Dungeon of Knowledge

Chapter 159: Visiting

AliandraThe dungeon-rage stabbed into her mind, making her gasp with pain and stagger into the table. Ali vaguely heard the exclamations of concern, but her vision was dim, and the sounds came to her faintly against the roar that smashed through her brain.

Her vision flickered and lurched back to some semblance of normal and she found Lira kneeling on the floor beside her holding her tightly, so she didn’t fall.

“Are you ok, dear?” The concern on her face was echoed by all of them.

“Yes, it’s fading,” she lied. In truth, she was simply getting used to it, but Lira and her friends would worry about it and there was nothing she could do to fix it for now. It was the suddenness – the surprise – that always caught her off guard.

The pain suddenly eased.

For the price of locking up almost a thousand of her precious mana, her minions were fighting the Emberforge Mines and its continuous dungeon-break, holding back the elementals that it was spewing forth into the jungle. And every so often in the chaos of battle, the elemental might clip her domain mana with its aura of flame, and she would experience the excruciating pain anew. It was quite debilitating, not knowing when or where it would strike.

She sat gingerly on the chair and accepted Malika’s offer of a cup of water.

She tried to cast her mind back over the conversation they were having before it had struck.

“Morwynne can make fire resistance and fire absorption potions, but they require some fire extracts from the herbalists,” Mato noted, his eyes glancing her way to check if she was really ok. “Eliyen can make it, but they need fire-affinity plants, and of course, there are none nearby. She said the closest is a several day hike up in the mountains near some small fissures and volcanic lava flows. She did offer me Basil if we want to try that.”

Finding fire resistance gear and potions was proving harder than she had expected.

“That’s probably a good option, though,” she said. If they could find a fire-affinity plant, she could spend one of her Grimoire chapters to learn it, and then they could make as much as they needed, and the potions would simply cost the money for the other ingredients and the time to make them.

“I don’t mind making the hike if we think that’s going to be worth the effort,” Mato answered.

“Calen or Ali may be faster though, because they can fly,” Malika said.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ryn asked.

Before she could answer, Ali felt footsteps and a heartbeat approaching from the darkness and looked up to find Calen stepping out of the shadows.

“Six this time,” he announced and walked over to where Malika was sitting and transferred the bright glowing handfuls of flame to her storage enchant, getting a heal in return.

“That’s probably enough for Thuli to make our plate order,” Malika said. “It’s the leather and the cloth that we’re stuck with. And I have no idea what I’m going to do, I can’t even wear armor.”

“My mom can’t do any fire resistance enchants,” Calen said, looking a little down about it. Ali was immediately reminded how Lydia had seemed the same way, expressing the feeling of being trapped by her profession and the way the guilds treated independent crafters.

“None of the other tailors in town can either, I checked all of them,” he finished.

Cloth armor was their biggest problem. While she did have general magic resistance, something that had made herself and her Acolytes more robust than most of her minions, Ali still had extremely low health compared to almost anyone else, and she would need more protection against the dungeon’s mana if she wanted to be safe.

“There are no decent leatherworkers in town,” Calen lamented, but his eyes danced in a clear signal that he already had an idea. “I was thinking I’d check in Ciradyl when I go back for training. I can check for other things while I’m there.”

“I’ll make you a list,” Malika said. “You might want to take a lot of gold; I don’t think this stuff will be cheap.”

It was a good thing she could make so many valuable resources, otherwise she had no idea what they would do.

“What is Ciradyl’s library like?” Ryn’s voice piped up from the table where she was laying out the books she had collected.

“I don’t know,” Calen answered. “But I can take one person with me, do you want to come?”

Ryn’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Oh! Yes! Please?”

“How can you resist,” Mato chortled, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Calen turned pink.

It was the capital of the Wood Elves, and, by Calen’s account, an enormous and advanced city. Her mind drifted briefly, daydreaming about the kinds of knowledge they might find there.

Lydia’s problems with her tailoring class collided abruptly with her thoughts of the extensive knowledge that might be in the Ciradyl library.

“That’s brilliant!” she exclaimed and suddenly felt the flush of embarrassment as everyone stopped and stared at the intensity of her outburst. “Well, maybe not that amazing, but… Calen, didn’t you say the Guild of Tailors spans New Daria?”

“Almost all of the human kingdoms,” he answered. “The only reason mom can be independent is that Myrin’s Keep is too far out of the way, and too unimportant to attract attention.”

“But it doesn’t operate in Ciradyl?”

“No…” he answered, suddenly realizing what she was asking.

“Now that you and Ryn are both fluent in Elvish, perhaps you could

She pinched her arm hard and winced at the pain.

Lyeneru Silverleaf 

Lyeneru knocked on the aged oak door, taking a deep breath. It had been a long time since she had been summoned by her former mentor, the Archmage, Nathaniel Sunstrider.

The door clicked and sprang ajar by itself. “Come in, Lyeneru.”

She pushed the door open and entered his office. It had not changed one bit since the first time she had entered as a nervous young novice – much like Calen a few days ago. The walls were filled with bookcases, laden with heavy tomes of magical knowledge. His desk was just as cluttered with unfinished work as it always was, and Lyeneru wondered if some of the projects she had seen all those years ago may still be buried somewhere under there, untouched over the years that had passed. It still smelled of ink and parchment, and the faint ozone haze of unbound arcane mana.

Nathaniel stood in his resplendent robes, adorned with arcane silver symbols and runes, his back to the door. His silver-white hair spilled unbound down his back, reaching to the crest of the Pathfinders Guild that was prominently embroidered with shimmering thread, allowing the robes to serve as a symbol of his station as the Guildmaster a ranking member of the Council of Archmages.

His form shimmered with his hand resting upon the smooth, clear surface of a perfectly spherical glowing crystal orb. Such artifacts were impossibly rare now, knowledge of their making a lost secret of the Age of Enlightenment from before The Breaking. His mouth worked silent incantations continuously while his eyes remained glued to the sights within.

Lyeneru shut the door and stood waiting with her hands clasped loosely behind her back, studying the wise Sun Elf.

Something deep within the orb swirled – a chorus of whispers and screams. Several dark, insubstantial tendrils shot out, whiplike, striking at Nathaniel’s wrist. With a loud crack, a reactive spell formation triggered, and the black tendrils burst apart, the remnants retreating into the orb like an injured predator withdrawing to their lair. The Archmage snatched his hand back with a hiss.

“A Scrying Stone, Nathaniel? You risk inviting calamity upon us,” Lyeneru said. “It’s far too dangerous; not even the Trolls know who crafted those.”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on that Shadow Council. Indacus Argyle has made a new artifact, and they move to take advantage of the rising conflict between Toria and New Daria,” he said, rubbing his hand for a moment before he shrouded the orb with a black velvet cloth. “Besides, that’s what ward spells are for.”

“Still…” she said, worried more than she cared to admit by the strange attack. Those tendrils of darkness were in a way she had never experienced before, leaving her with echoes of horrifying whispers in her mind. At least she had enough experience to know when she was afraid, or strange mana was involved.

“I know what I’m doing, Lyeneru.”

Lyeneru frowned, but let it go. The relationship between them had never truly evolved past initiate and mentor, even though she had long moved on. In his mind, he was always the teacher, and she the unruly apprentice.

“Now, I’m sorry it took so long to find time. With the Shadow Council, the Archmage Council, and now the Troll delegation from Telim Gor, I’ve not had a moment to even sit down. What do you have to report?”

“Alexander Gray is dead, but he unleashed a plague on the forests south of Myrin’s Keep. An undead Blight that spawns endless zombies and skeletons,” Lyeneru began. Even though she had finally defeated the far higher-level Death Knight, the scope of the disaster the Necromancer had unleashed went far beyond her abilities.

“This must be the disruption the Shadow Council is trying to take advantage of,” Nathaniel said, taking his seat at his cluttered desk and inviting her to sit too. “How did he die?”

“Killed by a local dungeon.”

“You took care of it, I presume?”

“I chose not to,” Lyeneru answered, twisting her mouth. Nathaniel would not like that – not one bit. She still wasn’t certain she hadn’t made a big mistake, but how could she kill someone after sitting down with them and their… aunt for tea? “Her name is Aliandra. She and her friends took care of the Necromancer for us.”

“An unbound sapient dungeon?” Nathaniel asked, eyebrows arching in surprise.

“Yes. Nature and arcane affinities,” Lyeneru said, adding, “Her arcane magic is golden.” She knew him well enough by now to know where his primary interests lay. If anything was going to get his attention, it was that golden mana.

“That’s… unusual,” Nathaniel said, rubbing his chin and leaning back in his chair. “I remember this Myrin’s Keep now… I got a report from the Guildmaster of the Adventurers Guild – some preposterous claim about the Blind Lich showing up.” He chuckled dismissively.

“That report is almost certainly accurate,” Lyeneru said, grimacing as she realized the likely impact of her report.

Nathaniel’s levity vanished instantly. “I have no patience for jests, Lyeneru.”

“When have I ever joked about the undead?” Lyeneru asked, reining in the annoyance that threatened to spill over into her voice. “They found the ruins of Dal’mohra, Nathaniel. I saw it with my own eyes. Aliandra was born in Dal’mohra, and her dungeon is nestled in the Grand Library Arcana.”

“The library!” Nathaniel exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

“Just the building, the books are gone. The learning enchantment is real, she restored it. And she recovered Nevyn Eld’s original treatise on dungeons. She confirmed many of our theories about the Blind Lich and his abilities – and she has evidence he doesn’t need to enslave dungeons. He can create them using an artificial shrine artifact.”

“That is… an incredible claim,” Nathaniel said, his surprise giving way to thoughtfulness.

“Nathaniel, she witnessed him turning the kings of Dal’mohra. We need her,” Lyeneru stated flatly.

“I see. I think it’s time for me to pay a visit to this Myrin’s Keep,” Nathaniel said.

“Shall I come?”

“No,” Nathaniel said. “I have another task for you. Tol’zerath has had a Vision – a very troubling one. He saw a vast army of undead spilling forth from a dungeon and consuming Aman Rak.”

“That’s dire news,” Lyeneru said. If the Troll kingdoms fell, nothing would stand between the undead and Ciradyl. The Well of Souls could not fall into their bony grasp. “What shall we do?”

“I want you to go and investigate. The Trolls believe their kingdoms, and by extension, Ciradyl, are in grave danger – but you well know the fickle nature of divination. I need information, Lyeneru. Reliable intelligence.”

“I’ll take care of it at once.”

Nathaniel Sunstrider

Despite the pressing urgency of a rash of high-priority tasks that all required his attention, Nathaniel sat in silent contemplation for quite some time, staring at the seat Lyeneru had vacated.

The last time an unbound sapient dungeon had spawned and had been left to gather power, the world had lost an empire.

When Vivian Ross had initially sent him the report of a possible dungeon in Myrin’s Keep and the sighting of the Blind Lich, he had dismissed it out of hand. But it had at least been discreet.

However, there was no way he could ignore Lyeneru’s report. Just the political ramifications of what she had uncovered at Myrin’s Keep would blow up to an enormous headache as the details filtered out.

She was a phenomenal Pathfinder – one in a millennium – but the girl had absolutely no sense of practical politics. She should have taken care of the dungeon, as she always had before. None of this sentimentality. He sighed. No, sapience notwithstanding, the policies existed for a reason. There was no room for sentimentality – he would just need to take care of this situation personally. In his thousand years of life, he had never heard of a trustworthy dungeon.

On the other hand, Lyeneru was never wrong about dungeons. That fact alone gave him pause.

Nathaniel’s eyes fell upon the great tome resting, battered and worn, on the reading stand. He knew exactly what she had been implying and decided that, while he resented her presumption, he had to allow that she might be right – against all odds.

Everyone knew that arcane-affinity mana was violet or purple, depending on the style or personality of the wielder. He had just assumed she had been mistaken, after all, Lyeneru was a great Pathfinder, but not much of a scholar. But the golden glowing runes on that tome’s cover – an artifact from the City of Learning itself – hinted at ancient secrets waiting to be revealed, if only he were intelligent and tenacious enough to unravel its mystery.

Yes. He mistrusted these strange events and somehow, this golden dungeon was embroiled in the currents of fate he sensed swirling about many possible futures. Tol’zerath’s presence in Ciradyl was proof enough.

Filled with purpose, he rose to his feet. Reaching out a hand, he levitated the ancient tome, taking it and wrapping it under one arm. It was a particularly frustrating book, so dense with mana that it could not be stored in his ring. Nor could it be memorized or copied – the slippery tome was never the same, no matter how many times he read it. Even his memories of what he had studied were warped by the confounded book when he wasn’t paying attention, a feat of Knowledge magic so prodigious he was at a loss for how to even begin to unravel it. He would need to carry the book and reference it directly. However, it would be better to have the annoying tome with him and not need it than to need it and have to come back for it, especially if there was truth to Lyeneru’s discovery of golden arcane mana.

He waved a hand and a quill on his desk penned a note to his assistant, informing him that he would be out investigating a dungeon near Myrin’s Keep. he decided. It would fend off much of the unwanted speculation and keep the Trolls appeased by the appearance of taking their concerning vision seriously while Lyeneru obtained more actionable clues. He spent a few moments collecting artifacts and spellbooks he might need and storing them.

He levitated the Locus Directory from his shelf and found the entry he needed. It was not one he kept memorized. After studying it for a few seconds, he activated his Greater Teleport skill.

He stepped out of the locus to the awed gasps of the low-level mages present, and the scrambling of people getting to their feet in their haste to bow.

Quaint and homely in comparison to the wonders of Ciradyl, it hearkened to simpler times – times ever receding into ancient history and now, a notion perhaps forever crushed by the weight of that unprecedented Divination. If Tol’zerath himself was concerned…

“W… welcome… Archmage?” the official stuttered.

Smoothing a grim smile off his lips, he nodded, acknowledging the official, and opened his mind to the ambient mana, ranging outward ever wider as his awareness soared along the currents and eddies in the flow surrounding him.

What he found was startling.

It was obvious where the dungeon was, given the towering intensity of the mana he could sense. The nature-affinity mana was well into the second tier in density, possibly even stronger than his own. He would need to proceed with both haste and caution. But the arcane-affinity mana was what caught his breath, not nearly as dense, but bright and sparkling. And golden.

Suddenly, he was glad he had brought Elowynn Amariel’s: .

He teleported again, heading downward in relentless pursuit of his goal, protective wards snapping into place.

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/Dubat-litrpg