The Depths of Despair Part 5: Facing Fear

Fland watched as his death approached. Paralyzed with fear, there was no course of action that could save him from his inevitable and gruesome fate. He would have made any bargain, agreed to any devil's deal to be freed from his living nightmare.

As one of the bugbears prepared to deliver the deathblow, flames that bared his escape burst into the room. Materializing out of thin air, as though birthed from the sputtering flames stood a grim elf. Fland's attention was turned to the newcomer along with the goblinkin. With a sharp thrust of both hands, the elf sent the bugbears and their master flying back across the room.

Fland realized now that his fate would be doomed down another path. To many times now he had angered the elf mage. Elarr would not rescue him. Instead he would meet out a dire punishment to insure Fland's slow death. He closed his eyes as Elarr started a spell, preparing for his end...only to have his mind suddenly clear.

It took Fland's mind a moment to adjust. After a heartbeat his mind was able to put together what had happened, and what was now going to happen. As his senses refocused the first thing he noticed was Elarr's voice, “-thrice damned fool! Now do something useful. We have to get the hobgoblin away from that orb.”

Fland did not need any encouragement. The bugbears and their master were already back on their feet. One had both of its meaty hands wrapped around a primitive stone ax while the other held two crude swords. The one with the ax was the first to charge and Fland stepped forward to meet it. He ducked low so that the powerful swing. He came up and bashed both maces into the bugbear's side. On a human or elf he would have felt the satisfying crunch of shattered ribs. Instead, it was the sensation of a dull thud. This was not going to be a fun fight.

Evading a counter attack by the ax wielding bugbear, Fland found himself facing the second one wielding two swords. The blood on his face indicated that this was the bugbear that Fland had smashed in his surprise attack. As it lashed out with one sword it opened its maw to roar at him. The bugbear's lower mandible split down the middle, revealing a line of sharp teeth to tear meat off and pull it down fanged gullet. It was enough to chill Fland to his core and make him wounder if he had fallen back into some kind of nightmare realm.

Fland was throne into a rapid dance of dodging and deflecting attacks. The bugbears were raw power, but their swings were wild and unskilled. Any blow from that ax or a sword would have been his end. He preferred not to contemplate what his fate would be if either of the slavering, flesh rending mouths was able to bite down on him. His maces lacked power, but moved like lighting as they knocked attacks out of the way. He would riposte with a quick strike of his maces to bludgeon arms and legs. Multiple blows were adding up and he could tell that he was wearing down the bugbears' endurance.

Unfortunately, he was not battering down their defenses fast enough. They only needed one good shot to hack him to pieces. Time was not on his side. While they might not be geniuses, the bugbears knew to flank an outnumbered opponent. Fland was pinned in with only seconds to live. Did he want to let the ax cleave the back of his skull or take a sword through the gut?

Time was about to run out and the ax was closing in on his head while he smashed his maces into the other bugbear's abdomen. A bright blue light lanced across the room to strike the ax wielder and send him to the floor in a howl of pain. Fland was going to shout at Elarr to hurry up with the next blast only to watch as a ball of dark energy collided with his partner. Elarr screamed as he dropped to the floor as black energy coursed along his body.

Fland cursed himself for not paying more attention to the spellcaster. Glancing to where hobgoblin stood, Fland saw that the twisted creature had one hand on the dark orb while the other crackled with foul energy. A hand of energy that was now pointed at Fland.

A line of black energy cut the air where only a heartbeat before Fland had stood. The sword wielding bugbear did not seem to care that he had nearly been caught in the dark slash as well and pressed the attack. Fland stepped into the the bugbear's reach as the next line of energy shot towards them, using it as cover. Before blade or fang could close on him, the beam of energy burned into the bugbear's side. The bugbear staggered, giving Fland the opening he needed.

CRA-CRACK. CRA-CRACK.

He rained blows down in rapid succession until he had cracked open the bugbear's skull and turned it into a bloody mess. Before the corpse could hit the floor, Fland was sprinting across the floor toward the black hobgoblin. He ducked under one slash of energy then leaped high over another. The tension that had been building deep inside of him since entering the cursed warren had reached its peak. He let out a cry of rage as he slammed his maces down at the spellcaster only to have them stopped by a barrier of black energy.

The fight was in close now. The short, but vicious creature snarled at him as it tried to cut him in half with the slashes of black energy. Fland dodged and whirled his maces to drum against the black barrier. He could not batter his way through the ward, but the hobgoblin could not gather enough energy for an effective attack. They were locked in a stalemate until one could figure out a way to attack the other.

Behind him, Fland heard a comotion. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that he was not the only one hard pressed. The ax wielding bugbear had regained his feet, and one of his fallen partner's swords and was trying to hack Elarr to pieces where he lay on the floor. A glowing circle of runs hovered in the air forming a shield for the prone elf. Fland knew the barrier would eventually collapsed and that maintaining it meant Elarr could not focus to make another attack.

Fland was tired, frustrated, and now desperate. He pounded on the barrier to keep the hobgoblin busy while he racked his brain for a plan. He looked down to the orb where the hobgoblin's hand rested on the orb. Did the barrier extend to the orb? Fland feigned to the left then sidestepped to the right. He raised up both maces then brought them down in a powerful arc towards the evil orb at the center of his troubles.

From across the room where he fought desperately for his life, Elarr saw what was about to happen. He managed to croke out a weak, “No,” but it was to late.

CRASH!

The Depths of Despair Part 4: The Heart of Fear

 There were many sights that Fland wished that he had not been witness too. He had watched comrades die in battle. He had seen the boddies of men that were tortured to death. He had even seen a man futily tried to put his own bowls back in after being gored by a boar. What he saw now, though, would easily rank at the top of things he would rather forget.

Goblin were strewn about a small cavern writhering in pain. Their flesh looked melted and many bore open wounds where the skin had burst open. They were all greatly mishapen, their bodies growing bloated in what seemed to be an inconsistent manner. Some looked taller while others had one or two limbs stretched out. Most had swollen heads and their bottom jaw had split down the middle. Their skin looked like melted candle wax, excpet where tuffs of fur had sprouted.

Despite rolling on the ground and obviously wailing in pain, no sound entered the tunnel where Fland and Elarr stood. While Fland felt no need to hear cries of pain, the silence made things that much more errie.

"Silence wards up ahead, four around of the tunnel," Elarr said in a cold whisper. Fland glanced around and could indeed pick out four sigils scratched into the stone.

"Whoever is in charge probably doesn't want to spook away the rest of the tribe," Fland responded, "Goblins are calous to one another and like torture, but I don't see them wanting to stick around if they think they are the next one in here."

"Indeed," Elarr said, "However...I think these are likely volunteers, though they may not have realized what they were getting into. I must have a look at the process.”

“Fine,” Fland said as he creeped forward t move past the silence runes, “but make it fast, those guards have probably found the ones we kiled by now.”

Stepping past the runes was an assault on the sences. The air suddenly came allowed with the sound of a dozen wailing and moaning goblins. The ward had apparently blocked more than just sound, Fland also found a thick scent of putrid flesh filled his nostrils. It hit him so suddenly that he nearly retched. In addition to the noise of the twisted goblins, Fland also faintly heard chanting coming from around corner up ahead. Stepping over a curled up goblin, Fland slyly checked around the coner. Even with the invisibilty, instinct told him to seek cover when spying. What he saw was just another horror in the long list of abominations he had witnessed since waking that morning.

Around the conrer was a chamber with a pit at its center. The pit was filled with a foul, bubling green liquid. Suspended above the liquid on a crucifix was a naked goblin with bloody runes cut into its body. Any time a drop of blood dripped down into the pit a flash of smoke would billow out. The goblin’s screams blended in with the pained moans of those that must have gone before it. The chanting came from a cloaked figure standing near the pit. As the incanter spoke, it slowly ran its hands over the surface of a black orb that seemed to glow from within with a malignant energy. Fland had a feeling deep in his core that the orb was the source of unease that had been eating away at his resolve. The only other creatures in the chamber was another pair of burly bugbears working a winch to lower the desecrated goblin into the pit.

This was the center of it all, where the coruption was pouring out into the world. This vile chamber was leaking out its evil magic to pervert the land. It was why cave felt so unatural and the forest was becoming twisted. Deep in his bones, Fland was certain that the orb was the key to it all.

Fland crept forward, intent onf finding a better position. He knew Elarr would have counciled waiting, but the opportunity to end all of this in one swift action was not to be missed. He gripped his maces tighter as he tensed for the attack.

A flash of fire out of the corner of his eye was the only warning Fland had. He threw himself forward and went into a roll. That was all that saved him as a web of flames sprung up where he had been only a moment before. A slower man, or goblin, would have found burning lines of fire criss-crossing their body. Fland could almost hear the epitats that Elarr would be hurling at him later for setting off the trap.

Fland came up from the roll on his feet, still moving forward. With the fire web trapping him in the room with at least three enemies, he needed to even the odds desperately. The activation of the trap had turned all eyes towards him. The invisibility spell was fading away from his sudden burst of movement. That was still enough suprise for him though. He lept up so that he could bring both maces down with more force on the nearest bugbear. They made a loud cracking noise, but the creature still stood, though stunned from both the twin blows to the head and the unexpected attack.

Fland delivered a solid kick to the massive creature's abdomen and sent it realing backwards where it colided with the other bugbear.

With the two brutes tangled with eachother, Fland turned to the spellcaster, wanting to take him out of the fight fast. Now facing eachother, this was Fland's first chance to get a real look at the one he determined must be at the center of this abomination. At first he thought it was just another goblin, but that was not right. It was taller, lankier. Its head seemed elogated, almost conical. More than anything though, was the wicked intelligence behind its eyes. This was not some dimwitted and cowardly goblin.

He charged forward, covering the distance swiftly. The creature only grinnned with its mouth full of razor teeth. Fland had a bad feeling about that grin, but attack was his only option. When he was only a few strides away, the creature pointed its hand at him. All of the dread of the forsaken goblin warren were suddenly compressed on Fland.

Fland screamed in utter terror as pure, unadultered fear flooded his mind. The creature before him was the thing of nightmares. Here he was, trapped in a cave with it, no way to escape, no where to run. He looked about in panic for any place to escape. He backed away, shoutting at the monster to keep back. Then he looked over and saw the bugbears. They were huge and impossing. How could he have possibly have thought to fight such demons? He backed into a corner and cowered, knowing that surely these were his last moments before his heart exploded in his chest from the mind numbing fear.  

Depths of Despair Part 3: Passing the Guards

Fland and Elarr were quick to make their way back up the tunnel and to relative safety. They put enough distance between them and the cavern that they could talk louder than a hushed whisper.

"So now I take it that you want to head back to the surface," Fland said.

"No, not yet," Elarr responded, "I still would like to try down that other corridor first."

Fland raised an eyebrow in suprise, "I thought being reckless was my job. Im pretty sure that tunnel branch snakes down and comes out near that creepy place towards the back. I couldn't tell for sure from our angle, but it looked like there was a tunnel coming out near it."

"Agreed. I noticed that as well and I'm hoping that is the case," Elarr said as he tapped the crystalin orb of his short staff lightly against his chin. "I want to know what is in there for certain. It is something vile and dangerous, of that I am certain. I would rather not leave it a mystery for long."

Fland turned from Elarr to lead back up the tunnel to the branch they had passed by earlier. "That is fine by me, but getting to it is the trick. It is set far enough away and it looked like there was enough stuff to block the view of it from most of the main camp, but I can't see taking those guards out without alerting the rest of the hoard."

"Leave that to me."

Only a few minutes later, Fland was leading the way down the other tunnel branch. As predicted it soon started a steep incline and hooked around towards the large cavern. Caughtiously, they approached the mouth of the tunnel and peered out from around the corner. Indeed, there was little chance of the main camp seeing them approach the eerie crag, but the two guards would see them plainly.

Elarr tugged Fland back a few steps. "Keep close and stay silent. I can hide us from sight, but we'll still be audible. Don't make any suddent moves, like swinging those clubs about. The spell will not be able to keep up and will break. Do not get more than two steps from me either the magic will be stretched to thin to work."

Fland nodded at all of this, though he took slight offense at his maces being religated to the status of simple clubs. Afterall, they were well balanced and finely crafted weapons.

A few arcane words and a quick gesture was all it took for the pair to fade from view. Fland spent a moment trying to look at his own hand. It was quite disorienting to not be able to look down and see where his feet were on the ground or his body in relation to the wall. It was hard not to jump when he felt Elarr's hand grope his arm and take a light grip.

After getting his barrings, Fland led the way down the tunnel. Elarr, who had practice being invisible, kept up with Fland, even avoiding bumping into him when he came to paused at the mouth of the tunnel. They crossed the cave like ghosts, drawing nearer to the bone decorated entrance. With each step closer, the evil spector that seemed to hang over them grew stronger. Fland could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise up. Even in a place that was inherently eerie and evil, something far more vile must be waiting for them through that portal. That is what a finely honed danger sense told Fland and he did not doubt it.

Fland watched the guards intently for any sign that they noticed the approaching pair. It was also a chance for him to get a real clear look at them. They were as tall as him with muscular builds, though there seemed to be slight deformities and the muscles did not apear asymetrical from one side of the body to the other. Their heads had an ursine shape. It was like someone had grown a goblin to his size then sowed a bear's head on the body. Bugbears. Fland had heard of the beasts, but never encountered them. Nothing he had heard made him want to scrap with them though, for they were said to be as viscious as goblins were cowardly.

Each step brought them nearer to the cave and the bugbears, and with it the unnerving feeling that haunted them. However, that seemed to double instantly once Fland stepped within five feet of the bugbears. He felt a sudden streak of fear run though his body. Something about the unatural creatures left his muscles shaking. He was prepared for this though, the lore he had been taught said that the creatures had an aura of fear about them. Of course, he had prayed that was just myth.

Almost ready to step through the bone decorated cave to the next chamber, Fland paused when he heard one of hte bugbear's sniff the air. His heart felt like it might stop at any moment. Slowly cranking his head to the right he saw that guard had raises his nose to test the air. His hands tighted on the light maces, preparing to make a quick strike to gain the upper hand.

"You smells somethin'," the guard asked. Fland was glad that he had learned a small bit of the goblin tongue.

"No, can't smells not'in'," the second replied in a congested voice. The guard snorted then spit a thick glob of phlem on the floor

Fland wished he could let out a sigh of relief as he started forward again. Once they were moving down the new tunnel, it was Elarr whispered, "I felt you tense and thought for sure you going to attack."

"Frankly I was," Fland replied as he continued towards the bend in the tunnel, "but even I try not-Gods have mercy!" Flands thought was cut off as he edged around the bend and saw what it was the goblins had hid away in their accursed warren.  

Reaping

Collin watched as the man rained one kick after another onto the prone boy. He had been watching the man beat his son for almost ten minutes now. The fat, slovenly abuser had broken the nine yearold's body within the first few minutes, but his rage would not be aswaid. The boy had given up begging, now just hoping to be rendered unconscious. Collin knew that soon the boy would receive his wish, he would be unconscious forever.

That was why Collin was there, a silent observer to the horrific scene. He was assigned to reap the boy's soul at the appointed time. Today, Jimmy Henson of Whitehall Kentucky would die at eleven twenty-two pm, local time. It would be in the form of a brutal kick to the head from his father that snaps his neck, killing him instantaneously.

Collin was regretting ariving so early. He could do without watching all of this as a silent, impotent observer. He stood back in the shadows with his dark robe blending in. This was not necisary, he could not bee seen by the living. His pale hand gripped his scythe painfully hard. He wanted nothing more than to slash through the man, pulling him violently into the afterworld. The man was cruel and evil. Nothing would have been more just than to drag his soul through the Hell Gates. He could not though. As a reaper, he was forbiden to take anyone before their time. His only job was to take souls to their finall rest, justice was decided by other powers.

As the boy coughed up another mouthfull of blood, another figure entered the room. Collin glanced over to see Agnus pass through the wall. She took short, measured steps that brought her to stand beside Collin. She was dressed the same as him, in flowing black robes. A skullmask hung from her rope belt. While Collins was etched in runes and gave a grim vissage, Agnus's was smooth and plain with a tranquil look. Only two crossed glyphs on the cheeks adorned it. Her scythe blade was thin and precicse like a surgeon's scalpel topping a slender shaft of mahogany.

Silently, Agnus moved to stand beside Collin. She let her scythe rest in the crook over her arm while she folded her pale hands into the sleeves of her robe. After a moment, it was Collin that broke the silence.

"What brings you here?" he asked. He voice gruff, the violent scene putting him in a foul mood.

Agnus held up her own sheet of parchment as she explained, "The man will be dying soon. The police will kick in the door and shoot him three times. Unfortunately, it seems they will arrive to late." She tilted her head to indicate the unfortunate fate of the boy.

"It's a pitty we can't just reap him first, though I think by now it is to late for the boy in anycase," Collin responded. His eyes flared a bit at the thought of dragging the abusive father to the afterlife that he deserved.

Agnus's lips pursed tightly in a frown before she said, "Be careful with such talk Collin. You know that we can only reap in the assigned order. This is as horrific as anything, but the boy's fate is locked."

"I know the laws," Collin said tightly. Then he added in a lighter tone, "That does not mean I have to like them."

"No, no you don't," Agnus added sympatheticly. She looked away slightly as one of the boy's legs made a splintering sound. "I hate reapings like this. I like the quite ones that pass in the night or when it brings relief from suffering."

"You are good with children though," Collin noted, then paused, "We could trade assignments?"

Agnus did not hesitate, holding out her scroll to him, "Done." After another hard kick, she added, "Take him the hard way."

"I intend to," Collin said firmly.

The pair watched the beating continue for another minute until it was time to reap the boy. Agnus solumnly approached the boy from the side that was not being kicked and knelt beside him. At the appointed time she reached forward and gently touched the boy on the shoulder.

Jimmy sat up, looking around confused. He was like a young pup openning its eyes for the first time, seeing the world in a hazy light. Tentatively he asked, "Wh-what is going on?"

Smiling softly at him, Agnus said in a soft voice, "You are going to a better place Jimmy. I'm here to take you away to a place where you will not feel pain or fear."

"Will mamma be there?"

"Yes Jimmy, she is waiting for you," Agnus said. She offered Jimmy a her hand and helped him to his feet. She guided him to step out of his body and led him toward a wall. Agnus knocked once and a door appeared. When she pulled it open, brilliant white light shown through, illuminating everything save the shadows that surrounded her and Collin. Jimmy squinted as he was led through the door. As soon as they were through, the door closed and dissapeared.

Collin stood alone in the room once more. He watched as the man beat the body of his now dead son, appearing to have not even noticed that he was brualizing only a corpse. Collin lifted his hourglass and held it before him so that he precieved the man through it. He watched the sand fall, rapidly emptying. The man had little time left. Each grain of sand another second off of his life.

Grimly, Collin put away the hourglass as it drew near empty. He took his mask from his belt. With solumn determination he placed it on his face. The white mask adhered to his face, binding to him completely, body and soul. No longer was he Collin, he was now Death personified. The mask had transformed him. Gone were the trappings of moral flesh. Hidden deep in the shadows of his obsidian robe was a skeleton with bleached bones.

He gripped his scythe in both hands and approached his target. As he did he could hear the sound of shouting and boots outside the door to the room. As he raised the scythe a police officer kicked in the door with a shout. As he prepared his strike the officers surveyed the room and saw the tortured body of poor, departed Jimmey. The man shouted curses at the police officers as they shouted at him to stand down. The man reached for a knife on his belt and the officers opened fire.

Death struck.

Death swung the scythe in a powerful arc that cleaved the man from shoulder to hip. As the body felt forward to lie on a pull of blood, the man felt backwards in two pieces. His screams echoed through the room as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He looked up to to see Death looking down on him and began to realized what was happening.

"No, noooo! I can't die. Please!" the man begged in terror. Were he capable he would have fouled himself. "I'll do anything. Just let me live a little longer. Whatever you want, its yours!"

Death ignored his pleas and pointed, first at the man, then at the floor. He waited a moment, watching as dawning crossed the man's face, as it sunk in what Death meant. Death took his scythe up again even as the man renewed his pathetic begging. Death slashed down, this time at the floor.

Where the scythe raked the floor it parted in a widening fissure. Floor boards broke and curled away. They pulled back to reveal a gapping casm. Fiendish light issued up from the pit, casting eerie shadows that danced about.

Death reached down for the man who tried to writhe away. It was no use though, and the frigid, skeletal hand of death grabbed the man's hair. Death drug the man across the floor even as he tried to claw at the boards to delay the inevitable. Death drug him into the fisher and down a flight of crudely carved stairs.

The man's body bounced along each step on the narrow staircase. To either side was an impossibly long fall that ended in a lake of fire. The cries of tortured souls and the laughter of demons filled the air in a madening cacophony.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity for the man, Death came to a stop before a colossal gate. The arch was made of mortored skulls while the doors were a pair of massive iron gates. Death forced the man's head around and pointed up to the top of the gate where something had been inscribed in the primal tongue.

While the alphabet was unfamiliar to the man and the language was unknown, he was still able to read it. It was a message that made itself clear to all, to let them know uniquivecly what their fate was to be.

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

"No no no no NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" the man screamed, but it fell on deaf ears. Death dragged him forward as the gates opened. Once through, they slammed shut to seal the man's fate.

The Depths of Despair Part 2: Through the Grim Tunnel

Water condensed on the ceiling of the cavern and slowly gathred. Once enough moisture had congregated in one spot it would come together in a drop that would fall to the floor and splash in little puddles. To Fland's ears the dripping water echoed like thunder. Every little sound was potentially another goblin on patrol. He had to precieve them coming long before they became aware of him. He might slaughter a group of suprised, sun-weary gobs up on the surface, but down here was their home.

With twin maces in hand, Fland listened carefully before poking his head around a corner. He saw no threats down the green lit tunnel. A florecent fungus on the walls provided an erie illumination to the corridor. While the goblins could see a short distance in total darkness, they needed some light to see farther. As such, they used a glowing subteranean mold to provide light in their underground lairs. While Fland was not partial to the poor lighting, it did mean he would not have to carry a torch or have Elarr cast a spell of light that might forewarn any of the goblins they hoped to sneak up on.

The light provided by the fungus was unpleasant, but it was not the only thing making the exploration uncomfortable. The tunnels were just tall enough for Fland to stand, and even then he was forced to stoop at points. The walls themselves were strange, appearing almost organic. Fland felt like he was walking through the bowls of a living creature. The air was putrid with rot. It reaked of unwashed goblin bodies and their refuse. Worse of all was an uncatagorizable feeling of dread. It was as though some monster were watching over their shoulders while slowly sticking its ethereal claws into their souls.

With the way clear, Fland waved for Elarr to follow. They silently moved down the winding corridor with Fland in the lead. At every turn Fland would cautiously check to see if there was a patrol, guard or other threat. After going around several bends and taking the right branch of a forked tunnel it became apparent to the duo that this was not just some hole in the ground.

"I fear we've stumbled on something far worse than just a goblin den," Elarr said quietly, "This is going to far and we have not yet come to the heart of the corruption. To spread so far from its source...we are dealing with something very dangerous."

"What in the Nine Hells are you talking about?" Fland responded dismissively, "We're dealing with a bunch of goblins. What is the worse they could be up to beyond spoiling milk?"

Elarr frowned and responded sharply, "Do not underestimate goblinkind Fland. They may be stupid and cowardly most of the time, but they are creatures of corruption. While they will never master high magic, they have an inate understanding of corrupt magics."

The pair continued on in contemplative silence. It was not long before they caught the sound of goblin voices. Fland crept quietly to the bend in the tunnel. He slid his back along the slick wall, pressing into the shadows. Ahead he found three goblins talking absently. He had never bothered learning more than a few words of the goblin tongue, primarly curses, and had no idea what they were talking about. Words were Elarr's game though, and Fland was only concerned with the fact that they were distracted enough for hime to close in on them undetected.

CRA-CRACK. CRA-CRACK. CRA-CRACK.

Fland's whirling maces made quick work of the trio. Leaping into their midsts, he smacked each twice somewhere on the skull, leaving them with dented heads and bloodies faces. If they were not dead then they were certainly unconscious.

Elarr caught up to him and only offered, "Slit their throats next time, it's quieter."

They moved on without delay. Twice more they came across wandering goblins. Fland took them out with the same efficiency, barely even giving them a chance to attack in turn. Not one had the oportunity to cryout. The muffled thuds of the combat did not echo far enough down the tunnel to alert any other goblins, or possibly those that might have heard just ignored it. Goblins are not concerned with murder amongst themselves and so long as an alarm was not raised most would not think enough to consider the possability that invaders had entered their twisted home.

The meandering tunnel led them down a subtle incline. As they progressed they began to hear the sound of goblin voices and activity. On guard, they approached the noise with maces and spell at the ready. What they found as they reached the end of the tunnel left them suprised and fightened.

The tunnel them to the top of a large cavern. Rough, unstable looking steps were carved into the side of the cavern wall to lead down from the tunnel to the floor bellow. Looking down they could see a multitude of goblins, at least a two-hundred strong. They milled about forges, making crude by deadly weapons. Others chattered away around a cooking pit where they roasted something that looked unsettlingly like a humanoid body on a spit. The air was smokey, but most of it seemed to be escaping though a natural chimney in the ceiling. Across the way they could see holes honeycombing the wall. Goblins climbed up and down rickety ladders to crawl into the holes where they could be seen bunking down.

What drew their attention the most though came from a large fissure in the side of the cavern wall that had been decorated with skulls and other bones. Two large figures, not every day goblins by any means, stood guard at the entrance. An errie green glow could be seen leaking out of it. While it was hard to hear across cavern and over the goblin chatter, both Fland and Elarr could hear pained screams issuing from the opening.

Pulling back, not wanting to be seen, the duo were grim faced. It was Elarr that spoke first, "I told you that this was no ordinary goblin hole."

"Fine, fine," Fland said, waving his hand to dismiss having to admit his error, "So we've stumbled on a whole damn tribe of them."

First Rejection Letter

Scent of Evil was my first attempt to be published in an actual book. I like to think that my first step towards becoming a professional author was submitting my first work to be published. Maybe that should be changed to surviving my first rejection letter. I did get some good feedback on my work. What hurt though was that I had seen the flaws myself. That means that there were problems that I could have changed myself.

The editor said that I should have gone for a darker, more noir style. I had tried to capture the essence of the anthology, struggling against demons, but fell back more to action and adventure. While I was aiming to fit the desired styles, I think I took for granted the range of stories I had seen in the first volume of the Crimson Pact anthology.

The biggest blow was when the editor had suggested that the story might have been better if I had written from the dog's point of view. Ouch! I had originally had just that idea. Unfortunately, I rejected it in favor of trying to make the dog character a surprise. I had been worried that the dog as the point of view character might come off as not serious enough for what they wanted or not fit what they were looking for. Talk about a time when you should have gone with the first option.

Now, the one thing I did disagree with was his suggestion that Mike is a horrible dog name. That was the name of a dog I use to have. I will admit though that a more fitting name could have been found. My last dog was Max, I think that would have done better. Originally the dog had been named Rex, but one of my proof readers said it was to obvious. I changed it to a "person name" to try and hide my twist (which turned out to be a poor twist) better. On a side note, he pointed out that I never did name the narrator. While that was somewhat intentional, I can see how that might be a flaw.

While there were a lot of stings, I did get some good from the rejection letter too. The editor did say that while my story did not quite work, it was an interesting idea. As well he stated that I have some skill as a writer and that with more work I could be published. I have to agree with him that I will probably do better with longer works. I want to be good at short works too though, and that is part of why I started this blog.

Keep following along and let me know if I'm getting better, but do not be afraid to give me some criticism to keep my head from getting swollen.

The Scent of Evil

Note: Originally this was a submission for the Crimson Pact Anthology. Sadly it was not chosen, but was a learning experience. I've removed the one reference to the anthology so that it is more stand alone.

I followed Mike as we stalked down the dark streets of suburbia. Our target was near, and though I had yet to pick him out, Mike had. He was on the trail and nothing was going to shake him. The others said I was crazy for putting so much faith in Mike, but he had proven himself time and time again. Mike had that sense for unnatural evil that let him know when it was nearby. Undead, poltergeists, or in this case a demon, he could pinpoint any of it. I am not sure how, but my theory is that it is the scent. He catches a whiff of something the rest of us just cannot quite smell, at least until it is too damned late.

I was going to need his nose in top form tonight. We were on the case of a body stealer. Cursed thing would jump into a host and use them for its own vile fun until they burned up from the inside or local law enforcement caught up with it. Then it would just ditch the body, letting its victim deal with the consequences. I think it liked leaving some poor host to suffer in a jail cell with the memories of what had happened more than it liked committing murders and other perversions while it controlled the host.

Mike waved his nose through the air as he sniffed for our quarry. I kept close behind, trying to be ready for whatever Hell we were about to walk into. We stayed close to the shadows. At least while it was in a human host, the darkness was no more the body stealer’s friend than ours. Actually, with Mike's senses leading the way, it was one of the few advantages we might have. Thank God for small blessings.

We were nearing an alley running between two houses, they were either abandoned or should have been, when Mike's nostrils began to flare and he came to a halt. This was the sign that he had just gotten a strong scent and we were just about on top of the bastard. He bared his teeth and he was crouched down like he was ready to go for the throat, the evil taint putting him on edge. That scent got to him and he knew it needed to be destroyed; it came down to an instinct for him. I put my hand on his back to calm him down. Mike is a big boy, and I have seen him give all hell in a fight, but his job was just to find the demon. It was my job to actually take the thing down.

Mike reluctantly backed down and I took the lead. I moved forward carefully, trying to be as silent as death. An old security light someone had set up on a telephone pole flickered in an unnerving way, almost like it did not want to shine on what it saw happening from its perch. As I neared the mouth of the alley, the stench hit me. I could not smell evil the way Mike could, but this close I could damn well smell the blood. It use to twist my stomach. Frankly, I wish it still did. That would mean I had not been around it so much that I had gotten use to it.

I edged around the corner, wanting to see the creature before it saw me. Pale moon beams and the flicker of the security light provided illumination for the horrid scene. I silently cursed myself for not moving faster; maybe if I had the poor person being cannibalized might have been saved. Judging by the sweat suit, the victim was probably a late night jogger that had been caught off guard. Crouched over it, back to me, was the body stealer, or at least the unfortunate sap that was stuck as its host. It was a man's body, dressed like some nine to five office clerk.

I did not waste time. This was not some film where the hero challenges the beast to one on one combat. I held up a glass jar covered in runes. Smoke seemed to swirl within it, the trapped essence of a few other demons I had managed to take down. I began the chant to my spell, rattling it off as fast as I could without making any mistake that would fizzle the incantation.

The demon heard my voice and turned. I could see now how the front of the host's shirt and face were covered in blood and gore. The big knife he had used to slice open the victim was hard not to notice as well. I should have started out farther back I realized. This guy was fast, covering the ground too quickly. I was close to finishing the spell, but he was going to be on me in half a heartbeat. I was dead, or at least should have been.

Thankfully, Mike had my back. Despite being told to stay back, Mike tackled the bastard and bought me the time I needed. He did not give a damn about the knife, he just knew that evil son of a bitch was coming at me and had to be stopped. As they rolled on the ground I opened the jar and pointed it at the host body. The body jerked as my magic drew the possessor out, pulling it into the magic jar, which I then quickly sealed.

I went over to where Mike was trying to get up. He had a nasty cut down his side, but nothing that would kill him. I looked over at the host. He was groaning, trying to regain consciousness. I'd have to figure out some way to help him stay out of jail, not to mention help him to deal with the horror he had been through. I smiled at Mike then patted his head, "Good boy Mike, good boy."