Chapter 64 (Patreon)

Keira raised her greatsword and took a deep breath.

A Dreamthief was in front of her. She wanted to kill it. Smash it into pieces until every ounce of her fury had been satiated. And she would – in the proper order. Before she could turn the horrid thing into paste, the man floating inside its red-green liquid, his face locked in an expression of agony, came first. The sight of the Dreamthief sent shivers down her spine and threatened to evict her lunch from her stomach, but before she could act on that feeling, a Ranger was in need of rescuing.

Her rage would not take precedence over his life.

Most of the Rangers trapped inside the Dreamthieves would survive. For a time. The rates that their HP, MP, and Stamina were being drained seemed to be consistent, and their Levels were all at least in the high 20s. They had enough HP, Stamina, and MP left to spare for the Party to make an attempt at plumbing the depths of The Dungeon. If the fates were kind, and the Dungeon didn’t run too deep or throw an insurmountable obstacle at them, there was a chance that they would be able to shatter the Dungeon Core in time to save everyone. As far as plans went, it was...doable. Improbable, but doable, and they were no strangers to laughing in the face of overwhelming peril.

Then there was Randor, the main point of failure in their strategy. Randor had been a Utility Class user until recently and was far behind the rest of the pack. He’d demanded he be allowed to participate in the Dungeon Crawl, and his request was accepted much for the same reason Malika’s was; a Dungeon was a prime place to earn EXP. His low Level was why he’d come, and it was also why his life in danger of slipping away so soon. A Level 15 Ranger didn’t have much in the way of HP or MP. Randor couldn’t wait for them to conquer the Dungeon before his health drained to nothing. Either they took a gamble and tried to free him now, or they let him waste away as a fucking plant ate him alive.

And his death would be on their heads. Each member of Riardin’s Rangers knew that Randor’s current dilemma had been avoidable. With the exception of Malika, one of them should have offered him a place in Rob’s party. A fledgling Ranger needed the extra Experience and the safety of Rob’s Vitality buffs more than anyone. But whether out of subconscious greed or simple thoughtlessness, they’d held onto their positions, and Randor had lacked the forthrightness to request a swap.

We’ll fix this. We’ll save him. Keira’s muscles bulged as her grip on her greatsword tightened. We won’t let him die.

She’d already experimented with severing the roots that were spreading out from the Dreamthieves and into the bark-lined walls and floors. In theory, at least. An instant before her greatsword would have sliced through, Danger Sense set off an alarm blaring in her head. Not for herself, but for Randor. She wasn’t aware of exactly what would happen to the man if she cut the roots, but it would end in his grisly and inevitable demise. Of that, she was certain.

Which was fine. A frontal attack suited her better.

Riardin’s Rangers took their positions, surrounding the Dreamthief on all sides. A chorus of nods confirmed that they were ready. In theory, they could have signaled the countdown verbally. The Dreamthief didn’t seem to have ears. In practice, none of them were willing to take any chances. An ally’s life was on the line, and Randor deserved no less than a miracle.

She would make sure he got one.

Keira adjusted her posture and sharpened her focus. Five...four...three...two…

One.

A red aura infused her greatsword as Power Slash bit deep into the Dreamthief’s outer layer. After a moment of resistance, her longtime companion cleaved straight through the front of the vampiric plant, shearing its plant-flesh straight off and spilling red-green liquid out onto the floor. The rest of Riardin’s Rangers launched their own attacks at the same time as hers. Power Shot-infused arrows, Malika’s lightning, and Zamira’s and Meyneth’s own Power Slashes all chipped away at the Dreamthief like a hailstorm striking on glass.

Unfortunately, cracking its outer layer was the limit of their capabilities – they didn’t come close to her own raw strength, and for a plant, the thing was fucking tough. Roughly half of its ‘skin’ remained intact. The Dreamthief reacted to their assaults in an instant, letting out an earsplitting shriek and growing spiked tendrils within its inner layers. Keira moved to execute a follow-up attack, but Light As A Feather didn’t reduce her greatsword’s weight to the point where she could maneuver it like a pocket knife. She wouldn’t make it in time before it skewered Randor like a piece of raw meat hung up at a butcher’s shop.

They’d expected as much. A split second after Riardin’s Rangers rained hell and fury down on the Dreamthief, a flurry of white motes burst inside of its gullet and dispersed just as quickly. Rob, having used the enchanted bracelet to teleport next to Randor, wrapped his body around the Ranger and cast Rampage. Spiked tendrils extended from what remained of the Dreamthief’s inner flesh and stabbed at Rob and Randor as they shot out of the front opening that Keira had sliced open. Several of the tendrils hit their mark, one piercing Rob in the stomach and another piercing through his and Randor’s shoulder in one strike. The smaller tendrils that had already been inserted into Randor’s ears and nose ripped out with a distressing sound similar to a knife being removed from a wound. Blood trailed through the air as they collapsed into a heap on the floor, Randor unconscious and Rob gritting his teeth in pain.

But they were alive. Nothing else mattered.

Rob released Randor and rolled away, groaning. He retrieved an HP Potion from the crate they’d left aside and swallowed it nearly in one go, putting to use what he’d once described as his ‘expert chugging skills’. Zamira appeared at Randor’s side in a blur of motion, carefully tipping another HP Potion down the man’s throat as Orn’tol, Vul’to, and Taleya tended to his injuries.

As soon as she was sure that their ally was safe, Malika screamed at the top of her lungs and engulfed the Dreamthief in fire summoned from the depths of her hatred, turning the wretched, hideous thing into cinders. It let out animalistic cries as it burned, the light of its life extinguished not a moment too soon.

Satisfying as watching the Dreamthief go up in flames was, Keira couldn’t help but glance at Malika with concern. This – to put it mildly – wasn’t how someone’s first Dungeon Crawl was supposed to go. Hopefully the act had given her some form of catharsis, because Keira knew exactly how the young mage was feeling right now. Malika wasn’t the only one who’d formed a grudge against their captors. Speaking truthfully, all of Riardin’s Rangers had. Some had fared better than others, but the dream had shaken each of them to their core. Meyneth especially; she hadn’t said a word since waking, responding to directions and suggestions with simple nods, a haunted look in her eyes. She’d withdrawn into a shell, and Keira hadn't the faintest idea of idea how to coax her into coming back out.

Then there was Rob. Learning that he’d used Melancholy Resistance Level 4 to save them had filled their group with deep senses of shame and horror. In the past, Riardin had repeatedly warned her during not to activate the Skill, that it was an infection of the mind little different then Leveling High. The examples he’d given of his compatriots from the war that had fallen under Melancholy Resistance’s sway were...persuasive. And based on what Zamira had told them, they’d likely been minutes away from losing Rob. Permanently.

All while Keira herself had been asleep and none the wiser. She tried to avoid examining Rob too overtly and only partially succeeded. Zamira promised them that he’d deactivated the Skill, but honestly, without her assurances, Keira wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to tell. She’d never met a person with an active Melancholy Resistance, and as he was now, Rob wasn’t quite like himself.

“Looks like we both lived,” Rob said, wiping drops of HP Potion off his lips. A smile slowly crept across his face. “That certainly went better than expected. I hope that makes up for being a dickhead and not including him in the Party straight away.”

His hopeful tone was at odds with his appearance. Rob looked haggard in a way that was unlike the usual fatigue that resulted from surviving a harrowing experience. His mannerisms, motions, and the way he spoke were irregular in ways that were difficult to describe. Every action was delayed by a split second, like they were being manually planned and executed instead of coming about naturally. They weren’t fake or fabricated, but she could tell that simply being himself was taking visible effort. He was on his last legs, and it wasn’t difficult to understand why.

Keira remembered when Melancholy Resistance’s effects reached her. Up until then, the Dreamthief had surrounded her with ghosts of the past. Her parents, Men’ta, Riardin, Tarric, Alia. Whispering words into her ears that the real people never would, but that cut deep all the same. Keira felt herself coming undone, slowly being ground away by the illusion’s sadism, and without the shared effects of Mind Resistance she doubted she would have lasted very long before accepting its offer of a comforting fantasy.

Then, without warning, an all-consuming tranquility flooded her. The ghosts’ barbs that had been tearing her composure apart, the targeted attacks at her mind, suddenly felt...unimportant. Like raindrops flowing harmlessly down her skin. The ghosts had gaped at her, eyes wide with terror, as Keira gave them a serene smile.

Her forehead split open a second after. Red-black tendrils burst forward and lanced through the ghosts, lifting them into the air as oozing liquid pumped through the tendrils and into their flesh. They screamed as they melted away, and Keira kept smiling.

When she awoke some time later, the effects of Melancholy Resistance were gone, and already seemed like the remnants of a fading dream. But she’d already been dreaming, and dreams took place in the landscape of a person’s consciousness. She knew that what she’d witnessed was a visual representation of what the Skill was capable of. What it did to aspects of the mind. And she’d only been inflicted with a lesser version, a mere portion of its effects that were granted by the EXP Share.

Rob had endured the full brunt of Melancholy Resistance for fifteen minutes.

He was strong. Keira knew that he would recover from his ordeal and be himself again before long – gods, she had to believe that he would. But the Rangers’ lives were on a time limit, and they couldn’t afford to wait for everyone in the Party to get fully back on their feet. Keira forced herself to admit that she wouldn’t be able to overly rely on Rob during the Dungeon Crawl; he was simply too beaten-down. She would have to take point and hope that Danger Sense would keep her safe.

Things were so much easier when I fought alone again one or two enemies at a time, Keira mused. Now I have allies – friends – to care about. A burden, in some respects, but one that is easily worth carrying for the sake of the blessing it provides.

She glanced at the Party and steeled her resolve. No one dies today.

Orn’tol stepped towards his sister. “Malika,” he said, in a gentle tone. “You leveled up twice from finishing off the Dreamthief, correct? Please put your points into Vitality and Endurance again.” She nodded, offering no words of disagreement. Keira eyed the Party Screen as she watched Malika’s HP and Stamina increase. The young mage, enamored as she was by her own spellcasting, had been sorely neglecting those stats in favor of Magic and Mind.

Which was to say nothing of her Strength, currently sitting at a miserable 6. The very thought of it disgusted Keira, but now wasn’t the time to educate Malika on the finer points of hitting things. At the moment, Malika needed durability to survive. Should the unthinkable happen, and a Dreamthief entrap her again, every extra point of Vitality and Endurance would serve to keep her alive until she could be rescued.

If she could be rescued. Their plan to free Randor had been carried out flawlessly, but it had only succeeded because their execution had been flawless. There was no guarantee that they could pull it off again.

“I would caution against attempting to free the others as we did Randor,” Zamira said, echoing Keira’s thoughts. “A single misstep would have ended with one or both of Rob and Randor dead. Replicating the feat an additional eleven times is beyond our capabilities.”

They’d stormed the Dungeon with twenty people. Rob’s Party, eight Rangers, two Healers, Elder Alessia, and Randor. It was meant to be overkill. A swift end to an encroaching stain upon the land. Their numbers had only given the Dungeon more toys to play with. As the situation was now, if they couldn’t expunge the Core in time, a scant nine of their allies would walk away from this Crawl intact. Assuming everyone currently free of the Dreamthieves’ clutches managed to survive until the end.

Which was assuming quite a lot. The day was young, and they had yet to descend from the first goddamn floor.

“If saving them directly is beyond our means,” Vul’to said, “Then we should continue deeper into the Dungeon.” He peered down at Randor, still unconscious. “What shall we do with him? If he wakes up before we clear the Dungeon and decides to follow us into its depths...well, I fear that he won’t last long.”

Taleya was staring at Randor, her face taut. She whispered something under her breath and shook her head.

“Write him a note,” Taleya said, her voice hollow. “Explain the situation. It’s the best we can do. Does anyone have writing implements in their personal space in Rob’s Storage?”

A few beats passed. “I do,” Meyneth said, wilting at her own words. Rob nodded and stretched out his hand towards her. Meyneth flinched at the motion, shivering slightly as she grabbed Rob’s hand and produced a pen and paper from her Storage. The rest of the Party took a quick respite as she hastily wrote a note and placed it on Randor’s chest. She eyed everyone fearfully after she was done, as if waiting for someone or something to lash out at her.

Vul’to graced her with a warm smile. “Good foresight,” he said. “We might have need of writing utensils in the future, as well.”

Meyneth’s jaw fell open. She stared at him intently, Vul’to’s smile faltering slightly as the seconds crawled.

Rob rubbed his eyes, shrugged, and turned to face the wall of darkness that was their only exit from the room. “Everyone ready?” he asked. The Party assented. “Okey-dokey then. Let’s-”

Keira interrupted him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t,” she said, kindly. “Stay in the back in case Malika is ambushed.”

He looked about to protest before hesitating a moment later. Rob sighed, rubbing his temples with both hands as he screwed his eyes shut. “You’re right,” he said. “Just...take care of yourself, please. The Dungeon won’t play fair, and your build isn’t suited for tanking hits. Shared Regeneration isn’t going to mean much in a short, brutal fight.” He smirked. “If you die, I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

Keira put on a smile that she hoped was confident. “Your concern is heartwarming, but misplaced. Mark my words – I won’t take a single point of damage.”

A few months ago, she would have believed herself. The Bestial Chimera and the Mine had disabused her of that notion. No one was perfect, and no one was untouchable, with or without Danger Sense. She was treading into an unknowable danger where her choices were kill or be killed. The Dungeon would undoubtedly throw monstrously strong foes at her, foes that would test the limits of her combat prowess. One wrong move could very well spell her demise.

She suppressed a manic grin as the thought sent her heart racing and her blood pumping.

–

Fuck, I’m tired.

Rob closed his eyes and opened them again. Calling it blinking would have been too generous – he was trying to catch bits of microsleep in order to stave off the insistent desire to pass out then and there. It felt like he’d pulled two all-nighters in a row and gone straight to math class at 7 AM. Why is there no coffee in Elatra? He bemoaned. Must this world spite me at every turn?

He made a necessary decision and put 5 of his unspent stat points into Endurance. Maybe the increased Stamina would help take the edge off. The remaining 5 points were split between Strength and Magic, as he was lacking in pure offensive power when compared to his cohorts, and because his Skills that consumed MP were proving to be increasingly vital to his survival.

Climbing Level Increased! 2 → 3

Fleet of Foot Level Increased! 4 → 5

Active Skill Learned!
Name: Second Wind
Prerequisite: Endurance 30, reach 1% or lower Stamina at least once.
Description: Get back on your feet, you lazy bag of bones. You can rest when you’re dead. Take a single deep breath to instantly restore 30% of your maximum Stamina. Cannot be used without breathable oxygen in the area. Cannot be used if your lungs are nonfunctional.
Cooldown: 24 Hours

The Skill was appreciated, and Rob did feel a bit less like a shambling corpse than before, but the boost to his Endurance more like slapping duct tape on a leaking pipe than fixing the actual problem. He needed rest, actual rest, and that wasn’t happening until they’d expunged the Dungeon and gotten everyone home.

Keira had been right, unfortunately. He was in no condition to lead the way. It would have been hard to portray an inspiring presence for everyone to follow when he was barely able to keep his balance on the massive roots that the Party was creeping their way down. Crossing through the wall of darkness had transported them into the interior of an even bigger hollowed-out tree – much, much bigger. Gnarled, five-foot-wide roots spread downwards in a way that vaguely resembled a path for them to traverse downwards. Convenient, if not for the wide empty spaces in-between the roots, and the long trip to the bottom that would befall anyone who slipped. Rob might be able to survive if he activated Not a Scratch before hitting the bottom, but the others wouldn’t be so lucky.

It was for that reason that Rob did his best to stay alert despite dreamland calling his name. He’d witnessed what the end result of an Infected animal falling off a cliff looked like and had no desire to see the sequel acted out by a friend. If someone slipped, he would dive after them, Rampage to propel himself underneath them, grab them, face them upwards, and use Not A Scratch before they hit the ground. The two of them would be alone at the bottom of the tree, and a horde of monsters would probably pop out of nowhere and introduce themselves as soon as Rob Airlines landed, but at least both of them would be alive. He would figure out how to un-fuck their situation afterwards.

“Where are the monsters?” Malika whispered. “I thought a Dungeon would be full of them.”

“Hiding, probably,” Orn’tol whispered back. “Be on your guar-”

Creak.

A branch broke off from one of the roots and took a swipe at Orn’tol. No, not a branch, a spindly man-sized bug thing that had been camouflaged to look exactly like bark as long as it didn’t move. It reminded Rob heavily of Stickbugs, except that Stickbugs didn’t have scythes at the ends of their hands or spit acid out of their mouths. At least he didn’t think they did. He wouldn’t rule out Australia having a similar variant.

In the time it took for Rob to snap out of his dazed internal rambling, eight more Stickbugs had crawled out of the woodwork and were advancing fast on the Party. The one closest to Orn’tol had been bisected by Keira, her Danger Sense having sensed the ambush coming. Rob hadn’t even drawn his weapon yet.

Gotta focus. ‘Identify.’

Name: Creeping Phasmatodea
Level: 17
Status Effects: Territorial
Description: You’re not going to remember the name ‘Phasmatodea’, are you? You’ll just keep calling them Stickbugs.

Damn right.

The Party took potshots at the Stickbugs as they crawled along the roots faster than Rob would have expected, legs skittering and twitching like spiders and oh boy he did not like the memories that association brought to the surface. While the Stickbugs weren’t strong – a single arrow from Vul’to snapped one in half – they were agile and using the giant roots as cover. Bereft of a proper projectile, Rob was relegated to repeatedly throwing and re-summoning the Broken Shortsword. Compared to the ranged attacks put out by the Rangers and Malika, he kind of felt like a kid sitting at the adults’ table and pretending he mattered.

Then the hilt of his Shortsword miraculously bonked one of the Stickbugs on the head – and promptly blew its skull open.

Passive Skill Learned!
Name: Throwing Proficiency
Prerequisite: Defeat or heavily injure at least three worthwhile opponents using throwing implements. Improvised implements count.
Description: Been practicing your fastball? Apparently, the answer is yes. Slightly increases your aim when throwing shit at shit. Damage incurred by hitting an enemy with a thrown weapon or object is increased by 5%.

Rob whistled as he summoned the Shortsword and threw it again, revising his estimates of how much 35 Strength, plus the damage bonus from Headsman, plus the damage bonus against insectlike creatures from Arachnophobia was worth.

Five Stickbugs were left by the time they reached the Party. Process of elimination had deemed them as best of their kind, and it showed in how they used actual strategy when harassing the Party. Instead of engaging in a direct confrontation where Keira or Zamira would slice them in a heartbeat, they danced between roots, attacking from underneath and backing out before a retaliatory strike could be made. One managed to nick Orn’tol’s ankle, causing minimal damage but almost knocking the boy off – without Meyneth grabbing him and bracing herself against the root with her claws, Rob Airlines would have had its maiden flight sooner than expected.

They don’t have to beat us, Rob thought, grimacing. They just need to trip us up and let gravity do the rest.

Keira’s eyes bulged. Rob turned around before she had a chance to say anything – he knew what that look of panic meant. He drew his longsword and Power Slashed through the Stickbug that was sneaking up behind him, its two halves falling off opposite sides of the root. With a grimace, he realized that he hadn’t killed one of the ones they were already fighting. That had been Stickbug #9, and Rob could only stand and watch in bewilderment as #10 through #16 dropped down from ceiling, divebombing the Party in a maneuver that, frankly speaking, was rude and uncalled for.

Two of the newcomers missed the branch entirely and fell silently to their deaths. Two more were shot out of the air by Taleya and Orn’tol. Zamira cut down one that landed next to her, and another was blown apart by a lightning bolt from Malika. The final crazy-ass kamikaze Stickbug landed next to Meyneth and was torn to shreds by her claws.

Leaving her distracted and unable to dodge an attack from one of the five original bugs that cut across her torso. She cursed, stumbled, reached for the ledge, and failed.

“I’VE GOT HER!” Rob yelled as he jumped. “THISLOOKSBADBUTWE’LLBOTHBEFINE!” I really should have explained this plan ahead of time. Ignoring the confused shouts from the rest of the Party, Rob cast Rampage once to rocket ahead of Meyneth, maneuvered behind her, and grabbed her from the back. The ground was fast approaching, and with seconds remaining, he activated Not A Scratch.

Meyneth had other plans. Her leg muscles tightened, and with a soft glow, hardened until they were solid as stone. She twisted her body and was barely able to touch her feet on a root they were falling past. All at once, their downward momentum was transferred from vertical to horizontal as Meyneth kicked off against the root with enough force to send spiderwebs of cracks running through it. Rob held on tight as she soared through the air, reaching the far wall of the tree interior and kicking off of that as well, angling them towards the ground. His teeth rattled as Meyneth landed hard, bending her knees to absorb the force of impact. A moment later, she stood up straight, resolute and unharmed, her HP and Stamina close to full.

“That was more turbulence than I expected,” Rob muttered as he let go.

“What?” Meyneth asked, panting.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll learn to ignore my Earth references soon enough.” Rob wiped a sheen of sweat off his brow. He summoned an MP Potion and chugged it at record speeds to offset the loss from using Rampage. Their supply of Potions wasn’t infinite, but better to be alive with empty pockets than a corpse with full ones. “What Skill was that?” Rob asked once he’d finished. He summoned another Potion and held it out to Meyneth; whatever she’d used had probably cost MP as well.

Meyneth shuffled in place as she gingerly accepted the MP Potion, but didn’t start drinking it. “Leap,” she answered. “It hardens my legs and increases their strength. Allows me to jump great distances without suffering backlash.”

Rob let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s pretty badass. Now I feel dumb for trying to play hero when you had yourself covered.” He looked up from where they’d fallen, the distant sounds of battle resounding throughout the open air. They were at least 500 feet down, probably more. There were roots leading back up, but climbing them would be a much more daunting task than descending, and the battle would be finished before they were a tenth of the way there.

“We should stand underneath everyone,” Rob said. “In case someone else falls. You can Leap up to catch them, and I’ll be your cheerleader. Think you can handle snatching people out of the air if they slip?”

“I must apologize.”

Rob did a double-take. “That...came out of nowhere,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Meyneth. She averted her gaze, wearing a stoic expression that looked fragile as glass. He hadn’t seen her look so vulnerable since first meeting her at the Human prison.

“I fell,” she said, quietly. “This error forced you to abandon the Party in an attempt to protect me. Had I acquitted myself better, neither of us would be down here. I have separated both of us from the group in a time of need. Unacceptable.”

She spat out the last word. “You would have been better-suited having someone else in the Party,” she continued, voice hitching. “Someone more competent. Your pity for me has been to your detriment, and for that, I must apologize.”

Oh jeez. Diplomacy?

Silence. It was there, but subdued, almost as if it was hibernating.

Shit. Okay.

Rob gently grasped her hands. Diplomacy’s absence was felt a moment later as Meyneth let out a little gasp and flinched, her claws extending an inch and piercing through his palms and out the other end. She stared down at what she’d done, a look of stricken horror on her face. Rob bit his tongue and forced a comforting smile to his face, keeping his hands clasped in hers.

“Anyone could have fallen off,” he said. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, seriously. I once blew myself up and they still haven’t let me hear the end of it. And what’s this about pity? You’re a good person, and we all like you. If you’re here, it’s because the others and I wanted you here. If pity was a barometer for inclusion in my Party, then there’s plenty of sadsacks out there that I could’ve chosen. Trust me, people can get weird when Fast Learner is on the table. You don’t, and that means a lot.”

I think I’m getting decent at giving mid-Dungeon pep talks, Rob mused. He paused, wondering if he should be more direct, before throwing caution to the wind and laying it on thick. “I don’t know what you saw in the illusion,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes. “But whatever happened is in the past. You’re among friends now. I’m not saying you can or should immediately get over what you saw – I would be a huge fucking hypocrite if I did. But at least let me say that I think you’re pretty awesome. You’re brave, helpful, smart, and cool. Also, a pair of giant mushrooms just popped out of a hole in the ground and I’m gonna need your help dealing with that.”

Name: Sporeking
Level: 30
Status Effects: Territorial
Description: Made of plantlike flesh, but its arms are strong enough to bend steel. Can be wounded easily, but regenerates quickly and will endure large amounts of punishment before expiring. Slow but relentless.
Analyze Weakness Has Triggered! - A Sporeking releases noxious fumes when damaged. Trace amounts will be expelled when being damaged by physical means. This should cause no real harm unless inhaled for extended periods of time. Elemental attacks such as fire will cause the Sporeking to explode, shooting massive amount of fumes in every direction. A single full breath will guarantee a protracted and agonizing death.

What kind of drugs – and how many – was the Dungeon on when it designed a twelve-foot tall mushroom with beefy arms and legs? Rob let go of Meyneth’s hands, ignoring the feeling of her claws sliding back out of his palms, and produced a longsword from his Storage. “I can’t kill both of these things on my own,” he said. “It would be a close call even if I was at my best, which I am most certainly not. What say you and I tag team that tall, muscular duo who want to pound us?”

Meyneth was quiet. The Sporekings started to lumber forward, taking long, plodding steps.

“Brave, helpful, smart, and cool,” she echoed in a hesitant tone. “You really think I’m all those things?”

She’d taken a major risk and joined the Deserters out of a desire for a better life. She kept him alive when the Locus of Power was using his brain as a stress ball. She was apparently some math and art savant. And she was a strong dragon lady who spoke softly and carried a big stick.

Sure, they didn’t know each other very well. Not yet. Rob would fix that as soon as the Dungeon Crawl was finished. Giving her as much space as he had was a mistake. She clearly needed some positive reinforcement, and based on the insights into her character that he’d gleaned from their – admittedly limited – interactions, she deserved it. His weeks spent in The Village around people who hated him had given him a sort of sixth sense regarding who would make a good ally. Meyneth wouldn’t just be a good ally; she would be a good friend. All she needed was for people to reach out to her.

Plus, seeing her be so down on herself kind of pissed him off. A bit of extra flattery couldn’t hurt.

“You’re all those things and more,” Rob answered.

A hint of a smile spread across her face. She raised the MP Potion he’d had given her, opened her mouth wide, and popped the entire thing in at once, bottle and all. Rob stared in shock as Meyneth chewed the MP Potion with gusto, the sound of crunching glass prickling his inner eardrums. Even the Sporekings momentarily halted their advance, sunken-in eyes widening slightly.

After what felt like an eternity, Meyneth swallowed. Her claws lengthened, she adopted a fighting stance, and her smile returned in full force, two rows of sharklike teeth that looked evolved to tear someone’s throat out.

“Then what else can I do but live up to your expectations?” She said, each word more confident than the last.

Rob laughed. Yeah, you’ll fit in just fine.

They charged, sword and claw rending through plant-flesh as the struggle to survive began anew.


–


Changes

Rob
Endurance 25 → 30
Strength 35 → 38
Magic 18 → 20
Learned: Throwing Proficiency
Upgrade: Climbing 2 → 3
Upgrade: Fleet of Foot 4 → 5

Malika
Level 17 → 19

Link to Character Sheet and Skills List

--

Thanks for reading!