Dungeon Core Academy 2

by Alex Oakchest

  Kobold – [Minor]

  I would have made a fist and pumped it in the air, but it was pointless because Warren wouldn’t have been able to see my core hands. What’s a fist pump if nobody sees it?

  I was happy, though. This was a great step in my core career; a creature proficiency.

  Master cores, ones who had created many creatures in many dungeons, earned proficiencies over time. Some cores might prefer using goblins to defend their dungeons and thus might earn proficiency after creating many of them. The bonus they get could be anything; their goblins might be tougher to kill, harder to see, they might smell nicer.

  But…not every core earned them, and not many got them as quickly as I had. See, I had earned my minor proficiency because I had made a strong bond with Tomlin and Wylie, my old kobolds.

  Not everyone bothered with this. The traditional school of thought on creature treatment was cruel to be kind. Discipline your creatures, and they’ll follow orders.

  I’d tried to follow the theories laid out by the more progressive core scholars like Atamir Puskin and Leroy Genava, who felt a creature would respond better when treated with respect. I even used to allow whistling in my dungeon.

  Course, some cores took these nicer teachings too far. Discipling stone trolls by sending them to a place in the dungeon named the naughty corner - that was way too much.

  As for the roles I could now give when I created kobolds, they seemed obvious.

  You’ve probably worked out what a miner can do. And a scout kobold would be useful at times like this. I guessed they would have increased stealth abilities.

  But a shaman kobolds?

  Ah, that was the most interesting of all. Shamans, when they reached a high enough level, could raise the dead. They were similar to necromancers, in many ways. So similar that going into the intricacies now would take a whole book. If you’re ever interested in the subject, there’s a great section in the academy library on resurrection, necromancy, and shamanism.

  It looked like my policy of treating my kobolds well had worked.

  “I need to give you a name, and a role,” I said to my new kobold girl.

  “I have a name,” she said, “If it pleases you to hear it.”

  Wow, she was articulate for a kobold! As a species, they were a mixed bag. They could be sharp like my old kobold Tomlin, or dumber than a bag of smashed rocks, like another of my old kobolds named Wylie.

  “I would very much like to hear it.”

  “Breedmaster Hulle in the academy used to call me Pain in the Arse. However, my clanmates called me Shadow.”

  “Shadow, huh? A very impressive-sounding name. Usually, when siblings give each other nicknames, they are joking ones.”

  “No, no, they definitely called me Shadow. Of course, if you asked them, they wouldn’t remember. Most kobolds have very short memories.”

  I was beginning to like this kobold already. “Tell me then, Shadow, where does your name come from?”

  “From my many escapes from the cruel academy captivity.”

  “You fled from the breeding grounds?”

  “The first time, I spent a full month watching breedmaster Hulle. He takes his peppermint tea at the same time every day. Then, again at the same time each day, the peppermint gives him a poorly stomach. He then retreats to the latrine.”

  “And you used the opportunity to sneak out.”

  “After having spent the month digging under the fence. I only made it as far as the academy gates, when they caught me. The next time I escaped…”

  “How many times did you break free?”

  “12,” she said, clearly proud. “So they named me shadow.”

  “Because you kept escaping?”

  “Because I kept getting caught. They say I am like a shadow; you can’t get rid of me.”

  Despite her repeated captures, I was impressed. With her intellect, with her guile, with her sheer determination. It made my job easier.

  “Shadow,” I said, “your role in this dungeon is to be a scout.”

  Shadow [Kobold] is now a Scout.

  Due to your proficiency, she begins as a level 5!

  “Scout?” said Shadow. “Hmm. May I have a few moments to take a walk, core? I like to think about things before I commit to something.”

  “Of course you ca…Wait. Take a walk? Think about things? You’re planning to escape!”

  She sighed. “You’re shrewder than Breedmaster Hulle at least.”

  “And you don’t fully understand your predicament. You belong to this dungeon now, Shadow. It is your home, and you are a scout in my employ. I am the dungeon core, the feared overlord of this foul pit, a being at once all-mighty and fearless. And I need you to pick me up and carry me through the dungeon, please.”

  CHAPTER 9

  It was easy to see the difference in a level 5 scout kobold versus a regular kobold. Shadow’s footsteps were muted so that even I could barely hear them, and I already knew she was walking. Someone who wasn’t listening for her would not be able to hear.

  She carried me through my dungeon, through one tunnel after another, each stretch of passageway a reminder of the hard work ahead of me. Luckily, I love hard work.

  We finally caught sight of the Seekers way ahead of us. They’d moved further south from when Warrane had seen them, but the glow of their lamps was unmistakable.

  “How close can you get us?” I whispered.

  It might seem strange to you that this kobold was created just ten minutes earlier, yet I was already asking her for advice. I admit, it would have seemed weird to me.

  It’s strange, how a dungeon core’s creatures are made. For one thing, they are not made completely from essence. They are bred and raised in places like the academy, but nor are they completely normal, either.

  It is one of the greatest mysteries of our time, what happens when a core decides to create something and casts essence out from himself. We know that non-living things get constructed there and then; if I made a rug, its fibers would be made from essence. But living tissue? That had to begin up top, it had to be born the natural way, even if essence is what brought it to my dungeon.

  Either way, the process that brought shadow to my dungeon also changed her from the inside. Essence can do that. Since I had given her the role of scout, the essence I had created her from made sure that the knowledge of what a scout is, does, and knows would have been bestowed on her.

  This is why they call essence the aloof sister of mana. It would be fascinating to discuss what a core is really made from, and how essence fuels our abilities. I could talk about it for hours and hours, but this isn’t the time.

  “Ten paces would risk alerting them,” said Shadow. “Twenty would make it a certainty.”

  “Then let’s take eight. No point messing around with lady chance, she’s just as likely to kick you up the arse than a kiss on the cheek.”

  Shadows crept forward some more. Eight paces weren’t a lot, but I could see the seekers in a little better detail. If I had created the tunnel ahead myself, or if I had modified it, I would have been able to cast my core vision forth and see them clearly.

  As it was, my regular vision was still better in darkness than most people’s would have been. See, cores are creatures of the night. We have dark souls, and we love miserable poetry and gruesome watercolor paintings of vampires and things like that.

  And we can see in the dark.

  Ahead, I saw eight figures standing where the tunnel had widened, with four tunnel openings around them.

  There were three men and one woman dressed in leather tunics and jerkins, the kind you would see people wear in any town or city in Xynnar. They carried iron swords of no particular quality or description, weapons that said little about their owners.

  Or did they?

  Common armor and basic swords suggested that these people weren’t worth wasting better gear on. Either that or they hadn’t fought enough to loot better gear from their enemies. Whatever the a
nswer, it spoke of inexperience or incompetence.

  The other four members of the party worried me. They were better armored, better tooled. I saw metal cuirasses with intricate carvings on the front. Well-made leather that looked tough enough to take an arcane blast.

  And none of these four were human.

  Does that strike you as odd? That the poorly equipped four were human, yet the more suitably dressed ones were not?

  There was something even stranger.

  The four well-equipped Seekers were goblins. And that made me very, very nervous.

  See, you can say what you like about heroes, even the toughest ones, but I’d rather face fifty heroes than four well-equipped, suitably motivated goblins.

  They’re clever. They’re mean as hell. If you accidentally tripped up a goblin, he’d cut off the hand you put out to help him up.

  Goblins are shrewd and have a way of seeing the world in a way that others don’t. It’s hard to explain, but they don’t think like a normal person. Goblins make very good lawyers, for example. They just have a way of seeing the world that goes against the grain of most civilized people.

  That’s not to say they aren’t civilized; there is a goblin city out east that is welcoming to travelers, which Harry Belza listed in his book, 100 Places to Visit in Xynnar Before You Die. He was especially complimentary of the goblin theatre scene, which he described as being ‘eons ahead of its time.’

  So they aren’t all bad. But once a goblin sets his sight on something, he will fight all the demons in all the underworlds to get it. If he is wronged, he would have a fistfight with the sun if that was what it took to settle things.

  Give me a human barbarian and a few gnome mages any day. Just not goblins.

  After my initial shock wore off, I sized up my new opponents.

  A goblin bard was holding a tambourine under one arm and a hammer in his hand, and a torch fixed to a pole strapped to his back. A warrior with a spear and shield, with the shield strapped around his wrist so he could hold a goo torch. Then there was a metal armored, obese goblin with a warhammer big enough to tear through a mountain, and a ranger goblin of some kind who had squirrels running up and down his shoulders and arms.

  Back in the academy, I had been told to prepare for all manner of strange combinations of heroes. Some of the people who got together to form hero parties…you wouldn’t believe it. Dwarf paladins hanging around with troll clerics. Monk orcs forming friendships with kobold warlocks. Dungeons bring the community together. It’s like we’re performing a public service.

  With that said, even I was stumped with what I saw before me, but I needed to work out how to beat them.

  The obese warhammer-carrying goblin addressed the humans. The light from his torch lit over his armor, making him look impressive. It was covered in carvings of different goblin faces, each more fearsome than the last. I couldn’t help but look at this goblin in awe; he and his friends were a good two feet taller than most of their kind.

  He pointed at tunnels ahead of him.

  “What are you waiting for?” he said, his voice booming through the tunnels. It was a wonder I hadn’t heard it until now. Maybe they had given up any pretense of stealth after seeing Warren escape.

  The humans looked at the tunnels and then each other. They didn’t look ready to move.

  The goblin smashed his mighty warhammer against his palm. “I told you before this expedition that I had a sore throat, and that you mustn’t make me repeat myself.”

  The humans seemed to share a look of understanding with each other. They walked toward the tunnels the goblin had pointed out, each person entering a different one.

  Soon, there was a metallic snapping sound and a shriek of pain.

  The obese goblin looked at his bard, ranger, and warrior friends. “Three tunnels clear, one trapped. Which way?”

  A squirrel climbed up to the ranger goblin’s head and sat on his scalp while tugging his ears. The goblin didn’t seem to mind. “We go through the trapped one.”

  “Go through the trapped tunnel?”

  “The other three are just as likely to be trapped, we just don’t know it yet. This one, however…we already sprung the trap. Isn’t that why we brought our ferrets?”

  The obese goblin nodded. “Ferrets!” he shouted. “Come back to Gerk!”

  The bard sighed, while idly drumming his fingers on his tambourine. “Gerk? How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling yourself that?”

  “It sounds better than my real name!”

  “How does it sound better?”

  “More goblinesque. Tougher.”

  “Use your real name. Whitley. It’s a nice name. I know you idolize parts of our culture, but the days of monosyllabic names are over. We’re different now.”

  Whitley nodded, and his great shoulders slumped a little. “Okay, Rupert.”

  The humans arrived back, only three of them this time, each looking terrified.

  “Ferrets,” said Whitley, once again hitting his palm with his warhammer, “Walk on. That tunnel there, where the other ferret went.”

  I couldn’t see which way they went now; I’d have to go ahead a little. Something held me back. I guess it was that I needed to process what I had just seen.

  For one, the Seekers appeared to be a highly sophisticated goblin race. They spoke well and they were well equipped.

  Secondly, they kept humans as slaves of some kind and used them to disarm traps not with skill or deftness, but by blindly walking into them.

  “It doesn’t make sense to me,” I said. “Why don’t the humans fight back? They have swords.”

  “Perhaps for a similar reason your monsters do not fight you,” said Shadow. “I have paws and claws, do I not?”

  Well, that put me in my place, didn’t it?

  “Let’s get forward, catch them up a little. Not too close, though.”

  “Thank you, Core,” said Shadow. “As a scout, I would not have thought to avoid getting too close.”

  As shadow crept forward, I had a little time to plan.

  I knew I was facing a party of seven Seekers. The three humans didn’t worry me, and it was more than likely they’d succumb to traps anyway given the goblins’ creative way of disarming them.

  So, that left the bard, warrior, ranger, and the warhammer brute. I wasn’t going to take them lightly. With my present resources, they would pulverize any offensive force I could put against them. I could summon maybe five kobolds. Or four angry elemental jelly cubes. Or two sinister owls. Not enough by far. That wasn’t even a posse, let alone an army.

  So, what about traps?

  Again, I only had 340 essence points, which meant I could afford to place 3 pitfalls. With only a thin spread of essence vines so far, it’d taker days before my essence regenerated. That was a no go. Three pitfalls wouldn’t take care of seven Seekers.

  This left puzzles, something I hadn’t considered yet. While traps and monsters are there to inflict physical pain, puzzles are usually placed early on in a dungeon, to mentally drain the heroes. A good riddle door or two can sap a hero's brainpower just enough that later, in battle, they lose a second of their instinctual response. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

  The problem is that by themselves, puzzles won’t wipe out a party. Nobody ever died by guessing a riddle wrongly.

  Hmm. What could I devise with the meager resources I had, that would either wipe out a party of seven or force them to flee?

  CHAPTER 10

  First-leaf Godwin removed his boots and put his feet in the goat’s milk soak. It was hot enough that he could feel it seep into his skin, but not so hot that it burned. Getting the right balance was difficult, and he was finding it harder and harder lately.

  As he sat there, in his home with the door shut and bolted and the windows covered, he let his face relax. Lately, the skin under his chin had begun to sag so much that it made him look like a toad. So, he’d started clenching his jaw whenever he was in public, and
this made him look stern, and his voice sounded gruff.

  “It won’t get any better,” he told Goldie, his pet Labrador dog who walked over to him now, tail wagging.

  No, it was only going to get worse. Every year brought more wrinkles, more aches, more sagging skin. And for what?

  So many people in Xynnar searched for the fabled mana springs that were said to be underground, and so few ever found them, even after years of searching, even after a lifetime of dedication to that one goal.

  What none of the realized that everlasting life didn’t mean everlasting happiness, and especially not everlasting health.

  Of course, it wasn’t everlasting life, was it? It was merely extended life, stretched centuries beyond what any mortal should have. First-leaf was a smooth-skinned, young gnome when he first filled a bucket with mana from the spring, and he hadn’t understood it back then.

  Now, though. Now he knew what it really meant. It was as if life was a rock. It was the way it was, no changing it.

  The mana spring turned life into a piece of dough so that it could be stretched out again and again, becoming hundreds of times longer than it should have been.

  “What happens to a piece of dough when you stretch it too far, Goldie?” he said.

  His best friend licked his shriveled hand.

  “It weakens. It gets thinner and thinner, until it’s good for nothing, and then it snaps.”

  You only had to walk around the cavern to see that this was true. Every person, every gnome, every orc who lived in the caverns looked like a shred of their former selves. They shambled around like the undead, with immortality taking its toll on them. Every year they grew weaker. There would come a time when all the First Leaves were bedridden, yet kept alive by an annual drenching of mana from the spring.

  Yes, there would come a time where their bodies were weakened to the point of being useless, yet the mana would keep their minds active. They would be trapped in their fleshy prisons.

  The young leaves, like the Webb boy, would go if they had any sense. And yet, what would happen then to the older leaves like Godwin? Like Galatee, who was beginning to show signs of mana weakness?