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  [Sigurd]

  Sigurd stepped off the transport pad and out into the capital with a sigh of relief; transporting always made him a little nervous. It was a short walk to the main street, a wide expansive road, that led from the palace, all the way down to the gates below; gates that were wide open, welcoming everyone to the city. Though, most of the arrivals entered through the transport pads instead.

  The gates had a slight green tinge to them as the wrought iron was coated with a thin layer of copper. The copper had in turn formed a green patina that gave rise to the gate’s colour, a colour Sigurd was quite fond of.

  The main street was made from big blocks of stone, a granite if he wasn’t mistaken, and he was sure that he wasn’t. It was divided into three sections by dainty, pink trees in full blossom. Two paths for walking on either side of a road for carts and wagons and horses. The trees sat in perfect, neat rows, and provided a nice touch of colour to the otherwise bland city grey.

  The capital was a sprawling expanse of stone, from the grey blocks of the street to the grey bricks of the walls and the grey tiles for the rooves. The trees lightened up the place and the freshness they brought made the capital a much nicer place to live than many other cities in the country. Sigurd felt that there was still nothing that compared to the blissful peace and tranquillity of the vibrant countryside. The capital made him feel rushed and cramped.

  The trees that bordered the roadway closer to the palace were larger, and the road wider, such that it let the horses and carriages of the rich roll through the city unimpeded. They could dash forth with very few interruptions, getting on with the countless tasks that undoubtedly cluttered their very important lives.

  The rest of the residents of the city, well, they had to be happy with the pavements and their own two feet, Sigurd thought to himself. The roads of the lower city were reserved for the merchants and suppliers who brought in the trade to the markets and shops that sat beside the pavements. The shops bordering the main street were high-end, of course, but off in the side streets and the mercantile squares that were positioned throughout the city, there were cheaper options and each square seemed to specialise in one type of goods, it just wasn’t on for a blacksmith to be hammering out some metal implement next to a dress shop after all.

  Out of sight, out of mind, at least for the rich, Sigurd thought bitterly, though he did have to admit that it was probably for the best that rich entitled nobles and tough workers didn’t mix, and neither had the desire to mix, though both were necessary.

  Sigurd made his way up through the three tiers of city. First, was the poorer sections of the main street. Not the absolute slums, but the poorer inns and shops, the sideroads here providing the cheapest of the cheap. Next was what Sigurd thought of as the merchant zone, where more affluent but not noble people lived, and the good quality but not finery shops stocked all that was needed from plain but good knives, to clothing that could handle working but had some embellishments and design, to inns and pubs with good quality food and drink, this was far closer to the inner gates and the palace, though never encroaching.

  Finally, there was the noble ring. Within this ring, though partially segregated from the rest and accessed via a separate gate, were the guilds and their areas, including his destination. The Adventurers’ Guild.

  Another city wall had been erected here, and it was against the wall that the adventurer’s guild stood. It took only a few minutes before Sigurd found his way to the stone gates that sealed it off from the city. The guild was a powerful organisation, and thus they were afforded such a liberty, despite the officials of the cities not wanting them to: it grated that they had to give up such a thing, but they did. It was just one of the many things for the nobles to be upset over.

  The nobles weren’t allowed walls to insulate themselves from the city (barring the inner-city walls) but the walls protecting the guilds were staffed by the king who was not liable to bow to the nobles’ desires. This policy derived from the great rebellion when factions of nobles had trained private armies within the walls of their estates.

  The conflict had ruined the previous capital, Rothenon, which was just a pile of rubble now, having been obliterated by the war mages of the time and the vicious conflict that raged for a year and a half.

  No-one had wanted it to occur again and so a policy was implemented making sure the nobles couldn’t have walls and occupational forces within the walls of the cities, in their own baronies and land they could train armies up, but no internal force was allowed in the capital anymore.

  Walking over to the stone gate, Sigurd waited for a moment for them to open up. He walked onwards and with a smooth swish, the doors to the building opened allowing entry. Sigurd found himself in a distinguished but not ‘in your face’ foyer.

  Forwards and slightly off to the right, was a reception desk, staffed by two slim pretty females, it caught his attention as any pretty face was wont to do. One was a brunette and the other a blond. They were both dressed in uniform; conservative and professional.

  Sigurd approached the desk in a few long strides, well long for his short half dwarf frame – probably normal for a human – and opened his mouth to start speaking. He was cut off.

  “Card,” the brunette said in an authoritative voice: demanding. Surprised at the bluntness, Sigurd was taken aback for a moment. He reached into his shirt and pulled out an aluminium plate. It was a small rectangle with his guild information on it alongside his mana signature. She scanned it in and looked up expectantly.

  “Well?” she replied as if she was in a rush despite an obvious lack of activity.

  “Right, um. Where is everyone?” Sigurd asked, curiously.

  She looked him up and down, snorted lightly under her breath before answering. Sigurd wondered absently what she thought of him? Not out of any self-conscious thoughts but just how had he come across to bring this reaction out.

  “Today is the exhibition day for the newbies. Most adventurers go along to watch them take the model dungeon and see who, if any will be making it up the ranks. It’s generally recognised as an off day for everyone. Though the staff still have to come in,” she replied helpfully but ending in a bitter note. He guessed she was upset at not being able to take the day off herself. Perhaps that was why she was so blunt today.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “So why are you here?” she asked before he could speak again.

  “Oh, right yes.” Sigurd said with a little laugh “Um... I’ve found a dungeon, well not I per se, but the town. They asked me to have a look since I was an adventurer and all. You know how it goes,” he said rubbing the back of his neck in nervous waiting. She didn’t reply at first. “New as well.” He added. At that she perked up a little.

  “You sure it’s not just a cave?” she asked dismissively, but before he could reply, she carried on talking. “Though you are an aluminium plate, so you should know the difference, but we do get a lot of fake reports. They think they just have to say they’ve found one and we’ll hand over lots of cash, idiots. You’re not one of those, are you?” She enquired. Sigurd stared straight ahead, giving no credence to it. He was not impressed that she had implied he was trying to scam them.

  She turned to her friend to relay the news. The blond came over, eyed Sigurd briefly, before whispering in her friend’s ear. Though he tried to listen in, they were skilled enough that he didn’t pick anything up. Sigurd felt a little awkward as they discussed this, but he stayed still and waited.

  “Alright,” she reluctantly started. He didn’t think she entirely believed him. “I’m going to pass you off to our guild leader. You know, being a high levelled plate and all, you should be trustworthy, so hopefully this is worth our time. If you could just wait over there for a sec,” she said directing him across to a waiting area.

  Soft seats and a cup of Aeldra later, he was content to wait for a while, transport pads really take it out of a man. He yawned briefly and then heard his name being called. The woman at the desk waved him over and pointed him through a previously closed door as he walked over.

  Inside was an ornate, dark wooden desk, polished to a shine and behind it sat an old man with a greying beard and glasses, he was looking at a ream of paper and he ignored Sigurd when he entered. Closing the door, Sigurd sat down. After a few minutes of silence, the man spoke.

  “So, you think you’ve discovered a dungeon?” he asked without looking up.

  Sigurd told his tale, describing the two levels he had delved and emphasising the unusual nature of the dungeon.

  “Yes, I think I agree with you that this is a dungeon. And in the Avaltjarn mountains of all places. If it’s a good ‘un, powerful and rich this could lead to some very interesting politics indeed.” The old man eventually said.

  “And you say you only delved the first two levels before concluding you had better come back with a party?”

  “Yes, it’s not so much that I would be overwhelmed by the monsters, it’s that the layout basically demands a party or at least a preternatural sense of your surroundings. Attacks can come from anywhere and there is very little warning. Though the first floor was truly very easy. Without a guild or teammates to retrieve me and watch my back, it was as far as I wanted to go without help, I had already confirmed that it was a dungeon at that point.” Sigurd replied.

  “Well, that’s certainly fair enough. We’ll pay you the initial sum now since you have provided such good information and when we confirm it’s a real dungeon we’ll give the rest. Sound fair?” Sigurd nodded in response.

  “Would you be willing to take a group of surveyors with you? It’ll speed this up tremendously if they know where they’re going, from what you said its quite a trek to the entrance.”

  “Yeah, no problem, I can’t see that being an issue. I’ll meet them back here as soon as they are ready, is two days or so good enough? I assume they’re at the newbie thing.”

  He confirmed that that should be fine, and then Sigurd left the guild with the initial money burning a hole in his pocket, it was the towns’ though and he couldn’t just spend it.

  First stop was the bank, and then the information guild. They could send messages anywhere and Sigurd thought it would be good to try to get his old group back together. He had no clue where they were or if they would be up for it, but he suspected they might be, at least some of them.

  A couple of members had retired like Sigurd, similarly bored of the same things, but this dungeon was different. Different and interesting would hopefully drag them back into it: it had certainly sparked Sigurd’s passions again. From what he knew, only one had a family now and would probably be staying put.

  He would send a letter anyhow, letting him know and asking if he would consider it but he wasn’t nearly as pushy as he would be with the others.

  Two more members had been far younger and had - at the split - joined up with other parties to keep delving. If he could persuade them to come back, they would have a real crack at this dungeon, but it was likely that they might have found a good place in life by now.

  The bank took a good chunk of time and splitting the gold between all the villagers’ accounts was a nightmare. At least sending the letters went well enough.

  After that, he toured the shops looking for the more recent dungeoneering handbooks, as well as the library for any information on dungeons with large caverns. There wasn’t much available, certainly not much information on dungeons that had big caverns on early floors.

  The library trawl wasn’t that helpful, though he did note that in one of the books it recommended more focus on scouts and ranged attacks in these types of floor. It certainly suggested that larger open floors were not uncommon at the higher tiers but that was often down in the deeps of the larger dungeons. Something that Sigurd had not often got to with his group. Aluminium plate was rather good, but it was certainly not at that level.

  Retiring for the day to a local inn he had a hearty meal and a couple pints of ale before resting for the night

  …

  Morning broke on his third day in the capital. With a happy smile on his face he ate breakfast before heading off to the mercantile square that was specifically tailored to adventurers. Stocking up on potions and herbs, as well as some smoke bombs and other newer inventions was great fun and it seemed like tech had advanced since he had last delved.

  Alas, time went by too quickly and soon it was time to head to the guild after a quick bite for lunch. He had spent his second day exploring and attending attractions, it had been many years since Sigurd had been in the capital after all, a lot had changed.

  They were waiting for him when he got there. A group of highly experienced delvers that had dedicated their lives to dungeon diving and getting stronger. Five in all they had three men and two women in the group.

  Both the women were mages: a dedicated healer and a fire mage. The healer had golden blond hair and a pair of bright blue eyes. Her high cheekbones hinted at an elven background, perhaps a quarter, you could never tell. She was slim and of medium height. Dressed in the thick white clothes with gold, red and blue trim that were stereotypical healer robes. A finely crafted wooden staff with a pearlescent, translucent gem on top and a sliver circlet that framed the head were accessories, and ones that accentuated her looks. Sigurd assumed that they were most likely very useful as well. You wouldn’t get far if you were concerned about looks too much. Well, you’d get dead, but that was about it.

  The fire mage on the other hand was just as you would envision. Slim and tall and dressed in flame-coloured robes. A flame walnut staff with a bright red ruby sitting on top was just right. The ruby seemed to hum with energy, like a heartbeat, it pulsed with power to a regular rhythm. She had red hair and green eyes and was very pretty. A sword was buckled at her waist and she, like all the others, carried a pack on her back.

  The largest man Sigurd had ever seen was next in line. he looked almost like a dwarf in stature, with his stocky block-like body. Just a really, really large dwarf. He had a great big grin on his face that his thick moustache tried and failed to hide. Jovial, Sigurd thought. Like Sigurd himself, he carried an axe. Unlike Sigurd, it was a great two-handed battle axe. In addition, the man had a strong metal pike and a large scutum shield. It would cover his ankles to his shoulders and his sides in a high level of protection. Dressed in part in full plate – he had begun to take it off and pack it away. Presumably after a trial fit to make sure all was good. Sigurd could tell rather easily that he was their tank.

  A tall and slim man with a glaive stood beside him. Rigid and commanding. He was, Sigurd assumed, the leader of this merry band. At his waist, he had a sword, a falchion by the look of it and a bow strung across his pack. He was a warrior in all senses of the word. A set of gauntlets and vambraces protected his lower arms and the rest was a boiled leather set. With a few bits of metal in key places. Damage dealer for sure.

  Last was the rogue. No group was complete without one. Light leather and a black cloak and hood for mobility. He had on a belt of knives and two butterfly swords, one on each leg. Ruffled dark hair and a short frame he was as you would expect.

  Introductions went quickly, and Sigurd soon found out their names.

  The healer was Jenna; the fire mage, Lorelei; the rogue was Kael and the tank, Jackson. Which left only the presumed leader: Sebastien or Seb for short.

  They had never heard of Littlebrook, which surprised him not, but they knew of the Avalt, well obviously, it was the biggest mountain range in the world after all.

  Since the Avaltjarn was at the centre of the continent, where almost all the regions joined, everyone would know of it, even without its monstrous size.

  After they finished packing up, they checked in with the guild master, collected some scanning equipment from the artificer’s office – apparently, it would help to determine how strong the dungeon was, but Sigurd wouldn’t know, he had never been a surveyor – and were ready to go, back through the portals and off on an adventure of epic proportions.