The Dungeon Con: One Foot in the Grave ( Hank Grave Book 1): One Foot in the Grave (Hank Grave series)

by Marty Myers

  The Dungeon Con: One Foot in the Grave ( Hank Grave Book 1)

  One Foot in the Grave

  Marty Myers

  The Dungeon Con: One Foot in the Grave ( Hank Grave Book 1) Copyright © 2018 by Marty Myers. All Rights Reserved.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Illustrator artist Edward Collier

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Author's Bio

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to take a moment to thank my lovely wife Teresa. She has been wonderfully supportive of my attempts to write. Allowing me to retreat to my own space away from our children long enough to type up this story and others. Listening to me bounce ideas off her and when I want to read parts of my book to get a second opinion about how it sounds. All that should qualify her for sainthood in my book. I love you dear

  Illustrator artist Edward Collier

  Credit where Credit is due….

  My book cover is based on one of Edwaert Colliers Vanitas and is in the public domain being hundreds of years old. It has been cleaned up and altered with several filters and other changes to alter the look somewhat while retaining much of the style and meaning of the original.

  Edwaert Collier also referred to as Edward Collier or Evert Collier was a Dutch still life painter who was born in 1642. He moved around quite a bit plying his trade and ended up in London. He painted a series of interesting Vanitas still life paintings using a wide range of props many of which appear repeatedly in his various paintings. His paintings were made from 1662 to 1707.

  Vanitas paintings are meant to show the transience of life and the pointlessness of gathering wealth and possessions in the face of the inevitability of death. Many of them have a religious aspect to them and are often used as reminders to look to your spiritual well being and not just your corporal condition. They often have a composition of objects representing of earthly riches and possessions mixed in with skulls and bones and other objects which symbolize death or time in one fashion or another many of them also used flowers or music or musical instruments. Some of them are made for specific people while others were painted as a reminder to all mortals in general.

  Vanitas vanitatum omnia vanitas = translates as “ vanity of vanities, all is vanity’ Ecclesiastes 1:2-3”

  Vanitas is just one of the many styles of Momento Mori that mankind has used in our art to help us deal with our own mortality and death. Other similar or related styles are the danse macabre and the Ars Moriendi, meaning the art of death.

  Momento Mori is to remember that you too must die. It is the practice of reflecting upon mortality.

  Chapter 1

  Crawling from under the burning remains of the wagons, his one undamaged hand made deep furrows in the bloody dirt. If he had not already been dead long before the weight of the wagon had crushed him it would have done the job just fine. Even if it had not, the smoke and heat from it catching on fire would have finished any mortal off as the bodies of countless crushed, blackened, prisoners and slaves laying alongside him attested to. The very fact that the wooden wagon had burned away enough of it’s crushing weight atop him to eventually allow his mangled form to drag itself clear from underneath the smoldering wreckage was a small dark miracle in itself.

  The carnage and death energies surrounding him on the field of battle were sustaining him despite his master’s sudden destruction. The backlash of the elder liches necromantic existence being suddenly extinguished had decimated most of the rest of the host of animated dead and lesser liches. Even his own influence among the throng of ghouls and carrion-eating birds had broke. The scavengers had mostly turned tail and fled or stopped their charge upon the forces of light to feed upon the casualties already laying upon the field.

  How had it gone so wrong? His master was all but invincible having reforged the crown and scepter of the Dark Prince, mastered the Necronomical College and gathered a mighty host of Dark forces to answer at his beck and call. Damn the Light and their clerics and champions, no one should get to win every war! He railed bitterly at his circumstances, cursing constantly at his slow progress and alarming fortune and most of all at the enemy. What now he thought, there was no chance of victory this day, his continued existence could be measured in minutes on this battlefield if he were being optimistic.

  He summoned up a fog from the ground hoping to obscure himself and the feild from anyone looking to finish off the last remnants of his master’s forces even though the effort for even this minor bit of magic taxed him more than he cared to admit. He had been on the very edge of the Celestial bombardment which had shattered the center of the dark host and destroyed his master’s defenses. He wasn’t sure which of the opposing champions had managed to call down that particular celestial strike or how they could have paid for or powered it. He had been with the baggage train toward the back with the prisoners overseeing the loot and his master’s belongings. Even back here though It would not be long before the so-called heroes were out here looting and pillaging as well as putting down the last of the undead and this would be one of their first targets.

  He must escape soon if he wished to continue to exist. No, he needed his master’s lesser Grimoire’s which were somewhere here in the wreckage. Mastering his own damaged carcass he forced it to continue to obey his will and climbed to his feet. He tottered back and began searching amongst the wreckage. Many things had been completely burnt or ruined, however, the enchanted tomes he was searching for would not burn. Here also was something he had not anticipated finding, another of the master’s possessions which had survived the fire. Within a dark and twisted cage huddled the singed form of a demonic Imp held prisoner, although it was cursing and rapidly tearing the cage apart with is claws. Before the Imp was bound to the master but with his death, it had a chance at freedom. Imps were generally minor demonic minions good for little besides spying, message carrying and mischief. This imp was special though and the master had kept it long after most lesser minions other than the dead were discarded in his rise to power. This one, had an ability to teleport that was far superior to others of its kind, even being able to transport another with him if pressed to do so.

  Provoas decided he in his turn too would make use of its infernal talents. Quickly he opened one of the Grimoire’s and found the familiar spell, casting it would deplete much of his remain
ing strength but it was a gamble he would have to take. Even now he could hear the sounds of men moving about in the fog. Quickly he cast the spell and forced the bond onto the struggling Imp. The spell faltered and almost failed before finally settling like chains onto the creature in the cage. As it was done the red and black bat-like lizard creature took on a more human-like appearance once more and settled down. It had gained certain attributes from the bond, although now was not the time to study these changes closely nor to examine the condition of the spell. “ You are mine now and will serve me doing as I command,” he said to the creature. The Liche awkwardly let the Imp out and gathered up the tomes in his one good hand. then he commanded the Imp to teleport him and his belongings far away from the battlefield and with a small whoosh of rushing air and a belch of sulfur the last liche left the scene of the latest defeat of the Dark by the Light.

  On the field general Bandas looked around at the sudden fog rolling in blanketing the area and ordered his men to search through it thoroughly and put down the remnants of the dead that were still lurching about with overwhelming force as he didn’t want any to escape only then to pop up and cause more trouble for the king later on. He had faced such resurgences of the Dark Ones many times before in his lifetime. Necromancers were many times harder to finish off for good than cockroaches he thought in disgust.

  Frustration was eating at Provoas, In the weeks since his escape little progress had been made to regain much of his strength, or to study the grimoires he had recovered. The forces of light were seemingly riding everywhere scouring the countryside in an attempt to wipe out every sign of the Dark powers that remained. They were checking cemeteries, entering old tombs, and investigating ancient ruins. if it were not for the ravaging much of the northern kingdom’s countryside had suffered under his old master’s march to the capital they would have probably fielded an even larger force to hunt him down and caught up to him already. However, rebuilding the shattered towns and burnt down villages took manpower too. It was rumored that they had even sent a party of heroes to the far north, to the ruins of the original Dark Citadel for all the good that would do them. Many times he was just one step ahead of the heroes and escaped only because of the imps talented teleportation.

  This would not do, he needed time to plot and plan, to study the Grimoires knowledge and accumulate more necromantic energy. He could not retreat to the traditional old haunts or havens of the undead, even those holdouts who had not followed his master were being eradicated as the cursed Light followers dug them out of their ruined castles, cursed barrows, and obscure hidey-holes . No, what he needed was a new secure stronghold in which to hold up until his power grew back to its fullest. Probably a tomb or dungeon complex underground, somewhere remote. Far away from here and the kingdoms prying eyes.

  As he thought about it inspiration hit him. There was an old abandoned castle up in the mountains far to the east guarding a long unused pass that was once a source of occasional trade with the Halcon kingdom across the mountains. If he remembered correctly the place had been abandoned many many years ago when a plague had wiped out its ancestral lords about the same time a landslide/avalanche had buried the pass. It would require work to tunnel under the mountain, but if done quietly enough, it would be secure and unknown to his enemies. Even as remote as it was, someone might think to take a look there eventually. He would have to be careful not to change its outward appearance of abandonment. The Liche Lord Provoas would need more minions to accomplish this and not just the mindless skeletons who even now tirelessly carried his palanquin east…..

  Chapter 2

  What should have been one of Hank’s best weekends ever was really somewhat of a bummer. He had come to this year’s Dungeon Con with his girlfriend Francis to spend the weekend gaming, checking out the vendors new products, gaming, attending some of the panels, gaming, entering the cons costume contest, gaming and if he had the time to go to one of the after parties with Francis before crashing back at the hotel and getting up to do it again the next day all the better. Instead, he and Francis had got into a big fight right away the first day, over nothing much really. She had accused him of ogling some other girls dressed in costumes standing in one of the many lines as they walked in.

  He had replied that of course, he was looking at the crowd’s costumes, that was one of the reasons people came to the con to see and be seen in them and he wanted to see what the competition for the costume contest later was going to be like. Their costumes were pretty good Hank thought, He was dressed as a pirate from that popular slew of movies a while back. Francis was dressed in that awesome Diva Warrior Princess outfit he loved so much. He had told her how great she looked in it so many times that she had finally asked him to stop it a month ago. Hank thought it might also be because he had asked her to wear it to bed that one time. So then he had tried not looking at the other girl’s costumes as they walked around, for which crime he had been accused of acting weird and being a jerk.

  Things had gone downhill from there as they couldn’t seem to agree which games to sign up for, what rows of vendors to go down first, which panels to attend, etc. By lunchtime, when they couldn’t even agree where to eat they split up, Francis storming away with some girlfriends she had run across at the con to get a salad and some health food or some rubbish like that while Hank was off to find a juicy hamburger and fries. Before he had even found the food court, picked a restaurant and got through the line to order and set down to enjoy his burger, he got a text saying Francis had totally had it with him. it was over between them, they had irreconcilable differences etc.

  He couldn’t believe she would just text dump him over this. What was wrong with her? He thought about sending an angry text back but stopped himself in time. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small part him that was a bit insecure asked what was wrong with him that she would just dump him without a second thought like this. He had some self-esteem issues still from when he was younger and the smallest scrawniest kid in his class that he had not managed to completely conquer. True he was still somewhat gangly, having got all his height all at once but not filling out his spare frame even though he was in his second year of college now. That and his freckles and red hair always made him somewhat self-conscious. But he tried to muffle his insecurities and now his regret and instead dug into his burger and fries.

  As he dumped his trash he decided it was a strange kind of karma as he and Francis had met one year ago here at the Dungeon Con and had hit it off right away. They had had such fun then, that they had exchanged phone numbers and started gaming together and then had begun dating a few weeks later. Their respective interests and circles of friends were a bit different but they had enough in common that they were able to bridge the gap. It had all been going pretty well until a couple months ago when they decided to share an apartment and save on expenses. Then it seemed like they had started getting on each other’s nerves. just little things at first but they seemed to add up. Francis’s temper was like a firecracker, fiery and explosive but when she wasn’t mad she was usually soft spoken and sweet. They had had a couple fights but afterward, they had always made up.

  They had decided recently what they needed was a relaxing weekend away from their tiny apartment and what would be better for their one year anniversary than going back to Dungeon Con together. Well here he was, he decided he could sit around and mope all weekend or he could throw himself into the many events and activities here at the con to get his mind off of it. His decision made, he set off to sign up to run a pickup game before the next gaming seminar he wanted to sit in on.

  Chapter 3

  Provoas traveled far up the mountain pass from the valley below deep in the night to avoid notice by the locals. When he finally arrived in the upper pass the liche gazed upon the old castle. He continued studying the ruin as he was carried up a steep narrow path through the scree slope in front.The castle was four stories tall and built right into a tall and wide rock wall which made up one sid
e of the mountain pass. It was girded by a curtain wall built out from the natural stone walls. In the front was a gatehouse with two towers on either side. The outer Portcullis was currently raised so he was carried on through the gates. The sound of dozens of boots stomping echoed across the courtyard as his dead retainers halted around him. The castle was not as decrepit as he had imagined it would be. The remote location, inhospitable weather much of the year, steep slopes and well-buried pass further up the mountain should help to safeguard him.

  Now to see if the keeps guts extended very far down into the mountainside, he would likely need to dig in further, burrowing deeper to remain undisturbed while age ravaged his enemies strength and restored his own. Mortality was a curse he wished upon all his foes, for with time he could outwait the men, no matter how mighty or devout to the Lords of Light they might be. The elves were another matter, though they where few in number they were nearly unaging damn them. Returning his attention to his current circumstances he climbed from his palanquin and trod across the flagstones and in through the keeps front doors. A modest great hall awaited him covered in years of dust with a few doorways leading deeper into the structure. The darkness bothered him not at all as he made his way further into the interior.

  He found to his delight the desiccated, plague-ravaged remains of the last residents of the castle and their servants still laying scattered about. They would serve him well. He stretched out his senses and unfurled his power all throughout the keep and its surroundings and as it touched each carcass his will called to them to rise. Arcane words echoed in an inhuman chant as the liche poured necromantic energy into his creations and as one they rose to their feet to obey their new master. His inspection of the keep’s interior showed a big kitchen and several more dusty rooms carved into the rock walls and a stone staircase leading up to the floors above with only a small cave cellar beneath the keep, used in years past for storing rootstock and supplies by the look of it. He would need much more than this.