G ventured into the shadowy tunnel, guided only by the faint luminescence of moss clinging to the damp walls. As he delved deeper, distant footfalls echoed, hinting at other creatures navigating these ancient pathways. A skittering sound drew his attention to a pair of cave goblins, hunched over in negotiation, their harsh whispers echoing off the stone. They didn't notice as he passed.
G pressed his back against the tunnel's uneven wall, continuously evading detection, melding into the shadows like a specter. Suddenly, a deep growl resonated from a nearby corridor, sending a shiver down his spine. Around the bend, a colossal troll appeared, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air with suspicion. G froze, his heart thumping audibly, as the troll's piercing gaze settled on him. In a tense standoff, their eyes locked; then, unexpectedly, the troll dipped its massive head in a slight bow of submission, mistaking G for a dark elf from the city. G analyzed it.
Rock Troll:
Level 9
Hit points 85
Mana 0
Rock Trolls are a fearsome and ancient race of trolls known for their incredible strength and endurance. They are known to live in caves and rocky environments, where they hunt and scavenge for food. Their skin is thick and scaly, providing them with natural armor against attacks, and their large muscular bodies allow them to overpower most opponents.
They have a natural ability to regenerate health quickly, making them difficult to take down. They also possess incredible strength, which allows them to lift and throw large objects with ease. Additionally, they have a heightened sense of smell, allowing them to detect and track their prey over great distances.
In combat, Rock Trolls are known to use their massive fists and claws to deliver devastating blows to their opponents. They can also hurl large rocks at their enemies or use their natural weapons, such as their teeth and claws, to cause damage. Their thick skin provides them with a natural resistance to physical attacks, but they are vulnerable to fire and acid-based attacks.
Grunting, the creature shuffled away, dragging a large, bulging sack, and left G to exhale in silent relief. As G resumed his cautious trek, the heavy thud of the troll's footsteps gradually faded into the distance. As he navigated the labyrinthine tunnels, he observed the vestiges of countless beings who had traversed this route—claw marks etched into the walls, discarded bones scattered on the ground, and a faded scarf snagged on a jagged rock. Each sign painted a tale of survival or demise. Guided by the subtle cues within his surroundings, G chose the most worn of the tunnel roadways, trusting the well-trodden path to lead him directly to the heart of Mirbor.
Emerging from the confines of the tunnel, G stood awestruck at the entrance to the subterranean city of Mirbor. The chamber opened into a vast expanse, where bioluminescent mushrooms cast an eerie glow over the landscape, illuminating patches of cultivated fungi bordering the cliff edges. In the distance, a small waterfall cascaded down the stone, its waters shimmering under the mystical light and filling the air with a refreshing mist.
The air hung thick with the scent of wet moss and rich earth, enveloping G in a cloak of humidity as he edged toward the shadowy guards. The stifling stillness of the air pressed down on him, intensifying the oppressive silence. His gaze lingered on the ancient bridge arching over the deep chasm, where sparse figures moved like specters across the stone, their forms shrouded in a mystical half-light.
The towering walls of the city, carved into the cliff and stone by ancient dwarves, showcased an intricate octagonal Tudor style with battlements and crenellations crowning their top. Hobgoblin guards patrolled these lofty defenses, their silhouettes stark against the glowing fungi. Four of them stood on the far side of the bridge, vigilantly inspecting those who sought entry to the city's second district.
As G surveyed the scene, the formidable structure before him stretched toward the cavern's high ceiling, swallowed by the gloom. The presence of the hobgoblin guards intensified the daunting nature of his task, instilling a deep fear of being captured. Yet, his mission compelled him forward, toward the city he needed to penetrate.
His heart raced with each step towards the bridge. His eyes constantly scanned the area, alert for any unusual movement. The faint sound of the river below occasionally mixed with the rattle of carts on the stone bridge, creating a rhythmic yet tense soundtrack to his approach.
Suddenly, G detected a faint noise to his side. He froze, listening intently from his elevated vantage point near the bridge. Turning his head, he spotted two goblins sneaking through a bent metal grate below, obscured by a large boulder from the guards' view. They seemed to be carrying a crate, their movements quick and nervous as they darted between the bars and disappeared from sight.
This fleeting glimpse revealed a potential alternative route—a less guarded pathway into Mirbor that others had exploited. Calculating his odds, G considered this new information. Could this secretive goblin passage be his best chance to enter unnoticed, or was it a perilous detour fraught with its own dangers? His mind raced as he weighed his desperate need for stealth against the risks of the unknown.
His magical ring suggested crossing the bridge would be safe, and he could likely bluff his way past the guards. However, deep down, he knew that was too risky. G looked at the ring for a moment, pulling his hand out of the sleeve of his robe, and mentally conveyed to it that it wasn't safe. Turning back, he carefully retraced his steps, vigilant for any other potential threats. His new goal was to find a way down into the canyon, so he moved along its far edge until he saw a small carved path that led downward.
Though he doubted the ring could understand his thoughts, G had been making small attempts to communicate with it as he walked, trying to counteract the ring's perpetual optimism. He felt it might be working, even just a little.
G cautiously made his way down the path, attentive to the subtle noises around him. He crossed a makeshift bridge formed from strategically placed boulders in the river. Looking up, he could barely see the bridge far above, a faint reminder of the world he had left behind. Approaching the open grate where he had earlier seen the goblins, he heard the echo of their argument filtering through the tunnel.
Taking a deep breath, G slipped through the grate, straining to maintain the poised demeanor of a dark elf, despite the distaste he felt crawling through such filth. The tunnel beyond was tall enough for him to stand. He continued through the sewer, which branched at a single junction. The overwhelming stench of sewage made him grimace, and large rats, disturbed by his presence, scurried away into the darkness.
As he rounded the bend, G saw two goblins fiercely arguing over a rat they had captured. Nearby, a crate lay forgotten—clearly the root of their dispute. Seizing the opportunity, G cast Briar Patch, ensnaring the goblins in a tangle of thorny vines. Their health visibly drained as the spell took effect, quickly ending their quarrel.
With deliberate steps, G approached, adopting the authoritative tone of a dark elf noble. He spoke in goblin, his voice firm and commanding as the goblins stood helplessly entangled. "Tell me," he demanded, "what treasures do you hide in the crate?"
The less injured goblin, eyeing G warily, responded with a rough accent, "Okay, okay, we spill it, master. Inside magic orb, mighty artifact for controlling elements. Supposed deliver to Gruumshak," he paused, swallowing hard, "Gruumshak the Filthy."
The mention of a magic artifact immediately heightened G's interest; such an item could significantly impact his quest. Yet he didn't let his curiosity show, instead quickly shifting the topic to gather more critical information. "And where is The Rotten Worm from here?" he asked sternly.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
The goblins exchanged nervous glances, clearly unsure why a dark elf would inquire about such a lowly place. After a moment of hesitation, one mumbled, "Down in Muck district, master. But no place for someone like you. Crawling with dregs from warrens."
"I need to go there," G paused, searching for a plausible reason, as it clearly wasn't a place dark elves typically frequented. "To seek revenge and mete out punishment." He left the statement vague, letting the goblins' imaginations conjure up visions of mayhem and slaughter. One of them began to grin at the thought.
"Master, you under Muck district now. Go farther down, find ladder. Not take that one; go past to second ladder. That bring you to Muck Market. Tavern nearby; ask shopkeeper for direction," the grinning goblin said.
G turned to the other goblin, his time running short as the Briar Patch spell weakened. "True? Second ladder?"
This goblin shook his head. "No, master. Take second ladder, you enter kennels of arena. Dangerous place, master, many beasts. Should take first ladder." The grinning goblin stopped and glared at his partner, clearly trying to lead G into danger.
In a moment of swift decision-making, G cast Whip of Thorns, striking the grinning goblin. The goblin couldn't even scream before he collapsed, lifeless. The first goblin tried to grovel in front of G, but more thorns jabbed him, leaving him severely wounded and nearly dead as he bled profusely.
"You need to kill him, G. They are evil, and he will betray you as soon as he can," Tocai, G's magical familiar, urged.
"Yeah, I know. It just doesn't seem right, though. If this one actually told me the truth, betraying his friend, shouldn't I reward him?" G wrestled with the morality of the situation.
Tocai sighed, "You know what would be a great plan? If you struck him and killed him so he didn't try to steal the artifact." There was a mental smirk in his voice.
G squinted, his thoughts swirling as the ring pulsed against his skin. A moment later, without a fully formed decision, his wrist flicked almost of its own accord, and the Whip of Thorns lashed out, finishing off the second goblin.
"Tocai! What did you do?" G exclaimed, a tumultuous mix of pain and betrayal swirling within him—stemming from both the ring and his familiar.
"I'm sorry, G," Tocai replied, his tone laced with a hint of regret. "I know it wasn't what you would have chosen, but you were hesitating. You wouldn't have done it. Now, you can place the blame on me and the ring. Your conscience stays clearer this way, and we're safer without the goblin possibly betraying us to the city guards or others."
G's breath hitched, his chest tight with conflicted emotions. He stood silent for a long moment, wrestling with his principles against the stark pragmatism of survival. The faint echo of Tocai's words haunted the tense air between them. Slowly, with each reluctant thought, he found the will to address his familiar, his mental voice thick with unresolved feelings.
"Do not do that again unless my life is in danger, or yours, or our friends'. I don't appreciate it, and I certainly don't like it," G asserted firmly, the weight of moral responsibility pressing down on him.
"I understand, G. It was a tough call," Tocai responded with a subdued chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. "But sometimes, the right decisions are the hardest ones to make."
Despite his frustration, G felt a reluctant acceptance settle over him. It had been a necessary action under the circumstances. "Damn it, Tocai, never mind," he muttered, his anger dissipating as he turned his attention back to the crate.
G approached the small wooden crate, noting the poorly driven nails that barely held the lid in place. With a careful hand, he drew his small knife and pried open the lid, vigilant for any hidden dangers or traps.
Inside, there was an orb. It looked like a small glass ball about the size of a baseball, and he identified it.
Name: Orb of Elemental Manipulation
Description: This small glass orb is filled with swirling, colored mist that changes depending on the element it is currently attuned to. It has two charges, represented by two small etchings on the base of the orb.
Effect: As an action, the wielder of the orb can expend a charge to manipulate a small amount of the chosen element. The orb can attune to one of the four classical elements: fire, water, air, or earth. The effect of the orb depends on the chosen element:
Fire: The orb ignites a small non-magical object it comes in contact with, such as a torch or piece of paper.
Water: The orb creates a small amount of drinkable water, enough for a single person to drink. Range touch.
Air: The orb creates a small breeze that can extinguish a non-magical flame or move a small object. Range 1 meter.
Earth: The orb causes a small patch of earth or stone to become soft and pliable for 1 minute, allowing for easy digging or excavation. Range touch.
Once both charges have been expended, the orb becomes inert, and the mist inside it dissipates. The orb regains its charges at dawn.
The item G found wasn't of high quality; it was more like a minor trinket that looked like a small utility item one might take on a camping trip. But it was free and versatile; sometimes, the simplest things can make all the difference. He put it in his belt pouch, intending to examine it later.
After his recent encounter with goblins, G, aware that his scent had permeated the air, searched their bodies. Though unable to do anything about the lingering scent, he extracted two pieces of leather padding from their rugged armor and integrated them into his own. His magical robe responded by absorbing the padding, thickening across his shoulders. He also packed away a small crate along with several nails into his inventory. After a final sweep of the area, he pressed on deeper into the passage.
Soon, G came upon a ladder carved into the wall, leading up to a small ledge blocked by a grate and sealed off. Adjacent to it was a medium-sized door. He listened intently at the threshold, catching only the distant sounds of someone selling food and a few goblins conversing, their voices fading away. Seizing a moment of silence, he nudged the narrow hatch, which swung open. He emerged onto a deserted street, spotted a doorway a few meters down the lane, and discreetly closed the hatch behind him. The craftsmanship was meticulous—undetectable unless one knew of its existence.
Standing tall, G adopted the dignified air of a dark elf and cast a Mana Cleansing spell to rid himself of any residual grime. With a sense of purpose, he set off to find a merchant or anyone who could direct him to The Rotten Worm tavern, as Kragan had mentioned.
From the shadow of the doorway moved a small, diminutive youth - a lanky rock gnome with short, spiky black hair and hazel eyes. Unnoticed, he stepped out of the doorway and followed G.
Pulling the hood of his cloak a bit farther down, G stepped into the depths of Muck Market, located in the grimiest part of the city known as Muck Town, his senses were immediately assaulted. The air was dense with the pungent odors of rotting produce and animal waste, mingling with the acrid scent of something long burnt that seemed to seep from the very cobblestones. Sounds of haggling mixed with the cries of vendors selling questionable wares, their voices a chaotic mix against the backdrop of drizzling, grimy rain. The ground squelched underfoot, a mix of mud and unidentifiable slick substances that made each step a cautious endeavor.
Approaching a stall, the sight that greeted G was grotesque yet oddly mundane for this quarter; rats and unidentifiable meat sizzled on hooks, their juices dripping into the fire below and sending up a hiss of steam. The goblins queuing before the stall cast wary glances at G before dispersing, their steps quick and silent on the wet stone.
The shopkeeper, his attire caked with layers of soot and grease, frantically wiped his hands on a ragged, filthy apron as he caught sight of G. His eyes flickered nervously, casting quick glances around the bustling market as he stammered, "What can I do for the master?" His hands shook, his voice quavering with fear.
In a tone dripping with hauteur, G asked in a quiet, controlled voice, "Where is The Rotten Worm?" The goblin shopkeeper barely lifted his gaze as he pointed towards a narrow alley flanked by run-down stone buildings, hewn directly from the stone. "There, master," he murmured, his attention quickly diverting back to his grimy wares.
Suddenly, G felt a light tug at his robe. Looking down sharply, he caught a small figure— the rock gnome he had noticed earlier—fumbling at G's belt pouch. With a swift motion, G spun around, catching the gnome by the arm. Startled, the gnome wriggled free and bolted, weaving between decrepit stalls and sprinting down a dank alley.
G gave chase, his boots splashing through puddles that reflected the flickering torchlights hung from rough, stone walls. He saw the gnome ducked into a side passage, but the figure had vanished by the time G reached the corner. Checking his travel spells, G confirmed he still had a few minutes remaining. Driven by curiosity, he continued down the alley, now moving with stealthy precision.
A peculiar noise drew G's gaze to a dilapidated building where the stonework had crumbled, revealing a small opening. He paused, curiosity piqued. Peering inside, he noticed a faint flicker of light, though the gap was too small for entry. Approaching the building's door, he found its surface warped and weathered by age, made from the fibrous wood of mushroom stalks. Despite his efforts, the door stubbornly resisted all attempts to open.
"G, we don't have to go in there," said Tocai.
"Yes, I do. The thief took the orb," G responded, frustrated with himself for not securing it in his inventory space. Resolute, he cast a single mana bolt. The spell struck the old door with such force that it blasted off its hinges. A fragment of the latch remained clung to the frame as the door disintegrated, hurling into the shadows beyond. Stepping forward, G cautiously surveyed the interior.