Chapter 18: Chapter 18: The Moments Before the Plunge

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Moments Before the Plunge

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Liara and I joined the throng of adventurers gathered outside, and it was a pretty awesome scene now that I wasn’t focused on stupid stuff like ‘Anal’ and his racist rants.

“Groovy,” I whistled.

Imagine leaving your fancy technological city behind for a LARP convention or medieval fair in the countryside, and you’d get a good picture of the scenery before me.

An atmosphere of excitement permeated the air as adventurers in armor high-fived each other or pushed each other around in typical roughhousing fashion. Although one could also catch an undercurrent of unease present in the fun. You could see it in the anxious looks of the apprentice class and the wear-and-tear of the journeyman class’s gear. 

Our apprentice class was separated into five groups of six with me, Dess, Scaredy Cat, Brunhilde the half-giantess, Lohgan the annoying wood elf, and the infernal kid making up Team Six.

“This is Morph,” Dess introduced us, “He’s our team tank.”

The scrawny-looking infernal didn’t quite fill in the scale mail armor he wore over his maroon gambeson, and the metal cap over his head looked like it was a size too big for him too, but the determined expression on his face told me all I needed to know about his reliability.

“Morpheus McMorbid”—he offered me one of his sharp-nailed hands—“Champion-in-training.”

“Champion, huh.” As I shook his hand, my mind drifted back to our earlier fight and how he endured my attacks longer than most of his fellow red cloaks did. “Glad to be working with you, pal.”

“Great, great, we’re all friends now”—tall and lanky Lohgan got right into my face just like another elf had done earlier—“and yet we know nothing about you apart from your penchant for showing off.”

Lohgan was sporting a green-tinted leather cuirass over his apprentice jacket that had holsters for throwing knives stitched to its front. There was also another holster for throwing knives around his left thigh. No blades were in them though as it was the proper etiquette for pre-dungeon meetings to keep all weapons stowed and out of sight.

“You’ve seen me cast magic, fight a whole group of warriors solo, and make potions that you’d pay big bags of sceattas to buy,” I enumerated. “I’d say you know more about me than I know about you, pal.”

Our other teammates were nodding in agreement, turning Lohgan into the odd-man-out he’d probably wanted to saddle on me. This wood elf was wilier than ‘Anal’ though. Knowing he was beaten, Lohgan quickly changed tact and introduced himself in a less confrontational manner than earlier.

“I’m Lohgan Fowling, future bladeslinger,” he said before jerking a thumb over at Brunhilde, “The little giant over there wants to be a soul bard—”

“I can speak for myself,” Brunhilde complained in a low-baritone voice that kind of reminded me of Doomsday. She leaned down so that our eyes were level and added, “Your magic... it’s strong.”

“It is,” I agreed, smiling.

She grinned pearly white teeth at me too. “Good enough for me.”

As Brunhilde moved away from our little circle, Lohgan called after her, “That’s all? You’re not worried he won’t be able to keep up with us?”

“Of course, he can keep up. He beat Doomsday, remember?” Dess chimed in. She floated over to my side and reintroduced herself once again while also adding, “I’m a shieldmaiden-in-training.”

“I know,” I chuckled. “But…”

I glanced at the pair of gossamer wings flapping behind her, which Dess noticed, and made her giggle afterward.  

“Don’t worry. I’m not foolish enough to neglect my natural fay gifts,” she promised. “No one ever said a shieldmaiden couldn’t do magic, right?” 

The shabby steel breastplate Dess wore over her maroon gambeson was all the protection she had. She didn’t even have pads for her elbows and legs. It was pretty light gear for a warrior, but I assumed this was because she wanted to make sure she could cast spells without worrying about ‘metal disruption’ affecting her.

Under this observation, I decided that Dess was worthy to share some of my cheats with. Because she wasn’t into conventional thinking. And that, in my opinion, was what made monsters like Divah so damn strong.

With her wings taking her over our heads, Dess followed after Brunhilde who’d gone ahead. Morph, who didn’t seem to like standing next to tall, annoying, pretty-boy Lohgan, was quick to make his exit and chase after her.

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“Everyone’s too godsdamn trusting of peculiar outsiders,” Lohgan sighed.

He eyed me suspiciously before leaving me behind as well. 

“Um, Lohgan’s a giant tool but he’s reliable in a scrap,” Scaredy Cat said.

He’d been standing there like a statue this whole time that I almost didn’t notice him.

“Points for being sneaky, pal,” I chuckled.

“Um, no, I don’t plan to specialize as an ‘illusionist’ or anything like that,” he said quickly. As if he didn’t want to be pegged as a future master of the deceptive arts. “I’m Bart Rosé, the, um, team healer.”

Scaredy Cat—he has yet to earn the right to be called Bart—wore the same mage apprentice robes I’d discarded but with one glaring difference. The belt around his waist now sported two heavy-duty first-aid kits and potion holsters. Around his neck was a golden chain that carried both his hearthstone and a sunstone with an etched rune that I recognized.

“The Ingwaz... You follow Freyr,” I deduced.

“Every future cleric needs a patron,” he smiled sheepishly. “Um, come on... I think it’s starting.”

I followed Scaredy Cat and my other teammates out of basecamp’s iron gates. Liara’s six-man team walked a short distance ahead of us, and I noticed they were all blue cloaks. I mentioned this to Scaredy Cat, and he explained that there were specialized teams in large raid groups that were meant to fill specific roles the raid leaders required.

“They’re probably a bombardment team that’ll take care of crowd control,” Dess chimed in. “But it’s weird for Liara Lockwood to be there.”

“Isn’t she a close-range mage?” Morph asked in a voice we could barely hear.

“Crazy she-elf,” Lohgan began, but Brunhilde was quick to come to Liara’s defense with, “She’s way better than you in a fight.” 

The pair of them began arguing again as we continued east of the camp, but the rest of us just chose to ignore them as it seemed like a regular thing for these two apprentices who kind of gave me a ‘will they or won’t they?’ vibe. A wood elf and a half-giant sitting on a tree—yeah, my mind went to weird places a lot.

Anyways, we trekked past gravestones and blackening earth into an abandoned cemetery that looked like it would’ve made an excellent set for a vampire movie.

“You hear that?” I asked.

“I don’t hear anything,” Dess replied.

“Exactly. Not even the hoot of an owl,” I replied.

“Thanks for making me feel even more creeped out,” Scaredy Cat chimed in.

“Happy to oblige,” I chuckled, while Dess giggled beside me.

Soon enough, we arrived at the very center of the cemetery where the miasma grew thickest. The rest of our raid group gathered outside a rundown mausoleum whose stone surface was caked in black goo. Embossed in gold over the entrance was an indiscernible name. Beyond this entrance, narrow steps led down into darkness. The miasma pouring out of that dark entrance brought an unnatural chill to the air that caused some of our numbers to shiver.

“This is the grave of some big-shot human politician who’d caused a lot of trouble in the early days of the twentieth century by human reckoning,” Lieutenant Doyle explained from his spot at the head of our fifty-man expedition group comprising thirty apprentices, twenty journeymen, a master, and our LEPRCON guide. “The locals hated this bastard—and this—this dungeon’s the result of that hatred spilling out into the world.”

‘Hate’ might have been too weak a word from what I could read of the angry graffiti defacing the mausoleum’s walls.

“May the Morrigan throw you into the deepest, blackest pit from which you’ll find no succor or peace,” I read aloud.

“...and make you eat poison for eternity, you völva lover,” Liara finished reading for me. Her team was in the line beside mine.

“Holy moly, that wasn’t a very nice thing to write,” Dess complained.

“Wicked burn, though,” I said.

The chime of several notifications reached my ears, and we all checked our status bars to discover that we’d all received a message from Mistress Lorelai Lindisfarne. Tapping on the message revealed some interesting quest details.

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