Day seven had just dawned as I looked over my Dungeon. The sunlight is passing over the walls of my little domain, finally driving the last deep shadows away from most of the area.
I had hoped things would have moved a bit faster, but I am not that lucky.
In my free time, which was all of it, I experimented and ventured into different sections of the Dungeon, a place of unknown origin and strange phenomena. The air was heavy with a sense of foreboding, and the walls seemed to whisper secrets.
I had discovered a few things that worried and perplexed me; now I had to add how I was thinking about this place it seemed. Whispered secrets… seriously? Was the lack of any interactions getting to me?
I had been singing songs from artists I could remember to pass the time or at least help to.
“I do not remember my name.”
This was the first thing that tied into another issue of my memories. I had tried to remember, but the more I sought it, the more it slipped away. This was the same for the rest of my memories. Unless they were linked or were focused on things relating to the entertainment I enjoyed, I encountered the same issue while trying to focus on them.
Everything was disjoined and strangely blurred. Names, faces, and locations were all hard to pin down. I am sure that I was male and lived in Britain, but beyond this, it was too hard to understand. This was added to the emotional distance I felt strongly, indicating they were being suppressed or altered. I should be mad or afraid, but I am mostly calm as I have no control over it and cannot change it. I am aware of it and will continue testing ideas to get them all back. It was strange as I felt incomplete in some way without them.
Next was a bit more mundane but just as strange to me.
“The graves are all blank.”
Every tomb and grave marker did not indicate if anyone was buried there. No names or dates were ordained on a single stone surface. On the third day, I checked the ground and tombs and found they were all empty. There were no bodies or even hints that anyone had ever been buried in any of them.
The statues and faces carved onto some tombs were also not what I expected. It was subtle, and I did not see it initially, but they were all disturbing somehow. The angels were looking away or had their eyes covered. The cherubs were not smiling but leering or sneering. There were also a large number of grinning devil faces and snarling gargoyles.
This brought me to my next discovery.
“There are no insects or other animals.”
I had not seen a single bug or animal. At first, I thought it was due to the sudden appearance of my Dungeon, which had rightly freaked out the local wildlife population. I had even left the gate open for a few nights to see if I could attract anything in. It was not until the fifth day that I understood why nothing was approaching. A bird flew in low and reached the wall and the spatial bubble edge, and well…... it was not pretty.
The bird was caught in the bubble and visibly contorted violently as it was killed, explaining the lack of wildlife not flying in. The walls would keep most of the land-based ones out.
While exploring, I discovered that the church doors have the word “Sanctuary” carved into the stone above them.
This brought me to my last realisation from these first few days.
“I am not on the side of the angels.”
Thinking back over the blue screens, along with the options and language used, it was pretty clear now. This place was designed to kill people, and it was my job to make it as efficient as possible. Was I now just a low-level manager?
Now, that was a disturbing thought.
These and a few other things occupied my mind as I passed the time. My favourite was positioning my sight at the top of the spatial bubble. I got a good look around at my environment. The boxes said I had been moved to a different era and Earth. I had been thinking a lot about that.
“Does it mean I am in a parallel reality or a different time within my reality?”
My view of the outside world showed me a healthy and vibrant environment. Is this the past or the distant future? The lack of signs of global collapse through war or other disasters was absent. Nor were the signs of advanced technology. The “road” near me was a dirt track, which I had not seen any traffic along yet. Sure, I could not see it entirely, but it crossed the river and led up the rise to the community over on the other side. I was now sure there were people over there.
I also tried out my avatar function. When activated, I gained a human body or the appearance of one. I could not feel anything I touched or smelled and even tried eating something, which failed. Looking down, I found I was dressed in a tailored black suit with a blood-red shirt and black tie. Black dress shoes finished off the outfit. My hands showed that the avatar was Caucasian, and I felt my face; I had a beard. I had no decent reflecting surface to get a good look at my features. The stained-glass windows showed a man in his mid-thirties.
Why this appearance? Was it how I once looked?
I had moved some things around, ranging from stones to a few grave markers, and I soon became mentally exhausted so severely that I had to stop. I dismissed the form to relieve the pressure on my mind.
I knew this improved as I levelled, allowing me to do more.
“Questions with more questions how…”
[Potential Hunter entering the Dungeon!]
“What?”
The message rolled across the bottom of my vision like a news channel feed, not in a blue box.
I move my sight to the gates. A man was opening them, but he was not alone. He had a horse and two pack mules with him. What gave me the idea the message was right were the two gagged and hog-tied women on the back of the two mules.
This warranted a closer examination as they were the first to come here!
The man, who was around five feet five inches tall, led the animals in a single file and walked with purpose. He was dressed in a long coat, a hat and several layers underneath. He was slightly hunched and had a sturdy build. It was hard for me to guess his age due to the unkempt beard he was sporting with shoulder-length greasy hair. From what I could see, his face was pox-marked, and his skin was weather-beaten. His eyes were brown, and he chewed something as he walked.
The whole look gave me a late 1800s Western Pioneer vibe.
Turning my attention to the women, I saw that they were terrified of their situation. On closer examination, their appearances hinted at their being related. Mother and daughter was my first guess. They were dressed in women's fashions of the same period as the clothing of their captor. They were whimpering and, from the tear tracks on their dirty faces, had been crying for some time. Given their situation, I would be surprised if they had not.
I spotted a handgun, along with the rifle in the saddle I could see, added to my impression of the possible time period. The rifle was covered, but the pistol looked like an early Colt from the cowboy films I had seen.
The man followed the pathways through the Dungeon without deviation to reach the Church. Standing before it, he paused for the first time and seemed surprised it was here. He smiled, and his teeth were yellow and stained by some brown substance. He turned and spat a glob of a brown substance onto the ground.
He had been slow and methodical approaching the Church, but now he had exploded into excited action. The two women were violently pulled from the mules and hit the ground hard. The doors to the room were opened, and the women were dragged inside. This elicited a new bout of crying and muffled screaming.
They tried to fight or move, but the restraints were too well attached in securing them. He dragged them to just before the altar and dropped them again. They were looking around, terrified, trying to find a source of help.
Standing before it, he quickly removed his hat and held it to his chest with his left hand. He looked up at the statue behind it with awe and reverence, acting like this was a truly holy place to him.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
With a surprising hesitation after his last actions, he stepped forward and slowly placed his hand on the altar.
[Potential Hunter: John Rigger. Has asked to become a Hunter in your Dungeon and offers two sacrifices to you.]
[Do you accept: Yes or No.]
What choice did I have? It was not like I had Hunters lining up to join up.
“Yes.”
Something then happened. My view of the world suddenly stretched and then snapped back. Something clicked into place in my mind, and I knew new things. John Rigger shimmered like a mirage and then became solid simultaneously. His smile increased in size, and he turned to the two women.
With practised ease, he pulled aside his coat and drew a bowie knife from its sheath. Both women were screaming now. He pulled the older one up. She tried to fight, but he pulled the blade across her throat. The bright red blood surges from the wound, spattering across herself and the altar, staining both. The other let out a primal howl of fear and grief.
[A Hunter has made a Kill]
Letting the body drop, he turned and pulled the younger up. She fought even harder, but he did the same to her.
[A Hunter has made a Kill]
“Thank ya, Keeper, for taking me in.” His voice was rough and coarse. The accent was American and strongly indicated a limited education.
“You're welcome,” I replied. He nodded at my words, and I knew he could hear me.
“Where can I store me wives and me possessions?”
Wait what? Wives?
“One moment.” He was collecting the bodies together. I opened his status screen in my mind. Now, he was a Hunter in my Dungeon, and I had access to it and my own.
Hunter Name
John Rigger
Level
1
Kills
2/5
Skills
Horse Riding. II
Loyalty
Neutral
Blades. IV
Handguns. II
Rifles. III
Tracking. IV
Trap Making. II
Corpse Harvesting. II
Dark Traits
Necrophiliac
I quickly read through the screen. To the right was a headshot of Mr Rigger.
Necrophiliac!
What the honest FUCK!
I panicked a little, as I never expected this. Nevertheless, I made a decision.
“Take the building to the west, closet to the church.” He nodded and bent over, slinging the bodies of the two dead women over his shoulders with a grunt. He turned and began walking, blood seeping into his coat, then onto the floor, leaving a trail. I started checking things.
I selected his dark trait.
[Necrophiliac: It’s as bad as you think. They will be happy if the Hunter's needs are met. Do you want to know more?]
I chose ignorance on this, mainly for my own sanity. I need to clarify some things with my new Hunter. I travelled with him to his new home. He looked it over and spoke more to himself.
“Slept in worse. I’m thinking we be happy here, Cecilia.”
He opened the doors and placed the two bodies within. He then went back and collected the mules and horse. Who the hell was Cecilia?
“Rigger, we need to clarify some things.” I began to speak, and he tensed up. The contract stated I could add any additions I desired when I wanted. “First of all, what happens in your lair is your business as long as it stays there. I will not violate your privacy while you remember this.”
He nodded in understanding; he seemed relieved and happier.
“Next, your possessions are yours.” As the Keeper, I had the right to claim anything he owned. “But in future, all kills possessions will be divided as I see fit. Understood?”
“Understood.” Again, he seemed relieved.
“Any additional kills you make unless claimed as “wives” will be buried in the graveyard next to a gravestone unless instructed.” This made him pause.
“I get more wives?” He had pulled his hat off again when he asked this.
“If the opportunity arises, yes, you can. You can have as many as you like as long as it remains in your lair.” I wanted to scream hell no, you sick fuck! But the practical side of me was running the show. He broke out into an even bigger smile at my words.
“Oh, thank ya, Keeper, for such kindness!” I realise he is facing the chapel when he is speaking to me.
[Hunter: John Rigger's loyalty changed from Neutral > Good.]
“Last thing, let the animal go outside the bounds of the walls. You will not need them anymore.” He nods again as he places his hat back on. “Right, with that sorted out, I will leave you to get settled in. Tomorrow, I have a few tasks for you.”
I disconnected from him but continued to watch.
“Oh, Cecilia, nice fella, that Keeper!” He was speaking to both corpses. Is he calling them both Cecilia? I watch him unpack, taking his things and “wives” into the building and closing the door behind him. I have removed my awareness of this place from my mind during this time. Some things are best left unknown.
Would his actions in gaining the two women to come here bring trouble to me? They had not come willingly.
The answer was simple: I had no idea, so I would deal with the consequences if they arrived. The day wore on, and I had a few more things to do. Sure, they were unnecessary, but I was working through a mental checklist I had created and updated.
The gates were my first destination. Looking out from them, I could see trees and a few animals. I would need John to make a track to the road. It was only two miles, so it would not take long, hopefully, a few days or weeks. He had left both gates open, and I closed them partially.
“Well, there's no time like the present.” I brought up my own status screen.
Dungeon Name
New Midian
Level
1
Hunters
1/1
Infamy (Local)
Unknown
Infamy (State)
Unknown
Infamy (National)
Unknown
Infamy (Global)
Unknown
Kills
2/5
Victors
0
Perks
Beacon (Assigned)
Spatial Folding. (Mythical)
Walls. (Common)
Maze. (Uncommon)
Mausoleums. I (Common)
The numbers in the Hunter and Kills section were changed. I realised that I needed five kills to progress to level 2. The infamy ratings were more interesting. They would change as my Dungeons notoriety changed. I knew gaining too much too fast would be bad for me. To the right was a picture of the altar. Why? I had not a single idea.
“Looking good overall.”
Looking around, I would need Rigger to clear up after the animals, as well as they had crapped all over the place. Back to the chapel, I had blood stains to think about.
“They could be an issue.” There was a blood trail leading to Rigger’s lair.
Looking back over Rigger's sheet, I remembered something I needed to find out about in his Skills list. Corpse Harvesting. I asked for more information. The blue box was a bit of a surprise.
Corpse Harvesting.
Hunters skin and collect meat from their kills. A Harvester will seek to use every part of the kill to its fullest. No matter what part, they will try to put it to use.
The greater this skill, the more a harvester can recover and reuse from a body. New uses can also be discovered as the skill develops.
Up to ten levels can be gained in this skill.
“That sounds useful.” If this was the American western frontier of the late 1800s, then this was an excellent skill to have. What Rigger would make of it was anyone's guess.
“I need to find out the year and my location.” I was eager to know these things, but now was not the time to ask.
I travelled the length of the wall, and once I had confirmed that there were no problems, I returned to the top of the bubble. Things were going well, so I would wait to find out what I needed to know.
The day passed into night and day again. I did some more singing, working through AC/DC’s catalogue.
Rigger emerged dressed from his lair shortly after dawn. As soon as I became aware of him, I went down to him. He was taking the last things from the animals who had spent the night grazing and sleeping.
“Rigger, I have a few questions for you.”
“Sure.” He seemed unsurprised when I spoke to him.
“I have only recently arrived. I must confirm the date and location to ensure it is right.”
“Its... er … August the…” He starts counting on his fingers. “August the 9th, 1870. This is the Idaho territories near the Rock Mountains.”
“Excellent. Next question. Did your dreams lead you here?”
This makes him stop for a few seconds as he thinks about the question.
“Ya and no. Dreams told me what deeds to perform when here. But the tug brought me.”
That was interesting. I told him what I needed him to do, and he got to work without complaint. He started by spending most of the day hacking a rough trail to the road. He had to stop and spend time in the Dungeon as he started to feel ill outside after a time. I told him that was normal and to work at a speed he felt comfortable with. He used the pack animals to aid him. I had realised he might need them and not to let them loose just yet.
During this time, I moved around the Dungeon and discovered a change. The mausoleum Rigger had set up in now sported two names: Abigail and Mary Johnson, mother and daughter, who died on August 8th, 1870.
“Seems it is 1870, after all.”
It was getting late when I called him back in and told him to continue the next day. As I had told him, he released the horse and mules, and I watched them wander off. He had told me he did not need them for the rest of the work.
It was still an hour or two before sunset, and John was back in his lair. I was thinking about going up to my viewing spot when I saw two riders coming up the partly finished path to the Dungeon.
“Now, who are these two?”