Wheatley | Barley | Terrence | Logue

Words: 912

You head back to your makeshift camp to rest after a brief but perilous exploration of a pit nearby. When you return, you find that another adventuring party has taken up residence and is rummaging through your treasure! Diplomacy is ineffective; these ruffians won't move unless you move them.

***

Wheatley wakes up in a sweat. He jolted himself upwards before the sudden movement made the blood rush up to his head too fast, making him dizzy and wobbly. Barley turns his head and nags at the golden lordling, “Oh no you don’t, you are staying back down there.”

He hurriedly walks over to Wheatley and pushes the other horse gently back down. He slapped something cold and sticky on Wheatley’s forehead, no doubt some kind of healing salve, and went back to his work. Wheatley peered to the side and saw that his partner was in the midst of crafting a herbal remedy.

“Barley? What-” he tried to ask but was cut off by a very pissed Barley.

“You have no right to speak right now, my lord,” he said, enunciating the nickname to hammer in his frustration with Wheatley.

“You walked towards the sarcophagus, dipped your hand in that weird sauce and then just fainted!” Barley whips around and though his face is frowned and sour, Wheatley could see the worry in his eyes.

“I had Terrence and Logue lug you out of the room. Mind you, there was no way back, so we had to find a way forward. Logue had the bright idea to break the walls when he found one side was made of tinted glass.”

He stomps his hoof, annoyed.

“But still! You just fainted! Thank the stars that it wasn’t anything fatal, but you’ve had all of us worried sick! You’re not just leading us in these dungeons, you’ve got a herd to lead to on the surface who’s waiting for you and-”

Barley’s words are cut short, his voice caught in his throat. He turned away to escape Wheatley’s golden gaze staring straight at him.

“You could’ve died.”

“... I’m sorry.”

“Well, sorry isn’t going to fix it,” Barley sits next to Wheatley, still avoiding his gaze, “I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything stupid like that again.”

Wheatley nudges Barley’s neck gently, “I’ll try.”

Barley grumbled and begrudgingly returned the nudge back. “I’m still mad at you.”

A chuckle from Wheatley, “Of course, my sun.”

“... What happened to you there anyway?” Barley asked. “It was almost like you’re in a trance.”

“I suppose I was.”

Barley tilted his head questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“It was calling to me, whatever the thing inside was.” He showed his hoof that he dipped into the liquid. “It spoke to me in my father’s voice, promising me my sweet nothings. Told me to sacrifice everything to become stronger.”

“For a moment, when I touched the waters… I did feel powerful.”

“And you fainted.”

He turned to Barley, “To you, maybe, but to me?  It felt like I was transported back home.” He scratched the stone floors with his hoof, “I could feel myself losing control of what little memories I had left of who I was… My childhood, my culture…”

Wheatley hides his face in Barley’s mane, “The disconnect from my past… I couldn’t lose any more of it.”

Barley was silent. The golden boy who lost everything, holding on to whatever is left of his home, was different from him, the boy who’s trying to run away from his past. He couldn’t say a word and instead gave Wheatley a sympathetic nuzzle into his mane.

“When I realised what I was losing,” Wheatley continued, “I tried my damndest to wake up. To return to what I had.”

“And you’re here now.”

Wheatley looked into Barley’s eyes, his usual smile returning, “I suppose you’re right.”

The two shared a moment of peace in each other’s company. The quiet did not last long, however, when they heard shouting and bickering from outside the room.

Barley got up and Wheatley followed suit weakly. Slowly opening the door, they are met with a complicated scene.

Terrence and Logue are standing back-to-back. The camp that was set up by them is half-finished, with rations strewn about the floors. Surrounding them was another party of four, all covered in a black hood and blanket. Two of them had daggers in their mouth, one with a golden necklace enhanced with the arcane.

One stepped forward seemingly taunting Terrence.

“Now cahm awn, lad… Is this really how ye want to leave yer life behind?” the hooded figure spoke, his voice raspy and low.

Terrence snorts in aggression, stomping his hooves as an intimidation tactic.

“You’re the lot that stole from us earlier! You have the audacity to come and take more from us?!”

The hooded figures all cackled. “Ye surface dwellers don’t know a thing ‘bout the rules of the underground!” They all take a step forward, closing in on the two coursers. Logue holds his sword on hand, if these ruffians won’t go down without a fight, neither will he.

Barley and Wheatley kept themselves hidden from the rest as the ruffians have yet to spot them.

“What should we do?” whispered Barley.

Wheatley assesses the situation. Though there are equal numbers of coursers to take on each other, one-on-one, he’s not in the best health to help fight. Not to mention, Barley is more of a healer than a fighter, specialising in medicine and magic. It’s clear that the winning hand would be one where they rely on stealth. There must be a way to get the ruffians down without having to fight them head-on. He just has to wait for the right moment to get to them.