“It doesn’t seem fair really,” Octave said as he played at his favorite downtime activity of examining of his own toenails. Watching him float nearly upside down made me realize for the first time that his wings were mostly for show. They rarely flapped unless the Cherub was agitated and the golden motes of light they emanated did nothing, save tickle one’s nose if you accidentally breathed one in as I had already discovered.
“What doesn’t seem fair?” I asked. I had spent the last hour pouring over our new Dungeon Map, hoping for a clue as to the whereabouts of the book of Prophecy, the Revelations of Cel. Knowing where each section of the Library was located hadn’t delivered any solid clues, but I was between working our way back to more thoroughly search the section on History or moving forward towards the section on Religions. Both sections seemed the best to look for a book on old prophecies. Unfortunately, both were on opposite sides of the library and would likely bring me into contact with ever more enemies.
“The fact that the Dungeons haven’t acknowledged us as a Group and instead view you as a Solo Delver.” I raised an eyebrow and put down the Map Book for a moment.
“What do you mean? We are clearly three?” Octave nodded, but continued to fuss with lint caught in between his toes.
“Of course, but as I am Summoned it naturally only views me as a Follower of yours. That I can accept. What I don’t understand is why he is also not counted!” He pointed at Curmlough who had created for himself a small pile of books to lay upon. I had been against him doing that at first, but finally relented. They were mostly books about Arithmetic, after all.
“Lord Gor says it is because the Dungeon doesn’t recognize me as a Delver. I don’t have a Class, therefore I am not noteworthy.”
“Really? I had thought you a Bard of some sort? Because of your skill with that flute of yours?” I asked. I hadn’t considered Dungeons might be as nuanced or particular as they were and wondered what other information I was lacking about both it and my companions.
“Oh no,” Curmlough said, shaking his head and his face took on a remorseful look. “To be honest, I took the Aulos of Marsyas from the Grove without permission. I have been relying upon its magic and not my own.”
“I see,” I said, nodding my head. “Why did you take the Aulos to begin with?”
“Well,” Curmlough appeared bashful about this question, but forced himself to answer. “I heard the Monks of this Abbey brewed a good ale and I wanted to try some, so I borrowed the Aulos to use its magic to help me sneak in.”
Octave burst out laughing, tumbling end over end in the air.
“Ha ha! You see, Kenric? Satyr’s are all a bunch of dumb sots!”
“Oh?” I answered calmly. Did you not get in trouble for sneaking ale from Ord’s Brewhouse? Sounds to me like you and Curmlough have something in common.”
Octave suddenly looked like he was choking upon an apple core and now it was Curmlough’s turn to burst out laughing. Shaking my head while the two bickered with one another over different flavors of Ale I turned my attention back to the Dungeon Map. We had three options. Option One was to head directly to the Boss, undoubtedly an Elite Murk Worm, and finish the Dungeon as quickly as possible to reap the rewards and increase my Active spell list with higher Tier spells. As my fight against Garfle had showed me, Tier 1 and possible even Tier II spells would not be enough in the Elite Red Portal dungeon if they were not always reliable in a Blue Portal dungeon.
Option One had flaws. There were my Quests to consider, as I still had more Mournful Brothers to deal with and I felt strongly that the missing villagers of Goodlabor would be found amongst the Library stacks or within Hadaeon’s Descent. My conscience aside, I also didn’t want to leave all that Experience or the Node rewards behind either. Option Two was to search the entirety of the Library stack by stack, systematically clearing it completely. The flaw in this plan was also obvious. I was on a strict timeline before the Void Portal was created and Shadowmurk flooded the area. I willed the minimized Timer to reveal itself to see where I currently stood.
Shadowmurk Event imminent! Void Portal Countdown: 31:27:34 remaining!
A little more than a day. Will it be enough? With an Elite Dungeon waiting for me after I leave here I’m not sure I’ll make it! I can’t go much longer without another sleep either.
Then there was Option 3. The Dungeon Map was a valuable resource and Garfle had unwittingly helped us by making notations in the margins of the Map book. The Void Alchemist had clearly been wandering the stacks mapping out key locations and he had made an interesting discovery not far away. There was a section of the Library labeled as Magic and Garfle had written the word chest dead center of it.
“One would assume that a chest within a Dungeon is well guarded?” I asked out loud, interrupting the ongoing argument my two companions were having. The Cherub and the Satyr both looked at each other then back to me.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“Chests that aren’t automatically dropped by monsters upon their deaths and are instead created by the Dungeon Core? It is possible they hold items used to make the Boss encounters easier,” Octave offered. “Or it might be something it wants Delvers to have to fulfill a requirement for completing the challenges it creates? Dungeons are known to sometimes contain puzzles.”
“I have encountered that before. How is it that Dungeons can do that? It almost sounds like you’re saying Dungeon Cores are intelligent?” I asked. Octave shrugged.
“In a way, they are. Not severely limited like Mortal brains or as advanced as my own, but focused upon its own purpose, which in our current case, is to try and confuse us with a Maze of boring books while trying to kill us.”
“But that isn’t really the case, Octave.” I said frowning. “I understand Dungeon Cores create Dungeons-Mana Memories like you stated before, but Garfle wasn’t created by a Dungeon Core? He was a real person! Mutated by Fel Shards and pulled into the Dungeon by the Core. For what purpose?”
My mind was racing with more questions and carefully constructed conclusions. I had been piecing together everything that had happened to me from the moment I had first washed ashore on the coast of Northern Aramyr. No, things had begun even before that if I was honest with myself. From the moment I had first discovered the hidden Chapel beneath Celemor Hill and been evaluated by the Gods before being granted my Prophet Class. I had been made a part of something the moment I had been given a Shard of Ara and pushed out onto this dangerous path.
Was it really so strange that I, at first, thought myself special? I had been born again. My soul was renewed and sent to Aramyr to live out a new, second life. I believed I had been singled out by the Gods for some great purpose. I was granted a rare power, which I was only now beginning to realize was far more than a normal Priest was ever given. How could I not believe I was some sort of ‘Chosen One.’ Yet, Sul’s words haunted me.
Just know that the Class is dangerous to have…Don’t tell anyone you have it unless you trust them with your life!
I was in great danger. I would need even greater power if I was to survive. Yes, the Gods had laid out a path so that I might achieve even greater tiers of power, yet not in conjunction with one another! Ord’s Mercy, but they actively acted against one another with myself in the middle of their conflicts!
The Dungeon Cores themselves were under attack by Fel Shards, I was certain. They were being…hacked to borrow a word that surfaced from my former life. Something was using the power of the Cores to open Void Portals and they were harming innocent people to do it. Yet, if Octave was right and the Cores did possess some intelligence did it not make sense they would try to fight back? If I could get to the chest on Garfle’s Dungeon Map, then perhaps my question would be answered.
My companions looked at me expectantly. They expected me to lead and I would. I made a decision in that moment. Thus far, I had attempted to follow the will of the Gods. To carve a path that I felt would please them all. I understood now that was impossible. I would follow my own will. My own conscience would guide me, not Light, Shadow or Elemental prejudices. The Gods would follow me. If the Gods didn’t like that (and I’m sure some of them would not) then they would punish me with Faction reductions. So be it. I had been given the gift of a new life and it would be one of faith in my own choices from this point forward. I stood up and firmly gripped by staff, my new Gloves of the Purgos Mystic fitting snugly. I checked my Status for what seemed like the first time in a long time.
Name: Kenric Ordheim
Class: Prophet
HP: 370
MP: 474
Title: 4th Son of the Earl of Ordheim, Squire of Eastcheap Manor
Level: 11
Professions: Scribing-9, Treasurer-7, Alchemy-2
Domain: Fate
Attributes
Strength: 27 (52)
Dexterity: 27 (34)
Constitution: 31 (33)
Intelligence: 32 (42)
Wisdom: 43 (85)
Perception: 31 (35)
Charisma: 16 (22)
Luck: 13
I was amazed at how far I had come with my Attribute gains. If anything, they were higher than I had expected them to be. Thanks to item bonuses, including my new Gloves I was unable to fully inspect at the moment, I had scores that pushed me as high as one would expect from a Senior Priest, especially in my Wisdom.
Equipment
Weapon: Staff of the Stone Bishop’s Bell (D)
Body: Robe of the Purgos Mystic (C)
Shoulders: Ara’s Stole of Concentration (D)
Legs: Linen Pants
Hands: Gloves of the Purgos Mystic (C)
Feet: Blight Warden’s Boots (D)
Finger 1: Ring of Light’s Promise (D)
Finger 2: Nil
Neck: 5th Finger of Ord (S)
Head: Nil
Many of his equipped items were still Grade D, the lowest item Grade. He had two items that were Grade C, the set pieces of the Purgos Mystic set. The stand out was the S-Grade 5th Finger of Ord. Of course, that was going to Hierophant Johannes as soon as possible. He hated to lose its power, but it was the will of Ord.
I hope more items drop. It never occurred to me just how much these attribute bonuses add up!
Faction
Mir: 245
Wik: 275
Eui: 115
Pyr: 35
Una: 35
Aqa: 35
Qas: 220
Sul: 370
Tek: 260
Hul: 295
Gor: 345
Cel: 305
Ord: 110
My Faction standings continued to rise and fall like a ship upon a storm tossed sea. Sul continued to favor me highly, as did Gor thanks to my offering of the Dungeon Core. At the very least, I was no longer in the negative with any of the higher powers for the moment. I was still in Tier I with Ord, but if I could obtain another Core I would offer it upon his altar. Still, for the moment I was currently interested in those areas of the Faction Web where I could gain higher Tier spells. That meant Gor and Cel’s Tier III offerings were next on my list if we survived this Dungeon.
Lastly, I looked over what I had in my Inventory.
Inventory
Coin: 52 Golds, 77 Silvers, 22 Coppers
Rune Lockbox (Empty)
Eye of Xat (D)
Shard of Ara (SS) {Corrupted}
Purgatorium: The Gateway to Heaven and Hell (Book)
Skills of the Purgatorium Mystics-An Observation (Book)
Dungeon Delver’s Compendium (Book)
Fel Crystal Staff (Damaged)
Garfle’s Potion of Clarity
Garfle’s Potion of Owlsight
Garfle’s Potion of Healing
Garfle’s Potion of Firebreath
Garfle’s Potion of Dual Simulacrum
Garfle’s Tincture of Distilled Limbus Energy
He had divested himself of much of the junk he had been acquiring and left much of it back in Goodlabor for the villagers to sort through and use what they saw fit. What he still had in terms of coin and items were those things he felt he might still need. Coin and potions aside, he was wearing or carrying all his most important gear.
“We will head to the section on Magic to search the chest. It isn’t greed that motivates me.” I quickly added when I saw Octave giving me a side-eye glance. “I believe that if the Dungeon Core is as intelligent as you say, then it likely dislikes being corrupted by Fel Shards and Murk Worms. There may be something in the chest to aid us.”
“An unproven assumption,” Octave said. I nodded in agreement.
“Have faith,” I answered with a grin.
“I have nothing but Faith!” Octave replied, his tone indignant. “More than either of you!”
“The hair in my nose has more Faith than you!” Curmlough sniped back.
“It’s not a competition, my friends.” I said.
Although, in my case, I suppose Faith really is a competition, isn’t it?
