"Brann Bronzebeard was always a bit out of this world.
I mean, no normal Dwarf would wander god-knows-where in search of adventure!
I understand when it's done for business, but just for fun?
He often brought back all sorts of curiosities from his travels through Khaz Modan,
Various things telling of events from times long past.
Of course, without him, the Dwarfs would have lost a lot of knowledge, but was it worth it?
Besides, our young friend didn't always drag something useful into his home.
I remember once, he fished an unusual puzzle-toy out of a river.
Oh, it was a curious little thing; surely magic was involved.
No matter how we tried to solve it, no one succeeded,
And with every failed attempt, a melody played from it,
Singing in a beautiful female voice:
'In the sunken city, he sleeps.'
No matter who tried, they couldn't solve it,
Even King Magni himself was left scratching his head."
This place was wrong. Everything here felt different from how it should actually be. Colors were somehow blurred and indistinct, at least at first.
At times, whispers were heard in the darkness, and as soon as I turned around, the sounds vanished—leaving me alone with growing fears and ill thoughts.
Sniffing, and to calm down at least a little, I stuffed some tobacco into my pipe, drawing in the smoke and illuminating my face with the glowing embers. The Pathfinders had treated me to it before we first split up. I only hoped it was truly as spirited as they had said.
I no longer needed a torch made of sheets and records; I hadn't had to burn my own thoughts and ideas gathered near Grim Batol for a long time, for glowing mushrooms and moss grew all around me in their full glory.
Luminescent, multicolored plants, most of which were dominated by purple and turquoise. Bright and saturated, they mixed with dark, thick colors, forming a true jumble. Looking at them for long was quite difficult and unusual, for the lights of torches and the forge were far dearer to my heart...
But my gaze kept being drawn to them. If I started thinking, fixing my eyes on one of these little mushrooms, without noticing it myself, I would freeze in front of it for a good couple of minutes, mindlessly staring at a perfectly ordinary fungus...
"Eerie place..." Shrugging my shoulders and waving off some firefly that tried to land on my shoulder, I continued my way, trying to look anywhere but at these strange plants.
But even such "lanterns" were far better than impenetrable darkness, especially when the yapping of Trolls and Orcs occasionally echoed behind my back. Though, perhaps it was all my imagination, as I had been walking through these tunnels for a very long time, occasionally coming across small forks, but the experience of a seasoned inhabitant of the mountain kingdom helped me navigate these intricacies.
"As one wise, heh-heh, Runeweaver used to say," I muttered, scratching my matted beard and pausing briefly before another fork, "if you don't know where to go, trust your nose and follow the fresh air."
Nodding at my own words with a smile, I turned at the next intersection as well, deftly bypassing the mushrooms and mosses growing in abundance, as well as some strange curiosity resembling sea corals. They grew from everywhere, fusing with each other, taking on bizarre shapes.
I wanted to pluck a couple to study later, but the simple lack of a proper backpack and storage containers deterred me from the idea. Besides, touching them with bare hands... seemed like a rather risky idea to me.
Sadly watching a whole wall of fungal flesh pass by, I quickened my pace to avoid tempting myself further. It was a pity to leave such interesting and alluring specimens behind, for even if I couldn't benefit from them myself, a couple of my acquaintances would gladly trade my finds for something valuable...
"A barrel of home-brewed ale, for example," I said, forcing my eyes away from another "grove" and quickening my pace, almost breaking into a run to avoid temptation, "or a couple of daughters, heh-heh."
Smoke from the pipe enveloped my face, forcing its way into my nostrils and tickling my sense of smell. Following the movement of the smoky petals to once again ensure I was on the right path, I continued on with a clear conscience. Meditatively watching the escaping smoke, torn apart by rare and sluggish gusts of wind.
"I wonder why Brann didn't call for me? Nothing bad happened, right? A cave is just a cave..."
The last thought caused a strange tingling in my head, as if I had forgotten something but couldn't quite remember it. It was on the tip of my tongue, bursting to be put into words, but I only shrugged in confusion, dismissing the bothersome fragments of forgotten memory.
A new portion of smoke made its way into my nostrils, causing an involuntary sneeze. One after another, the "son of a bitch" sneezes burst out of me until I could finally stop.
"What the... what kind of crap are they smoking?" Remembering the Pathfinders kindly, who had generously poured me their tobacco leaf, I looked around anew and froze with my mouth open. "Khaz's breeches..."
With a loud clatter, the pipe fell from my mouth onto something soft, and through waves of pain, memories of Brann's strange behavior and the corpse I had found just a couple of hours ago began to slip into my mind...
"Was it even a couple of hours?"
Whispering quietly under my breath, I shifted from foot to foot, peeling my soles away from a sticky purple substance with loathing. Now there was no cozy and simple little cave full of cheerful mushrooms of different colors around me. Now it was as if I were inside the womb of a huge monster, whose purple flesh pulsated unevenly, causing me to gag.
Vessels and muscles lay all around, constantly contracting, releasing a purple glowing mist. It was alive, and if not for the pungent tobacco of the scouts, which they constantly smoked on patrols, I wouldn't have even been able to realize anything.
The huge gut I found myself in stretched into the distance, but now I could see its end. Following this far-from-pleasant path, I noticed turns that in my mind led outside, but in reality led back in a circle.
Confirming this theory were the numerous prints of my own boots left on the purple flesh. They were slowly being absorbed, but because of the large number—and there were plenty—I realized what great danger I was in. I could have wandered here for weeks until my body failed me and I collapsed to the ground, slowly becoming part of this enormous organism.
"Damn it!" The pipe was in my hands in an instant. Without mercy, I tore off the edge of my shirt sleeve and thoroughly wiped it "from head to toe"—removing the remains of the purple slime. Just in case, I even went over it with a newly lit flame to surely avoid the infection. "Right, need to find the prince and get out of here!"
Puffing like a steam engine, trying to stay in the smoke at all times, I burned my fingers, and my mustache began to singe slightly, so often and fiercely did I draw on the pipe, and I held it almost right under my nose.
A real cloud of smoke formed before my face, and a trail stretched behind me, like in a tavern on a Saturday night.
With wide-open eyes, constantly straining and holding back the urges of a system accustomed to other actions during such a process, I kept accelerating, hoping to leave the cursed place as quickly as possible.
Soon my legs carried me, and disregarding stealth, I didn't hide my heavy breathing and stomping as I raced down the purple gut.
But, reaching the end of the tunnel, which led me into a huge and spacious hall with only two exits, I came upon a rather non-trivial scene. A member of our royal land, clamping the mouth of the last Pathfinder, was shoving him into a lump of flesh, leaning with both hands on his head, practically drowning the poor fellow in the purple meat.
Here, the abundance of purple mist was simply off the charts, but what I saw and the smoke I'd inhaled served as a good slap in the face. I don't think I'll be able to succumb to this delusion again anytime soon. Deciding not to mess with the crazed brother of the king—who knows what had gotten into his head...
I began to slowly creep on tiptoe toward the exit on the other side. My smoking exercises continued, and passing through a particularly dense cloud of mist, I inhaled too deeply, so much so that my cheeks turned red.
"Rodgirn, is that you?"
Bronzebeard's voice didn't sound like his own. Unfamiliar, frightening notes crept into it. A mixture of an inquiring whisper and bewilderment, which echoed off the walls.
Turning to face Brann, I involuntarily stepped back a couple of paces, swallowing viscous saliva and wiping away tears brought on by the smoke with the back of my hand.
The Dwarf slowly circled me, leaving the last Pathfinder in senseless attempts to break free from the bonds. The poor scout's reddened eyes rolled frantically while Brann and I engaged in social conversation. I wanted to help him, since I had been noticed anyway, but I had little idea what I could even do.
"Rodgirn," as if seeing me for the first time, the prince played strangely with his fingers, frequently cracking his knuckles, making me flinch every time a new, particularly loud snap echoed through the hall of flesh. "How are you feeling?"
"What kind of strange questions are those?"
Answering warily, I began to move away from the prince in sync, also stepping along a circle invisible to the eye. Every step brought me closer to the Pathfinder clamped in the grip of flesh...
And it even seemed to me that Bronzebeard noticed nothing.
"Don't you hear anything?"
Not bothering to answer the madman's questions, I began to slowly back away, gradually shifting so that the scout would be under my leading hand, with which I intended to tear away the lump of flesh on his upper limbs...
"Why have you gone silent?" Brann's head jerked frighteningly fast to his shoulder. His eyes, slightly bulging, watched me without blinking. The whites were red from burst vessels, and a thin thread of saliva dripped from the corner of his lips. "You were extremely talkative before this."
"Tired, I guess..."
"Is that so," Brann couldn't seem to shut up, which made me very nervous. And this strange behavior... And the scout had gone suspiciously quiet. "Sit with me, and then we'll go on together."
"Better not, I've already refreshed myself and had a good sleep."
"Even so," he talked too much, and the usual simple smile that had always graced his face before had vanished, replaced by a ghastly grin. "Then let's go quickly; I need to tell my brother important news."
"I'm not against it," I'd learned from dealing with Gnomes that it's better to just agree with crazies. Despite their small stature, those cute-looking Midgets could, alone, cause far more destruction than a crowd of drunk Dwarfs. "Lead the way; you surely know the road."
The test stone hit the mark immediately, and Brann broke into a blissful smile.
"I do, it was shown to me..."
"Who showed you?" I was only a couple of steps away from the Pathfinder, but Brann also began to slowly approach me, gradually closing the distance between us. "Not the Trolls, surely?"
"Don't compare those monkeys to... never mind," the King's brother said, shaking his head and stepping forward, extending a hand to me. "Come, Steel Barrel, we must hurry."
"They're probably already looking for us; I don't think there's any point in overstraining ourselves..."
"THERE IS A POINT!"
"Oh, shit... I messed up, though maybe all is not lost yet."
With difficulty keeping my face neutral, I stared in surprise at Bronzebeard's furious face, trying to suppress negative emotions, and it seemed I was starting to succeed. Holding my hands out in a conciliatory gesture, I nodded to Brann.
"Fine, whatever you say..."
"The threat is far more terrifying than you can imagine," the prince interrupted me unexpectedly, his eyes flashing fiercely. "We need to hurry and warn the King, and then the long-legs to the north."
"Whoa, listen to him talk. 'You' can't imagine, then. And 'long-legs'... I've never heard such phrases from him before. Brann, like Muradin, is supposed to be fond of humans, and now this."
Not knowing how to react, I decided to keep the dialogue going.
For a brief moment, I managed to look back to check on the Pathfinder...
A quiet groan of disappointment escaped my mouth.
"Right, enough whimpering... get it together! Even if Brann has gone mad, I still have a chance to get out of here!"
While Bronzebeard whispered something insanely to himself, his gnarled fingers twitching dangerously near his face, I began to slowly shift from toe to heel, circling him.
I moved so slowly and carefully that my body began to stiffen, and general exhaustion was taking its toll. But I couldn't stop...
Besides, I had almost reached the saving passage and would soon be able to just bolt, leaving this psycho here. It was a pity about the Pathfinder, of course, but during our conversation, he had been entirely sucked into the purple flesh, so much so that not even the top of his head was visible...
But when I was only a few meters away, the prince turned his gaze back to me, and I had to engage in dialogue again.
"And what's so scary about this threat?"
"You won't understand, you don't hear," Brann said, waving me off and tenderly running his palm over the nearest lump of flesh. "There's no point in even trying to explain."
"Well, shall we go then?"
Still hoping to resolve the conflict easily, since I hadn't managed to slip away quietly, I stopped with my back near the exit, peering into Bronzebeard's mad eyes. A faint hope flickered in my head that if I could get the Dwarf to smoke some of that powerful crap, it might work... but I doubted it.
Inconsistencies in his behavior immediately flashed before my eyes, starting back on the approaches to Grim Batol and continuing before the entrance to the cave while we were fleeing from pursuers. He had often turned his head as if looking for something... or perhaps listening to something. Then this obsession with going underground.
While I was reflecting, Brann was considering my words, but when our eyes met again, I realized I wouldn't leave here alive. His entire posture changed, his muscles tensed, and his body clearly prepared for a leap!
My hand reacted faster than my brain, and a shot from a human flintlock pistol thundered through the cave. The bullet shattered Bronzebeard's jaw and took off part of his cheek, knocking his head to the side. He was spun around, and the expensive short-barreled gun fell from his hands.
Clutching his face, he moaned something to himself and muttered in a language unknown to me, cursing and howling. Thrashing about, Brann stumbled and fell to his knees, bracing his palms against the soft floor. His hands immediately sank deep into the purple mass, practically falling into it, and the flesh itself actively crawled upward, seizing new areas of skin.
Fearing what might happen if the cave swallowed him whole, I pulled out my main weapon, of local manufacture, and it easily finished the job on the first try.
A powerful, classic Dwarven pistol boomed, spitting out a cloud of smoke. The roar of the shot was such that my ears were instantly ringing.
The wide, heavy bullet pierced the back of the whimpering Brann's head through and through, scattering the contents of his cranium around the area.
For a couple more seconds he remained on his knees, but in an instant everything changed, and the purple mass began to retreat, releasing the Dwarf from its embrace.
The walls of the grotto trembled, expressing their dissatisfaction, and it seemed to me that I was being watched from all sides.
From the walls, floor, and ceiling... they were everywhere and nowhere.
Thousands of eyes watching me, but vanishing every time I looked in their direction.
Hundreds of mouths, whispering in all the existing and forgotten languages of the world.
And endless meters of tentacles, shuddering, growing, and withering in their attempts to reach me...
BUT looking around, I saw only lumps of purple flesh gathering into a pile. Among them, the one in which the Pathfinder was imprisoned stood out particularly, and when a purple hand fell out of the cocoon during the movement, its fingers beginning to turn into tentacles, I decided I'd had enough of this shit.
Brann's rifle was snatched up, and your brave servant started at full speed for the exit, trying not to look back and, most importantly, not to listen to how this vile place was coming to life.
And it was coming to life loudly. For the rest of my life, I will remember those vile, disgusting sounds. Wet, squelching, mixed with the crack of breaking bones...
"Oh, Khaz! I swear, if I ever crawl into a place like this again!"
I raced forward, bypassing false turns as if experiencing an intuition, as if Khaz himself were leading me toward the sun out of this terrible place.
Meter by meter I made my way out, until finally I reached a high ascent, from the top of which rare sunbeams fell. This light was like the mythical fire of the priests, with which they heal wounds and cast out evil... just as bright, just as beautiful...
Unable to believe my luck, I leaped onto the rock like a trained Troll, digging strong fingers into the crevices and pulling up my heavy body—disregarding breaking and bleeding nails, just to reach the longed-for freedom. Higher and higher, knocking down rare stones and collapsed ledges, until finally my hand gripped the edge.
The edge of my palm was warmed by a ray, and my soul immediately began to sing, and it was at that very moment that a disgruntled growl echoed in the tunnel. Loud footsteps approached me with staggering speed, catching up, covering the vast distance in just a few seconds.
My hand trembled treacherously, my fingers almost slipped, but growling like a mountain Bear, I pulled myself higher, confidently grabbing the ledge with my second hand.
Pulling myself up, throwing my body onto the top, I decided to look back after all. And what I saw there can be described as nothing other than a living nightmare.
A humanoid lump of purple flesh, bloated with tentacles and fangs. Chitin covered its body, trying to contain the meat bursting outward. Bones were deformed and stuck out in all directions, and new limbs burst from its mouth, constantly writhing at the most unthinkable angles.
Across its slimy and wet skin, dotted with threads of strange oily liquid, eyes would open from time to time, only to close instantly.
"Damn you! Fiend!"
I'm not ashamed of it, but at that moment I screamed in fear, leaping onto the ledge with the agility of a cat and leveling the rifle.
BANG!
The first shot knocked the freak off its feet. A wide hole opened just left of the center of its chest, flooded with purple blood.
I had no ammo for Brann's toy, so pulling out my pistols, I feverishly reloaded them while the monster rose to its feet after the hit.
BANG!
The second shot blew off part of its face, scattering appendages across the ground. They continued to writhe, and for a moment it seemed to me that new limbs were starting to grow from them, and I hope those were just tricks of my mind.
The monster shrieked. Its furious scream, full of pain and hatred, almost stopped my heart.
BANG!
The third shot pierced the creature's knee, forcing it to drop to one leg. Its small bead-like eyes watched me intently all this time while I sent bullet after bullet into it.
"Menu shirumund, Khagam menu reliku pembu!" The ancient tongue poured easily from my mouth. Cursing the beardless offspring born in this foul hole, I almost dropped the pouch of powder, but only the realization of what the monster would do to me if I didn't kill it... that gave me strength. With a hawk's grip, my fingers caught the falling bag. "When will you finally die, you vile beast?!"
Insults poured from my mouth in a stream, mixing the common and native languages.
BANG!
A new shot hit the head, and finally, the resilient monster toppled onto its back, motionless. My first instinct was to go down and deliver a coup de grâce, but reason, fear, and a total lack of desire to be within arm's reach of the creature prevailed. After reloading my pistols, I continued to pelt the monster with lead.
BANG!
"What's the matter, freak? Is **Gnol Zharr shirumund Endrinkuli** too much for you!?" Boasting of my fiery-red beard, I challenged the creature to attack a simple engineer, while simultaneously comparing the beast to a common, filthy **Troll**. I was regaining my old confidence. "Thought you'd feast on my tough flesh and play with your tentacles, did you!? You picked the wrong one, **Khagam menu penu Mampasdul**!"
The adrenaline was wearing off; I realized it and allowed myself to enjoy this moment of youthful bravado that had suddenly flared up in my gut. There was still a long road ahead, so it was worth letting off a little steam.
"Pity there's no booze, but oh well."
Glancing at **Brann**'s rifle lying on the ground, I already imagined what a glorious conversation I would have with the King, who certainly wouldn't like the truth. And how was I even supposed to explain what was happening? What if they believed me and sent some other poor souls here who would lose their minds just like the King's **Blood brother**?
"I'll say orcish magic devoured him; the color was a perfect match—purple shit."
A plan was already forming in my head. Of course, it didn't sit right with an honest **Dwarf** to lie to his King, but to be honest, I didn't feel like going to the chopping block either. And knowing the fierce temper of **Magni Bronzebeard**... it would be lucky if he just let me live after hearing the news about his brother.
"Though trouble is definitely unavoidable... damn it."
Taking one last look at the cave that had brought a whole basket of problems and misery, I began a slow descent from the mountain, hoping to quickly figure out where I was.
I walked, watching my step so as not to tumble down and end this journey so stupidly after everything I'd survived. My eyes searched for any landmarks, and eventually, I found what I was looking for.
A wide stone dam blocked the water from the lake, which occupied most of the **Loch Modan** province. It had been a long time since I'd been on this side of the valley, which is why I didn't recognize it at first.
"I must have been a boy; my old man was still walking the earth back then."
Strange thoughts crept into my head; I just wanted to think about anything other than what had happened in the caves near **Grim Batol**.
Childhood memories didn't stop me from moving forward, scouting for the places I needed. I remembered that somewhere in the center of the lake there were supposed to be small island fortresses that controlled the entire province—or maybe they weren't so small. It was a long time ago; back then they were just establishing a new line of defense, fearing that after the departure of the last of the **Wildhammer Clan**, the **Trolls** might start crossing the mountains unhindered, so they put up forts everywhere.
"I hope they're still there, otherwise it would be quite sad."
Adjusting my belt, I slung the rifle over my shoulder and headed down with a weary gait, hoping that local patrols would find me before the wild fauna or some stray fanged freaks did.
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