The Quest 5

LEVEL 1:  First encounter

The problem with sewers, Garrial thought, was that they all looked the same. He knew that outsiders tended to think the same went for woodland. He begged to differ. To the untrained eye a tree may just be a tree but to him each was as individual as people in a crowd. Even if the trees were all the same species, he could tell each one apart. Trees had character. Bricks did not have character. Each brick looked the same, uniformly dull. Each passageway they travelled looked the same, also uniformly dull.

"Mi'lady, are you entirely positive we are going the right way?"

Merryn snorted. A quite unladylike sound. "You cannot get lost in a sewer."

Garrial rather thought you could and suspected they already had. He'd spotted the same dead rat three times. Or at least, three times he'd spotted what looked to be the same dead rat. He vowed to mark it next time he had to step over it. It wasn't that he wished to point out Merryn's failure to navigate but he couldn't deny, the satisfaction of doing so would be sweet. A few minutes later he spotted the rat and saw his chance. It took only a minute to drop his blade down and sever the rat's tail.

They took a left, then another left.

Then Merryn stopped.

"What is it?" Ulric whispered.

"Shh, listen."

They listened. The sewer was not exactly silent. Between the burbling of the odious sewer sludge running past their feet, the squeaking of hidden rats, the flapping of (probably very lost) bats and the sound of three people trying very hard to breathe quietly, Garrial thought he could actually hear something. It grew louder, until he was definitely sure. Footsteps. Small light footsteps, like a child.

The kobold came around the corner, small sword in one hand and a small green bottle in the other. It pulled up short as it reached them, glared at them with furious but slightly glazed eyes. His gaze flicked from axe to bow to mage staff.

Then it uttered something that rhymed with "luck", turned tail and fled.

Garrial didn't even blink. The arrow had left his bow in a matter of seconds. The Kobold splatted on the stone floor, his sword clattering from his hand.

"Good shot," Merryn said. "Are you okay? Do you want a little sit down now?"

The kobold clambered to it's feet, chittering angrily.

Garrial shot it again. The kobold slumped to the floor. It twitched.

"It's not dead," Ulric said. "Shoot it again."

Garrial plucked another arrow from the quiver. Then he slid it back inside and took his dagger instead, one of his least favourite jobs was cleaning arrows. A fresh arrow was a beautiful thing to behold, all sleek and smooth. A used arrow was usually smeared with gore, gloopy around the edges. But they made your quiver stink if they were not cleaned properly, so the dagger it was.

He crept up on the kobold, it was rapidly regaining consciousness, thrashing around and squeaking. He wasn't sure if he should jab it in the heart or go for the head. The head would be surer, especially if he could spear the eye, but up close and personal to death he found himself shying away from it.

"Oh just get on with it," Merryn called. "Would you like me to do it instead?"

Garrial didn't. He would never hear the end of it if Merryn had to dispatch the damned thing. He steeled himself and jabbed the kobold in its chest. It let out a small sigh and relaxed. Garrial withdrew his dagger, wiped it on the kobold's shirt, and then stuck it back into its scabbard.

He turned to his friends. "It's dead," he said.

It wasn't. Garrial barely noticed the stealthy pawlike hand creeping around his ankle. Although he certainly felt it when the kobold yanked his foot and turfed him to the floor. Shoddy armour notwithstanding, it hurt. Garrial blinked back tears as stars swept across his vision. The kobold flipped over, lunged at his throat, it's teeth just inches away from Garrial's face.

Garrial scrabbled for his dagger. It caught on the scabbard. The kobold snapped its jaws closed, the teeth grazing the tip of Garrial's nose, the creature's fingers grasping for Garrial's eyes. It was strong, far stronger than the elf had expected. And it was a wick ball of fury, all claws and teeth. Garrial felt its teeth sink into the soft flesh of his cheek.

He tried to punch it, and the thing bit harder. Garrial couldn't help it. He shrieked.  The kobold opened its jaws and reached in for another bite.

Then blood poured over Garrial's face, filling his vision, spurting down into his mouth. For a few long moments garrial thought his own blood was washing his face. Then his vision cleared and he saw Merryn above him, her axe blade still dripping. She held a hand out to him.

The kobold rolled to the floor, its head neatly cleaved in two. For the second time in as many days, the elf had to find a corner and discreetly empty his stomach.

"Thought you needed a little bit of help," Merryn grinned.

Garrial could only nod weakly.

They set off again, leaving the kobold growing cold in its own blood.  Moments later they passed the dead rat. Yet again. Hoping to save some face Garrial glanced down at its tail, almost gleeful at being able to point out Merryn's failure. Except its tail was unbroken.

The thing about rats, Garrial thought, was that they all looked the same. Uniformly small,  filthy smug little bastards. Much like dwarves in fact.