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Cow Face -> RE: The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious (5/4/2010 18:20:02)
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Chapter Four: The Sack Of Kvetch, OR How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Maidric Siege Crawler
Hero stood on the verge of the city limits of Kvetch. "Population: A Lot Less Than Usual," he read. "Huhn. At least I'm here." He had made several wrong turns along the way, accidentally visiting some charming places like Raccoon City and Ravenholm. The citizens were nice enough, but they weren't really lively. Unfortunately, Kvetch seemed even worse- it was on fire! And not in the "The roof! The roof! The roof is on fire!" sort of way, like you crazy kids like to dance to, but in a "By the Nine, we're all going to die, the roof is on fire!" sort of way.
A refugee ran out from the small camp, grabbing him and shaking him until he felt as though he were in some fifties science fiction novel. "Get out!" he cried into Hero's face. "The city's over-run! They came out of nowhere- I was one of the lucky ones! Those terrible eyes, those terrible feather dusters! They kept offering me free trials of Pickledill On-Line! It was horrible! Run for your life; I'm getting out of here!" Before Hero could stop him, he ran off into the hills, whereupon he was tackled, mauled and eaten by a mountain lion. "And that," muttered Hero, "is why you leave the fleeing to the professionals." Disgusted with the foolish person, he stormed off into the encampment.
"Welcome to Septicville," growled a refugee. "We call it that in honor of our great leader, Emperor Septic, who doesn't do a thing to help the poor! Our town gets massacred, and he's off traipsing through sewers with some convict! Meanwhile, this is what we're driven to! They're keeping us down."
Hero blinked. "You do realize that Emperor Septic is dead, don’t you? He died down in the sewers just a bit earlier." The angry refugee threw her hands into the air with a galled noise. "Isn't that just the way?" she demanded. "Lucky stiffs, getting to go off and die while we have to stick around here! I tell you, the rich are getting more decadent by the second. It's got to be stopped!" She tramped off, leaving Hero alone and confused. Suddenly, his anger about the man who ran away seemed… a lot more intelligent, actually. But that was beside the point. He had to figure out what had happened.
As he made his way up the large hill that led to the city proper, the sky began growing red. This meant either that he was about to encounter some great gate into the hideous realm of Oblivious, or that the Brawling Bretons football team had finally beaten the Orcrest Behemoths. Hero decided that the former was more likely.
Upon reaching the top of the hill, he found that a small squadron of the town guard had gathered behind a makeshift barricade. They seemed battered and worn, their faces wearing expressions of the hunted. It looked as though they had aged years in what must have been mere hours, their minds and bodies both under the constant stress of battle. One had grown a long, white beard all the way to his knees. And he looked to be a boy of only twelve years. It had been a hard fight indeed.
A blazing structure had burst from the ground, extending toward the sky in an arch. Wavering flames flicked in and out of it; it looked rather like a gateway to the underworld. And above it, written in fiery letters, were the words: "Thise Invasion Is Brovght To Thee By the Lettre…" Hero looked from it to the encampment below, to the city behind it, and back to the gate. "One of these things," he muttered, "is not like the others. One of these things… one of these things just doesn’t belong." His thoughtful frown turned to a face of fear not unlike a wondering cat, as he saw vicious monsters begin to pour out of the gate. They wore a strange sort of motley, and carried bags of the-Nine-know-what on their back. Scraggly hair had sprouted along their jawlines. But strangest of all, not a one was over four feet tall. One of the guard cursed under his breath. "Stunted Tramps! I should have known. These Maidra are throwing everything they've got at us."
As one, the guard began charging forward, brandishing their weapons and shouting their war cries. "For Kvetch!" "For Kvetch and the Empire!" "For Kvetch and the Empire and the people!" "For A Fistful of Dollars!" "For the love of battles, man, that's some good coffee!" "Blue monkeys taste like crumpets!" "What?" "…For Kvetch!" The Tramps, too, began screaming as they rushed the guard. "We represent the Lollipop Guild!" "Alms, alms for the poor!" "Hey, man, can you spare a soul?"
The guards made short work of the Tramps, bravely throwing rocks and sticks at them until the demons fled back into the gate. "Good fight, men," said the captain of the guard, the only one without a helmet. Which, if you think about it, is rather backward. I mean, does he not need the extra protection, or something? You'd think the guard would want to protect their best. Oh, um, right, back to being an impartial narrator.
Hero approached the captain, who almost attacked him, due to his awful armor. "Sorry, citizen, you're going to need to get back to the encampment. We can't afford to have any more soldiers who lack adequate protection. My men and I fit that bill perfectly. But, after all, you go into war with the army you have, not the army you want to have."
"Sir, I want to help you," replied Hero Guy, stoutly. "I've a good blade arm; I killed countless rats, single-handedly. Big old rats, with beady eyes and yellow teeth that gnash and go all 'Grar, rawr, I'm a-gonna eat you!'"
The captain nodded, impressed. "That sounds dangerous. But if you really want to help, I guess we can always use some idiot for cannon fodder. You could be the idiot we need. Citizen, are you the idiot we've been waiting for?"
"I am the idiot you're looking for," affirmed Hero. "What do you need me to do?"
"It's a dangerous mission. We need you to go behind enemy lines, alone, with only what armor you've got, against countless Maidra, uphill both ways, drenched in molasses, across crumbling bridges, over the river and through the woods, to the fortress of Oblivious you'll go. There's a good chance you'll get really big boo-boos."
Hero grinned. "I can handle boo-boos, sir. I've got the basic adventurer spell, Heal Minor Boo-Boos." He decided not to mention that his Restoration skill was only six, so it was about the equivalent of putting a Band-Aid on it. The captain gave him a slap on the back, and he ran through the gate into Oblivious.
He emerged onto a hellish landscape; blackened grass and lava were everywhere. It looked as though a crazed landscaper had married a loony interior designer, gotten uproariously drunk, maybe downed a bottle of skooma or two, beaten each other half-senseless, and then painted the scenery. And the only color they had was red. Worse still, it was a gated community. Several Stunted Tramps had gathered together outside the gate, playing a dice game and chatting. Hero approached these, weapon drawn.
"Excuse me," he began, "might you know how to shut down this… gate? I really need to, because there's a lot of people depending on me."
One of the Tramps drew up to his full height, which didn't take a lot of drawing, and turned to his fellows. Their eyes narrowed as they looked at him, then they each joined hands. Menacingly, they took a step forward. Hero Guy, too, stepped forward, dropping into a crouch and snapping. They took another step; as did he. Finally, when they were within feet of each other, the Tramps spoke. "Follow the crimson-blood road!" they exclaimed. Hero blinked, and they repeated themselves, singing in countertenor voices. "Follow the crimson-blood road! Follow the, follow the, follow the, follow the, follow the crimson-blood road!" They pointed at a trail of blood which was strewn across the ground.
"Oh." Hero scratched his helmet. "Um, thanks very much. That… that was surprisingly helpful. And surprisingly musical." But it was no use; they had already turned away. Their ears were deaf to his thanks- it was almost as if they were…
Oblivious.
Hero began following the trail, occasionally stopping to rub his feet; the soles of his boots had already rusted away to nothing. As he walked on, he took a moment to observe his surroundings more closely. "Interesting architecture. The bones of some unidentifiable creature really go nicely with the flesh sacks. I like the placement of the lava around the castle; very artistic. Hmm, and the severely wounded knight over by that plant looks very nice, especially with the accent of-" He stopped, then rushed forward to assist the unknown soldier.
"Come no closer!" the man in question rasped. "This plant-" he gestured weakly at a vine which laid near him- "is deadly. I tried to fight it, but to no avail. With every swing, it merely struck me over and over again. It's relentless, I tell you. But it can't end like this. I could have been somebody, you know? I could've been a contender." He looked about to give in to fatigue.
"No!" cried Hero, rushing forward to drag him from the vine's reach. "You can't die on me! You've still got at least ten health points left!" Quickly, he utilized his skill with first-aid to administer a potion to the soldier, who already looked better, and gave Hero his thanks. Hero waved it away. "All part of the job of being an RPG hero. But now, what happened to you?"
"My company was ambushed by a group of Maidra. It was awful. Those feather dusters, bearing down on us, beating…" He shuddered. "Our commanding officer was dragged away to the tower. Those Maidra are-"
"Wait," Hero interrupted. "Maidra? Maid-ra? Maids?" A slow smile spread across his face.
The soldier's face contorted into a guarded look. "Yes?" he judiciously affirmed. "But they're not the kind of maids you'd like. They're fat and ugly."
"Fat and ugly?" Hero was crestfallen. "I'll bet they're mean, too, huh?"
"Yes. Very mean. And fat and ugly. And they don't speak your language. Or anyone's, for that matter. So no matter how much you might want to, you can't talk to them at all. And they're fat and mean and ugly."
Hero scowled. "Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings, aren't you? You crushed my hopes then danced on their grave! I don't know if I want to save the world, if there aren't any maids. Any good maids, that is." He pouted, crossing his arms and turning away. The soldier sighed, tapping him on the back. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," he grudgingly said. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of maids at the end of your quest, and not a one of them ugly."
"You're just saying that," scoffed Hero.
"Yes. But it's well-intended!" Hero showed signs of relenting, and the soldier pleaded, "Now, will you please go save the world?"
"Well…" Hero gave in. "Alright. To the tower!" Strengthened by the thought of maids, Hero charged onward, leaving the soldier to stare after him. "Heroes these days," he snorted. "So spoiled. When I was a hero, I didn't get promises of maids at the end of my quest. I had to content myself with a packet of gold and a slightly less rusty iron blade. Bah." He turned on his heel, marching off toward the gate back to Kvetch.
***
It had been a long, harrowing journey to the tower. Hero had leaped over broken bridges that spanned rivers of lava, traversed minefields, battled countless Tramps, and avoided sniffing the flowers along the way. Now, weary, his armor in shambles, he gazed up at the foreboding door which granted access into the huge tower. Swallowing his fears, he forced the gates open, and strode in.
It was the most hideous thing he had ever seen. Everywhere, grotesque figures hung from the walls, strung up before a giant column of flame. Their faces were misshapen, dripping as if plastic melting away before a flame. Something about that simile, though, was accurate, Hero realized. Stepping forward to look one in the face, he suddenly recoiled, aghast. "By the Nine! It's Joan Rivers!" Whirling around, he turned to face the others. Everywhere, celebrities were hung, still alive, their layers of plastic surgery melting away in the heat. Suddenly, a voice behind him groaned, "That… that's hot." Hero couldn't bear to face it; he recognized the voice too well. Clamping a hand to his mouth, he ran from the room, into the next chamber.
First came the sound. It began distantly, barely audible. Something about it was familiar, but Hero couldn’t quite make out the words. Cautiously, he crept forward, to see what awaited him. With every step, his trepidation increased, as the droning grew steadily louder. A flash of light. Searing pain. He fell to the ground, clutching at his ears. "Make it stop," he rasped out. "Please, make it stop." He felt sure that his ears and eyes were by now bleeding, as he looked up to stare at the screen. Endlessly, the same words were being displayed, exactly in time with the music. They were nearly burnt into Hero's eyes by the time he escaped. For years later, the memory would still haunt him.
"It's a small world after all; it's a small world after all; it's a small world after all…"
Hero burst through the door to find himself back in the main chamber of the tower. He had ascended two floors; he could tell by the height of the column. Looking up, he judged that there were about two floors to the top; not a long journey, yet it could be a harrowing one. Trying to prepare for the ascent, he first looked about for something which might assist with his journey. A strange sack was nearby; it was red, and almost pulsing. He gulped, and reached down inside. Something papery brushed against his fingers, which he drew out of it. It read:
THE PUNISHED
Attn. Maidra - No more interior designers STOP Enough as is STOP Complain of bones STOP Place in bags, like this STOP - Mgmt
This was truly sickening. In this day and age, the Maidra were still using telegrams? They'd perfected teleportation; they could easily use some sort of more instantaneous messaging. Of course, the people of Pickledill didn't have such a thing, either… Perhaps some day, someone would invent a service by which messages could instantly be relayed to anyone, anywhere! No, decided Hero, it'd never catch on. He gave up on the thought, and continued his ascent.
The membrane-like door slid open slowly and quietly. Hero crouched, inching forward. Strains of conversation were tickling at his ears, just within earshot. It seemed that he had come in on the tail end of a conversation: "…so I said that if he was going to act that way, he could wash his own sheets! I'll tell you now, there won't be a mint on his pillow after my rounds!" Sinister cackling followed this comment, followed by a half-nervous query in another voice. "That's great, but did you really say that to Master Cameron? It seems like he'd smite you or something." The reply came with offended briskness. "Well. Um. That's not important. Like I was saying-"
Hero had heard enough; surely, this could be nothing other than a small group, perhaps only two, of Maidra. Rising, he broke into a sprint, leaping into the air and slashing down at the larger of the two. "Die, fiend!" he cried, plunging his sword into the monster's back. It crumpled in a pile of clothing. The other one stared at Hero in bewilderment and anger. "What was that?" it cried, pointing at its erstwhile companion. "You homicidal psycho, you just killed Terrence!" It pulled a cell phone out of the folds of its uniform. "Hello? Police? I'd like to report an assault. Hello? Are you- no, an assault. With a deadly weap- come on. Hello? Can you hear me now? Wai-" It hurled the instrument to the ground, exclaiming, "I hate Sprinter service!"
The given pause was all which Hero needed to develop a plan. Quickly, he sprang into action, swinging his sword up at the beast, distracted by its phone call. He made a deft uppercut, striking the phone and flinging it back up at the monster. With a dull thud, it met its mark, bowling the creature over with a blow to the forehead. The Maidra fell, unconscious, and Hero stepped over it, running on to the next level.
***
Holding his map up to the directory, Hero tried to figure out where he was. "Okay, so I ran through the Foyer of Fallen Stars… Fought through the Theatre of Eternal Torment… Made it past the Restroom of Suffering… Waited in the Lobby of Endless Boredom… I should be in the Sanctum of Lost Sanity, but I seem to be in the Laundry Room of Death. Maybe I took a wrong turn at the Stairway to What Is Certainly Not Heaven, or else in the Hall of Snarky Insults." Tilting his head, he starting plotting a new route. "I'll make my way through the Laundry Room, then work past the Foyer of General Unpleasantness, and then get to the Dormitory of Rainbows, from which I can reach the Sanctum." It would be a very long path indeed, and a dangerous one. However, serendipity chose that moment to strike; he realized that there was a much simpler route. Slapping his forehead, Hero exclaimed, "Or I could just take the Elevator of Mind-Numbing Insipidity right to the Sanctum!" He quickly strode into the elevator, pressing the "Sa" button. One lone Tramp tried to stick his foot in the door, but Hero stomped on it, and the foot retracted.
The ride began simply enough. The Girl From Ipanema was playing, and Hero didn't mind. Yet, it started to move more slowly, and other songs started up. Bubblegum rock started blaring from the speakers, wearing away at Hero's willpower. Indeed, when he looked to the top-right corners of his eyes, a Status Effect had begun, damaging his Willpower by one point every five seconds. He almost didn't make it; by the time the ride was finished, he was clinging onto the rail and quivering. Eventually, though, the doors opened, and Hero forced his muscles to unclench, lurching out of the elevator. From now on, he decided, he would take the Foyer and Dormitory.
Emerging onto the Sanctum of Lost Sanity was an interesting experience. First, of course, was the relief from exiting the Elevator; that was immeasurable. But then, there was the added bonus of knowing that his quest was nearly finished. Indeed, he had just received a mysterious message in his journal that he should go forth and claim the Vigil Stone. He took a moment to look about, observing the two identical staircases leading up to a loft of sorts. From here, the top of the column of flame could be reached. Something was atop it, but Hero couldn’t quite figure out what. He charged forward, his Willpower restored, and prepared to conquer.
Seven Maidra had gathered together, from Stunted Tramps to the Maidra themselves. They were formed into a sort of bracket, and one more armored Maidra crouched in front of the rest. Hero could hear them calling out, "Alright, I want number twenty-two to go around the back, and try to tackle him. Meanwhile, numbers thirty and forty-five will charge from both sides and block. Eleven, I want you to use that distraction to break through and score. Got it?" After an exclamation, perhaps a war cry, they charged at the poor, bewildered Hero.
It was a harrowing experience. The Maidra surged about him, jumping at his ankles. To avoid several Stunted Tramps, he had to lift his knees nearly to his chest, running forward all the while. Next, he dodged side-to-side to avoid being tackled by a Cloddfear, a dinosaur-like demon. Finally, he burst through two Maidra who had linked arms, ran up the staircase and claimed the Vigil Stone, plucking it from its fiery cradle.
"Yes!" he exulted, holding it high above his head. Then, "Ow!" as it heated up his metal gauntlets. He barely had time to notice, though, for the world began to crumble about him…
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