The entryway led into a pitch-black, cramped tunnel; Kelfir shed a golden light almost nonchalantly, but Topher was amused to see Varissian summon another Mage Light swan -- this time about the size of a loaf of bread -- which he kept gliding smoothly behind them to illuminate the corridor to their rear. Fuck you, Dad, I'm a wizard too, Topher thought to himself with a smirk.

After a few short twists and turns, the tunnel opened up into a blocky, squarish room about twenty feet on a side; the walls and corners were full of piled-up pots and urns, and little stone chests spilled dark gray iron contents into drifts of dust. Kelfir and Varissian hung back warily, while Topher mumbled up his own Mage Light and sent it winging around the upper portions of the room, revealing bare walls and an empty ceiling. He frowned. Guess ancient dwarves weren't much for décor.

Kelfir crossed his arms and looked with visible unhappiness towards the center of the room, where a squat stone sarcophagus rested. It was clearly shaped directly from the stone of the floor, suggesting that the rest of the room had been quarried out around it; its edges were sharp and severe, despite its tremendous age. "Curious. Is it a guardian?"

"There are no other exits," said Varissian abruptly; Topher blinked and looked around, shocked to discover he was correct. "Surely we have not reached the end of the dungeon so quickly."

"Impossible," Kelfir snorted. "More likely, there is a hidden exit we have yet to discover. Bide; I shall begin searching." He closed his eyes and began to concentrate; dimly at first, and then much more brightly, akasha began to flow between his hands. "I do not suggest you attempt to search yourselves; there may be traps."

"Wait, traps," Topher started guiltily. "I can cast Find Traps and Secret Doors. You don't have to make a Wyrd." Feeling foolish, he began casting the spell immediately; I literally just did this outside. I need to step up my game. Bringing his hands up, he intoned, "Koth Op Yxo Meigu, Nimaq Uhl Zefekk," and blinked as the familiar dim pall fell across his sight.

"I confess, I had forgotten you were technically a Priest Class," Kelfir admitted, bringing his hands closer together as akasha streamed between his palms. "Nevertheless, it is an opportunity; continue about your work, and I shall continue about mine."

Topher ignored him; there were interesting things showing up in his field of view. "The sarcophagus is full of crazy shit. A secret door and a bunch of traps..." Moving quickly before the spell could wear off, he stepped forward and pushed hard on the lid; Varissian yelped as the heavy stone slid aside, but there was no crash or cloud of dust. The sarcophagus opened smoothly, like a puzzle box, as the lid slid back and downwards on clever tracks within the stone; within, there was only a carved mosaic of dwarves speaking with other dwarves, spread out along the bottom of the casket in bas-relief. Trying not to sweat or stumble, Topher reached out and pressed on the axes held by three specific dwarves within the carving; there was a loud thunk, and the carving sunk away out of sight to reveal a set of frighteningly steep stairs. Topher heaved out a breath as the spell fell away. "So far, so good. I didn't see any traps on the stairs before it wore off, but maybe let me go first anyway."

The other two elves nodded; behind him, Topher felt as much as saw the pulse of energy as Kelfir completed his Wyrd. He looked back, curious to see what form it had taken, and was surprised to see a pair of small golden flares orbiting each other like binary stars; as he watched, they swirled hypnotically for a moment, then shot off in opposite directions.

One of the bright motes took up residence over Kelfir's brow, looping rhythmically over his head like a halo; the other swirled around Varissian's head, which was tilted in confusion as he looked upon the Archmage. When he eventually spoke, however, all he said was, "I believe it would be best if I were to march in the middle of our formation, lest our rear be unprotected."

Kelfir nodded again, but said nothing; Topher, feeling awkward, clambered over the sides of the sarcophagus and carefully eased himself down the stairs. They were so abbreviated that he had to shuffle downwards like a crab, his hands bracing him from behind on the higher steps, while his feet hung almost entirely over empty air; it was a relief when after a mere twenty steps or so he encountered a flat surface again. He stalked forward cautiously, muttering Find Traps and Secret Doors again, but there was nothing in evidence; the tunnel wound its way clockwise, downwards along a gentle slope, for nearly a minute before straightening out again and broadening into a larger hallway.

Immediately, Topher could see that they were about to enter the dungeon proper; the space before him expanded outwards to a massive entryway, sloping down as it broadened out on either side to a distance of nearly fifty feet before leveling out. A massive door, crafted of thick tan stone and with empty torch-holders on either side, terminated the path very abruptly; Topher grimaced. "What's with all this? Why make us squeeze through that tiny set of doors and then have this big-ass one?"

"One presumes," said Varissian hesitantly, "that it would prevent larger creatures from entering or leaving the dungeon; though I do not know against what creatures specifically the dwarves would have guarded."

"Demons, perhaps," mused Kelfir, sending his Wyrd flickering around the door; it balked in several places, shying away like a frightened kitten, before settling comfortably into a groove which the Archmage pressed nonchalantly with an outstretched finger. "I know not if they were a serious concern during this period of antiquity, but it seems likely that their ability to shapeshift was successfully kept secret until your discovery." At this, Varissian blanched and his eyes widened; but he absorbed the information silently.

At Kelfir's prodding, the door swung open; beyond was exactly what Topher had expected to see. A great hall, impossibly vast and deep, stretched beyond; identical pillars stretched into darkness overhead every dozen yards or so, perfectly uniform in every direction. "Drums," he muttered sarcastically, "Drums in the deep."

Kelfir half-turned. "Drums?"

Topher shook his head, scowling. "It's from a movie. I mean, a book. It's hard to explain." He squinted at the depths before them. "It's like the other dungeons. Random shit from my world."

"Interesting." Kelfir peered about, his Wyrd flickering to and fro almost faster than Topher could perceive. "First the Five Immortal Beasts, and now the nature of dungeons; are there other elements of your world which are reflected in ours?"

"Almost everything," Topher admitted. He gestured towards them both. "Elves in general. Dwarves, goblins, swords, magic; everything is exactly like stories from our world. Even the demons, although they're the most different." He turned back towards Kelfir. "Did you say Quint studies dungeons? I remember you said once that the way they form is complicated, or something."

"It is an ongoing area of study," the Archmage confirmed. "I am only lightly conversant, but the important facts are their gestation and expansion." He gestured for Topher to continue onwards; cautiously, they began to make their way out into the endless, echoing space. "The precise sequence of events of how a dungeon forms is still unknown," he began, looking behind them every few moments as his Wyrd darted all about, "but one thing that is certain is that a dungeon always has a Guardian. In some cases, the dungeon arises from where a powerful being nests or has been imprisoned; in others, the dungeon emerges from lost or forgotten structures, and calls or gestates a Guardian to suit its own purposes. Quint theorizes that they are alive, but if so, it is in an academic fashion; all we truly know is that, once a dungeon has reached a certain level of advancement, it begins to display an independent Status."

Topher frowned, trying to sense the Status of the dungeon itself, but nothing appeared; he grunted. "Guess it's not as simple as Detect Status, huh?"

"I believe," Varissian cut in hesitantly, "that it is mainly implied, rather than stated. Items discovered within, when analyzed, advertise themselves as being 'discovered within Dungeon So-and-So', or something to that effect." He looked nervously towards Kelfir, as if afraid of being corrected or contradicted; Topher winced. You're a hundred years old, dude, relax a little.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"My son is correct," Kelfir began; he started to say something else, paused, and changed the topic. "Beyond that, much of what we know is conjecture; some dungeons are able to persist after their Guardians are defeated, while others are not, and the manner of formation appears to be an unreliable predictor of --"

Abruptly, he cut off mid-pontification; Topher, turning back to see what had happened, found himself abruptly blinded as something heavy and wet slid down over his face. He yelped involuntarily as something sharp and hard slammed into into his upper chest and back simultaneously, but the impact was rejected by his Arch Shielding; he wasted a few seconds flailing around blindly before realizing that he was unhurt, and his hands came up to realize that a thick, leathery material was covering his face. Something's trying to eat my head?

A burst of fury filled him, and he felt his Stylus appear in his hand; he managed to mumble out "Ru Koreq Xym," and directed the wand at his own face after a careful two spins. Heat instantly enveloped him, and he felt as much as heard an anguished shriek; then, almost before he knew what was happening, his head was free.

Wiping viscous, rubbery saliva angrily from his face with his free hand, he glanced around; Kelfir was glaring in annoyance as his Wyrd darted around like an angry hornet, flashing brightly around the columns and into the darkness in pursuit of whatever creatures were assaulting them. Without transition, Topher's heart filled with panic -- Shit! Varissian! -- and he cast about in desperation, praying he wouldn't see the elf's decapitated corpse on the ground.

To his vast relief, he spotted the younger elf a few feet away, seated on the ground with a terrified expression; a black, crumpled creature lay on the stone next to him with a conspicuous pair of smoking, glowing holes through its body. Of course. Kelfir's Wyrd protected him. Topher started to move towards him, driven by half-formed protective instincts at first, but then thought better of it; instead, he made an upward-sweeping gesture in Varissian's direction. "C'mon, man, up! You gonna help out, or what?"

Varissian's mouth quivered; his hands trembled for a moment, and Topher felt a whip-crack of emotion as he was abruptly and powerfully reminded of Hideo Oguro. PTSD. Ah, damn. But, almost immediately, the elf found his resolve; scrambling trepidatiously to his feet, he made a feeble pass with his hands and began to chant.

It took him four tries to form the runes for Magic Dart; and, when he finally managed it, the feeble blue swan-shaped missile streaked upwards and disappeared almost without ceremony against the hide of one of the fleeing creatures. But, rather than discouraging him, the sight seemed to fill the elf with more courage; he cast two more Magic Darts, his motions becoming less fearful each time, and even risked a Flame Jet when one of the creatures swooped low near him (though the effect was somewhat spoiled when Kelfir's Wyrd, circling over his head, leapt out and cut the creature down instantly before returning to its orbit above his brows). But the swarm of the creatures seemed endless, and several were able to survive more than one hit from the Wyrds; Topher grimaced. This might not have been a good training wheels mission for a Level 1.

"Christopher," Kelfir abruptly commented, "We are ill-advised to tarry here. Might you assist?"

Topher sighed. "Well, if you want." Spinning his Stylus, he looked upwards; he could just barely see the creatures as sleek black triangular shapes darting to and fro in the blackness, but he didn't really need to see them to kill them. Something that won't bring the ceiling down on us, but that won't miss either. Maybe Varissian had the right idea... Bringing his Stylus up, he finished its spin with a triumphant upwards jab and shouted, "Bwin Zom Bomch Oiz Duthan!"

The very instant the runes were complete, a brilliant white blossom of light bloomed upwards from the Magic Stone at the tip of Topher's Stylus; like a bucket of paint thrown upwards, it separated into streaks and droplets, surging up with perfect accuracy to track and impale each of the fluttering figures. There was a loud, staccato series of impacts and explosions; then, after almost exactly one second of silence, dozens of the creatures' bodies fell around them like a splattering downpour of dead flesh.

For a moment, no one spoke; then Kelfir shifted slightly. "Orinor. A light."

Varissian started, coughed, and spluttered slightly; but shortly after, another flamelike swan-shape appeared, drifting back and forth as they glanced around at the fallen forms. To Topher, they looked like something between a black squid and a pterodactyl; a three-lobed, cone-shaped leathery body surrounded a maw full of teeth, and three mad eyes full of dull red menace stared sightlessly out from a point near the top of each creature. "Khazu-dach," Kelfir commented, after a moment. "Alternatively, 'mouths in the darkness' if loosely translated from the dwarven tongue."

Topher poked one, recoiling from the rubbery dead flesh; "Gross. Are they considered high-Level monsters?"

"Middling," Kelfir responded disinterestedly. "Perhaps Level 25 on average, though some of these seemed hardier than most. No doubt well-fed by a diet of adventurers in antiquity." He moved next to Varissian and offered him a hand. "Up you come, my son. You will face worse than these."

Varissian stared at the proffered hand; for a moment, Topher thought he might slap it away. But then, something strange came over the younger elf's face, and he took it instead; he did not speak, but instead simply hauled himself to his feet and nodded back. He and Kelfir regarded each other for another breath, then they turned as one back to Topher. "Whenever you are ready to continue," Kelfir prompted him after an awkward silence.

"Since when did I become in charge of this little quest?" Topher complained, shaking his head as he resumed his previous path. "I don't even know what we're looking for!"

"Nor do we," Kelfir responded imperturbably. "Thus, the point position defaults to the one most likely to locate and/or survive traps or ambushes. I believe your claim to this particular specialty is, between the three of us, irreproachably superior."

Topher laughed helplessly, then resumed walking what he hoped was the same direction as before; the other two elves fell in behind him. "Well, shit, guess I can't argue with that. I'm just hoping we don't run into too many more monsters; I've only got so much MP, you know."

"You have significantly more than I," Varissian groused. "I doubtless consumed half my own in that battle, despite my abysmal performance."

"Ah, you did fine. My first battle I almost wet myself; and if you hadn't given me the idea to use something derived from Magic Dart, I might have been shooting at those things all day." Topher pursed his lips; guess I should check my Status, while I'm at it. He mumbled "Status open," and squinting as the display appeared:

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

128

Class:

Clerk

HP:

390/390

MP:

558/566

SP:

128/128

Strength:

Rank C

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank C

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D

Charisma:

Rank D

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank B)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

[Disease Resistance (Rank C)]

[Poison Resistance (Rank C)]

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Improved Status

Summon Ledger

Summon Stylus

Detect Status

Metaphrasty (Rank S)

Encrypt Document

Authenticate Document

Duplicate Document

Validate Document

Restore Document

Locate Document

Minor Theurgy (Rank C)

Minor Wizardry (Rank C)

Transcendent Integrity

[Pass Without Trace (Rank C)]

[Elemental Resistance (Rank C)]

[Damage Resistance (Rank C)]

[Status Resistance (Rank C)]

[Improved Mana (Rank D)]

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

Hey, neat, I Leveled. Topher grinned to himself. Although I guess I did kill, like, a zillion mid-level monsters, so maybe it's not that surprising. He dismissed his status and turned to the Archmage. "How about you, Kelfir? You hit Level 70?"

"Unlikely," the older elf replied dismissively. "I have been Level 69 for some fifteen years, despite much excitement; though the boy may have gained a Level or two." He turned to Varissian, still gawping at empty air from Topher's perspective. "Well, Orinor? The first Levels are the easiest, but I imagine it is still something of a noteworthy event. Did you Level up?"

Varissian rolled his eyes, but obediently muttered to open his Status; then, abruptly, he gaped at nothing in particular that Topher could see. "Eliss mianna...!"

"Huh?" Topher blinked. "What is it?"

"Level eleven," Varissian breathed. "It is impossible."