It struck me as odd that I could understand the adventurers. For one, they couldn’t read english, which implied a language barrier of some sort. The probability that they just happened to be illiterate seemed infinitesimally small compared to the alternative. There were some stories where — for plot reasons — everyone understood everyone else, but I found that a decidedly unsatisfactory as a baseline.
I recalled the words the adventurers had spoken and came to a strange realization. If the system functioned through intent, then was it possible that I understood what the adventurers meant rather than what they said? Or was it more along the lines of understanding the intended meaning of what was spoken.
It was interesting, solely for the reason that one of those options made me a perfect lie detector.
An option to explore another day. For now, I had much to do, and only so much time to do it all before the adventurers return.
First and foremost. While the party was cool and all, the boy on adderall had a hard on for clearing me which rubbed me all the wrong way. Maybe he just wanted to leave me some flowers, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was after the increase to his maximum level upon consuming my core.
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With only three creatures I felt like I had to rely on traps to some extent to delay and exhaust the adventurers. The Nothics in the ceiling had been effective — in an entirely accidental sort of way — but I didn’t want my dungeon to be so non-standard. As a lifelong DM there was a sense of fairness that my dungeon currently lacked, and that bothered me. On the other hand, I didn’t have that big of a buffer between me and potentially dangerous adventurers. Perhaps I could try to make a more fair dungeon suitable for all level of adventurer once I had a dozen floors and a thousand monsters.
Tipping the scales in my favor would begin with the little gift the system had chosen for me: Create Shadow Source.
The Shadow Source turned out to be a small black stone roughly the size of a human eyeball...what was wrong with me? The Nothic were infecting me. Making me think of eyeballs all the time.
Ahem.
The Source was the size of a pool ball, and behaved not unlike those glycerin smoke machine that could instantly improve the atmosphere in any tabletop encounter. The Source was different in that, instead of a steady stream of grayish mist that slowly dissipated, the Source produced pitch black smoke that clung tenaciously to my walls. Drafts didn’t disturb the liquid shadow, and the stuff clung to the ankles of my Nothic as if reluctant to let go. The way the material floated reminded me of those fun little experiments with sulfur hexafluoride back in Chemistry class.
I tried manipulating the shadowstuff, and to my delight I had as much control over it as the walls of my dungeon. I could create shapes, move it around and — unlike stone — I could compress it until it was almost solid. Unfortunately, in all cases, the shadowstuff slowly dissolved back into a formless cloud after several minutes regardless of how hard I forced it together.
That was until I attempted to craft something.
< You have crafted
Armor
Level 3
+14 life
I lifted up the unassuming shirt in wonder. Velvety black threads of pure shadow wound together in a mesmerizing weave. I tossed the shirt up, and watched with growing excitement as it floated back down as if it weighed nothing at all.
It was actually just a hair denser than air, but that only made it an even more perfect crafting material. The weightlessness was perfect for equipment, and the lack of mass didn’t seem to impact the amount of life gained by the item, but it was also far easier to manipulate because I could compress and mold it rather than having to fuse grains of sand together.
Unfortunately, it had a glaring weakness. A quick test involving a tossed rock at the newly crafted shadow shirt revealed the material's fragility. It behaved similar to aerogel. Ultralight, and capable of supporting massive loads relative to its weight, but in the grand scheme of things I wouldn’t be building bridges with the stuff.
What was kind of epic, was that the shadow shirt would suck unattuned shadowstuff from nearby and use the absorbed material to repair itself.
Which gave me such a lovely idea.
Cackling evilly in that silent vibratory way that was unique to dungeons, I set about shifting my entire store of shadow to the first room, and began to weave. Thread upon thread of microscopic shadowstuff formed a web, then a dense mesh of rippling shadow. As the construct grew, I felt a strain for the first time, but I persevered and pushed onwards. More threads joined the veritable wall of shadow until at the very last moment, I exercised my will and the entire lattice locked into place.
< You have crafted
Armor
Level 3
+12 life
It didn’t matter whatsoever that the ‘item’ was level three and granted twelve life. The only reason I crafted the item was so that the wall of shadowstuff gained permanence.
I watched in satisfaction as my three Nothic dove into the wall of shadow in delight, their toxic green gaze having no trouble piercing the magical darkness. The webs snagged on the Nothics limbs and slowed the creatures down a smidge, but I considered that a good thing as it would slow the adventurers down just as much while hindering their vision even more.
It wasn’t perfect, as movements by myself or the Nothic tore the mesh, but after I hollowed out a chamber above the room and stuck my source there, the mesh regenerated fast enough for it not to matter. I would imagine it would take a proper fireball or a really powerful light to dismiss the web, and even then it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Especially as I added more Shadow Sources into the ceiling chamber.
Speaking of...yes. Shifting some of the shadows to my entrance, I noticed that the sun burned the stuff away. Slower than I expected, but still fast enough to far outpace a single source. No covering the landscape in an eternal night for me.
I giggled silently, vowing to create as many Shadow Sources as possible to realize the dream.
Reinforcing the first room wasn’t my only task. The adventurers had caught me by surprise because I was — humorously — not long enough. Size clearly did matter and as dusk faded to be replaced by night, I worked to extend my tendrils down the cliff face and into what appeared to be a nice little forest. It was shockingly hard to work in the forest, and after a whole hour spent on the task I gave up. There was so much life skittering around down there that I lost all control of my cilia. It was a shame, but I would gain some forewarning when the adventurers returned but it wouldn’t be the perfect early warning system I had envisioned.
What the thin extension was good at though, was that it brought my cilia closer to a forest full of life that was constantly shifting. An infinitesimal flow of mana flowed into me as I spent a little longer spreading my domain along the edge of the forest.
< Mana: 141/181>
What was most amusing, was that whenever the wind blew I would invariably gain a point of mana as all the tree branches shifted. It wasn’t much as none of the trees were actually inside of me, but it was still nifty.
Yay for clean energy!
< Mana: 142/181>
The rate was abysmal, but free mana was free mana. Over the weeks and eventually years, I had no doubt that the forest would grant me a significant amount. The real question was if the amount would be able to make a dent in my ever expanding demands for mana.
The forest gave me fun ideas of trying to harness other natural forces for mana generation. Solar? Or maybe the tides?
My attention shifted inwards as I fell into the groove. I made the floor of the first room undulate, with random bits of thin stone set over deep holes. Some holes received sharpened stakes to the bottom for good measure, while the others got sharpened stone teeth on the edges to prevent a wayward leg from escaping. If I was going to be a cruel dungeon until I could guarantee my safety then I would do it right.
The five hour mark passed and a second level two Nothic was replaced by a level three.
The first room really was more of a bossroom at this point, so I diverted the entrance tunnel to the side and connected the first room — which would now be my last room — to my core. I expanded the entrance to form a rudimentary maze, making sure to create paths that looped on themselves to both prevent the left-hand-rule from easily solving it and to provide my Nothics easy ambush opportunities.
By the ten hour mark it was well into the night and my third Nothic ‘leveled up’.
As I worked my thoughts whirled through possible traps. What I really needed was a counter measure that would stop even that level seven tank. Something so debilitating it didn’t matter if you had one-hundred health, or one-thousand. I couldn’t access the forest for wood and other materials so I would have to stick to stone for now—
< Mana: 143/181 >
My domain rippled and I froze as a human approached my entrance. I wasn’t ready! As fast as I could I made sure my Nothics were prepared in the final chamber when my control was rudely terminated.
“He’s not my boyfriend, mom,” a soft feminine voice said in exasperation. “Besides he is a lot easier to handle than a dungeon. For one, he isn’t trying to kill me all the time.”
“You will need to overcome your fear of dungeons, dear,” said a matronly voice. “You must once I pass and you take your rightful place as my heir.”
The female rogue hopped over my guardrail and stared into my dark entrance in trepidation. In her hand, a small blue stone with runic designs glowed softly in the predawn light.
“Yes, mom,” the rogue placated with both a tone and an expression that indicated that this particular point had been made more than once in recent times. “I’m at the dungeon, by the way.”
“Inside the dungeon. You have to be inside. Are you inside?” said a second voice with significantly more urgency than before. My cilia rippled as I realized that the second voice originated from the little blue stone and I was looking at — what was presumably — a magical cell phone. I focused my attention on the stone and memorized the runes carved into it for good measure.
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“Yes, mom,” the rogue shivered. She clutched at her free elbow as a bristle of goosebumps rose across her bare arms. “I’m in the dungeon.”
Huh, the girl was all alone. I suppose she wasn’t planning on delving tonight.
“Well why didn’t you say so?” the matronly voice reprimanded from the crystal.
“It’s looking at me,” the rogue responded in a small voice.
“It is?”
I am?
“Yes,” the rogue whispered, nervously glancing around.
“That’s wonderful!” The matronly voice said, “you said you took chaos damage here, right?”
“Ye—”
“Good, good. Hold me up, quickly! Before its attention wavers.”
The rogue took a hesitant step into my entrance and held up the blue crystal. I glanced at it, unsure. I got the strange feeling like I was some sort of dangerous wild horse and these two were planning on giving me sugar cubes so that they could ride me. The matronly voice from the stone cleared her throat then proceeded in a grand voice that reminded me starkly of how radio talk show hosts spoke.
“Great Dungeon of Chaos and Dark!”
Hoo boy...
“I am Miranda Mier, and this is my daughter, Gellamine Mier. We venture forth, to your hallowed halls to welcome your eminence to this world.”
Guess I was right. I wonder if they worship dungeons in this world. It wouldn’t be so far fetched considering that back in the olden days on earth people worshiped rivers and lightning and stuff. Hell, considering that they could feel the weight of my attention, it would be a surprise if they didn’t worship dungeons to some capacity.
“We are both members of White Lotus, a human organization who work tirelessly to protect and provide for the dungeons of this world. As the first to find your exalted halls, I would be honored to be the first to extend you greetings, but also offer a gift in hopes of peaceful future association.”
Huh, this was interesting. Not particularly surprising as things of this nature tended to occur in many of the books I read, but still interesting. It would be great if I could somehow convince the White Lotus to reside in my halls. Win-win situation as far as I was concerned.
“Gellamine, go! Use your skills!” Miranda hissed at her daughter.
Gella jumped slightly in surprise, nearly dropping the blue phonestone before cycling through all of her skills. Her fingers glowed, then her eyes, then her blades. Finally, she blurred, sprinting in a tight circle around the entrance balcony.
< Mana: 152/181 >
They probably thought using skills granted a dungeon mana, rather than movement. It wasn’t that far off of a guess considering many skills involved movement to some degree, but it was ultimately wrong.
< Mana 166/181 >
“Great Dungeon of the Depths!” Miranda declaimed as her daughter exhausted herself in my entranceway. “I beseech you. Heed my words. There are many in this world who would wish you harm, but there are just as many whose only wish is to work with your exalted self and watch you grow.”
< Mana 173/181 >
“Yet there is a third category. Wayward souls who lost their way. Restless children of Deia who need but a gentle hand to guide them to their true purpose.”
< Mana 181/181 >
< You have leveled up! >
< You are now level 4! >
< Mana: 0/288 >
“One such soul who has traveled your halls is Martin Paspes. A child with the weight of the world on his frail shoulders.”
< Mana: 3/288 >
“I offer up to your excellence a prayer! May your ancient wisdom guide Martin Paspes away from dark deals and towards a happy ending. Should he ever falter, may your mighty hand guide him back along the path.”
Miranda finished grandly, her voice resonating out of the small blue stone like a seasoned orator. Gella staggered to a halt, sweat beading on her brow as her hand trembled with the effort of spamming her skills and holding up the phonestone.
“What I taught you, Gellamine,” Miranda whispered urgently, and Gella bowed deep towards my yawning portal, before carefully backing away. “My daughter shall return to offer you another gift in time, and I look forward to pilgrimaging to your Chaotic grounds.”
Wait! I needed to test something. As the girl shimmied down the rope, I intentionally focused hard on one of my Nothic. Gella hopped off the rope and landed on the ground — that I had subsumed into my domain earlier — at the base of my cliff, and let out a deep sigh of relief.
“The Presence is gone,” she said.
Aha! So I can cheese it. That made me happy.
“That went well,” Miranda spoke from her daughters hand. “I’m running out of time for the call. Do restrain your boy on tomorrow's delve. Even with this gift, there is no guarantee the dungeon will pull its punches. A Chaos aspect coupled with its apparent age makes for a downright lethal combination.”
“Yes, mother, and Martin’s not my boyf—”
“Yes, yes,” Miranda interrupted. “Come back to Krimta after this delve fails. We can organize an expedition to...”
The two voices abruptly faded as they stepped out of my domain and I relaxed my intense focus on my Nothic. The monsters didn’t seem to be able to feel my presence, which was interesting, but that wasn’t what occupied my mind.
It was odd being an object of worship. I didn’t know how I felt about that. Getting offered a prayer to guide that scraggly mage when I couldn’t even guide my Nothic to move to another room without threatening them with stone spikes was strange. It was impossible. Not even mentioning how I was just a girl. Not some ancient primordial consciousness. The fact that I was in control of this dungeon was an accident. A fluke.
I sighed, and a breeze blew through my halls. I would think of such thoughts later. For now, I had to finish my maze, create some kind of deadfall that I could trigger in the event that any adventurer gets too close to my core, and spawn in a second Shadow Source when the cooldown came up. Oh and I had to upgrade all my minions all over again...
I suppose I should also check on my potential upgrades, even if I wouldn’t be able to choose one myself.
Drown In Bodies:
+4 to maximum creature count
Summon abilities gain +20 ability haste
Immortal Flesh:
+2 to maximum creature count
+25% all minion resistance
Minions regenerate 1% of their maximum life per second while not near a living creature
Wily Intellect:
+3 to maximum creature count
Summoned creatures learn rudimentary combat tactics
All the options increased my creature count which was good. I was feeling that only three Nothic weren’t really enough to hold the fort so to speak.
I probably wouldn’t learn what ability haste did until I got — or didn’t get — Drown In Bodies, though it likely would reduce the 300 minute cooldown for summoning minions down by some.
Immortal Flesh would make my current creatures tankier, and be able to retreat and recover in between engagements though it was unclear if other minions counted as living creatures. If it did I would have to figure out the radius of ‘nearby’ and create recovery stations. Regardless, it would allow me to conserve creatures which were already rate limited by their cooldown.
Wily Intellect was the middle of the road creature count option, but how good it was all depended on how good ‘rudimentary’ combat tactics were.
I sighed silently, and dismissed the window. It was pointless to further theorycraft considering I couldn’t even choose myself.
----------------------------------------
A ways distant from a certain cliffside, a group of four tents clustered around a tired campfire in a cheerful clearing. A large man, and a petite woman slept fitfully in their respective tents, while the third — a lanky man — kept watch from beside the shadow of a fallen tree.
Martin chewed on his lip to the point where blood was beginning to pool as his thoughts ran around and around in circles. The stars twinkled overhead, as the young man seemed to come to a conclusion. His eyes focused on the forest and rapidly located the still form of a sleeping bird.
A blast of purple arced out of Martin’s extended hand and grazed the back of the blue jay. The small bird spasmed and fell from the high branches to land on the forest floor with a muted thud. Martin glanced back at the banked fire and the four tents arrayed around it. None of the others had woken from the sound.
He got up and strode silently to the fallen bird. From his belt, he pulled out a short three sided dagger. The blade spiraled up from a basic grip in a helical pattern that ended in a viciously sharp point. Malevolent runes scrawled down the three shiny faces of the odd dagger. At the base of the dagger, where a pommel would normally rest, a strangely biological eye blinked hypnotically.
Martin leaned down, and with an efficient lunge, impaled the birds heart with the dagger. The runes along the blade glowed and Martin’s eyes rolled back into his skull in rapture.
“Rise!”
The runes flashed and the blue jays dark eyes dimmed to a soulless gray. With a strained shuffle the bird struggled to rise, but the weight of the dagger piercing its heart made the action difficult. Martin watched the bird struggle for a second then nodded in satisfaction, and yanked the dagger out.
The bird collapsed with a spasm, its lifeblood oozing out of a gigantic hole in its back. Martin kicked some leaves over the dead bird and cleaned the dagger, before he sighed, and with one last look at the dagger turned back to the campfire. As he walked, his eyes strayed to the far side of the campsite, but before they could fully reach the location, they snapped back to the forest as if in guilt.
He sat and resumed his watch.
Some time later, the undergrowth rustled and a haggard Gella stumbled out of the woods.
“Gella?” Martin called, softly so as not to wake the others. “I didn’t notice you leaving.”
“That’s me!” Gella smiled. “Sorry, just had to relieve myself.”
“You look tired,” he remarked, eyeing the dark shadows under her eyes. “Long day?”
“Yeah,” Gella chuckled, rubbing the back of her head in chagrin. “I burnt a lot of cooldowns at the dungeon earlier when I was scouting. Don’t worry about me though. I’ll be fresh as a daisy for tomorrow's run.”
Martin nodded, but looked with a far off gaze at the edge of the campsite. Gella waited a second, but then shrugged and stepped towards her tent.
“Alright, goodnight.”
Martin nodded again, but then seemed to catch himself.
“Wait, Gella,” he said, and she paused. “Could you spare a second? I wanted...I had some things I wanted to say to you.”
Gella’s brows rose, “Oh?”
“Yeah, but it’s kind of,” Martin looked down, fidgeting with his fingers. “Personal. Would you mind if we do it over there?”
Martin pointed to the edge of the campsite.
Gella looked, then shrugged, and the two moved off a ways into the night.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Gella started when it didn’t look like Martin was going to initiate.
“Well. I...I like you.” Martin stammered out, and a surprise grin bloomed on Gella’s youthful face. “I really like you and I’m...I’m scared.”
“You do!” Gella exclaimed, a stupid grin on her face, but then her expression fell as she fully processed Martin’s words. “What are you scared of?”
“I’m scared that we won’t survive the dungeon tomorrow, and that I won’t be able to tell you if one of us doesn’t make it. Hell, its a chaos dungeon. It’s amazing that we managed with as few injuries as we did the first time around.”
“We’ll both make it.” Gella smiled and gave the necromancer a hug. “Don’t worry, James will protect us, and we can always retreat if things get dicey.”
Martin leaned into the hug and buried his face in Gella’s hair.
“That’s the other thing I’m scared of. James is strong, but he isn’t willing to go the distance. What happens if we get very close, and he decides that the risk is too high? The risk of retreat is also too high, damnit. My sister...”
“Shh,” Gella stroked Martin’s hair in comforting spirals. “It’s alright. If we fail, that’s ok too. I’ve got some money saved up. I can lend you some and you can extend Ashley’s contract while we figure out another way for you to get a class up.”
“There won’t be another opportunity!” Martin said, pulling back. “This is the youngest dungeon there is, period. There won’t be a better opportunity and I can already feel it approaching the second tier. If we wait even for the short time it takes to go to Krimta and back, it’ll be beyond our level. Beyond James’ level, and Ashley’ll be screwed!”
“That’s...” Gella pursed her lips. “There is bound to be another way. You know the White Lotus has been researching methods of gaining a class up without having to destroy a core. Maybe you can try one of those?”
“They’re not even close, and you know it.” Martin shook his head, then grabbed Gella in a tight hug. “Please Gella. Promise me you’ll help convince James to stay if the goings get tough. The dungeon can’t have that many resources right now. If we just push it, we can clear it together. I know it!”
“I can’t,” Gella said, conflicted. “My mom needs me back in the city yesterday. Regardless of the results of tomorrow's delve, I gotta go back.”
“Please!” Martin whispered, holding her tight.
“Martin...” Gella sighed.
“So be it,” Martin whispered, a dark cast falling over him.
Gella gasped and her knees buckled. From under her dark cloak a spiteful dagger pulsed from a grievous wound in her spine. Martin caught her, lowering her slowly to the ground as a fel chant escaped his lips.
A circle of red runes sprung to life around them, then a second, then a third. The ruddy glow waxed, and Martin’s chant reached a crescendo.
Silence.
As quickly as it had begun, the runes on the forest floor and the dagger faded. Martin heaved out a long haggard breath. He flopped back, looking even more drained then he had before. As if the very vitality in his bones had been drained from the ritual he had enacted.
Gella for her part lay bonelessly on her side. The dagger stuck out of her back, though no blood escaped from the wound. She stared sightlessly through gray eyes at the sky as faint breaths escaped her lips.
“Rise,” Martin muttered, and Gella rose to her feet. “Help me up, we got work to do.”