Oozewart

Oozewart tightened her grip on the scythe. She wasn't sure how to use it effectively in a fight, but she was willing to give anything a go against whatever was in the graveyard with her. Lowtrap's words hung in her mind, bouncing off her skull:

"Mortvell's Crypt needs a new Gravekeeper. My last one... well, let's just say we lost him. Well, most of him anyway."

'I'm gonna get eaten, aren't I?' she thought.

Her mysterious companion growled again. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain crashed down, falling with enough force to hurt when it landed on her. As far as first days on a new job went, this wasn't the best. 

Lightning flashed, and for a brief instance, the grey eyeless face of a crypt-licker was revealed. 

"Of course there are crypt-lickers here," Oozewart muttered. "I'm in their natural habitat. But why did it have to be blasted crypt-lickers? Those fuckers make my skin crawl."

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the space where the crypt-licker had stood, but there was nothing there now. Only footprints from its six feet remained. Panic rose in Oozewart's throat. Knowing she was in the same space as one of those deadly creatures, but not knowing where it was, was a million times worse than knowing she was in the same space as a crypt-licker and looking it in the face, even if it was an ugly fucker.

She spun around, feet sliding in the mud, but the creature's whereabouts remained uncertain. Was it hiding from her? Or was it hunting her? 

She swung the scythe around in a circle, waiting to see if it would connect with someone in the near complete darkness. It sliced through the rain with ease, unobstructed by any monsters. Either the crypt-licker had decided to leave her well enough alone, or it knew to keep a safe distance until the optimum moment to strike arrived. 

Standing in the rain, Oozewart wondered if she should call out. Should she try calling it back to her? 'Don't be an idiot,' she thought. 'If it's forgotten you, stay forgotten.'

Instead of calling out, she carefully walked through the graveyard, being mindful of every shape and shadow that became highlighted by lightning. As far as she could see, there were no other monsters, but there was a very odd feeling. It wasn't especially bad, but it did leave her feeling somewhat unbalanced. Oozewart had once heard the word 'discombobulated' used, and that was how she felt at that moment. 

"Discombobulated," she muttered under her breath. She always spoke to herself when she was nervous; somehow it worked wonders. "Discombobulated. Dis... com... bob... u... lated... Bob. Bobbing along. Bobbing along in weirdness."

She nodded to herself at that insight. Walking around Mortvell's Crypt was definitely the same as bobbing along in weirdness. 

As she walked around, she realised the feeling intensified the closer she got to the middle of the graveyard. The middle held Mortvell's Crypt's oldest graves, including legendary wizards and half a dozen posh bastards. It wouldn't have surprised her if the latter were in some way related to Lowtrap. If it hadn't been raining so hard, she might have tried to read some of the names, but it could wait. There was plenty of time for that if she was stuck here for four cycles. Providing she didn't end up becoming a snack for the resident crypt-licker, of course.

"Now where is that creepy little shit," she wondered, even though she knew full well that the creature was about twice the size of her, if not bigger. It was hard to tell in the flashes she'd seen. In a way, she was glad she hadn't seen the crypt-licker in all its glory. Such a sight might have caused her to lose what was left of her courage. One good look at the creature's grey, dead looking skin and its acid-coated monstrous purple tongue, and long fangs would have seen her running back to Lowtrap and begging for more debt. 

To many, it would have appeared that the crypt-licker had vanished, but Oozewart knew well enough that appearances could be deceptive. Over the years many had underestimated her due to her stature and, more recently, her age. When it came to the latter, the little whelps usually only had one opportunity to call her 'middle aged'. One opportunity and a black eye. They tended to learn pretty quickly after that. 

She could have used her goblin night-vision to track the creature down, but heavy rain always messed with it… and, besides, one monster was quite enough for now. She didn’t need to be adding to her problems. 

Staying ever vigilant, she walked through the graveyard, raindrops still pounding against her head. 

"The weather better not be this shit the whole time I'm here," she said, and for a moment she imagined the graveyard in summertime. She could read a book in the shade of one of the larger gravestones. Perhaps sip on an iced cold beverage. The thought was so vivid that she almost forgot where she was and the danger she was in.

Until she heard the growl again. 

"Alright!" she called out. "Ya've made your point! You're very scary! We’re all very impressed. I’m shakin’ in me boots." And she was… even if she was trying to sound snarky and nonchalant. Oozewart continued to walk around as she spoke, feeling like a moving target was less likely to get devoured than one standing still. 

Mud squelched under her bare feet, working its way between her toes. Oozewart listened out for more growls or other signs of the creature, but even with her impeccable hearing (even if she did say so herself), she could only hear the rain hitting the gravestones, and the wind whistling around the tombs. That crypt-licker could be anywhere. The thought that it could be watching her right then sent a shudder down her spine, and the scythe nearly dropped from her grip. She grabbed at it with two hands. Without her only weapon, she didn't stand a chance. 

Her feet took her deeper into the graveyard. Closer to that awful feeling, but hopefully further from the creature. Oozewart didn't have a particular destination in mind. It would have been nice to find the little hut that the Gravekeeper was supposed to stay in, but in the heavy rain even her night-vision was next to useless (which, in a way, she was thankful for), and she'd never been to Mortvell's Crypt in the day, so she couldn't even rely on her memory. A sigh escaped her and got lost in the deluge. Oozewart had no choice but to wander the graveyard and avoid the crypt-licker, either until the rain stopped or the sun rose. How many hours was it until daybreak? She reached into one of the pockets in her cloak and fumbled with the pocket-watch inside. Due to the rain, she could no more read the time than she could read the Olde Gnomish inscription that had been engraved onto it. One of these days she was going to find out what it meant, but it was pretty low on her list of priorities at that moment. Oozewart had bigger things to worry about… like not getting eaten.

The cloak clung to her skin, sodden and heavy. It felt like she was carrying another couple of goblins on her back. Tired and defeated, she just wanted to sit down and rest for a while, but she refused to. Partly because that crypt-licker was still somewhere close by, and partly because sitting down would confirm what those younglings who called her middle-aged said. So, she was going to walk around on aching feet for the rest of the night to prove her point... to people who weren't there. Maybe the crypt-licker would be impressed with her tenacity. 

As if knowing it was in her thoughts, the creature growled again. It was closer this time, but she still couldn't see it. Frustrated, she swiped the scythe around, but it connected with nothing. This was getting ridiculous. 

"Come at me or don't!" Oozewart regretted those words instantly, but at least they amused the crypt-licker as it... laughed. Did crypt-lickers laugh? Oozewart wasn't sure, but aside from eating people and being fucking terrifying, she had no idea what they did. For all she knew, there was a thriving crypt-licker comedy circuit somewhere in the darkest depths of Venari. But, Oozewart didn't allow herself to get distracted by such thoughts because she had more important things in her mind. Such as the fact that laugh was really close. 

Without turning around, she knew where the crypt-licker was. 

It was behind her. 

"SHIT!" she said, as she started running. As her foot slammed into a gravestone, sending her flying, she realised that she probably should have at least tried to attack the monster with her scythe. That was probably the whole reason why it had been supplied with the uniform. 

She landed in a heap at the foot of another gravestone, and scrambled in the mud to get back on her feet. "Where's the scythe?" she pleaded into the rain, panic swelling in her chest. She searched the area as best she could, finding no sign of the weapon. Could she face the beast with her wits alone? Now it was Oozewart's turn to laugh. If her wits were any good, she wouldn't have ended up in this situation in the first place. Especially not at her age; she should know better. 

Not knowing where either her scythe or the crypt-licker were, she picked a direction and started walking. And immediately slipped in the mud and crashed into yet another gravestone. The amount of trip hazards in this place was ridiculous. As she landed, an intense pain shot up through both her knees, and she hoped she hadn't caused an injury that would hamper her ability to run. Oozewart reached up from her uncomfortable spot on the ground and gripped onto a gravestone. It felt cold and slimy in her hand. Realising that the rain was lessening and she could see a little clearer, she cast an eye over the engraving. She didn't recognise the name, but the date of birth made her stomach turn. It was the same as hers. She hoped this wasn't some kind of omen... not that she believed in such things, of course.

Back on her feet, she clenched her fists. She had a fairly decent left hook (as Lowtrap had discovered), but she doubted it would be enough to knock a crypt-licker on its arse. Besides, just one drop of the monster's acidic saliva would melt the skin right off her knuckles. The thought was not appealing in the slightest. 

Something caught her attention off to the right, and she turned her head in time to see the monster sliding out from behind an unnecessarily ornate tomb. Seriously, that thing was fancier than most of the houses she'd lived in. It irked her to know that the dead had better accommodation than she did. How was that fair? 

The crypt-licker looked every bit as vile as Oozewart had expected. Its grey skin glittered in the moonlight, either from the rain or its own natural secretions. Protruding ribs suggested it hadn't eaten in a while, but Oozewart knew that to be a lie... either that, or the previous Gravekeeper was the size of a mouse and was unable to sate the creature's appetite. Its grey head held nothing but a mouth filled with too many fangs and a tongue several sizes too long. It had six limbs, each one with the ability to act as a leg or an arm depending on what was needed. It looked like it was built to chase her through any terrain. The creature cocked its head and grinned. At least, Oozewart thought it was a grin - it was difficult to read emotions and facial expressions on such a face. Grin or not, Oozewart didn't like the look of it, so she took off in another run. Her knees ached, but she refused to let them slow her. Every step was a gamble as she hoped she wouldn't slip in the mud or trip on another gravestone. So far, so good.

Behind her, the crypt-licker followed. The fact that it didn't break into a run and, instead, chose to calmly wander through the graveyard like it had all the time in the world, filled Oozewart with rage. That thing was confident it would catch her. Oozewart was determined to make the creature's hunt as difficult as possible. If she had to go out this way, so be it... but she was going to be the most annoying prey anyone had ever encountered. 

So, she stopped. Without looking at what was around her, she picked up the nearest object and threw it at the monster. Her hastily chosen projectile turned out to be a very wilted bunch of flowers, but they found their target. Oozewart's aim had always been good, so she'd expected whatever she threw to hit... but she hadn't expected them to explode. What kind of flowers exploded?

The creature howled, its cry echoing around the stones and tombs. Oozewart used her accidental distraction to find an appropriate hiding place. As she looked around, she spotted it: the Gravekeeper's hut! She'd be safe there. 

Not looking back at the still howling crypt-licker, Oozewart ran. 

Until suddenly... she was falling. 

THUD.

The earthy scent of a freshly dug grave filled her nostrils as she realised where she was. Looking up, she realised that, while injured, the cryptlicker wasn't done. It stood at the mouth of the open grave, silhouetted in the moonlight. Even though it didn't have eyes, it still seemed to be looking at her.

It laughed, and Oozewart wished she had some more of those exploding flowers. 

*****

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