The beautiful elven maiden leaped through the air in defiance of gravity itself. Her legendary blade Wyrmslayer flashed brightly as the fearsome red dragon breathed a torrent of hellfire toward her. Somehow, spectacularly, the fire didn’t even singe her as Lunasa flew through the blaze. She screamed a war cry as she sent Wyrmslayer deep into the soft spot under the dragon’s chin.
Gouts of boiling red blood poured from the wound. The gargantuan beast staggered and shook its head, trying its best to stay upright. Lunasa turned to the glowing sphere that followed her wherever she went even in the dangerous location. It enabled her adventures to be sent to taverns, sports centers, and private homes all around the kingdom. She made sure to smile and strike her famous heroic pose. Everyone was watching, after all.
And everyone in the Crowning Glory pub cheered as they watched the spectacle being shown on the wall. The coastal town of Dawnport was a small one, but their fervor for the new sport was as fierce as anywhere else in the kingdom. But somehow, the Crowning Glory was the only establishment in town to have purchased access to this night’s highly-anticipated season’s end adventure.
“Anyone who didn’t put their money on Lunasa is probably feelin pretty dumb right now,” Berik said. The young human male had short blonde hair, an easygoing smile, and bright brown eyes. His red face spoke of his profound inebriation. With a body made by working long, hard days, he looked to be in prime condition. Beyond his current state of drunkenness, of course.
The men around him nodded in agreement at the young man’s assessment.
“Fight ain’t over, Berik.” A man who was thought to be too drunk to speak finally spoke up. “Half their party was ported out of there. For how horrendous their injuries were.”
“Aw, come off it, will ya? You’re always a spoilsport, Camron. Everyone knows Lunasa and her party are the best in the league. The best! That’s why I’m a devoted Stormcallers fan,” Berik boasted, sloshing his pint of ale all over the bar. He had been drinking hard since before the adventure started and he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. But just as Berik spoke, the dragon lurched to its feet. Faster than a dying creature had any right to be, it snapped up Lunasa in its huge jaws and collapsed back onto the ground.
The tavern went silent.
“You was sayin?” Camron muttered and took a long sip of his beer.
Berik was too shocked to say anything. Everyone watched as the dragon chewed once, twice, and then fell over dead. No mighty cheers rose up this time. There was only solemn shock as everyone stared at the big glowing rectangle displayed on the tavern wall.
“Aren’t there…aren’t there safeties in place?” Berik asked. “Can’t the official [Mages] just teleport her out of the dragon’s stomach?”
“It ain’t always a hundred percent. People can still get hurt. Or even…” Camron said.
“Don’t say it!” Berik slammed his sticky fists on the bar. “Don’t you goddamn say it!”
“The Dungeoneers can only do so much with their magic,” Camrom grumbled.
Berik leaped to his feet in outrage, knocking his stool onto the floor. But before he could take a swing at Camron, a bright light struck the inert dragon. A robed man limped into view. He looked battered, bruised, and bloody, but he managed to stay upright by leaning heavily on his staff.
He reached the belly of the beast and cast another spell, one that made an incision deep into the dragon’s torso. A thick layer of skin and fat flopped onto the ground with a splat. The [Mage] stepped close to the gash, took a deep breath, and…
“There’s no way. There’s just no way anyone would survive in there,” Camrom whispered.
Berik threw an arm over his shoulders. “That’s Klastivus for you! He ain’t afraid of nothin! Everyone says he’s in love with Lunasa, you know.”
“More like, you’re in love with Lunasa,” Camrom said. “ She’s an elf. He’s a human. You know those pairings don’t work out,” Camrom argued but didn’t bother to get out of Berik’s hold. He didn’t want to miss a single thing. No one in the Crowning Glory tavern dared to even breathe for fear of missing what would happen next. So when the lacerated flesh began to twitch, no one blinked. Every patron wanted to watch sports history in the making.
Finally, Klastivus the [Mage] emerged, supporting a still-alive Lunasa. And even though both of them were covered in gore and filth, they still kissed like long-lost lovers.
The tavern went wild. Draysco, the owner of the Crowning Glory pub, stood behind the bar and gave an exhausted grin. Sure, it had cost a fortune to get access to the biggest event in the short history of the Dungeon League, but he had already made it back tenfold.
His was the only establishment in Dawnport to host the spectacle, after all. He was relieved that such a small seaside town could receive a magical transmission, being so far out in the boondocks and all, but that was the Dungeon League for you. Once it started, everyone knew about it and wanted to see more of the incredible adventures.
His tavern was packed like it never had been before. His patrons were drinking about the same amount, but instead of fighting each other, their eyes were glued to the magical screen that broadcast the much-anticipated adventure. Draysco was grateful for anything that would prevent barroom brawls. But a distraction that also made him lots of coin? Sign him up!
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He shook his head at the post-adventure celebration displayed on the wall. What a world he lived in. People had always wanted to sign up for fortune despite danger, sure, but now that there was a chance for renown? Well, everyone wanted to be an adventurer now. At least, they wanted to be an adventurer in the Dungeon League where you could get rich and famous.
Draysco was filling Berik’s tankard when the front door crashed open. The sound from the magical projection was so loud, hardly anyone heard it or paid it any mind. But Draysco saw the newcomer and couldn’t help but stare. Dressed in perfectly pressed trousers, high leather riding boots, an immaculate white shirt, a long, embroidered coat,
and a flamboyant feathered hat, the young dark-haired man struck quite the figure. His smooth, flawless face was entranced as he watched the much-anticipated adventure wrap up. Behind him stood a dwarf with a bushy, blonde mustache who smiled like he had never had a bad day before.
“Everyone! Good sirs and madams! If I could have your attention!” the out-of-place noble shouted. He could scarcely be heard over the sound from the broadcast, the boisterous conversations, and the clinking of tankards. He let out a delicate sigh and took a deep breath.
“Good folk! Might I have your ear but for a moment?” he tried again. Still, no one paid him any attention. He turned to the dwarf with an embarrassed smile.
“Coach Beardenbeard, would you be so kind?” he asked.
“Oh, you betcha.” The dwarf took a deep breath and shouted, his baritone voice easily cutting through the raucous din of the tavern. “LISTEN UP, YOU LUNKHEADS!”
And just like that, all eyes were on them. The nobleman cleared his throat, doffed his hat, and bowed to his new audience.
“Greetings! I am Lord Douglas Monrovedere, and I too am an avid fan of the most prestigious Dungeon League. I happen to support the Stormcallers myself, and I am most pleased with their performance tonight.” He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. “But have you noticed something similar amongst all of the parties in the League? Yes, there is something most insidious among all the most high-profile and popular parties in this wonderful sport. Can anyone tell me what it is?”
The tavern patrons muttered among themselves until one brave person spoke up.
“Is it that they’ve all got one of each class?” The balding gnome downed the last of his mug and looked satisfied with himself and his quick answer.
“Yeah,” a bearded orc said. “You won’t find a party with nuthin but [Fighters]. Or [Rogues]. Or [Mages]. Or even [Healers]. It’s gotta be one of each, which I say is stupid!”
The other tavern-goers slammed their mugs on the bar in agreement.
Lord Monrovedere held up his hands but never lost his winning smile. “I agree that the rules should be lessened and relaxed, but I believe it is a matter of safety for the adventurers themselves. Parties of all [Fighters] kept getting horrifically injured or even killed. So the four-class rule was put into place. But that is not the answer I was looking for. Any other guesses?”
“Is it that all the parties get teleported out if they’ve taken too much damage in the dungeons?” a hopeful elf asked.
Lord Monrovedere shook his head. “No, that is not the answer I was looking for. And the teleportation feature is another of the safety measures put into place. Ah, the early days of the League! So many maimings! So many fatalities! It was horrific how frequently it happened!”
“You make it sound like the Dungeon League has been around for way longer than it has!” a drunken devilkin said.
“It has, my good friend, it has. It was only recently broadcast for everyone to enjoy. No longer is it for just the noble elite. And, I say, the sport has improved dramatically because of it,” Lord Monrovedere said. “But no, the answer that I am looking for is this. Each and every one of the parties that you see in the broadcast adventures is from a major city. The Silver River Stormcallers. The Shaklack Fireballs. The New Bastion Basilisks.”
“Piss on the Basilisks,” someone shouted and the statement was met with hearty approval.
“Yes, yes. I agree.” Lord Monrovedere said. “But what if Dawnport had a party of its own? What if the Crowning Glory was the home of a new yet astonishingly talented party that could very well win the Electrum Cup next year?”
The annoyed murmur turned into an excited approval. Draysco hadn’t been paying attention and had to hustle to refill five empty mugs. As soon as they were tended to, he returned his attention to the fancy lord that held the entire tavern’s attention.
Lord Monrovedere knew everyone was finally listening to him and smiled even more. “That is why it is here that I make my announcement. For it is here, in taverns and pubs like this, that the true heart of the Dungeon League dwells. I am forming the Dawnport Dragons and I am looking for athletes to join my party! I have nearly a full party formed, but I require just one more [Fighter] to be complete!”
The tavern was stunned into silence. Though everyone there enjoyed watching the adventures, no one was confident or drunk enough to think they could pull off the physical feats required for such an extreme sport.
“Anyone? You all look quite strong,” Lord Monrovedere said. “Is there no one here interested in helping make sports history?”
Finally, Berik stumbled forward. “I’ll join your team,” he said, slurring only slightly.
The lord’s eyebrows rose. “Fantastic! And what is your name?”
The young man put his hands on his hips. “My name is Berik Bauer. And I want to be your [Fighter]. I’m good with a blade. Good with a shield. Sword ‘n board, that’s my style.”
Monrovedere was caught up in the spirit of things and fervently grasped the man’s hand. “And what a [Fighter] you shall make! When can you start?”
Berik hiccuped. “Right now.”
“Right now?” Monrovedere asked.
“Yup. Right now. Because today, I lost my job and rent is due next week,” he said. Then he collapsed to the floor in a drunken stupor.
Douglas Monrovedere peered at him, wondering what to do. The man seemed completely passed out, but there were things a lord simply didn’t do. Finally, he sighed and turned to his dwarven companion.
“Coach Beardenbeard, would you be so kind?” he asked. “Again?”
The dwarf somehow managed to smile even harder. He slung the inert man over his shoulder, letting his legs drag behind him. So with the sodden human hefted over Coach Beardenbeard’s shoulder, they left the Crowning Glory.