join the others in line.
“What in the name of the Ancestors was
that?!”
Cræosh demanded as the bugbear came up beside him.
They’ve assigned me a fuckin’ lunatic! I didn’t know bugbears
had
lunatics!
Jhurpess stared at the orc as though
he
were the crazy one. “Cræosh not know?” he asked.
“Know
what?!
I swear, I’m gonna start breaking people if—”
“Bright!” the bugbear whispered fearfully. “Poison!”
It was the troll who picked up on it first. “Nature,” she growled.
Cræosh pondered that. “Huh?” he finally rebutted.
“Bugbears live…in forests. Hunt there. Bright…fur or coloration…”
Cræosh finally understood. “…is often a sign of poison,” he concluded for her. He turned back to the bugbear. “You,” he told the hairy creature, “are
really
fucking weird.”
“Shut up!”
the voice demanded.
The orc grinned slightly. “I was wondering when he’d get around to that,” he whispered to the troll. She just shook her head.
Slowly, as though trapped in quicksand, the gremlin began to drag himself forward. Blood caked his head and the side of his face, and edges of broken collarbone protruded through torn flesh. Still, the agonized creature did his best to obey the orders shouted down at them by…whatever.
He’s determined
, Cræosh noted silently, his opinion of the gremlin rising a tiny notch.
Gotta give the little shit that much.
The garish red armor grew slowly brighter, as though the sun itself were staring at it, and Cræosh realized that the gremlin had actually begun to glow. Faint at first, barely leaking through mouth and nose, and then brighter, until the little creature was practically incandescent. As the astonished onlookers squinted, bruises faded, gashes pulled themselves shut, and the collarbone shifted back into something resembling its proper state with a sequence of horrible pops. The glow faded, leaving the gremlin to stand before them under his own power—far, perhaps, from the picture of health, but no longer in any immediate danger. His eyes wide, though not quite as large as the bugbear’s, Gimmol took his place at the leftmost end of the line.
“Get in there!”
the spectral voice shouted. Cræosh thought, at first, that the unseen commander must be talking to the gremlin, even though Gimmol had already done just that.
The air rippled. Like a fish leaping from a tranquil pond, a figure appeared before them. Smaller even than the gremlin, and covered in his own collection of fading wounds, he stood for a moment and brushed himself off, as though the teleportation had somehow soiled him. Then, glancing about with far more curiosity than fear, the kobold sauntered over and took up a stance beside the troll. Cræosh noticed with some amusement that the kobold was the only one who had not chosen his place in line based on height, something the others appeared to have done instinctively.
And finally, in a burst of sulfurous smoke, the mysterious officer made his own appearance.
It was all Cræosh could do to swallow his laughter. Dark gray skin covered a gargoyle’s face and form. Two membranous wings sprouted from the creature’s back, and rock-hard talons tipped its digits. Narrow cracks in the stony façade peered from above a draconic muzzle, and a barbed tail scratched idly at the empty air.
It also stood maybe twenty inches tall—although, because it was currently standing in midair, it remained at eye level with the orc.
“My name is Shreckt,” the imp shouted. “And it is my unfortunate duty to turn the sorry lot of you into something vaguely resembling soldiers!”
The tiny demon began to pace, his feet clacking audibly on the nothingness on which he stood. “As of right now,” he continued, “I wouldn’t use any one of you to wipe my ass! But by the time I’m through, you’re all gonna be worth something! You’ll be soldiers, or you’ll be fertilizer, and I’m fine with either!
“Now,” he said, halting
“What in the name of the Ancestors was
that?!”
Cræosh demanded as the bugbear came up beside him.
They’ve assigned me a fuckin’ lunatic! I didn’t know bugbears
had
lunatics!
Jhurpess stared at the orc as though
he
were the crazy one. “Cræosh not know?” he asked.
“Know
what?!
I swear, I’m gonna start breaking people if—”
“Bright!” the bugbear whispered fearfully. “Poison!”
It was the troll who picked up on it first. “Nature,” she growled.
Cræosh pondered that. “Huh?” he finally rebutted.
“Bugbears live…in forests. Hunt there. Bright…fur or coloration…”
Cræosh finally understood. “…is often a sign of poison,” he concluded for her. He turned back to the bugbear. “You,” he told the hairy creature, “are
really
fucking weird.”
“Shut up!”
the voice demanded.
The orc grinned slightly. “I was wondering when he’d get around to that,” he whispered to the troll. She just shook her head.
Slowly, as though trapped in quicksand, the gremlin began to drag himself forward. Blood caked his head and the side of his face, and edges of broken collarbone protruded through torn flesh. Still, the agonized creature did his best to obey the orders shouted down at them by…whatever.
He’s determined
, Cræosh noted silently, his opinion of the gremlin rising a tiny notch.
Gotta give the little shit that much.
The garish red armor grew slowly brighter, as though the sun itself were staring at it, and Cræosh realized that the gremlin had actually begun to glow. Faint at first, barely leaking through mouth and nose, and then brighter, until the little creature was practically incandescent. As the astonished onlookers squinted, bruises faded, gashes pulled themselves shut, and the collarbone shifted back into something resembling its proper state with a sequence of horrible pops. The glow faded, leaving the gremlin to stand before them under his own power—far, perhaps, from the picture of health, but no longer in any immediate danger. His eyes wide, though not quite as large as the bugbear’s, Gimmol took his place at the leftmost end of the line.
“Get in there!”
the spectral voice shouted. Cræosh thought, at first, that the unseen commander must be talking to the gremlin, even though Gimmol had already done just that.
The air rippled. Like a fish leaping from a tranquil pond, a figure appeared before them. Smaller even than the gremlin, and covered in his own collection of fading wounds, he stood for a moment and brushed himself off, as though the teleportation had somehow soiled him. Then, glancing about with far more curiosity than fear, the kobold sauntered over and took up a stance beside the troll. Cræosh noticed with some amusement that the kobold was the only one who had not chosen his place in line based on height, something the others appeared to have done instinctively.
And finally, in a burst of sulfurous smoke, the mysterious officer made his own appearance.
It was all Cræosh could do to swallow his laughter. Dark gray skin covered a gargoyle’s face and form. Two membranous wings sprouted from the creature’s back, and rock-hard talons tipped its digits. Narrow cracks in the stony façade peered from above a draconic muzzle, and a barbed tail scratched idly at the empty air.
It also stood maybe twenty inches tall—although, because it was currently standing in midair, it remained at eye level with the orc.
“My name is Shreckt,” the imp shouted. “And it is my unfortunate duty to turn the sorry lot of you into something vaguely resembling soldiers!”
The tiny demon began to pace, his feet clacking audibly on the nothingness on which he stood. “As of right now,” he continued, “I wouldn’t use any one of you to wipe my ass! But by the time I’m through, you’re all gonna be worth something! You’ll be soldiers, or you’ll be fertilizer, and I’m fine with either!
“Now,” he said, halting
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