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[b][u][center]A Whole New Party

Part 3

for Engy

by Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

The Depths of Dalomar - which was their name, no matter how much the dwarf believed otherwise - had been a simple cavern to plunder. Kyo'Thar had been prepared with a number of destructive spells, but the dungeon itself had been very simple. The walls had been weak, broken down by magic missiles, and the monsters within had been little more than fodder for those that were only beginning their lives in the wild. The orc had barely been needed, and had remained silent save for occasionally breaking down trapped doors from a distance.

Of course, at the end, his spells of enthrallment and enchantment had been all but required to retrieve and carry the loot that the dungeon had. The kobolds were willing enough once he set his eyes and attention on them, and their swirly, relaxed, over-happy expressions told a story of deep hypnosis once he was done with them. The orc stood at the entrance of the dungeon, shaking his head as they carried out gold, silver, and the occasional enchanted item.

[i]A hardy work-force, but hardly intelligent enough to rely on...[/i]

Shaking his head, the orc left the kobolds to their work, tapping his staff along the ground as he made his way back to his horse. He had just managed to mount up when something caught his attention from overhead. He paused, one slippered foot in the stirrup, and looked up and over his shoulder.

Nothing was there, not even a hint of motion, but there was a feeling of magic in the air. Something strong, too, something that...

[i]Hmm...[/i]

It was familiar, something that he had felt in Lork-Lund shortly before he had fireballed their original target. It hadn't been so random an action as Viola believed, either, but rather something born out of caution, That feeling of magic was strong, stronger than it should have been, and that left him wary. It wasn't quite human, nor quite elven. It didn't have the taste of the orc body magic, nor the feeling of the dwarven elemental powers. It was different, something that sang of sky and the open air.

And it irked him, because it was stronger than what he was used to dealing with. The fireball had been less vengeful, and more something to ensure that if he was dealing with someone strong in magic, they didn't get the chance to cast something strong back at him. One should always use either their strongest or second-strongest spell first, and then work on the utilities afterward. A crater on the ground was better than an enemy standing on undamaged earth.

But that hadn't been the source of the magic. It was somewhere around them, somewhere...

The orc shook his head, finishing mounting his horse. Whatever it was, it seemed to be interested in them if it had followed them all the way from the village. If it kept following them, then there was every reason that he would see its source, eventually. He was curious what it would turn out to be...and how hard it would be to take control of it.

"Wizard."

He turned, looking down at Red-Arms as he walked over. The monk's eyes were hazy, his cheeks red, almost like someone that had been drinking too much. It was a familiar expression; the savage man always had that look after he had gone through a killing spree. The monk chuckled.

"A good haul, hmm?"

"I suppose."

"Still sore that there weren't many magical items? Come on, it was easy."

"I do not expect payment from low-level dungeons. It's more...a feeling."

"Youuuuuuuu are hooked on a feeling...and high on believing..."

As usual, the monk was blood-drunk. The orc shook his head, pulling on his horse's reins and directing it toward the path.

"Viola!"

"Hmm?" the human woman grunted back from the growing pile of loot.

"I'm heading back early."

"What? But we're not done yet!"

"There's no final boss. I will head back to town and secure our lodgings. And then, I will rest."

"You didn't even do anything, you bastard."

"But I will, if I do not leave now."

"..."

"Will you dance the storms again, Viola Warsin?" he asked, turning his horse around again and clutching the staff. "I will call them, if I must."

"...Fine. Go. But you better be fucking ready when we get back to that asshole."

"I will be."

That 'asshole,' as his employer so eloquently put it, was also part of his interest. He was intrigued by just what the robed man actually knew.

Contrary to what he had said about the scrolls, they would have been useful. There were words here and there that were almost legible, and he could see that the writing had been done with different ink and different tools than any scribe's work that he had ever seen. There was something...intriguing about it, and he wanted to see just what the robed man had to say for himself when they spoke again.

But before that, he wanted to take the time to meditate. There were dark things that needed handling, and the orc did not wish to be disturbed, intentionally or accidentally. Red-Arms would be a danger to be around at the moment, and Olfel had, more than once, been a problem when it came to seeking silence. He kicked his horse's sides, and off he went.

#

Kyo'Thar checked into the inn back in Lork-Lund, taking a private room for himself and ensuring that the rest of the group would have their own private rooms when they reached the place. He went up to his own, sat on his bed, and crossed his legs. His staff lay across his lap, and he closed his eyes and slowly breathed out.

The meditative mindset came to him quickly, his thoughts disappearing as the magic rose within him. The tingling power that so many described when they cast their will upon the world was lacking with him. Instead, he felt the rolling deeps, the tendrils of the dark, and the whispers of the demons that lay at the edge of understanding. He clenched his jaws for a moment, almost grinding his tusks against his lips, before forcing the voices back to silence.

[i]The magic does not control me. I control it.[/i]

The currents of magic inside him pushed back against that statement, but he growled, slowly pushing back against it. His mind was as a wall, one that could be pushed to form and contain the energy as he chose.

[i]The magic does not control me. I control it.[/i]

It did not wish to be controlled, however. The powers of the dark never did, and he had to keep a close eye on it to keep it from sliding free and taking control of him. But he was good at that. Kyo'Thar had always been good at keeping things under control. It came with a great deal of practice with his family before they determined that he was a weakling and unsuited for their pride.

Of course, that turned out to be incorrect. A wizard's power came from a place of learning, and learning all the shames of one's family and exposing them to the world was a great deal greater revenge than the daily beatings that they had delivered unto him.

He breathed deeply, refusing to allow the dark powers the chance to reach through that angry crack in the wall. He plastered it over with satisfaction from that act, and slid deeper into the meditation, holding his focus as he channeled his mental walls around that power, gradually shaping and forming it to be something useful. In the last dungeon, his power had been insufficient in a few ways, though nothing to damage the party. The kobolds had had some resistance to the powers he had over the mind and body, and he needed to refine those spells.

He held the sigils that he had to memorize in his mind, and began the process of mental experiments, channeling his magic through that, whispering the shapes and forms of the spells. The dark power inside resisted him, but he forced it through the channels, making it work for him.

He would become greater. He would maintain control.

#

The stranger did not show until the day after their return, and by then, Kyo'Thar was refreshed and ready. He joined Viola, Olfel, and Mandred 'Red-Arms' in the common room of the inn, waiting at one of the tables for the robed figure to arrive. When he did, coming through the door like some spoiled little brat from the rich side of the country, he turned his attention to him. His attention was distracted, however, as the feeling of that strange, powerful, sky-magic had returned earlier in the morning, and he still didn't know where it was coming from.

It was irksome, distracting, and the orc did not need any distractions at that moment. He tapped his fingers against his staff in irritation, however, as the stranger sat down.

"Sorry about the wait. I kind of didn't know where you were, and I had to ask around," the hooded figure said.

"You asked about us?" Viola asked.

"Well, uh, not about you, specifically. Just asked where the scariest bunch of adventurers were staying, and they eventually pointed me here."

Red-Arms and Viola chuckled a bit at that, and no surprise. They enjoyed their fearsome reputation. Olfel kept his face neutral, but Kyo'Thar would guess that his dwarven comrade had a good deal of satisfaction with being feared, as well. The banished dwarf took what power he could and ran with it, lording it over others.

He found it interesting that the town had already determined that he was to be feared. A single fireball to achieve that. Truly, it was an economical use of his energies.

"So, you, uh, you found the dungeon and cleared it out already, I heard?"

"Yeah. Wasn't that hard," Viola said, stretching her arms over her head. "Barely broke a sweat."

And true that was. They had been quick at it. Very quick. Perhaps too quick.

"I guess, uh, that you pass the test," the robed man said. "If you're ready for something more, I have more coin to throw your way."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Another...uh, well, there's some fetch-questing involved, so I guess it'll be another hundred fifty."

It wasn't as shocking as the first payment that they had received, but it was still a high sum. If the first mission had been a test of their abilities, however, Kyo'Thar imagined that this would be a little more dangerous, something that would require more of them to properly succeed. And perhaps actually force him to use more than a small amount of his magic. That was all to the good, of course. Being made to hold onto his energy rather than expending it led to bad times, as the darker energy tried to come out and take control.

Viola gestured for the robed figure to continue, spinning her finger in a 'go on' gesture. Kyo'Thar, however, kept his attention on the robed man's hands.

They were dancing, twitching, almost nervous in the way that they drummed on the table. For a moment, he imagined that the young man was probably thinking of different lies to tell, or some sort of trap that he was trying to set up for them. But then, he started recognizing the nervous gestures.

[i]You are no scribe,[/i] he realized. [i]You have magic training.[/i]

The gestures were not complete, not enough to cast a spell, but they were going through the nervous movements of someone that had been trained in how to cast spells with their hands. He knew for a fact that some of those spells would lead to transformation, to shifts in the body and mind of the target. He clenched his hands that much tighter around the staff, narrowing his eyes.

But no spell came, and he had no need for a counter-spell. This time, at least. He didn't relax, however, and the stranger kept talking.

"I need you to go to another dungeon, but this one is locked. Locked by a nature spirit, actually, who was a lover to a farmer before he died. They need some tribute before they'll allow you in."

"Why not banish the ghosts?" the orc asked.

"...Uh, you could, you could," the stranger said. "But if you did, then some of the treasure would disappear with them. Locked to their presence and all that."

"I see."

Strange that the tribute would not banish them as well, but there were instances where that was the case. And it confirmed that the stranger knew something about magic. It was not just the finger-habits of someone that spent time around magic-users, but someone that had been properly trained and educated. The parchment might not have been just penned by the stranger, then, but written in full by them, as well.

[i]Curious...[/i]

He regretted handing the parchment back now. He would have liked to see what sort of spells were written out in that atrocious handwriting.

"So, uh, you'll need to stop in a series of villages on the way to the dungeon. I have a list of what you need."

The robed man reached into a pocket and pulled out a longer piece of parchment. He unrolled it and passed it over, and Olfel took it. The dwarf looked down at the page, cocked his head to the left, and then the right, and then grumbled.

"Can you write at all?" Darkbeard asked.

"I can, can't you read that?"

"You're asking me to read this? It's like a spider fell into an inkwell, got drunk, and danced across the page."

"...It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's worse. I've read drunken dwarven -"

"Is there any other kind?" Mandred asked.

"...I will pretend that you did not say that, oh failed monk." The dwarf shook his head. "Regardless, I'll have to transcribe it. Give me the list out loud."

"Oh, um, sure, let me just get it right in my head."

Kyo'Thar allowed himself ever so slight a smile, something that almost surprised him to do. The stranger wasn't particularly dangerous or interesting, but there was something to him that was oddly endearing despite all the frustrations that he was bringing with him. The fact that he had to give instructions out loud rather than being able to write them out, the fact that he was clearly nervous, the fact that he was some idiot that didn't know what he was doing were clearly all marks against him, but there was something in that clumsiness, something in that inexperience and innocence, that spoke to something in the orc.

Mostly, it made him want to take his staff and beat some sense into the young man, but there was also the part that wanted to take the time to show him how to do it properly. A good hand was something that would stand any magic-user in good stead, and that much, at least, could be achieved with proper self-control.

Olfel took out a fresh piece of parchment, unpacked an inkwell from his belt, and then pulled a quill seemingly from nowhere. The dwarf nodded.

"Whenever you're ready."

"Right. The first thing that you're going to need is a rooster."

The dwarf's quill sputtered at that, and Olfel looked up slowly.

"...A rooster?"

"Yes. Black and red, of course. Classic colors."

"..."

"I promise you, this is necessary."

"It had better be," Olfel muttered, looking down at the page again. "Swore that I would never get into trading livestock...shows how long that promise lasted..."

Kyo'Thar upgraded his opinion of the robed stranger a bit further. Anyone that could get a rise out of the dwarf like that was good in his books, and that meant that he was going to enjoy listening to this list. He smiled a little more, leaning back on his chair that little bit further.

"And after that, you'll need..."

#

The list had been long, very long, but it wasn't that hard to follow. Kyo'Thar and the rest of the party had set off half a day after getting the full list, having spent the morning and afternoon trying to find as many items as possible in Lork-Lund before they had to set off. They had found a rooster, a cluster of rusted nails, a cheese wheel - specifically cheddar, nothing else would do - as well as a couple of woolen blankets, but the rest of it had to be gained on the way there, something about having to use local ingredients for the lock.

Kyo'Thar was quickly reminded how much he hated fetch-questing as they made their way east. They had to travel far from the village, and they were soon past the main roads, making their way into the emptier lands where the villagers were stupider and stupider the further that they went. Literacy disappeared in short order, followed by the common sense and connection to the news coming down the main roads.

The only benefit was that there wasn't anyone there to see just what could happen to those that pissed him and the rest of the group off. Red-Arms was quite happy, of course. The monk was always happy when he could indulge in a little 'soothing murdering.'

But they managed to find a speckled robin's egg, and they even managed to get a dose of water from the wells of the Village of the Three Hills, something that involved running from one hill to another while the water was running from the different wells. The underground source was inconsistent, and it meant that they were struggling to get it all done in a day.

The four of them were trudging along the path, Viola and Olfel grumbling as they kept shuffling their spoils between the horses, while Kyo'Thar was dealing with the rooster that had decided it preferred to sit on his lap rather than anywhere else among the horses. The orc would have quite happily thrown the bird off to the side with its head cut off, save for one little feature that he found useful: it annoyed Olfel with constant crowing.

"Will you shut that bird up?!" the dwarf shouted as the rooster crowed for the third time that hour. "I can't think with it making that racket!"

"Then it is a good thing that thinking isn't what you're kept for, isn't it?" the orc asked, a slight chuckle following. "You are kept for your tongue, not your brain."

"What did you say, wizard?" the dwarf growled, his eyes narrowing, one hand halfway to his belt.

"I said that you are kept for your tongue, not your mind. You speak better than anyone else, including Viola. There is little need for you to think; all you have to do is present what we need to those that will not listen."

He knew that he was inflaming his own party member, but it was hard not to. The constant bargaining that went on between Olfel and the town merchants, the regular complaints that the dwarf had for finding spell components - and the constant corner-cutting that he did with bargain ones that seldom worked as well - meant that there was a serious problem between the two of them. They did not get along, and he always looked for a way to get a little bit of his own back with the gatekeeper of the finances.

This was just one of those times. He even took a moment to stroke the side of the rooster's neck with a finger, feeling an odd sense of propriety. If the rooster annoyed Olfel so much, perhaps he should turn it into a familiar. He was still due one of those, after all.

"Shut up, both of you," Viola said. "We're almost there, and then this will be done with. Just one more thing. Olfel?"

"Yes, yes. A well-worn bucket from a farmhouse," the dwarf said. "That, at least, should be an easy one."

"Considering there's a farming village just before the dungeon, yes."

Kyo'Thar nodded. A bucket, of all things. He imagined that there was a little bit of a nostalgic lock for the ghosts at the dungeon, but he hoped that this would all be worth it. All minor inconveniences had a price, but so far, it was a price worth paying.

Viola pulled at the reins of her horse, pulling back a bit until she drew up alongside him. He cocked his head to the side as she rode beside him.

"You're in a weird mood."

"Am I? I suppose I am."

"Want to fill me in?"

"Hmmm..."

The orc had to admit that he honestly wasn't sure what had influenced his mood. There was something in the air, admittedly, but it was something that he had been feeling for a while. That sky-magic was still around, though only barely; it was weaker than it had been, and he wondered if perhaps they had left it behind in Lork-Lund. Then again, that wouldn't be enough to actually make him happy. It only...intrigued him.

He shrugged.

"It must have been the mayor in the last village."

"You did make quite the example of him."

"Well, he had a hardy constitution. Not many can take being burned, struck by lightning, and washed by acid and get up for more."

"Is that why you let him live?"

"That, and for the fact that he looked quite...different," the orc admitted.

The burn marks and the acid washes, the pale and the red, and everything else that covered the mayor, had almost been like looking at a canvas. There was a piece of art there, and...

There had been an agreement. If the mayor could take all the suffering that the orc could rain down on him, then the village and the mayor himself would be spared. The mayor had managed it, and despite being a wielder of the dark powers, Kyo'Thar was an orc of his word. He had allowed the mayor to live, as well as those that lived in the village rather than turning them to an undead army.

Viola shrugged, moving on, and Kyo'Thar continued to pet the rooster. It seemed to be taking a greater fancy to him.

Then it crowed again, and Olfel all but descended into utter madness. It was most amusing.

#

Unfortunately for him, that madness was soon to be shared. Not from the rooster, however, but from the final village.

They had arrived expecting to find a village center with a series of farmhouses spread out around it. That had been the way of things in the villages further away from the dungeon, though they had never bothered getting this particular item from them, as the list called for it to come from the true wilds, in the places well off the beaten track. With the number of villages with so many outlying farms, they'd been sure that it would be easy to get what they needed.

Instead, they came upon a village that was surrounded by a stone wall and thorny pikes laid into the ground. They stopped at the hill overlooking the village, and every single one of them started twitching. Red-Hands had it worst, his hands on the verge of sliding off the reins and clearly getting close to a murder-spree, but it was Olfel that spoke first.

"I don't see any farms right now...I don't think that's a good sign."

"They must be behind the walls," Viola said.

"Look, I'm not [i]that[/i] well-versed in the way that crops have to grow, but I'm pretty sure that they need more space than that walled village is going to give them."

"We have to try. Look. Let's just go inside and...see what happens."

That was how it started. Where it went...

Kyo'Thar slammed his staff down into the roof of the third building in a row, breaking through the thatch burning all around him. The inhabitants of the house screamed as he cleared a hole, staring up at him.

"Your bucket or your life," he grunted.

"We...we don't have a bucket!"

He had been hearing that all day. They had offered gold for a farmhouse bucket, had even gone so far as to hold out a single platinum piece for one, but nobody brought anything forward. Gritting their teeth, they had threatened the village priest for one, and he had said that it wasn't a thing, that the gods blessed them with food and water every day, that they only took what they needed from the church.

He wasn't entirely sure how they had escalated from threatening the priest to burning down the village, but somewhere in there, one of them had lost their patience. He wanted to say that it had been Red-Arms, but he honestly couldn't be entirely sure about that. There was something about the whole experience that just pissed them all off and left them all unsatisfied, all angry at the situation, and none of them willing to give any mercy.

His rooster flapped and cooed in his ear, and he patted it gently, cushioning it and holding it as he leaped to the next house. Those in the building under him fled, running through a square filled with other screaming men and women.

[i]We must look like mad-men.[/i]

And they probably were, all things considered. It wasn't the first time that they had run rampant as a team, wasn't the first time that they had burned a village to the ground, but it was the first time that they had done it over something so little. A goddamn bucket.

Another building, then another. The walled village was so hot from the flames that the stone wall that protected it was starting to run, the rocks melting. The magical fires continued to spread, and at the edge of the village, Olfel was doing his profiteering. He was forcing the villagers to pay with everything they had to flee the village with their lives, and they were, of course, giving him what he wanted. They would do anything to stay alive.

He leaped to another house, stabbing a hole in the roof. The fires crackled around him, and this time, the villager inside stabbed upwards. He caught the blade at the base of his staff and knocked it away, a cheap sword of bronze or something going flying. The orc shook his head.

"Bucket or life," he muttered, no longer interested in doing anything but the formality.

"Why...why do you need a bucket?" the villager asked, standing between the orc and the human woman that Kyo'Thar assumed was his wife.

"...Why?" The orc cocked his head to the side. "You're the first one to ask why rather than just say you don't have one."

"We have one, we have one!" the woman said.

"Hush!" the man growled.

"You idiot! It's the only way we can survive!"

"But it's -"

"Give it to him!"

"You have a bucket?" Kyo'Thar asked.

"I...why do you need it?!"

"...Please don't make me ask again." The bucket search had been as humiliating and undignified as could be, and he was sick of running through the village trying to find something that he had begun to wonder if it even existed. "Just give it to me."

"But it was my father's bucket, and his father's before him. It was all they had to water the farm, and -"

"That is ideal. Give it to me."

"But -"

"FUCKING HELL, SAM! GIVE IT TO HIM!"

The wife's shout was almost enough to deafen him on the rooftop; he could only imagine what it had done to the man's ears. She darted out from behind him, running to the mantle and shuffling things around. She eventually pulled out a well-worn wooden bucket, one with a handle that was about to fall out and with a hole in the bottom. Kyo'Thar nodded. It would suffice.

Taking it as she passed it up through the hole in the roof, he pushed it against his belt. She grabbed at his ankle, crying as she begged.

"Now...now let us live, please! Please!"

"...You will live."

After all, there was little point in being threatening if one's enemies believed that they would die regardless. He raised his staff, swirling it through the air, and then brought it down to the ground. Rain fell, a downpour that would start floods elsewhere, but already the fires started hissing, some of them falling, others straining to stay alive.

"Come, Croon. We have what we need."

"Ca-ca!"

#

They continued their journey, lamenting the loss of so much time, and everyone swore that they would never mention the bucket adventure to anyone. It would be their secret that they would take to their grave, and even Kyo'Thar agreed with that. Nobody needed to know that they had burned down an entire village for nothing more than a bucket.

They followed the dirt path up to the dungeon entrance, half-dreading what they were going to find there. Kyo'Thar wasn't particularly worried: ghosts and spirits had their own rules that they had to follow, and while they could be very good at finding loopholes in the rules, so long as you followed them, they had to do the same. They had gathered all the different items needed to unlock the door, and they would be plundering the dungeon in short order.

They crested the final rise, and he was completely distracted from the actual doorway by [i]that[/i] feeling in the air again. The orc stiffened at the feeling of the sky-magic once more, twisting his head around and looking towards the heavens as it grew so strong that he couldn't feel anything else. Whatever had been around in Lork-Lund must have been barely passing by if it was this strong out here. That, or they had just found its lair, he supposed.

But if this was the lair...

He gripped his staff far tighter than usual, feeling the wood cracking and splintering under his fingers. He had to force himself to stillness and calm again, and for once, he had to calm down the dark powers inside. They were somehow even more startled and spooked by what lay ahead than he was. That had to be a first in his experience.

Thankfully, Croon was as upbeat as ever, and gave him a little peck-bite on the ear. Slightly painful, as the rooster didn't know his own beak strength, but it was still something to drag him back to the moment.

As he grunted his thanks, he finally shook off the shock of that magic presence and looked at the dungeon door. He expected an altar, or an alcove, or something where they would put all their stuff. There usually was when it came to offering something to the spirits.

Instead, they were faced with a door wide-open and waiting for them. Kyo'Thar joined the rest of the party as his jaw dropped, the four of them staring at the open dungeon with nothing less than the utmost loathing.

"Are you telling me...are you seriously fucking telling me..."

"That we could have come here without stopping the whole way?" Olfel finished Viola's statement. "Yeah, pretty much what it looks like."

"...I'm going to kill that bastard," Viola said. "I'm going to fucking kill him for wasting our time with bad intel."

"I might just join you," Kyo'Thar muttered.

It had been a long, difficult journey getting here, and 90% of it had been completely pointless. They had wasted their time when they could have been raiding the dungeon probably...three days ago, by his best reckoning.

Well, they were going to raid it now, and the robed rich man better have one damn good reason for dragging them through this bullshit when they finally got back to Lork-Lund.

"Wait here, Croon. Watch over the horses," the orc muttered as he dismounted.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: Kyo'Thar and the evil party have a new task, this time getting to another dungeon and finding items to open it along the way. However, a surprise is in store for them.

Tags: No sex, orc, human, dwarf, magic, evil party, series, fantasy, fetch quest, wizard, familiar, amusing, silly, asshole,