Chapter Thirty One: The Death Of Randall Cown

Chayah made a vexed sound. “Well there goes our date.”

Pliesson and Warwick took him by the arms. Pliesson chuckled as he said, “Let’s get you to a-” And that was the last thing he remembered hearing.

**********

The portal beckoned, and Randall bitterly regretted opening his mouth. Why did he always feel the need to be so funny? Bestel and Fazma sniggered as they passed him on their way through the safe portal. The one leading up to the balcony. The one he wished that he was heading for.

Everyone in his party was piling into the nether-door, not a care in the world. He wasn’t about be the last one through the gate, so he shouldered the Driole aside and went in. He had time for one deep breath, and the portal whisked him away.

Kobolds. Although he had come to the Glout over two years ago, he still feared them. The little savages liked to swarm, and they could be on top of him in a split second. The Fighter and the Troll talked about the fight as though they were in charge. Well, the Fighter clearly was, but the Troll was only second tier. Why wouldn’t he defer to a higher ranking Wizard?

Annoyingly, even the Driole thought to volunteer tactics and advice. What was he, third tier? What good was an Illusionist going to be anyway? The varmint had been at the Glout for only a short while, but as far as Randall knew, he’d never even taken a run either. Two first timers, giving the orders. This should be a disaster.

The Troll started handing out potions. Just giving them away. He had a slick leather sling that appeared to be bottomless. He came directly to where Randall was standing and proffered a tiny, azure vial. “Hey, have a Pot. I’m Zuglah.” Even slouching, he was a head taller than Randall. He was young, with an open face and kind eyes. But Randall couldn’t help but notice how savage his claws looked, or how well-worn and yellow his lowers had gotten. Like he’d been chewing on rocks or something.

He gingerly plucked the vial from between the claws. “Uh, thanks. I’m Randall.”

Zuglah grinned at him boyishly. “Hey relax, it’s just Kobolds. Worse case, pick the little bastard up and throw him.” That was easy for him to say; the Troll looked like he could probably pick the Rager itself up and throw it.

Randall watched as Zuglah pulled an entire quarterstaff out of his potion sling. It really was bottomless. The staff was an ancient, darkwood runestick capable of intelligent speech. Randall shook his head in amazement. Between the sling, the staff and the snare knife, his village must have bestowed all of their most prized possessions upon him. Perhaps he was the son of the village chief.

The Fighter, Denton, declared that the opening salvo would be delivered by Zuglah. The honors should have been Randall’s, as the heaviest damage dealer, but the others thought that a bush would be more effective. Whatever.

Randall decided that he wasn’t going to do anything more than was absolutely necessary. This was the worst party he’d ever been in, no matter what the Dwarf said. The Driole, and probably the Troll too, were going to get killed. He just hoped that the pair of them could last long enough for him to kill the Rager. If the Fighter was half as solid as he acted, the three of them should be able to mop up whatever was left at that point. Gamstone would come down and congratulate them and hopefully give them full marks. Simple enough.

He stepped off the platform, and hung back as far as he could without being noticed. Denton walked right up and stood in the middle of the Kobolds, like an idiot. This party might get wiped right out. Damn.

The thorns worked great, for all of thirty seconds. The Shaman was able to dispel them with no effort, unleashing a wave of Kobolds upon the Troll all at once. The Driole - Pliesson?- ran forward and summoned an illusion. Over-summoned it, dripping with compulsion and charm spells. The little savages lost their mind for it of course, but they had clearly seen who unleashed it, and they would definitely remember.

Randall focused on conserving his mana; he knew a couple of societies that would pay him good gold for that Pot. All he had to do was pretend to drink it.

Zuglah surprised him by drawing the Kobolds in, then absolutely destroying them with an over-cast Blazing Inferno. The fool was going to be drinking a Pot halfway through his first fight.

“Randall! Stop staring and do something about those bloody Whistlers!” Shamzag faz, he swore to himself in Dwarf. He was usually better at going unnoticed. He up-cast Dancing Mana into the dark corner, hoping that there were only archers there. He could see nothing in those black shadows, but the spell would find life and attack it.

Finally, the Savages cornered the Illusion of the pig and pounced on it. The beast gave a very realistic squeal of fright, but collapsed into fading motes of light as soon as the first Kobold passed through it. It had been much more effective than Randall ever would have guessed. When the Driole started barking and running around on all fours squealing for help, Randall couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like a larger, clothed version of the pig. He felt disappointed when Zuglah intervened. He wanted to be watching, when the varmint went down.

The Fighter was hale, but covered in a spectacular amount of blood down the front of his breastplate. The only reason he was still alive was due to the monumental amount of Healing that he had received from the Half Elf, Warwick. The Cleric, and Randall of course, were pretty much carrying the fight.

And that was when the Troll decided to end the battle. If he hadn’t been looking directly at the Shaman, Randall would have missed his chance. One second, the Kobold spellcaster was flanked by three Savages and seemed untouchable. The next moment, Zuglah simply appeared, and started handing out damage like it was a crowd pleaser at a carnival.

The entire island lit up like daylight as fountains of white-hot fire sprang from the Troll’s clawed hand. His other hand was held out behind himself and to the side, as he somehow fought three Savages at once with his quarterstaff. It moved with blinding speed, spinning around and flicking away every attack the three of them could muster. He wasn’t even looking!

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Randall saw his chance. His kill/death ratio was one of the best in the Glout for good reason; Randall’s policy was to never attack anyone who wasn’t distracted by someone else. He cast an extra bullet with his Dancing Mana, confident that Bestel and Fazma would catch it, if nobody else did. He couldn’t believe it when the Shaman went down.

“Yes!” Zuglah exclaimed, triumphantly. Did the fool think that he had somehow gotten the kill? He had certainly done enough damage, but Randall looked forward to watching Gamstone embarrass him later. Hah.

Just to get in on it, Randall sent a helga towards the Rager. Before the randomly vectoring creature could find it, Denton swept its head off, ending the fight. As the Dwarf opened his portal, Zuglah turned to him and said, “Nice work on the Shaman.”

Randall had never cared much for Wizard Gamstone, and he knew that the feeling was pretty much mutual. So of course the old man praised every person in the party except him. Even the Driole, who had done nothing but wet himself the entire fight.

Randall was already looking forward to buying drinks this evening, when he heard Denton tell Gamstone that he really wanted to take on the Bea Tihc. Randall had only fought those bastards a dozen times, at most, and the last thing in the world he wanted to do was fight them again. They were Humans, but they weren’t civilized, city folk. They were tribal savages, frightening and cruel.

The Driole was certainly no match for them. Randall wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable chest full of arrows, so he tried to gently point out that there was no chance that the Enchanter would survive. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. The Troll stormed over to loom overtop of him and demanded his precious Mana Potion back. Then, when Randall gave it to him, he threw a punch that Randall mostly blocked.

He was embarrassed, but that only made him more determined. Even after the Troll thought better of things and gave him back the Pot, telling him he could keep it, still he seethed. He barely said a word to anyone the whole way down, and just as he thought, nobody noticed or cared. The battle began immediately.

This time, the Fighter seemed determined to end his duel in the first exchange. If the Bea Tihc’s healer wasn’t so proficient, Randall thought he might even have been able to pull it off.

When Zuglah’s staff revealed a hidden buff, of course it wasted it on the Driole. Did they want to see aggression? Randall strode forward, stacking hands. He had to move in much too close, but he kept aiming, tuning the atmosphere until he saw the hair standing up off of the shoulders of the farthest archer on his side of the balconies. There.

He realized that he was breaking his cardinal rule for surviving in dungeons, but this one time couldn’t hurt, could it? His Bolt appeared above his head. He grasped it, and it flew.

The second that it left his hands, he began Dancing Mana. He wished bitterly that he had learned the third or even fourth tier. Did anyone upcast it that far? As his bullets landed, the archers died one after another. When the last one fell, he couldn’t contain his joy.

“That’s how it’s done, Troll.” He looked to where the others were pointing, but all he saw was the Witch Doctor, so furious that she ripped one of her fancy ribbons off of her staff and hurled it pathetically towards him. He felt a heavy step trodding towards him. He turned further.

Larrio himself was before him. Almost delicately, he slid a half a foot of blade into Randall’s chest and picked him up. He had to be careful, because Randall could instantly feel how easily his own weight could cut him in half. They came face to face.

The cruel, beady little eyes were laughing at him. The corners of its muzzle were speckled with foam, teeth glistening. With a snarl, it flicked him away. He was so relieved. The dull corner of reason in his mind feared what a death at the hands of this giant savage might be like. He limply sailed through the air, and honestly couldn’t wait to land face down on the flagstones. He didn’t plan on moving for the rest of the fight, no matter how many times they Healed him.

A snarl interrupted his peaceful reverie. Before he could so much as land on the ground, he had been caught in the jaws of three monstrous Jackals. His arm was clamped high up on his biceps, and his left thigh was in the jaws of a second beast. The ankle of his right foot crunched under the teeth of the third, and he felt and heard and saw the three hideous, wild dogs as they tore his limbs off. He was still conscious somehow when the dog who had bit through his shoulders clamped its far back molars around the top of his head and began chewing. With a sickening slowness, the world finally went away.

**********

Zuglah slowly opened his eyes. He was still in the cafeteria, laying on his back on one of the benches. The first thing that he noticed was that his party was dissolved. Of course, Denton and Warwick would have left by now. How long had he been out? The lamps were lit in the dining hall and the windows were all dark.

When he sat up, his head was spinning. Pliesson was watching him closely, holding out a cup of water. Zuglah grabbed it and drank it down greedily. It felt like his mind was mired in mud, his vision strained. Pliesson was holding his glasses, but he didn’t hand them to him right away.

“Take a few moments. Warwick really should not have done that, Zuglah. Dream beans can have nasty surprises inside them, if you’re not careful.” He sat down on the bench, and Zuglah was happy to see Chayah seated on the other side.

“Was it Randall’s memory? Spellman’s?” Chayah asked him.

He nodded, still feeling foggy. “I don’t think he likes me very much. Did Denton and Warwick leave?” He was surprised when Pliesson shook his head.

A few short minutes later, they returned to the cafeteria. They had a clearly unwilling Jair Namboo with them, Warwick holding him by the scruff and propelling him along. “We figured that you would probably have some follow up questions. Have a seat.”

The old man sat on the bench across from Zuglah and waited for him to collect his thoughts. He appreciated his friends expediting this interrogation for him, but the Dream Bean had really left him groggy. “I want to talk to Agravail Bishop. Can you arrange that please?”

“I think so. But if this is about Randall, I don’t think that he can help you. He’s pretty mad about the whole situation. It was his idea, after all.” He looked suddenly concerned. “Don’t tell them I gave you that bean, okay? I don’t even care if you pay me back. Just tell them that you bought it from Flask Magic, or one of the Golden Gleaner boys.”

“Or Meegar’s Magic Potions.” Pliesson suggested.

Jair Namboo turned to Pliesson in pleasant surprise. “You know Meegar’s? I love his potions. He has the most delicate touch, they say he can brew pond water. His prices are just as magical. He works hard to remain unnoticed. He told me once that an entire group of students discovered his shop one time, and he closed his doors for ten years until ‘things quieted down again’ as he put it.”

Pliesson smiled. “Yes, he’s a friend of mine. He tells everyone that story, so he doesn’t have to shut down again. I think the experience traumatized him a little.”

“It was forty one years ago.” The old man laughed.

Pliesson laughed too. “I know. He really hates attention.”

“Wait a minute. Forget about Cave Drinks then. Do you think that Meegar sells Randall’s Bean?” Zuglah didn’t want to talk to Bishop any more than he had to. Pliesson said that he didn’t trust him, so Zuglah didn’t either.

Pliesson shrugged and nodded. “Maybe. I’m sure he’ll know where they come from. He’s got some incredible classics, too. Proud Shaper, the Druid who defeated Greybatch and Frin. What that poor Kaeet endured…” He shuddered ostentatiously. “And he has the entire catalog of ‘Gnome Schooled,’ and ‘Bugbear Alchemy.’ Oh my. Let’s just go right now. He’s open all night.”

Everybody stood, including their guest. “Oh. Uh, can I come too?” Jair Namboo grinned sheepishly.