Tree Dungeon

by Andrew Karevik

  There was little to do after Urioc left, other than wait. I refined my traps a little, year to year, but for the first six years as a dungeon, nobody came to see me. I was not upset with this arrangement, of course, for I was able to continue growing downwards. My roots were on the cusp of some powerful well of magic, but there was a firm layer blocking me. Whether that layer was manmade or not, I would be breaking through it someday. That magic would be mine.

  It was on a warm spring day when they arrived. A short, stout dwarf who wobbled a little as he walked, wielding two axes, and his human companions. The man was of average height and carried a bow, as well as armor made from the skin of a fiendish warg. The woman, slender and with a single pointed ear, held a harp and a bag full of potions. I watched with curiosity, to see if they were here to find the treasure within. Truth be told, I was a little excited. I had prepared all this time, to defend Urioc’s possessions, and now I would discover if my preparations would pay off.

  “Grib, are you sure this is it?” the woman asked, plucking her harp a little.

  “Aye,” Grib the dwarf shouted. “I’m a tracker of the highest caliber, am I not? Your divination told us to find a damnable tree with a mouth, and this is a tree with a mouth.”

  “How is that a mouth?” the man asked. He pointed at my entrance. “I think the divination was literal. Like we need to find a talking tree.”

  “Ain’t no talking trees in the Feverwood,” Grib said. “Damn local druids all died a long while back. Necromancer killed them all. That entrance is a mouth. It means this is what we’re looking for.”

  “Well, we came all this way, let’s see if it’s in there,” the man said as he unsheathed his bow. “Fall in.”

  They entered in formation, the dwarf in the front, the musician in the back and the man in the middle, prepared to strike at a moment’s notice. There was nothing within me to fight them, of course, but in watching them, I realized that they were ready for battle. Perhaps I should attract a monster here, or even form one with my magic.

  They carefully walked through my mouth, the dwarf lighting a torch and raising it high. I winced a little, feeling the warmth of the fire graze the top of my roof. I should probably expand more, so that I don’t have to worry about catching fire. My magic would be strong enough to douse the flames, but why waste something so valuable?

  “Two doors?” the woman said. “We traveled all the way from Temple Olmant for a dungeon with two doors?”

  “It’s not the number of rooms that counts, but—” Grib didn’t finish his sentence, for my first trap worked beautifully. As he stepped onto the special root I planted, the ground opened wide, causing him to plunge into darkness.

  “Damn it, Grib!” the man shouted into the hole. “He better not be dead.”

  “Are you dead?” the musician asked.

  “No, I’m not bloody dead,” Grib groaned. I could see in the darkness that he had landed on his feet and was somehow barely injured. “Just a scratch. Think I pulled something in my leg.”

  “We’ve got rope for this. How deep is the pit, Sonya?” the man asked.

  “Probably fifty feet,” Sonya replied as she pulled a long rope from her bag. She threw it down and waited as their ally began to climb his way back up.

  At this moment, I realized that these adventurers were far too prepared for such a basic trick. I was both frustrated and ashamed. This was to be my first big trap and they had barely been inconvenienced by it.

  The archer fired a bow with a line tied to it across the trap, so they could bypass the hole entirely. And I watched as they set their minds to opening the first door, leading to the treasure. The door was sealed with a powerful rune, a type of ward that would only open if the proper phrase was spoken. It would stop them without a problem at least, or so I hoped. But within minutes, the woman named Sonya had begun to play her harp, singing verses that caused the rune to shake. It didn’t take long for the door to swing open wide, allowing them entry into a room full of treasure, gold and the artifacts Urioc had entrusted me to guard.

  I could do nothing—all of my spells would take too much time to cast—but watch as they greedily plundered all they could, grabbing the Staff that they had come for, along with scrolls, potions and a few chests. Loaded for bear, they laughed amongst themselves, proud of what they had accomplished, and left the dungeon, not even bothering to check the other room. They had come here for the Staff of Urioc and so they had found it.

  At least, so they believed. For the Staff of Urioc was made of pure wood, shaped by the archwizard to hold a great series of powerful spells. When he brought it to me, I realized it prudent to create a facsimile, a wood replica. The treasure and potions weren’t nearly as important, Urioc had told me, as the Staff. And so, I placed the precious item in a secret place, a room not easily found. But then again, with the fake in hand, there was no reason for them to go looking for the real one, was there?

  They would return, I knew. I could provide an aura around the Staff, to make it appear to be magical, but once they were a mile away from my body, the enchantment would wear off in a day. My traps were inefficient. Weak. Urioc had given me a great gift and it was on my honor to live up to my part of the bargain. I had spent a great deal of magic already on growing, so I would need to find a way to bolster my defenses without building new traps. At least, not until I could tap into that vein of magic beneath me.

  A spell came to mind. It was unpredictable, but the cost of magic was low. I could even use the surrounding magic in the air, the magic that permeated all parts of Yehan. I prepared the enchantment, calling forth the arcane words in my mind and letting my leaves shake, emitting out the magic necessary for it to work. A fine red mist burst forth from my bark. The mist formed into a trail, leading from me deep into the forest.

  Minutes later, there was a huffing and crashing. A squat, hunched over being came into view, swiping at the mist trail with great agitation. He was grey-skinned, with a large nose and a long jaw with crooked teeth. He wore clothes from creatures he killed and bore a club with two rocks tied to it.

  “Want food!” he growled, slamming his club on the ground. He swiped at the mist again. “Smell food! Meat! Manflesh! Food in here?” The troll stumbled forward, following the scent until finally he came to my mouth. He sniffed around. “Warm,” he said, looking in. “Food in here?” He stepped in and wandered around, moving deeper into me. I took this opportunity to close my mouth. Food would certainly be coming. He just needed to wait a little while.

  Chapter 4

  The troll was a smashing success. He was barely intelligent, hyper-violent and seemed not to realize he was trapped within me. As soon as I had sealed the entrance, he merely lay down and went to sleep. When he awoke, he began to wander around, smacking at things with his club and grunting angrily. He was hungry though. And that hunger made him very, very strong.

  The adventurers arrived in the early morning, all in a foul mood. They were bickering loudly, each blaming one another for being naive enough to believe the Staff would be so easy to obtain. They barely noticed the fact that my mouth opened of its own accord. In fact, no one pointed it out.

  Before the dwarf could get his torch lit, the troll was upon them. He fought with a blind, frenzied fury, assailing the short man while shrieking about wanting flesh. The archer was caught off guard and fumbled to get his bow, and the musician decided the fight was not worth her life and fled the scene.

  I watched without feeling much about their predicament. There was no joy in my actions, but neither was there sorrow. Life and death are part of a cycle. The troll wants food, they want glory. Perhaps in this exchange, both will get what they wish. All adventurers wanted to die with their boots on, or so they loudly proclaimed to one another. I would give them this opportunity, so that I may protect the Staff.

  In the end, the surprise attack won the day. They had grown lazy due to the lack of real danger and thus were punished for their lack
of vigilance. The dwarf’s skull was crushed in and the man’s arm was broken. The archer managed to grab an arrow from his quiver and jam it into the eye of the troll, causing it to retreat, shrieking angrily. This was enough of a distraction for the man to grab his companion’s corpse and drag it off. The musician emerged from the woods, playing music that created a deep fog. The troll gave chase but could not find them. Grumpily, he returned to my mouth and nestled in to rest, falling asleep promptly.

  In the entrance, I could see a red life energy, shimmering like an orb. It was raw essence, the power of the dwarf. I drew it towards my roots, sucking in the power. At once, my limbs became heavy with magic. I felt a spark of energy, an excitement that was unlike anything I had experienced before. The seeds the necromancer had brought me were old and preserved. This power was fresh and still humming with life.

  Immediately, I began to expand, creating another hallway—one that would hopefully allow the troll to wander around some more. He had taken to the most unfortunate habit of banging on the doors, not really comprehending that they were gateways. I had been worried that he would damage the sealing runes. These new sections would make a better home for him. I began to tunnel towards a rabbit warren as well. He had failed to capture his food for the day, but this did not mean he would have to starve. I needed him alive for when the others would come. Rabbit would have to suffice instead of manflesh.

  I worked to create more traps, better ones. The first was the hallway leading to the troll. I stretched it out so that it was quite long, which would lead adventurers to believe that there was something important at the end. All they would find, of course, would be a dead end with an angry troll ready to devour them. I also grew long, sturdy spikes made out of wood in the pit trap, so that those who fell would be skewered. I didn’t quite understand exactly how the dwarf had survived such a long fall without damage, but now I would be sure to cause more pain, even if they wouldn’t die from the impact.

  The energy I absorbed was enough to make these quick changes, but within the hour, most of it was gone. The only magic left was that which I had stored up for the purpose of growing my roots downward. I was disappointed that I could not make all of the alterations that I wished. But there would be more adventurers soon, right? And some of them would fall in glorious battle, leaving their power to me. Then I would be able to grow more. There was little for me to do other than wait. I could be patient, of course. After all, years passed like hours to me, but I must admit that I wanted to see how my new traps would stack up. I had underestimated the adventurers once before, but now? Now I understood what I was facing. My dungeon would not be overcome so quickly.

  ***

  It was a week later from the death of the dwarf that a new group of people arrived. They were all women, barefoot and adorned in white robes. Rather than enter into my mouth and begin to plunder me, they instead joined hands in a circle and began to chant. Singing prayers and blessings, these women conducted a ritual which I could sense contained the power of divine energy. They were entreated upon some god or goddess for help, and I watched in curiosity.

  I had not yet witnessed any activity of the divine and wondered often whether I would ever become acquainted with the deities of Yehan. In my dream, I would someday grow large enough to house them, and become a place where they could hold daily court. But that was a long way off. I was not nearly powerful enough to even open a gate to a new world yet, let alone become host to the gods.

  These seven women finished their ritual, having achieved nothing discernable to me. No lightning flashed, no lights beamed down from the heavens, nor did anything seem to take place. One of the women, perhaps the high priestess for she wore a crown made of moss atop her head, took out a small bottle of water and poured it out in the middle of the circle.

  “Great Tree!” the priestess cried as she knelt in front of me. The others followed suit, all bowing their heads deep to the ground. “Our goddess, Agara, has foretold of you! Many shall enter into your mouth, but a great many will die. Their spirits shall not long to move on, to the fields and forest of the Eternal Wood, but rather to return to battle, so that they may continue living on this world cycle!”

  Resurrection. Urioc had mentioned it before. I made no bother to reply to these women, for I had no trust of them, just yet. The necromancer had warned me that to show my own intelligence to others would give them incentive to attempt to destroy me.

  The priestess continued. “We have come to build a place of healing, a shrine to Agara, where the souls of the restless dead may be brought back to life. These woods are your domain, and so we entreat upon you, to bless our chapel. Swear to bring no harm within the four walls of the shrine, and we shall repay your kindness.”

  I still said nothing. The woods were not my domain. At least, not for the next few hundred years. I had no means to hurt anyone outside of myself. The only people who were in danger of me had to be within two hundred feet of my branches.

  “A ritual shall be done, to ensure that no flame may harm your sturdy body,” she said, still prostrate before me. “Such a spell has been whispered directly to my ear by Agara. The goddess of the Broken and the Bitter has foreseen great things from you. She will maintain the magic of this spell for as long as you honor our deal. I understand that you are a wise tree, with little to speak of to mortals. As a sealing of this contract, all I ask is that you drop a single leaf to us.”

  Agara had taken notice of me? That was unexpected, but certainly welcome to hear. Perhaps she had the gift of foresight, enough so to know what I would become, and wished to build a relationship with me early. Or perhaps, she saw that many adventurers would die or be maimed within and just wanted to have a chapel nearby, to ensure that her followers had access to healing magic. The motives of these gods were a mystery to me, but what was the harm in making this arrangement? I had no means to attack the temple, nor did I have the motivation. Why bother those who weren’t trying to raid me?

  I began to shake, just slightly enough to sever a leaf. Guiding it with my control over the winds, I allowed the little green leaf to gently float down in front of the high priestess. She let out a word of praise to Agara and held the leaf up to me.

  “The contract has been sealed! As long as the Feverwood Chapel stands, so shall your branches and trunk refuse all fire. Even the flame of a dragon would not be enough to so much as singe a single leaf. Come sisters, we must build a new place of healing.”

  And with that, they departed from my immediate presence. Over the next few weeks, I would watch them work on a beautiful, ornate temple, meant to house and heal adventurers of all types. They were far enough from me that the monsters I was drawing in would not come upon them, but sufficiently close for me to observe. Soon, I would discover why they had wanted to ensure that I had no plans to cause their temple any pain.

  Chapter 5

  Death did not seem to bother adventurers as much as I had assumed it would. Indeed, with the establishment of a brand-new temple, close enough to where resurrection took only a matter of hours, it appeared that death was no more than a mere inconvenience. I began to understand why the priestess of Agara had been so insistent on a peace treaty. The moment that an adventurer was brought back to life, the moment he had control of his faculties again, he’d just buy what gear he could and rush right back to my mouth.

  In the weeks after the creation of the temple, I had the displeasure of dealing with two unbearably tenacious adventuring parties. The first was a group of stout dwarves, from the Eastern Hills, who all chittered endlessly about fulfilling their sworn duty to find the Staff. They had little tactical acumen, or finesse. When encountering a sealed door, they’d simply break it down. They’d lower themselves into pit traps, smash all the spikes and then use them as climbing tools.

  I had gathered a few trolls by this point. Luring them into my mouth was fairly simple, as they had very keen senses of smell to make up for their lack of eyesight. That sense of sme
ll would drive them to hunt in packs, looking aggressively for new intruders. They had fared well against the first band of dwarves, slaughtering them in the dead end I had created. But one escaped, running as fast as he could out of my dungeon.

  I believed, wholeheartedly, that he had learned his lesson and would never return again. Within two hours, all five of his companions had been brought back to life at the temple, and they were inside me again, killing all of the trolls while singing drinking songs. I had consumed a great deal of their collective power but did not have the time necessary to strengthen or add new traps. The short distance between the temple and my mouth meant that as long as adventurers were tenacious about returning to me, I would be at a disadvantage. Eventually they’d just wear down all of my resources.

  The second group that arrived proved to be somewhat beneficial for me, at least at first. They had no knowledge of the Staff existing at all. Rather, they were a band of archers who were simply looking for treasure. They arrived at the same time that the dwarves were just about to leave, with the Fake Staff in hand.

  I was surprised to see the archer party draw crossbows upon spotting the dwarven folk. They outnumbered the stout, jolly warriors and were quick to cut them all down. Adventurers apparently did not all get along, did they? These archers solved my first problem, but quickly became an issue of their own as they had a better understanding of plundering dungeons than the dwarves. They were searching, high and low, for secret rooms, looking to stuff their pockets as much as possible.