DWARF IN A HOLE

Sentenced to execution alongside the doctor, his damning to a hole thrice crawled from concluded, the dwarf’s position on the log gave a near all encompassing view of the elfen settlement’s square. From where a noose of vine tightened around his neck the dwarf observed the prison once escaped before, restaurants dined in and hid beneath, the tip of the hotel behind mushroom-like treetops. Storefronts were understood, though they were all shabby tents. The dwarf tried to guess how long the elfs had settled here. He wondered how the wall came to be, so long running it was, and he questioned the opulence of the suites--especially given the stalks of oak decorated in bamboo homes. He thought about putting all queries to Doetrieve--the dwarf recalled then it was Doetrieve’s relenting that put him in a noose.

The funguay beside gasped and struggled, the bottom of its cap squeezed into alarming colors. The dwarf’s gaze fixed, he could not reason out conflicting feelings. In the lost past, Mallow took in the dwarf, restoring his health, plotting illegitimate offspring all the while. In his current time, it had released its spores out of sheer animal-like desperation. This same funguay joined Captain Locust in scheming the death of The Ponderous One, though the full extent of its role was unknown. The dwarf recognized the faults of two concerning the death of the tree deity--no matter Mallow’s actions, Locust had certainly spearheaded the operation. It was Captain Locust that first imprisoned the dwarf and later attempted the slaying of. It was Captain Locust that had again sentenced the dwarf to death, and his glowing smile and piercing eyes as he wandered the stump gawking at the funguay disturbed the dwarf greatly.

All this the dwarf processed--not calmly, veins pumping--before the panel beneath the dwarf’s toes slid back. To drop the stout, whose vines came tied with careful consideration, was the intention, was the full reason behind Captain Locust’s grin growing rapidly.

Instead, the dwarf burst from the stump, vine taut, soaring in a perfect arc over glass and choking funguay and back into position, half his height lost, before one more arc began and ended in the dwarf’s rear shattering the bars. The motion transpired so quickly, no single elf could react before shards blasted out indiscriminately. Locust received the worst of it, chunks ravaging his face sending him reeling. Mallow, meanwhile, fell, glass crumbling off the top of its cap as the doctor lay collapsed. The dwarf himself ate stump and lost consciousness. His legs purpled...

On returning to the settlement in chaos, the dwarf rose involuntarily, swimming in air. Skin gripped near the nonexistent scruff of his back propelling him forward. The dwarf’s pain dulled his senses and it was some time before he realized he traveled through wind alongside the doctor. Glancing as best he could, the dwarf gazed upon hair dancing on the shoulders of he who carried. He did not have to look further to know his escort as Lieutenant Doetrieve. The elf zipped around stalls and construction towards the prison, the dwarf second-guessing his intent. But the path taken seemed to lead straight to the locked doors the dwarf knew led to the emerald chamber. He and the funguay were not being taken as prisoners. This calmed and comforted a fast running mind, but another realization spurred the dwarf to shout.

“Ah! What! What!” yelled Doetrieve amidst the chaos unfolding across vine woven streets. Those who had been assaulted by shards were wailing in waves, and those who had been spared were hastily attending to the wounded. Indeed, it seemed as if the execution had been all but forgotten, the event replaced by another. Captain Locust could not be identified among the crowds, the dwarf’s best guess at his still being crippled upon the stump. And while he, the dwarf, did not wish to push their luck, he feared the impending tarnishing of the escape if he did not shout. Gesturing at the peaking hotel, the dwarf made clear his concern for a lost pickaxe. “Can’t be serious,” was all Doetrieve could muster. But, head shifting from one direction to the other and back again, the Lieutenant tightened his grip on the dwarf and sped on to the glass walled inn. At its entrance Doetrieve set the dwarf down proper and delivered with a sense of urgency:

“I’m bringin’ the fungus to the relocator. You just get what you need here and meet me back there pronto. Don’t delay, but don’t ya worry neither--ain’t gonna let it go nowhere till you show up. You’ve got to still get that formula, a cure--anything--ya hear?”

The dwarf heard. Doetrieve took the doctor into his arms like he was to be wed to it, and the two shot out and away once more to the prison. The dwarf meanwhile headed into the hotel and stomped his legs fast as he could down long stretches of halls and stairs until coming to the suite he guessed his, door sliding back and revealing a rusted copper tool in the corner. The dwarf reunited with his pick, knowing well what use it faced, and exited the room to face a hall of blue and green robed military approaching hastily. His circumstances suddenly bound for the worse, the dwarf chose a step backwards and crumpled to the floor, legs shrieking in agony. It had not been so long since activating his ‘ADRENALINE’ to rush to the mossy cottage. To use the skill again so soon in such a strange manner cost him dearly, the dwarf near submitting to unbelievable pain. But he crawled his pathetic form forward and brought himself beneath a window, mustering the strength to rise and bring his pickaxe to glass.

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 5”

His hands bled as they traveled over the shattered rim, legs and feet next as they clumsily grazed over the sill and out with the rest, the dwarf quick to earth. Groaning, vision blurring, the dwarf let an overwhelming desire to submit wash over. He attempted to rise and fell easily. He tried again and could get no further. He lay splayed on his back after, watching guards point from the shattered opening in the hotel while others rushed down the street. It seemed Captain Locust had regained his senses--or someone present had--and the prisoner was going to be recovered and retied.

Once more the dwarf sailed through the air, this swim several feet higher than that previous. With no gruff grasping of his backflesh either, the dwarf instead felt the adhesive quality of something extraordinarily sticky. Soaring, jerking, the dwarf suddenly became wrapped in a cocoon of web before witnessing it all unravel before him atop a bamboo roof. Indeed, webs, the dwarf investigated, then meeting the several dozen eyes of Paris. It chittered and rewrapped the stout package, taking it into its appendages, scuttling after across the building and hopping down to the vine lined road, dwarf bouncing. It headed straight for the prison, deftly avoiding arrow and blade alike, though the dwarf’s beard disturbingly caught a taste of the former.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY SKILL INCREASED TO 21”

Gratitude welling up within the dwarf for the actions of the massive arachnid, the dwarf made a promise to himself to somehow repay this debt--if he’d be released from web again. Paris, incapable of conceptualizing debt, carried on undisturbed, blasting through the locked doors and revealing a familiar annex, its half constructed cavern supported by pillars and voyeuristic crest, sunlight taken without warmth. Far on the other side where more doors lay waited Doetrieve and Doctor Mallow. Paris shot another load across the dwarf’s dome nearly fully encasing who would next be twirled and swung across the annex and over enough to be brought to a slide before the Lieutenant. With cheek to hard floor as Doetrieve pulled at the shock absorbent webbing, the dwarf watched the spider exit crushed doors and return to the chaos in the streets.

“She’s gettin’ really good at that.. Well dwarf, see you got your stick.”

The dwarf hadn’t realized he still had it--gripped firmly in his right palm yet to be uncovered. It had become a part of him unknowingly.

“Legs lookin’ terrible, stout one. This is,” Doetrieve next enunciated with pointed pronunciation, “Doc-ter Meh-low, ain’t it? Sure hope you can fix him up ‘cause hel needs it. Now listen, dwarf, all ya gotta do is enter that chamber first afore it does, and know the destination in your mind an’ heart, and if the fungus been there, he’ll have to come along. Pick a good place. And get ‘em to talk some sense about a cure once yer there. Don’t let ‘em leave ‘fore ‘e does!”

The dwarf suddenly recalled the conversation had the night previous behind glass bars. He tried to inform the Lieutenant of the lack of proper cure, but the elf’s mind was elsewhere, sharp eyes focused on the manhandled exit. The dwarf assumed he thought of Paris; he thought then of Waspig. He’d be reunited soon.

The dwarf sighed, threw his pick forward, and rolled himself atop emerald. Just after, the funguay flew through the air and landed in a heap beside him. A humming began and blue glowed from the floor. All bathed in light, and the two were gone.