Chapter 24: Alkali Hollow

The beating of the Shadow Dactyl’s wings snuffed out two blue flame braziers as we landed on a mountain ledge. A moment of silence fell as the creature tucked its wings against its dark scales in the moonlight. The enchanted braziers reignited themselves.

It sparked a memory. I knew this ledge, where the Soleus Mesa met the Crescent Mountain Range. I had delved this dungeon before; a player’s memory. Like most old memories, it felt more like a formless hunch than a real recollection; déjà vu.

Alkali Hollow; the name of these dusty caverns came to me then. Four shapes emerged into the wavering blue flame light. All in midnight blue gear and decked in strange contraptions. They assembled and wasted no time.

“Shall we?” said Trojainous.

One of his companions ignited a lamp hanging from atop his gadget frame. It zapped as if electrified, flooding the ledge and cave entrance with a sickly yellow light.

We entered the dungeon.

Not unlike the denizens of my graveyard, Telemoon wasted little breath on needless talk. They proceeded to the first trash mob pull and dispatched a squad of four oversized Salt Toads with practiced indifference. Trojainous kept me by his side and mostly inactive, preferring to leech aura-like benefits from me or use abilities that kept me out of the fray.

Meanwhile, the Telemoon party accomplished a swift cleanup without using a single normal weapon. It was all Gadget Craft trickery with them. Electrified nets, flamethrowers, portable turrets.

We trudged deeper along dusty stone hallways, ducking through ancient brick arches and under yellow torches whose flames seemed to dwindle next to our lamp-bearer.

I recalled that Alkali Hollow was waterless. Never a drop to be found. But a dark battle splatter on worn, sand-colored brick reminded me that even a cave that sits lonely above the rain shadow deserts of Nevahj can still taste moisture on occasion.

Far down the hall, I noticed an odd sheen. We approached, shedding more light, and I could see that something was clogging the stone doorway; a slick jelly.

“Caustic Cube,” reported one of the Telemoon guys. He was wearing something like a multi-faceted jeweler’s eyepiece on his helmet, using an ability like DarkNeon’s [Spell: Scan]. “The encounter’s value ratio is flagged in the negative.”

“Normally, yes,” said Trojainous. “Why waste valuable guild resources on a branch of the dungeon only Spirit Mages care about, am I right? But today is abnormal. Not a problem.” He opened his tablet. “We’ll neutralize the base with an acid, yes? Let’s see here.”

He began poking at the screen. My level 25 ability, [Spell: Acid Spit III], was now maxed out. He then summoned a bucket from a strange-looking inventory menu and placed it on the sand-blanketed stone.

He commanded me to cast my new spell at it.

A small torrent of neon-green slime sloshed from my open jaw toward the bucket. Some of it went in, some splattered the side. Hissing tendrils of smoke dripped to the sand.

Then he forced me to cast my spell again, then again. It was an atypically sloppy process for one claiming a Telemoon banner. We repeated the process until there was enough acid in the bucket, presumably to toss at the gelatinous mass blocking our way.

Having little agency, I attempted to drool as much as possible. The hope was to damage the device latched to my animation source. But by the time the bucket had a fling-able volume of acid, I had noticed no improvement in my ability to self-control. I watched the bucket itself smoke and fizzle.

A mild panic agitated my ribcage denizens. I glanced down as best I could, wondering if I were immune to my own acid damage. Either every drool drip had missed, or my gear and I were immune. Either way, I planned to spec. out of the nasty spell at my earliest convenience. My bees calmed along with me.

But the calm was only momentary. Trojainous clamped my finger bones around the bucket handle and commanded me to move forward.

“Halt,” said the guild mate who had scanned the monster. His generic game class said ‘Water Mage,’ but I knew that Telemoon classifications were wonky. They were not allowed to invest heavily into their magic skill trees; only to take whichever skills maximized their usefulness to the guild. And unlike normal players whose class, magic affinities, and crafting jobs were distinct, Telemoon classifications tended to blend. They had figured out how to code in their own classifications. This player’s Water Mage level was only 10, but his Chemist level was 24. His nameplate read ‘Vick5.’

“State your hypothesis,” he said.

“Didn’t I already?” said Trojainous.

Vick5’s hefty companion, W3dge—the one with a flamethrower—said, “What’s an experiment’s best friend?”

“A strong hypothesis,” said Vick5, as if reciting an axiom.

“Just remember, G-Quitter,” said W3dge with a stern glance at my captor, “you’re still on probation.”

The Chemist produced a device, no longer than his hand, which looked like an elaborate smoking pipe augmented with wires and a number display. He dipped an end into the acid spit bucket, taking a measurement. His eyebrows raised.

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“The pH is sufficiently low,” said Vick5, removing his tool from the bucket. It looked meltier than he had expected. “Proceed.”

The party began readying their combat tools as Vick5 motioned toward the Caustic Cube. Despite lack of self-control, my nerves tensed. Trojainous moved my skeleton toward the monster while he and his companions held back.

If I were so important to this Telemoon Spirit Mage, why was he sending me to the slaughter? To toss a bucket of spicy spit at a monstrous hallway clog, just to see what happens?… such a weak and unfriendly hypothesis.

The creature—if it could be considered alive—was even more imposing up close. Solid? Liquid? Neither described it; a smooth, murkily translucent wall of slime, with goopy tentacle-like nubs seeping out from the stone-and-brick doorframe to clutch the surrounding walls.

A multitude of mystery objects lurked within the mass, corroding, suspended in its body. A hazy recollection suggested that this Caustic Cube might be an Alkali Hollow mini-boss. My situation seemed hopeless without the help of a party. At Trojainous’s tablet command, I wrenched my arm back then flung the bucket at the thing nonetheless.

The bucket swung, tumbled through the air, splashed the monster, and plopped into the side of it. Like the sound of punching a bowl of oatmeal hard in its face, the bucket was sucked in. Half a moment later, a steaming and melty fissure ripped a hole where the bucket had entered. A blast of horrific wind—like a toxic locomotive smokestack—blew me flat on my back.

Then the wall of slime lurched toward me. A hum so low it filled the stale air with fine dust resonated as the thing moved. In a moment of panic, I wondered what would happen if my vine-and-bones body reached zero hit points in such a hostage state. Had Trojainous severed me from the [Hive Scepter] or Gremlin’s spirit tether? Would my spirit go into the Scythe? Will my bones corrode?

Anxiety swelled. I was about to be swallowed. I tried to look back, panicked and… angry. The Telemoon fools were standing by, idly watching. It was clear they cared very little about what happened to me now. A shred of hope faded away. I had not thought myself expendable.

Like a cliff of demonic cheese, the Caustic Cube slid over the top of me. There was no pain, because I was not wired for the sensation, but my health bar sunk from green to red under its weight. I steeled myself for total darkness to take me, the hive in my chest on red alert.

But darkness did not come, not entirely. A bubble formed, and I floated up into the jiggly guts of the cube. I was moving through it, squeezing through like a sleeping bag filled with old pudding. I could sense my bees suffocating as we experienced belly-of-the-whale emotions. My panic peaked so high that I almost felt serene.

And then with a squidgy plop, I was vomited out onto a stone floor.

It was dark. I was befuddled and befouled.

My befuddlement came to an abrupt end at the tip of a rusty sword slamming into my sternum. Sparks glinted off, then faded. I heard an airy, rattling growl, and saw my attacker set in relief against the dingy mustard glow of its eyes.

I told my legs to kick it away, and they obeyed. I leapt to my feet with the realization that the Telemoon device had been damaged. I was regaining control of my body.

Instantly, I sunk 3 points into a new level 20 spell, then cast [Spell: Vision Wisps III], gaining Darkvision, Stealth Detection, and See Invisible. A trio of lavender spirit wisps now hovered, spiraling around my shoulders. I checked the [Helm Wheel]. Still attached; very firmly, in fact.

The creature was a skeleton like me. No, it was not a minion. It was a quest monster: The Molar Soldier. Though it wore a dented helmet, a worn buckler, and a rusty sword, I could tell it was formidable. My natural ability to recall facts and stats about other undead told me to be on guard.

Kicking him away had done nothing, save spare me a moment to stand and gain vision of the Molar Soldier. Now he was trudging at me again, so I shambled away. I cast [Spell: Regen III] and made for the corner of the room. The monster slammed its sparking sword into cave floor. Then began slowing dragging it toward me.

I sat upon a rickety wooden stool, soaking up my vines’ healing. My mana was low. I remembered the potion Medett had gifted me, but I was unsure of its effect. Did I have time to buff up? Mayhap not. I noticed the [Barkskin*Potion] had an asterisk. Peculiar enough to cause me hesitation. I left it alone for now.

I stood, galled at Trojainous’s skill choices. The moment my mana had regenerated enough, I attempted to cast [Spell: Rib Cage I]. Spikes of bone erupted from stone floor, reaching up like a giant’s fingers to grip my attacker. He roared a stinky gust, breaking his buckler through a rib bar. The creature was tenuously immobilized, so I utilized my initiative.

I saw an amulet hanging from his neck; I needed to press it to my chest, like I had done on Stonesthrow Island with the skeletal kobold. Swiftly, I let my clavicle vines entwine its talisman. I focused, making several concentration checks to maintain my action through his struggling.

I listened.

The creature’s intelligence score made its communication halted and simple, but it did not sound alien to me. I had a nagging suspicion—ever since the kobolds offered us aid—that my “Player Minion” status, or “Skeleton” status, or some other unknown status had given me a kind of loose kinship with monsters in Realms of Lore. Even more so with those classified as Undead.

When the Molar Soldier’s disposition shifted from hostile to neutral at the twining of my vines, I knew I had discovered another tool in my kit. Any advantage in this wild world was a welcome one.

I zeroed in on the creature’s attempts to form words within its dim cranium. It growled basic concepts like, “Bro-ken, cheat, bad.” Though emotionally void, its sentiments held hints of desperation; the best plea for help an undead mini-boss could muster.

I tried to express my own reasons for delving uninvited into his dungeon, but my efforts were not fruitful. It did not have the INT to process my meaning.

The light in the Molar Soldier’s eyes faded. He went quiet.

Then, like candles made of the same flame as the dungeon’s torches, illumination refilled its eye sockets.

The creature conveyed unspoken ideas to me in a much clearer way: the Telemoon party was attempting a dangerous exploit in the next room. The monster suspected that my presence, along with the broken animation source device, was pivotal to their plan.

The Molar Soldier—or whoever was speaking through it—enlightened me as to the presence of several weak points in the dungeon. Places where glitches had been patched out in the past. Places where the right bit of pressure or finesse could counter or alter Telemoon’s own exploits. Further, the Molar Soldier assured me that the dungeon’s monsters would leave me be. He lamented their low INT scores, because commanding them to aid me required they comprehend the senario.

I thanked him telepathically and restated my reason for trespassing in Alkali Hollow. He nodded understanding, gripping one of his oversized molars, and cracking it free of his jaw bone. He showed me it, then a treasure chest materialized. Its lid popped open and the glimmer of gold transfixed my gaze. He dropped the [Eld Molar] inside and then slammed the wood and iron lid. Chains materialized and wriggled around it, then an iron lock clasped it shut.

I understood; I help neutralize the Telemoon party, he gives me what I need. I nodded to him, knowing full well that the backing of my real party was the only way forward. And strangely, this notion caused me almost no hesitancy. They would come.

And when they did, I would be ready.