Dakota Krout - Dungeon Born (The Divine Dungeon Book 1)

A rank – Usually several hundred years are needed to attain this rank, known as ‘High-Mage’ or ‘High-Magous’. They are the most powerful rank of Mages.

S rank – Very mysterious Spiritual Essence cultivators. Not much is known about the requirements for this rank or those above it.

SS rank – Not much is known about the requirements for this rank or those above it.

SSS rank – Not much is known about the requirements for this rank or those above it.

Heavenly rank – Not much is known about the requirements for this rank or those above it.

Godly rank - Not much is known about the requirements for this rank or those above it.

Rose – A Half-Elf ranger that joined Dale’s team. She has opposing affinities for celestial and infernal Essence.

Rune - A permanent pattern made of Essence that creates an effect on the universe. Try not to get the pattern wrong, as it could have… unintended consequences. This is another name for a completed Inscription.

Impaler - A Basher upgraded with infernal Essence, it has a sharpened horn on its head. At higher rankings, it gains the ability to coat that horn with Hellfire.

Shroomish – A mushroom that has been evolved into a barely dangerous Mob. Really, only being completely unaware of them would pose danger to a person.

Silverwood Tree – A mysterious tree that has silver wood and leaves. Some say that it helps cultivators move into the B-rankings.

Smasher - A Basher upgraded with Earth Essence, it has no special abilities, but is coated with thick armor made from stone. While the armor slows it, it also makes the Smasher a deadly battering ram.

Soul Stone – A highly refined Beast Core that is capable of containing a human soul.

Steve – A ranger that uses his bow as either a staff or a ranged weapon. Rather quiet chap.

Tank – An adventurer architype that is built to defend his team from the worst of the attacks that come their way. Heavily armored and usually carrying a large shield, these powerful people are needed if a group plans on surviving more than one attack.

Tom – A huge red-haired barbarian from the northern wastes, he wields a powerful Warhammer and has joined Dale’s team.

Far to the south a stinking hole of a swamp denoted the boundary between the Lion and Phoenix Kingdoms. Each spring, the snow melts of the Phantom Mountains would wash through here thickening the sludge with fertile silt. This always caused a population boom for the insects, as they found places to lay their eggs and fed well off drowned animals. Deep in the swamp on a plot of land only accessible by the brave or the knowledgeable, stood an ancient fortress.

There was nothing about the fortress that seemed out of place, it was a mold covered ruin beneath the notice of any well-groomed noble and no commoner would willingly come into this swamp. If someone did manage to stumble upon this place they may remark on the grotesque statues and carved work on the walls. They may see the shrunken skulls on spikes every few feet along the battlements, with burning eyes that seemed to follow them as they walked. The same people may feel compelled to mention the odd lights, the chanting, and screams of pain and horror that intermittently escaped this place. The only issue was, those people never seemed to survive long enough to warn others.

“Finally.” A dark voice pulsed, sounding raspy from lack of fresh water. “I want a drink, a bath, a woman, and a hot meal. I don’t care what order.” The man who had months ago attacked Dale - followed by being forced off Dale’s mountain - squelched the remaining distance through the clinging mud to the entryway of this lost fortress. He looked into the burning eyes of a skull and sneered. “Oh, hurry up and open the door. You know who I am.”

The skeletal grin mocked him and chattered a few times, its jaw chittering as the trapped spirit attempted to attack him. With no body to extend its reach, it finally sent a mental command to the undead manning the gates, and the drawbridge started opening. The rusted, screaming hinges slowly pried themselves outward. The man groaned as he thought about what was coming, then walked into the courtyard. Undead of every type bustled around, completing the tasks assigned to them. Workers and warriors all, each fervently awaited the moment their commands would allow them to feast on the flesh and Essence of the living beings of the castle or outside world.

A sibilant voice caressed his soul as much as the man’s ear, speaking to him and his deeper self. “Welcome home little morsel , the Master has been waiting for you. I do hope you have good news for him, he has been ever so… agitated, recently.”

The man looked up in disgust at the Demon looking down over the courtyard, expertly enforcing his will on the undead below. A ‘taskmaster’, the demon excelled at creating perfect order. The decade long restoration of this fortress would not have gone near as smooth without its expert direction.

“Stay out of my head and don’t speak unless I tell you too. Bad enough that I have to smell you and be on the same plane as you. Hearing you is just too much filth for my mind to bear.” The man then arrogantly turned his face away, stopping with a startled yelp as he found that the demon was now directly in front of him. It grinned, satisfied by its small victory, mockingly bowing out of his way. Speed increasing, the now apprehensive man rushed to the inner sanctum to make his report. The Demon had never before done anything like that.

He hurriedly knocked at the door, trying to get his breathing and mind under control. He had no opportunity to clean or rest, the Master had demanded his report as soon as possible. The demon would never have interrupted his Master otherwise. The door swung open into a perfectly silent room. As he stepped across the threshold, all outside noise died. Even the light that dared enter here seemed muted, the color leached out of it. Passing through shades of grey and black, his pulse accelerated, roaring thunderously in his veins, the sound of it threatening to burst his eardrums.

He stopped a dozen yards from the Master in front of him. The Master was sitting in a lotus style meditation pose. Not out of reverence or respect did the man stop his forward movement. No, it was the dense Necrotic energy thick in the air which forced him to remain where he was.

“Master.” He murmured, meticulous as possible in his presentation of manners as he genuflected. “I have come with news of the newly formed dungeon. As you predicted, it is already becoming a place thick with life and treasure. The acolytes sent there with the Soul stone you created some time ago did not completely fail, it seems. Their sacrifice created the dungeon, though they were unable to nurture it as they had been ordered. More than that... a Silverwood tree has bloomed within it!” He remained as he was, head pressed to the ground long enough that he began to wonder if he had been heard. Perhaps the Master was resting? He began to sweat harder.

“You did well, my child.” A modulated, honey-sweet deep voice responded. “For too long now the light has been burned into the world, forcing it to give more and more to the greedy children of the sun. It is time to return the soothing darkness to the land and allow it to rest. The creation of the Stone took but a moment, we need not concern ourselves with a small dungeon on the edge of the world.”

The prone man nodded as best he was able, unable to speak with the power of the Master’s voice ringing in his body. The explosive power contained in that voice knocked dirt from his clothes and shook dust from the ceiling. The deep shadows, swirling with tortured faces, wailed soundlessly as the Master stood. It had been five years since he had moved from the spot he was sitting. The floor below now crumbled to dust, reduced from once beautiful marble.