by James Hunter
“So what’d you do?” I pressed, hunching forward, genuinely interested.
“Well, I searched the rubble and found the capsule. The fire had damaged it pretty badly, and the person inside was dead, but it seemed mostly functional. And at that point, I was like four days out from Impact, so it was that or nothing.” He shrugged. “I used it. But the damage was way more extensive than I’d thought.
“Those nanites it uploaded into my bloodstream fried a big chunk of my brain. Higher intellect, memory, speech—all that stuff was fine. Pretty much everything else was toast. There was a download error. A transcription error to be precise. Anyway, the game sorted me into a body that gave me the biggest chance of surviving the damage. That body just so happened to be a dungeon—as far as I know, I’m the only one like me in all of Eldgard.”
“Holy crap,” I said, my jaw hanging open. “That’s crazy. You’re a dungeon.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky I made it at all,” he replied with a bob of his head. “At first, I was depressed as hell, because come on, who wants to be a monster forever stuck in one place with no one around but your minions?” He faltered and glanced around. “It’s actually pretty rad, though. I mean, I get to design the dungeon layout, I’ve got loads of cool abilities, and the play isn’t nearly as boring as I thought it would be. And my minions are the best. Griff doesn’t like people, so he’s refusing to come out, but they’re awesome.”
He paused, drumming armored fingers on the tabletop, rat-tat-tat. “Plus, I finally leveled up enough to unlock an avatar. This”—he gestured at his body—“is a pretty new addition. For a long time, I was just sort of this disembodied force, but now that I can manifest a form, I can travel outside like Lowyth there.” He waved a hand at the Spider Queen, who sat at the end of the table looking utterly bored.
“Yes, and speaking of Lowyth,” the Spider Queen said, arching her back and primly crossing her legs. “Are you satisfied with the help I’ve procured for you, Gravemonger? Didn’t I tell you Jack would be a suitable candidate?”
“Yep,” Jo-Dan said with a bob of his head. “I can handle it from here, and thanks again for the help.”
“Don’t thank me, Gravemonger,” she said as she stood. “Thank your master, Cernunnos. It is a rare thing that can force me from my web, and it is high time I return.” She slipped over to me, positioning herself behind me, and ran a razor-sharp talon over my shoulder, her nail leaving a shallow groove in the leather of my armor. “It has been interesting to see you again, troublesome fly, but I must leave you now. My obligation to the high one has ended, and I find the world of men endlessly tiring. Until next time,” she said, offering me a broad smile brimming with teeth and filled with deadly promise.
A new quest screen popped up, alerting me that I’d completed this leg of the journey:
<<<>>>
Quest Update: Royal Favor
Congratulations! You have successfully escorted the Spider Queen, Lowyth the Immortal Orbweaver, to the Catacombs of the Forsaken deep in the heart of the Avilynn Wood and met the Dungeon Lord, Joseph the Gravemonger. As your reward, you have received 25,000 EXP and the Blessing of Lowyth, increasing the Crimson Alliance Faction relationship with Lowyth the Spider Queen from Neutral to Friendly and your personal relationship with Lowyth the Spider Queen from Friendly to Honored.
<<<>>>
By the time I closed out the interface, she was already slipping from the chamber. Apparently, she wasn’t one for long, drawn-out goodbyes.
“Alright, mate,” Cutter said, fixing his stare on the boss, “so you browbeat Lowyth into bringing us here—which I can respect, since that lady is an absolute nightmare—but for what purpose, eh?” He picked up a mug of mead and downed a long gulp, eyeing the monster over the top of the rim. “Why go to all the trouble?”
“Oh, that,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, you guys saw the Vogthar up top, right?”
“So they are Vogthar,” Cutter muttered, arching an eyebrow. “As if things weren’t bloody complicated enough. All I want is to sit back, drink good ale, bask in the sun, and lounge in a bathtub full of gold, but no, not with Grim Jack around.”
“Ignore him,” I said with a colossal eyeroll. “So what’s the deal with the Vogthar?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know who they are, what they are, or why they’re here—but they’ve been attacking other dungeons in the area. And not just raiding them the way travelers do.” He shook his head. “They’ve been killing dungeons.” He snapped his fingers. “Dead just like that, which is crazy, because I didn’t think dungeons could die. But here’s the real kicker.”
He hunched forward conspiratorially, forearms resting flat against the tabletop. “After they kill the dungeon, they corrupt it. Change it. In a couple of days, the dungeon comes alive again, but instead of producing regular minions, it starts pumping out these Vogthar things by the boatloads. And then those things go out in search of more dungeons to corrupt. They’re like a plague.”
“That’s all fine and dandy,” Cutter said, voice brimming with suspicion, “but that still doesn’t explain why you had the Spider Queen get us. Why Jack, instead of some other random traveler—which there are scores of, by the way. But no, you just happen to pick out the leader of the Crimson Alliance. I want to know why.”
The faceless man seesawed his head back and forth. “Honestly, I didn’t choose Jack. I have a boss. Sort of. It’s complicated.” He stole a look left, then right, as though searching for someone. “He’s one of the Seven. An Overmind. This terrifying freak with giant deer antlers sticking right out the top of his head, who walks around half naked, slathered in mud. His name’s Cernunnos, and he’s an absolute nut-ball. But apparently, he’s also the Overmind responsible for monsters and dungeons. From what I can tell, he and this other lady, Enyo, seem to work hand in hand.”
He lifted one gauntlet-clad hand and waved it through the air. “Anyway, none of that matters. What really matters is that he said Jack was the champion of an Overmind, too—Sophia, goddess of order. Not to mention, the Crimson Alliance is the only faction allied to a dungeon, which seemed like a pretty big deal. Cernunnos said if anyone could help me, it’d be him, so he reached out to Lowyth and roped you in. Then, Cernunnos tasked me”—he hooked a thumb toward his chest—“to figure this thing out, and you’re supposed to help.”
“So even they don’t know what’s going on?” I asked, feeling deeply troubled. The Overminds were everything. They were gravity. Time. Space. They were the laws of nature, life and death, order and chaos. They maintained the world of V.G.O. How was it possible that none of them knew what was happening?
“Nope,” Jo-Dan said, and though he had no face, I could almost hear him grimace.
“That book,” Cutter said suddenly, slapping at my arm with the back of his hand. “The one we took off that Black Priest in the Temple of the Sky Maiden. Didn’t that have a bunch of dungeon names in it?”
I smacked my head. Of course. That had to be the connection.
Sophia had us investigating what kind of shady business the Black Priests of Serth-Rog were up to, and though there was still a lot we didn’t know, our two biggest leads had come from two black leather journals. One of those journals had come from Gentleman Georgie’s corpse, and we’d pilfered the other from the body of a covert Black Priest, who’d been working as an acolyte in the order of the Sky Maiden. I flipped open my interface, toggled over to my inventory, and pulled out one of the black journals—dark runes and jagged script were pressed into the supple leather.
I flipped open the cover and absently leafed through the pages, scanning the location names: Blackbog Hallow, the Burning Labyrinth, the Spectral Vault, the Dread Bat Burrow. On and on they went, location name after location name, each of which could only possibly be a dungeon. “These things have been attacking you,” I said absently, scanning the pages, “but what about other nearby dungeons? Have any of them fallen recently?”
“Tons, man,”
came Jo-Dan’s reply. “Seriously, tons. The Avilynn Wood is teeming with dungeons, and I’d say over half of them have fallen in the past month or so. The Oblivion Delves, the Bloody Tunnels, the Tomb of the Hopeless Hunter, the Narrow Lair. They’re all gone.”
“Hold up,” I said, flipping the book over. “Say those again.” This time Jo-Dan spoke more slowly, counting off on his fingers as he went. “Yep,” I said after a time, “they’re all here in the journal. And you’re on the list, too. What’s the nearest dungeon that’s fallen?”
Jo-Dan paused, rubbing at the black space where his chin should’ve been. “There’s another dungeon about five miles east of here called the Frozen Warrens of Axrukis. The old boss that used to run the place was this crotchety old geezer—the guy went by the name Old Man Winter—but he’s gone, I think. Why?”
I took one more gulp of spiced wine, then stood. “Because I think the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this is to invade one of these corrupt dungeons and figure out what in the hell these Vogthar are up to. Based on this journal, I can only assume these things are connected to the Black Priests of Serth-Rog, but the real question is what are they planning? So far, they’ve been capturing citizens and replacing them with doppelgangers, and now it sounds like they’re doing the same thing to dungeons. But why do that? What do they achieve?”
“Hold on a minute,” Cutter said, glancing at Jo-Dan, then grabbing my sleeve and politely pulling me close. “You want us to walk into one of these places by ourselves?” Cutter whispered, sounding nine kinds of incredulous. “But we already fulfilled Lowyth’s stupid quest, mate. We’re in the clear. Let’s get the hell back to Ravenkirk.” He paused, staring at me long and hard, his lips pursed. “Seriously, Grim Jack. We don’t have much to gain here, but we have a lot to lose. And honestly, I want nothing to do with the Vogthar—they’re bad news, friend. The worst.”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head before stealing a sidelong look at Jo-Dan. The gamer in my gut insisted this was a secret quest, even if I didn’t have a prompt yet. “The spiderkin are back in Ravenkirk, and between Chief Kolle, Amara, Forge, Vlad, and General Caldwell, I’m pretty sure they’ve got things covered. But this? This is something even the Overminds are concerned enough about to take an active role, and if they’re concerned, we should be too. We need to do this.” I shrugged his hand free and turned back toward the dungeon boss.
“Can you mark this place on the map for us?” I asked. “The location of the Frozen Warrens of Axrukis?”
“Hey, I can do better than that,” he said, standing. “I can lead you there. I’m still pretty new to having an avatar, so it might fail me at some point, but I haven’t had many opportunities to leave the crypt since transitioning. So yeah, I’m totally game for a little fresh air and a field trip into hostile territory. Let’s do it.”
“Blighted morons,” Cutter grumbled under his breath, lanky arms folded across his chest. “Fine. Whatever. You want to march us off to some gods-forsaken dungeon, then who am I to stop you, eh?”
“Don’t worry,” Jo-Dan said, strutting past us, beelining for the hallway. “There’ll be something in it for you. One of the perks of being a dungeon is I can create quests. They have to be inside the quest parameters for character level, class, and renown, but I can still make this worth your while.” A new pop-up appeared:
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: Dungeon Fever
Joseph the Gravemonger has asked you and Cutter to accompany him to a nearby hostile dungeon, the Frozen Warrens of Axrukis, which have recently been corrupted by the Vogthar invaders. You must battle your way to the heart of the Warrens, confront the dungeon boss, and see if there are any clues about who and what the Vogthar are and what they have planned.
Quest Class: Rare, Alliance-Based
Quest Difficulty: ???
Success: Accompany Joseph the Gravemonger to the Frozen Warrens of Axrukis, defeat the boss in the final room, and search for clues about the Vogthars’ motives.
Failure: Fail to accompany Joseph the Gravemonger to the Frozen Warrens of Axrukis, or die before defeating the final boss.
Reward: 10,000 EXP; Laurel-Wreath of Friendship: The Crimson Alliance Faction can form a peace treaty with the Catacombs of the Forsaken; your personal relationship with Joseph the Gravemonger will improve from Neutral to Friendly; 20 Gold Imperial Marks for Cutter (so it’s worth his time).
Accept: Yes/No?
<<<>>>
“Let’s do this thing,” I said.
THIRTEEN_
The Frozen Warrens
We crept through thick undergrowth, everyone cloaked in Stealth, which was good because the Avilynn was crawling with roving bands of horned Vogthar. Small squads, eight-deep, trickled by in a steady stream, and it was a genuine wonder the Alliance Scouts hadn’t noticed all the movement, though I suppose reporting random mobs probably wasn’t a high priority considering the looming threat of Osmark and the encroaching legion. Jo-Dan was up ahead, crouched down behind the trunk of a gnarled oak, watching another group of Vogthar trudge by.
I crept up and knelt down beside him without a sound, one knee pressing into the soft earth. “Are they usually out in force like this?” I whispered into Jo-Dan’s ear, my eyes locked on the oblivious creatures.
“No,” he whispered back with a slight shake of his head. “This is the most movement I’ve ever seen—it’s almost like they’re preparing for something. Got to say, it’s making me more than a little nervous. They’ve been trying to break into my dungeon for over a month, now—I’ve been able to repel them so far, but in these numbers?” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken. The last of the Vogthar patrol moved out of view, and without another word, Jo-Dan slipped out from behind the tree, then gestured for Cutter and me to follow.
The dungeon wasn’t far from there—only a couple of hundred feet to the north—and stood out like a bonfire on a moonless night. The tree line abruptly opened, revealing a deep depression in the ground, which was covered with a layer of white hoarfrost. The entrance itself was unimpressive: just a stony outcropping sticking up from the ground like a hitchhiker’s thumb with a sizeable fissure running down the front. But when I pulled up my map, there could be no doubt we were in the right place.
The area was marked with a small red triangle that read The Frozen Warrens of Axrukis.
Even more telling, however, were the two Vogthar guards—one male, one female—posted out front, flanking either side of the rough opening. Though on closer examination, these were clearly a different subspecies from the monsters we’d faced outside of the Catacombs. Instead of pale gray skin, these had gleaming blue skin like arctic ice and blindingly white dreadlocks. I felt a quick tap on my shoulder and turned to find Cutter’s blurry form by my side. He grinned at me and slid a thumb across his throat, the gesture clearer than words could ever be.
Time for a little backstabbing.
“Wait here,” I whispered to Jo-Dan. “We’ll clear the way.”
I followed Cutter into the clearing, padding forward on silent feet, drawing nearer and nearer. Cutter broke right, slipping up next to the female guard, who remained woefully unaware of our presence. I stalked up to the male guard on the left and pulled my warhammer from the leather frog at my belt while taking a few deep breaths to calm my jittery nerves and steady my hands. I would’ve preferred to strike from the rear, but both guards had their backs pressed up against the stone face, so that wasn’t an option. Still, it hardly mattered.
I hefted the hammer, took one last look at the sentry, then swung my weapon in a vicious arc, throwing my entire body weight into the blow while triggering both Savage Blow and Black Caress, ensuring I hit for maximum damage. I heard a muffled shriek from the other guard just as my hammer smashed into the Vogthar’s nose and teeth. My hammer drove the sentry’s head into the rock, and with nowhere to go, his skull exploded in a shower of blood and bone before his body crumpled like a sheet of paper.
I glanc
ed over at the other guard—her body also decorated the ice-covered ground, a giant red slash carved deep into her throat, her black, predatory eyes vacant of life. Cutter and I took a handful of seconds to loot the spoils while Jo-Dan slipped forward. With that done, the three of us wriggled through the fissure and into the dungeon proper—me taking point, Jo-Dan behind me, and Cutter bringing up the rear. The narrow passageway continued for six or seven feet, before finally dumping us into a small and somewhat unimpressive cave.
The floors were coated in more frost, as were the walls, while the ceiling overhead was covered in hanging icicles, some the size of my pinky, others larger than my forearm. From here, there was only one way to go: a sloping passageway dead ahead. I waited for Cutter to make it through to the cave, then dropped into Stealth and crept forward, feeling reasonably satisfied with how well this little dive was going so far. A couple of guards out front was hardly worth writing home about, and so far, no one even seemed aware we were here.
I glanced back at Jo-Dan and Cutter, but said nothing, not wanting to risk the chance of alerting the Vogthar to our presence, then turned and headed in deeper. At first, the corridor slanted gently downward, but it quickly snaked left, then right, before pitching down at a near forty-five-degree angle. And even worse, the ground went from hard dirt, speckled with a thin layer of frost, to solid ice, which was treacherous underfoot and badly restricted my movement rate to boot.
In next to no time, I found myself sliding on my butt as though it were some giant slide, idly wondering how in the heck we were going to get back out. My guess was there’d be a “secret” passageway in the Boss Room, which would invariably dump us back at the beginning of the dungeon. But that meant there was no going back if things got too tricky—either we completed the objective and defeated the boss, or we died trying. After what felt like a lifetime, the winding ice slide dumped us into another passageway, this one cramped and claustrophobic.