“Do you think we can touch it?” I asked, staring into the depths of the water beneath the bridge.

Stinky and I had traversed halfway across the suspended stone walkway before stopping because he needed to eat and couldn’t go any further without restoring some of his Stamina. He had no rations, so I begrudgingly offered up some of my own. We’d been chewing in silence when I’d had the thought.

“Why the hell would you want to touch it?” Stinky asked, swallowing a bite of dried meat while giving the water a disapproving look.

“Well, if I smell half as bad as you do, I’m going to need a long soak and a very resilient bar of soap.”

Stinky huffed and finished his food. Then he extended a grotesquely-long red tongue and licked his fingers clean. I shuddered.

“What even is a matau, anyway?”

Stinky bristled and turned to continue cautiously walking along the bridge.

“Must be some kind of world-traveling orc to know that word,” he said without looking back at me.

“Yep,” I said. “Just your everyday orcish globetrotting explorer. Sampling the goods in different ‘hoods.”

I had to think about what he'd said, though. His words held the implication that he wasn’t from around this neck of the woods, and so I had to wonder why he was here at all. Did he make the trek from some great distance just to join up with the Redmark? It seemed unlikely. I supposed there could be tons of reasons someone like him would wind up in the Kingdom of Arlo working for an organization that opposed its central governing body. Maybe they had a super dope foreign exchange program, and he got caught up in a skirmish during an art fair? I imagined Stinky as a doe-eyed student with an armful of study guides and a pair of glasses, gearing up for some good ole fashioned book learnin.’ The idea made me smile.

However, Stinky kept walking without responding, so I dropped it.

We crossed to the other side of the water. The air felt different here–more humid than the general dryness of the rest of the cave. It was off-putting, to say the least.

Stinky and I stared up at the dungeon. It was immense. The glowing archway was ten times my own height, and it was dwarfed by the size of the dungeon itself. The twin pillars were ahead of us, and now that I was closer, I could make out the shape of the statues at their zenith. Each was shaped to represent some humongous bird of prey with talons outstretched. The claws were spaced suspiciously as if they’d both been holding something that had been taken.

But who could climb up there and get whatever they were? These things are fucking massive.

Zeol had indicated that there were a great many treasures to be gleaned from the dungeon, so I had to reason that maybe someone had picked the outside clean first.

“Well, Holy Sister’s twat,” Stinky said, staring up at the monstrosity. “A real, live dungeon.”

I balked at that. Had he really never seen one before? I’d have assumed someone of his worldly nature would have stumbled on to at least one or two in his travels, but his response was puzzling.

“Are they… not common around here?” I asked.

Stinky spat on the ground and looked over in my direction.

“Got a lot of dungeons where you’re from, orc?” He growled. “Must be nice. Here, in reality, though, we don’t often get to bear witness to these sorts of things.”

“Oh?” I said, hoping he’d elaborate. If dungeons were a rarity, it made me wonder if there’d been anyone around here in a long time. The firepit and tools had looked practically prehistoric, and the general scent of this place could best be described as ‘dank basement.’ Still, if that was the case, this whole underground area had probably been hidden for a long time. You know, just waiting for a smelly soldier and a dipshit orc to come stumbling into its hidey-hole.

“Aye,” he said. He kept looking up at the dungeon with what I was beginning to realize was a sense of wonder.

“They are well-known to any of the shit-stick authorities of whatever land they happen to occupy. They keep the information as private as a Mercy Cleric’s mistress–on account of them being oppressive and rotten assholes that deserve a boot knife to the head. They hate letting the smallfolk know about anything that could enrich or better their lives, so they hoard it for themselves and take their own parties out to dredge through them.”

“The, uh, kings and stuff do shit like that?” I asked. Sounded pretty dickheaded, and if this were my world, I’d believe it outright. But this was some kind of geeked-out fantasy land. Weren’t kings usually pretty noble in fairytales?

“Could they be doing it to keep people safe?”

From what I knew about dungeons from back home, they’d always be filled with super powerful monsters and usually some sort of boss creature at the deepest level. Kingdom of Infinite Legends forced the player to spend hours eradicating mobs from each designated dungeon, and there were hundreds of those. If this world was similar to those games–and I had no reason to believe it wasn’t–having an autonomous body in charge of them to keep plucky young ducklings like myself out was probably a smart move.

“What are you, a fucking loyalist?” Stinky barked. He squinted at me with suspicion and put a hand to the blade at his side.

“Fuck no,” I said. “No gods, no kings, no tomatoes, sauce on the side–that’s what I always say. I’m an independent contractor.”

Stinky didn’t take his eyes off me, nor his hand from his waist. I thought about how hilarious that was, considering I could just run off down the bridge and leave him here by himself, which would probably be the worst thing he could imagine right now.

“It ain’t just kings,” he said. “It goes on down from them to the viscounts and earls and even some o’ the barons and landed knights—if their parcel of personal land is large enough. They aren’t trying to protect anything except their own self-interest, orc. Every so often, some sanctimonious lord with an idea up his ass and pox in his brain will allow the common rabble to take a whack at one of the lairs under his boot heel, most often out of some bloated sense of noble honor. But once it starts turning profitable for the poor bastards, it’s the same old story: they’ll rip the rug out from beneath them and shut down the whole operation. Usually pilfer the best of the lot from anyone they can prove went inside, as well, and leave them with the scraps.”

“Well, that’s fucking rude,” I said.

“You don’t know fucking shit about rude,” Stinky said. “They’ll slice your bells out of your breeches if they think you’re holding out on them.”

I winced thinking about that and took a gander at the archway again. Stinky clearly had a chip on his shoulder about authority–probably about the only thing I could appreciate about him.

“So, do you think the… leadership in the Kingdom of Arlo knows about this one?”

Stinky didn’t say anything; he just stared off into space as if his own words had unlocked a memory in need of urgent revisiting. He stayed like that for a few long seconds. I saw the moment he returned to his senses as his eyes refocused. Then he jerked his head up at me.

“What?”

“I was just wondering if the king or whatever is aware that this exists.”

Stinky considered it.

“Might be. Though, ‘stands to reason there’s likely a fair few of these smoldering shit holes that have yet to be unearthed, still. Lots of rumors ‘round ancient people who lived at the bases of long-forgotten dungeons, back before Yanadin cracked the Sky Wall. They’d build whole damn cities around them, even. This one, though…”

He shook his head.

“It wasn’t on our map, but when Fawn learns–” he cut himself off and glared at me.

“Fawn?” I asked. What does Fawn want with dungeons? I thought she was fighting the Kingdom or rebelling against Russians… or something? Also: who the hell is Yanadin—and what’s the Sky Wall?

The casual way he’d referenced the terms made me think they were common knowledge, and now I knew I’d have to keep my ears peeled for other information so I didn’t end up telling on myself for being a world-hopping stowaway.

This will be exhausting.

“Nevermind,” Stinky said. “Let’s just find a route out of here and get you back to camp. You’ve got a date with the kissing-end of a crossbow, and I can’t wait to see them riddle your twisted, green body with bolts.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You think there’s an exit around here?”

“Must be,” Stinky said. “The way we came in goes directly to that slope, which, if you hadn’t noticed, is impossible to scale out of unless you got a pair of fucking wings. ‘Means if there’s a gods damned dungeon here, orc, then there’s also another path to escape this cave.”

I just nodded. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but it was pretty sound reasoning. Zeol had wanted me to come here too. It seemed unlikely that he didn’t expect me to leave. My only hesitation with that logic was that he could literally snatch me away in a puff of vapor. If he was lying about his intentions–and I was pretty sure that he was–he could wait for me to grab the object, scoop me up and then leave me trapped after he’d taken it from me and tossed me back in.

A large part of me hoped that wasn’t the case. But I had learned not to trust people whose motives were unclear. That went double for huge, sentient puppet faces who seemed to be walking a path of intense manipulation.

Stinky began moving around the landing, peering in the distance for any sign of another passage. It was hard to believe that this curmudgeonly wang-rod had rescued me not long ago. I knew he wasn’t super keen on being down here by himself, but I didn’t realize it went that far. I cocked my head at him.

“Thanks for, uh, saving me, by the way,” I said. Stinky looked back at me with a scowl.

“Fuck yourself, orc,” he hissed. “I didn’t want to have to drag your body back to the camp, so I shoved that little cake into your mouth to stop your peeps of torment. That’s all.”

“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you say, Stinkompoop.”

“Will you stop calling me that?!” He raged.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Just as soon as you tell me your real name so I can figure out a way of turning it into an insult.”

Stinky just stared at me.

Is he trying to intimidate me? Well, I got bad news for him because I’m the most fearless motherfuckin’ orc to ever skip down this particular dungeon bridge.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he finally did speak, his voice was almost imperceptibly quiet.

“Akiva.”

“Huh,” I said.

“What?” Stinky–er–Akiva hissed. He tightened the grip on the blade at his side as he stared menacingly into my eyes. “Something funny about my name, orc?”

I shrugged and let out a non-committal noise.

“Actually, no,” I admitted. I was being honest. I’d spent a long moment trying to figure out a way of morphing his name into something disparaging, but nothing was bubbling to the top of my esteemed noggin meat at this current juncture.

“Good,” he said severely. I watched him relax a little, loosening the grip on his dagger. Was he relieved?

“Anyway, I’m Loon,” I said. If we were going to be trapped down here, it would be better to get the bosom buddy name exchange out of the way in case he’d already decided on a nickname for me that was as annoying to hear as I’m sure ‘Stinky’ was for him.

“I don’t care, orc,” he said.

“Man,” I said. “Fuck you, you flea-bitten taint.”

He looked like he was about to respond, but something caught his attention. He suddenly scowled, squinting at a point behind me. I wheeled, only to see that… nothing at all was racing at us from the direction of the dungeon.

“We got trouble?” I asked, shifting my stance in case something big and ugly came barreling down on us.

Akiva–who I’d decided was still going to be Stinky–shook his head and then pointed to the right-most pillar. I peered out suspiciously but couldn’t discern what had grabbed the matau’s ire.

“It’s…” he started, then his voice took on an air of almost excitement. “...a fucking chest!”

I gave him a quick look, but Stinky didn’t wait for it to register for me. He took off at a sprint towards the pillar, and I had to kick it into high-gear to catch up with him. I hopped over a few pieces of rubble, almost wiping out as my foot dragged a little too close in my leap. Stinky was far ahead of me already.

Holy balls, he’s fast!

It took less than a few seconds to reach the spot he’d been racing to, and now I could see it: a three-foot-tall rectangular treasure chest. As I slid to a stop, I activated my Analysis on the thing, bringing up its details.

Antediluvian Dungeon Chest

Rarity: Fabled

Item Class: Chest

Durability: ???

Bonuses: ???

An ancient crate designed with one purpose in mind–to store items of indeterminate value! It’s a chest! Maybe it holds a wondrous dragon egg?! Perhaps it’s filled with ladies' underwear! You won’t know unless you open it!

This message was a return to the previous snark I’d come to expect from whatever was in charge of populating these bits of information but amplified a ton. I rolled my eyes at the description and turned to Stinky.

“Is this for real?”

Stinky scoffed.

“Why the hell wouldn’t it be? Dungeons hold a fucking king’s pantry of treasures–some simple and some gods damned peachy-grand. This could be trapped, so mind your filthy limbs if you like having ‘em around.”

I was indeed quite fond of my arms and legs. Well, at least, what I’d seen so far from the new ones. His advice seemed wise, so I took a step back, careful to avoid any potential dismembering. That’s when I noticed a boot.

“The hell…?” I said, sidestepping to get a better look. It was directly behind the wooden container, and as I moved, I could see it wasn’t just one boot. There were two. Then I swallowed a lump in my throat as I realized they were attached to a pair of legs.

“Shit!” I shouted and leaped back. Stinky drew his dagger.

“It’s a body!”

Stinky scowled at me but cautiously stepped around to the other side. He relaxed when he saw what I was looking at.

It was a corpse, alright. Well, skeleton might have been more accurate. It looked like it had died after going HAM on diet pills and coconut water.

The creature was wearing what appeared to be dingy leather armor and a dented helmet, in addition to the aforementioned boots. He looked human, though it was hard to say for sure–fantasy world and all. However, what I couldn’t take my eyes off of was his leathery, mummified flesh. It was shrunken and tight, stretched over his features like filmy cobwebs rather than skin. Where there should have been eyes were just sunken, empty sockets and a dry, bushy beard had grown out from his face.

“That’s definitely a fire hazard,” I said. Though, secretly, I wished that I’d been blessed with the same overabundance of face pubes this guy had.

I noticed that resting on the ground nearby was an ancient wooden club. It was chipped and scobbed up pretty bad, and the handle even had a large section missing out of it. I'd have grabbed it if I thought it would last longer than a single swing, but I didn’t bother messing with it for the moment.

Stinky nudged the body with his foot, and I considered it must not have been a zombie or other nightmare undead creature since it didn’t immediately spring up trying to eat brains.

At least Stinky would be safe, there, I thought with a chuckle.

My companion crouched, using his knife to push apart the corpse’s folded limbs. I watched as several items tumbled out from the stiff's literal death grip: a small, opaque bottle covered in grime, a folded piece of parchment, and…

I quickly snatched the third item up from the stone before Stinky could do the same.

“What the hell, orc?”

“You snooze, you lose, slowpoke,” I said, lifting the object up to examine it.

I breathed.

“Oh, damn.”

Enchanted Haladie

Rarity: Uncommon [Exotic]

Item Class: Throwing Weapon

Durability: 100/150

Weight: 1.0 lbs.

Damage: 25 - 32 Piercing / 25 - 30 Slashing

Bonuses:

+1 versus Suskin

???

A weapon discovered on a corpse! Look at you go, grave robber, you! This double-bladed throwing dagger is the perfect accessory for those who want to do a bit of wet work from a distance! You’ll look very intimidating, hurling this bad boy from the shadows. You know, where no one can see how scared you are!

THIS ITEM CAN BE UPGRADED WITH ADDITIONAL ENCHANTMENTS.

“Woah!” I said, looking it over and feeling its weight. “Stinky, check this shit out.”

I swiped the air a few times with the blade and noticed that it seemed very well balanced despite its heft. The description had stated it was for tossing but could do slashing damage as well, and based on the size of the blades–which were on either end of the handle and roughly eight inches each–it wouldn’t be a bad idea to bet on in a close-quarters tussle, either. The cruel-looking double-bladed weapon had an unknown quality as well that I assumed I couldn’t see until I raised my Analysis–or maybe until I used it. Who knew? Guess I’d find out sooner or later. Either way, it was a wicked blade that I had no doubt would shoot me up the ladder of 'ultimate, army-leveling badass.'

“Who’s Suskin?” I said, looking at the matau.

“Who gives a shit?” Stinky said. I noticed he was reading the note, so I stuffed the haladie into my waistband and raised my eyes to him.

“Anything good? Was he writing down his favorite stir-fry recipe?”

Stinky ignored me and finished reading. Then he released the note, letting it flutter to the ground. He grabbed the bottle from the ground with a grunt and then moved closer and began to wrestle with something on the corpse’s neck. With his blade, I watched as he withdrew a chain from around the dead man’s neck. Once it was out, I could see that clinging to the end of the necklace was a large metal key. It had a ring at the top and several battered-looking teeth that seemed as though they’d repeatedly been drunkenly stabbed into the general direction of a lock without success. I’d have bet you fifteen McChickens that this was designed to open the chest.

I bent down and scooped up the paper to see if I could read it over for myself. I didn’t expect to understand it since it was likely in some magical tongue or shitty wizard cuniform or something. So when I observed them, I was happily surprised to find that I could, in fact, understand the words on the page. Well, sort of.

I noticed immediately that the paper was the very same type as the ledger I’d found, and was likely one of the pages torn out of the book. The script was like drunk chicken scratch, and at first, looking at it, I thought I was suffering from a minor stroke. Then I realized that my brain was still working perfectly fine, and it was the author of this brilliant bit of poetry that had likely observed a significant head injury shortly before penning it.

Fer them that finds this. I Spose you ken see I made it to the dunjen, and this is Ware I’ll rest. I cuddent get the Dore open on akount of Delbris taken my last esper jool. I’m Sure he’s round Here sumware. Stawkin about like sum kinda Serpint. If you find me, who ever you are, Consider this my Last weel and testment. You can have evrythin Inside the chest. I mite save the poshun of strenth in Case I need it. I feer I’m dun for, tho, and soon the rats and other dark spon of this kave will feest on my flesh. I wish I cudd see my famly agen just one more time. My dotter Erisa. My mum. To you that is reedin this letter: Tell my brother Yarm that I hope He don’t Mary that girl Klyapee. She’s Bad bizniz. Perin, I am on my way to see you, my dere. Wait fer me at the Ravens feeld.

Luv, Berg

“Well, that was depressing,” I said.

It had taken me a moment to figure out some of the words based on the terrible spelling errors and garish disregard for punctuation etiquette. Still, I thought I understood most of it. However, I couldn’t help but find it sadly funny that he’d ended the note by signing off with “love, Berg.”

Godspeed, Berg.

One passage in the note made me pause, though. It was poorly put together, but he’d definitely mentioned something called an ‘esper jewel.’ Wouldn't you know it? I was something of an Esper collector, myself. Something told me that I was about to find out exactly why people wanted to bash my head in over them.

I heard a click, and then a deeper thunk, like something heavy sliding into place. I looked over to see that Stinky had placed the key in the chest, and it had unlocked. He lifted the lid with a creak and let it fall open. Then he froze, his eyes growing wide at whatever was inside. He wheeled around and raised his blade, staring back at the bridge.

“What is it?!” I demanded, but he didn’t respond. The heavier sound had definitely done something other than open the chest. But what?

“Stink–er–Akiva! What the fuck is it? What are you staring at?!”

Something had shaken him, and it wasn’t because he didn’t have a night light this time. The warrior cast an eye to me and then quickly shot a glance to the inside of the chest. I approached and looked inside. It was empty.

Well, not totally. Down at the bottom, face-up, there was another note, written on the same paper and in the same shaky penmanship and bad spelling the previous one had had.

Fuck you Delbris you dum Sun of a Hore! Time to die!

“The hell kind of–”

SPLASH!

SPLASH!

SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!

I, too, pivoted as I heard the awful cacophony of wet sloshing. It was coming from the pool beneath the bridge. I focused my eyes and watched as dozens of shapes flew out of the water, but I didn’t understand what I was looking at. It seemed like a bunch of giant… eggs had just reverse-cannon balled out of the murky depths and onto the stone walkway of the bridge.

“Jesus Christ, what are–”

SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!

Even more egg-shaped monstrosities did their water acrobatics out of the pond and landed with a splat. These things had to be at least two feet tall and were an off-white color with a disgustingly pink hue. Then they turned, and I gaped, my jaw practically hitting my knees. They had bulging, red eyes and gigantic mouths that hung open, and… were they fucking grinning?! They had rows of razor-sharp teeth that had to each be three inches long.

“What the fuck?! They look like goddamned crack house Pokemon!”

I looked over at Stinky, but his eyes were glazed over.

Is he casting a fucking spell? He better be!

Then his focus snapped back to attention, and he looked over at me.

“Possessed Roe. Dungeon Spawn. Level One Embryonic Aberrations.”

“You’ve seen these before?!”

He snarled.

“No, you fucking warthog! I have the Identify Monster Ability!”

Oh. That made sense. But, also: why the hell didn’t I have that Ability?!

“Are they friendly?!” I called, attempting to dig into my waistband for the enchanted haladie.

“What the fuck do you think, orc?!” He screamed back and raised his blade up.

“...maybe?!” I shouted.

“Get ready to fucking fight!”

I looked around the cavern, hoping desperately to suddenly spot some avenue or pathway of escape we’d missed, but there was none.

Fighting it is.