Reverse Entropy: Chapter 1

The Beginning

<Disclaimer> This is a wholly original work, so I shouldn’t be violating any copyrights. If you’d like to use the characters, please ask.

Author Note: I’ve always wondered about the poor grunts that are always present in the lower and upper level echelons of any evil empire in the ‘hero’ tales. In the Lord of the Ring series the orcs and Ring-wraiths (Nazgul), in D&D the hobgoblins and gnolls, and the Nightmares of Xanth. You know, those tiny evil creatures that lurk on the edges to provide an ominous background for the big evil. I wonder about whether or not they have any feelings, or if they are just as much trapped by such an evil system as the hero’s who fight for independence. Then there is something just so ironic as an evil creature attempting to better itself, either by becoming good or by moving up the food chain. It’s probably the preference I have for anything slightly evil coming through. So when one day I was sitting sketching and drew a strange creature, and a companion for her, then made up a scene for her. This must have been months, if not years ago, I’m glad I wrote a tiny piece of it down. I came across the sketches while cleaning my room this past week (a rare occurrence) and so decided to actually write out the entire story. This is the first act. Um, if you have any interest the sketches are at http://www.geocities.com/rommalb22/ if you’d like to see them, but it’s not necessary for understanding the story.

Oh yeah, double spaces are time passes, and changes in perspective; they can overlap in time just as a warning.

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            Don’t believe the people who tell you that the light is always better than the dark. There are some things the light shuns that are better left to the imagination. It is one thing to be left in the darkness with your nightmares, at least they are your own; it is something completely different to be trapped in the light by someone else’s. This is the home of some of those nightmares. The light in this place is cursed, because it allows you to see far too clearly the horrors that surround you. Even light can be twisted to evil purposes and intent. This light alternates between a sickly fungal green to the dark brooding orange of flames. The one good thing that can be said about it is that is an unsteady source and not everything is illuminated, for which we are thankful.

            The place is a dark cavern, long and craggy, encrusted with dripping chains. Miles of them drape the walls and hang aimlessly from the ceiling, serving as channels and roosts for dripping sewage. Some of the chains support platforms, catwalks and walls on the floor below. Others support things that are best left to the darkness we mentioned before. The noise is like a dull ache in the back of your ear. The screams, whispers and malicious cries reverberate, gain strength, and attack from behind. Think the entire population of the local mental ward stuck in your high school gym, that’s close enough to it.

            The occasional scream manages to rip through the air. All it does is rouse and attract the batwings, but we haven’t gotten there yet. Things fly, flapping heavily in the noxious air. Most have batwings of various sizes; others trail tiny puffs of smoke. Yet more have no visible form of locomotion, they just drift like hideous living clouds, gleefully observing the chaos and torment below. Like flies on meat, they congregate around the screaming. Whether they are watching delighted or feeding somehow we thankfully do not know.

            Along the walls of the cavern tunnels gape, some are small, some large. All have things flowing, flying and crawling from them. From a small under populated darkness near the roof of the cavern a single speck is spit out of the opening. Skinny, bat winged and covered with soot it flies with determination, lugging long tubes of thick parchment downwards, aiming for a silent spot amid the chaos on the floor of the cavern.

< I hate this place. I hate, hate, hate it. I wonder what Outside looks like… Wish I wasn’t me. Wonder what it would be like living Outside… Life as a cow. Grass, must taste yummy. A chicken, could picture myself as a chicken. Fat dumb and happy, sitting peaceful and alone in my own roost. Not flying constantly, doing research and fetching maps for things that drip and slide. They’re nasty. And evil of course, but there is no need to be petty. I hate them too. All of them. The creepies that smile at me, the creepies that watch, the creepies that try to talk to me, the creepies that pet me on the head, and the creepies that look at me like I’m something to eat. I guess evil is relative. Good is just the lesser evil. Here who is the least evil? Aside from the hero’s in the dungeon being tortured of course…> The sooty speck shudders, her wings twitch and she swerves to the side to avoid a clump of chains and the giggling things clinging to them. < Someone quiet. Someone who doesn’t care. Him. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look, just watches the middle distance like a zombie. I suppose that’s reasonable considering what he is. I wonder what he, it, thinks he’s seeing there? Scratch that question. I don’t want to know what ghouls think or see, even mild nice ones like Justrad. He gets to just stand there looking impressive. A greater, he might even have been Outside. Nearly there, nearly over. I can see him and the lesser guarding the Door. Dodge this next group of chains and…>

Heavily muscled legs coil and bunch as talons impact a small twelve-foot platform attached to a wall, half suspended by chains from above. Two ghouls stand on either side of a door going into the wall of the cavern. Beneath the bones muscles twist and rot, animated by some dark magic. Eyes glow out of darkness, flipping and assessing the invader, then dismissing the messenger as a non-threat.

<Boredom. Nice. Hm, here’s that fellmas back. Klyznix. She’s still covered in soot. Probably does it on purpose. Disguise, camouflage. Stop throwing dust in the air, stop flapping. What’s she got? Maps. Another village to be targeted. Refused to convert, refused to bow and pay. It’s a pity. A waste. >

The Door opens. It’s a normal sized door. Wooden. Rectangular. Round brass handle. Out of place in the unfinished surroundings. The fact that it has been soaked in blood does nothing to neutralize its oddity in the general scheme and theme of the cavern. The person who opened the door is in the same style. An ordinary looking middle-aged man, twisted in a strange unnamable fashion. The blood that he soaked in has seeped all the way to the bone. Yet the form, the marrow is unchanged. He assesses those outside his door.

< Two ghoul warriors: one lesser, one greater. The greater is strange. Typical in all aspects but the eyes. Fleshed skeleton with ridged bone armor and glowing eyes. The eyes are green, not red, and too smart, they see too much. One lesser fell messenger, what’s she doing… oh yes. I sent for maps. She’s the usual bit; batwings, soot, and glowing golden eyes. That one feels odd too… what? The eyes again, far too smart, clever, almost good… This place must be genius central, something in the water. Usually everything is dumb as a post and cruel to boot. >

The man shakes himself out of his reverie. His eyes take a last dart around the platform outside his door. The three figures there are motionless, watching him. He looks at the fellmas, smiles at her. < I can almost hear my face cracking. > The messenger takes a few steps back nervously. “Have you got something for me dearie?” The soot covered form takes a few hesitant steps forward and offers the rolls of parchment she had clasped under one thin arm. “The maps I asked for?” A nod is the only response. The man takes the rolls from her, still smiling. “Good, remain here my child. I might have a… quest, for you later.” The fell can only respond by a widening of her eyes. He smiles again, attempting to be reassuring but only succeeding in causing her to recoil. Giving up he glances as the greater ghoul standing to the left of the doorway then retreats back into his chamber closing the door softly behind him.

I blink at the closed door, confused. “What the hell was that? He must be crazy…” I mutter softly to myself.

“Not yet.”

< What? Is… is Justrad talking?! > “What?” < Why talk? Why now? Why me? > I blink at him, startled.

“He’s not insane yet. Still clinging to sanity by his claws.” He glances at me from beneath his bone helm; his green eyes are creepy, even for here. “Fingernails I should say,” he amends.

“Oh.” < Go me, real smooth. He didn’t answer anything, but then why should he? >

“You better stick around. Could be interesting.”

“Riiight,” I drawl out the word. < I must be in shock Hallucinating. Ghouls don’t talk. Especially greater ghoul warriors. Human madmen who enlist themselves in the service of the Mountain don’t give out quests. Lesser fellmas don’t accept quests. It’s unthought of. It must be a trick, a game the higher-ups are playing. An obedience test. > I’ve retreated to the edge of the platform now, the corner. I peek at Justrad and the lesser where they stand at the Door. The lesser shifts uneasily. Justrad turns his head slightly and the lesser stiffens and straightens, returning to motionlessness. As his eyes track back to center they flick over me before returning to middle space. < Then again, as he said, it could be interesting. >