Chapter 17:

A Stinking Arrival

There is no accurate word for the smell that permeated through the air. I admit it smelled like I was locked in a carriage on a hot summer day when an elephant had taken a vicious dump. That smell coupled with the heavy scent of methane that filtered through the air created an extremely unsavory combination. I just happened to be passing by the Workshop when I noticed that all work and activity had stopped, which tends to be a sign of misfortune. It proves to be even more disconcerting that my Trolls stood around grinning like maniacs. Trolls do not have pretty smiles, but normally a Troll smiles just before they proceed to tear your arms from their sockets – or worse. Then I felt it, a surge in mana the change over the course of several long moments as the mana in the air swirled and shifted, the pathways it normally follows shifting and drifting, affecting the pace and rhythm of my Dungeon Heart. That creature is out there. I can feel its presence, that it has felt the call of the Black Flame and is about to come through my Portal.

The smell grew in intensity and I glanced nervously at the torch brackets lining the wall… if the methane gas continued its build up, it would only be a matter of moments before the entire Dungeon would go up in flames and we would all be barbecued to a crispy finish. I had no idea that there was anything that could smell this bad, and such a foul stench could only come from something that would serve the Dark as the Light would not want anything that smelled like this creature fighting beneath their banner. In the few moments that preceded its arrival, the encyclopedia in my skull seemed to unlock yet again, even as sparks began to fly from the Portal.

It's unlocking gave me a fucking migraine, but it gave me valuable information about this creature, its intense, raw brute strength making it very clear that it was used to living large, and very much in charge, using its brute strength to get the job done. It was a decent artificer and an effective blocker in combat and had a few specialties that amounted to eating, drinking, farting, fighting and manufacturing in the Workshop. The name of its species came to me moments before the runes surrounding the door like portal flashed a burgundy blood red, and a small nova of light flashed, blinding for a brief second: Bile Demon. Considering the smell, I might just start calling them Fart Demons.

On first glance, one can be forgiven if one believes that a bright red rubber ball has just rolled its way in to the dungeon. Standing eight feet tall, the Bile Demon was more of a Giant without feet or legs to stand on. They move by using their arms, those bony, almost skeletal thin limbs to propel themselves wherever they want to go, moving a mountain that could weight almost a full ton. From the depths of the darkness of the Portal to the light from the torch brackets that lined the walls of my domain that I finally got my first true view of a Bile Demon.

These creatures, if you could call them Demons, they are composed of nothing but fat that's a deep burgundy, almost deep rose red in color. The sheer thickness of the fat coating them would be a very effective form of armor against nearly any weapon that the Heroes or Light would have at their disposal, barring of course certain, more powerful magic or piercing projectile weapon of some kind, most likely the arrow of an Elven Archer. The sheer flabbiness of their hide would make them effective front line blockers, more than capable of absorbing the initial contact with the enemy or stall the advance of the enemy as these Bile Demons would be more than capable of forming an immovable wall of defense. Either one could be suitable for my purposes, depending on the situation that arises. Their weapons are in plain sight, hanging and swinging from the chains at the end of his horns at nearly forty-five degree angels from behind what would pass for their ears. The metal balls were covered in dozens of spikes, effective when swung to impale a foe and at crushing armor.

The Trolls were ecstatic to see the Bile Demon, and it seemed as if this particular, scrawny specimen of a Bile Demon was an old friend of the lead Troll in my employ, Erk. It appeared that a friendship was being renewed between the master artificer of my dungeon, and a dubious title at its best, and this particular Bile Demon, but it matters not, as this new arrival is going to have to commune with the Dungeon Heart…. And my guess is that Erk will get him there, no matter how long it takes… and it was definitely going to take a while considering just how those things use their arms to literally row the ocean of fat around them, giving them a steady if somewhat plodding-along pace.

It just occurred to me that I have not actually explained to you, dear reader, what happens when a new warrior or minion enters my Dungeon and seeks to join the ranks of my army. I'd like to think that I am a better employer than most other Keepers, but I can't prove that, as the majority of Keepers would either be cheating, or beating up all of their own minions to ensure that the "truth" is told to the Keeper's preference. For me, personally, I like to keep it short and to the point just so that nobody wastes time. Wasted time means lost productivity and I do have an entire world to conquer.

When these neutral creatures touch a Dungeon Heart, the first thing that happens is that they gain my colors, the black and gold that make up my battle standard, and also get the mark of the Black Flame burned on their shoulders. There is no way to remove that mark, less the Black Flame is defeated in its entirety and I am killed. These neutral creatures then gain the all important psychic link between themselves and me, but its more of a one way link in that I can talk to them and they can hear me, but if any of them ever want to talk to me, they have to come and talk to me in person, and if I'm in a good mood, then I will grant them an audience – which rarely happens for the standard rank and file warriors.

The next thing that they gain is a brief overview of the "rules and regulations" that they will live by. There is no "opting out" of service to the Black Flame, and there is no such thing as "retirement" either. You serve forever, until death claims you. There is one punishment: Death. Mutinous Insurrection is punished by death. Treason is punishable by Death. Succumbing to enemy torture and revealing anything about the Black Flame is considered Treason, and will be punished by death – if you live of course. That is any minion's end of the bargain. And of course, I have my own end of the bargain to uphold.

It's a tradition that goes back to the beginning of time and the First Great War between Light and Dark. My end of the bargain is that they will receive a generous, well slightly above average paycheck, on account of the fact that I have several of those very useful Gemstone Vales available, will be provided with adequate shelter and food and whatever facilities that they might need. If they choose to take an interest in something that is not normally within their scope of activities, for example, a Warlock wants to do manufacturing in the Workshop, it's between my minions to make the arrangements. With battle strategy, tactics, and the upkeep of an empire to concern myself with, I do not get involved with "dungeon politics," less it revolves around an assassination attempt or ensuring that the respective members of my Inner Circle are inspired to mistrust their fellows, to a lesser degree.

Sending out my Giant Flies to conduct reconnaissance had turned this hit and miss affair in a charbroiled and miss affair. I had lost several Giant Flies because they were either flying too low above the Lava and were broiled alive when it bubbled up suddenly, or were flying too close to the cavern ceiling and burst of lava had immolated them or an updraft of gas had impaled them to the stalagmites above. The islands are cloaked from sight and this is arguably the hardest step in the entire process. Once the island is found, it is a relatively simple matter to build a bridge and recover the artifacts, schematics and magic. Due to my somewhat paranoid nature when it comes to security, the only entryway in to my Dungeon is almost a kilometer downstream and through an equally long gauntlet of traps and dead ends, and more traps and doors before they could actually find a way in to my Dungeon. This assumes that you know which path to take through the maze.

And using magic to find these places would take just as long, even with almost twenty researchers actively searching for any kind of mana pulse or beacon, something that would indicate the presence of mana and spells where there should not be any. With the loss of another day, we managed to find and have the bridges constructed out to the three islands which are all equally small and to pathetic to establish Guard Posts. Feral will come searching for us soon enough, and I do not want to be caught with my pants down. Our excavations finally bore fruit as we crack into the long abandoned chamber, only to find evidence that made it clear that my opponent had found the prison but had discarded it, as the facility had been too long abandoned, and she continued its pattern of abandonment and dereliction without a second of consideration.

It seems that she valued strength of arms, and numerical superiority over intelligence. She had seen nothing but a crumbling ruin and left it. I had seen opportunity in this abandoned chamber, if it worked as it was supposed to: anything that dies within this Prison will become a Skeleton warrior that I can easily bind in eternal servitude to the Black Flame to do my bidding. I could feel the evil grin stretching my facial muscles at the simple wealth of treasure that I had found on this one island. And while the second island, east of this one, was empty, the western isle held something of great power. So much power that nobody wanted to get too close to it, and there was hesitation even in Drahuliska and Gazz. I have a healthy respect of any object that appears to be a cube that floats by itself while impregnating its surroundings with enough mana to make even you, dear reader, dizzier than you have ever been in your entire life. The runes inscribed upon the cube covered all six of its sides, and were definitely ancient, and also written in the Language of the Dark Gods that is the tongue of Demons – the true language of Demons that very few had any working knowledge of in this day and age.

Drahuliska, Gazz and myself stood a short distance away admiring the beautiful cube like object that floated several feet of the ground, all six of its surfaces covered in ancient runes. Drahuliska called for imps to carry the floating object back to the Libraries, where there are facilities for dealing with such things. No sense in opening it up out here… in case it attracts the wrong kind of attention.

I returned with the Inner Circle of the Black Flame to my Dungeon and my Dungeon Heart. With our successes here, I felt I had earned us the right for a small celebration. I made a note to check with my "accountant" – one of the other Warlocks – to authorize a small pay "bonus" for those involved with the projects. A little bit of additional motivation lets every warrior and minion see that I do have what can be called a "good" side, and also makes it clear that there is a lot more to me than some slavering, insane demonic, mass murdering psychopath. I dare say many of my minions see me as schizophrenic – not as if they know what that is. But I am the Keeper, and victory, will soon be mine. There is only one final thing that stands between me and me claiming this land for my own: This so-called Feral.

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