Belly of the Beast

by badlands

Wilsorn had a problem. He was a gambler. He had lost everything he had to a fat old fir'bolg named O'luo'hr. Wilsorn pleaded for his livestock as O'luo'hr stroked his beard thoughtfully, relishing the power he had over another being, back in his day he could shoot an arrow 900 spans and hit his mark, but that grew sour on him.

His eyesight was lost, and being a worthless bowsmen, he went to live with the humans to hide his shame. In self exile he had become fond of the game, and grew skillful in making money from silly countryfolk. Most were realistic enough to leave themselves enough to get by with, but this Wilsorn fellow had just traded in everything.

Being the sporting type, O'luo'hr would give Wilsorn a chance to regain all his property. He would have to go and bring a black rock from the chared lands. Wilsorn gleefully excepted, as he had often played in the chared lands as a child. This would be easy he thought. As his trip began he was certain he could get his belongings back, and pondering in his mind who he would next bet, he failed to notice the ground growing hot. As he neared a ledge he thought he remembered, a blurping noise was emitted, prompting Wilsorn to come back to the present.

As he gazed around, he realized he must have gone the wrong direction, as this firey burnt land was not the fields of glassy obsidian he had remembered. He tried to get his markings, and while stumbling around tripped and fell down a small ravine. Rocks tumbled down after him, pounding his legs. He cursed aloud, and tried to shake the rocks off, but to no avail. He painstakingly pushed the rocks one by one off his leg, each weighing as much as his prized pigs on his farm. He observed it had grown dark while freeing himself, and trying to walk back up, his leg gave in. He now realized it had been broken in several places in his fall.

He again cursed, this time feeling the pain. And what was it he heard? That accursed blurping sound. He noticed the rocks about him tinted red, and it was do damn hot. As he craned his neck to see around him, he noticed, glowing red and white with heat the molten rock pooring ever so slowly towards him. He stood again, and fell, twisting his other ankle in the process. He slowly crawled along the base of the ravine, unable to crawl back up over the loose rocks.

As he thought he could no longer hear the blurping sound he looked up, away from the ground, and realized he was trapped at the end of this ravine of misery he had fallen into. He waited, crying, as the lava came, blurping along. The suspense was more painful than the fear. As the red fluid inched forward, he made a final prayer. Wilsorn had a problem.