As Baldur ventured deeper into the barrow, he couldn't help but reflect on what he thought was excessive caution. Perhaps it was the months spent navigating the treacherous Labyrinth, or the fact that these passageways were designed for mortal adventurers, but everything seemed surprisingly effortless.
Despite the ease of his progress, Baldur occasionally paused to admire the intricate architecture surrounding him. The crypt loomed large, its grandeur evident even in the sections marred by cave-ins. Every nook and cranny enticed him, beckoning him to explore further.
Eventually, Baldur reached a peculiarly vacant chamber, shrouded in countless cobwebs. A single metal grate adorned the center of the room, illuminated by a dim glow from the lantern in Baldur's hand and the faint light that spilled in from the hallway he had just traversed.
Suddenly, Baldur's instincts kicked in, propelling him forward in a swift roll. The ground quivered beneath him as he spun around to face the source of his hair-raising alarm. Standing before him was a colossal figure adorned in an ancient suit of bronze plate.
Its eyes appeared devoid of life, and its back was interlaced with pulsating roots, as if they were manipulating its movements. The massive being gripped a formidable runic battle-axe, its efforts concentrated on dislodging the weapon from the floor.
Determined not to grant the creature a second opportunity to strike, Baldur swiftly activated his ring, summoning forth his trusty tomahawk. Simultaneously, he pressed the release mechanism on his shovel, causing it to morph into a sturdy shield. "Prepare yourself, you fiend."
With unyielding resolve, Baldur lunged forward, raising his shield high to obstruct the creature's field of vision. Employing a mighty shield bash, he forcefully pushed the adversary backward, causing its grip to falter and the axe to slip from its grasp. Keen on capitalizing on the advantage, Baldur pressed on, utilizing his shield to maintain pressure and strategically positioning his foot behind the figure's, causing it to stumble and lose balance.
Seizing the moment, Baldur relentlessly pounded the creature's face with his shield while deftly maneuvering his axe. Each blow punctured the armored torso, creating sizable gaps with every impact. One of the pulsating roots wriggled, indicating the armored man's attempt to rise once more.
Recognizing the significance of the roots, Baldur shifted his focus to hacking at them. Combining his demigod strength with the keen edge of his axe, he effortlessly severed the connection between the ivory roots and the armor.
As the final root was severed, the figure fell motionless. "Seems I must remain more vigilant in open spaces from now on..." Ignoring the ruined armor—which he intended to return for later—Baldur approached the abandoned axe. With exertion and determination, he managed to dislodge it from the floor, his eyes fixated on its every detail. "An intriguing technique... Not one I would employ, but it certainly sparks some ideas."
Usually, when Baldur enchanted his gear, he inscribed runes that explicitly detailed the specific properties of each enchantment. This method ensured that the enchantments were focused and potent, tailored to their intended purpose. However, the bronze axe he now held was different. It had been enchanted with a narrative in mind, its enchantments alluding to a story rather than explicitly describing its abilities.
"An axe for slaying giants. Wonder why it is so heavy," Baldur mused aloud. Carrying the weighty axe, he divided his attention between studying its intricacies and remaining alert for any signs of a large, open room where he might face another formidable opponent.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Baldur encountered no more adversaries like the previous one. He only needed to disable a few additional traps before stumbling upon a grand set of bronze double doors. Adorned with ornate carvings and inscribed runes akin to those on the entrance door, these doors were enchanted to open once a puzzle was solved.
The puzzle at hand comprised three intersecting circles, forming a pattern reminiscent of a Venn diagram. Drawing upon his divine magical prowess, Baldur commanded the door to open. He watched intently as the discs began to rotate, eventually aligning to reveal an image of men engaged in a fierce battle against zombie-like creatures.
With a creaking sound, the doors slowly swung open, revealing an expansive audience chamber beyond. Along the sides of the room stood six pillars, each adorned with a magically ignited flame. Entering cautiously, Baldur scanned the surroundings, wary of encountering another armored puppet.
Following the network of pulsating roots, Baldur's gaze fell upon a regal figure seated atop a throne seemingly carved from a majestic white tree adorned with vibrant red leaves. Resting across the figure's lap was a blade of profound craftsmanship. As Baldur's foot touched the chamber floor, an inexplicable sensation washed over him, plunging him into a seemingly endless loop of his most haunting nightmares.
Try as he might, his attempts to break free proved futile as the nightmarish sequence played out repeatedly. Fueled by mounting frustration and anger, an immense fire erupted, consuming everything in its path. Just as Baldur felt trapped within the spell's grasp, an abrupt end came, and he caught a glimpse of the figure on the throne twitching, hinting at the spell's disruption.
"You're going to regret subjecting me to those memories," Baldur declared, raising his tomahawk defiantly toward the figure.
In response, the armored man ascended, his voice resonating through the chamber. "You... are... not... worthy."
As the words escaped his lips, a surge of movement erupted as roots snaked their way toward Baldur, aiming to ensnare him. Unbeknownst to him, a seething inferno surrounded him, pulsating with an intensity that matched his determination. Without hesitation, the flames—under Baldur's subconscious command—intercepted the encroaching roots, reducing them to mere ash in an instant.
Drawing a deep breath, Baldur extended his senses into the roaring inferno, embracing its essence in its entirety. Tapping into his hidden reserves, he channeled his power outward, birthing a fierce ring of fire that erupted with tremendous force. The roots in the vicinity were instantly disintegrated, and the figure who had provoked Baldur moved forward to face him.
"You… cannot... be... allowed... to... live," the figure stuttered, his voice trembling and raspy.
"You talk too much," Baldur retorted, issuing a command that summoned the flames back to envelop him once again. Shielded and empowered by the fiery aura, he charged forward to confront his adversary. Conjuring his axe, Baldur hurled it with precision, only to witness the puppet-like man raise his dark silver blade, expertly deflecting the incoming strike.
The tomahawk veered off its course, but Baldur skillfully summoned it back into his grip. Swiftly raising his shield, he deflected a retaliatory blow from the adversary's blade. In that brief exchange, Baldur managed to glean a closer look at the figure he faced.
Silver locks cascaded down its back; a mummified countenance revealed a hint of shock; and its resplendent bronze armor bore a sinister black hue. Capitalizing on their momentary surprise, Baldur deflected and battered the hand that clung to the blade.
Seizing the opportunity, Baldur swung his tomahawk toward the figure's face, but before his strike could connect, the roots attached to its back violently yanked it backward, dragging it toward the throne. Sneering at the feeble attempt to flee, Baldur drew upon the flames that encased him and the braziers nearby, directing their scorching heat toward the pallid tree.
A formidable wall of entwined roots surged upward, intercepting the searing blaze. Amidst the crackling inferno, Baldur could discern faint, raspy screams. The agonized cries were almost masked by the sizzling of the smoldering roots, but they echoed in his ears nonetheless. As ash gently descended, cascading to the ground like a melancholic snowfall, Baldur cautiously advanced toward the throne.
The warrior seated atop the regal perch appeared to grasp the inevitability of its demise. In a surprising act, it flung its blade with force, embedding it into the very tree behind. Intrigued by this unexpected maneuver, Baldur momentarily paused, his curiosity piqued. Observing the blade gradually sinking into the tree, a realization dawned upon him—the figure sought to prevent Baldur from claiming the weapon.
Determined and swift, Baldur dashed forward, deftly leaping over the mummified opponent. Retrieving his tomahawk, he transformed it back into its ring form and swiftly gripped the hilt of the embedded blade. The pommel radiated with a golden flame-like design, while the crossguard undulated in a captivating wave of gold. An exquisite ruby adorned the center, infusing the weapon with an aura of undeniable allure. The blade, cast in a dark silver hue, bore a mesmerizing wave-like pattern reminiscent of Damascus steel.
Harnessing the power of his flames once more, Baldur directed their scorching intensity toward the towering tree, fiercely determined to reduce it to ashes. Yet, as he struggled to extract the blade from its trunk, grasping hands emerged from the darkness, reaching out to seize Baldur's armored back. Their touch recoiled in agony, repelled by the searing heat emanating from his flames.
Putting his unwavering trust in the protective embrace of the inferno, Baldur planted both feet firmly on the trunk and exerted all his might. With a resounding effort, he finally wrenched the blade free, causing him to fall onto the floor, his breath momentarily taken away. Gazing upward, his eyes met the sight of the mummy, now fully engulfed in relentless flames, its scorched form stretching out imploringly toward him.
"This... is... not... the... end..." it shrieked defiantly, its words piercing through the infernal chorus. Yet, even as the final syllables hung in the air, the figure succumbed to the engulfing conflagration, collapsing into a smoldering heap of charred remnants, forever silenced.
As the last remnants of the mummified figure dissolved into ashes, consumed by the relentless flames, Baldur took a moment to collect himself. He inhaled deeply, allowing the rush of adrenaline to subside, and exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of accomplishment mingled with lingering tension. In the wake of the fierce conflagration, the room fell into a profound stillness, broken only by the soft crackling of the dwindling fire and the rhythmic thumping of Baldur's own heartbeat reverberating in his ears. The once-majestic throne room now lay in ruins, transformed into a scorched chamber that bore witness to the ferocity of their battle.
With cautious steps, Baldur rose from the floor, his gaze fixed upon the blade he had triumphantly wrested from the clutches of the tree. Grasping the hilt firmly, he marveled at its uncanny lightness. The absence of runes etched upon its surface intrigued him, sparking a sense of wonder and curiosity. It suggested to Baldur that the blade's enchantment might have been woven into its very essence, forged using spells or crafted from a rare and magical metal.
As he turned the blade in his hands, examining its intricate details, Baldur knew that a deeper study would be required to unravel its true nature. The moment he returned to camp, he resolved to immerse himself in extensive research. Perhaps the fortuitous discovery of this blade, and the enchanted bronze equipment, held the potential to ignite a breakthrough in his own enchanting abilities, no matter how implausible it seemed.
Excitement stirred within Baldur, fueled by the prospects that lay ahead. He envisioned unearthing hidden knowledge, deciphering the blade's secrets, and honing his craft to new heights.
---
After the intense battle had concluded and Baldur had gathered his spoils—a pair of intricately enchanted bronze suits of armor, an enchanted battle-axe, and the enigmatic dark silver blade crafted from what Baldur believed to be Damascus steel—he made his way out of the barrow, leaving the remnants of his adversaries behind.
As he walked beneath the open sky, Baldur couldn't help but reflect on the turbulent emotions that had consumed him during the confrontation. In a strange twist of fate, he found himself harboring a begrudging appreciation for the mummy and its puppeteer. With a subtle flex of his magical abilities, a small ball of flame materialized, hovering above his palm. Testing its limits, Baldur attempted to channel his anger into the fiery sphere, only to witness it transform into an uncontrolled inferno, devouring everything in its path. It served as a stark reminder that he could merely guide his anger, not truly control it.
A heavy sigh escaped Baldur's lips, echoing the weight of his inner turmoil. The pursuit of balance, he realized, was an arduous journey. Deep-rooted traumas and visceral anger threatened to consume him, overshadowing his noble intentions. The path toward letting go of his anger seemed elusive, for true forgiveness was something he could not currently grasp.
Amidst his contemplation, a sharp caw broke the silence, capturing Baldur's attention. His gaze shifted upward, drawn to the sight of a crow perched atop a lofty rock. The bird's presence, far removed from its natural forest habitat, struck Baldur with a profound realization. A surge of determination coursed through him as he directed his threat toward the avian observer. "You're next."
The crow, recognizing the underlying meaning of Baldur's words, swiftly took flight, disappearing into the expanse of the sky. Although uncertain of the sender of the mysterious journal or the orchestrator of the treacherous barrow, Baldur held steadfast in his belief that their paths would inevitably intersect, leading to a reckoning.
However, for the present moment, Baldur understood that there were more pressing matters that required his attention. The spoils he had acquired, laden with enchantments and untold mysteries, beckoned him to delve deeper into their secrets. With resolute determination etched upon his face, Baldur set his sights on quickly returning to base.