Chapter 11: A New Dungeon

Jake pushed through the heavy wooden door of The Lazy Dragon, the tavern in Mashalldale where adventurers gathered after long days in the dungeons. His boots echoed off the wooden floor as he trudged to an open table, collapsing into a chair with a groan. The place was alive with the clatter of mugs, laughter, and the murmur of voices, all softened by the warm glow of candlelight and the crackling hearth at the far end of the room.

His team followed closely behind, their weariness showing. Sarah, Mitch, Bell, Carah, and Phil settled into their chairs, dropping their gear next to them in disorganized heaps. Parker, meanwhile, headed straight to the bar, already placing an order for a round of ale. It had been a grueling day—monsters, traps, and close calls, but that was the life of an adventurer in Mashalldale.

“Fecking hells, that was brutal,” Bell said, his Scottish-sounding accent thick, as he leaned back, loosening his leather armor. His dwarven face was flushed, beads of sweat still clinging to his forehead.

“Oh, shut it, you stalking git,” Sarah muttered, twisting in her chair until her back popped, her chainmail clinking with the movement. “It’s gotta be done to get the goods. It’s almost tax season, and you want to keep that hole you call a home, right?”

Bell snorted, his thick arms crossing over his barrel chest. “If the bloody crown would get off our backs, maybe we could afford to live in peace,” he grumbled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.

Jake chuckled, glancing around the dimly lit tavern. “Don’t let the guards hear you saying that, Bell. One more rant like that and they’ll haul your sorry arse into the castle cells.”

Phil, the group's elf, leaned forward with a sly grin. “Please, like there’s a guard in Mashalldale that could lift that fecking dwarf off the ground. Did you see that Minotaur charge him earlier? Bell didn’t budge. Stopped the beast dead in its tracks with just his shield! Damned impressive.”

Bell let out a loud, self-satisfied laugh. “Elf-boy’s got it right. We dwarves are like the mountains—rooted deep. You’d need an excavation crew just to move me!”

The table erupted in laughter, but it quickly died down as Mitch, the quiet halfling rogue, shook his head. “All I know is that pitfall trap almost got us all killed. I barely saw the trigger in time,” he muttered, his small frame tense from the memory.

Just then, Parker returned, balancing seven frothy tankards in his large hands, moving carefully as a gnome nearly bumped into him from underfoot. The mugs sloshed dangerously, threatening to spill over, but he managed to set them down with only a slight overflow.

“There we are, seven ales for seven brave adventurers!” Parker proclaimed, beaming as he took the fullest mug for himself.

“Thank the gods you’re so close to the ground, Mitch,” Jake said with a grin, taking a long swig of his ale. “Otherwise, you might’ve missed those traps entirely.”

Mitch shot him a glare over the rim of his tankard. “Oh, hardy har har. Short jokes. So original, Jake,” he said sarcastically, though he couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

The tavern buzzed with life. The Lazy Dragon was the heart of Mashalldale, known for its in-house brewed ale and the warm, homey atmosphere. The bard on stage strummed a lute, singing an old tune about long-forgotten heroes, his voice weaving into the hum of conversation. The fire at the hearth crackled softly, its glow casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, while the other tables filled with adventurers unwinding from their own dungeon runs.

A red-haired barmaid appeared at their table, balancing a tray deftly. “Can I get you all anything to eat?” she asked, her voice bright as she leaned in slightly.

“We’ll take whatever’s being served for dinner, all around,” Jake replied, flashing her a broad smile. She winked at him playfully before sauntering off to place their order at the bar, her hips swaying just enough to catch Jake’s eye.

Bell, catching the look, nudged him with a knowing grin. “Got a thing for the lass, do ya, lad?”

“What? No! Of course not,” Jake stammered, whipping his head around so fast the others thought he might give himself whiplash.

Phil chuckled into his mug while Sarah shot Jake an exaggerated look, her eyes lingering where the barmaid had walked away. “Oh, come on, Jake. We’re not blind. That’s an ass that just doesn’t quit.”

“Seven hells, Sarah,” Mitch said, wiping ale from his mouth, “You’re hornier than the rest of us combined. And that’s saying something with Bell at the table. I’m surprised he doesn’t flop his dick out on the table after a few drinks.”

Bell burst into a booming laugh, slapping the table hard enough to rattle the mugs. “Lad, I’d not want to embarrass the lot of you! No sense in showin’ off what you can’t match!” He drained half his tankard in one go, his face flushed with both drink and laughter.

The group’s laughter mingled with the cozy ambiance of the tavern, a stark contrast to the dangers they had faced earlier in the day. The warmth of the fire, the sound of the bard’s melody, and the steady flow of ale made it easy to forget, for just a while, the harsh realities that awaited them outside. But for now, they were content—seven adventurers sharing stories, drinks, and the bond forged in battle.

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“We haven’t seen a new dungeon in a while,” Jake said, eager to steer the conversation away from Bell’s latest vulgar boast. “I hear there’s one set to open soon. Are we getting on the roster to run it?”

“Aye, lad,” Bell replied, nodding thoughtfully as he swirled the ale in his tankard. “We definitely need to see what’s inside. You know we always do.”

“What do ya think will be inside?” Mitch asked, leaning forward on the table, curiosity piqued.

Carah rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. “Probably monsters, traps, and treasure.”

Mitch scowled. “I meant what kind, you daft wench.”

“Well, then ask that, you pint-sized ankle-biter,” Carah shot back, her smile widening as she jabbed at him. “You ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer.”

Mitch bristled, his short stature doing little to diminish his fiery temper. “I’ll have you know I’m the tallest one in my family!”

Carah just snickered, but before the back-and-forth could escalate, Jake raised his hands. “Guys, come on. We’ve all had a tough day. That dungeon run was brutal. Let’s not take it out on each other. We’ve gotta stick together, or the dungeons will kill us.”

The weight of Jake’s words hung in the air for a moment, cutting through the lingering tension at the table.

“You’re right, Jake. Sorry,” Carah muttered, her tone softening as she leaned back in her chair.

Mashalldale, the central hub of the continent of Brunhill, boasted no fewer than twenty-two dungeons. The city thrived on them—dungeon diving was a way of life, with adventurers pouring in from all over, seeking wealth, glory, and a way to support their families. But the influx of adventurers had driven up the cost of living, and with the market flooded by dungeon loot, prices were rising faster than most could keep up.

For Jake and his team, the struggle was all too familiar. They’d been together for five years, a tight-knit group that had fought and bled beside one another. That bond was the only thing keeping them afloat, but with more adventurers crowding into the city every day, it was becoming harder to claim valuable dungeons. Competition was fierce, and finding prizes worth selling was like striking gold in an endless desert.

“The cost of everything’s gone up,” Jake said, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the faces of other adventurers—some seasoned and weary, others fresh and eager, blissfully unaware of how dangerous the dungeons really were. “More adventurers, more dungeon loot... but fewer people willing to pay for what we bring back.”

“Tell me about it,” Sarah muttered, ripping a piece of bread apart. “I swear, we’re running harder and harder dungeons just to stay ahead of the bills.”

Dungeon runs were strictly regulated by the crown, with rules in place to keep teams from getting wiped out. Each party had to be balanced—warriors, rogues, mages, and healers, all working in tandem. Even with these regulations, the risk was ever-present. There were stories—parties that didn’t return, or those that came back missing members, their eyes hollow from the horrors they’d faced. Survival wasn’t guaranteed.

Jake’s team had conquered most of the dungeons in Mashalldale, save for the two hardest ones. Those were reserved for elite adventurers—A-ranked teams that didn’t bother with the easier, lower-reward dungeons. But for teams like Jake’s—ranked as a solid C-class—the competition was steep. B-ranked parties would always have first pick, and C-ranked teams had to scrap for what was left.

The barmaid returned, her red hair glowing in the dim light of the tavern, setting down plates of roast chicken and baked potatoes in front of each of them. She deftly picked up their empty tankards for a refill, her movements practiced and graceful in the bustling room.

“I still think we need to get on the list for that new dungeon,” Sarah said, her voice firm as she picked up her piece of roast chicken, steam rising from the tender meat. “Even if we can’t get in right away, we need to be ready when they start letting teams in.”

“I know,” Jake replied with a nod, pushing his potato around the plate. “I’ll swing by the adventurer’s guild tonight and make sure we’re on the list.”

Phil glanced at Jake. “You know the B-ranked teams are gonna jump at the chance to run the new dungeon first, right?”

Jake sighed. “Yeah, I know. But it’s still worth getting our name in early. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Parker, who had been mostly quiet up until now, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned in. “You think it’ll be worth the effort?”

“New dungeons always are,” Jake said, his voice lowering as he met each of their eyes. “If we’re the first to find something rare... something no one else has, we’ll have some breathing room. Maybe enough to keep us off the streets.”

The others nodded silently, the gravity of his words sinking in. Dungeon diving was dangerous, but it was their only way of life. And if they didn’t fight for the chance to get into the new dungeon, someone else would.

Bell drained the last of his ale, slamming the mug down with a loud thud. “Well, what are we waitin’ for, lad? Let’s get ourselves on that list.”