Have you ever wondered what a knuckle sandwich tastes like? Well don’t, it sucks. It tastes like a combination of copper and pain, and if you are lucky like me, your big oaf of an assailant might work up a sweat, and you’ll get to add some saltiness to the mix. Mm. Savory.
“What are you smiling at?” Speaking of assailants, mine was big, gray, or maybe it was green, with yellowing tusks and stringy mullety hair. A scar ran across his piglike nose. Somehow, he perfectly embodied the stereotypes for both orcs, and syndicate muscle, a twofer.
“I just know something you don’t know.”
“No shit. Do you think I do this for fun?”
“Well, you are an Orc.”
“That’s a stereotype, and I don’t appreciate it.”
This time, he really leaned into the punch. A shot to the gut, that forced me to swallow the little bit of bile left in my stomach. It’s kind of stupid to question an orc, but I’m a gnome and life is just too long to not have a little fun along the way.
That’s right a gnome, and for those of you that aren’t so great with the dimensions, I aint what you would call big, in fact the opposite. Orcs on the other hand, are great big monsters, and this one stood bigger than most. I hung from the rafters, my hands tied and and hung over a giant hook, I looked like a slab of lamb left to dry and age. My Left eye had nearly swollen shut, my ribs ached, as did my shoulders as I hand hung in this position for hours As I looked around the basement of some shitty brothel or bar most likely owned by the syndicate, I shouldn’t have found anything funny, but I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I knew I was going to die, and when I did fists for brains over here was more fucked than I. The syndicate didn’t like it when people broke their property, even when they asked the person to do just that.
I wasn’t always a slave, but I’d always had a taste for adventure. That is the reason I left my gnome village. I thought I found the jackpot when I stumbled across a wizard looking for an apprentice. The problem was this wizard was a bad wizard, a bad teacher and a worse gambler. In my master’s shoes, I would have shot a fireball up my bookie’s ass, but instead he rolled over and sold me into slavery to pay off his debts.
The Syndicate loved to force the smaller races into servitude, they were easy to bully, and their size made it so they could slither into places bigger races had no chance of fitting into. My first few jobs were to sneak up one of the pipes that led from the toilet to the moat. I know shitty right?
On one of my first few jobs, I ran into some luck . . . I’ll let you decide if it was good or bad, but as I clawed my way out from the toilet, a guard entered the room. He wore chainmail, a sword on his back longer than I am tall, and would have been a big problem for me in a fair fight.
I had two things on my side, the first is nobody expects to see a 3 foot something shit monster emerge from the toilet. I mean really, John, what did you have for dinner last night? Secondly, I knew a little magic, and quickly conjured a little ball of green go and sent it careening towards his face.
I’ll be honest it kind of sucks to get hit with the goo ball, it hurts like hell, but it is far from fatal. Far from fatal unless you open your mouth in shock, and the little goo ball goes right down the pipe. He went down quick, holding his stomach in awful pain, being eaten from the inside out. I still shudder at dying that way.
But from that day forth I started to get the reputation of a gnome that could handle himself and started getting better jobs until I finally caught on with a crew. That’s ultimately how I ended up here, letting an orc use me like a heavy bag. That’s what happens when you break the Syndicate’s golden rule. The Syndicate comes, first, second and last.
The dirty little secret that the Syndicate refuses to acknowledge is that crews are like families. There is no crew worth their salt that wouldn’t put its members above some shadowy overlords.
I met my crew in a basement not dissimilar to the one where I now hung. The biggest difference being when I met my crew, they were all gathered around what I suppose you could call a table. It was rectangular, scarred, and a miracle to still be standing. The chairs were basic and blocky. Definitely not the work of a master craftsman, but they were doing their job and hadn’t collapsed.
At the head of the table sat what appeared to be an orc. He wore dark leather armor, had dark gray skin, and light gray eyes. He ran his fingers through his short graying hair and scanned the rest of the table.
To his left sat a dwarf woman, with light hair, her and bore calluses and her fingers were stained nearly black. She wore a leather overcoat that opened to show a basic dark green tunic and jeans. Next to her a seat sat empty. To the orc’s right sat an Elf with gray skin that held a bluish hue. His eyes were dark, almost black, and wore a cloak designed to help him blend into the shadows. His short white hair stood out as a contrast to the dark color palette of his clothes. He twirled a dagger in his right hand and wore a grin that stood right on the line between sinister and mischievous. Next to him sat a human woman, with long blonde hair, and a plain blue dress that seemed to be more suited to a night at court, than a night in the slums.
The orc cleared his throat and looked around the room. “I see our newest member has arrived, please sit and introduce yourself.”
I made my way to the open chair. “Hello, my name if Norlass Tagart Forkbeard the Third, but my friends call me Forky, and if ye aint my friend then you can fork off.” The orc laughed, the dwarf chuckled, the dark elf smiled, and the woman in the dress looked bored. 3 out 4 ain’t bad.
The orc spoke again, “My name is Snorg, and I lead this group of the best rapscallions you’ll ever meet. Welcome to the team.”
Next the dark elf went, “My name is Odin, and I specialize in the nefarious. You know, theft, picking locks and pockets, ambushes, and other subterfuge.”
The dwarf broke in with a big grin, “And if he can’t pick the lock, then I can blow the door of its fucking hinges, which is why everyone calls me Hinges.”
The woman in the dress interjected, “And what is it you do Forky?”
“You know, a little of this, a little of that.”
“If I’m gonna trust you I’m gonna need a little bit more than that.”
“I’ll tell you what darlin’ if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
“I thought it was obvious, I use my. . . charm to get us access to places we normally wouldn’t get access. “
“Sorry darlin’ I didn’t want to judge a tome by its cover.”
“Don’t call me darlin’.”
“Ok, what should I call you then?”
“You can call me Bess.”
“And you can call me Daddy.”
At that she lunged across the table, a dagger in her hand, and reckoning in her eyes. I jumped back, knocking my chair over in the process and threw my arms in the air. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, but if you’re going to set me up . . . “
From the head of the table, in a disapproving voice Snorg shot, “Manners, both of you.” Then he laughed, “I thought you two might get along.” The words rung with sarcasm, but the tone felt quite sincere.
“I wasn’t lying earlier, I can do a bit of everything, I can fit in small places, folks tend to ignore gnomes, I can be charming when I need to be, and oh yeah I know enough magic to twirl your skirt.”
“A wee man like you, I doubt it.”
“Don’t be doubting this wee man, or his wee man for that matter, as they say you shouldn’t judge a gift by its wrapper.”
“They also say small things come in small packages.”
“It’s actually good things.”
“But they are still small.”
“Unless you got a magic bag.”
“Keep telling yourself that wee man.”
“I’ll tell you what Bess, if you use a blade half as well as you use your tongue, you would be a formidable foe indeed.”
“And if your spells are as half as bombastic as your mouth, we might not need Hinges over there.”
The dwarf took offense, “I’d rather rely on some black powder, and fire, than some mystical nonsense any day.”
Sensing another double entendre-off, would probably not endear me to the group I changed tactics, and stifled my desire to make a joke about a limp wick. “Nothing beats the sound of black powder going boom.”
At that I conjured a purple translucent hand that I sent speeding toward Hinges glass. The spectral hand barely slowed down as it hooked the mug’s handle, and flew by Snorg’s head like a magic missile, slowing down just in time to gently sit the mug down in front of an ale cask. The phantom hand expertly twisted the tap, allowing the golden liquid to cascade into the glass, turning off the flow just in time for the foam to rise just above the rim of the glass. The hand grabbed the mug and this time with care and grace floated the mug back in front of Hinges.
“Who else needs a refill?”
This time everyone laughed.
A loud crack, and the feeling of wetness on my face brought me back to reality.
“No passing out little man.”
“Pro tip, if you don’t want your interrogatee to pass out, maybe don’t hit them so hard.”
“What would be the fun in that?”
Then a gray fist caught me in the right temple, enveloping me in darkness.
* * * * * * *
About a year after we formed my ragtag family found itself in the same cellar, we initially met in. By this time, we had laughed, cried, and bled together more times than anyone would care to count. Usually, these planning sessions were a lot of fun, but today there was a sense of dread looming over the meeting.
Instead of sitting, Snorg paced at the head of the table, “Before we get into this, I’m just going to say this is unsanctioned, and if something goes wrong, the count might be pissed.”
“And when the count gets pissed, people get dead.” I added
Odin, the dark elf asked, “What’s in it for us.”
“Nothing.”
“Then what’s in it for you.”
“I get Krawl back.”
“What do you mean you get Krawl back?”
Krawl was Snorgs oldest son, for being a quarter Orc, he was quiet, gentle, and by all accounts a good kid that took after his Snorg landed Andrielle was beyond all of us.
“Mort’ Demure took him.”
“Mort’ Demure?” Hinges asked.
“You might know them as the Gnome Mafia.” I answered. “Because you know, big words with vague meanings are more terrifying, but what the hell are they doing this far south?”
“Apparently, they are trying to expand.”
Hinges spoke next, “What happened to you don’t fuck with syndicate?”
“Rumor has it, the Count is afraid of The Eight.”
While the rest of us were still in shock, Bess quickly moved to rage and you could hear it in her trembling voice, “I’ll have his balls.”
Snorg looked over at her, concern washing over his face. “Don’t do anything stupid, you dying won’t help me save Krawl.”
Entirely ignoring the conversation, Hinges asked, “What the fuck are The Eight?”
“Not what, who,” I added. “Eight powerful Gnome wizards, each specializing in their own form of magic, none of them to be trifled with. The kind of wizard that will literally rain fire on an entire village, to kill one person that crossed them.”
Odin waded back into the conversation, “I want to help Snorg, but I’m not sure we’re up to taking out one master wizard on, let alone eight.”
“I doubt we’ll be dealing with any master wizards,” Snorg interjected. “It’s my understanding they didn’t even send their best men. Just wanted to see how we’d respond.”
“Wizards blow up just as easy as normal folk. I’m in,” Hinges said as she punched one of her hands into her other.
“As am I,” I said.
“Gnomes, the Count, or anything in between, I’ll have somebody’s balls.” Bess added, her anger from moments earlier had gone from a bonfire, to smoldering coals waiting for the faintest of breeze to ignite the blaze again.
“It’s more fun to steal from folks that have it coming.” Odin confirmed.
Snorg let out a sigh. “Thank you, I’m not sure you all realize how far your ass is on the line if something goes wrong, or how much I appreciate the help.”
* * * * * * *
I regained consciousness, and immediately felt another presence in the room. From behind me I could hear a deep velvety voice. “You know you and your crew have caused me quite a bit of trouble.”
“You must be Count Limp Dick.”
“Ah, that must be the gnomes spoon sharp wit I have heard so much about.” Without a sound he suddenly appeared before me, dressed in a fine dark green velvet jacket, with matching pants, a white shirt, complete with ruffles down his chest. How fucking cliche. He wore an amused smile on his face, but his eyes warned of an oncoming storm fueled by equal parts anger and fear. His hair was light, wavy and shoulder length, his complexion perfect.
“I don’t get it; you have burned taverns to ground for far less than somebody kidnapping one of your lieutenant’s kids.”
“And I have done far more to people who have hinted at disobeying me, let alone going directly against my orders.”
“Here I thought, you were some bad ass vampire, but turns out your afraid of a couple gnomes. Typical of the powerful, all bluster when it comes to putting your people on the line, but the second you threatened, you run in hide, like a child that happened upon an owl bear.”
“What did you say to me?”
“Let me talk slower so you’ll understand. Your . . . A . . .Fucking . . .Pussy.”
With that the Counts open hand came at me like a ball shot from a cannon. It rattled my teeth, eyes, skin, skull and brain, driving me back to la la land.
* * * * * * *
Snorg had gotten his hands on some low-level gnome pick pockets. Let’s just say they weren’t nearly the masochist I was, and gave up the location of Gnome hideout, rather easily.
We used all our patience and waited till midnight to go find the place. It was a good thing we were able to gather some intel, otherwise I don’t think we’d find the place.
We crouched in the ruins of a house that had lost its windows, doors, and roof in a fire, probably a decade ago. It had been during a time when this part of the city had been respectable, so the burnt carcass of the building still kept most of is structural integrity, otherwise it would have been pushed down and replaced by a one-room shanty.
Across the street sat its brother. The difference being instead of being ravaged by fire, the house across the way had been ravaged by age. The stone parts dirtied to almost black, holes riddled the mortar large enough that it would be a miracle if the home wasn’t infested with mice, rats, and other vermin.
Shadows dance in the window, fueled probably by a small candle. Every half hour or so a large bald man, shirtless, and toothless would come out and pretend to take whiz behind the bush next to the house.
He just finished his latest pretend piss and entered the house when I asked, “How are we going to get eyes inside the house?”
Snorg glanced at us all. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think we have time for recon tonight, I’m afraid if we do, they’ll either move, or kill Krawl.” You could see the worry in his eyes and hear the resolve in his voice.
Bess, was fetching as always, tonight she wore a short green skirt, and a low cut blouse designed to lead the imagination to one place and one place only. “Odin, you got any of your knockout potion?”
“Let me see what I can dig out of my pack for you.”
“What do you have in mind?” Snorg asked.
“Let’s wait until tall dark and toothless comes out for his next round, and I’ll offer him a drink.”
“Or we could do it loud,” Hinges added hopefully.
“Unfortunately, I think quiet is probably the better option tonight,” Snorg commented.
“If we have to wait anyway, why don’t you let me case the place.” Odin said.
Snorg nodded, “Might as well.”
Odin handed Bess a vile, and melted into the shadows, gone before we even realized.
After about 20 minutes Odin had made his way back to camp. “No other entrances that I can see.”
“So, we’re all clear?” Snorg asked.
“Appears that way, but I have a bad feeling.”
About that time the door across the street creaked open and out came the toothless wonder again. Like last time he made a beeline for the bushes.
Bess unbuttoned an extra button on her blouse and set an intercept course for tonight’s victim. She walked in the shadows in a way that attempted toe the line between being unseen and looking like she belonged. When she tapped the guard on the shoulder, I thought for sure his skeleton would jump out of his skin. Instead, his axe came around swishing just over Bess’s head, as she ducked.
Bess held up an open hand on one side of her body, in the other she held up a giant stein, with a metal lid. At the same time, she smiled, a smile she had used 1000 times before, but could light up the darkest cavern, and never seemed to fade regardless of how many times she used it. I don’t usually get to see Bess work, and I got to say I kind of hated it.
She transfixed her gaze on the brute and said, “Whoa their fella, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The man gave Bess a quick look up and down, and deciding she was no threat, attempted to return the smile. While his shone with pure joy, his toothless mouth, marred the effect. To Bess’s credit she looked like she was talking to a prince and not a frog.
In his deepest voice he responded, “Sorry miss, this is a rough area, and one can’t be too careful.”
“Oh, that’s ok, I just saw you there, with your shirt off and thought you might be cold. Here I am with a drought of coffee I was taking to my Dad in the mill, and thought he wouldn’t miss a swig. Would you like a swig?”
“That’s mighty neighborly of you, but I’m surprised you dad is ok with you being out at night in a neighborhood like this.”
“Oh, I can take care of myself, do you want a swig? I do really need to be getting to my dad.”
The thug looked around and shrugged, “Why don’t you give me a swig, and in return I’ll walk you to the mill.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she said as she handed the mug to him.
He popped the lid and took a great big whiff of the concoction. “That’s got an interesting aroma to it.”
“Fuck” I thought to myself, of the million thugs in the world, we found the one that is a coffee connoisseur.”
Without skipping a beat Bess leaned in close and said softly “Can I let you in on a secret? We add a little cinnamon and nutmeg to the coffee, it gives it a more pleasant after taste.”
At that he shrugged again and took in a large sip, offered his arm and said, “Shall we.”
Before Bess could grab the arm, the man crumbled to the ground. It seemed like Bess began pilfering before he even hit the ground. She pulled out a key and held it up for us to see.
Usually, we would have been much more cautious, but Snorg’s impatience became contagious and we rushed for the door. Luckily for us I heard footsteps on the roof, and could see the blurred movement of two figures. Two blurs leapt from the roof, and I instinctively shot a small ball of flame towards one of the creatures, and somehow caught it in the chest moments before it could stick its gnarly, and twisted dagger into Snorgs flesh. The small fire ball redirected the creature’s momentum away from us, and slammed the creature hard into the building, causing the building to shake and expel mortar dust into the air.
In the same moment, Hinges yelled out in pain, I turned my head to see Hinges pulling out a a similar dagger from her shoulder, and Odin ducking under what looked to be a double side pick axe. In the same motion Odin stabbed the air where the creature used to be. I shot another little ball of fire, this time missing, it exploding harmlessly into the building.
Snorg pulled his sword, which over the years had lost much of its luster, but it the thing was fucking huge. Snorg wisely turned the sword to lead with the fat side of the blade, and made a long horizontal sweep, that not only flew through the area the creature had been, but the area it now occupied. The creature let out an oof and landed next to his partner.
Snorg quickly made his way to the fallen creature. The magic effect they had been using had dissipated and before me lay two of my distant cousins. Deep Gnomes, short like me, but much thicker. Both gray and bald. Snorg’s boot came down on the recently felled gnome’s face, the other already unconscious.
Bess punctuated t, he situation with a “Fucking Gnomes,” and then shot me a mischievous smile, before fitting the stole key into its slot. The lock groaned as she turned the key. Despite the locks protest, the key turned easily enough.
The inside of the building matched the outside. At one point in time this had probably been a nice place to live, but Father Time can be a real mother fucker, and the walls were stained, and sooty gray. Most of the furniture had been looted long ago. All that remained were a couple of small tables with candles, and one utilitarian chair all wood and right angles. The chair had no cushions, no wood working flourishes, no pizazz. One thing that didn’t jive is against one wall stood a suit of armor, with the hilt of its sword resting crotch level, the pointy part of the sword plunging toward the earth. While not polished, the armor was nowhere near as dingy as the rest of the room.
The other thing that stood out, a drab brown and red throw rug lay in the middle of the room. While not gaudy, it also was in much better repair than everything else.
“Shall we see what’s under the rug,” Odin asked with a smile?”
The rest of gathered around as Odin bent over and grabbed a corner of the rug slowly lifting it. I heard a creek from behind me and then Hinges shouted, “It’s a trap.”
I rolled to the left as the sword tried to split me in half from head to crotch. As I rolled, I could see Hinges tongue hung slightly out of her mouth, as concentration shone in her eyes. Here right hand was open and posed out in front of her body. I could start to feel some heat from behind me as the armor started to glow red like it had just came out of a forge. The suit of armor took a couple steps to his left and swung the back of his hand at Hinges. She moved to the right, but screamed as the hand caught her shoulder, spinning her around, and to the ground.
An instant later, Snorg’s sword arched through the air on a collision course with the knight’s head, but the knight was fast and his sword raced to meet its counterpart, resolving in a loud clang.
Odin had rolled away, and now was crouched, coiled like a snake ready to strike. He pulled a dagger from his cloak and in one fluid motion flung it at the metal monstrosity. The dagger flew true and stuck in the eye slot of the suit of armor. It didn’t faze the suit, as it used its off hand to strike Snorg in the midsection, causing him to let out a loud oof and double over in pain. Snorg, was fortunate as the armor no longer gave off heat.
“I don’t think anyone is home.” I yelled, as I reached into my pack and dropped a rock that I kept for just these such occasions. I pointed my wand at the rock, flipped my wrist, toward our assailant. The rock took off catching him in the shoulder of its sword arm. Causing two clanks, the first when the rock collided with the shoulder, the second when its sword hit the ground.
Snorg, rejoined the fight striking the armor square in the chest with his trusty sword. The only effect being, the ping of metal on metal, and the monster delivering another teeth rattling blow to Snorg’s midsection.
I looked over to see Bess had used the distraction of the fighting to remove the rug and struggled to lift what looked like a very heavy, wooden trap door.
I scrambled over to her, “You got to lift with your legs,” and helped her push. The door reached just past 90 degrees, and then swung the rest of the way over crashing on the other side with a loud bang.
As the battle raged, I could hear Odin, Snorg, and Hinges all cursing as their blows had little effect on our metal tormenter. I looked down to see if whatever was in the bottom of the trapdoor could help. A purplish hue bathed the hole in light, which gave us enough visibility to determine a wrong step would mean plummeting at least 20 feet to the bottom. I gave Bess a knowing look and turned my attention back to metal breath.
He had his back to me, as he faced down Snorg. Hinges stood on the right, and Odin on the left. Hinges and Odin were both on their heels and out of breath, snorg on his butt his sword out fending off a vicious blow.
I dropped another rock, this one much smaller, and sent it careening toward the suit. It pinged harmlessly off him, but it did its job as the suit turned to face me. With its attention square on me I taunted, “Your momma was a candelabra.”
I don’t think it registered what I was saying, but it came at me just the same, sword over its head, like I was firewood ready to be chopped. I inched backwards, my heels now overhanging the passage down. I could see that Bess had snuck behind him and stood sideways, her legs bent and her hand hiking up her skirt.
Simultaneously she took two shuffles towards the monster, let out a huge grunt and kicked. The suit brought his sword down toward my head with malice, and I dove diagonally to the left and away from the bloe. Between the momentum of the sword swing, and Bess giving it a swift kick in the ass, the suit of armor with no defense against gravity and inertia fell headfirst through the trapdoor on a collision course with the ground.
We all gathered around the hole and peered down. The suit of armorer lay on its back spread eagle, like it was preparing to make snow angels. When I didn’t see movement, I breathed a sigh of relief. Snorg lifted his sword point down over the hole, and simply opened his hand. His sword sped down the shaft and hit the suit of armor where a man’s heart would have been. We heard the sword screech as it pierced the armor suit, sticking straight up in the air, like a makeshift burial cross.
“Now he’s dead.”
Bess hit Snorg on the shoulder playfully, as I exasperatedly said, “Fuck man, now you’ve jinxed us, anybody got a spare boulder we can drop on this fucker?”
Even though the element of surprise disappeared when we threw the metal behemoth down the shaft, as quietly as we could we repelled down the wall. Because the wizard should never go first, I was the last to make it to the bottom. Once at the bottom we found ourselves on a ledge that circumvented a cavern. The cavern stretched over 100 yards in every direction. Weird mushrooms grew on the wall casting that purplish light we could see from the top. The ceiling, stood about 50 feet above us, littered with sharp, ragged rock cones, that resembled the teeth from your worst nightmare. Below the ledge laid a relatively smooth cavern floor, with matching rock teeth growing just as randomly from the ground.
In the center Krawl had been tied to one of the rocks. He looked like his dad, just with thicker, darker hair, and a smoother face. He didn’t appear to be roughed up too much, but you could tell by the disdain in his eyes that he was done being tied to a rock.
Unfortunately, Krawl was not alone. A giant beast, twice the size of Snorg in both height and weight, paced the room. On his shoulder rested the biggest caveman club you’d ever seen. It looked to be made of some gnarled tree with what looked to be sharpened bones sticking out of it.
Not that any ogre is right, but this one was even less so. No intelligence shown its eyes, I know a dubious statement for an ogre, and instead of a normal stride, it kind of shambled, dragging its feet, looking like it was months of rehab away from being able to walk again. Other than the Ogre, the room appeared empty.
“How do you want to play this,” I asked.
“I want to walk up to the ogre ang bury my sword in its head,” Snorg said before shaking his head. As he did so you could see him shrink ever so slightly as his muscles relaxed. “But am hoping someone else has a better idea.”
Hinge’s face lit up, “I have a some dynamite. Why don’t I light it over there, and when the beast goes to check it out, Odin can sneak over there and cut Krawl loose.”
“A distraction. I like it, but I think we can be just a little more subtle.” With that I began to concentrate on a spot about 100 feet from the ogre. Suddenly the specter of about 15 firefly’s began to dance in the air.
We all held our breath as we waited to see if the behemoth would take the bait. After as a few moments he did and began his slow shuffle towards the bugs.
Without a word Odin slipped away from the group, found the rough ladder like steps carved into the rim we were all on, and made his way to the bottom bowl.
As always Odin, dressed in all black, looked like a shadow as he made it to the rock about the same time the Ogre reached the faux lightening bugs. The ogre reached his hand into the swarm, making them instantly disappear.
I immediately manifested another set 50 yards further away from the rock. Odin had cut two of the three ropes restraining Krawl. Out of the shadows a gnome in rough leather armor appeared, pointing a crooked wand at Odin. A small bolt of lightning, struck Odin in the chest, shooting him back in the air 5 feet. He landed with a thud and appeared not to be moving.
Well, two can play that game. With wand in hand, I shot a glob of green acid at the last rope preventing Krawls freedom, and another at the other gnome. The first hit the rope, immediately disintegrating it. The second hit at the Gnome’s feet, causing him to dive back behind a jagged rock.
Snorg must have barely used the ladder, because he had already made the lower floor and yelled at Krawl, “Get Odin and get the hell out of here.”
Hinges, Bess, and I made our way down to the lower level, at a hurried pace, but not at the superhuman speed Snorg had managed. As I hit the bottom I looked up and could see Snorg zeroed in on the Gnome and made it within a few paces of the Gnomes rock. In his rush he somehow lost track of the Ogre and missed the Ogre’s club careening directly for him.
“Lookout,” Bess yelled in desperation. Snorg looked up and moved just enough, so the club only clipped Snorg’s shoulder. I say only, because it could have easily caved in Snorg’s head, as is you could hear a bone crack, and Snorg spun in the air, like a drunk trapeze artist, before crashing hard into the rock, going limp and sliding to the ground.
I pulled out my wand and shot a small fire ball out the end. It hit the ogre square in the chest. He looked down like he had been stung by a bee and began shambling our way.
Bess, looked at Hinges and I and said, “Shit, both Odin, and Snorg are out of the fight, and I don’t think my charm is going to do anything against that beast.”
Then inspiration hit, “Hinges you still got that stick of dynamite?”
“Yeah?”
“Ok, when I say go, throw it at the at the grease spot I’m about to create.”
The Ogre had halved the distance between us and would be on us momentarily. I pointed my wand again, and yelled, “Greaso!”
The Ogre stepped down on what a second ago had been the cave floor, now a black grease spot ebbed out to form a 10 foot circle. As he stepped his foot slid away from him, forcing him to the most ungraceful split I think I’ve ever seen.
“Go.”
From Hinges hand, a stick of dynamite arched perfectly, it landed just before the grease spot, bounced once, and slid right next to the ogre that had fallen to its side.
Fire shot from my wand, hitting the middle of the grease spot. For a second nothing but a single tendril of dark smoke rose, seconds later with a woof, the whole thing bursty into flame, followed by a large boom, that echoed throughout the chamber, threatening to explode my ear drums. Fire, grease, and ogre shrapnel went in every direction. An eyeball the size of an orange, bounced in front of me.
The three of us breathed out a short-lived a sigh of relief as the gnome reappeared from the behind the rock, and yelled, “Drop your weapons or I turn the Orc to Org goo.” As we looked over, we saw the gnome had his wand pointed at Snorg’s chest.
Bess dropped the pair of daggers she had drawn, and Hinges dropped the torch she had in one hand and the stick of dynamite she had in the other.
“And the wand, drop the fucking wand.”
“Shit,” I said as I released the wand from my hand and let it drop.
“I expected more of a fight from the so-called Syndicate.” As he gloated, I caught a blur of movement. “Never the less my bosses will be p. . .”
He broke off midsentence, and normal sounds were replaced with a suffocating gurgle. Then there was a pop, and out of his chest burst a hand, with his still beating heart gripped tight. The hand squeezed collapsing the heart, before he let it drop from his hand. He extracted his arm from the gnome’s chest. The gnome immediately collapsed, limp and life less.
The Count stood there, wearing black pants, a black vest, and black jacket, with a perfectly white shirt. His face, stance, and overall body language displayed no emotion, a blank slate. He shook his hand, attempting to free himself of the gore he had just caused.
“Pity, Necromancer’s blood always give me a headache.”
Then in a blink of an eye he crossed the room, and punched hinges somewhere between her ear and her nose. Her head snapped left, the light in her eyes went out as she fell to the ground, shoulder hitting first and then her head. He quickly pivoted, hitting me with just the back of his hand. It felt like I flew a hundred feet but am sure it was only a few before I crashed hard in to one of the rock outcroppings. My back hit first, and then I felt a sharp pain and wetness on the back of my head. I slid down the rock and darkness began to creep at the edge of my vision. Before darkness completely overtook me, I could see the Count had made his way behind Bess and bitten into her neck. Then darkness.
* * * * * * *
After reliving the sequence of events that led me to my predicament, I regained consciousness, and awoke to a Woman hunched over my orc tormentor. The sound of gurgling and slurping filled the room. Next to this ghastly scene stood the Count, an amused grin on his face.
“Stop and introduce yourself, my pet.”
The woman turned her head, blood painted on her chin and dripping down her black low-cut dress. The woman before me looked like Bess. But it couldn’t be. No intelligence shown in her eyes, there wasn’t even a hint of some verbal barb percolating at the back of her head, waiting for the moment eviscerate whoever dared verbally spar with her. They had been replaced with hunger, and rage.
At the sight, I pulled hard on my restraints. This wasn’t the plan. We had made this guy mountains of money over the last year, and this is how he treated his people.
“You see what happens when slaves don’t act like slaves? They become thralls, not as much fun but way more loyal.” His words hit me like bucket of cold water, extinguishing my rage, and replacing it with fear. Which was what I needed to remind me of the plan. It was now or never.
With that I whispered to myself the word “hand job” and made a circle with my foot. A spectral hand appeared behind the Count; middle finger extended. I shot it careening straight towards his anus. It didn’t do any damage, but it sure pissed him off. As soon as I had sent my magic hand careening at the vampire’s butt hole, I uttered the words “death punch” and braced for impact
The world went black before I even felt the pain of the Count’s punch.
* * * * * * *
I woke up with a vulture on my chest, its beak shooting towards by eye. I moved my head to the left just in time, the vulture missed, it’s beak collided with the ground. Surprised by my resurrection trick, the vulture rose, as fast as the frantic flapping of it’s wings would let it.
I rolled to my feet and let out a giant sigh of relief. The syndicate had followed basic protocol and dumbed my body in the woods, a mile or two from town. Just far enough away that if found, local authorities would claim I was out of their jurisdiction. Not true, but the locals had no desire to confront the Syndicate. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrong. Chief among them, they could have dumped me in an unmarked grave, or the river. In addition, the initial blow could have killed me, or the Count could have fed on me on one of the numerous times I had been unconscious.
Though relieved, I felt guilty I survived, and the rest probably not. How did I survive, you ask? Given the Syndicates tendency for death and dismemberment, I came up with a contingency in case the shit hit the fan.
I happened to know a dentist that dabbled in magic. His specialty, runes on teeth. Most folks asked for things, like a boost to their charm or speed. The kind of things that might help you avoid death. I asked for a rune that caused death, or at least near death. The rune put me in a comma that to the outside world appeared like death. Apparently, the doc does good work, because we fooled a bad ass vampire.
Despite dodging certain death, melancholy crept into my bones. The Bess I knew, taken from me, replaced with a monster. I had no idea the status of Odin, Hinges, or Snorg, let alone Krawl. Fuck, I hoped he made it out ok, it would kill me inside to know all this was for nothing. But the melancholy quickly hardened to resolve. I realized I was now free. Free to get stronger, free to scour the world for a cure to Bess’s condition. Free to figure out a way to even the score with Count Fuckface.
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