Samuel Graves and the Akemic Chronicles

In the Depths of Hell...

Samuel didn’t even hesitate, throwing a hand out and aiming at the lead undead as it barreled down at Wheeze. “Chargebolt!”

“No!” Needles cried, too late to do anything but gape in horror as the arc of electricity launched at breakneck speeds towards the rotting horror.

It slammed into the undead seconds before Wheeze could attempt to cleave into it’s head, crackling boom of thunder echoing across the narrow hall as the blue lightning raced over the creature. Rather than burst or take some significant damage as Samuel suspected would be the case, the undead and it’s two friends seemed to swell in size.

“s**t!” Wheeze cried, his sword clanging off the battered scimitar the Chargebolt victim wielded. The Wight pushed back, muscles bulging beneath withered gray skin as it forced Wheeze back a step. “No magic!”

“Sorry!” Samuel cried, wincing when he heard Skelly cursing behind him. In the southern path he’d moved with Needles and was attempting to batter the aggressive corpses back. “What are these things?”

“Barrow Wights!” Needles exclaimed, ducking under a wild swing from one of the two he and the Druid were dueling. “Victims of dark magic, twisted remains of miserable fools who died in a terrible, most likely painful, fashion!”

“They generally lurk near where they died!” Skelly called back, swinging his club only for it to be blocked by one of the half-rotted wooden shields the dead carried. “They hate the living, but also try to scare people away so they don’t meet the same fate!”

“Great…” Samuel groaned. “And we can’t just flee! They’re in our way!”

Posnev’s dual heads howled as they rushed past Samuel, nearly bowling him over as they sought to protect their master. Leaping from the water in one final bound, they tackled one of the Wights back into the water, teeth and claws battling undead resilience and resolve.

Elena emerged as well, face screwed in a combination of fear and resolve. “We have to drop them fast, being around Wights for too long is dangerous!”

“What do you mea—”

Samuel’s question was cut off before he could even complete it as the three he’d somehow supercharged began screeching, their jaws distended. The sound was terrible, filled with despair and agony. Samuel clapped his hands over his ears, only to find the attempt to block out the sound futile. He could feel warm stickiness leaking past his fingers and found his vision swimming as he fought to remain standing. Elena seemed to be having just as difficult a time, but Wheeze, Needles, and Skelly were faring far better.

The sonic attack rocked them back, but the three stood firm and continued battling their respective opponents, Wheeze going so far as to swing his blade to occupy the lead Wight’s shield before slugging it in its distended jaw.

“Shut it!” He bellowed, words barely discernable over the ringing in everyone’s ears.

The Wight looked… offended? Samuel didn’t know how else to describe the facial expression, instead choosing to help hold Elena steady despite the painful pounding in… his… head?

Wait, pain? He thought, mind racing. He looked about, eyes growing wide in a dawning horror that stopped his heart for a beat. I shouldn’t be feeling pain. I’m dreaming for Christ’s sake!

He spared a glace as one Wight pushed past another and swung a wild strike at Wheeze, who just barely dodged. Aren’t I? Samuel thought, fear making his stomach sink.

“Calm down!” Skelly shouted, trying to rally the group. He swung his cudgel into the side of the Barrow Wight’s head that he and Needles were now tag-teaming. “We can handle this! They can only withstand so much punishment!”

“Same could be said for us!” Needles shouted back, sword sinking into the Wight’s stomach. He yanked it back, brackish water spilling out of the wound with a mixture of rotted entrails and maggots. “They got us trapped, and there is no way I’m going back in the room with the wall of bones!”

“Might not ‘ave a choice!” Wheeze replied, catching one of the charged Wight’s sword arms at the wrist. He bashed the creature in the face with the hilt of his blade before swinging the undead bodily into one of the wild swings of its allies. The rusted scimitar opened it’s back in a brilliant spray of rotted meat and gore. The Wight took it all without even flinching, struggling with Wheeze as it tried to free its arm. “Can’t ‘old these bastards back fer long, lot stronger than they look!”

Samuel wracked his brain, running through his list of skills and trying to conceive of some way he could help. Settling for the more direct approach, he squared his shoulders and pushed up through the water to get close to Wheeze.

“Wheeze!” He cried, snatching the handle of his battered old sword off his back. “Borrowing this!”

“Feel free!” He replied, caving in the front of the Wight’s face that he was wrestling with. “If’n I get a sword off this one, yer welcome to it!”

“No need!” He cried, holding the two-handed sword as best he could. “Tell me quick, Barrow Wights? They get stronger from electricity, or spells cast at them?”

“Spells!” Elena cried, pulling and throwing a slim knife from her garter belt. The blade sank into the face of one of the undead lined up in front of Wheeze, making it stumble. “Don’t cast anything on them!”

“Oh,” he said, smiling. “I won’t cast anything. On them!”

He grabbed the base of the cracked blade in his hand, palm flat against the broad metal weapon. “Chargebolt!” He cried, emptying another burst of electricity into the weapon.

It lit up, lightning crackling off it dangerously. “Wheeze!” He said. “Switch!”

Seeing what Samuel was doing, he tossed his new blade up in the air and, reaching back blindly, took the charged sword by the hilt. Samuel barely caught the airborne weapon in time, repeating the earlier action as he charged it with a burst of electricity. “Chargebolt!”

Wheeze, meanwhile, had released the Wight’s arm and taken his old sword in both hands before swinging it up into the undead’s belly. The lightning danced off it burning into the creature’s flesh with a horrific sizzling reminiscent of grilled meat. The Wight’s scream went silent as the greatsword carved through rotten muscle and worn bone, through the sternum and ribs, until he yanked it up through the beast’s left collarbone. It stumbled back, slumping down into the water where it began to sink, still and dead for a final time.

“Tha’s much better!” Wheeze cackled before frowning. “s**t, one hit and it’s gone?”

“Switch!” Samuel cried, tossing the crackling shortsword in an underhanded throw up at Wheeze. He snatched it from the air with a smile and passed back the two-handed sword.

“Okay,” Wheeze said, an evil grin stretched across his haggard face. “This just got doable.”

The shortsword sank into the next Wight with a similar effect, the lightning cooking the creature in a manner like the massive Trog upstairs. It twitched and writhed, arms flopping about as it struggled to maintain a grip on its own weapons.

It failed. The rotted shield and rusted scimitar dropped into the rancid water as the electricity locked up muscles. Samuel smiled as he unloaded another Chargebolt into the greatsword.

The spell is essentially an amped up taser, he mused, passing the sword up to Wheeze as he planted a boot into his opponents’ chest and sent it stumbling into its last ally. The creature, smoking and spasming, twitched enough to even knock the scimitar from the still standing one’s hand. Wheeze should be fine… how are the others?

Samuel turned and laughed when he spied Skelly dragging the ferocious Posnev off the Wight, its limp body ravaged by the dual-headed hounds bone crushing jaws. Pos was chewing on the severed forearm of the ghastly dead while Nev was barking at the still corpse. Needles had a long gash along his left flank, a light trickle of blood leaking past the boiled leather chest plate to show the strike had been enough to leave a wound. The man seemed to be taking it in stride, watching as Wheeze wailed on the final Wight with the damaged sword, the first blow delivering the potent electrical charge and stunning it long enough for Wheeze to treat him like a training dummy.

“Gah!” Wheeze cried as he finished the dead man off, his greatsword cracking finally beneath the force of the blow as he swung hard enough to bisect the Wight. The upper half, cleaved in twain at the belly button, waggled in the air before tumbling into the fetid water with a messy splash. The legs wavered before slumping forward, sinking like the Titanic in a slow and miserable reminder of its putrid existence. Wheeze frowned and looked at the shattered sword, the hilt still bearing an easy foot of fractured blade, the rest of the sword having sunk beneath the opaque water.

“Damn…” he heaved, gasping fro breath. “I’d hoped ta get this ‘un fixed when we got outta ‘ere.”

“Not a great loss…” Needles said, speaking loudly as he rubbed at his own ears. “Better a broken sword than a broken neck, eh?”

“True… we all good?” Wheeze asked, pulling a rag from his belt to clean off his shortsword after pulling it from the battered corpse.

Elena, retrieving her own knife, turned and frowned. “Needles got hit, looks like.”

“I’m fine…” he said, wincing even as he said so.

Skelly rolled his eyes. “Let me see…” he stepped forward and held the torch close to study the wound. While the leather armor blocked most of it, even Samuel could see the faint tinge of green already spreading around the shallow cut. “Not good. Looks like poison.”

“Where the blazes did Barrow Wights get any kind of poison?” Elena asked, eyebrow raised.

Skelly shrugged. “They were here as guardians, most likely. Whoever placed them here gave them the tools to do this job well, I’d say.”

Wheeze chuckled, slapping Samuel on the shoulder. “They didn’t realize we’d have such a clever Mage with us though!

Samuel rubbed at his neck, smiling sheepishly. “After I screwed up, I had to think fast. Thought maybe what I did with the Trog would work here too.”

“What’d you do?” Elena asked as Skelly fumbled about in his side pouch, muttering to Needles as he did so.

Samuel waved at Wheeze. “You all said they got stronger when hit with a spell, but weapons seemed to work fine. I just dumped a spell into the blade to give it an extra kick!”

“Amazed that worked as well as it did…” Skelly said, offering Needles a vial. “Here. Drink this, should stave off any negative effects for a while so we can get out of here before you feel any illness.”

Needles took the offered vial and popped the cork, downing it. Wiping his mouth, he frowned. “You recognize it?”

Skelly shook his head. “No, I don’t. The toxin isn’t natural, I’d wager.”

“How ya figure?” Wheeze asked.

“I’m a Druid, remember?” He replied with a sardonic smile. “I know poisons, Hell, I use them often enough. A natural one wouldn’t work as fast on someone like Needles. This one had to be treated somehow, made more potent.”

“Great…” Needles groused. “Whoever is holed up down here is an alchemist along with an Infernal worshipper.”

“Whatever…” Samuel said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to be down here longer than I have to be.”

The group seemed to agree and started sloshing north, as they really had no idea which way to go. Samuel was worried as they walked, a faint voice in the back of his head whispering dark thoughts at him as they plunged deeper into the dungeon.

I don’t think this is a dream…