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FG: Chapter 66
🕑 Added 2024-05-31 14:31:00 +0000 UTCDeep within the fortress he had earned through the sacrifice of a thousand lives, Boss Skegga was roused from his slumber by a thunderclap.
His eyes shot open to the ceiling of a chamber that was certainly not his – its drab grey brickwork was nothing like his golden temple appropriated to praise his glory.
As the world shook around him his bloated hand reached towards his stomach where he now remembered that he had suffered a grievous wound. He looked down, eyes expecting to see his guts hanging out his side, and instead saw that his stomach had been stitched up with a surprising degree of precision.
But his brows furrowed as he felt something else – something small and spherical…no…not just something…but…many…many things.
There were bumps on his gelatinous torso. There was something inside him.
He opened his mouth to scream and yet, in his moment of panic, found that that had been sewn shut, too.
Each new second brought confirmations of new terror: his legs could not move. His body – once the pride and joy of his brood – would not obey his commands. Even his arms felt heavy and useless. All they could do was slowly float before him, stretching out and trying to dislodge their master from the stone tablet he was lying on.
It was a feeling he had felt before – a feeling of begging himself to move, of pleading every bone in his body to fly from its socket and at least show him his limbs still had a will of their own. He had felt this before – back when the Masters first caged him.
As with back them, his every attempt to release himself was in vain – he was stuck. He was stuck, desperate in the moment to do nothing more than squeal with unbridled rage for his savants to come and remove whatever invisible shackles bound him.
And that’s when he realized that one of them was already here.
“Quite a thing, isn’t it?” a voice said, calm and collected, yet utterly viscous in its piercing cadence. “Quite a thing to live in terror.”
His eyes flew to the shadowed corner of the room where the speaker was sitting on an old rickety chair, his frail body straight-backed and utterly stoic, while his conal face cocked in contemplation.
His dark eyes looked right into Skegga’s, and the great toad stretched out a fat arm to claw those beady little things right out of the ratman’s skull.
“Oh, please,” the rat said. “Do not struggle. You are fighting against nature, good Skegga. Or, more specifically, this.”
The ratman produced a thin vial from under his cloak, shaking it before the toad like a child’s rattle.
“Tathlatka serum,” Silas said. “Taken I believe from the venom of a beast native of the Jungles of Arasaka, distilled by the finest Yokun alchemists. A gift from your former Masters in exchange for – well – now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? The point is this: a single drop produces temporary paralysis in the victim. I dare say you’ve felt it before, good Skegga. It is, after all, what makes the Yokun of the Southern Jungles so adept in their slave trade. Unmoving cargo is far easier to transport and auction off, you understand. ”
If eyes could kill, Skegga’s bulging sockets would have slain the ratman nine times over, so great was the fury that was bubbling from every fiber of the great toad’s being.
“Fury,” Silas said with a patronizing sigh. “Is that all you have for me? I admit, I would quite enjoy hearing the curses you hurl at me, especially now that you hear me speak without that dismal droll associated with my kin. But, alas, I’m afraid our fun is coming to an end, Skegga. Your Masters have decided that you are no longer a worthwhile investment on their part. There is a human phrase that summarizes such an attitude quite nicely. I believe it runs along the lines of: ‘They are cashing you out.’”
Skegga’s sweat glands were working overtime, not helped by the fact that the honeyed words of the ratman were punctuated by explosion after thunderous explosion against the walls of Grindlefecht.
“Hear that?” Silas asked, coming to stand beside Skegga’s pitiful form, staying just out of reach of his grasping claws. “It is the sound of death knocking at your doors, good Skegga. I would say that I am sorry for deceiving you. But I believe that dead men are owed a certain degree of honesty, in the end.”
The rat leaned in close, seeing what little ounces of strength the toad had left in him begin to dissipate entirely as the toxin running through his veins took total control of his faculties.
Only the toad’s rage-filled eyes showed any signs of flickering autonomy. And it was into these eyes that Silas spoke.
“The truth is that you have always been nothing more than a pawn in a game far bigger than the one you thought you were playing,” the ratman said. “My servitude served its purpose, for a time. I admit that I truly thought you would bring the pitiful reign of my cousins to an end in the service of greater powers. But it seems that I backed the wrong toad.”
The ratman’s teeth shone in the dark, a sickening smile smearing itself across his features that chilled the paralyzed toad to his bulbous bones.
“How could I have known that a Shai-Alud would come? Of all things!” he laughed. “It is almost enough to restore my faith in the false God of my people. Almost enough,” he added, a glimmer of hate overcoming his dark features. “For I saw the truth of this world long ago, Skegga. There is no strength, no power, beyond that which we take for ourselves. Every night I sang songs to that disgusting pustule of corrupted flesh I called my Queen…every day I drooled on about a God I knew was nothing but a child’s fabrication – a shadow on the wall…well, such reflections are not for you, my sorry toad. I do apologize – no doubt you have rather less eloquent reflections of your own to express. But time grows short. My only regret is that I shall not hear your pitiful scream when your demise does come. But I have learned that, sometimes, one must forsake one’s ego for the greater good.”
The wriggling fingers of the ratman found Skegga’s belly, and the toad felt himself lurch, his brain begging his body to turn and tumble off the stone slab he was stuck to.
“It helps if you realize your place in this world,” Silas whispered. “You were not meant for great things, dear Skegga. True leaders are not made. They are born.”
At that moment, the door of the chamber was thrown open, and a spear wielding Kobold bearing dwarven armor marched in.
“S-Sire Silas,” he said. “Yip-Yips of Mudkrip see Ratmen march-march. They are taking slaves, accepting surrender as you say-say.”
“Of course they are doing this,” Silas barked at the soldier, slipping effortlessly back into his ratman cadence with such slippery simplicity that Skegga would have gasped had he the capacity to do so.
“It is being the Shai-Alud’s weakness,” Silas continued. “Our plan is working perfectly.”
The soldier nodded fervently, completely ignoring Skegga until he acknowledged him with nothing but a point of his little pinky-claw: “Is the pot-pot ready?”
…Pot-pot? Skegga’s mind mumbled.
“He will be ready soon,” Silas smirked. “Be bringing your Yips for transport.”
The Yip bowed and left the room, a devious smile smeared across his face just like the rat it had deigned to call ‘Sire’.
“It is remarkable, is it not?” Silas said when he was sure the Kobold was gone. “Remarkable what can happen with a few fancy words and patience. I dare say there is nary a Kobold in the entire Underkingdom that is believing in your divinity anymore, good Skegga. But do not fear – they will remember you in death far more than they would in life. They even call you ‘pot-pot’ with some affection. I hope you like it. It is the only legacy you are going to be leaving.”
Once again, the ratman stroked Skegga’s bulging belly, fingers trailing over the globules that showed themselves beneath his skin.
Skegga watched in mute horror as the ratman then produced something else from beneath his cloak. Something round. Something black. Something that smelled…like fire.”
“An ingenious little device,” Silas said. “Something scavenged from our dwarven prisoners you didn’t smear across your puerile little place of worship. So elegant in form, so potent in content…the dwarves really are the master craftsmen of these depths. I must admit, one of my many misgivings with my kind is our unfortunate distaste for technological advancement. It seems the Shai-Alud has gone some lengths to change this. Although his particular moral…misgivings…hold him back from using such tools to their full advantage.”
Something about the way the rat spoke chilled Skegga’s already frozen flesh. Looking at him, and the way he looked at the iron orb he held in his hand, Skegga felt his own belly start to rumble.
His last revelation that day before he lost consciousness again came in the form of his eyes now looking upon the bumps in his stomach with newfound terror.
“Something so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, will allow me to suddenly attain all that I desire and more. In the end, you proved to be a useful little accessory after all, my good Skegga.”
The toad’s eyes slowly began to close, his tongue lolling out as he went back into a coma that stilled all the fury rising in his heart.
“I did tell you, did I not?” Silas told the toad’s closing eyes. “You will burn like the brightest star.”
