by Galen Wolf
Grimdark: Had to rejig it a little. Treebeard is level 1 boss. We kept most of the Fire stuff on Level One, but Treebeard couldn’t be a Fire Mage so we’ve made it more druidy. Like wolves and bears and creepers from trees wrapping round adventurers and strangling them and stuff. Your rogue Peter the Silent has been pretty helpful. He’s a bit murderous. Probably a psycho really, if NPCs can be psycho.
Gorrow: Not sure how Tye is going to react.
Grimdark: Chillax. We’ve got an image saved so we can put it straight back. But you might like it….
I do relax somewhat. As long as they’ve got Tye’s version saved. I look forward to where the blue-robed fire mage and Bernard are now arguing about the merits of hydrogen peroxide. I have no idea why. Not sure that the fiery fire mage would be took keen to be replaced as Level 1 boss by a druid, even if the changes are good. But I’m beginning to calm down. It seems that Grimdark isn’t the hamfisted, tiny-brained idiot he roleplays. Feeling almost casual I type:
Gorrow: Had any good adventuring parties?
Grimdark: Mostly low level. We did get one high level party, they bust the place. Guy called Maligon, Fangs of Koth Guild. Truly evil. I tried my best and Treebeard but him and his party were all over us.
Gorrow: Ah, that’s a pity. He’s high level. He’s a pig too. You did your best.
Then I think.
Gorrow: What loot did he get? Did he get the stat bonus
tome from Tye’s study?
Grimdark. Yep. Sorry.
With mounting dread I write:
Gorrow: What about the Hazidic Magic Mirrors from Bernard’s Level?
Grimdark. Yep yep. Like I say he was evil and tough too.
I throw back my head and curse the sky. Tye and Bernard turn round. Tye says, ‘What’s up boss?’
I spur Silver forward till I’m up to Bernard, almost crowding him off the path. The mule, Henry says, ‘Watch it, buster,’ but Spirit neighs at him and he shuts up. ‘Hey, Bernard,’ I say. ‘Those magic mirrors...’
He looks smug. ‘Yes, a pretty good creation of mine.’
‘An adventurer has got them.’
‘Well, they are loot.’
I shake my head. ‘I said ages ago that they were too good for the level.’
He frowns. ‘Yes, but if you recall, we discussed that and thought that it would be good to attract adventurers. If they thought there was good loot in the dungeon, then they’d be more like to come from far and wide…’
‘Yes, but an adventurer has got them.’
He shrugs. Tye says, ‘It was bound to happen. They’ll re-spawn.’
‘The adventurer is Maligon.’
Tye narrows his eyes. ‘The Fangs of Koth dude? He’s way over level for the dungeon.’
‘Which made it easy for him to get the mirrors.’
Tye spits. ‘I hate Maligon.’
Bernard says, ‘Well, he’s been in before but never got the mirrors then.’
‘No,’ I say, ‘But we were there to stop him.’
Bernard nods. ‘Grimdark’s a good guy, but he’s not your equal Gorrow. I guess he’s not Maligon’s equal either.’
I want to punch myself in the face. Why didn’t I think of this? I’m even thinking of turning round.
Tye reads my mind. ‘We can’t go back now. It’ll take ages to get back to Silver Drift, then we’ve got to find where Maligon’s stashed the mirrors. They’ll be at his base in Carrionburg at least. Maybe he’s sent them to New World Order, or even Evil High Command at Hellsmouth. We’ll never find them.’
Fitheach rides up, blinking, wondering what all the angst is about. I bring him up to speed. He shrugs. ‘It was bound to happen.’
He’s right. I feel such an idiot. I just wanted Silver Drift to be the best dungeon with the best loot and get a great reputation.
‘But what can he do with them?’ Tye asks. ‘Really?’
Bernard says, ‘He can put one in Carrionburg and take the other with him so he can get back and forward to his base real quick.’
I shake my head. ‘He can do worse than that. He can lead a full adventuring party through the mirrors, stepping from one to the other. He could get the mirror inside a treasure room or some other guarded place and then lead his boys through from the comfort of home.’
‘Could,’ Tye says. ‘And how is he going to get one of the mirrors inside this locked or guarded place in the first instance?’
He has a point. I start to calm down. Maybe the loss of the magic mirrors isn’t as bad as I first thought.
Fitheach pats my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Gorrow. It’s not as bad as you think.’
I allow myself a short laugh. ‘Okay.’
‘That’s better. Nice to see you smiling again,’ Fitheach says.
We journey on through the Forest of Bowland. The trees show no sign of thinning out but my nose is assailed by a smell of burning. I have my visor up and I start to sniff.
Tye says, ‘Yee, I smell it too.’
Something has been on fire recently, but what we’re smelling now is the smoky damp odour of doused firewood. But there’s a lot of smell around so it’s not just a camp fire. And then within a hundred yards we see the cause of the smell. As we leave the forest edge, we see a burned town. Smoke is still rising from some charred timbers. It looks like the whole town has been torched. The buildings are hollowed and gutted by fire.
A flock of crows lifts at our approach. The place looks sombre and desolate. The architecture is human, not goblinoid, so this was probably one of our places, not taken over by the Enemy. I am so used to the black and red haze that denotes an enemy zone of control that I don’t see it now unless I purposely look. I check the air and see that this area is indeed under enemy control.
Ever foolhardy, Tye spurs Bessie the mule ahead and Fitheach gallops past me to join him. I’m level with Bernard who mutters, ‘They’re idiots. They don’t know what dangers they’re riding into.’
Then there’s a massive explosion and Tye is hurled into the air from the back of his mule. He looks like the blackened cartoon characters you see in Roadrunner when they’ve been blown up. He turns almost lazily in the air then lands with a thump just in front of us. Fitheach is unharmed. Tye lifts his burned head weakly and yells, ‘Heal please.’
Fitheach nods and casts a Heal spell on the stricken wizard. Then Tye gets up and dusts himself down while Fitheach heals Bessie.
Henry, her husband, is outraged, he rounds on Tye. ‘You ginger wizard! You nearly got my Bessie killed with your recklessness.’
Tye’s about to argue back when Bessie says shyly, ‘It’s all right, Henry. Don’t worry for me, I’m better now thanks to king Saint Fitheach.’
Henry’s still boiling, showing his big irregular teeth and braying in anger.
‘Okay, Henry,’ I say, ‘Knock it off.’
The mule is still outraged. ‘But Gorrow, don’t you think Tye was reckless?’
I’m not getting into this, though I do think that of course. I put up a hand. ‘Enough.’ Then I turn to Tye. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘Ran into an enemy booby-trap.’
I nod. ‘I got that.’
Bernard says, ‘Must have been left by enemy rogues.’
Fitheach is back with us after healing Bessie. ‘Do you think they’re following us?’
Tye gets back on Bessie, who doesn’t seem to mind, and he strokes her neck and says, ‘I did see that guy back in the glade with Robin Hood.’
Bernard says, ‘You think you saw someone, you mean.’
I look at Fitheach in case he’s going to say something, but he stays quiet. I don’t mention what Fitheach thought he saw as it’s only going to inflame things. I say, ‘Could be a coincidence. Maybe they trapped the path just to catch anyone that came along.’
Tye says, ‘Could catch their own people.’
Bernard shakes his head. ‘I don’t think they care about their own people. This isn’t the main supply line to their forces round
Caer, anyway. I’m guessing they’ll be using the Old North Road for the bulk of their logistics.’
Tye says, ‘I still think we’re being followed.’
‘Evidence?’ Bernard says.
Tye shrugs.
‘Then shut up then,’ Bernard says. ‘Let’s go forward.’
‘But carefully,’ I add.
None of us have trap detection skills so we keep to the right-hand edge of the path through the burned town rather than walking the middle. It’s a basic strategy, but it seems to work because we don’t run into any further traps. We do find a little stone milestone though. It sits in the middle of what must have been the town square. As I ride up to it I get a message:
So that was the name of this place before the enemy burned it to the ground. I guess they are pursuing a scorched earth policy now, hitting out at all the towns and villages hereabouts that might provide troops or supplies for the King or any settlement loyal to King Arthur that could harass the back of the evil forces as they closed in on Caer.
Caer is straight on south west. We keep gong. On the far side of the ruined town the trees are much sparser. A big hill like a hog’s back rises on the horizon, black and smooth and ominous looking. It must be two thousand feet high. I check my HUD map and see that this is Pendle Hill. Over that we get into the Lune Valley, and from there down the Trough past Alderley Edge to arrive at Caer. It must be just about eighty miles now.
I had promised myself I would log off at the next milestone, so I bind at Clitheroe in case of any mishaps and tell the party I’m about to log. Tye dismounts and I see him strolling across the square.
Bernard groans. ‘He’s going to blow himself up again.’
Fitheach shakes his head. ‘I’ll heal him.’
But Tye doesn’t blow himself up. He’s found a signpost. He yells back, ‘I’ve found a signpost.’
I nod and smile.
‘What’s it say?’ Bernard yells though there’s no real need to shout so loud.
‘Says: To Ned Ludd’s Diamond Mine. All manner of crystals for sale.’
Bernard turns to me. ‘That might be helpful. They might have smoky crystals.’
I sigh. ‘Maybe, but we need the Jabberwock essence too.’
Fitheach says, ‘Maybe they have a Jabberwock?’
I say, ‘They’re extremely rare. We rescued the last known ones.’
Fitheach ponders. ‘Yes, but you ever know.’
Bernard says, ‘We should go check out the crystals.’
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘But we know nothing about the guy who owns the mine and who he’s loyal to.’
Fitheach says, ‘We could kill him and steal the crystals if he’s with the enemy.’
Tye hears that even from over the other side of the square. He nods eagerly. ‘Sounds a good idea. If he’s not with us, he’s against us. And if he’s against us, he’s toast.’
I sigh. ‘Okay, we’ll go find Ned Ludd. What have we got to lose apart from precious time?’
Bernard says, ‘I’ve got to log now. See you all in a few hours.’
I log too. But I’ll be back.
14
Working Down a Diamond Mine
The others are all back when I log but who knows where? I can’t see them. However, we’re still grouped so I send a group chat message.
Gorrow: All ready for the mine?
Bernard: You’re back! Sure.
Tye: Yeppers, boss.
There is a delay until Fitheach answers finally
Fitheach: Yeah, sure. Was just sorting something out with my mare.
Bernard: Don’t ask.
Fitheach: Don’t be filthy.
I defuse the situation.
Gorrow: Meet you back at Clitheroe Milestone?
Fitheach is first back leading his mare Laireog. ‘She’s got a parasite. Was just looking for a spell to fix it.’
‘Eeew. Sounds nasty. Did you find a spell?’
Fitheach shakes his head, looking worried. ‘No, but I will. Asking in the Saint forum.’
‘There’s a saint forum?’
He nods. I should have known. There’s an everything forum in this game. Then the others filter back from wherever they’ve been. Bernard has been foraging round the houses with Tye. They found some low level junk but seem happy with it. Bernard waves a battered Silver Teapot in front of him as he comes up to the village milestone. The teapot winks at me.
‘It’s a talking teapot,’ Bernard says. ‘Don’t know if it can fly.’
I frown. ‘Why would it fly?’
‘Flying Teapot? Gong? 1970s Psychedelic Rock?’
I say, ‘Not my scene. Let’s go find Ned Ludd.’
We follow the signpost that leads us through the smoking ruins of houses until we’re crossing the garden area where the locals once grew carrots and cabbages but that are now all burned and mashed up by the feet of evil dudes. The black and red haze hovers over Clitheroe reminding me that Satanus has the upper hand here as he has pretty much everywhere over King Arthur’s realm of Logres.
Then we are out of the village still following the trail that takes us through a straggly wood. Crows sit on branches to our right like condemnatory gentlemen in black robes. They makes me uneasy. We lead the horses rather than ride them because of branches sweeping just above head height along the path.
I say, ‘Just everyone keep on their guard. We don’t know the area and there were evils round here not so long ago.’
Tye says, ‘I think someone is following us, you know.’
Fitheach nods. ‘Definitely.’
I don’t say anything. Technically, someone following you can be good or bad, but mostly it’s bad.
Then we’re among a rising landscape of tumbledown rocks. The path is better here and underfoot are cut stone blocks. ‘Dwarf work,’ says Fitheach wisely like he knows what he’s talking about.
Then Tye points. ‘Look.’
I follow his finger to see a cave mouth. Above the cave entrance is a home-made sign with clumsily daubed letters that read: Ned Ludd’s Diamond Mine.
‘That must be it,’ he says.
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Bernard says. ‘Remind me again how you won that Nobel Prize for thinking?’
Tye looks puzzled. ‘I didn’t win no Nobel Prize.’
Bernard raises his eyebrows, and I say, ‘Weapons ready. Just in case.’
Tye mutters some arcane words. Fitheach limbers up his shoulders in case he has to do some somatic moves to throw his spells. Then he wiggles his fingers for the same reason. Bernard’s hand goes to his alchemical sword, and he drags it a quarter inch out of its scabbard. I hear the runes whisper from its blade and smell the acrid hydrochloric acid he’s daubed it with.
Spirit snickers. Henry the Mule looks at Bessie the Mule and whispers, ‘Don’t worry, darlin’. Gorrow’s got this.’
Probably, I think. Probably.
I step forward, hand deliberately not near my sword hilt to avoid being provocative, but near enough that I can grab it if things go pear-shaped.
We’re about twenty yards away from the mine entrance when a gruff-looking dwarf in gleaming silver plate armour steps out of the shadows of the mine entrance. He’s holding a great axe in both hands.
‘Hail,’ I say. ‘I am Sir Gorrow, a Knight of the Round Table, and these are my companions.’
The dwarf spits. ‘Knights of the Round Table don’t impress me much.’
Fitheach gives a knowing glance to Tye. They get ready to blast the dwarf. I know this because I know them. I put up a hand and hiss, ‘Let me do the talking.’ I look back at the dwarf.
‘Why so?’ I ask.
He sneers. ‘You fancy knights in your fancy armour left us to fend for ourselves when the Evil One came.’
‘You seem to have done okay,’ Bernard says. The dwarf looks at him in a most unfriendly manner. Bernard usually makes things worse with his interventions, but this time the dwarf nods. ‘W
e don’t need to stinkin’ King Arthur.’
Tye says, ‘Easy, dwarf. Don’t you be talking the bads ‘bout our king.’
This is going to go one of two ways. I try to steer it the right way. ‘We are not your enemies, dwarf. You haven’t told us your name.’
He jerks his thumb upwards in the direction of the hand-painted sign. ‘You don’t read, huh?’
I say, ‘I couldn’t presume you were the owner.’
The dwarf gives a mock bow. ‘Well, get you for fancy manners. You’re speaking to the proprietor.’
He’s still edgy, but that was a thaw.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘We’re looking to buy crystals.’
He narrows his eyes, business brain now engaged. ‘We got crystals: diamonds, obviously; sapphires, emeralds, rubies, amethyst, aquamarine, tourmaline, if you are needing any grounding. Fire opal for inspiration, milky-opals for divination…’
‘Sounds good,’ Bernard says. I remember he uses crystals for his potion making.
Ned Ludd, the dwarf, gives a half-smile, as if seeing Bernard for the first time. ‘Ah, you’re an alchemist. Well, my friend, we’ve got exactly the crystals you need, and if we don’t exactly have the crystals you need, then they ain’t crystals what you be needing.’
Bernard nods, slightly befuddled, trying to work out what the dwarf means and finally says, ‘Sure,’ in a way that suggests he hasn’t got it.
‘Hey,’ Tye says. ‘You got any smoky crystals?’
My heart sinks. Bernard yells at him. ‘Thank you for letting the cat out of the bag!’
‘What?’ Tye looks genuinely puzzled. Fitheach puts a kindly hand on Tye’s shoulder, straightening out some creases in the fire mage’s bright blue robe. ‘You should have kept your mouth shut, Tye,’ the saint whispers. ‘For bargaining.’
