form, serving as clothing. Naith was frozen- she couldn’t think of anything to say or do. And then Vincent stepped forward, gave the entity a cursory nod, and began to speak in a language Naith had never heard before; an eerie, beautiful language that reminded her of music. The Spirit looked surprised, though not unpleasantly so, before answering in the same tongue. The sorcerer and the spirit conversed in their private language for several minutes, before the entity nodded its head and stepped forward to place one hand upon Vincent’s chest.
A sudden explosion of frigid winds and an eerie cold light suddenly erupted from the two, forcing Naith to turn away and shield herself. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the winds and light disappeared- as had the Spirit, when Naith turned to look. Vincent inclined his head respectively, and then turned to face her.
“Come on; let’s get out of here.”
“What? But!”
“Sayla has been cured; though she still bears four pups in her belly, she will soon deliver them. And I have received something far more valuable than anything she could have given us.”
Naith opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it silently. When this sort of thing happened, there was no point talking to Vincent. As the two headed out of the chamber and down another tunnel, presumably deeper into the caverns, Naith couldn’t help but notice that Vincent’s breath steamed into the air, even in the circle of heat generated by the firestone. Or that the flames seemed to die a little in his presence.
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