Dungeon Master Pt. 01

CHAPTER 1

Petra's spell

Petra stares from his master's tower window, the highest in the castle as shocks rush through the wooden rafters where mice live. Dust knocks loose from the ceiling framework, catching light off Petra's glowing staff. Staring, crazed, his eyes peer out into the night.

A single word slips from his mouth, "Bathemus..."

Twenty yards away, a tower tumbles to the ground. "Why Master?" The sound is deafening as the castle slowly crumbles by the power of Bathemus.

And Petra, though, imbued with spiritual strength, cannot attempt to confront his Master's skill.

Imagine, he thinks, time was so kind not long ago. The Master was generous with his home and knowledge. Now he would have me killed.

Petra's hands move in a peculiar fashion. He has practiced the signals many times except for the last gesture, which would seal the sign. Far his eyes seem to gauge, but there is an emptiness to his cold stare. Inside his mind, he can see lights gleaming from every orifice, every surface, and every visible thing within view. The light slides and runs in spurts.

Behind his comprehension, voices speak, giving the answers to how all things work. Some voices he can grasp portions of words or sentences, only to be forgotten once the trance ends.

More importantly, he nears the end of the sign. The tower on which he stands stutters to one side. Crashing rocks echo from below, as if the mountains surrounding the wreaking castle are torn apart by the gods. The staff flickers and stops as Petra cries, "What power!"

Petra makes the last sign. A pang of terror strikes as he crashes into a wooden table, banging his thigh, but it's nothing to the pain in his chest. "It works! Thanks be to Broma! Help me mighty one! Do not forget me; Do not take my power. Allow me to come back."

Petra falls with the tower. His stomach reels as his demise approaches. Large brick stones part and timbers fall overhead, drawing blood, but he only snatches a clenched fist full of robe on his chest. The pain, Broma, help me please! Please! Broma!

Outside, the main roof of the castle opens like a hungry mouth, and the tower plummets into the pitch and crashes with a magnificent, Boom! A spiraling funnel of fire sprays out of the hole. The destruction lights the night sky.

1

Somewhere, deep in a valley, Bathemus watches with glory at his fallen kingdom. Everything is dead. Every subject murdered, crushed in the tirade.

Inside the destruction, all Bathemuse's worldly belongings are smashed and burned. As the wood conflagrates, the fire grows stronger, devouring any trace of the old. Especially Bathemuse's chronicle.

The last entry tells of how his transformation came about. The only person to read the chronicle other than Bathemus was Petra. Whose body was being eaten by fire just then.

The Chronicle described Bathemus's sediment state and the fear he felt his life was ending with. All the power he had developed since he was a young man would perish after he died. There had been no great testament to his existence or some esoteric knowledge he alone had gained to pass onto the new generation of magic practicers.

When he was younger, he thought being a wizard was enough to be proud of. And then when he was awarded a small castle and a small providence to rule over, he thought his life was even greater. But those feelings died when age surrounded his every move.

Riches? Who didn't have riches? How many wives, homes, and livestock could you buy to make yourself great, exceptional? No amount, he thought.

And this bothersome thought became a thriving mar in his life. It grew and festered like a sore eating away at healthy flesh.

The thought of having wasted his life drove Bathemus to power. Burning in the devastated castle were thousands of scrolls he had collected over his lifetime. They were all worthless now. Worthless because Bathemus was transformed. He knew better spells now. But there was a time when all his scrolls were considered valuable possessions. His transformation had only been possible because of the knowledge inserted into those scrolls.

Some of these supernatural scrolls had to be stolen. And this was terrifying for Bathemus because, though, he knew how to kill a man in a variety of ways, he had never done so.

But his main focus was on power. Power justified all his actions.

So then, librarians were frozen into blocks of melting ice while Bathemus took what he wanted. Never had he felt so great among men. He could not stop himself. He continued gathering important items. Guards, librarians, and especially witnesses were done away with.

And when he had accumulated enough, Bathemus read and took notes during the day. And at night, he practiced what he had learned during the day because these spells worked with greater accuracy at night – for this new power was dark in nature.

His mind opened like a rusted gate. By spurts, he gained strength and intelligence. At that point, his mind could traverse, and Bathemus would watch glimpses of what his subjects were doing in their homes. But there was more to learn he concluded. Things that could not be read, but taught as with a teacher instructing a student.

Only special beings knew this information he knew; he had always known just as every wizard is taught.

So, against his better judgment, Bathemus exhorted the fallen angels, which in time came to him. And by the light of his staff, voices spoke from nothingness. And days went by and they would speak without interruption.

In time, the voices came to confide yet greater things and promises of better to come. During this strange relationship with the voices, Bathemus separated himself from his beloved pupil, Petra.

And one night a voice spoke, "All the time teaching you. While you never give something in return," complained the voice from the rafters.

Perplexed, Bathemus replied, "All this time that you have taught me wonderful things, you have never asked of me anything. What is it that you want? I am at your mercy for you have shown yourself to be my God."

The voice replied with a whisper next to Bathemus's ear, "This is true. All of what you have said. Be happy for there is more to learn, but sadly your life is almost gone. And you have not learned what it is that your heart desires. And I would not keep anything from you that you so desire."

Bathemus bowing, "Please my God. Teach me what I desire for I do not know myself. You are the one who knows all things. Show me, and I will give you in return anything that I can."

A soft belt of laughter escaped down from the rafters from the same tower where Petra was soon to die, "As you know, there is not a single thing that you have that I cannot take by force. But it pleases me that you adhere my wishes.

"The young boy, Petra, is right now looking into your private collection of books. And there is a fire in his heart that grows with his knowledge. He is too much of a danger now."

"My boy, Petra?" Bathemus asked. His eyes turned downward with the last measure of shame left in his soul. The closest Bathemus had ever been to throwing all his knew knowledge away was then. Because the boy had been an endearing part of his later life. There were strong qualities in Petra that drew powerful feelings of nostalgia for Bathemus. Sometimes those feelings had felt priceless and much more valuable in his old age.

"For you, Bathemus, on the day of your birth. The sky will change into a rainbow at sunset for a thousand years as a testament to your life. No man will ever be greater."

Enraptured, Bathemus asked, "Is that possible?" Tears formed in his large eyes. "For a thousand years?"

"Bathemus. Do you know of anyone from a thousand years before your time?"

Quickly, Bathemus answered, "No."

"But everyone will know you. Even angels will remember your name."

Throwing his body to the floor and pressing his palms together and outward, Bathemus begged, "Teach me. Give me such a power, and I will do anything!"

Quietness, then the voice said, "As you have said, it will be done."

2

Bathemus watched the castle burn. The lights reflected off his glassy pupils. No longer was he human. The spirit was in him now, the only way to contain such a power. But Bathemus was content. Never could he have imagined this intense feeling if he lived to be twice as old, he thought, as he watched homes and bodies eaten by flames.

Inside his mind, the demon spoke, when the flesh burns away. We'll summon their bones to rebuild a new and greater kingdom. The greatest yet so far. But the kingdom that we build will be underground. And we will be at the bottom in unholy darkness."

"This will be done," Bathemus answered.

That is not all I have to tell you. Listen carefully for you should never count yourself invincible. Tales of you will spread. And powerful forces would have you dead. So build quickly with no delay. Our kingdom will be a killing machine. "Yes, my God." Those who would have us dead will be used to make yet more disciples and guards. Be patient. The sky will be under your control. "My God!" Bathemus cried, but with an unintelligible voice made of grumbles and growls. Many things were different since the transformation. He stood nine feet tall wearing a cloak draped around his massive body. Large blades bulged from his shielded shoulders. And a helmet hid the monstrosities of his face. He did not feel the pain of the terrible heat caused from the fire nor did he choke or grow blind from the soot of all the wreckage. Since the change, he had felt no pain at all. But Bathemus wasn't the only one to benefit from the transformation. The spirit enjoyed the feeling of possession and would never willingly leave.

Bathemus waited for the wreckage to cease, and when the broken wood of the castle turned into ashes, the fire was made to stop. The stones were glowing red as Bathemus walked over them. Listen carefully, Bathemus. "Yes, my God."

The demon spoke in a different and wonderful language that Bathemus understood more clearly every time it was used. And then different voices were ringing in his ear, but he only made out some words. The magma rocks from the burnt castle changed colors; he could see through them, see what they were made of, and then the colors, the ability to see through the rocks was gone. He lost the understanding that the demon tried to convey.

The spirit took control of his arms. His hands outstretched toward a pile of burnt timber. Skeletons will walk.

A skeleton climbed out of the ashes, undamaged. "Adhere!" Bathemus heard himself say. "The skeleton walked to a red-hot rock and touched the surface but its hands did not burn. Instead, the rock climbed over the bone. The two became one. And it stood/presented itself to Bathemus. We shall need an army of every detestable thing. "Make it so, my God." And Bathemus, with the power of his demon, worked continuously making the underground labyrinth.

A hornet's nest was caught, and the bugs turned large then used to collect mud, which was transformed into stone to build the dungeon.

While the building went on, an unsuspecting hunter appeared, and was killed by a fireball ejected from Bathemus's palm. And the demon praised him for it.

Good, Bathemus. You make fire from nothing. You can see the air and collect it, make it crash against itself until fire appears and send it through space. Everything is like this. Before you die, you will change the nature of the sky. And everyone, including I, will remember you. "Yes," Bathemus agreed.

Turning to the dead body, Bathemus made low disturbing mumbles. The hunter's dead body got up and walked down from the hill with as much skill as when it was alive.

Bathemus waited for the corpse, and when it came close enough, the demon-possessed wizard said, "Watch for others like you...and kill them."

The body ran up the hill and recovered its bow and arrow. Leaving afterward through a thicket of trees.

You command the dead, the voice said.

"Yes." Bathemus saw how to control the elements of nature; he gained another epiphany.

3

Early next morning, a man scrambled down a hillside into a town square of people who shopped with the little they spare on necessities for their farms. The man looked bushy haired, his eyes were wild, and it looked like he had been climbing through the hills of the area. "Please, our lord has turned to the darkness!" the man shouted. He fell in the midst of the square where all could hear.

"What's this, your lord? What's his name?" An old man asked who had taken a pipe of his mouth so he could speak.

The man, the only one to escape Bathemus tirade, answered, "Lord Bathemus. Our lord! The lord of this village!"

"How dare you!" Cried a woman. "How dare you defile..."

"Shut your haggard jaws, fool! My wife and daughter are dead because of Bathemus! I tell you the truth; he has taken to the dark! We must go to the king and ask for an army to overtake Lord Bathemus."

"An army?" The old man with the pipe repeated. "Bathemus is a lord of prominence not a general of war. A small battalion could make Bathemus run for the hills – that is if what you say is true." The old man said replacing the pipe in his mouth.

More people approached. Their faces were filled with worry while others stayed away as if the stranger's words were infectious.

"People! My life is nothing because of Bathemus. My family has been ripped from my bosom, and you dare doubt me to my face?" The man began to weep.

No body spoke until a young man announced, "There should be spies sent to the kingdom to see if what he says is true, and if so, aid must be sent."

"No, no, no!" Shouted the man wiping tears from his cheeks. "Anyone venturing that way will surely perish." On quaky legs, the man stood. There was no use in seeking help from these evil people, he thought. "I myself will go to the king and tell him of what has befallen. You people have no pity on a destroyed man!" He started to stumble away. He looked like he wouldn't have enough energy to climb the next hill.

"No." The young man grabbed the stranger's arm. "We'll take my horse to the king, but I go no further than the royal gate."

"And I will fetch you some food to take on the way." Cried the woman with the empty pail, scampering off into the direction of her home.

"My wife has made too much bread for today; it will just go to waste. Let me also get that for your trip." Said the old man, shambling off to his home.

Some of the younger women got towels to clean the man.

4

"Put a gate here – bring me more mud!" The hornets flew and gathered mud from a nearby waterfall then brought the mud back, dropping it into a wooden graph. Mud into metal, the voice said. "I can see it change, the nature moves so that it becomes metal, metal for my gate." Our gate!

To the creatures around him, Bathemus grumbled in his strange new language, "Finish it." He watched a small-bodied creature begin engraving the metal gate. More, more, we must have more artisans. "Then there shall be more," he said pointing to a rock creature, "Drop that stone!"

The monster dropped the rock and it fell with a crush.

"Now discard your shell and help engrave that gate."

Immediately the skeleton was freed of the bulky encasement and went over to the gate and an easel appeared in its bony hand.

Diggers, we need more. "Then we shall have them – you!"

5

The Homan king listened to the man named Regalo describe what happened to his family because of Bathemus. Regalo wept as he described that he had ran through large forests for two days without stop so he could warn the kingdom.

"And you tell me that our beloved Bathemus is a traitor?"

"I know you trust Bathemus because he was a prudent and just man. Everyone loved Bathemus. That is why I did not leave when he began to change. I thought, his wisdom had faltered, but...he has gone mad, I think."

"Brought his own kingdom to an end? I cannot imagine this."

"I would not risk my life to lie to you, my lord. And these tears are not from deception. But from the deaths of my wife and child!" Regalo pounded his chest.

The king interrupted, "I will send out a spy to gather more information to what you speak of. And you will stay here, for if what you say is untruthful, than you will suffer the great and terrible consequence. Take him," the king ordered.

An armored guard placed his gauntlet covered hand on Regalo's shoulder and took him away.

6

Two days later, Regalo was freed and brought to the king.

When he was presented, the king's manner had changed. "Regalo, I am worried about what you say. For if there is distress in the land because of Bathemus than that would explain why my spy has not returned."

"An army must be sent, my king."

The king lightly scoffed. "It cannot be true. What you say is lunacy. A man tearing a castle down without a catapult and an army to fire weapons?"

Regalo, still respectful, "Where is your spy then?"

"There exists no such power!" The Homan king professed. A red glow appeared around his cheeks and forehead.

"But I tell you the truth, my King. An army must be sent."

"Aye. What could an army do to a man who breaks castles?"

"I don't know, my lord."

"I must send more spies. Guard. Take this prisoner away out of my sight and see if you can get some truth out of him."

A gauntlet painfully grabbed Regalo's shoulder from behind. He spun, and was hit across the face by the metal knuckles.

"That will teach you to lie, slave." The king said. "I don't know what you did to my spy, but you will pay if what you say is nonsense. Really! A man that can destroy castles, ha!"

Regalo was still being taken away when the king shouted to another guard, "I need five spies, quickly."

Two days later when the spies did not show, the king sent for an advisor.

A flamboyant man dressed in brown silk and a tall red hat made his way to the king. "What say you, lord?" A red sash wrapped around his shoulder and a gold colored belt was worn around his hip.

In a rough voice, the king answered, "A new and terrible power has been born, and it means to destroy us, of this, I am sure."

"Wonderful protector, what is this terrible power, which you speak of?"

"Bathemus."

A hesitant but apparent skeptical expression passed over the advisor's face. "Bathemus is like a tiny creature under your foot. He is like trampled water. What has the king to fear of Bathemus?"

"He is a mighty wizard, though, I don't know if ever he had the power to destroy an entire castle. It is hard to believe"

The advisor's eyes grew wild. "A castle? By a man?"

"I have already sent out a spy, and he has not returned. A faithful man so I know he must be dead. I cannot learn the truth of this matter. What say you?"

"Considering that my lord believes Bathemus to be a threat. An assassin would be more favorable against a man who destroys castles. But more spies should be sent along as well. At least ten."

"Then rally this assassin and a group of spies. Take care of it all. I would prefer that the servant who gave me this news is crazy."

"Certainly my liege, at once."

7

We are three levels away from the sun. More. Three more levels and three after that and then three after that and so on until we reach the center of the earth!

"It will be done."

Don't ever forget the sky, Bathemus. Forget everything except the sky.