Chapter Seven: Staffing Problems

It was not long before Zuglah felt like he was completely in control of his mana. He could produce as many as five or as few as three bolts. No matter how he tried, he could not get less than three.

The projectiles themselves were amazing. Tiny bullets of pure force that relentlessly tracked their target and detonated upon impact. When Caldwell tossed an apple through a portal, the missiles that were speeding towards it immediately changed direction, hurtling upwards into the sky to intercept the falling fruit. In moments, it was raining bits of apple.

The Ice Blade worked even better than he had hoped. It was a razor sharp, iron hard chunk of ice about as long as two of his hands. It could bury itself in the trunk of a tree, and shred the trunk when it blew itself apart moments later. Zuglah felt awful about knocking down the tree, and felt relief that he hadn’t mindlessly targeted the big ugly one.

When it exploded, the knife did additional damage to anything else in the vicinity, as well as making it difficult to walk. He had been thinking about using the cantrip Blast of Frost, but that spell didn’t really cause any damage, it simply slowed things down to a crawl.

He wore Mage Armour at all times. Sometimes he would look down and see twigs and bugs caught in the energy field. It was amazing what one could get used to.

He experimented with Illusion constantly. The largest thing that he could make was a wolf about three feet tall, but he could fashion it the same width as well. He could make the wolf run and jump, but not bark. It seemed that sound was a different kind of illusion.

Caldwell gifted him a potions belt made for dungeon crawling. It was actually slung across one shoulder, and had room for easy access potions as well as pouches and pockets in which to store any herbs he might glean along the way. He loaded it with Heals and Pots, and wore it always.

“Do you think I’m ready?” Caldwell paused in his eating. He nodded slowly. After supper, he brought Zuglah to a door marked “Broom Closet.”

“I am not a big believer in wands. They seem ostentatious, and often provide almost no added benefits to your casting.” He opened the closet door. “But a good staff, however, can make all the difference.” He had a dozen staves. Some were ornate, like the one with the clear crystal at the top. It turned out that it didn’t have any special properties, Caldwell just liked the extra light. There were other begemmed staves, as well as crooked, eldritch wood models and thick, pedestrian looking oak staves that were as thick as a rowboat’s oar.

Zuglah was drawn to the deeper part of the closet, where a sleek, dark-wood staff rested leaning in a corner. He liked the deep, cherry-red color. He traced a finger along the high polish and heard a whispered, “Not that one.” He moved down the line. The next one was walnut. “Keep going.” He almost laughed at Caldwell, until he realized that the old wizard was not in the Broom Closet with him. What was going on?

He examined the staves in the back with him. He decided that the voice must be coming from a black wooden staff with black metal end caps and another black band of iron every foot and a half along its length. When he touched it, he heard it whisper, “Yesss.”

When he brought it out of the closet, Caldwell’s eyes widened in surprise. “What have you got there?”

Zuglah held the staff out in front of him horizontally. The wood, the metal, everything was a flat black that absorbed the light. It was carved all over with runes. “It was at the back. Can I use this one?”

Caldwell shrugged. “I have honestly never seen that staff before in my life. If you want it, keep it.” He did want it. Very much.

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They had a large, hearty breakfast, then set off for the cemetery at the bottom of the hill. Although he had seen it happen many times, Zuglah still did not know exactly how to open the crypt. It turned out that they just had to knock.

The crypt’s tomb slid aside to reveal a staircase down into darkness. The webs lining the way were as thick as sheets. Torches flared to life, and somewhere in the middle distance the sound of an iron door closing and locking. Like a jail cell, or a dungeon.

His quarterstaff spoke up. “There are almost a dozen undead down there. Very weak, too. Let’s smash them.” Caldwell jumped.

“Zuglah, who said that?”

He held out his staff. “He did. It? He. My staff.”

“I have a name, you know.” His name was Redda Mo.

Redda Mo was a sapient quarterstaff from the Egat Era of the Linwood High Elves. It seemed that they created a lot of sentient beings in those days, from table lamps to courtyard fountains, and then abandoned them when they got bored.

Redda Mo had been one such item, born into a family of warrior monks who had a great disdain for bladed weapons. They had all died in the Second Dwarven Rebellion. So he had moved around some, been traded here and there, and one day had found his way into the closet. He had been taking advantage of the tent’s interdimensional properties to evade capture ever since. “But I got bored,” he admitted. “I thought you seemed like a good lad, well-adjusted, no weird knife phobias or anything. So I said to myself ‘What the hell, Redda Mo? Let’s give the kid a shot.”

If he had anything else to add, it was going to have to wait. There was a deep, low grinding noise coming up the dusty stairs. The tomb was opening.

He looked towards Caldwell. “Did you do that?” He shook his white-haired head and shrugged. “So who did?”

At the bottom, the door was indeed open. The floor was a wide corridor made of flagstones ten feet to a side. The walls continued to provide torches lit by some unknown person. Zuglah had seen the inside of these crypts many times, but never like this. He had witnessed these tombs rebuff full parties, men and women with fancy sets of armour and powered up weapons. And none of them had been a complete beginner!

The first challenge was just up ahead. In another twenty feet or so, there would be an old half broken door with a rusty lock. Behind that door was a big, dust-laden storage room containing three skeletons; two archers and a swordsman. The swordsman would charge him as soon as he detected any kind of a threat, and the archers would pluck away from a distance, turning him into a pincushion.

“Redda Mo.” Zuglah stopped creeping towards the undead. Apparently, Caldwell chose that moment to have a conversation with his stick. He turned to accommodate them, lest they be forced to yell.

“Yes, wizard Caldwell?” The stick replied.

“This is Zuglah’s first time in a dungeon. Let us see what he can do on his own. Without our advice.” This surprised him, because Caldwell knew that he had seen this whole crypt being run for weeks before they had spoken. He knew exactly how many mobs awaited them behind any given door.

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly. Let’s see whatcha got, kid!”

“You guys are being so loud.” He crept past the door, to the end of the hallway. There would be the stone bridge, on the right. He saw it, right where it was supposed to be. Except, next to it was a door. He looked to Caldwell in puzzlement. Caldwell too was stumped.

But it wasn’t Caldwell’s decision.

He had been planning on fighting the three skeletons in this corridor, one at a time if possible, because the ample room would allow him to fight at range. But he had no idea what might be behind that door. Whatever it was, he sincerely doubted that it would hear a bunch of fighting, come out to see what all the fuss was about, then take his side.

He would have to fight the skeletons in their lair. He was glad he had gone up the corridor to check.

“Redda Mo, you said that you were built by monks? Does that mean you’re more designed for bashing stuff than channeling magic?” His voice was too loud in his own ears. Redda Mo didn’t even try to whisper.

“Oh, I can cast a spell with the best of them. But yes, if you want to break a bunch of stuff I’m the staff for you.”

“Well okay then. Let’s see whatcha got, stick.” He reached for the door and pulled. It swung open easily, being unlocked now for some reason. Things were subtly different this time.

He was just about to blink into the archers, but hesitated because there were no archers. No archers, and no swordsman. No skeletons of any kind.

Just two big, floating Spectres, occupying most of the room and looking disgruntled. The smell of mold and decay was overwhelming.

Okay, so maybe there were a few surprises.