by Galen Wolf
Refreshed, Grimdark returns to the attack. One, two, three and four blows and the golem crumbles into a heap of rocks on the floor.
Treebeard and his wolf have dealt with their adversary too. Treebeard leans down and tickles his pet on the chin. The wolf seems to like that because it wags its tail. Grimdark is jubilant. ‘Yes, yes and yes. We kill stone mofos stone dead, yeah?’
‘If you say so.’
‘But great thanks is due to you, Treeman, for your green healing and not least to your shaggy doggy.’ He points at the wolf.
‘It’s a wolf, not a dog.’
‘But both are canine friends, no?’ Grimdark raises a big finger to point at the wolf and accompanies it with a winning smile at the druid. ‘You very handsome tree.’
‘Let’s keep going,’ Treebeard mutters.
‘More xp though, yes? Soon we level again!’
‘I’m a way off the next level.’
‘Me too, but every journey begins with a small step, or two dead golems. Am I right?’ His still laughing until he sees a woollen dolly lying on the passage floor in front of them as they turn round the corner. I know this one.
Grimdark points. ‘Dolly!’
‘Yes, it’s bound to be a trap.’
But Grimdark isn’t listening. He bounds forward, axe tucked under his armpit while he reaches down and snatches for the doll in one smooth swoop. That triggers the trap mechanism and steel ribbons shoot out to wrap around his ankles and hold him in place while the acid shower starts overhead, drenching him in hydrochloric.
‘Oww, yow, yow; this burn bad.’
Treebeard throws him a heal. ‘If you didn’t have my Acid Resist, you’d be dead.’
‘And my mighty skill Bloat, to engorge my hit points.’
‘I’m not sure that’s the right use of the word engorge.’
‘Okay, just get me from under here. Break steel bonds.’
Treebeard goes as far forward as is safe, motioning for the wolf to sit behind him. He rubs his chin while the barbarian suffers chemical burns. ‘Not sure how to get you out of this.’
‘Hurry, heal me.’
Obligingly, Treebeard heals him again, but he’s stumped about the trap.
‘So?’ Grimdark is beginning to look desperate as he continues to take damage.
‘Really it’s a pity you blew up our rogue.’
‘I no blew up rogue. Was gas.’
‘Yes, and your torch.’
Grimdark shrugs and winces in pain. Even his Bloated hitpoints have to run out at some point. Then Treebeard says, ‘Aha.’ He’s noticed something. He wanders over to the wall and kicks a stone. That was the on/off mechanism cunningly disguised. The acid stops spouting with a wheeze and the steel ribbons go slack.
Treebeard heals Grimdark again and they go forward. They finish off a few more golems and then come out into the large cavern. The path leads to a bridge. Now, I know that this bridge will collapse if three adventurers stand on it at the same time and that when it collapses, it dumps the adventurers into a river of acid, where carnivorous acid loving eels dwell.
If they survived they’d find some nice loot at the bottom of the river, including, ironically an Acid Resist potion. Not that anyone does survive it. There’s another way over the river by way of a crystal boat that lies out of sight to the left, but they don’t see that, or see the need for it. Grimdark goes to the little hump-backed bridge and peers over into the river. ‘Come, Tree,’ he says pointing. Treebeard joins him. Just one more person on the bridge and it’ll go in.
They both look into the river.
‘Stinky burny,’ Grimdark says.
‘And green with bubbles.’
‘But the smell is the worst.’
‘It’s acid.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Fatal, probably.’
‘Oh yes, if you fell in.’
‘Which we’re not going to.’ Treebeard turns, and clicks his tongue. The wolf, that had been waiting patiently where it had been told to sit when they first peered into the cavern, trots forward. It takes three people to collapse the bridge. I wonder if the wolf is heavy enough.
The two adventurers stand on the trapped bridge, Grimdark staring into the river, as if fascinated by the corrosive, green water. ‘Hey, there’s fishes in there.’
‘Fish. The plural of fish is fish.’
‘Fishes.’
Treebeard is exasperated. ‘You don’t say sheeps do you?’
The barbarian blinks in puzzlement. ‘Yes.’
Treebeard sighs and calls encouragingly to his wolf who has stopped for some reason about two feet shy of the bridge. Maybe it can sense the trap? Teebeard beckons again. ‘Come on, boy.’ The wolf begins forward, steps onto the bridge, and
—it doesn’t collapse.
Ah, well. It was a nice idea. Then I think of myself. I’m totally invisible to them in Observation Mode. I can’t be interacted with at all, but do I weigh anything? That’s an interesting question. I’ve been standing just before the bridge to the side of the pebble-strewn path. I can smell the acrid stench in the air, so I am present here. But do I weigh anything? Only one way to find out. I walk up to the bridge. I need to be quick before they stroll on, even though Grimdark seems enthralled by the darting ribbon shaped Acid Eels.
I’m about to step onto the bridge proper, when I hesitate. This would be cheating. They’ve done well for two low level guys, one of whom seems to be an idiot. It wouldn’t be fair to end their adventure by plunging them into the acid river. Not that they’d ever know I’d done it. They’d just think they’d triggered some trap.
And then I look at them and realise I have invested somehow in their progress. They’re not evil minions of Satanus, they’re just regular adventurers like I was before I got involved in this Holy War thing.
‘Come on, Grimdark, I have to go eat at some point.’ Treebeard steps off the bridge, and my chance is lost. Grimdark follows him and now I couldn’t collapse the bridge, even if I wanted to.
They follow the stony trail out of the cavern. There are some bits of loot and Treebeard picks up an Acid Resist potion. He tosses the tiny crystal bottle to Grimdark. ‘Here, you’ll need this when I’m gone.’
‘You go?’ Grimdark catches the bottle but looks puzzled anyway.
Treebeard shakes his head. ‘Come on. I don’t have all day.’
The theme of this level is the Acid Alchemist who is Bernard. He has a bunch of Iron Golems constructing some weird magic stuff down here and eventually, when Grimdark and Treebeard blunder into his chambers, he’s ready with his speech.
‘Who goes there?’ He calls as the two adventurers enter.
Bernard is going to be a tough one to beat because he has his Alchemical Rune Sword and as many potions as he cares to quaff. The only limit on his power seems to be the potion cool-down time. Grimdark sees the disheveled alchemist and yells, ‘Time to die, shabby freak!’
All ideas of a fancy boss speech forgotten, Bernard yells, ‘Hey, who you calling a shabby freak?’ He draws the Runesword out of its scabbard and calls to the Iron Golems. The great iron machines still stand silent in the corners of the room. There are four of them. They twitch at his command and as they begin to move the druid’s wolf barks and snarls at them.
Treebeard casts his ivy spell and it binds the legs of the nearest Iron Golem. He catches it just as it starts to step out and it overbalances and comes crashing down face first on the stone floor. There is the sound of breaking machinery and the thing lies writhing in mechanical spasms on the ground. But there are more of them. A flask hurtles through the air and breaks on the ground in front of the adventurers. Clouds of white smoke billow out, obscuring what’s going on. This is one of Bernard’s tricks. I know he has some special goggles he puts on to see through the smoke, when he remembers. If he does, he can see, but the adventurer’s can’t.
Then a coruscating trail shows where one of Bernard’s Flasks of Light is coming at them. ‘Move,’ ye
lls Grimdark and shoves Treebeard as the flask explodes where they were standing. Those flasks blind and do damage so they’re best avoided.
Treebeard mutters magic words and a sweet breeze springs up, driving away the cloud to reveal a be-goggled Bernard, rune sword glittering in hand, advancing.
There are still three golems left. Scratch that: two. Grimdark chops a golem behind its right knee and hamstrings it so it goes a clatter to lie on top of its stricken brother.
‘These Golems piss easy,’ Grimdark yells and runs after the closest of the remaining two. Bernard is advancing on him, sword up. Grimdark smashes another golem’s leg and Bernard slashes him on the naked back with his rune sword. I see a flood of red as the Bleed Rune engages, there is also a Dazzle rune and Grimdark’s fists go to his blinded eyes. There’s also a Fascination Rune and soon Grimdark is under its influence and rooted to the spot, watching imaginary birdies and unable to break free.
He’s going to die soon. I hear Bernard cackle and raise his sword for the killing blow.
Behind him, Treebeard yells, ‘Eat wood, alchemist!’ and a stream of wooden splinters shoots across the distance between them striking Bernard who bleeds and reels away, clutching his chest, screaming, ‘You scoundrel!’
Grimdark breaks free from the power of the Fascination Rune but, still blind from the Dazzle Rune, swings his great axe, missing Bernard but nearly hitting Treebeard who’s run across. Luckily no friendly fire is allowed in Camelot, so the druid is unharmed.
Bernard lunges at the druid, fascinating, blinding and bleeding him, but bad for him, he’s stepped into the arc of Grimdark’s wildly swinging axe and he gets the blade full in the chest with a thud. Bernard gulps down a blue healing potion but Treebeard fires more splinters and Bernard falls backwards, dead.
‘What the…’ Treebeard grunts as an Iron Golem picks him up by his green hair, swings him round and splats him against the stone wall.
Grimdark becomes suddenly sighted and rubbing his eyes, takes in the carnage. Bernard and Treebeard both shimmer for a while as silent ghosts then vanish. There are two golems left. Silently and expertly, Grimdark chops them down then stands there, panting, leaning on his axe, his ginger braids drenched in sweat, sweat beading on his brow. ‘Well, well, well,’ he says, then sees the loot chest.
He wanders over to it almost casually. He must think he’s alone now, though I’m still here. He opens the chest with a musical chord and a rain of gold and silver sparkles. Inside is gold, silver, jewels, pearls, the works. There are also two or three fifty-sip blue healing potions in the loot chest. He takes those too, but the main loot for this level is the Hazidic Magic Mirrors. They stand silently in the corners of Bernard’s room. One in the north-west and one in the south-east corner. They’re draped in dirty sheets so he might not realise they are something worthwhile. But he does. Grimdark strolls over to the north-west one and lifts the sheet.
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ he says and gingerly leans forward and puts out a big finger to touch the silvered glass. His finger goes through the glass. ‘Well, well, well,’ he says again and puts his hand into the mirror and wiggles it around. Unbeknown to him there is a lump under the sheet coming from the mirror in the opposite corner, but he can’t see that because his back is turned.
‘Ah well,’ he says and lifts his foot to step into the mirror. As his body disappears from this mirror it emerges from the other, covered in a sheet which he pushes out of the way. He comes out laughing. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Then he looks at them, presumably wondering how he’s going to carry the mirrors home and whether they will fit into his inventory.
As he’s considering this, his eye is caught by a door in the far wall. He scratches his head. ‘I thought this was the end of the dungeon,’ he says to himself then casually walks over to the door. He turns the crystal doorknob and opens the door to reveal stairs down.
This is the level of the holy warrior, Fitheach the Saint. Even I haven’t explored this level properly.
With a grin, mirrors forgotten, Grimdark takes his great axe in both hands and steps down the stairs.
5
Holy Maloney
I have been down to Fitheach’s level of the dungeon only briefly before, but it looks like he’s had an interior decorator in. The whole place sparkles. There are little points of diamond light in the stone walls. The ceiling and the floor are of smooth carved stone, also sparkly.
Grimdark’s heavy tread echoes down the stone passage. The light comes from strings of fairy lights that lead away out of sight down the very long corridor. Grimdark grunts to himself and sets off. For the first time I notice he has flat feet that slap down like wet fish every time he strides out.
I have an inkling that Fitheach has put secret doors to the sides of this corridor; some of which lead to loot and others lead to traps. I should have paid more attention when he told me, but it’s of little matter now as Grimdark hasn’t got the skills to spot them.
He trudges down the corridor, looking surprisingly wary for traps or mobs, but we’re a hundred yards in and nothing has happened apart from the lovely fairy lights and sparkly walls. Then I hear a tinkling like far-away fairy-bells. Grimdark hears it too because he halts up and says, ‘Huh?’.
He waits a while then as nothing happens, he sets off again. I can tell he’s getting relaxed. So am I in fact. Maybe Saint Fitheach has put no dangers in his level of the dungeon because of his nice saintly nature.
We get to a t-junction and Grimdark hesitates before turning left. More sparkles, more fairy-lights then blood-curdling screams as he is attached by three brown clad, psycho monks. They have their hoods pulled up, faces in shadow, greataxes raised above their heads as they scream, ‘Die infidel!’ This is the side of religion I’m more familiar with.
Grimdark turns, a wry smile of enjoyment on his face and dodges the first axe that whistles over his meaty ginger head. ‘Have at ye, varlet!’ the monk screeches and slashes at Grimdark, catching him on his forearm. This doesn’t hold up the barbarian as he counterattacks. The first monk goes down. They hit and slash and get him again, but Grimdark doesn’t falter and soon they are only bloody brown rags lying on the dungeon floor.
‘Nice XP,’ Grimdark says, licking his lips, and turns to go on his way.
He gets only a little bit further before he stumbles and sets off a trap in the floor. Clouds of white smoke spring up and linger around him like the hands of long-dead saints, picking and plucking. He bats them away, but he’s taking some kind of damage.
‘God-damn skill damage!’ he shrieks and steps back. He’s out of the saint gas trap now but it’s still filling the corridor. I wonder how long the trap will persist for and he must be thinking the same. I wonder what damage it has done, but from his yelling it’s probably something that temporarily reduces skill points and thus combat effectiveness.
We wait.
We wait some more and still the saint gas doesn’t dissipate, so Grimdark breathes deep, holds it and runs through the gas. A further ‘God dammit!’ suggests it’s still effective and he’s lost more skill points. At the far side of the gas, I see him rummaging in his potions. He’s probably looking for a remedy to heal up his depleted skill points, but he doesn’t seem to find it and with a disgruntled murmur, he sets off again.
We come to a big black iron-studded door. It looks heavy. Grimdark rattles the black iron ring and tries to push the door. It doesn’t budge, so he puts a mighty shoulder to the door. He shoves hard, but it still doesn’t move. ‘Locked,’ he says. ‘I wish I hadn’t blown up the rogue now.’
But Grimdark isn’t to be foiled so easily. He gets out his axe and starts smashing at the door until he’s hacked a hole in it. Splinters of wood fall away from the door but he’s too big to get through, so he hacks more, screaming every time he does it. I guess we all fall back on the methods we feel most comfortable with.
I take a risk and go up to the hole he’s smashing through. I peer through I to the right I see t
hat the key is in the lock on the far side of the door. All he has to do is reach through and turn the key, but he doesn’t think to do this and instead spends more minutes hacking a hold that’s big enough for his bloated bulk.
When he finally makes the hole that big, the door is so weakened it falls apart. Never mind, it will re-spawn.
He’s through and we find ourselves in some kind of storeroom. It’s a big chamber, still sparkly and piled high with all kinds of religious junk. There is a collection of pulpits in one corner, all turned to face each other like they’re having a secret conversation. Piles of holy books lie in unstable, mouldering heaps all around. There are religious icons heaped here and there, face up and face down, all dirty and dusty and looking long neglected. There are brass eagles and stained-glass windows in frames ready to be mounted, but instead they’re just in sad junk-heaps. Lots of this. Probably there’s loot hidden among this if Grimdark had the patience to search for it. Maybe traps too, so, he might be wise skipping it. He has no healer now and is reliant on potions.
I notice pretty little sparkles in the room's left corner. When I look around, there are similar sparkles in every corner. I don’t remember them being there when we came in. Something must have triggered. The one in front of me is blue, then there’s a pink one in the corner to the right of that. Behind me is a green sparkle and in the final corner, a white one. Very nice.
A slight buzzing grows and I see the sparkles are getting bigger. Grimdark has wandered to the exit door that leads deeper into the dungeon. He’s maybe wondering whether it’s locked but when he tries it, it opens easily.
