Thirst…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Thirst…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

THIRST…

Groggily shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog in his brain, Skrakch winced as the movement elicited pain throughout the whole of his body. His bleary black eyes tried to focus on his surroundings but all he could make out was a darkened room and a steadily dripping faucet.

Not for the first time in his life, he was glad of his Ratling senses. His nose painted a much clearer story, his snout picking up a musty, earthy smell paired with an almost overbearing scent of honey. No… wait, it wasn’t honey… but mead! A rich mead, heavily sweetened but no doubt perfect on his parched tongue.

The Ratling could feel the dryness in his throat as he breathed in the aroma. He felt that all he needed to do was just move a few steps and then he would have his prize. A flagon of perfectly chilled, freshly poured mead…

But as he struggled to move forward, he found himself unable to advance as the rattle of chains clattered annoyingly in his ears.

Chains? What the Hells? Where is this? Where am I? Skrakch tried to parse through his muddled and rushed thoughts but there wasn’t any clarity to be found, his mind churning fruitlessly to itself.

Especially not when every single drip of the faucet was louder than anything he’d ever heard before. Not when every little drip was a dollop of Heaven that was wasting itself on a stone floor…

The last thing Skrakch could remember was… drinking at the Boar’s Head with his brother. It was so rare for his sibling to join him on a night of wild, frivolous fun so, of course, Skrakch had indulged himself.

One beer had become three, which had become six which had become… ten? He couldn’t remember the full amount but what he could remember was stumbling into the alleyway after a night of merriment. His brother tried to keep him upright and steady, but he’d always been big for an elf, and with a bellyful of mirth and mead weighing him down…

This is so wrong. I’m no fucking Elf…

The intrusive thought tickled at Skrakch’s mind, but what really confused him was why he could so clearly remember walking through an alleyway in the first place.

They’d been drinking at the Boar’s Head and he could picture it in his mind as they made merry with their friends. But Skrakch knew that whenever he had a few too many drinks, he was always sure to book himself a room. Better safe than sorry, he’d always said.

Panic was beginning to pierce through the fog in his mind so Skrakch once more began trying to move his limbs. The rattling of the heavy chains rang out in the tiny room, but Skrakch could only focus on the new smell that was suddenly tickling his nose.

Blood. Thick, cloying blood. It smelled almost sickly… wrong somehow. Left to fester and rot. Combined with the smell of the mead and the mossy earth, Skrakch could feel bile rising up his throat.

Turning his head to the side, Skrakch stared gormlessly at his arms, chained as they were to the wall behind him. Thick steel links were woven around his biceps, though the manacles dangled empty, just out of reach.

Why my biceps? Why did they leave the manacles empty? It doesn’t make sense-

Or, at least out of reach for Skrakch as he stared at what he soon realized were the bloody stumps of his forearms. The smell and sight threatened to overtake him, as though it were finally getting through to him.

Seriously. Where the fuck am I?

Skrakch opened his mouth to call out, only to fumble with his plea for help. His tongue felt heavy and his mouth was full of cotton, dryer than it had ever been. Each drop of honeyed mead that splashed onto the floor in its steady stream was torture. But, with his newfound focus, Skrakch knew well that it was intentional.

Ok. I’m in a cellar of some kind. Or maybe a dungeon. Who the fuck would…Why would someone keep me in a dungeon?

The sheer idea of it was laughable. Or at least, it would’ve been had it not been for the fact it was playing out in front of his very eyes. Someone had captured him, cut off his hands, and then…

My brother!

Skrakch tried to free himself with renewed focus, pulling at the chains as he struggled and twisted his body to try and get some leverage. His muscles burned as he threw himself forward but it was all for naught.

Slumping downwards against the cold stone wall, he could feel despair bubbling up in his chest, sweat pouring down his skin and the unrelenting thirst gnawing at his gut. All the while, the steady drip of the mead continued. Soon, it was all that the Ratling could focus on. The steady drip, the ever-building thirst.

It could’ve been hours, or even days before something finally broke the monotony of his new life in the cell. A harsh grinding noise suddenly reverberated off the walls around him as an opening in the cell suddenly appeared above him, alongside a sudden burst of light that burned his eyes.

“Hello?... Who-who is it?” Skrakch croaked out, desperately trying to keep the fear out of his trembling voice. “Do… you know who I am?”

Hells, do I even know who I am?

An odd shuffling noise was his only answer. A figure dropped into the small cell near him, a pair of padded soles dampening the noise of its landing.

Fear clawed at his belly, but Skrakch wasn’t going to let that fear show if he could help it. Defiantly staring up at his captor, he let a sneer cross his face.

“My family won’t stand for this! You fool. I… I don’t know who you work for but my brother will find them and when he does, he’ll put the screws in them. They’ll turn on you in a heartbeat. A fucking heartbeat, you piece of filth!”

Gasping as he said his piece, feeling his dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, Skrakch kept his gaze locked forward, desperately trying to avoid blinking. To avoid showing any form of weakness to this new foe.

A strong front can face anything. Father loved to say that. Smooth seas never made a good sailor, Oliver.

And yet, despite his threat, his captor’s only response was silence.

The figure simply stood there, waiting as Skrakch glared at him. His eyes strained to get a good look at whoever it was that was holding him captive but the darkness seemed all-encompassing. Finally, the strain on his tired eyes became too much, and the prisoner began blinking rapidly.

When Skrakch was able to open his eyes properly again, he was finally able to see his captor. He also noticed the sudden lack of dripping, the ever-present sound finally coming to an ominous stop. A candle had been lit within the cell, giving the small room a soft glow.

Able to see once more, Skrakch could only stare in confused silence as he watched his brother filling a tankard full of the honeyed mead, one steady drip at a time. The Elf was dressed in simple dark maroon robes, but even then, he had a certain weight to him.

Dozens of gold rings graced his large ears and his long beard had been groomed into a sharp point that hung down almost to the black sash holding his robes together. His emerald eyes glittered wickedly as he gazed down at Skrakch with a lofty air. The thin, bordering on frail, Elf lifted the metal tankard to his lips and took a deep drink.

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“Have you figured it out yet, Brother?” The Elf said in a honeyed tone, his smirk turned to a placid calm as he titled the tankard to one side, their family’s famous brew pouring out onto the stone floor. “Come now, Oliver. Has all your time spent getting drunk and whoring about made you that much of a slouch?”

I don’t have a brother! Wake up!

Skrakch could feel the sting of the betrayal, the hurt, as it burned at him. His brother, his very kin… Skrakch could still remember slipping him his first ever taste of booze, teaching him how to pick someone’s pocket and then filter seamlessly back into the crowd. He’d taken his little brother under his wing and taught him all there was to know about the family business.

“Why?” Skrakch coughed out, disbelief still warring within his mind, refusing to believe his eyes. “Why?”

“The mere fact that you have to ask is proof enough of why I did it,” His brother spat, venom dripping off his tongue. “Our family’s eldest, a drunken fool who can’t even see the shifting times because he’s too focused on the bottom of a tankard. I did it, dear brother, for the family.”

Skrakch struggled to make sense of what he’d just been told. He was still feeling weak from his injuries, but worse was the deep feelings of betrayal ringing out in his mind.

“You see, with you gone, I’ll inherit the tavern and the contacts. I’ll finally have the pieces I need to raise the family up,” The Elf continued to explain, the venom dying out as he returned to a detached calm. “I’ll make sure the family starts making some real gold, not just the dregs the Nobles deign to leave us.”

Pulling a vial loose from beneath his robes, Skrakch’s little brother swirled the red liquid from side to side before popping the cork loose with his teeth. “The Thieves Guild has stagnated for far too long. Something needs to change and I have just the thing…”

Dragon’s Blood? Dear Gods, what is this?

Slowly pouring the vial’s contents into the now empty tankard, the bearded Elf crouched in front of Skrakch and placed the concoction before him with his sole arm. Just the mere fact that it was liquid sorely tempted the Ratling to take a sip, but Oliver did his best to resist.

“This is just the first step brother, but I’m afraid you won’t have the chance to see the rest I’ve got in store. But, I’m nothing if not a fair Elf. It only seems right that you get a taste of our future…”

Skrakch stared at the contents of the tankard despondently before turning a begging eye upwards. “Why are you doing this, Sykes? Just… kill me and be done with this farce.”

Straightening to his full height, Sykes let a satisfied grin cross his face as he flattened out his robe and stepped under the sole entrance before finally bothering to answer. “What a quaint question, Why? Only scholars and fools ask the world why it works the way it does, Oliver. They question their lot in life, like the worms they are. Never realizing there’s a better, more pertinent question to ask.”

This isn’t right, you idiot. Sykes is dead. Wake u-

Hands tracing through a complex array of magical figures, the air filling the cellar turned brittle and cold as the arrogant Elf finished his spell, and gifted his Skrakch one last parting line.

“Why fucking not?”

A wave of Mana moved with a flick of Sykes’ wrist, and a thin spire of ice guided his brother out of the dungeon, leaving Skrakch alone in the dark once more.

No! Don’t leave me, don’t leave us!

Each passing moment burned away at Skrakch, burned at Oliver. Chained as they were, all they could do was stare down at the cup. Their throat ached and burned, urging them to take a drink. Finally, after Gods knows how much time passed, it was too much for the Ratling, too much for the Elf, and they couldn’t help but bend down to grab the mug with their teeth.

Holding it steady, Oliver struggled to lift it up, to bring it to his lips with his dehydrated senses. Finally, with a sobbing cry, Skrakch flung it away from him.

Trapped in the dungeon, the only source of consistency was the drip of the mead and the unending thirst in their chest as they slowly waited for death.

Drip, drip, drip…

Thirst…

Drip, drip…

Thirst…

Dri-

Fuck that.

Skrakch coughed to himself as he focused on the dripping noise, willing his Mana to start moving through his body.

What sort of useless prick just lets themselves die?

The thought roared in his head as the Ratling struggled against the chains, forming his unwieldy Mana into a sloppy version of a familiar Rune.

His Mana felt sluggish to him, barely able to respond to his call, but Skrakch had nothing but time on his hands. Eventually, he managed to corral his Mana into a Rune of Gravity and pulled his chains loose from the wall, bits of the cellar peppering his back.

Staggering to his feet, each movement the Ratling made helped to clear his thoughts.

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening and I’m sure as Hells not some dagger-eared prick!

The more Skrakch struggled against the strange, dreamlike state that he found himself in, the more it strained to hold him back. The cell around him began to twist and bend as Skrakch stared down at the desiccated remains of the Elf that had been left to die.

The body he’d been forced to inhabit in this fucked up dream.

“Oliver huh? What a small word it is. I knew your brother. Good news! He’s fucking dead,” Skrakch laughed and watched as this strange new world crumbled around him. “Sadly, so are you, and I’m not about to let some Shade puppet my body!”

Even as the world began to crumble around him, Skrakch watched as the long dead body of Oliver began to move. At first it was just one finger, then a hand. Before too long, the desiccated body was able to lurch forward and threw itself towards the barrel of mead.

Shoving its head against the barrel’s tap, the corpse let out a wail of anguish as the long dried out barrel crumpled under its weight. Tossing back its head, it’s scream grew so loud Skrakch could feel it hastening the destruction of this strange dream state.

Even as the shriek reached a fevered pitch, a blossoming of power washed over the Ratling onlooker. Oliver’s body began to crumble to dust, but the elf’s spirit kept up its unholy wailing as it raised into the sky.

Thirst…

With a sudden, massive lurch, Skrakch rapidly regained his consciousness and finally he felt properly anchored in his body, happily reunited with his glorious umber fur and, thank all the Gods, his dexterous tail! He reveled in the feeling of his own flesh and blood, even as it was dragged through the rubble.

Wait…

What?

Eyes snapping open, Skrakch cast his gaze around in a new wave of fresh panic. He stared down at a mass of blackened flesh as it undulated around his torso.

Immediately recognizable tendrils held him tight as they pulled at his prone form, having dragged him nearly halfway across the Arena while he was busy being distracted by a damn spiritual vision.

With each passing second, he was dragged further and further, reeled towards the Chosen Shade’s immobile body, the fleshy pile of tendrils lashing around wildly in an enraged flurry of blows. He could feel fragments of the rubble biting into his flesh as he was dragged along.

While Skrakch could be, and often was, called many unfavorable things, the Ratling was never a slouch when it came to fighting for his life.

Bursting into action, Skrakch began trying to claw his way to freedom. His paws moved wildly, but even as he raked his sharp claws against the tendrils that were holding him down, the damned fleshy things regenerated almost instantly.

“Gods Below! Fuck this!” Skrakch called out, desperately trying to hold back the tendrils whilst twisting his head to and fro.

What the Hells! Where’s Winifred? Or Meek? Hells, I’d even take Zacharias at this point!

Sadly, Skrakch was able to answer those questions for himself as he finally managed to squirm and twist enough to free himself. He rolled over a few times before finally coming to a stop amongst the dirt and rubble. It was then that he could see both Meek and Winifred being dragged along in a similar fashion, with the Undead Ghast sharing their fate.

All of them were similarly as comatose as he’d no doubt been, the feeble minded fools not having managed to shake themselves free.

“Meek! Dammit Meekknuckle, wake up! Winifred! Do something! Anything! You’re a bloody Chosen, it’s no time for a nap,” Skrakch screeched out as his voice broke from sheer panic.

With each moment that passed, they were being dragged toward the center of the Arena and that much closer to an ignoble end.

Squeezing his eyes shut as he frantically ran after them, Skrakch tried to summon his Mana to aid him… only for it to be absorbed into the tendrils wrapped around his body.

Gods dammit, I need someone to wake the Hells up or I’m fu-

“Alright there Squeakers? Looks like you’ve got yourself into a bit of trouble!”

Popping open his eyes, Skrakch found himself staring up at Zacharias. The Halfling appeared to be casually strolling along aside him, looking like he didn’t have a single care in the world. He opened his mouth to reply but Zacharias got there first.

“Don’t worry though mate, your good pal has your back,” Zacharias grinned, looking like he was having the time of his life. “We’ll have to discuss what it’s gonna cost you of course,”

…Gods Above or Below, any chance I can ask for literally -anyone else- to wake up?