The Trash Tier Dungeon

by Kaye Fairburn

  Her knowledge of human affairs was limited to things that’d improve her Disguises. She’d picked up a great deal of knowledge from wandering away from her last dungeon. The breaks she took from Bugsy’s insufferable behavior gave her valuable insight into human behavior.

  “I wonder if our chef-in-the-woods is dangerous,” Arden said.

  Thanks to Robin, Arden had two daggers. The one that he’d pinned her to the wall with was normal. As far as she could tell, there weren’t any jewels encrusted to it or any other hidden attributes. It stayed in her Inventory alongside the fiery one, since having two daggers would clash with her “lost little girl in the woods” routine. Lost little girls were supposed to be defenseless.

  “Let’s pay our chef a visit. Stealing’s gonna be easier than us having to fight any monsters for loot, huh?” Arden nudged Matfield with her elbow. “Huh?”

  The catten hissed at her, his fangs glistening.

  “Okay. I won’t do that again.” Arden held up her hands in surrender. “You should lay low for now. I’ll whistle for you if things get bad. Just sneak with me for now and then wait in cover or something.”

  Following the scent of charred meat and heavy smoke led them to a bush-encircled section of the woods. They hid in the foliage to watch their target, a narrow-bodied man in threadbare clothing.

  Leaves were tangled in his long beard, and his hair looked like it had mud (or what hopefully was mud) clumped inside of it. Layers of dirt shaded his skin. His bony elbow stuck out of the rip in his sleeve.

  Torn shorts revealed his knobby knees, all sorts of grime smeared over them. Again, Arden hoped the smears came from dirt and nothing else. She rested her hand on Matfield’s head, making sure he wouldn’t leap out of the bushes to immediately attack the man they were surveying.

  He had a bundle of items sitting next to him. Handles stuck out of a tightly rolled up blanket. Arden counted at least three. The source of the burnt, putrid smell was worse up close. It came from a hunk of meat pierced onto a skewer. Arden suspected that it had gone rancid and poor guy was doing his best to cook the poison out of it.

  Things didn’t work that way. Sure, she wasn’t an expert on human cuisine, but his food didn’t seem right.

  Arden toyed with a dagger from her Inventory, waiting for the prime moment. It didn’t appear as though the man was cognizant of what was happening to him beyond the sorry excuse for food he was cooking.

  For someone that was sitting in the woods alone, he didn’t seem very bright. He was far too open. Still, there were people who liked to appear defenseless when they weren’t—case in point, herself pretending to be a little girl.

  With the way that that guy was, she probably didn’t even need her Disguise. An all-out attack in her usual human Disguise would’ve been fine. Even if the handles in his blanket turned out to be something as innocuous as kitchen supplies, they were still a better start than them having no loot to offer. It wasn’t like they had an exact theme or brand to their dungeon yet, beyond their cat units.

  The loot didn’t have to make a whole lot of sense. Maybe they’d be referred to as the Trash Tier Dungeon for a different reason than them being garbage. Maybe their offerings could be garbage. Their title could be spun in their favor.

  Across the way, a clump of bushes parted. Three men emerged, their boots plodding along the dirt and grass. The bearded man at the fire barely raised his head. If anything, it drooped lower. His shoulders hunched more. He stayed seated, not turning to see the new arrivals.

  “You’re not wearing your stupid ears today?” one of the men asked, his voice slurred and thick with an accent. His red-colored hair was cropped short to his head, a stained bandanna hanging off of his neck.

  “You snapped them,” the bearded man said.

  “Oh, yeah, we did do that, didn’t we?” He slapped the other two men on the shoulder. They were both taller than him by a good foot.

  One of the slapped men rubbed his shoulder, frowning. “That kind of hurt.” His hair was locked into a series of tight braids. Every so often, a shiny bead broke up the segments.

  The other guy kept yawning. His tunic had a deep V cut, revealing his furry bear-like bare chest for everyone to see. “Don’t be a baby,” he said before stopping to yawn again.

  “He’s not the baby,” the short guy said. He jabbed a finger in the bearded man’s direction. “He’s the baby, crying all alone in the forest.”

  The furry guy pounded his chest. “More like a freak. Never gonna forget that time we caught him meowin’.”

  “With whiskers drawn on his face. What the hell was up with that?”

  “I’m a believer. You may want to prosecute me, but if you do that, you’ll only turn me into a martyr,” the bearded man said. He stood up to face the men, his meat skewer held aloft.

  “A martyr for a religion no one else believes in,” the man with the braids said. He crossed his arms, jutting his chest forward. Arden noticed the sword on his hip.

  Adventurers tended to fall into two camps when it came to their weaponry. There were those who preferred to openly carry. That way, they didn’t have to fuss around with their Inventory screens. Once combat happened, they were perfectly ready for it.

  Those who were in the other camp, though, probably preferred to keep a lower profile. Having to scan through their Inventory with their weapon put them at the risk of losing precious seconds in a fight. There were trade-offs and good things about both camps. It depended on how you liked to do things.

  “If you want to kill me, then do it. I’m tired of you heckling me. I don’t want to deal with it anymore.” The bearded man looked as though he could be carried away in a gust of wind.

  They’re going to break him like a twig.

  “If we killed you, we’d lose our source. Did you make us a jar?” the short man asked. “As long as you give us what we want, we don’t give a shit about your cat fetish.”

  “It’s not a fetish.”

  “Do you see my face? Do I look like I give a shit? I just got finished telling him that I don’t give a shit. Give us the jar and maybe this time, we won’t have to break all of your shit.”

  “How many times do you have to say the word shit?” the furriest man asked with a frown. “I’ve got to get you a thesaurus for your birthday, man.”

  “Don’t ruin my moment.” The short man waved a finger at him.

  The scraggly, bearded man produced a jar from the blanket bundle. Housed within it was a golden yellow liquid. “Here, here’s the jar you want.”

  “See, when you’re not obstinate, we don’t have to do things like destroy your makeup kit and snap your silly little headband in half. We can be nice to each other.” The shortest man held out his hands.

  The bearded man slammed the jar to the ground. It cracked, its contents spilling out.

  The other three men were startled for a moment. Then, they started laughing.

  “You’re in for it now, Smokey!” The shortest man pulled back his fist.

  Smokey, as Arden now knew his name to be, cowered.

  “Daddy!” Arden burst out of the bushes, wailing a word that made her internally cringe.

  The man with the braids rubbed his eyes. “Whose kid is that? This freak has a kid?”

  “No way,” the furry man said. “He’s never been on top of anything or anyone in his life. Total bottom feeder. This little girl’s probably lost. Might belong to somebody back at that sleepy village. Caspar, was it?”

  “It’s Kazzipur, for the last time, Henry,” the short man corrected.

  “No need to be a jerk about it, Quinton.”

  “She has to belong to one of you,” Smokey said. “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “She called someone here Daddy, so it has to be someone. Who’s your Daddy?” the yet-to-be-named man asked.

  “I’m scared,” Arden whined.

  “Nobody cares. Go home!” shouted Quinton.

  “But who’s the dad?” the man with the
braids continued to ask.

  “Tyson, drop it. None of us is the dad. This little girl doesn’t matter. What matters is that the latest supply is down in the grass.” Quinton crunched on the broken glass with his boot. “I’ve got customers breathing down my neck waiting for this stuff. The boss is gonna have all of our heads for this asshole’s mistake. You’re in for it, Smokey.”

  Hairy Henry cracked his knuckles. “Okay, let’s bash Smokey around, then we’ll do something about the little girl.”

  “The boss may have some ideas for her. Maybe she could even replace this asshole,” short Quinton said. “You start them when they’re young and they build up their immunities. That’s how it went for you, huh, Smokey? No one wanted you around, so you played around in the forest all day, huffing plants and swallowing mushrooms.”

  “Wait a second,” Arden said, slipping in and out of her little girly voice. “You bottle and sell his piss? That’s what you’re peddling to people?”

  Henry frowned. “That’s not nice language, little girl.”

  “Really? You should hear what I’m gonna say once I’m done with you! Matfield, sic him, boy!” She raised her arms.

  What would’ve been cool in that moment was if the catten waiting in the bushes launched, landed near the random guys, and then proceeded to tear out their throats. The problem was that when Arden gave that crystal clear signal to attack, Matfield didn’t respond. Her efforts were met with silence.

  Silence, silence everywhere.

  She swore she heard a chick hatching in the distance. And that was something that was very hard to hear unless you were there with an ear to the egg.

  Arden coughed, then returned to her innocent little girl routine. “Wasn’t that funny? I’m such a funny little girl. I don’t even know what a Matfield is. I’m so kooky.”

  “Something’s wrong with her.” Quinton made a shooing motion. “Get her out of here, someone.”

  “We could ignore her and pummel this guy in front of her. It shouldn’t scar her that much,” Henry said with a shrug.

  “And afterwards we’ll take her home like a trio of responsible gentlemen,” Tyson said, placing his hand over his heart.

  “Actually,” Arden interrupted. “Here, Matfield!”

  That didn’t get his attention, either.

  “There she is with that Matfield stuff again,” Quinton said. “Little girl, you’re ruining the vibe here. Just sit right there, shut up, and be seen and not heard. Thank you. The adults have something to do right now. Deal with it.”

  “Man, you must really hate kids,” Henry said.

  “They’re overrated. I’m getting her used to being disappointed. Real life’s not gonna coddle her. So, what do you say we beat Smokey to a bloody pulp in front of her? That’s a good welcome to reality. Sweetheart, this is what happens when you let bad men down.”

  “You’re gross,” Arden said. “Screw it. I’m going to kill you first.” She pointed her dagger at him, the blade materializing from her Inventory.

  “I don’t think that’s safe for you to have,” Tyson said.

  “She must’ve gone into her dad’s weapon closet. It happens,” Henry said.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Quinton sharply shouted.

  Smokey stopped mid-step, a little ways away from the situation. “Nowhere.”

  As Quinton’s attention flipped back onto Smokey, Arden stepped in closer. She allowed the other dagger to materialize in her other hand, pulling it out of her Inventory.

  Then, she proceeded to stab the short man.

  To her dismay, the daggers got stuck in him. Quinton shoved her away. His eyes glazed over for a moment as he scrolled through his mental Inventory. Soon, he was holding a club, the weapon’s target her chubby little girl face.

  The other men mobilized their attacks, except for Tyson, who was probably still trying to wrap his head around the fact that a little girl with pigtails in a pink dress wanted to kill them. Anyone would have an issue with that at first.

  A sword and shield appeared in Henry’s hands.

  Arden regained her footing.

  Smokey kicked over his blanket bundle. He had a machete and a kitchen pan, along with some herbs and pieces of the mushrooms they forced him to eat. She didn’t have time to scrutinize the rest of his things.

  Henry stepped up to fight her.

  Arden stepped back, then waved her arm towards Smokey’s fire. She cast a Hallucination of a fire trail from that fire to the space in front of her in the form of a firewall. She concentrated, doing her best to keep the colors consistent. She even threw in some crackling for added believability.

  Henry must’ve been too shocked to realize that the fake fire lacked heat.

  Behind the firewall, Quinton screamed. There was a delicious squelching sound as he removed the daggers from his side. Tyson urged him to chug a potion. Quinton swore, saying something about having used the last one an hour ago. Arden whistled, hoping that Smokey found himself a hiding place.

  “Matfield, now would be a good time to show up,” Arden said.

  “She’s a witch!” Tyson exclaimed.

  “That’s right, and there’s more where that came from. Leave Smokey alone and leave all your stuff here too or else I’m gonna kill you!” Arden shouted.

  She launched through the fake flames. Surprise was etched on each of the men’s faces. Arden dispelled the Hallucination, and at the same time, she switched her Disguise into a catten.

  The trio dispersed, all of them scrambling to get out of the way. She landed where they once stood, claws out and hungry for blood. Quinton fell over. He screamed in agony, suffering from his wounds. Arden promised him that there would be worse to come and she made good on that promise.

  She reared up to cut him with her claws, knowing that the damage would be superficial. Her Disguise didn’t lend her the same exact power that the cattens had. But it would still do something and it would probably scare the shit out of him, to borrow his most abused word.

  Arden snarled, getting into her role as a catten. If Matfield wasn’t going to show up, then she was going to pick up the slack tenfold.

  Her snarl was cut short when something sharp hit her in the side.

  And then, she was on fire. All she could see was bright hot white. Her skin peeled and sloughed as she moved frantically, not sure what to do to put herself out. Her thoughts raced all over the place. None of them made sense.

  First, she was thinking about Minette’s laughter then she was thinking about cat whiskers and all of the excruciating pain she was in. It was like her spirit was screaming and fighting to get out of her body. Her body was giving up, slipping away from what was inside of her.

  Arden threw herself at the nearest target. More screams erupted. They weren’t just hers. Someone else was burning, too. Others were running. It became harder for her to hear. Maybe she was losing her ears. She did feel something drip down the sides of her face.

  Broken glass cut into her feet but that was nothing, seriously nothing, compared to the fact that she was on fire. Had it been mentioned that she was on fire? Scorching, meltingly hot fire, all over the place. Now, to say the least, Arden the pixie wasn’t having a good time. The most infuriating thing about it was that the damn dagger worked beautifully for someone else.

  Arden deactivated her Disguise, then flew straight down into what remained of Smokey’s piss jar. There was enough liquid for her to dunk herself in, putting out the fiery hell she was rolled up inside of. She tinged it red.

  A roar sounded out over the forest. It belonged to none other than Matfield. Arden pulled herself halfway out of the liquid that she denied was piss to see what was going on. Her frantic rolling had caused her to hit Quinton. He must’ve dropped the dagger, losing his invulnerability to its flames, and got scorched. He became a fried nugget on the ground.

  Matfield crashed into Henry’s shield. Henry shoved him away, then attempted to strike at him with his sword. Matfield ducked low. Mean
while, Tyson grabbed Smokey’s blanket. He beat Quinton’s crispy body with it, trying to kill the flames. He still hadn’t touched his sword.

  “Run away,” Smokey said. Arden had to spin around to see where he was coming from. His machete shook in his hands as he approached Tyson. “Run away and drop all of your things.”

  “It’s real. All of those things you said…!” Tyson’s eyes bulged out of his head.

  “My god has come for me,” Smokey announced, a wild grin on his face.

  Matfield’s jaws closed on Henry’s legs. The sword and shield user screamed in pain, his body dragged to the ground. Matfield shook his head left and right, his teeth digging in.

  These people were definitely at a lower level than Robin and his crew. It took so little to kill them that Arden guessed they weren’t adventurers at all. Maybe they were bandits of some sort who liked to go around selling pee.

  “Enough!” Arden projected her voice from the broken piss bottle.

  It would’ve been nice if Matfield listened to her. Unfortunately for Henry, Matfield kept chewing on him. Tyson ran, leaving everyone behind. Arden didn’t have the strength to fly after him. Smokey didn’t even try. What he did do was pointedly stare at Matfield gouging his claws into Henry’s chest.

  The last of the fight died in Henry’s lifeless form. Dying outside of dungeon meant that he wouldn’t poof into glitter dust and become a golden skull. That effect was due to a dungeon’s natural magic. Henry was as permanently dead as crispy Quinton.

  Smokey fell to his knees in prayer.

  “I knew you were real. I never lost hope,” Smokey said, his words thick with tears. He let out a pathetic sob.

  Matfield sat down, tucking all of his legs beneath him. He resembled a long bread loaf with a cat’s head on top. Ignoring the blood on him, he looked rather cute.

  “I’ve worshipped you since I was young,” the bearded man continued.

  Arden crawled her way out of the bottle. She imagined that it’d take ages for the piss smell to leave her hair.

  “I’ve got a potion for you. One moment.” Smokey rummaged through his bag. The fire at his campsite was dying. The overcooked piece of meat had been tossed off somewhere, never to be eaten. That was probably for the best. “Here, I’ll pour it into the lid for you.”