FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

Fae are a species of supernatural entites that are frequently portrayed as having human-like features and magical skills in folklore and mythology. Folklore rarely goes into much detail about Fae culture, although it is usually portrayed as a tight-knit group of magical beings who coexist in a secret and enchanted world that we call the fairy-realm, which is a sub-section of the spirit world.

It's common knowledge that fairies are sneaky and cunning, but can also be compassionate and helpful to people in need. They are frequently linked to the natural world and environment, and they are sometimes believed to reside in physical settings like gardens, meadows, and forests when they leave their realm and come into ours. According to old tales, there is a king or queen who rules over the other fairies in a hierarchical society.

Fae as we call them are not to be confused with 'Fairies', members of the collection of common races like humans or orcs, as they are their wilder, undomesticated cousins.

 

~ The Fairies and their Folk

 

 

~ [Jizalia] ~
Human, Female, Master Herbalist Location: The City, A Small House

 

Something strange is going on.

 

Jizalia cautiously peers out through the window, watching the marching regiments of soldiers move down the streets. At first, she had just assumed it was some passing troop of soldiers, shuffling around from location to location as they always do. But the tide of bodies never stops, thousands of them must have walked past her window now as they assemble within the city.

 

She’s not an expert in social affairs in any manner, given that she mostly spends her days out in the wilds by herself all day every day, but even she can see that this is clearly a mobilization against what could be the only threat in the region — the tower.

 

She closes the shutters, looking back at the house. Her sister is sitting at the table, carving free some of the tubers they had gathered together, peeling off the bad spots, and removing the bitter roots as she had been shown.

 

An assault on the tower?

 

It’s happened before; she heard the stories of the incredible destruction wrought over the land, tearing off a mountain into the sky, draining parts of the ocean, summoning an ancient dragon. Now, with the many calls of the faithful that have come, she can only imagine the destruction that will come if an army of the church’s zealots marches towards a magical fortress, supposedly god-crafted and filled with thousands of pilgrims of the faith of Isaiah.

 

It’ll be a bloodbath.

 

Isaiah has shown that it has no qualms with destroying everything in its way, despite its kind mercies. She knows the Holy-Church, they’re no different, especially after the rumors of the assassinations of the bishop and the cardinals. The pot is ready to overboil at any second.

 

It’s not safe here anymore, is it?

 

That’s not to mention the witch, about whom she has no idea anymore, now after their bargain has been fulfilled.

 

“Zali?” asks her sister from across the room. She looks at her. “Is this right?” asks the girl, holding up a tuber. Jizalia looks at it, able to see it crisp and clear, even from a distance.

 

She nods, walking over to help her sister get dinner ready.

 

“Hey, Sisi?” asks Jizalia. “We should go on another foraging trip soon,” she says. “A little longer this time,” says the herbalist. They should get some space from this place for a while. Yes, they don’t have the funds to survive anywhere else, given that their house is here and the market isn’t exactly prime to sell at the moment. But maybe it’s the best thing. It’s still autumn, so she can manage to survive outside in the wild. It’ll be a little trickier with her little sister along, but it might be for the best. They can make their way towards the northern city; there’s always good foraging up there.

 

“Already?” asks Tulsi, looking back at her. Jizalia nods. “But we just went.”

 

“Mm,” replies Jizalia, smiling. “I thought it’d be fun if we went for a little longer, you know?” she suggests. “We can camp overnight and make fires.” The woman grabs some tubers and a peeler, setting to work. “Or don’t you want to?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

 

Tulsi nods excitedly. “I want to!” she explains.

 

“Great,” replies Jizalia, smiling so as not to let the girl catch on. As she sets back to work, her eyes wander past the closed shutters, through the gaps of which, a continuous stream of marching boots can still be seen, rolling in like a tide that never stops.

 

 

~ [Cardinal Erzael of the West] ~
Human, Male, Cardinal Location: The Western City, High up on the Distant Mountain, Observatory

 

Despite all of the horrors of the world, Bishop Erzael of the west finds himself in a familiar space, an odd sanctuary of sorts. The dancing starlight of an angel's grace, which proves the splendor of life, shines down through the glass walls and ceiling of the room. Crystals, small, hover aloft and drift through the space, catching the rays of midnight in their glassy, sleek forms as they drift, the magical minerals staying aloft in the air because of the very dense ambient magic present up on the mountain.

 

The walls and the floor are all colorful and wholesome in their glow, as the light from above catches on many soft fabrics and runs through the jewel-like crystals, painting the entire room as if it had been washed over in a pastel bath that contrasts the cold midnight beyond the many windows.

 

Bishop Erzael looks at a man who seems like he never quite manages to get enough sleep — a feeling that he sympathizes with. The man, the astrologer, sits behind a long, complicated telescope the size of many men, which spans up to broadly look back at the stars above, as if the owner were fully aware of the former watching him in turn.

 

The tired man moves away from the telescope, heading over to a map on the table. It’s a map of the city that they’re in, and he makes a complicated series of estimations and drawings according to whatever he has learned by looking through the telescope.

 

“So how’s Schwalbe?” asks Bishop Erzael, referring to the man’s wife while trying to make some small talk, while the astrologer, the magistrate of this city, does some work to let him know if their spell to summon a true hero even has a chance at working.

 

The tired man looks up from his drawings at the bishop. “She’s holding on,” he replies. “But, well…” he shakes his head and returns to his work. “I don’t think it’s going to be long now.”

 

“She still has her temper?” asks the bishop.

 

“I’ll be worried when she doesn’t anymore,” replies the magistrate.

 

“Sorry to keep you here,” says the bishop. “If there’s anything I can do.”

 

The tired man looks at the telescope again, adjusting some mechanisms. Several crystals float by, filling the room with a prismatic shine as they catch a particular glow for a moment.

 

“We both know there’s nothing,” replies the tired man, leaving the telescope again and then mapping out something on a different sheet of paper. “Strange…” he mutters, looking at his own drawing. He walks over to a small, short shelf atop the raised telescope platform and pulls out a book, fluttering through it.

 

“What’s strange?” asks the bishop.

 

The tired man shakes his head and works for a while, before returning to the telescope to confirm one last time.

 

“The stars shouldn’t be ready for this,” explains the tired man, who looks rather troubled rather than excited. "They are not supposed to be in position for another year or so.” He looks up towards the glass ceiling, staring at the stars in the night sky, watching them curiously and cautiously. He contemplates for a time. “But they are. It’ll work,” he says. “I think.”

 

The bishop sighs in relief. For the stars to be so out of alignment, this is proof that the divine is interfering in the world’s affairs once again. He’s on the right path. “You know that I have to ask to use your city for the ritual,” he explains. “Schweig controls the rest of the church, the north and the south, and Bishop Fluester of the East is working with him. Besides -”

 

“- It’s the only high-magic zone left,” replies the magistrate, interrupting him. He sighs, rubbing his tired face.

 

“I know it’s a lot,” says Bishop Erzael. “We’ll try to keep it as subtle as possible.”

 

The two men look at one another, knowing the absurdity of that statement.

 

After all, summoning a true-hero into this world, the kind that may only appear with every hundred year crisis, is something that is impossible to hide. But they need to start now.

 

Usually, when a true-hero is summoned, the crisis is already well underway, warranting the use of such a spell. It’s a global event. But he’s not going to wait. He’s going to be preemptive this time.

 

“I’ll keep an eye on the stars,” replies the magistrate. “Do what you have to do.”

 

Bishop Erzael nods. “We’ll get started immediately.”

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

Isaiah holds a hand up in the air, a leaf suspended in its grasp.

 

“Things are getting tense, chief,” says Red from next to it. Isaiah looks at the leaf, focusing its magic on it. Using its time altering magic, the leaf, orange, begins to crumble and fall apart as Isaiah moves it towards its natural state in the season of winter. Then, after a small nudge, the crumbling flakes of dried leaf absorb moisture from seemingly nowhere. The leaf patches itself together and becomes whole, flush, and healthy once more, as if it were in the throes of spring. Then it fades again to winter, the cycle of death and rebirth repeating over and over. “Thousands of humans are getting situated in the tower down below,” says the uthra. “But Black reported that the humans have a new army, bigger than the last. They look like pretty serious people.”

 

“And we have yet to hear from the witch,” remarks Isaiah, watching the leaf fade in and out of life many times over. “This troubles me the most, Red,” it explains. “What could she have planned?”

 

Red shrugs. “After all of this time? Probably something big.”

 

“We will be ready,” replies Isaiah, studying the leaf. “No matter what siege befalls us here, my churches are rising all across the continents, Red,” says Isaiah. “The faithful are gathering in numbers greater than the count of the stars in the sky.”

 

“Not that I don’t like the concept of using the humans as meatshields to fight other humans,” says Red. "But, uh, chief, it’s a little out of character for you, isn’t it?” she asks. “I thought you liked them.” She taps her head. “You think the whole thing isn’t getting to your head a little?” asks the uthra.

 

“I am sure that it is,” replies Isaiah, nodding. It lets the leaf return to its autumn state and then blows it off, letting it fly away in the breeze. The two of them watch it vanish. “I do not intend to have my followers fight and defend the tower, Red,” it explains. “They need only to keep the faith, nothing more.”

 

“Sure, that’s great and all,” says Red. “But then what are we going to do when a few hundred thousand soldiers march up to our door to knock?” asks Red.

 

Isaiah tilts its head, looking at her in curiosity for a moment. “We will let them in, Red,” explains Isaiah. “I am a dungeon-core, after all. This is a dungeon.” It shakes its head. “I would be remiss to not let them reach up for the fruits of their passions.”

 

“Are you sure?” asks Red. “We could take some preemptive measures. Kill a few before they get here.”

 

Isaiah shakes its head. “That is not what we do, Red.” It looks at her. “With the sub-tower and the spirit-world connection, we will have up to three-hundred floors, before the full completion of the final core.” It nods.

 

The uthra’s wings buzz. “Chief, you realize that half of the people on the island already have shortcuts unlocked in the core tower, right?” she asks. “They’re working through the sub-tower as we speak.”

 

“Perhaps,” replies Isaiah. “But the new-comers will not,” it says.

 

The uthra shakes her head. “And the whole ‘nobody dies’ thing is going to be a real problem. They’ll drown us in numbers, even with three-hundred floors.”

 

“Then we will reduce their numbers,” remarks Isaiah, lifting a hand to stop Red’s face from becoming too excited. “Non-lethally.”

 

NEW - (SEASONAL) ABILITY -

[Temporal Imprisonment](Toggle)

All hostile entities within the dungeon-territory who die will be fully trapped in a time-frozen state until released.

 

Isaiah watches the strange stars filling the sky like the many fires that trail in towards the human city west of the tower. “Make sure that our home is ready to accommodate them, Red,” orders Isaiah. “Autumn is a season of death; though it may be kinder here, it would be good for us to remind them of such.” Isaiah turns to look at Red. “None of us are spared from the ticking of the eternal clock.”

 

“I knew you’d talk about the seasons before I escaped this ramble,” remarks Red, rolling her eyes.

 

Isaiah nods, looking at her. “We all have our favorites,” says the entity, nodding to her.