Skin manipulated into putty, the dwarf’s flesh melted away like candle drippings, its surfaces boiling in a void. All this the dwarf felt intimately and, although he’d been though the process of relocating once before, it did not render the second trip easier. In fact, knowing what lay ahead forced the dwarf to prolong the agony of his own thoughts; own accord, suffering akin to dentistry rides in his father’s paint-peeled truck. But the dwarf did not at first notice the mushroom cap before him billowing and flattening, filling with air, dispensing all to become a great dotted pancake. The stalk beneath lost its rigidity and began elongating, whipping like a snake enraged. The dwarf beheld the desperately stretched noseless face of the funguay, Mallow’s expression non-reflective of its circumstances. The dwarf attempted too to resist the wild changes he underwent but found the unstable process much like skin in dire need of scratching. The dwarf’s blew through the air in a space of nothing but. And at once all of him snapped back together. A swimming view of his surroundings nearly put the dwarf asleep, tired eyelids drooping, weak legs collapsing onto knees. But he shot his palms out to smooth stone and steadied his breathing, just barely avoiding the loss of what little remained in his stomach. All fell silent.

Summoning the resolve to open his eyes, the dwarf stumbled onto his back in reaction to the close visage of Doctor Mallow. And it advanced forward.

“Get off the platform, dwarf. I’m leaving.”

The dwarf remained. He glanced around the chamber, emerald glittering even in the vast darkness. Beyond, an occasional rune or shaft of natural light lit various parts of the cavern, and the remembered sculptures of three grinning, laughing dwarfs--his own kind, though he struggled to feel a real relation--celebrated their eternal merriment from afar. Nevertheless he felt humbled by the achievement in masonry, as if the immense dedication to creating such grand statues stood each as testaments to the ability to do so, that he too could achieve something similar. The dwarf gave some thought to his goals. He wanted to go home but still had little idea where to start. He knew The Ponderous One held a semblance of an idea related, but it was muddled, and getting more information while behind Locust’s lines made such a goal not quite immediate. No, the dwarf felt he’d yielded to the new world, that while ultimately he’d wish to be back on a farm far from danger and ‘EXP’, demands such as shelter and food were unignorable. The dwarf’s especial lack of the latter slowed the movements of his hand that traced along nearly dead blue legs. The words of Doctor Mallow continued:

“Are we present, dwarf? It is your time to leave now. I need to be on my way.”

Pain of dull poundings tore at the fine muscles of the dwarf’s lower appendages, each leg a dark shade. They’d been pushed badly to arrive at the cottage, and their use in escaping a hanging exacerbated symptoms from bad to excruciating. The dwarf thought he might cry, but nothing shed and nothing was said.

“Ahem. I appreciate you freeing me of those knife eared jackals. Really. Now come and...”

The funguay’s jaw slowed. It looked over the dwarf’s pathetic legs and folded many of its arms behind itself.

“Extraordinarily foolish to persist ‘ADRENALINE’ so aggressively. You’ve done this to yourself. You need rest, and other ingredients, and you can seek such in any corner of this pit you like. But first you must exit the relocator.”

Doctor Mallow gradually drew near, and the dwarf slapped away the first hand that reached out.

“Insolent little... I am no one’s servant. Do you follow, dwarf? I serve no one. You saved me. Once more, I thank you. But I owe you nothing. I’d like to put all this ugliness behind me and leave this rotten island once and for all. Now, I insist...”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

The dwarf swatted another.

“Fool! Little bastard! I’ll...”

The doctor’s speech dropped, and it hung awkwardly over the dwarf against emerald for some time. It, the funguay, slinked away and into darkness. For several moments the dwarf braced for some sort of surprise, but the energy required to sustain this was not there, and the dwarf relaxed himself and his thoughts. He wondered if the funguay felt indebted to the unmentioned lieutenant. The dwarf certainly did. And he considered the inevitability of Doetrieve’s execution. Would Locust hold such an event in so immediate a future as he did with the dwarf? It didn’t seem likely. The dwarf noted the different colored gi of the lieutenant and the overall ranking he displayed. It would likely take some time to sort out the sentencing of the officer, the dwarf desperately hoped. The dwarf would need much time to recuperate before another jailbreaking could be considered. After all, wouldn’t the dwarf have to? Would not Locust, after rending the life of Doetrieve, march on to the cottage and beyond in search of his prisoners? It seemed too likely the crazed captain would stop at little to carry out his ordered killings--the blood of his own elf would not be enough.

Three prongs launched from darkness. The dwarf, eyes bulging, mustered a roll with grunts minimal. From the direction of the assault came Mallow, an unsettling look about it. Bending to retrieve what the dwarf realized to be a candelabra of the church above, it boomed aloud:

“HERETIC WHO DOOMED FUNGUS WITHOUT CARE... I WILL NOT DIE IN A DARK HOLE BECAUSE OF YOU AGAIN!”

A roar of vibration bounced from the clashing of iron against rusted bronze, pickaxe risen in defiance. As the candelabra drew back, so too did the dwarf let his pick fall. The funguay ventured another sudden attempt but found this too blocked. The doctor could not appear more agitated.

“LOOK HERE...”

But its voice trailed off.

“... THERE... is a breed of moss I have identified that, when rendered paste, will make for some immediate relief to the pain you no doubt bear. It will not eliminate it. And you really cannot survive this by any means but passage of time. But I will create this paste and apply it. Then--THEN, will you vacate this damned chamber?”

The dwarf was slow to respond. But he nodded his beard slowly. Some worry did eat at him--could the funguay be creating a poison that may take away his mobility forever? But the thought seemed ridiculous, really, plot far more complicated than waiting out the dwarf’s eventual sleep and dragging him away. And the dwarf tired. But he endured wakefulness, shifting his head side to side, squeezing his fists together and loosening them, attempting anything to keep from sleep. As minutes went on the dwarf lost track of the hours and, though he traveled nowhere, it once more felt as if his skin had gone both loose and taut. It startled the dwarf when Mallow appeared by his legs slathering green across blue. The doctor worked at this for what felt a thorough length, but the dwarf could admit to no great judgment of time. What was noticeable, however, was the pulling back of pain in his legs, the receding of horrible agony in just moments. He could not bring himself to walk, but the dwarf felt he could at least now relax. Just as the physician ordered, he would take his rest.

Doctor Mallow rapped multitudes of fingers off several folded arms, and the dwarf realized its request and began scooting himself towards rock and away from emerald. Rusty pick dragged, he was very nearly there to crossing, wondering where the funguay would go and whether he’d see it again, when something stirred within the dwarf to turn him around, soon facing an annoyed mushroom.

“Well? You do not seem to have forgotten your weapon. I will not be making more paste, dwarf. Please. I must get far from here.”

The dwarf could not answer to what spurred him to blurt what he did. Some part of the dwarf hungered in desperation and acted to his best interests, but another thought further and knew he’d not be able to rescue Doetrieve and stop Locust alone. The funguay drew back, eyes wide.

“... I’ve another son?”