Fastidious Dent, weighed down with forty pounds of equipment and years of experience, ambled through the door to the Warlock Laughing Stock. He knew that there was a contract out for the Dungeon beneath the Laughing Stock, and that it wasn't worth very much-- easy pickings for a solo guildsman like himself. With any luck, Fastidious would be able to clear the Dungeon out before any of the [i]other[/i] bottomfeeders in the SODE popped in for a pint and a few hundo coins in contract payouts. "[color=lightblue]Ay oop, guv,[/color]" Fastidious said to the bartender. "[color=lightblue]carry on, do. SODE business. I'll be off down an' owt ya hair, then.[/color]" With little finesse, Fastidious hauled the tavern's basement hatch open and shuffled awkwardly downwards. In the musty smell of the cellar, Fastidious took a deep breath. [color=lightblue][i]Cor,[/i][/color] he thought, [color=lightblue][i]this don't smell 'arf todgy. Best get stuck in an' right to t' knackers.[/i][/color] Using his keen intellect, he quickly identified the Dungeon's entrance, and forced his way inside. In the filthy gloom of the Dungeon, Fastidious truly felt at home. He silently crept along the singular hallway that made up the Dungeon's layout, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the crushing darkness present. At the very end of the hallway, Fastidious noticed three large, constantly-shifting shapes. It didn't take a genius to understand that these were, much like the inhabitants of [i]all[/i] Dungeons, interminably hostile and thus worth money for stomping. Fastidious carefully nocked an arrow in his bow, and loosed it straight into the roiling mass of the centermost miniature rat golem. As the arrow punctured the golem's ratty form, Fastidious bellowed a warcry that violently echoed throughout the Dungeon. As was required by his employment contract, Fastidious attempted to keep the swearing to a minimum. [i][b]"[color=lightblue]Haaargh! C'mon an' getcher nadgers nicked![/color]"[/b][/i] Fastidious cried, and let fly another arrow.