Cassius Lange
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Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 12:00:05 +0000 UTCWe had found the passage that unfortunate brigand spoke of with relative ease. After half a day’s ride, just as he said, we came upon a small rock formation that looked like a gate or portal of sorts. It was covered in vines and mossy rocks and stood out against the rest of the landscape by how lush everything around it was.
The south was not a forgiving land, and yet beyond those three large slabs of stone, it seemed a jungle awaited whoever dared set foot inside. Just as we were about to pass through, the two satyrs appeared. I had almost ran them over had Wolf not stopped as if terrified of the hairy little guys.
“Who are you, big fellow?” The taller of the two asked. His horns were painted blue, and the right one was a bit chipped.
“Full name, class, and occupation, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re so official, Ylos,” the other one quipped and smiled.
Ylos winked at him.
“Frank Midnight, Spellmonger, club owner,” I said.
“What’s a Spellmonger, Ylos?” he asked his buddy.
“I don’t know, Eonos. This one’s fishy, isn’t he?”
“He sure smells like it.”
They both giggled and Tyfus joined in.
“Funny,” I muttered.
“And you, gnome. What is your—”
“Tyfus Flaptrip, Sixth Circle Mage, club manager, lover, genius, and most of all, a genius lover,” he finished chuckling.
“This one’s cute, Ylos.”
“This one could serve us well, Eonos.”
“Tyfus Flaptrip doesn’t serve, satyr.”
I gave Tyfus the evil eye, but his words didn’t seem to affect the two jolly goat-men.
“What gifts do you bring?” Ylos asked.
“I bring four barrels of wine, a sack of crispy crickets and fried pigeon. Various dried meats, and six gallons of cocktails.”
“Six gallons of cocktails and you wouldn’t give me a sip?” Tyfus hissed.
I had brought three Vaultpacks with me stacked to the brim with food and drink because I sure as Hell didn’t want to have to go back for more.
“Shut up, Ty.”
“That’s not bad, Ylos.”
“That’s not bad at all, Eonos.”
“And what business do you have with Snowdog?”
It was curious that neither of the satyrs called the Three of Steel master or lord, just Snowdog.
“I have some questions I need answers to and Shieldmother told me Snowdog might help. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” Tyfus snapped. “I need a bath, a soft bed, something to drink, and I wouldn’t say no to someone sharing that bed—”
“The gnome’s wishes are not important. Questions and answers, that’s all we need.”
“All wishes are important in the Peacespeaker’s Abbey, Frank. Especially those of lust and depravity for here we live as the gods wanted us to live.”
“What?”
“Now that’s my kind of place,” Tyfus said jovially. “You heard that, you grumpy old son of a bitch? My wishes are just as important as yours. Hah! Off to lust and depravity, I say.”
“There is one rule in our garden of love, Frank, Tyfus,” Ylos said, raising a hairy finger. “You do not draw weapons, and you do not cast destructive spells. Otherwise you’ll go to the unhappy place.”
I’m already there.
“Alright,” I said. No weapons will be drawn. Tyfus, behave yourself.”
“I have ears,” the gnome said.
“Splendid!” Eonos chirped. “Follow us, will you?”
Ylos and Eonos led us through the rock formation and down a steep rocky path. The trees and the shrubbery around us were a rich green mixed with different colored flowers and petals that seemed to thrive despite the dry weather. The smells reminded me of the palace gardens, but without the magical perfumes and cocky nobles.
“Some guards these fellows are,” Tyfus said, riding behind me as Ylos and Eonos led us deeper into the jungle. “Even those idiot bandits from before could take these two.”
I said nothing but watched the two satyr prance ahead of us with their hands still behind their backs. Tyfus was wrong, though. Even Spif with all his buffoonery had plenty of aces in his sleeve. He managed to surprise me more than once. Who knew what these two were actually capable of?
Once the path evened out, we reached the foot of a giant red rock formation that towered above the tree line. It almost looked like a mountain that had its middle and top cut off. The red stone was of the same sort you could find anywhere in the south, but it was covered with giant flowering vines and different twisting trees growing out of the rock itself. A great host of different birds flocked above it and nestled in its crevasses.
Ylos turned around then pointed a finger in its direction.
“The Peacekeeper’s Abbey, my friends. The entrance is straight ahead and there are no guards to stop you. Everything you do from now on will be under the eye of Snowdog. You are free to indulge in everything you want as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. May you have a fruitful day!”
“May you seed and sow aplenty!” Eonos added.
“Oh, I’m going to seed, alright,” Tyfus said with a devilish grin on his face.
The two pranced their way back up the rocky path and Tyfus and I took to the entrance. It was a small rocky tunnel just ahead as the satyr explained. I barely fit through with Wolf who, I must say, was in a particularly good mood, purring like a cat the whole time.
As we entered the alcove, a sense of calmness washed over me as if I was returning home. A strange sensation, no doubt. It made me curious, but apprehensive too. Was it magic? Or was it just the sight before me? Tyfus must have felt the same judging by his reaction.
“Well, fuck me, I’m in heaven!”
The alcove was massive and absolutely swarming with life and activity. The base of it was cut with several crystal-clear streams full of fish and white lilies tumbling through mossy rock. Tall palm trees shed refreshing shade across the many different stalls, reclining chairs, ornate rocks, and small simple lodges made of hollow wood and tough leaves. Large wooden beds sat where the streams pooled into lively ponds.
And those occupants? Humans, dwarves, elves, gnomes, satyr, sardack and even some duergar and orcs, all disturbingly tranquil and joyful. Animals of all sorts wandered about, some aggressive predator species too, yet they seemed calm and content.
Many of the people, and even some of the animals were engaged in things that even brothel owners would call a bit too much. I tried not to look directly or too long at any of it, but it was hard not to see what was going on along every step of the way. None of the participants seemed to care, though.
My gaze wandered upwards and around the cliffs of the alcove where housing was either carved into the red rock itself or built on top of it. An entire town was supported by endless scaffolding and heavy ropes spreading across the entire circumference of the place.
Soft music came from several groups spread through the place, mixing with the trickle of the streams, the song of birds and the moans of everyone present.
I shuddered, finally realizing what the satyr meant by lust and depravity.
At the far end of the hanging town, however, was a temple carved into the red rock. Four massive columns supported the heavy stone roof and between them stood a long staircase that led up to a heavy gate. As I looked closer, I realized that each column had the image of a god carved into it. The four elemental gods that made up Esheytan, to be more precise.
“You’d think they’d have Virilian up there. The God of pleasure seems more fitting, don’t you think?” I asked Tyfus and glanced over my shoulder.
The pony was still there, but the gnome had vanished.
“Tyfus?” I called, looking around.
As soon as I spotted him, I had to divert my eyes again. The mage had lost his robes, his hat, and most of his self-respect within the blink of an eye. He was squeezed between a sandrack, a satyr, and two elves pouring wine on another gnome’s behind and laughing his heart out.
“Well, what did you expect, Frank?” I muttered to myself.
I spurred Wolf on towards the temple, expecting to find Snowdog there. Three steps in, I felt two skinny arms around my waste and I instinctively turned around, grabbed the assailant, and pulled them in front of me.
“Hey, babe,” the satyr said as I held him up. “I like you.”
“Not now,” I grumbled lowering him to the ground as softly as I could.
“I’m Onania. I’ll find you later then, big muscly man,” the satyr said and licked its lips and pinched its hairy nipples.
The sight sent shivers down my spine. I barely handled Spif’s unbridled horniness, but a whole city made with the sole purpose to indulge them? Once more Hell sounded just like the place to be.
I had to fend of several more satyr, some humans, a rather rowdy dwarf lady, and two elves who I had to turn down though they did make me consider for a second, on my way to the temple. It wasn’t a long ride, only a few good minutes, but I had seen things I doubted I’d ever forget.
There was an orc dipping a gnome into a barrel of wine then licking him clean. I saw a human lady pulling feathers off a sandrack while the latter screamed in pleasure. I saw elves literally blowing drug-infused smoke up each other’s assholes.
Gods, what had Snowdog done to these people? How could one of the Three of Steel create such a place? Shieldmother was right. The so called Peacespeaker was depraved at best, and a traitor at worst.
Sankta Varath was at war, our greatest enemy threatened to bring down our walls, and one of the most powerful protectors of the realm was in no man’s land entertaining himself with degeneracy that would make a drow slavedriver shudder.
It was a shame. The closer I came to the temple, the more I doubted my decision to travel there. What would the leader of this place even have to offer?
As I reached the foot of the temple’s stairs, I dropped down Wolf’s side and took his rein into my hand. I looked around and realized not a single animal was tied down, so I just patted him on the nose.
“Don’t eat anything that wouldn’t eat you, boy, alright?”
Wolf purred happily then hurried to one of the streams full of fish. I looked up the stairs and sighed.
“Here we go.”
I found Snowdog of the Three of Steel sitting cross legged on the cold temple floor. He was front and center surrounded by candles and burning incense smoke that filled the entire space. I had never seen him before and I wasn’t too impressed when I did. Unlike with Shieldmother or Castelian, there was no warning from the Deeproot that I had reached a dangerous individual, nor did he radiate the same power as those two.
He truly was the very definition of impure blood. Broad-shouldered like an orc, but not as muscled. Dark of skin like a duergar, but with a heavy black beard like a dwarf. The tips of his long, pointed elven ears rose above his bald head, and his face was a concoction of a human and everything else the world had to offer. He was not a pretty sight, to be honest. Luckily, his eyes were closed, so he didn’t see my initial reaction.
Snowdog wore nothing but a pair of fur pants and his entire upper body was stricken with tattoos of different colors that only partially covered the many, many deep scars that even reached parts of his face. Curious thing those scars were, though. Considering the orc blood within him, they should have healed a long time ago. But then again, who knew what kind of foes he had faced to become one of the Three of Steel?
“Hey there, Snowdog,” I said, unsure of how to even start the conversation.
His eyelids flickered but he didn’t open them.
“Uhm…I’m Frank.”
No reaction. I stood there for a bit, tapping my foot. I had no experience with prayer or meditation, but I heard it could take a while. I thought him rude to ignore me, but then again, I had come to his home, so I had to play by his rules.
“Alright, I’ll come back another time then,” I said and turned away.
“Tell me, Spellmonger,” he said, his voice deep and gravely and carried with it a weight that seemed to press down on my very being.
I turned to face him again and Snowdog was still sitting there with his eyes closed.
“Yes?”
“Can you make yourself come without touching yourself?” he asked, never even opening his mouth to utter those rather unexpected words.
“What? No.”
“Can you make others come without touching them?”
Again, his lips didn’t move and yet the voice filled the temple like heavy rain.
“I can’t.”
Silence met my words.
My doubts about coming to that place seemed only confirmed at that point. What the fuck was I even thinking?
“Me neither,” he said and this time he opened his mouth and his eyelids slid open, revealing orange eyes. He got up with a sort of youthful ease and stretched.
“But I will be able to one day. Just like that!” he said, snapping his fingers and smiling at me. “Can you imagine it? You walk into a
room and just make everyone go ‘ugh’ and ‘aaaagh’ and cream their pants? Hah! Wouldn’t that be something.”
“I guess.”
He raised an eyebrow, disappointment apparent on his face.
“You guess, eh?” He stood with his hands on his hips and looked me up and down. “You stink, Spellmonger, and you look travel weary. Why didn’t you take a break down there? Found nothing of interest?”
I shrugged.
“Nothing really.”
“No? Curious. Nothing, really? You’re some sort of a zealot?”
“Not even close.”
He circled me, inspecting, judging, even smelling me like a curious animal.
“You’re in a hurry or something? Got places to be?”
“Sort of.”
He narrowed his eyes on me.
“Hell, is it? You’ve been called, haven’t you?”
“Aye.”
He grinned and finally walked up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Been blacking out a lot, lately?”
“I have, aye.”
“Good, then we have something to work with. You look strong. I bet you can stir up some trouble. Shieldmother told you where I am, didn’t she?”
“Aye.”
“Hah! That rigid old bitch. I love her, you know? She hates me, but what can you do. She’s not the loving kind. Now,” he said, moving back to where he’d been sitting and blowing out the candles. “Tell me, did you fight her to find out where I am?”
“Aye. She wanted me to cut her once and I did. Not too much though.”
I was sparce with my answers because I couldn’t gauge his intentions. He seemed friendly enough. Friendlier than Shieldmother, that was for sure, but these first impressions could easily prove false. He became one of the Three of Steel for a reason and that reason wasn’t friendliness.
“Of course not. That woman is a walking mountain. See this?” He pointed at a long thick scar that ran from his hip up to his navel. “That short sword of hers. It cuts deep and it never properly heals.”
I grinned. I had the same thing around my ribs, but I couldn’t take off my armor just like that to show him.
“And all because I told her she’s the King’s lapdog. Mindless, heartless, and uglier than a troll.” He looked up to the ceiling. “But that was a different time. A different me. A lot of anger, you know. A lot. It’s good you cut her. She forgets she can bleed just like anyone else. You used that sword on your back?”
“Mercy, yes.”
Snowdog sniffed the blade for some reason, then grimaced as if it stank.
“Mercy,” he scoffed. “Did you name it?”
“No, it came with a name.”
“Good. Only assholes name their weapons.”
“Hah!”
“Funny?”
“Aye, I never heard anyone say that, but it rings true.”
Snowdog smiled. His teeth were whiter than a gnome’s ass. Perfect too, except for his canines, which were long and sharp. Orc blood did its part there.
“Shieldmother said you’re willing to help,” I finally said.
Three of Steel or not, I was growing tired of tiptoeing around the reason why I’d even looked him up.
“Ahh, yes. Help. I assume she said plenty other things about me too. Didn’t she? That I’m a traitor, that I don’t believe in anything. That I only care about my own wellbeing?”
“Well, not using those exact words.”
“Frank, my new friend, I will help you, yes. Help you so you can help yourself.”
I didn’t like where that was going. As soon as someone told you that you needed to help yourself, it usually meant they weren’t going to do shit.
“And you can help yourself. You just need to learn how. Your magic is weak, isn’t it? I can smell it on you. You have no intellect.”
“Well, I have some,” I muttered defending the indefensible. “It’s at 48. I didn’t really work on it much being a fighter all my life.”
“You’re a Spellmonger now, Frank. You need to get those numbers up if you want to survive Hell.”
“Survive,” I said. “You’re the first to suggest that.”
Snowdog’s face went deadly serious for a moment as if I had offended him. Then, he laughed loudly, raucously filling the temple with his orcish voice.
“You don’t think you’ll make it?”
“Well,” I began, unsure of my answer, or even my own opinion on it. “Nobody thinks I’ll make it and truth be told. It’s Hell, isn’t it? Who comes back from Hell?”
Snowdog circled me one more time, sniffing, smacking his lips like an old man, and muttering softly.
“I will help you, Frank the Spellmonger. You deserve it. But you need to do exactly as I tell you and you must not question me.”
“Uh-huh,” I said and that changed his mood for the worse.
The tattoos on his skin suddenly lit up as if reacting to his anger, but then calmed down almost in the same instant. He took a deep breath.
“You will meditate here, every day, all day. You will only leave to eat and sleep. You will do this until I say you’re done.”
“Meditate?”
The fuck was that supposed to mean? How was sitting in one place all day going to help me fight demons in Hell? And that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me about his plan. Far from it.
I tried to stay as calm as I could so as not to offend him.
“I mean…to what end, Snowdog? I don’t have much time. The souls keep screaming into my mind more often than not. I keep blacking out. What time I have I need to use to become stronger. I thought you’d train me or give me some gear or at least some advice.”
“You thought many things, Spellmonger, but your thoughts mean nothing. They’re less than the wind blowing through this temple. The only thing they offer you is disappointment. And how does that feel?”
“Snowdog, if you want to help me—”
“You have some conditions? You want help on your terms, Frank? I don’t offer you that. That’s your head,” he said, pushing his finger into my forehead. “Making prophecies it can’t fulfill. You want power, Frank? The strength to face Hell and Morgefah? This is where it starts. This,” he said, raising his voice and stabbing his finger into my forehead.
Anger was beginning to boil within me. I was tired, I was hungry, and as he mentioned already, I was very disappointed. All I wanted to do was pack my things and just go straight to Hell and be done with it.
“I can’t waste time, Snowdog. I need help and if you’re not offering anything I can use, I’ll have to make do with what I have. No offense.”
“None taken, Frank,” he said casually. “My mother wanted no help either when she walked into Hell. She carried that burden all by herself into the bowels of death and never returned to tell the story.”
“Your mother?”
“Your predecessor.”
“Your mother was a Spellmonger?”
“She was, yes. And stronger than you are right now.”
He was gauging my reaction with great curiosity, and I guess he got what he wanted. I couldn’t tell whether he was lying or not, but then again, why would he make up such a story?
A great horn bellowed from outside and Snowdog raised an eyebrow, facing the temple’s exit.
“How long ago was that? Did she black out, too? How—”
He raised a hand and placed it on my shoulder again.
“Eat, Frank. Eat and rest, we’ll talk in the morning. I have a duty to perform. You’re welcome to watch. Some find it most entertaining.”
He motioned me to follow him outside and I did. The mix of all races known to the world stopped at the top of the stairs as he rolled his shoulders, then faced me and winked.
Snowdog raised both his hands toward the blue sky and closed his eyes. A soft wind slowly gathered around him, gaining speed with every heartbeat. Orange lightning crackled through his closed eyelids.
I took a step back and raised a hand to cover my face.
Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance and grey clouds gathered above the alcove. A great many cheers echoed from the people bellow. The many birds flew for the crevasses to find shelter. As the clouds thickened, they shed a great dark shadow over the place. Droplets of rain slowly began to fall, picking up with every moment. Snowdog was fully concentrated on this, his whole body gently swaying. Only then did I notice the ground beneath his feet sprouting leaves of grass and even flowers.
A great deluge of water came pouring from the sky and onto the alcove. The vines and flowers meandering over the red stone suddenly moved and spread as if conscious themselves, blooming in the downpour.
Snowdog crossed his hands suddenly, then opened his chest to the sky and the clouds stormed away as quickly as they’d come. Rays of sunshine made their way through the thick canopy, and fell onto the people, plants, and animals below. Another roar of cheers rolled through the Peacespeaker’s Abbey.
Snowdog grunted, cracking his neck.
“It’s a dry place. The south, I mean. I have to do this every once in a while. Sorry if I scared you,” he said and winked.
“This whole place, the jungle, the streams, the animals…it’s all you?”
“Me?” Snowdog chuckled. “I just make it rain; the rest is on them.”
“Just make it rain, huh?” I muttered to myself.
