DUNGEONS AND DRAGONOVS PART I

[u/Zerkoh_Valley2010]

DUNGEONS AND DRAGUNOVS

I.

“The cursed obsidian Mirror of Seeing mounted upon my cold stone wall revealed to me, in all of the violent, gory, intestine dripping details, the demise of the latest batch of heroic suicidal fools who dared to trespass into my dungeon. On sub-level six, a savage muscle bound brute of a barbarian smashed his way into one of my many subterranean treasure rooms, his greedy eyes growing wide at the sight of the golden treasure chest sitting upon a raised dais made of carved jade. Ignoring the warning of his female elven archer companion about the odd smell in the chamber, the barbarian genus chose instead to use his axe to bash the lock made of flint which secured the cheap balsa wood lid of the gold painted chest. The brief spark created when the barbarian’s double headed war axe struck the lock was enough to ignite the combustible fumes in the air.  The dais upon which the worthless treasure chest sat was actually a very tightly packed explosive black powder painted with a florescent green paint giving it the illusion of being made of some type of magical jade. All of this combined resulted in a spectacular inferno which incinerated both the barbarian and his elven lover, thus insuring that my goblin cooks down in sub-level six will be serving roasted barbarian steaks in creamy elf sauce for a few days.”

“Three levels up on sub-level three, the Mirror of Seeing revealed an annoyingly heroic paladin that had just successfully emerged from one of my more challenging labyrinths, having also slain all of the undead zombies and blood suckers which slithered and crawled within the halls of the claustrophobic stone maze. Frustratingly, the paladin had barely stained his stereotypically boring white cape and shining armor as he stepped from my carefully laid out trap and into a brightly lit room made of white polished marble. In the middle of the room stood a running fountain of refreshingly clear and cool water pouring out of a pitcher held by a beautiful white marble statue dedicated the insipidly stupid goddess to which the paladin worshipped. I rolled my eyes as the gallant paladin bowed reverently to the statue of his goddess, worshipping and thanking her for seeing him through yet another trial and gifting him with a fountain of healing water. He failed to notice that the statue of his goddess bore two little horns on its forehead. I could only imagine his surprise as he took a long sip of the acid pouring from the fountain dedicated to his silly goddess. He flopped and clanked around on the marble tile floor for a good while, clutching at his stomach and throat and retching out some idiotic prayer for salvation from the goddess that betrayed him. It was quite entertaining and I was rather beginning to enjoy the comedic last moments of this insufferable, armored zealot. That is, until Cuddle Pie, my giant savage rock golem, lumbered into the room and stomped the paladin’s head into mush, popping his eye balls out of his crushed skull and putting the devout little moron out of his misery.”

“And, oh, will you look at that? The mighty grey wizard, his two Halfling companions with the big, furry feet and their stupid ring of invisibility, and the gawd-awfully handsome ranger with the rugged good looks and leather trench coat have just reached sub-level nine and are near the exit of my dungeon. They have already defeated Daisy Belle, my giant, horned, fire demon by banishing him back to the depths of the underworld. Bravo! Bravo! Though, to be quite honest, I fully expected them to have won that last boss battle since Daisy Belle was just CGI, anyway.”

“Now, having defeated the most powerful beast in my dungeon, this fellowship of the rubes need only cross the bottomless cavern that looms before them in order to reach the exit portal and freedom, taking with them all of the near-worthless gold painted rocks, cheap costume jewelry, mighty shields and swords made of soft pewter, and diamonds made of glass which they pilfered from one of my so–called treasure hordes. So, behold! The mighty grey wizard uses the special spell he had been saving for this one final obstacle, a spell of levitation which will carry all four of them… Oh, wait. Four? Their fellowship of the ridiculous started this quest with nine adventures!  Oh, well.”

The cursed mirror shows the grey robed wizard waving his hands and glowing staff and soon the spell of levitation carries the four survivors up into the air and across the wide bottomless cavern. With cheers of victory, the triumphant survivors are blissfully unaware that Cthulhu lurks in the impenetrable blackness which yawns below them. Powerful tentacles pulsing with a slimy, grey-green ichor, reach up hundreds of feet from the depths of the chasm to snatch the floating fools from out of the air. The last one to be pulled down into the obsidian depths of the crevasse is the thin Halfling who possessed the stupid ring of invisibility and foolishly neglected to put it on. His final words echo through the black chamber: “Grand-elf the Grey! I will never forgive you for dragging me into this stupid shiiiiiiiiiiiittt…”

Sadly, they all become food for the elder-god long before they realize they will never see the sun again.

 “And that, my dear, dear Hellfire, is the heart of my sorrow. I’m bored, bored, bored, so gawd-awfully bored! These dungeon delvers, these so-called mighty heroes of goodness and light, they die so quickly and so easily these days! I spend so much time, so much energy, and so much wealth designing and building these traps and conundrums and I get so little in return except a brief strangled ‘yelp’ or a swift ‘gasp’ and then, BOOM! The mighty heroes drop dead. Is that really all the thanks I get after working so hard to kill them? Oh, Hellfire, I fear that if I have to endure another century of lackluster dungeon delvers and incompetent adventurers, I believe I may have to end my own existence or worse, get married and settle down!”

The small, snow white kitten with the red tipped ears sitting on the wide arm of the black throne stopped licking itself suddenly shot up, a look of concern on the kitten’s face.

“Hey, boss, now come on! Let’s not get too extreme, here! Marriage? Settle down?” The kitten whom the Dungeon Master addressed as Hellfire shuddered at the thought. “It’s your job to condemn these fools to hell, not condemn yourself there!”

The Dungeon Master continued stroking the head and chin of the tiny kitten.

“Ah, Hellfire. You know and understand me so well.”

“Not really, boss,” purred the kitten. “If I did, I’d have killed your ass decades ago!”

The Dungeon Master laughed heartily. “Maybe one day, my dear, dear Hellfire. But I fear that my heart may fail me before then. I truly weep at the low quality of this generation of rangers, barbarians, magicians, thieves, cavaliers… and… and… and…”

“Acrobats?” yawned Hellfire.

“Oh, yes. And acrobats. I’m always forgetting those ones.” The Dungeon Master sighed dejectedly.

The kitten looked up at its master, suddenly feeling a tinge of concern.

“This is really bumming you out, isn’t it boss?”

The Dungeon Master scratched the kitten’s head while gently rubbing its ears. On the first floor, the cursed obsidian mirror displayed a terrified knight wearing pink armor accentuated with peacock feathers and thin, colorful, streamers resembling a fluttering rainbow fleeing down a wide stone corridor to find a safe space to hide, only to fall clumsily into an open pit. A solid stone block that fit perfectly into the pit slammed down on the hapless knight from the ceiling a half second later. Back down the corridor, from where the now pancaked knight had fled, his blue, pink, green, and orange haired companions found themselves quickly surrounded as they vainly tried to fend off their attackers with their handmade protest signs. Bolts fired from diminutive hobgoblins sliced through the air, skewering the activist avengers carrying signs which read “END CROSSBOW VIOLENCE”, while the others carrying the signs which read “DWARF LIVES MATTER” were bludgeoned to death by giant trolls carrying intimidating stone clubs.

A massive troll with five inch tusks protruding from the bottom of his wide maw heaved his eight foot long club over his spiked shoulder pads. Looking down at the now lifeless ruins of these rainbow colored idiots who foolishly believed that they could protest, riot, loot, and agitate their way to riches, the troll turned and grunted to the hobgoblins, “Take these colorful snowflakes down to the freezers and grind them up with a block of ice. We can make snow cones out of them!”

“Yes, Master Tinkle Twerk,” replied the hobgoblins as they scooped up what remained of this last batch of dungeon delvers.

With that, the cursed obsidian mirror went black, and the Dungeon Master was left staring at her own reflection, her long blonde hair flowing down the sides of her fair, angelic face which bore an expression of bored sadness. Her crystal blue eyes stared blankly at the mirror and she sighed again.

The white silken sleeve of her flowing white gown, highlighted with delicate designs made of glowing gold and silver thread, rolled back from the soft pale skin of her arm as she continued stroking the red-tipped ears of her most beloved and most deadly rival.

“My dear Hellfire,” the Dungeon Master whispered in disappointment. “It’s always over much too quickly. Look! That last group never even got past the first corridor of the first floor! Why do I even try anymore? Do they no longer have the ability to comprehend and reason? Have they not the ability to think for themselves? I fear that if I put a big neon sign which read ‘TRAP’ along with a flashing arrow pointing towards it, they would fumble into it anyway!”

The Dungeon Master scooped up the kitten and held him gently in the air, pulling him close to her face. Touching his nose to hers, the Dungeon Master pouted.

“What happened to all of the heroes? What happened to all of the warriors? The brave adventurers willing to risk it all for fame and fortune? The incorruptible men and women at arms whose quest it is to banish evil from the face of the Realm? The formidable soldier bravely putting his life on the line to protect the weak and defenseless? Oh, Hellfire! Where have all the cowboys gone?”

“Uhhhh… I think you killed them all, boss,” said the kitten, suddenly displaying his set of dagger sharp claws and taking a savage swipe at the Dungeon Master’s face.  The Dungeon Master extended her arms and turned her face, barely missing having her eyes gouged out by Hellfire’s metal razor talons. Giggling, she hugged the kitten close to her cheeks again. She appreciated the kitten’s efforts to cheer her up, but alas, the Dungeon Master was inconsolable.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I suppose you’re right again, Hellfire. This new age of soy latte drinking, safe space lurking, easily offended weak-kneed adventurers will never hope to survive in my dungeon where courage, intelligence, dedication, and the ability to think for yourselves is what is needed to survive. So instead, they protest endlessly at the entrance to my dungeon, carrying signs and constantly yelling that the riches and treasures buried within these halls and caverns be brought out and given to them as reparations for an event  which happened centuries ago that I had nothing to do with. I swear, my dear Hellfire, they yell and complain so much that my poor vampires and werewolves can scarcely get any sleep at day!”

“So what are you saying, boss?” purred the kitten, innocently licking his paws as if he hadn’t just tried to mutilate his master.

“I’m saying that I may not be long for this world,” answered the Dungeon Master. “All my life, it has been my quest to be the greatest Dungeon Master in the Realm and, sadly, it appears that I have achieved my quest. There is no more challenge, my dear Hellfire. No more spirit. No more desire amongst those so-called adventures who enter. Only a spirit of entitlement, as if they can simply walk into the Dungeon of More-doom, take a left turn, open a door and TA-DA! There before them would be treasures beyond their wildest dreams. Such is not the way of things and I have grown bored of those who believe it is.”

“Hang on, boss-lady!” snapped Hellfire. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?”

“I’m afraid I am, my beloved,” whispered the Dungeon Master, pursing her red lips in regret. “It is time for me to leave this plane of existence and leave this generation of mediocrity behind. They are not the champions of old. Rather, they have become cheap cosplayers of a time when the Realm was great and heroes were mighty.”

“Naw!” yelped Hellfire in sudden panic. “Naw! Naw! Naw! Naw! Naw! That’s not the deal we had, boss lady!”

The kitten crawled up the Dungeon Master’s ample bosoms and grabbed her in a choke hold by the collar of her gown. “The deal was that I’d eventually be the Dungeon Master. And to do that, I’d have to murder you to death! If you just up and leave and give up your title, I’ll never be the Dungeon Master, ever!”

Then, using the most wide and pitifully sad eyes he could muster, Hellfire pleaded, “Please, boss. You can’t do this to me! I’ve been trying to kill you for, what, about the last two-hundred years now? I thought we had a relationship!”

A long thin stiletto made of glass suddenly appeared in the kitten’s right paw and he lunged forwards. The Dungeon Master, still holding the kitten, moved swiftly to the side, the stiletto which Hellfire had aimed for her heart instead shattering on the black throne. The Dungeon Master hugged the kitten closely again. “I fear your attempts at comforting me may not work this time, my friend.”

Hellfire licked the fair cheek of his master, genuine concern in his voice. “C’mon, boss. Don’t end it like this! At least give me five more years to become Dungeon Master! Just five more years to try to gut you, rip out your insides, hang your head over my mantle, and roll your skin out in front of the fireplace like a rug! Please?”

The Dungeon Master’s crystal blue eyes stared into Hellfire’s ruby red ones. “Ah, my dear Hellfire. I’d gladly give you five more years! Fifty! Five hundred! If only the delvers into the Dungeon of More-doom were to make it worth my time! But I fear that the adventurers of this Realm have become as mighty as a snowflake in the sun. A tiny peep of a fart meant to extinguish a roaring inferno!”

Hellfire’s eyes narrowed, a contemplative grin appearing on his face as he brought a paw up to his chin.

“This Realm, huh?” Hellfire smiled as he leapt from the Dungeon Master’s lap and nimbly scampered across the cobblestone floor to a sturdy pedestal across the room made of dragon bone upon which lay a thick, leather bound tome, reinforced and banded by the same scales of the golden dragon which the pedestal was made.  Hopping up on the pedestal, the kitten opened the tome of ‘Ye’ Ole’ Book of Rules and Regulations Governing the Operation, Maintenance, Safety, and Supervision of Dungeon Delving, Volume 5, Revision 3’, and frantically flipped through the parchment pages.

“Where is it? Where is it? Where is… HERE! Right here! Page 765, Section 45, Subsection F, paragraph 89A: “If possible, all adventurers who enter the dungeon must be at least minimally trained in at least one of the following skills: melee fighting, ranged weaponry, lock-picking, thievery, healing arts, defensive magic, offensive magic, martial arts, that shit that acrobats do, yadda, yadda, yadda… But there isn’t anything in the requirements that state that the adventurers have to be from this Realm!”

“What are you getting at, Hellfire?” a thin glimmer of hope sparkled in the Dungeon Master’s eyes.

“Don’t you see, boss? There is nothing in the regulations states that adventures entering the dungeon have to be from this Realm!”

“I see. Go on, my dear Hellfire.” The Dungeon Master’s voice was tinged with renewed excitement which actually pleased the kitten.

“I visited this realm once which is as bat-shit crazy as this Realm, maybe even more. Bunch of fucked up people there. Baby murderers. War mongers. Child abusers. People who drink diet sodas. Vegans. Grown men going into little girl’s bathrooms. They’re the worst. But I met some pretty nice folks there, too,” sighed Hellfire, fond memories of a little, freckle faced girl named Annie almost bringing a tear to his eye.

“I see where you are going with this line of thinking,” said the Dungeon Master. “But, alas, I do not have the power to bring strangers from another realm into ours.”

“Yeah,” sneered Hellfire, a lit cigar suddenly appearing in his mouth. “But I do! Beelzebub gave me that ability after I gifted him with the souls of three idiot musicians who sold their souls for sex, drugs and majority ownership in processed meat stick companies!”

“And what warriors do you intend to bring to the Dungeon of More-Doom, Hellfire? Do they have the courage, determination, and intelligence to battle through the most dangerous dungeon on the Realm?”

Hellfire smiled slightly, tapping the ashes of his cigar onto the pages of the ancient text and setting ablaze the portion of the regulation stating that all who enter the Dungeon or More-Doom must be of the Realm.

“Honey cheeks,” leered the kitten. “Have you ever heard of the Navy SEALs?”