Chapter Ten: How Do You Say “Ding!” In Troll?

Zuglah was beside himself. A month ago he had been picking flowers for a swamp hag, living in a den that he had dug out with his own claws like an animal. Now, he was an ascended wizard. Not just a wizard. Transcended.

Caldwell explained that normally he would have meditated during the short rest in order to take advantage of his expanded abilities, but since he wanted Zuglah to experience it organically, he let him discover it on his own. So it turned out he was not quite ready to move on.

His mentor added, “You should be able to handle another spell, too.” He told Caldwell that it was a shame that he hadn’t brought any scrolls with him, but then again it wasn’t like he could sit down in the middle of a dungeon and transcribe new spells.

“You would hardly be the first,” Caldwell told him bemusedly. “What spell was it you were yearning for? Burning Hands? Shield?”

“Nah, those can wait. The one that looks useful to me? Identify.”

Caldwell pulled a scroll from inside his sleeve. Identify. “Our secret weapon. And Redda Mo, if you ever reveal what I’m about to tell you, I will personally feed you through a lumber mill.”

“Hey, no need for threats, you old curmudgeon. I’m with you guys! Team Zap Captain all the way!”

Zuglah quickly wrote the new spell into his book. This made four now. Caldwell explained to him how the spell worked.

“I am older than even that runestick you carry, and I still use Identify twenty times a day. This morning I couldn’t remember if I put sugar in my tea already, for example. I mean, do you really think I can tell the difference between one glowing blue dagger and a green one?” He laughed at the look of astonishment on Zuglah’s face. “It sounded realistic though, didn’t it?”

“That seems dishonest,” Redda Mo muttered. He sounded like he still resented the lumber mill threat, but didn’t know how seriously to take it.

The trick, it turned out, was to attach it to some surreptitious gesture that nobody would even notice. He felt a little lost, and didn’t want to get stuck with something that he would regret, so he asked for advice.

“Tongue tap,” Caldwell said immediately. “It is what most of us use. Pick a tooth that you almost never visit, tap it twice with your tongue to cast. The finger squeeze is another good one.” He held up his index finger and thumb together and squeezed. “Do you know that clicking sound inside your ear? That you make by flexing the back of your tongue?”

Zuglah’s eyes narrowed. “Yes…?”

“Yeah, don’t use that.”

He went with the tooth thing.

He drew his new dagger. Yep, sure enough. Bramblethorn. +1 dagger, conjure brambles once per short rest.

“Do wizards ever cast Identify on each other?” Caldwell shrugged.

“It happens. It’s considered extremely rude, but ‘we learn our manners on the battlefield,’ as the saying goes.” Caldwell permitted him to cast Detect Magic upon him, arms spread wide. He lit up with more colors than a field of flowers.

“Hey, you’ve got Ultravision!”

Caldwell looked down at the Onyx ring on his right hand. “Yes indeed. That’s good stuff.”

He explained that Zuglah was actually wearing more items than was technically good for him, but that he seemed to be handling it okay. The more powerful one became, the more items and status effects, buffs and potions one could maintain without turning into a cackling madman. Zuglah reminded himself to not get greedy.

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Normally, the platform they were currently occupying was just a large earthen floor that had led to an antechamber. But this floor was paved in flagstone, and the doorway leading to the alcove had lamps burning in wall sconces on either side. The door itself was huge, iron-bound and studded. There was neither lock nor handle. Zuglah set the end of Redda Mo against the middle of the door and pushed. It swung easily.

There was no antechamber leading to the tomb. Instead, the same space had been used to convert two rooms into one long one. There was an antiquated red runner that led straight up to a set of stairs about halfway back. Pillars lined the sides of the audience chamber, with more of the fancy silver lantern holders attached. Pinions and banners were strewn about the ceiling, tapestries adorned the walls and chandeliers hung down, fully lit.

Down at the far end, the stairs marked the raised dias and the final resting place of Lord Gerth Goetl Stanwick.

In front of that huge, marble tomb sat Lord Stanwick himself.

“Why isn’t he in his tomb?” Redda Mo whispered, loud enough to be heard by everybody. “Doesn’t he like it?”

Lord Stanwick wore thick black armor, a steel-winged black helmet and spiked, articulated gauntlets that Zuglah very badly wanted to Identify. Across his knees rested a two foot long iron handle with a nasty metal ball attached to it. There were sharp iron spikes sticking out of the ball on all sides and on the top. It was the meanest looking weapon Zuglah had ever seen.

Standing behind him and to the left was a woman. She had straight black hair, and intense, staring eyes. Her hair was held back by a diadem of vines and lovers knots, and her totem staff was hung about with fetishes and curses. Troll totems were clan markers, full of bragging and bluffs, threats and warnings. This staff was the real deal.

Zuglah readied his quarterstaff, not wanting to risk being surprised by some attack. He thought about rushing them. That would certainly catch them off guard!

“It’s traditional,” Caldwell said softly, “to have a polite conversation before you just jump right in. It’s your first boss fight, after all.”

Zuglah felt the tension leave his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how close he had been to simply starting the fight.

He strode to the center of the room and planted Redda Mo.

“Bold,” hissed the woman. She did not sound disapproving.

“Why have you come here, Son of Triotch?” His voice sounded ancient, but deep and sonorous. His gaze was unnerving.

“The Sigil.” Seemed like a straightforward answer was probably for the best.

“A mercenary then.” He sounded disappointed. “You fight without conviction, and seek a talisman you cannot wield. What will you do when others will no longer pay for your blood?”

“Huh. I never really thought about that. But I guess I am a mercenary. At least right now.”

“Hear this, mercenary.” He rose to his feet, picking up the huge steel club and pointing it at him. “Should you leave this place alive, find my gronnibox. It is buried in the far corner of the last stable of the Constant Maiden. Take what you discover there to the Stanish Manor. Someone must defeat the Tar Maiden. Someone must break this curse. Perhaps you will find more to fight for than yourself.” He walked down the stairs, every step crashing down upon the flagstones.

When he reached the bottom, he said, “Shawka.”

Apparently, that was the short, savage woman’s name because as soon as he said it, she banged her curse staff against the floor, and a sickly green aura appeared around Lord Stanish.

With no further discussion, he started forward. “Finally,” Redda Mo muttered eagerly.

The Lord was walking awfully fast, so Zuglah hit him with Blast of Frost while he thought it over. Only it had no effect. He didn’t even bother to knock it away, it simply melted into nothing. And he kept coming.

The Ice Blade did a little better. It was just slow enough that Zuglah could see the moment when it crossed some unseen barrier and lost energy. It crashed into his armor, exploding instantly instead of digging in. It appeared to do very little damage, but it froze his armor enough to hamper his movements.

By then Lord Stanish had reached Zuglah. When the knight swung the huge metal club down at him, he brought up Redda Mo. He was about to reach for the dagger at his belt when he realized something was not right.

Redda Mo did nothing. At least, on his own. Zuglah had expected him to take over, but when he didn’t he ended up waving his arm in a lazy arc in front of the Lord. He heard a nasty crunch as the spikes bit into his forearm. That was broken, he was sure.

Redda Mo fell to the floor, screaming, “You dropped me! You dropped me!”

Zuglah found that most helpful. Especially when the big club swung upwards catching him in the chest and carrying him off of his feet. He felt the wind leave him with a gentle woosh.

As he was gasping, Lord Stanish walked over and picked Zuglah up by the front of his robes. With his very mundane gauntlets. He easily held the large troll in front of him as he asked, “Do you see how shallow your resolve is? If there was only something that you could believe in. Something greater than yourself.”

Zuglah was reeling. His arm throbbed, and he was gasping for breath. He reached his working arm forward until it was inside the range of the mysterious barrier, and from there he pulled The Ice Knife out of the air. He stuck it into Lord Stanish’s angry face.

Of course he was a ghost. Of course he was.