“And Isilda can cover the Prairieton call… again… she’s got the skills for it,” I said to Pokle as I pointed around our scheduling book. “That’s three weeks open, should be enough to account for assorted disasters and stuff. Are you sure you can take care of Varia and Grif while managing the place?”

“No problem,” Pokle answered with a telling lack of confidence. She looked at my equally evocative face. “Hey, cheer up! You’re knocking out the biggest favor on the ledger!”

I let the change of subject slide as I pursed my lips further. “It only counts if I come back alive to strike it off the page. Going off what I know so far, it’s something nasty.”

“Oh come on, boss, you’ve dealt with some tough stuff in your time. How bad could it be?”

My eyes bulged. “Don’t fucking say it out loud dummy! That phrase never helped anybody!”

“Right, sorry. I forget you’re superstitious like that.” Her tone was apologetic solely out of obligation.

I repressed the urge to strangle her, considering I have a LITERAL GHOST IN MY HOUSE, and there are ACTUAL GODS LISTENING IN SOMETIMES and those gods are BORED! Instead, I wandered over to my office and finished the latest version of my will, just in case. After throwing it in my drawer, I sighed and decided that I wanted a drink. I got my dusty bottle of sweet rum and poured a glass.

That particular mood didn’t last. I’d stopped at one drink by the time Greesley leaned into my office. “Someone wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Alright, make it quick. I’m expecting a call.”

To my surprise, it wasn’t someone I despised walking through that door. It was Cameron!

“Whoa hey, Cam. What’s up?” I stood to shake his hand.

He gripped my palm with some major muscle. “Not much, man, I thought I’d swing by to catch up.”

“Oh, it’s a terrible time for that. You’ll have to make it quick, I’m about to get real busy.”

He stopped to mull over his next words. “Alright, umm. The gist is… adventuring sucks. I’ve almost died three times and only leveled up twice! I want a job—from you—that pays bills and grinds XP like you said it does.”

At that moment, Pokle rounded the corner with calling stones. “He’s on the line, boss.”

I accepted them and covered the microstone. “Great. Cameron, meet Pokle. She’s about to hire you unless you make an ass out of yourself. Now, both of you, shoo.”

They kindly shut the door on their way out and I held up the stones. “Hello? … Yup, hi Dro. … Yeah, three weeks plus change. Is that long enough? … Good, good. You gonna tell me what it is you want? … Well how am I supposed to help you if it’s all top-secret? … Alright, look, man. I just want to get this over and done with. What do I do to get this process moving? … Okay. I can do that. Should I bring anything over? … Nothin’? Well alright, I guess. I’ll be over in a jiff.”

……

I poofed into Drominnus’ tower, un-dazed, and jazzed at the lack of glass back home to sweep up. He really was milking that teleporter subscription for all it was worth. I glanced around, seeing the massive mess of tables with fragile, expensive, and likely unstable magic doodads. All sorts of stuff the average Joe would immediately start fondling. It really was a lovely wizard’s tower under all the clutter. Then I saw the wizard extraordinaire himself!

Gold-trimmed purple robes, big white beard, and if you guessed a wide-brimmed pointy hat, then you are unimaginative, derivative, and 100% correct. He was also about 5”2’ which let me be the tall one for once.

“Come with me downstairs, quickly now!” he ordered in a hush, already moving for the staircase.

Left alone before I could even respond, I crossed my arms. “Hey Dro, nice to see you, how’ve ya been?” I muttered. “Oh, I’ve been just fantastic, Dennis! I actually invited you over for tea and crumpets!” I answered in a crude imitation of his voice.

Then I sighed, knowing that it would not be so simple. Alright, Dro, what’s the bullshit of the day? I wondered as I followed him down. He’d gotten quite far ahead of me, so my mind wandered as I paid little attention to the many floors I had seen before.

He was quite nice to be around when I met him; a wizard down on his luck, trying to create the next biggest, baddest, strongest spell. In some ways, he reminded me of myself. Hesitant as he was to pursue something so plain-sounding as the calling stones, he was also flat broke and had the vision to understand it might sell well. A few hundred thousand in sales later and he let the money go to his head.

I took my cut and ran, which was the right call. Unfortunately, I decided it would be safe to owe him a favor… a big one (which was the wrong call). Had I known what a colossal money-hungry douchebag he would become, I would have let Golden Point flounder for another year rather than take the cash injection. But no, impatience won out, and there we were, at the bottom of the stairs at his strange basement door.

Dro ushered me through the stone passageway, built from an odd dark-cobalt-colored material. The room inside was lined with the stuff, and Dro promptly shut the door with a slab of you-can-assume-what. The room was big, domed, had a research area on the side, and a stone dais in the middle with some sort of raised pool à la that one scene where Galadriel went apeshit. I was getting quite creeped out to the point of clutching the anti-magic zone ‘grenade’ in my pocket.

“Finally, we can talk,” Dro grumbled with a clear tone of relief on his breath.

I scowled at him. “Good, cuz you got some gaddamn explaining to do. First off, what in the fuck is this room for, and why does it make you feel so safe?”

He took a deep, old man’s breath, causing me to scoff and march over to rip off his fake-ass beard. The enchantment broke and the truth (that I always knew) was revealed. He was just a clean-shaven dude in his forties and his hair wasn’t even white (brown, if you’re wondering). While he was miffed at his persona being removed, he let it go and gestured to a table and two chairs in the research area. We sat down and he started.

“This room,” he started, gesturing wide. “Is one of my finest creations. It is built from the strongest anti-scrying material ever recorded. So strong—in fact—that even the gods do not know what happens here.”

I puffed my cheeks in exasperation. “So you’re doing stuff that the gods might get angry about? Great! Mind if I get the hell out of here? No particular reason, I just feel like leaving.”

Used to my wit as he was, Drominnus simply continued. “I have been preparing this for the ultimate expedition. Are you familiar with the Tomb of Instability?”

“Nope.”

His train of thought derailed and he shook his head in surprise. “What do you mean no? It is known to every worthwhile adventurer!”

“Which I’m not,” I answered, crossing my arms.

Drominnus rested his head on a hand. “It is a dungeon.”

“Obviously. The name screams that much.”

“Not only that, but it is one of the most dastardly super-dungeons ever discovered. Every party that has even made it inside has mapped a completely new layout, and none have come close to clearing it. What little treasure brought back has all been indescribably powerful, but often unstable magic items. And it’s in the Shimmerlands.”

I thumped my hand down on the table. “And you want me to raid it… to grow that fancy collection of magical artifacts you research?”

“No. I want you to clear it. Alone.”

"… Alone?” I repeated, to no response. “You want me to waltz right on into the highest-level, most fucky dungeon ever conceived, alone, IN THE MAGIC-FUCKING-EXPLODES ZONE, AND COME BACK WITH ALL THE LOOT?”

He paused for a moment before smacking his lips. “Not exactly. Come with me.”

I followed him to the big, central stone pedestal thing with a pool of water in the middle. He waved his hand over it and it woke up like a motion-activated home screen. Images started to pass by of a huge stone exterior to what I assumed to be the titular tomb.

“A few years ago, I contracted an adventuring team to go and research the tomb. Their findings are most interesting: The tomb is made by the gods!”

I slowly facepalmed. “What’s new, Dro? We already established that the gods made like, the whole world and half the dungeons. You can tell which ones are which by the architectural cues and lazy design. I proofread your damn paper on the subject for pete’s sake.”

He interjected with a hand. “But there is a key difference. All the dungeons and assorted structures made by them were originally created hundreds of thousands of years ago. It is universal! Save for the Tomb of Instability, which appears to be no older than seven-hundred years.”

My eyebrow raised reflexively. “Alright, I’ll give it to you: That is an interesting data point. But why do you want whatever is in there?” I asked, hoping not to hear the P-word.

“My interest is due to a recently-active prophecy–”

Fuck.

……

I clapped my hands together and took a deep, angry breath. “So, in summary: Go to the Shimmerlands, get into the Tomb of Instability, beat the entire dungeon without using any magic, and bring back the potentially-world-shattering-item that might not actually be world-shattering or even exist because you have no evidence that it was even a thing in the first place…” I inhaled for the first time since I started the rant. “Does that sound right?”

Drominnus caught my tone but nodded. “That is correct.”

“No. Fuck you. I’m not doing it.”

Rather conspicuously, Drominnus walked around to the other side of the divining basin, placing it between us. “You will do this, Dennis. You owe me, big-time.”

“Yeah, a big-time favor, not my fucking life dude, are you crazy? Count me out.” I said slowly heading for the door.

“I do have a plan for how you’ll do it. Come back here, Dennis!” he shouted angrily.

“Your plan is insane, Dro, and your solution will be no better.”

He slammed his staff against the floor in the wizard equivalent of a tantrumy stomp.“IF YOU LEAVE NOW, I WILL DISABLE EVERY CALLING STONE AND PIN THE BLAME ON YOU!”

I paused for a moment, looking him in the eye and shaking my head in a silent call of his bluff. Besides, I had at least one card up my sleeve.

Drominnus continued. “And don’t you think for one damnable second that your speech-catcher continued functioning the moment you stepped into this room!”

Well shit, so much for one-party consent on the voice recording. I stopped and stared daggers at him, seething with rage as my wiggle room disappeared far too quickly. For a moment, I genuinely considered killing him, rather than go throw my life away on something stupid. Instead, I decided to humor him - see just how crazy the plan was.

I stepped back to the raised pool and put my hands on it to lean forward menacingly. “You better have a reaaaaaaal good plan on how I’m getting through all that in one piece,” I stated with a dangerous tone.

“Oh, you’re going to love it.” He grinned ear-to-ear. “You see, my lava shark of a lawyer did some digging. And it turns up that the Shimmerlands are outside of celestial jurisdiction, so the gods cannot apply their rules to anyone within.”

I looked to the side, trying to imagine what sort of lawbreaking would actually get me through the dungeon. But Dro kept going. “And, more importantly, there is a half-mile area at the edge of the Shimmerlands where this jurisdictional gap exists, but magic functions correctly.”

I had the lightbulb moment, quickly putting together what made him so confident in me. Despite the revelation of his intentions, I still strongly considered murder. I knew I could do it, as the grenade was there in my pocket, at which point the stat differential would lead to him getting strangled or beaten to death… but I couldn’t do it. I remembered all the good times we had together; the nights of endless toil and beta-testing; the seven visits to the emergency-healing posts with detonated calling stone fragments in our faces; the commiseration over hard times; the massive party we threw after sales started to climb…

“Alright, fine. I’ll do it under two conditions.” Drominnus nodded receptively. “One: You’ll owe me a favor after this.”

“Sure. Anything in mind?”

I waffled for a moment. “Ehhhh maybe you could get Sunblazer recharged?”

His face twisted into horror. “You actually used it? I gave you that as a deterrent because your enemies would know that you might use it at some point if pushed on! Not so that you could actually take it somewhere and roast everything!”

“Well then you ought to have written that on the birthday card then, shouldn’t’cha? Can you do it?”

He rubbed his temple. “I don’t know. The tribe that made and charged Sunblazer has been dead a century or more. I could try, but it’s more complex than you seem to think.”

“Fine. We’ll come back to that later. Second condition is: I want my mule to come with me.”

Drominnus was clearly flummoxed by my demand. “Umm, sure, but… it’s a mule. If you’re that attached to it, why not get a different one for this? Considering that any mount has a high chance of dying…”

I put my hand up. “Dro… my mule is about as close to a horse as the Death Star is to a moon.” He appeared even more confused. “Look, smart as you are, you’re just gonna have to accept that you don’t know everything.”

……

I really expected preparations to take longer, but no. Drominnus had everything ready shortly after breakfast the next morning (at least he keeps his guest rooms tidy). I thought I would have more time to mull it over and/or plot his untimely demise. Nope. I had a full kit and a 3-page briefing in my hand before I could even put my fork down.

I don’t know how the man does it, but I gave him a list and he checked it twice. A henchman had already gone to get my mule. I sent that poor fellow along with a note so he didn’t get stabbed… or ate. Drominnus was buzzing like a bee, ensuring everything that I requested was packed into the provided extradimensional sacks. I watched from the table, feeling the murderous leanings slowly be supplanted by a sense of dread.

“That’s everything!” he announced excitedly.

I stretched as I stood from the chair and walked over. He handed me the three sacks and we proceeded to the metal teleportation sigil at the back of the room. He was so serious about secrecy that he’d dragged the thing downstairs rather than have me walk up a few floors and be exposed with the goods for a minute tops. Considering the contents of the sacks, I actually agreed with his approach.

Dro handed me two color-coded compasses. “Right, so, the blue one leads to the stash, and the red one is for the tomb. Get everything transferred over into the Shimmerlands sack without taking these three across the line, or else they will explode.”

“Got it. And are you really sure that you don’t know what I’m looking for?”

He frowned for his own small failing. “I assure you, Dennis, I was unable to ascertain a description of appearance or abilities. The prophecy only specifies the gravitas of the object.”

I fell silent as he readied the spell to send me to Shimmerlands’ edge. Before he could finish it, a question popped into my mind.

“Why me, Dro? I’m nothing special as adventurers go. You could have picked a hundred dudes more able.”

Drominnus paused. “I… I trust you, Dennis. You have always been a practical problem-solver who attacks from new angles every time, and you are haunted by just enough luck to get by. I know you can do it. I’m not sure I could put that on anyone else.”

I didn’t know what to feel at that moment. On the one hand, I hated his guts for getting me tied up in this, but on the other, it was a strangely touching sentiment. My only concrete feeling was a regretful one for plotting his death. And before I could answer, I was off to the Shimmerlands.

……

No, something wasn’t right. I wasn’t in the Shimmerlands… I was sitting in a chair. There was nothing, merely an endless sea of vaguely smudged bright-pastel colors.

“Well, if it isn’t Dennis!” an infinitely powerful voice boomed.

I recognized that voice, having heard it once before. “Grunnus O’deilan?” I asked into the sparkly void.

“The one and only,” he responded, materializing before me. He was forty feet tall, clad head-to-toe in sterling plate mail with red and gold accents, and he had wings of fire. What else would one expect from a god of war, destruction, change, fire, and drama?

I crossed my arms, the only part of my body that I seemed to have significant agency over (other than my big fat mouth). “So, you’re using the infinite time on your hands to stop-and-frisk random adventurers mid-teleport now?”

He thumped a gigantic, gauntleted fist into his open palm. “Yes, random! Definitely not just the ones who teleport directly from areas concealed from godly view to a place outside our jurisdiction.” He proceeded to stroke his chin. “Hmm, makes you think, doesn’t it?”

His sarcastic tone was layered on thicker than most experts could even dream of. I turned my nose up and looked away. “Sorry, I don’t talk to tall people.”

Grunnus shrank to only ten feet in height, standing over me to a slightly lesser degree. I shook my head. “Nope. I plead the fifth.”

“Mmhmm,” he muttered, holding up the extradimensional sacks I was carrying a moment ago. “Well if you’re not talking, your inventory will.”

“Hey, unlawful search and seizure! I want to talk to your supervisor!”

He chuckled. “We aren’t in burgerland anymore, Dennis. This world is in color!”

Then, Grunnus turned around to a large table that he willed to exist. He dumped out the sacks and looked over the highly-incriminating contents. “Wow, this is basically all illegal, and from five different ways too!” He turned around. “This is quite serious, Dennis. Standard procedure is to smite gods’ chosen for this. You know what that means? Level one! One hitpoint! Forfeit your starting bonus!”

I looked down, feeling the pit in my stomach deepen. Grunnus walked over beside me and sat down, producing a large book.

“Fortunately for you, this paragraph exists.” He lifted his visor to apply reading glasses. “Per the ruleset of teleportation, the process takes anywhere between eleven seconds to one-eighth of a second (depending on method). This time shall be legally split exactly down the middle. In the first half, the subject is to be considered at their point of origin, and in the second half, they are considered to be at their destination.”

I looked up and raised an eyebrow as the dramatic status-quo shaker of a god continued to his point. “You were utterly concealed from me at your point of origin. Ergo, I became aware of your teleportation when you arrived in the latter half. This means I pulled you here from the Shimmerlands. And—as I’m sure you have been made aware—us gods have no jurisdiction there whatsoever!”

My mouth opened and closed a few times as he got up. He seemed almost jovial as he packed my bags for me, then handed them back without confiscating any contraband. “Y– you knew this in advance! Why even pull me in here?”

“Bold of you to assume I make arrests in good faith. But you’ll be glad to know that I’m sending you back!” he proclaimed, lifting his visor to reveal his gleaming orange eyes.

He winked, very conspicuously, and with exceptional deliberateness. The pit in my stomach grew even deeper than when I thought I was in trouble. He pulled my stat card from thin air and stamped it before handing it back. I looked down and it read ‘marked for review’.

“Well, that’s that. Good luck in the tomb!”

My eyes widened. “Oh no,” I said without thinking.

“Oh yes! Have fun!”

……

I gasped as I appeared where I was supposed to go all along. Before me sprawled a flat, dry wasteland, bathed in bending light, as if the mirages of the desert consumed half the sky. A nose nudged my shoulder from behind and I turned to see my mule.

“Oh! It’s good to see you. I missed your reliable, stable, predictable mug.” I scratched him on the chin. Then my most recent conversation suddenly poofed into memory. “Oh, oh no. We have a problem.”

……

The blue compass started to turn noticeably as we passed a dead tree in the flats. I held up my hand to stop my mule from following, then produced my stat card and kept an eye on it. The compass pointed to the tree and I counted my steps. Four… five… six… seven… eight… and just like that, my stat card went on the fritz. All my stats became letters, then symbols, then it froze up as numerical overflow values. That, and the status effect section listed me as having ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA’.

That’s the funky-magic line, I noted as I made sure my stop order was being obeyed. The button on the folding shovel’s pouch popped free and I pulled it out as I walked. I searched the tree, finding the zone where the treasure was buried. When I could spin the compass’ hand by moving it in a circle with my arm, I knew where to dig.

……

I dragged the chest out of the ground and brushed some dirt off it. It was only a 1x1.5 footer, so it wasn’t much digging to get it out. I pulled the key Dro gave me and popped it open. It seems that whoever he paid before was reliable because the written manifest was true to life. To my relief, all the items had been tinner-tested, which meant probably not cursed. I would have preferred identify item cast at a high level, but that wasn't gonna happen.

1 homing stone, connected to the compass I followed.

1 super-grade healing potion that works in the Shimmerlands.

1 vest of ‘true’ mithril scale mail (jury is out on that claim).

And 1 A+++ grade extradimensional sack, again, functional in the Shimmerlands. The manifest claimed a 4x4x8ft internal volume, and a psychic link to the user, which meant it always put the desired item in your hand the moment you reached inside. All that combined to make it the best damn postman-style shoulder bag this side of the globe*! Assuming it’s not cursed… (*Nassur is actually flat, but I’m not even going to touch that subject with a 10-foot pole.)

I stuck my head in and sure enough, there’s plenty of space to go around. I started the slow process of leaving the magic-go-boom zone, pulling armfuls of gear from the unsafe sacks, and putting them into the safe one. It took 20 minutes, but the safe sack also had auto-sorting and packed itself neatly whenever items were fed in. Soon, I carried the box to the magic-doesn’t-go-boom side and packed away the three sacks along with my portable teleportation beacon and buried the lot.

……

Now both firmly in the Shimmerlands, I mounted up my mule and patted him on the shoulder for being so patient. “Alright, here goes nothing. Grunnus, Drominnus… both want us to get to this tomb, both their names have cringey double-Ns—unlike mine—and they’re both scheming little shits. You ready to go see how much trouble we’re in?”

My mule neighed and snorted. “Well good, at least one of us feels that way,” I said as I pulled a Browning Auto 5 from the bag and started loading the tube with buckshot.