It has long been the theory that cores may, given the right conditions, form spontaneously, and by existing exert a force upon the universe that causes it to self-organise. This is the presiding theory explaining the origin of the System. I however propose an opposing model. Imagine, will you, an infinite number of letters, cast of metal. By the rule of chance, if you throw them upon the ground infinite times, then it is almost sure that eventually, one might recreate the words of the Mazaeid. In the same manner, I argue that given the infinite time of before - when the world was but a formless void (as posited by Cratis of Sumania) - and an infinite number of possible ways for the universe to organise itself, it was inevitable that the laws of reality should self-organise intelligently. This I propose to call the emergent System model. - Systemics by Eudacia the Witch
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“Of course, the problem is in determining what even constitutes the beginning. The eternal, paradoxical question - which came first, the cores or the System? Personally, I favour Kyther’s theory of spontaneous core generation, however Eudacia the Witch’s emergent System model has its strong points -”
Well, obviously it was the cores.
Cixilo straightened up. “What do you mean?”
We - that is the stars - were already here when the System began. Everybody knows that. Therefore, cores came first.
Cixilo pulled his tome towards him and flipped it open. “I assure you, everybody does not know that. In fact, this could change everything else. You must tell me more.” He produced a large quill with a blue shimmering feather and posed it over the paper, prepped to write. “Where did the stars come from? How long did they exist before the System existed? Who or what made the System?”
I gave the mental equivalent of a human shrugging, and then remembered Cixilo couldn’t see that. I appreciate the questions, and I can try to answer some of them later, but perhaps we could start with why you’re here?
Cixilo’s shoulders briefly slumped. “I apologise. When a mystery needs answering, I can get rather distracted. But you’re right. Time is of the essence.” He put away the quill with reluctance. “I will try to be brief, but as my nephew Boreas often says, I probably gave a lecture to the midwife who delivered me.”
“As I said earlier, I am the foremost scholar of dungeons, though I admit that there are very few dungeon scholars at all. There have been no new dungeons since the Fading Age. Which was, suffice to say, a long time ago. What few dungeons that are still alive are from that time, and they’re jealously guarded. It rather makes learning about dungeons a difficult proposition.”
Cixilo stood up and began to pace. “Nonetheless, I have learned everything I could. I became a Scribe so I could peek behind the veil, so to speak. Are you familiar with Scribes?”
My knowledge of hero classes is limited to knowing that some of them use swords, and some of them throw fireballs, and I’m pretty sure I once saw a man who could detach his own head. I have watched from afar, but the specifics are hard to ascertain from a heavenly vantage point.
“Dullahans. A very strange class indeed,” Cixilo mused. “Very well. You know of the penta theory of party composition?”
Again, no.
“Classes are organised into one of four groups. Damage dealers, supporters, utilities and tanks. The penta theory is the presiding wisdom that every party should have two damages, and one each of the other roles, for a complete party of five. There is more to it than that, but it isn’t necessary right now.” Cixilo glanced around the huge, empty temple. “This would be easier with a chalkboard.”
This was probably useful information, but I was impatient to know the strange mortal’s point. Perhaps we can skip to the relevant part?
Cixilo sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. A Scribe is a utility caster - which is any ranged magic user. Utility classes are useful in dungeons, since many of them can disarm traps, buff their party members and so forth. Some of the most powerful classes are utility classes, but in return they have little in the way of damage.”
I was growing increasingly frustrated and my next words came out in the telepathic equivalent of a growl. How does this relate to your point?
Cixilo ignored my snappishness and continued to pace the floor, his book always bobbing along behind him. Each time he turned around suddenly, it narrowly avoided colliding with him, somersaulting out of the way before it righted itself and hurried to find its place again. “Scribes are a utility class who can access the System more directly than other classes. A Scribe skill, System Speak, is why I can speak to you. Let me show you.”Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
There was a disconcerting sensation, like something was being squeezed into my mind, and then an image of a System message appeared. It was different to viewing my own messages, rather like I was viewing a facsimile of the real thing.
<table style="width: 90.0081%">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 8.78758%">
Skill Name
</td>
<td style="width: 10.9207%">
Prerequisites
</td>
<td style="width: 13.0115%">
Class Restrictions
</td>
<td style="width: 8.44618%">
Mana Cost
</td>
<td style="width: 52.327%">
Description
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 8.78758%">
System Speak
</td>
<td style="width: 10.9207%">
Level 7
</td>
<td style="width: 13.0115%">
Scribe
</td>
<td style="width: 8.44618%">
0
</td>
<td style="width: 52.327%">
You may eavesdrop on High Core telepathic communication nearby, and speak telepathically to High Cores. You may also access High Core patchnotes and System messages.
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
I can see why that is useful.
Cixilo nodded firmly. “Very. Though I’ve never had cause to use the first part. You are the first High Core I’ve encountered directly. Being able to access patchnotes and System messages, however, is immensely useful to my studies.”
I suppose, a little over a week ago, you saw the same message as me then.
“End of the world in nine months? I did.” Cixilo sat down heavily and ran his fingers through his thin, silvery hair. “I also witnessed the blazing light as you fell from the heavens, and I knew that I had to come at once. I had to tell you something very important.”
Which is?
“You are in great danger. The truth is, dungeons are essential. They transform raw mana into usable soul power, which allows heroes to level up, and into loot, which drives the economy. Most importantly, they were a neutral power that no single mage or hero could control. I won’t pretend the age of dungeons was an egalitarian utopia, but they offered a way for the lowly to rise to power which no tyrant could prevent.”
Cixilo ran his fingers through his hair again in some effort to focus himself. “However, with a shortage of dungeons, there were fewer and fewer ways to gain soul power. At first, kingdoms went to war over control of existing dungeons, fighting over the shrinking pool of scraps.”
Like fish in a shrinking pond, eating each other until the last one suffocates. It was a sad tale I’d watched happen from the heavens, but without context. I had seen the battle lines being drawn, but knew nothing of what they had fought for.
“Yes, I suppose that is an apt metaphor. But imagine, will you, the fish knows its fate and seeks to avert it. It might do anything to survive. What if it did something truly evil in the name of survival?”
I’m afraid I’ve rather lost the metaphor now. The fish are mortals, right?
“I suppose so have I.” Cixilo gave a weary chuckle. “A group of powerful mages came together in that dark age. They called themselves the Dread Ones, hardly a subtle name. Whether their motivations were mere selfishness or well intentioned stupidity, they trapped a god… and then they killed her.”
I knew some of this next part. Otina. A kind, gentle creature who had only sought to give mortals a safe journey to the next life. A pang of anger mixed with grief, creating a cocktail of painful feelings, rose up inside me.
“Indeed. The Dread Ones killed the goddess of death, and they gained her power over souls. Even if they had been well intentioned, that sort of sin and that sort of power changed them. They used it to destroy the other gods, enslave the dungeons of the world, and become tyrants. Without doubt, they know you have fallen and they will come for you. To control you, or destroy you if they cannot control you.”
Do you always bring such happy news when you meet a new person? I was frustrated, and it came out in my tone. Sorry.
“Anger is an understandable response. You didn’t ask for this,” Cixilo said softly.
If Cixilo was right, then I … I didn’t know. My own memories, however broken, served me well enough to confirm parts of his story, so it seemed likely the rest was the truth. How could I fight beings like that? I was a level one dungeon. No adventurers had even arrived yet. What should I do?
Cixilo smiled. A big, broad grin that made him seem slightly unhinged. “You’re in luck, as it happens.”
With a flourish, he produced a rock from his inventory. A small rock that sat in the middle of his palm. It was pretty, but unassuming. A half sphere, polished until the black surface reflected Cixilo’s face. It might’ve been obsidian. But somehow I knew it wasn’t.
I moved closer to the object, until my vision pressed right up against it. When I reached out to touch it with my dungeon senses, it was simply absent. There was nothing to analyse or absorb. The longer I looked at it, the more I got the impression it wasn’t quite here. Like it was the echo, or reflection, of something somewhere else.
Okay, I give up. What is it?
“This cost me a small fortune to acquire. It is a piece of a godcore.”
What?! I recoiled from the stone. I only remembered it couldn’t touch my disembodied presence a moment later. I was glad Cixilo couldn’t see me, it was an embarrassing reflex.
“I am, frankly, not sure which god it came from, but in any case it should be very useful. All you have to do is absorb it into your dungeon core, and it will greatly empower you.”
There is no way I’m absorbing a … a god core. An unknown core that could do anything. Besides, that’d be like a mortal eating the bodies of the dead!
Cixilo frowned. He held up the god core to his eyes and watched his own reflection. “I see your point, but would you rather be the dead in that metaphor?"