Dueling Dungeons (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Eight

Shifting Tides

From the head of the Great Hall’s largest rough-hewn table, Roark stared down the gathered representatives from the dungeons across Hearthworld allied with the Troll Nation. A few shifted nervously in their seats, eyeing his new evolution, while the rest assessed the plans he’d just laid out for them or messaged their Dungeon Lords with what he’d said.

“You ssspeak of moving to attack them in their nessst,” the Naga representative hissed. “Yet every day, our dungeonsss are already under attack by thessse Malaika Heralds.”

“Same for us,” the wolf-bear-man hybrid growled. “Gevaudan the Terrible says if you don’t do something to stop this soon, we’ll withdraw from our alliance with the Troll Nation. The Marketplace and Skill Training is useful, but not useful enough to waste our levels on constant respawn.”

“But you must understand, this maneuver will draw their roving bands of hornets back to the hive where we can swat them all at once.” Roark leaned over the table and tapped the array of maps and schematics for siege engines he’d spread across its uneven surface. “When we attack, they’ll rally at the Vault, and we’ll cut their entry and exit off until we break through. It’s a numbers game—a mathematics equation if you will—and although they have higher levels, we have a far greater force and magicks that cannot be rivaled.”

“You’re talking about a siege,” the smokey representative from the Djinn said in a voice like a cold breeze through dead leaves. “Do you truly believe it will come to that?”

Roark gritted his teeth to keep from snapping at the Djinn. After a deep breath, he was able to speak with some measure of civility.

“Did your Dungeon Lord think we would take the Vault of the Radiant Shield in a single frontal assault?” he asked. “One of the strongest—if not the strongest dungeon in Hearthworld?”

“Except for the new ones in the Onyx Sands,” PwnrBwner chimed in unhelpfully, his boots kicked up on the table while he drank from a sizeable flagon of mead.

The Beryl King’s representative shifted in his seat with a sound like a knife on whetstone.

“The Crystal Caverns are uncertain whether we wish to commit to such an assault. The potential for disaster is high, and the longer our best troops are away from the Caverns, the farther heroes will progress through our dungeons, killing our Pebblekin and Rocklings. We give up opportunities to level ourselves and evolve for what? To help a Troll kill a Herald?”

“To stop them from attacking your Crystal Caverns,” Roark said sharply.

“They will do the same if we withdraw from the alliance,” the rock person said. “We have been told as much by the Heralds every day. Withdraw or continue to be ground down to dust.”

“Sssame,” hissed the Naga.

“Us, too,” growled the wolf-bear-man.

Roark straightened, staring each one of them down in turn, careful not to betray any hint of weakness. How could they not see? This was always the way of tyrants. Weaker foes only had strength in numbers, and if alliances could be so easily split, then there was no hope of victory. Once opposition was thoroughly quelled and divided, the tyrants would drop the pretenses and return to violence. Roark had seen Marek do as much through the years; the Heralds could’ve been reading from a stratagem guide by the man.

Before Roark could respond, however, a commotion arose in the antechamber.

“Let me through, I have to talk to the Dungeon Lord! It’s a matter of life and death!”

A moment later, the heavy doors closing off the Great Hall swung open and Randy Shoemaker, the silver-skinned and winged Arboreal Herald strode in, panic etched in the lines of his face.

“Roark, we’ve got a major problem,” Randy said, heedless of the varied mobs from the allied dungeon spread around the table. “Frontflip is shutting down Hearthworld. We’ve got two weeks tops before the whole game is out of commission.”

Roark frowned, trying to grasp some meaning from what Randy was saying. As the former Dev often spoke in the esoteric language of the creators, meaning could be hard to discern by taking his words at face value.

“Slow down, Randy,” Roark said, raising a hand to forestall the man. “What is this Frontflip? And could you elaborate on what shutting down means?”

“He means like temporarily, for maintenance,” PwnrBwner offered, sitting his flagon down with a thud. “The Devs have to do that with games sometimes so they can fix something.”

“No, it’s not like that at all!” Randy threw up his hands, clearly exasperated. “They’re done. They thought adding the Onyx Sands expansion would help buy them a little time, but apparently you raided it as soon as it opened. Already there are online reports of the Griefer killing Heroes in the new expansion. I looked into it—your code is spreading there now, too. The top brass doesn’t know how to fix it, so they’re going to scrub the whole thing instead. Just destroy the servers for good and pin it on me.

“I read their incriminating emails—they’ve already fabricated the evidence and found people who will testify that I did it out of revenge for being fired. I’ll go to jail and they’ll make off like bandits with the insurance money.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the important part. They’re going to dump Hearthworld. They think it’s the only way to deal with your corrupted code, wipe everything and start over with something new.” He locked eyes with Roark. “This entire dimension will cease to exist in two weeks, along with everyone who’s still in it.”

A silence settled over the dungeon like a terrible weight as the enormity of what Randy was saying washed through the room. So, just as the Devs had created an entire land of black sand deserts and tombs from nothingness, they were planning to erase the whole of Hearthworld from existence. Because of him and Lowen.

“What do we do?” he asked Randy, mind racing. “How can we stop them?”

The Arboreal Herald shifted feet uncertainly.

“I… I’m working on that.” Randy touched the bridge of his nose as if he expected to find a pair of spectacles there. “I have a friend who I think could help me from the inside. Well, she’s more like an acquaintance… And she might like me?” He slashed a hand through the air. “Look, it’s complicated and I’m not great at interpreting nonverbal cues. If she does like me, it would be sleazy of me to take advantage of that and drag her into this against her will… but… this is a matter of life and death. I’ll explain it to her and see if she’s onboard with helping us.” The Arboreal Herald glanced at Roark. “In the meantime, I don’t know what you guys can do. Wait?”

“Like bloody hell,” Roark growled. He turned back to the table surrounded by mobs. “They’re planning to destroy Hearthworld just to get rid of that ass Lowen and me. But if we’re gone before they erase this entire dimension, there would be no need to destroy it, correct?”

Randy blinked. “I—maybe not?” He shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know.”

“You said yourself they want to stop the spread of our corruption. They see that as the root of their problem. It stands to reason then that by removing the corruption, we remove their reason for wiping out this dimension.”

“Maybe,” Randy said. “Things may not be as cut and dry as that. At least some of this is personal.”

Roark crossed his arms, new scales clinking against one another.

“But until we have more information, it’s the only course of action we can take,” he said. He turned back to the dungeon representatives. “You all heard the Dev. Hearthworld will be destroyed within two weeks if myself and Lowen are still here. Your only hope to get rid of us is helping me take him out.”

The Naga’s forked tongue flicked. “Thisss doesss change thingsss…”

“I will relay this new information to the Beryl King,” the rock person said with a grinding nod of his head. “When should we expect to begin this siege of yours?”

Roark cast his eyes back down to the plans he’d so meticulously laid out.

“No, none of this will work. This model could take months,” he said quietly. He grabbed the siege plans and crumpled them in his fist. He glanced at the roaring fireplace on the wall, but couldn’t bring himself to cast the parchment into it, not when he’d viewed it as such a precious and rare resource for the majority of his life. Hastily, he stored them in his Inventory and returned his gaze to the representatives around the table. “We don’t have time for a traditional siege. If we’re going to save Hearthworld, Lowen has to be wiped out entirely and I need to be gone well ahead of the two-week mark to prove that it’s no longer necessary to destroy this dimension.”

“And how exactly do you propose to accomplish that?” the wolf-bear-man growled.

Roark glared down at the maps. “The only way for me to leave is the portal inside the Vault of the Radiant Shield’s throne room. We can’t wait any longer to attack. We’ll have to take the Vault immediately.”

Not surprisingly, that caused an uproar among the representatives.

Roark turned back to Randy and PwnrBwner, but before he could begin to discuss timelines, a scrap of paper denoting a message appeared in the corner of his vision. It was from Talise.

Lowen just left to launch an assault on the Devs in their home, a palace called Frontflip Studios. He’s going to force them into unbinding the World Stone from your soul so he can take it.

Roark cursed under his breath and sent a hurried response.

Sending messages that prove you’re working against Marek is the opposite of keeping your head down and protecting yourself, Talise. You’ve put yourself in the direct path of danger. Erase every trace of this conversation and do not attempt to contact me again.

A heartbeat later her reply appeared. You are in no position to give me orders, Roark Erickson von Graf. This is information your forces can’t do without. Lowen and his strongest warriors and mages will be away in the Other World until they’ve taken Frontflip Studios, and the Vault will be vulnerable.

“Damnation,” Roark muttered. Just because she was right about the importance of the information didn’t make him any happier that she was putting her life on the line to get it to him.

That doesn’t change the fact that you’re putting yourself in danger, he sent her. I can’t give this war my full concentration if I’m worried about you getting yourself killed.

Of course she had an answer to that, as well. She always did, even as a child.

Marek can’t access my messages. He’s never come through the portal to Hearthworld, so he was never issued a grimoire like we were.

Arguing with his sister was wasted effort and only served to create more opportunities for Marek to discover what she was doing. Roark ended the conversation and turned to PwnrBwner and Randy.

“We have new intelligence regarding Lowen’s movements,” Roark said. He locked eyes with Randy, knowing this blow would affect the Arboreal Herald most. “He’s mobilizing his armies and planning to launch a siege of his own—against Frontflip Studios. The home of your fellow Devs.”

Randy’s mouth dropped open, a combination of shock and fear glimmering in his eyes. “But… but I’ve got coworkers there!” Then he raised a hand to his mouth as if something else had just occurred to him. “They won’t have any idea what’s happening. He’ll use magick and Hearthworld mechanics—they’ll be caught completely unaware if an army of mobs attacks. People will die.”

“The magic,” PwnrBwner said suddenly. “You’re getting magic IRL, right, Randy?”

“We already talked about this,” Randy said in an exasperated voice. “The magic transposing into the real world is most likely because Roark made us his Vassals.”

PwnrBwner pointed at Roark. “And your Hearthworld magic worked when you went to Earth, too, right?”

“The Other World?” Roark nodded. “I was able to use my spells and abilities there, yes.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Randy snapped, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. “I’ve got to get back to Frontflip and warn them!”

PwnrBwner grabbed Randy’s arm. “Hold your horses, nerd. I’m about to get your nuts out of the fire here, if you’ll shut up and listen for half a second. What if we put together an elite squad of Poser Owners? The best of the best.” He looked at Roark. “You could zap them with your Vassal binding and then they could use magic IRL, too. Boom, we swoop in and stomp this loser Lowen before he can storm Frontflip.”

Roark frowned, shaking his head. “I won’t drag anyone into this fight against their will. I’m not here to forceably conscript people into service like a bloody tyrant.”

“Against their will?” PwnrBwner raised a brow. “Are you kidding me? It’s fucking magic, bro. Name somebody who doesn’t want to do magic.”

“Regular people,” Randy said. “Anybody who just wants to live their lives without the threat of supernatural annihilation hanging over their heads.”

PwnrBwner scoffed and crossed his arms. “Name ten people.”

But Roark glanced at the Arboreal Herald, surprised that the Dev could see things so clearly in spite of his involvement. Randy’s impassioned words reminded Roark of something his father had told him when he was a child—Magick isn’t your plaything, Roark. It’s your birthright and burden. The von Grafs learn magick so the people of Korvo can sleep peacefully at night. They rely on us and our spells to stand between them and the darkness.

He set his jaw and turned to PwnrBwner. “If you can find heroes within your guild who will agree to become my Vassal knowing they’ll be expected to protect the Devs’ home in the Other World, I’ll do it. But only if they know ahead of time the potential consequences of their decision. There is no respawn in the other world, and even having magick is no guarantee of their safety. Lowen is ruthless, and he won’t concede just because he meets resistance.”

“Obviously,” PwrnBwner said, rolling his eyes. “It’s dangerous and we could die. But we could also live and kick ass. Let’s do this already.”