Chapter 2:

War Plans and Battle Tactics

Now I admit that once pulled into a world that actually existed outside of a computer and somehow become a Dungeon Keeper with an actual Dungeon and a small subterranean empire. I found that the same problem of not knowing why I was here and more specifically where "here" was. This was in spite of the encyclopedia in my hid that seemed to be password protected because I either didn't have the right patron deity of darkness to support my endeavors or more likely because I did not have the appropriate minions to unlock the right facility.

Even the least useful of the Gods would have the ability and the brainpower to grant me some of the more advanced facilities for my use…. Shame really. It seemed like it was going to take quiet a while for me to gather any information that could be of any use to help me get my home. I naively assumed at this point that the most important thing would be to get information that could somehow help me get my sorry butt home. I had no idea how wrong I was about that. Again, it is that "hindsight is perfect" thing cropping up to bite me in the ass.

It had been a relatively peaceful and productive week as I had built up a decent enough force of minions. The Dungeon was solidly designed with only one entrance in to the dungeon proper that cut through the Lair, where I always had, at the very least a couple of creatures recuperating. Dungeons do not really operate on any kind of normal clock or timetable. At any hour there are those who rest while others work, on and on, a never-ending cycle of life and for those who opposed, or rather tried to, oppose us, death.

My combat magic skills were improving and I had begun to add additional spells to my growing repertoire. The heroes that had come down here had paid for their arrogance as we had ambushed them twice and left no enemy standing. The maze of tunnels that I had built made ambushing these heroes relatively easy. In this land, they were overly relaxed and stupid, allowing my forces to use raw, brute strength and ferocity to shred the dozen or so Rouges and Dwarves and turn them fresh meat. My Giant Beetles and Flies had proven to be amazingly resilient to both axe and sword. Granted there were some injuries but nothing truly fatal. My Giant Flies had hunted those that had tried to run, either to suffer impaled upon the stingers at the end of their abdomen, or to be decapitated by their scythe like appendages.

Three days and this would be our third ambush. I had hoped that this time it would work out a little better than previous ambushes. Granted, they were successful, but left no survivors and I would like to have somebody left alive that I can question and extract information from this time. Our very first ambush, I had not participated in, as I had been more interested in observing just how bloody combat would get in this realm. When teeth and claws met blade and shield I should have known that it would be an extremely bloody affair and I was right as my fourteen minions had ripped thorough the pack of Dwarves in seconds, having encircled them and striking from the shadows.

Right now, two of my Giant Flies were sweeping through the maze, hunting for the third pack of heroes to butcher. The second ambush I had been a part of, but had not had sufficient control over my minions to get them to leave somebody alive. This time, I just hope that things would be different. I took a perverse delight as the Flies swung back, a mixed group of Dwarves and Rouges in hot pursuit. They arched over my head, zipping to the far end of the cavern even as the pack charged in and moved towards the center of the chamber. I nodded sagely and my Beetles surged forward from their hiding places amongst the shadow as they bowled over their prey even as my Flies turned and swooped in, springing the trap.

There were seven Dwarves supported by a pair of crafty, but not exactly intelligent, Rouges. Where the Dwarves had simply charged in to the fray, the Rouges had hung back and clung to the shadows and darkness, effectively landing blows upon the exposed back of several of my Beetles. However their paltry blades were no match for the chitin carapace that shrugged off their blows with ease, whether they were from a stabbing sword or a hacking axe. My Flies circled above and broke off to give chase to the pair of Rouges that had broken off and were desperately trying to slip away. They would not get far, for I can smell their fear…. My Giant Flies can taste it.

I admit that the first time I stepped in to battle there was a fair amount of nervousness and hesitation in my movement and actions. I am not the nicest person you will ever meet but there is still quite a long way to go from being a nasty piece of work to being an out right killer and murderer. It is a hard line to cross but once crossed, you wonder what made that line so hard to cross. I crossed that line between person and murderer repeatedly in the space of a few minutes. My hands burst in to flames, as I leapt forward from the shadows, casting a pyrotechnic spray of fire that ripped through armor with ease. One of the unfortunate dwarves exploding like an overripe tomato dropped from a second floor apartment.

It took only several short moments before only two Dwarves were standing and several more before Torrasque knocked one to the ground and ripped of a leg. Torrasque? Torrasque is a true giant amongst Giant Beetles. I could ride him around like a horse if I wanted to. Last time I saw him, he was almost eleven feet long and nearly five and a half feet wide at the widest across his back. It took a single swipe to send blood spraying everywhere, accompanied by the sound of him cracking open the bones of the severed leg for the fresh, hot marrow and I swear that he was savoring the taste of fresh meat. All of my current minions prefer fresh meat to hatchery chicken. Me? I still found- and find - myself stuck with a preference for meat that is not made of human or humanoid flesh. .

I used the powers innate to me as a Dungeon Keeper to me, but it still took me a few long seconds to give the correct order. I had lacked that control during the first ambush, but now I had much better control of it. It was my fault that nobody was left alive in the previous battle and just had them massacred. I looked over at the still mewling dwarf, minus his left leg. He was growing weaker and would no doubt be dead soon.

There was a sudden commotion behind me as the sole, relatively uninjured survivor had tried and failed to breakthrough the wall of fangs that wanted to eat him. They had held to my command and kept him encircled, knocking the wind out of him as he crashed in to the cold stone floor of my dungeon and, judging from the angle of his forearm, had every bone within that particular limb broken, leaving him in no condition to fight. However, the drool that was raining on to the flagstones beneath the jaws of my minion made it clear that my current crop of "employees" were hungry for fresh meat.

The last Dwarf managed to scramble to his feet, pressing himself against the wall as my minions closed in upon him, ensuring that he would not try anything stupid. There was fear, but now more pain written in his eyes. No surprise, considering the broken arm and the numerous bruises, cuts and slashes that decorated his body, along with a particularly nasty gash than ran diagonally down his face. The only problem left was that I only had several primitive, cruel and very usual methods of torture at my disposal.

However, it does help if you have several test subjects lined up since heroes tend to die rather quickly under primitive and crudely applied torture techniques. The arrival of my favorite Imp, Cepat, who carried a bag full of the various tools, tourniquets, bandages, potions and herbs that were normally carried by a Healer meant that that the one legged dwarf would live. Strange how good that Imp was with the healing arts. I found it ridiculous that I was suddenly trying to keep these two Dwarves alive so that I could torture and then execute them later on. The sheer ridicule of this situation was not lost on me as I cracked a smile. The things I do to get information. Their skulls would be offered to the Dark Gods soon enough. That was then. Things are rather different now. Neutrality really does suck, and Kharnax and I have an understanding of sorts.

My Imps had already carved a small chamber out of the rocky earth to keep these two alive, as having the pair mix with the general population would ensure a very short life span - About two minutes past dinner or (post) combat snack time. The two had relatively comfortable beds but they knew that they were prisoners, considering that I kept them on a very short leash that kept them pretty much tied to the bed. I did not want any unfortunate accidents to befall me even if those dwarves only had three arms and three legs between the two of them. It would be an embarrassing way to die.

I left them alone for a few hours, just to let their own minds drive them crazy. They would be thinking of the kind of things that I would do to them, of a nature that I am not even remotely possible of thinking of. Terror was written clearly into the features of the pair of bearded faces when I walked into that small chamber – as if the smell of sweat and soiled trousers failed to give that away. However, there was also something besides that fear in their eyes. I think it is what you would call the dull acceptance of their fate. If I had a Torture Chamber, I would have just thrown him in and let the Mistresses get on with in. I am guessing that the rack would be the most effective at stretching Dwarves until they break. Like all living creatures, there is a level of pain that would buy me answers, and a slightly higher level of pain that would buy allegiance and their permanent, undying loyalty

They stared up at me from the "beds" that they were strapped to as I very casually let the dagger spin and dance between my fingers as if it was nothing more than a pen. I nodded slightly, and stepped to the side, allowing Cepat to levitate a tray full of similar, sharp, pointed and innovative tools in to the room. I prayed that I did not actually have to use anything on that damned tray. I wanted to go home, and I wanted to go home with as little blood upon me as possible. Therefore, I supposed that one could start with relatively easy questions, to soften them up some, "Do either of you have names that I can pronounce?"

The one legged Dwarf turned his head away from me, staring at the wall. The other had far too much courage for his own good as he spat upon the floor, the glob of yellowish mucus striking the floor next to my one of my boots. It is interesting to note that, after everything that has happened, I have not had a change of wardrobe in that realm. For over a week without a shower and my skin was crawling. I recall making a note to consult that encyclopedia in my head for some advice and help with this particular problem.

I lowered the throwing dagger that had danced between my fingers and picked up a different one. The legless dwarf was definitely the most fearful of the pair. From the stench on the left side of the room, he had been the one to soil his pants. He had also been given nothing for the pain and infection, fever and delirium was beginning to set in. It would make it easier for me to make him fear me, which would in turn make him much easier for me to question.

The blade I wielded was more something called a Kinjadl, an Orc weapon that was not really used in combat situations but rather for ritual marking and scarring, which was a painful process to be sure. Its applications for torture would no doubt be rather amusing to the right people to watch, even though I would rather not do it myself, "For the last time you stubborn, pint sized midgets! Names! Or I'm going to be forced to get, "creative!'"

The threat had the reaction that I wanted, as one mumbled and the other simply glared at me. I took the blade and experimentally ran it along the skin of my finger. I stiffened and bit down on my lip, drawing blood – a few millimeters of contact and it felt like every nerve in my hand was enflamed, as if the flesh was burning, the bones turning to dust and ash – before I lifted the blade away. I was shaking slightly from those few seconds of exposure. I would hate to know what it would feel like to have this thing run along your forearm for several long seconds.

"I couldn't hear that, what was your name?" I asked nodding my head in his direction.

"Th-Thrall," he replied, his eyes watching every little movement I made with the Kinjadl, even as I edged closer to his chained and mute comrade, "and what would his name be?"

"I," he hesitated, as I lowered the blade, until its tip rested perhaps fifteen or twenty centimeters above the chest of his friend, "I…" I brought the blade closer and gave him the death head's grin that would belong on a miserable mass murdering bastard. I was not one yet, but soon enough I would become one of the aforementioned bastards. I still give that the one legged Dwarf credit as what he lacked in limbs, he made up for in courage, "I can't reveal…"

I had not wanted it to come to this but I'd not been given a choice in the matter, as I dropped the blade and let it make contact with his skin. The result of which proved to be enlightening to say the least. I will not say that the little man did not scream. Actually, he did not now that I think about it. He wailed, loud and long, as the blade cut a line into his chest, from his left shoulder diagonally across his body, the sound of acid eating through wood or stone filling the air with a quiet sizzling sound, as a thin trail of smoke rose from his body, carrying the scent of burning flesh. I only held the blade long enough to get the job done – its times like these that I wished I could cast a certain curse, just to simplify the process, even if there was the risk of driving the victim insane under its prolonged exposure. I'd have to look in to that, but before then, I had to get other matters sorted out.

I think that at this point, you are probably turning slightly green in front of your computer screen reading what I started with. In the future, I resolved to leave this process to Vampires and Dark Mistresses. I did after acquiring the proper facilities. Suffice to say that it was a long, tortuous and drawn out affair for those involved and even though I eventually got all of the information that I wanted, a part of me, a part of my soul, was lost forever. The process started when I began going to war against these heroes, who had sought to invade my domain. I had taken a step further along the dark path when I had killed, even though it was in defense. There was no getting away from that fact. I had killed several by harnessing raw magical energy and giving it a destructive purpose.

Now I stood back, the half-dead dwarf, now a mixture of scars and burns, watching him whimper feebly as my imps dropped him unceremoniously to the ground in my Hatchery… My minions do prefer live food, and admittedly, chicken day after day would drive anyone nuts. They did and do enjoy a variety of flavors over that bland chicken. My Imps returned shortly with the second dwarf. This one had spilled his guts and revealed every single piece of information that he had in his possession. I never even had to touch him, as what I did to his friend, that he could see, that he could hear at close range, was enough "persuasion" for him to cooperate.

I knew whom and what I faced. I also knew that there was no means for me to get home in this land, being one of the smaller and magically poor ones. I would have to move on, to expand and conquer to find my way home. He looked up at me, tears in his eyes as he was carried past me, managing to squeak out his question, "Where are you taking me?"

I gave him the same smile I had before, even as I telepathically summoned my minions to me, informing them that live dwarf was now on the menu, the "meat" available to my minions on a first come, first to be served basis, "To feed you." He looked a little relieved at that, that he was not going to be tortured or tormented in the coming moments… but I had never said whether I was going to give him food or make him food now did I?

Another step down the path and another fragment of my soul lost forever, as I turned away and made my way back to the Dungeon Heart. He actually believed me, as he reached down, and plucked up a chicken in his hand. I think he realized the double meaning of my words. I could not help but smile. A fitting end for a sacrifice to the Dark Gods, as my minions closed in from all sides. He screamed as they charged forward, and I caught just a glimpse of his flailing arms before they tore him apart, my Giant Flies dragging his upper body towards the rafters of my dungeon, even as my Giant Beetles began to fight over the remaining lower half of his still jerking body.

Plans for the immediate future unfolded in my mind, which included drawing in more warriors and expanding as necessary to accommodate them, so that I could crush the Lord of Eversmile, for when he decided to come down here and bring the fight to me. I do not know what motivated me to do that. I just did it. Something was going on, and I had no idea what that just was. When these Heroes come, and they would come very soon, I would have a variety of surprises ready for them so they could die and fertilize the top soil of my hatchery. These were dark thoughts for someone who still had a large chunk of humanity in him. However, I could feel it, and in a sense, see it dissipating. I was also beginning to care less and less about that.

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