The Oracle continued to busy itself with its decorating for as long as it could, but eventually it started to get eyestrain from its carving, strain it could not even blink to try and alleviate somewhat. Instead it ended up phasing its eye into the stone floor, letting the cool dark take its sight for a little bit while it recovered.

The indignity of looking like an ostrich was entirely acceptable in return for the relief, relief that fortunately came rapidly enough that it had extracted its head once Schnupfen returned.

Instead the ghost would find the giant space flea going through all their stuff and muttering to itself. Upon noticing/being alerted by the ghost, it would turn its gaze to him and say “I can’t help but notice that we have not deployed all the traps yet” in a disappointed tone, in complete ignorance to the fact that Schnupfen was the reason there were any traps deployed at all.

“The awful, sinful, blasphemous invaders could return at any moment after all, and here we stand, our divine gifts squandered!” it declared dramatically, hand raised to the heavens in exaltation and exasperation in equal measures.

“Even the falling rock trap, that noble imitation of your glorious victory, is yet to be deployed” it went on, while gesturing to its artwork on the wall which depicted the ghost dropping a rock on a child with far too much reverence and grandeur. Grandeur that was somewhat taken away from by the fact that Schnupfen was 90% nose in the carved drawing.

It finally concluded its tirade by saying that “This error should be corrected at once!” before waving its hands at the collection of trap crystals in a ‘well? Get on with it’ sort of motion.

As soon as Schnupfen drifted into the dungeon core chamber, he found himself accosted by the Oracle, who also seemed to be rummaging through the keepers' unused assets. Before Schnupfen could so much as greet it, the cosmic siphonophore rattled off a rather passive-aggressive observation. New eyes protruded from either side of the shadow's head, their odd glow visible inside his hood. For now, he seemed more confused than anything, having not expected the otherworldly being to care about such practical matters. "I-"

Oblivious, the Oracle bulldozed straight through Schnupfen's attempted protestation, pronouncing additional reprimands a very theatrical manner that Schnupfen thought rather excessive given its very limited audience. As the Oracle zeroed in on the shadow to criticize him specifically, the baffled and indignant Schnupfen could only dumbly follow its gesture toward the unflattering caricature on the wall. The sight of himself, reduced to little more than a giant schnoz half-shrouded in dark rags and thusly immortalized in solid stone. Going cross-eyes, he reached up and put a claws hand on his nose as if trying to hide it. After a second or two, though, he ended that exercise in futility and turned his angry gaze on the Oracle, the concentric collapse of his psychedelic eyes quickened.

"It can't be that important to you if you haven't bothered to set any traps yourself. Unlike some specters, I might add!" Schnupfen crossed three pairs of arms. Had that damnable entity guessed that he felt self-conscious about taking so long with the pitfall, and now sought to rub salt in the wound? Well, that wouldn't fly! "And what have you been doing all this time? Scratching the walls in here?" As he looked around at the Oracle's carvings, trying to find the right words to put together a stinging rebuke about the siphonophore's creative ability (or lack thereof) an idea occurred to him. If this argument escalated, the profoundly magical Oracle would have an extreme advantage over him, and crawling away as a snotty mess would do little to improve his self-image. Why fight with barbs when brains could do the trick?

After a brief moment, Schnupfen heaved a sigh and shrugged. "Well...it's clear you have some creative talent, at least." Hopefully no sarcasm leaked out into that patently false assertion. As he spoke, his eyes disappeared to avoid glowering. "But then, you should know better than anyone that you can't rush art. Your art is the petroglyph and graven bas-relief; mine is the devious and incontrovertible snare, its cunning beauty revealed in a single, lethal instant." He bent down, took the falling rock trap gem, and lifted it up. With a deft flick of his thumb he flipped it into the air like a coin, where its crystalline facets refracted the light of the dungeon core. He snatched it out of the air, then held it out pinched between his middle and index fingers, his other hand imperiously held behind his back. "I trust you to make the most of your chosen medium, Oracle; I can only pray that you allow me to work in mine."

Manifesting a longer arm at the bottom of his wispy trunk like a tail, Schnupfen collected the other trap crystals, including the arrow traps and guillotine shrine. He then offered the Oracle a curt bow of farewell and made himself scarce. He did another lap of the dungeon, going counter-clockwise, in an effort to decisively place these new traps. Though the shadow did not know the exact nature of the guillotine shrine, he got the feeling that it would be best placed at a crossroads where dungeon invaders could be expected to spend the most time, and perhaps fight a battle or two, to improve the odds of adventurers stumbling or being pushed into the mechanism. That made L12 the best choice, since O13 would be too close to the pitfall trap. As for the arrow traps, putting one against the wall of P18 was obvious, so that it could shoot straight up through the narrow hall once the pressure plate at P10 was pressed. He considered putting it on the north side wall of P6 as well, but then the arrow launchers could be much more readily reached and disarmed.

The other arrow trap took a little more planning, but before long Schnupfen set up the launchers on the M12 wall and the pressure plate at M9. From there, it could cover the other hallway, and if any fools attempted to disarm it they would be in deliciously close proximity to the guillotine shrine. Of course, those arrows would be deadlier in the left-hand hall if N7 and N8 got filled up again to limit possible avenues of escape, but hopefully intruders would be too focused on the guillotine shrine for spacial awareness once the arrows started flying. Now more than ever, Schnupfen bemoaned the face that he hadn't helped plan the dungeon layout with Muste ahead of time; it really could have been so much more efficient.

Now, the shadow had only one trap left, the falling rock. Truth be told, he hadn't given his act of dropping the rock on that human much thought. It never occurred to him as a 'heroic' deed, merely a necessary part of his job. Now that the Oracle had pointed it out, though, Schnupfen couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of extra significance when it came to this rock trap. Compliments were a precious and rare commodity in a place like this, even ones as backhanded as the Oracle's. He decided to put it at G8 as a last resort against anyone who managed to get that far. As long as one defender remained at the core -probably Kleine- to manually trigger it, the rock could crush the first adventurer to reach the dungeon core, and depending on its size, block off access for the others. Then once the dungeon raid ended, Kleine could simply use her powers to reset the rock trap and open the core threshold once more!

With everything decided, Schnupfen's task was done. Unfortunately, that left him with nothing else to do, and he couldn't exactly curl up like a bored dog and go to sleep. After thinking for a few moments, Schnupfen checked the stash of materials. There weren't a lot of good options, sadly. A tree branch would have suited his purposes much better, but he didn't know if it was day or night outside, and he didn't feel like checking. With a little creativity, he fashioned crude broom using fabric and bone, then began to sweep the floors. Thanks to all the recent excavation, the dungeon was very dusty, too dusty for his sensitive nostrils. Either he or the dust would have to go, and it wasn't going to be him.

Muste smiled as the monsters seemed mostly agreeable to the proposal, having expected such from the summoned minions based on the impromptu employee satisfaction survey Zogi had brilliantly, in his mind, conducted. Zoppy requested the procurement of sundry the mutant goblin questionably considered commercially viable, and nodded. "I will see if I find anything fitting that description," he promptly answered. He would make a cursory look with occasional castings of Detect Magic, and if nothing enchanted would be foum,d he would nonetheless still make the effort to bring something with aesthetic appeal. And so, having equipped the minions with suitable equipment for storing materials such as bone buckets and the leather sack the adventurer left, having since been repaired with a cast Mending spell, the expedition set forth from the dungeon.

Having visited the outdoors once a day since the beginning of the employment, Muste had gotten used to the strain on stamina that the lack of the dungeon core's revitalizing magic caused, and was primarily the reason why the illithid had not ventured too far into the surrounding lands besides the small stream he had previously discovered. However, now that he was emboldened by a specific objective that would improve the well-being, and by proxy, the productivity of the dungeon, he would not let himself be deterred by his admittedly less-than average physical qualities, and pushed forth, mapping out sectors for the minions and fellow monsters to perform their search in. After about ten minutes of searching, the vocally expressed his enthusiasm for the mission: "Good work, my fellow employees! We are right on schedule. By my estimates, we will be at full operational capacity for the next hour or so. Until then, let's do our best." Of course, he wouldn't only be directing the survey squad: he also searched through the grassy bushes and under rocks, occasionally writing notes to his grimoire.

Just as the search turned to not produce anything useful, the kobold had procured wildflowers, which Muste planted into a bone bucket full of soil he had deemed the most fertile and suitable for growing plantlife based on his casting of Detect Good Soil: a spell he had developed based on an offshoot of Detect Magic, inspired by the time he spent in the woods, surrounded by nature. In retrospect, it might have been outside of his usual expertise of arcane knowledge, and more suited for a druidic career. However, limited as he was in his opportunities for poroper magical education, he decided to pursue magical knowledge wherever it would be found: the natural world was just another grimoire just waiting to have its pages read, after all.

Inspired by the discovery, Muste requested the rest of the monsters to simply gather soil, fern, logs and moss, and return back to the dungeon. As Zogi checked under the logs of fallen trees, the illithid also checked to see if there were any mushrooms growing near or even on the trees in the region. He also considered if they could bring back a whole tree for them to grow in the Grove, but deemed it impractical: it would require sunlight, which the dungeon could not currently provide even through magical means. However, the illithid envisioned a future dungeon level with a simulated forest, complete with artificial sunlight and an illusory blue sky cast overhead. Perhaps it was something only a mad mage could envision in an undermountain, but as a magic user himself, and one dedicated to developing a dungeon, only the sky was the limit.

Pleased to see Zogi's efforts in helping to direct the minions as well as scour the wilds on his own. After Muste had watered the newly made flower pot with water from the stream, the illithid saw that Salbjörg had passed by them, accompanied by the swarm of surprisingly clever members of the Rodentia animal order. He handed the flower pot over to the naga. "Once you get inside the dungeon, place this flower pot next to my bed. I will be coming back shortly." He then walked away, following after the Shahmaran. As he saw her in the distance transform and blend into the enemy crowd, he realized she was keeping herself hidden from the human camp, and understood that she was about to infiltrate the hairless monkeys.

That was when Muste had an idea. He flipped through the pages of his grimoire, and found a spell suitable for covert action: Disguise Self. Thus, Muste took on the form of an unassuming older man. Having disguised himself, he followed at a distance from Sal, with three goals: observe Sal's attempt at subterfuge, intervene in case something goes wrong, and make observations of his own about the humans. He wanted to see if there was some kind of hierarchy formed in their primitive society, any signs of upcoming danger, as well as any weaknesses the dungeon could exploit. He also enjoyed getting wtihin brain-smelling range, though he would refrain from sniffing: he would have plenty of time to do that when such a morsel was available for devouring. Of course, if he gets emotionally charged, whether by abundant joy, sorrow, rage, or even surprise, his moustache will slightly move prehensively, a flaw in his magical illusion.

“Dat da best ya got?!” Elzy taunted over the howling wind, her mouth curled into a toothy grin. The mangled forms of nearly a dozen hirelings surrounded the goblin girl, whose own diminutive stature allowed her to maintain her balance atop the rain and blood-slicked deck of The Herald of Free Trade far better than any of her larger opponents as the massive galleon violently rocked and pitched on the tempest-tossed, wind-lashed waters of Burgher’s Bay. “An’ ere ah wuz dinkin’ diz’d be a challenge!”

Long had Elzy been waiting for this day, indeed, this very moment. All her myriad adventures and journeys across the cold and forbidding land of Ulrania in an effort to break the terrible curse those malevolent faeries had placed upon her had led her here, to the amulet of transmorgraphic harmonization. Now, just as it was about to leave Ulrania’s storm-wracked shores, perhaps never to return, destiny had granted Elzy this one, final chance to obtain its profound power. And she wasn’t about to let it slip away…

“AH ha! AH ha!” her old foe, Grand Burgher Burlonious Burghotho chortled as he sneered down at the goblin girl from his place upon the ship’s bridge, jagged tendrils of lightening arcing across the turbulent clouds above him. “Thy arrogance merely proves thy ignorance, wretched cur! Thy attempt to invade mine manse was folly enough,” he continued, his bombastic voice carrying over even the din of the raging storm as the rotund, fur-coated merchant gestured in the direction of Burgherheim, the wealthy trading port’s many lights barely visible amidst the sheets of rain. “But to think thou couldst purloin mine most prized possession on the high seas, bereft of aid or means of escape, marks thee as an utter FOO-El!”

“Yeah? Well, ah don’t see much stoppin’ meh from comin’ up dere an’ pluckin’ dat shiny offa yer fat, fancy pantz neck!” Elzy shot back through the howling gale, her goblinoid physiology allowing her to endure the biting winds and icy rain in little more than a bikini, granting her an even greater degree of maneuverability compared to her burly, heavily-clothed foes.

Yet, just before she could make her leap, several new opponents rushed up from below deck.

“Thou hast only faced the most bargainous of mine hirelings!” Burghotho taunted from on high, the amulet of transmorgraphic harmonization glowing where it rested amidst the Grand Burgher’s panoply of other gilded and bejeweled necklaces. “Now, behold mine most proficient condottieri!”

“Heh. Ah ain’t seein’ much…” Elzy retorted, the blade of her readied, water and blood-coated sword gleaming in the light of the full moon as it peered down on the unfolding melee from between the clouds’ ragged edges.

With an enraged roar, a savage, tattoo-covered brute from the southern jungles swung a machete the size of Elzy’s torso down upon the goblin girl with the clear intent to cut her in twain. With a mighty clash of steel on steel, Elzy met the massive blade with her own weapon and employed the force of the blow, coupled with the slippery deck, to allow her to slide between the brute’s legs. Such was the speed at which the little goblin traveled across the slick planks that she was also able to just barely avoid the subsequent chop of a great axe swung by a bearded berserker from the northern seas, and a hail of spiked disks hurled by a masked warrior from the far-off Lands of Dawn.

“Gonna ‘ave ta do better’n dat!” Elzy quipped as she finally skidded to a stop just in time to leap up to the bridge before a mighty wave washed across the main deck. No sooner had she landed atop the bridge’s gilded railing then a new threat declared itself.

“Engarde, cretin!” cried a foppishly attired duelist wielding twin, impeccably crafted rapiers as he lunged forward amidst a rapid flurry of thrusts.

“No dankz, pal,” Elzy replied as she dove under his blur of blades and sent a clawed foot shooting into his booted ankle. “Maybe ya’ll ‘ave better luck wiv da fishez!” she added as the strike, paired with the man’s own forward momentum, sent him flying over the railing and straight into the path of another deck-sweeping wave.

Now all that remained was Burghotho…

Pursuing the rotund merchant into the captain’s cabin, Elzy found her now-greatly-alarmed foe cowering behind his desk, his back to the rain-streaked windows.

“Enda da line, fatty,” she told him, her narrowed eyes on high alert for any last-ditch tricks. “‘And over dat trinket an’ ya can keep all diz ovver crap. Dat iz, if diz tub don’t sink.”

“T-Thou thinks thy hast won?!” Burghotho shouted, even as his hand slid underneath the desktop.

“Yeah,” Elzy replied with a firm nod as she stalked forward with all the inexorable certainty of death itself. “Ah do.”

She was less than a meter from the Grand Burgher, when, suddenly…

Wait…

This isn’t the right goblin girl.

You don’t want to read the boring story of a refined elven maiden who was cursed to transform into a crude goblin girl every night’s quest to remove her terrible affliction, a journey which saw her compete with the bandit king in a trial of thieving prowess, fight her way through a war between Ulrania’s two largest kingdoms, escape a witch hunt ordered by the miracle-working Priest King of Stennar, battle the warped creations of the reborn Beastshaper, join the assassin’s guild, and finally reach the wealthy settlements of Burgher’s Bay, all while working as a selfless healer by day, and a roguish sell-sword by night.

No, you want to read about…



Zoppy was very happy when Muste acceded to her request. “Dankz lotz!” she told the illithid with a big smile. Waving as she watched the tentacle-faced being depart, an idea slowly formed in the deformed goblin’s pitiful excuse for a brain. If the outside world really was full of wondrous things, would it really be so bad if she took a small break from working on her shop to have a look around herself? With this in mind, Zoppy ever-so-slowly made her stumbling way to the cave entrance. Upon reaching the threshold, the emaciated goblin took one, awestruck look at the verdant landscape beyond... and promptly passed out from heat stroke.

Someone might want to drag her back inside…

The young men swooned--at least, that's what the monsters figured. The eldest of the young men seemed to revel a bit as seemed to prod at the younger ones, some overcome with a mixture of blush and anger. The older of the men gave acknowledgement, but they were not nearly as enthused about a young women approaching them. Such was the aloof nature of hunters. Plus, they probably had wives. Salbjorg, or now Rosalie as she called herself, also noticed a malevolent glare directed at her. It was the priest.

Any malevolence was undercut by the large woman's immediate friendly demeanour.

"Wahaha!" The large woman immediately gave a hearty laugh as "Rosalie" approached her. "Thanks--old family technique!"

The large woman gave her crock a small taste before an inscrutable look came over her face. It must have been been her forgetting seasoning considering she dumped in a fistful of salt immediately after.

"No problem there, Rosie! Camp's meant for all. A dungeon was spotted a bit off from here, after all. Though..." she looked up and down at "Rosalie" before crossing her arms, "you'd probably be better skippin' it. From what the church says, it's a fresh one. Only kiddos are going to get a thing out of it."

Learned: Something is preventing higher level adventurers from approaching young dungeons.

"And for us non-hero types," the older woman said as Salbjorg began to think that the lady she was talking to enjoyed speaking a little too much, "better to sell shovels, you know? Anyways, I'm Aggie, but most people call me auntie."

Thankfully for the rats, Saljorg's interference was working. Nobody had noticed them scurry around. Thankfully, the rats on "Rosalie" had found small nooks to hide without notice--in her cape or in her pouches.

When Muste arrived, he had noticed something with his astute prowess. The priest that had obviously been glaring at "Rosalie" had paid zero attention to him. Was it because the priest could tell something was off about "Rosalie"? Or could it be...

The rest of his observations were rather simple. The hierarchy seemed to have Aggie at the top. They didn't seem that they would directly harm the dungeon. In fact, none of them really looked like they cared about the dungeon itself--moreso that it seemed like they cared about the economy created by having a dungeon nearby. The words of Aggie resonated--only kiddos...

---

The trip outside had been fruitful--though, one could jokingly say mossful instead. The monsters had collected a considerable amount of vegetation and detritus. Enough to furnish and decorate their little dungeon, but not enough to create anything of structural importance or could serve as defences. Still--it made their dungeon a little more livable.

Zogi and the rest of the monsters (sans Muste) carried what they could back in a few trips.

Zoppy's attempt at going out was met with equal tribulation. A rather dried out looking treant--saved only by the moisture wicked away from the underbrush it had on its back, dragged the merchant-goblin back inside after dropping a noticeably damp and moist piece of moss on her face. Did it have a pensive look on its face? Who could say for certain--it was difficult to tell what was anatomy and what was pareidolia.

Zoppy has gained: Pitiful Sympathy
This trait will affect how the dungeon monsters perceive you.

Zogi has gained: One of the Boys
This trait will affect how the dungeon monsters perceive you.

---

Klein was beset by fear as the two masters began to fight. She was not equipped for this in the slightest--after all, she was only trained to serve under one master.

Thankfully, Schnupfen had voluntarily left the argument to instead focus on his traps and cleaning. Though, perhaps this was the wrong course of action. Fomenting disdain between equals was like a poison that seeped through any workplace. It was hard to say if the Oracle and Schnupfen would simply put it out of mind and not think about it or allow it to build and seethe. In any case, Kleine followed his lead and began to clean the dust from the dungeon with a straw broom. Though, it was also confusing on how Klein had a straw broom.

Schnupfen has created: A crude broom
This is easily reversible and as such, does not consume any materials.

Though the two monsters (three if you include a dungeon spirit as a monster) who remained in the dungeon at this time had a sinking feeling. They would experience... a group of heroes next. That's what their worries told them.

---

Setting aside the fact that the boss disappeared partway through the trip, Zogi was certainly pleased with the work that everyone put in for the betterment of their home. He lead the way with a spring in his step, the mounds of moss in his arms doing nothing to weigh him down in the moment. After all, while his fellow monsters may have exhausted themselves, the goblin himself felt absolutely fine. He nodded at the treant for helping with retrieving Zoppy, before the combined quintet of fodder-monsters returned to the dank depths of the dungeon, where...something had probably changed, but Zogi certainly didn't notice.

While naga, kobold, treant, and Zoppy lounged about, Zogi himself got to work. Big Boss had laid claim to the wildflowers that were collected, which was fine, since Muste deserved a treat too for being the head 'chef' of the Dungeon. As for the rest? Zogi brought over what round rubble they had obtained during their previous excavations, then draped moss over it to create what he hoped would be a somewhat-soft, mostly-hard cushion for one to sit or lay upon. The monotonous nature of the cave system was broken up as well by scattering the gathered leaves around, creating both a satisfying crinkling sound when someone stepped upon them, while also masking the otherwise boring dark-brown nature of the dungeon. Finally, of course, he moved on to enable his magnum opus!

Sticks! With sticks! And sticks!

Sitting crossed-legged before a slightly indentation in the floor, upon which he had gathered the driest twigs found, Zogi rolled his shoulders, rubbed his nose for good luck, held two sticks together, and began to rub them very fast.

Naturally, he did not know the proper method of making fire.

Unfortunately, no one in the dungeon knew either.

By the time Zogi and his miscellaneous minions returned to the dungeon, Schnupfen had been sweeping for a while. His improvised broom did not work particularly well, but it kept the experience challenging enough that he wasn't too bored. Dust and debris alike gradually accumulated into small mounds that he then deposited into the questionably bottomless pit. As he tidied up, Schnupfen was pleased to have Kleine's help, albeit a little envious of her proper broom. Between the two of them, they could make pretty good progress on turning the despicable dungeon into a spick-and-span dungeon. Many hands made for light work, after all, and Schnupfen could manifest as many hands as he needed.

The shadow happened to be in a hallway near the entrance when the first few underlings trooped in. He considered requesting that they wipe their muddy feet, lest the keepers' subterranean realm be unnecessarily befouled by the outside world's grime, but it wasn't like they had a doormat or anything. It did occur to him, though, that the mooks could unknowingly disturb the dungeon in another way. As several manifested eyes went wide, he hurriedly floated over to get the newcomers attention. "Wait, wait, just one moment! I installed a number of traps while you were away. Mind the pitfall by the treasure chest, and take care not to trigger the pressure plates for the arrows or boulders overhead! We don't have any ammunition to spare." He blinked a couple times, his randomly-arranged eyes out of sync. "Or subordinates, for that matter. We need each and every one of you!" Schnupfen made a swooping motion with his fist that he hoped the peons would find encouraging.

He left them to do their own thing and resumed sweeping, idly listening to the others go about their business in the background as he continued to clean the floors. Somehow, the presence of more monsters made janitorial duty feel more valuable, as if he were not just maintaining a deathtrap, but creating an underground home for the keepers and their flunkies. The shadow's quiet, focused drudgery was not to last, however. In the middle of his task, just as he prepared to dump another load of dusty gravel into the pit, a dreadful sensation stopped him in his tracks. "HRRK!" His broom clattered to the floor a dozen eyes bulged outward, their collapse drastically accelerated, as Schnupfen seized his chest with a clawed arm. Being neurotic and paranoid, Schnupfun always possessed a high base level of anxiety about adventurer incursions on the dungeons, which kept him at least a little fidgety and fretful at all times. Now, though, that paranoia had suddenly swelled into a crushing, strangulating vision of doom. It struck him like something between a panic attack a heart attack, and its terrible weight left him paralyzed, petrified with fear as he sank to the floor.

"They're coming," he prognosticated between gasps. "They're coming! We...we have to...have to...we..." Unable to keep himself together, Schnupfen melted into the shadows, his consciousness spread thin enough throughout the dungeon's darkness that the terrible feeling slowly began to lose its sting. All throughout the dungeon, the shadows seemed to deepen and spread, wild eyes opening amidst the pitch to dart around as shaky, labored breaths could faintly be heard.

With the trap situation sorted, and entirely ignorant of any enmity it had gained/generated from its actions, the Oracle went back to perusing the rest of the inventory and came up fairly short on usable items. A bunch of terrible quality resources for the most part, other than the metal.

It experimentally tried to melt the metals with its heat vision, but found it had nowhere near the intensity required to perform such a feat, leaving their valuable materials ironically the most worthless. Thus it was the worthless materials which had any actual worth in their current situation.

Though the cells of the leather and bone might be dead, it knew how they worked and thus provided little building blocks it could rearrange and fuse together however it pleased.

Thus, while the other two still in the dungeon swept and sweeped, the Oracle fiddled, fingers dancing through cells, rearranging them into shapes they were never meant to hold, till it had converted their tiny supply of bone and leather into an even tiny-er supply of leather handled bone knives.

Of course, the Oracle didn’t let its hard work speak for itself, and instead had to gable everything on a divine blessing. It rolled its traditional 8d8 worth of dice while praying to the heavens for a boon. This came up with a slightly below average but still respectable 30, which caused the blades to become serrated, fate improving the Oracle’s work rather than adding any magic effect.

It was only after it was done working that it decided to head over to find out what the clattering of stone in the next room was all about. This resulted in it discovering the halls had been both swept and cluttered with leaves, which it found very confusing. Perhaps, it speculated, it was to make it harder for sneaky adventurers to sneak around? Either way, it didn’t have to worry about such crinklyness, nor about setting off the traps that had been set, as it floated into the room where Zogi was busy playing with sticks while other hard workers (and one other goblin) took a break.

“Gloriouse news! I have produced weapons for you all!" It informed them, before beginning to say “you should begin practicing with them at once!” only to really take in the fatigue on the workers shoulders (and Zoppy’s sleeping state) and adjust its statement too “as soon as you are able!”

There was also the fact that, now that it thought about it more, only the goblins and perhaps the naga would benefit from the knives. The kobold was already armed, and the Treant really needed something bigger and more brutal. As such it also decreed that “This is only the beginning of my work! With time, I shall make greater and grander works with which to protect ourselves against those vile intruders!”

Indeed, it looked like there was now new material to work with, namely wood, and the Oracle was having ideas already, such as wrapping the material around one of their ingots to make a crude hammer. It was prevented from doing so by two things.

First, Zogi’s stick rubbing, which though it wasn't having much effect, did easily signal what he was trying to do

“Here, let my light guide you to glory!” the Oracle declared, as it stared at the sticks being rubbed, and focused its now a bit hotter heat vision on them. It wasn’t enough to ignite the material alone, but perhaps, together, they’d find success.

The second issue was Schnupfen flipping out and more or less exploding with fear as a result of sensing a dire portent. Said sensation came to the Oracle a moment later though rather than fear it responded with righteous fury.

“The defilers come again! The blasphemers! The heretics! To arms, to arms! We must protect our home!” it urged the monsters, reminding them that “We have weapons! We have numbers! We have traps! We have invigorated strength! Those fools who come to face us will be crushed like that child was under that rock!”

Long ago, The Warrens began life as a humble fishing village, nestled between a river and a natural harbor, backed by a huge forest. While many were happy with their simple life, others looked upon the land with greater ambitions in mind. The Gaecia Empire conquered the village, naming it "Westeinde" and it swiftly became the empire's major port for trade. It wasn't long before the forests were cut back and replaced by farms, while a city of wood and stone was built, along with massive cargo ships, and warehouses, filled with many barrels and crates.

But the merchants of Westeinde were foolish, greedy men. They hired mages to cast curses on their rivals - and those rivals cast curses on them. And because the mages kept casting those curses daily, they began to build up. The ground began to tremble, storms became stronger, and more ships were lost at sea. Something had to snap - and snap it did. An ancient volcano stirred to life and erupted, covering Westeinde with ash and poisonous gas. Tremors made the land sink. Without the forest to hold the land above the town in place, the rains and tremors caused massive slides, further burying the city. But that wasn’t all. Amidst this cavalcade of destruction, a dungeon core was created. It fed on the collected curses, then slowly extended throughout the buried city as the surface recovered. And it began summoning monsters to protect itself.

After Gaecia, other empires rose and fell. There was more construction, and more disasters as the ancient curses wreaked havoc on the land. Seekers of ancient, long lost Westeinde never realized what lay buried far below their feet. After many hundreds of years, a new city was built on the site of the old, becoming once more a trading hub serving ships from all over the known world, while caravans carried their cargos to the new capital. But this renewed prosperity was not to last. Instead of another eruption, the new empire simply found a closer port to conquer.

The ships come rarely now. There hasn't been a caravan in over a decade. The wealthy merchants have fled with their money. But even as mercantile trade dies, a trade of a different kind has begun to flourish. Deep beneath the crumbling port, the dungeon core stirs to life, calling adventures to brave its labyrinthian depths and test its formidable defenses. Who will be the first to reach the ancient heart of The Warrens? Only time will tell…

-Ecks’phan de Bhul’s On the Storied History of The Warrens

Many brave and foolish parties of adventures challenged The Warrens’ darkened depths in the time since Ecks’phan de Bhul penned their famous chronicle, but none had managed to overcome its array of fiendish traps, nor its formidable host of monstrous guardians. Yet, not every adventurer that challenges The Warrens is part of a group, and not every monster is counted amongst its guardians…



Dat’z it… Zig mentally encouraged the group of adventurers as she watched them from around the edge of a darkened corner. Just keep goin’ down dat tunnel…

Most would scoff at the idea of a lone adventurer braving any dungeon, and especially one as dangerous as The Warrens. Of course, those same people would also never imagine said lone explorer being a goblin. After all, monsters didn’t raid dungeons, they defended them. And yet, raiding dungeons was Zig’s primary occupation, and she’d gotten very good at it. It hadn’t always been this way, though. For a time, she and her brother, Zag, had been a part of Big Boss Zug’s warband, but while Zag had been content with a life of pillaging (when not serving as expendable fodder in battles), Zig longed for a grand adventure on which she could truly test her pillaging prowess. She wanted to raid a dungeon. The ensuing laughter of the other goblins, Zag included, did little to dissuade her, and shortly thereafter, Zig set off to find fame and fortune.

Now, several dungeons later, Zig, the infamous goblin adventurer, was braving her most challenging dungeon yet. The Warrens was larger, had more cunning traps, and was populated by fiercer monsters than any dungeon Zig had ever traveled through, with each floor ruled by an extraordinarily powerful monster, from stone colossi and cave witches, to lich kings and vampire lords. Even so, Zig’s strategies for dealing with these myriad challenges were the same as those she employed on all her previous adventures.

Exceptionally skilled at puzzles of all sorts, Zig was easily able to discern the locations and methods of operation for most traps, allowing her to either disarm, or simply avoid them as needed. Able-bodied and skilled in combat, she was also quite capable of dealing with most low to mid level adversaries, although she preferred to simply pass by them unnoticed, her small form and monstrous appearance aiding her greatly in this regard. Another factor that greatly helped with this, especially where large quantities of high-level foes were concerned, was the fact that she was almost never truly alone in a dungeon. All too often, at least one other party of adventures was exploring the place at the same time, and far more likely, that number was three or four times greater. By trailing along behind one of these groups, Zig allowed them to capture the attention of particularly dangerous enemies, while she simply slipped by, undetected amidst the swirling melee that ensued. On this particular floor, that strategy would be especially useful, as the sickly vines growing along the far end of the corridor gave evidence that this was the domain of the Gruesome Gardner.

An undead abomination that may have once been a Spriggan, the Gardner constantly added to its garden of undead botanical horrors, melding the remains of unfortunate adventurers into its twisted creations. Soon, the cramped catacombs would open into a sprawling forest of undead plant life, all controlled by the Gardner’s malign will. Zig wanted to ensure that when she reached that point, the boisterous party of adventures ahead of her had already fixed the attention of the Gardner and its creations firmly on themselves. Thus, she trailed along cautiously, her pace only quickening when the sound of battle cries reached her pointed ears.

Entering the forested chamber, Zig was greeted with the sight of a fierce battle, the various well-armed adventures clashing with a malformed horde of undead plant-animal amalgamations. An elven archer fired arrows coated in mystic flame at a massive wolf made of bark and thorns, while a paladin in an elaborate suit of gleaming sliver armor fended off a horde of corpses animated by vines as if they were puppets. Several other combats raged throughout the chamber, including a roguish looking young man in a long cloak dodging the attacks of a herd of deceptively playful skull-faced moss cats, while his pet crow dropped small explosives on them, but by then, Zig’s attention was solely focused on locating the quickest path through the fray to reach a passage to the next floor.

Keeping her yellow eyes peeled, Zig soon spotted what she was seeking, a small indentation on the far wall, clearly the outline of the doorway to a hidden passage. Racing over to it, while still remaining careful not to attract any unwanted attention to herself, the goblin girl had almost reached her destination, when she was confronted by a pair of undead amalgamations. The first resembled a tree with a skeletal face and thorny, bark armor, while the second vaguely resembled a giant cactus, with whip-like vine tendrils, covered in needle-sharp thorns. Reacting with swiftness, Zig swung her small, yet mighty, mace at the skele-tree, caving its bark-covered skull in, before driving a flying kick into the cactus creature’s great, cyclopean eye. The creature cried in pain as it fell over backwards, providing Zig with a clear path to her objective.

Yet, no sooner had she dispatched these foes, then a burly, flaming haired man carrying a giant cittern shouted, “Ya think you’re hot stuff?! I’m gonna show ya why I’m called the Immortal Volcano!” The next instant, the blazing bard forcefully sounded a mighty chord on his massive instrument, sparking a blinding explosion that swiftly engulfed the entire undead forest in a raging firestorm.

“Shit!”

Darting towards the secret door, Zig retrieved a gold key from a pocket on her large backpack and thrust it into a small opening in the stone wall. The hidden passage immediately opened, and the small goblin flung herself inside mere seconds before the searing conflagration consumed her. The passage turned out to be a slanted shaft, which Zig tumbled down for several seconds before finally reaching the bottom with a thud. Taking a moment to catch her breath and ensure her surroundings were free of threats, the goblin girl pulled the small canteen she’d purchased from old Torvald out of her backpack and took a few deep gulps of its contents. The enchanted water not only quenched her parched throat, but also cooled and healed her singed and bruised body, restoring her depleted strength so that she could continue on her quest.

Do you know who else is currently feeling a bit parched?



Zoppy’s parched and passed-out form was woken by the refreshing sensation of water droplets seeping into her mouth. “Mmmm… Dat tastes niiiice…” she murmured groggily, still too tired to even open her eyes. When she finally regained the energy to do so, she discovered that someone had dragged her back into the dungeon’s cool and shady depths, while also placing a very moist clump of moss on top of her. After wringing the last of the water out of it (a task even a pitiful weakling like her could manage with some effort), Zoppy’s big ears twitched as her attention was caught by the Oracle’s booming voice. His excessive volume made her head hurt and she winced at each thunderous syllable. Even so, she was still able to make out the basic message the eldritch being was attempting to convey, although her reaction was probably the exact opposite of the one the strange creature was hoping for…

“Mor customerz…?!” Zoppy exclaimed, her green eyes seeming to sparkle. “Zoppy really needz ta finish ‘er shoppy!”

With that, she hefted her small pickax once more, and prepared to take another less-than-impressive swing…

While most of Sal’s outfit was not suited for hiding things, it was not difficult for Rats to hide in her various pouches. Perhaps it was a risky move, but Sal could see the benefits of having a few rats on hand to deploy when she needed. Maybe not in her current environment, but if there were fewer eyes on her she could place them around or even recover them if they got something nice. Though given that she hadn’t given them specific instructions, she was sure they would pursue food and little else. But you never knew with Rats.

The camp’s reaction to Rosalie was mostly what Salbjörg expected. Of course she expected the older men to react stronger to her presence, as she doubted anyone could remain loyal to a wife in her presence. Though she had to remind herself that this guise was likely inferior to her true self in that it lacked the grace and beauty of her true form, so maybe she did pale in comparison to their wives or whoever else they were spending time with. The priest had looked so caught up in his leaf watching that she hadn’t been sure if he would take notice. But he did, and for some reason she enjoyed his spiteful glare. She couldn’t tell why he might look at her this way. He might have thought she was a promiscuous woman that went against his church’s teachings, but she’d be here all day if she wanted to figure him out. More importantly, Aggie seemed to be a wealth of information and a great deal friendlier than anyone else here. She didn’t mind that she was long winded, at least, not at the moment.

“Shovels, huh?” She put her hands on her hips, but was careful not to move her cape too much. “Have ya got anything else for sale?” If she did, then they had to have money somewhere, and that money could be used to lure in more adventurers. The detail about the church appraising the dungeon did not escape Sal’s notice. If the priest was shrewd, he likely suspected Salbjörg could be a monster. She’d have to learn what she wanted as discreetly as she could.

Aggie was taken a bit aback by Rosalie.

"Oh bless your heart," she said as she didn't quite think too deeply about it. "Well, we don't got much for sale right now. Mostly food, poultices, and explorin' supplies. Just enough for the kiddos. If the dungeon's fruitful, this camp'll probably turn into a town. Then we'd have a full economy going."

Larry's little expedition into the tent had revealed something interesting. The tent he had entered was the priest's by the looks of the scriptures neatly placed on a bespoke wood table. Though, it was less "artisinal" bespoke and more "a hunter had chopped a stump into a table" bespoke

Still, his possessions were out in the open. Sad, meagre possessions of mostly robes, scriptures, and a few travel supplies. But they were out in the open.



...It had been some time. Not an astounding amount of time, but enough to get a moment of anxious respite before the object of their anticipation appeared. What the dungeon had been anticipating was, of course, the arrival of more heroes.

One of them was a familiar face. The Lv. 2 Hero that had originally came into the dungeon. By some miracle, he had came back. By the looks on his face, he was not really any the wiser. Alongside him were seven brave friends of lesser power. Weak, meagre--yet still an actual threat to the safety of their dungeon.

"Hm..." The young hero said as they entered. "It doesn't seem any different."

An entrance gave the same impression as his first expedition. Of course, the hero's brain seemed to be a little bit scrambled since the entire second room looked like it was moved a third to the side. Whether it was because of his death, his brains getting eaten, or simply because the hero was naturally stupid was up for debate.

They entered the second room without much issue.

Upon reaching the first fork, the groups split into two groups: the Lv. 2 Hero, paladin, and mages took the left path while the warrior, ranger, rogue, and priest took the right path.

Click. A whistling resounded as the warrior's team traversed over the first arrow trap. The dwarven boy, ready for attack, lifted his shield. "G-huk!" the ranger boy gargled out as the arrow sailed over the dwarven boy's head and into his neck. The priest did his best to try to mitigate it, but it was unfortunately over for the ranger. His soul would come back within 2-3 business days.

Received 10 DP.

Click. A second arrow flew from a further distance at the Hero's team. From a further distance, the arrow whistled and gave more time for the heroes to respond. The hero boy lifted his blade and blocked the arrow, it deflected onto the ground.

The Hero's team continued on. Immediately, they had spotted the treasure chest. After some quick gesturing, the mage boy approached the treasure--only to be dropped into an abyss from the pitfall. The paladin leapt to try to grab the mage's hand, but she was too late. They could do little more for their companion besides continue their expedition and meet up again in half a week.

Received 10 DP.

Of course, a brutal sense of disappointment came as they approached the treasure from the side and it was revealed that there was nothing inside. A cold shiver ran down Schnupfen's lack of spine. He had broken a taboo and done something he should not have. Of course, the consequences of which were still unknown to him.

They regrouped in the centre room and inspected the guillotine statue. They didn't know what it was beyond a strange deco art piece. An odd feeling began to surround the necks of the young heroes as they took a brief respite and regathered their bearings.

Remaining foes: Lv. 2 Hero, 5/7 Lv. 1 [Brave Friends]

---

New Foes:
Lv. 1 Hero Team [Brave Friends]
7 child heroes, all equally new and foolhardy. A dwarf warrior boy, a human paladin girl, a human rogue boy, an elf mage boy, an elf mage girl, a human ranger boy, and a human priest boy. You could take them. One on one, at least.

---

And then, as the [Brave Friends] spent their time regrouping, recovering, and rethinking their decisions within proximity of the Guillotine Shrine, Zogi made his move.

He was an intelligent goblin, after all. He knew just how deadly the sacred relic within this particular chamber was, one that could automatically decapitate all adventurers within, so long as they stayed here long enough. And with the naga currently dutifully tending to the fire, with his boys all still exhausted from their ventures to the outdoors, the goblin knew too, that he ought to be the only one to make a smart, tactical decision, one that could save them ALL the trouble of having to fight these monstrous children head-on.

He needed to be a distraction!

"Gobo gobo, gobo grakko!"

A pot-bellied greenskin with a gleaming, straight-as-an-arrow nose stepped into the chamber, one bone-knife strapped to either side of his loincloth. His yellow eyes looked down upon the Brave Friends, even though his meager stature forced him to physically look up at them, while his lip curled out into a grimace of sheer disgust. One gnarled finger pointed at the heroic youth at the forefront, before Zogi begin to spring back and forth, jumping this way and that, his goblin-ish grunts and calls being almost musical in nature as he threw down to the best of his ability. Back step, cross step, arm switch, forward dive, elbow prop, windmill!

This goblin, outta the blue, was dancing?

Yes...dancing for as long as it would take for these kids to remain transfixed in their befuddlement at this completely alien behavior! And so long as they were transfixed, the reaper's blade will fall and end their miserable lives!

Diffused across the dungeon's dimly-lit corridors and shadowy recesses, spread like a pat of butter across too much bread, Schnupfen could finally begin to decompress. Though malleable and variously incorporeal, his tenebrous form was neither infinite nor truly amorphous, so by literally scattering his brain throughout his domain he could mitigate his ability to feel panic and dilute the stress that plagued him. This also resulted in the byproduct of giving the dungeon a spooky ambiance as his bleary eyes pulsed in the shadows and his fitful breathing disturbed the silence. Bit by bit, Schnupfen's sudden and inexplicable anxiety melted into the gloom, and when he felt ready the shadow began to collect himself.

It wasn't long after Schnupfen coalesced that his terrified prognostication came true. Tramping feet and unfamiliar voices, well after the return of Zogi and his away team, told the dungeon that unwelcome visitors had arrived. Though no longer stricken with fear, Schnupfen still felt an acute dread when he confirmed the intrusion; if he had skin, goosebumps would have pimpled his flesh. It was a bad time for an invasion, after all. Some defenses had only just been established, and they weren't anywhere near presentable, let alone complete. Sadly, they would have to do. As far as he knew, Salbjörg, Muste, and the rats were all still absent. That left the dungeon's fate in the hands of the Oracle, Zogi, the minions, and of course himself. Zoppy's absence was a conscious omission, since she would be a liability if anything. Honestly, the dungeon could do without her. Still, it wasn't all doom and gloom, and Schnupfen quivered not just with fear, but anticipation. He was eager to see his traps in action, and if push came to shove as it did during the dungeon's first endangerment, take life by his own hand.

Mere moments after the adventurers entered, Schnupfen was with them. The abilities to become incorporeal, travel through walls, and then hide in the darkness made him an ideal first responder. He supposed that someone with some serious arcane acumen might be able to detect him amidst the shadows, but these intruders did not strike him as anywhere near that level. They numbered eight in total, almost equal to the number of dungeon keepers (if half of them weren't missing in action) and for the most part, sported only a smattering of shoddy, homemade equipment. If anything, they looked more like teenagers playing at heroism than heroes themselves. Nevertheless, with the dungeon and its defenders so newly born, they presented a serious threat, and none more so than the familiar young man at the head of the group. Schnupfen's invisible lip curled in disgust as he recognized the boy from before. Revival...a hideous perversion of the natural order. To return from death was to spurn Mother Void, to reject the sweet and velvety nothingness that rightfully awaited every weary soul at the end of the road they called life. It affronted Schnupfen, but nevertheless, he would do his duty as Mother Void's envoy to return these wretches to the abyss from which they came, however many times it would take.

He watched, possessed by devilish delight, as several intruders ran afoul of his traps. One perished with an arrow in his neck, and another tumbled into his pitfall. Despite (or perhaps because of) all his second-guessing and perfectionism, his mechanisms and been cunning and lethally placed, after all! That gave him three kills under his belt, the most out of any dungeon keeper by far. If only his second arrow had met its mark in that wannabe hero's cranium. His ability to deflect a flying arrow with that sword of his was rather worrying, but Schnupfen chalked it up to suboptimal placement of the second arrow trap's components for now. The real problem was the bizarre but horrifying sensation that rankled him when one of the adventurers opened up the chest he placed--quite the whiplash from his joy seeing one of those vile mages run afoul of his pit seconds earlier. What was...oh, no. In all his hustle and bustle earlier, flitting this way and that as he tried to set up all the different traps, had he forgotten to put anything in the chest? Damn it. Now adventurers would be much less likely to stumble into his pitfall. Yet that fact did little to explain that dreadful sensation. Was it just nerves...? Come on, Schnupfen, he mentally berated himself. Get it together!

By then, the dungeon's defenders finally made their move. Or rather the dungeon's defender, singular, in the form of Zogi as he confronted the reunited party in the guillotine chamber, the dungeon's halfway point. Schnupfen watched, disconcerted. On one hand, Zogi was a capable goblin, but on the other hand he was alone against a party of six, and the shadow remembered exactly how Zogi last fared in a one-on-one. What chance did he have?

Instead of attacking, however, Zogi put on a show. Schnupfen realized what he was up to right away. He was trying to buy time, maybe for more defenders to show up and even the odds, but probably for that cursed guillotine to work its subtle but bloodthirsty magic. Even if he didn't understand how it worked, after all, Schnupfen could smell sorcery from a mile away. Just being in the same room as that thing made his eyes water, but it would do a lot worse to the adventurers if given half a chance. Hopefully.

Of course, once the intruders ran out of amusement or patience, they could end this farce in a heartbeat. Schnupfen could no longer play the part of passive observer. He needed to intercede now. But how? He did not wield the strength to meaningfully hurt these people before either the mage or the priest cast at him, and if he spurred them to violence, it would be over for Zogi that much faster. Maybe now was the time to reveal his penchant for misdirection.

Schnupfen positioned himself a short distance behind the group as they stood spellbound by Zogi's dance, back in the antechamber where his pitfall was. He his inside the pit, then adjusted his tone, adding a little echo for good measure. "Hello?" he called out plaintively in the voice of the fallen mage boy. "Guys? It's dark down here! Please, get me out!" He gave a very convincing teary sniffle, which was one of his specialties. "Uuhuh...I...I sprained my ankle real bad when I fell. Hurt so much I passed out for a minute. But it's only like twenty feet deep! You gotta pull me out, don't leave me down here! It'd just take two of you, somebody brought some rope, right!? Please!"

Ideally, the party would split again, some heading back to help out their fallen companion while the others kept a suspicious eye on Zogi, ready to cut him down if he tried any funny business but less willing to push forward until the whole team was together again. And all the while, those who remained would be inexplicably drawn to the guillotine. Schnupfen himself wasn't in any danger unless one of the magic-users just decided to fling spells into the darkness for the fun of it. Then again, they could just be very paranoid, the thought of which made Schnupfen paranoid.

Muste had taken his time observing the filthy wrinkleskins, but unfortunately there was little he could glean from their primitive society other than the apparent leader his fellow disguised employee was speaking with. Maybe it was the outside air, or the lack of mana to infuse his sorcerous being with, but he was starting to feel tired. However, he did happen to see seven young invaders heading out towards the dungeon. While he kept a calm expression, the tips of his moustache subtly twitched; he had to return. He sighed as some familiar rats scurried up to him, and turned to leave for the woods, seemingly ignoring them. However, as he gained enough distance towards the woodland to hide his presence, he took his hat, and lowered it the ground, crouching down to offer the rats a ride inside the concave fabric and in any pockets.

Once the rats were onboard or back to the camp, Muste started to stalk the children, making sure to keep himself out of sight, even losing them at a couple of points to ensure he stayed undetected: he already knew their destination, so he managed to keep up. Once they entered the dungeon, he took a moment to wait, and then slowly stepped after, holding his book open and ready to ambush them the moment he heard sounds of battle. Of course, his disguise would be broken the moment he cast a spell or used his psionic blast, so he would wait until the last moment to maximize the surprise factor. After all, in a straight up fight he would be as sturdy as a squid on land: that is, not very sturdy at all. On the way, he could feel the surprisingly developed minds of the Chordata phylum thanks to their proximity, and subtly attempted forming a psionic network with their minds with his telepathic powers. After all, if the rats could form a proper hive mind, they would be substantially more dangerous, and thus useful.

The Oracle’s impassioned speech was all well and good, but the fact was that the summoned minions were all dead tired from their outing, and so it’d be mostly down to the bosses to carry the day. That left it eight vs five (maybe six) and that was being generous when it came to the capability of the defenders.

Fortunately, while Kleine wasn’t going to be pulling much weight in the actual fight, her handy Monitoring ability meant they could keep track of the intruders as they stumbled into the traps Schnupfen had set up. Naturally the Oracle took credit for the traps being there in the first place, but it did congratulate the specter on the specific placement of the traps.

For all his fright at the news of intruders, he certainly was running away with the game when it came to killcounts so far.

All too soon, however, they were functionally out of traps that could be bumbled into, and were going to have to intervene.

Zogi’s plan on how to do this was. Well. Interesting?

The Oracle would have not have gone with this if they’d taken the time to properly plan. It was frankly absurd, but now was hardly the time for critique. Now was the time to improvise, and the Oracle promptly yes and-ed the goblin with gusto

“Kleine, we must assist this distraction! Send in the backup dancers!“ The Oracle insisted, hoping that the illusionist could do work that was that complicated. As it did this, it rolled its dice behind the corner, and prayed “oh fate, grant this foolishness your favor, and give him a refugee in his audacity!”

The little diamonds clinked quietly on the floor, and rolled a glorious 42 of empowerment.

Then as soon as they’d come to a stop, they started moving again.

One bounced up and down against the floor, producing a thudding drum beat. Another two rubbed together to squeak like a violin. Four more were thrummed in the air to produce the heavy notes of a base, while the final shimmied in the air or clacked against the wall to make the sounds of a tambourine. With their powers combined, a jaunty tune was played by the many hands of an unseen Lonely Puppeteer.

As the music played, the Oracle phased its head through the ceiling, arched it over the wall and then brought just its eye out above the goblin, before using a highly spread version of its eye beam to put a spotlight on the dancer. Should he come under threat however, the Oracle was entirely ready to tighten the beam and give any would-be stage crashers a nasty singeing.

Full economy came later. Hmmmm…

Salbjörg felt like she was starting to get a grasp of how these greedy humans worked. This was a settlement that catered to the “kiddos” that were stopping by to do adventurer stuff. They spent their coin here, then went off to the dungeon to get defeated, at which point they would be resurrected and their coin presumably stayed in the hands of the settlement. Which meant there probably wasn’t very much here right now. Though perhaps next time she visited, she would have to do so under the guise of a young girl instead of a woman. Yes, she could learn a lot more pretending to be a child. Even more if she had money.

This might be a good time to break off and depart, but Salbjörg knew it wouldn’t be so easy. She could feel rats moving around, and knew that they would only get more rambunctious as she moved further away from the food. Thus, her hand was forced, as it was the only way out of this situation.

“Well, surely the kiddos won’t miss a bite of whatever you’re cooking.” Rosalie “absentmindedly” reached for her “coin pouch” without looking away from Aggie. “So...” She popped the pouch open, revealing a rat. Rosalie waited for Aggie to notice the rodent before looking at her pouch herself. “What!? Wahhhhhhhhhhhh!” She swatted her pouch several times. It likely occurred to the rat that now was a good time to depart. Rosalie reached over her shoulder to feel her back. “They’re all over me!” She twirled, and the rats were distributed in the nearby area. She made sure not to drop any of them directly into the pot, but some of them landed pretty close. “I’m infested! Ahhhhhh!” While stumbling away, Rosalie tore her cape off of her back and palled it up under her arm. She stumbled towards the exit, occasionally shaking a leg or arm to make sure the rats were distributed no longer on her.

In a distant reality plenum, there is a peculiar planet known as the World With No Name. Upon its bizarre patchwork surface can be found the Wandering Wood, and within this mystical, sentient forest is located a certain traveling treehouse tavern. A quaint and charming refuge for weary travelers and local forest residents alike, on this enchanted eve, with the soft, golden glow of myriad fireflies augmented by the glorious radiance of all three of the world’s mystical moons waxing full, the enchanted establishment’s various patrons (including a renowned moth feykin oracle and a certain interdimensional freelance photographer) had the pleasure of being serenaded by…


The famous frog bard sat atop an oversized toadstool, supplementing the ambient night music provided by the various other forest creatures with a relaxing melody strummed on his guitar. However, it was not just songs Balthazar was renowned for, but also stories…

“And now, my dear audience,” the bard announced after plucking out the final notes of his latest tune. “I ask that you draw near your attention, for tonight I shall recount a most unusual tale, and one containing a very important lesson. Many moons ago, on a night much like this one, I had the great honor to be counted among a party of brave heroes who had set out to vanquish a tumorous outgrowth of the Abyssal Convergence which had taken root right here in the Wandering Woods like an unwelcome wart on the world’s big toe. But overcoming the Abyssal threat wasn’t the only challenge we faced. You see,” he continued. “No matter the power of its members, for any given party of heroes to have any chance of succeeding at their quest, those same members must overcome their innate differences and work together as a unified team. Their myriad quirks and foibles must serve to strengthen the whole, rather than tear it asunder. As it happened, our party would find that goal a particularly difficult one to achieve…”

---

---

“Thus our tale ends,” Balthazar concluded. “Not with a single hero, nor a single method, but with five companions united in friendship. Magic and machinery, logic and lunacy, song and starlight, all woven together as threads in one tapestry. A tapestry strong enough to save the Wandering Woods and, indeed, to accomplish anything. Always remember the lesson this tale teaches,” the bard advised as he looked over his audience. “That every mind, every method, and every voice adds something vital, that even the most mismatched companions can save the world, so long as they do not try to do so alone, and you, too, shall be able to triumph over even the most formidable of challenges.”

Speaking of challenges, do you know who else recently made a diverse collection of new friends and learned about all the wonderful benefits of working together with said new friends to accomplish something truly amazing?



Despite her best efforts, Zoppy was (predictably) unable to make much progress in carving out her shop from the dungeon wall. However, some of the minion monsters noticed what she was doing and, feeling bad for the deformed little thing, offered to lend her a small amount of assistance. While she still wouldn’t be able to have a new chamber for her shop, with the help of these greatly appreciated new friends working in concert, a small table was formed out of a tightly packed pile of assorted rubble from the other excavation efforts. “Dankz lotz!” Zoppy told them with a happy smile. Upon the makeshift table’s mostly flat surface, the intrepid merchant laid out her various wares, they being a few stones, sticks, the clump of now mostly dry moss the treant had placed atop her slumbering form, and three of the bone daggers the Oracle had crafted (which the naga was kind enough to carry over and place so that poor Zoppy didn’t accidentally cut or stab herself) . Now she just had to wait until her latest potential customers arrived.

"Wha-you--huh!?"

The cavalcade of rats beset upon the old women. Things went zero to a hundred rather quickly. Immediately, the old women slammed a lid on top of the crock before any rats could contaminate the meal. And in spite of their best efforts, Aggie had kept one hand on the lid to prevent the crock from moving. With the other hand--with all of the verisimilitude of the world's strongest homemaker, she unfurled her apron and used it to slap the airborne rats back out of the tests.

Really, it was a blessing she didn't have a broom in hand. Otherwise, the rats may have faced instant obliteration--they were but mere specks of dust to the collection of straw that an auntie could hold.

"Nedbert!" she yelled. The priest seemed to perk up. "Rats!"

With some grumble, the priest began to move towards the rats.

But that also meant that he was unavailable to check on his things. Larry--now taking the form of a living robe--managed to high tail it out of there with everything he could find.

Acquired: Priestly Scriptures, Old Priestly Vestments, Small Linen Bag (smells strange), Wooden Forked Crescent

Salbjorg's escape was easy--the rats came first, after all. Though, if she ever appeared in camp again, they would have plenty of questions as to how a bunch of rats managed to stick onto someone without them noticing.



The dance of Zogi was confounding. It did indeed get the adventurers to pause in bewilderment. Even more bewildering was the mix of instrumentation that followed and the goblin illusions that danced behind him. Though... The goblins looked a little strange. Rather than the detailed skin and wart like Zogi had, they seemed...much simpler? And their proportions weren't right, either. They were lopsided and their faces seemed to be overly simplified with beady little black eyes and a simple slit for their mouth.

Well, that still did the job. They were sufficiently distracted until the hero piped up.

"...Attack!" He said as he charged at Zogi with his sword.

The remaining brave friends looked and stepped to follow, but the voice of the young mage calling back had distracted the mage girl as she took a step to retrieve her brother.

"Wait!" The hero said. "He's safe in the hole! Monsters first!"

Maybe he wasn't as stupid as it seemed. It would appear that the level 2 boost came with a stark jump in intelligence.

The Dwarf warrior boy, on the other hand, was distracted by a different prospect: a unique sixth sense that he possessed. One that told him of the latest and greatest deals. He began to walk off towards it before...

"Monsters first!" The hero yelled at him.

"R-right!" The Dwarf responded.

The mage girl began to charge up a spell, mana coalescing.

The dwarf boy to back up the hero.

The rogue--ever the opportunist, followed the dwarf boy, but noticed something odd with his astute senses: something was off about the light that illuminated the goblin. He bounded off of the dwarf's back, nearly sending the warrior tumbling.

The priest began to provide blessings--though, if they were of actual effect or were placebo was unknown.

The paladin stood beside the priest, ready to defend him.

Muste remained unnoticed behind them all.

Remaining foes: Lv. 2 Hero, 5/7 Lv. 1 [Brave Friends] [D. WAR, H. PAL, H. ROG, E. MAG, H. PRE]

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New Foes:
Lv. 1 Hero Team [Brave Friends]
7 child heroes, all equally new and foolhardy. A dwarf warrior boy, a human paladin girl, a human rogue boy, an elf mage boy, an elf mage girl, a human ranger boy, and a human priest boy. You could take them. One on one, at least.

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