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Othro stealthily edged his way down the sloping tunnel towards the dim light in the distance. Every nerve tingled as his senses tried to garner information about the cave. It had looked a plain and simple cave from the outside, but now his sixth sense warned him that there was danger here, a spine tingling, terror inspiring danger that would have made a lesser man run, or at the very least soil himself.
As the sounds of the cave entered his mind, a drip here and a drop there, Othro reflected that he could simply walk out and try the next cave, no one would know. However, his personal sense of honor, his own sense of what is right and wrong would not allow him to leave now. True enough, no one would ever know - but Othro would, and he's quite sure that he would live with the regrets for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately for Othro, intelligence wasn't one of his better traits. An intelligent man would have smelled the foul odor pervading his senses and realized what it signified; an intelligent man would have counted the skulls around him and noted how many were fresh; an intelligent man would have realize that these skulls did not show signs of decay, but had probably had the flesh ripped from them. An intelligent man would have, but Othro didn't.
Perception is a funny thing. What Othro saw, was something that most intelligent men didn't, in fact most sane men didn't. Othro saw opportunity; being a fledgling adventurer, and not a good one at that, he saw an opportunity to prove himself, to show the rest of his adventurer buddies that he could kill an orc, that there wasn't a goblin out there that could trade blows with him, he would prove them all wrong.
And so Othro moved on down the tunnel. As he descended, he began to hear strange noises; grunts and groans combined in a cacophony of noise that was both frightening and funny. Othro suppressed a chuckle as he tried to imagine what the goblins were up to - he assumed they were goblins, who else would live in a dingy cave like this?
Approaching the opening that looked ominously big, holding his long sword ahead of him like some beacon of justice, his shield held loosely in his left hand, Othro steeled himself ready for battle.
He moved quickly forward, his chain mail whispering softly, his shield clanking loudly against his sword as he clumsily tried to charge through the door, Othro opened his mouth to scream his favorite war chant. As he moved into the large cave, his eyes surveying the scene that slowly came into focus, the war cry died on his lips, leaving his mouth open, his eyes stunned; his face looked very reminiscent of the very first gold fish his mother had given him.
The first thing that he saw was the very large man slumped over a make-shift table. He was slumped face down on the table. He wore a leather jerkin and leather pants - but the pants were down around his ankles, his bare butt cheeks seemingly glinting in the scattered light of the torches that ringed the room. To the left a very large troll stood staring at the prone man; a large club lay at his feet splattered with blood. His very large hands were fumbling at his belt looking for an entirely different club. Ahead, in front of the prone man another troll sat, a hand lazily placed on top of the man's head stopping him from moving or escaping.
For a moment Othro just stared. The troll ahead of him looked up and smiled. Nonchantly he raised the head in his hands and slammed it to the table
"Gwarg, we have company" he stated, his voice rough and calm "We will finish this later". Standing up he moved towards Othro. Gwarg looked confused and almost sad as he began to re-fasten his belt. Leaning forward he picked up his club and turned to face Othro.
"Gwarg is not happy. Gwarg wanted to play. Gwarg kill little man now".
Yet again intelligence deserted Othro. A truly intelligent man would have ran, not letting the door hit him on the way out. Othro screamed and charged the first troll, his sword swinging wildly his shield raised to cover his side from the other troll. His swing was true and Othro was happy to see that the troll could bleed.
"Now you make me angry" cried the bleeding troll, the slash to his side seemingly more an inconvenience than a danger. Picking up a chair, he aimed a ponderous blow at Othro's head. Othro, whether by design or fortune, stumbled and the chair missed his head by a cat's whisker.
The second troll was running after Othro, his club moving side to side ominously, his grin sinister and grim. Othro wheeled around to face the troll and for the first time in his life his intelligence moved to the fore. His eyes widened as he realized he should have run. Two trolls against one well armed knight were not good odds; two trolls against one lightly armored, untrained adventurer didn't even have odds!
Othro parried the swinging club with his shield, a jolt of pain running up his arm. His sword arm raised to block the oncoming chair no avail, and it crashed into him splintering on his upper arm.
Both of his arms were numb; his shield arm was sluggish and he barely was able to block the club. As time seemed to slow, Othro wondered if the shield or his arm would break first.
Othro backed away slowly, parrying frantically with both sword and shield, wondering if anyone would ever find his corpse. The two trolls slowed slightly seemingly enjoying toying with Othro. Gwarg grinned at him "Fun ain't it" he said. The other troll laughed and replied "I like playing with my food, it makes…." He stopped talking suddenly a look of surprise frozen on his face as a large axe split his skull. Gwarg grimaced as he watched the other troll die, and turned seeking out the axe bearer.
Othro would have laughed if he had been told this story in an Inn. The previously prone man stood in front of the dying troll, his pants still at his ankles, his manhood swinging wildly. His eyes were wild and fearful, but there was something in them that was as hard as steel. Slowly he pulled the axe out of the troll's skull and faced Gwarg. Othro, for the first time in his life seized the initiative. Two new things in one day, not bad at all eh!
Othro thrusting sword caught Gwarg by surprise. Its sharp tip sliced through leather entering into his back just above the heart. Gwarg made a grunt followed by a gurgle as blood filled his mouth. He looked surprised as he slumped to his knees, his head moving from side to side as if denying his pain. His eyes opened wide as he spied the axe swinging towards him; pain and fear were etched in the face as his head was removed, a ghastly testament left for any who would find the head.
The man with the axe looked at Othro, a strange wildness in his eyes, something akin to madness. Othro moved back wearily his sword ready, his eyes searching for an escape route. Looking back at the man in front of him, Othro wondered if his situation was worse now the trolls were dead.
The man's eyes blinked several times and slowly the madness faded from them. The axe lowered slowly as a sly almost embarrassed grin creased his face. Slowly he lowered the axe, and leaned it against a table close by. Pulling up his pants, the man look at Othro and spoke, his voice a low rumble. "My thanks to you sir, things were looking dire". Reaching out a gargantuan hand towards Othro he introduced himself "Andros son of Agnor, exile from the land of Halor, once and future king."
"Ummmm Othro, son of Othro, no exile, no king" intoned Othro, a flush of embarrassment crossing his face.
"Well met Othro, shall we leave?"
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Well Put, Sir
Posted Aug 15, 2008
An interesting spin on gargantuan fantasy novels; you take a seemingly cliche idea (Dungeons and Dragons style adventure) and give it a much needed sense of humor. Like Micheal said, it wasn't a gutbuster, but it was entertaining and fresh, with many good moments. (Especially the 'hanging manhood... (
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