Dungeon Life

I spend a bit more time trying to think through the impossibility of being in charge of the afterlife for my dwellers, but I make exactly zero progress. There’s just too much I don’t know, and I can’t think of anywhere I could get that information. While I think Torlon would share what the Crystal Shield knows, I don’t think he has that knowledge himself. It also seems like the kind of thing that’d take a pact to get the Shield itself to share, and I don’t really want to do that.

The closest thing to an actual idea I have would be to try to send them to the Pearly Gates, but there’s rules to get in, even if I could send them there. It’s just a whole can of worms that’s probably better left unopened, and not in the way of me just trying to ignore it.

No… if something impossible like that happens, I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get there. Maybe I’ll be lucky and it will only be a hypothetical. It’d be nice.

But, instead of focusing on a hypothetical, I should focus on more practical and real issues, like zippers. Coda and Jello have both been working on the idea, and though it’s going well, I seriously doubt they’re going to be much past the working prototype phase by the time my dwellers leave.

Much as I might like for them to keep training and planning and miss the whole battle, they’re smart enough to recognize the list of things to prepare is dwindling quick. The bows and spears both are looking pretty solid. The training phase has been invaluable in finding those little weaknesses and flaws that always slip through the design phase.

It’s so easy to forget about just dirt and such, only for actual testing and use to show some glaring flaw that real life takes advantage of. I think the M16 had a problem like that. At first, troops hated it because it’d get dirty and then constantly jam. But then they added some kind of coating to the receiver, I think, that made it so dirt and grime just couldn’t stick, and it became the main rifle for… a long time.

Thankfully, bows are a bit less prone to jamming. The spears needed a bit of fine tuning on that front, though. Considering all the things a spear is supposed to be stabbed into, there needs to be a good way to keep anything from gumming up the few moving parts. Still, it seems to be solved well enough for now, with each of the hunting spiders being given a more traditional leaf-shaped blade to go along with the telescoping barb version. Can’t have my spear spiders running out of ammo, so the leaf head will be a good option for dealing with opponents that don’t need the over-engineered toy.

Armor is pretty easy for my dwellers to produce, especially since I haven’t tried to reinvent any wheels there. Some kind of magical power armor would be cool, but I don’t think I’m ready to drop some kind of project like that on Thing just yet. Most of the heavy armor is basically a clamshell chestplate with lighter coverings for the limbs. A clamshell is one of the simplest yet effective bits of body armor, if also one of the heaviest. It’s basically two metal pieces that connect with various latches, ties, and whatnot, and practically become a single piece. It’s great for resisting most kinds of blows, and as long as the metal holds, the person behind it should hold up pretty well. The main downside is that it’s heavy, and if you go too light, make the clamshell too thin, it’ll just buckle when hit and be pointless.

The tarantulakin are strong enough to have not only a clamshell on their torso and abdomen, but similar pieces on the first section of their legs, too. Ringmail covers the joints to the body, designed to tangle any weapons that try to swing at the weakness. A spear or pick might be able to get through, but anything else will have to have enough force to break the loose mail to do any damage to my spiderkin.

The jumping spiderkin wear lighter padded chain on their torso and abdomen, and have metallic bracer-like sections covering their legs and arms. They aren’t designed to take damage like the tarantulas, and instead focus on mobility and protection from indirect and ranged blows. My ratkin are mostly in leather and silk, lighter armor that should protect from enemy arrows. If it comes down to them being in melee, armor isn’t really going to save them at that point anyway.

Still, they also have daggers and are quick and nimble enough to potentially attack the joints of anything that gets too close. And, of course, they’ll have my denizens around as well. I don’t know what Leo will keep close to keep them safe, but I trust he won’t leave them flapping in the breeze in the battle.

I watch, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me, as the dozens of ratkin and spiderkin go through some drills in their armor. The enclaves are about two-hundred strong, each, but they’ve still managed to field almost three dozen fighters apiece. They’re all doing their last checking and speed drills, getting armor on, getting it off, getting the warm clothing on and off, loading the carts, making camps, breaking camps.

They’re going to leave soon. Not today, probably not tomorrow, but maybe the day after. I think they’re wanting to set out with Rocky and Teemo, so they’ll need to wait for them to get back before they can all go. It’s not just for the pomp and circumstance of a big send off, either. If something happens and they end up having to fight while still on the surface, my dwellers would be in serious trouble, thanks to the cold.

While there’s every indication that the enemy fares even worse in the cold, nobody is willing to bet their life that the dungeon won’t have some other denizens to try to engage on the surface with. So they’ll wait and march in their snow gear, and suit up once far enough underground to not be bothered by the winter chill.

I could probably try to convince them to wait longer, but then again maybe I couldn’t. If something unexpected happens, they’re going to want to be close enough to respond, instead of having to march all the way from home. Sure, right now I don’t have anywhere for them to try to assault, but that could change by the time they get there. And if it doesn’t, they’ll still be in a position to respond when something does happen.

With the reports coming in, something will definitely happen eventually. One of the scouting adventurers actually spotted some of the dwellers. Well, not technically dwellers, but close enough. As far as the scout could tell, the pale elf was more or less a ranger, just checking the area around to see if the wildlife is still doing well. It doesn’t seem like the dungeon is aware I’m coming down to get it yet.

We’ll see how long that lasts. My own scouts are slowly yet surely making their way closer and closer. The rockslides are careful, and can even use the torn up pathway as cover, hiding themselves among the torn up floor as just more rubble. It’s still possible the path is being watched, though, so they’re not rushing. My wyrms are staying deep as they do their own explorations, staying far from any surfaces as they explore.

I think they’ve found the main cavern, unless there’s some other dungeon down here. There’s no details yet, and even the location is pretty vague and could be a false positive for a lot of reasons, but I think we finally have a place to focus our attention.

Still, that just means we have to be all the more careful. Mistakes out in the wilds of the underground are fine, but making too much noise while close could draw attention. We need to gaze long into this abyss without it noticing. It’ll start gazing back eventually, but we need to do our best to be prepared to only show it what we want.

I’m also a bit nervous about what we’ll see when we get a better look, too. From what Aranya was saying, the dungeon is worshiped by the pale elves and pale dwarves. If it’s a situation similar to mine, it’ll be mostly just a matter of them getting a morale boost and having a focus for faith casters. But if it’s actually a deity… can we handle something like that?

The questions are enough to make my head spin. On the one hand, I’d love for me and this other dungeon both to just be ordinary dungeons. I mean, I beat Hullbreak, and his dwellers worship him, too. It’ll be fine, right? On the other hand, Hullbreak doesn’t inspire the kind of insane zeal in his dwellers that it seems this other dungeon does. Hullbreak didn’t and doesn’t get sacrificial offerings, but this dungeon does. Hopefully, it just means mana for the dungeon, which is already a pretty good bit of power.

If it’s more than that… I don’t know. The idea of fighting a god is pretty scary, but it also ignites my defiance. There’s only one I’ll bow to, and this other dungeon is not Him. I don’t know specifically what I’ll do to beat a god, but I know I’ll do my best. I know my scions will, too. My denizens, my residents, my dwellers, my friends, all of us will. If that dungeon wants to put itself on a pedestal, to be above everyone and demand anything of us, we’ll show it just how precarious of a position that can be, just how much more distance there is to fall from up there, and how much more painful the landing will be.