Continuing Story Thinger - Pyrite & Snively

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The dwarf's axe slid in between the goblin's ribs, and he wheeled about, instinctively blocking two incoming arrows with his shield and blocking another goblin's thrust with the heft of his weapon.

Another of the tiny humanoids charged, its morningstar whipping in wild circles above its head. With a high-pitched squeal of victory, the goblin swung the flail in a downard arc. Just in time, Pyrite ducked under it and came up with the top part of his axe sunk into the monster's belly.

The goblin with the sword came in again, thrusting at the dwarf's exposed arm and scoring a deep gash. Pyrite paused to inspect the wound, then shrugged and brought his battleaxe around in a mighty swing that sent the goblin's head rolling across the uneven floor of the mine.

The fighters were gone; beyond, two archers levelled their crossbows to fire again, and the shaman was deep in chanting.

The bolts came first, one scraping off of Pyrite's shield and the other scraping the dwarf's thigh. The stocky warrior agnowledged the wound with a short grunt, then dropped his shield in front of his face and advanced at a charge.

With a satisfying snap, the shield smashed the first crossbow, causing the newly-loaded arrow to snap in half, and the sharp end to be released directly into the goblin's eye. The second quickly took aim and fired, the bolt sinking into the burly dwarf's thigh, but earning nothing but a heavy backhand that broke the goblin's neck and sent it sprawling across the sharp pebbles.

The shaman finished his spell. A bolt of red light shot forth from his extended hand, zipping across the mine shaft in a thin line. Pyrite raised his shield to block, but the beam passed right through the tempered steel and into the dwarf's heart. With a gasp of disbelief, Pyrite fell back, stumbled over a loose rock, and fell. He did not rise.

Cautiously, the goblin shaman inched forward, his small knife drawn and raised in case the dwarf was trying to trick him. He was smarter than most of the others in his tribe, which had earned him the post of shaman. He knew he had to be careful.

Suddenly, the dwarf's axe swung up from the ground, taking the goblin's knife hand with it.

Pyrite gave a short, bitter laugh as he climbed to his feet, watching the shaman gape in bewilderment at the bloody stump that was his arm. Bright green blood sprayed out, coating the walls, the floor, and the bodies of his slain comrades. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the dwarf's. The dwarf grinned.

The goblin never saw the axe that ended his miserable existence.

"Goblins," Pyrite spat, grumbling to himself as he inspected his miriad wounds. The crossbow bolt sticking out of his upper leg would be a problem, he decided. With typical dwarven stoicness, he grasped the protruding shaft, tightened his fist, and pulled. The thin arrow head was immediately followed by a small gout of blood, which the dwarf quickly stopped with a folded bandage. After applying a layer of adhesive cloth to keep the bandage from slipping, he scraped the bolt against the wall and examined it.

"Ach, well, at least it weren't barbed," he said in an expert's tone. "If'n the goblin's dinnae be usin' barbed heads, it'll be like..."

"Killing infants in the cradle."

Pyrite turned and looked up, a calm, gruff expression on his face. "Ach, I'd wondered where ye'd wandered off tae, wizard."

Silk, black robes clothed a slender frame, cloaked in the shadows of the dark mine. Embroidered silver traced the cuffs of his sleeves, the sides of his hood, and the hem of his garments. Dusty, brown leather boots barely jutted out from the bottom, though only Pyrite was able to see them in the dark, lightless mine.

"I told you, dwarf, my business is my own," the wizard half-hissed, half-sniffelled. It must be hard, Pyrite noted, to sound cryptic and evil when you've the voice of a whiny accountant.

"Aye, aye, ye told me, many a time. I could've used yer help here, mage."

"You are here to help me, dwarf, not the other way around."

Pyrite rolled his eyes, an action hidden by both the darkness and his thick, scarlet beard. "As ye will."

Satisfied that his point had been made, the wizard brushed past his hired help, continuing into the darkness with naught but a tiny, glowing sphere to light his way. After a few steps, the mage stumbled over a loose rock and nearly lost his balance, but managed to recover with as much dignity as possible. Pyrite resisted the urge to again roll his eyes.

"If ye don't mind me sayin'," he commented loudly to the wizard's back, "ye'd likely find yer way about better if'n ye lit a torch."

The mage abruptly stopped and whirled around, a dangerous light gleaming in his freakishly large, tan eyes. "Snively Mardemin fears no darkness! Snively Mardemin is darkness...Darkness Incarnate!"

Pyrite stifled a laugh.

"Come, dwarf! I didn't hire you to lag behind me! You are to absorb the arrows and spears of these wretched goblins!"

Silently chuckling to himself, the dwarf rumbled up to the mage, his mythril chain mail rattling beneath its concealing, gold-laced tunic. Pyrite Havark had done rather well for himself through his life as a mercenary, and his apparel was only the smallest sign of it. His axe, Darkbane, was a powerful artifact who's specialities lay in destroying creatured from the Plane of Shadow, a horrific realm ruled by evil beings of questionable solidity. It also could fall forth a light brighter than the sun, but he had no desire to make this journey easier on his employer.

Snively suddenly came to a halt, raising his right hand in an imperious gesture of command. Pyrite let out a small sigh of amusement, shaking his head, but came to an abrupt and clanking stop.

"I smell something..." the wizard murmered. "Goblins."

The dwarf sniffed the air. It wasn't goblins. He didn't recognize the scent at all. "Nae, it's not gobbos, lad. Somethin' bigger."

"Oh, come now, are you worried?" Snively sneered in his nasally voice. "It's goblins. I am your employer, and if I say it's goblins, it's goblins."

Pyrite shrugged. Whatever it was, he and Darkbane would be more than able to handle it. Raising the axe in preperation for a charge, he stepped forward, pushing aside the mage's robes with his shield. The fingers of his left hand flexed and tightened around the battleaxe's handle. A fearsome, enraged expression settled upon his face. Time to earn your money, he thought.

Then, the ogre was there, smashing its club into the ground at the dwarf's feet. Cursing in suprise, Pyrite hopped back, nearly bowling the wizard over. Then, before the eight-foot behemoth could recover, the dwarf raised his axe overhead, stepped forward, and brought it down on the ogre's fingers.

The giant howled in pain and shot up straight, smashing his thick skull against the ceiling in the process. The blow didn't seem to faze the obese monster, however; balling the remaining stumps of his right hand into a fist, the ogre swung forward in a vicious haymaker. The blow crashed into Pyrite's shield, and despite his spread feet and braced posture, the dwarf went stumbling backwards.

The punch seemed to have hurt the ogre as much as it did anything else, however; with a hideous scream, the beast shoved his entire, half-severed hand into his wide mouth, attempting to both stem the blood flow and prevent any further screams.

Pyrite went a step further in prevention by smashing his axe into the ogre's heart, leaping up into the air to do so. The monster gave a strangled gasp, then stumbled backward, pressed further by the weight of the dwarf's body. Then, with a massive thud, the ogre hit the ground and lay still.

Panting, Pyrite wiped his axe clean on the ogre's filthy trousers, then turned to regard his employer with a baleful gaze. "Ye could've helped."

"I must conserve my strength for what lies ahead," the wizard returned with a whine that was not reflected in his sharp, too-big features. "You cannot imagine the dangers I will face."

The dwarf glared, opened his mouth for a sharp retort, then thought better of it and remained silent.

"As if I would waste my energies on a mere ogre," Snively continued, not even noticing his hireling's reaction. "Ogres are beneath the talents of I, Snively Mardemin, Darkness Incarnate!"

"Hanky?" Pyrite muttered darkly, half a question and half an insult. When the mage glanced at him, the dwarf proferred a small cloth square from his shirt pocket. "Ye sound like ye could use one," he explained.

Darkness Incarnate deigned not to reply.

With a shrug, the dwarf gave the dead ogre a sharp kick to its broad forehead, then stomped up and over its chest and continued on his way. Snively, wrinkling his nose at the disgusting monster, found a small path around it and followed his guide as from a distance he deemed proper.

 

You do know that Pyrite is the name of a rock that looks like gold, but it isn't. It's called fool's gold.