Dungeon Crawler Carl Book 2

by DoctorHepa

  “Absolutely not,” Donut said. “He’s not allowed to have cigarettes.”

  The waitress shook her head. “I’m sorry, hun. We don’t have earth tobacco. We have blitz sticks, however. Would you like me to send a pharmacist over?”

  I had no idea what a blitz stick was, and the last thing I needed was a new addiction.

  “No, that’s okay,” I said, sighing.

  “Actually, who’s the pharmacist on duty?” Mordecai asked. “Is it Quint?”

  “Quint is working, yes.”

  “Send him over,” Mordecai said. “And I’ll take a flagon of Empress's Mead.”

  “Very well,” she said, wandering off.

  “What the hell is a pharmacist?” I asked. “And what’s a blitz stick?”

  “Oh, he’s just a drug dealer,” Mordecai said. “And stay away from blitz sticks. They’re hallucinogens, and they’re highly addictive. Magically addictive. You don’t want that.”

  “Then why are we summoning a pharmacist?”

  “He’s an old friend,” Mordecai said.

  “Are we safe here?” I asked as we waited.

  “This place isn’t a saferoom. But the security here is pretty good. But only in this room. This place has a lot of nooks and crannies. The bouncers aren’t in the other areas. Except the casino.”

  I looked up at the neon signs leading off to other areas. Three signs were unlit, but I could still read them. One read Casino, one read The Hunting Grounds, and the third was Guild-O-Rama. Of the lit signs, they were Bitches, Penis Parade, Jobs, The Silk Road, and Restrooms.

  There was a ninth door, but there was no sign over it. A rock monster guarded the entrance. I watched as a waitress emerged, and I realized it was the room to the back.

  I’d noticed the Bitches and Penis Parade signs first, and I’d assumed they led to the restrooms until I saw the actual restroom sign. “So, what are these places?” I asked.

  “Bitches is the female strip club and brothel. Penis Parade is the same thing, but for those who prefer dudes. Don’t go in either of those places, especially not on this floor. You’ll get shanked. Plus viewers tend to ridicule the crawlers who go in there.”

  I immediately thought of that new quest with the prostitutes. Mordecai had just shook his head when we told him about it, and then he told us to ignore it. The quest would go away the moment we left the floor.

  “…Jobs is a place to get quests,” Mordecai continued. “These tend to be NPC assassinations and theft-themed gigs. The silk road is a marketplace. We’ll go in there in a bit. Guild-O-rama holds several rogue-themed guild rooms, including an explosives guild. There are guilds available on this third floor, but the more specialized ones don’t become available until later. So that section isn’t open yet.”

  “Wait, will the Desperado Club be available on the lower levels? Like four and five? And are those really stairs to the Hunting Grounds?”

  “Yes and yes,” Mordecai said. “But the club will be harder to find on the fourth and fifth floors. When you go in, you’ll find yourself back here in this room, just like my guildhall. Those stairs to the Hunting Grounds open up once you hit the sixth floor. So basically you can only come back up to this floor once you get to the sixth floor. That Hunting Grounds level is much bigger than this one. Something else interesting happens once the crawlers hit that floor. I’ll explain that later.”

  I watched as a group of three human crawlers were led away into the Bitches room by an elephant-headed elite who stood about seven-feet tall. I had the urge to get up and tell them to stay the fuck away when the waitress returned, pharmacist in tow.

  The waitress placed our drinks in front of us. I received a glass and a bottle that was suspiciously missing a label. Donut received a bowl with a bright-red vodka drink. A trio of maraschino cherries floated within. She sniffed at it and made a face.

  But I barely noticed our drinks. Instead, I stared at the small, floating drug dealer. Quint.

  The top half of Quint was that of a sharp-toothed, beady-eyed opossum. The bottom half of the creature was a whirling dervish, like he was halfway being swallowed by a miniature tornado. It twisted and turned on the floor, and I could feel the wind blowing off the small cyclone. Unlike the waitress, this guy had a description.

  Quint – Level 75 Half-Djinn, Half-Garbage Scowl

  Desperado Club Pharmacist

  This is a non-combatant NPC

  Half-Djinns are common amongst the Hunting Grounds and other forested levels of Dungeon Crawler World. Nobody knows for certain why there are so many hybrid Djinns out there, but one theory suggests that a rather ill-timed expletive is the cause of the population explosion. It is posited that a person in control of a Djinn’s lamp and the resulting three wishes once exclaimed, “Fuck this forest” or “Fuck this level” or “Fuck you all” or some iteration thereof, and the enslaved genie took that as a challenge. As a result, thousands of half-Djinn, half-forest creatures roam the dungeon. Only a few are intelligent. Only a few are sane. They are all dangerous little fuckers.

  If you kill too many of them, rumor has it their daddy may come looking for you.

  “I have lost count of the years, old friend,” Quint said, looking Mordecai up and down. He had an unexpectedly deep and growly voice, like he was a British street kid trying too hard to sound like Batman. “I thought you were supposed to be free several seasons ago. I was a little sad you hadn’t come to say goodbye.”

  “Hello, Quint,” Mordecai said. “I’m on manager duty. This is Princess Donut, and she is my ward. This other fellow is Carl, who is in Donut’s party.”

  “Pleased to meetcha both,” Quint said. “Mordecai here used to be one of my best customers in the early days. So a manager, huh? That’s pretty lucky. I’m jealous. It’d be nice to be immortal for once.” He stopped, looking up into the air. “Oh shuddup, I ain’t telling ‘em nothing they don’t already know.”

  “Quint here is a former crawler like myself,” Mordecai said. “He actually chose this as a race. He’s from a… an orcish world, right? I don’t remember. Wait, don’t answer. I don’t want you to get in any more trouble from the AI.”

  The drug dealer shook his opossum head. “Being a manager is a sweet gig, I gotta tell you. No AI breathing down your back.” He looked up in the air. “Because that nanny can be a right bitch sometimes.” He pointed a clawed finger at my chest. “You two don’t bother trying to make a deal on the tenth floor, you hear me? If I could do it again, I’d push my way through to floor eleven. But you, pretty girl,” he said to Donut, “You got yourself the most knowledgeable manager in this game. You listen to what he says, okay?”

  Donut looked at Quint through half-slitted eyes. “Who are you again? And why are you floating?” She looked at me. “Carl, is that a talking anteater?”

  Ah shit.

  “You’ve taken like two licks of that drink, and you’re drunk already?” I asked, examining her properties.

  “I didn’t like it. I just ate the cherries. Vodka is gross.” She reached down and lapped up some more of the drink. “I am absolutely not drinking this bile.” She took yet another sip.

  “Don’t worry. Quint here has a potion to snap her out of it,” Mordecai said. “Don’t you?”

  “I sure do, Mate,” Quint said. “Need anything else? My menu is mostly the same. I’m more expensive than those gits over in the Silk Road market, but my stuff is better.”

  “Your stuff is definitely better,” Mordecai agreed. “But Donut’s charisma is 76, and she has a merchant class, which means we’ll be buying it at a quarter of the price you sell it for.” Mordecai, ever the teacher, turned to me and said, “Charisma bonuses don’t work on half-genies.”

  “It’s Djinn. Not Genie, mate,” Quint said. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Mordecai said. “You still offer the starter kit? And you up for a trade?”

  Quint’s beady eyes grew even smaller. “I do indeed. But I wasn’t
expecting anyone to be able to afford one until the fifth or sixth floor. What can you possibly have to trade this early?”

  Mordecai sent me a quick, private note. A moment later two bottles of Rev-Up Moonshine appeared on the table. I’d been using them quite a bit in battle, but I had a stash set aside to sell. I still had 23 bottles left, not including the two on the table. I also had another ten boom jugs left in my inventory.

  “No way,” Quint said, sniffing the bottle. “That Krakaren bitch said no more of the stuff was being made this season.”

  “They were making it,” Mordecai said. “And Carl and Donut here are the reason why it was shut down. They have the last of it.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. At least one other crawler out there had gotten their hands on some. I hadn’t received any royalties since the first few coins, but it meant someone had come across a few bottles and had made boom jugs.

  “Make it four bottles, and we have a deal,” Quint said.

  “We’ll give you three, and you also give me the potion to stop the world from being wavy,” Donut said sleepily. I hadn’t even realized she’d been paying attention. “Oh my word. Carl, I think I might vomit. You didn’t warn me about this.” She took another drink and then started growling at the bowl.

  “Deal,” Quint said.

  “Wait, what the hell are we buying?” I asked.

  “A starter kit,” Quint said. “It’s a suitcase filled with everything you need to start your own pharmaceutical empire. You’ll be the dungeon’s next kingpin, mate. Just don’t be selling in my territory.” He shot at me with a pair of finger guns.

  “Trust me,” Mordecai said. “I ain’t buying all this stuff for giggles. I’m putting together a library for you.”

  “You need a table?” Quint asked as we made the trade. He had a merchant-style inventory, similar to my own. The suitcase was actually a large chest. I had to move my bottle out of the way for it to fit on the table. It was filled to the brim with chemicals and herbs. Mordecai opened it up and started sifting through it.

  “An alchemy table?” I asked. “We already have one.”

  “Suit yourself. You need anything else? Word on the street is you’re looking for earth tobacco. I don’t have any right now, but I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  “Hey,” I said to the opossum as Mordecai rummaged through the box. “What happened last night? The bouncer said there was an incident with a pet or something?”

  “Oh yeah,” Quint said. “It was crazy. This woman came in here. A crawler like you. I can’t remember what her race was called. It was something I’d never seen before. She was human, a real looker but with one goat leg. Anyway, she had two pet dogs. She put them in the playroom, and they went bonkers. The monsters killed two attendants plus another pet, and then they broke out onto the dance floor, snapping and biting and snarling. The bouncers moved in, but their owner cast a spell that froze the whole room. I’ve never seen anything like it. A crawler from the third floor casting magic that powerful. Anyway, while the room was frozen, she stole a couple bottles of tequila from behind the counter while her dogs made a chew toy of a few dancers. Then she took out a mace from her inventory and splattered the brains in of an elite gnoll who’d been talking to her. Luckily she didn’t kill any of the real bouncers. You should’ve seen this place afterwards. The playroom ain’t gonna open back up for a week. She got away, but she ain’t coming back. Her membership has been revoked, thank the gods.”

  “Holy shit,” I said. “That’s Lucia Mar.”

  “Those dogs sound just awful,” Donut said, her voice slurring. “Bitch-ass rottweilers. Almost as bad as cocker spaniels. Think they’re so smart.”

  Goddamnit, Donut. “Don’t be saying that stuff,” I said.

  “I don’t see any brin root,” Mordecai said, his head still stuffed in the chest.

  “Yeah, it’s hard to come by,” said Quint. “I gave you two vials of bujold sap instead. It’s more stable anyway.”

  Mordecai grunted and shut the case. He nodded, and I pulled out a third bottle of moonshine. They quickly disappeared as I pulled in the large case. An anti-alcohol “Hair of the Dog” potion appeared, along with three licorice sticks.

  “On the house,” Quint said, grinning, indicating the three sticks. “It’s not your earth tobacco, but you might want to give it a try.”

  Blitz Stick.

  It’s like candy, but for your mind. If you eat this, your Intelligence temporarily rises by five points. If you smoke it, there’s a 15% chance your Intelligence will permanently rise by 1.

  There might be a side effect or two. Or three.

  Before Mordecai could object, I pulled the sticks into my inventory. I had no intention of using one, but you never knew what might be useful. Donut took the hair of the dog. She immediately sobered up. She looked down thoughtfully at the still half-full bowl of her alcoholic Shirley Temple. I pulled it out of her reach.

  She looked as if she might object, but then she sat up straight. “Carl, Carl, I just got a notification. It says I can now open my fan box!”

  “Okay, we’ll do it when we’re done here,” I said. A moment later, I received the same notice.

  Mordecai and Quint chatted some more, but I could tell Mordecai was done with the conversation. This was the real reason why he wanted to come here. He was collecting a war chest of potion-making supplies, all in preparation for the fourth floor when would be able to set him up with an alchemy table.

  I skipped the glass and drank from my bottle of cheap bourbon while Donut popped her noise bubble and moved to the dance floor. The bot NPCs laughed and clapped as the small cat leaped around the floor. A large ogre NPC hopped around her, and she jumped to his shoulder, and they twirled about the floor for several minutes, both of them laughing hysterically.

  Mordecai and I watched for a moment, neither of us saying anything.

  “Why were you so upset when Donut chose you as a manager?” I asked Mordecai. “Are we really that awful?”

  Mordecai didn’t answer at first. He looked down into his drink.

  “It’s not you,” he finally said. “It’s complicated. When I’m done being your manager, I’ll still be free. I will get my stipend, and I will make my way across the universe.”

  I felt relieved. I hadn’t even realized it until he’d said it, but I’d been thinking perhaps we’d inadvertently sabotaged his efforts at getting free.

  “But that’s what you said would happen anyway,” I said.

  “I know,” Mordecai said. He looked up and gave me a grim smile. “Like I said, it’s complicated and it has nothing to do with you.”

  “That dude said you’re immortal now. Is that true?”

  “Sort of,” Mordecai said. “You know how Zev wears that ridiculous armor when she visits? It’s because there is no protection for staff on the first three floors. Nobody knows why. It’s likely a cost thing. But starting on the fourth floor, the system-based protection kicks on. Not for you, of course. For the employees. And the tourists. Plus a few select NPCs, including the managers.”

  “So it’s like being in a saferoom, but everywhere?”

  “No,” Mordecai said. “In the saferooms, you’re protected from attacks, and those who attack you are punished. You are kept from being injured. This system-wide protection is something different. It’s both better and worse. It’s worse because you can still be wounded, and you can still feel pain, and you can still die. It’s better, though, because when you do die under system protection, you don’t really perish. You’re just kicked from the game. Your body is transferred out of the dungeon. Before, as just a guildmaster, I wouldn’t be offered any sort of security. It’s just part of the deal. Nor am I protected right now, not for the remainder of this level. But starting on the fourth floor, managers such as myself are given a protection package. It’s the same thing the tourists playing Faction Wars will have on the ninth level. I can still be killed, but I won’t really be dead. I’ll just be kicked fr
om the game. So as far as you and Donut are concerned, my immortality is irrelevant.”

  “But why are managers protected when guildmasters aren’t? That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “I would think it’d be the opposite.”

  He shrugged. “In the early days, managers were allowed to fight alongside their wards. And when they died, they’d become available again on the next floor. That only lasted a season or two. Now, if I die as a manager, I’ll be done for the season. And as long as Donut makes it to the fourth floor, my obligation will also be done. I’ll be free to go. They don’t protect the other NPCs, like the guildmasters or the merchants. Again, it’s a cost thing. There’s a whole lot of us. Of them. I think some bosses might be protected, because sometimes you have to face bigger versions later on. But that’s it.”

  Oh shit. “So you can step in front of a murder dozer on the next floor and be done with all this?”

  “Yep,” he said. “Don’t worry, though. They incentivize us not to do that. The longer Donut survives, the more money I earn as a bonus. It’s written into the rules. The stipend I receive as a guildmaster is next to nothing. The money I get as a manager is significantly higher. The better you do, the more money I receive when I’m free. Every level past nine is just an obscene amount of credits.” He sighed, watching Donut. Her purple tiara glittered in the flashing lights of the dance floor.

  I kept coming back to my first question. Why was he upset about being chosen as a manager, then? And why did Odette know he was going to be pissed? I was missing something, something important, but I could tell he would broach no more discussion on the matter. Not now.

  “Let’s go check out the Silk Road Market,” he said abruptly. “The recap show is about to start, and they’ll stop the music for that. We’ll want to be out of here before the second half of the show. If they show you two on the program, the bots will swarm us, asking us for autographs and to dance. If that happens, we’ll never get Princess Donut out of here.”