and turning to face the group, “before we go any further, let me get this out of the way. Invariably, some dumb fucker decides that, since I’m short, he doesn’t have to listen to me. And that, you looming shits, ain’t gonna cut it. So, any of you think you can take me? Now’s the time to try.”
Cræosh rolled his eyes, despite his complete lack of surprise, when Jhurpess stepped forward.
“Jhurpess can fight little thing,” he announced, hefting his club. “Jhurpess will—”
Jhurpess, however, did nothing but scream as a bolt of lightning burst from the imp’s tiny hand, crackling and sizzling its way down the courtyard, and slammed the bugbear halfway through the nearest wall.
“Anyone else?” Shreckt asked when the roaring, the thunder, and the sounds of falling masonry finally ceased.
Not surprisingly, there were no takers.
“Good.” The imp gestured at Gork. “Help the monkey up.”
“What?” Gork squeaked. “Me? But he—”
Shreckt raised a hand; the kobold immediately hurried over to the bugbear.
Jhurpess’s fur smoldered, and even Gork’s hand on his arm seemed to cause an inordinate amount of pain. Nevertheless, the bugbear struggled to his feet—using Gork primarily as a crutch, nearly shoving the kobold’s head down into his own rib cage in the process.
“All right, then,” the imp continued once the mismatched pair had limped back into line. “Here’s the situation. I tell you to do something, and you do it. That, and that alone, is your life until I say otherwise. You will not speak unless I tell you to. You will not fight unless I tell you to. You will not think—well, that’s probably not much of an issue. You will not eat, sleep, shit unless I tell you to. Any questions?
“Good. Names!”
“Gork!” the kobold piped up immediately.
“Jhurpess,” came weakly, a moment later.
“Gimmol Phicereune,” the gremlin announced next, “and it’s a distinct pleasure—”
Cræosh reached past the human and smacked the gremlin on the back of the head. Gimmol shut up; possibly because he got the hint, possibly because it was all he could do to stay conscious.
“Omb Fezeill,” the human said.
“Cræosh.”
And finally, “T’chakatimlamitilnog, of the…House of Ru.”
Even the imp looked taken aback. “Say that again?”
“T’chakatimlamitilnog,” the troll repeated, snout furrowing in bewilderment.
“Right,” Shreckt said after a moment. “‘Troll’ it is.” His demonic visage swiveled toward Fezeill. “True forms during inspection, soldier.”
For the first time, an actual expression crossed the human’s face. “Is that really necessary?”
The imp’s flinty face actually developed crags as his features scrunched up. “Is that really necessary
what?!”
“Sir!” the man corrected. “Is that really necessary
sir?”
“Yes!”
the imp shrieked.
Slowly, the “human’s” body began to warp. The squad watched intently—some in fascination, some in disgust, and one in outright hatred—as his true form appeared before them. Loathsome white flesh, vaguely akin to a maggot’s, bulged from between segments of a dark gray chitin. The creature’s eyes, protruding hideously from the sides of its head, only added to the insectoid image. Multifaceted, they stared, unblinking; Cræosh found himself confronted by a hundred tiny orcs contained in those alien orbs. A faint lump with gaping nostrils was the closest thing the creature had to a nose, and the mouth was full of jagged ridges made of something akin to bone. Its fingers were clearly built for grasping, for tiny barbs edged the digits from palm to tip.
It was, even for those used to supping with gremlins and fighting with trolls, more than a little repugnant.
“Doppelganger,” Gork grumbled under his breath.
“Better,” Shreckt said. “I expect you to look this way every time I call assembly.” There was silence, then, except for the
tap-tap-tap
of the imp pacing across thin
Cræosh rolled his eyes, despite his complete lack of surprise, when Jhurpess stepped forward.
“Jhurpess can fight little thing,” he announced, hefting his club. “Jhurpess will—”
Jhurpess, however, did nothing but scream as a bolt of lightning burst from the imp’s tiny hand, crackling and sizzling its way down the courtyard, and slammed the bugbear halfway through the nearest wall.
“Anyone else?” Shreckt asked when the roaring, the thunder, and the sounds of falling masonry finally ceased.
Not surprisingly, there were no takers.
“Good.” The imp gestured at Gork. “Help the monkey up.”
“What?” Gork squeaked. “Me? But he—”
Shreckt raised a hand; the kobold immediately hurried over to the bugbear.
Jhurpess’s fur smoldered, and even Gork’s hand on his arm seemed to cause an inordinate amount of pain. Nevertheless, the bugbear struggled to his feet—using Gork primarily as a crutch, nearly shoving the kobold’s head down into his own rib cage in the process.
“All right, then,” the imp continued once the mismatched pair had limped back into line. “Here’s the situation. I tell you to do something, and you do it. That, and that alone, is your life until I say otherwise. You will not speak unless I tell you to. You will not fight unless I tell you to. You will not think—well, that’s probably not much of an issue. You will not eat, sleep, shit unless I tell you to. Any questions?
“Good. Names!”
“Gork!” the kobold piped up immediately.
“Jhurpess,” came weakly, a moment later.
“Gimmol Phicereune,” the gremlin announced next, “and it’s a distinct pleasure—”
Cræosh reached past the human and smacked the gremlin on the back of the head. Gimmol shut up; possibly because he got the hint, possibly because it was all he could do to stay conscious.
“Omb Fezeill,” the human said.
“Cræosh.”
And finally, “T’chakatimlamitilnog, of the…House of Ru.”
Even the imp looked taken aback. “Say that again?”
“T’chakatimlamitilnog,” the troll repeated, snout furrowing in bewilderment.
“Right,” Shreckt said after a moment. “‘Troll’ it is.” His demonic visage swiveled toward Fezeill. “True forms during inspection, soldier.”
For the first time, an actual expression crossed the human’s face. “Is that really necessary?”
The imp’s flinty face actually developed crags as his features scrunched up. “Is that really necessary
what?!”
“Sir!” the man corrected. “Is that really necessary
sir?”
“Yes!”
the imp shrieked.
Slowly, the “human’s” body began to warp. The squad watched intently—some in fascination, some in disgust, and one in outright hatred—as his true form appeared before them. Loathsome white flesh, vaguely akin to a maggot’s, bulged from between segments of a dark gray chitin. The creature’s eyes, protruding hideously from the sides of its head, only added to the insectoid image. Multifaceted, they stared, unblinking; Cræosh found himself confronted by a hundred tiny orcs contained in those alien orbs. A faint lump with gaping nostrils was the closest thing the creature had to a nose, and the mouth was full of jagged ridges made of something akin to bone. Its fingers were clearly built for grasping, for tiny barbs edged the digits from palm to tip.
It was, even for those used to supping with gremlins and fighting with trolls, more than a little repugnant.
“Doppelganger,” Gork grumbled under his breath.
“Better,” Shreckt said. “I expect you to look this way every time I call assembly.” There was silence, then, except for the
tap-tap-tap
of the imp pacing across thin
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