Sometimes around the campfires when they all traveled, he would smoke olferb and find joy in just watching her talk to the others, allowing himself to become momentarily overwhelmed by the way the reds of her eyes became so skinny when she smiled, or how a dark violet tint came to her cheeks when she blushed.
***
The sculpture of the dark and brutal warrior was spotless. The imposing figure stood atop a pedestal cut from unpolished dark red quartz. Iridescent stalks of crystal reached up from beneath the dark knight. The pedestal’s scarlet stonework surrounded the stygian swordsman like frozen flames. Was the dark knight a victim perpetually just out of reach of hellfire or a demon in his domain? Maybe a martyr? Burned alive and memorialized here in this tomb? Who was this champion deserved of such an exquisite memorial: a great marble chamber and a statue so well hewn it was worthy of throne rooms?
“Rocco? Hello? Rocks-in-your head?” The dark elfkin was calling him. “You with us or has what little bit of a brain you still have left finally called it quits?”
“Billy? Uh … Yeah, what?”
“Did you smoke olferb before we left the keep?”
“Me? No.”
Or did I?
She confused him so easily. “I’m fine. You and Sammy and Dudley check the stairway and try to find whatever might trigger this portcullis. Val, Ar-Raguel and I will-”
“Stand around at the top of the staircase, safe and out of the way until we’ve finished the dangerous work – got it,” she finished for him.
“If you spring the trap by accident, it’ll be mine and Ar-Raguel’s swords and Val’s conjuring that’ll have your back.” He countered Billy’s condescension.
“If I spring a trap by accident? That is fucking rich.”
“That whole business in the kobold lair doesn’t count.” Billy walked by him refusing to meet his eyes and shaking her head. He continued his justifications. “They were tiny wee monsters and there were traps every five feet – that’s like every step for me!”
Dudley interrupted. “While you’re standing around up here doing nothing could you kindly keep your eye out for whatever horrible things might be lurking in the dark beyond the statue downstairs as well?”
Billy added, “And come to think of it, keep a close eye on the statue too.”
“I am.” Rocco stated firmly, annoyed by their mocking.
They had earned their right to mock and Rocco knew it. Two experienced rogues and a Dwarven miner. If there was anything out of joint with the stairwell they’d be sure to catch it. Billy, the dark elfkin archer took the left side of the steps, Dudley, the Dwarven miner, the right, and Sammy, the leather-clad halfling, took the center. Crouched low, Sammy’s eyes were just inches above the ground. He gently blew the tiniest specks of dust off of the polished marble steps in front of him searching for the slightest crack or crevice, a sign of irregularly cut stone, missing mortar, or any number of the many hints of tricks and traps that a trained member of a well-regarded guild could easily spy.
As the trio cleared each step Rocco descended behind them taking in more details of the statue as he slowly moved closer to it. The stone-cut warrior carried no shield. Instead, an oversized collar and shoulder guard served to protect its head and neck from attacks on its left side and its massive left forearm was outfitted with a heavy but unusual bracer. Beyond protecting his forearm, attached to this arm-guard was a blade similar to a wide short sword arranged perpendicular to the bracer. All this warrior needed to do to in order to block an opponent’s blow to his left side was raise his forearm. An unusually heavy gauntlet on the left hand suggested that this warrior’s unencumbered shield-hand was more than capable of snatching the blade out of an unsuspecting opponent. Rocco had heard of such armed armor but thankfully had never faced a foe who possessed such enviable equipment and skills.
“Don’t you want to be on the other side of the portcullis just in case we fuck this up and the gate does come crashing down?” Sammy asked Rocco, who took another step, following his companions down the stairwell.
“I want a closer look at that statue.”
“It’s because the statue has your eyes, Billy,” the halfling joked.
Rocco ignored Sammy. Instead, he continued to stare intently at the statue, studying it, waiting for the chance to get next to it, something about it…
“I think he’s actually afraid of my eyes, Sammy.” Billy replied. “He’s not afraid of monsters in the dark but scared to death of a li’l elf girl with big, bad, demon eyes.”
Sammy looked at Rocco who appeared to be oblivious to all around him except the statue. “He’d take an arrow for you, Billy.”
“That big oaf would take an arrow for any of us,” she gently countered. “Probably two or three.” She sighed, shook her head and turned her own ruby red eyes back to the floor in search of bits of string, rusty springs and other clever, curious things.
“He’s probably just stoned,” Sammy said as he returned to the task at hand and he was glad to hear her chuckle in response.
Rocco took a few more steps; he was maybe halfway down the staircase now. Ar-Raguel and Val remained at the stop of the staircase. Rocco vaguely heard Val say something about a strange emblem on the secret wall up there.
Beautiful red eyes? No that wasn’t it. Never mind.
He let his companion’s conversations drift away.
Shhh. Go dance with this mausoleum’s memories and ghosts.
With each step Rocco could see more of the armor’s detail and features, and he became more fascinated with and curious about the mysterious warrior.
The gauntlet on the statue’s sword-hand was lighter and more flexible than its mate but no less deadly. It possessed barbed spikes on its knuckles; the tips of each finger were honed to a point like a cat’s claw. Overlapping and hinged plates were bound to a tightly woven chain mail, all of it wrapped over leather – even the leather gloves which scarcely shown between plates and chains were carved with disquieting realism. Together the plates, fine chains and leather offered complete protection to every segment of wrist, hand and finger. The craftsmanship and intricacy in the sculpture’s gauntlets suggested that if they had been real, whoever wore them suffered almost no inhibition of movement despite their enormous size and seeming bulk. If this sculpture was an accurate representation of the armor this warrior had worn in life then it was the finest armor Rocco had ever seen.
The sword, however, was not cut from marble. As with so many sculptures of heroes and gods there was a metal blade in the hand of the warrior. But what type of metal? It was dark, almost black like wrought iron but it shimmered with red hues – or was that just the torchlight reflecting off of the blade’s metallic surface? Whatever the blade was made of its design was ornate. It was a not a simple hammered piece of steel. Instead, it looked like the blade had been cast in an intricate mold. It had the shape of long, intertwined flickering flames. The blade’s edges were neither straight nor the gentle curves of those carried by the Aliaj which Rocco had seen on a few rare occasions. Instead the edges of the blade had the appearance of being made of yet smaller flames licking out from the center of the sword, the gaps in between each smaller flame’s tip providing a space to catch an opponent’s weapon. Despite its slender form, the blade was enormous, easily a two-handed sword for most fighters but for someone Rocco’s size it could be wielded as a devastatingly powerful one-handed weapon, allowing the warrior to use its free arm with its powerful bracer-sword to devastating effect.
The foible of the statue’s red-black blade seemed impossibly fragile. It was a beautiful long thin triangle of barbed flames but so unlikely to survive in combat due to it being so thin, the metal hammered too fine to endure the assault of another blade. It made little sense. Why would such an enormous weapon be cast so delicately? Even as a piece of art it seemed out of place and wanting as compared to the unmistakable power and intimidation that the rest of the sculpture evoked.
Unless it isn’t a piece of art?
Suddenly it occurred to Rocco where he had seen a metal like the one from which the sword was made. It wasn’t metal at all. It was hewn and honed from a dragon’s scale. No unenchanted weapon could ever hope to damage such a blade no matter how fragile it may have appeared just as no unenchanted weapon could ever hope to pierce a dragon’s scales.
His comrades had cleared several more steps while he had been lost in thought and he was now two-thirds of the way down the stairwell. Less than forty or so feet from the statue and it was now clear that not only was the blade not crafted from metal, but the marble statue itself was not actually marble. It was heavy blackened iron, burnished so thoroughly as to shine like polished stone.
What have we found?
“That’s no statue.” Rocco said aloud and suddenly began running down the steps while drawing his broadsword.
“No, Rocco, wait, we haven’t cleared those steps yet!” Billy screamed as Rocco stepped over Sammy who was crouched on the ground immediately in front of the sword-waving warrior. Sammy tried to grab a hold of Rocco’s leg as it passed over, but the mountain of a man shook the halfling off effortlessly; Rocco’s gait was hardly disturbed. Sammy fell hard against the marble stairs.
“What the fuck, Rocco?” Sammy snapped. He brought his hand to his forehead and felt blood trickling from a small but deep cut which has just opened up when his forehead connected with the edge of a step.
At the top of the stairs, Ar-Raguel began to follow hesitantly, notching an arrow in his bow but unsure whether he should try to catch up with Rocco or hold near the top of the stairs, a safe distance from any possible attackers should Rocco’s haste set off some sort of trap below.
Sammy wasn’t through with Rocco however and was now pissed off enough to take more drastic measures. He executed a forward roll down the steps, under and between Rocco’s legs, and then, having somehow managed to slip on a set of brass knuckles during the maneuver punched straight up under Rocco’s skirt of plated leather and mail and found his mark: the small area of only leather padding directly between Rocco’s legs.
The giant’s obsession with the statue was brought to an abrupt end.
“Owwwwwww…” Rocco, in tears, reached down too late to protect himself and turned around slowly to see Sammy, having already rolled back up a few steps, taking a defensive posture, brass knuckled fists brandishing daggers dripping with some sort of oily dark liquid.
Rocco listened as the halfling spoke slowly and deliberately: “Now all I done so far is rock your rocks, Rocco. And even though the poison on these blades won’t kill ya’ brother, if I were to just knick ya’, it’ll burn worse’en your balls do now until it knocks you out cold a few seconds later.”
Rocco was disoriented. Not only as a result of the throbbing in his testicles – did Sammy really just punch him in the balls? – but he also wasn’t exactly sure how he had arrived at nearly the bottom of the staircase. “No, Sammy, it’s all good…” He was still crouched over, breathing heavy, red-faced and dizzy. He held his hand out waving off his partners in crimes. “I deserved that.” He took another deep breath as he began to stand up and face his companions.
“I give you a lot of shit about being a big dumb guy but…” Billy had drawn her sword when it appeared Rocco was about to run headlong into trouble. “What the hell were you doing Rocco?” She glared at him.
He always felt helpless when she stared at him so intently because he could never get over just how striking her fire-red eyes were and how with her purplish-grey skin her face was so uniquely beautiful. Sometimes around the campfires when they all traveled, he would smoke olferb and find joy in just watching her talk to the others, allowing himself to become momentarily overwhelmed by the way the reds of her eyes became so skinny when she smiled, or how a dark violet tint came to her cheeks when she blushed.
“Rocco? Rocco!! I think you’re still under the armor’s spell.”
“Right …. The armor.” He paused, now more confused than in pain. “There’s something about the armor … I … I uh … I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He looked up at Ar-Raguel at the top of the stairs who now lowered his bow. Val was approaching the stairway entrance behind Ar-Raguel, returning from inspecting whatever it was that had caught the wizard’s attention up in the mausoleum. “It’s not a statue,” Rocco continued as he turned around to point at the armor and in the process lost his footing slightly as he shifted his weight, still a bit dizzy from Sammy’s sucker punch and shaking off whatever bedevilment had overtaken him. His right legged searched for sure-footing on the next step but instead, his foot landed on the torch he had thrown down the stairs a few minutes earlier. His right foot slid forward as the torch rolled out from under it, forcing Rocco into the beginnings of an awkward split. Fearing that he would come crashing down on his already bruised balls, he pushed off with his left leg, launching his seven-and-one-half foot frame, all 400-plus pounds of it, down the last two steps of the stairwell and into the entranceway of the chamber beyond.
 |
| keep your eyes on the prize, Rocco |
Illustration by author.
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