by Eric Ugland
“There are levels of dungeon?”
“This is a Dungeon. A greater magical being that is semi-sentient and may change. There are also places built as long-term prisons, or tombs, or even as hidden magical workshops. Those also can qualify as a dungeon. But not a Dungeon.”
“It’s a semantic difference?”
“It is a vocabulary shortcoming, I suppose. We do not possess two words to denote the differences clearly. But if I may, maybe we shelve this conversation for some later date?”
Something slammed against the door.
“Fine for me.”
I looked over at the Lutra and Donner.
Still zonked out.
Emeline stood at the door, holding it shut as the mimics on the other side hammered against it. I noticed she still had the tongue wrapped around her waste, and there was a bit of smoke rising from it. I walked over, unwrapped it, and threw it on the ground.
“Why is it smoking like that?” I asked.
“It is her dress,” Nikolai said, pointing at the ballgown. Sure enough, the area that tongue had touched was eaten away.
“They have acidic saliva?” I said. “What the fuck is this place?”
There was a particularly hard hit against the door, enough to bounce Emeline off it. I slammed my shoulder into the opening door, promptly smashing a mimic’s tongue in the door jam. It flailed around, a mixture of pain and opportunistic grabbing.
Releasing the pressure just a little on the door, I watched the mimic retract its tongue, and then I slammed the door shut again.
“The whole treasure room was a fucking mimic,” I said. “And now there’s a hundred plus mimics in the hallway trying to get through this door.”
Nikolai was suddenly moving, looking around the room.
“Pick up that bench,” he shouted to Emeline.
“What?” She replied.
“Pick up the bench, high, into the air.”
She gave him a look like he was crazy, but, she picked the bench up.
Nikolai knelt, and ran his hand in the air under the bench. He looked nuts until something stopped his hand about midway through.
A very thin tendril connected the bench to the ground.
Emeline shrieked and dropped the bench, which began absorbing into the ground.
“It is all a mimic,” Nikolai said. He looked around frantically, and I could almost hear his brain desperately searching for an answer.
The entire room got a little softer, the mimic relaxing its mimicry since it was no longer necessary.
“We will be eaten in seconds if we do not do something,” Nikolai said.
A drop of liquid fell from the ceiling, green and noxious. Acid.
“Fuck,” I said.
Chapter Forty-Three
Occasionally, when the shit truly hits the fan, it feels like the world slows down a little. Something I felt more often in Vuldranni as opposed to Earth. In that moment, I looked around the room, and everything seemed like it was in slow motion. Like the drop of acid falling in front of me was hanging almost suspended in the air. Here, in this moment between moments, I had time to think.
Sort of.
I had to get out of the mimic. But the mimic was everywhere. And everything. Which meant there was no way out. But that couldn’t be the answer. There had to be a path forward — we were only at level three.
So somewhere within this level of the dungeon, the level that was all mimic, was not mimic. Where that was, I had no idea. Ostensibly, it was outside the mimic we were currently within. So it kinda made sense that the only thing we really needed to do was get outside the mimic.
With a big hearty swing, I chopped at the wall.
The axe just pinged off at a weird angle, as if it were still real stone. I dropped the weapon, my hands ringing.
Minor problem.
But where the dungeon giveth a problem, the dungeon provideth a solution. I pulled the sword of sharpness from its sheath on my belt, jumped away from the door, and jammed the sword as deep as I could into the wall. It sunk deep in, and there was a shuddering of the entire area. I ripped the sword down to the ground, opening a great rent into the monster.
The inside was full of pulsating flesh, and the room immediately flooded with noxious mimic fluids.
“We need to go through here,” I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out six barrels.
I popped the tops off and dumped the various goods back into the bag.
“Wait—” Nikolai started.
“I can breathe in that,” I said, interrupting him. “ I still have that ring on. You five get in the barrels, and I’ll pull y’all along. We either die together or I get us on the other side of this thing.”
The mimics pounding on the door were getting it to open, and I had to wonder if there was some sort of rivalry in the bigger mimic keeping out the littler mimics. Exactly how many mimics were in the dungeon was one hell of a mystery.
We got Donner in one barrel, the two Lutra in one, Emeline in one, and Nikolai giving me the stink eye in the last one. I slammed the pommel of the sword on the tops, sealing my friends inside. A quick loop of rope around each barrels with the best knots I remembered, and we were ready to go. I watched every little thing in the room morphing into pseudopods, all of which reaching for me.
Worried they’d get snatched, I chucked the barrels into the open wound, then hopped inside the foulness myself. At the last moment, something grabbed my ankle. I gave it a sharp kick, and pulled myself deeper into the wound. Which was disgusting. Foul beyond anything I’d experienced. Even being in the gullet of the wyrm paled in comparison to pulling myself through the flesh and guts and nastiness of the massive mimic. Gripping that flesh, and pulling myself further and further, dragging the barrels along with me, breathing in that blood thanks to the magic ring, that slightly acidic blood, which was starting to burn all my exposed skin. And my throat. And lungs. It hurt. And it was dark. Very quickly, the light disappeared from the wound behind. It was slippery, and I had trouble keeping my grip on anything. I mean, I had no idea what it was I was gripping either. I just slammed my fist into flesh, usually making a hole of sorts, then pulled and pushed and going the only way I could — forward.
Until I couldn’t go anymore. I came up against something. Something wasn’t parting just from my strength and forcing headway. I finagled that sword around until I had the point against the immovable portion of the mimic, and I forced the point through.
Light.
The amorphous light of the dungeon. The real dungeon. It came in just enough to give me hope.
I grabbed either side of the opening, and pulled. And pulled. I could feel my muscles seemingly growing bigger, tapping into reservoirs of strength, and I roared. The skin held for a moment, then it seemed to go all at once, I ripped the poor bastard wide open, tumbling out and down the outside. I landed on the ground in a basic cavern once again. Right in front of me, I saw a waist-high pedestal with a big green crystal sitting on top.
I got to my feet, and was immediately hit in the head with a barrel full of otters.
It hurt.
I dragged the rest of the barrels out, and started to pop the tops open. Once I got Nikolai out, I left him to get the others, because I heard a racket. Like the sound of a hundred or more chests/mimics thundering towards us.
Behind us, looking at the outside of the massive mimic, I saw thick skin that was kinda grey. Looking a bit like an elephant, just on a much larger scale. There were strange undulations, and I had the feeling I was seeing the massive monster trying to make changes to its form. While watching, a pseudopod forced itself out well above me, and started feeling around. Mimics as chests basically poured around a corner I hadn’t seen, heading toward us in a massive wave.
An eye was forming above the pseudopod. The little mimics were almost close enough to devour us, so I darted over and grabbed the jewel.
Do you wish to travel to the fourth floor of The Dungeon of Ancients or do you wish to
Exit?
“FOUR!” I yelled.
A wall shimmered into being in front of me, with a nice door smack in the middle.
I ran back and picked up the barrel of otters in one arm, Donner in the other, and we ran for the door, Nikolai and Emeline actually getting there first. I stepped through last just as a mimic wrapped its tongue around my leg.
Chapter Forty-Four
The magic of the dungeon meant that as soon as I crossed over into level four, the mimic’s tongue got cut off. But it was still wrapped around me, pouring blood out behind and burning everything it touched.
I set the two barrels down, unwrapped the tongue, and tossed it to the side. It flexed and relaxed and flexed and relaxed, gross blood-like stuff pumping out, before finally becoming still.
Congratulations unto you, traveler, for your party has bested the second level of the Dungeon of the Ancients.
You gain 6000 XP.
You gain the third ring of the Dungeons of the Ancients Indicium. Complete the Indicium for a bonus.
Warnings unto you, for each level is more punishing than the last. But the rewards are greater.
Huzzah! Against all odds, you have reached Level 12! You receive 6 attribute points to distribute in the next 36 hours or you lose them. Dare to believe you can survive, and achieve greatness. Or don’t.
Well, I thought, a new level is always nice. I threw the points into strength because I didn’t want to think.
Instead of thinking, I looked around at our new safe zone.
A tent.
A nicer tent, large and airy, with some cots along one wall, and a small fire-pit replete with cozy little fire. It was right along the lines of what I’d once heard described as glamping. No food or water around though, and that had me a little worried. We still had some rations, and at least one more waterskin, but I knew we were getting to the bottom of the foodstuffs I’d stored in my Unfillable Knapsack.
I set what I had near the fire, then extricated Skeld and Ragnar from the barrel and laid them each on a cot.
Donner took the next, and Nikolai sat on the last one.
Emeline stood next to me, her hand out.
“Dress?” she asked. Once again, she was covered in all sorts of nasty.
I shoved a hand into the bag, thought of a dress, felt something, and pulled it out. Another ballgown. The bag of holding always made me feel like a consummate magician.
“Are you sure you have nothing else?” she asked.
“Just be glad I have so many of these.”
She snatched the dress, walked over to the far corner of the tent, and started to strip down.
Like a gentleman, I watched absolutely none of it.
But, while I was sitting in front of the little fire, feeling the delicious bit of heat, I remembered a little treasure chest I’d popped into the bag from the last dungeon.
I reached in, and I pulled out the chest.
Immediately it opened its tiny maw wide, and a long purple tongue reached out and wrapped around my arm. I panicked a little, and did the first thing that came to mind, I cast Tame (Greater).
An intense feeling came out of my arm, and then an emptiness inside me, followed by a phenomenal pain.
And blackness.
Chapter Forty-Five
I came to with Nikolai standing over me, pouring water on my face. I sputtered and sat up, pushing him away.
“What the hell?” I asked.
“What did you do?” Nikolai retorted.
“I cast a spell, and I guess I kind of passed out.”
“What spell did you cast?”
“Greater tame.”
“On?”
“Just, uh,” I scanned everywhere around me, looking around for the little chest, “well, on a mimic?”
“A mimic? Are you—”
“It was a spur of the moment thing, okay?”
I got to my feet, shook my head, and slicked my hair back. I needed to take a bath something awful. I started scouring the tent for the mimic. Turned out he was hiding underneath one of the cots. As soon as I came close, he hopped out and nuzzled my leg. As much as a chest can nuzzle. I shot an identification spell at the little guy.
Mimic
Lvl 1 Monster
“Huh,” I said, “he’s a level one.”
“Perhaps a juvenile,” Nikolai said. “Now kill it.”
“No.”
“No? It is a monster.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s, I mean, I guess the name gives it a bad, uh, name, but come on man. He’s small and he’s cute and I’m keeping him.”
Nikolai gave one of his great deadpan you’re-an-idiot-looks. After withering under that glare for a minute, I shook my head.
“Keepin’ him,” I repeated.
“You will rue this.”
“Rue? Who says that?”
“Stop casting spells until you know what will happen. Ideally, stop casting spells. Should you have tried this nonsense in combat, we would all perish.”
“It wasn’t in combat, and you were all here.”
“And yet you still did not think to let anyone know what you were doing prior to doing it. We must operate as a unit here, Montana. Remember what you keep preaching to Donner.” He walked away to peek out the tent flaps.
I knelt down to pick up my pet mimic.
It was a small monster, just under a foot long, seven inches wide, and nine inches to the top of his arch. Two eyeballs were on the front of the chest lid, and where the chest would have opened was his mouth. Wide open, the little guy breathed happily, kind of dog-like. The interior of his mouth was a dark purple, almost black. His tongue was only slightly lighter, but still purple. Now that I was holding him, he took an interest in the tent. He didn’t smell like anything. And he felt like wood. It was all very odd.
“You need a name, little guy,” I said to the mimic.
It moved its eyes to look at me. Which was disconcerting, because the eyes literally moved on the chest, from pointing forward to being straight up on the top, looking up at me.
I blinked at him, and he blinked back at me. Mimicking, if you will.
“Okay, so, name,” I said.
One eye went up a little, and one eye went down a little, I think he was confused.
I was confused. What does one name a mimic? Chesty? That seemed a little on the nose, and perhaps a little stupid.
“How about Barry?” I asked. “I’m going to name you Barry.”
The thing made a noise, kind of like a chirp I guess, and it closed its eyes and basically did a little dance in my hands.
“I take it you like the name,” I said.
Barry chirped.
“Are you done goofing off?” Nikolai snapped from the other side of the room.
“Not yet,” I shouted back.
He harrumphed, and kept looking out the gap at whatever was outside.
A little notification popped up.
You have successfully tamed a juvenile Mimic (lvl 1).
Official recognition that Barry was my tamed Mimic. I guess I needed to name him before the game/world considered him to have been formally tamed.
Nice.
I set him on Nikolai’s cot, then walked over to Nikolai. I peered around him, looking out of the tent flap.
It was the jungle.
Or a jungle. Our tent sat at the edge of a large clearing. Trees were all around the tent, but not a single one in front of the tent. About a hundred yards away, a massive green stone ziggurat rose high out of the verdant grass. Everywhere else was unbelievably thick with tropical trees, their tops a virtually unbroken canopy, at least, as far as I could see. Above was a sky of sorts, a deep blue with occasional puffy white clouds. But there was something that seemed a little off about it. Nothing I could point to as being obviously fake, but it just seemed, well, not quite real.
The ziggurat was definitely the focal point of the whole area, and was undoubtedly where we needed to go in order to get down to the next level. It wa
s made of greenish rock cut into bricks the size of Volkswagens, and though it kind of seemed to squat on the landscape, it also seemed to soar into the sky. Big, in every dimension. On the face we could see, there was a staircase running up the middle, going all the way to almost the top. There was a small cube made out of the same type of stone, and, from where I was looking, it seemed like there was a small structure at the very top, something along the lines of a gazebo over an altar. Except made out of stone. A set of stairs was cut into the cube, looking narrow enough to be a perfect ambush spot. At no point on the building, at least where I could see, was there an entrance. No doors. No looming dark passages. It was just a prodigious edifice in the middle of a jungle clearing.
I won’t lie and say I didn’t feel a looming fear at what we might be about to encounter.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think we will not know what we are up against until we step foot out of this tent. And when we step foot outside, we must be as close to one-hundred percent as possible.”
“Which means waiting for the sleeping sickness to wear off these idiots,” I said, pointing my thumb over my shoulder.
Nikolai nodded.
I heard rustling, and turned to see Emeline kneeling by the rations, pulling out some food for herself. This particular dress was one of the more ridiculous ones I’d taken from the ruined castle. It had quite a bit of extra, well, floof attached to it, and looked like she’d have to have assistance to get through most doorways. But she looked pretty in it, a little low cut for adventuring, but for looking good, it was, well, good.
She ate.
Nikolai ate.
I found out that the items Barry was willing to eat were, well, anything I gave him. And several things I didn’t give him. He was the most omni omnivore I’d yet encountered.
But mostly we waited.