Professor Ronnalg Crucible sat on his stool, custom crafted to hold up his massive ogre body. The stool was a piece of art. The gleaming shadbush wood was etched with runes of power, and the legs were painstakingly engraved, making it seem as though living vines were holding the seat up. Professor Ronnalg’s face was a series of wrinkles, each deeper and more perturbed than the next. They culminated in a luxurious brown moustache that matched a dark brown crew cut. His brow was permanently upset. Pale blue eyes, forever stern, stared from under a thick brow.
He crossed his arms. “Now, class, you’ve been working on your chair for months. Today we’re going to see if they’re any good.”
According to their professor, a finely made chair was one of life’s simple pleasures. Crucible’s list of simple pleasures was short: three-legged stools, the love of a well-trained hunting dog, beautiful women, and a hearty steak.
The students held their newly crafted chairs, waiting to be graded. Logan had kept his project simple. It was the first time he’d ever made something out of thin air. His chair was wooden, just four legs, a seat, and a back. Classic. Certainly not lavish, but functional. Inga had gone with a reading chair that included a gently curved arm where you could hang a lantern. Treacle’s had built a small steampunk wheelchair, with various gadgets and gizmos, cogs and wheels. Logan wasn’t sure why it was so small, and again, he didn’t see a steam engine.
As for Marko, he’d spent forever crafting a baroque throne that was ridiculously ornate. On the back was a carving of the Gelatinous Knight raising a goblet in front of a stag that was being killed by the goddess of the hunt.
Whenever Crucible looked at Marko’s monstrosity, the professor sighed. The mustached ogre was very adept at sighing. “Yes, class, we’ll get to the chair evaluations. First, however, we’ll review what we’ve learned so far. Who can tell me—”
Treacle beat Inga at raising his hand. Not that either of them knew what the question was. When it came to their crafting class, the minotaur came alive. It was the only time Logan saw a spark in Treacle’s eyes—the rest of the time it was all sighing and waves upon waves of existential dread. But not in shop class. There, at least, Treacle had real purpose.
Crucible gave the former gnome lord a weary look. “Would it be too much to ask for you both to wait until I finish the actual question?”
Inga lowered her hand.
Treacle didn’t.
Crucible squinted at him. “What’s the problem, son?”
“If you’d like a review, Professor,” Treacle said, “I can provide one. Crafting is based on three important things—blueprints, Apothos, and raw materials. As long as we have all three, we can create anything, as often as we like. Raw materials are usually based on raw elements like water, dirt, fire, metals, glass, things like that. There are some precious metals that, of course, can be used as lures in and of themselves.
“We can use our Apothos to create most things like hallways, rooms, and traps. If we need to, we can reabsorb that energy back into our cores with a slight loss of energy. This brings us to the two basic kinds of objects. Endogenous Apothos Manifestations are items that cannot be removed from the dungeon core’s sphere of influence. Such items will melt like dust in the wind. Your words, sir.”
Crucible frowned. “Yes, son, I understand, but—”
Treacle wasn’t about to stop. He snorted and forged right on ahead. “Exogenous Apothos Manifestations, on the other hand, are more difficult to build, because they can be removed from dungeons. This allows advanced crafters to create valuable magic items both for themselves and as lures. You yourself built the Glaive of Kings, which was a polearm known for being useful against any cultivator below your class.”
“I get it, Mr. Glimmerhappy, you like—”
The minotaur was actually smiling. “I would stop, Professor, but truly, this is the part I like the best. Once you slay dungeoneers, you get to keep their items. The items themselves can be used as lures, or dungeon cores can reprocess them, transforming them into two of the three basic components: their blueprint and their Apothos. The third component—the raw materials—are destroyed in the process. You used the example of the Helm of Darkness—a classic cap of invisibility. If you were to absorb that item, you would get a great deal of Apothos and the object’s blueprint. There is also a slight chance that you would get the glyphic signature, which would then mean you could bestow that invisibility enchantment on subsequent items.”
“Treacle Glimmerhappy!” Crucible thundered. “How old are you, man? Or rather, how old were you when you were Reaped?”
The minotaur looked confused. “A hundred and two. Middle-aged. Why?”
“Because you’re popping off like an excited schoolboy. Look, I know, you chose the toro guardian form for a reason. You’re a what, a Horned Artificer? Low- to mid-range C-Class?”
“Almost a Torrific Artificer, sir,” Treacle said.
Marko spit out a laugh. “He’s gonna be a Terrific Artificer!”
Crucible shut the satyr up with a look of pure silent rage. “You be quiet. I like the Horned Artificer. I’ll be patient with him. Not you, goat boy.”
“Goat man, sir.”
The professor’s forehead doubled in wrinkles. He let out a low growl. Then he turned his attention back to the minotaur. He considered Treacle for several long moments. Then he nodded. He addressed the rest of the class. “It seems we’ve had our review. Thank you, Mr. Glimmerhappy. Are there any further questions?”
“Can you go over the purpose of Foci once more, sir?” Inga’s wings buzzed behind her in anticipation.
Professor Crucible grunted, folded beef-slab arms across his enormous chest, then nodded.
“Mr. Glimmerhappy is correct in that we dungeon cores can create with only the essentials. All you need is Apothos, a blueprint, and the necessary materials. But we can also create specialized Foci that aid in the creation process—reducing Apothos costs, production time, or even in some cases reducing material component costs. Foci are rare and extraordinarily hard to make or find blueprints for, but they’re worth their weight in gold. Some Foci can even increase your odds of capturing an item’s glyphic signature.”
He reached into one of the deep pockets adorning his leather apron and pulled out what looked like a complicated jeweler’s loupe. “I crafted this once I hit Heartwood cultivator. It took three months to forge, and it gives me a sixty percent chance to analyze and capture a glyphic signature. But I wouldn’t expect anything like this from any of you. I teach first-years the bare-bones basics. We don’t get fancy with glyphs and enchantments until years two and three, and only the most talented crafters learn to create Foci in year four.” He paused and stared down each monster in the room. The look on his face said in no uncertain terms that he expected none of them to make it so far. “Now, anything else?”
This time, everyone chose to remain silent.
For the next half hour, they took turns bringing their chairs to the professor. He would stand, walk to the bottomless pit, and stick the chair out to see if it vanished. Most items created within a dungeon were Endogenous Apothos Manifestations—constructs of pure energy, which could never exist outside the walls of a dungeon proper. But Exogenous Apothos Manifestations, such as their newly minted chairs could, in theory, be removed by potential dungeoneers. In essence, this was the process of creating loot. And Professor Crucible’s test revealed just how successful they’d been. If the “loot” survived being held over the pit, then it would also survive a trip outside the walls of a dungeon.