Wherein Gumbo finds himself worse-off than he originally believed...
Gumbo whimpered.
He really did not want to open his eyes. While he could not remember why, something in the back of his mind told him that waking up - heading back into the light - was not really the best idea. Something told him just to keep his head down, to stay here in the dark where all was warm and soft and go---
"Pshaw!", the Gree-Gree hawked. His yellow reptilian eyes popped open with his exhalation and rolled around in his skull for a bit. Gumbo had never really been good at taking orders; even orders from his own subconscious. Slowly his orbs righted themselves and his thoughts quickly followed. From somewhere that seemed distant, a strange lapping sound drifted into his ears.
Like tumblers in a lock, his memories fell into place one-by-one...
First, he remembered being slammed in the face by what could only be described as a flying tombstone. As he did, his entire body began to ache as if someone had pounded on him for several days with a meat tenderizer. He groaned and immediately white hot pain flared in his jaw spiking up through the top of his skull like a spike of fire. There was little doubt that several teeth were missing and he likely had a shattered jaw - at the very least.
Then, he remembered tripping and falling on the rough wood of the church floor. Along with that memory came the instant and horribly painful realization that his rib was still protruding from his left side. Gumbo could feel that the flesh around was hot and swollen and he could swear that he felt something wet leaking from the wound.
Next, he remembered the bone snapper - the massive undead wrecking machine that had done all of this to him. A cold sense of panic flooded his entire frame - he'd heard stories of some more perverted of the Undead Infection that loved nothing more than capturing and slowly torturing their prey. Gumbo lay very still and tried to be as quiet as he could. He wanted nothing more than to cry out as loudly as he could and run away as quickly as he was able. There were many things that the resourceful Gree-Gree could stomach and bare, but being bound, helpless and tortured slowly was not one of them. If he was going to die, then Gumbo would rather it be quick and relatively painless.
Finally, he remembered the chalice. 'Ooohhh, I's be a coo-yawn f'shore.', the thought to himself, using the Gree-Gree word for "idiot". How could he have let that big lug get the better of him? Gumbo was pretty sure that the answer lay buried somewhere in-between the words "big" and "lug", but he had more important things to worry about now. 'I's gotta find outs where I's be an' if'n dat dere 'snapper be about.'
It was then that the lapping sound drifted back to him. It was pitch black all around him and all he could tell about his body (other than it was wracked from head to toe with pain) was that he seemed to be lying on his stomach, supported over an open space, only by crisscrossing ropes. Most likely a net, the canny Gree-Gree surmised- he'd heard that Undead sometimes hung their prey up to let them "ferment" awhile before eating them. Gumbo's stomach flipped at the thought; he thought he might be sick.
Something about the thought of his stomach (or maybe being eaten) made him remember his rib, and it's accompanying wetness - it was at that moment that he again heard the lapping sound and a horrible realization dawned on him. Icy fingers of fear crept up the back of his neck and over the top of his pounding skull - they didn't help matters much.
Something was drinking his blood.
Gumbo knew that his options were very limited: he was hurt pretty badly, lost in the dark and for all he knew, could be hanging over a thousand foot drop. Oh yea, and something was feeding on him. The Gree-Gree reached deep into himself, into a place where he did not like to go, and drew forth something he tried to avoid at all costs: magic. It wasn't that Gumbo did not appreciate or see the usefulness of magic - not at all. On the rare occasions when he worked in groups, he usually gravitated towards those with a knowledgeable mage, or wizard, or whatever they called themselves. It was just that he personally did not like doing magic. In his experience, it just always seemed to make things worse.
But Gumbo honestly didn't know how much worse things could get for him at the moment...
He closed his yellow eyes and focused on the kernel of life that was deep within him. Like a nugget of gold in a black oil-slicked can, it was easy to find, but much harder to get a hold of. He steadied his breathing and finally managed to get a handle on that kernel of pure energy. He exhaled slowly, and cracked it open. All Gumbo intended to do was create a little bit of light. A soft, ambient glow around his body so that he could see what was...well, eating him.
But bad things always happen to Gumbo.
The air one inch around his entire body began to glow like the sun...
Gumbo groaned. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the light. He heard shuffling and a few strangely sleepy screeches. The thing that was lapping up his blood shifted, as if it were startled and the Gree-Gree could hear the creaking of the ropes that held him bound and aloft. He opened his eyes.
Sure enough, he was in a net, suspended above blackness. He was in some sort of underground cavern, and beneath him, clinging onto his net enclosure, was one of the biggest, ugliest vectors he had ever seen. But that really wasn't the worst of it. All around him, clinging to the walls, bat-like, were hundreds - maybe thousands - more.
Bad things always happen to Gumbo...