//------------------------------// // A Lesson in Dramatic Irony // Story: The Warbringer’s Companion // by Pony Paradox //------------------------------// Once again, we were running. Been doing a lot of that since we got here actually; I really hoped it wasn’t going to become, like, a theme. Teenager Grunt, with his long, loping strides, and me, awkward on my new hooves. The lady who had been sniping us before was still nowhere in sight, and a harsh, feminine laugh echoed through the woods as the mind-controlled Ursa simply flattened the forest in its way. “Grunt... you’re all smart now, right? What do we do?” “You’re athking me? Uthually, I jutht hit thingth untill they thop moving!” “You can try that if you want! Might buy me some time!” We both knew he would stand no real chance the way he was... he could barely even hold that sword of his, let alone fight with it. Things were looking bad for us. The trees and rocks were slowing the massive bear down, but we were still only barely keeping ahead. In desperation, I tried to prepare a bomb, but again, hooves. Hooves ruined everything. I actually managed, eventually, to pull one out of my pack, but I immediately fumbled it, nearly scorching Grunt and myself in the process. Gahgahgahgahgahlah!” I choked slightly on it. “Fithle! You’re not a horth, you’re a goat!” I was disgusted by the mirth in his voice. Wholly inappropriate in this situation. “I’ll get your goat if you don’t shut up and keep running!” And so we ran. We ran, and we ran, and we really had no idea where we were going. As long as it was away from the foam-mouthed behemoth, we didn’t really care where we were going. The bear’s crash had given us some time, but it had recovered quickly, continuing its tenacious pursuit. Trees rushed past us on either side, while branches, thorns and other sharp nature stuff tore at our clothes and skin. We were starting to get tired, while the growling monstrosity behind us continued to gain ground. After a moment of searching, Grunt managed to produce the small purple bag, containing one of my more... controversial creations. Basically, it’s a yellowish powder whose sole purpose is to cause uncontrollable sneezing! I had gotten into a habit of using it on Red whenever I got the chance, so he wouldn’t be so sneaky all the time. It’s hard to sneak up on someone when you can’t stop sneezing! I immediately ran to the aid of my transformed friend, who was covered head to toe with a slick, lime-green ichor. I promise I tried very hard not to laugh... but come on. What would you do if you found your friend literally soaked in bear snot? Even Ruska looked miserable, with her fur matted down by the nasty nasal ooze. Meanwhile, sneeze after sneeze rocked the landscape. “I - *snick* I can’t believe you *guffaw* used the whole bag!” Grunt wiped the majority of the gunk from his face. “Thut up. It worked, didn’t it? How long ith that gonna latht?” I did some mental dice rolling and calculations for a moment, before coming up with a figure. “We should have about an hour, with that much powder. Assuming whoever that creepy voice belongs too doesn’t do some freaky magic stuff.” With the last of the giggles out of my system, I was ready to be serious again. “We should probably move before we get hit with another sneeze.” With that, we were off again. We kept a somewhat fast pace, but we were much more relaxed now that we weren’t in mortal peril. We could hear the sneezing of the massive bear for a good couple of miles, so we figured we had put a fair amount of distance between us. We seemed to be heading even deeper into the forest, since the trees and bushes were getting thicker. I warned Grunt not to touch anything... especially after what happened last time. A loud rumbling of my stomach reminded me that we had still not had time to find food. Unfortunately, I didn’t trust any of the vegetation in this place, and the only animals we had seen were either a hundred feet tall, or made of wood. Seems like we're going to have to go hungry for a little while longer. Perhaps it was my hunger that had distracted me as we walked, because I suddenly realized that it was very dark. With a small amount of focus, I adjusted my eyes to the color-blind night vision inherent to goblins (as well as to other creatures, of which orcs were included). Seriously, can you believe that so many creatures can’t see at all in the dark? “Any idea when the lights went out, big guy?” “Actually, I jutht notithed.” There was something off putting about this particular part of the woods... somehow, the trees had taken on a more sinister appearance. Most seemed to lack any kind of leaves, and the branches all seemed to be more jagged and angular than normal. This place was making me so jumpy that I nearly screamed when I turned a corner and looked right into what appeared to be a snarling face! Yes, nearly. You don’t really think I would be scared of a tree, do you? Do I look like a dwarf? Once I had calmed down a bit, the tree actually almost looked silly. It seemed like something right out of a bard’s ghost story! “Hey Grunt, look at this!” I declared, sticking my head inside the ‘mouth’ of the tree. “I really...” “Oh come on, you spoil sport, I’m just fooling around. You afraid I’m gonna get a splinter?” I pulled my head free, crossing my arms in indignation. “Fithle... that’th not the only one.” “What?” Sure enough, I realized that we seemed to be standing right in the middle of an entire glade of scary-faced trees. I’ll admit, while one was just silly, a whole bunch like this was actually pretty creepy. When you’re an adventurer like me, you learn pretty quickly that unnatural darkness, creepy atmosphere and scary effigies all in the same place are rarely a coincidence. As if to cement my point with pathetic fallacy, a chilly wind rustled through the haunted looking trees, raising the hackles on the back of my neck. Man, it was cold without my hat. Where was my hat? I turned back to the tree I was fooling around with, and went pale. Found my hat. It was sticking out of the corner of the tree’s mouth. Which was now closed. “Oh.” I guess I forgot that just yesterday I was attacked by monsters made out of wood. Perhapse the tree felt that it had not made enough of an impression on me by eating my hat, because right then, its gnarled, claw-like branches shot out towards me! I backed up quickly, but my clumsy (goat?) hooves stumbled, dropping me painfully on my butt. One of its wooden claws just barely grazed my arm, tearing my jacket near the shoulder. “Grunt! This is a bad time for a grudge match!” “I’m not doing thith on purpoth, you idiot! It’th got my handth!” It took me a moment to sort through his lisp. So, he was stuck? The old Grunt would never get stuck like that! I rolled out of the way of a few more flailing tree limbs. Suddenly, as I was rolling, I felt something prick my side! “Ow, what the heck was that?” As if answering my question, I felt my body begin to change shape. My arms and legs got longer, and I could feel my teeth elongate inside my jaw. An itching sensation spread across my body as thick hair rapidly grew in thick patches. My muscles also mutated, and much of the sluggishness caused by my hooves (which were now inexplicably sharp) seemed to evaporate. I had accidentally injected myself with a mutagen! But which one? One of the clawed appendages shot towards me. I responded by rolling over backwards, and kicking the claw with one of my rear hooves. The sharpened hoof cleaved easily through the rotted wood. Looks like it was the agility mutagen! The dramatically good timing of that accident didn’t go over my head. With a temporary burst of skill, I launched myself upright, no longer awkward on all fours. I should say that I really, really love the Agility mutagen. Imagine if, for a few minutes each day, you could just do away with all of the sluggishness and awkwardness of your regular, flawed body, and become a total badass? It makes you quick enough that the world around you seems to slow down, just enough to be noticeable, and gives you wicked claws, to boot. the only downside is that it tends to come at a sacrifice of wit, throwing common sense right out the window. Still... totally worth it. Speaking of having a lowered wit, it occurred to me that there was only one way to save my friend at that moment. With a very un-Fizzle-like snarl, I charged at Grunt, leaping into the air and wrapping all four limbs around him, tearing him from the tree’s grasp. The resulting cuts on his forearms were, as far as I was concerned, a necessary pain. The glare he gave me suggested that he disagreed. Either way, we were moving again, albeit rather slowly. Even with my enhanced reflexes, it was getting harder and harder to avoid those grasping claws. Grunt, who didn’t have the benefit of a forced mutation (unless you count the whole ‘smart teenager’ thing, which I didn’t), was having less luck then I was. Still... we seemed to be making progress. Never tell yourself “At least we're making progress!” The universe loves itself some dramatic irony. One of the branches reached out, tightening a claw around Grunts arm. In a feat of awesome role reversal, I severed the branch with a punch, but not before another of the wooden claws managed to wrap itself around the hilt of Grunts blade, tearing it free, and slicing my pack open in the process! If a tree with a face was silly, and a moving tree tree with a face was a bit scary, then a moving tree with a face and holding a great sword forged by the god of warfare himself is, frankly, stupefying. Or, at least, it should be. The logical thing to do in this kind of situation would be to call the sword lost, and run like hell. “That thword...” grunt uncharacteristically monologued, “... wath a gift.” The trees stopped their thrashing, as though they were listening to Grunt speak. I’ll admit that I was myself a bit enthralled. Grunt was, after all, a man of few words. “But, it wathent a gift from my mommy. And it wathent a gift from a friend. It wath a gift from the god of my kind. Daddy Gruumsh.” I noticed he didn’t lisp Gruumsh’s name. “All day, I’ve been running, like a thcared child. But I’m the chosen of Gruumsh. God of orcth, and Chaos, and War. I am a Barbarian King, and I will not run any more.” Dang. Grunt should do that more often. The lisp didn’t even ruin the effect of his speech. The trees seemed to agree, as they hesitated to make another attack. As he spoke, I could hear a high-pitched growling from my right, and I could see that little Ruska was also being affected by Grunt’s growing rage. Clearly, the strange magic which had turned her into a cub had done nothing to damage the spiritual connection between herself and Grunt. Her ears lay flat to her head, her eyes started to glow with a soft red light (which was new, by the way) and her teeth were barred. Right now she looked more like an angry badger then a bear cub. An insanely cute badger, mind you. Still... I wouldn’t want to per her right now. “Ruthka!” Grunt snarled, sounding almost exactly like his old self, and Ruska darted forward... fast. Like, really fast. She closed the distance between herself and the sword-weilding tree in almost no time at all. The tree reacted by slamming the great sword into the ground where it thought Ruska was going to be, but she easily dodged out of the way. With the distraction, Grunt also charged the tree, ignoring the sweeping attacks of the other clawed branches as he closed in on his target, leaping right into it’s bows. One branch tried to scratch at his face, but he caught it in his fist and bent it backwards with a loud Crack! I idly realized that the old Grunt would have done so with much less effort, but I was never-the-less impressed with with the skinny orc’s ferocity. Grunt tore at the tree’s leafless limbs, while Ruska ran circles around the trunk, drawing its attacks. They were fighting effectively, but the lack of Grunt’s usual strength was making it a hard fought battle, and he had taken several hits. Ruska was faring better, her small size making her a difficult target, but she was unable to do more than superficial damage to the possessed shrubbery. I knew I had to help - thankfully, the other trees were so enraptured by the display that they were ignoring me completely. Utilizing my agility boost, I made to charge at the tree... but a swing from Grunt’s weapon made me rethink that strategy. Grunt and Ruska were too close to the Sword to be a threat to them, but I was not. I scanned the area furiously for a plan B, before my eyes fell upon the ruined remains of my pack. There, laying among the various pouches and vials of of irritants, solvents and catalysts, was a largish, broken glass jar, it’s spicy contents spilled upon the ground. A wicked grin split my features. This was gonna be good. I dashed towards the debris, and the sword-wielding tree made another swing at me as I did so. I dodged the attack, and attempted to grab one of the spilled stuffed peppers from the ground. Sadly, I still lacked hands, and only succeeded in smooshing it against the bottom of my hoof. Well... at least is stuck there. With a flourishing backflip, I landed on my hind hooves just outside of range of the tree’s sweeping blows, and licked the ruined appatizer from my hoof. Remember back when I made these babies, right before I was Fwooshed into this awful place? I said they would either be delicious, or deadly. Turns out, even despite the little bit of dirt and grass that was also stuck to my hoof, it was both. The jalapeno is, by itself, probably one of the most tasty non-meat delicacies in the seven known kingdoms. So much flavour is packed into that tasty little fruit, complemented by a refined spicy burn... just hot enough to give it a real kick! Add in a healthy dose of cream or cottage cheese, and you get an hors d'oeuvre to die for. But... with the right magical ingredients, that ‘spicy kick’ could have a lot of potential. At least, that was the theory. I still had no idea what this thing would do to me. For all I knew, my head could explode, and if the burning in my mouth was any indication, that might actually happen. Then again, you’re reading this right now, so it’s probably safe to say that it doesn’t happen. My mouth was on fire. Literally, there were flames dripping from my mouth. My oral cavity should have been reduced to a charred wreck, but it seems that the magic of the ‘potion’ prevented that from happening. I inhaled deeply, intending to blow a cone of flame like a dragon... sadly, it seemed that only my saliva actually carried the Magical flame, and the effect was rather uninspiring. However, this did give me a new idea. The spiciness of the pepper had given me a surplus of mucous, which I immediately snorted into the back of my throat, collecting it into a small ball inside of my mouth. Rather than risk hurting my friend, I decided to test the first projectile on the tree nearest to myself. The effect was much more satisfying that I thought it would be. A great, big ball of burning boogies blasted the bothersome baddy, setting it abruptly ablaze. The tree writhed in pain, and those nearest to it leaned away, as though they were afraid that they would also catch. Incidentally, the tree currently grappling Grunt also ceased its movement... allowing a still enraged Grunt to finally wrench his weapon free. With a frenzied spin, the enchanted blade easily sliced through the living wood, sending the battered tree crashing to the ground. For the first time today, we could fight back. Man that felt good. “Yo, Grunt.” Flaming saliva dripped at my words. “I gotta get my hat back.” I was answered with a guttural howl of rage. For the next few minutes, we cleaved and burned out way through the enchanted grove (what else would I call it?) teaching these killer flora a thing or two about attacking peaceful strangers. The trees, for the most part, shied away from us, but we did not spare them. Tree after tree fell to Grunt’s swinging sword (he was much more capable with it since his rage seemed to enhance his strength) as a volley of flaming goober made a bonfire of those that remained. Soon, there was nothing left of the grove but a pile of charred timber. Now those faces were neither silly, nor scary - they were just dead. “That’s what you get, stupid trees!” I spat on a nearby sapling, just to drive my point home. I was disappointed to see that this time, it was just regular spit. I guess the effects of the pepper had worn off. The mutigen had done so a while back, as well, meaning I was once again a (relatively) normal goblin. I couldn’t entirely remember which tree had taken my hat, but searching the glade turned up some interesting results. Several of the trees had what seemed to be the slightly charred remains of the local wildlife. Blackened bones and freakishly elongated skulls told us that we weren’t the first creatures to get attacked in here. Even better, some of the creatures seemed to have had possessions! Most of what we found had been ruined, either by digestion or fire, but we found a fair number of small gold coins (Slightly smaller than the gold coins Grunt and myself already carried, and Imprinted with some kind of “pieces, but with horses” symbology) which we assumed to be the local currency. We found some kind of mostly ruined saddle, which seemed to be made for form over function, and inside one tree, there were a number of slightly scorched daggers. I decided to take these... if I ever got my hands back, those would come in useful, as I was actually pretty good at throwing things. Something I found particularly disturbing about the remains was the number of hooves I saw, while there was a distinct lack of hands or feet. Perhaps it was just a coincidence? Eventually, I found my hat, which aside from a tiny bit of soot and dirt, was miraculously undamaged. Funny thing about my hat... it was in a fairly poor state of repair to begin with, but it never seemed to get worse, even despite the trials I put it through. It’s been stabbed, shot and chopped, blown off my head in terrible snow storms and washed away by powerful currents, and now, even caught in an inferno. And yet, it still looked as new as the day I pilfer- I mean, found it. Which wasn’t great to begin with. Someday, I’m going to write a dramatic irony guidebook, and fill it with all of the phrases that should never be said. Key among them will be phrases such as “At least it isn’t raining!” “That was easy!” “Just one more to go!” And, my new personal favorite: “Well... that’s that taken care of. I doubt that we’ll run into anything worse than that today.”