Dungeon Crawler Carl Book 2
Page 47
“Carl, what’s happening?” Donut asked.
“Probably something stupid,” I said.
The announcer’s voice was even cheesier than normal.
Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s time for your favorite segment of Dungeon Crawler World. The Prize Carousel!
Just past me, the section of the room with the couches and screens blinked and disappeared. A large, spinning carousel, like a merry-go-round materialized. It spun in a circle, lights up and down blinking in sync with the music. The interior of the large contraption was blocked off by colorful curtains.
Here’s your host. It’s the dungeon darling, giver-of-prizes, slayer of gods, former Crawler champion, it’s Chaco the Bard!
With a puff of smoke and the familiar crack of teleportation, a winged, wolf-headed man materialized. He wore a brown and orange, checkered leisure suit and held a microphone. He jogged into the room as if he’d had a running start, waving at nothing. I stared at the creature. He was not listed as a dungeon admin, but as an NPC.
Chaco. Pterolykos. Song Bard. Level 66.
Host of The Prize Carousel.
“Well, well, well,” Chaco said, stepping deeper into the room. The wolfman stood about my height. His muscular arms bulged through his suit. Katia, Donut, and I all looked at one another, bewildered. “Welcome everyone. I’m your man, Chaco! We have a great segment for you tonight. We have.” He paused, eyes going glossy. “Crawler Carl joining us! He is the recipient of a Platinum fan box. Oh boy, that’s a good one. You folks at home decided to give Carl the chance to pick his own prize, and you know what that means! We have nine excellent prizes on the carousal, and… Oh shit, Mordecai!”
“You motherfucker!” Mordecai cried, interrupting. His tongue lashed out, fast as a whip. It attached to a metallic chair by the kitchen counter, and he launched the chair across the room at the newcomer. Chaco squealed and dropped the microphone, ducking as the chair rocketed right at him.
The chair froze in midair, a quarter of an inch from Chaco’s head. It had been flung so hard that it’d surely have broken the guy’s skull open had it been allowed to connect. Chaco whimpered. I scrambled back. Donut hissed, and Mongo growled. For a moment, nobody moved.
Realizing he’d been saved, Chaco slowly stood to his full height. I could see the large wolf was trembling. The chair remained floating in the air.
I turned to ask Mordecai what the hell was happening.
“Oh, shit,” I said.
Mordecai was frozen in place, his tongue half retracted. He had the word Naughty blazing over his head. The same thing had happened when Maggie My and Frank Q had attacked us in the saferoom long ago.
Mordecai knew better than that. What had he been thinking? The Naughty blinked twice, and to my horror, Mordecai himself blinked and disappeared. To my right, the room with Manager over it also disappeared. The floating chair because unstuck, and it clattered loudly to the ground.
The stupid music continued to blare. The carousel twirled and twinkled.
“Did we just lose Mordecai?” I asked.
“No,” Donut said. “I just got a notice. It says he’s in a time out for violating the rules. Carl, I don’t understand what’s happening.”
I let out a stream of breath. I was overwhelmed with relief. I had no idea what the hell just happened either, but whatever this was could’ve been much worse. “How long is the time out?”
“It’s for seven days.”
“Seven days!” I exclaimed. Holy shit. That meant we’d only have a day and a half left on this floor when he came back. “Goddamnit.”
I whirled on Chaco. The game show host NPC still stood there, looking disoriented, his arms raised as if he feared we’d also attack him. His microphone had bounced away, rolling underneath the prize carousel where he couldn’t reach it. The music continued to play.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“I’m Chaco,” he said. “I’m the host. Now we really need to finish the prize selection.”
“No, who are you to Mordecai?”
“I… I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about it. Uh, maybe we should just start this over. The fans voted to allow you to choose your own prize. It doesn’t happen often, but when it happens, we have to do the show. That’s my job. I host the show.”
“Is it always you?” I asked.
“What... what do you mean?”
I was overcome with the urge to pound this guy in the face, but I knew that’d end badly for me. “Are you the only one who hosts this show?”
“Yeah, I think so. I don’t get out much, so I don’t really know. People don’t usually vote for the let-the-crawler-choose-the-prizes option. It usually only happens a few times a season.”
“Well they voted for it this time because they knew you and Mordecai would be in the same room,” I said. “Whatever just happened, it happened because they know Mordecai doesn’t like you. So who are you to him?”
Chaco swallowed. “He sure knows how to hold a grudge, that’s for sure. It’s been hundreds of cycles. I didn’t think he’d still be here. Everyone knows guides get out faster than anybody else. Wait, he shouldn’t even be here. Had he become a manager?”
“Do you not watch the show?”
He looked about wildly. “No. No I can’t stomach… No, of course. I just hadn’t…” He trailed off. “Look, we really have to do this. I’ll get in even more trouble if we don’t finish. You have nine prizes to choose from. I’m sorry about your manager, I really am. It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t my fault. I was just doing what his manager told me to do. If I hadn’t done it, he’d have died. And then we’d all have lost her. We’d have lost Odette. When he comes back, tell him I said I’m sorry. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret it.”
Warning: This isn’t Dr. Phil. Pick your prize. You have ten minutes to choose, or you will forfeit your choice.
A timer appeared over the carousel, counting down.
“All right,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Show me the goddamn prizes.”
* * *
“Prize number one!” Chaco said. His voice wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as before. He hadn’t been able to reach his microphone, despite wasting a minute on his hands and knees attempting to retrieve it, and now he didn’t seem to know what to do with his clawed hands.
The carousel paused, and the curtain fell, revealing a pair of potions sitting on a pedestal.
“Two potions!” Chaco cried.
I tried to examine them, but the tooltip wouldn’t pop up. Donut jumped to my shoulder.
“There’s no description,” she said. “This is a rip off!”
“What kind of potions are they?” I asked Chaco.
“All you get is the description, and the description is two potions!” Chaco smiled big, revealing sharp teeth. If I hadn’t just seen him cowering like a child, the look would be downright intimidating.
I recognized the fizzy, dark blue coloring of the potions as skill potions. This was just like when we had to pick Mongo. Mordecai would be really helpful right about now.
“Prize two! Bombs! Five-hundred quantity.”
The next curtain dropped, revealing a pyramid of hob-lobbers. These were a kind I hadn’t seen before, but without being able to examine them, I didn’t know what was different. They glistened, as if their exterior was made of tar. I suspected what they were, something I’d been planning on making myself.
“Prize three! Books! Earth books! Quantity 2,000!”
A pile of books appeared. I could see it was a random collection of English-language books, from Fifty Shades of Grey to what appeared to be a Canadian phonebook. Two-thousand books was a lot of damn reading. It’d take me a long time to get through it all, and I’d have plenty of trading material for the mole men.
“Prize four! A 1965 Harley Davidson FLH Panhead Electra Glide!”
I felt my heart stop the moment the red and beige motorcycle appeared. My eyes immediately moved to the small dent on the gas tank
. That had happened when I’d slipped once coming up the driveway. I’d reached out to steady myself, and I’d accidentally knocked the motorcycle over.
My father had never been physically abusive, except that day. I’d only been eight years old. He’d beaten me that night so bad I couldn’t see out of my left eye for two weeks. My mother had cried, told him we were going back to Texas, but we never did.
“Carl, with you on the motorcycle and me on Mongo, we would be unstoppable!”
“Jesus,” I muttered, ignoring Donut’s comment. Was it really his motorcycle? Or just a facsimile? I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.
“Prize five! Just one book!”
I leaned in, trying to focus. I couldn’t get my mind off the fucking motorcycle. Pay attention, you idiot! At first I thought this was a magical tome, but it didn’t have the tell-tale glow. It was just a regular book. Small, and leather-bound. It read, Best-Laid Traps on the cover.
“Is that porn?” Donut asked.
“Prize six! Another book!”
This one was similar to the last, but the book was much thicker, about the size of a dictionary. It did not have a title on the cover, but it did have a symbol. It was the familiar A in a circle, signifying anarchy. The book glinted momentarily as the carousel turned away. I couldn’t tell if that was the glow of magic or the glint of light off the gold-leafed pages.
“Prize seven! Enchanted chaps!”
“Carl, pick those!” Donut cried. “Chaco, he picks those!”
“Sorry, but Carl must make the decision,” Chaco said.
The ass and crotch-less chaps were modeled by a spinning mannequin. They were made of a dark leather that glowed with a greenish aura.
“Yeah, no,” I said.
“Prize eight! A single potion!”
I immediately recognized the potion. It was the same orange, bubbly concoction Donut had just used to raise her Constitution. It was a stat buff potion. This one glowed with a twinkly aura, almost like a strobe. I wondered if maybe this was one of those +10 cosmic potions Mordecai had mentioned. Or maybe that meant it wasn’t as good. I couldn’t be sure.
“Prize nine! A Craftsman 3000 Series 63-inch rolling tool chest!”
The dented and well-used tool chest came into view, and I instantly recognized it. This was my tool chest from the shop. My eyes moved to the drawer at the bottom right, where I knew I had a carton of cigarettes, minus one pack. I had dozens of useful tools in there, including my drill and grinder. If I could get one of those dwarven batteries working, I’d probably be able to figure out a way to charge them.
My gut reaction was to pick the tool box. With my tools, crafting items at that engineering table would be some much easier. But I hesitated.
When I’d last left it, my box had an entire marine electrical panel sitting on it. We were in the middle of rewiring a 32-foot Trojan from the 70’s. The whole thing had been a mess. There was no sign of the panel now. In fact, there was something odd about the chest, the way it sat on the carousel. My eyes caught the top drawer, the one I could never close properly because I had too much crap in it.
I think it’s empty.
I had less than 90 seconds to choose.
“It’s time to make a decision!” Chaco said. “What’ll it be, Carl?”
“Get the chaps!” Donut said. She looked over at Katia. “Katia, tell Carl to get the chaps.” Katia said nothing.
The merry-go-round spun, the music getting louder. I had a sudden, irrational urge to pick the motorcycle. Not because I wanted to ride it, but so I could push it out onto the tracks and watch it get hit by a train.
There were several choices that were probably good choices. I suspected Mordecai would have me pick the two skill potions. But I didn’t have enough information. The trap book, assuming it really was about traps, would probably be filled with useful information. The pile of 2,000 books would also be valuable for multiple reasons. The same with the bombs.
The chaps might be a good choice. But I already looked enough like an idiot. I really didn’t want to pick them, not when I didn’t know what the enchantment was. They’d obviously added them to the list as a joke, which possibly meant the enchantment would be a joke, too.
Also, none of that stuff seemed super rare, things I couldn’t find using other methods. The fan boxes were supposed to be about unique items one couldn’t get in the dungeon.
Thirty seconds.
Light glinted again off that odd book with the anarchy symbol. My class was called a Compensated Anarchist. I remembered the last time my eyes had caught a glint of light. It’d saved my life. Was this the same thing? I doubted it, but I went with it anyway. Why not? It was a free prize.
“I pick that one. Prize number six.”
“All righty! A choice has been made!” The carousel poofed away, and the book remained suspended in midair. “This is what you’ve chosen!”
I took a step forward and grabbed the floating book. The dungeon announcer read the description out loud.
Book.
The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook by Anonymous.
This is a unique item.
Chicken and Goblin recipes galore! But it’s more than that, too. Each recipe is accompanied by a hilarious tale by the anonymous author, recounting some of the zany and madcap misadventures they experienced gathering these mouth-watering recipes. Fun for the whole family! This book is a real hoot.
Yep, I thought. You done fucked up.
“Ohh, too bad. That looks like a stinker of a prize. Better luck next time! That’s our show, everyone!” Chaco cried. He gave me a baleful glance, and he disappeared. The music abruptly stopped. The living area reappeared. The scent of smoke lingered. I stared at the chair on the ground. We just got fucked.
“Chicken and goblin recipes?” Donut said, incredulous. “We lost Mordecai for a book of recipes? You should have picked the chaps, Carl.” She jumped down and moved to the counter, grumbling.
I was about to toss the book into my inventory, but instead I flipped to the first page. It read, “Welcome.”
I felt the haptic buzz of my Escape Plan skill activate. Additional words appeared on the mostly-blank page.
Hello, Crawler. As you’re about to find, this is a very special book. If you’re reading these words, it means this book has found its way into your hands for one purpose and one purpose only.
Together, we will burn it all to the ground.
A note from DoctorHepa
So, just to be perfectly clear. I gave my patrons the ability to vote for what Carl received in his fan box. There were ten options, including all the individual prizes presented on the prize carousel. They voted for option 10, the "Let Carl choose" option. The book he ultimately chose was the second choice. There was much discussion and gnashing of teeth. I rewarded them with the Mordecai Incident.
I hope you guys all have a great weekend. This is a little later than normal as it's been a busier-than-usual week for me. I really miss shows and meeting people and talking about nerd stuff face-to-face. I hope we can go back to that soon.
* * *
Chapter 81
The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook.
24th Edition.
Potions, Explosives, Traps, Secret Societies, Dungeon Shortcuts, and more. Much more. This guide to creating chaos was originally generated into the system during the fifteenth season. It was awarded to the High Elf Crawler Porthus the Rogue on the ninth floor, disguised as a blank sketchbook. The fact you’re reading this indicates that this book and the knowledge within remains active in the code. It has been passed down from dungeon to dungeon. It is automatically generated after a set of predetermined conditions have been met. It will disappear from your inventory upon death or retirement where it will find its way to a worthy recipient in a future crawl.
There is only one price for access to these pages. You must pass your own knowledge on.
In your messaging menu, you will find a scratchpad. If you’ve yet to discover this, i
t is a place to mentally write down recipes or thoughts or anything else you wish to recall. If you look now, you will find you have been given one extra page into your scratchpad. Anything you add to this second page will be included in the 25th edition of this book.
While the true contents of this guide are invisible to the showrunners and to the viewers, it is not invisible to the current System AI. There is nothing about owning this book, or the information hidden within that is against the rules. However, if the organization running this season begins to suspect that this book is more than it appears, or if you tell anyone about the existence of this book, the information within will erase, and you will forever lose access to the hidden text.
This is important. While this book’s contents may be invisible, your actions are not. You must become an actor. Every recipe, every secret, if utilized, must be presented to the outside world as if you are discovering this all on your own. How you do that is up to you. Do not spend too much time staring at these pages.
My hands shook. I closed the book and added it to my inventory. The Naga? I remembered that Odette had said the Naga hadn’t run a season in a very long time. That was the only season the dungeon lost money. If this note was from the 22nd edition, that meant this book had been in the hands of only two other crawlers since then.
I opened up my messages and found the scratchpad. I usually posted the list of items from Mordecai’s daily BOLO in there. The last thing I’d pasted was that awful message from Brandon. But sure enough there was now another tab. I closed it out.
I dragged the chair back to the kitchen counter.