Dungeon Duel (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Twenty

After loading his Inventory with as many Peerless weapons and as much armor as he could carry, Roark took the portal plate from the Troll Nation Marketplace back to the encampment around the Vault of the Radiant Shield. Noonday sunlight hit him like a gauntlet in the face after the gloom of the Cruel Citadel.

The Heralds’ golden hive was still for the moment, though tension hung in the air, as if any second they might all come swarming out like soldier wasps. The webcrawlers on top were clearly visible, Zyra and Ick among them, working quickly to affix new webbing. At points around the Vault, the trio of siege towers loomed, the mounted ballistae gleaming in the sun. The enormous bolts were racked high on the tower, surfaces shining with an oily green sheen of Undead Damage Enchantments.

Obviously, one of the other high-level craftsmen had picked up where Roark left off. The turtle-like roofs over the battering rams had been finished and reinforced, and Rock people and Lava Kelpies clustered around the trebuchets while the Beryl King briefed them on how to land to cause maximum damage to the walls. Mobs of every level and type scrambled through the camp, making last second preparations or searching out better Healing potions or weapons.

Everyone was readying themselves for the push.

Bright daylight wasn’t the most auspicious time to press this attack, but they couldn’t waste a moment waiting for dark. In any case, whatever they lost in surprise and confusion, the siege train would more than make up for. Lowen’s fortification would never withstand the weapons they had crafted, Roark was certain of it.

The Dungeon Lord strode through the encampment to the tent where Griff had set up his makeshift headquarters. Through the mud-stained walls, Roark could already hear raised voices discussing the best way to maintain order in constabulary ranks. The shouting didn’t necessarily mean argument—Grozka the Zealot didn’t have a lower vocal range, even indoors. It was one of the things that made her an effective Rumble Squad leader and fifth-floor overseer.

Without preamble, Roark pulled aside the door flap and ducked into the tent.

Griff and Grozka the Zealot broke off their half-shouted conversation. Pang the Silent Blade and Wurgfozz the Terrible, overseers for the second and fourth floors of the Cruel Citadel, respectively, were seated at a low table, while Kaz poured a steaming aromatic concoction into enough dainty cups for everyone in the tent. Mac was curled up in an oversized chair made to seat a Jotnar—he batted one eye at Roark before chirping and resuming his nap.

Roark blinked, suddenly feeling as if he’d stepped into some bizarre version of a little girl’s teatime game.

“Griefer,” the grizzled weapons trainer said, welcoming him with a raised cup. “We’re all here. What’s the fuss?”

Before he could answer, Kaz bounded to his feet, shaking the ground beneath the tent.

“Roark is just in time!” the Mighty Gourmet said, scooping a cup off the table and thrusting it into Roark’s hands. “It is a drink called Cocoa. Hot and creamy and so wonderfully sweet!”

“Uh, thanks.” A sweet drink didn’t sound appealing to Roark, but by now he was well aware that he couldn’t escape trying one of Kaz’s new creations without hurting the hulking Bonesnap Behemoth’s feelings. Already Kaz was staring at him with gleaming eyes as wide as saucers, waiting for his reaction.

Tentatively, Roark took a sip. It was as cloyingly sweet as Hearthworld’s Health potions and as thick as clotted cream, with a hint of something familiar. One spring when he was a child, his mother had purchased a drink called chocolate from a party of merchants passing through Korvo. That had been bitter and watery, but with the same aroma and aftertaste as this Cocoa of Kaz’s.

“It’s sweet,” Roark said, hoping the Mighty Gourmet would take that as a compliment.

Kaz bounced on his toes, elated. “So sweet! And it gives one’s Stamina such a grand boost!” The huge Bonesnap Behemoth turned serious and tapped his chin. “For a time. After that, the Cocoa causes what’s referred to as a Sugar Crash. But Kaz believes the delicious flavor is well worth the aftereffects.”

“Enough fancy drinks!” Grozka thumped a fist on the table. “What did you call us here for, Dungeon Lord?” She eyed the occupants of the tent, lingering on the enormous Wurgfozz and the silent Reaver Pang, who seemed to be exuding his own shadow in the sunny tent. “We’re short a few for a proper Floor Overseers’ meeting, aren’t we?”

Roark nodded, setting his cup aside. “The new first-floor overseer is too low-level to be suited to the task, and I left Druz in charge of the Citadel’s hero-killing for the time being. The three of you are some of my strongest and most trusted overseers. I need your assistance in defending a Dev stronghold in the world the heroes come from. You’ve probably already heard Lowen’s been stealing our allies and dropping them in the other dimension to sow chaos and confusion.”

“I saw him grab a Bête before my very eyes just last night,” Wurgfozz agreed in his high-pitched voice. He tugged at a rusty spike stuck through the flabby skin of his arm. “Coward fluttered away before I could run him through.”

“Similar reports came in from across the encampment,” Griff added. “He’s picking and choosing as many Infernal creatures as he can. The more powerful the better, since it removes them from our battle rosters.”

“Exactly,” Roark said. “PwnrBwner’s guild and Randy Shoemaker are there, but they don’t number high enough to defend the stronghold and fight the released mobs at the same time. That’s why we’ll be joining them—at least a few of us. I chose each of you for your strengths and ability to lead, as evidenced by your climb to floor overseer. We’ll be working with heroes and Devs in the Other World, and I doubt we’ll see much in the way of discipline.” Perhaps none at all, if the Poser Owners were any indication. “You’re also free to refuse. I won’t order you to accompany me to the heroes’ world. It is a highly dangerous dimension, one where there are no respawns. It’s possible that you could die forever-death.”

“For a floor overseer, forever-death is always just a Challenge away,” Grozka said, waving a gauntleted hand dismissively. “The weak die, the strong live. That is the way of the world.” She hunched forward. “But here’s a bit of unfortunate truth to consider, Dungeon Lord—if the mobs Lowen’s transported are from our own armies, how do you propose we kill them without breaking the alliance with the other dungeons?”

Inwardly, Roark flinched at the volume of her voice. Hopefully no one inclined to run to their Dungeon Lord had been walking past the tent just long enough to hear only that.

“I don’t plan to kill any of them,” Roark said firmly. “Randy tells me PwnrBwner has taken a band of heroes to deal with the rogue mobs. Our task will be to back the forces holding Frontflip.” He cut his eyes to Griff. “Until the assault on the Vault has eroded enough of their defenses to either take the throne room or to force Lowen to pull back into Hearthworld and defend the Vault.”

“We’ll get it done, Griefer,” Griff said, raising his dainty cup in salute. “Count on it.”

Roark nodded. The Troll Nation would be well and truly in Griff’s hands while Roark was in the heroes’ dimension, and though he wasn’t comfortable giving the reins over completely to anyone, Roark knew the scar-crossed weapons trainer was without a doubt the best man for the job.

“What do the three of you say?” Roark asked, eyeing each overseer in turn. “I need to know as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll accompany you—but hold no illusions that I am worried about these heroes’ safety,” Wurgfozz said. “If it’s true pain and forever-death waiting for any Herald I kill, I most certainly will accompany you.”

Wreathed in his shadows, Pang nodded approvingly.

“I do hate to miss a fight,” Grozka agreed.

“Kaz will go as well,” the Mighty Gourmet declared, smashing one huge fist into his palm.

Mac sat up at the sound, chirping in what seemed to be agreement.

A worm of uneasiness squirmed in Roark’s gut. What he’d told the floor overseers about the lack of respawn was true, but what he hadn’t mentioned was that they were sacrifices he was willing to make if he absolutely had to. Acceptable losses. Kaz and Mac, however, were not.

“Neither of you are coming,” Roark said, looking sternly from the Adolescent Turtle Dragon to the Bonesnap Behemoth. “Your cooking apprentices need you here, Kaz. Our army needs you here. Your food is what’s going to give them the strength to take the Vault.”

“Zyra said Roark would drag food into this!” The Mighty Gourmet raised his head until his nose was pointed at the sky. “Kaz won’t hear arguments designed to tear at his feelings! If his friends are in trouble, Kaz must protect them!” It was a noble pose, but he ruined the effect some when he glanced sidelong at Roark and added, “Even if those friends try to refuse Kaz’s help.”

Griff chuckled. Roark glared at the trainer.

“Fine,” Roark said, vowing silently to keep Kaz as far from the fighting as possible. Perhaps tending to the inevitable wounded. “I’ll need you to pick up as many Ultimate Healing Elixirs as you can carry from Zyra, since the two of you are so fond of scheming behind my back these days.”

Kaz gave him a sharp nod and ducked out of the tent.

“And you,” Roark said, glaring at Mac. “Stay.”

Mac chirped a protest, but Roark held the monster’s defiant gaze. After a moment, the beast let out a grumbling growl and curled up on the seat with a final huffy snort to resume his nap.

Satisfied that at least Mac would stay behind, Roark turned back to his floor overseers. “The rest of you gather any weapons or armor you want for fighting Heralds—along with a handful of your most diligent followers—then get back here to fill your Inventories. I’ve been working on a new type of weapon that just might give us an edge.”

***

In less than an hour, Roark stepped through the shimmering portal and into the other dimension with a small platoon of high-level mobs. The overseers had each opted to bring three soldiers apiece from their honor guards, while Kaz had selected a single apprentice chef to help with his tasks—making their number fifteen, counting Roark.

The familiar gentle breeze of Hearthworld portal travel buffeted Roark, ruffling his hair, before the violet light receded and his boots came down on hard tile. He was in some sort of palatial glass-walled grand entryway.

Though his first sights of this world were entirely alien to Roark, he recognized the smell permeating the room—sweat, exhaustion, blood, smoke, desperation. The scent of too few people trying to hold on to something too large by nothing but their fingernails.

Armor and weapons clanked as the rest of his retinue stepped out of the portal behind him.

“Oh, fuck, they made it inside!” someone screamed.

“Everyone attack!”

Roark’s eyes just barely adjusted in time to see the screaming jumble of men and women in odd dress turning their makeshift weapons on him. Someone even shot an Ice Javelin spell, but Roark deflected it easily with a purple-and-green Infernal Undead Shield.

“Wait!” a familiar voice cried. A thin man in thick-framed spectacles pushed his way between Roark and the panicked group. His strange clothing was rumpled, sweaty, and stained with grass and blood. “It’s okay, everybody! It’s the Griefer! Put your weapons down, guys, he’s here to help!”

“Randy Shoemaker?” Roark guessed.

“Yes.” Randy offered him a tired smile, exhaustion etched into the lines of his narrow face. The former Dev looked quite different in this world. Smaller. Perhaps it was the lack of wings, but if Roark were being entirely honest, Randy looked very little like the heroic Dev of Hearthworld. But then, who was Roark to judge? As a Dungeon Lord, he only vaguely resembled the man he’d once been.

“Holy crap,” muttered a dusky-skinned man with a pair of smooth wooden sticks in hand. He shook his head and walked around Roark, eyes wide and mouth open. “I can’t believe this. Randy said you… But even with the Heralds, I never thought we’d get to meet Roark the Griefer in person.”

He transferred both sticks to his left hand and stuck out his right to Roark. Tentatively, Roark gripped him by the forearm.

“Arjun Bhardwaj,” the man said. “I designed the character model for the Jotnar Infernali.” He looked Roark up and down. “Obviously you didn’t stop there. If I could talk to you at some point about your current character design, I think we could come up with a really amazing game based on—”

“Arjun,” a woman with long blonde hair said. “Read the room. Not really the time, you know?”

A familiar chirping sound came from the air over Roark’s head. When he looked up, a shimmering visual distortion fell away to reveal Mac hanging from some sort of huge glowing sconce.

Arjun shrieked and stumbled back, and most of Randy’s cohorts fell into defensive stances, but Roark waved them off.

“Stand down. He’s with me.” Roark glowered at the Adolescent Turtle Dragon. “You devious scaly bastard. I suppose that nap was just a bloody ruse? If it wouldn’t waste a portal stone, I’d send you straight back to Hearthworld right now.”

In answer, Mac licked one bulbous eye and let his tongue hang out the side of his mouth. The canny beast certainly looked pleased with himself.

Scowling, Roark pointed at the beast. “Fine, but you’ll damn well stay next to me at all times, understood?”

With a triumphant chirp, Mac disappeared again.

Streaks of brilliant light caught Roark’s eye, shooting toward the wall of glass. A barrage of Divine Missiles.

“Shields!” Randy bellowed, thrusting both fists at the doors.

Outside, walls of vines burst from the pavement. More casters followed Randy’s lead, Roark among them, sending up flaring wards of every color. The missiles crashed against the varied barriers, detonating in radiant flashes of Divine Magick.

The floor beneath their feet rumbled for seconds after the Divine Missiles were spent.

“It was just a distraction,” Randy said, swiping sweat from his temple. “They’re attacking the other sides again.” He jerked a black box with a pinkie-sized stick poking up from the top and depressed a button on the side. “Come in North, West, and South. Do you need backup?”

Roark flinched as the box gave a screech, followed by, “North side loading bay clear.”

“Roger,” Randy said.

“We’re good on the south side,” the box continued in a different voice.

“Roger that.” Randy licked his lips. “Come in west side. Are you guys okay?”

After a moment, the rumbling stopped.

The box screeched. “This is BusterMove on the west side. They tried us, but we ran ’em off. Could use some more casters over here, though. They’re staying out of range of our weapons and throwing spells.”

“Roger that, BusterMove.” Randy glanced at Roark and his small band of dungeon mobs. “Give me just a second if you can.”

But Roark gathered the implications before Randy had time to explain.

“You’re using PwnrBwner’s guild to guard each wall, with non-magick users to back them. The problem being that I only made a handful of PwnrBwner’s guild Vassals, and they’re the only ones who can use magick in your world.”

Randy nodded. “We tried logging in so more people could become your Vassals, but there’s something blocking us from connecting with the Hearthworld servers. I had to use the messaging app to send that SOS to you. We’ve got people working on it right now, but I don’t know how long it will be down.”

“What if you tried it here?” the blonde woman asked, looking from Randy to Roark. “Would it work?”

“If my other magicks work in this world, I can’t see why the World Stone’s magicks wouldn’t,” Roark said. “But first”—he turned to his overseers—“split up, one to each wall. Take your troops and supply the defenders with the extra Enchanted weapons and armor you brought. If you run out, send a runner to get more from me.”

“Kaz will go, too,” said the Mighty Gourmet.

Roark shook his head. “I need you to help the wounded, Kaz. You’re the one with all the Health potions.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Randy said. “Some of these attacks are almost as bad as 4-pointer earthquakes. We’ve been taking the wounded and any staff who don’t want to fight to the cafeteria.”

“Come on, I’ll show you guys the way,” Arjun said, leading the enormous array of much larger Infernal mobs down a brightly lit hall. “You know, I gave notes on your jaw shape to the Dev who designed Thursr Knights…”

They’d hardly left when the rumble of another attack started up. It ended as quickly as the last.

“I’m so glad you guys are here,” Randy said, slumping against a wall. “It’s gotten worse since Lowen dropped the mobs. Most of the cops and the National Guard have been called away from Frontflip to deal with them. There’s just so many—Lowen must’ve dropped a hundred or more. I tried to get through to someone to explain that Lowen’s the real threat, but he’s been playing it smart, letting the Infernal mobs rampage and wreak havoc while he and the Heralds calmly wait for the most opportune moments. They keep attacking and retreating, attacking and retreating. We can’t keep up like this. He’s wearing us down a little bit at a time.”

There was an edge of hysteria in the former Dev’s voice, but Randy stopped himself short of outright panic with a long breath.

“I don’t intend to allow this to go on much longer,” Roark said, beginning to unload the weapons and armor he’d brought. “Griff and the allied dungeons will be mounting the first major push into the Vault as we speak. Lowen will be forced to return to Hearthworld or give up the Vault. In the meantime, however, I have weapons that may give our side a boost.”

The defenders crowded closer, looking down at the myriad swords, axes, arrows, and maces Roark was unloading.

“What is this?” the blonde woman asked, hefting a battle-axe that looked far too large in her hands.

“Obsidian Glass,” Roark said. “A sort of hybridized material I got from combining Lava Forged Steel and Onyx Sand Powder. Uncannily durable, in spite of its components. Holds a naturally sharp edge without grinding or whetting. Every weapon is hexed with Undead Magicks and coated with Poison of the Rotting Sun—a poison corrosive to the Malaika Heralds’ golden skin.” He grimaced at Randy. “Possibly to Arboreal Herald skin, too, so beware of it when you return to Hearthworld.”

Randy nodded. “Sure thing.”

Roark turned back to the blonde woman with the battle-axe. “As to Vassals, I’m willing to try, but I can’t promise anything. I only know so much about how the World Stone works. It’s a powerful magic, but the longer I hold it, the less I seem to understand it.”

“Let’s give it a shot,” she said, leaning the battle-axe against her hip. “The worst that can happen is that it doesn’t work.”

“That’s not…” Randy pushed up his glasses. “I mean, the worst that could actually happen is you die horribly.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate,” Roark told him.

She smiled and patted the spectacled man’s arm. “I was being optimistic. Besides, it would be worse to live and have to sit back and watch helplessly while these jerks take over Earth.” She turned to Roark. “Ready when you are.”

Roark place a clawed hand on her slender shoulder and focused his intention. The World Stone responded instantly, burning with icy energies against the draconic scales covering his chest. Tawny amber light flared from the stone and the palm of his hand. When the light dimmed and disappeared, he let go.

Excited murmurs ran through the small group.

Eyes shining with awe, the blonde woman tugged aside her shirt’s collar, showing the glowing amber handprint on her shoulder. Slowly, it faded away.

[Helen Rose Douglas has become your Greater Vassal!]

Roark blinked away her information.

“Guys.” Helen Rose’s eyes lost focus as the heroes of Hearthworld often did when they looked through their grimoires. “Oh my God, it works.”

Her eyes refocused and she thrust a hand up into the air, curling it into a fist and summoning a nimbus of azure light around herself. Whirlwind Barrier, Roark knew from experience.

“It opened up some kind of interspatial menu and let me pick a character avatar to bond with,” she said. “I’m my Druidic Skyguard.” Her voice was thick with awe.

“Me next!” a heavyset man said, stepping forward.

“No, do me!” said a dark-eyed woman.

A door shattered, an Angelic Lance crashing through its pane of glass.

“Defensive maneuvers!” Randy bellowed, sending out his wall of vines again.

“No!” Helen Rose yelled. She leaned out the shattered door and conjured a tornado of the shattered glass, dirt, clumps of grass, and rocks. It ripped through the air and quickly overtook the incoming Heralds. They wove and batted at their eyes as the debris blinded them and scoured their flesh.

It wasn’t enough to break through their metallic skin or armor, but Roark quickly remedied that. Pulling his Bow of the Fleet-fingered Hunter, he fired off a volley of poisoned Obsidian Glass arrows. The offending Heralds’ Health bars flashed green, and they retreated to the safety of their ranks.

Reinvigorated by the minor victory, the rest of the defenders lined up to become Roark’s Vassals. Realizing he would quickly run out of Greater Vassal slots if he recruited them all, he switched to the Lesser Vassals. The results were very nearly the same as Helen Rose’s. Roark was sure there had to be some difference, but he was still only starting to unravel the mysteries behind the Vassalhood process. None of that mattered just then, however, not so long as they had an abundance of magick users at their disposal.

The World Stone flashed over and over again as it granted magick in a world largely devoid of such power. When the last defender of the east wall was happily flashing through their characters, Roark turned to Randy.

“I need to do the same for the rest of Frontflip’s forces,” he said. “How can I find them?”

Randy glanced from the Herald army beyond the shattered glass door to the hallway the others had disappeared down.

“It’s okay, I’ll hold the fort here,” Helen Rose said, hefting the Obsidian Glass Battle-axe with unnatural ease. From what Roark had read in his grimoire’s WikiLore, Druidic Skyguards’ powerful magicks included the ability to tap into a bestial form, which granted them preternatural levels of Strength. “I’d love the chance to see the damage on these things in action.”

“Okay, it’s a plan,” Randy said. “Call me if you need anything.”

Roark followed the former Dev down the hall, Mac’s shimmering distortion trailing silently overhead. The Dungeon Lord eyed the strange construction as he went. It was as if whoever had designed Frontflip Studios had been more interested in aesthetic beauty than resilience.

“This isn’t much of a castle, mate,” he said. “A wall or some type of outer defense would’ve been better, and angles—star shapes work well to repel sieges like this.”

Randy lifted his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.

“Trust me, I know. Frontflip wasn’t built to withstand an attack.” He shoved the frames back on. “It was built mostly to show what a fun company this is. It’s work-tainment,” he finished wearily.

Roark frowned. “Work-tainment?”

“That’s what I say,” Randy said. “Why can’t we just work? Since when is the satisfaction of a job well done not entertainment enough? If I’d designed this place, I think I would’ve put less emphasis on the party atmosphere and more on… well, anything else.”

Before Roark could respond, parchment obscured his vision.

                                                                                   ╠═╦╬╧╪

Compatible unclaimed dungeon location Frontflip Studios found!

Dungeon Lord, would you like to expand your territory to include Frontflip Studios?

To claim this dungeon location, take a seat on the CEO’s throne.

To reject this dungeon location, leave Frontflip Studios without taking a seat on the throne.

Warning: If you leave Frontflip Studios without accepting the expanded territory, another Dungeon Lord may claim Frontflip Studios before you return!

                                                                                   ╠═╦╬╧╪

Roark stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?” Randy asked.

Roark frowned and read through the notification again. At the bottom was a helpful map marking the CEO’s throne.

“Possibly a solution to our design problems,” he said. “Where is this Boardroom?”