Auger (WARNING, some twisted and sick imagery in this)

If Buffalo Bill of Silence of the Lambs or any gory, horrible horror story isn't your thing, stop reading now ;-) This isn't a taste of your sanitary Stephen King horror.

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The Story of Auger's Early Days
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Gelda lived a quiet life in the Silverfist Halls. She worked beside her parents in the mines, running messages, sifting silver nuggets, cleaning mining tools, dishing out stew to the workers. It was a quiet, respectable life. And it changed when she met Glarth.

Glarth was somewhat of an outcast among the clan. To him, and the clan, this was acceptable. He worked in the deepest, darkest tunnels, alone. He would bring back finds worth fortunes, and only asked for food and replacement tools in return for his contributions. Gone for days on end, few of the other Silverfists saw him. There were rumors though. Rumors that demon blood ran in his veins, that horns would sprout from his forehead, and his temper was terrible to behold.

It came to be, one damp morning in the tunnels, that call rang out. Illithid were attacking from the south and east. The warriors of the Silverfist clan were all in the upper halls, partaking in a religious ceremony, and as swift as the mindflayers were advancing, those warriors would not be in the tunnels in time to thwart the attack. Gelda, her parents, and the rest of the miners ran (or as one old timer put it, "tactically withdrew") into one of the deeper tunnels, and barricaded it. It was a new tunnel, which opened into a natural cavern. The refugees huddled in that tunnel for almost an hour as the mindflayers and their beasts, raging umberhulks, smashed at the barricade. As the long minutes trudged along, each second thundering with the massive clawed hammer attacks of the flayers' beasts, the refugees began to lose hope.

As the barrier cracked, splintered and gave way, Glarth rushed in from the Cavern, swinging his pick-axe; his eyes glowed deep, demonic red, massive, twisted horns sprung from his forehead, and his bulky form seemed twice as large with his bat-like wings stretched out fully. The miners all backed against the walls as Glarth whipped by them, each one praying in despair. All except Gelda. While the others made their peace with Ralth, Gelda stared, transfixed by the horror in front of her.

The barricade fell, and the Umberhulks poured through, their carapaces scraping against stone, their massive mandibles clacking fiercely. But no more than ten came through before Glarth was upon them. With a mighty yell of "Dalix Guide me!", Glarth buried his pick-axe into the head of the lead umberhulk. It crashed to the ground, dead. With his weapon firmly ensconced in the dead beast, Glarth lept into the air, and tackled the second beast. Grabbing it's mandibles in his hands, Glarth heaved and pulled, ripping the deadly scythes from the face of the umberhulk. Wielding in each hand, calling out to Dalix with each swing, Glarth tore through the umberhulks. When they were all but dead, Glarth did not stop. His raging advance continued out past the barricade.

The miners dared not follow. The sounds they heard were nightmarish and horrific enough. Mindflayer screams and umberhulk carapaces cracking open echoed through the hall for seemingly hours. When the sounds of battle finally ceased, Glarth walked slowly back towards the cavern which had been his temporary home the last few weeks. As he passed Gelda, she reached out, and grabbed his hand. As her eyes met those of the demonspawn, she saw no flicker of the demonic red within them; she saw the relieved eyes of a Dwarvish warrior gazing upon his Kith and Kin. Without a word, Glarth bowed ever so slightly, and continued back into the cavern.

~<*>~

Three years had passed, and in that time, the Silverfist clan warmed towards Glarth. As much as Dwarves can, that is. Although he received no medals, no ceremonies of recognition, nor even invited to the grand feasts of the Thanes, the warriors of the clan addressed him with honor and respect, and those that encountered Glarth in the tunnels treated him as if one of the High Captains of the Clan.

And Gelda, found herself often wandering into the tunnels where Glarth worked and toiled. Although it was no secret among the clan, it was not openly discussed either. Glarth proved to be an honorable Dwarf, despite his demonic blood, a valiant Paladin even who risked his life many times in defense of the tunnels and mines. And Gelda was a respectable, young Dwarvish woman, pragmatic and dependable, a virtue to her parents. No one thought that the meetings between the two were romantic encounters.

But, that they were. Gelda found herself with child. Rather than bring dishonor to her parents and her Clan, she accepted the marriage proposal of another, a decent man, full dwarvish blood. A quiet, dependable worker. Within a month, the two were wed, and Gelda never told Glarth that the child she carried was indeed his.

~<*>~

It was another damp morning within the tunnels, two months after the wedding ceremony. Gelda, becoming ever more withdrawn as her belly grew, stirred at the stew in the makeshift cafeteria the miners had setup in the outlaying tunnels they worked this year. Both her mother-in-law, and her own mother, had insisted that Gelda not work in the mines themselves, but gladly let her work the kitchen, albeit with a cleric on hand to help with the various tasks. They tended to the stew, saw to the various injuries the miners sustained. It was business as usual in the tunnels.

It became anything but business as usual as supper time approached. The miners all clamored into the cafeteria, even Glarth, who this year had been appointed captain of the Mining Guard in these deep tunnels. He had accepted Gelda's marriage without word, even seemed relieved that she made her life a good, respectable dwarvish life. He threw himself into his work with great discipline, and fevor, showing no hard feelings towards Gelda in the slightest.

As the dwarves all feasted on their meal, the lamps flickered as if a great wind blew through the cavern, yet no wind stirred. From the one tunnel, a single form entered. A slender, dark figure, entirely not Dwarven. Wrapped in black hood and cloak, the newcomer oozed malice and danger. The guards lept up, their battle-axes in hand, yet with a single gesture from the dark intruder, they all froze in place, their eyes bulgling, faces turning red.

The figure laughed to herself, a sound which struck Gelda as one being anything but humorous. "I have not come here to kill you, although such filth as yourself deserve nothing less", the figure said in a distinctively Drow accent. "I have only come to deliver a message."

Gelda's husband jumped up on his table, and hefted his mining pick, ready for battle. "We'll hear none of your trickery, witch. Get out of our tunnels, or we'll cleave your flimsy head from your thin ne-" Before he could finish his ultimatum, the drow gestured at him, pointing her thin, dark finger, and saying but a single word. He collapsed, eyes sightless and lifeless.

"Anyone else wish to show any foolish bravado?" The drow's hooded head swept back and forth across the hall. "Excellent. Now then. My message is simple. Expel the one known as Glarth, Champion of Dalix, into the D'holaviqui Cavern, south of the Drow territories, and no more of you will die than necessary".

As the drow turned to leave, Glarth stood up and called out to her, "What business do you have with me, witch?" The drow stopped, and turned slowly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Why Glarth, your term of service is over. You need no longer spy among these rabble. It is time for you to return home to your true masters." The drow gestured casually towards Gelda, "and do be a dear, and bring your unborn son with you. He will be of use to us".

Glarth, paled and titled his head, "But, I do not serve you, I don't even know you, nor does that woman carry my child. What do you seek to gain by these lies?"

The Drow laughed, a horrible sound to Gelda's hears. "If you do not believe me, then ask your trusted cleric there to work her own divination spells. Or do you wish to claim a trusted daughter of the Silverfist clan is a liar and a blasphemer against her 'good faith'." With those last two, contempt laced words, the Drow sorceress withdrew from the caverns and disappeared.

~<*>~

It was a quick trial. The clerics indeed worked their divination magics and confirmed that the child in Gelda's womb was Glarth's. Gelda's family was shamed, and her marriage declared void, and her modest dowry seized by the family of her slain husband. With the testimony of the miners, Glarth was declared a traitor to the Silverfists, and executed, even though Glarth proclaimed his innocence. However the drow came to know his name, he did not know, and he certainly served nobody other than the clan.

As for Gelda, although she was granted 'leniency' for being 'seduced' by the demon, she lived in destitution, cast out by her family, and forced to live on her own with her newborn son, Auger.

As the years passed, Auger's demonic heritage did not show itself as blatantly as it did in Glarth. He had only very slight bumps on his forehead, and no wings at all. But Gelda could tell, the child was not right. The boy had a gleam in his eye, a smile that could only be described as twisted. Growing depression and agony soon overtook Gelda, the despair of her life overwhelmed her. She despaired that without Glarth to guide him, to show him how to overcome the demonic urges and become the fine Dwarf she first saw leaping fearlessly to his clan's defense.... Auger would become... something she could not bear to think about.

It was one day, when Auger, only a slight 20 years of age, troddled into the lean-to that served as his and Gelda's home, carrying a sack. Gelda, rocking and hugging herself as she cooked a meager stew, looked at her son. He smiled at her, in a way that made her sick to her stomach. He would soon be old enough to learn to swing a pick, or be enlisted as a guard for the clan. His stamina was astounding. Although just a youngster, he regularly got into fights with much older boys, and somehow prevailed. No wounds slowed him, no beating seemed to phase him.

"What do you have in the sack, dear", Gelda asked her son timidly. Auger grinned again. His eyes gleamed oddly. He dug his hand into his sack and pulled out something. Gelda could not see it clearly in the dim light of the lean-to. "I can't see it dear, but that's alright, put it back in your sack. Dinner's almost ready".

Auger didn't comply. He simply kept grinning and slowly advanced on his mother, holding out the object in his hand. Gelda recoiled back against the wall, "No dear, it's alright, Momma doesn't need to see. Put it away".

Auger simply grinned wider, and came closer. In the flickering light, Gelda saw that Auger clutched a squirrel in his hand. She had seen squirrels only once before, many many years ago on a trade trip to the world above. How Auger got one was beyond her. "Auger! Get rid of that filthy thing! It'll attract more rats!" Gelda protested weakly, realizing as she gazed on the squirrel, that it was many days dead.

As she gaped in horror at her son, Auger chuckled and bobbed the squirrel about. "His name is Mr Wriggles, and he's my friend. Isn't that right, Mr Wriggles?" Auger addressed his dead squirrel, and then began talking in a high pitched falsetto. "That's right Mr Auger. I'm here to stay!"

Gelda couldn't breathe, her throat locked up. The horror before her, the little monster, was simply beyond any hope, and she couldn't bare it anymore. She ran from the lean-to, screaming hysterically, and ran towards the nearest Deep-Shaft, a hole leading hundreds of feet down into the lower mines. She threw herself in, her screams ceasing only when she ceased her long, fatal fall.

And Auger, grinned, and simply shrugged, stuck his squirrel back in his sack, and helped himself to the stew over the fire.

~<*>~

Left to fend for himself, Auger soon found himself being asked to Leave the Silverfist halls by the Clan. Although he never attacked anyone, and would fight in the tunnels to repel any attackers alongside his clansmen, and was even quite polite in address and manners, the depraved nature of his demonblood always seemed to be there. The look in his eyes, the grin that inspired loathing in his clansmen, and the rumors of a dead squirrel in his precious sack, all made even the most stalwart of the Silverfist dwarves uncomfortable around Auger.

It was of great relief to the Clan when upon telling him that he should go, Auger merely grinned and shrugged. The elders of the clan glanced at each other apprehensively, and then Auger simply bowed, whipped his muddy cape around him, and proceeded out of the Silverfist Halls and into the underdark. The moment he passed through the great doors, the guards slammed those massive iron and silver doors shut and peered through the eye-holes, making sure that indeed the demented young warrior departed.

Auger spent months traveling through the tunnels and caverns of the underdark. Whispers among it's denizens spread of a roaming demonspawn, and tales of how he bested numerous Drow warriors and Beholder scouts, taking blows that would have cleaved lesser beings in half as if they were no more than scratches, a demon who taunted his fallen foes with a dead rat or rabbit or such.

One being did not heed the warnings to stay clear of this roaming menace though. He himself was a demonspawn, outcast many decades ago by his own clan for the crimes of necromancy. Although he was aged and bent, he was fearsome himself. This being, who the denizens of the underdark called "The Gimp", moved about much as Auger did living in this cavern or that. His real name was Gunther, and he was half-Deugar, half Mountain Dwarf. He had only one cavern which he maintained as a base, but his studies prompted him to range far from it, as it was in a remote cavern of the vast Underdark.

Gunther sought out Auger. His reasons were simple. He needed someone to carry on his dark work, to pass along the discoveries he had made, more importantly, a kindred spirit to help him carry out the final stages of his own agenda in becoming a Lich.

Gunther found Auger in a remote cavern known as D'holaviqui, a short distance from a Drow Temple. Gunther's bones ached, and the necromatic magics he used to sustain himself were growing weaker. Gunther knew he would need great haste in teaching this young demonspawn the things he would need to know for his tasks, and Gunther would need to convince him to learn in such a manner that he would not suspect he was only being turned into a pawn, not a true apprentice.

Auger sat on a rock, eating mushrooms when Gunther approached. Auger for his part did not seem startled, or even concerned that Gunther was suddenly before him. "Hello to you!" Auger called out in a cheery, gravelly voice, and tossed a mushroom to Gunther. Gunther caught the mushroom in his frail hand, and examined it with slight distaste. It was old, moldy, hardly fit for consumption or as use as a spell reagent.

"Do you know who I am, Auger?" Gunther asked. He had found the young demonspawn's name through an unlikely source, a drow messenger he caught and dismembered slowly two weeks prior. If Gunther expected any surprise from Auger however, none was evident.

"Hrmm, they call you the Gump? Gimp? Yeessss, that's it. The Gimp" Auger grinned and stuffed another mushroom into his mouth. "Whmph cn hh hlph mu wph" Auger mumbled as he swallowed the mushroom. He wiped his mouth, and then spoke again, "My apologies. Bad manners, yes, bad bad indeed. What Can I help you with?"

Gunther regarded the young demonspawn carefully. "A simple task, actually. One which would benefit you most immensely, I assure you." Gunther eased his decrepit bones onto a rock facing Auger, and peered intently at the young man. "I wish to teach you the ways of magic, of great magic."

Auger nodded and swallowed another moldy mushroom, "Alright then. Sounds good. why?"

Gunter tilted his head and gazed hard at Auger with his good eye, "Well, because you show promise, Auger. Because we are kindred spirits, if you would believe it. I can see by the wings just starting to grow from your back that you and I share demonblood. A rare gift, to be sure".

Auger flexed his wings, and stuffed the last of his mushrooms into a dark leather sack hanging from his belt. "Good enough for me. When do we start?"

Gunther regarded the young demonspawn for a moment. Auger obviously knew who he was, yet did not seem disturbed as many other beings did when confronted by a necromancer such as himself. Gunther considered how easy and quick this process may be, and grinned to himself. "Well, my boy, we can start right now. I will teach you just a minor cantrip. Pay attention, and do exactly as I say"

Auger grinned, his eyes gleaming. "Of course, always do exactly what a teacher tells you, it's the dwarven way...."

~<*>~

Months passed, and Gunther taught Auger various spells and incantations. Gunther kept the spells and lessons strictly devoted to what he needed his witless student to do during the final stages of his rise to Lichdom. As the months had gone by though, Gunther became more lax in leaving his spell books out, without protective wards. Auger showed no interest in sneaking peaks into the spell books, or doing anything other than what Gunther told him to do. Before he fell into fitful sleep, Gunther memorized the exact placement of all his possessions, and when he awoke, they were always exactly as he left them. Auger's only object of real devotion seemed to be whatever it was he kept in that dirty sack of his. Many times Gunther caught Auger talking into the sack, or stuffing food into it. It was not a cause of distraction from the dark work Gunther had planned, just a mild curiosity, an eccentricity; Gunther had many himself and thought little of it.

The time was growing close, and Gunther prepared one of the many rituals to strip himself from the mortal coil and into the realm of Liches. It would be only five more days, and all the preparations would be finalized, and Gunther would transfer his essence into the phylactory. The ritual he planned for this day would be agonizing, but necessary. It was surprisingly simple as well. During the last several days, he had branded his face with various arcane runes. Many runes were protective in nature, some were runes of divination and true-sight. The ritual would be simple. Auger would would place Gunther in chains, and then would brand him on the forehead with the final rune, a rune called "Kor-Tahg", a necromatic rune of soul binding. When the branding was finished, Gunther would recite the incantation to begin the final steps of wilting away the weak flesh from his bones, and Auger would release the chains.

But then again, the best laid plans....

Gunther, in the chains, called to Auger to place the final brand. Auger dutifully pulled one of the hot branding irons from the forge in the lab, and approached Gunther. "Ready now are we?" Auger asked. "Yes, yes! APply the brand. Now, before I lose the precise incantation of the spell!" Auger grinned, shrugged, and branded his master on the forehead. Gunther seized under the pain, but quickly found his inner strength. He began chanting the spell, and could feel the power of the final rune searing through his being.

Within moments, the pain was gone, and the incantation complete. Gunther looked up at Auger, and smiled. He needed only one last thing from Auger, to release the chains. After that, Auger would be disposed of, his purpose fulfilled. "Very good, my apprentice. Undo the chains".

Auger simply grinned and gazed at Gunther in a seemingly pleased manner.

"Auger, release the chains. now".

Auger continued to grin, and pulled something out of his sack. He presented it to Gunther.

"Is that.... a dead squirrel?" Gunther was not appalled by any means.... one who traffiks in dead flesh would hardly be disturbed by such a thing. He merely found it... sadly pathetic.

"This is Mr. Wriggles," Auger explained. "And Mr Wriggles told me it wouldn't be a good idea to undo the chains."

Gunther rolled his eyes, his voice brimming with annoyance, "That may be well and good, but your teacher gave you instructions. Now undo the chains".

Auger simply grinned and shook his head. "Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. I can't do that. You see, Mr Wriggles is my teacher now, or well, always has been. Isn't that right, Mr Wriggles?"

Gunther gawked at Auger in disbelief. Auger held the dead squirrel out, shook it slightly as he adopted a falsetto voice, and said "That's right Mr. Auger. And it would be a bad idea to undo the chains before the Hor-gan rune finished it's work".

Gunther blinked in surprise "The... Hor-gan? That's NOT the rune I told you to brand me with! The Hor-gan rune will kill me before I can transfer my essence! You fool!"

Auger picked up the branding iron he had used just moments before and presented it to Gunther. Gunther gawked at it. It was indeed not the rune he had instructed Auger to use. Gunther concentrated his magical senses on himself, and recoiled. The magic of the rune Auger branded him with already began it's work, necromatic energies slowly eating away his flesh from the inside out. Gunther knew then, that his death would be slow, painful, and his last vision in this world would not be the glorious glow of a phylactory as his essence filled it, but rather of a demented, grinning apprentice holding a dead squirrel.

~<*>~

Auger placed the dead squirrel he named Mr Wriggles on the workbench, and talked cheefully to it as he sewed a mask together. The material of the mask was poor, and the thread and needle he used were crude, but Auger always listened well to those around him, and Gunther was always talking to himself about this spell or that enchantment. Wonders what being polite and not talking all the time got some people. Auger put aside such manners today as he talked to Mr Wriggles. The mask he crafted would be a marvelous protection for him. He was quite happy about it. And in such delightful banter with Mr Wriggles, Auger didn't notice the deathly silent Drow moving behind him. The drow didn't strike at Auger, for indeed Auger provided her a service, one she didn't even dream of at the time.... the elimination of the Gimp. Oh, she planned for his demise at some point, but Auger's role was simply to occupy the Gimp long enough for her own methods of elimination to be set in place. But, as he was already dead, so much the better. The gimp's spell books and enchanted treasures were hers for the taking.

"... And that, Mr Wriggles, is why I think we should go to the world above. Bound to be many people needing protecting there too, like Mr Gunther needed, don't you think?" Auger held up his mask and examined it as his voice adopted the falsetto pitch, "Yes indeed Mr Auger. Many people up there need a fine paladin like yourself to protect them from doing bad things. Just like your father would do. He would be soooo proud of you...."

~<fin>~

MannyJabrielle, I think you've outdone yourself this time. Simply horrible. But oh so good.

Huzzah, my good man, huzzah!

Danke

BTW, the mask Auger's working on at the end there....

It can be found listed in the excerpts from the Aenean Artifacts book.

To good to read in one sitting. I'll read the second post later...:-)

Twisted lil perv Auger is, lol.

Very, very well done