NOVEL NEXT Caring Hands
Caring Hands
I didn't hesitate a single second to vanish out of the large hand's grip, my focus landing squarely on the man whose hand had nearly wrapped around my skull as I reappeared. To my mild surprise, I recognized the hulking figure; it was Vlad, the commander of the dungeon guard post. Which, in hindsight, made some sense considering his job description; I wasn't quite sure why he was standing guard outside the door personally, but I figured it probably did fall under his purview.
The muscular man glared down at me with suspicion for a moment before his eyes flickered over my form and recognition sparked. "Well there little lad, from the stories your friends told I wasn't expecting to see you again."
I nodded slowly, never looking away even as I kept a part of my attention on ensuring I wasn't snuck up on. I made a show of awkwardly scratching the back of my head, "Yeah, things went to hell in a handbasket real quick there! Not only was the dungeon extremely aggressive from the moment we stepped in, two different high level wackos attacked. I only got out alive because the two intruders were more interested in each other than us. Frankly, I'm pretty sure that's the only reason any of us are still breathing."
Vlad nodded with a hum, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Hmm, that matches up with what Roin told me, mostly." I noticed then –or perhaps more accurately registered then– the bloodstained holes gouged into the walls and floor.
They were identical to those left behind by the mad plague doctor's spear, making it clear the guards we left behind hadn't just let that maniac walk past them. There were no bodies, but I could only assume the squad left to watch the entrance were killed to the last man, unless they broke and ran first. I was surprised to find that a small part of me was annoyed by their deaths, even as most of me appreciated future obstacles being removed; I wouldn't go so far as to say I liked any of these thugs, but I preferred to have decently competent meat shields around than not, especially ones willing and able to lend a hand.
Besides, this meant I wouldn't get the exp for killing them myself later.
Vlad, seemingly tracking my gaze despite my lack of visible pupils or iris, turned his head to look at a distinct, bloodstained hole next to the door. He traced the blackened circumference of the gouge with a finger thrice the width of mine, "Aye, most of the guards your group left out here are dead. A few might survive their wounds, the hardiest and luckiest amongst them; but it takes a good deal of Endurance to come back from these kinds of wounds, more than most have by far." He shook his head with a sigh, turning his focus back to me. "Roin told me you were trapped on the other side of the intruders' clash, and that one of them was hunting you in particular. You wouldn't happen to have any idea why that might be, would you? And, you know, I think I'd rather like to hear how you got out of that shit show at all."
I shook my head, careful not to look too hasty. "One of the invaders, the one that did this," I gestured to the wounds in the surroundings, "Seemed convinced I was some sort of ontological evil, some conceptual enemy of some group he claimed to be a part of. Honestly, considering the way he was acting, and that half his body was mutated into some sorta monstrosity, I think he was just hallucinating." Vlad's expression didn't so much as shift, giving no sign as to whether or not he agreed with my assessment. "The other… thing that showed up barely glanced at me and certainly didn't seem to care for the mutant's ravings. I think it was just toying with him, but I couldn't say why; maybe just for fun, random acts of pointless sadism hardly surprise me at this point." I shrugged my shoulders carelessly, but my eyes kept a careful watch for any signs he wasn't buying my answer; I could only hope his slow, considering nod was a good sign.
To be fair, it wasn't like I was really lying; Zildan very well may have been hallucinating for all I know, and I really don't have any idea why that horrendous unthing decided to toy with him like that. The fact Zildan was right about me carrying the Blight was totally irrelevant, he was still definitely off his rocker! I also didn't see a need to make any mention of what group the maddened doctor claimed affiliation to either, just in case they were popular around here; my fellow sneaky stabbers didn't seem to care for the authority he claimed, but it wouldn't hurt me if it didn't get spread around some apparently knightly order thought I was their anti-christ.
"As for how I got out, I'd love to take full credit but I honestly think it may have been luck." I shrugged my shoulders with as good of a 'what can you do,' expression as I could manage, "I scrawled the rune of darkness into the ground with my blood, then snuck out under cover of supernatural shadow; however, I didn't actually run into the unwelcome guests on my way out, so they may have already left by that point." I didn't think that was the case, but there was no way I was gonna mention any ties to the Blight if I didn't have to.
The large man hummed, that faint impression of a smile tracing across his face, "Clever, most aren't willing to boost a rune with their own blood like that, even if they know a worthwhile rune to begin with." He chuckled slightly, shaking his head ruefully, "Well, I can't say it'll matter much, but I'll put in a good word for ya to the boss. You'll prolly have to repeat this whole spiel to the big man later, but as far as I'm concerned you didn't do anything wrong. We can hardly expect you to preempt the deranged thinkin' of random powerful lunatics, after all."
I nodded, internally thinking about not just how to phrase what went down to the leading members of the gang, but what my erstwhile abandoners may have told them. Evidently, they hadn't told Vlad anything that contradicted my story, but who knows if they won't try to dump responsibility on my corpse when they get back. No one wants to be holding the bag when the bottom falls out, and if they think I'm dead there's no reason not to dump all responsibility onto my carcass; dead men can't contradict false testimony, at least without a necromancer involved anyway.
Even so, I honestly don't think any of us are really at fault here; like Vlad said it would be exceptionally unreasonable to expect people to anticipate the spontaneous desires of unknown monsters. Of course, none of this bloody gang's leaders struck me as terribly reasonable people, but they also didn't seem… completely unhinged. For the most part.
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Well, I can only hope that cooler heads will prevail, and keep a backup plan in case they don't; squirt some Blight and run away has seen more than moderate success so far, even if it does make me feel more kinship to squids than the rats I came from. I had approximately zero faith that such a plan would actually save me if Rokharth decided to personally execute me, but at least my dying moments would have a bit of bitter satisfaction in them that way. I'd always prefer to live bitter than die happy, but I can't deny I'm more than spiteful enough to ensure my death is everyone's problem if I get the chance.
Vlad grunted, eyeing the fading sunlight leaking over the top of the city's walls. "You'd best be headin' back to the ol' castle then, the boss will be less annoyed if you take the initiative to report back as quickly as you can. I'm sure this is all gonna be my problem sooner than later, but until then I'll hold down the fort here."
For a brief moment, I considered telling him the Blight may have been unleashed inside the dungeon; certainly not that I had unleashed it, but just that I'd heard something that sounded like Blighted laughter inside. If my hunch that a corrupted dungeon could quickly become a death factory is true, warning the guy guarding the place might just be the difference between a protracted siege against the Blight and the whole region being devoured by the great grey. Of course, I'd then have to explain how I knew what Blight afflicted laughter sounds like, why no one else heard anything, and how the Blight could have gotten in would definitely be asked…
In the end, I simply sent him a respectful nod, and turned away to walk the winding route back to the Gang's repurposed hospital (fortunately, it was easier to find my way back than the confusing trip out here had been). I made sure to be as sneaky as I could –pulling the shadows closer around me and teleporting between dark places whenever possible– but I got the distinct impression I caught more than a few pairs of luminous eyes watching me from dark windows and shattered doorways. Something was always watching in this city, though determining who, if anyone, they reported to and if they were a threat was beyond my current ability; even if I spent the time potentially fruitlessly hunting them down, I couldn't guarantee I could extract useful information if they even had any.
That uncertainty only made me even more uneasy with the glimpses of yellow eyes I caught staring out at me, but I just pulled my hood down lower over my head and sped up my pace. Worse than the occasional glances of staring eyes was the fact I couldn't confirm or deny if I was being watched by several members of a species or one singular spy, though I highly suspected it was the former. While I couldn't dismiss the possibility of a teleporting stalker (especially considering I myself was capable of teleportation to a limited extent), nor did the few occasions I'd seen multiple sets of eyes watching from different locations disprove illusions or clones, my unwillingly mystically forged ability to notice emotions picked up different flavours of hungry curiosity from similar looking eyes.
Part of me hated that this foul empathy that bastard plague doctor forced on me was serving to ease my paranoia, but I was never one to turn down a useful tool just because it had an unsavory origin; the flies crawling around their little tunnels in my flesh were proof enough of that, after all.
While my overstrung nerves may have made the journey feel like it took ages, in reality it was no longer than the trip out had been before I arrived back at the front door of the abandoned hospital the Burnpikes had taken as their main base. I kept a sigh behind my teeth as I I strode up to knock heavily on the solid iron door; the creepy, gremlin-like door keeper was never pleasant to deal with at the best of times, I was far from thrilled at the prospect of interacting with him after such an ordeal of a day.
As I was coming to somewhat expect, the exact moment I decided the creature was asleep or ignoring me, the door began to open. The goggle-eyed little monster grinned at me around the corner of the door, "Ohoho, ain't chu a surprise! Come come, boss'll want ta see ya right quick like." To my (very suspicious) surprise, the grubby creature pulled the door open without further harassment; well, aside from staring and giggling anyway.
I kept my metaphysical eye on him with my Paranoia until he left my range, but the little cretin never did anything but giggle and stare. Unnerving as that may have been, it didn't seem to be an outright danger so I endeavored to ignore it as best I could until the creature was out of sight. The feeling of being watched never left my shoulders as I wandered down now familiar halls, the faintest whisper of laughter echoing just under the creak of the floorboards beneath one. I mentally notched killing that hideous little monster higher up my list if priorities, but made a point not to let my building hate show in my posture.
Even still, I barely suppressed a shudder as I made my way towards the cacophony of noise and scents that was the cafeteria. The large room was as smoky as ever, candle smoke mixing with cooking fires, torches, and a medley of narcotics to slowly blacken the vaulted ceiling. The sound of numerous conversations carried on the fire crafted air currents to reach me, drowning out the ethereal sound of the goblinoid's giggling. Even before I stepped through the double door frame I could see the leadership of this merry band of cutthroats; seated at a slightly raised table on the far side of a fire pit, Markus and his little coterie of important people reigned over this wretched hive of scum and villainy.
His goggles, as ever, hid his eyes, but I could still tangibly feel when his gaze landed on me. His smile widened slightly in a way I couldn't quite read as he swirled a glass of red wine, taking a sip as he raised a hand to wave me over. The other important underlings around him –save Rokharth who'd likely known I was coming before I entered the building, if I had to guess– all took note of me then, Cerikon showing little reaction while Korin was passed out face down in a bowl of soup.
No one seemed concerned about her drowning, so I decided against pointing it out.
Markus and Rokharth were both grinning my way, seemingly pleased to see me; which wasn't necessarily a good sign, but it did help my flies settle down a bit. I wasn't supremely fond of them apparently picking up on my emotions and even less so them acting as something of a tell towards them, for more reasons than I had time to recount. I also wasn't exactly sure if it was a good sign they could perceive such things, or if I really ought to start investing far more heavily in my Will… or perhaps Endurance, in preparation for having my nervous system hijacked.
At this point I don't think taking a fluorine bath would be enough to save me, no amount of flames can cleanse me now.
Taking a long drag from a cigar before ashing it in what I was fairly convinced was in fact the top of a human skull, Markus leaned forward and released a cloud of sweet smelling smoke my way. The smoke blocked my mortal eyes for a moment, certainly making for the suitably dramatic moment of the cloud slowly dissipating to reveal his grinning face the gang boss was probably going for; unfortunately for his sense of theatrics, it did nothing to hide him from the orb of my Paranoia. I elected not to tell him that the effect was a bit more silly than it was intimidating or mysterious or whatever he was going for, despite how amusing the look on his face may have been.
"So, it seems the reports of your death were a touch off base! Good to see, good to see." His grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, affecting a laid back and relieved posture that would have been just north of convincing if I was at all inclined to believe the man cared at all about my well being. "Now," here he picked up his cigar and waved it around, leaving a thin trail of smoke from the tip that showed his ashing technique clearly needed work, "I imagine you have quite the story to tell, and my ears are wide open."
I took a deep breath, and set about once more retelling a mostly accurate account of my short lived dungeon delving adventure.