FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

I do wonder at times, who was the first man to ever enter a dungeon?

What would possess such a wild entity to delve into a place that is so dark and separate from the world?

Pursuit of food?

Perhaps. But what food could the dungeon offer that can not be found on the hunt?

Pursuit of wealth, then?

Unlikely. It seems reasonable to assume that, barring some primitive bartering, the first man would have little use of such a novel a thing as ‘wealth’ in the environment the gods had placed him into.

This leaves just one explanation in my eyes, the innate human desire to explore, to search, to expand, to discover.

Surely this is why the first man to enter a dungeon must have been a human.

Not an elf, whose kind in the past preferred to live in quiet seclusion, or an orc, whose ancestors spent their years wandering over the world as nomads, or a dwarf, whose ilk had sunken so deeply into the world, that they were thought to be lost as a species.

No. Only the human animal possesses the drive and curiosity to enter such a place for seemingly no tangible reward.

The scholars of the other races might dispute this, as would the ‘polite’ company of so-called proper society. But I hold it to be an inalienable fact.

There is a reason that the only cities of note in the world are of human origin.

We are the favored.

 

~ Excerpt from Wicker Marvin’s banned book on the topic of human superiority

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

[Sanctuary] : As a place of healing and protection, all should feel safe and whole here.

Allows the establishing of a safe room before every boss-floor of the dungeon. Safe-rooms allow any intruders to heal and rest inside of them without worry of attack for as long as they wish.

In return, the tower will gain 25% of their MAX-SOUL for the full duration of their stay.

 

Isaiah nods, satisfied with the new ability. A safe-room, offering intruders shelter and security might seem like a counterproductive idea. However, the sole goal that they have is to build higher, faster. If harboring a few intruders allows them to achieve this goal, then it is worth the extra trouble that it will cause.

 

Besides, there’s not really anything stopping anyone from stopping and just healing in any old room, after it’s been cleared. Isaiah rubs its chin in an old mannerism, its hand stroking its face and expecting to feel a beard there. But there is nothing but smooth, too soft skin.

 

“It’s because there’s healing items and stuff,” says a familiar voice. Crystal.

 

Isaiah turns towards it, assuming it is lifting an eyebrow. Despite the fact that it does not have eyebrows. “How do you know?” it asks. “What I always think.”

 

Crystal shrugs. “I’ve been around the bend a few times, I know what you dungeon-cores think,” it explains. “You’re not my first.”

 

Isaiah tilts its head. “There are others?”

 

“Oh sure, there are a few. Every year we get one or two new ones and every year one or two old ones kick it,” explains the uthra. “There’s always forty-nine dungeons.” The uthra looks towards the sky. "I wonder who kicked it so that you could be born? Hmm."

 

“How specific,” notes Isaiah.

 

“Don’t ask me,” replies Crystal. “The gods just kind of make stuff up sometimes. I think so at least.”

 

Isaiah looks at the uthra, a holy creature. “If I am the first holy dungeon-core, then how are you experienced in these matters?”

 

“Huh? Oh.” Crystal points at itself. “We’re made out of dungeon-magic. We just take on the shape of whatever flavor of dungeon we’re a part of,” it explains. “Last time I was a gnome!”

 

“Last time you were annoying as shit,” says a snarky voice. Red flies by, carrying a basket full of food from the forest. It seems like quite the detour, flying over the tower to go downstairs. Isaiah assumes that Red just wanted to be a part of the conversation.

 

Crystal leans in. “Don’t mind her, she’s just a grump.”

 

Her?

 

Isaiah thinks for a moment, trying to connect this new information to past memories. The other uthra, the first ones summoned in, they died forever, didn’t they?

 

“Oh, yeah, they’re super dead,” says Crystal, doing the thing again. The uthra makes a squishing noise with its mouth. “It’s different. If we die, we die. But if a dungeon-core gets destroyed first, we just get sent back to the spirit-world,” explains the uthra. “That’s why Red’s a grump. All of her friends got squished before our last core blew up.”

 

Isaiah nods, understanding.

 

“Anyway,” says Crystal. “We’re going to have to design the safe-room to have some places to heal for free and maybe a bed or something,” explains the uthra. “There are rules, after all.”

 

“I understand,” says Isaiah. “Make it good, as always.”

 

“You got it,” says Crystal, flying off.

 

Isaiah thinks for a moment. It understands Red’s feelings, in a sense. But perhaps not. After all, its own family is still alive.

 

Isaiah closes its eyes, looking through the eyes of a small statue, placed in a tree in the forest.

 

 

A lone blackbird sits in a nest. Several berries surround it and it sits hunkered down on a clutch of eggs, staring around the forest with wary, unrested eyes.

 

 

Isaiah opens its eyes again.

 

There isn’t much time left.

 

A clutch of blackbird eggs will take two weeks to hatch at the latest and half of that is already over. They need to go faster, higher. This isn’t working out at all. The tower is still so small.

 

It lifts a taloned hand, reaching up for the sky, stretching out its long fingers in a vain attempt to clutch hold of it.

 

The uthra are working hard. But it isn’t enough.

 

Rorate’s prayers are helping sustain another worker. But it isn’t enough.

 

The multiple incursions by various troops of goblins, while having been fruitful, simply aren’t enough.

 

The last hope is the humans. They’re the last thing that Isaiah can count on. It needs them to come here. It needs them to worship, ideally. In the best case, none of them will attack the tower and all of them will come to pray.

 

But realistically, it knows that this won’t work out. There will be a divide amongst them.

 

It remembers humans.

 

It had been killed by another human, back in its own human life and it had killed that human in turn.

 

The same thing will happen here between them.

 

Isaiah stares up towards the sun, gazing through the gaps between its taloned fingers.

 

It all just isn’t enough.

 

New Area
~ [Dungeon] ~
Floor {08}
The eight floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty

Capacity: {18} Monster-Points

Traps: 00 Monster-Point prices per monster F-Rank: 01 E-Rank: 02 D-Rank: 04 C-Rank: 08 B-Rank: 16 A-Rank: 32 S-Rank: 64 SS-Rank: 128 SSS-Rank: 256

The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {07} floors.

The next boss arena will be available in {02} floors.

 

The floor of the highest platform on the tower rises up another level.

 

— The sky feels no closer than it was a moment ago.

 

 

- [Territory Breached!] -

Intruders: 05

Average Level: 47

Difficulty: EXTREMELY DEADLY

 

Isaiah jumps down from its roost, scrambling to the edge of the tower and looks over the edge.

 

“RED!”

 

“Yeah, we’re fucked,” says Red, appearing next to Isaiah. The two of them watch as a small troop of people rush down the road to the tower, riding in on some very large, bipedal birds with ornate plumage and long, stiff feathery tails that sweep behind them. “It was fun while it lasted. Never built a tower before. But I guess it’s time to call it a day,” says Red, flying up into the air. “I’ll go hide in the forest until you die, okay?”

 

“Red,” warns Isaiah.

 

Red sighs. “Fine, sheesh. I’ll go… I don’t know. I’ll go get the dark-elf or something?” she suggests and then flies off.

 

Isaiah looks back at the intruders. Two humans, an orc, an elf and a dwarf. That’s not counting the five birds, who Isaiah decides to overlook in its count.

 

It narrows its eyes, staring at the large birds for a moment, as it begins to remember them from its own human life. ‘Anqas’.

 

Isaiah closes its eyes, peering out through a statue on the grounds.

 

 

“Status?” asks a human, a man. He is furiously scribbling into a ledger in his hands.

 

The dwarf, having jumped off of her bird, taps the shrine with a stick. “Active.”

 

The male elf next to him grabs it, yanking it away from her. “Have some respect!”

 

“Age?” asks the human male, walking on and continuing to write.

 

“Recent. About a week,” replies the dwarf, leaning down to look at the ground. She picks up a pinch of dirt, handing it to the elf, who sets down the stick and takes it, crumbling it between his fingers.

 

“Element?” asks the human.

 

The elf lifts his fingers to his nose. His ears twitch. “…Holy,” he says quietly, surprised. The scribbling stops as the man with the ledger looks his way, he nods to him to confirm it. “Really.”

 

~ [Shrine] ~

A prayer has been said at the shrine.

+1 EXP

EXP: 03/125

 

The other human, a woman, walks out of the shrine. “There’s a leyline here. It’s running beneath the tower,” she explains.

 

“A leyline? Beneath a holy dungeon?” asks the man with the ledger curiously, looking back towards the tower.

 

“Hardly a ‘dungeon’, is it?” asks the dwarf. “It looks kind of nice, honestly,” he says. “Reminds me of the grand cathedral. Isn’t that whatsherface?” he asks, pointing at a statue of some goddess off to the side.

 

The four of them stand there in silence for a moment.

 

Off to the side of the forest, a wisp approaches from the woodland, having sensed the intruders.

 

Isaiah watches in horrified fascination as the orc, who has so far been missing from the conversation, simply walks up to the wisp, taking its spell straight to her chest without even flinching.

 

She lifts a hand and grabs it, simply crushing it into nothing.

 

“Rank?” asks the man with the ledger, almost bored.

 

“F,” replies the orc, looking back his way. “D minus at best.”

 

The man scribbles into his book. “Initial thoughts?”

 

“Check,” says the elf, a priest.

 

“Check,” replies the human female, some kind of caster.

 

The orc, clearly a physical combatant, shakes her head. “Pass.”

 

The man with the ledger also shakes his head. “Pass.”

 

The four of them look at the dwarf. “Check,” she says, causing the man with the book to roll his eyes and the orc to groan.

 

“Checks win,” says the man, noting something in his ledger. He slaps it shut. “Let’s take a look then,” he says and the four of them walk towards the dungeon-gate.

 

 

Razmatazz

OH GOD! OH CRAP! THEY'RE HERE! OH NO! PANIC! POOK-POOK-POOK!

I have a ton of other stories here as well, if you want to read something else in the down times =)

 

~ [Note for occultists]{BLACKBIRDS} ~

The common blackbird, Turdus merula, is a quaint, cute little creature that lives primarily in Europe. They have a history in many ancient cultures, some of which I’d like to dig into today.

In ancient Greece, blackbirds were seen as nothing but trouble for various cultural reasons. Essentially, the image of a blackbird was like a black-cat is seen today in many places, or a crow in some anglo regions. (Interesting to note as a side-diversion, is that many northern Germanic peoples saw crows as a good omen, this likely stems back to Norse and Celtic mythology). In Greece, it was said that if a blackbird ate pomegranate seeds, it would die.

- If you are familiar with the story of Persephone, of old Greek mythology, (We had a trivia on her in DIS), then you will recognize the pomegranate as a symbol that bound her to return to the underworld every year, causing the shift of seasons. How it connects to the blackbird exactly is still unsure, but it is perhaps a tale relating to the migratory patterns of the blackbird? It would tie in with the seasons changing.

On the note of omens, to return to our focus, the blackbird was actually seen as a fairly good omen outside of Greece, but one that carries an aura of darkness around itself. Sighting a blackbird was like seeing a single four-leaf clover in a famine, in essence. It’s nice, but it could be better, all things considered.

This leads to a much later development in 1612 AD, when The Duchess of Malfi, a tragic, super sad theatrical play, was written. After this, the meaning of the depiction of blackbirds shifted culturally and instead turned into a symbol of resignation; the acceptance of something terrible. The cry of the blackbird symbolizes danger close and is best to be heeded.

As you can see, the lore of the blackbird is very confusing. It goes every which way, depending on the specific time and culture you find yourself in.

So let’s go a little deeper, shall we? As you recall, the focus area of this story and my writing in general is Germanic myth. So what do the Germans have to say about it?

Well then, they take a much friendlier approach to the creature. The blackbird, in German Christian mythology, is a kind omen and is often connected to settlers who have a particularly kind or even helpful demeanor. (Further evidence of this later trend can also be seen in Irish saint Kevin of Glendalough, who is often depicted being among blackbirds). Remember the Greeks and their whole migration beef with the birds? The Germans appear to have viewed this in the exact opposite manner, holding them in very high regard.

There is German lore suggesting that blackbirds are magical, but in both directions, good and bad. They are loosely related to witchcraft, not as directly as a crow or a black-cat, but sort of in the region. This ties in with the old symbolism of them being an uncertain omen.

One kinder German myth states that if a blackbird lives inside of a house, that home can never be struck by lightning. A more cruel tale says that if you hang a feather, specifically the right wing of a blackbird from a string, that the people who live inside of that house will be cursed and unable to sleep. (Don’t ask what happens if you use a feather from the left wing, okay?)

In an even darker turn, if one takes the heart of a blackbird and places it beneath the pillow of a sleeping person, they will never be able to lie, should a questioning follow after their waking.

These mythos likely stem back to the old Germanic pagan days, when practices as shamanism were more common. But shamans and all of that are a topic for another day. =)