The first room in my design was one meant to challenge the morality of the adventurers. There was a small altar placed in the center of the room, with a basin at the bottom. A message was placed, stating that only the blood of the betrayed could open the altar, and release the gem. The plan for this was simple. It would entice those who were oathbreakers and fiends into attacking the friends and allies who were along with them. A fight would ensue, and mighty warriors would clash against one another, until there would only be one left.
Then, upon pouring the blood of the betrayed into the basin, a secret wall with a gem would open up. Touching the gem would disintegrate the last survivor instantly. The trap would then reset, waiting for more adventurers to enter.
The real gem would be located in the mouth of a statue of Knerl, god of deception and half-truths. There would be no indication that the gem was in the mouth, and it was warded to shield the gem from scrying and divination methods. Only those who were most loyal would refuse to slay their companions for the opportunity to gain power. They would hopefully be able to figure out the significance of Knerl’s statue. I named this room: Knerl’s Fallacy.
The second room would be meant to test the courage of the adventurers. Upon entering, they would be brought to a realm within the dungeon, one I was able to create with my newfound magical prowess. This realm, named Igio, was a place for giants fashioned from stone. They towered high at fifteen feet tall and walked about the realm, looking for mortals to fight. As foreign beings from another plane, they were resistant to most forms of magic. One giant, the chief known as Mwgwa, had been given the gem as an earring to wear in his ear. Only those who were courageous enough to enter the lair of the giants and steal the earring would be able to open the door.
These giants were not hard to persuade to leave from their home realm, Tayrind. A terrible war had been going on for centuries between the stone giants and the tree giants. A blood feud ran between the two races and they warred for territory without end. I was able to contact Mwgwa, an intermediate chief of a raiding party, through the use of the telepathy spell I had absorbed from Urioc. His mind was the most restless and exhausted of all the giants in Tayrind. I offered a new realm, one without war, one that was expansive and full of mountains, in exchange for his assistance in protecting an item. He took the deal without much consideration. Three hundred years he had lived, and two hundred and eighty of them he had been at war. It was time for his small band to rest. Stomping on a few mortals from time to time would be a small feat compared to what they went through daily.
I was pleased with the creation of an entire demiplane. Creating a new realm was normally not a simple task, but the new source of magic gave me the ability to do it with ease. It took a great deal of magic to do so, but I had plenty to spare for now. Besides, once great adventurers arrived in my dungeon, I would be able to regain most of that magic through these absolute deathtraps.
There was more than just the danger of fighting the giants in Igio. Since I had such an excellent experience with using them before, I created a few dozen Shrevar to roam the rocky tundra. They were too small to pose any threat to the giants and, in fact, displayed a tremendous preference to avoid them. They would simply have to settle for the adventurers who had never encountered a creature like this before.
The third room was more traditional. The gem was easy to see, on display behind a glass case on the other side of a large pit. Within the pit were blades, whirling up and down, meant to slide up as soon as an adventurer tried to get across. The traps were loud and obvious. They were simple misdirection, of course, as the real trap wasn’t the blades, but the secret lever that was designed to turn those blades off.
The lever was poorly concealed, as if the one who had placed it was an amateur at hiding secrets. There was a brick with a clear outline around it in the wall to the right of the entrance. Pulling the brick loose would reveal the lever. And the lever would deactivate the whirling death in the center. At least, so they believed. In truth, the lever would simply cause an illusion spell to activate, in which the blades would appear that they had stopped moving. In reality, they were still spinning, covered by an invisibility spell. The adventurers would then be quick to attempt to leap across the now safe pit, only to be hewn in half.
On top of that, once they had finally figured some way to get across to the gem case, they would be facing an entirely different puzzle. The glass case itself was designed to respond to intent. Those who had ill-intent would be instantly transported to the Magekiller Room or Igio, depending on who touched it last. Any attempt to interact with the glass would cause the case to activate its power.
Those who had positive intent would be able to slide the glass case open, provided they were willing to place something of great value inside of the case after they took the gem. The case would radiate such thoughts to the person touching the case. Something of low or unworthy value would result in the gem disintegrating the holder immediately. Only the highest of value would be accepted.
How did this case decide value? Simple telepathy. It would not respond to value in terms of wealth or cost, but how the holder saw value. So, if a paladin placed his great sword that was in his family for generations, he would survive. But if he placed as much money as he could, he would die. This was a test of both sacrifice and sincerity.
It was my hope that this room would be the one to thin out those who were only concerned with making themselves immortal. There had to be some greater purpose behind holding this amulet than self-enhancement. At least, that had been what Ehdrid had pushed for. I could appreciate the shaman’s fear that the item would end up in the wrong hands. I wasn’t as concerned as he was, namely because the drawback of wearing the amulet was all too apparent. It would undo whoever wore it, sooner or later. But still, these efforts would help to ensure that if someone were to destroy the Age of a Thousand, they would be of the right moral character.
The fourth and final room was designed to be a personal test of strength. There was no doubt that many adventurers would have allies to assist them in their goals. Many adventurers found strength in numbers, able to overcome any obstacle, as long as they worked together. The betrayal room would ensure that those who weren’t loyal to one another would be weeded out. But what about those who were steadfast friends? Those who were loyal?
This room would test the independent strength of an adventurer. Upon entering the room, they would be greeted by several small orbs. These orbs would draw each adventurer into a singular challenge, where they would be forced to overcome an obstacle that was the complete opposite of their skillset. Only after each orb was completed, the final gem would be granted.
The nature of these tests was inconsequential to me, so I put someone else in charge of running the challenges. Each orb was infused with an intelligence that I built. They were able to think and react, manipulating the entire orb with their own source of magic, to create obstacles and difficulties as they saw fit. They were granted everything necessary to manipulate the adventurers and push them into rigorous, uncomfortable situations. Best of all, these Orblings—as I called them—were endowed with a supreme sense of joy and pleasure from watching adventurers succeed. This would ensure that they would not fall into sorrow or agony once an adventurer managed to overcome a trial. They were given the gift of speech, so they could communicate their purpose to the adventurers.
It was a curious decision, I must admit, to create beings and endow them with intelligence. They were carefully crafted, shaped so that their personalities would be reflective of my desire, but I wondered how well they would perform. The Orblings had no power outside of the room; they would live their entire existence within me, drawing magic for nourishment from my own source. I did everything I could to guarantee that they enjoyed their newfound existence, and they seemed happy enough. Yet, would they always remain that way? Intelligence meant the ability to reason, to think. They were free to do as they chose, but I engineered them
in such a way that the only thing they would care about was providing challenges to adventurers. I wondered if this would change over time.
Immix found these Orblings to be a great companion. He enjoyed the pleasure of escaping from their various constructs, often getting out within minutes. They delighted in his antics, and together, the Orblings and Immix formed a great bond. Most importantly, he sharpened them considerably. Each time he found a way to overcome a trial, they grew more effective at shutting him down. When first he was escaping within minutes, soon it became hours, and then, in one case, a full year passed until he was able to emerge. Time stood still in that realm for him, but for the rest of us, the dungeon was well finished and waiting on him to spread the word of the artifact’s new home.
Upon realizing he had not aged while the rest of the world did, Immix declared that he would live inside of an Orbling until Ehdrid died of old age, thus giving him the claim to becoming the tribe’s shaman. He was dissuaded, however, once Ehdrid explained to Immix that becoming a shaman required sitting quietly for hours a day. This was more than enough to get Immix to finally leave the dungeon and set about telling Yehan all about the Age of a Thousand.
Soon, the adventuring parties would arrive, this time looking for an artifact of true power. It would be the most dangerous endeavor of their lives.
Chapter 20
Rumors of the Age of a Thousand did not bring the type of attention that I was looking for. While I had been hoping to gain the interest of warriors, knights and even necromancers, I had not anticipated that nobility would also covet such an item. Within a week of Immix going about, telling stories about the amulet, an entire swarm of humans arrived. They bore the clothing of an army I was unfamiliar with—they were not associated with Oregmyer.
They were led by a man wearing a crown, followed at all times by a retinue of warriors, poets and scribes. A king, no doubt. A king from a land close by, who sought immortality for himself. He brought seventy warriors with him, armed with longswords and clad in golden painted armor. They all looked quite regal to me, especially compared to the weary, rough cut adventurers who often arrived with ragged clothing and even more ragged hair.
Camps were built, and preparations were made. A full team of men who dressed like adventurers, but wore the king’s colors, were overlooking maps and discussing their course of action with the king. I watched all of this unfold with mild curiosity. I had never been in the presence of royalty before. I had always imagined that kings were somehow…more than just another human. But to my dismay, King Soren looked just like any other man, except a little fatter in the cheeks than most peasants. What made him more important than any of the other ones? Perhaps he was a great leader.
I was content to allow them to make their preparations in peace. I was considerably stronger than the last time I encountered humans threatening me. Crushing an army of this size would be child’s play. But they weren’t here to destroy me, I knew. They wanted the amulet for their sovereign.
Another adventuring party arrived in the time that it took for the camp to be ready. They were the traditional types, ragged and rough, looking to try their luck at plundering me. I could not believe what I saw, however. The king’s guard chased them away, declaring that this dungeon was under control of King Soren and no one else was allowed in.
I was no mortal’s property, regardless of their status amongst their own kind. My dungeon was meant to be open for all, so that they may test their mettle and be rewarded appropriately. Such an action was not to be tolerated. I would be forced to speak to them through my surrogate.
It was unfortunate, I must admit, that I had to ask Jineve to speak on my behalf. Our relationship had been strained with her most recent quarrel with me. I had not spoken directly to her for some time and she had nothing to say to me. While it was true that we did not speak often to each other anyway, this silence felt more uncomfortable. More unhappy. There were others I could ask to speak in my name, I knew, but perhaps this gesture would begin to repair our broken bond.
I informed her of what was happening, and she agreed to speak my words to the king. I warned her of the potential dangers and she seemed amused at that suggestion. Her arcane power had grown mightily over the years, especially with the aid of Urioc’s many magical items that were now in her possession.
Jineve entered the camp the next morning, dressed in her finest of robes. The air seemed to crackle around her with each step, sparks of magical power leaping from her body as she walked. The guards were quick to order her to stand down, but with a wave of her hand, they were inviting her in to speak with the king.
She entered his private tent, where he was busy eating the meal of pork and eggs prepared by the servants early in the morning.
“What is the meaning of this?” King Soren asked as he looked up from his plate. He scowled a little. “Why have the guards allowed you entry? You should know that I have a host of wizards and knights in my retinue. Your magic will not save you.”
Jineve bowed to him, speaking as I instructed her. Her demeanor was different than previous times. She was controlled, precise. Disciplined. “I am here on behalf of the entity who hosts this dungeon. The World Tree.”
“I have heard stories about such an entity. They are true?” Soren asked as he stood from his seat and brushed the excess food from his beard.
“They are,” she replied. “The World Tree has created this dungeon and watches all that happens within and without. You have been seen denying others access to the dungeon. Why?”
“There is an artifact within that I seek. I had a rightful ownership to it,” the king said. “In fact, you speak on the behalf of the Tree? Then would you act as an emissary for me? I wish to inform this entity that the Age of a Thousand was stolen from my lineage long ago. Whoever possessed it previously was a thief.”
Interesting. Perhaps that had been why the king had been so swift to take most of his army to guard me. He did not seem to understand that Jineve was speaking words given to her by me. I would try to use this to expose his intentions.
“I can be persuaded to speak to the Great Tree,” Jineve replied, holding tightly to each word I gave her. This was a marked change in her behavior from before. Had the fire gone out of her? Or was she honestly so hurt by my accusations that she was now becoming more obedient in the hopes of gaining my favor? “But first I must know why you want the amulet.”
Soren nodded at that as he turned and rang a bell. A few servants scurried in and began to hastily dress him in his armor as he spoke. “This amulet was forged long ago, by a sorcerer who had a vision of a unified Yehan. An immortal emperor would rule all of the land, untouched by the ravages of time. When the sorcerer was slain before he could use the Age of a Thousand for himself, my own lineage took control of it. Every noble within House Soren clamored for possession of it, in the hopes of living forever. What they did not know was that it would lead the wearer to cleanse the rest of his family. Many of my house was slain by my great grandfather, who wore it for himself. Thousands upon thousands of my own kin are trapped now, unable to move on to their final rest.
“I must do what is necessary to free them. When the amulet was stolen from the house Patriarch, he died leaving House Soren in dire straits. My great-great grandfather was the only one left with a claim to the throne. He was a pig farmer who happened to be a bastard boy of one of the nobles. The prophets found him, raised him to the status of king, and he stabilized the country of Elgahn.
“Now, as ruler and king, it is my moral duty to my kin to free them from the amulet. I do not care what it takes. I shall do it or die trying. I bar others from entering for I will not allow them to live off the souls of my ancestors. They deserve their rest.”
I could see that he was being sincere in his story. There was an anger in him, a great rage towards the charm. There was no reason for him to lie to my surrogate, unless he was hoping this tale would inspire me to give him the item at no cost.
“Well then, having heard my story, will you speak on my behalf?” King Soren asked as he placed his sword in his hilt, moving to inspect his armor in the mirror.
“The World Tree has heard your story,” Jineve replied. “And while what has happened has been a great tragedy, you may not have the amulet unless you prove your worth.”
“Is that so?” Soren asked. “And how does he wish me to do that?”
“You will find the Age of a Thousand on the second level of the dungeon. Assemble the five gems to open the door and it will be yours,” she said, bowing again.
“Risking life and limb for an artifact to prove my mettle,” he grumbled beneath his breath. “Reminds me of my twenties. Tell the Tree that this isn’t the first dungeon I’ve raided. I’ll have that amulet soon enough.”
“There is another matter to discuss however,” Jineve continued. “You have done a great crime against the World Tree by denying others entry into the dungeon. They have just as much as a claim to the Age of a Thousand as you. Do not deny any others or there will be consequences.”
Soren growled a little at those words. “And allow some fiend to leave with the souls of my people? My ancestors, some of which were mere babes? So that they can live forever and then enact such horrors on another lineage of undeserving souls? I think not.”
Jineve let a few bolts of electrical energy crackle around her fingertips. I instructed her to calm down. An idea struck me, one that would make things more interesting.
“You are a great king, yes?” she asked.
“I am,” Soren said. “Or at least, the peasants have not rebelled and decapitated me, so that’s a positive indication of my status with them.”
Tree Dungeon Page 10