The Dungeon Warden did not find himself with much cause to smile these days. But when G’rrak relayed word that the unexplored corner of his dungeon had been recaptured from the monstrosity that had once controlled it, he was overjoyed.
He nervously reached out using the core, itching to confirm that the huge chamber was now within his field of vision… and yes, the stony cavern had indeed been added to his god-like reach. He could smell the rotting corpse of the huge, dead thing that had once had the audacity to make the lair its own. He could taste the human blood that now stained the chamber floor, and the haze of spent mana that hung in the air after a spell of impressive magnitude. Admittedly, he let his mind brush against the amazons sweating avatar for a moment longer than had been necessary. Who could judge him for that small pleasure? The dungeon and all that was contained within were his to do with as he pleased, after all.
The dungeon core pulsed with excitement, and the warden shared its longing. How he ached to reach out, to use the core’s god-like power to terraform this new zone. It was ripe for development, and none were better qualified than he, but there were just too many factors to stay his hand. The economy, for one. The victors had to be allowed their spoils… to be given a reason to fight beyond the one that they were supposed to be fighting for, lest they lose their motivation to venture deeper into the dungeon. Likewise, the new inductees had to be made to feel useful and given a chance to earn. That meant giving them the opportunity to extend their home with their own hands, even if their building skills were substandard, at best.
And then there was morale to be considered. The barbarians had claimed the lair, yes. But it was the arcane clans who were most in need of space to expand. To gift their prize to a rival class would be to invite war. And a prison-riot between the two most powerful factions of humans was a headache the warden didn’t need. He resigned himself to his usual strategy: he would allow the barbarians to organize the lair’s conversion into a new wing of the prison, then purchase it from them with the gold they valued above all else.
His initial excitement extinguished now by the mediocrity of his role, the Dungeon Warden’s thoughts returned to the other quandary the lair had brought to his desk.
“How the fuck did a new spawn appear in a boss chamber?” he hissed. “And a newly discovered chamber at that?”
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No answer came, for his office was empty, save for the pulsing ball of energy that hovered in the corner of the room. As he often did in such circumstances, he cast an accusing finger, choosing to blame it.
“Core, this must be your fault,” he spat accusingly. “What use are you to me if you can’t even send the new prisoners to their proper spawning points without fucking it up.”
The pulsing ball of energy ignored his rants, just as it always did. It was used to its role as a scapegoat and cared little for his accusations.
The warden scowled. “I swear, you’re determined to help me fully experience my inferior meat-bag avatar by giving me a damn stroke, aren’t you?”
The Dungeon Warden cursed the smug orb’s silence. All excitement from the acquisition of the new lair was now gone. Searching for answers, or at the very least, a distraction, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out another artifact: a small glass orb. Syncing his senses to the unorthodox log-in point, the warden allowed his thoughts to join the data flow, leaving behind the limitations of his avatar, if only for the briefest of moments. The orb was typically reserved for self-medication, when the stress of his role and the confines of his body threatened to break him mentally. But today, even his means of relaxation was being commandeered by the demands of his unrelenting role.
Disembodied, he swam backward through the history of Siriso’s realm, eavesdropping on past events through his previously implanted spyware, searching for the prisoner in question. He quickly learned that three of the four newcomers had been transferred without issue, but that one had held up the transfer. Unsurprisingly, it was the same prisoner who had gone on to materialize in the boss chamber. Having located the suspect scrap of code, he watched it for signs of anomalies.
Oblivious to his gaze, the swordsman wriggled in the clutches of his assailants, overwhelmed by the goblins who had been sent to test him. He was badly beaten, and being carried to Siriso’s hut, no less. The priest’s hut was too heavily encrypted for the warden to penetrate. But even as he watched from the outside, the warden knew that something wasn’t quite right, here. Siriso’s judgement was taking longer than usual. And Siriso was nothing if not punctual. Something was happening in that hut that was delaying the prisoner’s journey to the dungeon.
After a few minutes, the Dungeon Warden witnessed the prisoner being evicted from the priest’s hut. Again the troublemaker was being carried, his old wounds now healed, but replaced with a new one, no doubt delivered by the guard with the broken nose.
The warden watched as his new prisoner was blatantly tossed into the wrong data stream.
Damn that Siriso, he cursed to himself. No wonder the noob materialized in the wrong place.
The warden didn’t know what Siriso was up to, and to ask would reveal his spyware, an advantage that he was not yet ready to give up. But right there and then, the Dungeon Warden was sure of one thing.
This ‘Shade’ is going to be trouble.