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With every night, the brew grew thicker. With every new plague corpse added to the mix, the disease grew stronger. Soon, he judged, it would be ready. Already bodies suffering from the symptoms of the plague had been returned to the cemetery. He gave humble thanks to the Ever-Hungry for the inspiration which had made him seek out a hiding place where he could observe the results of his handiwork. And where else could he find such a rich source of contaminated bodies to drop into the brew!
He added more of the white tulips to the mixture. These were his final secret ingredients to the brew. There were no finer and no stronger ones to be found. Growing in the cemetery, they were ripe and strong with accumulated death energies. He peered out with his filmed eyes at his followers. They lay sprawled across the ancient human death-chamber, twitching and scratching, coughing and hawking like the true members of Clan Pathos they were. He knew that each and every one of them was united in their sincere dedication to the cause of the clan. They were filled with the sort of zeal which few other goblins could understand.
Their rotted nerve endings no longer felt the pain, save occasionally when they felt ghostly echoes of their suffering, like someone hearing the tolling of a distant bell while drowning in deep water. He knew that other goblins thought them fanatics and avoided them, but that was because other goblins lacked their purity of purpose, their total commitment to serving their god. Each and every diseasemonger present was prepared to pay any price, make any sacrifice to reach the common goals of clan and deity. It was this commitment that made them the most worthy of all the Ever-Hungry's servants, and the most suitable leaders of Goblinkind.
Soon all the other clans would realise this. Soon this uber-plague would bring the human city of Yeledor to its knees, even before the mighty verminous hordes entered its streets. Soon all would bear witness that the triumph belonged to Clan Pathos, to the Ever-Hungry, and to Leprous Foulbreath, the humblest of the great hungry lord's chosen servants. Soon he would be established as the only vessel suitable to bear the Ever-Hungry's word. It would be fitting, for although he was but the humblest of the Ever-Hungry's servants, he knew where his duty lay, and that was not true of all goblins in this devolved age.
He knew that many of his fellow goblins had lost sight of their race's great goals, and had lost themselves in the pursuit of self-aggrandisement. Shaman Utkut was an example of just such a tendency. He cared more for himself and his status than he did for the overthrowing of the Ever-Hungry's enemies. It was disgusting behaviour for one who should have been among the most dedicated of the great god's servants, and Leprous Foulbreath humbly prayed that he would never fall into similar error.
He felt sure that, had Utkut known about this experiment, he would have forbidden it, simply out of envy of one who possessed knowledge of powers beyond his limited imagination. That was why they had to sneak to the surface in secret and perform their rituals without the shaman's knowledge. The great work must progress despite the machinations of those who would prevent it.
After the success of this uber-plague, the foolish edicts of the Council of Goblinkind would be repealed, and Clan Pathos could show its true power to the world. And those like shaman Utkut who would seek to prevent this most sacred of the Ever-Hungry's works would be made to grovel in the dust. Perhaps it was true, as some whispered, that Utkut was a traitor to the great goblin cause, and should be replaced by one more humbly dedicated to the advancement of his people.
From somewhere Leprous Foulbreath heard coughing. In itself that was not unusual. His followers were all blessed with the symptoms of countless diseases. No, there was something about the tone of the coughing. It was different from that of one of his acolytes, or even a goblin in general. Deeper, slower, almost human-like...
"Interlopers," Leprous Foulbreath screeched.
**********
Girn cursed inwardly and tried to stop coughing, but it was no use. His lungs were rebelling against the foul stench from within the vault. Tears streamed from his eyes. He had never smelled anything quite so foul in all his life. It was as if the combined essences of all stinks around the continent were assaulting his nostrils. He felt ill just breathing it, and he had to fight down the urge to vomit.
The sight of what was going on in the burial vault had not helped settle his stomach either. He had glanced into a chamber illuminated by the eerie glow. In the long chamber, a dozen or so of the foulest and most leprous-looking goblins he had ever seen lolled amidst the opened sarcophagi of long-dead nobles. Great stone coffins lay flat on the chamber's floor. Their lids had been removed and their contents scattered. Skulls and bones lay everywhere. Among them lay goblins, enervated and ill-looking, sprawled in pools of their own pus and vomit and excrement, gnawing at the bones of the dead. At the far end of the room, the sickest and most evil-looking goblin Girn had ever seen stirred a vast cauldron which rested upon a blazing fire, pausing now and again only to spit in it or add some other nasty ingredient.
Even as Girn had watched, one of the thing's own fingers had dropped into the bubbling evil brew and the creature had not even blinked. It had paused only for a breath and added a glowing dust, and then continued to stir. Girn just knew that what he was witnessing had something to do with the spreading of the plague. He did not understand quite how or why, but he was certain that it was so. These vile degenerate greenskins and their hideous rune-inscribed cauldron had to be involved in the creation of the disease. One look at their vile appearance told him that it just had to be so. Then he had felt the uncontrollable urge to cough. He had tried to hold it in, but the more he did so, the more the inside of his lungs tickled and threatened to explode. Eventually, the cough had burst out of him. Unfortunately, it did so during one of the rare moments of silence in the burial chamber.
"Interlopers!" the chief goblin screeched and stood frozen, its eyes twitching at every nook and cranny, almost as if it sensed Girn's presence. All doubts vanished, however, when it gestured directly in his direction with one rotting hand. Girn brought his greataxe to the ready. It was hack-and-slashing time.
The plague priest raised its bone staff high above its head and threw back its head. It barked a series of incantations in the goblin's guttural language. The words seemed to be wrenched from deep within. As it did so, a great halo of sickly light surrounded the goblins' flesh and then seemed to be absorbed into their bodies. They leapt to their feet with an electric grace and energy. High keening cries of challenge were torn from their throats.
Girn charged into the warm, misty chamber. The goblins picked up their rusted weapons, but most were too late. He struck right and left, killing as he went. Nothing could stand in the way of his greataxe. No one sane or sensible would have tried to resist it. And yet these goblins did not turn and flee as other goblins might have. They did not even hold their ground. Instead they attacked with an insane frenzy which matched the barbarian's own. They sprang forward, foam pouring from their mouths, their eyes rolling and wild. For a moment, Girn was halted by the sheer force of their rush.
Girn lashed out at the nearest and it dodged, swift and sinuous as a serpent, air hissing from between its cracked lips, madness evident in its eyes. He could see that yellow pus stained the bandages around the creature's chest. He slashed the area with his greataxe and it sank in with a hideous slurping sound, almost as if Girn had struck into jelly. The pain did not stop the goblin. It came straight at him, pushing forward against the blade, driving it deeper into its own chest. If it felt any pain, it gave no sign. Girn watched as it opened its mouth to reveal rotten teeth and a brown tongue. He knew then that of all the bad things that might happen here, letting the creature bite him was the worst.
He lashed out with his left fist, catching the diseasemonger on the side of its face, knocking its jaws loose. The force of the blow sent several rotten teeth flying out of the creature's mouth to skitter across the dirty floor. It turned to glare at him with wide, evil eyes. Girn took the opportunity to shift his weight, hook his leg around the creature's own leg and send it toppling to the floor. He turned his blade in the diseasemonger's chest as he pulled it free but still the creature would not die. It beat at the stone flagstones around it with its fist, in a spasm of horrid nervous energy. Girn knew that evil sorcery was at work here, when creatures so weak and sickly could prove so hard to kill. He brought his boot crashing down on the creature's throat, crushing its windpipe and pinning it in place while he hacked repeatedly at it, and still the creature took a long time to die.
Girn held his ground by swirling his greataxe about him. He was the centre of the storm and his weapon was the whirling wind. Rotting body parts flew through the air and specks of reeking body juices spattered his arms and legs.
The sound of padding footsteps behind him told him that more goblins were arriving, returning from whatever insidious mission they had been on. Powerful words leapt from the lips of the chanting priest and Girn turned to see the eerie glow settle on the skin of two more diseasemongers, and the awful transformation overcoming them. Things were not looking in his favour, Girn thought. Unless something was done about the priest, it was all over. Without giving himself time to think, he vaulted on top of the nearest sarcophagus. He leapt to the next one, passing over the pressing melee of diseasemongers, and kept moving towards the chanting priest. Girn knew for certain that the chanting leader was the source of its followers' strength.
His leaps brought him ever closer to the bubbling cauldron and its hideous master. With a war cry, Girn leapt. He felt heat below him, and the foul vapours of the cauldron caressed his face as he passed through them, then his feet connected with the plague priest's face and they both tumbled to the ground. The goblin's chanting stopped but it reacted with surprising speed for one so decrepit, bounding to its feet as if on springs. Girn lashed out with his greataxe but the goblin leapt back and brought its bone ladle down in a blurring arc which would have crushed Girn's skull had he not leapt aside.
Girn circled warily, looking for an opening. To his surprise, and unlike most solitary goblins Girn had ever fought, the one in front of him attacked swiftly and viciously. Girn parried another blow from the large bone with his weapon, and was surprised by its speed and power. The shock of the impact almost drove the greataxe from his hand. Another blow rapped his knuckles and this time he let go of his axe handle. Never had that happened before!
"Die! Filthy human!" it screeched in badly accented common. Once more the bone descended. This time Girn managed to move aside, and it thudded into the ground where he had stood mere moments before. Before the goblin could raise its weapon again, Girn made a grab for it. The surprised goblin went tumbling backwards. It let out a shriek as its backside impacted on the hot metal sides of the cauldron. Girn ducked down, grabbed its feet and picked them up, sending the goblin leader tumbling into its own reeking stew.
"I'm not a human," Girn bellowed. "I'm a barbarian!"
Girn picked up the bone ladle and whacked it over the head when it tried to scramble out of the stew. Then, prodding down with the blunt weapon, he felt the struggling goblin move. Swiftly he pinned it firmly with the bone and leaned forward with all his weight. The writhing goblin tried to push back against him but Girn was too heavy to be moved. Slowly the struggles ceased. Eventually Girn relaxed his weight and breathed easily. Looking down from the dais he saw the diseasemongers had faltered and collapsed. A sense of triumph coursed through his veins. He went to collect his greataxe.
At that moment, something horrible emerged from the cauldron before him.
**********
Leprous Foulbreath felt dreadful. He had swallowed so much of his own brew that he felt like he was going to explode. He had taken such a beating at the hands of that accursed barbarian that even he could feel the pain. Worse yet, he had almost been drowned. It seemed like an eternity before that cruel barbarian had taken his weight off the ladle and given him a chance to break the surface.
A quick glance around told him that all was lost. His acolytes lay collapsed on the flagstones and the ferocious-looking barbarian with the huge axe was racing towards him. Leprous knew he had only one chance to act. He threw up his arms, summoned all of his power and called up the Ever-Hungry to save him. For a moment, nothing happened, and Leprous knew that it was all over. The axe arced closer. He kept his eyes open and forced himself to watch his own death approach.
Then he felt a faint tingling surround his body and knew that the Ever-Hungry had answered his prayer.
**********
Girn slashed with his greataxe, determined that this time the foul plague priest was going to die, and Girn was going to chop it into little pieces just to be certain. The goblin shrieked what Girn hoped was a death cry. But something strange happened.
An eerie glow surrounded the goblin at the last second. Girn tried to stop his blow, fearing some more noxious sorcery, but it was too late. Even as he watched the blade connect the space seemed to fold in around the priest, and it shimmered and vanished with a pop like a bubble bursting. Girn almost overbalanced as his greataxe passed through the empty air where the goblin had been.
"Fucking goblin," he muttered and spat in frustration. Girn cursed again and muttered venomously as if by sheer force of his imprecations he could make the goblin reappear for execution. He vaulted down from the dais and kicked the severed head of a diseasemonger just to relieve his frustrations. Then he glanced up.
The place was strewn with corpses. The tombs were broken open and the huge cauldron full of its foul and contagious brew continued to bubble. His gaze rested on the great cauldron. If what Girn suspected was true, it represented as big a threat to the city as an army of goblins, perhaps more so, for at least an army could be fought against. Unfortunately, Girn was even less of an expert on dark sorcery than he was on loathsome diseases. It seemed obvious that the brew needed to be destroyed in some manner that rendered it harmless, but how?
Simply leaving it here would mean that the goblins might come back and collect it at their leisure. They obviously had their own secret ways into the Black Gardens of Zoaris and could come and go as they pleased. Not to mention that their sorcery apparently allowed them to vanish at will. Setting fire to the stone tomb was also not an option.
As Girn considered all this, he realised that he might have had the solution in his hand all along. He jumped up the dais and levered the cauldron over with the blade of his axe. The contagious brew spilled off the dais and onto the floor, covering the festering corpses of the diseasemongers in a nasty viscous pool. Eventually, the cauldron tipped over and lay there upside down.
"Now, to destroy this foul thing!" Girn took his greataxe and brought the blade down on the cauldron. Sparks flashed and a hollow booming sound echoed through the mausoleum chamber as the metal blade connected with the arcanely forged iron. The runes flared. There was a huge spark, followed by a mighty explosion of mystical energy, as the cauldron shattered into a thousand pieces. Girn covered his eyes with his arm as bits of shrapnel flew everywhere. The swirling surge of power stormed through the chamber. Sparks flickered, corpses began to burn.
"Best get out of here," Girn muttered and dove for the entrance through a blazing curtain of mystical energy.
**********
Mina had scrubbed Girn clean with coarse lye soap a dozen times, replacing the bath's water every time, and still she wasn't sure she had removed the entire taint of the cemetery from him. She cursed but he put a hand on her arm and said, "It's okay, Mina. I think I'm as clean as I can get."
"I don't know, Girn. Maybe one more time? What if I missed something? Maybe you'll get sick?"
Girn chuckled, squeezing her arm in an assuring gesture. "Relax, Mina. I won't get sick, remember?" She gave only a weak smile. He tucked a strand of raven-black hair behind her ear and lifted her chin up. He looked into her gorgeous eyes. "Why don't you join me for a moment?" he suggested. "The warm water will soothe you."
"Okay, but don't act like you don't have your own motives for inviting me in," Mina said, a suspicious expression on her pretty face. She emptied another bucket of boiled water into the tub before undressing and lowering herself in the warm water. She let Girn turn her around and take care of her. It felt heavenly to have his hands on her back, scrubbing and massaging at the same time.
Girn whispered in her ear, "Forget all your worries for a moment. Right now, the only thing you have to do is enjoy." He worked the knuckles of his meaty fists down her back, putting pressure on either side of her spine. Mina groaned. "That's it," Girn said, smiling.
His hands moved lower, below the surface of the water, and knuckled Mina's lower back. It felt like that was the area with the most tension. But Girn couldn't help himself from running a teasing finger along the top of her ass crack. Mina laughed and said, "You couldn't resist, could you?"
"You have such a beautiful figure." Girn ran his hands up her back, bringing warm water with them. He gathered her black hair and threw it across her shoulder to the front. He gently massaged her shoulders and delicate neck, careful not to squeeze too hard with his powerful hands. "Should I do your front as well?" he ventured.
His touch had both relaxed and aroused her. She turned around with a sudden wantonness and smacked her lips on his. Their tongues met in a sweet and passionate kiss. Girn felt her stiff nipples poking his chest while Mina felt his hands roaming her back and ass. She broke the kiss to say, "I want you, now."
Girn moved to the middle of the tub where there was enough room to sit cross-legged. Mina crawled on his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. Girn bent and sucked the soft flesh of her tits and her hard nipples. Mina gyrated her hips, feeling his shaft nestling itself in her slippery folds.
Mina reached one hand between their bodies and pressed against her clit. The pleasuring touch on her clit and the rubbing of his shaft between her lower lips made her want to orgasm. Within moments she did just that, letting out a wordless cry as the orgasm washed over her. Girn felt her legs shiver around his waist.
Girn lifted the raven-haired beauty, his cock pointing up, and lowered her again, penetrating her wet pussy. Their lips joined again as Girn bucked his hips, pushing his cock inside her. As she always did, Mina moaned when his thickness filled her. Their movement sent waves of water spilling from the tub.
While slow at first, Girn's deep thrusts and the intimacy of the position soon brought Mina to orgasm again, and she felt herself contract around Girn's large cock. "Oh, Girn, you feel so good," she said with a trembling voice.
Girn picked up his pace. He brought his mouth to her breast again and sucked as they fucked. He squeezed her other breast with his meaty hand. The feeling of her perfectly firm tits was wonderful. After a few more thrusts and he lifted Mina off him, bending her over the side of the tub.
