Omnibus Volume 1

by C. M. Carney

  I thought you said I’d have everlasting life! Simon grumbled in alarm.

  I said the potential for everlasting life, but the Realms are a dangerous place and there are a hundred ways for you to die.

  Thanks for that happy bit of news, Simon muttered. He felt like a teenager dumped at the prom watching his date making out with the quarterback. He cocked his head to the side as he wondered what the prom was, or for that matter a quarterback.

  At least you are not a ‘douche’. That should help your survival chances.

  Thanks. Simon pondered the idea for many long minutes, wishing that Gryph had been here to advise him. Simon understood very little about being a dungeon master, but he knew as the conqueror of the Barrow, Gryph held some kind of dominion over it. While Simon would be the dungeon master, Gryph was kinda his boss.

  Can I make this kind of decision without him?

  But then, in typical teenage fashion, Simon realized his own wisdom and intelligence far surpassed all others and made his decision. What the hell, let’s do this thing.

  The thing is done, the voice of the Barrow said in his mind.

  Simon’s body moved and his mind expanded. He was everywhere in the Barrow and nowhere. He felt the wyrmynn huddled and afraid. He slowed momentarily over the cast-off soul stuff that comprised the massive black ooze until the psychic pain emanating from the hive-like mind pushed him away.

  Next, they spun through the muggy cave the dark dryad and her fungus minions called home. Simon hovered over her presence a bit longer than was polite, but she intrigued him.

  You like her, The Barrow said.

  “What?” Simon exclaimed, eyes snapping open. “No man, just checking out any potential threats,” Simon said aloud.

  If you say so.

  “Uncool, dude,” Simon said, but let it go and closed his eyes, diving again into the Barrow’s perception.

  He flowed over the empty enclave in the Gray Haven where a company of thieves had once lived. Gryph had made Simon let the men go even though some of their pals had tried to kill him. “Judge a man by his actions, not those of others,” Gryph had told him. Simon understood the idea but thought Gryph had been too nice.

  I agree, said the Barrow. I could have fed on them.

  Fed?

  Yes, that is how I sustain my existence. I lure adventures and monsters in and then feed on them.

  Ewww, that is …

  Efficient.

  If you say so.

  I am hungry.

  A pulse of hunger hit Simon. The sensation was so strong, it nearly drove Simon mad, but then he found his courage. I triumphed over that dick knocker Ouzeriuo. I will not lose myself to a damn hole in the ground. A moment of panic pulsed through Simon. Sorry, no offense.

  None taken.

  You are more than hungry; you are starving.

  Yes, the Barrow said and a status window appeared in their shared vision.

  The Barrow - Sentient Dungeon

  Host: Simon

  Current Tier: 1

  True Tier: 8

  Status: Starving

  Health: 1,030/86,890

  The Barrow is one of the most ancient sentient dungeons on all Korynn, but years of neglect have left it starving. To return to its former glory, it needs to feed.

  Current Level Essence Points: 3.

  Explain what I am seeing, Simon asked.

  When I feed I absorb the level essence of the creatures. A level 10 warrior will give me 10 Level Essence Points and 100 health. To survive, I need to consume Level Essence Points equal to my True Tier each day. Currently, I require eight per day.

  What happens if you don’t have enough Level Essence Points? Simon asked, noting that the Barrow only had three.

  Then I cannibalize myself at the cost of 10 health per missing Level Essence Point per day. Every 10,000 points of health earns a new Tier. If I drop below a Tier threshold, then I lose the ability to create higher level monsters and loot, thus making it more difficult to lure quality prey.

  You eat yourself?

  If I must.

  What happens if you run out of health?

  I will go dormant, and an outside force would need to sacrifice 1000 Level Essence Points to awaken me once more. That is why there are so many dormant dungeons across Korynn.

  What happens to me if you go dormant?

  You will die.

  Panic took Simon, and he looked around at the scattered bodies, both the recently alive, like Dirge and his pals, and the desiccated corpses of the twice dead dread knights. Why didn’t you eat them?

  I needed to form a bond to absorb them.

  And Ouzeriuo would not bond with you.

  No, he would not. As you said he was a … douche.

  Now that we’ve bonded, can you absorb them?

  Yes, I am in the process now.

  As Simon watched, the corpses started to melt, and after a few minutes, they had turned into puddles of viscous goo which were then absorbed directly through the stone floor of the Barrow. Gross, it’s like watching someone chew with their mouth open.

  He also sensed the Barrow’s reserve of Level Essence Points rise to 168 and its health to 2,710. A flush of well-being flowed through the Barrow and into Simon.

  Feel better? He asked the sentient dungeon that was now not only his home but also a part of him.

  Yes. I am not whole, but I am better.

  Well, good then. Simon let himself expand into this new world that was him and was not him. Let’s find us some tasty grub. I hear wyrmynn tastes like chicken.

  2

  Erram was one of those idyllic hamlets whose wondrous mountains, lakes and forests drew artists from around Korynn. These artists would then waste their lives and their talents painting the same scene over and over for tourists. Everyone wanted to live there until they did and then they could not wait to leave.

  Its populace was mostly of human ancestry, but a vibrant gnomish community and an enclave of hill dwarves also called the town home. The town was also a popular summer destination for the nobles of the Eldarian Dominion, their hangers-on, the hangers-on of the hangers-on and those of nefarious intent who preyed on all the above.

  On any given summer day a varied cast of characters walked the main thoroughfares and skulked through the back alleys of Erram. It was in this town on a fine midweek morning, when no clouds marred the sky, that Bahldreck, a seventh son of a little respected, yet very wealthy, noble family preached the good word.

  “And the High God did sayeth that the dead must die and the living shall stay alive, and no true servant of the High God shall consort with the dead, even if by accident while one was very drunk on elderberry wine. He commandeth thee to not let the dead live and to never speak of their goings-on,” Bahldreck droned.

  It was his soporific tone, which rivaled even the best sleeping potions, that made Bahldreck’s sermons so popular with the town’s insomniacs. A group of these unfortunate souls currently slumbered in the grass in front of him, their low snores the only response Bahldreck ever got to his long-winded and rambling exhortations against the undead.

  Nobody in Erram knew why the living dead rankled the paunchy noble so thoroughly. Sure, nobody liked zombies or skeletons and a rogue revenant could cause havoc if left unchecked, but Bahldreck hated the undead with a passion that most noble-born sons showed only for drink, women and the crushing of serf rebellions.

  None of these things interested Bahldreck who spent every evening, rain or shine, preaching from atop the overturned turnip cart that doubled as his pulpit. He read nightly from his gold-embossed copy of The Testament of the High God. Many a thief coveted the beautiful book if only with eyes intent on pilfering the book’s gold and not for the words of wisdom it contained. It was the most valuable item in Bahldreck’s possession, or so he, and nearly everyone else, believed.

  “There, do you see it?” came a deep voice from a dapper gentleman named Verreth. He stood with his companions in the shadows of a broad-le
afed tree watching Bahldreck the way a spider watches a fly.

  “What? The git on the turnip cart?” asked a wiry Aegyptian named Gerryt.

  “Yes, and no,” said Verreth as if he were talking to a child or a dimwit who’d fallen off a turnip cart too many times. “Not the git, the necklace.”

  All eyes turned back to Bahldreck as a beam of sunlight hit the preacher in the chest causing the dullest of glints to flash from a gray amulet hanging around his neck on a length of leather twine.

  “It look like tin,” grumbled Brahk, an overly muscled half-orc. “Brahk like gold better than tin.”

  “He’s right, enough gold covers that book to keep us in beds and drink for a week,” said Serraia, a sea elf air mage long ago exiled by her people.

  “We’re not defacing a holy book for a few coins of gold,” Verreth snapped.

  “Since when have you been a man of the gods?” Gerryt asked.

  “Ever since I saw Aluran in action,” Verreth said. “Now I do not believe the superstitions that the High God sees all, but I like being alive and I have no plans of risking his wrath over a few measly coins.”

  “Brahk am dumber than stable boy been kicked in head too many times, but even me know no mess with gods.” The others nodded at the truth of the ill-spoken statement.

  “Then why do we care about him and his stupid tin bauble?” Serraia asked.

  “Because he and his tin bauble will help us plunder the Barrow,” Verreth said with a grin.

  *****

  Bahldreck still had ten minutes left to his normal sermon but the ominous bank of lightning flushed clouds approaching from the mountains, convinced him he’d accomplished his day’s work.

  He reverently wrapped The Testament of the High God in a protective layer of waxed paper and then secured it inside his waterproof satchel. He climbed down from his pulpit, looking around for any folks who could aid him in turning over his cart so he could be on his way. All nearby eyes quickly found interesting things to look at in every direction save Bahldreck’s. Normally he’d corral several of his flock to aid him, but they were slumbering so peacefully at his feet he hated to wake them.

  “A sign that my sermon touched their hearts, I’d say,” Bahldreck said in a satisfied voice. “Still, waking them to aid me would still be the High God’s work, would it not?”

  He was about to kick the nearest slumbering man when a honeyed voice spoke behind him.

  “May we humble sinners be of service your holiness?”

  Bahldreck turned as an odd group of four individuals walked up. The man who had spoken kneeled as Bahldreck turned to them. The other three stood, clearly transfixed by Bahldreck’s holy aura, until the other man dragged them off their feet into a proper bow.

  He guessed by their dress and demeanor they were humble supplicants, perhaps pilgrims en route from the southern coast to the Shining City of the High God himself. Bahldreck smiled and bid them to rise.

  “We will, but first may we humble pilgrims bask in your holy light for the merest of moments?” asked the man who had spoken.

  The sea elf maiden cast a sharp glance at the speaker in a manner that suggested to Bahldreck that she felt unworthy of such an honor. Bahldreck was quick to speak, hoping to reassure her that she, that all of them, were more than worthy to kneel at his feet.

  “Well, I don’t see why not,” Bahldreck said. “After all, that is the proper form.”

  The four hung their heads low. After several moments the silence unnerved Bahldreck and he begged them to return to their feet. Introductions followed and the massive barbarian Brahk shocked Bahldreck with the ease he turned the cart over. The Aegyptian hitched his pony while the sea elf maiden brushed dirt from his robes. Unnerved by all the attention, Bahldreck mounted his cart and opened his mouth to say his goodbyes, when their leader, Verreth, spoke up.

  “Your holiness, may I beg a word?”

  “I suppose,” Bahldreck said in an uncomfortable tone, hands set to snap the reins.

  “We beg your help. I was once a Knight of the Order of the Blazing Fist, but alas I committed a sin and have fallen from the graces of the High God Aluran.”

  “Alas, that does happen on occasion. Good luck finding redemption.” Bahldreck went to snap the reins when the fallen knight knelt once more, right in front of his pony, preventing him from leaving.

  “The High God has given me one last chance to redeem myself in his eyes. We all have.”

  Verreth turned to the others, hands vigorously suggesting that they too kneel. After a moment they did, but Bahldreck was sure he heard grumbling. The High God will always be heard, even through the most stubborn of ears, Bahldreck thought, wondering if that was an actual passage from the Testament or just a nugget of deep wisdom from within Bahldreck himself.

  “I have seen a vision, sent by the High God himself. He tells me that only by serving you in your great mission to rid the world of the undead, can I hope to regain his favor and have any hope of basking in his light in the afterlife.

  “He mentioned me by name?” Bahldreck asked.

  The thin Aegyptian Gerryt brought his hand to his mouth, overcome by a coughing fit. Bahldreck was about to order Verreth to assist the man when a discharge of electricity thrummed from Serraia’s finger and into Gerryt’s side. He yelped and his coughing fit ended. He turned towards her in surprise. Bahldreck could not see the man’s face, but he was sure he was thanking the sea elf maiden for casting whatever healing magic had aided him.

  Perhaps these folk deserve my esteemed help, after all, Bahldreck thought.

  “Yes, my most holy lord. I heard your name from his lips direct to my humble ears,” Verreth said, bowing lower. “The High God knows the toils and troubles you’ve been the victim of and he has sent my compatriots and I to aid you on your great quest.”

  “Well, yes. It has been a bit of a rough go of late, but I held faith that I deserved better and knew the High God would not disappoint me.”

  An odd chortling sound came from the barbarian Brahk and Verreth grabbed him by the back of his head and pushed his face hard into the ground. Brahk grunted and mumbled incoherently, but Verreth looked at Bahldreck with a winning smile. “My apologies for this emotional display of devotion. Brahk has lived a wretched life, one marred by violence and sin. Bearing witness to the holy fire contained within your sanctified body has overwhelmed him and turned him away from the path of damnation.”

  “Well, all men experience the rapturous glory in different ways. I am glad that my body has inspired him.”

  A shriek of joyous laughter exploded from Serraia’s mouth and she quickly covered it with one hand, perhaps embarrassed by her emotional outburst. She buried her head in Verreth’s shoulder and beat her fists upon his chest and arms, unable to control her emotions.

  “Let it out sister, for the High God has said that joyous outbursts are a celebration of life. I am glad he has found his way to you through me.”

  “Yes, you ….” Verreth said, his face distorting into a rictus of barely restrained joy. His shoulders shook with the effort and he tried to hold back his tears. He turned away, and Bahldreck was gracious enough to let him recover himself. When he could, he spoke again. “Finding you has been one of the most moving moments of my life, of all our lives. I believe destiny has great plans for us.”

  “Oh, I am sure, yes. That makes quite a bit of sense,” Bahldreck said. A warning alarm flared deep in his mind, but as he often did, he ignored it. “What plans?”

  “Well, as it so happens your holiness I have a map given by another servant of the High God. This holy servant suggested that you would know how best to use it in the High God’s service,” Verreth said and pulled a roll of parchment from his bag and handed it to Bahldreck.

  Bahldreck unfurled the scroll to find a map written in some unintelligible script. The land it depicted was familiar, yet foreign. “Hmm,” Bahldreck said, a hand cupping his chin in deep thought. “Most interesting and ancient and very prett
y and great, you don’t know how great.”

  Verreth walked up and grabbed the map and rotated it a half turn counterclockwise. It was then as the familiar environs of Erram and its surroundings came into focus that Bahldreck realized that he had been holding the map upside down. “Oh yes, I see now. I was just trying to … ummm ...”

  “Gain a better perspective?” Verreth suggested.

  “Yes, exactly. I prefer to look at a problem from all angles.”

  “I wish I had thought to do the same,” Verreth said. “But then that is why you are you and, alas, I am merely me.” He turned his intense gaze upon his companions.

  Serraia’s eyes went wide for a moment and then she nodded. “Oh, yes, very wise indeed,” Serraia said. “Well done your holiness.”

  “It was quite the insight,” Gerryt agreed.

  Verreth elbowed Brahk whose focus had been on a passing food cart. He turned in a panic to see Bahldreck looking at him expectantly. “Yeah, that stuff they done said. All good and true and junk.”

  “Yes, well, very good,” Bahldreck said and returned his attention to the map. Verreth walked up and placed a gentle hand on the map.

  “If you would honor me your holiness, I believe it would be less taxing on you if I were to hold on to the map.” Verreth tugged the map from the preacher, rolled it and returned it to his pack. “After all, you have enough to worry about with the plan.”

  “The plan?” Bahldreck asked in a voice a few octaves higher than was normal. “Ah, of course. I will work diligently and unceasingly on the plan. Plan, plan, planning the plan.”

  “If you please, your holiness, it would humble me to explain your wondrous plan, as created by you, and explained to me by the High God to our most cretinous companions. There is no need to waste any more of your precious time repeating it to such low types such as these.” Verreth indicated the others with a wave of his hand.

  “Hey,” Gerryt complained, before an elbow from Serraia reminded him of his proper place.

  “Yes, of course,” Bahldreck said. “That goes without saying. It would be best for you to tell the others of my great and amazing plan. I fear that oft times, my noble manner of speaking can confuse people of your … ummm … ilk.”