Part 14: A slipping world.

Chapter 8: A slipping world.



Lucius Rendclaw huffed and puffed into the main hall.

“My lord! We have new from south west! And for once, it‘s not Dremers!“

“Oh, what’s happening?”

“Weird things, liege. Apparently, some Black Minotaurs broke out from a sealed chamber in one of the regular Minotaur settlements. They killed a lot of Goblins and wandered off.”

“So no real damage. Why is this important for us, then? I have an absolutely pointless perimeter to hold around the anchor”

“You see, m’lord, our local sheriff threw a few goblins inside the chamber. After they survived, he threw a scribe inside to look for any inscriptions or ancient valuables. Well, apparently there’s a prophecy or something that whoever kills the minotaurs will receive the shield of Jean Val-Jean… No, Jan Ben-Jan, as well as riches… the usual stuff.”

“Never heard of him. Still, riches are my favorite kind of magical artifacts. Send a hunting party!”







“Well, that was fast. Lucius, how would you like to have your own goblin fiefdom in return?”

“I don’t think anyone would want that, my liege”

“Fair spoken. I will look towards some other, fitting award. And, for now, a champion to use the shield!”









Troublesome stirrings were in the air. The other two monster lords struck an alliance, which was welcome news in these troubling times, but still somewhat unsettling for a great mage. Especially considering that one of the lords had a penchant for burning independent towns. Who in their right mind would devolve into such slaughter and waste of good citizens?

It probably had something to do with the whole “being a goblin” thing. Most scholars and soothsayers agreed that being a goblin was detrimental to one’s physical and mental health, as well as chances of going down in history.

Yet even more troubling news brewed closer to home. Amberon, in a fit of madness, broke his treaties with Sol de Torvega, his other close neighbor, which didn’t bode well. He also had troops moving through King’s lands, including another Rrat prince. After three dead goblin sheriffs, it took a werewolf customs officer pulling arrows out of his own chest, marching up to an elven archer and breaking his bow over a knee before the trespassers explained that they were moving to defend their northern holdings.



Ladis the Whispering was a mage, a black mage even, but he had sworn to serve King Lich, and so was now considered to be a trustworthy fellow.

“After all, I’m quite reasonable, as you might see from the sum of gold I requested. I don’t know what the others are getting from Dremer, but it’s definitely not gold”

That was all and good, except that Ladis had one problem: he didn’t talk, he whispered. And not just in any normal sort of way (such as kneeling before the throne and making the monarch strain his hearing). No, he always needed whisper into the listener’s ear, like he was telling some secret or another.

“I swear to you, Ladis, if I ever feel your tongue licking my skull again, you’re getting sent on a penitent crusade to avenge the Golddale Duck”

“Duly noted, sire”.



Skull licking was weird, even weirder than a lich researching how to imbue weapons with life energy! Usually useless for undead armies (what with their enemies being mostly alive), the spell still had its uses. Although its inventor, Almatea Who Stabbed The Dead With Sticks, would not have anticipated that one of wraiths might use it one day.



“Titania’s Palace of Drink, Games of Chance and Iniquity”? Why is this place so important, Melchior?”

The scribe had to slap himself before he could answer to his King.

“You see, my lord, elven women don’t really want to be with elven men anymore. “Too otherworldly zealous” they say “alien geometries don’t let us sleep”, and so forth. So they struck out on their own and now they make a living like this”.

“You’d think they’d find better crafts to partake in!”

“Oh, yes, there’s a small, almost imperceptible differentiation between the female elven cultures. One of them hire themselves out as mercenary archers, the other… the other brew golden mead all day and whore out all night. Something about solidifying their stance as independant women, defying the patriarchy and their views on promiscuity and other such rubbish. But that isn't their most important source of revenue”

“It isn't?” asked the lich, wishing it had an eyebrow to raise.

“No! Gambling is what makes the gold flow, sire. Dice, cards, betting on goblin throwing, gonkey racing and Dremer gate appearances, hippocras wrestling and so forth… The elves say that it’s already pleasurable to see how many fools from other races are naïve enough to think they’re going to win and even more fun when they lose”.

“Interesting. But why is there a window to the baths? I see two of the ladies rubbing each other with oils, naked…”

“They don’t mind onlookers and it draws in more of a crowd, sire.”

“I’m sure it does. Very well, let’s not burn this place down. But if you get into debt here, Melchior, and get your kneecaps shot off by arrows, I’m not fixing you. Wait, are you even listening?”



As the king was exiting Titania’s palace, an envoy of the Elves arrived, making the minotaur bouncers nervous.

“You! Bundle of dried bones calling yourself king!” said one of the elves pointing his finger at the lich “Lord Amberon demands you pay for this insult and the abuse of elven women!”

“Beg your pardon, what?”

“Elven women belong to Arethi by right! You will hand them over as well as paying a fine in magical artefacts to show your repentance”.

King Lich laughed, a dull and dusty sound.

“I will do no such thing. Amberon oversteps his bounds and his incessant demands grow tiresome. He thinks that I won’t go to war because of the Dremer?”

The king snapped his fingers and Lucius leaped forward, like only a werewolf could, gutting one elven guard and ripping the throat of the other, leaving the envoy stunned and bloody”

“Let this be a sign of our willingness. We go to war!”



Dark clouds were brewing in the south. In an unexpected and totally suicidal move, Amberon declared war on Sol!



But while war was supposedly happening down there, there were other matters to attend to, like excavations happening in far off places.

“M’lord” a werewolf bowed his head before the monarch “the work is going as planned. We triggered a few traps, but with your majesty’s support, we have more than enough goblins to continue our work”

“So tell me, scholar, what could we expect to find here?”

“Well, these are late Trapbuilder culture ruins. Pity we don’t have a better name for them, but it is fitting, what with their penchant for building structures in remote areas and filling them with traps that would make daily life hard and unpleasant. As usual, there’ll be some fragments of pots, some knives, but we expect to find some of their magical implements and records too”

“Are you positive on that?”

The werewolf nodded

“Yes, they’re present in every ruin. You just have to get through the first two levels of traps, maybe some critters that somehow managed to get past them and a puzzle or two. Rest assured, m’lord, we’ll send anything magic related to you”



Yet there were more magical things to consider than just ruins with a predilection towards killing goblin diggers. For example, a new mana pump was built and Melchior’s best arithmeticians determined it to be extremely fatal to goblins that worked it.

It was suggested that a few simple articles of protective clothing, working in shifts, eating more vegetables and drinking more milk as well as holes in the structure to let more fresh air would drastically improve working conditions and minimize the harm.

This was, of course, just a mental experiment, because nobody would waste funds on goblin workers. Still, one of the scholars wrote down the idea, just in case.





Alas! The realm was under Dremer siege again. Gates popped up in the most unfortunate and remote places, postponing plans to besiege the anchor even further. Once more, forces would have to be diverted to deal with this threat…



“Did you hear? The daft goblin burned down Gogburg!” people were whispering on the streets.

“Real shame, that” was the talk in the pub “I heard that place had the best plays ever!”

“Oh yes, the best plays of all time… The best classical plays! Wonderfully translated to contemporary audiences! And now they’re gone…” lamented the more intelligent person while drinking his wine

“And how cheap these plays were! Why, for a few coppers I could see a lot more than I can get from these lousy new traveling minstrels…”



Once you start working on various earth-y and nature-y spells, it’s really not that hard. At least that what King Lich V thought in his tower. True, entirely too many of them required such unsavory components as menstrual blood, seed of man or hemp incense, but they were quite useful for a monarch that dealt with a living populace. Or a living army. For example “Daikuria’s Elemental Regeneration” would let his troops draw upon the healing power of Ardania itself to mend their wounds.

And as far as the Lich was concerned, the part about something called “yoga” and “chakra cleaning” was entirely optional.



Alfael the Forgotten was, at the time, advancing on the Dremer gate near Gold of the Lich. For most the time, Dremer warriors couldn’t do anything against him, their blades slicing through his incorporeal body without hurting anything. In turn, he pierce their skull with their spectral hands, and, with blood and brain matter squirting through mouth and ears, a warrior would fall down dead. If the Dremer had capacity to fear anything, Alfael was their supreme ghost.



Yet ghosts weren’t the mainstay of Liche’s army, not even in his necromancy days. And living, bodily warriors required more protection to be really effective. To that end, the most bearded, best washed gnome alcoholics were sent to reach to a dwarven settlement in the north. After much drinking and sleeping under the benches, an agreement was reached and the dwarves would supply armor… for a price.
And only if Kind Lich took back the gnomes, who were causing a beer shortage.





Beer shortages or not, the war had to continue. Werewolves, supported by Ladis, were making good progress in their siege on Gordcarn.
In fact, their progress had been so good that elven corpses were stacked five high. There was enough material for Ladis to study the somewhat rare, although not inaccessible to black mages, death magic. It came with a lot of horrible, amateur poetry and weird references to fishnets as a garb, but there were some powerful spells, too.



Meanwhile Emerah, floating over a mountaintop to launch spells at encamped Dremer, had realized something about the nature and the elements. It is by focusing the energies of life that she brought forth her powers and the elements were part of the natural circle, one that brought forth life. So she could draw on their fury for power, giving her companions a little bit of reprieve from their ravages.



The last Dremer warrior was lifted from the ground and dismembered by a pack of snarling werewolves. Relying on their regenerating natures to carry them through, they ran through the flesh corridors of the Dremer’s Gate, spilling black pitch from small barrels, and seeing If they could loot anything of value.
Before setting fire to the obscene structure, they managed to save a tablet with a spell. “Atlantis’ Raise land” was, ironically, a spell that only ever lowered lands.



The other Dremer gate was destroyed in a flurry of spells and hauntings, and a small stash of gold was recovered. It was used to buy Afael a new set of dwarven weaponry: some dwarven steel chains to rattle and inspire more dread in the enemy.



Another major breakthrough had been achieved in the empire. Citizens of Ruin Springs have determined that leaving the food in the middle of the field to rot, get eaten by rodents and lashed by the elements, was not the best idea. After a lot of thinking and few deaths related to food poisoning, they decided to build a building where grain would we kept dry and chained goblin children would eat any rats or mice that would try to infest it. They called it a “grainary”.





"The skeletal remains that are used to create these warriors must possess large, sturdy bones and strong ligaments, for not only will they have to hold swords and shields, but must also use them to attack and defend themselves. Armor is less important, for Skeleton Warriors are able to fight even without a skull -- And if they fall to pieces, it is easier to simply raise new ones." - From "Necrarium Tomeus" by Necromaster Barbaross the Deceased.

“And that’s why, my dear Avgustus, is why you don’t let commoners dabble in necromantic arts”

“Why, I would never suggest that commoners should dabble in anything outside their station!”

“True. But necromancy is even more dangerous than other magic. A fool with a fireball would burn down a barn and get a pitchfork in the gut for his troubles. An idiot raising skeletons might want to resurrect his paramour that died from the pox and accidentaly raise the whole graveyard”

“And that’s where my lads come in…”



“Yes, especially considering that these graveyards are so messed up by mass raisings that taking any sort of gold isn’t a sacrilege anymore”



Speaking of things that go against the order of nature and gods, a hall of commerce was opened in the newly acquired elven city. There, the various merchants and merchant like folk spend days haggling over prices, trade routes, tax fluctuation, as well as trade in stocks and bonds. Numerology, hexagramatic wards, astrology, reading from entrails of birds and goblins, any and all methods were involved in predicting what would affect commerce.

“We really have no idea what we’re doing” a trader called Nasdakk once admitted while drunk.



It wasn’t, however, the only elven city in foreign hands. A small seaside holding of Tarkarn was overrun by Sol de Torvega’s forces, who quickly began the purge of the city from those who didn’t believe in the light of Helia. The purge took some time, as overcast skies precluded the use of traditional sun ray mirrors to burn the heathens.



Yet even in the midst of war there were welcome news. While Goblin king was still burning any city he captured (recent rumors said that Minotauros was put to the torch), he was willing to work with other mages. Probably because they would be very cross at their cities getting burned! At any rate, an alliance was struck and a new spell was delivered to the Lich. It wasn’t that important – the Dremer didn’t use any potent, dispellable magic – but still welcome.



Galarcarn had, after the fall of Tarkan, recently regained the title of the western most Elven holding. It didn’t hold it for long as werevwolves swarmed over the walls, slew defenders where they stood and, having no maidens to make off with, hanged the mayor and hoisted King Litch’s flag over the walls.





Yet it was not meant to be the southmost city of the Lich for long. Hearing promises of gold and terraforming spells that would get rid of lava, settlers had set off to colonize the lands near Sol de Torvegas holdings. Here they encountered another mage.

“Still learning to master firebolt?” boomed the farcasted specter of Miralbus the Hat.

“Has no one in your court ever told you that your jest is horrible? You should seriously consider not using it anymore. But!” the lich raised on bony finger to silence Miralbus who was about to protest “I forgive you. I forgive you so hard that I’m proposing a treaty of non-aggression…”





"Today, my esteemed readers, we shall speak of Trolls. For a long time -- indeed, since the collapse of the Gigantic Midget Tower -- these magnificent monsters were considered extinct. Evidence of this ancient race could only be seen on tapestries or in an exhibit in the Royal Museum, called "The pee stain of the Troll slain by King Marius IV". But to our great suprise Trolls were not so easy to destroy after all. Remnants of species were discovered by Jacques Gnar de Crunch, the naturalist, during the Troubles. Later, Trolls gladly and extensively multiplied (thanks to the infinite wisdom of our Great Mage), and their population is no longer in danger of extinction. Today, like 300 years ago, you can encounter these green giants in any market in Ardania, merrily swinging their clubs about. Trolls stand out from other monsters owning to their size, strenght, the speed at which they heal -- not to mention their unhurried thought processes."

From "The Evergreen Ones", an article written by the noble werewolf Wolfus de Crunch.

As for the more aggressive manners, a new monster joined the ranks of, well, monster army. Avgustus used the most crush-resistant weres that he had (including Olle The Smashed, a fan of mountain climbing and a victim of many a rock slide) to parley with the trolls and to impress them with the importance of Kind Lich V’s cause.

“Plus, when you crush a Dremer fortification, it sounds like *splat* which I would think is a pleasant change of pace for you lot”.



As the trolls were rushed to crush Amberon’s capital of Lintirn, the new shore settlement had been named “Elfbash”, to commemorate the largely one sided war of conquest. Unfortunately, the lands outside their borders had been heavily contaminated by the Dremer…



Yet Miralbus, in all his folly, decided that, instead of focusing on combating the Dremer threat, he should declare war on Amberon and his crumbling kingdom. The best drunk analysts weren’t able to come up with an explanation as to what the mage hoped to achieve by it.



Meanwhile, the fight for the elven cities and against the Dremer left a lot of material for Ladis to practice his dark arts. Sure, there were little intact corpses, since werewolves only left bits and pieces behind. But he could still work on reanimating a foot here, a hand there…



Alas, before them loomed a sight most horrible and foul. A horrible fleshy pustule rose to the sky, the color of rotting flesh and comparable smell. It’s horrid surface writhed with mysterious convulsions. Some say that you could see half absorbed remains on the previous inhabitant. For where a city fell to the Dremer…



…a Dremmer’s Castle arose.