Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Eight (Patreon)

A NEW SHADOWCROFT CHAPTER EVERY MONDAY!

It was two weeks later when Professor Suresh took the Ninth Circle into the Tartarucha Cells to prepare for the upcoming Crucible. Logan and the rest of the class were left alone in one of the normal classrooms with two big crates, one marked for the First Cohort and one marked for the Terrible Twelfth.

They’d seen Weavelord on campus, now and again, accompanied by other auditors. They weren’t the only visitors trickling, through either. There were a variety of grizzled-looking dungeon cores lurking about campus. They weren’t the talkable sort, but according to Inga, they were advanced scouts, responsible for locating untapped Celestial Nodes and identifying various dungeoneer parties to be use in the Semi-finals and Finals.

Shadowcroft had always been a busy place, but now there were any number of people coming and going.

Logan was rather baffled at their third-year cultivation class. Chadrigoth and Tet constantly talked about the wonders that Darnol Zeggenerschwar was revealing to them—the abyss lord had never been happier with his progress. Would he be an A-Class by the time the tournament started? It seemed increasingly likely.

That would mean great things for the Azure Dragon Clan. Already, the year had started off with a bang. Logan’s clan had gotten points for two of its cohorts being chosen for the interschool tournament, but with Chadrigoth’s progress, that might seal the deal. That kind of progress would give a lot of points to the Azure Dragon Clan.

As it was, the leaderboard had Logan’s clan in first place.

The Azure Dragon = 375

The Crystal Tiger = 370

The Onyx Tortoise = 370

The Vermilion Phoenix = 350

It seemed the Backstories, who were a part of Professor John Toothbyte’s Onyx Tortoise Clan, all had been making nearly Logan-Murry levels of progress their first year. It was why the Onyx Tortoise Clan were tied neck and neck with the Azure Dragons and the Crystal Tigers.

As for Logan…  He was making zero progress on his twine ball and his cultivation progress had largely stalled out. They were still waking up early to train in the Colosseum, but it definitely felt like he’d hit a plateau. Inga was equally frazzled with both the financial audit and archiving Shadowcroft’s personal papers. Treacle’s jawbreaker wasn’t getting any smaller, and now he was taking medicine for his stomach pains. If there was any silver lining, it was that Marko had reduced his partying down to zero. He was too busy cleaning bathrooms to carouse all night in Vralkag with his drinking buddies.

Professor Kobold’s Devil McClure film appreciation class had pretty much devolved into a class discussion led by Inga. They’d complain about the napping professor and then go over what they learned in the film. Inga always brought extensive handouts that went over the various dungeoneering guilds and notable heroes. She was even considering writing a book on heroic dungeoneers who turned away from the path of evil to embrace the Tree of Souls.

Evidence suggested there had been a number of notable raiders who had become minions of powerful dungeon cores through the years. Marko had pointed out that such a scenario was the exact opposite of a rogue dungeon.

Now, in the tournament class, they were once again without a professor, but Chadrigoth wasn’t concerned. He summoned his Soul Cutter, and used the oversized fiery sword to pry open one of the crates. The wooden lid came off with a squeal of rusted nails being pulled out of the wood. He lifted out a finely crafted pewter statue of a warrior with a sword and shield.

Tet glanced down. “It’s a dungeon simulation kit.”

Lady Elesiel had a nail file, and she was intently sawing away one of her long fingernails. “Suresh has to be joking. We’re dungeon cores. Why is he giving us toys to play with?”

“Good one, milady,” Jimi Magmarty grunted, his smirk full of burbling lava.

Chadrigoth gingerly lifted out a series of wooden panels covered with arcane runes and sigils that fit seamlessly together. At the center, he placed a pedestal then took the core gem from his belly and added it on top. The miniature table buzzed to life, potent Apothos swirling in the air. A miniature version of Chadrigoth appeared in a fabricated inner sanctum while the pewter figures sprang to life. It was likely a mini, fully customizable version of the Tartarucha Cells.

Logan watched, fascinated, as the miniature holographic Chadrigoth summoned his demonic minions to fight the figurines. Logan was immediately reminded of the hologram chess from Star Wars, otherwise known as Dejarik.

Tet nodded. “It’s not the Tartarucha Cells, but this should work well enough. We can plan what we want to do in the Crucible. We’ll be facing simulated dungeoneers, and since Shadowcroft is hosting, presumably we’ll be supplying those old raiders.”

“I loathe Sir Rosencrantz Brandybutter,” Lady Elesiel complained with an eyeroll.

“Can’t wait to see what we got!” Marko said. He took one of his magical throwing knives and pried open the lid of the box marked for the Terrible Twelfth.

But instead of sigil-engraved wooden panels and pewter figurines, they had stacks of paper.

Inga regarded the contents with some trepidation. “More paper,” she said, licking her lips nervously. “Did you know that there is no statue of limitations on tax fraud for universities? I don’t understand that. And I don’t understand what’s in this box. Why is there more paper?”

“Here, let me help, Inga. You’ve had to deal with enough paper.” Treacle started taking out the pages and sorting through them.

Logan immediately recognized RPG character sheets. Some were blank, but most were filled in by someone with truly terrible handwriting—like middle-school-boy bad. On the edges were unmistakable pizza stain marks. The scent of Mountain Dew and adolescent pheromones hung in the air like a sickening cloud. Logan also detected the not-so-subtle whiff of a moldy basement.

Treacle found stacks of graph paper at the bottom.

Marko grinned. “So we can create our own dungeons on the paper, and there are character sheets for the dungeoneers. This is great!”

Logan closed his eyes and rubbed at one temple with a thick finger. “Wait. This is just Dungeons and Dragons. How is this helping us?”

Marko pointed at the cover art on a module. “It’s advanced!”

Inga snatched up a workbook. On it was a terrible drawing of an undead queen’s inner sanctum. The title had been hand-printed—The Gary & Wyatt School of Labyrinths and Liches: Optimizing your Dungeon and Making Stuff Cool!

She cracked opened the book, made a face, and then turned to show them that most of the sections had already been filled in. Incorrectly. She read out the first question. “‘What is a dungeon?’ And do you know what they wrote? ‘A dark scary place full of monsters and treasure,’ which is obviously not the right answer. There’s also a second answer, which I will not be reading, that describes acts that I’m reasonably sure aren’t physically possible. Absolutely disgusting.”

Marko rummaged around in the crate and came out with a red Lego, a marble, a rusted butter knife, and a collection of pencils and pens. The satyr quickly dropped the butter knife while casting a very nervous glance at Inga. He wisely wanted to avoid the silverware lecture about taking care of your cutlery.

Inga plucked a pencil out of his hand and started erasing with a frenzied focus. She talked while she wrote. “A dungeon is a nexus of power connecting a world to the Tree of Souls. Such places are also known as Celestial Nodes.” She shook her head. “There is a question on the suggested Apothos distribution plan. ‘How much Apothos should be given to structures, crafted items, and minion management?’ At least those align with the Department’s grading rubric. But I don’t think the numbers are right. It says that most of one’s Apothos should be used to craft items. That is not correct. It should be a balance of structures, minions, and various manifestations depending on the strengths and weaknesses of the dungeon guardian in question.”

“Who doesn’t like a good manifestation?” Marko asked. He held up the marble. “This is pretty. How does it fit in with the graph paper, the sexiest of all papers? Am I wrong?”

Logan sighed. “The marble is just junk, man. Suresh gave us leftovers.”

Inga erased with a fury, bits of eraser flying away. “A well-balanced party is not one that has cool characters that all weigh about the same. There are several theories, but generally, you want front-line tank to absorb blows, a melee physical damage dealer, healing support, magic user or ranged striker, explorers, also known as investigators, and the charismatic ‘Face’ of the party—someone who can fire the imagination and talk with locals.”

Marko tossed the marble back into the box. “I’m the Face, obviously, in our little party.”

A flame burst from across the room. The First Cohort all were clustered around a desk, and there was a Chadrigoth with Soul Cutter and his flaming whip, tossing around Hellfury and Scrouge Lances. The attacks destroyed the animated pewter figures. A cheer went up and some of the tension bled from the air. Clearly they were having fun, which was great. And Logan knew how great the Tartarucha Cells were. Fractilla and her cohort were getting in some seriously good practice.

Logan and his friends, on the other hand, were stuck with lots of graph paper. It didn’t seem so sexy. The characters sheets were all filled in with OP characters with names pulled directly from The Lord of the Rings. He didn’t think that Boromir had six thousand, six hundred, and sixty-six Hit Points. Otherwise, he would’ve survived those big arrows.

Treacle’s waved his jawbreaker at the paper. “It’s a shame we’re not in the Tartarucha Cells, but since I’m trying not to be like Steve, I want to focus on the positive. In the Crucible, we’ll have an advantage. We’ll be going up against the simulated dungeoneers we know all too well. From Arfgar of the Hill People to Feathers the cleric, we’ve fought them all before.”

Logan nodded. “We’ll have to see how much they’ll change those canned raiders. They might make Daggers McFinn a B-Class rogue. We’ll see.”

Marko snapped his fingers. “What’s the name of that wizard? Oh, right, the Magnificent Morty Mercutio Mimsy, and who can forget Hallsee the Sad? She’s just such a sad, sad sorceress.”

“Not all sorceresses are required to be happy sorceresses,” Inga said. She paused and set the pencil down, Gary & Wyatt’s dungeon core workbook momentarily forgotten. “So, Logan and Marko. You two have been really quiet about your Brews, Beers, and Bubbles class. Are you enjoying your alchemy lessons?”

Marko’s face lost all expression, his gaze suddenly hazy and distant. It was the look of a solider who had seen the worst of war could offer and had come back a changed man.

Logan pressed his eyes shut.

The memories were like a cracked mirror in liquor store. Marko was screaming and clawing at his face. Franklin the Toad King was running around, eyes wide, and flailing his hands like Kermit the Frog doing a cameo on Breaking Bad. Acheron, the purple-haired vampire clutched his knees, rocking back and forth while he wept. A chemical smell assaulted Logan’s senses. Just breathing felt like torture. Logan didn’t have lungs, but he still felt the burning. So much burning. There were bubbling vials and glowing tubes everywhere. And shrieking.

At the front of the classroom was a hooded figure with a big fluffy tail.

Pulling back the hood… no, no, no.

Logan found himself being shaken back to reality by Inga. “Logan, are you okay?”

Marko whispered, “The horror. The horror.”

Treacle licked the jawbreaker in his fingers. “Alchemy class. Going well though mysterious. Friends are traumatized.”

Marko laughed way too loudly. ”I am so not traumatized. It’s great. Alchemy class is awesome. I’m making so much beer. It’s all beer. All the time. It’s not a horror show created by a fuzzy manic. No, no, no, it’s fine. Logan and I are fine. We’re fine. Right, Logan? So fine. So much fine.” Marko’s rambling turned into nervous giggling.

It was so unsettling that Logan had to grab the satyr’s arm. “Stop it, Marko. Stop it.” Logan then turned to Inga. “Um, yeah, the class is intense. The professor doesn’t really want us talking about it. It’s kind of a secret. But we’re learning a bunch of important stuff.”

Logan wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. It was just best not to think about Brews, Beers, and Bubbles. He had other things to worry about. Like the twine. He’d gotten a good chunk unraveled, but then he had to undo the work because the other parts of the ball were tightening.

Inga frowned. “I’m going to see if I can find more information about the professor and the class. I’m not going to let mysteries spin out of control like last year. I’d like to avoid murder.”

Marko wiped his head. “Murder? Who’s talking about murder? It’s just beer and alchemy, right? Right!?” He looked half-crazed and on the edge of a breakdown.

Logan clutched his friend’s arm. “It’s okay. Let’s just stop talking about it.”

The moth woman’s concern was painted all over her face. “I’ll check things out. I’m sure Shadowcroft has files on the teacher. He vets his staff pretty well. Not perfectly. Suresh and Mr. Kobold are proof enough of that.”

“What’s wrong with Suresh?” Marko asked, acting confused while he mopped up some of the sweat.

Inga shook her head and didn’t even try and answer.

Chadrigoth came over and saw all the graph paper. “Oh, that’s a great game. Is there dice?”

“No dice,” Logan said.

The abyss lord patted his back. “Come on over and take a turn with the fifth edition G&W dungeon optimization package. It’s really nifty.”

G & W. As in Gary and Wyatt.

“Sounds great!” Marko shot to his feet, probably relieved not to be talking about their alchemy class.

It wasn’t long before Lady Elesiel and Jimi Magmarty were criticizing the fungal dungeon Logan had created on the magic board game. Harshly critiquing his trap placement and room design. But it was better to be practicing with the upgraded fifth edition than going through the paper.

                                                                                         ***

The next six weeks flew by as excitement for the tournament mounted. Before Logan knew it, a quarter of their third year had passed.

On that Thursday night, Logan packed up some digestion pits and his new black mold mattress, and found himself with his friends, on their way to the BYE portal on the eastern side of the realm.

Marko had manifested a mannequin minion to help carry all his gear—bags and bags of things. He wasn’t alone there. Lady Elesiel had various skeletal staff to help her travel.

Shurgur Eve, the fly woman, flew in with several fly-human hybrids loaded down with suitcases that smelled like rotting food. Logan found the luggage both appetizing and intriguing.

Everyone had packed for a long weekend, Friday through Sunday. Logan was pretty sure that the actual tournament class had done nothing to help him prepare, and the twine wasn’t helping. At all. But Chadrigoth had stepped up big time, just as Inga had in their Business of Destruction class. Once upon a time, the abyss lord had openly mocked at the idea of a well laid out dungeon, instead relying on raw strength and brute force to get the job done. After pairing with Logan, however, he’d changed his tuned. Over the summer he’d not only worked out physically but mentally—becoming a master of dungeon design.

With Chadrigoth’s thoughtful oversight and the Terrible Twelfth’s overall tenaciousness, Logan felt he was as ready as he could be given the circumstances.

Professor Suresh, their chaperone, had arrived with a variety of feline imp minions all hauling his rather excessive wardrobe. He was as bad as Marko and Lady Elesiel.

The Rakshasa stood at the center of his piles of luggage. To the south were the waterfalls tumbling into oblivion. In front of them was a branch of the Tree of Souls itself, growing up through the ground. Suresh cleared his throat and waved for everyone to be silent. “Tonight, is the pre-tournament mixer. Keep in mind, other competitors will be there to intimidate us. Once we leave Arborea, the games start. Most likely, there will be chatter, but be aware that there might also be actual murder. We’ve seen that in prior years. So stay alert. Stay alive. Except for you, Logan. We don’t need you.”

Chadrigoth laughed sadly. “I’ve said those same words, Professor. But now I see Logan as our best chance of winning.” The abyss lord gave Logan an encouraging smile and a giant thumbs up of support.

Logan couldn’t help but smile back.

Open support from Chadrigoth Nobleblade? Things had really changed.

Now, on to a mixer that might kill him. It wasn’t the first time that Logan faced deadly socializing. He’d been to a cousin’s wedding that had been really, really rough.

Suresh touched the bark of the tree and, in a blink, he was whisked away.

Logan and the other guardians followed after him.

Let the games begin…