Omnibus Volume 1
Page 75
Gryph spun his spear and on pure instinct activated Parry, blocking Myrthendir’s second attack. He pushed more stamina into Counter Attack, earning a grunt of pain as his spear sliced the Prince Regent along the forearm.
Gryph! Wick sent in alarm as hundreds of metal feet smacked onto stone with dull clinks and formed a gauntlet around Gryph and Myrthendir. More of the metal creatures pushed Gryph’s friends back through the doorway. Then the massive stone doors swung shut, crushing a dozen of the arachnids still trying to get through.
The slam echoed through the room with a boom and metal bolts snapped into the frame. As the doors sealed, Gryph felt his connection to the other members of his Adventure Party blink out like candles in a storm.
Myrthendir grinned as he circled around Gryph like a predator teasing its prey. The automatons gave them both a wide berth. It seemed the elf lord wanted to have fun. He spun and thrust again, but Gryph’s skill with the spear had increased significantly in the last few days and once again metal crushed against the wood of the elf lord’s staff.
Gryph adjusted his grip and spun his spear, ripping the staff from his enemies’ hands. Gryph pressed the attack activating Penetrating Strike and Impale and thrust forward. His aim was true, but with a quick twist of his hand Myrthendir summoned a dinner plate sized hole in reality.
The spear pushed through the tear and then a stabbing pain erupted as the spear tore into Gryph’s back, dangerously close to his kidneys. Confusion ripped through his mind as his health dropped by a third and he lurched to his knees, the Stun effect of Impale holding him fast.
Debuff Added: You have been Stunned. You cannot counterattack or move effectively for 5 seconds.
Debuff Added: You are Bleeding. 5 DMG/Sec.
Gryph flailed in shock and tried to pull the spear from his back. The rift in reality shimmered in front of him, held open by the spear. The mind-bending irrationality of seeing his own back through the rift mixed with blood loss and the Stun debuff made his attempts to remove the spear clumsy and painful. It was like trying to use a mirror to remove a splinter from your back while drunk, instincts and expected direction were all askew.
Myrthendir walked behind Gryph, grabbed the spear’s shaft and wrenched it upwards. A scream tore at Gryph’s throat and his health dropped another 10%. Coupled with the debuffs he would soon dip below 50%.
“I think it’s time you and I had a conversation.” To ensure Gryph was listening Myrthendir grabbed the spear shaft and shoved it forward. Another scream echoed around the room and his health dropped another 20%, bile mixing with the blood in his mouth.
“What do you want?” Gryph said, coughing a gobbet of the bloody mess onto the floor.
Myrthendir knelt down close to Gryph, one hand still gripping the spear and whispered: “Give me the arboleth eggs.”
“Fuck you.” Gryph felt a moment of satisfaction as he saw the elf lord’s veneer of control leave his face, but then the spear tip twisted sharply in his back and punched through his abdomen. Gryph howled in pain again and his health plummeted to 20% as another debuff warning flashed in his vision.
Debuff Added: You have suffered a Critical Wound to a vital organ - kidney. 10DMG/Sec.
As his mind tried to process the paradox of the dual shafts of his spear, a desperate gamble came to Gryph. If he died, he’d respawn back in the Barrow, with his soul bound satchel and everything it contained. The arboleth eggs would be safe from whatever malevolence Myrthendir had planned, but the lost time would ensure his enemy would gain control of the warborn. That control would mean certain death for his friends. He had to make sure the aberrant elf lord kept him around.
“I’m dying, and when I do, I take your prize with me.” Gryph forced a laugh which brought more pain.
Barely controlled rage burned across Myrthendir’s face and he dug into his own bag, removing a vial of red liquid. He popped the cork, grabbed Gryph’s face and forced the potion down his throat. Gryph coughed as the liquid flowed into him filling him with warmth. His health crept upwards, but the critical wound debuff still blinked slowly stealing his life.
Myrthendir tossed the vial aside where it smashed against the nearest column and then knelt in front of Gryph. He grabbed the spear shaft and then leaned close to Gryph’s ear. “I will make you feel ten times this pain once I have what I want.” Then he pulled the entire length of the spear through Gryph’s body.
The pain was indescribable, and it overwhelmed his mind. His vision warbled like a mirage on a hot desert road and a pounding like the distant rumble of thunder kept time with his own heartbeat. Particles of dust and bits of loose stone drifted down upon him, and as blessed darkness pulled him away from worry and pain, he thought he saw a look of alarm cross Myrthendir’s face.
29
Wick watched Errat smash the last two arachnid survivors of Myrthendir’s trap. He felt the warborn’s pain and Ovyrm placed a hand on the massive man’s shoulder in sympathy. Errat looked down with an odd grin that lay somewhere between acceptance and despair. After a moment he looked away, as if their sympathy made the experience more real, more painful.
Wick turned his attention to the massive doors. No obvious lock or handle presented itself and he suspected that even if any of them were a master thief, it was unlikely they could open them.
Even Xeg could not port through, despite having got a good look at the room on the other side. It wasn’t for lack of trying as the demonling tried porting in several times, each time flying back as if tossed by an invisible hand. Ovyrm guessed it was magically shielded, a fact confirmed a few minutes later after Xeg tried to port in from other directions. If Wick didn’t know better, he'd say the imp was worried.
“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do now?” Wick asked, voice desperate.
“We need to break it down,” Errat said.
“And just how do you plan on doing that? Gonna punch your way through?”
“Okay,” Errat said and punched the door with all his might. His fist thwacked against the stone with bone breaking force and the others winced. Errat pulled his hand back and examined it with a bored expression. It seemed none the worse for the punishment, but a mild grunt of pain burped forth from him and he rubbed idly at his fingers.
“That didn’t work,” Errat said and gave Wick a shrug.
Wick’s mouth hung open, and he gave Ovyrm a sideways glance. The xydai shrugged while Tifala examined the three fingered hand. “Nothing seems broken, but I wouldn’t try that again.”
“Warborn have steel laced bones, very difficult to break.”
“Apparently so. How about your head?” Wick muttered.
Errat looked at Wick as if considering the suggestion and Tifala cast a glare at him. Ovyrm reached out a hand to stop any more absurdity. “No head butting and no more punching.”
“You’re wrong. That’s exactly what we need,” Wick said and the others all looked at him. “We need Avernerius.”
“Even he isn’t strong enough to smash through that,” Tifala said.
“Not yet,” Wick said dread building up inside him. He waited for understanding to come to Tifala. After a moment her eyes went wide.
“There has to be another way?”
“If you have one I am all ears,” Wick said, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not like I want to do it.”
“Do what?” Ovyrm asked.
Tifala’s eyes grew desperate as her mind failed to find another solution. “Dammit Wick,” Tifala said.
He smiled grimly and took her face in his hands. “I am yours and you are mine.” He held out the pinky of his right hand and she took it with her own. “As long as you are with me, I can handle any path I am forced to walk.” She held his gaze, and after a moment she nodded. “Even if I grow a tail?” Her eyes snapped up at him, the glare telling him that now was not the time for one of his jokes.
“I’m missing something,” Ovyrm said.
“He needs to up the power of Avernerius,” Tifala said, wor
ry burning her face. “Being a chthonic summoner is not as simple as some other Specialties. It takes a toll, demands a cost. It is a cost he no longer wants to bear. He’s been saving his Specialty Points for a year, waiting on an opportunity to change his life. Then we got caught by the Barrow.” She reached up and caressed the side of Wick’s face and she sighed. “This will drag him further into the vile and the despair.”
Ovyrm placed a hand on each of the small gnomes’ shoulders. “Then it is a burden we will carry together. I will help, we will all help, in any way we can.”
“Thank you Ovyrm,” Wick said.
“Xeg no help. Xeg like vile and despair. Stupid blue head will miss vile and despair. Stupid blue head look much prettier with a tail. Hope gets tail.”
Wick sighed. The imp’s comments hit too close to home. He enjoyed the power of the chthonic, loved it at times, and that scared him the most. Chthonic summoning was like a drug, one that gave ever more fleeting gifts while demanding more and more in return.
Errat walked up and awkwardly joined the circle of companionship, pulling them into a tight embrace. “Errat will help how I may.”
“Um, I appreciate the kind words big guy, but my face is kinda crammed into your ... um …crotch?”
Wick pushed back from Errat, extricating himself from the uncomfortable embrace. He squeezed Tifala’s hand, took a deep breath and looked inward, opening his interface. As his Specialty Sheets popped into the fore of his vision, he thought back on that first fateful decision that set him on the road to ruin that was his current life.
He hadn’t meant to become a warlock. Like many things in his life that would later bite him on the ass, his first chthonic summons was born from a practical joke. He’d learned his first spell from a wandering mage who’d come to their village one summer solstice. At first, the old spell caster refused to teach young Wick any magic at all, but after endless pestering the mage taught the young gnome a lesson and gave him exactly what he’d asked for.
That night, as the rest of the village was fast asleep, Wick summoned Xeg for the first time. He sent the imp to terrify his younger cousin Jebbis for tattling on Wick earlier that day. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, Wick could still hear Jebbis’ screams. Then he had laughed, despite the tanning his father gave him in the aftermath. Now, the memory only sent his mind to his cousin’s brutal death at the hands of the baalgrath and the screams he heard no longer made him laugh.
Jebbis was gone and Xeg was still here. That was all the proof Wick needed to prove he’d taken the wrong path. The Realms could be a cruel place, with a wicked sense of humor. Now he was doubling down yet again on that original mistake, but this time he knew it was a mistake before doing it. Yet I'll do it, anyway. He also knew there was no choice. Some things were bigger than he, and if they couldn’t get through this door and help Gryph, the Realms would face a terror unseen in millennia.
Wick had five Specialty Points and three Perk Points in reserve. First, he opened the Chthonic Magic Skill Tree. He was an Apprentice in the skill with a current level of 31. The Tier Ability he’d gained at level 20 was called Chthonic Binding. It enabled him to peer into the chthonic realm and bind the first demon he saw to him. From that day forward he could use the ability to summon the bound demon once per day.
He’d been both blessed and cursed when he’d performed the binding ritual. Few Apprentice Tier summoners could ever hope to encounter, much less bind, an abyssal terror. Avernerius considered it an insult when confronted with the binding and almost ripped Wick’s mind apart during the ceremony. That’s probably why he looks so pissed every time I summon him.
Wick assumed his luck was a byproduct of his 100% Affinity for Chthonic Magic, but an offhand comment by Xeg a few years back made him suspicious. “Xeg make practical joke. Very funny. Ha. Ha. Ha,” the demonling boasted. Wick didn’t really believe Xeg had anything to do with Avernerius, not really. After all, he was a lowly imp and Avernerius was a lieutenant of the Abyss. The bastard was just messing with me, right?
Wick pushed the ancient errors from his mind and returned to the task at hand. He’d long ago purchased the first tier perks Mana, Effectiveness and Item Power. All served him well, especially Item Power after he’d taken the Staff of Xyrgoth from the corpse of a goblin warlock a few years back. Among other things, the staff juiced up his summoning capabilities by increasing the Stats, Attributes and duration of any summoned chthonic creature.
Mana: Reduces the cost needed for any spell in this sphere to the percentage listed.
Effectiveness: Increases the effectiveness (damage, duration, heal, etc.) for any spell in this sphere to the percentage listed.
Resistance: The ability to resist a percentage of the effects of spells and weapons derived from this sphere of magic.
Item Power: Any magical item or weapon in this sphere has its effectiveness increased by the listed percentage.
Item Power boosted the power of the staff by 25%. The Apprentice tier of the same perk would add another 25%. He dropped a point into that perk. He also tossed another into Effectiveness. Normally that was not a perk you could stack, but the staff allowed for that kind of double dipping. A good thing the goblin warlock hadn’t understood that, or he’d have kicked Wick’s ass.
Wick sighed, both in satisfaction and irritation. He hated wasting the valuable Perk Points making the demonic asshole Avernerius stronger, but he’d not be earning any more if he ended up dead. Who would have thought a high elf would be a bigger prick than a demon? The Realms are a weird ass place.
Chthonic Magic Perk Tree
Tier
Mana
Effective
Resist
Item Power
B
80%
+25%
+20%
+25%
A
70%
+50%
+30%
+50%
JM
60%
+75%
+40%
+75%
M
50%
+100%
+50%
+100%
GM
30%
+200%
+60%
+200%
D
20%
+300%
+80%
+300%
He kept his last Perk Point in reserve. None of his other skills would be the difference between life and death in his current situation. That single point would be a beacon to his future self, one where he would remake himself.
He toggled over to his Specialty window and a starscape exploded into existence around him. Each skill, also known as a master skill, was the basis of a Specialty. A Specialty was essentially a niching down of one of the master skills and required specialized training to unlock.
A Specialty could be earned at level 20, if the hopeful specialist found a willing Master to teach them. At least three sub skills became available to the specialist once a Speciality was gained, each with their own perk trees. Sub skills and their perks were not like normal skills. They were only available to someone of that Specialty and normally they enhanced the effectiveness of the master skill that spawned them.
Wick’s Specialty was a warlock, one who worked to master Chthonic Magic. Cyrus the Mad, a powerful warlock who'd terrorized the southern tip of the Myrric Mountains north of Wick’s home for years was Wick's mentor. After decades of irritating the nearby dwarf kingdoms, Cyrus earned the ire of a mighty dwarf priest named Thardiik. Thardiik led a successful holy crusade against the demon summoner, ousting him from their land.
Defeated and humiliated, Cyrus turned his gaze south to an area that included Erram, the small village of gnomes, humans and hill dwarves that Wick and Tifala called home. The people of Erram were not warriors and had little defense against the ravages of the mad warlock. Desperate to save his people, Wick gave himself over to Cyrus to be the man’s apprentice.
Wick studied under the vile man
for years. During that time he'd frequently, and secretly, saved the people of Erram from demonic attack. Something Tifala reminded the villagers of whenever they treated Wick as a pariah.