Forgotten Dungeon

Ethenial Keenwind

leader of Theocracy scouting triad

Ethenial (to friends Ethen) yawned in a way unbecoming of an elven warrior. Or scout, in his case. Still, he couldn’t be arsed to maintain decorum. In the Wastes, the only other intelligent beings were his companions. They wouldn’t judge.

And the ants squirming below, he supposed. Some Theocracy scholars argued that humans, hybrids, and similar lesser lifeforms counted as sentient beings. Hogwash, in his humble opinion. Not only did they live absurdly short but their thoughts were limited to food, sleep, and sex. These were base instincts, those of dirty, filthy, animals.

Bleh.

He usually wasn’t this philosophical, but the boredom was a formidable foe, especially in this Aeon-forsaken land. Ethenial squirmed under the material, the grays, and browns of the Wastelands faithfully recreated on the drab surfaces of his scouting nest. It was a completely mundane thing, without a speck of magic but the scouts' safety was built on such simple precautions. It didn’t mean that the elf liked staring at the village below for hours on end.

Still, orders were orders, even if they sent his team away on a goose chase. Exalted maiden Eve had asked for troops to be dispatched and the High Command was happy to fulfill that request… especially since the girl had escaped enslavement. It was only proper to watch over the Geinard Princess who managed to free her.

The Command sent his elite team - a triad comprised of a scout, mage, and warrior trained in survival skills and taught by the eldest elves. Their mentors were those of the chosen who still clung to life, a few of those faithful who managed to endure the Abandonment. Those, who saw their God struck from the sky because of the hubris of the other Divines.

Aeon of Light was a harsh master, but one they chose willingly. They were proud to be his folk, proud to work under his banner to better this world.

Seeing the deity of justice destroyed simply because it remained true to its ideals should have broken the burgeoning Theocracy. Instead, it made Ethenial’s brethren stronger. The nation of light guarded the few remaining pieces of the divinity they managed to save, hoping against hope that their burning faith would resurrect their benefactor.

With that came a sense of duty present even in the simplest worker, not to mention the warriors on the frontlines of never-ending war.

So, despite their objections, he and his fellow scouts were observing a little city-state called Silver Oasis. Truly, calling it a city was a bit too lenient, but it wasn’t a village either. Not to mention it didn’t roll out the tongue the same way. It was run by a former Blueflame noble, one much divorced from Geinard Kingdom’s standard societal norms and that was what made observing him so interesting. The rest was just a droll duty of checking on the maiden’s savior since she decided to stay in this place.

The Oasis once had a freshly minted Dungeon, which a certain haughty princess then destroyed. Ethaniel huffed. Half-breeds were getting uppity with their interference. The elves weren’t as reverential and thankful as other sentients for the murder holes Gods sprinkled on the remaining uncorrupted landmass but the Theocracy recognized their inherent value, as did the scout.

Any resource site was a blessing in this lightless world, no matter if the tithe for its boons had to be paid in blood or gold.

While the Oasis had been a part of Geinard Kingdom's territory when the destruction happened, it still stung that their lesser kin had trashed its underground zone so thoroughly. Calling its core an abomination was no excuse for what they had done. The only ones who couldn’t be forgiven were the undead, after all.

And while it was said that the homunculi used by the Dungeon skirted the line of right and wrong, it still wasn’t enough to purge its halls.

Not to mention that their people invented many tools that allowed them to meddle with what the Dungeons produced and which monsters were created to guard their halls. And there was always a bigger stick for those cores stubborn enough to resist these suggestions.

All in all, it was a waste. The destruction, the arrogance. The lack of inner light these wretched half-elves demonstrated.

A proper elf knew what duty was. What had to be swallowed for the Theocracy to prosper. For the world to survive. Uncountable years of training, sacrifice, and knowledge were stuffed in the trainees' heads, and these choices were theirs and theirs alone. Added to that were years of exploration, fights, and escapes, years filled with bitterly observing as the mortal races battled against each other, squandering the Aeon’s given gifts. Years wasted desperately trying to stop the tide of darkness that threatened to drown out the light of civilization… all the while more and more of their kin fell to their enemies.

Ethenial huffed again eliciting a groan from his nearby friend.

“Can you please shut up?” The blonde mage glared at his companion as he stowed a book in his backpack. Nishan Zoal was a proud man - even if he looked a bit silly with his blonde locks constantly trying to escape from an oversized wizard hat he was wearing. It was the only deviation from the norm he could get away with regarding clothing, the rest of his attire comprising of a worn leather doublet, pants, boots, and a camouflage cloth.

“I could, but I won’t.” Ethen grinned back.

His companion rose with a sigh, his empty hands suddenly gripping a wooden item. Despite its toy-like look, the dagger Nishan summoned was anything but safe, filling both the role of a secondary weapon and a casting implement. With his class, Dawn Summoner, being a battlefield powerhouse any speed-up was sorely needed.

“Is something happening? You seem happier than usual.” Battlemage's face twisted in a worried expression. “Especially since we’re on a guard duty.”

“Watching these ants is nothing interesting, you know? Not everyone can just turn off the thinking and meditate.”

“Jealous?”

“Gods forbid, you freak!” Ethen laughed happily before turning to the last member of the triad.

“How do you feel, Trun?” The mountain of a man grumbled, checking the studded armor and his spear before spewing a single word. “Fine.” Trun Trueword was the most un-elven elf one could imagine. It didn’t matter for his companions though. They knew he had their back.

“Always full of joy, huh?” The only answer was a baleful glare from the warrior. “Fine, fine.” The scout raised his hands in fake surrender. “You people always get on my nerves.” Ethen shook his head in disappointment.

“So?” The mage prodded.

“So, what?”

“Don’t be like this. What did you notice.”

“Spoilsport!” Ethenial whisper-shouted with fake outrage.

“Spit it out before I oust you to the Inquisitors.”

“Bah! Fine. Prepare for entertainment! A battle should happen soon-ish.” Under a double glare, Ethen visibly withered before elaborating. “See these brown clouds?” He pointed at the horizon. “The dust rises when enough people stomp their way through the wastelands. With the amount we can already see I can pretty accurately predict two large contingents of troops marching toward the Oasis. At the rate they’re moving it will take them about three hours to arrive.”

Ethen scratched his chin. “They’re coming from different directions though, so we may see a three-way fight.”

“How do you know that these are armies, though?”

“Oh please… Who sends anything other than troops through the Wastes?”

“I see.” Nishan squinted. “Are we joining the fun?”

The elven scout slowly shook his head. “Our role is to observe. High Command didn’t want us to do anything else.”

“They also asked us to protect the maiden’s benefactor.”

“True. Still, it would be an abandonment of duty to do so.”

“A shame.” The blonde mage twirled his dagger again and again. “I have a few spells in need of testing. The flesh is the best judge of power after all.” His lips rose in a cruel smile.

The rest of the day had been spent in waiting, the elven triad using this time to prepare. Even if they weren’t planning on fighting in the foreseeable future it always paid off to be prepared.

Hours passed as the trio observed the nervous preparation of Silver Oasis people they also had a glance at the dwarven mercenaries that its leader employed.

“I heard about those traitors.” Ethen spoke with disgust. “They sell their skill to the highest bidder when their home is under siege. How Dwarven Holds can stand their existence, I cannot fathom.”

“Don’t be so judgemental. They aren’t joining the defense, because other clans won’t let them, not because they don’t want to.” The mage reminded. “These guys are probably a part of either outcasts or oathbreakers, the lowest castes. Even speaking with them is a crime for a normal dwarf.”

“When there’s will, there’s a way.”

“Say what you want, but it’s not always like that.”

The pair glared at each other, their fists curling up. It was a tense few minutes, only disrupted by Trun’s words.

“Enemy.”

“What are you talking about, big guy?” Ethen’s words died in his throat, as he noticed the figures coming over the nearby hill.

Zombies, skeletons, and a few ghouls. Undead. All of them dressed in Geinard Kingdom's colors and blue flame liveries. Marching together like an army, not running toward the warm flesh waiting on the other side of the makeshift moat.

Trun growled and Nishan whispered with cold anger. “So the rumors were true. Those fools really are using dark arts. Raised dead, intelligent undead at the helm… where’s the controller?” He squinted. “Bah, there’s not one living person in the detachment. The ones leading them are undead mages. History repeats itself.”

“May Aeon curse them! Children playing with fire…”

Before Nishan could continue to berate the foolish humans Ethen whispered back. “I have more bad news.”

“Light’s mercy! What now?”

“Observe.” The scout pointed toward the other hill. Seconds passed in silence as soon more figures surged above it.

Unlike the contingent from Geinard Kingdom, this group was less organized, with large abominations and inhuman corpses towering over lesser dead. Their soldiers were however more truthful to their nature, as they ignored the competing force and sprinted downhill, eager to taste the living flesh.

Something that undead mages from the Geinard Kingdom seemed loath to happen as their troops immediately clashed with the Wasteland force. Everything happened in eerie silence, cut short only by the sounds of bone hitting flesh.

“Why are they fighting”? The mage asked, confused.

“Doesn’t matter, the humans are sallying forth!” Ethan grinned before noticing something. “Thrice cursed betrayers… that’s a lich!”

His friends' faces turned cold and hateful as they too noticed the enemy commander.

“The antithesis of life…” Nishan murmured, his grip on the dagger growing stronger.

“It needs to die.” Trun spat a short sentence, hoisting his weapon and shield. “Ready?” He asked with a grim resolve.

“Wait a moment.” Ethan ordered, his earlier exuberance forgotten. “Break mana flares. We may fail, but the reinforcements will come.”

The triad took out small, blue crystals, no bigger than an adult’s pinky. They crushed them at the same time, sending a jolt of invisible energy through the ether. Nobody was any wiser about what happened, though Uno cursed loudly when an invisible, taut cord snapped near his ear. That was what it had felt like, anyway.

It was a signal, a line of communication that allowed the most devoted to ask for help, while at the same time carrying a deeper meaning - information about those lost fulfilling their duties. No words or notes could be sent, just a short blip on a “radar” tended by the Aeon’s priests. A single response was meaningless - all it meant was that another elf had just paid the ultimate price for the good of the world. Two appearing at once meant that a powerful enemy had appeared and that an investigation was needed.

Three… Three meant that the Enemy was at their gates. That the dead, or worse, were coming for the unspoiled lands and the ones sending the reinforcement signal were unlikely to survive. Three broken flares meant that a reaping was needed… and if there was anything that the Theocracy’s elves had learned through the years it was how to find and destroy their foes. It was carved in their flesh, burned into their souls. A hundred thousand sacrifices had taught them well. Amongst the bloodthirsty hunters, the Inquisitors were those who embodied the concept of unrelenting zeal - becoming unstoppable dogs of a destroyed God.

Hundreds of figures surged through the normally calm halls of the temples. The weapons were being prepared, and the troops mustered. Prayers to the God of Justice echoed off the walls as the olden constructs hummed into life again, prepared to carry the warriors into battle.

Theocracy was going on to war.

Near the Silver Oasis, three friends nodded to each other, their weapons at the ready. Unflinching, they turned to the battlefield where the living and the dead clashed.

Their blood was boiling.

As servants of the Light, they knew their duty.

They knew that a rational choice was to wait.

But the most important thing they had learned through the years of hardships was simple.

The honor trumps duty.

Hunting dogs of a dead God screamed in defiance as they ran towards their doom.

Somewhere a two-headed Goddess was laughing.