Chapter 8 - Saga 2, The Quest for Lady Tornhawk
DarkGuardian sat with his back solidly against the ebony wall, unsure of his location given the recent few minutes of terrified dashing down the blackened halls. His breathing was heavy, yet he tried to keep it silent as to not attract further attention from the lurking predators.
He recalled the entrance to the gigantic castle, when the Fellowship was whole, all in one core group except JWalker and DarkKnightZach on an exterior excursion. The valiant bunch entered with heavy souls, under a weight that bore on them more heavily every advancing second. The atmosphere changed, the surrounding aura only growing gloomier and utterly despairing.
He remembered the gates closing behind them, torches snuffing themselves out, a shadow passing over the group as some screamed and others froze. A presence passed through the room and separated the adventurers, their fates uncertain.
He shook his head, unable to remember much more, the moment so fleeting, so dark, so horrible in its execution. He rubbed his throbbing arm, having bumped into something during his mad dash. Or was he attacked and wounded? Either way, here he sat, alive, thankful, further unsure.
How they’d get out of this, how they’d survive, how they’d find Tornhawk, he could not know. Only that the other members of the party were apart, perhaps each alone, perhaps already fallen.
His bulky frame jumped and ears singed as he heard a great clattering down the massive hall, a terrible echoing metallic mess of a noise fleeting through the corridors with madness.
He drew his axe, wondering how he didn’t manage to do it earlier.
He furrowed his brow and listened intently, realizing that while he was not breathing, he still heard breath.
It was growing louder, warmer, more familiar by the second.
*
Advocate_of_Lycanthrope fell down a narrow flight of stairs, fortunately a short distance. He rubbed his head and groaned, suddenly severely frightened at the realization that he had no penguins near. What was AOL without penguins? Absolutely nothing, that’s what. A useless, pathetic, worthless, wretched being.
The guy sucks. Period.
He wrapped his mind around this concept, wallowing in his own worthlessness.
Before too long, he was rolling on the ground, limbs flailing as if no longer under control, face contorted in an expression of pure unadulterated agony, chest heaving with the sobs of a thousand sullen souls.
A nearby mercenary assassin was about to lodge an arrow through his skull, but was touched by the incomprehensibly sad display. She herself became despondent and leapt forth to join him in the hopeless action.
Soon the two were bawling in unison, each in a maniacal depression of epic proportions.
*
CardinalFang sped off like mad, screaming his butt-ugly head off as his hairy, sweaty, bleeding, urine-soaked heels neatly squish-plop-thudded across the smooth floor until he BAM! hit a wall.
The impact broke his already twisted-beyond-comprehension nose as he hit the cold surface face-first, bouncing right off and crashing to the ground, lip curled in a painful sneer even as murky red life fluid slid down its surface.
He quickly gathered himself to his feet, getting up and trying to decipher his bearings. It’d appear that-
A great vicious slobbering beast surely no father than twelve feet away suddenly began barking and growling, CFang hurriedly escaping its jaws and madly dashing about, navigating by smell and the occasional dim torchlight piercing a crack in an adjacent wall.
Before long he believed he’d lost the creature, but just in case, he gathered some of his handy crud and formed it into a small ball. He tried it out on a rat in the corner, winding up for a fierce throw only to whip the projectile forward and miss the rodent completely, the vile biological byproduct splattering everywhere, the horrified rat skittering off to destinations unknown.
The orcish imp was in hot pursuit, preparing another ball of crud and throwing it.
Amazingly, he nailed the pesky critter this time, the oozing ball exploding upon impact as the rat immediately violently vomited and turned onto its back, eyes rolling into its brain, lungs filling with noxious vapors and nerves shattered while its very blood began pooling on its skin’s surface.
Fang grinned, preparing a few more crud clumps and confidently striding forward in search of the Lady.
*
Drexlin whimpered in the bottom of the pit he’d fallen into, a well-disguised trap.
“I’m just a bartender, the guy who, who does the drinks… that’s all… drinks… what am I doing here?!?”
He continued whimpering for what seemed like an hour before he realized he was alive. Alive. Weren’t pit traps supposed to kill people? Apparently this pit trap was merely that, a trap, to keep him here until some denizen of this keep came and dealt with him as was to his purpose.
He sighed and figured that denizen may not come for a long while.
Drex tried passing the time in various boring manners until he figured he should do something useful, and began unloading his pack to do an inventory. His pack was enchanted, able to hold much more than it appeared, and it was evident that this may be a while.
He wondered how the others were doing, and if he could concoct a clever way to exit this pit.
*
Acid_Flux kept rapidly firing rounds as the being kept howling in what he hoped was a sound of wounded flesh, and the hope was soon confirmed as the slimy monster hit the floor, already a cold corpse, various tiny shafts sticking out at random points.
Acid_Flux slowed his breathing, reloading his miniature crossbows and advancing through the writhing corridors of the ill-boding fortress. Anything that moved, he shot. Anything that shot, he moved. He was in BadAcid mode, his mind a reddened haze of bloodlust as he popped a few bolts through a reptilian chest, the lizard’s spear dropping to the ground with a wooden knocking.
He ran forward, eager now, padding his body to check how much ammo he had left. The answer was more than plenty, by his reckoning. A sniffling noser rose up in front of him, about to unleash a flurry of melee strikes but Flux’s reflexes were too fast as his sidearms rose to level and his well-honed hands rapidly let loose a volley of arrows, ripping the monstrosity to crimson shreds.
An armored guard appeared, sword at ready, but BadAcid merely took a second to fire a tip through his face, a gap in the helm. The guard shrieked for the briefest of seconds before crumpling to the ground in a tin heap.
AcidFlux smiled and advanced further, climbing a ladder, reaching the top and taking out a trio of axe-wielding ork guards. He hastily got up the landing and made a random turn, entering a well-lit room, torches abounding around a long table. The opening he’d entered from suddenly shut, a giant wooden flap clapping down from above.
Another exit was behind the other end of the table, but before Acid could move towards it he was greeted by cackling, a malicious laughter that could only be derived from a crazed jester.
TheJeepo descended to the table from a rope now dangling from the ceiling. He drew a dagger, laughing all the while. Acid_Flux grit his teeth, recognizing the adversary but thoroughly surprised at his appearance in these parts.
The jester through off his cap, somehow completely metamorphosing into a different persona, much more serious, much more competitive. He drew a second dagger, now sporting a pair of black knives, and stopped laughing.
“Let’s just assume you’re a moron, shall we?”
Jeepo flew toward Acid who ducked, then spectacularly somersaulted onto the table, cooking off a few rounds before TheJeepo could fully recover from the landing. However, the former grand jester was far too agile, dodging each projectile with ease. The malevolent being smiled, and Acid realized he didn’t have a chance, as TheJeepo could keep dancing around the room in his transparent manner, avoiding every shot, and as soon as they were close those daggers would end in a slit throat.
So Acid ran out the available exit.
TheJeepo frowned, not expecting such an anticlimactic conclusion to the duel.
He then also realized that he relied on confrontation to survive, and without some form of controversy he was nothing. With this thought, he climbed back up the rope to his hidden enclave with a bitter sigh.
*
Ter-Soth awoke, after a period of unconsciousness of a length he could only wildly estimate. He blinked a few times, considering the possibility that he’d awaken in the afterlife. This seemed a definite possibility, considering the features of his current locale.
The room he was in seemed perfectly round, perhaps a half dozen yards in diameter. He turned his gaze skyward, only to squint at the light above. The light was not bright, no, he was merely not yet used to staring at the very source, a tiny beacon of radiance at what seemed like a considerable distance.
He stood in awe at the sheer height of the room, and what liberties must’ve been taken in the construction of this castle to include such wonders as this. He checked his surroundings, finding the overwhelming walls featureless, and a dismal gray in color in accordance with their source of light. The room was dim, and shadows crept along his peripheral vision, teasing his assumptions of reality.
A chill ran down his spine as a breeze then swept through the quarters, a draft, a musty thing of ancient bitter cold. The air passed over his ears, whistling, receding, crying out in the cavities of his perception. He surrendered to the stony floor, falling to the ground, face-up, staring at what was perhaps his only sign of hope.
The wind picked up, now hoarsely blowing through the cylindrical room, and the chill at his spine returned as he began to verily understand the wind, a voice within it, a raspy voice of doom and decay. It spoke to him, personally, reciting “So you are Ter-Soth, the boy scout, the one who cannot be harmed, the survivor of battles and pranks, the ditch-digger, bane of Archer and seeker of Tornhawk.”
The air soon formed a whirlwind, aptly suited for the sparse environment, the voice now bellowing, angrily, the voice rising into a deadly crescendo, the boy scout cowering against the wall, shuddering, cringing, a single tear cascading down his boyish face. He felt as though he were in a nightmare, one that would scar him for eternity.
“Survivor of peril! Seeker of Tornhawk!”
The voice shouted like thunder, coursing through a whirlwind now a mere conduit, a rippling and echoing and lengthening and dreadful sound only rising in volume, rising, much to Ter-Soth’s dismay as he surrendered again, choosing a fetal position on the cell ground, hoping he’d soon be dead if he weren’t already. His teeth chattered, the hair on his arms stood to attention, his knees knocked and his eyes slammed shut as if to say no more, please, no more…
“The one who cannot be harmed!”
The great atmospheric maelstrom seemed to slow down, if only a bit, and almost go completely silent. The effect wasn’t helpful or calming at all, only adding to the anxiety, the calamity, the imminence. Then a slight chuckle and the voice returned, standing out now against the bleakness.
“We’ll see about that.”
The wind began to tighten, to become more dense, and actually became visible, a frothy white against the gray, an insane laughter shaking the floor, the air taking form along with the voice, a being emerging through the elements, a scourge, a plague, a devourer of spirit and nemesis of life itself.
Ter-Soth clenched every muscle in his body, anticipating, dreading, growing deaf and blind and dumb, soon, unsure whether he hoped or expected, but to be a shallow husk of his former self, a numb shell left to rot for eternity in his own chamber in Hades…
*
Stormcrow finished the climb up craggy interior walling, easing his slender elven frame through a thin crevice. Once through, he fell onto new ground, carpeted. This hall was marvelous, decorated, well-lit. A welcome distinction from the previous setting, marred by dimness and further made unsavory by the characters within.
He squinted, unable to fathom the end of this extraordinary hall. He slowly walked forward, taking notice of every change in the corridor, the torch flames dancing, the tables unmoving, various battle gear strewn about, glinting in the light.
He stopped, noticing a being approaching from the far end. The bogey rose above the ground, now floating, a simple phantom gliding towards our elf.
Strormcrow calmly but quickly drew an arrow, also withdrawing a dagger. He examined his fine bolt, reading the lettering running along its shaft, analyzing the code. With the dagger he carved, slightly adjusting the text. Satisfied, he readied the shot, letting it fly to the advancing wraith growing nearer.
The coded arrow tore through the still air, its existence rippling through several planes of existence. The spirit began to wail, its lower jaw detaching, maw agape and elongating in a sinister expression, its soulless eyes widening, its fluttering self stiffening for the impact.
And what an impact it was, for the arrow was indeed coded correctly. Piercing ethereal flesh, it then exploded, tearing the ghost into miniscule patches of its former being, its death cry reverberating through its former home.
Strormcrow smiled, keeping a keen grip on the dagger and moving forward.
*
YOYOY’s heart froze and vision vanished as his body experienced a searing pain, even if for only a glimmer of time. He then fell to the ground from a decent height, but landing in a bed. The mattress was significant cushion for the fall, but being in a bedroom only further enraptured YOYOY’s already captured mind.
He hesitatingly sat up, fingers caressing the blanket beneath him, still warm. He scanned the room, finding nothing threatening. Even the smell was pleasant, a faint cedar scent, from the fine wooden articles around.
Among the sparse objects was a desk and chair in the corner, atop the desk’s surface perched a quill and several scrolls, all blank. YOYOY found this odd, examining them to be sure, and finding a microscopic rune upon the quill. He searched for an ink well, only to guess that the rune allowed no need for such.
He sat, feeling compelled to write, his mind further slipping from his grasp. He took the quill between his fingers and pondered what to scribe.
Soon the very subject didn’t matter, only to write, to furiously scrawl whatever came to mind from the bowels of his imaginaton… his mind was now completely out of his grasp, blotched and sullied against the backdrop of artistic desire, an all-consuming fire threatening to destroy any trace of persona he had.
*
JWalker continued his monumental trek around the keep, time now passing in a haze, left wondering if he should enter the castle at all. DarkKnightZach had left him already, finding a slit of a window to get in by. Since then, JWalker had continued the mindless march, searching for a suitable entrance that may not exist at all.
As if on cue to his thoughts, he noticed a gaping gap in the wall ahead. An extremely large hole, jagged edged in the construction, as if created by an explosion. A battle had taken place here, and this had been the threshold.
He eased the throttle back, the mech coming to a stop directly facing the entryway. He noticed no activity nearby, not in the visible portion of the castle interior, not in the skies or earth. JWalker figured this was the best chance he’d get, and nudged the throttle forward.
The arcane mech lumbered forward, fitting within the chamber, JWalker hoping it’d continue this trend. He’d hate to discover that the whole structure was built with dwarven frames in mind. But so far, it seemed fortunate, cathedral ceilings and grandiose decor all around. Luxurious, vast, surely awe-inspiring if it weren’t for the dread air of terror sifting through every cubic inch of the place.
A large man walked past the opening in front of JWalker, stopping to turn toward the looming intruder. “Who goes there?” The mech jockey, still in his haze, decided to try out some weaponry. He flipped a switch, gripping a joystick as a rolled scroll above him rotated to now say AutoBow.
He squeezed the trigger, a precision instrument he still wondered how Sorscha1 managed, and was elated at the sight and sound of the man being rapidly punctured by several bolts, dead in seconds. The AutoBow worked, at least, like a dozen crossbows wielded by a many-armed warrior with exemplary reflexes.
JWalker carefully advanced his technomantic miracle through the opening and decided to turn left, finding a normal door. Not being able to fit, he decided to try a different weapon, switching to Fireball.
He hoped his aim was good enough, and so it was, for forward leapt a blazing orb that crashed against the structural area above the door, inferno powerfully exploding from point-black range, the stone now cracked and singed. JWalker nodded, impressed. He hadn’t expected the fireball to fully decimate, of course, but this much damage would do. At this, he punched the throttle forward, hoping the mech’s blackiron frame would hold.
And that it did, for he crashed straight through the now-damaged barrier, stumbling into a room full of goblins.
JWalker sneered, clicking over to Lightning.
*
Drexlin sighed, having counted every single object on his person. Hundreds of liquids, infinite mugs, thousands of various random instruments of an origin he’d long forgotten. One of these was a Hard Rock Café Anything t-shirt that surely no longer fit. Another was a half-eaten jelly donut, this he threw out of his pit.
He watched the doughy foodstuff sail through the air and land out of sight. He squinted, thinking he’d noticed something about this hole he was in. He guessed that the top of his prison lay nearly five feet above, the edge of the drop, his hope for climbing out.
He then looked about, and realized he had enough miscellaneous crap to build a structure tall enough to ease his climbing out. He stood up and began building something for the upward journey, only to notice that now that he was standing, the edge was much closer, only a few feet above eye level now.
He raised an eyebrow, then an arm. A jump, and he had grasped the edge, and was soon out.
Upon exiting the pit he looked down into it, realizing that it was never all that tall to begin with. He shrugged, thinking himself extremely fortunate until a mighty warrior grabbed him and tucked him under an armored arm like a football as the giant figure ran.
*
DarkKnightZach plodded forward, eyes squinted, speaking in a low husky voice, heavily armed, looking to all the world like a seasoned action movie hero, complete with various grit spattered about his face.
He kicked a door open in impressive fashion, only to find a blank room. Well, except for the man standing in the middle of it, grinning. He was obviously a Merc general, Lund by the looks of it. Had a huge mouth, not much in the way of brains. An annoying little runt.
In fact, while I’d love to recount the incredible duel that surely followed, actually, it was a one-sided romp as Zach ripped him to shreds. General-Lund was no more, his carcass barely recognizable.
Though, there was this really cool part where DKZ gouged Lund’s eyes out with a rusty scimitar, and as the debilitated general fumbled about, he’d occasionally poke or slash him with the blade. After a while, and much loss of blood, the General slowed, falling to his knees, dozens of deep gashes gleefully spurting beautiful crimson blood.
Then Zach really had some fun, as adrenaline started flowing, fueled by hatred and annoyance and such. I mean, Zach was already practically superhuman, even as far as deverenian knights go, but when he ripped Lund’s arm off, armor and all, then proceeded to rudely shove it down his throbbing throat, as the punk settled for deathly gurgling as it went down…
I was impressed.
*
YOYOY sat and wrote still, scribing such things as “Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways? Oh, another question for you…”
*
DarkGuardian passed into yet another convenient grand hall, now convinced that this castle had an unending supply. At the other end stood a dwarf. Not just any dwarf, but a dwarf that looked exactly like him, down to the grass stain on his left shin. The dwarf smiled and inquired “Are you DarkGuardian?” DG replied “Yes, and you?”
“LightGuardian.” The dwarf smiled and drew his axe, a huge thing that caused DarkGuardian to gulp.
Have you ever seen an axe duel? It’s pretty cool. DarkGuardian ended up winning this one after a long, hard skirmish.
You should’ve seen it, it was great.
*
YOYOY’s mind snapped as he began to write a story, a twisting tale of adventurers in a black castle, he wrote of valor and fear, of extreme circumstances and even less believable coincidences. He laughed as he came up with brilliant ideas for future plot developments, and cackled at the sheer fiendishness of bits of it.
All the while though, he felt hot breath down his back, as if a troglodyte king were behind him, not allowing him to stop writing, not even for a moment.
*
Acid_Flux reloaded and ran forward through the gate, entering a high-altitude courtyard. He would never be sure how many miles he racked up within the black castle, but he was sure it was many, for now he was thousands of feet up, and outdoors, exposed to the elements.
He walked, slowly, over to a fence. He then realized he was at the edge of the great fortress, and now had an absolutely spectacular view. From this vantage point, he could see for hundreds of miles, he could see towns, trees, structures, clouds, mountains in the distance.
He took in a deep sigh, allowing himself a moment of rest. He reflected upon many things, pondering deep matters within his heart, relating to the Fellowship, the Lady, Todd, and Anything in general.
He closed his eyes and imagined it all, solidified the concepts, focused and delved deeper into his soul than he ever had before. Soon, satisfied, he re-entered the castle, refreshed, relaxed, ready.
Soon he was tested for it. Ahead of him was a group of blackstone gargoyles, red eyes ablaze in hunger.
He let out a breath, leaving his nervousness to the still air around him as he drew his pistols and started firing, cool, collected. The bolts whizzed through the room as if in slow motion, one of them piercing a garg in the eye, ripping through the weak flesh and into its brain, the blackened creature falling to the ground in a heap. Mostly the bolts were completely ineffective, glancing off their rock hide, but Acid would not be dismayed, rapidly backpedaling as the malicious beings advanced.
Then a hulk of a warrior entered the room, a massive knight with a radiant sword who immediately began cleaving the gargoyles limb from limb. The warrior was armored finely and fully, though seemingly not needing the protection as the blackstones never scored a wound.
The parries and twirls were incredible, as if honed by decades of battle-hardened experience. The warrior pivoted on a heel and spun, decapitating two gargoyles behind, Acid_Flux left wondering how this avatar of a fighter knew the adversaries were even there.
The warrior’s steps were light, precise, sliding to the left, just within reach of the latest victim. The number of foes grew as the nasty rock monsters began crawling in from adjacent rooms, even from the ceiling, as if a horde had been awoken from the hive.
The warrior didn’t break a sweat even as the shimmer sword sung through the air, whistling the doom of a legion of foolish enemies. Fanged gargs leapt through the air, only to be halved and quartered, every stroke so rapid you barely noticed it, only realizing it because of the resulting carnage.
Acid_Flux was soon overwhelmed in awe and admiration, sitting in the corner, stunned. The blackstone gargoyles didn’t bother him, as they were more concerned with the whirlwind of destruction dancing about the quarters. The NoThRoG shook his head, now noticing that all the while the warrior was carrying a burden by his side.
Soon it was over, scores of stony corpses about the room. Acid cringed, wondering if he was next. He then gave a frown as he realized that Drexlin was the burden. Drex, the elf-dwarf, cradled under the warrior’s arm.
“Which one is this?” the warrior inquired to the barkeep, a strangely beautiful voice. “Th- That’s Acid_Flux.”
“Who are you?” the eager NoThRoG sputtered. The warrior grinned, even as his face was fully hidden under a full helm. The helm was promptly removed, revealing gorgeous locks and feminine features and all Acid could think was holy crap it’s a chick…
“Lady Tornhawk.”
Acid_Flux pulled a double-take. “Uh, er, I… I’m here to rescue you.” The femme fatale rolled her eyes. “That’s really sweet, but I know Todd just sent you after me. Fact is, I can take care of myself, thanks. I found what I was looking for anyway.” She grinned. “Looks like I’m the rescuer now. Come on, let’s get the others and I’ll show you a way out.”
Acid_Fux shrugged and followed.
Drex wriggled and whined. “You know, I can walk on my own…”
*
Stormcrow stopped in his tracks, grip tightening on his dagger. His elven eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air and growled, spelling deverenian and in no mood to let previous quarrels subside while he had a chance at doing this without the others interrupting.
*
CardinalFang chucked another fistful of filth at the golem, grimly finding that it had little effect. He turned to run, only to bump into a hulking warrior, the impact sending him sprawling to the ground. A sword rose to kill CFang, before Acid_Flux cried “No! He’s one of ours! Get the golem!”
“What, this?” Tornhawk indicated the wretched imp on the ground, weeping stagnant tears and wetting himself with grayish urine. “Yeah, that’s CardinalFang, one of ours, yes, can I get down now?!?” Drexlin exclaimed.
The Lady shrugged and proceeded to stab the golem in the chest and twisting her blade, causing the monster’s frame to shatter.
*
Somewhere, sometime, Lady Tornhawk found TheFurryWhiteHamsterOfDoo and utterly killed it with utmost killage. She was afraid at first, knowing that TheFurryWhiteHamsterOfDoom was no small fry to mess around with. However, this was not a creature of Doom, merely of Doo, apparently because an early scribe had trouble with such a long title. So she found the task quite easy, thinking she couldn’t have killed him any better than she did, not even with an electric killing machine set on maximum kill in a bonus kill zone reflected off a carnival mirror under a magnifying glass. Or something.
Anyway, she killed him real good.
*
JWalker was easy to find, having completely leveled a few cubic miles of castle. You could say he was learning to love his new mech.
In his destructive rage he even tried to kill Tornhawk before ascertaining her identity. However, every bolt his AutoBow fired was either dodged or slashed aside as the Lady bravely ran toward the hulking piece of weaponry.
Even when he switched to Lightning again, she deflected the energy bolts with her blade like she was some kind of Jedi master.
Soon she had somehow managed to climb up the mech and perch atop the ****pit, threatening to slice her way in and cleave JWalker into puppy chow. JWalker got the message and stopped, soon understanding what was going on.
“What kind of tracking equipment does this thing have? Wouldn’t happen to have a heartbeat monitor, would it?”
*
JWalker took yet another wall down and trudged through, the tiny beings below him coughing on the resulting dust. Ahead were Stormcrow and DarkKnightZach engaged in a duel to the death. Daggers sparked against each other, bodies flew lightly about the room, feet bounded off walls, fists swooped, heels spun, all in a virtual concerto of pure dueling expertise.
The Lady and accompanying Fellowship crew watched for a moment, unable to focus on the task at hand when they were witnessing such a perfect example of a grueling duel.
They then shrugged the feeling off and began yelling at the two to stop, it was time to go, they had Tornhawk, they could leave now.
However, the two were far too absorbed in their battle, not hearing a word, not even noticing their presence. How to get their attention?
The Lady sighed, beginning to unclasp her breastplate.
She didn’t even have to finish before the boys were 100% ready to follow her every move.
*
Next find was Advocate_of_Lycanthrope in a dungeon at the bottom of a winding flight of stairs. Several others were with him, all in a seething orgy of nihilistic torment.
Again, they cried out, trying to get attention, let him know they had the one who’d supposedly been kidnapped, they could leave now. But, no, AOL was in a whole other world.
Lady Tornhawk rolled her eyes.
*
They found Ter-Soth suspended in midair, perfectly still, face contorted in an otherworldly terrified expression. His skin had turned pure white, as had his hair. The effect sent chills down their spines, raising every hair on end. Tornhawk was the first to step closer, plucking Ter-Soth from his skyward perch.
CardinalFang could barely whisper, “Ter-Soth? You okay?” A tear slid down his cheek as he sincerely hoped he was okay. After all, who better to pull pranks on?
However, the boy scout didn’t say a word, body cold and still, Tornhawk slinging him over her shoulder and silently marching ahead.
Acid_Flux sighed. “Hate to imagine what happened to the guy.”
Ter-Soth’s mind whirled, even as it was repeatedly ripped to stark shreds and thrown back together again.
*
Lastly, Acid_Flux kicked down a door and found YOYOY writing. Before the NoThRoG could say a single word, the scribe said “Ah, just in time. I am the last, and we leave with Tornhawk? Good!” He grinned and penned a final sentence before standing. Acid was silent, trying to figure out how he could know of what he said.
The literate began chuckling, soon erupting in a crazed giggle that reverberated throughout the entire keep as they walked on.
*
The group exited the castle out the main gate, finding DarkGuardian waiting outside, a wide grin now lighting his face.
“About time you guys showed up, and so good to see Lady Tornhawk!” She managed a weak smile in response.
Acid was the first to ask, “Now what? Todd? Hello?”
The group suddenly turned, somehow only now noticing the army now halting not far from their position. The Troglodyte King smiled wickedly and spoke, “Ah, Lady Tornhawk. The one Todd seems to have little control over. At least, I’ve yet to meet a being he has such small effect on.” He boldly walked forward, separating himself from his army behind. “Maybe I can’t take Todd’s place, but I can figure out what makes you so special. I figure if I can get that, I’ll get what I want.” He looked into the sky, daring. “You hear that, Todd? I’m a Mod, more powerful than everyone, save a select few.” His head lowered, now eye-to-eye with Tornhawk, who was scowling at Archer. “There’s something special about this one. Whatever she has, whatever she is to you Todd, I must have it. I will have my throne.” His lips curled back in an ultimate desire for power.
He turned to DarkGuardian. “Hand her over, dwarf.” DG turned back to the Fellowship, shrugging, finding little reason to keep her, and certainly no reason to fight an entire army so soon after this black castle ordeal. Yet…
“It’s okay, DarkGuardian. I’ll go.” Tornhawk’s face fell, her gaze only to the ground as she slowly stepped forward into the clutches of the Army.
“Oh my Todd what’ve we done…” Drexlin cried.
“Archer, Archer, Archer…” Stormcrow began. “Always gotta show up with that army of yours. I bet without them, you’re nothing. Actually, I know that’s true.” The elf stepped forward, out from the circle of the Fellowship clan. “I don’t think you should have Tornhawk, and I’ll fight you for that, even if I have to be excluded from the Fellowship to do so.” He quickly looked back, a complicated expression on his face. “I challenge you to a duel, Archer. Winner gets Tornhawk.”
The whole army howled, quite a sound, impossible to express in words. Archer grunted, about to speak, but interrupted as a smoke cloud exploded between him and Stormcrow, soon clearing to reveal a wizard, face aglow.
JWalker’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Not so fast,” Sorscha exclaimed, “I believe I have something to say, something I think you all should hear.” She reached behind her, drawing something from a hidden pocket in her robe.
DarkKnightZach wrinkled his forehead in confusion, even as graveghoul stepped into their view out of the shadows, laughing evilly.
“And I have a big surprise for everyone,” the crypt creature snarled, his bony fingers further wrapping around a necromantic staff as a mist began to swirl around it.
Drexlin began counting on his fingers, trying to figure something out. He started unpacking drinks.
Archer frowned, now noticing the castle as something he recognized. He stared at it, and stared, until he knew whose it was. He wondered if the others had realized yet. He backed up a step, unable to completely dismiss his fear.
JWalker frantically brought up his crystal ball controls, checking his messages and archives. DarkGuardian surveyed the scene, trying to derive as much information as possible as quickly as possible.
Lady Tornhawk winked at the one person who noticed.
Advocate fingered a dial on his watch, calling a nearby penguin captain. He was quickly forming a plan, an idea, something he thought was needed…
Acid_Flux noticed Ter-Soth’s eyes were now closed.
Conspirator appeared, finding it necessary to mention that all was happening as planned.
The dark clouds overhead cleared as the sky began to part, a massive rift forming.
YOYOY folded his arms and grinned.
*
© Eric Bailey