This follows Damage Management Team, Part I…
“What in the Fell happened, Teller?” Omish shouted, as best he could at least, he was laying flat on his back still. And coughing. And spitting.
“I don’t know! How the fuck would I know?” I shot back, my right hand felt… heavy. It was distracting. My gauntlet looked the same as always, when it was off. I sat up and gently flexed my fingers within, making sure my hand still worked (for the third time).
It did. I exhaled heavily.
The memory flashed briefly of that unlucky goblin walking through the Demark from Bay Blue, one arm missing and covered in soot… that was an hour ago? Two?
“Because you are the dumb ass that launched your Gob ass at the glowly pearl of death, Tell.” Grunk followed with a grimace. “Although… in hindsight, that may have been dumb taking it out of the box.”
Omish turned his head and glared. “Ya think? Grunk? Aren’t you supposed to be the most experienced out of all us? Like aren’t you the guy that should know better?”
“I am still just a Gob, you lank.” Grunk sighed, holding his britches up. “This old Gob is going to go wander to the nearest water n’ waste room and clean up. There should be one down the way.”
“If you find a dubndub, try not to intentionally step on… ANY TRAPS ON THE WAY!” Omish yelled after him.
“Om, if you stay so high strung, you are going to have a heart attack or a stroke,” I said. I would need a dubndub too if I needed to wash any wounds once I got my hand unstuck. “But to be fair, Grunk, try to avoid traps, eh?”
Grunk just waved at at us with an extended middle finger as he wandered off with an apparent mess in his pants.
“We can’t fix an entire room collapse!” Omish whined. “And our portal back to the hub was in there! What the hell are we going to do?”
“Yeah, I am thinking. Give me a minute.” I put my finger to my chin and scratched absentmindedly. My other hand remained locked in the inert fist, and once again, I flexed my fingers. So what? I am paranoid.
You know what goblins are called by the Dungeon parties?
Cannon fodder. Yeah. Paranoia is a good thing.
We had a couple options. Grunk would know better than most, he probably had done it himself at some point. It wasn’t impossible, it was just rare… and dangerous. Any party that we come across wouldn’t think twice about obliterating us on sight.
And that’s the trick. We would have to work backwards to get behind an advancing party without being obliterated. Find a damaged room (there should be many) and wait for one of the many Dungeon Management Teams to portal in. Then hitch a ride home. Easy.
The last part was easy.
The first part was un-fucking-believably hard.
Not to mention, finding the way back meant that we would have to head outward in the dungeon design, and we, against our well established regulations (thanks Fat Tits), had dove inward during the collapse of the room behind us (thanks me).
The Underfell had a design. It had a well multipathed structure. It had connections between floors and between areas, so one caved in room would not mean that we were stuck going in only one direction. Explorers all had different reasons to explore the Underfell. Some were looking for wealth, others for action, others for glory. I have no idea how the surface worked, but I would guess that they were all crazy.
Who would volunteer to come into this? Like honestly? You had to be nutzo. I didn’t want to be here and I was born and raised in the Underfell. And I work here! For two measly glints a day and the promise of a sublevel homestead back at the Gob villages if I survived my contract.
And I thought the places I had visited so far were obvious places to die. So if the surface was thaaaaaaaat bad that you just had to come down here to make your way, you have my pity.
So I knew going forward was problematic, but it was really the only choice we had.
Grunk shouted down the hallway, “Dubndub here, lankheads. There is a spike pit to the left, don’t walk into it.”
Omish made a face and yelled back, “Its amazing you didn’t!” He turned to me, his young face still wide with the aftershocks of fear. “What do we do, Tell?”
“Well we have our wits, our limbs, and most of our asses. So that tells me we find a path outwards and try to slink behind whoever is working their way this way.”
Omish’s blood drained from his face.
“We will be fine, Om.” I added encouragingly.
“It won’t be. It will be that party that is causing the ruckus. The one with crazy Fire Mage.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We will be blown to smithereens. Black, crusted, ill shaped bits of ourselves smeared all over a wall.” Omish continued as if he had ignored me outright. He dragged his hands down his face theatrically.
“Om!” I shot with a bit of heat.
“Yeah?”
“Get off your ass and get to the dubndub. We can figure it out with Grunk.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Omish stood up, groaning as he got to his feet.
He tottered off unevenly, and I stood to follow, pulling my heavy right up hand behind me. With the gauntlet in a tight fist, I couldn’t free my hands from its depths. I pulled it up to my waist with a sigh (again flexing my fingers within to ensure they had not been reduced to burnt jelly) and flicked the buttons for the start up sequence with my other hand. Same old routine I always had.
Nothing happened.
It did not hum.
It did not glow.
It did not even vibrate.
It was a hunk of inert metal at the end of my arm.
I felt a wave of emotions all at once. (Gobs have emotions, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.) Fear, doubt, anger, regret all washed through me at once. I had one of the greatest enchanted power gauntlets ever made and I had cocked it up so bad that now it was one of the heaviest useless gloves you could imagine. Without the enchantments powering the glove, the sheer mass of it was going to strain my shoulder socket until my arm popped free.
It wouldn’t, but it felt that way. I would chuck it in frustration, BUT IT WAS ATTACHED TO MY FUCKING ARM.
I followed Omish to the dubndub, cursing under my breath the entire way. I did not see the spike pit to the left, but there was a sense of deepness in the soft dark that spoke of a hole in the floor. Humans would have torches or a mage to light the way. Goblins have exceptional vision in the dark, and depending on the part of the Underfell, there was light to be had, you just had to know how to look. Or you said fuck it and shot a flare at the ceiling with a lighttosser. Either way.
In the muted dark the hallway, the stones reluctantly issued their fell light, and the pit became obvious to my goblin eyes. I did my best to look for pressure plates and tripwires, but the designers had thankfully thought only a silly spike pit would be sufficient. Idiots. Any party would consider this hallway a damn blessing. They could set up camp here, it had a dubndub and everything!
I pushed the door to the dubndub open to find a well appointed washroom. Omish was drinking heavily from the tap, and a half naked Grunk was wringing is pants out over a drainage grate.
There were pairs of eversconces on each wall, giving the space a warm, welcoming light. I never had understood why the Underfell Wizardking had thought that while building a subterranean fortress city for himself and his minions, he should include accommodating and aesthetically pleasing bathrooms along the way. Thank goodness he did.
I wasn’t so thankful to see Grunk’s wrinkled ass as he wrung out his pants. He looked over his shoulder and gave me a wiggle of his hips.
“Don’t be jealous of handsome backside, youngins.”
“Grunk, your backside wasn’t handsome when you first shot out of your mom and I assure you it has only gotten worse since,” I said.
“You’re jealous.” Grunk hummed. He pulled his damp pants back up with a smile of satisfaction. “Your gauntlet?”
“Still stuck.”
Omish looked up from the basin, a concerned look on his face. “Stuck?”
“Its fine, Om. Not a big deal. Happens all the time.”
“It does?” Omish pushed back with worry all over his gob.
Grunk and I exchanged a knowing look, but I lied anyway. “Of course it does. Not a big deal. Sit for a minute while Grunk takes a look.”
“Pull up here and lay it on the basin counter.” Grunk tapped his fingers on the surface and shifted his knapsack from his back. He pulled some more tools from its depths as I tried to lay the inert metal fist as gingerly as I could on the stone surface. “I don’t have the tools or skills to fix this, but there is usually an emergency latch to decouple the mechanisms. I think the Mark4’s had them. Pretty sure at least.”
Grunk looked over the gauntlet, and grabbed a small screwdriver (normal, nothing enchanted about it) and started tapping the knuckles.
“Roll it over, let’s look at the hexgrid,” Grunk said.
I rolled my forearm so the back of my hand was raised to the ceiling. With a start I realized the controls that I normally would use to control everything…
“The hexgrid is gone?” Grunk’s eyes went wide.
“No wonder nothing was happening.”
“Yeah no wonder.” Grunk tapped the knuckles of my gauntlet again, and put his ear to the back of it. “I don’t hear the cores.”
“What?”
“Listen.” Grunk tapped his screwdriver against it for emphasis.
I put my ear to the metal, and sure enough, there was nothing. The signature resonance was completely absent.
“Easy fix. We get back to dispatch, then we stop off at Torino’s shop, he pops in some new cores, and you are back in the races.” Grunk smiled.
“What about the grid? I can’t operate it without a way to… operate it.”
Grunk made a strange face. “It is odd. The grid is a part of the metal, from the first forging of the artifact. It can’t be just blown off.”
“So where did it go?” I tried.
“Great question. One you should ask Torino.”
Omish finally piped up, “If we ever make it back to dispatch.”
“What’s his problem?” Grunk asked me first, then he looked at Omish pointedly, “What’s your problem?”
“We are going to die,” Omish whined.
“We are not going to die.” Grunk looked at me and lowered his voice. “We are not going to die are we?”
“Why are you asking me?” I asked increduously.
Grunk shrugged. “This is my first time.”
“What do you mean this is your first time?” I added with some extra sauce.
“I have never been cut off from a portaling.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I groaned. “You are kidding, right?”
“Uh. No?” Grunk shrugged innocently.
“We are going to die!” Omish repeated.
“We are not going to die.” I said, repeating Grunk’s sentiment. “We can do this. Come on, Om. Get your ass in gear.”
“What about your hand?” Omish crinkled his nose as if something was obvious.
“What about it?” I shot back angrily.
“What are you going to do?” Omish flinched like he was about to get hit.
I sighed heavily. A release latch would help nothing. I pulled my hand away from Grunk and shook my head. “Nothing, Om. Come on.”
Grunk packed his shit back up, and pulled his enchanted hammer from his belt. He flicked his fingers over its side, and I noted the runes shifted from glowing blue to a soft red. I raised an eyebrow.
“We don’t have much for weapons do we? So I set it to Obliterate.”
“You mean demolitions?” I laughed.
Grunk tilted his head. “I figured if it explodes stone, it will explore a skull or two.”
“Om, pull out your lighttosser and nock a flare,” I said.
“So we can see?”
“No, so you can shoot something if you have to, kiddo,” Grunk smirked. “Its like a crossbow. Except your bolts have a hot pokey bit at the end.”
“Oooooh, smart.” Omish nodded and put a bolt from his belt in.
“How many of those do you have left?” I asked.
“Counting this one? Eleven.”
“Well that just leaves me.” Dead fucking weight, Teller. I kept that thought inside. I pulled my knife from the small of my back, its gleaming six inches looking all the more pathetic than usual. I might as well been holding a fork. “Let’s go.”
Grunk opened the door from the dubndub, and a massive fucking tentacle grabbed his face and pulled him out.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Omish screamed and he fired a flare wildly in the direction that Grunk was pulled.
“Careful, Om. You could hit Grunk!” I shouted. I put my knife between my teeth and yanked the door handle.
To find Grunk on his back, being whipped back and forth, swinging his hammer wildly, futilely trying to make contact, as the tentacle’s thrashing was preventing any such event from happening. Thankfully the flare had hit the far wall over the pit, illuminating it brightly, and it was imminently obvious that it was definitely not a spike pit. It was a lair. For something that appeared to be made out of nothing but tentacles. The fucking designers of this hallway could suck a dick.
A bag of dicks. And they all should be Orc dicks. Sweaty ones.
I pulled my knife from my teeth, and launched myself towards the closest part of the tentacle. As I flew towards the tentacle holding Grunk, I realized that my gauntlet was not just dead weight, it was a cudgel too. I let it drop along side my knife hand, and the noise it made as it made contact was satisfying. It was like a scrunching, squelching sound, and my knife went in like the tentacle itself was made of butter.
The tentacle went slack for a hot second and Grunk finally swung true. The hammer hit the tentacle and the entire end of it exploded outwards and upwards, covering Omish and I with blue slime.
“FUCKING GROSS!” Omish kind of screamed (as his voice was subdued since it had to travel through the slimy bits).
More tentacles whipped upwards and started to seek us out, as the injured explody one was pulled back with a deep whispering groan winding its way out from the pit.
“To the doorway!” I shouted.
Grunk stood, his eyes wild, a sucker mark or two across his face like he had gone on a wild bender and had made a terrible choice for a facial tattoo. He started to run, his little gob legs moving faster than I could have imagined for the old guy.
“Come on, Om!”
We ran for the doorway, and thankfully, did not encounter the trip wire that a real asshole designer would have put in the way. This was the challenge that we had to face as we moved inwards. Traps were designed to face one way, and we were running in that very direction.
We caught up to Grunk, who appeared to be flagging. I could hear him muttering the same curse word under his breath the entire way.
“…fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.” With each step, as if he was chanting his way to success.
The three of us crossed over and I ventured a glance. Thankfully whatever was in the pit could not reach much further than what we had encountered coming out of the dubndub. I looked Omish over (covered in goo), I looked Grunk over (sweaty and puckered), and then I looked down at myself (also covered in some goo). Thankfully the goo was not acidic and actively melting us down to our bones.
“Man, we just left the dubndub!” Omish muttered sorrowfully.
“The smell might help ward off other nasties,” Grunk observed.
I looked around the palely-lit room and frowned. “Its a puzzle room.”
“Goddammit.” Grunk agreed.
“My mom told me about a puzzle room she had to repair once. It killed every single party that had wandered into it? Something about vaporization.” Omish observed thoughtfully.
“Not helping, Om.” I said. “At least we have three doors. That means at least one of them goes backwards. And that means at least one of them is less valuable than the others…”
“Why does that matter?” Omish looked at me funny. Like I had a booger for a head.
“Because that means we only have to be half-right. The most expensive option is the path forward, and we don’t want that.” Grunk explained patiently. “We only have to solve half of the puzzle or solve the wrong part. Stakes will be lower.”
“Ohhhh.” Omish said.
“And no monsters.” I added.
“Yet.” Grunk appended quickly.
I shook my head and appraised the room.
Four columns were arrayed around a square in the center. The columns did not reach the ceiling, but they were far taller than a human. The room itself was a square, and each door had a symbol above it. I could throw a rock from one wall to another (reminder, I am a goblin), so it was not a huge space by any means. Not quite cozy, but not quite airy.
The fell light from the roofstones was enough to make out the parts and pieces. The columns were the puzzle. The symbols were the paths. It was most likely the one straight ahead was the way inward, and one, maybe both of the side doors were outward. There was a chance that the designers were dicks and had intentionally made it harder, but we were only on the second level. Nefarious shit was deeper down. Level one was easy. Level two was a step up. Going outward and upward should make things easier as we go…
Hopefully.
“What do you think Grunk?” I asked.
“Simple logic puzzle. I am guessing an elimination game. Each column describes a path, but you have to discern all four columns to understand which path is which. And the warning of what is next room is given. I bet…” Grunk walked around the first column. “I bet that the least dire one is the one we want.”
I walked around the column to the left and noted symbols at regular intervals. The second to the right and furthest third one were the same. The fourth one, the one that was closest to the entry door, it was different. It was a series of arrows. I looked back at the symbol over the arch that we come in through.
Grunk apparently had arrived there at the same time. He said, “A circle with a slash.”
I ran my eyes up the column. There it was. “And that is the first symbol. Arrow to the right.”
Omish picked up on the process and pointed at the top of the column. “It’s a square.”
I looked down for a square on the first column. It was a… “Arrow to the left.”
Grunk moved to the other column. “Moth? Or may be a mirrored footprint?”
“Got it. Arrow to the left again.”
“Uh…” Grunk tilted his head, looking it over. “A couple fingers crossed?”
I looked down the column. There it is. “Yeah, like a promise breaker?”
“That’s it,” Grunk confirmed.
“Arrow straight on.” I said.
Omish moved over the to the fourth column. “Its a picture of the room we are in? A circle with four circles, in a square shape.”
“That’s it. We came in from the circle marked arch, so we follow the pattern to the door you want.” I confirmed it as I said it out loud. “So the circle lead to here. Makes sense. Which door, Grunk?”
“Righty tighty?” Grunk offered.
“Sure. Its a toss. The right one is a… square?”
“What’s in it?” Omish wandered closer. “It looks like an ant? Or a termite?”
My gut sank. “Fuck. What’s to the left?”
Grunk squinted and sighed. “Its a square again, with a chicken claw?.”
My gut sank further, now it was pressing against my abdomen firmly. “I am going to regret asking, but what is above the last door?”
Omish laughed. “A square with a tree.”
“Square with a tree?” Grunk’s brow furrowed. “Weird.”
“Well I would bet that way is a fire ant colony. And that one is a cockatrice.” I said pointing to the side arches. “What’s worse?”
“What about the tree?” Omish ventured. “That sounds easy.”
“That is what makes it the worst choice.” Grunk and I said in chorus. I added, “It is probably something really nasty, like a Dryad or a Tree Golem or some shit. That’s part of the trick. Make the explorers pick the worst thing thinking it was the best thing.”
“I say we go ants. At least we can step on them.” Grunk thought out loud.
“Omish? Big cock wanting to slice you to pieces or billions of boiling death bugs to sting you to death?” I asked.
“Uh… bugs.” Omish frowned heavily.
“BOILING DEATH BUGS IT IS!” I shouted. “That is an arrow to the left.”
“Frowny face. Like a fairy.” Grunk pointed.
“Got it. Arrow straight on.”
Omish ran his eye down the column. “Like a boat? Upside down?”
“Yep, arrow to the left again.” I said.
“Smiling face, but definitely a human. It has exes for eyes.”
“Hilarious,” I grinned. Dead explorers were the best. “Arrow to the right.”
Omish jogged to the other column, “Uh… oh here it is. It is a fish?”
My column only had one thing on it that looked like a fish. I pushed it. The door in the archway to the right swung open slowly, gratingly, as if it was just trying to sound ominous.
“Alright. Bugs.” Omish said to himself as if he was psyching himself up. “I can handle bugs.”
We all gravitated to the center of the room and stared at the door, expecting a flood of ants rushing out to meet us, but nothing happened.
“I guess we have to go to them?” I said.
“If I was an ant minding my own business, a door wouldn’t bug me.” Grunk waved a hand as if it was obvious.
“Pun!” Omish grinned.
“Pun.” I concurred. “Let’s go.”
As we crossed the doorway, we found ourselves in a tunnel. Not another room, but a tunnel? Like a…
“Ant tunnel.” Grunk said.
“Ants the size of wolves.” I said. The ceiling was only inches from my head. At least I did not have to duck. “Hopefully they are busy. Anting. Somewhere else. Let’s get through quick. We may get lucky and this will dump us on the first floor.”
“Wolf-sized ants? I changed my mind, I can’t handle bugs.” Omish said.
I scratched my ear, pulling the tip down to my shoulder absentmindedly. Dried goo flaked off.
“Quick. Quiet.” I retorted. “Follow me.”
I pulled my knife out and headed in. The tunnel curved slightly to the right and up. We followed it upwards, stopping every so often to listen for the ants. All we heard was our own ragged breathing and the internal paranoia whispering sweet somethings along the lines of ‘you are going to die‘, and ‘the ants will eat you‘, and don’t forget the all time classic ‘you are a failure of goblin and terrible leader.‘ The last one was special to me as it was an all time hit. Top 10.
I wanted to shush myself, but an internal monologue runs whether you want it to or not. Also I was distracting myself from the death bugs that we were about to encounter. The tunnel curved left suddenly and I turned it carefully to find an ant a few meters further on. It was the size of a small dog, maybe one of the witches’ cats. It did not sense me, thankfully. It didn’t do much of anything, except stand there, its antennae wiggling back and forth and up and down.
A sentry? It did not see me, or at least it eyes couldn’t pick me out in the dark.
I hugged the wall and sidestepped towards it slowly. The antennas did not reach the wall, and they would let me pass if I timed it right. I watched the pattern. Flick, flick, wave, wave, flick, flick, wave, wave, and… go.
I stepped past confidently. The ant did not move.
Grunk was next. He watched the pattern, and stepped past. The ant did not move.
Omish looked like he was shaking. I waved him forward, trying to encourage him.
He watched the pattern, closed his eyes and stepped past. We all collectively sighed. Thank god ants did not have a sense of hearing. Turned out that must be just as bad as their eyes.
I kept moving forward and the tunnel opened into a vast cavern, crisscrossed with bridges and entryways going for what looked like thousands of meters deep and at least a hundred meters above us. Lines of ants crisscrossed all the flat areas, sometimes in both directions, if there was room enough on the bridge or ledge, sometimes in one direction as if every ant had agreed on the flow. The ants were all the same size as the sentry, except for an occasional ant that was about thirty percent bigger with huge pincers held upwards at the front of their mouth parts. Those were soldiers. Surrounded by drones. Annnnnnnd… any touch would alarm them all.
We were going to die.
And this was the exact moment that my gauntlet decided to turn back on. There was a loud hum, a crackle of purple energy across the knuckles, and the entire thing grew warm.
Huh, that’s new.
My arm was suddenly light again. The hex cores were alive!
I was so elated that it took me a hot second to realize that both Grunk and Omish were feverishly tapping BOTH of my shoulders.
“What!?” I whispered.
Grunk and Omish both just pointed. I looked all around, and illuminated in a wash of soft purple light, every single ant had stopped in place.
They were all looking at the three of us.
“Fuuuuuuck.” I sighed defeatedly.
There was a heavy pause.
“…UUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS…” The ants hissed back in unison.