Rum leaned against the stone brick wall, listening to the approaching boot-steps. He had already deactivated Beast of Burden. The spell made it difficult to think about anything else than lifting, pulling or pushing anyways. It makes one into little else than... well... a Beast of Burden. The Skin Toughen spell had also long ago worn off, but Muscles Grow was still active. Rum felt strong, though stamina drained.
“I have no other choice but to try.” Rum sighed deeply, a little sweaty, a little anxious.
“Try what?” a small double shelf questioned. The golden-brown wooden thing-person was leaning against the opposite wall of stone bricks at a backtilted angle, its magical eyes and mouth – both displayed on its lower plank – looking up into Rum’s troubled face across their distance.
“I have to halt them” Rum eyed the little furniture, “I have to push them back, if only for enough time to think of a way out.”
Rum straightened his back somewhat, looking up and into a ceiling covered with concrete, as well as a couple of those magical spherical lamps of dimmed blueish-white light, spaced away from each other at a distance of several meters. With eyes unfocused and his mouth open, the wizard did a long slow inhalation. He brought his right hand to his upper chest, touching himself, breathing out. “Skin Toughen, Body Thicken.”
Several furniture eyes and one pair of blanket eyes soon became much focused on Rum’s body as the mage slowly transformed into a mass of a man: a big, bulky juggernaut.
“Time to push back some gnomes” the juggernaut wizard let out, as if it was a chore he’d rather avoid. He turned around, readying himself to face the gnomes, who were just about to turn the 90 degree corner bend.
A couple of seconds passed. Then: a small sea of gnomes, mostly in formation, came forth around the corner like a great violent pride of lions – or lion adolescents, more like it. But like adolescent lions – still dangerous. 2 seas of spears and little shields paired with the warriors, along with grey capes, and the angry little faces of ripped bodies no taller than a 7-year old human. It was a stampede of little boots waiting to happen, and as the head of the gnome pride saw Rum, a little white- and golden caped gnome with a shortsword sparkling of decorative gems, that gnome pointed his sword tip at the wizard, screaming: “There’s the MAGE! ATTACK! EVERYONE, STRIKE THE MAGE DOWN!”
On the head gnomes’ boots were silver clad steel boots. On his fingers mighty enchanted rings. Is that an adventurer? Rum took in the gnome for but a brief second. Is he a dungeoneer? Rum gave it the benefit of the doubt, understanding this opponent as possibly a significant threat. No matter, I have to act now – act now, or be acted upon.
Against the sea of charging gnomes; against the sea of little people with surprisingly much wrinkle, thick skin, titties, moustache and beard; against this swarm of bloodthirsty angry-faced tinies – Rum counter-charged. He skipped forward into a sprint, roaring back at them.
“RHAAAAAAAAWHR!” the mage went, trying to sound as bestial and ferocious as he could.
“AAAAAAAARH!” the gnomes went, their spears coming down to face his body.
“RHAAAWR!” Rum went again, “RHAAAAWR-GAY BOLT-RHAAAWR-GAY BOLT!” The 2 pieces of magic flew towards the white-and-gold swordsman at their front, though much to the expectations of Rum’s theory, the gnome quickly dodged in swift expert sidesteps around the magic. As had happened previously that day though, when the front dodged Rum’s spells, the back got struck instead. One gnome spearwoman got Rum’s magic right to the face, and she ended up tripping forward, glittery rainbowy magic all across her vision. Besides her another gnome spearman got the spell hitting right at his chest, right where his heart would be, and the glittery magic spewed forth all around him, causing not just him, but also the gnome beside him to lose balance in the blinding sparkle. And with these gnomes’ shambling and quickly halting run, the gnomes behind ran straight into them, causing these gnomes behind to tip over the falling bodies of the first 2. Meanwhile, behind the fallen gnome woman, several gnomes tripped into her fallen body and into each other. As such, the 3 fallen front gnomes, jointly caused the great pride to split into 2 separate charging groups, as the center of their formation totally collapsed like dominos, piling gnomes upon gnomes until enough gnomes had the bright idea to stop running forward and wait for the mess to get back up on their feet.
The white- and gold caped gnome, or white swordsman, as Rum decided to refer to him inside his own head, charged at Rum head-on, oblivious to the fact that there were no troops right behind. Seeing Rum’s major juggernaut shape come rushing at him though, the anger on the white swordsman’s face morphed a little, becoming at least a little concerned at the momentum aimed at him. And most likely for that reason, the white swordsman decided to change his non-plan a little. Just a meter before he would’ve crashed head-on into Rum, the swordsman stepped to the side and stabbed hastily towards Rum’s mid. Rum however was prepared, and the wizard simply reached out a hand, grabbing the sword midway. And thus, with a grip secured around the swordsman’s sword, Rum janked the white- and gold caped gnome forward. The white swordsman was caught by total surprise as he hung stubbornly onto his weapon and let himself be yanked back. But Rum wasn’t finished. Seeing the 2 flanks, the 2 splits in the formation on either side now coming towards him, Rum briefly dangled the white swordsman in front of him. For less than a second, Rum’s thinking face met the gnome’s terrified face. Then, the mage decided what to do. Moving his left leg back and up quickly, as far as he could, he swung it forward with all the force he could muster. The gnome, seeing what Rum was about to do, released his hands of the sword – but not in time. Rum’s foot hit the gnome in his chest, and the white swordsman flew with huge momentum towards the gnomish flank speeding forth on his left. Before any of those gnomes had time to think though, the little caped shape – their leader – struck their hastily diverted spears and shields in a major pushback. The charging formation? It crumbled – instantly. The formation of gnomes went from a charge the one second, and into a heap of arms and legs and spears and shields. A great, messy entanglement.
Rum turned to his right side, eyeing the gnomes’ other flank still charging towards him. The mage raised his palms: “Gay Bolt-Gay Bolt-Gay Bolt-Gay Bolt!” The magic fired rapidly from the wizard’s hands, and while 2 bolts missed entirely, striking the edges of shields and having little to no effect, 2 other bolts found targets behind a set of frontally dodging gnomes, and as those gnomes behind were assaulted by the effects and the rainbowy glitter of the magic, the great gnomish charge there quickly turned into another mess of little arms and –legs.
Still though, Rum was not safe yet. Several gnomes had managed to variably continue their charge, despite the fallen formation, and some 8 gnomes were now heading towards Rum, spears lowered, faces angry. 3 pissed-off gnomes on his left flank, and 5 on his right.
“For Captain Silverpipe!” One on the left flank yelled.
“For Captain Silverpipe!” Echoed another on the right.
Rum realized the inconvenient truth that he had to let the spears strike his body. There wasn’t much else he could do. The first spear of a gnome woman struck his left arm like an angry wasp. Rum’s toughened- and thickened skin was protecting him from any individual serious hits, but it still hurts like damnation! And still, I can die here the slow death of a thousand cuts. Suppressing the stings, Rum grabbed for the spears as they began assaulting him. He was rapidly gaining in those cuts, small pieces of blood trickling over his arms, shoulders, legs and belly, but he was also managing, after a few failed grabs, to get a grip on the plunging spears. And which each successful grip, Rum yanked the offending gnomes forward, putting the little men and –women in perfect position for strong hard kicks. And thus, Rum sent little kid-sized bodies flying like short-ranged artillery towards the other gnomes, all of which were trying to get out the piles and get up.
“Aaaah!” a flying gnome man screamed.
“Whooaaa!” a gnome woman screamed.
“Ugh!” another gnome man managed to utter, as Rum’s foot struck him in the lung, sending him flying upwards, into the ceiling, and knocking out the dim light which had until now lit up the fight. With the light knocked out, a new darkness overtook the corridor where Rum and the gnomes fought. The new darkness was not total though, with the other nearby lights and all, and the fight continued, just messier. Gnomes found it more difficult to disentangle now that it became less clear what limb, spear or shield belonged to who, and Rum’s night disguise proved a real asset against those gnomes trying to accurately stab at him.
“Yaaaah!” another gnome woman screamed, just before crashing into 3 other gnomes who’d just managed to stand up after pulling themselves out of the center mess.
It was: chaos. Or rather, chaos for everyone except Rum. Rum was winning, though tiring. He didn’t have endless stamina.
After 15 strong kicks through the shadows, and a set of motions that was quickly developing into the routine of an assembly line, with gnomes flying, knocking down other gnomes, and another set of newly disentangled gnome running as best they could to join the circus of violence, a loud voice shouted and screamed across the corridor: “RETREAT! FALL BACK! FAAALL BAAACK!” It was the white swordsman, standing in the center, his reflecting attire and jewelry a shining standout in the dark among the fallen and fumbling gnomes around him.
The few gnomes around Rum began retreating. The sea of beaten and knockbacked gnomes began collecting themselves instead of running towards Rum. Slowly, a new sea of spears and shields rose up again, and the gnomes began backing off, or in some cases jogging, back to behind the bend, and then further still, away and out of Rum’s immediate hearing. The mage juggernaut waited in the darkness for all the gnomes to leave. When they had, he stumbled towards a wall, bleeding from dozens of cuts. There, he slumped down against the stone bricks.
“Oh gods” he breathed heavily, many times, sighing in-between.
“What now?” it was the double shelf from before. Because Rum was sitting on the floor now, the angled shelf wasn’t quite able to look at him, but it didn’t matter.
“What now?” Rum echoed the question, asking the question as much to himself, as to the world in general. “Yeah, what now.” The mage thought for a moment. “New strategy, that’s what now.”
“What strategy?” the shelf pressed.
Rum said nothing. Instead he just sat there, mind searching. After a moment, he cast a spell: “Magic Mind”. The wizard cast the spell again, 2 times. “Now” he said, when the casting was done, “I think.” The mage closed his eyes, leaning against the wall, almost as if sleeping, his breathing becoming slow.
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2 minutes passed. All the nearby furniture in the corridor waited, anticipation growing with every second.
Rum opened his eyes. “I think I know what to do.”
“What?” said the shelf.
“Positive Aura. The spell is too weak, I think. But like Gay Bolt, which is a ranged, briefer and more intense version of Positive Mind, I could make a more powerful version of Positive Aura.” Rum touched the chin of his beard, stroking the hairs slowly, thoughtfully. “It’ll be very mana-demanding, but... Yeah.” He nodded to himself. Then the wizard opened both hands, and crossed his legs. He laid a hand, on each kneecap, and curled his 2 sets of fingers into prisons, like earlier that day. In his right palm, a golden-yellow-light-blue magic spewed forth, turning into a sphere of magic. And equally, as earlier, in his left hand: a sphere of light-blue magic formed.
“This’ll have to be rushed” the wizard announced, mostly to himself, “they can come back any moment.” He started physically pushing the 2 spheres towards each other, and a crackling of violent magic rushed forth in their midst, creating a friction-filled barrier of sorts, which the wizard squeezed against. Rum closed his eyes again, not looking at what he was doing. Magic was in the air, and it was clear from the facial expressions of the large night-disguised juggernaut version of the mage sitting there, that some serious thinking was going on. Around Rum’s head, the 3 Magic Mind tethers glowed, erupted and flashed with magical strain.
It took about 3 minutes. No gnomes had returned in the meanwhile, so Rum was lucky as he once again opened his eyes, both sets of fingers now come together, containing a single golden-yellow-rainbowy ball of magic. He shut his hands together in a clap, snuffing out the magic. “It’s done. Now, it either works” the mage began standing up, the Magic Minds dissipating into air, “or I may not get the chance to fail again.”
The shelf didn’t say anything, it just looked up at Rum now that he was standing and in sight. The other furniture behind in the corridor eyed Rum as well. He noticed a few of their eyes as he looked back. He, and everyone else, all waiting for the gnomes now.
A few more minutes and they all heard it. The dozens of boots, marching towards the corridor’s bend. Rum inhaled a big deep nervous breath, breathing it out in equal nerve. The clings and clangs of metal, too, was growing close.
Around the corner first stepped the white swordsman, the gnome warrior strolling in front of his mass of tightly marching gnome soldiers, who had formed close to a perfect phalanx as they turned around the corner and came into view.
Okay, Rum observed, the same game as before, or will this time be different? Will they charge me?
The gnomes marched slowly, but in perfect rhythm, spears lowered towards Rum. Alright, seems like they might try something different. Perhaps try to push me up against a wall? The mage moved to the center of the corridor’s width, looking straight over at the phalanx, which was moving towards him with a much determined and synchronized stepping, one foot after another.
“We’re not falling for your trick this time, mage!” The white swordsman yelled over at Rum. The mage responded by saying nothing, expressing nothing but waiting, just letting the formation get closer. As it did, the swordsman began moving slower, letting himself fall back and merge in with the phalanx at its front center. There, he strolled along with the marching boots on his back and flanks, his sword held low, though ready, at an instant’s notice, to strike up at the mage.
Just 2 and a half meters away, and Rum lifted both his arms, opening both his palms towards the gnome pride. Many of the gnomes faces, who all displayed stern determination up until this moment, now began showing hints of concern.
“March against the mage!” The white swordsman waved the tip of his sword against Rum. “Stand your ground against any and all of his magic, and victory will be ours!”
The first speartips just a meter away and Rum breathed in, readying himself to cast his new grand spell. The pride took one collective step closer, and Rum’s voice, loud and ominously promising against the sea of gnome faces in front of him – this voice bellowed: “GAY! AURAAA!”
Many gnomes flinched. What they failed to comprehend though, was that no magic shot out of Rum’s palms. No, in fact no magic shot out from Rum’s arms at all. Instead, noticed at first by only a few perceptive gnomes, the magic of Rum’s spell had began emanating out of his feet, in a manner progressively clearer in its colorful spectacle, going from the bottom of the wizard’s soles to the top of his black hood. There was no single point at which Rum’s spell released, instead it released in every direction, all at once, but more so at his feet where the magic could skip the slow and difficult trip through the air, to instead race with speed across the floor. And there, within the time of a mere second, it reached unsuspecting gnomish legs, and the spell began crawling: up, up, and up into gnome bodies and brains. Unseen, undetected, the magic rapidly started on its effects.
“What’s the mage doing?” Rum heard whispered from among the advancing gnomes. And that was the last thing he heard from them too, before the spell really began sinking in, and taking hold.
Centimeters away from Rum’s massive body, and most of the speartips in front of him, in rapid succession, stopped. “What are we doing?” A gnome woman said. It wasn’t particularly loud, but with nobody else talking and only the sounds of boots on the ground and the noise of metals, she got the attention of most other gnomes, who, promptly did as many of the gnomes had already done, and the whole formation came to a halt. Spears were raised, not systematically, but because the formation was quickly dissolving as the gnomes all began looking around, at each other, at their gear, and around the corridor walls and ceiling more generally.
At the front of them all, just a meter or so away from Rum, the very white swordsman himself slowly rotated about his position, a dumbfounded look on his face. When the little white man had taken a full rotation, he looked back up at Rum, mouth open and eyebrows raised. “That’s some outfit” the gnome commented, and then giggled briefly, before smiling broadly with a new lazy expression on his face.
“Oufh” Rum heard another gnome complain, “these clothes ain’t me. Oh no, I can’t wear this!” Rum’s eyes found the man in the crowd, a middle-aged gnome with a bald head and curled up moustache. Watching, Rum saw the spearman offload spear and shield onto the nearest other gnome, before doing the most brazen breaking of gnome norm and custom: he unstrapped his cape. The grey cloth fell down from his back, but the gnome wasn’t finished. To Rum’s amusement, the gnome went on and pulled off his shirt, displaying to every other gnome nearby a full set of chest- and belly hair, covering a workman’s simple muscle. “That’s better!” The gnome looked about happy. And with that display of social creativity, inspiration spread across the pride like a rainbow fire. Gnomes, men and women alike, began throwing away spears and shields, the wood and metal quickly piling up at the edges of the corridor. Not satisfied though, the gnomes proceeded to also throw away any combination of capes, shirts and pants, the room soon erupting in tits and body hair.
“Hahahaaa!” A gnome screamed across the crowd. “I’ve never felt so freeee!”
Over at the back, a few gnomes began jumping around, starting a loosely coordinated dance improvization.
“I think I might actually be a wild gnome!” One gnome went. At that, many gnomes filled the corridor with laughter.
“I wish we had music!” Started another. “I want flutes!”
“I want a drum!” Yelled a third.
“I want A TRUMPET!”
Rum smiled across the crowd, these little people rebellious with joy. He was still channelling the spell though. It was having its intended effect, but its hunger for mana was taxing, and Rum felt himself being drained, faster than he’d like.
“A drum, you say?” Rum’s voice wasn’t the loudest around, but a few gnomes turned to his direction. Rum turned around, looking back at his sentient furniture. He detected, among the many items, a kitchen table sized for a small household. He pointed at it: “You, could you help out?” The table looked back at him with puzzlement, but it started inching forward nevertheless. Rum didn’t have time to wait, and so, while still channelling the spell like a minor background process for his mind, he speed-walked over to the table, grabbing it as soon as got there. He lifted the table and moved it, all the way over to the crowd of gnomes. Putting it down, Rum walked over to the piles of spears and shields, picking one spear up. He eyed it for a thoughtful second, then put the bottom of it into both hands and SNAP! – there was a stick. Rum picked up another spear, repeating the process: SNAP! The point of using the spear bottoms was simple: avoid the sharp needles of broken wood. Rum walked back to the table, and looked around. In the middle of the crowd he spotted the gnome from earlier. Managing to establish eye-contact with said gnome across a sea of mostly bare chests, Rum raised his voice at him, competing with the new, loud murmur of a dozen chats happening everywhere ahead and all at once. “DRUMSTICKS!” Rum displayed the broken off spear bottoms in his hands. The wizard turned around, looking to the table at his side. He pointed at it, and re-established eye-contact with the gnome. “DRUM!” With a come here-wave of the Rum’s hand, the gnome at the other end grew an ecstatic expression on his face. Soon, the little man was pushing and navigating himself across the crowd and over to the front. Upon arriving, Rum promptly handed over the sticks. The gnome looked over at the table with glee.
“I trust you don’t feel pain?” Rum looked at the atble, gesturing at the sticks and gleeful gnome.
“No” the table responded, though some concern, or possibly confusion, did show on the person-thing’s face.
“Knock yourself out” Rum patted the gnome on his shoulder, and the man began drumming, tiny little hits, on the table’s surface. “But don’t be too violent, we don’t what to damage this guy here” he gestured at the table’s face. The gnome nodded, smiling with eager.
A trumpet and a flute. Rum stroked his beard. That won’t be happening, nothing to make them from. At least within a reasonable amount of time. I’ll have to keep the gnomes occupied otherwise.
The gnomes near the new drummer were cheering him on, and a few others came over to the table, whereupon they started slapping it, quickly forming a rhythm of sorts with their hands. A drum party was beginning. Seeing the drumsticks, several gnomes came over to Rum while he was thinking, wanting him to snap their spears for them. The juggernaut mage complied with their wishes, and soon a little line of gnomes formed, Rum just standing there, snapping wood after wood. I have to move to the main objective, he thought to himself, as after a minute, the last drumstick was broken off.
Rum turned, shouting over to the furniture, who’d just been watching the unfolding party. “Start moving!” He waved the furniture over. “Form a line and start moving! We’re going through them!” He gestured over to the partying gnomes, who’d began knocking their drumsticks on everything, from shields to stone bricks. And like that wasn’t enough, several new gnomes without drumsticks had began slapping their bellies. One gnome man was using another gnome man’s butt as a drum, the skin becoming red with the attempt at music. The little man below didn’t seem to care though, but just laughed through the pain.
“Ooooh” a gnome woman swirled around near Rum, “it’s HOT in HERE!” She threw away her shirt, revealing evidence of sweat. The party was indeed becoming hot.
Behind Rum, the furniture was slowly beginning to come together in a line, and the first ones in the line were inching forward at their slow magical pace. As the furniture reached the crowd, Rum yelled out in front: “Make waaay! Make waaay for the liiine!” Many gnomes ignored the mage, but many also jumped or stumbled off the center of the corridor’s width. For the rest of the gnomes, Rum simply forward, gently urging and pushing the chatting and partying gnomes to the side. Leading the procession, Rum saw that the butt-smacker had inspired copycats, and a whole line of 6 mix-gendered gnomes, bent over with their butts in the air, were now being rhythmically smacked like a band of instruments. On either side of this line also, groups of belly smackers formed to support the improvised music. Rum felt a little astonished at just how much his spell had transformed the atmosphere. As his furniture line were reaching around the bend and getting to the far end of the crowd of gnomes, another new group of gnomes, clinging speartips against shields, came together with the other groups, forming a whole and impressively synchronized orchestra of smackers, beaters, and plingers. It was the music of flesh, of wood, of stone and of metal. It was loud, everywhere, and immensely gay.
But, impressive as it was, it wasn’t meant to be. For Rum spotted a new gnome, all too late, towards the end of the next corridor. It was a small pudgy man, small even among adult gnomes. He wore a square cotton feathered hat, a blue robe with golden patterns, precious metal rings, and in his left hand a staff, complete with a crystal white orb at its top. That was a mage, and this mage, in the moment before Rum noticed him, was just about to call forth a powerful spell.
“–Nikit Oor!” It was the ending of a long chant, and as the words of the spell completed, the white orb of his staff lit up with radiant white magic, which, after but 2 seconds of an ever increasing glow, exploded forth into a shockwave of white light that spread towards Rum and the corridor behind him, bathing all and everything in its saturating whiteness; a light eradicating all color. Rum staggered from the shockwave, so did most of the gnomes, and when they’d finished their stagger, everywhere fell silent.
Rum’s Gay Aura had just been dispelled.