This Thing Don't Look So Tough

[Shang Tsung]

They were a few days removed from the ‘standard patrol’ when Atelos entered Shang’s office following his characteristic series of raps on the door. Unlike the last time they had spoken in the oaken chamber, the Spartan wore a grim determination on his visage. A five o’clock shadow adorned the lower half of the Grecian’s face, but aside from that, he seemed wholly geared for war. The armor he wore appeared to sparkle—it had to have been freshly smelted. The molded chest armor was the same, but the new set of gear sported additional defenses on the shoulders, hips, and hamstrings. A cloak of red and purple adorned the warrior’s broad shoulders and hung down to the back of his knees. Lastly, the Spartan held a new helm with a high, red plume crest.

“New armor?” The sorcerer asked as he stacked up the papers on his desk and slid them to the side where he kept all of his ‘pending’ paperwork. “Red always suited you. I’m more of a green and orange person. Lovely colors.” Shang had just finished a handful of zoning contracts, and the rest of the material was on trade contracts and some small-scale diplomatic outreach with a few farmlands in the hinterland. In exchange for patrols in their region, the farms would provide a large portion of their food for the civilians living in the city.

“For the occasion,” Atelos remarked as he took a moment to stare the helmet in its empty face slot. “The drow weapons ruined the other set… their weapons…” The Spartan trailed off, unable to put to words the thoughts in his head.

“Enchanted,” Shang grumbled as he stood away from his workspace. Much like the Spartan, the sorcerer was wholly decked out for war. He had known his ally would be coming to retrieve him before the end of the workday, so he had dressed accordingly for the business they had. “Like their crossbows, their blades have a fel magic on them. Corrodes armor and can even get into your bloodstream.” Shang had needed some bloodletting a few days earlier, but the effect had vanished soon thereafter the self-performed procedure. “You are fit?”

“As a…” Atelos paused again. One of his eyes twitched—such a minute movement that anyone else may have failed to notice.

“Fiddle?” Shang finished, eliciting a scowl from the Spartan.

“As a Spartan!” Atelos rebutted as he smacked his free hand to his armored chest. The Spartan turned around before his friend could spot the light shade of red on his cheeks. “Stupid sorcerer and his word play.”

“What was that?” Shang inquired softly, even as he grinned from ear to ear.

“Clearing my throat,” the Grecian barked as he made for the door. “You are prepared to depart? The reports I’m getting aren’t perfectly clear, but we have a list of locations that the monster has been spotted at over the last few… weeks.”

“Weeks?” Shang inquired as he was led through the maze of tunnels toward the back exit of the Town Hall.

Atelos, without looking back over his shoulder, nodded his head. “Best intelligence we have on the situation, but you can trust me, this thing does not move quickly. Lumbers, really. I don’t see it moving much from this area of the Moors… that is, until it’s exterminated everything, living or otherwise, that it can get its claws and teeth around. It’s not hard to track.”

“Reports say it’s a large beastie.”

Although he lacked in the ‘figure of speech’ and ‘pun game’ departments, Atelos was keen enough to detect wit when he heard it from his ally. “Yes.” He grunted as they made their way down one of Darkshire’s main thoroughfares. Along the way, they had to pause several times to shake hands and exchange pleasantries with some citizens. Shang regretted not directing the Spartan to use the route he took from work, which didn’t take them through the business and ‘tourist’ (a lovely label for a neighborhood full of outsiders and riffraff from other verses) districts of town.

After forty minutes of delays, the pair veered off onto a small side street about three minutes from the main gate. Up ahead, both men could hear the rhythmic chants associated with training and drilling on the walls. Coming to a pause, Atelos turned and crossed his arms over his broad, armored chest. “I went to Rhodes once, Sorcerer. They had a statue there that they were building—a colossus.”

Shang smirked. “I recall that from the history books.”

“This creature could have stood on its hind legs, stared that unfinished statue in its eyes, and devoured it.”

“So it’s a seven story monster… so what?”

Atelos grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

The sorcerer suppressed a chuckle. “We’re going ourselves, aren’t we?”

“Aye. I don’t want to draw a force away from the city. Plus, I was able to handle it myself the last time.”

“All by yourself? Didn’t you have help? That little red robot? That woman with the permanent scowl? The ice man?”

With a shrug, the Spartan lifted his helmet and slid it over his sneering visage. “The difference is, Sorcerer, I am here. Those other people are just footnotes in old histories, but I’m the survivor. I’m the Tarrasque Slayer, and I’m about to make a second notch in that belt.”

Shang nodded his head as he tied his cloak shut. There was a slight chill in the air tonight, and he didn’t want to take any chances with the elements. “Are the horses ready for us, Mighty Tarrasque Slayer?”

“Follow me, and you can try your hardest to keep up.”

The comment made the sorcerer smile. Even with the training and several sessions of practice, the Spartan still looked awkward bouncing on the back of a horse. The sorcerer, meanwhile, had spent a few years with the khanate, so he knew a thing or two about horses. He’d also ate enough Mongolians to fill in any gaps in his knowledge.

“Lead on, Tarrasque Slayer,” the sorcerer spoke with feigned bombast as he jogged to catch up to his ally.