Barrow King

by C. M. Carney

  The wyrmynn leader, who Wick dubbed Scarface due to the jagged white line that bisected his face from the fringe of horns to his mouth, began barking orders and whip snapped his tail. He pushed and shoved his people into a line near the entrance to the passageway leading further down into the Barrow.

  A welcoming committee, Wick thought. “What are they welcoming?”

  Wick felt it long before he saw it. A chill crept into him, starting from his bones and flowing outward. The hair on his arms stood on end as if his body was desperate to expel the unnatural sensation.

  Scarface felt it too and a low, guttural bark erupted from him. The wyrmynn knelt as one. Even Scarface lowered his head in supplication. Wick’s heart thundered in his chest as darkness flowed from the tunnel. The flowing blackness moved with purpose and intelligence, swallowing any nearby light. The Barrow was always dark, but this was something altogether new.

  Wick adjusted the lenses again as a shadowy form emerged from the tunnel. Spectral energies flowed around the creature. The oily black of death magic mixed with a silver shimmer that Wick did not recognize. His heart jumped at this. I’ve seen every sphere of magic, he thought. So what is that?

  The cloaked form stopped, and said “rise” in the common tongue that sounded like old bones scrapping together. Scarface shot to his feet. He was much taller than the apparition before him, but there was no doubt who was in charge.

  “Something new has entered my Barrow,” the apparition said. “You will find him and bring him to me.” As the apparition spoke it walked up and down the line of kneeling wyrmynn, small squeaks of fear and involuntary jumps and spasms trailed in its wake.

  “Yes, Master,” Scarface hissed, his tongue struggling to form the words so unsuited to his physiology. “I will send my best warriors.”

  My Barrow? Wick thought. This is the Barrow King?

  The apparition paused and stared down upon one of the wyrmynn, a Wyrmynn Scout. It lightly caressed the side of the scaly creature’s face and Wick felt the beast’s fear. The bone white hand eased the wyrmynn’s chin up to face it and a tendril of silvery energy erupted from the shrouded hood of shadows. The energy speared the wyrmynn’s mouth and its body stiffened. Globules of white energy gilded by sheens of silver flowed from the beast back into the apparition.

  Are my Maker Goggles malfunctioning? Wick wondered. His father had spared no expense on Wick’s Day of Choosing gift. His father knew, as did the rest of the clan, that Wick would follow in his footsteps and become a Master Tinker. The look of betrayal on his face when Wick announced he would pursue the path of chthonic magic was one he would never erase from his mind’s eye. His arrogance that day led him on the erratic path to the very spot he now stood.

  Below, the apparition finished what Wick could only guess had been some kind of feeding, and the corpse of the scout collapsed in a heap. The husk fell to the ground like old tinder and the lizard folk trembled.

  “Find this newcomer and bring him to me,” the apparition said, turning to Scarface.

  “Yes, Massster,” Scarface said, his tongue battling his teeth as it forced the words from his mouth.

  “Do not fail me,” the shadow said.

  It was then that Wick saw the tendril of energy, silver mixed with black and white pulsing from the apparition back into the tunnel that led deep into the bowels of the Barrow. The energies drained from the wyrmynn were being siphoned somewhere else, to something else. Soon the pulses slowed and then stopped altogether.

  The shadows surging around the apparition dissipated revealing an a bone skeleton. The skeleton trembled for a moment, before collapsing into a pile. Whatever malevolence had animated the ancient bones had faded.

  With a relieved exhalation of air, Scarface stood and nudged the pile of bone with a tentative foot. Satisfied that it was just a pile of bone, Scarface hissed at his people, and the entire tribe rushed into motion.

  Wick pulled the goggles up to his forehead and exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. He needed to get back to Tifala. Whatever was happening, whatever the Barrow King wanted, no good would come of it.

  Wick eased back into the tunnel behind him and gripped his staff. He closed his eyes. He spoke in barely heard murmurs as magical energy surged inside of him as he began a summoning.

  Pulses and shimmers split the air as a rift to another place opened. Wick formed an image in his mind. The rift expanded to the deep crimson color of blood and a small demonling stepped from the portal.

  The imp stood a foot high. Its pale skin infused with veins of red. Its body was rail thin, all ribs and gangly limbs. A prehensile tail slid back and forth, cutting the air with a knifelike movements. Atop an unnaturally thin neck sat a triangular shaped head. The head was mostly mouth and the mouth held more teeth than logic suggested was natural. Beady, hungry eyes glared up at Wick.

  “Watch the wyrmynn camp,” Wick commanded with precise words. “Stay quiet and do not move from this spot until they move out. Then come to me and tell me all you have seen. Only then, will I release you.”

  The imp hissed in annoyance and held a hand out. Wick pulled a slab of meat from his pack and passed it to the imp.

  “Human?” the imp said with a hopeful screech.

  “Rat,” Wick said.

  The imp’s face went from joy to anger and it spat venomous words of the chthonic realm at Wick. Wick ignored the imp’s ire. He had dealt with this foul creature on many occasions.

  “Xeg want a something more tasty.”

  “The bargain is sealed Xegreb Kurhrn Zaqaai,” Wick said, forcing the imp’s true name past his lips with a sneer. The language of the chthonic realm was not meant for mortal tongues. Speaking the words always made Wick’s stomach surge with acid. “Now do as I command.”

  The imp hissed at its true name, but nodded in assent. It shoved the rat meat into its mouth and tore a chunk off, swallowing it nearly whole. It took a seat on a small rock and looked down upon the wyrmynn camp. With one last glance, Wick pulled his cloak around him and moved into the tunnel.

  “Xeg maybe taste gnome soon,” the demonling muttered to itself as Wick disappeared. “Roasted. Grilled. Raw,” the imp said, a forked tongue snaking from his mouth to pick bits of rat flesh from his teeth.

  Wick dipped into Stealth, ears straining for any sound. It would take some time for the wyrmynn to get anywhere near his current location, but he wasn’t stupid enough to drop his guard, ever. He might stumble across a wyrmynn hunting party, run afoul of an umber beast or get caught in a trap. And the Barrow held worse things than wyrmynn.

  It was nearly a month since Wick and his group had first become trapped in the Barrow. What started as an adventuring group of six was down to two. Wick blamed himself for the deaths. He’d been the one who found the ancient map among the brick-a-brack in the mage’s lair. A few of the others weren’t convinced that the Barrow was any different from any other run-of-the-mill dungeon.

  Wick's mind drifted back to the fateful conversation that led him here. Led his group to death.

  “If it is as rich as the map claims, won’t it be picked clean by now?” Zelyanna, a regal wood elf archer said in her melodic voice.

  “Not if it’s been lost these last thousand years,” Tifala countered. “It used to be on a major trade route near Ryneeria, here.” Tifala pointed to the barrow’s location on a map.

  “Never heard of it,” Hugarn, a half orc barbarian said.

  “I’d be surprised if you had,” Wick said.

  “You calling me dumb?” Hugarn said with threat in his tone.

  "No, he isn’t," Tifala said, a hand resting on the massive warrior's arm. "The city was razed by zealots who worshipped one of the New Gods. If nobody remembers the city, it is highly unlikely that they’d remember the Barrow."

  Hugarn nodded and his anger abated.

  "I dislike entering a dungeon so ancient. Who knows what devils may call it home," Thaardik, the mountain dwarf priest countered.

&n
bsp; “Isn’t that the point?” Jerris said. “According to the map it was home to a wizard known only as the Barrow King. The only reference to the name is in an 8,000-year-old text.”

  “I don’t put much stock in books,” Hugarn grumbled.

  Wick held back a snarky response. Hugarn was more than twice his height and he’d seen the barbarian slay a dozen enemies all by himself. He was a raging inferno that could not be contained, only pointed. Wick was not dumb enough to point the barbarian at himself.

  “You remember the last wizard lair we plundered?” Wick said. Everyone nodded, and their eyes filled with gleams of greed. Hugarn even hefted the axe he’d acquired on that dive. “Well, that dungeon was barely 400 years old.” The greedy looks multiplied. “This will be our biggest payday ever.”

  The group agreed with little more persuasion.

  So far they’d found very little treasure, yet quite a bit of death. Only Tifala and he still lived. Wick had been right about one thing. The Barrow was unlike any other dungeon they’d ever encountered. Once they’d entered, they learned that there was no way out. It wasn’t a dungeon so much as a prison.

  20

  G ryph descended deeper into the Barrow. He dreaded the entire idea, but he knew sometimes you need to go down to go up. He reeked like week old road kill and despite his Stats being at 100%, he didn’t feel much better.

  Low level light infused everything. His high elf racial ability Night Vision amplified ambient light, a magical version of the night vision goggles he'd used on Earth. True darkness would likely blind him, but iridescent moss spotted the walls like streetlights on a lonely road.

  The tunnel was large and descended at a comfortable angle. Every few feet he had to step over a shard of bone, a reminder of the beast that had called this place home. Ten minutes later his stamina bar started blinking. His constant use of Stealth was draining his reserves quicker than it was regenerating.

  Gryph continued downward. He brought up his map and saw it gave him an advantage. The map generated the area within the range of his vision. Not a line of sight, mind you, but a sphere of sight. Details illuminated the explored areas. The unexplored areas remained shrouded in shadows, but gave hints of what was to come. The virtual fog retreated with each step.

  Now, if I can only find a full map of this place. Accurate intel was the difference between life and death on Earth. The Realms would be no different, Gryph thought, making a mental note to search fallen foes for maps.

  He hurried down the hallway with renewed confidence, almost letting Stealth drop. As he approached the junction he paused, ducking behind a boulder. Something was coming from the right-hand tunnel. The confined space made fighting with a spear difficult at best, so he eased the long shafted weapon to the floor and drew his daggers. If he needed it, the spear was within reach.

  He fidgeted, spinning the daggers in his hands like a gunslinger. He slowed his breathing and waited. A few moments later he could sense more than see a shadow pause in the darkness at the edge of his Night Vision. Gryph froze, willing every muscle in his body to pause. Was this what seeing a Stealthed opponent looked like?

  Eyes passed over him several times as the moments stretched to eons. Then a small figure emerged into the dim light of the junction. It was a small man, maybe three and a half feet tall. He was wiry and gripped a short staff topped with a red jewel. A crazed frock of electric blue hair plumed upwards at an improbable angle. Fierce gold hued eyes scanned the area. Gryph used Analyze.

  Gnome. Level: Unknown. Perks: Unknown. Immunities: Unknown. Weakness: Unknown.

  Gryph's thoughts drifted to the gnome he'd buried. Was this gnome his kin? Was this Wick? How would he react to the news of his cousin's death? Would he shoot the messenger? Analyze had given him no information, so the gnome was at least level 16. After weighting all the options, Gryph decided it was better to stay solo and safe than risk exposure and enmity.

  After a few tense moments the gnome crept past Gryph and down the other tunnel. Gryph waited a full five minutes and was about to follow the small man when the quiet shuffle of many feet held him up. He checked his Stamina and ducked into Stealth.

  The shuffling noise grew louder, accompanied by an exchange of irritated hisses. Gryph eased the daggers to the ground at his side and drew two throwing knives.

  Several large figures emerged into the junction. They were bipedal reptilians, as if a komodo dragon had decided that walking around on all fours was boring and decided to stand upright, wear rags and carry rusted weapons. He used Analyze.

  Wyrmynn Scout. Level: 6. Wyrmynn are medium sized reptilian humanoids. They hate most other sentient races and travel in rigidly hierarchical packs. Their society prizes strength and violence over all things. They often serve more powerful creatures as battle fodder. Perks: Unknown. Immunities: Unknown. Weakness: Unknown.

  One scout dropped to all fours and sniffed the ground. Gryph eased further back into the darkness. Shit. No way he won’t be able to smell me. Gryph thought, before remembering he was slathered in baalgrath filth.

  The wyrmynn's eyes went wide in fear and it barked and hissed to his fellows. The others cast nervous glances in Gryph's direction. Analyze revealed all eight ranged from levels six to eleven. The odds were not in his favor, so he remained hidden.

  “Jyrrysssis erth un baalgrath,” the lead wyrmynn [Wyrmynn Scout; Level 6] said pointing in Gryph’s direction.

  The leader [Wyrmynn Skirmisher; Level 11] cuffed the smaller scout, pointing to the heavy iron chain at his belt. “Ytthiss wergal control ferdyss.”

  The wyrmynn argued among themselves and Gryph realized he could now understand bits of their language.

  “Gthissgry which way did thyyrrdss?” the leader said in an angry voice.

  “I thssdrr tell,” the scout said. The leader smashed an iron clad fist into the side of the scout's head. The scout cowered and then pointed the direction the gnome had taken. “This way.”

  Gryph realized that the more words he heard the more he understood the wyrmynn. It had to be the Godhead's Master of Tongues ability. Will I be able to understand any language I hear? The idea was intriguing and Gryph considered the tactical uses of such knowledge.

  The wyrmynn continued down the tunnel the gnome had taken. The debate raging in Gryph's mind triggered a quest.

  You have been offered the Quest Gnomish Team Up.

  You have discovered that a troop of wyrmynn is stalking a lone gnome. Team up with the gnome to defeat the evil lizard folk. Difficulty: Moderate - Reward: Unknown - XP: 5,000.

  Gryph was certain that the way out of the Barrow lay to the right, but knew that death stalked the gnome. A few moments of indecision battled inside Gryph’s mind, before he followed after the wyrmynn.

  After several minutes of quick but stealthy progress, Gryph heard the sounds of battle coming from around an upcoming bend. He rushed forward and peered around the corner to see a large cavern. The wyrmynn had caught up with the gnome and had him surrounded.

  The body of one wyrmynn lay crumpled on the ground. Smoke spiraled from a fiery crater in the creature’s back. The other wyrmynn were stabbing inwards with their spears and swords. The gnome was agile and avoided the strikes while sending bursts of black-red fire from his right hand and parrying strikes with the staff in his left.

  One wyrmynn went down screaming, as dark flame enveloped its head. Eyes boiled and scaled skin sloughed off its face. The sound and the smell were horrendous and the other wyrmynn backed away in fear.

  Another volley of fire flew from the gnome's hand. This time at the wyrmynn leader, who raised the buckler on his forearm preventing the flames from finding its mark. The gnome’s hand glowed again as he prepped another spell. The wyrmynn leader thrust his spear forward, catching the gnome with a glancing blow to the side. The energy around the gnome’s hand faded.

  Gryph knew the foul beasts would soon overwhelm gnome. It was time to decide. With an irritated grunt, Gryph pulled his last remaining loo
p of rope from his inventory and tossed it towards the closest enemy [Wyrmynn Skirmisher; Level 6]. He then cast Animate Rope and drew a few throwing knives.

  The rope slithered with the silent grace of a hunting viper as it eased up behind the wyrmynn. On Gryph’s mental command it surged up and around the reptile's legs. The startled creature yelped in surprise as the rope took him down and constricted. The spell didn’t do much damage, but it immobilized the wyrmynn. Hopefully the loop would hold the weaker opponent.

  Gryph stood and threw both throwing knives at the second wyrmynn [Wyrmynn Scout; Level 5]. Both found their mark and sunk into the wyrmynn’s neck. Their anatomy may be nothing like humans, but he figured no creature enjoyed metal blades sunk into their spine.

  His aim was true, and a Critical Hit notification popped into the corner of his vision. The wyrmynn went down. Gryph hefted his spear and rushed forwards. He used Impale on another wyrmynn [Wyrmynn Skirmisher; Level 7], but the creature turned and swung a large sword at him. Gryph activated Dodge and jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike.

  The wyrmynn’s sword sped in a downward arc. Gryph activated Parry and blocked the successful attack. He quickly Counter Attacked and landed a blow to the beast's side. Green blood flowed from the wound and the creature grunted. It’s sword lashed out again and Gryph dropped his spear and rolled, lest he lose his head. Gryph came back to his feet, drawing his daggers from his waist. He crouched in a defensive position and waited for the wyrmynn to make a move.

  Evidently the creatures were not as dumb as they looked. The wyrmynn took advantage of the reach of its sword and eased back into a defensive position. Gryph feigned left, then right and surged forward, landing a glancing blow on the wyrmynn’s sword arm.

  The other wyrmynn noticed Gryph’s arrival. The wyrmynn leader ordered his subordinates to rush Gryph as he returned his attention to the gnome. The gnome did not sit idle but used the brief distraction to leap and climb onto a raised ledge. He ducked behind a boulder and disappeared from view.