by Nick Harrow
The scorpion queen’s words fired up the wahket, and they pushed back hard against the crush of scarabkin. Blows rained down on the front ranks, but they held their shields high to ward them off. Zillah’s spear flashed and darted as her tail lashed at our enemies, and for a moment, I thought we’d pull it off.
And then one of the wahket in the front ranks cried out and fell to one knee. She was exhausted by the attacks that hammered against her shield, and she just didn’t have the strength to stand.
The wahket behind her pulled the fallen warrior out of the fray, and one of their number stepped up to take her place. It was a valiant effort, but it wouldn’t be enough.
The bug men didn’t have to be stronger or better fighters than the wahket. They had numbers, and the willingness to throw their bodies onto the spears of their enemies until they dragged the cat women down. We were in a war of attrition, and we didn’t have the numbers to win that kind of fight.
Before despair set in, though, a calm, soothing voice surrounded us, and a white light filled the passageway.
It took me a moment to realize the voice belonged to Nephket. She stood slightly behind me, her eyes closed and her hands raised with the palms facing the ceiling of the dungeon passageway. She sang a wordless tune, and waves of soothing white light flowed up from her hands and showered the wahket in luminous power.
The wahket ahead of me straightened, and their spines stiffened. They tightened their grips on their weapons and raised their shields a little higher. It wasn’t much, but the spell had clearly eased their fatigue, which would buy us some more time.
But if we were going to win this battle, I needed to pull a trick out of my ass, and quickly.
“Good work, Neph,” I said. “Keep your people strong. I’m going to try to end this fight, but I need some time.”
I don’t know if she heard me or not, and it didn’t matter. She kept right on singing, her eyes closed and her hands raised. She’d do her job, and I’d do mine.
I had earned three ka from our clashes with the bug men so far. That wasn’t enough to incarnate, but it was enough to unlock The Dungeon Speaks. I activated that ability and five ka vessels emptied into my core.
“Hold them,” I shouted to Zillah over the din of battle. “For as long as you can. With any luck, you won’t have to for much longer.”
The scorpion queen shot me a glance and a wicked grin, then turned back to the fight. I had faith she’d fight until she couldn’t. That was all I could ask.
Nephket’s voice had gone ragged, but she didn’t stop singing. Her spell was the only thing keeping the rest of the wahket on their feet, and I knew that when she faltered so would they.
Before I left for my desperate mission, I cupped both hands around Nephket’s soft cheeks and kissed her gently on the forehead.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said. “Keep them alive.”
I retreated to the rear of the column of wahket and opened a new passageway that led down beneath the surface of the cavern. Pinchy had scuttled along behind me, deftly avoiding the wahket by climbing on the ceiling. I was glad she’d come, because I needed her.
“Let’s go, little buddy,” I said to her. “It’s time to open another front in this battle.”
It took less than a minute for me to create the passage I needed, and another minute of conferring with Pinchy to make sure I’d lined everything up correctly. The last thing I needed to do was open a passage in the wrong spot and ruin everything.
Before I could launch my new assault, though, I felt a sharp pang of fear gush out of Nephket’s thoughts and into mine. She still sang, but her strength wouldn’t last much longer. The front lines of our battle against the scarabs had ground down to a holding maneuver. The wahket kept the bug men from advancing, but the cat women were exhausted, and their attacks had grown weak. Even Zillah had slowed as her strength ebbed.
It wouldn’t be long before they were overrun.
“Not on my fucking watch,” I growled and returned to the main passage.
“This is your dungeon lord speaking,” I said to the back rank of crossbow-wielding wahket. “Enter the new passage I created. It’s time for you to be heroes.”
The wahket seemed nervous at first, but they still followed my orders. They charged down the passage, and I ran along with them. Their bodies mingled with mine as we moved, and I hoped the chill of my presence would let them know I was right there with them.
I focused on the last five feet of my passage, and it sloped upward and burst through the floor on the left side of the scarabkin’s column. We’d emerged from the steps leading into the temple, and the lip of the new passageway was ten feet over the heads of the scarabkin. They couldn’t reach us, but we could sure as hell could reach out and touch them.
“Turn them into pincushions,” I ordered. “Fire on those closest to the front rank. Drive them back.”
“Left front,” one of the wahket cried, and they all fired their weapons at once.
The chosen target’s carapace splintered as eight bolts found the back of his neck and head. He collapsed forward, into the passageway. The surprise attack disrupted the scarabkin’s attack, and the beetle boys milled about in confusion.
“Again!” the wahket cried in unison, and their crossbows sang. The bolts drilled into the back of another scarabkin, and his collapse into his brothers sowed confusion in their ranks.
The bug men were too stupid to use real tactics; they operated more on instinct than strategic senses. The wahket in the tunnel barred their path, but they weren’t a threat any longer. To the scarabkin, the real danger was from the bows above them that rained death onto their backs.
The leading body of bug men pulled back from the first dungeon passage and turned in unison to face my archers and me. Their mandibles opened wide, and a gout of frothy acid soared through the air.
“Back!” I shouted
The wahket didn’t need to be told twice. They retreated from the assault and watched in horror as the acidic saliva splashed onto the mouth of the corridor. The green slime sizzled and bubbled against the stone, but none of my people had been hit.
With the bugs out of the main passage, it was time to execute the second part of my plan. I willed that entrance to close.
I prayed no red message would flare across my vision and tell me I couldn’t close the passage because one of the bugfuckers was in the way.
But it didn’t happen.
“Thank you,” Nephket whispered in my mind. Even her thoughts were exhausted. “We couldn’t have held them much longer.”
“Retreat from that passage and follow the new branch I created,” I told her. “We’re going to do an end run on these dirtbags.”
The scarabkin turned toward the temple and climbed the steps with ponderous, plodding steps. They spat acid as they advanced, and their saliva hissed and sizzled on the passage’s lips, but they couldn’t reach us from their angle.
“Nice try, assholes.” I sealed that end of the passage. With a thought, I bent the corridor back on itself, and it surged up the stairs to the temple’s doors. I was done fucking around. It was time to steal the stele.
My passage stopped at the temple’s doors, and I ground my teeth in frustration.
[[[Unable to create passageway through this portal.]]]
“Fine,” I grumbled, and widened my passage until its edges surrounded the set of double doors. Then to the wahket, “Open the door, please.”
Four of cat women attached their crossbows to the brackets on the back of their armor next to their bolt cases, then headed for the doors. Two grabbed the massive pull ring on the right, and two grabbed the one on the left. With a shout, they threw their weight back and dragged the doors open.
Beyond the passageway’s end, I saw my target. The stele glowed like a freshly struck lightning rod, and runes of power danced across its surface. It pulled at me like the smell of fresh roast beef to a starving man.
I shoved the dungeon corridor forward
, eager to get my hands on the prize. I’d claim the stele, expand my territory, and then rampage through the Guild’s gate like King Kong. This fight was as good as over...
A woman stepped out from behind the stele and into my path. The dungeon’s stone floor stopped at the tips of her toes, and she held up one hand like a traffic cop commanding me to halt.
The strange woman was almost as tall as I was and wore an iridescent cloak that swirled from her shoulders like a glittering cloud. A gown of loose gray cloth cascaded from her shoulders over her body, and its tone was so close to a perfect match to her skin that for a moment I thought she was naked. Feathery antenna rose from her temples and twitched in my direction as her bulbous eyes glared at me. She reminded me of a startled moth, beautiful despite her drab appearance.
“Begone, vile creature,” she snapped, and her hateful tone knocked her attractiveness from a solid eight down to a shaky six. All the curves in the world couldn’t make up for the spite that dripped from every syllable.
She also sounded weird. Her voice was low and thrummed with strange undercurrents that gave it surprising depth and texture. A crackling white aura appeared around her as she raised one hand and formed a complicated geometric pattern in the air between us. “You will not claim the headstone of the Buried King.”
“We’ll see about that,” I quipped, and then grumbled because I realized she couldn’t hear me. She was outside my dungeon, which meant I was mute as far as she was concerned.
“Bring her into the dungeon,” I said to the wahket.
They glanced nervously at one another for a moment, then did as I asked. Whatever magic the strange woman had must have been meant to stop dungeon lords, not cat people, because the wahket strode straight through the pattern that hung in the air before the woman. She struggled against them, but their strong hands held her fast as they dragged her into the dungeon.
“This stele is mine,” I said in a tone I hoped sounded suitably impressive.
The woman’s head jerked from side to side as she sought the source of the words, and her antennae quivered. She looked satisfyingly terrified.
“I have watched over this place for a thousand years,” the woman said. “And my army of scarabkin will not allow your crime to stand. Claim the headstone, if you think you are able, but they will destroy you and your pets before the sun rises again.”
The woman’s voice was strong and filled with conviction, but I could see that her hand trembled as she held it before her, and her eyes were wide with fear. She was the most dangerous kind of enemy: too fanatical to back down and too scared to think logically.
I focused my dungeon lord powers on her to get a sense of how hard she’d be to kill.
[[[Scarabkin Blood Oracle
Medium monstrosity, neutral evil
Armor Class: 14 (Natural Armor), 11 While Prone
Hit Points: 54
Speed: 30 feet
STR: 13 (+1)
DEX: 11 (+0)
CON: 13 (+1)
INT: 1 (-5)
WIS: 17 (+3)
CHA: 15 (+2)
Senses: Dark Sight 60 feet, Vibration Sense 60 feet, Passive Perception 14
Languages: Common, Fiend Tongue
Challenge: 3
Abilities
Blood Ritual of Seeing: The Scarabkin Blood Oracle may perform this ritual three times each month. The ritual requires eight hours to perform, culminates in the sacrifice of one intelligent creature, and grants the Blood Oracle a vision of the most powerful magical item within three miles of her present location. The Blood Oracle also knows the direction and distance to the magic item, as well as its relative power level. The Scarabkin Blood Oracle uses this ritual to guide her people to possible sites where the Buried Kings may be found.
Devourers of Decay: The Scarabkin Blood Oracle can regenerate 6 hit points per round if she has access to a corpse upon which to feast. While performing this action, the scarabkin is quite vulnerable. Any attacks made against her have advantage during the feasting round.
Actions
Corpseglow Scepter: Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 feet, one target. Hit: 4 to 19 (Average 11) bludgeoning damage plus 1 to 6 (Average 3) decay damage. Any non-scarabkin who sees the weapon cause damage must make a DC 13 Wisdom Save. Those who fail their save are frightened for 1 to 6 minutes. Those who succeed are frightened for 1 to 6 rounds. A corpseglow scepter will only work for a Blood Oracle and is treated as a normal cudgel by a member of any other race.
Acid Spray: The Scarabkin Blood Oracle spits acid in a line that is 30 feet long and 5 feet wide, provided that it has no creature grappled. Each creature in that line must make a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw, taking 3 to 18 (Average 10) acid damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. The Blood Oracle requires one minute to recharge her acid spray before it can be used again.
Description
The Scarabkin Blood Oracle looks almost human in appearance, though the vestigial wings that drape from their shoulders and their opalescent, oversized eyes set them apart. Their gray skin has a slightly scaly feel and provides them with natural armor.
Lair and Lair Actions
The scarabkin prefer to lair amidst the ruins of the Buried Kings, but where that is not possible they will create burrows of their own beneath graveyards or other sites with ready access to rotten meat.]]]
A strange grinding noise echoed through the temple from the direction of its doors, and I glanced over my shoulder to see what the hell was going on.
“We have a problem, boss,” Zillah said. “Those bug men are chewing their way into the tunnel you made.”
The oracle sensed my distraction and made her move. With a savage cry, she tore loose from the wahket who held her and raced out of my dungeon. She spun in front of the stele to face the wahket and brandished a gruesome scepter that looked like it had been fashioned from a fresh femur.
“Take her down,” I said to the wahket. “Watch out for her spit and don’t get close to her. Fill her full of bolts.”
“We hear and obey,” the wahket shouted as one.
The wahket formed a firing line at the edge of the dungeon, but the oracle moved behind the stele for cover. I wasn’t sure it could be damaged by a crossbow bolt, but I didn’t want to find out. I needed the damned thing intact, and I needed it soon.
“Circle around her,” I commanded the wahket. “Don’t shoot toward the stele if you can help it.”
“As you wish,” they shouted and charged to the attack.
The wahket threw themselves out of the passageway with their crossbows held at the ready. They moved with the sleek grace of hunting panthers and quickly formed a wide circle around the Blood Oracle.
“You will never take the treasure of the Buried Kings,” she shouted.
While the wahket prowled around the crazed woman and looked for openings, I pulled up my Tablet of Engineering to see how much damage the stupid beetle people had caused.
Fortunately, the scarabkin didn’t look like they’d made much progress. They’d attacked the tunnel near the U-turn I’d taken to move it back up to the temple, a part of the tunnel that had thicker walls due to its curvature. Their mandibles and fancy acid spit might let them move through regular dirt or rock with ease, but they had some trouble with the artificial construction of my dungeon.
“Split your team,” I said to Nephket. “Send Zillah and half the spears around to the original passage to wait for my signal. You need to take the other half of the spears and the crossbows to the bend in the tunnel and be ready to attack as soon as you see the first one of those buggy little pricks.”
“On it,” Nephket said. But behind her terse response she pushed a feeling into my thoughts. It was as warm as a lover’s embrace and as invigorating as a shot of Red Bull in a cup of black coffee. It was her faith in my ability to lead us through this mess, and I appreciated it more than I could say.
The vibrato twang of a crossbow string drew my attention
back to the fight before me. One of the wahket had seen an opening, and she’d taken it. Her bolt ripped through the oracle’s sleeve and drew a bright line of red blood across the woman’s bicep.
The oracle hissed in rage and made a desperate lunge for the wahket who had fired her weapon. What I’d taken for the oracle’s cloak flared behind her, and she rose from the ground as it flapped to life. The almost-vestigial wings gleamed like frosted glass in the golden glow that poured out of my tunnel and into the temple.
Before the crazed woman could reach the wahket, her mistake became her undoing.
The cat women saw that they all had a clear line of attack now that the oracle was above the stele, and they took their shots. All seven of their crossbows fired and skewered the oracle with a series of meaty thunks.
The oracle hit the ground on the far side of the stele hard. Blood ran from her wounds and pooled on the floor. Red rivulets coursed away from her and flowed through faint cracks in the temple’s floor.
I saw my chance and took it. The tunnel surged forward until the stele was just inside of it, then stopped cold. I’d reached the edge of my territory.
The Blood Oracle raised her head and stared murderously into my tunnel. She couldn’t see me, but in that moment, she could sense me. She used her evil cudgel to drag herself up to her feet and reached toward me with one outstretched hand.
“No,” she cried. “You won’t have it. It belongs to us!”
The wahket didn’t wait to see what she’d do next. They’d already reloaded and fired on the oracle. Their bolts pierced her body in half a dozen places, and she fell to her knees again. Blood oozed from her wounds and flowed in a thick, red line straight for the stele.
“Buried Kings, hear my plea,” the Blood Oracle screamed. “Answer the cries of your faithful, oh ancient ones. Rise from your slumber and avenge this travesty!”
As the Blood Oracle’s screams echoed through the cavern, something answered her. Ragged cracks spread across the temple’s marble floors, and the stele vibrated in its position like a tuning fork struck with a mallet.
Something was coming.