Dungeon Core: Bugged Ascension

Chapter E. The big leagues. ~Observing War.

Their eyes open and as their lips pull back and reveal their teeth they glance in the direction of their observer, briefly. Their human body then rises from its chair and with a bare few Steps, they arrive at their attendant’s bed, “I have another project for you.”

The startled yelp and thrashing under the covers are accented by the bed’s occupant withdrawing a nearby switch and swatting the speaker repeatedly, “Damnit! I told you to stop waking me like that!”

War grabs hold of the switch, holding it in place as they lock eyes with the now awake attendant, “I need you to find some records for me, and put my personal seal on them. Everything about them goes through me, everyone that touches them, all of it.”

The man struggles in vain to pry his switch from War’s grip for a few moments before sighing. Then his whole body language changes, his gaze sharp and flat, his bearing noble despite the circumstances, “As you wish, Lady War. What records do you seek?”

Her smile grows and splits across her face, her eyes no longer looking at the man, but through elsewhere, “D.N.A.” Her face reverting to more human limitations as she darts her gaze back to the man, “They are a Dungeon of some kind.” Releasing the switch, she pats him on the cheek, “Off you go, Harrold!”

His professionalism immediately crumbles, “That’s not my-“ but she interrupts him with a wag of her finger and a tut-tut-tut. “You’re right, that’s fair. I shouldn’t have used your title like that. Sorry, Mum.”

He gets out of bed as she’s strolling out of his room, “Can I get some breakfast first at least?”

She calls out from down the hall, “Nope! You’ll have to send for it at the library, or wherever you go. Top-tippity Priority on this one. Pestilence is finally back.”

He trips while putting on some pants and crashes into the armoire, “Holy fuck! Really? Why didn’t you lead with that. Shit, got it, I’m on my way.”

He crosses his fist over his heart, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he finishes the devotion sign by drawing his fist across his chest, bringing it up to his head and then looping it down across his heart then smoothly completing the downward sweep before it ends at his side. Opening his eyes and looking into the mirror and whispering, “All shall be well…” His fist clenches tighter and his gaze hardens, “Because we fight for a better present.”

His prayer completed, he shakes himself, collects the few baubles and trinkets of his office before heading over to his armory. His hand gently caresses the familiar and comforting grip and sheath of his Saber. He sighs once more before gritting his teeth and taking hold of an ancient, weathered axe handle. The rough grain of the grip already tearing at his hands as the flakes of corrosion across the blade suddenly dampens and drops of his own blood begin beading on its edge.

His carefully modulated rage the only thing stopping it from fountaining the blood from him by sinking itself into his own flesh, “It’s time to get Serious.” The weapon vibrates and a growl resonates in his bones before the blood stops welling and it allows itself to be hung on his belt. His true weapon of office so affixed, he straps on several other complementary axes out of the secondary racks.

Though routinely oiled and sharpened, there is a musty aura of neglect around the axe portion of the armory nonetheless, “It’s been too long… and yet not long enough.”

Once fully equipped he pushes himself into a steady pace that eats up the distance without appearing too rushed. The Axe will already draw too much attention, if he jogged or ran, people would panic, though perhaps not as much if he were just casually strolling.

The various estates grow more and more opulent the further away from his chambers and he approaches the Guild buildings the throngs of people rushing about on business give him a wide berth. Usually, he can slip into the crowd and just glide through it, but with the aura radiating from his armaments none will even pass within reach. Ironically, this bubble of non-admittance actually slows him from reaching his destination compared to an ordinary day.

Yet, he reaches the steps of the Dungeoneer Guild in decent time and a rep swiftly exits the open doorway to join and guide him to a private room as he begins the ascent of their stairs. Their aura of calm and professionalism was surely a tailored {Boon}, as despite their eyes and senses darting around in observation of their surroundings, they never once glance at the Axe on his hip. Their gentle commentary serves as a buffer of some obscurity as they enter a place that has many capable of meeting the Challenge.

They lead us to quaint room, outfitted with some bite sized cakes and wine, assuring me once the door clicks shut that their best researcher is on their way with, “Only unavoidable delays for the Axe of War.”

He asks for some sandwiches and coffee to be brought and there is the barest hesitation from the attendant, “I just skipped breakfast, this isn’t an official request.”

The attendant flushes with some embarrassment, “Then, perhaps I might recommend a blend of a special tea instead of the coffee? Our finest researcher has a bit of a, uhh, personal grudge against the scent of coffee.”

He waves them along with a smile. Glad to be meeting with someone that seems unlikely to be prone to bootlicking over demonstrating competence, elsewise the Guild would not send for them over another, in as gilded a state as he’s arrived.

A platter of sandwiches is quickly delivered alongside a selection of various cubed fruits, including a vine of cubed grapes. As they pour him a cup of rich tea, he tries one and it tastes the same as a regular grape. A glance at the attendant has them smile, “He likes his food in cubes. I don’t know if they are grown that way or just shaped afterward, but someone took it upon themselves to expand his diet. He grumbles about it but has been eating much healthier this past year.”

There are a few peaceful minutes where he gets to eat before an elderly seeming man barges in, “Stop rushing me! I’m here aren’t I?” With a great deal of grumbling and mumbling about respecting one’s elders, he makes his way into the room before sitting at the other chair. He picks a few pieces of the fruit absentmindedly while staring at the younger man in front of him.

Having learned a Talent for patience and timing just to survive being War’s attendant, the two sit in relative silence while they eat, and the guild secretary pours tea but otherwise holds vigil by the door.

Eventually the old man breaks his staring contest and gives a weary sigh, “So. ‘Blade’ really is you. You haven’t aged a day, and I can tell you don’t recognize me. But how could you? I’ve gotten old while you’ve stayed young and gotten even stronger.”

Blade gives the old man a small apologetic smile, “Sorry. Names… people. Everything starts slipping away after the first decade or so at Mythic.”

The old man waves his reply away, “That doesn’t matter now. What can this old researcher do for the Kingdom’s Blade?”

Blade nods, “I’m on a mission from my mother. The Red Lady wishes to place her personal seal on a specific set of records and for all information and peoples that interact with them to be provided to her.”

He sighs and relaxes his formality a bit, “Obviously, this can’t realistically be kept secret. Her interest would be discovered and investigated by someone shortly after it was made, thus I’ve brought the Axe. Those that make inquiries after this will be respectful at least.” The room itself seems to shake as he picks the Axe up off his belt, laying it across the table but keeping his hand upon it.

The sight of it, the base growl that vibrates the air, and the scented tang of coppery blood reminds the old man of the first time he witnessed ‘Blade’ and that Axe. He was a child then, learning the duties of a servant when he witnessed War presenting the Axe to the latest batch of her children. All of them technically adults by this point, yet far too young for the burden she asked of them.

None could grasp the handle without screaming in agony, none expect for young Blade, who roared in rage even as his own blood poured down his arms. He was still a kid and didn’t understand what was happening. He just remembered the fanged smile that split the woman’s face and the light that spilled from her eyes as the boy, barely a man, kept his grip even as he collapsed. Those haunting eyes seemed to glance his way for the barest of moments had him running away, terror so thick he was deafened and mute for how the scream stayed trapped in his head for weeks and months.

Now, he just inhales, exhales, and looks up into the face of the same young-looking man, whose eyes have that same light, but none of the madness or terror of his mother, “What records would you like me to search, and how well do you want me to document our interactions? You say this can’t be kept a secret, but I wonder how much you’d like us to try.”

“Mother likes detailed but succinct record keeping. Document everything thoroughly but keep a summary on top in case she comes by to look. She may choose to peruse the whole thing, but if she has to hunt for a summary when that’s all she’s looking for… She deals with frustrations poorly.”

The old man takes out a quill and a fresh ledger to start, “In that case, what would you like the Title of the main document to be, also, you’ve yet to tell me which records to examine.”

Blade takes the Axe off the table and hooks it back on his belt, the resonant hum soon fades out of prominence, “Sorry. It distracts me as well. Right, so, the records she wants are those of a dungeon named D.N.A. As for the Title to the document?” He snorts a chuckle and shakes his head, “Might as well call it Pestilence. Any that choose to actually look at it should know why she’s interested, and why they shouldn’t poke their noses into it further.”

The archivist nods along, despite the long blood-soaked history of the Gestalt Kingdoms, none are likely to forget the war with the Mu’Reign after a mere pair of decades. Integration of a new nation aside, the losses on both sides of the conflict coupled with the treaty signing that forged a new species isn’t something that will fade from memory anytime soon. If anything, many other noble houses decried War for not finishing off Pestilence’s twin before the treaty was ratified, not wanting such a powerful Entity unbeholden to the human cause.

Of course, they mostly did so from the safety and comfort of council chambers, whereas the Generals and soldiers actually fighting in the war recognized how important it was to accept an end to hostilities when they could. Having read more deeply into the conflict, being the most prominent war of his lifetime, the archivist learned that there was a disconnect from the creatures that would become the Mu’Reign and the co-ruler Pestilence.

While they fought the kingdoms, there was an ideological divide that fully consolidated with Pestilence’s death. The one called Famine had the complete and unwavering support of their species by war’s end and had the nobles any actual Authority to order War Herself to continue the conflict, even more lives would have been lost, wastefully.

Of course, now those same nobles coo over their various luxury goods and pets that the Mu’Reign have brought into the trade lexicon. Still far too rare a product to be widespread, they jealously guard and vaunt their private collections of premium objects, living or otherwise.

The two old men spend some more time discussing details before the time ravaged man takes his leave and sets off to work on his latest project.

As the door clicks shut once more, Blade takes a moment to steady himself and carefully modulates his tone. The power he and his office wield can cause so many accidents and unintentional conclusions. Honesty, forthrightness, these are so hard to find, but over the decades he’s managed to better discern them when he pays attention, “It seems like I’ll be visiting this Guild more regularly for a while.”

The woman tidies up the room for when the cleaners will come through after their departure. She pauses as his light spilling gaze languidly blinks and he keeps his face turned away, “Would you want me to learn your name?”