Dungeon.

Theodore the White swung his sword mightily, cleaving the zombie in two. It disintegrated in a dry explosion of dust and bone, choking him. Another of the monsters reached for him from behind, forcing him to reverse a short way and use his elbow barbs to fend if off. He felt the spike pierce rotten flesh, and heard the sickly sound of trapped air escaping from the zombies’ gut. It fell away, dropping to the floor as its un-life drained away.
There was a brief respite as the creatures regrouped, and the fighter took the opportunity to wipe his brow, breathing hard. His armor, shined to a silver gleam just the other day, was now dented in several places and covered with grime and goo. He had lost his helmet a short while ago, knocked off even as it had protected him from a lucky blow by a club wielding skeleton, and his blond hair was tousled, sticking out randomly.
He glanced about. He was still in the same corridor he had wandered into earlier, though further along. The walls were made from smooth dark gray stone, bereft of any significant marks. The floor was also made of stone, though a little darker. The passage was narrow, leaving little room to maneuver, and this was limiting his ability to swing his sword effectively. However, it also hindered the zombies that were once more moving forward, reaching for him with yellowing claws outstretched. He shouted a short battle cry and thrust at a gap-toothed, grinning face in front of him, splintering the skull and tearing the head away from the neck.
A hand grasped his leg and he stamped on it hard, snapping the bone with a gruesome crack as he drove his weapon into another body, tearing a gaping hole in the side. He panted, his breath emerging in loud gasps that echoed through the passage as he pounded at the zombies. His attackers made no noise other than a windy wheezing.
He blocking another lunge, lamenting once again the impulse to do a little exploring on his own, away from the safety of his fellow adventurers. Too late for regrets now of course, though how could he have known that slab would drop and block his exit? Redthorne has insisted this area was safe. He wouldn’t trust wizards any more, that was for sure.
He grabbed a cold arm that tried to wrap itself around his neck and twisted, wrenching it clean off at the shoulder. He swung the dismembered limb like another weapon, becoming desperate now. It smashed against the side of an undead thing with a half staved-in head, doing nothing much in the way of damage.
There was a hissing from behind, indicating more zombies were approaching. With strength borne from desperation he hacked at the two still in front of him. Gray skin split and yellow ribs splintered as they fell aside under his onslaught. He pushed past, careening blindly down the tunnel, outrunning his pursuers, who moaned with rage at his escape.
Two ancient doors, dark with age, lay ahead. One blocked the corridor; the other was set into the wall on the left. He slammed into the first one, hoping to break through. Instead he bounced off with a dull thud, dropping his sword on the floor with a metallic clang.
Regaining his balance, he looked around. Without the wizard to replenish his magical illumination it was becoming difficult to see.
He could hear the zombies closing on his position, and frantically pushed on the second door. To his immense relief it swung open with a loud creak. Slipping inside, he slammed it shut behind him. Off to the side he could just make out a broken crossbeam leaning haphazardly against the wall. He reached for it, and used it to brace the door, before slumping against it himself.
There was a loud thump as the zombies slammed against the other side, trying to gain entry. Their dead hands scratching the wood in a futile attempt to reach their prey.
“Ssssecure issss it?” a dry voice whispered next to his ear.
He jerked and reached for his sword, only then remembering it was still on the floor where he had dropped it, on the other side of the door.
“That wassss carelessss of you,” came the voice. “I bet you won’t do that twicccce.”
A cold hand caressed his hair. “Welcome to my lair mortal.”
Theodore the White turned and looked into a face, a wrinkled and ancient face, skin pulled tight over the skull. A hint of red twinkled within the depths of otherwise dead black eyes.
Thin lips pulled back to reveal long yellowing teeth. A breath of cold, as if from a tomb, washed over him. He screamed as chill fingers wrapped around his neck, and tried pulling at a wrist that should have snapped off in his grasp, yet the hand remained firmly where it was, and squeezed.
Theodore’s vision began to dim as his air supply was cut off. He tried to shout as he felt two sharp fingers pierce his eyeballs, but his body refused to co-operate. Pain ran through his head as his ocular orbs burst like ripe grapes, spilling blood down his cheeks. His body spasmed as he was lifted off the floor and pinned against the wall.
As he breathed a strangled death rattle, Theodore the White felt those ancient digits pierce his skull and rip into his very brain…


~ * ~


“It’s not fair, you always get them. All we get is cut to pieces.”
Dreth looked up at the zombie, who was holding his detached arm in his left hand. He chewed on a piece of fresh brain, taken from the newly killed fighter, as he spoke. “That’s what zombies do. They’re just the warm up. Anyway, you had that wizard a little while back didn’t you?”
“That was two centuries ago!” the zombie retorted. “And he was a scrawny one too.”
“Well, that’s life,” said Dreth, shrugging.
“Ha! If only. Well, I better scrape up the remains of Arnold I suppose. Cut his skull clean in half your dinner did, and I’m all out of bone glue too.” The zombie shuffled out.
Dreth shook his head as the undead closed the door to his crypt. He looked down at the latest catch and then dragged him over to the side of the room. Another death. How many was that over the years? A hundred? A thousand? He had stopped counting.
Sure, it had been fun being undead, or whatever he was, when he was first posted here. Ripping the eyeballs out of adventurers still living skulls, tearing off limbs and generally finding horrible ways to kill and torture. After so long though, he’d begun to think of the future, and let’s face it, eternity is a pretty long time.
He did a fair imitation of a sigh, and gazed around his chamber. The room was a reasonable size, due deference to his status, with another small chamber off to one side. Standard dungeon design, the walls were made of dark stone blocks, as was the floor, which was cluttered with loot. Most of the gear was armor and weapons taken from his many victims, but a couple of chests near the back were stuffed with gold. The coins and jewels were a kind of torture in themselves. It wasn’t as if there was anything he could buy around here. The other room held piles of bones, the remains of adventurers foolish or unlucky enough to cross his path.
It was his own fault, he admitted to himself. He’d made his own tomb, now he had to lie in it. When the mysterious wizard had offered a naïve young adventurer immortality, in return for acting as a guard for a while, he should really have read the small print for the definition of ‘a while’.
Still, what were his choices, really? He could search for the wizard, but he knew the odds were slim that he was still alive after all this time. Then again, he could remain as he was. Sure, one day someone powerful enough to beat him for good may come through his door, but that could be a thousand years hence.
He sat down on his chair made of bones and thought about that. A thousand years. Ten centuries stuck in this place. No, it was no good. He couldn’t take it, there had to be a way out.
Maybe the treasure the dungeon guarded was the answer. It was supposed to include some sort of super magical artifact, and that might have the power to free him. Reaching it wouldn’t be easy though. He was a pretty ferocious guardian, but there were supposed to be worse elsewhere in the dungeon.
He sat back, picked a gobbet of flesh off the corpse of the unfortunate Theodore the White, and considered his options…


~ * ~


Crug the Barbarian growled, his muscled body gleaming in the dull light. “Sure trap?” He gestured forward with his overlarge sword.
“Of course I’m sure. Some sort of trip mechanism I think,” Littlehorn replied, annoyed at having his expertise challenged.
The Halfling thief was clad in black leather, with a short bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. Several daggers were strapped to his chest, and he carried a small pack on his back. It was all standard dungeon exploring issue. Sighing, he turned and examined the ground just ahead of them once more. The corridor looked the same as the others they had been wandering around in for the past several hours. This area of the dungeon was obviously designed to confuse, and it did a good job of it. The section here was straight, sloping down slightly. He’d stopped because one of the cobbles ahead looked a lighter gray than the others, and seemed to be slightly higher.
He glanced over his shoulder at his three colleagues, who were standing a little way behind him. A faint breeze came out of the gloom to the rear, as if trying to push them onwards
The barbarian looked bored. He swung his huge sword idly in one hand, and ran his fingers through long dark hair with the other. He wore only a loin cloth and a pair of sandals. Standing next to the large man was the wizard, Redthorne. Dressed in long red robes, he was scowling and leaning on his staff. His beard tumbled halfway down his chest, and the traditional pointy hat sat jammed down over his ears. It had fallen off in a scuffle with some Orcs earlier, and was now slightly bent near the tip.
“You’d better move forward and see to it,” the wizard ordered. “One of us would just blunder into it if we went together.”
“Why do you not cast a detection spell?” the final member of the group asked. The cleric, Nom the Noble, was standing and trying to peer into the darkness through the eye slits of his helmet, which covered the upper half of his face. His armor was colored white, and he held a matching shield with a circular emblem painted on it, the symbol of his god. By his side, a wicked looking mace was attached to a wide leather belt.
“We’re not far in,” replied the wizard. “I don’t want to waste magic now. The thief is up to this, aren’t you?”
Littlehorn nodded. “Wait here,” he said, and moved off carefully, scanning the ground intently.
Behind him he heard Nom speak again. “I feel death nearby.”
Littlehorn rolled his eyes as he inched forward, and replied without looking back. “We’re in the most dangerous and ancient tomb this side of the Very Black Mountains. Of course there’s death nearby. It’s all around us.”
“Probably Theodore,” grunted Crug, as the thief dropped down to slide forward on his belly.
“Yes, I told him not to wander off on his own,” Redthorne said.
“Shhh!” hissed Littlehorn, as he detected a small wire ahead. “There’s something… Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!”
With a crash that echoed off the walls, a stone slab slammed down behind him, cutting him off from the rest of the group. Simultaneously a spike shot up out of the ground, piercing his leather armor and stabbing into his leg. His magic light went out, leaving him in total darkness.
He rolled over, pulling his leg off the barb with a wet squelching sound. Clutching at his thigh he tried to staunch the bleeding. He could dimly hear the pounding and shouts of the rest of the group from the other side of the new wall.
“Damn!” he moaned. “Damn damn damn!” Reaching around, he groped about in his pack for a bandage.
There was a noise nearby. A grinding, as if part of the wall was moving.
“Is that you Crug?” he whispered.
There was no reply. Littlehorn squinted into the dark, but even with his night vision he could see nothing. His hand located the bandage and he drew it out of the bag, trying to move without making a sound.
There was an echo of a whisper. He froze, even as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing sped up.
Silence.
He started, very slowly, to move again when the bandage was torn from his hand. A cold breeze sprang up, chilling him to the bone. Littlehorn dragged himself to one side and pulled out his dagger. A sound in front of him! He swung the blade blindly.
Something, his bandage he quickly realized, was thrown around his neck, and he was yanked back. Cold fingers pulled the knife from his hand whilst something held his legs. The Halfling groped desperately at the cloth, trying to free himself.
There was the chill kiss of metal along his midsection, cutting through the leather armor, slicing neatly up from pelvis to chest.
“Aaahhhhhh!” His breath felt icy in his throat.
A hand, cold as death, reached into the slit in his stomach, pulling at his insides even as he thrashed about futilely, sobbing and gagging on bile.
A low hiss in his ear. “Trouble breathing? Let me help.” The hand pushed up under his ribcage, an alien intrusion in his guts, and squeezed.
“AAAaaaaaargggggmmmmmfffff!” Littlehorn gagged as his insides were brutally thrust upwards, forcing themselves up his throat, distending it obscenely, and vomiting them out of his mouth in a mash of tissue and blood.


~ * ~


“Hmmm. I love Halfling!” The zombie threw away a femur and sat back with a smile on his face.
“Yars, thmmfks frrr hemmfing us,” said his friend, mouth full of liver.
“Think nothing of it,” replied Dreth, sitting in his chair and watching the two undead gorge. He waited. The zombies were typical of their kind. Both were clad in dirty rags, with rents in the cloth revealing yellow rotting skin underneath, pot-marked with boils, lesions and sores. Their teeth were brown and yellow, and both had wispy gray hair that barely covered the flaking skin on their skulls.
“Wait a minute!” the first one frowned. His name was Cuthbert, and he was unusually bright for a zombie.
Here it comes, thought Dreth.
“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” he asked. “I mean, I’ve been down here hundreds of years, and you’ve never helped us before. Why now?”
“Ythhs, why now?” echoed his friend, who was called Percy.
Dreth tapped the arm of his chair, which was made of arm. “I have come to a recent decision. I’ve decided that I’ve had enough of this ‘life’.”
“Oh, I see.” Percy lost interest, and bit back into the still steaming organs of the Halfling.
Cuthbert though, who was brighter, or at least fresher, looked at Dreth. “Call me old fashioned, which I am, but I get the feeling that you aren’t doing this as a goodbye present. Anyway, isn’t it against the rules to abandon your post? I mean, you’re a Guardian! There are probably things they can do to stop you wandering off you know.”
“Like what?” Dreth said. “Give me a letter of bad conduct? Dishonorable discharge? I don’t think so. Hand me that hand will you?”
Cuthbert picked up the pale appendage and passed it to Dreth. “No, I mean, you know… Guardians.” He tried to wink knowingly, but only succeeded in looking like a bewildered, and very unhealthy, owl.
“Guardians to Guard the Guardians? Who Guards them? Who Guards the Guardian Guardians?” Dreth picked a ring off a finger and stuffed the hand into a pack.
“Stop saying Guardians. You know what I mean.” Cuthbert picked up a foot from the pile and nibbled on a toe. “Look, as a favor the lads and me would be willing to come in and cut you up real good. Eat you if we have to. That would kill you wouldn’t it? Release you from damnation and all that. I could look after your maggot collection, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
Dreth sighed, which was particularly impressive in a wheezy sort of way. He put his pack down and turned to face the undead. “Look, I don’t want to die okay? At least not without seeing some of the world anyway. You know how old I was when I… I became like this?”
“No,” said the zombie, spitting out a toenail.
“Well,” Dreth looked around the room. “Truth is I can’t remember, but probably not very old. The point is, even if you cut me up into little cubes, I wouldn’t die! I would just be little-cube shaped, and very uncomfortable.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Cuthbert, how long have you been down here?”
Cuthbert shrugged, a rather one sided gesture as his left arm was over on the table. “A couple of hundred years maybe.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Dreth picked up his sack again and peered inside.
“Well, it’s a job you know? I was never very good at being alive, truth be told.” Cuthbert looked uncomfortable for a moment. He took another bite of foot and masticated noisily. “Anyway, ten minutes out there and I’d be hacked apart by some over-zealous Cleric or something.”
Dreth tied his pack off and looked at the undead munching on the remains of the thief. “Why don’t you come with me? It’ll be an adventure.”
“No, thanks, I was never the adventurous type. Anyway, I’m okay here. It’s not that bad really.”
“When I said, ‘why don’t you come along?’ I wasn’t really asking.” Dreth examined a variety of swords and other weapons he had saved from his many victims.
“Bastard. Everyone always picks on us Zombies, we’re the scum of the undead world, isn’t that right Percy?” He nudged the other zombie, who was sucking an eyeball out of the skull with a slurping sound.
“Eh? You what now?”
Cuthbert made a tutting noise and attempted to take a deep breath, though this was not altogether successful as his lungs were quite rotten.
One sword that seemed to throb with black energy caught Dreth’s eye. The hilt was silver and gold, inlaid with various red gems. White runes were engraved up the length of the blade. He picked it up and swung it about, testing the balance.
“Hey! Watch where you’re waving that thing! Nearly had my arm off! My other one I mean.”
“Sorry,” Dreth said, not very sincerely. He found a suitable scabbard and strapped the sword on around his robes. “How do I look?”
“Like a dead man walking.”
“Haha. Very funny. Now, finish your adventurer. There’s one more thing I need your help with.”
Cuthbert tucked the foot into his belt and stood up. “Now what?”
“There’s a group coming through the tunnels. This one,” he pointed to the now mostly eaten thief, “and that stupid fighter who pulled your arm off were members of their party.”
“So?”
“I want to take one with us.”
“You what?” Cuthbert gawked at him, spitting out several teeth. “Are you mad? Oh wait, you mean as a snack.”
“Nope, I mean whole and upright. Sometimes the fully alive can get past things that we… not quite living can’t.”
“Why just one then? Why not take the group? There are still three left.”
Dreth rubbed at his forehead. The trouble with zombies was that their brains were mostly rotten, they weren’t too great on thinking. “There’s a wizard, a Cleric and a barbarian. All of them together may be a bit hard to control out of our little area. One though, one would be manageable.”
“Well, I’m not taking the Cleric, that’s for sure.” Percy folded his arms. “They give me the creeps. Have you ever been turned? Not nice I can tell you. A friend of mine was turned a while ago, he’s been off his game ever since. Hardly even bothers to shuffle along properly any more.” He shook his head sadly.
“The Barbarian would be the easiest,” said Cuthbert, getting back on topic.
“Perhaps so, but the wizard would probably be the most useful,” Dreth said.
“Dangerous those mages,” Percy countered. “The current record holder for the Pit of Doom was a mage. The Giant Spiders were cleaning up for months.”
“Still, something to be said for a good spellcaster.” Dreth kicked the Halflings’ mutilated head across the room, bouncing it off the wall so it came to rest against a pile of skulls.
“Good shot,” said Cuthbert.


~ * ~


“Crug no like,” Crug said in his most eloquent tones. “Crug think trap.”
“I concur with our brawny friend,” the Cleric interjected. “My instincts say we should pay heed.”
The three surviving adventurers were huddled in another passageway. Having failed to open the slab that had trapped Littlehorn, they had backtracked and taken another route in the hopes of finding their friend. They hadn’t found the thief, but they had narrowly avoided two spiked pits, one swinging axe, a fireball activated by a pressure pad, and three tripwires. They were still no nearer to finding their companion, and tempers were beginning to fray.
“Look, of course it's a trap. The whole place is one giant trap.” Redthorne rubbed at his forehead in annoyance. “I admit I made a mistake hiring that worthless thief, or I should have at least hired two. Still, he’s gone now, and I say we push ahead with our mission. Unless you are going to renege on your agreements?” The mage raised his staff in a threatening gesture.
“Nom does not break his sworn oath!” declared the Cleric.
“Renege is what?” said the Barbarian.
“Just move forward,” sighed Redthorne. “Slowly!”
The three set off down the corridor, which had a number of shadowy alcoves along the walls, containing nothing they could detect. They traversed the tunnel with no mishaps, much to their relief, and emerged into a large dark cavern, the use of which was not apparent.
There was a slight noise, though it wasn’t possible to identify where it originated from, as the whole place seemed to echo. The three stepped into defensive formation, with Crug in front, his enormous sword raised high. Nom clutched the Orb of his god, Grom, and muttered a blessing, whilst Redthorne held his staff and readied magic.
A skittering noise came from the left. Crug swung round as a large black spider appeared out of the dark and lunged towards him. Two more of the creatures materialized from the right and Redthorne turned to face those, staff blazing white in his hands. More movement could be made out in the shadows.
Behind them, from the tunnel they had just emerged from, came another sound. Nom turned to see a zombie, arms outstretched, lurching towards them.
“Undead to the rear!” he cried, raising his orb.
“Deal with them then! We’ll take the arachnids,” the wizard commanded, throwing white fire at a giant Black Widow.
“I kill spider!” Crug said, covered in green gunk. The remains of a greater tarantula lay on the floor next to his feet.
Nom faced the zombie and raised his Orb. He cast his mind out to the Might of his god, and reached for the Power. The mighty deity Grom responded, sending the force of Good through his vassal and towards the undead in an invisible wave of energy. The creature made a hissing sound and staggered backwards as the magic impacted.
“My thanks to my Lord,” muttered Nom and, taking his mace in hand, strode forward to finish the foul beast, which was now fleeing up the passage.
The wizard shouted something behind him, but Nom was intent on his prey, and ignored the warning. The zombie lurched around a corner into an alcove and cowered against the wall as the Cleric approached.
“Die creature of evil!” Nom raised his mace of Smiting and brought it down upon the creatures’ skull.
Or tried to. Something restrained him. He looked up and saw a thin hand, pale skin barely covering the bone, gripping the shaft of his raised weapon.
A dry voice whispered next to his ear. “Perhapsss not.” Nom straightened as sharp claws dug into his back, just below his armor. He screamed in pain as cold fingers wrapped around the base of his spine, severing all control to the lower part of his body. He pitched forward, to be caught by the zombie he’d so recently cornered.
“Time for the zombies to fight back Cleric,” it hissed in his face, blowing fetid breath over him.
There was a wet sound, and Nom felt a cold sensation along his back as his spine was forcibly wrenched from his flesh. The restraints on his armor snapped and it fell to the floor with a dull clang. The tearing sound was loud in his ears now, and with the last moments of his life Nom saw his corpse fall forward, a long bloody hole where his backbone had been, terminating at a ragged tear where his head had been twisted away from the neck.
Blood spread outwards in a dark pool on the stone floor, and Nom’s spirit ascended to join his god.

~ * ~

“You cut it fine is all I’m saying,” Cuthbert complained as they walked along. “Another second and I’d have just been a load of rotting breakfast.”
“You were never in any danger. That medallion I gave you warded off the Cleric’s power didn’t it?”
“Maybe so,” Cuthbert looked down at the dull black necklace hanging around his rotten neck. “But it still hurt.”
“Well here then, you deserve this one.” Dreth handed over the Cleric’s head, now permanently etched into a look of horrified surprise. The still attached spinal column dripped blood and muscle tissue.
“Oh nice! I do like a good lollipop.” Cuthbert took the remains and licked at the still dripping backbone. “Yummy.”
They wandered back along the dark corridors to where Percy was waiting.

~ * ~

“Where are they now then?” asked Percy, looking jealously at Cuthbert as he savored the tongue of the holy man.
“The spiders pushed them back, they’re resting just outside the Troll caverns.” Dreth arranged his cloak about him so that it looked the most ominous. “We still need to separate them before they leave our territory completely.”
“Why not just rush them?” Cuthbert asked, waving Nom’s jawbone about. “Oooh! A gold tooth! I always wanted a gold tooth!” He wrestled with the jaw, pulling at the item in question.
“I suppose we could,” Dreth considered it. “We should be able to take them easily enough now the Cleric’s out of the way. We need to act quickly though, if they wander into the trolls we’ll have a hard time getting the mage alive.”
“I dunno,” said Percy. “That wizard seems to be pretty powerful. I think we should push them into the goblins. Then we can take the wizard whilst the Barbarian is fighting them. We know the tunnels in that area, and the goblins are scared of you.”
Dreth looked up in surprise at this unusually bright idea from Percy. “Not a bad choice, though we aren’t on the best terms with the Goblin King if you remember.”
“Pah! Goblins. I can’t be held responsible if I accidentally eat one of them can I?” Percy looked disgusted.
“Maybe so, but you could have checked that it wasn’t their princess first,” Dreth said.
“Look at me! I have a gold tooth!” Cuthbert danced around grinning, his new denture forced into a gap in his gums.
“Just concentrate on the problem at hand please, or I’ll give your lollipop to Percy.”
“Bah, you were never fun,” the zombie cradled the Clerics’ head and sat down. “Why don’t we get the spiders to attack them, and take the wizard in the confusion? Worked for this one,” he patted his toy.
“How would we get them back into the spider’s lair?” said Dreth. “They know it’s there now. Besides, the spiders lost quite a few of their kind in the fight, I doubt they would go for it.”
“We could offer the Barbarian to them,” suggested Cuthbert, trying to see his reflection in an old helmet.
“No fair! You got the Cleric!” protested Percy. “The Barbarian is mine!”
Cuthbert grinned a gold tinted grin and held the noggin close. Dreth shook his head and considered the options. “We may have to go with the goblins, I’d prefer to lure them into the troll caverns, but I can’t think of any way to do that.” He sat down on his chair and then jumped slightly as a piece of parchment slid under the door.
“What’s that then?” asked Percy.
“How should I know? I’ve never had anyone slip anything under the door before.” Dreth thought a moment. “Well, except for a thief one time. Anyway, give it too me.” He waggled his fingers.
“Yes your highness,” Cuthbert said sarcastically, picking up the paper and handing it to Dreth, who was silent for a minute as he read the spidery script.
“So?” Asked the zombies in unison, when he finally put the parchment down. Dreth passed it back to Cuthbert, who squinted at it in the gloom.
“What’s it say?” said Percy, who had forgotten how to read. He peered over Cuthbert’s shoulder as his friend read the notice out loud, tracing the text with a finger.

Deceased and Desist Order.

It is come to our notice that ‘Dreth’, subsection 3b, area 4 (undead), designation: Undead Way Guardian (advanced level); henceforth referred to as ‘The Resident’, has been engaged in un-authorized activities. To wit: Venturing outside allotted dungeon domain (undead).

Furthermore: It has come to our attention that the Resident’s lair has been left unattended for unacceptable periods of time, and that the Resident has engaged and distracted several zombies, designation: Guardians (Fodder level), from their assigned patrol areas.

Such activity is in direct breach of agreed protocols and directly contravenes the contractual duties of the Resident.

This order is the first and only warning, as specified in sub-section 4,509, paragraph 52, lines 309-466, for the Resident to return to Dungeon Guardian (advanced level) duties. Failure to abide by the terms of the contract will result in disciplinary agents being dispatched.

Thank-you for your attention. Have a nice day.

DM.

“Fodder level is it?” muttered Percy. “Cheeky buggers. I’m a professional I am. That’s downright degrading.”
“Who’s DM?” asked Cuthbert, passing the note back to Dreth.
Dreth shrugged. “No idea, don’t care.” He scrunched the notice into a ball and threw it on the floor.
“Do you still have this contract?” Cuthbert said, as Percy wandered off grumbling to himself.
Dreth scratched his head. “I don’t think so. I signed it before… before I became like this. After the wizard changed me I didn’t really think about it.”
“So you’re going to stay here now then?” inquired Percy, who had started rummaging through a pile of old equipment in the corner. “Hey! Look! I found a wand!” He held up a long stick.
“Let me see that,” Dreth said. He examined the artifact closely for a moment. “Hmmm, a wand of illusion, still a couple of charges left.” He rubbed his chin. “I think I have an idea…”

~ * ~

“Are you listening to me warrior?” Redthorne poked the barbarian with his staff.
“Crug hear. Crug no like. Cleric dead for sure. Just…” the fighter counted on his fingers for a moment, “two of us now. Not good. This place bad.”
The mage leaned back against the wall of the alcove they had taken refuge in after the spider fight. “Yes, I know. However we’re blocked off from the exit. Big dropping slab remember? We have no choice but to push on.” He consulted a piece of parchment. “I think I know where we are anyway.” He pointed at a location on the map. “According to this there are goblins that way somewhere,” he waved his hand to their right, down a dark corridor.
“Goblins easy kill. No problem.”
“Yes, for once we’re thinking along the same lines. The important thing is... We must not split up! Do you understand? Hey! Are you listening to me?”
“Quiet. Crug hear something.”
“Don’t quiet me! This dungeon seems to work by picking people off one by one, if we stay together… Hey! Where are you going? Weren’t you listening to what I just said?”
“Crug hear woman! Maiden need help! Quick!”
“What the… Don’t be an idiot! What’s a woman doing down…” The wizard cursed to himself as the barbarian stood up and started jogging off to the left. “Blast the moron!” He scrambled around, stuffing papers into his pack before scrambled after his sole surviving companion. “No more barbarians! I swear! Next time it’s Rangers all the way. Crug you numbskull! Where are you? Oh there.” He glanced the back of the barbarian hurrying off down a fork in the tunnel, and scrambled after him. “Wait for me!”
The wizard panted as he raced down one tunnel and then up another after his companion. “Hold on blast you! This is not somewhere we can simply run about wildly!”
The passage terminated abruptly, and the figure stopped at the dead end to turn and face him.
As Redthorne drew closer some sixth sense caused him to slow and raise his staff. “Crug?”
The fighters’ form shimmered and changed, to be replaced by a different profile altogether. The impostor was still tall, but far from the muscle bound torso of the barbarian, this one seemed to be more corpse-like. Indeed, it appeared to be skeletal thin. Pale skin was drawn tightly over bones, and dark eyes stared out at him from a deathly white face.
The figure stood still, its black robe hanging loosely around it, revealing a sword strapped to one side. A dark Aura swam about the weapon, visible only to the wizards’ extended senses.
“Beast! What have you done with Crug?”
“The barbarian is being dealt with by some friends of mine. He shall be worm fodder before you can do anything about it wizard.” The voice was barely more than a hiss.
“Then you shall die!” Redthorne raised his staff.
“Wait!” A claw-like hand raised in a gesture. “Look behind you.”
Redthorne looked at the creature through narrowed eyes. What was going on here? He glanced behind him. Two more figures, mere zombies, were at his back, one wielding a rusty sword and the other apparently straining to hold a spear.
“You may get a spell off, who knows? It may even hurt me, but even if you manage to harm me, my friends will run you through.”
“What’s your game creature? Why do you toy with me thus? Do you have my comrades?”
“Your comrades are no longer a consideration,” it said ominously. “However, I need your help.”
“My help? My help?” Redthorne kept his staff leveled at the figure. “You are but a foul servant of evil! Why should I help you?”
“Aside from the obvious answer that you will end up dead if you don’t? It could work to your advantage.”
Redthorne cocked his head to one side. This didn’t seem like your usual dungeon ploy. Something strange was going on here. He lowered his staff slightly, whilst still remaining alert. “Go on, I’m listening.”

~ * ~

“Save me! Help!”
Crug could hear the damsel clearly now, her high pitched voice ringing with desperation. He held his sword in front of him and moved, panther like, towards the sound. Of course it could be a trap, but Barbarians didn’t heed that sort of thing. They went in sword swinging. It was a tactic that had always worked for him before.
Turning into a large cave he squinted in the gloom. The voice was coming from… over there! He slid quietly forward, towards a dark shape lying on the floor.
Crug crept up and knelt down next to the figure. “Never fear pretty maid… Arg!” The barbarian leapt backwards and swung his sword.
The trollop* cackled and rolled to one side, avoiding the swing. “Oh! My love has come to rescue me!” she rasped, clasping her hands together in mock adoration.
“Troll! Me kill now!” Crug jumped forward with surprising agility for someone with such bulk, catching the trollop by surprise with an attack that cut her arm neatly off at the shoulder.
“You Human! Do you know how long arms take to grow back?!” The creature, no longer amused, snarled, showing long yellow fangs.
“Hah! Crug no scared one little troll!” The barbarian advanced, weapon ready to strike again.
“Perhaps a big one then?” A shadow detached itself from the cavern wall and advanced to reveal the largest, meanest looking troll Crug had ever seen.
“Crug know no fear!” said Crug, not quite truthfully.
The large newcomer stepped forward, hefting a huge club. “Come then.”
Crug spat and advanced, thrusting his sword as he did so. It pierced the trolls’ side, causing green blood to spurt messily.
“Get him!” shouted the trollop.
Suddenly the barbarian was surrounded by large green creatures. He dodged to avoid a swing from a club, only to have claws rake his back, scoring lines of fire across his body.
He twisted, slicing and cutting green flesh as he did so.
There was a sick crunching noise, and a something slammed into his ribs. He heard his bones break under the impact and the air seemed to be sucked from his body. Crug staggered, looking up just in time to see the large troll swing his giant weapon round in a long arc. Time seemed to slow. He tried to jump back, but his legs were no longer responding. The barbarian could only watch as the club drew level and then smashed into the side of his head. He heard a short tearing sound and, for a brief second he seemed to be flying through the air. Then his detached brain ball hit a wall, and it all went dark…

*Female troll that is.

~ * ~

“I still don’t believe the Barbarian would be defeated that easily,” the wizard said again as they walked down the service tunnel towards the troll quarters. Lurching along with them were Cuthbert and Percy, muttering amongst themselves as they went.
Dreth shook his head. Why were mages always so stubborn? “You haven’t met Kevin. He’s the largest troll this side of the Luminous Lands. Even if he is a big, er…” He trailed off.
“A big what?” asked Redthorne. “Hey! Is that zombie eating a foot?”
“Sorry!” said Cuthbert, holding out the remains of the Halfling’s appendage. “You want a bite? I haven’t eaten much of it.”
The wizard recoiled in horror. “That’s Littlehorn!” he said accusingly.
“Part of him anyway,” grinned Cuthbert, nibbling on heel.
“You are monsters! What am I doing with you?”
“Not becoming dessert if you remember?” said Dreth, trying to nudge the conversation back on topic, whatever that was.
“Did you also take my Cleric?”
Cuthbert grinned widely for an answer. In his mouth a lone gold tooth sparkled.
Redthorne shook his head. “I should have listened to Barth. He told me hiring adventurers from a tavern was a mistake. It seems he was correct.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Percy kindly. “This is one tough place.”
“Okay, somewhere around here,” said Dreth.
“Are there these tunnels all through the dungeon?” asked Redthorne.
Dreth nodded. “I assume so, though we only know the ones in our area. This is as nearest exit I know of to the troll territory.” He felt around the wall, looking for the hidden door switch. “It’s been a while. Ah, here we go.” He pressed several bricks in succession and part of the wall swung aside with a grinding noise, to reveal a damp passage beyond.
They stepped through and moved off as the door swung shut behind them.
After a little way down Dreth turned to the wizard. “Best keep quiet. Don’t say anything provocative. We agreed to give your barbarian to them as a good will gesture, and the leader is a friend of mine, but we don’t want to push them even so. Trolls are not renowned for their honor and even temperament.”
The wizard nodded as they walked into a dimly lit cavern. To one side large green forms sat, lay, or stood about, several apparently fighting with each other. To the other side smaller figures, young trolls, were playing some sort of kickabout game. Dreth saw what they were using for a ball and hoped the mage wouldn’t notice, though it seemed the wizard was too busy trying not to gag at the smell.
They walked through the cave towards a crude dais, upon which a huge troll lounged. He had a wilted flower in his greasy hair. On one side of him a trollop was sprawled on the floor, chewing on something.
The seated troll saw them and stood up, one hand on his hip. The enormous creature loomed above Dreth as he approached.
“Dreth my good fellow! So wonderful to see you again my dear!” His voice was surprisingly camp, which seemed strange coming from such a big creature. “We received your present!” He gestured at a pile next to his seat, which turned out to be Crug, neatly dissected.
Dreth felt the wizard stiffen next to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment before turning to the troll and speaking. “Glad you didn’t have any trouble with him. Let me introduce you to my team. This is Redthorne, mage. Standing drooling here are my old colleagues Cuthbert and Percy, zombies first class. Guys, this is Kevin. He’s the leader of the trolls.”
“Charmed to meet you two. Please my lovies, help yourself.” The troll king gestured towards the barbarian pieces, upon which the two zombies hissed their thanks and lurched forward to pick at the remains.
“So, my dear, a mage eh? Are you sure you know what you’re doing? They can be such beasts!” Kevin draped a friendly arm around Dreth, who took it stoically.
Dreth shrugged. “If I intend to seek out the treasure of this place, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
Kevin sighed. “Well, your funeral I suppose, but you know humans can’t be trusted. Living ones anyway,” he amended hastily. “Such a waste of a handsome body too.” He pawed at Dreth and shook his head sadly. “So, what can Uncle Kevin do to help?” The troll put a finger into his lanky hair and twisted it around whilst pouting at the wizard, who stood quietly to one side.
“I need information about how to get to the inner sanctum. Any help you can give us would be appreciated.”
Kevin frowned for a moment. “Well, as it’s you asking darling, I have someone who may be able to help.” He looked around for a moment. “MUUUUDD!” He shouted in a deafening roar, which echoed off the walls.
Dreth looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention. Kevin scowled. “That bitch. Wait here a moment.” He minced off, somehow managing to make the ‘raving fairy’ walk look dangerous.
The zombies wandered back over, mouths full of fresh Crug.
“That troll is eating her own arm!” said Cuthbert in a stage whisper to Dreth, pointing to the trollop.
“So?” asked Dreth.
“It’s disgusting is all,” replied Cuthbert, waving the remains of the barbarian’s hand and spitting out several finger bones.
“Well, you are what you eat I suppose.” Dreth shrugged and turned to the mage, who was looking on in revulsion. “See? Your great fighter is nothing more than lunch. Do you need any more convincing?”
“You’ve made your point. But tell me again. What do I get out of this deal?”
“You get to live for one thing, and the treasure is supposed to be fabulous, if we can reach it. You will get your share.”
Redthorne nodded, but he didn’t look too happy. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the arrival of Kevin, who had a small figure in tow.
“This is Mud,” said Kevin, gesturing at his stunted companion. “He’s my… ah, advisor.” He gave a lewd wink.
Dreth looked Mud over. He didn’t seem to be much of a troll in the traditional sense. Barely as tall as Dreth, the creature had a hunchback and wore round battered spectacles. His skin was a sickly white color, instead of healthy green. Under one arm he held an enormous book.
“We need to get to the treasure. What can you tell me?” asked Dreth.
Mud coughed and pushed his glasses further up his warty nose. “The treasure is it? Well, what I can tell you is mainly hearsay, gathered from other denizens and adventurers.”
“Before they were eaten,” added Kevin. “He knows that. Get on with it.” Kevin examined his nails, which were painted a variety of colors.
“Well, it’s not much. There’s really only one way to go from here that I know of.”
“And that is?” asked Dreth.
“The Dark,” replied Mud. “I don’t know what’s in there though.” He shrugged.
“Great,” said Dreth.
“Would you stop for lunch sweetie? I think there’s enough to go around. If not, perhaps the wizard?” Kevin looked at Redthorne and licked his lips.
“Ah, no. I think we’d better get off, thanks anyway,” said Dreth hurriedly. He gestured at the zombies. “Come on you two, stop stuffing your faces and let’s go. We have a dungeon to delve!”
“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” Kevin gave a little wave and turned back to his throne with his arm around Mud.
They were on the way out when Percy noticed the young trolls playing football with the barbarians’ head. “Hey!” he complained. “No fair! They’re playing with their food!”

~ * ~

“Here we are then. Home sweet home.” Dreth pushed on the door to his crypt, which swung open with a creak.
Redthorne entered cautiously and looked about, taking special note of the pile of body parts and stacks of discarded armor and weapons.
“I helped him with his chair,” said Percy.
The wizard examined the bones that were assembled into a throne-like seat. “Very atmospheric,” he said, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
“I have to get something, back in a minute,” said Cuthbert, shuffling out.
Dreth took a final look around his room. How long had he been here? Three Hundred years? More? Time was not easy to track when one was underground day and night. He’d almost forgotten what outside looked like. He pottered around, putting a few items in his sack with the snacks.
“So, this is the undead area is it?” said Redthorne, evidently trying to make conversation.
“Yesss.”
“Seems to be a lot of zombies around.”
“Indeed.”
“Why is that?”
Dreth looked up from a pile of skulls. “Why is what?”
“Why the undead?” Redthorne gestured to himself. “I’m a wizard of the 11th order of White Light. I have quested far and wide in my search for knowledge and power. Yet wherever I go it seems I encounter undead. Zombies, skeletal warriors, mummies, ghouls, wraiths, ghasts, vampires, and the occasional lich,” he ticked them off on his fingers. “That's why I hired the Cleric. I dislike those of the holy orders to tell you the truth, too full of themselves in my opinion, but they are useful.” He paused a moment to stare at the head and spine Cuthbert had left on the table. “Well, usually.”
“You wonder why tombs have so many undead wandering about in them?” Dreth said. “Perhaps because they are tombs?”
“A point I admit,” said Redthorne, nodding thoughtfully. “Though not only tombs, dungeons of all kinds, and ancient buildings as well.”
“Well, that’s easy.” Dreth tried on a helmet with a skull emblem on and discarded it after a few moments consideration. “Low maintenance. Other creatures need air, they get old and die and, of course, they need food. Undead don’t.”
“So what are all those half eaten body parts in your bag for?”
“I said don’t need food, a snack here and there helps while away the time. Good for the complexion too.”
Redthorne was about to say something further when Cuthbert returned, sidling into the room.
Dreth threw one last item into his bag and passed it to Percy. “Carry,” he ordered.
“Ready to go then,” said Cuthbert.
“Wait a moment! Hold on a minute! Stop!” Dreth said, halting Cuthbert's progress towards the exit. “What, by all that is damned, is that?” He pointed a long bony finger.
“I would ask you to watch your language from now on,” sniffed Cuthbert. “And it's not an 'it', it's a...er, he. Yes, a he I’m fairly sure.” Cuthbert pushed forward the small figure that had been hiding behind his leg. “Go on, say hello to Uncle Dreth.”
One brown and one blue eye peered up at Dreth from knee level, as the miniature zombie shuffled forward uncertainly.
“H...hello Uncle Dref,” it said. “'m Sprat.”
Dreth stared, unable to formulate a response. Centuries of half-life had thrown adventurers, monsters, animations, spells and a wide assortment of strange devices at him, but he’d never seen a tiny zombie before.
“He’s my son. Put him together myself,” Cuthbert beamed proudly, moving the small undead back behind him as Dreth's face went a paler white than usual.
Dreth opened his mouth. No sound came out. He tried again. “What... how, I mean what do you mean he’s your son? You’re dead for Dreg's* sake! You can't have a son!”
“Undead,” corrected Cuthbert. “And that’s racist, or something, that is. The re-animated have every right to have offspring.”
Dreth brought a hand up to his head. He suspected he was having a headache, which he had always thought impossible in this incarnation. “I don't actually think that is the case. Living reproduce. The dead don't. They are practically well known for going around not having children.”
Cuthbert sniffed. “I don't care.”
“Anyway, he can't...” Dreth paused for a moment as he was about to ban the little one from coming along. 'Why not?' he thought. A small body could reach places the others might not, and anyway, it would be one more obstacle to throw to the wolves, or dragons or whatever they were bound to meet. Anything that could add to his chances of success should be welcomed.
Dreth smiled a horrifying smile. “Well, of course the little one can come along! I expect he’s excited to be out and about, aren't you son?” He ruffled the 'kids' hair, nearly dislodging the scalp in the process.
Cuthbert looked at Dreth suspiciously for a moment. “Well, okay then.” He straightened Sprat's hairline and smiled down at his child. “See? Mr. Dreth is a good monster.”
“This is all very touching, but are we going to get moving or not?” Redthorne spoke from where he was waiting in the doorway.
“Where are we going anyway?” asked Percy, struggling with the bag.
“I believe The Dark is the only real option available,” said Dreth. He closed the door to the room that had been his for the last unknown amount of centuries, and looked up. “This way,” he said. “Cuthbert, in front please.”
With the zombie taking point they set off.

*Dreg. Relatively minor deity of Not-quite-living creatures.

~ * ~

The door was stone. Ancient stone, with dark markings engraved upon it that twisted in unnatural shapes the eye couldn't quite follow. Before it Fallacy the Fair stood bound between two stakes embedded into the ground. Her arms and legs were stretched into a star shape, muscles pulled taught. Her heaving bosom glistened with sweat, despite the chill of the chamber. She couldn't remember how she had ended up in her current position. The last thing she could recall was being in her house with her mother, and a shadow falling over them.
She heard footsteps behind her, and a low voice spoke. “The Door must be opened. He will walk the earth once more, and feed upon the souls who dwell upon it.”
Fallacy's eyes widened, and she struggled against the bonds as the cold bite of metal entered her back. She screamed in agony as the blade moved down, slicing open her skin. A pause, and then something entered her body through the gash and groped around inside her. The light began to fade as she felt a tearing sensation.
The last thing she saw before succumbing to the darkness were her own lungs flung over her shoulders, still heaving as she gasped desperately for air...

~ * ~

“Behold. The Dark.” Mud gestured at the tunnel entrance that led down into an inky blackness. “A place of menace, gloom and Evil. No one who has ventured into it has returned to tell their tale. Some say it’s a bastion for lost souls. Others say the Darkest Lords of Hell were imprisoned here when the Light caught them, where they catch you and feast upon your spirit for eternity. I believe it’s Nothingness. A place in the universe that remained unfilled by the Creator when he was bringing All into being.”
The group looked doubtfully at the blackness.
“A good place to throw the garbage though,” said Percy brightly.
“So, how many people have been lost down there then?” asked Redthorne.
The White Troll looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Er. Well. I think a half-elf escaped down here once. A thief if I recall correctly.”
Dreth sighed. “So 'No One who has ventured into it' consists of one thief, probably running away from Kevin in a feeding frenzy?”
Mud sniffed. “We trolls aren't renowned for keeping records you know. Anyway, you asked me to show you the way, there you are. Have a good time.” He turned away and marched off back towards the Troll Caverns in a huff.
“I can cast a light spell,” said Redthorne, once he had gone.
“No need,” said Dreth. He held out a hand and looked at Percy, who dug around in the sack and pulled forth a couple of torches.
“A light...” Percy looked around as column of fire roared up from the floor next to him. “Oh, that's handy,” he said, He plunged the torches into it, igniting them just as the flames died down to reveal a figure.
“A demon!” said Redthorne, stepping backwards and raising his hands.
“Oh, it's only an imp. What do you want short stuff?” asked Cuthbert.
“I’m here to stop you.” The imp, a knee high red creature with a traditional demonic tail, stood self-importantly in their path. The circle of fire guttered out around him.
“Ha! Even zombies can take imps out!” Percy stepped forward.
“Wait! I command you!” The imp held out a hand.
“What’s the holdup here?” asked Dreth. “What do you want imp?”
“Are you Dreth?” asked the small devil.
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m here on behalf of the Management. You are hereby ordered to desist from your unauthorized movements and return to your posts. Failure to do so will have...” the imp paused for dramatic effect. “Consequences.”
Cuthbert looked at Percy. “Isn't that a sort of board game?” he asked.

The Dark

“You’ve heard my warning,” the imp crossed its arms and stared at them haughtily. “I await your response minions.”
“I'll minion you, you little...” Cuthbert stepped forward, but Dreth put a hand on his shoulder and restrained him.
“Come now Cuthbert; let’s not get overly excited,” Dreth said in a slow voice. He turned to the imp. “May we discuss this for a few moments in private please sir?”
The little devil sniffed imperiously. “I suppose I can wait for a few minutes. Hurry up then.”
“Of course,” Dreth replied. Signaling Redthorne to follow, and pulling Cuthbert along with him, he moved a little way down the corridor. Percy and Sprat stayed with the imp.
“What are you doing?” hissed Cuthbert. “I can take that little blabbermouth!”
“I’m aware of that”, soothed Dreth. “However, here’s a chance to gain some information about our mysterious DM person, as well as get us a canary.”
Cuthbert thought about it for a moment. “Well, okay, but I get to eat the canary.”
Dreth rolled his eyes. He turned to Redthorne. Pulling the wizard and zombie close in a huddle, he spoke in a low voice. “Let's see what you can do then wizard. Here’s the plan...”


~ * ~


“All I’m saying is that we zombies have been down-trodden long enough. It’s about time we were recognized for the vital work we do...”
The imp was tapping his foot as Percy droned on at him when the others returned. He glared at Percy until the zombie shut up, and then turned to Dreth. “Well? What’s your response? I can't hang about here all day you know!”
Dreth stepped forward. “Well, it's like this you see... NOW!!”
The imp squealed as the guardian leapt at him and pinned him to the floor as the wizard raised his hands and uttered a short spell, the words of Power booming around the corridor. A few moments later there was a brief flash of light around the imp, and the creature screamed.
Redthorne nodded at Dreth, who stood up, dusting his hands. The imp bawled a stream of obscenities, but remained still, frozen in place by the wizard’s spell.
“Now we’ll see who’s in charge,” he said with satisfaction. “My wizard friend here has cast a spell on you. You won’t be able to move or teleport until he lifts it. So it’s in your best interests to co-operate. We’ll start with an easy one: Who do you work for?”
“Not saying! Let me go! You’ll be sorry when He hears about this!” The imp farted. A protest that sent the wizard gagging for air, but had no effect on the others.
Dreth delivered a vicious kick to the imps face, imploding several teeth. “Who is He? Tell us!”
“Owowowowoowow! You’ll pay for that I swear!”
Percy squatted down next to the figure and poked the Halfling’s foot into its eye. “Told you not to mess with us zombies didn't I? Look where you are now.” He shook his head sadly.
“You zombies are getting above your station! When I get back I’m going to ask for a purge, get a new lot in and aaaaahhhahhahahahhh!”
“That's enough Percy, I want to extract the fingernails before we break his fingers.” Dreth stepped up and pulled the undead away.
“Oh, you’re in so much trouble,” groaned the imp.
“You know,” Dreth looked down at the red figure, “I’ve heard that you imps are very proud of your tails. You certainly have a long and sleek one. It would be a pity if you were to have an 'accident,' and it was somehow cut slowly away with my sword.”
“Oh no. No, you wouldn't! Do you know how many centuries it took me to grow that?”
Dreth reached for his blade. “Of course, all you have to do is give us a little information.” He looked at the imp, who tried to return his gaze before finding that Dreth was remarkably good at it and giving up.
“Oh very well. But you have to promise to let me go when I tell you what you want to know.”
“Of course,” said Dreth smoothly.
“Fine. The Management oversees the dungeon. Servant imps and other minions collect the treasure left behind by adventurers, the stuff that isn't kept by the guardians of course.”
“And who is the Management?”
“I don't know!! They just appear as shadowy figures to me! Look, I’m just an imp okay? Not exactly high up in the hierarchy.”
Dreth regarded him for a moment and then sighed. “Okay then.”
“You don't believe him surely?” asked Redthorne. “He is a devil, albeit a minor one, the species is not renowned for telling the truth.”
Dreth stood up. “The problem is, he’ll just lie about everything, and how are we to know what’s real and what isn't?”
“So, you’ll let me go now?” asked the imp.
Dreth nodded at Cuthbert, who came forward with a long coil of thin rope retrieved from Dreth's bag. The zombie started to tie it around the imp's neck, cutting off a piece to secure his arms and tail behind his back.
“Hey! What's going on? You said you would release me!” the imp complained as Cuthbert rolled him around on the floor.
“Yes, I lied,” responded Dreth. “Is he secure Cuthbert?”
The zombie tested the bonds. “He won't get out easily.”
Dreth spoke to the imp again. “Now, my good friend the wizard is going to remove the paralysis. You still won't be able to teleport, so don't try anything funny.”
“And here is me planning to nip off for a quick drink down the bar,” the imp said dryly. Sprat poked him in the eye, and the little demon hissed at him.
Redthorne moved his hands about above the creature, and the imps legs began to waggle furiously.
“What's your name imp?” asked Dreth.
“Ichabod.”
“Well Ichabod,” Dreth picked the imp up with one hand as he spoke. “We just need one more thing from you.”
“What's that?”
“We require a scout. Be a good fellow and see if anything is waiting for us down there will you?” So saying, Dreth threw the screaming imp down the tunnel and into The Dark. As soon as he entered the gloomy portal he disappeared from view, and his cries were abruptly cut off.
“Oooh, that's not a good sign,” said Cuthbert.
They waited. After a moment the rope moved and a minute later started to pull away. “I feel like I’m fishing. I used to like fishing when I was alive.” Cuthbert frowned as he let the line slip through his hands. “At least, I think so.”
Dreth waited for another minute, watching as the rope slowly moved into the tunnel. “Well, whatever’s in there it doesn't seem to be waiting at the entrance. Let's go.” He pushed Percy forward and they followed him down.
“I can't see anything!” Percy.
“What happened to the torches? Are they still on?” Dreth squinted in the absolute blackness that had enveloped them.
“Let's see.” A pause. “Arg! Yes, burning away.” Percy again.
“Where are you Sprat? Don't wander off.”
“'m here pa.”
“It seems this area nullifies light,” came Redthornes' voice. “Let me try a spell.” There was a moment of incantation followed by nothing. “Evidently it suppresses magical illumination as well.”
“The imp’s stopped moving.” Cuthbert's voice came from just ahead of Dreth.
“Give the rope a tug,” said Dreth.
There was a distant yell. “Still alive then. Go on. Percy, lead the way.”
“Don't see why it has to be me up front all the time,” grumbled Percy. “Let's send the kid first.”
“Hey! That’s my son you’re talking about!”
“It's not your real son. You just put him together from spare parts. He has one of my old hands even. You never did it with anyone.”
“Ha! Shows how much you know,” Cuthbert's voice oozed smugness as they felt their way along a narrow passage.
“You never!”
“Did so! Remember Emmy?”
“Her??? Didn't that ranger bash her skull in?”
“Yes, thank you for reminding me about that. Anyway, we did 'the dance' in the lower tomb.”
“Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?” asked Redthorne of Dreth.
“Who knows?” said Dreth. “However, I don't recommend trying to find out.”
“The social life of zombies seems to be more complex than I realized,” mulled the wizard. “Not that I’d thought about the subject much. At all in fact.”
Percy and Cuthbert were still talking, their voices echoing through the dark corridor.
“That bitch! She told me she was frigid!”
“What can I say, some zombies...” Cuthbert was cut off from a voice ahead.
“Finally you get here.”
“Is that you Ichabod?” asked Percy, bumping into Cuthbert, who had stopped abruptly.
“No, I’m the tooth fairy with a back-payment.”
“What are you waiting for imp?” Dreth asked.
“Do they give back payment?”
“I banged my head on something on the wall. I thought I would wait until you kind gentlemen came along to investigate, as my hands are currently tied behind my back for some reason.”
“There are some torches here, quite a few of them,” Percy's voice came from ahead, near the imp. “Oh, and some tinder boxes.”
“Why would there be torches here? Ours still don't work,” Redthorne's voice came from one side.
“Try and light one Percy,” said Dreth, a suspicion growing.
There were noises as Percy fumbled with the tinder box. A moment later a torch flared up. “Hey! I can see again!” he said.
They looked around, to find themselves in a standard looking dungeon corridor made from dark gray stone blocks. It stretched away into the distance in front of them.
Dreth frowned as he doused his old light. “Why do these torches work and ours don't?” he asked.
“Obviously some sort of special enchantment,” replied the wizard.
“Hmmm, and why are they here? Why not at the entrance?” Dreth took one and examined it as Percy lit several others and handed them round. The torch seemed normal.
“Definitely some sort of magical emanation,” said Redthorne.
“Give one to the imp,” Dreth told Percy. “Imp, get going. You’re still on scout duty.”
“And how am I supposed to hold it with my hands tied genius?”
“Good point. Cuthbert, untie his tail, he can use that.”
They waited as the zombie released the imp's extremity, and Percy handed him a light. The imp coiled his tail around the torch.
“Right then, off you go,” said Dreth, gesturing ahead.
Ichabod gave him a nasty look, but staggered off down the tunnel without saying anything more.
Dreth looked on as the imp disappeared into the dark, until only his torch could be seen bobbing along like a Will-o-wisp.
“Right, after him then.”
They started walking towards the light.


~ * ~


Ichabod muttered to himself under his breath as he stumbled down the corridor. “Stupid denizens, just wait until I get back, I’m going to file such a complaint.” He stopped. The tunnel split into two. There was straight on, and now a new corridor off to the right. He looked down each one. Both disappeared into the gloom. Shrugging, he turned right and moved along the new way, which was remarkably similar to the old one except it wound about more.
He turned another corner and carried on into a widening space until a hiss next to his ear brought him up short.
“What have we here then? An imp!” The voice was hard as diamonds.
He gulped. “I will have you know I am a representative of the Dungeon management,” he said. “If you...”
“Them!!” said the voice. There were more hisses. They sounded like snakes. Ichabod had always liked snakes, though he was willing to reverse his position. “They are the ones who imprisoned me here! Well, nice of them to send me a snack!”
Ichabod dropped the torch and turned to run, but several sharp stabbing pains in his back caused him to stumble.
“My pets like you it seems,” the voice said, as the imp felt chunks of his flesh being torn from his body. He twisted to confront his attacker. No sooner than he did so he realized his mistake. He tried to raise his hands, but they were still bound behind his back. There was a feeling of heaviness as his eyeballs crusted over.
He managed one brief scream before it all went black...

~ * ~

“He’s stopped,” said Cuthbert.
“There is a junction ahead, goes off to the right,” said Percy. “Our imp went that way. Shall we follow?”
“Give it a moment,” said Dreth.
“Hey! Did you hear that? Sounded like a scream!”
“Pull him back!” ordered Dreth.
Cuthbert tugged on the rope and grunted. “Must be stuck, oh wait, here it comes.” He pulled for a short while. “Seems to be resisting,” he said. “Either that or he has gained...”
The zombie stopped speaking as the object on the end of the rope slid into view. It was a perfectly formed stone statue of Ichabod.
“Douse the lights! Quickly!” shouted Dreth.
They did so, just as something turned the corner. Dreth thought he saw a snake emerge into the corridor just as the torches were extinguished. He pushed Redthorne behind him, not because he cared for the wizard, but he had gone to a lot of trouble to get the man alive, and he didn't want to lose him at the first hurdle.
There was a hissing sound from ahead and Percy shouted. “Hey! Something bit me! Get off!”
There were sounds of a brief altercation, and another voice, a female one, screamed briefly.
“Hold!” shouted Dreth. “Who goes there?”
“Who dares trespass on my domain?” came the new voice.
“I’m Dreth. Guardian of the Undead Way, and who may you be?” He had his suspicions.
“Oh, a guardian. Well, that’s alright then. Why don't you light the torches and we can all have a nice little chat.”
“I don't think so,” replied Dreth. “Percy! Don't even think about it!”
“Undead eh? No wonder my pet's poison didn't have any effect.”
“You’re a Medusa aren't you?” said Cuthbert, putting the clues together. “I heard there was one of your kind in the dungeon.”
There was a low laugh. “Well worked out my undead friend. Still, it won't do you any good. You cannot escape The Dark without my help, you’re prisoners here, just as I am, and all I need to do is get a light. Someone will peek in the end, they always do.”
“I may have something to say about that,” Dreth fingered his sword. “Your type can be killed too.”
The laugh again. “But then you would be trapped here for ever! I tell you what, if you give me a couple of your party, I’ll tell you how to get out. How is that for a deal? One guardian to another.”
Dreth stared into the dark. Lose two of his party already? He’d only just started. One of the zombies he could lose, maybe the kid, but the others? It was too early, there was bound to be harder challenges ahead. He felt his blade again. Medusa were killable, but how many were there here? And was she lying about the way out?
He snarled as a snake slithered over his foot.


~ * ~


Smoke curled atmospherically around the edges of the door, swirling mysteriously along the gray floor before dissipating. The stone portal opened slowly with a dull grating noise, as if reluctant to spill forth its contents. There was a short pause, and then a heavy footstep. Another and then another, until a large figure finally emerged. It looked at the remains of Fallacy for a moment, her exposed lungs steaming in the chill of the room.
With a low rumble the gaze turned to the hooded figure standing behind the slumped body. The robed shape stood with knife in one hand, the blood dripping down the serrated edges of the blade into a dark pool on the floor.
“Messy,” it said.
“I have summoned you!” cried the hooded man, holding his hands up in dramatic fashion.
“I know.”
“You are mine! To use as I see fit, until I dismiss you! By the power of...”
“I know all of this. You do it every time.”
The robed figure lowered his hands uncertainly. “I rather enjoy it, truth be told.”
“Who do you want me to kill?”
“By what means do you know you will be required to remove life?” asked the summoner, who was finding it hard not to speak dramatically.
“I have never been summoned for anything else. It’s always the same task.”
“Yes, well.” The man grimaced in annoyance inside his hood. “I do indeed have a task for you. Heed my words now, and follow my bidding...”
The newly summoned being leaned forward to hear its masters' commands...


~ * ~


“I don't think we’re really ready for statue-hood yet,” said Dreth.
“So you reject my generous offer! You will regret...” the Medusa started.
“Hold on, hold on here!” Percy's voice interrupted her monologue. “Such a bad temper Ms. Medusa. What could be the problem I wonder? Bad breath? Unfortunate wind? No, I know! Down here alone, with no companions and unable to use a mirror? You must be feeling a mess! I bet you would kill... er, cheer loudly for a good makeover. Isn't that right?” The zombie paused a moment, to a surprised silence. “Come now. No need to be shy. We’re all friends here, dungeon denizens together and all that. You can share. How long was it since you had a good facial?”
“Well...” the Medusa began. “I don't know...”
Dreth heard Percy step forward. “Look, I used to be in the beauty business when I was alive. Good at it too I was.”
“Really?” asked the Medusa.
“Really?” whispered Dreth to Cuthbert.
Cuthbert nodded, which Dreth failed to see of course.
“Best Salon this side of the Dragon's Teeth,” said Percy's voice proudly. “Now, I can't see you, not and remain able to shake my booty of course, but perhaps if I could just touch?”
“I don't know,” the snake headed woman said uncertainly.
“Look, what's your name?” Percy was on a roll now. Dreth was quite impressed.
“Agnes. Agnes Lookstun.”
“What a lovely name. My mother was called Agnes,” said the zombie, working the charm for all it was worth. “Now, Agnes, let’s just have a feel...Ow!”
“Sorry! My hair is very protective. Go on, try again. They won't bite this time.”
Dreth heard Percy muttering to himself as he felt the Medusa's features. “Huh! Dry as a bone! Flaky skin, needs moisturizer for sure, oh, for want of a good set of tweezers! Now the hands. Oh my lord, when was the last time you had a manicure? “
“Well, you know...”
“Don't you worry. I’ll have you feeling like a million gold pieces in no time. Do you have somewhere to work? It's going to be tricky with no light, but you’re in the hands of an expert...”


~ * ~


Dreth sat back, resting on a statue in lieu of a chair, some sort of Paladin by the feel of it, whilst Agnes lay back with dungeon moss draped over her face. It was still pitch black. Percy was in a nearby room mixing various muds and alga together, mumbling about 'split ends' under his breath. Cuthbert and Sprat scuttled about finding the ingredients he specified, whilst Redthorne rested against a wall, a blanket of snakes wrapped around his body for warmth.
“Why do you go around turning people to stone anyway? What's the point?”
“It’s how my species feed. We extract the life energies from the body. The turning to stone part is just a side effect really.” She shrugged, though this was a fairly pointless gesture without any light.
“You said you’re trapped here? We just walked in, can't you walk out?”
“Ha! If only I could! You think I would be here in this dank pit? I was caught decades ago by a team of goody goody elves. I hate elves. They trapped me with an enhanced sleep spell. Next thing I knew I was in here.” The Medusa paused as Percy dipped her hands into some sort of liquid in small bowls.
“Don't ask what I made this out of,” the zombie said before scurry off, tripping over Sprat as he did so.
“So you’re restrained in some way?” continued Dreth.
“The area beyond the torches is like a wall to me. I can't go through it. You won't be able to either for most of it. Still, I know one way out that you should be able to take. The Dark is a little weaker in one section. Still too strong for me, but I think others could push through.”
“So you won't be able to join us then. Pity, we could use your talents.”
“Ha! I hope you get through! This damned Dungeon is nothing more than hell for me. I had hatchlings and a statue of a husband back home. I’ve lost hope in ever seeing them again. I hope they still keep Ronald polished.” She sighed.
“I’m sorry. If we can, we’ll find a way to get you out.”
“I’ve never met someone trying to escape before,” said Agnes as Percy came back and rubbed some sort of oil onto her hair, which hissed in pleasure. “Well, not a prisoner like me anyway. A few adventurers of course, I don't get many come this way. I end up feeding on bugs and rodents mostly.” She paused in thought. “Good job I don't have a big appetite.”
“There,” said Percy wiping his hands on his front. “Leave that on for an hour and you will feel like a new monster.”
“Thank-you zombie,” said Agnes.
Percy blushed, or would have done if he had any blood circulation. “Oh, you know. We all have our talents.”


~ * ~


Dreth turned to the Medusa, or at least where he thought she was standing. They were in another stone corridor, though the lights were still doused of course. Agnes has guided them along a maze of dark passages, leading them by touch and sound, until they had reached a place she said was the start of the way out. “You sure you can't get through?” he said. “It would be great to have you along. We could manage some sort of bag or something...”
“It's okay. Don't worry. I’ll be fine knowing you are doing this. And your zombie's makeover feels wonderful too. My hair has never been so slinky!”
“My pleasure,” said Percy. “I’ve left the cream in your parlor, on top of the stone dwarf. Don't forget to use it once a day without fail.”
“I will. Now. Here, push hard, I’m sure you’ll be able to get through.”
The Medusa guided them on. Soon Dreth felt a resistance, as if walking against a strong wind. He forced his way onwards.
“Daddy! Help!” came the voice of Sprat. “It’s too strong.”
“Hang on to me son,” replied Cuthbert from just behind Dreth, who was pushing hard against the invisible barrier.
“I can't go any further!” Agnes's voice called from behind. “Good luck! I hope to see you again!”
“Please let us know you’re approaching first!” shouted Percy.
The group struggled onwards, driving forward through the shield and out of The Dark...


~ * ~


“Are we there yet?” asked Sprat.
“If I knew where we were going I might be able to give you an answer,” said Cuthbert, looking meaningfully at Dreth.
They were wandering around in empty gray stone passageways, as they had been doing since they had left the Dark. They had stopped once to allow Redthorne to rest, but had spent the rest of the time moving steadily along, their echoing footsteps the only sound in the silence. It felt like they were walking along the same stretch of corridor over and over again. If it wasn’t for the layer of dust on the floor, Dreth would have believed it some kind of magical trap.
“Are you sure this isn't that maze you mentioned?” asked Redthorne.
Dreth sighed in annoyance. “I told you a hundred times already, how should I know?”
“Well, it's your dungeon.”
“It isn't my dungeon. If it was my dungeon I would know my way around wouldn't I? I’d be sitting in some sort of control room stroking a white cat and laughing manically whilst watching everyone kill each other.”
Before the wizard could reply Cuthbert pointed. “I can see something! Light! Light at the end of the tunnel!”
“Probably a dragon knowing my luck,” muttered Dreth, but hurried forward anyway, Redthorne close behind.
The pale glow grew as they moved closer, to reveal a simple doorway. After shoving the zombies through first, Dreth walked after them cautiously.
The small chamber was lit by orbs of blue fire set into the walls. Their glow cast a strange tint over the area, making it look like the whole place was underwater. At the far end of the room a figure rested upon several large cushions. It looked a little like a bronze statue, sitting cross-legged. Eight arms waved about over an enormously fat belly. The head was overly large, with lots of small horns protruding from the top like strange fat hair. The mouth was wide and filled with sharp white teeth, while slitted green eyes observed their approach.
“What is this place?” asked Percy to the world in general.
“Welcome to my lair,” said the creature. “I am the Oracle Farnsworth the Fair.”
“Ooh! I have heard about this chap!” said Cuthbert, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. “You can ask him any question and he has to answer it. Truthfully too mind you.”
“I’m bound to answer a question, just one,” said the Oracle, “Just don't make it too long.”
“Oh, an Oracle. Seems a bit of a strange place to put one of them,” Dreth mused. “Still, why not?” He shrugged and stepped forward. “Names' Dreth. I’m a guardian in the dungeon. Nice to meet you Oracle.”
“I know who you are, may your journey take you far,” replied Farnsworth.
“This isn't my question to you, so don't answer it if you don't want to, but perhaps you would like to join us on our little quest? We could always use someone good with information.”
The Oracle's eyes seemed to gleam for a moment, but then it answered. “Your offer is kind but I fear, until my time is done, I am bound here.”
Percy was covering his ears. “Stop speaking like that! It's very annoying! Or I will push my fingers inside your eye sockets and waggle them about!”
“Now now,” said Dreth calmingly to the zombie. He turned to the oracle. “My friend is a little excitable. Still, he does have a valid point.”
“Oh don't be a bunch of philistines,” the oracle said. “Everyone knows Oracles speak in rhymes.”
“That does it. Finger waggling time.” Percy stepped forward but Dreth pulled him back.
“We can ask one question each or just one for the group?” Dreth asked, holding onto the struggling undead. “Again, this isn't our question for the Oracle. Just a query.”
“One question for the group, though nothing about pea-soup.”
“What?” Asked Cuthbert. “Pea soup? Is that the best you could do? Couldn't think of anything to go with group eh?”
“It's not easy to rhyme,” answered the oracle wiggling its eyebrows, “all the time.”
Redthorne stepped forward. “In that case,” he said. “The question is...”
“Oh no! Grab him! Stop him speaking!” Dreth shouted, and the three zombies jumped the wizard, holding him down and covering his mouth.
'Mmffff,” said Redthorne, flailing about. The undead were too strong though, and he soon slumped back in defeat.
“I ask the questions here,” said Dreth, glaring at him.
“Hey, why should you get to ask the question? I would rather like to know if there is any way I can return to life,” Cuthbert complained, standing up as Percy straddled the mage.
“I thought you weren't very good at being alive?” asked Dreth.
“Doesn't mean I wouldn't like another chance though.”
“Well, if I we can find the wizard to undo my curse, maybe we can ask him to help you too,” said Dreth.
“Oh, that's going to be likely! And what if your wizard is dead? He could be. It's been a long time.”
“There’s bound to be someone who can help you, zombies are all over the place. My situation is special.”
“Hmph, self self self.” Cuthbert folded his arms and put on a sulky expression.
Dreth, ignoring the muffled complaints of Redthorne as Sprat played with his hat, turned back to the Oracle and regarded him thoughtfully. “Now, Oracles are a perverse lot, so I’m sure you will take any chance to twist my answer, or take the meaning in the wrong way. So, let me think a moment.”
“Come on,” Cuthbert pleaded. “If you think hard enough you could ask some sort of question about both of us.”
“Forget it,” Dreth said, making a slicing gesture with his hand. “That may produce some ambiguity. These Oracles are tricky creatures you know. They twist your answers around and make them all riddle-like. I hate riddles.”
“Look, all I’m saying is you could as a question like, oh, I don't know. Mmmm...” Cuthbert wrinkled his face in thought, which didn't produce the most picturesque effect. “Okay, we could ask something like...”
“No! Don't!” Dreth shouted, waving his hands about as he realized what the zombie was about to do.
“...how can we turn from undead back to living creatures?” Cuthbert looked up as Dreth slapped his hand to his head. “What? Oh.”
The Oracles eyes gleamed bright orange for a second, and then it spoke in a somber voice that echoed around the room:

“Dreth must be strong willed,
The first step - his betrayer,
Must be found and killed.

Cuthbert, for life to win,
Must redeem himself,
Be absolved of his sin.

Percy is an easy case,
Just find the one,
Who knows his face.

For Sprat, little hope for joy,
He needs to find a soul,
To become a real boy.”

The squat figure smiled evilly and closed its eyes, whereupon a shimmer ran over it, and it stilled, turning into a dull bronze statue.
“Great, now look what you did!” Dreth said, gesturing at the inert form.
Cuthbert looked smug. “Heh, serves you right for being selfish. Anyway, you had your answer didn't you?”
“Find my betrayer?! Who the hell is that? I don’t remember any betrayer!” Dreth heaved a deep breath, from habit rather than need. “Count-to-ten, count-to-ten,” he muttered to himself.
There were noises as Redthorne began thrashing around again.
“Let him up, the damage is done now,” said Dreth. Percy stood up, freeing the wizard, who climbed to his feet and gave him a dangerous glare.
“What's a 'soul' daddy?” asked Sprat, looking up at Cuthbert with large, mismatched eyes.
“Er,” said Cuthbert. “It’s a kind of animal. Yes, an animal, that's it. Very rare.”
“Oh,” Sprat wandered off as Cuthbert looked at Percy and shrugged.
“Come on. Let's move,” scowled Dreth.
“Which way?” asked Percy, pointing to the five exits, each of which lead off into a dark tunnel.
Dreth looked from one to the other. The all looked about the same. “We’ll let Cuthbert decide. After all, he’s taking point.”
The zombie scowled and chose an exit at random. “This one.”
“Fine. Lead on,” said Dreth.
“I will,” Cuthbert replied, and stamped off down the corridor in a huff. Dreth stalked after him.
Percy looked at the mage. “Kind of chilly all of a sudden isn't it?”
“If you ever sit on me again zombie, I will turn your head inside out.” Redthorne stormed off after the other two.
Percy looked down at Sprat. “How about you?”
“I like you Uncle Percy.”
“You’re a good kid Sprat. Remind me to give you the next liver I get.”
“Ooh! Thank you Uncle!”
“Let's go shall we?”
Taking the smaller undead's hand, Percy set off after the rest of the party, Sprat skipping alongside.


~ * ~


Agnes hummed to herself as she put away the cream. She had only used it once since they had left, but her skin felt so much better already. Maybe she hadn't eaten, but meeting Dreth and his crew had lifted her spirits.
Then she heard it. An echo. Someone was coming. This must be her lucky week! Food!
She moved through the darkness towards the sound of approaching footsteps. Her snakes hissed in anticipation. She didn't need to see where she was going, over the years she had become familiar with every little nook and cranny of her domain. Her prison.
That was unusual. The intruder hadn't stopped to light the torches. Ah well, sometimes they missed them.
The tread grew louder, and she sent some of her pets off around the corner to greet the guest.
The footsteps didn't pause, and there were some distressing squishing sounds. Not promising. Agnes backed up and grabbed her torch, lighting it just as the large figure came into view.
“Gaze upon death...” she started, before fully comprehending her visitor. “Oh shit.”
Large cold fingers grabbed her neck and lifted her like a toy into the air. Her hair bit at the intruder angrily, but were totally ignored.
“Where are they?” Red eyes glowed.
“Ackk,” responded the Medusa, gesturing wildly at her throat.
The hand released her and she fell to the floor coughing.
“Where are they?” the deep voice could best be described as 'gravelly'. “Tell me and live.”
“Live? This is life is it?” Agnes spat, her anger rising, even in her terror. “Do your worst. I’m cheering for them! Finally one of us is doing something!” She waved her fist.
The intruder looked at her for a moment and then the huge hand shot out with a speed that belied its size. Agnes was grabbed by the head, the cold hard embrace crushed several of her hair-snakes, and green blood dripped down her face.
She felt herself being lifted off the ground and screamed, clawing futilely at the solid grip that held her in the air. The creature squeezed. She could hear a cracking sound as her skull split under the pressure, pieces of bone penetrated her brain matter. Her eyes were slowly forced out of her head, blood and brain tissue oozing from the sockets and out of her nose.
As the Medusa breathed her last, a strange sound emanated from her mouth. In her final seconds alive, she laughed. Agnes welcomed release.


~ * ~


The dark walls of the entrance dripped with slime, echoing through the passage as it hit the rough stone floor. A flickering torch dimly illuminated the scene, casting eerie shadows that seemed to almost possess a life of their own, as if some otherworld demon was trying to cross over.
A muscular figure hunched over, his black studded leather armor creaking under the strain. He put his sword to one side as he frowned, large yellow canines dripped with saliva as he muttered under his breath. Reaching out with a large hand tipped with sharp black fingernails, he plucked a small item from the creature next to him.
He took a deep, rasping breath and spoke.
“Look, all I’m saying is: that if the square root was valid if x over pi equals z, when z was a factor...” Harry drew various markings on the wall with the piece of chalk, trying to illustrate his point, but Herbert interrupted him.
“No no no! You’re forgetting to factor in Hubert’s Theorem, which postulates that the variance of z can be attributed to...”
“Wait! Did you hear that? Someone's coming!”
The two guards quickly stood up, grabbing their weapons as they did so. Herbert hastily erased evidence of their mathematical discussion, just as a small group approached from down the main corridor.
The two growled and put on unfriendly expressions as the party stopped in front of them. The lead figure seemed to be a zombie.
“What you want?” grunted Harry.
The undead creature looked back over his shoulder. “Boss! There are a couple of Orcs here blocking the way. Do you want to speak to them?”
One of the figures stepped forward, pushing his way to the front. He seemed to be a tall thin human, though a very pale one, wearing a long dark robe with a sword strapped to his side.
“Orcs. You're a bit far in aren't you? I thought Orcs were strictly low level stuff.”
“We Black Tribe Orcs. Greater Orcs us,” Herbert said, slapping his armored chest. “What you want?”
“I’m Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. I wish to enter.”
“No one pass. We guards,” responded Harry.
“Yes yes, I’m sure you have your orders and all that, but we would just like to speak to your leader, we won't be a bother,” said Dreth, frowning slightly.
“You not pass. This Black Orc territ.. terri... land,” Harry said, hefting his large and wicked looking mace meaningfully.
“Look, we are workers of the dungeon ourselves, all we wish to do is speak to your King.”
“Me don't know...” Herbert seemed to be wavering.
Harry had no such qualms. “You not pass. King says no one pass alive.”
“Ah, well, you should let us through then, because we aren't alive, are we now?” Dreth raised a thin eyebrow.
Harry paused for a moment as he evaluated this loophole.
“What about him? He look alive,” said the Herbert, pointing his sword at Redthorne.
“Well, he does, that's true. But er, he’s a zombie as well, just fresher than most, that's all.”
Harry waved his mace again. “Me guard! You not pass. Go away, or me beat you urg...”
He was cut off as the tall being plucked the helmet off Harry with one hand and grabbed his head with the other, brutally slamming it into the stone wall behind. Sparks bounced around in front of Harry's eyes as the sharp pain seemed to reverberate inside his skull.
He roared and raised his mace, but the creature stepped inside his swing and brought a bony knee up between his legs, crushing the genitals with a powerful blow. Agony lanced through the Orc, and he screamed as blood dripped down his thigh.
He tried to back away, but the guardian stepped closer and head-butted his nose, causing flashes of light to streak across his vision. Before he could do anything else foul tasting fingers grasped his mouth, upper and lower, pulling his jaw open with a strength that Harry, for all of his mighty thews, could not match. He yanked at the undead's skinny arms in a vain attempt to free himself as bones begin to splinter. There was a grinding noise as the attacker twisted and wrenched the lower portion of his face off. Blood and mucus ran down Harry's throat, and he spluttered and gargled, speckling Dreth with red.

The Orcs' knees began to buckle as the beast in human form wrapped its arms around his neck.
“I don't deal with underlings.” The dry words were whispered into his ears, just before Dreth twisted violently, and everything went black...


~ * ~


“Black Orc down! Black Orc down!” shouted Percy, doing a little jig and waving his arms about.
Dreth glared at the remaining guard, hissing in annoyance. “Now. Are you going to let us in to see your leader, or do I have to really get angry?”
“Y...y...y... this way sir,” stammered Herbert.
“Finally, some co-operation.” Dreth frowned as the guard began to turn away. “Haven't you forgotten something?”
“W...w...what?” asked the Orc.
Dreth pointed to his side, in which Herbert's sword was embedded.
“Oh, s...sorry sir! How did that get there? I will have it out in a just moment.” The guard pulled at the weapon, which slid out with a dull pop. “There, right as rain.”
“What happened to 'Me Grug, you bad'?” asked Cuthbert, scooping the eyeballs out of the dead Orc and handing one to Percy, who popped it into his mouth.
“What? Oh, yes, that. Well, we have to act the part,” said Herbert.
“I suggest it may be worth rethinking your strategy,” said Dreth.
Herbert looked at the body of his friend, whose skin was being peeled back by Sprat. “You could have a point there.”


~ * ~


A heavy tread engaged a hidden mechanism, which in turn activated certain waiting magics.
For the second time in a day the Oracle found himself awakened from stasis. He hissed in annoyance. True, every question he answered brought him closer to release, but it also used up some of his life energy. The only satisfaction he had was answering the questions posed as literally as possible. Petty, he knew, but you had to take your pleasures where you could.
Then the large figure entered the Oracles' chamber, and his eyes opened wide. Still, he uttered his usual opening line. “Welcome to my lair, I am the Oracle Farnsworth the Fair...”
The huge creature strode over to him and leaned down, red eyes close to his. “Where did they go?” It said.
“Your question is obscure, I..Ark!”
A giant hand had wrapped itself around his neck and squeezed, saving him the work of figuring out what rhymed with 'obscure'.
“Answer me.”
The Oracle gulped, or tried to. The hand was tight. “They went that way.” He croaked, pointing at an exit with all of his arms.
“Sensible.” The hand opened, and the Oracle gasped for breath as the brute strode off in the direction indicated.
“Bully,” he choked, but he waited until it was out of hearing first.


~ * ~

Dreth and co. followed the guard through a maze of caverns, passing through several heavily barricaded areas along the way. Orc warriors peered over the stone walls, weapons by their sides.
“Expecting trouble?” asked Dreth.
“Always,” replied Herbert.
Past the barricades they wandered, into Orc territory proper. Large caverns, water dripping from high ceilings, were separated by skins of various creatures hanging from crude wooden frames. Living areas, where Orcs of all sizes and dispositions walked, sat or worked. Males, females and younglings alike stopped and stared as they past.
Redthorne wrinkled his nose. “Urg. They could use some sanitation.”
“Oh hush,” Dreth admonished. “Human settlements aren't exactly sparkling clean.”
“I can't smell anything,” said Percy.
“I told you that you needed a new nose the other week,” said Cuthbert.
Eventually they turned into a more private area, guarded by imposing looking warriors dressed in dark chain mail vests and wielding large swords. Herbert had to negotiate several times before being allowed to pass. They did so though, and not long after entered a medium sized cavern, lit with bright torches.
In this space Orcs mingled in small groups around the walls, talking with each other in low grunts. The center of the cavern was left clear, an obvious walkway leading up to a large throne carved from dark stone.
Sat on this throne an impressive looking Orc sprawled. Black armor was strapped about him, with various tokens obviously taken from his victims hung at strategic points on his body. An enormous two handed sword leaned unsheathed against his seat, and Dreth thought he could see blood glinting darkly on the blade.
The Orc King was deep in discussion with another, much smaller, Orc whom Dreth thought may be a Shaman of some kind. The group stopped a respectful distance away and waited to be noticed.
Finally the shaman-Orc bowed and backed away.
The King looked up. “What have we here then?” he rumbled.
Herbert stepped forward. Dreth couldn't help noticing he was shaking slightly. “King, I am Herbert, a lowly guard from the outer tunnels. These creatures requested an audience with your loathfullness.” He jerked a thumb.
“Did they now?” The large Orc slumped back into his chair and gestured. “Who is the leader amongst you? Why do you wish to speak with King Oscar of the Orcs?”
Dreth gave a shallow bow. “King, I’m Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. My group is trying to find the way to the center of the dungeon. We would appreciate any assistance you could render.”
Oscar chewed on a necklace of dried ears. “Searching for the treasure are you? How interesting.” He leaned forward. “Approach.”
Dreth walked slowly forward. The Orc waited until he was close, then, in a single smooth move, he grabbed his giant weapon and brought it down in a great vertical swing towards Dreth’s head, narrowly missing the horizontal arc defined by the guardian’s dark blade as Dreth responded in kind. As the swords swooped past one another Dreth stepped swiftly to one side, and the Orc’s weapon hit the floor with a shower of sparks and a resounding clang. The deafening sound gave way to the sinister hum of Dreth’s sword, the tip of which was now hovering at the king’s throat.
“I’m going to assume that was some sort of Orcish test,” said Dreth, keeping his sword a fraction away from the leader's throat. “I’m also going to assume I have passed.” He tilted his head slightly to one side. “I have passed, haven't I?”
The King looked at him for a moment and then burst out into raucous laughter. Dreth took that for assent, and stepped back, sheathing Darkblood smoothly.
The Black Orc commander nodded and sat down again. “You will do, un-alive man.”
“So, formalities over, do you have any information for us?”
Oscar made a face for a moment, and then shifted slightly as a loud rumble emanated from his rear. Several Orc spectators applauded.
“I happen to know the direction you need to go. It isn't far from here. However, in exchange for said information, you must do us a favor.”
“Go on,” said Dreth.
“In the next territory along are a tribe of Ogres. For reasons of them being lying scumbags, we have been at war with them for some time. Unfortunately, despite our natural superiority, they still resist.”
Dreth frowned. “As good as I am, I don't think I can win a war for you.”
The King made a dismissive gesture. “We don't need that. We will crush the Ogres ourselves when the time is right. Until then, they have something we want.”
“And you want us to retrieve it for you?”
The Orc nodded, and smiled a yellow fanged smile.
“And what is this object?” asked Redthorne.
Oscar stuck a large finger up his nose and rooted around for a moment before answering. “That, my dear zombie, is a state secret. However, you will find it in a small metal box in the Ogre Leaders' chamber.”
“So, easy to get to then,” muttered Percy from behind Dreth.
Dreth considered this for a moment. “Fair enough. We can have a look anyway. Where are the Ogres?”
Oscar gestured at Herbert. “You. Show them the way, and answer their questions.”
Herbert bowed.
“You are dismissed,” said the King, waving one hand at them and scratching at his groin with the other.
Dreth bowed and backed away, mainly to be sure he had the king in his view whilst still in sword range, before turning and following the guard back out of the throne room.
They followed Herbert out of the hall and down through a maze of winding passageways. The Orcs in this area were all warriors, speaking in low voices, sharpening weapons or just lying on the floor. Dreth couldn't help noticing quite a few with recent looking wounds.
Eventually they arrived at a fortification along a major passageway and climbed several steps up to a narrow walkway shielded by a wall constructed of large stone blocks. They peered over the barricade, to look down a long wide tunnel littered with Orc and Ogre remains. In the distance, a good five minutes run by Dreth's estimate, a similar barricade faced them. The Enemy.
“The Ogres are down there,” said Herbert unnecessarily. “We call this The Tunnel of Blood'.”
“Delightful,” said Dreth, examining the war zone. “I’m not sure about the direct approach though. It doesn't seem to have worked well for you.”
“I could use an invisibility spell,” ventured Redthorne, who had also been looking over the area.
“Do they have mages?” asked Cuthbert.
Herbert made a neutral gesture. “They have shamans, like us. Don't know how powerful they are though.”
Redthorne pulled at his beard. “I should be able to overcome a few witch-doctors,” he said confidently.
“There are some other ways in as well, passages generally too small for them, or us, to use. They are probably trapped though, and I heard someone say that there are... vermin that live in them. Vicious vermin,” the Orc added.
Dreth ducked down as a large crossbow bolt flew up the passageway and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Percy yelped and dropped to the floor. He scuttled on all fours to crouch behind the wall, where he sat, hands on his head. Cuthbert stepped to one side and pushed Sprat behind him.
“Snipers too,” Herbert added cheerfully.
“Are you sure about this Dreth?” asked Cuthbert. “There must be other ways to get to the treasure.”
“Why don't we just walk into their territory and pretend to be friends?” asked Percy, from the floor.
Herbert shook his head. “No way to the Ogres except through us, at least without going miles around.”
“Mmm,” said Dreth. He peered over the wall again, carefully, and though about it for a moment.” Finally he turned to Redthorne. “Wizard,” he said, “get casting, I want invisibility on us all, and a shield if you can manage it...”
“Hold on, hold on!” interrupted Percy. “Are you suggesting we walk down there?” He gestured with a thumb over the wall, just as javelin sized missile flew up, missing Cuthbert by a fraction.
“Percy is right,” said the other zombie from the floor. “There has to be a better way than up suicide alley there.”
Dreth frowned. “What about these tunnels?” he asked of Herbert.
“Over there, too small for you lot though,” replied the Orc. “Anyway, have fun, I have to get back to my post.” He marched off, leaving the group to ponder the small opening near the ground.
Dreth looked down. “Split. How would you like to play a little game of Steal the Ogres’ Treasure?”
Sprat, who was sat in a corner sucking a thumb,* looked up at him. “Name's Sprat,” he said.
“Spit, Spat, whatever. How would you like a lovely new, er...” Dreth cast about for something that would appeal to the young zombie. He reached into the bag that Cuthbert had dumped on the floor. “A nice shiny leg bone? Still has some meat on it! See? Lovely and rotten.” He waved the limb about.
“Ok,” said Sprat.
“Hey! Wait a minute there!” Cuthbert raised an arm, before realizing that could get it taken off. “That’s my son...”
Dreth cut him short. “Let's let young Sprot decide what he wants to do, eh youngster?” Dreth attempted to wiggle his eyebrows playfully, only succeeding in making a face that would have normal children wetting their pants. “Do you want a bone lad? A lovely bone?”
“Oh, come on, that's just blackmail,” complained Percy, “who wouldn't want a lovely leg bone?”
Sprat reached up and took the leg.
“Kid's decided, it's a done deal,” declared Dreth.
Cuthbert shook his head and covered his eyes. Dreth knelt down and spoke slowly to the little undead. “Now, this nice man here,” he gestured at Redthorne, “will cast some spells on you, okay?”
Sprat nodded, his head wobbling alarmingly.
“Excellent.” Dreth went on to explain what he wanted. “And I will just hold onto this leg until you come back okay?” He stood up and nodded at Redthorne, indicating he should start his magic.
Redthorne, standing back in a protective wall niche, cast a number of quick incantations. He waved his hands in several intricate gestures and pointed at Sprat, summoning a protective shield about the small zombie. That done, he spoke several words in a strange hissing language, and cause the small zombie to fade from sight.
“Cool,” came the voice of Sprat.
“Now Spot,” said Dreth, “off you go. Remember, if you don't come back with the box, I will personally tear your head off and feed it to the nearest Orc.”
“Name's Sprat,” mumbled the invisible zombie, but stumbled off towards the dark tunnels, his progress marked by his footsteps shuffling along, and the odd movement in the debris strewn floor...

*One he had found on the floor.


~ * ~


Sprat crawled through the passageways, some tight even for him. Around him creatures and things scuttled about in the dark. He was glad uncle Dreth had got that warm human to do the magic thing on him.
He paused a moment, squeezing back against the wall to allow something slimy and green with no legs to slither past. Stopping only to stick a finger in and taste the trail of slime left behind, not very nice, he carried on. The noises he had been hearing for a little while were getting louder.
Sure enough, around another corner, light could be seen filtering in. He scrambled towards it, poking his head out cautiously. Uncle Dreth had said these Ogres didn't like little zombies, so he had to keep very quiet.
No one seemed to be about, so he pulled himself into the small cave, which was stacked high with boxes. Resisting the temptation to peek inside, he walked quietly along, towards the only entrance he could see. He passed through it, dodging to one side as a large ugly beast carrying a club thudded past. Waiting to ensure the ogre was gone, he carried on along the wide passage.
Skipping around another two giants, he crawled through one cave and then another and another, looking for the sign that Uncle Dreth had told him about.
Just as he was about to give up he saw it - a large skull on a pike, outside a doorway with a curtain across. He crept up carefully and listened. From the other side thunderous snoring could be heard. He peered under the curtain, and then squirmed through, being careful not to disturb anything.
The room inside was dark, but he could make out enough. There wasn't much to see actually. At the back of the wall was a large table, too high for Sprat to on to. To the side was a wooden chest with a large lock. Directly opposite was a low bed. Lying on top of that was a huge ogre, snoring loudly enough to make the floor vibrate.
Sprat sidled around the wall, standing on tip toes to see what was on the table. Just the remains of a meal, some unfortunate Orc by the looks of it. Glancing at the form sleeping on the bed, Sprat crept over to the chest and heaved at the lid. Locked.
He looked around. There! Around the neck of the slumbering Ogre was a chain. Attached to the end of the chain, dangling over the side of the bed, was a large metal key.
The young zombie looked at the key and then at the chest. They seemed like they could match. Pushing his arm on more firmly, he tiptoed forward. The snoring rose to a crescendo, and the monster snorted, rolling to the side, facing the undead. Sprat stood still, not breathing, though this was normal for him.
After a moment, the snoring started again, this time accompanied by grunts from the sleeper. He seemed to be mumbling about someone called 'Doreen' and how he was going to 'eat her up'. Sprat smiled. He would sure like to have a whole person to eat too!
He drew near, hand worming closer to the dangling key. A grunt, and the ogre opened his eyes, staring right at the little zombie. Sprat froze, nearly biting his tongue off.
A long second passed, then another and another. Slowly the giant's eyelids dipped and closed. A moment later the snores started again. Sprat stood were he was. How had he not been seen? Wait! Stupid! He was invisible!
Another snort and a massive hand swung around, nearly removing Sprat's head in the process. Lunging under the arm Sprat grabbed the key and twisted, disengaging it from the chain. He dropped to the floor as the ogre rolled over again, pulling the chain with him.
Wiping his forehead dramatically, Sprat slithered over to the chest and inserted the key. He turned it slowly, wincing at the grating noise it made. Finally, it clicked open.
He pulled on the lid again, and this time it lifted. Pushing it back he peered inside, looking for the box Uncle Dreth had described. It sure seemed a lot of work just for one leg bone...


~ * ~


Herbert's new partner was a young Orc, fresh from the nursery pits as far as he could tell. He was none too happy at being assigned to a 'dead end alley' as he put it.
“Look, don't complain. This is easy duty,” said Herbert.
“Cowards work!” exclaimed the new boy, whose name was Frank.
Herbert sighed and settled back. It was going to be a long watch.
“Hey, someone's coming!” said his eager partner. “All right! A bit of work already. Maybe this isn't so bad after all.”
Herbert gripped his sword as Frank stepped forward, clutching a wicked looking flail. “Hold! You’re entering... oh.”
An enormous figure leaned down, looking the young guard in the face with glowing red eyes. “Where are they?” it demanded.
Frank hesitated, but then seemed to gather some courage. “I don't know who you are, but I’m a Black Tribe Orc warrior...” he began.
Herbert, who was trying his best to become part of the corridor, closed his eyes. Wrong answer.
There was a dull crunch, a clang of flail being dropped on the floor, followed closely by thud of dead Orc. More footsteps, stopping close in front of Herbert. He opened his eyes a fraction, to look into a face that appeared to be made of wall.
“Where are they?” The creature repeated.
“Ah... they went that way,” he blabbed, pointing at the entrance he was supposed to be guarding.
The head nodded. “Sensible.” It stood up, towering above Herbert, and strode onwards, as if a tribe of greater Orcs posed no threat to it.
Glancing only briefly at the body of his short lived companion, Herbert slipped into the passageway after the intruder. If he moved quickly, and used a short cut, he should be able to beat it to the throne room.


~ * ~


Dreth paced up and down, to the distress of the zombies who pointed out that he was drawing fire. Indeed, several missiles had narrowly missed the half-alive figure.
“What’s keeping him? Surely he should have found it by now?” Dreth turned again. An arrow whizzed passed his head.
“He’s probably already ogre stew,” complained Cuthbert. “When I was alive there was a saying: Never send a boy to catch a bird in the hand.” He frowned. “No, wait, that wasn't it.”
“Never bite a hand until it feeds you?” suggested Percy.
“Good advice that,” said Cuthbert. “Get the food first, then the hand. Two apples with one stone that is.”
“Will you two be quiet?” shushed Dreth. “I think I can hear something.” He knelt down by the hole, just as Sprat popped his head out.
“Hello Uncle,” he said, face covered in grime.
“Did you get it?”
“Here,” said the little zombie, handing Dreth a closed box with runes inscribed all over it.
“Excellent,” said Dreth, snatching it away.
“I also...”
“Yes, very good Splot, Cuthbert will give you your leg now.” Dreth was concentrating on the box, trying to open it.
“But I...”
“Sprat! Are you all right?” said Cuthbert, crawling over. “Did you see the ogres? What happened to your invisibility?”
“It went away,” said Sprat. “And...”
“Well, you could have been killed! What do you have to say for yourself mage?” Cuthbert turned and shook a finger at Redthorne, who merely shrugged.
“Daddy, I found a...”
“Here’s your leg little one, good job!” Percy handed Sprat his reward, beaming a rotten toothed smile.
“Curse it!” said Dreth, shaking the box. “It’s sealed magically somehow.”
“Let me have a look,” said Redthorne.
“I don't think so wizard,” Dreth held it close. “Come on, we’ll deal with the Orcs first, then worry about opening it.”
They moved off, Sprat happily gnawing on his new leg.


~ * ~


King Oscar sat on his throne, enjoying the administrations of one of his wives, who was busy applying oral activity to his utensil.
“Sire!” said one of his minions. “The zombies are back.”
Oscar raised a finger, and the guard waited for a minute, until the King let out a long and happy sigh. “Well done my dear,” he said, dismissing the wife, who backed away, dabbing at her mouth.
“King Oscar!” The voice was calm yet radiated power.
The king looked down his nose at the skinny pale human. “Ah, it's you again. And I see you have brought your friends too,” he observed the zombies & wizard behind their leader. What do you want?”
“We bring you your box sire,” said the pale human, holding forth the object in question.
King Oscar sat up straight. “Indeed! Bring it here quickly!”
“First, your end of the deal, where’s the way to the dungeon's center?”
Oscar laughed uproariously. “That? Hahahahahaha! That's easy! It's through the ogres' domain! Hahahahahaha!”
The human's face tightened. Oscar pointed a long dirty finger at him. “Tricked you good didn't I? Now, hand over the box!”
Dreth handed it over, keeping a wary eye out for tricks.
“How did you disarm the tracking device?” asked Oscar. “Just out of curiosity.”
“Tracking device?” Dreth looked puzzled.
Oscar opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “Don't tell me you didn't remove the spell? The ogres put a...”
“Sire! Sire! The ogres are attacking! Everywhere!”
“You idiot!” snarled Oscar, picking up his blade. “Sound the alarm! All troops to defensive positions!” He turned to Dreth. “First though...”
Herbert ran into the chamber shouting, cutting off the king mid-flow. “Sire! Sire! We’re under attack!”
“I know that fool! The ogres want their...”
“No, not the ogres! Something big! It's killed a dozen warriors already, and it's heading here! It asked about them!” He pointed at the undead.
“Us?” asked Cuthbert, looking from side to side nervously.
Dreth turned to the king. “What’s inside it?” He asked.
“What?” Oscar was momentarily confused. “Ah, the box! Ha! Wouldn't you like to know?”
“That's why I asked.”
King Oscar smirked, despite the chaos as Orcs ran back and forth about the cavern. “As you will. Inside here is the key to the Central chambers! Hahahahaha!” He slapped at his leg in mirth. “That's right! You just handed over the only way in to the treasure. How smart do you look now?”
“I see.” Dreth drew his black sword slowly. “Then you should give it back.”
“Come get it!” Oscar raised his giant blade, beckoning with one hand.
The human ran at him, and Oscar swung high, bringing his weapon around in a powerful sweep. The undead guardian brought his blade up and blocked it with a screech of metal on metal. Sparks flew as both stepped back. The king was surprised. The human was stronger than he looked. Never mind! He smiled and thrust forward suddenly, moving far faster than he had before. The sword caught Dreth in the middle of the chest, penetrating his flesh and protruding out of his back.
Oscar grinned widely as the human looked down at the weapon embedded in his body. His grin faded as Dreth looked up again, his face set in an expression of anger.
“You will pay for that.” Slowly the human pushed forward, up the king's sword, the blade sliding through his body, pushing further and further out of his back as he made his way closer to the hilt.
Oscar stepped back, but this merely pulled Dreth closer to him. He looked into the guardian's black eyes, and for the first time in his life knew fear.
“My turn,” whispered Dreth.
The cold kiss of metal entered the kings' abdomen, sliding through his organs with a burning, yet icy, touch. Oscar opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. The heat in his body seemed to be sucked away, drawn into the black sword.
The last thing he knew was the sound of laughter. “Awake!” Came a voice inside his head, “awake at last!”


~ * ~


Dreth pulled at the sword, trying to free it from the body of the dead King. It moved slowly, as if resisting his efforts. Keenly aware of an urgent need to not be there, he pulled harder, finally succeeding in wrenching the blade out of the corpse with a wet sucking sound.
The weapon dripped with green Orc blood, but under that it seemed to throb with dark power. A low moan emanated from it. “Bllllooood,” it said, black energy crackling up its length. “Feeeed meee.”
Dreth had no time to wonder at this sudden awakening. Quickly grabbing the box, he turned around to face the others. The king's sword was still sticking out of his body, front and back, but he didn't have time to remove it just now.
“I don't wish to rush you, but half an army of ogres are after that thing,” said Cuthbert, indicating the rune-box.
“Let's get out of here then,” said Dreth. He started heading towards the way they had come in, only to stop as a giant figure stepped into the cavern.
Red eyes scanned the crowd, finally settling on him.
The enormous stone Golem stepped forward, batting away an Orc who was too slow or foolish to get out of its path. “Dreth, Guardian of the Undead Way. The Management has sent me. You are charged with deserting your post.”
“Oh futtocks,” said Percy. “That's a Guardian Golem. They’re practically indestructible! We’re screwed.”
The Golem stepped forward, massive arms reaching out for them.
Dreth stepped away and raised his sword, which seemed to be trying to pull him forward. This monster was not something to be trifled with though. He risked a quick look around. Behind him came the sound of battle, as ogres and Orcs fought for dominance. Another exit to one side was crowded with Orcs trying to get away, and the only other way out was behind the Golem.
“This is going to be tricky,” he said. “Look,” he said, stepping backwards and pulling the dead king's sword out of his body at the same time, “let's see if we can't come to some sort of arrangement hey? I mean, surely we’re all on the same side, right?”
“Not really,” replied the Golem, advancing. “Don't get me wrong, it's nothing personal, but I have my orders. You must be made an example of.” It lunged forward.
Dreth skipped back and brought his sword up to block the blow. The blade met the fist with a loud clang.
“Aaarrrgg!” said the weapon, “that hurt!”
The Golem smiled a stony grin. “Magic swords don't scare me little man. Now, stand still and take your punishment like a guardian.”
“Not bloody likely!” said Dreth, and dodged to one side to avoid another swing. “Wizard, cast some sort of spell! Stop him!”
Redthorne, who had retreated to a safer distance, scratched his head. “Tough one, these Golem types are usually fairly proof against magic. Still, give me a minute and I’ll see what I have.” He made a gesture and a large book appeared in his hand, which he started leafing through.
“I don't have a minute you useless... urg!” Dreth tumbled across the floor as the huge fist managed to finally connect. The runebox went flying.
“E... F... G... Gas... Giants... Gnomes... no, not that, Gold... mmm, thought I’d lost that spell.” Redthorne thumbed through his book muttering to himself.
Dreth picked himself up, then quickly dived to one side to avoid being squashed by the Golem's foot. “Read faster blast you!” he shouted, performing a series of really quite amazing maneuvers, trying to stay out of the creatures’ reach.
Sprat, meanwhile, had picked up the runebox. The little zombie looked at the marauding animation, and then at the seething mass of Orcs and ogres, still fighting in the main entrance. He waddled up to the mage, who was mumbling under his breath, and tapped him on the leg.
Redthorne looked down, placing a finger on the page so he wouldn't lose his place. “What?” he asked.
The small zombie pointed at the box and said something to wizard.
Dreth jumped onto the dead king's throne, and then did a somersault over the back of it. Percy and Cuthbert applauded and shouted encouragement.
“I hope you’re not distracting Mr. Wizard, you short assemblage of spare parts!” he shouted, ducking. The Golem's fist smashed into the wall next to him, dislodging rock and leaving a large crater.
Dreth just about managed to get a glimpse of Redthorne casting some sort of quick spell before he was hit again. He was sent flying through the air to land at the feet of Cuthbert and Percy, who were standing out of the way and watching the action.
“Good one boss!” said Percy.
“Nearly had him there!” said Cuthbert, giving a thumbs up sign.
“Don't put yourselves out or anything,” said Dreth, staggering to his feet. “I think I’ve broken a rib.” He looked around just in time to see the Golem throw the throne at him.
“Let's get out of here!” shouted Percy, as the chair smashed into the cavern floor beside them, exploding in a mass of stone shrapnel.
“What's Sprat up to?” asked Cuthbert, lurching away at speed as the giant creature approached.
Dreth spared a quick glance at the small undead as he jogged in a wide circle around the cave. The zombie had the runebox in his hand and was walking with a determined gait up to the Golem. As he watched, the little zombie took aim and threw the box at the Stone Guardian. It hit and stuck to its leg. The Golem took no notice, intent on pursuing its prey.
Dreth looked wildly from side to side. The ogres were pushing forward, having nearly overwhelmed the Orcs, and the other entrance was still crowded with refugees from the fight. He skipped left, but the Golem darted forward, cutting him off and trapping him in a corner.
“Look, you don't have to do this, really,” said Dreth. “Throw off the shackles of oppression brother! Rise up and fight the overlords!” He raised his fist in a salute, in a desperate attempt at false camaraderie.
“But I like my job,” said the Golem, closing in. “It is annoying being summoned from the Sleep sometimes, but the hours are good, and you get to see places and meet interesting people. If only briefly.”
“I don't suppose you would take a bribe?” Dreth asked, scraping the bottom of the 'options' barrel. His back was now against the wall, in several senses.
The guardian shook its head as he loomed closer, towering above the half-dead. He raised a fist. “Time to be very, very sorry,” it said.
Dreth closed his eyes. There was a slight pause followed by an enormous crash, then silence. His head remained unflattened. He opened his eyes again.
Where the Golem had been standing was a large pile of ceiling.
“Couldn't find Golem,” shouted Redthorne from the other side of the cavern, “this was the best I could come up with.”
Dreth eyed the pile of rock. It moved slightly.
“I wouldn't hang about it I was you,” said Cuthbert. “That won't hold it for long.” Even as he spoke an arm broke through the rubble, dislodging several large boulders.
Dreth skipped past and retrieved his black sword from the floor where he’d dropped it. Just as he did so the first of the ogres, a huge dirty white creature wielding a studded club and wearing a battered helmet, broke through the Orc lines and stepped into the cavern. Several, more normal sized creatures, followed closely behind.
The giant ogre saw Dreth and squinted at him. “Fee fi fo fum,” it said in a deep bass voice. “I smell the blood of a... zombie.”
Several of the following ogres shook their heads.
“Nearly had it that time sir!” said one. The giant swung his club idly and knocked the speaker flying.
“Be he 'live, or be he dead,” he continued, walking slowly towards Dreth and company. “I'll grind his bones to make my... porridge.”
The other ogres groaned.
Dreth started to reverse, but the sound of sliding rock made him stop and turn. Behind him the Golem rose from the rubble like a vengeful mountain. Red eyes glared at him, piercing the dust like demonic searchlights.
“Oh poop,” said Percy.
“Look!” shouted Dreth, pointing at the Golem. “It has your box! Get it quick!” He dived out of the way as the big ogre roared with anger and charged, club held high. The rest of his force raced after him.
Dreth winced as the two sides met with a massive crash. “Let's not wait and see how this turns out,” he said.
They ran around the edge of the cave, ducking once as an ogre flew out of the melee over their heads, to smash into the floor beyond and lay still.
“Do you think they will stop it?” asked Redthorne.
Percy shook his head. “They will delay him, but ogres don't have anything strong enough to beat a Guardian Golem,” he said. “You can't kill them unless you find their heart, or break the body into little pieces, from what I hear.”
The group ran past piles of Orc and ogre bodies, back down the passage they had been before. The barricades had been smashed, and corpses of both sides littered the way.
“Look at all this food!” wailed Cuthbert. “What a waste!”
“You can stop and have a snack if you want,” said Dreth, jumping over a headless corpse, “but I’m not waiting for you.”
They raced down the now deserted tunnel towards the Ogre side, arriving there with only one slight delay, when Percy tried to collect body parts for 'supplies', and climbed over the unmanned barricade at the end.
The ogre caves were mostly deserted. Only the young and a couple of old creatures had been left behind. Those looked suspiciously at the group as they passed, but none made a move to intercept them.
“What are we looking for?” said Percy as they wandered around the main cavern.
“I don't know. Some kind of entrance, probably one not oft used,” replied Dreth.
“How about that?” asked Redthorne, pointing to a dark corner.
They followed his finger. Set well back into a recess was a metal door. Upon closer inspection it looked unused; rust had built up over the surface. There didn't appear to be any lock, just one large handle. Dreth took hold of it and pulled.
It took a bit of straining, but it eventually cracked open. “A little help here,” he said.
Percy and Cuthbert ducked around him and grabbed the edge of the door. With the three heaving together the portal finally, reluctantly, opened. A waft of cold air came from beyond.
“Ahh, smell that dungeon breeze,” said Cuthbert.
“I will, when I get a new nose,” grumbled Percy.
“Come on, I’d rather not wait for the ogres or that blasted Golem to show up again,” said Dreth. He pushed the two zombies forward, into the dark behind the door.
“More tunnels!” shouted back Cuthbert.
Dreth, Redthorne and Sprat entered, dragging the door shut behind them and blocking out the light.
“Allow me,” said Redthorne, and cast several magic-torch spells.
The tunnels, once illuminated, turned out to be roughly hewn from bare dark red rock. The area just beyond the door was fairly wide, but it headed down and quickly narrowed.
“Lead on then,” said Dreth to Cuthbert.
The zombies started down the tunnel, but Redthorne spoke to him. “I need a rest,” he said. “I still have to sleep, even if you don't, and casting spells drains you.”
Dreth nodded. “Fair enough, we’ll rest as soon as we get a little way away from here.”
They walked on, stumbling down the uneven passage. Soon it split into two. Figuring one was as good as another, Dreth let Cuthbert decide which way. This meant he had to let Percy decide the next one of course. Soon they were hopelessly lost.
“Well, at least the Golem won't find it easy to track us,” said Percy cheerfully.
“I need to stop,” said Redthorne, after a little further. “I’m fit to drop.”
Dreth signaled a halt, and the wizard unrolled his sleeping mat and fell onto it. He was snoring in minutes.
“Ahh, look at that. How sweet,” said Percy. He moved forward slightly. “Do you think he would miss a hand?”
“Leave him alone,” said Dreth, trying to find a comfortable place to sit.
“It's not fair. Cuthbert has his Halfling foot,” Percy complained, pointing to Cuthbert's belt.
“Do you still have that thing?” asked Dreth.
“I’m aging it. Halfling meat is best aged, very tasty.” Cuthbert licked where his lips would have been, had he had any.
“Daddy,” said Sprat. “Have we seen a soul yet?”
“Not yet son,” said Cuthbert, straightening out some of his sons’ limbs.
“But I want to be warm, like the man in the funny dress,” sniffled the young zombie.
“They’re robes, not a dress,” said Cuthbert. “Don't worry lad, Uncle Dreth will find us a way to make everyone warm again, won't you Uncle Dreth?”
“You may get lucky whilst I’m looking for my contract,” replied Dreth. He narrowed his eyes in thought. “What did that oracle say about you? You have to redeem your sin? What sin is that then?”
Cuthbert looked up, and was quiet for a while. “It was a long time ago,” he said.
Dreth waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. He shrugged to himself, and settled down to wait.


~ * ~


“Did you hear that?”
Dreth looked up, broken out if the revere that he used instead of sleep. “What?”
“I thought I heard something,” said Percy, peering into the dark, back the way they came. “Maybe it’s the Golem.”
“We had better go,” said Dreth. “Wake up the wizard, he’s had long enough to rest. We should get out of here.”
Cuthbert poked the sleeper, who spluttered as he awoke. “Come on wizard, we need to move,” said the zombie.
Redthorne quickly packed his gear, and within short order the team was moving off again. They walked for another hour, choosing passages at random, until the tunnel started to open up.
“Finally,” said Dreth.
They emerged into a vast cavern. The stalactite laden roof soared high over them, dimly lit by some sort of lichen. Straight ahead, running across from left to right, a chasm plunged into inky blackness. The path veered off, running parallel to the deep underground canyon. The other side could just be made out in the gloom, too far across to jump.
Percy peered over the edge cautiously. “That's a long way down,” he said.
“Come on, keep moving,” said Dreth.
They walked along the path for a while. It was twisty and uneven, and in several places narrowed alarmingly.
“Anyone know anything of this place?” asked Dreth.
“Not me,” said Percy.
“Nor me,” said Cuthbert.
“Me too,” piped up Sprat.
“Well, you’re only little,” said Percy.
“Maybe so,” replied Cuthbert, “but he has the brain of an adult. I think it was a ranger actually.”
“What's that?” asked Redthorne, interrupting the genealogy conversation. He pointed upwards.
They followed his gaze, to see a round something swooping down upon them. A hissing noise accompanied the creature as it flew into range.
“Beholder*!” shouted the wizard, and dived to one side to avoid a beam of
energy from one of the monster's eyes.
“Hold hold! We’re on your side!” shouted Dreth, waving his arms about over his head.
The beast flipped away, flying round in a circle. It came to stop above and in front of them, and studied the group for a moment.
“We’re from the undead area!” shouted up Dreth. “I’m Dreth, from the Undead Way, these are my frie... companions.” He waved at the others.
“Oooh, nearly slipped there,” said Cuthbert.
The beholder came closer carefully, hovering a short distance from them, over the canyon. His main eye glowed a dull white. “Zombies!” he said. “Long time since I saw any of you lot here. What do you want?”
“We’re heading towards the center of the dungeon,” replied Cuthbert helpfully, earning a Look from Dreth.
“Really? How exciting!” The beholder flew closer. “I always wanted to know what was in the middle.” He waved some of his eyestalks. “Names’ Robert,” he said. “Bob for short.”
Dreth introduced himself and the others. “This mage is with us,” he said, pointing to the wizard, who was crouching behind a rock.
“Well, not sure about an adventurer, but if you vouch for him…” Bob was cut off from above.
“Robert! What are you doing there? Are you speaking to someone? If it’s that floozy from down the way you are going to be in trouble…” The voice was high pitched and grating.
Bob sighed. “The Ball and Chain,” he explained as another beholder, slightly smaller, came into view.
“Well, the ball anyway,” whispered Cuthbert to Percy, nudging the other zombie and winking. Percy sniggered.
“Who’s this? What are you doing speaking to intruders?” The second beholder floated next to Robert, waggling her eyestalks angrily.
“They aren’t intruders. They’re guardians, same as us!” protested Bob, rolling his major eye at Dreth.
“Guardians they may be, but not like us, oh no! We do our job Robert Beholder! You may not care, but I don't want one of those letters thank you very much.” She floated down a little. “Remember what happened when that giant slug refused to slime? Warning letter one day, shriveled piece of skin in a pile of salt the next. Now, you use your ray on these creatures or there will be no you-know-what for you tonight.”
She bobbed next to Bob, crossed metaphysical arms and tapped a metaphysical foot.
Her husband heaved a deep sigh. “But honey...”
“Don't you honey me! You do what I say! Now, is it going to be little piles of intruder dust, or are you going to be sleeping in the hatching chamber on your own again?”
“...but I’ve been talking to them! How would it look if I suddenly used my disintegration beam now? Downright rude is what.”
“Fine, in that case you can float up to the top of the cavern and then swoop down again. Your new friends can have that long to bugger off, or something. We run a respectable chasm here, no chatting with the victims.”
Bob’s face fell, he rotated to face Dreth and, incidentally, away from the missus. “Sorry, but I better do as she says. Once she’s in this mood there’s no talking to her...”
“I am right behind you you know!” interrupted the shrill voice.
Bob made that 'clenched teeth' look all males get at some point or other when dealing with unreasonable spouses. “Look,” he continued, “if you turn about you should make it out of our territory before I reach the roof and back. It's probably for the best, you wouldn't make it through the next chamber anyway, and I really don't want to disintegrate you. It always gives me a splitting headache when I do that, which isn't funny when you’re basically all head.”
Dreth raised a finger. “It isn’t really very convenient you know,” he started.
“We don’t care!” Mrs. Beholder pushed her husband out of the way. “Now, are you going to get going, or do I have to do the job myself?” She glowered at them.
Dreth scowled. He didn’t want to have to fight his way through these beasts if he could help it, they had the advantage of terrain if nothing else, but he didn’t really want to go back either. He scratched his head.
At his side the black sword whispered to itself. “Kiillllll….” It said.


*A magical creature. They are spherical (ball shaped) with no limbs and float in the air. Beholders have one large eye, and several other smaller ones on eyestalks. They can cast a variety of magics that emanate from these eyes, and are generally not monsters you would want to trifle with.


Cavern Chaos.

Mrs. Beholder glared at them, something Beholders are well equipped to do. She opened her mouth again but Dreth raised a thin finger to forestall her.
"Excellent!” he beamed, subtly forcing Darkblood down into its sheath. “I would expect nothing less from a pair of such frightening guardians. Quite right, not to let strange creatures make their way through your cavern without any explanation. No doubt when I finally report to the management this will earn you a commendation!”
The female beholder closed her mouth for a moment and then opened it once more. Dreth spoke again before she could say anything.
"No doubt you’re wondering what I’m talking about.” He folded his arms and nodded. “Let me tell you why we're here, and why we're heading to the center. A Guardian Golem has gone berserk and is rampaging through the dungeon; he’s been attacking hard working denizens, not unlike yourselves. I’ve even been forced to consort with mere adventurers to help bring him to task.”
“A guardian?” asked Bob, eye swiveling left and right.
“Yes, he’s coming this way even now,” said Cuthbert, stepping forward. “He piled through a whole tribe of Ogres just up the way,” he gestured back towards the caverns, nearly knocking Sprat into the chasm as he did so.
“He is?” squeaked Bob's wife. “This way?”
"Under the circumstances, I'm sure that you would want to let us pass as quickly as possible, and to take refuge yourself as well. After all, we wouldn't expect you to try to actually stop a berserk Golem. That would be beyond even your abilities..."
Bob swelled up at this, expanding like a balloon being pumped too energetically. “I will have you know we are Advanced Level guardians! We’re quite capable of dealing with a Golem here and there.”
“Now dear,” his wife floated next to him. “You know Golems are resistant to magic, your rays would have little effect, and if it’s a Guardian Golem...” She paused a moment and looked at her husband.
Bob coughed and deflated a little. “Well, I suppose they aren’t weak enemies, and I wouldn't want to put you in the way of something as dangerous as that. Still...”
“Look, let's go back to the hole and stay out of the way until this has blown over.” Mrs. Beholder rubbed up against him.
“Before you do so, any directions would be appreciated. We’re a little off course...” Dreth smiled a skull grin.
“You know, I wouldn't mind seeing the center myself,” said Bob.
“Now Robert, let's let these nice undead go. You know we don't exactly get on well with Von and his creatures anyway.” She started to drop away into the chasm.
Bob sighed. “I suppose so.” He turned to Dreth. “Follow the path until you come to the bridge, you can’t miss it. Watch for the plank in the middle though, it's a bit loose. Once you are over, turn left and take the tunnel with the large green rock next to it.”
“Thank-you,” said Dreth. “Your actions will be noted.”
“Come on Robert!” echoed a voice from below.
Bob winked several eyes and bobbed up and down. “Have to go, good luck to you!” He turned about and dropped out of sight into the crevasse before any of them could say anything more.
“Damn, I wanted to ask him about what’s ahead,” said Dreth, standing on the edge and peering into the depths.
“Von and his creatures,” said Percy. “Apparently.”
“Let's get a move on,” Redthorne stood up from behind his rock. “I feel too exposed here, and I dislike depths.”
“Nice couple though,” Cuthbert said conversationally as they moved off. “Must remember to ask them to our next party.”


~ * ~

The rest of this book has been removed for entry into the Bookrix competition. Once the competition is over I shall re-add the content.
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.08.2008

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