“You never explained all of this you know,” Brinlog says abruptly after settling back into his nest. “Though I openly admit I was not likely to listen back then. You told me if I ever desired to be functionally immortal but destined to die again and again, ‘become the guardian of the mountain of fire,’ and continue to take revenge for the smallest of slights with impunity, the cost would be my memory being reset every time that I die.”

“Yes,” Ted begins, “and?”

“As the adventurers say, what in all the realms does that actually mean?”

“You are now a floor master, a true guardian of this floor of the dungeon, unable to leave this place, but unable to die permanently,” Ted replies. “You guard the treasure there, the desperate may bargain or battle with you per your whims, and sometimes they win. All this repeats until the end of ages or this dungeon dies. You can do whatever you want without fear of the consequences. For the most part at least.”

“Hey,” Sia interjects after having flopped down into the wool. “Boring things are boring, what’s going on out in the real world Brin-ee? You know those shepherds, and we have been in the Village for almost two decades now, that’s a long time you know!”

Surprisingly, both Brinlog and Ted look at Sia then each other. Ted turns back to Sia and says in a fairly straight-laced voice, “You know, your soul is almost old enough to be his mother right?”

“Hey!” Sia shouts, mockingly indignant.

Brinlog only appears like a confused lizard by this revelation, but carries on the conversation.

“An industrial revolution they call it, strange though it is. As the miasma concentration has been declining for centuries, the world has become far less violent except for us ‘old monsters’ who have only seen the passing of time as far too fleet of foot for our tastes. The theory I subscribed to prior to entering this place was that all the miasma in the world is being concentrated here. So, I have decided to live here to terrorize all that pass my den.”

“Not quite true, just this continent’s worth of miasma for this site. Though that does bring up an interesting problem I’ve noticed. How many people have been visiting these last few decades? How many new persons are passing through this year compared to your first year?”

With a low rumble, Brinlog begins to think and search his memories. Sia, still bored, begins to hum herself after grabbing a particularly large fluff of wool.

“You are the first new faces in weeks. When I first arrived, it was perhaps weekly some new group would pass through.”

“Ah, well, this is going to get interesting in the relatively near future then isn’t it Sia?”

*Snort, “Ah, what?” she says, having somehow fallen asleep in the few seconds she buried herself in the black wool. “Interesting things? What’s going on boss?”

“Do you remember the Raid protocol?”

“The one where everything was on metaphorical fire and something about a glass of water?”

“Explain yourself Ancient One,” Brinlog interrupts.

“Think of this dungeon as a great pool or glass of water,” Ted begins, “with more water being constantly poured into it. If one were to constantly or consistently drink from it at a certain rate, it would never overflow. That is a very simple explanation of ‘The Great Dungeon.’ So what happens if the outflow slows down or gets blocked?”

“All the water-monsters and no room to go but out,” Sia says, flopped backwards now and fiddling with a coin.

“I haven’t seen a build up of monsters around here though,” Brinlog states.

“You’ve been eating them all!” Sia retorts, poking Brinlog in his abdomen with a particularly long ornamental rod.

Seeing the dragon has nothing to add, Ted continues.

“About twenty years from what I’m seeing in the floors below. We have a certain Eider duck with us to deter them, but the deepest floors are starting to become an ocean of false life as it were.”

“So the raid room hasn’t opened up, has it?”

“Enough,” Brinlog interrupts. “What does this have to do with me, and when are you leaving?”

“Nothing for now,” Ted says. “But you are right, we were getting distracted. Tell us of the world at large and we shall go with but half of your supply of wool.”

“Not enough,” Brinlog replies with a rumble. “I desire more compensation if you are taking half.”

“Oh, the youngling still has teeth I see. Then Sia shall purify all of the wool here, you keep half, and for the final offer…”

After thinking for a second, or more properly checking a magic formation deep within the volcano, he continues while suddenly surrounding Brinlog in a magical sphere.

“With this your memories will be reset to this time rather than immediately after we released you.”

Having just had the metaphorical floor dropped out from under him, Brinlog takes a second to process things before roaring in outrage at this fresh revelation. Those down the mountainside would note these go on for at least five minutes before calming down. Those inside of the volcano come to an accord, and Brinlog’s memory reset is changed to after their conversation is finished.