Dungeon Life

Olander Wideblade

The Crown Inspector does his best to keep his frustration in check. The king asked him to inspect the new dungeon in Fourdock, though the crown only became aware of it thanks to the fall tax reports. His highness may not expect anything until late spring, but Olander had hoped to get there and back before the end of the year!

It’s his own fault for getting his hopes up. Winter started so mild, it wasn’t unreasonable for him to think he could make it. But, almost as if deliberately thwarting his plans, winter seemed to condense its entire season into a month, leaving the roads and passes piled thick with snow, and leaving him stranded in a small town near Lake Gofnar.

While the town has a couple smaller dungeons, they’re just no challenge to the tall elf. Denizen or scion, none could stand before his wide-bladed glaive. At least the dungeons got some good mana for it.

For the last month, all he’s had to distract himself with has been the easy delving, and what reports he could get of the new dungeon in Fourdock, or as it prefers to call itself: Thedeim. If it adopted the name from someone else, that’d be one thing, but by all accounts, it named itself! Most dungeons need several years to be that self aware, but this Thedeim did it after only a few months!

If that were the only oddity, he wouldn’t even bother leaving the capitol, but that’s probably the least of the strange things in the reports he was able to obtain. Many scions, close to a dozen by the time the official report was filed. If it keeps that pace, it should easily have over a dozen by now, and Olander wonders just how it can afford them all. Subsuming Neverrest would have given it a lot of mana, but it also claimed the territory, so should have had to spend everything to maintain it.

The only thing he can think of to explain the discrepancies is how active the scions are. There’s hardly a delver account of the dungeon that doesn’t mention directly meeting one or more scions. They can be seen working all around the dungeon, instead of either staying hidden or being bosses guarding lucrative rewards. Thedeim seems to really only have a single scion that fits that description, and even that one stays in a large maze of shrubberies, hunting delvers and delivering them outside should he capture them.

Yes: capture. Despite all the combat encounters, there is not a single death attributed to the dungeon. There’s even a report of a group actively being saved from a tunnel horror by the skeleton scion. Olander suspects they must have missed something in the fight, as they don’t describe a fight at all! Instead, the charging monster seemed to simply collapse at the feet of the skeleton.

Even considering how wounded the delvers were, they should have been able to see some kind of attack. Even with the skeleton having access to life, death, and fate affinities, they should have noticed something. The power implied by them missing it makes him eager to square off against the scion. What a fight that would be!

Though the other reports indicate it could simply refuse to engage with him. Despite its clear strength, the skeleton apparently prefers to keep the cemetery, tending to the graves and the grass. There is a mention of a zombie scion that the dungeon seems to be grooming to be a true boss encounter, but the details are sparse with the reports so old.

He doesn’t have much hope for a zombie scion to give him a good fight, but it could be possible. With the speed Thedeim was growing, even a slow shambling zombie could get tough enough to resist him for a time!

Most of the rest of the reports aren’t especially concerning, aside from the speed. An enclave of ratkin would be more fitting for a dungeon at least a decade old, if not a century, but fits with the level of advancement. A Resident isn’t surprising, either, though a kobold is rare.

One thing that is concerning is the report of an undead Resident. It’s being quietly kept out of the public records, and though there are rumors, the very idea is so insane that people are usually well into their cups before they entertain it. But the official record is resolute: undead. She even paid taxes! As he understands it, there was a bit of tomfoolery in claiming her old worth as an inheritance, naming herself as her next of kin, but nothing egregious aside from rampant abuse of loopholes. He’s no tax elf, so he’ll take the word of the ones who are.

He wants to speak with her and get more detail, for himself and for the crown. And with the roads finally declared open, he will soon get to ask his burning questions. He meets with the merchant caravan as they prepare to set north, and finds there are far more people than he would have expected to just move cargo. He has his traveling glaive and ordinary armor on, rather than the more opulent trappings of his office, so as to easily be hired on as yet another guard. It’s not much compared to his salary, but he’ll take a bit more coin along the way.

The number of people is explained by just a little listening: there are a lot of craftspeople heading for Fourdock. That, in and of itself, already answers one of the questions of the king. The increased taxes from Fourdock don’t seem to have been from any extra tax burden, but from a genuine boom triggered by the new dungeon. Considering the number of smiths and shipwrights, Olander will definitely need to get the updated reports before he does his own inspection.

He meets with the caravan master and is told to simply keep alert. The roads are rather safe, but it never hurts to be careful. He doesn’t see a need to assign specific watches or positions around the caravan, instead trusting the guards to handle that. Olander decides he’ll be walking along one side of the caravan, letting him stretch his legs a bit when he goes alongside, and rest his legs a bit as he lets it pass him once more. He starts his patrol as everyone else get their final preparations, and in doing so, he meets an elf who sticks out among the gnomes and dwarves and beastkin.

She doesn’t look like a crafter, not even an enchanter or alchemist. Instead, she looks like a librarian separated from her tomes. Or perhaps a scribe, she looks rather young. Her robes are simple grays and her hair is set in a neat bun. She wears thick spectacles, and overall looks quiet and mousy. It’s not until he gets closer to the wagon she’s sitting on that he notices the simple wooden holy symbol around her neck: the open hands of Laermali, matriarch of the elven pantheon and goddess of magic.

He probably should have pegged her as a follower from her robes. While hers are much simpler, the goddess is said to enjoy the color and style for easy movement, casting, and reading of tomes. Book dust doesn’t show very easily on such a color. Still, her faith doesn’t explain why she would be part of the caravan. He dons his best friendly smile and speaks up as he gets near.

“Hello ma’am.”

She starts when addressed, surprised to be spoken to. “Oh! Uh… hello? You’re one of the guards for the trip?”

He nods, still smiling. “That I am. I couldn’t help but notice you’re a bit of an outlier compared to the others riding the wagons?” She stammers as he continues. “Not to be rude, mind you. You just caught my eye, is all. You don’t look like a smith or a shipwright.”

The explanation seems to calm her down a little, and she shakes her head. “Oh, uh… no, I’m not. I… I guess I’m on a pilgrimage?”

That earns her a raised eyebrow of curiosity. “A pilgrimage? I didn’t know the Great Mother had any holy sites this far north. And you only guess? I’m not exactly devout, so please excuse my ignorance, but don’t most people know if they’re on one?”

She stammers a bit before sheepishly nodding. “I’m not sure what else to call it, I guess? I heard the Great Mother’s voice, telling me to go north and seek the Ice Sage, but that’s all. I don’t know what She wants. I’m barely an acolyte…”

Olander’s smile returns as he nods. “Ah, that makes more sense. I’d probably be confused about what I’m doing, too, if She told me that. What’s an Ice Sage?”

“I don’t know. But this was the first caravan north after winter. If they’re related to ice, I should probably try to get north as soon as possible, right?” she asks, hoping for a bit of reassurance, which Olander is happy to give.

“Makes sense to me. I imagine you’d know Her better than I do, but it seems reasonable. She didn’t give you any other advice?”

She shakes her head. “No, she didn’t. Which is why I’m not sure if I should even call it a pilgrimage. She might just be trying to help me get somewhere I should be, to have a better life. After hearing all the crafters talk, it sounds like Fourdock is going to be bustling soon.”

The male elf nods. “That’s what I hear. I’ll be staying there for a bit after the caravan arrives, too. The new dungeon is supposed to be pretty interesting. Oh! I never introduced myself. Please, call me Olander.” He offers his hand to shake as she eyes the blade over his shoulder, and he has to suppress the chuckle at such a familiar sight. His weapon is well-known, as is his name. How many Olanders can there be, using a glaive? On the other hand, what are the odds of actually meeting the Crown Inspector, especially so far outside the capitol?

She jumps as she realizes she’s been leaving him hanging, and accepts his hand to shake. “Sorry! Uh, I’m Tula. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Tula. I’m going to get back to my patrol, but would you be unhappy if I seek you out once we stop for the night? I don’t know anyone in the caravan, and I’d wager you’re in the same boat?”

She titters and nods. “I wouldn’t mind. The crafters seem friendly enough, but I think they’ll be a bit loud for me to want to join their groups in camp.”

“I’ll see you later, then! Gotta go make sure everyone’s safe, and stays that way,” he finishes with a wink and resumes walking down the line of wagons. His earlier frustration already feels so far in the past. Soon, he’ll be able to get to work, and he’ll even have some friendly company along the way. He has no idea what an Ice Sage is, but he’ll try to keep an eye out for one. Just because he’s not devout, doesn’t mean he’d try to impede a follower of the Great Mother. Besides, it could put another pretty smile on Tula’s face. They may have only just met, and may not meet for long, but pretty things are all the prettier when fleeting.