| What is a dungeon-core, exactly? Here is what we know, based on the results of examinations conducted during several dungeon demolition events. A dungeon-core is to be considered a living entity, in that it is ‘alive’ in the same sense as any other monster in a dungeon is. A dungeon-core can range from being a mobile creature to being entirely immobile. — We do not know how immobile dungeon-cores lord over their domain, exactly. But our assumptions are that they act as a central brain of the dungeon and so, a dungeon is to the dungeon-core as our bodies are to us. It seems that they can simply will actions to happen, like we would the lifting of an arm, and these will begin to happen. A dungeon will immediately begin to collapse in on itself the moment a dungeon-core is destroyed. The standard protocol for a destruction team is to thereby extract the dungeon-core out of the dungeon and destroy it, when they are safe. Dungeon-cores exude magical dominance out over an exact distance from their point of birth. They are never able to leave this territory and if they are forcefully removed, they will simply die then and there. This is the preferred method of destruction for a core. In the rare instances when dungeon-cores have communicated with destruction-teams, it seems that no common ground could ever be found. This has only been documented as happening twice in the last several decades. Both cores initiated a self-destruction process, rather than undergoing peace-talks with the teams. The motivations of a dungeon-core are multifaceted. But most seem to just follow an innate, animal desire to grow and to expand. The most notable outlier however, the DARK-dungeon, was built for the sole purpose of killing as many humans as possible, as was made very clear by the dungeon-core. |
~ The extraction adventurer’s handbook, volume 1
| New Area | |
| ~ [Dungeon] ~ | |
| Floor {13} | |
| The thirteenth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty | |
| Capacity: {28} Monster-Points | Traps: 02 |
| Monster-Point prices per monster | |
| F-Rank: 01 | E-Rank: 02 |
| D-Rank: 04 | C-Rank: 08 |
| B-Rank: 16 | A-Rank: 32 |
| S-Rank: 64 | SS-Rank: 128 |
| SSS-Rank: 256 | |
| The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {02} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {07} floors. |
Isaiah flies, hovering up in the air and staring down at the tower from above.
Crystal and Green are flying around the upper rim of it in a circle, laying layer after layer of brickwork beneath themselves, as they zip around in a ring after one another. The layer of bricks falls down beneath them, stacking itself together like a coiling snake would. Without the need for them to fly down the tower to get every single brick, they’re laying the stonework at an incredible pace.
Isaiah watches as the two of them work at dizzying speeds and as the stockpile of brickwork, just outside the tower, simply begins to shrink at just an incredible a pace. New bricks pop into the stockpile to counterbalance the drain, but White can’t work fast enough alone to counteract the double usage of Crystal and Green.
Still, they have days’ worth of bricks stockpiled up to burn through. This should be fine for now.
| New Area | |
| ~ [Dungeon] ~ | |
| Floor {14} | |
| The fourteenth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty | |
| Capacity: {30} Monster-Points | Traps: 02 |
| Monster-Point prices per monster | |
| F-Rank: 01 | E-Rank: 02 |
| D-Rank: 04 | C-Rank: 08 |
| B-Rank: 16 | A-Rank: 32 |
| S-Rank: 64 | SS-Rank: 128 |
| SSS-Rank: 256 | |
| The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {01} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {06} floors. |
Crystal looks up, flashing Isaiah a thumbs-up as he works.
Isaiah nods.
— An acceptable gesture of respect.
It lifts a hand, giving a thumbs-up back down to the uthra, as they begin to weave another circle around the tower.
The bell-tower rings again, striking nine in the morning.
Isaiah stares through the eyes of the statue by the nest, watching the blackbird and the eggs.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
It looks like today is still safe.
It reopens its eyes.
| ~ [Pilgrimage] ~ |
| The tower gains ambient magic from the arrival of strangers. |
| +06 EXP |
| EXP: 95/750 |
| ~ [Prayers] ~ |
| Prayers have been said at the shrine. |
| +02 EXP |
| EXP: 97/750 |
Isaiah watches as more people begin to enter through the road.
The forest next to it is alight, as stragglers from the first group here have fallen into combat with the constantly respawning wisps. This doesn’t seem to be a life or death situation, rather, they seem to be simply fighting the wisps and then waiting for new ones to respawn, before fighting those too.
They’ve been at it all day.
The party seems to have set up shop by the hot-springs, but they haven’t entered the dungeon yet, surprisingly.
There was one intruder, the man who likes to draw maps. But he only entered floor one and looked around. He never went down the staircase into the water, before leaving again.
| New Area | |
| ~ [Dungeon] ~ | |
| Floor {15} - Challenge Room | |
| The fifteenth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty | |
| Capacity: {32} Monster-Points | Traps: 02 |
| Monster-Point prices per monster | |
| F-Rank: 01 | E-Rank: 02 |
| D-Rank: 04 | C-Rank: 08 |
| B-Rank: 16 | A-Rank: 32 |
| S-Rank: 64 | SS-Rank: 128 |
| SSS-Rank: 256 | |
| The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {10} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {05} floors. |
The bell is doing wonders at drawing in humans from the surrounding region. But none of them seem to be brave enough to really push into the dungeon. It’s almost like everyone is just waiting for someone else to really go in first.
Isaiah tilts its head.
Humans are certainly more survival-affine than the reckless goblins are.
Hmm…
“We got a new group coming in from the west,” says Red, coming up next to Isaiah. “Fast. Looks weird.”
Isaiah turns its head, watching the clearing.
| ~ [Beulah] ~ |
Beulah runs as fast as he can, the forest undergrowth crunching beneath his worn boots. His sun-burnt face and black hair are covered in sweat and dirt, just like the rest of his cut and bruised exterior. His hand rests against a tree for a moment as he tries to catch his winded breath. His head spins from a mix of adrenaline and the sprint, which has been going on for longer than he knows.
It’s all a blur. He thought he had gotten away from them, but then they found him in the forest and he’s just been running ever since. Has it been a minute? An hour? He really doesn’t know anymore. His body and mind are exhausted. They are as frazzled as his heaving lungs, which send a tingle through his body with every breath of air they push through him.
— Something screeches behind him, just a few meters away. He scrambles off in a frantic panic, running again.
They’re right behind him.
“HERE!” yells a voice, a man’s. “HE’S HERE!”
Beulah sprints, breaking out of the forest and into a clearing, full of people and structures.
A settlement?
Shit.
He considers running back into the forest, but his pursuers are already moving out of it. Instead, he makes a break for the buildings, for the large tower there.
“Stop him!” yells a voice. “Stop that man!”
Beulah runs as fast as he can, several of the people outside of the tower and buildings make awkward half-movements, looking his way and some taking a tender step. But those who do look towards their groups questioningly. Nobody wants to be the first person to act and so, everybody just kind of stands there, interested, but not involved.
A group of guards, soldiers, ride out of the forest on anqas. The leader of the group, a well-dressed and mustached man takes the point, pointing after him.
“A reward for whoever catches that man!” he shouts. “Ten-thousand Obols!”
This changes everything. Immediately, people spring to action, their insecurity having been overwhelmed by only the verbal promise of a substantial sum of money.
Beulah runs for the tower.
Magical spells of all sort fly out, blasting his way. Some seem meant to ensnare, others aren’t so tactful and scorch the landscape around him.
Explosions ring out as he dives behind a segment of bricks, the grounds around him exploding.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
Red taps Isaiah on the shoulder. “Hey, chief. I got an idea.”
Isaiah looks at Red, lifting an eyebrow. It listens to her plan.
Red really never disappoints.
| ~ [Beulah] ~ |
Beulah scrambles, trying to get back up to his feet. But he doesn’t get far before something snares his leg and he stumbles over, falling down to the stones again, his hands outstretched and trying to claw him away.
“I got him!” yells an excited elf, lifting her hands into the air. “I got him!”
Her party cheers and quickly surrounds the man, making sure that none of the other frustrated faces can make a claim to him. Beulah’s hands, trying to pry the root spell off of his ankles, are pulled away by someone and held firmly.
“Let me go!” yells Beulah. “They’ll kill me!” he explains, struggling for his life. “LET ME GO!”
“- Hold still!” barks the man who is grabbing him.
“Excellent work,” says the well-dressed rider, as they move in towards the tower, looking around themselves. He stops and jumps off of his mount, gesturing behind himself to two of the others. The guards dismount, walking after him. “You have our thanks.” He reaches into the saddle-bags of his anqa and pulls out a small satchel, handing it to the elf. The adventurer lets go of the captured man and the guards bend down, hoisting him to his feet.
Opening the little bag, the elf and her party gasp in silent awe, looking at the single, large, golden coin with an ornate skull imprinted on itself. It is a single, ten-thousand Obol denomination.
“We’re rich…” mutters the elf. “We’re rich!” She and her party go wild, celebrating amongst themselves as they gather off to the side.
“Help!” yells Beulah. “I didn’t do anything!” he shouts, looking at the people around him. “HEL-MPFH.”
A rag is stuffed into his mouth by one of the guards and held there by a firm hand, as they drag him towards the well-dressed man.
“Good work,” says the leader of the operation, nodding to the guards, before looking at Beulah. “You were slippery. But you should have saved yourself and us the trouble.” He gestures over his shoulder. One of the other guards comes up, handing him a scroll and a rapier. He unfolds it with one hand, letting it roll down. “One Mr. Beulah Hephzibah. Race, human. Age, twenty-nine. Identifying marks, an elongated scar between his left thumb and index finger.”
One of the guards lifts Beulah’s hand up, spreading his fingers and showing the scar.
“Do we agree?” asks the well-dressed man.
The guardsmen look at each other and nod in agreement. One of them steps forward. “We agree that this man is Beulah Hephzibah,” he says, as the other two push Beulah back down to his knees.
The leader of the group hands the scroll back to another man, who rolls it up and stows it back into a pouch on the side of an anqa. “Very well.” He lifts the sword. “Beulah Hephzibah. For the crimes of high-deceit and theft from nobility, you are hereby sentenced to be put to death by a rapier through the heart.”
Beulah looks around himself, two pairs of hands holding his shoulders down and him in place.
All of the people here are just standing around and watching. Those who were paid off are more interested in ogling their prize than watching what they earned it for and those who lost the chase, they’re busy watching the winners in envy instead of him.
The sword rises into the air, catching a glint of the morning sun and he winces, shutting his eyes as a flash of light moves his way.
— Something plunges against his chest.
Someone screams and for a moment, he thinks that it’s he himself who is doing so, until he tastes the fabric on his tongue and remembers the binding there, muffling him.
Murmurs leak out into the air.
Beulah opens his eyes in increasing bewilderment, watching as small orbs of light of many colors leave his chest, rising towards the sky as if essences of his own dead, departing soul, moving up to the spirit-world.
The blade of the needle rapier is broken, bent and jagged at the tip.
A white stone, large and intricately worked, sits between it and his heart.
All eyes rise, following the glowing lights as they trail in a spiral upwards towards the vivid rays of the sun. There, cascading past the body of a thing, the sunlight paints a featureless silhouette. It is an image which gives credence to the presence of something… other.
The presence, the entity, lowers itself down towards the ground with wings as large as the spans of trees, with a body as slender and as gnarled as the tip of the bent, silver rapier. With arms outstretched, pale as winter’s snow, it lowers itself. The guards scramble, taking formation and leaving him there on his knees alone.
“You stand on hallowed ground,” says the celestial being. “Do not tarnish it.”
To the side, an elf, the very one who had captured the fugitive, falls to the grass, lowering her head and holding her hands in fervent prayer.
The well-dressed man opens his mouth, stammering something as he steps back a step. The guardsmen step back with him in line, as the strange creature lands on the ground between them and Beulah.
“Sacrilege will not go unpunished,” says the taloned being, lifting a finger towards the well-dressed man. The lights of many colors, clearly evidence of some grand, cosmic magical ability, spin around its finger in an increasing rhythm, as some deadly spell appears to charge itself up.
“W- wait!” stammers the man in fear, stepping back. “This man is a criminal!” he explains. “We are within the law and within the purview of the divine!” he exclaims, looking at his own men, who seem unwilling to act out of fear. Whatever this thing is, it is no simple monster. This is something else. Something old. Something powerful. “- Mercy!”
The creature shakes its head, slowly lowering its hand. “You will be judged another day.” It turns around and looks at Beulah. Bending down, it stares into his eyes and he feels a deep fear running through himself. Those golden eyes of its, sharp like a hawk’s, seem to be gazing straight down into his essence. Its expression appears as if it could smell every bad thing he ever did in his life.
— But at the same time, its face portrays only quiet, stoic acceptance of what it sees in him.
“Rise. Beulah,” says the being, grabbing him beneath his wet arms with two strong hands and pulling him to his feet. How does it know his name? “You are safe here.”
Beulah doesn’t know what to think, what to do. His instincts tell him to take his chance and to run. But the celestial being here before himself, evidence of the true presence of something he had never held to be real, overpowers his thoughts and his racing heart.
He can only see it. He can only see the light of those eyes, shining like the sun of a brand new day.
The divine being turns around, lifting a hand again, as the lights of many colors surround Beulah, carrying him away and into the air, despite his panicked protests at suddenly flying.
“Please!” says the man in nice clothes, taking an unusual tone.
The creature looks his way and then to the others around him, to the people standing and watching the scene now. “Let it be known that all who seek sanctuary shall find it here,” says the being, looking at the adventurers. Its voice is steady and calm and, despite its sharp harpishness, is soothingly deep. “Thieves. Murderers. The lost. The unwanted. The wretched. All are welcome here, all will be safe here,” says the divine messenger, holding out its arms as it begins to leave the ground. “Here, they will be saved,” it explains, looking at the man and the guards, before rising back up into the air and vanishing within the glowing light of the sun above them all.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
Isaiah sighs, landing back on its branch.
Red flies in. “We totally scammed those suckers!” she says. “Did you see them shaking in their boots? Hah!”
The first part of Red’s plan had worked beautifully.
Isaiah made its appearance to the world, selling an image of something merciful and strong. The people there will talk of this to others and if its message travels correctly, other people on the run will find safety and shelter here in the dungeon.
— A sanctuary for those seeking refuge or to turn away from their old ways, safe from repercussions of their old lives. Most importantly, they will be free to stay here to pray and to worship and to work.
It will have ‘the talk’ with Beulah soon. It’s a good thing that it had listened in to their conversation through the statues, before flying down.
As for those who remain below, those who remain unconvinced…
Isaiah closes its eyes again, looking through the same statue as before.
“— Fifty-thousand Obols!” exclaims the man in nice clothes, holding up a fistful of fabric satchels. His tone has changed very quickly. “For the person who retrieves him!”
The adventurers look around at each other. Some are not able to be convinced, being too deep in their beliefs or in their fear of what they just witnessed and of what it might imply.
The one elven woman is still kneeling on the ground, feverishly whispering in prayer.
Yet some others remain unimpressed. Those people gather, looking at each other as they form an entirely new party, consisting of those who are willing to take the chance, of those who are of little faith.
Isaiah returns to its vision, as the second phase of Red’s plan comes to fruition.
They didn’t just save Beulah for him to work here.
He’s also the very first bait.
| - [Dungeon Breached!] - | |
| Intruders: 06 | Average Level: 17 |
| Difficulty: Deadly |
It begins.
Razmatazz
| ~ [Note for occultists]{Paradise} ~ Paradise. The holy land. The end goal of it all. ‘Beulah’ is a term that refers to a holy-land within the Jewish faith. It was originally only ever mentioned once, in the Book of Isaiah. But it has, since then, found itself referenced in many later religious works. Of note is that Beulah is meant to be a physical place, on the actual Earth. 'Paradise' however, is often something else. It is a concept referred to in many other systems of faith all around the world. From the strongly varying Abrahamic concepts of heaven and hell, to the Nordic system involving such concepts as Valhalla, to the Buddhist concept of escaping the cycle of rebirth, which is known as Samsara. What reaching paradise actually means is very, very different depending on the culture and the origin of the system of faith. Classically, the afterlife is just that, a place where life continues. Depending on the faith however, this is either a really great or a really terrible or even a really boring thing. It's really very mixed. My personal favorite concept however, is the Bardo, belonging to the Buddhist faith and commonly referenced in the Tibetan book of the dead. It is a transitional place (More of a state, than a place, really) where you go after dying and you must stay there for forty-nine days, before you can return to the cycle of rebirth. |
- - - - - -
Apple, Kobo, Barnes and Nobles and other platforms here!
| What is a dungeon-core, exactly? Here is what we know, based on the results of examinations conducted during several dungeon demolition events. A dungeon-core is to be considered a living entity, in that it is ‘alive’ in the same sense as any other monster in a dungeon is. A dungeon-core can range from being a mobile creature to being entirely immobile. — We do not know how immobile dungeon-cores lord over their domain, exactly. But our assumptions are that they act as a central brain of the dungeon and so, a dungeon is to the dungeon-core as our bodies are to us. It seems that they can simply will actions to happen, like we would the lifting of an arm, and these will begin to happen. A dungeon will immediately begin to collapse in on itself the moment a dungeon-core is destroyed. The standard protocol for a destruction team is to thereby extract the dungeon-core out of the dungeon and destroy it, when they are safe. Dungeon-cores exude magical dominance out over an exact distance from their point of birth. They are never able to leave this territory and if they are forcefully removed, they will simply die then and there. This is the preferred method of destruction for a core. In the rare instances when dungeon-cores have communicated with destruction-teams, it seems that no common ground could ever be found. This has only been documented as happening twice in the last several decades. Both cores initiated a self-destruction process, rather than undergoing peace-talks with the teams. The motivations of a dungeon-core are multifaceted. But most seem to just follow an innate, animal desire to grow and to expand. The most notable outlier however, the DARK-dungeon, was built for the sole purpose of killing as many humans as possible, as was made very clear by the dungeon-core. |
~ The extraction adventurer’s handbook, volume 1
| New Area | |
| ~ [Dungeon] ~ | |
| Floor {13} | |
| The thirteenth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty | |
| Capacity: {28} Monster-Points | Traps: 02 |
| Monster-Point prices per monster | |
| F-Rank: 01 | E-Rank: 02 |
| D-Rank: 04 | C-Rank: 08 |
| B-Rank: 16 | A-Rank: 32 |
| S-Rank: 64 | SS-Rank: 128 |
| SSS-Rank: 256 | |
| The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {02} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {07} floors. |
Isaiah flies, hovering up in the air and staring down at the tower from above.
Crystal and Green are flying around the upper rim of it in a circle, laying layer after layer of brickwork beneath themselves, as they zip around in a ring after one another. The layer of bricks falls down beneath them, stacking itself together like a coiling snake would. Without the need for them to fly down the tower to get every single brick, they’re laying the stonework at an incredible pace.
Isaiah watches as the two of them work at dizzying speeds and as the stockpile of brickwork, just outside the tower, simply begins to shrink at just an incredible a pace. New bricks pop into the stockpile to counterbalance the drain, but White can’t work fast enough alone to counteract the double usage of Crystal and Green.
Still, they have days’ worth of bricks stockpiled up to burn through. This should be fine for now.
| New Area | |
| ~ [Dungeon] ~ | |
| Floor {14} | |
| The fourteenth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty | |
| Capacity: {30} Monster-Points | Traps: 02 |
| Monster-Point prices per monster | |
| F-Rank: 01 | E-Rank: 02 |
| D-Rank: 04 | C-Rank: 08 |
| B-Rank: 16 | A-Rank: 32 |
| S-Rank: 64 | SS-Rank: 128 |
| SSS-Rank: 256 | |
| The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {01} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {06} floors. |
Crystal looks up, flashing Isaiah a thumbs-up as he works.
Isaiah nods.
— An acceptable gesture of respect.
It lifts a hand, giving a thumbs-up back down to the uthra, as they begin to weave another circle around the tower.
The bell-tower rings again, striking nine in the morning.
Isaiah stares through the eyes of the statue by the nest, watching the blackbird and the eggs.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
It looks like today is still safe.
It reopens its eyes.
| ~ [Pilgrimage] ~ |
| The tower gains ambient magic from the arrival of strangers. |
| +06 EXP |
| EXP: 95/750 |
| ~ [Prayers] ~ |
| Prayers have been said at the shrine. |
| +02 EXP |
| EXP: 97/750 |
Isaiah watches as more people begin to enter through the road.
The forest next to it is alight, as stragglers from the first group here have fallen into combat with the constantly respawning wisps. This doesn’t seem to be a life or death situation, rather, they seem to be simply fighting the wisps and then waiting for new ones to respawn, before fighting those too.
They’ve been at it all day.
The party seems to have set up shop by the hot-springs, but they haven’t entered the dungeon yet, surprisingly.
There was one intruder, the man who likes to draw maps. But he only entered floor one and looked around. He never went down the staircase into the water, before leaving again.
| New Area | |
| ~ [Dungeon] ~ | |
| Floor {15} - Challenge Room | |
| The fifteenth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty | |
| Capacity: {32} Monster-Points | Traps: 02 |
| Monster-Point prices per monster | |
| F-Rank: 01 | E-Rank: 02 |
| D-Rank: 04 | C-Rank: 08 |
| B-Rank: 16 | A-Rank: 32 |
| S-Rank: 64 | SS-Rank: 128 |
| SSS-Rank: 256 | |
| The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {10} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {05} floors. |
The bell is doing wonders at drawing in humans from the surrounding region. But none of them seem to be brave enough to really push into the dungeon. It’s almost like everyone is just waiting for someone else to really go in first.
Isaiah tilts its head.
Humans are certainly more survival-affine than the reckless goblins are.
Hmm…
“We got a new group coming in from the west,” says Red, coming up next to Isaiah. “Fast. Looks weird.”
Isaiah turns its head, watching the clearing.
| ~ [Beulah] ~ |
Beulah runs as fast as he can, the forest undergrowth crunching beneath his worn boots. His sun-burnt face and black hair are covered in sweat and dirt, just like the rest of his cut and bruised exterior. His hand rests against a tree for a moment as he tries to catch his winded breath. His head spins from a mix of adrenaline and the sprint, which has been going on for longer than he knows.
It’s all a blur. He thought he had gotten away from them, but then they found him in the forest and he’s just been running ever since. Has it been a minute? An hour? He really doesn’t know anymore. His body and mind are exhausted. They are as frazzled as his heaving lungs, which send a tingle through his body with every breath of air they push through him.
— Something screeches behind him, just a few meters away. He scrambles off in a frantic panic, running again.
They’re right behind him.
“HERE!” yells a voice, a man’s. “HE’S HERE!”
Beulah sprints, breaking out of the forest and into a clearing, full of people and structures.
A settlement?
Shit.
He considers running back into the forest, but his pursuers are already moving out of it. Instead, he makes a break for the buildings, for the large tower there.
“Stop him!” yells a voice. “Stop that man!”
Beulah runs as fast as he can, several of the people outside of the tower and buildings make awkward half-movements, looking his way and some taking a tender step. But those who do look towards their groups questioningly. Nobody wants to be the first person to act and so, everybody just kind of stands there, interested, but not involved.
A group of guards, soldiers, ride out of the forest on anqas. The leader of the group, a well-dressed and mustached man takes the point, pointing after him.
“A reward for whoever catches that man!” he shouts. “Ten-thousand Obols!”
This changes everything. Immediately, people spring to action, their insecurity having been overwhelmed by only the verbal promise of a substantial sum of money.
Beulah runs for the tower.
Magical spells of all sort fly out, blasting his way. Some seem meant to ensnare, others aren’t so tactful and scorch the landscape around him.
Explosions ring out as he dives behind a segment of bricks, the grounds around him exploding.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
Red taps Isaiah on the shoulder. “Hey, chief. I got an idea.”
Isaiah looks at Red, lifting an eyebrow. It listens to her plan.
Red really never disappoints.
| ~ [Beulah] ~ |
Beulah scrambles, trying to get back up to his feet. But he doesn’t get far before something snares his leg and he stumbles over, falling down to the stones again, his hands outstretched and trying to claw him away.
“I got him!” yells an excited elf, lifting her hands into the air. “I got him!”
Her party cheers and quickly surrounds the man, making sure that none of the other frustrated faces can make a claim to him. Beulah’s hands, trying to pry the root spell off of his ankles, are pulled away by someone and held firmly.
“Let me go!” yells Beulah. “They’ll kill me!” he explains, struggling for his life. “LET ME GO!”
“- Hold still!” barks the man who is grabbing him.
“Excellent work,” says the well-dressed rider, as they move in towards the tower, looking around themselves. He stops and jumps off of his mount, gesturing behind himself to two of the others. The guards dismount, walking after him. “You have our thanks.” He reaches into the saddle-bags of his anqa and pulls out a small satchel, handing it to the elf. The adventurer lets go of the captured man and the guards bend down, hoisting him to his feet.
Opening the little bag, the elf and her party gasp in silent awe, looking at the single, large, golden coin with an ornate skull imprinted on itself. It is a single, ten-thousand Obol denomination.
“We’re rich…” mutters the elf. “We’re rich!” She and her party go wild, celebrating amongst themselves as they gather off to the side.
“Help!” yells Beulah. “I didn’t do anything!” he shouts, looking at the people around him. “HEL-MPFH.”
A rag is stuffed into his mouth by one of the guards and held there by a firm hand, as they drag him towards the well-dressed man.
“Good work,” says the leader of the operation, nodding to the guards, before looking at Beulah. “You were slippery. But you should have saved yourself and us the trouble.” He gestures over his shoulder. One of the other guards comes up, handing him a scroll and a rapier. He unfolds it with one hand, letting it roll down. “One Mr. Beulah Hephzibah. Race, human. Age, twenty-nine. Identifying marks, an elongated scar between his left thumb and index finger.”
One of the guards lifts Beulah’s hand up, spreading his fingers and showing the scar.
“Do we agree?” asks the well-dressed man.
The guardsmen look at each other and nod in agreement. One of them steps forward. “We agree that this man is Beulah Hephzibah,” he says, as the other two push Beulah back down to his knees.
The leader of the group hands the scroll back to another man, who rolls it up and stows it back into a pouch on the side of an anqa. “Very well.” He lifts the sword. “Beulah Hephzibah. For the crimes of high-deceit and theft from nobility, you are hereby sentenced to be put to death by a rapier through the heart.”
Beulah looks around himself, two pairs of hands holding his shoulders down and him in place.
All of the people here are just standing around and watching. Those who were paid off are more interested in ogling their prize than watching what they earned it for and those who lost the chase, they’re busy watching the winners in envy instead of him.
The sword rises into the air, catching a glint of the morning sun and he winces, shutting his eyes as a flash of light moves his way.
— Something plunges against his chest.
Someone screams and for a moment, he thinks that it’s he himself who is doing so, until he tastes the fabric on his tongue and remembers the binding there, muffling him.
Murmurs leak out into the air.
Beulah opens his eyes in increasing bewilderment, watching as small orbs of light of many colors leave his chest, rising towards the sky as if essences of his own dead, departing soul, moving up to the spirit-world.
The blade of the needle rapier is broken, bent and jagged at the tip.
A white stone, large and intricately worked, sits between it and his heart.
All eyes rise, following the glowing lights as they trail in a spiral upwards towards the vivid rays of the sun. There, cascading past the body of a thing, the sunlight paints a featureless silhouette. It is an image which gives credence to the presence of something… other.
The presence, the entity, lowers itself down towards the ground with wings as large as the spans of trees, with a body as slender and as gnarled as the tip of the bent, silver rapier. With arms outstretched, pale as winter’s snow, it lowers itself. The guards scramble, taking formation and leaving him there on his knees alone.
“You stand on hallowed ground,” says the celestial being. “Do not tarnish it.”
To the side, an elf, the very one who had captured the fugitive, falls to the grass, lowering her head and holding her hands in fervent prayer.
The well-dressed man opens his mouth, stammering something as he steps back a step. The guardsmen step back with him in line, as the strange creature lands on the ground between them and Beulah.
“Sacrilege will not go unpunished,” says the taloned being, lifting a finger towards the well-dressed man. The lights of many colors, clearly evidence of some grand, cosmic magical ability, spin around its finger in an increasing rhythm, as some deadly spell appears to charge itself up.
“W- wait!” stammers the man in fear, stepping back. “This man is a criminal!” he explains. “We are within the law and within the purview of the divine!” he exclaims, looking at his own men, who seem unwilling to act out of fear. Whatever this thing is, it is no simple monster. This is something else. Something old. Something powerful. “- Mercy!”
The creature shakes its head, slowly lowering its hand. “You will be judged another day.” It turns around and looks at Beulah. Bending down, it stares into his eyes and he feels a deep fear running through himself. Those golden eyes of its, sharp like a hawk’s, seem to be gazing straight down into his essence. Its expression appears as if it could smell every bad thing he ever did in his life.
— But at the same time, its face portrays only quiet, stoic acceptance of what it sees in him.
“Rise. Beulah,” says the being, grabbing him beneath his wet arms with two strong hands and pulling him to his feet. How does it know his name? “You are safe here.”
Beulah doesn’t know what to think, what to do. His instincts tell him to take his chance and to run. But the celestial being here before himself, evidence of the true presence of something he had never held to be real, overpowers his thoughts and his racing heart.
He can only see it. He can only see the light of those eyes, shining like the sun of a brand new day.
The divine being turns around, lifting a hand again, as the lights of many colors surround Beulah, carrying him away and into the air, despite his panicked protests at suddenly flying.
“Please!” says the man in nice clothes, taking an unusual tone.
The creature looks his way and then to the others around him, to the people standing and watching the scene now. “Let it be known that all who seek sanctuary shall find it here,” says the being, looking at the adventurers. Its voice is steady and calm and, despite its sharp harpishness, is soothingly deep. “Thieves. Murderers. The lost. The unwanted. The wretched. All are welcome here, all will be safe here,” says the divine messenger, holding out its arms as it begins to leave the ground. “Here, they will be saved,” it explains, looking at the man and the guards, before rising back up into the air and vanishing within the glowing light of the sun above them all.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
Isaiah sighs, landing back on its branch.
Red flies in. “We totally scammed those suckers!” she says. “Did you see them shaking in their boots? Hah!”
The first part of Red’s plan had worked beautifully.
Isaiah made its appearance to the world, selling an image of something merciful and strong. The people there will talk of this to others and if its message travels correctly, other people on the run will find safety and shelter here in the dungeon.
— A sanctuary for those seeking refuge or to turn away from their old ways, safe from repercussions of their old lives. Most importantly, they will be free to stay here to pray and to worship and to work.
It will have ‘the talk’ with Beulah soon. It’s a good thing that it had listened in to their conversation through the statues, before flying down.
As for those who remain below, those who remain unconvinced…
Isaiah closes its eyes again, looking through the same statue as before.
“— Fifty-thousand Obols!” exclaims the man in nice clothes, holding up a fistful of fabric satchels. His tone has changed very quickly. “For the person who retrieves him!”
The adventurers look around at each other. Some are not able to be convinced, being too deep in their beliefs or in their fear of what they just witnessed and of what it might imply.
The one elven woman is still kneeling on the ground, feverishly whispering in prayer.
Yet some others remain unimpressed. Those people gather, looking at each other as they form an entirely new party, consisting of those who are willing to take the chance, of those who are of little faith.
Isaiah returns to its vision, as the second phase of Red’s plan comes to fruition.
They didn’t just save Beulah for him to work here.
He’s also the very first bait.
| - [Dungeon Breached!] - | |
| Intruders: 06 | Average Level: 17 |
| Difficulty: Deadly |
It begins.
Razmatazz
| ~ [Note for occultists]{Paradise} ~ Paradise. The holy land. The end goal of it all. ‘Beulah’ is a term that refers to a holy-land within the Jewish faith. It was originally only ever mentioned once, in the Book of Isaiah. But it has, since then, found itself referenced in many later religious works. Of note is that Beulah is meant to be a physical place, on the actual Earth. 'Paradise' however, is often something else. It is a concept referred to in many other systems of faith all around the world. From the strongly varying Abrahamic concepts of heaven and hell, to the Nordic system involving such concepts as Valhalla, to the Buddhist concept of escaping the cycle of rebirth, which is known as Samsara. What reaching paradise actually means is very, very different depending on the culture and the origin of the system of faith. Classically, the afterlife is just that, a place where life continues. Depending on the faith however, this is either a really great or a really terrible or even a really boring thing. It's really very mixed. My personal favorite concept however, is the Bardo, belonging to the Buddhist faith and commonly referenced in the Tibetan book of the dead. It is a transitional place (More of a state, than a place, really) where you go after dying and you must stay there for forty-nine days, before you can return to the cycle of rebirth. |
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