05-13-2015, 06:00 PM
Inside the Prancing Pony, Mickey encountered an eerie silence. Whereas before the place had been the center of activity, the drunks of the town parading around loudly, now it was dead silent, and the pub, at least, was quite empty.
Mickey would not be fooled, though: that raider had just entered, so someone lurked around here, out of sight. He kept his guard up, resolving not to be surprised.
Suddenly, from behind the bar, he heard a whimper. The mouse could not tell what they were saying—it sounded like they were bound—but he followed the sound to the source anyway, and saw the bartender from before hog-tied and gagged. Mickey knew that if he had been anyone other than himself, he might have had half a mind to leave him tied up; but his nobility broke through, like always, and he removed the gag, trying to decipher what the man kept saying.
When Mickey had freed the man’s mouth, he took a few deep, panting breaths, and then looked up behind the mouse in horror: “it’s a trap!”
Mickey spun around, barely ducking underneath the hammer that came swinging for his head. The hammer busted through the bar, sending most of it flying across the room in pieces. Mickey leapt through the rubble and somersaulted away from his new opponent. The orc from before crept over toward him, hammer in hand, and chuckled in the most maniacal way it could muster.
It still sounded absolutely idiotic.
“How the heck did you hide?” Mickey asked, incredulously, “You’re like… huge.”
The raider smirked, and suddenly, was gone. Mickey’s eyes grew wide as his figure disappeared little by little, and then he heard another orcish chortle from behind him. He turned, but the hammer guy did not stand before him; rather, the shaman that had attacked him right when he had entered Camelot leaned against the wall next to the door of the Prancing Pony. Mickey’s eyes narrowed, confused—what the heck was this all about?
“It’s… it’s you,” Mickey said, squatting further into his battle stance, “what are you doin’ here?” Everything moved a bit too fast for Mickey in the Omniverse; he had trouble keeping up. So much stuff happened every second here.
“We’ve come for you, tiny Prime,” the shaman scoffed, standing up straight. “A Prime like you would be an honorable sacrifice.”
Mickey felt a twinge of guilt—so that was the reason the orcs had raided the village tonight? To kidnap him and sacrifice him to… whatever?
“Well, ya ain’t gonna get me,” the mouse resolved with a huff. The shaman scoffed, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, between the leader and Mickey, the hammer-toting orc reappeared, still wearing that same ugly grin. The mouse took a deep breath, moving his focus from the magic user to the fighter, and prepared for whatever attack this guy had prepared for him.
“He’ll bring you to me,” the shaman nodded, heading toward the Prancing Pony’s exit, “But first, he’ll make you scream.” Without another word, the shaman slipped out the door, probably heading back to whatever cave these monsters had crawled out of.
“You heard,” the hammer-man cocked an eyebrow, “I make you scream.”
Mickey smirked confidently. “I greatly doubt that, sir.”
The hammer swung toward him suddenly, but not quite quick enough to beat the mouse’s reflexes—Mickey ducked, and then ran to collide with the orc head-on. He swung his keyblade at the orc’s foot, but this guy would not be beat as easily as the last one; he brought a hand down onto Mickey’s keyblade, smashing it into the ground. Mickey released his grip on it and somersaulted between the guy’s legs, ending up on the other side, tired and weapon-less. He had downed three orcs already in the last fifteen minutes, and now he had to fight one without his weapon?
The mouse saw the next hit coming—the Orc swung his hammer, and quickly Mickey ran toward the far wall, leaping up and running along it for a few seconds. Soon, he leapt from the wall onto the mantel above the fireplace, and looked over at the orc, now staring eye-level at the monster. “Come on,” the former musketeer called, gesturing for the big guy to challenge him again. The orc leapt at Mickey, but this time the mouse didn’t dodge him—he leapt straight for the monster’s face, wrapping his legs and arms around the guy’s head and latching on tight. For a few moments, the two struggled as the orc stumbled around the room, trying to dislodge the unwanted passenger. Mickey took advantage of his position and bit down—hard—on the orc’s ear, and with a scream, the orc finally managed to wrestle Mickey free, sending the mouse flying across the room.
Mickey slammed into the far wall of the Prancing Pony, falling not-so-gracefully to the floor. Only now did he realize that somehow, he had managed to take the hammer-guy’s ear with him; he felt the grimy green appendage in between his teeth, and quickly spit it out. He groaned, and looked up to see the orc, angrier than ever, gushing blood where his ear used to be. The sight made Mickey sick to his stomach again, but he picked himself up off the ground and ran for his keyblade, lying almost exactly between him and the big guy.
The orc, too, started sprinting for the weapon, but Mickey’s speed outmatched him just slightly; the mouse reached down and grabbed the blade, then leapt up into the air, past the orc’s wildly swinging warhammer, and bashed the warrior in the face with his weapon. The monster fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by the combined force of Mickey’s hit and the rapid blood loss from where Mickey had bitten off his ear.
The King breathed heavily, looking down at his final opponent. The shaman, he realized, and he turned and ran outside, looking around for the lead orc, but he did not present himself. In fact, Mickey couldn’t see any orcs besides the ones he had knocked out in view. The raiding party seemed to have vacated the city. A little ways off, Berthe sprinted for the Prancing Pony.
“Ears!” she called out, “Ears, you alright?”
“Yeah,” Mickey heaved, “I’m… I’m fine.”
“You look—”
“I’m just a bit worn out,” he interrupted the Guard-Captain, “I’m a bit rusty, is all.” The Guard-Captain nodded, and looked around the nearby block. “So are they gone? Did we get ‘em?”
Berthe nodded. “As soon as the big guy with the spiky staff came out of the Pony, they all scattered to the wind,” she recounted, confirming Mickey’s suspicions. The mouse took a few steps down the street, examining the destruction the orcs had wrought on Bree. “Something has got to be done about this town’s defenses,” Berthe mused behind him, “We didn’t even see the goddamn bastards coming.”
Mickey approached one of the buildings that had taken a particular beating, and saw a flyer on the ground next to it. Presumably, it had fallen off when the orcs smashed up the wall, but aside from a few tears around the edge, it remained—mostly—intact. The King picked it up.
It read: Dante’s Abyss: The Omniverse’s Newest Reality Sensation. Sign up today!
Mickey would not be fooled, though: that raider had just entered, so someone lurked around here, out of sight. He kept his guard up, resolving not to be surprised.
Suddenly, from behind the bar, he heard a whimper. The mouse could not tell what they were saying—it sounded like they were bound—but he followed the sound to the source anyway, and saw the bartender from before hog-tied and gagged. Mickey knew that if he had been anyone other than himself, he might have had half a mind to leave him tied up; but his nobility broke through, like always, and he removed the gag, trying to decipher what the man kept saying.
When Mickey had freed the man’s mouth, he took a few deep, panting breaths, and then looked up behind the mouse in horror: “it’s a trap!”
Mickey spun around, barely ducking underneath the hammer that came swinging for his head. The hammer busted through the bar, sending most of it flying across the room in pieces. Mickey leapt through the rubble and somersaulted away from his new opponent. The orc from before crept over toward him, hammer in hand, and chuckled in the most maniacal way it could muster.
It still sounded absolutely idiotic.
“How the heck did you hide?” Mickey asked, incredulously, “You’re like… huge.”
The raider smirked, and suddenly, was gone. Mickey’s eyes grew wide as his figure disappeared little by little, and then he heard another orcish chortle from behind him. He turned, but the hammer guy did not stand before him; rather, the shaman that had attacked him right when he had entered Camelot leaned against the wall next to the door of the Prancing Pony. Mickey’s eyes narrowed, confused—what the heck was this all about?
“It’s… it’s you,” Mickey said, squatting further into his battle stance, “what are you doin’ here?” Everything moved a bit too fast for Mickey in the Omniverse; he had trouble keeping up. So much stuff happened every second here.
“We’ve come for you, tiny Prime,” the shaman scoffed, standing up straight. “A Prime like you would be an honorable sacrifice.”
Mickey felt a twinge of guilt—so that was the reason the orcs had raided the village tonight? To kidnap him and sacrifice him to… whatever?
“Well, ya ain’t gonna get me,” the mouse resolved with a huff. The shaman scoffed, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, between the leader and Mickey, the hammer-toting orc reappeared, still wearing that same ugly grin. The mouse took a deep breath, moving his focus from the magic user to the fighter, and prepared for whatever attack this guy had prepared for him.
“He’ll bring you to me,” the shaman nodded, heading toward the Prancing Pony’s exit, “But first, he’ll make you scream.” Without another word, the shaman slipped out the door, probably heading back to whatever cave these monsters had crawled out of.
“You heard,” the hammer-man cocked an eyebrow, “I make you scream.”
Mickey smirked confidently. “I greatly doubt that, sir.”
The hammer swung toward him suddenly, but not quite quick enough to beat the mouse’s reflexes—Mickey ducked, and then ran to collide with the orc head-on. He swung his keyblade at the orc’s foot, but this guy would not be beat as easily as the last one; he brought a hand down onto Mickey’s keyblade, smashing it into the ground. Mickey released his grip on it and somersaulted between the guy’s legs, ending up on the other side, tired and weapon-less. He had downed three orcs already in the last fifteen minutes, and now he had to fight one without his weapon?
The mouse saw the next hit coming—the Orc swung his hammer, and quickly Mickey ran toward the far wall, leaping up and running along it for a few seconds. Soon, he leapt from the wall onto the mantel above the fireplace, and looked over at the orc, now staring eye-level at the monster. “Come on,” the former musketeer called, gesturing for the big guy to challenge him again. The orc leapt at Mickey, but this time the mouse didn’t dodge him—he leapt straight for the monster’s face, wrapping his legs and arms around the guy’s head and latching on tight. For a few moments, the two struggled as the orc stumbled around the room, trying to dislodge the unwanted passenger. Mickey took advantage of his position and bit down—hard—on the orc’s ear, and with a scream, the orc finally managed to wrestle Mickey free, sending the mouse flying across the room.
Mickey slammed into the far wall of the Prancing Pony, falling not-so-gracefully to the floor. Only now did he realize that somehow, he had managed to take the hammer-guy’s ear with him; he felt the grimy green appendage in between his teeth, and quickly spit it out. He groaned, and looked up to see the orc, angrier than ever, gushing blood where his ear used to be. The sight made Mickey sick to his stomach again, but he picked himself up off the ground and ran for his keyblade, lying almost exactly between him and the big guy.
The orc, too, started sprinting for the weapon, but Mickey’s speed outmatched him just slightly; the mouse reached down and grabbed the blade, then leapt up into the air, past the orc’s wildly swinging warhammer, and bashed the warrior in the face with his weapon. The monster fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by the combined force of Mickey’s hit and the rapid blood loss from where Mickey had bitten off his ear.
The King breathed heavily, looking down at his final opponent. The shaman, he realized, and he turned and ran outside, looking around for the lead orc, but he did not present himself. In fact, Mickey couldn’t see any orcs besides the ones he had knocked out in view. The raiding party seemed to have vacated the city. A little ways off, Berthe sprinted for the Prancing Pony.
“Ears!” she called out, “Ears, you alright?”
“Yeah,” Mickey heaved, “I’m… I’m fine.”
“You look—”
“I’m just a bit worn out,” he interrupted the Guard-Captain, “I’m a bit rusty, is all.” The Guard-Captain nodded, and looked around the nearby block. “So are they gone? Did we get ‘em?”
Berthe nodded. “As soon as the big guy with the spiky staff came out of the Pony, they all scattered to the wind,” she recounted, confirming Mickey’s suspicions. The mouse took a few steps down the street, examining the destruction the orcs had wrought on Bree. “Something has got to be done about this town’s defenses,” Berthe mused behind him, “We didn’t even see the goddamn bastards coming.”
Mickey approached one of the buildings that had taken a particular beating, and saw a flyer on the ground next to it. Presumably, it had fallen off when the orcs smashed up the wall, but aside from a few tears around the edge, it remained—mostly—intact. The King picked it up.
It read: Dante’s Abyss: The Omniverse’s Newest Reality Sensation. Sign up today!
Quote:To be continued in The Dante Verse.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)