Boogey Man:
Species that feeds on weak, newborn monsters coming out of mother walls of the dungeon. Devouring them alive before they could touch the ground. They're peaceful by nature and won't attack if left unprovoked
"Phuuu!... Yuck!"
Disgusted beyond belief. He spits out the flesh, stuck when bitten with the aim of poisoning It.
It was of horrible taste; like a fresh cement made of expired materials, rubbed on the termite-infested wood- spreading its smell all over it.
But that's to be expected from a monster, that eats innocent babies "alive" as they tried to wiggle out of the ceiling. For the first time, Oscar felt thankful to the rocky snake, for occupying its lair right where he got spawned... Instead of these creepy wall snails.
"Guuuooo..."
Unfazed. The Boogeymen "stands" On his torso, hanging down the air. It lazily stretched its maw wide at him, vertically splitting the underside of its torso; ash grey nonsensical teeth with no linear alignment, held together by black gums. The darkness obscured most of its underside, giving the impression of staring into the abyss. Slowly but surely it starts approaching the goblin, mistaken to be a newly spawned baby. Followed by the fellow hungry boogeymen, on their way to feast on the cornered baby goblin.
'I swear... Never had I seen such ugly monsters, in my entire goblin life' he thought, moving through the gap between the hanging stone pillars. He stabbed the pickaxe with each swing, embedding and securing before moving along. But failed to shrug off his pursuers who were slow, but relentless.
In a matter of seconds. The goblin crossed all possible paths, he could take without running into the snail-paced Boogeymen. Successfully rallying to his own demise.
Cornered against the steep wall, surrounded by the approaching dozen Boogeymen. The goblin suddenly felt cheated; like a rabbit that doesn't rests and keeps running, and running in a marathon. But still, somehow gets outrun by the turtle, or snail to be specific in this case.
'How?...' He wanted to ask. But doubted, they would tell which secret passage they all used to cheat.
The wall to his side was steep like a cliff, with no slope to give him a chance on climbing down through it. The cornered goblin sighed internally, before taking out the disfigured bone wand from his bandolier.
Oscar wanted to avoid fighting, not out of fear of these Boogeymen. But because he didn't want to alert the human adventurers below, engaged in combat against that Royal magical cat. And if he had learned anything from his many encounters -which wasn't more than 3. And 4, counting this one- against these adventurers. It would be to keep your distance away from them, as much as you want to live. Which, thankfully he had enough to not complain while getting chased by some pathetically weak monsters, who can only feed on helpless babies.
"Splash!"
The magic poison -which had the record of one-hit killing the poison spider- hits squarely its face, followed by its deep excruciating wail of agony. Thrashing on its spot, It gashed the face. In an attempt to gouge out the poison with its stick-like hands, but all it caught was the melted skin over, and the gooey liquid; leaking from its limped eyes. It was a horrible sight, enough to make many of its brethren halt their crawl.
"Goooaaaaa!!!"
Oscar decided on the precise poison attack for two reasons: He only have three attack types; fire blast, air blast, and poison blast. Fire is too loud and unnatural to appear on the ceiling out of nowhere, should any adventurer caught the sight of it. Air won't do shit to them, they can stick "and" Run on the ceiling, so it wouldn't be far outstretched for them to shrug off some fast-moving winds. While poison is silent, deadly, and would only leave a wailing monster that wouldn't seem unnatural in the already too loud of a dungeon. And... Oscar just wanted to share his experience of bathing with poison, nothing much.
Call of poison - 2/10
In consideration of its already low durability. Oscar only fired two shots, with a wide gap among the victims. And only threatened the others "bak! Off!"
Hits with the sudden realization that the being wasn't a baby and could fight back. The hoard of Boogeymen unceremoniously decided to back off, albeit a little reluctant after giving it a chase; thus, making themselves work for nothing. Returning to their desired place, with much more leisure crawl, they all get back in their dormant sleeping state; waiting to chance upon the unsuspecting newborn near their resting place, to get feasted upon. Meanwhile, the two poisoned victims had long withdrawn themselves to their thick shells, becoming motionless on their spot in the defense.
Having sure, no more baby-eating-snail would be coming after him just because he looks like a pre-teen kid. Oscar puts his focus back to the ground, at the fight; Royal cat vs the peasant humans.
'Ah... I missed the whole fight damn it!'
The contest of power, against the high-level monster and the low leveled adventurers, was already nearing its climax when he noticed.
Although, not much, but Oscar still knew a thing or two about these adventurers from his experience; like their favorite formation that follows. The ones at the front would keep the monster busy and block any heavy attack. Then there would the one in the back who would heal their teammates, and disrupt the monster with heavy magic, that takes time and preparation. And finally came the one who stands even further back away, firing constant projectiles, preventing the monster from cornering any one of the frontmost attackers, giving them a breathing room while also getting the time to apply healing magic...
A simple but effective strategy against some mindless monsters, in Oscar-the-wise's humble opinion.
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"Boom!"
Another hammer landed on its back, matching the timing when the monster materialized, scored the dwarf yet another thunderous roar to his face; blowing his beard -twice the size of his face- back, covering his eyes and making him blind. As the monster stunned effect takes place.
"Rrroaaaaaaa!!!"
Just before it could snap off the dwarfs head, a piercing arrow prompted it to leap to the side. Having learned its lesson on avoiding these small wooden pricks that hurts like a bitch, the Plethora Tigris forced its remaining six legs to stand back, it cautiously eyed that annoying human, with pointed ears, hiding behind its pack.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"Stand back short beard!" Came the warning, almost as fast as the steel grapler moved past the stunned dwarf. Impacting below the Plethora, who failed to avoid it on time, grasping its remaining front-left paw within its deadly grasp.
"Arghhh! Just go to sleep" The satyr shouted with a wide grin. Gripping his almost 2m long pole, connected to the grappler with reinforced chains, he pulled the big cat towards him; resulting it to roar, standing on hind legs, and bombarding him with dozen blazing flares. The stout bearded fellow dodges them easily by rolling, dragging the chains with him. He has 2 minutes before Plethora uses its ethereal form, slipping away from its confines.
"And that's not how you put someone to sleep, big beard!" Taking a surprising leap. The dwarf swings the hammer, almost as twice his overall height, down the Plethoras back. At the same spot since the start of the fight, trying to break its spine with all his might, and the break it did.
"Wooooaaarrrrrr!!!"
With a sickening loud crack, combined with the inner and outer muscles ripping apart, the plethoras back caved in at last. The hammer didn't stops just there, carried by the momentum and the armor-piercing enchantments, it sinks more than half a meter inside its back; consequently destroying and blasting its all the vital organs at once.
Outraged, the cornered monster pulled its last of its mana to incinerate that hateful dwarf before it could take its last breath. The fire crackled around its majestic hide, riddled with enchanted arrows and the continuous blood seeping out from it, as the proudful Plethora watched the dwarf land near its fallen self before bursting out its raging storm of flames, releasing it all on its final victim.
A volley of thunderous flames covered the surprised dwarf, engulfing him before he could so much as a shout for help. The dying Plethora watched its flames consuming the dwarfs body with a smirk, proud of its own work, as it finally let go of its hanging life; thus, letting its dead body slumping down with a thud and its majestic yet mysterious dark red mane staining with the dirt and blood.
"Cough! Cough! By my hammer! That came outta nowhere" Coughing his lungs out, the dwarf waved his hands. With an almost intact body and armor, save for his blackened face and half-burned beard, he thanked the young mage; who saved his ass at the last moment. But stopped himself as he saw the young lad dropped to his knees and clutching his heart, painfully.
"Urghhh!"
"Valhan!" Came the concerned half-elven women. Putting away her bow, she gets down to check on him.
"I'm... Alright... That attack was unexpected... I have to use the damage transfer spell to save Ulvrik- cough! Cough!"
Coughing vehemently. The young mage smiles weakly, causing the beautiful elven women to get more concerned for him. One might even mistaken him to be the one, taking the beating in the whole fight.
"Humph! That bastard!" Sneered, the dwarf in question. Spitting to the side. If he doesn't know that young lad any better, he too would be moved.
"Che! Che! The things these humans do to get in the females' pants" Taking a swing from the leather flask, the big-bearded satyr spoke in amusement.
"Hey! That was mine!" Snatching the ale from the half-man, the dwarf grumbled. Picking up his hammer and the bag, the dwarf instinctively moved to the dead Plethora for picking the loot, out of habit.
"There's no need Ulvrik. This is already the tenth Plethora we have encountered so far. These vermins are sprouting like weeds nowadays, and not to mention our guild's quest is all about clearing the paths for those snot-filled godly dogs, who are too proud to kill these "rats" By themselves" Spat the satyr from behind.
"Can't help" Shrugging. The dwarf still stuffed a handful of tooths, while ripping out its tail. "These dungeon waves are all you can eat buffet, except we get paid for eating. So what's wrong with hoarding a few of em while we're at it?" He needs high-grade materials on a daily basis for his blacksmith apprenticeship, and he definitely won't shy away from storing some to get some load off his fees.
"Yeah, yeah, stuff em like you mean it short beard, but isn't this dungeon wave is getting too early? I mean, if my memory serves right... Which wasn't that reliable, but... Still, it would be months difference from last year" Watching the dwarf working on the corpse, the satyr spoke in between his swings. Being a talkative alcoholic, he couldn't help it.
"Even though the major waves are somewhat far away. I still felt this place is too... Desolate?" Confused by his own non-stop ramblings, the satyr tilted his head. Sitting in the opposite direction of the dwarf. Too drunk to realize, he's talking to the air.
"Puck!"
Slapping the back of his head. The dwarf forced his drunken head to see upwards, causing the certain panicked goblin to skitter behind the pole, and hides his green body from getting noticed with all his might. Which wasn't necessary as the said observer was barely sober, and struggled to see any ceiling at all, let alone a well-hidden goblin.
"You see those creepy cone-shaped fiends? They are the reason these places are considered safe routes, with relatively fewer monsters. And it's our guild's job to kill the ones who wandered from other places in this route, so pick this bag and come... Those golds ain't turning to ales, if any of those big guild members complained of our slack to the tower"
Annoyed. The dwarf throws the bag to satyrs half-dazed face. Prompting him to get sober -somewhat- and follow him along with his weapon as a walking stick. The threat to his ale, does seems effective enough for him.
Their guild was new, just like countless ones in this year, so they couldn't afford to put a stain on their guild's name nor their guild master. Hence, the dwarf and the half-sober satyr make their way ahead; according to the map, to weed out any monster they find, before the dwarf suddenly facepalms himself.
"Fuck! We forgot our horny mage!" Just remembering that good-faced shit, the dwarf cursed aloud.
He turned around, to call them, but what he saw wasn't his teammates in some indecent positions. Instead, he saw them, or rather their mutilated corpses, getting maimed by countless arrows having rained from god knows where or rather by whom...
Of which, he instantly gets the answer to the latter one. A red humanoid-shaped crocodile with barely 120cm in height and a malnourished body adorned with mismatched armor -collected from the dead adventurers- it prepared to poke its broken spear at the barely alive young mage. While the elven archer wasn't so lucky to survive a volley of attacks to her face, just before she could kiss the young mage. Ulvrik was about to come to his help, but he just got the answer to his former question. An arrow whizzed just above his head. Having a short height, the enemy failed to adjust its aim properly.
Ducking down and rolling instinctively. The dwarf finally saw those gangs of red kobolds coming out of the many boulders, ideally spreading through the cavern without any formation or any order.
"Shit!" Cursing his teammates carelessness, the dwarf whips out the hammer from behind.
"Hey! Big beard, looks like we got some troubl- eh?!" Ulvrik just turned enough to see that satyr getting squashed squarely by a boulder dropping from the sky. Splattering his long-lasting companion to some meaty paste inside of it.
"Fuuuuuck!!!" In the moment of distraction, two arrows stuck deep behind his back, and he felt something sinister crawling under his skin.
"Fucking poisonous bastards!" Breaking the stucked arrows with a swing. Ulvrik eyed these red vermins with hatred. The dwarf knows he and his teammates... Correction; his former teammates, got stucked within a deep pit of shit.
"Bang!" Slamming his enchanted hammer. Ulvrik, roared "Come and get me if you got some balls you shitty red pricks!" As he eyed each and every kobolds within his vicinity.
Meanwhile, in between the kobolds unexpectedly successful ambush, and the last stance of Ulvrik. A green-skinned monster sneakily walked past them, undetected.
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"Ah?!"
Watching the whole drama unfolding, from start to this stalemate, while hanging comfortably and counting sheeps. As he still couldn't make heads or tails of the words spoken by these humans. Oscar suddenly jerked his head at the unexpected third party crossing the road; unimpeded, undetected.
'Goblin?'
Squinting his eyes. He saw that the green-skinned build was different, it was more sturdy and bigger than him. While also wearing leather armor of a rather familiar design. Somehow, That armored goblin reminded Oscar of his younger days...
'A Hob-Goblin?!' He thought with a pleasant surprise, but he instantly frowned 'The hell is he doing here though?' The more he thought, the curious he got.