City of the Dead

By Mark Krepela, Rob Christianson, and Leo Newman



CHAPTER ONE

Duncan looked out over the valley from his campsite. The moon, a shimmering disc in the sky, made everything dance in cold white fire. A sluggish mist covered most of the landscape, but the village of Sarok was clearly visible.
It was a place of forgotten power, of lost secrets, of unimaginable wealth. The people living there had long since forgotten their roots, or any of the area's underlying historical importance, but Duncan knew about all of it. Dreamed about it. Needed it.
He looked over at his slumbering travelling companion, Greele. The man was one of the loudest speakers he had ever met, but was likeable. He helped pass the time on the road with obviously fabricated tales of his "glorious past."
Duncan thought his past was probably more sodden than glorious.
A howl came across the wind from the nearby forest, causing Greele to stir in his sleep. His hawkish nose glimmered in the warm glow of the campfire. Duncan grinned momentarily before the emanations of power from the village recaptured his attention.
He stood up, knees crackling like a brush fire, and stretched. Dawn was far away, but he could not sleep.
Again he looked at the village. Telltale signs of life filled the sky above it. The lazy curl of hearth fires, the odor of manure from the outlying stables. A homey place, he supposed. The village was not what had brought him here. What lay beneath it was far more important.
He closed his eyes and fell back into his mind. Somewhere, he touched a link... the tentative lifeline that was his attachment to the magic. Instantly, he felt more peaceful, more confident. The magic flowed through his body, warming his very soul.
After a few minutes, he opened his eyes, decided to get some sleep after all, and lay down. Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Soon, despite his earlier unrest, he too slept.
Overhead, the moon kept watch... a silent guardian...
Duncan awoke with a start as light crept over the horizon. The moon left its post to be replaced by the sun, an uncaring, blazing sphere. He looked down towards the town, and saw the bustle of morning activity. He stood up, stretched and prodded Greele with his foot. Always the morning person, Greele grumbled and groaned, turned over and promptly went back to sleep. Eventually, however, Duncan convinced him to get up.
They walked down one side of the main street trying to remain inobtruse. They checked out a farmers fruitstand, where another man was haggling over the price of peaches. Duncan concentrated on the table's supporting leg near the two arguing and let the magical force knock it in with fruit rolling everywhere.
"My fruit! All my fruit! You did this!" the farmer yelled at the other man.
The two men resorted to blows and were quite occupied as Greele trotted up and causally picked up a couple of apples and pocketed them. Duncan did the same and continued down the street as a crowd began to grow around the brawling individuals.
"Nice job," Greele remarked, munching one of the apples.
"Breakfast is served," Duncan replied, "But now onto more important business."

The two strode down the street towards the Angry Jackle, the town's inn. They reached the inn and walked around towards the back, heading for the stables. Duncan could feel the pull. He could go the rest of the way with his eyes closed. They ducked into the stables, which were mostly empty but for a few horses occupying the stalls.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Greele asked for the thousandth time.
Without an answer, Duncan closed his eyes and began murmuring under his breath. The horses in the other stalls began to spook, snorting and shifting nervously in their stalls. A shovel fell off the wall at the far end of the stable. Where it struck the ground, a rectangular shape slid aside. Duncan opened his eyes and walked over to the hole with Greele close behind. The horses stopped their fidgeting and once more were silent. A stone stairway descended into the murky darkness beneath the stable.
"It is down there," Duncan breathed, "I can feel it."

CHAPTER TWO

At that very moment, in a place far away across the ocean, a crystal ball glowed. The night was pierced by its hesitant, bluish light. Within the milky globe, vapors swirled... phantoms coming to life.
The glow of the ball was reflected in a pair of eyes that had no use for light. They were yellowed, cracked, watery eyes. Evil eyes. Insane eyes. The man to whom they belonged was not very nice either. He was known as the "Dark One" by most of the people over there. Any other name would not fit him.
The globe lit up only when cosmically important things occurred. Anything else would be a waste of time for the old wizard. Now, the crystal showed him something that was very very interesting indeed.

CHAPTER THREE

The stairway stretching into the dark sent an undeniable foreboding into Duncan's mind. Greele shuffled impatiently but remained silent as his companion stared into the gloom.
"Not yet." Duncan murmured. "If we go in there now.... we'll die."
Greele's eyes widened briefly, but he nodded. He trusted Duncan's knowledge of the situation far more than his own. "Well," he replied, "perhaps we have time for a drink, then? Eh?"
Duncan snapped out of it. With a hesitant smile he said, "Sorry. Don't mean to be so ominous, it's just that this place feels... wrong, somehow. And yes, a stiff drink would probably do me worlds of good."
So the two men went back around to the front of the Angry Jackle. It was a modest-looking establishment with shaded windows. The tangy odor of beer wafted from one of them, accompanied by sweat and the smell of frying pork. Duncan pushed open the door and they stepped inside.
A man stood near the front of the bar, a ring of listeners... well, listening ... to his raucous tale.
"And then," he said, slopping a huge mug of beer around for emphasis, "Then I really got violent wid'em!"
The men around him laughed and took long drinks from their own mugs. Duncan and Greele were almost to the counter when something clicked into place in Duncan's mind. Right as he remembered what had been eluding him last night, the fat man's mouth dropped open in astonishment and he said in a kind of pleased surprise, "By the three arms of Bodkan! Duncan Mallagor! How are you, you flea-bitten, pestilent, devious freak?"
Duncan paused for a moment, then a name connected to the round, sweat-coated face.
"Not now," Duncan mumbled, his head dropping into his hand. A slightly audible groan escaped his numb lips. "Not Thorin."
Thorin, you see was a trifle insane. He firmly believed he was a minor deity, and took great pains to make everyone else feel the same. His best argument to date, however, was, "Thorin... lose the 'in' and you get Thor. It must mean SOMETHING." Thorin was none-too-bright, also.
Duncan recalled their last meeting as he cradled his head in his hands. Thorin had been in a gladiatorial contest, and, surprisingly, won. The problem was that after the ceremony he demanded to be officially proclaimed as said minor deity. Needless to say, this did not go over well with the crowd. Duncan had known Thorin before that, having gone to magic school with him. Thorin had been thrown out after the first year due to his unstable condition.
They went back a ways, is what the point of all this is. And despite his undisguised insanity, Thorin was not a man to be taken lightly. In fact, he weighed in excess of 400 pounds, stood nearly 8 feet tall, and was, in fact, a troll. Such issues, compounding with his belief that he was some sort of low-rate god, might make one wonder how he could attract a ring of listeners in an alley, much less in a moderate and not-too-unclassy bar. Well, he happened to be buying all the drinks with the considerable sum of money he had happened to win in said gladiatorial contest. Funny thing, life.
While all this passed through Duncan's mind, Greele tugged patiently but insistently at his sleeve. The reason for this was that Thorin had taken it upon himself to come over and greet them more formally. This caused his ring of listeners to move with him, and anybody who has ever been approached by a group of nine drunken has-beens led by a delusioned, self-proclaimed god knows that it tends to be a mildly alarming sight. In fact, Greele was presently preparing to bolt if Duncan did not snap out of it.
Suddenly, the group arrived, cutting down considerably on his decision-making time. Like it or not, Thorin was right before him, drunken followers and all. And he was a less-than-pretty sight, let me tell you.
"Thorin!!! How goes it, old friend?" (You see, Greele, despite his loud and abrasive manner was in fact a quick thinker.)
"Well, aside from my stunning physique-- I've been working out you know-- and my massive popularity with every lass from here to the Fomulai Sea, fairly dull." The mildly unhinged troll conferred to his old comrade. "The plainsmen in the southern hills have disowned me as their patron God, and I was forced to cleanse their village in a divine grassfire. You know, same old, same old. But enough about me, how goes it with you?"
"Apparently," Greele absently replied, "not as rewarding as your adventures, but I have my share of tales."
"Well, come! Share with us your stories of conquest, war, and women! Bartender, bring a mug of your finest ale for my friend!" Thorin bellowed.
Now, under less distracting circumstances, Greele would have made more of a polite excuse to get away from this annoying (and rather foul-breathed) abomination of nature, but he had other things running through his mind. Other, more pleasurable things.
Greele shoved his way past his old friend, leaving Thorin rather upset in the meantime, and approached a table in the far west corner of the tavern. There sat one of the most beautiful and elegant sorceresses he had ever laid his eyes on, and believe you me, he had seen a lot of them.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Dark One watched all that was happening while in deep thought. His feeble, emaciated apprentice standing nearby with an eagerness in his posture. He leaned to far forward and caught himself before he fell from the high stool he sat upon.
"Quiet!" boomed the Dark One, "I am concentrating!"
He stared deeper into the multicolor swirl in the crystal and the crystal melted and reformed into a faceted sphere, showing numerous scenes. He negligently waved his hand and the apprentice jumped from his stool and placed the silk cover over the crystal.
"Did the deeper mysteries of the universe reveal themselves to you, great one?" the groveling young man asked while cleaning up the immediate area with sporadic movements.
"You ask too many questions," the Dark One hissed, "you are no longer of any use to me!"
With a gesture from his hand the thin figure of the apprentice shrunk down into itself as a light flashed, and nothing was left of the groveling young man.
The Dark One fumed around the workshop with thoughts of the door to the City of the Dead open after all these years. He closed and locked his study and walked to the courtyard of his fortress. His black cloak hung around him and light flashed from his outstretched hands and congealed in the center of the courtyard. At first, the light was just in the shape of a sphere, but it fluxed and molded into a reptilian form. A long neck and tail formed, and wings shaped themselves. A spot of inky darkness deeper than the night descended to land before him. The Dark One mounted in front of the shadowy wings and the shadowdragon took to the sky.
Except that the sky chose not to be taken. The shadowdragon grumbled for a short time, then decided just to pack it all in. Before the Dark One could react, the beast turned his head toward the Dark One's staff, which lay at his side. The crystal embedded in its tip beckoned to the dragon in its own enigmatic language.
You see, three centuries earlier, the Dark One had a rival named Stan, who was a real thorn in his side. He was a GOOD magician, and thus vastly popular with the masses. While the Dark One was cruelly torturing animals and messing with reality in general, Stan was healing the sick, curing the ill, and inventing partisan politics. Brimming over with jealous rage, one night the Dark One set a magical snare, which captured Stan's soul in a crystal. The very crystal which now captured the shadowdragon's attention. Revenge was long in coming, but sweet.
Heeding the crystal's unspoken commands, the shadowdragon brought its massive tail around in an arc. The Dark One began to protest, but his skull squirted out of his head as the force of the blow sent his shattered frame into the night. Evil always loses.

CHAPTER FIVE

Thorin was mumbling into his mug of beer. "Damn bastard, just shrugging me off all of a sudden. What of our years together?" Before Thorin realized, his mumbling had passed school and became savage shouting. The barkeeper had already cleared all the breakables away. Greele looked up from his costumed whore. Even though she charged by the hour, Thorin was making quite the racket, and it seemed to be about him. Duncan had to laugh. Someone was obviously going to get very maimed, and it wasn't going to be him. Thorin stormed over to where Greele sat entangled in womanry and lifted him en masse with one sweaty mitt.
Greele became aware that five fingers were merrily crushing his neck. "What the hell was that for?" Thorin screeched.
Greele summoned up all his strength and attempted to break the death lock Thorin had him in. He failed woefully. "Shrigth, markishhhhhhhh." Greele wheezed, mostly because it is excrementally difficult to be coherent while someone is choking the crap out of you.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar shook the bar. Mugs of ale flew through the air and the torch flames dipped crazily sideways.
"What in the Nine Hells was THAT?!?" someone bellowed.
In answer, the front wall of the bar burst open, sending a few lonely patrons flying through the air. Beyond it stood a beast straight out of hell. The torches were snuffed as a foul wind swept through the air, but before the light vanished, Duncan got a look at the creature.
What he saw was entirely too many teeth to make his day any better. He punched Thorin on the shoulder and actually got his attention. The fact that Thorin was staring in boozy wonder at the beast helped to no end.
"Come on! Let's get out of here! There's a door in the back!" he shouted.
Thorin nodded slowly, his head creaking like a rusty door hinge. He dropped Greele and lumbered towards the back. All around them, people were screaming and running about senselessly. After Duncan's announcement of a door at the back however, they all headed in that direction. News spreads fast in emergencies.
There was a liquid, tearing sound from somewhere behind Duncan, and a human arm sailed past his head. It was time to go. He followed Thorin out the back door and was shocked at what he saw.
The patrons, all panicking, were charging pell-mell down the magic stairway he had uncovered. "Hey!" Duncan shouted, "You idiots! Don't go down there!"
Nobody listened.
Duncan saw Thorin squeeze through the entrance and disappear into the darkness. Decision time had come. He headed towards the hole.
Greele was not having the best of luck. Already in pain from Thorin's greeting, had crawled along the floor. People stepped carelessly onto his prone form as they fled, adding to his pain. He managed to make the back door.
As Duncan reached the stairway, he looked back at the bar. Suddenly, Greele dragged himself out of the darkened room. For an instant their eyes locked. Then, Greele weakly turned his head away. Great jaws desceneded from inside the ruined building and scooped him in. There was a brittle crunching sound and Greele managed one high-pitched, horribly watery scream before his life ended.
Duncan slid the cover over the hole with understandable haste. The underside was covered in runes, and he recognized them too late. As soon as the hatch closed, the outline flashed, sealed, and vanished forever. Duncan turned around to face the mysterious undercity. Like it or not, he, Thorin, and roughly a dozen bar patrons were trapped in blasted remains of old Mikaell, a city torn apart by the Gods themselves and sunk into the ground.
Thorin was strangely pleased about something. "I'm home!" he announced. Luckily for him, nothing loose was handy for Duncan to pelt him with.
Duncan surveyed the area. They were in a town, alright, but the maid had taken a long vacation. Duncan was interrupted by the sound like a bucket of pig slop cascading a few feet and sloshing onto cement. Seems that incredible amounts of booze coupled with the Emissary of Doom chewing on your beer buddies had a somewhat negative effect on some of the milling patrons. Already some of the patrons had wandered off. All that was left were about nine of them, heavily inebriated, ill, weak, quite ugly and smelling of... The only way to describe them accurately is to snort skunk juice whilst standing in a room up to your armpits in sour milk while an elephant farts nearby. Add rotten eggs to taste.
Thorin was plodding away, shouting something about being happy to be back. Duncan had to run to keep up. Surprisingly, the patrons were wholeheartedly fulfilling their roles as third-rate fodder and were more or less following Duncan.
"Would you stop following me, by Gods!" Duncan bellowed. "What do you think I am, your leader or something?!? I have just as litttle of an idea as to what is going on as you drunken fools do!"
The liquored-up bunch just sat idly by, looking at Duncan expectantly while they held belching contests, minor fist-fights, and assorted other things one would do when he was thrown into the City of the Dead. And being totally drunk didn't help matters much. The crowd just grunted an incoherent reply.
Duncan just gave up, and decided to pursue old Thorin, because he seemed to be the only one in the lot with a vague idea of what was going on.
Around two hours later the situation was not much better. Duncan had lost some of his, er.. "followers" because they simply passed out and he did not have any desire to wake them. Now he and Thorin were being tailed only by two men, both of which were still quite drunk.
"A sock. Biggest one you ever saw. Right there!" One of them insisted, tugging at Duncan's tunic.
He sneered and brushed the man away. His breath was a dead wind.
"Surprised they let all you mortal folk in, though.." muttered Thorin, staring at Duncan suspiciously as he continued the latent conversation. "Or are you a God, too?"
The way he said this last bit made Duncan wary. "No, big fella," he soothed, patting one of Thorin's arms in a condescending fashion, "just me. I guess they let us in because we were with someone as important as you."
At this, Thorin beamed. "Of course! Of course." He yapped. "Now, I must find something to break. It has been a horribly long time since I really broke something."

CHAPTER SIX

The Darker One slouched on his obsidian throne, peering into his mirror. He had seen what had happened to his younger brother. The fool. But he was irrelevant, for the mirror had focused on a rag-tag group led by a large, boisterous troll. Tailing it were assorted humans.
"Third-rate fodder," The Darker One mumbled, "Wise..."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Duncan had tuned out Thorin's shouts and boasts. Mostly to save his sanity, but also because he didn't want any of his friends seeing him and thinking that he and Thorin were pals.
A rattling, crunching sound, however, roused Duncan's attention. A half dozen skeletons were uprooting themselves from the earth ahead. Limp shards of cloth clung to their brown bones, and each wielded nasty-looking instruments of death.
"Bloody Hell!" hissed Duncan. He HATED skeletons. Nasty things, hard to kill, can't stab 'em through the heart (Ain't got one), can't cut off their heads (they're already dead).
Thorin took no notice of them. He had found something else to break. With a satisfied grunt, he slammed both of his arms down onto one of the two men who had been tailing them drunkenly. The unfortunate chap barely had time to cry out before his spine folded like a dry twig. Thorin regarded the broken man proudly.
"Most pleasing!" He chortled. It was then that the first skeleton's grime-encrusted blade buried itself in his left arm.
Duncan started to shout a warning to Thorin but then figured, why? The skeleton wiggled its sword in his arm, causing the troll to finally pay attention to the situation. Duncan dropped one hand into his pocket and fished around for a charm to ward off the evil things.
Suddenly, a fetid breath assaulted his nostrils as the last remaining drunkard spoke up. "Hey man, really, don't you know how to fight these freggin' things? Watch..."
Duncan reeled momentarily and caught a glimpse of the man. He was short, barely five foot two on a good day, and chunky. His hair hung limply from his head like a batch of undercooked, grey noodles. As Duncan watched, he marched over to one of the skeletons whose back was turned as it watched the proceedings with Thorin. "Filthy thing! Begone!" The man cried. He brought his foot around in an arc and connected solidly with the undead abomination's back. The miserable thing flew apart like jackstraws.
"Not bad," said Duncan, pulling out his charm, "But what do you think of THIS?"
Duncan's charm flashed and a burst of light shot towards the nearest skeleton, shattering it to small bone fragments.
"Not dat bad," the drunkard stated, "but can you pull a rabbit out of your hat?"
At that point a skeleton with a cruel-looking scythe stumbled up and hacked the inebriated man from his neck through his torso, leaving him to twitch on the ground. Duncan turned toward the skeleton and his charm exploded with a pop. The skeleton advanced.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Darker One smiled. This Duncan Mallagor was more powerful than he had suspected. But no matter. They would all be corpses themselves in a matter of hours. The summoning spell he had just completed would bring things upon them that even their nightmares would never conjure up. The Darker One broke his smile with a hesitant laugh. Moments later he was cackling madly away.
Beneath his tower stood a slim man wrapped in an ashen cloak. His face was obscured by a black cloth wrapping. Those who passed by him involuntarily veered away from him, sensing, perhaps, some unseen power. The man listened to the sound of mad laughter drifting from the tower. His eyes blazed as he uttered a single, powerful word.
"Vengeance!"

CHAPTER NINE

The skeleton rushed at Duncan in its own staggering fashion.
If it worked for the drunk, he thought quickly as he raised his boot and planted it firmly into the skeleton's chest, shattering it to pieces.
Thorin was bleeding profusely from his left forearm, but he paid no heed. He was off again, magnanimously flailing his arms and pointing to broken structures, recalling how they "once were". Duncan looked down at the shattered remains of his amulet and cursed. Damn thing's warranty expired last week.
After a half-hour's aimless walking, Duncan discovered he could steer Thorin by pointing in the desired direction and asking what was down that way. Their progress was speeded considerably.

CHAPTER TEN

The slim man looked about him. The people were paying special care to not look his way. But they were possible witnesses. Six metal triangles whistled out from beneath his cloak. Each one struck its victim. The gurgling orchestra was quite fulfilling, he mused. Within ten seconds, there were no possible witnesses.
He circled around the tower. There were no visible entrances. No problem. He slipped his Gloves over his hands and began to climb.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Duncan had some time to think as he led Thorin away from the ruins of the town, towards a structure in the distance that seemed to be some sort black tower. The full impact of what had happened to him sank in slowly, like a stain taking hold in cloth. The memories could be washed from his mind, but never completely removed or forgotten.
Images of Greele disappearing into the maw of whatever unspeakable beast had ravaged the Angry Jackle kept coming back to him. He had not known the man extraordinarily well, but was nonetheless moved by his end. His final scream rebounded around Duncan's thoughts endlessly. And Thorin. The troll seemed more than slightly deranged. He had known the poor fellow was madder than a Syritanian Monk, but he seemed worse than ever. Why, come to think of it, he had murdered a man not half an hour back like a child squashing a bug for no apparent reason.
Even as he thought these grim thoughts, he again felt the undeniable tug of power which seemed to come from the very stone surrounding them. It was a tangible presence, lingering in the air. He could almost taste it.
His pondering was cut short when a surprised cry from Thorin, who had rounded the corner as he thought, echoed up the barren street.
"Mayron's Cairn," he muttered, darting to the end of the avenue, "What now?"
"L.. lo.. look at that..." Thorin mumbled in a barely coherent fashion.
"By the Six Breasts of Alhanna!" Duncan wheezed, as he surveyed the carnage. The two were surrounded by six unrecognizable corpses, rent asunder by shimmering blades of steel, which were embedded in what used to be the necks of the unfortunate by-standers. "What kind of cold-blooded fiend could have caused this?!?"
Duncan's question did not go unanswered for long, as two more of the deadly blades whizzed passed his nose and lodged into the wall scant inches from his head.
The cloaked figure above them cursed inwardly for missing such otherwise easy targets. As he calculated the correct angle of his next attack, a shout came from the intruders below. He realized he had been detected, and it wasn't too hard either. When a man in a gray cloak is clinging to the side of a jet-black obsidian tower, what do you expect?
"You up there! What in the NINE HELLS do you think you're doing!?!" Thorin bellowed. Duncan tried to silence the extroverted troll, but to no avail.
"Silence!!! If he tries to attack again, we're sitting ducks!!! You know, for a minor god, you aren't too bright..." This shut Thorin right up, and nothing could have pleased Duncan more as he tried to formulate a plan of escape, but his old schoolmate had other plans...
Without delay, Thorin hurled himself at the tower causing a slight tremor in the ground. All it seemed to do was knock the troll out, proving that obsidian is tougher than a troll's head. This took the cloaked climber off guard and he nearly lost a grip on the tower. Duncan ran to the side of the tower and circled to one side out of range. Grudgingly, he let his mind wrap around Thorin and drag him out of the way.

CHAPTER TWELVE

More disturbances! the cloaked figure thought with vehemence. He continued his ascent, figuring that he would clean up when he left. He pulled himself through a window and into a workshop. Vials, tubes and strange concoctions covered the two tables that dominated the center of the room. To his surprise, the laboratory was vacant. He crept over to a smooth oval surface on one wall that looked like it should be a mirror, but gave no reflection of anything. The archaic lettering surrounding the frame was what he was looking for. He pulled a scrap of cloth out of his pocket and examined the instructions he had himself scribed from the Tome of All Dimensions. He pulled a small metal figure of a two headed dragon the size of an apple out of a different pocket and set it upon the ground in front of the wall. With his finger, he wrote three spidery characters on the face of the non reflective surface, etching them into place with a murmur of a warding from the scrap of cloth. The letters glowed a brilliant white as they contorted to cover the area within the frame. The whole mirror was aglow. He quickly invoked the two headed dragon symbol as a red form drew itself from the mirror. A cage of red magical force lines weaved itself around the demon emerging from the mirror. The demon was completely caged as the mirror returned to a non-reflective surface once again.
A brief view of the demon would have caused others to run screaming from the room. Its body was covered with small horns and its legs were split at the knee forming two calves on each leg, and four arms grasped at the cage surrounding it, testing it for weaknesses. It let out a shriek that broke several of the glass tubes and vials.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Darker One's eyes widened in surprise. Someone had activated the summoning mirror in his OWN TOWER?!?
"Gekin!" He bellowed. Moments later a man entered the room silently. He, too, was dressed in a dark cloak, but twin points of red blazed within the darkened confines of his hood.
"Yes, lord?" he asked. Every syllable was a whispered half-breath, yet clearly audible.
The Darker One's lips quirked into an amused smile. Gekin thought to appear ominous, eh? "Why," he began, and his lips turned downwards once more in an expression of rage, "was I not informed, that we have intruders in the tower!!??!?"
Gekin's composure faltered briefly before he concocted a cover story. "Ahhh... I thought it unnecessary to bother you with the news, as trifling as it is." He quickly stated, watching the old man's grizzled face for signs of anger.
"IDIOT!" roared the Darker One, "HE HAS ACTIVATED THE MIRROR OF VELRIT-SH'AA! KILL HIM AT ONCE!"
Gekin nodded hurriedly and stumbled out of the room, drawing his sword as he broke into a run.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Duncan's head snapped upward as an ungodly shriek emanated form the tower. Thorin's body thumped to the hard ground as his concentration wandered. The big troll groaned and sat up.
Duncan looked at him with disgust. "What," he asked, "was THAT supposed to accomplish?"
Thorin looked meekly at him for a few seconds before replying, "Knock tower out from under silly man?"
It was the last straw. Duncan smacked him soundly upside the head, grabbed him by the front of his beer-stained jerkin, and whispered hotly into his face. "You bloated freak! Who in the Nine Hells do you think you are? Sukrin!? Gilgamesh? GOD HIMSELF? Wake up, man! Reality hasn't wandered off, your MIND has! If you so much as make a PEEP until we find a way into this wretched tower, I'll blow your fat head off!"
Thorin nodded numbly. Duncan released his jerkin and stalked angrily off towards the base of the tower, muttering about better days. The troll watched him go with mixed emotions. He liked Duncan, but only because he had known him in his turbulent youth. Now, it seemed, even he had turned against him. He made a private resolve to stop trying to impress others and concentrate on himself for a while. Thus refortified with personal intent, he climbed to his feet and followed Duncan, who was now sliding his hands across the glossy side of the tower in a vain attempt to find a hidden door.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Ah-HA! Duncan Mallagor, what have you discovered now?!?" Thorin half-bellowed, somehow thinking that perhaps his old friend would forgive his former ignorance if he changed his attitude. It didn't work.
"Can't you shut your immortal big mouth for two seconds?" Duncan snapped. He was crouched over a small object, which shimmered like the stars' reflections in a calm lagoon. "I think I may have found us a way into this accursed tower."
"Euh? Lemme see!" Thorin impatiently groped for the mysterious find, but was soon greeted by a strong bludgeon of Duncan's staff upside his massive skull. "Ow. Sorry."
Duncan was stoic and unmoved as he observed the object which could very well be their key into the Dark Tower of Mikaell. "They appear to be climbing claws of some sort. These must have been how that shrouded assassin scaled the smooth walls. He must've conviently dropped them."
"Say," the foul-breathed, kind-hearted troll exclaimed, "maybe we can use these just like that guy up there did!!!" Thorin, immersed in his newly-rediscovered self-praise, had what he considered the greatest idea a troll of his stature had ever solely conceived; which wasn't saying much, you know. Again, he was struck by the wooden end of Duncan's staff.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you, you poor excuse for a minor deity!!!" Duncan was so red in the face, he probably out-shined the aforementioned lackey of the tower's owner. "Now shut up while I tell you the plan..."
Duncan carefully let Thorin in on the inner-workings of the plan, talking to him like a mother would talk to a rather unreasonable child throwing a tantrum in a marketplace. Thorin beamed when he learned that he was the one who would be climbing the tower, and Duncan would be strapped to his immense back. And then came the part of the plot where they were to enter the window at the top, and this part would have had Thorin ecstatically jumping up and down (and a few more clobberings with Duncan's staff, needless to say), if the self-proclaimed immortal would have heard it.
But he never got the chance, because just as Duncan was coming to that part, a bolt of green energy struck the ground inches from the argumentative friends. That wasn't so bad, when you look at the whole picture, because what really ruined their day was the contorted red beast looming a scant four feet in front of them.
Thorin balked at the sight. "Eh?" he wondered aloud.
"That," said Duncan, displaying a bit of simplemindedness himself for a change, "is a demon."
And it was quite a demon, too. Apart from the previously mentioned physical horrors it possessed, it was the smelliest, loudest, ugliest sucker Duncan had ever seen. He glanced at Thorin. Well, maybe the SECOND smelliest, loudest, and ugliest.
Philosophical dilemma aside, the pair of mismatched heroes had some serious problems brewing.
"Ah.." began Duncan. Before he could say anything else, the demon brought one boulder-sized fist around and whopped him in the gut. He sailed gracelessly through the air and slid down a nearby wall.
"Here now," complained Thorin. "That ain't a nice way of interducin' yerself."
"Torment!" shrieked the otherworldly terror, "Malice! Greed! Apocalypse!"
"Bluffing." corrected Thorin, ramming both fists into the thing's warty face. From Duncan's prone position, there was a tangle of flailing limbs and then nothing. The two had somehow disappeared.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Bones of Mikaell! Where is my staff?!?" wailed the Darker One. Gekin had done absolutely nothing. As usual, he himself would have to deal with the pests. He only needed his staff, which was nowhere to be found. "Of all the cursed... AAAGH!"
Gekin stopped and pressed his back against the cool inner wall of the tower's entryway. The sounds of a struggle came from outside somewhere close by. He slipped silently out of the phazedoor and saw a massive troll clutching at the intuder's demon. Seeing a chance to remove one of the outsiders along with one of his competitors, he pulled a smaller version of the Mirror of Summoning from his cloak and aimed it at the fighting pair.
"Mishavka Ragnor Salla!" He hissed. There was a flash of light, and then the two were gone.
Gekin grinned. "Let us see how they like actually touring the Ninth Hell."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

As Gekin bathed in his own glory, a silent robed figure entered the vicinity. It was not Gekin's master, bent on fury-fed revenge, for that would have been far too fortunate for the young apprentice. It was, in fact, the intruder from the tower, the triangle man that had been all but forgotten in the confusion. Again, the steel instruments of gore streamed from the innermost folds of his robe. Four blades swiftly severed the young man's limbs from the rest of his body, and a fifth glided through Gekin's emaciated throat like a freshly-forged saber through butter.
The liquified form which up until two seconds ago could have been construed as a human twitched and bucked in its futile death-throes in the dusty and silent entryway. Duncan stood in shock as the violence left its spurting aftermath, but only for an instant. He quickly assumed a fighting stance before the new adversary. The robed murderer just laughed.
But it was a laugh of comradery. This took Duncan a minute to realize. "Easy. Easy. I come in peace, friend." The man spoke as if he had known Duncan since childhood, and though the confused warrior knew he should welcome this new friend, he could not help but feel a small chord of deception, deep, deep in his innermost consciousness. The cloaked figure slowly walked beyond the phazedoor, outside the black tower once more, and approached Duncan.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

At first, Thorin did not notice that he was in the Ninth Hell, being preoccupied grappling with the demon and all, but finally, the swirling, blood-red flames lapping around his body caught his attention. The demon, having been spawned three blocks away, did not care.
"Where...?" said the big man, tossing the demon aside like kindling, "Where in the Nine Hells am I?"
Unaware of his ironic statement, Thorin gaped at his surroundings. He stood on a charcoal-black slab of stone, which, for all he could tell, was floating in mid air. All around him, flames spiralled hungrily upwards in columns as small as a finger and as wide as the Knabbard Sea. Huge fireballs tumbled through the space, now and then careening off one of the other floating chunks of stone.
"All right!" bellowed Thorin, "New York!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN

vDuncan reluctantly lowered his defenses as the stranger walked toward him. He silently prepared an entanglement spell, however. One could never be too careful.
"Pity about your trollish friend, there." Said the man, bending over to retrieve his projectiles from the unfortunate corpse of the young mage.
"Oh yeah, a REAL pity..." muttered Duncan, wondering if he was sorry to see Thorin go.
"You are, of course, here looking for the Stone of Tarynas?"
Duncan, who had absolutely no idea what power had drawn him into the underground maze beneath the town, knew that he had just received a major clue. "Ah... no." He lied. "I was actually here to look for... for... "
His lame excuse for a cover-up was cut off as a flash of crimson light burst from the nearest wall. As his eyes readjusted, Duncan was dismayed to see Thorin emerge from the portal, carrying a limp form.
"Mallagor! Looky what I found!" The troll bellowed. His voice caused the limp form in his arms to stir, allowing Duncan to recognize the mauled but still familiar visage of...
"Greele! How in the Nine Hells?!?" He roared, gaping at the man he had seen killed less than twelve hours ago.
"From the Ninth Hell, actually!" wheezed the ex-dead man. "And don't get to happy. Fat boy pulled me through a magical portal instead of the gates of hell, so now I'm a friggin' zombie."
To illustrate his point, Greele pulled his left foot off and began idly tossing it up and down in the air.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mephistopheles and Beelzebub watched the punished suffer as flames licked their naked bodies in eighth hell. They turned suddenly to find Satan behind them.
"Someone has broken into the Ninth Hell and helped a newly arrived victim to escape," Satan said, his voice coming from every direction at once. "Get off your damned asses and return both Greele and this bastard troll or it will be you that burn for eternity in there instead."
Then Satan dissolved into smoke and disappeared, leaving the demons to the task at hand.
Mephistopholes frowned. "Who does he think we are, his servants?"
Beelzebub shrugged. "I wanna go. Maybe we can cause some Hell on Earth."
Meph nodded. "Bubba, you've got a point."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Duncan's jaw worked soundlessly for a few moments before he could speak. "I... you... hee... heeheeheeee! No, no no nonono. This is just TOO much. Ah. Ah ha hah. hahahaaaaa."
Thorin scratched his crusty head in confusion. Duncan was usually tons more coherent. "What's wrong, Duncan?"
Duncan seemed to find that funny. He continued to laugh as he wandered away, staggering around the corner.
Greele slammed his foot back on and jumped down, sending rotting bits of himself in every direction. "Duncan! Wait!" he called, "Let me explain what-"
That was when Meph and Bubba exploded upwards through the floor. This unforseen change of events kind of took the three old friends by surprise, and Duncan thought it in their combined best interest that he regain his composure. He was a bit on the slow side though, because the two demonic henchmen had already unleashed a massive wave of hellfire. The onholy flames caught the three companions off guard, and they reeled backwards in confusion and pain. The demons took advantage of this, and Stalked ominously towards the huddling trio.
The battle was going in favor of the bad guys for a change, until they realized they had entirely forgotten about the cloaked assassin.
Mephistopholes assumed a battle stance in an instant, but it was all for naught because the man was no longer there...
Duncan saw this as a chance to take at least one of them out, and as he concentrated on his inner thread to the magical realm, an immense glow emanated from his entire body. The aura slowly radiated away from its conjurer, and enveloped the distracted Mephistopholes. "Ah, Hell!" were his final words, and that's exactly where he ended up.
But there was still the matter of the other hench-demon. The wave of flames had surrounded Thorin and the newly-resurrected Greele. The two lummoxes were arguing over which one of them would take out Beelzebub who just stood by laughing... until he heard his friend's curse as he was sucked back to the Abyss.
Being the glory hound that he was, Thorin just couldn't resist. And it WAS a perfect opportunity to show off his powers. He straightened his back, sucked in a mighty breath and let fly with a thunderbolt from his right hand. Nobody saw it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As the smoke cleared, only a charred spot on the earth remained where Bubba once stood. And directly behind it, a gorgeous, red-haired woman... in an ashen cloak, holding a shimmering triangular blade. The three warriors just stood there, gawking.
"Hello, gentlemen. The name's Syrania. Syrania Wyrmsoar."
Thorin elbowed Greele and muttered, "I'd do her!"
Greele shouted "Oaf!" and kicked him.
Duncan just gaped.
"Well, you're a lively bunch, fellas, but you're also in my way."
Three triangular blades whistled through the air.
One of the metal shards whizzed in an unnatural arc, heading straight for Greele's neck. Still not used to the experience of being deceased, he tried to parry the instrument of death, but he just wasn't quick enough.
The blade imbedded itself above the poor zombie's left eyebrow. Startled by the absence of pain, he realized he was pretty much unharmable. Greele let out a raucous, bellowing laugh.
Duncan, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. The second triangle sliced through the sinewy muscle of his right shoulder. He clutched the wound and staggered in his stance. But he knew that if this woman was to be overcome, he was the one who would have to do it. He struggled to regain strength as he surveyed the situation. Thorin just stood there, drooling at the site of the robed woman, totally oblivious to the third triangle, which was headed for his lower leg at lightning speed. It ricocheted off of his steel shinguard in an array of sparks, but still he only gaped and drooled.
An icy hand grabbed Duncan by the shoulder. He screamed in agony as the long clawlike fingernails dug deep into the fresh wound left by the silver projectile. As he turned his head to see who had clutched him, his spine turned to ice. An ancient wizard, radiating purest evil. The Darker One.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Out of the way, boy." The Darker One whispered in a voice that was like the night wind. "This has gone far enough already."
Duncan could care less. He slumped to the ground as agony rippled through his torn shoulder. The ancient wizard stepped over him and slammed his onyx staff against the stone floor.
His yellow eyes focused on the robed woman. "You? I thought someone of significance would have come."
"Hah! I'm a lot more powerful than the last time we met, old one. You shall see."
With that, she removed a small blue crystal from her belt pouch. The Stone of Tarynas. Duncan realized through his haze of pain that the Stone was what was emanating the power that had first drawn him to the village. He tried to stand up, but to no avail.
Greele, meanwhile, had gotten over his amusement at his undead state and decided to lay low. Even the living dead can be banished back to the Ninth Hell.
Thorin, being Thorin, just stood there. It was very unfortunate, as he was caught up in the incredible clash of magic a few seconds later.
Sparks flew left and right, a fountain of sorcery to rival the sun's corona. Thorin and Greele shielded there eyes, grunting about the light. Useless as usual, Duncan thought.
At the moment, Syrania was in the process of summoning some sort of other-worldly beast. At least, that was what Duncan guessed. The pain was a dense fog over his consciousness, not at all clear enough to accurately understand those spidery words of magic. The Darker One was involved in his own conjuring at the moment, so as the two adversaries occupied themselves, Duncan formulated a plan.
He saw his opening, and threw his magical staff at Thorin's head. That brought him out of his almost constant stupor. In frustration, the demi-god troll hurled a thunderbolt at Duncan. Just like he planned, although he still found it hard to believe that this obnoxious fool was what he had claimed to be all along.
Duncan quickly dug one of the silver triangles from the earth at his side, and raised it in the path of the oncoming bolt of energy. Concentrating on his own magical abilities, he aimed the dirty mirror of death at just the right angle. Thorin's bolt reflected directly where Duncan intended: Syrania's crystal.
It exploded in a flash of pure blackness... and she let out an ungodly shriek. When light reclaimed the battle scene, she lay prone on the dusty ground. Towering above her, a sixty-foot tall green dragon.
Writhing in frustration of being robbed from its own world, the giant wyrm lowered its massive head, and with a surprisingly fluid movement, scooped the form of the woman into its gaping maw. The wizardress Wyrmsoar existed no more.
The Darker One quaked with the most evil and twisted impersonation of laughter Duncan had ever had the displeasure of listening to. For a moment, the villainous figure stood savoring this unexpected turn of events. Then he turned to Duncan.
"Thank you, wretch. Thank you from the devil's bowels themselves." He raised his clawlike hands toward Duncan. They sparked with a malevolent blue energy. A large fireball began to form between the Darker One's palms, as he resumed his retched laughter. "Now, mortal filth, you join the wench in the Nine Plains of Eternal Hell!!!" Suddenly, he crumpled.
Thorin stood over the body of the wizard, grinning. "I was in the mood for something to break!" And break him he did. The limbs of the Darkest One were folded at unnatural angles. His torso was twisted like a pretzel, his robe shredded by protruding and fractured bones. A black liquid oozed from his form, accompanied by a faint gurgling.
It took Duncan a few minutes for what just happened to sink in. Then, a smile broke over his terror-stricken face. Greele drug his undead form over to the two friends, and joined them in their victorious moment. "Did you SEE that?" was the only thing the zombie could say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The three companions walked back in the direction of the entrance to the City of the Dead, where the magical doorway had reappeared. "Tell me again, old friend," Duncan said, "how you first discovered your divine nature!"
Thorin opened the ancient portal, and as the three friends walked through it, back into the village of Sarok, he gladly recited his tale.
The portal closed, and vanished once more.

THE END



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