by Hugo Huesca
“Is that the insignia you had in that other world of yours?” asked Lavy. She lined in closer to the drones to examine their sash, clearly without any fear of the monsters’ teeth. “I’ve never seen a creature such as the one on your coat-of-arms. Maybe I was wrong about you, Lord Edward. You might be stronger than you look if you have a bloodline such as that. What’s that thing it carries on its back?”
Ed sighed. The little drones were displaying their purple-and-pink sashes at Lavy with almost vulgar abandon, chattering and laughing in some nonsensical language.
“That,” he explained, “is a laser. The ‘monster’ you’re seeing is called a shark. A lasershark, I guess. It’s a…sea creature.”
“Impressive,” said Alder. “Is that what we should call you? Lord of the Lasershark?”
“Absolutely not. Not ever. Not even as a joke.”
His two minions looked at each other and shrugged. “As you wish.”
Ed looked at the spot behind the altar where he had arrived to Ivalis. Is this your doing, Kharon, you dick?
The young Lord made a vow to figure out how to change his drone’s vestments as soon as he could.
The two drones seemed to possess wills of their own. They were about as nasty as a hyperactive three-year-old, and when left of their own accord they went straight to terrorizing Klek.
Ed ordered them to stay away from the batblin—who had started to whimper—and he discovered they listened to his commands pretty much instantly. If he asked them to dance, they did so. If he asked them to jump, they jumped. They weren’t robots, though, and they performed said actions in their own way. Which mostly meant they acted annoyed as hell.
“What are you doing?” asked Lavy after a couple rounds of experimenting.
“I’m figuring out what I can do with them,” Ed said. One drone was standing on the shoulders of the other, and both were trying their best to imitate a coordinated dance. The one on top made eye-contact with Ed and flashed him an obscene gesture with his tiny finger while they pirouetted. “Their stats are very low, they have no skills, and their only talent simply says drone.”
“They’re drones,” Alder pointed out.
“That may mean more to you than it does to me,” said Ed. “The first part of gaining a new ability is to learn its limits and its rules. You said before they were some kind of construction workers? No offense, but they don’t look very useful for that.”
The drones heard him and showed Ed their long, forked tongues.
“They’re diggers,” said Lavy. “Kael’s looked—and acted—different from yours, but the size was the same. They are not useful for fighting, though. They disappear easily, but Kael acted like it was trivial to replace them.”
That earned Lavy another obscene gesture from the drones. She responded in kind.
Ed ignored them all and scratched his chin.
Creating the drones in the first place had been somewhat instinctive. Using the Evil Eye to focus on the underground lines had seemed to trigger it. It was fair to assume both were related.
“Fine. Listen up, you two,” he told the drones. “I want to create a dungeon here. I have no idea how to go about that. I want you to either do it for me or show me how. That’s an order.”
Another deep, sardonic curtsy, then the drones ran to the altar. Ed followed each movement. His life could depend on knowing how his powers worked.
Scratch that. He held little doubt his life did depend on figuring out his powers.
The drones studied the altar, sniffed it, circled it. They seemed to be admiring the workmanship.
Lavy started to get nervous once the first drone licked the white stone. “I don’t like where this is going.”
Before anyone could react, the drone unhinged his jaws and its mouth widened, like that of a snake, far beyond what a human being could manage. Three rows of sharp, tiny teeth glistened in the lamplight for a second…and then closed around the altar’s rock in a single, fluid motion.
There was a loud crunching noise that sounded like a small explosion in the confined cave. All that Ed knew about life told him that the drone had just broken all its teeth against the stone of the altar. Instead, the critter threw its head back—its eyes shiny with glee—to reveal a mouth-sized chunk of stone missing out of the altar.
The other one, at the other side, took a bite of his own with the same result.
“I really hope,” said Lavy, who had suddenly gone pale, “that you have the favor of whichever Dark entity is looking at this, because that’s their altar you’re eating.”
Ed recalled the vision he’d had back in Kharon’s realm, of the monstrous thing that lurked there and fed on hearts. He shivered. Perhaps he should recall his drones…
But they were working too fast, and in a matter of seconds the altar had been reduced to half its size. The drones gave no signs of having trouble eating all that rock, even if it was several times their bodyweight. It didn’t even slow them down.
In fact, they were shaping the stone of the former altar. Ed half-turned away in disgust when the drones started spitting on the white surface and pawing at it with their bare hands. They molded the stone as if they were kids working with clay.
Biting and spitting, biting and spitting, over and over, working the stone faster than any human could. In minutes, a project that should have taken days was finished, and the drones retreated with satisfaction.
The altar had been converted into a small, rough throne of sharp edges and graceless contours. The spit of the drones evaporated in seconds and gave the throne a polished look, almost like a statue.
“That’s kinda cool,” Ed conceded. With his Evil Eye, he saw that the throne was built upon a spot where the energy lines converged. In fact, it was as if the throne itself was pulling them closer to it, connecting to them.
Under the glow of the Evil Eye, the throne shone slightly with its own light. It pulsated rhythmically, like a heart.
“That’s the dungeon’s Seat,” said Alder. He walked slowly toward the throne. “The heart of any dungeon.”
“It’s not very safe to have it so close to the surface,” added Lavy. “But it should do for tonight. Have your drones build me an appropriate suite. And don’t think you’ll get to share it with me—you lost that chance thanks to your impolite attitude.”
“My attitude, you say—” said Ed before dismissing her with an impatient gesture. He examined the throne. He could feel something similar to the sensation he’d when pulling up his own character sheet. He reached for it, drew it to the surface…
Caves
Dungeon Lord Edward Wright.
Drones 2
Dominant Material Cave Rock
Threat 0 - Represents how aware the outside world is of the dungeon and how willing / able / ready they are to do something about it. A 100 indicates imminent destruction.
Offense 300 - A representation of the strength a dungeon’s forces can muster during an attack (raid or invasion) outside the dungeon itself. It indicates the experience they would award as a group, if they were defeated.
Defense 300 - It represents the defensive capacity of the dungeon, The experience the population of a dungeon would award if they were to be defeated during the defense of said dungeon. It’s multiplied by a percentage given by the dungeon’s upgrades and defenses.
Magic Generated 1 - Measures the magic created by the Sacred Grounds that can be put to use in different endeavors or to power dungeon upgrades.
Magic Consumed 0 - Measures how much magic is consumed.
Population
3 adult humans.
1 young batblin.
Areas
Living Zones:
0
Military Facilities:
0
Research Installations:
0
Sacred Grounds:
The Seat.
Production:
0
Defense:
0
Dungeon Upgrade
s
None.
“Seems awfully empty,” sighed Ed after reading the sheet. He missed having a tutorial to guide him. But he was making progress.
The drones were construction workers. And the concepts in the dungeon sheet gave him some ideas as to what he could do.
First of all, we need a refuge. The Seat seemed to claim an area by itself, so he ordered the drones to clear one of the tunnels previously covered by the cave-ins.
The two critters went to work gleefully, eating at the giant boulders like they were enjoying a delicious banquet.
“I need you to make an effort, now,” he said, turning to his two human minions. “You served under another Dungeon Lord. How did Kael go about building all the rooms and chambers of his dungeons? The drones work well with rock, but what about wood, and metal, and other construction materials?”
Back on Earth, while playing Ivalis Online, he had paid little attention to the dungeons he had raided because Ryan gave them no time to enjoy the lore or the scenery. It had seemed to him that all the spaces the team moved through had some kind of function. Barracks with beds in all shapes and forms, kitchens…torture chambers, prisons—
“Well,” said Alder. “You’re right that they don’t work well with anything other than rock and dirt. For any complex materials, Kael had big, well-guarded storage facility and treasure chambers.”
Those I remember, Ed thought. We called them the loot rooms. They were at the end of the dungeon, and we always reached them after killing the Dungeon Lord.
“When Kael wanted to build, say, a training facility near the barracks, he had the drones go to the storage silos and get all they needed from there. Wood, iron, steel, straw, you know. He got those in the first place by having the drones mine the dungeon’s whereabouts, or by raiding nearby towns and villages. The drones can use the raw material to build more complex structures, but nothing more difficult than what a mediocre craftsman could do.”
“And the treasure chamber?” asked Ed. His drones were deep into the tunnel by now. He and Alder had to yell to be heard with all the constant crunch, crunch, crunch. The drones made enough noise for an entire construction crew back on Earth. “What’s that for?”
“Besides the obvious, you mean?” Lavy laughed. “I’m better suited to tell you that, as it is an arcane matter. You see, Lord Edward, the rules of Objectivity are quite clear. Not even the gods are exempt. You can bend the rules, perhaps, but you can never, ever, break them. The first one is, ‘the numbers will never lie.’ You can hide your stats if your Spirit is high enough, but you won’t ever be able to change the numbers themselves to something they are not. If you want to change a stat, you can only achieve that by transforming the piece of reality the numbers represent.”
Lavy obviously found keen pleasure in explaining the basic workings of Objectivity to her Dungeon Lord. Ed had no problem with that. He was anxious to learn more about his situation and how the world worked.
“Go on,” he said.
“Next rule, and perhaps the most important, is ‘power comes at a price.’ Every creature, god and mortal alike, who rises beyond their natural lot in life does so at a cost proportional to the power they acquired. Now, the Bards and the—ugh—philosophers enjoy the metaphysical assertions of this rule, but anyone who is actually useful recognizes a simpler meaning. As in, you can literally pay for your power. If there’s any material you lack, you can trade gold or gems—anything of value, really—in exchange for it.”
She flicked her hair, satisfied, as she finished her explanation.
Ed clenched his jaw. There was something she had said, no, the way she had said it…that had made him shiver. He recalled the torture chambers and the prisons of almost all the dungeons he had seen in Ivalis Online.
Dungeon Lords liked to raid villages and keep people as slaves…but according to what he had learned, they had no need for human labor if their drones did all the heavy lifting.
Which meant…
“You mentioned other valuables,” he told Lavy. “Like what?”
Her smile became cold. “You’re a perceptive one, Lord Edward. There’s value in many things, not only in gold and treasure. Experience points are valuable, for example, and there are two ways to earn them. The first is to survive and learn from an event where your life is at risk. The second is to kill a living being and take their experience for yourself. You know what that means?”
It meant that people could use the experience points of others as payment for magical power.
Ed’s blood turned to ice. He was very tired, and he felt very, very far away from home.
“You can sacrifice intelligent beings in exchange for your dungeon’s resources. It is, in fact, the fastest way,” Lavy went on. “It has an excellent rate of conversion. For example, that batblin you took under your wing would be enough to make an elegant, comfortable bed.”
9
Chapter Nine
Culture Shock
It took Ed a great effort of will not to scream at the Witch or to attack her. He had to remind himself that, as far as he knew, she hadn’t actually sacrificed anyone.
As far as you know, he remarked. What if she has? What if they both have? What will you do then?
It wasn’t something he could postpone until later, a decision he could make after a good night’s sleep. It was something he had to deal with right now. He had believed Alder and Lavy weren’t evil; they looked too normal, too human, in a world where he had seen monsters like Kharon and the ancient deity he served.
He had forgotten evil doesn’t need a monstrous appearance to blossom. A young Witch and a Bard could be enough.
Ed had sworn he would never become the evil underling that Murmur wanted.
If he allowed things like human sacrifice to slide, Ed had little doubt he would fall into that path sooner rather than later.
I’ll just ask them. If they say they have, I’ll break the minion pact.
Before he could change his mind, before he had a chance to think it further, he committed himself to that course of action. With a grim smile on his face, he asked Lavy, “Have you sacrificed anyone?”
Something in his tone of voice made Alder look up from the stone Seat which he had been examining. The Bard’s gaze fell on Ed’s expression and Alder turned, alarmed, to Lavy. “Lavy—”
“Why,” Lavy was already answering, and her smile was sharp, tinted with something close to savageness under the Evil Eye’s light, “are you looking for advice, as to how to begin? It’s not that hard, or so I’ve heard. You need an altar. You need holding cells, made with stone and iron if you’re feeling fancy—”
“Lavy,” Ed said, “have you sacrificed anyone, yes or no?”
“Since you are so desperate to know, no, I haven’t. I’m a lowly apprentice—I barely stepped out of the Warlock’s library during my time with Chasan.”
Ed nodded. He felt a pang of relief, but he forced it down. He wasn’t done, yet.
“Alder?” Ed asked.
“I’m just a Bard,” Alder said simply. “My only goal is to live an interesting life, and to witness history as it’s made. I’ve never killed anyone in my life, human or not. I want to see history, not create it. That’s a job for a Dungeon Lord.”
“What about Kael? Did he sacrifice people?” In a way, Kael was his predecessor. Ed felt somewhat connected to the man he had only known through combat.
“Oh, yes.” Lavy’s smile appeared bitter. “Kael sacrificed many. Humans, kaftars, elves…he sacrificed Dark-aligned and Light-aligned without distinction. That, he did. But he never sacrificed an innocent. Not even once.”
That’s going to have to be enough, Ed told himself. Why did he care, anyway, about what kind of person Kael had been?
“Why do you care?” Lavy asked.
“There won’t be any sacrifices with me,” Ed added.
Perhaps the smart move would’ve been to hide his intentions, to pretend he was on the same page as all the other
Dungeon Lords the Bard and the Witch were accustomed to.
But how was he supposed to maintain a lie such as that? He didn’t know those Dungeon Lords. He didn’t know where Lotia was, or Heiliges, only that the two were enemies. He’d had no idea the Dungeon Lords had a reason to pillage and raid other than “because they’re evil.”
No, my only chance is to make things clear with them.
“That’s fine with us,” said Alder. Whatever he had seen in Ed’s expression must’ve disappeared by now, because the Bard relaxed. “Not all Dungeon Lords go around performing human sacrifices to Dark gods. Some of them come from more civilized places than Lotia’s countryside.”
“And they live very little thanks to their sensitivities, Alder,” Lavy said. “Their dungeons are smaller and weaker than their counterparts, and the other Dungeon Lords don’t take to their presence kindly.”
Ed raised his hands, though whether it was in surrender or to end the conversation, he was not sure. “That’s a risk for later. Right now, I need time to process all this. It has been one hell of a day.”
A waft of cold air breezed around him and made him shiver. His drones were done clearing the tunnel. Apparently, cleaning the debris had taken them a bit more effort than the altar’s rock, but in the end it wasn’t a challenge for whatever magic powered them. Ed could hear them skittering around whatever new location they had uncovered.
He followed the clacking of the drones, then realized he was going blind into pitch-black darkness, returned for an oil lamp, and retraced his steps. Alder and Lavy, even Klek, went after him after a while.
Their talk of sacrifices seemed to have put a damper on everyone’s mood, and they spoke little after that, but curiosity is a powerful social glue.