How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 7

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Yenrab was laughing at this point, thoroughly enjoying himself. The faint sounds of titanic anger echoed up from the rear of the complex.

  “Jiak avhink avhe boukuk wanavuk avo ukee lat young gijak,” the orc behind the gate said in a worried voice. “Jiak avold lat avo leave. Jiak know lat. Yenrab. Lat ayh mir folk. Juukav go. Thiuk iuk ij avroll. Gurat ukeaukonun warrioruk fighav agh louke avo avrolluk. Lat ayh beardleukuk, ukcarleukuk, agh lat liwo be ukmaukhun.”

  “Guys, the orc says he actually knows of me and likes my work, and so he wants us to run. He said trolls are way too tough for newbies like us.”

  “He knows of you? How in the seven hells does everybody know who you are Yenrab? All you did was run around saving people from their own stupidity!” Carric exclaimed.

  “I dunno. I guess I’d theorize that we all get our fifteen years of fame?”

  “I’m famous too,” Tracy confided.

  “That’s just great,” Carric stated in frustration. “I bet that orc has a few stories about him as well. Anyways, let’s just get this over with.”

  “Yeah, hurry it up. I say we can take him. Just keep insulting him. And, hey, I’m going to slick this place up with all of our oil while you talk,” further suggested Tracy.

  Carric and Yenrab both gave him their assent, and Yenrab laid down another volley of insults. The troll’s roars of rage became louder and nearer.

  “Nalal jiak’m goaumn avo go kurrauz wiavh mausan companionuk. Najor’uk gone berukerk. Jiak wiukh lat nalal Yenrab shal your afavas life.”

  “What did he say?” asked Tracy.

  “He said he’s getting out of the way; his boss has gone berserk and will smash anything and anyone in his way. Oh, and he’ll see us in the afterworld.”

  “Nice guy. I like him,” said a half-laughing Tracy.

  “Yeah. Orcs kind of get a bum rap. I hope things look up for him in the future.”

  “ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

  “He’s almost here, guys. Get ready. Torch up, Tracy. Carric, umm, make some noise!”

  ***

  They all thought, in a dazed and dazzled way, that the fates had been quite kind. Ribs had been broken, noses busted, eyes blackened, sorcerers cooked, and, indeed, crap had been released. The sheer terror of a troll is such that neither words nor pictures can entirely describe the sensation. It is the kind of horror that acts as a battering ram to the gates of fragile, young, adventurous psyches.

  The troll had thrown open the gate and stooped low to fit his gangly and beastly frame through. The adventurers had stood their ground in heroic defiance, blasting him with magic, hacking him with axe, and lighting up the oil all about them.

  And it had reared from the flame, then found a way around it. Leaping, sliding, dodging, and swatting, the troll had flung Yenrab hard into the wall of the cavern with a swipe of its gangly green limbs before tossing the bard back to the entrance, all the time shrieking in its devilish common/orcish mongrel tongue and glaring with ferocity at the lot of them.

  It wasn’t until the troll faced down with the sorcerous wild mage of Coraellon that he met his own dose of terror. Tracy, perhaps figuring there was no reason not to at this point, had used the minor powers at her call to splash herself in burning oil from the ground. She then screamed in pain and agony while charging directly at the suddenly terrified troll who, in all of its many travails, had never ever encountered a creature so uncaring of its own life and existence. It had loped back through the gate, sealing it shut and screaming about within the gang’s lair. Then the troll bellowed in such a way as to suggest the thing was crying, even though its brief battle had finished.

  And now here the adventurers were, sprawled about the cavern at strange angles and in immense pain. But also victory? They all could feel the divine rumble of a few beings grumbling that this had been so.

  “That. Hurt,” Yenrab grunted.

  “A lot,” Carric added. “I’ve got . . . ung . . . some healing magic but . . . ahg . . . well, it’s pretty basic.”

  “I—huff—am—huff—in,” the smoldering sorcerer gasped out. “Lay—huff—it—huff—on—huff—me.”

  “Gah. Okay, guys—I—oof—I gotta sing it. I sprained—ack—my hand.”

  “Just do it! Agh.”

  Carric pulled himself up, breaking into an award-winning aria. Dips and valleys in voice rose into fantastic crescendoes, weaving back and forth between the joys and sadness that accompany life. Twenty minutes later, the spell finally launched, bathing them all in an aura of light and relaxing their muscles even as it creased over burns and knitted closed scratches and scrapes.

  “That was a nice song and all, friend Carric. But I think, if we are all going to adventure together, maybe you need to make an abridged version?” Tracy offered in inquisitive suggestion.

  “I was never supposed to need it, you know? Not for anything more than making people at the local tavern feel a bit better,” Carric responded defensively.

  Yenrab got to his feet, and feeling better, stretched his limbs, and popped his back. “Well, Carric, you do you. I’m not sure how much I care so long as it works. But, guys, I think we are going to have to reevaluate our quest here. That troll is still in there, and he is pissed.”

  “Are you sure?” Tracy asked with too much intensity. “I think Carric put him to sleep.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it. I’ll figure out a new song.”

  “Do you do requests?” Yenrab asked in feigned innocence, a glimmer in his monstrous eyes.

  Carric sighed and chuckled.

  “Maybe I ought to. But, hey, back to the task at hand. New quest—give this job to some other guys,” Carric Smith smirked as he said it, perhaps a bit amazed at how awful it had all turned out. “What do you all think?”

  “Agreed!”

  “Agreed!”

  “Right, then. Off we go. We’ll let the first person we see know that this is well beyond us, and then let us continue onto Gennopolis.”

  ***

  The novice adventurers, blooded but not victorious, found a farmer boy, his bare feet dirty with play rather than animal muck, stomping an anthill on the way back to the village. Rather than view the disappointed faces that they knew would await them, they paid the boy a gold coin and sent him to tell the village their story. They had frightened the band, and it may have been enough, but probably the villagers would need to hire more professional help to deal with this menace, or attain it from the national constabulary. And off they went, framed by the bloodred rays of the sun setting over Narania, bathed in the bonds of battle.

  Chapter 9: Portents Aplenty

  How to be an Adventurer—Making a Party You Can Be Proud Of

  Well, you bit off a bit more than you could chew, didn’t you? Not to worry! The first quest rarely ends in victory excepting, of course, those done under the auspices of the most gentle and forgiving celestial overseers. It is time to move forward, enlightened, to enlist a fuller, better-rounded party of four to six persons which most often offers the best punch per pound. Take advantage of any potential allies by giving them a space in your crew. A group of several adventurers is enough to take down quite the mighty foes and, if tempered with experience, could even well become the very individuals the world needs to help save it, as these things often go.

  ***

  Late summer had turned to early, and then late, fall, as the group marched across the northern continent, with its slow summer, fast autumns, and tremendously long winters. That static and eternal heat that had hung over them had been replaced with blissful, cooler, less resentful breezes, and the taste of snow to come. The terrain had changed as well as they made their way from the hilly coasts of the Reaches, through the tremendous oaks of the interior, past scrubby patches of deciduous forest, and into a hilly land of stunted trees that struggled hard to stay apex over the brush they competed with. Yenrab stomped one mindlessly as he trudged forward. Tra
cy saw and let out a squeak of protest.

  Overtop the scene, crisp with a bit of frost, danced the notes of a tune. Not anything fancy, the again-male Tracy thought, examining each individual one as it entered his head through his ears. But it was pleasant nonetheless.

  The author, of course, was Carric. That strange man was the same race as him, with the same hybridization of elf and man. Yet, somehow, he knew nothing of the joys of Coraellon.

  Tracy flashed a sign, a C and then two Ls, with his fingers to remind him that the God Coraellon looked over them. The bard didn’t even notice!

  The sorcerer grumbled and grumped, trying to imagine being so bereft of that gentle god. It made him shiver with unpleasant tingles. He skipped unhappily to shake off the chaotic whorls of bad energy.

  Carric stopped strumming his tune, looking at Tracy with irritated concern.

  “Are you alright, Tracy Riley?”

  The man’s voice was annoyed, but tempered with friendliness as well.

  Am I alright? Internally, he frowned, casting a glance at his female and androgynous ids. Each was the same as him, yet they were also a bit different, with their own strengths and weaknesses only truly known to himself.

  His female self answered him, for now content to ride passenger in this body that they shared.

  If you tell him what bothers you, he will be confused. The chaotic energies of this world are not well understood by those who aren’t born wild. Tell him you are fine. Explain that this is normal.

  “Yes, Carric. I was perturbed for a moment, but now I am fine. Please, play some more. It will help me feel more like myself.”

  The bard frowned, but not with anger, and then he picked his song back up where he had left off, beseeching summer to stay with them just a little longer.

  Neither Tracy nor Yenrab dared to interrupt as they listened. Carric Smith had added something extra to it this time. It sounded almost the same, but it was thicker and more meaningful. As they listened to the melodic ballad about breezes making things seem fine, their limbs didn’t feel as heavy as they had.

  Tracy began to hum along. Yenrab smiled and joined suit, his voice clearly unused to the activity but arcing and weaving in unexpected ways that made the tune sound a bit exotic.

  This is what we are made for, Tracy thought, delighted to be caught up in such a beautiful mind-meet. He could feel joy all around him, and he gave himself to it, barking out an ecstatic and beautiful laugh and pirouetting with his arms outward like a child’s top at play. A long and thick arm, scabbed and a bit hairy, reached out and stopped him.

  “Guys, ya gotta watch out around here,” Yenrab warned, pointing with his other hand at a clump of stalks swaying innocently in the frigid fall wind. That plant right there, well, I don’t know its right and proper name, but back in the tribe we called it the Mother-in-Law.”

  Carric narrowed his eyes.

  “The Mother-in-Law? That doesn’t sound threatening at all!”

  “I take it you’ve never been married,” Yenrab giggled, punchline accomplished. “Seriously, though, that’s what we call it.”

  Tracy’s eyes sparkled.

  “What is a Mother-in-Law?”

  “Well, that’s what the mom of your wife is called,” Carric explained patiently.

  “Ah, a wife thing. Yeah, we don’t do that back in the commune. Everyone’s mom is everyone else’s mom,” Tracy stated, beginning to sound bored.

  “Hold on now,” Yenrab commanded. Everyone stopped.

  “Are you telling me there are no marriage rites? How do you keep track of who is, uh, ya know”—his face blushed as he talked—“who is making babies with whom?”

  “We just go to the mating hall and see who else is looking to have some, and then we all pile together and enjoy ourselves.”

  Yenrab looked like he was choking. Carric, though, was rosy-cheeked and excited.

  “Hells, yes! That’s what I’m talking about! If I become famous, I’m going to have a huge mansion, and you bet I’m going to have my own mating hall.”

  “Or just come to Freemeet. We’ve got plenty.”

  Yenrab looked ready to collapse.

  “Alrighty,” he moved on, “now, if you will just look at the Mother-in-Law, watch out for it and don’t get close.”

  “Why, Yenrab? And why is it called the Mother-in-Law?” Carric questioned, a grin still plastered onto his normally nervous face. The trip had slowly gotten him to be closer and less shy with his new companions.

  “Because, Carric, if you get too close, it will rip your testicles off!”

  The bard’s face dropped in an instant. His hands dropped as he covered his balls. Tracy, for his part, spun in a circle and chanted some words, quickly metamorphosing into a woman.

  “Am I good, Yenrab?” she asked in a scared squeak. Yenrab chuckled.

  “Yeah, you’re good. Listen just everyone: be careful for a while and follow my lead. It is what you paid me for, and this area here seems a bit magic tainted, so stay on your toes.”

  ***

  A magical event in this place of errant magic wasn’t entirely unexpected, but they weren’t well prepared for it either when it happened. Yenrab was leading the way, careful but cheerful, when all at once the sky went black. They all spun to see each other, and to their surprise, everything was still quite visible despite the apparent absence of the sun.

  Turn back, a voice sounded. It wasn’t too loud, but it deafened them nonetheless with its malevolence. Turn back NOW!

  “Umm,” Carric stuttered.

  Tracy looked around with a meticulous eye. Check the auras, her ids advised her. Weaving a cantrip about her eyes, she surveyed the land. All magical things in the vicinity would give off waves, like flames, each imbued with a color itself tied to the spectrum of magic, and the schools of magic therein.

  All the land about them radiated a dark-red aura. Fire and necromancy, she judged it, far from being an expert in these things like her non-wild, school-trained counterparts.

  “Umm,” Carric repeated.

  Yenrab snorted.

  “Look, Gharag, or whoever you are,” Yenrab challenged, shaking a fist at the sky. “I don’t know why you don’t want me to be an adventurer, but if you think you are hard enough, come down here and try it.”

  “Umm?!” Carric stammered, obviously quite frightened.

  Tracy searched the pockets of her robes, grabbing a pinch of this and a clove of that, then rubbed it all together in her hands. A few sprinkles escaped and fell to the dirt.

  “It’s an illusion,” the sorcerer said, all at once casting a pile of glittering and glowing sand out in an arc. It separated and rose, washing away the darkness and the voice.

  “Thanks to the gods!” Carric spurted, relief evident in every nook and cranny upon his face.

  Tracy smirked. “Don’t thank all the gods, Carric. Thank Coraellon.”

  ***

  Yenrab was feeling cocky as they set up camp that evening. He’d just told a god to go stuff himself and was none the worse for wear. Plus Tracy, well, he didn’t know what in the hells she had done, but it didn’t just work. It worked well.

  Yenrab walked over to where Tracy sat doing Tracy stuff, and he clapped a hand onto her shoulder.

  “Hey, Tracy, great job today. I didn’t think to say that, and ya know, I should have.”

  Tracy looked at Yenrab’s hand, closed her eyes, and was suddenly androgynous, her breasts still well in place, but so too a goatee and an obviously large endowment in hir nethers.

  Yenrab pulled back his hand, startled.

  “Hey, what did you do that for?” the barbarian asked, confused.

  “I just wanted to make sure we are on the same page, friend Yenrab,” ze replied. “I didn’t want you to get any ideas.”

  “I, grr, I, fuh, gah! What?!” Yenrab burbled in embarrassed confusion.

  They looked at each other, confusion on their faces.

  “You started the mating-hall ritual. I wanted yo
u to understand that there is no hall here and know that is not going to happen.”

  Yenrab blushed and sighed.

  “I don’t know if I will ever understand you, Tracy. But good job today anyways. I’m gonna go out and see if I can’t get us something better than hard tack.”

  ***

  Things were quiet in the aftermath of Yenrab’s departure. It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything to talk about, as often seems to be the case when it is just two people with differing interests. No, it was that Carric was sitting close to the fire and just staring into the flames. He had been quiet ever since the incident with the god or demon earlier that day, and having a fire at his feet had done nothing to thaw the freeze of his soul.

  “Is something wrong, Carric?” Tracy asked, teasing grit out from under hir nails by the flickering light of the fire.

  Carric looked at Tracy and gave out one long heavy sigh.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Tracy pressed on, hir voice dripping with empathy.

  Carric sighed again.

  “Yeah. I mean, no, I don’t want to talk about it, but yeah, I should.”

  “Go on,” Tracy persuaded him, pushing slowly and gently at his thoughts.

  “I failed hard back there. I fell apart. I froze. I don’t know if there was anything I could have done, but if there was, I can tell you that I didn’t do it. It was terrifying. I was terrified.”

  “Keep going.”

  Carric looked into Tracy’s eyes.

  “I am nothing. I was nothing growing up, and I’m nothing now. That magic book seems to think I’m one of you guys, but what can I do? Get beat up by trolls and scared pantsless by an illusion?”

  “You are still wearing pants,” Tracy observed.

  “Yeah, but I shouldn’t be,” Carric informed zir. “The insides of these things are absolutely filthy and have been since our encounter.”

  “Ew,” Tracy noted, wrinkling hir nose.

  “You don’t even know,” Carric added. “Nor do you want to.”

  Tracy looked both ways to make sure that no one was listening, and Carric found himself doing the same. Shaking his head, he wondered if crazy was communicable.