In a lonesome cabin, far from civilization, Archmage Calamvor was losing his mind. He had searched and searched but the height of his creations, the pinnacle of his arcane career, was gone. Just gone!
He remembered last night vividly. He had finally cracked the code on how to artificially create a Dungeon Core. He knew it when he saw it after the agonizingly intricate ritual had faded and the Aether had dissipated. He knew he had been right but now the result of all that work was gone!
What happened next you could probably imagine. Calamvor was old, ancient if you wanted to be precise, and had just experienced a rather nasty shock. So when his heart gave out suddenly, it wasn’t a surprise. Despite his impressive power as an Archmage and despite his many attempts to prolong his life, he could not escape the most natural of endings.
That, of course, being his old age.
Unbeknownst to him, deep beneath his cabin where a mouse had carried it in between all of the arcane wards and enchantments that ran the length of the building, the tiny shining Artificial Core sat. It lay as a jewel among the mouse’s other treasures. A thimble here, an enchanted, though partially broken, sewing needle there.
The mouse in question was grooming itself, quite pleased at having stolen its shiny prize right out from under the giant’s feet. It was, perhaps, more intelligent than others of its species despite having no evolutions to speak of. The Artificial Core simply sat, with no thoughts as of yet, and indeed no Soul to speak of.
That changed when its creator died. A small portion of the man’s soul, a tiny hint of his Spark’s essence, came to rest within the core. It was enough to ignite instinct but nothing else. It did, however, give the one thing that sets sentient beings apart from others. The ability to become more.
Welcome Dungeon Core!
*Error* Artificial Core Detected! Commencing Destruction!
*Error* Destruction Halted by Divine Edict. Proto-Spark Detected.
Welcome Dungeon Core!
As a Dungeon Core, you have been granted a measure of divinity from the High Council, the ruling pantheon. As such you may utilize raw Aether to form creations. You have two paths before you, one of imagination and one of direction.
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*Error* Proto-Spark Detected. Path of Direction has been chosen automatically.
Direction:
You receive the help of the gods in the form of Schema which are gifted directly from them. These Schemas hold the underlying DNA of this world’s creatures. By choosing this path all you need to do is fill the resulting Schemas with Aether and your creatures will be born.
In addition, you will receive direction in crafting your Dungeon via a download of instincts that will guide you in what you should do as well as what dangers you might face. Call it a sixth sense.
*Error* Dungeon is too small to receive benefits. A Boon and a Title will be granted instead.
Boon Granted: Favor of the Gods.
Boon Effects:
You have found favor with the gods. At each evolutionary stage you reach you will be able to choose a new Schema from among a list. The rarity of these Schemas will be determined by your evolutionary stage as well as any excess growth that you achieve. Partial survival instincts and Authority to use and control Aether will be granted.
Title Granted: Tiny Dungeon
As the tiniest Dungeon in existence, you have been granted this title.
Title Effects:
Aether costs to claim territory are significantly reduced. Aether costs to summon creatures from Schemas you obtain that are larger than Tiny sized are reduced by 90%. Schemas of creatures you obtain will be reconstructed automatically to fit a 1/24 ratio. Exceptions have been made (See Below).
Exceptions: Any creature whose size is Tiny and below is exempt from this Title. Plants, Fungi, and other such growing things are exempt as long as they are created from a seed or base form. Aether may be used to accelerate growth as normal.
Warning! Due to being only partially sentient, system notifications will be silenced until full sentience is reached.
The core of course could not read any of this, even as the arcane script blazed a path across its newly Sparked depths. It simply acted on its new instincts. Whether it was the remnants of the Archmage’s Spark that it drew from or from the deep intricate tiny, tiny, sigils carved with great care in its depths, the core began to breathe.
It did not breathe air as it had no lungs. No. It breathed the Maker’s air, the very breath of life.
Aether.
In and out, instinctually, as it had no real mind of its own yet. Then it began to take deeper breaths and shallower exhales. Gradually it filled its reserves until they were about to overflow and then it released its breath in a torrent of magical might, albeit quite a very small one. And there, at the bottom of an Archmage’s cabin, in the middle of one of the most dangerous forests in the world, a tiny Dungeon Core claimed its first room and its first servant.