Castle of Death - Chapter 3

The Ghostly Dagger

Sir Geoffery was ready for the off again. Once more into the breach and all that. He had a new rope and had been practicing hard with his new enchanted bonesplitter. It hadn’t been easy to find undead volunteers to test those special properties…

He had also done a fair bit of praying while kicking his heels at home and he rather felt that this had lead to the apparent improvement in all three of his khremm resistance, his intellect and his charisma. Worth wearing out the knees in his favourite breeches.

The villagers did not discourage him this time. Having seen the swag he had returned with last time, there were actually a few volunteers to accompany him but he did not want to see them smeared all over the castle flagstones – well, not much…

Nothing looked different when he got back to the great skull gate. This time he settled on a full frontal approach (possibly remembering his cousin’s lobotomy) and he picked the lock in the small side door and squeezed through to find himself looking at the other side of those great doors.  The intrepid knight was just beginning to survey a courtyard when he heard a noise above – some lowlife was attempting to empty a bucket of boiling tar on his nicely smoothed barnet!

Jumping aside and cursing, he made his way northwards and went through a gate with a family crest emblazoned upon – De’ Ath! – to find another overgrown courtyard. In the centre was a fountain, now choked with weeds. That looked worth a decent gander, he was thinking, when…

A decidedly woe-begone dragon dive bombe him from nowhere. Its look proved to stem from it not being alive anymore. An undead dragon. How annoying! The bonesplitter seemed to howl as it split the air before cleaving through the decrepit beast. It might have kept the sparrows off the lawn but it wasn’t keeping de Boyks from his date with destiny! In one minute flat, he had fragmented it diligently.

He was quite pleased to notice that his bubble shield had kept the heat of the dragon’s fire from inconveniencing him. He had an extra spring to his step.

Although intrigued by the fountain, he acted the good scout and searched the courtyard thoughtfully. He was soon rewarded. The increasingly affluent Sir Geoffery found another 6,000 gold pieces in a badly concealed pit and what made this treasure trove even better was that it was in a sack that reduced it’s weight to a mere 50wu. Nice work if you can get it, he mused.

Now – back to that fountain. It seemd to approve of him, although he understood not why nor how, and all of a sudden it began to flow – fort h first time in years, he felt certain – with fresh water. Khremm exploded about him and his charm and good looks were vaulted skywards (an increase of 11!). Then he decided to drink. Well, you have to speculate to accumulate, he ruminated happily. Bingo! Very nice and it would have restored any lost STR or CON but he was thus far unscathed.

Pressing on, buoyed still further with conviction that he was a man on a mission, he passed through a doorway to the north which was flanked by two towering statues of mighty warriors. He repressed the urge to chop their limbs off a la the Venus de Milo but could not help but spit  at their eyes, hoping that the wind would not change.

Now he was through to what once must have been a splendid great hall, complete with a massive table ringed with high-backed chairs. Once again, he put on his searching pants and unearthed another chest. This one made his face breakout in a huge lopsided grin for it contained a dagger. And not just any old dagger! This one was a ghostly dagger of undead control (or so he surmised, intuitively). It became invisible in his hand and, as a highly accomplished evaluative warrior, he calculated that it was enchanted to get him 2d6 +3 adds with his entire attack, including his personal adds (now +152). Woot!!! This little baby had more zip than the big brute of a bonesplitter.

Now he had a conundrum to solve – should use sword and dagger and fight two handed? Noooo! That would mean strapping the still mysterious buble shield to his back. What was a chap to do? He sat down to think, vigilant but picturing a third arm. Where to place it though if the dream came true and how might it go down with the damsels?