Matthew Jones
Stories
7
Chapters
2,283
Words
4.7 K
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0
Reading
23 m
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I've never been the best swimmer, not even close to the worst either. Past and new life I've stood on the sidelines and watched others take a dive, not because I was afraid of drowning, no, anyone can kick their legs and flail their arms to keep afloat. But I stopped because I hate the feeling of water in my eyes. It stings, it's unnatural, water in the eye on a constant. And I'm expected to use the same eyes, eyes going through a permanent hum of pain from the water, to navigate my way around the deep…-
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Anselm and Jungle had their fair look at the depth of the pool of mud water the maw jumped out of. Jungle wasted no time drilling me, asking what kind of snake it was, what colour, how large, if it spoke to me. I was caught off guard at the last one. If it spoke to me. No one told me these things could fucking speak. I tossed aside his questions for a question of my own; where the fuck is my soul? No, not my soul, but my soul, one of the thirty-two that resided in the Gem. When the maw plunged back into…
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The presence of Necromancy other than mine is a stark reminder of the fact that I'm not the first Necromancy to walk the earth of this world. And perhaps I won't be the last. My mind reels with questions, each one of them unanswerable and yet I ask them all the same. The Shaman grunts and growls at me as I scream my interrogation in its face, it's useless. The Shaman is far too primitive to understand the workings of magic this complex. Why do I say so? Well because I can't understand it either. What…
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Despite my speaking to it, the Goblin Shaman is unable to understand a single word of my threats, promises or bargains. As such it's a tad difficult getting the information I need from it. We'd dragged and tied it to at the base of a tree where it can see its over grown minion lay, moaning in pain as we chop off regenerated parts every so often. Jungle is impatient as ever, pacing about the clearing urging that we move on to his thing since mine is a clear deadend. It frustrates me that he's right, but…
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Anselm isn't anywhere near killing the wrinkled goblin. After I sent Jungle to go have a look he returned with a smug tone and called me over to see Anselm struggling against the goblin. Jungle tells me as we watch Anselm get pummelled into the ground from the sidelines, that the wrinkled goblin as I so call it is more common than I think. Magic is pervasive to other species after all. The wrinkled goblin is commonly known as the goblin shaman, "So these Goblin Shamans, are they always this powerful?" I…
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"Anselm! Take care of the wrinkled one, the one with the staff!" I yell out at my companion, not bothering to check on the state of his well being, not with this giant in front of me. He groans in response and my undead screech under Shaco's command, launching themselves at the closest living goblin. Leaving that battle to them, I face the beast of a goblin before me. 'Is this even a goblin?' It's skin is green, albeit a pale green. It's larger than any other goblin I've seen, even the one that Anselm…
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Jungle has done well as a guide, very well. He's brought us to the paths of Trolls, giant spiders, more Dire Wolves and the familiar face of a Werebear. But that isn't even the most exciting part of any of this, the exciting part is when we get ambushed, like now. When the Shambling Mounds would spring out, or some roots take me by the ankle and dangle me over a gaping mouth of yet another hungry plant. Those are the most exciting times, off my feet with seconds to react, seconds to not die instantly to…
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For the second time this life I get to eat dirt because of a water whip. Wonderful. A single burst of mana frees me for my bonds, I stand, pulling out my dagger as I do. Ahead of me, eyes glowing an ethereal blue are seven Dire wolves. The smallest of them reaching my waist and the largest near towering over me. Gulping I glance back as they stalk me, setting their positions for an accurate pouncing, "Anselm! What are you doing back there?" He grunts and slams one aside, "Letting you have your fun,…
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I am furious. I shouldn't have given in to Jungle and camped, or at the very least I should have headed back to Demme where a pristine room and quality food await me. Although I've even slept on the ground in the early days of my life here, the many months of privilege living that followed have turned me into a man of quality living. And camping in the damp, dirty, insect infested forest is not quality living. My eyes wouldn't shut through the night, not that any of it was my fault, the insects seemed to…
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Without looking I can feel Jungle's eyes boring into my skull, his demand for an explanation hasn't ceased and it is quite unlikely to. Anselm stands beside me, not quite sure what to do with himself. Frankly I'm so more concerned with why he was unable to phase through the Mound, the Shambling Mound as Jungle has kindly named it. If it turns out to be something unique to the monster then I suppose I'm fine with Anselm having the one weakness. Although, if it is unique to the monster there comes up the…
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