by Hugo Huesca
Two of the encampments were fully enclosed by the wooden walls, with the third still being constructed. Ed’s drones were working on the last third of the walls, dancing over cut logs piled in pyramids next to the construction site. The imp-like creatures weren’t happy working with wood, but at least they were competent… enough. Their purple-and-pink tunics swayed with the evening breeze, and the crackle of the bonfire behind them gave the tunic’s engraved Lasershark an almost-lifelike imitation of a swim. While Ed watched, purple tendrils of magic manifested around the drones and, directed by their dancing, ate a few of the logs before transforming them into stakes and ropes that snaked in the air and built themselves into the palisade.
“I swear that every time I look away, the batblins double their damn numbers,” Lavy said, covering her eyes with her hand to glance up at the smoke rising from a dozen different bonfires. “Soon enough they’ll outnumber everyone but the spiders.”
Ed scratched his chin. It was true that the third encampment hadn’t been there the night before. It wasn’t even connected to the tunnel network yet. “Seems like Klek and Tulip are doing great at their recruiting gig.” How many clouds can the forest support? He knew that batblin meat was—had been—an integral part of a horned spider’s diet. The number of spiders in the forest suggested an equivalent number of prey, which meant there were more batblins hiding in the forest than one may think at first glance. Nowadays, Klek and his riders spent whole nights without returning to the Haunt, but they weren’t close to finished finding all the clouds out there.
“I think they’re growing their numbers the old-fashioned way,” Alder pointed out. A pair of startled batblins scurried off inside the bushes when they saw the hell chickens approach.
“It’s because no one is hunting them inside our domains,” Kes said. “Batblins’ main survival strategy is to out-breed their predators. Wetlands, in a couple of years we may have a problem in our hands. Netherworld crops or not, there’s only so many creatures the land can support.”
“That has an easy solution,” Lavy said. “We’ll just eat the batblins—there are enough of them to feed us.” She snickered at the idea, but it was obvious she didn’t mean it. Most of her research assistants inside the dungeon were batblins, and Klek was her regular sparring partner.
Kes and Ed exchanged glances. The Marshal’s fears were well-founded. The Haunt is growing fast. How long until we can’t hide it anymore? After all, even with the Scramblers, there were obvious signs of civilization that simply couldn’t be hidden.
There had even been a faint trickle of villagers from neighboring lands, approaching the Haunt and asking to be let in. How they had learned about its existence in the first place wasn’t hard to guess: not all the Burrova survivors were Ed’s minions. So far, they’d eluded the Inquisition’s investigations, but the arrival of newcomers was a signal that information was leaking.
Some nights, Ed couldn’t sleep. One of these days, he’d wake to find out that the first team of Heroes had found their way into the Haunt. And once that happened… even if he defeated them, that’d only mean that the rest of the player-base of Ivalis Online would make a bee-line for his dungeon. He knew exactly how they would feel, in fact. The pride at being the first—and only—player to defeat a particularly troublesome Boss, along with frustration when he couldn’t seal the deal and another team finished the quest before he could return to claim revenge.
If he had only known why those Bosses didn’t respawn…
Lavy’s words danced in Ed’s mind. He had the numbers to put up a fight. He knew things about the Heroes that a normal Dungeon Lord didn’t, and his grasp of Earth’s technology and tactics was good enough that he could get it to work to his advantage if he used magic to plug those areas where he lacked expertise.
But he’d still take losses, no matter what. People would die defending the dungeon, and bodies would pile up as high as those bonfires.
Unless I find the way to turn the tables.
The Wraith’s Haunt
Dungeon Lord Edward Wright.
Drones 55
Dominant Material Cave Rock
Threat 65 - Local - 35 Heiliges - Represents how aware the outside world is of the dungeon and how willing / able / ready they are to do something about it. A 100 indicates imminent destruction.
Offense 3000 - A representation of the strength a dungeon’s forces can muster during an attack (raid or invasion) outside the dungeon itself. It represents the experience they would award, as a group, if they were defeated (but not absorbed).
Defense 4500 - The experience the population of a dungeon would award if they were to be defeated (but not absorbed) during the defense of said dungeon. It’s multiplied by a percentage given by the dungeon’s upgrades and defenses.
Magic Generated 100 - Measures the magic created by the Sacred Grounds that can be put to use in different endeavors or to power dungeon upgrades.
Magic Consumed 35 - Measures how much magic is consumed.
Population
82 humans (12 combatants)
1 avian combatant
324 batblins (61 batblin combatants)
Spider Clusters: 1 Empress, 5 Queens, 23 princesses, 92 warriors, ? Spiderlings, ? Wounded.
Areas
Living Zones:
Living Quarters
Storage
Treasure Chamber
Caravan Camp
Mess Hall
Military Facilities:
3 Batblin camps
1 Training Facility
5 Spider Dens
1 Kaftar Dojo
1 Prison
Research Installations:
1 Witchcraft Laboratory (Upgraded: Library, Runemaker Hall)
1 Herbalist Workshop (Upgraded: Medical Facility)
1 Taming Stable
Sacred Grounds:
The Seat.
1 Light Altar
1 Dark Altar
Production:
1 Forge
1 Brewery
5 Hell chicken Breeding Grounds
1 Kitchen
1 Mining Facility
Underground Farms
Stables
Defense:
Heavy Dust traps.
Fake Floors.
Secret Passages.
Defensive Spears.
Batblin Sentries.
Spider Sentries.
Defensive Potions and Runes.
Dungeon Upgrades
Drone Permanency
Scrambler Towers
Ed dismissed the prompt with a thought. The increase in power from the spider’s conquest had completely offset the dent that Nicolai made in the Haunt’s defenses months ago.
When compared with the batblin encampments, the kaftar camp was a veritable fortress. Pointed tents made out of leather and cotton were organized in circular patterns with watchtowers guarding its perimeter. A few young warriors practiced combat drills in a sanded field, handymen fixed broken tools under the shadow of their wooden sheds, and lumbermen teams delved into the forest under the protection of scouts armed with spears and long fang-like daggers. Kaftar clan-members marched at the edges of the camp, keeping their eyes on the woods despite the implied protection of Ed’s creatures. Technically, the kaftar cackle wasn’t in Ed’s employ, they were more like allies of the Haunt. Only ten of its members—grown from the original five—had taken minionship with him, and two of those hurried to meet Ed’s group as they passed alongside the camp.
“Greetings, Dungeon Lord,” said Kaga as he pressed one arm to his chest in salutation. “I take that the spider rebellion has been quelled.”
“Kaga, Yumiya,” Ed nodded at them. “Everything went as planned. Thanks for the insights on the warring dynamics of horned spiders.”
“Anytime,” said Yumiya. She was Kaga’s second-in-command and the Haunt’s foremost expert in monsters—and how to kill them. Both kaftar were dressed in black armor made out of hardened spider chitin. They wore n
o shoes or gauntlets since the shape of their hands was too paw-like for that kind of protection. At one point, Kaga had tried to add the spider’s horn as an ornamental weapon into the armor design, but he’d kept poking himself with it. “How did the Agility potion fare with the spiderlings?” Yumiya asked.
“Well enough,” Ed said. “It did its job, but it didn’t last as long as Andreena thought it would. It also only enhanced them by a couple of ranks instead of the usual three to four.”
Yumiya grunted thoughtfully. “A spiderling’s metabolism is always on overdrive, so it's no surprise it burns through the potion. Their size plays a part, too.”
Ed nodded. Potions didn’t scale well with critters, as they were crafted for humans. “Well, we’re onto something here. It’ll be worth it if we keep experimenting.”
Yumiya interpreted that as an order and crossed her right arm across her chest. “I’ll do as you ask, Dungeon Lord. But it may be quicker if you’d allow us to experiment on the spiderlings directly.”
“Let’s keep our mad science as friendly as we can, shall we?” Ed grinned at her.
While they talked, Kaga had approached the hell chicken mounts and was examining Kes’ Neckbreaker with an inquisitive eye. The hell chicken had eye blinders in addition to the straps on its beaks, and the claws on its legs and wings had been sheathed with wool and leather.
“How did the mounts fare?” Kaga asked Kes, keeping a prudent distance from Neckbreaker’s beak.
“Well, they behaved, more or less,” Kes said. “At least this dung-for-brains didn’t eat any of the fingers I’ve left.” She tapped at Neckbreaker’s feathers. “You managed to reduce their aggression, Kaga, but I’d say not enough for actual combat—there’s no way they wouldn’t turn on us the instant we took the straps away. And they lack the temperament, anyway. If one of our riders was wounded, not only would his mount turn against him, but all the others would as well.”
The group stared at the hell chickens in silence. One of the advantages of being elite monster hunters was that Kaga and his team knew how to tame wild beasts, and they’d been working on the hell chickens—to some measure of success. The kaftar named each beast and were trying their best to transform them into war-mounts. If they succeeded, the Haunt would have a great advantage over other dungeons: war horses were rare and expensive, but hell chickens were faster and far more murderous counterparts that were also very easy to grow.
It was risky, but with the Heroes trailing the borders of Hoia, the Haunt needed all the advantages it could get.
“They’re less aggressive when well fed,” Kaga mused. “But they’ll still pounce on anyone the second they sense any weakness. I’ve never seen anything like it. To be honest, at this point taming these magnificent creatures is a personal mission of mine. If I could get the clan to raise a couple hundred of them…” He lowered his ears, lost in thought, probably thinking of bloodshed and warfare. “Ah, who knows what could happen,” he added wistfully.
“To be honest,” Ed said, “I like the new version better.”
A month ago, Lavy had managed to fix Saint Claire and Tillman’s Stupendous Hell Chicken Farm. The new kit had turned out smaller hell chickens, which were gray and lacked the aggression of their counterparts. But Ed had kept the existing design, as well as the farms already in place, because a population of murderous, easy-to-grow beasts could come in handy. A few hours after adding Lavy’s design to the Haunt, he had received a letter from Saint Clarie and Tillman testily proclaiming that tampering with their devices voided the warranty.
“They’re good climbers,” Alder added, probably because he felt that Kes was being too harsh on her assessment. He patted his mount, Blood Fiend, who twisted its neck to throw Alder a murderous glance which the Bard ignored.
“Actually, that’s true,” Kes said, then shrugged. “But I honestly don’t see how that helps us. Not counting Scar, we can’t teach these assholes anything, and we can’t trust them.”
Lavy shook her head and dismounted. She stood right next to her mount, Scar, at a distance that would’ve prompted an attack from any other hell chicken. Scar merely pretended she wasn’t there. “You only need to figure them out, is all. If they sense any weakness, they’ll pounce, but they won’t risk defying someone stronger than them. So… just don’t have any weaknesses.”
Scar kept its crimson eyes fixated away from Lavy. It took its name from the long line of cracked and burnt tissue that crossed its beak side to side. Since its first encounter with Lavy, Scar had been the only one of its species to show a willingness to listen during taming, but only to the Witch. It seemed, to Ed, that they had reached a kind of murderous understanding.
“Or be crazy enough that the damn shits buy your bluff,” Kes muttered.
They all dismounted, and Kaga waved a group of young kaftars to take over the reins of the obsidian mounts. The kaftar tamers dragged them toward the stables next to the cackle’s camp, bribing the chickens with bloody steaks and the Netherworld fungi that was the other half of their diet.
“Keep trying, so long as it’s safe,” Ed told the monster hunter. “They’re too valuable not to. Maybe there’s a way to fix the aggression problem, though. Perhaps we can alter Saint Claire’s tranquility potion somewhat.”
“Maybe,” Kaga said. Potions were outside his area of expertise. He was a user, not a crafter. “But it has to be a change that doesn’t take away their killer instinct. A fine line to tread, I’d say.”
After the kaftar had taken their leave, Ed and the others strolled past the clan camp and the jagged outcrop under which the Haunt’s dungeon was built came into sight. The boulders were shaped like broken edges rising defiantly up to the evening sky. Past them grew a sea of mountaintops, half-clouded by mist and snow, hiding the sea from view and casting the countryside in its shadow. The view dwarfed even Hoia, and it was Ed’s constant reminder that, no matter how larger the Haunt grew, it was nothing but a tiny dot in a world that hadn’t been crafted for human-sized creatures. Those mountains in the distance were the true owners of the world, slumbering titans that cared nothing for the games of the Light and the Dark.
The marketplace stood right under the skirt of the outcrop. It was tiny by all measures of size, both human and geological. The terrain was naked ground flattened by the daily stomping of dozens of feet, with several refurbished tents with straw roofs standing around the road that connected the dungeon to the kaftar camps. About a dozen villagers lounged inside the tents or walked around despite the late hour. Heorghe’s wife, Ivona, was in the middle of a heated discussion with a middle-aged man named Bryne, who wore a black eye-patch emblazoned with a silver lasershark. By the looks of it, Bryne wanted to trade Ivona a small roll of blue cotton fabric in exchange for a pair of shears with brass handles, but she was out-haggling him with so much passion that it was a hair-breadth away from coming to blows.
When contrasted to the mountains above, the marketplace was tiny and inconsequential. But to Ed, who knew its history, it meant much more.
At first, the tents had been a temporary camp built to house the survivors of the attack on Burrova. The villagers had been forceful guests of the Haunt, prisoners in all but name, and thought of Ed and his minions as tyrants. That had all changed after Nicolai and his forces had stormed the Haunt and unleashed an undead abomination that had attempted to drain the life out of its inhabitants. Defeating Nicolai had almost cost Ed his life and the lives of his friends, but afterward, the villagers’ hatred had evaporated, despite the deaths of several men and women during the fight. Now, most of them lived inside the dungeon where Ed could best protect them, but they still preferred to spend time outside. Day-to-day life in Ivalis was dictated by sunlight, after all.
Bryne sighed loudly and added two packs of waxed hemp to his pile, thus finally getting Ivona to accept the trade. A few of the villagers caught sight of Ed’s party and waved at them, some of them bending their knees slightly or crossing their hand over their chest in
the kaftar’s way. Ed returned the wave awkwardly, wishing people would stop treating him like some kind of royal figure. It set a bad precedent, because a part of him liked it.
That part of himself was the reason that the Dark god Murmur had chosen him to become a Dungeon Lord in the first place, despite Ed’s refusal to join his ranks. Murmur apparently hoped that, in the end, the allure of power would become too great as the corruption grew too entrenched to resist. Humans, to the Hungry One, were but the instrument with which he proved his philosophy. Even the most virtuous man in the world would fall if Murmur offered a deal he couldn’t resist.
Ed… disagreed. But even he had to admit that some days were harder than others. And he was far from the most virtuous man in the world.
“Dungeon Lord,” Bryne called, hurrying to meet Ed. “Marshal Kessih, Masters Lavina and Alder. I take that we triumphed against the rebellious spider scum?”
“Obviously,” said Lavy with a prideful grin. “What else did you expect? Victory was inevitable with me leading the charge.”
Bryne shot her a nervous smile. “Of course, Master Lavina, of course. Didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Ed rolled his eyes. Most of the villagers were deathly afraid of Lavy because she spent a large portion of her time trying to raise the spirits of the dead to serve her. It was an image that the Witch was happy to indulge.
It’s like she’s trying to get burned at the stake.
“Lavy, you helped just as much as I did,” Alder began, but the Witch pretended he was part of the scenery.
