[Episode 233576] [Episode 233576]“This way, please,” The Mentor stated, waving towards a table near the back of the casino, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other recruits. After all, no need to let the troops learn that they may not be the highest paid servant of the Keeper. Moreover, if the Keeper finally decided to take advantage of his wife’s … inability to blast him, so be it.
However, he now owed that Seventh Circle damned Dark Elf some gold. He didn’t think the figurative bastard could pull it off.
Dark Elves were notorious for not submitting to human Keepers—they only worked for other Dark Elves or more powerful, darker deities. For Ranma to have attracted one at least, so early on in his career…
“Oh, how they corrupt so fast…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Pirotess said as she sat back in her chair. “Now then ... I've talked with your master. He said I'd be as paid as much as the men ... and get my own lair...”
Okay, the Keeper was either a marketing genius or a fool in negotiating. Though perhaps in this case, it might be a little of both. “Then those issues will not be up for debate,” The Mentor stated. “Though if I may ask, why did you even seek work with a human Keeper, a male at that?” Best to find out quickly if she was a threat in any shape or form. The young male would hardly have been the first male Keeper slaughtered by a pretty face.
Pirotess grinned. “He's the first new face around here in four-hundred years. I've tried to work with the others... Malbrin was the best, but me being a female Dark Elf, he demanded certain … favors … and paid me only half. The others sought to pay me LESS than half AND that Nefelania bitch sought to cut my face up within the first five minutes of meeting me…” she shuddered. “The less said about Zeldon the better.”
The Mentor nodded, chuckling darkly—as was his manner, since once couldn’t expect an Agent of Corruption to chuckle happily. Her work history at least, gave them some intelligence on how the other Dungeons were set up. Moreover, it was quite true that ‘fresh blood’ had been lacking for quite some time, so rare was it nowadays to see some adventuring soul seeking out power.
But alas, he should stop dreaming of the Good Ole Days and move on. “And I’m sure that what I … witnessed … didn’t hint at any ulterior motives…”
She could only grin. “Let us simply say I liked the total package and the … benefits it may offer.”
The Mentor nodded. “You seek favor with your body?” It wouldn't be the first of such. Mistresses—the Minions, not the harem sluts—were well known for such tactics.
She smirked. “I have a human fetish and he is the nicest example I've ever seen down here. Can you blame me?”
“I am not one who could judge such things,” The Mentor waved off. He was having a bit of trouble even trying to remember if he had a harem—but if he did, he knew damned well that it was large and the envy of other Keepers. “But I should warn you of his wife. She has a … explosive trigger.”
“He too warned me,” Pirotess stated. “Though I do believe I have more to worry from Greater Vampire carrying the Keeper than the Keeper herself.”
“Don’t be so certain,” The Mentor spoke. “She did, after all, decimate a Keeper I would have tasked as being the second-most-difficult for my Master to eventually face, and she did so by herself.”
Pirotess raised an eyebrow. “Wait. I heard the stories. The only Keeper to die recently was Sidarian and it's being said all over Skid Row that Keeper Ranma is the one that did in that little cheapskate bastard.”
The Mentor offered her a sinister smile. “Indeed. As he took over Lina’s new Dungeon soon claiming it as her own … her victories became his victory by proxy.
“Though I do feel a bit of curiousness as to how such news was disseminated,” The Mentor continued. “Was it due to an escaping member of the late Keeper’s Dungeon?” Neither Lina, Ranma, nor any of the assorted Imps and monsters—who had been looting that Dungeon, had mentioned any ‘visitors’ during that time. If there had been … and no one noticed, then how truly secure was even this Dungeon?
Shaking her head, the Dark Elf replied, “No. Local thugs went in after things had settled in hopes of looting the place for anything special. They are the ones that came back with tales that Keeper Ranma's forces had destroyed Keeper Sidarian and his Minions. After all, his were the ones last seen going in there … and then no one or the goods, coming out.”
The Mentor nodded. It had been some time since they finalized the move. Plus, no doubt word of what Keeper Ranma had done to the others at the Auction House was still fresh on their minds. But since the ‘special’ traps had not been triggered, those set to alert them that a foe was approaching areas only Keepers would go, he would let it be for now.
Of course, now some useless hag would have to be sent to reset those traps—can’t have a plan destroyed simply by an attrition of stupid people.
“So anyway,” the female Dark Elf Archer spoke. “I am good at a number of things: Fencing, Darts, Spell Craft, Wind Spirit Summoning, Poisons, Assassination, Bone Raising, Horseback Ride—”
“Wait,” The Mentor interrupted her. “Bone raising? You have Necromantic skills?”
She smirked. “Just ask the Dungeon Keeper.”
If he had a face, he would have smirked. “Let us continue with skills and such not involving seducing your employer.”
Smiling, she leaned back in her chair. “I was involved in the Second War of Shadows following—”
Ranma sighed as he looked over the form of his ‘wife’ on the bed. He couldn’t help but notice said outfit on her ... no, he wasn't looking at her ass, but he notices the style was definitely … unique, “So like that damned tailor…”
“I believe it is, ‘The Tailor’,” Seras informed her master politely.
“Whatever,” Ranma stated, trying to focus on the threading of the corset. He knew all too well how much of a pain the damned things were. And since his lovely … wife … wasn’t screaming her head off about exposing her—what he considered—pale ass to him, it had to be damned tight. “He leave any instructions with this thing?”
“I believe not,” Seras stated. “He seemed to be somewhat relieved that she was unable to constantly … chat,” she finished, deciding not to use his exact phrasing.
“Kill … him,” Lina spoke in a raspy voice.
“Later,” Ranma responded, looking about for the knot. Surely it wasn’t that small. The threads were about the size he expected. At least it isn’t metal like Chardin’s…
It took many minutes and a skilled eye of the martial artist... but fortunately, Ranma found where the tiny knot came into existence. With the hands skilled far beyond that of a surgeon, the Dungeon Keeper did his best to untie the bestial bit of what felt like barbwire against his fingers.
*Ker-PWANG*!
“AUUUGGH!” Ranma screamed as he found himself in the position of needing an eye-patch.
Staring at the bleeding hole on her master's face, Seras twitched, unintentionally licking her lips.
To Lina, it didn’t matter that her ‘husband’ was cursing about, hoping he wasn’t blind. All that mattered was that her ribs were no longer being crushed by that Ruby-Eyes damned outfit, allowing her to start taking deep gulps of air, feeling life flow back into her body.
Not even mindful of what it might mean, she sat up, using some of her newly returning strength—and a good bit of Heart Mana—to launch the top away from her and send a Fireball following it. Sure, it wouldn’t have destroyed the outfit—not with the level of charms The Tailor placed on them, but it made her feel good.
Enjoying her small victory, she didn’t notice that Ranma had stopped hopping about, was staring at her exposed chest—which now sported two additional rings that The Tailor had given her without her knowledge, and that said husband was now bleeding a bit from his nose, causing Seras to start to drool.
“Uhhh…,” Ranma could only groan unintelligibly, staring at this sight with his one good eye. “Uh, Lina … I don't think those were there before,” was all he could finally bring himself to answer.
Gasping in excitement, Lina turned towards him. “Huh?” was her intelligent response.
Ranma simply pointed down.
An eyebrow raised, Lina looked down, her conscious mind quickly realizing two important facts. The first was that she was now topless and exposed to a man. Normally, she would immediately try and blast said male for being such a witness, but this was negated by the second thing she noticed.
“What the hell?” she muttered, noticing two new shiny piercings adorning her breasts.
“I believe those had been The Tailor's earrings,” Seras answered her Mistress as she continued to ease herself over to her Master, feeling her taste buds sing with joy and happiness as the most pleasing of all nectars was soon within licking distance.
“Oo~oh,” cooed Skuld, leering at them. “I want some too!”
“Why do I have that freak’s jewelry on my chest?” demanded Lina.
“How should I know?” yelled Ranma, as Lina had been staring at him when she yelled.
“You suggested that I go see him!”
“… Well, you did need clothes…” the pigtailed Dungeon Keeper answered quietly. He then turned his head to look at the Greater Vampire. “Seras?”
Said blonde, red-eyed undead stuck her tongue back into her mouth. “… Yes, Master?”
“Please... don't lick my eye-socket,” Ranma told her firmly. “That’s just gross.”
“But such precious fluids should not be wasted,” she all but purred. “And it is already regenerating. Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose at the sight of the insanity that was her life—for now—she resumed glaring at him. “Give me your shirt!”
“Wait, what?” Ranma sputtered, torn between Seras’s exploring tongue and Lina’s glares.
“Well, I can’t wear that … thing,” she stated with certainty, pointing at the corset.
“Yes you can,” Seras replied. “You were wearing it on the way back.”
“Fine. Then I choose NOT to wear it,” Lina corrected herself. “And stop probing with your tongue. It looks like you're trying to give his skull a kiss!”
Using Lina’s distraction to put his hand back over his regrowing eye—that felt creepy beyond all belief—he turned to face Lina. “So you’re okay with walking around like that?” he asked.
Lina blinked for a moment, the Number Two issue fading and allowing the Number One issue to surface, causing her to squeak as she yanked some of the blankets on the bed to cover her front, sending a killing glare his way. “No I am not!” she yelled. “I’ll just wear my old clothes for a while longer.”
“Uh, Mistress,” Seras said as she raised a finger, “we left them with The Tailor. He felt you might still want them, but felt he could alter them to make them more well-suited to your tastes and statute of power... and build.”
Lina’s eye twitched, mentally wondering if she could summon a Ragna Blade to slaughter that evil elf. “Then give me your shirt, my lovely husband,” she stated, her tone indicating ‘no’ was not an option.
“Hell no!”
No one ever said Ranma could take a hint. “If I change, I don’t want half those idiots staring at my chest!”
Hand twitching in preparation for a Fireball, she turned towards Seras.
“My clothes only have substance because it is my will,” the Greater Vampire replied. “These cease to exist when removed from me.”
Eyes twitching now, she turned towards the last resident in the room … who was dancing with Lina’s discarded corset.
“I really don’t think her clothes would fit you,” Ranma stated. His eye went wide as an idea hit him. “I know! I can ask Pirotess if she has anything extra for you to wear!”
Lina blinked her eyes once, twice. "Pirotess... who is... Pirotess?" she asked curiously. She had a feeling this was going to irk her.
A sweat-drop rolling down the side of his head, the pigtailed Dungeon Keeper replied, “Oh, just a new Minion. Female, a Dark Elf. Carries clothes and lots and lots of daggers. I think she likes stabbing things.”
Lina was almost growling at the prospect of a Dark Elf in her domain, partly out of fear that said female Dark Elf could be as perverted as the lone male one she knew.
But if she had a spare top or two, perhaps even some bottoms, that she’d be willing to part with for some gold…
“Fine, dear,” Lina spat. “Please bring her here so I can ask.
“Then, we are going to have a nice, long chat about who you know and recommend to me, in a cozy place that is just the two of us.”
Ranma gulped.
Seras wondered if she could stay close enough for ‘clean-up’.
Skuld glared. “I’m his first!” she exclaimed, thinking Lina wanted some ‘married time’ with Ranma.
Blinking owlishly, Lina opened her mouth to ask her ‘husband’ what the girl’s statement was about, but sadly—
Pop!
Her nipple rings had two functions, spells that The Tailor had created for his more ‘difficult’ customers, one per ring. One was a mental spell, meant to keep Lina from wanting to take them out.
The other was meant to summon her corset back, putting it back on her. After all, how would the client learn to appreciate his work if they tossed it off on impulse. True, it would be delayed during certain … acts—dying because someone was being intimate with you when the corset was reapplied … over them and you, was a poor way to be ended.
But this was not one of them.
“… Shit,” was all Ranma could think to say as Lina sat there, her chest once again constricted by the garment. “… Um,” he looked at Seras, “you take it off this time.”
Hey, this delegation stuff wasn't too hard to figure out.
Lina just fell over to her side, trying to breath once again, silently promising to cut back time on her research to get home to create a spell to ensure the Dark Elf suffered for all eternity for this.
“Oh! Can I?” asked Skuld with a smile, a smile that made Lina pale even a bit more.
There is something definitely wrong with that girl, was her final thought as the non-devil in a blue dress hopped over to her.
Prince Michael was a good and just man, raised well by his father in the ways of truth, honor, valor and the ways of the World Above. For him, Justice was a way of upholding these virtues for the betterment of everyone, damn the consequences...
Or at least, that is what King Richard would have liked to believe he molded his son into. Instead, his son, by a genetic fluke, possessed the one thing that made men into true rulers...
Common Sense.
That was how Michael saw that if you wanted to keep the populace coy and moving along, forget the carrot--the lash could work just as well! That was how Michael knew that gold is what was needed to keep things running smoothly in a political situation... and finally, why he was doing what he did now. Above ground, in the sunlight, they called their trials and tribulations the concept of 'Justice'. But down here in the dark, it was more truthfully called...
Revenge.
That is why he lead this regiment of trained Knights down here to retrieve a few kidnapped maidens. It was a farce to send so many for so few but the Prince was able to tell himself this much... it was merely a tooth-for-a-tooth and an eye-for-an-eye.
No matter how ‘civilized’ any group, nation, or town pretended to be, often this was what ‘justice’ came down to: you did such, now such must be done to you. Above ground, they dressed this up, gave it the appearance of fairness, equity, and right.
Below ground…
But at least above ground, they tried their best to get the guilty, held their tongues, did not strike out against any offense, minor or major, real or perceived. Under ground, many would rather kill you than look at you, and for those that would look at you; it was to see if they could kill you and if it would garner them enough to cover their troubles.
Yes... Prince Michael really wasn't sure which way of life he preferred. Granted, it was much easier to live life above ground, especially with his privileged stance as a PRINCE... but down here... in the dark and cold...
He shoved such thoughts from his mind, hand on his hilt, as he continued down the path, the puke-green moss lighting their way, but leaving plenty of shadows for an enemy to leap from and attack them. No, this was not a place to be distracted in.
“Any idea how much longer, my Lord?”
“If you wanted to know such, Sir Anthony, you should have asked the lazy troll,” the Prince stated. “Until I feel we have gone as far as needed, or until I feel we were lied to by that troll, we continue on.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the Knight responded, loyalty in his tone, as well as shame for having questioned his Prince.
“Your highness,” Michael heard a call from him. “You really shouldn't be taking the lead down here…” one of the men said. “It puts you in a dangerous position.”
The Prince turned back to look at Sir Anthony. “Then would you prefer to be the one taking the lead?”
“No, my liege, carry on as is the sworn duty of your station in life,” the Knight humbly—but most certainly wisely—replied. He had a wife and three kids up top to think about.
Nodding, the group resumed their journey in silence. Despite their fears, nothing attacked them, except the occasional wild imagination. After what seemed like hours, the tunnel opened, displaying a cavern, perhaps larger than the castle, maybe even the surrounding townships. Inside resembled a outer wall, taller than any they had seen, surrounded by campsites, bridges over running rivers and lava flows, all under the multicolored glow of the ceiling, which seemed to be sprouting glowing mushrooms the size of forts, as well as the moss.
“What in the Light's good name is this?” Sir Christopher called out from the back. “It... it’s unlike anything I've ever seen before?”
“Truly, this is the work of the Darkness I tell you, the Darkness!” called another of the Knights.
Sighing, the Prince shook his head. “Sir Philip, please shut your trap.”
He really should have selected more knights with common sense, instead of taking what was available, to get this over with as quickly as possible. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be drawn into a fight, just because some panicky knight decided to stab the first non-human he came across.
Slowly, they made their way over the craggy rocks, trying to stay from the trampled path, and make their way across to the bridges to enter the fortified underground city. Had his father been here, he would have insisted on a suicidal charge into the camps, to slaughter the evil that surrounded the place, before continuing on their mission.
The prince wanted to live to ascend to the throne, thank you.
As they came to the front set of doors to the city, they came across a … well … the Prince would go as far to say that this hideous pig thing, guarding the large metal door was an Orc, but even he knew them not to be THIS ugly!
Yet, on the other hand, the way it held a large mace and was dressed in scraps of armor made him realize this was perhaps the city guard... if they had guards.
“Greetings, lowly Orc,” the Prince said in a commanding voice. “My troops and I wish to enter this city. We are here due to the grave insistence of his Majesty, the King! Will you not let us pass?”
The creature gave the Prince and his forces a scrutinizing gaze, deciding how much it could seemingly get out of these guys.
Finally, the Orc decided, “Fifty gold for the lot of you.”
“How dare you?” cried out Sir Philip.
Had his face shield not been down, the Prince would have palmed his face in frustration. It seemed the loyal knight had forgotten one simple fact, as many did when confronted by those of the Darkness: they didn’t always believe the King had divine rule over everything. “Tis a steep price you ask for, Orc. I offer ten.”
The Orc snorted. Ten pieces? Were they serious? That was about as funny as the reported ass-kicking of the Orc over on the Seventh Bridge by a scrubby little urchin with a pigtail hairstyle. “Forty-five.”
“Thirty and we’ll let you slack your lusts on Sir Philip,” the Prince spoke seriously.
“What!?” squealed the Knight mentioned.
Looking over his shoulder, the Prince proclaimed, “It’s for the betterment of the group. The needs of the many outweigh the few and all that nonsense my father says.”
Grinning widely—and showing his lack of oral hygiene—the Orc proclaimed, “DEAL!”
“WHAT!?!” screamed Sir Philip.
“The path of the Knight is fraught with peril,” Sir Anthony nodded in agreement.
“Just think of the noble sacrifice you are making, to save those defenseless and frightened handmaidens,” offered Sir David.
“Then you do it!” cried Philip.
“Well, he didn’t want me,” David waved off.
“Too hairy for my tastes,” the Orc smirked, licking its cracked lips. Oh, this one looked like a fresh screamer. He hadn’t had one in … well, forever.
“I expect him to be able to make our way to the surface when we are done here,” stated Michael. No way was he carrying someone back to the surface, especially not after what Philip was about to experience.
“Oh, deal, deal!” the Orc proclaimed in his excitement, his hand held out for the gold coins.
Prince Michael dug into his small sack and produced thirty gold, handing it to the thuggish Orc. “We’ll be on our way now. Do take care of yourself, Sir Philip. And remember, don’t let them see you cry. They love that.”
Nodding his head firmly, the Orc agreed, “Oh yes, we love that very much!”
“For the love of all that is good, help me!” cried Philip as the Orc grabbed him and headed behind a small shed.
“Now, Sir Philip, it would be wrong to go back on a deal,” Sir Anthony stated. True, they probably could have also asked the Orc if he knew where the handmaidens were being kept. But at those prices?
No way in Hell! They weren’t made of gold, you know.
“Now keep your eyes sharp, men,” Prince Michael stated, as he lead the way into this … well, one supposed it could be called a ‘city’. “We need to look for any place that could be a good start for finding information.”
“BY ALL THAT IS HOLY!” came a cry as the Gates closed behind them, reminding the knights to keep their mouths shut and follow their Prince’s lead. After all, they didn’t know who else might need ‘bought’ off.
Keeper Nelfania was most displeased by this recent turn of events. Such was obvious in how slowly she stuffed chocolates down her gullet. This had been a most disappointing week to be certain, one that only proved to irk her more as she thought about what had happened starting with the Auction House.
She wasn't one for Vampires usually, such tall, naturally ugly male things... when she wanted men, that was where she wanted beauty, not in women.
However, here, the fledgling Greater Vampire—a female no less—oh, what beauty she had! How Nelfania would have reveled in ruining that precious body until it was merely a shell of what it once was, but still containing the promise of power.
After all, she wasn't one to have her female underlings look prettier than her unless they were Mistresses... and that was only because their cruelty matched her own.
It was no fun when the bitches enjoyed it.
However, that Greater Vampire… With a good source of food, she could have spent eons, ruining that beauty over and over again…
But then that human Keeper had arrived. A beauty, he was. But to purchase that vampire, and then to attack her and the others…
Vengeance would be swift, painful, and complete. If he survived long enough for her to express her ‘feelings’ towards him, so be it. But in the end, that vampire and perhaps even that Horned Reaper would be hers.
The other Keepers on the other hand…
She snorted. Zeldon and Malbrin could both be greedy bastards. Zeldon was known for his droves of Vampire Hordes while Malbrin—prissy Dark Elf bastard—had a thing for collecting exotic women. The Dark Gods knew both those sacks of male excrement wanted the Greater Vampire and would give her trouble for it.
At least she didn’t have to deal with Keeper Sidarian anymore. If the tales were true, he’d already been sent down to that great Keeper domain in the core.
Nevertheless, she hadn’t stayed alive this long by being foolish, rushing into fights, reacting only, never thinking. Sidarian, a fool he was, but a powerful fool. In addition, the reports from scavengers stated that the Keep had barely been damaged. Sure, littered with traps, but it had shown hardly a sign of assault. A few burnt-out carcasses, a few scrapes in the walls, but nothing denoting an epic fight.
The new Keeper had waltzed in, barely leaving a sign of a fight. It made a strong impression: Sidarian wasn’t even a challenge. And that fool had been thought as strong as they.
It didn’t bow well for any of the local Keepers to attack him by themselves.
As much as she hated it—perhaps more than the others—she knew the only chance they would have against the new Keeper was an alliance. The longer they waited, the stronger Keeper Saotome would grow, especially now since he had access to all Keeper Sidarian knew and owned.
True, she knew some of what Sidarian had. Her spies had told her as much—those sluts would do whatever was necessary not to be scratched up, and some warlocks loved having fresh … ‘ingredients’ about. His so-called ‘ultimate weapon’ was not as secretive as he would have liked.
Her beady eyes darted about, wondering if she was likewise compromised. It wasn’t much of a stretch. Hell, most Keepers routinely went through their ranks, looking for spies.
But she would need to be careful, keep her ‘secondary plans’ to herself as an alliance was formed.
All that mattered in the end, even if the others survived, was that the top prizes were hers and hers alone.
Using The Hand, she summoned a messenger. The first part of her plan needed to be set. If they thought she was desperate enough to ask for the alliance in the first place, the first to reach out, they would assume she believed she was next on Saotome’s list. It would make them underestimate her strength, her mindset.
The only question: would the others be smart enough to realize their only hope of staying alive and keeping their Dungeons, was to work together?
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(Posted Wed, 18 Aug 2010 02:05)
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