Fate Deals The Cards

Fifty-two Pickup part 1: The Lovers

A Weak Hand Ch: 5

That magical afternoon seemed to have ignited something in the old dwarf. He still followed the pattern he'd established, but now each movement had more intensity, more oomph, behind it. His lectures became more specific as well, focusing on what he thought would be most important when he handed over the reins...

Which felt weird to think about, since I’d never been around horses and… octopus. ‘Seahorse?’ I wondered idly, feeling silly on a warm, sunny morning.

The old man finished pouring molten iron into his molds of sand and clay, then strode over to the workshop, where I was squatting, just crabbin’ it up, waiting.

“Bein dungeon lord can be what you want it tae be, lad. In yer case, I feel like ye hae skin in the game wi’ the octos… Ye feel a kinship wi’ the poor waifs?”

I clicked my agreement, then played a few quick bars of ‘He’s Not Heavy, He’s My Brother’… Which in hindsight, wasn’t that recognizable when played on crab claws… and Klevin had probably never been to Earth. They can’t all be winners.

Somehow, the geezer picked up my vibe and nodded. “Aye, lad… ye would see yer kin become… More than drifting motes in a crystal sea, however pleasant.” He smiled, his big, square teeth peeking out of his beard.

“There be many kinds and kith of peoples out there, intelligent critters, some who walk like men, dwarves, an elves; others who may crawl, slither or fly… Or swim, like say, certain higher cephalopods. I say that none are any better nor worse when it comes tae doing evil or kindness…” He grumbled.

“We isekai are fine examples ‘o why such bigotry be idiotic. Beyond the veil of a mortal realm, souls are simply souls, lad. Nae races, genders nae even any real difference between a sapient sponge, an a dwarf or human.” He cracked his knuckles and began working on an intricate bit of etching for something or other.

“There even be some few beings that be undead, yet exist wi’ out malice, even walking among the living. I did once meet a mighty lich lord in my travels… a fine fellow, but brooding an cold by nature.” He paused, lost in some old memory. “I wonder if the Chariot still walks the worlds, after three hundred years…” He murmured. Perhaps he’ll come an dig up these old bones, an I’m done wi’ them.”

I really wondered why he was so cool with some dusty old ballbag playing with his bones, but… click-clack, can’t talk back. So I resigned myself to listening and hoping I’d get the chance to talk to him someday.

Finally, as the end of summer brought a change in the wind and typhoon season, the ancient dwarf started packing up his gear and finished projects, somehow stuffing it all into a huge backpack of scuffed and battered leather. The thing contained an absolute mountain of iron ingots and all the finished goods he’d been steadily creating all summer, in addition to the old man’s furniture, roof tiles, tools and personal effects. Even the massive anvil and the stump it was affixed to with massive iron spikes, it all fit in the bag.

When he was done, all that was left were the stone walls, a few bamboo beams and the forge, with the magical plate of bronze that powered the device taken along with all the rest.

“Season’s turnin’, lad. I’d see ye safely invested wi’ yer people’s fates, ‘ere I slip down the mountain an break me own fool neck. I’m off fer the Misty Glen, thats me new dungeon. I’ll be opening it soon lad.” He rumbled, while hoisting his pack. “Heed my tutelage, play the slow game, live a long happy life; an make fer yer kin a deity that they deserve, the cheerful wee bairns.”

I was beyond the point where a twenty ton backpack was going to blow my mind, but it was impressive. “Come on. I dinnae need eyes in the passage between worlds… ‘Tis actually easier that way, but I must need get up to the gate, atop the volcano… best we don’t walk that path blind.”

I followed the old guy up the winding trail, all the way up. It was quite a crawl for me, but the braindead crab was doing all the work and I flogged him on mercilessly. When I clattered onto the ledge at the top, the view was amazing. I had to sneak one of my own peepers out for a look, because crab vision is crap on a stick, stuck in your eye. I have no idea to this day how those things managed to be so successful and infest the islands so completely.

“The lordship kin only be transferred in the dungeon, so I’ll pass it tae thee. Then, if ye wish, ye may follow me tae my destination. I kin complete yer education there, ‘ere ye return home in spring. Or, ye might wander the realms a might… it be up to thee.”

I clacked a general affirmative and followed him into a cave, just under the lip of the volcano, overlooking the sea. Just inside, the old dwarf dropped his hand on my carapace and gave a long, slow breath.

As he did, something swept down his hand and into me, carried right through my mindless escort… and it sent me reeling. A wave of effervescent bubbles percolated through my… Stuff.

I didn’t know jack about octopod biology, and had even less of a clue about magic, and all the weird, wacky and downright strange ways it manifests. In this case, it felt like I’d shoved all eight tenties up the back end of an electric eel for a cheap thrill… and found it.

Whatever it was that jolted through me, it settled down and became my comfy new normal, as the bubbly and jiggly sensation eased, faded and then became a distant, half remembered idea, hazy and dim.

“All right lad, are ye following me? Or will ye stay here?” He asked gently. “An ye are nae ready to see another world now, ye can come calling any time, lad. I’ll know when ye appear in me realm.”

I clicked once, very firmly, I was ready to see another world and maybe find a form that was more… versatile. I was already looking forward to the ‘Misty Fens’, imagining myself in a racoon or something… perhaps even a bird capable of speech. ‘That would be awesome!’ I thought as I followed my friend into the abyss and turned right….

Klevin passed through a shadowed section of cave wall without making any kind of fuss about it. He just disappeared, like the volcanic stone was made of mist. I followed on his heels, and whacked into a solid wall of stone. I backed up and felt around for the entrance, while being glad I didn’t have a nose to break.

Clickity-clackity, no hidden passage for me. It was, as far as I could tell, a stone wall, solid and real.

I was still feeling around on the wall with my pinchers, when Klevin popped back through, without his massive bag. In its place he had a small rucksack, slung on his massive shoulder.

“I come back as quick as I could lad… Hae ye second thoughts?” He asked carefully, while keeping one hand planted in the vaporous substance of the stone mountainside.

I signaled that no, I had not developed second thoughts, then I banged my claws on the rock wall that he passed through with ease.

“Huh… ‘Tis odd.” He stood there for a while, contemplating the problem, while I snuck a peeper out to get a better look at the wall than crab eyes could deliver. I snuck a look through a discreet hole in the chitin, behind my left claw.

The wall looked normal to the crab, but to my natural eyeball, it was a shadowy haze… easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it, but it was distinctly odd.

Out of curiosity, I snuck a long and wriggly tentacle out and brushed the rock wall, ever so gently. It was mist… I could pass through, but my ride was not able to pass through the veil… which would leave very much aquatic and tropical me, at the mercy of whatever was going on, across the yawning gulf of the void.

Call me Octopussy, but I was not going across naked… or in a jar. That was too big a leap of faith. It took a lot of clickies and clackies to get the message across… I would stay, and come visit when I found a solution, in the fullness of time.

#

I know now that it was the undying, but not quite alive nature of my victims that prevented them from passing through the veil and carrying me to other realms. In my wildest dreams, I had trouble imagining a situation that would allow me to see other worlds… who could I trust enough to let them carry me in a jar?

I would have trusted Klevin… but how to explain what I needed and would I survive that kind of transport? I chickened out, and remained a flightless bird, keeping my own wings clipped short. Fear and anxiety can take root in any person’s mind, body and soul; if you aren’t challenging yourself and expanding your boundaries, at least a little, every day.

I spent the next three decades of my life cultivating my mind, body and soul… by cultivating my budding baby dungeon world. Klevin was right, about everything, across the board. I played it slow, I played the long game and I cut no corners, developing a thriving and fully functional ecosystem with one main goal…

Farming soul fragments from Adventurers, Travellers, wandering warriors on training journeys and Explorers. I played my own game, because that’s what being a dungeon lord is.

I was unable to travel on my terms, but I could use my powers in almost any way I wished; perhaps by creating doorways into other realms, leading directly into a dungeon filled with deadly things, designed to take the lives of the poor fools drawn in by my lures.

“Many dungeon lords use the angler fish method.” Klevin said, so long ago. “It ends poorly, usually in bloody vengeance.”

Others created towns, peopled by shades of illusion and glamor; all bent on seducing mortals into nightmare realms from which there was no escape. Klevin laughed when he told me what they called that method of cultivation in dungeon lord circles. “Roach Motel…” He’d said with a shrug and a laugh.

I really wished I had a voice that day… so bad.

There were tons of conventional options; labyrinths, crypts, caverns, open world exploration, you name it. The goal wasn’t necessarily to take peoples’ lives, that was just the quickest, easiest way to gain power.

I didn’t want to start them off in a blood drenched hell pit of despair, that I would rule from my throne of skulls…

I also didn’t want or need quick or easy power, I wanted to bring the octos out of endlessly drifting in an obscure haze and get them interested… in anything.

A dungeon lord’s powers are subtle, in an established world. Once people with fully functional agency and autonomy enter a dungeon world, the things and places that fall under their eyes become real.

For example, before I showed up and got my non native eyeballs on that chain of islands; Klevin could have moved them around with his interface, as easy as point and click.

Whole land masses, picked up, shuffled around, re shaped, sunken, new ones raised from the deep, or he could have built a new continent. It was all a bit hazy in his explanation but it boiled down to a simple principle.

You need to work a lot harder to use magic if someone is looking at you. The bigger, showier and more complex the magic, the easier it is to confound with a simple mortal gaze…

Global and regional alterations of any scale would be impossible if truly sentient beings were present anywhere within hundreds of miles of the desired effect. The points spent and energies used would simply dribble away, becoming part of the slowly maturing divine, infusing the infant deity with elemental forces.

That was another easy way to move things along, using the power of nature, but the results would be highly random and chaotically elemental. I didn’t want a tempest tossed world of belching volcanos and trembling earth, washed by tsunami or ground smooth beneath miles of ice.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The octos didn’t count, when it came to sentients; they were, and still are close to being a fully sapient species, but they just couldn’t get over that last hurdle and start developing on their own… I was going to give them a push; hopefully in the cheerful and peaceful direction they were already headed.

#

The old blind man spent a whole day in that cave, giving me a crash course in all the stuff he still wanted to go over… but the weather was turning foul. Rain and wind started howling around the cave mouth, making conversation more difficult.

“Here’s the thing, lad, ye don’t need tae take men’s lives or cause grief. Just get travelers and traders sailing these waters… Keep the shipping lanes clear of monsters, make sea gates tae populated worlds that lie ‘nearby’, allegorically and metaphorically speaking.” He nodded eagerly, keen to share his grand idea.

“Keep yer lagoons of octos off in the shallows, safe an sound, far from yer visitors. Ye’ll scatter yer islands an create safe harbors wi’ deep ports havin’ flat, fertile lands nearby… Draw other kin and folks in tae live thrive an trade. That will hatch yer god slow and sure, a god of trades, crafts, agriculture, barter, cooperation an peace…” He grinned and chuckled wolfishly.

“Monsters will appear off those paths ye keep clear lad, an that will draw Adventurers, Explorers, Treasure Hunters and Monster Hunters tae yer shores in droves.” He laughed even harder and slapped his knee.

“They’ll add spice tae the blend, so ye’ll nae create a milquetoast deity of wimpyness.”

“There be as many dungeons as there are stars in the sky lad. Unseen by mortal eyes, just out of phase magically and mundanely wi’ the prime worlds. This be but one of so many’ an on each, a species, struggling tae gain sentience an become a fully sapient race of folk… I said there be many kith an kin… each of them hae their roots in a dungeon world, hatched into fullness and primacy.”

In his impenetrable brogue, the old man broke it down. Every race, throughout the multiverse of infinite, uncountable realms, developed from a dungeon world. The same species could appear spontaneously in any number of dimensions and worlds simultaneously; but at the root of every instance of sentient life was a budding god or pantheon, hatched from a matured dungeon world.

Cat folk, dog folk, lizard men, even octos, we were all unique, just like everyone else, cultivated through the mysterious dungeon phenomenon on so many worlds..

“Aye lad, so many origins and beginnings, but at the root, all the same. All part of the great engine of creation, powered by the lives we live an the energies we use tae transform our surroundings an ourselves.” He sighed, waxing philosophical. “All save the dead-worlders, the poor blighters.. Poor poor blighters.” He sighed, looked wistful and wouldn’t say any more about that, no matter how I clattered my claws.

“Some folk say it be the eternal spirits of the trees that do secretly control and guide the dungeon system; for surely, on every world wi’ animate life, there are always trees… As I near my end, sometimes I fancy I hear the trees whispering, whispering about the dreams of mortals… but ‘tis just an old man’s fancy… of dryads serving as handmaidens tae the god of Beasts.”

#

In my time on earth, I’d never been even faintly interested in clickbaity, idle games for casuals… but it turned out they could be kinda fun.

I had a text based interface system I could use to alter all kinds of parameters, even the length of the day, within limits. Anything from shifting a single grain of sand one millimeter to the left, on a beach on the other side of the world; all the way to sinking an entire continent under the waves… or even, complete deluge, flooding the world. I had a menu of vermin, plagues and pestilences, as well as a whole list of wildlife, from mundane to exotic and downright magical that I could… spawn into the world, for lack of a better term.

That process used Life Points: a currency that was generated by the growth and abundance of thriving living things. There were all kinds of point pools for different things, like Volcanism Points, they were generated in the planet’s core; those replenished passively and were the go-to method of creating new land in populated worlds.

I had brimming pools of all sorts, for adjusting the physical world; Climate Points, Plague Points and too many more sub-types to list, all of which I had tons of, thanks to the dungeon just idling along for so long. The planet’s regular geologic, climatic and biological functions naturally generated all kinds of energies and potentials, which no one had spent for who knows how long.

I couldn’t create anything smart, though, nothing with more brains than the monkey creatures, which were labeled in my list as mongoats… Mongoats, ‘cause they had little goat horns… There was an awful lot of that kind of thing.

My hopes for simply spawning a body for myself were dashed; the process was slow and random, I might get a teeny baby mongoat, or a decrepit oldster, they were still complete assholes, even fresh from the never I summoned them from. The little turds appeared and then just started pissing and shitting on anything they couldn’t eat.

I resolved to hunt my bodies the old fashioned way, so I could at least pick a good one.

The Points I needed for the plan to succeed and to give my friends a shot at actually being curious or excited about life were all generated by social and cooperative activities... They were all generated by things the Octos were complete bullshit at.

Like Faith Points, created by a populace willing to worship a god that had no ability to answer prayers… It came with a bunch of sub categories too, Fanaticism, Zealotry… From a top down view, that situation didn’t offer much utility or value in the long term. It was another quick, easy path, straight to the goal. But it came with Dogma, Inquisitions and a bunch of garbage.

I wanted the dream of an educated, secular, accepting and peaceful world, without war or strife… a pipe dream, I know… Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.

I didn’t have access to any of the Utopia skill trees yet, but I had high hopes for unlocking something, farther down the commerce route. For that, I needed Industry, Agriculture, Tool Use, Abstract Thought, and a ton of other stuff.

Klevin’s activities on the island over the last few years gave me significant starter pools in Industry, Mining and a few others; but one man, no matter how disciplined and industrious, could only produce a tiny amount of what would be needed on a global scale project...

#

I spent those long, lonely and stormy winter months re-working the whole place and plotting the trade routes I wanted to link up. I created a network of currents and tradewinds to stabilize the weather around my little archipelago and provide plenty of storms farther from the good stuff.

I wanted to start small, but super flashy, so most of the rest of my world was just storm wracked seas and the tranquil shallows my kin were living their idle lives in.

The most complex issue was creating land and sea gates, fixed points of communication between two worlds. They were the entrances and exits that would bring travelers in to settle and start living on my lovely little traps. Anyone could leave, of course, I wasn’t playing that game. Instead, I made the climate and environment so damn pleasant and picturesque…

At the center of it all would be the turtle islands. A chain of fertile, pleasant and safe little gems scattered just far enough apart to keep things from getting overcrowded. The central jewel was to be Tortuga and the capital, Port city.

I know… the name is weak. It’s from an old song I loved when I was human, a sweet funeral dirge that just struck my soul.

Play the pipes 'o'er me

An play the drum slowly

Dig me a grave for my body to lie…

‘O wasn’t I bonny, when I entered Port City

And met with my downfall, one cold spring day

It was a sad and drifting song, but it hit my feels and that’s worth naming my tropical port town after… Get your own dungeon if you don’t like it… Where was I?

#

Klevin returned that spring, ambling down the mountain, leading a donkey and wearing a headband of white silk over his white eyes. He spotted me, crabbing around his abandoned cottage, clearing away some fallen palm fronds and enjoying a groundworm raw.

I know, it sounds gross; but I fed them nothing but fresh bananas, plantains, vegetation and coconuts for months until they were clean!

It took me a moment to realize he was looking at me, and was leading the donkey.

“Aye lad… ‘Tis a rare dungeon treasure me cousin did find. He be an Adventurer of great skill, fer a young ‘un of eighty six.” He touched his white silk blindfold which, seen closeup, seemed to be an incredibly elaborate spider web, folded over his eyes.

“Tis a scarf of SpiderSight; a precious magical trinket… It grants me vision through its natural enchantments, I kinnae see far distances, though, only within twenty yards or so.”

He patted his donkey and its panniers of oil cloth covered mysteries, as he headed toward the empty shell of his hut.

“I never did tell thee why I came here when I did lose my sight, lad… Did I?” He asked, while his big, sure hands unpacked his donkey.

“My Misty Glens, she be beautiful an cool; but she be small, a tiny fragment world, an she hae no iron deposits hardly at all. I did mean tae just mine this place and move on, leaving the lordship vacant… Until I felt thee land, three years gone. Now wi’ light cultists surely knowing where this place be…” He shook his head sadly.

“So I’ve brought thee some starter treasures, crafts of my own hands and my kins’. Ye kin use these as a potent lure, drawing a crop of Adventurers first. Then we find residents and traders, crafters an innkeepers naturally.” He giggled a little, as he kept unloading his bottomless panniers, while the patient donkey watched with interest in its eyes.

The old dwarf pulled out a fantasy armory of weapons and armor pieces, from small daggers to massive two handed swords and axes, all neatly sheathed and waiting for a warrior of legend to pick them up and battle evil.

Some weapons were light, slender, refined and decorated with small jewels or gilt, while others were rough, savage and brutal, lacking any grace or elegance, but still displaying splendid craftsmanship… at least to my crabby and untrained eyes.

Armor pieces too, ran the gamut from light and breezy cloth, reinforced with lacquered metal plates over the vitals, all the way up to heavy, cumbersome looking iron constructs. There was a pair of black and red gauntlets in the mix that were covered with rusty thorns… They made me wonder about tetanus shots and worry about who would wear something like that…

“All dwarven crafts, lad. I’ve a few relatives that be eager tae start a mining settlement here, wi’ yer permission, and once ye hae finished moving things about tae suit thee… They all agree that an ye need, they will gate out fer a time, ‘ere they return an resume working. That way, should the place need adjustment, ye kin manage it wi’ far lower costs.” He announced, while arranging his products neatly. “Tis a fine deal fer thee, an fer me an mine. Ye kin skim their industrial and social outputs, an still, wi’ a little patience, manage the place wi’ out watching eyes, at need.”

I wandered around, eyeing the wonders and terrors scattered around, contemplating the possibilities. If Klevin found a blindfold that gave him sight, however limited, maybe… It looked like I was not going to find an easy, magical voice box solution to my problem any time soon, but this was pretty good looking loot, even if it was all useless to me.

My mind was whirling as I looked over the goods with my dungeon interface. They displayed rarity colors starting from gray, for mundane, but high quality goods, up the spectrum to purple. I poked my claw to a shiny battleax with a gray aura that was conveniently nearby and was mildly startled when a familiar golden window popped up.

Battleax, mundane, normal rank, rarity, common. Dwarven craftsmanship bonus: improved Damage, Durability, Sell Price.

The collected loot was mostly gray and green with a sprinkling of higher rarities, scaling up through the spectrum, ending at a weird ring that shimmered with a creepy violet haze. Instead of a jewel box, like the other rings and necklaces came in, this one was on the finger of a mummified monkey’s paw, mounted to a small plinth of black stone. It was a compelling and super spooky outlier in the considerable spread of loot, not just because of its violet rarity and strange display. Even the most wickedly barbed, spiked or evil looking weapons and armor felt downright cutesie, beside that thing. It just reeked of power and potency, so I touched the base with a claw:

The Monkey’s paw, Incompatible artifact, un-equippable/*null* Dungeon Furniture, Loot Spawner (cursed).

Resources required: Generalized Negative Emotions, Eg: Murderous Intent, Criminal Acts, Etc

I saw my mistake right away, the paw was a distinct artifact, it was the cursed bush that would produce the rings as time went by, gradually . When I laid a claw on the ring, I got the right answer.

Fruit of a blighted tree, magical ring, cursed. Innate effects: Lambent Glow, Aura of Power, Intimidating Fashion.

Bonus suite: Improved intimidation, coercion and barter outcomes.

Adverse effects: Avarice, Mistrust and Greed stats will be enhanced, significant penalties to Charisma.

‘If I set the drop rates higher than normal at first, I could get a lot of Adventurers pouring in…’ I was thinking to myself, when Klevin carefully plucked the ring from beneath my claw by simply picking up the whole device.

“Careful wi’ that one lad! That be a problem solver; nae all Adventurers be good an kind folk, seeking fer a better life… There be some right bastards an villains roaming about. An ye find a troublesome individual or group, drop one of these amongst them an watch the fur fly.” He chuckled wickedly.

“That one will draw the avarice an selfish desires of the finders… Tis harmless, an quite valuable as a collector’s piece, an the finders be folk of good nature an Will.” He really seemed to be enjoying himself... “Rich arseholes kinnae get enough o these trinkets, though they do little, besides glow an look spooky. Those wi’ deep seated lusts, hatred, an the wickedly selfish will heed its call, save they be truly mighty. The demon tainted kinnae ever resist it’s siren song of lust an greed.” He sighed and dropped the ring, still on its wicked little display, back into my claw.

“The party whae finds this, if their bonds be forged in friendship, an true camaraderie, they will celebrate an go home wi’ much wealth in store. The wicked will find naught but conflict and the lust tae own that little jewel.”

He winked at me, still holding the evil looking thing out of reach. “It be a handy place tae dump things ye don’t want yer tiny, baby octo god ingesting. Spend the wickedness and evil that must gather, wherever wealth, power and sentient beings do collide.”

Klevin finished his work and looked over the array of weapons, armor, shields and jewelry with pride. Satisfied, he gave the beast a gentle swat on the rump when he was sure the wicker panniers had disgorged their entire contents onto the open space around the hut.

The donkey brayed once, clopped his hooves a few times and ambled back up the trail to the gateway at the top of the volcano, with a jaunty flip of his tail.

“Alphonse offered tae help wi’ the drayage… the kind fellow. He’s me great-nephew’s familiar.” Klevin was saying, while I watched the animal make his way home. Crabs can’t goggle in wide eyed, gape mouthed wonder; we just always kinda look… crabby.

“Have fun with your weird crab buddy, Klevin, I’m out. It’s hot here!” That donkey had very clearly said, before he left… Mind, freakin’ blown.

#