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In a seat at the bar of The Wailing Griffon, a tavern in the slums of Ranara, an aging warrior talks as much as he drinks, and he drinks way too much. These are his tales...

The Job with the Slugs, the Hourglass and the Misplaced Nipple Ring
by Nathan Dain
Have you ever seen a gnome naked?

I mean sure, we see them all the time in cities and towns, they're pretty much anywhere you need a good craftsman, but have you noticed how reserved they are? Fully clothed, head to toe, typically with those weird floppy hats that completely cover their heads and neck except for the face. Right? Yes, they're great at making shoes, and mechanized doodads of the lethal persuasion, but haven't you ever wondered why they jingle when they walk?

Of course, they're mostly what you'd expect of a humanoid that runs around knee-high: kinda like a small-headed baby that's gone through puberty. But what you wouldn't expect is that these guys have cornered the market on “kink.” Piercings on every dangly bit of flesh that can be pierced, matching jewelry to accentuate, and tattoos where tattoos shouldn't be.

Okay, so I can't speak for all of them, but I did have a chance to see the little buggers in their natural habitat, away from the prying eyes of the larger folks, and if that was anything to go by, then as a whole they have, let's say, “unique” cultural predilections.

I was traveling up north after having just deposed the king of Yondlesprontsticker on account of him being a total blowhard, and was lying low with a sizable amount of Yondlesprontsticker gold, when the opportunity to literally lie low walked into the pub of the little town I'd found myself in. Her name was Toni, and like all gnomes, she wore one of those solid leather jumpers that covered absolutely everything except for a small cherubic face. Like most employers for the jobs I take, she'd heard the unparalleled Bram Thunderfist, swordsman extraordinaire, was passing through. It turns out, the one thing I'm not good at is keeping my astounding presence hidden from adoring fans.

Toni was from a gnomic farmstead half a day's travel south, and was the steward of some rich and powerful earl that I'd never heard of, but she assured me that he could afford my services if I'd be willing to perform a small job for him.

When I agreed, I hadn't any real knowledge of gnomes other than they were small, built wonderful things, and kept completely to themselves. I certainly didn't know what to expect from a gnomic farmstead. I didn't even know they had farms.

True to the stereotype, Toni rode her pony in near silence as I walked along side her for our half-day's trek south. Which was fine. I'm not really the chatty type.

It was just as we arrived that I had misgivings. “Um, this farm is in the hole in the ground?” Granted, it was a pretty big hole in the ground, and more like in-the-side-of-a-hill, but still.

“Where else did you think we lived?” Turning to face me just long enough to smile, she spurred her pony along the turnout and into the cave-like entrance. Her voice was sweet as she called out behind her, “Don't worry, we're almost there.”

It wasn't so much that I don't like being underground, I do some of my best work underground, the problem was, the hole, while big, wasn't quite as big as I am tall. That meant I had to stoop. And it only got smaller the farther in we descended. I was really beginning to get concerned when the cave opened up into what smelled faintly like stables, though all that stood before us was an intricately worked metal wall that glistened like burnished gold in the gaslight of a dozen lanterns. If I were a third my size, it would have been an astounding gate into the underworld. As it was, it was more like a fairly impressive door.

Toni pulled her mount over to a panel on the wall, held up her hand, and a click from somewhere on the other side initiated a series of squeaks and whines and more insistent clicks. The door then swung open gracefully. The tiny woman trotted to the entrance, paused, and lowered her head. “Welcome to the estate of Earl Locksprocket. After you.”

The other side of the front gate presented an underground courtyard of sorts. The ceiling was taller, though it certainly wouldn't have accepted a horse, let alone a man riding one, but it was large enough to accommodate several gnome mounted ponies. Everything that wasn't polished or honed stone was of the same burnished metal as the entry, including double the amount of lanterns. In the center was a fountain of multiple stacked bowls drizzling water in a never ending flow, and above that, a chandelier of intricate yet rugged design. Multiple openings lead away form the chamber, but directly opposite the gate was a set of double doors just large enough to allow a man of my stature to walk through without stooping.

Toni trotted her pony off to the archway on the right, “Sir Thunderfist, allow me to tend to my mount, and I shall rejoin you shortly. Peven here”—I think that was the name she used—“will take you to the Grand Guest Chambers to get you settled.” And she gestured to a young gnome in waiting.

Peven? Peval? I'm sure it wasn't Peon. Well, whatever the name, the kid had one, and she'd used it. What was striking, was that this was the first gnome I'd ever seen not wearing a full-body leather jumper. A bright shock of lime-green hair that was mostly shorn short except for a tuft over the right ear gleamed in the gaslight, his ears both had numerous little piercings with shiny metal studs filling the holes, and his clothes were unbleached linen, a long sleeved shirt, and full length pants. Aside from the hair and the piercings, the only other thing to jump out at me was a V-shaped swath of skin where the shirt opened up under the neck. There was a collection of brown lines and squiggles tattooed from his collarbone to his sternum, and when he noticed me looking at them, he puffed up a little.

Basically, he resembled a very small court jester without the appropriate clothes. But it had been a long walk, and I wasn't in the mood to laugh, so I nodded to Toni, and followed Pev-something through the doors of the main entrance.

The entry was nice. Polished, gleaming, well-lit, but still small, with the majority of the doors only coming up to my hip. We took two steps into the hallway, and the little guy stopped to indicate the door immediately to our left, one of the few meant for a regular sized person. “Welcome to the Grand Guest Chambers!” And then he swept himself into a deep bow.

Turns out, the Grand Guest Chambers were only grand if you were knee high. The room was basically a bed, large enough for two to lie down, an armoire, and an alcove with a tub, a small wash basin, and what looked like an outhouse, but indoors.... that didn't seem like a good idea.

Well, for whatever reason, the room didn't smell, and that was good enough for me. I dropped my backpack, and flopped on the bed for a short nap, and thanked Pev-something to let me be for a while, but before long, a soft knock rapped against the door.

It was most likely Toni, so I called out, “Come in.”

And it was Toni, though not at all how I was expecting Toni to be. Gone was the concealing leather jumper, replaced by something similar to what Pev-something had worn. Though whereas his had been unbleached white, hers was deep blue and bright green, his was form-fitting, hers was flowy along the limbs, and his had a small V to expose a portion of his chest, while her V plunged nearly all the way to her crotch, making her outfit more sleeves and leggings than actual outfit. This presented her perfectly round, proportionately appropriate breasts in full glory, replete with multiple piercings, studs and chains, and a thin brass bustier that held them aloft, presenting instead of concealing. Aside from the two-toned tattoos covering all of the exposed flesh, she was essentially topless.

Oh, and she had spiky purple hair, and lots of dangly things hanging from her ears, but that obviously wasn't what held my attention.

She wasn't bashful whatsoever. In fact, the moment she noticed my gaze, she pushed back her shoulders and asked, “Are you impressed? These are my inventions. I know they're not much, but I'm very proud of them.”

She could call them whatever she wanted, “Ah... yeah. They're great. Very nice.”
Her eyebrow raised as her eyes narrowed skeptically. After a moment she asked, “Do you even know what you're looking at?”

“I know what I'm looking at, but...” I left it hanging there, because she just rolled her eyes.

“And here I thought I finally found a topsider who had been properly educated. You're just looking at my breasts aren't you?”

“Um, no?”

“Listen, I've worked hard on my progression. Do you know nothing of gnomic culture?” Her tone had become indignant.

“You like to make stuff?” I mean, everyone knew that, but otherwise I didn't know gnomes had culture.

“Exactly. And here,” she indicated her chest, “is my recording of achievements. Over fifty years of study, referencing, diligence, and creative fortitude. I'll have you know, my inventions place me third among the household, second only to the Earl and Countess themselves.”

She was over fifty years old? Wow, did she hold up well. “Um. Yeah. Alright. That makes sense. Well, then I have to say, you look very accomplished.”

That seemed to be what she wanted to hear, because her demeanor settled toward civilized and she nodded. “Thank you.” With her head held high, she turned back to the door and murmured, “The Earl is ready to see you now.”

After I grabbed my stuff, she led me through the door at the end of the hall, which was the only other one that was of a size I could fit through and opened into another courtyard-like area. Instead of a fountain in the center, there was an hourglass larger than I am tall, rigged up in a huge frame, and connected to dozens of copper pipes rising out of the floor and dropping down from the ceiling.

Toni glanced at it, smiling, and continued through yet another door that took us into a throne room that was part audience chamber and part alchemy lab. Tubes and barrels of glass and copper of every size conceivable were lining the walls, and up on a dais next to two fancy metal thrones was a massive... proportionately massive drafting table.

From behind the table, another gnome hopped excitedly out into the open, and boomed with a voice meant for a hill giant, “The Great Bram Thunderfist! I'm so happy you were able to come. Wonderful! Wonderful! I am Gendle Locksprocket, husband of the Creator of the Salisaviory, Inventor of the Elebrachiator, Earl of the Nilth region, and loyal servant to King Rhraspbury. Also, I am in dire need of your help.”

The little earl was obviously well fed, lending to a swollen belly on his otherwise slender frame. The problem was I could see every inch of it. Aside from a jewel encrusted metal belt holding up an improbably large gold codpiece, a cape of feathers of every color, numerous piercings with connecting chains, and ankle-high black leather boots, the gnome was completely naked. Thankfully, his skin still provided the illusion of clothing having been completely covered from the top of his bald head, to the tips of his long fingers, and disappearing into his boots by highly detailed and layered tattoos of brown, orange, red, green, and blue, depicting... well, I wasn't really sure what they were depicting. I assume they were his inventions.

The overall effect was impressive, if a little unnerving.

Being diplomatic and particularly eloquent, I grinned. “Yes your lordship, it is I, the Great Bram Thunderfist, here at your request to achieve the unachievable. Is there an invading army you need defeated? Maybe a beast of notoriety that needs slaying? Whatever the death-defying task, consider it done.”

His face lit up with pure delight as he looked up at me. “Wonderful! I need you to retrieve my nipple ring.”

At this, I paused. I was nearly positive I hadn't heard him correctly, but since my hearing is impeccable, that couldn't have been the case. “Excuse me?”

“The Nipple Ring of Opulent Grandeur was taken from me, and I need you to retrieve it. The Countess is so infuriated, she's refused to be in the same room as me at the moment, and the timing couldn't have been worse. It really is a distressing situation.”

Right, of course. These guys liked their nipple jewelry, and with a name like Opulent Grandeur, it had to have been worth a pretty penny. “So, you had a nip-ring stolen, and you need me to get it. No problem.”

“This isn't just some trinket! It is a trophy of great renown, and holds tremendous value within our kingdom. It was bestowed upon me, entrusted to me for a year of prosperity, and mere days away from the race, it has escaped my possession.”

I didn't really have anything to give him, not understanding a damned thing he was alluding to, and I guess my expression portrayed my thoughts adequately, because the Earl calmed for a moment before trying to explain from the beginning. “I assume you know of the grand tradition of gnomic racing slugs. Well, we pride ourselves on the pedigree of such fine steeds, enough so that there is an annual competition to determine our skills at breeding the noble creatures through the art of racing—”

“Wait, wait. You said slugs. As in snails without shells? Did you mean to say slugs? You people don't actually breed those little slime balls, and race them, do you?”

In disbelief, the Earl glanced past me to Toni, and then back again. “You truly have never heard of a gnomic racing slug? I thought surely that would be common knowledge even amongst topsiders.”

I shrugged, and shook my head.

“How disappointing.” Working through his surprise, he continued, “Um, well, they're important, and we have an annual race, and the prize is the Nipple Ring of Opulent Grandeur.”

Piecing the job together in my head, I got to the point. “And the race is coming up, and if you don't have the trophy it'll make you look bad. Got it. So, who do suppose took it? I'll go throw my weight around, knock some heads, and be back with it toot sweet.”

“Hmm, yes, that. It wasn't so much a 'who' that took it.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You see, the Nipple Ring isn't just a bauble of decoration. It is imbued with a powerful enchantment that allows the wearer to draw the most aggressive and stout wild slugs for miles around.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Why for breeding, of course. The Nipple Ring of Opulent Grandeur is a powerful aphrodisiac. With it, you can draw the best of the wild strains and introduce them into the tamed racing stock. It gives an enormous advantage to the winner of the previous year's race.”

Not sure why he kept focusing on unnecessary specifics, I was having a hard time picking up what the little Earl was putting down. “Huh. Yeah, okay. So obviously someone would really like to get their hands on it.”

“Yes, but no, that isn't the case here. I was in the middle of said breeding, and had attracted a beautiful brute of the wilderness to pair with my champion, when it snatched the Nipple Ring, and dashed.”

“You're telling me a slug stole your nip-ring? How is that even possible... wait. Never mind. I don't really want to know.” Trying to get the wholly unwanted image out of my head that nevertheless dug in with surprising tenacity, I attempted to finally pin down just exactly what the Earl was asking of me, “So you brought me here to hunt down a slug. Why couldn't you simply have sent your page to do it?”

“Sir Thunderfist, these are wild slugs, and we are inventors, not warriors.”

Sure, lovers, not fighters. Whatever. “So you obviously think this is exceptionally dangerous. In that case, what's the compensation?”

“What? Oh, yes. Well, we've heard you recently came into the possession of a sizable amount of gold. Whatever you have on your person, we'll double it.”

I coughed. “Double?”

“Double.”

“Well, that is quite the incentive. Let's get this over with. Point me in the right direction, I'll track the bugger down and—”

Earl Locksprocket practically jumped with giddiness, not the movement you want from a tiny, out-of-shape, mostly-naked man. “Oh, we have that part of it taken care of. I simply need you to retrieve what was taken, preferably without harm to that glorious beast that took it. As you are, however, you will never be able to track or keep up with the creature. To facilitate your endeavor, you'll need some adjustments. Please follow me.”

There was something in his tone that put me on edge. I had the uneasy feeling this job was more complicated then it sounded at first blush.

Walking back the way we came, the Earl stopped in front of the humongous hour glass. “This is the Declinating Scale Hizuiric Neutrally Intrinsic Transformation Device. Be we just call it De'SHizNIT. We'll use it to reduce you to our size so that you can more effectively complete your task.”

More complicated my ass, “No. Not happening. No magic. Not for any amount of gold.”

“Sir Thunderfist, this is not magic, it's science.” With a tone saturated with distaste, he added, “We would never sink so low as to use magic within one of our inventions.”

“Science?”

“Of course. Couldn't you tell by the long drawn-out-yet-highly-specific name of the device?”

As I understand it. Science is the study of the Natural World and through an understanding of its laws, one can create amazing tools and devices. Nearly all of my weapons and gadgets are derived from science. It's logical, and reasonable, and doesn't hold grudges: it simply is.

In contrast, Magic is the study of the Unnatural World, and is damn near the opposite of science in every way. I'm pretty sure it has an attitude, and if it does, it doesn't seem to like me very much.

“No magic at all?”

Standing stiffly at his full height, Earl Locksprocket insisted, “None!”

“And why do you need to shrink me again?”

Settling back into his jovial demeanor, he stated matter-of-factly, “Oh yes, surely you can understand that you are much too large to fit through most of the tunnels we use. And those of a wild slug are even more difficult to access. No, you will need to be our size in order to complete this mission.”

Logical, exactly what I'd expect from a purveyor of science. I still didn't like the idea, but I do like gold, so I nodded. “Do it.”

The Earl directed me to stand alongside the giant hourglass where there was a vertical brass plate about my height and almost my width joining a second plate on the ground. “Yes, yes. Right there. And now, place your hands on the plate in front of you. No, no, don't step off the plate. Keep your feet planted in the center, and keep your hands where they are. You have all of your equipment you want to take with you, yes?”

I nodded.

“Excellent! This will take but a moment. Oh, and one last thing, don't hold your breath. That would be... bad.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just don't hold your breath.” And he pulled a lever on the far wall.

Immediately, billowing clouds of steam hissed out of the pipes connected to the top and bottom of the hourglass as the frame began flipping the monstrosity in slow motion. The smell of electricity and old iron assaulted my nostrils, and a deep resonating thrum filled my chest and head, threatening to retrieve my lunch through sheer vibrating persistence. Through my wincing, I glanced up just in time to see the hourglass click into its new inverted place.

The world went gray.

I know, the world is either supposed to go black, or white, maybe sometimes red, but that wasn't what happened. It was a moment like looking through your eyelids at the sun and having a large shadow cast on you, but more or less without color. Let's just go with it was a surreal experience.

When the flash of whatever was over, I looked around and had the very strange and unnatural feeling of not being the largest man in the room. Not inferior, obviously, I was still the most physically impressive, and built like a mountain of muscle, but my mountain had become more of an anthill. At this new perspective, Earl Locksprocket was now a few inches taller than me, or, maybe not inches, but proportionate inches, which would of course be a much smaller difference.

The Earl had a big grin on his face and approached with a handful of doodads in his hands. “Wonderful, wonderful! You didn't explode! Well done not holding your breath. Before you head out you'll want these. They'll help you get back in time.”

I didn't know where to even begin with the problems I had with those statements, so I decided to ignore them. “What do these do?”

Handing over a ridiculously oversized set of goggles, he enthused, “This one is the Illuminatory Visionifier. It flickers out multiple resonant frequencies then interprets the amplified or negated signals into a visible matrix through Luminarily Enhanced Dots, or as I call them, 'LEDs,' and presents them in an almost perfect representation of the environment around you.” I stared at him, giving him a moment to actually explain himself. I have to give it to him, he really was quite bright, because he almost instantly added, “It lets you see in the dark.”

“Right. And this thing?”

“That would be the Temporal Sprocket Belt. Just click it around your waist like so.”

“I know how to put on a belt. What does it do?” Like the goggles, the thing was almost comically oversized. And it was ticking. “Also, why is it ticking?”

“Yes, yes. That would be because it is keeping track of how much time you have left.”

“How much time left for what?”

“Well, until your new size becomes permanent.”

Gods damn it.

Science was supposed to be the good one.

Murderous intent quickly devolved into self-preservation tinged with curiosity, and then climbed back out again as a healthy dose of greed. “How much time do I have?”

The Earl, being smart, was somewhat cautious in his response. “Flip open that little door on the front of the belt.” I did so, and saw a set of numbers, 923. It was at that moment rolling the three to a two. “That there indicates that you have nine hours and twenty-two minutes left.” Everybody knows that the day is divided up into hours, but only the highly educated or the extremely rich use minutes. Fancy. “Plenty of time, really. Especially for someone of your talent and with the help of Charity.”

“Charity?”

“My prize winning slug. It should still have the scent of the perpetrator since it was in the middle of mating when that wild rascal swiped the Nipple Ring of Opulent Grandeur.”

Doing my best to force that still unwanted mental image from reoccurring, I pushed past the act of larceny and asked what I'd hoped would be a safer question. “How exactly does a slug carry anything?”

“Well, with its prehensile penis, of course. It isn't like they have hands or anything.”

My shoulders slumped, “You're telling me my mission is to retrieve a nipple ring from a slug penis?”

“Wasn't that clear from the beginning? Oh, and do be careful of its love dart.”

The more I knew, the less I wished I did. “And that is?”

“A sharp pointy bone-like protrusion that assists in mating. It could probably pierce right through that armor of yours.” He cocked his head to the side. “I thought you would have been more well informed on such matters.”

“Until now, snail sex as a topic hasn't really come up. Is there anything else I should know?” As if exploring unknown tunnels for hours on end led by a squishy guide in search of a slimy phallus and its bling wasn't enough.

Giving a moment's consideration, the Earl shook his head, “No. I think that does it. Toni here will introduce you to Charity, and please do hurry back.”

“I plan on it.”

Turning from the man, I once again spotted Toni, and froze, my mind completely wiped clean of slug penises. Toni was now actual size, and her sensuous lines and provocative attire were most alluring.

Giving my most charming smile, I figured we could maybe do some exploring of each other when all this was done, but she must have had a hangup with humans, because she just rolled her eyes, turned, and began walking away. “This way to the stables, Sir Thunderfist.”

Up until this point, whenever a racing slug was mentioned, despite the few hints of “steed” or “stables,” I'd been picturing something the relative size of a dog, though less cute and/or cuddly. These were not that. These were monstrous brutes itching to be let loose on the world. If I had been my normal size, one of these things would probably still be larger than me, but as it was, the one before me was nearly four times my height in length and just above my head at the... well they don't really have shoulders, but that's what I was looking at, so let's just go with that.

Toni walked right up the beast and patted it on the side, “Sir Thunderfist, this is Charity. I'm going to give you a few pointers on how to ride it, but its very well trained and should be a breeze for someone of your renowned experience. First, come over here and give it a rub, let it know you're friendly.”

Staring at the frilly flesh fluttering against the ground, I absently wondered if the folds would crush my foot if I got too close. Cautiously, I placed my hand on what I could only guess was its neck only to have its broad head swivel right up to my face and rub its two lower antennae things along my cheeks. Much to my surprise and mild relief, none of this thing was slimy. The skin was quite smooth and dry, and almost pleasurable to touch. The antennae things to the face, less so.

“Aww. It likes you. Well, that'll make things go much easier. Here, put these on.” Tossing me a pair of what looked like chaps with soft rubbery discs on the inside of the legs, she explained, “Unlike some breeders, we don't affix saddles to our slugs. It's inhumane. Unlike a pony or a horse, there's no place for straps to go across the underbelly, so our rivals simply staple a saddle on. Here we use those, the Breechastriders, an invention of Countess Locksprocket.”

Once I'd managed to get them on, despite the crazy number of straps and with the highly distracting help of the practically naked woman, Toni instructed me on the their use, then helped me mount the enormous Charity. The Breechastrider was a clever bit of gear. Once you had your legs in a comfortable spot with the little rubber discs lying flat on the side of the slug, you squeezed a small bladder on the hip a few dozen times and before you knew it, you were suctioned in place.

After a few minutes of expert instruction, I'd also gotten the hang of maneuvering Charity. The big head of the slug had four antennae. The lower two were effectively its nose. while the upper antennae were its eyestalks, well within reach of a rider. All you needed to do to steer was place your hands gently at the base of them, then lightly push in the direction you wanted to go. The control scheme was much easier than with a horse, actually. It also provided outstanding maneuverability. Press both to one side, and the whole slug strafed to the side. Push one forward and pull the other back, and the thing spun completely in place. Really truly outstanding maneuverability.

Finally, Toni looked up and smiled. “Well, it looks like you've got the hang of it. A few last things, pay attention to your seating. If you start to slip, give the bladder a few pumps. And once Charity catches the scent of that slug, and I'm pretty sure you'll notice when it does, just let it take over. You'll get there faster.”

I bowed my head in appreciation. It really was quite a shame she wasn't into humans. “I'll be back in a few hours.”

As I guided Charity to a set of large brass doors leading out of the stables, Toni called out, “Don't forget to watch the time. None of us wants you to stay like this forever, do we?” I decided to take that as genuine concern, and headed out... much faster than I thought I would.

They weren't kidding about the “racing” in racing slug. The moment the doors opened, Charity bolted like an arrow into pitch black darkness. It took a sizable portion of my considerable strength not to fall back and pull the eyestalks with me. I've ridden gryphons that would have had a hard time keeping up.

Regaining my balance, I got the goggles in place, pleased more with the ability to see again than with the oddly colored interpretation of the rocks around us, and gave a quick glance to the now dusty silver and bright green time keeping belt. 846. Eight hours and some to wrap this up. I could do that.

Time passed, and I was beginning to fully enjoy this odd form of travel, even though there were a number of unnerving particularities. Like, for instance, when I'd glance over the side, I could barely discern the edge of Charity's fluttering foot that was effectively a translucent blur. Or that other than the tremendous rush of wind, it was terribly difficult to figure how fast we were moving, what with the not-at-all-a-gallop that was better described as an undulating glide. I did, however, take the opportunity to do a little experimenting, and found that not only could Charity climb along the sides of the rock tubes we were careening down, but cruise fully upside-down without slowing in the least. No wonder the Breechastriders had so many straps.

Unfortunately, the passing scenery wasn't that interesting. The tunnels were all remarkably similar to each other in both shape and lighting, making it hard to have any idea where I was, or where I was going, or how much time had passed. It wasn't like there was sunlight, or a horizon that could help you gauge such things. Occasionally we'd come across signs of gnomic or dwarven civilization, an artificially smoothed patch of road, a crafted stone bridge, markers with sigils that meant nothing to me, and more than once, a set of large brass doors nearly identical to the ones we left by. But other than that, the underground was pretty monotonous.

And then suddenly without any warning, Charity convulsed. Big heaving sighs rippled along its skin and its head tossed side to side, forcing me to grab a little more firmly than I intended, and causing my steering to twirl us into repeated uncontrolled spins, finally coming to rest on an incline that might as well have been called a wall.

Charity had found the scent of its lost lover.

I looked at the belt. 631. No problem. I still had lots of time.

Our negotiation of who was in control went better than I would've guessed. I steered us back to the relative flat ground, started us forward, and then let go. Charity tentatively took the hint, and a moment later, we were soaring. I gave the Breechastrider a few extra pumps. It wasn't like my seat was slipping, but I just wanted to be sure. I've seen warriors thrown from horseback at full gallop, and even in armor, the results were far from pretty.

The rush of excitement eventually diminished, which settled into a relaxed state of trust, which in turn tarnished into boredom. We'd zipped down countless tunnels, blurred through at least a dozen chambers, crawled between two fissures, and Charity's urgency hadn't seemed to waiver in the least. Not lessening, but not building either. And in my hunched over posture, my back was beginning to ache. I was beginning to question my mount's amorous instincts.

Without warning, the corridor we barreled through opened into a vast cavern, ceiling rising into darkness, and the ground dropping into an immense crevasse. On the other side, clinging to a cliff face and no more than a stone's throw away, a slug turned its eyestalks toward us, then darted straight down.

Charity didn't wait, and launched us right off the edge.

I fall great distances a surprising amount in my line of work. The trick to surviving is to not freak out, relying on your phenomenal focus, exquisite reactions, and unparalleled physical prowess. However, what at first felt like falling I soon realized still had that gentle sway I'd been growing accustomed to. My mount was still in full control, its rippling translucent frills in contact with the rushing rock underneath us.

Down in front of us, on the far side of the chasm, the wild slug looked almost happy in its lazy drifting from side to side all the while plummeting downward, until it honed in on another tunnel opening fast approaching. In the distance below us, also approaching at tremendous speed, was the highly uninviting bottom of this particular crevasse. Countless stalagmites pointed up at us like metal spikes of the numerous traps dungeons always threw at me.

Though, this being nature, and not a planned catacomb of death, the pointy bits of rock were actually quite far apart. More than enough for Charity to slalom through and up the other side, heading straight for that opening the long sought after mate had disappeared into moments before.

And then the chase was on in earnest. Placing my faith in my love-struck slug, I settled in to enjoy the ride, giving the Breechastrider a few extra pumps for good measure.

You would think that racing through tunnels at breakneck speeds, spinning through corkscrews, upside down, sideways, sometimes backwards, and darting across eerie alien underground landscapes of unimaginable scale would have been exciting. And for the first while I guess it was. But you reach a point when your mind starts to wander.

How far had I actually traveled by this point? I was pretty sure we'd gone down a fair bit, but I also had the vague sense that our course had been generally leftish, meaning we'd possibly been circling the point where we'd started. Most of all, I wondered how long we'd been at this.

A quick glance at the belt gave me the number 201.

Shit. I was running out of time. They'd been chasing for hours, and neither one looked to be tiring in the least. The wild gastropod kept juking to and fro, and my horny steed continued to stay right on its tail.

I do have to give it to the invertebrates, they sure make hearty mounts.

Finally, the wild slug contorted down a much-too-small hole with Charity mere feet behind, and after a twisting moment of severe claustrophobic inertia, we all popped out onto a ledge with stone on the left and a drop to the right. The chamber was a good size, and I had the distinct awareness of movement in the distance.

However, after the squeeze, I was just lifting my head to get my bearings and noticed our target was no longer fleeing, but standing its ground. It had spun, reared up, and was presenting a fifth antennae from under its skirt. I was less concerned about the new appendage than I was about the “love dart” that had appeared right next to it. Whoever had named that particular piece of anatomy was completely off the mark. In no way was that thing a “dart.” Dart implied something small, like a claw, but this was more like a sword, or better yet, spear. Love spear. That's what I would have called it.

Anyway, the forlorn Charity took this as an invitation, reared up itself, smashed my leg against the wall crushing the bladder on the Breechastrider with an explosive hiss, and flung itself into some epic love making. The sudden lunge meant there was slug beneath me one moment, thin air the next, then a series of rock, boulder, rock, rock, and finally blackness.

I awoke to a chime from near my hips, like a happy little bell. It had only gone off once, but it was a very clear ring that echoed around me. There were also a lot of soft squishy noises surrounding me at varying distances that I was pretty sure I didn't want to know about. Squishy noises were seldom a good thing in my line of work. It usually meant you were about to be eaten, currently being eaten, or had already been eaten and were now in the process of being digested. I've been in every stage, and I didn't really care for any of them.

​I opened my eyes, and felt a hint of panic when nothing in my vision changed.

Mostly.

There was a faint hint of green at the bottom of my periphery, much like the light that leaks in when blindfolded. On a hunch, I reached for the Illuminatory Visionifier, felt a few dangly bits that shouldn't have been dangling break off and fall to the ground, then lifted the thing off my head. Pale green glowing lichen lit the cavern around me, and I kinda wished I had lost my vision.

I was smack dab in the middle of a giant slug orgy. Which really shouldn't have surprised me. Earl Locksprocket had said the nipple ring was an aphrodisiac for these things, didn't he? So this was a good thing. It meant I'd most likely reached my destination.

After entirely too long staring in horrified curiosity, which in reality was about a heartbeat, I realized why the gnomes had all called Charity an “it.” Turns out slugs are hermaphroditic. Both sexes. You learn something every day, huh?

Luckily, they were all way too preoccupied to pay me any heed, and at the same time, I felt perfectly satisfied to do the same. So, I dusted myself off, and stole a peek at the belt just to see how long I'd been out.

058.

Okay. Now it was getting serious.

I was who knew how far away from the hourglass, had no way to see in the dark, had lost Charity to the throes of passion, was surrounded by randy and probably quite lethal slime balls, and I still hadn't found the Nipple Ring of Opulent Grandeur.

I'm not one to succumb to despair, since I am after all the Great Bram Thunderfist, swordsman extraordinaire, and that fact alone was enough make me stand tall, which even though I was a quarter my regular size was still remarkably impressive.

I knew I was close. I had to be. So, after a deep breath, I took in my surroundings without paying too much attention to the things I didn't want to look at, and there, on the ground just a few strides away, was a glitter of a distinctly round shape. The nipple ring had simply been discarded, left to do its thing where all of those in attendance could enjoy it. And there was nothing stopping me from walking right up to it.

I snatched the ring, and the mood of the room abruptly changed. Every single slug in the cavern stopped, reared from their amorous attentions, and turned to face me. They were no long happy slugs. They were, in fact, very un-happy slugs.

Nipple ring in hand, I froze.

And as I looked up at those sex crazed slugs, who were obviously intent on goring me with their love darts, I couldn't help but wonder the one thing I really didn't want to think about: what exactly was the position a gnome had to be in for a nipple ring to be swiped by a slug in the act of mating?

It's always the uncomfortable questions that come back to haunt you.

​You know how it is.
Red Dragon
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