Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) by Alex Oakchest (book suggestions txt) 📕

That I lacked a core’s cold-bloodedness. Pah. They could say what they liked. I bet that if you added up all my victories, I had killed more heroes while losing fewer of my dungeon mates. I wasn’t going to change just because looking out for your creatures wasn’t ‘the done thing.’

“Good afternoon, Dark Magnificence,” said a voice.

It was Brecht, the kobold bard, walking in with his tambourine slung around his back. He was followed by Rusty, my shaman, and then Shadow, my kobold scout. Four dogs accompanied her, two on either side. Her ever-present protectors, whom she’d brought into the dungeon as puppies and had raised to be lovable creatures who could also tear a chunk out of a hero’s arse if needed.

Three of her dogs sat patiently beside her, while the fourth, the smallest one with scraggy fur and a streak of fire-red running down his spine, stayed standing.

“Sit, Arcas,” said Shadow.

Arcas, who like his brothers and sisters was named after places in Xynnar that Shadow wanted to visit, nudged her for affection.

“No. Not until you sit. Come on, we’ve been through this.”

Still no sign of obedience from Arcas.

Shadow addressed the other dogs. “No treats for any of you until Arcas sits.”

To my surprise, one of the other dogs stood up and used his snout to gently nudge Arcas to the ground. Shadow laughed, and she tussled Arcas’s head, and the other dogs nudged her for affection until soon she was lost amidst a sea of fur and wagging tails.

Soon, almost every creature in the dungeon joined me, filling the chamber with beetle squeaks, kobold chatter, the warbling conversion of my elemental jellies, the polite yet cheerful babble of Gary.

Even Kainhelm, a narkleer who gave off toxic death energy that harmed everyone around him, was here. He had spread red paste over his body, a solution I had bought from Cynthia so that Kainhelm could take part in meetings without his mere presence killing half the dungeon.

“Everyone’s here,” I said, facing the sea of beasts, critters, creatures. “Good. We’re here to pay tribute to a loyal dungeon servant. Once again, my friends, a member of our dungeon has fallen in battle. It is that inevitable curse of mortality that we will all be remembered in here someday, and today, it is Dolos. Who would like to tell us a story about Dolos?”

There were no takers. Not that I expected hands to shoot in the air, but it was a problem because part of this whole exercise was to make sure our dead dungeon mates were remembered.

The issue here was that Dolos was…well…a little boring. In his true self, that was. His talents lay as a mimic, in taking on the appearance of others. In his own form, he was just a translucent blob with little to say.

“Come on,” I said. “Someone must have something nice. A story, anecdote, anything. Anyone? This is strange. It seems as though the ground has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. Come on, people! One of you must have a little tidbit about our friend.”

“Dolos once transformed into a hero we’d killed and then chased Tomlin around the loot room,” said Tarius.

This brought a few titters from everyone except Tomlin, who shook his head.

“Dolos mimic riddle door once,” said Wylie. “And block Wylie in his sleep chamber and keep asking him riddles and say that answer always wrong! Made Wylie late for mining duties!”

Tomlin laughed first and loudest, and the mirth spread until even Shadow, normally regarding herself above such things, let out a giggle. She immediately closed her mouth like a drawbridge.

“A pox on it!” said Kainhelm, his red paste glistening in the soft mana light. “He would entertain me sometimes, the dear little poxer. Slither into my part of the dungeon – which the rest of you barely do, mark me – and would transform into each of you and give the most entertaining impressions.”

“I didn’t know he did that,” I said.

“You don’t know the poxing impressions he did of you, either, core,” said Kainhelm, provoking laughter from everyone else.

“It seems I didn’t know our mimic friend as well as I thought,” I said. “Kainhelm, would you like to have the honors of committing him to the dungeon?”

“A pox on…” began Kainhelm, then stopped. “Me, core?”

I had been looking for all kinds of ways to integrate the narkleer into our dungeon. Given that I hadn’t created him but instead had recruited him, he hadn’t bonded as well with my lair as everyone else, and I often worried that he felt left out.

“Yes, you,” I said.

Kainhelm stepped into the remembrance chamber fully, his gangly legs taking great strides, his cape of skin flapping from his back. He held up a glass jar full of ash.

“A plague on the ancestors of any who dare take the life of any in our dungeon!”

He poured Dolos’ ashes into a hole that would take them deep into the heart dungeon. I felt strange as I watched the jar empty. I knew that Dolos’ remains would become one with the dungeon dirt and mud now, that he would become a part of this very structure, a place that would remain here long after we had all gone.

Watching it, though, made me think about something else. I realized that I wasn’t as good a dungeon master as I’d thought. I fancied myself as being progressive, as knowing my dungeon mates better than any other core, but was that true? I’d never known that Dolos had such a personality.

Shadow got to her feet now. Her loyal dogs formed a circle around her, as they always did.

“We need to talk, Beno,” she said.

I didn’t like the tone of her voice. It had an unmistakable edge that meant Shadow was going to say something I didn’t