Dueling Dungeons (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Three

Shifting Sands

Roark von Graf crested a black dune. As he watched, a crackling green vortex swirled in the distance, throwing emerald lightning in sporadic fits and starts. Though the air was dry, the sky above roiled with bruised jade thunderheads, and the land below was a sea of dark waves in every direction. The jet-black sands whispered beneath his feet, the wind whisking them away, constantly shifting the landscape one grain at a time into something new. There was a sterile harsh sort of beauty to them, which Roark could appreciate. He didn’t much appreciate the infernal gritty dust clogging his boots, however.

Mac bounded ahead of him, frolicking in the seemingly endless sands like a hound in the snow. Roark smiled at the enthusiasm of the Adolescent Turtle Dragon. Then one wrong gallop sent the heavily armored and awkward beast sprawling, bearded snout plowing into the sand. With a bit of struggling, Mac righted himself and immediately went into a sneezing fit.

Roark chuckled. The silly beast might have evolved into an imposing and bloodthirsty force to be reckoned with, but graceful Mac was not. Nor did it seem he would ever be.

Ick caught up to Roark then, coming to a stop beside him and gazing out over the formidable dunes. A pair of his many spiderlike arms smoothed the long rubbery tentacles growing from his head like hair.

“Quite unlike the fixed dunes of the Underworld Bloodsands in Aczol’s lair.” Ick’s low rasp was like the sound of insect legs rubbing together. His mandibles clicked thoughtfully. “Here, it seems, the sands shift as the wind and storms will, as wild and feral as a roaming mob.”

Roark nodded, unable to pull his eyes from the expanse for more than a cursory glance at the Nocturnus.

The Onyx Sands were a marvel he could barely wrap his head around—and not only for the desolate majesty Ick had noted. Directly north of where they stood lay the red rock canyons surrounding the Vault of the Radiant Shield, Lowen’s stronghold. A week ago, there had been nothing on the map south of the Vault’s sun-blasted red hellscape; now there was a vast expanse of black desert.

When Roark asked about the phenomenon, Randy had told him that the other Devs—those servants of Hearthworld’s gods who hadn’t fallen from grace—had been ordered by the “higher ups”—what Randy always called his gods—to create the Onyx Sands as a way to draw heroes away from the Cruel Citadel and Vault of the Radiant Shield. They believed the less contact the heroes had with Roark and Lowen, the more likely they could stop the spread of the plague the Traisbin natives had brought to Hearthworld.

There had also been quite a bit of rambling about corrupted codes and shutdowns and incriminating emails that made no sense whatsoever to Roark. As with written messages from PwnrBwner, Roark had found that the trick was to extract the meaning where he could from Randy’s digressions and ignore the rest.

Still, to think that so short a time ago there had been nothing here and the Devs of Hearthworld had brought into being an entirely new land… It beggared the imagination. What magic. More incredible still, Randy had given up such world-altering power to help Roark. Surely no one could make a greater sacrifice than that.

“Would that perhaps be our destination?” Ick asked, gesturing with a pair of the spidery legs protruding from his back.

Roark followed the Nocturnus’s signal to the crackling storm.

“If not, it’s damned close,” Roark said, checking the map in his Grimoire. “The Tomb of Takumen-Ra.”

He hadn’t been able to get any sensible information on the Tomb or Takumen-Ra from the Hearthworld H-boards or the WikiLore. So few heroes had delved into the new land that the majority of it was completely unknown.

One key piece of information that Roark had been able to glean, however, was the fact that this new land contained dungeons of far higher level than those scattered around the rest of Hearthworld. Whereas the older sections of the map featured mobs whose levels capped at 99, the mobs in the Onyx Sands were rumored to spawn at Level 99. While Roark couldn’t gain Experience from killing his fellow mobs, the enticing new treasures and challenges would mean a slew of much higher-level heroes. The Tomb of Takumen-Ra was the first dungeon across the border. Heroes would be drawn to this place like flies to honey.

And those Roark did gain Experience from killing.

Absently, he slipped his hand into his pocket, curling it around Aczol the Eternal’s core stone. The new loot and untold Transmutation Cores waiting here to be harvested would be worth a little something as well, he was sure.

“Let’s get moving,” he said to Ick, starting the trek down the dune. “PwnrBwner and his party should already be there.”

As soon as he had funded their unlocking of the Onyx Sands, the Poser Owners had exited Hearthworld—logging off, as they called it—so they could return and travel to the new area. Apparently, for heroes, this exit and reentry was necessary before they could access “expansion packs.”

Another stretch of hiking brought them over a towering rise, at the foot of which lay an immense black pyramid. Labyrinthian geometric patterns had been carved into the onyx stone of the tomb, lending further shadow to the dark structure. Glowing yellow-green gems as big as Kaz had been set into the rock near the apex on each side. From the stones swirled the crackling green energy storm Roark had seen from afar off.

Below, in the looming shadow of the great pyramid, a small party of heroes had gathered. Roark immediately recognized the animated Ranger-Cleric at their center addressing them. Mac took off in an excited gallop, taking a tumble down the dune, but righting himself and galloping the rest of the distance to PwnrBwner’s side. Many of the heroes around the Ranger-Cleric skittered back, afraid of the silly beast, but to his credit, Pwnr didn’t even pause in his speech while he gave the Adolescent Turtle Dragon several hearty pats on the thick shell.

Roark and Ick followed Mac’s quickly disappearing footsteps down to join the group.

“All right, dipweeds,” PwnrBwner said to his marshalled troops. “Here’s the guy who’s gonna lead our raid today. You all remember the Griefer.”

A murmur ran through the gathered heroes, and many exchanged suspicious glances.

A Level 31 Ronin stepped forward, hand raised. “I think I speak for everybody when I say what the hell, man?”

“Yeah,” a Blackguard Knave said. “I thought the Griefer was just bankrolling this expedition. You didn’t say anything about him going on the raid with us.”

“Well, he is, so shut your stupid faces,” PwnrBwner snapped.

“But he’s just a dumb NPC,” a Blood Witch with fiery red hair said, crossing her slender arms beneath her breasts.

Roark could have stepped in and argued his own case, but he was curious how the Ranger-Cleric would handle the dissent. In spite of their relatively high individual levels, these were obviously an undisciplined bunch, and it would take a steady hand to curb their dissention and lead them to victory. Roark couldn’t help but wonder whether PwnrBwner was up to the task.

“Uh, yeah no,” PwnrBwner said, eyeing the Blood Witch. “Totally wrong.” He pointed at Roark. “That is not just some dumb NPC. That’s the Dungeon Lord who pwned every ass in this raid party at least once, murdered Bad_Karma to death, and basically made Hearthworld his bitch.”

“Yeah, because he’s a dirty fucking modder,” GothicTerror said, her eyes narrowing as they assessed Roark. That one had an indomitable will, and the others instinctively looked to her because of it. She was a natural born leader, and her disdain and willingness to speak her mind drew others to her like flies to rancid meat.

PwnrBwner craned his neck to glance sidelong at his new lieutenant. “First off, we’re all getting tired of your negativity and shitty language, Gothy McShitmouth.” He jerked a thumb at the pyramid. “Secondly, we just watched raid parties from the Karmic Cycle of Whoop-Ass, SmarmyFaceInc, and the Ganksters head inside—and you know there are more coming. Do any of you losers think you can TPK those motherfuckers and live to tell about how you stole all the cool shit they looted from inside? ’Cause I don’t think you can. Not without this douchebag’s help.”

A begrudging silence fell over the heroes as they cast their eyes down. They couldn’t rightly argue with that.

“So, the Griefer takes the lead on this,” PwnrBwner said with authority. “Anybody who’s got a problem with that can take a hike but you’d better know that the gravy train is over if you leave. You don’t always have to agree with me, but this is my fucking Guild, losers, so you’ll follow my lead or go eat a bag of dicks. Understand?”

After a moment, the heroes began to nod. Even GothicTerror shrugged and muttered an affectless agreement.

Roark was mystified, though he hid his bemusement behind a frown. He’d always known something about PwnrBwner made heroes follow him by the score, but having just seen the Ranger-Cleric in action, Roark couldn’t say what it was that made them respect the man. But then, heroes were an unfathomable lot at the best of times.

Roark stepped forward and stretched his leathery wings to their full span.

A few of the heroes instinctively edged backward, and a scrap of paper appeared for a moment in his vision.

[Congratulations, you have unlocked Intimidation Level 3. With Intimidation, beings with an Intelligence of less than .25 x your Intelligence suffer Fright for 60 seconds. Sometimes a big enough bark is all you need…]

Roark dismissed the scrawling writing quickly and returned to his original intent, addressing the heroes’ doubts. PwnrBwner had done his part and quelled their doubts, but Roark couldn’t risk one of these heroes planting a knife in his back when he wasn’t looking. He was too close to hitting level 70, and a single death would send him back to level 36, undoing countless weeks of work. That was time he simply didn’t have to spare. He had to have them, heart and soul, on his side for this mission.

He eyed each of the Poser Owners in turn. “Whatever you think I am, you should know this: if you follow me and do as I say today, you will leave this place rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

Their skeptical expressions shifted, quickly transforming to intrigued.

“That will, however, require you to trust me,” Roark continued, folding his wings back like a cloak. “You have enemies just as I do—Bad_Karma’s guild not the least of them—and if you would see yourselves victorious over them, we must all work together. No one’s ever won a war alone.” His failed attempt to assassinate Marek that night in the von Graf manor house came readily to mind. “I know this from experience, and so I’m uniquely suited to help you avoid that same pitfall.”

GothicTerror shrugged.

“I don’t need rah-rah motivational speeches, bro. Make it rain gold and loot, and I’m in,” she said. “So, what’s your plan? If you’re all gung-ho about teamwork, then you’ve already got something in the chamber, right?”

Roark frowned, confused. “As much as I’d like to have traps already in place, I’ve never been in any of these chambers. This is my first excursion to the Onyx Sands.”

PwnrBwner sighed. “Obviously she’s not talking about those chambers, dude. She means you’ve probably already got a plan in mind and she wants to know what it is.”

Roark nodded. He should have known the rest of the heroes would be as unintelligible as the Ranger-Cleric.

“Given your levels and classes, the best course of action is a rotating front and back line,” he explained. “That should give us a continuous, overlapping fields of fire and protection. At all times, a rear sentry will stay on guard, watching for any mobs or rival guild’s raiders who might attempt to flank us.” Roark spared a look at the crackling vortex of green energies. “Ick, do you know what type of magick this is?”

The spidery Nocturnus considered the violent green storm. “Apologies. It appears to be some form of Undead Magick, but one I have never laid eyes on before.” He stroked the recessed chin hidden beneath his mandibles.

“Mummies,” PwnrBwner said. “Bet you a million bucks it’s mummies and Ancient Egyptian shit.”

“What gave it away, galaxybrain?” GothicTerror drawled, gesturing at the pyramid.

“They might’ve gotten creative with it and mixed in some Mayan lore,” the Blackguard Knave piped up. “You never know.”

While the heroes argued over whatever all of that nonsense meant, Roark called up the Primal Creation Wheel, and it promptly appeared in his field of vision.

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Meant to be read like a clockface, the Wheel showed the strands of what Ick referred to as the Grand Web. Every Magick in Hearthworld was woven into it like a complex tapestry, with the magick it was weakest to on its left and the magick it was strongest against on its right. The twining serpents of Infernal Magicks sat at the right hand of the Divine Magicks, which it was entirely helpless against—the key reason he couldn’t defeat Lowen as he was.

That would all change, however, when he was finally high enough level to use the Transmutation Core on himself. Then he would be able to control Undead Magicks as well as Infernal, which were the greatest weakness of Divine Creatures.

A quick check revealed that Undead Creatures were weakest against Light Magick. Luckily, he still had the Slender Rapier and dozens of other weapons he’d enchanted for use against the undead NecroDragon, Aczol the Eternal.

Roark dismissed the Wheel and raised his voice to be heard over the bickering.