Chapter 13
(There’s gold in them thar britches)
Norruf could see, from behind the brass pillar he had ducked behind, Boklo’s insides spilling out from Jarow’s massive blow to the monsters midsection. The sight brought a sense of elation to him rather than any form of disgust, and he could barely contain his enthusiasm at seeing this monster, who he had feared for centuries, finally being defeated.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had jumped out from behind the column and cheered as the huge cyclops stared down at his intestines spilling out onto the floor. He threw his arms in the air and was about to bark in elation when he saw Boklo’s counterpart, Jif. Her face contorted in anger and agony, turning bright red, as she cried out in what sounded like a torturous pain-filled expression of hatred.
Noruff watched as she floated red-faced and ugly, producing a haunting yet violent sound; then in the next moment, was streaking headlong toward Jarow’s now seemingly prone form. She attacked the large woman and attached herself to her back with long claws. Blood began spraying from where her fingers embedded themselves in Jarow’s back and began raking the green Orcish flesh.
Without really contemplating his actions, Norruf leapt forward. He dashed to intercede with the monster now attacking his new friend. His instincts screamed at him to protect her, and he ardently wished he could move on all four feet like he would have been able to without the cumbersome armor that he was forced to wear. His speed was much diminished while wearing the armor, as well as while he wielded his halberd. The items made leaning over to run on all four of his paws impossible.
Boklo’s dying body fell to the floor, causing it to shake, but Norruf kept his footing and continued moving forward, increasing his speed when possible. All the while, he watched as Jif viciously tore at Jarow’s back. Blood flew from Jarow's wounds as Jif continued to claw at her. It also dripped from Jif's teeth, which she had sunk deep into Jarow’s shoulder and then tore away, bringing a piece of flesh with them.
Jarow wasn’t moving, and Noruff feared the worst, but never slowed. The large woman had defeated Boklo; now, only Jif remained, and Noruff took it upon himself to rid this place of her evil presence since it looked as though his new friend would be unable to finish the task.
Noruff saw the orc woman use her healing spell and realized she was desperately trying to stay alive. Norruff knew what he needed to do. He pressed forward with all the speed he could muster on two legs and held his halberd out in front of him as he charged. He aimed, lowering his weapon to use it like a lance, to skewer the pink-winged monstrosity still bathing in the blood of his friend.
Seconds ticked as he ran. The tip of his lance bobbed with each step as he tried desperately to hold it in place. He feared he wasn’t going to make it in time. He felt that he had been too far away to be of assistance. Then Noruff watched as Jif raised her arms high and plunged them deep into Jarow’s back.
With a quick shift of his arms, Noruff readjusted his aim to match the fairy’s new position, then he leapt forward, his halberd leading the way. The lance struck true and stabbed through the side of the fairy with a satisfying squelch. Instantly, blood began to spray from the wound he had inflicted, while his momentum carried both of them over and off of Jarow’s back. The fairy hit the floor, and Noruff let go of his halberd. The handle sprung upward, standing erect like a pole for a victory flag to be mounted upon.
Jif’s moan of despair was barely audible through the blood which gurgled out of her mouth. The pink-turned-red fairy twitched a few times, but Noruff’s weapon had pierced directly into her heart. There was nothing she could do to save herself, nothing she could do but die. It was a quick death, something deep inside Noruff regretted giving her such a simple and painless release, but ultimately she wouldn’t be getting up from that wound, and that was what mattered the most in this fight.
Norruf’s attention didn’t linger on the fairy, though. His true concern was for Jarow, and he quickly turned back around and knelt down beside her. He ran his paw over her forehead.
“You did it, Jarow. They’re dead,” he whispered to her.
She looked as though she tried to smile, but the blood and gore smeared across her face made her small facial movements indistinguishable to him. A silent, “I’m glad you’re…” was the last thing he heard escaping from her before the focus of her eyes disappeared, and they drained of life.
Noruff had known that her death was the most likely ending in this scenario; he also knew there was a high probability that she would return in a new body, yet he howled nonetheless. It was a sad and lonely sound that echoed through the hall and left him feeling more empty and alone than before. The comfort he had hoped to feel by releasing his emotions in such a mournful howl didn’t come, and he was left to wallow both in the blood of his enemies, but also his friend.
He stayed there for some time, simply feeling sorry for himself. Absentmindedly, he patted the cheek of the now-dead Jarow as his mind lost function, and he could think of nothing but his despair and loss. The carnage and utter ruin of his life and this place weighed too heavily for his emotions to quickly process.
He was unaware for how long he had zoned out, but finally, Noruff was able to come back to his senses and began to look around the gory scene playing out all around him. The smell was awful: a putrid blend of rotten, half-digested meat mixed with the coppery tones of blood mixed with the always present mix of odors which permeated people’s skin. The aromas were extremely overpowering, especially to his sensitive canine nose.
He noticed his hand still moving of its own accord, patting the blood-covered green Orc skin of Jarow’s cheek, and realized he needed to move. He stood and immediately began to slide around in the blood and guts covering the tiled floor. He looked at the bodies still nearby and instinctively felt that both halves of the monster were now dead, but he also double-checked just to be certain.
Upon their death, he felt something deep inside him had both disappeared and been set free at the same time. He had lived with the curse of Boklojif for so long he couldn’t remember the feeling of life without it, yet as the sensation left him, his heart felt that much lighter. Like a slave finally having their manacles removed, Noruff could feel the weight falling from his heart and a sense of freedom wash through him.
Norruf’s mind was still reeling from the gory scene around him, but something tickled at the back of his mind; something he felt was important and might actually help him deal with this gruesome mess. He began sliding through the swamp of blood and body parts, searching for what Jarow had called a dagger, but to him, it was roughly the size of the sword he had carried for years at his side. The sword, which he finally found out through Jarow, had held his lover’s soul. Lying on the ground, buried in putrid-smelling viscera, it still remained in the shape and size it had been while Jarow used it. Norruf didn’t want to attempt to retrieve it as it was; he doubted he could move it even if he wanted to.
Instead, he moved around, searching until finally finding the dagger that Jarow named Xinpo. It was still stuck deep inside Boklo’s hand. Noruff had seen the large cyclops slap Jarow down and watched his hand recoil, wondering what had caused the monster such pain. Now he understood.
To remove the dagger, Noruff had to wrestle with the blade. He yanked it back and forth, loosening it. It was in the hand tight and took some effort to finally remove from the tough hide. When he managed to pull the blade free, he fell on his rear end, splashing down in a coagulating puddle of blood. The gore and mess were so prolific there was no escaping it within a thirty-foot circumfrence of the final battle area.
Once removed, he dropped the blade to the floor and watched in awe as the vacuum effect of the blade’s ability activated. Blood, gore, anything and everything non-solid that was touching the floor slowly began moving towards the blade. It was all being siphoned into the large dagger, forming a whirlpool of offal.
He watched as the blood he had been sliding through made its way off his body and armor, cleaning him while simultaneously being absorbed into the blade. The intestines and all of their odoriferous contents slowly slid towards the whirlpool; the strange blade laying motionless at its center. Anything non-solid was affected by the strange power the blade displayed and began being pulled towards the enlarging whirlpool.
It was quicker than Norruf would have imagined, yet still took over a dozen minutes to completely devour everything that had drained from Boklo, Jif, and Jarow’s bodies. There were still splashes of blood and the occasional plop of a bit of flesh or something else Norruf didn’t want to guess at, but finally, Norruf was left on a clean floor, his senses delighting in the newfound cleanliness of the area.
During the time the blade sucked in all the nastiness, Norruf looked back at his long life spent here in this place. He held no good memories, and even the things that were slightly eventful and would cause such memories to remain stuck within his mind seemed fuzzy now. He was both glad for that and saddened as well. He wasn’t sure what would happen next; he felt that if he went back into the hallway to look for Jarow, there was a very good chance he wouldn't be able to return here, now being free of the Boklojif’s curse.
He had noticed that last time Jarow had died here, the dagger had disappeared from the great hall, and that Jarow had it with him when they next met, so he hoped the same thing would happen again and that they would be able to make their way back on their own.
Which meant that for the time being, there was nothing for Noruff to do but wait. It took several hours for Jarow to return last time, so until the dagger disappeared once more, he had time to kill.
He scanned the now semi-clean area; the bodies remained, and as they dripped, the drops would touch the ground, then immediately slide across the floor and disappear into Xinpo. It was fascinating to watch at first, but Norruf quickly grew bored and began exploring the great hall.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The first thing he noticed as he began walking around the great hall was that the humongous door was no longer there. Norruf panicked; it seemed the exit was now truly gone. Not only that, but the large door was also the only way Jarow could return from the hall.
His brain began swimming with worry and speculation. He searched relentlessly around the area where the large door had once been, looking for any chips or cracks in the newly formed stone which would hint at there still being a way out, or at the very least, a place for him to begin digging through. It took several long minutes before he began to calm down enough to really pay attention to his surroundings again.
He began to extend his search, walking around the edge of the great hall, checking the walls for any sign of a possible exit. For the first lap, he was still in shock, not really noticing anything of note; the second time around though, his emotions had calmed further, and he began to catch details he had not seen before.
He had been the fetcher for Boklojif for a very long time. However, he had never felt comfortable here and spent as little time in the great hall as possible. That was another part of the panic he had felt earlier: his own lack of knowledge about this room.
It also meant that anything he noticed now was a new revelation to him. He began to notice small cracks in the tiles, dents in the bronze of the columns, chips in the stone of the walls, and more. He had always thought that this place was supposed to be indestructible, but was finding out, as he walked around and took in all the details, that was not the case, that he had been deceived. He wondered how much more of what he believed in before, that he would find to be false about this place. Boklojif’s death was certainly an obvious reminder that he had much to learn.
He moved along the back wall, the area which was always occupied by the slumbering Boklo. The tiles on which he slept were sunken into the ground. The entire floor had conformed to his body after eons of his weight pressing down on them.
While he didn’t find a door or exit, he did come across a curious rectangular-shaped area of stone. This was the same stone-like substance as the hallway, rather than the more realistic stone of the rest of the hall. He tapped along it and examined it from every angle he could, but found nothing else out of the ordinary, so he eventually moved on.
He continued around the room, finding other minor damages, but nothing else extraordinary. The space where the large door had been was now a pristine wall of polished stone, matching the rest of the hall exactly, but for its newness and lack of deterioration.
After recovering somewhat from the shock of being trapped and taking his laps around the room, bringing his mind back into a mostly rational place, Norruf returned to the area with the bodies. He had avoided touching the corpses before, but the area was surprisingly clean now, and his initial reluctance had faded.
Norruf reasoned that if he were going to find a way out of here, it would most likely be held within these two bodies. Although the thought sickened him, he knew he was going to have to search them in hopes of finding something useful.
After a thorough search, he found absolutely nothing on Jif but her faded pink body and the newly white dress she always wore. Xinpo’s absorb ability had thoroughly cleaned the blood from the material, leaving the fabric looking better than it had before.
Boklo, on the other hand, wore overalls with pockets. Noruff was a bit frightened of what he might find inside those pockets, especially since they were so large he would have to physically climb into them to search.
He hesitated and pulled his halberd from the body of the evil fairy before attempting anything else. He watched the dark fluid ooze from her wound and slide across the tiles. He considered moving the dagger closer to the wound so that the congealing blood had less distance to travel but felt a little apprehensive about touching the weapon again. He didn’t know if Jarow had actually been able to communicate with the weapon but definitely didn’t want to get on its bad side, given its extraordinary powers.
After observing the blood slide away for several more minutes, he finally decided he had stalled long enough and moved over to the large cyclops's body. With a deep inhalation, he began to climb up the folds of material. He managed to make it a few feet up the monster’s leg before realizing how much easier this would be without the large metal armor hindering his movement.
He had worn the armor for so long it had become like a second skin to him. Although his need to wear it died with Boklojif, and he could now remove the bulky plate without worry.
He quickly backed off and reached around to his side to unfasten the belts holding the plates together. This was something he hadn’t done for many years, yet it seemed almost second nature for his hands to find and work the buckles.
Within moments, he was free of the bulky metal. He looked down at his body and beheld himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually removed the armor. His fur, while pressed down, still looked to be in good shape. It was full and began to stand as soon as the metal had been removed.
Norruf got down on all four paws and shook himself, as if shaking off water. He shook away the shackles of the armor. He shook away the fear of Boklojif. He shook away his old life in this place. The act of shaking served a physical purpose, but Noruff realized the emotional freedom felt more liberating than did the physical act of freeing his body and hair.
As he stood back up, his hair fluffy and free of the press it had taken from the armor, he felt like a new man; still trapped in a huge room, but new and free in many other ways. He gingerly sprung up onto the leg of the cyclops with a single bounce and almost jumped too far. His muscles needed time to compensate for the removal of the added weight, they had grown accustomed to its presence and now were stronger than Noruff had realized.
He wobbled a bit, but quickly found his balance. Then, he trotted easily up to the monster’s hip and lifted the flap of material to the pocket of the overalls. The smell was what hit him first. He had somewhat gone nose-blind to the stench from the monster’s bowels, still laying exposed upon the floor, but the stench inside the pocket was something entirely new and disgusting.
He gulped and held his breath before cautiously moving downward into the pocket, only to find: meat. He had no other way of describing the substance other than rotting piles of indistinguishable meat. Norruf gagged, retched, and quickly backed out of the disgusting cloth chamber where he promptly heaved and wished his stomach had any contents to bring up.
After the horrifying discovery in the monster’s first pocket, it took Noruff a while longer before he felt any desire to explore the other pocket. Luckily, it was nearer to the ground, but the pocket’s opening was buried under the bulk of the giant. Noruff took a few minutes figuring out the best way to access this pocket. He finally decided it would be more efficient as well as better for his mental wellbeing, to slice open the material covering the pocket rather than try to climb inside again.
He looked at Xinpo while considering his plan. Jarow’s dagger remained where he had dropped it on the floor. Noruff knew it would be a much better size for him to use when slicing into the fabric of the pocket compared to using his old sword which was still much larger than would be easily handled by someone his size.
The large sword still lay close to him, partially buried beneath the bulk of Boklo, but due to its size would be a challenge to even get free. Even if he got it free, he feared he wouldn’t be able to lift it without expending much more effort and energy than he wanted to use at the moment.
He laid his hand on the cold steel of the huge sword, hoping to feel the spirit it held within one more time. He had carried her for hundreds of years without knowing she was there with him. During that entire time, he had never once been able to sense her presence.
He closed his eyes and tried his best to listen. He tried to feel or hear Shiarras presence within the blade once more. Somehow, Jarow had awakened her, and he had glimpsed the spirit within the blade; now he desperately hoped he could feel her presence one more time.
A small voice seemed to whisper in the back of Noruff’s mind. It wasn’t actual words, but it told him that Shiarra was at peace. She had gotten her retribution and was satisfied. It wasn’t the sense of his lover he wanted to feel, but it was there, it was something. It was what he needed to know to truly let go of her spirit. He felt the loss dearly, but felt at ease as well.
Noruff opened his eyes, satisfied at what had transpired only to notice the blade had shrunk while he had meditated upon it. It was back to the size it had been while he carried it upon his belt and would now easily fit at his waist once more. He reverently picked up the blade and whispered, “Thank you, dear heart.”
With his new/old sword back at his side, he made swift work of the cloth covering the contents of the remaining pocket. The folds of denim sliced easily under the sharp blade of his sword, Shiarra. He continued to cut farther and farther down, both in length and depth. The material seemed to extend much further than seemed possible. Finally, after almost crawling into the sliced cloth to be able to cut it, a small black space appeared at the tip of the sword.
Once the dark point appeared, it began to tear and grow quickly. The sight frightened Noruff, and he backed out quickly, yelping as he once again fell to his haunches in an attempt to get away from the frightening darkness. The tear expanded to encompass the entire space that the pocket once covered, creating a dark hole of unknowable depths. Then from the hole, a noise could be heard, a strange noise, a noise that tickled at Noruff’s memories and brought with it the image of waves crashing upon a rocky beach.
Then the contents of the pocket began to spill out: bones, armor, weapons, jewelry, loose jewels, silver and gold; all manner of valuables spilled from the now-open pocket in a torrent. Norruf watched as more and more treasure piled at his feet.
For several minutes, the loot poured from the open pocket. So much spilled out that Norruf had to step back multiple times to make room for the ever-growing pile. Finally the flow lessened until one last object exited the darkness. The last piece, a golden key, shot out of the pocket and almost hit Noruff in the head because it flew with such velocity from the dark hole. The key rang as it skidded to a stop yards away from where Noruff stood. He moved his eyes from where the key lay back to the opening from which it had come out of, and noticed the hole had begun to deflate, as well as did the body of its owner.
The enormous being known as Boklo simply started to shrink. The skin, flesh, bones, all of it began to lose size and density. The monster shrank. It soon became lost within the folds of the overalls, and Norruff could no longer see the furry beast for the denim overtop it. It had become nothing but a bulge under the material, growing smaller and smaller.
Finally, the monster stopped shrinking, and the dark void vanished with a small, audible pop, leaving only a layer of cut denim in its place. What used to be the monstrous entity known as Boklo was now just a bulge lying underneath the denim of its massive overalls. Noruff could see that what remained was roughly the same size as he was.
Noruff contemplated whether to remove the cloth in order to view the small thing underneath or to stab it through just in case it became reanimated.
In the end, he sliced through the cloth near the bulge and carefully lifted it to reveal a much smaller version of the cyclops. This version had small pink wings and orange under its eye. Noruff looked from Jif to the new-formed fairy beneath the denim and noticed many resemblances.
“They must have been siblings. Each choosing a different path. Jif the path of speed and flight, Boklo the path of strength and size,” Noruff thought to himself.
He wasn’t quite sure how he came up with the theory, but it made sense to him. They were both still obviously dead, so in the end, it didn’t really matter. He also speculated that the pocket he had cut through must have acted similarly to the inventory which Jarow had shown him, and that the Boklo had been collecting these treasures for countless eons.
He stared at the last item, the golden key, which remained by itself on the tiled floor where it had landed.
Noruff stepped over to the key. He picked it up cautiously, then examined it, turning it over in his hands, feeling all the sides and curves, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to toss it onto the pile when he saw Xinpo vibrating on the tiles nearby.
The blood was all but drained from both of the bodies, so Xinpo hadn’t had much to absorb for a while. The fact that it was vibrating made Norruf wonder if it was hungry for more. He walked closer to the quivering blade, the sound coming from the movement on the tiles making a buzzing noise, like an enormous winged insect.
“Xinpo?” Norruf asked the quivering blade, knowing full well he wouldn’t be answered. “Are you still hungry or something?”
The blade shook with more and more ferocity until it began bouncing from side to side, wobbling back and forth until it finally stopped with its blade pointed directly up in an impossible stance, balancing on its circular pommel on the floor.
Norruf watched in awe, his jaw hanging open and his eyes bulging as the blade moved of its own accord. He wasn’t sure whether to be astonished or frightened, but ended up just staring in disbelief at Xinpo’s impossible feat.
Once it had stood up, it slowly changed color, transitioning from its normal steel gray to a light yellow. It began to shrink in size and morphed back into a key but didn’t stop changing there. The color coalesced into a brighter yellow, then gained a golden sheen that mirrored the key Norruf still held in his paws.
Norruf looked down at Xinpo and then to the key he held in his hand. It wasn’t an exact match, but close enough that Norruf got the hint. “You want to eat this key?”
There wasn’t any actual response, but a light flash of yellow seemed to engulf the key for a second; then it reverted to its normal color and shape and rattled back to the floor. Norruf looked at the key and at the large pile of valuables and shrugged. What was one gold key?
He set the key on the ground next to Xinpo. At first, nothing happened, but then with a small vibration, Noruff watched the golden key begin to move slightly. It slowly shifted and spun until the end of it touched Xinpo. When it did, the very substance of the gold key began to seemingly break down, slowly unraveling and turning to dust, then disappearing within a swirling golden cyclone around the gray key.
Noruff watched for several moments as the key disappeared and entered Xinpo. As fascinating as the disintegration of the golden key was to watch, Norruf thought it might be more fun to go look through the rest of the pocket’s contents. He moved back to the huge pile of loot and began rummaging through, a large smile spreading across his muzzle.