Cyclone lit the headlight from his motorcycle form, illuminating the cave tunnel around them. Everything was wet, either from water collected from the last rain or dripping from above. Prowl’s body language conveyed a sense that she would be vomiting if she could.
“I think I might have liked it better when it was dark...” she grumbled.
Cyclone chuckled and looked around. “Hey, what’s that there behind you,” he said, gesturing.
Prowl stiffened for a beat before whipping around in a flash as she drew her sword and slashed in a fluid movement. Her sword slash expertly sliced through the empty air. She twisted her head back and forth, searching for an enemy but there was nothing. The tip of her blade drooped and she stood up straight, her hands flexing, and her shoulders shaking slightly. Slowly, she rolled her head around and looked over her shoulder at Cyclone.
“Having a laugh, buddy?” she growled, her voice equal parts manic and malice.
Cyclone rolled his eyes and put a hand on top of her head. Her body tensed up, like she was about to explode. Before she could erupt, Cyclone turned her head the other direction and pointed at an opening in the tunnel wall, slightly above them.
“Not at all,” he said in a calm tone, “If I was living here, I might look for a room that won’t get flooded, right?”
Prowl threw a hand up, knocking Cyclone’s free. “How long you going to keep standing there?” she barked.
Without bothering to look back at him, she sheathed her sword and started climbing up the rocks to the side room in a way that could only be described as “anger climbing”.
At 8 feet tall, Cyclone could just barely see the floor of the side room without having to climb up. The 5 and a half foot Prowl, not so much. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was putting her hands and slipped a bit, falling back. Her fall was cut short as she thumped against Cyclone, who was still flat on the ground. Cyclone grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up onto the ledge of the side room, nearly tossing her into the space.
When Cyclone got to the top and pulled himself into the side room, he was met with the fist of Prowl to his side before she huffed and crossed her arms. The attack did zero damage and seemed to only result in Prowl flexing the fingers of the attacking fist a bit.
“I was fine! I could have gotten up here myself,” she snapped. “You’re just like Prime, sticking your nose in and helping when no one asked you.”
“Duh?” Cyclone said, half paying attention to Prowl’s tantrum. “You do know I’m one of Prime’s proxies, right?”
“Oh shut up! Whatever!” she started. She looked like she wanted to keep going, but froze when Cyclone raised a finger in front of her face. Her eyes crossed as she tried looking at the finger.
He pulled the finger back and directed it to a heavy form in the corner of the small room. Her eyes followed the finger, then the direction it pointed. Some bones laid around, scraps of skin and fur along with crushed ferns and grasses made a bedding or a nest, and the high concentrations of fatty acids and proteins hung in the air.
A large mass, covered in fur scraps, shuttered as it breathed heavily on the bedding. The glint of metallic green scales reflected in Cyclone’s headlight along with a broad muscular back and tree-trunk like arms. As Cyclone got closer, he realized he was looking at a sleeping ogre. Was this one of the ogres that Prince Milliardo brought with him? There were two, right?
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The ogre’s breathing sounded ragged with the fluttering, labored wheeze of heavy lungs. Prowl gently touched Cyclone’s arm and he looked down at her to see her staring at the ogre.
“She’s not doing so good.”
“She?” Cyclone questioned.
He looked again and with the infrared overlay he could see a second, smaller, heat source coming from inside of the ogress. The small heat source wasn’t very strong but it was there. So long as ogre anatomy aligned with most mammals, this was a she, and a pregnant one at that.
“Prowl,” Cyclone whispered as he stepped back. “There were two of them... Where’s daddy?”
As soon as he spoke, the sound of heavy footsteps sloshing through the damp tunnels outside of the sideroom could be heard.
“Of course,” Cyclone deadpanned.
“Cut your lights,” Prowl hissed.
Cyclone gave her a side glance as if to say “really?”
A massive head with beady eyes peered into the room. The head and shoulders of the daddy ogre looked confused, clearly trying to make sense of the bright light hanging near his mate. He looked away for a moment then threw an arm into the room. Clenched in his burly fist was a makeshift club of petrified wood. The other arm reached in, holding something wet and squishy, squelching as it hit the room floor.
The ogre pulled himself up into the room, the ceiling just a bit too low for it to stand properly. The ogre looked cautious, not looking away from the headlight. The ogre crouched in the small room and brought his club up.
Before Cyclone could stop her, Prowl shot forward, sword drawn. She caught the ogre completely by surprise as he was focused on Cyclone’s headlight and slashed across his thigh. The slice was shallow though and only caught the ogre’s attention rather than cause it to recoil.
He whipped his head in her direction, roaring, massive tusks just inches from her face. If he wanted to, he could probably take her head off in a single bite; given how large his mouth was. She slashed again, aiming for his throat but he pulled back, narrowly avoiding the cut.
With his open hand, he lashed out, much faster than Prowl was expecting for a beast of his size. She ducked under the swipe and summeraulted between his legs. As she came up from her roll she twisted and stabbed her sword into the meaty portion of his calf. The ogre growled and took a half step forward, flexing the wounded muscle. Prowl pulled on the sword but found it stuck tight. She looked up to see the ogre looking back at her with a sneer.
In a blink, the ogre lashed out and grabbed her, wrapping his meaty fingers around her whole body, binding her arms. He spun around with her and slammed her into the stone cave floor, lifting his club above her.
“Oy!” Cyclone yelled out, cutting his headlight and pointing one of his arm blades at the ogress.
The ogre froze, looking at Cyclone then to the ogress then back to Cyclone. Slowly, he released his grip on Prowl and backed up, though he didn’t lower his club. Prowl scrambled back towards Cyclone and out of the ogre’s reach.
The ogress coughed, each one wracking her body in convulsions, spitting up dark mucus. The ogre dropped the club and fell to his knees, reaching out for her.
“Heeelllp... mmmaaagiic...” the ogre pleaded in a low, guttural growl.
“It can talk?” Prowl asked, glancing quickly to Cyclone then back to the ogre. “It thinks we’re adventurers with health potions or healing magic or something.”
Cyclone retracted the arm blade and gently patted the back of the ogress, looking the ogre in the eyes. “Sorry, no magic... but we’ll try to help.”
“What do we do? How can we help these things?”
Cyclone looked around the cave, this was probably the absolute worst place for a sick person. Ogres were probably incredibly resilient, the cuts to the ogre’s legs were already healing over, but illness was something else. She needed to get out of here, fresh air and clean water would make a huge difference for her.
“Clean air, clean water, and clean food would be a good start...” he said, thinking aloud. “We need to move her, but how?”
“Can you?” he said to the ogre, “can you move her? Outside? Fresh air?”
The ogre hung his head and slowly shook it. Cyclone looked at the ogress then back to the ogre and realized that between the two, the ogre was the smaller one.
“This is impossible,” Prowl whispered, “there’s nothing we can do here.”
“God!” the ogre barked. “Pray... offering... god help!”
“God?” Cyclone questioned, looking at Prowl, who shrugged.
“God!” the ogre repeated, slapping the cave wall.
Cyclone turned his headlight back on, causing the ogre to wince and shield his eyes, but Cyclone ignored him. On the walls of the cave were crude drawings, presumably made by the ogres. The cave paintings showed five humanoid shapes in green surrounding smaller four legged animals. The next painting showed the green figures being surrounded themselves by smaller humanoids in a deep red color. Another painting depicted the green figures with chains or collars fighting various creatures while small red figures were behind them with weapons. The last painting showed the green figures bowing down with red figures all around them with broken weapons. In the middle of the painting was a black humanoid figure much larger than any of the others.
“Is that... IronHide??” Cyclone asked, incredulously.