Run #2

Rogue1 screamed and lurched from the floor, writhing and flailing at the nightmare of spikes, fire, and pain. He hit the floor, beat his body, and writhed in perceived agony before realizing he was not in the pit; he did not need to beat the flames from his body, nor did he need to roll around on the floor. Still, the memory of the pain haunted his body, and the rogue laid still feeling the cool, hard stone of the dungeon floor—dungeon.

He sat up and looked around the room with anger and mistrust. Three doors, all in the same place, and all of them closed. Torches burning and an ominous ceiling of darkness above. Two open chests and a closed one. A glowing blue circle of inscriptions was also nearby.

“Fuck.” He was trapped in a nightmare with no way to escape. Except, there was…

Not trusting his legs to stand yet, the rogue rolled himself into the blue, glowing circle known as a respawn point.

>Welcome, Rogue1, to your last Respawn Point.

>Would you like to save your progress at this Respawn Point?

(Note: Saving your progress will fully heal all Moxie strikes and respawn all NPCs to their original starting location.)

“What the fuck just happened?” His mind still felt clouded, like the trauma of being impaled and set on fire was a lingering dream he couldn’t shake away.

>Name: Rogue1 >Dungeon floors: 1 >Dungeon run attempts: 2 >Number of deaths: 1 >Last death: Spiked pit trap >Number of times HD used: 0 >Number of minions overcome: 0 >Number of Underbosses overcome: 0 >Number of Bosses overcome: 0 >Number of rooms explored: 0 >Number of locks picked:

0 >Number of respawn points discovered:

0 >Data displayed are based on the most recent actions.

>Would you like to view more statistics?

“So, I did die?” He rose and leaned in, staring at the Last death stat, as the text highlighted the "1" in response to his question. “If I died, how am I not dead? I don’t understand.”

>Would you like to review your Hero Sheet?

“Sure?” Rogue1 sifted through a myriad of thoughts racing through his head, trying to grasp how he was alive after being dead.

>The Hero Sheet >Name: Rogue1 >Moxie: 0 0 0 >Hero Level: 2 >UP: 0 >Mod. Bank 0 >HD: * Ready * >Defining Traits: Vain Curious Suspicious Impaled by spikes Burned alive >Archetype [B]: Rogue >Core Attributes: Charisma (CHA): 3 Intelligence (INT): 2 Strength (STR): 2 >Chosen Attributes: Dexterity (DEX): 3 Endurance (END): 2 Magic (MAG): 1 >Skills: Dodge (DEX): 1d2 Stick/Staff (STR): 1d2 Locks (INT): 1d2 >Gear: [B] Rogue Armor set [B] Wooden staff

It was the last two defining traits that locked his gaze. The memory of torture, agony, and pain; falling, spikes, and flames; Rogue1’s life before death flooded his mind and soul, tearing through to the front of his brain, screaming against the impaling spikes that trapped him at the bottom of a pit.

Rogue1 fell backward out of the light column, and it was only after hitting the floor that he realized he was screaming, though he was not trapped at the bottom of the pit. He wiped the sweat from his face but paused as he felt his cheek—there was something different about his cheek.

He took off the leather glove to get a better feel of his face but froze in horror as he stared at his hand. This was the free hand in the spike pit and the part deepest in the fire. Rogue1’s hand was mottled and scarred, distorted and stretched tight from the scars of being burned alive. He followed the tight, contorted skin that extended past his wrist and into his sleeve, where he dared not look further. Shakily, he touched his cheek, fought the inclination to recoil, and pressed harder, then felt the other side. Both cheeks had a hard, mottled line of scarring from their center to the corners of his lips. The pressure of his touch brought back the sensation of the spike driven through his face, and he jerked away from his own touch.

Frenzy began to set in, and he tore at his armor set. The armor did not come off, but he managed to get a glimpse of his mottled, formerly-burnt chest. He felt his ugly, scarred neck; only part of one ear remained; most of his head was lumpy, with only small, thin patches of hair littered between the lumps. He was beautiful for a moment. Thick hair, well-defined muscles across his body, and confidence for days—he was ready to take on this world. But now, he feared to disrobe, knowing the sight of his body under the clothes was scarred and grotesque. Everything he had was gone in a single instant, never to come back. Rogue1 curled in a ball, with one gloved hand covering his face, and he cried, loud and hard.

Time seemed to wait for the rogue. Nothing changed. The torches still burned, the doors remained closed, and the ceiling of darkness remained ever-present. He was exhausted and drained, and yet he remained.

Rogue1 sniffed, gingerly wiped his face of the sadness now rooted deep inside, and slowly rose to his feet. He was grateful the armor set came with a hood and pulled it tightly over his head, burying the face he feared to see deep in the hood’s shadow. Seeing the dungeon waited on him, the rogue took on his resolve.

I need to escape this hell.

He put on his glove back on, covering those burns from sight. He retrieved the staff from the ground and turned to the one closed chest. Opening the chest revealed the same four contents as before. A shudder of pain and agony jolted through his hand and arm, traveling up to his neck when he saw the Fire in a Bottle. Shaking away the jolt, he looked at the Lockpicking kit and Healing kit. Remembering two of the three doors were locked, Rogue1 chose the Lockpicking kit from the chest, not wanting to approach the only unlocked door ever again.

The rogue armor set was more cloth than leather, but it fit well, encouraged movement, and had a wonderful number of pockets and slots for carrying things. Rogue1 discovered the lockpicking kit fit perfectly in a hidden breast pocket of his armor set. Satisfied with his decision, the rogue approached the closest door. However, before getting too close to the door, he rapped the staff hard against the stone floor in front of the door. Nothing happened. Then he hit the door hard with his staff. Still, nothing happened. Not satisfied that the door wasn’t booby-trapped, Rogue 1 approached it with extreme caution and examined it for signs of a trap.

The door was made of thick wooden beams and reinforced with iron—it was the kind of door you would expect to find in a dungeon. There was a keyhole in the door, opposite from the side with hinges—where he expected a keyhole to be. Rogue1 hesitantly looked through the keyhole but only saw black. He gave the door another look and ran his fingers across the surface and edges but did not find anything indicating a trigger was waiting to release a trap. Carefully, he knelt beside the keyhole and withdrew his lockpicking kit.

He could feel the dice rolling as he inserted the picks into the lock and quickly worked them in different angles. There was a click, but no release. Another attempt brought a click followed by a pop, and the door moved slightly as it was freed from its lock. Rogue1 froze in place, ready to react to any trap that may have been triggered.

He remained frozen until he needed to breathe, then slowly exhaled and secured his lockpicking kit in the breast pocket as he inhaled. The rogue stood and gently pushed the door open. As the door opened, torches lit the next room, providing Rogue1 an opportunity to get a clear view inside.

From the doorway, he could see this room was rectangular like the one he was in. Also, like his room, torches hung in the walls beside doors, and the ominous black remained unchanged above. He could see one door in the wall to his left and two doors in the wall to his right. The wall in front did not have doors, but there appeared to be writing scrawled on it (though he was too far to read what it said). Unlike his current room, this one contained neither chests nor a glowing blue respawn point.

“This looks very empty,” Rogue1 mumbled to himself.

Before taking another step, he hit the floor hard with his staff, ensuring a pit trap was not placed on the other side of the door. The loud crack of his staff striking stone contrasted against the otherwise quiet of the dungeon room. Only the soft cackle of burning torches and his slightly shaky breathing could be heard. He stepped into the room, tapping the floor before taking his next step, and waited—nothing.

He repeated the process: tap, step, pause—nothing.

The rogue continued this pattern—tap, step, pause—until he was in the middle of the room. From here, he could see another door on the same wall he had entered from, just further down in the corner, next to the wall with two doors. He slowly turned in a circle, apprehensive of the quietly burning torches, suspicious of the thick wooden doors, incredulous toward the smooth, cold, hard cobbled stone floor. The walls had not yet broken his trust, but Rogue1 had no reason to place trust in any aspect of this dungeon. He had a lurking suspicion those walls held traps for him, too. As he continued to scan the walls, Rogue1’s gaze paused at the writing he noticed before entering. From here, he realized it was not actually on the wall, but rather, the writing glowed a soft gray and floated just above the floor.

“Beware the spider”

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and Rogue1 cocked his head suspiciously. “What spiders?”

A soft creak was heard, prompting Rogue1 to spin around and see the source of the noise. There—the door he had just come through—it was closing.

“Oh! No, no, no, no!” He reached out but halted in his advance—where had he last stepped?

Tap, step, pause. Tap, step, pause—skip the pause; the door was closing too fast for that.

Tap, step, tap, step—he needed to move faster.

Tap, step, tap, step, tap, step—screw it!

He lunged forward as the door closed. His fingertips scraped against the door as he heard the pop and click of the door’s lock. Rogue 1 lay out-stretched across the dungeon floor, fingertips still touching the door as it settled back in place. He continued to lay there a moment longer, cursing his bad luck and hoping the floor would not open beneath him.

Nothing happened. Nothing happening felt like a common theme in this dungeon—until it wasn’t. Shaking his head, the rogue rose and stood warily with staff in hand. Rogue1 began to form the impression that walking like a blind man was not going to work for very long, at least not in all cases. Still, he felt it prudent to at least tap the floor when he did not need to rush. But did he need to rush?

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Rogue1 turned back to the floating message and gritted his teeth. “Fucking spiders. I am not going to wait around here for fucking spiders.”

Not counting the door he came from, the rogue had four doors to choose from. He turned to the three doors on the one side of the room and chose the middle one, walking steadily and tapping the floor ahead as he walked.

He paused a couple paces before the door and hit the floor hard. Nothing happened. The rogue approached the door from an angle, took his staff by one end, and swung as hard as he could against the door, beating it repeatedly. Still no indication of a pit trap. He got closer and examined it for signs of traps, running his hands along the surface and edges of the door. Still nothing.

Rogue1 steadied his breathing, readied for the unseen trap, and pushed the door—Locked.

Of course, it’s locked.

He knelt beside the lock and used his skill. This time, the lock clicked and popped on the first try, and the door moved slightly open. He smiled and secured the lockpicking kit before standing and pushing the door the rest of the way open.

The doorway led to a narrow corridor, sparsely lit with torches. The ceiling of darkness seemed thicker in the hallway and pushed hard against the light of the torches. It was ominous, but the rogue doubted any other direction or doorway would be less foreboding. He swung his staff down on the floor inside the corridor—nothing. Deep inhale; deep exhale. Tapping the floor ahead with his staff, Rogue1 entered the darkened corridor and continued his journey to escape the dungeon.

The corridor bent right, then turned left, after which the hallway continued straight. As the rogue advanced, he noticed the darkness was impenetrable roughly two torch lengths ahead. A soft creak of the door closing behind him prompted Rogue1 to look back, which made him realize looking back was exactly the same as looking forward—it was unsettling. Turning around again, hoping this direction was forward, he pushed on, determined to not become swallowed up in the dark panic, quietly scratching at the back of his mind.

After a time, the path ended in a T-intersection. Both directions looked the same, and the darkness was too thick for him to see beyond the two torch lengths in either corridor. The rogue rapped at the walls’ corners and kicked at the floor, but none of the stones came loose, and none could be scratched. Frustrated at the lack of ability to make some sort of breadcrumb, he made his best mental note about this intersection, then turned left, hoping he could remember which way was not back.

The hallway wound left and right, always only allowing a couple torch lengths of light to see after the next bend. Rogue1 continued moving, tapping the floor ahead of his steps, hoping the staff would warn him of any traps ahead. This time, however, his eyes spotted something before his staff. It was at the edge of the torchlight, soft, round, and grayish-white in color. Cautiously, he moved closer.

It glistened slightly in the firelight but appeared softer than stone. It was like a giant silk pillow, except it was an oddly shaped pillow with many little strings connecting it to the floor. A cobweb caught the rogue’s face and broke his advancement. He sputtered and waved his arms, peeling the mess of web from his face.

Web…

Rogue1’s eyes grew wide in realized fear. This was not a cobweb; that was not a pillow. This was a spider web, and that was spider food. He turned and saw a second hallway branched to the right with more silken pillows lining the walls and floor. Only one thing ran through the rogue’s mind.

“Beware the spiders.”

Rogue1 turned around and ran. He didn’t bother tapping the floor, nor was he about to find out why he should beware of the spiders. With staff in hand, the rogue wound his way back and straight past the intersection that brought him on this path. He skidded as the hall turned hard right, then right again. As he began to pick up speed again, he suddenly had to skid to a halt as the hall ended.

Fuck!

He was breathing hard as he pushed against the wall, but it did not budge. He did his best not to think about this being a dead end, but the thought was already there. He spun around, refusing to let this be his next dead end, searching the walls for anything—there! In his rush, he completely missed the door a torch-length away. He took two steps toward the door and then stopped. He held his breath and listened. Silence permeated the stale dungeon air.

What the hell do bloodthirsty spiders sound like?

If there were spiders back down that hallway, it did not sound like they were following him. Not sure if he could have heard a spider following him, the rogue quickly shifted his attention to the door. It was made of wood and iron like the others and had the same locking mechanism. His breathing was loud in his ears despite his struggle to keep himself quiet.

Slow breath—he quietly pushed the floor in front of the door with his staff—nothing.

Steady breath—he cautiously pushed the end of his staff against the door—nothing.

Quietly exhale—carefully, he stepped forward and felt the door—what was that?

Rogue1 did not move, did not breathe, but wildly scanned the vicinity, only moving his eyes. He was sure he had heard something, but what. Slowly, he stepped back from the door, then looked left and right. Only torches burned in either direction. With gritted teeth, he quickly knelt down and attempted to pick the lock. There was a click, but no pop—the door was still locked.

Rogue1 spared another glance down the torchlit hall. The edges of the darkness started to play tricks with his vision, looking like a thick black cloud of tiny spiders, stretching their spindly legs into the light, then recoiling back as if testing the limits of the rogue’s fears. He shook his head of the thought and, with grinding teeth, tried to pick the lock again.

Click, pop; the door opened, and Rogue 1 rushed in, quickly closing the door behind him. As the door’s lock engaged at his back and Rogue1 finally let his lungs take a real breath in and out—there was safety in having this locked door between him and the unknown. He looked about, seeing he was in another room with four doors, not including the one he had just entered. Three of the doors were in the far adjacent corner of the room—two on the opposite wall and one in the adjacent wall. The fourth door was at the other end of the same wall his door was in. However, what truly caught his eye was in the opposite corner of the room. There, hanging chains from the blackness above, and at the end of the chains were four skeletons hanging by their necks.

The ceiling in this room was more vaulted than the previous rooms he had been in. It allowed the skeletons to hang high enough so that their feet were just at the level of the rogue’s head. It gave the room a feeling of vastness but did nothing to alleviate the unease of the dungeon room. No words of caution were scrawled anywhere in the room, and no indication of where he should go next. Still paranoid that spiders could be outside his door, Rogue 1 moved forward and chose a random door to approach.

The door he chose was along the adjacent wall from when he entered. He began his ritual of hitting the floor, hitting the door, then feeling the door. No signs of a trap. Not surprisingly, the door was locked.

Rogue1 smirked. If it’s not trapped, it’s locked.

Click, pop. Smiling that he unlocked the door on his first try, Rogue1 opened it and stepped inside.

To his left, he saw one door; to his right, there were two doors; directly in front along the far wall were the words of warning he had seen before.

“Beware the spider”

“Fuck, no! No, no, no!” Rogue 1 hurriedly shut the door, ensuring the lock engaged before stepping away. He refused to get himself caught running in a circle or going backward in this dungeon.

Looking ahead, the rogue could see those four skeletons staring at him with wide fleshless, perma-grins stretched across their jaws and teeth. This dungeon was horrible all by itself—adding the threat of unseen spiders followed by all-seeing skeletons was just adding rage to the mix of terror and pain. Rogue1 cursed at the motionless, voyeuristic skeletons and turned to the closest door on his right.

Hit the floor, hit the door, feel the door—nothing.

Kneeling, he attempted to unlock the untrapped door, but this one was different. The door was already unlocked, yet it was stuck closed. Rogue1 heaved his shoulder into the door—it budged slightly. He heaved again, and it budged again. This time he took a few steps back and ran into the door hard with his shoulder. The door flew open, and Rogue1 suddenly felt the sensation of flying, then falling, falling down into a pit.

Rogue1 screamed at the realization there was no floor on the other side of the door.

“Fuck, no!”

He flailed out his arms, arched his back, anything—anything! But gravity was unyielding and without mercy. Gravity overpowered his attempts to defy it, and he fell to that unseen force.

He suddenly lurched back from his fall as his staff became wedged into the far wall. The staff rolled slightly, causing Rogue1 to momentarily lose his grip on the long stick and spontaneously respond by using every appendage to regain hold of the lifesaving staff.

One hand grabbed hold as the rest of his body swung over the horrific spikes below. He stared down wide-eyed at the bottom of the pit while the spikes leered back, eagerly awaiting his fall. The rogue yelped and looked up, grasping the staff with his other hand and struggling to convince himself that spikes could not leer. He swung his legs up and hooked them around the staff, which caused the staff to wobble and slip. Rogue1 squeezed his life into the staff, begging it to remain in place. Peeking through slitted eyelids, he looked at both ends of the stick.

One end was wedged into a small divot in the far wall; the other was stuck between two nearly flat floor stones—the situation was precarious, to say the least. Carefully, Rogue1 slid toward the floor’s ledge. Once there, he grabbed the floor, flipped a leg, and heaved himself out of the pit, pulling the stick out with him. He then rolled out of the small trap-room and laughed defiantly from the floor as he clutched his staff and punched the air. His laugh-filled success was abruptly cut short when he heard others join in his laughter.

Rogue1 leaped to his feet, staff at the ready, searching the darkness above for the source of the laughter. The cackles bounced off the unseen ceiling and across the room’s walls, but as he searched for the origin, he realized that the laughter was coming from the four skeletons hanging in the corner. They did not move and continued to hang lifeless from their chains, yet each had a tiny, distinctive glow coming from the darkness of their eye sockets.

“I must say, good show! Good show indeed.” The eyes flickered with a pinpoint blue light from one of the skeletons.

“Impale, impale! Why did he not impale?” Whined one in the back with yellow lights.

“Shut up, Carl, you are wasting our energy.” This one was green.

“It looks confused,” the blue lights flickered. “Why do you look confused?”

“Because I am confused,” Rogue1 responded, unsure if he was suffering from a mental break—he kept his guard up. “Are you going to attack me?”

More cackling and laughter emanated from the four skeletons.

“My goodness, no,” Blue eyes spoke cordially. “We are just here to enjoy the show. It has been a long while since visitors have come to our humble, er, place.”

“How did I get here?”

More laughter from the four skeletons.

“Wrong question. You should ask which door you ought to go through next.” This one had red lights.

Rogue1 pursed his lips while breathing hard out through his nose. “Okay. Which door should I go through next?”

“Should we answer its question?” Green eyes cackled.

“That will take considerable energy, but I think it’s something we can muster together,” Blue eyes answered. “However, we all need to answer together.”

“Quit talking to us like we haven’t been trapped here for eternity,” Red eyes snapped.

“Altogether, then. Three, two, one…”

Red, Green, and Blue all raised rattling arms of bone and pointed to the door in the far wall—the other door in the same wall he had entered through. Yellow eyes, however, raised a middle finger straight up in front of its face and began to laugh maniacally.

“Dammit, Carl!” Red eyes snapped as all arms dropped to their respective sides. Yellow eyes continued to laugh.

“Well, that’s all we have for now,” Blue lights flicker. “Good luck to you! We hope to see you at the next floor—we are rooting for you.”

“Wait a second, next floor?” Rogue1 extended his hand, trying to stop the farewell from finishing. “You’re rooting for me? What’s going on? Why am I here?”

“Get to your next respawn point. Your answers will come, but right now, you need to move.” The blue light was fading.

“That door?” Rogue1 pointed with his staff.

“That’s the one,” Red eyes flickered faintly.

Rogue1 stared hard at the door, deliberating what to do with this new information. When he turned back to the skeletons, only yellow-eyed Carl remained.

“Impale?” The voice was strained and cracked in its high pitch, yet the skeleton did not move.

“What is your problem?”

A faint, echoing cackle answered as the yellow lights faded.

Rogue1 approached the skeletons’ door and began his routine. He swung down hard on the floor, then swung hard against the door.

There was the click of a trigger, accompanied with the unwinding of gears that opened slots, followed by springs launching spike-tipped bolts through the slots. He heard each sound and followed their trail despite how incredibly fast it all happened—Rogue1 pitched back to dodge the projectiles sailing straight for him.

Bolts tore through his sleeve and pant leg before he crashed to the floor. The bolts clattered in the distance, but Rogue1 lay still, unsure if he actually pulled off the crazy maneuver. He patted his body for holes but only found the tears in his clothes. Feeling the stale, cool dungeon air on his arm and leg reminded him that he was alive. Rogue1 jumped up and shouted in excitement, pumping a fist into the air.

Finally! The rogue had dodged a trap. Behind him, a faint, maniacal cackle could be heard, but when he turned around, the cackle only echoed quietly in his mind. He shook off the shiver creeping up his spine and returned to the door. Not trusting the door, the rogue restarted his routine. Rap the floor, wap the door, feel the edges. So far as he could tell, no more traps were on the door. He gave the door a budge, and it opened freely into a hallway that led into darkness, two torch lengths away. He moved forward, letting the door close naturally behind him, and continued onward while tapping the floor ahead until the hallway ended in another T-intersection.

“For fuck’s sake—do all these halls need to look the same?” Just to be sure it wasn’t the same intersection, Rogue1 turned left.

A few torch lengths later, Rogue1 encountered something new. A small, old metal chandelier with a single-lit candle hung from a chain that originated from the darkness above. Below the chandelier’s candlelight was a chest that looked just like the chests he had encountered when first waking in the dungeon.

“Yes!” Finding a chest that could help him escape caused excitement to shine through his face—but it did not overcome his suspicions.

If there was one thing the rogue learned, nothing in this dungeon was what it seemed. Rogue1 wasn’t the kind of person to look a gift chest in the mouth, but he certainly wasn’t ready to trust the surroundings either. The trick was trying to find out where the trap had been laid. There was one method he had tried, and so far, it had tested true.

Rap the floor, wap the chest—the chest leaped for the rogue. A giant maw of teeth and tongue opened wide as ghastly arms and legs sprouted from the chest creature. Rogue1 did not dodge fast enough this time.

>Rogue1: FAIL – 1 Physical Moxie Strike.

The chest creature clamped down on Rogue1’s leg and attempted to tear it from his body. Crying out in pain and shock, the rogue swung and jabbed at the monstrosity, but it was of no avail. The chest swung him back and forth, pushing his body away while pulling on his leg. Its teeth were set deep, and his flesh was tearing, but Rogue 1 continued to fight back.

He jabbed hard and landed a blow in the chest-thing’s mouth, causing it to release his leg and stumble back with gag-like noises. Rogue1 quickly rolled away and attempted to bounce up but found getting upright was much harder to do with a mauled leg. He stood, favoring his wounded leg, with staff at the ready, quickly scanning his surroundings as the chest monster renewed its vigor.

Torches to the front and torches to the rear—it was like a never-ending hallway no matter which direction he went. The monster charged, and the rogue dodged, but again he was not fast enough. The horrific chest caught him by the foot of his wounded leg and slammed Rogue1 to the ground.

>Rogue1: FAIL – 1 Physical Moxie Strike.

His vision blurred, and his head spun as a flashing red dot haunted the corner of his vision.

“Oh, fuck me.” Rogue1 recognized the ominous blinking dot and shook his clouded head to address the danger afoot.

He rolled and kicked hard at the chest chewing on his foot, but the monster just growled with low satisfaction. With foot in mouth, the ghoulish chest swung the rogue hard, cracking his skull against the stone wall.

>Rogue1: FAIL – 1 Physical Moxie Strike.

Rogue1 went limp, and he crumpled to the ground. Everything was a bright white, then black, white, black, white... Peering weakly ahead, he could see that strange coin of light and dark, slowly flipping through the air, rising and then falling.

>Rogue1: Death’s Coin Toss – SUCCESS

He jolted awake, torchlight contrasting the dark, giant maw of teeth, tongue, and spittle opened wide over his head. Yelping, he quickly shifted to the side, causing the monster to chomp on the air next to his ear. Missing its target with zealous momentum caused the chest to stumble forward and crash into the floor. As the monster scrambled to right itself, Rogue1 snatched his staff and swung up.

The rogue did not aim for the creature but rather the torch above. His staff knocked the firey stick from its sconce, and the torch fell. Despite its bulkiness, the chest quickly rolled back, allowing the torch to fall helplessly to the ground. Rogue1 stretched out to grasp the torch, but it was just out of his reach. The monster roared and dove over the torch, maw aiming for the supine rogue.

Rogue1 sat up and jabbed his staff upward, but the mimic swatted the long stick sideways as it sailed through the air. A small whimper escaped the rogue’s face as the giant maw of teeth and tongue enveloped his head.

>Rogue1: FAIL – 1 Physical Moxie Strike. >Defining trait added:

Mauled by a mimic