Black Amber Agonist 2011

“Hey! Get up!” The command pierced through the quiet crackling of the fire like a whip crack. “You need to leave earlier today. ‘Theory of Frightening’ is all the way on the other side.” That was true. As a first-year butt, there really wasn’t anything to laugh about. Well, what impression would that have made at the Academy of Fear and Darkness? Before Rodophyt could rise, he was already kicked off the cot by the boot of the caller. Unbelievable. Everyone who had risen to the rank of Upper Butt became truly disgusting on the spot. And Sauron was no exception.

“Well, Garmotha, did you splash around in the volcanic lake too long again yesterday? Letting the Black Smoker tickle your backside? And secretly sniffing some weird Kokel stuff?” The next kick hit a smear troll girl (diminutive form inappropriate) in her wrinkled behind and propelled her out of a pile of prickly bushes. She was a softy and liked to be comfortable at night. In fact, she liked it cozy, as she called it: The earth wall with thorny plants around the little camp had been her idea. And she had also set up the smoldering tree stumps. Garmotha cursed quietly, picked a hairy, sticky lump from her fur, and stuffed it into her maw. Then she speared a massive chunk of resin on a stick and held it over the fire. “Breakfast?” she called over, but Rodo was on guard. He had learned by now that offering smoked resin to smear trolls was considered a mating proposal, and he hadn’t forgotten the sight of the last one who had just been hungry. “No, you piece of filth!” he replied, both textbook and truthfully, “I’m just shoving a bar of pressed tobacco in.” They offered nothing to Sauron. The guy fed on darkness and was always stuffed in the morning. No chance to butter him up.

Chewing, Rodo sat in his favorite spot. He indulgently held his head in the smoke of the fire and only turned away when his left eye started to water. About fifteen meters away, he could now make out half a dozen figures in the twilight, strangely costumed, marching by in single file. They all looked tense and kept glancing around attentively. Humans! And could he even see those pointy plastic hats on some of their ears? Those were definitely more of those damn fantasy role players. My Satan, not even at breakfast could one have peace from them! The group marched off into the mist, and Rodo began to count. Usually, it took almost exactly until one hundred before the screams came. Then the frontmost one had run into the Lightless Ambysser and became its hors d’oeuvre, immediately followed by all the others as the main course. These ones were doing it better - first, they only needed to get to eighty, and second, shortly thereafter, a single figure actually hurried back, clutching the stump of its left arm with its right hand. Unbelievable, it had really been lucky!

The others were basically lucky too. Because those whose path didn’t lead into the entrails of the Ambysser usually ended up later in the Sweet Swamps, which attracted humans with their vanilla-candy-like stench - apparently, they were into that sort of thing. Whoever got caught in the gooey mass was held fast and slowly decomposed. Tonight, on the way back, they would stroll past there and take a whiff. Maybe there was even still a twitching remnant of the little Hmpf they had tossed in for fun three days ago. The thought of it already sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

But now it was time to get going. “Theories of Frightening and Tormenting for Beginners and Advanced” was indeed a stupid subject - why couldn’t they just leave that silly writing alone and simply enjoy the matter? - but the lecturer was, after all, the director of the academy himself: His Most Illustrious Cruelty Malefactus E. Fistofeles. And he was about as patient as a berserk elephant with festering hemorrhoids. Moreover, he had a highly individual sense of humor: Those who arrived late or didn’t pay attention always got to participate in a spontaneously inserted practical part. And passively, which gave the antiquated term for it - namely “suffering form” - a whole new meaning every time. At this memory, Rodo finished his meal and quickly got up.