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Goblin Chapter 224: Duergar, Laduguer, Underdark Gate...
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 14:24:13 +0000 UTCSolin the dwarf let out a thunderous shout.
The booming voice instantly snapped everyone out of their giddy weapon-scavenging. Following his gaze, they realized that “enemies” had appeared all around them without anyone noticing—statues now staring them down like predators.
“Magitek constructs!!”
Well-read Nancy named them at once. These statue-like wardens were battle golems driven by metal frames, stone plating, inscribed runes, and a core—dwarven-made engines of slaughter that would, even centuries later, tirelessly and loyally execute the last program their makers set.
These constructs stood on dusky metal skeletons under slabs of rock armor; runic gleams pulsed at their joints and along their surfaces, red light burning in their eye sockets. Their armaments varied—huge axes, spiked mauls, whips—but the killing intent was the same.
“Form up!”
Gauss and Solin stepped forward as if by reflex, left and right, covering the party behind them. Anything trying to get through would meet the two of them first. That’s why you bring two frontliners: one man covers a point; two or more can knit a line and keep the soft casters and backliners safe.
Behind them, Serandur and Elton hurried a set of quick blessings onto the “front.”
“Come on then!” Solin bellowed, slamming his shield to the stone with a booming thud, taunting the rushing constructs. Earthy light rippled over him—hard and rooted, like bedrock. A hate-draw? Gauss saw most of the constructs snap their heads to Solin at once, red eyes flaring brighter.
Even constructs can be taunted? Skills are wild…
No time to dwell on it. Gauss clipped the white staff to the sheath on his thigh—fixed but quick to draw, still close enough to drink its passive boon—then dropped his stance. Zephyr sang in his grip.
He, Solin, three clay spiders and a clay gnoll formed a wall. Their job now wasn’t to charge—it was to catch the first crash and pin aggro before anything blew past to the backline.
They hit like chariots: axe and maul rose and fell toward Gauss and Solin. Solin didn’t budge—shield angled up, earth-light flaring; the moment the maul struck, a white shock ring kissed the air and the construct’s momentum died, the yellow glow swelled—and the thing flew backward.
Gauss, on the other hand, showed speed. A low slide slipped the screaming axe; as it passed, Zephyr struck like a viper—[Wind Pressure] bloomed. The point tapped the wrist joint—
Thump!
A tight shock flared; the swing stuttered, spider-web cracks appearing in the stone plating. Not enough to break it—but enough to break its rhythm, and the weapon dropped away. Not as tough as I expected? Too long in storage? flashed through his head before more constructs pressed in.
“Ironscale Bloodline.”
Scales climbed his skin; that tide of strength rushed through him. Muscle swelled, lines sharpened; power, stamina, and senses all ticked up. In his sight the runic energy inside the constructs’ bodies sharpened into view. Cut the flow here and they’ll falter…
Spells flew from the rear: vines erupted, racing for stone limbs. The constructs moved to dodge—Nancy finished a chant and swept her wand. The air around them inverted—no sound, but it thickened, light bending, edges blurring.
Every construct in the field jerked—then moved several beats slower. Vines found purchase and bound. “Slow,” Gauss thought, admiring—and groaned inwardly. Third circle.
He flicked the white staff free even as he sicced the clay spiders and gnoll onto the hobbled targets. Strike while the window’s open.
He half-lidded his eyes. With Ironscale humming, the flow of mana in the constructs glowed in his gold-tinged vision—only the surface, but enough.
A bright sapphire charge gathered, formed, and snapped from the wand tip.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!!
Beads of blue slammed into key nodes—like breakers in a circuit. Two currents collided; the construct seized, runes stuttering; a low overload whine rose inside it. Then a chain of thumps—internal detonations. Stone plating bulged and burst; metal shards and rock chips sprayed wide; the red lights went out and the thing toppled like a puppet with cut strings.
“One down!”
Quicker than he’d thought—thanks to everything: the buffs on the front, Nancy’s Slow, Alia’s binds, his timing, Ironscale’s sight—and, he suspected, a weakness grown over time. A construct should be at least rating 3—fat ones could be 4 or 5. This felt… brittle.
Beside him, Solin smashed another apart the old-fashioned way—big hammer, bigger arms. Gauss used a scalpel; Solin used a sledge.
They fell into a rhythm. Gauss and Solin held the line; the clay pack patrolled the gaps and pounced on anything fingering through.
“Gauss!”
One word from the dwarf and Gauss had it—Magic Missiles hissed away, little blue comets that punched the kneecaps of the constructs mobbing Solin.
Crack—crack—crack—overload surged again; a knee joint failed and the hulking body pitched over.
With the pressure off, Solin wound up, earth-yellow power coiling on the head of the warhammer, and brought it down like a cyclone.
One blow. Two blows.
One. Two.
…
With each pass their teamwork grew cleaner—and the constructs fell like trees. At last, when Zephyr’s whirling windfield shredded the final magitek guard into rubble, the fight ran out of enemies and the chamber stilled—leaving only the harsh sound of their breathing.
“That’s… that’s it,” Alia said, fingers loosening on her staff. Sweat slicked her palm.
“Safe for the moment,” Nancy said after a sweep. “No other defenses… as far as I can tell.”
Gauss eyed the wreckage, regret tinging his thoughts. Being nonliving, these ward constructs didn’t count for his bestiary—no Elite Points to bank.
Solin flopped onto a block and turned a shard in his hand. “Wonder how much of this is worth hauling…”
Elton and Serandur raised healing light; fatigue and ache ebbed from Gauss and Solin. “As long as no one’s hurt, loot comes second,” Elton said, then looked to Gauss. “Thank you. Your missiles made the difference.”
He knew it was true—Gauss didn’t just crack several himself, he split his focus to harry and pin others, lacing in ranged hits when it mattered. A field general up front.
“It’s nothing,” Gauss said, standing and twirling Zephyr. Elite steel wasn’t just a name; the sword had already earned its place—solid, light, precise, and able to unleash double-runed bursts when needed.
He crouched by a shattered core and nudged a blackened lattice with the tip. “Their energy structures are unstable—more like… something corrupted or eroded them, not just time.” He pointed to faint black stains on the runes. “That’s what made them blow so easily.”
He glanced at Solin. “Any ideas?”
“…” The dwarf stiffened. His grin froze a fraction; his eyes slid. He met Nancy’s and Elton’s gaze, hesitated, then rumbled, “Hnh… sharp nose on you, lad.” He tossed the shard and dusted his hands. “You’re right. It’s not simple wear.”
He exhaled, choosing words. “They were shoddy to begin with.”
“Because the ones who made them… were gray dwarves.”
He sighed; his face set. “Gray dwarves—duergar,” he said when Gauss repeated the name. “No—not a branch of us.”
The words snapped out; then he caught himself and calmed. “Sorry. They’re… a different people now. Some scholars say the first duergar did come from dwarves long ago—clans that dug too deep and were enslaved by mind flayers for centuries. Body and mind changed in ways that can’t be undone. They’re evil through and through.”
“They hate every other folk—including us. When they were active on the surface, they raided and warred for slaves. Many remember the pain.”
Gauss listened, sketching in the picture: duergar—deep-gray skinned, suspicious and cruel, living in Underdark cities now. Dwarves—ruddy, lawful, honoring clan and craft. Duergar worshiped Laduguer—god of gray dwarves, atrocity, and slavery; dwarves worshiped Moradin—god of dwarves and the forge. Whatever the ancient link, they were opposites now.
“So… you three are here for something else, too?” Gauss asked. He only asked because Solin, who loathed duergar, had been delicate with words—calling this place a “dwarven workshop” to him at first.
Solin drew a breath. “Yes. Not just for the ruins.” His fingers rubbed the hammer haft; his eyes slid over the rubble and into the deeper dark. “We were sent to investigate an anomaly—evil energy—possibly a remnant taint of Laduguer. If we find it, we’re to cleanse it.”
“If we don’t, it could slowly drink the ley and foul everything—maybe even open… a stable Underdark gate,” Elton added. “We must purify it—for our people and for everyone on this land. Forgive the earlier… omissions.”
Gauss nodded—still reeling. A ruin delve becoming a god’s shadow? They were not master tier—just strong elites. It felt absurd—like calling a grade-schooler to a math Olympiad.
“Why you—us—for something so serious?” he asked. In matters of gods, you don’t play small. He didn’t believe they had no way to tap higher ranks.
“It has to be us,” Nancy said, reading him. “Sometimes more power isn’t better—especially before a thing ripens. The stronger you are, the brighter the ripple. To those who scry and foretell, you’re a stone tossed into a glass-still lake—the ring goes far. You don’t cleanse the taint—you draw the eye.” She smiled faintly. “Don’t sell us short—we each have our arts. We were chosen for a reason.”
Gauss understood. Why had he been invited? Likely Solin’s “second brain”—that odd intuition—had sniffed out that Gauss would help.
“As for pay… we can—”
He traded a look with Alia and Serandur, spoke a quick Message conference, and nodded. “Let’s go on.”
“Knew I had your measure,” Solin grinned, visibly lighter after the truth was out.
After a short rest and scooping what spoils they could, they moved on. “Don’t fret over gods too much,” Elton said quietly to Gauss as they walked. “They’re strong—but stepping into the world isn’t simple, especially for the likes of Laduguer. Rules bind him. Influence is mostly doctrine—temptation, gifts to followers. A true avatar? Not for something this small.”
Solin nodded hard. “If gods dropped in every time, the world would’ve blown apart by now. There are plenty of nodes like this—most never get lit.”
The tunnel grew dark again. Nancy couldn’t help comparing Gauss’s Light to hers—his seemed… brighter? But this was a cantrip—apprentice fare. At her level, it should be stronger, if anything. Odd—but she didn’t ask. In a temporary party, you don’t demand a tally of someone’s magic. Skills are strength; the wrong ears can turn them against you.
Tap-tap—quiet bootfalls filled the corridor. After the constructs, they’d all expected more—another ambush, more traps. But they reached the end unchallenged.
Gauss lifted Zephyr and swept light over the far wall—carved into a great circular arch, its lines hidden under a thick scab of dark red fungus that writhed like something alive. As they stared, it pulsed like a heart.
The imbalance hit like a wave from the soles up into the skull—retching, dizziness, a body-deep wrongness. Elton’s holy symbol flared—white light washed over them and the curse-thrum ebbed.
Gauss shook it off fastest, breathing out long. Inside, the sleeping egg stirred—as if roused—waking slow. Hunger rose like a tide.
Grrr—
His belly spoke. The others—still pale from the whiplash—stared, incredulous. Now?
Alia, face still a shade white, fished out Goodberry. “Gauss… are you hungry? Want a bite first?”
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