WTF Comics

Kallysti

Selquinn regained consciousness slowly, perhaps in part due to the darkness that continued to surround him even when he opened his eyes. In fact, as his thoughts swam back into alignment every one of his senses began to clamor for attention. First and foremost, however, was the intense all-over ache the veteran ranger recognized as the after effects of a shadowknight's harm touch. His left calf throbbed abominably, too.

How had things gone wrong so fast? He was trussed up as tightly as a calf for slaughter; wrists and ankles roped together with a harsh efficiency and slung over the shoulder of... that other.

That's what had happened, the memories flooded back to bludgeon his mind with the results of his failure. The 'other'... the troll, he thought it was: based on the current smell and on the animal companion that had attacked as soon as Sel had gotten within arm's reach of the Tier'dal, he was fairly certain it was a troll. A troll beastlord: the alligator that had latched onto his leg the second he got within range of the unsuspecting shadowknight could only be the spirit-bound companion of a beastlord. The surprise of the animal's attack had succeeded in distracting him for a few crucial seconds. And it had taken only those seconds for the leaden drag of the troll's slow spell to weigh down Sel's limbs.

By then the Tier'dal had turned to face him. Not even bothering to draw the long sword at his side, the shadowknight had merely to reach out and take the ranger by the wrist. The shuddering agony of the harm touch, combined with another simultaneous spell from the beastlord, had been enough to spiral Selquinn into unconsciousness until now.

Helpless for the moment, he could only take stock of the situation from what filtered in through strained senses. The vile material that gagged him coupled with the foul stench of the burlap bag tied over his head rendered taste and smell all but useless. Sight was not much better: the near-blackness told him almost nothing. So he listened. Beyond the sound of that beastlord's open-mouthed breathing- a sound almost as disgusting as the stench it created- Sel heard little. But even that was telling, in its way. Pretty sure we're still in the Steamfont, he thought, if the clockworks are nearby that might be...

The world suddenly felt as though it dropped out from under him for a split second. That, alongside the accompanying familiar lurch of his stomach, told him exactly where they were now. "The Plane of Knowledge is theirs now," he remembered Loreat telling them back at the house, "wholly and completely." That's where they had to be.

Sure enough, seconds later, a deep, commanding voice demanded, "Halt. State your business here."

Someone else, his Tier'dal captor, Sel supposed, answered back, "Prisoner transfer, sir," he said matter-of-factly and Selquinn was shocked to hear the voice belonged to one who had to be little more than a boy.

"From the Steamfont?" came the skeptical response.

"It's a long story, sir," the boy said with a sigh, "and I'd rather not keep my superiors waiting..."

"Fine," Sel could almost hear the shrug in the other's voice as he answered, "you know the way."

"I do," there was the odd metallic whisper of oiled plate mail and the young shadowknight added with barely contained zealotry, "Glory to the Dark Prince!"

"Soon all shall feel his Hate," the response of the guard was automatic, as if by rote.

Then the world dropped out from under them again.