The hallway that greeted Tarn inside the Sword Dungeon was both familiar and unexpected. During his previous visit, the vast labyrinth had quickly revealed itself to be a shifting, morphing series of passages, constantly changing their forms and pulling from the memories of the people who walked among them.
But that was before, when the dungeon’s heart had been harnessed to the Progenitor’s machines. There was no way to predict what form the dungeon might take when left to its own desires, if the sentient structure even had wishes of its own anymore.
As he emerged through the opening created by Lash’s key, Tarn was greeted with a generally rounded passageway that snaked and branched its way through walls of crimson, sandy rock in a very natural, organic fashion. It looked more akin to a cave that had been carved over centuries by nature and water, rather than something built by an intelligent hand.
But Tarn recognized this place all the same, even though it was not from his own memory. This was the world of the Dungeon’s origins, the strange and desolate red world where a group of semi-sentient silver spheres of life had been brought to heel by Lurim.
He touched the wall, expecting to feel the cool touch of stone. To his surprise, it was warm, with the faint hint of pulse beneath the rock.
“Hello again,” he said, his voice echoing down the cavern. At the sound of his voice, the text in his mind began to slowly scrawl across his thoughts.
//MEMORY HOLDER DETECTED //FULL INTERFACE RE-ESTABLISHED //TRANSMITTING RESOLVE RESERVES
His mental interface was suddenly awash with a torrent of green text messages. They moved far too fast for Tarn to read, but he was able to pick out the occasional word or phrase. Burrowing Phalanx. Arcane Mist. Lobstorpians. Modified Thartark.
All monsters he had encountered from the still-bombs across the past three months, and all fights where he had ended with a pittance of resolve as a reward.
“Level up!” Lash cried happily. “Screens with so many words!”
“Indeed.” Urthin’s eyes were unfocused as he looked at his interface. “It would seem the majority of the resolve point reward for our work the past three months was stored here.”
“I don’t -- I don’t know what I am seeing.” Aryo’s hands were out in front of him, wandering forward as if he were blind. Bog nodded to Tarn, gently taking their youngest member by the shoulder and guiding him to a nearby wall.
“It overwhelms you at first,” she said softly. “But you get used to it. And because you have gained a level, that means new abilities.”
Thank you Bog, Tarn thought, watching her tend to Aryo. There were so many more people here to manage, but his need to assist the newcomers fought against his desire to run down into the Dungeon, and find his answers.
The others were all now fully inside the dungeon, with Urthin and Narsol being the last to enter. True to Lash’s prediction the doorway simply faded backwards into the crimson stone wall, melting with the interior until no trace of it could be seen.
He watched Bog taking a few investigative steps deeper into the shadowed passages ahead as Narsol began to walk forward. Noticing this, the orc stopped in his tracks, turning away and seeming to study the stone walls instead.
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Feels crowded in here, Tarn thought. The rushed wisdom of bringing Narsol seemed clearer when they were in the council room together. Now the air between the orc and Bog seemed thick and full of problematic possibilities.
“This place is… very different than the Axe,” Narsol said, turning towards Tarn as he ran his hands along the smooth crimson stone. “Our dungeon is all carved stones and mortar – torches and iron bars. The echoes of dripping water and hanging chains. A maze of interconnected chambers and passages, each with their own challenge or combat. A true dungeon. This feels more like a cave. Is this how your Sword always is?”
“Yes and no,” Tarn said, running his hand along the gritty surface of the wall. “I guess the Sword is whatever it wants to be. Last time we were here it took moments from our memories and fashioned them into rooms and hallways. I think this… is its own memory. Where it came from.”
Narsol nodded, then went back to staring at the wall.
Tarn turned his attention to his interface. A flashing indication showed that he had indeed gained enough resolve to advance to level 7, but no explanation as to why some of the team had been left out of the previous fight.
He selected
//PULSE-SHIFTED CAPTAIN – ADVANCE TO LEVEL 7 //Base AP Increased to 120 //Base damage for
“Isca, do you know why I have a listing for ‘squad size’ now? I never had that before.”
Isca stepped closer to Tarn, adjusting the dials on her goggles as she studied his gem. Having her this close wasn’t the worst thing, even if it was a little distracting. He’d shown some interest in her over the past few months, and she seemed to return it. Busy as their days had been though, it hadn’t progressed beyond a little flirting.
“Hmm,” she said. “Your gem is pulse-shifted, so there’s always the chance something else going on with it. But I’d guess it has to do with the fact that we’re all higher level, and you have more gems in sync with yours. Its internal temperature does read higher than normal, so it’s definitely busy. My guess would be there is a … processing limit?”
“I suppose whatever the reason, we’ll have to deal with it.”
“Squad size?” Bog furrowed her brow at Tarn. “Does that mean I won’t be in every fight? Tarny you need me! With Rykin gone, you need someone to tank all the damage out there!”
“Narsol can do that too.” Tarn hooked at thumb at the orc, wishing the pair didn’t occupy the same role. He didn’t need Bog competing. “We’ll have to use who is best for each fight, I guess. Look at it as an opportunity.”
“I would take any advice you have,” Narsol said, turning to Bog. “Simply about the role. That is all.”
“Get hit.” She narrowed her eyes at the orc, then turned away. “Get hit a lot. That’s the job.”
“But what do we do here, Tarn?” Aryo was looking down the shadowed depths of the cavern before them. “If we need to get to this other dungeon to save the Realm, how do we get there?”
“That’s not the only question,” Urthin said. “There is also the mystery of Yarex. Why did he want to keep us from coming here? Or desire to come here himself?”
“Questions!” Jental threw her hands in the air. “I came here to fight, and to see shit I’ve never seen. So far, it’s just a lot of caves and talking. Are we going to move or…”
He was about to remind Jental about why they were here, when she suddenly stopped speaking. Tarn turned, shocked to see that all his companions were frozen in place. Jental’s mouth was half-open, Bog continued to glare at the wall, while Lash had one hand inside Aryo’s pack.
They were all immobile, but Tarn could still move. This was not still-time, and his mental interface had said nothing. All around him, he became aware of a fine, gray mist that seemed to seep in from the edges of his vision.
A voice suddenly spoke, its words both within his mind and his ears, sounding as if it were a chorus of hundreds of men and women, lifetimes of people lost within these walls.
“So.” The Sword Dungeon said. “You have returned.”