Chapter 11: Burns Without Fire
I am going to put this rather simple- we went down the hallway again. Not the one to the tower. The one to the mayorís lair.
I met no ghosts, saw no visions, and had a total grip of my mind as I trotted along, carrying a pot. I brought everyone. In Platinumgod that is only slightly more than ten people as you feel the moisture of hallways rarely passed splash beneath your feet as you head to the dragon. Youíd expect the endgame of your fate to come slowly, but it was surprisingly fast to be honest. I didnít consider anything about my life as I did what I had to. All of us wore steel boots on our feet though.
We purposely let the mayorís sentries hear us, the clanking of our boots on the cold stone floor. They came around the hall, screaming and yelling at their comrades. Some of them shouted threats, and cursed us to go burn in the deepest pit of hell. We smiled, but everyone in my party said nothing as they approached us with their worn socks on their feet, rusty swords in their hands, the skin pressed against their bones from malnutrition, their eyes sunken in their heads. A few months ago they would have been our brothers.
But now, now we poured the acid on the ground and watched them scream and writhe in it. It burned through their socks first, sizzling. Fear filled their torchlight eyes, but no amount of begging would stop it. The soles of their feet were next, and the smell of burning flesh filled the stagnant air of caverns deep. My nose would have twitched if I was not used to the smell, but right then I hardly noticed it.
Without their feet they fell into the acid face first, which was a mercy. More awful stench filled the air. Despite their position it took them five long minutes to die. They only screamed for the first three Iíd say though. Then the acid filled their throats.
We had slain five of the mayorís henchmen. He couldnít have many more. We walked around the acid pool, into their storeroom, and stole all the food that was for the mayor and his closest. All the mead, all the bread, all the meat. We werenít hungry, we werenít thirsty, but we took it anyways just to make the traitors suffer. What we couldnít take with us we set to the torch. Thatís how the game of Platinumgod works- you win or you burn. There is nothing in between.
We decided to head back though, away from that grisly scene. Those bodies didnít deserve to be buried. It would be a warning to them about what we do to traitors.
We burn them without a fire.
I laughed at their suffering when we returned, and every last one of us drank a bottle of mead to the god of war, and a bottle of ale to the god of fortresses. However, I drank a third glass of wine. This glass I dedicated to Armok.
The god of blood. I know he watches Platinumgod with great interest.