Oneshot Orling (Some random tale I drafted on a whim)

Discussion in 'Community Fictions' started by Halcyon Observer, Jan 21, 2021.

  1. Halcyon Observer

    Halcyon Observer Full stop

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    I don't know, writing about a blacksmith on a journey to slay the Demon King while also keeping his alcohol addiction in check would seem pretty entertaining.

    NOTE: Something I wrote after reading a post on a thread. Ended up writing too much to the point where I might as well just create a new thread. Have fun reading. Don't have experience for creative writing, nor did I really plan out anything for the plot, so just be prepared to cringe from my writing experience potentially bogging the idea down.

    EDIT 1: Fixed a couple errors, will revise again tomorrow. But what's probably going to happen is that I'm going to cringe halfway in from errors or my writing and I'm going to sweep all of this under the rug and pretend I never wrote this.

    EDIT 2: Planned to mention the OP of the other thread, but since I didn't write about a mage, I decided not to.
    ============================================================================================================
    Synopsis: MC is a Dwarf who has to defeat the Demon King. 'Nuff said.

    Contains: Explicit Content and Swearing.

    Genre: Yes

    Table of Contents: This is the only post.
    ============================================================================================================

    In the sixty-seven millennia that followed after the First Descent, it was quite rare for 《Salissta, World's Own》 to choose its Brave outside the Holy Human Kingdom of Florencia. In fact, it was quite rare for it to designate someone not human at all. The amount of times the divine sword chose a dwarf could be counted on a single hand, much less some random bloke from rural Lavernn. And so it was rather heavy weight to bear on poor Orling's shoulders, as he was one of the only few dwarves that could represent his race. To show the world the might of the Lavernns. To show the world that dwarves aren't meant to be looked down upon. To show the world that dwarves too, are warriors. To show the world...

    ...To show the world that dwarves aren't just some deadweights who can easily be bribed with alcohol. Who the fuck came up with that?

    Okay, big whoop, it happened one time. Just one time, okay. Just once, when the Lord of Emerald turned a blind eye to a passing hero's transgressions when he presented a legendary ale for forgiveness. Falmar's Elixir, which according to traditional folklore, was thought to be a divine ale Sky God Falmar spilled onto the mortal world, by accident, during one of her first Descents. Despite the fact that only the Emerald Lord and his high retainers had actually come across it, the details of the ale had spread throughout his entire kingdom in a mere eleven days. A luminous gold color with the touch of sanguine, a fiery taste that could even put the most distinguished tavern gods to the test, a one-of-a-kind scent that could only be described as "heavenly." Apparently, a scent so strong even a fleeting whiff of a single drop could knock out an elf for three nights and four days. But once a dwarf smells it, it's an irresistable siren's call, a temptation engrained into their very blood. The Lord of Emerald actually had to beat all his retainers until they passed out so he could peacefully savour the taste in every gulp; otherwise, he would have been stabbed the moment he brought it up to his lips. And a day later, the dwarven king mercilessly smeared it into every retainer's fuming face, declaring gleefully with a shit eating grin, statements like "My life is complete" and "Oh, I could die in peace now" and "Alas, if only you could of had a taste of ambrosia. Oh wait, you couldn't. Ho ho ho such a shame isn't it..."

    The story of Falmar's Elixir was widely known. Scrolls of its tale could be found nearly everywhere, and fragments of it deeply embedded themselves into Lavernn's very traditions. To the point where instead of wishing others for good health in the new years, dwarves would wish others a sip of Falmar's. To the point where during extremely auspicious days, dwarves would pray to other gods that Falmar would descend with a barrel and slip on a banana peel. To the point where—

    ...Okay, perhaps that's why other races came to that conclusion. But all that will change soon, for Orling had planned to prepare more than enough to surefire vanquish the awakened Demon King. Showered in blessings, equipped with ancient armour and 《Salissta, World's Own》 , the holy sword itself. All solid foundations, but not enough. A key cornerstone to his plan was to grab a hold of a mythical talisman. No one really knew who made it or where it came from, but the holy sword divulged that the heroes of old had secretly carried it on them to ward off even the cruelest of curses a Demon King could concoct during battle. The Demon King never truly found out why some of the Braves it fought rendered all his curses moot, but that was only because of the everchanging rumors, the numerous tombs with red herrings, and the heroes always returned it afterwards in secret, along with other valuables they found, to the hidden labyrinth Orling was currently traversing.

    After a tedious amount of battling many a ruin guard, disarming booby traps, and traversing the uniform, labyrinth corridors some sadistic, fucking scum-of-the-earth asshole designed, Orling finally entered a spacious room which seemed to be the Treasure Vault. The vault mechanisms were quite simple to Orling since he encountered several others with an almost identical setup. On three sides of the room, an illuminated treasure would lay on a pedestal. After choosing one artifact, heavy slabs of nigh-indestructible hedintite in the ceiling would instantly slam onto the pedestals, pulverizing whatever lied atop. The vault doors would then shut tight and through the new openings in the ceiling, a large number of fortified guardians would pop down or a pool of lava or acid would flood the room as fast as possible.

    Orling was hoping that the last mechanism was a pool of acid as he headed towards the talisman. The guards almost always had a horrifying self-destruct mechanism, and though he had fire immunity, getting out of lava was always a pain in the ass, since the doors only opened after the lava solidified, and then he had to mine through layers and layers of unusually resistant rock. When it came to acid, it was rather simple. Despite the vault doors and walls being coated with anti-corroding material, apparently no one ever thought of coating the hinges. Or maybe they did, but the designer was such an ass of a slavedriver that the workers just pretended to coat it out of spite. With acid immunity, he could just wait until the hinges weakened enough to kick down the doors and be on his merry way. Serves that piece of shit right, there's a special place in the Demon King's darkest dungeon for sticks-up-everyone's-ass who design structures like this. Tasteless wall designs that play tricks on the eyes and give heavy headaches, "surprise" giant tarantula ceiling traps, devices that blast out the most ear-deafening, tone-deaf, bass-boosted bullshit, stupid doors that only open after a certain condition, and more.

    There was one hallway in particular, that had eighteen of these doors, back-to-back, to which each could only open after reciting the six-hundred seventeen page Ellois Scripture word for word. If you didn't know the Ellois Scripture by heart, you couldn't go through. If you blanked out on a verse for more than fifteen seconds, paralysis, confusion and sleeping gas would knock you out, and the entire floor would open up, dropping you down to a lower level. You even had to recite it all in a single sitting, since the doors think you blanked out if you didn't start the recitation for the next door. It wasn't even like you could bring someone with you to take turns either. The two times Orling tried to bring companions to places holding treasures like these, they could neither see nor interact with the building. In fact, it looked like he disappeared into thin air the moment he walked in. Then, apparently, some naked human that Orling didn't see would jump out of a bush and walk up to his companions, only to start publicly defecating on the ground until they left. It wasn't even like they could hit the public offender, since any attack would phase through the illusion. So not only could they not even search for treasure, but they also had to pay for holy water to rinse their eyes. And the only reason why he knows this is because on the second time, his companions described the scene in great detail when he came back to the town's tavern.

    Reaching for the curse-negating talisman, Orling dismissed his bad memories of 《His Unholiness, Poobert the Defecator》 and started to plan out the next place to travel to. One of the next artifacts was in a jungle, to the southwest about three weeks of travel. But supplies were running low, so perhaps he should first head north to Upen—

    sniff sniff

    "Hold on, what's that smell."

    Orling turned his head right. Lo and behold, upon the pedestal lay a large flask. A flask holding a liquid of shimmering gold, with a touch of sanguine. A balance between floral, earthy, and alcoholic scents to the point of heavenly synergy. A smell that made Orling's blood boil, his eyes tear, and his cracked mouth salivate. His knees felt weak and heavy. He stuttered.

    "F-F-Falmar's E-Elixir... b-but..."

    Orling turned to look back at the talisman. Then he turned his head back to the flask. Then back to the talisman. He looked at the flask again, and then looked back to the talisman once more.

    ...Shit. The plan's going to need an adjustment.
     
    Last edited: Jan 21, 2021
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