“Grumpy! Like Snow White!” Reggie suddenly said, looking at Phaestus in realization.
“Who?” Phaestus asked.
“Not important; chick that fell asleep. Thing is, though, she had these seven buddies that were dwarfs. Are you a dwarf?” Reggie asked.
“Nah. Get that a lot. They do like me a lot, the dwarves, they do. They’ve been good to me; I try to be good to them.”
“So you are just naturally short?” Reggie asked.
“Yep. Rest of my family are normal sized, most of the time.”
“You have a family?”
“Of course I have a family!” Phaestus laughed.
“Does Völund?”
“Not that he’ll speak to. Not sure, really. He had a couple brothers. They may have gotten left on the other side of the birefrigerated bridge or whatever it’s called.”
“Oh yeah, jotuns...” Reggie remembered.
“Something like that. Pronunciation’s a bit off.”
“Wow, I’m feeling really good!” Reggie said. “I think this has got to be the best time I’ve had in the Abyss!”
Phaestus snorted. “Not surprised. This place sort of sucks! They used to toss Titans down here to get rid of them. Not into the volcano, but into the Abyss.”
“Yeah, not a great place to live. Weather is really terrible,” Reggie said.
“Yeah, I think my friend Bess was a bit wacko for building a fortress down here,” Phaestus said.
“I bet the real estate is cheap!”
“Yeah. If real estate is all about ‘location, location, location,’ then she probably got her Abyssal Palace really cheap!” Phaestus giggled. “ ‘Course, her other place has a view that is literally out of this world! Well, not this world, except that it is out of this world, but I mean that the view she has there is out of the world she has it on. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not at all.” Reggie shook his head and smiled.
“Neither do I.”
“Wah woa woo vad waah!” a voice said off to their left.
“What was that?” Reggie asked.
“I don’t know. Sounds like someone who’s really drunk!” Phaestus said. The two turned to look into an alcove, from which the voice had seemed to emanate. Some of the stone wall had collapsed and water was trickling out. Perhaps it gave way during the rain, Reggie thought to himself.
“Wah orgus dorg,” the voice said again.
It was dark in the alcove, so Reggie turned up his demon sight to max. He blinked. There was a chunky fellow in the alcove, about five feet tall. He seemed rather misshapen, with two arms and two legs that were thick and ungainly-looking. His head and neck seemed to merge into one sort of stumpy head, and if Reggie did not know better, he would swear the guy’s skin was mud.
“Hey, a mud man!” Reggie exclaimed.
“Hi, mud man!” Phaestus said.
“Waaan eee orgaass. Shtablish reel ashions!” the mud man said.
“Why would someone put a mud man down here?” Reggie asked, puzzled.
“No, no. He grew here!” Phaestus shook his head.
“Mud men can grow?” Reggie found the idea rather funny.
“He’s not a mud man; or rather, it is not a mud man. It’s a mud golem!” Phaestus told Reggie.
“Is it speaking universal?” Reggie asked. “Because I don’t understand it.”
Phaestus nodded. “It is, but its vocal cords aren’t. Well, technically it doesn’t have any. Talking has to be very difficult.”
“So why is it here?”
Phaestus shrugged. “Not sure, but I am guessing it wants to establish relations with Mount Doom.”
“Yashs!” The mud man said.
“Hmm, I think we are going to need someone who can talk to spirits,” Phaestus said.
“Where are we going to find a psychic in the Abyss?” Reggie asked.
“Typically one would use a shaman or seer.”
“So we just need to find a shaman. I think I might have seen a few upstairs,” Reggie said, giggling.
“I think you are correct, my dear friend,” Phaestus said, slapping him on the back, or trying to. Given the height difference, the slap hit Reggie in the butt.
“Do you want to go get one or should I?” Reggie asked.
“Do you know how to get back to the room with the shamans?”
“No,” Reggie admitted, shaking his head.
“Then I better go get one,” Phaestus said.
Tom smiled to himself as Ivan Throat Cruncher swore his oath alongside his wife, Imelda Throat Cruncher. They were a great third-generation team, Zelda had whispered to him. This ceremony was certainly making him feel pumped. Each oath was creating a link between himself and the D’Orcs and Doom.
These links were very similar to the links with the shamans and Vaselle. Perhaps a bit more low-key, since few if any of the D’Orcs were mana wielders, but nonetheless, from the small tests he’d tried during the downtime, he should be able to channel mana to and from them as well as communicate with them.
On some level, Tom recognized that this was sort of creepy; a gross violation of privacy. Very much like the feelings he’d had after linking with Vaselle. But on the other hand, it also felt like family. He could actually feel the emotions of the D’Orcs. Right now, everyone was excited, joyful and full of pride and hope. That joint swelling of emotion from the D’Orcs was overwhelming. He was feeling an intense emotional high from their high. At the back of his mind, a small warning was flashing about what might happen if they got seriously depressed, but for now, he couldn’t think about that.
As they switched oath takers, Tom followed the previously sworn links to the command center to get a vibe from up there. He could sense vigilance, but also calm. It was completely non-verbal, but he could sense the military efficiency of the D’Orcs on duty and their calm scrutiny of the grid and the radar screens in the TCC. So far, so good.
He had been super-paranoid about something going wrong during the ceremony. Well, not the ceremony itself; they could be interrupted at any point during it and scramble. What still worried him was the party. Having so many of his troops drunk and incapacitated. It just seemed like a perfect opportunity for Lilith to attack.
Yes, they had made plans to have sober people on duty at all times, but he still felt a bit paranoid. It was silly, really; how could she possibly know when they were at their weakest? As far as he knew, and as far as Zelda and his commanders knew, there was no way anyone here could, or more importantly, would be in contact with Lilith’s agents.
Tom had to shake his head at his own paranoia. While hiding in his cave, he had had no strong fear of Lilith and friends attacking. Of course, at that time he had not yet seized control of a giant military fortress that she had spent considerable effort decommissioning. He had to believe that restarting Mount Doom would almost force her to act.
He was certain it would, in fact. He had no idea how he could be so certain; was it some sort of joint paranoia of the D’Orcs? The other edge of the two-edged emotional sword he was riding high on right now? He could not know. All he could do was to pay attention to the next oath takers and ride the spirit of the moment.
The shamans stood around the mud golem, contemplating it. Farsooth had summoned a couple of were-lights to light the region better. The D’Orcs were obviously more than able to see easily in low light or no light. Not so much the orcs.
Damien and Vaselle stood watching the shamans analyze the mud golem. “So do you know much about golems?” Damien asked Vaselle.
“I’ve studied them. I think everyone who wants to create arcane devices does, but they always seemed like too much effort to me. It is a very complicated art, requiring numerous engineering skills, at least for stone or iron golems. I have no idea how you keep a mud golem together; it seems completely different than an articulated and animated statue,” Vaselle replied.