~Mazoga~
Storm clouds danced across the Edodalar Mountains as lightning kissed the snow-capped peaks in flashes of destruction. In a dark cavern deep in these same mountains, unaware of the weather, a different storm was brewing. Mazoga slammed his gnarled fist down on the stone table, screaming in rage, and then again in pain shortly after. He’d never put much stock in constitution and in moments like this it showed.
He grabbed the closest object and hurled it against the damp rock wall to vent his anger. He realized it was his favorite crystal goblet as it shattered and fell to the ground. The sparkly shards of crystal scattered and tumbled to a standstill, covering the cavern floor. If the cave walls could talk, they would have described what a 4’4” sickly pale goblin looked like doing a pissed off potty dance. His minuscule endurance ran out quickly. Luckily, his disturbing intelligence reasserted itself. He closed his eyes and hissed in pain until he regained control of himself. None had dared to challenge his plans for a few lifetimes. He had grown unaccustomed to setbacks.
The goblin paced back and forth in the room. This outburst was not an uncommon occurrence, as the path worn onto the stone floor proved. Though typically it wasn’t because of failures in his plans at large, but experiments that didn’t work out as intended. The banthua shrunk back, knowing that this could end in a myriad of ways. “All those years gone. All the meticulous planning lost. All the experience stolen. All because of that damned boy!” His anger threatened to consume him. Time passed as his thoughts raced around the chaotic channels of his mind. Slowly, the banthua eased back out to lie at the base of his throne. He wouldn’t punish them this time.
It could have been moments or days. Mazoga didn’t know. His fractured mind struggled to keep an accurate accounting of time, for what was time when it held no sway over you. Eventually, he recalled why he was upset. This time he considered it in a cold, calculated manner, like any good hacker would. He had to be careful. He only had a few more soul fragments. It wasn’t like he could stroll down to the nearest 7-Eleven to find this precious commodity. His twisted smile grew as he recalled the taste of a cherry slushee, his anger instantly subsided. His options organized themselves in his mind during a moment of clarity. Like any good hacker, his backup-plans had backup-plans. It’d take a bit of time, but he’d get back on track.
While he hadn’t put a lot of points into his constitution, he had put a lot in intelligence, so his magic was powerful, to say the least. He waved his hand and green wisps with red sparks flowed out towards his favorite goblet. The crystal shards floated up and swirled majestically as it slowly made their way to his hand. His healer class was excellent for more than torture. By the time it reached him, it was whole again. He poured himself more infant’s blood, frowning as the last drops fell into his half full glass. He could have levitated the tongs, but there was something cathartic about using his favorite silver tongs. The amazing beverage wasn’t complete without a hint of sweetness, so he added two sugar cubes. He wasn’t a monster. Well, he wasn’t a monster without a sweet tooth.
“P’gopa come. I am running low. Fetch me some more. You better not make the same mistake that you did on the last batch. If I see one tooth mark on their tender skin, I’ll skin you and keep you conscious as it regrows. They are not your chew toys. No toddlers either. I want fresh newborns. Go.”
Come. Hunt. The banthua known as P’gopa communicated with his partner D’geni. Mazoga’s smile returned as he watched his pets rush to do his bidding. There was something exhilarating watching a physically superior creature submit to your every whim. His creatures could rip him to shreds in mere heartbeats. Well, they could if he relied on his physical combat prowess. He didn’t rely on physical prowess. They had long ago learned that his twisted magic was more than adequate to keep them in line, and he would use these unique skills to obliterate them if he so chose. He scared them, and they were right to be scared. It had taken quite a few demonstrations to train them properly.
Mazoga stood and headed down in the depths of the cave he currently called home. It was just one of his many homes that served a double duty as a research lab. This was his genuine passion, the twisting of life. Over time, his dabbling in perversion had blossomed into a truly wonderful vocation. He was truly a blessed man… goblin. “Find a job you enjoy doing, and you will never have to work a day in your life. Was that Mark Twain or Marc Anthony? Marky Mark? Doesn’t matter they weren’t gods. Well, maybe Marky Mark was, but he still wouldn’t make the cut for Mazoga’s pantheon.” He’d spent some time deciding who he would invite to his pantheon, but had reached no decisions yet. His therapist had always told him he didn’t play well with others. She’d tried to get him to work on that, but fuck that.
The thought was gone as he rounded the curve into the sight of one of his most recent creations. The caves here were the only location of the key component to his newest pet. It had started as an homage to something from his youth. He’d since forgotten what that thing was. It’d doubtlessly come back to him someday. That was just the nature of his life now. He accepted that. His mind did its own thing, and he often sank into a state of semi-awareness bombarded by random thoughts. It was a deceptively cute creature. At home in its lava pit, it appeared to be a dinosaur with outlandishly large cartoonish eyes, whose skin was a layer of smooth liquid lava. Most of his creations inspired horror, but this one almost made you want to cuddle with it. Granted, it was only as cuddly as its unseen obsidian body covered in lava could let it be, not to mention it spit molten rock. He hadn’t wanted to copy another artist’s work, however, so he gave it the body of an arachnid. Okay, maybe it inspired horror. At least when it walked around.
“Oh Allosus, if only I could send you to solve my problems.” The volcanic creature tilted its head towards his words. “You would bring those rebellious kids to their knees. They know better to walk on my lawn with you guarding it, though.” Unfortunately, he had needed to bind this creature to this dungeon in order to give it the additional power boost of a legendary dungeon boss. His ever faithful cockroach scuttled up on to Mazoga’s shoulder. It seemed as if it was jealous of his thoughts and wanted attention. “Relax Scuttle, you are still my right hand.” It nodded its head in acknowledgment and rested itself on Mazoga’s shoulder in a well-practiced manner.
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Luckily, the normal monster spawns he had created had only very minor limitations on their proximity to the dungeon. He’d figured out how to eliminate the distance factor for respawning. Now they were only limited by a time limit. If they were gone from the dungeon boundaries for more than a month, they would disappear and respawn here. He lowered his hand to the ground to allow Scuttle to shuffle off. “Send the Pyroclastic Condors to Duke McGuire’s.” A sinister smile grew on his face at the thought of the havoc these creatures would ravage upon his former training dungeon. If he couldn’t gift that to his son, then he would ensure that no one could have it. As Scuttle slipped into a crack in the wall, Mazoga called after him, “Grab a Twinkie for your trouble, check the vending machine.” The near un-killable creature turned around to face its master with a confused look on its features, but Mazoga was already swimming in the maelstrom of his own thoughts. With a slight shrug of its wings, it turned to conduct its master’s wishes.
Scuttle made his way to the safety of where the wall and floor met, and rushed along until he slipped into one of the many natural crevices that littered the cave system. While worthless to most of the inhabitants of this dungeon, Scuttle could navigate unseen and faster to nearly anywhere in it. Aside from occasional scuffles with stupid rodents in need of retraining, he could travel in peace. A slight jump allowed him to avoid some debris, and he scaled a wall up a level, made a right turn and continued through his own personal labyrinth towards his destination at the upper cliffs.
Mazoga could sense his pet ascending the interior of the towering mountain, and activated his ability to share his pet’s senses. Most would feel claustrophobic, but Mazoga had long ago surrendered his fear. Trivial things, like small spaces, the dark heights, or injury, couldn’t affect him. In fact, he had willingly immersed himself in all of those, and many more, in his early days of trying to escape the hellscape that is Baherune. His consciousness swirled back into his body as his fingernails dug into the palm of his hand to stave off the descent into madness that always accompanied this line of thinking. Mazoga stifled a cackle that highlighted his madness and forced his perception to share that of his pet’s again.
Scuttle broke out of the mountain into the early morning sky, made apparent by the rising sun in the west. That still didn’t seem right to Mazoga, but it was a fact. Or was the other way West? The thought blew away on the breeze as Scuttle turned his head. Silhouetted by the reddish orange rising sun was his trinity of aerial death. Nestled in their bone nests, they perched as still as statues. Mazoga had always been prideful, and he couldn’t help but relish in the feeling he got as he stared at his Pyroclastic Condors. They were magnificent.
At first glance, they looked to be carved from a blood-red stone. Their razor sharp feathers appeared to be irregular stress fractures as if brittle because of extreme heat. Yet it was dense and near impossible to chip, much less break. Their eyes snapped open, displaying the swirling irises of super-heated orange magma alternated with the black of cooling stone which rotated around pupils of scoria. Their heads turned to face Scuttle as Mazoga assumed control of the insect’s inherent magical communication. A sound reminiscent of hissing steam radiated out from their stark, black obsidian beaks.
The magnificent creations recognized their creator’s vessel, and they bowed their head in supplication. Mazoga’s familiar made issuing orders very convenient. “Fly now and destroy Duke McGuire’s keep. Eradicate the current owner, and any who support him.” The only sound that broke the silence as the trio took to the sky was the faint sound of stone rubbing on stone. He stared through Scuttle’s eyes as his pets flew to eliminate his foe. Tired of staving off memories that would inescapably lead him into a bout of madness, he embraced the nostalgic thoughts beating on the protective barrier of his mind.
He closed his eyes and let it wash through him. He could smell the pizza. His mouth watered in anticipation. As he opened his eyes, he heard his parents chattering before he saw their faces. It’d been a while since he’d seen them. Visitation only happened on weekends, and then only if the doctor said it was okay. Sitting down, he began the choreographed play they had forced him into way too many times throughout life.
“Hi, mom and dad! It’s good to see you.” Mazoga said.
“Oh honey! It’s good to see you.” His mother said, and after a moment of indecision, she opened her arms for a hug. She thought her false sincerity was tricking him. It wasn’t, but he played along anyway.
“Son, let me get a look at you,” his father said as he gripped his shoulder and held him at arm’s length. “You’re looking good. You getting enough to eat?”
Mazoga wanted to drop the loving pretense but didn’t. “Thanks dad. You too. Food is good here, but that pizza you brought is smelling even better.” For fuck’s sake, this was a damn family meeting trope come to life.
“Well, let’s dig in!” His father motioned for everyone to sit.
As he opened the pizza box, Mazoga stared excitedly. It’d been months since he’d had good food. Chalky mashed potatoes, runny artificial eggs, barely cooked macaroni noodles, and meat like substances that more closely resembled cardboard had dominated his diet for far too long. This ham pizza was going to be amazing. The doctor had finally cleared him for visits, and when asked if there were any special requests for his parents, he’d asked for a large ham pizza from Pizza Perk.
As the box lid opened, his smile plummeted off his face. All those weeks of good behavior. All those meetings of telling the jerk off therapist what he wanted to hear were paying off. He’d even made everything sound sincere and not at all contrived. His butt barely brushed the bench before he was back on his feet. His mother went backwards tripping over the bench, as he saw his arms shove her. He bunched his fist into a ball and swung at his father. “What the fuck?! Is this a fucking joke?” Mazoga’s scream echoed off the walls. He jumped on his father with his fists swinging as he continued yelling. The white coats grabbed his arms and so he lashed out with his feet and made one last connection before being subdued.
His mother was crying as she held his father’s head in her lap. His eyes were wide in shock and face already swelling. “What the hell?” His father said through a busted lip.
“Fucking pineapple!” Mazoga couldn’t contain his rage. “Who puts fucking pineapple on a pizza?! One fucking special request for a ham pizza and you bring me this shit! Do you know what I’ve done to earn that?! Seriously, who puts pineapple on a fucking pizza?! What are you, a psychopath?”
As the memory played out, a smile grew on Mazoga’s face. Ahh, the good old days! He watched as the condors flew to carry out his will. It wouldn’t be long now until he could place his newest nemesis on the list of has-beens who had stood in his path.