The Lost Reliquary of Karnok

Here is the first of the rewritten short stories from the old TEWOJ days. This particular story was actually the second chronologically, but the nature of the first story is a bit up in the air still so I thought it was best to start here. This story also crosses over with The Mages Journal, the old JLE exclusive story that is also being rewritten. Anyway enjoy the story, and don’t forget to sign up for the newsletter.

The moons cast a soft glow over the vast cemetery known as the Field of Tears as the hooting croak of a Frowl echoed through the night. A light breeze blew, and the pleasing smell of a summer night wafted on the air.

Toron Smelg sat behind a tombstone, his three eyes peeking out from under the helmet covering his blob-like body, which was covered completely by the monument.

Prince Algor was crouched in his humanoid form behind a large stone cross nearby. The light of the moons glistened off his bare purple skin. When in this form, Algor typically went with as little coverings as possible. Wearing only a loincloth, boots, and bracers, beyond the strap that held his pack, sheath, and shield, of course. “Do you see anything, Tor?”

“Not a damn thing, Al.”

Reports said an angry banshee spirit had been terrorizing the area for weeks. Banshees were notably very loud apparitions, but aside from the typical nocturnal sounds, it was a quiet night. The decoy they had set up to look like a sleeping traveler sat in a pool of light cast by the twin moons.

“Maybe it won’t show?” Toron asked quietly. 

Almost in reply, a terrible scream echoed across the dark cemetery. Clouds obscured the moonlight for a moment as another scream came. The glowing spectral form of the spirit floated towards the decoy slowly, almost confused. Whatever magic fueled the brain of the thing couldn’t comprehend why its prey did not cower in fear.

It grabbed the decoy with a forceful shake. Algor jumped from behind the cross. His translucent purple skin glimmered in the ghostly light of the spirit as he rushed forward with sword in hand. “Get the net!” he shouted, leaping onto the banshee’s back while swinging wildly with his blade. 

The banshee thrashed, screaming as it tried to shake Algor off. Sharp claws reached back and tossed him into the statue of some long-dead royal in a shower of stone shards and dust.

Toron in the shape of a cannon shot the net into the air. It momentarily covered the spirit, but was thrashed to pieces quickly. The banshee cast off the remains of the net and rushed toward Algor. 

Dashing to the side and pulling the shield off his back, Algor slammed it into the banshee. Another scream came as it spun around with a double claw slash that cut deep grooves into the shield.

“By the gods, please stop screaming,” Algor said, brandishing his sword at the spirit. 

The banshee snarled and swiped her claws through the air with a hiss. Her spectral form slowly faded in and out as it prepared to charge.

Algor spun his fingers in the air in two circles. The spell cast a spectral duplicate that charged forward. The banshee rushed the shimmering form, passing straight through it.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Algor charged. The banshee let out half a shriek before being decapitated. Its body fell to the ground in a heap with a wet splat of ectoplasm.

“Well, I would have preferred to get the bonus for capturing her alive, but at least travelers in the area can rest easy now.”

“Easier, at least. Awful lot of activity coming out of the Field of Tears lately,” Toron said, inspecting the ruined statue.

“I don’t think there is too much we can do about ghosts in the cemeteries, Tor. Want me to stop the sun from rising next?”

“Hey, what’s this?” Toron asked, picking a scroll from the rubble. “There is a lot of ancient Jalldoonian here. My ancient is rusty, but I think it says the Reliquary of Karnok.”  

“Let me see,” Algor grabbed the scroll, “Yeah, this definitely says the Reliquary of Karnok.”

Toron rubbed his chin with a tendril. “Al, if even half the tales of what’s locked away in there are true.”

“I know, imagine what those would do against Boshak?”

“Right. There is little we can do about it now. Let’s turn that head in and would you look at that? It’s time for a drink,” Toron said with a chuckle.

“Same old jokes, old man.”Algor stuffed the Banshee’s head into a sack and started off after Toron.

Neither Slime noticed the pair of eyes watching them from the darkness.

The quaint crossroads inn bordered the great cemetery. Building in a place like that, it was no surprise they had trouble with spirits. It was a small, two-story building with a stable and a fenced lawn. Smoke billowed out of the chimney, and the soft glow of torchlight lit the windows.

Algor kicked the tavern door in to a gasp of shock from the crowd inside. While there were few things the prince loved more than adventuring, making a grand entrance was very high on the list. He slammed the head down on the bar with a gloopy splat of ectoplasm. “Here you go, Brock. As promised, one Banshee Spirit taken care of. I had hoped to get that bonus, but you’ve gotta get what you can get in this world.” Algor said with a wink.

Brock peered into the sack with a grimace. “At least I can mount the head here in the bar, but damn if I didn’t want her alive.”

“What were you planning to do with it once I brought it back, anyway?” Algor asked.

“What do you think I was going to do? Cage her and charge people to see the famous crossroads banshee in person. Make a little coin and entertain the customers. It’s the name of the game, my friend.”

“Gods Brock, we’d have been back here in a week once she broke out and killed everyone.”

“Thank goodness for that, right? Now can we please get a couple of ales?” Toron asked with only a slight hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Anything for you, Master Slime.” Brock grabbed two steins and filled them with ale. “That’ll be ten gold boys,” he said, grabbing a coin from the top of the small stack he slid across the bar. “Here’s your reward.”

At the table, Algor pulled out a chair for Toron. The prince, unlike most Slimes, preferred to use his humanoid form predominantly. This made some things easier for him, but what Slime wants to focus so much on keeping a shape? Toron shook his head lightly as he bounced up onto the chair. Algor had always been a little different from other Slimes. In the twenty years he’d watched after the prince, that had become more than apparent.

Across the tavern, a hooded man in leather armor called out, “Look at this old soldier!” It was the ranger Merrick, a longtime friend. Taking his hood down, he pushed his white hair behind his ears as he sat. “Toron, how are you, buddy?”

“Merrick, you old forest stalker. Do they still have you mothering baby Battle Mages for the Syndicate instead of doing actual work?”

Merrick slapped the prince’s shoulder. “Algor, how can you stand traveling with this crusty old sack of slime telling you his war stories all day?”

“It’s not easy, Merrick, I can tell you that,” Algor said, taking a long sip from his stein.

“It most certainly is not,” Merrick replied with a tip of his stein. “What brings you boys out here this late at night, anyway?”

Toron waved a tendril at the aleboy. “That, my friend, is a long story. We’re going to need a few more drinks.”

Merrick listened intently to the tale before speaking. “The Lost Reliquary of Karnok? This could be huge. You’ve gotta let me in on this. It would be great for my ward.”

Toron took a big gulp of ale and wiped his face. “Oh, you have someone following you now? Bring them over.”

Merrick turned and pointed to a young man in battlemage armor sitting at a table and waved him over. “Yeah, he’s right there. Name’s Crowfoot.”

Crowfoot stuck out his hand. “It is an honor, sirs. The Karnok campus of the Syndicate knows your adventures well.” 

Algor laughed, “Makes it all worthwhile.”

Over several ales, they pored over the scroll and came up with a plan for the next day. After booking two rooms, they headed outside, where Algor summoned a magical bird. He whispered something into its ear, and it flew off into the sky. “The slugs will be here tomorrow. I’m going to get some sleep. Don’t you two stay up all night drinking. We have things to do in the morning.”

Merrick and Toron both replied, “Us? Never,” before falling into a fit of laughter. 

Algor sighed, “Good luck with them, Crowfoot,” as he walked up the exterior stairs to his room, chuckling.

Rising with the sun the next morning Algor found his friend and Mount Ziggy waiting for him with two slug siblings. He scratched the thick neck of the slug while drinking a mug of coffee. If the rest of the crew could drag themselves out of bed, they would be off to Karnok.

“Is that old Slime still sleeping?” Merrick asked, coming down the stairs with Crowfoot in tow. “We weren’t even up that late. I got a solid three hours in.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time he was too rough to get out of bed.” Algor shook his head. “I’ll go get him.”

“Not necessary. Do you really think a few ales would be enough to stop me?” Toron asked as he hopped down the steps.

“Define a few. I think you and I may have different definitions there,” Algor chided with a smile.

Toron shrugged his tendrils. “More than one, less than a hundred?”

Shaking his head, Algor swung his leg ‌over Ziggy. “Crowfoot, have you ever ridden a slug?”

Crowfoot looked overwhelmed just trying to mount the beast. “I have not,” he said, failing again to get over the beast’s back.

“Al is an expert rider. He’ll get you sorted on how to do it in no time,” Toron said, hopping up onto Ziggy’s back with Algor.

After a quick lesson, they were on the road. Getting the hang of riding, Crowfoot looked confused as they slowly inched along. “I was under the impression slugs were fast?”

Merrick turned back from ahead of him, “Just wait until they get going, lad.”

As if in reply, Ziggy picked up the pace. Following his lead, so did the others. The scenery whipped by in a blur. Zipping around obstacles and curves, the slugs glided across the land. The rushing wind made any further speaking impossible.

On the outskirts of Karnok, they came to a stop in a billowing cloud of dust at the stables. Stablehands rushed out and grabbed the reins of the three slugs. Algor gave them each a coin as the group headed into the city. Their destination was the Faulty Compass, a well-known tavern and inn which acted as the headquarters for the Jalldoon League of Explorers, an organization that explored the planet and assisted members in this endeavor.

It was near midday, and the streets were bustling with activity. Vendors shouted for attention, and the cooking from the food carts amalgamated into one enticing aroma that floated around the crowds milling about the city. Algor nodded and waved at people as they passed. A woman approached with a young girl and boy, “Excuse me, sir, but my youngins are big fans.” She said meekly, as if he would bite her head off.

The prince knelt down to the kids. “Is that so?” he asked them. 

“Yes! You are the bravest on all of Jalldoon!” both of them shouted, holding wooden swords up in the air.

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I sure am honored. Would you like me to sign those swords for you?”

“The mother stammered,” There is no need to waste your time, sir. I know you’re busy.”

“Nonsense, I’ve always got time for fans. Tor, you got the spark torch?”

Toron reached inside himself and handed Algor a small tube. He flicked the switch, and a small pinpoint flame ignited. Signing his name with the flame as the kids stared in awe. It was always like this in the cities. Everyone wanted their moment with a hero of Jalldoon. The Covenant had leveraged and propagandised the prince’s adventures to such a degree that most of these people didn’t have a clue how it really was out there, but Algor was happy to be a symbol for the good and honest folk of the planet. Despite it becoming an annoyance from time to time. Even the young Crowfoot seemed a bit starstruck and hung on every word as if the gods themselves had spoken.

Entering the Faulty Compass, the head of the League of Explorers, Thaddeus Crumblepot, rushed over. “Algor, what a pleasure.” The old man was bald on top with curly white hair sticking up on either side of his head, and his long mustache had been curled to match. He wore a smart plaid suit with a green vest, and a sparkling golden pin of the League’s seal on his lapel. “What may I do for the Prince of Slimes?”

“You’re going to want to sit down for this.” Algor pulled the scroll from his pack, 

Thaddeus gestured toward the lounge, “You have my full attention.” 

Sitting at a large round table, Algor unfurled the parchment. “This is a map to the Reliquary of Karnok. Look at all this ancient Jalldoonian. I’ve translated some of it already, and it appears to be beneath the sewers.” He pointed at the ancient diagrams, “See right there, that looks just like the large drain in the canal outside the arena.”

Thaddeus pulled a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket and looked over the map. “What do you need to make this an official League operation?” he asked with a glimmer in his eye. Knowing a find of this magnitude would increase membership and dues tenfold.

“To start, we’ll need some torches and packs to carry things back with.”

“Whatever you need, the items in this reliquary will fund the League for several years, at least,” Thaddeus rubbed his hands together.

“Now, wait a second. There could be Slime artifacts in there. There will need to be an audit before anyone claims anything.”

“Of course, my boy. The League will fully cooperate with Emperor Pullo and King Valdar in distributing the ite-” The Gatonian bartender interrupted as he approached with glasses of punch. “Thank you, Oliver,” Thaddeus said, grabbing a glass from the tray and taking a sip. “Where was I? Oh, yes! Have no fear, Prince. The items will be cataloged and claimed by their rightful owners, I assure you.”

Taking a glass from the tray, Algor added, “Also, Merrick and Crowfoot here are with us. They’ll need some kind of compensation for their part as well.”

“Have I ever let you down, son?” Thaddeus asked as he stood up. “I’ll send a messenger to the place and get someone to assemble the gear!”

After enjoying the punch and giving Crowfoot some valuable first time in the sewers advice the group collected the gear provided by the League and made their way to the arena.

It had been a hot summer in Karnok, and the canal draining to the sewers was almost bone dry. “Thank the gods for small favors!” Toron said as they hopped down.

Algor and Merrick used their blades to pry rusted gates open. As they creaked open in a shower of debris, Merrick chuckled, “So much for Karnok sanitation doing their jobs.”

Everyone grabbed a torch, and Crowfoot cast a simple fire spell to ignite them. Descending into the rank drain, the stink of the city’s waste was so acrid it burnt the nose. Sludge covered every surface; the light of their torches made it appear to undulate and crawl over the walls. The prize at the end promised to be well worth dealing with the horrendous smell and dirty tunnels.

In the maze of tunnels, it was slow going, but after some time, they came across an alcove with a carving that matched the icon on the map. Algor spoke the ancient Jalldoonian phrase written on the map, “Ballosh,” and a section of wall swung open into blackness. Holding up a torch illuminated the first few steps of a staircase trailing into the darkness.

Hopping down the steps, Toron said, “You know we’re going to have to fight something disgusting down here, right?”

Merrick nocked an arrow into his bow, and Algor gripped his sword. The stairway never seemed to end. Down, down and down they went, unease and a musty aroma growing with each step.

Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, they stood at the entrance to a long hallway. Algor checked the scroll. “This is the beginning of the Vault of Karnok. The map ends here.”

Merrick waved his torch close to the floor. “Lesson one is to watch out for traps,” he said, pointing the torch down at a raised stone.

Crowfoot stepped around the stone and swung his torch, looking for any other traps.

“Hey, look at this!” Algor held his torch to the wall. Glistening in the light was a small copper handle set into a recess. “This is on the map,” he said, turning the handle three times. A slight hiss traveled down the hallway as dozens of torches lit on both sides.

“Gaslight? All the way down here? Must be part of the original plumbing.” Toron put out his torch. “Thank the Great Slime we’ll at least be able to see down here, right, son?” he nudged Crowfoot with a tendril, but the young battlemage was busy inspecting intricate carvings on the stone wall.

Algor ran his fingers along one of the ancient reliefs. “This work is flawless, no tool marks or anything.”

Merrick clucked, “Well versed in tool marks are you?”

Toron shot Merrick a look. “His mother was a student of archaeology.”

“Is a student of archeology, Tor. She’ll be back.” Algor corrected.

“Yeah, Is. sorry, Al.”

The awkward silence lasted until they came to a fork in the tunnel. Merrick looked at Toron. “We’ll go right, and you lads go left.”

“Sounds good to me. Be careful in there,” Toron nodded.

Down the left path, the two Slimes came to a circular room with a patterned mosaic floor. Stepping inside, there was a rumble from deep within the wall as the entire area started spinning. Algor grabbed Toron and dashed through the opening on the far right side before the spinning wall closed it off entirely. 

Finding themselves in a cavernous room with tunnels leading off in multiple directions‌. Stone figures dotted the room in odd poses. Toron frowned, “I don’t like this Al.”

“I don’t think these are statues. There must be some kind of enchantment in here.” Algor pulled his shield from his back and rolled it out to the middle of the room. Sure enough, a beam of light shot from the ceiling and turned the metal shield to stone. “See, knew it.” Pressing against the wall, Algor inched around the perimeter of the room. 

“Careful, Al. If you get turned to stone, how am I supposed to get you out of here?”

“Just do what I do when you get stoned, Tor. Figure something out.”

“Hilarious, Algor. In fact, don’t be careful, I’ll just leave you in here.” Toron reached inside his gelatinous body, pulled out a small flask, yanked the cork, and took a long swig. 

Each “tunnel” going out of the room was a walled-off dead end except the one on the opposite side of the entrance. The path that would most likely bring you through the beam. “Very clever, Karnok,” Algor said, waving Toron over. “Stick to the edge, suck in that beer gut, old man!” he shouted.

Once Toron had crossed the room, they stood in front of a tall golden door. Algor pulled the map from his belt, unrolled it, and pointed at a picture. “Looks like we found the door to the Reliquary.” He spoke the word written on the ancient map, “Konrak,” and the door swung open with a loud clang that echoed through the stone tunnels.

Toron laughed, “The password was Karnok backwards? All this trouble, then that’s it? Bit anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

“It was hundreds of years ago. Maybe this was the height of security back in those days. I don’t know, man. Let’s just be thankful it wasn’t a pain in the arse.” Algor said, stepping into the room.

Upon entering, the reliquary was even more impressive than the legends had portrayed it. There was stuff piled up everywhere. Weapons and armor sat next to buckets of jewelry, which sat next to artwork. There was no rhyme or reason to the hoard.

“It’s going to take a year to go through all this stuff.” Toron said as he picked up a jewel-encrusted goblet and turned it around in his tendril.

Algor stopped and cocked his head. “You hear that?” 

Toron listened closely. “I do, it sounds like a Slime?”

Walking over to a large chest in the corner, Algor bent his head down. “It’s coming from here,” he said with a hard kick down on the rusted lock. Ancient metal disintegrated under boot with little pressure. Drawing his sword, Algor flipped the chest open. Three tablets of living slime pulsated in the chest. A rolled parchment sat next to them, but it was unnecessary. He already knew what they were.

Toron unfurled and read the parchment. “Slime tablets of creation. Never heard of the damn things.”

Visions of begging for a story before bed as a child danced in Algor’s head for a moment before he spoke. “I have. Mother used to tell tales of them to get me to sleep. She hoped to find them one day.” 

“I believe that. If anybody knows about something like this, it would be the Queen.”

 “This is massive, Tor. It proves our creation myth is reality. This will ‌alter Slime life forever. I just wish she was here to see this.”

“She’ll see them when we find her, buddy.”

“Yeah, you are rig-” A collapsing wall cut Algor off. Three agents of Master Boshak emerged from the hole. Jelgon, Delgon, and the Slime Fiend had tunneled through the walls to get at them.

Algor drew his sword, “How in the hells did you jerks find us?”

The Slime Fiend pointed a dripping skeletal finger, each drop of his smoky slime burning small holes in the stone floor, “This toxic husk comes from you, Algor. There is no place you can run where I cannot find you.” He pulled a hammer from the belt loosely draped over his bony hips.

Delgon grew from a fat blob into a humanoid shape as his brother Jelgon formed a large sickle. “Should we get him now, mister fiend?” Delgon asked, tightening his grip on Jelgon.

“Yes, you idiot!” the Slime Fiend said as he raised the hammer and charged.

Jumping into the air, Toron took the shape of a shield just in time for Algor to block the hammer strike of the Fiend. Toron called out, “Delgon!” as the evil Slime advanced, twirling the sickle.

Rolling out of the way and slashing out at Delgon forced him back a step. Bashing him with the shield dazed him back another few steps as the Fiend came in with a wild hammer swing that caught Algor in his sword arm, forcing him to drop the blade and stumble to the ground.

Toron flowed over Algor’s body, becoming a breastplate shouting, “Axe in the corner!” as another hammer blow came down. Rolling out of the way and stumbling toward the corner, Algor grabbed the axe with both hands and swung it out in a wide arc, ‌barely missing the Fiend’s neck. Slashing again immediately and keeping the Fiend at bay with the hammer. A green glow emanated from the blade with each swing.

Ducking an axe swipe, the Fiend transformed into a dark puddle and flowed across the floor to escape. Delgon rushed in with a spinning attack that was easily blocked with the axe. The Slime Fiend picked up the hammer he had dropped and was about to swing when a loud screech echoed from the tunnel they had burrowed into the reliquary.

“Dungeon Demons!” Toron yelled, taking the form of a grappling hook which Algor tossed up to the ceiling and quickly climbed. 

Delgon climbed the wall, but it was too late for the Slime Fiend as the creatures enveloped him in a wave of red skin, teeth, and occasional sets of purple eyes.

Algor and Toron looked on in horror as they swarmed over the Fiend’s body. Then something even more horrible happened. He began devouring the creatures by the handful. His skin took on the color of the Dungeon Demons as the remaining creatures retreated down a hallway. Several of them rushed into the beam room and became statues decorating the caverns for the rest of time.

The Fiend threw his hammer, knocking Algor from the ceiling into a heap of golden trinkets, and landing Toron inside a barrel. Jelgon took the form of a snake and slithered across the room in a flash, wrapping himself around the barrel and tossing it. Slithering back to his brother, he returned to his sickle form.

Delgon and the Slime Fiend backed Algor into a corner. The axe was blazing with energy now, and holding it up to block, he noticed for the first time there was an inscription carved into the handle. He read it out loud, “Bolskavits,” and a large explosion emanated from the axe, knocking back the evil Slimes.

The Slime Fiend charged, but a slash with the axe separated his torso and legs. He retreated from the room in his puddle form as his legs gave a few kicks before melting into the floor and leaving a small crater eaten away from the stone.

Delgon stumbled around in a daze as Jelgon ran to his brother’s side. Toron rolled out of the rubble of the bookcase with a small plume of dust, and catching sight of the brothers, took the shape of a cannon. Delgon’s vision cleared just in time to see a giant ball of slime flying at his face. Leaving Jelgon to drag his unconscious brother down the tunnel as quickly as he could.

Toron changed back into his natural blob shape. “Let’s see where this tunnel goes, shall we?”

Algor quickly stuffed the Slime Tablets of Creation into a sack and ran after Toron. The tunnel led nearly to the entrance of the sewers and had skipped all the traps along the way. 

“Those idiots made getting the loot out of that reliquary so much easier than it would have been otherwise,” Algor said, shaking his head. 

Taking a swig out of his flask, Toron chuckled, “Seems about right for those two fools. The Fiend was hitting like an enraged giant, though.”

“I got a good cut on him. He will not forget that.”

“He’s going to be furious about that next time we run into him, Al. You do know that, right?” 

“I’ll kill him next time.”

“I’d prefer there wasn’t a next time, honestly,” Toron frowned. The prince wasn’t always this bloodthirsty, but over the past few months a darkness had been growing in him. Maybe these tablets would lift his spirits. 

Leaving the sewers, they came upon Crowfoot and Merrick. The two of them had come to a dead end and returned for help when they found the path the Slimes had taken blocked off. “The Emperor is on his way, but it looks like you two have been through the hells. What happened?” Merrick asked.‌

As the Slimes told their tale, the Emperor himself pulled up in his lavish carriage with ‌a detachment of his personal guards. He stepped down with his arms spread wide. “Algor, my boy! You’re undamaged as usual, eh?” He pulled the prince into a tight hug.

Algor slapped the Emperor’s back. “Always, sir.”

The Emperor turned to Toron, “Master Smelg, how much is Valdar paying you to look after his son these days? Not enough for a boy as adventurous as him, I’d wager.” 

Toron laughed, “It’s never enough, Titus?” 

Bringing the Emperor up to speed, all agreed that a thorough inventory of the Reliquary was in order. He called for more guards, paid Merrick and Crowfoot for their involvement, and instructed them to remain quiet about what had transpired. As Emperor Pullo made his way down to the reliquary with a few guards in tow, Algor whistled a soft tune. Ziggy zoomed up. A note was slipped into his collar. It called for  King Valdar and the rest of the Slime court to make their way to Karnok immediately. Sending the slug off to Slime City, Algor and Toron walked to the Faulty Compass. After getting rooms and some hot baths, they had a pleasant meal and retired. As he lay in bed, Algor’s mind swam with the legends of the Tablets. He hoped they might be the key to finding his mother, but that would have to wait for another day. Right now it was just basking in ‌another adventure as sleep came fast.