Butcher of Gadobhra 468 (Patreon)

Plans were not finalized until Christmas Eve when it was finally decided that we would rise at 6 am, pack up everything under the tree and the five of us would drive to Baltimore, unpack the car, and open presents with the rest of the family. Only an hour late in leaving, which is on time for my family.

Presents and wrapping were strewn all over the house, and then we figured out what was heading north and repacked the car before taking naps while the roast beast cooked. I think the Grinch stole Christmas, I remember hearing his theme song and then dozed off again. We returned to PA around 10 pm, unpacked, and played with the hungry, hungry dog. Dinner is at 5 pm for him, and I was afraid I was going to lose an arm when I tried to put down his dish.

One more Christmas conquered, and now I can get back to writing, with a lot of snacks to keep me going. Hope you all had a good time and everyone is doing well.

I'm still working on the next two Milo chapters, both should be done by the weekend.

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A small figure hidden in a crack in the arched bone of the ceiling took notice as the latest visitors entered the Pit of the Butcher. Toadwhacker had risen to the esteemed position of Front Lookout and liked his job. He got to nap twenty-three and a half hours a day and only came down from his perch to scoop up his grub in an old bucket before climbing back to his perch. When someone actually had the balls to do more than peak in the front gate, he pulled on a string that rang a small bell and alerted the crew of minions on call at the front entrance. Every foray into the dungeon by a group of adventurers was a possible payday and a break from the boring jobs of cleaning up after the creatures that made the Pit their home.

A minion's life was tough, being at the bottom of the pecking order in any dungeon, but for the quick and the daring, there were some rewards. The gristle daemons were stupid, with muscle for brains. They'd kill anything that entered the pit, not bother to loot their victims, and then leave the mess for the minions to clean up. And while a lot of the good stuff on players went into their headstones at the start of the dungeon they sometimes dropped weapons or other items. If a quick-thinking minion could hide the loot before the Squealer and his toadies came to collect it, then the whole crew would eat well for a week or two. And if a player was stunned or unconscious? Things might just disappear in the middle of a fight. Those were the best days. The crew would sit around later eating the food they found in the adventurers's packs and giggle about stripping them naked.

The minions had worked long and hard to make sure the Pit was ready for visitors. The lamps burning tallow gave off little light and filled the air with acrid smoke. The flickering light enhanced the carefully decorated halls of cracked black stone mortared with the crushed bones of man and beast. Meathooks dangled from the ceiling, some with skeletons or zombies mingling with the rotten bodies. The piles of bleached bones had been dusted and polished to show off their gnawed ends. Deep underground, two minions jumped up and down on drums made from the skulls of Jotun and thick mammoth leather, beating out a soulful dirge.

A small messenger made his way to Toadwhacker, and the Lookout was tempted to push him and watch him fall. Toadwhacker didn't like Stinktoe. Besides his awful foot odor, the little shit had stolen a nice piece of look from Toadwhacker, and Toad wanted some payback. But that was for later. Minions knew better than to screw around when a group was in the dungeon. If they pissed off a butcher, or worse! The Butcher, they'd be ground up and used to make a daemon.

"Whatcha go, Toad? Whatcha got?"
"Keep it quiet, stinky. I'm trying to get a handle on this group. Something's off about them.
"Whacha mean? Off?
"I mean "ain't proper adventurers." I mean, look at them, they're just coming in."
"Looks fine to me T-Whack. They've got a wizard in the lead with a little flappy familiar. No armor plus staff equals wizard. Then a fancy-dancy type with a little armor, a pointy sword, and a nice hat. (Dibs on that hat, by the way.) No lute or flute, so he's a duelist. Ain't hard to figure out. Ooooh....now that one's pretty."
"Call me T-Whack again, and you're dead. But yeah, very pretty. Too pretty. But ignore what she looks like. That's a high-tier cleric. Plate armor and staff. Bet she's connected real good. I hope we don't have to deal with any summoned incarnations today. Angel blood is so hard to get out of the stonework. And behind her...oh, screw me!"
"What? The big dumb bodyguard?"
"NO! You fething idiot. Look at the cleavers. Two of them, and made for flaying and slaying. Bloody gloves, bloody apron. That's a butcher down there, stinky! This is some serious shit going down. We might even get some cleaver-on-cleaver action going today! Let's see how they do against the first Daemon, there's always one roaming the front hallway."

The two minions watched as the group stopped and got ready to enter the dungeon properly. The wizard dropped back and put his staff in a sling on his back. The Butcher moved to the front, gaining three feet in stature. The cleric moved behind him with the Duelist and Wizard flanking. An odd formation, but this was an odd group. The Daemon sensed them and charged. The Butcher said something particularly rude to it and got its attention. The spike-thrower came up and a bone shard flew at the Butcher, catching him in the chest, and bouncing off.

"Oh shit, not good."
"Impressive apron!"
"Too impressive, he should have been skewered. The bastard just chuckled a little."

Undeterred, the Daemon charged forward, only to be hit from all sides. The Wizard used a shape-changing spell, turning into an armored layer. Wizards trying to cheat and become melee fighters by use of a shape change were generally disappointed, it still took skill to wield their new weapons. This one must have practiced a lot. Both scything talons carved deep into the daemon's back, slicing off chunks of meat.

"That shouldn't have...oh...SHIT! We need to upgrade the status to a party of five, hitting above their weight class. Someone sent in some ringers."

The little woman that the minions had assumed was a familiar transformed into a nightmare with six limbs, all armed with small cleavers. It darted around the daemon, severing tentacles. The large faceted eyes roamed around as it did, and at one point focused on the two minions. Fear made Stinky cry out in terror. But the creature ignored them, deeming them no threat, and focused on chopping the tentacles into small piles. A gleaming arrow of light illuminated the dim room as the Cleric invoked a god and sent the projectile through the daemon's head. No brains meant no pain, at least, but the top of the Daemon was charred meat.

And then it was chopped meat as the Butcher unleashed his fury upon it, one blow coming down on the confused Daemon's head, and the other took off its walloping arm at the shoulder. The cumulative amount of damage was too much and the thing collapsed on the ground. The Wizard was delighted, "This thing has meat for loot? It dropped two Prime-Cut Porterhouse Steaks. They must be ten pounds each. I wonder what these came from? Smells like beef! Not that Squirmie and I are picky."

<Meat is Meat...but those do smell good!>

"And everything is sausage. There must be a half-ton of meat here. Nicely marbled, too. I'm stuffing this in my bag."

The Butcher reduced the daemon to a dozen chunks and stuffed the whole thing into a bag hanging on his belt. The minions shook their heads in horror. Meat needed to be recycled, not taken from the dungeon. This would mean more work for Oink and the other Butchers who crafted the Gristle Daemons.

"That went down quickly. Not like the first one we tangled with. I only had time for one spell."

The Butcher chuckled, "Just a baby, only level 18 and not even a Named. With our butchering skills and abilities that do extra damage to Demons, we hit it pretty hard. This place may be fun, after all."

Above, the quivering minions watched, not daring to move. They recognized the techniques now and were sure that if they were to check the Guild logs, each of these adventurers would be registered with the Butcher's Guild. Someone was going to have a lot of work to do to replace the Daemons they slayed today, Toadwhacker was sure of it. "Stinky, skedaddle and fill the crew in. Tell them to be extra careful with this bunch. Give them room to work and stay hidden. We don't have a good idea of what we're dealing with, but it's bad! Get a second crew ready, but don't tell them all the details. You can't trust those guys. They'll run to Squealer and trade the info for an extra few minutes of nap time. If that fat bastard hears that he might have to pay out some good loot, he'll be mean for a week and blame us.

"You got it, T-whacker!"

<Let's find more to play with!"

Squirmie heard the sound of a minion slamming into the floor and moaning in pain, but she was focused on her next kill which was just coming around the corner. The group moved down the hallway to meet it, the Butcher whistling a jaunty tune as they tore into the second Gristle Daemon of the evening.

Below, the drum minions were told to pick up the beat and four more joined them with smaller drums. Mignik, Oink, and Grinder were alerted that they were needed. Oink finished his latest masterpiece, it only needed a name. Names were hard for Oink. This was a nasty Daemon, freshly made and hungry with extra mouths. It howled like a dog waiting for its dinner. Oink nodded, "Hungry Dog, it is. Go get them, boy."