Wiping sweat from his face, Otho and Blade trudged toward the town named Fang. There would be supplies they could barter for, or just continue with essentials.
Handing the stick known as SplintEdge to Blade, Otho questioned Blade as to where he came across such a magical weapon, Blade replied with a smile, "I'll tell you another time".
Sighting the town, Blade picked up the pace. "Slow down, I cant go any faster!". Struggling to keep up Otho tumbled into a hole in the ground which seemed awefully big for any rodent
Blade had just about broken into a full-fledged run towards the town, when it dawned on him that the shorter dwarf may not be able to keep up. He turned around, but the elder traveller was nowhere to be seen. The youth was slightly confused and his first thought was that the dwarf had changed his mind and decided that Blade was not worth his time after all. This, of course was rediculous and the young one took no time convincing himself that this was not the case and set off back the other way, calling the dwarf's name.
Otho, meanwhile, was starting to wonder exactly why he was doing all this and wishing he had reconsidered. The pit, which was at least five feet deep, well too high for the dwarf to climb out of, was, thankfully, empty, but the sharp rock he had landed on left him far from comfortable. He could faintly hear Blade calling his name somewhere above, but for some reason he didn't feel like responding just yet. Dragging himself to his feet he looked around his little prison. It was about three feet long and wide and it was completely devoid of anything but dirt and some small bones, probably rats.
Rubbing the new hole in his back, Otho decided to try to dig some notches in the wall to climb out, but quickly discovered that they were too hard and smooth. It was almost as though whatever created this pit deliberatly packed the walls to make it impossible for those who fell in to escape. Shuddering slightly at this thought, the dwarf started circling around the circumference of the pit, trying to find a weak point in the wall.
Blade would have missed the pit completely if it weren't for the torn up clumps of grass and dirt that had been created by Otho as he fell. "Otho?" he called out questioningly as he peered into the pit. It took a moment for him to make out the figure of the dwarf circling the pit, for although the pit was not that deep, it was somewhat hidden from its surroundings and enshadowed under a cluster of trees.
The dwarf looked up at the boy. "Aye, laddie, 'tis me, but unless you have some form of rope, I dun see how yer gonna get me outta here."
"I'll think of something," the lad replied, but before he could, a small shout of triumph from below drew his gaze back to the pit. "What is it?"
The dwarf, busy pursuing his find, didn't answer immediately, but continued pounding away at the portion of wall directly below Blade. Sure enough, the outer inch or so gave way, revealing a hollow portion behind. Otho couldn't see the end. "It looks like a tunnel," he called back to his human companion, "but it's too dark to tell how far it goes."
"Hold on, I'm coming down!" Blade shouted, all too enthusiastically. With a mightly leap, he landed in the pit narrowly missing the dwarf.
"What did ya do a stupid thing like that for?" berated Otho. "Now both of us are stuck in here."
"I can get out," retorted Blade, who then attempted to prove his point by reaching up and trying to pull himself back out. But he underestimated the difficulty of pulling oneself up onto a steep ledge that comes to the top of one's torso, and without enough room to get a running leap, he was not going to get out any time soon. Rolling his eyes, Otho grabbed Blade's pantsleg and ripped off a portion of the oil-treated garment.
"Hey, what was that for!?" the youth protested, but the dwarf didn't answer. Instead he simply picked up what appeared to be a broken hilt of a sword from just inside the tunnel. Stuffing the piece of fabric into the hollowed top of the handle and proceeded to light it with the flint he always carried with him. "Ohhh," the self-proclaimed Beast-Slayer muttered.
"It looks like this path is the only option we've got left," the dwarf told him. So let's go." And with that, the dwarf set off determinedly down the unknown tunnel carrying his makeshift torch with Blade uncertainly following behind
Nov 18, 2005
The strange, round walls of the tunnel reflected back the flickering light of the makeshift torch "What do you think made this tunnel Otho?" Blade questioned. "I know not, but by the look of those bones, it bodes ill for us"
The tunnel ended abruptly, opening out into a vast cavern. "Stick behind me laddie, this could get dangerous." Blade obediently fell in place behind otho as they traversed into the middle of the cavern, where the acrid stench of flesh permeated the stale air
As the pair dwelled deeper into the darkness, the youth studied the walls.
"If there were some type of markings left on these walls," spoke the boy in an attempt to uplift the eerie presence cast by their surroundings, "I might be able to tell what sort of beast crafted this as their abode. That would be assuming that something made these walls, of course. A beast would only make it as wide as it was needed to be, and its struggling sides would leave trace markings of its hide. No, this is definitely outside of my specialty."
"How old are ya again?" mocked the dwarf with a false smile. "I dun think ya're allowed to have a 'specialty'." Trekking deeper still, two shadows loomed in the distance, not within the cavern but at its mouth.
"So, do you think it is him?" the short man in a gold trimmed, green cloak questioned.
"I am not quite certain, Vajimis," the larger, wider man doubted, stroking his blonde goatee. "He does fit the description, however, he does seem to be lacking the sharp mind of a true warrior like the chosen one should possess. For example, falling into a hole so obvious and wandering into the home of some man-eating beasts is not what the true one should do."
"But, he does bear the Mark," mentioned Vajimis. A smile grew below his bulb-shaped nose as his companion grudgingly accepted the truth. "Oh, our master will be quite glad that the chosen one has been found. He will be so pleased."
"But he is currently entering the jaws of horrors most foul," the taller man garbed in gilded vestments expounded. "That is not what we want."
"That is true, Hohort," agreed the squat man, rubbing his chinless face. "It is not likely that they will be able to kill the chosen one. Well, we best take care of it ourselves." Pulling out their extravagant arments, Hohort's crossbow that appeared more like a small ballista with bolts tipped with jagged heads and Vajimis' spiked ball and chain of rustless steel links and golden head, they rose them to the sky and called the name of their abysmal overlord.
"Jalyur sema kitar, Nibrou lazive wir!" which translated to something like, "Your wrath will be heard, Lord of Blood, Nibrou!