Dungeons Are Bad Business

Hendon Trisdale drummed his fingers on the granite desk and looked at the large clock on the far side of the room. It was almost noon, which meant that it’d been a little less than three hours since the meeting was supposed to start.

Needless to say, he was not particularly pleased about that fact. It was a beautiful day out and he would have much preferred to spend the afternoon beneath the sun instead of sitting in this darkened room.

At least the wine was good. Deina Sohrik, the blue salamander [Dungeon Master] from Amespool was a [Wine Afficionado] of no small skill, and she’d brought several of her finest bottles to the negotiation in the spirit of “productive discourse.” Hendon refilled his glass and took a sip. Sadly, his palate wasn’t sufficiently developed to detect the “subtle notes of stone fruit, lavender, and chocolate” that the salamander insisted were there; it just tasted like red wine to him.

His stomach rumbled, and Hendon wished that there were something to eat. Unfortunately, the table was empty; snacks were supposed to have been brought by Amity Sureclaw, the [Woodsmith] they were all waiting on. In all of his thirty four years, Hendon hadn’t ever met a person he disliked so thoroughly prior to meeting.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. It was nothing but a hunch, but Hendon suspected that the kitrekin was late on purpose. She wanted them all uncomfortable, and he refused to give her the satisfaction.

Another forty minutes passed before the door squeaked open and a broad kitrekin stepped into the room. Behind her stood a trio of golems. They were limber, timber things, made of interlocking plates of light and dark wood.

Instead of pulling out a chair and sitting down like the rest of the [Dungeon Masters], Amity clapped her paws together instead.

“[Furniture Form: Chair],” she said. Making a series of bizarre clanking and clacking sounds, the golems did so, their limbs extending and retracting as they combined together into a large chair. It looked like a throne. Hendon suspected that was intentional too. As he stared at the piece of chimeric furniture, Hendon was reminded of the [Mighty Hero] tales he enjoyed as a child, which centered around groups of color-coordinated teenagers battling an ever-changing roster of [Villains] in a series of complex amalgamation golems. He’d liked those stories, even if they’d mostly been designed to sell toys.

Heck, maybe the reason he’d liked them so much was that they were naked in their ambition to sell figurines.

Even as a child, Hendon had been said to have fleurs in his eyes.

The [Woodsmith] smacked her forehead.

“Oh my goodness,” she said in a voice far too contrite to be sincere. “I totally forgot about the snacks, I’m so sorry, everyone!”

Hendon raised an eyebrow. Definitely all on purpose, then. He opened his mouth to tell her to cut the crap, but was prevented from doing so by Deina.

“It’s not a problem. I’ll arrange for some refreshments to be brought up from the kitchen,” she said, the lilt in her voice betraying a birthplace other than Amespool, where she now resided. “Once I return, we’ll begin our meeting. There’s lots to discuss.”

The hooded elkin in the corner of the room, whose name Hendon hadn’t quite managed to catch when he’d mumbled it after coming in, nodded and folded his hands together. It was no surprise Hendon hadn’t caught his name; the elkin was from Old Narluc, that den of madness and barely-functional [Cultists]. Watching the way the hooded figure seemed to tremble in his seat, Hendon wasn’t entirely sure that the [Dungeon Master] was any different than the rest of his festering fellows. After all, his eyes glowed with a crimson light and his shadow looked to be doing…a little jig against the wall.

Definitely mad, then.

Anyway, that wasn’t unexpected. Swallowing hard, Hendon steeled himself to ignore the weirdness. He wasn’t here to make friends; he was here to make a deal.

***

To Hendon’s displeasure, all talks of business were forced to wait until after the meal – a three course eating experience was not a snack, no matter what Deina said – and the cleanup that followed it. The Shontsdale [Dungeon Master] found his patience was thin, but he had no choice but to force himself to smile and wait for Deina and Amity to finish their conversation about ducks. Yes, ducks.

He wanted to scream.

Finally, the pair reached the end of their discussion regarding the “deep and fascinating” nuances of creatures whose primary contribution to existence was quacking loudly and waddling in front of carriages at perfectly inopportune times, and it was finally time to start talking dungeons.

Praise be to Gawain and Piper both for their blessings.

Deina leaned forward and folded her claws together. Flicking out her tongue, the salamander drew herself up to her full sitting height and leaned forward.

“Welcome to what I hope is the first meeting of many, my fellow [Dungeon Masters]. As you all know, we’re here to discuss starting a little venture in our corner of the continent. Before we begin though, I think it’d be beneficial for us all to formally introduce ourselves. I’ll start. I’m Deina Sohrik, and I’m responsible for running The Lilypad Labyrinth, a level five dungeon in Amespool. Since the lakes around our city is its lifeblood, my dungeon embraces that theme. The adventurers that challenge its four floors must manage the water levels of each one, while battling local monsters. My [Dungeon Champion] is named Imelia, and she’s a level thirty-three [Lady Of The Lake]. Champion battles are a bout of single combat that ends when one fighter surrenders or is unable to battle any further. On average, we face about a hundred and eighty adventurers per week. Amity, would you introduce your dungeon next?”

The kitrekin coughed and clapped her paws together. One of her chair’s armrests opened, and the [Woodsmith] drew out a blueprint, which she laid on the table.

From the outside, the structure it depicted looked like a large chest, with staircases on both sides.

“Amity Sureclaw. My dungeon is known as The Puzzle Box,” she said with a wry smile that caused her whiskers to quiver. “Level four. It’s three floors, though the sizes change with the seasons. As a [Woodsmith], I specialize in creating amalgamation golems that combine together into powerful forms.”

Looking at her chair, Hendon wondered if there were other shapes the three golems she’d come in with could take. Could they make a carriage? Or perhaps they had combat forms in addition to furniture? He couldn’t tell.

“In addition to golems,” Amity continued, “I also fill the dungeon with a lot of traps and other threats. I don’t have a [Dungeon Champion], but instead we use a twelve-piece golem that we can equip with different equipment for each bout. The battle itself takes place in a large arena we call the toy box. It’s filled with springs, screws, and other devices. Since our work is so easily broken and time-consuming to make, my staff and I focus on serving a more luxurious adventuring niche. As such, we only see about thirty-five to forty adventurers per week.”

“Thanks Amity,” Deina said. “Orij, would you like to go next?”

The elkin grunted as he stood and removed his hood. His antlers were painted the same crimson color as the glow in his eyes, and he seemed unusually tall and thin. When he spoke, it sounded like an old bell ringing in the dark of night. Hendon shook his head. What the heck did that even mean? It was nonsense, wasn’t it?

Still, that was the image that burned itself into his mind as he listened to the elkin, and to deny it would have been to engage in a most terrible folly.

Hendon rubbed his temples and wished he had a mug of strong tea.

“You may call me Orij Everdark,” the elkin droned. “My dungeon hsshshhshshs” – try as he might, Hendon couldn’t quite make out the name – “is in the midst of building its fourth floor, though that matters little for the challenge inside. I’m proud to say that it’s level six. Filled with mirrors and gates of fog, the dungeon is focused on testing an adventurers bravery. To that effect, we overlap a variety of auras, but [Aura of Terror], [Aura of Insanity], and [Aura of Disorientation] are the most potent ones we wield. Beyond their influence, we rely on a collection of re-summonable [Mini-Bosses]. My [Dungeon Champion] is named Lwayne, a level twenty-four [Dreamdancer]. The bouts are pseudo-hallucinatory in nature, as Lwayne pits his Faith against those adventurers who would emerge triumphant. Like Amity, we target a specific adventurer niche. Our focus is mostly on those practitioners who seek the arcane truths of the hidden world. As such, we serve about fifteen adventurers a week.”

Pulling his hood back up, Orij returned to his seat. Hendon fought to keep his face neutral. Both Orij and Amity were smaller than he’d expected, but they both seemed to be doing pretty well. They must have stupidly high margins, he thought. If nothing else comes of this meeting, it’ll be nice to see how they’re able to charge such high prices

With a gesture, Deina indicated that it was Hendon’s turn to introduce himself.

“Hi there,” he said, his words sticking together just a little bit courtesy of the wine. “I’m Hendon Trisdale and I’m the [Dungeon Master] of Sunglass Castle, a level five dungeon in Shontsdale. My town is mostly known for agriculture, but I’m hoping to change that. The castle will be getting its fifth floor in another three or four months, and it’s a well-rounded experience with a little bit of everything. My [Dungeon Champion] is a level 31 [Prismatic Paladin] named Bartholomew, who battles foes in classic ring-out match. We see about two hundred adventurers a week.”

As he fell silent, the four [Dungeon Masters] all studied each other. Deina introduced the real topic for the day’s meeting: coming together to form a dungeon development committee. Not to be confused with a dungeon circuit, of course.

See, the union had extremely strict rules about starting a new dungeon circuit. The rulebook on the matter was thick enough to stop an arrow shot by a [Deadeye]. That wasn’t hyperbole either, Hendon had tested it himself.

Heck, joining a circuit – even as an auxiliary member – was darn near impossible. Under the guise of “fairness”, the union fat cats required applying dungeons to be at least level nine, have five floors, and have been operating for three years.

However, there was an old loophole that people didn’t dare talk about much, lest they cause it to vanish by doing so. Dungeon development committees. These “informal” partnerships were circuits in all but name. On paper, they were simply a cooperative venture between dungeons too small to join a circuit in which they helped each other grow. The intent was that by collaborating on elements like floor costs, prize payouts, and marketing campaigns, new and upcoming dungeons would improve together, creating a pool of talent for circuits to draw from whenever they needed or desired new blood.

In practice, that wasn’t what happened. It was rare for circuits to bring entirely new dungeons into their ranks. Instead, most of them preferred to simply shuffle between a collection of dungeons they’d worked with for decades. This was especially true of the biggest circuits, the so-called “Diamond Tours”, most of whom were still comprised of the dungeons they’d been founded with.

Hendon knew it wasn’t fair, but he’d long since been disavowed of the notion that life was supposed to be, so it didn’t bother him. Much.

Denia said something about “merchandising agreements”, and Hendon realized that he hadn’t been paying particularly close attention to the conversation at hand. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to focus.

There were details to be ironed out, and Hendon Trisdale was a man who made his living in those tiny spaces.

***

Over the next hour, the four [Dungeon Masters] agreed on a standardized fee structure – with the disparate clientele they served, hoping to achieve a universal price that wouldn’t beggar at least half of them was never going to happen – as well as other logistical concerns. They would share trap designs and layout advice, cooperate on merchandise manufacture and sale, and contribute equally to marketing and prize pools. However, there was one matter that they couldn’t settle, no matter how much they bickered back and forth.

Nobody wanted to be the first dungeon.

It was a well known fact in dungeon circuits – sorry, development committees – that the majority of the prestige belonged to the final dungeon. Naturally, the inverse was also believed to be true, that the first dungeon challenged was somehow lesser than the rest. Certainly, it made sense; more people believed in saving their best for last instead of starting strong.

However, someone needed to be willing to take the plunge and be the first stop. Large, established circuits handled the issue by making the order randomly, or giving each dungeon each spot in the lineup over a period of several years. Neither of those were really options here, as the four of them had no basis for trust between them or an expectation of working together for years to come.

They argued and argued, their tempers flaring. Finally, Hendon could take no more and stood up. Though he hated to admit it, this had been a waste of time. None of them were willing to budge.

Not even Hendon himself.

Before he could open his mouth, there was a squeaking sound in the back of the room. Four heads turned, and they all saw a yellow salamander walking through a door that definitely hadn’t been there when the meeting started.

The newcomer was covered in dirt and had a few jagged wounds on his shoulder that looked like teeth marks, but he was smiling and bowed low to all of them in turn.

“It’s not too late, is it?” the salamander asked. “My name is Zeiken and I’ve come all the way from Oar’s Crest to speak with you four.”

He smiled.

“Dungeons of the future, I bring an offer that you may find of interest.”

Character Sheets:

Hendon Trisdale

Primary Class: Deadeye (Derrick Trisdale), Level 35

Secondary Class: Dungeon Master (Shontsdale), Level 20

Tertiary Class: Accountant (Shontsdale Academy), Level 16

Might: 33

Wit: 41

Faith: 38

Ambition: 29

Diligence: 27

Plotting: 8

Charisma: 12

Devious Mind: 13

Leadership: 25

Intimidating Presence: 6

Guts: 11

Loyalty: 28

Citizenship: 25

Deina Sohrik

Primary Class: Dungeon Master (Amespool), Level 31

Secondary Class: Wine Afficionado (Sapphire Grotto), Level 27

Additional Class: Merchant (Leitin Bahm), Level 22

Might: 24

Wit: 40

Faith: 13

Ambition: 30

Charisma: 19

Devious Mind: 10

Taste: 43

Silver Tongue: 38

Leadership: 26

Citizenship: 30

Amity Sureclaw

Primary Class: Woodsmith (Oakstaff University), Level 33

Secondary Class: Golemist (Self), Level 27

Tertiary Class: Dungeon Master (Yew’s Rise), Level 25

Might: 39

Wit: 28

Faith: 7

Plotting: 39

Devious Mind: 45

Charisma: 22

Leadership: 11

Craftsmanship: 48

Citizenship: 14

Orij Everdark

Primary Class: hshshshshshshs (hshshshshs), Level hshs

Secondary Class: Dungeon Master (Old Narluc), Level 39

Tertiary Class: hshshshshshshshshshshs (hshshshshshs), Level hshs

Additional Class: Baker (Self), Level 18

Might: 9

Wit: 50

Faith: 61

Plotting: 47

Leadership: 40

Devious Mind: 50

Madness: hshshshs

Devotion: 32

Manipulativeness: 42

Deceptiveness: 51

Patience: 36

Citizenship: 3