Worm had long ago given up trying to dress in privacy.

At first, he’d been ashamed when she refused to leave. Then angry.

He’d ordered her to leave.

Threatened her.

Begged her.

Now he was just resigned to the fact she was going to sit in her chair and watch so he did his best to ignore her entirely.

Petal, meanwhile, continued to snore. It’d be an hour or so before she’d drag herself out of her bedroll. Glancing at her, he was momentarily distracted by the freckled softness of her cheeks and the way her red hair, loosened from its ties, framed her face.

It was hard to believe she was a Mercenary.

She almost looked pretty.

Her next snore sounded like a dragon trying to clear phlegm.

----------------------------------------

“You’ll be wanting to take the North road,” Doris said as he coated his toast in a thick layer of strawberry jam. “And about two leagues out it will fork. Always take the right path. Never the left.”

“Why not?” Daisy asked, her mouth full of toast.

Doris fixed her with a hard stare. “You ask too many silly questions,” she said. “I said to take the right fork. So, take the right fork.”

“Okay.”

“You might also like to visit Peter’s Provisions before you leave,” Doris said, turning back to Worm. She topped up his glass with more orange juice. “He can advise you a bit more on those dreadful old ruins. He’s been out there before. He was with the group who found the Dungeon.”

“Oh?”

“So, he knows more about the area than most.” She smiled comfortably. “And he’s a nice man. Very honest is Peter. He won’t charge more than an item is worth. Not like those sneaky buggers in Pernton.”

Daisy frowned. “Pernton?”

“A horrible town not worth visiting. Two days west, dear.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you, Doris,” Worm said, wondering if he should take the last piece of toast. “You’ve, umm, been a lot of help.”

“Hmm,” she said. Her eyes felt sharp as they stared right through him.

It was like she could read his thoughts.

But that would be silly.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked. “Go on, then. Take it.”

Okay, he thought, carefully reaching for the toast. Maybe not that silly after all…

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Peter Paddleton was a tall man with grey hair combed in a fashionable way if a haircut from thirty years ago could be considered fashionable. He dressed in a shirt of blue silk and a coat of green velvet.

The less said about his pants, the better.

His voice was soft with a slight rasp to it which spoke of long nights spent in the local inn.

And, by the bags under his eyes and the soft smell of whiskey on his breath, his night hadn’t ended despite the sun drifting up over the horizon to cover the little town with the benevolent golden glow of morning.

The last thing he wanted was customers, but he wasn’t about to let them know it.

So, while his eyes and forehead felt moulded from clay, his lower face beamed a smile as the shop’s little door opened. The bell above the door let out a happy little tinkle.

Which, in his head, was a thunderous peal that almost staggered him.

Suppressing a shudder, he had time to briefly wonder if there was anyone in the world dumb enough to not put at least five points into Constitution. The ten points he’d put into his own were all that were keeping him from falling over.

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“Good morning,” Peter said with a wide smile. “Welcome to Peter’s Provisions. How can I be of service on this radiant morning? And, speaking of radiant… Welcome, Lady. Seldom does one with beauty as fine as yours grace my humble shop.”

Daisy giggled. “That’s sweet of you to say. You must have put a lot of points in Charisma for that one.”

“Absolutely not! If anything, it was the fifteen I put into Perception which allowed me to see past the mist of age which plagues my vision and be blessed by the glory your countenance.” He gave an exaggerated bow which ended with a flourish. The flourish, a Perk reward for reaching Level Five in the Bard Class, gave him time to examine her Nameplate. And also time to recover from surprise. “Oh! You’re an Undead Servant!”

“I am,” she said proudly, leaning into the Necromancer beside her. “This is my Master. His name is Worm.”

“Huh,” Peter said, unsure what to say to that. “I’ve never seen an Undead Servant before. I’ve heard of them, of course. And Necromancers. But you don’t expect to see a rare class all the way out here in Heartwood Hollow.”

“Believe me,” Worm said with a grim twist of his lip. “I didn’t want to be here. But I am.”

“Yes.” Peter blinked, suddenly remembering he owned the shop. “Well. How can I help you, sir?”

“Miss Daughtry said you might be able to help with some advice. She said you were dependable and honest and knew more than anyone in town.”

“Really?” He felt a warm flutter in his heart as he envisioned the plump little woman who often visited his shop. Despite his age, he felt his ears start to warm. “She did? She said that? Oh, well. Hmm. I, umm… Well. I should maybe go thank her. Do you know if she’s busy this morning? I could…”

“She said you could tell us more about the Dungeon.”

“I guess so. Why? What did you need to know?”

“Well, its location would be a start. And if there’s anything in the area I need to be careful of?” Worm watched as Peter struggled to get his mind off the plump woman and back to the task at hand. “And anything about the tower which will help. Like, is it a complete ruin or are some rooms still miraculously intact?”

“The tower?” Peter’s face lost all colour. All thoughts of Doris Daughtry fled his mind like bats out of their cave. “You don’t want to go there.”

“I kind of have to. I’m the new Dungeon Master.”

Peter’s voice was a dry rasp as his brain started screaming at him to run to the inn for another whiskey. “Mister, trust me when I say you ought to get on the first carriage out of here, because that place is haunted. And I don’t mean by a pesky little poltergeist or something. Anyone who goes there is never seen again!”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

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Peter shuddered as he sipped the drink.

Daisy had held his hand all the way to the inn while Worm regretfully spent ten silver on the generous shot of whiskey. He’d ground his teeth a little violently when he realised he couldn’t afford anything for himself.

“Some nights,” Peter said, his voice hoarse. “You can hear it screaming. It gives me the chills. There’s a reason I drink so much, you know.”

“Maybe everyone just kept going down the road,” Daisy said. “Or they get lost in the Woods. It doesn’t mean whatever is in there killed them. Ghosts are harmless, you know. Well. Unless you didn’t put any points into Constitution.”

“Not this one!” His hands shook as he lifted the glass. “It kills them. Eats them, too.”

“Ghosts don’t eat anything,” Worm said, remembering what he’d read in his grimoire. “They’re made of ectoplasm. It’s speculated they’re very similar to Dungeon Slimes, but ectoplasm isn’t solid enough to absorb anything.”

“Worm, I don’t care what you say. I know what’s out there. I’ve seen it! It’s a ghost. Pale and white. Eyes like red fire.” He finished his whiskey. “It killed two Adventurers faster than I could blink. And my Agility’s not that low. They were Level Twenties. And they died with one hit each.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Petal said, appearing out of nowhere and sitting down next to Worm. She lifted a heavy mug of ale and grinned at the Shopkeeper. “I was beginning to think there was nothing in this backwater sodpile worth killing.”

“Weren’t you listening? That thing is dangerous! High Level dangerous!”

“All I’m hearing is bonus Experience and a possible Achievement.”

Peter glanced down at his empty glass, then at Worm with wide eyes. He looked on the verge of tears. Or a complete mental breakdown. Trembling hands lifted the glass. “Please, Mister? Can I have another?”

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Peter swayed on his feet, his mind floating gently in his head as he watched Daisy pile up supplies on the counter. Worm was constantly telling her to put things back because he couldn’t afford them.

Petal stood in the doorway. Her stance was noble. Her armour and sword polished to deadly brightness. She looked fierce, Peter thought.

If he was twenty years younger, he’d probably want to spend a night drinking with the redheaded warrior goddess. He’d always liked fierce women.

He couldn’t believe this unlikely trio was going to the Dungeon.

Worse, they thought they could actually live in the ruins of the old tower.

Nothing he’d told them had scared them. They seemed to think a savage murderous evil spirit was simply an inconvenience to be ignored.

Peter studied their faces one by one.

Stoic Petal.

Irritated Worm.

Innocent Daisy.

Soon, they’d all be dead.

Tears slid gently down his cheeks as he mourned their poor souls.

----------------------------------------

Daisy looked over her shoulder at the shop. They’d closed the door gently behind them as they left the sobbing Shopkeeper. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” Worm grunted, not really caring. He was more interested in his little money pouch. He was sure if he gave it a little shake, it wouldn’t even jingle. “He just needs to sleep it off.”

“That’ll be a long sleep,” Petal said with a smirk. “I think that man drinks too much.”

“Master, aren’t you worried about the ghost? Your Constitution isn’t very high, you know.” Daisy skipped beside him. “What if it possesses you? Then you’d be gone, and I’d be sad.”

“Ghosts don’t get Possession until Level Seventy,” he said with as much conviction as he could. He wasn’t entirely sure of this fact. The book he’d read it in had proven to be unreliable. “And even if this one was that high, I’m a Necromancer. I’m immune to Possession.”

“That’s good, Master,” she said, taking his arm in a tight grip. “Because I don’t want some silly ghost taking you from me. You’re all mine.”

Worm shuddered at the thought.

----------------------------------------

The sun blazed overhead.

Its white light made him squint and sweat ran down his pink cheeks. His clothes felt too thick. He wanted to fling them off.

Ahead of him, Petal walked with a sinuous catlike grace that spoke of high Agility.

Normally, he might have found himself captivated by the smooth swing of her hips from behind, but not today.

Today he could barely lift his eyes to peek at the supple shape of her athletic thighs.

Behind him, Daisy skipped along without a care in the world. She plucked flowers and picked leaves as she went, happily announcing the names of the plants as she found them in her little book.

Every time her voice chimed in his ears, he wanted to turn and blast her with Lifedrain or something. Anything.

“Oh! Look at this! It’s A Delly Belle Flower!” Daisy squealed with delight. “It’s an Uncommon herb used by Alchemists to brew Level Twenty potions! That’s good, isn’t it? I wonder if there’s a lot of them growing around here.”

The Necromancer plodded along, his back bent as the heat and exertion of the day threatened to send him sprawling exhausted across the narrow path.

“How long has it been since we left town?” He muttered to himself.

“About ten minutes, Master,” Daisy supplied.

Groaning, he looked back at the little town still visible behind them. He wanted to cry as he saw how close it still was. He’d imagined they’d walked for hours.

Daisy lifted a hand and gave him a petite wave. Not a single drop of sweat slid down her perfect cheeks.

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he let his displeasure be known by a glance.

In a perfect world, she’d fall to her knees and beg forgiveness.

In this one, she gently bounced on her heels, making her breasts jiggle under the ridiculously revealing maid outfit. Her smile was wide and inviting.

He spun away from her with a hiss.

If hate had levels, he was sure he’d be Maxed out by now.

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“How many points did you put into Stamina?” Petal asked when they stopped less than an hour later. She squatted against a tree, her sword resting across her thighs. “Or is that a stupid question?”

Flat on his back with his eyes closed and sweat dripping from every pore, he moaned. “I’m a Necromancer, Petal.”

“So?”

“Intelligence. That’s all that matters to us.”

“Really? You poured it all into one stat?” Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. Only an idiot would do that.”

Worm groaned, unable to muster the strength to argue.

“He read about it in a book,” Daisy said as she sifted through the small bundle of plant materials she’d gathered. Her sharp thin fingers sorted them into smaller bundles which she was tying with lengths of different coloured ribbon to mark their rarity. “Forgotten Levelling Techniques of the Golden Age. By Heston Houk, right?”

Surprised, he blinked. “How do you know that?”

“I read it, too,” she said. “Daddy said I should, so that I didn’t make any silly mistakes with my stat choices. Honestly, if I’d put all mine into one stat, he would’ve whipped me and then disowned me. I’d have had to respect to Baker’s Apprentice or something.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he said through his teeth. “I’ve got twice the mana pool as any mage my level.”

“Doesn’t matter how big your mana pool is,” Petal growled. “If you don’t have the energy to actually cast anything.”

“I told him that,” Daisy said, lifting a flower and comparing it to an image in Agatha Appleblossom’s Enchanted Herbs of the Weird Woods. “I won’t tell you what he said. But it was very rude and physically impossible to do.”

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Petal told them she was scouting ahead, but really she just couldn’t keep walking at a snail’s pace.

She might have felt sorry for Worm if he hadn’t admitted to dumping all his stats into Intelligence. She’d heard him say it before but hadn’t quite believed him. No one could be that stupid. Especially not someone who’d supposedly studied at the Mages Guild.

In her early years as a Mercenary, she’d thought of putting all her points into Agility.

But Regar Redrock, her Trainer, had told her that it was nice to be faster than the next person. But if you didn’t have the Strength to push your blade through their armour, then what had you achieved?

Life, he told her, was about balance.

“Without balance, you can’t keep your feet.”

Frowning, the Mercenary wondered if maybe Worm knew something more than she did. Maybe all that Intelligence made up for the fact he couldn’t ride a wagon without throwing up or walk half a mile without wanting to die.

She pictured the red-faced mage sprawled on his back in the grass, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath after less than an hour of slow walking up a moderately sloped hill.

“Nah,” she muttered. “He’s just an idiot.”

----------------------------------------

Daisy found her third Uncommon herb and rushed to show her Master.

“Look! It’s a Serpent Kiss Orchid!” She waved it in front of him. “Agatha says these are used in Level Thirty potions! Can you imagine that, Master? Level Thirty! These must be worth a fortune.”

“Get it out of my face.” He batted her hand away and scowled. “I really don’t care. Get back to me when you find Skullcap or Nightsbane.”

“Oh, I saw Nightsbane back down by the stream.”

He rounded on her, eyes hot with anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, Nightsbane is only a common herb according to Agatha, so I didn’t think you’d be interested in it.”

“I need it for my rituals!”

“What rituals?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose it doesn’t. But it’s nice to know.” She brushed the orchid gently against his shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes coyly. “I like to know all about you, Master.”

Worm flinched from her touch and stomped up the hill with slightly more vigour as an Enraged buff enhanced his Determination.

Unfortunately, it also drained his Stamina faster, so the buff was lost fairly quickly as he of course hadn’t put any extra points into Stamina.

Intelligence, he told himself stubbornly. Intelligence is all that matters and damn anyone who thinks otherwise!

Flailing his arms, he let out a wordless growl and continued onward. His thoughts were filled with images of his Undead Servant being burnt alive in dragonfire while he sat around her pyre and toasted marshmallows.

His stomach growled with him.

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They went right at the fork.

They might have gone left, as both Petal and Daisy were adamant Doris had told them to go left.

Tapping his forehead, Worm showed them his most satisfied sneer. “High Intelligence,” he told them. “Remember? That means I have bonuses to Memory. We go down the right path. Never the left, she said.”

Their choice might have greatly disappointed the Harpies who had a nest down the left path, but it made something else very pleased as it looked up from the shadow of an old oak tree and saw the universe had finally sent it supper in the form of three weary travellers…