Pushing on, we noticed footprints in the dirt and grime leading off to the right of a T-junction. We followed a long corridor which opened up into a large chamber. Entering the room, we found nothing of interest. However, the sound of plated boots behind us got my attention. I slowly turned in time to see the group of men hiding behind the wall fan out. Several more jumped out from behind a pillar. We were completely surrounded.
Back to back, we stood, covering all angles. We were screwed. As one, the ring of men closed in. Crackling energy coalesced all around us, climbing the tunnel walls like a Jacob’s Ladder. It built upon itself exponentially until lightning exploded from all directions, arcing from man to man through the entire circle. Bodies dropped, spasming and unconscious.
“Sorry I’m late, errands took longer than I’d expected.” Garstil walked up and helped us start binding bodies. “I see you’ve made some friends, good!” He smiled.
We traded grips. “Damned glad to see you. I thought we were done for.”
A doorway farther down the stone wall slammed open, and more men flooded into the corridor. “Sup, man? Miss me?”
“Flint.” We faced each other, twenty feet apart. Murder in our eyes.
Flint smiled, addressing his men, “This one’s mine. Do what you guys want with the other two.” Flint’s men spread out and matched up with my party members.
Morogan, growling, raised his mace and shield while Garstil lifted his hands defensively, lightning arcing menacingly between his spread fingers. A soft, almost translucent sphere of energy formed around him.
“Ready for an ass beating?” I willed power into my sword, and it flared with brilliant light in the darkness, illuminating the entire corridor. Flint hesitated for a second, blinded by the light. I triggered Dash and swung the blade down overhead, going for first blood. Flint drew his longsword and met my blade an inch from his face. He was dead steady, grinning all the while.
Behind me, lightning flashed, followed by the screams of several men. Morogan’s roar followed up on the echoes of pain, and more screams joined them.
Flint and I were dead even skill-wise, even with my larger, heavier blade. He was damned fast, easily parrying anything I threw at him. Electricity arced out and down his sword, barely phasing him. We clashed blades several more times, sparks flying every which way. One of his minions took a cheap shot at me and met the pointy end of both of our swords. I jumped back, but Flint cut him down. He charged forward, seething. We clashed again, blades locking. A show of strength. We fought for the upper hand for several moments, neither budging an inch.
7
Slag, The Bear Fist
“Enough,” bellowed an unseen man. The door before us exploded in a shower of wood and splinters. The fighting stopped. All eyes turned to the doorway of the bandits’ sewer hideout. A giant of a man casually leaned in the splintered doorway, his massive size blocking passage in and out. He wore fine leathers modeled after a biker vest over chainmail. A crude skull and crossbones had been burned over his left breast. He held a sharp knife in each hand as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Flint! The hell’s going on here?”
Some random guy in the back answered, “They came down the tunnel and started to attack us!”
Slag flicked his wrist and sent one of his two knives at his own man, skewering him through the throat. The impact slammed the flying man against the stone wall with a thud. “Anyone else who isn’t Flint have an answer?” The room was silent as a graveyard.
Flint, eyes and sword still locked with mine, spoke up. “Nothin’, boss, just dealin’ with some uninvited guests is all.”
“Uninvited guests?” Slag chuckled and relaxed. “Shee-it. You’re getting your asses handed to you by three noobs. The one you’re fighting looks like that dickhead, Abalonious. Do I need to go beat his ass for you?”
“Naw, I got this boss. Just havin’ some fun with ’im.”
The sound of many plated boots echoed down the tunnel. Sergeant Williams had finally made it with the town militia.
The air in the room grew tense. I smiled. “What about it, Flint? Still fancy dancing some more? I can do this all day.”
Flint laughed. “Naw, man. We got what we wanted. Be seein’ ya.” He jumped back, disengaging from our sword lock. All of the cutthroats retreated to the hideout entrance as someone from inside brought out a large powder keg and set it in front of Slag.
“If you survive this, I’ll be looking forward to beating your ass myself. Have fun, kid.” Slag lit a fuse on the keg and walked calmly inside.
“Run!” I screamed, replacing my sword on my back and bolting for the exit. The three of us had cleared the first corner when the militia rounded the other side. “Look out!” I warned too late. We plowed into each other, and all collapsed to the ground before the powder keg detonated. The concussion knocked the collective wind out of us, and ears rang all around. When the smoke and dust settled, we checked on the hideout. Rocks and rubble from the ceiling completely blocked the entrance.
“They planned this.” I took a deep breath. “But why? Why lead us down here and then run away?”
Sergeant Williams bolted upright. “By the Caretaker, no! The Armory! Stiller, get your ass topside and check on the detachment at the Armory. Move!”
A leather-clad soldier, he couldn’t have been more than seventeen, snapped to attention, saluted, yelled, “Yes, sir!” and ran at breakneck speed for the tunnel entrance.
Williams turned to me. “We have to move. Gather your party and come with us.” I looked at my group and they nodded in agreement. We headed for the surface.
As we reached the sewer entrance, Stiller came running up to us. “Sir!” He saluted Williams. “The Lord of the Keep requests your presence at the Armory posthaste.” The color had drained from his face. Williams’s expression darkened. He stormed off.
The Armory was a heavy stone tower, imposing on its own but more so with the massive wall around it. It had a heavy wrought iron gate and four heavily armed and armored guards. They saluted to Williams as we strode through the gate.
Williams walked up to the entrance of the tower and peered inside. “Shit. That’s why they wanted us down there.”
Looking in, I could see the rubble leading down into the bandit hideout. They’d brought the entire Armory floor down into the hideout, which meant… “Sergeant, what was kept here?”
An older man dressed in fine livery approached us. “Sergeant, I take it this the adventurer, Abalonious?”
Williams nodded. “Yes, sir. He can be trusted.” He turned to me. “Abalonious, this is Herbert Macgregor, Lord of Bridgeport.”
“A pleasure, my lord.” I bowed slightly, minding my manners.
Lord Macgregor chuckled. “We don’t do that here, son.” He held out his hand, and we grasped arms. I could feel immeasurable power thrum in his grip. He might have looked like an old man, but I had no doubt the person who stood before me was the most powerful I’d met in the game so far. “Please, call me Mac.” He smiled. “It rolls off the tongue better than all this lord business.”
I nodded. “So, what was in the Armory. Why all of the precautions?”
Mac grimaced. “We had better head inside. I’d rather not discuss such unpleasant business in the open.”
Sergeant Williams, Garstil, Morogan, and I sat around a large table in Bridgeport Keep’s dining hall. Food had been brought out, but none of us ate. Rain pounded against the tall windows of the hall, drops drizzling down as if racing.
Lord Macgregor entered and sat at the head of the table. “Thank you all for joining me. Please, help yourselves to food if you’re hungry.” We murmured thanks. “To business at hand, I suppose. The item which was liberated by Slag and his group of killers was an ancient relic. We have been protecting it for the near two hundred years since the Battle of Unsung Heroes.” Silence filled the chamber. “It is a most vile and unpleasant artifact. A staff taken from a necromancer, by the Caretaker himself, and left in our ca
re.”
“Why keep it around? Has no one tried to destroy the staff?” I had to know more about this thing.
“Several mages and warriors attempted it over the years; however, most met with ill fates and curses shortly thereafter. It’s quite possible the staff has souls trapped within it, whose collective willpower can be harnessed to protect it. We aren’t entirely sure. With the staff in the hands of the criminals, it won’t take long for it to end up in the hands of another necromancer.” Silence filled the room.
Morogan and I looked at each other. “I'm pretty sure it already has.” I recounted our recent adventure in the forest.
Mac grew tense. “If it is as you say, then we have much bigger concerns on our hands. We must somehow reclaim the staff, no matter the cost.”
I looked toward Morogan, and he nodded once. “We will retrieve it. We’re already tracking them for our own quest; we might as well snag the staff while we’re at it.”
Main Quest Updated: Track down the criminals and retrieve the necromantic staff.
Mac smiled. “Then we shall leave it in your capable hands. May the Caretaker watch over you.”
Following his lead, the gathered people stood.
“Thank you, you as well.” I said as we excused ourselves.
We turned in the rat slaying quest, and I leveled. Everyone in the square clapped and congratulated me. All in all, it was pretty spectacular. Apparently, there weren’t many level fives in the area. Yeah, I was proud. We watched as horses and wagons dug deep muddy ruts here and there where the roads weren't paved with stones. We stopped at a few shops and did the usual trash vendoring. I also picked up a pair of daggers and clipped them to my belt. Might as well have them just in case. With business complete, we headed for the inn to celebrate. The rain was a torrential downpour. I also took notice that Mary was no longer sitting under her umbrella in the square. Could she really have been waiting for me this whole time? To give me some silly rock? What a strange old woman...
We arrived at the inn just after sunset, and we rented three rooms. Morogan and Garstil had the rooms across the hallway from my own.
Morogan ordered meals and ale for the whole party—he insisted. I wasn’t going to turn down free food and ale. We grabbed a table next to the roaring fireplace. The inn was pretty packed but not overly so. A window was set into the wall to my left. The city guard patrolled in the rain, torchlight shining off their spotless armor. Between the rain and the fire, I lost myself for a few moments.
A big hand clapped me on the shoulder, and startled, I slammed forward. “Aba cheer up! Aba level five!” He took a seat and dropped a steaming bowl of stew in front of me as well as a tall brown ale. The meal smelled heavenly.
“Thanks, Morogan. I guess I was just thinking.”
Garstil leaned in. “About the necromancers, I take it?”
I nodded. “The excursion to the bandit camp made it pretty clear. They're working with one. We never saw a staff while we were there. Chances are pretty good that's why Slag took the staff from the Armory.”
Morogan frowned. “Aba and Morogan and Garstil need get stronger if bad mans get stronger.”
“Agreed.” Garstil took a long pull from his ale. “That Slag looked really intense. He killed one of his own men with the flick of his wrist. We are going to definitely need better gear if we’re going to go toe to toe with them.”
“I'm open to ideas. I haven’t got any upgraded gear for a while.”
“Time, Aba.”
“Time for what?” I asked, puzzled.
“Aba level five.” He grinned. “Morogan promise take Aba to metal mans city.”
Garstil arched an eyebrow, “What's this about now?”
“Morogan knows where there’s an entire city filled with tech armor. But it's somewhat of a rough trip. Minimum level is five. So, I suppose we are all ready to go. Morogan, where is it?” I pulled up my map, and it shifted horizontally, superimposed on the table surface. Neat.
Morogan pointed at a mountain at the other end of a large city. It lay past a crossroads a day or two away. “Metal mans live in mountain. But city bad place. Deadmans live in city.”
Garstil and I looked at each other. “What are deadmans?” he asked.
“Deadmans when kill man. Man not stay dead.”
“Necromancers.” Both Garstil and I said in unison Morogan nodded.
“All right,” I said. “Let's finish up and head to bed. We’ll find transportation in the morning.” We finished our food and headed to bed, exhausted.
The wagon master dropped us off at a fork in the road. “This is as far as I can take ya. Are you sure you want to go into that city? Nothin’ but death there they say.”
I checked the sign between the split. To the left lay the way toward Ashbourne, and to the right, past the barren wasteland where barely anything grew, the City of Lost Angels awaited us. And beyond that, the desolate mountain. Dark storm clouds, with the promise of more heavy rain, loomed over the horizon.
“Unfortunately, the city is in our way. Thank you for the ride. We appreciate it.”
“Glad for the company. Gets lonely out on the road. You boys be safe. Caretaker watch over you.”
We gathered our gear and headed down the road to hell, just as the first raindrops began to fall.
We could see the ravaged City of Lost Angels from the top of the rolling wasteland. All around us was nothing but a vast rocky tundra where almost nothing would grow. A small creek, shallow and dry, had just begun to receive water from the rains, likely for the first time in months. The dry parched ground sucked up the moisture almost as fast as it fell. Skeletons, both human and animal alike, littered the ground as far as the eye could see. Some were in craters and some in piles, but all of them dead for quite some time.
The storm had brought darkness upon us early. Looking around, I thought this was as good a spot as any. “I think we should make camp here, get an early start before we have to fight undead or whatnot in the city.”
Garstil looked around, scanning the horizon in every direction. “Might as well, safe a place as any, all things considered.”
The three of us broke out our brand-new custom tent. The walls were made of canvas, but we hung the leather sheets we had fashioned to the inside of the tent walls. This would insulate the tent against the dropping temperature and hide the indoor fire that Morogan was building. From a distance, our tent would be nearly invisible in the black of night. With the heavy rain tonight, no one would notice it. I also broke out the heavy tent stakes. Wouldn’t want the rising wind to run off with our new accommodations. Using some of the wood from his pack, Morogan had the fire at a steady burn, and the smoke rose through the hole at the top of the tent. I made sure the tent was big enough to comfortably sleep eight people and have room left for the gear we carried. With only three of us, it seemed like a mansion. Garstil took care of meal prep tonight while I looked into the logistics of tomorrow’s trip.
According to my map, we were in what was referred to as The Desolate Fields by the inhabitants of the game. I pulled out the Tome of Knowledge we had found earlier and found the references to the City of Lost Angels. I read aloud: “According to the lore, two hundred years ago, a massive battle took place here and vast armies slaughtered each other for control of the Tech Armor technology. The Caretaker himself led his army against the Orcs. A third party, a group of Necromancers, joined the battle about halfway, and the Human and Orc armies ended up having to band together to survive the onslaught of their fallen comrades. Apparently, some sort of new death-spell was released, and the citizens of the city were wiped out. Too many of them came back as undead. The Tech Army decided the only way to contain it was to destroy every lifeform in the city, so they launched a massive attack from the mountain. It says the Caretaker was killed during that barrage, but he survived it using his shield bracer. I’m not sure where he went after that.”
Morogan looked concerned. “Mother tell Morogan about Battle of Unsun
g Heroes. Mother fought beside Caretaker. Evil deadmans kill thousands of Humans and Orcs. Mother say deadmans faster than Orc. Stronger than Orc. No eat. No sleep. No scared. If fight deadmans, Mother say fight hard. Die hard. Not fight if not have to.”
Garstil looked uneasy. “We should probably take turns on watch. The last thing we need is some sort of ambush or scout finding us. It’ll be hard though without light. And we can’t risk using torches; even if the rain didn’t quench them, someone may see the light in the darkness.”
Morogan smiled. “Use Morogan necklace. See in dark! But Garstil watch first. Morogan sleep first.” He removed his necklace, handing it to Garstil. “No lose. No die. Necklace gift from Caretaker.”
Garstil nodded and put on the necklace. His muscles rippled visibly, and he grew noticeably more muscular. He smiled. “Deal. On all counts. Food should be ready soon. I’m going to see how this works and take a look around.” He wrapped his leather cloak about him and pulled the hood over his head, making sure it was secure, and stepped outside into the pounding rain.
Morogan watched me quietly as I stirred the food. “Your mom fought in that battle. How did she escape the barrage from the mountain?”
“Morogan not know. Mother say Sword Bearer save her. Sword Bearer gone but Mother alive. Mother take party, run from city. Orcs, Humans run, die.”
I shook my head slowly. “It must have been crazy seeing all those bodies just get back up and start attacking at random, not knowing who was going to kill you in a crowd of thousands. At least with just the three of us, we won’t have that worry, if there’s even anything left now.”
Legend of the Sword Bearer: Tempest Chronicles Book 1 Page 7
