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Chapter Six

"Abbadon the Scourge was not always the creature that he is today" explained Gunnar, warily. "In his mortal life, he was known as Faenon, the son of the fourth Baron of the Disparate Vale. Growing up as a member of a small noble family, the boy experienced much of the backstage politics inherent within the Scattered Realms. At the age of seven, he stood by, helpless, as his father was slain in a duel by a member of a rival house, the calculating Duke Vermis."

"BOOOORING!!" he Biggie.

"Shh" said Roka, "This story might be going somewhere."

"Crippled with a deep-seated thirst for revenge against the foul Duke Vermis, the young Faenon turned to the mystical cabal of dark sorcerers, the Undying Flame. Though it was thought that the cult and their demonic minions had been tracked down and purged by the knights of the twelfth Order following the defeat of the great demon Zzaxzz on the Plains of Loathing, Faenon was able to discover the scattered remnants of the cult and, at a mere thirteen years old, confronted them to plead for them to levy terrible revenge against house Vermis." Gunnar paused, taking a sip of his drink. "But their price was high, no less than the life-blood of Faenon's infant sister."

"These cultists sound like just my kind of guys" said the undead. Roka glanced around, wondering just why the figure was still standing there in the first place.

"The teenage Faenon had hoped that the sacrifice to the dark gods would grant revenge, and he was fortunate. Soon, a plague descended upon Duke Vermis' freehold. For a summer and a winter, the duke's land was gripped by the plague. The roads were barricaded, the villages decimated. When the spring came and the foul wind of the north passed, the plague had left only a handful of survivors. Suspicion abounded, and soon people turned their distrust towards Faenon, who was still held in distrust since the mysteries disappearance of his infant sister. Fearing that the boy's life would be put in danger, the family's chief advisor arranged for him to usher away in the dark of the night. So it was that Faenon travelled along the Razor Coast, eking out a life from the scraps."

"I see. Does this story go on for much longer?" asked Roka.

Gunnar ignored him. "In the frozen lands of Dolroth, Faenon was captured by the travelling band of cannibalistic barbarians, the Gore Fleet. Awaiting death in their slave pens, Faenon attacked his kidnappers, slaying seven of the hulking brutes before they were able to restrain him. Rather than slay their upstart captive, the Gore Fleet recognised the young man's strength and power, and there him into the gladiator pit. There Faenon fought his way through wild animals, brutal madmen, and the worst monsters that the frozen wastelands had to offer. Finally, having proven his power, Faenon challenged their leader, Harfast the Brutal, to single combat in an attempt to regain his freedom. In a climactic battle, Faenon broke his enemy's back and left him for dead in the fighting pits."

"Look, this is thrilling, I'm sure," interrupted Exra, "but how does this help us to kill him?"

"I'm getting to that!" replied Gunnar. "So, the young Faenon had slain the barbarian king. The cannibals pledged their allegiance to him as their new king, both respecting and fearing his strength. With his newly acquired barbarian horde loyal to him, Faenon lead them in a campaign back to reclaim his homeland. They marched across the wastelands and laid siege to Faenon's family home. The current baron was Sir Gilroy Silvertongue, a paladin of the Fourth Order of the Crimson Hammer, who had married Faenon's elder sister in the years between the boy's absences..."

Roka turned to Exra, his boredom growing with each passing moment. "How does he know all of this?" asked the canine.

"It's in the new novel" she replied.

The cleric blinked. "There's a novel based on this game?"

"Actually, there's a series of them" she explained. "Six at last count. Plus the action figures, the comic books, the mugs and posters. There are even rumours of a movie being made, but I doubt that'll ever happen."

Roka shook his head. "I had no idea."

"And if you have a spare three hundred dollars," Exra added, "you can buy a life-size replica of Abbadon's demon broadsword."

"Excuse me!" called Gunnar, "I'm just getting to the good bit. Anyway, so Faenon wanted to marry the wolf-blood princess Silphonia, but the druids of the elder council forbade it. Because of that, Faenon decided that the only course of action left to him was to devour the soul of the Arch-Demon..."

"Wait," interrupted Roka, "what arch-demon? What wolf princess?"

"Oh sorry" said Gunnar, "that happened afterwards. Sorry, I lost my place; I must have skipped ahead a bit. We were at the siege of Faenon's homeland, right?"

"OMFG SOOO BORING!!" bellowed Biggie.

Gunnar sighed. "But if we don't learn his tragic history, how will we ever know how he became the enemy of all Valeron?"

"WHO CARES?" challenged the golem, "WE JUST GO CLOMP HIM AN TAKE HIS LOOT!"

"Does anyone know what he drops?" asked Roka.

"Nobody knows" said Exra, "Any treasure he has is still a mystery."

"There's a good chance that he will have the demon blade" said Gunnar. "That's a very powerful weapon. You see, after Faenon had died in battle with the Ashen God, he fought himself through the spectral halls of the fallen, until he had cut his way to the mansion of Quippleth, armoursmith of the dead. There he demanded the spirit craft him a blade worthy of him, one which he would use to slice his way through the tapestry that separates the world of the living with that of the dead, allowing him passage back to the mortal world so that he could continue his plot to break the third moon apart."

"Yes, quite" said Roka, ignoring Gunnar by this point. "So, let's break this down and handle this step by step. First of all, we need to find him. Any idea where his dungeon is?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you" said Gunnar. "It isn't a normal dungeon. You see, after he was renamed Abbadon the Scourge and removed his soul from his body in order to stop it being destroyed by the soul-crystals during the time of the shattering of the winter song, he forged his soul itself into a mystical fortress. Inside the fortress are hundreds of abominable monsters, each one formed from his own tormented psyche."

"THAT NOT TELL WERE DUNGON IS" retorted Biggie.

Exra looked around. "Look, I'll be back in a moment, I'm going to make a cup of tea." She stood there, staring off into the distance for a few minutes. Finally, after a while, she said "Okay, back. Where were we?"

"Still discussing how to find the dungeon" said Gunnar. "The keep of Abbadon does not exist in the physical world. It can only be accessed by a portal into a sub-dimension, a magical pocket universe that exists between the folds of reality. The portal was once located in the Night Lands, on the Warfield of Desolation, but in recent years King Artor of Subrosia launched a campaign to seal the portal and lock Abbadon away forever. When he shattered the ebony blood-pillar that held the portal open, though, King Artor could not have known that the resulting explosion would rip the entrance to the keep from a singular location and send it hurling through space itself."

"That..." stuttered Roka, "That makes no sense. None of those words make sense. Everything that you have said about this character is just a series of silly made-up words that make no real sense and don't mean anything. This entire story is just total fantasy-babble."

Exra held up a paw, hoping to avert any argument. "At the end of the day, the point is that the entrance to the dungeon moves around. It vanishes from one location and randomly appears in another."

"In short, yes" said Gunnar. "Although I prefer my version of it."

"So how are we supposed to find it?" asked Roka. "If it's completely random, we could search for years and never find the entrance."

"Actually" said Exra, "It's not quite completely random."

All eyes around the table turned to the fire witch.

She inhaled. "When I was in the beta, there was some testing of the dungeon. Nothing extensive, mind you, but the basic patterns for it were laid down and beta testers were encouraged to try their best to find it."

"Did anyone?" asked the Buffalo.

Exra shook her head. "But based on the programmer's notes and the study that the players did into it, we were able to determine a few interesting points. Firstly, the entrance portal doesn't just appear anywhere in the world. It only appears in a select few locations, roughly twenty or so."

Roka smiled, "Excellent. We can narrow down the search, then!"

"It will still take a while before we find it" she explained, "But once we've been able to locate it and get inside, we can set a teleport coordinate to the interior of the keep, so that we can return there whenever we need to."

"This is going to take a lot of work" said Gunnar. "We will need to have each of us at our strongest, equipped with the best armour and wielding the greatest weapons from all across the land." He waved his paws, dramatically. "We're through the looking glass here, people."

Roka shook his head. "Okay, so anyway, it's decided. We kill Abbadon the Scourge."

"Sounds like fun, puny mortals" said the undead. "When do we start?"

Roka glanced towards the distant corner of the table. He had entirely forgotten that the undead warlock was still standing there, wreathed in darkness, flickering with an unnatural incandescence. "We?" he asked.

The warlock nodded. "Yes. I want to join your guild."

Exra blinked, confused. "You want to what?" she stuttered, bewildered.

"I want to join your puny, weak little guild" hissed the undead creature, "You seem as if your meek flailing and insane babbling will be amusing."