The Lizard: Down in a Hole

Down in a Hole

-A Story of The Lizard-

The treasure hunter frowned. With a groan she sat up and took inventory of her pains. Minor aches in her right shoulder and side suggested a few bruises. Her right knee throbbed and there was a tightness that she knew meant swelling.

A sharp little pain stole her attention. Moving deliberately she reached across and carefully drew a splinter of wood from her left forearm. With a whispered oath she cast it away into the darkness.

A little light filtered down from above. The treasure hunter sat and waited for her eyes to adjust. When it seemed her ability to see in the gloom and shadows had reached it's potential, she considered her surroundings.

A jumble of rotted boards and timbers had broken her fall. There were chunks of stone masonry littering the ground nearby. The pile of furniture she had recently been attempting to traverse had fallen with her when the floor collapsed. From where she sat she could pick out two chairs and a splintered pine chest. Thankfully, none of the furniture had landed on her.

Casting her eyes upward, she was momentarily confused. When she realized what she was seeing, she swore again, and more angrily than the last time. She hadn't fallen into the basement, but through it. The ragged edges of board that formed the stark perimeter of the hole up there were at least thirty feet above her. The masonry scattered around down here must have been part of the basement walls or floor.

Leaning a bit she noticed a couple of stones, silhouetted, like the last teeth in an elderly man's jaw, marking where the floor of the basement must have been. She guessed those stones would be six feet over her head, were she standing. She hadn't counted on this sort of accident when planning to snoop around an abandoned mansion. If she had packed her little grappling hook... With a huff and a shake of the head she dismissed the useless consideration of hindsight, turning her thoughts back to her most immediate problems.

First a fire, for light, warmth, and to ward off any vermin that might live down here. Gingerly working the straps of her pack from her shoulders, she lifted it into her lap. She drew the slipknot that held shut one of the many little leather pockets she had built in when crafting the pack. As her fingers closed on the tinderbox tucked inside, a creak sounded from somewhere above. Then another.

Becoming very still and listening, the treasure hunter heard slow, irregular footsteps, accompanied by the creaking of floorboards. Then a masculine voice, speaking in the common tongue.

"...naked elf walks into a tavern with a poodle under one arm and a two foot salami... who heaps clutter in one room like this? How'd they even get that lounge through th-"

The voice had moved closer until it seemed to come from directly overhead, before being drowned out by the sounds of cracking, splintering wood. There was a brief cry of alarm as more of the floor and junk from the room above came tumbling down.

When the now familiar crunch and clatter had ceased, the treasure hunter again took stock of herself. A lot of dust and a few short lengths of floorboard had landed on her. Nothing had struck her swollen knee or head. Miraculously, no new harm done.

There came a human groan from several feet off to her left.

"Hello? Are you alive?" she asked while brushing the worst of the dust from clothes and hair.

There was a muffled cry of surprise, tinged with pain. This was accompanied by the scraping of shifted debris.

"Who's there? Not a dwarf. Are you... a spirit?"

"Huh." The treasure hunter nodded thoughtfully. "Should've thought of that. Tunneling. Unwittingly undermined the basement."

"What?"

"Just thinking out loud. Probably wasn't Dwarfs, though. Their tunnels are always properly shored up and reinforced. More likely goblins or stone reavers."

There was a long silence. Eventually her new company spoke up again, sounding put upon. His voice carried an edge that sounded like he was trying to hide how much pain he was in.

"You say goblins?"

"Eh? Don't worry. If they were using this place, you'd be able to smell them. And no, I'm no spirit, lad. Just a scavenger that didn't take care enough. Human." She waited a few moments, then added, "Call me Elizabeth. What's your story?"

The fellow lay quietly in the darkness for a few moments, considering.

"Near about the same as yours, seems like. What are the chances? Name's Weber. Andrew. Folk mostly call me Web. How long ha-ack!"

He broke off with a hiss of pain. Elizabeth was just able to make out movement in the darkness from whence his voice had emanated.

"Tried to get up, but you're hurt worse than you thought, right? Just lay still a couple minutes and I'll make us a little fire. Then we can have a look at you." she said.

There was some creaking from the jumble of debris amidst which the young fellow lay. Then a grunt which might have been agreement.

Liz gave a nod, then set to work. First she felt around for a flat surface that didn't shift easily. When she had found one, she drew a knife from a hip sheath and began cutting thin shavings from the edge of one of the less rotted floorboards. These she carefully mounded on the chosen flat surface -- a section of heavy floor beam.

Finally she set the knife down and returned to the pocket she had earlier opened in her pack. She fished her tinder box from the pocket and took a few pinches from the mixture of cat-tail fluff and ground pine resin inside. After sprinkling the mixture into a hollow in the pile of wood shavings, she took a sliver of flint from the box and used it to strike sparks from the spine of her knife.

She gingerly worked glowing embers into flame and saw to it that the wood chips caught before cutting some larger slivers of wood to feed and build the fire. A few minutes later she cast about and found a pair of legs broken from the seat of a chair and leaned these onto the burning shims.

Re-sheathing her knife and setting her pack aside, she turned to consider the young master Weber. He had been quiet the whole time she built the fire, and she vaguely hoped that he hadn't passed out from a head injury, or bled out from some wound. No sense hurrying and injuring herself further at this point, though. Cutting a strip from the tattered hem of her roughspun cloak, she found another chair leg and wrapped the cloth around one end to fashion a makeshift torch. After lighting it in the fire, she held it aloft as she made her way through the mess of wood and masonry between herself and the fallen man.

Stopping and lowering her torch closer, she found that Weber was squinting up at her. One cheek was marred by scrapes dotted with scabbing blood, which added a touch of character to an otherwise moderately handsome face.

"Still alive, eh? I guess by the way you're holding your side, you might've cracked a rib?" she asked.

"Er, maybe." he agreed noncommittally, slowly moving his hands aside.

A sliver of wood protruded from his side. The vest he wore had developed a dark stain around the spot.

"Well, there's your problem right there." Elizabeth quipped, apparently unperturbed.

Weber silently glared at her.

"Fair enough. Alright, hold still." she added, leaning over him to get a better look.

"Well... we could cut your vest and blouse off. Or..." she thought out loud after a brief examination, "Here, hold this."

She pressed the torch into the nearer of Web's hands, drawing his attention away from her chest. Edging a bit closer, she leaned in and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. Just about the time he got over his initial shock and began to return the kiss, she gripped the protruding end of the sliver of wood and yanked it free.

She cursed herself a moment later, jerking away. Reacting reflexively to the pain, he had inadvertently bitten down on her tongue.

"Muh'r fuggid 'oopid gawk zugger!" she vented, clenching her fists till they trembled to keep from striking him.

Brow still furrowed from the pain in his side, Web wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or apologize. She had it coming, pulling a trick like that, but he'd hate to think he had caused any permanent damage. He settled for something in the vein of her earlier humor.

"That hurt. How was it for you?"

Mouth held partly open as if it would help her throbbing tongue, she widened her eyes balefully. Then rolled them. Then shrugged and nodded.

"O'gay, 'air enub. Now opf wi' zuh fes' an' bwouse."

"Are you sure your tongue isn't the more serious problem?"

She paused, sniffed, spat to one side.

"Ah've had worth." she assured him before again leaning over to help him unbutton and remove his vest. Then his blouse.

Blood had caused the blouse to stick around the wound. Liz informed her patient that he wouldn't be getting a kiss this time. Instead, she folded his vest a couple times and told him to bite down on it if necessary, before tugging the blouse free. To his credit, he simply gritted his teeth, then growled as the fabric peeled away.

A single rivulet of fresh blood ran down from the gash, but nothing like what Liz had feared. Mostly it had stopped bleeding already.

"Tell me how bad this hurts."

"What? Wait-" he reached to stop her, but she slapped his hand away.

She prodded methodically at the flesh surrounding the wound, then further out from it, and finally she pressed her palm firmly over it. His responses were more or less what she expected. As she leaned back and wiped her hand on his balled up blouse, she let her eyes wander. Rather fit under all those clothes, was young master Web. After a long moment she blinked and cleared her throat.

"You've been very lucky." she said with some satisfaction.

"Oh... yes. I feel very lucky." he agreed sarcastically.

"What I mean is, that piece of wood jammed against one of your ribs. So it didn't have a chance to reach your lung. And that spot is badly bruised and you've got that hole in your side, but the rib itself isn't cracked as far as I can tell."

"I guess that is good news." he allowed.

A thought occurred to Liz.

"That is the worst of it, yes? You can move your legs? Your vision isn't doubled or tripled?"

"Tripled? No, definitely not tripled." He smiled, "I jest. My eyes seem fine. And yes," he slowly bent his legs at the knees and straightened them again, "aside from my back being a little sore... and being stuck in a hole in the ground... that seems to be the worst of it."

"Grand." Liz noticed the makeshift torch was almost burned out. "I knew I should've packed candles. Here, I'll fix this up again and feed the fire, then we'll put something in that wound to stop it festering, wrap you up good as new. Almost. Then we can think about how to get out of this hole."

Reclaiming the torch, she hobbled her way back over to the fire. She herded some stray embers with the burnt end of the torch, then leaned a fresh floorboard onto the low flames. That done, she shortened her cloak a bit more and re-wrapped the head of their makeshift torch. After shouldering her pack, she re-lit the torch and started back over to tend to Web.

Just a hint of complacency creeping back in, Elizabeth took a couple of incautious steps before something shifted under her tread. Her left foot slipped sideways, and to avoid turning her ankle, she leaned and put her weight on her right leg. Stabbing pain screamed in her swollen knee, and with a sharp, short cry she dropped, causing a clattering amidst the treacherous debris.

"Shit. What have you done?" Web twisted to look as best he could without bothering his wounded side. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine. Stupid. I've just buggered my knee is all, haven't I?" she answered between groans and curses.

Slowly, laboriously, she rose from the debris, taking up what might've been a curtain rod to use like a walking stick. When she finally loomed over Web again, his expression shifted from concerned to surprised.

"Are you- Oi... you said you were human."

"Yeah. Very funny. I may not be my most disarmingly b-" Liz began, annoyed, before realizing what Weber had finally picked up on. Normally it would've been the first thing she'd expect questions about, but the situation had kept her busy thinking about other things. And in the flickering, orangy light of the torch, it wasn't surprising that Weber hadn't put it together sooner.

"No, you're lovely, but... your skin..."

"Is green." Liz nodded.

Web looked about to speak, then his brow furrowed and he pointed a finger at her.

"Treasure hunter. Woman. Green skin. You're The Lizard." he sounded awe-struck.

"Aye, well. In future when you tell this story, make us sound less inept, will you?"

"Right," he chuckled, "I'll do that. Em. There are stories about you. Never believed it about you being green, though."

"It's not easy." she began digging bandages and little waxed paper packets of medicinal herbs from her pack. "Being so recognizable that is. And a lot of those stories are exaggerated."

"So... Lizard. And your name is Liz."

"Well done. But yes, actually -- a friend of mine used to call me Lizard as a play on my name. Then when I came back from a trip with green skin, the nickname really caught on. Most people don't know my real name, and just assume the skin inspired the nickname."

She set out bandages and a poultice of some sort on Web's midsection. From her pack she drew a flask which she uncorked with her teeth.

"This will sting some. I'm going to rinse out the wound before I pack it with that poultice and wrap you up nice and tight. I'll tell you a story few people have heard to take your mind off it."

"I'll just try not to squirm then." he gave her a weak smile.

While she tended to him, Elizabeth told the story of a trip to a far off island. She had been only eighteen or nineteen -- she wasn't entirely sure herself. She had been commissioned to pilfer an artifact from the central temple in an indigenous village. A life size cobra made from gold, it's hood decorated with patterns of finely cut precious stones. It's eyes were supposed to be ingeniously crafted from yellow sapphire and obsidian to look real.

Her biggest concerns had been the size and weight of the thing. As it turned out, she should have been more thorough in her snooping. One night every week, the village shaman spent the night in the temple. Somehow he had sensed her, and she hadn't noticed him at all until the moment she laid a hand on the cold golden serpent. He had seemed to materialize out of thin air, mere feet from her.

An oddly average old man in bamboo leaves and leathers. He had smiled, said something in a tongue she didn't recognize, and tossed a handful of dust in her face.

She had woken up on a ship bound for the mainland, with green skin and no memory of anything after the old man and his dust. She was informed that her passage had been paid for. When she had asked about the date, she discovered that she had been unconscious for two days.

None of the mages or frauds she paid thereafter were able to detect any traces of magic involved with her new skin tone. None of them thought it likely that an old man had taken the time to tattoo her entire body, and anyway, she hadn't shown any sign of such a treatment when she awoke on the ship. Had she been so thoroughly jabbed all over for a tattoo, she should have woken up puffy and tender. On the other hand, she never discovered any third explanation.

Finally she pulled the tag end of the last layer of bandages tight and tucked it under. One hand braced on Web's shoulder, she leaned back to consider her work.

"So... now you know why The Lizard is green," she said, "and you're as well patched as I can manage. Feeling any better?"

"All things considered, yes. Thanks to you. How's your tongue?"

Liz arched an eyebrow at him.

"Still sore, but I'll live."

"Maybe I could make it up to you... with another kiss?"

"After the last one," Liz gave him a doubtful smile, "I don't think so."

"I didn't say I wanted to kiss your mouth."

Liz opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She found herself smiling.

"I don't know abou-"

"It would be my pleasure." He assured her. "Besides, you already helped me. And your knee must be troubling you. Let me help take your mind off it."

"Hmm. You're wounded, and I have a bad knee."

"Aye. But. From what I've seen, you've generous curves, but you're no more than five feet and six... seven inches?" he asked.

"About that, yeah." she agreed, not sure whether or not she was pleased with the description.

Web rolled his shoulders and smiled.

"If you can see your way out of those trousers, hobble over behind my head here, turn about and lean back... without bending that knee too much..." He spread his hands open to either side of his face. "I'm fair certain I can hold you up long enough to make it worth your while."

Liz favored him with a doubtful snort. Immediately after which she began unlacing her trousers.

"I suppose if you're wrong, you'll just end up smothering. Seems a waste, after patching you up. I suppose you'll say there are worse ways to go?" she spoke while undressing.

"Well, that piece of wood could've missed my rib and found my heart instead. All things being equal, I'd much rather die with you sitting on my face." Web replied, watching her undress.

After setting her belt and trousers aside, Elizabeth pulled her boots back on, rather than try to gimp through the dark jumble of debris spread all around while in naught but socks. Finding it a bit on the cool side, she left her blouse on as well.

"Save your breath, lad." she advised, "you'll need it in a moment."

Carefully picking her way around to stand as Web had suggested, she drew the hem of her blouse up around her waist and inched back. Before she began to lower herself, she raised her right leg, keeping it straight, to prop her heel on a convenient length of timber. That done she held tight to the curtain rod she had been using as a walking stick, and bent her other leg. Just as she was about to gripe about needing a hand, or two, lest her other knee give out and she land much more forcefully than either of them would like, strong hands rose to cradle her buttocks.

Having reached down beside himself to wedge the makeshift torch between two chunks of stone, Web rolled his head back to watch the lovely green-skinned ravenette pick her way around him. A fresh tingle of nervous excitement swelled in his chest as the full curves of her ass appeared directly above him. He savored the sight of the torchlight shivering and licking at her pussy as it came into view between her thighs. A sliver of gleaming reflection picked out a thin line of fluid that hinted at wetness within.

Mesmerized as Liz lowered herself closer, he almost forgot to do his part. When she began to wobble, he blinked and reached up to catch her.

"Sorry..." he murmured, before lowering her just a bit more and putting his tongue to work.

He first planted a gentle kiss across the mound of her sex, before flattening his tongue and dragging it from back to front. Picking up a faint, salty tang, he then narrowed his tongue and repeated the movement, this time just parting her velvet inner lips. If Liz had any complaint in mind, she never voiced it. Instead, she gave a first soft moan of appreciation.

That first was followed by many more moans, which grew in volume and intensity as Web's attentions became more enthusiastic. Before long, the vocal encouragment was competing with wet slurping, smacking sounds as both her sex and Web's lower face became slick with her juices.

Liz shuddered, her hips shifting, when her eager new lover thrust his tongue in and ground his face against her in a side to side motion, causing his nose to swipe roughly over her clit. Thankfully Web had been right. Whether it was all strength and stamina, or partly thanks to adrenaline and hormones brought on by his arousal, he managed to hold her up and keep her reasonably steady despite her movements.