The man in the suit jabbed at Galler, but Galler sidestepped it with such fluidity that for a moment Ellie thought he could see it coming. Then as Galler prepared a swing of his own, Ellie darted out of his shadow as fast as her little legs could move to lunge at the man’s waist with her knife. He spat a curse at her and swept the belt from his own waist to block the blade, bending forwards with this movement. Immediately Galler rushed forwards again to capitalize on the shift in attention and was rewarded by landing a clean strike of his battered knuckles to the man’s face.

The man in the suit shook, though Ellie could not tell if it was from fear or excitement, but as the man jumped back to get some space, his feet almost touching the very edge of the pit, her eyes widened as she saw the man’s face. Where before it had been relatively ordinary-looking, albeit twisted with an unnaturally friendly smile, it was now almost… shredded from Galler’s blow. It had not been a particularly heavy blow, nor a light tap, but the force had been enough to tear off patches of skin to reveal what Ellie finally realized was another face underneath. It was made of paler skin than the torn skin was, yet it was littered with tiny scars. It was then Ellie understood. The man in the suit was wearing a face over his own, the face of another human.

Meanwhile, the man in the suit doubled forwards and rifled his hands through his suit pockets as Galler rushed forwards on unsteady legs. Ellie readied her knife once more and followed, trying with all her might to hide in Galler’s shadow to mask her approach. The pair closed the gap, and as the man in the suit sprang up to his full height looking somewhat… different, Ellie lunged forwards onto the ground in front of him to slide her knife straight into the man’s left foot. He screamed gutturally and looked at Ellie with a completely changed face, that of a snarling orc that was still stained with bits of gristle. The sheer force of the roar was enough to knock Ellie flat on her back. She kneeled on the grass and the man launched himself at her with an animalistic howl. His fingers were outstretched, almost appearing to widen with every moment Ellie stared at them, until Galler appeared out of nowhere to snatch the man’s waist with his sturdy arms. Ellie let out a scream of horror as she saw their trajectory, willing her body to move forwards to grab him but was frozen in place. Neither of them heard the shouts from the trees as Galler and the man in the suit disappeared into the pit, swallowed by the darkness.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ever since that night in Drassington, Galler had known naught but the chill darkness. At times it was comforting, sometimes he didn’t think much of it at all, and occasionally he could feel things… biting at him. Nibbling the edges of his fingers and toes. Brushing past his legs. Even that wasn’t all bad compared to the times he could see again, a false vision brought by that thing. For sometimes it beckoned him, showed him crawling sunsets over a half-eaten world. It would make him do things, things Galler could neither see nor understand. It never truly let Galler rest, and even when its gaze was elsewhere, the gnome could hear mutters in the dark. Faint squeaking and frantic gibbering that gnawed at his thoughts.

But now, as the air rushed through his ragged hair and kissed his scarred cheeks, all was silent. All was silent as he fell, not even the dandy-man who had dragged him into the pit made a single sound. Neither of them did. After all, what use were words for two about to die? Nothing, nothing mattered anymore.

They fell, two animals clinging to each other, silent through the sweeping inky black void of the pit, the only change being the smell getting stronger by the second. The smell, no, the stench of warm iron. A slight stickiness in the air. Second by second passed until finally, Galler heard a bone-shattering crunch as they both hit the floor with an impact so sudden, even he couldn’t feel anything. The silence was broken again as something squelched, but Galler paid the sound no mind, simply laying there, stunned. After a time he tested his limbs one by one.

Yup. That’s not right.

His arms were broken. His legs, too. And if the sharp pain was telling him anything, it was that his ribs were in more than a few pieces each now. The wet shuddering that was every breath he took informed Galler that something was wrong with his lungs. His arm hung at an angle that even he noticed despite his blindness, mainly because he felt his hand resting on a place on his back that normally would be impossible to get to. Then, something warm touched his leg. It was only a tap, a questing limb that was much more solid to the touch than Galler felt at that moment. Only a tap, and then whatever it was withdrew. Yet, it was enough to sink a thought through Galler’s muddy head. That there was something alive down here. Beside Galler, around what he guessed was maybe five or so feet away, he heard the dandy-man groan, and then chuckle.

“Ha.” The dandy-man coughed wetly. “Should be enough. Please, take me too.”

The dandy-man fell silent, and a solid minute passed with not a single word spoken in the pit. Another soft touch on his leg broke Galler out of his thoughts, and the dandy-man groaned as what sounded almost… like a slurping sound rumbled from the dandy-man’s direction. Galler shivered. He was getting quite cold, almost as cold as he had felt in Drassington some nights, the winter ones where he hadn’t managed to get enough coin to get into one of the bunkhouses. Just the thought of the bunkhouses, the ones with only a single charcoal burner to keep its occupants alive, was enough to send a shiver of nostalgia through Galler’s bone-pierced gut. They were shitholes, for sure. But they had been warm, and reasonably safe for the slums as long as you kept your hand on a knife under your pillow. The slurping sound intensified, and Galler felt something prick his neck. A feeling of peace, something he hadn’t felt since he was a wee child at his mam’s side, stole over his stuffy head. In fact, it felt like someone had swaddled a warm cotton blanket around the inside of his noggin. His ruined eyelids twitched, and he barely even felt a flash of pain from his shattered jawbone as he suppressed a yawn. For a moment, his sluggish brain felt like there was something, or someone, that he was forgetting…

But he was just so tired. He was exhausted, sick of being dragged around. But… there was something important…

Poncho…?

The remains of Galler’s eyelids closed one last time, and his mind was quiet for the first time since that terrible night in Drassington.

And thus passed Galler Marinson.