by Marc Robert
It was crazy talk and making the dryads incredibly uneasy in their own skins. The young man could see that. He even heard one of them mutter: “We should crucify the nit!” under her breath, the gnarled branches that were her arms snaking out towards the sprite in a menacing way.
So Osman took it upon himself to act, before things took a decidedly violent turn. He grabbed the dungeon sprite by the hand and dragged her off to a clearing in The Wood so that they could speak in private, for a few moments at least.
“You want to tell me some prophecy … really tell me,” Osman said: “Now’s your chance! But hurry up and say what you need to say — slowly, and succinctly, so that I can actually understand it all — before those dryads decide to string you up for sport. I won’t be able to stop them from hurting you, even if I was an Adept I wouldn’t be able to stop them all.”
The dungeon sprite grew furious at his words: “Hurry up and slow down?! Hurry up and slow down?!?! Hurry up AND slow down?!?!” she raved, “You humans are all the same! I bring you riches of knowledge and all you can think to do is: rush, rush, rush, rush, rush!!!” She was clearly angry at him. But then her mood did a complete one-eighty, going from wholly sour to absolutely sullen in just under a second, like some little diva play-acting on the stage. “Maybe I should just go home and forget about the whole darn thing,” she pouted.
Osman pressed his lips together. That WAS pretty cute, what she was doing there, with her mouth: the pouting thing. He had to admit he really, REALLY liked that. And it made him forget all about her fury, and her portentous words.
She was an odd sort, he thought, not exactly like the lore book had described: no, not quite. She was a talker for sure; a little know-it-all, no doubt … but, somehow, she was also a bit different. More willful. Mischievous, maybe. Not a blind servant of The Hive.
Her tiny pouty mouth soothed him and his addled mind and he focused his attention on that — the quirk of her lips — and, almost immediately, a huge smile broke out across her pixieish face. She blushed a rather deep shade of red and exclaimed: “I knew it! I KNEW you would like me!! I just knew it!!!”
Now it was Osman’s turn to be ashamed: “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to rush you. Let’s just … let’s start over, okay? Why don’t you tell me your name.”
“I’m Pelt.”
“And I’m Osman … Osman Spar,” the young man said, extending his hand.
“I know who you are, silly!” Pelt said to Osman, giggling a little and touching his hand with the back of her wrist in some sort of weird, “fist-bump” kind of greeting. “I’ve been searching for you, far and wide. And for a VERY long time! … Er, well, at least I think it’s been a long time. I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s only been a few days? … Or weeks?? … OR MONTHS??? It’s hard to tell, you know: with time.”
Osman furrowed his brow. What did the dungeon sprite mean by that? Could she somehow manipulate the game’s time-stream?! That would be some Elder magic indeed, if she could do that. But instead of asking her that, he said: “Searching? … For me?”
“That’s right,” Pelt beamed, super-proud of herself.
“But why? What for?”
“Don’t you already know?”
“Know what?” Osman was baffled and it showed on his face.
The dungeon sprite scrunched up her nose: “That’s NOT right,” she said, “You should already know. I thought …”
“What? What should I know?”
“We’re to be bound together, you and I: in the soul-gem!”
“WHAT?!”
“You’re to be my core and I’m to be your guiding spirit.”
Osman’s lips parted in surprise and he gasped, actually audibly gasped, even as he shook his head back and forth: “I think you’ve made some sort of mistake, Pelt,” he said. In fact, he was certain that she was mistaken … or, perhaps: somehow misled. She was not the first of the many, MANY monster girls whom he had met in The Wood that day to propose something akin to marriage to him. Indeed, it seemed to be par for the course around here.
The sprite cocked her head.
“A mistake,” Osman said again, trying to sound as neutral as possible. He realized now that perhaps he had stumbled into yet another of these monster girls’ honeytraps and was trying to think how he could back himself out of it ever so delicately, so as not to anger this obviously mercurial creature any further than he already had.
Pelt gazed up at him and pouted: “You … you don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe — ”
She cut him off: “I can read your thoughts, you know. Not completely; not yet. But I get glimpses. I can sense your distrust.”
She looked so, SO sad.
So … rejected.
It tugged at Osman’s heartstrings and made him think of how Kendall often ignored his own romantic advances. Or played dumb, as of his interest in her beyond just being friends didn’t exist at all, as if he hadn’t asked her to go out to eat or to the movies with him a dozen times or more. He knew EXACTLY how it felt to be rejected and, because of that, he hated ever having to reject anyone else. He hated having to say “No” or turning people down, no matter what the offer was, no matter if it was something really good for him or not. It was one of his hang-ups, for sure. And it was a problem with himself that he was actively trying to overcome in the real world, but hadn’t quite been able to, at least not yet anyway. But here, now — in the game — he had to stay the course lest he be led down The Dark-Hand Path.
“I’m sure you’re a good and honest soul … ” he started to say to Pelt.
But, again, the dungeon sprite cut him off: “When we’re bound together, we’ll be able to read each other’s thoughts fully, completely, and then … THEN you’ll know the truth!” She had such a tragic look on her face even as she said that, like somehow she knew that she had just royally screwed up in some way, which only served to further accentuate her overwhelmingly seductive pout.
Osman eyed the quirk of her lips and his heart began to race.
He suddenly wanted to kiss her so bad!
Right here! Right now!!! Despite all else …
… despite everything that was going on around them.
He knew that the dryads were watching him and the sprite, but he didn’t care. It was like Pelt had him under some kind of charm spell. He knew it would be a dangerous misstep to kiss her and, well, probably really friggin’ out of place, but the soft curve of her lips was luring him in.
The young man took a step forward, toward her …
… but then …
Then he caught himself!
A playful little smile spread across Pelt’s face, replacing that pout: “You think my lips are so sexy, so listen … listen to the words coming out of them. Pay attention and LISTEN TO ME!!!” She paused for dramatic effect and pursed her lips, making them pouty again, for Osman’s sake. Then she cleared her throat like any good orator would do before launching into the most crucial speech of their entire life: “You have a GREAT DESTINY ahead of you, Osman Hieronymus Spar. Your soul will be intertwined with my own and we, we could very well come to rule The Kingdom Of Esk together. Or some small piece of it, at least. Or build a great kingdom of our own, if we so desired. By The Horned God, we could build a whole entire empire, you and I! A world … a planet … a universe! We can do ANYTHING, once we consummate the soul-gem’s bond!!!”
Osman’s mind reeled.
He knew, from past campaigns, that when NPCs started going on about his “great destiny” and becoming the ruler of the kingdom and all sorts of epic-sounding shit like that that he should prick up his ears and listen super-carefully because it was most likely the game’s AI signaling to him that, ready or not, his main questline was about to kick off. However — even knowing all that — what the dungeon sprite had just charted out in terms of his future was so far beyond any quest Osman had ever undertaken in Other Earth that he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
> “B-b- build a universe?” he finally managed to utter.
“Yesssss,” Pelt’s eyes gleamed at the glory of the thought of it.
“But I … ”
“How can you be so befuddled?!” the dungeon sprite snapped. She looked annoyed at him, greatly annoyed.
Osman arched his eyebrows, further confirming his own confused state and, of course, further fueling Pelt’s annoyance.
“You did elect to become a dungeon core, didn’t you?” she asked him rather matter-of-factly, perhaps a little bit too matter-of-factly for the gravity of such a question.
“A dungeon core?!” Osman exclaimed, “Why would I ever CHOOSE to become a dungeon core?!”
Now it was Pelt’s turn to look confused.
Her eyebrows converged upon one another as she reflected on his words. And her wings fluttered. She stared down at her tiny little hands.
Could it be that The Seeing Stone has betrayed me? she thought to herself, her stomach beginning to twist itself into knots. Her cheeks flushed red. She should have heeded her Hive-Mother’s warning. Tears began to form in her eyes. “Perhaps I … perhaps I’ve … come too soon!” she whispered.
But before Osman could reply, that goblin shaman burst through the trees into the clearing, his gnarled black bow raised. Osman shouted for Pelt to “Run!!!” even as he drew his rune-sword from its sheath. The sprite turned in horror, everything happening so fast that she tripped over her own two feet and fell in the mud.
The goblin grinned a rotty, shark-toothed grin and drew back on the string of his bow, sniffing at the air: “She’s piss!” he hissed and winked at Osman as he loosed one of his eel-bone arrows straight at the monster girl’s heart.
The young man threw himself between the sprite and the arrow, the arrow’s ichor-drenched tip piercing his shoulder quite deeply, just above his own heart.
{-33 HP} appeared in that fat, blood-red font in his field of vision, the numbers and letters totally engorged, as if pumped way too full of blood.
The goblin laughed even as Osman bellowed in agony!
Then the game notification exploded, splattering the young man with the gory remnants of its message.
Osman gritted his teeth against the pain and drew back his sword-arm, sizing up the goblin where he stood and estimating the distance between them. The foul creature was already nocking another arrow and the young paladin let loose a furious war-cry: some heinous, grizzly bear yowl so beyond his previous agonized bellowing that he frightened even himself. With all his might, he threw his rune-sword straight at the goblin and the blade spun through the air — end over end over end over end — impaling the creature straight through the chest before the goblin even knew what hit him!!!
{-27 HP} bloomed above the creature’s skull-capped head in that puffy yellow font, then swirled away accompanied by that little “gust of wind” sound effect.
The goblin dropped to his knees, staring down at the sword sticking from his torso. His sickly, yellow eyes went wide, and he bared his rotty teeth even as he reached up with his spindly, green fingers and gripped the hilt of the sword, both absolutely stunned that it was in there and considering yanking it the fuck out all at the same time.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Osman said. “You do that and you’re gonna bleed out in a matter of seconds.”
The goblin squinted, thinking it through. Like most infernals, he had vertical, slit-like pupils, black as pitch. They were neat to look at, but only now that the creature was relatively subdued.
“Ay’chuk curs’d chu,” the goblin said, pointing at the arrow sticking from Osman’s shoulder.
“About that … I guess you’ve got the antidote on you, or could mix one up in a hurry?”
The goblin shook his head: “Nay,” he spat, grinning.
But it was black blood — not phlegm — that he had spit from his fiendish mouth, suggesting that the infernal wasn’t long for this world.
As if to confirm it: {-19 HP} appeared above the goblin’s ugly little head just then, hovering there for a few seconds before swirling away.
However, Osman wasn’t really any better off.
{-13 MP} popped up in his peripheral vision, pulsating — once, twice, thrice — before bursting apart, splattering the young man with that font-gore again. The game really did have a kind of macabre sense of humor about all that, a gallows humor.
Osman checked his Soul Stats, confirming that he only had 6 Mana Points left before zeroing out. And he guessed that the goblin, being a higher-level Novice like himself, had just 4 HP left, if he had come into this fight with full Health, which he probably had, being a shaman and all.
And then it dawned on him: this cretinous little “medicine man” probably had some healing potions on him somewhere! Which meant that Osman wouldn’t need the exact cure for whatever type of ichor the arrowhead had been coated with, just enough potions to get him back to those slinky fox-girls whom he had met at the edge of The Wood. They would know how to counter the toxin … for a price!
“You been poachin’ children’s souls in this forest?” Osman asked the shaman point-blank, starting to walk directly toward the creature.
The goblin looked up from the sword in his chest at the mention of “his good works” and smiled proudly, looking a helluva lot like Willem Dafoe when he smiled. “Childrenzzz soulsz iz sweet!” the infernal said, beaming.
“You’re a ficking mana-eater, and you know what we do to mana-eaters around here: KILL ’EM!”
The goblin’s eyes widened …
Osman whispered a word of power and his rune-sword, still lodged firmly in the creature’s chest, began to tremble and glow. The icy blue color of the magic exploded out of the goblin’s wound just as the paladin reached down and grabbed the hilt of the sword, yanking the blade free.
{Instakill
-50 MP!!!}
Osman grinned at that and — despite the mind-numbing pain in his shoulder — he spun around, sword in hand, to check on Pelt but …
The dungeon sprite was gone!
And that’s the last that he had seen of her …
… Osman stood in the cavernous room, remembering it all. He should have listened more closely to everything that she had tried to tell him.
He should have BELIEVED her words.
Because here he was, all alone — a dungeon core now — just like she said that he would be.
And what’s more: he was GOD-AWFULLY HUNGRY!!!
Ravenous Mushrooms
The Hunger was overwhelming.
It invaded every inch of Osman’s mind — the whole of his brain — every fiber of his being. It was not just the gnawing craving in the pit of his belly, but the newly-opened void in his mind: a black hole of desire.
For mana.
And more mana.
And EVEN MORE MANA STILL!!!
Like some feral beast or addict, he began frantically searching around the cavernous room for something, anything, any living thing — anything at all that he could consume. Cockroaches, rats, worms … really anything would do, any small morsel that he could get his hands on and devour the soul of.
This was DEFINITELY NOT what Osman had envisioned becoming a dungeon core would be like at all!
He continued searching around in the room, grrr’ing and snarling. However, there appeared to be no vermin about. He could hear no scurrying, see nothing burrowing …
Impossible! Was he to starve to death in his very first minutes of being a dungeon?! That seemed so totally uncalled for and unfair. Kendall would never find him if he died of hunger first. Or, if she did find him, he would just be a little heap of moldering old bones in the corner.
Except, this cavernous room didn’t really have any corners …
Osman sniffed at the air.
Maybe he should just lay down on the floor where he stood? He was starting to become pretty light-headed from lack of proper nourishment, after all. Yeah, maybe that’s what he ought to do, just lay down for a li
ttle sleep and dream of Kendall Raines and Rania and Pelt and all the dirty little things that they could do together until something slithered or scurried his way that he could catch by the tail and drain in an instant. The way vampires did it, or spiders in their webs.
And it was as he was thinking about that — of bedding down for a deep and torpid slumber — that he happened upon them: three little red-cap mushrooms growing out of a craggy place, where the rubble of the wall met a gouge in the floor. They had bright white points or dots on their blood-red caps and looked almost exotic in this otherwise cold and abyssal chamber. Osman crouched down before them and, seriously: it was like he had found a pot of gold!
