The Crafter's Dilemma: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 3) by Jonathan Brooks (miss read books .txt) 📕

direction, he saw the massive Goblin machine fall out of the open ceiling, slamming down on the stone floor and cracking it in the process.  Its feet appeared to be damaged and it stumbled upon impact, though it was able to catch itself before it fell on its front.  Gerold felt paralyzed as he stared at it, seeing that it was even larger this close to him than he had first thought; it had to be at least 20 feet tall and looked capable of slicing him apart with its double-bladed axe even in his armor.

The thought of his armor and his own battle-axe brought the memory of what happened crashing down on the Dwarf; Gerold felt intense despair at the realization that his weapon, his armor, his livelihood even, had been completely destroyed.  There was no way he’d be able to convince the Master Blacksmiths back home to create another set for him; it was rare that any Shieldmen got a replacement for their armor, and those that were lucky enough to survive their destruction were usually First or Second-shield ranked.  For a Fifth-shield like him, the possibility of being re-armored was almost nil.

It’s probably better just to die here than to go back to Nurboldar and Bregan in shame over losing my armor.  If it were just my weapon, there might be a way to have another one made, but without protection I’d be doomed to die in my first fight.

His new disregard for his own life actually helped knock Gerold free of his temporary paralysis and he sat up, wanting to face his death on his own two feet rather than lying on his back.  As he was sitting up, however, he could feel something fall off his chest and run down into his lap.

Two glowing orbs – one a light blue and the other a deep black – had rolled down to settle just above his legs; not knowing what they were and if they were there to harm him further, he immediately grabbed them to throw away.  One touch, though, was all he needed to dismiss that idea, as they called to him and seemed to fill him with strength.

Or, more accurately, energy.

For the first time since he woke up, he realized that his Water and Nether elemental energy levels in his body weren’t completely empty; either he had slept for longer than he realized and gotten some of it back, or the two orbs he was holding was helping to recharge them.  After a few seconds of looking down at them in his hand in confusion and then wonder, it was more than obvious that it was the latter – which was an impossibility, as far as he knew.

Speaking of impossibilities, he had been so distracted with his whereabouts and the strangely wondrous orbs he was holding that he hadn’t noticed that he didn’t feel even the slightest amount of pain.  His memory of the last few seconds of being sucked up into the vortex and then falling towards the ground far below were a little hazy but dropping over a hundred feet from the sky onto hard dirt and stone had to have damaged him a little.  He distinctly remembered his head being hit hard and the hollow sound of cracking bones somewhere on his body before he blacked out; reaching up to his head and neck – followed by the rest of his body – with his hands each holding one of the colored orbs still, he couldn’t find a spot that felt injured or even sore.

How…what...?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a noise coming from the Goblin contraption and he tensed up, chastising himself for losing focus – he had completely forgotten the danger he was in after being distracted by pretty orbs.  He quickly got to his feet and faced towards the machine, bracing himself for an attack even though he knew he would probably die with one sweep of its axe or pounding of its warhammer.  Instead, he watched the metal grate on the front of the contraption swing open, revealing the Goblin inside, which immediately jumped down and out of the massive machine.

It only took him a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t actually a Goblin, but what couldn’t be anything other than a Gnome.  First of all, he didn’t have the right color of skin, but also because he started talking to nothing in the air in some sort of gibberish – but Gerold figured it was Gnomish or another language, because he had never heard a Goblin speak before.  Even if he had heard one say something, he doubted it would sound so…normal.

The Gnome looked older and battle-hardened, at least judging by the scars he could see – and the intense stare coming from his eyes, despite being shorter than even the Dwarf.  Still, jumping down 10 feet from the chest of the machine he was obviously piloting didn’t seem to be much of an effort for the little person, which just went to show that the look of old age could be deceiving.

Even given the Gnome’s smaller stature, Gerold wasn’t confident he could win in a fight; still, he kept his body ready to defend itself as the smaller person walked by him with seemingly no care as to the Dwarf’s defensive stance.  He watched as the Gnome made his way over to a large wooden wagon and picked up two orbs that looked very similar to the ones Gerold held in his hands; they appeared to be negligently discarded earlier, which was strange to the Dwarf considering that they seemed to be so powerful.

Before he knew it, the older Gnome was in front of him offering the glowing orbs to him in either hand.  Gerold looked at him and then the orbs in confusion, wondering what this was all about; with some obvious gestures that indicated that the