There was always a second of worry, when entering a new dungeon. Especially one that was controlled by a foe. From what Threadbare had studied of Graves' dungeon research, dungeon bosses couldn't just put an instant deathtrap at the entrance. The dungeons seemed to desire to draw things in reasonably far before murder happened. Which was why most of them put the easy stuff up front and saved the boss for last.
That said, there were a number of other tricks that a knowledgeable dungeon user could pull off, and as Threadbare looked around he saw, without a lot of surprise, that he was alone.
So, he turned around and walked out of the dungeon.
There was a bit of a shuffle and a few bumps as his friends materialized around him.
“Okay, I'm glad we talked this through beforehand,” Cagna said once she was back in the proper reality. “We're going to need to bag up or buddy up if we want to tackle this as a group.”
“Let's bag it. I'll whisper Madeline,” Threadbare offered. “Wind's Whisper Madeline, I'm sorry, but could you drop your Merchant's Pack down? We'll need it.”
There was a flapping of heavy wooden wings, and the group made way as the dragon descended.
“Oh, you didn't need to come all the way down,” Celia said, but Madeline ignored her for the moment, pushing her head towards Threadbare.
“You can decree stuff to Garon. Can ya check in and see how it's goan?”
“I can. But I imagine he's very busy right now,” Threadbare said. “Are you sure you want the words showing up and possibly distracting him at a very, very bad time?”
It had been a hard decision to make, as Garon had repeated his decree several times. But the group had concluded that they were too far away, and there was nothing they could do. They had but a pair of Castle Cylvania waystones between them, and the castle might be compromised. No, they had to go deal with the source of the problem here and hope that Garon could handle matters in Cylvania.
Madeline gritted her teeth so hard she damaged herself, a red '6' floating up into the sky. Sparks danced around her mouth, and finally she looked away. “Gahds damn it.”
“I know,” Thomasi said. “Trust in him. We'll do our part.”
“I had to ask,” Madeline sighed. “Raht. Let's wrap this up fahst.” She winged back to the sky without another word.
They chose Celia for the entry. And this time, given the nature of the place, she suited up in full Steam Knight gear. The rest piled into the bag, with Anne and Jean the last in, shooting each other suspicious glares as they were tucked into the relatively small room.
It was a long moment, as they readied to be drawn out of the sack...
POP!
With a ripping, tearing noise, they were dumped onto the ground, bouncing off each other. Anne managed to tuck and roll out of the scrum, but Zuula, Threadbare, Thomasi, Fluffbear, and Jean ended up in a heap on the floor.
“Oh fump it!” Celia's slightly amplified voice came from her armor's visor, as she pointed at a statue of a dapper rabbit in a tuxedo. The statue was holding a cane, and the ball on the end of it was sparkling with the aftereffect of a spell. “The second I showed up, that cane flashed, and well...” she dug in the pile, helped Threadbare to his feet as the others sorted themselves out.
“Targeted dispel magic, by the looks o' it,” Anne said, glancing around. “Hit that trick in a few dungeons. S'why ye don't spend a lot of time buffing up outside first.”
Threadbare looked to Celia. “Are your buffs still active?”
“The armor's running, so yeah. Nothing disrupted the magitech systems.”
“Then it was specifically set to dispel the pack.” Threadbare nodded. “Nobody's a Merchant, are they? Can we replace the Pack of Holding if we need to?”
Thomasi half raised a hand. “I'm not a Merchant, but I do have a Ringmaster ability to carry a circus along with me. But it's not ideal for a number of reasons.”
“Maybe we don't be talking about dis here and now,” Zuula said, as she started whacking the statue to bits with the haft of her spear. “Rabbits be known for long ears. He might be listenin'.”
“Or watching,” Fluffbear squeaked. “This place looks very cluttered; I'm sure there's lots of places to hide!”
Threadbare turned and surveyed the room.
It WAS cluttered. Boxes and crates and furniture and ladders were strewn about the curved chamber. Uncommon things such as stuffed lions, statues, and gilded chariots were side by side with mundanities like paint buckets and rolls of cloth and chaise lounges. Threadbare was a bit minded of the mimic mimics in the Rumpus Room riot and poked the nearest couch just to be sure it wasn't going to jump on him.
One side of the room was solid, dark wood, and the other was cut off by a massive, curving wall of cloth, and from under it seeped a flickering light. A curtain, Threadbare realized. Then it clicked. They were on a stage, and the curtain was down.
Moreover, from just beyond it, he could hear the sound of feet tromping down padded steps, the rustle of clothing as people pushed past each other to settle in seats, and the low but rising hubbub of conversation.
“Doesn't sound like too many out there yet,” Anne whispered, cocking the hammer of a pistol. “We could burst out o' these curtains and send 'em to hell afore the show even gets started.”
“There's no other exits that I can see,” Celia said, swiveling left and right and playing her armor's glowstone lanterns over the sides of the chamber. “Maybe something beyond the clutter, but I don't know if we have the time to dig.”
“We do not,” Jean said. “This is the training ground.”
Six pairs of eyes turned toward her, and she swallowed hard. “We are both actors and spies, and this is the place where we learn.”
“Ye didn't say a thing about this before we went in.”
“We are brought here blindfolded! I did not know it was a dungeon, or where we would be going next. This is his domain. I see only what he shows me.”
Wood tapped against metal.
“The orchestra is about to start!” Jean said, taking a step back and going pale in the dim light. “And we haven't even chosen a play yet!”
“I think you should explain. Quickly,” Celia said, stomping up to stand by her side.
Jean nodded and pointed to the clutter. “Search the piles, quickly. There should be a velvet pouch among them, with cards in it. This is how we learned our stagecraft! We would combine cards and have to perform a play or a musical based on which cards were chosen.”
“Okay, the last one was fun, I won't be denyin' that,” said Anne. “But I left me whip on the ship, and there ain't no time to practice showtunes.”
“It's very much an improvisation,” Jean said. “The cards just determine the set, the props, and what happens during the show.”
“I found them!” Thomasi said, holding up a purple velvet pouch and peeling it open to reveal black-backed, gold-chased cards. “And oh dear.”
“Oh dear?” Fluffbear squeaked.
“These are Fortuna cards.” he turned them over to reveal colorful images of warriors, clerics, rogues, wizards, and various monsters and scenes. “And we don't have Chase with us.”
“Fortuna cards?” Threadbare said, moving closer and hopping up on a crate to peer at them. “I don't know what those are.”
“Zuula do,” said the half-orc puppet, hopping up on the other side of the crate. “Dey be used to tell de future. Like ten of rogues means dis, knight of clerics means dat.”
Something rustled in the back of Threadbare's mind. “Could you say that again, please?”
“Ten of rogues means dis, knight of clerics means dat.”
A horn sounded outside, joined by other instruments as the orchestra swelled to life.
“We are running out of time!” Jean said, glancing from the cards to the curtain. “You must choose six! Two together, and four around them in each direction. That will determine the play.”
“And if we don't?” Anne asked, glaring.
“Then we are at the mercy of the Fandom of the Lop Ear.”
“Aren't we going to have to face him regardless?” Celia asked.
“No, not the Phantom. The FANDOM. The audience loves him, every last one, and they will turn on us if we do not entertain them.”
“Any six in a storm,” Thomasi said and started to pull...
...and Threadbare leaned up and put his paw on the man's hand. “Wait. Let me check something, please. “Wind's Whisper Renny, is there a fortuna card called a R.D. Boss? What does it look like?”
After a moment, the tension in the group rising as the music played a merry tune, the reply came back.
“This is Cagna,” a puff of wind in his ear told him. “Renny says what you're looking for is the Raidboss, and yes, it's a card. It'll look a big scary monster with bunches of people fighting it. What do you...”
The rest of her message faded, as she hit the limits of her skill, but it was enough.
Because Threadbare remembered where he'd seen six strange words in a very similar configuration before.
INT+1
“Dig out the following cards and hand them to me please,” he said, recalling the tiny scratches under the bunk where Chase and the rest had been kept captive for a few weeks. “The Raidboss, the Four C. L... probably clerics, the two of wizards... rev, whatever that means. Then the nine of rogues, the knight of rogues, and the king of rogues.”
Thomasi handed them over one by one, as the others spread out to give them cover. And just as the instruments in the orchestra started to go silent one by one, finishing out their pieces and heralding the end of the song, Threadbare took the last card, then started arranging them as Jean pointed out the positions.
The last few notes hung in the air as the final card hit the stage floor, and with a snap, purple and gold energy traced out runes on the floor, spiraling and reaching like fast-growing tree roots into the pile of props and the surrounding parts of the stage.
The last flute's final pipings hung in the air as time seemed to slow, and the props shuffled and resorted themselves as plates in the floor moved items out, and pulleys and ropes lowered things from the darkness that filled the area above the stage.
And as Threadbare and his friends watched, the mechanisms began to build a scene.
A backdrop rolled down behind the props, showing a landscape full of heavily-brushed hills and fields and strange castles that were very pointy, of a style Threadbare had never seen before.
“Chinese? Asian?” Thomasi mused, so quietly that Threadbare thought only he had heard it. Well, Jean perhaps too, as her ear twitched, and she shot the human a look.
Reedy flutes started playing in the orchestra, followed by a twangy instrument. It was pleasant music to listen to, but it was different from any music Threadbare had heard before. It was in no hurry to get to the end of its song, and it was almost gentle, like the wind itself was singing.
“Definitely Chinese,” Thomasi said, a bit louder.
A papier-mâché sun lowered on a rope from on high, and lights in the flooring of the stage flared to life.
And with a rustling noise, long crooks extruded from the darkened wings of the stage and stretched toward the small group of friends.
BANG!
Correction: the small group of friends, and one very trigger-happy pirate who was having none of being hooked at the moment, thank you very much.
“Stage Whisper,” Jean said, and her next words were loud in their ears despite the fact she was still whispering. “No, just let it happen!” she said, holding her arms up and letting herself be dragged along the polished planks. “We need to be off stage to start this!”
Zuula, Thomasi, and Fluffbear shrugged at each other and went with the crooks.
Celia left some serious gouges in the floor as she went. Steam Knight suits weren't meant to be dragged.
Threadbare walked back toward the direction the crooks were going, and it kept pace with him but didn't touch him.
And Anne, glowering at the charred stump that had been a crook before it had caught a pistol bullet, eventually sauntered over to join the others just as the music quieted, and the curtain began to part, revealing a vast theater, with rows stretching back into darkness. And each and every seat was filled.
“That many?” Anne muttered.
“The fandom is vast, but now that I know it is a dungeon, it is most likely dungeon tricks,” Jean specified. “But they are fearsome if you lose the goodwill of the crowd. We must put on a good show!”
And a rich, deep voice spoke from somewhere above, though no speaker was present.
“Once upon a time, in the far eastern land of Porcelain, a cruel emperor rose to the throne, and the people suffered. He grew fat from the food he stole from the common folk, and though his ministers pleaded with him to ease his demands on the peasants, he scorned them.”
A throne rose from the floor, carved with snakey looking dragons and painted garishly gold in a hue that in no way mimicked true gold. Puppets walked in from the opposite side of the wings, human sized mannequins dressed in robes and funny hats, to gather around the throne. They wailed, and knelt, and discussed how the emperor would be here soon.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
And in the other wing, Threadbare looked on as a suit of garish gold and green robes wheeled out on a rack, followed by a huge hat that was bigger and funnier than any of the other ones out there on stage.
“One of us must be the emperor! Who can be a good villain?” Jean asked.
“Oooh! Oooh!” Fluffbear jumped up and down.
“No,” the rest of the party chorused.
“Awww...”
“Bah, been called it often enough, I expect I can play that there part!” Anne said, reaching out to touch the robes... and barely avoiding another reactionary gunshot as they wrapped around her.
“Hm, not a bad fit,” Anne said, inspecting herself.
Then with a POP, and a hiss of air filling various bladders, her shape ballooned until she was filling the robes like ten pounds of sausage in a five pound casing.
“The hells?” she snarled and staggered, trying to keep upright.
“They did say the emperor grew fat...” Thomasi remarked.
“This better not be permanent!” Anne snarled.
“It's not, now get out there!” Jean said, giving her a push.
Anne waddled on stage, and instantly the courtier puppets flopped to the floor, prostrating themselves.
She turned and laughed at the audience. “Ha ha ha! I be caring not for me advisors! See how I treat them!” And she wandered around, kicking a few of the puppets as they whimpered, before she flopped on the throne, her newly-swollen rump making balloon noises as she tried to fit it in the seat.
The crowd laughed, and Jean relaxed. “This is good. This play can be done with comedy. Those are easier so long as you can stay funny.”
“I'm not sure I can,” Threadbare said. “I'm not very good at that.”
“You'll do fine,” Celia said, reaching down to pat his head. “We just need to find you the right part.”
Anne spent a bit of time yelling at the courtiers and eating handfuls of golden-colored carrots from trays that servants brought her periodically, refusing to do anything the courtiers asked no matter how they pleaded.
Then the voice came from on high again.
“The poor courtiers were forced to deliver news to their lords all across the antique land, that the Emperor would show no mercy. And from the ears of the lords it reached the peasants. Three of whom decided a rebellion was in order! They were Sung Sim the stout, Yung Sim the clever, and Kim Mei the brave, and their meeting in the empty rice storehouse would mark the beginning of a new era for this antique land...”
The curtain closed, and the set began rearranging itself.
Three pairs of peasant clothes popped up, and to Threadbare's dismay, they were all the same... mostly. Two were yellow, and one was red.
“Who gets what?” Celia asked.
“I could take the red one,” Threadbare offered.
“No,” Jean cautioned. “We need to save you and Celia for important parts, I think. These plays... they do better if the most powerful among us take the best parts. And these, it is hard to say. At least one of them will be a hero, but which one I do not know!”
“Rest of us pretty powerful,” Zuula said, marching forward and picking up the red costume, as it instantly wrapped around her and shrunk down, leaving her in pajama-like loose pants and shirt, wearing a conical, wide-brimmed straw hat.
“But only one hero, right? I'm okay, but I'm not super.” Fluffbear reasoned, touching a yellow costume.”
“The curtain is opening!” said Jean.
Thomasi nodded. “I'll go third, then. Going to assume the two yellow ones are the Sim brothers...” He touched the third set of yellows... just as Fluffbear's finished wrapping, leaving her in a skirt and bodice and bonnet.
“Or sisters? Yep, sisters,” said Thomasi, as an overlarge bonnet enveloped his top hat and sat awkwardly on his head. “Well, I've done stranger,” he said, studying his new clothes and giving the skirt an experimental swish.
The curtain rolled open, revealing a backdrop of windows and piled sacks of meager grain, with rat puppets running between prop crates.
“You need to get out there!” Jean stage whispered, as the audience began to murmur...
...and Threadbare felt a pressure against his mind, as words appeared in his field of view.
The Fandom of the Lop Ear's Disapproval has grown!
You have suffered 5 points of Moxie damage!
The Fan Rage meter is growing!
It wasn't much, as Threadbare watched the green numbers fly from his comrades' heads, some bigger than others. Thomasi's was a fairly fat '0', but Zuula lost a double digit chunk.
Not too horrible in the grand scheme of things.
But that Fan Rage meter was concerning. The others thought so too, evidently, as Thomasi and Fluffbear and Zuula ran onto stage.
“Here we are!” squeaked Fluffbear. “We're gonna make such a big rebellion!”
“Said Yung Sim the clever!” came the narrator's voice from above.
“Yes, I agree!” Thomasi said in a high-pitched voice, waggling his beard as the audience laughed.
The Fan Rage Meter is dropping!
“Said Sung Sim the Stout!” The narrator added.
“Dat make me Kim Mei,” Zuula said.
“Pointed out Kim Mei the brave, for no reason,” the narrator said wryly.
“So let's um... how do you plan a rebellion anyway?” Fluffbear asked. “I've never done this before.”
“Well,” Thomasi said, kneeling and pulling the other two into a huddle. “The first thing to do is get a bunch of people, then a bunch of weapons, then go from there...”
Jean pulled Threadbare and Celia into her own huddle... or rather, pulled Threadbare in, and walked over to Celia, for there was no pulling her Steam Knight suit anywhere without the help of magical hooks.
“We are at the point in the play where the narration follows the actors a bit,” Jean said. “Now it gets trickier. If they screw up anything major, then the Fan Rage grows. It is possible to lower it, but it is slower to fall than to grow.”
“But if they're fans, shouldn't they have more love for something than hate?” Threadbare asked.
Jean shot him an incredulous look. “Oh no,” she said. “NOBODY holds rage like a fan who thinks something he enjoys is imperfect. And gods help the creator who tries to do something NEW with a work.”
“So, we need to manage fan rage,” Celia said. “How do we do this?”
“Act well and be bold, usually,” Jean said. “It really helps if you match the parts well. For example, if we have a legendary soldier, then you are the best Knight among us, Cecelia. You look like an armored warrior!”
“And if there are teddy bears, I can handle that,” Threadbare nodded.
“I do not think there will be many of those,” Jean said. “But perhaps a great sage, or a skilled spellcaster? You are all of these things.”
A roar of laughter came from the audience, and Threadbare glanced over to see Thomasi waving around a giant wooden spoon. “We'll feed our revolutionary army with this!”
“All at once?” Zuula asked.
“I think we'll need a bigger spoon!” squeaked Fluffbear.
The Fan Rage Meter is dropping!
“Now all we need is a massive army,” said Zuula.
“And no sooner had Kim Mei pointed out the current flaw with their plan, then a sympathetic spy made his arrival on horseback!”
Just offstage, two coconut halves started clapping together, rolling around on the floor as the strings supporting them tensed and released.
And a green outfit dropped down from above, fluttering towards the trio.
“I am a Spy!” Jean said, grabbing for it. “Wish me luck!”
And as the hoofbeats grew louder, the coconuts flailing for all they were worth, Jean waited until they stopped then ran on stage, waving. “I bring news!”
“The spy told them about the huge army on its way, led by one of the fiercest of the Emperor's generals!”
“We have been discovered!” said Jean, pulling the hood of her cloak down and having some trouble getting it over her ears. “We have no chance against this general, so—”
“Bah, let him come!” said Zuula. “Kim Mei de Brave fears no General So!”
“Compared to you he's probably chicken,” Thomasi said, still in that high pitched voice, then followed it up with a disturbing giggle. “Hoo hoo hoo!”
The audience laughed far louder than the line seemed to deserve, and Threadbare wasn't sure why. But the Fan Rage meter kept on dropping, so that seemed to be good.
“And then there were two,” Celia said, kneeling down and rubbing Threadbare's back as the curtains closed again. “Let's hope the parts fit us.”
The set reassembled itself as they watched, and Threadbare waved to Zuula and the others as they hurried off to the other side of the stage, waiting with the other actors.
“Meanwhile, in the mountain pass of So Fa So Gud, the Emperor's fiercest general awaited in his fortress!”
A pile of stone pillars rose from the stage, forming a makeshift castle tower. And another section of the floor slid open, revealing a suit of bronze armor... at least so it appeared on first glance. Some quick investigation showed that it was actually gold foil over cardboard plates.
“This'll be me, then.” Celia knelt with a hiss of pistons and wrapped metal arms around Threadbare. “Wish me... no, tell me to break a leg.”
“What?”
“It's a show business term. Wishing someone luck on stage is actually bad luck, so you wish them something horrible, and then they get good luck. It's reversed.”
“That sounds... complicated. Let's see. Spill the tea? Crack the marmalade jar? Dirty the dishes?”
“Close enough,” Celia said, letting go of him and touching the armor, raising her hands as it wrapped around her and catching a falling glaive one handed. “Time to make my entrance.”
She clunked over to the castle the moment the curtain rose. Off to the side of the 'tower room' she was in, a group of a dozen soldier puppets drilled and sparred, doing general military things.
“Keep training, you louses!” Celia shouted at them, waving the glaive in a vaguely menacing manner. “Flex those arms, move those feet! Show them our army can't be beat!”
“Hu Ah!” shouted the soldiers, redoubling their efforts.
And the narrator, whoever or whatever it was, liked it well enough to run with it.
“There the general trained his troops day and night, waiting for the proper moment to unleash his army upon the inevitable peasant rebellion.”
“Sure do hope those peasants get uppity today! Great day for quashing... rebels...” Celia said, hesitating on the last few words.
Technically once upon a time Celia HAD been both an officer quashing rebels and a rebel herself, Threadbare knew. This was probably bringing back all sorts of horrid memories.
At one point the general had to ring a magical bell to summon the image of the Emperor, which was represented by Anne Bunny being lowered on ropes, dangling, plump as a pinata with her padded robes and desperately holding her enormous imperial hat to her head. She shouted commands from on high and occasionally fired off a pistol shot to punctuate her orders.
The audience rather liked that, so Threadbare hoped she'd brought enough ammo to last the play. And also that this dungeon didn't have a roof, because otherwise she'd put a lot of holes in it already.
“And so the Emperor commanded the General to occupy the lands north of Lu and prepare to march upon the heart of the farmlands. But little did he know, that in his path lay a great and powerful arcanist. The first Golemist in all the world, whose workshop was right in the path of the invading army...”
It was crafting the plays to them, Threadbare was certain of it. Or there was some interchange between the story and the cast. Had the card draw mattered? Was it truly random?
All these thoughts and more Threadbare kept to himself as the curtains closed, the scene shifted, and stool with a pile of cloth on it slid in from the darkness at the end of the wing.
Threadbare had to clamber up onto it to get to the clothing...
And as he did, the stool shrunk, and his legs sunk down into it, as it settled around him. It was part of the costume as well, he thought.
He tried to walk onto stage, but his legs were snugly wrapped in some sort of holsters. But just the mere act of doing that set the stool in motion, its own legs clunking along, manipulated by strings that trailed off into the darkness above.
Stopping this is going to be interesting, he thought, as it trundled him into the scene. Pretty much every prop they'd seen at the beginning of things had been dumped haphazardly around the stage, and the backdrop showed a shack full of gears and crude machinery, and tinkery-looking devices.
“The day dawned bright and early for the noted sage and inventor!”
“My what a lovely day!” Threadbare said, toddling around the stage on his moving stool, shifting directions and dodging props. “I think it's time to put on a pot of something very warm and bad for me and eat greasy food!”
Across the stage he watched Celia palm her armor's faceplate.
But the audience seemed to like it, judging by the 'awwwwws,' and “look at the little guy!” remarks that he heard coming from that general direction.
Your Adorable skill is now level 95!
Your Adorable skill is now level 96!
He puttered around the workshop, doing his best to interact with the various props, while the stool kept a steady pace. He threw in remarks about what he thought he'd do with various devices, designating this one a jam stirrer and another one a catapult for house pets so that they could hunt birds more easily. It seemed to do the trick, and the narrator didn't correct him.
CHA+1
And as the fan rage meter dropped, he could see his friends relaxing. Easy scene; no surprises.
“And as the inventor worked on perfecting his yeetapult, Sung Sim and Yung Sim ran into his workshop, bearing an unexpected discovery!”
“Hey mister inventor!” Fluffbear squeaked, waving her arms so hard her bonnet slipped as she charged onstage. “We found a thing!”
Thomasi came behind, dragging a lacquered chest half again as big as he was, sweating so hard from the effort that it had soaked through his peasant blouse.
It was an ominous thing, seemingly carved from stone, and covered with patterns of scales and dark runes scribed in bloody red ink.
“The inventor examined it carefully,” the narrator said, “Not knowing that the general's army was mustering just over the hill to ambush the Big Spoon rebel army!”
Celia looked around, started forward, then came to a clunking halt as Jean grabbed her armor and whispered frantically.
Threadbare decided that this was all his cue, and he rammed the stool into the box, letting the legs churn while he made a show of poking it and looking it over. “It appears to be a box. Probably full of evil,” he hazarded a guess.
The audience laughed but not very loudly.
The narrator sounded a little peeved. “Despite the inventor's rather dry sense of humor, he could tell that the box was full of mystical energy and potential. All he had to do was open it to find out the truth of this artifact...”
“No, I don't think so,” Threadbare said. “Not yet, anyway. Appraise.”
This was one of an Enchanter's most basic skills, for it let them know what sort of item they were looking at. It was useful both in the laboratory and the field, particularly when one had a non-zero chance of mimics being in the mix somewhere.
And fortunately, this wasn't one of those.
Your Appraise skill is now level 41!
PROP SIX DEMON BOX
MUNDANE* DUNGEON MAGIC
INTERACTS WITH THE FANDOM STAGE
ENTRY POINT FOR ACTOR
“Oh my—” Threadbare began, only to be interrupted by the unseen narrator.
“Said the tinkerer, for he had seen the truth of the box and knew that it had to be opened before the General's army swept down from the foothills and crushed the rebellion before it began!”
“Do we know about that yet?” Fluffbear asked Thomasi, a little too loudly, and the audience muttered in surprise at the miscue.
The Fandom of the Lop Ear's Disapproval has grown!
You have suffered 15 points of Moxie damage!
The Fan Rage meter is rising!
“Oh you didn't see the scouting report? Yung Sim, I thought you were the clever one!” Thomasi hastily threw in, and the muttering died down a bit.
“I just got busy...” Fluffbear kicked at the stage.
“We're going to have to open this,” Threadbare decided. If all it was was a way for an actor to get on stage, then it probably wouldn't do any harm.
And with a few careful directional changes in the stool, he managed to get ahold of the handle of the overlarge box and pull it open.
Purple smoke exploded from the box, and the orchestra played intense music!
“And from inside the box, waiting for this moment to be set free upon the world, woke the daemon dragon!”
But nothing came out.
Threadbare clambered up, still wrestling with the stool, and peered into the box. It was empty, and had no bottom. There was a trapdoor directly beneath it, but the trapdoor was shut.
“Threadbare! Look to the wing!” Celia's voice whispered in his ear.
Threadbare shot a glance toward the place he'd come from... a glance that turned into a double take.
There was a costume sitting in a heap back in the actor's waiting area.
It was magnificent: glittering red scales, a long body made of cloth, and a head that looked something like a cross between a dog, and a lion, and a stag. And it just lay there in a heap, waiting for its actor to come and pick it up.
They had no more actors, though, and the audience was deathly quiet. Waiting.
“I see something in here, but I don't think it's ready to come out yet,” Threadbare ad-libbed. “Maybe it wants a longer nap.”
Thomasi looked around. “I think I see something on the other side of the workshop,” he said in his falsetto. “Let me go get it to wake the... creature up!”
But as he tried to walk off the stage, he paused mid-step. Looking back to Threadbare he mouthed the words 'can't move'.
“Well let me get that for you,” Threadbare said, steering the stool that direction until he ran into what felt like an invisible wall. Moving back and forth along it, he stretched out a paw. “Here. Distant Animus.”
Your Distant Animus spell has failed! Target is out of range!
Threadbare steered the stool back toward the center of the stage, just as the audience caught on that something was wrong. And the murmurs rose to the high parts of the hall. Discontented.
Not entertained.
The Fandom of the Lop Ear's Disapproval has grown!
You have suffered 21 points of Moxie damage!
The Fan Rage meter is rising!
Threadbare looked to Jean, back in the waiting wing. She was pale, sunk to her knees, both hands over her mouth.
And that's when reality rippled, and words appeared looming over the stage, shedding green light from on high.
NO MASTER DETECTED IN DUNGEON 01010111 01100001 01111001 00100000 01001111 01100110 01100110 00100000 01000010 01110010 01101111 01100001 01100100 01110111 01100001 01111001
PLEASE ASSIGN NEW MOB TO COMMAND VARIABLE TO CONTINUE OPERATION.
Threadbare knew what that meant. The dungeon's boss had left the core chamber. In thirty seconds, they would all be ejected from the closing dungeon.
Was this the Phantom's plan? To ambush them as they emerged, now that they were trapped by the stage and couldn't get out before he did?
Threadbare couldn't see any other reason to close the dungeon. He began to climb out of the costume, trying to shed it so he could prepare some hasty defenses, but no sooner had he begun than new words flickered briefly before disappearing.
NEW MASTER DETECTED!
The audience seemed to take no notice of it. They muttered and rumbled their discontent, as the Fan Rage rose and rose. And a few tomatoes started sailing onto stage, just a few, not well-aimed.
But in the back rows, Threadbare could see a few grim-faced fans starting to hand out bricks and flaming torches.
As threats went, he'd faced worse but there were certainly a lot of mobs in that audience.
And then Thomasi shouted, “Look!”
Instantly, ignoring the rousing crowd, the toys and their living companions stared at the costume.
The costume which was now wrapping itself around a stranger's form, obscuring it as it stood up from kneeling, long, trousered legs ending in brown furred feet. Gloved hands reaching up to adjust the headpiece, setting it straight so that when the dragon costume opened its jaws, two manic, glowing orange eyes peered out.
And behind the dragon's head, just where the horns forked backward, protruded two long, floppy brown ears.
“It's him!” Jean whispered, fighting to keep a rising wail of fear from her voice. “The Phantom of the Lop Ear!”