As the real darkness came on, I readied myself. I dispensed with the fury of assaulting the door as it now seemed anticlimactic. I also had a feeling the miscreant child looked on and her judgement was taking it’s toll on me.
There was no reply to see if anyone was home. Instead, I was immediately consumed by darkness as everything spun violently out of control. When I picked myself up from the floor, everything was the same as before, except that I was now locked in and walled up inside.
“I don’t know if this is the work of witchery, but it’s certainly a predicament. Very well, I see I have no choice but to break my way through this stone wall. Good thing I never leave home without my trusty pickaxe.”
In short order, the wall was dispatched and I was presented with stairs leading down into a dungeon. I knew it was a dungeon by the ghost that leapt upon me as soon as I descended. They are known for their dungeon dwelling ways. Equally well known is their weakness for fire, so I took advantage.
It was then that I heard the persistent sound a clock ticking. In the echo of this stone maze, the sound bounced from side to side. The slow tick became a violent knock against the very fabric of my mental stability. As I stumbled from room to room, twisting to the left and right, going up stairs that circled back on themselves, I finally found the source of my irritation. After giving it a sound thrashing, the hands rotated themselves to and stuck at midnight.
“Well, that’s a curious thing,” I noted. “Stuck at the witching hour. Very sinister.” But instead of a calm sweeping over me, the tick of another clock reached me. “Curses and damnation!” I bellowed as I set off in search of the infernal noise.
A barrage of hazards leapt out from behind the veil of darkness. Zombies tried to rain their infection on me, while large spiders crept up from behind to envenomate me. I cast of their treachery and gave each a healing dose of cleansing fire as I made my way further down into this basement of terrors.
I nearly lost myself as I entered a room full of clock, their chimes ringing in my ears and down to my very boots. I was left with no choice but to smash all of them. Noting again that fire is the natural enemy of wood, I incinerated the lot.
But faintly, there was one more. This endless ticking was grating on my nerves and if I was ever to escape this madness, I needed to face this witch and bring about her downfall in combat.
With the final setting of the clock, we were facing each other as mortal enemies. I didn’t bother to give her time to explain why she was up to all this mischief or why she tried to unwrap the fabric of my mind with all these infernal clocks. Instead, I chose the direct route and moved in for a crushing blow to the sternum.
Despite the lore, witches are immune to buckets of water. I have learned this the hard way. Like clocks, witches are equally vulnerable to fire. To that end, I scorched the floor, pummeled with Flame Fist and struck from a distance with Flame Arrow. I was a hot time in the dungeon that night!
As the witch lay in a crispy heap, the ticking finally ceased. It was deliciously quiet. But only for a moment. The tick of the clock was replaced by the equally maddening drip of water in this ludicrously echoing chamber.
At the edge of sanity, I retreated up the stairs, turning this way and that. Ultimately, I made my way back to the top into the house. Free of the witches curse, I crashed through the front door and made my escape.
After gathering my thoughts and having a bit of a lie down to settle my nerves, I found the child that mocked me and sent me on this horrific adventure.
“Since I’m standing here, I am obviously still alive and have survived the night. The wretched witch has been silenced. You children are now safe and free to sing songs about my great deeds. Perhaps it will catch on and I will usurp this Bloody Bones character.”
“Not too shabby Outlander. You might not be so bad after all.”
“See! Now do you believe that I’m a formidable warrior?” I asked with great pride.
“I wouldn’t go that far. You’ve done alright, but when you stab a Kobold in the spleen, then I’ll be impressed.” She then darted away.
“But I have stabbed a Kobold in the spleen!” I called after her. “There is just no pleasing people these days,” I said to the nearby vendor. “No matter,” I continued. “Now tell me about these magic beans you claim you have.”
The madness of it all! I have no idea which is making the noise so they all have to go!
No wonder you are so cranky with the world and committing all sorts of acts of evil. This place is a cesspool. It smells positively rank in here. If you cleaned it up and aired it out, you might see the world in a whole new way.
Nope, I’m smashing it.
More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia
- The House on the Hill – Part I – The Call for Justice
- A Key, A Chest, And That Same Terrible Swamp
- An open field yields a strange funeral arrangement
- Bring me the head of the Ichor Witch!
- Art Time with Stephen Daniele
- Boarding the Zombie Pirate Ship of East Longfall Wetlands
- Pen of the Avatar – Darkstarr Metronome
- Alley builds the stairway to heaven
- The Ruins of the Obsidian Order under the Epitaph in Desolis
- Climbing the Stairs of the Mysterious Temple in South Drachvald Spur