Plunging far into the great forest of great trunks and spiraling roots, the dwarf worked his two stubby legs with a special toil born from days beneath the hot sun, then and now regardless of his feelings on the matter. He did not wish to visit the elven city nor did he really desire to be dashing between trees. But feeling left with no choice, the dwarf pressed onwards. After some time spent in the woods his stomach began to complain once more, so he loosened his bag and procured an apple. Before sealing back up the contents he took another close glance at the mangled black, gold, and purple package. As long as the dwarf had this, he felt certain, he could make an appeal. Sucking in another hard breath, he returned to his trot.

Coming to the ravine, the dwarf barely hesitated; he leapt and dove.

“BASE JUMPING SKILL INCREASED TO 3”

Splashing out from the pond arrived in, the dwarf scrambled onto the shore. All around him laid the known destruction of many carts, skulls of all manner of creatures, and gone were any trace he and his kind had done battle just days prior. But the dwarf smiled at the return of a missed tool found beside rubble of his own making. He looped the rusted pickaxe awkwardly through his straps until they practically hung from the bottom--but hung it did nonetheless. Wood handle scraping against the sandy dirt of the ravine floor, the dwarf threw his somewhat dry self at the wall, thoughts intent on none other than up.

“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 25”

“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 26”

Though not quite bathed in as much utter black, the dwarf regardless felt, one hand gripping rock above another, he were back in his hole. He felt remiss at even considering the prison escaped as ‘his’, for one, he wished no ownership and, for two, he had sentenced Doctor Mallow to the prison in his place. But the dwarf sensed something strange about words overheard earlier.

“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 27”

The elves held a funguay prisoner. Around this time in another life, he had arrived in the elven city and became too imprisoned. But the dwarf shared no cell mate. What could be so different now?

“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 28”

They called him ‘dwarf’, the elves had.

A terrible realization dawned over the dwarf just as he gripped the lid of the maw and hoisted himself up over the other side, his small frame heaving air, his bruised arms and hands limp, his entire being still half naked, half hair. An absolutely terrible confirmation of several things nearly made the dwarf sick. Doctor Funguay had surely escaped the hole. How? Its lithe build did not support a climb, not like how the dwarf’s body served in the same vein. It had left its axe behind as well. And after escaping, it became sentenced to a new cell--one with actual bars. And it must have squealed about the dwarf’s existence, must have known he would pillage the cottage. But no mere grunts came: Locust himself arrived. He thought about why the captain would investigate a simple house burglary. The multipapered package shifted in the dwarf’s sack as his hand reached around. He took out another apple and lazily chewed while the sky above the ceiling of foliage darkened until showers perforated, softer rain pelting the dwarf. He laid there for some time, tried his hardest to resist dozing off, and fell into his desire--and off the cliff. Jolted awake, his hand shot forward and stopped the descent from any further gain. And hauling himself back over, it amused the dwarf, before he could remember or resume his mission, to gain just enough exp for one more level in ATHLETICS. With a renewed vigor to the chagrin of his exhaustion, the dwarf blasted ahead away from the ravine and towards, as they eventually came into view, massive elven walls before dozens of fungus shaped trees. To the great gate he arrived and, in sight of two stunned guards, collapsed onto the ground...

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“DDDDWWWAAARRRR...”

A nightmare. The dwarf knew he could not be in The Ponderous’ chamber so soon agaIn. The lighting too had changed since he last entered the tree’s home. Chiseled stone and fine wood still made up the material of the surroundings, but a darkness all too similar to the ravine’s bathed the room black. The dwarf walked toward the great decaying being losing its dominance on the massive room.

“AAAAARRRRFFFFFFF...”

The dwarf stood few steps ahead of The Ponderous Tree, who had managed to twist its bark away from its guest. The dwarf attempted to speak--with every exhale, however, a length of blanket spooled out from the dwarf’s mouth and extended its reach. He tried pulling fervently at it but only revealed more and more of that which he knew to be housed just above where Locust, Sowsmith, and Giltgrief were all hopefully still trapped. But, turning, the three elves entered the dark chamber and were fast approaching. Facing the tree that would not face him, the dwarf faced a wooden Funguayou. It asked him for a light.

Soaked in sweat, it took a couple moments before the dwarf realized he lay beneath actual blankets--but these were not the doctor’s. There appeared two sets of doors on either side of him--of his bed, he couldn’t believe. They appeared without knobs. In a corner laid a pile of pillows and cushions. The dwarf could be nowhere else but put up within an elven hotel. He sprung out from bed thinking of the bath, a thought with added potency following how sore the dwarf physically realized himself to be. But realizing valuable time had slipped away, he did not think it responsible to waste a minute more. This led him to slide back the entrance to his suite and dash down empty halls until being cutoff by Doetrieve turning a corner.

“Ahh, yer up. Wuz just grabbin’ ya a biscuit.”

The two returned to the dwarf’s room, of which Doetrieve assured was indeed his--for now. Placing breakfast on the table, he asked the dwarf to eat and remain where he was. Before the dwarf could put to him any questions, the elf slid the door behind him. The dwarf stood for several moments processing his new circumstances. The smell of the newly arrived meal sealed his thoughts further, and he ravaged the tray. Caught in comfort, his hands then suddenly rushed to his back feeling for a bag that was not there, and the dwarf dropped to the floor to search beneath the bed, took to every piece of furniture, upended every piled pillow; the sack of two skewered holes was not found. The bathhouse revealed nothing but temptation, and the dwarf had to firmly slide the door shut before he could allow himself to think upon a warm bath any longer. Turning, he slid from the suite and out into the hall. A guard in red--one of two--shoved the dwarf backwards with great force before slamming the door into place after. In forfeit, the dwarf slumped over to the bathhouse, came up to the tub sealed in polished wood, smoking water twinkling in its haze. He resisted no further and, rewarded, soaked and shut his eyes as soon as inclined...

“Dwarf. Awake? Hello. Dwarf.”

Awake, the dwarf blinked his tired eyes many times before he recognized Doetrieve calling to him through two sets of doors, and many more before he realized he really hadn’t soaked or napped long. Splashing his lightly pruned body up out from the bathhouse and into the nearest towel, he wrapped his form for the second time now using the same towel as he had the first. Pounding rhythm continued with further calls of the dwarf’s name, but he’d not especially left the clutches of near deep sleep, and so his operating came mechanical at best. Dried off, he pulled a drawer open and checked again for a sizable gi. The dwarf would continue his nudity. This reddened the face still not quite recovered from steaming.

“Dwarf. Dwarf. Dwarf. Les go, alright. I’ve to barge in?”

Dry, the dwarf drew back the sliding door. Doetrieve gestured his short guest to have a seat and stood near. Somewhat nervously, the dwarf glanced up at the jagged eared, who pulled from behind an open sack and dumped its contents atop the table near: two apples, seeds, plants, nails, hinges, one lockpick, and the flint striker.

“An interessin’ collection.”

Doetrieve then drew out and pressed onto the table the package of black, gold, and purple, carefully unraveling the tissue to reveal the glittering gems and gold hidden within. Doetrieve’s fingers returned to his sides, and sharp eyes met with the dwarf’s faltering own.

“Let’s have us a talk.”