Seventh dispelled the Bone Wall and ran straight to the torch. Fang-Knife let out a surprised gurgle, and scampered right behind his master.

  They made a skittering stop at the torch, Seventh because he was running too fast and almost lost his footing. Fang because the ratkin wasn't informed about the torch, and tried to get Seventh's attention to ask what was going on without a voice.

  The torch bathed the cave in warm orange and red. Almost painful to watch after being in the darkness for so long. To Fang's dismay, Seventh picked it up and gaped at the chalk.

  Simple white lines. Five smiling stick-figures, an OK sign, campfire, stairs, and a simple drawing of the cave network. Completed with arrows pointing the correct way out.

  Below them, a message: no hard feelings. If you like, you can join us for supper.

  Seventh reread the message dozens of times. He stared at the words like they told the meaning of life, the universe, and everything in between.

  Fang-Knife had to poke Seventh hard to bring him back to earth.

  Seventh blinked and looked at the ratkin. "Thanks. I, uh— got lost in thought for a minute there. Let's move, don't attack unless we are attacked."

  Fang examined the chalk-map, and with a nod gave it his blessing. Seventh assumed it was more or less the same route they were already taking.

  Fang on point, the group moved again. The dungeon felt little bit more open. The air was fresher and the shadows weren't hideouts for monsters. There was excitement and hope in the air. And food?

  Sniffing air, Seventh could faintly notice a soft fragrance of vegetables and meat boiling. A metallic clang and a soft laugh echoed in the cavern tunnel. Light simmered around a long bend.

  Seventh stopped. Fang heard him stopping, and looked behind questioningly.

  His throat was suddenly dry as a bone. Legs weighed a ton, and a low hum drummed in his ears.

  Other people. Humans? Elves? What would he say? What would they say? Why are they here? Killing undead?

  Seventh started to breathe faster, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He could hear only low hum turned to loud tinnitus. Torch dropped from his hands. He grabbed both of his ears. Crouched.

  What if they knew? His race? How about necromancy? Is it legal? Shit. He could fake Fang being a pet. Yes. No. Maybe that works? How about others? Voidspace. No. Scout had seen them. No. No. He needed more time.

  "If you like, we can just leave a bowl of soup somewhere. No need to come out," a man's voice echoed to the tunnel. It was soft but stern, little odd around edges— an accent?

  Someone was speaking to him. An actual person.

  Seventh opened his eyes— when did he close them?— to peek forwards. Nobody had come to look what was holding him up. "I need a moment.”

  He looked at Fang and felt bad about his thought about actual person.

  "Sorry Fang," he whispered.

  He didn't look, but he was sure Fang had some kind of surprised or questioning look on his face.

  "Okay," the voice replied. "Take your time."

  Seventh waited for a long minute for his hearing to return to normal. There was a weird metallic taste in his mouth. He spat it out.

  Carrying the torch, he led his ratkin minions around the bend, towards the light. Like the stick picture foretold, there were five people seated around a campfire in a half circle pointing towards the tunnel opening. A travel-sized cast iron pot was propped over the fire, and wispy steam rose from inside.

  A large, fur covered beastkin, caramel-skinned human man, black-clad man, happily waving woman, and robed woman.

  Seventh raised his hand in an awkward wave. He tried to make a friendly smile. "So, I— uh. Sorry I kinda attacked your friend? The man in black, I mean."

  The waving woman snorted loudly. "No worries! That happens all the time! Nevin never warns others, and he gets shot a lot," she said with a folksy, unrefined way of speaking that reminded Seventh of all friendly farmers and villagers all around. Her brown hair was tied tightly on a bun back of her head, and her snickering smile radiated warmth.

  The man in black, Nevin, shrugged and calmly ate his soup.

  Seventh frowned at that. What kind of Scout didn't identify himself when meeting allies? He nodded at the woman.

  The caramel-skinned man rolled his eyes, stood up, and after brushing the floor dirt of his clothes, slowly sauntered towards Seventh. He stopped a dozen paces away from Seventh and made a small bow, keeping eye-contact with his dark eyes. His skin, eyes, and short dark-brown hair stood out from his party members making Seventh think him as foreigner.

  “Apologies for my companion's lack of tact, I can't take them to anywhere nice. My name is Janiq as-Etusal of Cadral, leader of the adventuring party West Wind. Again, I apologize for my friend, Nevin's, actions of not making a proper contact.”

  Seventh stared at the man, blinked and made hasty bow. He wasn't expecting etiquette in the dungeon. After returning upright, Janiq also straightened his back.

  Janiq was wearing a similar leather armor as Seventh, but small breastplate covered his heart and lungs. He carried two swords and two daggers— that Seventh could see— on his weapon belt, one in each side. He didn't have equipment belt, satchel or any other pack on him, but there was bundles of cloth and leather around the campfire.

  Taking in the details, Seventh noticed the man staring at him, and raising an expectant eyebrow.

  “I-I-I'm Seventh. Seventh Seven I mean,” he stammered. He had taken too much time to ogle at the man and his equipment. Was that rude? Hopefully not. Janiq had also taken in Seventh's appearance, but he had made it more smoothly while walking towards him.

  There was a small, almost invisible, cocking of head from Janiq when he heard Seventh's name. Behind him, the other adventurers didn't bother to cover their grins. The robed woman made an warning with a pointing finger, and the woman that waved earlier closed her mouth.

  “I thought that I was going to apologize. I mean— I did kind of attack... Nevin?” Seventh nodded towards the black-clad man, Nevin.

  “I must insist of asking of forgiveness first. His actions on the field were rude and dangerous, making him the offending part in this case.” Janiq made another small bow. His tone was apologetic in an honest kind of way. Combined with his wide smile and honest eyes, it made Seventh kind of awkward, squirmy.

  Seventh scratched back of his head and grimaced. “I mean, nobody got actually hurt— he is unharmed right?— so no harm no worries?”

  Janiq beamed and laughed softly. “That's the spirit! Now, I believe Nevin offered you a supper and company? We have a very... fine soup over fire if you're interested?”

  A growling stomach answered in Seventh's stead, and he coughed to cover the noise. “Warm food sounds good.”

  It was more than good. Seventh hadn't eaten anything but those gross ration bars and water for days.

  Upon hearing Seventh's acceptance of invitation, the large beastkin also stood up to dig into a massive leather backpack. He was easily nearing seven feet in height and his bare upper torso showcased his toned muscles. Combined with short light-brown fur with grey striping on his arms, he reminded Seventh of a ratkin brute, but he had small horns jutting from his forehead, and his facial structure reminded Seventh faintly of a goat. The eyes sealed the thought: they were yellow with a long horizontal slit for a pupil.

  Seventh furrowed his brow, and looked over his shoulder.

  With a splash, something was added to the pot and Seventh snapped his head back forwards. The cabras procured a huge ladle from somewhere, and started to stir with undisguised glee.

  “I have to ask you to leave your undead somewhere away from our campfire. We don't want to accelerate their decomposing do we? Also... the smell.” Janiq had taken the first step back towards the campfire when he noticed Seventh looking back.

  “Yea. Also, they're undead.” A deep rumble of a voice joined Janiq. The cabras had spoken and his voice was everything and more what Seventh was expecting from him.

  Seventh looked at his undead. They did look a little bit worse to wear and there might be a smell. He had fallen a long time ago completely anosmic to the smell of death.

  His own smell.

  "Sure, but I stink too," he said back, and commanded his minions, "Stay at the tunnel. Warn us if something is coming. And Fang? No attacking adventurers."

  The robed woman waved her hand dismissively. "We all stink here. Oran here—" she pointed at the cabras. "—absolutely reeks of blood and guts all the time. I swear, we used two Clean-scrolls on him, but the muskiness of Roof Creeper is still lingering." Her voice was regal, every word was carefully intonated for maximum impact.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Walking closer, Seventh saw a wooden staff on her lap and long pointed ears peeking from her long silvery hair tied to a simple braid. Her back was straight as an arrow and she kept almost regal expression suitable for high court tea party on her narrow features, a living example of elven grace and poise.

  , Seventh kept a mental record.

  Nodding like he knew what she meant, Seventh had approached close enough to look into the two last members of the West Wind, Nevin and the smiling woman. They also had leather armor on, but their coloring were different from Janiq's carefully repaired and kept brown armor. Both were black and dark-grey, suitable for sneaking around.

  Nevin was only one who had a cloak and it obscured most of what he was wearing, but Seventh knew there had to be a myriad of daggers hidden on his person. Now that Seventh was closer, he saw similar elven features on Nevin's face, but he couldn't confirm with an ear check since he was wearing a black leather coif. He was holding a bowl of steaming soup on one hand and the other... was somewhere.

  The smiling woman looked around, and made an annoyed sigh ending in a dramatic groan aimed at her party. “Seriously? Hi, I'm Jennifer, you can call me Jenn, and these two—“ she pointed with her spoon at Nevin and the mage. Jenn also had a bowl of soup on her hands,”— are Nevin, though you probably heard that already, and Sylvia. Say hi, Sylvia.”

  Sylvia gracefully lifted an eyebrow and fractionally turned towards her. “One does not announce herself in an unruly manner. I was waiting for—“

  “Say hi, Sylvia,” Jenn interrupted.

  “Hi,” Sylvia said with just a little pained expression.

  “Pleasure to meet you all.” Seventh nodded as he took a seat. The campfire was almost painfully hot for him and the colors with the light were painting surreal image for him.

  He was finally somewhere with the living.

  Seventh only hoped that he hadn't noticed that all of West Wind were armed or their weapons were somewhere reachable. Janiq had his swords, Sylvia had her staff on her lap, Jenn had a bow behind her back on the ground with a lone arrow suspiciously off from her quiver. Oran could probably make red paste out of Seventh just with his bare hands, not to talk about the ladle— well it wasn't a proper weapon but it still was menacing— and Nevin was probably choosing his favorite knife under his cloak.

  “So,” Seventh said as he slowly reached for his axe on his belt. Five pairs of eyes bored into him. He slowly drew his axe, and carefully reached behind him to place the axe just a bit too far from him to reach. “What's for supper?”

  “Farmer's soup.” Oran slapped a hearty portion of the food on a bowl that was offered to Seventh.

  It was a simple wooden bowl, quickly warming from the soup, Seventh could feel the warmth spreading to his fingers. The soup itself was simple, dried vegetables, salted meat, and a dash of milk heated up in a broth.

  Seventh closed his eyes, and held the bowl close to his face, letting the warm steam rise to his nose, and playfully tease of the tastes to come. He didn't bother with a spoon, and lifted the bowl to his lips and started to gulp it down.

  The tastes were basic, but still... it was the most delicious meal Seventh had ever tasted, made so much better by the people around him. The warmth. He wanted more. Food and closeness with others.

  “Sorry, can I have seconds?” Seventh lifted the bowl towards Oran. The tall cabras was still holding the ladle, looking down at Seventh.

  He made almost unnoticeable glance at his party, and a ripple of subtle signs and motions washed over them, and returned to Oran.

  He dipped the ladle to the pot and gave Seventh another portion without. His large hand landed on Seventh's shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze. "You are safe now. No need to worry."

  That was a little weird for Seventh, but he attacked the second bowl— again without cutlery. Only when he saw small droplets hitting the bowl he realized why it was so salty.

  His tears of joy had seasoned the dungeon meal.

  He could feel the others glancing around, continuing making the small gestures, nods, and flicks to silently converse with one another. That reminded Seventh of an another party that stayed silent, but talked so much. He chuckled at the thought, gaining more careful and slightly worried glances.

  "This is the best meal I have ever eaten. Thank you."

  Janiq smiled at him. "No problem. Adventurers always help one another, right?"

  "Oh, I'm not an adventurer. Just got lost, that's all," Seventh said.

  That earned an furrowed brows all around. Janiq continued, "Could have fooled me. With your weapon and... used armor, Nevin said you were an adventurer in need."

  Nevin nodded. Both of his hands were now visible, the left holding a wooden spoon.

  “So, how does anybody just get lost in a dungeon?” Jenn asked. Others turned towards Seventh, clearly interested about his answer.

  "I don't exactly know... how... I got here?" Seventh tapped his finger on the bowl. He hadn't really thought about the why or how during his survival. The answers wouldn't have helped to kill ratkin or raise more minions. Unnecessary calculations.

  “I think there was a tug? Like, I was somewhere else and then I was in a tunnel with other people.”

  “Other people? Are they...?” Jenn let the question unsaid.

  Seventh stared at the soup. There was a piece of carrot poking above the surface. “They're gone. I'm the last one left.”

  The campfire crackled. It was fueled by small brown cubes burning with intense flames for such a small things. There was smell of smoke, and bubbling of soup.

  “So, ya raise any of them as your minions?” Oran's tone was almost casual, but there was a disgusted undertone.

  Someone slapped him, probably somewhere on his shoulder. The beastkin complained loudly. “'Ey! We're all thinking 'bout that!”

  “No, they burned to ash. Wouldn't do that to them anyway. You don't backstab your party.” Seventh raised his head to glare at Oran. And to sip his soup.

  Oran had a defensive expression, but he didn't seem too embarrassed. He just huffed and shrugged without an apology.

  “Just keep 'em away from us, ye?” He muttered as he dig into his own— noticeably bigger— bowl.

  Seventh's eye twitched and he continued trying to glare daggers at the cabras. Maybe he should ask tips from Nevin for that.

  Sylvia regally cleared her throat, drawing Seventh's attention away from Oran. “Apologies, but you said you were somewhere else? At home?”

  “That part is patchy,” Seventh scratched at the back of his head as emphasis. “I don't really remember where I was, just brightness, the tug, and the dungeon.”

  Sylvia leaned backwards, eyes glancing the dungeon roof, and one slender finger tapping her lips. “That sounds like accidental magical translocation... but it shouldn't happen without a powerful source. Maybe an Artifact breaking up? Dungeon collapsing, or... Conjunction?”

  Seventh got the impression that this wasn't a conversation, but a inner monologue seeping out. The feeling was justified as Sylvia pulled out parchment, ink, and quill from her satchel and started to make notes.

  “Do you remember anything else from the dungeon itself? Weird smells, taste on your tongue, noises that you couldn't explain? What about the others, did they have same symptoms— was there another species or sexes? And was there—“

  THWACK!

  “”

  Janiq had stood up, walked behind Sylvia, and whacked her head with a quick chop. She had let out a extremely unladylike peep and her eyes bulged out from surprise. A red hue rose from her cheeks straight up to her pointed ears.

  “He has gotten back to the civilization! You can hold your basilisks and wait for better time— say, when says fine to answer some very intrusive questions.” The calm and friendly tone had sharpened to a pointed edge that abolished Sylvia.

  Seventh looked at the bewildered face of Sylvia, Jenn that was about to laugh, and Janiq's stern expression. Seventh started to laugh and taking that as a permission, Jenn joined him with a hearty guffaw.

  He waved a dismissing hand. “It's okay. Actually, it kinda feels good to talk about it. Or maybe just talking? But I do have a price for my information.”

  Sylvia was rubbing her head and gave Janiq a stink eye as he took his place next to Oran. “That would be acceptable. How much?”

  “Parchment, ink, and quill.”

  “I'm sorry?” Sylvia looked at her writing implements and shifted her gaze at Seventh. “Parchment— ?”

  “Ink and quill, yes. I was making a map before, but it got destroyed. I'd like to continue making the map before I forget the way up here— there was a lot of odd turns.”

  “And a long drop.” The voice was unfamiliar, raspy, whisper. Seventh thought it was Oran, but following his gaze Seventh looked at Nevin. He was continuing his meal without another word.

  Recognizing a man of few words, Seventh continued. “Yes... many long drops, but the last one was a long one. One of my undead— Fang over there— was leading me to the stairs? You know something like that nearby?”

  He was surrounded by a half circle of raised eyebrows.

  “Erh, were sitting on one of the stair's landings,” Sylvia said as she was choosing a proper quill for Seventh.

  He looked around. The cave where he thought he was sitting was in fact a long tunnel with a lazy curve with a dozen or so steps every hundred feet.

  "Oh," Seventh managed to say. "I... didn't notice."

  He had focused on the campfire and the adventurers, and hadn't looked around enough. That was a stupid thing to do, running straight at something potentially dangerous.

  Sylvia handed Seventh the price of information with a smile. “Yes, we are really conspicuous and dashing. Now, about that pull you mentioned...”

  Seventh had a nice hour long chat with Sylvia where she grilled him about his first days inside the dungeon. He answered truthfully— well, mostly truthfully, he had to keep the 'I am actually undead' thing under the wraps. And getting an extra Attribute called Corruption. Aaand most of his Skills and Classes.

  Others listened his story, occasionally asking for clarifications. Oran and Jenn were especially impressed about Seventh killing an umbrefel.

  “Well, yes, but I did trap it and threw firebombs at it. I basically just acted as a decoy to give Fang a chance to stab it to the weak spots.”

  Oran nodded sagely, but sneered at the mentions of Fang. “Why you keep calling it 'Fang'? Are you one of those necromancers that name all their minions like a Beastmaster? You don't get any friendship buffs you know.”

  “It's name,” Seventh said politely ignoring the sneer. “I believe it is polite to use peoples' names when you know them. Right?”

  Oran worked his jaw while thinking an answer. “It does work when you have bigger horde, I guess. No yelling 'hey, you there!' or some other idiotic commands.” He nodded. “Keeps things simple.”

  “Quite,” Seventh said while trying— and failing— to suppress a yawn. “Are you going to continue travel soon? Can I...”

  He swallowed the question. Can I come with you? Would anybody just pick up a stray necromancer right up? Nobody hadn't mentioned his class, but Oran clearly had some package with the undead.

  “We're stopping for the night,” Janiq answered. “It is getting late, and we are not in a hurry— although, Oran, our food?”

  “Looking good. No need to dip to our emergency rations even with Seventh joining us.” The cabras said. He didn't even need to look at his colossal backpack to check their situation.

  “Oh, I have some food with me.” Seventh chimed in and was already raising his hand to open his inventory before Oran waved him off.

  “Nah. We packed a lot of good stuff and the elves there haul some of their own special foods, but that's... day after tomorrow's food?” he looked at Sylvia for confirmation.

  She made a small nod. “Assuming Mister Seventh here can keep up, we should arrive at the Tear at noon...ish at day after tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” Janiq slapped his hands together as he stood up. “Final preparations for the night then. Jenn, you were the first watch? Only light and noise traps, we're close to civilization and early climbers might get to us if Oran sleeps late again.”

  “Hey!”

  “I'll assess Seventh's combat capabilities tomorrow morning— no disrespect, killing an umbrefel is a feat, but youself said that there was a big help from planning and minions. I want to know how handle combat. And we keep the watch, you are officially under our protection.” Janiq smiled at Seventh as the others stood up to their chores.

  Oran cleaned the campfire and dishes, Nevin and Jenn disappeared to the dark stairs below, Sylvia and Janiq pulled out bedrolls.

  Seventh waved at Nevin and Jenn when they walked away— Jenn waved back— and realized how tired he was. “You sure you don't need me to keep guard?”

  Janiq raised his head. “Yes. You can keep your undead at the tunnel and plug with a bone wall if you like.”

  Seventh gave him thumbs up and promptly ordered his minions and Fang to the tunnel. The oldest of his undead looked at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow and lowering an opposing ear. Seventh shrugged.

  Looking at the raising bone wall, Seventh yawned again. He cast Wandering Eye before shaping more walls into a classic tent shape.

  “Good night,” he waved at Janiq, Oran, and Sylvia. They waved back before Seventh made the final bone wall sealing himself inside. The Eye hovered outside.

  The trio gave the bone structure a cursory glance before laying to rest themselves.

  “Sylvia?” Janiq asked in a low voice.

  “Low rank sensory spell. Probably doesn't have hearing, but lower your voices. Make sure he doesn't see to read lips,” the elven voice whispered.

  “So, our take on him?” Oran grunted.

  "I think he told most of the truth. He kept some things to himself, but nothing major," Janiq answered in hushed tone. "He's not strong enough to be a bandit, and his emotions were real. I'll know for sure when we spar tomorrow."

  "Yea. He looked like he has gone through some heavy shit. I almost wished it was a ruse, poor sap."

  "Poor sap indeed. Now shut up, I need my beauty sleep.” Janiq squirmed into a mostly comfortable position and closed his eyes. He would sleep lightly— just in case. You never knew what could happen in the dungeon, especially with odd new people.