It had taken nearly two weeks in the end, but Warren had felt it entirely worth the wait as he looked over the assembled crew in front of him. They were organised into interest streams, with some crossover, so that they could focus on the parts of the game that actively interested them and get some enjoyment.
Pham had a small cadre of Travellers who wanted to upskill into rogue-like archetypes and would be shadowing him as he worked on the traps.
The guys, and one girl, who were specialising in tank-like roles had been armoured up but their weapons were all low damage types, some going purely for shields on both arms.
Those who were less inclined towards masochism had gone looking for ranged weapons. Since they were going into confined spaces, throwing knives and axes were the preferred method of distant damage dealing, but there was one special case with a pair of brass tanks on his back and a pipe that ran to a rifle-like weapon. The tanks hissed and burped occasionally, showing their experimental nature, and he’d have to unstrap them from his back to pump them up again but all in all it seemed he’d really embraced the theme of the game.
There was even a pair of wizards who had joined. One was a summoner with a pair of spectral bunnies hopping around his ankles, the other an elementalist of some sort who sported blue robes covered in snowflakes and fractals.
And then, there was Chad.
“Hey brah,” Chad sauntered up with a sword that would make Cloud jealous strapped to his back and sun bleached hair blowing in the wind. He was clearly getting looks from the girl with a tower shield and morning star, but Chad appeared oblivious to it. “Sup? Thanks for agreeing to let me join in your little game. Your ma and mine think you’re spending a bit much time online so they want me to hang out with you.”
None of this was news to Warren, his mother had delivered the ultimatum the night before. He’s family, Warren remembered her saying. You don’t turn your back on family. Especially now that you can’t go play football with your friends. He just wants to help you.
“Och, weel, tha’s all reet then,” Warren’s voice echoed in his helmet. In the last two weeks he had spent the time as carefully as he could. Mornings in the park playing chess had helped him think ahead more, to the point where he had begun betting on the games. It had helped fund his afternoons where he was taking lessons on everything he could find a trainer for.
The first thing he took was mercantile skills. The basics of profit and loss, keeping a ledger, paying taxes and all the little things he would need to know to run their stall as a manager. Once that was up and running and he was able to learn on the job he’d shifted to some combat skills. Adding the winnings from the chess games to his cut of the stall let him buy very cheap plate mail and a mentor who taught him how to move in it. More importantly, when not to and to trust the armour to take the hit and keep moving.
It was all this training that had caused his mother to start worrying. Warren had missed several visits over the fortnight, from both her and his father, and while the elder McGregor just shrugged off Warren’s behaviour his mother claimed she felt she was losing her little boy to the game. It didn’t help that she insisted on holding his hands every time she visited. He could see her doing it but there was no sensation there. So, she enlisted Chad to reconnect that family bond
“Right you ‘orrible lot, some of you haven’t been here before, some of you have but you’ve moved your bind point elsewhere,” Pham addressed his sub-team. “Down this ramp and to the right is a barracks room, in the back you’ll find a mini version of the fountains in churches. Set your spawn point there. After that, there are no more in the whole dungeon. You die, it’s back to the start. You wanna be rogues? This here’s a rogue-like. What?”
One of the people in the back had their hand up like a kid in school. “Uh, hi, yeah. Um, why are we here?”
Pham grew misty eyed and stared off over the fields. “It's one of life's great mysteries isn't it? Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a God watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don't know, man, but it keeps me up at night.”
“No, I mean why are we standing out here when there’s traps to disarm and loot to, um, loot in there,” he pointed at the wide open doors that led into the mountain.
“Oh,” Pham blinked. “Cos your boss needs to make a big epic speech first. It’s got buffs I think you’ll want.”
“What was all that stuff about god?”
“Nothing, shut up.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Here, I’ll give you this whole jug of coffee if you’ll leave it alone.” Pham pulled a self-heating jug from his inventory and proffered it. Brass and sliver gleamed in the sunlight and a wisp of steam curled from the spout.
“Deal,” the weedy little guy accepted, his eyes going wide.
“Got a mug?” Pham asked.
When it sank in that he wasn’t getting the jug itself, the guy deflated a bit but the scent of the coffee had permeated the area and was attracting jealous glances so he pulled out a carafe from his own inventory and accepted the pot of brown joy.
“Don’t worry, it stays hot in your inventory,” Pham consoled him. “The fancy jugs are only for if you’re keeping it out for an extended time. Ope, I think he’s starting.”
While Pham was dealing with his subordinates, Warren was doing what he did best, motivational speeches. Where before his exhortations had been focussed on “rah rah, fight, kill, destroy” his new approach was more measured. Warren had learned a lot in the last two weeks, especially as to how crappy people can be to other people. Doubly so when they’re facing a service worker like, say, someone running a stall at a market. They’re even worse when they think you’re an NPC. Warren was just glad for the profanity filter, as one particularly hostile individual had spent half an hour honking like a freight train instead of using actual words.
Warren took a deep breath and began. “The time has come, for all of us, to face the unknown! We know this dungeon is brutal, punishing the unwary and killing the irresolute. We have lost at least one Traveller permanently, their account deleted forever. To that end, we are looking to a new method of extracting the most from its challenges. Rather than sending wave after wave of you into the dark until it coughs up its riches, we will be matching rock to scissors, scissors to paper and paper to rocks. What does that mean in practical terms?”
Warren paused to cast his gaze over the assembly. He could see he had their rapt attention, even though Pham had warned him against the rock, paper, scissors metaphor. He preferred an elemental designation like Pokémon.
“It means, that Pham here will be leading our sapper division. He’s twice as smart as I am, and even he’s finding things down there he’s never seen before. Show him the same respect you’d like to see yourself. If he says move, you move. You all know the saying, a bomb tech at a dead run outranks everyone.”
Pham essayed a small wave, then a bow.
“He’s still a bit of a dick though,” Warren continued, “so feel free to stick a pin in that ego if you find an opening. Just be sure you can take whatever you dish out.”
Pham came out of the bow lifting two fingers and blowing a raspberry. Everybody laughed, and a tension that they hadn’t even realised had been building ebbed away.
“I will be leading the combat division. Like me, some of you have specced into tank like roles,” Warren rapped his knuckles against his helmet. “We will hold the line while the damage dealers rain down righteous fury upon our enemies. This is going to hurt. If you are not prepared for that, there is no shame in stepping down. There are other roles in the guild, some that will never see another fight, if that is your preference. A melee is no place for farmers and merchants, but nor is a shop a place for soldiers and rangers. Both are needed if we are to thrive.”
The skald stepped forward to stand beside Warren, who clapped him on the back. “If you still wish to delve, there are support roles. We need healers, alchemists, engineers and more. You will enjoy the game a whole lot more if you aren’t trying to play someone else’s’ role. Some of us have already found our niche, others are still searching. I encourage you all to try different positions and tactics until you find your fit.”
As a susurrus of whispers swept through the Travellers. Most appeared to be happy with their life choices, but one or two had the shifty eyed expression of those who either needed to use the toilet in a hurry or would prefer a less painful job and were only there due to peer pressure.
“I reiterate, there is no stigma attached to changing jobs. Nobody will be kicked out of the guild for it. I would rather lose a front line fighter than a friend. And I do consider you all my friends.”
At that, two Travellers, a girl who was tall and willowy with long blonde hair, the other a short, rugged boy with close-cropped brown hair, but otherwise similar facial features that implied they were family, stepped out and began stripping off their armour. “Sorry, Warren, we really wanted to be useful but we’re not fighters. Not really,” the girl apologised.
“We were ok when it was just sheep and bugs,” her brother continued. “Even foxes and wolves we could take. The little earth elementals were our limit.”
“Ugh, I had sand in my hair for weeks after them,” the girl said. “So, it’s ok? We can still make combat rituals and cast holy magic.”
“I’m pretty good with pistols and shotguns, too,” the boy added. “Especially custom shells to target mob’s weaknesses.”
“I remember the salt shots you came up with for use against the leeches,” Warren acknowledged. “Samantha, Dean, I’m glad you’ll still be with us. I know you two have died the most out of everyone here, and respect your resilience. Hang back with the loot reclamation crew for now, it’s going to be hell in there once we get past the known parts.”
The two headed over to where a cluster of people stood by the cart that brought everybody. Warren could hear them bickering good-naturedly. “See, I told you it would be fine. Don’t be a wimp.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
“Anybody else?” Warren asked. “I don’t want to be mid-fight when someone changes their minds. Any other time is probably fine though,” he looked around at the remaining smiling faces. “Good. Now that we have laid the out ground rules, let’s get into the specifics. The first time we were here we were slaughtered by both mechanical men and globlins. Yes, I named them that. They were all melee fighters, no ranged except when the slimy bastards threw their smaller members at us. Standard tactics will be for the tanks to grab as much aggro as possible, then ranged and rogues to pour on the hurt. If any non-tank gets the attention of the mechanical men, give them the zap. You’ve each got one of Pham’s special pokers, call it then light them up. Don’t waste them, they’re expensive, that’s why you shout first.”
Warren held up a device that resembled a two tined fork with a very thick handle. A, very small, forest of similar devices were presented.
“Good. If a non-tank gets the attention of the globlins, run. We have no method of getting their aggro back short of massive amounts of damage. They have no known elemental weaknesses so far. They will track their target until one of you is dead or something causes them to lose shape and get absorbed by another one. They’re easily cut, and while it doesn’t seem to hurt them badly, it disrupts their attack. Blunt damage hurts them more, but you have to get a solid hit. If you part of you ends up inside one,” Warren waited for the sniggers to stop before continuing, “they’re corrosive. Try it if you want, but there’s no healing that regrows lost parts. It’s gone until respawn. Say it with me, folks: gawn until respawn!”
“Gawn until respawn!” Their voices echoed over the mountains. For a moment they all felt connected, warm and cared for.
The moment passed, but the buff did not. Pham rolled up his sleeve and looked at the active effects section of his character sheet. “Noice,” he whispered, then gave Warren a questioning look.
Warren nodded back.
“Packer ‘er up, boys we’re headed in,” Pham shouted, whirling a finger in the air then pointing down the ramp.
Everyone clomped down into the hall, the dim glow of the remaining unlooted lighting crystals alleviating the dark just enough that they didn’t trip over their boots.
Pham stopped his crew at the start of the trapped hall and looked around. At Pham’s insistence they had left the lighting alone in this area, lest someone slip up and get bisected. “Woz, we have a problem. The traps have changed.”
Warren shouldered his way to the front of the pack to peer over Pham’s shoulders. “Changed how? Reset? Tampered with? Has someone else been through here?”
“Changed as in completely different,” Pham explained. “The triggers are different, the positions are different. Heck, even the walls have different marks on them.”
Squinting at where Pham was pointing, Warren allowed that the wall might not be the way he remembered it, but made no promises. He hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the interior decorating the last time he’d been there. Well, except for the decorating done by his own people, and most of that had been in shades of crimson. “So what’s the take-away here? There’s only one hallway, so it’s not like we can be in the wrong place. What do you think’s going on?”
“Did you ever watch that old movie Cube?” Pham postulated. “The one with a bunch of people stuck in a stack of interconnected boxes that turned out to be like a giant Rubik’s cube?”
“No, what’s that got to do with the price of feet in China?” Warren turned his attention to the elf, his irritation rising. “Can you get us through here or not?”
“Oh, I can get us through,” Pham replied smugly. “We’re probably going to need to make the hallway safe again every time we come through, though.”
“Just get it done,” Warren turned back to the rear, leaving Pham to show the new guys the ropes.
And wires.
And deadfalls.
And swinging pendulum blades.
While the traps were being disarmed, everyone else was shuffled through the barracks room respawn point. The gentle strobing of the bathtub sized pool lit up the hall like distant fireworks until Pham shouted at them to shut the door. By the time the last new recruit had attuned themselves to the point the final trap was being disabled by jamming a wedge into the mechanism that retracted a blade that had dropped from the roof, preventing it from resetting. Pham’s rogues gallery were examining the mechanisms to get a better idea of what he’d done so that they could lead the way next time. Pham himself stood by the bend in the corridor, quickly snatching glances around the corner into the docking bay. He waved Warren over, but put his finger to his lips to indicate he should do so as quietly as he could.
“What is it this time?” Warren asked.
“I can only see one,” Pham said. “But it’s a big one. See for yourself.”
Warren popped his head around the corner and pulled back just as fast.
“What do you think?” Pham whispered.
Warren shrugged. “I was too fast, didn’t see anything.”
“Title of your sex tape,” Pham smirked.
Ignoring the jibe and trying again more slowly, Warren checked the open area for threats. The lighting crystals still lit the cavern with their harsh orange glow, the crew having had no opportunity to loot the place last time. The middle of the smoothed area in front of the roller door shimmered as though there was a pool of water there. Reflections of the lights shifted and cast weird shadows as the surface moved gently, little waves rippling the surface. It was a scene that wouldn’t look out of place in the real world after rain, but in the heart of a mountain was highly suspicious. For a start, there was no wind to cause the ripples. Then there was the fact that the puddle didn’t wet the surface beneath it, but sat on top of the smooth stone like a very thin bubble.
“Aye, just the one,” Warren agreed. “We’ll go with plan A. Pull back and let the fighters through.”
Plan A was a simple one. Run in and hammer on anything that moved until it stopped doing so. The tanks were formed up in the tiny dogleg in the corridor before it let out into the cavern, then the melee fighters behind, with the ranged types behind them. Warren would send them out in three quick waves, clapping to indicate when to go.
Warren was just about to begin when his cousin slid in beside him, the massive sword scraping against the wall. “Hey brah, that was intense. So what do we do now?”
“We don’t do anything,” Warren pressed his palm against his cousin’s chest, pushing Chad back behind him. “You’re not ready for this fight. Just wait and watch for now.”
With one last check to see if the globlin hadn’t shifted, he gave the first clap. The buff Travellers charged screaming out of concealment, crossing the gap in moments and slammed their weapons into the puddle. At first those who had never seen a globlin before felt a bit silly attacking what was, to all intents and purposes, a pool of water.
Then the pool attacked back. Its first strike was to thrust out blunt tipped tendrils in all directions, even where there was nobody for it to hit. Where they did hit they struck and stuck, pulling combatants off balance and ripping weapons from hands. Any hesitation was immediately dispersed as the front line fighters regained their equilibrium and those who had lost them yanked back their stolen weapons. The puddle began to pull itself up into a ball, the dim intelligence aware that it had lost the element of surprise. It suddenly thrust a portion of itself towards the roof then reeled it back down to splash out in a halo of sharp spikes. The tips of these spikes penetrated flesh and armour
Seeing the response, Warren clapped his hands to send the second wave into the fight. By it striking out at the front line fighters, Warren was sure that they had the full attention of the creature. Now, as the real damage dealers charged in, all the first lot had to do was hold that attention. Each of the second group was equipped slightly differently, one with a mace, one with a broadsword, and the last with one with a sword cane he used like a rapier. The idea was to test which of the melee damage types was most effective and to see if any generated more aggro than any other. The three slipped between the tanks, two plunging their weapons deep into the blob, with the mace bouncing off the surface with a sound like a slapped basketball. The blob shook like a jelly in an earthquake, then rocked back, curving its body like a jellybean.
The tanks, without needing to utter a word, all recognised that this was a windup to an attack and simultaneously struck the bulbous bottom section with whatever they had that would cause the most impact, be it shield, shoulder or foot. They were partially successful in disrupting the motion, the bean rolled onto its back and the distended top was sucked back into the main body and four tree-trunk thick shafts shot out towards the Travellers. As it had been off balance, the shafts came at them at head height or above and were possible to avoid though the woman with the shield and morning star was the tallest of them all and took a glancing blow to the helmet. The strike spun the helmet to the side, the cheek plate crushing her nose with a crunch that echoed off the walls. She ripped off the offending piece of armour, threw it at the blob and pulled her nose straight with a crack.
“You bastard!” she screamed, slamming the spiked ball into the translucent blob with all her strength. It didn’t penetrate far, but the spikes shredded the meniscus which began to leak clear liquid. Compared to the pure blunt force damage of the mace, or the piercing and slashing damage of the swords, she seemed to have hit on the sweet spot for causing the most trauma to globlins.
Warren noted this and clapped a third time. While the melee raged in the middle of the room, the ranged combatants filed in and shuffled around the walls, staying very clear of the fight.
Tim, the guy with the ghostly rabbits, sent the summoned lagomorphs into the fray while hiding behind a boulder. He was doing his level best to ensure no part of him was exposed, hugging the rock as hard as he could.
The guy with so many throwing knives covering his body that they were effectively armour started launching blades through any gap he could see. He had a pair of tomahawks on his hip with chains running from the handles to his bracers that clanked with every throw, but for now he was testing the globlin’s reaction to the various oils and toxins coating the blades.
The guy with the air powered rifle had to set down his tanks and refill them again but once they were topped off he took a knee and started lobbing heavy rounds downrange with a steady “chug, chug, chug” like a steam engine. They were solid balls of metal the size of a fist, and every magazine swap used a different material to see if any had a greater or lesser effect. The extra time Warren had taken before returning to the Archology had been used in part to figure out every damage type and attempt to bring at least one of each.
The mage in the blue robes entered last and remained near the entryway. He started moving his arms in great sweeping arcs and shouting arcane words of power. The temperature in the room dropped sharply.
Chad elbowed Pham, pointing and mugging like a fool. Pham smiled and nodded back, excited to see magic for the first time. While mages weren’t unknown, the name of the game was the Age of Steam and Sorcery after all, entry into magic colleges was difficult and expensive. Therefore, most Travellers with magic were self-taught and their magic tended to the chaotic side. Someone wearing proper robes and reading from a floating spellbook suggested they knew what they were doing.
“Fireball!”
Everyone’s eyes went wide and those who could took cover. Those who couldn’t, leapt away from the globin as hard as they could as the glowing orb flashed across the room. Whether through skill or good fortune the spell struck just as the globlin was attacking by shooting a portion of itself towards the roof then shooting it downwards to splash its spiky tendrils outwards again. The ball slipped into a crevice just before the lesser segment struck the larger and was engulfed. For a moment the spell looked like a magic core in a slime monster before detonating.
Clear goo coated every surface of the cavern. Exposed skin reddened and began to sizzle. Rock smoked. As Warren’s hearing returned he could hear screams of pain and the hash of an untuned radio as the system replaced swearing and cursing.
Warren wheeled on the mage. “What’n tha heel wazzat?”
“Fireball,” he shrugged, wiping a glob of goo from his robe then quickly wiping his hand on his robe as the goo stung his skin. “You said hit it with everything we’ve got. It’s my most powerful spell.”
“Ah’ve two questions for you,” Warren pinched the bridge of his nose. “First, you’re wearing blue robes covered in snowflakes. I assumed you were an ice mage. Why are you throwing around fireballs?”
A smile lit up the mage’s face. “Aha! I knew it would work,” he lifted a finger and quoted, “never let your enemies know your weakness. If you’re a fire mage, you’re resistant to fire but weak to water. If you’re an air mage, you’re resistant to air but weak to earth. So, if you dress like an ice mage, they’ll think you’re weak to fire and use that.”
“And what about your allies?” Warren demanded, his rage barely in check. “No, you know what, that’s on me for not asking first. My second question then, why did you think throwing a fireball into the midst of our friends, in an enclosed space, underground, into a creature we know causes caustic burns, was a good idea?”
The mage tried to come up with an answer, but was suddenly interrupted.
“I’ve got a question for you,” a dark figure loomed behind the robed man. A spiked ball on a stick slammed into the crown of his head, sending him for respawn. “How’s your resistance to blunt damage?”