Barrow King: The Realms Book One (A LitRPG Adventure)

by C. M. Carney

  After nearly half an hour Gryph had snaked his way upwards. He’d activated Stealth on three occasions. Twice as wyrmynn patrols went by and once as a snuffling beast lumbered past his hiding spot. His Analyze skill identified it.

  Umber Beast: Level 17; H:235/S:230/M:0/SP:0. Umber Beasts are a foul mixture of a beetle and a gorilla. Their origins are shrouded in mystery, but most scholars believe the Umber Beast was the product of unnatural magical experiments. Strengths: Unknown. Immunities: Unknown. Weakness: Unknown.

  Gryph decided there was no need to tangle with the beast now, or ever. He gave the creature a few minutes before he continued up the tunnel.

  Twenty minutes later he discovered a pressure plate trap that connected to nozzles built into the wall. The nozzles reminded Gryph of the flamethrowers he’d seen back on Earth. He moved by the pressure plate, swearing he could smell an old odor of charred flesh.

  Gryph walked for another twenty minutes before coming to a fork in the tunnel. The left-hand tunnel descended and he could hear a rush moving water. The right eased up at a comfortable gradient.

  Gryph chose the right-hand path. Not only could underground rivers be deadly with their uncontrolled surges, but the sound dredged up memories of the flash flood tunnels under Las Vegas. His unit had gone into the tunnels during the height of monsoon season to track down a terrorist cell that was hiding among the city’s homeless. One minute the tunnels were quiet and dry, the next a wall of water rushed towards them. He’d climbed an emergency ladder, but several of his men were caught in the torrent. The bodies were found several miles away, so battered that dental records hat to be used to identify them. The terror of drowning still sat heavy in his mind.

  Barely twenty yards up the passage, Gryph heard the sounds of approaching feet. He dipped into Stealth as another wyrmynn patrol came into view. A robed figure led this group. Gryph used Analyze and learned that it was a [Wyrmynn Priest - Level 12]. This priest was smarter than its kin as it paused and snapped an order to its underlings.

  Shit, Gryph thought.

  The priest was looking right at his hiding spot, beady eyes scanning back and forth. Stealth was holding, but Gryph decided it was time to test out his new Invisibility perk. He felt a shimmer pass through his body as if light were refracting off of him. Then the shimmer stopped, and a prompt popped into his vision.

  Invisibility has failed.

  Crap, 15% sucks. Had he made a mistake in using a precious point on such an unreliable perk? Not only that, but the failed attempt had still drained 30 points from his Stamina.

  A quick glance at his dipping Stamina bar sent a surge of worry through Gryph’s stomach. Move on, move on. Nothing to see here, Gryph thought, forcing mental commands into the universe.

  The universe ignored him, and the priest still stared. Gryph’s Stamina bar flared like the pulsing lights of a police car. He forced his mind to calm. Panic would be deadly, but so would the sound of his body falling to the ground if he lost consciousness.

  A eureka moment surged into his brain. He still had Attribute Points to use. He opened his interface and dumped a point into Constitution and his Stamina ticked up a few points, but the bar did not refill.

  What the hell? Gryph thought in alarm and dumped the second point into Constitution. Again a small uptick was the only response. Why didn’t it work? Gryph’s mind scrambled for an answer. It must require five points for the game hack to work? That was a full level’s worth of Attribute Points. A heavy cost for the game hack.

  His Stamina bar pulsed. Stealth would fail any moment. What the hell was this priest doing? His fellows wondered the same thing as the low grumbling of complaints moved through the other wyrmynn.

  “Silence,” the priest hissed in their horrid sounding language.

  Gryph’s muscles ached with the strain of staying absolutely still. The priest’s eyes moved away from Gryph’s hiding spot and its body relaxed. Sensing the ease of tension a wyrmynn scout mouthed off. A backhand strike from the priest’s staff knocked the offender to the ground with a grunt of pain.

  Gryph had his chance and eased back into the tunnel. If he could get to the next turn, maybe, just maybe he’d be able to sneak away. He moved back one foot, then another, slowly and silently bringing each boot to the ground. Never once taking his eyes of the wyrmynn priest.

  He was doing it. He was almost out of sight when his foot came down onto a loose rock and he slipped. The rock skittered down the decline behind him and the priest’s eyes snapped up boring right into Gryph’s eyes.

  The priest grinned a mouthful of jagged teeth and raised its hand. A bolt of black energy blasted Gryph in the chest and his body seized in pain. His Health dropped by nearly a third as his muscles spasmed.

  You have been hit by Necrotic Blast. Necrotic Blast is a Base Tier Death Magic spell. It deals direct death damage and can cause temporary paralysis. You have resisted temporary paralysis.

  Thanking the small miracle he turned and sprinted away from the wyrmynn. A barked order from the priest sent the foul creatures in pursuit. Another Necrotic Blast flew over his left shoulder, exploding against the wall of the tunnel. Several arrows and a spear clattered against the wall as he dipped and dodged and ran.

  Gryph came to the fork again and considered heading back the way he’d originally come, but suspected that the wyrmynn would catch up with him and even be able to summon their brethren from deeper in the Barrow.

  Gryph turned into the left fork and the cacophony of rushing water drowned out all sounds of pursuit. He could no longer hear the wyrmynn and didn't know how close they were. The ground was wet and littered with rocks and patches of moss making the footing treacherous. He dared not glance back for fear of falling.

  Another Necrotic Blast zipped past him and he ducked on instinct. Shards of rock cut into his face, but did no damage. However the arrow that hit his right shoulder did plenty. Pain pumped into him and he stumbled. His health bar dropped to barely over half and he wished that Lex had been there. His NPC’s healing skills and a big ass hammer would have been welcome support.

  The air filled with mist as Gryph rounded the corner. A fifteen foot wide torrent of white water bisected the tunnel. Two slime covered ropes, one bare inches above the roiling froth, another about chest height, stretched across the river. From there the tunnel continued deeper into the Barrow. Calling the pair of ancient ropes a bridge was as much a joke as reality. Gryph knew what he had to do, he just had no desire to do it.

  Another Necrotic Bolt flew overhead and forced the decision. Gryph eased a foot onto the lower rope while grabbing the other in his hands. The rope swayed and Gryph nearly lost his balance. He was barely to the middle when the wyrmynn arrived.

  The priest barked orders and the only words Gryph could make out above the din was “take him alive.” He found this very sporting until his mind wandered to what being captured alive by these stinking beasts might mean. Would he end up in a cooking pot? Torture? Something even more awful?

  He moved with agonizing slowness to the center of the river. The froth made seeing difficult and he could hear nothing. Any second he expected metal from a spear or arrow would bite him, or the sting of the priest’s death magic. Nothing came, and he risked a glance back. Two wyrmynn were clipping a rope to the end of a spear. Moby Dick flashed into his mind. The barbed tip of the spear would be perfect. The bastards were making a harpoon. Gryph sped up and nearly fell as his left foot slipped.

  His body dropped and pain from the arrow in his shoulder nearly caused him to lose his grip, but he held fast. He was getting close to the other side, but another glance back told him he would not make it. The wyrmynn had completed their makeshift harpoon and the largest one a [Wyrmynn Skirmisher; Level 9] was taking aim.

  Gryph knew he needed to jump for it. He turned, tensed his muscles and leaped. He landed hard, rib crunching pain bursting through him. He nearly slipped back into the raging water, but his outstretched arms found the strands of wet moss that cl
ung to the far side. He pulled himself up when a deep sting bit into his left calf.

  Gryph screamed at the agony surging up his leg. His Health dropped further, dipping below the 40% mark. Another pull dragged him into the water. The current pounded Gryph, smashing him against the bank before pulling him downstream. His mouth and nose filled with water and he couldn't breathe.

  Debuff Added: You are drowning; 5 points of damage per second.

  Debuff Added: You are bleeding; 5 points of damage per second.

  Gryph didn't waste time doing the math, but he knew he’d be dead in under a minute if he didn't do something. Almost unbidden he cast Animate Rope. Another violent jerk on the rope pulled his head above water. He would have screamed if he wasn’t coughing voluminous amounts of water from his lungs. They dragged him like a limp fish onto the shore. As he finished retching bile and brackish water, he felt himself turned onto his stomach. His arms were wrenched behind him and ropes bound his hands.

  Gryph finished casting, and the rope attached to the spear slithered with fake life. At first his captors were unaware of the serpentine presence until the rope snapped forward, coiling a loop around the neck of the wyrmynn who was tying Gryph’s hands. The rope tugged hard and spun, tossing the surprised lizard man towards the river. The creature’s head smashed against the roof of the cave and the wyrmynn disappeared into the water, sucked away like waste in a toilet.

  Another lizard was tossed into the water and the wyrmynn priest raged. The rope drew up like a cobra ready to strike. Gryph was cognizant to keep slack where the rope attached to the spear. Gryph pulled a red health potion from his bag and downed it.

  Warmth tore through him like whiskey on a cold day and with it life. His health bar surged, topping out at 65%. He would not die. At least not yet. The priest was muttering under his breath and gesturing with his clawed hands. Whatever he was casting took longer than the Necrotic Bolts he’d been tossing earlier. Gryph was no magic expert, but he suspected that a longer casting time meant bad things were on the horizon.

  Gryph went on the offensive and cast Flying Stalactite. He felt his arm grow rigid as the power of the earth itself flowed down his arm. With a crack a thin missile of rock erupted from his outstretched palm.

  Gryph pointed his hand at the closest wyrmynn, a scout who’d raised his mace overhead and was ready to bring it crashing down onto Gryph. The stalactite punctured the wyrmynn’s armor and impaled it through the chest. Gryph earned a Critical Strike for the range and the surprise. The wyrmynn was dead before the stalactite pinned it to the wall of the cave behind it.

  You have earned 575 XP for slaying a Wyrmynn Scout.

  The priest was reaching the climax of his dramatic chanting. Gryph had no idea what was about to happen, but he knew one thing, he had no desire to hang out and wait. Gryph hobbled to his feet. He turned to face the priest and extended the middle fingers on both hands. He had no idea if the wyrmynn understood the gesture, so he hissed and growled the meaning in fluent wyrmynn.

  The priest’s eyes went wide in fury, but he kept discipline and finished his chanting with a hiss of anger. The priest raised his hands above his head and silver energy coalesced. Gryph decided he needed to be elsewhere and dove into the rushing water. The river smashed him into the sides of the tunnel and his health sank again. But a few moments later the surge calmed as the water filled the tunnel. The good news, he was no longer being smashed against the sides of the tunnel. The bad, there was nowhere to find air.

  He spun and sped and soon his breath was falling. Gryph’s health bar raged an angry, blinking red, and he began to drown.

  23

  A surge of excitement pulsed through the Barrow King. His wyrmynn had cornered the elf and would soon bring the Godhead to him. Soon he would have the power to escape this wretched half life. Soon he would become a god.

  He watched the battle through the eyes of the wyrmynn priest. While still relatively low level, this elf had proven to be incredibly resourceful, even creative. The Barrow King liked a challenge. As a master of the soul sphere, the Barrow King could assimilate the skills and knowledge of those he possessed. That was the way he had gained so much knowledge and power in his physical life. And he would have it again.

  Nefarious joy exploded in the Barrow King’s mind. The wyrmynn have him. The man was injured, but alive, just as he had demanded. The revenant made plans. He would consume the elf’s soul and take his body as his own. With the Godhead he could gorge himself on all the life in the Barrow.

  Then he would evolve the Godhead. It would take time and patience, but the Barrow King had suffered for millennia so he was also a master of patience. The wyrmynn had his prize tied and ready for delivery when the man escaped his bonds and used them as a weapon. He’d used his limited magic in a most inventive way. The Barrow King would have been impressed if he weren’t so angry.

  Time to take control of this situation, the Barrow King realized.

  He extended his will through his dungeon and placed himself into the small mind of the wyrmynn priest. The beast had just enough mana for this one spell. It would be a conduit for the Barrow King’s casting. He knew it would burn out the priest’s mind, but he cared less about that than a man who steps on an ant while out for a walk.

  The Barrow King started casting Soul Portal, a spell of his own creation. It required a lengthy casting time, but when completed it would create a doorway between his location and the battle. Then he could drag the man through the portal and take his prize.

  The man locked eyes with him and made a furious gesture with both hands that the Barrow King did not understand. Then the elf spoke in the wyrmynn’s horrid language and the meaning became clear.

  No, young fool, fuck you, the Barrow King thought. The casting was at an end when the elf added one last insult to gesture and words and jumped into the raging river.

  The Barrow King howled and his rage burned out what little remained of the wyrmynn priest’s paltry mind. The creature collapsed, dead before it hit the ground. The pent up energy of the Barrow King’s spell had nowhere to go. It exploded and tore through the remaining wyrmynn, splattering the cave with blood and gore.

  The revenant’s mind tried to feel the Godhead. It could not see the man. He had no minion in the torrential river, but he knew where it would take the elf. To the cavern with the lake. The lake where the arboleth dwelled.

  Fear gripped the Barrow King. There was no being in this dungeon who could challenge the Barrow King except for the arboleth. The arboleth was an ancient aetherial aberration that the Barrow King had drawn to this realm in his youthful arrogance. It had taken all of his power to trap the beast in the watery prison where it now lived. The watery prison the man with the Godhead would soon enter.

  If the arboleth took possession of the Godhead, it would escape and the Barrow King was far too weak to survive a battle with the immortal entity. He needed to stop that from happening.

  He extended his mind into the underground lake. There on a small island he caused a chest to emerge, laden with the best weapons the Barrow King could provide. He glamoured the chest with a spell of seduction that would lure the elf to the island. It was not much, but perhaps it would be enough for the high elf to survive and to escape.

  It would have to be.

  24

  G ryph’s health bar was playing a game called ‘How Quickly Can I Plummet?’ and it was putting up an MVP effort. He guessed he’d been in the water for a minute when a Drowning prompt popped into the corner of his vision. Again? Dammit. Flashes of light sparked in his vision ticking away the last moments of his life.

  The torrent of water shot Gryph from the cave opening like a cannonball. A coughing, sputtering near dead cannonball. Gryph inhaled a ragged breath that burned his starved lungs as it nourished them.

  It was then he realized he was falling. He’d emerged into a large cavern, dominated by a lake. The water from the river erupted into the cavern nearly one hundred feet in the air. Gryph
shot like a cork exploding from an shaken bottle of champagne, tumbling head over feet as he plummeted towards the lake.

  Gryph knew that pain was coming, but as he hit the surface of the water with an epic, skin smacking belly flop he suspected he might also die. The water felt like concrete and the small breaths he’d pulled into his lungs exploded on impact.

  Gryph lost consciousness.

  Deep in the lake something stirred. Powerful thoughts reached outwards as a primordial body awoke from a deathlike slumber. Something was in its cave. Something that held a powerful potential. Something that would serve it.

  When Gryph came to, he was several feet below the water and sinking. His sliver of health flashed as it dipped to 10%. His Health, like his body, was sinking. He pushed through the agony and swam towards the dim light of the surface. His lungs burned like molten iron as he put the last of his life into a few more frantic kicks.

  His mind retreated to a place of comfort. A place from his past.

  Brynn walked in the place she once loved most. The house at Bow Lake. The house that burned. The house that had taken their mother. Brynn looked back at Gryph and smiled. It was all wrong. It was adult Brynn who looked back at Gryph. Yet, he could see the fifteen year old girl whose life would soon shatter looking back at him. He had failed her then. He wouldn't fail her now.

  Gryph broke the surface and his lungs burned as he inhaled.

  He spent a few moments recovering when a sharp pain reminded him the spear was still lodged in his leg. The journey down the river had broken the haft in two, causing the flow of blood to increase. He tried to pull the spear shaft from his leg, but couldn’t get a solid grip on the weapon.