Mhæri looks just how you remember her. Dusky skin and dirty-blonde. Or possibly a pale skinned, platinum blonde coated in a thin, even layer of grime. Sometimes it was hard to tell, with adventurers. Her backpack looks to have shrunk some, although that could be explained by the large crossbow in her hands. Your eyes are glued to the tip of the thick bolt loaded in it even as your stomach continues to free-fall.
I thought I had more time.
The others fill in, filling the entrance hall. You are suddenly horribly aware that you're stood directly on the pit fall trap. You can feel the water rushing by under your feet. It mirrors the pounding of blood in your ears. You flick your eyes over the newcomers.
A large man in chain mail, holding a huge hammer. An old man with a wispy beard, dressed in black and holding a skull. A figure in too-large concealing robes, tripping on the hem even as you watch. A halfling woman dressed in furs and with a staff topped with a glowing green crystal. A pair of uncannily similar elves, one male and one female, each clutching rune bound books. The male's hair is standing on end, while the woman's smokes. Finally, a woman seemingly put together out of slabs of muscle wearing a loose gi steps up and places a hand on Mhæri's shoulder.
“Why are we not attacking?” Her voice is thick with an accent you don't recognise. “He has called the alarm!”
Mhæri just smiles in response.
“It's only polite.”
Your perception fills in more details as Mhæri's smile grows.
Brok Killworthy, Level 12 Blackhammer
Crowbeard Raventalon, Level 10 Necromancer
Commoner, Level 1 Commoner
Dawnflower, Level 9 Druid
Juni Ginu, Level 11 Thundertouched
Guni Jinu, Level 11 Flametouched
Brigida Houndstooth, Level 15 Disciple Of The Palm
You don't have time to contemplate the strangely incongruous 'Commoner' in the midst of the party as you turn your eyes to Mhæri.
Mhæri Flickervin, Level 20 Rhythm-Keeper
“Oh yeah.” She crows. “Look who got themselves an advanced class and a whole bunch of new friends!”
You start to back away, but the crossbow twitches and you stop.
“No tricks this time. No ledges and no over-encumbrance pack. We're gonna beat you fair and square on your home turf! We're gonna show the world that you aint shit. You know somehow someone got a video of you shoving me off that cliff?”
You have no idea what a 'video' is, but don't feel inclined to ask.
“Three million views. Sharp rocks, a few flowers, some very sharp bushes and then I landed in a god damn river. Someone put it to 'what a wonderful world' and cut it with some dumb old film about a lion! No tricks this time though! Just a nice, fun, dungeon raid!”
Mhæri steps forward as she rants, strange smile still on her face, until she's close enough to touch you. Despite everything, you crack a smile. She seems delighted to see it.
“See! We're having fun! Tell me, what's so funny?”
You don't respond. Instead, with a single flap of your winglings pushing you off of the pit trap, it activates. A splash and a scream cut off rather wetly, and Mhæri is gone.
Everyone stands still for a moment, until the pit trap begins to close again. Then several things happen in short succession.
One of the adventurers, you're not sure who, shouts “Oh no you don't!”
A bolt of energy strikes part of the mechanism that controls the trap with the sound of sheering metal.
A pop-up floats into your vision.
Trap Broken! Teardown! 10 Fame lost!
And Houndstooth, the one you tentatively pegged as a variant Monk class, came streaking through the air like a hurled boulder.
You dodge to the side with another flap of your wings, but she pushes at the air with one huge hand, somehow redirecting her fall towards you once more. You think your stars that drakes tend to be lither than dragons as you contort your body to avoid a blow that would have smashed you flat, but don't have time to think for long as another blow follows up on the first. You duck, feeling the wind whip past your face, and step backwards for space. The Disciple steps with you however, preventing you from gaining room while raining blows towards you. After four frantic sidesteps, you miscalculate and one of her hands slams into your chest, sending you skidding away.
Desperate for a moment to think, you lash out with your tail, only for her to capture it in her hand and use it to start dragging you back towards her. It give you the second you need however, to look around.
The rest of the party, minus Commoner, are edging around the pit trap are are nearly into the entrance hall proper, but you can hear movement from the goblin caves. With nary a thought, you flex your new tail spines. Blood spurts from between the monk's fingers and she howls, letting go.
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You dive around her, headed for the goblin caves, only to run nearly headlong into Feathers.
“Stupid!” she screams at you. “No way through! Other way!”
She shoves you backwards as a bolt of lightning strikes where you were stood a moment before, and then leaps forwards after you.
“Go! Get Kobolds! Through there!” She shouts, gesturing towards the locked door to the larder. Further conversation is stymied as the fighter, Killworthy, joins the fray. His hammer shatters the flagstones under your feet from ten feet away, sending you sprawling as Feathers leads a pair goblins against Houndstooth. You snarl as he steps between you even as more goblins pour from the caves.
“Big sound, little boss.”
He raises the hammer again and you shoot flames at him. To your horror the flames curls through the air into the arms of the smoking elf before lashing out at your allies.
She speaks in clipped tones. “Careful. Drakefire is wild.”
Her mirror nods and then sticks a hand into the held flames. His other hand rises and more lightning shoots forth almost in slow motion. When he drops his hand again the room is split into three, separated by cages of crackling electricity. In one, Feathers and another goblin are trapped with Houndstooth. In another, you and Killworthy. Finally, the other six goblins somehow slipped past the monk, but now are trapped with the majority of the group.
You don't have long to watch however, as you're forced to dodge another hammer swing. Luckily for you, the hammer moves much slower then Houndstooth's fists did and you're able to stay ahead of him. After one particularly viscous swing you're pretty sure you have an opening and prepare to pounce when another notification appears.
Minion lost! Teardown! 50 Fame lost!
You stumble, and take a weak back-swing that sends you to your back as the Blackhammer tries to correct his mistake.
A memory leaps to the forefront of your mind, so vivid and strong you can think of thing else. The roar of the crowd in a language you don't know. The sand of a vast arena with a snorting creature, like a smaller dire-bull, charging at a thin human dressed in black and gold.
The memory recedes just as quickly.
You're back on your feet before Killworthy can capitalise on your fall and sudden distraction with a mad half-plan.
“Come and get it then pretty boy,” you taunt. The fighter-varient does not disappoint, and charges you.
Step and twist and step.
For a heart stopping moment you're sure you've misjudged. The fizzing of the electrical wall sends shivers up your spine, and then...
You're away, and Killworthy is not. His reckless charge sends him crashing into and then through the wall. He lets out a surprised grunt as the lightning crawls over him.
“Mikey what the fuck!”
The electric elf barely glances at him. “Ellen told you drakefire was volatile.”
You take advantage of the distraction, leaping to the door to the larder.
Minion lost! Teardown! 50 Fame lost!
You pause, key in the lock.
I need to get to the kobolds.
With a barely suppressed shudder you open the door and enter.
Behind you you can hear the fighter shout “He's getting away!”, before a new voice interjects.
“I have him. You go break the goblin formation. No saying what traps they may have set.”
The door slams shut, cutting the noise of battle instantly. The incongruity almost makes you laugh. You can hear the blood pumping in your ears and you know, just inches away, the sounds of fighting would be loud, but in here there is only darkness and silence.
You've not been in here since you set the doors in place.
Cobwebs cover the ceiling and walls, stretching like frost between stalactites. The floor is coated in a thin layer of grime that, as you begin to quietly pick your way through the cave, sticks to your feet in an unpleasant film. The air is thick, oppressive with the stink of bug. You try to avoid making any noise. Something tells you it would be unwise to draw attention to yourself. If you had hairs on the back of your neck, they would be prickling with the feeling of being watched.
The noise of battle splits the air as the door opens once more, and then vanishes just as suddenly. The old man in black, Raventalon, smiles at you.
“Nice place you have here. Should have some nice loot once we're through with you.”
You leap behind a pile of rocks as a black bolt strikes the ground where you were standing with a noise like a gong being struck.
Something skitters in the darkness.
The necromancer continues to talk, oblivious.
“Very nice ambiance. It's a pity Mary wants to keep you around. This place would make a very nice base.”
Another ringing gong rounds and the rocks you're hiding behind crack.
Something large shifts above you.
You poke your head out from cover and wave your hand. “Shh!”
You're forced to pull back as another bolt of black energy whizzes through the space your face just occupied.
“Yeah no. I'm not falling for that one. 'tell the caster to be quiet'. Mary said you were smart but that's just sad.”
The man lifts the skull above his head and begins an incantation. Dark mist swirls around his body. You're sure you can see faces in it, like people pushing against a thin curtain. The air turns cold and you suppress a shiver.
With a final harsh syllable, the necromancer goes to jerk the now glowing skull towards you as you prepare to jump to the next rock pile. You make the leap, but no magic comes chasing after you.
“What the..?”
Raventalon looks confused, his arm still raised. You watch as he tries to jerk his arm again. The fabric of his robe is bunching oddly, as if caught on something. He reaches for it with his other hand, and seems to be pulling at something neither of you can see.
A small gesture and he summons a pale blue orb of light. In its glittering radiance you both see the thin strand of spider web that has descended from the ceiling.
You both look up.
For an endless second, neither of you see it. And then what you took to be a bundle of web some twenty foot across moves.
A fluid, pale and thick, falls through the glowing orb, extinguishing it.
Raventalon looks at you with horror, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
With a violent lurch and a short scream, he vanishes upwards. More gong like blasts of magic ring out. As if summoned by a dinner bell, or perhaps you're adapting to their camouflage, spiders appear out of the darkness. White and hairy, ranging in size from cat to one that is larger than you are long, they begin to climb as the screaming above rises in pitch.
You fail to suppress the shudder this time as you flee, slamming the door to the kitchens as soon as you're through.
The first thing you see are the kobolds, and you thank your stars once more. They've gathered in the canteen area around the tunnel to their village.
“What are you waiting for?” you shout, half hysterical. The sounds of combat are ringing in the air.
Minion lost! Teardown! 50 Fame lost!
“Sorry boss! Sapphire had to go and get Hyena boss!”
You shake your head. “No time, come on!”
The kobold you vaguely remember as the leader of their little band looks deeply uncomfortable. She shakes her head. “We were told to wait for her.”
You're about to retort when the kitchen door explodes off it's hinges. Blackhammer emerges from the dust cloud with a wide grin.
“OH YEAH!”
His hair is covered in cobwebs and his armour is spattered with blue liquid, but he seems unhurt.
“I've always wanted to do that!” he exclaims.
Only then do you note the sick looking, shivering necromancer he has draped over his shoulder. The fighter lets him down and starts picking cobwebs from his hair. Raventalon points a shaking finger at you.
“What the FUCK man? I'm going to have nightmares for fucking WEEKS! Mary said this was a fucking low level dungeon!”
The fighter snorts. “Relax will you? Just cast your spells already.”
The necromancer gives you an evil looking smile and chugs a small blue potion. “Oh yeah. One spell coming up!”
With a sharp gesture and a barked word the air fills with flashed of blue light. Each flash seems to pull a figure from the ground – mouldy bones and rusted swords.
The necromancer slumps as his spell reaches its conclusion, sweat pouring off his brow. A dozen skulls turn in your direction.