McIan
Journeyman
The man was a derelict. All of his life and money had been spent, wasted, on drink and women. His two wives had left him when they finally gave up trying to peel him away from the bottle to which, they learned the hard way, he was firmly and devotedly wed. He had wandered from town to town looking for odd jobs only to get money enough for the next tavern visit. He was well known at them though nobody knew his real name… Dirk, Dirk Purvis. Now he languished in a small ten by fifteen cell within the confines of a dark fortress, having been kidnapped from a deserted alley astride some pub in Britain… he couldn’t remember its name.
His captors were unknown, but the jailors were gargoyles. He was fed reasonably well, and was, on occasion when he least expected it, given wine… a delicious variety he had never tasted before. Lately he had been feeling a lot better… happy even. He began joking with the gargoyles, who simply ignored him. No matter. He was alive. He had a safe space… a soft bed, food, and wine aplenty. Except for the complete lack of female companionship, at least any he could recall, what more could he ever want?
This went on for some time. He would gaze out the bars of the tiny window of his cell, take in the multi-faceted scents that nature’s flora carried on the wind and listened contemplatively to the songs of birds, and the incessant chirping of those giant grasshoppers. Even if the sights were denied him, he felt contentment, even a slight sense of joy. Life was good.
Until today.
Spiders. Large ones. He could feel them crawling on him, waking him from his nap, or sleep. Their beady eyes bore into him, invading his dreams as they advanced, fangs extended. When he awoke, he saw nothing. But he could feel them; their spindly, hairy, legs defiling his skin, working their way up his limbs toward his face. He could not rest at all without their interruptions. Even when he closed his eyes he could see them, feel them on him.
He wondered why. He had never before had any fear of them. Yes, occasionally a giant one would wander into a town where he was staying and scare people momentarily. He found their squeamishness amusing, chuckling as the Royal Guards promptly dispatched it. To him, they were nothing more than a slight menace, the sight of which he had never recoiled.
No longer. The terror was nearly overwhelming… and it showed no signs of slowing down.
“Help me,” he cried out to his jailor, who stalked over to his cell. Dirk had grabbed the thick adamantine bars and clenched them until his knuckles whitened. “I am seeing spiders! They are here with me but when I open my eyes, they are gone! Do you see them?!”
The gargoyle shook his head. “You are dreaming. Be silent.”
Another, hearing the conversation, approached, listening and watching.
“I see them!! I feel them!! Something is wrong! Let me out of here!” Dirk pleaded, his eyes wide, revealing the unmistakable sign and sincerity of his abject fear and horror.
“I shall report this to the drow,” the listening gargoyle stated before departing, ignoring the begging of the prisoner whose voice broke into sobs, the echoes of which faded as the jailor accessed a teleport tile.
His captors were unknown, but the jailors were gargoyles. He was fed reasonably well, and was, on occasion when he least expected it, given wine… a delicious variety he had never tasted before. Lately he had been feeling a lot better… happy even. He began joking with the gargoyles, who simply ignored him. No matter. He was alive. He had a safe space… a soft bed, food, and wine aplenty. Except for the complete lack of female companionship, at least any he could recall, what more could he ever want?
This went on for some time. He would gaze out the bars of the tiny window of his cell, take in the multi-faceted scents that nature’s flora carried on the wind and listened contemplatively to the songs of birds, and the incessant chirping of those giant grasshoppers. Even if the sights were denied him, he felt contentment, even a slight sense of joy. Life was good.
Until today.
Spiders. Large ones. He could feel them crawling on him, waking him from his nap, or sleep. Their beady eyes bore into him, invading his dreams as they advanced, fangs extended. When he awoke, he saw nothing. But he could feel them; their spindly, hairy, legs defiling his skin, working their way up his limbs toward his face. He could not rest at all without their interruptions. Even when he closed his eyes he could see them, feel them on him.
He wondered why. He had never before had any fear of them. Yes, occasionally a giant one would wander into a town where he was staying and scare people momentarily. He found their squeamishness amusing, chuckling as the Royal Guards promptly dispatched it. To him, they were nothing more than a slight menace, the sight of which he had never recoiled.
No longer. The terror was nearly overwhelming… and it showed no signs of slowing down.
“Help me,” he cried out to his jailor, who stalked over to his cell. Dirk had grabbed the thick adamantine bars and clenched them until his knuckles whitened. “I am seeing spiders! They are here with me but when I open my eyes, they are gone! Do you see them?!”
The gargoyle shook his head. “You are dreaming. Be silent.”
Another, hearing the conversation, approached, listening and watching.
“I see them!! I feel them!! Something is wrong! Let me out of here!” Dirk pleaded, his eyes wide, revealing the unmistakable sign and sincerity of his abject fear and horror.
“I shall report this to the drow,” the listening gargoyle stated before departing, ignoring the begging of the prisoner whose voice broke into sobs, the echoes of which faded as the jailor accessed a teleport tile.