Like the bipedal lemmings they were, the other scouts had followed suit, returning from subsequent trips wearing the mangled hides of their slain enemies as trophies in the tradition of primitive warriors everywhere. At some point the tribe’s armorer, Shuck, had inserted herself into the proceedings, which was why several of them were unfortunately now sporting matching jackets, trousers, or shoes – sometimes all three – made from pale wrinkly skin. One advantage of the hide’s… unusual texture was that the folds of flesh provided plenty of built-in pockets, perfect for the traveling gnome on the go. The downside was that they looked utterly horrific.
“They’re just expressing themselves, Corey,” soothed Ket when I voiced my disgust for the fiftieth time.
“Expressing themselves” would be taking up an instrument, or learning to paint, I thought grumpily. This? This is a crime against gnomanity.
The scouts were wrinkling their noses as they followed behind Ris’kin, and not just because of their proximity to their own stinky days-old skin-suits. The tunnel’s stench had intensified to almost unbearable levels. Moreover, the moss on the walls was disturbed in places, as though scraped by the repeated passage of bulky bodies. And it had gone quiet. Too quiet.
Adrenaline pumping, I scanned the walls and ceiling and realized that all the local creatures and insects – which had until now been providing an ambient underground soundtrack of chirps and croaks, chitters and skitters – had fled, leaving behind only heavy, ominous silence.
We must be getting close.
As I bent to investigate the spoor, the moss curled away from the light of the scouts’ illumishroom torches, as though in pain. I was so fascinated by its behavior I almost missed the hulking silhouette of a four-legged figure that lurched out of the gloom of a crevice to one side.
Thankfully, despite letting me move freely and decide our direction, I was never anything more than a passenger in Ris’kin’s form, though she granted me the illusion of holding the reins. Our bond may have allowed her to anticipate my wishes and respond accordingly, but my avatar retained complete autonomy over the squirrel-fox body I’d granted her on my first day on the job (and upgraded several times since).
So while I’d been mentally drooling over the feel of cobwebs on my face and the sensation of foliage beneath my fingertips, Ris’kin was somehow able to compartmentalize all that and had instead been paying attention to her innate survival instincts. Now, she detected the onset of danger and twisted just in time to meet it head-on.
Whatever it was.
What in the name of all the unholy hells is that?!
Two
Whack a Mole-Rat
Corey
The creature looked like a pale pink sausage with teeth and four legs, and I immediately recognized its kind as the driving force behind my scouts’ recent testiclesque fashion choices.
Its naked body – tubby, hairless, and more wrinkled than a waterlogged Shar-Pei – wasn’t much longer than the average gnome was tall, and its bared incisors were blunt like a squirrel’s. However, those teeth also happened to be the length of a finger, and they were gnashing furiously just inches away from my avatar’s face.
On instinct as unconscious and reactive as soiling myself – which, incidentally, I would definitely have done had this body belonged to me and not Ris’kin – I activated Insight.
Dire Naked Blesmol
Mammal
Also known as a ‘mole-rat.’
I couldn’t help but snigger a little at the name before rapidly recalling the gravity of the situation.
Focus, damn it.
I blinked away the Augmentary’s text, applying what little I’d learned to the much more pressing situation at hand.
So, not only was it a combination of two useless creatures – a mole and a rat – but it was a naked one at that. I actually felt sort of bad for the little monster. Unlucky for it.
Unlucky for me, I amended, as it dove right at us.
Ris’kin and I barely got our weapon up in time, raising the spear’s shaft to block the blesmol’s lunge.
Big mistake.
What I’d mistaken for fat on the creature’s podgy-looking frame was actually muscle. It barreled into us with the force of its momentum – or rather through us, knocking Ris’kin’s lithe form flat on her back and half-trampling her before managing to halt its charge and lumber around to see where she’d gone, gnomes scattering in its wake.
Flinching at the flare of pain from fresh-bruised ribs, my avatar raised herself into a crouch and jabbed upward with her spear to meet our opponent’s second charge. Shock jolted through us both as the stocky creature reacted faster than either of us anticipated; it reared back from the attack, front claws slashing at the air as its forelegs flailed like an outraged horse with a penchant for dramatics.
Recognizing her own imminent future as a red-furred pancake, Ris’kin launched into a roll, narrowly avoiding the blesmol’s front feet as they came crashing down where she’d lain just a moment ago.
Up close, the smell wafting from its underbelly was almost unbearable. Forget shart-blankets, this thing reeked like weeks-old cheese. The kind you’d have to wear goggles before consuming, and that leaks milky fluid when it’s ready to eat. A filthy cocktail of aromas.
Thankfully, my avatar had no gag reflex, though she was still clearly perturbed by the stench because her next attack fell well wide of its target. After stabbing at the air where the creature’s second head might have been had it had one, she ducked its retaliatory snapping jaws, reversed her grip on the spear, and stabbed down into the thing’s foot.
I expected it to shriek, to recoil, and maybe even retreat a little bit. But the blade barely penetrated its hide, and the creature let out nary a squeak. Ris’kin might as well have poked it with a toothpick for all the effect it had.
The sounds of more combat behind us reminded me that we weren’t alone here, for better or worse,
