Pomf

It's the weirdest feeling to have people expecting something of me. I started writing these little DnD fictions as a bit of fun, but apparently, my playing companions have come to rely  on me to produce them. I have fans. And they're hungry for more. And I'm quite terrified at what they might do if I fail to produce something to satisfy them. Nice fans... Here's your story now... pleasedon'teatme...

The companions blinked away the white stars in their eyes and beheld the room in front of them. Rathalohse sneezed.

“Hey… Doesn’t this seem familiar to you?” Lereahl stepped forward, examining the multitudes of incredibly dusty bookshelves lining the walls.

“Actually, it does,” replied Jet-Ulfgar, also looking around curiously. “This is that giant library place. Where the bookshelves were out to get us. And there were those giant worm things. What’d we call them?”

“Dragonheart named them I think. ‘Manopillars’,” replied Mange.

“Yeah. This is the library all right. Except I remember more-” Rath screwed up his face in disgust. The three others paused, also remembering a certain young cleric who managed to throw up for half an hour straight after his first time through the gates of Lisseth. That had not been a pleasant experience.

The four companions stepped cautiously through the room. One could argue that there were really five explorers in the room, but unless one counted a drooling, half-conscious, barely dressed wizard, strapped to Mange’s back, who sometimes remembered that his name was Wolfenight, then the half-elf rogue, barbarian halfling, dwarf warrior and human ranger were pretty much the only ones on this plane.

It was strange. In all of their experience with planeswalking, they had never been brought back to the same world before. It felt as if they’d only just left it really, but then again, it felt as if a hundred years had passed among the dusty tomes.

Before long though, they were facing a nest of their old enemies – giant bookworm larvae. Jet charged at one, bringing his hefty, spiked shield low and ramming it, producing a satisfyingly squishy sound. Mange changed into the fray too. He swung up at the creatures with his great sword, slicing small gashes in their papery hides. With a particularly fierce lunge, the wizard strapped to his back flopped about and woke up with a start.

“Who? What? What’s going on?”

Mange grinned, a sudden, sly idea popping into his head.

“Hey! You back there! Do you have any spells to make me bigger?”

“Bigger? What? …books?”

“Bigger dammit! BIGGER!” he yelled, elbowing the scrawny man in the side.

Wolfenight squawked in alarm, suddenly confronted by tall, swaying larvae-things and Mange’s goop spattered sword flying gleefully above and around him.

“Ah. Okay. Bigger. Pleasedon’teatme…”

Wolfenight rummaged in his bathrobe, searching the pockets. There seemed to be an extraordinary number of them. Out came a rubber duck, a yoyo, a chipped tea cup, a kumquat, a lit candle, and finally, a short grey wand.

“Ah! Here we are. I think.” Wolfenight waved the wand, muttered a few incomprehensible words and with a shriek of glee, Mange shot up several feet. He began swinging with renewed vigor at the larvae.

Lereahl looked curiously on at the melee.

“They seem to have it well under control for now,” he murmured. He turned smartly on his heel and went to peruse the shelves.

 Jet leant on his shield, hauling himself up. He’d just pureed one of the larvae and grinned as he wiped some of the goo from his bushy red beard. Looking around for his next foe, the dwarf jerked forward suddenly, his eyes wide in shock. His shoulder felt strange. He reached around to find an arrow sticking out from between a tiny chink in his plate armour. Turning around, he saw and equally shocked Rath staring at him.

“Man, I am so sorry. I- I was aiming for the-”

“Shut up. Just shut up and get on with killing these things.”

Wolfenight was feeling really quite alarmed and woozy on Mange’s back. Nevertheless, while the now not-so-pint-sized halfling was going at the papery creatures, the skinny wizard was waving his staff about, bopping whatever he could hit on the head.

Jet’s roar was one of complete fury this time. Incredibly, there was another arrow sticking from between his plate mail. This one stuck from a crack in his thigh plates. After helping Mange slay the last larvae, Jet turned and stormed towards the trembling ranger.

“I swear, I didn’t mean it. I- I was aiming for the larvae-thing, honestly. I- please, I’m so sorry…” Rath was backing up very quickly, his bow discarded, a look of terror on his face.

“I’ll give you cheese! Good cheese! It has healing properties! I am so –oof!”

Rathalohse doubled over as Jet punched him in the stomach. Jet pushed the ranger over onto his back, rummaged in his pack for the cheese, and then kicked him in the nuts for good measure before scarfing down the whole wheel.

The gallery glittered in the low light. A pungent smell of sulfur made noses wrinkle. Lining tables and shelves were hundreds upon thousands of vials, beakers and bottles. Most were empty. Some contained brown sludge or other horrid, lumpy-looking concoctions.

“Hey, I wonder what this tap does,” muttered Mange, standing on tiptoes to fiddle with a knob. He had shrunk back to his normal size, much to his displeasure.

“Hey! Wait! Don’t do that! We don’t know what it does,” Rath hissed, leaping forward to bat Mange’s hand away. The tiny halfling glowered at the ranger and shoved him back.

“That’s why I turned it, cheese-brain. How else was I going to find out?”

The glassware chugged and bubbled a little and a thin stream of bright red slithered out of one of the tubes, pouring out into a small bottle. When it had stopped flowing Mange picked up the bottle.

“Huh. Looks like a healing potion.” He raised it to his nose, took a sniff and then sneezed. “Oh, yup. Definitely a healer. Bit dusty though. It’s been here a while.”

Lereahl paused.

“What was that?”

Jet looked up too.

“I didn’t hear nuthin’,” he said.

Lereahl shushed him with a finger to the lips. The Dwarf swatted the elf’s hand away. But then the rest of the group heard it too. A slight tinkling noise. Like something was moving in the shadows, brushing past rows of glassware. Suddenly, from behind them, there was the rustle of paper and a chittering sound.

“Oh gods,” muttered Rath, whipping around and tightening his bow string. Towering over them, mandibles dripping with saliva, was a fully grown giant bookworm-manopillar creature. It launched itself at Mange, who retaliated with a fine blow. Wolfenight shrieked in terror or confusion – it was hard to tell which – as he was tossed around. Rath, sighting down the dim gallery, loosed two arrows in quick succession, both landing with horrid, squishy sounds in the creature’s flesh. Before Jet had even managed to struggle around the table and jump into the fray, something went terribly wrong. The manopillar struck furiously at Mange, mandibles crunching audibly on armour. The tiny barbarian swayed where he stood, eyes unfocussed, sword dangling by his side. They heard the chittering sound again – but this time it sounded gleeful. The creature was laughing. It lunged forward, picked Mange up, tossed its head back and swallowed him. Wolfenight fell to the ground in a drooly heap. The creature’s jaws had sliced clean through the straps on Mange’s back.

“It ate him!” cried Rath, staring dumbstruck at the bookworm.

“We know! We saw! Now stop standing there and help get him out!” roared Jet, leaping at the creature again. Strangely, the creature had stopped attacking. Instead, it was writhing around, as if it was in pain. Its body was ballooning, stretching outwards. Lereahl ran forward, scooping the still rather hysterical wizard out from under the thrashing creature.

“Th-thank you friend,” said Wolfenight, leaning up against a table. He knocked over some dusty glasses, and shakily began picking them up again. Lereahl caught his hands.

“Forget about those. We need you to focus on Mange. Spells. What can we do to get Mange out of that beast?”

“Get him out?”

“Yes. He’ll be crushed to death in there. If he’s not already dead.” Lereahl paused to aim his crossbow at the monster and loosed his bolt. He turned back to Wolfenight as he reloaded.

“Uh. Yes. Spells. I have… uh… Ghostly Sounds?”

“Well that’s no use!” snapped Lereahl as his next bolt flew past the creature’s head.

“Hideous laughter, sleep, hypnosis, stun -”

“Wait. Hypnosis? Could you hypnotize the beast into throwing up?”

“I could try…” Wolfenight said, shrugging. Lereahl grabbed the front of the wizard’s robes and dragged him forward.

“Do it then!” he yelled, aiming again at the thrashing, bloated beast.

Wolfenight scrabbled in his pockets for the correct scroll. Finding it, he cleared his throat shakily and pronounced the strange incantation upon it, his brow furrowed in concentration. A streak of blue light shot from the wizard’s fingertips, seeking the giant worm’s head. It connected and the worm stopped thrashing. Everyone stopped moving, waiting to see what would happen. A confused look crossed the creature’s face and after a second more, it seemed to shiver. It bent forwards and with a horrible slurping, squelching sound, the huge bulge in the creature’s body seemed to move up and out of its mouth. Out of its widely stretched mandibles flopped-

“A manta-ray!?”

The companions danced out of the road as the enormous thing flapped wetly on the ground. Jet launched himself angrily at the bookworm.

“Give us back our friend you brute!” The recovering worm could not stand the dwarf’s sudden furious onslaught and fell beneath the spiked shield. Jet tore into the creature’s soft belly, spraying green goo and worm guts everywhere, searching for Mange. The others moved forwards to help too, their faces creased in worry. No one had ever admitted it, but they really quite liked the tiny ball of fury that was Mange.

The giant worm’s corpse was decimated. Green blood seeped into the tiles. Jet stood, panting over the remains, still completely confused.

“Over here you idiots,” came a weak cough. The four turned to see Mange lying in a pile of green goop behind them, right where the huge manta-ray had been. The planeswalkers rushed to their companion’s side.

“What?”

“How?”

Mange coughed again. A little bloody spittle leaked from his mouth. Jet immediately rummaged for health potions.

“Remember that stupid cloak I found in that old hall? Where you shot some poor, addle-brained dwarf in the ass, Rath?”

“The one that turned you into a manta ray upon contact with saltwater?” asked Rath.

“That’s the one. Musta’ reacted with something in that stupid worm’s stomach. One second everything was black and slimy and the next – friggin’ flippers and vomit. Why does this library always seem to involve so much vomit?”

The group laughed as Mange took the health potion that was offered to him.

“We’re walking in circles, I’m sure of it,” moaned Rath. Jet ignored him and kept walking resolutely forward. The others could only follow, agreeing silently with the ranger. They had indeed passed very similar round rooms with branching corridors and marble statues. And the books. There were so many books. Finally they reached a corridor that didn’t look so familiar. There was a large set of double doors at the end. Jet pushed them open to reveal an open sitting room. There were sofas. Coffee tables and easy chairs and the walls were lined with – of course – tons of books. At the end though, was another large bookworm. Without a sign of hesitation, Jet charged at the creature. Mange, now looking much healthier, was close on the dwarf’s heels. They took the creature down without much of a problem. Rath didn’t even have to lend an arrow. Lereahl examined the room, a bit bored, as the two fighters finished off the beast. He began to notice odd things. Here and there, there seemed to be raised tiles.

“You guys should stop moving,” he called as Jet and Mange turned to walk back.

“Why?”

“There are traps everywhere in here. I can see pressure plates all over the floor. It was a miracle you managed to avoid them all as you ran to kill that creature,” Lereahl said, pointing to each of the pressure plates in return.

“You mean this is one?” Jet said, indicating the raised tile at his feet. Lereahl nodded. Jet harrumphed and before anyone could stop him, jumped onto the plate. With alarming speed, one of the comfortable reading sofas was launched at Jet. It hit him with a loud pomf, knocking him on his plate-armoured behind. He laughed and pushed the sofa off as Lereahl and Rath set to work on disabling the rest of the traps.

After walking around in more circles, they finally found another room they had not explored. They approached it slowly, wary of more giant manopillars hungry for halfling-barbarian flesh. They could hear a strange scuttling sound on the other side of the door. Jet and Mange took the lead. Rath and Lereahl stood in the back, arrows at the ready. Wolfenight stood behind the rest of them, twiddling his thumbs and looking off into another dimension apparently.

Flinging the door open, they saw the source of the scuttling. Dozens of serving-platter sized spiders scurried about the room, their hairy legs a blur of movement. Jet and Mange decided it would be best not to wade into the room for fear of being completely overwhelmed by the creatures. Instead they stood in the doorway and squashed any that came close. Rath and Lereahl were having a hard time picking off the creatures while trying to aim between the dwarf and the halfling. It was almost comical as one arrow after another found the impossible chinks in Jet’s plate armour.

Puffing and covered in spider goo and one or two twitching legs, Jet was a sight to behold as he turned, red-faced towards the rogue and the ranger. He stormed towards them, five arrows sticking from his back. Lereahl and Rath backed away as quickly as they could, practically running over Wolfenight.

“You imbeciles! You were supposed to be shooting the spiders! You hit me more than them!”

Lereahl was on the point of turning away and fleeing down the corridor when Jet managed to grab the front of his and Rath’s cloaks. The dwarf continued to bellow, spit flying.

“I got barely two bites from those blasted arachnids, and yet I’m almost falling down due to arrows in my back! LEARN TO AIM!”

And with those words ringing through the corridor, Jet cracked two’s skulls together and dropped them in a dazed heap. The dwarf strode away, pulling an arrow from his back.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me, I think I deserve a beer dammit.”

With a look of contempt and grim amusement at the rogue and the ranger, he disappeared in a puff of white and purple smoke.

The Mighty Dwagon

Good day  humans! I apologise for the lateness of this post. Generally I have the next Passage of the Planeswalkers installment ready for you early on a Tuesday morning. Last Tuesday however, I was completely beat and had no energy to pull the words from my head and paste them on the screen. So, without furter ado, here it is.

Mange, Jet-Ulfgar, Rathalohse, Lereahl, Wolfenight and Dragonheart were stocking up on supplies before their next foray beyond the magical crystal gates of Lisseth. Mange was doing what Mange did best nowadays – terrifying shopkeepers – when another person entered the already crowded store. Everybody turned to look at this strange newcomer. He was tall and brutish, his chunky muscles bound in dirty scraps of leather. He had dreadlocks and a dark olive complexion. Behind him trotted a small bright eyed, bipedal dinosaur. Mange was suddenly distracted – much to the shopkeeper’s relief. He ran up to the stranger.

“Who are you?”

The stranger looked quit alarmed at being confronted by what appeared to be a child carrying a great sword, two harpoons and wearing the skull of a giant snake as a helmet.

“Er. Tarloch.” The man spoke slowly and with a thick accent.

“Where are you from? Not around here obviously.”

Tarloch blinked and replied slowly.

“Tarloch is from the great jungle. Tarloch came to this place to use his magic. Was told I had a spark?”

“Oh! So you’re a druid then. That explains your dinosaur friend. What’s his name?”

“Uh… Dinosaur.”

“Dinosaur the dinosaur. Awesome.” Mange grinned. He called over his shoulder.

“Jet! Can we keep the druid?”

Jet-Ulfgar shrugged, looking the man up and down.

“He looks strong enough. I’ve been hearing word that the gates have been transporting Planeswalkers into realms with many more monsters of late. We could do with another pair of hands.”

Tarloch was hesitant at first, but soon followed the others as they disappeared one at a time through the sizzling white magic swirling under the crystal arch of Lisseth. The blinding whiteness was unusually quick to dissipate this time, dropping the band of seven into a huge, triangular canyon. The walls were sheer cliffs, and from every angle, a huge army bore down on the Planeswalkers. With cries of shock and fear, they cowered, waiting for the many slavering beasts to crash down upon them. Suddenly, the roar of the battle stopped. None of the seven moved for a moment. The one head came up, looking around in confusion.

“They’ve all stopped,” said Dragonheart.

The others got up too, looking around in astonishment. And so they had. All around them were hundreds of warriors, all frozen in the moment of collision right at the centre of the battlefield.

“What happened?” asked Jet.

“Not a clue,” replied Lereahl.

Now that they didn’t seem to be in any imminent danger, it was apparent that there were three distinct armies here. One consisted of an assortment of dinosaurs. There were tiny creatures on the frontlines, much like Tarloch’s companion. Behind them, were a range of larger raptors and four enormous sauropods. Their necks stretched high over the battlefield. Further behind them were three larger bipedal dinosaurs with razor-sharp toe claws, long toothy snouts and rather intelligent eyes.

Another army consisted of the spiny carapaces of giant insects. There were swarms upon swarms of dog sized creatures with mandibles and spikes, large vicious looking six legged creatures in the process of spitting frozen globs of horrid green goo, and right at the back, an enormous segmented creature with lethal claws and pincers flanked by two smaller, similar creatures.

The last army, was of dragons. There were troops of smaller dragonlings at the front, Four larger, spiny dragons in the middle and at the back, protected by tough, tank-like, six-legged dragons, was a huge, regal black dragon. One could only stand and stare in awe at the sight of the three great armies frozen on the cusp of war.

“What are we supposed to do?” asked Lereahl, moving closer to examine a dragonling.

“I have no idea… But this place feels of magic. Everywhere I can feel a faint… magic. Either that, or I’m still hung over,” said Wolfenight, standing in the middle of the battlefield, looking a little stunned.

Rath had wandered off in the opposite direction, and was bent over one of the now motionless bug warriors. He reached out with a curious finger to tap the shiny carapace. Suddenly, he felt a strange pull. He gave a squawk of surprise that made everyone turn to look. For a second Rath and the bug seemed to blur, then Rath vanished altogether. He looked to have been sucked into the insect warrior. The bug shifted and shook its head. It looked different now – it was wearing a top hat.

“Hey. What happened?” came Rath’s voice, clicking between the mandibles. Everyone rushed over and crowded around the Rath-bug.

“It looks like you’ve somehow merged with the warrior,” said Jet, peering into Rath’s insect face.

“The question is, can you get out?” asked Lereahl, looking slightly grossed out.

Rath’s bug-like face creased in concentration for a moment and then he blurred. Suddenly, he was standing beside them again, completely human.

“Wow. So we can join with any of these creatures?” asked Mange peering around at the motionless battlefield.

“It seems so,” replied Rath, straightening his top hat.

“Perhaps then the armies will unfreeze?” asked Dragonheart.

“Perhaps,” replied Jet.

“In that case, I want to be a dragon!” squeaked Mange, pelting off towards one of the hulking tank-like dragons.

After discussing for a few moments, the seven decided that they would all merge with the dragon army. Mange was already combined with one of the tank-dragons as they others chose their ‘steeds’. His features had transferred over to the creature, giving it the appearance of having a huge bladed front leg. This was the barbarian’s great sword. The dragon’s head was patterned with white, resembling Mange’s snake-skull helmet, and two large, barbed retractable spines sat atop his back in place of his harpoons.

Jet chose the other tank-dragon and it gained a large bladed leg too. Replacing his huge, bashing shield was a great bony plate around his neck. His dragon also sprouted a rather splendid red beard.

“Hah!” rumbled Mange. “You’re a dwarf dragon. You’re a Dwagon!”

Jet gave him a very dragonish frown, but then smiled smugly.

“And yet, you are still smaller than I,” he said.

Mange opened his mouth to retort, but could say nothing. His dragon had indeed grown smaller to suit him. He snorted furiously at the dirt instead.

Rath, Dragonheart, Lereahl and Tarloch were all assimilated into four of the smaller, leaner dragons, and found that their ranged weapons had now become spiny projectiles.

“Hah! Now I really am a Dragonheart!” said the halfling, flexing her claws.

Rath couldn’t help notice that Lereahl’s dragon changed suit the sleek, handsome half-elf, becoming a slim, graceful beast. It even had his long eyelashes.

Wolfenight was the last to wander into the forest of statuesque creatures. Looking almost by accident, he found himself in the body of the great, regal black dragon. The black dragon gained a look of slight bewilderment and the horns on its head twisted up into a strange pointed shape, reminding one of a pointed wizard’s hat. Drizard Wolfenight blinked his huge, gleaming black eyes, let out a roar and flapped his great wings.

“This form is… is… fantastic! I DON’T NEED PANTS!” he growled joyously, oblivious to the clamor of the suddenly animated battlefield.

Whether it was from the freedom of not wearing pants anymore, or the cunning of the black dragon’s mind, Wolfenight was ably directing the dragon army. Their minds seemed to be linked somehow, allowing all of the dragons to see and hear what every other dragon could.

“Troops! We are going to try to flank left! I don’t like the look of those three bigger raptors at the back of the dinosaur army. They could give us some serious trouble.”

The dragon army swarmed into action. The pseudo-dragons on the front lines were commanded to hold their positions and continue attacking the smaller bugs and dinosaurs. Rath and Lereahl moved around to the left and shot spines towards the shifty, intelligent raptors, but unfortunately missed both times. Dragonheart was luckier, hitting one of them in the eye. Mange and Jet left the Drizard’s side and charged at one of the enormous sauropods. They barely marked its thick hide.

Wolfenight’s magic, he found, was still accessible in the great black dragon’s claws. With a swipe, he sent a bolt of it towards one of the cunning raptors. The creature was nimble and smart enough to dodge the blast.

Further to their right, the dinosaur and insect armies were duking it out. Three of the huge sauropods were in among the tiny foot-soldiers, crushing bugs and pseudo-dragons. The latter were given the order to retreat, and with the help of the sauropods’ great feet and Lereahl, Dragonheart and Rath’s well-placed spines, the tiny dinosaurs and bug swarms were soon dwindling. The Queen bug and her troop of poison spitters were advancing, their acidic green spit taking down one of the huge, long-necked dinosaurs.

Mange was still battering at the sauropod he’d first engaged. It was dazed after a swipe of magic from Wolfenight but was still not going down. Dragonheart attempted to help, flinging a spine at the huge dinosaur. His aim was a little off as he was still getting used to his dragon form and he accidentally hit Mange in the shoulder instead. The great tank-dragon growled furiously at the rogue, but then turned its rage on the sauropod. Finally, the beast was subdued.

Jet had turned to confront the cunning raptors now. One of them was able to dodge two attacks, but then was downed by a spine thrown by Dragonheart. The two remaining raptors were not looking so smug now. They and their slowly dwindling army were being sandwiched between the dragons and the insects. One of them screamed and launched itself at Jet, rolling him over and pinning him where it could bite at his softer underbelly. Mange roared and threw himself at the other raptor, taking it by surprise and crushing it with a huge blow from his bladed foreleg. The creature that was clawing desperately at Jet’s neck knew that it was the only one of its kind left as the Queen insect and her spitters took out the last of the sauropods. It screeched in pain, looking up to see that Torlach’s pet dinosaur, which was now bonded with a tiny dragon and looking pretty much the same as it usually did, had rushed in and nipped it on the tip of its tail. This gave Rath the perfect opportunity and he shot the raptor squarely between the eyes. The dinosaur army was defeated.

There were no pseudo-dragons left, apart from Torlach’s pet. The spitters had seen to that. The bug army was slowly advancing upon the dragons as they formed ranks, pushing their way past dinosaur corpses.

“Torlach, can you call upon anything to obscure their vision?” asked Wolfenight.

The burly dragon nodded and raised a claw. There was a soft rushing sound and suddenly a heavy fog descended between the two armies. The dragons were now standing at the very edge of a soft, wispy white cloud. They would have the advantage as the bug army emerged one by one from the mist.

Everything was quiet. The dragon army was motionless. Every eye was focused on the mist, preparing to attack whatever emerged. Adrenaline could be felt singing through every vein via the strange dragon hive mind. The minutes stretched into hours. The cloud of fog seemed to settle gently, falling and spreading outwards. Suddenly, there came a shout.

“The spitters! They’ve come around the mist!” called Rath.

“Archers! Druid! Take them out!” commanded the Drizard. Tarloch raised his claws again, muttered some strange words and called forth a huge scaly green crocodile amidst one group of spitters. The creature snapped and hissed, pulling a spitter off its legs with a grizzly crunch. Lereahl, Rath and Dragonheart set to work taking out the rest.

There was a strangled roar and a strange scraping, scuttling sound on the front line. The earth moved beneath one of the remaining spiny dragons. Bursting from the ground and shredding the creature in a spray of hot red blood was the Queen bug. She had burrowed under the mist and up into the dragon army. Her commander bugs were not far behind, emerging from the earth right at the edges of the front line, behind Mange and Tarloch. The Queen turned and with a great slice of her pincers, she shredded the other spiny dragon. Mange and Jet threw themselves at the Queen. She turned her shiny, multifaceted eyes towards them and hissed menacingly as she retaliated furiously.

Rath and Lereahl were finishing off the remainder of the spitter bugs as Tarloch battled the commander bug that had appeared behind him. The insect was beating him though. Bleeding and heavily wounded, the druid had no choice but to retreat into the fog. The commander bug did not follow, instead it burrowed again.

The Queen had curled herself slightly. Mange and Jet landed a few more hits, wondering why she was no longer attacking them. Their questions were answered mere seconds after this as she reared back, spraying a hail of poison darts outwards. Every dragon in the surrounding fight was hit. Wolfenight keened in pain and retreated a distance. He had no more defense as a dragon than as a human.

The Barbardragon and the Dwagon were still battering away at the Queen bug. She was showing the signs. Green blood leaked from wounds in her carapace. The green blood seemed to fizz slightly and burned the warriors’ skin when it landed on them. Rath, no spitter bugs now to shoot at, aimed at the Queen. His spine however, hit Jet. The Dwagon growled at him, the dragon-mind link showing that the ranger had been thinking about cheese rather than concentrating on aiming. He had to concentrate now as the commander bug that had burrowed earlier burst out of the ground behind him. Rath screamed and took off into the fog. However, he was still able to see the battle going on through the dragon’s mind-link. Taking careful aim, he was able to land a good shot on the Queen. There was an instant confirmation from every mind in the link that if Rath could land hits through others’ eyes, but not his own, that he needed glasses.

Mange was still attacking the Queen with all he had, but his movements were slowing. He was latticed with cuts and gouges and the bubbling green blood of the Queen was searing his scaled hide. Dragonheart took a deep breath and a run-up and executed a fantastic tumble right between the Queen and Jet. Leaping up again, he pulled a health potion from the saddle bags he wore across his back and hastily fed it to the halfling. Several of Mange’s wounds closed in an instant. The fizzing green blood dripped away. He stood up, a new gleam in his eye. He looked at Jet as the dwarf battled the Queen bug.

“Out of the way, Dwagon!” he roared.

Jet looked around to see the Barbardragon sailing through the air towards the Queen. His annoyed look turned to one of shock and he ducked out of the way. Mange’s bladed foreleg came down, slicing straight through the Queen’s shiny shell from the sheer weight of the falling dragon, shearing deep through her slimy green innards. Mange and the Queen fell to the ground where she twitched and squealed as she died. The commander bugs also fell to the ground, hissing and squealing, unable to survive once their Queen was dead. Mange got to his six legs, triumphant and covered in green blood. The dragon army cheered.

Your Mother was a Whetstone!

Good day, ladies and mentalmen. It is two hours past the very black of the night, so without further ado, I present the next installment of the Passage of the Planeswalkers.

The group looked the skinny wizard up and down. He was the newest member to have joined their rag-tag Planeswalker party.

“Is that a bathrobe?” asked Rathalohse. He was toying with a new, powerful compound longbow.

“Yes. Yes it is,” replied Wizard Wolfenight. He was a young fellow and seemed oddly at ease with his state of undress.

“You’re just going to wear a bathrobe through the gates of Lisseth?” asked Mange, a very confused look on his small, pinched face.

“No. Of course not,” replied Wolfenight.

“That would be far too silly,” agreed Jet-Ulfgar, who was sitting nearby, sharpening his axe.

“Yes, which is why I’m wearing my hat too!” said Wolfenight, indicating the pointed wizard’s hat perched upon his head. Lereahl, who was skulking in the shadows nearby, simply face palmed.

Stepping through the crystal gates of Lisseth was quite familiar now to our ill-assorted companions. The white magic pulled them through the irrational, blinding white ether, dumping them all unceremoniously in a pile at the other end.

“Ow. That’s my ear,” moaned Rath.

“Sorry,” replied Jet, removing the offending elbow.

The group picked themselves up, untangling Mange’s harpoons from Lereahl’s new crossbow. Once they had sorted themselves out, they were able to take in their surroundings. They were standing in a perfectly square room. The floor, walls and ceiling were of the same perfectly polished green stone. There was a corridor ahead of them, with a bright light at the end. After checking the room cautiously, they ventured down the hallway.

“Go towards the light…” whispered Rath, jokingly.

This hallway opened out into a great, pentagonal shaped room. The ceiling was lost in darkness and the walls were of blue tinted glass. Behind the glass were thousands upon thousands of creatures. Creatures that looked humanoid, but that were horribly changed. Some had the head or hands of animals, others had mutated, disfigured features, some had horns or spines or glowing eyes – some had no eyes at all. There was a low buzzing, roaring noise that ceased immediately when the companions stepped into the centre of the room. Every single one of the near-human creatures turned to look at the travelers. They raised their weapons only to find themselves no longer looking past blue glass.

The pentagonal room had vanished completely. The ground under their feet was now soggy and marshy. Trees with low hung branches surrounded them and thin slivers of white mist curled between the leaves. Spotted through this now wide landscape were thousands of headstones.

“Er… Either I just dropped acid, or we’re suddenly in a really bad place,” said Wolfenight, now aiming his staff at the four, misshapen, discolored creatures that shambled from the shadows of great tombstones. Mange, being Mange, was the first into battle with a piercing war cry. Unfortunately, all the smaller ghouls turned upon him. The first ghoulish creature’s arm fell to the ground at the behest of the halfling’s great sword. Rotten black blood began to dribble from the wound. The rest of the creatures piled upon the halfling, one managing to get its teeth into him. The beast’s bite was enough to paralyze Mange.

Wolfenight recovered well after the group’s second, sudden displacement of the day and sent a blast of white light into another ghoul, flooring it with a squishy thud. Rath went into action too, wielding his new longbow with ease. Fitting an arrow to the string, he took out another of the ghouls which already had a bolt in the shoulder, courtesy of Lereahl.

At this point, Jet was accosting the largest of the ghouls. Lately, he’d begun to favour rushing his enemies with his large, spike shield. This was only useful once, after that, there was no room to ram again, and his battleaxe swung into play instead.

Wolfenight, with no more magic to throw at the time, decided to simply rush up and clout one of the zombies on the head with his staff. He was unfortunate enough to run right into Rath’s line of fire. The ranger’s sharp arrow pierced him in the shoulder. Wolfenight turned around, fuming.

“You shot me!” he yelled.

“You got in the way!” snapped the ranger.

“But you shot me!”

Outraged, Wolfenight ran up to the ranger and clouted him too on the head with his staff.

“Ow,” muttered Rath, rubbing his ear for the second time that day. Suddenly he pushed Wolfenight out of the road, drew an arrow swiftly and finished off the last ghoul as it was about to go for the paralyzed Mange’s throat. With a great roar, Jet beheaded the last ghoul.

Mange groaned and sat up as the group stopped to rest and share some candy around. The mist swirled eerily around the five companions. Suddenly, as quickly as it had appeared, the damp graveyard disappeared. They were back in the pentagonal room, thousands of quasi-humans behind blue glass, all watching them intently. There was a new sound now – a roaring, thunderous applause. The travelers looked around in surprise.

“I get it now. This is some sort of arena… We just finished a bout, which means…” The five turned around as a large chest materialized behind them.

“Prizes!” they all yelled and dove forwards to collect their spoils.

They were now standing on a peaceful, grassy hill with a large rocky cairn at the top. A sweet breeze blew around them, rippling the soft grass. There seemed to be nothing around. Lereahl’s eyes were the sharpest though and he was the first to spot the large leather sack. Hurrying up to it, Jet was a bit overexcited. Without thinking, he jumped on the leather bag, eager for more treasure. Whatever was in the bag was definitely not treasure, and was quite offended at having been stood on. Shaking its great mane and snarling menacingly, a dire wolf stepped out onto the grassy hilltop.

“Oh,” said Jet.

“Puppy!” cooed Wolfenight.

The wolf howled. There was a great rumbling. What they had mistaken for a cairn moved, and then with surprising speed, stood up.

“Er. Yes. Puppy. A  giant’s puppy,” mumbled Wolfenight, quickly backing away.

The giant roared. The sound was earth shattering, but not as shattering as the vibrations caused when it swung its huge club. The club that was practically a dead, uprooted tree left a crater where the companions had just been standing. The wolf raced after Jet.

“Bad puppy!” yelled Wolfenight. “Bad dog! No! You sleep now!” A bolt of purple lightning shot from the wizard’s staff with a few more choice words, hitting the great grey wolf in midair. The huge beast slumped forward, fast asleep.

Mange meanwhile was flying towards the giant’s patella. With a great slash to the giant’s knee, he dropped to the ground, and was promptly bashed twice over the head with the huge club. This effectively drove him two feet into the soft dirt and knocked him out as cold as one would expect from being hit with a tree.

The rest of the group had already begun firing whatever they had at the enormous creature. Right before Jet prepared to charge at the beast, he and Rath locked eyes over the battlefield. Something passed between the two. On the other side of the hill, Lereahl straightened up, looking around curiously.

“My sexy senses are tingling…” he muttered to himself.

Jet charged the giant, slashing vicious swathes in its ankles.

“This is not working!” cried Lereahl as a bolt ricocheted off the giant’s tough skin. He went to reload, only to have the string snap. Mange struggled out from the hole he’d been pressed into and rolled gently down the hill to the half-elf’s feet. Lereahl bent down and with a swift motion, pulled a potion of healing from his pack and tipped it into the little barbarian’s mouth.

“You’re right! We have to stop him moving,” growled Jet as the giant roared and took a swing at him. When Mange was back up on his feet, he took a harpoon from his pack and aimed it at the giant’s legs.

“Guys, I have an idea…”

Jet ran, puffing, around the giant. The enormous creature roared and followed him, tangling the lines further around its legs. It swung several times, but missed. The beast was growing furious at not being able to hit the stocky dwarf. Jet banged his axe on his shield, further taunting the giant.

“Hey! You! Your mother was a whetstone!” he yelled, garnering him another blow of the huge club.

“Now pull!” Mange yelled. The other three grabbed the ropes wrapped around the giant’s legs and pulled. Slowly, incredibly, the beast toppled forwards onto one knee. With another heave, the giant collapsed onto its back. There was another, closer roar. The dire wolf had woken up. Hackles raised, it took a flying leap, knocking Wolfenight to the ground, pinning him beneath huge paws. With a roar of his own, Jet came charging up and bashed the wolf solidly in the chest. Wolfenight, in his panicky wriggle out from under the wolf’s paws, head butted it in the nether regions. As it was then rather incapacitated, Jet was able to pin it to the ground with his shield and snap the beast’s neck.

Lereahl sailed through the air and rolled to a stop, coughing and moaning. The grounded giant was still flailing dangerously. As Mange approached it, sword aloft, it was able to smush him again into the dirt. From then on it was a confused frenzy of healing the nearly dead halfling and watching in amazement as Jet finished off this huge creature too.

A short rest later, and they then found themselves standing in a hot, dry wind. All around them was the soft sound of sand drifting and falling in a vast desert. They were ready with their weapons this time, not fooled by the apparent lack of danger. Fifty yards away there was a strange disturbance among the dunes. Everyone turned to face it. There was a weird hissing sound as the sand fell away and something dark rose from the dunes. Glittering in the harsh sun, shaking sand from its leathery wings was a huge blue dragon. It shook its head, and then turned intelligent, sparkling blue eyes on the five. It considered them for a moment. Wolfenight, knowing that dragons were extremely clever creatures, lowered his staff.

“What are you doing?” hissed Mange as he stepped forward slightly.

“Hello over there!” the wizard called to the dragon. “We would very much appreciate it if you didn’t attack us. In return, we shall not attack you-” The gangly wizard’s words were cut off very abruptly as the dragon smiled and unleashed a blazing bolt of white lightning at him from the horn on its head. Wolfenight turned back to them, now smoking and frizzy haired.

“Well,” he said with a cough of smoke, “Diplomacy has obviously failed.”

The ranged fighters were slowly backing over the dunes, getting more and more frustrated as the dragon’s scales simply deflected each and every one of their arrows. Mange and Jet were up under the dragon’s feet, stabbing and hitting wherever they could. Wolfenight, out of magic after singeing the dragon’s toes with a fiery spell, was simply holding armfuls of healing potions, dancing madly around and feeding them to the fighters as they were needed. The dragon roared as an arrow finally pierced its neck, bent down and snapped up the dwarf. But Jet refused to be swallowed by the beast. Instead, with a feat of manly strength, he pried the dragon’s jaws off and fell from its mouth, sprawling in the sand and rolling down a dune. The dragon seemed to grimace. Maybe dwarves tasted bad. Mange however was still raging away at the creature’s forepaws. However, the dragon looked lazily at the halfling, and with a smirk and swat of its tail and claws, he was down too.

Lereahl and Rath looked at each other. This dragon would surely kill them. Most of their attacks weren’t even penetrating the beast’s armored hide. Mange and Jet were on their last legs. Wolfenight had no legs to speak of.

“Guys! We’re not going to make it!” Rath shouted to the others. Mange ducked another swipe of the dragon’s claws and then rolled to avoid its tail.

“Sure we are!” he yelled back.

“We’re really not,” said Lereahl. “I’m not dying out here in this wasteland. I’m too pretty and you know it!”

Jet, who had paused to get his breath back, could only nod at this statement.

“He is a formidable opponent, but just not this day,” added Rath. The ranger and the half-elf vanished in puffs of white and purple smoke, letting the ether draw them back through the gates of Lisseth.

“Well, that means I’m out of here,” declared Wolfenight, vanishing too.

Jet looked to where Mange still danced and poked and prodded the great dragon.

“They’re right Mange. I too shall leave this admirable beast in peace, and those monsters behind the glass to find new entertainment,” said the dwarf and then he was nothing but smoke.

Mange glared out at the empty desert, his brow furrowed in rage. With a final scream of frustration and a last swipe at the dragon’s belly, he too vanished.

The Hunt for Sir Editor

This is just a very quick post before I go to bed. Brandishing my red pen like a an awesome ninja sword, I set to work on editing my lovely, thick manuscript this evening. Not too long ago, I finished finding all the silly mistakes in the hard copy I printed out a day ago, and then corrected them in the digital version. Thus, step one of my brilliant plan for world domination - uh, wait, sorry - step one of publishing Soulless is complete! Well, technically step one was writing the thing, and the first edit was step two, but whatever.

Now I must go on a hunt for several reclusive creatures known as beta-readers. I'll need people who are not so friendly as to be scared of giving me hard truths, and who can give me insightful details on how I've screwed up characters, plotlines and flow. Also to catch all those other nasty little spelling errors I might have missed. So, once I gather these knights of the red pen, I shall be marching onwards to the second edit!

Feeling: Awesome, but tired.

Wearing: Senior shirt and blue pants.

Listening to: Nothing. I can't read and listen to music at the same time.

Eating: Nothing, but I had some yummy post-Easter MnMs that were on special.

Geek in Progress

See that? That, ladies and gentlemen is what happened today. I finally printed out the Soulless manuscript. It is a whole inch thick slab of delicious novelly goodness. And it weighs more than a jar of salsa dip. I didn't really have anything else heavy on my desk to compare it to.

Anyway. Printing it all out has been my first step towards editing. I find that seeing the words on paper allows me to catch mistakes better than on the computer screen. It also allows me to scribble all over it in red pen, adding notes in the margins and what-not. Also, some random advice to all you other aspiring authors out there: read your manuscript aloud. I have read that it helps a ton during the editing stage of a novel. It helps you catch lots of other things - sentences that seem too long, weird dialogue, commas in the wrong place, etc. I actually did quite a bit of this back in February. I printed out several chapters and read them to my mother during the five-hour drive down from my hometown to the dormitory where I spend my academic year. She's really excited about me finishing this book - what she really wants though, is to see it turned into a movie. Don't get me wrong - I'd love to see my story as a movie one day, but first I have to publish the silly thing. At least my plan to turn her into a geek seems to be working. I've slowly been re-introducing her to fiction and fantasy in the form of TV shows and this book (Insert maniacal laugh here.)

One thing that really weirds me out about writing is that rereading what I've written takes me hours to do. For some reason it doesn't feel like it should take me that long - that it shouldn't take as long as reading an actual book does. Then it clicks in my brain - it takes so long to read because it is an actual book. Cue more excited wacky-waving-inflatable-flailing-arm-tube-man dancing.

In other news not writing related, I have a new pet - and I say pet quite loosely. I live on the second floor of my dormitory and my window looks out into a rather scrubby garden. A beautiful black bird called a drongo has taken up residence right outside my window. He sits on the same branch every night. He has meticulously cleaned and stripped other branches and leaves off this one particular whippy little bough. It is highly amusing to watch his continued efforts at removing any other unwanted specks from his perch - it often causes him to hang upside-down. I have named him Batman, on account of the fact that when he sleeps, he's all hunched over and broody looking, exactly like the batty superhero by the same name. Even during the day his persona suits him. Flitting around, looking sleek and handsome, making lots of noise and mischief, is a little feathery Bruce Wayne.

Feeling: Hungry.
Eating: About to go to dinner. Although I had five lollypops yesterday. I don't think it was good for me...
Wearing: Short shorts and a black Stussy tee.
Listening to: A very short playlist consisting of two songs. Sweet Dreams (are made of this) by the Eurythmics, and the cover done by Marylin Manson. Such an awesome song.