Fantasia: I Am the Dungeon

Throughout the kingdom the clanging of hammers and iron picks can be heard, as well as the scraping of the saws and the fire of the forges, with the shouts of the foremen causing the most noise in the repairs. If the night was lived in nerves and worries about a possible second elven invasion, that new dawn was felt with renewed spirits. Although many mourned for the fallen, the joy of being alive was greater, hence when King Marc made a call to the people to join in the reconstruction, the citizens decided to collaborate willingly.

While the children helped to pull the corpses of enemies onto the wheelbarrows to throw them into the great rift, the young and healthy men were in charge of reopening the entrances and exits between walls, ways that disappeared when the bricks were transformed into millenary stone whose hardness left the workers sweating and out of breath.

"I'd like to complain, but I can't..." says a worker, lowering his iron pickaxe and running a hand across forehead. "This damn hard stone was the one that saved us"

"Less talking, more picking. You heard the boss, if we finish today we'll get extra pay" replies another worker.

Although the rumors about the walls were many, no one outside the castle knew the origin of what happened. Hence, the central square of the temple district, located behind the castle - a subtle message that behind great men there are spiritual threads at work - was crowded with the faithful looking for resurrection or answers.

Dozens of people who lost loved ones dragged the corpses of their families into the district, either the whole body or a foot they could barely get, and planted themselves in front of the temple doors, where the paladins doubled their efforts to impose authority and prevent the concentrations of people ending in riots, especially when a priest tried to explain to a faithful that a thumb is not enough to bring a corpse back to life. Every tenth body presented, only one managed to be raised by the power of the god in question. Such services are supposed to be priceless, but the priests always insist on receiving large donations first, all to ensure the maintenance of the temples and the offerings to their respective divinities.

Because of what happened with the dark elves and to avoid appearing petty, the priests opted not ask for donations this time. Some of the clerics watched their altars with concern, looking for some sign of anger or displeasure, perhaps a statue looking sterner than usual, or maybe some offering fruit being rotten. None wish to demand too much of heaven and have it send them an earthquake or a plague.

"Praise and thank Mithras, the warrior god!" In front of a red clay temple, a priest in a scarlet robe tight to his muscles, raises a ceremonial blunt sword with which tries impressing the men and women moving through the square. "Mithras, with his sacred shield he granted us a divine defense to protect ourselves from the darkness! And his celestial sword gave us the fury and strength to respond the threat!"

"Silence, fool!" Responds what appears to be a child in the temple on the right, the building looks like a small mountain of gray rock with torches flanking the square frame entrance and gems buried without pattern on the surface. The boy has his robe and face covered in soot, a stranger would mistake him for a small wanderer, but to all the people present recognize him as a cleric of the dwarf god. "Is ancient stone, stone of Tor! If I am wrong may the earth open up and swallow me! Tor created the mountains and created the walls!"

"You should be more humble and accept the alternative, brothers," says a person from another nearby temple, a rustic wooden building with water fountains on the front panels that accumulate to quench the thirst of the poor. The woman's robe is a simple deerskin cloak, she tries raise her voice without shouting as she points with a gnarled staff. "Everything points to Lacrimossa, the weeping goddess, took mercy on us and offered us a second chance"

The same debate was repeated in all the temples. Dozens odd versions caused the faithful to be confused. With no clear answer and for simple mental peace, each person stuck with the divinity with which he or she felt most in tune.

The mysteries about the salvation of the kingdom were as great and numerous as the mysteries about how the elves managed to attack in the sun. It was assumed that the underdark residents received the blessing of some evil god. 

Back in the castle, the queen Gineber in her chambers, takes a seat by the dressing table and writes a letter, the hand movements and pen as elegant as her demeanor. She is a blue-eyed, slender-bodied, silver-haired beauty. When a new maid arrives at the castle and sees Gineber paired with King Marc, the girl in question always wonders how someone like her could end up related to such a rustic monarch.

Waiting for the ink on the paper to dry, Gineber gets up from the cushioned stool and opens a window. Looking to the kingdom, the rough, high walls of squat shadows. Standing alone, Gineber allows herself to frown and show repulsion. These new defenses seem distasteful, and she would have enjoyed unburdening writing about the anguish that clouds her heart ...

But Gineber knows restraint and recognizes the moment. The content is not about her and the pain caused by being so far away from her native kingdom, but specifies everything she could understand about the new monster hiding in the castle's bowels.

A monster that produces monsters. A Dungeon Core.

Gineber puts the letter in an envelope and so there is no doubt about the message's source, she removes a hair, which she then places next to the paper. She approaches a golden cage near the door and opens it, reaches in and caresses the phoenix's head. The majestic creature's plumage is a powerful orange, showing that it is a very young specimen. In addition to being trained to carry messages and packages, they are also taught to immolate if the contents they are carrying become compromised.

The queen, using a silk ribbon, ties the letter to the phoenix's paw. In one arm she carries the creature to the window, and with one motion throws the phoenix and causes it to fly away.