1.15 Interlude One...Meanwhile in Grishauk

While I was foolishly trying to make my way back, in a dark woods, at night, with heavy tree cover blocking out both moon and stars; the Honourable Excellence Roland Ronald Mercier, Silver Rank Duelist, Chief Grandmaster of the Merchant Guild, High Lord Mayor of the Free City of Grishauk, Lord Protector of the Dungeon, and contented grandfather was ending a very good day. Earlier that afternoon the youngest Mercier Scion, his thirteen old granddaughter Alana, had been Confirmed as both an Aristocrat and a Dungeon Scouter. The Merciers were a long line of Dungeoneers and Dungeon Keepers, Roland own great-grandfather had even Evolved into a Dungeon Master.

Since the dungeon known as, the in the old tongue was the primary economic engine for the Free City, the Merciers were also one of the most important Houses of the region. Nine of the last ten Lord Mayors had been Merciers, and Roland was expecting Alana to carry on the tradition. None of the Academia Scholastica had recognized the Copper Tier Class she had Qualified for, but most of them believed it was a Class lost in the Great Disaster when the Imperium fell. Only a third of the House inherited Dungeer Qualifications, even less with rare Evolutions like Dungeon Guard or Dungeon Keeper. Since control of the dungeon was the source of the family’s prominence, the more youth with rare Dungeon Classes the better. Even now Scholars were ransacking the Archives, searching for information to help with her progression.

Grishauk was a city of traders, thieves, Adventures, and all who support Dungeon Delving. It was one of the few cities that had truly thrived since the Fall. Information on Lost Classes was not a priority, and Roland knew he would have to send his granddaughter away to train, but tonight was time for the Celebration. Tomorrow was soon enough to plan for the rest of her life.

The whole city was celebrating, Adventurers not needing much excuses to party, and Merchants even less to supply them. Roland had retired to his office, at his Level alcohol had little effect, and he preferred the solitude. If only his wife had lived to see this day, none of their immediate children had Qualified for a Dungeon related Class so young. It was during this musing that the Alarm Bell rang.

The Enchanted Bell had been installed over nie hundred years earlier, and it all that time had only rang twice. , sounded the bells to whomever could understand the old tongue. Tonight? Tonight of all nights, with no warning from the Guards and Keepers, murderous Monsters spilled forth from the City’s Dungeon ravaging all in their path.

Roland took a deep breath, Concentrating on his Signet Ring, linked to the Orb of Power that served as the City’s Core and reached for the System.

Error...Corrupt Influence Detected…

Vile Tainted Telluric Obstructions Detected…

Mutagenic Miasma Detected…

Eldritch Breach Detected…

System Purge Commencing...Auto Purge Disabled...System File Corruption Spreading…

have lost chthonic sidereal integrity.

Urban Zone discontinuation enacted…

Pandemic Protocol Engaged.

That was not good.

Looking at the former bone white ring on his left hand, now a vile sickly green flecked with reddish brown, Roland sighed. The Dungeon Key gave him the same Authority over the Dungeon that a Dungeon Keeper would have by Class Feature. As he watched the veins in his hand started to turn black, as the ring plused. Vile Taint was traveling from the Dungeon through the mystic bonds into his ring. He could feel the corruption radiating from the Dungeon Regalia. He felt ill, sick in a way he had not felt since his Evolution to the Fourth Tier, and promptly started to vomit. Over a gallon of disgusting sludge was purged from his body. Faint wisps of foul Miasma rising from the surface of the toxic sick. Grabbing a decorative sword from the wall of his office, he severed his left arm at the elbow, to slow the spread of the Vile Taint traveling through his veins.

Roland had failed. Failed his Family, his City, his Home.

This was not just a surge of Mana releasing a Monster Wave, it was the full bore transmutation of the Tamed Dungeon into a Vile Zone. Mutagenic Miasma would be released, changing the City and its inhabitants. Anyone with less than 20 Levels in a Third Tier Class would instantly Mutate on contact, as would anyone who had not fully processed the Dungeon Experience acquired by delving. Not just People, but Animals, Plants, Bugs, even Items crafted of former DungeonTreasures were Transformed into squamous tentacled horrors.

Normally, if such a word could be used to describe such a rare event, the City’s Adventurers would join the Watch and Guard in fighting the Wave. Citizens without Combat Classes would be responsible for herding other Residents to shelters. But when the Protectors were mutating into the Monsters, no where was safe.

Rushing to the Vault containing all of his greatest Treasures, and the City Core, Roland knew the City was Doomed, but perhaps Alana could be saved. Roland never had much interest in the Gods. He did not doubt their existence, he just felt that as long as he left Them alone, They should return the favor. For the first time in seventy years, he Called on the Ancient Gods to Bless his endeavour.

First he gathered all of the most important Treasures, which had no connection to the Dungeon, into a pack. It was harder than he had anticipated to work with only one arm.

Second he uncapped the Bronze Bottle that had been holding his greatest trump card, a Djinn. Blue smoke billed around him as he spoke the Words of Power that would bind it to its Task. Trusting the quasi-Spirit would get his granddaughter to safety, he grabbed the last Great Treasure.

The Diamond Flask seemly filled with Platinum Fire, was a gift from the Arch-Bishop Gregory of the Church of the Blazing Sun. It was a sly insult, implying that he was some how unclean. The decades long rivalry with old Greg dated back to when two Squires were chasing after the hand of the same half-Elf maiden. Alana reminded him so much of her grandmother, the Elf Blood running True. This wedding present, sent by his then brides former suiter, always irked him. A thousand times he almost threw it away. Still, a flask of +5 Potion of Holy Radiant Flames of Purity, was not something the Merchant could easily dismiss.

Biting the stopper between his teeth, he pulled it out, and poured the contents over the Orb of Power. The silver-white flames danced over the surface of the City’s main Mana Core, still the milk white crystal it had always been. Roland felt more than he heard the Orb crack. Underneath the flawless surface, veins of the same Evil green that had infected the Dungeon Key. Within moments the Flames of Purity were almost overcome by the Vile vapors. Roland thrust his remaining hand into the flames and fed them all his Health, Stamina, Sanity, Mana, Life, and Soul. The old thief held nothing back, willing the Flames to destroy the rot that was infesting the Ley Lines connecting his City with the System.

The first pulse sent a ring of silver fire into all the Vaults Treasures, destroying those that had become corrupt and sending sparks through the mystic bonds that had infected them. The second pulse, sent platinum embers through the Ley Lines, igniting more purifying fire in each of the fifteen Core Buildings, containing their own Mana Cores, that were connected to the burning Orb. The third and last pulse destroyed the Mayor’s Palace, and sent waves of silver fire into the streets.

The Flames would only burn the Vile, the Filthy, and the Corrupt. The Clean, the Innocent, and the Pure could pass through the Flames without harm. In this City, that meant only about ⅓ of the populace would survive an encounter with the Holy Fire. Which was better than the less than 1% who would survive the pale green Miasma billowing forth from the Dungeon Gates. Thirteen of the other Mana Cores in the City would also shatter and burn, already infected with the Vile Corruption.

The last two, the oldest two, were located in Ancient Churches. The Flames merged with the passive protections of the Sanctified Ground, sending pulses of Holy Powers to Cleanse the neighborhoods surrounding them. It would not be enough. By dawn the Miasmic Mists and marauding Monsters had overwhelmed the sacred protections. In a last ditch effort to protect their flocks, seven priests made the same sacrifice as their Mayor, a man they had all preached against as representing the Greed and Pride that was the City’s two great Sins, and fed the Flames their own Lifeforce. While both churches were shattered, the only survivors to see the sun were to be found in the Temple subfloors.

Among them was a thirteen year old part Elf girl wearing a comically oversized backpack.

Two other Dungeons went Vile that night, but there were no survivors, I never learned their stories.