Erik de Bie: Depths of Madness

"A giant of some-" she started, but a viselike grip cut off the flow of air that powered her words. She tried to breathe or think, but couldn't manage either.

The creature had closed the distance between them faster than she had seen it move, and seized her up. Now Twilight's feet dangled six hands off the ground.

In the blackness, she could see it only too well. Its flesh was a mottled gray and its arms rippled with muscles. Red patches lay patterned across its skin, and bumps and protrusions like small pebbles spotted its flesh. Most of all, though, Twilight saw the creature's green eyes-pupilless orbs that drank her in even as its muscular body crushed the life from her.

"Let go of her!" Liet shouted from somewhere in the darkness.

He leaped upon the creature's left arm. It slapped him aside as easily as one swats a nagging insect. Liet crashed against the wall and slumped to the floor.

The attempt had given Twilight the distraction she needed. She swung her legs up to lock around the thick arm-one under, one over-so as to gain leverage, and twisted herself to the right, sliding the creature's rough hand off her throat and onto the back of her neck. As she had expected, the creature turned its attention back to her. She scissor-kicked it in the face as she leaped down.

The elf fell lightly onto her fingers, pushed off, and rolled away. As she went, Twilight whipped out her jagged shard of metal and made ready to slash.

The creature did not follow. It towered in the center of the room, facing Liet, who blinked dazedly at the behemoth. The giant rumbled something in a harsh but somehow musical tongue. The words were deeper than any human or dwarf could utter, low and strong like stones breaking upon one another. Then he spoke a word she understood.

"Quick," he said.

"Indeed," Twilight replied with a nod. "And you?"

"Strong."

She had to grin at that. "I am called Fox-at-Twilight," she said. She put a hand on her breast. Then she beckoned to him. "And you are called?"

The giant stepped into the light from the corridor. His skin was gray like stone, and tiny swells rose like warts along thick muscles. A design in red, like a birthmark or tattoo, spanned the creature's mostly bare chest and belly, covered only by a tattered tunic. Twilight stiffened and had to stop her fingers from straying to her lower back.

"Gargan Vathkelke Kaugathal," he said. "No… giant."

A keen intellect shone in the creature's emerald eyes-eyes that flickered with something like recognition. This creature was not simple-minded. More than that, an eerie wisdom burned there-an uncanny intuition. He seemed more than capable of understanding what was said, likely from body language and inflection. A rare talent.

Suddenly afraid, she forced a peaceable grin.

"If not a giant, then what," asked Liet, climbing to his feet shakily, "are you?"

The stone-skinned creature regarded him flatly, his eyes judging, deciding, and dismissing. Twilight made a note of it. She had already guessed the answer.

"He's a goliath."

Gargan nodded and bowed his head slightly. "Kuli gumatha goli kanakath."

Twilight extended her hand, and the goliath looked down at it, curious.

"What was that?" Liet whispered.

"I've no idea," Twilight said through a clenched smile.

In less than a quarter bell, the prisoners were assembled in the guard chamber, as far from Tlork as they could manage. Each waited in his or her distinct fashion.

Gargan the goliath leaned against the back corner of the room, arms folded. He had spoken no more since being released, a fact that did not surprise Twilight. She had heard of the goliath race, but had never heard them called verbose. At his feet lay the locked chest, carried from Tlork's chamber through the application of stony muscles.

Liet paced, shivering and casting wary glances around. When he saw Twilight looking at him, he visibly relaxed, but she wouldn't give him that. She looked away, letting him grow progressively more nervous.

Taslin and Asson stood together in a different corner, the woman protectively in front of her companion. Taslin had enough strength for both of them. "How long?" she questioned.

"Soon," Twilight said. "I need all of us together."

No sooner had she spoken than Slip entered. The uneasy look on the halfling's face, even before Twilight saw the cowled figure that walked behind her, told her that she should reconsider gathering all the prisoners.

"I brought the one from the wizard cell." Slip bit her lip. "He's got himself a nasty streak, this one. Beware!"

Slowly, Twilight nodded. She'd sensed evil in that cell, and she'd been right.

"Spare me this runt's drivel," the man snapped. "Who among you speaks sense?"

Taslin stepped forward. "Who are you?" she asked, defiant, shoulders back.

Twilight cursed. That a champion of the Seldarine could sense what she herself had felt failed to surprise her. She was entirely too familiar with the devout.

The cowled man shot his dark eyes over them all and a glittering sneer of sharp teeth appeared in the depths of the cowl. The air around his hands shimmered, and ruby energy crackled to life in his palms. The prisoners stepped back, all but Twilight, who palmed the iron shard. Her eyes went to the locked chest-perhaps she should have opened it before releasing the others, but she couldn't have carried it without Gargan.

"I am the warlock Davoren Hellsheart," the cowled man said. "And from now on, you will speak only when I speak to you, yellow whore." He accentuated the point with a glare that promised swift, magical death. "You as well, whitebeard."

Taslin's face went white. "In Corellon's name-"

Twilight stopped her with a hand on her arm and a sharp look, at which Taslin frowned. She looked away. "Well met, Davoren," Twilight said pointedly.

The warlock's eyes flicked to her and he paused, cruel mouth twisted. His gaze was chill. "Indeed," he said. "You know my name, and I-"

"Fox-at-Twilight," she said, cutting him off. "And I say we waste no more time."

Davoren pulled back his hood, revealing surprisingly well-groomed, yellow-white hair and a brush of grayish stubble across his chin and throat. The features were not ugly in and of themselves, but the whole was hideous. His dusky skin was odd-as though it were made of something other than human flesh.

"What do you propose, Fox-at-Twilight?" Davoren said.

"Simple-we choose a leader for this band, then get the Hells out of this place."

"Band?" The warlock scoffed. He gestured at the other six. "All I see are huddled weaklings."

"None of us know what's beyond the troll," Twilight said. "And none of us can make it alone. We either work together to escape, or we stay here and rot." Though she didn't say it, she realized that second option would likely involve bloodshed.

"Right!" piped up Slip. "And in this here band, we should all rule over each other, and have equal voice, and… and be best companions!"

"Equal voice?" Davoren laughed. "Spare me."

Everyone but Slip glared at him. "Why not equal?" she asked, blinking.

"Equality is the crutch the weak impose on the strong." Though he spoke to Slip, Davoren's eyes remained on Twilight. "Thus do rabble rule where they have no business doing so. If you wish to indulge in such narcissistic tripe, leave my sight."

"You may be gone," said Taslin. "We have no need of arrog-"

Twilight spoke over her. "I'm not going to impose anything on you." She disdained the implications of those words; he'd twisted her into calling herself weak. "Ordinarily, I'd say every elf for herself, but we will die if we can't work together."

In the silence that followed, heads began to nod, and even Davoren's scowl gradually faded. Twilight felt she was right-none of them knew what they faced, but all of them knew they could not face it alone. Even the warlock.