The Orphans and Thrognar-Tine Adventurers Guild

  Thrognar sauntered ahead of the others, his axe thrown over his shoulder and his free hand idly holding the “puppy.” The kids trailed in his wake, cloaks covering obviously protruding weapons and a general aura of malevolence that they carried. Orlock took up the rear, standing nearly as broad and tall as Thrognar. They looked every part of a hardened adventuring team.

  There were two massive frontline warriors. A spindly fellow with daggers and furtive eyes. And Lily taking up the middle, her staff clanking with each step and occasionally trailing motes of purple embers. Everything you would expect from a balanced party. Except for the ‘puppy,’ but everyone needs a mascot.

  The Tine adventurer’s guild was a very modest building. Neat pinboards covered the small rightmost wall. Only holding bronze and silver quests, pinned above the actual board was a tiny handful of gold-ranked quests. Normally this town didn’t even see silver rankers.

  The bar area was just a single table to the left side and an actual bar that would seat three people. Manned by a bartender so ancient you weren’t sure how he was still moving that practically creaked with every one of his steps.

  The whole place had been designed to be the bare minimum a guild hall could be for a sleepy town that should only expect to serve the few budding adventurers growing up in Tine. And the handful of ones that passed through and got a quest on their way to whatever more profitable region they were travelling to.

  So right now the building was so horrifically overcrowded with people piling into town over the new dungeon that Thrognar was accidentally throwing elbows to make room. Orlock was too, but his weren’t on accident.

  They pressed through the hopeful throng of milling people, practically assaulting the one poor guild shopkeeper who had a closet-sized stall at the end of a hallway. The panicked-looking woman was so out of products to sell that she was actively mixing potions as she sold bandages.

  The singular clerk who was used to his cushy job, where he only had to come in four days a week for a few hours to change job notices and sign a couple of fresh faces up. Looked decidedly like he was simply considering fleeing. He actually sighed in thanks as Thrognar shoved his way forward, simply but gently and firmly pushing a red-faced mage out of his way.

  “Hi Carl, friends need to sign up!” Thrognar said with a broad tusky grin.

  Carl looked up with frantic, frantic eyes. “I, uh, I’d love to, Thrognar, just give me a moment, and, uh, keep people away from the counter for a moment for me?” He added the last bit as an arrogant man in chainmail shoved his way forward and slammed his sword down on the counter.

  The arrogant man with a wickedly pointy goatee leveled his finger into Carl’s face. “You! I have been waiting for a damned hour. I know this is just a pathetic little middle-of-nowhere branch and you haven’t had to do a day of real work in your life, but I WILL NOT WAIT any longer. I am Erick Stricks! And I…” He kept venomously raging into Carl’s face as Carl fought back tears and tried to sort through new Adventurer forms.

  Thrognar’s brows furrowed dangerously, and a low growl escaped him. The wiser nearby adventurers realized what was about to happen and stepped back. Thrognar turned to Resh and held out the “puppy.” “Hold puppy, please.” Thrognar said loudly and turned back to the still raging adventurer.

  Thrognar tapped him brutally on the shoulder; Erick spun in indignation and impressively managed to keep his outrage up even in the face of Thrognar’s not happy face. “What, you savage simpleton! I am busy!”

  A trickle of blood-red mana seeped from Thrognar’s Breath and the edges of his eyes as he visibly restrained his building anger. “Thrognar Like Carl, Carl is nice. You are not…”

  Erick gave the haughty laugh of someone used to being untouchable. “So, why would I care? With a word I could have you arrested for daring to touch a noble.”

  “Thrognar wants a duel.” He growled out and grabbed the man's chainmail in a bunched fist.

  “Duels are for nobles, you savage!” Erick said in a slightly shriller tone.

  “Thrognar is noble. “Adopted.” Carl nodded in the background with an almost vindictive smile.

  Carl pulled up a sheet of paper and read it loudly. Thrognar, heir to the Lockhart estates, is the adoptive son of Baron Lockhart, a silver-rank adventurer. That sounded an awful lot like a Nobel challenging another Nobel to a duel to me…” Carl set the paper down and looked at Erick.

  Erick fumed for a moment and managed to pull himself free from Thrognar’s grasp before stomping outside. “Fine. A duel—it is savage! Will it be to first blood?”

  Thrognar followed him outside and drew his axe, sinking it into the ground next to him definitively. “Until defeat” was all he said before the tides of crimson rage he had been holding back began pouring from him as his rage skill fully activated.

  “Oh…Fuck…” Erick managed to raise his sword up with scared eyes. He drew his foot through the dirt around himself, and an impressive mirage-like image of himself sprang up on either side of him. He skirted side to side, sword at the ready, and the mirages danced in and out of his form, making it unclear which was the real Erick.

  Thrognar thundered forward straight at him, eschewing any form of tact, and leapt, bringing a stomp down swirling with red mana straight through the skull of one of the mirages. His foot hit the ground with enough power that the street trembled and a nearby window cracked; a pit was left when he pulled his foot back.

  Erick gave a small, scared sound that was uncomfortably like a mouse's squeak before he lunged in, trying to strike Thrognar before he moved again. His longsword sank a few inches into Thrognar’s arm, drawing blood, before sticking against his high physical resistance and steel-like muscles.

  Thrognar's manic gaze snapped onto him. “Found, Real, You.” Like a catapult of woe, Thrognar swung his hand around in a wide haymaker slap. Erick tried to defend against it with upraised hands. The back of Throngnar's hand blew through his defenses and slapped against his smug face with the wrath of the gods. The thunderclap of skin on skin could be heard all the way at the dungeon. Erick cartwheeled, feet facing the sky and then the ground, twice before hitting the dirt with a thud and tumble.

  Thrognar’s mana dimmed slightly. “Are you defeated yet?” He asked, obviously hoping the answer was no. There was no answer from Erick’s limp form.

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  “Thrognar wins!” Thrognar raised his hands in victory and looked around at the wide eyes of the adventurers new to town. Most of the townsfolk simply shook their heads and went about their business.

  One man in an especially well-tailored suit mumbled to himself, “Asshole probably deserved it; Thrognar’s a good lad.”

  Thrrognar took a few deep calming breaths after his victory to let the adrenaline fade and make sure he didn’t accidentally smush a friend, just like his pappy taught him. Then he thudded back into the now noticeably more empty adventurers guild.

  Resh was kneeling on the back of a man with daggers riddling the back of his legs, a cocksure look on his face. The “Puppy” peeked out from his hood with an oddly pleased expression on his face. Orlock had another heavily armored figure pinned down. He was straddling the plate-armored figure and still raining slow punches down into the man's now deformed helm.

  “Please, gods, I yield, I yield. Stopppp!” The armored figure weakly entreated in between giving a halfhearted attempt at blocking the strikes. They didn’t hold much force anymore; at this point, Orlock was just being a dick and whapping the man’s helm around for fun.

  A final figure was just cowering in the corner, rocking back and forth gently. The ground all around them was a blackened mess, and a single one of Lily’s snakes of fire circled hungrily. She stood a stride away, looking almost bored.

  Thrognar’s face dropped. “What happened!” He asked in confusion.

  Resh smiled. “Thrognar, he was a noble; he did have guards! They went to try and make the duel…a lot less duely… We disagreed.” Resh stood up, brushing off his hands and eliciting a yelp from the downed guard as he started plucking back his daggers.

  “So...let’s go ahead and get registered? I think it’s going to be a lot of fun adventuring with you, buddy.” Resh put a genuinely friendly hand on Thrognar’s shoulder, and he beamed in response.

  “New Friends!”

  ***

  Egbert- Mimic Village

  Egbert was watching in morbid fascination. As Jhon and Ender slowly descended further into despair.

  Ender looked up at John in desperation; a key mimic was scurrying around in his hair, and his hands were overflowing with keys. He was practically kneeling in the key pile at this point, and he was covered in the guts of the two mimic chests. “Please, dear god, John, just buy the fucking key! We have two; show some mercy!” Ender pleaded.

  Jhon picked up another of the myconids crawling through the holes in the front door and threw it back from whence it came, knocking a small ambling pile of them off of the porch outside. “No! Absolutely not! I will be damned if this dungeon gets another copper from me today! Just search harder.”

  Ha! That’s what they all say, John, but in the end someone’s purse always caves to convenience. And what a convenience it is… The key is right there, just within grasp…I bet you would still make a profit even after buying the key. Probably not much, but don’t you just want to win, buddy?

  Ender stood up from his pile of coins and fished the key mimic from his hair, throwing it off into a corner where it hissed at him before scuttling behind a piece of armor. He wobbled over to the one remaining chest with two correct keys jutting from its locks promisingly. He tried key after key, his face falling further with each failure. Finally he whirled toward the front door, towards Jhon.

  “Give me the fucking coin purse!” Ender screamed and stomped at a key as it scurried past him with an evil snicker.

  “No!” John shouted back and punched a mushroom.

  You know, I'm glad this room is working as intended. I should go make a few finishing touches to the other rooms, and I really should put a control panel in every room that lets you pay to be safe from the scary ones. Right now the only places that have those are the front door and this village.

  Egbert zoomed around making small tweaks all across his dungeon. Mostly for sheer organizational simplicity’s sake. And to take advantage of his now wireless coin-operated everything.

  In a nutshell, he made it so every one of his rooms that had traps you needed to be wary of had an easy-to-access panel that let you turn them off briefly...for a price. It might make some areas a bit easier, like the Lootpit room, but Egbert figured it was probably worth it.

  The Loot Pit was still doing just fine; most people that challenged it decidedly did not get the treasure out, and almost no one ever tried it on hard mode more than once. Turning the already hellish room into an actual burning hellpit was one of the best ideas Egbert had ever had.

  Oh! I need to replace Mr. Stealy! I totally forgot for a little bit there how Lily brutally murdered him mere moments after she entered the damn place. I'll just buy another one…let's see, what was he in the store again… He was exemplary for how cheap he was. AHH, here it is!

  [Kleptomaniac Ghost] (3 silver)

  Possesses people for the sole purpose of stealing their belongings and stashing them near the cursed object that binds this ghost. Not very dangerous in the conventional sense, but it's immune to most non-holy damage that isn't directed at its cursed object.

  Gods only three silver? That’s fantastic compared to some of my other expenses lately. You know what? I’ll buy two of them… Is there a bulk discount? Darn, no, there isn’t. Oh well.

  Egbert purchased not one but two kleptomaniac ghosts and immediately cocked his head in confusion as two cursed objects thudded down next to each other. One was a tiny toy cart, and the other looked like a damned bowl of oatmeal.

  The ghosts flickered into existence before him, seeping from inside the cursed objects. They looked like twins, awful soot-covered children wearing neat little vests that practically screamed, "We work in a factory in the city and probably died in the cogs of industry."

  Uhh…more orphans?

  The first ghost's terrifyingly keen eyes swept around the pit approvingly before he gave a nod to his twin and twirled a ghostly dagger with practiced ease. The other twin visibly shifted the evil sneer from his face and adopted the most pathetic sad-sap puppy-dog-eyes look Egbert had ever seen. He even rolled one pant leg up a bit to expose his worn shoes.

  The now pitiful-looking twin wandered towards the edge of the pit before calling out in a voice quivering on the edge of tears. “Please, please, is anyone there? I have had nought but breadcrumbs for a week. My mother is ill with consumption; anything would help!” He looked back at his twin, who gave him a big thumbs up and hid behind the stairs nearby with his dagger in hand.

  I miss Mr. Stealy, but these evil little bastards certainly seem like they will get the job done. Although this feels less like they are going to mischievously snag goods from someone and more like they are going to rob them and then hide the body in a corner of the pit.

  Egbert was going to go be productive elsewhere when a voice called out in answer from someone just walking into the room. “Yall aight over there? I heard ya mumbling bout needing gubbins.” Jeb walked into the loot pit room cautiously, a fishing pole still in his hands.

  Well, this will be awful. Poor man’s Corpse is going to get stuffed into a corner.

  His grandmother tottered in behind him in all the glory of her blobfish form.

  Oh, or I might end up needing more ghosts again if she just feeds them to the eldritch bullshit she, for some unknowable reason, has so much access to!

  Edith warbled at Jeb, “Don’t be foolish, hunny; we’re in the dungeon. If something sounds innocent, it’s probably trying to eat you!” Jeb looked appropriately embarrassed and waited for her to catch up.

  The innocent ghost peeked over the edge and then whispered down to his dagger-twirling accomplice, “The fishy one is wily; be careful.” He then clambered out of the pit, bunching his little soot-covered hat in his hands like he was nervous.

  Hmm, definitely calling the one with the knife Mr. Stabby in honor of the late Mr. Stealy. What should I call the other little con artist?

  The innocent ghost put on his best crocodile tears and snuffled as he addressed Edith from a few strides away. “Please, ma’am, you have it in your heart to help me. I can tell you look just like my grandmother did; she was a kind, loving soul before the brigands took her from us.”

  Edith chortled sickly out of her gills, “Oh, oh my gawds boy that’s a fat crock oh steaming fish shite. The only way I look like your grandma is if she’d been floating face down in a river for a month. I know what I look like when the gifts overtake my form.” She summoned a ray of dark energy from her staff, and it struck like an eel, smashing the ghost into ethereal mist.

  Jeb looked at her, horrified. “Memaw! You done killed him.”

  “Oh gods, Jeb... I wish your mother hadn’t drunk when she was carrying you.”

  Alright, the other ghost is just going to be Fishfood from now on, I guess, because even I thought that was a shitty attempt at manipulating Eldritch Grandma, and my people skills could really, really use some work.