It took longer than I thought it would, but I'm glad to finally be rolling out chapter 3. The adventures of Hogarth, Lug and Luna continue as they strive to not just survive, but thrive within the dangerous depths of the Dungeon.
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It was said by many a nerd and anachronism enthusiast that the myth of the dungeon was a projection of their own desires. Like the creation of comic books, people with big dreams yearned for the ideal world where their true selves could emerge. They wanted to be fierce warriors and wise sages, paragons of might and heroism, wielding power for the sake of glory and to stand for their ideals. It was said that the dungeon was a manifestation of hope, a supernatural frontier to conquer in a world that civilization had already conquered.
There were so many wild speculations that nobody really knew what the truth was. If there was any truth at all. But it was fun to speculate, fun to make up theories and stream videos of survival methods, close quarters combat, and lock picking. To create guides on the best weapons and tools for various dungeon scenarios.
Hogarth regretted skipping most of them. He'd never been a scout as a kid, never cared about different kinds of knots or how to skin and dress an animal of any size. They weren't useful to the modern reality that he was subject to, and the Dungeon was just a fun fantasy to indulge in. He never really expected to know the truth of it. Then one day he'd stumbled right into it. It had changed his life forever.
Luckily he'd found allies to help him along the way with skills that made his survival possible. The first was Lug from the Stoneriver clan. A short stature woman of dwarvish proportions and the nontraditional beauty of the cave girl next door. A clever and inquisitive mind hidden beneath a deceptively simple and earnest demeanor.
The next was Runa, practically born among the spoils of their adventuring. Trapped in dormancy within the husk of a dead potted tree, a spell gone awry reawakened the elemental with only fractions of her past life left in her memories. What little she remembers is rooted in years of lonely isolation, time she's been keen to make up for and then some with her newfound companions.
Once a solo operation, now a trio, the unusual party of adventurers set out into the mysterious and labyrinthine halls of what Lug titled 'The Twisting ways'. It was as good a name as any, considering the deeper they probed, the more the halls seemed to curve and wander without apparent reason. Most the rooms they found were empty, former lecture halls for a place of education. The castle backdrop of the school reminded him of another magical place, far more popular but less abandoned.
They decided to venture back to Hogarth's first room, both to see how well the map would serve them and collect anything they might have left behind. There was also the matter of the monster rodent lurking somewhere within the twisting halls and excavated tunnels. It might not even be the only one, which meant if they were going to continue exploring they needed to be prepared.
Hogarth led the expedition, holding a torch high in his left hand. The right gripped the handle of his new short sword tightly at his side, blade free and ready to chop at a moments notice. He had no armor besides a leather helmet, the rest of his body layered in a fast food uniform and a makeshift poncho of aging furs. With his breath billowing out as fog with every exhale, he was better protected from the cold than an attack. Still for a former fast food manager, his confidence had never been higher. He didn't have to worry about his rent, or what people thought about his job. His life, luxury, purpose was in front of him at that very moment.
Lug trailed close behind, dressed just as warmly for the cold. Since finding the kitchen hideout of their newest member Runa, Lug was finally fully equipped with proper clothing and accessories. She still wore her fur tunic, but now she was dressed underneath with a laced cotton shirt somehow too big and too small at the same time. Her bust strained the laces and the sleeves rolled tightly up her thick arms, and a belt cinched it around the waist like a secondary tunic. Trousers replaced the loincloth entirely, the legs rolled up similarly to accommodate her shorter height while the fabric also strained to contain her bubbling bottom and muscular limbs. None of the shoes fit, so they'd wrapped her feet in makeshift moccasins. Determined to live up to her name, she carried the pack for their supplies and any loot they might come across in their outings. The targe shield Hogarth began with was now her dedicated protector, with a torch to help combat the looming darkness.
Last in the line was Runa, their recent addition to the party. She'd donned a similar patchwork of furs to Hogarth's, with furry leggings wrapped around her calves. After her revival, she'd retrieved her old clothes and looked the part of a proper medieval adventurer. Her vibrant green skin and sunflower eyes made her supernatural nature the most obvious of his companions, as well as the absence of ears or hair. The latter was growing in slowly however, a blonde shadow of what seemed to be natural hair emerging from her brow and scalp. She held one of the many short bows found among her past belongings, though she couldn't remember having ever shot one. Her past was more feelings than memories, which seemed to even out her experience somewhat to Hogarth's level.
Since their encounter with what they'd decided would be called the dire mole, dungeon had come back to life. The darkness cloaked the many clawed footsteps and that moved between rooms, just outside the reach of torch light. Shining eyes winked and watched, glimpses caught around corners that disappeared in the time it took to blink.
The strumming twang of Runa's bow made Hogarth and Lug both jump in their skins. Her arrow shot past them into the darkness, followed by a strangled screech. For a second he thought she was just taking shots in the dark, but Lug braced into the shield as a rush of teeth and fur materialized from the gloom.
Four rats the size of bulldogs charged the party, zig-zagging wildly before crashing into them with deadly finesse. Armed with fire and steel, he didn't hesitate to meed them head on. The first two slammed into him at an angle that drove him against the wall. He struggled to pry them off with the blade before they could get their teeth into him. One slipped free while the other took a glancing slice when he realized what their goal was.
In knocking him aside, Lug was exposed, allowing the remaining pair to bowl into her. The first hit her shield and tumbled right over her, but the second knocked her down and pinned her under the shield. Lug screamed as she struggled, jabbing the fire cage at the end of her torch at the furry beast trying to bite into her flesh.
Hogarth delivered brutal kick that knocked away one of the two focused on Lug before it could latch nasty teeth into her flailing legs. The other pressed determinedly at Lug, trying to dart around the shield while she shifted and pushed in a desperate struggle to prevent it.
Swinging his sword arm around wildly, he brought as much momentum into an underhand thrust as he could to stab right through the rat's rib cage. Rather than shrieking it gurgled and shuddered, then slumped boneless atop Lug's shield.
It was one down, but still three to go. Hogarth didn't get a chance to relax as pain exploded in his calf. One rat he'd punted had taken the opportunity for revenge. It snapped its jaws onto his leg with ease, teeth piercing right through the black pants and few layers of cloth wrapped underneath to sink into the meat of his leg.
His body flailed as he tried to orient on his attacker, but Lug reached it first. Her arm stretched across the floors to press the end of her torch underneath the rat's belly. Flames licked quickly through oiled fur and the animal released, scurrying off into the darkness as flames spread across its body.
