Out the Bag

The old tavern stinks.

It stinks of spilled ale, the unwashed bodies of various races, wet wool and rust. The rust smell comes from my own chainmail and it was growing overpowering. Not that I would dare remove the armor, not in this place. Not that I was afraid of this place. No this was, in a way, almost home. I just didn't trust some of my sword brothers to not be too drunk to know when to keep their hands to themselves.

Long blond hair or not, I'm not a wench.

Speaking of drunks. Sipping at a tankard of mead, I look over at Gregory. He was deep in his cups tonight and trying his damnedest to talk every girl in the place into a trip upstairs. Not that he was sober enough to manage a hard pintal, of course. He would more likely puke than find pleasure. But then his idea of a good night was a two-copper whore from a dive by the docks so this place was probably upscale to him. Fewer lice to pick out his beard.

I look up sharply when a guy in fancy dress robes walks into the tavern. He's as out of place as an elf in a dwarf brothel. When he nervously looks around I let him sweat a bit, observing this "magi" that wants to hire me and my friends. While my sword is for hire, I don't work for fools and this man has all the hallmarks of such. But then the cut of his robes says he had money.

And I have a fondness for money.

I lift my tankard and gesture for him when he notices. He crosses the room being super careful not to brush the patrons with his robes. Idly, I wonder whether that because he's afraid such a touch will anger them, or more likely get his robes dirty.

"Greetings." He stops before my table looking me over. "I am Galstaff, Sorcerer of Light."

"Ambergris Caye." My almond-shaped gray eyes are mere slits in the darkness under my hood. "Ranger of the Isles. I understand, by rumor, that you are seeking adventurers for a quest."

He looks me over, eyes flitting to the ancient horn bow next to me, the worn look of my leathers and the rust on my chain armor. "Yes. I need someone to accompany me into an ancient crypt called The Darkness. I'm seeking a book broken into nine parts. So far I have recovered two of them, and I now know where a third is. I must have that book!"

"Don't get your robes in a twist." A shadow comes alive next to the magi and takes a seat next to me. "He came alone."

Galstaff is clutching a hand over his heart, clearly scared witless by my shadowy friend, Elric the Twice Hung. For a half-second I watch the magi's lips, expecting to see a mumble of chant that will unleash a spell upon us both.

"Good." I roll a coin I owe across the table to Elric. "Master Galstaff here was just explaining to me where he wants us to go. A place avoided by all sane races it appears."

Behind us in the middle of the room, Gregory throws back his head in a battle cry and drops his pants. He lifts a huge pitcher of ale and pours it nonstop into his open mouth, across his beard, down his bare chest, and across his greasy looking pubic hairs to wash his

spur

with spillage. With his left hand, he has a wench by her bodice and is shaking her boobs free, to the hooting delight of the crowd, as he drinks.

"So we're going?" asks Elric with a shake of his black bandana-covered head at our rowdy friend.

I look up at the terrified magi, eyeing the huge, mostly-naked fighter. "Of course." I smile when his head whips back around to look at me. "Sounds like our kind of fun."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The fire in the cavernous stone-lined box that served the tavern as both a fireplace and a kitchen held only smoldering coals. Around me, the floor was covered with snoring people, curled up in cloaks. Some have the coin to have paid for a room in the loft. Gregory drifted up that way hours ago. I could hear his snoring from here, similar in pitch and volume to a snow bull's mating bellow.

With my cloak around me, I watch the flames, my mind walking familiar paths through centuries of memories. Such is sleep for me and my kind.

My eyes snap focused when a figure makes its way in under the draped blanket that serves as a door. I ease my hand to the hilt of my short sword, Nightbringer, a blade that will glow blue like a morning star when pulled in this dark room.

I relax when I see it's simply the tavern wench from earlier. Her simple barmaid's clothes show signs of having been violently pulled upon, and she has the odd bruise as well. However, she clinks of coins moving on coins, a sound too soft for most to hear but not too soft for my pointed ears.

She startles when she sees my hood move to follow her.

"Milord?"

"No lord I, girl; simply a traveler on the sea of fate." I smile at her and nod towards her disheveled clothes. "Had a long night plying your goods?"

"Great gangly dolt of a man; couldn't stand upright but wanted to fuck. Paid me in advance then pawed at me till he passed out." She fingers her bruised cheek. "He was too drunk to know a tit from a tulip. Thought my head was my boob at one point."

"Aye, I know the man. Tiss an easy mistake for him to make. His own head is a boob."

She giggles then gave her head a tilt. "Would you like a bed warmer? Something soft to bed down next to?"

By reflex, I go to wave her away. Human women thrill me not with their overly ripe attributes, but then I pause. On the morrow, I leave to go and ply my sword in a hellish place, for a fool's errand. . Why not spend my lust and my coin in pleasure?

"Sure. Though I have not paid for a bed, I have the coin for such, if thy but lead the way." I gesture towards the loft.

"Oh, I know where you can sleep and in far greater comfort than here. Come; let me lead you to temptation, master elf." She giggles "I've never been with an elf. You do have the same equipment, yes?"

"No lass. We are endowed like dray horses."

She stops in her tracks, hand raised to push the curtain open for me. For a half-second, she looks aghast at me then her eyes twinkle. "Oh, such a jester you are. Trying to tease a maiden such as me, with such tales."

I smile back. "If you chose to think such."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

"Oh, by the gods it's too big!"

Ignoring the wench, I plow her sweet folds open. Not so much being gentle as taking my time in trying to break her mind, body, and soul. Her thick hips, overly plump arse and melon like jugs are not at all to my taste but her tight cunny is wonderfully wet.

"Please, master elf, for all that is holy, not so hard!"

With a roll of my eyes, I do ease up, a little. No need to wear her out completely. Not yet. It will be hours before my lust is slaked and I want her to be alive for it all of course. With a grip on her hips, I hold her squirming body in place and pump her to my full length.

"Damn it! Were you sired by a troll!"

I laugh, envisioning my mother in her gossamer gowns giving come-hither looks to a troll. But then my father, Almordreth the Lord of Mordethsrealm, had been not too far removed in temper from a troll. And if my mother's cries, similar to this wench's screams, were to judge he had been endowed similar as well. Hence, my own might spur.

Which reminded of him, I reapply with vigor. To the anguish of my bedmate.

"No amount of gold is worth this!"

Keeping her from squirming away, I reach under her and diddle her little

bud of pleasure

till she screams a different song. She slips into the little death. Then, my pintal wet with her spendings, I go back to my plundering of her virtues while she is passed out. All too soon for my liking, she awakens and begins to fill the air again with her piteous pleas.

"YOU WENCH STEALING ELF! YOU SON OF A GOBLIN"S WHORE!"

The wooden door to this ten-by-ten room is ripped from its rope hinges and tossed away into the muddy night. A massive shadow lurches into the empty space, an equally massive wooden cudgel appearing.

"STEAL MY WOMAN!"

With a sigh for lost lust, I pull free of the girl and grab my pants. I easily duck under Gregory's huge swings as I'm dressing. I yank the worn-to-a-fray girl out the way when the club descends towards her in his drunken madness. I pull her to me and place a kiss upon her slack lips.

"Till your cunny again meets my cock, fairest. I'll count the days."

"Yeah ...." She slips limp from my arms to sit leaned against the side of her bed. "I can't even feel my cunny hole."

I dodge past the huge man and out into the cold night. "Now Gregory this is no way to treat a friend."

"FRIEND! FRIENDS DON"T STEAL WENCHES!"

Again and again, he swings that huge tree he calls a club trying with all his might to swat me but I'm far too quick when he's sober for him to hit, now it's laughable. With his mouth agape and him sucking air like a bellows he finally slows down, looking at me with hate.

"Now, now Gregory I didn't steal anything. She is right there. All naked and wet and willing. I simply got her ready for you."

He pauses looking at me, then scratches at his mangy hair. He looks over at her and then a grin plasters across his bearded face. Before I could blink he rushes me and enwraps me in a bear hug that crushes all the air out my lungs.

"Thank you, brother. I love you, man, I love you!"

"Thanks ... not ... needed, that's okay ... I'll do it ... anytime ... for you. Now let me go you, great oaf!"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Don't want anyone thinking we're, well you know. Those kinds of friends." With a grin, he turns and walks towards the wench's hut, leaned his tree club against the side and steps in ducking his head. "Hi honey, I'm home."

Chucking at the sound the wench makes, I stroll off into the night to go check that my horse is still being well kept. I end up "sleeping" in the hayloft above him for a bit. Such is the life of an adventurer.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The trip from town to the crumbly remains of the old Greyskull monastery passed quickly. A brief time spent gathering supplies, loading up our baggage upon a mule and then the ride. We set a watch every night, of course, but nothing disturbed our camp.

Idly I rub at the half-healed scar on my cheek.

Well, nothing worth mentioning disturbed our camp, just wandering monsters.

The monastery was little more than a pile of broken stones upon a hilltop, within a swamp, deep inside a haunted forest. Once a powerful place where monks from many lands had gathered to exchange knowledge now it was a haven for all things evil. Dark. And vile.

And we were going there to find a

book

, no, not even that much. We were going there to find a piece of a book. How exactly do you break a book into nine pieces? Why do you break a book into nine pieces? And why had the book been broken into nine pieces?

I had tried to ask Galstaff those exact questions but he was reluctant to speak on them. In fact other than to complain about the food, the weather (which had been perfect,) the bugs, the smell of his horse or the length of the journey he didn't speak of much of anything. Gregory might have something to do with that reluctance. The big man had begun an epic tale as we rode from town, about the tavern wench he had bedded "twice" the night before. Two days later he was still telling of his bed skills at conquering the bottomless mines under Mount Quim. To hear him tell of it, he left her a physically destroyed woman who would forever long for his return.

I stopped listening on the first day before the edge of the tree line surrounding the town.

Riding my black stallion, Mandarb, up the shifting hill of broken shale, I wish the fool would shut up. I still was aggrieved at his interruption of my pleasure. With a look back at Elric the Twice Hung, I gestured for him to take the point. The nimble rogue slid from his saddle, where he had been riding in a relaxed slouch, and slips into the shadows of the many tall pillars that line the roadway. Chains hang from them, draped rope like from pillar to pillar. And in places

things

hung from those rust-pitted chains. Tattered bits and pieces of what, or who had come here before us.

"Are we there yet?"

I look back at the whiny sorcerer, my almonds shaped gray eyes filled with contempt. "Aye, we have arrived at the Crypt of The Darkness. Time to do your part, Master Magi. Where is the most likely place to find your relic?"

"Well, at the very Heart of The Darkness of course! Where else would it be." He sniffs at the scented cloth before his nose.

"Of course," I say, dismounting. I pat Mandarb's black flanks and send him to wait for me nearby. War trained he went willingly and set up a guard. He would whinny a warning that could be heard for miles if trouble approached us from behind.

"Gorramit, where the hell's the door to this place? All this talk of sex has left me with a powerful lust. I feel the need to wet my wood." He padded the club he uses to let us know what he means. Gregory then gave his huge steed a kick in the butt to make it follow my black stallion. "Go on you nag. Get!" That done he looks at me. "Hey, Gris! Did we pack any more mead? I have got a powerful thirst a brewing in my belly, too."

I give the

ever-full

wineskin at my side a slosh. "I have only the yellow healing waters of my homeland, but thou art welcome to a share if you must."

"Fizzy piss-colored wine? Hell to the no. Hey, magi boy! Your kind can make food and drink, yeah? I've heard tell of such spells. Can you make some mead? Maybe some cheese as well, my bowels are getting loose from the elf's cooking."

I saw Gregory fumble with his staff and wand and spell book, his whole game plan destroyed by a simple question. The chance of this "magi" getting us all killed rose higher in my mind with every moment I was around him. Perhaps I should slit his throat and save myself the antici ... pation.

"I ... I have no such spells prepared. It will take me a bit of time to study the ...." He again nearly tripped over his robes, dropped the small book, tripped over his staff, or dropped the wand he was trying to hold. "... proper incantations."

"And we have no such time. Gregory, get you a drink from one of the water skins and think of the feast to come when we return from this quest." I take a small sip from my wineskin enjoying the refreshment the yellow waters bring. I hold it out towards the fighter. "Or, drink of this as I have offered. I care not which."

Grumbling, the big fighter took a long swill from my wineskin. Then he pulled his trousers up, tied his rope belt tighter, and gave that tree trunk club a swing.

"Let's go kill something, already."

Knowing Elric was walking before us checking the way for traps, I kept my eyes roving for possible enemies that were hidden to human eyes. We have encountered such things before with nasty consequences. But then as I watch Gregory stalk past me, whistling a tune and swinging his stick, I shake my head knowing that consequences or not some fools always rush in.

Sigh.

The metal gates to the catacombs have long ago been torn from the gateposts. Up out that dark pit came a smell that reminded me of old basements. Dank, mildew and with a faint smell that could be anything. But was to be sure nothing pleasant.

"HEY! BAD THINGS! COME AND GET US!"

Looking over at Gregory aghast, I shook my head. "What is wrong with you?"

"What? Make it simple, I mean it's not like we can go room to room killing things quietly." Gregory shrugged and grinned back at me. "Right?"

Rubbing at my temples, I sigh and loosen my sword in my scabbard. Going to be a long night.

We enter the ten-by-fifty corridor, the floor choked with rubble, but a path had been cleared by the passage of ... something. Ahead of us a shadow moves.

"YEAGH! DIE, MONSTER OF HELL!"

A fiery missile of magical energy springs from Galstaff's wand, streaks across the empty space and blinds all of us with its white brilliance. Elric the Twice Hung, cried out, dove frantically out the way, but the missile curves and still went for him. At the last second, he tries to parry it with the magical dagger I know he carries and the enchanted blade absorbs the magic. He dropped the blade and shook his stinging hand. Massaging the feeling back into his numb fingers.

Then he picks back up the dagger.

"He's the paycheck, Elric."

The rogue stops, chewing over that for a half second then slides the dagger back into the scabbard. With a shake of his head, he turns and continues on ahead.

I turn brimming with anger on the shaking robe-wearing fool. "Magi, if you do that again I will not stop him from slitting your throat. Hells, I will even help him end your life. Such foolishness can get us all killed. Now, you are new at this. You would do best to walk in the back, look for your lost book, and not do a damn thing unless I tell you to do so."

Galstaff blushes then, for a second, looks like I had mortally insulted him. After a moment, he nods and slides the smoking tipped wand back into the sleeve of his robes.

Giving him one last look, I nod to Gregory, who has been standing to the side chortling the whole time. Still snickering, the big fighter moves out and down into the blackness of the crypt. And, with my gut rolling in trepidation, I follow my friends down into The Darkness.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Hours have passed underground. And they were bloody.

In places, we have fought our way every ten feet. Things appearing at random to leap from the shadows. Elric the Twice Hung has also sprung traps to his own misfortune. Now he was walking with a limp that the yellow healing waters of my people could not completely cure. In fact, we all carry such wounds. Burned by fire, pierced by blade, bruised by stone, and slashed by magic we all are.

And at last--with his very life at stake--has this fool of a magi begun to show some worth. His spells have twice driven off foes that should have finished us. But Galstaff was now down to his staff and wand, his spells exhausted for the day. My wine skin was all but empty, its enchantment spent for the day, and Gregory was leaning on his great club more than swinging it.

When we slew the last of a group of rabid kobolds, which attacked us from a small side room, I called a halt. Elric had entered their lair, pounced it empty and then said it could be secured to me in a whisper. He knew, as I did, that the next encounter could be our last if we did not rest.

"We will stop here for the night," I announce. When I began to say more the magi interrupts me.

"But we are so close! I could have the book in hand within the next hour. We must press on. I'm paying you to deliver not to rest."

Elric rounds on the magi before I can, but says essentially what I was going to.

"Fool, I have already looted thrice over your paltry payment." He pokes the magi hard in the robes. "We could just as easily backtrack our way out of here and go spend our coin on food, drink, and pleasurable company as bed down in this stinking kobold's den. So hold your tongue on what we

must

do, or I will hold it for you. I have not forgotten, or forgive, that magic missile."

Gregory gave a deep grunt of support and I nod when the magi looks to me desperately.

Cowed, the magi meekly accepts that we must camp.

Entering the reek of the dog folk was like stepping into a kennel but the door could indeed be secured, and there was ample room for us all. My sharp hearing and keen eyes spot the charred rock and hear the air draft that shows us where we could build a fire. Working quickly we toss outside into the hallway the worst of the smelly piles of bedding and Elric the Twice Hung uses a small brush he carries with him in his trap kit to clean around the fire. Gregory needs no such niceties; he simply drops his butt in a corner and digs into a pack for a leg of mutton he has been carrying since morning. He gnaws at the tough smoked meat like a dog himself.