Short story: The daily fortunes and misfortunes of the Untitled Start-Up Adventuring Company

 

‘“The Blade of Rel! The Blade of Rel!” Tis no jest, meine Freunde, he went on and on about it! Screeching from the top of his lungs!’ the dwarf banged his tankard on the table and the patrons of the Tap recoiled.

‘Horseshite!’ shouted Pascal the proprietor from behind his counter.

Karl Gruber tapped his fingers on the pommel of the flame-bladed sword as he snarled his riposte: ‘Mock me if you will, the matter came to pass exactly as I told it to you! I have the sword to prove it, have I not?’

‘I reckon you couldn’t decide on splitting the loot, so you split his skull!’ Pascal roared and immediately laughter rolled through the establishment.

‘Take me for a backstabber do you, du Fettsack?’ Karl rose, blade in hand, and the laughter quickly faded. A few seconds of silence followed, and just before Pascal could open his mouth to calm the dwarf, Karl continued, ‘Well, it’ll be the only truth you ever told!’ and the laughter returned as quickly as it had stopped.

Of course, Karl could have told the patrons he still heard Hubert’s voice. It came from the sword even though he heard it only in his mind. But the dwarf didn’t quite know what to think of that, or how he felt about it, so he kept it to himself. The innkeeper left Karl alone after his last remark, and the rest of the evening in the Tap passed relatively quietly, thanks at least partly to the dwarf’s restraint. When Pascal finally closed up, he only had to mop up a few elven teeth and half a plate of pasta.

 

The next morning

 Alberto smiled as he welcomed his fellow adventurers to the first official meeting of the adventuring company, whose name, despite its infamy, no one in Tours-en-Savoy recalled. All attendees knew the occasion for the meeting was Gaston’s long-awaited return from the hospital. But, as the founding member had rather emphatically requested that the matter never be spoken of again, the company officially gathered for the purpose of a “team-building exercise”, a term insisted upon by Alberto. Even though this designation met with loud protest from the other members, eventually everyone agreed to take part in the exercise after Alberto reminded them that no less than three new members would be joining the upcoming raid into Castle Xyntillan. Among these were a thief named Rat, whose shifty eyes were always shaded by his wide-rimmed hat, a cleric named Eef, who was suspiciously optimistic about her career, and a dwarf named Grim, who looked not nearly as bad as he smelled, though he was hideous.

‘Buongiorno everyone,’ the elf said as the meeting commenced, ‘We come together today to indulge in a team-building exercise. The purpose of this exercise is to set straight our goals and to ensure that no-one will feel left out when we enter Xyntillan during our next raid. Speaking of which, who’s excited for our next raid?’ Eef enthusiastically waved her hand, but only Karl’s belching broke the silence.

               ‘Eccellente,’ the elf continued, ‘now please listen carefully to my instructions. Before we begin everyone will receive a stack of these fragments of parchment on whi-’

               ‘Oi! Aren’t those pages from Hubert’s grimoire?’ Bodo the halfling interrupted.

               ‘Well yes, but I only used the pages he didn’t write anything on,’ the elf explained, ‘Now Attenzione! So, when you receive your parchment, please write down any of the goals you hope to achieve in the castle. When you are satisfied, stick your parchme-’ a woosh followed by a loud twang interrupted the elf once more. A rusty dagger firmly pinned a piece of parchment to the barrel Alberto had positioned on a stool behind him.

‘“KILL THE ELF”, Ha-Ha very funny guys’ Alberto exclaimed with his hands on his hips, ‘Now get to work! Andiamo andiamo!’

               Soon more pieces of parchment were pinned to the barrel with daggers, arrows and bolts. Grim used a sizable booger to stick his fragment to the barrel, on which he had attempted to draw some sort of diagram. No one could discern its meaning, and no one asked.

               Most said “FIND TREASURE”, but others were a bit more descriptive and Alberto copied the best ones into a comprehensive list:

-            Deal with Gilbert the Fox

-            Kill Patrice-Malévol to help Claude Malévol

-            Escape from Aristide Malévol’s obsession

-            Find Sybille Malévol’s potion storage

-            Find Nicholas Flamel’s Philosophical Summary

-            Solve the Blind Beast’s riddle

-            Find magical dagger in grave for shady merchant

-            Explore beyond the prison

 

One more goal was added by Alberto himself, on the bottom of the list: “develop headquarters and marketing strategy.” He explained the company should have a recognizable name and coat of arms, the headquarters should be furnished (everyone still slept on the floor) and some of the company’s income should be invested into public relations, as it was becoming quite impossible to find any good recruits. Following more instructions, and after everyone first made a personal “top three”, it was finally decided that “explore beyond the prison” would be the goal of the upcoming raid. Satisfied with the result, hands were shaken and beers were poured.

 

A week later

 ‘By the Holy Father do somethi-!’ Shuberts scream was cut off by one of the severed hands, animated by some ancient curse. Another one wrapped around his throat. Bodo, Grim, Rat, Eef and Karl all stood and watched how the cleric was slowly strangled, petrified by the shocking sight. Only Rubert, the burly fighter, kept his cool and jumped at the crawling hands enveloping his friend. Kicking, chopping and biting at the writhing mass, he tried to free the holy man. Shubert gagged and coughed when the hands loosened their grip. As he rolled away from the mass, the hands diverted their attention to their assailant. The mass moved as though it were a single organism, and it sprang to his throat. Within seconds Rubert felt his airway completely blocked off by the iron grip of the cursed hands. Now the other adventurers, inspired by Rubert’s courage, surged towards the swarm and started cleaving through its countless members. Soon the tiled floor of the throne room was littered with severed fingers and cleaved palms. But it was too late. In the centre of the bloodbath lay the lifeless corpse of Rubert.

               ‘You idiot! Why did you have to sit down on that throne?’ Bodo lamented to the priest, who was still too out of breath to respond. Karl and Rat paid their respects to their fallen comrade.

‘Verdammt, another employee lost, just when the raid was going so well!’ Karl complained. Only an hour earlier, the party had dealt with a gang of ghouls, who had made their den in what had once been a gardener’s workshop. Among the gardening tools they had found a bag of gold crumbs labelled Miracle Formula. Rat used one of the crumbs to grow some sort of magical plant. And Karl was convinced that the bag of turnips he found would make him rich.

               ‘Well, now that that’s dealt with, let’s see what’s so special about this glorified nightstool!’ Said Grim, and he seated himself on the stone throne just as the priest had done. Bodo opened his mouth to protest, but refrained when he realised the sheer futility of such an action. Grim started frantically running his fingers all around the armrests, as if looking for some sort of secret only he knew about. Suddenly a loud clang was heard and the party gasped in unison. Grim seemed to have disappeared.

               ‘Down here!’ Grim’s voice sounded from a round hole in the floor, just where the dais supporting the throne had been. Moments later Grim was looking up at the five adventurers perching over the hole above him. Still seated on the throne, he now found himself in a damp and dark room, which seemed to have been carved out of solid rock. Again he reached under the armrest and, when his fingers found the carefully engineered switch, the seat rose up to the throne room again, almost catching Karl’s beard when it closed off the hole.

               ‘Mein Gott,’ Karl exclaimed, ‘The Malévols must have dwarves on their payroll!’

               ‘I reckon the throne is cursed, like that damned sword of yours’ said Shubert, grabbing for his holy symbol.  

               ‘Quatsch! Simple dwarven engineering, that’s all. Now komm sofort, gather on that throne and let’s have a look downstairs.

               After some careful exploring the adventurers discovered that the cavernous room below the throne was connected to two even darker corridors. In addition, a statue of a priest stood in a niche, which gladly thanked Rat for his polite consultation with it. In a small locked cloakroom a fool’s garb was found and donned by Eef, and Bodo eagerly dressed himself in a kingly robe. His eagerness was cut short when he soon found out it was infested with fleas.

               Behind a grille in the western wall the party made a peculiar discovery. Inside a rather large room decorated with frescoes of saints, they met a nameless hermit. The humble man had no belongings whatsoever, except for an old bible, and the companions learned that the assistant named Samuel occasionally brings him food. The pious hermit could not explain what made his hermitage so special, explaining only that it was ‘a very holy place’.  Their conversation was rudely and abruptly brought to an end when sounds of scuffling bones were heard coming from the northern corridor. With great haste the party made their way toward the throne, but not everyone could fit on the dais at once. Bodo and Shubert remained below and Karl, who had leaped at the ledge in a panic, now hung from the ceiling, suspended by his beard which, this time around, did get caught between the dais and hole. When the others realised their comrades were trapped, they went down again, almost crushing Karl under the dais, and a fierce battle with the undead followed. But, despite the rookie members, the horde of lifeless lords were no match for the companions and the fight was won without serious injury.

               The adventurers agreed the grottoes were best to be avoided for now, and they decided to explore a bit more on the ground floor of the northeastern wing. But, after opening a single door, they were greeted by a harrowing sight. Inside a large ballroom, an ensemble of phantasmal figures danced to a cacophony produced by an unseen orchestra. With unspoken agreement, the companions carefully closed the door again, called it a day, and went home. Back in Tours-en-Savoy, one more goal was added to the bottom of the list: 

Explore the grotto.

The profit:

-            Regal robes, 2000g

-            Four bottles of perfume, 500g

-            Gem-studded goblet, 1000g

-            A seedbag labelled Miracle Formula, filled with gold crumbs, 750g.

-            A plant grown from one of the gold crumbs, 500g.

-            Bag of turnips, not worth much as of now.