Damien stood unsteadily in a cavernous hall lit with blazing torches, his arms bound behind him in chains. Overhead, towering pillars supported a dome of cut rock. The atmosphere was oppressively muggy. Pearls of sweat raced down the sides of his face. He looked as if through a red haze, a mist darkening his perception. A powerful thirst gripped him like a vise.
“So THIS is the human that WRIGGLED from your grasp,” a voice so thick it was nearly viscous, echoed.
Damien searched for the origin of the grotesque sound, but all was a blur. He made out the shapes of bodies standing in ranks on either side of him. Their odor (or perhaps his own) was pungent. There–a familiar silhouette. The ork from before. The one with the nasty whip. He could see now he was back in the company of the goblins. But the setting was changed; no ceiling of his former prison had ever reached so high.
“Yes, your Covetousness,” the ork grunted. “The filthy man tried to escape but has been recaptured. He slew one of my worthless goblins. Shall we flay his skin as punishment?”
A strange frictional sound, like sandpaper sliding across wet stone, pricked Damien’s ears. His eyes began to focus.
Slithering up before him was a large creature, unlike anything he had ever seen. It was slug-like, or worm-like, yet also vaguely reptilian. The best description his mind could conjure was Jabba the Hutt meets No-Face from Spirited Away. The creature looked him over, then turned its thick body away as if disinterested.
“Did you bring my SNACK, Urlug?”
The Ork Taskmaster thrust a pointed finger at a subordinate goblin and barked an order. The goblin, quivering, dutifully dragged a tinkling brown sack before the beast.
“Every precious pebble we could scour from that pit,” the ork replied.
The creature riffled through the sack with gangly yet somehow flabby arms. It produced several iridescent feldspars and milky white quartzes, gleaming in the firelight, and proceeded to gobble them down with ravenous, squelching ingurgitation. It was like a snake swallowing a whole rat.
“On the Master’s orders, every crumb of gold must be LICKED clean and shipped to the one they call Oathbreaker. Dig and devour! Strip the land bare! But the precious jewels are MINE!”
The creature swung its bulk around and started to circle Damien, leaving a faint slime trail in its wake. The goblins, and even the ork, gave it a wide berth.
“WHAT is your NAME?” the creature oozed, addressing Damien directly.
Strangely, Damien did not feel afraid. He felt only numbness and fog. He did, however, hear the clinking of untold gemstones deep in the gut of this beast.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
CRACK!
There was a sharp strike of a whip across his back. Damien fell to his knees, scraping them against the hard floor, then staggered back to his feet. Even the pain of the whip felt oddly distant. Muted.
“You will answer Slaggmaw the Covetous when he speaks!” the ork bellowed with rage.
“STAY your whip, Urlug. The man-child has drunk of the d?dsprit. He may not have his WITS about him. Isn’t that so?” Slaggmaw said, bringing his slathering gullet close to Damien’s ear. “You’ve tasted the necrocordial? But one taste is NEVER enough. Tell me your name!”
“Daemon Nightblade.” Even the reply felt automatic. Damien licked his lips. Such a terrible, terrible thirst. A burning within his breast longing to be quenched.
The mention of the d?dsprit sent several goblins chittering. Words like ‘rare’ and ‘costly’ and ‘madness' were bandied about, until a baleful glare from Urlug silenced them.
“RELEASE his chains,” Slaggmaw commanded.
“But… your Covetousness…” Urlug stammered.
“DO as I say. This man-child was wasted as slave labor. He is resourceful. And he can be of more use to us in OTHER ways.”
Urlug reluctantly ordered two of his goblin underlings to begin unshackling Damien. Then he held his head down in a show of obedience.
Damien rubbed his wrists and tried to orient himself to his surroundings. Beyond the hall, a massive mining operation was underway. A deep network of pits and shafts pocked the ground, while smelters burned away. Scaffolding supported trains of shackled slaves hacking the walls to bits in an endless search for gold, while makeshift platforms on rope and pulley systems plunged miners into sooty darkness.
“A different sort of human has been causing problems. A Paladin with yellow hair,” Slaggmaw continued.
Some recognition twitched within Damien. He turned back to look at the large creature. His free hands, now hanging at his sides, balled into fists.
“A Paladin? But–” Urlug blurted.
“She’s acting on her own, but she IS a Paladin. Rumor says she’s been consorting with some useless halflings to the southeast, on the other side of that foul lake. The Master won’t tolerate any interruptions. The gold must be shipped on schedule!”
“Yes…” the ork agreed. “We’ve all but cleared out operations at the foothills mine. And there will be a surprise waiting for anyone foolish enough to stick their noses in our business.”
Slaggmaw once again slithered up until he was right in Damien’s face.
“Give this assassin back his weapons. You’ll work for US, won’t you? Do well and you will be REWARDED.”
Thoughts swam through the cloud of Damien’s muddled perception. A human female–a Paladin with yellow hair. A do-gooder. Somehow, it just had to be Chastity. The urge to use his deathmark ability seethed anew.
“I will work with you, not for you… but my thirst…” Damien managed through his parched throat. His own voice sounded strange to him. “My thirst…”
Slaggmaw laughed, a disquieting, gurgling rumble. He reached into a skinfold and revealed a small vial. Uncapping it, he passed it briefly under Damien’s nostrils. The red liquid within caused a surge of desperation within the ragged young man. Everything within him yearned to lunge out and seize the container, but he fought to restrain himself.
“BWA HAH HAH HAH. Rid us of these pests and you may yet live to IMBIBE another draught of the deathliquor you crave, Nightblade.”
