Charles Trimenous was the fourth son of a knightly house serving the Bordars, a barony under the Nightingales. His family had all they needed and slightly more, enough to keep them fed and clothed, enough to get the first son and daughter a proper education and resources, enough to seem good enough to their peers, but not enough for their other children. With ten children they struggled to provide the same luxuries for the other eight that they offered the oldest son Damon, who would one day inherit the house, and the eldest daughter, Gwendolyn, who would likely marry into another family, likely another knight house or if the gods willed it, one of the dozen barons that dotted the Nightingale lands. With this in mind, the issue of who to send was not which of the two eldest to send, but who among the spares was capable but disposable. The first picks were their second oldest son and daughter, capable but indisposed, too busy with their money-making ventures or attending to their assigned ladies to be disrupted. So, it fell the second picks, Charles and his younger brother, the fifth son, Glausmen, an odd name from the strange people called "The Strig", probably degenerates, Charles thought.
Their initial belief was that their time would be under the Paramount Lord Uther Nightingale, only to be corrected that his son and heir Arthur would be leading the charge. A small difference, but perhaps a better one they reasoned, after all, they swore allegiance to Uther, but it would be Arthur who would reign for Damon and Gwen's lives. After meeting with the main host, they traveled to the increasingly bitter north, crossed small towns and hamlets, and dealt with the odd monster or two until they reached the mountain. At first, a small part of his mind thought that the lords would provide decent transport, perhaps even magical if they were lucky, but no such luck came to be. Using refreshing magic and their overloaded supplies, they would travel a distance that would normally take half a year in, well, half of the time. It was during this journey that both he and his brother learned why some people would turn traitor against their lord, if it wasn't the food or endless shouting by the sergeants, it would have been the mind-numbing amount of marching.
But, once they got to the mountain things looked up, and then down again. Their first real battle (he did not count those disgusting fish things) was against Greebles of all things, but seeing as they had cracked demon worship it was only right that they kill them all. It was only afterward that he and several others were told exactly why they were there, rather than some distant castle for the young lord or one of his siblings, they were to construct a proper fortress to utilize a newborn dungeon that the young lord's bastard brother had found. He was skeptical of course, bastards weren't the most trustworthy of sort and his father spent a considerable sum disposing of them when he found them, but Lords Uther and Arthur vouched for the cretin often so they had little choice but to follow their lord's command. Thankfully the bastard did tell the truth, likely only to buy time until he pulled something, but for now he was acceptable.
From there it felt as though time flew, and a new routine was set, wake up, do chores, make a mistake, get yelled at, eat, practice, patrol, eat again, get yelled at some more, sleep, and then repeat. A seemingly endless affair that he was growing tired of each day, only made worse by his brother's utter adoration for such a lifestyle and refusal to strive for more than being some commander of peasants. So when a traitor popped out of gods know where, Charles nearly considered joining them, until he later heard that the dungeon had consumed him anyway. It was only when one of the lord's advisors approached him with something appropriate to his station that things began to look up, the chance to become a champion.
Such a thing was the dream of almost all boys and certainly many men, the chance to rip great and terrible power from the dirty holes in the ground that spewed out all matter of unworthy creatures. But something Charles had forgotten about the tales of champions long since passed was that they didn't start as champions, they started as students. And students they were, having been placed under the command of a rat, of all things when he tried to show it that he was it's better, it hit him! Taking that offense to his direct 'superior', some half-wit, about what the beast had done hadn't solved anything, the man merely nodded and remarked that it must have gone easy with him!
It was from that dreadful day that he became determined if his shit of a commander couldn't see nor was willing to correct the beast's behavior then he would!
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Only to get beaten, again.
And again.
And again.
Until months had passed, and Charles stopped complaining, or rather, he stopped thinking much of anything. It isn't clear to him, or to those around him when it happened, but something in him broke, something that was holding him back. He became quiet, reserved, but not shy as he was willing to show the normal workers and guardsmen, but some part of his felt as if it had been cut away with a knife. In the scarce moments he had to himself he would also question it, only to remember the pain of such... unpleasant thoughts, so he stopped questioning, and worked.
This wasn't something Charles alone felt either, all of those who had made it were experiencing something similar, their worries, hates, fears, and all baser disgusts just, transformed into something else. Fear of the beasts and such things became a kind of kinship, they felt closer to the powerful monsters they had trained with than their normal human and elf comrades. Ignorance became knowledge, of both the body and how petty their previous issues and thoughts were. Hate, while still very much there, had become both a fuel and a fire in their bodies. They didn't know it but they had become attached to the dungeon and the simple power it offered, this, Charles mused, was likely why so many adventurers were desperate to find and stay inside dungeons, it was a clean knife that cut away at unnecessary thoughts and feelings, leaving behind only the best and most resilient parts of them.
And it would be in the dungeon's protection that they would use those skills, for the dungeon and lord Arthur.
Following his commander's orders, he took up his bow and drew, aiming straight for an enemy magic user.
"Loose!"
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The blade sunk into the hobgoblin's back, cutting the spine and into the abdominal organs, the pain was brief but fierce, and seconds later he died. In the brief moments before though, I could see Arthur scramble into the fighting, hanging his head low to avoid being recognized, likely he was using it to lose his attackers. I soon lost sight of what happened afterward, they were outside my vision and mixed in with the chaos below.
I can only hope that he made it from there.
It was doubtful I could sneak anything into the scramble, nothing worth it anyway, so instead I focused on helping Edward defend the fortress. The obvious issue was that I couldn't really help, without potentially exposing the deal and rallying the sects against us. Although, they likely think Arthur and Ed have been plundering my halls since they got here, technically true, and one that will let me play out a small fantasy I had back on Earth.
Arms dealing, kinda, it'll make more sense once I've been able to air it out with... Baldwin?
"...."
"The master would like to speak with you."
"...."
"My master is growing somewhat annoyed, it would be best to speak with him, as requested."
"...."
Ok, I guess that's not the way to go, at least not like this.
"Oh no, look out soldier a monster comes this way."
The room was shaken by another hit.
A gang of clockworkers were slowly making their way over, somehow comical in their movements, clearly not trying to be a threat despite their cold exterior.
"...Alright that'll work."
He cleared his throat.
"Ahem, it seems as though we'll need to deal with some escaping monsters, men, attack!"
None of them looked particularly enthused, not when they spent the last few months working and getting used to similar ones in back-breaking labor. Still, these weren't the ones they actually had worked with, those were still safely in the fort storeroom, so they were able to destroy them swiftly. Thanks to my dungeon powers, I was able to influence the drops, giving multiple sets of swords and tools from each of the four workers, it was rather expensive, mana-wise, to make such a change, but it should be worth it.
"The blades are decent, nothing too fancy or unexpected."
"They feel oddly balanced, almost too balanced even."
"That's enough, Roland, take them to the quartermaster and inform him they were 'taken' from the dungeon, after that, grab some rations for each of us and head back."
"Yes, sir."
The two of them stood there rather awkwardly, the guard not strictly allowed to talk but also not allowed to leave my guy unattended. It took a little over an hour before we got his guy back.
"I'd say good work but clearly you weren't listening soldier, I said-"
"Our men have started firing back ser, the ser castellan has ordered the men to shoot arrows a the ones blasting the mountain and fort!"
"He what! Ben, you're in command until I get back, do not leave under any circumstances, am I understood!"
"Yes, ser!"
He quickly ran into the fortress, somewhere between anxious and angry.
If Edward was getting them into the fight, then that might have opened them up to more dangerous things if the guy's expression was anything to go by. A fear I was unfortunately correct on, it was still distant, but I could feel the grasping aura of a paladin.
It seems like the next phase of the fight is starting.