The Book of Dungeons - A weak to strong litRPG epic

The dust had settled when we returned to the barracks, but the wreckage made quite an impression on our liberated companions.

Fin Hornbuster tiptoed over the debris. “Gads! I knew someone would slap it to ‘em one day. But this! This were a well good thrashing, init?” He pounded me so hard on the back that I almost checked my combat log for damage.

Charitybelle played with a keyring as she entered the intersection with the locked door and gate. The curtain blown off from the barrack’s archway remained draped on the floor. After trying a couple of keys, she opened the gate.

Brodie had described it as a workshop of rudimentary tools and items, promising the dwarves would help us take everything. If we set up a home, even crude tools could prove invaluable, and a cleaned-out mine deterred goblins from investing more resources into the place—the emptier we could make it, the better. If abandoned, Hawkhurst Incorporated might jump the claim.

The workshop looked as Brodie described. He bragged that any semblance of order came from the hands of the dwarves forced to work there.

Three beasts of burden in a holding pen indifferently observed our entry. They looked like stomper dinosaurs but smaller—like rhinos without horns. In contrast to how the goblins and dwarves lived, their well-kept paddock looked clean and healthy.

The incurious beasts lowered their heavy heads to the floor, ignoring us.

I read their nameplates and pronounced the creature’s name out loud. “Torodon. Are these common?”

The dwarf looked at me skeptically, answering as if I tested him with a joke or riddle. “Torodons? Aye, very.”

I nodded in a noncommittal gesture.

Fin furrowed his brow, giving me a look that suggested torodons were as common as cows or horses on Earth.

The dwarves showed us how to harness and yoke the animals to nearby iron carts. The peculiar vehicles had small but broad wheels, and the cargo bed sat low to the ground. Their design for heavy loads suited us, but the tiny wheels would make for slow progress outdoors. Dwarves loaded it with scrap metal, scavenging supplies, skins, furniture, weapons, and tools. While scant on magic, this dungeon run turned out to be quite a haul.

Beyond the draft animals stood a pen filled with two dozen sheep. Shearing instruments hung over the enclosure.

One dwarf, Murdina, ran to the sheep. She patted their heads to calm their nerves.

The thought of farm animals at our camp appealed to me. “Can you herd them?”

She nodded emphatically. “Aye, m’laird, been doing so every day.”

“Can you herd them with the carts?”

Again, she assented with a nod. “I’ll thread ‘em through a needle if ye please.”

“Good to know! Let someone know if you need help to carry sheep shears or whatever equipment shepherds need.” While the dwarves picked the workshop clean, I turned to check out the only unexplored part of the dungeon—the locked door in the intersection where we first fought.

While noncombatants packed for the exodus, three humans and an orc gathered around the mysterious portal. We readied our weapons as Charitybelle unlocked and opened the door, relaxing after seeing what lay beyond.

Ceiling-high shelving lined the storeroom. The only break in the shelves came from two closed iron doors. Charitybelle muttered to no one in particular as she tested her keys on the locks. “We should take these doors if we can—and these shelves.”

Upon closer inspection, heavy ironwork made the shelving. The logistics of carrying everything made my brain ache. Charitybelle might be a bit too ambitious, but I applauded her frugality.

Dwarves hammered the linchpins out from their iron collars while we waited for the next doors to open. The background echoed with metallic rings, each resulting in someone’s emancipation.

When Fabulosa pointed out the barrels of ale, she almost derailed the entire operation.

Angus Hornbuster, the shortest dwarf, threw up his hands. “The gobs had ale!”

His question triggered echoes of “Wha?” from outside the room.

Angus paid no heed to anything but the barrels. “Those manky bastarts been guttering themselves whilst we broke our backs hauling scrap!”

More voices called out. “Did someone say something about ale?”

I quelled this riot from the start. “We can take the ale with us. But first, I need to talk to Brodie. Is he back there somewhere?”

Fabulosa gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged. I didn’t have time to explain as the dwarves pushed Brodie forward so violently that he almost body-surfed into the storeroom.

“I’m going! I’m going, ye eejits. Do ye think I’m going to chance missing out on ale? Leave off me, ye jakes!”

I caught Brodie’s eye. “Not everything will fit inside my void bag. We need to pack the carts with essentials first, and ale barrels aren’t crucial to survival—but we can take some if we have everything else we need.” I hoped the incentive made them pack as much stuff as possible.

Predictably, his eyes and mouth opened in horror at leaving ale behind. “I can guarantee we’ll have enough room. Iffin not, we’ll roll ‘em.”

I hadn’t thought of rolling the barrels. “Huh. Good idea. That might work because it’s mostly downhill. We’ll pack all the barrels last.”

“Aye, we’ll roll ‘em uphill if we must! It’d be hard work ahead. Do ye mind if we packed a wee bit o’ scran a’fore we go?” He slapped his stomach for emphasis, pantomiming his point—these poor people looked starved.

“I’m so sorry, yes. Eat all you can, but no ale, please—not on empty stomachs. We can’t afford to be clumsy.”

Brodie winked and grimaced. “I will hold my folk to your bargain. We’ll pack the gear first, our stomachs second. Then we’ll tend to the ale.”

“At least we’ve plenty of archaeodon meat.”

Brodie pounded my back. “Thassit, lad. Better than the gruel the goblins eat! Beasties as tasty as archaeodon will go down well with the clan. The only quirk is ye destroyed the mine’s only firepit—back in the barracks.” He thumbed behind him toward the ruined room.

“Oh. Yeah, we got a little carried away. No one wants to eat in there. Can you start a fire outside?”

Brodie nodded. “Aye, we are up to our arse in flint. The gobs had ample fire-starting supplies.” He gestured to stacks of flammable materials. “Fin, be a lad and fetch the fuel for our suppertime fire.”

Fin huffed at yet another thing to carry. He opened his sack and reached for a small box filled with what looked like flares. “Gobs are pure adept in the dark. I didnae why they needed candles.”

Fabulosa stared at a small wooden box and nudged me. “If cartoons have taught me anything, those aren’t candles he’s eyeballing. It’s sticks of dynamite.”

I gulped and lunged for the small bundle, grabbing the red sticks before Fin chucked them into his sack.

Fin gave me a curious look.

“I’ll take these for now!” I nodded to assure him that I’d take care of the “candles” and stashed the dynamite into my inventory. “Can you guys clear everything else in this room and start your way to the surface? We’ll be right behind you after we check these two doors. We can cook the meat after we get outside the mine.” Despite their thin bodies, beards and braids filled their faces enough to look like dwarves. I looked forward to fattening them up.

Fin nodded. “Aye, a grand plan. You’ll not need to ask me twice to leave this crumbling pit.”

Someone found backpacks and sacks. They looked filthy from carrying iron but strong, and extra inventory slots would be invaluable for the move. We passed them out, stuffed with the most cumbersome objects to make room on the carts.

Charitybelle peeked through one of the remaining doors. Her shoulder relaxed as it opened to a small living area filled with shelves, a desk, a mattress, and a couch. She made a pleading face and hugged the furniture. “We won’t have enough room for these, will we?”

I shook my head. “They look comfortable, but they’re too big. We can take these, though.” I rolled up the fur blankets and took all the scrolls, books, and parchments from the desk area. They might contain valuable information, or perhaps we could repurpose them to our ends. We ransacked the room and found 14 silver and hundreds of copper pieces whose accumulated value amounted to less than the silver. We uncovered a small box filled with over 30 silver coins.

Charitybelle waved her hand dismissively at the box of coins. “We can divvy the loot later.”

Fabulosa shrugged. “Why fuss at all? It’s all going to set up our town anyway, right?”

Charitybelle hugged Fabulosa for being all-in on her Hawkhurst venture. In truth, money held little value to us besides things we could buy if we ever found a magic shop.

I cast Mineral Communion and searched for secret doors. I’d been saving this spell all morning, but it revealed nothing extraordinary. The stone visions showed this room quartering the goblin caster and elite goblin enforcers, which meant we defeated the dungeon’s boss—and he wasn’t much of a challenge. With Yula on our side, this dungeon fell well below our level, but the utilitarian loot would be essential to survival. Besides, it felt good to liberate the dwarves, making me wonder if they wanted to join our hunting lodge.

I rolled up the fur rug. “Unless C-Belle has figured out how to take the doors, this is the last of it.”

Fabulosa rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage her. The dwarves left the storeroom as empty as Uncle Frank’s liquor cabinet. Some lit out to topside already, and I can’t say that I blame ‘em.”

The wonder of Mineral Communion revealed only light floor traffic going through the last locked door. Guards or servants made the spectral footpath twice per day. Some visions showed goblins bringing in a sheep, which made little sense. There wasn’t any hay or droppings.

While I communed with the stones, Charitybelle opened the doors. She braced for a surprise, but nothing jumped out at her.

She swung the portal wide to reveal a small room with two unusual doors. The circular trapdoor might have looked like a sewer hole cover except for its wood construction and hinge, and the other door reminded me of a garbage chute or utility panel embedded into a wall.

Yula opened the trapdoor while Charitybelle opened the hatch. Mineral Communion showed a goblin pushing the sheep into the trapdoor, while other visions showed them sliding smaller hunks of bread and meat into the chute.

I pointed to the openings. “These are feeding chutes, maybe for more prisoners. I can see the hoof prints leading sheep to the trapdoor.”

That’s when the odor from below hit me. “Oh, that stinks!” I recoiled and waved my hand in front of my face. We all backed away and acclimated to the stench.

The circular shaft dropped six feet and opened into a dark space. It punched through the ceiling of another room.

Charitybelle called into the garbage chute. “Hello? Is anyone down there?”

We listened to silence for a few seconds before something enormous moved in the room beneath us, and then we heard the steady breathing of massive lungs. If it weren’t for the resonant timbre, I would describe it as a hiss, but creatures with huge lungs don’t hiss—they bellow. Heavy clicks, sounding like a walking giraffe, accompanied the breathing.

“Hello?” A reedy voice from the garbage chute called back.

“Hello?” Charitybelle answered back. She made an apologetic face for not knowing what to say next.

The voice echoed through the chute. “Is that you, Peri? Who’s there?”

Fabulosa moved closer, careful to avoid the open trapdoor.

“Um, no. This is Fabulosa.” She made a silly face after realizing how stupid she sounded. “Um. We’re adventurers, I reckon. We’re humans—oh, and an orc. And there are a bunch of dwarves here too…” she trailed off and waited for a response.

“Fab-yoo-lo-sah?” The voice repeated the name. “Do you know who I am?”

Fabulosa furrowed her brow in confusion. “No. Should I?”

“No, of course not, if you’re human. How silly of me. My name is Esol of the Bonepits.”

The goblin name meant nothing to me. If I’d read about the Bonepits in the library, I’d forgotten them.

“And my brother, Rezan, is the king of the goblins.”

Fabulosa shouted down the shaft. “What are you doing down there? Is this your iron mine? Are you running this place?”

“No. I run little of—”

A high-C shriek drowned out the voice, and everyone threw their hands against their ears. The noise shattered the air. I thought it a bug in the game—as if it came from inside my mind. Its volume matched an industrial steam whistle, and I couldn’t imagine what flesh and blood throat could produce such a noise.

A Deafened debuff appeared in my interface.

Debuff

Deafened

-20 armor, 50 percent chance of spell failure, loss of hearing

Duration

58 seconds

Its description reported a 50 percent chance of spell failure and a -20 penalty to my armor for one minute. Anyone fighting the creature in the hole must cover their ears or count on losing half of their non-instant spells.

When the debuff ended, it left me in a cold sweat. After the ringing in my ears ceased, I could hear, once again, movement below.