Push
PushII
PushIII
I slammed into the iron door with all my might, unrelenting. Slowly, the door twisted. Slowly it buckled and screeched. And then it was gone, flying down the long corridor beyond. The door crashed into the floor, then continued to slid away from me, skidding on the stone floor, raising a squealing wail which put the others denizens of the dungeons’ to shame.
I winced, dismissing my spells. Hopefully that hadn’t attracted anything’s attention.
I pushed myself to my feet. I’d fallen along with the door, skidding on my forearms and knees as I caught myself. Surprisingly, my skin was completely unbroken. Not even my hands were scratched. I prodded them gently. They didn’t feel different. More work of the altar? Perhaps the dwarf goddess herself had saved me. There was no way to tell.
Nothing had come to investigate the noise yet, which I took as a good sign. Still, I’d want to be out of here before anything did. The corridor forked directly beyond the door, one path going straight into the dark, the other a brief tunnel to my left, ending at a sturdy oak door set in the wall. I tried the door first, but it was locked. Even my newfound twisted strength was not enough to force it. If worst come to worst I’d return with my spells and knock it down.
For now, I journeyed into the dark. The corridor was labyrinthian. It doubled back on itself after a hundred feet. Each section was so long my light could only illuminate a small section at a time, and grew so dim I feared to lose them when I sent them further down the corridor.
A sharp click briefly joined the wailing echoes of the dungeon and then my world was on fire. Burning liquid poured over me, scalding my shoulders and back, chewing through my hair; drilling through my scalp. I covered my head reflexively. The acid continued to pour. I panicked and thrashed about, running down the corridor. But the liquid was already on me. I couldn’t escape it. I needed to... I needed to think. I needed to-
Teleport
I lay curled up in the corridor some twenty feet away from the pool of acid. My skin still tingled and burned, but while the feeling didn’t lessen, it didn’t grow either.
Another trap in this hellish dungeon. I slowly crawled over to the corridor wall and rested my back against it. I winced as cold stone pressed against burnt flesh. It could have been worse. It should have been worse. Who would use such a weak acid in a trap?
Someone who wanted to capture intruders, not kill them.
The answer was obvious once I thought of it. These were warlocks after all. They had their experiments. It was probably why they liked Bleak Fort. A constant supply of fantastical creatures wandering up from the lower the caverns.
Anything which couldn’t teleport – or didn’t have a strong carapace like those beetles – would have been total incapacitated by the full force of the acid.
I brought my jack-o’-lanterns together to asses my injuries. My hair had done its job to mitigate the damage to most of my body, but I was concerned about my left hand. It had been the part most exposed to the acid when I’d put it over my head.
The damage was less than I feared. Far less. The back of my hand was bright red, and slightly pitted in the centre, but the damage didn’t extend below the surface. Had the acid truly been so weak?
I received my second shock when I sent my lights out investigate the area of the trap. The floor was pitted and cratered, a depression still hissed and gave off foul vapours. Of my sword there was no sign, eaten by the acid.
I stared at my hand in wonder. First skidding on stone without a scratch, and now this. The strength of the dwarves indeed.
Still, I was injured. Even the gentlest breeze over my wounds reminded me of that. Without my Teleport spell I’d probably be dead. It wouldn’t be safe to move on without waiting for it to replenish.
At the same time, my head was pounding. I hadn’t had water in over a day. Four days, if I didn’t count the Mushroom-King’s healing. If I waited for sunrise, I might not have the strength to continue.
The two concerns warred in my mind. But there was a third voice. A frantic whispering clawing at the back of reality.
I could use my Ice Cloak. I could rest, cool my burns, and slake my thirst all in one. All I had to do was use dark magic.
Was it truly dark? The warlock had claimed otherwise, but I wasn’t going to believe him without proof. But how was I too get that proof? By performing dark magic myself. Only once, perhaps, but without testing it how could I know?
The path was slippery, I was aware. But we were not redeemable? Even if the magic was truly dark, I could renounce it, and struggle my way back to nature’s embrace.
I wondered how many evils had been committed under that line of reasoning.
I didn’t have a choice, did I?
I could always choose to die.
Dark magic left uncast was dangerous, I knew this.
Why was it dangerous? What did that say about its relationship to nature?
Nature was full of dangers. Fire was dangerous, but humans did not fear the flame. We respected it. Controlled it. Tamed it.
Ice Cloak
Thick sheets of ice enveloped me. That was all. My moustache didn’t curl. Hatred didn’t fill my mind. I didn’t feel a sudden urge to laugh uncontrollably or kick puppies. Ice, nothing more.
I extracted myself from my cloak by the simple expedience of lifting it over my head and setting it back down against the wall. A few kicks broke off a chunk small enough to suck on.
Sweet relief. My tongue quickly went numb and if anything my headache increased, but my parched throat began to ease.
I’d planned to cool my skin with the ice as well, but just sucking on it was lowering my body temperature so rapidly I didn’t think it would be safe. I tipped the cloak on its side, that the water might pool in its centre for me to drink from later.
It was a shame my lights didn’t give off any heat, but they were due to go out soon anyways. Their light was already waning.
I sat beside my ice block – occasionally breaking off a new piece to suck on, occasionally standing and doing squats to stay warm – as I waited for sunrise.
***
I woke, a plan already in mind. First I would drink (the ice had melted enough for me to pull several blessed handfuls from it), then I needed to record a second teleport spell. The one I had was weak, slow, and dangerous to use. Plus, the more I had, the safer I’d be from the traps that seemed to litter this dungeon. I’d give myself some light, then run back the way I’d come.
Candlelight
The will-o’-wisp floated in front of me. One this time, not two, not four. My spell hadn’t been inexplicable strengthened like Giddy Flames. Something was off though. The air twisted as I cast the spell, the world spun, and my flesh bubbled and warped.
I staggered, more in surprise than pain. The disorientation had been far lesser than the severing of the dungeon far lesser even than the mysterious door.
Candlight was gone. The scabbed over wound I’d chewed into my arm was gone. Only smooth skin remained. That was convenient. Annoying, but convenient. I had been worrying about infection in the back of my mind. My other wounds were still there; my other spells.
Was this the punishment for using dark magic? Would all true magic flee me? Even as I thought that, the chaotic whispering grew in my mind, suddenly deafening. The incomprehensible susurration solidified, spoke:
Piercing Shield
What did that mean? The words danced about in my head, in the space where the Ice Cloak had been. More questions. One at a time. For now, I needed to see if I was losing my spells.
I started running back down the way I’d came the day before, Candlelight lighting the way.
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Safe Teleport: Move 150 ft over the course of eight seconds.
My new claws proved useful in carving the spell into my arm where Candlelight had been. My skin was so difficult to penetrate at this point my teeth might not have actually been able to do the job. Not without doing some real damage. With my claw’s sharp tips and my skin’s new resistance I was able to mark my arm with far more precision, leaving a much smaller and more shallow injury than I’d had before.
If I lost Giddy Flames next I’d welcome the opportunity to redo the rune on my right arm as well. Provided I could keep it at some point.
Over the course of the hour it took to record Safe Teleport, my light had died. I’d not be able to test Safe Teleport until I summoned new lights or found some I could teleport to. At which point testing the spell would pointless, as Giddy Flames would prove whether or not I was losing my spells just the same.
I considered testing Push, but feared that the test would be futile given the unknown nature of the Mushroom-King’s tattoos. It could be that the dark magic would only lose me the runes I myself had written, or perhaps only such runes that could heal or were carved into my body.
Giddy Flames
Two jack-o’-lanterns rose in front of me. That answered one question. The change to my spell had been temporary. That was an unfortunate relief, for the structure of my rune hadn’t changed. If I couldn’t trust what I’d written I’d have no idea the results of my spells. Unfortunate because I’d lost the extra strength of light.
The spell hadn’t left my forearm either. I could still feel it there, tight scabs straining and tugging my skin. A quickly glance confirmed what I’d already felt.
Candlelight had been a coincidence then. A tension left me I hadn’t realized was building. A small worry had been growing that my use of dark magic had irrevocably destroyed my ability to do true magic. That fear was now proven unfounded. At worst, each dark magic spell seemed it might remove the next spell I cast, which might even be useful in certain situations.
These thoughts occupied my mind as I began walking. I’d suffered no greater consequence than the lost of an injurious spell. It may be that the dark magic itself was trying to heal me. This was far from the dire consequences of acting against the natural order I’d heard of. Books had spoken of the loss of your very soul.
Then again, how would you know if your soul was lost? I thought I’d feel it, but what if I didn’t? What if at this very moment I’d already paved my path to hell?
Of course, someone somewhere must have felt the dark magic effecting their soul in order to write down its effects, so my worries were probably needless. Unless it hadn’t been them who’d lost their soul, but one whom they’d observed.
Heavens descend, why’d I have to think of that? I’d make myself paranoid. The current plan remained. Use the dark magic only as necessary, and pay careful attention to any changes afterwards.
After a hundred or so feet the corridor forked to the right. Seeing has following the right-hand passage had led me to using dark magic, having my flesh warped into a demonic shape, and my brain invaded by a sentient fungus, I continued to walk straight ahead. The rising tide could take the right-hand path.
The door at the end of the corridor yielded to my kick. I kept my Safe Teleport at the ready in case of any traps, but the only risk here was getting splinters.
The room beyond was what I was starting to see as typical for this dungeon. Maybe 75 by 30 feet, give or take. It was largely empty, save for the occasional iron cage. I’d found another holding cell. If this was near my own, I could hopefully retrace my steps to my stream and make camp there.
Besides the now shattered door I’d entered through, the room contained two visible exits, one of wood and one of stone. Figuring the odds were they’d be stuck I tried the wooden door as it would be easier to break down.
Fortune favoured me. The latch slid freely and the door swung open. This room was larger. Though it was empty it was far stranger, for the floors had been tiled to resemble the outlines of a maze, like a child’s puzzle.
It was easy enough to solve. Each path led to an exit, of which there were four. I decided to stay on the side of caution and play along, in case crossing the “walls” triggered some sort of trap or alarm. Two of the paths looked like they might head back they way I’d come, so I headed for the door on the far side of the room. Sadly, all paths were to my right.
The door was stuck (of course) but a few quick kicks had it open in no time. Didn’t even make that much noise.
A bell chimed when I entered. I looked around, startled. My first thought was ridiculous. That someone had set up a shop down here. If they had, it was a poor one, for as my lights spread out to illuminate the room, I could see that it was empty save for several oozing chunks of something scattered around the room. My vision didn’t offer me much in the way of colour, but the whole room smelled like rotten meat.
The air around me chimed again. I checked my mouth to make sure it wasn’t me making the sound again. It was firmly closed. The air itself was ringing with a pleasant tone, at odds with the rest of the room. No matter how nice the sound, the smell won out and a hastened on through the far door after a bit of light battery.
I immediately found myself in another of room of identical proportions. This one was lit by a smattering of candles dotted about the room. On the far wall someone had written “Seven steps forward, two steps back.”
I was instantly wary. Not from the ominous message, but from candles. No candle I knew burned that long. Someone had been here, and recently.
“Hello?”
The room only had one other exit, an arch on the far end.
“Anybody there?”
No one answered.
I crept through the archway, leaving my lights behind, and peered through.
My heart nearly stopped.
A portcullis was set within the archway. A very familiar portcullis. A portcullis covered in mycelial roots. The room beyond was dark, but I was almost certain I could make out a looming pillar in its centre.
I’d returned to the Mushroom-King.
I crept away from the portcullis. The Mushroom-King hadn’t reacted to my presence, so hopefully he hadn’t noticed me, or his range wasn’t that far. I didn’t want to incite his anger or even interest if I could avoid it.
“Seven steps forward, two steps back.”
The sign mocked me. It had known. Whoever had written it had known. I was being watched. I’d have to keep an eye out.
There was nothing for it but to return to the maze-room and take one of the other exits. Seeing as one of them was a heavy looking iron portcullis I opted to try the wood door to my left first. It opened smoothly.
The next room was smaller than most in the dungeon, though still large by any normal measure. Perhaps 30 by 30 feet in all. As my light flooded in ahead of me it illuminated yet more script to my left, “Ready thy spear and ready they shield.”
It looked like it had been written in blood. In fact, the room stank of blood. As my lights moved about (I still hadn’t left the doorway) I noticed more of it. Puddles on the floor. Long streaks climbing the walls. As my gaze followed them up I was overtaken by horror. Two bodies, a man and a woman, were impaled on iron spikes on the ceiling.
How the hell...?
No matter. That clearly wasn’t the sort of room anyone sensible investigated.
I was running out of options. I could only think of three or four paths I hadn’t explored. The portcullis was closest, but a quick investigation with my jack-o’-lanterns left me almost certain it just led to the one door in the other prison cell I hadn’t opened. Instead I took the other path back through the prison cell and out the wooden door I’d shattered.
The corridor beyond forked to my left, a fact I’d forgotten about. If I had my bearings correct, the new corridor would also lead me towards (and hopefully past) the Mushroom-King, which meant a possible return to my spring.
The corridor was long, and bent once more off to my right, but the door at the end of it was set in the left hand wall. Still on track.
I slammed it open with my shoulder and caught myself on the frame before I could stumble into the room.
Winter without end.
I was back in the ceiling corpse room.
“Ready thy spear and ready thy shield”
The words were directly in front of me now. Was that a warning or a threat? I didn’t have either weapon, much as I might want them. I didn’t even have a pair of pants.
Back then. Back down the long corridor. Back past the acid trap. Back to the door near the bone room.
It was made of study wood, and it was locked. The hinges were on the far side of the door. No door was fit perfectly however. Simply by pressing my head to the floor I could send my lights under the crack and peer across to the other side.
Safe Teleport
My light was going to run out soon anyway, which would render my Safe Teleport mostly useless as a quick escape.
I quickly oriented myself and readied my offensive spells. No ruby beetles or Mushroom-Kings would be catching me unawares this time.
The room was large, about as large as they seemed to get in this dungeon. Something was written on the wall to my right, too dim to make out. If there was more to explore, I didn’t have time, for something else caught my attention.
My lights revealed that as I had been staring around the room, two giant frogs, big as ponies, had been staring back at me. I moved cautiously back against the wall. They didn’t seem to react. Their eyes would snap to the darting candlelights for a moment before snapping back to the space where I’d been, but no longer at me. They must have heard me at first rather than truly seen me. I’d just be a shadow in the dark, if that.
I didn’t want to attack potentially innocent creatures, but if there was to be a fight, now would be the perfect moment to attack.
I sent one of my jack-o’-lanterns slowly drifting past them, just to see what would happen. A tongue, relatively short for a frog of that size, perhaps two feet in length, shot out and tried to grab the light. It had been lightning fast, so fast I’d have missed it if not for the fact that it tried again. And again. And its partner tried several times as well.
That settled that. This was going to haunt me for the rest of my days.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I cast BiteII on the first one’s throat. It hissed and burbled as frog-coloured blood poured from its wound. It tried to claw at its throat with its front legs, but its size worked against it. It crashed into the floor and began to thrash about as it slowly bled out. It was the lucky one.
I cast PushIII on the other’s eyes, shoving them down back into its head. Even from a third of the way across the room I could hear them pop against the back of its throat. The second frog did not panic like its companion. Instead, it went into a rage. It leapt about at random, each leap letting off a deafening crack like a handcannon. Fortunately, none came near me. If that creature crashed into me the impact alone might have killed me.
It wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down either. It was clearly in pain and blind, but the injury was far from fatal. I sent my wisps flitting about like fireflies, darting and diving, looking for some sort of weapon.
There, straight ahead of me; the far side of the room contained several small unknown objects hidden by the dark. They were my best bet.
Thankfully, the frog’s wild leaping didn’t draw closer as I crept along the wall over to them. Light, and closer inspection, revealed them to be a pile of empty glass bottles, a sealed cask, a large rock fallen from the ceiling, and what looked to be a giant bloody owl pellet; it even had a skull peeking out of it. I guess the frogs didn’t digest hair.
Not much in the way of weapons. I could use the bottles, but my claws were more effective. If I had a way to lift the rock I could probably crush the frog with it. I needed to upgrade my push spells to do that. Of course, if they were strong enough to lift the boulder, I wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.
Still, if I couldn’t lift the rock, at least I could hide behind it. Maybe the frog would wear itself out.