Actually Into The Dungeon

It took about twenty minutes for Vlad to lay out each of the traps and monsters we might encounter, and a further fourty for him to be satisfied that we all actually processed the information. While he did seem genuinely dedicated to ensuring we were all decently educated on the dungeon’s many dangers, somehow I got the feeling Vlad was pleased to have wasted our time; though, no one made any comment on it if they thought so as well. I wasn't about to comment, eager as I was at the concept of grinding for power in a dungeon, I was very inclined to delay facing the reality of spending any amount of time in a murderous, living location.

Of course, inevitably, Vlad's lecture came to an end and the time came to actually enter that rotting pit of festering death and hatred. Roin ashed his cigarette in one deep breath, patting Shoikar on the shoulder as he stood up, “Alright then, we've delayed our orders more than long enough; best we get to it before Rokharth decides to check up on us and find our efforts… lacking.”

A collective shudder ran down everyone's spines, though Vlad merely laughed, “Bahaha, as if that old ash drinker would care half-enough to bother checking himself!”

A dark, cold chuckle echoed just beneath the hulking man's laughter, ringing out loud and clear even as Vlad trailed off into wide eyed silence. The shadows seemed to lengthen and grow deeper, the room growing colder as the smell of old, stale blood began to overtake the raucous cacophony of candles, drugs, and incense. Then the effects faded alongside the old monster's voice, leaving us all white faced and nervous.

The message was clear, even if no words were spoken; he’s watching. I'm not at all sure exactly how he was keeping an eye on us, but whether he was remotely viewing us or secretly in the room didn't ultimately change things much. I suppose it was also possible he wasn't always watching and had just happened to check in and catch that comment, or even that he had somehow placed a delayed magical effect with a verbal trigger (or a curse, I don't know the terminology… or even what's magically possible, really). While both would be markedly less concerning, without a way to confirm either way I had to assume he could be watching at any time.

I really, really hated that thought, and I felt certain Rokharth knew that.

Honestly, I was more inclined to believe he had either set something up before hand triggered by mentioning he wasn't looking, or just happened to be looking in and took the presented opportunity to fuck with us, than I was that he was always watching. For all his mysterious power, I felt strangely confident in the idea he wasn't omniscient; for one, I had seen him be surprised before. It would make far more sense for someone as important and likely busy as Rokharth to be occasionally looking in with some sort of remote viewing method (which could be anything for as much as I knew; looking through a familiar's eyes was just as likely as astral projecting or literally scrying in a bowl as far as I knew) than for him to be wasting his time actively watching me or this group.

Then again, I didn't have a solid grasp on why Rokharth did much of anything as of yet, aside from obviously seeking amusement; a dangerous outlook for someone so powerful, the kind of thing that makes him unpredictable and dangerous.

Roin pulled out a new cigarette, affecting a calm demeanor as he shakily sparked his lighter and took a deep drag. “Right, well, if that isn't a sign to get to work, I think I need my eyes checked.” I scrubbed myself down, barely avoiding tearing myself open with my short claws as I scratched my suddenly itchy skin and killed my scent.

Scent Killer +1

I dismissed the notification with a faintly satisfied hum, moving to join my fellows as we all filed out the way we came. Growing stronger, no matter meagerly, acted as a calming balm on my soul. It didn't make the horror of knowing an ancient monster was watching me through unknown means or the anxiety of the imminent danger I was walking towards any less skin crawling, but it did remind me that there was an out here, a path to follow.

That was better than my past life, at least.

With my small size, it was easy to slip between the universally lanky legs of my fellow stealth operatives, reaching the front of the pack without trouble. Shoikar and Roin noticed my presence immediately, glancing down to give me a nod of acknowledgement. Roin went back to sucking down smoke and glancing around with a seemingly lazy curiosity I didn't buy for a second, but Shoikar seemed more curious about me, “Well hello there, little rat dude.”

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I nodded back, a familiar greeting rolling off my tongue before I realized the possible implications, “Salud.” I didn't even know if Spanish existed in this world, or if knowing even a single word in it would be suspicious either way. I didn't allow panic to consume me, however; if the language doesn't exist I can always claim I made it up, if it does I can always claim I met a mad, sewer dwelling stringout muttering it to himself.

Fortunately, Shoikar made no comment on the foreign language, “Heh, seems the bossman has taken a bit of an interest in you, eh?” He rubbed his masked chin with a gloved hand, “If I had to bet, I'd say that's probably down to your sterling performance in the initiation rite; I can't remember ever seeing someone actually complete the ritual, let alone successfully draw a Demon Lord's attention like that!”

Roin spoke up before I could comment, ”I have, long time ago now though.” He drew a deep breath in through his sweet smelling cigarette before continuing, his every word coming out in a puff of smoke, “Our current head of, uh… interrogation, pulled it off about, oh fifteen, twenty years ago. Sick fuck seemed delighted about the whole ritual, moaned his way through every damn moment.” The tall man shook his head, spitting a yellowed glob of saliva between a small gap in the vines covering a nearby window with remarkable accuracy.

By the sound of it the Burnpike’s head of torture was a true blue sadomasochist, aroused by both causing and enduring pain. I can see why Silxazar would take an interest in such a person, they sounded like they were practically the ideal follower for the Lord of Pain. Not to mention, my brief interaction with the demonic deity (if that is indeed what a Demon Lord is) had left a very distinct impression of someone utterly thrilled by the concept of facing grievous injury.

Shoikar visibly shuddered at the mention of the interrogator, “Ugh, don't remind me of that little creep. I kill for money, but I feel like I need to take a long shower every time that fucker talks to me; actually handing people over to him makes me feel like I've got black gunk in my soul.” The shorter man lightly punched Roin in the shoulder, extending two fingers that his grumbling compatriot placed a cigarette between.

Without a word, Roin proffered his lighter, sparking up Shoikar's newly donated cigarette. The shorter killer took the deathstick between his teeth, drawing in a deep breath full of smoke, and released it through his nose. He coughed, thumping his chest and spitting on one of the leaves in a passing window, “Blech, what kinda shit is this? The hell are you smoking here, Roin?”

The lanky killer chuckled, taking a deep draw off his own now slightly suspect cigarette, “Heh, I got a sister in the Farmer's Guild, she gets me the good stuff for a discount.”

Shoikar punched him lightly on the shoulder again, “Sister? You little shit, I know damn well you're an only child!”

Roin smirked “Must be a cousin then.” Shoikar didn’t bother responding, shaking his head in clear disbelief as we reached the bottom of the stairs. Despite his complaints about Roin’s choice of narcotic, the shorter killer notably continued to smoke his gifted cigarette regardless; even though it made him cough with every puff. Roin merely smirked, moving silently across the entry room, trailing sweet smelling smoke with every equally quiet breath.

I followed after them, my short legs pumping to keep pace as I dodged the long legs of the thugs around me. Roin glanced my way, seeming amused at my minor difficulties while Shoikar focused purely on marching to the door without hacking up a lung (to decidedly limited success). Roin held the door wide as he passed through, throwing it further open with his fingers before his grip slipped off completely and enabled me to slip out without having to jump to reach the handle.

The moment we stepped outside, my gaze was drawn unerringly to the dungeon’s entrance. Somehow, the innocuous, everyday sight of the worn down, half collapsed front door to the seemingly abandoned building looked unnaturally ominous, as if the jagged, remaining rotten lower half of the doors were the gnarled teeth of some great beast. The stale air flowing out carried the scent of carrion and rotting blood, matching what I’d expect from the breath of an enormous predator. I suppressed a shudder, taking a deep breath as I killed my scent once again and kept walking.

Shoikar ashed what was left of his cigarette in one breath, then spat the remains in the duingeon’s direction. The other thugs milled about as we approached, forming a loose mob in the shallow courtyard outside the seemingly long abandoned apartment. Roin grunted, shifting his cig to the side of his mouth before speaking, “Alright ya cheery bastards, time to split up and make sure nobody breaks into the animated pit of murder and hatred. Joy.”

The tall man didn't waste a moment, splitting everyone up into two distinct groups. It wasn't hard to tell which group was which, even if one discounted the obvious implications of which group I was sorted into; my group seemed to be made up of close quarters fighters, people with armaments and attitudes suited for narrow confines (knives and short swords being the predominant weapon choice), while the marginally larger group was made up of people who seemed more inclined to ranged combat (with more than a few compact bows and even a couple of crossbows on display).

It didn’t take long to split the two groups up, Shoikar joining the outside group and immediately started directing them while Roin sighed out a cloud of smoke as he stared at the door, “Alright, no sense putting it off any longer, I suppose. Get’cha knives out boys, and expect to use them sooner than later.” So saying he drew a long, straight blade that tapered to a slightly forward tilted point and calmly strode up the stairs, cloak swishing about his legs as he moved. He casually kicked what remained of the door open, checking both sides and the ceiling before advancing as the surprisingly still functional bottom hinge actually swung the door back.

I sighed, glancing at my comrades and killing my scent and joining them in following Roin.