Chapter Eight: Instance Oatmeal

Initially, Caldwell thought that this adventure was going to be over before it got started. He had several vials of Live, Damn You! secured about his person, but that didn’t stop him from worrying about his student. He should have been worried about the Spectres.

As soon as he realized that he was fighting two Spectres, Zuglah attacked. He cast a barrage of Dancing Mana that looked to have been seven or possibly eight. Caldwell hadn’t counted, because before the last bullet hit, Zuglah blinked himself behind the two Spectres. He spun Redda Mo high above his head in an arc, and brought him crashing down into the cowl of the already staggered undead. He blinked back to stand in front of Caldwell, Blast of Frost slowing both of the enraged Spectres to an angry crawl.

“Did you see that?” He asked excitedly.

Then, The Ice Blade exploded. When had he even cast that? The first Spectre howled and died. The second one crawled towards them for another second, then tried to cover its head with its arms. Zuglah turned. The new Dancing Mana swarm was only three projectiles, but they staggered the creature beautifully.

When Zuglah rushed forward, quarterstaff raised, the Spectre broke free of the encumbering frost and came to meet him. They swung at each other like savages.

This was the first time Caldwell saw Zuglah’s Trollish blood boil to the surface. When the Spectre hissed and swiped at him with its claws, he growled and raked it with claws of his own. Had it been mortal flesh, that creature probably would have run for its life.

Instead, it stood there and clawed ineffectually against the Mage’s Armour as Zuglah and Redda Mo pummeled it until it faded away.

Zuglah was breathing hard, grinning ear to ear. He trotted towards Caldwell.

When he got closer, Caldwell was startled to see gashes across Zuglah’s cheek and down his neck and chest. His new robes would need a mending as well, being torn and bloody. He had taken more of a beating than Caldwell had realized, but he could see that the cuts were already closing and the bleeding had stopped. Must be nice.

“How do I tell how much mana I have left?” Caldwell explained that as his meditation grew deeper, he would soon be able to visualize his tarn in real time. For now, he would need to meditate.

“Nah, maybe later. Parker said that it regenerated fast.” He was just about to leave, when Caldwell stopped him.

“You’ve forgotten the best part about dungeon crawling. The loot.” He laughed when Zuglah’s eyes went wide. The Troll searched both of the ephemeral bodies, patting down the thin, moth-eaten robes and finding nothing. “Yes, Spectres have incredibly rare loot. Even skeletons are better, because they usually carry weapons. But look.” He held up the creature’s hand, indicating the claws. “The Alchemy ingredients found in dungeons are more rare and valuable than anywhere else in the world. These can be used in several different potions.”

Zuglah looked at the creature with distaste. “Eew. I think I’ll pass.”

“There is another option, you know. I am a member of the Adventurer’s Guild. Now I’m not saying that you should become a member, but they do provide some nice options. Portable Holes, Bag of Holding, etc. Throw everything in there, weapons, armour, bodies. They will process anything valuable for you, and take a percentage of your gold. If you want, I can lend you one of my accounts for now.” Zuglah agreed. He opened his pack and retrieved two items that he had known he would probably need.

“Okay. We have the Portable Hole and the Bag of Holding. With the Hole, you throw stuff in there and you never see it again. All you will ever find waiting for you are your gold and magic items. With the Bag, you carry it all around with you until you reach the Guild. So you can control how much or little you give them more easily. And search the bodies yourself, if you should so desire.”

Even with the larger cut, he knew which choice Zuglah would make. He chose the Hole. “Okay, let me show you a perk of your choice. I call it, ‘the easy way.’” Caldwell unrolled the Hole and casually tossed it onto one of the Spectres. It trembled, then quivered, then it began pouring itself into the portable hole as though it were made of sand. It went faster and faster, until with a gentle ‘pop,’ it was gone. The Hole fell to the stone, and flickered open.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He explained how to pick up the Portable Hole, and how to carry it around without falling into it. Then, he explained what to do if he should fall into it. He would not be the first person to panic and do something stupid.

The High Elves called their night vision Ultravision. It didn’t have any limit to range, and they could even see all of the colors. Trolls and, of all things, Goblins were the only other beings who possessed Ultravision. Thus, Zuglah was able to see the four Death Totems growing in the corner. The Totems were mushrooms that only grew in the presence of Undead lairs. They were a potent cure for paralysis, as well as one of the ingredients needed for Speak To Yourself, a potion that was confusing and complicated, to say the least.

Caldwell was dying to know what was behind the new door. He was so tempted to run over and just have a quick peek, but no. He stuck to Zuglah. This was his Instance, after all.

But the Spectres had been a surprise already, and so had Zuglah’s handling of them. That hadn’t been an attack, that was a one man assault. He was convinced that the Troll could have conjured one more Ice Blade, but instead he had chosen to go hand to hand, literally. Not a choice many wizards were inclined to make.

Back in the big corridor, Caldwell was once again forced to be patient. Zuglah was in herb picking mode now, and before he would move on he needed to check every corner on his hands and knees. He found two more Totems, and a patch of lichen that he wrapped in cheesecloth before putting away. He called it The Widow’s Diadem, and he was trembling when he wrapped it. “There’s enough for two.”

“Not three?” Redda Mo asked. “Just kidding, you guys have fun.”

Then they came to the door.

Caldwell had been through these tunnels hundreds of times. The Guild made a handsome sum off of the hopes and dreams of the children who just wanted to be twice the hero their parents were but for half the effort. Or no effort at all would be even better. But there had been no clue that there was an instance here. Had Zuglah set it off? Had Redda Mo?

“Hey Redda Mo? Are there undead behind this door?” Zuglah asked. Caldwell was surprised that he hadn’t thought to ask that.

“How should I know?” The quarterstaff replied.

“I thought you could detect undead. Because of what you said outside the crypt.”

“Oh, that.” Redda Mo laughed. “I just felt super awkward, and I figured that was a better place to have the ‘Oh my word, is that a talking quarterstaff? He’s so handsome!’ conversation than, say, here. Now.”

“I see.” Zuglah tried the door. Locked. “It’s locked.” He looked at Caldwell. He could feel the quarterstaff looking at him too.

“Fine. Here.” He touched a finger to the keyhole. He chanted. The bolt shot back, loudly. Zuglah gave a start, and pulled the door open quickly. He did not retain the element of surprise.

The room was large, spacious and well-lit. There was a fireplace that warmed the place nicely. And there was a centaur in the room. Caldwell wondered if he was hallucinating.

He had a deep brown coat on his flanks and a bronze hue to his skin from years of running across plains. His face was weather-worn and his hair was long and braided. He had a harness across his shoulders that supported the great glaive on his back. And he had a wagon.

The wagon looked ancient, and clever. Caldwell would have wagered large sums of money that it had been built by Gnomes, probably for this man’s own ancestors. Or, perhaps for this very centaur, depending on how long he had been stuck in this Instance. The wood was blonde and green, the wheels rubber and bone. The roof was tiled, and the side of the wagon facing the wall, the side that was inaccessible because of the wall, appeared to be a drop-down campsite.

But this side of the wagon was all shop.

The centaur’s name was Ulbarth, and he was a Red Roan Plains Centaur from The Dreadlands. He told them that he had had a good feeling about this crypt, having set up shop here only a couple of short hours ago, and here they were! Zuglah shot him a look, but he didn’t need a Troll’s sensitive beak to smell something fishy.

Ulbarth needed a favour, it turned out. Caldwell couldn’t say he was shocked.

“The Stanish Sigil,” the centaur pronounced. “It is buried with him, in his tomb. But as you can see, I cannot manage the stone bridge up ahead.” That much was certain. Although not slippery exactly, the stone was less than two spans wide. The centaur’s rump was at least three spans across.

“I have a special boon for whoever can bring me this crest. I will allow you to choose your reward from among my three best items. Now, come and peruse my wares.” He swept his arm wide, and moved his horse-like body out of the way. Caldwell stood well back, out of Identify range so he would not be tempted to interfere in any way. These items were for Zuglah alone.

He had potions, scrolls, an enchanted crossbow that could hit two targets at once, a ring that appeared to be made of yellow yarn all twisted into a circle, but when Zuglah picked it up, it was stiff and hard. And he had a wizard’s hat. It was black silk, midnight blue stars and moons subtly strewn about the peak while the same dark blue piping served as the trim. Caldwell simply had to have it. Why must he always be so damned ethical?

The three items he was offering to trade for the Sigil were, as he stated, exceptional quality. There was a Tiger’s Fang Necklace that would make the wearer immune to Sleep, Charm, Fear and Confusion spells. The Dwarven Frost Dagger would not only imbue one’s opponent with frost damage, wearing it would also enhance any and all cold spells. It was, like all Dwarven weapons, starkly beautiful. The third item was underwhelming, to say the least. It appeared to be a bit of red ribbon with a knot of berries and a sprig of wild grass knotted through it. Caldwell could detect no magic. It appeared inert.

Zuglah was going to love that dagger, he was sure of it.