I Crawl Through Filth (Original Short Story)

By Connor MacDonald

“Get that dirty bastard outta here!” The heavily armored man stomped towards Yerwik the Foul.

“You’re stinking the place up. You think people want to smell your stench?”

Yerwik the Foul yelped as the iron boot struck his ribs. “Please, please…” He was begging. “Please, I just need some coin for my sick daughter.”

“You ain’t got no daughter!” a short woman yelled from the crowd. A chorus of agreement echoed throughout the town square.

Two strong men helped raise Yerwik the Foul from the gutter. He smiled at them with his broken teeth, and they spit in his face.

“We don’t like yer kind here!” the local town racist yelled.

The chorus turned into moans of “Be quiet, Kelvarias the Hateful!” and “By the Gods, can somebody shut Kelvarias up?”

Yerwik scurried away from the town square. The crowd was too busy fighting with the tall, golden-haired Kelvarias. Yerwik turned around to see Kelvarias throwing a ball of fire towards the local alchemist.

“This town is crazy!” Yerwik was out of breath, holding onto a post. The armored glove came so suddenly that Yerwik was barely paying attention.

Guard Captain TeRay spun Yerwik around to see his face. “You owe fifty gold coins for the trouble you caused.”

“I don’t have that kind of money!” Yerwik protested. “I already owe the tow—”

TeRay held up his gauntlet and slapped Yerwik. Yerwik was sent spiraling towards the ground.

“You owe the guards almost five hundred coins. That’s not even including the interest. You’re done, Yerwik. If we catch you back in town, I’m cutting your head off.”

“Oh, what have I done to deserve this?” Yerwik sobbed at the boots of TeRay. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You bathe in the excrement of dogs. You caused that delegation of nobles to flee from your stench. You cost us too much, Yerwik. We already have Kelvarias. He’s a far better town eccentric than you. A racist or a guy who stinks badly? Yeah, we’re picking the racist.”

“I can get better!” Yerwik began to kiss the boot of TeRay. “I could…I could claim everyone is conspiring against me!”

“That’s a tired trope,” TeRay responded. “A famous town already has that guy. So, what? We’re supposed to just be a cheap copy of that town? I think not!”

TeRay sent his knee into Yerwik’s stomach, causing Yerwik to puke.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“To the Sixteen HELLS for all we care! You won’t hang around Fleshtary anymore!”

TeRay paused for a moment and started to think. Yerwik remained totally quiet.

“Hmm. Perhaps the local cave. You could be an excellent part of a quest chain for the Alchemist,” TeRay offered. “Now, GET!”

Yerwik scurried off towards the gate on all fours. He rubbed his bruised and battered body.

“I guess I’m the caveman now.”

The Cave of Ill-Deeds was located outside of Fleshtary. A haunting whistle escaped the mouth of the cave. Brown liquid ran down into the entrance. Even Yerwik had to cover his nose. The stench burnt the nose hairs from his nostrils.

“This is where they’ve been dumping their waste.”

Yerwik looked down the cave. It was a narrow opening. He’d have to crawl on all fours. He squirmed like a little worm through the opening.

The cave was pitch black. Yerwik had to crawl through all manner of filth. For days, he was down in the cave. Even light was robbed from poor Yerwik. Occasionally, a new batch of filth would be poured into his new home. It was his only form of sustenance down there. Well, that and the maggots.

“My dear child…” a soft feminine voice echoed around Yerwik.

“By the Gods, I’m going mad!” he cried. “They already said that isn’t acceptable for the local eccentric.”

Silence filled the dark cave. Yerwik had squirmed his way into a small opening. It opened up to reveal a large chamber, with a broken statue of a woman in the middle of a subterranean lake. No natural light illuminated the cave. An unnatural light softly emanated from the statue, casting her shadow across the oily, slick cave walls.

“Where am I?” Yerwik squinted, shielding his eyes from the dull light.

“You’re home, dear Yerwik…” the feminine voice said.

“Who are you?” Yerwik fell to his knees before the statue.

“I’m your Mother. I’m your Lover. I’m your Mistress. I’m your Protector. I’m your Goddess,” she answered.

“You’re a Demoness?”

Yerwik, for the first time in weeks, stretched his legs out. He looked the statue in the eyes.

“No. That is too simple.” She almost laughed. “I am the personification of the lost. The discarded and unwanted. The filth and the disease.”

“I’m standing in your temple?” Yerwik touched the statue gently.

“No. Just a shrine.”

She paused for a moment. The soft trickle of the waste was so loud in the chamber that it was as if a storm had appeared.

“What do you want me to do?” Yerwik asked.

“Fix this shrine. Find me new followers. Once, many people lived down here in the filth and darkness. It’s ironic that the Mistress of the Forgotten now has a forgotten shrine.”

She chuckled. Yerwik couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“I’m not a mason. I can’t fix your shrine.”

“It’s made out of waste, Yerwik. I think you can figure it out.”

Suddenly, the stone statue turned into a pile of sludge. The scent was so overwhelming that Yerwik added his own bodily fluids to the pile.

“Your first offering.”

The voice was quiet now, disappearing.

“Wait! Wait!”

Yerwik reached out, but the light had gone, leaving him in total darkness. He wept. A profound loneliness had wormed its way into his mind. The love he had felt from the Mistress, and the emptiness where his heart had beat for her, made him curl into a ball.

Yerwik began to fix the shrine. He would crawl about the dark recesses of the cave, finding any manner of sludge and goop to add to it. After a week, the shrine had been completed. The soft light returned, but disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Yerwik squirmed through the cave towards the natural light, which now blinded him.

“I must…find…others…” he said.

It was easier to leave the cave now, since he had lost so much weight. He crawled towards the town of Fleshtary, trying to avoid the ever-watchful gaze of TeRay.

“What are you doing?” a small voice asked.

He looked up and saw a tiny gnome sucking on a lollipop.

“I’m trying to find new friends.” Yerwik rose slowly. “I’m Yerwik the Foul.”

“I can tell. I’m Gawatrinixanalop, new town beggar.”

The two men shook hands.

“They replaced me pretty quickly.”

“Yeah.” He sucked on the lollipop. “It’s an easy gig. Can’t believe you lost it. What do you do now?”

“I’ve been elevated to a priest, of sorts.” Yerwik looked at the lollipop. “Can I have a taste?”

“Absolutely not.” Gawatrinixanalop sneered. “I hate beggars.”

“Well, I’m not a beggar. I’m a Priest. You could become one too, if you want.”

The gnome raised his brow. “A priest? Of what?”

“Of Forgotten Things!” Yerwik said cheerfully. “I’m building up a local collection of eccentrics for the shrine. It’s in the Cave of Ill-Deeds.”

The gnome shrugged. “Okay. I’m already bored of this job anyways.”

Yerwik pointed towards the cave. Gawatrinixanalop casually walked off, sucking on his lollipop.

Yerwik crawled to the sewer port outside the walls of Fleshtary. Since he was so skinny now, he was easily able to get through the grates.

Actual torches were lit up ahead, and Yerwik saw that Kelvarias was sitting on a chair, crying.

“Hey, Kelvarias. Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He wiped tears from his eyes.

“You don’t seem okay…”

Yerwik plopped out of the piping and was covered head to toe in brown liquid.

“I don’t want to be a racist,” Kelvarias admitted.

“Like, you want to reform or something?”

“No. I’m not racist. I always wanted to be a poet.” He shook his head. “Nobody does that anymore, though.”

“If you want, you can become a poet with me. I’m building this little collection of people in the Cave of Ill-Deeds. We’re followers of the Forgotten Mistress.”

“She wants poetry?”

“So long as it’s smeared in filth!”

Kelvarias jumped off his stool. “Well, count me in! I know where the cave is. I’ll meet you there.”

Yerwik was shocked. That was surprisingly easy.

For the first time in many years, Yerwik was actually smiling. It hurt him to smile.

Yerwik crawled out of the basement and entered the town proper. There, he saw an Orc guard standing watch by the permanently closed southern gate.

“Gate’s closed,” he said. “Best to look elsewhere.”

“I can see the gate is closed. Why are you guarding a closed gate?”

“Gate’s closed,” he repeated. “Best to look elsewhere.”

“That seems kind of useless. Why don’t you come with me?”

The Orc guard thought for a moment.

“Gate’s closed? Best to look…elsewhere.”

“No, I get that. You know, we have a cave nearby. We could use you as a guard or something.”

The Orc guard was silent.

“Best to look elsewhere.”

He began to walk towards the cave.

A soft voice scratched inside the mind of Yerwik.

“Yerwik…you have done well,” the feminine voice said. “Continue to build followers of Filth.”

The quest journal updated for Yerwik, pointing him in the direction of Oldass the One-Eyed Adventurer.

“Something ain’t right about that old cave,” Oldass said. “I would know. I served with the Fighter’s Cadre for three decades.”

“Hey, Oldass.” Yerwik walked over to him. “What old cave?”

“The Cave of Ill-Deeds. They call it that because four decades ago, an elven necromancer did ill-deeds there. Summoning gelatinous cubes of flesh. I would know. I did the contract there myself.”

“I’m moving into the Cave. We’re forming a new cult. The Cult of the Forgotten Ones. Have you heard of us?”

“The Cult of the Forgotten Ones!” Oldass exclaimed. “No, I don’t think I have. How intriguing. I was an adventurer for six decades. I’ve never heard of your Cult of the Forgotten Ones.”

“That’s…because it’s new.”

“Well, I haven’t been adventuring for nine decades just to drop everything and live in a cave! If I’m not standing in town, who would remind everyone that I’m an old, seasoned veteran of adventuring?”

Yerwik shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe…that guy?”

Yerwik pointed to Midass the Moderately Experienced Adventurer.

“Oh, right. Let’s go,” Oldass said.

Yerwik and Oldass marched towards the Cave of Ill-Deeds. Oldass was quite pleased when he lit a torch and entered the filth-covered crevice.

Down below, Gawatrinixanalop, Kelvarias the Former Racist, and Gatesclosed stood near the entrance to the shrine.

“Yerwik! Down here! You brought the final member?”

The quest journal updated, giving Yerwik a marker to approach the shrine.

As he touched it, the Mistress of Filth appeared before her new followers.

“Rejoice! Rejoice! The time for civilization is at an end. Those who were discarded are no longer lost, but are found.”

She paused for dramatic effect.

“You are all now my servants. Yerwik, on the Tenth of every Sixth Month, you will be able to give local adventurers a quest. In fact, you all get your own special quests to hand out.”

The filth-covered followers rejoiced in their newfound roles.

“What are the quests about?” Yerwik asked.

“When the Great Hero arrives, he’s going to want to get my Sword of Slime. In order to do that, he needs to kill all your former neighbors and friends in Fleshtary. That way, we can convert it into the filthiest city in the realm!”

Quest completed.

The followers of Filth did just that.

With their newfound roles, every so often Fleshtary would be burned to the ground. Unless, of course, the Great Hero sided with the town and completed the TeRay quest chain to get the Hammer of Loyalty.

It isn’t as good as the Sword of Slime, though, so most meta players don’t complete that quest.