Day 11, Week 1 - Into the Halls

[Corporal Light]

One Day Later

Winter Wasteland

The snow had picked up again.

A part of Ballad's crimson scarf flew past his face and into the air as the wind rushed past him, blowing huge amounts of snow into his face. The snow was coating his normally green attire a thick white though not to the extent it had been a day earlier. The snowfall was little more than an average one; not so bad that it was impossible to go anywhere, but it had enough gusts of wind and plenty of snow to provide some discomfort for him. He had left the cave a few hours earlier after a good night's rest and a meal. As he had left, he had started to wonder where exactly Lynch was. SPB had told him the mission wouldn't take him long. He brushed the thought out of his mind as soon as left the cave, however; he had reasoned that concerning himself over the kid was a poor usage of his time.

He held his gloved hand out in front of his face, blocking the wind from attacking his face with snow. He had discovered a trail about two hours earlier and was following it to its destination. Granted, neither he nor SPB had known it was a trail up until they had found a wooden post with several signs on it. Each one had a name and an arrow pointed in one direction. One of which was labeled "Nierhin," with an arrow pointed north.

The gunsmith had stopped in front of the sign, asking "Nierhin?"

"I am reluctant to inform you that I have no knowledge of this "Nierhin." SPB had replied, "Shame, too. It appears to be an interesting settlement."

"Then that's where we're going."

If there was one thing both of them could agree upon, however, it was that there should have been some way to gauge how far away they were from this 'Nierhin.' The signs, unfortunately, did not have any, and they were forced to traverse the fields without a map. They were blind, and they knew it.

Thirty minutes passed, and the weather did not let up even as the environment started to shift. Pine trees appeared from their sides as they pressed onwards through the path, eventually forming a straight line that acted like a linear corridor. The gunner listened to the sound of wind rustling through the leaves, occasionally grunting as excess piles of snow blew into him from the trees. His cheeks were feeling frozen, but aside from that, he did not think the snowfall was affecting him that much. It was certainly helpful that he had crafted some makeshift snowshoes out of Omnillium at the cave. They were wrapped tightly around his boots with brown rawhide lattice work connected to the circular frame that composed it. It made it much easier to move around through the snow, as his feet never sunk into the snow. He was glad he had managed to make them when he did, as it made the trek practically effortless.

Nevertheless, SPB had other ideas.

"It is preferable we save our thew for when we require it, my friend." He said, raising his voice as if he wanted to be heard over the deafening winds.

"Where exactly are we going to sit down and save our... whatever the hell that is?" Ballad asked, growling in annoyance.

He sighed, his eyes switching from white to yellow as he replied. "Good question."

"Exactly. For a logic spirit, you really don't know what you're talking about half the time."

"I take great offense to that statement, slayer of malfeasants and man-at-arms." SPB answered, his voice hiding no emotion.

"Well, I hope you can deal with it because it doesn't look like we'll be stopping for anything anytime soon." The gunslinger said, scoffing as he walked a few more feet forward, turning his head to his right.

A smile formed on his face. "I beg to differ."

Surrounded by a few large pine trees, mostly from the front and sides, stood a giant log cabin that towered everything else around it. Its roof was entirely white from the snow, and several icicles hung from the edges of the roof-tiles. The front of the cabin had several small windows built into it as well as a door. The door was brown, and from the wavy lines that swerved all over the surface of the door, appeared to be handcrafted. It had a small doorknob and a copper latch held by a metal eagle. Smoke rose from a smokestack on the right side of the rooftop, which indicated to the gunsmith that it was occupied.

"Well, virescent one, do you have any objections?" The spirit questioned.

"If by that, you mean do I object to breaking into someone else's house? If so, I don't see why not." Ballad replied, moving his body towards the abode.

As he moved towards it, he said "I don't intend to invade someone's personal abode, mind you. I just plan to knock, introduce ourselves. Make us look humble."

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 633
Amount left: 9,367

[Corporal Light]

"Make us look humble?" Ballad replied in an accusatory tone of voice, cocking an eyebrow as they got closer to the brown door.

He chuckled. "You misunderstand. Every noteworthy diplomat has induced another through a variation of tactics that include an outward appearance of good intentions." He said, a few steps away from the door. "I intend to further my development in those arts."

The gunsmith moved towards the brown door, the shorter distance allowing him a greater sense of detail of the cabin. The doorknob was gray in color, spherical in shape, and connected to the door at a height about halfway down his thigh. Also attached to the handcrafted wooden door was the metallic hatch, albeit by the jaws of a silver eagle's head. Its head was the size of his closed fist, its eyes red and as transparent as crystal. It too was close to his thigh.

He shot a quick glance towards the windows to his left and right, swiftly noticing he was unable to look inside. The few windows not covered by frost were unfortunately concealed from view by purple drapes from the inside of the house. Without further hesitation, he brought his hand towards the latch, pulling it back before knocking it against the door. The door rocked as the clasp rapped against it, producing audible but relatively quiet noises.

"Excuse me, fine inhabitants of this abode. I request permission to access this chalet. I do not wish to incur violence against my body by intruding." He spoke, tapping the clasp against the door several times at random intervals.

He went silent, pressing the side of his head against the door, listening. There was nothing. Not even the sound of footsteps or the sound of murmurs penetrated the door.

Frowning, he tapped the door again.

"It is rather cold out here in the wilderness, and we have traveled long and hard. Please, let us in."

He was about to continue to plead some more when an impatient grumble escaped his lips.

"They ain't letting us in, assuming anyone is even here."

"Well, what do you suggest we do about that, virescent one?" SPB replied, releasing his hold on the copper latch.

"I say we just go in. If anyone's in there, we'll tell them we were knocking, and that they should've heard us. If not, we get a free house. Win-win for both of us, if you ask me." Ballad replied, reaching for the doorknob.

He smiled, saying "For once, we can agree on something,"as he twisted the knob, pushing the door forward.

----------------------

The gunsmith silently stepped into the foyer, feeling a rush of cold air follow him inside. The room in front of him was small, mostly comprised of a door a few feet to his front and left, a hallway to his right, and a staircase leading up to a second floor. The ground beneath him was dusty, and occasionally made creaking noises when he stepped on the floorboards. The air around him had a rotten smell that resonated from the hallway to his right. He decided to investigate the smell, ignoring the upper floor as he moved towards it. His less curious side had to question why he was more focused on the odor rather than the whereabouts of the abode's inhabitants, but he rationalized it as just child-like curiosity from a spirit that didn't know better.

The aroma grew stronger as they entered the next room, letting out a disgusted groan. The room was in worse condition than the foyer, with dust all over the floorboards as well as various objects of no particular value laid out in his path. To his front lay a beige couch, peppered with holes, the majority of them having lint sticking out of them alongside several stains of unknown origins. Flies buzzed around a metal bin to the side of the couch filled with scraps of food, some strewn around it half-eaten. To his right were an array of pictures, each consisting of two tiny men. One, in particular, caught his eye: A photo of one of them with an emblem on his helmet, with the other's arm, wrapped around his neck in an embrace. The one with the helmet was slightly taller than the other, a black beard that was graying near the edges. He had blue eyes and a fair set of wrinkles. He was adorned in silver armor that covered his entire torso and limbs, which he was showing off in a confident manner in the photo. The man next to him had a smaller black beard with no hint of gray and had a properly groomed ponytail alongside a shaved head in three places down the middle of his top. He wore leather armor, with a rifle on his back. They were both smiling, the younger one giving a thumbs up to the camera.

The gunsmith gritted his teeth, turning his head away from the picture, taking a quick look at a blunderbuss before staring at a nearby refrigerator. Cocking an eyebrow, he walked towards it, bringing his hand up to his nose to plug it as he passed by the bin. Getting closer to it, he glanced towards a sink to the right of the fridge, seeing it filled to the brim with mugs and plates, all dirty. Next to it was a radio, turned off. Above it was a window concealed behind purple curtains, providing an exquisite view of the outside world.

Ballad opened the door to the refrigerator, seeing a variety of food and drink within that mostly consisted of meat. The thought of food made his stomach rumble, which he satisfied by removing his scarf and grabbing what looked like a leg of some animal. He wasn't exactly the most experienced with what animal gave you what kind of meat, so he could only assume that he was about to eat the remains of some snow cat or something similar to that.

He brought the leg to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it as he closed the door. He ripped out a chunk of the meat, sliding to his right. He parted the curtains to the window, the drapes colliding with the radio. Before he could react, the top part of the radio slammed into the ground, pressing the play button and activating a song.

The Sound of Silence

The song played loudly, echoing around the room. The gunner swore under his breath despite SPB's attempts to stop him, quickly ducking down to pick it up after dropping the meat leg onto the ground. The singing masked the noise of rapidly increasing footsteps as he grabbed the radio, standing back up.

He slid his index finger towards a square button on the top of the radio, stopping just short of pressing it as he looked up, seeing a dwarf holding a blunderbuss in what could best be described as "brown dwarf pajamas."

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1,171
Amount left: 8,196

[Corporal Light]

Hello darkness, my old friend.
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping,
left its seeds while I was sleeping.

Soft croons emanated from the confines of the rectangular box, filling the kitchen with peaceful if slightly staticky music. The gunsmith had never heard of music like it before. It seemed to be a mixture of a quiet stringed instrument combined with a duet. The voices continued to sing, unaware of Ballad's predicament.

The small man across the room from the green man stood threateningly near the entryway, his silver blunderbuss aimed directly towards him. His leather overalls creaked as he adjusted his arms, sliding his left hand along the barrel of his rifle. He held one eye closed, squinting down the barrel of his gun and frowning. After a few moments, he began to speak through clenched teeth, his voice gnarled and grumpy as it arose from the matted, shaggy black beard around his mouth.

"Gimme one reason why I shouldn't blast yer head off yer shoulders, troll." The dwarf spoke, his index finger pushing the trigger of his gun slightly. He maintained his gaze on the intruder, glaring at him.

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light.
That split the night
and touched the sound of silence.

Superb lyrics thought Ballad. His focus was not on the immediate threat, but rather on the far more captivating melody enrapturing his eardrums. The instruments had increased in volume; the singers no longer melancholic, but instead, blithe, with a sense of heroism to their utterances. He wanted to stand there, studying this phenomenon and unlocking the hidden meaning behind their words. It was an opportunity for knowledge that any self-respecting spectre would wish to seize.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silen-

Sadly, that would never come to be. A disgruntled whisper reminded him of his goal, and with a heavy heart, he applied pressure to the button, shutting off the music and filling the room with silence.

"Well?" The rifleman said, obviously impatient.

"You said you wanted to develop your arts, how about you fucking do it?" He whispered to himself, closing his eyes just as they switched to a pale white color. He pacified the beetle in his mind, easing his worries and doing all he could to keep him from obtaining control.

"I'm deeply sorry for the intrusion, o..." SPB paused, glancing towards the stained couch, "homely individual. Please forgive us, for we are in need of rest and direction to a destination of ours-"

"Like hell, I'm gonna be givin' directions to a filthy green-skinner troll." The dwarf spat, his tone venomous.

The gunner frowned, remaining polite but otherwise emotionless, "I'm disinclined to correct you, sir dwarf, but I am no troll. I am simply a man of many talents, and it would be much preferable if my head is not removed from my body."

"Not a troll, huh?" The rifleman muttered, glancing away from him, apparently thinking. The gunsmith slowly set the radio down next to the sink, only to pause as soon as he heard the creaking of leather.

"Prove to me you ain't a rotten green-skin," He said maliciously.

The gunsmith remained still, contemplating how to handle the situation. He was in danger, but he did not want to unleash his other half just yet. It would be a horrible idea to get on the dwarves' bad side, especially at that moment when they were unprepared. He quickly ran through all he knew about the trolls. They were ferocious, had tusks, mostly used melee weapons.

His eyes widened in surprise. He swiftly brought his hand towards his waist, only stopping once he heard more creaking of leather. He lessened his speed, unholstering his revolver. He lifted it up for the small person to see, barrel pointed away from him.

The dwarf blinked once, lowering his blunderbuss slightly as he stared at the pistol, his mouth agape. "Where'd ya get that thin'?" He asked.

"I invented it," The gunman answered, allowing a smirk and a chuckle to escape his otherwise inexpressive appearance, "It's a revolver. It can fire six bullets, one every two seconds, and a flammable wick is utilized as both primer and powder."

"And I will add," He said, pausing to stare at his adversary, "it is far more accurate than your blunderbuss at any range, and I guarantee you it will be twice as powerful."

"Yer threatenin' me, aren't ya greenie?" The dwarf replied, going silent for a few moments before saying "if so, then you ain't no troll. No troll has the gall to go up against a singular dwarf, let alone use that pretty little pistol of yers."

The gunsmith let out a sigh, sliding his revolver into his holster. "Yes, good. Now, about those directions."

"What about 'em?" The tiny man said, walking towards a nearby stand to place the blunderbuss on.

"I'm searching for a village called Nierhin. Have you happened across it in your travels?"

The dwarf turned away from the weapon stand, frowning, "Happened across it? This is the guard station for it, ya idiot green-skin. I'm its sentry." He said, sighing as he shook his head.

Raising his eyebrows, the green gunman took a quick look around the room, seeing the dirty dishes, the stained couch, and a part of the dirty metal bin. He decided not to comment on it, and instead diverted his attention towards the act of getting to Nierhin.

"Is it possible for you to escort me there, o sentry?"

"I figured you were gonna say that..." The sentry replied, letting out an exasperated sigh as it moved towards the entryway, "just let me get dressed, then we'll get goin'."

Quest: Into The Halls
Word Count: 986
Amount Left: 7,210

[Corporal Light]

“So, what exactly is this thing?” The gunsmith said, looking down towards the silver firearm in his hands.


He had taken the rifle off of the stand after the dwarf sentry had walked upstairs. He had not seen a weapon like it before. It was an unusual sight after a few days of seeing nothing but crossbows, swords, axes, and the occasional crutch laser beam. He twisted the weapon around, looking at it from all angles. The first thing he perceived was the barrel. It was made of steel, around two feet long, and the muzzle was wider and more spherical than the rest of the barrel. A metal, steel hammer was also placed on top of the rifle above the trigger, right where one could reach for after firing. The hammer was cocked facing the butt of the firearm.


“This, my associate, is a blunderbuss,” He said to himself, his tone didactic, “it stupefies me how an inventor of your caliber wouldn't recognize an antique of yore such as this one.”


The soldier frowned, his eyes flickering white, “Just explain how the damn thing works and quit acting like I'm an idiot.”


“Come now, Ballad. You must have SOME knowledge as to what it is.” SPB replied, smiling underneath Ballad's scarf.


“I know that if you weren't possessing me right now, I'd be shoving it up your ass.”


“How impolite. I suppose I should teach you,” He said, shaking his head a little before taping various parts of the rifle.


“This, right here,” He said, pointing towards the muzzle, “is the muzzle. It's wider than the rest due to a belief that it allows further spread of the shot within. It's official term is a 'flared muzzle.'”


“This here,” He said, pointing at the hammer, “is the hammer. Whenever it is loaded, it is pulled back. When it is fired, it is pushed forward towards the barrel, creating a spark that ignites the powder within and firing the gun.”


“This,” He said, snickering a little as he pointed at the trigger, “is the trigger. When it is pulled, it-”


“Okay, now you're just insulting my intelligence.” He interrupted, clearly annoyed.


“I apologize, but I must question, why do you want to know?”


“Cause you were curious.” He said matter-of-factually.


“I admit, my inquisitiveness was peaked, but you were the one whom inquired on the subject.”


“That's because you ASKED if we could go over here to look at it. YOU wanted to know more about it!” Ballad replied, raising his voice a little.


SPB raised the gunner's hands a bit, as if to stop the green man from literally rising out of a nonexistent seat to punch him into the floor.


“I already knew all there was to know of the mechanics and workings of a blunderbuss, o inventor.” He said.


“I... wha-”


“I simply asked you for permission to move towards the sentry's weapon so you could ask me about its functions so you could be informed of its functions. I was only curious as to whether or not you were curious, not as to the functions of the blunderbuss. Given your reaction, I can safely say you were only curious from a practical standpoint: You want to know if this dwarf could be a threat to you if he shot you at any point.”


“How in the fuck did you-?”


“Put my damn gun back on the goddamn stand, ya greenskin!” yelled the dwarf.


The sharpshooter turned his head towards the entryway to the room, seeing the dwarf standing near the stairs. His arms were crossed and he was glaring at him, a murderous glint in his eyes. Ballad glanced from him to the rifle, looking at it for a few seconds before placing it back on top of the stand.


“That's right. Do what I say, and I won't have a reason to kill you, troll.” the sentry said, his voice surly and commanding.


The soldier frowned, staring at the sentry as he crossed into the room. He couldn't quite remember how much time had passed since the guard had went upstairs, but he could imagine it had been a few minutes, if the room around him was any indication. He wouldn't be surprised if he had guessed right.


The leather armor creaked as the dwarf walked towards the inventor, hardly looking him in the eye while grumbling to himself. As he got closer, the green man noticed some other features concerning his appearance. First and foremost was his armor, and that it was dirty and generally unkempt, with several holes in various places, most in the bracers. Secondly, the belt around his waist carrying several small baggies, with a small, metal rod slid down it near his side. His left leg also held a holster which held a small dagger. Thirdly, his black hair was shaved down the middle in three areas, with the back of his hair strung up in a pony tail. Finally, and arguably most peculiarly, the dwarf had an eight pointed star around his neck, held by a necklace. The star had a single ruby placed in the middle, radiating with an almost supernal quality. His attention was firmly affixed to the talisman, even as the sentry brushed past him, grabbed hold of the blunderbuss, and turned around, frowning.


“What ar' ya starin' at, greenie?” He growled, his blue eyes holding no hint of fear even with the knowledge of a probably superior foe in front of him.


Ballad blinked, gesturing towards the charm with a gloved finger. “I am intrigued as to the nature of your amulet, dwarven sentinel.”


“Ah. This little thin'?” The sentry said, fondling the symbol as a loving smile washed over his face, “It's the holy symbol of Inanna, the Goddess of Love and War.”


“The Goddess of WHAT?!” Ballad shouted, his eyes very nearly switching back to a pale white color. What had previously been an interesting, if unusual piece of decoration had, in less than a few seconds, turned into something he wanted nothing more than to see melted into something far more useful. For example, a gun. With that knowledge, it took every ounce of his- and SPB's- self-control to keep him from literally tearing the lazy bastard into tiny little pieces. He took a deep breath, puffs of smoke rising from his arms that quickly dissipated as he rapidly shook his hands, earning an awkward stare from the obviously confused dwarf.


“The Goddess of Love and War, Inanna, you filthy heathen!” The guard said, chuckling a little, “and don't ya be gettin' any ideas about touching this thin', or I will give ya hell, infidel.”


“C-Care to explain?” Ballad replied through gritted teeth.


“I been a firm believer of my Goddess for years, troll. Yeah, it ain't what most dwarves go for, but most dwarves would rather fight the war than be a lookout. I only took this damn job to satisfy two people. Is all this clear to ya, greenie?”


“...Transparently..”


“I'm just gonna ignore that little display ya just made, troll, because quite frankly, I wanna get this over with,” The dwarf replied, turning back towards the entryway, strapping his blunderbuss over his back, “but mark my words. If you start makin' some wrong moves, then I will seriously give ya hell.”


The green gunsmith nodded, his eyes turning pure white as he glared maliciously at the sentinel, imagining him as one of those trolls he was talking about. If only that would be the case one day.

Dwarf Slack

Quest: Into The Halls
Word Count: 1,285
Amount Left: 5,925

[Corporal Light]

One hour later...

Both travelers remained silent as they hiked through the valley, the dwarf leading the way while the green man stayed a few feet behind him. The greenskin made no effort to look at the dwarf, preferring to remain quiet and not be bothered by the little pygmy.

They eventually reached a large hill that was, for the most part, devoid of anything but snow and the occasional large rock. Grumbling to himself, the sentry started walking up the hill with Ballad in tow. As they walked, the dwarf finally spoke up.

“So, what exactly got a green-skinner troll like ya to want to help us out?” He asked halfheartedly

“Firstly, I will ingeminate, I am no troll, nor have I ever planned on being associated with the terminology 'troll-”

“Ya have green skin.” The dwarf interrupted.

“That's beside the point.” Ballad responded, trying his best not to sound irritated.

“Actually, I would say it IS the point. Everyone knows trolls ar' bloodthirsty creatures with a penchant for violence, and ya certainly don't differ from that description, from the look o' thin's. I'd say that ya bein' a troll is a well founded accusation. “ The dwarf replied, taking a moment to look back at Ballad.

The green gunsmith glared at the sentry, taking a deep breath as he drew his eyes away from his escort's despicable talisman. The ruby within the charm glowed an eerie red, as if taunting him, wondering if he had the guts to try to rip the religious bastard apart.

“I will be very clear, so as not to confound you with my utilization of the immeasurable vocabulary at my disposal. Again, I am no troll. I will continue to inform you of this fact until you understand it.”

“Again, green skin. All the evidence I need.” The sentinel said, clearly not focusing on what he was saying as he moved up the hill.

“Allow me to finish. Secondly, I do not want to believe you dumb, and thus, I will not answer your question in the hopes that you will be able to figure it out.” The gunner replied.

“What the 'ell is that supposed to mean?!” The dwarf cried, his attention returning back to the greenskin as he stopped at the top of the hill.

“I will not comment any further on the subject. If you wish to know more about it, ask at a later date.”

The gunsmith couldn't help but let out a victorious chuckle as he walked up to the sentinel, whom merely sighed. As the inventor moved next to him, the sentry roughly elbowed him in the hip, pointing down the hill.

It was Nierhin.

The village was, naturally, surrounded by hills, being in the middle of a large valley. It was of reasonable size, taking up a good portion of the valley within. It was surrounded by a tall, wooden, spiked wall that was probably more than twice his height. Each wall had a portcullis attached to it, with guards looking over each wall. Smoke rose from the rooftops of various buildings within, blocking out most of the other details he could find.

“Well, ya gonna move it or what, greenskin?” The dwarf said impatiently.

“Just give me a few moments, my friend. I'm taking in the sights.” He replied, despite having already gotten his fill.

The Town of Nierhin

They had gone through the gate without much trouble, though Ballad took note of the chuckles the guards made as the sentry joked at his expense. They were apparently on friendly terms, or at least familiar terms. As the portcullis lifted up off of the ground, he shot one last frown towards the dwarf before moving into the village.

It was a crowded place, to be sure, though not to the extent of Minas Tirith, where the streets were literally impossible to traverse without being run over by the hordes of people that flocked through them. The streets in Nierhin were far more manageable. Dwarves of all genders and ages went about their daily business, some being pulled by oxen with carts. Their hooves clomped against the cobblestone ground as they moved past the gunsmith, snorting. His escort led the way through the herds of people, pointing out several names of buildings they passed along the way.

The first place he mentioned was the marketplace, held in the center of town. According to the dwarf, every day at noon, dwarves from all over the Fields would congregate around the statue of Odin, a copper statue of a one-eyed, long-bearded man clutching his staff, Gungir. He did not get into specifics about who Odin was, instead focusing on the nature of the market. Merchants would set up colored tents and tables covered in drapes, and all would try to outsell each other, often through low prices and trash talk. Tauntaun meat, the hides of Wampas, and gems were especially common items to see on the market.

“So, if I may ask, why do you have a statue to this...Odin?” SPB asked, curious.

“God o' knowledge. You should study up on 'im. Could help yer greenskin brain.”

“I'll pass...” He replied, turning his eyes away from the vile thing.

As they passed by the market, his escort pointed towards a nearby building. Unlike most of the other buildings, which were mostly constructed out of logs, the structure was made out of stone bricks, most chipped away by snow. Its roof was low-hanging, but the apex of its shape rose high to call attention to itself. Smoke rose from a chimney on the left side of the structure, which was connected to a furnace from outside. Underneath another rooftop, albeit smaller, worked two blacksmiths. One sat near a silver anvil with a hammer, pounding down onto a molten piece of metal. Sparks flew in every direction with each strike, metal clanging against metal. The second smith stood near the furnace, sticking a long metal pole into it, occasionally pulling down on a rope to compress a burner tube at the right of the furnace.

“That ther' ar' the Ruffian Brother's Forge. They look professional, but wait till ya see them fightin' it out over a pint o' beer at the Bloody Boar's Inn. Guard's had to bust their asses a few times for unruly behavior. Plus, they don' sell cheap. If it wasn' for their damn good quality armaments, they probably wouldn' be here.” The dwarf said, shaking his head towards the Ruffian's general direction, quietly cursing them to hell if Inanna was fair.

They passed by several other buildings, stopping in front of the Bloody Boar's Inn, which was signified by the stuffed head of a boor nailed into the door. Music emerged from behind the door, followed by the clinking of glasses and hearty cheers.

“Well, her' it is. You'll find f- the leader in there.” The bearded dwarf said, turning around, about to walk off.

“You're just going to leave me to his mercy?” Ballad said, noticing his apprehension.

The sentry drew to a halt, whirling around, “That actually reminds me. Two things. First off, don' be concerned. Leader's a good man, even if his antics seem weird.” He said, smiling as he looked down towards the ground, letting out a light chuckle before speaking again, “Secondly, tell the man Danish said hello. He'd kill me if he found out I entered without his knowledge.”

“I'll keep that in mind, I suppose..” He replied, instantly forgetting about it as soon as he saw the dwarf begin to walk off, clutching his talisman.

He let out a sigh of relief, making sure the sentinel was well away from him before he walked towards the door. The music got louder and louder as he pushed the door open, ready to go find the leader.

Quest: Into The Halls
Word Count: 1,321
Amount Left: 4,604

[Corporal Light]

The Bloody Boar's Inn was renowned among the dwarves of Nierhin for selling cheap, high quality food and drink. It was especially helpful that they had very little competition within the village, as most of the other famous inns and taverns were more prosperous within the city of Dwarfholm where they were safe from troll raids. But many of the townsfolk would agree that even if brands like Wild Heart's Inn or Troll Tusk Tavern had set up shop within the confines of their settlement, Bloody Boar's would still give them a run for their money if only because of its vastly superior indoors appearance.


The green gunsmith would've been considered a lucky man to experience its beauty without a preconceived notion firsthand. Many a Nierhin dwarf would've commented on how blown away he must have been when he opened the door and saw the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the candles burning bright enough to light up the entire inn. The sweet scent of liquor filling his nostrils as he turned his head to face the pristine bar, seeing the various brandies stacked up against the masterfully crafted and clear wooden shelves behind it. The blissful notes of a flute and viol accompanied by the banging of drums providing an indescribably hearty sensation....

Bloody Boar's Inn

Unfortunately, the leafy-colored inventor was on strictly business terms and thus had no time nor want for such things. As much as the specter inhabiting his body might have wanted to try out the wines and talk to the denizens of the village, he was held back by the need to find the leader. A need that, at first, he did not want to satisfy immediately. It was only through constant internal pressuring from Ballad did the being finally relent and put its focus squarely on the search. Despite this, SPB warned him not to blow up and pour all of his frustration out, else they would repeat what happened with Mister Lynch. The inventor, after a bit of grumbling, kept silent after this.


The gunman slid towards the bar counter where a singular dwarf handmaiden was busy cleaning it with a rag. He leaned forward, tapping the wooden counter with his fist to get her attention.


“Wha' do ya need.” The female bartender said, brushing her blond hair past one of her eyes as she looked up at the newcomer. She visibly flinched, grimacing behind her hair for a moment.


“Hello, miss bartender,” he replied, ignoring the urge to curse at her, “forgive my intrusion, but I require assistance in a business matter. Where is the wondrous chief of this settlement and where can I locate his person?”


“Lookin' for Ol' Dane? He's over ther' somewher',” she said, waving towards the back of the inn before ignoring him in favor of a dwarf.


The dark-green weapon designer gave his thanks, moving off of the counter top. He disregarded the several odd looks he received from the patrons next to him, instead focusing on the back of the inn.


The sounds of claps and cheers grew louder as he fumbled his way through crowds and sets of tables, a look of confusion plastered on his face. Eventually, after pushing past some unruly dwarves, he came across the source of the ruckus. In front of a large podium sat two dwarves, one of which was drinking from a gigantic gourd that was more than twice his height. The one with the gourd had a black, frizzled beard that was graying near the edges which, while probably attractive among the dwarven population, did nothing to hide the sagging wrinkles on his cheeks. He had a silver helmet on his head that had two teeth-like horns sticking out like a bull's as well as an emblem of a shield embedded on the front of it. His torso and limbs were covered by comparatively shiny and well-made silver armor covered in scrapes and scratches.


The spectators clamored ferociously as the helmeted dwarf leaned backwards, chugging down the contents of the gourd. The dwarf in front of him gave him a worried look that was replaced with mock sadness as the silver-armored dwarf set the humongous gourd back on the table. He let out a victorious roar, standing up onto his chair as he pounded his chest, much to the delight of the crowd. He hopped down from his seat, giving his competitor a congratulatory handshake. The gunsmith noticed that he had a huge smile on his face as he went around chest bumping random customers, who didn't seem the least bit unnerved by his behavior.


This must be the one. You going to go after him or what?


I'm amused by this rather unusual display. I think I'll observe for the time being.


SPB, if you don't fucking move your ass over to him, I WILL blow up. I swear to-


Yes, master...


Sighing, the sharpshooter walked towards the dwarf, tapping him on the shoulder just as he began to move towards the bar counter. He whirled around, letting out a surprised cry as he looked at Ballad's face. He began chuckling, planting his hand on the gunsmith's shoulder as he knelt down to meet his height.


“By Thor's Hammer! Ya almost gave me a heart attack, lad! My poor, aching heart! I think I'll faint!” He shouted, holding his hand to his forehead as he dramatically fell backwards, only stopping once the gunner reached behind him to prevent his fall.


“Heeheehee, thank ya lad. Lord knows what woulda happened if ya hadn' stopped me. I'd say ya and I are gonna get along just fine,” he said, his voice baritone and distinctly jolly.


The melodramatic dwarf quickly noticed that both of the gunner's eyebrows were cocked in a puzzled manner.


“Oh my goodness, I am sorry. I forgot to introduce myself!” He cried, holding his gloved hand out towards the man, “name's Dane. Leader of Nierhin, at yer service!”


Neither SPB nor Ballad knew whether to be relieved that the leader of the village wasn't nearly as prejudiced as the rest of them seemed to be or to be disturbed for the same reason. The gunner grabbed onto the dwarf's hand, allowing him to shake it vigorously.


“Y-Ye-Yes, thank you, you are very, shall I say, neighborly, sir Dane, Leader of Nierhin,” the gunner stuttered, pulling his hand back as Dane let go of it, “apologies, but... you aren't quite what I anticipated, sir dwarf.”


“Ah, it's okay, I get that a lot. What brins' ya her', mister...?”


“My identification is Ballad, and I-”


“Ballad?” Dane cried, and just as soon as the gunner realized what was happening, the entrance was blocked by two dwarven guards and he had more than a fair share of knives very close to his form, ready to stab at a moments notice.


“That escalated quickly..”

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1,154
Amount Left: 3,450

[Corporal Light]

To say that the situation had 'escalated quickly' was an understatement. More accurately, the situation had turned from lively to perilous in under a second. Before he could even get the chance to properly respond, he had been surrounded by a mob, all of whom were pointing whatever they had in their hands at him. As he looked around, he noticed the murderous glares on their faces. He could just hear them muttering under their breath for him to just give them an excuse. Just one excuse.


“What ar' ya doin' her', ya crazy maniac?” Their leader said, his tone quiet and monotone.


The virescent inventor glanced towards the dwarven chief, seeing his normal smiling, cheerful expressions replaced by a piercing glare. His blue eyes were like daggers peering into his soul, his head lowered so that a small shadow hung over his eyes. His arms were crossed, and he was impatiently tapping his index finger against his armor.


“Allow me to elucidate-”


“Better be good, else I'll let my people cut ya up into fine meat,” Dane interrupted, smirking, “probably have ya cooked afterwards; some of us are curious to see what troll meat tastes like.”


Oh not him too.. thought Ballad as laughter erupted from all around him, venomous and malicious. He didn't want to know if the Nierhin leader was serious about the threat though given what he knew about dwarf and troll relations (or at least what SPB knew,) it would be reasonable to assume the hypocritical, prideful species would resort to comparable levels of barbarism.


All the more reason to end the war as quickly as possible and, more importantly, try not to get them on his bad side during his mission.


“Firstly, despite my complexion indicating the contrary, I am not, nor have I ever intended on being, associated with these 'trolls,'” he began, looking at the people around him, his hands in the air “secondly, allow me to be the first to acknowledge that I have indeed committed misdeeds against several factions and peoples of note, including Camelot and the Empire. However, none of them were witting.”


“Explain how.”


“In the case of the empire, I was being assailed by the likes of a five-man squad of soldiers. I knew they would kill me or at the very least imprison me, given their shady behavior. So, I did the logical thing: I attacked first,” the gunner replied, lying through his teeth, “as for Camelot, that was an unfortunate accident and one I regret wholeheartedly. It was the result of my attempts to dispatch and eliminate a group of assassins that I later extinguished entirely.”


The armored dwarf nodded, obviously impressed at that moment, “I heard about that little skirmish. Ya took out an entire bandit group all by yerself.”


“Which brings me to my final point: I am not here to cause distress, or to damage any of you or your property. I have only one aspiration, and that is to support you in your war against the trolls.” The green sharpshooter proclaimed, the patrons around him murmuring.


Dane, the leader of Nierhin, raised his left hand, silencing the public, “So, let me get this straight. After killin' a som' stormtroopers, losin' the Colosseum Tournament, blamin' Camelot for all their problems, and then getting' yerself in trouble with some bandits that you then slaughter, ya now want to help us... kill the trolls.”


His tone said it all. The virescent gunsmith closed his eyes, preventing the people around him from noticing his eyes briefly turn a pale white. He moved his hands to his face, pinching his nose lightly as a small amount of smoke billowed out of his sleeve. He felt like he was going to burst at any moment. He knew doing so would lead to their plan failing entirely, but the urge to just start shouting and cursing and flinging tables around in a blind rage was.... a very attractive prospect.


But his more rational half wouldn't allow it. Letting out his frustrations on the dwarves would guarantee his demise. He would never succeed in the Fields if that happened. He would never bring back peace anywhere if he did that. But it was just so damn inviting not having to stand their stupidity. He felt his hands contort into fists for a second before relaxing. He could feel a piece of iron jab into his back, warning him. He imagined backhanding whoever pricked him.


But he knew otherwise. He just had to deal with their petty excuses. Their stupid prejudices.


He had to calm down.


He took in a deep breath, smoke flowing through his nostrils.


He opened his eyes, now bright yellow.


“Yes. I understand my reputation is not... clean, but you must believe me that I genuinely wish for peace here in the fields,” He said, his voice cracking, much to the surprise of some of the customers around him, “and besides, why would I risk my life knowing my very appearance puts all of you on edge if I wasn't sincere in my belief? I only wish to help you. All I want is to help you.”


The green gunsmith closed his mouth, his words echoing around the room. It was quiet, with only the swinging chandeliers above providing any source of noise. The dwarven leader looked around, seeing his people keeping the man at bay with the tools at their disposal. After a few seconds, he looked back towards the gunner, still silent. Someone coughed. Another murmured. Ballad felt like he would burst at any moment if he did not get a response. Did they think he was joking around with them? That he was playing some kind of game? Was their racism so deep that they wouldn't trust ANY MAN OF GREEN SKIN?!


Just as his hands became enveloped by smoke and his eyes turned snow-white, the silence was broken.


“Follow me.”

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 997
Amount Left: 2,453

[Corporal Light]

The green gunsmith followed Dane out of the luxurious tavern and into the outside world, where they walked towards a towering building in the middle of town. The building housed a bell tower on its roof and unlike most of the other structures in the village, the town hall was comprised of stone and brick. The duo walked up a small flight of stairs, moving towards two large twin doors where several guards stood. With a silent wave of his hand, the dwarven leader brushed them aside and moved towards the door.


Ballad set foot inside first, the leader holding the door open for him. He found himself inside a long corridor that was as high as the building itself, with interconnecting hallways to his left and right that led to stairwells. To his front was a large room filled with long wooden benches, all facing towards a single table with an array of items stacked upon it. He noticed that, aside from small rays of sunlight shimmering through a set of rectangular windows, it was dark and dingy within the room. The air had an old, musty scent, as if he had stumbled upon an ancient tomb.


He heard the door slam shut as Dane walked past him, eyes never diverting from the table. The sounds of their footsteps echoed around the corridor as they drew closer to it. The virescent gunman quickly noticed something else about the table: it had skulls lining the front of the table, all facing towards him. They were fractured, the marrow of their skulls split in half on some while others contained knife-sized holes inside their craniums. Their most distinguishing feature, however, were their long canines within their jaws.


The sharpshooter felt a cold sweat run down his forehead, wiping it away with his hand. The chief seemed to smile as he walked behind the table and pulled out a chair. He slid the chair towards the inventor's side before moving back, sitting down as he stared at Ballad in complete silence.


The gunsmith slowly pulled the chair back as he sighed nervously. He sat down before looking at the dwarf, who was still peering at him. His glare was gone, replaced by a completely stoic and deadpan expression.


“So..” he said, his monotone voice little more than a whisper, “ya wish to help us fight back against the trolls, is that correct?”


The gunner let out a frustrated sigh as he leaned forward onto the table, placing his hands on his face, “Yes, that is correct... that is exactly what I desire...”


“Well, ya see, ya got a problem,” the leader replied, ignoring the annoyed groans coming from his guest, “fer starters, ya don' have the best reputation in all the Omnivers'. Let's jus' leave it at that, shall we? Secondly, ya pissed off Camelot, o' all people. The same people whom had been helpin' US fer quite a while up until Diablo came and blew everythin' up.”


Of course. These guys HAD to have been friends with the people I've hurt the most... he mused, letting out a sigh. He lifted himself off of the desk, taking care not to touch the beaten and crumbled craniums.


“If I am to postulate...” the gunsmith said, “my character stays my eligibility for recruitment.”


“Pretty much.”


“Alright... is there anything I can do to fix that?”


“Normally, all thos' thin's combined would be mor' than enough reason to kill ya...” he replied as he reached towards a skull. He lifted one up into the air, looking at it blankly for a few moments, “...but we're desperate. The king'll take anyone who can swin' a hammer... even someone like ya, Ballad.”


The gunner felt a wave of relief wash over him. Finally, some progress! He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms, saying “Okay.. so what is the complication?” in a somewhat eager, if not impatient tone.


“We don' just let anyone in, even if their reputation spoke fer itself. Yer gonna have to PROVE that yer serious in what yer doin',” he said as he slid his other hand behind the table, pulling out a piece of parchment. He set the paper in front of the sharpshooter, who promptly grabbed it and pulled it up to his face.


The parchment contained an approximately 64 by 64 sized grid as well as a key with various symbols written inside it. Near the middle of the map was a drawing of a village that took up around eight squares of the map, labeled 'Nierhin.' To its west were scribbles of trees and inclines, which according to the key meant that area was marked by forests and hills. The area in particular was labeled as 'The Hills of Maidens Blessing.' The gunsmith also noticed that the area was circled with black ink.


“Allow me to predict my assignment's goal: You desire for me to travel to these hills-”


“and collect som' stuff. Exactly,” Dane said, finishing his sentence. The cucumber green man couldn't help but smirk at his educated guess. It was easy to do when you had all the knowledge in the world that you could pull from the back of your mind at a moments notice.


“Now, the stuff in question is as follows,” the dwarf said as he set the skull in his hand on top of another, keeping its face facing his guest, “first, collect some cobalt. Second, collect a wampa hide. Simple?”


“On the contrary, it is impossible for it to be simple.”


“Ya guessed right. Ya see, we had a bunch o' villages around those hills when we first got here. Some, particularly us, used to use those hills as a place wher' ya could go out and mine and hunt. For som' reason, those hills wer' a giant matin' ground for tauntauns, so we decided to take advantage o' that little piece o' luck. Not only that, but it was also filled with minerals in the caves, so we set up minin' camps there.”


“However, that only lasted a short while. We just had to pull out all o' our miners cuz the mines were growin' unstable.”


“From excessive mining, I presume?” Ballad interrupted.


The dwarven leader bit his lip, shaking his head slightly, “that's what most believe. Personally, though, I think foul play was involved. Those damn thins' were fine the day before and were droppin' like flies the next.”


“In any case, I highly doubt we got everythin', so you got a free ticket to kill two birds with one stone. Go over there, get some cobalt, then just walk around till you kill a wampa. Skin the wampa and bring back the hide. Then, and only then, will I consider ya fer recruitment.”


The green gunner glanced from the map to the leader as he chuckled under his breath. All the pygmy wanted was for him to kill a creature, take its hide, and collect some raw materials. No other fighting necessary. His reputation definitely preceded him, just without the respect that would normally imply. For once, though, he was happy that he was known as a cold-blooded killer with a penchant for violence.


“I proffer you my gratitude, o dwarf,” he said, rolling up the map and stuffing it inside his jacket.


He was about to get up and walk away when he heard the leader speak again.


“One more thin', before ya go: Yer gettin' a guide. Ya know, fer the travellin' and all that.”


“A guide....”


“Trust me. He knows the land inside and out. He'll do plenty o' great thins' fer ya. I'm sure he will.”

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1,275
Amount left: 1,178

[Corporal Light]

A couple of hours later

“He knows the land inside and out, he said,” Ballad muttered, “he'll do plenty of great things for you, he said!”

“Quit whisperin'! Tryin' to concentrate!” shouted Danish as he turned back to face the gunsmith. He glared at him for a few moments before looking back to the front, kicking his heels against his oxen mount.

The virescent gunsmith softly growled, tightening his grip on the reins of his mount. They were traveling on a small, snow-covered road that ascended up hills and through fields. The brown furred ox let out a loud moo as its hooves clanked against the surface, kicking up snow wherever it walked. Ballad's mount, a black haired ox, responded back with a strained yelp of sorts that ground the gunner's gears more than a little bit.

The gunsmith kicked his heels against his oxen's stomach, shutting it up for the tenth time. He heard a small snicker erupt from a few feet in front of him.

“Danish... are you tittering in my general direction?” He asked, his tone low.

“Hmm?” The dwarf responded, turning his head away from the map in his hands. His ox steer kept a fair distance away from the green recruit, if only because of Danish consistently snapping the reins or lightly kicking it in the stomach.

“I repeat, I-”

“I know what ya said, stupid,” he replied, turning back towards his map,“for goodness sake, ya'd think a troll would have a bigger brain than a tauntaun's.”

Smoke billowed out of the sleeves of his coat as the dwarf finished his sentence. Another damn troll comment! Was there no end to his stupidity?! These thoughts raged throughout his mind as he nearly yanked the reins back, his ox letting out a choked groan.

LET ME FUCKING KILL THIS GUY ALREADY

Just wait, dear Ballad! We can't just-

I DON'T CARE I'M KILLING HIM

BALLAD

The sharpshooter was just about to snap the reins onto the oxen's head as he readied himself for a charge when he noticed the dwarf recoil. A second later, he and his mount had dashed off down the road, leaving Ballad covered in snow.

“Are you fu- COME BACK HERE!” He commanded, slapping the reins against the side of the ox. Before he knew it, the oxen let out a distressed groan, charging after the brown one.

In another world, the chase probably would've been a humorous display of two cows juggling their fat around as both of their commanders yelled at them to go faster in a desperate attempt to outrun the other.

It only too a few moments for the soldier to learn otherwise.

The coal-black oxen galloped forward at a pace seemingly impossible for something of its stature, the air filled with the cacophony of rapidly clapping hooves. The gunner let out a yell as held on to the reins, trying his hardest not to fall off. True to his word, Ballad found that SPB was making no input in his mind. He didn't really bother thinking about what he could have been doing.

He glanced forward, seeing Danish's ox slide forward, only to twist to its right and continue. He was going completely off the trail.

“Where the fuck are you going, you idiot?!” He hollered, barely repeating his maneuver as he followed him into a large forest.

The two steers bobbed and weaved between the trees, the inventor still hot on his escort's tail. The dwarf made no effort to look back nor even really react to the constant swearing and annoyed yells behind him. He was staring forward, a smile planted on his face as he drew closer towards a small cave inside the forest. By the time he reached it, he had slowed down to a walk, finally stopping right in front of the entrance to the cave. Sliding off of his mount, he ran into the cave.

The gunner, on the other hand, was going way too damn fast. Thinking quickly, he grabbed onto the ox's horns, stopping it and sending him sailing through the air. He let out a surprised shout before landing on the ground in front of the cave.

That was... superbly executed, o slayer...

Shut the fuck up...

---------------------------------------------------------

The cave wasn't very large, as it was mostly just a circular room; this was a fact Ballad had figured out by the time he had looked inside. Peering into it, he saw the dwarven sentry kneeling down in front of gigantic stone statue with a rosette design at the base it stood on. The statue depicted a large woman holding her hands the sky, exposing her bare chest. She had long hair that reached to her hips and her head was partially covered by a helmet of some kind. An unusual type of energy radiated from the sculpture. One that sent a chill down his spine as he drew closer to the dwarf.

He walked forward until he was just a few feet behind the dwarf, a look of confusion plastered on his face. The pygmy was mumbling something to himself as he held his enclosed hands to his forehead in a prayer motion. His eyes were closed and despite the gunner's rather loud entering of the cave, he did not acknowledge his presence.

“Finally.. gained on you.. what is the meaning of this?” The inventor said, crossing his arms against his chest. When no reply was uttered, he said, “Danish, I request the satisfaction of my query,” with an annoyed tone of voice.

No response.

He pulled out his revolver and shot the statue square in the nose. The bullet chipped of the base of the nose, both falling onto the cave floor. The gunshot echoed around the cavern that coupled with the sound of gravel smacking against the stone ground.

The dwarf jumped into the air, his face contorting from blissful to a murderous glare in half a second as he stared at the gunner, his revolver releasing black smoke from its barrel.

“WHAT IN THE WORLD DID YA JUST DO?!” He yelled, spit flying out of his mouth.

“I shot the goddamn statue.”

“YOU-” He said, pausing for a split second. He glanced up towards the head of the statue, seeing the nose gone from its original position. He took a deep breath, his voice going soft and monotone as he spoke, “ya shot... Inanna...”

“Who?”

“Inanna...”

The gunsmith frowned, sliding his revolver into his coat. After a few seconds, it hit him, “Oh! Inanna! Your goddess!”

“Yes... a shrine.. to her... that ya just desecrated.”

“You're implying I give a shit.”

Danish's eyes widened, his eyebrows raising upwards as he crossed his arms. “What is the matter with ya?” He questioned, slowly stepping towards the recruit.

“If you think I'm going to be intimidated by you, you're mistaken.”

“Intimidated or not, I don't get ya,” the dwarf replied, not stopping his slow and methodical walk towards the clearly uncaring Ballad, “first you come in my house and start actin' passive-aggressive while sayin' nice things, then I find out ya were causin' ruckus in the Inn and nearly got yerself killed, BALLAD. THEN I find out that the old man wants ME, of all people, to lead YOU throughout the Fields. Keep in mind that this was AFTER I found out who ya were, and what you've done.”

“Okay, SO?!” The virescent sharpshooter said, towering over the smaller dwarf.

“I think after all the crap you've done, I deserve at least one answer: Why in GOD'S NAME did you desecrate my goddess's grave?!” The dwarf answered, his voice growing progressively softer and more deadpan as he answered.

Ballad opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He looked away from the dwarf for a few moments, going over his thoughts.

He felt like he had done all of this before. Minus the desecration and the pissed off dwarf, he was gaining unpleasant memories of.... of...

No.. he thought, subtly shaking his head, I won't tell him. I ain't stupid. I fell for this once, I ain't falling for it again.

Not again..

“Well?” The dwarf asked, either ignoring or not noticing the gunner move his gloves across his eyes. By the time he looked back, he was speaking with a more polite and fanciful tone.

“My apologies, sir dwarf, I.... was trying to obtain your heed and I... well, I did not think it through entirely. I apologize.”

“I don' want just an apology.” The dwarf replied, seemingly with the answer, “I want a promise. Promise me that, for the remainder of this mission, ya don' do that crap again. Got it?” He said as he held his hand out.

Should we tell him?

I'm not doing it again, SPB. I.... I don't want to..

As you wish...

“You have a deal...” He replied, shaking his hand.

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1504
Amount left: WAY Surpassed.

[Corporal Light]

An hour later...

“Well… this appears to be the site…” Ballad said, folding up the map and sliding it into his coat.

“About damn time…” Danish said, sighing as he gripped the reins of his oxen mount.

The duo slowly moved up the hill, parking their respective mounts near the bottom of it. They were in a large valley, which the map had signified as “The Hill’s of Maiden’s Blessing.” The valley was between more than a dozen hills and inclines, several of which holding vast amounts of pine trees. These pine trees were scattered in clusters around the valley, some alone, others within groups. They had entered the valley from its east, right through a tall forest that surrounded the whole landscape. They had immediately taken sighting of a small hole near one of the nearby hills and had moved towards it. The hole, as the green man had guessed, was man-made, and clearly the entrance to the mines.

Should be relatively simple… he thought, holding his hand back to stop Danish from moving ahead of him, go in, grab some cobalt, and go kill a wampa. Whatever that is.

“Ya do know what yer doin’, do ya?” The religious dwarf said, crossing his arms. He scoffed as the green gunsmith simply lowered his hand, blatantly ignoring him and his question. He sighed, shaking his head as they entered the mine.

----------------------------

The first thing the duo had noticed was that it was dark, a fact that was obvious to Ballad. He hadn’t thought that his dwarven ally had figured it out until he had asked in a very disgruntled manner for him to please get a light out so they could be able to see without tripping over their own feet. The gunner had gladly obliged, mostly because he had a point in saying that it was foolish to traverse the mines without any kind of light source. He had taken a few minutes of his time to construct a torch made out of a small stick, some fabric and some wick. He had then covered the fabric with the wick before striking it against the walls of the mine, lighting it up.

With the torch in use, it was far easier to discern their overall surroundings. The had already walked a fair distance into the mines, enough so that they could no longer see the entrance. The roof of the caverns were held up by wooden supports, some of which holding up a pair of metal lanterns that had been turned off. Some of these supports were also cracked, as if straining under the weight of the roof, an observation the green recruit took note of. Below their feet, aside from the compacted snow, was stone and sets of railroad tracks for minecarts.

During their traversing of the caverns, a thought encroached the gunner’s mind. As he walked, he turned towards his dwarven escort, asking him a question.

“You don’t, um… happen to know what Cobalt looks like, do you?”

“Yer sayin’ ya don’?” He replied, his eyebrows cocked and his eyes widened.

“I am a candid individual, and I must inform you of my lack of knowledge on the subject of this Cobalt.” The gunsmith said, looking away as he felt his cheeks start to burn a little bit. How could a logic spirit not know what Cobalt is? It boggled his mind how he had never in his lifetime heard about it!

“Damn… that’s a first from ya,” The escort said, not taking note the not-so-subtle attempt on the sharpshooter’s part to hide his embarrassment, “fer a second, I was thinkin’ Inanna wasn’ gonna answer my prayers that the recent troll recruit didn’ seem to know everythin’.”

The gunsmith let out a small sigh, shaking his head. He remained quiet, though. As much as he wanted to punch the dwarf in the face for what he just said, he was better off just sticking to the deal he had made with him. He was his only real bet on navigating the land, anyway.

Passing through a long hall with two minecarts standing next to each other, both empty, they continued their conversation.

“Truthfully, do you lack awareness on the subject of this Cobalt, o dwarf?” The gunsmith said, stopping at an intersection between two darkened halls.

“Does it matter? Not like I’m the one gettin’ recruited,” He said, tugging on Ballad’s coat as he tried to move towards the hall to his right. He pulled the green inventor towards the left hall, whom grunted as he brushed his hand off.

“Well, you are my guide, sir sentry.” He said, sliding his hand across the brims of his coat, “isn’t this what you were assigned for?”

“Look, troll, I didn’t ask to be assigned for this at all. I’m only here because f-... the old man wants me too. That’s literally all ther’ is to it.” The dwarf replied.

“Then why are you a sentry?”

“Better than bein’ a soldier.”

The virescent gunsmith paused, turning towards his escort with his eyebrows raised. "What?” He said, his tone incredulous.

“Look, I already told ya I only signed up for sentry duty fer two people, alright? Ya can thank the old man for it, but he wants me to be a regular ol’ soldier just like him. Well…” He said, glancing towards the ground, “truth is, I don’t care much for the war. Inanna wouldn’ want me to. I only took up sentry duty cuz it was the best o’ both worlds, understand?”

The gunsmith was well and truly speechless.

“I’ll take yer silence as a yes,” He said, “anyways… let’s go find this Cobalt..”

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Amount: 964
WAY Surpassed Word Limit

I promise I will actually fill some of the quest requirements next post xD

[Corporal Light]

The duo continued walking through the caverns, remaining completely quiet. As they descended deeper into the mines, the formerly cool air was replaced by a bit of a mist, followed by the sounds of dripping water like that of a normal cave. The walls had grown slick and moist, probably from the melted ice and snow that used to cover the walls. Their boots occasionally found themselves in small puddles, splashing the water onto their clothes. The supports holding the rocks above their heads were visibly decayed, the dampness of the surrounding environment not doing much to help the old and outdated columns. More than once, the gunsmith and the sentry had to stop as soft rumbles occasionally echoed throughout the mines, gravel falling from above. They treaded lightly, determined not to disturb the unstable mine.

After a few minutes of walking, a stench filled the atmosphere, filling the pair’s nostrils. It smelled of death and mucus. The odor grew more and more as they walked, becoming almost unbearable by the time they were within a long hall. By that point, the gunsmith was loudly wondering what the heck it was while Danish was doing his best not to breathe it in.

Turning a corner, they both figured out its source. Laying within an intersection was the body of a large creature. From a distance, it appeared to be sleeping, but the smell gave it away.

The gunner drew closer to it, groaning a bit as he examined the cadaver. The dwarf stayed back, his face turning green.

The carcass had grey fur all over its body, parts of it matted with blood-red goo. The red stains surrounded large holes in its throat, blood spilling from its neck and onto the stony ground. Its torso was sliced open, its intestines sloshed onto the floor near the green man’s shoes.

Looking towards its head, Ballad saw a pair of ram horns just behind beady black eyes. It stared out into space, as if daydreaming.

“This must be a tauntaun….” He muttered, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. He looked behind him, seeing the dwarf coming closer.

“Yep, that’s a tauntaun…” He said, drawing back after one quick look. He squeezed his nose, shaking his head.

The gunsmith kneeled down, deliberately looking away from the animal’s shredded stomach, “It appears that it is latterly deceased…” he said.

“How do ya figur’?” The sentry groaned, sliding his down to his mouth.

“Well, it isn’t a skeleton, so that means it must have departed a short period of time anterior to when we arrived,” He answered, standing up,  “you don’t opine a wampa brought about its demise, correct?”

The tiny escort coughed, walking a short distance away from the cadaver,  “I wouldn’ put it at the bottom o’ my list o’ things that coulda killed it.”

“Superb..”

“Superb? How is that superb? It’s a wampa!”

“My task is to slay a wampa. If it is down here, then that means I can complete it alongside the mining of cobalt. To quote a metaphor, I could kill two birds with one stone.”

“Gah… guess you got a point ther’..” The dwarf said, sliding his left hand towards a small knife within his boots. The gunsmith simultaneously drew his revolver, and was about to continue walking when Danish stopped him.

“Uh… troll? The gun.”

“Oh… right..” he said, sliding the gun back into his holster. Probably best we not kill ourselves…

-----------------------------

The duo continued investigating the mines, the image of the dead tauntaun still lingering in their minds. Or, at least, in Danish’s mind.

The virescent sharpshooter, however, was thinking of something entirely different. Specifically, it was what the pygmy had told him earlier on. He would never say it to the little shithead’s face, but it was hard for him to accept just how much his words reminded him of how he had acted like in the past. A man who, for a little while, had wanted nothing more than to be left to his own devices, yet seemed to constantly get himself into trouble for no reason whatsoever. Tournaments, doctors, recruitment's, assassinations… for a man who didn’t care about the state of the world, he seemed to be doing his best to have some sort of an effect on it.

He was silly back in the day, he had realized, to think his actions made no difference. In a world like this, you couldn’t ever be left alone. At some point, somewhere, somehow, you were going to do something. It was how you did it, though, that mattered, and that’s what the people of the Omniverse seemed hell bent on doing it wrong. Constant power struggles, crime, war everywhere, racism, and a generous amount of dictatorships. It was astonishing how the general public had grown accepting of this, as if it was something they had to stand.

But Ballad wasn’t going to stand for that. He was going to rework the system from the ground up after tearing the old one down. He had hoped he could get through life through ignorance, but he was wrong. Ignorance wasn’t bliss, it was just ignorance. As a man with immortality, he was going to change the world for the better. For peace and happiness and a land where no one was cruel. A world where there was no such thing as war. A world where inequality, racism, and a “wrong” opinion wasn’t even a word you’d find in the dictionary. A world of eternal peace.

If it meant having to destroy everything entirely to do it, than by God, he’d do it.

Of course, a course of action like that would require allies… and he seemed to be rather low on those...

“Psst, troll!”

The gunner glanced back towards the dwarf, seeing him pointing towards another intersection, “Ya might want to come over here.”

----------------------------------------

The gunner brought the torch forward, illuminating the large, circular room. The room was comprised entirely of stone, with several stalagmites clustered in the center of it, each of various lengths. The rocky ground was wetter than the halls that the duo had traversed, with the entire floor coated in wet slime. It was, for the most part, an unassuming little room. Except, however, for a set of glowing grey crystals on the walls on the other side of the room.

The inventor’s eyes widened, locked onto the silvery colored ores plastered on the walls. He reached up to the hilt of his pickaxe, slowly walking towards the ores. The dwarf remained near the entrance, his grip on his knife tightening as the gunsmith drew closer to the crystals.

Reaching the ores, Ballad narrowed his eyes, as if to examine it. The gray crystals were shaped irregularly, as if drawn by an amateur artist and implemented into real life. The glow they created was not from its own initiative; rather, it appeared to have been light reflecting off of the moistened walls. The light itself seemed to have been because of the gunsmith’s torch, which he had placed on the ground a moment prior. The crystal jutted out of the rock like tumors, begging to be exquisitely removed by a mining expert such as Ballad. If he wasn’t so fascinated, so completely and utterly amused by its shape and unnatural glow, he would’ve done it. But he wanted to gaze at it for a few moments, ignoring the increasingly distressed grunts from his partner and the growing stench in the air. Just one more moment of contemplation before the inevitable task of mining.

Raising his arms, he lifted his pickaxe into the air, ready to unleash the blow.

A loud, bestial grunt erupted from the entrance.

Quest: Into The Halls
Word Amount: 1,286

Okay, NEXT post I will actually get some quest requirements done.

[Corporal Light]

To a bystander, it would’ve been impossible to distinguish the pair as anything other than frozen statues that were stiff from rigor mortis. The pickaxeman held his pick high in the air, the blunt end poised to strike against the glowing, crystalline cobalt ores. He held his breath, not moving a  muscle. He did not even turn around to see what had made the noise.

The dwarven sentry, however, was not so lucky. He had moved towards the left side of the cave as soon as he had smelled the rotten odor. It stunk of decay and filth, and he had nearly vomited upon sensing it. How the virescent recruit had not reacted, much less noticed, what was going on around him was something he wasn’t going to concern himself with. He kept completely still, holding his dagger towards the entrance as he stared directly at the animal standing within it.

The animal was well over eight feet tall, towering above both intruders even from a distance. Its fur was as white as the snow outside the mine, but it was caked with several blemishes. Its long, bulky arms were covered in grime, and its elongated, knife-like claws were coated with red blood. Its feet were large and soaking wet, with matted and torn hair.

Its head, though, was where the black-bearded pygmy drew his eyes to. He trembled.

Its mouth was more than big enough to swallow someone like Danish whole; a long slit near the bottom of its head that formed a malicious and conniving smile. It's black nostrils were visible above its line of a mouth, mucus running down it and onto its upper lip. It’s eyes, the escort noticed, were pale, with no hint of pigmentation or anything that resembled a “human” eye. Surrounding its eyes were massive scars, all cutting deep into its head that reached to its thick, protruding ram horns. It stood within the room’s entrance, grunting and murmuring.

It’s a wampa, Danish thought, his heart pumping, Inanna… I beg for your blessing… I wash myself of my sins…

The wampa slowly tilted its head up, sniffing the air. Before long, it stopped, turning its head towards the dwarf before walking towards him. It moved slowly and methodically, with each step careful and calculative.

The sentry remained as still as a statue even as the wampa moved closer and closer to him, the creature only stopping to sniff the air another time. It did not seem to notice Ballad standing near the ore, seemingly far too focused on this new smell. This delicious new smell it had never experienced before in its days down under.

The gunsmith glanced towards the pygmy, seeing the wampa almost on top of him. He had noticed its eyes for a split second as it smelled the atmosphere around it, and he knew what it meant. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve acted.

But of course, SPB had to stop him. This wasn’t the time for acting under improvisation. No, this was a time for thinking. This moment could impact several others in the future, for better or worse. He had to be smart about it.

He realized he only had two options, neither of which he liked. The first was obvious: let the wampa have its lunch while he snuck off with the cobalt. Doing that, though, would cost him a wampa hide. Then there’d be the loss of a potential ally...

His second option was more risky. The second would be to save the stupid zealot’s life, albeit at the cost of him potentially getting killed by the hulking abominable snowman. He fought over these two options in his head, silently debating with the inner spirit inhabiting his form. He looked back over towards the wampa, seeing it standing directly in front of the dwarf, its claws gleaming. The dwarf was staring back at him, his eyes filled with fear. He seemed to be silently pleading for help as the wampa looked down towards his form. It sniffed the air once more, as if to confirm what it already knew. It began to growl, raising its bloodied paws.

Oh fuck it.

The virescent pickaxeman thrust the pickaxe down onto the cobalt ores, knocking off a chunk in one fell swoop.

This remarkable act, however, was cut short by a nightmarish roar.

------------------------------------

Ballad was hardly able to turn around before he felt a lumpy, hairy thing charge into him, smashing itself and him into the wall. He thrashed around in its grip, the hilt of his pickaxe between his head and the jaws of the creature. He kicked forward, his foot bouncing off of its midsection. He continued kicking, pushing the things head as far away from him as possible.

The wampa bellowed, wrapping its blood-spattered arm around the green intruder. It dug its claws into his flesh, piercing his back. The gunsmith howled, his hold on his melee weapon loosening as the wampa’s gaping maw drew closer to his skull.

With a piercing scream, Ballad slid out the pistol hidden in his left sleeve, pulling the trigger. The beast flew back, landing on its back a few feet away. The gunshot echoed around the cave.

Silence began to fill the room as the first tiny bits of rock fell from the ceiling.

----------------------

"WHAT AR’ YA STANDIN’ THER FOR?! RUN!” yelled the dwarf as he bolted out of the room.

The gunsmith snapped out of his shock, his eyes darting around the room. He quickly rationalized his action as that of desperation and of being left with no other choice. The thing was both taller and stronger than him. It made perfect logical sense to use something he knew worked against it.

But now wasn’t the time for reminiscing. He swiftly reached towards the cobalt chunk, picking it up before dashing out of the room. A split second before he did, he turned his head towards the wampa, seeing it begin to stand up.

An idea popped into his mind.

Stashing his spent .50 single shot back into his sleeve, he pulled out his revolver. As he ran out of the room, his aim slightly wobbly, he squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew into the room, lodging itself into the animal’s shoulder. The beast let out a thunderous, rage-filled howl, turning towards the entrance of the cave.

He smiled behind his crimson scarf as he raced down the hallway, revolver in one hand and pickaxe in the other. Before long, he had caught back up with the midget sentry, who was moving forward at about the speed of an oversized oxen with a limp. Sweat coursed down his forehead and into his beard, his breathing hoarse.

““What.. *huff*… took ya… *huff*… so long?” He said, reaching up to his silver blunderbuss. He brought it over his head, holding it close to him as they ran through the rapidly collapsing mine.

“I was merely contending with the carnivore,” the gunner replied, squinting as deafening booms echoed around the hallway, followed by a deep, resounding roar.

The duo looked behind them, seeing the massive creature barrelling down the hallway towards them. It was barely short enough to fit in the small tunnels, yet that seemed to be a minor inconvenience at best. Sparks flew off the walls as its claws sliced across them, all of it’s attention now on ending the duo’s lives.

“Ar’ ya friggin’ crazy, troll?! Ya expect us to outrun a collapsin’ cave and THAT THIN’?"


“Just focus on getting us out of here!” Ballad hollered, lifting his left arm into the air. He fired his gun two times, neither shots hitting. His back felt numb, his wounds throbbing with each movement he made.

Danish said nothing, though among the sounds of a rapidly approaching angry wampa and the cracking of wooden supports as the roof of the cavern started to cave in on them, the gunsmith swore he heard a chuckle erupt from his partner.

They ran, and continued running. Guided by the dwarf, they traversed the long tunnels full of minecarts and rails, passing through intersection and intersection. The pygmy had an almost uncanny sense of direction, making decisions of which way to go in times that outright stunned the inventor. The dwarf always had a calm look on his face, as if nothing was wrong. The gunner didn’t know what to make of this. Was this something unique to dwarves, or was this literally divine intervention at work before his very eyes?

He quickly ditched the idea of it being a holy work.

The walls of the mines slowly turned from moist, slick rock to icy and snow covered as the chase continued. The mist disappeared, but the darkness did not. The sharpshooter felt his legs begin to burn as he continued to follow the guide, his breathing increasing in repetition and harshness. Danish wasn’t faring much better, to the point where he eventually was forced to ditch his blunderbuss due to its weight. The wampa began to close in on them, hardly caring that everything behind it was caving in and devouring everything it might’ve held dear. It’s only focus was on the two loud noises that had disturbed its home, trashed it, and hurt it. They deserved every bit of pain it was going to give them.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, they saw a light. They sprinted at full speed towards it, the cavern crumbling all around them. Roars and growls grew louder and louder as they got closer and closer to it. Rocks rained down on them as the entrance to the cave became closer, exactly 20 feet away. Than 15. 10. 5.

They sprinted through the entrance to the mine, rolling down the hill as the top of the mine shaft fell into itself, blocking its entrance with several large boulders.

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Amount: 1642

Obtained Cobalt!

[Corporal Light]

Ballad didn’t quite remember the hill being particularly large, though given how he was tumbling down it at an immeasurable speed, he probably wouldn’t be the most accurate judge of altitude.

Snow kicked into the air as the inventor’s body smashed into the ground every second or so, each touchdown preceding a grunt. His vision was all over the place; nothing was discernible. The only thing he could see were white blurs, and all he could feel was the soft sting of frost slapping his cheek and the sharp throbbing of the wounds in his back.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill. He lifted his head up, his glowing eyes glancing towards every perceivable object in the area. His dwarven partner had landed close by, and his limbs wobbled as he tried to get up. His pickaxe was still in his right hand, thankfully not in his flesh from the chaos, but his revolver was about halfway up the hill, lying in the snow. 

He slowly pushed himself onto his feet, groaning as he twisted his left arm to look at his back. His jacket from the middle to his left shoulder had been shredded, leaving four marks cutting through his green jacket and white sweater. Blood seeped from the wounds, trickling down his backside and onto the ground. He moved his right hand over to cup his wound, switching hands with his melee weapon to do so as he walked up the hill for his revolver. He passed by a few red blood splotches as he moved up; they were probably from him, given he didn’t remember the dwarf obtaining any wounds.

Just as he was about halfway to his weapon, however, he heard a loud crack erupt from the mine entrance. He paused, staring at the rock-covered entryway.

A single, blood-covered claw poked out from between the boulders.

A split second later, the rocks began to move forward, sliding through the entryway and rolling down the hill.

The gunsmith dove to the side, barely avoiding the stones as they shot past him. He looked briefly towards the ground, seeing the dwarf had finally stood up just in time to avoid being smashed into a pulp.

He looked back to the entrance, keeping completely still. The wampa was standing outside the cave entrance, piles of rock and gravel behind it inside the cave. It sniffed the air, claws outstretched, one freshly stained with the blood of its prey. It then stopped, lowering its head towards the ground before rapidly kicking it, letting out a massive roar.

For a moment, the inventor peered at the creature, eyebrows raised. He then looked towards the blood stains on the hill, smiling before looking back at the wampa.

His revolver was still on the ground, a running distance away from where he lied. The beast was slowly descending, occasionally slashing its claws through the snow. Danish remained motionless alongside Ballad, whom was looking from the gun to the animal at lightning speed. He remembered where he shot the beast. A shoulder wound to most creatures would at least injure them enough to get knocked out of the fight for a little while. If bullets couldn’t hurt this thing, then he knew what would.

He just had to get to it.

The green-skinned man charged forward, a nightmarish roar erupting from the top of the hill. It seemed almost like a race, with the two contestants at the finish line. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he sprinted up the hill, drawing closer and closer to the one thing that could end this.

Just as he got close enough to touch it, though, he saw snow kick into the air out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, flying back as the beast’s paw connected with his face.

He fell onto his back, his face swollen and his left eye closed. The thing had slashed across it, damn near clawing his eyes out but instead only managed to leave massive facial wounds. He probably should have been glad he didn’t go blind, but at that point, his focus was merely on the wampa.

He stood back up, smoke starting to billow out of the sleeves of his jacket as he swung his pickaxe down. The sharp end of the pick plunged into the animal’s shoulder, sinking into its flesh. He then jerked it out, taking a tiny mass of meat with it. The wampa cried out, the hole in its shoulder gushing out blood as the pickaxeman continued his assault, thrusting his weapon towards its chest. The beast moved its arm, the pick impaling the side of it with a sickening thunk. Screaming, the creature swung its arm to its side, the sudden force jerking the gunsmith off of his feet and causing him to fly past the wampa. He fell into the ground, feeling his chin swell up as it cracked against the earth. He raised his head off the snow-covered ground, seeing the wampa tear off the pickaxe impaled in its arm before dropping it to the ground, blood dripping from its pointed head.

Shit.

The creature took a moment to sniff the air, its head twisting towards the spot Ballad lied on. Growling, it stomped towards him, reaching out to him with its claws.

The gunner pawed around his belt for anything he could use. Just as his hand slid past the handle for his flamethrower, the wampa reached to his legs, grabbing both of them before lifting him up into the air.

Ballad could do nothing but scream as the creature repeatedly smashed him into the ground, its claws shredding his legs all the while. His back was shrieking for relief after all the abuse it had taken, and he tasted blood forming around his tongue and teeth. Each breath he took turned into a gasp as the air reached his lungs, pain shooting up his neck and around his chest. He could barely tell what was happening anymore, with the constant falls, snow shooting up into the air, and hazy vision. It was almost like a dream.

Finally, after one last fall, the thing stopped. All that the inventor could hear was its deep, labored breathing. His vision started to clear as he was hoisted up to its face. It stared at him, its pale white eyeballs piercing his very being. It didn’t require a genius to figure out how it felt about him.

The white-haired animal opened its mouth, an array of vicious canines visible within its slit as it separated. It pulled his head towards its mouth, ready to kill him right then and there.

It screeched. It screeched like it had lost something very dear to it, and was taking its frustration out on the world. The rage-fueled beast let go of the gunner, who barely made a movement as he tumbled onto the snow-covered ground.

-------------

“Hehe… ya still alive ther’, troll? Ya shoul-” was all his rescuer had to say before the abominable snowman swung its arm behind it, slapping him across the jaw. The dwarf fell back, looking up as the wampa sniffed the air for the third time, growling menacingly. He had apparently hit just the right spot in its legs with that dagger.

It charged forward, slicing its claws across the air and connecting with the dwarf’s face. He cried out, a shed of black hair falling into the earth as he landed on his back, blood filling his vision. He continued crying out in pain as the creature walked towards him, raising its claws.

Please… Inanna… it’s not my time… I beg of you…

Light filled his vision. An orange and yellow light behind the wampa that radiated off of its back. He could see it even through all of the blood. She had answered his prayers again!

-----------------------------

The gunner continued blasting at the yeti, his left hand cupping his chest as he stumbled towards the creature. His flamethrower continued bursting out yellow and orange flames, lighting up the thing’s back.

The creature let out the most tortured and most ravaged yell it had ever let out in its life, trying its best to escape the pain all around it. All of its nerves were overloading as the flames licked its skin, turning its hide to ashes as it slowly stepped away from the source of the fire. Ballad continued his assault, drawing it closer and closer to the revolver still laying on the ground. Each second had to count; he only had so long to use the thing in his hand.

Finally, the flamethrower began to sputter. He promptly lowered it to the ground, both staggering and charging towards the revolver. He dove towards it, grabbing it in his hand.

The wampa let out a thunderous howl, the napalm-like fire finally melting off of its skin. It inhaled, trying to recover the scent of the man that had hurt it so. Just as it did, it felt a series of stabs all over its legs and chest just as gunshots rang out around the hill. The thing tried to strike the pain around it, all reason having disappeared from its brain as it flailed around at everything and everyone surrounding it.

After a fair few moments, the creature stopped, everything in its body hurting. Its knees buckled, dropping it to the ground. It continued trying to move as it heard footsteps approach.

The gunsmith held the empty revolver in his hand, seeing the yeti at his feet. Its mouth was agape, its hide was burnt, and almost every part of its body was leaking blood. Wasting little time, the man pressed down on one of the glass buttons, the green one labeled “1” lighting up as he shoved it into the yeti’s throat. Saliva drooled out of its slit of a mouth as the man started to walk away, falling flat onto his face as the gun exploded.

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1685

Wampa dead! Now to skin it!

[Corporal Light]

Roughly thirty minutes later….

The gunsmith let out a loud groan as he tightened the fabric around the wound, his face stinging as the bandage touched his wounds. He lightly patted the bandage, making sure it wasn’t going to fall off mid travel before standing up, placing his green trapper hat back onto his head.

The green gunner had been spending the last half hour treating his wounds, or at the very least mending them enough that his chest stopped feeling like it was being stabbed with a thousand knives every time he took a deep breath. With a quick usage of Omnillium, he had managed to heal the majority of his more severe wounds, and had thought about using more of it to heal himself fully. It then occurred to him that his pygmy partner, sitting a fair distance away, had been making no attempts to tend to his injuries. It didn’t take very long for Ballad to figure out why. He had then begrudgingly took some of his time and Omnillium to conjure up three sets of bandages for the trio; after all, his partner was the only thing capable of getting him back to Nierhin, really.

The battle with the wampa had, indeed, made them look a bit worse for wear. While the inventor’s injuries were more or less cured, his diversion to tend to Danish’s wound meant that not every wound had been healed. He had wrapped one of the bandages he had conjured up around his back, covering up the gashes marked into his skin and coat. He had then done the same to his face and although it still stung like all hell, it was better than being completely blind.

--------------

Danish, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. The brief distraction he had served to get the wampa off of him had cost him a part of his face, including his right eye, a chunk of his black beard, and a good part of his cheek. The dwarf probably should’ve felt glad that he hadn’t bled out by the time he got it treated with a bandage, but he had been far more concerned with just how much it HURT. An attack like that had nearly torn off his whole face! He couldn’t imagine how Dane would feel.

Though, knowing Dane, he would probably set up a party in celebration of his first battle scar.

He looked up, seeing that the recruit had finally gotten done with his own injuries. As much as what he had done earlier that day still rang his mind, he couldn’t help but at least be somewhat admirable about his resilience. He had taken on a wampa head on and damn near killed it singlehandedly.

This thought was quickly drowned out by another, more suspicious thought. The recruit had lead the creature all the way from the bottom of the mine to the outside. He had to have realized how stupid a plan that was! What if the wampa had outran them before they escaped? What if the mine crushed them before they could escape? What if the wampa hadn’t escaped itself?! All that effort would have been for nothing!

Slowly standing up, he said “By the way… that was a stupid plan,” to the gunsmith as he walked towards him.

-------------------------

“I suspected you would declare that..” The gunsmith replied, holding out his hand as the dwarf stood up. The sentry looked down at his hand, clearly confused as to what he was trying to do.

“I require your blade.” He said, quickly pointing to the knife within his belt.

The dwarf grunted, saying “Ya sur’ that hide is worth anythin’? Ya just burnt it to a crisp..” as he pulled out his dagger, bringing it up to the inventor’s hand.

“A matter that I will solve myself.” The gunner answered, taking the knife in his hand before moving towards the monster’s corpse.

The carcass hadn’t changed too much from how it died. Its hide was blackened in various areas, and its entire body seemed to bleed. It was lying face down, its head and parts of its upper body blown into several, red, gooey, and bone-filled pieces. This was definitely not the best pelt the gunner had ever carved, but he hoped Dane didn’t mind. He would probably just have to explain what had happened and hope for the best.

Just as he knelt down and began to plunge the knife into its corpse, though, he heard the growling rasp of his partner talking to him.

“To be quite honest wit’ ya, Ballad, I expected a lot better from ya..” He said, his arms crossed and his head shaking.

“I slayed it and obtain its pelt. My task has been completed.” The gunner replied, trying to keep his attention squarely on removing the wampa’s hide.

“Sur', ya killed it, but the hide is burnt. You’ll be lucky if the leader even gives it a passin' glance.”

“He’ll accept it, if he knows what’s good for him.”

“What?”

The gunner promptly paused, the dagger barely an inch or two into the creature’s flesh. He closed his eyes, sighing as he said, “It would be a shame if he squandered my talents over a hide.”

All was silent for a few moments, except for the sound of the gunsmith slowly slicing his way through the corpse’s skin. Eventually, his partner gave a response.

“Right… of course…” he said, nodding.

“If my answer is problematic, then inform me so. I am busy removing the creature's hide with your blade, and thus do not have time to concentrate on your passive-aggressiveness.”

“Oh, I totally don’t have a problem with ya. I mean,” he said, chuckling a bit even despite his deadpan tone and massive frown, “it ain’t like ya haven’t been flip-flopping between something else to the Ballad we all know ya, huh?"

The gunsmith jammed the knife way too far then needed into the creature’s flesh upon hearing the last sentence, taking a deep breath. He turned back towards his partner, smoke steadily starting to rise from his coat sleeves as the dwarf began to walk towards him.

“I’ve become more, shall we say… adjusted to your civilities,” he answered, the logic spirit inhabiting his form working his diplomatic magic as he turned back towards the carcass, pulling out his knife, “and that is the extent to which you must know.”

“I want more than that if you’re gonna convince me of anythin’, mister I shot a statue of someone’s Goddess to get his buddy’s attention.”

Ballad cringed as those last words were nearly shouted into his ears, the dwarf standing a few feet behind him. His grip on his partner’s knife tightened, his knuckles growing whiter and whiter as his slices became sharper and sharper, pulling the blade in and out as if cranking a chainsaw.

“Danish. I. Am. Not. In. The mood.” He growled, his words matching the rhythm of his knife strokes. The blade slowly moved down the creature’s back to its pelvis.

“Well, I am! And if you don’t tell me what’s goin’ on right now, then by Innanna’s nam-”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR INANNA ALREADY?!” The gunner screamed, the knife poking out the other side of the carcass. Smoke bellowed out of Ballad’s jacket sleeves, very nearly tearing out pieces of fur from the corpse’s body as he stood up to face the dwarf.

The dwarf wisely backed off, as if finally realizing what he was doing. But the inventor moved forward, towering above the pygmy like a statue of one of his goddesses. His previously yellow eyes were now a pale white, and he was shouting out every single word that spewed out from his mouth.

“EXACTLY WHAT HAS SHE DONE FOR YOU, HUH?! WHAT HAS SHE DONE FOR YOU?!”

“Plenty!” The dwarf shouted back, looking up towards the shrieking man, “she’s saved my life!”

“I SAVED YOUR LIFE, YOU DUMBASS! I’M THE REASON THAT WAMPA DIDN’T TEAR YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF! IF ANYTHING, I’M THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE WORSHIPPING!”

“Why would I worship someone like ya when there is someone better?!”

“Oh! I see!” Ballad said, rolling his eyes, “You think Inanna is REAL, DON’T YOU! News flash, Danish! SHE’S NOT!”

The pygmy blinked. Then he blinked again.

“What…?” He whispered.

“Am I getting through?! YOUR GODDESS IS FAKE! THOSE STATUES HAVE NO GODDAMN MEANING! THEY ARE JUST STATUES AND WASTES OF GOOD STONE!”

“No… no, yer lying..” The dwarf whispered, looking to the ground as he shook his head.

“THAT SYMBOL ON YOUR NECKLACE IS ALSO FAKE! YOU’VE BEEN DELUDING YOURSELF FROM THE VERY MOMENT YOU PUT IT ON! ALL IT’S BEEN IS AN EXCUSE!”

The dwarf continued to shake his head, repeating “Yer lyin’..” over and over again like a broken record. Meanwhile, the gunsmith continued to rant and rave, spilling out all of the pent up frustration he had had to endure since he had started this quest. Eventually, after what felt like forever, he began to calm down, taking a deep breath as the smoke that had almost enveloped his form started to dissipate.

It was then he noticed that the dwarf was walking away, map in hand.

“Where are you going?!” He shouted out.

Danish stopped, a fair distance away from the gunsmith. He turned his head towards him, giving the gunner the most rage-filled glare one could possibly give.

“I ain’t helpin’ anyone who disses my goddess. I ain’t helpin’ anyone who refuses to accept that I think she's real. I’ve dealt with people like ya since I refused to enter service, Ballad, and I ain’t dealin' with it again.”

Ballad blinked. Then he blinked again. Before he could respond, the dwarf was already walking away.

Good.

Looking towards the carcass, he started cutting off its hide again, trying not to think about what was said to him.

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1653

Pelt obtained! Now need the Troll Tusk and The Dwarven Champion!

[Corporal Light]

Several minutes later…

There… all done…

The gunsmith sat next to the flayed carcass of the wampa, its charred, hole-ridden hide on his lap. His technique, under more normal circumstances, would’ve been relatively slow and calculated, but at that point, he really didn’t care about the quality of the hide. It was already burnt to a crisp anyway.

Still, it was a problem. He didn’t know exactly how good of a pelt Dane wanted, but he could imagine it wasn’t this one. He would have to come up with a way to solve that when the time came up, since SPB had been strangely quiet about the whole thing. Never whispering in his mind, not thinking aloud; it was unnerving.

The inventor began to stand up, stashing the pygmy’s dagger into his belt as he tossed the hide over his back. As he turned away from the corpse, however, a voice rang out from behind him.

“As the Ravaging White corrupted the earth, and tore its land asunder, the Great Rock stood in defiance, and slowly, ever so slowly, halted the White in its tracks.”

Ballad’s eyes flared white as he turned around, seeing the logic spirit standing next to the corpse and looking down at it. It had taken his form again down to the most minute detail, only it was enveloped by smoke. The thick gas rose from his body, dissipating before it got much farther than its head.

“Emblematic, do you opine of it? What symbolism do you presume it limns?” It said, arms crossed and frowning as it moved its head back to look at him.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Ballad replied, glaring back at SPB.

It sighed, looking away from him, “You once did.”

“Once. I don’t care about any of it anymore,” he said, “it’s in the past, where it should be.”

The spirit remained still, looking back down at the carcass. The gunner walked towards him, placing himself at its side. Looking at its face, he saw the shade’s eyes were closed, its face completely black and almost entirely featureless.

“Even after everything that has come to pass…” SPB muttered, opening his eyes, “you can’t let bygones be bygones?” He glanced towards the inventor, the smoke around its “head” parting a bit to reveal furrowed eyebrows.

Ballad looked down towards the ground, avoiding the ghost’s studying gaze, “There’s nothing to let bygones be bygones over…” he whispered, his eyes changing color from white to yellow.

“Don’t fib, Ballad,” the shade said, dissipating into the air, forming a thick cloud before reforming above the corpse. He reached out towards the gunsmith’s chin, gently lifting it up before the green man pulled away and whirled around.

“You can’t shroud everything from everyone forever, Ballad. No one can.”

“I have nothing to hide-”

“With the exception of everything that is of moment.”

The sharpshooter looked back at SPB, his voice rougher than before.

“I’ve been one hundred percent truthful to everyone I’ve met since I got here. I’m here to stop a war, to bring back peace, and everything else I have said I would do in between those two statements. I have told no lies, and have hidden nothing from anyone.”

“No one but yourself, Ballad. If you have truly hidden nothing, then why can’t you admit to yourself why you’re really here?”

His face began to soften as the words reached his ears. He turned away again, silent as can be. A light smirk flashed on the spirit’s face as he talked, watching him tense up with each word spoken.

“You covet peace, Ballad. I find it an indisputable truth. But I have pondered… which do you covet more?”

It paused, waiting for a reply it knew would never come. It continued.

“A truce for the land… or tranquility for yourself?”

“The land...” he croaked as soon as it asked the question.

It sighed, shaking his head, “I cannot fathom why you do these things, Ballad. Why seclude those who have undergone misery? Why unleash your venom on those whom are unaware as to your history? Why ostracize yourself and presume others can honor that when you can’t honor anyone else? More often than not, you appear to ask others to interact with you so you could excuse your vile temperament. It’s as if you just don’t understand other people’s troubles.”

The shade stood in silence, staring at the shaking green man. The inventor let out a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to cover his face. He did understand. He understood all too well the pain he saw in everything around him. The people in this world that fought so desperately for a better life, only to have that swept out from underneath them at the last possible moment. A world full of wars, bandits, dictators, and so much more. And it hurt to understand. Hurt more than any bullet, any arrow, any blade, to understand it. To be reminded so constantly of the fact that he understood it. To be reminded of the fact that everywhere he looked, he saw exactly what happened before, and all he could think about each time he saw it was of a goddamn church blowing up and a war that tore his people apart. By his invention, no less.

“Ballad, I will not presume to understand your agony, but pay attention…” SPB said, “if you keep connecting dots that don’t exist, drawing baseless conclusions out of nothing, than you’ll never succeed.”

“And what do you think I should do?!” The gunsmith said, his glowing, yellow eyes piercing right through the smog-formed shade, “I’ve done everything I can think of! I’ve tried to forget, and that didn’t work. I’ve tried to ignore everything else around me, and that barely did anything! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?”

“To be forthright…” the shade said, looking off into the distance, “I possess no answers.”

Ballad shook his head, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he started to walk off again, “Of course. What do you expect from a being of knowledge...”

“I suppose you could start by, in the words of a wise person, ‘not being such a meanie?’”

He halted, eyes as wide as dinner plates. He immediately closed them, squeezing the brim of his nose as he talked.

“Stop…”

“Is there a harm in telling, Ballad? There wasn’t when you told her.”

“STOP!” he shouted, falling onto his knees and dropping the pelt onto the ground next to him. He brought his gloved hands to his face, muffling his sobs.

“Just fucking stop…” he barely managed to say.

He remained there, everything quiet but the wind around him and his tortured cries. He should’ve been angry, in fact, he WANTED to be angry. But after everything, he just… couldn’t. He was just tired. He just wanted it all to be done and over with, and to leave everything else behind. What was worse, though, was that he knew the thing was right. He hadn’t felt as happy as he was when he finally found someone, ANYONE, who had taken the time to try to get something out of him that wasn’t a threat or an insult. He thought maybe, just maybe, after the bandit thing was finished, everything was going to be fine. He would finally forget it all ever happened and… maybe start over from square one?

Then she had betrayed him. Held a knife to his throat as she sold him out. Led him on in the worst way possible and rocked him to the core. She had gotten what she deserved in the end, of course, but still… he couldn’t dismiss her for what she had done before. For the hour or so he had been with her after telling her, he felt… happy. Like weights had been lifted off his chest. And he had no one to blame for why that didn’t happen sooner than himself, and he had no one to blame for anything else but himself.

He finally removed his hands from his face, both wet from crying. What he wouldn’t give for another opportunity like that, and have it all go right. No tricks, no betrayals, no unexpected turn of events. Nothing but having everything going the way it was supposed to. He needed it, he CRAVED it; how else could one be happy if one hadn’t done something good in their lives?

He lifted his head up, looking behind him to see that SPB had moved up to him, placing its “hand” on his shoulder.

“Ballad, I know you’re too busy doing… this, to really pay attention, but...” it said, slowly lowering itself down towards the ground until its face was at the same level as the gunsmith’s. His stature conveyed a sense of parenting as it talked.

“You have a mission to accomplish. You’re doing it because you covet peace. Now whether or not the peace you are looking for is a tranquility or a truce… well, only the future holds the answer. But, logically, acting like this is a bad idea, especially since you will most likely have to rely on other people’s trust for any semblance of success.”

The gunner took in a deep breath, shivering for the first time since he had entered the cold land. He closed his eyes, whispering, “What do I have to do…”

“From a logistical standpoint… just have faith. Maybe not in a higher god, but in the others around you. Trust them to believe you, and they will believe everything you say.”

“Faith…” he muttered, slowly pushing himself up to his feet.

“Danish…” he said, his uncovered eye scanning the ground. It eventually settled on a pair of small, stubby looking prints in the snow that headed away from the corpse.

The gunsmith looked back towards the shade. It’s teeth was glowed white as it smiled at him.

“I believe you should discern his location, before he reports on your below average results. I think you know what to do from there.”

Without a single moment’s hesitation, he charged off.

Quest: Into The Halls
Word Count: 1,633

Almost done, kinda sorta!

[Corporal Light]

A few minutes later…

“Danish!” Ballad shouted, having stopped just at the bottom of a sharp incline leading up to the woods they had passed through to get to the Hills. He had been yelling his name for quite some time already, asking him to come out and talk to him. That he had to tell him something. He never did, though; in fact, he hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of his escort since they had parted ways. Frankly, it made the gunsmith feel uneasy. Not just the fact that he couldn’t find the dwarf, but because of exactly what he was doing. What if he was dead wrong in assuming that his explanation would’ve been enough to make up for the shit he put the dwarf through this whole time?

No, he thought, no, he had to tell him. His actions were justified, just like it was now. He never did anything in his life without reason, and he wasn’t going to start now. Like SPB had said, trusting others allowed others to trust you.

It was about time he started to follow that.

The inventor ran up the incline, reaching the snow-covered pine trees. The snowfall was visibly less intense, most likely thanks to the trees themselves bearing the brunt of them. He kept his eyes on the tracks, making sure he was still following them through the piles of dead pine needles and pine cones. He brushed aside various branches as he trailed them, his back aching a bit as he did so as he occasionally looking around to see if the sentry had stopped to set up camp or to take a short rest at some point.

He then stopped, staring at the relatively brown earth. The stubby little prints in the ground were farther apart than before, a longer distance between each one. Frowning, he knelt down, his his uncovered eye inspecting the ground.

It looked like he was running.

Turning his head back, he saw another set of prints a few feet behind the ones belonging to the dwarf’s. They were clearly humanoid and barefoot.

He stood up, now no longer seeing the point of being swift. He followed the scene, each step slow and calculated. Eventually, after a few moments of walking, he saw a red splotch of blood.

He stopped, observing the traces of blood as it flowed past a large tree to his right. Moving forward, he placed his hand on the tree, peeking out from past the corner.

In the middle of the clearing was Danish, his head removed from his body and placed firmly on top of a nearby log.

He sighed, shaking his head. The gunner couldn’t say he was surprised at this turn of events, though he could say it made the entire search for him completely pointless and screwed him over. At best, this meant something else was in the woods with him, which meant more goddamn fighting, which in his condition, with only his most major wounds being properly healed, would not entirely end well. At worst? Dane was going to be pissed off.

But there was no time for lamenting the deceased. He had to get back to Nierhin. He started to move towards the corpse, prepared to loot it to find the map.

Just then, before he could even enter the clearing, he felt the edge of serrated bone against his neck.

---------------------------

“Ain’t gonna tell ya twice, mon. Hands up or ya be joinin’ ya friend dere.”

His unidentified captor growled those words directly into the gunsmith’s ear, forcing the blade of his knife into his throat for good measure. Ballad remained as still as a statue, not making any movements that would aggravate the knife-wielder. He slowly raised his hands, complying with the thing’s demands.

“Good work dere, mon. I was wonderin’ why dis dwarf was all on his lonesome.”

The inventor glanced towards his right, hearing the sound of rustling leaves and pine needles as a purple humanoid walked out into the clearing. It was wearing some kind of leather shirt that hanged loosely from its torso, with tight leather pants to match. The humanoid held a serrated sword in his left hand, one made out what appeared to be bone. It had giant, blueish hair on its head that looked like a shrub, and it was staring at him with piercing green eyes. What was most obvious, however, were the two long pairs of tusks growing out of its mouth.

Trolls…

“Turn ‘im around.”

Ballad felt a hand grasp his side, whirling him around before pushing him up against the tree. He let out a pained grunt as his injured back smacked against the tree, staring at his captor. The knife wielder was green-skinned, looking similar to his own, and its tusks were a lot shorter than the purple troll’s. It did not appear to have a shirt on; rather, it had two straps that seemed to be part of a backpack filled with supplies on its back. It was glaring at him, its grip on its bone knife tight as it pushed against his chest.

The purple troll walked towards them, moving to the right of his greenskin companion. It was smiling as it spoke to him.

“Now, before we spill ya blood all over the earth here, it would be ratha helpful if ya answered some questions, would ya?” It said, crossing his arms as it stared at him.

The gunsmith let out a deep sigh before dryly replying, “What do you require…”

The troll, who was obviously the leader of the duo, chuckled before saying, “Well, firstly, we’d like to know who ya are and what ya doin’ in the Fields.”

Great… he thought to himself, leaning his head back against the tree as he glanced down towards the knife.

“Firstly, I am identified as Ballad,” he said, pausing as if to hear a gasp or at least see them flinch. After no such response, he continued, “and I am here to end the war in the Fields.”

“So ya fightin’, mon?” it said, sounding a little excited, “that be good. Who’s side ya on?”

“Does it matter?”

“....Yes,” it said, eyeing him in a suspicious manner.

For a while, nobody said anything, with only the wind brushing past the trees providing any real sound to the otherwise dead silent confrontation. The inventor looked around, seeing he was effectively driven into a corner. If he made any sudden movements, his throat would’ve been cut to pieces, and he would have to wait three more days before he could finish this stupid errand. And by then, if the trolls hadn’t already looted the poor bastards corpse, they probably would’ve mustered up a force to destroy the village. Normally, he wouldn’t see this as a step back so much as a step forward, but right now he NEEDED to get into the Dwarven Army. It was the only way for his plan to work.

He looked back towards the two trolls, “I would love to remain and converse, but I must be gone from here. I am on important business.”

“Important DWARF business, I presume?” The purple troll said, raising its bone sword up to his head, “We ain’t stupid, mon. Ya be consortin’ with the dwarves; that means ya know some stuff the boss could use.”

Shit, he thought, gritting his teeth, “And what do you wish of me?”

“Well..” it said, moving its hand into the backpack of its green-skinned partner. It then pulled out a piece of parchment: the map to Nierhin.

“We’d like ya to translate.”

“You’re illiterate?”

“No. Can’t read common.”

“And how can you figure I won’t lie to you?”

The troll paused, its eyes darting around the area, clearly deep in thought.

Well, looks like we are in a bit of a situation.

The gunsmith looked to his left, seeing the shade had reformed next to him. It was standing with his arms around an invisible tree, mimicking his every motion. Just like before, smoke rose from his every body part, dissipating into the atmosphere.

You could definitely say that.

Not to worry, though. There’s a solution.

What kind?

Just remember Agern.

His eyes widened. Of course! The crazy old man had turned into some kind of smoke monster after he had killed everyone else in that village. Must have had some kind of effect on him, as he nearly broke his pickaxe into two with just one swing.

The question was, though, how could he do it?

“Ya give a good point, mon,” the troll said, stashing the map back into the backpack as Ballad looked back towards him. It halted, glancing from the inventor to where he was staring at.

“What were ya lookin’ at?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe ya.”

“I speak the truth.”

“What did ya see?!”

“I am not answering any more inane questions!” he said, glaring back at the duo.

The purple leader sighed, shaking its head as it lowered its sword. It the shrugged, walking towards the dwarf corpse.

“Whateva. The boss can get somethin’ outta ya.”

“Hear that, milk-drinker?” The green troll finally said, gripping Ballad’s coat, “ya comin’ with us.”

“I am NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” he shouted, thrusting his fist towards his stomach.

Suddenly, his arms seemed to rupture, gashes forming on them underneath his clothes. Just as his fist connected, his entire body became enveloped by smoke as his eyes turned a fiery white. What would’ve normally been a regular punch to push back became a piercing strike, forming a massive hole where the troll’s stomach used to be as his fist tore right through skin and bone. Blood and gore flew everywhere, with the inventor’s black fist covered in the red goo.

Before the green skinned troll could even properly register what had just happened, it found itself being lifted into the air. Some kind of newfound strength had filled the inventor’s veins; something no potion or any kind of adrenaline could achieve. He then pulled, and without even two seconds having gone by, the troll felt his torso beginning to separate from his waist.

It could only scream as it felt itself get split into two, with the last thing it saw being the inventors rage-filled eyes plastered upon a blackened visage.

Word Amount: 1723

Using Tier 2 Transformation: Emotional Discharge. Have around 2 SP left.

[Corporal Light]

For a long few moments, everything was quiet except for the gunsmith’s heartbeat, which thumped rhythmically like a war drum. His entire body felt like it was being sucked into a vacuum as the gasses wrapped around his limbs and poured out from underneath his clothes. The areas where the wampa had scratched him were by far the most uncomfortable, the smoke shooting out from his wounds faster than anywhere else on his body.

He glanced down towards the bisected troll, his piercing white eyes malformed into a murderous glare. He stood in the middle of its torso and its legs, his boots firmly planted between a steadily growing blood pool. He slowly raised his fist to his face, staring at the contrasting colors of red and black.

He turned his head, seeing the shrub-haired troll had made a mad dash into the forest. The coward had witnessed him slaughter his buddy, and couldn’t even stay to avenge him?

“GET BACK HERE!” he roared, charging after him.

---------------

A minute passed as the inventor relentlessly trailed the purple humanoid, his boots leaving bloody prints everywhere he went. His legs stung with each step taken, which only encouraged him to go faster and faster. Each breath he took was filled with the black vapor that flowed from his skin, but he never choked on it. It was just as natural as breathing air; no, it was somehow MORE natural than that. And despite the length of time he had been running and how fast he was moving, he somehow didn’t feel the least bit winded.

The troll, however, could probably say otherwise. In its haste to escape his wrath, it was tripping over its own feet, accidentally running into trees and shrubs, and generally worsening its chances to get away from him. Despite the deafening pounding in his head, he swore he heard the creature panting in utter terror.

Smiling, he reached down to his belt, pulling out his revolver. He skidded to a halt, pulling the trigger.

The bullet zoomed dangerously close to the humanoid’s face, stopping it dead in its tracks. It turned around, visibly shaking as it held its bone sword in its hands. It held its head high and puffed its chest out, biting its lip as it spoke.

“E-Enough, mon! I give! I give!” it stammered, the tip of its sword pointed at Ballad.

“DROP THE WEAPON!” he shouted, pulling back the hammer of his gun.

Almost instantly, the troll complied, tossing the sword into a nearby bush. Before it could have a chance to talk, however, the gunsmith ran forward, tackling it to the ground. The troll held its arms up to its face, shielding itself from the onslaught it knew was coming.

“P-Please, mon! D-don’t kill me!” it said, its voice muffled by its arms. Ballad swiftly moved his left hand towards them, separating them so he could look at the thing’s face. Its tusks stuck out like a sore thumb, covering the majority of the lower part of its head, and its piercing green eyes were clearly welling up with tears.

Pathetic.

He jammed his revolver into the thing’s forehead, his voice changing into a low whisper.

“I’m not gonna kill you, because frankly, killing you right now would be the merciful thing to do, and you don’t deserve that. None of your kind deserve mercy. You and your entire race deserve only the massive, painful HELLFIRE that I will unleash on your people, because that is EXACTLY what the punishment is for scum like you. Nothing more than the complete annihilation of diseased, bloodthirsty SAVAGES.”

He took a deep breath, the smoke that once covered his form now beginning to dissipate and as his headache began to fade. He stared directly into his captive’s eyes.

“Therefore, you will be the one to answer MY questions, understand?” he said, “and don’t lie to me, else you’ll up like your friend.”

The purple creature stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Ya- ya crazy!” the troll stated, “I ain’t tellin’ ya anythin’!”

“Care to repeat that?” he replied, pushing the barrel of his gun into its forehead.

“I said I ain’t tellin’ ya anything, ya scourge-consortin’ toad!” it shouted, spittle shooting out of its mouth.

Ballad was just about to pull the trigger when he glanced to his left, seeing SPB had reformed next to him again.

“Ballad, before you dismember the creature, take note of its tusks.” the shade said, watching as the gunsmith looked down towards the troll’s mouth.

“Who ya talkin’ to? Who be here?!” it screamed, twisting its head around in a desperate attempt to find out who was watching them.

“The dwarves might find it… commendable if you bring a troll tooth with you.”

The gunner’s eyes widened, nodding in understanding. The troll, however, shook its head repeatedly in a vain attempt to stop him.

“I would say I’m sorry but…” he said, grasping the troll’s tooth, “I’m not.”

He pulled, blood gushing out from the creature’s mouth as the tooth, and a part of its upper jaw, was removed from its mouth. The gunner quickly stood up and off of the troll, leaving it there to wail in pain.

He hoped it was enough….

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 817

Obtained Troll Tusk! Now, we fight the Dwarf Champion!

(Also, Out of SP!)

[Corporal Light]

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The ground shook with each step made by the massive, green-haired mammoth as it moved through the flatlands, occasionally blaring its long, french-horn like trunk. The gunsmith himself sat upon the back of the eleven foot tall beast, map in one hand and reigns in the other. His noble steed was proving to be far less unruly than the poor excuse for an ox had, something that he was definitely thankful for. After all, he at least didn’t have to worry about the animal carrying him buckling underneath his weight due to sickness or something else related to it.

Thirty minutes had passed since he had exited the forest that surrounded the Hill’s of Maiden’s Blessing, his healthier and stronger mount having made the journey much faster. However, it wasn’t just that. He had deliberately put the Snow Elephant into a hurried state; he wanted to get back to Nierhin before it got too dark. Not because he believed he would be in any danger wandering around in complete darkness. By the contrary, he figured he would be perfectly fine doing that. The only thing he had to worry about were the trolls, and he had dispatched two of them with relative ease thanks to SPB’s supernatural upgrades. He was still rather shocked that the shade could even make such a thing come to be. Such power was the stuff of legends and shouldn’t have been anything else!

It was amazing… and terrifying…

Eventually, after a few more minutes, the village of Nierhin came into view. From the top of the hill that led up to it, he saw that not much had really changed from when he had first arrived there, aside from one thing: The entirety of the spiked wall was lit up by torches, illuminating it in the evening darkness. The sky glowed purplish as the inventor and his mount approached the gate, the dwarven guards above slowly opening the portcullis as they saw him. He passed underneath the gate, as silent as a mouse as he entered the village.

To those that had gone into Nierhin before, they would know that, day and night, it was always filled with crowds. Even though it wasn’t one of the most populated of the villages, it could certainly lay claim to being one of the most active due to its trading system and its mining community. By all rights, as the gunsmith made his presence known in the settlement, the flocks of men, women and children should have turned their eyes directly towards the mammoth and his rider.

Instead, he was met with two long columns of dwarven soldiers, with the leader of Nierhin himself, Dane, standing in the middle with a huge smile on his face. As soon as he stepped through the gate, every single one of the soldiers clicked their heels, metallic clanging ringing out around the village as all of them rammed the end of their spears into the snow-covered earth. It looked exactly like a recruitment ceremony you would typically see in any military, yet it was somehow more than that. It looked more like a celebration. All that was missing was the confetti.  

In all honesty, it just made the inventor all the more uneasy. All of this effort over a burnt hide and a dead dwarf.

Ballad remained silent, slipping his map back into his overcoat as he slid down the side of his mount. He slowly walked towards Dane, his burnt wampa hide over his back. He noticed that the smile the dwarf had had before was slowly fading as he approached.

“Let me guess…” he said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “this is meant for me?”

“Where’s Danish?” the dwarf leader says, his voice monotone. He glanced from the green-skinned man back to his mammoth at a rapid rate.

The sharpshooter closed his eyes, shaking his head. Here it comes…

Pausing for a second, he spoke.

“Dane… Danish is…” he said, biting his lip, “is dead.”

Dane blinked, his mouth slowly opening. The soldiers around them looked at each other as their leader stared at the greenskin.

“D-...dead?” he said, cocking his eyebrows. His eyes looked glassy, like that of a puppy.

“Yes. I found him in the middle of a forest, his head removed from his body.”

The dwarf looked around, speechless. He moved his hand up to his head, rubbing his silver helmet as the inventor continued.

“If it makes you feel any better, Dane… I killed the trolls that had done him in…” he said, sliding his hand into his overcoat, taking the troll tooth from his belt.

Dane looked at the tusk for a few moments, his hand shaking. He then grabbed it, turning around as he brought it to his head, staring at it for a long time. He hang his head low, his breathing becoming increasingly more labored as time went on.

“Dane, I’m…” Ballad said, stopping as he saw the dwarf tense up before continuing, “I’m sorry for your loss, and I realize how insensitive this may sound, but… I have done what you have required. If you can allow-”

“Show me...” the soldier said, “NOW!”

Everyone within shouting distance visibly flinched as Dane shouted out that last word, murmurs occurring almost immediately. The green gunner stared in shock at the dwarf before holding out the burnt hide and the cobalt crystal. The dwarf barely took a moment to look at both before responding.

“Not good enough.”

The gunner sighed, nodding, “I figured as much. I suppose I shoul-”

“I mean YER not good enough. Not fer this military. Get out.”

Silence. Something that made no sound, yet can deafen any man. That was the phenomenon that was occurring at that very moment, and continued for several more afterwards. The green-skinned gunsmith peered into Dane’s blue eyes, almost staring into his very soul as they locked eyes. They were still glassy, the hint of wetness glistening off of them.

“Not… good enough?” he said, his frown quickly becoming a massive glare.

“Ya heard me the first time, greenskin. You’ve clearly proven ya can’ handle military duty. Therefer, as the head honcho o' this village, I ORDER ya to leave.”

“I CAN’T HANDLE MILITARY DUTY?!” the gunsmith shouted, dropping his materials onto the ground, “in case you didn’t notice, not only did I destroy the wampa AND salvage its hide, I got your damn crystal AND killed some trolls for good measure! ALL WITHIN A FEW FUCKING HOURS! If anything, I’ve proven more than ANYONE ELSE HERE that I can handle being a soldier!”

“Bein' a soldier ain’ all about killin' trolls, stupid!” the dwarf responded, his voice barely below a shout, “it’s about cooperation! Keepin' yer fellow men alive!”

“Oh! That’s what this is about?!” he said, eyes widened, “I’m being refused service because your pathetic excuse of a soldier didn’t come back?”

“What?” the dwarf growled, gritting his teeth as he burrowed his eyebrows. His former monotone voice had been replaced by one of barely concealed rage as he glared at the gunsmith.

“You won’t let ME be in the army because YOUR sentry can’t fight to save his fucking life?!”

“He can fight! I’ve seen him!” he said, his words exploding out his mouth. Lights turned on in nearby houses as the argument escalated, citizens peeking outside to figure out what the commotion was.

“Really?! I’ve also seen him! All he did was pray, laze about, and get himself killed! He ran off without me without even so much as a weapon to defend himself!”

Dane’s fists clenched as the gunsmith ranted, his teeth gyrating as his malicious words reached his ears.

“He sidetracked me when he was supposed to be guiding me, constantly spat insults in my face, and left me with the wampa I had killed after I called him out on his bullshit! For a soldier that can fight, he left the poorest impression possible!”

“Listen, ya-”

“And another thing? He’s not only a terrible soldier, he’s a terrible SENTRY.”

“He is-”

“His guard post is a garbage dump! I literally walked right in and almost vomited seeing the mess he is! You can’t say he’s a good soldier when I know the facts! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Dane shouted, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?! I ain' a KILLER! I don’t REVEL in DEATH like YOU DO, Ballad! And I certainly don’ SLANDER THE DECEASED!”

“It isn’t SLANDER if it’s TRUE, you stunted dumbass!” he responded.

“Ya strike Danish’s honor when he can’ respond, and now ya continue to insult us in our grief!?” the dwarf said, pushing Ballad back with all the force he could muster. At this point, dwarves of all ages and genders were exiting their homes, stunned looks on their faces as they witnessed Dane’s outburst.

“Someone has to teach ya a lesson! To put ya down like the dog ya ar'!”

“I assume you’re Danish’s mentor?! If so, I won’t even need to TRY to beat you! After all, the pupil is always WORSE THAN THE MASTER!”

“THAT IS IT!” he shouted, stepping back and walking towards his left, shouting for the blacksmith. One of the dwarves in the rapidly increasing audience tosses an axe towards him, which he catches in one hand. He then turns around, jabbing a finger towards Ballad.

“I will NOT STAND fer yer SLANDER! Fer yer INSULTS! Once I bury this axe in yer skull, I’ll cut yer head off and add it to my collection!”

“You fucking crazy old man…” Ballad said, reaching behind him to grasp his pickaxe, “so that’s how this will go, huh? You kill me, I never come back?!”

“Exactly, greenskin! I win, ya never set foot in these Fields again!”

“Well, then, if I WIN, you acknowledge the facts and PUT ME IN YOUR CORPS!”

Word Count: 1639

Okay, this post was honestly kinda terrible, but the next one will be much much better!

[Corporal Light]

Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed long enough to relocate the two combatants into a more proper arena: the marketplace. It took all of a five minutes for stands to be removed to make room for the massive crowd, and all the while, Ballad and Dane never looked away from each other. Despite the gunsmith’s obvious itch to harm the old dwarf, the leader of Nierhin did not lift a single finger in harm against him. The arena wasn’t ready, after all, and there was no honor in that. Instead, all he did was stare, a devil’s eye to match the devil’s horns on his helmet.

Before long, everything was ready. The two fighters were surrounded by the villagers of Nierhin, illuminated only by the glowing orange light of the torches that some held in their hands. A torrent of snow rained down upon them all, black clouds darkening the world around them. The grey-bearded pygmy took his spot in front of the statue of Odin. The one-eyed god loomed over the warriors like a judge, its singular eye gazing upon them with as much disapproval as any judge would; it held its staff like a gavel in the midst of being pounded upon a table, ready to silence its dissenters.

The green-skinned man lifted his pickaxe, taking care not to place it on his injured shoulder. He glared at the dwarf, his glowing eye lighting up the bandaged portion of his head. Dane held his axe in both hands, lowering his head until only the horns on his helmet were visible. The gunner, however, would not be surprised if, through the shadows of his helm, the dwarf was locking eyes with him, ready to see whatever emotions he would display once he buried his axe into him.

Seconds ticked by as a single female dwarf walked into the middle, a megaphone like object in her hand. She raised it to her mouth, speaking into it.

“Before we begin, it is custom for both combatants to agree to the terms presented prior to the duel. That way, both members are satisfied with the outcome no matter what happens.”

She turned her head towards her leader.

“Sir, Executioner Ballad demands that, if he wins, ya must sign a recruitment form permitting his acceptance into the dwarven military. Do ya accept?”

After a few moments of silence, he replied.

“Yes.”

She turned towards Ballad.

“Ballad, our leader demands that, if he wins, ya must leave the Frozen Fields and never return. Do ya-”

“I realize the consequences of failure, o’ referee. Allow us to pulverise each other until our limbs have been removed and our bodies covered in life essence and perspiration.”

“Right..." she said, “may the best fighter win.”

She lowered her megaphone, walking towards the leader of Nierhin. She patted him on his shoulder, whispering something to him, a reassuring smile on her face as she slid into the crowd.

As soon as she did, without a single moment of hesitation, they charged at each other, weapons raised to the sounds of a harrowing snowstorm.

---------------------------

They met head on, right in the middle of the ring. Pick and axe collided head on as they swung, the dwarf stepping back to compensate. Ballad struggled against Dane’s strength, pain shooting up his back as he pushed against him.

The grey-bearded leader shot his axe upwards, throwing the pickaxe off of it. He then rammed into the taller opponent, his horns piercing right above his pelvis. Loud gasps erupted from all around them, shock in everyone’s eyes.

The winter-bred inventor slid back a bit, just managing to keep from falling down. Pain as hot as a thousand knives filled his abdomen, blood dripping from his two new wounds. He yelled, gripping the back of his opponent’s head before bringing up his right knee, smashing it against his face multiple times. He then let go, lifting his left leg up and pressing it against the top half of his enemy’s body. As the dwarf raised its axe to counterattack, he kicked forward, dislodging his helmet from his self and sending the dwarf to the ground.

He moved his hand to his wound, clutching it with all the force he could muster. He stepped away from the pygmy as he stood back up, blood flowing from the tips of his horns down onto the hairs of his beard. Underneath the darkness of his helm, however, he saw blood cascading from his mangled nose and reddening his clenched jaws.

The sharpshooter ran forward, swinging his weapon like a barbarian would swing a club at a wild animal. The dwarf parried, and continued parrying as the green man’s rapid assault continued. Every attempt to riposte was prevented, and he found himself backing up towards the statue. Soon enough, he was but a few steps away from it, and he knew it. Ballad’s barrage of strikes had led him into a situation he couldn’t get out of.

In a final attempt to escape, he moved his axe into an overhead arc. Just as he slammed it down, though, the gunner kicked him again, sending him crashing into the copper statue. He banged his head against the metal structure, groaning as he set the tip of his weapon onto the ground. He looked up, seeing the sharp end of a pickaxe poised to strike.

“I expected no less from the mentor of Danish…” the green man said, not moving a muscle.

“GO TO HELL!” Dane shouted, arcing his axe in such a way that its blades sliced his enemy’s axe arm. Blood shot out of his newfound gash as he dropped his pickaxe, an array of curses soon following. A loud battle cry rang out from the dwarf as he whipped his weapon around, knocking Ballad’s feet out from under him.

The gunsmith fell to the ground, his left leg cut open. He glanced up, seeing the dwarf about to bring his weapon down on top of him. He rolled to the side, trying to reach his pickaxe.

“A slanderer like ya doesn’ deserve to be a soldier!” he screamed, his axe hitting snow as his enemy continued to dodge his attacks, “ya insult Danish so ya insult me!”

He slammed his weapon down one more time, connecting. The axe blades ram into the gunner’s back, cutting open his bandaged wound.

A thunderous howl emerged from him as Dane pulled out the axe; he was almost paralyzed from the pain coursing through his body. He felt a forceful grip turn him over: the silver-encrusted glove of the axeman. He panted, staring up into the black void of his helm.

“Fer that… I send ya back to the Nexus..” he said, lifting his weapon to end the whole thing. He did not notice Ballad’s eyes shift from yellow to white.

Time seemed to slow down. All Ballad could ponder was… why? His death must have caused great pain, but enough to deny someone with his talent a chance to assist them? Why?

Then, with the force of a tidal wave, he saw something.

A father taking care of his son, watching him grow up. Feeling the warmth and hope of a son reassuring his father, reminding him that no, he had not failed. Despite not achieving a single thing in his life, he had not failed. He had a son who could achieve anything.

The joy of soldiers-in-arms, the sense of comradery already strengthened by blood.

Then disappointment, as the son strayed from his course. A rune just like the one that Danish wore at all times. A feeling of dread, of fear, before turning into despair.

“He was your son…” Ballad said.

Dane flinched, letting out a pained groan as he stepped off of his opponent’s body, grasping his forehead. Murmurs erupted from all around the village, wondering what had happened.

It was only then did the gunsmith process all the information he could, and his confusion was replaced by incredulous anger.

“He was YOUR SON!” he shouted, standing back up.

He limped towards the dwarf, whom had let out another cry as he spoke his words. Before he could react, the green man kicked into the dwarf’s arm, knocking away his axe, leaving them both without a weapon to fight with.

“What in- what have ya done?!” the dwarf shouted, sweat filling his beard.

“What have I done? What have YOU done?! How could a father send his son to DIE?!”

“I didn’!”

The gunsmith launched his fist forward, careening it into the dwarf’s head. He backed up, discombobulated with the combination of the punch, and of his reminder.

“That’s why you sent him with me! You knew your son was a terrible soldier, yet you thought him helping me would make you feel better about yourself, you worthless fuck?!”

Dane did not respond. Rather, the crowd responded for him. Cries of “What?” “He’s out of line…” and “He’s a true dwarf!” filled the air around them as Ballad’s opponent punched back, hitting his abdomen wound. The two traded blows, each person stumbling back before moving forward for more. The whole time, the gunsmith retold all that he saw, and as the crowd’s shouts became a loud uproar, the dwarf’s anger soon gave way to desperation.

Soon, the two were just capable of standing as they limped towards each other, preparing for one final punch.

That’s when Ballad spoke again, with Dane bracing for another mental assault.

“Danish didn’t want this life, you know… he never did. He didn’t want to be in this war; he hated it so much..”

“That ain’t the point, ya dumbass…” the dwarf responded, his voice cracking, “he’s a dwarf… a soldier...”

“And a soldier who didn’t want to fight, who couldn’t fight, and died because he fought.”

They got closer, raising their fists, with Dane’s in particular being rather shaky.

“Sure, he hated me… had every right to…but he knew I was sincere in my desire to end this war… he wouldn’t want you to deny your kingdom that chance, would he?”

For a long moment, everything was silent. No words were spoken. Instead, the only thing that was audible was the dwarf’s rapid intakes of breath. The taller foe squinted, seeing tears in the old man’s eyes.

“He hated this war, just like me. For the love of God, Dane, for his sake and your peoples… just stop.”

He clenched his fist, time slowing down as he swung it forward.

Dane made no movement.

He felt the crunch of metal as his fist flew into Dane’s helmet, knocking him to the ground. He laid in a heap, his whimpers as soft as the snow itself as tears flowed from his eyes. The green man looked down upon the old dwarf, sighing.

“I believe…. I have won…”

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1804

Dwarf Champion defeated! I have now finished the quest!