02-25-2016, 02:44 PM
Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Like seriously, if you had asked me yesterday if I thought I would have to worry about being stabbed by a spear made of really sharp rock today, I may have answered in a way that could not be repeated in front of children. Granted, most things I say probably couldn’t be repeated in front of children. Especially not the litany of expletives my good buddy Trey had to endure on our way to the dwarf kingdom.
I can’t believe those words are real. Dwarf kingdom. What the hell?
“It should be just a little further,” Trey assures me as I limp along behind him, blood oozing through my fingers as I grip my wound with my hand.
“You said that twenty minutes ago,” I growl through gritted teeth. He huffs in frustration—he’s obviously not a fan of my attitude. Whatever, he can get over himself. I didn’t ask to be stabbed by a troll. Who would?
The caves seem to go on forever without changing. Just some boring-ass gray rocks broken up by the occasional stalactite or stalagmite, a little foggy because when I breathe it literally comes out white. I mean, I live in New York City—I’ve been able to see my breath when it gets cold. But this stuff looks tangible.
Suddenly, a faint reddish glow starts to flicker around an upcoming corner. “Bongo, bongo, bongo!” I hum absentmindedly.
“Huh?” Stormtrooper Guy glances over his shoulder. I’m sure behind that helmet he’s giving me a ‘this chick is cray’ look.
“Danny Kaye?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “The Andrews Sisters? Civilization? It’s a song, dumbass.” He stares at me for a good second, and then I shake my head and move past him. I don’t have time for him to not understand my pop culture references, I’m bleeding out all over this icy floor, for Christ’s sakes. Around the corner is more tunnel, but this one is lined with torches spitting some dank-looking red flames. And unlike every other corner of this depressing cavern we’ve been traveling through, there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.
In my crippled state, it takes a hot second for us to get all the way to the end, but when we do, we leave the dark mountain tunnels and wind up walking straight through a side entrance to one of the most gloriously over-decorated cities I have ever had the opportunity to visit. Seriously, everything is lined with crystal or some sort of high-priced metal. I want to vomit, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s because of my disdain for the design or caused by some bleeding out-related nausea.
“This is Dwarveholm,” Trey says, taking a moment to stop and observe his surroundings. I snicker a little bit about the name. “What?” he asks, turning back to me, “what’s so funny?”
“It’s just… Dwarveholm?” I chortle some more despite the splitting pain it causes in my torn-up abdomen. He nods. “It sounds like ‘dwarf home.’” Saying it out loud makes me burst out into full-on laughter. Blood is practically spitting out of my wound now, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too hilarious to not cackle about.
Is that lightheadedness I feel?
“Oy! You there!”
I look up and through blurry eyes see a tiny, tiny man—must be a dwarf, right?—with a thing, ginger beard all braided up. He’s not talking to me. He’s got one of his stumpy little fingers pointed at Trey. His arms and legs are so stubby that I just start laughing harder. His beady little eyes glance over at me. Sorry ‘bout it, bro, I can’t stop laughing, this is just too much for me right now.
He doesn’t dwell too long on me. “We don’t allow Empire scum like you here in Dwarveholm,” he says, and there’s the name again and I’m laughing more, crumpling to the ground. He returns to me. “Did this man do this to you?”
I try to shake my head and say no, but through my laughter-induced tears it’s impossible. Ginger Dwarf looks extra concerned, and it strikes me that perhaps he thinks I’m just sobbing. Ugh, shit, this guy’s gonna think I’m like some fragile fucking damsel. No, dwarf douche, I just got stabbed in the gut by one of the WoW trolls you let run around this place. And not the easy-to-deal-with, acne-ridden trolls who just sit at their computer, the ones with pointy chins and obnoxious nose rings!
“Please,” Trey pleads, “She’s hurt. She needs medical attention.”
Ginger Dwarf glances down at my wound. I lift my hand up, and there’s some nice blood oozing down my black tank-top.
If I could see Trey’s face, I imagine it would look super concerned, but I suddenly realize that that doesn’t make any sense. Why is he helping me? I kidnapped his ass, tied him up by the ankles, and literally dragged him—against his will—through the snow. I look up at him, and try to say: why are you helping me?
But it doesn’t come out. The effort to open up my mouth overwhelms me, and I plummet from my knees to the floor. My face slams against the stone and I’m out like a light.
Like seriously, if you had asked me yesterday if I thought I would have to worry about being stabbed by a spear made of really sharp rock today, I may have answered in a way that could not be repeated in front of children. Granted, most things I say probably couldn’t be repeated in front of children. Especially not the litany of expletives my good buddy Trey had to endure on our way to the dwarf kingdom.
I can’t believe those words are real. Dwarf kingdom. What the hell?
“It should be just a little further,” Trey assures me as I limp along behind him, blood oozing through my fingers as I grip my wound with my hand.
“You said that twenty minutes ago,” I growl through gritted teeth. He huffs in frustration—he’s obviously not a fan of my attitude. Whatever, he can get over himself. I didn’t ask to be stabbed by a troll. Who would?
The caves seem to go on forever without changing. Just some boring-ass gray rocks broken up by the occasional stalactite or stalagmite, a little foggy because when I breathe it literally comes out white. I mean, I live in New York City—I’ve been able to see my breath when it gets cold. But this stuff looks tangible.
Suddenly, a faint reddish glow starts to flicker around an upcoming corner. “Bongo, bongo, bongo!” I hum absentmindedly.
“Huh?” Stormtrooper Guy glances over his shoulder. I’m sure behind that helmet he’s giving me a ‘this chick is cray’ look.
“Danny Kaye?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “The Andrews Sisters? Civilization? It’s a song, dumbass.” He stares at me for a good second, and then I shake my head and move past him. I don’t have time for him to not understand my pop culture references, I’m bleeding out all over this icy floor, for Christ’s sakes. Around the corner is more tunnel, but this one is lined with torches spitting some dank-looking red flames. And unlike every other corner of this depressing cavern we’ve been traveling through, there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.
In my crippled state, it takes a hot second for us to get all the way to the end, but when we do, we leave the dark mountain tunnels and wind up walking straight through a side entrance to one of the most gloriously over-decorated cities I have ever had the opportunity to visit. Seriously, everything is lined with crystal or some sort of high-priced metal. I want to vomit, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s because of my disdain for the design or caused by some bleeding out-related nausea.
“This is Dwarveholm,” Trey says, taking a moment to stop and observe his surroundings. I snicker a little bit about the name. “What?” he asks, turning back to me, “what’s so funny?”
“It’s just… Dwarveholm?” I chortle some more despite the splitting pain it causes in my torn-up abdomen. He nods. “It sounds like ‘dwarf home.’” Saying it out loud makes me burst out into full-on laughter. Blood is practically spitting out of my wound now, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too hilarious to not cackle about.
Is that lightheadedness I feel?
“Oy! You there!”
I look up and through blurry eyes see a tiny, tiny man—must be a dwarf, right?—with a thing, ginger beard all braided up. He’s not talking to me. He’s got one of his stumpy little fingers pointed at Trey. His arms and legs are so stubby that I just start laughing harder. His beady little eyes glance over at me. Sorry ‘bout it, bro, I can’t stop laughing, this is just too much for me right now.
He doesn’t dwell too long on me. “We don’t allow Empire scum like you here in Dwarveholm,” he says, and there’s the name again and I’m laughing more, crumpling to the ground. He returns to me. “Did this man do this to you?”
I try to shake my head and say no, but through my laughter-induced tears it’s impossible. Ginger Dwarf looks extra concerned, and it strikes me that perhaps he thinks I’m just sobbing. Ugh, shit, this guy’s gonna think I’m like some fragile fucking damsel. No, dwarf douche, I just got stabbed in the gut by one of the WoW trolls you let run around this place. And not the easy-to-deal-with, acne-ridden trolls who just sit at their computer, the ones with pointy chins and obnoxious nose rings!
“Please,” Trey pleads, “She’s hurt. She needs medical attention.”
Ginger Dwarf glances down at my wound. I lift my hand up, and there’s some nice blood oozing down my black tank-top.
If I could see Trey’s face, I imagine it would look super concerned, but I suddenly realize that that doesn’t make any sense. Why is he helping me? I kidnapped his ass, tied him up by the ankles, and literally dragged him—against his will—through the snow. I look up at him, and try to say: why are you helping me?
But it doesn’t come out. The effort to open up my mouth overwhelms me, and I plummet from my knees to the floor. My face slams against the stone and I’m out like a light.
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