As far as dungeons went, Dell was sure this one was boring. Sure, you had some instruments of torture, but they hadn’t been played in some time. Other than the break room and that chimney of a [Head Guard’s] office, anything that wasn’t in a cell had a thin layer of dust over it.
She repressed the urge to grab a cloth and start cleaning – old habits.
Lifting the paper with the cell spells was easy, and the [Head Guard] had been nice enough to label each entry. Now she just had to find the right cell.
She passed countless empty rooms. A few with one or two defeated-looking people that didn’t even look up when she passed by.
One seemed to have an ordinary pig in it. They made eye contact.
-
It had been an hour now and no real progress towards her goal. She was deeper into the dungeon, yes, but she wasn’t entirely clear on who she was looking for. The information she’d been given was vague at best. That was the problem with jobs like these. Everyone assumed a name or a description was enough to find someone. Morons.
Anyway, she knew that the target was definitely in this dungeon, and there was only so much dungeon. She’d find them eventually.
-
“Look, I said I was sorry! I know that plan didn’t work, but that doesn’t mean you have to whine about it.”
Ella was splayed across a massive root, reclining and distractedly kicking one booted foot that didn’t reach the floor. Their cell was a surprisingly large one, about the size of a normal bathroom, surrounded by the tiny closet-sized cubbies that made up the majority of the jail. Roy sat in the back, eyes half closed and mumbling. Al was doing crunches.
“C’mon, guys, I seriously can’t do this silent treatment thing.” Ella looked from one of her friends to the other. Roy paused in his mumbling just long enough to stick his tongue out at her.
“It’s not the silent treatment,” Al said, in between crunches, “There isn’t anything to talk about. We got caught. We’re in a dungeon. Do you want a daily review of the prison food?”
“Honestly, sure? Fuck, I just don’t like hearing myself think so loudly.”
Al paused, resting his arms behind him. “There was only a little mold on the bread today. The cheese was crumbly and dry, so some definite improvement from yesterday. Flavor, I’d say a one. Mouth feel, maybe a half? Overall, would not recommend.”
“Ha. Ha. So funny. You should write a book of reviews of prison food.”
“If we end up in a different prison, I’ll start writing it down.”
“mumblemumblemumble – Damn.” Roy’s eyes opened. “There is a strong and impressively structured anti-magic spell on the cell. Even my Skills aren’t working.”
“I already told you this dungeon was designed to hold magic-users. It didn’t matter what room they tossed us in, there’s no getting out.”
“Why do you think I’m just laying here? Damn, I wish we were in a normal jail. We’d be long gone.” Ella sighed, and put her head back on the root. She sat back up, bundled her cloak into a pillow, and laid back.
“Getting comfortable?” Al tossed a chunk of bark from the floor at her.
“Might as well. We’re gonna be here a while.”
Conversation lulled after that. Roy curled up against a wall, sinking into his robes like a nesting bird. Al transitioned to push-ups.
They carried on like that for a while, silent save the rhythmic sound of prison gains.
-
Dell was definitely lost. The fork she was standing at was offering her the same choice it had the last five or six times she’d come by.
Right?
Or left?
… Or maybe, back?
She glanced back over her shoulder. The hall she had come from was behind her, unchanged. She stood, stock still, and lost herself in thought. As far as she could tell, she’d only make it about ten minutes down either route before rounding a corner and finding herself here again. It either wasn’t a magical effect or a very high level spell. None of her Skills were detecting anything, and she hadn’t seen anything out of place during her laps.
Absorbed, she failed to notice a section of vines and roots slithering apart or the [Guards] that came through the new doorway. They didn’t seem to notice Dell standing there, even though one actually bumped into her.
The light jostling seemed to snap her out of whatever trance her thoughts had her in, her eyes lost their glassy haze and focused. She broke into a wide smile.
“Fuckin’ magic plants. This place is cool.”
She walked through the archway and the roots knotted themselves shut behind her. The hall ahead of her was an exact mirror of the hall she had come through. She checked over her shoulder again, noting that the door had closed itself.
“Huh. Door vanished. Always a good sign.” She tapped the wall experimentally a few times, like a druid checking an ent’s reflexes.
No response.
About par for the course in this place. She gave up prodding the immobile wall and contemplated her options. Considering she hadn’t detected any magical means to cause her endless circling, she was pretty sure she had just been wandering around two looping corridors. She couldn’t pick the spot out of the wall behind her where the archway had been moments ago, so there could be any number of ways out of this hall, she just didn’t have a way to find them. Her sources had said this place was a labyrinth, but she wasn’t anticipating nature magic quite as irritating as this.
The cells had incantations unique to each of them. It stood to reason that the doors out of these corridors would, too. She just needed to find the right door and the right words. A small [Blessing] should handle both with relative ease.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“[Grace: Thief’s Luck].”
Technically, she supposed it would be possible to stand in front of wherever she was hoping to go and just try out words until something worked. Realistically, she’d just have to wait quietly by the wall until it opened and someone came through. But that relied on finding the right section of wall and potentially a lot of time.
Dell was not known for her patience.
The [Grace] she had used worked almost like a sixth sense, a magically refined gut feeling that would help her be at the right place at the right time. A little sacred serendipity from on high.
Feeling like she was playing a guessing game with a God, Dell started making her way down the hall – taking her time and occasionally running a lazy hand along the roots making up the walls. Feeling and waiting for that tugging feeling that pointed her in the right direction. Waiting for that creeping tingle on the back of her neck that meant she’d gone too far.
But nothing came.
Not a hint, not a feeling, not a sign from above. Nothing.
The fuck?
She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and focused. She had taken to meditation like an overeager blacksmith’s apprentice with his first hammer – aggressively. Brutally pulling the brakes on her every train of thought, she focused her consciousness on the divine influence trickling in. It was not a difficult thing to do, considering how alien the divine power felt compared to anything that came from her. Ever her own Skills – supposedly a gift from the Gods – felt nothing like it. Oily and dark and endlessly vast, her otherwise still body shuddered at her Patron’s persistent presence in her mind.
No matter how long she called this power hers, she never felt at ease about the idea of someone (thing?) always with her, possibly reading her fucking thoughts.
Being an [Archprioress of Appropriation] had it’s benefits, but the ever-watching eye wasn’t one.
Usually she just tried to ignore it.
Now, she dove (metaphorically, or maybe metaphysically?) headlong into that presence, hoping to find the guidance she needed deeper within the well of emptiness and power poking its finger into her mind. She called out (thought out?) as loudly as she could, trying to attract the full attention of her God. She waited, but it never came.
She was on her own for this one, apparently. Returning to herself was always easier than forcing her way through the other side of the connection, feeling disconcertingly like putting on a well-worn and comfortable coat. She stopped her [Grace], no point wasting the energy on something that wouldn’t be doing her any good. She’d have to find a different way to her destination.
“...I wonder if lockpicking Skills work on magic vine doors?”
-
“Do you smell smoke?”
“No, Roy.” Al was now holding himself in a handstand as he did his push-ups – his face red, veins bulging, jaw clenched. He paused momentarily to stare down his nose at the mage, catching an upside-down glimpse of Roy trying to force his face through a small gap in the vines and roots. He wasn’t making any meaningful progress. “… Dude.”
The mage turned and caught the look pointing his way. “What?”
The [Swordsman] rolled himself out flat on his back. “I thought mages were supposed to be, y’know, clever.”
The [Mage] scoffed at his friend, shooting a small spark from a fingertip at his face. At the last second, Al tried to dodge the tiny spell, but the Mage twitched his finger and the mote of light went up Al’s nose. He sneezed, producing a small explosion.
“You look like you tried to snort a firecracker.” Ella reclined, a single half-lidded eye watching over her cellmates.
Roy snorted and Al gave a soot-covered grin. “So, either of you guys manage to stumble across a hidden way out of here while I… supervised?”
“Nope. The bloodhound here is convinced that a building so fucked with druid magic it’s mostly tree has caught fire.”
“Look, it is possible. And it would be very bad for us to be sealed in a flammable cell if a fire does break out. I’m not trying to get cooked.” Roy’s narrow face was creased with worry. “And I definitely do not like being unable to cast here. If the situation deteriorates in any way: we’re fucked.”
“Roy, if you know a [Chill] spell, now is the time. And what’s worrying gonna do for you, anyway? If you work yourself up about it, it just means that you die scared and on fire instead of just, y’know, on fire.”
“Oh, gods. Thanks. Thank you for that, Al.” Roy sat down and hugged his knees, eyes screwed shut.
Al started to giggle, but stifled his laughter at a searing look from Ella. She made her way silently to Roy’s side, the young man starting to rock to and fro gently. Ella looked at her anxiety-ridden friend with no small measure of compassion, and a bit of pity, and quietly whispered a skill.
“[Knockout Strike],” the [Rogue] said, and flicked the young man’s temple with a hollow tonk sound. He toppled over mid-rock and started to drool, just a little. “Poor guy. That was mean, Al. He’s obviously super sheltered.”
“Sorry, El. I’ll dial it back until we’re out of here. Let him calm down some.”
“Probably a good call, Al. Probably a good call. Now. How the fuck do we get out of here? Can you channel your ancient [Swordsman] ways through your hand and karate chop us out of here?” Ella mimed an exaggerated overhead chop for effect, letting out a “hi-ya!”, much to Al’s amusement.
“Keep practicing, I’m sure you’ll get that [Ninja] class soon.”
“Shut up, Al.” Ella caught his eye and they both grinned.
They sat like that for a while. Joking and laughing to pass the time, neither paying too much attention to the conversation. Both were devoting the majority of their thoughts to getting the fuck out of the cell they were in. Progress was, admittedly, slow. Neither of them had ever had to break out of the inside of a magical jail cell before.
… Neither of them had had to break out of a tree before.
After a fashion, the banter faded. The two were left sitting quietly, contemplating. A short silence passed, and Al got up from his seat on the floor of the cell to tap at and push against their cage.
“You think it’s warded against physical attacks?”
“…”
“… Dumb question, I know. I had to ask.”
“I thought about it, but some of those roots look about two feet thick. Maybe not two feet. Let’s call it… One and a half? Ish? Anyway, we don’t have our Skills in here and as much work as you put into that physique, I don’t see you punching our way out of here.” The [Rogue] sighed.
“I can try, I guess?” And with that, the [Swordsman] squared up to the wall, twisted, and punched, a sharp crack resounding through the small space and a shower of dirt falling from the roots above.
As the dust cleared, Ella coughed and brushed herself off. “An inspired idea, truly.” Al’s silhouette came into focus as the last of the dirt settled, hunched over and clutching at his arm. Sweat beading on his face, he gave her a strained grin that toed the line of being an outright grimace.
“Any chance you can set a broken wrist?” His mouth twitched towards a smile again, but scowled at the pain as she made her way over and began inspecting his wrist. Her face painted with concern and irritation in equal measure, she started methodically poking and feeling at his arm.
“The fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, who does that?”
“I was going for a laugh. I expected some noise and the dirt, not my arm giving out. I didn’t know how much Skills actually help. Figured I could handle punching a – ow, be careful! – wall.”
“You’re lucky I took that emergency medical training class at the Adventurer’s Guild. Shit, you’re lucky healing potions are pricey right now, or they wouldn’t be holding the class.”
Al considered this and clenched his jaw as his friend braced his injured arm and started wrapping it with a strip of cloth torn from her cloak. It was his opinion that no one was lucky that healing potion prices had recently catapulted. Maybe even trebucheted. The irritating [Warlord] that had seized the city from his distant family had not only fucked up his life plan of being tutored by professionals until he was at least level 30, he had started appropriating anything of value in the damned city and stockpiling it in the Castle. Everything he was stealing saw the price on what was left go through the roof. Arms, armor, potions, apparently even a few [Priests] and [Clerics] lacking martial Skills had been press-ganged into service. But the borders had been closed and the number of times the city had ever been under siege could be counted on one hand, even if it were missing a few fingers. The Forest was… unkind to invaders.
It begged the question, though; what the fuck were they stockpiling all of this for? Al wasn’t sure, and if he was being honest, he had never really cared for strategy.
Ella, also lost in thought, was examining the cell in detail. Small, but not cramped. Plenty of roots, some vines and leaves. A particularly large root in the back had a small dip in it filled with freshwater, several small streams dripping from the tangle of vines above. A small, fist-sized hole in one corner, presumably for… waste? Well, they wouldn’t fit through anyway. Maybe they could… Huh.
“… I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but do you smell smoke?”