Walking through the small gate, it became highly obvious that the perimeter wall was built from the wrong material. Having withstood the test of time quite well, seven small mud-brick houses appeared to be the main feature of their lackluster dungeon village.
Simple one-story structures, they consisted of four walls surrounding a single dirt floored room which held a small kitchen with a large shuttered window in the far corner. Leading into the homes' interior stood a single battered wooden door, above which sat two more small rectangular windows. Containing no glass, or covering of any kind, the doorway 'windows' were there simply for air-flow and nothing else.
Home sweet home, Alan thought sarcastically.
Built directly onto the outer wall of the dwellings, a small stone staircase lead up to the rooftop terrace. Standing atop the terrace gave an uninspiring view of the other six houses, arranged in a circle around what used to be the village market square.
Now just a football field sized patch of dirt with the remains of market stalls strewn around haphazardly. In reality, all that remained standing was rotting panels of wood, held upright through sheer stubbornness. Located in the northeast corner of the tiny town, between Alan and Rexus' personal homes, sat their makeshift well.
More of a small pond, a long creek branching off from the nearby river passed beneath the eastern wall, constantly refilling the pool with fresh water. Exiting the pond, the creek continued flowing beneath the northern wall, returning to the source.
Giving his word that he would cook their hard-earned catfish later that evening, Alan sent Rexus on his way. It had been an eventful day, and he needed some space to think.
Slowly climbing the steps to his rooftop veranda, Alan began to ponder the strange events of the day. Having an enormous cat step out of thin air inside the Dungeon made him wonder just what awaited in the tutorial and beyond that, when he finally had the confidence and ability to return to the surface.
A vast, newly magical world, just waiting to be explored. Giddy with thoughts of looted treasures, galactic princesses, and perhaps even taming a Hellcat or three, Alan walked over and retrieved a pair of wooden buckets from the rooftop.
After walking to the nearby pond, he filled his buckets, promptly returning to his veranda to fill the large water storage tank. Not much more than a much larger version of the buckets he carried, a copper pipe exited the bottom of the tank, extending out over the back wall of the house. Capped off with an old fashioned shower head, an attached chain connected to a cut-off valve allowed him to pull the chain and have access to a fresh, if cold, shower.
Holding around ten gallons, Alan's two small bucket-fulls of water hardly put a dent in the water tank. Returning to the pond, he refilled his buckets, and once again emptied them into the tank. Repeating this process, Alan was eventually satisfied with his water supply, promptly draining it atop his head in a long, much needed-shower.
Finished with his long, cool shower Alan opened the shutters and stooped through the window and into his mud-brick home. The interior was spartan to say the least.
Barely adequate, his furnishings were a bed in the northeast corner, dull metal frame supporting a box spring and mattress with threadbare coverings, as well as an old wooden table with three equally old chairs placed in the southeast corner. Hovering above the bed, hanging from thin metal wires nailed directly into the roof beams was a simple wooden pole Alan hung his clothes from.
Standing in the southwestern edge of the room was his small cast-iron wood stove. Directly behind the stove sat a small window into which the stoves exhaust-tube passed through, allowing the smoke to pass out over the house, rather than smogging out the interior.
Alone in the final corner of the room sat the large chest holding Alan's weapon of choice, a meter long sickle with a wickedly curved blade. Not much more than a miniaturized scythe, it rested alongside a simple wood-handled meathook.
Admittedly deficient in the usage of these, or any weapons, he made plans to begin resolving this issue as soon as beginning the tutorial. Having always wanted to try wielding a double-bladed polearm, he had hopes to find a weaponsmith as well.
Also within the chest was his poorly made leather armor he had cobbled together from pieces of leather 'stolen' from defeated goblins. Lacking access to the System and any type of looting abilities, or leatherworking skills that might come with it, he'd been forced to make due with repurposing rough leather goblin belts and pants into poorly-made, but necessary defensive equipment.
Glancing at the small wood stove, Alan decided to cook here at home for a change. As there were no nights within the dungeon, and the temperature remained a constant 73 degrees Fahrenheit, making use of the stove had the unfortunate side-effect of rapidly overheating the interior of the small house.
Unable to sleep in the heat, he usually cooked his meals in one of the empty abodes around town. Approaching and unlatching, then opening the small iron stove's door, he began the process of relighting the stove by first removing all the ashes left behind from the previous fire. Noticing the bottom of the stove contained more water than actual ashes, it became quite obvious that he had a problem in there somewhere.
Not in the mood to attempt to find, and then repair the leak he assumed was coming down from his shower's water tank, Alan ruled that it would be dinner at Rexus's tonight. Confident that Rexus would already have a fire started, he headed next-door to his brother's matching mud-brick home. Quickly knocking and then walking in, the wave of heat that washed over Alan informed him that indeed, the fire was lit.
Entering the room, Alan was forced to admit that the space was much more appealing than his own. Faded tapestries, and rusted weapons adorned the walls, while ancient, thickly cushioned wooden furniture clutter up the floor. All things Rexus took from the old fortress on the Dungeon's lower level before Goblins made it their own fortress breeding station.
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Built to house the majority of the dungeon population, the fortress had eventually been abandoned due to dwindling numbers of human inhabitants, along with a rapidly increasing Goblin population. Night raids and ambushes by the Goblins resulted in the almost overnight desertion of that entire level of the Dungeon.
Now blocked by a six inch thick iron door, the stairwell to the second level was only ever accessed by Alan, who usually dragged Rexus along due to his convenient ability to somewhat communicate with the Dungeon Born Monsters. Although this ability didn't seem as effective on the Goblins for some reason. Convenient ability or not, the stairwell was only ever supposed to be opened if no other option was available.
Mainly because Goblins had a tendency to lie in wait, hiding amid the rocks. Most often they were barely noticable due to a thick wall of mist and fog bellowing out from where the nearby waterfall crashed into the lake below.
Mounted front and center on the wall rested a large trophy monster head. And though he never quite understood why, he had always seemed to bear a deep personal hatred for this singular monster. The mere sight of it caused his usually calm demeanor to boil over into a frothy rage. Knowing what his reaction would be, Alan avoided even glancing in its direction, let alone thinking about his confusing history with this once brutal creature.
Pushing the slowly surfacing anger back down into its container made it easier to endure the building desire to let loose, sickle and meathook in hand, against the creatures of the forest. Perhaps even descend to the lower level and storm the Goblins fortress breeding station.
With less than eighteen hours left to go before the start of the tutorial, and in a way, the start of his new life, he knew it would be incredibly stupid to allow anger to get the better of him. An injury at this point would be a serious risk to his chances at completing the Tutorial. Uncle Alex had repeatedly warned the brothers that casualties within the tutorial happened to be not only common, but oftentimes even encouraged.
But admittedly, Alan had never been the best at keeping a lid on his emotions. Even without System access, he needed to find ways to get stronger. Even if that meant taking stupid chances. In this life, everything was a risk.
Resources were limited, even in the vastness of the multiverse, and the only thing stopping the next person from simply killing and taking another's resources was personal power. Alan and Rexus would need to get strong enough that attempting to kill and rob them would be considered too risky. The System wouldn't necessarily incentivise the killing of weaker beings, but it surely didn't punish it either.
Letting himself drop into one of the cushioned chairs, Alan placed his head in his hands and began to take deep, hopefully calming breaths. Lost in the process of failing to calm down, Alan didn't notice Rexus entering the room until he spoke.
"You really shouldn't be in here bro, you know how you get around granddad's trophy," he practically growled out. "While I don't know what it is about that ugly thing that bothers you so much, we both know it does, man. And quite honestly I'm surprised you aren't out going all murder-happy on the Goblins with that dull sickle of yours right about now."
Sliding his hands down his face and suddenly grinning at his brother, Alan's response was simple. "Wanna come with?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Rexus responded. An increasingly sinister grin of his own spreading rapidly across his face.
Exiting his house, Alan placed the necklace holding the key to the second floor securely around his neck. Fully geared and outfitted in his poor quality leather pauldrons, bracers, jerkin, greaves, meat hook hanging from his belt, and his, as Rexus so plainly stated "dull sickle", Alan was forced to admit that 'geared and outfitted' might've been an overstatement.
Rexus was dressed in his usual clothes, along with a rusty sword and shield pulled down from his wall. "You ready for this?" Rexus asked his brother, and a toothy smile was the only response he recieved. Making their way to the village's northern gate, Alan was careful to be more gentle when opening this one, as just earlier today he had accidentally ripped the southern gate off its rusted hinges.
Leaving the village, after a short walk along Alans handmade stone path cutting through the orange grasses, the mile-long chasm opening up before them. The river flowed into the western side of the chasm. It formed a waterfall that dropped down to the sizable lake beneath them, causing plumes of mist to obscure the landscape below. Moreover, the water soaked the spiral staircase leading down allowing moss and algae to thrive on the surface of the stairs. Making the journey down treacherous at best. Add to that the goblins most likely lying in wait among the mist, and it became a literal deathtrap.
Mounted to several large boulders strewn along the eastern side of the chasm was the large iron gate, blocking off entrance into and out of the lower floor. Years of mist from the waterfall left it badly rusted, Alan found he was unsure how much longer it would be able to remain strong enough to contain the goblins. Turning to his brother, Alan crossed his arms and once again laid out the game plan.
"I'm going to unlock the gate and push it open, you walk through, shield up, and block any arrows that happen to be launched at my face. We finish any enemies between us and the stairs. I'm on your left, close enough that I can make use of your shield if necessary, once we get to the stairs, it's single file only. Things get slippery, so watch your step."
Pausing to make sure his brother was keeping up so far, Alan continued. "I'll take the lead, stay right on my ass. Once we make it to the first landing, we hold there. If you get the chance, try to use your ability to get the Goblins to drop their weapons. Rexus nodded apprehensively. "At any point you begin to feel overwhelmed, we retreat. If at any point we are outnumbered more than three to one, unless we can catch them by surprise, we retreat. Once we clear the first landing, we'll wait twenty minutes for any stragglers, after that we return to the village."
Placing his key into the lock and turning it, the rusted lock barely hesitated before opening up and tossing rusty water onto Alan's face. Taking a step back, he kicked the gate open, and was quickly shielded by his brother. As he locked the gate behind them, he heard several dull cracks as wood arrows struck the shield and shattered, informing him that at least two but most likely three goblin archers were lying in wait on the landing before the stairs. Stepping to his brother's side, and peering over the shield, he was just in time to see a group of at least three goblins retreating out of sight down the spiral staircase.
Looking in the shadows behind the large rocks strewn about and seeing nothing out of place, Alan was confident they were alone for the time being. "Now's your chance to run away," he said lightly to his brother, quickly moving as Rexus attempted to punch his back. "No friendly fire," Alan murmured, slowly approaching the foggy, mist-filled stairwell.
Alan stopped abruptly, crouched down and held up a fist, signaling for Rexus to halt. "What is it, what do you see?" Rexus whispered cautiously, moving up behind and to the left of his brother. Not getting an answer he crouched down next to him, whispering yet again "I asked if you saw somethi..." Before he was able to finish, Alan suddenly stood up. He leaned over, and ripped out a massive fart right against Rexus' cheek, causing him to stumble back onto his butt.
"WHAT HAPPENED TO NO FRIENDLY FIRE!.." Rexus practically wailed. His complaints were left to fall on deaf ears. The smell hit him as he watched his brother charge full-speed towards the stairwell.