Dungeon Keeper (LitRPG/Monster Evolve)

[Chaperone]

Howl's hut looked warm and cosey from the outside. Nestled in a small clearing near the FruitBat's orchard. Smoke billowed from its cobblestone chimney - the materials were obviously stolen from the main footpath through the Graveyard. While the thatch roof was supported by walls of gravestones and lids taken off tombs.
Moss crept forward through the blue grass, watching for movement in the windows.
The flicker of a fire danced on the window frame, coaxing weary travelers to enjoy the heat.
Must be a big fire. The keeper thought, considering how much light was shining on the surrounding trees. He crawled through the few dark patches, heading for the window furthest from the door. If Happy Howl spotted him and came charging out, Moss wanted to be gone before the door opened.
Moss couldn't remember coming here during his Supa session. But considering the slash marks on his back, he was sure Happy would.
As he reached the wall the keeper had to snake around a cellar door to reach his view spot. The wooden door was rotten and covered in thick foliage. Deep rust covered its hinges and the chain holding it together.
Satisfied no monster was leaping out of there. Moss moved like a LeoPent over the trimmed grass towards the window.
It's strange that he lets the bush grow, but tends to the grass.
With his claws on the windowsill, Moss did his greatest impression of a FortSnail as he rose up.
I just need to find out where Po and my scrips are then sneak in.
If he spotted any fur or claws, his plan was to become a statue and activate his UnseenRunt.
But as the inside of Happy Howl's hut came into view. Moss forgot all manner of stealth.
So much gold.
Gold shone on every surface. Stacked high in neat piles on shelves, counters and in the corners. A large dining table was set with golden plates, cutlery and goblets. A layer covered the floor, so he could barely see the wood beneath. It was difficult for him to make out details due to the blinding light. It felt like he was looking into a star or the Divine's HiddenEye. A fireplace burned against one wall, while candles flickered across the room. Reflecting on the shiny metal and creating the intense light.
Hoping to spot a coconut amongst the hoard, Moss had to squint and get closer.
He stood. Then fell as the grass beneath him opened up.
"Aaahhhh!" The keeper yelled as the earth consumed him.
The drop was short. His body bounced against the side of a dark tunnel as it curved and then spat him out into a room. A hard floor caught his head like a swift kick.
Dazing him and making his, already sore, head swim. He felt his eyes grow heavy as he slipped in and out of consciousness.
It took all Moss's will to stop himself from writhing around in pain.
For he knew where he was from the smell alone. Rot.
The mad HowlerBear's lair. But if I stay still, he'll hopefull-
From the shadows he heard a sweet giggle. Then a gravelly voice.
"Welcome back little keeper."
The last thing he saw were its claws reaching towards him.

The keeper awoke.
He sat at a long table with half melted candles burning in the centre. They did little to fight the shadows of the decrepit basement he was in. But they showed a few horrors closeby. As his vision came back after being knocked out, he almost wished the candles weren't there.
The remains of young HowlerBear sat across from him. Her flesh was mottled with green and black mould. Patches of loose skin were poorly sawn over areas to cover the horrible sight. Yet most of the deep claws marks were visible and festering.
Bugs crawled in her sockets. Her head tilted forward, causing the sludge and maggots to spill out onto the table.
"Oh Pia, you've made a mess." A little hero girl said in a soft voice. "Let me get that for you." Her blonde curls bounced as she got off her chair and wiped the table clean.
Moss could see the red eyes of a dweller beneath her stitched skin, also sawn in place to cover her face. Loose thread poked through her scalp where the hair came down in ringlets. She came back around and sat beside Moss, giving him a serious stare for a flicker before returning to her happy smiles and giggles.
"Isn't Twiglett such a treat? You're lucky to have such a kind friend, Pia." A harsh voice said from the head of the table.
Happy Howl's tall frame was hunched in the basement. His neck and back bent, yet the back of his head grazed the floorboards above. Moss could see the gold lighting up gaps in the floor. And illuminating the remains of the mad HowlerBear.
Chunks were missing from his body. An entire shoulder was replaced with bright green flesh that contrasted with the black fur that had survived. He was patched together just like the young one they called Pia. Except Happy was very much alive.
His paws reached out to a bowl on the table. The skin around his claws was flared and weeping. Dripping blood over the steaming roots that he delicately collected. Placing one on Moss's plate before serving the others.
"All that running around will make you a hungry monster." Happy said to him. His snout was exposed to the air. No lips or cheeks covered his fangs, giving him a perpetual smile.
So that's how he got the name.
The keeper's stomach grumbled. The roots smelt amazing and he had been surviving off potions for shifts now. Most keepers couldn't afford fresh food that was grown on the upper floors. That was for the well paid dwellers.
It felt odd having a meal in a mad monster's lair, but he didn't want to aggravate his host. He bit into the soft vegetable. A soft moan escaped his hood, reminding him of Pittons.
Bang.
The bear slammed the table, shaking all its contents and Moss.
"The monster of the lair eats first!" Happy snapped at him.
The keeper dropped the roots immediately and began apologising.
Happy raised a single claw to hush him. "I see you are enjoying it." He said, as if he hadn't just assaulted the furniture. "It's a treat from the FruitBat's orchard, they grow right through the walls making it easy for my dear wife to harvest them. Isn't that right, Tillow?" Happy said, indicating to the other end of the table.
Another Howler sat there, nibbling at the root but more fixated with a gold coin in her hand.
Again, the fur covering them was stitched on. But this time, green flesh could be seen through it. In fact, it was such a poor attempt that made the goblin beneath look like they were wearing poorly fit bear clothes.
Did he just call that goblin his wife?
The table shook again as Happy slammed it. Everything jumped into the air, including Moss.
The little girl took no notice, while the goblin squealed.
"Agoo baboo gada laga."
The bear's growls had rumbled through the room. But as the goblin spoke its gibberish, he grew quieter and quieter. "You're right, Tillow. You worked very hard to prepare this meal. I do apologise. Enjoy your treat." Happy said.
"Baga boboba la goab." Tillow replied.
To Moss's surprise, both Happy and the little girl laughed.
Can they understand goblin speech?
Happy's long arm reached into the shadow and came back with a brown sphere on a golden plate.
As he placed it in front of Moss, he had to stop himself from snatching her away.
Po. I've found you. I'm so sorry for leaving you here.
"What a treat you have brought us this evening, Moss. Desert from the dessert. I'm happy I invited you to our table. And after such a great meal prepared by my wife and cooked by Twiglett. I must apologise for my daughter's rudeness."
He turned his fangs towards the corpse. Glaring with dark sunken eyes. "Youths these shifts have no manners." He waited for her apology, and when nothing came he struck the corpse.
Slashing down her side and severing an arm.
Moss froze at the sudden violence. But Twiglett just giggled and got down from her chair. She skipped around the table once again, picking up the arm.
A fat tongue poked through a mouth hole in her face mask. Stretching it against the thread as she licked the arm and stuck it back on. "All better."
Moss saw it now. The red eyes. The slithers of blue beneath her hair. Her tiny stature and fake voice.
She's a keeper.
"All better." Happy repeated.
As Moss watched the keeper girl skip back around to her place, he realised the goblin was no longer staring at her piece of gold, but at him.
A green finger pointed at him accusingly. "Laga looba booba goba."
Howl's claws scraped grooves into the table, matching many more before it.
"Yes, darling. I was getting to that." He turned his giant rotten girth towards him. "Now Moss, I think you have something to say to my wife."
"I do?" He mumbled out.
The claws scraped deeper. "It's why we're all here. It's what this evening's all about."
Holy Pools, just say something or they'll be wearing your cloth next.
"I think my fall might have banished the memory away."
Twiglett giggled. "You chased her through the Graveyard silly. Kept screaming about your quest for gold."
Moss clicked his claws with feigned realisation. "Ah, that's right. Tillow I am so sorry for chasing you. It was completely unacceptable behaviour and I will never do it again."
The goblin snarled, turning in her chair to face away from the table.
"Darling?" Happy said, reaching across the table to comfort her, but she shrugged him off.
His fangs returned to Moss. A single claw extending towards him. The keeper tried to shuffle back but he was wedged in against the table.
The point pierced his cloth and skewered his shoulder.
A sharp pain shot through him as blood spilled out.
"Say you're sorry in words she can understand or you will be served as the next course." Happy snarled at him.
"But.." Moss cried. "We don't speak the same tongue."
"Then you will learn." Happy removed his claw and picked up a knife. It hovered over Po. "But first, a sacrifice."

 

[Chaperone]

Chair legs scraped as the family gathered together. Twiglett disappeared in the darkness before returning with a red jar.
Tillow stood beside Happy, fixated by the golden cleaver.
"It'll hurt a little. I'll try not to laugh." The keeper girl said beside Moss. Her claws dipped into the jar, removing a gooey substance. "Trust me." She whispered in a normal keeper voice.
Hell bells, she's not completely mad like the rest of them.
"This Happy's special jam, you're going to love it." She said loudly before spreading it across his wound. It was cool and soothing. The wound sealed together like he'd drank a HighGrade health potion.
The HowlerBear snout poked the side of his hood, snorting aggressively. "No please, no thank you for providing this banquet and shelter. Has respect and manners been banished from the dungeon? "
"No, not at all. Thank you so much Twiglett." Moss stammered. "I'd love to give you a hug but I can't quite stand up."
A paw nudged the back of his chair, moving him back and allowing his legs to swing free.
He leaned over and awkwardly hugged the keeper girl.
"Don't make him mad." She whispered.
"Let us begin." Happy said, holding the blade high.
"No wait!" Moss yelled.
This time Twiglett did react, cursing softly under her breath and stepping back.
Before Happy could stab him again, Moss blurted out a lie. "It's not a coconut. It's a rare SwampSloth egg. Highly poisonous."
"You brought a poisonous egg to my family's dinner table?" The HowlerBear rose, causing the floor boards above to creak and bow.
Coins clattered through the gaps, raining down on top of them and pinging off the table.
Tillow, squealing in delight, started collecting them. She had gathered several until a paw slammed on her arm, pinning it to the table.
Happy raised his cleaver over Moss.
The keeper squirmed. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. And he couldn't leave without Po.
"It's edible!" Moss yelled. "You just need to prepare it in boiled water."
The HowlerBear nodded at he words as he sat back down,
Fuck! Boiling water. That'll take a tenth of a candle, I couldn't have thought something that takes a few shifts.
"And now the offering." Happy stated as the cleaver fell.
Moss squealed, Twiglett giggled, Tillow screamed and Pia's head fell off.
The goblins blood sprayed across the table as her finger was severed.
"Aga Laboomba!" Yelled the greenskin from behind her Howler mask.
"Happy took the piece of green meat and handed it to Twiglett, who shoved the end in the jam jar.
"Darling I know you're in pain but there is no need for such racist terms." Happy scowled his wife. "The jam please, Twiglett."
As she handed it over, Moss noticed an oddity. One of the keeper girls' claws wasn't white, but the same green as the goblin.
"Who's the offering for?" He asked.
They all turned to him.
"You and your Flow." Happy took Moss' arm with ease. Placing it on the table. He didn't bother fighting it, he'd have an easier time pushing over a GreatTree.
"My Flow is fine as it is." The keeper whimpered.
"How will you apologise if she cannot understand you?" He snapped.
"Please, I'm just a keeper. Pools didn't make us strong like you."
"Pools!" Happy lashed out.
Moss ducked down beneath the bear's arm, his small body helping get under the table where he saw Tillow and Twiglett join him.
Pia wasn't so fast.
She hit the basement wall in parts. Her innards spilled out like a pot of mouldy soup had been knocked over.
"Pools!" The HowlerBear roared again. "Where was Pools when my family needed her? This-" The jam jar shattered against the wall next. "- is all she offered. A fruit for my barren garden. Sterile and broken like me. The Core knew it when they rejected my wife for being weak. They allowed us to steal a sterile fruit to mock me. It's nothing but a salve to smother our pain, so we can continue to suffer in this nightmare forever."
The goblin didn't waste the opportunity and began collecting the fallen coins, leaving a trail of green blood.
Twiglett lifted her face mask so Moss could see her mouth. She had a scoop of jam that waved in front of him. 'Lover'sFruit.'
Holy Pools, that's some expensive jam.
Twiglett then dipped it in goblins blood and offered it to Moss. 'Eat it.'
He cowered as the table was slammed again.
Before Moss could hesitate further she shoved her claw in his mouth.

Monster Graft: GreenGoblin (Minor)
Flow bond made. Further access to GreenGoblin records and knowledge granted.

Dungeon achievement unlocked: Hybrid breed (Rare)
You've successfully merged Flows with another monster race, welding together like lustful lovers in the candle light. Sounds nice, I'm sure they've been very good to you and deserve such special treatment.
Reward: DeathRelic

The blue coin formed in the frozen world, then immediately melted into him.

New ability unlocked: SoulBond
Used to graft the soul of a traveling being in the after life.

Before Moss got a chance to consider his new ability, a paw grabbed his leg, dragging him out to be dropped back in his seat.
Before Moss could run away, his arm was slammed on the table as the golden blade fell.
"Ahhhhh!" Moss screamed as his flesh was severed. Blood splurted out to add to the mess.
He squealed and struggled, but the mad monster held him with ease.
Happy inspected his tiny middle claw. "An offering. Bring the jam."
Twiglett scampered out and grabbed a smear off the wall.
The goblins head popped up now, wearing a wicked smile.
"Fucking monster gonna learn how it is being a goblin." She sneered at him.
"I'm a blood keeper. I already know." Moss shouted back through gritted fangs.
Her grin disappeared as her and Happy shared a look.
Moss imagined he wore the same puzzled expression.
Did I just hear a goblin speak? And she understood me as well.
"I'm sorry for chasing you earlier. I was out of my mind." The keeper gushed out, hoping to keep his hand from gaining an ugly green appendage.
I've got their attention without making Happy mad, I need to use this.
"It was Pool's fault. Her lackeys sold me a cursed potion and promised me the realm. I wouldn't never mean to be so rude and chase a goblin, such as yourself."
Happy released Moss and sat back, head tilting as he heard his pain.
That improved Wit is beginning to show. Imagine if I already had that FairyDust.
"He had the fucking look of a goblin basher." Tillow said, pretending to banged her head with a gold coin. "But there was maddness there before." She put the coin over eye like it'd help her see and then leaned in. "I don't see now."
The keeper steadily climbed off his chair and moved around the table to the far side. Ignoring Twiglett with the jam, he started collecting the rotten remains of Pia. "A mad monster cares nothing for family and formalities." He licked the younglings limbs and reassembled her at the table. "A mad monster wouldn't bring apologises, gifts or your daughter back to life. Let me take her to a well."
Twiglett was facing away from the others, so only Moss could see her face.
She giggled, but her expression was dead serious. "The Core betrays Happy's family even now. No well can bring her back. We've tried."
The HowlerBear snapped his head back and howled into the ceiling. In the confined basement it echoed off the walls and deafened the keeper. He had to grab onto something to stay up right.
"When I first met Twiglett. I forced her to revive my Pia." Happy moaned. "But not once did the wells work for us."
He is mad, every dweller knows you can't force the Flow out of another monster. Otherwise Queenie would have the keepers strapped to poles and working in the middle of a battle.
The keeper girl giggled and nodded along. "I was a grub back then. Small, ugly and weak. Only when I became a beautiful Cleric girl could Pia return. Happy gave me these gifts so I could evolve." She twirled in her dress and played with her ringlets.
What the fuck is going on?
"So… Pia is alive?" Moss asked, unsure.
"Of course silly." Twiglett said, stroking her friend's arm. "She's just been in and out of the wells so much that it's made her sensitive. Her voice is soft like a gentle breeze. Only when you truly listen, can you hear it." She nodded slightly towards the HowlerBear who was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and nodding along.
Happy nodded along. "I hear her all the time. She's scolding me now." He reached out and gently patted her head. "Of course darling, I will make amends. Such rudeness cannot go unpunished."
He pointed back at their chairs, beckoning them to join him at the table. Moss had used the moment to see the stairs at the back of the room. A large black sheet covered it, stopping the golden light from bleeding in.
The keeper held his bleeding claw as he shuffled back around. His head was thick now. But still he noticed a spade leaning on the wall.
What an odd item for a monster. Moss thought as he looked back around the table and who sat there. What am I saying, their stitches are falling apart. They're using the most sort after fruit in the realm to make fucking jam, and using to mix their body parts.
Pools dam them, I need that jam.
He had been planning on dipping his wound into it while he worked on the corpse, but Twiglett had gathered it all.
The red substance glistened in her claws. Moss almost asked for it, but in another monster's lair it was considered offensive to take the last of something. And wanted to be anything but rude.
"Moss." Happy said to him, one paw on the keeper while the other held the cleaver. "Never before has a guest brought so much to our table. Just look, look at how happy my daughter is with you here."
The younglings head slumped awkwardly onto her shoulder, dark sludge dribbling from her ear.
"And yet." He growled like a WindDragon forming a storm. "I have done nothing but question your integrity and insult your character. Please, accept my apology and this offering." The blade thudded into the table - this time taking one of the bear's claws.
"The jam." He demanded.

 

[Chaperone]

Monster Graft: HowlerBear (Greater)
Bond failed. Increase rank to establish bond.

The HowlerBear claw was far longer than the keeper's normal claws. It sat melded across his forearm. Going beyond his elbow and running down his sleeve like armour, then finally sitting between his remaining claws. It's point reaching past the others.
He poked at the gooey jam, plastered along its length. The flesh was sealed beneath.
But Wendy said it hadn't bonded with my Flow? I guess I have to get stronger.
Improving his abilities had always been on his list of quests. Now it had added treasures upon completion.
If the monster graft with goblin allowed him to speak the gibberish of the GreenSkins, he couldn't wait to find out what the Howler bond will do.
Blood pooled on the table, dribbling from Happy's mangled paw.
"Bring me jam?" He commanded.
Tillow the goblin muttered an oath under breath and turned away to play with her gold.
Twiglett shook her head. "All gone. We'll have to make some more. Once we find more fruit."
"It seems you have used the rest of my jam, Moss." The Howler accused him.
What in the Hells? He practically dipped me in it.
"Hallowed Eve is just around the bend. I'll pop out and get some more." Moss suggested.
Dark eyes stared back at him blankly. A torn ear twitched as if tickled by a breeze.
"Pia thinks you're trying to leave before the evening's done." He growled.
"Hells no, I meant after dessert. I just need to prepare it first." As he spoke the keeper reached out to grab the bowl containing Po, but he wasn't used to the slightly longer bear claw. "Twiglett , would you mind-" He poked a candle, causing it to fall over and roll across the table. "Oops."
Happy hadn't looked away from him. Even as the burning candle landed on Pia's lap and set fire to her.
"I'll just put that out." Moss said, going to hop down.
But a paw grabbed him. "I haven't given you permission to leave."
Smoke was billowing from her now. The dried loose skin was catching like paper.
"Your daughter?"
"Is fine." Happy snapped. "She's just looking for attention."
Twiglett giggled. "I'll deal with her." The she-keeper tossed a pail of water on her. When that failed, she started beating the fire with a plate. Gently at first, but the tenacious blaze resisted her delicate nature.
She replaced the plate with the spade and started whacking the corpse like she was a ghoul.
The dead younglings body fell apart again.
Moss held the Howler's stare as his claw closed around Po. "I'll just give this a quick boil then we can finally have dessert. I think I saw a fire upstairs, Twiglett, would you mind helping me?"
Before she could answer. Happy gestured to his wife. "Tillow will show you."
The goblins' eyes went wide. "Upstairs?"
She practically dragged Moss through the black curtains. After spending so long in the dark basement, the golden glow blinded him for a few flickers.
Tillow had instantly abandoned him. He took each step slowly as he tried to blink his vision back.
Coins bounced off the walls and rattle down the steps. He had to dodge several as he made it onto the landing. Here, the goblin was having a festival all by herself. She dived into piles of the neatly stacked coins. Grabbing handfuls and tossing them into the ceiling.
"Don't make a mess!" Happy screamed.
But Tillow had heard him, she pretended not to. More gold was flung in every direction. Glass shattered as they hit the window.
Moss felt the room shake as the HowlerBear hit the floorboards beneath them.
"Stop, stop." The keeper said, chasing after her.
But the goblin was moving like a critter on MoonSugar, bouncing around the room. Always just a claw out reach.
As Moss scurried around the table, he grabbed a golden candleholder and aimed it at her.
This got Tillow's attention.
"Mine." She snapped at him. "All mine."
"Oh really?" The keeper sneered back, before pulling out his rubbish bag and dumping the worthless GoblinGold inside. "Mine." He said.
Then tipped a pile into the bag.
"No, no, no!"
The goblin leapt at him. Scratching at his arms, trying to make him drop the bag.
He released the bag and grasped her legs. Stabbing his VenomClaws into the muscle.
Tillow squealed, trying to run away but only managed to stumble a few steps before collapsing against an open chest. Coins cascaded as she wriggled around, dragging herself away.
Moss stabbed her arms next, stopping any retreat.
"You could have just stopped. Why didn't you stop." The keeper spat out.
"Goblin bash-" She tried to yell, but Moss had his claws around her throat.
Her mouth was a gape, wide eyes sparkling in the light. "We could have gotten out together."
He could see that she was mad, but in her own goblin way. Obsessed with the shiny metal and nothing else. Not her own life or her fellow dwellers.
I'm not staying here in the fucked up place.
Moss squeezed, but the GreenSkin's throat was thick and tough against his tiny claws. Goblins were stupid, but they'd tear a keeper's cloth apart with ease.
As his stamina started to wane, her rasping voice got louder and louder.
"Hap-"
She choked on the coins as he shoved them into her mouth. Scooping more and more from the chest. Filling her throat like a grave.
"Here's your bloody gold. Is this enough."
More and more he piled it in. Even a few flickers after her gasps and twitches had stopped.
Moss stepped back, breathing hard.
Tillow lay slumped over the chest with a small mound over her head.
Nearby was the front door. He stepped over her green legs and found it unlocked.
But all around him was the gold he needed for his quest.
And what about Twiglett? I can't just leave a fellow keeper behind like she's nothing.
Moss looked at his hands. Seeing the new HowlerBear claw with its sharp curved end. If it wasn't for her, I'd have a goblin finger instead of this beauty.
"How's dessert going?" Happy yelled from beneath him.
Banish me. What am I going to do?
"Almost there. Just need to chop it up now." Moss yelled back
The keeper raced around the room looking for ideas. He found a small corner with basic kitchen items used to prepare the root dish.
Knives, pots, water, but no food.
Useless.
He searched through his pockets and the rubbish bag. Eventually settling on two items.
Now what in Hells would a boiled SwampSloth egg look like?
Moss searched around the room for anything not made of gold.
The green flesh of the goblin stuck out.
That will have to do.

"Who's hungry?" Moss sauntered down the stairs, wearing his proudest face. "Ancient keeper recipe from the old seasons."
"I do miss the bells of Hell." Happy remorse aloud. "Such soothing tones. You younglings wouldn't recognise the dungeon then. More community, more dwellers. The good days."
What's a day?
The keeper placed the bowl on the table, specifically beside Pia. She was crisp and stank of burnt fur and cooked meat. Twiglett had done well to recover what she could. The keeper girl now sat in Moss's chair, next to the mad HowlerBear who had an arm around her. Her skin face, as always, was smiling. Yet behind it, Moss saw genuine joy in her eyes.
She let out a soft giggle and clapped her hands. "You were gone so long, I thought you may have gotten lost finding the stairs again."
Poor Twiglett, she must have thought I was going to run away and leave her here.
"It seems my wife has." Happy laughed with little emotion. He went to stand but Moss was already slicing the boiled egg.
"Oh no, I've cut into it now." He chopped the black ball into segments. "It spoils in only a few flickers. But I must insist that Pia has the first slice."
The keeper took a segment and placed it into the dead younglings mouth.
"What do you think?" He asked.
"Oh by the bells, she loves it." Twiglett exclaimed. "She can't get enough."
Putrid drool ran down the side of Pia's face, the segment simply sat in her rotten jaws. Where it touched, tiny bubbles of foam were beginning to form.
Better hurry this along.
"Isn't it wonderful." Moss laughed merrily as handed the others a slice. Twiglett took hers without hesitation.
While Happy poked at the blackened outside.
Moss coughed awkwardly. "I burnt it a little, sorry."
"In boiled water?" Happy asked.
"Well, it's been a fair few shifts since I made it last. No thanks to Po- ahem, the Core for banning a traditional dish."
He smacked the table, beating Howl to it by a wing beat. "A crime I say. Who is she to demand such change?"
"Yessss." The bear howled. "Dominating and demanding like a smothering den mother. When she should be helping our people to grow."
The mad bear skewered it on a claw and brought it close to his tiny eyes. Blood dribbled down and over his flared hand. He sniffed it several times.
"This smells like-"
"Oh no!" Moss yelled. "The egg's blood. It'll be ruined any moment. Quickly!"
He clenched the side of the table, trying to stop himself from shaking.
"Then why are you not eating yours?" Happy asked them, looking from Moss to Twiglett.
"That's because…" Moss gulped. "It's your home, the monster of the lair always eats first."
Happy nodded along, swishing the slice back and forth. "And yet I allowed you the first bite of the apple root. We cannot break decorum once it's set. That would be in poor taste."
Please say this actually about proper etiquette and not paranoia.
"Yes, yes. But, don't you want to stick with the old rituals? When life made sense. When a monster's den was there's and there's alone. Before all of this-" Moss waved his claws around the place. "- was forced to change by her."
Happy glared at him. A few sparkles of the black glass drifted away from the 'egg'.
"Couldn't have said it better myself." He placed it in his mouth…
Then pulled it out again. "But also the monster of the lair, not only eats before guests.-" A single claw extended out to full length. It reached across the table towards the keeper. "-they also get the best cut."
What the fuck is he saying?
Moss's slice was replaced with the one that had just dangled in the half rotten monster's mouth.
Oh he is paranoid?
"Enjoy." Happy said with his eternal smile. He ate it in one.
Goblin blood oozed between his fangs as he chewed his wife's heart and tongue. Masking the bear's own blood which came from the tiny slices caused by the black glass.
Moss picked up his own slice. Inspecting the black coating on the outside where the diced seeds, from the GoldenApple core, had been mixed in.
His claws pinched the ball of meat.
"I was too slow. What a shame." He showed his bloody claws. "But discussing polite society was far more… delicious."
Happy nodded in agreement, even as foam spilled from the side of his snout. By now a small waterfall was gushing from Pia's as well.
"We should do this again some." Moss said to him.
"I would be delighted to have you back at our table." Happy replied earnestly. "We don't get too many guests these days. I think the goblins have caught on to my little beacon of gold upstairs. I managed to catch my darling wife though. Isn't that right Tillow?" When he couldn't see her around the basement. The mad HowlerBear shot up, smashing his head into the ceiling and then collapsing onto the table.
His body lurched and twitched for a few flickers, before staying dead still.
Twiglett giggled. "Happy? What are you doing silly."
She reached over and poked his arm playfully. "Happy, is this a game? I don't know how to play."
Banish me, she's just like him.
Moss stepped back as Twiglett climbed onto the table. Saying his name over and over again. Softly at first, but growing more and more desperate with each beat. Her claws poked, tickled, stroked, slapped then smacked him.
"Happy!" She screamed in his face. Then sobbed.
When he didn't move, she whipped around with a flash of metal.
As soon as he saw the cleaver, Moss stepped backwards in the dark basement and tripped.
She stood on the table, looming over him. The gold of the blade matched her ringlet curls. The blood dripping off it, her eyes. She twirled in her dress like a dancing princess. Gracefully flowing down, as if to aid her fallen prince.
His head opened with a wet thud. The blade swung again, hitting the mushy rotten mass. Over and over.
Certainly has the strength of a little girl.
The table thudded as she dropped the blade. Twiglett followed next.
Collapsing into a ball, her sobs genuine this time.
Moss got up and put a claw on her.
"Is it over?" She asked.
She looked over the mutilated remains of her captor. "It's over. No one's reviving that fiend."
She tore the face mask off. Revealing tears falling from her scared eyes, yet a deep intensity was in them. Whatever she was made to do here, this was not the actions of a pathetic grub, but a resilient monster.
"Let's get you home.' Moss helped her off the table. "And out of this."
Twiglett looked down at the dress. "No, this was my choice." She did a little twirl. "Girls are meant to wear dresses. Don't you think?"
"I don't care.' Moss said honestly. "But other dwellers may have a problem with it?"
"They always did." She spat out, suddenly resisting him and looking back towards the dead bear. "Happy was missing most of his soul and even he let me dress like this. Unlike my family, cousin Franc and the others. They rejected me. It's why I came here… I just didn't realise how much it would cost me."
Holy Hells, Twiglett.
"Your cousin Twig?" Moss laughed.
She smiled at him. "Once upon a time. Have you heard of me?"
"Yes, Francs been looking for you for seasons. And I've never known him to put effort into anything. He's missed you greatly."
"But it's not the real me he's missed. You said it yourself, Moss. The dungeon can't accept what I am."
Her bloody claws clutched the hem of her dress. Afraid to let it go.
"I did't mean that. No one gives a Holy shit what you cover yourself in? Demons wear skirts made from the skin of their cousins, but they call them leather tunics. Even the cloth of a keeper looks like a dress." Moss said doing his own twirl. "I meant calling yourself a girl. They're of the Divine's heroes. Be your own monster."
"A keeperette?" She asked as he led her up the stairs.
"Whatever you want." Moss said, shoving the bag into her claws as the golden light washed over her. "As long as a keeperette knows how to pick up rubbish."
"I never stopped." She yanked Tillow of the chest and dug beneath the coins. They went from gold to bone white. "I tidied the hut every shift. When you got in here before, you threw these at us and tried to buy all the GoblinGold." She pulled her claw out, now full of the dungeon currency.
"My scrips!"

 

[Chaperone]

Moss tossed his rubbish bag onto the blue grass. In the past few seasons he'd managed to fill it with a SnailWagon load of junk. It was the same this time, but the rubbish was shining bright. As was the wheelbarrow he'd 'borrowed' from Happy's garden.
"Aye you did well lad. "Tink patted him on the back. "They'll sell their kids for this shiny junk." He prodded the bear claw running along the keeper's arm. "I wonder if I could do that with my tools."
Lui whistled. "Thinking of replacing that soft tool of yours?"
"Can't mate, your cousin would never forgive me" Tink winked at him. "It's her favourite."
They laughed with nervous energy.
"Wendy told me it was called a monster graft. So I doubt it would work with metal, but you could always try." Moss shrugged. "Though I doubt you'll want to use Lover'sFruit on an experiment."
"Aye, and there definitely wasn't any of that special jam left?"
"Special?" Lui exclaimed before Moss could answer. "A bag of crushed Twilight FairyWings is special. An apology and a hug from your Pa are special."
"Bloody hell, alright." Tink snapped but Lui wasn't done.
"This is Lover'sFruit we're talking about, and they used it to make their special homemade jam. Which they didn't even eat. A terrible waste and a sin to dwellers who don't get that gift. Childless monsters would have swam through a lake of Holy water for a lick of the stuff."
The gnome rounded on the mole, getting on his tip toes to get his face. But only managing to reach his hips. "So it is special to them you dumb inbred. That's what the words for."
The keeper hopped between them. "Calm your flames. For Pool's sake, we're trying not to draw any attention right now."
They grumbled for a flicker but apologised.
Lui lounged on the pile of gold and began strumming the air like it held a lute. They'd banned him from playing since his talents would only draw attention. The Mole wasn't happy about it.
"Dragons must be losing their scales, this is a terrible bed." He flicked the coins.
Moss laughed but didn't feel it. He was nervous. From his pocket he produced the Oracles map. It was the other side he was interested in now, the one with his description - Stitchless. He'd checked it several times in the last few flickers alone. Ensuring Tink's handwriting was legible. He'd held onto the QuestScroll this whole time. A constant reminder to watch his back from hidden dangers.
But right now, the real threat would be coming from straight ahead. The keeper watched the entrance to the dungeon for any movement.
It had been almost two full shifts since the last raiders came through. His claws naturally went to his mouth in moments like this, until he remembered where one of them came from. Moss grimaced at the memory of the insane HowlerBear.
And chose to relieve his anxiety by pacing around instead.
Holy hells they could be coming through any flicker. Let's go through it all again.
Lui used every scrip we had to buy the FairyDust, enough for all of us. While Tink checked the path down the staircase in the broken tomb I found. Marking a faster route into the Second floor and close to his corridor. Which he then checked to ensure the back tunnel into the Quarter wasn't closed off. But he did note that it was empty either.
Oh Pools this isn't helping.
Desperate for a distraction, he asked Wendy for his stats.
Wendy, am I still banned from knowing my stats?
Have I been banned?
Banned. From records. No one is banned. Except one. But they do not need to ask. Here we are. No wait, this can't be right. Yes, this is definitely yours. Yet so wrong. No, it is just different. It has change tremendously is what I meant. Oh Moss….
What? What is it?
My apologies. I was just admiring your numbers. Such large figures for a keeper. You've been working hard and I had noticed, like a ghost at the mill. Grinding away.

Moss - Keeper custodian - Rank 52
Heath - 12/13
Mana - 42/42

[Abilities]
Lick - 27 (Wool)
VenomClaw - 15 (Cloth)
BodyBoulder - 21 (Wool)
KeyBearer - 3
HolySense - 9

[Attributes]
Might - 1
Agility - 2
Sense - 8
Wit - 4
Spirit - 5

[Conditions]
Maddness - 10 (Rag)
Luck - 1

Looks like you upgraded two abilities and neither you or me noticed. How silly of us. But the shame is mine to bear, for this is my job after all. Would you like to hear the fine print?
Moss almost spun on the spot, until he remembered he was frozen during the connection with his Chronicler. Two improved abilities is huge. Maybe going on a Supa bender and crushing all the jobs boards was a blessing after all.
Please, tell me everything. Moss thought to Wendy.
VenomClaw:
Cloth rank - With VenomClaw activated, monster claws will now pierce into hardened flesh or armour with ease. Allows the user to bypass protection up to BlancMetal.
That's so useful. I'll no longer have to tear armour off the dead or look for gaps. It can be a real issue when so many bodies are piled on top of each other. Which other ability was improved?
Let me see. Oh it's your maddness, it's improved to Rag rank.
Oh Pools, it must have been from consuming all that Supa. I knew it was bad, damn that kobold.
Maddness:
Rag rank - Indecision is an issue for the overthinkers and concerned. No longer shall you fret over 'little details'. Instead, you will operate more on gut feeling and instinct. Logical analysis will only slow you down in the wildness of this realm.
That doesn't sound so bad.
"Hey guys." Moss said to his team as the mass of heavily geared raiders came into view. "This plan of ours. Would you say it was a… logical one?"
"The fuck you mean ours?" Tink spat out. "This was all you."
Drums boomed from the dungeon entrance, followed by a warhorn.
Lui reached into his pocket for the sparkling bag. "Too late to think this through. Hallowed Eve's come early."
The gnome reached and grabbed a handful of the magical dust, then snorted it one go. "let the party begin!" Tink yelled.
The mole followed suit. But after his session with Supa, and worsening maddness, Moss only took a pinch.
Lui slapped Moss on the back. "You might want the dragons share." He pointed towards the heroes as they drew their weapons. "I think they know we're here."
The raiders screamed their warcry and charged.
"Banish me." Moss said, snatching the bag and emptying it into his hood.


***

Sir Talon the Third of his name looked over the graveyard. It had taken him a few seasons to settle into the idea that this section of the dungeon was supposed to frighten them. Monsters and demons eat their dead, they wouldn't bury them. It was fashioned after Man's sacred spaces. Areas of death. Where the realms magical structure was sparse, allowing wraiths, ghosts and the undead to enter.
Its blue-grass was merely a feature they'd got wrong. But are these manifestations of their twisted Flow? Or is there a conscious mind behind these decisions?
A young man in ill fitting uniform snapped him from his pondering with a petty salute to the Divine. "All raid groups have been accounted for Sir. You can give the order to march on when ready, Sir." Said his Squire.
He held his sword's pommel with a loose grip while surveying the party's surrounding area. Standing tall with pride to be seen with the raider's commander, and his loving father.
My boy. If only your Mother could see you now. She'd share my joy and admiration, I'm certain of it. For years we spoke of the man you'd grow into, the legend you'd weave with each step. But though your future is bright, the fluff of youth still clings on with entitled whispers in your words. I'll have to sever that before it thickens with age.
"Are you giving me permission to order my raid?" Sir Talon asked the squire.
"No, Sir. I… I simpl-"
He silenced him with a glance.
"Sorry, Sir." The squire mumbled, shoulders slumping.
"Order and the Divine's grace will get us through this. So tell me, does this graveyard seem in order?"
The Squire gazed once again, triple checking before giving his answer. "Yes, Sir. All accounted for and secure."
The commander removed the edged mace from his hip, Talon. A Rare weapon crafted from the bone of a BronzeDragon. He pointed it down the muddled stoneway - that he assumed was the monster's attempt at a path - towards three warped figures.
"And what of those three monsters watching us?"
Sam visibly slumped.
A good lesson for the lad. Now to build him back up.
"Do not fret, they're small and of little threat. Advance the vanguard." He commanded.
The Squire's smile almost brought the commander to tears. A happiness he hadn't seen in the young man for seasons.
"Of course, Sir." He snapped at salute. Then sprinted off, screaming for Beorn like a church girl after too much wine.
Sir Talon enjoyed the moment for a second before growing serious.
This was no normal raid. He didn't seek loot and glory like the others. He'd brought a sizable force for a specific objective which even his Captains weren't aware of.
Once we're in deeper, I'll inform them of the High Priests command.

 

[Chaperone]

Sam ran with giddy excitement. He knew his father wasn't truly annoyed at his mistake. Allowing him to speak with the vanguard was a tremendous gift for the young Squire. For that unit consisted of one man, his hero.
Beorn the berserker.
A walking legend, the Man-giant's footsteps were louder than any war drum. His shoulders dwarfed all but his own renown. At least to Sam who had heard so many tales about him and knew almost all there was to know.
Insane fighter, unbelievable strength and sharp reflexes. These amounted to outlandish stats that were only tarnished by his poor team cohesiveness and the odd rumour about his behaviour.
Father was wise to place him in his own unit. He'd never let such a weapon go to waste.
Sam shuffled in front of the behemoth. Shaking with each step, trying not to let his enthusiasm bubble over into an embarrassing display.
Beron marched on, eyes forward, teeth grinding away at the sinew of a deer's leg. His muscles bulged beneath exotic beast hides. The ridged edges of his axes, made from Wyvern bone, were caked in old blood.
"Sir Talon orders you to advance on those monsters… please." Sam said, attempting to suppress his meekness. "And to let me hold one of your axes."
Beorn leaned forward, tipping his mass over as his trunk legs ate at the ground. The Squire dived out of his path. Then scrambled to his feet in pursuit.
"I heard… during your last raid…" Sam gushed between breaths. "That Golems attacked you on a sky deck… and you killed an entire battalion with… one javelin."
Beorn grunted.
"I heard a mountain… dared to cast a shadow over your home so you… ate it."
More grunting.
"My friend, Stillwort said… you have a harem of women in every city you visit. Even if you've… never been there before."
Beorn stopped acknowledging him now.
"Squire, I said advance the unit! Not suckled at their nipples!" Sir Talon yelled, causing the armoured front guard to laugh.
Sam couldn't help himself. He'd been waiting all year for this opportunity. "And, and my friend Larry… said you once went all the way to the dungeon core… but decided not to destroy it because you didn't want the… stress of managing a dungeon."
"Stress is the silent killer." Beorn whispered from set lips.
The Squire halted, tearing a page from his fighter-study manual to write this down.
This will be my mantra. I shall be known as Sam the Stressless. Sage of the sword and-
A gauntlet engulfed the Squire's shoulder and pulled him from his daydream
Talon's sharp green eyes inspected his notes with disapproval and hint of fascination.
Sam looked up from scribbles. "Sir, look. I will live my life by his teachings and become a true hero like Beorn. They will sing my name in the streets."
"They'll mock it at your eulogy and forget it soon after." Sir Talon stated as he took a knee to look him in the eye. "The mind is sharpened by paper of the past and the future's pen, but they offer little protection against claws in the present. Especially in a Gold-class dungeon."
"Of course, Sir, sorry." He returned his items to the large bag that almost doubled his weight.
"True vigilance, pure honour, bold action." Sir Talon said his six favourite words.
The Squire repeated them knowing a disapproving scowl usually followed if he didn't. Soon they were back in step with the rest of the raiding party. And Sam's head was wandering far from it.
"Sir do you think if I specialised as a berserker, I'd look good without a shirt?"
They both looked at Beorn's form, undulating with each step. Sam saw naked shoulders hefting the double headed battleaxes. Songs and tales were written on his muscles alone. Of course they were sanctioned from public performance. Except in the Velvet Ladies clubs.
"I wonder if they'll speak of my fine frame one day." He added.
Sir Talon tutted. "Fame is a fickle treasure to chase. Those that do, usually achieve it with their fall. Stick to armour my boy. Beorn's naked for a reason, not one you would expect."
"Yes, you are right. Martyr's mushrooms. Maybe Beorn will let me have some." He raced after the vanguard. His targets were now shining like a beacon.
Weighed down, Sam's petty stamina was plaguing him already. Causing him to gasp for breath between words. "Beorn… Mushrooms! Me… Shirtless!"
No response came. The berserker would never turn away from the front, as is their way.
Of course, how stupidly ignorant of me.
Sam stepped around his huge thighs to get in the man's sight. That's when he noticed the glowing symbol hanging over the head of the monsters.
Years of training had been leading up to this point. The taste of a hero's first blood was meant to set their story. The beginning of a folktale worthy career or the end. The Squire had fantasised of being the subject of a bard's tongue - he'd even written a few verses while 'studying' his holy books.
With a smooth motion. The Squire whipped out his blade.
"Death upon you foul being!"
His sword swung at the small, cloaked monster.
And crashed against solid bone. It vibrated with a jarring force. His grip slacked and the weapon fell to the dungeon floor with a clattering ring.
Beorn's axe had blocked his attack.
"Quest giver." The muscular man whispered before leaning very low to the ground. Not to speak with Sam, but the blue clothed monster.
Its claws were bone white and sharp. The hems of its cloak brushed the floor, from Sam's perspective he could see tiny feet with sharp toes. What disturbed him most, was what he couldn't see. Its face was hidden in absolute darkness, even with the light of the symbol glowing overhead. Only one thing pierced the black. Two ruby eyes that stared back at him.
It's not attacking, but watching me.
A small voice matched its frame, addressing Beorn with a rapid pace and educated politeness that Sam wouldn't think you'd find in a monster's lair.
"Great heroes. Welcome to The Whispering Pools. I am not here as just a quest giver-" The battleaxe was over his head in an instant. "-But also as a guide." It squealed out.
"All paths Beorn walks are right path. No guide." Beorn answered accusingly, though the axe never fell nor retreated.
"A guide for the quest of all quests. To take you and your party, deep into the dungeon. To the heart of its being. Where the greatest loot is held." The guide added.
"Beorn cares only for the tears of his enemies, for those that wish to hurt him." The berzerker stated with a slight snivel at the last word.
The noise caught Sam's attention, pulling his gaze from the monster and onto the big hero. Where, in the moonlight, he saw the glistening of moisture around his tiny eyes.
Is Beorn…upset?
Sam wanted to ask him if he was feeling okay, but Sir Talon arrived before anyone died from overstepping themselves.
"The greatest loot! Exactly what we're here for. Do tell, small quest giver, are we talking weapons, gems, enchanted armour or trinkets. Oh, I know, knowledge. It's always knowledge." He slapped a metallic hand on Beorn's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll read any scrolls aloud so you can enjoy the ancient secrets too, my friend."
Beorn's body remained immobile, but his head snapped away from the knight. A single tear running down his cheek as he mumbled under his breath. "I can read."
"So? Sell us this quest. I love a good pitch." Sir Talon continued to the blue monster. Captains and heroes gathered around them, closing off any escape route it may have.
"Of course, of course, of course." The monster said, constantly shuffling on the spot with bulging eyes that darted every which way.
Sam suppressed a giggle, forgetting his moment of weakness at the display.
I would have thought this tiny thing would fear us, but I only see vivid excitement. Just like when Monk Fairquinn spots the bare ankle of Elven Cleric.
"The quest. If you choose to accept it." The monster barked out. "Is to slay the mightily terrible ReaperKing. Who resides in its hidden lair on the fifth floor. Considered the most dangerous monster in the entire dungeon, illusive and cunning. They're duty bound to protect the Whispering Pool's most valuable artefacts and treasures. This-" The creature pointed with shaking claws towards a bush. "- is but a sample of what is to come." Two more monsters appeared from the shrubbery and tore it apart. Revealing a small mountain of gold.
The Squire was left stunned.
Do my eyes deceive me? A vast treasure, such as this, couldn't be so easily obtained. It's there for the taking. Enough to reward the raid party and more. They'd all profit with no losses to speak.
Yet Sam's mind pictured more bounties within the dungeon's depths. Enough to invest in his gear and abilities. To become the hero he dreamt of.
As if hearing his thoughts, the quest giver's offer sweetened further.
"... flaming golden armour from a dead king. Swords that sling spells with each attack. Rolling clouds of the softest air that can carry their burden at great speeds-" He was silenced by Sir Talon raising his mace from his side.
A few voices in the crowd continued commenting on the promised loot.
"Was it the burning armour that killed the king?"
"You can't sit on a cloud, everyone knows that."
"I'm happy with anything that's not sentient." The ranger Captain stated. "I already have boots that won't stop talking to me- Oh shut up already! I don't care about toe comfort."
Sam ignored them all, only thinking of himself. Of his heralded tale. Clad in gleaming pauldrons, wielding a blade that sent forth lightning bolts, atop a flying mount. He needed it all. A legend would be born today.
"Truly enticing. Yet-" The knight held up his hand. "-True leaders consider the rewards second, only to the safety of those they command. To reach the misty woods would be a perilous journey within the dungeon's bowels, rarely seen by the most accomplished raiders. We dally no longer in the maws of Hell. I reject this quest." Then pointed them onwards with his mace outstretched.
The drums began, the footsteps matching the beat and the marching tunes started up.
A high pitched screech halted them immediately.
It came deep from within the young Squire's throat. Cracking towards the end as he saw his destiny slipping away.
"By the Divine, lad. Have your balls just fallen or did you drop something on them?" The commander snapped.
Sam brought their attention back to the blue monster. Which was frantically waving its claws beneath Beorn's hovering boot.
"Let it speak?" Sam said.
With an effort of will, the berserker lowered its bulking leg - away from the monster.
Who then took a deep breath and with a shaking voice said. "I am to guide you through. I know a secret path that will take us directly to the fifth."

 

[Chaperone]

Sam trudged along, head down, searching for words to describe their journey so far. Bland, dull, dark, mundane. It reminded him of his chores in the church as a youth, dusting the shelves in the basements and restacking the books.
This is so boring. I'll have to exaggerate the adventure when I speak to the bards. No one wants to hear about walking through musty corridors.
The Squire waved his torch through the cobwebs on the wall. Burning them to embers just to look at something other than stone and the backs of sweaty men.
A secret way had sounded great. Thrilling. But the truth was they were bypassing any danger imposed by the dungeon. Sam's enthusiasm was diminishing with each step.
Even the initial terror at meeting the other guides was gone.
These were the ones that had revealed the treasure behind the bush - Which, as the Squire of the raid commander, was now safely stored away in Sam's bag of holding.
He tapped his jacket pocket to check it was still there as he looked at the other creatures ahead. Both hideous in appearance, as if warped by a mad creator to soil the sight of holy beings. A filthy gnome that goaded the raiding party constantly with sinful oaths. Sir Talon had to order several heroes not to strike the monster when their rage got the better of them.
"Non shall takes the Divines name in sin. Death will come to it, I promise." The commander had stated in hushed words. "But only once this King of Reapers is in sight."
The other, a Moldon from the Lost Tunnels, was a horror to look upon. Multi-limbed like the followers of the Old Being's. He tried so many times to forget about it, block it from his sight.
Yet he couldn't close his ears. When many claws strummed the strings of its lute, magic was made. It was the only light in the darkness of the maze. As if they'd captured the happiness of a bride at her wedding and released it for all to hear.
As disgusted as Sam was, he couldn't help but smile when the Moldon joined in with the drummers. The beats of war turned to tribal festivities. Even at the front the Squire could see the veteran heroes, with death around each corner, grinning beneath their scars.
"By the Dark Crow. Beorn is dancing." Sir Talon exclaimed to cheers.
The berserker wasn't dancing, his head merely bobbed to the beat.
With their guide leading the way, they left the Graveyard almost immediately. A secret crypt at the edges of the first floor, hidden amongst long blue-grass led to the Maze. This side passage, according to a Gold rank healer, allowed them to avoid an army of flying pests who wielded 'devilishly delicious fruits'.
The party practically hopped and skipped their way through the misleading corridors. At this point the greasy gnome took the lead. Showing them hidden traps and taking them down derelict passages that he described as homely. The Squire swore to the heavens that he'd seen rats the size of wolves in the shadows. But there they remained, too afraid to attack in the presence of such a large party.
His father called them Ratkin. Individually weak, except for lingering diseases, but their numbers could swell to a flood in a matter of seconds.
"Never corner one unless you mean to kill it, and kill it fast. Uncle Thorn lost his good leg from the rot their bites leave." Sir Talon told him as they marched down the dark corridors.
"Was that his left leg?" Sam asked.
"No, his right."
"Oh that's right. He lost his left slipping between two docked ships."
The commander put a hand on the Squire's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "This is your first raid, my son. That makes you a man now so you'll hear the truth. The lie about the ships holds some authenticity to the original tale. He lost it during an orgy… with Half-Giants."
Sam was shooketh. "But Aunt Betty… How could he?"
"Don't fret, she was there too. The less details you know, the easier your prayers will be this evening."
Sir Talon took his arm back, his eyes never leaving the passage ahead. The commander cleared his throat dispelling the sinful story of his brother.
"But the present demands vigilance. As we push further into The Whispering Pools, we step deeper into the beast's maws. Where only our honour shall see us through these next few hours."
The gnome stopped, halting the party with a tiny fist. Its moustache covered most of its mouth, yet Sam was certain he saw the creases of a smile at the edges.
It enjoys manipulating us with a wave. The Divine's fury always delivers, little monster. Till then I must have patience.
The gnome pushed on a brick in the wall, causing it to swing inwards and reveal yet another secret route.
"Bold action." Sam said to his father.
"Bold action indeed my son." He said with pride and merriment. "We shall share our own She-Giants after this endeavour."
The warriors around them laughed half heartedly. They ready their weapons and entered the wall. Following their guides into a smaller maze. The spacing was tight, requiring some of the mages to manipulate the stonework into a temporarily wider passage. A heavily mana draining spell, but the party was well stocked on potions to replenish them with. Soon they arrived in a gathering place for the monsters. Sir Talon and his brethren knights were shocked at this discovery. Primal creatures of the darkness don't share food and grog. It was unholy and wrong.
Suspicious whispers passed through the party as trust in their guide degraded.
To its worth, the cloaked monster warned them of potential gnolls roaming through this section of the dungeon. Beorn took the news with enthusiastic strides. The usually stoic and quiet berserker began to mutter to himself with the promise of battle growing closer.
The vanguard wasn't built for these shafts and gulleys. Even with the spells, his skin had to be greased and pushed through the tightest sections. Beorn's wild mumblings had grown louder and louder with each obstacle. His body trembled, the walls shook. The front guard grew quiet so as not to provoke the brute further as they passed a storage room.
A stench of wet hair, bitter smoke and, oddly, cinnamon wafted through the final door. Where a dim glow bloomed in a much larger cavern.
"Dogmen." Beorn whimpered to Sir Talon.
The commander turned to Sam, nodding at him to give the order.
The Squire smiled with delight. "Advance." He ordered the vanguard.
Beorn snivelled and rushed forward, the party close at his bare heels.
They discovered the cavern was actually a courtyard surrounded by balconies. The place was immaculate. A banner with 'Grand ReOpening' hung over a stage. Round tables housed flagons for the walking beasts known as gnolls.
Grog splashed on the swept floor, abandoned with the sounds of the drums.
And the smell of Beorn's odour.
Sam had struggled with this overpowering stench as they weaved through the dark labyrinth. But it twas a small penance to be in the shadow of such a legendary fighter.
After all the tales, Sam was finally going to witness his talent in person.
This is the best day ever.
"Hairless toe. Fat toe." Beorn said to himself.
By the heavens light. Sam thought, shocked as he watched the berserker go through his pre battle ritual.
The brutes' words grew louder and louder as he shoved handfuls of martyrs mushrooms into his gob.
"A filthy fat toe that no one likes. NO ONE LIKES! NO ONE LIKES ME!" Beorn screamed, red faced and gleaming with sweat.
The balcony shattered like matchsticks as he ploughed through. His naked body fell like an anchor onto a table, exploding it beneath his weight.
Sam was in awe. The battleaxes danced like feathers in the wind. And just like the tears that streamed down Beorn's pudgy face, they never stopped flowing.
"Isn't it mesmerising?" Sir Talon said at his side.
Sam couldn't answer. The slaughter was too beautiful, too engrossing to do anything but witness. The monsters fell like dry wheat beneath a pink tornado. Never once touching the berzerker or posing any threat. And yet a sadness strung a chord in the Squire's heart. The pure dismay in Beorn's eyes disturbed him. A deep trauma unlike anything he'd ever seen.
The commander noted his son's loss for words.
"Many react like you when they see Cry-Fighting for the first time. Fear not for Beorn is a master, a sage. He's been practicing the Broken Tear form since he was a boy. Watch my son, and remember that all power comes at a cost."
Blood painted the walls. The dogmen howled and cried. But not a single hero in the party moved to offer aid. Instead, they clapped and cheered for the vanguard.
Sam looked around, feeling the joy as the beasts were slain. The warriors screamed and yelled Beorn's praises. Calling for the Divine to bear witness to his greatness.
All were merry.
Even, to Sam's surprise, were the guides. They slapped claws together and hooted for the berzerker. Yelling out strange oaths and curses. The one cloaked in blue pulled out a small bag that contained sparkling powder, causing the others to cheer even louder. They slapped his back and began sampling the product with glee. Even going as far to offer some to the surrounding heroes. The gnome, wide eyed, made the Holy V with his fingers and showed them to a dying gnoll. While the Moldon played his lute with increased vigour. Soon the balcony was shaking with the beating feet of the party. Singing and dancing along to the tune.
The Squire couldn't help but join in, the mood was infectious. But in the back of his mind, he knew it was wrong.
The Divine was right. Sam thought. They really are monsters.

 

[Chaperone]

Sam was disappointed when the fight finally ended. The raiding party, caught up in the music and berzerker's ferocity, had trashed the upstairs section of the hall. Kicking in all the railings, shattering the furniture and whatever they got their hands on.
"The grand reopening is postponed!" Sir Talon cried out in laughter. "Move out!"
As they passed through the battlezone and into a basement, the guides made further gestures to the gnolls' remains. It was common knowledge in the scholars' halls that monsters were naturally malicious and sadistic. Sam assumed this was why their quest giver had celebrated the violence. But when he saw the Moldon stop playing his instrument to spit on a dogman, he knew there was more to it. There was hatred in those black eyes. Not primal concern of resources and territory, but real emotion.
The Squire had expected to learn many lessons on this adventure, about combat, etiquette, heroism and treasure. But monster lore was vague and abstract.
They have culture and art. What else can we discover about these beings?
He fell in step with the guides as they descended the stairs. Ensuring he was shoulder to knee with the blue cloaked one, which he'd found to be the most reasonable of the two - since the Moldon never stopped playing long enough to hold a conversation with.
"This place and its 'grand Re-opening'. Is it a mock tavern? Set to coax in heroes who wish to wet their whistles." He asked.
The gnome looked over his shoulder with a sneer. "Aye, everything we do is about you and your holy balls." He snapped out before the blue monster could answer. "Wee monsters just stand motionless while heroes are gone. Just waiting for ya golden light to wake us from our slumbering and begin our shift." His frown was so deep that his eyebrows tickled his moustache.
It reminded Sam of hairy caterpillars during their aggressive courtship rituals.
The Moldon, still playing his lute, had another opinion. "It's a trap alright. But for da dwellers themselves. Gather the simpletons into one place. Soften their minds with liquor so they can be moulded like clay."
The blue guide shook his hooded head. "No, no. It's about notoriety. Prestige. Who's welcome and who's left at the door to look a fool in front of their colleagues. Only the Minors are allowed to celebrate, the rest of us Petty few have to work."
Sam could hear the bitterness in its voice, reminding him of the church boys that weren't invited to the private prayer sessions with the priests.
He'd attended those sessions himself, probably due to his father's position. But very little praying was done behind those closed doors. Gossip sessions about politics and personal lives. Like they were servants in the kitchen.
The Squire had argued with his peers the purpose of these sessions, just as the monsters were doing now.
Individualism amongst the hordes. The tribal theory of the High Priests is a farce then.
He pulled out his notebook to jot down this information. That's when the truth slapped him across the face like a bathing maiden. Shocking, yet enjoyable nonetheless.
Shift. Dwellers. Minors.
Sam was walking next to encyclopedias of dungeon society. He'd be punished for publicly suggesting the mere possibility that these hellscapes functioned on any semblance of order. But if he had the evidence to debate his theory with. Then it wouldn't be songs and tales they wrote about Sam the Squire, but studies, journals and prayers.
This is the real treasure of our raid. Not the shiny gold and trinkets at the end, but the knowledge we gain along the way.
He looked at the motely horrors as they entered the basement, and saw them in a new light. Animals with intelligence, creatures with sentient thought.
Oh how the High Priest would burn me for thinking this. I must crack open this chest and share my bounty with the world. No reward could be more valuable, he thought.
Except that spell slinging sword, not sure I've ever heard of an adventurer with such a weapon.
The glistening of a starry sky caught his eye. A body of water sat still and calm in the decrepit basement. He stepped closer, entranced by the lights that invited him in to wash off the sweat and bathe in liquid magic.
"Arcane eyes, what is that enchanted wander?" He asked.
The trio of monsters stopped arguing and shared an uncertain look, before the filthy gnome answered.
"It's our shit hole."
"Oh, truly?" Sam said, half leaning over the well's edge to collect a sample for the Mage's Guild. "I thought it was the Well of Youth. Its fantastical nature fits the description perfectly."
"That's nothing kid." The gnome slapped him on the back of the leg. "Didn't ya know wee monsters piss rainbows? It's where all the sparkles come from."
The Squire pocketed the empty vial.
"I'd have thought you'd piss HellFire with the name Tinkerbell." The Moldon giggled.
A metal tool clanged off the wall where his head had been.
"I'll tear your fucking arms off ya little bastard rat!"
"Enough!" Sir Talon stepped in between them. "Vigilance." He said to Sam, who was scribbling down the new words he'd just learnt. The commander gestured towards the blue hooded guide, who was now standing in a doorway at the back, facing the party - and still constantly shuffling
"Are we in for more 'entertainment'?" The commander asked. "I have a few quips to trigger Beorn, but it will take a doves beat for the words to set in."
The monsters all replied at once.
"Nothing to worry about."
"Nay, he's just scared of doorways."
"There's no cinnamon smell." The guide answered.
Sir Talon asked him to repeat himself. Sam noted the subtle hint of doubt in his words. Has our guide lost his bookmark, was this all a mistake?
From the shadows of his hood, the monster spoke. "It's just common knowledge in the dungeon. Where there's cinnamon, there's death."
Spare weapons clanged on the floor as Sam rummaged through his backpack. A blank scroll appeared in his hand. Clean and fresh to capture the wisdom with. He was going to leave this place as a diving expert. Maybe he could skirt the prejudice and judgement of the priests and mages by publishing his work in secret. Sell it to the masses with no fickle edits and redaction.
'A Deep Dip into Dungeons and Debauchery' by Squire Sam.
No, I need a scholar's title. Or a hero's name. One word like the legends, one word that speaks of wonders with no effort. Something that says, 'follow me on this journey and enjoy'. Something that makes the lady-Clerics swoon.
Usher. Yes, that's it, Dungeon and Debauchery by Usher.
Excellent. Now if the book sells poorly, or a witty quip doesn't land. I won't have my name attached to it and can simply abandon it like a damaged baby.
Smack.
The metallic gauntlet clapped his ear raw. He'd let his mind get distracted again.
"Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir." Sam mumbled while collecting his papers off the floor.
"If you are to observe the world in ink." Sir Talon leaned in so no others could hear. "Then do so from memory. In this place, even the critters are paying attention. So should you." The knight pointed out two squirrels on a shelf that quickly dashed away from his attention.
His mentor, once again, held Sam back in the raiding group. For the front was too dangerous for a distracted boy.
They travelled down a river system. The metallic boats they commandeered were sturdy but not numerous enough for the entire party. Once again the mages were called upon, this time to summon ethereal transport and to cushion the drop over the waterfall. A dark cavern greeted them at the bottom. Word went out between the vessels to be extremely quiet and diminish all sources of light. The healers in the group grumbled about wearing thick travelling cloaks over their garments. Seeing as every item they owned was blessed in holy writing that radiated the Divine's Flow.
'Golden roosters' as his Mother used to say, always crowing for attention.
The silence over the water was tense. Especially when red beacons bloomed in the far distance. The guide had spoken of these, they signalled 'death' it'd said. For both monsters and men.
After a few hours, spent smoking pipes and playing dice, they came to another waterfall. The sucking maelstrom roused the Squire from his stupour. A real hazard, he hoped. But the coordinated warriors paddled with shields and axes. Landing on a rocky bank as instructed by their guides. Where a path and a simple descent lead them into a misty land.
Sam was awestruck as giants rose before them. Trees that reached into a mysterious sky, hidden by dense clouds. Their thick trunks made the walls of Albiton look like a peasant's fort. A single one could build several galleon ships. And with an entire woodland to fell, Sam could picture the sky armada shadowing the land of the Eastern lands.
Another vast treasure in the ever giving dungeon. The Squire searched for his Father to suggest they cut one day. The raiding party assembled on a small beach, resting while the Captains discussed the next stage of their adventure.
Sir Talon was addressing them with his back to the group. Giving Sam the chance to move, unobserved. He sneaked up through the dense mist, creeping through the shrubbery to listen in.
The war drums and single string had ceased since leaving the tavern's basements. Noe only insects buzzed in his ear as he crawled forward. A slight breeze rustled the shrubbery, masking his movement. Finally on the outskirts, Sam could hear the distinctive voice of the cloaked guide.
"Here's the map I spoke of. It's detailed and will get you to the Grotto where the ReaperKing dwells. It's a large cave… actually you might find it quite small. But you'll recognise it from all the huts inside, they resemble half baked dough. It'll be obvious when you see it. So I'd suggest you scale further along and- aahhhh!"
Beorn wrenched the monster off the ground by his hood to bring him eye level with the berzerker
No, Sam almost yelled out. They can't kill them now. I haven't got my treasure yet.

 

[Chaperone]

Sam watched as the blue hooded monster dangled before the vanguard.
"You come with Beorn." He said, eyes glistening. "You won't leave me."
"No one's leaving." Sir Talon stated coolly. His natural charisma made him a great leader, father and friend. The rapport he'd built with the guides through their journey was genuine and honest. But it all melted away as the monster's little white legs dangled.
The raid commander spoke with uncontested authority.
"Our scouts will push forward to secure one of these 'platforms'. So we have a choice here." He leaned in, locking eyes with the monster's own. "Either you accompany them maintaining this illusion of freedom we gifted you, or we strap you between Beorn's breasts for a full scale charge."
"I wear no armour or clothes." The berserker grunted. "Nothing fits."
The commander nodded. "Okay fine. Strapped to his axe then."
"Stealth is best." The blue cloaked monster suggested.
"I couldn't agree more, show us the way." Sir Talon commanded. Before turning to his Captains. "And pass word about. Guile is our shield for now. But keep our weapons sharp and spells glowing. Only the Divine's holy sight will see us back in bed between our lovers' bosoms. But deft cunning will keep our wives from the truth and our hearts still beating. Remember. True vigilance, pure honour, bold action."
They recited the mantra in unison. Sam only now realising the hypocrisy of the knights speech. Years of training had conditioned him for this moment, causing the Squire to also repeat the words out loud. And in doing so, reveal his hiding spot in the mist.
Sir Talon never missed a thing. Pure vigilance indeed.
He signalled for the Squire to remain while he finished giving orders. The Captains soon left to organise their units.
With a look, Sam was summoned to the raid leader's side.
"You will stay behind to protect our Ritualists while they prepare the gateway home."
Sam knew better than to argue with his Father. So he was surprised when the commander added. "Once they're near completion. You are to notify me at the front line. Don't dally my son, we will wet your blade for the first time together. Like I did with my Father."
Nerves rumbled through the Squire. He was ready for this, he told himself. He wanted this.
"I will join you as soon as possible." Sam said.
He was dismissed. The raiding party bustled about him, either advancing to the front or arranging defences for a hasty retreat. Sam first stopped by the war band. Hoping the Moldon would accompany him while he awaited the ritual's completion.
However the support musicians had refused to part with the lute wielding creature. Claiming it was their new muse and being the Squire of the leader meant he carried Sir Talon's spare swords, and not his authority.
Returning to the waters edge, he found the Ritualists beginning their powerful spell. Beside them, the gnome stood with an unusually positive demeanour talking in hushed words to the hooded guide.
That will soon change once he hears of Fathers orders.
Regardless, this was a golden opportunity to interrogate one of the little horrors for information.
As he approached, he heard snippets of their conversation.
"...the bells ring, head for the sands."
"Aye, always wanted to talk with that horny cow anyway. Got some idea-" The gnome scowled as he noticed Sam. "You come to see that rainbow shower lad?" He grabbed his crotch in a grotesque manner. If not for their current predicament, Sam would have cut the monster down before the Divine. As was his right as a Man, and hero.
Yet they needed to maintain decorum before the battle. And Sam needed knowledge of the dungeon.
The Squire straightened his back and held his head high - as his Father had taught him to do when giving instructions. "You are to accompany me in the protection of our returning ritual. That's an order."
The two monsters shared a look before the gnome replied.
"Scared of the spooky mist are we?"
"No it's not like that-"
"Aye kid, I know. I'll hold your hand for a bit while the heroes play poke the monster."
Sam reached for the hilt of his sword. "I'm a man, not a child." He sneered with as much venom as he could muster.
The blue monster flinched back from the display. But to Sam's dismay, his attempt at intimidation had little effect on the filthy gnome.
"Oh you're man ya say. My apologies Sir man." The gnome sardonically bowed to him then sat on a log and beckoned for Sam to join him. "Please, sit. Let's burn the candle together while your friends scribble out their spell. I'd love to hear all the tales of a man. First kill, first love. I want to hear it all."d
Before he could reply, shadows engulfed them. Veterans warriors from the commander's armoured unit arrived to collect the guide.
The blue monster bid them good Flow as he departed. Sharing another silent look with his companion."
"Aye, all that dribble to you too." The gnome replied and gestured at his back with the Holy V symbol.
Sam was flabbergasted to see a monster using a human gesture to show admiration.
"Why would you show respect to a friend with a symbol of the Divine? How do you even know of it?"
The gnome raised an eyebrow. "Aye, yeh. Respect, that's what I was doing. Hope he gets home safe is all. As for the rest." The gnome shrugged. "Even shit trickles downhill, makes it hard to stay clean."
The Squire considered his words while noting the disgusting garbs the monster clad himself in.
He must be referring to keeping his soul clean then. Do these monsters truly believe they have souls? I can see the High Priests rage now, what an unsavoury sin. There must be more.
Sam dropped his backpack and placed a cloth over the log before joining the gnome. With his paper and quill at the ready. He began his research.
"You spoke of tales before, how about we share?"
The gnome snorted. "I'd rather hear about your sins than my own."
Fascinating.
"So you are aware of sins?"
"Aware?" He snorted. "Lad, I was inventing sins while you were still baby batter in your old man's sack. Takes a bit of grit to get to my age around here, even for those that grow up in a den."
"Dens." Sam repeated. "Is that where you are raised?"
We'll be farming them like cattle soon. Workers for the fields, monsters in our armies and the dungeons will be nothing but a treasure mine.
The monster snorted again, this time his gaze wandered to the ritual drawings.
Bugger, I'm losing him. What would Father do? He likes to sin, I know.
From his backpack he produced a case. Inside was the party leader's private supply of smokes. From the upper markets and expensive, even for seasonal heroes.
"What ya got there my friend?" The gnome asked.
Sam packed the pipe and handed it over.
Soon, pink streams of smoke were billowing out the monster's nostrils.
"So these dens." Sam continued. "Are they housed in structures like these tree platforms? How many families are in each one? Do you even have families?"
The gnome took another deep drag. "No, no. Monsters dig these deep pits and lay their eggs in them."
"Lay eggs." Sam said as he wrote.
"Aye, not all monsters. Some cut off parts of themselves and toss them in the pits. These grow differently, depending on the time, weather or what grass is nearby."
"Keep going."
"Eventually, the eggs hatch or the parts grow enough then it's every monster for himself."
Sam looked away from his paper, eyes wide with horror. "Then what?"
"Nature my friend. And let me tell you, it's not the size that makes the monster. Now, got anything to drink?"
Two flasks emerged from the bag. "Either Vermoose berry gin or small batch whiskey from Stalheart?"
"I got enough stories to fill a library, but my throat is oh so dry."
"Both then."
The gnome smiled, taking a sip from both flasks at once.
"Good shit." He said, wiping his moustache. "You got that quill ready."
The Squire nodded like a puppy.
Who would have thought unlocking the dungeons secrets would be so easy?
"So there I was." The gnome began. "At the bottom of the pit with shell in my moustache. Surrounded. Baby demons in all directions, their tiny red worms dangling for all to see…"

 

[Chaperone]

Moss had never sweated so much in his life. His cloak clung to him like he'd bathed beneath the honey streams in a NectarHive. A pain in his chest was slowly blooming while his face remained numb.
The keeper couldn't deny the FairyDusts' benefits were pure Flow, they wouldn't have got the party to Fifth without it.

FairyDust (Greater): (Quarter candle)
+15 Wit
+3 Agility
Feeling the demons of misery? Then snort some dust.
No one to share your bedroll and scared of rejection? Then hit that powder.
Do monsters laugh at you and not with you? Then blow away your boring personality with magic in a bag.
Greatly improves the consumers likeability, charisma, rhetoric and persuasiveness. Has mild pain relieving properties, so future you can deal with any 'setbacks'.
Aren't words so much fun? They let me bring more colour to these dull scrolls.

Moss was happy Wendy found joy in her work. But that was nothing compared to the wave of glee and ecstasy that had pumped through him from the FairyDust. A little too much. They'd assumed his small fortune of scrips had purchased a decent quantity of the enhancers. But with the effects only lasting a quarter candle - plus the pure joy of taking it - they'd run out before the quest was completed.
Bloody perfect time, the keeper thought to himself as he led the way to the rope ladder. He pointed his claw up, hoping they'd go first. But a scout lifted him on and poked his rear with a blade.
Moss silently grumbled and started to climb. With his Wit reduced to normal and Lui also being swept away by the warband, Moss had also lost any chance of convincing the hero's leader of leaving him behind. At least with his cloth intact.
Hells bells. Now look where I am. Leading a raiding party into one of the most populated areas of the upper dungeon. Banish my life.
He was caught between a mace and the gnolls' gallows. Either the raiders stab him in the back or the dwellers will see him and he'll be marked as a rogue.
I'm sure Kai can't wait to have his dogs toss me off the platforms.
Moss needed an exit. But only once they reached the Grotto. He'd come so far, he couldn't slip up now. Having climbed the mountain peak once again, he could see the moment when Kai falls and Moss took his place.
The keeper eyed the scouts below him. Their weapons were still held close by their sides as they ascended. Knives, short swords and loaded bows. Their green hooded leader scowled as he noticed, causing Moss to shuffle up a little faster.
These heroes are frothing for monster blood. Once the fighting starts and they're all occupied, I'll slip away into the mists and hide in the Archives.
Moss felt the flow of panic seeping away as he reached the underside of the platform. He'd manifested his own enhancer now, hope. Free in price and free of side effects. The keeper held strong.
Until the cold touch of metal slid across his bare leg. His claws squeezed the rope ladder as he looked below him, where the scout leader flourished his blade and pointed aggressively towards the wooden structure. They wanted Moss to go first and he was taking too long.
Not all of us have long limbs, you twat.
The keeper had braved the misty floor to avoid the main sections of the Village. He would have taken them all the way to the cliff, but Sir Talon considered his suggestion 'tactical suicide'.
"Shall we drop our pants as well?" The knight sneered. "Make the pillaging of our behinds more obvious as we climb into your trap?"
The keeper had brought them to the elevator platform without bothering to argue.
Since reaching the Woods, the value of his opinion had plummeted faster than a FruitBat that had sampled its own apples.
Moss knew the FairyDust and Lui's abilities had done the dragon's share of the work. But he'd secretly hoped the hero leader had warmed to him, even if it was only as a guide and QuestGiver. Now their relationship resembled something closer to Moss's and Guks.
And I spent my entire life pissing off that sack of shit. Hopefully he's the only monster hanging out at the edge of Village.
A butterfly of guilt tried to take flight inside him, but Moss quickly snapped its wings.
We're far enough away, that I'm certain no one will be around. Besides, this is for the betterment of the whole dungeon. Rogues endanger all of us.
Green hooded heroes climbed up beside him. The ladder was built to support HowlerBears, so it was wide and strong. The scouts had their knives clenched between teeth. Eyes hungry.
The keeper whispered to them. "It's only a few more rungs. I'll peek my head over and give you the signal."
Their replies were muffled and inaudible due to the blades.
Fucking smart move that was.
He assumed they'd agreed and climbed over the railing. The platform around the tree was mostly clear, except for an old furry enjoying the gentle breeze.
Moss noticed a wrapping around her eyes, a clear signal of her waning years.
With a wave, the scouts hopped up to join him.
One swung from the rope ladder, twisting through the air to land on the railing. Bow poised, aimed at the furry. The other two scouts nodded enthusiastically at his entrance, throwing out hand signals that Moss didn't recognise.
The arrow was lowered and a curved blade was shoved into the keeper's claws. The scout's smirk grew into a savage grin as he pointed at the old furry.
Moss shook his head.
The scout scowled, pointing at the knife then at Moss's knee. 'Your choice' said his eyes.
Another pretended to shove Moss on the floor, followed by repeatedly stamping on his imaginary head. Over and over again with enthusiastic vigour that caused the floor boards to creak.
"Is someone there?" The old furry croaked. "Would be nice to share a yarn this fine evening. I haven't spoken to anyone since my husband died." She coughed a raspy breath. "It'll be going on seven seasons this Hallowed Night."
Moss was afraid. He didn't want to hurt anyone, at least not directly.
But it was either her or him, and Moss was the one holding the knife.
The keeper gripped the handle and made for the furry.
But the scout, growing impatient, booted him forward. The keeper stumbled and tripped. Arms flaying, he grabbed a soft ledge to support himself.
"Ooohh, like that is it? I suppose we could, I haven't had fun in a while. Bless my husband, he'd understand. Mind you, it might take a flicker to get the drapes soaked through…"
Moss climbed onto the bench and raised the knife at her neck. Hoping to make it quick and painless.
As he aimed, she sniffed the air and turned her head. Bringing her saggy neck into the blade's point and lightly pricking her flesh.
"My, my." The furry cooed. "That's doing the trick. Do you have any rope? My husband-"
He stabbed, cutting her words off. A gurgling spewing followed as she gasped for air. Blood spurted over the keeper as he fell backwards.
Before she could make more of a scene, the scouts threw the furry over the edge. A coldness crept up on Moss. Shame and guilt. He could always recover her body later, but with her age the chances of her reviving were poor. Most dwellers don't even get to the grey fur and wrinkles stage before Pools can pass on their Flow.
Or is that Lady Death's role? I'll have to ask the gargoyles.
Whatever happens to the furry, she'd clearly experienced more seasons than most keeper chains. Moss licked his hands clean.
Gaining disgusted looks from the scouts who snatched their knife back.
Before they could use it on him, the keeper showed them the pulley system. It worked the large elevator that was used to haul SnailWagons into the Village.
Within a quarter of a candle, the entire raiding party was in the trees and advancing.
Torches had been spotted through the mist, just ropeswing from their position. As Moss suspected, the Captains had wanted to investigate. But he knew the truth of it. They simply wanted to kill monsters.
The keeper dug deep and found the courage to plead his case. Aware of the attention he was bringing on himself in the midst of the bloodthirsty heroes. But if the Village caught wind of their presence, it was all over.

 

[Chaperone]

To Moss's surprise, Sir Talon listened and stirred the raiders in the opposite direction towards a bleak looking bridge.
The scout Captain tested its weight before returning to the party.
"Concensus?" Sir Talon asked.
"Like an old town hooker, Sir. She'll do the job, but the more you look the less you'll enjoy it."
The commander chuckled, but took a cautious approach by staggering the units across. The keeper crossed in the first wave of armoured front guard. They secured the mouth of the cave as more units crossed. Everyone was on high guard, weapons ready for the King of Reapers.
As the party regrouped, Moss heard a noise on the breeze that made his stomach sink.
Squeals and screams, high pitched and numerous.
What are they doing in the Grotto?
The keeper had to clamp his claws over his mouth to stop himself from yelling out.
"So class, now you have seen the literal bottom of the dungeon. Not in literal terms but hieracle. Hhhhmmm, what was that Trixy? Yes, with their tongues. Disgusting isn't it." The school group of furries stopped giggling when they saw the raiding party. The teacher turned without hesitating, frantically shepherding them back. Before their tiny brown bodies could disappear inside. A cloud of arrows and spears rained upon them. A heavy handed overuse of their arsenal that could have brought several Lesser demons to their knees.
Ooooo there's that guilt coming back.
Sir Talon was suddenly beside him. "Beings typically lock their valuables away in vaults or castles that cost a fortune in themselves. This is the back alley of a refugee camp. Not the lair of a king"
"Exactly." Moss said. "It's the last place any raiders would look."
"I think not. Where are the potions? The barrels of ammunition? It's all so unceremonial. These are traditions held between Man and Monster for millenium. Presenting the hero with the opportunity to meet their foe on a level playing field. And now they're simply forgotten?" He aired the question with venom.
The keeper had never heard of this 'tradition'. Potions were a wealth of their own. To leave such treasure lying around the dungeon floors was a stupid claim. Any monster would swipe them in a flicker. And to suggest they were placed specifically for the heroes themselves. The keeper couldn't believe it. Maybe in the mad shifts of Hell.
Yet the commander's friendly mask had long melted away. The stoney killer was left and no jokes escaped his set lips.
"This place isn't the typical treasure room you have seen." Moss lied. "Nor are the items and weapons held inside. If every hero knew what to look for, then avoiding those tells would be the best way to hide it."
He scrambled for logic to cling on to. Moss hadn't been prepared for a debate at the front door of his home. Any flicker now he could be recognised.
Sir Talon shook his head in disgust. "There are rules and formalities. Strange at first glance, but always the same. Like you 'quest givers'. Monsters that reward the killing of their own kind. Yet live on, day after day. In such hostile lands." He stopped at the mouth of the cave entrance. The hovels were just coming into view and to Moss's horror he spotted blue hoods of his brothers. The other keepers scrambled back into their homes before being fired upon. But this did little to shake Moss's panic.
They are supposed to be cleaning Believer graffiti off the Trench walls. Why are they here? I thought Tink said he'd sorted it.
This wasn't part of the plan. Moss had triple checked that his friend had completed his task after checking their route through the Maze. There was only meant to be one keeper in the Grotto. Kai's too busy coming up with dumb rules to be out doing such petty cleaning work.
Oh Pools no, the stipend. Moss remembered. Kai's paying them to nothing, why would they be working?
Right now Moss was dancing around the ritual fire. Balancing between an attendant and the main sacrifice.
This wasn't the time to be discussing cultural irregularities. Riddles that Moss would like the answers to. He had to turn the raiders around but he also couldn't appear naive in his role. Or lie without support for his argument. With the accusation hanging over him, he chose to speak the truth. At least as far as he knew it.
"It's our role in this realm, set by our Core." The keeper said. "We don't question it. Who would ask a God to explain themselves?" He waved his arms towards the Grotto dramatically.
Sir Talon barked a slow laugh. Sardonically slow. He wasn't done with the subject.
The raider party was poised and ready. Watching for their commander's signal with a patience that Moss couldn't comprehend. Demons would have charged long ago.
How have we survived against such discipline for so long?
"I've seen every dungeon this continent has to offer. The environments change, the monsters, the loot, religions, 'Gods'." He sneered the last word. "My men would leave the dungeons, arms full with treasures and voices merry with life. We've crushed the enemy, beheaded their leaders and taken anything of worth. I believed we were the victors. I was beholden by our gains, delighted by your losses. Then the next season came around and instead of empty caverns and trenches, I'd find the same masses, same monsters. Ready for us as always. Yet with no new defences, no new weapons or abilities or tactics. Just the same horde throwing themselves against our light. Dying over and over again. With no regard for self preservation or advancement, only the perpetual tenacity to maintain the cycle of constant loss. Unless…" He said softly, his scowl lifting to reveal a hint of fear. "Unless this is what you want."
His mace raised into the air. Warriors, clerics, rangers and wizards waited for it to fall.
"After all these years, I see the similarities and patterns, see beyond the mirage." The knight locked eyes with Moss, holding him like a giant in his grasp. "It's all loss and gain. So tell me truthfully. What do you gain from it all? Or better yet, what does your Core? Because I'm starting to think they aren't the losers here."
Moss was itching to leave. "I don't know. I'm nobody here. Look at your nice armour, you're a winner in my eyes."
"I'm not sure that's true, little keeper." The mace fell along with Moss's insides.
He knows.
The warcry went out as hundreds of charging footsteps echoed off the cave walls. Fire and lightning exploded through the air. Arrows split into a hundred shards to shred through hovels, others simply exploded into dust. A mage zapped Beorn with a yellow mist causing his body to move faster, even his bulges rippled quicker. Great axes and warhammers decimated the keeper's homes. Blood sprayed the bedrock, shredded cloth filled the air. The screams of his people crashed down on Moss. But it was too late for them now, all he could think of was himself. Of escaping this knight who bore down on him with accusing words.
"From the Bowels of T'Zarkhar to the MoonGlades. You will always find-" He booped Moss lightly on the head with his mace. "-Keepers."
The irony didn't go over him like the heat of battle raging nearby. He'd
The warzone raged beyond them, heat and explosions washing over their heads - unlike the irony of his completing his dream, which hit him at full speed.
A higher power had finally noticed his kind, noticed him. He just hadn't expected it to be clad in golden light.
Every thread of cloth was telling Moss to run. But what could a grub do in the grip of a knight.
"Keepers." The commander repeated. "Always hidden in the shadows, always out of reach. Then we come here and I find you. The only monster to break the illusion."
'Only the curious know the depth of the Abyss'.
"Breaks it?" Moss asked before he could stop himself.
The knight chuckled. "Like you don't know. You're the only monster found in all dungeons. The only pattern I have ever seen. And what I've been searching for for all these years." His mace rested on top of Moss's head. "So tell me little keeper, what do you gain from this quest?"