An Imp's Tale

Part One: Fel City

It was a bad day being the imp Kartog. Four impsters that looked like they spent all day shooting up enlargement potions stood in a semi-circle around him while he had his back pressed against a wall. The rough surface was already smeared with his dark, inky blood and more was to follow. He was sure of it.

“Where’s our ash, Kartog?” The shrill voice that somehow managed to be threatening came from a short, rotound impster standing behind the muscle. With a wave of his hand they parted and he stepped up to Kartog, somehow managing to loom even though Kartog had the horns on him.

Ah yes, the horns. Unlike most imps’ they were bent forwards and the ends were painstakingly sharpened to deadly points.

“I told you-“ His words were cut off as one of the muscle hit him over the horns. Black and silvery spots danced in his vision. The rotound impster made a soothing gesture toward his pose.

“No one messes with Raktag the Impaler and remains… intact.” The horns tilted in a dangerous angle and Kartog felt himself shrink and become less of an imp.

“Cough it up or your witch-bitch won’t recognise you from a pile of felpup poo.”

As if those words had inherent magic in them, a gurgling growl and yelping sound came from the end of the alley. A sleek, mean-looking felhound stood waving its tentacles, the ends snapping hungrily. Those were really, really sharp. Kartog had the marks to prove it.

It took a step into the alley, it’s shadow stretching further in, almost touching one of the beefed-up impsters. It involuntarily took a step back, bumping into his buddy. Raktag snarled and one of them gave up a shrill yelp as one of the Impaler’s horns dug into his leg.

“It’s just one fel felhound! Get it! And bring me those tentacles. I think I know a use for them.” His eyes moved to Kartog, grinning like only an imp can. Kartog would’ve swallowed if his jaws had not been painfully clenched shut to prevent him from screaming like an impette. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, dripped on his and caused it to itch.

With a howl that sent Raktag’s pose staggering backwards, the felhound charged down the alley with its tentacles flailing madly. It didn’t charge in a straight line. It bounced from side to side of the alley. To an outsider it could have been a clever tactic to confuse the enemy but Kartog knew the real of it. Sruudom was just nuts.

Another few gashes from Raktag’s horns convinced them that their boss was scarier. They threw themselves down the alley with shrieks that went from shrill to hoarse. Claws ready, the four threw themselves at Sruudom. Limbs flew, blood and other bodily fluids sprayed everywhere, gurgling sounds and a pungent smell began to fill the alley. Kartog felt his body stoned on ash tremble and tried to heave where he stood.

When the felhound finally sat on the pile of impster parts, gnawing at the horn of one of the torn off heads, Kartog noticed he was alone. Well, apart from Sruudom. Raktag the Impaler had slunk away sometime during the fight. A nasty wheezing laugh filled the alley. It took a while before the imp realised it was him but he didn’t stop. Even as Sruudom padded up to him and licked his bruised face he kept laughing. No evisceration today!

Life is tough in Fel City.

I love this so much!! It's so creative and original and it just almost makes me feel bad for beating my imp to a pulp :p. No really, this is just fantastic I love it! Well done