Onward
The setting sun blazed on in the distance, but its light did not travel far. It was swallowed, consumed in the pitch that blanketed the land. The rays did not reflect or dance upon the waves. The brilliance was killed, dead black. The seeming motion on the surface was only an illusion. The peaks and bows were stiff, frozen in the thickness of the marsh. The swamp would be better called a great bowl of mud. It truly was the bowels of Althanas. Sick things dwelled there, and any that ventured in only grew sicker. However, of all the horrors that lurked hidden within the black tide, the foulest thing there stood out of the water.
"Once again, I'm stuck he'e," grumbled the haggard figure. Short and hunched over, the heavily shrouded being made slow paces through the thick mud, weighed down by his cargo. He babbled to none other than himself in his passing. "Now, 'tis a little late ta turn back," the miserable being noted, staring back to the vast distance he had already covered. With a remorseful gaze, he peered out ahead into the black of night. His heavy brows arched inward. "I wish I wouldn't ha'e met ya. De'e's been not'in' but trouble since den." The ramblings went on, growing deeper in rage as he trekked deeper into the mire.
"M' life was so good before, ya know? I had no worries, no cares. Den, what did ya go an' do? Rend m' soul, tear me apaht from da inside. Ya left me a husk o' what I was. Not'in' was da same aftah dat. M' entiah wohld went ta hell. Stahted ta feel diffahent, act diffahent, be someone else. I want da ol' me back, da ol' Bimblesnaff. Dat'll ne'ah happen, tho'. Ya killed what I was. All dat's left is what ya left fer me. I got not'in', no reason ta live. Ya did it all, all ta me. I dun ca'e who ya a'e or whatcha can do. I got no chance ta do anyt'in' 'bout it, but," a demonic smile grew across his gnarled face as he came to these words, "ya left me wit' not'in' ta lose. Might as well take a shot."
The creature had once been known as Bimblesnaff Bogg, a Ghobling, a pathetic, wretched thing with no purpose and no cause. The only title he carried now was vengeance. His directionless life of ignorant bliss all came to an end the day he learned something meant secret, the location of a hidden fortress. Thinking he could snag a few trinkets to sell on the black market, the goblin soon found himself in way over his ugly head. The maniac had reminded the resident archmage of the secretive stronghold of someone dangerous from the past, and no quarter was spared. The maniac managed to escape alive by dumb luck but not whole. The essence of his being, corporeal and spiritual, had been shifted, askew to what it was.
From there, his life changed, not just from the sole event but all those to follow. His fortune turned hard sour as he soon lost a limb. He also became acquainted with his mirror image, another Ghobling by the name of Hlargasnorp Yuum, who had been driven into years of violent, mindless rage as the result of his encounter with the Order of the Arc from years before. The meeting cost Bogg an eye, another toll to be paid by the man he sought. The wonders did not cease there as, with the tortured soul of Yuum liberated from its years of imprisonment and separation, it was free to seek vindication the only way it could: a haunting nightmare.
For one night, it was able to show the maniac just what the Cult of Damiasien had done to them both, revealing what they were to his simple mind. The already fragile mentality was pushed further beyond the bounds of sanity as his self destructive vendetta was sealed. They would all die. If he was to be included, then so be it. The quest consumed him, and every moment he was not extracting vengeance felt like a bug gnawing at his brain. Shortly there after, he picked the parasite from his ear canal, but the equivalent of mental anguish still persisted.
It had been a while. A long time had passed since Bimblesnaff saw any action or since he traversed the harsh swampland. It was the same desolate stretch of putrid waters. No one would ever suspect it to house the seclusive headquarters of an organization of mage bandits. Even if they did, no one would want to brave it. It was nothing but an expanse of dark, sinking mud. Little life inhabited the lands, and what few did were either poisonous or far too dangerous to ever want to meet. A few dead trees dotted the landscape, drowned in the toxic waters that flooded the scene. Anyone would have to be crazy to venture in these lands, and that is just what Bogg was.
Every step was still remembered of the path he took through the muck. His scratches raked across the rotted bark could still be seen on the timbers marking his trail. The markers were meaningless, however. The rage that drove him kept him focused. This mission had been planned for months, and every step was traced over. His careless whims, already discarded thanks to the Arc, would be no good if he only had one chance. He was going to have to make this shot count.
"Just promise me one thing," the request was issued.
"Promises a'e fer dose dat can be trusted," the lunatic snapped as he forced himself to press onward.
"Make sure when you get to him, he suffers." Bimblesnaff shared a vicious smile with his fellow fiend. "Make him suffer," Yuum continued, "for the both of us."
Hazardous Ways
It had been days of sleepless travel. The new coat that the goblin had purchased for just this occasion was already shredded and muddied, just the way he liked things. His stomach was running without meal or mead as he convinced himself that such could be worried about if he survived. However, the appearance of Hlargasnorp slightly coaxed an alternate line of thinking. Part of the maniac knew that there was no one walking beside him and that it was just a hallucinatation created by his exhausted and drained mind, not that it needed any help in doing so. However, another part of him, the larger and irrational portion, did not care why Yuum was there or even knew what an hallucination even was.
"You're slowing down, Lefty. What'd the deal?" egged on his illusionary companion. "The Arc won't overthrow itself. It'd be great if they would. Sure save you a lot of time and all, but that's not likely to happen."
"I'm tiahed," gasped the gray imp. "I ha'e been stompin' through dis gunk fer moons now an' I dun t'ink I shoulda been drinkin' it." The phantom friend peered down to the rancid sludge. It bubbled for some unknown reason, and most of it was not even brown, a poor sign in something that is suppose to be dirt.
"You might be on to something there, Lefty," he agreed, delivering a slap to the fiend's back, nearly tipping over the bulky load he bore. "We'll get that stomach drained after you're done, 'kay?" The tortured freak gave a look of disagreement as well as confusion.
"What happened ta da way ya wohded?" questioned the one armed monstrosity. "'Tis all diffahent likes."
"Don't be pinning the fault on me," protested the delusion. "I'm a manifestation of your repressed thoughts, a creation of your subconscious." The large phrases and words over two syllables perplexed the simple minded fool, and his loss showed as he broke eye contact with the ghost. Peering downward, uncomfortably, his bandaged claws rubbed against his stomach.
"Ya mean dat sammich I ate da othah day?" misunderstood the fiend. "I dinna t'ink dat bread looked any good." The figment sighed heavily.
"Well, it was fuzzy," he offererd, "and a rat." There was no need for it, but bitterly tagged on was, "And was still moving." The haunt mumbled some cursings under his breath as if the behavior had surprised him.
"Aw, I dun like da people m' stomach makes," whined the cyclops. "Da one's in m' head a'e a lot friendliah." The pathetic nature was washed away in a tide of new resolve. Defiance masked his insecurities as a bold new declaration was made public. "Well, dat does it: from now on, I'm only eatin' t'ings dat are fresh and clean, no more gahbage an' t'in's found in da mud."
"So," reluctantly started the incorporeal companion, "I take it that you've spotted that thing slithering through the mire over yonder as well?"
"It just looks so tasty," irresistibly squealed the famished fiend as his path curved to the quarry.
The prey was an odd mutation. It possibly stemmed from some type of amphibian, but there was no way anyone to be certain. With the abundance of magical experimentation and deadly sludge in the area, countless transformations could have rendered a cat into the abomination being hunted. Its body was swelled and bulbous. It was hard to discern if it inflated to that form by its own means or if some affliction had ballooned it to the gruesome girth. Regardless to the cause, the creature made use of its form floating through the murky waters. It darted to and fro within the slime with a guise of caution. Short, rapid bursts of speed would fall between pauses as its four, glowing eyes probed the darkness for a meal of its own. Tiny nubs, traces of what once were limbs dwarfed by the immense form, sputtered blindingly to propel the critter.
It was accustomed to looking up. The flies that hovered over the bog were its primary focus. Predators were not a worry for its consideration as nothing should wager a death wish to a rancid meal. When one of the insects was honed between the visual quartet, its cross shaped lips parted to release a fleshy appendage. "Tongue" was not used to describe the oddity. Coarse and twisted, the elastic shaft ended in what appeared to be another mouth that consumed the catch. It did not snap out like a toads but rose slowly like a wolf stalking. As the veined extension anticipated its next capture, its role reversed.
With a muted splash, a streak shot over the bloated swamp thing. The hunger crazed, in addition to his normal psychopathies, maniac bound over the feeding anomaly with a hung jaw. The waiting teeth plucked the creature straight from the mire by way of its outstretched limb. Bite by bite, the grotesque mutant was pulled down his through by the tool that once fed it. The slimy texture and rotten taste brought a tear to the Ghobling's eye. The wounded one may have welled, too, but he would not have been able to feel it. The awful combination of sensations had reminded Bogg of a home cooked meal. Of course, his parents did not know how to cook and, therefore, never even attempted at it, which explains the comparison between the two.
Whilst the lunatic joyously feasted upon the stringy meat, a mound of muck rose behind him. The sludge dripped off slowly to reveal the shape of a very large, and very angry, beast. It had been patiently tracking the floating freak for a great deal of time, having found nothing else alive for days. It desperately needed that food, so now the goblin would pay by taking its place. A hate filled gargle foamed out of its boneless mouth, and the maniac was alerted that he was no longer alone.
Foreign Company
Spinning around, and nearly tripping over the primordial soup which he stood in, he beheld the behemoth he had enraged. It was like nothing he had seen before, but his lack of terranean experience was excused as most surface worlders had also not seen one. The brute was built broad and thick, like a bull with trees for legs. The similarities ended there as claiming it as a mammal could be argued. While it was furred, it possess features of insects and mollusks. Its powerful legs, which doubled in width as they extended downward, were tipped in writhing tentacles that constantly snaked through the slime they were forced down into as if trying to breath. Its head was peculiarly round with massive, multifaceted eyes covering most of its sides. They stood out from its dingy, algae intertwined fur with a sharp, bright orange color. Its mouth was a hole, lacking all bones or form, located front and center on its face. The dripping orifice was surrounded by a plethora of worming tendrils that never ceased writhing.
A bellowing shriek, deep yet piercing, shot out from the abomination as it pulled one of its massive limbs from the mire. The came crashing downward, striking into the mud with a hollow plop. The target had escaped, albeit narrowly. With what was planned as a skillful leap out of harm's way, the grayed fiend managed to get as far as hanging on the fringe. Only the wide spread of his legs prevented their demise. He had forgotten two substantial circumstances before attempting his acrobatic stunt. The first was the unyielding slop that filled the forsaken terrain. Neither foot nor light could pass its dark consumption. Additionally, the heavy load he ferried upon his shoulders did not agree with his standard mobility.
Bimblesnaff's body was arched sharply. Almost taking a spill backward when the swamp refused to relinquish his feet, his arms quickly shot out to hold himself out of the mud. A mess was never a concern for his hygienic standards, but he had to keep his package safe and dry. Tearing his legs out from their prison, his talons dug into the beast's flesh as he scaled up the limb. Flipping over himself, he then ripped out his sludge caked hands. The two balls of mud served well to mask what was coming to the mutant. He lashed out his arms in succession. The first flung the clung globule at the hairy mutation, splattering the viscous mass over its compound eyes. The second carried an unseen surprise...
The clattering bell foretold an entry, but the shopkeeper saw no one. Busy with work, she charge the event to the wind and continued hard at her task. Faint but distinct mumbling could be heard, but she did not know from where it came.
"'Cuse me, but can I get me some sahvice or what?" The voice shredded her ears like a bag of kittens in a stampede. A filthy, colorless hand latched on to the counter as a filthier being pulled itself up visible. "What da hell? Ya got a problem wit' payin' customahs or somet'in'?" The keeper was appalled by the nightmarish freak before her, but the sack of gold it clutched persuaded her to hear it out.
A small fortune had been lucked into by the creep. From what he and his simple mind could gathered, his vomit upon a piece of parchment had resembled a regional noble who paid a fine price for the piece. Ever since then, many others wanted to own some of the "marvelous" art of the mad goblin. A kind gentleman even served as the manager of the requests and payments for the small fee of ninety percent of the earnings which, in the agent's words, left Bogg with practically all of it. The treasure had been hoarded away for some time unused, but these times called for a drastic measure.
"Oh, dear," she initially exclaimed but masked with, "I did not see you come in." She had wished things stayed that way. "So, what is it that I can get you?" In addition to the gold, a clatter of chains sounded off the wooden surface. The old, tarnished links were still attached to the handle of his demolished weapon, the hook blade.
"I need some chains added ta dis. She's a wee bit shoht," the fiend placed his order. "Maybe ta be 'bout yea long." His hand was held level to the ground at the height of his shoulder, indicating the desired height. "I need somet'in' else, too. A hook, cold steel." Again, he indicated the dimensions with his hand, arching it to the approximate size. "Like da kind ya hang meat on, big an' stuhdy so it won't give e'en if da catch squihms. But she gotta ha'e one change made ta hah: da rim needs ta be shahpened ta a blade so dat both ends a'e deadly. Oh, yeah, an' all o' dat," he referenced as he slammed his bandaged stump onto the countertop, "needs ta be made inta m' ahm."
"Oookay," slowly and quite frightenedly replied the shopkeep, "I'm pretty sure that can all be done, but not here."
"What? Whaddaya mean?" the outraged amputee demanded.
"This is a bakery." Suddenly, all of the cupcakes started to make a lot more sense. "The forge, blacksmith, and his crazy cousin who likes to replace people's limbs with objects is across the street." Turning about to squint out the window, sure enough, there was a sign displaying the universal insignia for a shop containing a forge, blacksmith, and his crazy cousin who replaced limbs with items.
"How did I ever miss that?" self-questioned the Ghobling. "Oh, well... can I ha'e a biscuit, then?" A grimy digit motioned to his hacked limb. "Fer free on account o' m' ahm?" After a quick swat on the head with a rolling pin, the wretch was chased out of the store while emitting a distinct "whooping" sound his kind use (not really) to disorient their pursuers. After escaping the confectionery creator, he entered the smithy to truly fill out his order.
The first swing flung the clung globule at the hairy mutation, splattering the viscous mass over its compound eyes. The second carried an unseen surprise, the bladed hook recently bolted into his bones. Such operations, even when performed by persons of questionable sanity, are expensive. Rather than a full fusion, Bogg opted for the less costly act: to merely have the chain set between bone with two metal bolts holding it in place. The heavy nuts used to secure the anchors had a diameter that matched the limb they were bored into. The procedure was far from pretty, and neither was its use.
The wicked metal flew forward to the blind beast. It stuck into the fleshy prongs of its wriggling lips which were quick to wrap and dislodge the foreign item. The fingers worked as if on a mind of their own. They felt something and could not tell what it was. Instinctively, this led to one method of identification, a rationale used equally by Bogg, sometimes more often: try eating it. As the tenacious tentacles pulled the weapon in deeper, so, too, was the grave it dug for itself. A hard yank on the chain brought the point back forward, piercing from deep within its body.
Having been busy pulling his feet from the mud and keeping them that way, Bimblesnaff made a sluggish charge towards the creature and followed through with a short bound, the most he could muster while weighed down, to roll over the swamp stalker. The hook was twisted around its insides, shredding and slicing until freed from the body. While it whipped about in the wind wildly, the razored end was snatched from the air in his only hand before he spun his torso back and forth, gashing at the creature with the sharped outer edge. The immobile mire prevented a more appealing full rotation from being performed, but the bug eyed freak was no less wounded from the act.
Catching the fierce weapon, the chain was stretched out taut. The maniac mounted the marshland monster and pulled the length against its neck. The gurgling it produced could not be distinguished as its natural call, strangled noises, or damage to its throat. The life slowly drained out of the brute, both in the hold and from the lacerations. In a burst of desperation, it rolled over to crush the unwanted passenger. To maintain his dry state, the chain was looped about the mutation's neck while the gray freak tumbled over its head. As the large oddity rolled through, Bimblesnaff tried to keep up with its pace, flipping over along with it. With more revolutions, the metallic noose tightened and doomed the creature further. It staggered down to its knees and then crashed down into the putrid mire, sinking below the thick and still waves. Bubbles stopped surfacing.
Bogg was relieved. Triumphantly, he took a seat upon the humped back that emerged from the black waters. The scenery, slow to shape back to its original state, showed the many scars and turmoils from their confrontation. Unsightly and unnatural blood was splattered about the shifted mud. The green blood that dripped from his weapon was viewed in a more positive light, however, seen as a christening to his new weapon and a quenching to his throat. The bout was more exhausting then Bimblesnaff should have allowed, and he was already in need of subsidence. Frantically, he lapped the questionable fluid from the steel.
"Mm, taste just like baby," gruesomely commented the vicious fiend. The devilish self-amusement quickly faded. "Baby? If dat was da baby, den... whe'e's mum?" He asked this despite already knowing the terrible truth. "She's behind me, ain't she?"
"You already seem to be aware," Yuum noted. "Why do I have to be bad news' bearer?"
Big and Ugly
The gray imp clawed at the sludge to try and pull himself away, but a slithering tendril entwined his waist and pulled him up. The mother of the slain was not about to let a murder get away that easily; however, Bogg had yet to be tried for infanticide, and bestial justice was not going to break his streak. Gripping the wriggly tip, his crooked fangs were sunk into the fetid flesh. A tremendous squeal roared out from the parent. As the tentacle released the fiend, he was not as willing to separate. The hook was driven deep into the appendage before he was dropped, and the chain ran out shortly before he rejoined the sticky ooze below.
Swinging on his lifeline, he latched his toes onto the mother and scurried up her body. He had not taken into account how large she was. The raging behemoth beat her chest with club-like limbs to rid herself of her vermin infestation, but Bimblsnaff managed to hop onto the arm as it swatted and crawled to safety. He made the unfortunate mistake of taking in the whole beast whilst riding its arm. The daunting size was overlooked as his mind was more concerned with where he had just come from.
"Eew, monstah teat!" Changing his prior decision to face the titan, he make a quick whip of his chain to knock it from its catch and return it too him. The first part was easily enough accomplished, but the extension was still fairly new to him. Handling it was not yet mastered.
"Ah... not good," the fiend took time out of escaping to say to none as he gazed down at the hook planted into his arm. Making a quick hop to get started, he began his previously scheduled retreat. At his weighted pace, the flee was less than adequate to get him from the colossus. The tree like limbs clashed as the mammoth mutant slide one down across the other, knocking off the nuisance. Plummeting, the swamp's mud was seen over Bogg's shoulder. For fear of ruining his package, his knobby frame twisted wildly to right himself which resulted in a face first, full on splash into the dense fill of the marsh. He did not strike with a burst or a plop but more of a thud. It was incidents like these that robbed his nose of its proud length. Arching his back, the Ghobling dragged himself from the mire before his backpack could be compromised.
Too distracted by the slime he was sinking in, the slime above him was overlooked until it was all that he could see. The beast came down with hungry jaws, or whatever its oral cavity could be classified as. The writhing, tendril lined lips scooped the surrounding filth and the filth it covered. His dark, wet environment was replaced with an even darker and wetter one, and the worst was yet to be seen. The childless mother threw back her head to swallow her load, mud and all. The mouthful slid down her throat, swallowed whole. Its normal meals met there end this way, slowly dying in a cocoon of slime while floating in a pool of stomach acid. Most meals it had did not come with a metal hook.
The dangling lunatic hung suspended over the vat of flesh eating fluids. His recent purchase became lodged in the titan's anatomy, a part he could never hope to identify. The amputee stiffened out his other limbs, bracing them against the inner walls. One at a time, he pulled each up before securing his nails into the esophagus. The scaling prey could be felt ascending, so the vindictive matron dove headfirst into a stretch of swamp. A scoop of mire was taken up and washed down her gullet.
The thick tide washed over Bogg who dug his talons in deeper to hold his place against the wave. The crushing force was taken head one and had to be if he were to protect his shipment. This was not the first time he contemplated giving the gift ahead of schedule. If it was not for his burning hatred, the loving present would be given to the towering beast instead. With control, resolve, and how he imagined feeling once he stuck it to the Order, he hung on.
Repeatedly, the swamp monster tried to dislodge the freak with more loads of mud. In between flushes, he ventured a little higher. As he prepared for the next onslaught of swamp water, it never came. The benemoth teetered and moaned before ultimately crashing over onto its side. Dropped down right side up, the lunatic merely crawled out of his devourer. He made his exit hastily as, nipping at his tail, he felt an oozing wave of mud.
Bimblesnaff emerged into the fresh air, which was questioned as to whether or not it was more pleasant than the space inside the mutant animal. As he left, so did much of what the abomination had recently consumed. In its fury of trying to keep the gray goblin down, the brute had consumed a vast quantity of mud, more than its stomach could handle. No amount of dirt is good for digestion, especially not the filth within this swamp.
"Don't think for a moment that his counts as any sort of commendable victory for you," informed Yuum. "You have not slain, outwitted, or out ran anything. It was a stomach ache that got you the win."
"Bah! Ta win is enough," dismissed the Ghobling. "Stomach ache, lightnin' strike, guy passin' out from yer smell," he listed. "If dat's not eahnin' vict'ry, den what is?" The pleasant debate was dropped as the fallen mother let out a gurgle and vomited up another batch of mire. Desiring not to be around her when she recovered, the fiend bolted and resumed his previous course.
Calm Before the Storming
Off in the distance, he saw his target. It appeared only to be a shallow rise of stone and mud, a marring to the imperfect yet flat expanse. Lesser eyes would have passed over it without consideration, but the fiend knew better. This shape was that of a manmade structure, and not one he ever planned to forget about. The night was perfectly dark and concealing. One could advance to the fortress without being spotted by any guards or watchmen and gain access to the inner corridors. With the stealth operation, they would never know until it was too late.
"Well, now, let's go knock on da front door." His way was more fun. As he approached the entrance, he let down the load from his back. "I've just been dyin' ta see what ya can do."
The gnarled freak spilled out from the blinding sunlight into the shadows of an alleyway. Pleased to be back in his element, a cautious glance ensured that no one saw him make the entrance. The area was thin, dark, and dirty. Foot traffic seemed to steer away from the path as many considered it too narrow. Grime and debris had been kicked in over time and piled up. The walls that flanked the area had gone years without tending and were cracked with need of new paint. It was revolting to merely be in it, making it the ideal business place.
"Welcome, welcome, dear friend," boomed a greeting. It was issued from a large man sitting upon a small stool that scarcely seemed able to support the weight. The figure's attire was exotic yet tattered, fine threads picked up from distant lands but were never changed. Years in the sea wind had ripped them and tarnished his plentiful jewelry. Curious above all to the man was the blindfold tightly wrapped over his eyes. "I had only come back to this alley to escape the bustle of the city. Dangerous streets, these are. All sorts of thieves and pirates are about. Horrible times, I dare say. Why, there could be some here right now trying to peddle their illegal goods, but I have yet to see anything of that nature yet." It was an odd arrangement for a black market, but it kept the man out of the law's trouble.
"How'dya know somebody was he'e?" grunted Bogg. "Or dat I we'en't a law man?"
"Why, sir, what would I have to fear the law for?" believably lied the smuggler. "I am doing nothing wrong. Surely, sitting in an alley is an acceptable activity. Besides, the law don't stank like you." Ignoring the insult, which Bimblesnaff took as a compliment, the pirate heard a very distinct and recognizable clatter land before him. Risking the consequences, he pulled up the blindfold to see if his ears were to be trusted. Sure enough, a spilled bag of gold rested at his feet. "That's... a lot of coin," he said with a growing smile that rested at a seedy grin. "What do you need?"
"I'm meetin' some ol' friends o' mine," snapped the goblin with a malicious undertone. "Wanna make a good impression, so I need some goods, da biggest ya got. Somet'in' dat will really get dem's attention."
"I think I can accommodate you," gladly answered the smuggler.
Showtime
With eyes hovering above the black marsh waters, the maniac wore a smile beneath the mire. It was showtime. Ducking completely under the mud, he turned on his new toy. With a thunderous eruption, the package destroyed the front gate. The stone and wood were shattered to pieces, sending waves throughout the compound. Everyone inside felt the blast and knew exactly what was happening. They had been preparing for it since his last visit. With the utmost haste, a squadron of disciples to the Arc poured out of the gate.
"Now, I know dat's ovahpayin', bud," confessed the lunatic to the exporter as he awaited his order to be found, "but I won't be needin' it whe'e I'm goin'." Bimblesnaff trotted about, eyeing the stockade of merchandise. "So, I figure I got a li'l bit more comin' ta me, right?" Grudgingly, some mutters from the "stock room" agreed with him. Running a slimy talon along the sleeve of some posh vestments, gleeful memories returned to him. "These a'e some nice coats ya got he'e. I use ta ha'e one just like it. Ya got any of 'em in puhple? I gotta ha'e puhple."
The guardian battalon were quick to react. Dust from the demolished entrance was still thick in the air. Each of them cast a spell to burn away the night's haze and quickly uncovered their target. An arched back poked out of the swamp wearing that obnoxious color the fiend had become known by. They swarmed onto his location with no hesitation or consideration. The Ghobling's demise was all that mattered.
"Ya know what?" considered the gray skin, dropping the sleeve of the finery. "Make it two. Yeah, double m' fihst ohdah."
"You want two?" confirmed the smuggler with a degree of shock for need of such quantity.
"Yeah, two." The imp explained, "Da fihst one's just ta get dem's attention."
"So, what is the second one for?" curiously questioned the pirate as he rounded up the order.
"Ta get da attendin'."
As the small army closed in, they were thrown back, none in a single piece. A deadly explosion blasted out of the swamp, destroying the hunters and the violet jacket. Out of both blasts' ranges, the mud stood up. Its thick form slowly dripped down from the one armed freak to gradually reveal his twisted, smiling face. With his only arm, he reached into his wrappings to procure his last purchase.
"I'll only need one mo'e t'in', m' good man, an' ya can keep da change." The black marketer would normally never tolerate such a customer, but the price was well worth it. "I need... a cigah." The pirate echoed his final request only more quizzingly. "Yeah, dem is customary befo'e executions, right?"
"Hey, hey! I don't want to hear about any of that," pushed the smuggler. "What you do with anything you 'found' here today is not my business."
"Ah, quit yer wimpahin' an' whinin', will ya? 'Tis not'in' like dat."
Biting off the end, he swallowed it as he lit up the other.
"'Tis fer me."
Havoc and destruction laid all around him, and he knew this was only the beginning. Taking a deep puff from his cigar, Bogg gagged and hacked terribly.
"You don't smoke," stated the lunatic's imaginary fiend, "never did."
"De'e's lots o' junk I ne'ah done," revealed the Ghobling between coughs. "Dis just makes it one less fer da list." The wheezing fits nearly dropped him to his knees. He persisted, nevertheless, in both remaining upright and taking puffs.
"How charming. I take it you wager against leaving here alive," continued the false spirit. "Sacrificing one's own life is a noble cause in most situation. I do not forsee what you plan to accomplish. Did you even devise in some means before going on this venture or are you simply," the illusion cleared its throat, "winging it?"
The lunatic laughed, "I find ways."
"You know," enlightened his fictitious haunting, "those things can't be good for you."
"Ya know," parroted Bimblesnaff, "I really dun ca'e."
"Yeah? Well, what are you going to do about it? It's not like you can control me. You don't have the -" Blowing out a plume at Yuum, it dispersed and took him with it. Peace at last. When the smoke was gone and air was all cleared, the fiend proceeded into the fortress, right through the smashed front doors. A bandaged hand rapped upon the fallen gate.
"Knock, knock," he stated with a smile as he broke the threshold. "I'm back."
Warm Greeting
The majority of the guardsmen, recently recruited after his last caused fiasco, were taken out with the explosive decoy. As with the previous time, the members of the Order were not trained for combat. Their specialty lied in stealth, knowledge, and other nonabrasive matters. The added security was brought in to compensate for this short coming and, sadly, were made short work of.
The unbound lunatic sped through the hallways. Sharp nails grounded against the cold stone as they sought out a grip in the lay of the bricks before springing off ere gravity dragged him down. The weight of his jacket, encumbered by layers of mud, and special deliveries were off of his shoulders and allowed him to take fleetly down the new corridors. Bimblesnaff had never been privy to the front entrance during his first visit. Rather, he made his own way in. Trying to find his bearings came difficult, but he had two sets of memories to draw up a map with. If it was not for the scattered encounters with panicking Arckers, the tour would have gone smoother.
Frightened newcomers and overaged veterans dotted the halls. In these cases, the gnarled freak easily slid betwixt their knees or vaulted overhead before a countering spell could be readied. As quickly and bizarrely as the image of a pointy, four foot tall, gray half-mummy appeared from no where, it would no sooner be off and around the bend. For good measure and to keep up his reputation, an eye or two would be gouged, or a swift kick was delivered to the back of their heads or knees as Bogg passed on by.
More annoying than these bystanders were the determined firebrands out to make a name for themselves. If they successfully took down the intruder who caused so many woes, their place in the Order would rise. Many were young, to the sect and not in age. Regardless, they were headstrong and independent. Had any team efforts been coordinated, a swift capture could have followed. Instead, they were shown a world of humiliation and hurt, a glimpse into Bimblesnaff's life.
A svelte gent with a pointed chin was the first audacious mage to come forth. With his feet firmly planted in the ground, he threw his arms around the wiry gray skin at its passing. The knobby form wiggled in his grasp to free itself which only spurred him to grip tighter. The hold became so tight that it popped the freak into the air. The slippery slop that lined his body had yet to dry and turned him into all but detainable. The awkward moment seemed to suspend the goblin in the air forever. He hung there having literally slipped from the warlock's fingers. A wrapped arm was brought down behind his neck. The intruder pulled it towards him as he hurtled over the handsome head and continued on his way.
Others magi fared no better. An incantation was prepared as another closed his eyes and brought forth a sphere of fire between his gesturing hands. Such was a rule of battle even the lunatic knew, or pretended to know: "Never take your eyes off the enemy." Like taking a baby from an unguarded crib, it was swift and easy. The hook was tossed straight, its razor edge slicing clean into the fool's neck. As his head teetered to the left, releasing a crimson tide, his now wild fireball slipped from his grasp. The maniac slid between the wobbling legs, aided by the mud that still clung to his form and the recent red spill, to dodge the aimless spell. Reaching his hand up, he grabbed ahold of the metal extension that draped over the nearly headless shoulders and pulled himself up. No sooner than he firmly latched onto the standing corpse did the directionless invocation find an unexpected mark.
The resulting fiery explosion tore through the halls, flushing out or frying the occupants. The colorless cyclops, however, rode the wave on his body board. The blast carried him to the end of the long hall at which point he tugged on the chain. The pull turned the decapitated body about so that the flaming side was the point of impact. As it smashed into the wall, the fires lashed out wildly, spreading to those nearby and ornamental tapestries. As the chaos spread, the armless abomination dismounted his deflated and charred cushion.
"Dis looks 'bout right," he muttered, overlooked amidst the strife. "Come an' get me, ya ol' geezah. I'm all yers." Tracing his fingers through the air, his path was charted out and embarked upon.
All Seeing
"Sir!" rushed out a speedy minion as he burst into a dark chamber. "Our fort, it's under att-"
"I know presicely what is transpiring," cut in the meditating elder. His eyes slowly opened as his legs lengthened beneath his fine robes. He dropped down to the floor from midair as he released his levitation. "I have feared this day for long. I dreaded it more than the return of Yuum. This... Bogg is a witty, formidable foe."
"R-really?" questioned the underling. He had served as a guard, then a poorly trained position, at the time of first invasion before he was demoted for failing to secure the castle. Being one of the few to actually encounter the goblin, he wondered if he and the high priest were speaking of the same individual.
"His facade is most convencing, I shall admit," continued the head wizard. "His craft and tactics are unpredictable, yet he is still able to form plans so far in advance." The former sentry was at a loss for words. "Before, I took this matter seriously and knew I faced a delicate situation. Now, consequences be damned. This pest will fall."
"If, sir, you don't mind me asking," began the fellow Arcker, "if you are so willing to destroy the intruder, why have you not done anything to stop it yet?" A smile grew on the other's beared face.
"I am creating a false sense of victory within the vermin," unveiled the leader, "and it has smelled the cheese. Now, it is surrounded in the heart of base. It has no where to run, no chance to survive, no... hope." The lower ranking sorcerer did not question his superior's motives any further or how over the top and unnecessary they may be.
The head priest cleared his mind. His focus was channeled into a incantation, a locating spell. He had contronted the Ghobling before and knew of it. With this knowledge, he could magically connect himself to it and know its every move. The spell was the highest caliber of its kind, able to locate a specific pebble on the other side of the world if desired. Such precision and detail was used to leave no room for error, but the solution created more problems.
The mage clasped onto his head, screaming in pain. He had gotten exactly what it was that he sought, he felt the gray skin. What he had not forseen was the strength of its presense. A dog can hear a traveller down the road before it breaks the horizon due to its sensitive hearing; therefore, there is no need to scream into its ear to greet it. Bimblesnaff was a scream of magical aura due to the curse that the high priest incurred upon the fiend. Like standing within a giant bell, the presense overwhelmed the scrier, knocking him to the floor. The attending warlock rushed to his side in aid.
"This thing is good," admitted the bleeding archmage, not knowing any better, "really good." Fortunately, he had a secondary plan. In each of his hands, he prepared a different spell and bound them together. The union prodoced a magic bullet with butterfly wings that immediately shot off. The probe phased through walls and people alike as it hunted down the strongest source of arcane presence. The radiated force was so potent, even the tracer faultered in its midst. The second spell linked to the seeker was clairvoyance, allowing the sect head to see whatever it did. Once the target was found, the magus clasped the shining brooch around his neck. Similiar ornaments worn by all under the Order lit up, too, as their minds became linked.
"There it is, our greatest foe," informed their leader. "Surround and move in. Use any means necessary."
Rat In A Cage
The next bend rounded by the former greenling faced him to some unplanned opposition. A similar wall had closed in the rear. The disciples were now gifted with awareness of the intruder, as well as threatened by their superior to take action. Their training in combat was minimal at best, being a studious order, and most could only outfight a little girl. They did not need to win a scuffle, however. Stalling until a proper spell was readied was their intent. The sacrificial lambs in the front row were pushed out by those behind to get their task initiated.
The first to charge forward found tricky feet as the maniac tumbled against the tiles. The attacker lost his footing and crashed into those approaching from behind. As the thin freak rolled back upright, his chained attached was let out to continue the flow, lodging itself in some pitiful mage's gut. The truncated arm was pulled back as a fast foot was brought forward. Organs were yanked out from the wizard's cavity as he was pulled toward the amputee, who raced up the body. As the thrown back hook sliced into more magi, it was brought around under the elevated imp.
Swinging upward, the point pierced threw the bottom of a poor soul's jaw, catching him like a fish. Bogg sprang off from the gutted Arcker to deliver a flying kick to another. The tug dragged the hooked man to the floor on his hands and knees. He was used as a step for the rebounding gray skin who sprang from the back, cracking the man's face against the stone, as the steel ripped from the jaw. The freed steel soared overhead before the other arm snatched the chain up and whipped it to and fro feverishly, rending the robed minions.
The numbers were closing in, giving Bimblesnaff less room to move about. They knew his strength. The metal extension was dropped and flailed by its own to fend off the wizards. With his unarmed hand, an object was removed from his wrappings. His filthy mitts clutched tight around the neck of his ale skin while his thumb unscrewed the lid. A bountiful swig was drained from the flask. All the while, the flying iron shredded flesh and sprayed the air with blood. The cuts were shallow, but it was enough of a hazard to keep the members at bay.
One sorcerer was finally wise enough to learn the wield of the weapon better than the owner. Bravely snatching the instrument midflight, he readied a jolting current to send through the links. With his arm held fast, the goblin turned to see what bound him. He let out a fierce growl, not for what was being done to him but what he was being bad to do. The Ghobling mead, a rare brew due to the fact that no one likes it, was sprayed from his lips and into the eyes of the attacker. Its alcohol content was the least dangerous of its ingredients.
The burned mage flew back as he clawed at his eyes, wailing in torment. He stumbled into two others rushing to the intruder. Worse than the impact or the acrid ale as of the wizard's own doing, the electric palms. Only the hands themselves are protected from the severe shock during casting. If one were foolish enough to press them against their face, they deserved what they had coming. In this case, his fellow Arckers were also punished for the misdeed as the surge spread through their bodies, too.
"Unbelievable!" protested the high priest. "He's fending off all my men alone."
"Sir, they are not trained in hand to hand combat," spoke his underling. "They do not know how to carry themselves into battle."
"There's only one of him," outburst the leader. "No matter how poor they are, they should overcome one measly being!" With a throw of his cloak, he stormed out the room.
"Sir, what are you doing?" asked the servant as he followed.
"Taking care of the situation," replied the top warlock, "personally."
Mad Dash
The tasked magi had been given enough time to achieve their goal. Each front produced a single sheet of force that crept in towards one another. Those caught within were seen as acceptable casualties. The Ghobling flattened himself against the incantation like a bird to glass, never learning from his mistakes. The walls careened closer with no possible escape so long as the casters' concentration was maintained.
"Did... did you feel a shake?" questioned on sorcerer. The source was distant but plenty large enough to be heard. A trail of blood, left from Bogg's self skewered arm, had laid thick and undisturbed on the swamp's surface. Once the mammoth marsh mutant recovered from hes illness, which primarily consisted of her expelling most of what she had consumed, she resumed her vendetta and stalked after the one that slew her infant. The fortress was normally well hidden, masked by a plethora of concealing spells to ensure no wildlife, dangerous or otherwise, would make note of its presence. Such enchantments were incorporated into the walls themselves. When a gaping hole currently feed in a line of blood, those precautions were lost.
The trembling grew as the enraged mother struggled to get herself through the comparatively tiny opening. When that failed, she brutishly resorted to bashing the stronghold with her thick limbs. It was here a grave decision needed to be made by the Arckers: Do they deal with the immediate threat and utter demolish of their castle or finish off the intruder who's damage could not possibly the structural wreckage inflicted each moment by the giant beast. As only limited numbers knew the required shielding spell, they felt their presence direly needed elsewhere.
Swiftly, they and others broke from formation to tend to the grizzly matter. Long and valiantly they struggled against the raging behemoth. The battle was more direct than that waged against the lunatic, but it was also an easier target. Still, their efforts were commendable, and their eventual victory stunning. It was a shame that it all was for naught.
The high priest emerged onto the scene to find a few straggling disciples and no gray skin. Outraged, he demanded to know what had happened and why it was allowed to escape. The stories were long and confusing, rapidly divulged by too many men at once. He only needed to hear that parts of the wall vanished and it took off down the hall after unleashing some bizarre offensive maneuvers. Promising to deal with the lot later, he chased down the Ghobling with aid of his fairy tracker.
The hunter was taken through hallways and down stairs, sometimes in circular paths. The goblin was either very clever or clueless in his choice of path. His indecision aided in allowing the pair to catch up to him. After an exhausting dash, the intruder was finally seen at the far of the hall. What available Damiasienites there were had orders to converge and block its path. The lied in wait, for a second time, for the pest's arrival.
A split in the corridors was fast approaching. The frenzied fiend bounced between walls and ceiling to avoid, mostly, the blitz of arcane assault. Offense was not the cult's primary focus, so the evocations were minor like his wounds. Some novice even botched the casting and used healing spells, although they would never admit to such. Shoulders were ridden and heads were used as launching pads to further his path and absorb some of the volley. Planting down to an outward corner, the lunatic sprung off in a sailing bound down the more packed hall.
"He... took the path with more guards?" questioned the attending minion. "I know he's an idiot, but why would-"
"He's an idiot?" echoed the frustrated leader. "What more could be expected from him?" Breaking through the crowd, the top warlock stalked the intruder. "I'll handle this myself."
With A Bang
As the head priest dashed down a hallway intersection, he had to stop and backtrack. There, perched peculiarly upon the wall, was his fleeing chase. After all the twists and turns the diabolical wretch had taken him and his men through, now it sat there, waiting for him.
"You are mad, goblin!" roared the wizard as he cornered the freak in the dead end, blocked by a locked door.
"So dey tell me," the amputee snarled, staying where he was. The sorcerer was guessing to what move the gnarled being might make next. Such actions never came. A ball of energy was gradually generated between the mage's hands. It was done with the utmost caution due to what transpired the last time.
"Somethings will never change," laughed the Arcker. "Once a fool, always a fool." Still, his target stayed frozen. The size of the spell was doubled. It violently trembled, nearly slipping from his control.
"C'mon, take yer best shot," coaxed the miserable thing. "I da'e ya. Ya can't hit me." The high priest was still puzzled by sudden stop of flight from his quarry. He would have expected some sort of ulterior motive, but the maniac was not smart enough for such. The blast fired anywise, wanting the thing dead more than anything. No effort was made to get out of the way. No effort was made to stop the wizard. The fiend cracked a smile but held in its ear ripping laughter. He held it back because he wanted the shot to be made. Finally, the archmage put the pieces together, but the wall and the goblin were already blown to them.
The robed figure darted through the smoking hole he just created, right along side the door with the venerable arc on it. His fears were confirmed as he saw the prize of their organization, Damiasien's Arc, damaged. The large structure stood only on one leg now and wavered uneasily. The massive shape could no longer hold itself upright, and soon the other leg snapped. The wooden relic crashed onto the sacred and decorated tiles, now blemished with pieces of rubble and bits of goblin. While the fall splintered the aged artifact, the most detrimental affliction came from the acrid blood that littered the floor and was slowly chewing away at its bits.
The Arc was a magical gateway, a stabilizer to things arcane. With the conduit in ruins, only disaster could follow. Orders were not needed as proper securities were attempted. Some means of containing the magical influx was needed, but none could offer any assistance. A piercing, grating laughter echoed off the domed halls. The amplified shriek rend their minds, pouring blood from their ears. Strewn across the floor, laying on his back, was half of Bimblesnaff. Despite the heavy blood loss and nearly falling into shock, there were still enough wits about him, surprising, to sense the utter despair and impending doom they all faced.
The opportunity had passed by now. Whatever hopes they had of saving themselves had passed. Where the Arc once stood now appeared a dimensional rift that tore through reality. A pillar of blinding light ripped through the ceiling and beyond like a knife to open up the sky's veins. The column pulsed and surged, sending out destructive waves that sliced through the stronghold. The citadel had been reduced to little more than a crater in the marsh with the edritch anomaly at the point of impact.
Standing, looking backwards in awe of the destruction, the high priest felt the day break on his face. Light was not all that infiltrated their once proud castle. The backwaters flowing through the open wounds quickly found their way to the tear in reality. The muddy waters slowly were churned into a maelstrom that climbed up around the beam. The shaft began to falter more, cracking and bending. Its demise and their own was imminent.
"Hey, man," the Ghobling called out to get his adversary's attention off impending doom. Half unconscious from the pain, his single, weary eye pierced the mage as he barely mustered his comment. "Nice shot." The bisected imp resumed his laughter, now barely audible. Although their conversation was over, head priest continued to gaze the creature.
This was the first time he had such a clear view at just what he been fighting. It may have seemed rearranged, but that was its true nature. It was small and withered, a pathetic specimen, damaged and weakened long before he got to it. The twisted thing was not worth even his attention, yet it laid before him as the sole cause. This runt, this Ghobling, had single handedly, in more than one way, taken down their powerful sect. As he came to the realization of his end and that of the Order, his eyes closed and his head hung as faint whisper escaped his lips before it all was wiped from this world.
"Dammit."
