"Reunions are always fraught with awkward tensions - the necessity to account for oneself; the attempt to find, through memories, an ember of the old emotions." ~ Anita Shreve
It wasn't actually a surprise to me, of course, as my domain now extended a few meters in each direction down the hall. I may have been distracted dealing with a deeply annoyed feline, but not to the extent that I had failed to notice the dracolisk snuffling its way along the cat's backtrail. Not that there was any blood, or anything, but having been coated in psychoactive spores, it wouldn't have been hard to recognize that something had wandered down the hall past the dracolisk's door. I imagine it had noticed the trail just as soon as it had gotten up from its nap and left its lair. I don't know if the trail of spores was too weak to affect it, or if it had some sort of resistance, or some other means of circumventing its effects, but it was clearly not under the influence of the hazeball fungus.
It was proceeding rather cautiously, in fact, despite the fact that it should have known whatever it was tracking was fairly small. I wasn't sure if that was simply native caution in dealing with the unknown, or whether it had some way of detecting the creature in question belonged to me. I rather assumed the latter, since it had been pretty clear that my domain, at least, was obvious to any sentient beings from ground squirrel size on up.
If it hadn't known the cat belonged to me before, tracking it back into my domain should have been a pretty big clue. In any event, having fetched up at an apparently solid stone wall where the trail dead ended, it had paused to ponder possible explanations for a few moments. I still wasn't clear exactly how smart the creature was; my old Monster Manual 2 suggested it had human intelligence, but that was hardly a reliable guide. Still, it was carefully not touching the wall where the trail stopped as its tongue flickered out, tasting the air and it leaned its head in carefully to eye the section of the wall in question.
A secret passage seemed the most likely explanation, but there was no obvious door, and no trigger to be seen. Certainly, it was possible that the cat had teleported, or shadow-stepped, or simply engaged some superior form of concealment, but the presence of my domain presumably made the simplest answer that I had simply sealed the door behind it.
Hence the careful knock. It had backed away a step, extended one of its foremost legs, and simply given the wall in question a delicately repeated tap. It could have been simply trying to hear an echoing void behind the wall, but it had the cadence of a rather resigned sounding knock. So, I attempted to answer.
**Hello. Can you hear me?**
The dracolisk started with an audible huff. **I can, dungeon. Why are you encroaching on my territory? Never mind. I don't care. Stop! Take your oppressively grating aura and go back where you came from!** The tone was annoyed, and very nearly petulant, which seemed odd coming from a creature of its size and presumed age – though I suppose petulance is something a dracolisk might not need to outgrow.
Still, I tried to be patient, even if I wasn't feeling all that patient today. **I'm not sure if I can do that. What is the extent of your territory? I need to work my way to the center of the island.**
The massive dark-scaled creature shook its head, hissing in frustration. **Unacceptable! Won't work, either. Go back where you came from! Or I will make you regret it!**
I took a second to unpack that series of comments. **What do you mean it won't work? I'm pretty sure I can just keep expanding inwards. Anyways, how about we just ignore each other? I'll give up on exploring towards your den, and if you cross my domain, I'll just ignore it.**
The creature grunted. ** You're not listening! I said, go back! You can't get to the middle! It's defended. And it's the territory of a creature that's angrier and more dangerous than I am! She'll kill you, and she'll kill me for not stopping you!**
I tried to adopt a more soothing tone. **I apologize for encroaching on your territory, though I'm not trying to drive you out or anything. But I have a divine quest that requires me to get to the center of the island, or bad things are going to happen. Not right away, but soon enough that I got put here and tasked with the job. So I CAN'T stop, and I'm not going to. And I'm pretty sure that you can't actually stop me.**
It gave a short, coughing roar of outrage. **You dare! You dare to come into the territory I've held for decades and act like I'm a child whose demands you can simply ignore! I will hunt your creatures! I will destroy your works! I will dig you out of whatever hole you are hiding in and crush you like a dung beetle! I will...**
I cut off its rantings, coldly and precisely, dungeon instincts coming to full alert. I focused all of my attention and dungeon aura on the suddenly silent and immobile creature. **YOU ... will do NOTHING at all. You will go BACK to your den and you will calm yourself, or you will find that I am ENTIRELY capable of crushing you beneath tons of stone while you sleep. You will CEASE your ravings, and you will shut the hell up, or I will silence you myself. I was hoping we could settle this like rational beings, but if that's not an option, I will simply remove you like the minor obstacle you are. Am I understood?**
The dracolisk mustered a final sneer of defiance but kept its silence.
**I said, "Am I understood?"! ** The question cracked like a whip across its sensitive nose, and it reared back hastily.
It hissed evilly, glaring wildly at the stone wall, but caved, sullenly. **Understood. Stay away from me, and I'll pretend we never met.** It turned away, and very deliberately, did not scurry back to its den, moving cautiously without looking back, and marching towards the fungal cavern tense with suppressed rage.
I had the very distinct sense that something in that cavern was about to have a very bad time, but I was okay with that. Still, the conversation had given me some things to consider, beyond whether or not to simply drop a slab of granite on the dracolisk as it slept. I wasn't about to do that in the near future – if only because I wasn't quite sure if my dungeon instincts were pushing me that way or because I was profiling the creature as evil due to the limited outside opinions that I'd been provided concerning dracolisks. For the moment, all I knew was that it was petulant and irritating, and that wasn't enough to warrant its death.
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What it had said about the core was concerning, though, without doubt. A guardian of the core space was one thing. Given time to grow and plan, I was reasonably confident that I could either negotiate or strongarm whatever lived there for temporary access, assuming I couldn't simply go around them by tunneling. The confident assertion that I wouldn't be able to access the core regardless because of its defenses was a bigger concern. Having seen the elaborate precautions placed on this access door, I wasn't about to rule out the possibility of the core being defended even from dungeon encroachment. I already suspected that absorbing any high mana node was going to be a challenge, at least in the short term, if for no other reason than I wasn't really geared up to handle forces of that magnitude just yet. I heaved a mental sigh. Questioning the dracolisk about the core was an option, but not a good one. For the time being, I'd just have to push on and see what I found.
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The strikingly well-preserved and rigidly erect, yet visibly aging, butler kept his expression calmly professional as he watched his noble master capering about his study in his ridiculous velvet dressing gown and curly-toed slippers, one hand clutching the red fez that had slipped from his balding head and the other frantically waving a smoldering pipe that threatened to set yet another minor blaze on the expensive silk carpet brought home from an earlier "expedition".
The baronet was a minor scion of the royal family, and as such was expected to have lavish and peculiar tastes, but it was at times like this his butler, Parsifal, occasionally wished he'd been merely a drunkard or an everyday spendthrift. Paying ridiculous prices for preserved butterflies or exotic orchids, would also have been viable options – but no. Parsifal's master, the distinguished baronet Tibold Von Wilmot VI, was the world's foremost authority on exotic, sapient, and divine dungeons – at least according to himself and his varied hangers-on. This was not, normally, a particular problem. Having visited a majority of the world's few readily accessible dungeons in those categories in his youth, it had been nearly a decade since his last expedition – yet apparently, Parsifal's peaceful and imminent retirement must be put off yet again to allow for an excursion to his master's latest "discovery".
The butler carefully did not, quite, mutter to himself again about the need to censor the baronet's access to dungeon reports from the guild. He would, of course, find out about any such dungeons in discussions with his regular compatriots at the Explorer's Club on Fourth Day, when they gathered to smoke, imbibe, and indulge in stories from their youths (of variable veracity). They had somehow managed to fail to notice the general lack of exploratory ventures from the club in the last decade, as the younger members had quietly, and unobtrusively converted all but a few smoky salons into quietly refined dens of various iniquities.
"Pars, old boy! There's an expedition on the horizon! A new dungeon! Divine, but of no known god! Sapient and an otherworldly reincarnator! Located on the Sky Island of Tel Dorinth, under the aegis of a dragon! How perfectly exciting!"
"Indeed, sir." Parsifal returned blandly, playing deliberately into the understated persona he'd constructed over the years to counterbalance his master's wild mood swings.
"Ha, ha! You don't have to pretend with me, Pars! I'm eccentric, not an idiot! We'll do it right, and with all care. I'm no callow youth anymore, I know. But I'm not dead yet!"
"Quite right, sir." Parsifal sighed internally. It'd be much simpler to talk him out of it, had he been younger and more wary of risking a long life. In his early 60s, the master clearly felt that this might be his final chance at reclaiming the glories of his youth, and he would not be talked out of it.
"Round up my crew! Get the skyship back into flying shape! Hire a captain! Secure the standard provisions. Bring in an armorer!" He paused to glance awkwardly down at his betraying paunch. "I may need to, erm, have my armor adjusted."
Parsifal nodded at that. "I suppose you may be correct, sir. However, if you will recall, most of your original crew has retired to more sedate existences. For that matter, the family skyship has been under the command of your niece, Ysabell, for some years, now. You will want to speak with her directly to arrange passage. It does, at least, already have a captain and crew, though their work is mostly sedately commercial."
The baronet Von Wilmot, Tibbs to his intimates, looked momentarily crestfallen at the reminder of the passage of his glory days, but rallied quickly. "My favorite niece! No doubt, she'll be pleased to head up the flight portion of the expedition; she was raised on the stories of my explorations as a young lass, after all!"
Parsifal wasn't entirely sure whether that was accurate. Ysabell had, without question, been captivated by the stories of her adventurous uncle, but she was no longer a 10-year-old girl, but a rather sober woman in her late thirties and freshly out of her second marriage, throwing herself into her work to keep herself occupied. That work amounted mostly to tracing a regular, completely tame, route between the capital and its subordinate cities with shipments of textiles from the family business. Whether she'd consider this a valid distraction or an impractically wild bit of nonsense was something of a tossup, frankly. He thought she'd likely come down on her uncle's side, as he was, in fact, likely her favorite relative to spend time with; she'd been a regular visitor at his club, before the younger generation had made it too unseemly for a married woman to visit, and too unsavory for the reputation of a newly divorced one.
"Perhaps, Sir Tibolt, your old companions might have recommendations to fill their roles? I believe at least a few of them have children who went into the family business, as it were."
His master paused in his pacing, struck by that notion. "A passing of the torch, you think? I know I made it sound wildly adventurous, but honestly, it should be pretty safe. It's a new dungeon, after all, and by all reports (both of them), the dungeon is actually rather friendly and accommodating. A scholarly sort, in fact – Old James may well want to come along, despite his retirement from these active pursuits."
Parsifal nodded, thoughtfully. "You may be correct, sir. If it's as safe and interesting as you make it out, you may well get both the old crew and the new generation together all at once. It could make for an excellent farewell tour, as it were."
His master grinned, rather wildly, in his direction, green eyes twinkling mirthfully. "Ha! If I can get YOU on board, the rest of them will be easy!" He waved off his servant's protest. "Yes, yes, I know you'd have come regardless, but that's hardly the same as you approving of the venture, now is it, old boy!"
Pars acknowledged that truth with a genteel nod and a mildly disapproving look, before smiling, finally, to his master's delight. "I fear we're both getting a little old for a real dungeon delve, but you're correct that the inspectors' reports make this adventure sound rather feasible. We'll just need to hope things haven't changed too much. This Dungeon Sylvanus does seem to be growing rapidly in rather unusual ways, it seems."
The baronet Tibold Von Wilmot, waved away his concerns thoughtlessly. "It wouldn't be any fun if there weren't SOME surprises, Pars. You know that as well as I. I'm positively giddy at the notion of an otherworlder scholar creating a dungeon on a sky island. If it's not unique and surprising, it's a waste of so much potential! So relax and enjoy the ride! What could possibly go wrong!"
Pars just groaned. His master's penchant to tempt fate was unquenchable, but at least it only rarely ended in disaster...
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