NEW BLOOD
Jenya sat with her head bowed, and her hands folded before her on the desk. Nearby, Ruphus murmured soft prayers with a trembling voice. Oso paced back and forth near the window, his fists clenched in silent rage.
Tilly had just finished his tale and the news he brought was a serious blow to those gathered.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Jenya said at length, raising her dark eyes and fixing Tilly with a sympathetic gaze. “I will, of course, understand if you choose not to continue this mission. You will be compensated for your time, and we will tend your injuries. The temple is open to you for as long as you need it.”
“And what will you do if I don’t go back?” Tilly asked. Oso glared at him sharply.
“We will try and find another group,” Jenya answered calmly, “or we will send some of our own, though we can ill afford to spare any at this time. I do not mean to sound cold to your plight, but I fear for the children, and the other good folk of this town. If we are forced to start anew, all hope may be lost.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Tilly said, standing, “I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going back. Fario and Fellian have agreed to go with me. I’m going to see if Rusty and Pez are still alive, and I’ll do my best to fulfill my part of the original agreement.” Tilly then looked meaningfully at Oso.
“If you think to shame me further, you needn’t bother,” the ranger snapped, “I fully realize that my absence may have cost our companions their lives. I’m with you now, and to the end. I will avenge them, or I will not leave those halls again.”
_______________________________________________
Gardrid huffed and puffed as he lumbered down the alley, cursing himself roundly. Fool, he thought, hammer-headed fool! Once again, he had let his temper get the better of him; let himself be drawn into a fight. Maybe the twenty pints of ale had something to do with it as well, but he had been parched after the long journey from the mountains, and that stick-in-the-mud Rustifarius hadn’t wanted to stop for a quick nip. So Gardrid had suggested splitting up once they’d reached the city. He’d told the priest they could cover more ground that way, and have a better chance of turning up information about the location of the Malachite Fortress and Zenith’s clan.
Unfortunately, Gardrid’s first stop, the Drowning Morkoth, had also been his last. Those blasted, loud-mouthed water rats had it coming to them, making fun of his Mohawk. That was a badge of honor and pride among the Slayers. He’d won the right to wear it after killing his first bugbear. No one insulted the Kuldjargh of Glaugathor and got away with it. They didn’t call them battleragers for nothing!
When the city guard had finally come to break up the misunderstanding, they hadn’t wanted to listen to Gardrid’s explanation. The fact that they had to pry his jaws open to get him off of one of the scurvy dogs might have had something to do with it. In any case, he’d spent the last two days cooling off as a guest of the constabulary, and now he had no idea where Rusty’d gotten off to. Fortunately, he’d shared a cell with a talkative fellow who gave him the name of a local locksmith, a gnome by the name of Ghelve. His shop was supposed to be around here somewhere…
______________________________________________
Tilly and Oso arrived in front of Keygan’s shop the next morning, and found Fario and Fellian waiting for them. “Oso, I presume,” Fario said with a grin, extending his hand towards the elf. Oso looked down at the gesture without acknowledging it, “I don’t like people knowing more about me that I do about them,” he said curtly.
“No harm meant,” Fario replied amiably, “I forgot how touchy you ‘pure-bloods’ could be. Fellian and I are investigators. It’s our job to know things. We are on the same side, you know?”
“We’ll see,” Oso said, opening the door to the shop.
Just then, Oso found himself roughly shouldered aside, “Make way! Comin’ through!”
A muscular, slightly rotund dwarf with a shockingly orange beard and Mohawk stood in front of the doorway. His body bore several tattoos and piercings, and a huge axe lay across his back.
“Here now! What is this?” Tilly said, stepping forward, “Why is Keygan so suddenly popular with dwarves? You’re the second one we’ve met in as many days.”
“What’s that ye say, little feller?” the dwarf said, eyeing Tilly warily, “There's been another dwarf here? Uptight sort, wearin a fancy necklace round his neck?”
“Yes, Rusty,” Tilly answered, “Do you know him? You sort of look alike.”
“Bah!” the dwarf spat, “He’s an Anvilbreaker, an’ I’m a Craghammer! We ain’t nothin’ alike! Where is he anyway?”
“Well…” Tilly said, “that’s a long story.” He told the dwarf the entire tale, from Keygan’s arrest, to their adventures in Jzadirune, and ultimately of their encounter with Xukasus and Rusty’s fall.
A torrent of curses strong enough to make passersby a block away blush came from the Gardrid. He seized Tilly by the front of his tunic, lifting his feet off the ground, “Now lissen’ here runt! Yer gonna take me to this ogre, an’ yer gonna be quick about it!” He dropped the halfling, and barged into the shop, drawing out his axe as if he expected the ogre to be in the next room.
______________________________________________
The elevator platform descended slowly down the malachite shaft, its occupants silent and stoic. Gardrid had his axe gripped tightly in both hands, drawn back at a forty-five degree angle. Tilly pitied whoever was unlucky enough to step in front of that first swing. Tilly himself had his blades drawn, held in a white-knuckled grip. He fully expected to die today, and that fact terrified him, but he had come to understand himself a little better in these past few days. Before, he had been content to get by, make a living, and not involve himself too deeply in the affairs and tribulations of others. But now…he had faced his own mortality and he knew he could never go back to that carefree life. He had people who depended on him…trusted him. That was new, and he found he liked it. So, even if this was his last day alive, at least now he felt that he had lived to some extent.
The half-elves were silent. Occasionally they closed their eyes, and their lips moved soundlessly, as if they were praying. Oso stood apart, his bow ready, arrow knocked. He seemed to be wrestling with a few private demons of his own.
Too soon, the platform bumped to the floor of the shaft. Tilly was not at all surprised to see that the door to the hallway was open, and the stone guardian stood poised within it. With an inchoate roar, Gardrid lifted his axe and rushed at the creature. It met his charge head on, delivering a solid blow to the dwarf’s right side, but the battlerager didn’t seem to notice. He swung his weapon in devastating arcs, each time connecting and hacking off great hunks of the monster’s stony hide.
Tilly, his reflexes now as acute as ever thanks to Jenya’s removal of his curse, rolled nimbly past the statue, coming up behind it. He drove his blades deep into its flank as Gardrid continued to chop at its front.
Tilly risked a glance behind him, and as he’d feared, Xukasus was there. The ogre was still at the far end of the corridor, but he was approaching fast. “You little people never learn!” the ogre shouted in glee, “All the better for me!” However, his smile fell a moment later as Gardrid’s axe cleaved deeply into the ‘head’ of the guardian, and it crumbled to dust.
The enraged dwarf stepped out into the passage, a lurid grin on his face, “Ogre it is then! They’ll be singin’ me name in Glaugathor this day!” Heedless of the danger, Gardrid charged. Behind him, Fario, Fellian and Oso let fly with a volley of arrows. The covering fire distracted Xukasus long enough for the dwarf to get within striking distance, and then the battle began in earnest.
Xukasus swung his falchion wildly, trying to cut the dwarf in half with a single blow, it seemed. The canny warrior was no easy target, however. He dodged the blows deftly, rushing between the ogre’s legs and coming up behind to deliver a quick chop. None of his strikes seemed to be critical though, and the fight seemed to reach a stalemate, with neither opponent able to land a telling blow against the other.
Soon, Gardrid had the ogre backed into a corner, and by this time Tilly and the elves had arrived. Tilly shouted to the others, “Flank! All sides! Distract him, draw his focus away!”
The four of them began lunging in from all around Xukasus, feinting and then leaping away. He angrily struck about him in all directions, but could not concentrate on one opponent long enough to follow through.
It was while he was thus engaged that Gardrid made his move. The battlerager rushed forward while the ogre’s arms were upraised in an overhand strike, and he buried his axe head solidly in the giant’s abdomen. As Xukasus doubled over, the dwarf wrenched the blade loose and brought it around in powerful chop across his exposed neck. The ogre collapsed and Gardrid rested his axe-head on its back. “Who’s next?” he grinned through the blood and gore splattered across his face.
Oh my gosh...we're all waiting for Tilly's revenge !!!
