by C. M. Carney
“Now,” the imp responded, amused by his not so helpful warning. Summoned imps were required to obey the commands of their masters, but they would always look for any loophole. Wick cursed himself for speaking too vaguely when he’d laid out his commands.
“Wick,” said a voice. “You there?”
Wick exchanged a frantic glance with Tifala. Through the thick wall of rock, it was difficult to tell who the voice belonged to and for a moment, hope dug into Wick’s heart. Was Jerris somehow still alive? Nobody else knew their hiding spot.
“It’s Gryph. You know the one you forgot to designate as friendly. Let’s not make the same mistake twice, okay buddy.”
Wick’s heart sank as he calmed himself. Jerris is dead, Tifala’s face said. He looked to her and her eyes showed sympathy, somehow knowing what he was thinking. He knew Jerris was dead. His hope was a paltry attempt to soothe his guilt. His mind raced. What was Gryph doing here and how the hell had he found them?
“What do you want?”
“I think we may be able to help each other.”
Wick glanced at Tifala in uncertainty. He had told her about his encounter with the strange Player. A silent debate raged between them and finally with a simple nod she agreed to open the door.
Wick moved to the door, glancing back at Tif who raised her arm, ready to send a Life Blast into any face that was not Gryph’s. Wick unhitched the lock and eased the door open. Gryph stood there, looking awful and being supported by a dusky skinned man with yellow eyes.
“A xydai,” Wick exclaimed in horror and moved to slam the door.
“See, Things. Xeg told you they were things.”
“Wait, he is a friend.” Gryph said. “Please.”
“Tif?” Wick said without looking back. The glow on her hand morphed as she changed her casting. The glow flowed up her arm and into her eyes where the golden energy turned her pupils into stars of pure light. She kinked her head to the side and stared at both men.
“He speaks the truth,” Tifala said and then her eyes went wide. “An Adjudicator.”
Wick spun back to look at his beloved. “A what?”
“A warrior monk that uses aether to serve order. A defender of the Writs,” Tifala said, gold eyes staring.
“You sure?” Wick said, eyeballing Ovyrm.
“She is sure,” Ovyrm said. “I am an Adjudicator. Or more accurately, I was.”
Gryph looked between the three of them with a confused look on his face. “I’ve got no damn clue what the hell any of you are talking about, but we had to avoid several wyrmynn patrols to get here, I recently died and I feel like complete shit. So can we come in?”
“Dead? So, you are a Player?”
Gryph looked at Wick in shock and remembered the odd parting words Wick had spoke during their first encounter.
“I told you, I’d see you in your next life,” the gnome said with a mirthless grin.
“You could have warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Tifala pushed Wick aside and held out her hands. She looked at Gryph with a gentle face and he knew she meant for him to kneel. He did, and she took his head in her hands. Warmth spread from her fingers and deep into him.
“Try to relax,” Tifala said to Gryph. The voice and manner reminded Gryph of his childhood doctor back in New Hampshire. In fact, take away the purple frock of hair and the fact that she was the size of a child, she could have been Doc Verril. He did as she bid and felt at ease in the presence of this diminutive life mage. A glow surround her and then his entire body grew warm as if were being scanned by the loving eye of God. He calmed, and he felt at ease.
“Sweet Mother,” Tifala said, her hands jerking back from Gryph. “There is something inside you. Something ancient and filled with potential.”
“It’s called a Godhead,” Gryph said. “It’s why we are here.” Gryph told the two gnomes the little he knew about the divine artifact. Their eyes went wide in disbelief. Fear mingled with purpose in their eyes as he finished his tale. Ovyrm chimed in with tidbits that fleshed out the group’s understanding of the dangerous artifact.
“The Barrow King can sense the Godhead. I have been able to shield him from the revenant’s sight, but I fear it is only a matter of time before the Barrow King finds him.”
“Yet you brought Gryph here? You endanger both of us,” Wick said.
“There is no safe place in the Barrow,” Ovyrm countered. Wick’s scowled, but he said nothing further. He knew the xydai spoke the truth.
“We need to get him out of the Barrow,” Tifala said.
“And how do you plan to do that? It’s not like we’ve been sitting idle here,” Wick said.
“The Barrow King controls the only way out,” Ovyrm said.
“Then we take the fight to him,” Gryph said.
Wick opened his mouth ready to protest, but he knew Gryph’s words, however unwanted, were the truth. “Maybe Jerris was the lucky one.”
Mention of Jerris brought the dead gnome’s journal to the fore of Gryph’s thoughts and he considered giving the journal to Wick. But, Gryph did not wish to add more despair. It could wait.
Gryph became dizzy and nearly fell. Ovyrm caught him and Tifala rushed to his side. They eased him onto one of the stone slabs that doubled as a bed. Someone, likely Tifala, had convinced a soft moss to grow across the hard stone surface. Just enough to provide some comfort.
“You need rest.”
“There is no time,” Gryph said, attempting to rise. He felt Ovyrm’s strong hand holding him down.
“She is correct. In this state you will likely get us all killed. We will wait.”
“Adjudicator,” Tifala said to Ovyrm. “How long can you shield our location from the Barrow King?”
“An hour, maybe two.”
“It will have to be enough. “The life mage placed her hands upon Gryph’s head and closed her eyes once more. “There is nothing I can do about the debuffs, but I can help you sleep until they wear off.”
Gryph was about to protest when his mind drifted and the other's conversation became a dull hum. Before he knew it Gryph was fast asleep
*****
Wick felt like a third wheel at the summer solstice and gave them space to work. “I’ll go keep watch,” Wick said. Tifala gave him a sweet smile and once again Wick fell in love with her. He geared up and exited their hideout.
“Report Xeg,” Wick said to the imp, growing irritated. The chthonic creature always soured his mood, as if he exuded some kind of invisible, but malevolent aura.
“No things about, save for this rat,” Xeg said offhanded as he smashed the squealing rat against the wall with a bone crunching thud. “Rat is mine. No share.” With that he crunched the still twitching rat’s head off and chewed happily.
Wick held his hands apart to show that he was more than fine the imp was unwilling to share his raw rat. He sat down on a boulder and tried to calm his stomach.
He closed his eyes and attempted to ease his mind, to bring it to a state of nothingness. A slight tweak in the back from sleeping on hard rock. He listened to the surrounding sounds. The noise of the hell beast eating vermin. Then there were the smells. His own ripeness and the sulphuric stench of the imp. He grumbled to himself as his eyes snapped open.
“This isn’t working.”
“Xeg much better at meditation than tiny blue hair midget. Cuz Xeg am smart and brilliant and very smart.”
“I’m at least three times your height,” Wick said. “And you meditate?”
“Have you ever been to Bxrthygaal? Very nice. Very relaxing. Easy close eyes, listen to screams and relax.”
Wick eyed the demon with a sideways glance. He knew that his mastery over the creature was complete, but he still did not trust it even slightly. He tried to ease his mind, but images of massive pitchforked demons and tortured souls filled his mind.
Wick sighed in frustration and stood, checking his equipment again. His movements were slight an
d nearly silent, but evidently still irritating to the imp.
“Xeg relaxing. Very, very good at relaxing. But stomp, stomp, stomp of your big clumsy feet very distracting.”
“Okay, enough relaxing, lets go,” Wick said, standing and readying a spell. “Go forward a ways and tell me what you see. Our friends said they encountered several wyrmynn patrols on their way here. We don't want to be caught off guard.”
“Xeg does. Xeg thinks it funny when Master gets killed by stinky lizard things.”
“Just do what I say,” Wick said. “Exactly what I say. Look for things, stay silent, report back to me the moment you find something.”
Xeg grumbled something under his breath in his native language that could have been an insult or could have been ‘I love you’ if his species had such a concept. Their language was so ugly that every word whispered or yelled, made Wick suspect the tiny beast was plotting murder.
Yet, the imp obeyed and bounced down the tunnel and soon disappeared. To make the time pass, Wick pulled out his journal. He had been writing since the day they had left the village. He had dreams of publishing his adventures as a great epic, like Gersham the Adventurer. Wick hoped that his tale would rival his hero’s book, but he now suspected Gersham had never been on any adventures. Adventure brought death and death was no glorious thing. Wick became lost in his reverie, staring at the blank page that had seen no words in days. Not since they had lost Jerris. Poor, sweet Jerris. Always so eager to please, always so easy to talk into things.
They’d been in the Barrow for a few weeks and their numbers had dwindled. Hugarn had been first. Big, dumb, loyal and brave, poor Hugarn had saved them all from the undead horrors in the lower Barrow. Ancient wights and revenants controlled by some unseen master. The same kind of creature that commanded the wyrmynn.
Zelyanna, the tall regal and feisty sea elf had been next. She was not built for the under realm and her mind and her spirit had declined within days of being sealed in the Barrow. She claimed to hear voices and see things in the corner of her eyes that were never there when a full gaze was turned on them. Unknown to the rest of the group, she had decided to end her life instead of facing the daily horrors of the Barrow with no end in sight. Wick could still see her jump from the high ridge and into the raging waters of the river that moved through the Barrow.
Thaardik had felt most at home inside the Barrow until the voice of his god faded. There was something about the Barrow that interfered with his daily prayers and it got worse each day. Eventually Thaardik could hear his god no longer and desperate to return to him, he snuck away in the middle of the night and ambushed a camp of wyrmynn alone. The next day when Wick found his body. It lay in the middle of a dozen of the cretinous lizard folk. He had gone out fighting.
It was poor Jerris that he was most guilty about. Perhaps because he had no idea what had happened to his jovial cousin. They had been mapping a new part of the Barrow when a deadfall trap separated the two. Jerris was calm, even joking about their situation. Even as Wick promised to find Jerris, part of him knew he would never see his kin again.
Wick wiped away an unbidden tear and clutched his staff in anger. The black, gnarled wood of the staff held incredible power, but it made Tifala, a master of the nature side of life magic, nervous, even though she never said so. So lost in his own guilt was Wick that the sudden sulfurous appearance of Xeg nearly made him fall from his rocky perch.
“Run, blue haired midget. Things come. Lotsa things.” Xeg said and ran, not bothering to wait for Wick.
34
A slap to the face dragged Gryph back from the peace of nothingness. He struggled to focus and finally the kind face of Tifala came into view. “Hi,” he said like a drunken man grinning at a friend.
“Yes. Hi. Time to get up, sweetie. Now. This should help.” Tifala cast a spell and the sounds around Gryph came into sharp focus as the fog in his head cleared.
Ovrym handed Gryph his spear and nodded, a grim smile crossing his face. “It's good to see you, but the wyrmynn have found us,” Ovrym said. Gryph nodded and stood.
“Ready?” Ovrym asked.
“Yes,” Gryph said and Ovrym opened the doorway. Outside the sound of yelling and clashing weapons rang. The two warriors were calm and controlled. An outsider would likely believe that these two men had fought alongside each other for years. A true testament to both of their training.
You have been invited to join a War Party by Ovyrm.
Gryph agreed and was greeted by a buff.
Buff added. You have been granted Adjudicator's Boon. Health, Stamina and Mana regeneration are increased by 25% for the duration of the battle or until Ovyrm is killed.
Wick stood behind a rocky outcropping firing volley after volley of oily black energy bolts at a large cadre of wyrmynn. Most missed, as the lizard folk were not dumb enough to give him an easy target. Several reptilian bodies lay in the space between them. Victims of his surprise attack. A trickle of blood leaked down his face. The arrows zipping over his head told Gryph that at least one had grazed his diminutive friend.
Ovrym leaped over the boulder shielding Wick and spun into battle. His red and black metal blade flashed from its scabbard and sliced cleanly through the neck of the closest wyrmynn, a look of stupid shock still on its face as the head bounced to a stop at Gryph's feet.
Gryph quickly assessed the force arrayed against them. They had chosen their defensive spot well, which told Gryph that their commander was no fool. There were at least a dozen of the scaly beasts. A quick use of his Analyze skill told him that they were mostly scouts and skirmishers, ranging from Levels 6 - 10. Yet it was the two robed wyrmynn in the far back, chanting and mumbling that drew his eye. Gryph Analyzed them. One was a [Wyrmynn Death Priest; Level 12] and the other was a [Wyrmynn Chthonic Mage; Level 13].
Gryph cast Animate Rope, and it slithered towards the mage. He had seen the horrors that Wick could summon and he had no interest in seeing if this lizard could repeat the trick. To buy his animated minion some time he also kicked the head at his feet. The head soared over the line of wyrmynn and smacked the mage in the face, disrupting his casting. Gryph grinned, pleased that he still possessed his skills despite not having seen a soccer pitch since his West Point days.
Ovrym nodded in appreciation at the successful distraction and barreled into the first line of defenders, a spinning blur that made Gryph think of a Whirling Dervish. Green blood and screams of pain splashed across the tunnel.
“You okay?” Gryph said to Wick as he neared his friend.
“I am,” Wick said, grunting through the pain of the deep cut on his head. “You?”
“Your woman is a miracle worker.”
“That she is,” Wick smiled.
On cue Tifala leaped over them, flipping and landing with the grace of a cat. She brought her small green bladed sword point down into the hard packed earth of the floor and shouted a word of command.
A rumble surged from the point of her sword and an array of vines exploded from the ground. They slithered and spun at the first line of wyrmynn attackers and twined around ankles and legs. They screamed in alarm at the sudden lack of movement, but barked orders from their commander brought their discipline back. Several unleashed arrows. Most missed, but Gryph took one in the arm.
Debuff Added: You have been poisoned. 5 points of damage a second for 10 seconds.
“Their weapons are poisoned,” Gryph yelled as he finished casting Flying Stalactite. The missile of rock took the nearest wyrmynn in the eye. Gryph earned a Critical Hit, and the wyrmynn collapsed, the body held upright by the twining vines.
Ovyrm spun several more times, both inflicting and avoiding wounds. The man’s Dexterity must be off the charts. Wick sent several more bolts of oily energy into the crowd of saurians, earning many a satisfying grunt of pain.
“Wick, can you summon that demon?” Gryph yelled.
The gnome shook his head no and gave him a look that screamed ‘you don't think I thought o
f that already.’ Gryph was both relieved and disappointed. Avernerius could have made quick work of these wyrmynn, but Gryph had never seen few more terrifying sights in his life.
The death priest finished casting and an aura of deepest black exploded from him and roiled like incoming surf. It flowed over everyone. As it touched Gryph, he instantly felt sick. His head spun, his stomach hurled and sweat poured from him.
Debuff: You have been stricken with Corpse Rot. -5 to Constitution, Dexterity and Strength while infected.
Gryph collapsed to the floor and vomited a thin stream of bile and drool. He felt as weak as he had when the flu had kept him in bed for a week as a child. A quick glance showed that the others were suffering as well.
The wyrmynn commander ordered his second line of troops, those that had avoided Tifala’s vine attack, into battle. They leapt over their kin and brought sword and spear to bear on Ovyrm and Gryph.
Ovrym parried several attacks before a spear took him in the side and he fell to one knee. Wick sent a volley of chthonic blasts into the face of the two lizards about to slay the injured xydai. Both went down.
“Cover Tifala,” Wick yelled as he leaped from cover to stand next to Gryph. He could hear Tifala’s melodic chanting behind him. He did not know what she was casting, but he was determined to buy her the time.
Several wyrmynn rushed them and Gryph knew in their weakened state they would be quickly overwhelmed. Ovrym’s health and stamina were dwindling fast as the front line warrior fought off attacks from several wyrmynn.
“Close your eyes,” Gryph yelled and pushed Mana into his armor and just as a wyrmynn was raising his sword to remove his head. In one of the most difficult mental acts of his life, Gryph forced his mind to ignore the incoming shard of death and squeezed his eyes shut. He activated the chest plate, and the world exploded with light.