Tired of Death - Dungeon

by Neil Hartley

  Emerald stood up. “Then we have to see the Management, they will surely know. And in the meantime perhaps we can get a few questions answered. Like who I am.”

  “Are you crazy?” Percy abandoned his pose. “Stick our heads into the turtle’s mouth? Out of the frying pan and under the wire?”

  “I don’t know,” Dreth mused, tapping his chin with one finger. “The idea has some merit.”

  “Oh, and I suppose we simply stroll up and knock on the front door do we?” asked Cuthbert. “Hello Mr. All-powerful dungeon manager. Could you kindly direct us to the treasure? And whilst you’re at it, would it be awfully bothersome to ask you to call off your unstoppable monster that is chasing us?” He folded his arms. “I don’t think so.”

  “Perhaps we could dress up?” Sprat piped up.

  “A disguise eh?” Percy smiled. “I like your thinking lad.”

  “Fine. I shall don the top hat and tails, along with a rubber nose I just happen to keep in my pocket here then,” said Cuthbert, who was in full sarcasm mode now.

  “Oh hush you two. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as all that,” said Dreth. “I mean, how likely is it that anyone would go up to the Management castle of their own accord?”

  “You mean only the terminally stupid or suicidal would try it?” asked Redthorne, raising an eyebrow.

  “Exactly,” Dreth snapped his fingers. “It’s a perfect plan.”

  “My definition of perfect is obviously out of date,” muttered Cuthbert.

  “So it’s agreed then,” said Dreth. “Off to the castle!”

  “Great,” said Cuthbert. “Its times like this I’m glad I’m already dead. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen to me now, eh?”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Percy, slapping his friend on the back.

  They started walking towards the dark sand of the Black Desert.

  ~ * ~

  “Avast ye lubbers! Pull over and prepare to be boarded!” The ghostly captain shouted down at the tour boat.

  Harm leaned over the side, trying to spot his prey amongst the tourists. He turned to Primrose. “Take some men, get down there and secure the baby before those surface scum beat us to it.” He turned to face the small figure flittering about near his head. “Fearie, fly over there and scout ahead.”

  Primrose nodded as Smudge flew off, and turned to arrange a boarding party. Harm waited impatiently as grapples were thrown or fired at the target. The ropes tightened and the vessels began to draw together.

  Before they were even close half a dozen Drow were crawling, or in Primrose’s case walking, along the ropes to the other ship. Unfortunately so were an equal amount of elves.

  Harm gripped his sword and leaned over the rail as the two parties reached the boat and began searching it.

  “I will dispose of you and your vermin kind you know.” The leader of the Elves had moved over to stand by him. He too watched the search.

  Harm laughed. “You and who’s army? We’re stronger down here, and you know it. Spare me your empty threats surface crawler.”

  “The forces of light shall ultimately be victorious!”

  Harm glanced at the light elf leader. His armor glistened even here, in the gloomy depths of the cavern. The others’ gaze was set firmly on the tour boat. The Drow leader leaned close. “When this is all over,” he whispered, “I am personally going to lead another raid topside to your little camp. There I’m going to tie you down so you can watch as my men enjoy themselves with your women before they dispose of them. Finally I’m going to hamstring and blind you, and leave you to live out the rest of your miserable existence as a useless cripple.”

  The Elven leader went red and gripped his sword, turning towards Harm, who was grinning with glee. “I shall cut you down where…”

  “Landlubbers!” The tirade was interrupted by the captain. “Yer men say there be no baby on yonder vessel, arrr. What be ye wanting to do now?”

  Harm slammed the rail with his fist. They’d been tricked! He turned to the captain. “Turn your boat about. We’re heading back to the village, full speed ahead!”

  ~ * ~

 

  The dark structure of the castle loomed above the party, the upper towers disappearing into the gloom of the cavern.

  “Certainly looks the part anyway,” said Cuthbert, leaning back and gazing upwards.

  “Where’s the entrance?” asked Dreth.

  They were in the depths of the Black Desert. The castle had been visible for many leagues, the only building in the vicinity. They had slogged towards it as fast as they’d been able, stopping only to allow Redthorne to rest occasionally.

  Now they had reached their target. An imposing citadel of solid dark stone, which gave the distinct impression that it was watching their every move.

  “This way, I think I see a drawbridge,” said Emerald.

  They trudged round to the entrance. A huge portal that hung over them like some sort of cavernous maw. Two giant figures stood either side of the way in, covered from head to foot in heavy plate mail armor, and holding swords as long as Dreth was tall.

  “Guards,” hissed Redthorne.

  Dreth rolled his eyes. “No! You think?”

  Redthorne’s visage darkened. “Don’t speak to me thus fiend. I am a wizard of…”

  “The pink light party yah yah yah. We’ve heard it before mage.” Dreth looked at the Cuthbert. “The old ‘prisoner’ trick here I think?”

  Cuthbert nodded.

  ~ * ~

  Gordon stood silently and watched through his visor as the party approached. Several undead surrounded what appeared to be a mage carrying a baby. One of the zombies pushed the wizard ahead of him, causing a variety of angry complaints as they clumped over the drawbridge.

  The tallest being, a thin human who looked like he had seen better days, approached the other guard, who happened to be Gordon’s sergeant, Simon.

  “Prisoner delivery.”

  “Docket,” said Simon.

  “Docket?”

  “Your paperwork. Hand it over.”

  “Ah yes, the docket. Where did I put it?” The tall man made a show of patting his pockets.

  Gordon looked on as the man searched his robe, to no avail.

  “Ah, sorry. I seem to have misplaced it. Still, never mind eh? I’m sure…”

  “No docket, no entry,” said Simon, who was the methodical type.

  “Look, we have an important prisoner here…”

  “No docket, no entry,” repeated the guard.

  The man took a deep breath. “Look my friend, I am…”

  “Don’t care who you are. We have our orders. No docket…”

  “…no entry, yes yes yes, I understood you the first three times.” The human brought his hand up to his chin thoughtfully. “Shall we start again? My name’s Dreth. I’ve an important prisoner here, a wizard of…”

  “No docket…” Simon began.

  “Ok. I tell you what,” said the man holding up a hand to forestall the ritual response. “I will make you a deal yes?”

  Simon leaned forward. “No…”

  There was a blur of action. Gordon blinked. The man now had a long dark sword in his hands. The blade was throbbing with black light and humming. It was also dripping with blood.

  Simon stood still for a moment more, then slowly, very slowly, his right half peeled away from his left and fell to the floor with a loud metallic clang. The other half followed suite.

  The man looked at Gordon, who had not moved throughout the entire episode. “Now. Shall I try again? We have an important…”

  “Pass friend,” said Gordon, who was only two hundred years from retirement, and had never liked Simon much anyway.

  The man nodded and sheathed his sword. “Much better. I commend your initiative.” He looked around. “Bring the prisoner!”

  The troop marched
on into the castle.

  Gordon didn’t move. He was on guard duty, watching the Black Desert for any possible sign of enemies. He saw none, as usual.

  ~ * ~

  “Cooo, it’s alright for some isn’t it?” said Percy as they wandered through vast halls lined with plush furnishings. The zombie ran his fingers along a strangely colored couch. “Look at this. Real Gray Elf skin. Must have taken eight or nine elves to cover this. They cost a fortune you know.

  “Come on, stop admiring the fixtures and fittings,” said Dreth. “We have to find this manager before someone complains about the guard back there.”

  “Mmf,” said the zombie, but padded after the others, his metal leg clanking on the marble floor.

  They walked up a long corridor, through a set of ornate double doors and found themselves in a large room decorated with a variety of hangings. Several comfortable chairs lined the walls. Opposite the door there was a single large wooden counter.

  Behind the desk a perfectly formed female figure was sitting, busy filing her nails*. She was dressed in a simple red gown that emphasized her dark flowing hair, which tumbled playfully over her shoulders. Two small horns protruded only slightly from the top of this black mane. The receptionist looked up as they entered and raised a shapely eyebrow. “Well well well, what do we have here?”

  “Undead mostly,” replied Percy absently. Cuthbert smacked him around the head.

  The woman put down the nail file. “And what can I do for you?” The tone of voice she used suggested any number of interesting possibilities could lay in the answer.

  Dreth approached her, the rest of the party in tow, and rested casually on the desk. “Listen, we were supposed to have a meeting with the boss, don’t suppose he’s around by any chance?”

  The receptionist leaned forward, exposing a low cut top straining to withhold a more than ample cleavage.

  “Holy Dreg!” exclaimed Cuthbert, noticing the woman’s figure for the first time. “Hello good looking!” He leered at her. “How about you and me do the dance of the dead baby?”

  “Ignore my lecherous friend,” said Dreth, “his brain is rotten.”

  “It’s not that rotten,” replied the zombie. “This dear lady is fulsome enough to stimulate parts others cannot reach.”

  “I’m sorry,” replied the secretary, “I don’t do zombies. They have a tendency to fall apart when the going gets rough.” She noticed Redthorne for the first time and licked her lips. “Wizards though, now wizards I like!” She preened and batted her eyelashes at the mage, sending an almost visible surge of lust forward. “How about it sweety? Fancy a good time do we? Dump the kid and we can get down and dirty.” She jiggled her bosom, producing an interesting effect.

  Redthorne coughed and turned red. “Ah, I don’t consort with demons,” he said. Still, Dreth couldn’t help noticing he wasn’t addressing her face.

  “Back Succubus!” Emerald stepped between the two. “Desist from your temptations.”

  “And who is this?” The receptionist eyed the woman up and down slowly. “Well, not bad. You can join in too if you want, make it a party why not?”

  *Into points, Dreth noticed.

  She winked at Emerald, who opened her mouth and flushed.

  “Look, we can have an orgy later…” said Dreth.

  “We can?” Cuthbert smiled so wide his face split.

  “…but now we’d just like to visit your leader.”

  The Succubus pouted, which in no way made her look any less attractive. “Sorry, you’re out of luck. He’s busy in the library, researching some summoning or other, so I gather. Could be a while.”

  “Well, yes,” said Dreth, improvising quickly. “We know that.”

  “We do?” asked Percy, looking at Emerald, who frowned at him.

  “This is why we have the wizard,” Dreth gestured at Redthorne. “He’s here to assist. The baby is for a sacrifice.”

  “Ah, I did wonder.” The receptionist sat down and picked up her file again. “Down the hall, second on the left.”

  “Thank-you,” said Dreth walking off and nodded at the others, indicating they should follow.

  “Listen,” started Cuthbert to the succubus as the others shuffled away. “My parts are quite solid, if you would just…”

  “Cuthbert!” Dreth shouted back, interrupted the undeads’ chat-up line.

  Cuthbert rolled his eyes and moved reluctantly after them.

  They marched down a carpet lined hallway. White magical lights lit the passage, casting their glow over a variety of portraits on the walls. The pictures were mostly actions scenes, with various monsters fighting, and usually winning, against a variety of different adventurers.

  “This is it,” said Emerald, pointing to a large door.

  “Right, let’s meet this Dungeon Management then,” said Dreth, drawing Darkblood. He kicked the door, forcing it open with a crash, and pushed Percy in ahead of him.

  “Hey!” the zombie complained.

  Dreth paid him no heed, and looked around the room, which was large and square, lined with book-cases and comfortable reading stations. “You!” he shouted. “I want a word with you.”

  The figure in the corner looked up, his face hidden in the folds of the hooded robe he was wearing. The large tome he had been holding fell to the floor as he jerked with surprise. “What’s the meaning of this? I’ll have your hides!” He raised his gloved hands and started to make a gesture in the air, but stopped as Darkblood pricked at his chest.

  “Keep very still,” said Dreth.

  “Who are you? What do you want? Do you realize who I am?”

  Dreth leaned forward and smiled his skull smile. “Oh, indeed. And do you know who I am?”

  “A soon to be dead…” The figure cut off a moment and peered at him. “Wait a minute! Are you that meddlesome Guardian? The one who has run off?”

  “The very one. And I want some answers.”

  “I don’t parley with minions,” replied the hooded man haughtily, crossing his arms.

  “In that case, I’ve no reason to keep you around.” Dreth pushed Darkblood forward slightly.

  “On the other hand, negotiation is often the way forward,” said the Management, quickly implementing a policy U-turn.

  “I knew you would see reason,” Dreth eased the sword back very slightly and looked around. “Nice place you have here.”

  “Look at me! I’m the boss!” Cuthbert was sitting at a large wooden desk. “Hey! Are these cigars?!” He opened a small box. “Why they are! Dragon Finest Blend. Very nice.” He bit the end off one and looked around for a light.

  “Why are you here?” asked the Master.

  “A question some of us have been asking ourselves for some time now,” said Emerald, stepping forward. “Maybe you can provide the answers?”

  “You! How did… What are… I mean…?”

  “We ask the questions here,” interrupted Dreth. “Now, you can start with telling us where to find the treasure.”

  “The dungeon treasure?”

  “No, aunts’ secret recipe for chocolate sauce,” replied Dreth, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course the dungeon treasure!”

  “Oh, it’s in the Pit, a few leagues north of here, but you need a key to get in.”

  “That would be the one in the Runebox I take it,” said Redthorne. “The one our young zombie friend stuck to the Golem.”

  Dreth scowled. “I don’t suppose there’s another one by any chance?”

  The Master laughed. “Not a chance! We don’t make it easy for anyone to stroll in and help themselves.” He smiled evilly. “So you’d better give up now. If you promise to return to your post I’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”

  “There’s no other way in?” Percy looked up from a book he was pretending to read.

  “No.” The Dungeon Master leaned forward slightly, squinting at D
reth. “Who are you anyway? Why is the Overlord so insistent you don’t leave? Tell me, and maybe we can work something out. I know what his weakness is you know.”

  It was Dreth’s turn to frown. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “And who am I? Why have you held me prisoner?” Emerald pushed her way forward.

  The Manager rubbed his hands together slightly. “You are part of an agreement with have with a Lower Power my dear. I’m afraid you will have to return to your casket, or It may get annoyed.”

  “It? Who is It?” Emerald asked.

  The Dungeon Master chuckled from within his hood. “Sorry. The time for answers is over. Now you will pay for your insolence!” He raised a hand even as Dreth lunged forward with Darkblood.

  The sword pierced the robe, but it was too late. The body of the Master no longer filled it, and it dropped down to hang loosely around the blade, which howled with anger.

  At the same time shouts and the sound of many footsteps could be heard from the corridor outside, approaching quickly.

  Dreth ran over to the door just as the burly figure of an orc entered the room. He pushed the guard to one side, smashing him head first into one of the bookcases, and slammed the door shut, leaning on it to prevent anyone else entering. “Percy, Cuthbert, find something to barricade us in, quickly!” he shouted. The door vibrated as someone bounced off the other side.

  The zombies and humans hurriedly dragged a desk and a heavy bookcase over, and the portal was soon wedged shut.

  “Now what?” asked Cuthbert, picking up his cigar again. “That won’t hold them forever.”

  “Mage, spell us out of here!” Emerald said.

  “I can’t, unless you can think of a way to nullify the Spite,” Redthorne answered.

  “Why do we still have this wizard?” asked Percy. “He’s no use to us unless he can cast some kind of spell.”

  “Let’s give them the female,” said Cuthbert. “Maybe they will trade our release for her.”

  “Try it zombie, and you will be looking for a metal head to match your leg,” said Emerald, suddenly fierce.

  “Stop your bickering,” shouted Dreth. “Let me think.” He turned to look at the guard he had thrown to one side before. Reaching down, he picked the Orc up by the collar with one hand and slapped it around the face until it woke up. “How do we get out of here?” he hissed.