Chapter Eight: An Arrow

WARNING! - [Requirements Not Met]

In Order to found a dungeon you must first:

Reach Level 1

Have A Route Leading From Dungeon Core Room to Surface

Have At Least 500 Mana

What the hell!

Gimble let an internal roar, flailing his theoretical arms up over his head, george seeming to take this as a mental command to do the same, several mossy tentacles flailing around the creature as it approached him. Of course things could never be this simple, never, never, the universe just looooved to screw him over, didn't it!

Ha... Ha, ha ha ha; the mana cost required for him to found his dungeon had just been multiplied by ten, ten!

Where was the justification for that?

Nowhere!

He let out a long groan, slowly letting the iritation wash through him before giving George the mental order to stop its' frantic arm waving. It was good to have company again. Hah, there was no use moping around; he had a problem which meant there was someone who had a solution and he was going to beat it out of them whatever the cost.

Huzzah!

Gimble laughed as the Moss horror scooped up his collapsing body, the damaged dungeon core letting out a low hiss as Georged secured him in his inner ring of tentacles. He still didn't have a clue about healing magic, life force was clearly useless on this front unless he intended to just swell Gimble up to the point where this level of damage would mean nothing to the moss monster. Of course that sounded like a logistic nightmare, he was going to need to focus on using mana. Currently he had a total of two spells, the first being the magical equivalent of announcing a tax hike while cutting off medical and shoving the minimum wage over the neighbours fence, while the other... well he still wasn’t sure what that [Delirium Bolt] actually did. Apparently the spell caused momentary hallucinations and did a little bit of damage, of course he wasn't quite what the spell would actually do, create a flash of white? A burst of sound? a spike of pain? There were lots of different Hallucinations. Now that he thought about it he'd never actually tried to deliberatley cast a spell, so far things had just been happy accidents, well at least they were happy from his perspective.

Eh, he'd figure it out later, now he had some rather more pressing concerns.

Gimble turned his attention back towards the notification. [At least 500 mana] a small shiver coursed through his core, his mana veins practically shuddering beneath his stony surface. Hopefully the increase mana requirement reflected an increase quality of any dungeon founded in his new location.. The only thing that had changed about his situation after his battle with origin was his location, durability, level and the fact he now had a new dungeon waiting somewhere overhead. He doubted his durability had anything to do with it or his level for that matter, otherwise it would become practically impossible to found a dungeon. So that left either Origin's new dungeon or his location as the cause. He was more incined to believe it was the former; when origin had formed its' dungeon it had released that acidic mist melting everything, Gimble was assuming that mist had something to do with founding dungeons and of course if he was going to makea dungeon in a bigger area he'd need more mist and he was going to bet more mist meant more mana.

Ah fantasy logic - he finally felt like he was fitting in. George wobbled in approval of the sentiment

In any case even if he had all the mana in the world he still wouldn't be able to found a dungeon. First he'd need to dig a tunnel to the surface, which he was guessing, going by how far he had fallen was quite a way away. Hmm... There was probably some kind of spell he could use in order to tunnel his way outwards or in lieu of some magical sollution to all his problems he could probably make a monster who's soul purpose was to tunnel its' way up to the surface.

Digging the tunnel would just take time, it really wasn't a major concern right now, his mana on the other hand was slightly more worrying. So far every level he’d gained had come with a flat increase in stats of plus one to everything (with the exception of his physical stats) and two free points he could allocate to any stat he wanted. That meant he would have a maximum increase in his intelligence of plus five per level. Gimble frowned opening up his status sheet.

NAME – [Gimble]

AGE - [0]

RACE - [Dungeon Core Variant]

LEVEL - [2]

STRENGTH - [N/A]

AGILITY - [N/A]

ENDURANCE - [N/A]

INTELLIGENCE - [7]

CONCENTRATION - [6]

WILL - [10]

SKILLS - [Mental Magic – Insanity]

TRAITS - [Minor Insanity / Cosmic Inspiration]

He’d need to gain nine levels before his intelligence would be high enough to meet the five hundred mana requirement. The only method of increasing his level he had come across so far had been killing monsters. Assuming that his new world followed standard videogame logic, or at least what logic he could remember, then every time he gained a level he'd have to kill an even greater ammount of monsters to get tot he next level. He wasn't sure how high nine levels was, at least in comparison to everything in his surroundings but without a doubt he would end up killing a lot of monsters. Lots and lots of monsters.

Of course all of that effort might just prove unneccessary. After his battle with Origin Gimble had developed a hypothesis on exactly why killing monsters seemed to be increasing his level and if he was right, well, there would be nothing on this planet capable of keeping him from world domination!

“Listen kids, with enough weight and enough speed an arrow can pierce through anything, it just keeps moving forward - that is what it means to be an adventurer, to move forward no matter what stands in your way. But there is one thing you must remember: an arrow is an arrow.”

A cold wind blew in sahking the long fronds of pale green grass dyed in an inky blue by the encroaching night. Long blades of grass were whipped into a frenzy about his feet as he took in a long breath, cold air seeping into his lungs. Nizoraga spoke evenly leaning against his stout bow, an easy smile splitting the hard features of his face, or at least the portion visible beneath his hood, a dark red beard fluttering in the breeze. “An arrow can fly forward to meet the foe but just as easily the wind can turn it back on you. An arrow is a tool and nothing more, you have no control over it, that goes for all of us whether you are a magic caster or a martial artist. You cannot bend mana to your will. You must guide it direct it, let it flow and most importantly never trust it with your life. otherwise you will never join the adventurer's guild.” He let out a rolling laugh a sudden gust of wind peeling back his hoodto reveal the blotchy face hidden within. The man was a dwarf from the northern city of Inkarad, a people famed for their stalwart nature and rugged appearance - Tarma supposed the man did fit the description in at least in one raggard - he looked like someone stuffed an old warty-potato into a sock and used it as a flail in a battle with a troll lord and if that couldn't be considered rugged she didn't know what could.

“This has got to be a new record.” Eloa sighed glancing up in the direction of the laughing dwarf, and the two short figures standing before him with a mix of awe and trepedition.

"Hmm?" Tarma glanced up dropping the oilly rag she had been using to polish her staff to the side as the Demi-human girl let out a low hiss.

"We're barely a day out of Odemere and he's already started rattling off to the new recruits." She huffed unhooking the large metal from where it hung just above the softly glowing embers of the fire before dropping it down into the ash, a plume of sparks rising up into the air before she plunged her laddle down into the broth.

"They're not exactly recruits, at least not yet; brats haven't even earned their first cord." Tarma snorted in response pulling out a coarse sheet of cloth from her pack and running it along the smooth metal surface of her staff removing the last of the oil before giving the weapon a brief once over before planting it end down in the ground funneling a fragment of her power into the staff a faint light rising from the dark blue crystal mounted at its' top.

She had purchased the staff specifically for this mission and it made a welcome addition to the half-a-dozen other magic staffs she owned all of which were currently stashed into her bandolier which itself had been strapped to her bag. It was probably best they didn't walk around the countryside like one of the kings' patrols. She'd even tried to get Niz to wrap up his bow while they were travelling, of course the dwarf had refused; stubborn bastard.

"If we let him fill there heads with all of that nonsense then they'll never earn a cord." Eloa sighed rubbing at her scaled face before pausing to lift the ladle to her lips and take a brief sip before giving a stout nod and adding a dash of spices to the pot of horned rabbit meat before giving it a quick stir.

"Eh, they'll get a cord one way or another; you know what nobles are like, and this far out in the sticks its' not like anyone with any real power's gonna try and tell 'em no." Tarma snorted before grabbing one of the wooden bowls gesturing for the snake girl to fill it. Eloa frowned before turning to yell in the dwarf's direction

"Hey Niz get your fat dwarven arse over here if you want something to eat!" She spoke, a rough hiss rattling her throat as she did Tarma watching as the two children froze Niz letting out a cheery laugh barrelling over in the direction of pot, lit by the pale blue light of Tarma's staff.

The dwarf clapped his hands before grabbing one of the bowls and moving to dip it into the pot. Eloa lashed out with the speed of... well a snake, striking Niz's hand the dwarf recoiling before ending the snake woman a glare. "You are disgusting!" She hissed jabbing the ladle in his direction before seizing his bowl and pouring out a portion of soup Niz dropping down into the grass dejected. The two children shuffled over into the pool of light, bodies hidden beneath heavy cloaks, a boy and a girl each roughly ten years old. The boy had dark hair, verging on a deep shade of red while the girl's hair was blonde touching on hints of green at its' edges her facial features strangely sharp speaking of a heritage that was not quite human. Nobles certainly did have some rather weird hobbies.

"Young master Ainslow, Mistress Gaulmere, are either of you planning to join us?" Tarma called the two skirting there way towards her as Eloa filled a pair of bowls before reaching out to pass it to the children as they sat down between Tarma and Niz. The duo watched the young snake girl cautiously Rid Ainslow reaching out slowly to take the bowls, with a slightly nervous nod, Eloa letting her tongue briefly flit out of her mouth, a narrow frown crossing her face.

Tarma shook her head before downing her soup in one go barely stopping to chew the chunks of rabbit meat before it settled down into her stomach. Reptile demi-humans were rare outside of the Uramoan empire and even in Uramoa Eloa's case was rather severe. Scales covered her body from head to toe, a long thick tail descending down her back while her head was as far from human as you could get. She had a snakes head, a long oval of pale red scales, blooms of darker scales bursting through on occasion here and there, her throat a pale white and here eyes strangely human. Dalagarn was a human nation and like most human nations, it existed on the fringes of the main strand, you didn't see a lot of other races, especially this far out in the boonies. They were afraid but that didn't mean she was going to let this slide, for an adventurer trust meant everything, if you cannot trust your teammates well then someone was liable to wind up dead come morning. Nizoraga had been right about one thing; you couldn't trust tools to keep you alive, you had to rely on each other, that was the only way for weak species to become stronger.

"Do you know what you two 're doin' here?" Tarma questioned glaring down at the two children who had begun to slowly sip from their bowls of soup, Ira Gaulmere seeming to struggle keeping the week old boiled rabbit down. "That idiot may call us adventurer's, and sure that might be what our guild badges say, but we aren't some mythical heroes. We're mercenaries, we take jobs and the jobs get done one way or another." The two children were looking up at her now, mouths clamped shut as they huddled beneath their cloaks. Rumour had it that this entire debacle the result between Marogan Ainslow Rid's father and Duke Ulmo Gaulmere Ira's father. It was no secret that Rid and Ira were close friends and rumour had it their parents had gotten into a disagreement over whether or not the two would be able to join the adventurer's guild or not. Tarma wasn't clear on the specifics but what she did know was that a drunken bet between the two competing parties later she was dragging a pair of snot nosed brats through the wilderness, at the behest of the Odemere adventurer's guild master

"Your fathers asked us to bring you, I do not know why or how, but the only reason you are here is because of the bonus they're offering us to escort you on this mission." The children shrank back eyes wide, pale faces seeming to shine in the blue light of her staff. "Word is a new dungeon has spawned in the Pourya mountains and we have been tasked with securing the location before the dungeoneer's guild can set up shop and begin handling all of the logistics. We will make our way north to the village of Par Pourya where we will meet with a representative from the temple of Lowith. The journey will take us two months and we will cross a vast and dangerous terrain on foot. You will see things you could hardly imagine cooped up in the walls of your city and meet new people who have their own way of viewing the world. Hunting monsters, raising levels, protecting people; that's just a job, a true adventurer is someone who seeks out the beauty of this world amidst the strange and bizarre, and trust me where we're going we're going to be seeing a lot of that."