They approached the entrance of the ancient mausoleum with a sense of growing apprehension, their footsteps muted by the eerie stillness of the surrounding graveyard. The air grew colder as they neared the stone archway, where crumbling statues of forgotten gods watched silently over the tomb. Lyla, her brow furrowed in concentration, whispered an incantation. Her staff glowed with a soft, pale light, casting long shadows against the ancient stone walls as they stepped forward. The spell illuminated the narrow, dark passage ahead, revealing walls adorned with intricate carvings and long-faded murals.
The interior of the mausoleum was as ominous as its exterior. The carvings along the walls depicted macabre scenes of death and decay—skulls with hollow eyes, skeletal figures locked in eternal dances, and withered trees whose gnarled branches seemed to reach out for the living. Strange creatures, neither fully human nor animal, slithered among the dead in the ancient carvings, their forms twisted and unnatural. The murals were barely visible through centuries of grime and decay, but what remained hinted at a forgotten history. The colors, once vibrant, had faded into muted tones, leaving behind only spectral glimpses of what must have been a story of power, betrayal, and death.
As the group descended deeper into the mausoleum, the atmosphere grew heavier. The narrow passageway led them down a worn flight of stone steps, each step carved with intricate patterns that seemed to change as they spiraled downward. Jack paused, admiring the craftsmanship. The stonework was precise, the patterns shifting seamlessly from one step to the next, telling a story in its own right—a story that, perhaps, only the dead could understand. The ceiling above was low, supported by thick stone pillars that were covered in layers of moss and lichen, giving the tomb an almost living quality, as if nature itself had come to claim the forgotten dead.
Small alcoves lined the walls, each containing ancient urns, once filled with offerings that had long since turned to dust. The urns were cracked, their contents lost to time, but some still bore faint inscriptions in a language neither Jack nor Lyla could read. The air was thick with the smell of earth and decay, and every breath they took seemed to pull them deeper into the tomb's ancient past.
At the bottom of the staircase, they emerged into a large, circular chamber. The walls of this room were even more elaborately carved, depicting grotesque scenes of the afterlife. Here, the dead rose from their graves, only to be consumed by monstrous beings that seemed to shift and change form as Jack's eyes lingered on them. At the center of the chamber stood a massive stone sarcophagus, dominating the room with its size and presence. Its lid was slightly ajar, as if the tomb's occupant had been disturbed, or worse, had left of their own accord.
The sarcophagus was a masterpiece of stonework. The likeness of a warrior, clad in ancient armor, was carved into the lid with such detail that Jack could see each individual link in the figure’s chainmail. The warrior’s hands were crossed over a sword, its blade chipped and worn, as though it had seen countless battles even in death. The face, despite the erosion of time, still held an expression of stoic determination, as though the warrior had accepted their fate but remained ever vigilant.
A faint shimmer caught Jack’s eye at the far end of the chamber. It was subtle, almost imperceptible in the dim light cast by Lyla's spell, but it was there—a distortion in the air, as though reality itself was being warped. Jack made a mental note to ask Lyla about it later. Something about the shimmering set him on edge, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was connected to the dark energy that permeated the tomb.
Their moment of quiet observation was shattered as a dozen Barrowborn shuffled into view, their decayed forms moving sluggishly through the shadows. The undead creatures wore the tattered remnants of ancient armor, their skeletal faces illuminated by the same eerie, malevolent purple light that filled their hollow eyes. They moved with a terrible purpose, driven by some dark force that bound them to the tomb.
Lyla didn’t hesitate. With a flick of her staff, she chanted another spell, her voice echoing through the chamber. From the cracked stone floor, thick, thorn-covered vines erupted, snaking through the room to ensnare the nearest Barrowborn. The creatures struggled, but the vines held firm, slowing their advance. "Now!" she shouted, her voice filled with urgency.
Jack surged forward, spear in hand. He activated Piercing Flurry, his weapon becoming a blur as he aimed for the nearest Barrowborn’s head. His strikes were precise, each one driving into the creature’s skull with a satisfying crunch. The undead collapsed in a heap of bones and rotten flesh.
Goldeyes and Monsoon, Jack’s loyal companions, were not far behind. The two creatures lunged at another Barrowborn, Goldeyes sinking its teeth into the undead’s arm while Monsoon clawed viciously at its legs. Within moments, the Barrowborn fell under their combined assault, its body torn apart by the beasts' relentless attack.
Cael moved with the grace of a shadow, his twin daggers flashing in the dim light as he darted between the Barrowborn. His strikes were precise, aimed at the vulnerable joints and exposed bones of the undead. Each strike was lethal, the Barrowborn crumbling under his deadly precision.
Despite their initial success, the sheer number of undead began to wear them down. Jack found himself surrounded, the Barrowborn closing in from all sides. Their movements were slow, but relentless, their clawed hands reaching for him. He activated Piercing Flurry again, spinning his spear in a deadly arc, the weapon slicing through the undead’s skulls in rapid succession.
[You have dealt 34 Piercing Damage to Barrowborn]
[You have dealt 30 Piercing Damage to Barrowborn]
[You have dealt 32 Piercing Damage to Barrowborn]
[Congratulations! You have slain Barrowborn x3]
[600 Experience earned]
Lyla, her staff now glowing with intense light, unleashed a powerful burst of energy. The force of the spell sent several Barrowborn flying across the chamber, their bones scattering as they collided with the walls. “We need to finish this quickly!” she shouted; her voice strained as she fought to maintain control of her magic.
Jack’s eyes darted to the sarcophagus. “The source must be in there!” he shouted, pointing with his spear. Lyla’s gaze followed his, and she nodded in understanding.
They fought their way through the remaining Barrowborn, their movements growing more desperate as the undead’s numbers began to dwindle. With coordinated strikes, Jack, Cael, and their companions dispatched the last of the creatures, their bodies collapsing into piles of bones and dust. The chamber was eerily silent, save for the labored breathing of the group.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
As they approached the sarcophagus, Jack could feel the dark energy emanating from within. The air around it seemed to pulse with a malevolent force, each beat sending a chill down his spine. Lyla stepped forward, casting a protective barrier around them. “Be ready,” she warned, her voice barely above a whisper.
The lid of the sarcophagus began to move, slowly at first, then with a loud, grinding sound as it slid open. Inside lay a skeletal figure, clad in ancient, rusted armor. Its eyes glowed with an intense purple light, brighter than that of the Barrowborn. As it rose from the tomb, the temperature in the room plummeted, and a wave of necrotic energy swept over them, sapping their strength.
[Name: Barrowborn Warlord
Level: 13
Health Pool: 500/500
Mana Pool: 100/100
Stamina: 100/100
Skills: Necrotic Channeling, Sword Mastery, Heavy Armor
Abilities: Deathly Constitution, Aura of Decay, Necrotic Wave]
Jack didn’t wait for the creature to fully emerge. With a roar, he lunged forward, spear aimed at the Warlord’s skull. The creature moved with terrifying speed, its hand shooting out to catch the spear mid-thrust. Its grip was like iron, and with a growl, it flung Jack across the chamber.
[You have taken 40 Blunt Damage]
Lyla gasped but quickly regained her composure, casting another spell. Thick roots burst from the floor, wrapping around the Warlord’s legs, holding it in place. “Focus on its head and spine!” she commanded, her voice tense with concentration.
Jack scrambled to his feet, his body aching from the impact. He activated Berserk, feeling power surge through his veins as his strength and toughness increased. With a snarl, he charged again, his spear a blur as he struck at the Warlord’s skull. Each blow chipped away at the creature’s ancient bones, but the Warlord remained standing, its eyes burning with malevolent fury.
Goldeyes and Monsoon leapt into the fray, attacking from the sides. Goldeyes bit down on the Warlord’s arm, trying to tear it off, while Monsoon clawed at its legs, attempting to bring the undead down.
Cael moved in, his daggers flashing as he aimed for the Warlord’s spine. His strikes were quick and precise, but the creature’s armor absorbed much of the impact. With a roar of frustration, the Warlord swung its massive sword at the goblin. Cael twisted at the last moment but the flat of the blade still sent him sprawling.
The Warlord raised its hand, dark energy crackling in its palm. Jack recognized the buildup for another Necrotic Wave. “Brace yourselves!” he shouted, his voice strained. The room trembled as the Barrowborn Warlord unleashed its necrotic power, a wave of deathly energy erupting from its hand and sweeping across the chamber. The air turned cold and thick with malevolence, and the group barely managed to withstand the onslaught.
[You have taken 60 Necrotic Damage]
[Your health has dropped to 150/250]
Jack gritted his teeth, feeling the draining effect sap his strength. He considered using Savage Roar against the Warlord but considering it had such a long cooldown he decided to save it for now.
Lyla, seeing the dire situation, stepped forward with determination. She raised her staff and, without hesitation, chanted a quick incantation. Her voice was steady, despite the dark energy that pulsed around them.
Three deadly thorns shot out, spiraling toward the Warlord. They pierced through the undead warrior’s decayed armor, embedding themselves deep into its chest and shoulder.
The Warlord let out a low, guttural growl, its purple eyes flaring brighter as it took a staggering step forward. Jack, back on his feet, noticed the thorns had weakened the creature’s stance, slowing its movements ever so slightly.
Lyla, keeping her distance, cast the spell again. More of the pointed projectiles appeared, aimed with deadly precision at the Warlord’s exposed joints and weakened armor.
Three more thorns shot through the air.
The creature reeled from the impact, swiping its black sword in fury but failing to catch any of them. The relentless barrage from Lyla’s Thorn Spray was starting to take its toll, the combination of piercing and nature damage wearing down its undead constitution.
He activated Piercing Flurry once more, charging the creature head-on. His spear thrust forward with deadly precision, plunging into the Warlord’s eye socket.
[Critical Hit! You have dealt 70 Piercing Damage]
Goldeyes and Monsoon took advantage of the Warlord’s momentary weakness, tearing at its joints with renewed ferocity. Cael, now back on his feet, lunged at the Warlord’s back, his daggers sinking deep into the cracks of its armor, targeting the weakened spine.
The Warlord howled in fury, swinging its sword wildly in an attempt to fend off the assault. But the group was relentless, each attack chipping away at the ancient undead’s defenses. Jack, seeing the opportunity, jumped onto the Warlord’s back, gripping its skeletal shoulders. With a powerful thrust, he drove his spear through the base of its skull and twisted.
[Critical Hit! You have dealt 120 Piercing Damage]
[The Barrowborn Warlord’s health is now 0/500]
[Congratulations! You have slain the Barrowborn Warlord]
[1500 Experience earned]
The Warlord’s body collapsed with a final, thunderous crash, the malevolent glow in its eyes fading into nothingness. Silence descended upon the chamber once more. The oppressive weight of the dark energy lifted, leaving the air still and cold.
Jack rolled off the fallen Warlord, breathing heavily as he surveyed the scene. Lyla leaned against her staff, clearly exhausted from the intense magic she’d wielded. Cael wiped the sweat from his brow, his daggers still dripping with the Warlord’s essence. Goldeyes and Monsoon padded over to Jack, their eyes gleaming with a sense of victory.
[2500 Experience Earned]
The entire party collapsed, their bodies aching from the grueling battle. Sweat-soaked and breathless, they lay on the cold stone floor, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the chamber. Cael, ever resourceful, pulled out a small pouch filled with vials he had brewed using the Aquifer Blooms they’d gathered earlier by the pool. Silently, he passed the healing potions around, the liquid inside glowing faintly with an otherworldly blue hue.
Jack took one of the vials and drank deeply, feeling the soothing warmth of the potion spread through his body, knitting together torn muscle and sealing cuts. He was grateful for Caels Alchemical creations as it meant he could save the potions he had gotten from the necromancer in case of an emergency. As his strength returned, he sat up and checked his experience.
EXP: 6142/10000
His mood soured. Despite the exhausting fight against the Barrowborn Warlord, he was still only a little over halfway to his next level. The gap between progress had widened significantly, and it was becoming apparent that leveling up was going to be much harder the further he advanced.
"How much will it take once I reach the 20s… or the 30s?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair, still damp from sweat. The thought lingered in the back of his mind, the scale of the journey ahead weighing heavily on him. But that was a problem for another time.
Pushing the concern aside, Jack rose and approached the spot where the Warlord had fallen. The eerie glow that once radiated from the undead’s form had vanished, leaving nothing but ash and dust where the massive figure had once stood.
He knelt, examining the remnants of the creature. The Warlord’s ancient, rusted armor had crumbled to nothing, disintegrating along with its decayed body. Only a few scraps of metal remained, twisted and corroded beyond use. Jack's heart sank slightly. He had hoped to salvage something from the armor, perhaps a piece of the Warlord's gear as a trophy or, better yet, something that could be reforged into new protection.
But then his eyes fell on the sword.
The blade, unlike the armor, remained intact. It lay gleaming among the debris, a stark contrast to the desolation around it. The weapon was massive, its hilt intricately engraved with runes that pulsed faintly with residual magic. The black metal of the blade shimmered under the torchlight, as if the weapon itself still carried a portion of the Warlord's malice and strength.