The Human From a Dungeon

Yssinirath

Adventurer Level: N/A

High Dragon - Unknown

"Yss! Get that out of your mouth!"

"Yemsh muvr," I try to reply as I spit the befuddled troll back onto the ground.

"You know better than to eat trolls without cooking them first, boy," my father scolded me.

"Yes, father."

"Really now! They are quite filthy! Go wash your mouth out," mother said.

The troll looked at my parents and then back at me with confusion. It could not understand what we were saying and looked confused at being spared. It sat there nonplussed, as if it were the one being scolded. I dismissively waved a claw at it, which released it from whatever stuporous spell was holding its poor little mind. It rose and began to run, and I walked over to the river to obey my mother's command.

A shame that my parents caught me. Actually, how did they catch me? They were arguing, they couldn't have been paying attention to me. Never mind, it doesn't matter. Trolls are delicious. They have chewy, juicy muscles with plenty of succulent fat, which makes for a rather perfect mouthful of meat. The bones add a magnificent crunch, too. My parents are correct that trolls are filthy little creatures, but I've never minded the grime. It's just seasoning, really.

I dipped my head in the river and drew water into my mouth. It was cool and refreshing, and it took more than a little willpower to spit my first mouthful back into the river. I took in some more, swished it around, gargled, and spat once more. Once my mouth was sufficiently rinsed I gulped down gallons of the fresh water, along with a few inattentive fish. Then I laid on my back and my wings on the rocks as I watched my parents talk.

"You can't be serious, Ssuranivaro. The daemons have nearly wiped out the elves. What good would it do for us to help them now, of all times?" my mother asked.

A strange smell nearly distracted me, but I wanted to hear my father's response. My father is wise, but he has a blind-spot in his wisdom in regards to daemons. He hates them more than I have ever seen anyone hate anything, and mother is right to worry for his logic.

"Don't cry my name wantonly, Essramil. There is no need for such disrespect," my father replied with a flick of his tongue. "While it is true that the elves have taken severe casualties, they are not extinct yet. The threat of their extinction is imminent, though, which means they will be all the more grateful for our aid. They'll have no issues submitting to our rule, and we can finally merge our two kingdoms into one."

He's talking about Bolisir and Yivanita. Bolisir is our kingdom, and Yivanita is the independent elven kingdom. In ages past, the elves managed to convince one of my ancestors to allow them to self-govern. Recently it was occupied by the daemons before being 'liberated' by the anyels. Once the elves rebelled against the anyels, the daemons quickly reoccupied it. The elves have no royalty left, and very little in the way of nobility. My father has made an excellent point.

At the moment, Bolisir is strong. The daemons and the anyels have left us alone, with the exception of their skirmishes spilling into our land. Yivanita is ravaged, but if it were to combine with Bolisir we would be able to help the elves rebuild their homes and businesses in record time. And if we don't, it won't be long before the daemons have eradicated the elves and turn their attentions to us.

That damned smell again. Where is it? I looked around but there was not a single clue to its origin. It smelled familiar, but also hauntingly alien. It was comforting, disturbing, lovely, and threatening all at once. It's a smell that I feel I should remember from somewhere, but have never encountered before. Or have I? Unable to find its origin, I turned back to my parents.

"Bah, they are short-minded like the rest of the mer," my mother said with a dismissive wave of her claw. "They'll be grateful to us this generation and perhaps the next, but by the third generation they will demand freedom to once again create their illusory territories. We'll barely be better off. It's not worth the risk of fighting the daemons."

"My dear, the elves that live under our rule are happy. The elves of Yivanita will see this and be happy as well. Only those who are mistreated desire independence, and we will certainly be a better option than those damnable daemons."

I looked to the sky in contemplation. The daemons. I'd eaten a daemon once. It tasted terrible and took forever to digest. Wait, that's wrong. It is taking forever to digest. Oh right, this is a dream. Mother and father are long dead, and not even their bones remain. The daemons had made certain of that. I looked back to my parents, and indeed they were gone.

My father had eventually talked my mother into fighting the daemons, and I had helped. They were both slain during the conflict, and I had lost myself in rage and grief. My wrath was unstoppable, and the daemon lord that had taken their lives is currently being dissolved in my stomach. I then became king of Bolisir and merged Yivanita into my domain with no argument from the elves. I have been napping among them ever since, leaving them to their own devices.

That damned smell again. I awoke, being careful to keep my eyes closed. The daemon in my belly made me tired, like I'd always just eaten a rather large lunch. A benefit to this is that my nutritional needs are constantly fulfilled, but the downside is that it's difficult to concentrate on ruling while I'm in such a state.

My solution to this was simple, I decided to name a regent and sleep until I got hungry again. However, sleeping indefinitely is impossible, and every time I awoke the elves would lose their minds with glee. They would ask me what they should be doing and how they should go about doing it, and it would take forever to get caught up enough to adequately make those decisions. So I decided to pretend to sleep even when I was awake so that they could go about their business.

Before I knew it, though, it had been multiple generations since I'd last spoken to the elves. So many generations that I no longer understood their tongue. It would be terribly awkward if I were to reveal my ruse.

This smell has aroused my curiosity, though. Needing to know where its coming from, I silently cast True Vision and looked through my eyelids. I saw that the elves had redecorated once again. My view of the sky remained unobstructed, though, and I could see that the towering trees had continued to grow during my latest slumber. Judging from how much larger they'd become, it had only been about eighty years since my last stealthy awakening.

Those eighty years must have seen quite the economic boom, too. The hill I have been resting on now had stairs, with roads leading away from me and winding through the trees. I was impressed that they had managed to do this without waking me. On each side of the roads were buildings that were definitely elven, but reeked of gnomes, dwarves, and orcs. Each building appeared to be specially carved from a tree, but with the obvious advertisements and signs denoting commerce. Shops, perhaps?

The elves were none the wiser to my awakening and continued about their business. Some children were being led by an adult, who was speaking in a very condescending tone. Must be a teacher speaking to students. Most of their eyes were wide, which is the proper response to seeing something as gargantuan and graceful as I, but others appeared to be... bored. I fought the urge to open my eyes to startle the little cretins.

I looked around some more and saw another noteworthy group approaching me. Two orcs, an elf, a dwarf, and something else. I'd nearly mistaken it for a pig-kobold, but it was walking fully upright and seemed to be speaking with the rest of the group. There were two other big clues that it wasn't a pig-kobold, though. Its ears were round, and it was the thing giving off the intriguing smell.

Pork smells like prey, as do kobolds. This doesn't smell like prey. I'm not certain of what it smells like, but it's definitely not prey. I suspect that it would put up as much of a fight as the daemon in my belly if I were to try to eat it. Perhaps even more of a fight, considering how injured this particular daemon had been by the time I decided to devour it.

I turned my eyes toward my stomach. Hirgarus the Decimator had been in my belly for over a thousand years by now. His regeneration abilities had slowed his degradation to a crawl, but there's hardly any meat left on his bones. Even if I were to regurgitate him and allow the regeneration to happen, his mind would never recover fully. The best case scenario for him would be a complete loss of memory and faculty. Actually, given his reputation, that would be the best case scenario for everyone.

Hirgarus had tortured and murdered hundreds of thousands of mer, and the cruelty of his tortures had been more well known than his near-immortality. My advisors at the time had told me that he couldn't be stopped. I fought the urge to smile as I turned my attention back to the group approaching me. It had taken a millennia, but I had finally beat the unbeatable. Hirgarus had been known far and wide as the immortal lord of daemons, and I used him as sustenance until all that remained of his identity had been destroyed. A fate worthy of such a despicable being.

The elf with the group gestured at me, and the smell-bearer suddenly stopped. Its eyes widened in alarm as they made contact with my own. The smell became sharp with fear. It knows. A spark of fear alit my rage when I realized that this being had seen through my ruse. A potential foe, one that could destroy me if it were allowed to grow.

My anger caused my breath to quicken, and the smell suddenly became familiar to me. Gods. They were actively watching this thing, and one had even interacted with it. Would they intervene if I were to try to destroy this thing here and now? Or... Could it be that they interfered with its fate to bring it before me? Is it meant to be an ally or an assassin? There's only one real way to find out what they're planning. I opened my eyes.

The creature's skin tone changed from a slight pink to pale white, and I noted with a small measure of satisfaction that the bored children who had been annoying me earlier were now stunned. The creature's comrades were facing it, but the bald orc slowly tracked his gaze back to me. First, his face showed curiosity, then shock. A moment later, everyone except the creature was on their knees. I raised my head to look at it with both eyes.

"Why are you still standing, fool?" I asked it. "Do you not know your betters by instinct?"

A small measure of confusion managed to peek past the fear that was apparent on its face. I recalled that language had evolved over the years, and suddenly felt a pang of self-consciousness. What good is a king that no one can understand? A small smile creeped over the face of the elf that had been guiding the group.

"My lord, if I may?" he asked.

"I doubt that we will get anywhere if you do not," I said, masking my surprise at finding someone who still spoke High Drakon.

The elf stood, put his hand on the creature's shoulder and whispered something to it. The creature kneeled so rapidly that I heard its knee hit the ground with what had to be a painful amount of force. My anger subsided at this show of deference, knowing now that it was not arrogance that led to such disrespect. It was either ignorance or fear, both of which can be forgiven.

"Your Royal Majesty King Yssinirath, I am your humble Regent Visilisth Oakmor. May I present to you Nick Smith, Nash Alta, and Yulk Alta," the elf said as he bowed low.

"I have just awoke and am in no mood for epithets and magniloquence, regent," I said. "You will speak plainly. What have you brought before me that reeks of godly plots and interference?"

My words caught the regent by surprise. He paused, then looked at the creature. His shock was quickly subdued, however, and he turned back to me.

"Your majesty, this is a human. He is named Nick Smith, and was found within a dungeon in a neighboring chiefdom. I know nothing of godly plots and interference, I'm afraid," he said.

"You should be," I spat, my anger flaring once again. "One does not become the subject of godly interference ignorantly. Either you are lying to me, or the human is hiding his interactions with gods from you. Likely at the behest of said gods."

"I will ask him about it, sire."

I made a circular motion with my claw to indicate that the regent should be quick with his questions. The human was hesitant to speak, but after a moment there was discussion between the two. The orc with braids appeared confused, but the bald one gave the impression that he had been granted clarification. The dwarf looked lost and alarmed during the entire conversation.

The regent asked several questions, and once the discussion was over he explained to me what he had learned. The human had been caught in an explosion caused by bandits, and lost consciousness when he used all his magic to heal his friend. This was when he had met a being that said it was occasionally called a god. I nodded as he explained that the god wanted the human to appear before me, and that I would put him on the path to returning to his world.

This piqued my interest. Not only had the god encouraged this human to appear before me, likely knowing that my curiosity would get the better of me, but it had also presumed that I would be willing to help the human in some capacity. I examined it closely, using various vision magics for a complete investigation. Everything about him is strange.

The first thing I noticed is that his magic core is completely artificial, and contains much more magic than a mortal's magic core should. Its channels are extremely efficient and lack any sort of subtlety, as well. A sorcerer's magical capabilities were often impacted by how efficient these channels are, and as such the human is likely capable of terrible acts of magic.

The next thing I noted is the amount of metal within its body. Within its skull is an object that seems to interface directly with each part of its brain. Floating through its blood, lymph, and bile are extremely small chunks of metal that seem to be moving of their own volition. After examining them closely, I realized that they are extremely small machines performing various tasks. Unlike most machines I had seen before, these are not made of iron or steel, but various precious metals for reasons undeterminable.

The final thing I determined is how different its anatomy and physiology appear to be from the mortals of this world. Some organs are shared with the orcs, others are shared with the elves and dwarves. Some have different compositions but seem to perform similar functions. Others are completely unique to the human and serve functions that are nearly unnoticeable. There is also evidence of massive amounts of surgery, but someone had managed to minimize this evidence.

"It certainly appears to be other-worldly," I told the regent. "I do not know how I would go about aiding his return to his world, though. Nor am I inclined to try, given the circumstances regarding this request."

"I must beg your forgiveness and mercy, my liege," the elf placed his forehead upon the ground. "The circumstances behind this boys presence in our realm are tragic, and it would pain me dearly to see his quest unfulfilled. I dare not pretend to know the motives or missions of the gods, nor do I presume to begin to imagine the reasons behind your disdain for them, but I cannot help but beg your grace, sire."

"You dare beg my grace with the very same epithets and magniloquence that I told you to abandon mere moments ago, boy?" I demanded with a low growl.

"Apol... I'm sorry," he replied. "This just... isn't how I imagined this would go."

Memories of the elves of old bringing me gifts and gratitude for saving them from the daemons flooded back to me. They were ecstatic whenever I would awaken from my slumber, and even host feasts to celebrate. A small stab of guilt pierced the iciness in my heart as I realized that even after several generations had passed, my people still love me.

"Very well," I sighed. "Explain the human's circumstances to me."

Regent Oakmor elaborated the reasons behind his feelings, sparing no amount of drama in his retelling. A boy, stolen away from his ailing love and transported to a strange world where he obviously does not belong, with no recollection of his relocation or knowledge of how to return. Despite the regent's garish bardic skills, I managed to feel some empathy for the human.

I had been a youngling when Bolisir went to war against the daemons and my world changed forever. I remember how lost I felt when my daily decisions went from mundane to grave in the blink of an eye. I had my parents to guide me through this transition, though. The human does not.

"I will consider it. How would my assistance be applied?" I asked.

Before Oakmor could answer, something unexpected happened.

"Um... excuse me, your majesty," Nick said. "Can you understand me now?"