Chapter 11:
Researching Empowering Haste.
As the Keeper of the Black Flame, I feel that happy troops are better to have due to them being more loyal. I do what I can to keep them happy, and whenever possible, I'm fair in my dealings. That doesn't mean that on occasion, I do not execute one of the lower life forms – it helps to keep the rest in place, and serves as a reminder that I'm usually quite "nice," in comparison to how I can be.
I walked towards the library but took my time doing so. I was in no particular rush, and when I finally arrived at the doorway to the Library, I found myself really wishing that I actually had a Workshop capable of manufacturing doors. It is not like me to simply walk in, especially into the Library that my master researcher currently occupied. It is necessary for a Keeper to maintain the loyalty of his army and by treating them as equal – well those who deserved it anyway. I need my army, and I need an army that can think and react, not just take orders and die effectively. It seemed that, as long as the Lord of the Land lives and until he is slain, there will be an unending tide of heroes that would rush in to the underground to destroy me and my warriors.
Entering the library, I ducked to avoid the flaming brands that gave what light there would in an otherwise dark, vampiric lair. Bookshelves lined the walls, from the floor to the ceiling, nearly overflowing with scrolls and tomes. Desks, shelves and even more bookcases were scattered throughout the room, some having more than their fair share of vials and glowing spheres. I joined my master researcher, who stood at the edge of a table, having just placed the final touches upon a scroll upon which the ink was still drying. I recognized the ink – I'd seen that form of ink in the encyclopedia within my mind: Magestain. It's difficult to manufacture and impossible to change, making it the ideal ink to be used for finalizing scrolls for confirmed spells that will work without any unexpected side effects.
When he saw my approach, he waved a hand over the scroll, which rolled up and flew in his hand. He took one step forward, and gave me a slight bow before handing me the scroll with both hands outstretched, "While finding a way for you to return to home has not been an easy to research, there is precious little information regarding dimensional gateways here. What my brethren and I have discovered, is a spell that we call "Haste." This spell will enhance the speed and reaction of any creature that it is cast upon, however, it can only be cast from your Dungeon Heart."
It has been two weeks since they have been freed and thus far, their research has paid off, for my dungeon and my warriors, but nothing has come to pass with regards to me trying to find a way home. I took the scroll, rather uncertain about what to do with it, but even as it landed in my palm, a part of the mental textbook in my mind unfolded, almost as if unlocking a hidden chapter within itself, explaining to me how the spell casting … system I suppose, that existed within the Dungeon Heart worked. I nodded, acknowledging Drahuliska and his brethrens' work. I nodded my gratitude to him, "How goes work upon that special weapons project of mine?"
"The design of your weapon, however esoteric it might be, is nearly complete. We are still having some minor difficulties attempting to strike a balance between the firearm component and the blade to ensure that the blade does not disintegrate when charged mana is passed down its length. We are in the process of testing several different mineral and elemental fuses, and we anticipate having something feasible in several days, perhaps one week's time."
"Excellent," he had a question however, and I gave him a slight nod.
"How did you come upon the idea for such a weapon Master Keeper? The concept has been debated before, in our annals and in those of the warriors of light, but few have been able to control such a weapon."
"I have skills with such a weapon from my own world. I had created something similar, and as such, it would not be difficult for me to use such a weapon again…. I actually miss… in a sense, having that weapon with me."
"But I was under the impression that your home world is nothing like this."
"It is not, but I carried it with me and trained with such a weapon for my own uses and purposes."
He understood that I was not going to answer any more questions, no matter how curious he might well be. He nodded his understanding of that, before I turned and left, eager to give this particular spell a try out. But I did not expect to get the chance to test it out in combat so quickly or so soon. Two weeks and thus far, there had been four relatively small raids, no more than a dozen heroes in any one raid. I had shown no mercy, butchering everyone who trespassed in my domain. However, there was something different about this particular raid. The alarms were suddenly tripped again. These heroes were not mindlessly exploring or wandering, but they knew exactly where they were going, and they were coming right towards me. Ah, that's what it is. The Lord of the Land, and he comes with every warrior that he has at his disposal. I can see them, trekking through the tunnels, and their strength is somewhat greater than mine.
As the alarm rang out, my minions moved to position with the rapidity and efficiency that I had come to expect from my warriors, and they were in their positions within moments, hiding within the small nooks and side passages that I had constructed, leading down the only true passage that lead in to my domain. The heroes were moving at full speed, desperately trying to cut down my flies that had baited these poor fools into the trap that would be their doom. They screeched in, war cry upon their lips while they charged. Their battle cries were drowned beneath the collective roar of my minions as they stormed forward from the hidden alcoves, fireballs, and meteor spells lancing outward, landing amongst them as a barrage of screaming red magic missiles follows up. A bestial wall of my warriors, moving with superhuman speed, collided with that of the heroes.
His archers were sending walls of arrows at my ranks. Most of the shots failed to connect accurately. Either that, or they just glanced off the thick carapace armor of my minions. Those lacking in armor, namely my own spellcasters, stood behind their shield spells or took cover where they could – their robes offer little protection.
My minions were trading damage for ground, slowly fading back towards the Dungeon as we winged and wounded, trimming down the number of heroes. Numerous Dwarves had been reduced to mangled corpses and their fire support line was running low on arrows. Many had discarded their bows, and had drawn swords and daggers, but had yet to wade into the fray. The pathetic cowards did not dare stand toe to toe with an enemy who could butcher them with ease.
The Keeper's Hand allowed me to move my warriors back, leaving the meat shield variety of warrior – the Beetle, Fly and Spider – to hold the line against the enemy, while my Dragons and Demon Spawn reformed their ranks farther back and closer to my Dungeon. At my signal those still engaged turned and fled in mock panic. Overconfident as I expected, the heroes broke ranks in their lust to collect trophies to mark their victory. The cohesion of his forces broken and his archers mostly without arrows, I grinned, and with the Keeper's Hand unleashed my Skeleton Warriors.
Skeletal warriors have to be shattered or crushed to be destroyed, and they don't stop fighting if a limb gets hacked off in combat. Range weapons, at best, chip away at their bony forms without doing any real harm. The cohesion of the heroes attack was gone, since their lighter scouts were pulled far ahead and the main body of their force was getting left behind. The archers came under brutal assault, bone swords slicing through the thin leather armor of the archers, while their shields absorbed what few arrows were loosened in their direction, as well as the pounding of blades.
The slaughter was quick and brutal, with only a few archers left of their massive numbers, the formerly deadly arrow barrages trimmed to nothing more than a nuisance.
Using the Keepers Hand, I dropped the full strength of my forces upon them, moments before I teleported from the Dungeon Heart to join the fray, my matched and deadly weapons already drawn and in hand, their blades glowing with their infused energies. It was a full scale slaughter, as the heroes found themselves surrounded and outnumber, my minions tearing through their ranks with unmatched haste - due to the power of the new spell that I had liberally employed. Claw and fang met steel sword and shield, only to have the latter splinter and break beneath the fury of the Dark Gods that my minions dealt out.
A single dwarf dared to challenge me, but his axe blows were slow and ineffective and I dodged, my blades working swiftly to first parry his axe, before cleaving through his arm, bone and all, before the other, short blade had punched into the side of his neck. The Dwarf gurgled and coughed blood on to me, before I swung him loose, kicking him headlong into the wall.
Drahuliska had turned the full fury of his magic upon the enemy as he literally spat Fireball and Meteor spells with one hand while casting a Healing and a Shield Charm upon a Demon Spawn fighting for any advantage against one of many sword wielding rouges. I remember when Gazz was a Demon Spawn, and stood only knee high to me, one of the largest that I had ever come face to face with. This Demon Spawn however was on the verge of the same transformation. The creature glowed a faint gold when suddenly a nova of energy exploded outwards from him. A ring of molten lava and fire that consumed the trio of rouges, leaving three charred corpses to fall upon my stone floor. It spiraled outwards growing in power and intensity as it circled outwards until six heroes had fallen and the Lord of the Land was sent flying through the air by the shockwave of the blast, the spell proving to be rather indiscriminate of its targets.
The remaining few heroes formed a circle around their temporarily stunned leader, and it was clear that they would defend him to the last. A barrage of scintillating magic composed of fireballs, red tinged magic missiles and meteor spells hammered the group. Their butchered forms joined the mangled corpses literally the floors with their shattered swords and broken dreams that marred my dungeon in such an unsightly fashion. But it does give the place a comfortable, lived in feeling. To you my dear reader, the variety of shades that dried and drying blood has is somewhat fascinating but at the same time, I'll spare you any further descriptions.
With the Lord of the Land standing, his blade covered in the ichors of several of my minions, my minions moved in, and while he slew several of my lesser minions, he was overwhelmed, brought down in short order, and restrained. The killing blow is always mine. I hefted the broadsword that he once wielded and promised him a quick death for he had fought with courage to stand against me. It was rather amusing to see him struggle against the grip of Drahuliska and Gazz, while he continued to glare daggers. How I quivered with fear. I swung his blade, and his head sprung like a jack in the box from his shoulders while blood fountained up from the stump of his neck.
This realm is mine and I add it to my empire of the Black Flame, letting it grow and prosper. The mortals above fear me, and soon they will hear the coming of the Black Flame. They will tremble, they will break and shatter, and they will all be mine. And perhaps somebody up there will know a thing or two about me getting home. Now considering the sordid tales of my conquests thus far, you didn't honestly think that nothing lived and that I converted vast tracts of land, acres upon acres, into nothing more than stinking sulfurous wastelands with swamps, bogs where forests and green once stood, with mindless uncontrollable and very hungry zombies wandering around do you?
Well fine…. Large tracts of land become what I just described, but there are a number of people that I do keep alive, living relatively normal and happy lives – I've fortunately had little problem in these very isolate and contained populations. Yes I keep them under a tight rein and they know full well that the moment they try anything, I will not just execute those responsible for causing trouble, but that their actions will lead to the deaths of the entire population. I'm a bastard, and I have never denied that I'm an son of a bitch, amongst some of the many names that I have been given by those living above.
I'm writing this, just so that you know exactly what happens when I take over a given Land. Sure, it gets corrupted – I can't deny that – and a large part of the population – alright fine about two thirds – fine three quarters – alright, alright … nine tenths of it – winds up either dead, or as slaves for experiments or to do whatever heavy lifting might be necessary– but the surviving one tenth of the population is composed of specialist people that I can use to my own purposes. When I say specialists, I mean those with skills – the masons, the craftsmen, the blacksmiths and the like. All of them, and of course, their families and loved ones tend to live, and live – where I can help it – better lives than before. Admittedly their lives are heavily controlled, but they have the riches, the wealth and almost anything that they could want, except freedom.
The various craftsmen are all responsible for different areas and, of course, different projects that I won't waste my time telling you about, simply because they are all works in progress and I don't need word about those projects ever leaking out. Suffice to say that most of them were either war related, or experiments to different ways of getting me home. The former had proven to be surprisingly successful. The latter had proven only one thing worthy of mention to me: That the only way home would be to carve a bloody trail, murder, kill, and plunder my guts out until I have the Avatar under the knife and get him to send me home. Why him? I don't rightly know. But that's is the direction that all the mystical evidence points me towards.
Those that live under my reign do live comfortably and do get to go about their lives comfortably. Admittedly those who do wind up on the receive end of a sword or spell blast have the annoying tendency of actually coming back to life as the undead – fortunately most of the time they come back as the lower level of the undead – in general as mindless hungry zombies that want to feed on the living. Its true that most Keepers prefer to spend most of their lives and time underground in one of their various domains, often times cloistered away in the Dungeon Heart. When on the campaign trail, I'm hardly foolish enough to venture out in to the open, above ground. While I still do look human, there are subtle changes in my appearance that I can't really put my finger on. I know my skin is definitely harder and rougher and has taken on a darker color, not a tan but as if something else is taking the place of my skin. It's rougher too, the texture like a very fine sand paper. The fact that my eyes don't seem to have *pupils anymore is also a clue that something is not quite right. I just wish that I knew what the fuck that is, especially when I sometimes look in the mirror and see what might be the beginnings of a burning flame in the center of my eyes.
Me? I come out of the darkness beneath once in while to enjoy some of the finer things in life. I'd heard that they made some particularly good food in this tavern, and I can't deny that it is rather good, especially since those damned Hatchery grown chickens don't taste like much of anything really. That is one of the reasons that I actually keep the Taverns open, their chefs and families all alive, not to mentioned those who run other "entertainment venues" – not porn shops, crack houses, strip bars and gang-bangs but more like the bars, strip bars and taverns, with their own fair selection of the appropriate "waitresses" to appease the new breeds of clientele. Even the most studious of my minions need to take some time off once in a while. The lives of subservient humans were different in some ways – instead of having the barkeep serving ale and beer; he was serving blood, bile and other fluids. Instead of Dwarves and Elves, he was serving Dragons and Warlocks. The barkeep's life went on, and the crucial changes were in his product line, and in the nature of his clientele.
Even as I sat there, the tavern master hurried over with a platter – the salted pork was particularly good as I sat there, eating my meal, staring at that unclaimed land to the North East. It was tempting me, calling me, laying down a challenge for me to attempt to try and conquer, another bastion and stronghold of the forces of all that is good and just in this world – there were already a lot fewer of them available.
Reaching in to the pocket of my robes, I pulled out my pipe and lit it almost absentmindedly, while I stared out the window into the distance, to those unspoiled, pristine and virgin territories. Interesting fact: I never smoked back home, but now I chain smoke like the worst of factory chimneys. Being a Keeper means immortality until the Dungeon Heart that I am currently tied to is crushed by the blow of an enchanted blade that is the Birthright of any Lord of the Land. Those Azurewrath Crystal Blades are the most dangerous weapons to a demon or a Demon Price for they can kill a demon permanently.
It had been a few quiet weeks, but I was itching. I can't sit still, I don't know how to. That Land mocks me by simply not being a part of my empire. The trail is going cold, and it's time to warm it back up, "Drahuliska! Rhahimidarigazz! We continue the campaign. Prepare my forces!"
Their responses were quick and precise, and around me the Tavern began to empty as several of my Dragons and Warlocks filled out to filter back in to the underground, barring the standard garrison detachments that I left to guard what is going to permanently be a part of my property and every growing empire from all would be usurpers. None who stand against the Black Flame will live, and their blood and skulls will be bountiful offerings to the Dark Gods.
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