Wyrlin had managed to hide in their small arborent while the adults in the village had banded together to fight off the sudden incursion by a veritable horde of large insects, including massive spiders about half the size of the arborent he hid inside, Elf-sized centipedes with deadly sharp mandibles, swarms of ants the length of his arm, and many more. The dungeon had expanded its territory and reach secretly, and had obviously waited until they were unprepared. If they had been attacked at night instead of the day, it was quite possible that they all would’ve died; as it was, the adults in the village managed to hold back the sudden attack while a luckily passing group of Elites heard the commotion from over a mile away and came to their rescue. Unfortunately, his parents had been killed before they even showed up, and he was left an orphan afterwards.
The angry Ranger put aside thoughts of the next few years of his youth of moving from one village to the next, all while mourning his parents as he tried to make his way in the world; instead, he concentrated on what was in front of him at his current time and what he could do about this new dungeon that seemed to be controlling the minds of anyone connected to it. He was convinced that everything it was doing was prelude to its own invasion, as it was making everyone back at the village – and many of the people he had met who knew about it – put on their blinders to make them more susceptible to attack.
Wyrlin stopped his angry stomping as he came up next to Ferio, one of the first Rangers that he had met on his self-imposed journey to fight against the dungeon who had captured Echo. The older Elf was of a like-minded attitude towards dungeons, as his entire family (parents, wife, and his young boy) had been killed in a similar attack on his own village some time ago. In fact, as Wyrlin looked around at those lounging around the camp, he realized that they all had the same types of stories – and some even had more heart-wrenching stories than Ferio’s.
“Is there any sight of…those others…following us?” Wyrlin asked softly, afraid of the answer. They had been chased out of multiple towns when they started to recruit for their cause by the local Elite teams, and rumor had it that they had caused enough of a stir that some from the capital had been sent to deal with the problem. Whether that meant a simple order to disperse and get back to work, imprisonment, or being killed outright was unknown; none of them thought that they would be killed, however, as there were just too few of them that killing even one of them would be a severe blow to their people’s defenses.
However, being backed by some powerful people – who were greedily taking what the dungeon was giving out for free – could mean that just about anything could happen to Wyrlin and the “rebels” with him. It was better to be prepared to flee if anything did find them, because he didn’t want to risk the potential consequences to himself before he got his revenge. The others…well, the others were important to his goals, but he didn’t actually care for them as individuals; all but Ferio, whom he felt a kinship with that he didn’t feel with anyone else. They had remarkably similar viewpoints and had no real family to speak of because they had been wiped out by dungeon monsters; that connection made him trust the older Ranger more than anyone else, so much so that Ferio was in charge when Wyrlin himself wasn’t around.
“No sight of anyone, thank the Creator. We’ve had a couple other Rangers trickle in from the nearby village, as they learned of our existence here, but nothing particularly threatening,” the experienced Ranger whispered just loud enough for Wyrlin to hear, maintaining his constant scouring of the nearby forest for anything out of the ordinary while he talked. “You should probably decide what the best course of action is from here on out; are those that we have here enough to destroy that dungeon, do you think? We need to move on soon, as I doubt we can stay hidden here—”
“—at all,” a voice from behind them interrupted what Ferio was going to say. Wyrlin immediately slipped his bow off his back and turned while reaching for an arrow from his quiver; the voice wasn’t familiar at all, and had been arrogant-sounding enough that he could guess who—or what—it was immediately.
“I really wouldn’t shoot that if I were you,” another voice spoke up near where the other had come from, and Wyrlin saw that Ferio had already swung around and was preparing to fire before the younger Elf could even draw out an arrow. The confident and almost amused tone from the new voice gave him pause as he completed his turn and saw what was behind him.
There were 8 Elves standing so close to them that it felt almost impossible for Wyrlin and Ferio to have not heard them approach, but there they were. Half of them were dressed in expensive-looking robes that he immediately recognized as similar to the ones some of the Elites that had come to Avensglen to destroy the dungeon had been wearing, while the others were dressed in leathers similar to the ones Wyrlin himself was clothed in. There were a few differences, however; for one, their leathers looked pristine and well-taken care of, unlike his own which had been lived in for weeks. Second, like the colored robes of the others, there were subtle traces of different-colored accents in their outfits, which indicated what elements they had access to. Five of them had three different accents, while the others all had two; that right there was reason enough to know that they were thoroughly outmatched.
Wyrlin dropped his bow and put his arms straight out at his sides, knowing there was literally no use trying to fight. Even if the rest of the camp, who was just out of earshot, were to come to their rescue, the 8 Elites were most likely more than a match for whatever they could dish out.
“Ferio, drop it; we can’t fight this.”
As much as he wanted to fight so he wouldn’t be captured or killed out of hand, he knew it was no use; he’d rather take the chance that they were just going to disperse them or imprison them temporarily instead of a guaranteed death. His second-in-command dropped his own bow reluctantly, followed by his quiver as he held his arms similarly as Wyrlin in a gesture of surrender.
“This is it? This is what everyone was worried about? Pathetic,” a multi-colored-robe-wearing Elite said, the sneer on his face obvious in his voice.
“Listen; you can’t believe everything they are saying about this dungeon. It’s going to kill us all—”
“Oh, we’re well aware of that. Why do you think we’re here?” one of the women Rangers said, and he identified her as the one that had him rethink trying to shoot them.
Wyrlin was so confused that he put his arms down. “Wait…aren’t you here to…uh…get rid of us?” he asked.
“Of course we are. Well, we were sent to do just that, but that’s also because we all specifically asked to be the ones to kill you.”
Wow. I guess they weren’t planning on playing around with imprisonment or anything less severe. “You…why did you ask to kill us?”
The group’s spokesperson continued to speak, though the others just looked at the two like they were dense. “I would hope that the fact that you aren’t dead yet would be enough of an indication. Since it’s not, I guess I have to spell it out—”
“They’re here to join us,” Ferio abruptly blurted out by his side.
Now Wyrlin was thoroughly confused as he turned to his second-in-command. “What?”
“Exactly. It’s good to see that at least someone around here can use their brain,” the Elite Ranger smirked at them both, though her disdain was all evidently all for him. “We’re not here to kill you…but we are here to get rid of you. We have to leave here soon, because if we don’t come back with evidence that you’ve been…taken care of…then they will be sending more to ensure you don’t become a problem. The possible loss of the one form of consistent regenerating elemental energy that has ever been found is more than enough for those in power to want your escapade to halt before it could do something drastic.”
Now that the threat of being imprisoned or killed within the next minute or so was gone, Wyrlin’s mind started to function again. He picked up and slung his bow over his shoulder as he asked, “You’ve all lost someone important because of t
he dungeons, haven’t you?”
The Elite that had sneered earlier repeated his action, almost like it was permanently attached to his face. “Everyone has lost someone to the dungeons – you’re not unique. The difference is that we’re one of the few that want to do something about this new dungeon and stop it before it becomes too powerful.”
I guess that works. “I’m glad to see that some more of the Elites can see the danger this dungeon presents,” he responded tersely, trying not to rise to the insulting tone of the robe-wearing Elite – and barely managing it. With their help, we can definitely destroy this dungeon. “So you said we need to move and that makes sense. With you here, we can go straight to the dungeon and—”
“Not so fast; that’s not what I said. We need to leave Symenora altogether, because they have others watching for you all the way from here to the wastelands in case you escape from us. We may be up to disobeying the orders we were given and joining you, but that doesn’t mean we will fight our own in the process.”
Wyrlin’s mind shut down again. “W-what?”
“She means that we’re going to Orcrim, if I’m not mistaken,” Ferio mentioned, which earned another smirk from the Elite Ranger.
“Uh…why?”
“Because it’s the only way to ensure we aren’t caught before we can destroy that dungeon heart. No one would think to look for us there.” The old Ranger was turning out to have a better head on his shoulders than Wyrlin suspected.
“Exactly. Listen to your friend here because he’s got the right of it. Now, pack it up and get ready to go, because we have less than an hour before someone comes to check up on us,” the spokesperson ordered, before turning away. The disrespect was infuriating; this is my group and my people, and there’s no way I’m letting some Elite try to boss me and mine around.
“Hey! I give the orders around here—”
She cut him off. “Not anymore, child. We’re taking over right now, or we’re turning you over to our Elite friends. It’s your choice.”
Wyrlin clutched his hands together to keep from striking out; the Elites were looking at him with expressions that ranged from obvious amusement to disdain. They can’t do this! This is my vengeance!
Except that they could; and they just did. When he just stood there and refused to let himself blow up at them and say what he wanted to say (which would likely result in his death), the Elite Ranger in charge smirked at him – again.
“That’s what I thought. Now, come along; tell me about who you have here so we know what sort of rabble we’re working with.” She waved him forward like he was some sort of child, completely unconcerned about the invisible waves of wrath flowing out of his body.
I’m going to kill her if it’s the last thing I do. But only after we destroy that dungeon…
Chapter 2
“You want me to do what? No way; I’m the last person you should send as an emissary of some kind,” Gerold said, disbelieving what he was hearing inside of his head. All he wanted to do was sleep and try to forget the horrors he had experienced in the dungeon against all of those undead; not to mention, he was haunted by the memories of the Shieldmen that had perished under his command. Ha! My command; a few days ago, the very idea of that would’ve been ridiculous. The Dwarf winced internally at the thoughts and memories running through his head. Frankly, it’s still hard to believe all that has happened in such a short amount of time.
* You’re the only one I can trust to do the job; besides, this is for your benefit as well. Or have you forgotten your promise already? *
What is—? Oh. Not only did Sandra want him to travel to the mountain strongholds of the Dwarven Kingdom to warn them of the increased danger from the nearby dungeons, but she wanted him to fulfill the impossible promise he had made. To get her to agree in helping to save his people in the nearby town of Nurboldar, as well as providing shelter for those displaced by the rampaging undead that had almost wiped them out, and being willing to provide them with whatever they wanted or needed to both survive and prosper…all Gerold had to do was promise one little thing. It seemed simple in principle, but actually accomplishing the task was another matter entirely.
Mainly because he hadn’t ever heard of a Master Blacksmith ever voluntarily leaving their mountain homes in the history of their people.
That didn’t matter, though, because Gerold needed it to happen. His set of specially made armor, shield, and battle-axe – which used his internal elemental energy to enhance it unlike anything else he had seen – were destroyed by some sort of attack that Sandra had used to wipe out a large army of undead that was besieging her dungeon. The loss wasn’t intentionally done by the Dungeon Core, however; the young Fifth-shield Dwarf had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, maybe it should be right place, wrong time; Sandra has indeed been a boon to us already, and I guess it was fortunate that she saved me.
If he managed to go back home, disgraced because of the loss of his armor so soon after receiving it, and convinced one of their few Master Blacksmiths to journey into a dungeon, then have that Blacksmith teach a Dungeon Core their traditional secrets of crafting their special armor and armaments, and then have another entire set crafted for him, then he might be able to redeem himself in the eyes of the Shieldmen. Being a defender of his people was a huge responsibility and brought with it a lot of honor; unfortunately, losing his equipment that was painstakingly made just for him – even through an occurrence which he had no way to prevent – was a massive dishonor upon his entire family. Bregan, for as much of a pain as he had been toward Gerold over the loss, had spoken truly when he said that it would’ve been better if he had died along with his armor rather than live with that dishonor.
“No, I haven’t forgotten about it. Are you sure you don’t want someone else to go?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Thinking about who was left from the Shieldmen, all 5 of them, they were all Fifth-shield like he was…well, before he lost his equipment, of course. Now he was just a dishonored Dwarf in the eyes of those back home, despite his actions in helping to save the villagers and destroying the undead dungeon. He already knew that the other Shieldmen looked to him for direction, mainly because he was a lot more familiar with Sandra and her dungeon than they were – that didn’t really mean that he was in charge, though.
* You know, more than anyone else, what is at stake here. I need the help of your people if they want to survive for longer than a decade or two; with the increased threat caused by the destruction of these other Dungeon Cores, they’ll have hordes of Dungeon Monsters knocking at their gates sooner than they think. From what you’ve told me, your leadership has already abandoned much of your homeland, seeking to exist safely within your strongholds.
* Within a few years, though, the expansion of these nearby Cores will be like a snowball rolling down one of those mountains of yours; starting here, the Cores will wipe out every Dwarf on the surface before they grow without any opposition. Granted, it may take them a couple of years to figure out how to dig their way into your homes – but it will happen, eventually. Once it gets to that point, there’s truly little way to recover from the sheer amount of Monsters ceaselessly invading your strongholds. All it will take is one line of Shieldmen falling at the wrong time and it’ll all be over. *
“Don’t you think I know that?!” he practically shouted, startling the others around the table. The problem, he knew, was that King Ferroushard and his advisors (including his mother) all thought that they would be safe for hundreds of years. He didn’t like to even think about that being incorrect, but he knew that their doom was an inevitability that was fast approaching unless something was done about it soon. It was just frustrating to hear it put so bluntly, so he overreacted a bit.
“Sorry,” he immediately apologized to the others, “I’m just tired.” It was no proper excuse for his outburst, but he could also see that the others – who were just as tired as he was – understood. Sandra automatically translated his apolo
gy to Echo, Violet, Felbar, and…Kelerim, if he remembered the Half-Dwarf/Half-Orc’s name correctly, who all nodded their heads in acknowledgement. “I’ve seen what even a single dungeon can do when left unchecked; I can only imagine what will happen when 10, 20, or even 30 are allowed free rein to do what they want. A small force of the Golems nearby could probably smash their way into our stronghold in a few days, in fact, so I guess it’s a good thing that there aren’t any near our entrances.”
* Which is another thing we need to talk about. We need to somehow sustain the previous culling rates that the Shieldmen were maintaining on the Golems and the Goblins nearby. Not only that, but the Elves are also going to need help defending against the increased presence of Beasts and Slimes that I can already see are being sent out of their respective dungeons. *
“My people should be fine for a little while,” Echo responded, the translation of her Elvish words echoing in Gerold’s mind courtesy of Sandra. “With the Energy Orbs they already possess, that you have so generously donated to them, the Rangers out there will be able to contain them for a few weeks at least. Past that…well, then they will probably be in trouble, if your description of how quickly they will start to expand, and gain ‘Mana’, is correct. By the way, when did you want me to leave for my own trip? I’m still not sure that I, like Gerold, would be the best idea for an emissary.”
Gerold realized that was something else that they would have to consider when the process of culling the Golems and Goblins started again; not only would the few days when they had been left alone already contribute to there being a lot more dungeon monsters to contend with, but now they were getting even more because of these “enhancements” the local Cores were receiving because of the destroyed dungeons. It was a bad situation all around, honestly, but he also felt a deep, ingrained responsibility as a part of the Shieldmen to see it through. It didn’t matter if everyone else looked at him with dishonor; he would uphold his duties regardless of his personal situation.
The Crafter's Darkness: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 4) Page 2