Dungeons of the Crooked Mountains

by Alexey Osadchuk

  “Ahem-m-m...” he drew out. “I do not envy you, half-baked whelp.”

  Enjoying the confusion and disquiet on my face, he gradually made his way to the exit, his head raised proudly.

  I couldn’t help but overhear a muffled conversation from the two movers in the dining room.

  “Listen, Tox, why does that bank rat keep calling the kid half-baked?” I couldn’t see who was talking, but I recognized the voice. It was Roy, a big dumpy guy with blond hair and a body like a beer keg.

  “Well, that’s what he his. He’s been like crippled ever since he was born,” Tox answered carelessly.

  “Hmm,” Roy answered in surprise. “You’d never know it to look at him. I guess he is a bit scrawny, and has bags under his eyes. So, you reckon he fell ill recently? Well, he did lose his mom and dad a couple days ago. That must be why he’s pale as death.”

  “Naaah,” Tox objected. “He was born that way. Hmm... I guess old Aren, Random rest his soul, had bad luck with sons...”

  For some time, the conversation in the dining room ceased. They were both contemplating.

  Roy was first to break the silence:

  “Say... We’ve still got half a day’s work here, and the time passes quicker when we talk...”

  “Yeah there’s not really much to tell,” Tox answered in strain, clearly moving something heavy. “As you can see, the family had means. A two story house. The farm is doing pretty well. Horses, cows, pigs.”

  “That’s for sure,” notes of envy slipped through in Roy’s voice.

  “The Bergmans are a family of miners,” Tox continued. “His father had the strongest crew. And that whole crew just died in a cave-in.”

  “Yi-iikes...”

  “Bergman’s wife and another couple ladies were bringing their husbands lunch in the mine, too... And basically they all passed on as well....”

  Based on Tox’s vocal timbre, he was truly bothered by the death of my parents and their friends.

  “And what about the sons?” Roy asked.

  “He had bad luck with sons. Well, it all started well. Really well, actually! When his first was born, he got a good set of characteristics. He was the strongest of his age group. By age fourteen, he was working in the mine with his father. And in the winter of that same year, he also won the tournament. And that was when the Baron hired him to serve in his retinue as a novice.”

  “Woah! What’s so unlucky about that?!” Roy exclaimed, baffled.

  “Well, one month later, the Bergmans received news that their son died...”

  “Ah, there it is...”

  “Yep, so...”

  The movers fell silent again, digesting the information. But not for long. This time Tox was first to speak up:

  “The years of grief passed and Aren’s wife got pregnant again. And you’d think that might be cause for joy, but here’s the thing... The baby was born with a slight flaw. Actually, a bit worse... At first they thought he was just dead. No crying, no movement, eyes closed. But they hired a very capable medicine woman as midwife and she noticed he was breathing. Barely, but breathing.”

  “Yi-iikes...” Roy drew out.

  “Ha!” Tox exclaimed. “You haven’t even heard the most important part yet. Aren paid out the butt for a healer from the capital.”

  “I bet!”

  “Anyway, she saw that the kid was born nulled, level zero!” Tox said triumphantly.

  It sounded like Roy’s jaw fell down to the floor with a thundering crash. But then I realized the movers had just gotten to father’s tools.

  “Well, you don’t see that every day!” I heard Roy say, amazed.

  To be frank, I was surprised. He got my story almost exactly right... A few of the details were off, but the gist was overall accurate... My father had told me the story of my birth many times.

  “Hey, you two chumps!” the sudden roar from Dreher made me shudder. “Move your butts! I’m not paying you idiots to talk!”

  The giant lead mover suddenly appeared in the front doorway and shot a glare at the workmen as they scurried over to the door.

  “Lazy bastards,” he growled under his breath. “Don’t you worry, we’ll have plenty of time to talk when you come around asking for your money...”

  He spent a bit longer watching the yard then turned toward me. His gaze had warmed slightly.

  “Get ready, kid,” he said sadly, nodding at the exit. “Your ride is here.”

  Weirdly, I catch myself on the thought that I’ve been impatiently waiting for this since morning. If anyone could know what I’m thinking right now, they’d say I lost my mind.

  Ugh... At a certain level, they’d be close to the truth.

  Two days ago my world, never the most wonderful to begin with, approximately what a cripple like me could expect, just ceased to exist. Watching distantly as our home was plundered, I suddenly realized that I was all alone. Just me and the world, one on one. My big strong father would not be coming to help me again. My talkative and tender mom would never again be drying my tears of despair and anger.

  I felt a lump coming up my throat. My eyes started stinging, betraying my feelings. No! I will not burst into tears. At least not here, not now — that would just amuse the marauders looting my family home. After this is all over, I can find some hole to cower in. There I’ll let my feelings run wild. But not here and not now. Otherwise I’ll betray my father’s memory. He taught me to be strong.

  I watched them moving out my parents’ favorite things. Demolishing the history of our family. And I understood that this place ceased to be my home the moment they died... I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had penetrated one of life’s greatest truths — home is where the people who love you live.

  I slowly crawled off the stool. That was all the speed I was capable of with my two points of agility. But I was happy to have even that.

  I was two years old when I took my first step. That was also when I said my first word. Luck finally shined on father that year, and he was able to buy me my first artifact of the Ancients on the black market in the capital of our Barony. Out of old habit, my arm reached for my chest.

  - Rock Monitor Bone Button.

  - Category: Simple.

  - Agility +2.

  - Strength +1.

  - Mind +3.

  - Restrictions — None.

  - Durability — 25/25.

  Some probably think it funny how happy those pitiful six characteristic points made me... But for me, after two long years confined to a bed like a plank of wood, unfeeling and unable to speak, my father’s gift was and still is the best thing that ever happened...

  I was holding a small knapsack in my hands. In it, I had a small portrait of my parents, two boiled eggs and a crust of bread. Madam Horst, a neighbor, brought me some food for the road. I always used to think she was evil and quarrelsome, but in the end she managed to surprise me. She was the only one who came around to ask what would become of me.

  My normal belt, level zero like all my clothing, had a small compartment where I kept a small pocketknife.

  - Dragonfly Pocketknife.

  - Category: Simple.

  - Damage +2.

  - Restrictions — None.

  - Durability — 55/55.

  It was the last artifact father obtained. My parents gave it to me as a birthday present. Just a few hours before they died...

  Somehow, my pitiful three strength points were able to handle both my own body and the little knapsack. And that was all thanks to a meagre little ring.

  - Steel Ring.

  - Category: Simple.

  - Strength +2.

  - Restrictions — None.

  - Durability — 30/30.

  I once asked father why these simple items were so valuable. As it turned out, the reasons were fairly significant.

  First of all, artifacts of the Ancients have no restrictions. That means anyone can wear them regardless of level or characteristics.

  Second, desp
ite the low bonuses, I could improve them in the future. For now, I just don’t know how.

  Third, though this is just rumored, improving them would not only raise my already existing characteristics but add new ones.

  And the last reason is that these objects, these sca...scalaaa... scal-ab-les... They mean my level will be added to all the item’s characteristics. If I were level one now, all the characteristics of my artifacts would be improved by one. Ah... dreams... dreams...

  Also... Dalia told me this. Handiwork of the Ancients can only be recognized by those with high Mind. For normal folks, they look like normal items, totally unremarkable.

  And as for their appearance... Well, expensive jewelry like a gold ring is sure to attract the wrong kind of attention on the finger of a miner’s son. So it’s perfect that they appear plain and inconspicuous. After all, all things crafted by the Departed are one of a kind, expensive. There’s no reason to draw unneeded attention. That’s one of the first rules father taught me.

  That was exactly why every time a new artifact came to our house, Dalia the healer, first just my mother’s midwife, came as well. And she soon became a friend of the family. Thanks to that little trick, no one ever asked questions. Like for example, when I started to walk after spending more than two years motionless on my back.

  It also created a logical explanation for why the foreman of a miner crew was always going to the bank for more loans. Healers are expensive. Especially healers like Dalia. By the way, mom once spilled that it was none other than the old healer woman who tracked down the handicrafts of the Ancients for me. Father paid her a small finder’s fee for the trouble.

  I’d always suspected my parents were spending lots of money so their son could live like a normal child. But when I actually saw how much debt they’d accrued with all the runaway interest, it made an impression. Enough that the bank took our house, land and whole farm. And I was still in debt to the bank for almost a hundred gold. But the bank sold that debt... So now I’d have to pay back some guy named Bardan...

  Walking out the door of my parents’ house for the very last time, I turned to the lead mover:

  “Mr. Dreher, would you mind telling me who this Bardan is?”

  The giant took a heavy sigh and, hiding a gloomy look, answered:

  “Bardan is a lanista. He owns gladiator pits.”

  Chapter 2

  Two years prior.

  “SO THEN, listen up!”

  Came trainer Droom, his voice booming through the cave. The tough red-head was from a mining crew that competed with my father’s, and was teaching us the basics of the art of mining.

  “Today you will all learn to handle a pickaxe!” he barked, staring gloomily into our young faces.

  After that, the barbed gaze of his black eyes paused on me.

  “Except for Eric Bergman, obviously.” His wide toad-like mouth spread into an acrid smile, revealing a row of crooked yellow teeth.

  My former classmates all looked at me right on cue and started laughing with glee. A blonde named Mia, the prettiest girl in class, laughed especially hard. Surrounded by a crowd of friends, also cute but not quite as pretty, she looked like a queen.

  Mia’s father Hrut, one of the twelve elders of Orchus, was at daggers with my father. Once, he just about broke old Hrut’s face, and it was topic of discussion in the city for quite some time after. It all started when the stuffy elder started raising a stink about a Bugged cripple studying alongside his daughter.

  Honestly, the matter even ended up going to trial. Hrut had the support of the other elders, and my classmates’ parents were unanimously behind them. In their words, my deficiency was slowing down the rest of the class. When hunting for example, my mere presence weakens the whole group. I don’t do damage, but still I supposedly lay claim to the spoils. Plus, they said, I am no end of trouble for the trainers, who are constantly making sure the “half-baked whelp” doesn’t accidentally get struck dead by some mob. After all, my life supply is just ten points... One bite from a large garbage rat.

  In theory, that was exactly how it worked but, in practice, no one ever shared anything with me. And the trainers didn’t give a damn about my safety. If I survived, good. If I died, it was my own fault.

  Gathering resources was also an issue. The tools and resources all had a restriction: minimum level one. And that was the least of my troubles! I couldn’t even eat all mother’s food. Only the dishes with a little zero. The most basic food like bread, butter and honey. Simple fare like meat or porridge, no accoutrements. Seeing the other kids wolf down sweets was a very particular kind of torture...

  In the end, the court decided I should be expelled from school. But I was allowed to sit in and observe. Just be present at lessons. The basic idea was: “look, but don’t touch...” And naturally, the trainers would bear no responsibility if I got hurt...

  A small pickaxe appeared in Droom’s hands. Father had shown me one like it. Little, for training. Five points of damage.

  “I’ll only be explaining this one time!” the trainer barked. “You hold it here, by the handle! Wind up, swing! Hit!”

  The steel, shooting dozens of tiny sparks, struck ore. Without particular effort, Droom applied pressure to the handle and popped out his first rock.

  “Presto! Everyone get it?!”

  A dissonant chorus of children’s voices answered in the affirmative.

  “Okay then, let’s see. Who’s gonna be first?!”

  A tall strong figure quickly broke off from the cluster of students.

  Haakon, son of Ulvar the hunter. Hair black as tar. A supple stature. Soft animalistic movements. The group of girls headed by Mia was watching him, dazed.

  They say when he was born, Random granted him a generous fourteen tablets. Exactly the same as my older brother Ivar got once upon a time... And alas I never even met him.

  Thanks to the Great System’s generous gift, Haakon was progressing much faster than his peers. A week ago, he left with his father and older brother to hunt at level two. He came back five. My former classmates worshipped him for his strength and agility.

  “Master Droom, could you maybe give me a better tool?!” Haakon shouted with defiance.

  Chest puffed out, hands on hips. Poser...

  Droom croaked back happily.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  And extended him a more substantial “adult” pickaxe.

  “Woah!” marveled Thomas, a bigger kid, also a miner’s son like me. “Level five! Like my dad’s! That thing must be heavy!”

  If Haakon was the least bit worried, no one noticed. His handsome face was just beaming with the same self-satisfied smile as ever.

  Walking up almost face to face with the trainer, the hunter’s son extended his right hand for the tool. Droom extended the heavy pickaxe with ease, as if it were light as a feather.

  “Better use two hands,” he said with a smile.

  Despite his self-confident appearance, Haakon took the precaution, for which the teacher rewarded him with a nod of approval.

  All that time we were standing in silence, holding our breath and watching Haakon. He grasps the handle with both hands. Nods at the trainer. Droom lets go. I see the veins on Haakon’s forehead bulge. His hands are quivering in strain, but still he keeps hold of the pick.

  A heavy swing and the steel tip cuts into ore. It looks like he’s working a little harder than Droom, but it doesn’t matter...

  Haakon leverages all his bodyweight onto the handle and, with enormous effort, to the admiring gasps of his classmates, pops out quite a large piece of stone.

  “Well done!” the master barked and patted the boy on the shoulder.

  A satisfied smile froze on Haakon’s face. His eyes ran over some system notifications only he could see.

  “What did you get?”

  “What?”

  “What is it?”

  Questions leapt in, vying with one another.

  Haakon raised a hand
demandingly.

  “Quiet!” shouted Skeggi, Haakon’s best friend. “Read, bro!”

  Haakon concentrated on the invisible text and began reading it at his leisure. Was I the only one who noticed how slowly he read? He must have less Mind than even me.

  “Attention you have acquired four pounds of ore! Congratulations! You receive...”

  Haakon ran a sly meaningful look over all of us and continued: