Chapter 8:

Bones for the Army.

Having three powerful warriors at your command is a blessing for any battlefield commander, but having three powerful warriors who have no enemy to fight and nothing to do in their free time, that possesses something of a problem. It's not me that they have a problem with, but it's plain to see that they are actually itching to do battle. The ferocity of my Dragons in combat left little doubt in my mind that they would be potent adversaries upon the battle field, but I could sense that there was something else they wanted, that they lacked and were craving – it was one of those issues that had escaped my notice, until I was approached about the absence of a Library. I found myself without a clue as to what he was talking about. The encyclopedia within my head is a rather strange one, in that it unlocks information and grants it to me when certain criteria have been met, but the fact that trying to gain information about a library met with a blank wall meant that the criteria was not met. The only thing the encyclopedia would tell me was that I need to somehow attract Warlocks before I would be able to actually build a Library and that, to put it mildly is a bloody nuisance.

It's also plain to me that they find me interesting because Keepers are bound in a spirit form and can never leave the Heart unless they possess the body of a minion. I guess that's what makes me so interesting. I am a Keeper with a physical form, who walks amongst his minions to train and spar with them in a "no-holds" barred fashion, where I've picked up more than a few training related injuries and also several scars. The scars serve as object lessons for me, and I think it is one of the main reasons that I have survived as long as I have upon my campaign trail. Personally, I think that Rhahimidarigazz and his brethren find me interesting because I'm not like other Keepers, who tend to live shut in lives, akin to some high minded ivory tower intellectual. Don't get me wrong, I do focus on the big picture, but I am a micromanaging control freak too. Big picture, small details, I try not to overlook anything, but there are always a few small details that slip through the cracks. And the occasional issue does slip by.

Fortunately, Rahmidarigazz or "Gazz" – with his permission because one does not want a thousand pounds of fire breathing killing machine to burp and accidentally immolate you – is the one in charge of the trio, for I would have a hard time dealing with Shinzon or Dethaelus who are more akin to muscle minded tank brains. He knows full well the limitations of a Keeper and the way that knowledge is preserved within this realm – I get the impression that he would be an excellent researcher if I can get him in to a library. Well, an excellent researcher and I have a pet project for a weapon that I want. But the problem will be actually getting the library to design it, and then a Workshop to construct such a powerful weapon.

But it was also Gazz that mentioned something to me that made me sit up and take notice. In his own words, there is a subtle something in the mana of the land, that highlights the presence of a place that is sacred to the Darkness, but he can't tell me more than that. Perhaps a place or an artifact within that is emanating a small tale sign of power. He knows that it is ancient, but that it is also very faint, indicating that it is either well contained and preserved, or that it is an artifact with little or no power left.

Now at this point, with three relatively powerful Dragons to lead any attack, eight newly arrived Demon Spawn and a plethora of more expendable warriors in the form of Giant Beetles, Flies and Spiders at my command, I felt that I could spare the manpower to send the trio and some support along to seek the source of this power. I felt that my remaining warriors and I would be able to hold off against any hero incursions – and there had yet to be one – until they returned, or we could just slaughter them and use their worthless corpses as fertilizer for my Hatchery.

Gazz claims that the signal comes from somewhere west of my Dungeon, which is a promising start in searching for this place. Unfortunately, according to the records available regarding this land, there was a hero fortress that also housed a gateway for the heroes, built long ago, but nothing to indicate whether it was still active or had fallen to the ravages of time. My walls are already fully reinforced and there is only one way in to the Heart Chamber of my dungeon: through the Training Room and both Lairs. Anybody who comes knocking on my door would be in for a very rude surprise. I didn't bother wasting any more time as I gave Gazz his marching orders, "Gazz, take your brethren, and four Demon Spawn. Seek out this place and recover the artifact within," I paused for a moment, creating a pair of Imps, "ensure that wherever you go, you claim the land."

He left immediately, taking his small entourage with him. The fact that the imps belong to me in mind, body and soul will help me keep an eye on him, and if necessary, I can always use the terrain to my advantage – If I control the land he walks upon, I can give him a great deal of hell to live through. But that is just one side of the equation. Most likely, he'll run into something, either heroes or the guardians of whatever that artifact as…. In either scenario, I would like him and his two fellows to return unscathed, even if it means losing the Demon Spawn. At this point the Dragons are my most valuable warriors and in this particular realm, also my most precious asset.

And while they kept themselves amused, I've got a task of my own to take care off… I need to figure out just who is leading the heroes from above so that I can kill him and take over this land. My Flies would have to handle the necessary reconnaissance to get that job done, but something tells me that its going to take them a lot of time snooping, which will definitely give me another headache.

Several days passed, at least, I think days and that's because I saw the sun rise and set through the power to possess my minions, and all this time, my flies have been busy gathering all the information that we need. It's not so much that we actually have to worry about taking the fight to him, as there is never any doubt that the heroes will come to us, for they always do and have done for countless years. The question that needs answering is that the man we are facing is actually one who has not only a sarcastic wit, but the blade to back it up… and about forty well trained warriors to act as his muscle. I can't wait to meet him so I can present him with the butcher's bill.

But when Gazz came through the outer walls of my domain with his Demon Spawn larger and definitely more powerful than when they had left, with only half the imps I had sent as well, I felt a momentary disappointment which was bordering on rage at his failure. He himself was uninjured, which meant that they had been able to crush whatever opposition they had encountered. It was then that I noticed the presence of six other creatures along with him, like nothing that I had ever encountered before. They were beings of magic, but magic that seemed to be bound to their shape and form, as I watched from the Dungeon Heart; I could also hear the sounds of bone creaking against bone, what sounded like nails against the tiled flagstone floor of my Dungeon. I had no idea what to expect but I certainly did not expect to see the group of Skeletal Warriors that walked in a star pattern. It was an odd sort of procession - and I'm guessing that Gazz has a slight flair for the dramatic, as he'd let the Demon Spawn and Imps lead the way, before the Skeletons, and finally, himself and his two brothers bringing up the rear. From the Dungeon Heart, I teleported to him, appearing in a flash of blue light with a green tint.

"Welcome home," I greeted him, before giving a faint nod in the direction of the Skeletal warriors, "and congratulations upon your success – you must have quite a tale to tell," I noted the presence of several new scars that decorated his scales – and he had quite a few from his demon spawn days in my service.

"Indeed, my Keeper. Indeed. I do have a tale to tell." His tone calm and respectful, but it did not hide the twinkle that was in his eye. The forms must be obeyed, especially to keep the lower life forms in place, but in private, we could drop the rigors of such formality that I found tiresome – even though it's a way of life to every warrior that walks in this realm. It took only a few minutes for the skeletons to get themselves settled in before Gazz and myself were cloistered within the Dungeon Heart, formalities dropped, with him curled up – how the heck could he be even remotely comfortable while sitting in a chair – opposite of me with a roaring fireplace and a drink glass in his claw and as he began his tale, he turned out to be quite the story teller…

I am Rhahimidarigazz. I am the leader of the Dragon pack that lives and serves the Black Flame and it's Keeper Firestorm. I am a warrior, and I live to serve. When I was charged with the task of recovering that what he sought, the artifact of power that made my nerves tingle with an unmistakable glee, I could not refuse for I live to serve, and to serve with honor.

I had a small group of warriors at my command for this particular quest, composed of myself, my two brothers, a pack of four demon spawn and a group of imps that were already tunneling west as I had directed. The path was easy and the soil relatively soft, allowing us to make great progress. I could feel the power of the object calling to me, demanding my presence, my full attention and its sheer untapped potential continued to lure me towards it, like a beacon of light in the darkest of nights and shadows, where one's own hand is invisible in front of one's own face. I adjusted our course slightly on several occasions, to ensure that we were taking the most direct path towards it. But our day and a half of good fortune and speedy progress was about to be interrupted.

When the imps suddenly found themselves standing in an already made corridor, I knew that our traditional, most hated of foes were close by. The path was fresh, having been carved recently, and so was the call of the mana leaking from the artifact. At that moment, that was not what worried me the most – it was the large number and pattern of foot falls that marred the soft earthen floor of this passage, the presence of heavy boot marks, criss-cross patterns of soles driven deep in to the ground: Dwarven miners, with Rouges moving along with them. Worst of all, was the presence of boot prints with a star mark upon the heel. The Elven Archers with their perfect, unfailing eyesight regardless of the lighting, making them the undisputed masters of archery.

Regardless of the risk that they posed, it was no doubt nothing more than an advanced scouting party – nothing too dangerous and I ordered our imps to press onward, using their tunnels to our advantage – so long as they lead in the right direction, we would have no reason to dig our own passages – and they did, but we soon found ourselves contending with not only evading the heroes, attempting to maintain a good pace, but also exhaustion. The imps were as always imps – fine and happy to be hard at work – for the rest of us, we would have to pause and rest, to recover our strength as well. Having no choice, I called a halt and as a group, we settled in to sleep. Having command of the imps in this area also meant that by extension, I had a full command of certain aspects of our passage, which included the torch brackets of Gulbrathain Fire that burned forever. I extinguished them with a thought, plunging our surroundings in to complete darkness.

Dwarven miners have excellent vision, almost as sharp as elves during the day and, like them, have even sharper vision in the dim light that often came with mining. But they were as blind as humans in the pitch black of the underground, where one could not see their own hand in front of their faces. The only threat to us would be the eyesight of the Elves – I had posted the imps to act as sentries as they are expendable and easy to replace with minimal expenditure of mana. It is preferable to loose one of them as opposed to any warrior with both combat and strategic value, regardless of how minimal that value may be. Plus, imps do not need to sleep.

We slept, soundly and peacefully for a couple of hours at least – I cannot give an exact measure of time but the Dungeon Heart to which I am tied beats and pulses at regular intervals, and the number of beats allowed me to calculate that at least a few hours, perhaps as many as four but at the very least three had passed, when I received a general alarm from one of the Imps guarding the way behind us: Heroes were approaching, and the Imp in question was smart enough to raise the alarm to every warrior within my group as opposed to just myself.

I could feel the urgency building around me as my warriors prepared for battle. I could hear a group of Demon Spawn raking their serrated adamantine claws against the stone walls, testing and ensuring the sharpness. Based on the Imp's report, the heroes would be upon us in under a minute, but they were making so much noise it would have been possible for one of those Elven Archers to shoot and hit the target in the dark. The perfect eyesight of Elven Archers is somewhat worrying, but to use it, it requires actual thought and consideration, they need to actively hunt for a target, before they let that arrow fly. In the words of an Elvish Weapon Master, "Empty the mind and seek the target." It is hard to do either with semi drunk dwarves singing at the top of their voices. In essence, the advantage of surprise was ours.

Time's passage continued unabated, and already I could hear them not far down the passage, coming closer to their doom. And we held our ground, waiting for them to come upon us, and onward they came, until they were right in our midst and then we struck from the shadows, the wrath of hell unleashed upon these heroes. A roar sent my warriors in to battle, and the Demon Spawn attacked, rending flesh and bone with their claws, while the cries of the wounded mixed in with human and elfin battle cries, an orchestra of noise compounded by the screech of spell and the roar of dragon fire.

Their paltry group was no match for our power. Of the ten heroes, four had been Dwarven Miners, two had been Rouges, and the rest had been Archers. Where the flames of me and my brothers failed to immolate the fools, the demon spawn dug in, feasting upon the still living flesh of the heroes to sate their unbridled blood lust on our still living, screaming foes. The song of battle is the sweet music of my life, as is the sound of the enemy dying at my claws and fire. It was not a battle but more of wholesale butchery as only one miner and one archer escaped the wrath of the Black Flame, fleeing like true cowards. They would no doubt report the demise of their fellows, and that would bring a response from the Lord of the Land – that is to be expected of course, especially since he will know full well that somebody or rather, something, has decided to take up residence beneath his domain.

With only minor scratches and bruises to my forces, we pressed onward, down the dust filled path, treading softly and lightly to avoid sending up clouds of chocking dust and smoke. The earthen path led us directly to what we sought. The Chamber, its door sealed by a locking spell as old as the struggle between light and dark itself. The locking spell upon the door would have been a powerful one during its early days, possibly defying even my abilities to open it. Fortunately, the passage of time had weakened its power *to the point where a single breath of fire was more than enough to dissipate the pathetically weak spell, melt the hinges and locks upon the door, before the iron reinforced wood simply crumbled and splintered to ash and dust.

One of my Demon Spawn stepped forward, brandishing a magic missile between his claws, and tossed it in to the room ahead, revealing it to be some kind of long abandoned and derelict training facility. The torches had burned out long before, hanging half off the walls, their metal frames rusting away,. The smell of damp, death, rot and decay were easy to discern. The cause of those smells was equally easy to discern as they lay brutally hacked to pieces, broken bodies and skeletons upon the floor.

As we crossed the threshold, the skeletons all around us sprang to life. Six of them, their eyes glowing with unnatural life – the life force of darkness and corruption and death, dark black orbs for eyes staring, as if they sought to drive the life from us with merely their gaze and not their weapons. When one of the skeletons turned towards me, and spoke, the sound of its voice like a cold wind whipping at your face, "The dead keep this place as they own. Only the dead may enter and leave here of free will. Leave now, or perish."

It was an unworthy thought, but I thought of turning and leaving. But I faced a grim prospect…. To fail my master would probably result in a fate worse than that which stood before me. It appeared to be waiting for me to speak; I spoke, "I am here, as a representative of the Dungeon of the Black Flame. My Keeper, Firestorm, wishes you and your brethren to join us."

"The dead… do not pay attention… to the demands of the…. Living." it replied, drawing a sword from its scarab while a shield appeared upon its other arm, "Leave now or join the ranks of the fallen who serve me."

I snarled in response and ducked low even as the pile of bones swung its blade at me, with brute strength, more so than actual skill. The imps fled through the gaps, heading as far away from the battle as they could, even as my own small army tore in to the skeletons with all the fury that they could muster. Even as the mass battle disintegrated to a series of solitary one on one melee or in a few cases, two on ones, it was plain to see that I had their leader swinging lustily with his sword.

I dealt with the impertinent skeleton king, ducking below yet another swipe, to unleash the fires of hell from within me. He was barely able to bring his shield to bear against the heat which caused the metal to warp slightly. A broadside sweep of my tail struck hard, breaking the shield which was proceeded by a gout of flame, wreathing the skeleton in fire. It snarled back at me, though it could have been a leer. I am still uncertain but as he charged me, his sword drawn back, high overhead, hissing at me, I launched another volley of flames that caught it directly in the face – to little effect and I made a note that skeletons have no flesh, and therefore do not have to fear fire as any other creature would have to.

It took several more minutes as we fought, back and forth, neither of us actually gaining an advantage as I intended. It was not an attempt to wear down the Skeleton King who fought without fear, but simply to lull him in to a false sense of security. I had already spied his weakness, and of his warriors, most had been reduced to a finely ground white powder. When it took another swipe at me, I sidestepped and lashed out with the nova spell, the ring of fire sudden and sufficient to knock the thing off balance. leaping off my feet and spinning in mid air to add even more momentum before allowing my tail to slam in to its chest, the spikes cresting the back of my tail break several of the bones, knocking in on to its bony spine.

Without hesitation, I slammed my foot into its chest, and I swept out striking the crown it wore from its head. The crown was what enhanced its strength and power and gave it control over the other skeletons close by. I have never seen a skeleton tremble with fear, but without its helm, it had no control. Slamming it against the wall, and then driving it in to the ground, face first, I then flipped it over and stamped on its chest, putting my full weight upon its rib cage, the bones groaning dangerously under the pressure. The skeletons knew their king was defeated. Without him to coordinate, they were only limited in effectiveness, unable to do much damage to any of my minions.

His choice was obvious, for even the most simplistic and mindless of creatures has no intention of meeting death – especially once already dead, and reduced to nothing more than a pile of walking, magically enchanted bone. A clear victory for my Keeper as the Skeleton King surrendered and swore his allegiance, and added his strength to that of the Black Flame.

Gazz's tale concluded, I sat back in the comfort of the Dungeon Heart, *as he completed his story. I nodded, and hee understood what I was saying. He uncoiled himself, leaving the Dungeon Heart and me to my thoughts.) Warlocks would be the key to getting the Library to make research a possibility. I would have to track down at least a single Warlock, and soon. The question was, at the time, exactly where to find one. I also had to consider the fact that the Lord of this Land would most definitely be coming round, and making an attempt to knock down my Dungeon. The heroes would certainly be aware of my presence, and I'd have to do something to keep them off balance, without compromising the security of my Dungeon…. Sacrificial troops would be of principal importance, and those skeletons should just fit the bill. I would have to arrange a meeting of sorts with the Leader of the Skeletons.

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