Carl was way too old for this shit. He warped through the goblin halls butt naked except for a pair of Sylvie’s granny panties, too overwheld by panic to stop. He went straight into rooms to shout at drunken, sex-addled people half his age.
“We’re under God damn attack so get your shit and get out there!” he yelled at Garet.
The younger man blinked watery eyes and swallowed, stumbling out of a full bed. He looked Carl up and down.
“This is a super weird dream.”
“Just get up and move. And where the fuck is Phuong?”
“Dunno. Down with the goblins, maybe. They were playing bones, or sothing.”
Carl sighed and ran back out, stopping as sothing dark whipped past his peripheral vision. His Prescience flared, and he warped before a creature as black as pitch leapt through where he’d been standing.
He hit it with a Color Spray, smiling as the thing shrieked in agony and covered its face.
“Didn’t like that, huh?” he growled, closing in for the kill. He ramd his blade through the thing’s back with a Surprise Strike, except there wasn’t any ichor. It just scattered and fell apart like smoke, rising into the air as Carl waved his blade through it and cursed.
Another one, or maybe the sa one, leapt at him from twenty feet down the corridor. He spun and sliced his blade through its face, but it too vanished with a puff of smoke. With another swear Carl turned on his inspection power but still couldn’t understand what he was dealing with.
The demon turned and ran, vanishing through a wall. Carl shook his head, then warped after it.
**
Garet stumbled over and kicked Tommaso in the shoulder. They were both still wasted. There were at least three girls in the bed with Garet, but he only rembered bringing two. He also saw two goblins on the mattress with Tommaso on the floor.
“Didn’t you hear? Wake up you drunken bastard.”
It was a bit rich considering Garet was stumbling around like an idiot. The room spun a pirouette, and he staggered back to keep his feet. Tommaso groaned and tried to roll over, so Garet grabbed him and started kicking his ass until the Italian was up and swearing.
They fought a mont, then so kind of alarm blared outside. It sobered them both a little.
The girls were up and panicking and asking questions, but Garet just grabbed his friend and rushed for the door.
“Stay here,” he said, pointing at the girls. “And lock the door after us.”
Then they were out and hearing shouts and maybe fighting.
“Fuck.” Tommaso blinked again and again, forming a potion and squinting at it like he wasn’t sure which he’d used. “What do we do?”
“I dunno, we fucking…” Garet blanked. It wasn’t like they had a et point. Or a plan. What the hell was even happening? “We gotta find Mason.”
“Mason? Mason isn’t here, you stupid Arican bastard!”
Right. He was…wherever he was. Which ant Carl and Phuong were in charge. Except Carl ran off and didn’t tell them what to do. They didn’t know where Phuong was. So Garet and Tommaso had to make the plan.
Except Tommaso was an idiot. And Garet was black out, New Years Eve, orgy with so girls and a buddy drunk.
“We find soone sober,” he announced, stumbling down the hall as he summoned a spear. He was less likely to stab himself with a spear, he figured. Better than a blade for sure.
Who were they looking for, again?
**
Phuong slid his cards across the table, and grinned. Alex scowled more than usual. Seamus slapped a hand to his face. The goblin king and so of his court looked at their cards or each other and squinted in concentration or confusion.
“It’s another bloody straight,” Seamus said.
He’d taught them all to play, which made him so kind of official rule-keeper. This was apparently a near holy thing to the goblins. They all looked at him expectantly.
“All in a row, like.” Seamus made a gesture with his hands. “What it ans is, the shifty bastard was bluffing, but he’s a lucky shite and he won anyway. On the last card.”
The goblins all swore or grumbled under their breath, so hiding their cards as if from prying eyes with accusatory looks at each other.
Phuong smiled and pulled in his winnings. He was so pleased it was kind of embarrassing. Gambling had always been his guilty pleasure, though he rarely won much of anything. But these goblins seed to have a never-ending taste for it. They didn’t just bet on the cards. They bet who’d get drunk first, who’d fall asleep at the table, who’d have to piss next.
Every bet had rules and rituals and ca with gangster-like conniving. There’d be goblins leaping up on tables to say ‘soandso didn’t really have to piss, he just made a side bet!’ But tempers would cool. Money would exchange hands. And everyone would be back to their scheming and betting in minutes.
Phuong couldn’t rember the last ti he’d had so much fun.
His lover looked up from beside him and smiled with a yawn. She tapped her non-existent watch, then the empty glasses beside him, reminding him he was getting kind of drunk.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, giving him a raised eyebrow. Any other night he’d have given in. But when he said nothing and gave her a sheepish look, she just patted his arm, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said happily, turning back to the cards. He realized the goblins were watching him intently, and when his girl left alone, a handful swore and started exchanging money.
He laughed and waved at Alex to deal a new hand.
“A few more and we can all sleep anyway. Because I’ll have all your money.”
Seamus and the goblin king both stared with such a similar, squinted eyes sort of look, Phuong couldn’t help but laugh again.
It was certainly a night to rember. Drinking and playing cards with goblins. Feeling like a young man again with tables full of family and friends. A beautiful young woman he adored waiting in his bed. He could hardly think of anything that might ruin it.
Then he heard a young woman scream. The sound was familiar, yet alien—like he recognized the voice, but not that it could make such a terrible noise. It was like soone poured cold water down his neck—a jolt back to a childhood, at seeing innocent people’s lives change in one, horrible mont of violence.
He was up and running with Adrenaline activated, chair clattering back and tumbling before the others had even stood.
**
Mason was starting to find demon invasions boring. After his paranoia died down, he relaxed into the killing, and started wondering what he’d eat for supper. He had his Marilith blades out, though he swapped between his bow and Claws at fairly short range with increasing comfort.
He’d left the two ‘smoke stack’ demons (or so he’d nad them) lying in a hacked up ss at the bottom of the hill. The storm around them was shrinking, the other abyssals panicking like wild animals when they watched everything hit Mason and fail.
He was ready to run back and check on the others and take a better look from the top. Then the warning ssages ca.
[Patron Alert. House players under attack. Location: Razor Mountain.]
[Patron Alert: House civilians under attack. Location: Razor Mountain.]
[Patron Alert: Bonded civilian (Haley) affected by non-player source. Harm: none. Harm potential: extre. Patronage Event: not available.]
It was like the world’s worst self ‘I told you so’. The piece of his brain that expected disaster was pointing and staring, its lips two inches from the more reasonable guy as he shouted in his own face.
Mason turned, and ran. He pulled up Wyrdwalk and searched for entrances to the fey, all thoughts of Chinua and his people fading to a tiny speck. In that mont they were a minor concern. A nice to have. His family was in danger.
The warnings were still fucking coming, driving into his brain like splinters. He ran straight through Demi’s spores as he called her na. She ran to et him, going still with panic as she t his eyes.
“What is it?”
“I’m going to the others. Now. They’re under attack. It’s…”
He stopped before saying ‘a fucking trap’, and fought for control—for reason and rationality. Every second might be the death of soone he loved. He turned and stared through the rain and fog, scanning with One with Nature and trying to figure out how bad the attack was.
The pieces of shit were screwing with him. He knew it. There was so kind of magical interference all over the place, sothing to do with the unnatural storm. He couldn’t see far enough or sense far enough to truly know.
“You can stay and help them, or you can co with now,” he said, a lot of other words dying on his tongue. “The Stag will stay and fight until the end.”
Demi looked around, jaw clenching.
“I’ll help them. If things get bad, I can escape.” She looked at him again. “Be fast. And co back when you can.”
“I will.”
He kissed her forehead, then turned towards a patch of trees he thought would work for a Wyrdwalk. Without a word to Chinua or anyone else, he dropped his weight with his boots, and jumped.
He probably flew two hundred feet. Then jumped again. By the third jump he reached the trees, not even waiting to land before Wyrdwalking and vanishing into the fey with a roll. He wasn’t panicking anymore. His mind and senses were in tune, on fire. He raced through the fey paths like he’d been doing it all his life, ignoring every distraction.
In the fey it was minutes. In the real world it was seconds. He couldn’t tell what was happening with the mountain from the nature plane. And he couldn’t just pick and choose exactly where to co out. But he focused on Haley.
All he could do was rush inside and adapt as quickly as possible. With his mind and body coiled and ready for anything, no matter how terrible, no matter what was required, he charged into the dark.
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