The feline dungeon keeper just stared at the sylvan woman in shock as she took all of what Kat said into consideration. So many types of werewolves! Oh, she so needed to have another talk with the spirit who acted as her advisor. Just where was he when the werecheetah actually needed him?
Little did Britanny know, The Mentor had faith in her ability to broker a deal for a weapon–dark elven women may have had the smugness and sense of superiority all snooty sylvan did but at least unlike the men, they weren’t complete bitches–which left the ghost the opportunity to get more work done while his protégé got her immediate affairs in order. The dark mistress and her hand maiden–now that The Tailor wasn’t around her to distract her–should be all that the feline keeper needed to help her remain on track to getting her dungeon up and running. This freed up the spiritual advisor to look into long-term goals.
That meant doing everything in his power to keep her alive and her Dungeon Heart intact.
The phantasmal force didn’t delude himself into thinking just because Keeper Cheetah had a few surprising skills that she had everything she needed to keep on top of things, even in as po-dunk a town as Skid Row. The female cat-woman had already proven herself to be a threat to the local dungeon keepers’ hold over their dominion of that shithole of an underworld village and the apparition of advisement knew they would not take it lying down. It was without a doubt that they would start planning counter-measures and revenge as soon as they were resurrected and back on their feet. Hell, he knew at least one would be up and running by now! It wasn’t too difficult to leave instructions to sacrifice someone ASAP should a keeper’s mortal body be slain.
That meant the best use he could be of the moment was scoping out the competition. In this case, surveying the lay of the land that was ANOTHER keeper’s dungeon!
But not the fortresses of her direct enemies, oh no! They would actively be on the lookout for the werecheetah and her forces. That included The Mentor himself since they had undoubtedly observed him aiding her at the slave auction. A minor error on his part as he didn’t think she would be stupid enough to pick a fight with them, but as they say about the best laid plans of minions and men, “They often go awry...” he mumbled to himself. He needed to make a personal note that plots and schemes didn’t survive long when his apprentice got involved.
At least they could go about plotting the takedown of Keeper Xin thanks to the feline woman’s insistence on capturing the keeper’s dark mistress, and an Elite one at that! While he was certain the self-proclaimed successor to Keeper Maori would make what changes she could to her territory as soon as possible to invalidate as much of Ayane’s insider information, that still took time and money. If they could strike back before she was ready, before the woman would even assume they could be ready, then it would leave one of Keeper Cheetah’s immediate enemies laid asunder, and make an impact on the others, sending the message not to mess with the werecheetah unless they wished the same. It would get them to back off for quite some time.
Because really, that was what his protégé needed: time. The time to build up her forces, the time to build her dungeons, and the time to make a name for herself with Acts of Infamy above and below the earth’s surface. The more Keeper Cheetah built up her reputation, the less likely they would be to make a move until it got to the point where she could leave such pathetic wretches behind in the dust as she climbed up the ladder of Keeper Hierarchy. She may have been a mere Neophyte of surface origin now, a complete unknown, but with his guidance The Mentor would see her become the next legendary Underlord! “And that means getting her the power boost she needs so she can quickly make an example out of Xin.”
The ghost knew the cat-woman would probably prefer to first take out her frustration on the woman’s sister, Keeper Pilfor, but the cards were more in their favor for attacking the daughter of the Late Keeper Maori who would–in all honesty–normally be the greater threat. That was why The Mentor headed back to the Portal Gem at the Western entrance of the town and was teleported all the way from Skid Row to a dungeon further south; almost at the complete opposite end of the continent from Keeper Cheetah’s. The dungeon of Keeper Belial!
Beneath the lands of Lushmeadow on Down and hidden within its bedrock lay the dark fortress of Keeper Belial, also known as ‘Belial The Broker’. Having won a victory there many centuries ago, the keeper had made a deal with the lord of the lands above to become an acting informant. At that point in time, the keeper was already well dug in and held the favor of the dark gods and the man was loathe to continue forward and risk all he attained. With the topside kingdom more than willing to sign a ceasefire to protect its people, Keeper Belial relaxed back into a position of information broker, both for the underworlders and the topsiders.
As The Broker, Belial settled into a life of using a spy-network to collect information, often about certain individuals of authority on both sides of the planet’s crust. He would then sell the secrets gathered to specific groups or people, or offer it back to the individuals themselves, effectively blackmailing them in return for his silence. Not to mention, the man also made sure to make himself useful by acting as a council of sorts, ensuring those who paid him success with insider information. It was a niche that made him too invaluable for either side to deal with, effectively leaving him untouchable.
However, The Mentor knew the dark gods were ever resourceful and wanted only the strongest to survive and maintain the gift that was a Dungeon Heart. Since the man had decided to rest on his laurels, he had caused the strongest of his minions to abandon him. Let it be known that above all else, a keeper’s minions had a lust, if not pathological need to battle. All minions were spurred on by greed but if those of the warrior caste were given no chance to fight, they would eventually leave for darker, smokier pastures, leaving only the weakest filth who merely sought a weekly pay behind.
It was only Keeper Belial’s importance to both above and below that left his dungeon stable for the past century. An importance that was negated for the guiding ghost’s protégé by the fact Keeper Cheetah had HIM! The Mentor knew far more than that wretch could ever learn about the minds of men and upkeep of a dungeon. To slay him would not only gain the feline lycanthrope greater power for her Dungeon Heart but attain whatever was left of value as well: riches and information. That meant that the world at large would become wary of dealing with her until more was known; it was practically the guarantee such an Act of Infamy would make his apprentice a keeper of notoriety.
And that meant learning what he could about their target, before Keeper Belial knew what hit him! For when The Mentor did have Keeper Cheetah strike, it would be swift and furious.
Guard Posts were useful as lookout points. Often in high-risk areas that needed constant defense, such as near the Dungeon Heart or treasuries, they also tended to be near the dungeon’s entrance and/or Portal Gem as the first line of defense. The latter was such the case for the guard post outside of the Southern entrance of Keeper Belial’s dungeon, a pair of thieving scoundrels–a rogue and a dark elf–were situated on the raised wooden platform adorned with banners that held the sigil of The Broker: an inverted cross with a skull on the axis where the two bars crossed. As the guard posts did not have the, ‘detection radius’ enchantment that guard rooms had to make it easier to locate hostile incursions, it meant long shifts for the keeper’s minions.
So naturally, being close to the end of their turn at the post, both were tired and hungry which left them confused as to what they were seeing and wondering if they were hallucinating
The human squint his eyes for the moment, gazing through the eyeholes of his helmet at the figure that began to float over to them. “Hey, Mortanius,” the rogue on guard duty piped up.
Pausing in strumming his crossbow for what had to be the tenth time that hour, the pointy-eared archer turned his gaze to his human coworker. “What is it, Damien? Can’t you see I’m doing something useful, unlike you,” the dark elf shot back in that irritatingly abrasive and haughty tone that only male sylvans were capable of.
Although he twitched at such a response, the brunet human wasn’t to be deterred. “Is it just me,” he began firmly, wanting to make sure the arsehole took him seriously for once. “Or is that a ghost floating over there?”
Raising his head, the dark elf sneered before turning his attention back to his weapon; an oak piece that was enchanted with a Fire augment. “Of course it’s a ghost!” he snapped irritably, annoyed at having his concentration broken. “The boss has had a LOT of people die in the torture chamber. It’s only natural occurrence.”
Damien frowned further, the lenses of his helmet fogging up for a moment as he breathed heavier behind the nose-guard. “I know that, you bastard! But what I’m saying is I saw it come out of the Portal Gem!”
That caught the dark elf’s attention. “What?” He rushed over to the edge of the platform, his hands on the wooden railing as he looked over the edge. What the hell would a ghost be doing in a dungeon not of its origin? “You! Yes, you!” He shouted. “State your business!”
Turning to look up at the feeble excuse that made up the first line of defense of this rival dungeon, The Mentor nodded his head in amusement. He couldn’t help but feel this was but the best Belial had to offer. If it wasn’t, then it was obvious the keeper had become lax in his sedentary lifestyle, secure in the importance he held to think someone might come for him.
If he were capable of it, the ghost would have smirked as he continued on past them without a care in the world, the two minions unable to do anything but scream threats as he made his was deeper into the dungeon. Ah yes, it was always those who had the biggest egos that fell that hardest when their plans came tumbling down.
Swishing wine about inside of a fine drinking glass–both of which he procured from the liquor cabinet of the keeper’s bedroom–The Tailor watched the dark crimson alcohol swirl about as he reclined back on the crushed leather cushioning of the ornate, jewel-adorned, golden throne of the woman who’d effectively captured him. As much as he hated to admit it... that blasted Keeper Cheetah has some good taste.
Okay, granted, a lot of the tapestries and color schemes she went with for her Inner Sanctum were so last season, but one could never deny that she had fine taste in décor. Ebony wood furniture was always in style, and the statues...
He smirked as he gazed longingly at the white marble fountain in the room which had a statue of a naked cat-man holding a vase over his shoulder, from which running water came from. Oh, the form on him! Oh yes, if there was one thing he had to give this keeper–although he’d never admit it to her face–was that she had excellent taste in decoration. The things he could do if he had this woman’s budget.
And speaking of budgets, WOW! Those treasuries were HUGE! Four of them! Three were completely full and two regular imps constantly shuffling back and forth to toss more gold and treasure in the fourth. The fashion-minded sylvan didn’t know where she’d set up her dungeon, but the feline keeper had access to numerous gold seams or, more likely, she had found a gem vein. She was financially stable in ways even the dungeon keepers of the underworld metropolis of Pandemonium would be envious of!
“Lucky bitch...” The Tailor murmured irritably before tilting the glass back to his lips, imbibing in the fine spirits. It wasn’t the best drink he ever had, but it was pretty good for something conjured by the magic of a Dungeon Heart. Yes, he could tell it was magical in origin. One didn’t have as refined a palette as his and not learn a thing or two about the finer things in life. Exhaling, he continued to growl, “She doesn’t deserve any of this...”
The dark elf’s frown deepened even further. This was aggravating beyond words. The over-the-hill feline slut had captured him to be sure but then that idiot keeper insulted him! She had neither dropped him into a prison cell nor left him under proper guard! With the exception of a couple of imps, he was practically unattended; given free reign to do as he pleased! The man was in a perfect position to attack her Dungeon Heart and send the spotted cunt to the dark gods for eternal torment! Sure, his lovely lady Crescens would likely be upset for a little while, but with a little logic, a generous helping of massages, and a liberal application of alcohol, the gaoblin would be as good as new and come over to his way of thinking!
Make no mistake, he would have done so with wild abandon as soon as that blessed abomination of an imp released its grasp over his head, except...
His crimson eyes trailed up, staring at the ceiling of the chamber. Right above the fountain, the Dungeon Heart was suspended from on high: supports of gold and sparkling white crystal in the formation of the eight paths of chaos were holding it in place. Although he was skillful with an arrow as all dark elves were, he did not have the equipment! Of course, it didn’t help that he hadn’t touched a crossbow in years either, his fingers now more used to string that was for threading needle rather than strumming a bow shaft. Even if he had the desired weapon, the man was so out of practice that damage would be minimal. Oh, if only she had her Heart on the ground floor like a normal keeper! He could grab something heavy and wail away. “Blessed bitch... always making things more difficult for me.”
The Tailor tilted both his head and the glass back, downing the rest of the wine. Exhaling deeply in exasperation, the sylvan fashion designer looked at his now empty glass in hand and reached over to his side for the bottle. He frowned at how light it felt, only to discover upon lifting it to eye-level that it was empty. “Blast!” the man snarled before throwing the bottle at the the floor, causing the glass container to smash against and spread all over the black and white marble tiles on impact. “Can’t believe she has all of this while Lady Crescens is but a mere servant to her...” his lip curled back in a snarl. “Blasphemy!”
“IMP!” when the deep baritone of the digging minion as it glared in the direction of the dark elf.
The Tailor’s red eyes trailed over in the direction of the abomination of Dungeon Heart magic. He’d never heard of such an imp in his long existence, but there it was! Larger than life! True, he hadn’t talked to it in a while–he’d been hoping making it hold his business above its head for hours would eventually cause it to falter and end up flattened. Sadly, such seemed to be not the case. “Have someone get me another drink!” he commanded imperiously.
Snorting, the large, grayish-green being shook its head in a negative fashion. “IMP!” it shouted in a commanding tone as it pointed to an opened passage to the West. To be precise, the big guy was motioning towards the two far tinier imps that were working on widening the tunnel so the Mega-Imp could fit The Tailor’s home through it.
Rolling his eyes, the dark elf snapped, “Fine! If you’re going to be that way, put my house down and get to work on the tunnel yourself so we can end this farce already...” he leaned back into the throne, his crimson gaze still glaring most hatefully at the Dungeon Heart that remained out of reach as if to spite him. “Just move my abode to the left and be done with it!”
The Mega-Imp might not have been a homunculus of magical origin with an expanded vocabulary, but it sure as hell didn’t want to put up with the infuriating sylvan son of a bitch any longer than it had to. “Imp...” it grumbled irritably as it lowered its left arm finally and placed The Tailor’s shop down on the ground gently as to not scuff the floor’s marble tiles.
Sitting up in Keeper Cheetah’s throne as soon as his business was set down, the effeminate dark elf shrieked, “No!” He took a deep breath, before breaking into a chanting tirade of, “No, no, no, no, NO! My left, not yours, you idiot!” he got up from the seat of authority and marched over to the imp. He began to poke the Mega-Imp repeatedly in its six-pack abs. “Now do as I say and put it over in the other corner of the room!”
Its heavy eyebrow ridge furrowing, the living magical construct tilted its head down, glaring at the tiny and lithe thing that seemed intent to be as annoying as possible. “IMP!” it stated with a dangerous undertone to its growl, the big gray-green being’s patience beginning to wear thin.
“Seriously!” the sylvan cried imperiously. He motioned with both his arms over to the opposite corner of the Inner Sanctum’s throne room. “It looks better over there!” He met the glare of the Mega-Imp with his own, his hands then moving to his hips to add an air of snobbery. “Trust me! Fashion is MY forte! That includes interior design, thank you very much!!”
“...Imp...” the tunneling minion grumbled irritably as it shook its head, once again disagreeing with the lithe loser. Turning its back to the much smaller individual, the mammoth mass of muscles stepped towards the tunnel its brethren were working on, a pickaxe materializing in each hand once more. It was done wasting time.
Stomping his foot, The Tailor handled this rejection as one could expect. He threw a hissy fit. “Argh! Bless that woman!” he cursed in traditional underworld terminology. “I can’t believe she’d have the cajónes to kidnap me!” He snorted, staring down at an imp who was in the process of cleaning up the mess of broken glass the dark elf had made in his frustration. “You’d think she was a real keeper or something!” he snarled as he took a couple of steps towards the miniscule minion, before giving it a hearty kick and sending the poor thing flying.
Whipping around at the sound of its comrade crying out in pain, the massive minion’s lip curled back in a snarl. “IMP!” it roared in a menacing fashion that even Horny would have given a score of, ‘7.8’... and that would have been WITHOUT tearing the dark elf in twain.
Turning his head from the downed mini-minion towards the muscled mass of grayish-green, the sadistic sylvan was unrepentant. “...Can’t you say anything else?”
Bringing its left hand up, the not-so-jolly green giant slowly raised its middle finger in a rather rude gesture to the dark elf. “IMP!”
“Of course not! Why should I expect anything she makes to be of any worth?” was the haughty reply, The Tailor crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his back to the beast, not deigning to give a response to being flipped the bird. Hearing the rustling of movement, the dark elf slowly turned his head to the right to look over his shoulder. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed that the blessed beast was ignoring him in favor of working on the passageway. “Idiot...” the underworld fashion designer thought bitterly.
His head craned back, The Tailor’s attention was drawn to the Dungeon Heart held out of reach once more. As much as he wanted to denounce her as some sort of fluke, a sex-slave that got lucky... that was a rather ingenious adaptation. As a ceiling fixture, it eliminated about half of the normal dangers a keeper’s Heart would have to face. Only climbing or flying minions and those with projectile attacks would be able to harm it from its place that high up.
Nope. No way around it. The dark elf didn’t have the power needed to destroy the Heart on his own so he needed to instead make an escape while he could. As much as he admired the unearthly beauty that was Lady Crescens, he positively loathed the idea of being bound to that overweight, over-the-hill cat-woman sex-slave. He’d never live it down. All he needed was an opportunity to present itself...
*Crumble*!
*Crumble*!
*Crumble*!
*KER~CRASH*!
Turning about towards the tunnel, the sylvan smirked in a rather smug fashion that only the elven races could manage. The imps were making great progress now that the big one was helping them, so they were quite a ways down said passage. However, in widening it, they obviously broke into something. Even from where he stood, the man could see a portion of the left wall had broken open. Most likely, into an area that the keeper didn’t have ownership of at that! “Well, well... isn’t that convenient? It looks like the dark gods smile upon me once more!” he cackled in a devious manner as he rushed over to his new exit.
However, getting into said tunnel grossed him out as he stepped into untreated earth. “Ew... I’m getting dirt all over my fine shoes,” The Tailor whined. Still, he persevered. This was possibly salvation after all.
Finally though, the pointy-eared prick made his way through the hole only to stand on a small outcropping of stone, overlooking what seemed to be a small lake at the end of an underground river. The water was straight in front of him, travelling out quite a distance with thick walls of dense stone to his left and right; bordering the trench that the water had obviously cut through the earth as it flowed.
The Tailor shivered. Oh, he absolutely hated getting soaked without soap or his rubber ducky! “No way around it though...” he grumbled irritably as he pressed himself to the left well and did his best to slowly trek his way down into the lake. It was troublesome as the immediate walls were smooth from years if not centuries of erosion, but if elves were anything, it was dexterous. With the right application of effort and balance, the male dark elf was able to jump from a much safer height, splashing down into the lake below.
His head breaking the surface, the pointy-eared prick breathed deeply, thankful that the pit of water was deep enough to safely dive into. He turned about in the water, looking up at the stone outcropping and smirked. “Victory is mine, bitch!” He cackled maniacally before he made like a salmon and began swimming upstream. All he had to do was reach a Portal Gem, and he was home-free! Then he’d tell everyone he could about this woman’s dungeon and hopefully find the right teleportation frequency to lead them back! She thought she could screw with him? He’d see how she liked being screwed with in return!
As the male sylvan got about a half mile further down the flow of water, he began to slow in his breast stroke as he caught sight of movement around him. The dark elf then merely floated in place, a smile coming to his face as he looked up at the walls of earth at either side of him. Spiders! And lots of them! Ah yes, beautiful spiders! These symbols of his people’s chosen dark goddess were obviously sent to held aid in his escape! Truly, a mark of favor from Arachnea. “Yes! Lead me, you wonderful arachnids! Lead me to my salvation!”
The Tailor frowned as none of the spiders moved, merely intent to stare at him. He looked left and right, noticing how yet more of them were beginning to arrive. “Uh... a little help, please?”
The dark elf’s world went black as webbing shot out from each and every eight-legged minion, enveloping him in the very silk he would have normally refined into high-quality fabric.
Dusque was the sort of woman that one could expect of underworld nobility. She was arrogant, self-centered, vain, and needlessly cruel to those she considered to be below her station–which was just about everyone. Once a dutiful dark elven priestess of the dark goddess Arachnea the Mother of Spiders, the sylvan woman had caught the attention of her religion’s deity as her talent and ability had far outstripped that of her peers. Dusque had been smarter, more cunning, more dedicated, and far, FAR more treacherous than any of her rivals and had been rewarded as such. It was she who had been remade in the dark goddess’ own image! She had been remolded into being that blended the beauty and intellect of a dark elven woman with the power and grace of a giant spider. A very deadly combination, to be certain...
She had become a Maiden of the Nest. A living avatar of the goddess’ will and most blessed amongst her devote servants. No longer one to perform rites in an Unholy Temple, she was now the patient hunter, the mistress of poisons, and more importantly, the master of all spiders. Her kind were considered a boon to dungeon keepers as, like dark angels with their skeleton summonings, could make their own minions. In her case, it was spiders, of course.
For the moment though, the woman was lazily lounging upon her webbing–comprised of only the finest spiders’ silks–nose deep in her favorite book, a tawdry and explicitly graphic romance novel. She was about to get to her favorite scene when she was suddenly interrupted by a chittering sound. One of her many, MANY spiders.
With her eyebrows furrowed and her lips twisted, Dusque’s face contorted into a rather grotesque and menacing scowl ah having to pause in her reading. Slowly, she turned her attention to her spider... one that needed to be reminded she had–as stated–many, MANY others and wouldn’t be missed and was easily replaced. “What is it?” she asked, the annoyance she felt as clear as day on the surface in her tone.
The spider raised its foremost legs and waved them energetically; its mandibles moving animatedly in a talkative fashion as it spoke in that chirping language that only other spiders and maidens could understand. And it was proud to tell her that it and the others had captured a dark elf who had dared to enter her territory and was ready to be offered up as a sacrifice.
Upon getting the news, the maiden of the nest immediately relaxed, her face changing back to a more beatific smile. “Oh, wonderful,” she cooed merrily as she lifted her book once more. “Just give me a moment. If it’s a male, don’t eat until I see him.”
After all, she had hungers beyond simple nourishment. Only those spiders born of eggs laid by a maiden possessed what could pass as a thinking mind... mostly childlike to be certain, but it still gave them true sentience. And there was still a bit more woman to her body than most would assume. After all, one couldn’t really expect her to breed with a common arachnid! She had standards, you know!
Struggling with his bonds of silk webbing that was stronger than steel, The Tailor couldn’t believe this was happening! Spiders were the children of Arachnea, a dark elf’s best friend, and the partner of tailors! By all rights he should have had an instinctual affinity with them, and yet they were able to shake off his sway with minimal effort. It should have been impossible but his current situation as their prisoner said otherwise. “At least they’re not eating me...” he thought with some measure of relief. While unexpected, it was something he was not going to waste. He needed to plan an escape...
However, any thoughts of saving his bony ass were interrupted as the sound of footfalls came from down one of the tunnels. He turned his head, wondering what could be so loud... only to go wide-eyed as a most fascinating creature emerged.
The top half of the woman was a prettying striking figure. To be honest, she was positively stunning. A face framed by luxuriously long and silky violet hair. Smooth flawless skin that seemed to accentuate features to the point that they appeared porcelain-delicate. Muscles defined to the point of looking chiseled, particularly in the abdomen, boasted of great physical strength. A set of generously full breasts and a narrow, feminine waist... not to mention a most alluring set of ebony and crimson eyes; entrancing, really!
However, it was when his gaze went further South that things became clearer for the dark elf. Where a woman’s hips would normally form into legs, her body instead fed into the body of a giant arachnid. By the nine-hells, even the mandibles were still there, albeit folded over her lower region, like some sort of armored bikini bottom.
It was a Maiden of the Nest... and yet, she was far different from what he was used to. While dark elves and maidens were known for the red irises of their eyes, this woman also had sclera that were jet black instead of white. He also noticed how the parts of her body that should have been pure ebony, such as her lower half and hair were a beautiful and alluring violet; the underside of her spider abdomen and legs accentuated with a creamier white. And speaking of which, there were spider legs themselves. A metatarsus, tarsus, and claw made up the components of a spider leg. Yet instead of claws, this woman’s legs ended in three-toed, digi-grade feet.
It suddenly clicked in his mind. This wasn’t just any ordinary Maiden of the Nest.
She was an Elite!
“So,” the arachnotaur spoke up to catch the dark elf’s attention, her tone of voice surprisingly melodious. “You’re the one my children offer up as tribute?” She walked around the bound form of The Tailor, studying him. “Rather lithe... I prefer my men to be a bit more muscled. Otherwise they break so easily...” she shook her head, exhaling a disappointed sigh. “Ah well.” She raised her right hand, waving him off as unimportant. “Children!” she chimed out melodiously, the spiders gathered about beginning to stir. “He’s all yours. Enjoy dinner!”
Eyes going wide, The Tailor watched as the maiden turned her back to him. With the large spiders beginning to close in on him from all sides, he knew he had to act fast or die. “WAIT! I COME WITH INFORMATION!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling the hysteria rise within him as she continued to walk away. “THERE IS A DANGER NEARBY! DANGER THAT WILL REAP YOU GREAT REWARD IF YOU FACE IT HEAD ON!” He shrieked as spiders began to swarm him, climbing over his bound frame. “THERE IS A DUNGEON KEEPER NEARBY!!”
The Elite maiden of the nest paused in her steps. Again, she rose her right hand up and it was by that unspoken command which the spiders ceased their assault on the skinny sylvan that was to be their dinner. The numerous arachnids began skittering away from him, opening up a space to give their mother room.
Slowly, the woman turned about once more and began to make her way to the down dark elf, hands on her hips; a sashay to her opisthosoma. She stopped before him, her right foreleg reaching forward and pressing down on his chest, pinning him to the ground. “Speak fast or die slow, worm. What is this about a dungeon keeper threatening me?”
Managing to gasp for breath–even with all the weight and power behind the woman’s foot–The Tailor nodded his head quickly. “Y-yes!” he squeaked out. “I don’t know how long you’ve been here but a dungeon keeper has moved into the area recently! A terrible one at that: Keeper Cheetah! She plans to lay claim to this corner of the underworld and that will include your territory!” He then gasped as she pressed her foot down more firmly upon him; ribs creaking under the pressure. “It’s the truth! I swear upon my grandmother’s grave!” Granted, he was the one who put the elderly bitch there, but it was still the woman’s genuine gravesite!
“What, pray tell, is so terrible about her?” she tilted her head, making sure she stared down into the effeminate male’s eyes with her own steely gaze. “The whole reason I set up a lair for myself underneath Skybird Trill was the isolation it would grant me to safely raise my children away from the usual underworld scum. It would be a foolhardy venture for a keeper to seek out this area to build a dungeon and threaten me when they would alert the kingdom atop us with the dark magic their Hearts pump out.”
The Tailor stared at the woman as if she grew another head. “We’re... we’re underneath Skybird Trill!?” Oh dark gods bless it!! Keeper Cheetah truly was an idiot! As soon as the king caught wind of her presence, he and his forces would be upon them like a bad case of the Clap! With a bit of quick thinking, the man spat out, “But don’t you see? That’s the problem!” he cried out. “Even if you don’t see her as a true threat to your territory—”
“Which she’s not,” Dusque interrupted as she pointed out the obvious. She slowly shifted her weight, letting him know that if he didn’t get on with it, she was crushing him into a mushy past for her babies to sink their mandibles into.
The dark elf’s eyes shrank to pin-pricks as he felt the air pushed out his lungs. “Gurk!” he gasped out. “Of... of course, your magnificence,” he praised, his heart beginning to thunder in the now minimal space his ribcage was offering. “But as I was trying to warn you, even if she isn’t a threat to you immediately, her presence will attract topsiders! And when they come to snuff her out, they will undoubtedly find you as well! You need to destroy her before she garners the attention of someone who will destroy you for merely being the wonderful and beautiful icon of the dark goddess that you are!”
Gritting her teeth, the maiden of the nest couldn’t argue that logic. Dungeon keepers always attracted the attention of the people topside, whether they wanted to or not. Their Dungeon Hearts powered themselves by connecting into the local ley lines, pumping energy back and forth as required to allow their keepers the ability to manipulate their surroundings to fit their needs. The Hearts always had a negative feedback with the ley lines as well, slowly poisoning the surface above and creating an area that stood out like a sore thumb in the process. When swamp, muck, blackened, or dead earth began to appear in what was otherwise pristine territory from out of nowhere, chances were a keeper’s dungeon was underneath.
Thankfully, with the capital city of Skybird Trill being set atop of foundation of impenetrable bedrock and filled with holy magic and protective wards, it might take months or even years for a Dungeon Heart to poke holes in such defenses and seep its influence through to the surface. However, she had to be realistic. Effect on the surface or not, this WAS the capital city! There were goodly wizards, monks, and priestesses who would sense a Dungeon Heart’s presence once it had built up enough dark energy in the local ley lines. They would inform the king and he would send his armies down to eliminate the source and anything that was of the underworld... including herself.
Finally, after a moment of deliberation, Dusque pulled her foot back, releasing her hold of the–admittedly, still bound–dark elf. “And what do you suggest I do, sylvan scum?” Granted, she may have originally been a dark elf herself but she sure as hell didn’t consider herself one now.
Smiling now that she determined he wasn’t the enemy, The Tailor was quick to reply, “This cat-woman is but a neophyte keeper with a dungeon that is still new: small and limited in functionality. More importantly, with the exception of a couple of imps, it is completely unguarded. She may have come up with an interesting protective measure by mounting her Dungeon Heart in the ceiling of her Inner Sanctum, but you and your lovely spiders...” he trailed off, his eyes darting around the area to take account of just how numerous they were.
“Can stick to solid surfaces and get up there to destroy it.” The maiden took a deep breath before exhaling. Her right foreleg reached forward once more. This time, the clawed toes grasped the spider webbing that restrained the sylvan and tugged firmly, slicing the binding open like a hot knife through butter, freeing the dark elf. “I get it...” a smirk came to her face. “I also get any and all gold she has laid claim of too. My children deserve a bit of luxury and there’s only so much you can do with spider silk.”
Nodding his head, the dark elf internally snorted. There was no way this woman would have any need for or even be able to spend all that gold. Still, he wasn’t about to go arguing with her over such a trifling detail. After all, one of the most commonly accepted lessons of the underworld was, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’.
And besides, he was certain a beauty like her would warm up to a man like him. He had that dark elven charm, after all. Just look at how easily he garnered the affections of the gaoblin!
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(Posted Thu, 26 Feb 2015 02:53)
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