“They don't seem to be coming back,” the Probability Knight tutted. It had been hours since he’d sent the assault force down. Oppressive silence was his only return so far.
“They're probably dead, excellency,” the Guild secretary told him.
“I'm the future predictor around here. They're dead when I say they're dead,” he reminded her sharply.
“Right you are,” she said, unbothered by this posturing. Instead, she patiently watched him tap away on his calculator.
“Yep, they’re dead," he told her. The Knight scrutinized his calculator. The secretary could almost hear his brow furrowing behind his helmet.
"Also, ‘twas not fire that killed them. It was... gravity? What in Builder's name is going on in there?!”
“I have no idea, excellency,” the secretary said, shrugging. “Maybe a gravity-warping monstrosity crawled up from the lower floors?”
“This is an unexpected turn of events”, said the Knight, whose profession engendered a natural hatred of unexpected turns of events. “How do we defend against gravity? I expected fire. Dragons and their underlings are sub-human beasts..."
"Well, sir," the Secretary ventured, "perhaps we should consider alternative strategies?"
The Knight whirled on her. "Alternative strategies? I am the Probability Knight! My strategies are infallible!"
"Of course, sir," she said, struggling to keep a straight face. "It's just that, well, the probabilities seem to have shifted."
"Probabilities don't shift at random for no bloody reason!" he snapped. "They're probabilities! A red dragon can't just get gravity powers out of the blue!"
A nearby soldier cleared his throat. "Uh, sir? Isn't that kind of the definition of probabilities? That they can change?"
The Knight's mirror-helmet swiveled towards the soldier, who immediately regretted speaking. "Are you a Probability Knight?"
"N-no, sir."
"Then kindly keep your opinions on probability to yourself!"
The Secretary intervened before things could escalate. "Perhaps, sir, we should consult your calculator again? See if it has any new insights?"
The Knight grumbled but pulled out his prized possession. He tapped away at it furiously, then stared at the result in disbelief.
"This can't be right," he muttered, typing more furiously and pulling the calculate outcome dial.
"What does it say, sir?" the Secretary asked, leaning forward.
"Error," he snapped in reply.
"Error?" The Secretary repeated.
"Yes! It just says... Error!" The Knight snarled.
There was a moment of silence before the soldier from earlier made a snickering noise. The Knight's head snapped towards him.
"Is something funny, soldier?"
"N-no, sir," the man choked out, desperately trying to control himself. "Just a... just a cough."
The Secretary, ever the diplomat, stepped in. "Sir, perhaps we should consider sending in a smaller, more specialized team? One trained in... anti-gravity combat?"
The Knight stared at her. "Anti-gravity combat?"
She shrugged. "We might have an adventurer at the camp who's a Gravitymancer."
The Knight considered this for a moment. "You know what? You're right. We're the Empire. We have people trained for everything." He turned to the still-giggling soldier. "You there! Go find me an anti-gravity specialist!"
"Yes sir," the solder replied vanishing from the tent.
----------------------------------------
Error found herself standing amidst a barren plain littered with black steel ruins. Her kobold eyes which could normally see perfectly in the dark struggled to focus. She looked up and was hit with vertigo when she realized there was no cave ceiling. There was nothing at all. The sky was a lightless vacuum.
Icy wind ripped the warmth out of her. She turned towards the wind, and saw a vast, desolate field of shattered hexagons reaching from horizon to horizon. Error shivered and wrapped her hands around her body. She looked out over the broken hexagons, and felt immeasurable grief pouring into her from somewhere else. For the first time in her life she knew how it felt to be truly forgotten, her last traces erased from the world. It was a death beyond death, a loneliness beyond loneliness. She sank to her knees.
The wind whistled through the hexagonal shapes, standing at attention like endless legions of gloomy soldiers, its howling moan forming coherent tones. The whistling tune pulsed through Error’s body and she could feel it resonate within the depths of her mind. She knew that it was a song written by the Inians, from a time before the world was reforged by the celestial power of the Starhammer.
Error's heartbeat pulsed in sync with the song. On her knees on the cold and lifeless wasteland, she swayed to a tune that no one had heard in millenia.
Sparks of light began to flicker in the wind, swirling and coalescing in front of her, forming a strange shape of arcing and snapping energy. As Error tried to make sense of what it was, it became more solid, taking a bipedal form. Slabs of black steel rose from the field, cloaking the figure in hexagonal plates of armor.
The ghost spoke in a cold female voice. “Thanks for choosing me.”
“I didn’t choose any spooky ghost pals.” Error grumbled. “Who are you?”
“I'm Eva. I will end all who stand in your way.” The ghost offered a hand made of black shrapnel. Error looked at the hand, not moving. She knew better than to shake hands with the Eldritch abominations. A deep, atavistic fear pinned her in place. This was not kobold-fear infecting her new body. This was dragon-fear, fear cold enough to smother the dragonfire furnace in her heart.
"Where are we?" Error demanded.
"This is a memory of the world after the moon fell to earth. A memory of a winter that never ended. Welcome to my home."
“I don’t care about your tragic backstory," Error said. She watched the ghost glide around her, black metal hexagons shifting and rippling silently as she moved. The spirit’s body changed, growing smaller, narrower. It stood in front of her for a moment, and Error realized the ghost had taken on her proportions.
The spirit regarded her silently for a second, and then lunged forward and grabbed Error by the rear. She tried to jump back as an icy hand clamped onto one of her cheeks, but found herself unable to move.
“Why!?” Error squawked in indignation and panic.
“Your mortal body is where I live now,” the ghost explained, but that didn’t really explain anything for Error, at all. A blue grin flickered in the empty space beneath the black armor.
“Look here, ghost. You don’t grope a dragon! Get out of my personal space!” Error tried to shove the ghost away and found out that she could not, her claws skittering against an impervious, ice-rimmed surface.
“We walked together in death. We were anointed by the blood of our enemies,” the ghost scoffed. “You don’t get to whinge about personal space. We unmade life, you and I. The pact is sealed.” The metallic voice of the ghost rang inside Error’s head.
“I don’t recall signing onto any ghost pacts,” Error sniffed.
Eva twisted her armored head like an owl, hexagonal forms sliding into themselves as she stared at something behind Error. "Then, perhaps you require a reminder?"
She let go of Error, who stumbled back, rubbing the cold handprints on her butt, and then turned around.
A kobold was staggering across the plains through the dark, feet dragging over metal refuse. Where the head should have been was a cloud of shattered bone and shredded tissue, held frozen in the moment of explosion. The corpse shuffled towards her with open arms. "You are mine by right…" Screw's corpse gurgled. Its shattered head swirled about grotesquely.
Error tried to run but stepped into Eva’s cold embrace once again. The metal arms closed around her like a snare. The cold burned her scales. Eva laughed, and grabbed hold of Error’s hands. Her jagged, knife-like fingers slid through Error’s crystalline scales, seeking to latch onto the quivering soul beneath.
----------------------------------------
Error woke up whimpering, curled up in the pile of gold. The burning-cold Inian railgun was stabbing her in the backside. She pulled it up to her face to stare at it with a deep frown.
“Error! My Emergency Chief!” Agate was hopping around her like a flustered gecko, sending treasure clattering every which way. “Are you injured?”
Error glared at Agate, blinking away the nightmare. “I’m fine.”
“Right, Dragons don’t cry.” Agate nodded, backing away from Error’s glare.
Error stood up and tried to let go of the gun, and found that she could not bear to part with it; it was if this gun was her only protection, her only ally. She sighed resignedly, going to where the holster had been left after the claiming ceremony. The weapon slipped effortlessly into the strange black material, which appeared to be all one unmarked, unstitched piece. It cinched perfectly onto her hips and, once there, felt like a comforting, weightless presence. She would definitely deal with this problematic, gun-clinging feeling later.
“Great, I’m haunted by an ancient abomination.” She muttered to herself.
Error turned back to Agate.
“Speaking of abominations... any visitors from Down Below? Surely they have smelled all the human blood by now.”
The portal Ognevika guarded was a two-way passage. The creatures from the lower realms generally had no interest in the world above the portal, but they could be enticed by enough tasty death and violence.
"Yes, my Chief," Agate nodded, leading Error towards the Deep Gate.
A group of three pale, unnatural looking monks in checkered robes stood beneath the formidable stone gate. Error scoffed at the inorganic monster-constructs. She didn’t consider them alive. To her they were things, animated matter crassly held together with the power of Deep. These things had no soul, no set shape, only an idea, a general concept that held them together.
“Greetings, koboldians,” one of the checkered monks intoned. “We, the papercraft adepts of Nnnnnnnnnnnnnn, have been summoned from the Deep by the rousing concentration of spilled human life-essence.” The monk flowed towards Error, a million papery feet flashing beneath its robe. One of its comrades rushed up behind it, tapping its shoulder insistently.
“No, you ignoramus! It's pronounced EnEnEnenenenene.”
“Excuse my colleagues, it's actually EHHHhhhhhhhhhnnn.” The third checkered monk added.
“WHAT? NO! Your papery tongues will wither from such non-correctness.”
The first monk shouted, and shoved the third, who shoved back with a furious papery rustle. The second monk started swinging at both of the others. Pages flew as they tried to rip each other apart.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Error grabbed one loose page and tried to read it.
[,v rtf nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn ///sfgmj
n n]
Error sighed.
“I don’t know what I expected. Deep Memetic adepts are the worst.”
“They... aren’t on the same page, are they?” Agate smiled.
“Not many wise thoughts in those paper-brains.” Error agreed, allowing a small smirk.
“Oh yeah? Well you're made of meats!” The monks stopped brawling to berate her.
“Meats are grosssss!”
“You’re nothing but meats that eat meats plus some magic crystals! Nasty! Just look at yourselves!”
With this, the paper monks shifted shapes, taking the forms of kobolds.
“Heh. Paper kobolds. Very cute.” Error grinned. “Say… how many N’s was it?”
“It's many eeennnsssss!”
“No it's infinite nnnsssss!”
“The Ns can only be counted by those who believe!”
The Adepts of N once again began to rip each other apart. After a couple of minutes, the mood of the grapple shifted. Suddenly, Error realised, they weren’t... quite... fighting anymore.
“Oh my,” Agate squeaked with a blush.
Error glanced at Agate. She wasn’t sure what there was to be so embarrassed about. After all, all minions had to breed. This paper-breeding felt rather fake if anything, as Error knew that papercraft abominations were crafted by the weird magic of the infinite N, not bred. After a moment of observing the scene before her, inspiration struck. She grabbed hold of Agate.
“You can draw, right?”
Agate nodded, confused.
Error pointed at the paper kobolds.
“Commit this to memory and draw later. I want a sequence. I'll make a flipbook...”
She eyed the hoard.
“There's a book replicator somewhere in here. Redistribution of imagery! Motivational propaganda! Why don't dragons think of these things?”
Error started to pace, moving on from animated lewdness towards grander plans.
“Sharing of information. Higher Kobold standard of living, achieved through means of artifacts!” Yes, these were good plans. They kept her mind off of the gun and the problem of the ghost pact.
----------------------------------------
Lyca stared at the Adventurer’s camp in front of her with wonder. It was quite impressive. She touched her Starhammer necklace as she noticed the slightly lopsided banner of Celestar. She noted how Adventurers closest to the banner walked with straighter posture and smiled slightly more. This was memetic magic at work: magic that affected the mind, in this case filling it with clarity of love, awe and devotion. This was the power of Celestar, the power of hope, shining even here, miles underground, so close to the Eldritch horrors of the Deep.
She noticed caltrops on the ground and the Ferrum shields surrounding the camp, made to resist dragonfire, angled to deflect the deadly heat. When she got to the gate, the guard looked her up and down with beady eyes. She smiled reassuringly.
The guard examined this latest newcomer. She was a small creature with sandy yellow fur, feline ears that were almost comically large, white antlers and earnest green spectacled eyes. Her fluffy tail brushed lightly against the ground. Her frilly dress was well-kept, not the usual attire for a dungeon inhabitant. He let her inside the camp with a nod. Just another eager adventurer looking for a job.
Lyca looked around the camp in awe as she passed through the gate, taking in the whirlwind of sights, sound and smells. A multitude of lanterns kept the camp lit almost as well as the world above. The sooty air smelled like burning lamp oil, sweat, and cooking food. She heard the shuffling and clanging of soldiers sparring, the distant bark of orders, the chatter of adventurers, and the ringing clamor of the armory forge. The camp thrummed with busy, purposeful activity.
Humans were an ingenious species, so wonderfully creative, clever and rational. Most races were limited to their naturally-occurring magics, but humans had mastered chemistry, physics and engineering. She had eagerly memorised many books on these subjects. Sadly, she knew she’d never have a chance to apply her knowledge, being a kobold bound to a dragon. At least her dragon wasn’t an ignorant brute like the ones living here in the depths of the earth.
She stared at her own tawney paw and sighed. She wished she’d been born a human, free to invent, to create, to dream. She caught sight of the biggest, shiniest human of all and beelined over to him. He would have her answers.
The Probability Knight noticed her immediately. “Hey! Where do you think you're going, little kitten?”
The Guild Secretary fixed Lyca with an unimpressed stare.
“To her ignoble death, no doubt. I don’t see an adventurer’s plate on her.”
Lyca stared up bravely at the massive, shiny knight with one large ear cocked.
“Do you have the Necronomicon?” she asked. Directness had gotten her quite far in life. Most powerful creatures, like this Knight, weren’t used to being addressed this way and could be surprised into forthrightness.
The Knight made a surprised sort of snorting noise within his helmet. Lyca merely waited, her wide green eyes betraying neither fear nor judgement. The Knight’s posture softened; this was such a nonthreatening little creature. Lyca sensed him relaxing and didn’t apply any more pressure; he was almost at the point of answering her.
The Guild Secretary frowned. Secretaries fielded all manner of questions from all sorts of shady characters, and she wasn’t as taken by this earnest looking little creature with her delicate paws clasped together.
“Now, why would a civilian be here, on level 555 of the catacombs asking about the Necronomicon?” she asked.
Lyca sighed, her voice flattening, as if reciting a tired old script.
“I am a mere humble Librarian Scout, an Emissary of the Library of Tundra the Enlightened. My Illustrious Mistress is on her way here as we speak. She seeks the book. It was stolen from her Library by a party of Adventurers.”
The Knight craned his head down to observe Lyca.
“Your book? Your library? Robbed by adventurers… so that’s where it was hiding all these years. A library!”
He whirled to face the Secretary and suddenly smashed his gauntleted fist into the table.
“A LIBRARY! THOSE IMBECILES DIDN’T THINK TO CHECK A LIBRARY!”
“Eek!” The Secretary lurched backwards, tripping on a chair.
The Knight’s head snapped back suddenly towards Lyca, fixing on her like a hawk fixing on a fieldmouse.
“Wait a minute. What sort of library has the power to contain memetic magics?”
Lyca gulped, tapping her polished brass name tag vigorously.
Librarian Lyca
Servant of the Library
of White Dragon Tundra the Enlightened
The Knight stared at the nametag, quickly figuring things out.
“A Dragon… library? You’re a Kobold slave, serving a dragon… that hoards... books?”
He started to laugh and banged his fist again in a much less menacing way.
Lyca frowned. “It’s not a hoard. It’s a library. Every book and scroll is catalogued. There’s shelves and everything. We are a society of highly educa--”
“I see. I see,” the Knight said over her. “So the book came from this HOARD of yours. We will deal with this "library" in due time. Likely, it has other ...catastrophic artifacts.”
The Knight flipped a gilded folding device open. Tiny articulated mechanisms glittered. Lyca wanted very badly to know how it worked. Within it she could smell an artifact she knew: a magwave broadcasting crystal.
“Investigate Tundra the Dragon's hoard. Confiscate all dangerous artifacts,” the Knight dictated.
“Infoid Acknowledged,” the device chimed.
Lyca’s face flushed with worry at this. The broadcasting crystal allowed the Knight to send his intel over great distances. Her boldness had inadvertently endangered the Library! Perhaps the books would be better in human hands? Information should be available to all for free, not hoarded. Her Librarian tag burned at that thought.
On the other hand, the library's forbidden section had dangerous books. Books that talked and thought. Books that inserted bad ideas into your mind. Evil memetic magics, living songs that moved from mind to mind, able to create memeoids - zombies, vile thoughts piloting dead flesh. The Necronomicon was the worst offender of this sort, according to Mistress Tundra. Humans were brilliant but fragile: their fleshy bodies couldn’t withstand the magics that Mistress Tundra kept locked away.
“Thanks for that tidbit of info, kobold… librarian,” the probability Knight spoke through gritted teeth.
Lyca stood upright, her black and white dress fluttering.
“You can’t interact with forbidden memetic books!” she warned him. “Only a dragon can control them. They’re incredibly dangerous for everyone and should be kept safe in our Library! Just like the Necronomicon!”
“Safe?! A dragon isn’t an intelligent creature that can keep books safe,” The Knight explained, speaking as if to a slow child.
Lyca opened her mouth to protest and he spoke forcefully over her.
“Are you questioning the authority of the Imperial Magocracy Future Disaster Committee, expressed by me as its representative?” he asked in a low voice. “The Necronomicon is to be destroyed by us. Anyone obstructing the mission is to be executed immediately.”
The Knight snapped his fingers. Nearby adventurers raised bows and grasped the hilts of blades. Spells ignited on arms, rings, wands and staffs.
Lyca started to back away. Perhaps the big, shiny human was right. It would be best to destroy those vile, sentient books. Locking them away only encouraged fools to steal them. As long as they were allowed to exist, there was a chance they’d be freed to work their evil. Her librarian tag itched, demanding she follow through with her mission.
“Look, I can see that you humans don’t have the book, so I’m just going to go down and get it, okay?” she stated in her most gentle, non-threatening voice.
The Knight tapped something into his wrist mechanism, then looked back at Lyca. “Be my guest, kobold. Off you go.”
Lyca fled in an undignified fashion not befitting a Librarian. She didn’t want to agitate this nest of human ants any further. She had her answer: the dragon down below had the book.
Adventurers around the Knight frowned. The Guild Secretary looked at him in confusion.
“...aren't we going to execute the dragon thrall?”
The Knight’s voice radiated assuredness from behind his helmet.
“There’s no need to waste arrows on this one. Not yet. The watch told me that she will have the book in her hands very soon. Let her bring it, then. It's just a dumb dragon in there after all, and kobolds serve dragons. She has an advantage we lack.
“Hmm… Anyone here real good at being invisible? A rogue! I require master rogues.”
Twelve adventurers raised their hands.
“Good.” The knight waved his hand towards the tunnel. “Follow the library kobold. Avoid detection at all costs. Once she has the book, steal it from her. Don't screw this up, Celestar watches you!”
Running down into the dark, narrow neck of the tunnel, Lyca immediately tripped on a fallen stalagmite. Her glasses flew, clattering down into the darkness.
A tiny kobold stationed at the tunnel's entrance leapt up, tail twitching.
“Noises! Adventurers is coming!”
“Archers - fire! You - Drop the pointy rocks!” Error commanded her troops.
“Don't you mean stalagmites?” Agate raised her eyebrow at Error.
“Drop the flying rock thingies with pointy ends, idiot!” Error smacked Agate. “I ain't got time for specific geologies!”
Error’s mind, at this moment, had circled back to industrial-scale propagation of erotic monster materials, and she resented the distraction from this new, unseen invader.
“Right…” Agate nodded.
Arrows whooshed above Lyca and her invisible followers, clinking on walls. The few stalagmites that magically-drained Agate still held in the air fell down, failing to kill anyone. Only one adventurer got a rock shard flung into his face. He started to swear silently.
“I don't hear death screams,” Error frowned. “I think those assholes got good at dodging rocks.”
Lyca crept forward slowly on all fours, avoiding the fallen rocks. When she reached the end of the tunnel she stood up cautiously and peered out towards the hoard chamber. She felt a bit of draft on the back of her neck, which was to be expected given the tunnel composition, but for some reason the breeze smelled of lunchmeat.
An invisible rogue had snuck up behind Lyca intending to use her as a [meat] shield should things go wrong with the enemy kobolds. He was hunched into an unsteady, folded-over position in an attempt to hide his entire body behind the little furry kobold.
“Time to switch strategies,” Error said, considering a filthy sponge that she had found in her hoard. It wasn’t as shiny as most of her belongings, but even ugly things had their uses. She dangled the filthy sponge over the trench her minions had prepared.
“Sponge of absorption…” Error announced to her nearest minions.
Agate considered licking the sponge but thought better of it once the smell came her way.
“Absorbs whatever liquids it touches,” Error continued. “Usually these are fond of the blood of healthy humans. Apparently this sick bastard ate an entire sewer. Who's a disgusting, filthy parasite? Yes, you are,” she crooned to the sponge.
At that moment, Lyca stepped into the light of the hoard, presenting herself to the kobold army.
"Please don't shoot me!” she called out, taking slow steps forward. “I am a mere humble Librarian scout, Emissary of--"
The invisible rogue hiding behind Lyca struggled to keep up with her without letting his head poke up above hers, exposing him to any enemy projectiles. He crab-walked along, knees aching. He didn’t notice the slick, wet rocks that Lyca stepped over until he felt his foot slip. His ankle rolled with a crunch and his arms flew out to steady himself, hitting Lyca and knocking her forwards.
Error and her retinue fell silent as the stranger was launched towards them by an unseen force that propelled her head over heels right into the recently-dug trench. The stranger shrieked as she landed in a matted ball of lace and fur at the bottom with a significant thud and an expensive-sounding crunch. She groaned as she pushed her tail away from her eyes and uncurled, but was apparently unhurt.
The other rogues saw Lyca vanish over the edge and began to climb down swiftly after her.
Error sauntered up to the edge of the trench and stared down at this invader.
Lyca stared up at her through bent, empty frames, a bit of dirt in her well-groomed fur, her starched dress torn and rumpled.
“Eh? An outsider kobold?” Error mused, before she reached down and offered a hand to Lyca.
Lyca considered the hand, which had been holding the world’s filthiest sponge a second ago, and then reluctantly took it. The red kobold was stronger than she looked; she hauled Lyca up without much effort.
“You a spy of some sort?” Error asked, squinting at Lyca. “Hrm…. Definitely not an adventurer. I smell a dragon on you. Hold on a second.” Error turned away from the outsider and squeezed the sponge over the trench. A torrent of black waste roared out of the sponge, filling the trench in seconds. The invisible adventurers screamed as they flailed and drowned in swirling sewage, becoming visible.
“Aha! Invisible sons of bitches!” Error shouted triumphantly. “Archers! Fire!"
The kobolds released a volley of arrows from which the sewage-engulfed rogues could not escape from.
She turned back to Lyca and grabbed her by her dress collar, smearing it with the residue from the sponge. Lyca winced and allowed Error to drag her into the hoard chamber towards the waiting kobold army.
“You best explain yourself, kobold spy…”
----------------------------------------
“....and they're dead,” the Probability Knight said, more resigned than incredulous.
He started to type a question into his watch and waited until the dials clicked into place, giving him further details.
“From... EXCREMENT?!” The tone of his voice resonated with concern. He looked with a look of bewilderment at the Secretary, as if she might have an explanation. She only returned his look with worry.
“I don't understand... they were perfectly good rogues... high-level, some of them,” he said in a rush, and the Secretary could sense him picking up momentum towards a rant. He’d never been prone to unprofessional moments before, but then again, his probability calculator had never betrayed him like this before.
“Did they walk straight into the dragon's ARSE?!” the Knight cried, lurching to his feet. He kicked a table over, sending everything on its surface flying.
“Idiots! The whole lot of you! I'm surrounded by useless incompetents!”
The Secretary flinched away from the heavy table as it crashed down. The Knight stood there silently, glaring at the mess. He was better lit by the nearest torch now that he was standing, and the Secretary noticed a few dried bits of dirt sticking to his helmet, usually kept immaculate.
The Knight whirled around and stalked out of the tent, leaving the Secretary alone with the heavy upended table. The bustle of camp noise filled the empty space where he’d been, but it couldn’t distract the Secretary from the misgivings she was beginning to have about this mission.