Dirty Rotten Magic

We had just finished our spectacular, mind-blowing night performance in the town of Crestville, our hearts still pounding with the thrill of the show. The two moons hung in the indigo sky like watchful, ancient sentinels, their silver glow caressing the stage and lending an ethereal aura as though they, too, were enchanted by our art. The performance had been an exquisite tapestry of magic and skill—a symphony of daring feats and subtle illusions. I couldn't help but relish every moment, and the thunderous standing ovation from the crowd confirmed that our efforts had transcended mere entertainment.

This show had taken place the day after our arrival in this sprawling town, immediately following our hasty departure from the beleaguered way station fort, where we had endured a vicious attack. Though I was relieved to be free of the constant, exhausting repair work, I understood the troupe's fervor in tending to the fort—it had been nothing short of a lifesaver in a maelstrom of chaos.

Crossville, with its solid stone walls and deep, shimmering moat, was nestled amid a forest that seemed to stretch endlessly—a vivid reminder of the wild, uncharted territories I had only glimpsed in passing. I found myself pondering whether this entire world was but one colossal woodland or if other landscapes, with their own distinct moods and secrets, lay hidden beyond the trees.

After our enthusiastic local advertisements, we had taken to the central market square, where the stage itself was a rustic construct—a layered assembly of wooden boards repurposed from market stalls, each board whispering stories of commerce and community. On this particular evening, I had cast tens of magical lights into the air. They hovered like tiny, enchanted fireflies, interconnected by shimmering, silken strands of magical energy that resembled glistening spider webs suspended in the night. The sight was mesmerizing, an ever-changing constellation that stirred childhood wonder in my heart. Eigosh, ever the pragmatic visionary, had beamed with thoughts of the savings that a magician's presence might bring to our troupe, leaving me to muse over the true value of our mystical talents.

My segment of the performance unfolded with thrilling unpredictability. I had beckoned several eager volunteers from the crowd, my voice imbued with hypnotic cadence. With practiced precision, I induced a trance, and as the volunteers began quacking like ducks, the startled laughter and wide-eyed astonishment of the onlookers washed over me like a tide of validation. It was a delicious reminder of how deeply I enjoyed the delicate con of mentalism—a playful dance between deception and delight.

As the rapturous applause faded into the cool night air, it was time for the final act of our routine: collecting the coins and trinkets that testified to our success. With a wooden bowl clutched in my hand, I approached the first family—a father with the weathered face of a dedicated tradesman, his features etched with a lifetime of hard work. He gently handed over strips of copper to his little daughter, who, with a timid smile and rosy cheeks, stepped forward. The coins clinked with a metallic melody as she dropped them into my bowl, and I returned her shy gesture with a warm smile. Before she could retreat into her father's protective embrace, I made a small, smooth stone appear from behind her ear and presented it as a wondrous gift. Their faces lit up with pure, unadulterated marvel—a reaction that never failed to stir a sense of magic in my soul.

The rest of the collection proceeded with a blend of convivial nods and polite smiles. Yet, amid the general warmth, I noted a few moments of cautious retreat. Some townsfolk edged away, clutching peculiar amulets as if to ward off an unseen danger—a fleeting suspicion that perhaps they believed I possessed mind-control spells. It was an oddity that only deepened the mystery of this enchanted world.

Once the crowd had dispersed, the troupe converged to hand over our earnings to the big boss man. The promise of freedom until noon the following day filled us with a buoyant anticipation. Eigosh bid us farewell as he strode off toward the inn where the troupe would lodge. Through his extensive contacts, we had secured our stay in exchange for a performance—a familiar arrangement among traveling troupes, who often exchanged insights about the best local contacts and safe havens. I couldn't help but wonder if some secretive entertainers' guild existed, sharing whispered intelligence among its members.

Lost in these musings, I was startled by the approach of Xaset, his face alight with mischievous glee. "You're ready for a bit of dungeon diving, then?" he asked, his tone playful yet laced with excitement.

"Sure," I replied, my curiosity piqued as I speculated that he meant a bout of intense combat practice within the dungeon's murky corridors—a perfect opportunity to refine my spellcasting, for in this world, practice was the only route to mastery.

"I've seen you practicing that new fire battle spell," he continued, his voice carrying both admiration and challenge. "There's nothing like the raw chaos of combat to sharpen one's skills. Just give me a few minutes to change into something a bit less flamboyant."

With that, he ambled over to the cart where his belongings were stashed in worn trunks, retrieving a set of rugged clothes that hinted at many a hard-fought battle. While he was busy preparing, Sharro glided up from behind the stage, her approach as smooth as silk and her smile inviting. She halted so near that I felt the warmth of her presence permeate the cool night air, her expression radiating a familiarity that had grown steadily over our recent adventures.

"Are you doing anything tonight, handsome?" she purred softly, her tone imbued with playful promise.

I replied with an innocent grin, "We're going dungeon diving for some combat experience. Do you want to come along?"

Her brows knit in slight disappointment, and she pouted just enough to be endearing. "Not exactly what I had in mind. I was hoping for something more intimate, just me and you, but I suppose I can tag along." Moving even closer, she rested her hand delicately on my sleeve. "Will you split the money evenly with little me?"

I deflected gently, "You'll have to talk to Xaset, as he's in charge of that side of this little enterprise."

"Oh," she murmured, her disappointment soft but palpable. "I'll just get changed, and we can be off then."

As she departed, I lingered on the wooden stage, practicing the delicate art of channeling magical energies into a 'Flash Bolt'—a spell that opened and closed the hidden pathways of magic within me. I had come to appreciate these moments of quiet practice, realizing that while the public rarely appreciated a blazing yellow bolt of fire crackling around an arm's length, the personal mastery of magic was its own reward. I flexed my "magical muscles" discreetly, ensuring that my practice remained separate from the spectacular displays intended for an audience.

Before long, my two companions returned together, their friendly banter filling the air with laughter. Xaset chuckled heartily at something Sharro had said, his laughter ringing out with an exaggerated warmth. "Can you believe what this lovely lady wants to do?" he remarked within earshot of my solitude.

"What's that?" I inquired, curiosity mingling with amusement.

"She wants to split the earnings evenly," he explained, his smile broadening, "even though she knows you're going to shoulder most of the work tonight."

Sharro playfully swatted his shoulder. "And what about you, Mister High-and-Mighty? Weren't you planning to claim half when he's doing all the heavy lifting?"

"I'm the guidance for this trip," Xaset retorted with a knowing grin.

"Then I'll provide guidance too," she shot back, her tone light yet challenging.

"We'll see," Xaset replied, "Shall we go, then? The night is not getting any younger."

Sharro's gaze then shifted toward me as she teased, "Aren't you going to change? Look at that plain shirt and trousers—you've been wearing them for weeks, and where are your shoes?"

I shrugged, admitting, "I really don't have much else to wear. Besides, I can always repair them with magic if they get damaged."

"Maybe I need to take you shopping when we have a moment," she said with a coy glance, hinting that perhaps a touch of style would suit me better.

––

The entrance to the town's dungeon loomed ahead—a foreboding building resembling a castle keep. Fortunately, it stood just off the square where we had performed, a brief walk in the cool, crisp evening air filled with the earthy scent of dew and distant bonfires. Xaset led us to the massive structure, its secure wooden doors studded with iron bars that glinted in the moonlight. The building was a solid two-story bastion of stone, its massive blocks as if hewn by a giant's hand. Oddly, the edifice exuded the air of a prison, meticulously built to contain something secret and dangerous within.

As we plodded across the square, a contented smile on my face, I observed other armored adventurers streaming in and out of the entrance. Stoic guards flanked the doorway, though their attention was more devoted to savoring the aroma of hearty meat pies and sipping ale from jugs left casually at their feet than to monitoring the passersby. The savory, spiced scent of the pies mingled with the cool night air—a delightful distraction that hinted at the town's simple pleasures.

Inside the stone keep, we passed through a sturdy gatehouse and a heavy portcullis before entering a sprawling hall. The vast space was alive with activity as more vigilant guards patrolled its perimeter, their watchful eyes following every newcomer. The hall resembled a bustling counting-house, its numerous tables laden with adventurers queued by the guards. At each table, treasures and creature remains were methodically displayed; adventurers presented piles of miscellaneous items, and clerks made precise notes while methodically accepting their due toll.

"The dungeons in the towns and cities always take a cut of whatever you collect," Xaset murmured in a low voice, his tone laced with disdain. "It's not like they do anything for it. This is why it's always better to venture into a wild dungeon, where you keep everything that's rightly yours."

I found his remark strangely paradoxical—someone who profited from taxing others' hard-earned gains commenting on property rights. Yet, in that moment, I too resented the thought of an unseen hand seizing what was mine under the guise of bureaucratic duty.

Surveying the room, I recognized the all-too-familiar bureaucracy of a government exacting its tribute—a timeless system that seemed unchanged, even in this fantastical realm.

As we advanced toward the dungeon, we passed unimpeded by the tax collectors, whose interest lay solely with those exiting and displaying their loot. At the far end of the hall, a massive iron door guarded the entrance to a special chamber—a stone-vaulted space with towering columns that held up the vaulted ceiling. Along one level, narrow slits in the stone allowed archers to perch and survey the room for potential threats. Numerous columns bordered the room, each crowned with an open door that led to a spiral staircase, descending into the mysterious dungeon below. What struck me most were the buzzing magical shields suspended before each doorway, each one radiating a subtle yet potent energy. I counted about ten such staircases, and from some of them emerged battle-worn adventurers, their armor battered and streaked with fresh blood—a stark reminder of the dungeon's perils.

I had not known what to expect of the dungeon hall, but this elaborate, almost labyrinthine setup was far beyond my initial imaginings.

Xaset noticed the look of astonishment on my face and, misinterpreting it as uncertainty, said, "Yes, it is only a small dungeon, but it should do for our purposes tonight. What level do you want to tackle?"

Not entirely understanding his meaning, I replied, "I need to practice a level twenty-four spell, so whatever's best for that."

He scanned the hall, his eyes pausing on the stone archways above each spiral staircase. Carved into these arches were markings indicating the recommended skill level for each route. After a brief inspection, he led us to one marked 'Levels 25-30.' "This should do," he declared as we stepped into the spiral stairway winding down into the earth. "It's a bit higher, but you should manage—it's only one level above your spell's requirement."

Passing through a shimmering magical shield, we descended into the cool, solid stone of the staircase. For the next ten minutes, the steady echo of our footsteps accompanied the soft hum of ancient magic, as we spiraled downward into the depths of the underground world.

Sharro's voice broke the silence as she remarked, "This dungeon design is peculiar. Normally, you'd have one stairway connecting all levels."

Xaset offered his insight, "I think it's because the levels aren't aligned vertically like in most dungeons. I bet there are hidden tunnels and stairways linking each level."

I could only nod in agreement, still absorbing the intricacies of our descent, until we reached a large stone landing. From this plateau, a natural cave pathway—worn smooth by time and unseen currents—stretched before us. As we stepped onto the natural rock, it felt as though we had passed through another, more potent magical shield, one that resonated with the wild pulse of nature.

I summoned a sizeable magical light to pierce the deepening gloom, its glow pushing back the encroaching darkness that seemed to claw at the edges of the spiral path. The stone walls, polished smooth by an ancient underground river, glimmered in the light. In the distance, a rhythmic drip-drip-drip echoed, as if the cavern itself were slowly exhaling its hidden memories.

Rounding another jagged corner, the cave burst open into a vast cavern. Our illuminated cone of light stood as a small bastion amid overwhelming darkness. "I really hate these dark levels," Sharro confessed, her voice tinged with unease as she swiftly gripped her spear, scanning the oppressive shadows with tense, watchful eyes. "It just gives me the creeps not knowing what lurks out there. I wonder what monsters are hiding."

Before I could tease her about her evident apprehension, a sudden flapping noise shattered the tense silence, sending a shiver racing down my spine. In an instant, a giant bat-like creature erupted from the blackness. Its enormous, leathery wings spread wide as it screeched—a deafening, piercing sound that made the very air tremble. With a red, gaping maw and obsidian wings, it descended upon us like a living nightmare.

"Time to do your…" Sharro began, her voice resolute, as she prepared for combat.

Without hesitation, I gathered the latent magical energies swirling around us, channeling them through my body in a burst of practiced skill. In less than a heartbeat, I cast the 'Flash Bolt' spell. A streak of yellow fire, thin yet potent, surged from my hand, striking the creature's wing. The impact was explosive—the flames danced ferociously around the bat, setting its flesh ablaze. I watched, both in awe and relief, as the creature tumbled from the sky like a meteor of burning ruin, its fiery demise filling the air with the acrid scent of scorched meat and singed hair.

"Two more, to your right!" Xaset bellowed urgently.

I shifted my gaze to the right, catching sight of two additional bat creatures swooping in like dark harbingers of doom. The first bolt took precious seconds to form, and as it enveloped one bat in a brilliant flare of fire, the other creature closed in fast. Summoning my remaining strength, I launched another bolt just in time—its searing magic intercepting the creature's razor-sharp claws before they could tear into me. The second bolt ignited with a furious brilliance, saving me from a potentially devastating blow.

For roughly twenty minutes, the relentless barrage of my magic clashed with the bat onslaught. The creatures attacked in unpredictable pairs and occasionally in menacing trios. Amidst the chaos, my companions provided rapid-fire directions while I methodically blasted away the threats. Soon, the ground was strewn with a charred mosaic of smoldering bat bodies, a testament to our fierce battle. I couldn't help but marvel at how, despite the ferocity of the attack, my magical power had not yet waned.

Curious about my seemingly inexhaustible reserves, I took a brief moment to consult my stats:

  Name:  Chrix  Top Skill: Blade weapon use

  Character Total Level: 28

  Major  Strength: 11  Fortitude: 11  Agility: 11

  Major  Intelligence: 170  Charisma: 16  Knowledge: 10

  Minor  Shield: N/A  Magical Power: 785  Stamina: 65  Carry Limit: 32

  Regen Sec  Shield: N/A  Magical Power: 32  Stamina: 2.1  Carry Limit: N/A

Astonishingly, I had not yet experienced the dreaded depletion of magical energy. Buoyed by this result, I continued my relentless assault until the last of the bat colony ceased its attack. Surveying the scorched clearing, I counted roughly fifty burnt, smoldering bat carcasses—a grim gallery of our victory, the final creature still flickering with dying embers.

"Good for starters," Xaset remarked as he began gathering the remains into his inventory. "You should get faster as you practice. It was close a few times, though I'm surprised you didn't run out of magical power."

"I've been putting all my points into intelligence," I explained, a hint of pride in my voice. "That's given me a higher magical regeneration rate."

"Are you nuts?" Sharro interjected sharply. "What about your fortitude? If you skew all your points into intelligence, your personal shield is nearly non-existent. You could die easily with such a weak defense."

Before Xaset could offer a retort, I interjected, "I'll be fine," my tone steady with reassurance.

She shook her head, muttering, "Oh, how the stupid always die young. A skewed build is no good if you're dead." Her voice carried a mix of concern and exasperation, as though she expected me to fall at the slightest misstep.

"You are here to get better," Xaset stated calmly. "Shall we push further into this level?"

We pressed onward into the pervasive darkness. I caught fragments of their conversation—a heated exchange where Xaset insisted, "It's really none of your business what he does," to which Sharro responded with a sharp intake of breath before falling silent. Despite the tension, I felt a gentle warmth at the thought that someone cared so deeply about my well-being—a sentiment foreign yet profoundly moving for someone who had grown up on the hard streets.

My reflective moment was abruptly interrupted by a series of high-pitched squeaks echoing from the gloom. Before I could fully process the sound, five rat-like creatures—each the size of a dog, with grotesquely oversized, jagged, and diseased teeth—scampered into our circle of light. Their appearance was hideous, far removed from anything one would ever consider pettable.

Reacting instantly, I wove another magical spell. A flash of yellow fire erupted from my hand and struck the lead rat in the head. Rather than being instantly incinerated, the creature's fire was absorbed by a sudden, brilliant blue flash from an energy shield encasing its body. "Great," I thought wryly. "It sure has a higher energy shield than I do."

Without giving the creature time to recover, I cast a second fire spell. This time, the bolt wrapped the rat in a searing embrace, igniting it fully until it crumpled, consumed by sooty yellow flames and a familiar, pungent odor of burning flesh and hair. As the remaining rats surged forward, leaving me with no choice, I unsheathed the ax at my side. Moving with swift, deliberate strikes, I slashed through the frenzied attackers, cleaving them in half with calculated precision.

When the final rat lay defeated, a sarcastic voice rang out from the shadows, "I thought you were here to practice your magic spellwork, not your homework. I know you can swing an ax from your forest attacks, but you'll never improve if you never use your magic."

"What do you expect me to do when they all come at me at once?" I shot back, still catching my breath.

"What every magician does—deploy a tactic to control the monsters' movement or bolster a decent personal shield. Sometimes, you have to run or rely on other talents before you master the spells you need," the voice replied pointedly.

His words rang true. If I were to truly become a master magician, I'd need to develop spells that could control the very creatures that attacked. For now, I could only depend on my fragile shield and natural healing abilities. In a flurry, I recast my weak shield spell several times over—each casting summoning a faint, blue luminescence that enveloped me in protective magical waves. With renewed determination, I navigated the dungeon using solely my magic, though occasionally the creatures managed to breach my defenses, leaving superficial wounds mostly along my legs. This method of magical combat was a stark contrast to the visceral, axe-wielding brutality I had grown accustomed to.

After about two arduous hours traversing the labyrinthine darkness of these smooth, carved-out caves and caverns, we agreed it was time to retrace our steps. The journey back was punctuated by the constant threat of reappearing monsters—creatures that regenerated in eerie persistence. At the end of the cave, just before the exit, a smaller contingent of monstrous bats attacked once more.

Finally, as we ascended the winding staircase toward the surface, I walked alongside Sharro and asked quietly, "What is it with this place? It seems that the monsters reappear after we kill them."

She regarded me with wide, incredulous eyes, "That is how dungeons work. When you kill something in their depths, it's only a matter of time before they regenerate. I've heard there's some kind of controlling mind organizing the dungeon, but that's all I know. I've always used dungeons for the loot and ingredients to sell. I leave the mysteries to the kingdom's magicians."

"Loot?" I queried as I climbed the steps beside her.

"You get loot mostly at the end of a level once you've completed it. There's usually a boss monster, and when you defeat it, you earn something of value," she explained, casting a concerned glance in my direction. "You really need to invest some stat points into your fortitude—the personal shield is crucial. It not only prevents death but also minimizes injuries. Magical healing can be very expensive. Promise me you'll consider increasing your fortitude?"

I nodded, inwardly resolving to heed her advice, for it was a promise to the beautiful, well-meaning woman who cared so much about me.

"It's for your own good," she said softly, her shy smile lighting up her features.

By the time our conversation ended, we found ourselves back in the hall with the remaining stairways. The space was nearly empty now, save for a few drowsy guards leaning on their spears in one quiet corner.

"Let's get the taxation over with," Xaset grumbled, clearly irritated. "There's nothing I like more than surrendering my hard-earned bounty."

"It's not like you lifted a finger for what we collected," Sharro retorted with a smirk.

"That does not matter, as I know that they certainly didn't," he replied.

We re-entered the taxation room—a cramped space crowded with counting tables and ancient trunks. Only a handful of weary adventurers remained, each stationed at a table as a bored clerk droned on. One of the guards pointed us toward a spare table, its surface a patchwork of scratches and dents from years of heavy use. The clerk, with a monotone that matched the dull gleam in his eyes, said simply, "Place anything that you gained from the dungeon on the table."

One by one, the creatures we had felled over the last few hours emerged from Xaset's inventory. "Place each of your hands over the crystal," the clerk instructed in his flat, mechanical voice.

As we complied, the crystal emitted a soft green glow, and the clerk meticulously counted each type of creature we had collected. Finally, he deducted twenty percent of our earnings, placing the sum into a wooden storage box that seemed to magically absorb the items into its depths. With a curt nod, he indicated that we were free to go.

As we left the hall, Xaset grumbled irritably, "That was much higher than the normal tax on dungeon earnings."