by Galen Wolf
But the buzzing is loud now like a swarm of angry bees. I turn before Grimdark does to see the sparkles have solidified into flying cherubim. These are rosy-cheeked, chubby babies wearing diapers but carrying serrated edged short swords.
The cherubs fly at Grimdark who notices just in time and swings up his axe to catch the fat baby and cut it in half. It falls in two bloody lumps of meat on the ground, but the other three are attacking now. They jab and cut at Grimdark and they’re fast and agile so he’s mostly missing them while they are mostly getting him. Soon he’s covered in blood. He grabs a blue healing potion and takes a sip before the cherubim attack again. The remaining three flying babies are getting the better of Grimdark and I wonder whether this is the end for the barbarian. He’s done pretty well to get this far. He’s only just levelled to 10 and these mobs will be Level 14 cherubim. Then he catches another one with his axe and it’s bye-bye baby and another tubby little guy is lying in a broken mess on the storeroom floor.
I see grim delight in Grimdark’s eyes as he works out his potion is off cool-down and takes another healing draught.
The remaining two cherubs keep at him, but Grimdark seems to get the knack of hitting them because he kills another. The final one goes down and Grimdark stomps on its curly head shrieking, ‘God-damn babies! Die each bitch!’
Then we’re done. The second storeroom is a similar heap of religious icons and trash to the first and there are more cherubim. But he’s wise to these now and they do hardly any damage before he gets them. Then he runs into another saint gas trap in the middle of the second storeroom. I can tell by the curses that he really doesn’t like these.
There are three store rooms in total and when he’s dealt with the third, he sees a guardian angel with a flaming sword standing in front of the door that must lead deeper into the dungeon and to Fitheach’s chambers.
The white-robed angel with its flowing blonde hair and fluffy pale wings behind its back says, ‘Thou shalt not pass, unbeliever!’
It has a flaming greatsword in its hands and it looks like it means business.
‘Outta my way, blondie,’ Grimdark says.
‘Thou shalt not pass, unbeliever!’ It seems like this mob has limited dialogue options. I wonder if there’s an option to negotiate, but then I look at Grimdark and see negotiation’s not his style. With a scream, he rushes the angel. There’s a tussle and a clash of weapons and a singe of burning barbarian flesh but he’s raging big style and chopping in a frenzy at his winged opponent. A Level 14 angel is no match for this crazy barbarian and soon it’s a mangle of swan’s feathers and golden locks in a crumpled sheet. Grimdark is through.
The next corridor slopes markedly down and the fairy-lights flash on and off like and infuriating Christmas decoration.
Grimdark gets sick of walking and decides to run headlong down the corridor to save time. This is a bad idea when it comes to traps in a dungeon but he does well until the floor collapses and he is dumped into a fast-flowing stream. If I want to follow him I have no option but to jump in after him, so I do.
I leap I into the water, feeling the icy rush, and the current snatches me away to wherever it has taken Grimdark. Luckily the water is phosphorescent and I see it’s full of tiny freshwater crabs with bishop’s mitres on their scaly tops. They’re scrabbling towards Grimdark as he tumbles away in the current and they nip at him, taking out tiny chunks of flesh. Tiny chunks but lots of them so soon he’s pecked and looks like raw mince.
‘You goddam crabs!’ He turns and threshes to get the crabs, knocking some off, but there are so many that they could kill him. But then the current bashes him against a rock ledge and with lots of spluttering, foaming phosphorescent water, spilling crabs and blood, he’s out, dragging himself from the water. I follow him silent and invisible and see him go through a hole in the wall. Hurrying after Grimdark, I emerge into a beautiful chapel with gold-painted columns, and a Renaissance style portrait of angels and saints on the cupola ceiling. The chapel is relatively ruined but I don’t have time for a good look around before a gold-winged angel swoops with a flaming sword and tries to take off Grimdark’s head.
There is a battle. Grimdark wins. He has little interest in loot. I can see gold and jewels sparkling in various corners but he just wants to kill stuff. They have a neat souped-up carrion crawler that’s encrusted in rubies and emeralds like a kind of armour. The insect rushes at Grimdark and surprisingly gives him a hard time, but inevitably it dies.
Grimdark is kind of awesome really. These mobs are Level 14 and he’s only a 10, so he’s doing very well.
Various others mobs, seraphs, cherubs and at one point a whole choir of angels launch themselves at our barbarian. Bruised and bloodied he emerges victorious and I follow him through into the final fight. I’m looking forward to this.
The final room is quiet, a big oblong box of a room with the sound of holy singing coming from somewhere. In the middle of the room is a raised area and on the raised area is a large altar in white marble. Steps of pink marble rise up to the altar. Kneeling in front of it, apparently deep in prayer, is a white-clad holy man. This is my pal Saint Fitheach, mini-boss of Level 3 of the Forgotten Chapel Dungeon.
Fitheach is wearing a white robe but his head is down, long white hair and beard hanging down. At the foot of the steps, facing Grimdark are four brown-robed friars, dual-wielding holy machetes. The white flames lick up and down the blades as the friars step forward.
Grimdark raises his axe, roars and has at it.
Lots of clanging, sparks, grunts, blood, wounds and death. Of the friars obviously. They put up a good fight, but our barbarian is a machine.
All the time, Fitheach has been ignoring the din, now with his friars dead, he gets to his feet, dusts down his white robe and says quietly, ‘May I help you my son?’
Grimdark, points with a thick finger. In his disjointed Swedish accent, he yells, ‘You gonna die now, old man.’
Very calmly, Fitheach says, ‘I don’t think so, meat head.’
Grimdark shrieks and runs up the steps, two at a time, raged and bloating.
Fitheach points a finger and a beam of pure light shoots out, striking the barbarian full in the chest. At first Grimdark seems to be unaffected, but then he slows, falters and stops, a big hole in his chest that smokes and gives off white fumes.
‘You damn, priest, I gonna cut off your beard. Then your beak-nose.’
‘Saint actually.’
Grimdark frowns. ‘Eh? What?’
‘You said, priest. I’m actually a saint. It’s a higher rank. Prestige class.’
Grimdark grunts and shakes his head. ‘I don’t give a good god damn ‘bout that. You still die, fart-face.’
He runs forward and with a steely glint in his eye, Fitheach raises his finger and shoots the barbarian with another bolt of white light. This time Grimdark stumbles and falls on the steps. With great effort, and clearly in pain, he struggles to raise himself to his knees.
I look up to see Fitheach blow smoke from his finger like he was a cowboy and his finger was a sixgun. ‘You die now, unbeliever.’ He raises his hand to shoot.
Grimdark shouts out in defiance, dragging himself to stand up, grievously wounded though he is. He pushes himself forward, staggering, up one step, then another. Fitheach lets him come. The barbarian is nearly on him now. Grimdark stops, takes off the crystal top of a blue health potion, sips that and looks slightly better. Fitheach still doesn’t do anything, just stands, finger outstretched. ‘Enjoy, your health potion?’ he asks.
The barbarian nods. ‘Yes, thanks for asking.’
Fitheach’s smile disappears. He’s serious. ‘Say bye-bye, muscle boy.’
Suddenly, I switch off Observer Mode and am revealed there, in full armour. Both Fitheach and Grimdark spin round to see me there. ‘Eh? What?’ Grimdark grunts
‘Gorrow!’ Fitheach says alarmed. ‘Have you been watching the whole time?’
I point at Grimdark. ‘I’ve followe
d him down.’
Grimdark’s mouth twists. ‘You watch me the whole time?’
I nod.
He spits blood. ‘You pervert. You — how you say — voyeur.’
Fitheach titters into his hand.
I shake my head. ‘It’s not like that. I’m just wanting feedback on the dungeon. How it works. What your experience was like. How could we improve it?’
Grimdark’s expression eases. He scratches above his left eye. ‘Well…’
He’s about to answer me, to give me much needed feedback on the dungeon experience when Fitheach shoots him. The barbarian expires with a scream as the bolt of holy energy strikes him in the and destroys his final hitpoints.
I glare at Fitheach. ‘Why did you do that? I wanted to talk to him.’
Fitheach says quietly, ‘Gorrow, you‘ve got to understand. That guy defiled my sanctuary. He had to die.’
6
Feedback
Standing there with Grimdark’s ghost and the ferocious, unforgiving saint, My anger rises like a righteous tide. I point at the saint then at where the Grimdark the barbarian used to stand before Fitheach blitzed him. ‘It may be your level, but it’s my dungeon!’
Fitheach crosses his arms. ‘Like I said, it’s my level. Heretics must die. Especially here. Everywhere, really, but especially here.’
I sigh. I know it’s pointless trying to reason with Fitheach about religion, but I wanted to talk to the barbarian. He did really well, and I kind of liked him. I say, ‘How am I going to find out now? All the others who come here are in evil guilds and sworn enemies. I can’t ask them for feedback, but he’s not evil…’
‘Just stupid.’
‘Maybe, but he still has a view.’
‘Whatever.’
‘I just want to know how to make the dungeon better, and I won’t find out now, thanks to you.’
‘You can ask him when he resurrects.’
The barbarian’s ghost has by now long vanished back to its bind-point. I’m exasperated. ‘But I don’t know where he’s bound. It could be miles away.’
Fitheach says, ‘I’ll ask him.’
I scratch my chin. ‘I guess we could PM him.’
‘No need. He’s round my house.’
‘What?’
‘In real life.’
‘What?’ It’s my turn to be puzzled now.
‘You said what already.’
I tilt my head. ‘How come Grimdark is round your house?’
‘Grimdark is my cousin Steve.’
‘I thought Bernard was your cousin.’ My mind’s reeling. ‘Are they the same person?’
Fitheach levels a superior stare in my direction. ‘You can have more than one cousin.’
‘So you are all three cousins?’
‘Yeah. Why are you finding this so difficult?’
‘Are they brothers?’
Fitheach shakes his head. ‘Our family is big and complex. You don’t want to know. Anyway, I’ll ask Steve, I mean Grimdark, to come back to give us feedback.’
‘Come back here?’
He raises his eyebrows more in sorrow than anger. ‘Log off, Gorrow. It’s been a long day for you.’
When I come back, I materialise in my chamber in the Silver Drift Mine, the place I’d gone to before quitting after my chat with Fitheach. Bernard’s sitting there at my desk idly swilling a half full potion bottle. The murky brown liquid looks like it has bits in it. It looks more like gravy than a magic potion and as if to prove me right, Bernard takes out the crystal stopper and swigs it back. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he says, ‘Lovely.’
Then he sees me arrive.
‘You’re back,’ he says.
I point at his bottle. ‘What is that potion?’
‘Gravy.’
‘Really?’
‘No, it’s Charisma potion. Makes me more attractive and likely to succeed with verbal skills and haggling. Adds 20 points to my base scores for those skills.’
‘It looks like gravy.’
‘Yeah, I made it like that deliberately. I thought it was funny. Anyway, Fitheach is outside with Grim.’
I grin. ‘Grimdark the Barbarian.’
‘The very same. He’s my—’
‘—cousin.’
‘Yeah. Did Fitheach tell you?’
I nod. I don’t have time for more of this nonsense. We walk through the echoing stone passages of the Silver Drift Mine. I hear the chipping of miners’ pickaxes in the distance. That reminds me that we need to dig out more Smoky Crystals. We pause while I take out the brass key that allows me through the secret door into the Forgotten Chapel Dungeon. The dungeon is quiet as we enter the corridor that leads to the Tapestry Room. All the mobs sit silent and motionless, waiting for adventurers to trigger them. We hurry up the main corridor to the front door. It’s open and Tye stands there smoking a cheroot. Behind him, on the wild and windy moor is Fitheach, his white robe being blown everywhere by the strong breeze. He’s chatting to Grimdark the Barbarian.
Grimdark sees me. ‘Ah, the voyeur.’
I’m slightly embarrassed about that. I blush. ‘I just wanted to see how you did in our dungeon. We don’t get the chance to talk to adventurers much.’
‘Because they’re our sworn enemies mostly,’ Bernard says. ‘Anyway, you talk nice to Sir Gorrow of the Bloody Field.’
Grimdark looks interested and somewhat respectful. ‘So, that’s who you are? I’ve heard of you. Gave the enemy hell, I hear.’
I blush modestly. ‘I had help.’
Bernard jerks a thumb at his chest. ‘Yeah, me.’
‘And me, Uncle Bernard,’ Tye says with a grin.
Bernard glares tetchily. ‘Don’t call me Uncle. I’ve told you that.’
Tye reaches and tickles Bernard’s beard and Bernard jumps back, enraged. I think there’s going to be a quarrel so I say quickly, ‘Fitheach helped too.’
‘They’re my cousins,’ Grimdark says.
‘Yeah, I know. Anyway, what did you think of the dungeon?’
Before he can reply, Fitheach says, ‘Any chance he could come in out of the weather? We didn’t like to invite him in without your permission, but it is wild out here. Plus, there’s a chance of Minions of Satanus dropping in at any time.’
Bernard shivers. ‘Like Maligon.’
‘Okay, let’s go in.’ I could be suspicious but he’s Bernard and Fitheach’s cousin, so I relent. We go into the dungeon and make our way to the secret door that leads through to Silver Drift.
Tye is eyeing the barbarian with undisguised hostility. ‘Shouldn’t we blindfold him?’ Tye asks.
‘I don’t mind,’ Grimdark says, and as he waits in the Tapestry Room, Tye produces a strip of blue cloth from his Inventory. Grimdark’s looking around. ‘This place is pretty cool. I’d love to have my own dungeon.’
Tye ties the blindfold strip very tightly around Grimdark’s eyes now leads him roughly towards the secret door by his elbow. We get to my chamber and we all sit down. My friends look rugged, handsome and competent. Mostly. Even Grimdark does. I say, ‘How come you aren’t talking Swedish?’
At first he’s puzzled, then realisation dawns on him. ‘My accent?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I just do it when I’m in character. I’m from Wisconsin.’
‘Lots of Swedish people settled there though,’ Bernard says.
Bernard is very random. I say, ‘So how was the dungeon?’
Grimdark gives me the benefit of his opinion about the dungeon, what worked and what didn’t. What he liked and what could be improved. It was a useful session and gives me ideas for going forward. After all, the next stage of development is my own Boss Level. I’m not sure what my theme is going to be. We’ve got fire, acid and holy. I need something to stand out, but I can’t think of it yet.
Now, I’ve got the guys together, I want to talk to them about vorpal weapons and how to help King Arthur. I don’t want to do that in front of Grimdark. I like the guy
, but he’s not one of us. A pause grows to a silence as I think of a polite way of asking Grimdark to leave. But he gets the picture and stands. ‘Nice to meet you guys, if you need anything more from me, just holler.’
I get an NPC to fetch Oliver Stone the architect. He can give Grimdark a tour. He’ll bore him to death about architecture, I know. When he’s gone I say, ‘Nice guy.’
‘Steve is,’ Bernard says.
‘Grimdark.’ Fitheach corrects him.
‘You knew who I meant.’
‘Not the point.’
I put up a hand. ‘So let’s talk about crystals and Jabberwocks. How are the Jabberwocks doing by the way?’
Bernard says, ‘Raymond and Dorothy are pretty much grown now and living a full and happy life out in the Secret Valley.’
‘And we’re getting lots of their essence?’ I ask.
‘Poop?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve got wagonfuls of it.’
‘And smoky crystals?’
‘We’ve got the stuff we captured and also what you have been mining out of the walls.’
When I got the skills to mine and smith Smoky Crystals, I spent time finding veins of crystals in the passages and chambers of Silver Drift and dug them out. We’ve got a small storeroom. ‘So enough to put vorpal effect on a good number of weapons.’
Vorpal effect gives a 5% chance for any weapon to decapitate any creature that has a head. It’s a game changer, and that’s why we’ve got to get it onto King Arthur’s soldiers' weapons. The war has been going badly for the king for some time now and we need an advantage if we want to push back the Evil One. It seems Satanus has got it all going his way, but I want to change that.
‘So your plan is?’ Tye asks, stubbing out a cheroot on an onyx ash-tray and pushing his orangey hair out of his eyes.
‘We head south to the King.’
‘Besieged in Caer?’ Fitheach asks.
I nod.
‘That’s about a hundred and fifty miles from here,’ Bernard says.
‘Rough country. Mountains, forests, unfordable rivers, bog…’ Tye looks wistful.
