When he’d been a young [Treasure Hunter] just starting out, Richter Arnis had traveled across the continent seeking those whose footsteps he followed. He followed stories, rumors, and his own Intuition to dark and smoky bars, fancy retirement villages, and even a few prisons.
Each time he met an old [Treasure Hunter], Richter had asked the same question. What’s the most important thing to do if you want to succeed in this business?
Oddly, they all had answered the same way. Follow your nose.
Richter had spent years trying to figure out what that meant. So far as he could tell, danger didn’t have a smell. Neither did treasure. They weren’t like wine, where a discerning palate like Richter’s could detect variations in the soil where the grapes were grown, or pick up traces of stone fruit, chocolate, tobacco, and other flavorings that gave each wine its own character.
Tombs smelled like mildew, vaults like stale air, but no matter how he tried to pay attention to the scents he encountered, Richter had never been able to tell with a smell that he was on the verge of finding treasure.
Or disaster, he thought bitterly.
Stretching his arms upward, Richter rolled his shoulders to loosen them up, and lunged from one leg to the other as well. He felt okay that day, he decided. Not great, but not terrible either.
A quick consultation of his soul’s mirror confirmed what he’d already suspected since waking up that morning: thanks to the effects of his perpetual curses, he was level 22 as both a [Treasure Hunter] and [Whip Master]. It was somewhat uncommon for his classes to share a level, but hardly unheard of, and given that the [Dungeon Champion] of Oar’s Crest was a mere level 18, he doubted that he’d have any trouble defeating the fellow and completing the first leg of this dungeon development committee.
Still, it was frustrating that his levels had once again rolled such a low number. Worse, Richter feared that it was an increasingly common trend. His tracking of the matter revealed that in the last month he’d only had two days over level thirty, whereas the month before he’d had three. For many years after being cursed, it’d almost been a fifty-fifty shot of waking up at his peak level. While all the best [Doctors], [Healers], and [System Specialists] he could afford insisted that his curse wouldn’t get progressively worse with age, Richter couldn’t shake the feeling that every passing year saw him losing a little bit more of his power without any chance for reclaiming it.
At least it wasn’t a minimum roll. His stats were mostly on the lower end of their ranges, but he was still functional. There were few things less pleasant than having your body feel like it was made out of jelly all day because your levels and stats were way lower than you were used to.
Regardless, Richter had a job to do and wasting time on idle thoughts wouldn’t help him do it. The [Treasure Hunter] took another slow, deep breath, and tried to figure out what the city of Oar’s Crest smelled like. He frowned; it was far from pleasant, though this street near the dungeon was better than the rest of the city, but for the first time the adventurer thought that he might - might - understand a bit of what the old timers had been talking about.
There was something in the air here; a smell of spring fighting to rise above the rot of stagnation and decay that blanketed the streets and buildings all around. It was faint, but Richter got the sense that it was growing stronger with each passing day. A rising tide, a waxing moon. Opportunity, he thought, the seed of a story sprouting in his thoughts.
“Nellie, come here,” he said. “I think I’ve got a bit of a start for us.”
His [Assistant] scurried over with her notebook in hand and a scowl on her face.
“I sure hope so, Richter, because I’ve got nothing but a burning desire to get the heck out of this city and never return. ”
Being a storymaker wasn’t nearly as glamorous or exciting as being a real [Treasure Hunter] was. There was certainly far less glory to be had in collecting a steady paycheck clearing weak dungeons and finding nice things to say about them so that other adventurers would visit than seeking adventure by delving into deep and forgotten caverns, castles, caves, and mausoleums, but surprisingly enough, at the end of the day there were a surprisingly large number of similarities between the two.
They both involved going into the unknown, for example, and required Richter to follow imperfect clues to an uncertain destination. Success depended on great bravery, strength, flexibility, and resilience. It was just as much an intellectual pursuit as it was a physical one.
“Alright, write this down,” Richter said, straightening up and adopting what he called his ‘Writing Voice’, in which he made sure to enunciate all of his words perfectly and vary his pitch regularly.
“It is fitting that Crestheart, the dungeon of Oar’s Crest, is home to many ghosts,” he started, pulling the sentences out from deep within his heart. “For indeed, the city itself is a ghost of sorts. Like tombstones marking the final resting places of our dearly departed, ancient buildings line the streets, and abandoned remnants of industrial capacity – forges, smithies, workshops – rot the years away behind walls of debris. For decades, their only occupant has been vicious fiends that attack at the slightest provocation, but – ”
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He trailed off, thinking about how he was going to finish that thought and deciding that he didn’t like the setup. “Actually, scratch that last sentence. Give me a second to think.”
Rubbing his chin, Richter paced back and forth for a few seconds, turning over the possible permutations in his mind. He needed a story for the dungeon, not just the city it occupied, and so he had to come up with a way to bring things back to Crestheart.
“Okay, I think I have it. Are you ready?”
“Of course, Richter. Hurry up, though. I have a feeling that your run is going to start soon. The torch above the door just ignited.”
Richter turned around and saw indeed that a pale blue flame burned in a small black brazier.
“Right, right,” he said, quickening his speech. “Here it is. The dungeon stands in the middle of a wide street, and traces of life spread forth from it in all directions. For now, these ventures are humble – a flower shop, a [Goldsmith]’s workshop, and a cafe that tailors to the dungeon’s challengers – but it’s obvious that [Dungeon Master] Vales has bigger ambitions. Who can say what sorts of treasures will be found here in the future? However, for now, it is merely the outline of a map.”
“No good on that last bit,” Nellie said. “You said something similar to that map outline thing in your story about The Ephemeral Archipelago.”
Richter tilted his head to the side. “I did? Really?”
“You did,” Nellie said, shrugging her shoulders the way she always did when she activated [Encyclopedic Recall]. “Your exact words were: While it’s beyond me to know what sort of treasures will be waiting within the archipelago in the future, for now it is little more than the outline of a map waiting to be filled in.”
“Crap. Yeah, that’s too close. The last thing I want is to be accused of recycling my lines. How’s the rest sound?”
“Fine, if a bit melodramatic.”
“Melodrama is the entire point of my profession,” Richter said with a grin. “Because dungeon runs are boring by themselves, unless you’re one of those people who really enjoys comparing various stats and things of that nature.”
Before he could finish his thought, the door to Crestheart opened and a reedy voice invited Richter inside.
Drawing his whip from its place on his belt, the [Treasure Hunter] winked at his [Assistant], activated his recording crystal, and stepped inside.
“A malignant breeze greets me as soon as the door slams shut,” Richter muttered. He’d found over the years that narrating his runs while he did them provided better material than trying to remember the best bits afterwards.
“My hands are surprisingly sweaty as I raise my whip,” Richter said. “What sort of challenges await me inside this dark and gloomy place? What perils will I face? What treasures will I find? For where there is danger there is opportunity, and I am a man who’s always on the lookout for a good opportunity.”
Death and decay – old, familiar smells – reached Richter’s nose, and his monologue was cut short by a sizzling orb of purple light. Drawing his whip as quick as he could, he ducked underneath the first salvo of ranged attacks and knocked the rest out of the air with a series of rapid [Snap Strikes]. Despite his success in avoiding the attacks, though, Richter felt himself starting to panic. His heartbeat quickened, and his chest felt tight.
This was no normal fear though, he knew. He recognized the almost clinical precision of the symptoms: they were the same that he’d faced in several dungeons before.
“There’s an [Aura Of Fear] active in this place,” he said. “It’s not particularly powerful, but it’s irritating all the same. Steeling myself, I walk deeper into the dungeon.”
Up ahead, there was a small glowing altar with two different statues on it. One was big, and the other small, and written under both was an amended dungeon reward agreement. Taking the small statue and protecting it for the entire run would yield a double payout, but if Richter took the large statue he’d see his earnings be multiplied by five. However, there was also a warning that the larger statue would “weaken” the holder, which Richter suspected meant a curse of some kind.
His grin faded. Treasure was one thing, and the pragmatic part of his mind warned him that if he found himself unable to work he’d be happy to have earned all the fleurs he’d been able to, but he couldn’t force himself to grab the bigger statue as he’d first planned.
After all, he’d had his fill of curses and didn’t dare take a chance with another, but beyond that his Endurance had rolled particularly poorly that day, and above all he didn’t want to risk losing against this dungeon. A first dungeon in a circuit was supposed to be the weakest, and while it might make for a better story in the short term if he lost to it, his future prospects would be hindered.
Scooping up the smaller statue and hugging it to his side, Richter continued his narration as he walked toward the next door.
“A chance for greater riches appeared before me on an altar of ice and stone. Though I was sorely tempted by the prospect of treasure, as I always am, I dared not let my greed get the better of me. A graybeard once told me that a [Treasure Hunter] can’t enjoy his earnings if he’s dead in the bottom of a pit somewhere, and it’s a lesson I’ve always heeded. With my new possession in my grasp, I continued onward, cautious about what else I’d find down here in the depths of Crestheart.”
Richter's Character Sheet:
Richter Arnis:
~Permanent Level Decay~
~Permanent Random Level Display~
Primary Class: Treasure Hunter (Self), Level 22 (45)
Secondary Class: Whip Master (Ivy Jones), Level 22 (44)
Tertiary Class: Party Animal (Self), Level 20
Might: 48 (79)
Wit: 30 (49)
Faith: 6 (8)
Adventurousness: 40 (60)
Stealth: 16 (41)
Ambition: 25 (38)
Charisma: 50 (82)
Guts: 37 (64)
Persuasiveness: 36 (53)
Patience: 7 (11)
Competitive Spirit: 33 (80)
Endurance: 15 (50)
Coolheadedness: 19 (23)