“That was some good timing. How did you manage to get its health up enough for battle?” The last I saw of the wyrm, it was still shriveled up as they tried to bond with it.
“That’s where the rest of the potions went.” Tormara strokes the snout of her new pet. “I didn’t see any other way, so I made a tough decision. Either heal the wyrm and maybe die or save ourselves for a bit longer and definitely die.”
She made the right choice. Even at such a young age, the wyrm has already proved invaluable. I approach it with caution and when I extend my hand, it nuzzles its hardened snout against me.
“I wish there had been more than one, but I will count this as a serious win. I say we camp here tonight. No one can get inside the castle while we are still here and then we can set out for our next stop early tomorrow.”
Limery steps up beside me and pushes the king’s crown towards me. It’s silver and sleek, encrusted with sapphires.
Item. Kingly Crown. +10 Charisma.
I still remember the bonus Charisma I received from eating mole soup. It only gave three Charisma for one hour and I felt like I was losing myself. I don’t think I can handle ten Charisma even if I wanted to. It’s just not me, even if it does make me a smooth-talking son of a gun. Maybe one day I’ll have use for it, so I place it in my satchel.
Everyone takes their spot on the stone floor. It is well past midnight and we will need our rest for tomorrow. As I settle in with Limery tucked against my chest, I use the opportunity to sort through the notifications from before.
Congratulations! You have reached level 14. +1 stat point to distribute. +1 Strength and Constitution racial bonus.
I’m a little bummed I only got one level since I was really looking forward to unlocking that next ability, but considering we didn’t actually defeat any wraiths and only a few ghosts, the fact that I leveled up at all is a blessing. Maybe I can farm on the way to our next magical area.
Something else bothers me, though. It’s kind of strange that I only got the level up notification. When we defeated the faerie dungeon, there was a chest filled with loot and a notification that I had defeated the dungeon. Is there more to these ruins than just defeating the king?
Either way, we got what we came for. The endgame was never loot. Wyrms are more valuable than anything we could possibly find in these ruins. The fate of the entire troll race rests on the scaly backs of these two bonded creatures.
31. Liches be Crazy
Sunlight spills through the high windows of the throne room, urging me to wake. Daylight is a welcome sight since it means we won’t have to worry about the ghosts in the courtyard. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be new challenges on our way out. Limery stirs as I sit up, his bulbous eyes groggy with sleep.
I cast my horrors as the others wake and gather their belongings. Tormara’s wyrm curls in a ball by her side while she sleeps, a watchful guardian.
We are all out of potions, so whatever happens next, we need to be careful until we have a chance to replenish them.
Our goal is to get out of the castle without any problems. We have what we came for and I’d like to get as far away from this place as possible, regardless of what loot may be hidden on its grounds.
“Is everyone ready?” They all nod in affirmation. “Same routine as before, eyes on the wraiths at all times. I’ll keep my horrors out front in case there are any surprises. Tormara, I want that wyrm by your side at all times, Chief Rizza would kill me if something happened to it before we made it back. Gord, pick up the rear.”
The door opens with a groan and we are greeted by a troop of wraiths drifting aimlessly. Their dark presence watches over us, but we keep them in our vision, freezing them in place. This time, we make it to the door without incident and exit into a warm, breezy day by the coast.
My horrors are organized in line formations. Two rows of horrors of vitality lead the way, with their curling ram horns and furry orange and blue bodies ready to tank anything that comes near. Next, there are two rows of the horrors of power. They are the most vicious-looking of the bunch, pure muscle and elegance rolled into one. Muscles ripple beneath their golden fur as they prowl the hall, barbed tail swishing back and forth. They wear the black mane that surrounds their heads like a crown. Finally, the horrors of finesse bring up the rear, their gangly bodies swaying side to side as they walk. They may look goofy, but their claws are deadly.
The presence of the wraiths keep the horrors from decaying and by the time we exit the hall, I have over seventy horrors at my disposal. Due to their added buffs, I feel stronger and more powerful than I ever have. As we make our way down the steps from the keep and away from the aggro of the wraiths, the decay resumes, but I quickly cast another horror for each one lost.
We’re walking across the courtyard when something rumbles in the tower along the wall near the cliff.
All eyes turn to the tower as its scorched walls shake, stone and dirt falling from the tower’s base, then winding upwards as if whatever is causing the ruckus is moving up its spiral staircase.
There’s a moment of silence and then a crack forms in the top-most section of the tower. A battle rages on the other side.
It doesn’t make any sense. No one else is supposed to be able to enter the dungeon while we are in here.
The tower wall explodes and pieces of stone and dust rain down as a wyrm and half a dozen bodies tumble to the ground. The wyrm lands hard and slithers away. The bodies rise in pursuit as if nothing happened, though I’m one hundred percent positive one of their necks broke from the fall and hangs sideways.
That’s when I see someone standing in the exposed section of the tower. Dark hair drapes down over a black robe, the shadows concealing the face beneath. Grey, deathly hands hold a scepter, its end glowing an eerie green.
Duchess Ravana. Lich. Level 16. Once a powerful necromancer and sister to the king, it is rumored that her dealings with the dark arts led to the king’s eventual madness. Unwilling to leave the mortal world, Duchess Ravana made sure she would never have to.
The wyrm burrows underground and the trailing undead follow with outstretched hands and rotting flesh.
Duchess Ravana leaps from the tower, a fall that would seriously injure most, and lands silently, her feet hovering several inches off the ground. The robe she wears reveals her decayed chest, speckled with death, and pasty skin that has not known life in a very long time.
For the moment, she seems more focused on the wyrm than the rest of us.
“It must be our lucky day,” I tell the group. “We get a chance to clear the dungeon and get the wyrm. If we hold off the lich, do you think you can bond the wyrm?”
“Leave it to us,” says Tormara. She, Yashi and Ismora fall back to where the ground rumbles.
My army of horrors approaches the lich. She stops moving.
“Do not stand in the way of what is mine,” she bellows, her voice shrill and cutting.
“Sorry, lady, but that wyrm is ours.”
“Then prepare to meet your doom!” She lifts her scepter into the air and with a flourish, the ground beneath her rips apart. Hands reach out, grasping and covered in dirt. They pull themselves from the ground until heads break through the surface and dozens of fallen warriors with exposed bones and ribcages rise, ready for battle. The warriors carry rusted weapons, while some use the bones of their fallen comrades.
Gord and I make brief eye contact.
“At least it’s something we can hit,” I say.
The sunlight catches his nose-ring and a smirk crosses his face. “At least there is that,” he rumbles.
There’s another explosion of earth behind us as the wyrm breaks through the surface. The three female trolls chase after it, along with Tormara’s new pet. I trust that they can handle the wyrm on their own. They have proven themselves.
The undead horde marches toward us, but I’m not worried. I have an army of my own.
Keeping them in formation, my horrors march toward
the undead madness.
They collide in the open courtyard, the wave of horrors of vitality slowing the movement of the undead. The demonic lions that are my horrors of power launch themselves off the backs of the horrors of vitality, catapulting themselves into the fray. Their powerful barbed tails swing back and forth, cracking bone and knocking the dead to the ground.
They’ve nearly demolished the undead when a new crop springs up to the left and then another to the right. Suddenly, my summons are surrounded on three sides.
“I think it’s time we help out,” I say to Gord and Limery.
Limery takes flight and fireballs dart through the air. They hit the skeletal warriors, but do little more than burn off the clothing, way less effective than the attacks on the ghosts.
Gord charges the horde nearest him, plowing through them with ease. The clatter of bones rings out as he slashes Peacemaker in powerful arcs. Horrors of finesse fall in behind him, watching his blind side as he wreaks havoc.
All the while, I continue to raise more horrors between attacks. I blast roaming dead with my ranged physical attacks and smash the skulls of any who stray too far from the chaos.
No matter how many we defeat, there seems to be a fresh batch of undead for the princess to beckon to her call. How many died here so long ago?
My horrors swarm the dead, overwhelming them with power and numbers, while the princess continues to raise more. She stops for a moment and raises her scepter overhead.
A buzz spreads over the battlefield and a darkness surrounds the undead. It moves about their feet, turning the earth as black as night and slowly rising into the air. I feel the life of my horrors start to dampen. Whatever she has cast, it is draining the health of everything around the undead, including myself.
The princess laughs. It’s cold and deadly.
“Death always wins. It’s the one thing you can never kill, only postpone. You will all make great additions to my army. And when I take the wyrms, I will bring death upon any who oppose me. I will—”
A fireball to the face cuts off her evil speech and her robe goes up in flames.
She swats at the flames and I dive into the moshpit of horrors and undead, allowing my inner beast to take control. Bite, Claw, Summon Horror, Summon Horror, Bite, Claw, ranged attack, Summon Horror. Rinse and repeat. Gord does his own thing off to the side and the growls of rage he emits let me know he’s okay. In a strange way, they spur me on.
My health drains from her area of effect spell, but before it gets worrisome, I use Berserker Rage and tear through the undead like a troll possessed. I never worry about dying, not like last night. No, this is actually fun. This is the reason people will do anything to play this game once it launches.
My horrors of finesse have armed themselves with the bones of their fallen enemies and have now added blunt force trauma to their attacks. The princess raises her hordes, but we destroy them all the same.
When the last of her undead falls, she simply stands there, mana depleted and useless. Gord does the honor of separating her head from shoulders, and several notifications fill my vision.
On the far end of the courtyard, our companions gather around two wyrms coiled together. We run over to find that Tormara’s wyrm has overpowered the wild wyrm and holds it in a death grip. Arrows and daggers stick out of the wild wyrm’s legless body while Yashi leans over it, dagger in hand.
She presses the blade between a slit in the scales and peels it back. A trickle of blood runs down the wyrm’s side. Yashi then cuts her own finger and presses it into the wound. There is a sizzle, and the wyrm writhes as if in pain, then the wound heals and the wyrm quits fighting. Tormara’s wyrm loosens its grip, and the newly bonded wyrm coils around Yashi’s feet, its wounds healing miraculously fast. Its tongue licks at the air and Yashi gently pets it on the back of its head.
She flashes me a smile. “We did it.”
“That we did. Now let’s get the hell out of here. Actually, give me a second.”
I pull up the notifications from the battle with the Lich.
You have defeated Paltras Ruins. Claim dungeon prize.
Congratulations! You have reached level 15. +1 stat point to distribute. +1 Strength and Constitution racial bonus. +1 ability point to distribute.
Awesome! I can finally unlock a new ability, but first, we should claim our rewards.
We walk back over to where the tattered remains of the lich lie spread across the ground. Her obsidian scepter catches the sun and I reach down to pick it up.
Item. Forlorn Scepter. Increases the range of summoned creatures by 50%. +5 Intelligence.
Item. Cloak of Ruin. Allows wearer to walk in the shadows undetected. +5 Dexterity.
So that’s how she was raising the dead from so far away. Those are some pretty good stats on the cloak as well. I know just who to give it to.
“Ismora, you didn’t get a wyrm out of this dungeon, but I have no doubt your time is coming. For now, I think this belongs to you. It will make you unnoticeable at evening, night, and anytime we find ourselves in shadowy places.”
She wraps the cloak over her shoulders. Even with the sun out, the shadows inside its creases seem to go on forever.
“I am here to serve the village. Yashi and Tormara have earned their wyrms. If it is seen fit that I earn one as well, then so be it, and if not, then I will carry on as I always have. The wyrms are not trophies, but members of our tribe.”
Holding the Forlorn Scepter in my hand, it seems like a natural fit for my class, but the ranged attack of Petrified Staff has been invaluable so far. For now, I put the scepter in my bag.
“Chods, looks at this.” Limery has his fingers buried in the dirt, pulling at a bone-white handle of what is obviously a chest. Gord reaches down to help him and the chest comes free.
The dark wood of the chest is speckled with dirt and the hinges are carved of bone.
It opens with a click. Inside, it is filled with bones, but when I look closer, I notice it is actually a set of magical armor.
Item. Bone Cuirass. +3 Constitution. When all four pieces of bone armor are equipped, wearer takes 50% reduced damage from fire attacks.
Item. Bone Greaves. +3 Constitution. When all four pieces of bone armor are equipped, wearer takes 50% reduced damage from fire attacks.
Item. Skull Helm. +3 Constitution. When all four pieces of bone armor are equipped, wearer takes 50% reduced damage from fire attacks.
Item. Bone Vambraces. +3 Constitution. When all four pieces of bone armor are equipped, wearer takes 50% reduced damage from fire attacks.
That’s one hell of a set of armor, not to mention how intimidating it will look to go into battle against someone clad in bones. The bonus fire resistance will almost even out the weakness that trolls have to fire.
“Gord, this has your name written all over it. It’s loose enough to not dampen your mobility.”
He scowls at the armor as he takes out each individual piece. I know he doesn’t like the idea of wearing armor, but the stats are too good to pass up. Twelve Constitution is insane. No wonder defeating this ruin was so difficult.
Gord carefully puts on the armor, each piece magically fitting to his giant body. When it is all equipped, he looks like a demonic warlord. The skull helm has an actual skull that covers the top half of his face, only revealing his nose-ring and massive tusks, one broken and shorter than the other. His emerald eyes are piercing through the mask. The giant ribcage wraps around his chest, while still allowing his mossy green skin to show through. The greaves and vambraces cover his forearms and shins in an assortment of welded bones.
Between the wyrms and assorted clothing and armor, we’re starting to actually look like a formidable group.
While the others admire both Gord and Ismora’s new looks, I take the time to sort through my ability and stat points. I have two stat points that I’m currently holding on to, but there’s no point in waiting to use an ability point. I pull up both options for my summoning abi
lities. They are the only ones I have any real interest in at the moment.
Sacrifice. Sacrifice X amount of horrors to receive a temporary buff. Horror of Power: +1 Strength. Horror of Vitality: +1 Constitution. Horror of Finesse: +1 Dexterity
Kamikaze. Sacrifice a horror to deal a burst of damage.
Both are tempting. Sacrifice would make me a one-man wrecking crew if I happened to have a full army of horrors to sacrifice all at once. Plus, with a twenty Strength, Constitution, and Dexterity bonus all at once, I’d be godlike. Thinking back on the fights with the ghost and the specters, though, we need more than just Limery’s magic damage. The wyrms are an added bonus, but right now, we need to keep them safe more than anything. I need to be able to deal magical damage myself.
I select Kamikaze and summon a Horror of Vitality. The plump orange and blue monster looks around, unaware of what is about to happen, staring at me with its big round eyes.
I use Kamikaze and the horror explodes in a burst of orange light. There’s no blood or gore, only the explosion, so I don’t feel quite as bad about sacrificing it.
With no cooldown, the thought of an entire army exploding at once sets my hairs on end.
32. Seaside Strolls
Does it make me a sadist to have my horrors jump off the cliff and explode their bodies right as they hit the water just to see how big of a splash they can make?
I hope not, because even Gord is laughing as three horrors of vitality explode simultaneously, creating the biggest splash yet.
The two wyrms slither side by side between Yashi and Tormara. Far ahead, Ismora is but a blip along the cliff. Occasionally, a tree casts a shadow and she vanishes completely within it. Is it possible that she is truly as selfless as she proclaims, not caring whether she is bonded with a wyrm or not? In the short time I’ve known her, she has seemed pretty genuine to me. They all have. Sure, Gord and I were sworn enemies at first, but he has definitely dialed down his asshole antics, and I feel confident that he will have my back in every fight.
Sentenced to Troll Page 21
