I spent them creating kobolds, one after another until I had eight including Brecht. I asked these beautiful creatures to eat different kinds of goblin dust, eventually ending up with a crack team of kobolds.
They had different ranges of classes and levels, and were far, far beyond any kind of offensive team I had hoped to make just an hour earlier.
Staring at them, I gave another command. This was something cores could do, but I hadn’t really created any creature worth doing it for yet.
Create unit.
Name: Anti-Seekers.
Leader: Brecht [Bard]
And there I had it! My first dedicated offense team. Now, rather than having random creatures roaming my dungeon, I had a team of bards, warriors, barbarian, and ranger kobolds who could seek out a fight when any hapless Seekers tried to invade.
“Go to the inventory room and get tooled up,” I told them. “There are some looted weapons from the last Seekers to die here, and I created a few basic swords and stuff. I’ll get you better equipment when I have the chance.”
The Anti-Seeker unit left, and I felt like my dungeon was five times stronger. No, I’m being too modest. It was at least five and a half times stronger.
But I wasn’t done there. It was time for a trip to the melding room.
CHAPTER 18
There are lots of beautiful things a core can build in his dungeon. Some cores like a rot room, where corpse are piled so high they look like little hills of death. Others like a Hall of Screams, where heroes’ heads are placed in alcoves on the walls, and then reanimated using mana. Splendid. That’s the thing with art; you’re only limited by your imagination.
One of my favorite places was the melding room. I floated there now, up high on my pedestal. It didn’t look like much, really. Just a bare room with three markings on the ground. Over by the north wall was a rectangular pit that looked like a coal forge, except it would fill with essence, not coals.
I heard footsteps behind me.
“Ah, Shadow,” I said, making sure to sound mystical.
Here’s a tip; if you want people to think you’re psychic, just guess stuff. Half the time you’ll be right.
“This leaf hopes he isn’t intruding,” said a voice.
Damn, it was Warrane. I should have just used my core vision, but I enjoyed the guessing game.
“What can this core do for this leaf?” I asked.
“He wonders what Core Beno is doing. If he is to supervise kobolds, this leaf must learn more about the dungeon.”
“Are you enjoying being a leader?”
A smile crossed his face now. It was nice to see. “He feels he has a lot to learn, but the thousandth step cannot happen without the first.”
“You’re a good leader, Warrane. It’s a shame about the leaf system and about your parents.”
“This leaf would like to turn the conversation to a different topic.”
“Fair enough. This is the melding room, Warrane. A dungeon core needs to have a boss monster waiting for heroes who make it to the end of his dungeon. It’s a final test; it makes sure the heroes don’t get loot without having to earn it, and gives the core one last chance to defeat them.”
“Gary is your boss monster, no?”
“Touchy subject. He used to be. Wait, I haven’t told anyone else about that yet! Has Gary been gossiping?”
“Well…this leaf would like to bring a complaint to Core Beno’s attention.”
This was a problem the overseers had warned us about; the larger your dungeon population, the more chance of discontent. This was why many cores ruled by tyranny.
“Let’s hear it. Never let it be said I don’t listen to my clanmates.”
“This leaf has told his workers to avoid passing through the room near the surface door. Gary waits there, and he is a distraction to anyone who goes by. He is a gossiper, if Core Beno doesn’t mind me saying.”
“He’s just smarting over a talk we had, but he’ll get over it. To answer your question, I felt I needed a boss monster better suited to the Seeker threat.”
“How does Core Beno get a boss monster?”
“A few ways,” I said. “The laziest, and most expensive, is to buy one from a monster breeder on the surface. But that means hiring a surface liaison, then having them trade loot for gold, and procuring a monster. Breeders always charge way more than their monsters are worth. Besides, I don’t agree with it.”
“You do not agree with breeders?”
“With certain breeders,” I said. “Some of them mistreat their monsters. They are so concerned with profit they cut corners. Call me soft-hearted, but I would only trade with a breeder committed to monster welfare. That means paying way, way too much.”
“But Core Beno has a different way?”
“The melding room. See the three marks on the floor? I need to have three different creatures stand there, and the melding room will turn them into a boss monster.”
“Ah. The monsters are ingredients.”
“And the melding room makes the stew. Let me tell you, the melding room is a horrible, horrible cook. You’ve seen Gary, yes? Delightful personality, but his looks would make even the Great Tree of Ugliness rot away.”
“Core Beno is mean to Gary.”
“Mean? I didn’t mean it to sound that way. Ugly is great, Warrane! Ugly is special, especially to me. I don’t know if you have ever seen a hero party, but they all look the same. Perfect hair that they combed back and conditioned with oils and Aloe Vera. Fancy leather cuirasses, braids in their beard, makeup around their eyes. Sometimes, the only way to tell them alike is by looking to see if they have a sword or a staff. No, Warrane. Ugly is great. Flaws are perfect. Give me a kobold with a cleft palate any day.”
“What boss monster will you make?”
“That’s the question. Something suited to the Seekers. Let me think.”
The first step was to see which monsters I could choose from. I brought up my list now to check.
Monsters
Spider [Cost 15]
Leech [Cost 15]
Fire beetle [Cost 20 ]
Kobold [Cost 35]
Angry Elemental Jelly Cube [Cost 75]
Sinister Owl [Cost 120]
Stone Dwarf Troll [Cost 180]
Bogbadug [Cost 200]
*New* Bone Guy [Cost 250]
*New* Hivemind Shrooms [Cost 375]
*New* Mimic [Cost 500]
With 450 essence points, I could create anything except the mimic, which was a shame. I absolutely love mimics.
Even so, I still had a lot of fun creatures to play with. See, some creatures on the list were unimpressive on their own. A leech, for instance. A minor annoyance, right? Nobody ever died from getting a leech stuck to their arse.
But when I had combined a leech with a spider and a troll, I had gotten Gary, the hideously ugly spider with giant leeches for legs.
I needed to experiment, but there was a problem. Once I created a boss monster, I couldn’t just get rid of him if I didn’t like the melding room’s results. I’d have to either wait until a hero killed my creature, or demote them to just a regular monster like I had with Gary. But not only did that seem to make monsters unhappy, but the demotion weakened their powers.
Besides moral issues, I had my dungeon capacity to think about. I had been so busy lately that with my mining team and my new anti-seeker force, I had 16 monsters in my dungeon. I could only have 18 monsters at any one time.
As a level 6 core, I needed to get this right. At the same time, there was always an element of chance when it came to a melding room. That was its biggest drawback; at least when you bought from a breeder, you knew what you were getting.
The truth was, I already knew what I was going to gamble on. I’d been thinking about it off and on for days, trying to figure all the different combinations of monsters.
The trio I settled on was a strange mix, and I wondered if I was being stupid. But the first guy to ever milk a cow must hav
e thought that, surely? Look how good an idea that turned out to be.
So, for the next two days, I created my monsters, waiting for my essence to regenerate between each one. Finally, late on the second day, I was ready.
There, in the melding room, my three creatures stood before me, dead-center on the markings on the floor.
An angry elemental jelly cube.
A small growth of hivemind shrooms.
Finally, A Bone guy.
You wouldn’t believe how nervous I felt when I commanded the melding room to mix them together and then left. It was like a baker making a cake and then putting it in an oven, unsure how it will turn out.
I was going to go check on Tomlin in the essence growing room while I waited for the meld to complete when I detected a presence in my dungeon.
Not just one presence, though. At least seven people had entered.
My first thought was that the Seekers were back, but no. The intruders had come from the west, the direction of the caverns. I hopped to the pedestal in my core room and then I listened. As the intruders had now walked into one of my excavated dungeon rooms, my core hearing let me pick out their words perfectly.
“Just this way,” said a voice. “I must warn you; his arrogance is astounding. He believes that his dungeon is a work of genius, and will hear no criticism about it. You would think he had designed the Kings Palace.”
The voice belonged to First-Leaf Godwin. Now that I knew it was him, I became more aware of the rat-tap-tap of his staff as he walked.
“Is he dangerous?” asked a younger voice.
“Absolutely. It is an inherent trait in a core, otherwise, he would be of little use to us. Though, after you see his dungeon, you may wonder if he is of any use at all, danger our not.”
“He hasn’t made progress?” asked an older voice.
“My dear Second-Leaf Rushden, if this dungeon core was a man, it would take him 500 years to cross a street.”
They all laughed now. I’ve always been a big believer in that a person should be able to laugh at themselves, but I have to admit that I found it difficult right then.
Imagine if you’d spent a long time painting your home, only for someone to walk by and tell you the color looked like a horse had taken a crap and flung it on your walls. A core can get defensive about his dungeon.
I used my core vision now, navigating through the tunnels until I spotted them. First-Leaf Godwin was leading a procession of the Wrotun, seven of them, through my dungeon.
There was a mix of ages; a few looked close to Godwin’s age, though none had as much strain showing on their faces as the First Leaf, while others looked young. They all had their race in common. With their sea-blue skin and the three curved horns sprouting from their heads, they must have been of the Goatief race.
I wasn’t happy. The First-Leaf looked like he was leading them on a tour. This wasn’t some magical forest wonderland; it was a dungeon of death. You didn’t come here for an outing unless you liked outings that involved bear traps slamming shut on your feet.
This was a test, I decided. The First-Leaf had made it clear that he had some reservations about me, and now he was trying to goad me again.
I checked my dungeon layout, and it looked like they were headed for the core room, where I was floating. Four tunnels led here, but only one that came from their direction.
I faced the opening they would emerge from.
Create riddle door.
An iron door now stood firm where there had once been empty space. The knocker sitting proudly in the center was a pig with an oversized snout.
“Go on then,” it said, snorting at the end of its sentence. “Give me a riddle.”
“Aren’t you going to rhyme?”
“Let’s pretend I did, if that – snort – makes you feel better.”
It did, actually. I much preferred this guy to my last few riddle doors. “Let’s see. A riddle that might stump the First-Leaf. Ah – At night they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?”
The pig gave a snort so great that it shook his whole door. “Stars. Easy.”
“Easy for a riddle door, sure. It’s in your nature. It’s like a bird bragging how high he can fly.”
I felt sure that the riddle would keep the First-Leaf busy for a while. It was a rather immature thing to do, but we’re all like that sometimes, I think. Everyone has to blow off steam their own way, and one of my ways was to create a talking door that frustrated any attempts to get to my core room.
I used my core hearing to listen now, and it wasn’t long until they reached the door.
“What’s this? It wasn’t here last time,” said First-Leaf Godwin. “Another damn riddle. I tell you, this core loves them.”
I wondered how long it’d take him to guess it. Not long probably. But long enough to frustrate him a little.
There was a great blast, and the riddle door suddenly swung open. It was bent out of shape and hanging from its hinges, and the pig knocker gasped and snorted as steam rose from him.
Behind the door was the First-Leaf, with dregs of burned mana swirling around his staff.
“Ah, here he is,” said the First-Leaf.
“Godwin. This is a surprise,” I said, swallowing my anger about the door. I guessed that was what I got for playing tricks.
“I have brought the Rushden family tree to see the dungeon. They were one of the highest contributing trees when we pooled our resources to buy you and your friend. Their influence among the Wrotun cannot be overstated.”
“Nice to meet you. Any reason you’re here?”
“See?” said Godwin, looking at his guests. “I told you about his attitude.”
The oldest-looking Rushden leaf stepped forward. The horns that sprouted from his head were so curled that they were only an inch away from piercing his skull.
I’d heard about this. Left alone, the horns of the goatief race would grow and grow, curling so that eventually they began to grow toward the skull. Without regular filing sessions, they would grow so curled that they pierced their own heads. In fact, it was a punishment among goatief society; they would tie up a criminal goatief and keep them watered and fed, restraining them until their own horns killed them.
This goatief’s horns had been filed recently, so he was in no danger of such a death.
“I say, I say,” he began. “Do you think it is wise to treat your owners with contempt? With such an attitude?”
“Owners is such a harsh word when it comes to free-thinking beings,” I said. “You might say that considering me, a conscious being, as your property makes you quite a lot like the seekers.”
The horned man spat. “You have a dirty mouth.”
“Such lies,” said a woman who appeared to be his wife. Her horns were filed to perfect cones and were speckled with gold.
“Lies?” I said. “They use human slaves to navigate our traps. You’re using cores to kill them. A zebra can hardly look at a horse and laugh at his appearance.”
“I say, I say,” began the man.
“I wish you would just say it.”
“I say-”
The First-Leaf held up his staff. “Enough! I warned you, my honorable Rushden’s, that our core is prickly. I am told this comes with the nature of their second lives, and is considered a defect among them. At any rate, I am here to show you around, and hopefully put your mind at ease that our defenses will soon be improved.”
One of the younger goatiefs moved out of the pack now. “Father, I’d like to see the surface door.”
“I say, that is our of the question.”
“Father,” said the youth. He looked Warrane’s age, which would make him a fifth-leaf. His future prospects seemed a lot healthier than Warrane’s, though. “Father, I will see it.”
The older one laughed. “This one has First-Leaf written all over him. You hear the way he orders me?”
“You shouldn’t stand for it,” said Godwin.
“Pah. Better a lad with spirit, than a mouse.” He turned to me now. “Do you have someone who can guide him through the dungeon?”
Damn it, I just wasn’t going to get rid of these guys, was I? The best I could do was hurry it along.
“I suppose so. Shadow?” I called.
There was no answer.
“Shadow?” I said, this time using my inner core voice.
No answer again! I swear, if she has tried to escape…
“Father, I want to explore the tunnels now!”
Godwin eyed me. The elder goatief glared. I imagined that I was taking a deep, relaxing breath.
And then I imagined breathing fire on them all, melting them to puddles of gloop.
There was nothing for it. “Wylie?” I said.
A minute later, the kobold came running in. “Yes, Dark Lord?”
“Show the kid around the dungeon. That kid there, the one with the limp horn and dopey face. Make sure he doesn’t get caught in a trap.”
“Wylie show!”
“Can you cut out his kobold tongue?” asked the boy. “I won’t listen to his prattling.”
“You know what, Wylie?” I said. “If he was to step on a pressure plate, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
Wylie and the boy headed off toward one of the tunnels that led north, to the surface door. Just as they had almost left us, I had a realization.
“Wylie?” I called. “Don’t take what I said literally. The little git is not to be harmed.”
“Wylie protect!”
With them gone, the First-Leaf and his Rushden tree guests bombarded me with question after question about defenses and traps, how they were made, and where I would be looking to place more of them.
The elder Rushden, with his curled tusks almost touching his head, was a little more perceptive than the others. He had a wary manner about him, but the questions he asked me indicated that he at least knew a little bit about cores.
“I say, I say. One last question, if you’ll indulge me,” he said. I had no reason to believe it would be the last, since the twelve preceding questions had begun the same way.
I felt like I was trying to justify my existence, that it was somehow my fault they had spent too much gold buying me.
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