Chapter 91: Captain Montgomery Scott's Personal Report on Doras Dagda
Arrival Date: Immediate Post-Evacuation from Edinburgh
If I had to summarize Doras Dagda in a single word, it would be: impossible. Everything about this place defies logic, and yet it thrives on principles I'm still trying to wrap my head around. From the moment I stepped through the archway, I've been like a child on Christmas morning, eyes wide and jaw slack as I try to take it all in.
My first stop was Dagda's Ambrosial Gardens. Let me tell you, if paradise had a smell, it'd be the air here, a mix of fresh fruit, blooming flowers, and something uniquely vibrant. The fruit grows bigger than any I've seen, practically glowing with health, and the druids tending the soil do so with a sense of reverence. They don't just water the plants, they coax them to life, hands glowing with gentle green energy as they sing to the earth, and it's hard to watch without yer jaw tryin' to hit the floor, like ye've just seen a unicorn takin' a selfie. The Ambrosial Fruit, in particular, seems like it could feed the world if you gave it the chance.
Of course, I couldn't help but notice the Sanctum Portal on the far side of the gardens, guarded by a living legend: Kernel, the forest and rock giant. When I approached, eager as any soldier would be, a massive stone hand the size of a wagon wheel blocked my path, his eyes glowing gently as he sized me up before retreating, a clear message, no magic, no entry. Even without stepping through, I could feel the intensity of danger radiating from that place, they take their security seriously here.
Fair enough, I have magic, but it's not that strong yet. Perhaps I need permission first. I muttered, "So you're the gatekeeper, eh?" and to my astonishment, Kernel shifted slightly after a moment's pause, raising one hand in a slow, exaggerated salute, his glowing eyes glimmering with what seemed like a quiet confirmation, as if acknowledging his duty.
I burst out laughing despite myself. "Well, cheers to you too, big guy," I said, returning the gesture. Kernel plunked back into the landscape like a boulder playin' hide-and-seek with a forest, a Kong-like rock gorilla roughly 30 meters tall when standing but usually sittin' near the portal or hunched, blending into the terrain with grasses and bushes sproutin' from his back. He's not just a guard, he's a deterrent, his presence alone is enough to make anyone think twice, yet when settlers pass by, he watches with what seems like intrigue, and it's hard to believe something so massive could be gentle.
The Arcane Crafter's Tower looms high above the settlement, a spiral of stone and glass where craftspeople work on projects beyond my understanding. From runesmithing to enchanted tools, incredible medieval armor and weapons, the tower is a hive of activity, its workers cheerful despite the intensity of their tasks. Meanwhile, in the distance, the Arcoplex dominates the skyline, its shimmering surface catching the light like a soap bubble, casting chromatic hues across the settlement.
Workers move around its nearly-finished base, channeling mana to reinforce its structure. It's an impressive feat, a safe haven for thousands nearly ready to serve its purpose, able to house all the refugees with room to spare, tripling the current population when complete with underground additions. They stay lively even with their demanding workload.
The market is a riot of color and sound, with stalls overflowing with magically spun garments, tools, and magical artifacts. I even saw a merchant selling boots that supposedly never wear out, tempting, but my budget's limited. Sarah's restaurant is a marvel in its own right, her small establishment now expanded to a pavilion outside the gates, barely keeping up with demand.
Refugees were everywhere, some paying with money, others bartering whatever they've got, while Sarah's hired hands bustle under her command like a general in battle. The druids pitch in, ensuring the gardens produce enough to keep the operation running, their hard work fueling an upbeat mood, it's hard work, but people here are happy. As I stood near the pavilion, a woman I recognized from Edinburgh hesitantly approached me, her young son clutching at her skirts, her voice trembling with gratitude.
"Captain Scotty, is it?" she asked softly.
"Aye, ma'am," I said, tilting my head. "Have we met?"
"Not formally," she said, smiling softly. "But we saw you and your men during the evacuation. I just wanted to say thank you, for helping us escape."
The boy, no older than five, looked up at me with wide eyes. "Mum says you're a hero!"
I knelt to his level, grinning. "I reckon your mum's the hero for keepin' you safe, lad. But thanks all the same."
The woman wiped a tear from her cheek as they headed into Sarah's pavilion, and I found myself wondering how many stories like hers had been written in the past few days. This place, this strange, magical place, had given so many people a chance to start over.
Behind the walls, ranchers work tirelessly to keep their livestock thriving, using magic to accelerate grass growth, heal injured animals, and encourage rapid birth-rates. The result is an abundance of meat, milk, and other products, and these industrious folks have found a harmony between necessity and wonder that I can't help but admire. It's astonishing to see magic applied to everyday life with such practicality and joy.
The training yard is where I've spent most of my free time, learning fire magic that feels… exhilarating. I've only scratched the surface, but the potential is staggering, and my soldiers are eager to learn too, their enthusiasm contagious. "When do we get to try?" they ask, and it's a good question, can magic be taught to everyone, or is it something you're born with? I intend to find out.
But Doras Dagda isn't without its mysteries, and today, I saw Robert speaking with a strange crystal ball the size of a Volkswagen they call STEVE, their conversation heated to say the least. I lingered nearby, intrigued by Robert's plans, and caught snippets of their exchange. "I don't care how short of building materials we are," Robert said, his tone sharp. "We have to make it work, and we will. I want you to start offering, yes, offering, the classic humans tasks to complete for coins."
The crystal's response was unintelligible to me, but Robert's exasperation was plain. "Yes, STEVE, I'll make sure DAVE supplies you with the silver and gold. Complete for coins. Make it resource allocation, and the residents of Doras Dagda can hire them as well, so they need a place to post help-wanted signs… Yes, STEVE, I know they aren't as efficient without access to magic. I want to fix that today, stop interrupting me!"
"You know what, you have my orders for now," Robert continued, his voice firm. "I'm going to go build something useful. Offer the tasks, STEVE. And be polite. This is all new to them and they're easily spooked. Fine. Yes. Fine. I'll talk to DAVE."
With that, he stormed off, leaving me with more questions than answers. What is STEVE, exactly? And what's Robert's plan for the refugees? Whatever it is, I have no doubt it will be bold.
Robert stalks towards me, but doesn't realize it's me as he shakes off the irritation from his conversation with that big crystal. Finally, he looks up and his mood brightens as he sees me. He alters course to talk to me, "Hey Captain!" he said, greeting me kindly.
I don't know what it is about this man, but something about him makes you want to make him proud, and tell you that you did a good job. It's odd, like a caring father in a way, who wants the best for you, and you don't want to let him down, not ever. You just know that this unassuming archeologist could erase you from existence before you could even cry out for help. But, you can just tell by looking at him that he's probably not the type to do so. At least, not without a really good reason.
I've seen him fight, and God help us, it's a boon beyond belief that he's on our side, it's hard to describe, but it must be said, the man is fearsome, and would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. Some of the finest warriors I've ever seen defer to him with the most profound respect he's built with them, no one was given an order to be respectful, like we would do the top brass in the military.
"I want to show you DAVE," he said, with an odd inflection on the name Dave, like it stood for something else. "DAVE?" I ask him, and he snorts from a private joke, then says, "DAVE stands for Dungeon Automaton and Virtual Entity, a magical system that runs the Kobold Sanctum," quirking a grin. It took me a second, but it makes sense, reminding me of that movie, 2001: A Space Odyssey. "What are you doing, DAVE?" I chuckled, "I see."
So he leads me over to the portal I tried to enter earlier, and the gorilla rock beast nods down at Robert deferentially. "That's Kernel," he said, and I asked if that was his rank, to which he laughed, replying, "Oh, no. Kernel like a seed. He's part forest, ye see, and a kernel has rank." I rolled my eyes, dad jokes, of course.
Stepping into the portal, my mind stretched. I stepped into a cave at first, but it quickly became what looked like an underground bunker, made of great blocks of marble with pillars in the entryway like those old Greek columns, holding up the ceiling. There were statues of what I've learned are called Kobolds, small, lizard-like creatures, ugly and a bit mean, the more primitive kind, Robert explained.
But there's also the kind that look more like rats, like Chaucer, who was magically evolved to be bipedal, smarter, and much bigger. Chaucer is one of the funniest mother fuckers I've ever met. Reminds me of some of the boys that join the army that deal with the stress with weird but hilarious poetry, or singin' at inappropriate times. He's great.
We march down this great hall toward a giant teardrop-shaped crystal with jagged edges, glowing with mana, as Robert calls it. The crystal starts talking, and I can hear this one, its voice like a corporate yes-man, which makes me laugh every time I think about it. "Good DAY SIR! I'm so happy you've come to see me again, things are going wonderfully here under my guidance, following your wise orders! I hope that you have more for me, whenever you visit, things always get so interesting!"
DAVE reports to Robert all sorts of confusing things: resource harvests from the mines, kobold birth-rates, and the progress of training something called a "Kobrute," though I haven't met one of these yet, and other tedious data. DAVE then addressed me, "Sir, I notice that you have an unknown individual with you. These are state secrets, do you wish for this individual to have clearance too?" Robert nodded, "Yes, he can come and go, and train in the dungeons below. He is a fire mage, and a skilled soldier. Treat him well, but Ewan and myself are the only ones that can give you direct orders."
"And while I'm thinking about it," Robert added, "if something were to happen to me or Lord Ewan MacEwan, then our direct descendant can inherit our control, and Moira has unlimited access as well, so whoever she deems worthy to be successor is also acceptable." The crystal teardrop flashed in response to my voice, as if recording me as I spoke, "Thank you, Captain Montgomery Scott. I am DAVE, and I am the control system for all you see here. If you have questions, please ask. But ask after My Master is finished with this meeting."
Slightly stunned, feeling odd that I'm talking to an object, I shrugged. "Uhm… okay, sure," I said, unsure if it could see me shrug. I felt its attention switch back to Robert, don't ask me how I know that, I just know.
DAVE perked up then, "Master Robert, I hope that you will be pleased to know that the first batch of leprechauns are ready to enter service. If you'd like to meet one, I can arrange that." I blurted out before I could catch my words, "What the hell did you just say?"