The lava ate away at Azibek’s Health, but Roark didn’t stand around watching it drop. He launched himself back into inscribing. He wasn’t certain how much longer he had before the battle ended, but he didn’t want to be caught only half-finished.
Roark chanced a glance toward the back of the throne room as he sprinted for his next hexing surface. It looked as if several of the Troll High Court had been taken down by his allied Trolls. Using Kaz’s maps had allowed his most powerful friends and allies to bypass the majority of the fifth-floor defenses, piling into the throne room virtually unscathed. As he watched, Zyra and Kaz sliced and hacked away at a Jotnar Soul-Cursed named Zul. Grozka and a trio of Behemoths were taking apart an Elemental Thursr under the nameplate Lazjin, and Wurgfozz, Druz, and Mac were tearing into a wiry Reaver Shaman named Verisk with help from Wurgfozz’s honor guard.
So far, so good.
With an earth-shaking boom, Azibek landed right beside Roark. A quarter of the purple liquid drained from Roark’s Magick vial as the Hex-Armor absorbed the damage. Roark dropped to the floor and rolled away as Mike_T_Boarkiller ran in, screaming his ululating battle cry.
The battle cry quickly turned into a howl of pain as Azibek’s Infernal scythe cut the Bloodfury Savage in half.
Roark dashed off the next hex and accepted it.
One surface left to go.
And one hero left to go.
It seemed when he hadn’t been looking, the Dungeon Lord had finished off KellieTheDeathless. Now only PwnrBwner_OG stood against the massive Jotnar Exarch, firing lava from one hand and blinding fountains of sparks from his Blue Flame Mace.
Azibek’s wings beat at the air, dragging him toward the High Combat Cleric.
Roark darted to the wall adjacent to the throne and inscribed his final hex on the last available surface. This hex completed the enormous trap he’d carefully constructed around the perimeter of the room. Time to finish this.
Azibek’s roar and PwnrBwner’s furious prayer rang off the walls of the throne room. PwnrBwner was clinging to life by a mere handful of Health. One more blow from the Dungeon Lord would kill him. For his part, Azibek wasn’t doing much better. It seemed his fight with the heroes had taken its toll, and less than a quarter of his Health bar remained.
As the Dungeon Lord and High Combat Cleric faced off with one another, Roark stood up from his final hex and pulled out a cursed severed head. Neatly positioning himself in full view of both PwnrBwner and Azibek, he dispelled his Glamour Cloak.
“You!” screeched PwnrBwner, his face going livid purple inside his black helm.
“Me.” Roark jerked the nose ring from the severed head, triggering its curse, then lobbed it at the furious Cleric.
FORTY-FOUR:
To the Victor go the Spoils
PwnrBwner_OG thrust his free palm at Roark, unleashing a slurry of molten rock. But too late. As Roark sidestepped the lava fountain, the severed head slammed into the High Combat Cleric’s flaming pauldron, exploding in a shower of bone spikes and gore. Roark pulled another from his Inventory and hurled it, this time clipping PwnerBwner and catching Azibek in the blast radius, taking out a chunk of the Dungeon Lord’s life. Brilliant.
Red-faced, PwnerBwner whirled, trying to figure out who to fight. The enraged Dungeon Lord or the sneaky Griefer running circles around him, hurling cursed heads.
Azibek looked equally confused, but finally settled on PwnrBwner as the greater threat.
That served Roark’s plans well. He grabbed another head, this one cursed with a noxious fog, and lobbed it in between the two clashing foes. A toxic yellow miasma rolled out and up as the head hit and burst with a wet splat. PwnrBwner’s HP bar flashed green, though Azibek was frustratingly unaffected. Still the cloud momentarily distracted the Dungeon Lord, and the High Combat Cleric struck—a wicked bolt of holy lightning arcing out from his weapon, eating through another chunk of Azibek’s Health.
The Dungeon Lord flapped his massive wings, dispersing the cloud, and lashed out with his Infernal scythe. PwnrBwner threw himself into a blazing-quick roll. Fast, but not quite fast enough. The scythe clipped his leg, only a glancing blow, but one that sent tongues of purple flame licking up from the wound and brought the man to the edge of death.
Roark grinned and struck again, launching a simple level 1 Fireball at the Cleric. Under any other circumstances, the attack would’ve been completely useless. These, however, were anything but normal circumstances.
PwnrBwner howled like a madman as the Fireball hit and his Health bar plummeted to zero. The irony of the kill was not lost on Roark, and he reveled in the Experience points from what should have been Azibek’s kill.
Azibek landed on the stone floor with a teeth-jarring boom. His deep chuckle silenced even the pitched battle between the Troll High Court and Roark’s troops.
“Of course,” Azibek said, folding his leathery wings behind his back. “The ambitious little Changeling Overseer, scheming his way to the top. Be careful that your next move doesn’t overreach itself.”
Roark ignored the taunting, forging ahead before the battered Exarch healed himself.
“Azibek the Cruel,” he said. “I challenge you for Dungeon Lord of the Cruel Citadel.”
╠═╦╬╧╪
Sic Semper Tyrannis
You have challenged Azibek the Cruel for the right to rule over the Cruel Citadel as Dungeon Lord!
Objective: Kill Azibek the Cruel in single combat.
Reward: Become the new Dungeon Lord of the Cruel Citadel, command and deploy Keep mobs, create and alter the layout of the Keep, gain access to the Dungeon Lord’s Blessings, 50,000 Experience
Failure: Die at the hand of Azibek the Cruel in single combat.
Penalty: No respawn.
Restrictions: No outside assistance, no Health potions may be used.
Accept quest? Yes/No
╠═╦╬╧╪
With a thought, Roark accepted the terms of the challenge. The page disappeared, showing him an unsurprised, unimpressed Dungeon Lord.
“I accept,” Azibek growled, his glinting onyx eyes focusing once more. Rather than flying into an immediate attack, the Exarch rested the butt of his Infernal scythe on the floor and looked down his long grey nose at Roark. The distance was nowhere near as great as it had been when Roark was a mere Changeling. “Do you recall what I told you when you became Overseer? I told you to have a care to rein in your ambition lest it be your downfall.”
“And I told you I knew my place,” Roark said. He cast Hex-Aura on himself, Magick trickling from his filigreed purple vial as a hair-thin sphere of amethyst encircled him like spun glass. He pulled his rapier and raised the slender blade in a clear invitation. “I’m willing to bet my life I was right. Are you?”
Azibek smiled, revealing fangs as long as a man’s hand, and hefted his Infernal scythe. His leathery wings unfolded and stretched wide like the hood of a cobra trying to intimidate its foe.
“I suppose you want me to attack, stepping into your sphere and causing myself damage in the process?” the Dungeon Lord guessed, raising one pale brow. It wasn’t exactly how Hex-Aura worked—Azibek would have to deal physical melee damage to Roark to trigger the Curse—but it was close enough. “No, I don’t think I’ll do your job for you today, little Changeling.” He opened his arms wide. “To the challenger goes the first move.”
Roark scowled. He’d hoped to end this without actually coming to blows with the Exarch. Even with only a tenth of his HP remaining, Azibek was nearly double his level and had taken the Jotnar’s fighting specialized evolutionary path rather than the spell-slinging Infernali. There was no way that in fair, single combat Roark would manage any better than PwnrBwner. But Roark didn’t intend to fight fair. He would just have to force Azibek to make the moves required to finish this duel.
His eye caught Kaz’s terrified black gaze across the room. For once, the Thursr chef wasn’t holding Mac bodily to stop the bloodthirsty beast from intervening. T
he Turtle Dragon’s bearded mouth was wrapped around the wiry forearm of the Reaver Shaman, seemingly stopped just before snapping the bone in half. Zyra stood clutching a Cursed Longknife in each hand, her poisoned claws extended.
“Well, little Changeling pretender?” Azibek’s taunt was loud in the absolute silence of the throne room. “I’m waiting.”
Roark’s fist tightened around the rapier’s hilt. He swallowed hard. There was only one thing to do.
He turned on his heel and ran.
A moment of stunned silence followed him, then booming laughter as deep as the rumble of tectonic plates shifting. Roark vaulted over the ornate chest and crouched down behind it.
The rhythmic whoosh of air and snap of leather let him know that Azibek had taken to the wing again.
“Seven hells,” Roark cursed under his breath. This would never work if he couldn’t force the Dungeon Lord’s feet to the ground.
Roark pulled his quill and inkpot and set to work writing a hasty paralysis hex on the back of the ornate chest as fast as he could. As he inscribed the last letter, he stood.
[Would you like to Hex this surface? Yes/No?
Note: For every Hex you inscribe, Cursed! will extract a share of your Infernali Magick equal to your Enchanting level x .5 your character level.]
Roark stared through the lines of text at the Dungeon Lord, who hovered over the nearly invisible amethyst rune on the floor.
“Did you find your courage back there?” Azibek chuckled. “Don’t be afraid, little Changeling, I’ll make your end fast.”
The Dungeon Lord swooped at him, swinging his Infernal scythe in a death blow. At the same time, Roark scooped the ornate chest from the floor and confirmed the hex, hurling the enormous box at the diving Jotnar Exarch.
Weakness coursed through Roark’s veins as Cursed! extracted its price from his Magick vial. The letters he’d inscribed on the chest twisted and spread until they covered nearly the entire back panel, bending and blurring into the form of a deadly rune. Amethyst light flared the moment before it slammed into the Dungeon Lord’s scythe and arms.
[On impact, any single opponent becomes instantly paralyzed for 15 seconds.]
A brilliant blue flash blazed through the throne room. Azibek’s wings stopped beating and his body froze in place—a giant, hideous statue hanging in the air.
And then, Azibek dropped like a brick onto the hex Roark had inscribed on the floor.
When the Dungeon Lord’s Paralyzed form hit the rune, it triggered the first explosion. Roark threw up his hand, casting an Infernal shield to protect himself. Huge chunks of debris fell throughout the throne room like rain, sending the crowd of watching Trolls running for the door. The wreckage from that explosion triggered the remaining hexes so painstakingly inscribed around the throne room, crushing Azibek’s Paralyzed body beneath tons of rubble.
From behind his violet barrier, Roark watched the Dungeon Lord’s Health bar flash a critical warning, then empty completely.
Roark’s mystic grimoire appeared before him, open to the page marked Quests.
╠═╦╬╧╪
Congratulations! You have completed the quest Sic Semper Tyrannis!
You may ascend to the throne as Dungeon Lord of the Cruel Citadel!
To accept position as Dungeon Lord, take a seat on the throne.
To reject position as Dungeon Lord, leave the Keep without taking a seat on the throne.
Warning: If you leave the Keep without accepting the position as Dungeon Lord, you will not be able to return and accept later.
Warning: If you accept the position as Dungeon Lord for the Cruel Citadel, you will automatically be removed as Floor Overseer of the fourth floor.
╠═╦╬╧╪
Roark closed the grimoire and looked to the throne. Only the steps in front of the carved stone seat had been destroyed by his hex; the throne itself was still intact. On closer inspection, he realized the throne’s back was a carved set of onyx wings that curved down into the armrests flanking the seat. He stepped over the crater and sat on the Dungeon Lord’s throne.
[Congratulations! You have ascended to Dungeon Lord of the Cruel Citadel!
All hail the new Dungeon Lord!
From the Dungeon Lord’s Throne, you may command and deploy Keep mobs, create and alter the Keep’s layout, purchase resources or upgrades for the Keep, and access the Dungeon Lord’s Blessings.]
He glanced at the ribbons marking pages in the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire. It was similar in many ways to the Overseer’s Grimoires, but in addition to the Floor Design and Troop Management pages, there was also a page marked Blessings. It was a list of the Blessings he could bestow as Dungeon Lord—Fleeting, Lingering, and Eternal. Beneath that was Boons, a section on the benefits of granting other Trolls gifts as Azibek had done with the Lash of the Waning Blood Moon.
Roark barely noticed when a reptilian head and scrabbling scaly legs forced their way behind his back, followed by a smooth-plated shell. He scooted forward to the edge of the throne while Mac settled in, curling scaly legs and tail around Roark’s sides. Roark leaned back against the bloodthirsty Turtle Dragon as he continued reading.
It seemed all boons had properties unknown to the receivers—the weapons couldn’t deal damage to the Dungeon Lord, the armor would fail if the wearer was attacked by the Dungeon Lord, and the jewelry lost its stat bonuses when in the Dungeon Lord’s presence. Lucky, then, that he hadn’t used the Lash of the Waning Blood Moon against Azibek.
The scraping of boots and clanking of armor sounded nearby. Roark closed the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire to find the allied Trolls leading in Azibek’s High Court at sword-point.
“What should we do with these, Dungeon Lord?” Grozka asked, her raucous voice ringing off the throne room walls.
Roark found Zyra with her blade to the throat of a well-dressed Elemental. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt certain that he caught her eye. Nearby, Kaz looked slightly panicked, as if dreading the inevitable bloodshed now that the battle had ended.
“I’ll give you all the same choice I gave the rest of the floors I’ve Overseen,” Roark said, standing. “Submit to me as your new Dungeon Lord or leave the citadel. If you won’t do either, I’ll be forced to have you executed.”
One by one, the Troll High Court fell to their knees and bowed. Zyra kicked the Elemental she’d been holding hostage in the backside, but sheathed her Cursed Longknives.
Kaz stepped forward, raising one zucchini-sized forefinger tipped in a razor-sharp black talon. “Now that Roark is Dungeon Lord, may Kaz and Mai prepare a feast?”
“Nothing would make me happier, mate. Let’s eat!”
FORTY-FIVE:
Grand Feast
After looting the heroes’ bodies—much to the shock and horror of the remaining members of the High Court, who’d never seen such behavior from an Infernal chimera before—Roark had a few of the lower-level Trolls from the allied floors show them how to mark the bodies for griefing. Though the other heroes had seemed reluctant to come back to the citadel, there was something about PwnrBwner_OG which convinced them to go against their better judgment—perhaps some sort of Hero Leadership Skill. Roark didn’t doubt the High Combat Cleric would be back sooner or later with most of his usual party in tow.
With the heroes’ corpses dealt with, Grozka offered to have a group of her troops clear away the rubble and debris from the throne room. On a hunch, Roark refused. He returned to the throne—eliciting a grumpy gurgle from the sleeping Turtle Dragon in his seat—and opened the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire to the Floor Design page. After a few minutes tinkering with the layout of the Keep, Roark accepted the changes.
The piles of rock and rubble disappeared, the craters where the hexes had blown up refilled themselves as if they were never there, and the ornate chest thrumming with Infernal power righted itself and returned to the corner. Azibek’s broken corpse was the only piece of evidence to show that there had been a battle in the throne ro
om not more than an hour before.
Roark closed the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire, left the throne, and bent down to loot the dead Jotnar Exarch. The only things Azibek had were the Infernal Feverblood Scythe and a twisted wooden ring the color of a fresh scab. Roark focused in on each of the items in turn, bringing up their information in his mystic grimoire.
╠═╦╬╧╪
Infernal Feverblood Scythe
Two-Handed Damage: 200
Durability: 111/120
Level Requirement: 36
Strength Requirement: 100
Dexterity Requirement: 180
Blade Class Weapon – Slow Attack Speed
Lights an Infernal fire in the blood of targets, burning them from the inside out for +6 x character level/sec Burning Damage for up to 6 seconds.
+15% chance of Decapitating target
Warning: Infernal Feverblood Scythe is an alignment-based item. Players with a Divine alignment will take (.5 x character level) Damage/sec as long as Infernal Feverblood Scythe is equipped.
╠═╦╬╧╪
Clearblood Ring
Durability: 89/96
Level Requirement: 16
Resists 100% of poison, disease, and blood-based magical attacks.
╠═╦╬╧╪
Even if he favored two-handed weapons, the scythe would be useless to him for at least nine more levels. That would go in the pile to destroy for its enchantment as soon as he made it back up to the smithy. In the meantime, he knew exactly what to do with the ring.
Roark closed out of the grimoire and glanced around the throne room. He found Zyra picking through a shelf of rare and unusual Alchemy ingredients. The Dread Reaver’s hood lifted as he joined her.
“I’ve got a ring that will protect me from an assassin’s poisoned claws now,” he said, holding up the item in question.
Civil War Page 33