Rise of A Dungeon House A Litrpg Story City of Masks Book 2 John Stovall All Chapter

Rise of a Dungeon House: A litRPG
Story (City of Masks Book 2) John

Stovall
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Rise of a Dungeon House
By
John Stovall
CITY OF MASKS #2
Published by
CS BOOKS, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales
is entirely fictional.
Rise of a Dungeon House
Copyright © 2022 Capital Station Books
All rights reserved.
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution
via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to
criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. No part
of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means, including information storage and retrieval system, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review, and where permitted by law.
Cover Design: Darko Paganus
Editors: Nia Quinn, Amy McNulty
IF YOU WANT TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN JOHN STOVALL’S NEXT BOOK
RELEASES, PLEASE VISIT HIS FACEBOOK PAGE OR CONTACT HIM
DIRECTLY AT
[email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-957613-07-9
Dedication
First and foremost, always, to my wife, Shami Stovall. She taught

me to write, she taught me to publish, and she has made my life
easier and more wonderful in all ways. Without you, there is nothing.
With you, I have everything.
Secondly, to Dana Ardis, who has spent more time editing this
book than anyone except Shami, and who’s an extremely good
friend to boot.
Thirdly, to the other members of my writers group. To Mary, Emily,
James, and Scott, thank you for the efforts you put into this as well.
Fourth, to my parents, John and Gail Stovall. Your support
throughout my life has been over the top, and you are the perfect
parents everyone else wished they had.
Fifth, to my editors, Nia Quinn and Amy McNulty. Thanks for
doing this; I know I don’t make it easy. An especial thanks to Nia for
putting up with the ‘three dot boxes’ incident.
Sixth, I’d like to thank Chris Zinn. He was the first person to
become a Patreon supporter after reaching out to me to complain I
hadn’t made it easy for people to do so. That kind of feedback is truly
fuel for an author. Speaking of feedback, he’s been helping me on
my next book in the Dungeon of Stories as well.
Seventh, I’d like to thank Eddie Wadford. Mr. Wadford was the
first person to post about my book on a website—also fuel to an
author, as well as helpful to my career, which is hugely appreciated.
Also, Mr. Wadford—if you read this, reach out to me. I couldn’t
contact you through Facebook for some technical reason… I wanted
to send you a copy of my book in appreciation.
Lastly, I’d like to thank John McLaughlin. I’ll probably always
thank him here—if you read dedications, you already know why from
the first book. Suffice it to say, some part of this series’ existence will
always be because of his small but incredibly important kindness.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
The Gentle Voyage
Chapter Two
Shield Isle
Chapter Three
A Twice-Wanted Man
Chapter Four
The Long Voyage
Chapter Five
The Burning Village
Chapter Six
The Price That Others Pay
Chapter Seven
Nangabo, Green Jewel of the Burning Sands
Chapter Eight
The Dungeon of the Healing Springs
Chapter Nine
Sand Rats
Chapter Ten
The Labyrinth That Ate Magic
Chapter Eleven
Felgoth, the Oblivion Dragon
Interlude
Chapter Twelve
A Dungeon Lord Sets Sail
Chapter Thirteen
The Long Road Home
Chapter Fourteen
The Return That Didn’t Happen
Chapter Fifteen
The Longest Hour
Chapter Sixteen
Homecoming
Chapter Seventeen
The Dungeon of Ascended Magic
Chapter Eighteen
Me Time
Chapter Nineteen
The Lord of Ascended Magic
Chapter Twenty
The House of the Verdant Cavern Redux
Chapter Twenty-One
Two Brothers and a Funeral
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shady Deals
Interlude Two
The Puppet Lord
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Battle of Red Alley, Part One
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Battle of Red Alley, Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Battle of Red Alley, Part Three
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Final Confrontation
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aftermath
Epilogue
The Last Free Decision
About The Author
Appendix and Glossary
Dungeon House Terms:
Chapter One
The Gentle Voyage
E
xcerpt from the journal of David Thomas Toledo the Fourth,
called Leviathan, recorded year 660 after cataclysm, month
of The Dying Light, day 26.
… I couldn’t stare long at the horrific form of Felgoth. His evil was
clearly reflected in his physical form, and it made me think. I’d come
to make a deal—and I did make one. I’d assumed that once the
Oblivion Dragon was bonded to the dungeon, it would serve like all
boss monsters. But will it? Or will it be so strong and so evil that it
can influence James even when bonded?
I often worry if I’m making a huge mistake. But I’m too far along to
back out now. I will give James the power and hope that he has the
will to resist Felgoth.
The deal itself was easy, but I do question why it was so easy…
***
James lay in bed, reading a book. For once, it wasn’t his granddad’s
journal, but rather Anna’s copy of the Canticles of Light. His
grandfather had mentioned a powerful Abomination could be the
boss of James’s dungeon, but James knew little about the horrific
Felgoth. As he read, James tried to picture the hideous beast.
The Canticles of Light contained some insight.
“The mortal champions of the light were assembled—God-King
Yutha of Igbo, God-King Besta of Yoruwa, God-King Manka of the
Isa, and the Archmage Ephrim. Their armies, numbering over ten
thousand, many leveled from their wars with the spawn, were
arrayed behind them. They had come to put down the Abomination
Felgoth, the terror the Dark had used to plague their lands.
“When it dropped from the skies to land in front of the armies
outside the city of Isthay, all quailed and many ran screaming. Its
horrible visage alone, half-alive, half-dead, terrified all who could see
it. Surely, a being such as this could not be slain by mere mortals. As
it landed, a wave of its power went out, and the magic itself coiled
away from Felgoth and ceased to answer the call of the great
champions arrayed to fight the Abomination.
“Then Felgoth lived up to his moniker, the Oblivion Dragon, and
began to consume. And his name was well given, for everything that
faced him that day did suffer the fate of oblivion.”
James shuddered and closed the book, then reached under his
pillow to touch the knife he’d left there. It comforted him, despite its
uselessness against anything like Felgoth.
How can I possibly make something that powerful my dungeon
boss? It could squish everything like a bug! Why, Granddad, did you
set me on this path?
But that was the path James was now on. He had to sail to another
continent, find an Abomination, convince it to serve in his dungeon,
and then bring it back to the city of Norhilm, his home. Then he
would make a dungeon there with Felgoth as his boss monster and
use the resulting power to take vengeance on all those who had
wronged him, and finish Granddad’s work to rid the world of an evil
he still didn’t have a name for.
No big deal.
James lay back in bed, next to Flea, who was already snoring. He
stretched out, his six-foot-three frame putting his feet a good six
inches off the end of the bed. This was the largest room on their ship
—the captain’s quarters—but it was still tiny compared to James’s
room at his family estate.
No big deal, he thought again sardonically. This is certainly a great
starter adventure for a Level Six teenager, right?
After that sarcastic thought, sleep finally claimed James.
***
James woke to the sound of his sister, Isabel, screaming. His hand
immediately went for the knife under his pillow, but in his grogginess,
he missed and ran his arm along the blade.
James takes 1 damage. Arm is bleeding. James will suffer 1 additional
damage over the next minute.
James had also forgotten he was sleeping next to Flea, and as he

tried to jump out of bed, he tripped over Flea, accidentally pushing
her petite body off the bed. She hit the ground with a thump and a
muffled shriek. James successfully avoided stepping on her, but he
still bumped into the far wall.
“Drag you, James, what’re you doing?” Flea yelled from the floor.
She stared up at him through the black hair that had fallen across
her face, her pale-blue eyes narrowed in irritation.
“Isabel is in trouble,” James said, deadly serious, as he
simultaneously tried to keep his arm from bleeding and untangle
himself.
He managed to step free of Flea and unwind the blankets and
grabbed his sword and dagger, deciding to just let his arm bleed. He
rushed out of the tiny captain’s cabin onto the moonlit deck,
slamming the door as he did. He wore only his smallclothes, his
sword held ready in his right hand, his dagger in his left.
The full moon and twinkling stars provided light and atmosphere. It
still took James a moment to notice Rax leaning against the ship’s
railing, wearing only leather breeches, his faintly green skin
stretched over his muscled frame—a reminder of his orc-ish
heritage.
“It’s okay, James,” Rax said, holding a hand up and speaking in a
flat voice. “Isabel is fine. She had a nightmare, and Anna’s taking
care of her. Anna asked me to come make sure you didn’t murder
anyone.”
James lowered his sword, blushing and hoping the darkness
covered it. Although, with how things have been going lately, thinking
we were being attacked doesn’t take much imagination at all.
James thought back to the bounty hunter who had attacked him—
and, for that matter, to Anna’s failed assassination attempt on him.
He also thought about the various gangs that wanted him dead,
including the Golden Peacocks. Dimitri, the bruiser of the Golden
Peacocks, had abused his sister and was likely the cause of her
nightmares.
James glanced at the hole in the deck where Dimitri had punched
it. That had happened only eight hours ago. At least he’s dead now. I
don’t know if there are any other cures for my sister’s depression,
but hopefully, that is a start.
As James exhaled, he dwelled on the possibility of fighting even
worse men than Dimitri. Like Felix de Viennois, the man who ran the
Golden Peacocks. Surely, he would be upset his right-hand man had
been killed.
The chance that people are hunting us is about the same as the
chance the sun will rise in the east, James thought sardonically to
himself.
“Okay,” James said, lowering his arms. “Take me to Isabel,
please.”
“I’d remind you that you’re dressed in just underwear.” A smile
tugged at Rax’s lips, disrupting his normal dour demeanor.
“Something I’ve seen far too often from you in the short month we’ve
known each other. I’m beginning to suspect you might, in fact, play
for the other team.”
James chuckled awkwardly. “All right, I’ll get dressed.”
“And do something about your arm; it’s bleeding.”
Right, he has slightly better night sight from his orc-ish heritage as
well.
James headed back into the cabin. He found Flea already in
leather armor and carrying her own daggers and wearing the black-
with-blue-patterning snake mask that marked her as a member of
James’s small gang, the Dark Snakes.
“False alarm,” James said. “Sorry about that. Isabel was having
nightmares.”
“What a merchant’s daughter,” Flea said, taking her mask off and
throwing it on the bed. “No use weeping over the bullshit of life, and
no point at all in waking us up. That happens to non-dungeon-
descended girls all the time, and we get past it; I’m sure Isabel can,
too.”
James took a deep breath. She’s not being mean to Isabel, James
reminded himself. This is just Flea being Flea. She was abused for a
long time and had to rescue herself. No one helped her.
After a few seconds of breathing, James sat on the bed and pulled
his clothes on. “People handle things differently, Flea. Not everyone
can be a stabby rage-ball to deal with their problems. Please be kind
to Isabel, or at least, please don’t be mean to her.”
James thought he heard another muttered ‘merchant’s daughter’
but couldn’t quite tell. In a normal voice, Flea commented, “Fine, but
only because it’s you who’s asking. You’re actually a pretty decent
guy, even though you’re from a dungeon family, so maybe your sister
is too. And she does seem nice, in a naïve and weak kinda way. I’ll
try to cut her some slack.”
James smiled at her. It hasn’t been easy for Flea, either, to work
with a lot of dungeon descended, the class that she blames for all
her abuse. Flea had been purchased by a brothel that made a point
of serving dungeon descended with darker desires. She had suffered
a lot at the hands of the customers and blamed the dungeon families
for what had happened to her.
Once dressed in breeches, shirt, sword belt, and boots, James
went out to the ship deck and headed down into the common
sleeping quarters. The room was filled with hammocks, and the
sailors slept in shifts.
James found Hive—whose real name was Warren de Viennois—in
the sleeping quarters, but the man didn’t say anything.
Hive was one of the individuals who was easy to walk by. He rarely
spoke to anyone and hid away in odd spots, often the corners of
rooms or between rum barrels found around the ship. He also had a
hunched back, further compacting his already small and thin frame.
If James hadn’t been actively glancing around, he might’ve missed
him.
And James understood why Hive stayed away from others. The
man was deformed. His mask—the magical item the dungeon
descended, the rulers of Norhilm, were born with—had grown fused
to his face, twisted into his flesh. It was a hideous defect, and Hive
shied away from the gaze of others whenever he could.
As usual, Hive didn’t offer a good morning as James strode by. He
barely even looked up, his hunched back and small limbs making it
difficult for him to move around quickly.
After passing Hive, James quickly found Anna and the rabbit-kin,
Laurel, crowded around Isabel on the far side of the sleeping
quarters, in a beam of moonlight coming in through a porthole.
Isabel’s green eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but she was dry-
eyed now. Her long, black hair hung in tangles around her.
Anna wore a filmy pink nightgown, like the dungeon family scion
she was. She gently stroked Isabel’s hair, despite still rubbing sleep
from her own eyes. Anna seemed a perfect vision, her long, white
hair—not gray, but white—falling beautifully down her slim shoulders
to her back, and her pale-blue eyes staring at Isabel with concern as
she consoled her. “It’ll be okay, Isabel. The Light sent us to rescue
you, and your trials have passed. You’ve returned to sunny days.”
Laurel was a rabbit-kin, with long, rabbit ears and thin, almost-
invisible, white fur across her body. Her own brown hair hung in
tangles, but she cuddled Isabel closely. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to
get through this together. I was there with you, and I know we can
get through this together.”
Isabel had the same Toledo features as James—black hair and
green eyes. But unlike James’s shoulder-length hair, her hair
reached almost to her bottom, in the style currently popular among
the woman of the Norhilm dungeon families.
Both Isabel and Laurel currently wore oversized sailor breeches
and tunics, something that surprised James and discomfited him.
Can’t believe we forgot to pack clothes for her when we rescued
her from Dimitri. James rubbed his head sheepishly. The rescue had
been from Dimitri’s sex dungeon, and all the rescued women had
been dressed in flimsy, silky nighties and nothing else.
I figured we’d just buy clothes for them when we reached Shield
Isle, but leaving them for a day in those outfits, surrounded by mostly
male sailors, after what they’ve suffered… Not your best idea,
James. You owe thanks to whoever fixed this problem, especially
since the solution should have been obvious.
He wasn’t really sure how to handle Isabel’s trauma, but at least
someone had taken care of this lesser issue.
James turned to a sailor next to him. “Who thought to give some of
the sailors’ clothes to my sister and her friend?”
Hive, who had been watching quietly, spoke up. “Nakedness and
states of partial undress are socially unacceptable in the higher
classes of Norhilm, especially amongst the dungeon descended and
their immediate families. While it is more accepted among the
underclass, and especially among recent beast-kin tribal immigrants,
it is still considered at least low-class, so I took the appropriate steps
to remedy the problem. It seemed to be well received by both Isabel
and her friend.”
James let out a laugh. There’s that Hive whom we all know and
love.
“Well, thank you for remedying the social issues, Hive,” James
said, a slight hint of teasing to his voice.
“It also seemed like the nice thing to do. I know what it’s like to be
stared at,” Hive said, his voice flat as he ran a hand over his twisted
mask.
Hive half-turned from James, his one functioning eye focused on
Isabel.
“Well,” James said, his voice rising a bit. “It seems like everything
here is handled, so I’m going to head back to bed. Flea is probably
getting antsy.”
Anna looked over at James, smiling. “And when Flea gets antsy,
people tend to get cut.”
James snorted and turned to leave, but Isabel called out, “Brother,
can I, um, I mean… Could we maybe talk on the deck for a bit? I
don’t want to go back to sleep yet. And I don’t want to disturb
everyone trying to sleep down here, either.”
“I can keep you company,” Laurel said.
Isabel tensed. “I… I feel safer with James.”
Laurel’s face scrunched in on itself, and she gave a sniff.
“But you can join us,” Isabel added, hugging Laurel back. “I just
want to be near James, but we can both be near James!”
“I’ll be near James as well,” Anna said.
Hive stared at Isabel, frowning slightly, but he nodded as well.
Guess we’re going to have an impromptu feelings session.
The whole group walked up the steps from the hold and
congregated on the deck of the Leviathan’s Dream near where Rax
was lounging against the railing. The Leviathan’s Dream was the
lead ship of the small squadron they sailed in and had been named
for James’s granddad.
“Thanks, Hive, by the way,” Isabel said as she walked up to where
James and Hive were. “I appreciate you helping Laurel and me out.”
“You already thanked me,” Hive said.
Isabel smiled gently at Hive before staring at James’s bloody arm.
“What happened to your arm?”
“Did Flea cut you?” Anna asked, an eyebrow raised.
Rax let out an explosive, almost surprised-sounding laugh—James
was pretty sure if Rax had been drinking, he’d have spewed liquid
everywhere.
“No, Flea did not cut me,” James said, irritated. “I cut myself trying
to get my weapons and run to my sister’s aid.”
“Ah, you’re so kind to me, James.” Isabel tapped his arm. Healing
magic poured from her, and James briefly felt the odd sensation of
the flesh knitting itself back together and then dismissed the
notification that he’d been healed.
Isabel, like all members of the Toledo dungeon descended, had
Water, Soul, and Wyld magics. She’d made Level Two last night,
helping him defeat Dimitri, her abuser, and had taken the first and
most basic regeneration power from the Wyld magic as her gained
ability.
Isabel also appeared a bit… prettier… than James remembered.
Her skin was a touch smoother and her features more symmetrical,
not that she hadn’t been decent-looking before. “Did you put your
stat gain from leveling up into Appearance?” James asked.
Isabel’s face reddened. “Yeah.”
James laughed. “Hey, I know it’s your life, but please at least
consider putting points into more adventure-useful stats.”
“I didn’t think anyone would want me to adventure for real, despite
declaring last night I was going to adventure with you. So I took the
stats I figured would make my future spouse happy.”
Definitely still some trauma there, James thought with a slight
wince.
“Of course we want you to adventure with us!” Anna said.
“You’re our healer now, and given how the future will play out if I
have my way, you’ll likely become the Toledo Dungeon Lord,” James
said. “You’ll definitely need to make a lot of levels. My advice would
be to save adding to appearance for the end of your adventuring
period.”
“Why am I going to be the Dungeon Lord, James? That shouldn’t
be possible. I’m the fourth child, so you’d all have to be dead for me
to be the Dungeon Lord—it passes to the oldest living child. So Dad
would have to be dead, David and Damien would have to be dead,
you’d have to be dead, and you’re obviously not, and only then
would I get it.”
James sighed. Probably shouldn’t have said anything about this
right now.
“Isabel…” James began, not really sure how to say it. He decided
to just blurt it out. “I’m really sorry, but, well, Dad and David are
dead.”
Isabel put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no!”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
James hurried on. Better to get through it all at once. “I’ve also
recently learned from Anna that Damien is the one who betrayed the
family. He shut down the rituals, which allowed David and Dad to be
murdered. He did so to become the Dungeon Lord.”
Isabel nodded, still crying. “That-That’s what Dimitri kept saying,
when he, um… well… when he wanted to hurt me and make me
think I’d never be rescued.”
James winced again. “Right. So Damien has to go. He has to
either renounce his Dungeon Lord status… or I’ll have to kill him.”
Isabel covered her mouth with both hands at that declaration, her
shoulders hunched as she tried to contain her sobs. James couldn’t
totally disagree with her—he’d been close to his brothers as well. He
remembered their ‘adventures’ together as children, running through
the house fighting invisible monsters or rescuing imaginary people.
They’d played ‘How I Build Mine,’ the children’s dungeon game, as
well. Damien had loved that game.
Really hope I don’t have to kill him.
But James knew he would if Damien didn’t surrender when James
finally caught up to him. Damien has done far too much damage. I
won’t let him remain the head of our family.
“Bu-But what about you, James?” Isabel asked. “Why won’t you
become the Dungeon Lord?”
“It’s a secret from nearly everyone not in our direct adventuring
group, but this is a happier tale,” James said. “Granddad found a
new dungeon core. An advanced dungeon core, one that will make a
stronger dungeon than we’ve seen before. I’m going to use that
one.”
Isabel’s eyes went wide, and her face frowned even more. “Is that
why Damien got upset? Because they gave the dungeon core to you
and not him, even though he’s older?”
“Probably,” James said, sighing. “Doesn’t justify what Damien did,
however.”
Isabel nodded. “I understand. If you’re just going after him for my
sake, though, I’ll forgive him, and you don’t need to worry about it. I
would hate the thought of you getting hurt or having to kill our brother
just so I can be a Dungeon Lord.”
Oh, Isabel, you’re too precious for this world.
Flea walked up to the group out of the darkness, now dressed
down to breeches and a thick overshirt but still with both her dagger
sheaths strapped to her belt. “It’s about a lot more than just him.”
She slipped her hand into James’s. James thought he saw a slight
wistfulness in Anna’s eyes as Flea did so.
Rax and Hive nodded along with Flea.
James smiled at the display of solidarity for the mission. “Flea’s
right. Granddad had this whole thing about saving the world from
some threat, but I don’t know what that is yet. Granddad left two
journals. The second one, which I have, covers the path to finding
the boss monster for my dungeon. The first one details his
adventures when he discovered the threat that he fought for most of
his life.”
The others listened intently.
“The villains have it now,” James continued. “I don’t know who they
all are yet, but I intend to kill every one of them, so recovering the
journal will be a fortunate byproduct of our revenge.”
Maybe just my revenge. Isabel doesn’t seem that interested in
revenge. Still.
Isabel nodded, her eyes downcast, tears still on her face.
“This is also about power, Isabel. I need you, as a full Dungeon
Lord, by my side, helping the side of the Light both as an adventurer
and as a Dungeon Lord holding a council seat.”
“Who else died?” she asked, hugging herself tightly.
“A lot of people, Sis,” James said. “A lot of people. Uncle
Theodore, a bunch of cousins… It’s a long list. I’m sorry.”
She sighed as she rubbed at her wet face.
Captain Emily Wainwright came up from the lower decks. She still
wore her captain’s gear, her red hair spilling out from beneath her
tricorn hat. James didn’t know her actual level, but he did know that
she was an Air mage with powers to control winds—which let them
propel the ship faster—and to shoot lightning, which she’d used once
to help him stop one of the bounty hunters chasing them.
“Everything going okay up here?” the captain asked as she
approached. “The sailors told me the yelling was just nightmares, but
I wanted to make sure everyone’s all right.”
Everyone nodded.
“Sorry,” Isabel said. “That was my fault. I didn’t mean to wake
everyone.”
“Think nothing of it,” Emily said. “I was up anyway, checking our
stores of lumber to see if we can easily repair the deck. But
everyone else should probably go back to bed. Dawn is in a few
hours, and we have months of hard sailing ahead of us. It’ll be
morning the day after tomorrow when we reach our first stop, Shield
Isle, where we can hopefully make repairs.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” James said. “We should all get
some more sleep. You going to be okay, Isabel?”
“I think so,” Isabel said, smiling at him.
“Good,” James replied, smiling back at her. “We’ll have months to
talk about everything.”
“And train.” Rax glowered at everyone in turn. “Most of you need a
lot of practice. Abilities aren’t enough, and we’re all lacking levels
compared to our enemies. To quote my old sergeant, ‘Sweat saves
blood.’”
Flea reached out and grabbed James by the arm. “That’s fair, Rax,
and we shouldn’t waste this chance. But I am very tired, and we
should all get back to bed if we’re going to have any energy for your
training tomorrow.”
She pulled on James, who allowed himself to be led away as
everyone else dispersed.
Chapter Two
Shield Isle
E
xcerpt from the journal of David Thomas Toledo the Fourth,
called Leviathan, recorded year 661 after cataclysm, month
of Deepest Nights, day 2.
…Today was tiring. Benjamin and Lucas are still fighting,
constantly, and an argument about whether or not to stop for more
fresh water exploded into a blades-drawn screaming match. Melissa
is still sad. Everyone, in fact, seems sad, angry, tired, or some
combination of the three. Given our success, I’d thought our return
trip would be a lot more like when we came back with the core—
triumphant.
It’s not. It’s just… sad. The camaraderie is missing, and most of
my old friends are gone. My children aren’t really talking to me. I
wonder, nearly two decades after the decision, if Lucas has forgiven
me for saving the core for James. I wonder if Benjamin has forgiven
me for my ‘blasphemy’ in going after an Abomination for a boss
monster. I wonder if Melissa has forgiven me for the rift among my
children and my failure to spend as much time with her compared to
James.
I dread that the answer to all of those questions might be ‘no.’
Mostly, I wonder if this is how it feels to be old, something I’m sure
anyone reading my journal will know has been on my mind a lot
lately. So much loss, and so much distance from the ones around
me who are years, even generations, younger than I. I’m Leviathan,
champion of Norhilm, greatest of the Dungeon Lords… yet what I
feel is what Thomas warned me about—being old. I’ve done so
much, tried so hard, to stand against every threat, and I know I’ve
helped. But it still feels like the Dark is winning, and I’ve paid with my
personal happiness to do no more than stave off disaster for a few
years.
And I can’t tell anymore if my prescience works, or if I just feel my
age. It feels like the Dark is close, all around the ship, but no one
else can divine it.
I’m turning in early tonight, although I’m hoping to wake with these
thoughts gone. We are mere days from Norhilm, and I can’t wait to
see James again. I dearly hope his own future has less loss than my
life did.
James closed the book. That had been his granddad’s last journal
entry. He’d read the journal already, of course, but he’d been reading
it again.
And already, I’ve lost David, Dad, and in a way, Damien. Not to
mention you. Sorry, Granddad, but I’m apparently adding a lot of my
own losses.
He sighed and stretched. Time to get up.
A muffled complaint came from underneath the blankets, where
Flea pressed up against him in their narrow bed.
“Sorry,” James muttered.
He got out of bed carefully and then dressed, trying not to wake
Flea further. James buckled his weapons on and went out onto the
deck in the crisp morning air.
It’ll get hot soon. I ought to enjoy the moment.
He found sailors slowly working on deck, most already stripped to
their breeches, or a few even just in smallclothes, likely knowing the
heat would be coming and prepared for their work. The sailors were
stowing the last of the supplies below decks, picking up heavy
barrels in groups and walking them across the deck and down the
stairs. Most had thin, hard bodies, scarred by violence or disease.
Captain Wainwright supervised, occasionally calling orders, but it
was obvious that it wasn’t complicated work. She’d shed some
clothes already as well and was walking around in breeches and a
chest wrap, but her tricorn hat still sat on her head.
She came to see James, her green eyes sparkling and a smile
tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Nothing to report, Ship Owner
Toledo,” she said, faux formal.
He smiled and saluted back. “Carry on, Captain Wainwright.”
She smiled more fully.
“How come you seem like you’re in a great mood?” James asked.
“I mean, you got tossed overboard with a broken arm two days ago,
and yet you seem almost totally unaffected.”
She shrugged, and her smile faltered. “Mother still adventured up
till she died, and I went on a few small adventures myself. I lost a
teammate on one of those. Then a week and a half ago, I watched
Mom get eaten by a giant Water spawn. Now I’m captain of a ship,
and once we finish this mission, I’ll be commodore of a small flotilla.
My arm getting broken and healed right after doesn’t even register,
frankly.”
James nodded thoughtfully. Makes sense. The spawn are the
creations of the Abominations—fearsome creatures of twisted magic,
each usually representing just one magic, always in some horrific
form. The one that got Emily’s mom—and nearly killed me and Flea
as well—was a huge, slimy creature, all mouth and tentacles, that
ripped apart the docks and threw ships at me. I suppose a broken
arm does seem mild in comparison.
“We’ll be hitting Shield Isle in an hour or two,” Emily said. “You can
shop there, and I’ll replenish a few barrels of supplies.”
“Can we buy fishing rods or something?” James asked. “I’m going
to run out of money relatively soon, I fear.”
“Weren’t you from a fishing family?” Emily asked, laughing. “You
can’t catch fish while moving at travel speeds in the deep ocean,
which is mostly what we’ll be doing. Plus, my sailors are needed to
repair, clean, bail water, cook, load and unload… We don’t have a
bunch of spare people, you know; we run a tight ship. You and your
teammates are all the spare folk we can handle, really.”
“Sorry,” James said, flushing. “My family mostly did its business
with fishing on the Inner Sea and the Near Isles. I guess I wasn’t
thinking about the deep ocean.”
“Deep oceans are barren. Like a desert in reverse—all water and
no land is just as bad for life as all land and no water. We do have
fishing rods, but those are mostly for the time you’ll be adventuring
on land, assuming we can find a decent fishing spot.”
James nodded.
Emily continued. “The Inner Sea around Norhilm, and the Near
Isles, are all shallow water near land, with lots of sediment being
stirred up, river estuaries, and tons of shallow water with underwater
plants. It’s different out there in the Endless Ocean.”
The information was good to know. James wasn’t familiar with the
ocean, despite having grown up in House Toledo, one of the great
fishing houses. Having an expert nearby was always beneficial.
“Speaking of which,” Emily said. “We have a pretty strict water and
food rationing system. I intend to enforce it on your adventuring
party, and I’m asking you to help. With their levels, your adventuring
buddies could refuse to listen and kill us all if we pushed it. We can
easily die of starvation or dehydration out here if we don’t ration the
supplies carefully.”
“I’ll make sure they abide by it,” James said. Except for Rax—he
didn’t think it would be a problem. His current team was comprised of
Flea, Anna, and Isabel—all small and thin girls—and Hive, who was
a small and thin guy—and Rax.
Rax, who was over six feet of chiseled muscle, was always
working out and training and likely ate the food of two normal people.
“I might need an extra ration for Rax. Can we spare that?” James
asked.
“Yeah, that’ll be fine. Honestly, I think a lot of the rest of your team
might be able to eat less than a full portion, so it shouldn’t be too
much of a problem. Elves in particular eat less than humans, and
Anna is smaller than normal, so—”
“Land ho!” a voice called from the crow’s nest above them.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Emily said, turning. She yelled commands to
the crew.
James turned and found Hive coming up from the crew quarters
below.
He glanced at James, and his good eye narrowed slightly, his
deformed eye never moving. James couldn’t see anything else
beneath his mask, but he figured Hive was frowning.
Hive walked up to James, his hunch giving him a slight limp. “I
think we need to discuss the presence of so many spawn in Norhilm,
and what that means.”
“Now?” James asked, motioning around to the ship.
“Might as well,” Hive said. “It’ll be another hour, give or take, before
we reach Port Shield, and a bit after that before we’re docked.”
James shrugged. “All right. What’s up?”
“I’ve done the research you requested, in the most basic of forms,”
Hive said, steepling his fingers and speaking in a slightly slower
voice. “Without more advanced magical divination or imbuing to use
the identification ritual, I can’t learn more. However, my preliminary
research indicates that there are only two methods for a spawn to
appear in a city: Creation and Summoning. Both of them require the
presence of an Abomination. I’m hardly an expert yet, but I conclude
that this means there has to be an Abomination in Norhilm.”
James opened his mouth to speak, but Hive held his hand up and
continued.
“There is only one Abomination that has ever been sighted within
the nine continents that has both Earth and Water as magics—the
type of spawns we’ve seen. The disgusting Mother of All Slimes,
Axclathicacus,” Hive said. “That Abomination was supposedly
destroyed by the Heralds on the continent of Gaora, but perhaps it
survived. In the alternative, there may be a new Abomination we
remain unaware of.”
“There’s another possibility,” James said. “Leviathan’s journal
mentioned people who can control spawn, and he guessed some
might be in the city.”
Hive stared at him for some time before speaking. “You knew this
and didn’t tell me? You asked me to research the issue, and I spent
considerable time in the archives of various libraries, searching for
explanations.”
James rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry, that’s my
mistake. I didn’t discover it till after I asked you to research it, and by
then, I’d forgotten about asking you. But I do think it more likely that
our problems are the result of evil men using the powers of the
Abominations, and not an Abomination itself. Although I’m not totally
ruling an Abomination out.”
Another long moment passed before Hive spoke again. “I see.
Well, you pay me, so if you wish to waste my services on fruitless
endeavors, I suppose it’s not my concern. I’ll be going now.”
“What level are you, Hive?” James asked before Hive could leave.
“Three, almost Four.”
“I know about your distraction power—the bugs-on-skin effect is
quite creepy, for the record—but I don’t know what you took for your
last level.”
“I took the most basic of intelligence powers in Mind,” Hive said,
standing stiff despite having a bit of a hump on his back. “Higher
intelligence both increases my skill acquisition rate and can lead to
some interesting ability options further down the road. I’d originally
intended to build significantly into my abilities as a researcher and
item crafter, and this ability felt like it would synergize well, since I
need high imbuing skill. Given the cavalier attitude with which you’ve
used my research skills, I assume my adventuring abilities will be the
primary use to which you put me, so that seems to have been a bad
choice.”
James sighed. “Don’t be like that, Hive. You know what we’re
doing. There was a lot of stress. Please also focus on your research
and magical skills as you level.”
Hive slowly relaxed. “I suppose it is true that we’ve had a very
trying time. I appreciate the perspective.”
Before Hive could continue talking, James cut in. “Although, I have
to comment, I’ve barely taken any powers while I’m waiting for my
new dungeon, so I can pick lines I’ll continue in once I know the final
magics I’ll end up with. Finding out you’re taking an ability that can’t
be used to help us adventure worries me—half our team seems to
be on some long-term build.”
Hive nodded to his words but said, “Well, I will keep at this build—I
should be Level Five relatively soon. May I see your granddad’s
journal, please?”
James laughed. “You won’t need to, Hive. We’re going to the town
where he first discovered people who can directly control and
summon spawn. You’ll have first-rate research subjects.”
Hive stared at him intensely. “Truly?”
“Yeah. Jalto is the name of the village, near the Burning Sands
desert on the continent of Nazgrin,” James said. “Granddad met
people there who had those powers. You can study with them. That’s
our last taste of civilization before we head into the wastes to find my
Abomination, Felgoth. Our guides will be from there.”
Hive took another step closer to him. “I need to be Level Five
before we reach that city! Or you need to hire someone besides me.
One or the other.”
“Why?” James asked.
“You studied at Highcastle, you fool,” Hive said. “And we just
discussed this! Level Five is when we can take the Ritualist ability
and imbue things. I’ll also be able to create rituals, including
identification rituals! I will need to have rituals for the purpose of
discovering the secrets of these men who can summon and control
spawn. It would benefit us all if I had that ability!”
“I’ll try to find you an opportunity to level, I promise,” James said.
“No need to toss insults around. I get enough of that from Flea.”
“Wait!” Hive said, stepping forward again, so close that James
stepped back. “We’re passing through the Near Isles, right?”
James nodded.
“We can go to House Hadrada and train in the Dungeon of the
Dark Depths on Razdin Isle.”
“We can’t,” James said.
“Why?” Hive asked. “It’s a slight deviation. We do one or two
dungeon runs, it’ll cost us two days at most.”
“How do you think we’re going to get access to a dungeon?”
“Buy our way in. You told me you had hundreds of gold,” Hive said.
“Had, Hive. Had. I don’t have that anymore. We used it to buy the
ships.”
Hive stared at him. “It is imperative that I make sufficient levels so
that I can properly utilize this opportunity. For both our benefit. And
for posterity.”
“I’m sure we’ll have issues of our own over the next few months,
and then we’re going to the lair of Felgoth, the Oblivion Dragon. I’d
remind you again that Felgoth is an Abomination, one of the chosen
champions of the gods of the Dark, the tools of the last cataclysm.”
“I know,” Hive said, narrowing his eyes into a sarcastic glower.
“Well, assuming we don’t die, I’ll bet coppers to gold that we
manage to gain a level or two from dealing with that thing’s lair. If
nothing else, a surviving Abomination will likely have a lot of spawn
near it. I know that’s after we’re at Jalto, but we’ll pass back through
the village on our return, so it should be fine.”
“You have a valid point,” Hive said thoughtfully, rubbing his mask
where the wooden centipedes merged with the flesh of his head. “I’ll
keep that in mind. I’ll be in my hammock if you need me.”
Hive turned and walked slowly away.
James shook his head, then looked out over the water at the isle
the ship rapidly approached. He planned to explore the city himself—
he’d been to other cities a few times, but this was the first time he’d
ever gone on an adventure, and he wanted to enjoy the first baby
step before he was stuck on the boat for a huge amount of time.
He waited, excited, as they pulled into Port Shield and docked.
***
James, hand in hand with Flea, took in the city of Port Shield around
him. They’d just left the docks, which, while large, absolutely paled in
comparison to the massive and teeming docks of Norhilm. Now they
were on a well-laid-out cobblestone road that seemed to be winding
around the island through town, with small well-organized dwellings
on both sides of it. This was a decent-sized place, but nothing
compared to Norhilm. The city around them simply felt small in
comparison.
“This is the first time I’ve been out of Norhilm ever,” Flea said,
tossing her black hair back from her face. “This town is kinda
disappointing as my first new experience.”
“We’ll have great and grand adventures, and you’ll see great and
grand things,” James said. “Shield Isle is just a naval base to house
the Imperial Fleet, and this town, while large by some standards, is
just a naval port. It certainly doesn’t have the vibrancy of a real city.”
James turned and asked the nearest person, a sailor with an
eyepatch, “Excuse me, good sir, can you direct me to the market?”
The man nodded and pointed down the street. “Just a bit farther up
Captain’s Lane. You’re already on your way.”
Figured I’d see something indicating the market was near, but I
guess not. This really is a boring city.
James glanced at a small castle over the roofs of the nearby
buildings. Although House Hadrada’s castle is impressive at first
glance.
“Appreciate it,” James said to the man he’d accosted, and he and
Flea walked down Captain’s Lane. A few minutes down the road,
they came to a large cobblestone square with a small statue in the
middle. Around the outside were stalls set up to hawk various wares,
with wooden boxes holding local fish, mussels packed in seaweed,
plain cloth, and various other goods and sundries around them. Each
stall had a painted sign telling people what was for sale.
The selection the market offered was limited—almost entirely fish
and tools for fishing. James walked around the stalls, a bit of his
attention always out for interesting magical items. In truth, he had
little money with which to buy the goods he’d want: some
replacement magical weapons. He had lost both his magical training
sword and his gust dagger in the last fight against Dimitri, and he
only had his Entropy sword left.
Well, that and my anti-divination necklace and my mask, actually. I
shouldn’t complain, really—I already have as many magical items as
most people can use.
Normally, a person could use a single magic item for each magic
they had, plus a single magical weapon. Anything past that caused
interference, and the magic all stopped working. But the masks of
the dungeon descended always worked, perfectly integrated into the
magic of the wielder, and didn’t count against the limit. And James
had three magics, so he could use more items than most—two more
and his mask besides.
I have a lot of advantages over most people. Although, given
what’s arrayed against me, that seems like the bare necessities at
best. No number of amazing perks makes up for being up against all
four of the major gangs of Norhilm and an unknown number of
Dungeon Houses. And all of those entities have numerous people
higher-level than I am and who have tons of resources to boot.
James looked over some mussels as he mused, thinking about
whether or not it was worth it to have a varied meal tonight. He
glanced up, and as he did, he caught sight of a golden mask—a
mask framed by peacock feathers.
James slid his gaze away, trying to act casual. He didn’t want to
arouse the peacock-masked man’s interest. James’s stomach went
cold, and his hand tightened on Flea’s. This was the gang that
Dimitri had belonged to—the Golden Peacocks. James and his team
had finished Dimitri off. That bastard.
But as James tried to avoid the eyes of the one gang member, he
caught sight of several more, each one wearing a peacock mask,
each browsing the wares of the small marketplace. They were in
groups of three, wandering around like they owned the place, their
gaudy gold masks glittering in the sunlight.
It shouldn’t surprise me that the gang most closely associated with
prostitution has numerous members wandering around the city
founded to house the fleet. I seriously doubt they’ve heard what
happened with Dimitri, but I need to be careful. This could go really
bad, really fast.
A few of the peacock goons gave him and Flea the eye, but James
suspected—or perhaps just hoped—that it was because he and Flea
were in their black-with-blue-spots snake masks. It wasn’t common,
and the peacock thugs probably thought James belonged to some
minor gang.
They’re technically right, although that barely covers it.
James had been running a small-scale criminal protection racket
back in Norhilm, as cover for his vengeance. He’d left Mary, one of
his earliest followers, to run things, along with a few minions he’d
recruited from the now-defunct Brick Crabs gang. A name that still
makes me laugh.
James’s eyes left the members of the Golden Peacocks and
happened to land on a merchant with a small collection of books. A
chance to go where the Golden Peacocks aren’t likely to be looking
at me. James tugged on Flea’s hand and pointed out the stand.
“Let’s check the books out.”
“Sure.” She smiled up at him. “Although books are pointless to our
mission.”
James hadn’t really thought she’d be that interested—Flea found
little use in anything that couldn’t stab someone. He was just glad
she wasn’t fighting him on it.
The two walked over to the table. James let go of Flea’s hand and
rummaged through the books. They were all nautical tomes with
titles like Lines and Knots of the Maritime Tradition or Maps and
Ledgers of the Vered Empire. James was about to give up, hoping
that had been enough time to shake the Golden Peacocks from
checking on him, when he found a book bound with just blank paper
inside.
He turned to the stall’s proprietor, a tiny, wrinkled old woman with a
cane. She still somehow radiated an incredible ferocity as she gazed
at him, her eyes narrowed. Is she angry with me for some reason?
“Um, why the blank book?” James asked, stalling for time.
“Some people like to keep journals, especially dungeon families
and their ilk,” the lady replied in a calm and pleasant voice, without
ever abandoning her narrow-eyed stare.
A journal! I could keep a diary of my adventures, like Granddad
did! I might actually want to get this.
“How much?”
“A gold,” the lady replied.
“A gold!” James exclaimed. “That’s robbery!”
“Maybe I’ll give you a discount—you look like a nice boy who can
appreciate the fine binding, the quality of the vellum parchment.
Ninety-five silver.”
James quietly chuckled to himself. Ah, this is bargaining, and she
just stated her opening position. I should have realized, but I don’t
normally buy things for myself…
“This is just paper, and shipping costs. It can’t be worth more than
five silver.”
“Five!” the old woman screeched, poking in his direction with her
cane. “Five! Use your eyes, feel the paper, feel the leather binding
you neglected to mention in that ridiculous little speech!”
James smiled to himself. This is fun. Flea was watching him—
James thought her expression was indulgent.
A while later, for the price of thirty-seven silver, James managed to
acquire a brand-new journal. As he gazed at it, Flea tapped his arm.
“We’ve got company, James,” she said, her voice tight.
James turned around, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword
where it rested in its scabbard at his belt. He tucked the book into his
belt.
Shit. I’d hoped to avoid this.
Five members of the Golden Peacocks in their gold-feathered
masks fanned out around him as they approached, their weapons
drawn. Each looked like the other—just under six feet tall, dressed in
breeches and leather jerkins, and displaying blades in their hands.
Chapter Three
A Twice-Wanted Man
T
he five members of the Golden Peacocks moved forward,
weapons out. Flea had her dual daggers in hand and was
crouched in fighting position. James drew his own magical
Entropy sword. He then drew his nonmagical dagger in his off hand.
James didn’t wait for the thugs to box him in. He threw his dagger
at one, causing the goon to dodge back. In that opening, James
lunged at another, feinting an attack to the throat and then dropping
his sword hard across the outside of the second thug’s leg. The men
attacking James weren’t wearing any armor, and the slash cut deep,
scraping on bone.
The man yelled and collapsed to the ground. He grabbed his
spurting leg, which then proceeded to rot.
James inflicts 8 damage (6(base sword) x1.16(skill) x1.15(strength)) on

target opponent, plus 1 additional Entropic damage. Target leg is crippled,
-50% movement, -20% accuracy and dodge.
James sidestepped as a third man came in, barely dodging the

attack, and hastily dismissed the notification. Best to not get
distracted in the flow of combat.
Then he caught sight of Flea, who slashed at a man. The attack
was telegraphed, and the man easily stepped back. But the shadows
of the blade suddenly lengthened, and they cut through the man’s
neck. He grabbed his throat, and his eyes went wide in apparent
terror. The man made a gurgling sound as blood poured around his
fingers.
The man who had dodged James’s knife came in, swinging his
sword wildly. James ducked and kicked him hard in his knee, which
made a popping sound. The man gave a hoarse scream and
collapsed next to his buddy. Joining the fracas, the fourth thug
landed a blow on James’s shoulder, opening a gash. Blood wept
down James’s arm.
Flea’s dagger slammed into the fourth thug’s neck. The man
pawed feebly at his wound and then collapsed.
James glared at the fifth thug—who was clearly deciding whether
to attack Flea or not.
“Run,” James said to him, glaring. “You just lost four buddies in
twenty seconds. You won’t make it another minute if you stay.”
The Golden Peacock thug actually nodded, then turned and ran
away.
James looked up and spotted a crowd that had gathered nearby.
Some of the merchants and most of the shoppers were watching the
fight in a circle around them. Quite a few had their hands on
weapons.
As James stood there, the crowd parted, and four guards rushed
to him, weapons drawn.
“Drag it, it’s the fucking city guard,” Flea said nervously. “Of course
they’re hanging around the market!”
“We were attacked,” James said. “I think they’ll be on our side.”
“Naïve words, James.” Flea clutched her dagger. “The city guard
hates disturbances. We can bribe our way out of this, or we’ll likely
be thrown in jail.”
“You’re so untrusting,” James said.
As James sheathed his own sword, the guards came up.
“What happened here?” one of the guards asked—the only one
wearing metal full plate armor.
The guard captain?
“These two were shopping,” the bookseller said, tapping James
with her cane. “They were set upon by those ruffians. These two
tried to warn them off but then fought back when attacked.”
The guards nodded, glancing down at the pools of blood spreading
out from the bodies of the dead thugs.
But then one guard came up and poked James’s mask. “Were you
in Norhilm two days ago?”
“Uh, yeah,” James said, becoming nervous himself. “Why?”
“We received a telepathic communiqué from Guard Captain Leon
von Hauptman,” the guard said. “We were told to be on the lookout
for fugitives wanted for theft from House Toledo, by order of
Dungeon Lord Damien Toledo. The fugitives’ masks match yours,
and the time frame fits. We’re taking you into custody. Hand your
weapons over.”
“Fuck,” James muttered, turning his head to see Flea glaring at
him. He started to hold his sheathed sword out, prepared to hand it
to the guard, but hesitated.
“Like I said,” Flea muttered. “Guards are never on your side.”
“Spoken like a common street criminal thief,” one of the guards
said, spitting at Flea’s feet. He had an impressive salt-and-pepper
mustache.
Her fist clenched so hard on her dagger that it turned white.
“Flea, let’s, um, let it go,” James said. “You can’t take crossbows
yet.”
“Wise words,” the guard captain said. “And, Edgar, stop goading
our prisoners. It doesn’t help anyone.”
Flea huffed. “You know what Damien will do if he catches us,
James. Not to mention everything else. It’s all bullshit, but these
fuckers don’t know that and likely wouldn’t give a drag anyway.”
She remained tense and ready to fight.
Fuck, she’s right. I can’t afford to be captured here. I’m an outlaw
now, on the run from the houses.
The guard captain placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’re
making me nervous. Last chance to come in with all your blood still
in your body. Drop your weapons!”
Fuck. It’s barely past midday, and I’m not sure if everyone is back
on the boat yet.
But Flea’s right.
James whipped his sword from its scabbard in a perfect arc,
slashing his weapon at the guard captain as a feint, continuing past
him and cutting across Edgar’s throat in a blur of movement. Drag it,
I’d wanted to avoid killing any more innocent guards, but I can’t just
let the forces of my enemies defeat me just because they’re
unknowing.
Level-enhanced Agility for the win, James thought with a dark
chuckle as Edgar whirled around, blood spraying in an arc, and
crashed to the cobblestones. James felt the thrill of competition and
victory in this, the most dangerous of games.
A twang went off, but Flea was already rolling, just a touch faster
than the guard, and the bolt scored along the outside of her leg
rather than piercing something vital.
Flea gave a half-grunt, half-shriek of pain but still managed to
catch the incoming sword from the third guard on her shadow-
lengthened blade. The power of the blow and size of the guard
started to push her knife back, but then she simply dropped into her
own shadow like it was inky black water. In less than a second, the
shadow slithered to where the crossbow guard stood, and Flea
popped up behind him, leaping out of the shadows and slashing the
guard’s throat.
James caught the first guard’s sword with his and then kicked the
guard’s leg, hard, dropping him. As the guard tried to get to his feet
again, James kicked him in the temple, and the guard collapsed like
a puppet with its strings cut.
The people in the market square screamed and called for more
guards, and a couple took weapons out as well.
Ex-navy guys, likely. I’ve got to get out of here. I’m about to get
mobbed by a horde of veterans, and I doubt I’ll survive.
“Let’s go, Flea!” James called.
The last guard stalked toward her, and she threw her knife at him.
He tried to swipe it from the air with his sword, but it thunked into the
meaty part of his thigh. He grunted and grabbed at it.
I mean, I’m glad she got him, but we really need to stop losing
weapons.
James grabbed Flea’s hand and pulled her, and the two took off
running. None of the merchants or customers tried to stop them,
although a few hefted weapons or took a step toward them.
“It’s weird how many people hate us,” James growled. “I’m the
victim whose family got murdered…”
“Stop complaining like a freaking merchant’s daughter,” Flea said
as she ran. “No one likes a whiner. Their lies have spread, and even
your own house is against you now. We still have the option to run
and settle elsewhere.”
“Well, we have the running part covered,” James said as they flew
back to the docks.
Flea merely grunted in response.
“Still, you have to admit it’s kinda bullshit that we’re getting
attacked by the criminals and the guards.”
“By the Light, you can’t stop complaining.” Flea huffed as she ran,
gasping her words out. “Where I grew up, the guards were always in
the pockets of the main gangs. Given that none of them tried to stop
the burning of your house and slaughter of your family, I’d say any
belief that it’s different where you lived is a child’s delusion.”
“That’s… fair.”
“So let’s deal with the reality that we need to get power and wealth
if anyone is going to listen to us, and stop whining,” Flea continued,
her speech becoming more and more ragged, the long, black hair on
one side of her head plastered to her skin with sweat.
“Sounds like a plan. Now save your breath for running.”
Flea nodded as they ran.
Soon, they were in sight of Leviathan’s Dream, the flagship of
James’s small flotilla. It was a typical trading and exploration ship for
the area—it was about a hundred feet long and had three sets of
masts, each with two distinct sails on them.
James rushed up, Flea falling a bit behind. Captain Emily
supervised the loading of wooden planks onto the ship. She was the
perfect captain, ordering her men from the quarterdeck, her tricorn
cap shading her gaze.
“We need to go—right now!” James said. “The guards are coming,
and they’re going to execute us and seize the ships!”
“What did you do?!” Emily yelled down, her eyes going wide as
she poked her cap up.
Before James answered, she called out again, “Prepare to sail in
five minutes! Stow everything or just lash it to something stable, and
let’s go! Tell the other ships, same orders for everyone!”
“Tides aren’t right!” Jacob Fisher, the first mate, called back.
“I’ve got Air magic! Move!”
“My brother, Damien, put a request out to arrest us through
telepathic communication!” James ran up the gangplank and leapt
onto the deck of the ship. “House Toledo is now officially against
me.”
“Joy.” Emily dashed off the quarterdeck and smacked a few of her
sailors who weren’t working fast enough. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” She
glared at James. “Your side is starting to feel really lonely.”
“Their side is going to get a lot lonelier as well before I’m done,”
James said, his voice dark with hunger as he gripped his own sword
tight.
“Well, you’re about to get that chance.” Emily pointed back along
the pier.
James turned and saw ten guards approaching.
“Shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.” Then he whipped around and
gritted his teeth. “Snakes, to me! We’ll block the pier till the ship is
ready to leave!”
His team came down from the boat to where he stood at the
entrance to the wharf his ship was docked at.
Rax, tower shield on one muscled green arm, bastard sword
clenched in the fist of the other, took point. Hive came up to James’s
side, his gait slow, his visage frightening because of the insect mask
fused to his head. Shortly thereafter, Anna and Isabel joined the
back row. Anna looked resplendent despite being in loose-fitting
pants and a tunic, and Isabel was clutching her own simple tunic
nervously.
“All right, it’s likely those guards are lower-level, but I’d bet at least
one or two have levels,” James said. “We can likely take them, but
be careful. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
His team stared grimly forward, their weapons clutched in their
hands.
Emily called out, “Fire on the guards, men!”
Then she ran to the side of the ship.
Crossbow bolts whistled over the team’s heads, and someone
fired a pistol. The guards flinched or ducked, and one cussed
thoroughly as a bolt sank into his arm. Many of the people on the
wharf screamed and ran—the pandemonium was immediate.
I’m not exactly making friends here, James thought as he prepared
to receive the guards. This will play poorly once the rumor mill takes
it back to Norhilm.
His team gathered on the pier, trying to block the guards from
reaching the ship. They just needed to hold them off for a few
minutes—just long enough for Captain Emily to set sail.
Rax, his huge arm muscles bunching, slammed his sword on one
guard in an overhand blow so powerful, it drove the man to his knee.
Rax’s follow-up shield bash laid the man out. Hive focused, his one
good eye narrowing, and the guard he was glaring at stumbled
sideways, his eyes going out of focus, and fell off the pier into the
water. Anna waved her arm, her delicate hands moving quickly, and
illusory copies of James and his allies fanned out, phantasms that
confused the guards.
Flea launched her petite frame forward, slashing, leaping, and
rolling. She wasn’t the most skilled, but she was extremely agile and
moved through shadows to boot. Isabel stepped back farther and
began to use her regeneration power, any wounds the group
sustained slowly healing whenever she touched them.
James cut at some guards, scoring minor wounds on them and
getting a mild stab to his arm in return. Isabel reached over and
touched him, and the wound began healing as her regeneration
ability—a heal-over-time effect—kicked in.
“Back to the ship!” Emily screamed. “Run!”
“Do it!” James echoed, and the group turned and ran down the pier
and up the ship’s gangplank.
The soldiers followed, but slowly, likely wondering what trick had
possessed them to abandon their positions, or perhaps confused by
Anna’s illusions, which stayed and fought.
A cannon exploded from the side of the ship. It missed the guards
but plowed into the pier in front of them. A few guards screamed as
splinters exploded outward, slashing them, and in one case, a larger
piece of wood was driven into one of the guards’ chests. The
cannonball skipped across the pier and slammed into a fish vendor’s
stall with an explosion of flesh. James cringed, although it appeared
no one but the guards was harmed.
We are really going to become persona non grata. I feel like every
second here is reducing the likelihood anyone will like us ever again.
James’s team made it onto the ship. The sails filled with wind from
Air magic as Emily focused her own powers, gently pushing the boat
away from the pier. The other three boats of James’s flotilla followed,
powered either by their own captain’s magic or Emily’s.
As they pulled away from the docks, Emily nervously checked the
small castle overlooking the bay. “We’re not out yet,” she whispered.
James followed her eyes, seeing the cannons pointing from the
castle’s high walls into the sea.
It took a few moments, but just when James thought they might not
suffer any further consequences, there were puffs of smoke from the
wall.
“Incoming!” Emily yelled, watching as the shells arced out toward
them.
The shells hit the water, kicking up spray, a couple of hundred feet
in front of their ship.
“Overshot!” Emily pointed. “Turn twenty degrees to port!”
The ships turned, and James held his breath as the next series of
shots lanced out. They hit the water about fifty feet short of the ships.
“Overshot, then undershot, and I know what comes next,” Rax
said. “We should get ready.”
Emily smiled. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure that was maximum
elevation for them. I think we’re out of range!”
James watched nervously, but the next cannon shots didn’t even
come close, falling far short, and the castle didn’t fire again.
“Yes!” Emily whooped. “The ships are untouched, and we’re at sea
again. Although I left two men in port, so they’ll know who I am, at
least, and where we’re going.”
James grimaced.
“Still, I don’t think they’ll be able to catch us unless they send ships
out with a divination mage, and I seriously doubt they’ll do that. I
didn’t see but a single warship ready in the docks. The timing of all
this favored us.”
James nodded, but inside, he remained nervous. Won’t they? I
have a dungeon core with me. That’s worth sallying the whole fleet.
Of course, he wasn’t sure if his enemies knew he had the core, or
even who he was… and he wasn’t sure they’d admitted what they
were up to on top of that to enough people to convince the city to
sally a fleet after him.
Anonymity is still my only real shield, James thought. But not for
much longer. Soon, I’ll have the power I need to begin fighting back.
Chapter Four
The Long Voyage
E
xcerpt from the journal of James Toledo, called Serpent,
recorded year 662 after cataclysm, month of The Melting,
day 2.
… And that long entry summarizes my story to the point of this
voyage, hopefully but the first of many. It’s been a month since I
picked this book up and left Shield Isle, and it’s been relaxing, for the
most part. Boring, even. We spend every day doing the same things,
which in our case is mostly training. We all have sea legs now, and
fighting on land will feel odd, I think, by the time we get back to it.
Everyone is mastering their chosen weapons. Flea has her knives,
Rax his bastard sword and shield, Hive his crossbow, Anna her short
bow, and Isabel has picked up poignard and buckler, although she
focuses almost entirely on dodging and healing. Emily trains with us
most days, and occasionally, we train with the sailors as well.
The weirdest thing is that we haven’t been attacked up to this
point. I’ve been dreading attacks from spawn, based on what I read
in Granddad’s journals, or perhaps pirates… but it’s been a boring
trip so far. Like most boat rides. But I just didn’t think that’d be
something I experienced.
Although the sheer repetitiveness of it has led to secondary issues
coming to the fore, and other interesting situations…
***
Flea easily batted aside Anna’s sword thrust. Anna had
overextended herself for the third attack in a row. Flea stepped
around Anna, switching the sword to her off hand, and smacked
Anna on the rear with the flat of her hand.
“And dead,” James said with a smile. He loved their playfulness.
Anna rubbed her rear. “An ass hit wouldn’t kill me. Why did you do
that?”
“I learned it from James,” Flea said and then she blew Anna a kiss.
“And I wanted to get a feel of your elven bottom.” She chuckled as
she made an hourglass shape in the air with her hands, even though
Anna was on the less curvy side.
With a blush, Anna turned away. She didn’t respond to Flea’s
flirtations and instead practiced her grip on her sword.
Rax stood off to the side, watching with little interest, his giant
arms folded over his massive barrel chest. He was always nearby,
going wherever Flea was.
The wind picked up, rustling Anna’s clothing. She wore loose,
flowing silken pants, perfect for lounging, but not appropriate for
training. James hadn’t commented, even though he had taken note.
The pants were quite fetching, though. James understood why
Flea wanted a feel.
“James smacked me a few times when we started sparring.” Flea
offered Anna a smirk and a wink. “Only… he whacked me hard. I
was gentle.” She ruffled Anna’s long, white hair. “I bet you enjoyed it.
Don’t lie.”
“Please, enough,” Anna said, holding her practice sword close, her
cheeks flushed.
Flea stepped away, smiling and eyeing Anna.
Rax snorted and then smirked. “Kids,” he muttered under his
breath, even going so far as to roll his eyes. “We don’t do any of this
song and dance in the military. It’s painful to watch.” He turned and
left the deck, his eyes narrowed in irritation.
“I’m not going to be a front-line combatant,” Anna said, still
fidgeting with the sword in her hands. “Tell me again why I need to
practice this constantly?”
James sighed. “You might need to defend yourself in direct
combat. In fact, might nothing, it’s near certain at this point that
someone will try to poke you, whether it’s a dungeon-born creature
or a bounty hunter.”
“Or a guy,” Flea quipped. She sauntered back over to Anna and
then circled her like a shark. “It’s a cruel world, and someone as soft
Another random document with
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These conditions are as unfavorable as possible for all flying
expeditions towards the Pole. The good weather during the winter—
October to March—cannot be taken advantage of on account of the
darkness, and it is necessary to be satisfied with the much more
unfavorable weather during the lighter period of the year.
Luckily there is, however, an intermediate condition of weather,
when the light is still there, but the summer’s gray weather has not yet
set in properly. April with its eight clear weather days, seventeen days
without downpours, and only one foggy day ought to offer the best
conditions for flying. Only one has to remember that when flying over a
longer distance the chances of getting into ugly weather are much
greater than one would imagine from the impression given by the
figures. In a distance of an extent equaling that from Spitzbergen to the
Pole, during a good month such as April, one will in most cases have
to pass through a bad and good weather-zone. In April, too, one has to
reckon with severe cold. “Fram” had a temperature as low as -38° 4 c.
in the month of April and even at the end of that month it can go down
to -29° c. If it is, therefore, one’s intention to fly on a day of good
weather, it is necessary to be well protected against the severe cold.
In 1925 the polar flight could not be undertaken as early as April.
Notwithstanding the fact that the journey from Norway was undertaken
before the real opening of the shipping season, and that the
preparations in King’s Bay proceeded quickly and according to
program, our machines were not ready to start until the beginning of
May. An earlier start might well have been possible if the previous
winter had been spent in Spitzbergen.
It was the business of the meteorologists to determine which was
the best day in the month of May for the start. With “Fram’s”
experiences before us the prospects of finding a good starting day
were not very rosy. In May, 1896, when “Fram” was about halfway
between Spitzbergen and the Pole, there were twenty-five days with
rainfall, and only three days at the beginning of the month had clear
weather. Should May, 1925, turn out just as bad as May, 1896, the
polar flight would take place under very risky meteorological
conditions.
What resources were now at our disposal to determine what kind
of weather was expected? First were the telegrams from the stations in
the neighborhood, indicating the kind of weather which was
approaching. This system is commonly used by all meteorological
institutions which have something to do with weather reports, and it
was therefore only natural that this should be made use of for the polar
flight. One can, however, know beforehand that to make weather
forecasts at Spitzbergen is much more difficult than at other places
where it has been tried before. For instance, Southern Europe is
covered by a network of telegraph stations which can report the
approaching weather. But in Spitzbergen it is not so easy. The network
of European stations certainly give reports of every condition
approaching from the south, but no telegraphic weather reports can be
obtained from the west, north, or east. There are, therefore, many
situations where the meteorologists, notwithstanding all the aid, can
give no reply to the question: “What will the weather be like to-
morrow?”
And that is the case in Spitzbergen. But the polar flight had to be
undertaken from there, and had to extend more than 1,000 kilometers
above unknown regions in unknown weather conditions! How could
any one guarantee good weather for the whole distance?
I know that many meteorologists would reply to such a question
that this is beyond science. To prophesy what the weather will be like
near the Pole is pure guesswork. As now and again stress has been
put upon this view in the press, may I be permitted to defend the
foolhardiness I showed by venturing to tackle this problem? I admit
that it is very often quite impossible to say what the weather will be like
on the way from Spitzbergen to the Pole, and still less possible to
predict how it is likely to turn out in a day or two’s time. But
meteorology allows us to determine by indirect conclusions whether
the prospects of good weather are bright or whether the situation is too
risky. That these weather forecasts are based on very weak
foundations, and therefore can easily turn out wrong, was known by
the airmen from the first hour. Still they preferred to follow the advice
science could give, even if it was often vaguely formulated and given
with all sorts of provisos.
The plan was not to risk a flight in any case through fog and thick
snow, where the aeroplanes would certainly lose sight of each other,
but to turn back if the weather should begin to look too threatening. It
would then be the meteorologists’ problem to find another occasion
when it would be again worth while to try and see whether in a
renewed attempt the way to the Pole would be clear.
For several years the exchange of meteorological weather reports
had been broadcast by wireless so that everybody who had a receiving
apparatus could make free use of the same. “Fram’s” receiving
apparatus was of the latest type and worked very well, even receiving
meteorological messages from countries very far distant. Mr. Devoid
attended to the receiving of nearly all the weather reports—a job he
was well acquainted with, through his position as assistant at the
Geophysical Institute at Tromsö. It can safely be said that we could not
have got a better man for the handling of all the radio weather news
which came to hand. He was untiring in trying to pick up and read
communications which were very weak, coming from far distant
stations, and it was, thanks to him, that the weather forecasting station
at King’s Bay was able to work with nearly the same full range of
meteorological observations as any southern weather forecasting
station.
The meteorological despatches are broadcast by international
agreement and, with one single apparatus, one can receive accounts
of observations from the whole of Europe, North America and North
Asia. That has been made possible by the various countries all having
come to an agreement, in which they have arranged to send
despatches following each other closely according to a prearranged
time-table. On the “Fram” we regularly received the following
despatches:
Observations from eight o’clock in the morning

a.m.
4:30Stavanger (repetition of Annapolis U.S.A.)
7:00London (English observations at 2 A.M.)
8:12Tromsö (+ polar station Jan Mayen, Björnöya)
8:20Königswusterhausen (Germany)
8:25Haapsalu (Estland)
8:35Lyngby (Denmark)
8:40Karlsborg (Sweden)
8:50Oslo (Norway)
9:00London (England and Faroe Islands)
9:15Grudziadz (Poland)
9:20Paris (France, Switzerland, Belgium, Holland)
9:30Sandhamn (Finland)
9:35Budapest (Hungary)
9:40London (ships’ observations)
9:50London (collected messages)
10:00Tromsö (collected messages)
10:15Dietskoje Selo (Russia)
10:30Vardo (North Russia)
10:40Paris (collected messages)
11:45 Oslo (Norwegian observations 11 o’clock)
11:50 London (English observations 11 o’clock)
12:00Dietskoje Selo (Russia and Siberia)
Observations from two o’clock in the afternoon
p.m.
2:50Oslo (Norway)
3:50London (collected messages)
5:45Oslo (Norwegian observations 5 o’clock)
5:50London (English observations 5 o’clock)
6:30Stavanger (repetition of Annapolis, U.S.A.)
Observations from seven o’clock
p.m.
7:50Oslo (Norway)
8:40London (ships’ observations)
9:15Haapsalu (Estland)
As will be observed Mr. Devold had a lengthy time-table each day

—Sunday as well as week day. The despatches which arrived during
the night and the early morning were received by the ship’s own
operators, who besides had, as part of their duty, to attend to the
expedition’s very large press correspondence when not attending to
the meteorological telegrams.
Nearly all the north, west and middle European states are
represented in the list. Observations from those countries, the
despatch stations of which one could not hear direct (for instance
certain south and east European), were received indirectly through the
“collected messages” from London and Paris, which give extracts of all
the observations from the whole of Europe.
Special mention should be given to the despatches which were
sent out specially for the expedition. First come the extra observations
which the U. S. A. started broadcasting from Alaska, Canada, and the
United States. These formed a very important addition to the general
meteorological observations which America usually sent out for
European use. It was especially important for us to get the complete
observations from Alaska—the nearest inhabited land—on the other
side of the Pole. The whole of this extensive observation material was
supplied gratis by the United States of America Weather Bureau, and
telegraphed free of charge by the U. S. A. Naval Station, Annapolis. It
gives me great pleasure to mention the tremendous assistance which
the United States gave us in this connection, and I herewith offer them
the expedition’s grateful thanks.
Despatches from Annapolis were received by the Stavanger
station, which repeated them to the “Fram.” This was also done free of
charge. The Norwegian telegraph authorities also showed their
goodwill to the expedition by instructing Vardeo Radio Station to
receive despatches from North Russian and North Siberian stations
and repeat same to the “Fram,” which hardly could have got them
direct. I must also mention the help the radio station in Green Harbour
gave us by assisting in receiving messages and forecasts during the
critical days just before the start.
The Geophysical Institute at Tromsö, which is the central station
for the weather-forecastings for North Norway, sent from its radio
station, three times daily, the Norwegian observation material.
The institute in Tromsö also deserves thanks for all the assistance
it has given to the expedition by sending out weather forecasts from
the moment the trip was planned, and whilst we made our preparations
in the winter 1924–5. It was a great help to be able to sometimes
consult the nearest meteorological neighbors in the south, who had
many years’ experience in the Arctic Sea’s meteorological readings. I
will specially mention a telegram we received from Director Krogness a
few days before the start which informed us that his analysis
suggested that a period of stable weather conditions was now
approaching. This was of great assistance when the starting day had
to be fixed.
When the whole apparatus was in working order we could receive
meteorological despatches from nearly all the stations. The network of
stations is closest in Europe, so close that we often saved work by
making a choice of stations. Asia and America have not such a close
net, but even here it is possible to draw a weather chart which is
largely correct.
THE COURSE OF THE SHIPS ON WATCH, “FRAM” AND “HOBBY,” DURING THE
COURSE OF THE EXPEDITION
The dotted area indicates the pack ice.
Furthermore, in the English, French and Norwegian despatches
there were a certain number of observations from ships in the Atlantic,
which in themselves formed a bridge between the American and
European stations. The whole station system therefore formed an
almost complete circle round the polar regions, with the exception of
Northeast Siberia, where telegraphic communications are still bad, and
this of course makes a wide gap.
THE DOTTED AREA, ABOUT 12,000 SQUARE MILES,

SHOWS THE TERRITORY EXPLORED BY THE FLIGHT
EXPEDITION
The point now was (with the assistance of this net of stations round
the Arctic regions) to control an account of conditions moving inside
the polar area, and thereby draw conclusions as to what the weather
might be like along the flight route. With this in view the weather chart
for the whole region was drawn twice a day. Besides this, two charts
were prepared daily showing the reports of the European net of
stations, so that the weather conditions were being calculated every
six hours.
The drawing up of the weather charts took place in one of “Fram’s”
afterholds, which (with this end in view) had been prepared as a
“weather forecast salon.” There was not overmuch room for all the
charts, instruments and other apparatus which had to be kept there,
especially as the hold also served the purpose of an office for Dr.
Matheson, the expedition’s doctor. But with goodwill from both sides it
worked smoothly the whole time, combining the weather forecasting
with the doctor’s practice in the same room.
After the weather forecasting was properly established I often had
the pleasure of receiving visits from the members of the expedition
who were housed on land. During the quiet periods when nothing
special was being accomplished, our two journalists were frequent
visitors. In lieu of something better to do, they wrote about the weather,
simply because it is always possible to say something regarding this
subject. As the time for starting approached, Captain Amundsen and
the other polar flyers often visited me in order to see what the
prospects were. During the times that “Fram” was not lying in safe
harborage Captain Hagerup was constantly in communication with the
weather-forecasting station in order to ascertain in good time whether
wind was approaching which might drive the drift-ice towards us. On
the whole I could not complain about the amount of faith that was
placed in the weather forecasts, but it was often necessary to reduce
this trust by reminding every one how little we really knew.
All the outside observations were made by the meteorologist,
Calwagen, Manager of the Meteorological Observatory in Bergen. His
duties were so numerous that they deserve a whole chapter in this
report, but as it has so far been impossible to make any preparation of
the observations, Mr. Calwagen’s calculations must be reserved for
later publication in scientific journals. With Mr. Calwagen’s permission I
shall only mention here that part of his activity which was of direct use
in the weather forecasts.
In order that nothing which happened concerning the weather
conditions should pass us unnoticed, Mr. Calwagen made
observations as far as possible each hour of the day, continuing until
late at night. These observations included wind, sky, cloud
movements, cloud structure, cloud altitude, rainfall, atmospheric
visibility, atmospheric temperature and dampness, the readings of the
barometer, etc. Further we had brought with us a case of self-
registering instruments for measuring the atmospheric temperature
and the dampness. Inside were two barographs—one in the ship’s
instruments’ compartment, and one in the weather-forecast
compartment, which both gave information about the changes in the
air pressure.
As often as we got rid of the low clouds, Mr. Calwagen sent up the
pilot balloons for observing the wind’s direction and strength. These
observations were of the greatest value for judging the weather
conditions, and I will therefore mention them in a few words here. The
observations took place as follows: A colored rubber balloon is filled
with water gas until it is one-half meter in diameter. One weighs its
buoyancy and thereby knows the speed with which it will rise into the
air. After the balloon has been sent up it is observed through glasses
which have graduated scales for calculating necessary horizontal and
vertical adjustments—this is called a theodolite. The theodolite’s
indications are read and noted each half minute whilst the balloon
rises. Afterwards it is possible to reconstruct the course which the
balloon has followed, and to ascertain hereby the course of the wind at
the different heights.
It was not always easy to find a suitable place to set up the
theodolite. On board the “Fram” it very often happened that the balloon
after some minutes got behind the ship’s masts or funnel, and thereby
was lost from view. On the ice in the fjord it was generally possible to
find a good spot with the exception of the days when there was a
heavy swell on the water outside, which also set the fjord ice making
slight undulating movements, and which were disturbing enough when
it was a question of reading one-tenth of a degree on the theodolite.
Near Danskeöen, where there was no useful fjord ice, Mr. Calwagen
had to be rowed ashore for each pilot observation in order to have firm
ground below the theodolite. Generally he chose the little islet
“Likholmen,” where he could sit and have an uninterrupted view on all
sides. When the “Fram” went out to get fresh water-ice from an iceberg
which had got aground, Mr. Calwagen was there immediately and set
his apparatus up on the iceberg. This is probably the first time that pilot
balloon observations have been made from an iceberg.
With the execution of all these pilot balloon observations, under
conditions which were continually changing and often difficult,* Mr.
Calwagen had to use all his care and all his skill. It can certainly be
said that he made use of every possibility imaginable in order to collect
data which might be helpful in supplementing the expedition’s weather
forecasts.
* After having sent in this report, the sad news

had just been received that Mr. Calwagen has
been killed in a flying accident at Kjeller, near
Oslo, on the 10th of August, 1925. Immediately
after arriving home from Spitzbergen he
commenced to work on that branch which he was
the first to start in Norway, namely, the reading of
the atmospheric conditions by self-registering
instruments installed in aeroplanes. In the course
of the last year he has personally taken part in
many flights in order to complete the registering-
dials of the instruments from his own observations.
The accident happened during such a flight, just
when he was engaged in collecting observations
for determining the atmospheric belts.
All who were with the expedition will no doubt
remember Mr. Calwagen as a practical man,
helpful, impulsive, bubbling over with merriment,
capable but at the same time possessed of a
modesty which was the natural result of his noble
altruistic nature. We all feel very grieved at such a
man’s death.
When it was necessary to have two men for the pilot balloon
ascents, Mr. Calwagen got excellent assistance from ice-pilot Ness,
who, according to what he himself said, was only too glad to be
employed a little on such an occupation during the long hours in which
“Fram” lay idle, not giving him enough to do.
Altogether sixty-two pilot balloons were sent up between the 15th
of April and the 29th of May. It was possible to follow one of them
through glasses to a height of 10,500 meters. This, however, was only
possible because there was very little wind all the way up. Generally
the wind was so strong that the balloon was lost sight of at a much
lower height.
It will lead us too far into scientific spheres to describe all the
methods used in determining the weather conditions from weather-
charts and from observations which were made. I shall have to content
myself by just mentioning the main principles which must be taken into
consideration when choosing the starting day.
It is the general experience that the regions which have low air
pressure mostly have cloudy weather and rainfall, whilst places with
high air pressure have fine weather with a clear sky. The point was
therefore to avoid conditions where a depression was moving towards
the Pole.
In order to be pretty safe from bad weather it was necessary to
choose a high pressure condition. Further, the high pressure would
have to lie north of Spitzbergen so that the aeroplanes should not fly
out of good weather directly into bad on the way north. A high pressure
condition over the Pole would necessarily bring with it northeasterly
winds and cold weather in Spitzbergen. This northeasterly wind would
(at West Spitzbergen) be an off-shore wind and therefore would signify
clear weather. Along the north coast of Spitzbergen the weather would
be more doubtful, with a northeast wind which would cause the air to
rise up against the hills and form clouds. But these cloud-masses on
the north coast would very often only stretch out over a limited area
which the flyers could pass in a short time, preferably by flying over the
clouds.
One has the best guarantee for stable weather conditions when
the pilot balloons show that northeast winds are not only to be found
on the ground but also higher up. One knows then that the high
pressure condition around the Pole will reach high up in the
atmosphere and is not just a low formation which could be swept away
by the first attack of a storm center from elsewhere.
The first high pressure condition in May occurred on the 4th, just
when the aeroplanes were finished mounting. This favorable condition
did not last long. The low pressure over North Norway increased and
passed northeast (along the dotted line on the chart) by pushing the
polar high pressure aside towards Greenland. Before the final
preparations were finished on the 8th of May the low pressure had got
so near the Pole that it was not advisable to start.
A period of drizzly weather followed now when it was impossible to
do anything else but wait. The wind was mostly between west and
south, and the sky was overcast and we often had snow showers. Only
now and again it cleared for half a day, but never long enough that
there could be a question of starting. This state of affairs lasted until
the 18th of May, when a change took place. A heavy storm center,
which passed Björnöya, turned the wind easterly at Spitzbergen, and
behind the bad weather a high pressure region appeared which moved
from Labrador via Greenland towards the Pole. The wind was still too
strong, and it was not quite clear at Spitzbergen, but there were good
prospects that the next few days would bring good weather conditions
for the flight. The planes were therefore made ready to start at short
notice.
We had still to wait three days before the weather was as it ought
to be. The high pressure region had spread itself long ago over the
Arctic Sea, and the bad weather which passed Björnöya had moved to
North Siberia, but right up to the morning of the 21st we had dull
weather with snow now and again in King’s Bay. The reason was a
slight local depression which had remained persistently over the warm
current which the Gulf Stream sends along the west coast of
Spitzbergen. On the 21st there was, for the first time, sufficient easterly
wind to drive the snowy weather out to sea, so that from midday on we
had radiant sunshine and a cloudless sky.
At last the condition had arrived for which we had waited so long,
the first useful condition since the planes had been ready to start. It
had to be used, especially as the season was getting on towards the
end of May and the danger of fog was increasing each day.
So far we had not seen any fog at Spitzbergen and if one had not
had the knowledge about polar fogs which “Fram’s” observations,
1893–6, had given us, it would have been tempting enough to wait
longer. It was still pretty cold, -9° c. in King’s Bay on the 21st of May
and at the Pole one might risk calculating that the temperature would
be down to -15° c. Both for the planes and the crews it would have
been better and more comfortable to have had a more summery
temperature. But of two evils choose the lesser. As soon as the
summer arrives in North Europe, North Siberia, Alaska and North
Canada, fog starts to reign over the polar sea. Each air current above
the Arctic, no matter from which direction it comes, will bring with it
warm air, which is exposed to a lowering of the temperature on contact
with the polar ice. This cooling of the warm air which contains a great
deal of dampness causes fog. This formation takes place quite
independently regardless of whether there is high or low pressure.
Even the best high pressure condition in the summer, might therefore
be useless for flying. During the high pressure one will certainly be free
from the clouds which produce snow and rain, and the flight can take
place in radiant sunshine, but fog, even if it only reaches twenty meters
up from the ground, will make a landing impossible.
Fog of that kind was very unlikely on the 21st, in fact, one might
say the possibility of its existence was quite excluded. The northeast
wind on that day was so cold (-9° c.) that it must have come from the
very central regions of the polar ice, and it is hardly probable that on its
way to Spitzbergen it should have been exposed to the further
lowering of temperature, which would have been necessary to produce
fog.
All these observations led to the following result: “Conditions to-
day are as favorable as can be expected so late in the summer. It was
not without nervousness that I advised the airmen of this result on the
morning of the 21st—never have I given a weather forecast with such
a heavy sense of responsibility. It was almost weighing me down with
its fateful importance, but on the other hand it was bracing to note how
the airmen arrived at their much more responsible decision: “We start
to-day.”
And it was so! The last reports which were received at midday did
not show any change for the worse, so there was not the slightest
reason for calling off the start. The sky grew clearer continually; Mr.
Calwagen had the opportunity of following the ascension of a pilot
balloon with binoculars to a height of 4,000 meters. It showed a
northeasterly wind, apart from the lowest belt, where the wind blew
southeast from King’s Bay. The northeast wind high up had a speed of
between eighteen to twenty kilometers per hour. Therefore if this
strength should continue throughout the eight hours of the flight
towards the Pole, it would give the planes a deviation of 130–160
kilometers. So much petrol was to be kept in reserve that the last
stretch could also be flown, especially if one could reckon on the wind
being with the planes throughout the flight homeward. Mr. Calwagen
wrote down the results of the pilot’s calculations and handed them over
to Captain Amundsen to assist him in the work of navigation.
Herewith the task of the meteorologists was ended, and in the last
unforgettable minutes we all stood as spectators, filled with admiration
for the six brave men who smilingly said good-by as if they were just
going on an everyday flying-trip. Not long afterwards both machines
were out of sight in the bright blue sky flying in the direction of Cape
Mitra.
* * * * *
Forty-five days later the polar flyers are home in Oslo again and
Captain Amundsen and Ellsworth’s meteorological notes are handed
over to us. We read them through with excitement. They contain news
from that part of the world which otherwise is out of the meteorologists
reach. They give him something to think about—especially after he has
dared to predict what kind of weather the polar flyers were likely to
meet in the unknown.
We start with the reports referring to the very beginning of the flight
from King’s Bay and see what the meteorological notes tell us.
After flying along the coast and passing the seven glaciers, the
flyers find Danskeöen’s and Amsterdamöen’s hills enveloped in fog
which continues northwards as far as the eye can see. What can this
have been caused by?
I cannot judge by personal examination because when twelve
hours later we ourselves arrived up at Danskeöen on board the “Fram”
there was not a sign of fog to be seen. But I am inclined to believe that
the fog has been composed of a layer of certain low-lying clouds,
which had often been seen by us at the beginning of May while we
were lying in Syd Gat waiting for suitable weather for the expedition’s
start. These clouds will often just form suddenly when a cold wind
blows from the polar ice towards the open sea. The moment the air
arrives over the first water-lanes or open sea it gets heated from
below. The heated layer rises above and whilst ascending forms
clouds. Other colder parts of the air then come into contact with the
water, get heated and rise also forming clouds, etc. According to the
observations which we had occasion to make at Danskeöen in the
beginning of May, the lower surface of these clouds is about 200
meters from the ground. Below this there is generally a thick mist of
fine snow which reduces atmospheric visibility and will certainly be
very disturbing for flying. Luckily these clouds do not reach to any
great height, seldom over 1,000 meters, so that one can easily fly
above them. Besides, one can count on their not forming further north
than where one finds open water channels of fairly large dimensions. It
is therefore not too risky to undertake a flight above the cloud-belt
towards clearer weather farther north.
The polar flyers took this risk, and quite rightly too. After two hours’
flight from Danskeöen going northwards there were no clouds, and on
the remainder of the flight there was nothing that obscured the view
over the polar ice.
The expedition has here made a meteorological reconnaissance of
great importance to all later flying explorations in the Arctic.
If a cold wind blows from the Pole one must reckon with the
formation of a low cloud belt over the wider water channels, even if it is
cloudless nearer the Pole. These clouds will form at all seasons of the
year, but perhaps mostly in the colder periods, when the difference in
temperature between ice and sea is greatest.
The landing took place in a light wind, therefore probably near to
the center of the high pressure region, which covers the Arctic Sea. On
the way into the high pressure region the wind, however, must have
been considerably stronger as is shown by the very considerable
deviation of 250 kilometers on an eight hours’ flight. In the middle
period of the flight it must therefore have been thirty kilometers per
hour, which is considerably more than the pilot observations over
King’s Bay had shown, namely, twenty kilometers per hour. The
aeroplanes must have flown, therefore, through a zone with strong
northeasterly winds blowing north of Spitzbergen, and then later come
into calmer wind conditions nearer the Pole.
This raises the question: Could one not have found a day with a
gentler wind blowing, when the deviation would have been less and
the Pole might have been reached? Probably the next day, 22nd of
May, would have been better as far as wind was concerned. Mr.
Calwagen measured the speed that day at Danskeöen, finding an east
wind blowing three kilometers per hour at a height of 500 meters. This
wind would only have brought a deviation of about 100 kilometers. But
according to Amundsen’s observation reports there was, on the same
day, a little northerly breeze at the landing place at 87° 43′, which
means that a contrary wind was also blowing on that day over the
district nearest to the Pole. And what was worse, on the 22nd May
there was no longer clear weather near the Pole.
The observations were as follows: During the last two hours of the
flight slight high clouds had begun to appear, but not so dense that
they could prevent the taking of solar observations immediately after
landing. The next day the clear weather was gone and solid gray cloud
layers covered the whole sky. It was the polar summer weather which
had started, just as we calculated it would from the “Fram” expedition’s
observations. And it did not improve during the following days; the
23rd, 24th and 25th were all gray-weather days, certainly without
rainfall, but also without sunshine. A northerly breeze was blowing on
the 22nd, 23rd and 24th, but it got calmer on the 25th.
The big high-pressure region which we had over the Arctic Sea on
the starting day continued, and the polar flyers must have been very
near the high pressure center as they now had calm weather. As far as
could be seen everything looked favorable, and whilst we were lying
and waiting at Danskeöen in radiant sunshine, the whole day long, I
personally thought that this good weather would certainly stretch right
up to the Pole. But here the expedition’s observations have taught us
something else, that in the best of weather conditions there is gray
weather at the Pole when the year is so far advanced as the end of
May. This is also one of the new meteorological results which this
expedition has brought to light—in regard to the “Fram’s” expedition it
happened that they did not meet any high pressure regions at the end
of May.
There were a few occasions when the clouds broke up at 87° 42′;
for instance, the 29th of May “dawned with sunshine from an almost
quite clear sky.” But this was only a sign that worse weather was
approaching. In the night, between the 28th and 29th, snow had
passed Spitzbergen on the way north. It reached the polar flyers on the
30th in their camp 87° 43′. The clearing on the 29th was therefore just
a passing phenomenon, and if the aeroplanes had started that day
southwards they would after a few hours’ flight have got right into a
heavy snowfall. These clearings, before the large wandering snow-
masses, are well known in lower latitudes. It is, however, interesting for
meteorologists to find that the same rules also apply to the weather
conditions at the Pole.
Now follows a period of prevailing southerly and southeasterly
winds which cause the temperature to rise quickly. On the coldest day,
the 24th of May, there had been -12.5° c., but at the end of the month
we already had +7° c. and on the 7th of June the temperature was up
to 0°. This enormously quick change from winter to “summer
temperature” is typical of the polar conditions.
“Spring” does not last “month’s,” as in the lower latitudes—it is
finished in a few weeks’ time.
From the 7th of June onwards the temperature did not rise much; it
remained about 0°. Sometimes a little over, sometimes a little under.
One can say that 0° is the characteristic summer temperature of the
Arctic region. Warmer air than 0° is very often carried there from lower
latitudes, but this gets cooled down immediately through contact with
the ice, and gets a temperature of about 0°. As mentioned before, it is
this cooling down which is responsible for the fog because it causes
the air’s moisture to condense. The first fog, which extended right
down to the ground, was observed on the 2nd of June; the next was on
the 8th of June, and thereafter happened fairly often, so in the end
whole days free of fog were exceptions.
Luckily on the 15th of June, when the starting place was ready,
there was sufficient visibility for them to start and to find their way out
of their “Foggy” home.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made
consistent when a predominant preference was found in the
original book; otherwise they were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced
quotation marks were remedied when the change was
obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between
paragraphs and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook
that support hyperlinks, the page references in the List of
Illustrations lead to the corresponding illustrations.
The table on page 175 was printed in a way that was
difficult to understand, so its appearance in this eBook may be
incorrect.
Page 249: “we reached the N 24” was printed that way,
but the narrative suggests that it should be “N 25”.
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Rise of a Dungeon House: A litRPG

Story (City of Masks Book 2) John

First and foremost, always, to my wife, Shami Stovall. She taught

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As will be observed Mr. Devold had a lengthy time-table each day

THE DOTTED AREA, ABOUT 12,000 SQUARE MILES,

* After having sent in this report, the sad news

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