Skorr hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. The thick mist enveloped him, cold and clammy against his skin, and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t see a thing, not even his own hands. The Adult Scourge-Squirrel had slammed into him with such force that his ribs strained beneath his armor. Before he could react, he felt himself lifted and carried forward. This creature was ridiculously strong. The feel of its fur stirred a memory from his youth when a group of duskgnome beast tamers had joined with their alchemist friends. He had to warn his team. But first, he had to stop the beast from dragging him any farther away.
The squirrel still gripped him with its forearms, half pushing, half carrying him through the mist. Skorr managed to free one arm, resisting the urge to slash uselessly with his sword. Instead, he slammed the pommel at his, hopefully sensitive, snout.
The beast let out a surprisingly deep squeak and dropped him, retreating into the mist. Skorr quickly rolled to his feet, pulling out his war-pick. “They’re using something like an Iron Fur potion! Treat them like they’re wearing chainmail. Crushing attacks are best, piercing might work, but slashing won’t do a thing!”
He heard only grunts in response. His team was already engaged in battle. He risked a quick glance and saw two more Adult Scourge-Squirrels attacking his comrades. They had been holding their own against the smaller juveniles, but these larger, stronger enemies were a different challenge altogether. Most of his team relied on dexterity-based fighting styles. They had held their ground well fighting the small juveniles. Against a fast and strong enemy like the adult scourge squirrels, they were at a severe disadvantage.
He needed to finish his fight quickly if he was going to help them.
Skorr tightened his grip on the war-pick, eyes scanning the swirling mist for any sign of the Adult Scourge-Squirrel. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to breathe steadily. The adults, while slower than the ridiculously quick juveniles, were still quite fast, but much stronger. One mistake would mean more than just a hard hit. His ribs still ached from the tackle.
He had to remember the bloody things could see inside the mist. It could not move fast without disturbing the mist, but as long as it kept low and slow, it could walk right up to him. He listened, but with the constant battle sounds from his team, he was hard-pressed to detect the faint movement of monster feet on the stone floor.
He turned the oval grip of his weapon in his hands. The war-pick had one side coming to a sharp point and the other forming a blunt hammer-like striking area. While the point could do even more horrendous damage to a living creature, it tended to get stuck inside the enemy. After a short deliberation, he chose to ready the blunt side. He doubted he could kill the adult with a single hit and if his weapon got stuck, it would probably just run away with it, pulling it out of Skorr’s hands. He was the strongest duskgnome he knew, but this thing was filled up to the brim with alchemical combat drugs.
He made sure his team was far enough away and activated his Lone Scout Defense feat. The next intruder coming into weapon range would trigger an automatic attack. It was quite hard to abort this strike if it turned out to be an ally. He still shuddered when remembering the messenger he’d almost killed ten years ago. Llurdson, named after the god of pranks, had tried to impress him by sneaking up on him in the middle of enemy territory. It had taken two healing potions to insure his survival. And a one week trip to carry him back.
As the feat took effect, sharpening his senses, Skorr also readied his Mountain-Shattering Strike. It would drain most of his mana, but he had few other skills that used it anyway. Slowly, he moved back toward his team, hoping to provoke an attack. He didn’t have to wait long.
A flash of white fur darted through the fog on his left. Without hesitation, Skorr swung his war pick in a wide arc. The heavy head whistled through the air, landing with a satisfying crunch. The beast let out an angry squeal as the blow connected with its side, the crushing force barely diminished by its iron-like fur. But the Adult Scourge-Squirrel was too large to be knocked away. It retaliated immediately, slashing at Skorr with dagger-like claws coated in poison. He twisted with the strike, his armor deflecting the blow. The claws failed to penetrate the steel plates hidden beneath his leather armor.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Using the momentum from the attack, Skorr spun, driving the sharp point of his war pick into the creature’s side, just below its still-raised arm with his Stone-Piercing Strike. The weapon punctured the beast’s ribs with a sickening crack. The squirrel spasmed once, then collapsed into the mist, motionless.
Skorr planted a foot on the carcass and yanked his war-pick free, breathing hard. There was no time to celebrate. His team was still fighting, and the sounds of battle echoed through the fog.
"Trulda! Weylan! I’m coming!" he shouted, charging forward through the mist.
Ulmenglanz’s voice rang out, melodic and strong, filling the cavern with the power of nature. The whispering of wind blowing through a forest. She seemed to be casting a spell. Her quarterstaff spun in graceful arcs, whipping the fog around her, weaving a defensive pattern that no scourge squirrel dared approach. Then, glowing lights appeared around her. Translucent shapes took form and a dozen tiny colorful songbirds fluttered around her. Their cheerful chirping filled the air, and the squirrels hesitated, confused by the unfamiliar sounds.
Skorr almost laughed. What did she think those cute little birds would do? Dungeon monsters weren’t easily distracted by pretty music or cute animals.
But then Ulmenglanz raised her hand and intoned, “Elemental Infusion of Ice!”
The songbirds began to glow with a faint blue light. Frost formed on their wings. Centered on the dryad, they started to circle her, each leaving a trail of fog behind, and then they spread out in a spiral pattern. When their circle surrounded the team they dove into the mist, to continue flying right inside of it. The white mist began to sparkle, then fall to the ground as a fine crystalline powder. The area around the team started to clear rapidly. A juvenile scourge squirrel leaped into the clear area, swiping at one of the birds. It chirped in annoyance, then took to the air again, seemingly unharmed.
Skorr whistled in admiration. Those were tough little birds. He’d expected it to explode in a puff of feathers and blood. The duskgnome increased his speed to get inside the cleared zone, knowing that without the mist, the creatures would be much easier to handle. Just a few steps from safety, something slammed into him from behind. He’d underestimated the speed of the adults. One had caught up. The impact knocked him off balance but didn’t penetrate his armor, but threw him of course, and let him stumble. He whirled around and swung his war-pick, but the scourge squirrel dodged into the mist and disappeared.
Three juveniles replaced it, attacking from all sides. Skorr blocked one with his left fist, and smashed another to the ground with his war-pick, flattening it against the ground. The third used his arm as a ramp and raked his claws at his face. Skorr turned his head, barely preventing it from hitting his eyes. The four shallow cuts burned like acid. He reflexively dropped his weapon and slapped himself as the juvenile dodged. Before it could go away, Skorr stomped it flat against the floor.
The fight had stirred up the mist, wafting above his gnomish head height. More, and more juveniles moved in around him. The adult was still out there too. Skorr swallowed hard. This wasn’t looking good.
Ducking under a leaping squirrel, he frantically felt around for his war-pick. His hand closed around the handle, and relief washed over him. He’d need it for the adult scourge squirrel. He stored it in his sheath on his back and with lightning-quick movements readied his short swords. His journeyman tier short sword skill feat “Fast Draw” was often underappreciated, but it had saved his life many times. He whirled the blades, cutting down squirrels left and right.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Higher up. A white squirrel with wing flaps glided toward him, sharp teeth bared. With a quick twist of his right sword, Skorr sliced the flying beast in half.
A flash of blue-white light followed by a thunderous crack filled the air. Lightning arced across his blade. He was glad for wearing his heavy leather gloves. It only prickled. That could stun less armored combatants. Like his teammates!
He continued running, but already blue light flashed behind the churned-up mist clouds in front of him, immediately followed by muted thunder. He could hear heavy strikes against flesh and the deep battle squeaks of adult scourge squirrels echoed through the cavern.
He was too late.