A Noble Death (2003)
Well, here’s something I wrote when very bored. I was into Angband at the time (actually a lot of fun) and had just suffered a very stupid stupid death. So here’s the little story I wrote about it and posted on the angband newsgroup…
It’s not up to my usual standards because I jotted it down quickly in about 40 mintues and never went back to edit it. But here it is anyway…
A Noble Death
Copyright © 2003
Coming upon a heavy oaken door, without pause he lifted the latch and pushed it open, an arrow half drawn in his longbow. It was a magnificently crafted weapon, and although Quin was not as skilled with it as he would like, its magic lent speed to his aim, and felling half his foes before they could reach him made for a little more variety than slicing them all to bits on his blade.
The room beyond the door was hidden in darkness; the warrior lowered his bow and raised his shield arm, bringing higher the Phial of Galadriel dangling from it. Its soft glow increased to encompass the dungeon room in its entirety, revealing nothing but two more rough-hewn passages, identical to the one he had just left, and a small pile of dust in the corner that hid what looked to be a scroll.
If that’s another scroll of Satisfy Hunger I will not be impressed, Quin thought, and took a step into the room.
From the darkness of the hallway across from him, an arrow whistled through the air, piercing his leather shield and coming to a halt mere inches from his face. Thus distracted, he failed to notice the scroll on the floor ruffle in the completely still dungeon air. Even as he raised his bow to send a few lightning arrows down the darkened hallway, puffs of smoke appeared all around him, quickly dissipating to reveal tall, venom-clawed trolls. They grinned evilly, reaching for the mighty warrior. Algroths? Where did they come from, Quin wondered.
Not pausing to think, Quin seized the haft of his trusty dagger, Belangil. A dull numbness, at the edge of his consciousness, ran up the length of his arm, as it always did when he grabbed the frost-covered blade, but with it in his hand he could not truly feel any cold.
The dagger looked small in his powerful fist, but its blade deadly sharp, its powerful magics guiding his hand to the most vulnerable targets on an enemy. The mangy troll standing in the doorway was hewn limb from limb in the flurry of blows Quin dealt, its arms falling like so much butchered meat, frozen before they hit the ground. The warrior retreated into the doorway as something scratched his back and legs. He could feel some noxious agent coursing through his blood, weakening his limbs, but pushed it to the back of his mind. His great constitution would deal with the poison as it always did.
Belatedly he realized that the hall from which he had come was filled with Troll-shapes; at least six he would have to fight through. Whirling around, ignoring the one troll that could attack his flank from the narrow confines of the passage, the warrior rapidly dispatched the three trolls still in the room.
A bloody arrow sprouted from his right calf, and told him that archer from the shadows was still remained. It seemed to hurt more than it should have, however. Puzzled, Quin looked over himself and realized that he was actually hurt. Rather badly.
Inconceivable! They’re trolls… he thought. In his incredulity, he nearly missed the scroll in the corner of the room ruffle again; puffs of smoke heralded the summoning of another half dozen monsters, unknown to Quin.
Wait, that’s not a scroll… damn it! Time to blow this party! Quin thought, and grabbed his Staff of Teleportation.
It’s charred remnants broke in his grasp as he raised it above his head, its burnt husk crumbling almost as quickly as his confidence.
Wha…? Damn, those Fire Hounds had a field day earlier, didn’t they, he realized belatedly, striking out at the nearest critter in the room. He could feel the dagger’s energy seeping into him, knitting back his skin, restoring strength to his body – but for every wound it closed, the hungry, grinning beasts tore open four more. The battle was not going well.
I could retreat into this hallway, fighting my way through the horde of trolls, where only two could attack me at once, he considered, quaffing his only potion of Healing. Perhaps then the healing powers of the blade will outstrip the pathetic damage these creatures cause.
But only one unmentionable beast remained in the room before him, and the third passage, empty from this angle, beckoned seductively.
Without considering overlong, the mighty warrior tooks two giant strides towards the passage, towards safety… two more strides and I am safe, he thought. One of them at a time, I can handle.
The trolls howled behind him, following.
As Quin was but a pace from the hallway, the evil masquerading as a scroll seemed to snicker at him, and ruffle again. Puffs of smoke surrounded him, and then, a snarling pack of blurry hounds suddenly stormed around him, their features hidden from his sight by their unearthly speed, but their growls driving home the threat they represented. The dungeon floor shook beneath this snarling whirlwind.
Quin, bleeding from countless wounds, poison still coursing through his veins, knew despair from one short, merciless instant. In that instant, he heard a wailing scream echo through the dungeon, realizing almost with amusement that it came from his own lungs. As nine of the vicious hounds tore into his flesh all at once, he retained consciousness for long enough to see his limbs thrown to the corners of the room by powerful jaws his armour could not stop. Blood dripped from the ceiling, from the walls, and from the fangs of the golden, wolf-like head he saw for the briefest moment as they closed around his skull and cracked it like a rotten egg…
