Vrax peered around the Dragons Maw arena walls; the side he and Torvald were on wrapped fully around the adventurers entrance side with clear glass. Across the way, the nobles had what must have been one-way glass obscuring them. Immediately away from the arena windows and to his left was a small, bustling, two-sided desk with a line of adventurers talking to two clerks. Farther past that, more towards the center of the curving observation level, was a large bar setup. A stone bar curved outwards for over a dozen strides, letting easily one hundred adventurers sit at stools that overlooked the arena while a pair of overworked barmaids rushed back and forth refilling drinks and taking bets down on a sheet of paper. Out from that was a smattering of mismatched wooden tables, over half of which were filled.
Vrax was actually rather surprised by how busy it was and the overall eclectic mix of people on this side of the arena. A shocking number of clean-cut and fit men and women in white and silver armor lined with purple trim, the roaring lion symbol of the knights academy proudly fluttering from their capes, were hobnobbing with the adventurers.
The nearest table had two filthy dwarves dressed in leather armor that was reduced to shredded rags cheering with starkly contrasting knights at the battle below. At the bar he saw one burly young knight, thrown bodily from losing an arm wrestling contest, get back up and slap his opponent on the back playfully. I may have had some violently incorrect assumptions about what the knights academies are like. Vrax mused while guiding Torvald towards the line of adventurers and mercenaries trying to sign up for a fight.
It was a brief wait before a surprisingly pleasant and possibly a little bit drunk clerk greeted them. He had a noticeable black eye and what looked like a half-healed dagger slash on his cheek. Also a fighter? “Welcome to Dragons Maw arena, home of the Kingscall Knight Academy trials and a whole lot of good brawls. What level bracket are you in, and how many fighters?”
Torvald took the lead. “Level ten and twelve, just the two of us, and we want to bet,” he said confidently, practically bouncing at the opportunity to test himself against a knight.
The clerk leafed through papers for a moment. “Hmm, tonight we do have another team that's waiting on a fight in that bracket, but two big caveats: it's the no-holds-barred style, and you need three members.” He glanced through a few more sheets. There are two folks in the lounge who were looking for a team so they could fight tonight.”
Vrax piped up. “Does no holds barred mean that abilities that may behead opponents or melt them are allowed?”
The clerk didn’t even blink at that: “Yep, it’s where the nastiest combatants, or the ones who really want to taste real battle, fight, but don’t worry, our medical staff is top-notch; the fatality rate is less than one in fourteen fights.”
“Sounds perfect. Point us to the lounge?” Torvald said he was already signing a paper he very much so hadn’t read.
“That’s an awful lot of dead people.” Vrax muttered to himself.
They wandered to the lounge area to choose the required teammate. It was a small sectioned-off area in the corner of the adventurers half of the observation area, set into a slight depression in the floor. more sedate than the main area with couches and semi-private booths separated by sashes surrounding a central table where bets were collected and placed. Vrax damn near tripped over a small step down into the lounge when none other than Red was lounging, feet reclined on an ottoman with a rather comely lass draped over his lap and a small pile of bottles within easy reach. He clocked them immediately too, waving them over.
“My favorite pain in the ass, please tell me you are fighting! If I bet on you, surely I can win my gold back!” Red slurred and sat up excitedly, halfway dumping the lass from his lap.
“Yes, we are!” Torvald boomed.
“Mabe gotta find a teammate.” Vrax countered.
“Who are your choices?” Red sloshed his glass in a sweep around the room, looking at the many figures tucked away in the lounge.
Torvald looked at the paper the clerk had given him. “One is Erebon, a swordsman my level. The other is some mage named Stereos? Torvald said, really struggling with the pronunciation of Stereos’s name.
“Fuck Erebon, man, a pants-pissing fucking coward whose mother should have just accidentally dropped him in the well with the bathwater.” Red said with disgust.
“Tell us how you really feel.” Vrax quipped,
“Okay, so what about the mage?” Torvald asked.
“No fucking clue! But that's better than Mr. Pisses Himself first time he gets stabbed.” Red paused a moment. Then belted out “Stereos. Get your ass over here; I found you a team!”
A form practically swaddled in a plain brown robe stood up from a booth nearby and cautiously walked over to the loudmouth. He was a young man of average height and rather feminine features, a pair of spectacles barely perched on his nose. He immediately reminded Vrax of Tom, the town librarian; he even had a book in hand.
The man pushed his glasses up a bit. “Yes, I am looking for a team,” he said in a pleasant but very quiet voice.
“Are you useful? If I'm going to bet on these inbred fucks, they need a decent team member.” Red drunkenly half shouted.
A voice from a nearby booth rattled through their bones, a familiar pressure freezing them all in place as an inescapable sense of doom churned within them. “Red The lounge is a place for relaxation. If you disrupt me and my wife again, I am going to come over there to talk to you.” The unmistakable voice of Cedric calmly echoed out from a shrouded booth.
Red turned a slightly pale shade of panicked. “So…erghmm… Sorry, Cedric, it won't happen again. Enjoy your night with your wife, sir.” Red stammered out the bravado brought on by his drunkenness had completely fled him.
Vrax and Torvald shared an evil, knowing smile.
“Are you going to let that random nobody talk to you like that?” Vrax asked in mock confusion.
“Shut the fuck up! That's Cedric Glenn, also known as the fucking Dream Breaker. He could cut us all into pieces or put us into a terrified stupor we might not come back the same from if we piss him off enough.” Red urgently hissed out.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Torvald smiled and looked towards the booth holding his mom and dad. “I don’t know. Isn’t that guy just a retired guard somewhere now? He can’t be all that.” Torvald made a rude gesture towards his father's booth. At this point, several nearby adventurers were paying attention and anticipating a show.
Stereos looked between them for a moment. “When you are done with this dispute, if you still have the mental capacity and need for a team, I will be reading over there.” He gestured at a nearby booth and unceremoniously sat down and started reading again.
Red’s lady companion made her exit as he stood up, standing between Vrax, Torvald, and Cedric’s booth in a bit of a panic. “Don't piss him off for real!” he entreated.
“Meh, I bet the Dream Breaker isn’t much more than an old has-been!” Torvald boomed out loud enough for everyone in the lobby to cock a head curiously.
Red’s mouth flopped open like a fish for a moment. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid son of a whore-mongering giant! I don’t know what idiotic crevice your father spawned you from, but he should stuff you back there before you get us all killed!” Red blurted at Torvald, shoving him back a bit. He looked like he was about to punch him to shut him up.
Vrax grimaced. “Really, really poor choice of words, man…” Vrax said flatly, watching the rising shadow of Cedric loom as he stood up.
Cedric let out a weary sigh as he rounded the corner of his booth, his omnipresent armor replaced by a comfortable-looking surcoat with the stylized skull emblem of hopes end guard, though he still carried his massive sword. “Red, I asked nicely,” Cedric dangerously growled just before realizing who Red was talking to and stopping with a startled but amused look.
“This whore son is the one causing the disturbance. I am not a part of his morass of backwoods giant fucking stupidity,” Red tried to explain with a placating hand gesture.
The amused look that was peeking onto Cedric's face disappeared in a flash. “Red, would you like to repeat what you just said about my son and his lineage?” Red’s glass shattered in his hand as an unseen force caused his body to tighten in fear.
“Hi, Dad!” Torvald waved with a smile before just walking away to the waiting potential teammate.
Vrax gave Red the most, shouldn’t-have-made-so-many-fucking-jokes wink he could and walked to the table with Torvald and sat down across from the studious man, trying to ignore Red’s panicked explanations.
“So what can you do?” Vrax asked with a smile and an offered handshake.
Arthur Decius – Whispering Grotto
Arthur and his companions had utterly annihilated the goblins using his shining beacon of light as a bolstering force; it hadn’t even been a challenge. Arthur had simply deflected the first half-blinded goblin's blow with a well-practiced swirl of his longsword, bringing the tip through the goblin's eye and out the top with his counterblow. By the time he had whirled and bisected the next goblin, the twins had already skewered another goblin on their spears, both striking at the same time. After that they had thrown a torch into the cave and used it to blind and exterminate a handful of other goblins.
It was disappointing. Arthur wasn’t sure what level they were, but he needed to find something that could actually test him. They had ventured deeper into the cave after setting the goblin camp to the torch, as was the church’s standard with enemy camps. If there were monstrous survivors, you didn’t leave a burrow for them to come back to.
They trekked through the confusing tangle of fungi for another hour before coming to an overlook. Below them sat a war-torn camp. Their minder told them to set up camp and wait; there was some kind of abnormality within the dungeon that had to be dealt with. So they did; they waited a full day in mind-numbing boredom before being given the all clear after hearing some kind of titanic battle in the near distance down by the camp.
The camp was a ruined, blood-soaked mess; the ground heaved nonsensically into a treacherous tangle of crevices. The only light was the gently flickering green fireflies they could see wandering about the bodies aimlessly and the occasional glowing green tufted plant sticking out from the absolute plethora of corpses here.
“On your guards, we don’t know what is here,” Arthur said, taking the second row position behind the twins. He had heard the slightest sound of motion within the camp. The goblin corpses here made no sense. Some were melted, some were drained like a vampire had fought here, and most of the others looked like something had shredded them from the inside, blood pooling from ears, eyes, and mouths.
A goblin far ahead of them ran frantically from one body to the next, trying to grab the crude weapons from the corpses, a trail of fireflies sailing behind him. Just when it looked like he might get caught by the fireflies, something leapt from the darkness, catching him in a tangle of writhing vines and bloodspray.
“What in God’s name is that?” Solomon asked from the front, peering into the swarm of fireflies spiraling around and then into whatever brutal scuffle was happening ahead of them. The goblin started screaming.
“Prepare yourselves,” Arthur whispered. Everyone shielded their eyes as Arthur focused his talent across the fireflies, the dim green specks turning to green lanterns of light. Hundreds, no, thousands of horrifying spiderlike beings sailed through the air, almost invisible. Dozens pouring onto and then into the goblin. The creature it had been fighting with was holding it overhead in almost bored contempt, its singular black eye and bright yellow petaled mane staring at them now.
“That is not a goblin,” Nickolia said with a slight shudder to her voice as the flowering monster ripped the goblin in half with its horrible spine-covered tendrils, stuffing half of the torso into a vertical maw that ran down most of the length of its torso. It charged, still stuffing its maw as it loped towards them with a bizarre mix of root-like legs and uneven heaves of its body with its tendrils.
It crashed into the twins in a rabid writhing of thorny bone spines and gnashing of teeth on metal. Half of Solomon's shield was in its mouth, and it was trying to just pull him, shield and all, the rest of the way in. Salamin stabbed his spear clear through the plant horror's mouth to little effect; it simply wrapped the one free tendril it had around his open-faced helmet and yanked, thorns scraping across exposed flesh. His screams of pain as his face was slowly shredded spurred Arthur into action. Arthur lunged from the second line, his sword a glowing arc, and slipped between the struggling twins. His upward slice cleanly cut the tendril from Salamin, who stumbled back, ripping it free from his bleeding face.
Solomon pulsed a glowing energy down into his spear, and a smite detonated in the creature, searing a fist-sized hole into its mouth and mane. It screeched but kept flailing, tearing into armored joints and getting him farther into its maw, all the way up to his shoulders now. Arthur stepped in further and activated a skill. The light around them dimmed as he consumed it, trails of golden energy filtering through the air and streaming into his allies in a soothing glow. Wounds began to knit, and bodies were strengthened. He hacked away at its roots, then tendrils, cleaving them off one by one as Salamin tugged Solomon free from its maw. They all leapt away in a tangle as the last tendril was amputated, and Solomon sent it flying with a kick.
The creature writhed in rage on the ground a stride away, undulating in frustration, unable to get back to them with its limbs severed and tendrils ripped free.
“God above, what is that thing?” Arthur said, wiping blood from deep scrapes across his arms and face.
“Don’t know, never heard of anything like it.” Salamin stepped forward to finish the downed monster with a smite. But he paused as a nearby pack of dandelion seeds began slowly flickering in his direction. What he missed was the dandelion seeds rising from the body of the goblin within The Dungeonborn Maneater Daisy’s maw as they drifted upwards from its flailing form and streamed towards his turned back.
Arthur didn’t realize what was happening fast enough; he tried to use the last of the light to sear them from the air, but a dozen or so propelled themselves into Salamin’s skin, sinking into his neck, ears, and head from behind. Salamin began screaming, clawing at his scalp and cheeks, trying to get the flickers of light under his skin out as they began their awful journey through his blood.
“Titus!” Arthur called out to his squad's paladin minder; they needed help, and they needed it now, or Salamin was going to be shredded from inside like these goblins had.