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.

The quest 4

LEVEL 1: INTO THE SEWERS

The next morning, the three of them gathered at The Rabid Goblin for a last minute equipment check and a final draught of beer before they set off on their very first quest. Merryn had spent much of the previous evening arguing with Harnod about her list of expenses. It seemed reasonable to her that Harnod should provide them with the means to stock up on Health and Mana potions, not to mention extra arrows and if possible, a map. Harnod had blanched a little at her requests but had acceded eventually, allowing them to open an account with the merchant who was sitting, yet again, at the corner table.

After Merryn had finished arguing with Harnod, the merchant had also tried his hand at bargaining with her. Like Harnod, he found her to be the driver of a very hard bargain. Ulric could well understand why dwarves had a reputation for being miserly, this was also why Merryn was usually in charge of the finances. That and she wouldn't let anyone else touch it. The merchant had offered them potions at 10 gold coins apiece, Merryn walked back to her friends with a dozen varied potions, a large quiver of arrows, a ring of good fortune and a discount of thirty per cent.

With all their provisions stashed safely away, the map studied and Garrial's shoes finally clean, they decided they were as ready as they would ever be and they should make a start. Garrial claimed a good luck kiss from the barwench Ellysia and they descended into the cellar.

At some point in the intervening hours, someone had come down to the cellar and removed all the rat corpses. Aside from a few splashes of blood and the faint but lingering scent of Garrial's shame, the cellar was clean. Ulric touched the key which now hung from a fine silver chain around his neck. He was nervous, but exhilarated. Finally, all the years of training and theory, finally his career was starting. He unlocked the fake door at the end of the cellar and they stepped into the first chamber of the sewers.  The heavy door slid closed behind them.

The room beyond the cellar was pitch black. Ulric stood for a moment in the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust, but knew it was hopeless, there was no light source at all. "Did anyone bring a torch?"

Merryn snorted. "Of course we did, what sort of idiot goes into the sewers without some sort of light?"

"Well, light it then," Ulric urged, he was getting rather nervous, who knew what was lurking in the dark? There could be two dozen orcs in there and he wouldn't know.

"Garrial's got it," Merryn said.

"I fear I have not," Garrial's voice came from behind him. "I was not given any torch."

"I gave it to you!"

"I believe you are mistaken."

"At the table, before you started eating the  face off that elven wench,"

"I was not given anything, if you left them on the table, it may have been advisable for you to alert me to that fact."

"So go back up for the damn things," Merryn demanded. "Never mind, I'll go up, make sure we actually get them. Um... where's the door?"

"Behind you," Ulric said.

"I can't see it."

There was a shuffling, a low-voiced bout of profanities and then a slightly longer and louder torrent of dwarven obscenities.  And then Ulric remembered he was a sorcerer. He flicked his middle finger against his thumb and invoked the Endless Flame spell. At last, they could actually see.

They were standing in a small chamber, probably ten by ten strides. A large rusted gate hung askew on the far wall, and several crates were piled up against the wall on their left. There was nothing waiting to attack them.

"I'll warn you now," Ulric said, "I can't keep this flame going and cast other invocations."

Merryn, having located the door, stomped off back through it. Ulric heard her swearing die away as she presumably went back up for the torches.

They waited for Merryn to return, Ulric with his hand held aloft, the six inch flame flickering gently, Garrial leaning against the nearest wall. Merryn seemed to be taking ages.

"This gentlemen's club," Garrial asked, "you do not think it actually exists?"

Ulric shrugged. "I don't know, some lads in the year above us at the academy reckoned they'd been, but then again, one of them used to tell everyone that he'd single-handedly killed three balrogs and a beholder when i know for a fact it was one balrog that was already half dead, and a tiny beholder the size of his fist." Ulric would not have been at all surprised to find out this club was nothing more than a low class brothel. Though an underground brothel was new to him. Maybe it was run by goblins. He shuddered.

"If we rescue her mother, do you think I could ask for the hand of Ellysia?" Garrial asked.

Ulric laughed, "what happened to the last one? The barbarian girl you were seeing?"

Garrial sighed, "alas, I found her to be somewhat... demanding."

"What he means is," Merryn said, finally rejoining them, "he couldn't keep up with her sexual appetites."

Garrial blushed. "I would like to marry an elven girl, they are so much more gentle, more refined."

"See?" Merryn nudged the elf, "he couldn't satisfy her. Now, are we getting started?"

The three of them stepped through the rusty gate.

"Left or right?" Ulric asked.

"Left," Merryn announced as Garrial said to go right.

Ulric sighed and opened the map. It was going to be a long quest.

The Quest 3

LEVEL 1 :  HARNOD'S QUEST

The three of them staggered back upstairs into the tavern. The took up their previous seats at the bar, all now a little worse for wear. Merryn and Ulric both had splashes of blood on their clothes, Garrial's attire was clean, but neither of his friends wanted to sit too close to him, he still carried the shameful odour of vomit.

Harnod stepped forward and placed the small bag of coins on the bar. "Your reward."

Merryn's hand snatched the coin purse from the bar, it clinked, she couldn't wait to count it.

"That's for the three of us," Ulric reminded her.

"I'm making sure it's all there," she replied, but in truth she just wanted to feel it. The gold was cool against her palms, but soon warmed. She could smell it, a sort of warm yellowy scent, the sweetest perfume she knew. There was some silver in the bag too, the scent of that was cooler, more metallic.

"It's all there," Harnod bristled, then sniffed. "So you didn't have a problem with the rats then?"

"We even killed their king," Garrial said.

"Queen," Merryn corrected him. Stupid Elves, could they not tell a male rat from a female one? "If that had been a king, his balls would have been bigger than yours," she informed him, and then added, cackling "in fact, she probably did have bigger balls than you."

Ulric grinned. "I don't think our friend likes the sight of blood."

Merryn clapped Garrial on the back. "This is why he's an archer, so he can kill from a safe distance, isn't it Gar?" An evil glint sparkled in her eye as she added, "or is it "Garrughaghugh?"

"I am the finest archer in my village," Garrial sniffed, "I could take down a soaring eagle before you even see it."

"But you fail at basic rat biology and your stomach turns inside out the moment you have to do any actual fighting?" Merryn raised an eyebrow, "are you sure you're cut out for this? At least now I know why you're a vegetarian."

Ulric sighed. He turned to Harnod. "There's a door at the far end of the cellar, where does it lead?"

"To the sewers, were you thinking of going exploring in there?" Harnod smiled. "I have the key, I would be glad to give it to you..."

"Is there gold under there?" Merryn asked.

"In the sewers? I believe there is a few hidden caches of treasure, it was well used by several thieves guilds at one point. Of course, there is no thieves guild any more, the militia have seen to that." Harnod paused, "and of course, legend has it that the Hellishly Fine Ladies Club is also down there."

At this point the lovely barwench gasped.

Garrial, who had been resting with his head on the bar top suddenly sat bolt upright. "The Hellishly Fine Ladies Club? What's that?"

"It's an exclusive gentlemen's club," Ulric told him, "definitely illegal and probably mythical."

"It's not mythical," the barwench said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Harnod threw her a pointed look. He turned to the adventurers, a smile painted on his face.

"Several years ago, I lost my wife. Rumours have it that she was taken down into the sewers and she now resides with other ladies in that club."

"And you never went after her?" Merryn asked.

Harnod shook his head, his expression was the perfect mask of regret and sorrow. "I am not an adventurous man, I had a young daughter; Ellysia here, and my business. If I had perished down there, what would have become of her?"

"We shall find your wife!" Garrial cried, "the key!"

Merryn prodded him none too gently in the ribs. "Is this what you are asking us? To go through the door, find where the ladies are being held captive, and bring your wife back home?"

Harnod inclined his head, the barest of replies.

"How much?"

"I could not possibly put a price on my sweet love's head," Harnod pleaded. "I beg of you, let us not bring financial bargaining into this."

"A grand apiece," Merryn suggested. "Plus expenses."

Harnod swallowed, "that much?"

"Surely no price is too high to get your sweet love back?" Merryn asked gently, she got the feeling she had asked for too little. A feeling compounded when he agreed without haggling. Never mind, they had yet to agree on expenses, and Merryn had quite a list.

The Quest 2

LEVEL 1. THE CELLAR

The cellar was dim. Not so dark that they couldn't see, but dim enough for most of it to be in shadow. Some of the shadows moved. There was a scrabbling noise somewhere deep in the room.

Garrial never felt comfortable underground. He was a Wood Elf, born and raised on high platforms in the distant woods. A hundred feet above the ground, he was a happy elf, ten feet underground however...  he shuddered, pulled an arrow from his quiver and stepped cautiously into the dimness. Behind him he heard the brief scrape of Merryn's axe on the stone walls and the crackle of electric. He hoped Ulric wasn't planning on using his lightning spell, last time he' done that the bolt had zig-zagged off the side of the academy wall and grazed Garrial's head. It had taken two months for his eyebrow to grow back. It still was a little stubbly.

"I don't see any rats," Merryn whispered.

Garrial couldn't either, and didn't expect to, not if she couldn't. He could certainly hear something though; not the multiple scratching of dozens of rats but a soft breathing and the occasional  shower of dusty grit falling to the floor, as if something was brushing against the grimy walls. Something furry.

"A ray of light, my friend?" Garrial suggested to Ulric.

Ulric began to murmur under his breath, rubbing his hands together. A ball of light formed in his open palms, and when Ulric raised his hands, it drifted upwards to the low ceiling, illuminating the entire cellar. And the rat.

The six foot long rat in the corner.

Garrial let his arrow fly. It bounced off the brickwork inches above the rat's head and clattered to the stone floor. The rat turned to look at them. It blinked slowly, then reached out and grabbed the arrow with its disturbingly human-sized hand. It sniffed the arrow and, finding it agreeable, began to pick its teeth with it.

Garrial let loose another arrow. This one lower, right on target for the beast's snout. The rat's reflexes were impeccable, it simply snatched the arrow from the air.

"I never saw a rat do that before," Ulric said.

"You never saw the rats back home," Merryn hefted the axe, "I swear, I once saw one juggling,"

"I believe this may call for heavy weaponry," Garrial said. "Lady, after you."

Merryn snorted. She approached the rat with her axe ready for blood. The rat raised itself up on its haunches.  Garrial watched Merryn launch herself at the rat, screaming the war cry of her people and raising the axe high. She brought the axe down, the rat feinted, grabbed the handle. Merryn stamped on the rat's toes. It squealed. And then the entire room seemed to be filled with rats.

Garrial shrieked. Like a girl. he hopped around from foot to foot as the small beasts swarmed over his toes. At some point during this dance of utter humiliation he decided that he was never going to hit any of them with arrows and instead drew his dagger.  Using the good old technique of stabbing wildly into the murine carpet he managed to impale several on his dagger.

"Rat kebabs anyone?" Merryn called, she was still wrestling with King Rat for possession of her axe. The King was not for letting go, it chattered at her in an incessant rant of rodent obscenities. Merryn must have understood at least a little of the profanities spewed at her for Garrial heard her ask the rat just what it thought her mother did in the mines with trolls and then he watched in astonishment as Merryn pulled back her heavy leather boot and drive her heel deep into the area where Garrial suspected the rat kept its testicles. 

The King's drew a breath like a punctured lung and folded neatly to the floor. Having completely lost her axe, Merryn finished the beast off by jumping on its head. Garrial watched in horrified fascination as the creature's eyes bulged and blood ran from its snout, there was a sickening crack as the snout broke and teeth scattered across the floor. And then the sickening stench of vomit as Garrial quietly disposed of his lunch. 

Ulric yelled out something behind him and Garrial was blinding by an explosion of white light. For a few moments he stood blinking, his hands still on his knees and strings of bile still hanging from his jaw. He could still vaguely feel rats squirming over his feet, and hear a chorus of frightened ratty shrieks but he had no idea what was going on.

The impossibly bright light faded and Garrial blinked the room back into focus. The Rat King was dead, and all his minions were flat on the floor, rolling around in their final agonies.  Merryn had both palms pressed into her eyes swearing under her breath.

"Sorry," Ulric said, "meant to aim downwards."

"I've gone blind, you congenital idiot," Merryn snapped. "What the hell was that?"

"Ray Of Light," Ulric said. "Very effective against rats. And, um... other underground creatures."

"Dwarf!" Merryn shouted, "Underground Race! What part of Underground do you not understand?"

"Sorry," Ulric said again.

"Are they all dead?" She asked, "I can't see a damned thing."

Garrial looked down at his feet, he mopped up his boots with the nearest rat carcass, dragging it across his toes with the tip of his dagger.  "They all seem to be deceased," he said.

"Good," Merryn snapped, "there'd better be some damn gold in this place. You two had better look."

It suddenly occurred to Garrial that he was going to have to shift rat corpses to search the cellar. His stomach did another lazy slide. "There's wine?" He said. "Lots of wine?"

Merryn snorted and informed him that Dwarves did not drink wine, they left that sort of thing to poncy Elves.

"And there's this," Ulric said.

Garrial looked up. Ulric was at the far end of the cellar, standing in a stone alcove between two large sets of shelves. At first he couldn't see what Ulric was referring to, not until Ulric knocked on the wall. The muffled thud suggested it was not stone but wood.  They had found a door.

The Quest 1

Something new, a bit like The Figgis Chronicles for fans of that, but based quite a lot on various RPG hack and slash games I have slaughtered my way though...

Dad, this is for you...

LEVEL 1 : THE TAVERN

The adventure started, as all adventures seemed to, in a small tavern by the name of The Rabid Goblin.  This tavern, like so many others, was a small place tucked away up a backstreet. Empty save for the obligatory shady guy in the corner selling swords and potions, a drunken man mumbling to himself in the corner and, as ever, a busty half-elven blonde standing behind the bar, breasts spilling over her inadequate bodice and curly hair cascading all over her fair shoulders.

The three of them were enjoying a drink. Not particularly looking for a quest, but then again, nobody ever looked for them. Any quest worth having, was one that was thrust upon you, any adventurer worth his battle-scars knew that. Except none of the three actually had any battle-scars, it had only been a few weeks since they had graduated from the local Adventurers Academy.  All of them had graduated, none of them with honours. In fact, Ulric had barely scraped through and rumour was he'd done it by sampling the potions hidden behind the old wizard's desk.

The only potion Ulric was drinking at that moment was a heady brew called Bongwater Stout. It was completely opague, had no head to speak of, and tasted suspiciously of barrel-wash, but it was cheap and they barely had a gold coin between them.  He studied his flagon and took another tentative sip. It really was an acquired taste.  Beside him stood Garrial, who seemed to have forgotten his drink existed and was staring quite openly at the bar-wench's cleavage.  Probably wise, Ulric had seen Garrial drunk and there was no argument, he was one elf who simply could not hold his beer.  A source of endless amusement for Ulric and Merryn.

Merryn drained the last of her beer and slammed the flagon down on the bar, startling Garrial. The elf blushed and picked up his ale, regarding it with the same sort of studious look he'd given the wench's breasts. Merryn grinned.

"Another three ales," she said, and slipped the last of their money across the bar.

"Allow me," said a voice from behind them.

They turned. None of them were surprised to see a fellow there holding out a small bag of coins.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure?" Merryn demanded.

Ulric sighed. He knew exactly how this was going to pan out. The man was obviously looking for adventurers, he had that look about him. That smug, florid look of a man who pays others to do his dirty work. And he had the look of elf about him, not actually elven, but someone who spent a lot of time with them. Ulric could always tell, it was something in the way they dressed, in the way their shoes were a little bit pointy and their hair a little too long. He surmised this was the bar-wench's father. He was right.

"My name is Harnod Rabin, and I am the owner of this fine establishment."

Well fine was stretching it a bit far, Ulric thought, but the man was entitled to his opinion.

"I believe you are in the business of adventuring?"

It wasn't much of a business so far, Ulric had to admit that despite them renting the cheapest two rooms at the local inn (over the stables in fact, so it stank of horse manure and it's only saving grace was that the innkeeper  allowed them to forgo payment if they mucked out the horses below. Ulric hated horses, but he reckoned he would hate sleeping in the alley behind the inn more. The alley also stank of horse-shit, so it wouldn't be much better.)

"We are," Merryn said, "and three finer adventurers you will not find in this fair town."

True enough, Ulric thought, their alumi already flown and out earning gold.

"I have a quest for you," Harnod said, "it's not a fancy quest, but I believe it will get you started."

Ulric made a small wager with himself.  He knew what it was going to be,  given the sort of tavern they were in, and  the look upon the man's face...

"My cellar appears to have a little vermin problem."

...and the slight odour of rat-shit.

"Rats, you say," Merryn's eyebrows disappeared into her curly brush of rusty hair. "And you want us to clear out your cellar?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Hundred each," Harnod said.

"Five hundred, " Merryn answered.

"Hundred and twenty each. Final offer."

"Four-fifty and we get to keep whatever we find," Merryn countered.

"Four hundred," Harnod held out his hand, "and yes, any spoils you may find."

Merryn seemed to consider this, stroking the downy beard on her chin. "And free ale when we return," she said, and held out her hand.

Ulric sighed. If there was one thing he hated more than horses, it was rats.