Absorption 2.6.6.X.2.3

  Once more.

  Another dead rat.

  He felt the warmth from the corpses littering the tunnel around him.

  His arm burned as his godsmark warped his own body and mind.

  Normally, he failed to notice any single change, although he was already noticeably better able.

  However, this time, the burning lasted longer, he wiped the grime off his forearm to better examine the cause of the searing heat traveling beneath his skin, following his nerves, up his arm, up his spine, into the back of his head, before hitting him with a sudden migraine.

  An entire new hieroglyphic letter had imprinted itself upon his arm.

  Just as quickly as the pain came, it left.

  His migraine lifted.

  He blinked. Then blinked again. Normally, the changes were not so drastic, not nearly enough for him to identify any single thing to have changed. That was not the case this time.

  He gained a better sense of the dead around him, the small animal corpses. He could feel their location, feel an almost wire-frame model inside them in a new sense, or at least an increased clarity of a previous sense. But that was not all. There was an aspect to this sense that he could mentally flex.

  What that mental muscle did, he was unsure. This would require testing.

  With a partially skinned dead rat before his kneeling form, he tested the ability, flexing his sense of this wire-frame model resting within the same space that his eyes and hands told him occupied the rat.

  Something within the rat clicked–shifting. Indeterminate. He flexed with more force.

  A rib sprung out from the dead rat. Inconclusive, but now that the rib was exposed to the air, his sense of it grew, the rib seemed to stand alone with its intensity in his new sense.

  His arm itched once more. His newest ability grew more powerful. The sense gained fidelity. He knew where the pores were within the bone, filled with marrow.

  More than that, he could shift the material, compressing it further, creating an almost plastic like material, if damp from the residual organic matter squeezing out from within.

  His godsmark had given him the ability to sense and manipulate bones.

  It was intuitive.

  Finally, he had a magic of his own. Opportunities and possibilities were opening up within his mind’s eye.

  Still though, he was not ready to resurface from the dungeon.

  Days must have passed after this, but he was uncertain as to how many.

  His base needs were met by the dungeon, although he found his thirst parched and dry. He discovered that while uncomfortable, so long as he had access to the fleshy bits of the beasts he killed, that his body would sustain itself. An ancillary blessing was that he only seldom generated waste to void… when that did happen, he was less than pleased.

  Even remembering that left him shuddering.

  During this time, he fought and killed and practiced his new skill. He grew in both ability and creating an arsenal of armaments. This included a crude set of armor, which was little more than a vest of thick plastene-like osseous material. He also created several javelins, a means to carry them on his back, and several knives to better aid in disassembling his kills.

  Blessedly, he also now had a bag to carry his gains. This bag was crafted from the flexible material, a mesh that almost served as a fabric. He still had to use his skill to flex the bag open and closed, but that was also a form of practice.

  When he finally filled this bag with Dungeon Stones and felt he had the means to defend himself, he ascended from the dungeon. He found himself taking the main route up, which almost all of the dungeon’s forks spanned from. This took him to the toll collectors. He doubted his primitive bone implements would stand against the steel which the toll collectors armed themselves with.

  And the toll was not overly expensive, at least not compared to the price of fighting and possibly losing everything he had.

  So when they demanded a quarter of his profits, he paid. They laughed at the small size of the stones, but they reassured Nick that he would, ‘get there’ if he ‘kept at it.’

  Nick rolled his eyes as he walked towards the town. If he had it his way, he would never need to descend the dungeon again. He could easily envision a market built around quality osseous implements. He would pay cheap labor to bring himself the material which he could then shape and sell. Eventually, he might be able to outsource the crafting as well.

  He was already picturing it. He could have lines of different thematic gear, depending on the carcasses brought in. Likely, he could imply that the gear kept some of the qualities of whatever beast it hailed from. If spun the right way, that could net him quite a bit of value for almost no cost.

  So when he reached the boulevard with markets and peddlers and various thugs and layabouts, he began to canvass the stores, to see what they had, and where a gap existed that he could insert his own goods.

  But the second he came near the boulevard, he began to feel it with his newest sense.

  There were bones everywhere.

  Of course, he knew there were bones everywhere, as there were plenty of people, but he could not feel the bones of still living creatures, he had tested that already. This meant that the bones were from something else.

  He followed one of the stronger beacons to this sense, and he arrived at a merchant, the very same he had first purchased pants from, and he checked over the merchant’s stall.

  There were bone goods there. Some painted, some chipped, but they were there.

  “Something catch your eye, Lich?” the old woman asked, somehow recognizing him. She followed his eyes and saw the sword he was looking at. “Ah. You got the bone-craft? Not bad, bot rare either, but good in a pinch. Might turn into something better later on.”

  “Pardon?” Nick asked, only catching half of what she said. There were bone goods here. And if his sense held true, then there were bone goods everywhere, already saturating the market. Gaining any space in this market would be very difficult, especially if he lacked a competitive advantage.

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  “One of those types then?” the old lady said, amused. “I’ll save ya some time. Keep focused on farmin’ the dungeon. If ya do, eventually your bone-craftin might turn into skeleton raising, which will be better. Much better.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?” Nick asked, considering the advice. It was not too dissimilar from what his initial plans were, before he gained the ability to warp and shape bone.

  “Sure. You know how your Mark works, yeah?”

  “Indeed, I do.” Nick said confidently although he was aware of his own gaps in understanding. However, he wanted to avoid looking weak, and he doubted that this merchant would know more than him about his own godsmark.

  After this, he bought a few sundries and then found a tavern with a hoteling service.

  They had a bath, he checked.

  He purchased a room, still bartering with Dungeon Stones as he had yet to trust venturing further into the treacherous town. The cost was a bit higher as a result of the barter, but still manageable.

  For the first time in months, he bathed. Even with the soap and water, he still could not claim he felt clean. But after this, he purchased a meal and sat at the tavern’s bar, listening to the conversations happening around him.

  After eavesdropping and eating actual real food with piss-ale that tasted divine, he came to a realization: these people were droll. They had formed an almost stagnant community based upon the earnings from the dungeon and the scraps that the wardens tossed in exchange for the stones.

  The fact that the community was this stagnant, when criminals openly roamed the street, was madness. In no way did this make sense to him, and he wasted most of the night attempting to unravel it.

  Surely there had to be a governing agent, which he assumed would be the wardens. But the wardens seldom left either the tower or the fortress, and so they were not the ones providing corrections.

  That would ordinarily have left a power vacuum, which would have ordinarily been filled by whoever was the strongest or the most charismatic, likely some gang leader, considering the circumstances.

  But other than the toll-takers and a few groups of thugs, there was nothing of the sort happening.

  It was towards the end of the night, while he was several cups in, that a heavy presence arrived and sat at the bar beside him.

  It was the toll-taker, the female one. The stool groaned under the weight and she groaned right there alongside it. She lifted her helm and set it on the counter before shaking out her damp and greasy hair.

  “How you liking civilization?” she asked, not looking at Nick directly but asking him all the same.

  Nick considered how to play this. Having a friend among one of the stronger groups could be helpful, and while the woman had taken a large amount of his proceeds, he could not fault her for a working busines model. Especially not when he might take advantage of it.

  “I’ll stop you right there,” she said. “You’re not getting shit from me, no matter what.”

  “Then why are you here?” Nick asked, “If not to reach an amicable and mutually profitable arrangement?”

  She belched. The server put a pitcher sized tankard before her and she tossed several chits across the counter. “Arrogant much?” she asked. “Who says I’m here for you.” Before Nick could respond, she went on. “Nah, I like this one cuz it’s the first one coming up that doesn’t skimp on the pour. I saw ya, thought you could use a friendly face, but if not…”

  Nick gave her a once over. Her face had several scars and it looked like she might have had a cleft palate at some point. After considering her somewhat playful behavior, he decided to change tracks.

  “Well, I would hardly call your face friendly, but you’re welcome all the same.”

  She huffed at the joke, and her lips quirked upwards. Nick felt some relief that she took that the proper way. The risk had paid off.

  “Yeah yeah. But I noticed you never answered the question. How you liking the town?”

  “It could be better,” Nick said. “But it will suffice, for now.”

  “Until you get out?” she asked, amused. “Or until you make it better? Maybe cut a deal with the wardens if you work hard?”

  He began to suspect she was mocking him.

  She took a deep pull from the tankard and ale ran down the sides of her chin. She sighed in relief after. “Hits the spot, y’know?”

  “Indeed,” Nick said dryly. “It seems that you may have opinions on the matter of freedom? Perhaps there have been attempts to escape, or barter for release?”

  “Sure, lots of ‘em. Most of ‘em fail though.”

  “Fail, how?”

  She smiled as she seemed to be laughing at an inside joke.

  “Well, you’ll see eventually. Lich, right?”

  He nodded slowly, uncomfortable with how many people were able to identify his godsmark so quickly.

  “Thought so, most prolific. So, you wanna break out?”

  This was too good to be true. Nick suspected it was a trap. He suspected that this woman had come to dangle a possibility before him knowing that he was new, a mark, fresh meat of a sort.

  If he knew that it was bait, he could still take it, digest it, all while avoiding the hook.

  “Perhaps I am. What do you offer?”

  She scoffed, “I’m not offering anything. But there is a way out. Most don’t make it. It’s almost legendary really. If they do make it, they never come back to share.”

  Nick nodded slowly, suspecting that this plan of hers would involve some high-risk gambit that would either profit her or amuse her. Or perhaps she wanted minions to aid her in her own gambit for freedom. It was too early to tell, exactly.

  “Go on,” He said, prompting her for details.

  “So, it’s like this. You go down far enough in the dungeon, it meets up with everything else. Middens is hollow on the bottom, see?”

  She gestured with one flat hand over the bartop while she poked her fingers underneath it and waggeled them.

  “All a mess. But not all of ‘em are capped by the wardens.”

  “How far down would one have to go?” Nick asked.

  She shrugged, “Not sure, it changes anyways.”

  “The caverns… change?” Nick asked. He was unable to rule out the possibility entirely, but he had his doubts.

  “Yeah, the mysts come in, drop the beasts off, then pull back. When they do things get mixed around. Like I showed you, the place is a mess.”

  “How certain are you of this?”

  “Very,” she said.

  “I could confirm this with others?” He asked, already planning on doing so.

  “Go ahead, they’ll tell you the same.”

  The bartender returned and filled Nick’s smaller tankard. While doing so, the bartender inserted himself into the conversation. “She’s right you know, everyone knows about the dungeon’s bottom.”

  “Then why have they not made an exodus?” he asked.

  He scoffed, and the woman smiled.

  “What she didn’t say is that the beasts get strong enough to even kill good teams, and if the mysts roll in while down there you’ll get lost.”

  “Lost, as in… ?” Nick led off.

  “Dunno. Could be anywhere. Maybe off a cliff, maybe in an ocean, maybe in some godslovin’ land. Anywhere, really.”

  “That sounds like a sure route to freedom, at least…” Nick, knowing he could regenerate from most things, was not overly worried about the risks.

  The bartender and the woman exchanged a knowing look, before the bartender shrugged. “Your call bud, but if you come back naked, don’t be expecting a handout.”

  “Perhaps I could pay in advance?” Nick asked.

  The man shook his head, “Nah, but if you head to the tower you can exchange for chits and deposit them.”

  “Deposit… as in a bank?” Nick asked, brightening up at the possibility of an actual fiscal system that could be used and abused. He wondered what their interest rates were, and if there was a market for either predatory loans or insurance.

  “Yep. You could do that easy. Might wanna make a bit more first though. They got some ‘fees’ for service.”

  “Ah.” Nick led off, nodding in consideration.

  The woman finished her tankard, burped, then got up and slapped Nick on the shoulder, jostling him enough to cause him to spill his own drink.

  “Have fun with that,” she said. “Heading down to the bottom, right?” she was smiling.

  “Well, I shall confirm these rumors first… but I am not adverse to some risk…”

  “Especially if it’s for freedom, yeah?”

  “Indeed,” Nick said.

  The woman left, Nick retired to his rented room, and he dreamed of gaining independence once more.

  Even if descending to the bottom of the dungeon did kill him, it was not as though he would remain dead.

  That night, he came to his decision.