Tayna gawked at me for a few seconds, then glanced toward Rocky, who peered back. “Can you even protect yourself?” asked Tayna.
I look at Rocky, then analyze the mortal.
{Race Human, class rogue level 3.}
“Well, Rocky, do you want to take care of the trespasser out there or remain here?”
Rocky shrugs his massive shoulders and sits down on his throne.
“Hmm, Rocky needs a crown.”
Tayna smiled, “that sounds like a neat idea.” A minute later, she waved her hands, and a crown of dull iron appeared next to a heavy stone scepter with a round ball about six inches in diameter.
{Rocky's stone scepter, Bludgeon damage, 34-78 +10% chance to critical. Rocky's stone crown, no bonus stats, cosmetic only.}
I felt my mana drain with Rocky's new equipment, and somewhat confused, looked at Tayna. “I thought you needed the rest to build your home here?”
Tayna shrugged and answered, “I can build my home anytime. This looked cooler.”
I can’t argue with that, I thought, as Rocky placed the crown on his head, and it seemed he sat straighter and had this aura of majesty. It was cool, as Tayna had expressed earlier. “Why didn't you make them from the same stone as his seat?” I asked.
“Obsidian works fine as a massive seat, and blades to an extent. But it is too brittle for bludgeon weapons or his crown one drop, and it would shatter.”
{Congratulations on discovering a hidden path for your Minor Earth Elemental 1 Star. Earth Elemental High-lord is available for 5000 Mana. Note only one Earth Elemental High-lord can exist per Dungeon.}
“I show the prompt to Tayna, who just quirked an eyebrow and asked, did you look at the mana cost?” Dejected, I change the subject. “Our visitor has a lot of empty chambers to explore, so I wanted to ask, why do you seem fine, being contracted to me?”
“Are you kidding? Do you know how long the waiting list is for getting assigned a dungeon? I could have waited till the time I died,” said Tayna, with a trace of excitement. “When I applied at the company, this was my dream. 'I expected to get stuck in a tiny office for my entire career.'” (Well, I'm glad she is happy with this.)
“Anyhow, that Human is here. She skipped almost every room,” Yes, I am a tad upset about that. I will have to prepare it, so intruders have to investigate them all. Maybe some lever or key in each room that unlocks further rooms. That would be fun… For me.
Tayna stares at me, perplexed for a while, then asks, “why haven't you built any traps? You don't need mana to build them or anything. Just use your imagination like, for instance, a trap floor or rocks falling from the ceiling."
"Nope, we got a visitor, lectures later,” At that moment, ahead with greasy black hair that looked as if it was a rat’s nest, poked inside of the room.
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Darnath is a city with four interlinking rings. At the center is a grand palace, in which the governor lives—a fat, perverted man who leaves the running of the city to a few noble households. Darnath palace was, according to legends, built by the dwarven champion Tristen Darnath.
Nobles take up the entire second circle, and they do not let anyone inside without written permission from a resident. These families live in massive, sprawling estates that date back thousands of years. Even their servants do not leave. They are born on the estate where they work their entire lives in the same household.
While half the third ring housed most commerce and established rich clans, they have lived in Darnath since its founding, over ten thousand years ago. There are embassy's, built-in every architectural style ever heard of, for every country or seat of power in the known lands surrounding Veridian. That takes up the other half.
They split the fourth ring up amongst the city garrison, warehouses. But the largest chunk of the once greatest capital of the empire on this continent was nothing more than slums, as far as you can see. Heap’s of garbage threaten to topple over on the malnourished bodies of people scrounging for scraps in the dumps.
Amelia Eversong was not much better off than the orphans who slept in dark alleys. The only difference between her and them is that she has a home left to her by her grandfather. Calling it a house is a stretch of one's imagination. It's more of a large shack. Amelia has tried to sell her house many times, but the buyer always gives an excuse to back out at the last minute.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The most recent reason; they thought her grandpa to be an ancient necromancer. In a place where maybe one in a thousand had a class, how likely is that? Everyone else in her vicinity has either sold or traded their house and land over the last two years. Whoever is buying up all the land in the area can't be waiting for a better deal because she would trade this place for a single silver. There were a few times she would have traded it for a meal.
So Amelia scrounged for whatever she could turn up in alleys and occasional handouts from restaurants. However, today was a great day, one of her traps caught a large rat, and after turning over half to the hoodlum, well, calling them hoodlums is harsh. They are the older youths, marginally higher in the pecking order for this sector of the slums. Nobody would skimp on providing them their share because they divided most with the kids, too young to fend for themselves.
After cooking the rat and eating a small portion, she put away the rest. She didn't bother hiding it as no one ever comes in here. Amelia climbed down into her grandfather's cellar, where he stored all his junk, in case she missed anything that could sell. The basement was rather large considering the house above; it is ten feet wide and thirty feet long. I am sure it goes under the neighboring house. Benches are running all the way around, piled high with broken knickknacks and old rotting clothing.
During her search, she knocked over several old bottles that stank something awful. While starring at the mess, thinking whether to clean it up or leave it, and sleep somewhere else for a few days, she realized the goo was draining into a gap in the floor that looked like a trapdoor. Amelia sighed while peering at the foul-smelling concoction. She knew it was harmless, and her grandpa was no necro. He only let folks believe that, so no one would come around to bother him. These vials only held a nasty stink bomb that her grandfather seemed to enjoy throwing at trespassers walking on his lawn. Well, the vial was supposed to be a stink bomb, but they had gone bad at some point.
Amelia stared at the trapdoor for a solid five minutes, trying to decide what to do. She nodded and considered, well, I am coming down here seeking treasure, why stop now! As she took the handle while avoiding any contact with the smelly sludge, this is my only set of rags, she thought to herself, I can’t afford to throw them out. The trapdoor lifted with ease. It did not create a sound, which surprised Amelia, who had gotten into position, and tugged with too much strength. Flinging herself backward and practically falling on another jar.
After getting over her surprise, she had a bad feeling this trapdoor is new, so who put it here, and how did they do it without me knowing? Thoughts about all her neighbors selling their land flitted through her mind I wonder if the government is building an underground base. But then why build an entrance in my basement?
Well, only one way to find out. She got up, grumbling at her own stupidity, grabbed the almost smashed bottle of stink sap, and started climbing down the ladder to a ramp she could see ten feet below. When Amelia reached the bottom, she activated her level 3 night-vision and searched around. There was only a dim light from the lamp in her grandfather’s cellar.
Amelia could only describe her surroundings as plain. The shaft was dry, with no drips or small rivulets of water flowing down the slope. This was surprising because the city of Darnath was cold and wet year-round. If not flooded, this shaft should have been damp and moldy, reinforcing her thought on government conspiracy. Or is this an entrance to one of the old catacombs? After all, this city is ancient, and it's been rebuilt many times over the millennia?
Something was niggling at the back of her mind like an itch she could not scratch. Something else other than the remarkable dryness was wrong. Shrugging off the funny reaction, she touched the wall and felt cool but dry stone. The craftsmanship was also amazing. She did not spot a single seam, and the stone was smooth. The floor is clean like it was just made, and there are grooves cut in for traction.
She tried to scrape the surface with a fingernail, but not so much as a grain of sand came away. Reluctantly, Amelia reached to her waist and pulled out her most prized possession. A shabby knife she resharpened so often it looked as if it would break if someone sneezed on it. The handle is some kind of bone so strong that no matter how hard she has hammered on something, not a dent or scratch has ever occurred.
{Well-worn knife 1-12 cutting damage. 6-15 stabbing damage, the chance of hitting vitals +3%. Durability 3~46.}
Amelia glanced at the durability and frowned, wondering when it dropped from 4. I wish I knew why this knife has a durability stat, but my clothes don’t. Actually, this is the only object I own that has a status screen. Amelia was about to scratch the wall with the blade. When a suspicion of being watched washed over her. She whirled around. Subconsciously hiding her knife as it is illegal to own any weapon in the slums by someone of her class, not to mention family history. They would probably kill her on the spot.
There was nothing in sight, so she peeked up through the trapdoor, looking for a flicker. Thrown by the familiar glow stone lamp, her grandfather found on one of his adventures. After listening for five minutes, the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed. She turned around and scratched the wall, gaping as it slowly vanished.
Chills ran down Amelia's spine, as myths of the ancient city of Asgard. As told by her grandpa. Stories of a place that no matter how the adventurers or mages went crazy, the place repaired within hours, varying somewhat depending on the scale of damage. Those stories ended with the lines. 'And no one saw them again.' However, those same tales spoke of riches and treasures that have never seen the light since before the Lord of Chaos's fall so many millennia ago.
Finally, what’s been nagging at the back of her mind for a few minutes hits, “Why can’t I smell any stink sap,” Amelia asks aloud. The echo of her voice down the tunnel shocks her for a moment. Then she crouches and activates her stealth while listening for any movement…. After a few seconds, her mana ran out, and stealth failed, but she neither heard nor saw anyone or anything react to her noise.