Rabelais said:
Somehow, the fact that they're less likeable makes them more... I dunno... Likeable?
More HUMAN anyway
I think there's always been strong support for the "bad" guys here in the SH forum. After all, Benzan had a considerable fan base in my original
Travels through the Wild West story. And characters like Wulf, Capellan's Kull Redfist, (contact)'s Lucius, and Blackdirge's various demonic protagonists have all been big hits here in the SH forum.
I'm really enjoying writing these characters; working with shadowy personalities often stirs up a lot of interesting interactions. Of course, there will be a lot of surprises in store as well.
Speaking of which...
* * * * *
Chapter 15
THE MAD GUARD
Keeping an eye out for pursuit from the wererats and their minions, or from the dung monster, the companions moved deeper into the dungeon.
The stairs opened onto a long chamber from which numerous doors offered exit. Tiros had lit another pair of torches from Varo’s expiring brand, but they had gotten wet during their brief immersion in the stream, and they cast a smoky, fitful light.
This level had its own distinct odor as well. “Smells like piss and smoke,” Dar said, as they moved fully into the room, looking around for anything of interest. Other than the four doors, there place seemed utterly empty.
“We need to find a secure place to rest and recover our strength,” Tiros said.
“Well, pick a door,” Dar said. “One’s as bad as the next, like as not.”
“Let us go this way,” Varo suggested, leading them to the right, where a short corridor heading off the room ended in a door.
“Why that way?” Navev asked.
Varo shrugged. “They say that if you ever find yourself lost in a maze, just place your hand on the wall to your right, and keep bearing right when confronted with a choice, and you’ll find your way out.”
“I don’t know if this place follows any of the usual rules,” Dar said. But he followed the others as they made their way to the door. The door was similar to those they’d already encountered, if in slightly better condition. Varo listened at the portal for a moment, then nodded to Dar.
The door opened onto a corridor that ran perpendicular to the one they’d been following. Navev turned to the right, but Varo forestalled him with a raised hand.
“Do you hear that?” the cleric whispered. The sound was faint, coming from the left passage.
“It sounds like breaking sticks,” Tiros said. “Or bones, maybe.”
“We’d better check it out,” Dar said. “Whatever it is, I don’t like the thought of it coming up on us from behind.”
They moved cautiously down the left passage, Dar in the lead, followed by Varo and Tiros, with Navev bringing up the rear. After they’d gone about twenty feet or so, they could see that the passage opened onto a larger chamber ahead, at the edges of their torchlight. The sounds had stopped, and the smell of urine had grown noticeably stronger.
As they approached, they could see that the chamber appeared to be roughly T-shaped, with a slightly narrower alcove to the west. Their light revealed a great deal of assorted trash scattered about the place, mostly old bones and other bits of long-dead creatures. A heap of noisome matter formed a nest of sorts on the far side of the room to their left. As they entered, their attention was drawn to a long metal spike embedded in the wall, pointing out toward the middle of the room.
None of them spotted the figure lurking in the shadows to the left of the entry until the moment that it stepped into the light of their torches, and brought a massive club down squarely across Tiros’s back. The marshal was flung halfway across the room, and he landed in a limp heap, unmoving.
His attacker, a wild-looking man with bulging muscles, clad in a rancid tunic of old hides, screamed and leapt forward to do the same to the rest of them.
Dar dodged a wild swing, countering with a sweep of his sword that slashed through the hides protecting the man’s torso, opening a gash in his belly. The crazed attacker turned on the fighter with a wild fury, but before he could strike again, Varo reached in and touched him on the shoulder. A spray of blood accompanied the tearing of his flesh as the
inflict light wounds spell worked its effect upon him. The barbarian spun around, smashing the end of his club into Varo’s face. The cleric staggered back, momentarily stunned by the sheer force of the impact. The man looked strong despite the insanity that shone in his eyes, but the reality of his prowess was even greater, each of his blows landing with the strength of a giant behind them.
Navev, faced with the full force of the man’s wild stare, stepped back and brought up his hands. In that moment, his eyes glowing red, his hands surrounded with a sheen of power, one could believe the charge of demon-worship levied against him by the mages of Camar. The barbarian took the
eldritch blast straight to the chest, blasting a black mark in his hide armor, but he barely flinched.
For all his rage, however, the creature could not ignore Dar thrusting seven inches of cold steel into his back.
The barbarian screamed and tore free. Dar lifted his shield, ready for the inevitable counterattack, but the mad creature turned and fled to his nest in the back of the room. He crouched there, his hands lifted above his head, gibbering something incomprehensible at them.
“Such madness,” Varo said, shaking his head to clear it. He drew out his second healing wand, and rushed to the side of the unconscious marshal.
“Yeah, well, he’s going to have a much bigger problem in a few seconds,” Dar snarled, striding forward, his sword clenched tightly in his right hand. The barbarian cringed.
But just as Dar was approaching striking distance, the barbarian reached into the mess of its lair, and drew out a ceramic jar that he hurled into the center of the fighter’s breastplate.
Dar lifted his shield, too late, as a green ooze splattered over his armor. A gob of the stuff landed on his cheek, where its nature became immediately obvious.
“Green slime!” he yelled, staggering back. He dropped his sword and shield, and started trying to get out of his armor. As the slime began to eat away at the metal, he drew a dagger and scraped at the spot of the substance on his cheek, taking a good hunk of flesh off along with it.
The barbarian rose, lifting his club once more.
Another
eldritch blast caught him along the side of his head, blackening the entire left side of his face. The barbarian lowered his head and charged.
Navev held his ground, and summoned his power once more. Red and black streaks flowed around his hands, coalescing into a point of energy cupped between his hands.
The barbarian and the warlock struck at the same time. Flows of energy slammed into the madman, drawing red streaks across his neck and jaw. He screamed, but the impact did not abate the force of his charge. He slammed into Navev, catching up the warlock like a child, driving him before him. There was no way for him to escape; he may as well have been strapped to a wagon rolling down a hill.
Until they hit the wall.
The spike hit Navev square in the middle of the back. It tore through his body, and a foot of bloody iron exploded out from the center of his chest. The barbarian’s momentum carried him forward, and he too was struck, the bloody tip catching him just below his left breast, driving between two ribs.
For a moment the two foes hung there, in a mock embrace. The barbarian reached up, slowly. He placed a bloody hand on the warlock’s face. He held it there, for a moment, and then pushed with the last fading remnant of his strength. Navev’s hand jerked back, and the barbarian fell from the spike, landing in a bloody heap on the floor.
Zafir Navev’s head lolled to the side. For an instant, his eyes fluttered. He looked down at the bloody ruin protruding from his chest.
And then he died.
