Tommy’s boots squelched with each step that spiralled ever downwards. Constantly aggravating the dull ache in his hip where the submerged skeleton struck a lucky blow. It was a pity he’d had to smash its mana stone, but fighting underwater was a pain and the gold bars kept dragging him down. Now water kept dripping from his matted hair, chill seeping deep, insufficiently warded by the torch in his hand, and he didn’t know why there were so many damn steps!
“Another saferoom,” echoed from ahead.
Sure enough, he could make out the increasing light, finally revealing the glorious end of the steps. The saferoom beyond was much larger than the one before. Filled with rows upon rows of benches, enough for maybe fifty people. Yet it lacked the artwork of the previous saferoom but the walls were separated into panels, perhaps for it to be added later. What really caught his eye was another chest. Of course the rest of the group completely ignored it, the damn fanatics. Ingrid had obviously spent too much time with the midgets, and even the damn Captain seemed to be acting from some misguided sense of duty for his backwater. It was like none of them realised the world was screwed when the Great Breaks happened, there was no saving it, no improving it. All that was left was to take you could before the world ended.
A snarl curled from the back of his throat as the door at the far side of the saferoom opened to a corridor stretching on into blackness. Was the dungeon’s plan just to bore them to death with walking? Eventually they reached a blessedly short ladder below a trapdoor. The real surprise was above. It opened into what looked like some sort of house, albeit one barely furnished and abandoned.
His nose wrinkled as the scent of smoke caught in his nose. He glanced at his torch, was there a breeze? Then he noticed faint light flickering outside the windows. His guard went up, hair striving to stand on end despite its waterlogged state. He’d let the monotony get to him, maybe the dungeon was more cunning than he thought.
“Douse the lights.” One of the dwarves hissed, the faint illumination of the tiny lightstones embedded in his armour fading as he spoke.
Tommy smothered his torch, the room sinking into almost total darkness and the scent of smoke intensified. Everyone stood still for a few moments. Tommy’s eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness so he could barely make out the silhouettes of his companions. The light outside seemed warm, maybe a flame of some kind? The dungeon favoured torches for the saferooms but hadn’t used them elsewhere. Regardless, it didn’t seem like the source was coming closer. His companions had started a whispered conversation, he was mostly ignoring their prattle until he heard something truly daft.
“…so that’s why I reckon it’s gotta be some kind of trap.”
“He’d have sensed that ya eejit. That’s gotta be where we’re supposed te go. If we keep the torches doused they won’t see us comin’.”
“We don’t all have low-light vision, so unless you lot are about to scout ahead yerselves, movin in the dark is out.” Tommy cut in.
“It ain’t tha’ dark.”
“It is.” The captain confirmed before Tommy could utter a more colourful response.
“Fine then. Tommy, yer carryin’ the torch.”
“Fine.” He drew the word out like a threat.
The damn fools! Squinting into the gloom while a single torch gave away their position. They were muttering about how they could just illuminate the lightstones in their armour if needed, but the one who looked like he’d been dragged through a sand dune, and the other whose armour was covered with dents, had both lost them on the last floor. At least it meant the captain, and to his surprise Ingrid, both sidled closer to him. More meat-shields could be useful on an unknown floor.
The group slipped out of the house onto the streets. It wasn’t just an abandoned house but a neighbourhood, or perhaps more. The style was unlike any settlement nearby, but Tommy didn’t care where the dungeon sourced its architecture, it would be destroyed soon enough. What did concern him was the winding streets between the buildings. As his companions blindly marched on towards the nearest light source – for as Tommy glanced around the shifting shadows made obvious that there was more than one – he took a moment to look back at the house they came from. It was a little trick he’d picked up many years ago, people got lost retracing their steps because they were looking for what they saw when departing. Instead, you need to look back now and then, memorise what to look for from the perspective of the return trip. Tommy wasn’t about to get into a scrap without knowing where he could run should the need arise, and he still wanted that chest.
Stolen story; please report.
A nudge from Ingrid had him catching up with the others. His eyes swept the flat roofs as they passed between haphazardly placed buildings, waiting for something to drop from above. His protesting nose and the crackle he could hear over his shambling companions attempts at stealth confirmed it was a fire ahead even before he saw it. The burning remains of what might once have been a small shed or outhouse sat amidst a gap between the buildings, unremarkable but for a single creature patrolling around it. The skeleton had a breastplate and a spear unlike the first floor, but this seemed too easy.
Unfortunately, the lead dwarf didn’t agree, charging forwards he deftly dodged the spear and took its leg off at the knee. While he was finishing of the downed opponent and others rushed forwards to join him, Tommy scanned the nearby buildings, cursing as he realised his glance at the pyre had ruined his night vision. Just as he thought he’d missed whatever trap this must surely be, he saw it. Lurking at the edge of an alley between two tightly placed houses. Some kind of large rodent skeleton? Tommy wasn’t entirely sure. Then he saw the leg rise up. It was a rabbit! Just as he started to point it out, his finger refusing to completely uncurl, the leg struck the ground with a thump that was audible over the clamour of final blows on the skeleton. It seemed to spread out in a wave, visible only by the sudden shift of ash in the air. Everyone froze, apart from the rabbit which ran.
“What in the Seeker’s name was that?”
“Summat wit’ sonic affinity I reckon.”
“Anything nearby knows we’re here now.” The captain struck to the heart of the matter.
The group quickly circled round the pyre realising their sudden peril. Tommy would much rather have made a run for one of the alleys, but before he could suggest it, there were sounds of movement from all around them. A stone whistled in from the gloom, clanging off one of the dwarves. Then another, and another. Each from different angles. Ingrid shot a blast of flame towards the source of the nearest, briefly illuminating a skeleton on a roof diving for cover and a disturbing mass of shapes running or shambling through the streets nearby.
Shifting his torch to his weaker hand, Tommy drew his dagger and not a moment too soon as zombified wolfs, skeletal boars (thankfully regularly sized) and goats charged into the light towards the group. Seeing a boar seemed to have picked him as a target he dashed forwards, rather than take the charge head on or let it into the circle which the others would surely whine about, and sliced off one of its legs. Unbalanced, its charge became a tumble and he kicked it clear as he took up his place once more.
Another stone whistled past his head but he didn’t have time to worry about that as it seemed the faster creatures had simply rushed ahead of the pack and a horde of humanoid undead rushed to engage. Smashing the skull of a skeleton with the pommel of his dagger and easily tripping it as it went for a blind swing he was frustrated. The melee seemed to be a distraction preventing the dwarves from using their crossbows, and while bursts of flame from Ingrid were dealing with the slingers, it wasn’t fast enough. He was caught off-guard, about to finish the skeleton, as the kangaroo-kin zombie shambling towards him with a spear suddenly leapt the intervening distance. He only barely manged to twist out of the way to avoid the worst of the blow, a line of burning pain on his side that he had to hope was shallow. The point sparked and spear cracked as it struck the ground with the full weight of the zombie behind it. Then he discovered zombies were a pain to kill. He’d stabbed it in the heart, sliced its throat and it still kept moving. Tossing it onto the pyre did the trick but somehow made the noxious air even fouler. One of the dwarves called out that pulverizing or completely severing the head would work, but like the skeletons mostly had breastplates to protect their mana gem, the zombies had helmets, and he wasn’t a damn strength class.
The captain was doing a good job smashing heads and cracking chests beside him, the head of that polearm constantly spinning before ricocheting violently only to spin up again. More disturbingly, it was wreathed in shadowy energy that seemed inefficient against the undead but Tommy was careful to give a wide berth. Which wasn't easy fighting side by side while it whipped back and forth.
As he was starting to feel a burn in his muscles and a cramp in the hand clawed around the torch, which he’d found could fend of the zombies somewhat, the attackers finally began to thin. Spotting scuttling through the debris at his feet, he vindictively stomped another rat skeleton. He’d heard a scream somewhere behind him which meant they were probably down at least one member. Would serve him right if it was the damn idiot who rushed in, too much faith in [trapsense] not enough in common sense.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a gleam of metal in the darkness. Before he could process what that could mean there was a deafening crack from the darkness blotting out all the other sounds of lingering battle, and almost simultaneously, a metallic sound like a gong echoed by a groan of pain.