Fiction based on my ongoing solo D&D campaign, set loosely in Mystara using Basic Dungeons & Dragons (1983) and Mythic Gamesmaster Emulator (2nd Edition).
‘I don't suppose I could convince you to let me go?’ Prism asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
‘My Lord Bargle,’ the mouth called out, its deep voice echoing around the sinkhole. ‘The intruders are here! My Lord Bargle...'
Didn’t think so.
Prism put her head down and ran as fast as she could for the tunnel entrance. Behind her, arrows thudded into the ground, followed by the angry grunting of the orcs as they began to chase after her. She plunged into the cool darkness, her sprint aided by the downward slope of the passage.
I really hope Ty is back up on his feet and ready for a fight, she thought, sprinting past the flora of the bioluminescent gallery. Behind her, the tunnel was filled by a cacophony of heavy boots sending pebbles and loose stones skittering, in a race to catch up. Prism was pretty sure she’d almost reached the chamber where the others were waiting (and hopefully well-rested), and since stealth was no longer a possibility, she began to shout as loudly as she could manage.
‘Head's up!’ she called. ‘They're coming. They're right behind me!’
She thought she heard a reply but wasn't sure - too many other sounds were bouncing around, competing for her attention; she would just have to hope they heard. Sprinting was beginning to take its toll, daggers of pain stabbing at her legs and each breath a fight for more air. But Prism couldn’t have stopped for all the gold in the kingdom; she wanted to; at the very least, she wanted to slow down, but momentum and the direction of travel had become terrible taskmasters, preventing anything except an ever increasing acceleration.
Prism had the sudden, horrible image of herself reaching the ledge above the river of lava and not stopping; arms flailing as she plunged down into the depths. Fortunately, nature has a way of managing such things, and her speed came at the detriment of her natural dexterity. She bounced off a sharp corner, pitched forward and stumbled. She tried to right herself, but it was too late. She fell, tumbling her way down the rest of the passage and landing at Ancelyn's feet.
         ‘Now, now, Milady, there's no need to throw yourself at me, our courtship already goes so magnificently,’ the elf grinned before returning his attention back to the task in hand. He drew back his bow, and by the time Prism had caught her breath, had managed to loose two arrows towards the charging orcs. A third came from her left. She turned to see Ty, his own bow in hand. He grinned at her, and she could have wept with joy; Ayelen kept her promises it seemed.
With a florid motion, Ancelyn helped Prism to her feet and passed her his bow. His quiver followed.
‘What are you doing?’ Prism gasped.
The elf winked at her and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Just cover me,’ he said.
With no alternative, Prism notched an arrow and drew back the bow. As she took her shot, Ancelyn raised his hands and began chanting. A heartbeat later four orcs dropped to the ground, snoring.
‘Sleep spell,’ the elf explained with a sly chuckle.
The three remaining orcs looked around and then at each other, confused expressions agitating their porcine faces. They barely managed to get their shields up before Ty barrelled into them, followed by Ayelen shouting ‘for the Joybringer.’
Ancelyn drew his sword. ‘Wait here, milady, I'll be right back,’ he said before joining the other two. Prism took a few potshots here and there, but there was no real need; her friends were more than a match for their adversaries. Three orcs quickly became two, and then one, in short order. The final orc let out a pig-like scream before turning to run. It managed three paces before Prism put one of Ancelyn's arrows in its back.
‘Where's Bargle?’ she shouted, grabbing another arrow.
But the mage was nowhere to be seen.
To be concluded…
If you enjoyed reading this, PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT and/or FOLLOW for more (and RE-BLOG, if you would be so kind). It really would mean a lot to me and be very much appreciated. Thank you.
Please note: No AI was used (or harmed) in the making of this, or any other, blog post. My background is by Larry Elmore and was used as the box cover for the 1983 version of Dungeons & Dragons: Basic Set 1 (and the 2010 D&D 4e Starter Set). My avatar is my ‘V’ from Cyberpunk 2077.
Bioluminescent funghi and plants lit Prism’s way, creating a blue-green haze permeated by the scent of damp rock. But the further the passageway climbed upwards, the more the subterranean flora became sparce, until, all too soon, the last of the funghi disappeared behind her, leaving Prism once more in the dark. A sense of melancholy threatened to replace the light, but Prism refused to heed it. She had already done as much navel-gazing as she ever wanted to do recently, and now she just wanted out of these damn caves. She wanted to go home. The irony that 'home' was a concealed cellar was not lost on the thief, but she didn't care. Home was home - and it wasn't here! She suddenly stopped; her momentum stilled by a pinprick of golden-white light somewhere above.
It can't be, can it?
Prism picked up the pace, allowing base instinct to overrule her good sense. The closer she came, the brighter the light. She could smell the fresh air, hear the distant sound of running water and birds merrily calling to one another. Wafts of a summer breeze mingled with the stale, musty air she had been breathing for the last few days. Despite the promise of being above ground again, however, the thief had not completely lost her wits. Hugging the wall of the tunnel, she advanced slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the abundance of light before peeking outside.
Somewhat disappointingly, Prism found she wasn't quite out of the cave system yet. Beyond the natural archway, there was daylight, that much was true, but even from where she stood, Prism could see she was at the bottom of a massive bowl about a hundred yards across and at least fifteen deep; an irregularly shaped sinkhole, and a recent one, if the surrounding debris was anything to judge by.
It must have been made by the tremors yesterday. Shouldn't be too hard to climb out though, she thought, appraising the mixture of dirt and newly broken rock that formed the walls of the crater. Then I can drop a knotted rope down for the others. The summer sun felt good on her face, the gentle warmth bringing out a smile, as if it had spent the winter sleeping beneath her skin.
A newly created waterfall poured over the rim of the sinkhole, filling a jagged scar stretching across the basin; a fledgling stream that vanished into the various cracks in the ground. Prism licked her lips, saliva welling up in her mouth in anticipation of drinking fresh water instead of the stagnant contents of her waterskin. Drawn on by the glinting waters of the stream, Prism moved quickly across the rock-strewn ground, eager to drink her fill. Halfway there, however, she froze.
There, almost hidden in the shadows of the waterfall stood a short man in his mid-forties, wearing a dark robe. His face was round and clean shaven, skin pasty in a scholarly way. More hair bristled from his brow than from the top of his head, although a couple of tufts of iron-coloured hair rested above his ears, the only survivors of the passage of time. A hooked, beak-like nose gave Prism the distinct impression that a vulture had been involved in his ancestry at some point.
So, this is Bargle ... the Magnificent!? He certainly didn’t look that much from where she was standing. Still, it had to be the renegade mage; half-a-dozen or so orcs were following the commands he barked out impatiently, filling their pails of water and pouring them into barrels. Well, if he's 'Bargle the magnificent' that must make me ‘Prism the Ever Radiant’, she thought, trying to suppress a grin.
Prism shook her head. One shot, that's all it would take. The orcs wouldn't even know where it had come from. But she no longer possessed her crossbow; she needed to go back and tell the others. Maybe Ancelyn will lend me his bow.
Frowning her disappointment, Prism crouched down and turned back the way she came. Only to find the magic mouth had appeared above the tunnel entrance.
‘You didn’t really think you’d get away from me so easily did you?’ it said gleefully.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed reading this, PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT and/or FOLLOW for more (and RE-BLOG, if you would be so kind). It really would mean a lot to me and be very much appreciated. Thank you.
Please note: No AI was used (or harmed) in the making of this, or any other, blog post. My background is by Larry Elmore and is the cover art of the 1983 version of Dungeons & Dragons: Basic Set 1 (and the 2010 D&D starter set). My personal avatar is my version of ‘V’ in Cyberpunk 2077.
Ty felt a cooling shadow fall over him. He opened his eyes to see Prism staring down, a soft expression on her scarred face. He smiled at her, but it quickly turned to a grimace as spikes of pain dug their fingernails into his back like an over-enthusiastic lover.
‘I feel like a human pincushion,’ he replied, swallowing. Even that slight movement was enough to send another wave of white-hot agony along every nerve in his body.
‘I might be able to help with that,’ Prism told him, holding up something round and blurry.
Ty squinted. ‘What is it?’ he asked, reaching out for the object.
‘One of the apples I picked up from Bargle's garden.’
Ty's hand froze in mid-air. ‘I thought they were poisonous to anyone not pure of heart.’
Prism took a large crunchy bite from the fruit and made a show of eating it.
‘Do I look like I'm pure of heart to you?’
‘But... how?’
‘I don't know where Ayelen gets her ideas from, but these aren't the apples of Hesperides,’ she told him. ‘I’m not sure what they are really, but I do know they do have some magic to them. Look at my leg!’
 Prism pointed to her thigh, where her trousers had been sliced clean through. The flesh beneath was unscarred, devoid of even the pockmarks that wracked the rest of her body. The wound she had suffered earlier had completely vanished.
 Ty reached out and touched the smooth flesh. He looked up at her face again; really looking at her this time. The tiny craters left behind by the plague were still there, whitened by age, but they were much fainter now.
He gasped. ‘How is this possible?’
‘I don’t know,’ Prism shrugged, ‘but it’s amazing, isn't it? I wish we could go back and get some more, ‘cos this is my last one.’
‘I can't take the last one from you, Pris,' he said. ‘You keep it. Finally, you can be free of your scars.’
Prism smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m kinda used to them these days,’ she said. ‘And besides, who doesn’t want to look unique.’
‘But...’
‘Hey! What did we swear to when we were little? We promised we’d look out for each other, didn't we?’
‘We did,’ he agreed ‘And we always have...’
‘...And we always will,’ she finished, cutting him off. ‘So, it’s settled then. Come on, eat up your greens. And then get some rest, give the magic a bit of time to work.’
Ty took the apple reluctantly, and Prism folded her arms, waiting. He took a small bite, chewed and swallowed. His next bite was larger, more enthusiastic.
‘There, see? No poison, just a sweet juicy apple – like I said.’
‘Thanks,’ he said in between eating.
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, getting ready to leave.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Don’t worry, soldier, I'll be back in a bit. Someone has to scout up ahead, see what's what.’
‘Okay, Pris,’ Ty said drowsily. ‘Don't be too long,’
Prism gave him a mock salute, but the fighter didn’t see it. Within the space of a couple of heartbeats, he was snoring softly, the core of the apple falling from his hand. She reached over and gently kissed his brow. ‘Goodnight, sweet prince,’ she said, before walking away and straight into Ayelen, who had been watching the entire exchange.
‘You never cease to surprise me,’ the cleric said.
‘Good,’ Prism said, giving her a wink. ‘I like to keep you on your toes. Look after him, princess, and remember what I said I'd do to you, if you don't.’
‘He’ll have my full attention,’ Ayelen promised, inclining her head.
Prism smiled gratefully before slipping into the shadows and the passageway beyond.
To be continued…
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For the rest of his life, Ty would never work out what hurt him most: The slap to his face or the tone of Prism's voice. He hadn’t heard that level of desperation since their childhood, when he’d been really sick. Her slap or her concern, either way, it had the intended effect of snapping him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to see Prism holding on to the rung above his, busy pulling the rope down and trying to get the loop over his head and shoulders.
‘You have to help me,’ she was saying, her tone settling into the animal-like snarl of a mother protecting its young. He nodded, too exhausted to speak. It took the last of his energy just to grab the rope with his free hand. With his friend’s help, however, he managed to get the rope under his armpit.
‘It'll have to do,’ Prism said critically. ‘Now start climbing. Don’t worry, those two up there will do the rest.’
The rope became taught as somewhere above, Ayelen and Ancelyn started to pull. And with Prism helping him reach every rung, Ty made his way slowly up towards the ledge. By luck or by fate, no more arrows found their mark, and the pair soon reached the safety of the ledge.
Once Ty and Prism were safe, Ancelyn picked up his bow and began peppering the orcs on the other side of the chasm with his own arrows. Using the barrage to cover their actions, Ayelen and Prism pulled Ty away from the edge. Behind the trio, Ancelyn followed after them, taking a step back after every shot. Soon, the chasm, orcs, and river of lava were left behind, and the friends had a moment to rest and take a look at Ty's wounds.
‘Those arrows are going to have to come out,’ Ayelen said.
‘But we don't know how deep they are,’ Prism protested.
‘Then we're going to have to get his armour off and have a look.’
‘Do I get a say in any of this?' said Ty
‘No,’ Prism and Ayelen replied in unison. Ty sighed and muttered something about strong-minded women under his breath.
‘What was that?’ Ayelen inquired politely.
‘Just don't cut the straps, all right?’ he pleaded. ‘If you do, the armour's fu-, the fit of armour depends on them.’
Ayelen chuckled. ‘Is that all you're worried about?’ she said, shaking her head.
‘It's important!’ Ty protested.
‘Once a soldier, always a soldier,’ Prism observed.
‘Let’s do this,’ said Ayelen, taking charge. They laid Ty on his stomach as gently as they could. Ancelyn and Ayelen held him down as Prism took hold of the first arrow.
‘I'm going to have to snap the shafts or we can’t remove your back plate,’ she explained to her friend. ‘The arrow's going to move and it's gonna tickle a little bit, sorry.’ Her tone was light, but her expression was grim.
‘Here, bite down on this,' Ancelyn said, handing Ty one of his own arrows. The young fighter did as he was instructed. Prism snapped the first arrow. Ty screamed and passed out.
‘Well, at least the second one is going to be easier on him...’
With the arrow shafts out of the way, the three of them began working on the straps holding Ty's armour in place.
‘Why does he have to have them buckled so tightly?’ Ayelen complained.
‘Don't worry, princess. I'll lend you a lock pick for your next romantic evening together.’
‘Better make it two,' Ayelen replied as she struggled with a particularly irksome buckle.
Eventually, however, the back plate came free. Still unconscious, Ty moaned as they lifted the armour and slid it away from his back.
‘It doesn't look too bad,’ said Ayelen examining the wounds. ‘His armour stopped the worst of it. Look there, that one’s point barely entered the flesh.’
‘What about the other one?’
‘Let's deal with the easy one first, shall we, Milady?’ Ancelyn said, resting a hand on Prism’s shoulder. She nodded.
‘See,’ the cleric said, ‘it’s little more than a scratch; cleaning and bandaging the wound should be sufficient. Now, let's have a look at the second one.’
The second arrow had penetrated Ty's back much deeper than the first.
‘Pulling the arrow out won't be much of a problem,’ Ayelen said. ‘He’s fortunate that these particular orcs were firing arrows without barbs. And judging by the one we've already removed, I don't think they were using any poisons...’
‘So, what's the problem? Let’s get it out of him,’ said Prism.
‘We don't really know what damage it's done inside, if any,’ Ayelen sighed and wiped her brow. ‘But I suppose we'll just have to hope for the best for now. Hold him down again, please.’
The cleric took hold of the remaining shaft and placed her knee in the small of Ty’s back. Then she pulled. The arrow came free, a gout of blood following behind it. Ayelen quickly pushed a wad of cloth over the wound and held it there until Prism wrapped a bandage around his lower torso, several times.
Ayelen wiped the blood from her hands. ‘Let him rest,’ she said. ‘There isn’t much else we can do at this point.’
But Prism had other ideas.
To be continued…
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An arrow scraped against the side of Ty's face, stinging his cheek and drawing a thin line of blood as it completed its journey into the wooden plank he was gripping onto.
‘Pris!’ he called again.
A head appeared over the ledge. ‘We're going as fast as we can,’ she told him. ‘Just hang in there, we need to secure the rope properly at this end.’
Just hang in there, she says! Funny bugger, you are!
‘Well do it faster!’ the fighter shouted, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.
He twisted his body to avoid another hailstorm of orcish arrows. The momentum of his movements was enough to snap the wooden board he was holding onto, and just for a moment, Ty was dangling over the lava pit by one hand, the other flailing desperately for any sort of purchase. The orcs above cheered at their success, or at least that was what their excited grunts sounded like to Ty.
‘Pris!’ he shouted again, grabbing the next rung.
‘Oh, quit complaining, will you!’
Eventually, a rope dropped from above; its end tied in a large noose, big enough to fit around his armoured body. Naturally, it ended about six feet above where he needed it to be.
‘Well, don't just stand there,’ Prism's voice drifted down. ‘Climb, for gods’ sake!’
But that was easier said than done. Even without the additional weight, his armour was unwieldy; its joints designed for protection, not mountain climbing.
Every rung provided Ty with a new perspective on gambling, as every time he reached for the next one, there was a fifty-fifty chance whether it would hold his weight or snap beneath his armoured fingertips.
‘If I get out of this, I'll never play dice again,’ he promised. ‘Or cards...’
Every rung became a test of willpower, as it took all of Ty's strength to pull himself up to the next one, despite no rest from the orc archers above him. He had no idea how they had managed to miss so far, but his luck couldn’t last much longer. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself to the next rung.
Almost There, just keep going, you’re almost there!
Every rung closed the gap between him and the rope. five feet... four... three... two...
He reached out, stretching as far as he could. His fingertips brushed the edge of the rope. He was almost there...
THUD!
An arrow embedded itself in his back, and then another. Pain flared through his body as if the lava below had reached out a fiery claw and raked it down his spine.
‘Ty!’ Prism screamed.
His vision blurred as sweat stung his eyes. His grip began to loosen on the wooden rung. The world was beginning to spin. One hand lost its grip. It would be so easy to let go with the other. Ty briefly wondered if the lava would hurt, or if he’d burn up before he could feel anything? He'd find out soon enough, he supposed.
To be continued…
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Prism edged slowly along the side of the cavern, determined not to think about the drop and definitely not about the river of lava at the bottom. Sulphureous clouds of steam rose up from below, irritating her throat and making her want to cough. The trouble was, every time she did so, her balance shifted and...
Don’t think about the drop!
The ledge was angling upwards now, slowly but surely widening - much to everyone's relief. After what seemed like several leagues of walking, Prism realised she didn't have to hug the wall anymore. Stopping, and using the point of her sword, she tested the ground ahead. It appeared solid enough. Re-sheathing her blade, Prism allowed herself a moment of relief by wiping the sweat from her brow. The others must be cooking inside all that heavy armour, she thought. How in the nine hells were they managing?
‘Is everyone all right back there?’ she called, trying to make her tone sound casual, offhand even. For the first time in recent memory, she was worried about Ayelen and Ancelyn as much as she was worried about Ty. When had she started to include them in her intimate little sphere? But she already new the answer to that question, didn't she? A chorus of groans (and a 'no' from Ty) confirmed they were all still alive at least.
‘It gets easier ahead,’ she told them. ‘The ledge is wide enough to walk along normally, and I can see some torch brackets in the distance. She wasn't sure which one of her friends said ‘Thank the gods for that,’ but it sounded like either Ancelyn or Ty. It put a smile on her face anyway.
As the party ascended, the orange light of the lava combined with hot currents of air, causing their shadows to writhe and tear, as if they were trying to escape the bodies they were tethered to. The path they were following finally reached its zenith at a crossroads of sorts. To the left, another passageway stretched into the darkness; to the right, the most decrepit rope bridge Prism had ever seen stretched across the chasm, dipping in the middle to form a sarcastic smile.
‘Which way now?’ Prism asked her friends.
‘The bridge,’ answered Ty. The fighter was bent forward, clutching his knees and breathing hard, sweat flowing freely from his forehead.
‘Are you sure?’ Ayelen asked. ‘It looks much cooler in the tunnels.’
Ty shook his head. ‘That way leads back in the direction of the garden, and I want out of here,’ he said. ‘Besides, I'm not squeezing my way along another tunnel. Not for all the gold in the Grand Duke's treasury.’
‘Room to change your mind, then’ Prism grinned.
Ty gave her a withering look. Laughing, she slipped quickly across the bridge, moving with the grace of a dancer. Ancelyn followed her across the blackened wood, his steps heavier, but no less nimble than the thief’s.
The bridge swayed and wood cracked with each step taken by Ayelen, the boards beneath her feet yielding under her armoured boots. She moved with an agonisingly slow gait, and millenia seemed to pass before the cleric reached a point only a few feet from the other side. Both Prism and Ancelyn reached out their arms and pulled her the rest of the way.
‘Thank you,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Your turn, Ty,’ Prism called to her friend. But he shook his head. ‘It'll never take my weight.’
‘It’ll have too,' Prism replied. ‘You can't stay over there.’
‘Maybe Ayelen was right, maybe we should head down the passage on this side.’
‘There they are!’ shouted the magic mouth they had encountered earlier. Guards! Guards!’         Â
It had appeared above the entrance to the left passage, three feet from Ty’s head. Ancelyn pulled out his bow and took a shot at the strange thing, but to no avail.
Orcs emerged from the same tunnel, each carrying wicked swords and axes. Ty raised his shield and prepared to meet the onslaught.
‘There’s too many of them,’ Ayelen cried. ‘He'll be massacred!’
Stricken, Prism watched as her friend fought bravely on the other side of the Bridge. Ancelyn drew back his bow and took another shot. An orc screamed briefly before plunging into the lava far below.
Prism turned to the elf. ‘Here,’ she said, before he could reload and take another shot. ‘Hold this and get ready to pull. You too, Ayelen.’
She wriggled her pack from her back and ran back over the bridge to her friend. In the meantime, Ty had managed to drop another orc, but blood leaked out from his shoulder plates and more of the foul creatures were pouring out of the tunnel.’
‘Get out of here, Pris. I'll hold them off for as long as I can.'
‘Sorry, but we haven’t got time for you to impress the ladies,’ the thief grinned. ‘Just grab on to me and hope we both live to regret this!’
‘Regret what?’
‘Just grab hold, will you!?’ As Prism said the words, she sliced through the ropes holding the bridge together.
‘No!’ Ty screamed in disbelief.
Their stomachs lurched as the world dropped away and they fell towards the lava below. But Prism had looped one end of a rope around her waist before handing the other to her elven companion.
‘Pull Ancelyn!’ she shouted as she and Ty swung towards the chasm wall. The impact was so jarring Prism nearly let go of everything as they, and the remains of the bridge, slammed into the rocky facade. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to grab the nearest wooden rung and cling on for dear life.
Somewhere above, the orcs were shouting and snarling in their guttural language, whilst the magic mouth was screaming for someone to do something.
‘You're too heavy,’ Ancelyn called down. ‘We can't lift you both.’
‘Can you grab onto the wood?’ Prism said to Ty.
‘Give me a second,’ the fighter replied.
Prism gritted her teeth as metal plates pressed into her side, biting through her leather armour. Ty reached for the nearest wooden rung, his metal gauntlets causing the wood to splinter.
‘I've got it,’ he said. ‘... I think!’
‘Good,’ Prism replied, ‘now don't go anywhere. I'll be back soon.’
‘Where the hell am I going to go?’ Ty shouted, but Prism was all ready scampering upwards.
The first arrows began to fall soon after that. Most missed completely, thudding against the rock before falling down into the depths. One embedded itself into the wood near his hand, another bounced off his armour with a clang. It was only a matter of time before one of the orcs got a lucky shot off.
Ty looked upwards, but his friend had vanished from sight.
 ‘Pris!’ he called.
But the only sounds and movement belonged to another clatter of orcish arrows, falling like deadly raindrops.
‘Pris!’ he called again. Had an arrow managed to prick her? Was she lying on the ledge above, slowly bleeding to death? And what about the other two?
 ‘Where are you? Answer me!’
To be continued…
If you enjoyed reading this, PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT and/or FOLLOW for more (and RE-BLOG, if you would be so kind). It really would mean a lot to me and be very much appreciated. Thank you.
Author's note - Normal service will resume shortly.
So, very quickly - there won't be anything here on my blog until Monday because I'm currently celebrating a family member's birthday and completely forgot to have anything prepared in advance - my bad. Although, in all fairness, I would have taken tomorrow off anyway!
So in the meantime, talk amongst yourselves, chill, and if you want to like, comment, or reblog any of my previous posts, please feel free to do so. Have a great weekend, all. And speaking of birthdays: to the people of the USA, despite any disagreements I may have with your current administration, happy 250th :)
The passage they were following became increasingly narrower the further they progressed, until eventually, not only were they forced to travel in a single file, but the adventurers also had to shuffle along side-by-side, their backs pressed against the wall. Ty frequently got stuck; the bulky plates of his armour catching against the rock walls.
‘You’ll have to go back to the garden and remove your armour,’ Ayelen told him.
‘Not a chance,’ the young warrior grunted, using all of his weight as leverage to win past a particularly jagged stretch of pathway. The screech of metal scraping against rock followed in his wake, as if his armour was crying out for mercy.
‘How much further, Pris? he called ahead.
'No idea,’ she called back. ‘All I can see is another tight corner ahead.’
‘Just tell me when it widens out, will you? Please!’
‘Will do.’
There had been far too many tight corners, in Ty’s opinion. So much so, he was beginning to think they were going around in circles. Any moment now, they were going to emerge back in Bargle's garden. The only thing keeping the fighter going was the thought of what he was going to do to the mage when he found him.
I’m going to split him right up the middle, Ty promised himself. From groin to bloody throat. He pictured the two halves of Bargle falling away from each other, like an apple cut in two. He chuckled out loud.
‘What's so funny?’ Ayelen asked. The gap was so narrow now, she couldn't turn her head far enough to look back at him.
‘Nothing,’ replied Ty.
‘Tell me anyway. I'll listen to just about anything if it’ll take my mind way from this.’
‘It really isn’t funny.’
‘Tell me for Lliira’s sake!’
Ty told her. It was a good thing he couldn't see her expression.
‘It's my own fault,’ he heard her say to herself. ‘I was the one who asked.’
‘Sorry,' he said, ‘but I did say it wasn’t that funny.’ Idiot, now what's she going to think about you? That you're A bloody psychopath that's what. ‘Just a soldier's sense of humour. You see a lot of things on the battlefield.’
‘I can imagine,’ came the reply.
Ty gritted his teeth; he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball of embarrassment, but there was barely enough room for the former, let alone the latter.
‘I've got some good news and some bad news,’ Prism called from up a head.
‘Knowing how she thinks, I would imagine the good news is sparse on the ground,’ Ty heard Ancelyn whisper to Ayelen.
‘Can you see anything?’ the cleric whispered back.
‘Not really, no.’
‘What's the good news, Pris?’
‘You wanted me to tell you when things widened out... well the good news is I’ve almost reached the end of the passageway and it’s definitely a lot wider here.’
‘Thank the gods for that!’ said Ty. And he meant every word of it. The fighter had never been claustrophobic before, but now, every time his armour caught against the rock, his heart seemed to skip a beat as he imagined himself stuck there forever. Sweat rolled down his face, stinging his eyes and leaving a bitter taste on his lips. In his mind he was screaming ‘get me out of here!’ and his tongue was only one step behind. It was only the thought of what the others would think- what Ayelen would think- that kept his silence.
‘But?’ Ancelyn was saying.
‘The bad news is I’m standing on a ledge not much wider than the passage. And then there’s a drop, gods only know how deep.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad.’
‘Did I mention the lava flowing along the bottom?’
But Lava didn’t matter to Ty, only the thought of freedom. He moved quickly, knowing the end was in sight; a faint orange glow spurring him on.
‘Steady,' Ayelen told him as he jostled against her. ‘We're nearly there.’ Her words were gentle, but Ty could detect the steel of determination in her tone. He forced himself to slow down. A few more steps, just a few more steps to go. It took an eternity but eventually Ayelen moved aside leaving a gap for Ty to step into the light.
He was free!
Ty found himself standing at the edge of a very long drop. And at the bottom, glowing bright enough to paint his armour a dusky orange, a river of lava flowed into the darkness. The air stank of sulphur, but the fighter closed his eyes and drew in a long breath anyway. I made it, he thought. By the gods, I made it through. Everything’s going to be okay.
 A hand squeezed his, forcing his breath to explode in a cough of surprise. Ty opened his eyes to see Ayelen smiling at him.
‘We made it,’ he said, smiling back.
To be continued…
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Ty shrugged his shoulders, arms wide open and hands palm up. ‘Just say something,’ he mouthed silently at Prism. The thief stared at him, a horrified expression on her face. ‘Like what!?’ she mouthed back.
‘I don’t know!’ came the silent answer.
Well, that’s just great! Prism thought as she turned to the giant mouth, her face a picture of fascinated revulsion. ‘Err...’ she managed. ‘We've been… err... ordered… to gather the apples of Herogenes...’
‘Hesperides!’ Ayelen shouted quickly.
‘Yeah, him,’ Prism nodded.
‘By whose authority?’
‘By the authority of Bargle,’ said the cleric, moving slowly towards the mouth. ‘He tasked us with collecting the apples and bringing them to him.’
The mouth pursed its lips as if in thought. ‘Mmmm,’ it said. 'If the master truly sent you, then you should be able to complete the pass phrase.’
‘Of course we can,’ Prism said with a sinking feeling in her gut. ‘You don’t even need to ask us that.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ said the mouth, twisting its lips into a grin. ‘Now, tell me truly, if the shadows guard the way...’
‘Any ideas?’ Prism whispered. Ayelen shook her head. ‘Ty? Ancelyn?’
‘then light burns them away?’ said the elf.
‘The moon... does... something?' Ty tried.
Prism rolled her eyes.
‘Well?’ said the mouth.
‘Say something,' said Ayelen. ‘Anything!’
‘If shadows guard the way,’ Prism began ‘then … the… err… faithful are protected from the light?’
The mouth closed, silence followed. And just for a moment, Prism thought she had gotten away with it. But no such luck.
 ‘LIAR!’ the mouth screamed. ‘INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS! INT...’
Prism struck at the mouth, but her blade bounced off the rock of the monolith. She tried again, this time slashing her blade across the thing's lips. But her short sword passed through thin air. The mouth began to laugh; a throaty, booming sound filled with menace.
‘To me!’ it called. ‘To me!’
A tinkling sound filled the cavern, not unlike glass being deliberately smashed. A figure stepped from behind each of the five trees; They were all roughly shaped like a man around six foot tall, but their bodies were made up of thousands of tiny floating crystals held in place by a sparkling blue-grey mist. Everything about them was made of the same thing, from their heads to the swords they carried
‘What the...’ Prism shouted as she rolled under a particularly vicious sword blow.
The mouth kept laughing.
‘That's really starting to piss me off,’ Ty shouted as his sword ploughed into the chest of his opponent. The figure imploded, its crystals condensing together to form a sphere about the size of the warrior’s head. It floated in the air for a second before exploding, scattering its shards everywhere. Ty managed to raise his shield just as the crystals pounded against the wood, like a deadly shower of hailstones. To his right, Ancelyn cried out as the crystals tore into his flesh; blood flowing freely from his cheek.
Ayelen was having better luck, however. Like Ty, she had managed to reduce her crystalline opponent to a sphere. But before it could explode, she used her mace like a bat, sending the ball flying across the cavern. It exploded harmlessly against a wall.
‘Nice shot!’ called Prism, as she stabbed at one of her opponents.
The cleric grinned and hurried over to her. Their strategy worked out, Prism and Ayelen got to work on another crystalline figure; the thief’s sword reducing the creature to its spherical form, and Ayelen’s mace sending it sailing through the air.
‘Well, that was fun,’ shouted Prism.
‘Now you’re getting it,’ Ayelen said, her grin becoming wider.
Once Ty and Ancelyn caught on to what the pair were doing, combat was all but over - the elf's shield taking the place of Ayelen's mace. As the last ball exploded some distance away, the party turned its attention to the, now silent, giant mouth.
‘Uh-ho,’ it said. ‘Time to make myself scarce.’ And saying that, it vanished in a puff of smoke.
‘Well, if Bargle didn't already know we were here, he does now!’ Ayelen said.
‘At least we know we're still on the right track,’ Prism pointed out as she began picking up handfuls of the tiny crystals. The others stood watching her with mixed expressions.
‘What?’ she said. ‘They might be worth something. And yes, I am going to grab a few of those apples.’
To be continued…
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Prism was glad to be alone again, at least for the moment. Away from the others, she could think in peace. Two things weighed on her mind. The first merely irritated her, like a grain of sand in a clam shell; Where had she heard the name 'Lady Erisana' before? And why did she think Ty should know it as well?
The second, however, was far more troubling; her recent conversation with Ayelen. The cleric's past had certainly surprised Prism, but that wasn't what was nagging at her. It was the question posed by the conversation: did she really only see her own suffering? Was she really blind to the suffering of others? Maybe blind was the wrong word, she knew other people had it worse than she did - that went without saying. She had a roof over her head, food on the table, and friends she could rely upon. Even one she could trust. Not everyone had what she had.
Prism thought of the beggars and whores that lined the streets of ‘The Narrows’; the slum district of Threshold, were children huddled together in doorways and rats hunted rather than scavenged. But she had ignored all that, hadn’t she? Moving through the world as if it owed her something - and only her. The rest? Well, there must be a reason for their misery, musn't there? The way of the world, the powers that be - that sort of thing? Or maybe Ayelen was right, and she really didn’t know how the world worked. Don't know or don't care? Prism asked herself. She could almost hear the cleric's voice. Everything’s fine just as long as you and Ty are all right?
What would you have me do? Renounce all my worldly belongings and spend the rest of my life praying to the gods for their favour?
Fortunately for her sanity, Prism came to the end of the passage she had been following. There was more light here - not as bright as the fire in the ogre lair (as she'd taken to calling the cavern), nor as warm. Something softer... kinder? I'm definitely letting her get to me, Prism thought wryly as she dropped into a crouch and drew her weapon.
‘Trees?’ said Ty disbelievingly. ‘Underground?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing we've discovered so far,' Ancelyn said, motioning towards Prism's backpack.
‘You don't have to believe me,’ said the thief. ‘Come and take a look for yourselves.’
The other three followed Prism along a twisting passage so thin they had to walk in single file. Eventually, however, it widened out into a cavern the size of a small temple. High above the Stalactites, a small circle of daylight could be seen. Thin rays of gold gently caressed the most beautiful thing Prism had ever seen; an underground grove of the most extraordinary trees.
Five trees grew around a single monolith of bare stone. Each one had white bark and silver leaves. Hanging from their ivory-coloured branches were golden fruit resembling apples, but smaller. Behind Prism, Ayelen gasped. 'I think they're apples of Hesperides,' she said.
‘The what?’ said Ty.
‘A legendary fruit said to bestow immortality on those who would partake of it.’ There was a measure of awe in the cleric’s voice as she spoke.
‘So, what's the catch?' Prism asked, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the golden fruit.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You get nothing for free in this world. And I would imagine immortality would come at a pretty hefty price, so what's the catch?’
‘No catch… as long as you are virtuous. They’re supposed to be poisonous to those of ill-intent.’
‘Thought as much,’ Prism nodded.
‘But surely milady has known only a life of purity and virtue,’ Ancelyn mocked.
‘If Pris is virtuous, then I'm the Arch-Mage of Glantri,’ Ty told him flatly.
If anyone would have asked why she did it, Prism would not have been able to answer. Perhaps the words of her friends cut deeper than she expected, or perhaps she was trying to prove something to herself. It didn’t matter, she did it anyway: In one smooth motion, she reached up and picked an apple. Her friends stood motionless, eyes wide and mouths agape, as she raised to her lips and took a bite, revealing the creamy-white flesh beneath the golden skin.
She chewed slowly, relishing a taste as sweet as honey. She swallowed and winked at Ancelyn.
‘Pure as the driven snow,’ she said with a grin. She tossed the rest of the apple to the elf. ‘Your turn.’
Ancelyn looked down at the fruit as if he held a live snake in his hand ‘No, thank you,’ he said without any shame.
But Prism wasn’t listening. She suddenly felt as though she had downed an entire quart of mead. The world began to spin as every nerve began to tingle. The sensation spread until it affected every part of her body. In her mind, she felt as though she was glowing with an inner light. Reaching out, she grabbed the monolith to steady herself.
Two things happened at once; first, the glow in her mind and the strange sensation faded away, leaving Prison feeling as though she had just awoken from a good night's sleep. Remarkable as that was, it paled before the second, which was much more dramatic: A giant mouth appeared in the centre of the monolith. Its bulbous pink lips opened to reveal a huge tongue and a pristine set of shiny white teeth.
‘Who dares to enter the garden of Bargle the magnificent?’ it bellowed.
To be continued…
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The four adventurers sat around the ogres’ fire, planning their next move.
‘There must be another way out,’ Ancelyn was saying. ‘How else did our friends get in?’
‘And what about the wood for the fire?’ Ayelen pointed out. There's quite a stockpile of it, so where did it come from?’
‘So, we follow the passage and hope it leads outside?' said Ty as he cleaned his blade.
‘It's either that or climb up there,' said Ancelyn, pointing up to where the ceiling of the cavern narrowed into a natural chimney. ‘Either way has its risks.’
‘What do you think, Pris?’ Ty asked the woman next to him. But Prism didn't answer;
she was busy staring into the flames, a thoughtful frown clouding her features.
‘Leave her be, Ty,’ said Ayelen. ‘I think she’s figuring some things out for herself.’
‘Like what? It's not like her to be so quiet,’ Ty objected. He nudged Prism with his elbow. ‘Pris!’
Ayelen rolled her eyes.
‘Huh?’ said Prism, blinking.
‘Welcome back to the land of the living, Milady,’ Ancelyn said with a smile.
She smiled back. ‘How could I possibly stay away from such scintillating company?’
‘That’s what I want to know, Pris,’ Ty said, gruffly. ‘What's going on in that addled brain box of yours?’
‘Nothing, I'm just tired, is all,' she said, yawning somewhat theatrically. But her eyes told a different story as they flicked a glance towards the cleric sat opposite.
‘I know you better than that, Pris. There's something on your mind. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, I swear! Well, nothing apart from being bothered by an irksome soldier boy.’
‘Worry not, young Ty, for our fair maiden here wouldn't keep anything from her friends, would she?’ Ancelyn’s smile was positively malicious. ‘You’re not hiding anything from us, are you, milady? Like, say, another talking statue, perchance?’
Ayelen laughed heartily at the elf’s audacious enquiry. Prism threw them both a hurt look.
‘That's it, isn't it, Pris?’ Ty accused her. ‘You've found something else, haven't you?’
‘I have not!’ protested Prism. ‘And I’ve shared everything I found on those flea ridden corpses. With all of you!’ Ancelyn was treated to a particularly venomous stare. She held his gaze until he turned away, pretending to study his spellbook.
‘What is it, then?’ Ty pressed. 'Is it something about the statue?’
‘By the Gods, you’re like a dog worrying a bone!’ Prism exclaimed, throwing her hands up, but nevertheless, she felt the tension drain from her body; at last she had a way out of this ridiculous conversation. ‘But…yes.... that’s it! You’re right. Well done. You got me. If I’m honest, I've been thinking about that name, Lady Erisana. It's familiar somehow, like I've heard it somewhere before, you know?’
 She looked directly at Ty. ‘No. Like we’ve heard it somewhere before, you and me. I can remember both of us talking about it, but not when or where!’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Pris. I've never heard the name before in my life,’ but then he stopped, his brow furrowing. The others looked at him.
‘At least, I don't think I’ve heard it. But...’
‘What is it, Ty?’ Ayelen asked, placing a hand on his back.
‘Now Pris has mentioned it, I’m not so sure.’ Ty shook his head. ‘It’s almost like … like … a word on the tip of my tongue.’
They waited.
As time went on, Ty’s face crumpled like a ball of waste parchment. ‘No, it’s gone!’ he said eventually.
          ‘That’s exactly how I feel,’ said Prism.
‘You could always try asking the statue,’ Ayelen pointed out. But Prism shook her head. ‘She hasn't moved or spoken since we fell down here.’
‘It's worth a try though, surely?’
Prism carefully pulled the statuette from her pack and placed it in front of the fire.
‘Lady Erisana,’ she said softly. 'Are you there? Can you talk to us? Please?’
‘This seems awfully familiar,’ said Ancelyn. Ty elbowed him in the ribs.
Prism tried again. ‘Lady Erisana? Can you hear me?’
But the little statuette remained in its usual pose, eyes firmly closed.
‘Let me try,’ said Ayelen.
‘Be my guest.’
The cleric raised her hands, as if performing a ritual. ‘I would speak to the spirit inhabiting this form,’ she said. ‘Lady Erisana, I command thee in the name of Lliira, Goddess of joy. Speak to us.’
Nothing. Prism couldn’t help but smile.
‘I could always try hitting it again,’ said Ty, reaching for his sword.
‘No, my friend,' Ancelyn replied. 'The last time you did that, it set off an earthquake.’
‘That wasn’t my fault!’ Ty objected.
‘He could be right though," said Prism. ‘Probably not, but I don't really want to find out. Especially since, like I’ve already told you, her last words to me were that she needed to rest.’
‘It makes sense,’ Ayelen nodded. 'I suspect she must have used whatever power she has to aid us and stop us falling to our deaths.'
‘I agree,’ said Prism.
‘You do, Milady?’ Ancelyn said in a tone of mock surprise. ‘Our peril must truly be dire if the two of you agree on something.’
‘Listen you elven popinjay…’ Prism started, but then she seemed to remember something. ‘This isn't getting us anywhere,’ she finished, picking up the effigy of Lady Erisana and putting it back in her pack. ‘I'm going to scout ahead, see if I can find us a way out of here.’
 Prism made for the passage on the other side of the chamber. After a brief moment of hesitation, she plunged into the darkness beyond.
‘That's really not like her,’ Ty muttered, gathering his gear and heading after her.
‘You might be right,’ agreed Ancelyn, following the young fighter. But I suspect it may be an improvement. At least, I hope so.'
Ayelen said nothing, but allowed herself a brief smile before joining her friends.
To be continued…
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Ty and Ancelyn dragged the two corpses from the room while Ayelen and Prism sat by the fire. The cleric winced as she removed her armour, hissing like an angry snake as she did so. Prism looked at the purple and black blotch spreading out across the other woman's body. She reached out and gently pressed her finger to the bruise.
‘Ouch!’ Ayelen yelped.
‘You’ve cracked a couple of ribs, I'd say,’ Prism told her. ‘Better cover up before the boys come back. Ty drools over you enough as it is.’
She passed Ayelen a linen top from her pack. The cleric took it gratefully and began the slow and painful process of pulling it over her head.
Prism's own wound turned out to be more superficial than Ayelen's. The blood had stopped flowing the moment she had tightened the tourniquet. She kept the bandage around her thigh just in case, and...
‘Because those two will fall over themselves trying to look after me,’ she told her companion, gesturing over her shoulder.
Ayelen laughed. 'I’ll have to try that,’ she said. ‘You know, I don't think we're as different as you make us out to be.'
Prism turned away. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
Behind her, Ayelen sighed. ‘Can we just get this over with?’ she asked.
‘Get what over with? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do. Why do you hate me so much?’
Prism stared at the back of her hands; the mottled skin discoloured by old scars and the pockmarks of the plague she had survived. ‘I don't hate you,’ she admitted.
‘Then what is your problem? Is it my looks? Are you jealous? Is that it?’
Prism slowly turned to look at the cleric, her brow knotted and head tilted to one side.
‘Don't flatter yourself, princess,’ she sneered ‘I'm not that shallow. Unlike you, perhaps.’
‘I wish you wouldn't call me that.’
‘But that’s exactly what you are, a princess slumming it with us commoners.’
‘I am not!’
‘Yes you are,’ Prism told her. 'Do you want to know what it is that I really don't like about you? It's your love of life, your always happy attitude. You're always so full of the joys of spring. Full of something, anyway.’
‘So let me get this straight, you don’t like me because I'm happy?’
‘No, I don't like you because you live in a fairy land, where everything is so wonderful.’
‘And what's wrong with that?’
‘You expect everyone else to be as chirpy as you are.’
          ‘I do not!’
‘Yes, you do. But unlike you, I see life as it really is.’
‘Oh really? And how is life really, then? Tell me.’
‘Short and ugly.’
‘It doesn't have to be like that,’ said Ayelen earnestly.
‘Maybe it doesn't for you, but that's the way it is for me and Ty. I was eight when I watched every member of my family die of the plague. He wasn’t much older. Then the plague tried to take me. By the time I recovered, my home had been burned to the ground. Then both me and Ty were shuffled off to an orphanage little more than a prison.
Three years we spent in that rat infested hell hole. Three years of gruel and beatings. Then, when we did manage to get away, we had to fend for ourselves, on the streets. Do have any idea what it’s like to sleep on stone cobbles in the winter? I didn’t think so.  So no, I don't see the world like you and I never will.’
‘I'm sorry you had to go through all that, truly I am...’
‘Oh, spare me your platitudes...’
‘...but do you think you're the only one in the world who has ever suffered?'
‘No, but I doubt anything you’ve experienced could compare.’
‘You don't know a damn thing about me,’ Ayelen told her bluntly.
‘I know enough...’
‘Do you though?’ It was the cleric's turn to sneer now. ‘I very much doubt that. Your problem is that you think you know how the world works, when you haven’t really got a clue. Yes, I choose not to be miserable, and I chose to follow a goddess that brings joy into this world. I won’t apologise for that – to you or anyone else. Because, unlike you, my mother and father are still very much alive, along with most of my siblings, as far as I know. The difference is, you were orphaned by circumstance, where as I was orphaned by choice.'
‘What in the nine hells is that supposed to mean?’ said Prism, curious despite herself.
‘I came from a poor family.’ Ayelen replied. ‘A family with far too many mouths to feed. So, as soon as I came of age, my mother and father chose to sell me into slavery...’
Prism's mouth opened and then closed again: for the first time in a long time, she didn't know what to say.
‘I don’t think I’ll go into detail, you can imagine for yourself how I spent the next few years, and what I had to endure,’ the cleric said demurely. ‘Those are memories I have no desire to relive.’
‘How did you escape?’
‘Escape?’ Ayelen actually laughed. ‘There was no escape. The slavers were pretty thorough when it came to keeping a hold of their property.’
‘Well, you must have got away somehow. How else could you be here, right now.’
Ayelen shook her head slowly, a humourless smile on her lips. ‘I was sold. Repeatedly,’ she said the words slowly, emphasising every syllable. ‘My final owner was killed in battle, some years ago.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing happened. With our owner dead, me and the other slaves were free.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense. You were free, just like that? And no-one tried to stop you?’
‘Why would they?  Where I come from slavery is just part of society. If an owner dies and there’s no-one to inherit his property, it goes to the state. The slaves are set free.’
‘That can’t be right. You’re lying. The Duchy doesn’t work like that.’
‘Why would I lie? And who said I came from Karameikos?’
‘Fair point, I suppose. So how did you become an acolyte of Lliira?’
Ayelen’s smile became broader and warmer. ‘That's a story for another day. The point I'm trying to make is that pain and misery affects us all, in one way or another; nobody gets through this life without scars. But only you can decide how to deal with the pain. You can either wallow in self-pity and lash out at everything and everyone, or you can learn to appreciate what you have and use it to build something better for yourself and the others around you - just like you built a life outside the orphanage for you and Ty. It’s something to think about, anyway.’
A silence fell between the two women. Ayelen ate her rations whilst Prism stared into the fire. She looked down at her hands and then back at the flames.
‘I'm still going to call you ‘princess’,’ she said eventually. ‘Everyone gets a nickname.’
‘Even you?’
‘Even me,’ repeated Prism. ‘You didn’t think Prism was my real name did you?’
‘But Ty doesn’t have a nickname. Does he?’ Ayelen asked.
Prism chuckled. ‘Ty is his nickname. His real name is Liam. Liam Tyburn. I've called him ‘Ty’ since we were children.’
‘Liam,’ the cleric said thoughtfully. ‘I'll have to remember that. So, what about you? Who gave you your nickname?’
Prism winked and gave Ayelen a mischievous smile. ‘Now, that would be telling.’
To be continued…
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Author's Note 2: Thieves really were the worst class in original D&D...
Expanding on my 'Don't Split the Party.' post, I found this video:
(Youtube) /watch?v=JeUjF0fsJ9c
The first part of which perfectly illustrates my point about how difficult it was to focus on a side adventure for Prism as a 1st Level thief, and how quickly I had to bring the other characters back into frame. Thieves were designed as supporting characters for an already well-rounded party, and even then, they were meant to fire missiles and stay out of melee combat. At low levels, their skills are, at best, almost useless. Just finding trap was almost impossible, God forbid you tried to disarm the bugger!
(And just to re-iterate my last post: If you read any of my work and enjoy it, PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT and/or FOLLOW for more (and RE-BLOG, if you would be so kind). It really would mean a lot to me. Thank you.)
If you read any of my work and enjoy it, PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT and/or FOLLOW for more (and re-blog if you be so kind). It really would mean a lot to me. Without interaction from you, I don't know if you're enjoying it or if it's even worth continuing. I NEED YOU TO TELL ME!!! (apologies for shouting, but hopefully it illustrates how important this is).
Tell me what you like, what you don't. What worked and what didn't. What you would like to see and where you think the adventure is going. Do you want more magic and spells? Do I need to introduce another character to the party, or have I got too many people as it is? Let me know. I promise, as long the discourse is civil and not a personal attack, I will take onboard any and all feedback.
There's no 'Patreon', here, no 'Buy me a coffee' or whatever system. No money involved. There isn't even any merchandise. All I'm asking you for is a bit of your time and a few keys to be pressed, and that's it.
Ty ran into the chamber with Ayelen and Ancelyn close behind. The latter already had an arrow notched on his bowstring. A moment later it was embedded in Chainmail’s shoulder. An angry roar followed as the creature turned towards the new threat. He lumbered at the trio, club swinging through the air.
Prism felt herself grinning as the water welled up beneath her eyes. ‘About time you got here,’ she called back in a tone as warm as the nearby fire.
Ty grinned back and then quickly ducked beneath Chainmail's club. Prism winced as the weapon barely missed the side of his head. The young fighter responded with a thrust, piercing Chainmail's belly. The thing bellowed again, but this time pain outweighed its anger.
Shoulderplate picked up a rock in both hands and lobbed it towards Prism. She deftly leapt out of the way, but not quite fast enough. A jagged edge scraped along her thigh, ripping the thick cloth of her leggings and flesh alike. Blood flowed as she fell heavily against the cave wall, momentarily stunned.
Shoulderplate gave out a satisfied grunt before turning to aid his friend. Ayelen’s mace bounced off his makeshift armour with the clang of a dinner gong. He looked at her with distain and swiped at her with the back of his hand. The cleric collapsed, spinning backwards before hitting the floor.
‘Help Ayelen,’ Ty called to Ancelyn. The Elf nodded, drawing his sword.
Chainmail, taking advantage of the human's distraction, swung his club downwards. Ty managed to parry with his shield, but the force of the blow drove him to his knees. Chainmail laughed; a guttural grunt that spoke of a terrible fate beckoning to the young warrior. The thing lifted its club for another blow. The weapon rose over his head, like an executioner’s axe. Ty gritted his teeth and raised his shield, bracing for the inevitable impact.
But the blow didn't come.
Ty risked a look over the rim of his shield. Chainmail had a confused look on his brutish face. As Ty watched, the giant dropped his club and sank to his knees. Eyes rolled back in their sockets and chainmail tumbled to the side, revealing Prism grinning like a maniac, dark blood blackening both of her blades.
‘You all right?' she asked with mock courtesy.
‘Only you would pick a fight with a pair of Ogres,’ grunted Ty, getting to his feet. ‘I thought I was supposed to be saving you, anyway.’
‘Ogres? So that’s what they look like. I always wondered,’ Prism replied. ‘Maybe I’ll let you rescue me next time. But right now, I think we should give his nibs a hand, dont you?’ Prism said, pointing her shortsword towards Ancelyn.
As big and as powerful as he was, Shoulderplate was no match for the three of them. Ty and Ancelyn took the brute head on, whilst Prism darted in and out, stabbing with both her blades. Before long, Shoulderplate was little more than a bloody heap on the floor, a pool of dark red blood expanding out from his corpse, fueled by a myriad of small cuts and wounds.
Hand pressed against her thigh, Prism hobbled over to Ayelen.
‘Hey Princess, it’s time to wake up,’ she said with a gentleness that surprised herself.
There was a light ahead, flickering and shadowy: flames.
Prism pressed herself against the cave wall and edged slowly towards the source of the light. A wall of warm air engulfed her as if she had dived into a hot spring. She could hear voices now, deep bass voices, almost growling and animal like.
‘Rats again,’ the first voice said. ‘Always rats. Never fillin’ is a rat. Don't matter how many. Too much bone.’
‘Good crunch though,’ the second voice said. 'Can't grumble. We 'ad that small lizard thing yesterday. That was good.’
‘Boss said can't have any more of ‘em,’ the first voice told the second. ‘Need's ‘em to guard up there.’
‘Wot, the scrawny lizard things?’
‘Yeah, lots of 'em, see?’
‘More reason to let us have one.’
‘Let us have more than one. Taste better than rats. But no, rats it is. Rats don't taste good.’
And so, the conversation went on.
Prism dared to peak around the corner. The chamber before her was shaped like an inverted funnel, the spout a natural chimney drawing the smoke away from a large fire. Four skinned and cleaned rats dangled by their tails from a spit. The flames below hissed and crackled as the juices dripped down from the meat.
On either side of the fire sat two figures. They could almost be mistaken for humans were it not for their size. The pair were as big as monoliths compared to Prism. Her gut contracted as she felt very small in their presence. Both were bald and wore a mismatch of clothes and armour; one had what looked to be a bent out of shape breastplate covering his shoulder; the other had scraps of chain mail crudely sewn to his ragged shirt.
As quietly as she could, Prism eased herself back along the cave wall until the gargantuan figures were no longer in sight. Well, there's no point in going back, she thought, so how in the nine hells do I get past those two? Fighting them was out of the question. Her crossbow was gone, burned away some time and several twists and turns back. Besides, she wasn't even sure her shots would be powerful, or quick, enough to put either of those two brutes down - whatever they were.
But if she could get rid of them, and she could put out the fire (she had no idea how), maybe she could climb the natural chimney and possibly reach the surface.
Maybe. But unlikely.
Still, what choice did she have?
So, how can I get rid of those things? Think, Prism, Think!
She rummaged through her pack looking for inspiration. Rope? No. Rations? There were barely enough to feed her, let alone something that size.
The statuette was still in its sitting position, eyes closed.
‘I don't suppose you'd consider lending a hand, would you?’ but, as she expected, the little figure remained still. Didn't think so.
Her hand touched something else. Prism smiled, the beginnings of a plan springing to mind. She snuck back into a position where she could see the two massive figures. Both were now chomping on their meal.
‘Rats again,’ said one mournfully, between bites. The sounds of bones splintering followed, and Prism felt a lump rise to the back of her throat.
 She was about to enact her plan when she noticed something that made her pause. There, on the other side of the chamber, another passageway vanished into the darkness. She took a moment to reassess the situation. It shouldn't be too hard to sneak around these two. All right, there isn't much cover, but they're both distracted by their meal.
She thought about it, weighing up the pros and cons. Fortunately the cons were short; she was either stuck in these caves forever or, the brutes caught her and cooked her. She drew her knife. And if the second seemed likely, she wouldn't go down without a fight. Mind made up, Prism crouched down and slowly began to make her way along the edges of the chamber.
She almost made it to the other passageway. Almost, but not quite. The closest of the two figures, the one with patchwork chainmail, stopped his enthusiastic mastication.
‘Ere, can you smell that?’ he said.
His companion, with the makeshift shoulderplate, also stopped eating. Prism froze as she listened to the determined sound of something sniffing the air like a hunting dog.
‘Smells like human,’ said Shoulderplate, discarding the remains of his second rat. Chainmail did the same and picked up a cudgel the size of a small tree. Prism eyed the passageway across from her, mentally calculating how far away it was versus how close the two monstrous humans were. Â
A clammy hand tightened its grip around the hilt of her dagger as Shoulderplate and Chainmail stood up, their massive frames all but blocking out the flames of the fire.
They turned in her direction. Prism shook her head slowly, her lips silently voicing the words ‘No, no, no!’ Every muscle in her body tensed as Chainmail looked directly at her. He smiled, revealing a mouthful of yellowing teeth. ‘Human taste better than rat!’ he said.
Prism's knuckles turned white as she gripped her weapon even harder. The enthusiastic hunger in his expression made her heart pound; each beat seeming to say 'run', 'run', 'run!' She took another look at the passage. It might as well have been three leagues away. Her shoulders slumped. She'd never make it. Swallowing hard with the realisation that this was probably the end, Prism switched back to her original plan and threw her last remaining flask of oil at the fire.
She watched as the flask left her fingers with agonising slowness, tumbling over and over as it sailed gracefully through the air. The world fell silent and came to a halt as the bottle reached the zenith of its flight and restarted again as, glass glinting in the firelight, it descended towards the flames. For a moment, it looked like it might hit Shoulderplate, but he moved at the last instant, and the flask whirled by. Less than a second later, it had completed its destiny.
Time began with a big bang. It was followed by screams of pain. The flare of light was so bright, Prism had to raise her hand in front of her eyes, and even then, the silhouettes of the two brutes were superimposed on her vision. When she was able to lower her arm, she could see Shoulderplate and Chainmail trying to beat out the flames burning their clothes. Prism smirked and drew her short sword; it was now or never. With the expression of one who has nothing left to lose, she advanced on her adversaries, determined to put up one hell of a fight.
I forgot to mention, no scene tonight as I'm tired and too damn hot - current temperature of this room at 10pm: 31 degrees Celsius. Or for the Americans out there, it's around 88F. There are people in the world who will be saying so what? Here in England, however, that's really, really hot and were just not used to it here.
