The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
Part 9.
The light was beginning to fade as the adventurers gathered dead wood and dry weeds to start a small fire. At HappySinner’s suggestion, they camped closer to the edge of the Living Forest, away from the Pits of K’Rul and their hideous Filth Slugs. The time for facing that challenge was the morning, when they had all their energy and their wits about them. Near the forest WarNick startled a small, deer-like creature that was quickly dispatched buy one of Sinner’s well-aimed arrows. Judging the animal to be safe for human consumption, the pair built their fire and settled for the night, fresh venison to add to their meager rations.
“So - if these Pits of K’Rul are full of harpoon-tongued Filth Slugs, do we simply fight our way to the other side of the flatland? A slug - even a giant one, by the size of its tongue - can’t be that hard to kill.”
WarNick was feeling much better with a decent meal inside him and some distance between himself and the foul-smelling pits beyond.
“I’ve never heard talk of this place outside of children’s stories, so your guess will be about as good as mine at this point” replied HappySinner, “But I’d say we make our way in a straight line towards the base of the Mount of Orms, and cleave asunder any creature that bars our way, yes.” His eyes glittered in the flickering firelight. “There’s more to the tale about K’Rul... I remember a person - or creature in human form, anyway - in the stories... some sort of sentinel or overseer... of course. The Keeper. The Keeper of the Pits of K’rul.” HappySinner looked across the fire at his companion, who was still enjoying the last of the venison. “We saw no people or demons today. If there is a Keeper, we may encounter him on the morrow.”
WarNick tossed the remains of his meal into the fire. “The Lord of the Slugs, eh?” he chuckled. “What sort of person could live in this intolerable place? It must be one of The Orms’ demonic minions, this Keeper.” He breathed a resigned sigh. “But how do you kill a demon?” Looking towards the flatland, with its fetid pits, now obscured by night, he added; “And where do the slugs come from? Do they live in those holes, waiting for a meal to walk by?”
“From what I remember of the stories, the Filth Slugs actually live in regions under the flatland, and the pits are the way in and out. If the stories are true - and so far, they have been - a Filth Slug can lay in ambush or approach injured prey, impale it with that strange barbed tongue we saw and drag the body down into its pit to feed. In the stories, of course, the prey was always little children who were too curious about things and wandered off where they shouldn’t have.” HappySinner paused, reflecting. “And The Keeper collects all their souls. That’s where he comes in. He collects the souls of the children and delivers them to The Orms. I’m not so sure about that part, though. Even as a kid, the Keeper stuff sounded as if it had been added on afterward by an over imaginative mother trying to scare her child to sleep.” The minstrel looked up at the sky. No stars were visible through the clouds, and the mist was clammy on his face. Tomorrow would indeed be an interesting day. Perhaps even a good day to die, he though to himself with a wry smile.
WarNick had made himself as comfortable as he could by spreading his cloak on the ground and using his pack as a pillow. He was, however, wide awake. Sinner’s doubts about The Keeper did nothing to convince him of its non-existence. “D’you think the slugs will attack us in the night?” he asked. “Maybe the night time is when The Keeper collects his souls.”
“I don’t think we’re in too much danger tonight” said Sinner, shaking his head “I haven’t heard anything moving out there for a while. But we’ll keep the fire lit until dawn. Slugs don’t like fire, just as forests don’t, and we’d best not take any chances. As for The Keeper, he can wait ‘til the morrow before he collects my soul.” He placed a large piece of wood on the fire, watching the flames take hold and lick hungrily around the wood. This place didn’t exist, he had thought. He was wrong. What else had he been wrong about? He took out his broadsword and stuck it in the ground, then put the last of his supply of restorative tea on to boil. He would have the night to think about it.
“We’ll take turns to sleep and keep watch, just in case our next mistake is our last” he said to WarNick. “I’ll wake you when it’s your time.”
“Right, Sinner. Goodnight” Nick composed himself for a light sleep but kept his weapons within easy reach, should trouble strike from the surrounding darkness.
HappySinner seated himself and prepared for the vigil ahead. His gaze fell on his traveling companion, whose breathing was already slow and regular.
A brave lad, that one, thought the minstrel. May he live to tell his own children this story!
