The Book of Dungeons - A weak to strong litRPG epic

The next day, I sat in Formal Hall with Charitybelle, ArtGirl, and PinkFox over a morning meal. They arrived after I finished, so I stayed while they ate.

ArtGirl became the first to burst the gossip bubble. “So, it looks like Fab and RIP won’t make it to breakfast.”

PinkFox shrugged. “They walked with me to my dorm room. They talked about going into town when I closed my door.”

Charitybelle narrowed her eyes. “You think they have something going?”

ArtGirl gaped. “Or were you born yesterday? Of course, they do—didn’t you see them?”

Charitybelle giggled. “In a way, we were all born yesterday.”

Listening to them gossip felt like an inside peek into femininity. Girls usually weren’t so candid around me, so I kept my mouth shut to see where it went. If I were with my friends in Atlantic City, I would have dove into crude jokes like a kamikaze pilot. But I didn’t know them well, so I played it safe. Even if I wasn’t mature, I knew how to pretend.

Charitybelle changed the subject. “So, what is everyone doing today?”

PinkFox answered her. “I got an earful from the dean about Belden’s courses, but most of them sound dull.”

ArtGirl stuck out her tongue. “Ugh. Who cares about academics? Does anyone want to hunt?”

Charitybelle wrinkled her nose in indecision. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take a class in the arena.”

It felt strange not having a schedule in such a collegiate environment. We’d grown accustomed to a structured life. Perhaps having an entire lifetime ahead inclined everyone to goof off.

PinkFox squinted in thought. “It’s too soon for me to hunt. I’m gonna learn how to use weapons first. I’m going with C-Belle to the academy to learn archery.” She looked at ArtGirl and me to see if we wanted to join.

Charitybelle rubbed her elbows nervously. “A student I talked to yesterday told me crossbows were givens. Anyone could shoot them, but it takes practice to use a bow.”

ArtGirl sighed. “I’d rather learn melee weapons, but I guess I’ll need to know how to shoot arrows. Count me in.” All three looked at me.

When a familiar voice told me always to zig when everyone zagged, I shook my head. “I’ve already got a library quest, and I told the librarian I’d be there in the morning.”

The girls looked disappointed, but we wished one another good luck before parting. As much as I needed to learn combat skills, the university grounds protected me. Besides, I felt prone to the library’s pull, and stepping inside filled me with anticipation.

Going to the university library triggered childhood memories. I yearned to go to the library whenever Mom and her boyfriend fought, for the place seemed to relieve stress. Her mood swings never flared up there.

Mr. Fergus spied me pawing through a book and called me over. “Mr. Apache. It’s good to see you again. Have you ascertained the scope of the sorting task yet? Mind you, I’m not pushing.” He held up his hands defensively.

“Not yet, but I hope to start today. Where are the lists again?”

My answer pleased him. “Come this way. Our lists are down on the first floor. They’re a bit hidden. We keep them from the entrance, or the wind blows them off the table whenever someone opens the door.”

He led me to a small desk and patted several sheets of parchment. “Here’s our catalog and our list of new acquisitions. You’ll need to learn penmanship, and ruling the parchment is the first step.”

As he explained the task, my jaw tightened. “I’ll teach you how to silverpoint rules onto each sheet. The grid will help you guide your pen. After you’ve mastered ruling, we’ll focus on lettering.”

Mr. Fergus measured and marked dozens of lines on a parchment sheet using a ruler and a silver wire. He lightly marked dots, aligned a straight edge against them, and drew horizontal lines. A grid of regular lines emerged, and I understood why precise increments became necessary. “The tanner cut these parchment sheets, so don’t measure from the edges—use the ruling frame. Take care to go slow until you’re confident. Parchment is expensive.”

He stood behind me for fifteen minutes as I practiced the motions. I used the silverpoint wire to draw the faint lines so each row of letters maintained consistent cap height and baselines.

From time to time, Mr. Fergus commented on my progress. He sometimes appeared behind me without my knowing. The elderly librarian gave praise or pointed out mistakes. When I finished my first sheet later that afternoon, I presented it with a sense of accomplishment.

Mr. Fergus nodded. “All the lines are parallel, but there are some spacing issues. This sheet is a promising start, Apache. Well done.” He placed it to the side. “You have 49 sheets to go.”

My mouth dropped, but the librarian turned away without further comment.

I toiled throughout the day. It became tedious work, but the challenge to correctly grid each sheet kept me engaged. I amused myself with visions of monkhood, working on illuminated books that burly Viking raiders would plunder and use for kindling. It wasn’t physical, so I didn’t get hungry. Lunches weren’t Formal Hall affairs, but the kitchen served a steady supply of tea and biscuits throughout the day.

I lost my light by sunset, but I’d finished three sheets. I stretched, tidied up my area, and brought my instruments to the fourth floor, where Mr. Fergus worked.

Mr. Fergus inspected the state of the tools and seemed pleased they weren’t broken or dirty. “From now on, you’ll work up here. It’ll be quieter, warmer, and there are bigger windows.” My mentor advised me to arrive earlier after moving my tools and parchment to the fourth floor. “We lose light early this time of year, so you’ll want to make the most of the day.”

I hid my exhaustion as well as I could. The game’s built-in clock and alarm would make waking up early much easier. I bid Mr. Fergus a good evening before plodding down the stairs.

I wolfed down my food when the other gamers showed up.

“Dude! You’re still at zero! What’s up, man? Is everything okay?”

RIP’s concern made me laugh. After showing him how the silverpoint wire dirtied my fingers, I explained. “I worked all day. I’m marking down lines on parchment.”

Their worry turned into confusion.

“The lines guide the lettering so that words will be straight.”

They stared at me with open mouths and exchanged looks.

“Ugh, I need to practice first because parchment is expensive.”

ArtGirl exchanged glances with her compatriots. “That’s cool, I guess.”

RIP chuckled, and Fabulosa elbowed him to behave.

ArtGirl tried not to laugh. “But why? What is it for? Why aren’t you out adventuring or doing something—anything?”

I grinned despite their concern. “I guess I’m learning something new. Maybe it’ll lead to writing magic?”

The clarification didn’t satisfy them, but they graciously encouraged me to go with it if that’s what I wanted to do with my time.

Charitybelle changed the subject. “Guess what! We learned how to shoot a bow! I got up to rank 2 with ranged weapons.”

PinkFox nodded. “I got to rank 3 before we turned back. The first ranks go fast, but then it really slows down.”

They recounted a treasure trove of encounters. Their enthusiasm for the game played counterpoint to my tiresome routine.

RIP looked at Fabulosa. “Yeah, man, Fab and I hooked up with everyone after lunch, and then we hit the hills and shot a few boars.”

PinkFox exchanged conspiratorial smiles with ArtGirl and Charitybelle. “Oh, so that’s where you went. I thought you two were spending time together.”

Fabulosa blushed and grinned, but RIP kept a straight face. “No way, man. It wasn’t like that. We just checked out the local vibe.” I admired RIP’s thespian skills, acting as if he listed sex as the last thought in mind. Everyone enjoyed watching him squirm.

Fabulosa turned to me after he finished. “I saw a pub yesterday and wanted to try it. Its menu—RIP, what did they call it?”

“A bill of fare?”

“Yeah, that’s what they call it. Their bill of fare is bigger than the cafeteria menu, and they have enough meat for everyone.” Fabulosa shot an accusing glance toward the kitchen.

I thought the Formal Hall food tasted delicious—and fresher than the packaged food my aunt and uncle ate every night.

ArtGirl changed the subject. “After lunch, we hunted feral boars with RIP and Fab. We saw the countryside and got our bearings.”

RIP pointed to me and squinted. “Yeah, the boars are brutal. You gotta see them. They’re super-aggro, attacking farmers and people on the road. We helped drive them back into the woods.”

Fabulosa continued the story. “One injured ArtGirl before we drove it off. The quest-giver gave us healing potions.”

I turned to ArtGirl. “What did the healing potions taste like?”

ArtGirl searched the ceiling for ways to describe the taste. “If you drink it from your inventory, it tastes like nothing, but I downed mine the old-fashioned way. It’s red, bubbly, and tastes like a sweet liqueur. Oh! And potions have a 10-minute cooldown, so you’re pretty much limited to just one per combat.”

After the conversation died, Charitybelle changed the subject. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the academy to learn spear and shield techniques. Do you want in?”

“I can’t. The librarian, Mr. Fergus, seems friendly, and I think he might teach me something valuable. Maybe I can learn how to make scrolls one day.”

Their version of understanding looked more like sympathy, and I realized why I suddenly felt so uncomfortable. None of them moved to sit down with me. Before they knew me, they invited themselves to my table, and now, they stood as a group, semicircled before me. Nor had they taken any food.

ArtGirl cocked her head. “Are you sure? We’re working on gaining levels. PinkFox and I are almost level 2, and Fab will hit 3 whenever she finishes her fishing quest. And we are picking up combat skills.”

I offered a crooked, apologetic smile. “Sorry, guys. I got to go to the library at dawn tomorrow to take advantage of the morning light. Drawing straight lines is my new calling.”

RIP groaned at my joke. “Aw, man, that’s a brick. We’re doing spears and shields tomorrow at 11. We don’t need to get up early at all. Look, we’re heading to the public house for dinner. Their food is keen. You’d love it—you gotta try it. You’re the reason we’re not there right now.”

I’d already eaten, and my eyes dipped at my cleaned plate.

“Well, that’s okay.” Charitybelle started toward the kitchen queue before anyone could object. “We can eat here tonight. There’s plenty of time for the pub.”

RIP opened his mouth, then closed it, and the women agreed to give Formal Hall another try.

While they went for food, I sat by myself and imagined their reaction to the meatless remainders awaiting them. At this hour, they were in store for another lackluster meal—sealing their opinions of Formal Hall dining.

Having ruined what would be a great night out, my inner pity party whirled in full swing—so much for fresh starts and new reputations. Somehow, I’d become an outsider again.

When they returned with food, they quizzed me again about my work in the library. They couldn’t understand why I’d chosen to do that clerical work in a wide-open fantasy world of magic and monsters.

They shook their heads while I described my day. It sounded ridiculous, even to me, but I didn’t give up on things. The mage’s path involved study, and I wanted to prove myself to the only grown-up who had ever taken the time to teach me something.

They talked about the various available powers. PinkFox wasn’t sure which to take and complained that the game upgraded her attribute scores automatically.

I couldn’t believe this. First, we learned that the game doesn’t let us choose a class, then we discovered it hides its spells, and now I’m hearing The Book of Dungeons doesn’t allow players to tweak their stats. What was wrong with this RPG?

I interrupted. “Wait. You don’t get to select which attributes improve?”

My ignorance confused PinkFox before she realized I hadn’t leveled up. She seemed bothered that I hadn’t learned this myself. “You don’t pick which stats upgrade. The game chooses whichever attributes you use most and increases them for you. You get three stat increases per level.”

Charitybelle grimaced. “We think the game increases whatever stats you used most during that level. In a way, it makes sense.”

Fabulosa gave her a look.

“Well, it does. I’m sorry, Fab. If I’m dressed in light armor and kiting monsters with arrows, it’s a given that my agility will improve.”

ArtGirl smiled and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “Fab’s upset because she didn’t gain a point for strength. I’m sorry, but strength is a stat for burst damage, and you’re a more rounded warrior.” She made a pouting face to show her friend sympathy.

Fabulosa shook her head. “I don’t buy it. I don’t need points in intelligence or willpower.”

RIP offered an explanation. “Yeah, but you pulled boars with Shocking Reach yesterday. And you got buffs with Heavenly Favor. Technically, you used spells all afternoon.”

Fabulosa wiggled her fingers to signify she wanted out of this conversation.

Everyone else exchanged grins.

We talked about what everyone wanted to do for the week. It didn’t feel like we competed in a game, but being surrounded by NPCs made everyone want to bond. I hoped it didn’t change, but I felt an overall sense of urgency that no one else realized. Was I the only one thinking we lived on borrowed time—as if reality gathered like a thunderhead?

RIP interrupted my reverie. “Hey, Arty, have you spent your power point yet?”

ArtGirl wasn’t annoyed by the masculine nickname. She shook her head. “Nah, I don’t know if I want to spend it on Charge.”

I gave PinkFox a questioning look.

PinkFox shrugged. “We’re wondering if it’s a waste if we all take the same powers.”

ArtGirl continued her thought. “After watching Fab Charge that boar, I figured it would be smart if more of us Charged. Monsters can only counterattack one of us—so we might as well pile on. We can burn monsters down faster.”

RIP considered her answer. “Yeah, I see what you mean. I dunno. We might not always have enough room to pull off a Charge maneuver. It’s a brutal move, though. I say go for it.”

Listening to the exchange made me want to interrupt with newbie questions, but I held my tongue and learned by osmosis.

Occasionally, they said something that prompted me to check my interface. Crimson’s time-dilating interface helped keep The Book of Dungeons immersive.

Avatars in other role-playing games often stared into space while their players checked invisible stats and game prompts. Vacant eyes made RPGs awkward and uncomfortable, like talking to someone blinded by a video headset or deafened by earbuds.

But freezing time wasn’t only a quality-of-life feature—it gave players time to think before reacting, making combat as imaginative as possible.