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Chapter 7 - Clear Opposition

The time spent moving across the plains was perhaps the most arduous, yet boring, leg of the journey so far. Long grass bent and buckled in the wake of the unseen horde of gnomes behind them - enough to keep the escaping duo at a steady pace. Where the ground was soft underfoot and the long grassed weight against their pressing forward, it had become draining to slog through.

Goreblaster had considered cutting the restrictive flora away with Pureheart, but he wanted a tired sword arm even less than he wanted tired legs - at least then when they ran out of juice he could stand and defend himself, whereas in the other direction, he was not the most proficient in kicking-based martial arts.

“Remind me not to get cursed again,” the barbarian grumbled, sweat running down his chiselled form like rain upon a statue of yore - if the carver had no clue about the limits of human musculature.

“I’m pretty sure there is a clause in the contract that forbids it,” Percy chastised him, wagging a finger from atop the pack mule.

“We both know I didn’t read that.”

“It was a verbal contract.”

“Then how was I supposed to read it?” Goreblaster shrugged. “You are meant to be in charge of this stuff, Perc.”

A tired frown drew its way across the small box of a manager/assistant that the barbarian had taken as an adventuring companion all those years ago. Partly because they were a good match of abilities, party due to magically influenced fate dubiously explained and never to be spoken of.

It was, perhaps, in both their favours that the end of the plain plains was coming to an end, as the looming woods, darkened despite the late afternoon sun enjoying the progress of the hapless heroes. Goreblaster had hoped the Plane past the plain wasn’t so boring, despite the similarity in words used to describe them. One time he had gotten boring and boring mixed up, and that was an embarrassing situation to explain to the bishop.

“It’s been kind of nice not being able to hear the gnomes though,” the barbarian was reluctant to admit, “The strain of the exercise at least lets me tune out their individual mutterings; I can almost ignore their insults wholesale.”

“Well, don’t count your ducks yet, chicken-feet,” Percy warned, fowling up the metaphor, “I don’t know how to open the portal yet.”

“Isn’t that why you let the page-words into your head?” Goreblaster spluttered.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“It told me the where and the what,” an indifferent shrug came, “I can’t do all the work.”

Goreblaster hissed and closed his eyes with a frown, like a snake with a migraine. The how was the important part most of the time, unless the gnomes had been kind enough to signpost the way into their specific plane. Given their discourteous attitude, it was not likely that would be the case. Stranger things had happened though; one monster he fought even had glowing spots where it was weakest - I’d say ask them how that turned out, but you can’t because they are very dead.

A coolness passed over the pair as they raced into the shade of the new woodlands - although judging by the state of the place it was anything but new. Thick bushes and tangled vines crept across aged logs and vegetative debris long undisturbed. Various insects and small mammals scattered away from the destructive footfalls of the exhausted beast and mule as they crashed through twigs and low branches, small lacerations given freely to their receptive flesh.

“How do we- do we find it,” Goreblaster spat out a mouthful of leaf from a head-level branch.

“There should be a clearing, perhaps due South from here.”

“Perhaps?” The barbarian growled, drawing his blade, the local wildlife having earned enough ire that his anger-jug had tipped over, a modest flood of sword-laden rage about to spread across the treeline like spilt milk. And woe, for the woods would cry over it.

Blue arcs flared through the shaded forest, as the branches and tree-life too slow to move out of their way became cloven asunder, a swathe of sweat and split limbs leaving a trail behind the heroic beefcake.

And then, just as soon as he was getting into the swing of things (or rather, Pureheart was, the things being trees), they burst through into what very much looked like a clearing, on account of how clear it was. Goreblaster rolled and looked around them. Around twenty-five feet across in a rough circle, no tree or anything more than stubby grass had grown in the area - pretty suspicious. Perhaps even more damning, was the shape of a gnome face embossed into the ground with dark marbled stone.

“Well, Running Man, looks like we have found the Portal at least,” Percy rolled his eyes, a habit that had increased in severity since the start of the day.

“Open portal!” Goreblaster commanded, to no response from the forest around him. “That’s me out of ideas,” he shrugged after a brief moment.

The mass of gnomes caught up to this moment, pouring into the clearing. They each looked just as ragged and sweat-soaked as the barbarian did, but still held their daggers aloft in determined antagonism.

“No! You shall not pass!” Half a dozen of the probably-Henrys chanted in unison.

“Pass or pass-not, I will not leave empty-handed,” Goreblaster flourished his blade and assumed a fighting stance. “Percy, work out how to enter,” he added with a whisper to the still-mounted man.

“Sure, let me consult my… thinking rocks,” Percy rolled his eyes thrice, for dramatic effect.

The gnomes surged forth, encircling the barbarian and trying to jab at him with the small blades as he dodged an weaved, Pureheart dancing a crimson stream of those to slowly to avoid the blue glow of the magical sword. Anger built up inside Goreblaster as the occasional stab or slice made itself through, pricking at his already tired legs like the blowfish bath at the end of a marathon.

Percy watched from atop Fernando, as the blood-soaked ground slowly filled the marbled pictogram with a faint glowing green light.