The Dungeon In The Mountain

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The tale of a reluctant Adventurer: Darren Shaw.

(I'm a super noob at writing so let me know what ya think. thanks :) )

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Submitted: May 24, 2017

A lone man entered an abandoned cave; his robes were torn, soaked and muddy. He looked that of a vagrant not worth a second glance. Even the first would be generous by almost anyone's standards, poor and rich alike. Upon entering, everything about him seemed to change immediately. His posture became impeccable as he strode further in, seeming far too elegant and confident in his stride than that of the average beggar. The cave wasn't big at all; calling it a cave would be an exaggeration, as it was something only the smallest of animals would live in. In fact, the beginnings of a nest were already starting to take form from a nearby woodland creature. The Man brought out a blue stone that was smooth to the touch from within his ragged robes. He lifted it towards the back wall of the cave and as though waiting solely for his words, a crack appeared in front of the man, from the top of the cave wall to the bottom. Warm blue lights shone upon his face as the wall split in two; revealing a wide tunnel ahead.

Walking through the revealed tunnel, blue fluorescent lights illuminated every few steps for the man on either side. It was as if though they were welcoming him home with a loving glow. As he reached the end of the tunnel, he was greeted by a stone door. Then they parted, revealing darkness before the man as he walked on through with a wry smile upon his face. ‘Welcome home, Master.’ beckoned a deep and emotionless voice from within. ‘Would you wish for illuminations?’ ‘Please.’ answered the Man in a voice not nearly as deep but almost as emotionless. Responding to the man's wishes, the darkness suddenly was routed by bright yellow lights from every direction.Directly in front of him stood a human-like silhouette that would scare most men; a Golem.

Standing nine feet tall, it resembled was human like in the fact that it had arms, legs, and a head. Inhuman like, was the fact that instead of flesh and bone, its body was completely made upon of gray stone and instead of a heart, it was it was kept "alive" by a mana crystal embedded inside of it. The man's eyes scanned around the room. Coated in smooth stone, it wasn't small nor was it big. It was accommodating for the essentials needed for the Man opposite the Golem. It had a single bed in the right-hand corner, neither luxurious nor inadequate for him to sleep upon. To the left, there was a wooden desk which upon lay a mountain of books of impressive thickness. Near the desk was a book case of considerable size, full to the brim with books alike the ones upon the desk. ‘Reading again has we?’ asked the Man to the Golem. ‘Yes, Master.’ stoically replied the Golem. ‘Fetch my staff.’ ordered the Man. The Golem mechanically turned around and slowly bounded towards a wall of the room. It then slowly raised one of its lifeless hands upon it and appeared to sink into the wall. Several seconds later, the Golem retracted its hand, revealing a long wooden staff with an apple-sized metallic slot upon the top. It then slowly turned round and headed towards its Master. Slightly bending downwards, it handed the staff to the Man, akin to a mother handing her child a treat almost. ‘Thanks.’ The man wrapped his right hand firmly around the staff and took a step back from the Golem. He then looked upon the Golem with a focus in his eyes. ‘Origin,’ he whispered. The Golem then began to suddenly shrink.

Now looking down upon the once towering Golem, the man picked up what seemed to be a stone statue with little effort and walked towards the desk. He sat down on a cushioned wooden chair and placed the former giant in front of him. He then uttered another word. ‘Disperse’. The miniature Golem then began shrinking in further size, corroding at the same time. A few seconds passed and what was once a miniature statue was a small pile of sand. Lying on the sand, there lay a crystal. A crystal so black, that no amount of light would find it in the dark. He then picked up the crystal and slotted it into the top of his staff. He then spoke a single word. “Origin.” his once torn robes slowly began to mend themselves and the filth that resided began to be repelled from the fabric. He went from looking like a wanton beggar to a respectable traveler in moments. He stood up from his seat and walked towards a mirror. He looked upon it, inspecting himself. Not young, but certainly not old. People would call him handsome if not for his bushy beard covering half his face and his hair covering almost the rest. He glanced at his staff's pitch black crystal and back to the mirror. He then looked into his Eye’s; His pitch black Eye’s.
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Submitted: May 24, 2017

Chapter 1: Origin.

‘You up yet, Boy!?’ echoed a deep and gruff voice into the ears of a sleeping Boy. The startled, now awakened Boy opened his eyes, and found himself in darkness. He felt the sensation of paper smothering his face. Fell asleep with a book on my face. Removing the book from his face, he placed it atop a desk to his right. ‘Ugh. Swear he shouts to hear his own voice,’ muttered the Boy as he sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Savoring the warmth from his fur blanket a moment longer, He reluctantly slid it off and plotted his feet onto the cold, wooden floor. The Boy glanced at the waxy remains of a candle, atop of his desk that he’d put to use the night before and let out a long-winded yawn. Probably shouldn’t have read so much last night. Standing up, he walked towards his window, where he opened the curtains and peered out onto the street. Before him was the town of Clifford. Does anyone in the Artisan Quarter ever have a lie in? The streets were already bustling with activity as the sun was slowly beginning to rise. Shops were opening their doors and the workers were busy with preparations for a new day. He removed and threw the shirt he was wearing onto his bed and opened up his wardrobe. It was packed full of clothes for the four Seasons; though there wasn’t an ounce of organization. He sunk his hand into the pile of garments and took out a white shirt at random. He gave it a quick sniff and felt satisfied with his discovery. I’m going to be sweating later anyway. His bedroom door came under attack from a loud bang as he was closing the wardrobe causing the boy to let out a small sigh.

‘You ready yet?’ inquired a deep, authoritative voice from beyond the door. The Boy slid on some woolen socks and his leather boots, and then made his way for the door. Opening the door, the Boy bent his neck upwards to find the face of the culprit for disturbing his slumber; a man in his late 40’s sporting an impressively bushy black beard, a stern stare and messy hair. Stroking his beard the man started to speak. ‘I'd say about the time you woke, but that don’t feel quite right, Darren.’ complained the man with the bushy, yet impressive beard. ‘Hmm…you’re right about that,’ replied Darren casually with a yawn. The man’s forehead slightly wrinkled at the Boy’s remark and strained not to let the frustration show on his face. ‘Least you’re up now. Go wash your face and do something about that ridiculous hairdo. It looks like it needs ironing out with a hammer. I’ll be in the Forge,’ ordered the man as he turned to his left and walked off. ‘Like you’d be anywhere else,’ muttered Darren as his Father ducked under the door frame leading downstairs.
Upon his Father's order, Darren headed towards the washroom of the house that was just left to his room. The room wasn't very big but it had many fond memories for Darren. After all, it was the room that his Mother would brush his hair for him every day. She refused to let him have a single hair out of place and scrubbed him from head to toe in the bath next to him. A daily ritual that he had taken for granted. Looking at the mirror in front of him, he agreed with his Father that he was indeed in need of a brushing. He reached up to the shelf that was next to the mirror and grasped his hairbrush. It was a somewhat luxurious item; riddled with his brown hair. He looked upon the amber brown wooden handle and the peculiar, yet beautiful carvings engraved onto it. Starting from the pommel, there was a carving of a tree, followed by strange symbols looping around each other to the base of the handle where it reached the brush. He had asked his Mother a few times about the carvings but she always said they were just a decoration. After a good minute of half-hearted brushes, he placed it back with a saddened expression on his face. I can’t bring myself to toss it. He then soaked a nearby rag into the wash bucket and did some hastily wiping off his face. Inspecting himself in the mirror once more and tying his hair back, he deemed it good enough for a day of apprenticing with his tyrannical Father.

Upon leaving the washroom, Darren headed straight to the stairs that lead down to the forge. Walking into the forge, he looked upon his Father. A towering man with whom you'd be hard-pressed to find many that could match. He had his apron on as usual with his once wild hair tied back. He was currently inspecting what seemed to be a stack of iron ingots that were probably delivered earlier this morning while Darren was still sleeping. ‘Hmm, if I knew none the better, I'd say the quality of these has fallen yet again this month,’ muttered the Blacksmith. Darren approached his Father and looked at one of the ingots that were laid upon his workstation. He laid a hand upon the cold to the touch metal. Appraise. The number 5 appeared and hovered over the Ingot in clear black writing out of thin air. Last month’s delivery was a 7. ‘You see it too, Darren?’ asked his Father. Darren nodded and headed towards his apron that was hung up on a nearby rail. He calmly fastened the apron; the leather straps around his neck a familiar sensation. Turning around he posed a question to the Blacksmith. ‘So, that means you’re being ripped off, right?’ boldly asked Darren. The Blacksmith let out a dark, almost sinister chuckle. ‘They wouldn’t dare. Richard Clayton’s got as much backbone as a termite infested railing. He wouldn’t do it on purpose,” replied the Blacksmith with firm conviction. ‘The Clayton’s have been mining the hills for generations now. No surprise if they're starting to have a bit of trouble finding a decent vein.’ Darren raised an eyebrow at his Father’s explanation. “I know that. I work and live her too, you know. Who’re you explaining that to?’ asked Darren as he walked over to his own workstation. His father fumbled the ingot in his hands and near almost dropped it on his foot. ‘Nobody in particular,’ retorted the Smith, looking somewhat flustered as he placed the ingot back on the stack.

‘A-anyway, you’re turning 13 tomorrow,’ stated the Blacksmith as he picked up a hammer. ‘Are you ready to receive your Blessing?’ asked the Blacksmith, fully regained of his composure. ‘Ahaha, what Am I saying? Of course you’re ready. Who wouldn’t be? It’s a sacred ceremony that...’ ‘Not really,’ sharply interrupted Darren as he was organizing his workstation from clutter. All of a sudden he heard a thud and a weirdly high pitch yelp. He turned round to see His father kneeling down and holding one of his feet with the hammer he was just using laying right next to it. ‘Did you just drop your Hammer?’ asked Darren with a slight bit of worry in his expression. The Smith Immediately rose up with his hammer in hand and turned around with freakishly fast speed with his back facing Darren. ‘Dropped a hammer? Me?’ laughed the Blacksmith rather suspiciously. ‘I was just tying my boot lace,’ he declared “I’ve been a Blacksmith since before you were born, you know!’ ‘I wouldn’t’ make silly mistake like that!’ laughed the Blacksmith even more suspiciously. This fool of a Father definitely broke a toe or something. I swear I heard a bone break. ‘That’s right, Dad. You’re the famous Jacob Shaw after all.’ stated Darren In a somewhat monotone voice. The Blacksmith turned round slowly and leaned somewhat weirdly on his workstation with his arms crossed. ‘Hahaha, even you can say some cute things sometimes, Son. You’re making your Old Man cry from embarrassment!’ No, you’re crying tears of pain. Darren removed his apron and placed it back on its hook and headed for the forges back exit. ‘I’ll go buy a potion. Sit down and wait for me to come back,” He ordered. His Father’s eyes widened in surprise and tried to get a word in but Darren was already walking out the door.
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Unfortunate errands

Submitted: May 24, 2017

Let me know what you think! :P Read Chapter


Submitted: May 24, 2017

The 3rd chapter I completed the other day. Let me know what ya think. :) Read Chapter


Submitted: May 27, 2017

A trip to the Craftsmen's Guild for dinner. Lemme know what you think! :) Read Chapter

Mother's Blessing.

Submitted: June 03, 2017

Darren receives his "Blessing". From this point on, the action's going to pick up. What did you think of how I presented the attributes and stats? Read Chapter