Swamp of Death

CHAPTER 10

Tied tight to the long, wooden beams, Grodish and Roshnak patiently waited for their journey to end. Goblins had carried them through the dark, narrow tunnels, for over more than thirty minutes. Enormous, underground labyrinth of corridors, caves and crevices, was an exceptionally marvelous undertaking, built by generations of goblins. Laying for miles underneath the hills, it was a home for thousands upon thousands of them. Nual-Deu was an enormous city by anyone's standard. Its main corridors formed the concentric rings around the living quarters, and were intersected with existing tunnels. Many of them were not even explored, giving a much needed defense.

In the middle of it, stood an enormous, king's cave. Highly secured, hidden room, in which no other being except goblin had never walked in. A sacred place, for everyone who called Nual-Deu a home. Cave was dominated by a large, somewhat over-decorated throne, standing on the high, stone podium. Weathered stone stairs, covered in skin and leather, led all the way up to the king's chair. Two long rows of tables and chairs, surrounded the sides of the small fighting arena, enclosed in a heavy, rusty cage.

Deep beneath the hall, in the dark and damp hallways and holes, goblins constructed the catacombs. In the old glory days, they were filled with prisoners used in the arena fighting. But now, they were just a half empty, waste disposal repository. Goblins stopped in front of the first cell. Tart stench of decomposition, once they've opened the doors to the dungeon, was a deterrent. In the far edge of the cell, chained to the wall, was a long forgotten prisoner. Now just a deformed mess of rotten flesh and bones. One of the goblins, scraped and picked the remains in the bag, while the rest brought the two, tied up orcs, inside.

They threw them onto the wet, slimy ground, spatting the torrent of curses and insults. Goblins were fast in and out, locking the heavy doors, and leaving the prisoners in the absolute darkness. Eerie silence would inlay discomfort into hearts of the bravest, bringing chilling, blood freezing fear, with every sudden noise. No wonder they fled soon. For goblins, the catacombs were cursed grounds, which they gladly avoided. Horrific stories of dreadful doings from the past, that happened in the prison's torture chambers, just deepened the mystery and superstitious beliefs of this sinister place.

"Are you awake, boy?" Shaman mumbled through the band covering his mouth.

"Roshnak, I...I am ashamed." half-orc whispered "These filthy vermin jumped me and all of the sudden I..."

"Don't do that to yourself boy." Roshnak interrupted him "The fault is all mine. I wished for the rest, far too soon."

"I was the one defeated by the handful of mole rats." Grodish sounded contrite "I guess I did turn into a woman."

Shaman smiled at his remark, but knowing well that outcome of the fight could've been the same even with him beside the half-orc. He was sure of sensing a quite potent energy, coming from the newly crowned goblin king. What confused and bothered him, was the lack of confidence and knowledge in using it in the duel he witnessed. That amount of power seemed sufficient to defeat the old king in the blink of an eye. Where and how did that goblin get this energy, Roshnak could only guess. And it interested shaman so much, he almost forgot they were the prisoners. He had to find out the answers surrounding this mystery. No matter the circumstances they found themselves in.

Far away, above them, an ever so louder echo of the drums, announced the beginning of the celebrations.