The Tunnels of Woe
Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other
Chapter 1 Part 4: Pushing Back the Shadows
A purple hue blew up from the deck slowing time and space to a crawl. The body of the beast now fully manifested was trapped in the forces of the world that all bodies were enslaved to. Even as Tirro watched the beast floated at an agonizing pace toward his exposed position on the deck.
The sight reminded Tirro of a cloud gazing amongst the tallest branches of the Godtree where the air was thin and frigid to the touch. A most disturbing and unsettling cloud to be sure, but still a cloud that would fade with time. Or would have if he truly was on his fathers summer estate overlooking the world in high Tumogeni the highest of the Veni cities. Instead this one continued a most lackadaisical attempt to murder Tirro. Albeit so slowly a toddler could dodge the outstretched claws with relative ease, and laugh on his lips.
The creature must have realized the futility of his position so as the deckhand watched the beast releasing its physical form to escape the trap, but now that the magic of the elves had taken hold even this process was slowed. The body rippled as the edges of the fur and tips of its claws began to dissipate into raging black shadow and smoke. The green eyes still burned looked to and fro with fear and desperation on full display upon its prideful visage. Uncle Farmus had much sage advice on anger in combat.
Rage and Godly indignation at evil should never be mistaken with prideful wrath or headless bloodlust. Those were the downfall of a warrior, and it would seem demon alike. Cold and calculated was the fury of the Father in Heaven. Not given to brash acts, but full of justice like a tempered sword cutting through all sinew and bone with perfect majesty. Not the wild swinging of a barbarian’s ax being more animal than man.
“Make your foes unbalanced with their wild untempered emotions, and like the undisciplined smith’s creation they’re brittle strikes will shatter in a most spectacular display of imbecility.” Uncle Farmus had said while wagging his ship’s cutlass in a derisive fashion in his nephew’s face. Tirro could remember his uncle well as the deckhand took deliberate slow steps back to the cabin of the ship, the monster’s eyes following each step.
Long years of privateering in the Doge’s service and under the auspices of the trading guilds had tanned his uncle’s skin, and scared his body from the many scrapes and foiled schemes of his youth. Tirro had learned well the tacts of a rogue even as he had the blessing of the honorable Paladin in his great grandfather Dillo. The deckhand saw no reason why he shouldn’t combine both lessons to crush the cowardly, and render low the prideful.
Tirro plucked the arbalest from its mount by the deck door while his eyes never left the slow entropy-ridden flight of his enemy. A light bolt was already loaded into the crossbow's mighty silver trimmed frame humming as if to praise the coming of the hour of its purpose being fulfilled.
The demon had just managed to disperse half of its horrendous shape when Tirro took aim, and the conjured denizen of hell’s disgusting shape filled his sights. The great grandson of his people’s most decorated paladin pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation, and the nephew of the privateer of the guilds allowed a knowing half smile at the outwitting and demise of his foe.
The bolt changed into a blinding streak which burned straight through the werehyena, skewering the beast through its hideous neck, and impaling the physical incarnation of evil to the faded yellow brick tunnel wall beyond. For an instant the lance stayed true, a three meter long solid rod of light, before bursting into holy flames the heat of which washed over Tirro.
The blast singed some of the hair on his forearms on the young deckhand’s dagger hand as he flew into the screeching monster’s flank jamming the bright dagger into the unruined part of its throat breaking the stasis spell with a resounding crack that shook his body with invisible hands. Once the wave of energy had subsided Tirro tore what was left of the demon’s neck from the monster’s body severing the head, and leaving the crumpling half dissipated torso to its own devices. The flopping burning mess fell into the putrid water as the now only a foot long bolt turned into ash over its demise. The head lived for several seconds staring horror filled hyena yet human like eyes toward Tirro as he held the bloody gorey nightmare.
As Tirro watched the green flame within those sunken sockets died with a wisp, and the ever present wail turned to an angry animalistic shout from farther in the tunnels. That brought a broad grin to Tirro’s lips. Not all was going according to their tormentors plan.
Whatever that horrid screeching chimera was, God was turning fate against the fiend. With that the Veni boy spat in the leering hyena face, and dropped the trophy overboard much to the incessant screeching from the denizens of the passage around him.
A shame to use the stasis spell at last, but an unused spell was a useless spell in the end no matter how expensive. The Tower Elfin weren’t known for their generosity. A none too small portion of the Doge’s bounty would need to cover the remaking of the trap for further unwary invaders of Uncle Curroz’s ship.
Tirro picked up the arbalest from where he’d dropped the weapon on the deck. He could hear machinery from within the imported weapon churning in painful labor. Even as he watched another magical light bolt was pushed out of a small box at the shoulder stalk of the weapon and into the cocked bow from a metal cartridge. All this added metal made the weapon devilishly heavy, but Tirro was a large youth for his age and he’d been firing magical bolts since before he could talk.
Far off in a world beyond the twisting paths of woe these weapons were forged, and sold to the ancestors of the Veni. There were many flashier models with faster fire rates and lighter construction that were devastating in the tight walls of house estates, but only the most miniscule of light bolts were fireable from those models.
Even a decent cuirass without enchantment could deflect or muffle such minor shots. Those were the weapons of assassins, and peasant armies massing firepower. A man’s weapon drew a proper bolt whose oak and enchantments staggered many a strong man upon lifting them for their first sortie. Tirro found he agreed with the settlement even if Uncle Farmus had taught him the uses of both crossbows.
Lugging the mammoth sized weapon through the cabin was a chore to be sure, but Tirro managed to pass back through the ship to aid Uncle Curroz with limited difficulty and creating less debris than might be expected. The deckhand could just make out his captain through the unnatural smoke and haze falling backwards down the stairs. The older man was hacking and slashing at churning rotting black oozing arms swarming over the side of the front deck.
At the center of the mass of hellish limbs was a red pulsing puss filled eye the size of a small pony. Its decrepit pupils were in the shape of a mouth, and burning scarlet flames danced inside them. Without taking the time for the horror of the monstrosity before him to stagger his will, Tirro took aim, and with every ounce of hate in his being let the bolt fly.
The result was even more effective than the burning lance on the werehyena demon. This monstrosity simply popped like a deformed zit, the eyeball giving a gurgling death wail before all the arms splattered the walls turning them from faded yellow to black and purplish muck.
It was a blessing that the arcane shield uncle had saved to purchase after the last Christ Mass had held. Tower Elfin may be insufferable, and as greedy as previously described, but one couldn’t deny the quality of their craft even if their very beings seemed set on blasphemies. Unfortunately, the arcane shield only covered the cabin. The decks were thoroughly sullied. If they lived their work stations’ stench would be unbearable till they could be cleansed.
Still, they had to live before that issue came to the very apprehensive deck hand’s attention. Captains, not even uncle Curroz, weren’t known for aiding their crew with cleansing duties. For now survival took hold of Tirro’s mind, and he hoped his Uncle’s experience had lent him inspiration. For the young deckhand’s part he was slowly allowing himself to fall into a fell mood.
They’d struck well, and Tirro could find himself not wanting in the halls of his ancestors in the Heavens above. Yet the deckhand saw no way to release the craft or escape the denizen of the tunnels still approaching even if its minions had been beaten back. The young great grandson of the Paladin was preparing himself for the final stand when his Uncle’s words blossomed new hope in his chest.
“Well fought nephew! You’ll make that rogue husband of my sister proud. Now listen to a Veni man of the tunnels, and heed his wisdom as he shows you paths and schemes that not even the privateers of the dark elfin floating cities shall match.”
The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.
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