Chapter 5:
Beheaded Messengers.
I had combed through the encyclopedia of information in my mind, and found that of the many different texts and treatises written by various, so called "expert researchers" and Keepers, the Giant Fly was perhaps the most useless of minions that a Keeper could have in their employ, and definitely not worth what they had to be paid . And I found that I would have to agree with those experts. Beyond basic reconnaissance duties, they were almost completely useless. It was funny to view and read that the encyclopedic knowledge within my head rated the Giant Beetle as being the "un-winged equal of the Giant Fly." They were useful as meat shields in the opening moments of combat, but were often butchered by enemies with ranged combat ability before either species could close to their effective combat ranges.
I had dueled several of the Demon Spawn in a friendly fashion and found that what made them so difficult to defeat. It was their inherent scaly carapace which deflected both spell and blade with equal effectiveness. Not to mention that their inbred ability to cast a healing spell, that minimized the negative impact of nearly any inflicted wound that cost little in terms of mana and time. If the spell is employed when the wounds are first inflicted, it is akin to facing a constantly fresh opponent. Not to mention that their natural ferocity and almost stubborn-like refusal to back down from a fight made them very deadly warriors. Coupled with the screaming magical projectile that they could cast left no doubt in my mind that they will serve well as front line, or supporting troops. Thus far, I'd yet to meet any foe with a decent number of supporting warriors that would take the form of Fairies, Priestesses, Wizards and Witches.
When one of the Giant Flies reported the presence of a party of Heroes, investigating the tunnels some kilometers away, working their way through the maze of passages that would lead in, I swear I found a smile form on my face – a smile that would have made the Dark Lord of Death coil in fear and Satan smile in glee. Kharnax, the Dark God of War and Blood would definitely smile down upon me and my forces at the blood and gore about to be splattered upon the walls and ceiling of these tunnels. I had pretty much taken a liking to Kharnax as a possible Patron. He's simple and direct, uncaring of whether your offerings are given by blade and spell or as a sacrifice.
I heard more than felt, the screech of pain from that unfortunate Giant Fly as one of his wings was sheared off by some rouge. The rouge had impressive aim, as the wing of my minion had been severed at its wing joint. My insect minion crippled it ran on his six legs as fast as they could carry him, her or it, as the case may be. While every treatise that I have access to in my mind tells me that the Giant Fly is useless, every minion in my employ is valuable at the present moment. Not to mention that I had something akin to sentimentality towards the first minions I recruited. That would change later on, as I still had more humanity, emotion and sentimentality in me at this point than I would have in the future.
"Warriors of the Black Flame," I barked through the psychic link, "Rescue Party!" I employed the power of the Keeper's hand to sweep up a plethora of my minions. These were merely the first wave. I would need their heavier armor to break up the enemy pursuit and a vast number of magical projectiles to drive back the enemy. We are ready to face them and my minions would be more than happy to slaughter all heroes in my name. But to ensure our success, the Lord of the Land would have to be drawn to me; for there is no way that I was going to go to him, to battle him above ground in the light."
The rescue party formed up, a mix of Giant Beetles and Demon Spawn and the Keeper's Hand dropped us just ahead of my maimed warrior whose current activity involved running for his life, desperately trying to shake his pursuers. The Beetles dropped into the fray closed their ranks, creating an armored line of black chitin armor with gnashing teeth that would grind flesh and bone with equal ease. It gave the charging heroes a moment of pause as they surveyed the sudden appearance of a line of toothy death, before I struck down the first Dwarf with a spell that was quietly literally, shocking: He lost control over his body, foaming at the mouth and twitching upon the floor. The Demon Spawn had dropped in and formed their own lines, grinning as they charged their own wave of screaming magical projectiles.
Two of my Imps teleported into the battle zone and grasped my crippled minion, before teleporting back to the Lair within my Dungeon to ensure his healing and safety. Don't get me wrong. Its not that I'm going soft and sentimental but more of a case of me not being certain of when or where my next minion will come through that magical portal. I saw a prime opportunity to battle test that new spell of mine, and give my minions the real work out that they were no doubt desperately craving. Considering that there were only a dozen Dwarves and Rouges.
No words were necessary as I let my fingers do the talking, unleashing a barrage of fireballs, followed closely by a barrage of screeching magical projectiles from my Demon Spawn. To their credit, the heroes reacted with practiced efficiency as the Rouges dropped behind the Dwarves who had raised their shields to absorb the barrage. I paused as my Demon Spawn laid down an even spread of suppressing fire, while consulting the map in my mind, and I had to smile when I realized where we were located between the mass confines of the underground. It only has to be said once, that when locked in combat, the commands of your Keeper are to be followed, no matter how bizarre they may seem, and when you have the enemy pinned down and outnumbered, mine was not the most logical of orders. I knew it even though I gave, "Fighting withdrawal!"
Many commanders and leaders are worried about the three C's of warfare: Command, Control, and Communication. This psychic link between a Keeper and his minions is one of the greatest tools available to a battlefield commander, especially one like me, that leads from the front lines. The ability to issue Commands en masse or to micromanage the individual allows for a flawless execution of strategy or adaptation on the fly, as was the case right now.
Having been fighting in the southern reaches just beyond my Dungeon, it was proving to be a somewhat taxing process of luring these idiots in the right direction. Ten minutes of hit and fade and, in some cases, outright running to make sure that these idiots followed up was beginning to annoy me to no end. But after twenty minutes of this, we were finally at the edge of a water filled pool. It was clean, and moments before it had been relatively calm and serene, an oasis of peace in contrast to its surroundings. It was so no longer as my warriors and I charged through it, leading a feigned retreat. I teleported across the water as the Hand swept up my minions, the Demon Spawn first, depositing on the far side of it, moments after I reappeared and began to lay down a blistering barrage of magic to give my Beetles enough time to cross the open expanse. Walking through water that is about knee high is relatively difficult, but for my Beetles the water is closer to chest high – they were practically swimming through it.
"Hold the line!" I command, as another salvo of fireballs arched from one hand, blade casually spinning in the other. Even though the line holder strategy was working, the shield line that the heroes had crafted was holding its own just as well as mine was, as wave upon wave of water and magic hammered against those shields, either being absorbed or deflected. But it did not matter, as the end game was upon my foes, "Cease fire!" It took several seconds before my minions ceased; the last of the spells aimed low, sending up plumes of water or blasting steam, while my Beetles closed their ranks, and sank low on coiled muscles ready to pounce like striking cobras. The Heroes used this opportunity to push forward into the water, but held their place in the line carefully, still maintaining a perfect shield wall. But I wasn't planning on hosing their shields with spells until somewhere something gave way.
Water maintains its properties, and boils at precisely one hundred degree Celsius. Now I'm not sure how hot the water actually got, but when the pool of water that you suddenly stand in turns to steam, and that water is up to your chest – if you're a dwarf – or your waist – if you're a more "normal" sized human, I surmise that it hurts a great deal. Where it could have been necessary to actually wade in there and slaughter them one by one. This way, I ensured that they were all dead.
A gust of superheated air and the roaring crackle of flames erupted from my hand caused the water to seemingly recoiled like a living thing, churning and boiling under the intense heat, and rising in a scalding steam. The heroes began to scream as their flesh was boiled away from their bones, their howls of agony lasting several ear drum rending moments while the burning pain swept through them. Their entire shield wall collapsing as the dwarves fell in to the water to be boiled alive. The readied barrage of magic missiles shrieked their pleasure as they scythed through the heroes still standing in what can only be described as a massacre. All I could do was smile as we waited for what was left of the waters to cool before I would send in my warriors en masse to mop up what was left of the survivors. Death would be a fitting fate for these heroes, who would undoubtedly want it if any of them had somehow survived such agony.
I had turned my back from the entire battle when two of my flies reported that a pair of Rouges had been spotted, and that they were attempting to slip away unnoticed through the shadows. I let them flee for their lives, because I know that they would bring the Lord of the Land down here, to my world, to deal with me and the rest of my kinfolk. Let him come. I'll have his skull as a trophy, his blood to offer the Dark Gods, especially the Dark God of War, and his soul as my personal private plaything to torment, whether in this life, or the next.
I issued a fresh series of commands, and let my minions carry out my instructions. The two Giant Flies I had summoned to me were more than capable of carrying the severed heads of the ten heroes who had been boiled alive as I crafted a little note, and shoved it in o the mouth of one of the severed heads. That note read, "Twelve little heroes came exploring in my world of shadow and stone. Ten little heroes met the Keeper, and were stripped to the bone. Two little heroes ran away in tears. Ask them what happened, and you shall know their fears. Come down here and face me, coward!"
I was more than a little irritated at the fact that the Warlocks were now completely beyond my reach and that I would have to stay and actually crush this pest before actually being able to move onward. It was of some consolation that I would be able to add this despicably happy and cheerful place to the territory already under my rule. Task complete – at least my part of it, I teleported back to the Heart Chamber within my Dungeon, and rested a hand against the side of the massive, beating organ. It was good to be home. It is rather strange as the Heart itself has no door to speak off, and that I can enter it by simply placing my hand against it. Contrary to what you might expect, the interior is much better than the exterior. I have the equivalent of a generously large, twelve hundred square-meter apartment divided in to a six room apartment. There was even a kitchen, and something that I suppose you could call a bathroom. Obviously, the least used rooms are the cleanest. No it's not the bathroom. It's actually the kitchen, as I cannot cook. I kill better than I cook. I can burn water in any kitchen. I am a Keeper, but I still don't know how to cook. The bathroom is not that different from the bathroom of my home world, but the key difference is the magical shower and it took some serious getting used to.
While it did clean and get rid of all the blood, gore and stains that tended to mar my clothing, and various unpleasant odors, standing while being engulfed in a mist or fog that does the cleaning leaves very little for one to do. What I would like, is a steaming hot shower, the kind where you can stand and feel the near boiling water hammer against your aching back and shoulders, like a very rough massage, working and easing all the kinks out. Now all I get to do is stand there. Sucks doesn't it? I didn't even have time to stand under what passed for a shower – I wanted to make sure that my message was delivered, and I figured the response would be worth a laugh or two. With the amount of killing I've done, I've not had much of a reason to smile lately, apart from the fact that killing is rather fun, once you get over your distaste for it.
Moving across the massively proportioned rooms, I made a note that I would have to adjust the size of this place… It's too large for one person, and as the Keeper who occupies it, I can change the interior on a whim and I find myself wishing that I had thought of it sooner. I simply reshaped my surroundings, bringing to me everything I would need to see what my pair of messengers were busy doing. I would be able to see my minions, and I just wanted to know what the reaction to my "presents" would be, because I was getting more than a little tired of waiting for this self-righteous, arrogant prick to come down here so that I can get on with the process of butchering him.
I could only watch and smile as the view unfolded before me. The Lord of this Land was undoubtedly going to be of little challenge. It seems that my presence is going to do more than just annoy him as my Giant Flies, having buzzed their way to the surface, are now about to go about the business of interrupting his dinner with a certain savage glee – driven of course by me. It took them only a few minutes to locate the Lord, his homestead was easily the largest of all the buildings in the entire town and the only one carved of stone with glass windows - stained glass at that that would indicate supreme wealth and a fair level of confidence in his defense and abilities.
It took my flies only moments to remedy the security weakness those windows presented as they punched through them, sending slivers flying in all directions, cascading down on a ground of ceremonial guards who dropped to the ground, covering themselves before they regained their feet and charged forward, attempting to skewer my Flies with their measly pig-stickers while the insects hovered far above, and out of their reach. They swarmed the length of the dining chamber, and I paused for a moment to take note of the gaudy finery that this particular Lord had chosen to see as decorations which included paintings, murals and frescos lining the walls and ceilings, portraying what I believe to be himself or his ancestors in conquest over various Demons and the tide of Darkness, including the fall of the Frozen Throne.
To his credit, the Lord of the Land actually lived up to his name, standing and drawing his blade without hesitation, and dropped to a defensive stance with his blade held high. I had not sent my Flies on a suicide mission against the Lord of the Land – but even as they flew over his head, they "bombed" him in a single pass with ten severed heads.
Circling once overhead, their task completed, I let out a laugh as one of my flies waggled his wings, rocking from side to side, almost as if taunting the fuming humans beneath him. They sped out of his home the same way that they had come in, but not before I received a glimpse of him losing his temper – and who wouldn't all things considered. He was absolutely livid, and fuming about the dishonorable conduct, and violation of the rules of warfare and so forth. What? There are rules to warfare around here? You got to be kidding me. While any other aligned Keeper may respect these rules of warfare, in my mind, the rules, all of the rules laid down by the warriors of light have only one purpose: To be broken and ground under foot. The note that had been scribbled and rudely stuffed into the mouth of one of the severed heads was more than enough to get the point across with sufficient clarity. Their rules are not rules that I will respect or follow.
The look on his face was beyond priceless to me, as he shouted for his guards, retainers, and followers, determined to bring every single warrior that he could bring to bear against me and my kin. It would be a long day before he showed up, and it would also be his last. While my Flies had taken the better part of a day to find him and deliver the message, my warriors had been stuck in the Training Room, no doubt itching for a real workout after demolishing the pack of miniscule rats that had passed for heroes, and provided the "message" just delivered.
Everything was proceeding as I planned, but I made one minor modification to my plans of conquest once I had his head to decorate my battle standard: I want his kitchen staff kept alive, because if I have to eat anymore of that exceedingly bland chicken, I can tell you that I am going to go completely and absolutely insane. Hopefully, the kitchen staff would be more than happy to work for me, with a little friendly persuasion, and cook food that had more taste and flavor that hatchery chicken. I am the Keeper, and while the power is wonderful, I just wanted to go home. Every action I took I believed I was taking because I wanted to go home, to find the magic users to guide me, to find the passage, or the portal that would take me home to what I believed that I had lost when I was teleported here. I didn't realize that there was going to be no going back for me, even though a grievous price would be extracted from me. As much as I wanted to, I never could go back to find out what had happened to the woman I'd left behind, and left my heart with too… I just hope that she remembers it, and me, the way that just the thoughts of her have kept me warm, these many, lonely nights.
Sometimes, being a Dungeon Keeper, sucks.
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