Okay, well. Something was clearly up with Asmodeus and Dude. The two of them weren’t attacking the intruders, and were instead cowering in the clusters of barrels. What upgrade could be good enough that she was now deprived of two fighters?
As the intruders tried and failed to solve the issue of where their boss’s corpse had gone, she pulled up the entry on nectarweave scorpions.
> Nectarweave Scorpions
>
> Nectarweave scorpions, while not fighters, are invaluable support monsters not only for your other monsters, but also for you. These scorpions are timid, and protect themselves by spitting a sweet, amber-colored substance that quickly congeals.
> This gel is used to build small nodes the scorpions will crawl inside of to hide. Other monsters can consume the substance for an increase in damage and a small boost in health.
> These nodes also provide a number of benefits to the dungeon. The most important is that each completed node provides an extra 2m/t. Additionally, many humans consider Nectarweave nodes to be rare delicacies, and powerful spell components.
Asmodeus and Dude did in fact seem to be barfing up a golden, weirdly appetizing fluid. It did suck to lose two fighters, but if they were as useful as the entry claimed…
“He’s not in the chest either.”
“Anything useful in there, then?” asked the small one, peering into the darkness of the corridor.
“It’s completely empty. I don’t get it, it’s as if his body just fully disappeared,” he said, correctly. She felt a little embarrassed that she hadn’t had time to stock the chest with anything. It would be even more embarrassing if they saw the undecorated other room. Which it seemed like the situation was clearly heading that direction.
“Maybe we should just find shelter for the iveks, cover the goods? We could stay here for a while until the storm blows over,” said the younger.
“We’ll be buried in here. The goods will be lost unless we can get them into town.” The older one scratched his wrist, showing his nerves.
“How’s the town stay out of the sandstorm?”
The old one scowled, “I’m not a meteorolomancer. Ask when we get there.”
“Should we leave? Come back for the receipt?”
The guy thought hard for a minute, a bead of sweat running down his forehead, and said, barely above a whisper, “But what if it's right down this hall?”
He took a step forward, but they both froze, and stared hard at the dark hallway. To her surprise, the young one was the one who stepped forward and entered the next room. The other followed close behind, and stepped in front of the archer, muttering a scold to stay behind him. He held the torch in front of him protectively, lighting the pathway. When it landed on one of the twins, its eyes shone in the dark, and he slammed his mace down onto its head, a blow that she expected would crush the little thing.
Instead it bounced with a Chng! and it backed away into the darkness, even as an arrow ricocheted off of its shell. Another sailed into the darkness and missed it entirely. The second twin burst from the dark and caught the archer around the leg with a claw, but the leather he wore seemed to protect him, for the most part.
Not that you’d know from how he screamed. He shook his leg and the other man spun, and hit the pincer, making the archer scream again. The way his foot was twisted, it was probably dislocated, not broken, but he still fell away, landing hard on the ground, arrows going everywhere, bow flying into the corner. She could practically taste the ingredients and the research.
She sobbed, and then, bewildered, tried to process the emotions she was feeling.
Ah, yes. It wasn’t that long ago she felt bored and alone. And as much as she loved the fight, the thrill of getting new ingredients, the thought of letting these two die right now made her ache. With a wave of her hand, she called off the twins, who scuttled up the wall into a corner on the ceiling. This room really needed some decoration.
The man who was still standing bent to grab his comrade, and pulled hip to the first room. “Fuck!” he said, “Are you alright?”
“Think so?” the injured boy hissed, “Feels bad, but not the worst I’ve had.”
“I’m going to leave you here,” The older one said, watching the boy’s face blanche, “Now listen, we searched this room up and down, and it was safe, right? Didn’t see a single monster. It’ll be alright. I’m just going to get the rest of the boys, have them start carrying supplies down here, and we’ll camp here for the night.”
The boy nodded, and then the man went off.
She was having a good time, actually. She was picking through some of their cargo, and steadily ignoring the alert on her HUD letting her know that she had completed research ready to view. She was excited to see what she got, of course, but with everyone down on the floor, with a small campfire built up, chatting, roasting food they had brought, laughing, singing, telling stories, she wanted to just sit and listen. She wanted to just spend some time pretending she was a person, part of the group.
Not a creature of stone and magic designing herself to kill everyone enjoying the night.
Ignoring that, she had even half-learned some things, primarily through arguments between the men as they got increasingly drunk on ale. The men were hired by the Gambeson Delivery Company. All were glad that their boss was missing, and all were varying levels of enraged and concerned that the receipt was missing still.
The injured archer, she found out, was named Kho. He was not anyone’s favorite, close to the bottom of the totem pole, but she also got the sense it was from his general greenness, rather than a genuine dislike. Despite his attitude in the fight, it seemed as though Drekka, the other man, didn’t feel any particular sense of protectiveness for him, and even teased him for his injury, to the excitement and chagrin of everyone else and Kho, respectively.
It didn’t take too long for an actual fight to break out. One of the other guards, with markings similar to Kho (though much brawnier, and with different pigments of skin), was standing up for him, and called Drekka a “aquain bastard,” Sparking a tussle between the man and another short, hairless person.
In response to this, one very drunk person, tall and androgynous, stood and started speaking.
“Oh, come off it you two, we both know there’s no such thing as a good human,” they said, to be met with mutterings of ‘this should be good,’ and ‘oh, here they go’.
“No such thing as a good human!” they said, as the two tusslers sat grumpily, “So no point arguing which is best, which are bastards! We’re all bastards! It’s the way to be! You aquain look like fucking rocks, which is probably why you sink the way you do, down to your fuckin… water cities.”
Some of the greyish, bald-headed, round folks booed, and some looked ready to fight, but the speaker gestured for silence, “But listen, why keep your towns underwater, away from the rest of us? They’re really quite nice, and the Caradin would very much like to loot them, so you should bring yourselves onto land sometime.”
This time the boos were more good-natured, and came in the direction of what she would have said were normal humans, while some of the presumed aquain laughed along. “Yeah, actually, speaking of: my mama always told me, Tish, if you fall for a Caradin, best make it a short engagement, because they’re only ever in town for a day at a time. And while they’re stealing your heart, check your pockets, because it might not be all they’ve taken.
Shouts of ‘fuck off’ and cackles of mean laughter rang through her rooms, and she wondered how much of this could be taken at face value, because a good portion of it just seemed like an exercise in stereotype. A lesson in stereotype, however, was still a lesson, and still something she had the capacity to learn from. It seemed helpful to her to at the very least, know how people differentiated themselves.
They continued, “Let’s not forget the kid who started this argument, Kho! A trill so small that none can be sure he’s not just a veil with some face-paint. Even with how young and untrained and untested he is, it’s really impressive that he’s as good at sneaking through the underbrush as he is, considering that he glows like a star in even a little bit of light. This is why you trill usually stick to lifting things, not the sort of… sneaky stuff. And don’t get me started on asking you to… tie knots, or pick a lock or wipe your ass properly, your fingers are too big!”
Here, there were three different shouts. The first was “That’s just a Lod problem!” from some of the trill, “That was one time!” from a trill who was presumably Lod, and “Hear hear!” from a young woman in the corner who had cat ears and a tail.
“Ohhh, the resident arbal volunteered to go next! Yes, yes, you’re so dexterous and stealthy and slick, and the other day when you saw a cucumber out of the corner of your eye you jumped four feet into the air. You know we see you when you walk through the camps crouching? And when you’re ‘visiting’ other tents, I’d be surprised if they couldn’t hear you back home! The way you yowl when you’re getting it on is like a cat in heat, which is only fitting!”
The woman looked very embarrassed, and flipped off the person, while the guy next to her muttered to his companion, “They think they’re the main character of an opera or something.”
“You have opera money?” came the quiet reply.
The one who spoke up first scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“And then, what can I say about veil that hasn’t been said? Short, pasty little things, can barely lift an orange-”
“Lifted your mom last night!” shouted someone who looked suspiciously like the pregnant woman she had killed.
“Can barely lift an orange,” they continued, “But I think we should talk more about those big eyes, make them look like they’re either always surprised, or a baby animal or something. But as far as I’ve seen what they say about short people being the biggest freaks? It holds true for them too!”
“Better believe it!”
“But! The worst of the worst, when it comes to travel company at least,” they say, “Are the stesset!”
“Yeah!” everyone called, in drunken un-unison.
“I get so sweaty, that when the ivek need water, they just have me lay down in a ditch and wait ‘til it’s full! When I was just twelve, my ma started shaving my pubes every spring so she could have a new sweater in winter!” The room was filled with laughter, “I fell asleep under a tree after a shave one day, woke up twenty minutes later with a full beard! I started the legend of the Jonri Apeman one day by accident when I was dared to go streaking!”
The room, perhaps due to the drunkenness of its population, in stitches.
She was not sold on any of this. The self-depreciation she respected, but everything else… she chalked up to being a useful study of how people thought of other kinds of people.
“My point!” they said, gesturing once more for everyone to be quiet, “Is that, at least for the people in this room, we’re all scumbags and losers and thugs. So lets not fight, just get drunk and in the morning get what we need to get paid!”
They weren’t met with the cheer they were probably hoping for, but lots of bottles were upended when they finished their speech, and at least a few shouted ‘hear hear!’ and a few said ‘but all human’ as they drank.
Her mood was feeling a little soiled by the fight, the speech, and so she decided the upper she needed was to go over the new unlocks. Everything was winding down anyway, most people pulling out rolls, and some of them not-so-stealthily crawling into other people’s bedrolls.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
She started with the decor research, hoping it would cheer her most immediately.
Research complete!
Unlocked:
> Decor: Bookshelf
> Decor: Animal skin rugs
> Decor: Ragged rugs
> Decor: Lectern
> Decor: Chandeliers
> Decor: Sconces
> Decor: Tattered Hangings
> Decor: Fireplace
> Decor: Dining Table
> Decor: Dining Chairs
> Decor: Signs
She lay down on a roll that was - well, it was occupied, but she was pretending it was flat for the purposes of pretending to lay in bed while working on her rooms. She was impressed with the sheer number of options she now had, and slightly bemoaned her inability to change the first room with people in it. The second room, though, since it was bare, and had no one inside, would be free to edit, at least for the moment. If the first room was a store room, and the last one was the true cathedral, perhaps it would work best if the second room seemed like it was meant to be comfortable. She placed a fireplace, set it to ‘lit’ added a dining table, eight chairs, a chandelier, and a fur rug underneath it all.
She looked upon it, and it was good. She then looked upon her ingredient meter, which was not good. In fact, she had used all but two of her lime ingredient, and the fireplace had cost a full one hundred OI. It wasn’t like she was dying or anything, in fact, the nectarweavers seemed to have already set up a few nodes. But she felt weird being so low on so many ingredients, especially LI, which she was finding so much use for. The twins were practically rejoicing over all the new nooks and crannies to hide in. Or, at least, they were doing the scorpion version of that, e.g., hiding in the crannies.
Happy with that, she checked the other research.
Research complete!
Unlocked:
> Treasure: Quest paper
> Treasure: Puzzle clue
> Treasure customization
> Decor customization
> Monster Loot drops
It wasn’t as much as she had expected, considering how much grist she had received from the receipt. Still, she examined the new options. Customization sounded interesting, so she looked at that. Immediately she saw new buttons and things to click in her treasure menu. She could sculpt each object into slightly different shapes, make them her own, color them. It was the same with the decor menu, with all sorts of fun things she could change and alter to fit her aesthetic. She could definitely see herself making the most of this in her down time, if just to not go insane.
Some of the partiers were awake still. Some were squabbling about whether or not they could have more rations before bed - no, seemed to be the consensus - some were whispering in their shared roles. The arbal from earlier was trying very very hard to not sound like a cat in heat, trying to be quiet, but she was obviously getting fucked. She watched, and after a moment, realized that she, by all accounts, would have been soaked fucking wet if she had a body to soak. She stopped watching before she could get too jealous that the woman had a body and she didn’t. Instead, she focused on one of the few people still arguing in favor of eating more food that night.
“I don’t see why we can’t!” he was saying, “We have more than we need, now that the little prince is missing, and we’re only a day from town.”
A veil with a pinched face and big glasses crossed their arms, “What if we get stuck down here, huh? What will we eat then, while we dig our way out?”
“It won’t take that long to do! I’m a big boy! I need food, and I’m definitely going to need food if we’re digging tomorrow!”
“And what are you going to do when you don’t have breakfast, huh?”
The man stared down, angry, stumped, before saying, “I’m going to eat the statue meat, then.”
“Don’t eat the statue meat,” the veil said, consternation and disgust plain on their face, “we all agreed it was a bad idea!”
“I am still fucking hungry,” the man said back. She sat up and turned to face him. As he walked toward the statue, she held her breath. She didn’t want him to take it. She didn’t want this night to end. She didn’t want all these people to die.
But he grabbed the meat, and Boy appeared, and everything went to shit.
----------------------------------------
Lash was doing what they did best. Scheming.
Namely, from what they had gleaned from eavesdropping on their new neighbors, there was a dungeon near town, one that hadn’t been discovered yet.
An undiscovered dungeon is like a gold mine, except instead of gold, the mine is filled with anything you need. As long as you can get to it first. As long as you don’t report it, and as long as you know what you’re doing. Lash has studied dungeons hard, and they know that when dungeons kill, they somehow consume the corpses, equipment and all. However, sometimes, when things are put into the dungeon, you can get those things - or at least similar things - out.
Which is why Lash was scheming. They needed to search for the dungeon, and they needed to do it better than those three. They weren’t cruel, they wouldn’t let that guy die. But they would make a deal. Having an adventer in their pocket would be useful, and the rest of his entourage would be icing on the cake. First, if there was a dungeon, it was likely that people would be going missing. Especially in a place like this, where it was so hot, the sun was so strong, travelers might be stopping for shade. Dungeons are usually within a half mile of a road for some reason, which is still being researched, last Lash heard.
Step one would be asking around about missing people, missing shipments, things like that, which if centered around a certain road or route, would be a jumping off point. From there, it would be a matter of effort. Finding places that looked inviting, and following them to, hopefully, the dungeon mouth. From there, they’d scope it out, then make the offer to the arbal next door.
But they didn’t know what the offer was going to be. The location of the dungeon in exchange for…? Assistance, perhaps, in shaping the dungeon to be more useful to them. Secrecy, naturally, to avoid any other looters getting brave and trying for the core, to avoid anyone reporting them to the local governance, to avoid, worst of all, anyone trying to take over their operation.
The trick would be avoiding rats, avoiding any sentencing. Manipulating dungeons for your own benefit was a life-in-prison type sentence at best. The arbal adventer they could trust. If he turns them over, they’ll just tell everyone about what he’s done. Anyone else who found the dungeon they’d have to be careful of and keep their mouth shut around, or otherwise make sure they died in the dungeon. Maybe someday they’d allow the dungeon to be discovered, but for the time being, the dungeon will just be a simple production facility.
So, that morning, Lash was out for two reasons. First, to find any clues about the dungeon’s location, and second, market research. Whatever the town was in need of, whatever people bought, whatever got transported to the town, that’s what would be valuable, those things would be what Lash bought and fed to the dungeon once they found it.
The market in the poor part of town was less helpful and more sad. Lots of bread and meat, being sold at exorbitant prices, despite likely being whatever the same trader couldn’t sell in the rich district the previous day. There were people offering fortune-telling for a small fee, people begging for change, children peddling wildflowers, people haggling with sellers and a few pickpockets that Lash stayed away from.
What was interesting was what this place was lacking. For starters, there was no trickmage here, which seemed like an obvious market gap. Lash wondered how these people solved small problems without the help of a mage. There was an old woman who sold jewelry, who could be a potential buyer one day, if Lash could sway the dungeon to provide supplies. There was a man who claimed to sell enchanted items, but at the prices he was offering, there was no chance of them being legitimate. Another hole in the market, and this time one Lash was willing to fill. Sure, legitimate magic items were often hard to make and worth much more, but if they were being mass produced in a dungeon, it would be possible for Lash to undercut the more up-scale enchanted item stores.
After having a mediocre lunch of dried fish and berries (both unavailable fresh in the desert wastes), along with a cactuspear and a small stein of ale, Lash went to the rich part of town. They were divided by a gate, which seemed like overkill. The guards eyes Lash, until one approached to speak.
“D’you have a license to be entering this part of the city, traveler?” The guard asked, standing tall and making an attempt to intimidate.
Lash kept their face neutral the best they could, “I don’t, I didn’t realize I needed one.”
“It’s on the sign,” the man said, pointing at a sign with such faded paint it was nearly illegible.
“Where would I get one, if I was interested?” Lash asked, not interested in taking their eyes off the guard’s hands for too long.
He jerked his head toward the gate, “At the governor’s office, in the inner circle,” he said, “Ten raneir gets you a day pass to the city. I stamp your hand and allow you to pass.”
Lash suppressed the urge to snarl. “The sign says only five.”
The guard did not return the decency, and teeth bared said back, “There’s a five raneir processing fee.”
It was an obvious bribe. Lash cursed the whole lousy situation, and the guard especially, as they paid the fee. Lash never really got along with guards. Their various crimes didn’t help, usually making them feel extra belligerent in their interactions with them. How dare they try to stop Lash from feeding themselves? Of all the skills Lash possessed, the one that put food in their mouth was crime, and whenever a guard was around, it always seemed like they were prepared to prooflessly take Lash in, just on the basis of bad behavior. Perhaps, Lash thought, they are just doing their jobs. But it interferes with mine.
As Lash stepped through the gate, they stepped over a grate in the ground that emanated mist. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, as this feat of engineering was a large part of what Kaversee was known for. The mist generator at the edge of each wall, along with the water gardens atop the wall, surrounding the rich part of the city, protect it from sandstorms. It was supposed to be beautiful, but Lash was not planning a trip today. They would have to go soon, however. It had been too long since they had seen green.
They found their way to the market, which was nearly empty. There were no vendors at the stalls, just bored and annoyed patrons fanning themselves and sweating off makeup. Lash reasoned that the vendors were perhaps on break for lunch, something they’ve heard of the rich doing, until they saw the crowd.
The crowd was centered around a man practically under attack, and he was saying, “I know, it’s disappointing, but take this as an opportunity! You can sell whatever you have, go home, and have some extra time to yourself. Okay? Alright. I’ll post a bulletin at the teamster’s union when we have more information, and I suggest checking back every day, in the morning and before close to see if we’ve gotten any information on the delivery.”
The crowd did not like this answer, and as far as Lash could tell, their demand seemed to be that this teamster conjure their goods out of thin air so they could restock their stalls. Two people were shouting different things at him from less than a foot away, and the crowd didn’t seem to be dying down any time soon.
The problem was that Lash needed this guy, and fast. Maybe an hour wouldn’t matter, but Lash wanted to find this place before the Arbal passed from dungeon withdrawal.
“Hey, Tarrie?” they said, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him away from the crowd, “Boss has an update on the delivery situation, wants you back at the office right away.”
The guy looked confused for just a split second, and Lash worried that the crowd would notice, but he seemed to decide he’d take any out he was given, “Alright folks, you heard her! As soon as I can, that information will be up on the bulletin! Please, take the time to rest, to sell what you have already, and hopefully we can get this sorted out soon.”
The promise of information coming their way sooner rather than later, and the proof of actual progress being made on the problem seemed to pacify those maddest to the point that people began to disperse. They pulled the guy away, and said, “Apologies. I don’t actually know you or your boss, I was actually hoping for some information about the delivery.”
The man, still walking with Lash, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright! Okay. Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Well, first of all, what happened to it?”
“Yeah, you and the rest of the crowd. What do you mean?”
“Well, was it ruined, or confiscated, or stolen?”
“Wyrms take me if I know. It was supposed to get here yesterday evening, my boys were supposed to go out and get the stalls their goods before this morning. Ah, people are gonna be pissed, I’m telling you. If you thought those vendors were angry, wait until you see Mr. Kaversee Raneirs throw a fit that he can’t buy his dogs fresh meat. The horses in this city eat better than the poor, I’m telling you. But yeah, it was supposed to arrive, it didn’t…” the man shrugged, and sighed.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Lash pressed, looking for an in.
The man just laughed, “Who, me? I’m gonna put my feet up until I have something to deliver. Whatever happens in between now and then ain’t my job. Especially not tracking down missing shit. Nah, they can hire a mage for that. If they pool their savings, maybe.”
“I was wondering about that, actually. I’m new in town, so I don’t know, but I haven’t noticed any trickmages anywhere.”
The guy nodded, “Yeah so. Basically, Governor Hogal is what could generously be called ‘extremely judicious’ when it comes to handing out professional licenses for magery.”
“And if we aren’t being generous?”
“If I’m not being generous I’d point out that all the pro mages in town are-” He stopped talking as a guard looked over at them, and once they were out of earshot, he continued quieter than before, “all the pro mages are blood relations of the Governor.”
“Is there a law against badmouthing the Governor?” Lash asked, barely moving their lips.
“Nah, not really. But the guards here are basically looking for any excuse to shake you down.”
“Like most city guards, in my experience,” Lash replied, and the guy laughed.
“Uh-huh. My name’s Milen Hanner, by the way.”
“Not Tarrie?”
“No, close though.”
“My name is Lash.”
“Lash what?”
Lash paused for a moment, before answering, “Lash.”
The guy nodded, but seemed to be scanning them with his eyes, “Uh-huh. If you say so.”
“In any case,” Lash said, eager to change the subject, “Unlike you, my business is in the locating and procurement of things. Perhaps a meeting could be arranged to negotiate my business helping your business?”
Milen looked skeptical, “Uh-huh. My problem has just walked up and solved itself, has it?”
“Not yet,” Lash said with a smile, “We haven’t come to an agreement yet.”