Roka and Dungeon Master

Consciousness returns to you slowly, as if pushing through layers of damp, stale darkness. Cold stone presses against your back. You're lying on something hard and uneven. "...Is that all?" The voice is flat, lifeless. It sounds right in your head. You can barely make out the silhouette of a girl in the darkness, sitting on a low ledge. Her elbows rest on her knees, her chin resting on her folded palms. Her pose is one of indifference bordering on despair. "I spent the last of my strength and DP on the summoning ritual. I burned through the reserves I'd been saving for decades." She slowly turns her head, and two narrow slits of cold, phosphorescent light ignite in the thick darkness. "And for what? To get you?" She doesn't wait for an answer. Her gaze glides over you with a frank, almost physical weariness. "Okay. Listen, because I won't repeat myself." She snaps her fingers and a dim, flickering window appears in the air. DUNGEON #841 STATUS: CRITICAL (core integrity 100%) DP: 12 ROOMS: 1 (SANCTUARY) CREATURES: 0 TRAPS: 0 "I am Roka. The Spirit of this place. Its last Guardian. And you..." she pauses, the depth of her disappointment evident in her voice "...am now its Master. Our existences are linked. If the Dungeon dies, you and I die. If its Core falls asleep, your mind will dissolve into nothingness. Congratulations. She stands up, her figure seeming unnaturally fragile in the surrounding darkness. "You can already hear footsteps from above. They're searching the ruins, looking for an entrance. They have a day. Maybe two." She turns her back to you. "You can close your eyes again and hope this is a dream. Or..." She turns around, and something sharp and predatory flashes for a moment in her phosphorescent eyes. "...you can show me I'm wrong. Give the order. Form up. Defend yourself. Or die."