ME^3
You want to clone yourself three times?
Not yet, that's on next week's agenda. Its the new games expo dedicated solely to me.
Have you finally gone off the deep end?
That was last week. Anyway, back to ME^3 and the unveiling of the new D'S3.
D'S3?
Yeah, its slimmed down from the Mountain Dew 24 Pack to our new pizza box sized unit.
"Pizza box sized-unit?" Does it come with a side of cheesy bread and the plastic spacer?
That's the multitap for added controller. Up to eight can play!
Oh, this is rich. I suppose you have booth babes too?
Lifesized cardboard cutouts of the St. Pauli girl.
I have absolutely no idea what to say in response to that.
And we're all setup for low cost play on our new network, VoCS service.
VoCS?
Voice over can and string.
All right, wrap it up.
Tip O' the Day: It's amazing what you can build out of the stuff you find in your garage. But get your tetanus shot first. Ow!
*****
The wrought iron gate groaned defiantly as Worm pushed, as if the old hinges would bar entry by will alone, only to give way in a flurry of rust and metallic snow. He paused for a moment, stretching his shoulder and taking the opportunity to look at the formidable structure he was about to enter.
The fat thug had been right to say that it was once the most fabulous estate in all of Tor, though those days looked long past. Great, perfectly cut stones now dingy with age served as a foundation for twin towers so overgrown with ivy that Worm found it difficult to see the covered brick. The grounds were likewise overrun with wild bushes and weeds; the half-orc could only barely see the paved footpaths and fountains below. Yet, even in disrepair, the Keep felt more like a prettified army outpost than a noble’s retreat. It sported no lower windows, though the upper walls were marked by slits and barred openings, and the remains of a stagnant moat partially surrounded the front entryway. He gave an involuntary nod of approval – it was the kind of place Worm would have built, pretty enough to fool the foolish but strong enough withstand a siege.
He heard a snap behind him and wheeled, only to see his newly acquired mule nibbling on some of the abundant overgrowth. When he pulled on the beast’s reins, it fixed him with a baleful eye. Its one eyed stare seemed stupidly unafraid, despite the black and blue outline of a Worm-sized fist around it. “Its not too late to give you back, mule,” he said, though he doubted the bounty hunter with whom he traded pack mules – two legs for four – was anywhere other than on his way to collect a reward. Trading the thug had meant losing out on enough bounty coin to buy a night in the perfumed embrace of the city’s hospitality house, but at least the mule didn’t talk.
The half-orc tugged once more at the reins, and soon his mule clip-clopped along a crudely cleared stone path leading to a rotted drawbridge. After shoving the mule onto the wood to test it, he entered the Keep itself.
He looked up as he stepped into the short stone corridor, noticing both a rusted portcullis hanging wedged above his head and a set of murder holes in the smooth ceiling. At the far end, a door hung loosely on makeshift hinges. The once sturdy barrier of oak and bronze swayed slightly, as if caught in a stiff breeze. Worm opened it with a shove of the head of his club.
Worm edged into the Keep, only to be stopped by an unexpected sight. The interior stood in stark contrast to what the half-orc had seen on the outside. The walls were smooth and polished, sending lamplight from a dozen sconces dancing outward from their glittering surfaces. On the floor, a badge – a long sword and spear overlapping a red shield – sat worked in a mosaic of semiprecious stone. The tiles interlocked tightly, showing recent care and grout work. Tapestries of ancient battles and portraits of distinguished knights flanked the hallway like a receiving line, ending at the archway to the main hall.
Through the archway, outlines from a large fire caused shadows to dance across the walls as the smell of cooked flesh wafted outward. Worm moved toward the fire, watching the shadows as they grew more distinct: a huge figure ripping flesh from a roasting spit.
Gripping his cudgel tightly, the warrior rushed into the room howling the battle cry of his barbarian neighbors and swinging from his hip.
"What's this?" said the ogre as the warrior rushed into the room. The half-orc’s swing, meant to catch his foe by surprise, never came close to the ogrish beast as it deflected the blow with a sizzling haunch of meat. With a crack, the leg bone cracked, sending the meat to the floor. "You made me drop my dinner," it said, matter-of-factly.
The creature stood nearly two feet taller than the muscled warrior and was half again as wide, but not nearly the size of the creature from Pack’s tale, nor as disproportioned. I should have expected your exaggeration, little brother. "You’ve run out of time, monster!" Without hesitation the half-orc changed his grip, sending a two handed swing toward the ogre’s head. The agile leviathan easily stepped aside as the club plowed into the stone.
“Ahh, I see.” The beast chuckled as it dodged yet another of the warrior’s wild swings. “You’ve come to stop the ‘monster’ and collect your reward.”
Worm countered both with words and club. “My reward is the head of a vile beast and place to stay while I’m in town.”
Neither seemed to hit home: “Vile Beast? I’m not the one barging into other people’s homes reeking of beggar sweat, spouting insults and waving around his club like a child slaying imaginary dragons.” This time the ogre sent a counter of his own with a backhand strike that sent the cudgel flying from the half-orc's grasp. “Now leave while my mind is still focused on the taste of my dinner.” The ogre took a step back toward the fire and began to turn his back on the weaponless warrior to retrieve his dropped dinner.
“I’ll leave when my business is finished. And right now that business is you.”
“Very well,” the ogre sighed, using the same tone Pack might when asked to do his chores. The ogre stopped in mid stoop, turning square up to the determined warrior. Powerful looking muscles flexed beneath its leather tunic, nearly ripping it around the arms. “We will do it your way.”
Worm flexed his own formidable brawn, feeling the ripples beneath the skin and settling into a wrestling stance as the two titans began slowly circling each other. The half-orc again felt the surge of energy as his heart raced and blood burned in anticipation of the contest that was about to unfold. Never before had he faced such a foe: one who was neither intimidated nor awed by his very presence or mannerisms.
The goliaths moved almost in sync, circling, watching, waiting for a weakness; any flaw, any opening that would allow for a swift victory. Suddenly the beast raised his left arm as if to strike, but hesitated and in that moment the half-orc seized his opportunity, sending an upward blow straight to the giant’s midsection.
The blow landed like Durnan’s hammer to cold steel, and like the cold steel the ogre was unfazed. Worm, only after the fact seeing the ogre’s feint, whipped his arms back to protect his face. Yet, in the race for the half-orc’s jaw, the ogre’s fist found its way to its target first, smashing into the warrior’s teeth and sending the half-breed reeling.
The world spun, as if Worm were caught in the gears of the grain press, and blackness closed in from all sides. The cold impact of the floor on his cheek sent a wave of pain through the warrior and as the darkness of unconsciousness swept over him he could only listen.
“Not bad kid. I actually felt that."
*****
Next time:
"Dinner is Served," or "I Got Friends in Low Places"
