FINAL CORE - Chapter 47: The first day of rest

The demon-king’s dungeon was the first and only dungeon to ever explicitly seek the destruction of the peoples of the world.

Most dungeons are content to just live their lives until disturbed, like a hive of bees.

But the DARK-dungeon was a different beast. It wasn’t just a dungeon, it was a lair, a den of brooding evil in which the greatest threat our forefathers had faced was spawned and then, eventually, destroyed by the true-hero of our era.

The demon-king and his foulness has all but vanished from our era, as has the hero of that time.

But a hundred year crisis always looms anew. Watch the underground. If he returns, that#s where it will be.

In the dark.

~ A side-note found on a section on elements inside of an elven wanderer’s take on dungeons, page twelve.

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Water trickles down the altar, splashing as it strikes against the metal grate on the floors down below. Wood screeches as it rubs against damp stonework, as someone sits down a little too heavily and moves the construct back an inch. Many familiar faces gather in the prayer hall, on floor three of the tower.

Isaiah looks around itself and then down at the room from its perch, up near the ceiling. The uthra fly around, preparing what is left to set up, before sitting down on nooks and crannies or statues or wherever else they might favor to find a perch.

Red lands next to Isaiah and sits down there, her legs dangling off of the edge of the overhang.

Today, there will be no work. The uthra have received strict orders to simply… do nothing today.

This was very unusual for them. Uthras never get a day off. Then again, neither do blackbirds.

Humans have long since understood this concept of rest. It is, counterintuitively, a better way to be productive. Some time of rest will make the remaining days of work far more fruitful, than if one had labored through from start to finish. A day of rest can offer a clear head and an opportunity to take care of the things that really ought to be taken care of.

Everyone is here.

Rorate looks around and then nods, stepping forward to the front of the altar and welcoming everyone.

“Welcome, everyone,” says the dark-elf priestess of the tower. Water flows behind her, trickling down the altar and down over the small head of the statue placed there atop of it. A statue carved in the image of a person who is not here today. “Thank you for coming. Today, we’re here to depart from Green.” She gestures to the pews. “Let us begin.”

Burying the dead is important, yes. This is why the graveyard was one of the first constructs of the tower.

But remembering them, honoring them, understanding that they are a presence that is now missing and really digesting that for a time is perhaps more important.

The dead do not long for dignity.

If anything, they long to return.

And if this can not be achieved, they would at least long to be remembered.

It sounds dumb, but Isaiah hopes that Green can be a blackbird next time around.

— He would enjoy it.

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[Irascaris]

Human, Male, Lancer

It is later in the day.

Irascaris sits in the small room they’re living in, atop the tower. He isn’t exactly great with heights, but you get used to it quickly. As long as you don’t look over the edge and you forget to notice the swaying sensation of the massive structure beneath oneself.

He sighs, letting his shoulders droop as the others walk into their little house.

It’s honestly… not terrible. It’s a white-stone, brickwork structure. The walls are solid and thick and the interior is warm and coated with many soft rugs and fabrics. The furniture is beyond what they could ever hoped to afford in their old lives. Hell, even just a room of their own like this.

Sure, the adventurer’s guild is okay, if you want to indebt yourself for the room there.

But…

He looks around himself.

This is a luxury that ‘D’ and ‘C’ rank adventurers like themselves could never even dream of.

Caeli sighs and sits down at their small table and Domi follows suit.

The three of them sit there in silence for a while.

“So?” asks Irascaris. The others don’t say anything, but look his way. “What’s the plan?” he asks. “Are we leaving, or…?”

They look at each other.

Before the witch’s attack on the tower, while the delegation of the bishop and the rest of the church was here, they had managed to sneak in a word and get their names cleared by explaining the situation.

None of them are wanted anymore. They’re free to leave the tower and to return to their old lives or to do whatever else pleases their hearts, honestly.

“My jaw still hurts from that old bread,” says Caeli, leaning back on her chair. “We ate fish today,” she explains, looking up towards the ceiling. “I haven’t had fish since my birthday, three years ago.”

“Yesterday there was that berry-tart thing,” says Domi.

“Yeah!” says Caeli excitedly, the legs of her chair falling back down to the floor as she leans into the table. “Man. That was good.”

“What do you think that costs in the city?” asks Domi.

The room is silent.

“More than we make in a month,” replies Irascaris. He lifts his hand. “I think I’d like to stay here for a while.”

Caeli lifts her hand. “I’m in. If worse comes to worse, we can always leave. But we might as well stay for now, right?” she asks. “Besides… the beds are nice too…” She looks over at her bed in the other corner of the room.

“And we don’t have to take turns, since we each have our own,” says Domi, sighing. He lifts his hand. “Okay. I’m up for staying here too.”

The three of them nod and then sigh again, leaning back on their comfortable chairs.

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Sion

Elf, Female, Priestess

Sion looks around herself, not really sure what to do.

In all honesty, despite today being a declared ‘day off’, she just has sort of been wandering the tower this whole time. Isaiah told her to take as long as she wants to familiarize herself with the structure and she feels like she’s done that.

But now what?

The elf wanders out downstairs, heading into the hot-springs.

She looks around herself. Several of the glowing lights are here, sitting on the edge of the basin. The largest one, which is about the size of a small child, the red one, sits half-submerged in the hot water.

— Everyone turns to look at her as she steps inside and she freezes in an awkward moment of not really knowing what to do.

“See?” asks Red, pointing at her. “This one doesn’t drown all the time. I told you it’s not an elf-thing!” She shakes her head. “That doesn’t even make any sense. Why would all elves drown all the time?”

Black shrugs. “I dunno. It made sense to me,” replies the uthra.

Red nods her head, looking back towards Sion. “Well? Are you coming in or not?” she asks, waving Sion over.

“Uh, I…”

“It’s fine. Water’s hot,” says Red, leaning back. “Just watch where you step. Teal is around here somewhere, I think.”

Sion, too far in the situation to walk away with extreme awkwardness now, nods and gives in.

A hot-bath isn’t so bad, honestly. The water is nice and it relieves a lot of the deep tension she feels behind her shoulders and the uthra she finds are surprisingly easy for her to talk to.

She isn’t good at talking to people. But maybe, because these aren’t ‘people’ in the normal sense of the word, it’s easier?

Sion isn’t sure if that makes sense. But she doesn't want to worry about it.

— Isaiah had specifically asked her not to worry.

So she won’t. At least not for today.

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[Bishop Zacaries Montero]

Human, Male, Bishop

The bishop walks, playing with a golden coin in his hands as he stares at the floors, lost in thought.

The glint of the midday light catches the token in his fingers and shines with a reflective glint into his eyes.

He stops his pacing and looks at the gift that he and everyone else had been given. A token of pilgrimage. It is made of gold and embedded with iconography of the tower and Isaiah. Words of the old scriptures are etched into the rims of the metal, carved by a craftsmanship that is too perfect to belong to any mortal or any mold made by a person’s hands.

Isaiah.

He turns his gaze out to look out through the open terrace windows, down towards the city below.

For him, the matter is clear.

The will of the gods has made itself seen to them, now, finally. But the cardinals are not all on board with this.

His eyes run past the city, towards the tower that sits in the distant horizon, growing higher and higher. People no longer whisper of it. They now speak in excitement and wonder and many others speak in voices of fear.

The gods returning means a shift in life.

For generations, people have lived comfortably, barring the usual one-hundred year crisis which is due sooner or later. The return of the godly powers of the world would however, disrupt that normality.

— Interesting times are often unwanted by those who experience them.

He had done his best upon their return to speak to the people and to encourage them to share their faith with the tower. Many had heeded his words and began preparations for a pilgrimage to prove their faith.

But many others are unsure and many more listen to the disparaging words of the cardinal of the northern city.

Isaiah. Why has it come now? What makes this generation, this era so special that the gods would set things into motion? What is it that he and the scholars of the world have missed, as if they were staring at a magnificent artwork with a naive child’s eyes?

He fumbles with the coin in his fingers, praying that he isn’t wrong.

— He has to keep the faith.

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Rorate

Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter

Rorate sits by the water’s edge, down by the river where she prays, or at least pretends to do so. She hopes Isaiah will forgive her for this deceit. But it is her only option. With her eyes closed and her hands clasped, Rorate sits with a lowered head.

The gentle babbling of the river is disturbed by a gentle splash.

The dark-elf peeks open with a single eye, catching the face that looks out of the river her way.

Seeing that she sees it, the melusine shoots back down beneath the surface of the river and vanishes.

Rorate yelps, leaning in. “Wait!” she calls after the shadow, vanishing down below the water. Her hand hovers there for a time, but it doesn’t reappear. She frowns, her ears drooping.

“Told you,” says Teal, patting her on the back. “They’re super shy.”

“I guess you’re right, Te-te,” says Rorate, a little let down.

Teal points over to the hot-spring. “I’m gonna join the others in the spring, okay? You should come too!” The uthra flies off, leaving Rorate sitting there, staring at her reflection in the water.

It is quiet for a time.

The top half of a face appears below herself, breaking her reflection and staring up her way. Long hair sticking down it in heavy, wet strands.

Rorate smiles. “Sorry about pretending to pray,” she says. “But I wanted to get your attention. Please don’t eat me, okay?”

The melusine narrows its eyes, lowering itself somewhat lower, half of its eyes vanishing beneath the river.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” says Rorate. “You saved me twice, after all.” She shakes her head. “The first time, after I landed in the river from the top of the tower, after I jumped and then the second time when I came back to cross it.” She rubs her hair. “I really owe you. Do you want to… I dunno, hang out?”

— The melusine vanishes beneath the river.

Rorate yelps and reaches after it, her heart drooping in defeat.

Oh well. At least she tried, right? At least she extended her thanks.

Knowing that she should be satisfied with that, Rorate rises to her feet and purses her lips, nodding to the river, before turning to leave.

The water splashes again and a hand pops out, holding a wet hair brush towards her. The melusine tilts her head, showing Rorate her long, tangled hair, mixed in with muck from the river and strands of water plants. Rorate beams. “Do you need help?” she asks. The melusine nods.

The dark-elf sits down and takes the brush, the melusine warily watching her, before turning around and swimming closer to the embankment.

“So,” starts Rorate, sitting herself down with the brush in hand as she starts picking some gunk out of her new friend’s hair. “Do you think you can teach me to swim some time?”

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Isaiah

Isaiah flies up in the sky, for no other purpose than because it wants to.

The dungeon’s territory is large enough to allow for some comfortable flying and, while it is unable to explore the whole world, it is able to see at least a reasonable piece of it.

Tomorrow, the work on the tower will continue. Tomorrow, new problems will arise, as will new opportunities.

But neither of those things are worth thinking about today.

— It shoots up into the air, rising at the same time as a family of fledgling blackbirds breaches the trees in the distance.

It can not fly near to them, without startling them.

But this is good enough.

Close, but still somehow far away from one another, Isaiah and the blackbirds fly.