DotA: Death Prophet Carries

‘Quick!’ snapped Krobelus. She motioned her claw-like hands to the donkey. ‘What are you taking so much time for? I’m carrying the tide of the war single-handedly and I need my bottle right now.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ whined the mule. ‘Besides your bottle, I still have a pair of boots, and a chainmail, it’s heav—‘

‘Cut it,’ said the Death Prophet as she snatched the bottle from the donkey, and gave the sorry creature a kick behind. ‘Now get out of my way. You be quicker the next time I send for you.’ Krobelus uncapped the bottle and gulped down the magical water inside. A wave of energy surged through her, taking away her exhaustion.

When the donkey was finally done with its round (for now)—after having evaded a black, shadowy flame from a fiend, circled the jungle, and unentangled himself from a network of humongous spiderwebs— he reached the shop back in the town where his master awaited.

‘That lady with the green hair is a monster!’ moaned the donkey. ‘Not a single word of appreciation after what I had to go through. She even gave me a kick. This job is tough.’ Then, it lied on the ground and let out a heavy sigh.

‘Lady?’ said the shopkeeper. ‘Ay, you meant the Death Prophet? She might have the skin of a fair maiden but she ain’t no lady, I tell ya. She’s old.’ The shopkeeper was amused at his own joke.

The Donkey was consoled, if only slightly, that at least his master knew how tough a courier’s job was.

‘Ya know,’ began the courier’s master, rubbing his chin. ‘If ya ain’t happy with her attitude, I reckon we can do something about it.’



Krobelus was back in town to prepare for the next battle. ‘Shopkeeper!’ she yelled. ‘Get me a healing salve. I need to get back to the front line as soon as I can. ‘

‘Ay, isn’t it the Death Prophet? Welcome! Welcome to my shop,’ greeted the shopkeeper. ‘Of course, of course. Here you go.’

Krobelus passed some coins to the merchant and drank the potion. It tasted weird. Different from usual. No matter, she needs to go—

The potion took effect. The Death Prophet shrunk and shrunk until she was the size of a toddler. And the merchant was a giant.

‘Ay, look what we’ve got here,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘My dear, you are now one of my couriers. Your job is to deliver items bought by my customers. Now, let’s see.’ He glanced at a parchment in his hands. ‘This is your first assignment, Krobeling. Deliver this claymore, Phase Boots, and all these rings to the top part of the woods. Oh, and this bracer too.’ All these items the shopkeeper  stuffed into a bag, and shoved it towards his newest worker.

‘What?’ shouted Krobelus. Her voice was squeaky, like a whining kid. ‘You want me to be a courier? ME?’

‘Now now,’ mused the shopkeeper. ‘I won’t turn you back until you complete your jobs. Get going. We don’t want to keep our customers waiting, do we?’

Little Krobelus sighed, and carried the bag of items. It was heavy, and she wondered how she was going to carry all these items to the woods.

On the way, she met the donkey, whom she was about the same size with now. She averted her eyes and when they passed, heard a snicker from behind.

‘Don’t worry. You’re still carrying!’


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