When I was still alive in my home world, I spent the hours after work drinking tea and watching educational videos of various kinds. Among them were clips from a famous game warden, who specialized particularly in bears. At the time, I consumed that content with no expectation of ever using it in real life. Now, it seems, I'd have to.
A massive Brown Bear stood before us in the tiny forest clearing, hunched over a half-eaten Moose carcass. The bear, it seemed, was not the cause of death for the horned Fly Agaric enthusiast. Judging by the abundance of maggots and the bloated corpse, the Moose had been dead for quite some time.
The bear roared. Its fur bristled. The beast stamped its feet and started snapping nearby dry branches. This was an intimidation display. When it prepared to attack, it should, on the contrary, tense up like a spring. At least, that's what the game warden had claimed, or rather, how I remembered his lecture.
Erik was to my right, hastily loading his pistol.
I straightened up to my full height, raising my spear above my head. My shield was still lying on the cart. The main thing now was not to show fear and not to run. Bears know no mercy, but they respect strength. Clenching my teeth, I took a few steps toward the predator and yelled:
— For the Emperor!
Then I cleared my throat slightly and added:
— Cadia Stands!
The bear flinched a little, growling petulantly. Perhaps it was rooting for Abaddon.
Unexpectedly, I felt someone strong pulling me back. The unmistakable scent of Ogre spirit hit my nose.
— Quiet, Jurg, — Magg whispered. — Don't scare him away.
Then the Ogre, crouching down like a subject before a sultan, crawled toward the bear, muttering:
— Come here. Come here, tasty thing.
If an Ogre is willing to prostrate himself for anything, it's for food. Magg crept toward the bear, dragging his club behind him. I also moved forward, trying to stay behind the Ogre. The bear watched the behemoth crawling toward it with obvious distrust, saliva dripping from its mouth.
— Good beastie. Juicy beastie, — Magg murmured.
The bear still couldn't decide whether to attack us or make a tactical retreat. It backed away slightly, continuing to growl. Then Magg played on the psychology of potential prey. The part of psychology that Ogres understand best—the division of food. Magg reached out his free paw toward the Moose carcass. The bear roared more fiercely. The Ogre grabbed the carrion and, pulling it toward himself, provoked the beast.
The bear pinned its ears back, gathered into a ball, and without any warning growl, jumped onto Gut-Gouger.
I think that under normal circumstances, the Ogre would defeat the beast with 90% probability. However, in luring the prey, Magg had taken an unfavorable position. The bear pounced on him with surprising speed. The Ogre didn't manage to stand up before he was pinned to the ground by the snarling animal. I reacted immediately. It wasn't the first time I'd had to rescue Magg from unwelcome embraces.
Coming in from the side, I took three steps and plunged the spear, aiming for the bear's neck. The beast roared louder. Killing a bear is not so easy. I knew this from those same game warden videos. The beast's hide, fat, and bones reliably protected its internal organs.
I twisted the spear in the wound. The image of the bloody bowl appeared before me for a fraction of a second. The bear roared and twitched its entire body. I barely held onto the spear. I pulled it back, almost falling over.
I hoped to distract the beast from Magg, but the bear was too tightly locked with the Ogre. A gunshot cracked. Erik discharged his pistol at point-blank range, but the beast's skull withstood the bullet. I urgently needed to save my voracious comrade.
A strange and almost insane idea came to mind. I circled the bear from the rear. If the stabbing lunges to its neck and the gunshot didn't distract it, then perhaps I should attack more… sensitive areas?
For evolution, neutering and the death of a creature are hardly different. The unfortunate individual will not be able to leave its mark in the succession of generations. Those who protected their reproductive system succeeded. Therefore, these body parts have an especially low pain threshold.
In short, I started stabbing the bear below its short tail. The beast flinched with its entire body from the very first blow. It roared so loudly from the second that my ears rang. After the third, the bear completely forgot about Magg and turned toward me. The beast's muzzle was covered in blood. A piece of fur and flesh on the side of its nose had been torn off, probably by the Ogre's teeth.
The beast bared its fangs, clearly intending to exact vengeance for the strike to its groin.
Did the game warden say anything about defending against a bear you've stabbed in the testicles with a spear? I doubt it. You'd only find such valuable skills on some survivalist channel.
The beast charged at me, and I moved back and sideways, holding up the bloody spear for defense. Surprisingly, it managed to slow the beast's momentum. Even an enraged bear didn't want to shove its muzzle onto the sharp object that had caused it pain. The beast tried to bring its paw down on my weapon. I barely managed to pull the spear out from under a direct strike. Otherwise, it probably would have snapped like a matchstick.
I jumped to the side, trying to raise the spear again. The beast lunged at me, roaring and baring its mouth. The sight awoke primal fears in me. I wanted to run, but I knew that would be a fatal mistake.
Raising the spear again, I tried to poke the predator in its sensitive nose. The bear seemed to understand my intention. It stood up on its hind legs, towering over me. A terrifying sight—half a ton of enraged beast. It felt like it was about to strike me and break me like a child's toy.
However, looking at this monster, I smiled.
— Too late, Kopatych. Too late.
My words were mixed with a loud crunch and a desperate roar, turning into a pitiful whine. Magg Gut-Gouger had slammed his bludgeon into the beast's spine.
I jumped to the side of the stunned beast. I needed to shed more of its blood. To fill the bowl by at least one division.
The bear stumbled forward. Magg struck its spine a second time. I, meanwhile, delivered stab after stab, feeling the stolen life force filling me.
The bear died quickly under the Ogre's bludgeon blows, but I managed to accumulate enough energy.
— Absorb!
The life forces rushed through my entire body from the vessel of rage, strengthening my muscles, bones, and tendons.
— Good, warm-blood, — Loom-Pia approved of my actions. — Your body is now an instrument of the Great Plan, and it must be strengthened as much as possible.
About an hour and a half after the tragic demise of the bear, I learned that Goblin meat tastes better than bear meat.
— A bit tough, huh? — Erik asked with clear apology in his voice. — If only it could marinate for a day… Mwah… It would be tastier than chicken, my young friend.
— Eri… — the Ogre called the Halfling, pointing a finger at the dead Moose.
— No, no, and no again, my big friend. As a self-respecting cook, I will not prepare such lousy meat. If you want, eat it as it is. I won't interfere.
The Ogre sighed sadly, chasing away his melancholy with bear entrails. It was amazing to watch how easily Magg endured wounds. They healed extremely fast and barely bled. There was no trace left of the injuries inflicted by the Trolls.
This was the third day of our journey. The monotony of the road was interspersed with searching for food and cooking it. I was amazed at how much Erik had adapted to life in these inhospitable lands. He found mushrooms, berries, and nuts for us. After a day's march, he would go to the river to fish, delighting us with fresh fish soup the next morning. I tried to help him, but my strength was not yet enough for such incredible activity.
After eating the bear, we set off again. Magg walked, gnawing on the dead Moose's leg. I was already "anticipating" what kind of potent, poisonous gas he would release tonight and hoped the wind wouldn't be blowing my way.
I already thought this day would end as calmly as the previous one, but fate had an unexpected meeting in store for us.
Closer to evening, in the golden rays of the sun, we saw the gleam of polished metal on the horizon. Looking closely, I noticed a procession of slowly moving carts. A caravan. So someone was still trading here, despite the abundance of Greenskins.
— They must have food, — Magg rejoiced.
— Be careful. Let's first figure out who they are and…
— They are the sons of Grungni and possibly your doom, — a deep bass voice sounded behind us.
We all turned at once. Four… Dwarfs were advancing from the forest. Yes. There could be no mistake. They were about the height of Erik, but noticeably stronger and wider. All four wore green cloaks, as well as animal hides. These were probably Rangers accompanying the caravan. Three scouts aimed crossbows at us, and the fourth a short musket.
— Greetings, esteemed folk of Grungni and Grimnir, — Erik said as friendly as possible. — We are not your enemies.
— And we'll figure that out right now. Come here, umgi, put down the spear and approach us.
The Dwarf spoke the language of men, but added his own words. Therefore, the spell only translated the main part of his speech for me. However, I remembered that umgi means "human."
I placed the spear on the cart and, raising my hands, slowly approached the Dwarfs. They seemed calm toward me. They were mainly aiming at Magg.
One of the Dwarfs, whose beard was practically gray, scrutinized me. I noticed his gaze stop at the Sigmarite amulet.
— Ghal Maraz, — he said with some reverence. — Good. Show your teeth?
I did as he asked. This was probably another test for belonging to the forces of Chaos. Having ascertained that I was not a mutant, the Dwarf nodded toward my companions and asked:
— Where did this ogri and grombolgi come from?
I very briefly told them the story of the village's ruin and the retribution we brought to the Goblins. This story finally convinced the Dwarfs that we were not their enemies.
— Grobi are getting out of hand again, — one of the scouts spat.
— Do you have food? Will you trade? — Magg asked.
— Wait here, — the gray-bearded Ranger said, and his three companions disappeared into the forest thicket.
We had to wait a long time for the caravan. The Dwarfs and the mules harnessed to the carts walked unhurriedly. A banner with a mug of frothy drink could be seen above one of the carts. I wonder, is this a designation of the goods they are carrying, or the symbol of their clan? Perhaps both at the same time.
The caravan was very well protected. Dwarf warriors marched in full armor. Chainmail, plate armor, heavy helmets. Every step was accompanied by the clang of metal. A richly equipped Dwarf, surrounded by bodyguards, headed toward us. Probably the head of the guard or even the entire caravan.
— Peace be upon you and your clan, — he said solemnly. — I am Skalf Yinlinsson. Who here wished to trade with my caravan?
— Me, — Magg raised his paw. — I want to buy grub or… Oh! — the Ogre noticed the image of the mug on the Dwarfs' banner. — Strong booze.
— Magg… — Erik said affectionately in a tone used when addressing a child who decided to stick their fingers in an electrical outlet. — I think the drink these esteemed Dwarfs are carrying is worth a lot of gold.
— And it's worth it, — Skalf said proudly. — Worth every gram of gold, grombolgi. Brokk!
At the chief's call, one of the unarmed Dwarfs with a shorter beard approached. In his left hand, he carried a small barrel, and in his right, three large mugs.
— If you really killed many grobi, then I should treat you, — the head of the caravan announced. — Well, and if after this you want, and you will certainly want, more… We have a couple of barrels in addition to those already promised to buyers.
A nervous smile appeared on Erik's scarred face. He stared at the ale being poured into the mugs as if poison had been added to it. I took the treat more calmly. I saluted the Dwarfs, said "Cheers," and sipped the drink.
God…
Usually, this world impressed me in a bad way. Goblins, Squigs, bears. Everyone wants to eat me. However, now I was impressed in the best possible sense of the word.
The ale was thick, frothy, tart, and incredibly delicious. My body responded to just one sip with an unequivocal, "We want more." Even my hypnotoad reacted positively:
— The drink contains many nutrients. Good. This will help our cause.
Drink ale in the name of the Great Plan! I'd be happy to.
I tried to savor every new sip, but Magg downed the whole thing at once. Then what Erik had feared happened.
— Ugh! Booze! Good! — Magg roared. — Give me more, and lots of it!
— Gold and silver first, — the Dwarf replied, hiding a sly smile in his beard.
Magg hurried to the cart and began rummaging through his belongings. The clinking of coins was heard. The Ogre brought an open chest full of cash and dumped it in front of the Dwarf.
— Brokk, — the head of the caravan called his assistant again. — Count the earnings and give our new buyers the ale that is due. Marching rate.
The assistant nodded, starting to count the grease-stained earnings. Magg shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
While the trading operation was underway, the Dwarfs asked us a few more questions. Including where we were going.
— Black Fire Pass, — Erik answered.
— Haz-Drazh-Kadrin, — the Dwarf nodded. — We passed through it. Your army stands there, umgi. They are waiting for a great enemy.
— Greenskins? — Erik perked up.
The Dwarf shook his head negatively and said only one word:
— Doom.
Chaos.
Goosebumps ran down my spine, and my hand reached for the hilt of my sword. Could Archaon the Everchosen already be leading his army of the Apocalypse, and is the end of the world so close? Or is this just one of the many incursions of the forces of destruction?
— Is it known who leads the enemy armies?
— No, human spawn. We do not know this. Your kinsmen are gathering strength and awaiting the blow of the Northerners. But beware. Beyond Haz-Drazh-Kadrin, there are already plenty of enemies worse than grobi.
— Our axes have chopped up many brainless beasts, — another bearded man boasted. — You'd be safer if you came with us.
The thought seemed reasonable, but the caravan was heading in the opposite direction.
— You won't reach Haz-Drazh-Kadrin, — declared the Dwarf with the long white beard, standing to the right of the caravan chief.
Such a prediction did not sound too optimistic.
Meanwhile, Magg received two medium barrels of ale, about twenty liters each. It seemed like a lot, but the Ogre would drink them in a day. I could already observe the speed and volume with which he was capable of absorbing biomass.
Bidding farewell to the Dwarfs, we continued on our way. Magg was extremely pleased and had already opened one barrel. He walked, taking sips from it from time to time. A blissful grin spread across the big guy's face.
Erik, on the contrary, was grim.
— Robbery in broad daylight, — he sighed, stroking the donkey's head. — All our savings… Those bearded tricksters knew what they were doing. I swear by the Maw, I wish we had run into a horde of Orcs instead!
— Orcs?! — Magg perked up. — Where?! They'll make a good snack, ah-ha-ha-ha!
The taste of Dwarf ale made poor Magg forget his dream and the love for which he was saving his wealth. I was, however, concerned about the prospect of running into Chaos warriors so soon. I was completely unprepared for that encounter.
My gaze fell on the Halfling. Judging by his expression, he was clearly deep in thought about something. Perhaps he was calculating how realistic it would be to strangle the caravan Dwarfs with their own beards and get the money back.
— Magg, old friend, — Erik addressed the Ogre. — Our favorite hole is right nearby. Let's go there.
— Hole? Nah. I always hit my head there. Bam-bam, — the Ogre tapped his helmet.
— But Magg, we can catch some good snacks there, look for something valuable, and pass almost all the way to the pass, avoiding the Northerner bands.
— What are you talking about? — I asked.
— Remember my saying? Where there is one Goblin, there are a hundred more? There is a small exception. A place where the cave Greenskins walk in small groups. Especially when they are gathering mushrooms or catching Squigs.
— What are you talking about?
— The Underways, — Erik answered solemnly. — A few years ago, we found a descent to a deserted section of the Dwarf road. We can pass through there, avoid meeting the Northerners, catch Goblins, take valuables from them, or… — Erik sighed. — Run into horrors for which there isn't even a name.
So that's it. All or nothing. The ruins of the Dwarf underground domain and caves full of monsters await us.