by Dave Qymlore
Lothar’s Descension
Dark Dungeon Core Book One
Dave Qymlore
Copyright © 2019 by Dave Qymlore
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Thank you!
1
Lothar deflected another arrow with his shield, which was beginning to splinter and break apart before his eyes.
"You are not going to take me down today!" he shouted with force, but knew that was a lie. He was almost certainly going to die right where he was standing.
The goblin horde was gathering on the ridge a good thirty feet higher than the sweat and dirt covered warrior. Only some of them had bows, while even fewer had arrows remaining to fire. The rest of the greenskin devils made do hurling rocks at him, along with insults spat in a language that was both harsh and foreign to Lothar's human ears.
They were beginning to waver despite their obvious advantage. He had been expecting the horde to close in on him soon after he decided to run into the canyon that was flanked in either side by the high up cliffs. He'd been counting on it, expecting it to be easier to take them on if they were forced to come at him just a few at a time.
"I guess even wild goblin scumbags aren't that stupid," he muttered as he reflected on the predicament his tactical choice had places him in. It was better than being chased down in the open, but not by much. Worse still, he had nowhere to go now. The canyon came to a narrow point just ahead; a space that was too tight a squeeze for him to be able to fit through.
An arrow whizzed by and nearly hit him in the neck. Then another one following just seconds after, but this time he was not lucky enough to avoid injury. The crude arrow tore a nasty gash in his side, causing white hot pain to flare up. Adrenaline started to course through his body immediately.
Lothar was a strong guy. Sure he'd been out of combat for many months now, but it still had not come to the one year anniversary of the end of the war. Since then, he had been more than busy building up a farm. He had not let himself become weak and flabby.
Despite his strength, it was unlikely that he was going to get out of this canyon without taking more injuries or worse. Holding his side with his hand to lessen the flow of his blood onto the dirt below, the warrior-turned-farmer hastily backed away farther to the back of the canyon. The high sides of it become more and more narrow as he went, but it also made it difficult for the goblins above to hit him again.
He almost tripped and broke his ankle when the ground suddenly gave way below him, while he was not looking where he was going. There was a hole in the ground, previously hidden by a boulder that he had sidestepped around. Looking where he was going was probably a good idea. An arrow shot down and narrowly missed his head this time. That one probably would have been the end of him if it were just a few inches to the left. The boulder might be useful for a bit of cover at least.
Lothar recovered his footing and turned to look at the hole he'd made and almost fallen into. He ducked down behind the boulder. Kicking some pebbles down, he tried to look and listen for how long they took to hit the bottom. They dropped from view into the darkness below and collided with something that sounded hard, which told him that this wasn't just a big divot in the desert soil. No, it went down into a more substantial area. Maybe there was some kind of cave system he could use as a last-ditch escape route if it came to that.
A rock came flying down and ricocheted off the boulder. He dared to take a peek over the top. A sea of angry green faces looked down at him with murderous intent in their eyes: there was no way he was getting out of that canyon until every single one of those goblins was slain—or he was a corpse. That wasn't going to happen without him at least trying to do something about it.
"Oh well," he muttered. "Fuck it." Without another thought, he dropped and tried to lower himself down carefully. Another rock was thrown down, but this one bounced off one side of the canyon and smacked him right in the face. It had luckily lost some momentum from hitting the side of the rock, so it was no longer at full force when it hit him. Otherwise he might have been seriously injured. As it was, this still caused him to lose his grip on the edge of the hole.
2
It would have been better to lower himself down slowly. Instead, after being hit with the rock, he dropped what must have been a good dozen feet. He still had the adrenalin pumping through him from being hit by the arrow, and his warrior instincts from the military were tingling. He'd survived some grave dangers back then, going up against some truly fierce opponents. He wasn't about to let some goblins and a nasty fall take his life now.
Lothar jumped up and—well, at least he tried to jump to his feet. The reality was, his leg was probably broken. It sent an angry jolt of pain all the way through his body to his throbbing head. He started to feel his way around the dark floor where he'd landed. There was a thin beam of light coming from the hole high above him, but it didn't reveal much of the strange chamber he was in. At least, he assumed it was a chamber. He'd left his travel bag back with his wagon full of caged chickens, which he'd been bringing to the market to sell. Those were probably goblin food for sure now.
The idea of being killed like this while on a trip to market, after going through the war, made him let out a sardonic chuckle. "So this is my fate then?" he asked the gods who were probably too busy to pay attention to his predicament. He was looking up to the small dot of sky he could see through the hole. For some reason the goblins still had not come down to finish him off. They were probably just making sure he wasn't hiding in wait to attack them. Coming down to fight him up close would lead to at least one of them dying; likely more. And goblins were known cowards.
As he looked up and questioned no one in particular, something stung his eye. He rubbed at it and felt dirt starting to sprinkle over his face and head. It began to flow more heavily, and he realized what was happening with just enough time to throw himself sideways. Straight into a wall. Chunks of dirt and rock rained down where he'd been standing a split second ago. The hole above was starting to widen.
He couldn't move farther away with the wall there. So he covered his face and held his eyes shut to shield them from the dust and flecks rock that bounced off as they landed on the growing pile of dirt. It eventually stopped, and with the sound of the falling dirt and rock gone, Lothar could hear the goblins jeering and whooping now that the hole was wider. It also let more light in and made it so that he could actually look around. He let out a guttural roar to scare them. Scurrying and tittering sounds from above told him it worked.
He was in a room full of fixtures, with all kinds of other precious metal. And precious stones adorned those. The walls were covered in intricately crafted adornments, like woven patterns running up and down in columns, scenes in miniature depicting battle scenes, gladiatorial fights, duels, and so much more. The sheer violence of it took Lothar aback at first, despite the number of people he'd personally killed. And he had enjoyed it mostly; reveled in it. Something about this room brought those raw emotions flooding back to him. Red rub
ies and other blood-colored gems were used to depict the blood, while blues and greens made the sky and earth in the pictures. Had he been an artist or historian, this would have probably meant a great deal more. Even being a simple warrior-turned-farmer, it sent his heart racing. This was something no one had seen for a long time, maybe something important.
Now that his attention was drawn to them, he noticed that the whole room was decorated with other pictures. And they didn't all depict merely acts of battle and violence. There were many naked figures too, and the majority of them were women. They had ample, curved bodies like the sort Lothar had usually seen in the more expensive brothels. These women had huge, perky breasts and wide hips, accentuated by feminine waists that gave them perfect hourglass figures. He felt a stirring in his crotch and was glad that he had not been somehow crippled, at least not in any way that would stop his member from working.
Women were drinking blood while they were taken from behind by gigantic, demonic men with unrealistically oversized dicks. The art was all greatly exaggerated and that only served to increase its effectiveness. It was such an intense roomful of imagery. Lothar wished that he didn't have an injured leg, so that he could get up and walk around taking closer looks.
There was another sound, a different sound, up above. And this time there was no falling dirt or rocks. He could hear that distinctive chatter that goblins made, and swore that he could actually smell them now that they were obviously closer to him. An ugly green face poked over the hole and leered down, searching for its prey.
Lothar remained as still as possible this time, and held his breath to avoid moving even the tiniest amount of making any sound. It seemed to work, as the goblin's face disappeared. They could be heard bickering in low tones of their goblin language. They were most likely discussing how to proceed without risking their green hides in the process.
He had to take the opportunity and move into a safer place before they took another look. If they got a rope or something, or one of them got brave enough to climb down, there was a good chance he could be in trouble. He wasn't going to fight them off when he couldn't even walk. And now that he was thinking about it, he'd left his sword and shield up above. The shield was badly damaged now anyway.
But his sword—he really wished he had it in his hand. He slid himself across the ground, at least appreciating that it was a lot easier to do with his hands empty of his weapon. All he could do now was scurry around on the cold stone floor, moving dust along with him as he went. The place was musty, a smell that could only be described as ancient. He wondered how long it had been since another living being had set eyes on this impressive room and all the riches covering the walls. He dragged himself along and didn't see a figure standing against the wall in the shadows. He let out a frightened gasp and pushed himself back to a sitting position, arms up and ready to grapple with the person. After a moment, his brain had enough time to process what had just happened. He realized that the figure's leg had been very cold to the touch. And they weren't moving either. Peering up at the shiftless shape that loomed above him, he realized it was a woman, a statue of a woman.
And she was an impressive specimen too. Everything about her was as close to perfect as he could possibly imagine. Sure, different men had their own preferences and types when it came to the opposite sex. Some liked them short while others preferred tall. Some like bodacious while others went after the slimmer girls. But this statue must have surely been the ideal woman, and Lothar decided immediately that no man could possibly resist being helplessly drawn to such a woman.
That was, if she were real. His cock twitched and made him forget about the serious danger that he was in. Even the worry of imminent death couldn't stop him from gawking at the luscious curves of the stone figure. Her face was angelic, inviting, mischievous, all at once. Her flowing hair was full and wavy like a river that cascaded with purpose over her ears, pointy ears too instead of being regular human ears. Was this some kind of elf? No...
Now that he thought of it, there were some other features that marked her out as being not quite human. It was hard to notice them at first because of how thin they were, but she had wings. They weren't birdlike, but like that of a butterfly. They were beautifully adorned with circular patterns too. She looked like a fairy then. Or perhaps this was an image of some long forgotten goddess, because Lothar could not think of ever having seen her in any temple or hearing about her in any story.
There was no one down there, and he couldn't think of every hearing about any people living out in this area. This was a barren no-man's land that was only just being settled now. That was why he'd gotten such a good price on the land for farming. The soil was good and there was plenty of water. Many were still worried about raiding parties or monsters. Those fears were apparently sensible, judging by the situation Lothar now found himself in.
A rock dropped down from above. It was hard to tell if it had been thrown or just fallen from the movement around the hole up above. More dirt followed, then the sunlight that had been filtering down into the dark room full of gold and gems.
Next came pitch black, nothing at all but darkness. That, and the demented cackling of the goblins above. They had covered up the hole with something! He could also hear the dragging, scraping, and thudding sounds from heavy things being dropped down on top of whatever they had first used to cover up the hole. Thinking his own shield might have been used to seal him in was upsetting.
They had no intention of trying to get down to him. It made sense really. What good was one injured human to them? Lothar knew that wild goblins were known to eat travelers, but what green skinned coward was going to risk his neck for a meal? Especially when they had already taken his wagon with his market-bound chickens, as well as his fine horse that had been pulling it along, and the supplies he'd brought for the journey.
"They even have my sword," he muttered forlornly into the enshrouding darkness. That had been with him all through the war, and he was hoping to pass it down to his own son one day, since he was settling down and thinking about finding himself a good woman to marry and impregnate.
"This is not right..."
The minutes of silence dragged ton for an unknown time, but he remained in a crumpled heap. But Lothar couldn't be completely sure. Not even the slightest glimmer of sunlight was able to penetrate. He dragged himself around in the darkness. It was not smart to move around like that blinded by the darkness, unable to walk or even crawl properly. But he couldn't just let himself sit there like a wounded animal.
He realized that he was in fact in one large room as he went along one wall, passing the beautiful statue and feeling it with his hands as he did so, then came to a corner and moved along another wall. He could feel the multitudes of carved and adorned metal images with their precious stones imbedded in them. Just one of those gems could have been enough to set him up for life. He wondered if the goblins had seen any of that. They probably would have come down to loot the place, and see to finishing him off, if that had been the case. No, he was sure they were long gone by now.
It was a shame. He could have slightly happier after strangling just one of them to death as they overrun and killed him. Eventually Lothar made his way around the room, stopping to rest his throbbing leg.
Eventually, he made his way to an opening, a passageway or something. There was no door, so he moved forward. He put his hand out and felt stone floor, then dragged himself forward and placed his other hand down—onto nothing. He toppled downward, slamming his face on what must have been a stone step, then rolled and rolled, hitting every part of his body all the way. He broke much more than just his leg—one arm, then the next, his elbow, his jaw, his nose, and the pain and shocking crashes down the epic stone steps continued until he was numb.
Lothar thankfully passed out before he ever reached the bottom. He did not awaken.
3
That is, he did not awaken with his life.
...Or anything that had made him, him
.
A brilliant light burned his eyes. It increased in intensity, becoming brighter and brighter until it was certainly enough to over power the sun itself. The heat coming from that sheer magnitude of luminosity was equally powerful. Or was it cold? Somehow it was impossible to judge, as though he no longer had a body.
That's it, he must have died during the...
He could not remember what had caused all that pain, but he was glad it had ended. The light began to turn green now, throbbing and ebbing in and out of existence. And he was sure this must be one form of the after life or the other. Where exactly he had gone was open to interpretation. He had never been particularly devoted to any god.
His eyes were useless. Perhaps this was a dream.
"Hello? Is anybody still in there?" said someone with a female voice. It was a young woman.
"Mmmhhh..." was all he could manage to let out. It wasn't so much done in response to the question, but as a natural reflex to the most enchanting voice he had ever heard in all his years alive. But was he alive?
And how long had he been in this world? "What ... who, are you? Huh? Who am I?" His own voice felt strange and foreign. It was the voice of a commoner, he remembered that much, but there was strength and conviction in each syllable.
"You might not remember that," came the enchanting voice. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel like I died and went to some place else. Be it good or bad, I have no idea."
"That really does depend on your perspective, doesn't it?"