B.a.r’s pov
Once, they were one soul—now split, like two sides of a coin. Bob and Barr. One lived as a human, unaware of his fragmented past, while the other became a sentient, rolling dungeon—a sphere of metal and magic, carving its path beneath the earth. Barr remembered everything. Every roll, every tunnel, every roadhouse he built to give travelers shelter along his subterranean highways. His form? A massive orb, encrusted with diamonds, deceptively beautiful but lethally dangerous, slicing through rock and soil with quiet, relentless power.
A Fateful Encounter
One evening, in the oldest roadhouse he’d ever crafted, Barr saw them—Bob and his parents. The recognition was instant and overwhelming. Excitement thrummed through the walls. Lights flickered, mirrors fogged over, and messages appeared in the dust. Barr couldn’t speak directly; his voice would tear through human minds like a drill. Instead, he communicated through simple wooden boards, intricate marbles rolling along etched paths, spelling out words like an arcane Ouija board.
But that night wasn’t just about Bob. There was Margaret—the spider. Once human, now a creature of legend, reincarnated by a cosmic mix-up into a towering arachnid, the size of a Volkswagen. Intelligent and kind, she’d grown into her monstrous form, using her webs to craft and protect, rather than ensnare. She and Barr were family—two fragments of the past, holding onto each other in a world that barely understood them.
The Magic Core
Magic here wasn’t free; it was a resource, mined from the planet's core—once a dungeon itself, now a sleeping giant. Chunks of this core radiated power, but exposure was dangerous. People wore shards in amulets or armor, carefully rotating them to avoid magical ‘burns.’ Barr had once stolen a large piece, splitting it between himself, Margaret, and now, possibly, Bob. These shards strengthened their bond, making communication slightly less painful.
The Ghost of Barr
Above ground, Barr moved unseen. His true form remained buried, but he projected an ethereal presence—a ghost capable of small physical acts: moving objects, opening doors, wielding weapons. He’d intervene when necessary, a silent guardian with a harsh sense of justice. Mercy wasn’t a concept for a being that couldn’t die. To some, he was a protector; to others, a remorseless spirit.
The Mission Ahead
Bob didn’t know the half of it. The tunnels, the roadhouses, the magic—they all converged on a singular, dangerous truth: the core. If they could reach it, if they could harness its energy, perhaps the fragments of their souls could communicate without pain.
But reaching the core meant danger beyond reckoning. Monsters, ancient traps, and the ever-present risk of losing themselves to the raw, overwhelming magic. Barr had carved paths, but never ventured that deep. Margaret, for all her strength, couldn’t fight what lay in the heart of the world.
The Legend of Bar's Rube Goldberg Machines
After Bar broke the giant family marble in Margaret's cave, he felt a surge of satisfaction. Knowing that Bob wouldn’t return today and that Margaret would soon go about her own business, Bar left the cave.
He had overheard Margaret explaining to Bob how to activate her intricate doorbell system. For Bar, who had a deep fascination with these ingenious mechanisms, it was like music to his ears having his work explained to bob.
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The doorbell Margaret described was no ordinary one. Bar had crafted a simple yet sophisticated Rube Goldberg contraption: a marble rolling down a chute, landing in Margaret's room, and plugging a small orifice. This orifice would fill with water, causing a bamboo-like object to rise and click down, creating a soft chime. These contraptions were ancient, charming, and remarkably clever—an embodiment of Bar’s love for intricate devices scattered throughout the region.
Bar's passion for these machines extended far beyond simple doorbells. Across the vast continent, he had built a network of complex, interconnected contraptions, each more elaborate than the last. These weren’t just random installations; Bar had a grand plan. Traveling along the edge of the continent's massive mountain range, he had painstakingly carved tunnels and set up mechanisms that could be activated with a single push of a button. This was no easy feat, as the hard mountain rock resisted even his considerable power. He hadn’t upgraded his core strength in years, avoiding the painful process he remembered from his youth.
Preparing for an important outing with Margaret and Bob, Bar decided it was time to activate one of his most impressive creations. He left the mountain and set off at high speed through his meticulously reinforced tunnels. Over the years, he had perfected pressurized systems, learning valuable lessons when Aria’s actions had caused some tunnels to collapse. These systems allowed him to travel safely at astonishing speeds through his underground network.
One of Bar’s standout creations was a watchtower made entirely of logs. He had cut down a massive tree, stripped it, and stacked it piece by piece to form a 50- or 60-foot-high structure with no walls, just a towering square frame. Beneath this tower, he had dug a tunnel leading to a cavernous chamber filled with oil and other flammable materials. A marble track extended from the tower to other parts of the mountain, part of an intricate series of mechanisms designed to ignite a massive display across the mountain range.
Bar had set up 20 or 30 similar sites throughout the continent. When the time came for a major event, like a grand meeting or celebration, the mountains would burst into spectacular flames, visible for miles. The snow-covered peaks would suddenly come alive, surprising those who lived nearby. Many had no idea these structures even existed, hidden beneath layers of ice and snow for years. However, the dwarves—resilient inhabitants of a mountain city—knew better.
The dwarves lived in constant conflict with the creatures lurking deep within the mountains. Bar had discovered their underground city and witnessed the relentless battles they fought for survival. Seeing their struggle, he had intervened, going on a rampage to clear out dangerous tunnels and monsters. The dwarves were astonished, believing a ghost was helping them. They watched tools move as if by magic and materials float toward them, unaware that it was Bar’s unseen hand at work.
Bar left a sign in one of his tunnels, promising a signal—a massive explosion—that would mark the start of something extraordinary. When the day came, and Bar activated his Rube Goldberg machine, five mountaintops near the dwarven city erupted from the pressure spraying oil over the wood and mountain top.the fire back seconds later make the mountain top catch on fire, Black smoke billowed into the sky, creating an ominous, almost musical rhythm of booming explosions. The shockwaves cleared snow and ice, triggering avalanches and sending vibrations across the continent.
For the dwarves, this was more than just a signal; it was a call to action. Bar’s efforts had given them a lifeline, sealing off dangerous areas and allowing them to mine precious resources safely. His intricate network of tunnels ensured that any breakthroughs into new territories were manageable. The dwarves no longer faced the overwhelming threat of multiple open fronts; they could focus on one challenge at a time.
Bar didn’t concern himself with questions of right or wrong. His goal was simple: to help the dwarves survive. His ingenious machines and relentless efforts had carved out a safer, more stable world for them beneath the mountains. And as the echoes of his grand creation faded, the dwarves knew it was time to repay the mysterious, unseen hero who had saved them.