Dungeon Item Shop

Everything is just really slow in that instant, as the three of them plummet.

For some reason, she’s counting the broom as one of them and she realizes that she’s doing it and she understands that it’s odd, but that isn’t really the thing to be focusing on right now, is it?

Feeling the wind surging through her hair, her heart feeling like it’s about to fly out of her throat, Fresh spirals downward, holding onto Basil and the broom as the three of them crash into the darkness of the hole.

Again, she isn’t sure if only a single second has passed or ten. She isn’t sure if the rushing stream of air blowing past her face has been doing so for a while now, or if the current she is hearing is still the very same wind that she started hearing with the first strike of her heart as she fell.

Her eyes wander around. In that oddly time-frozen second, she can still see the edge of the pit. They really did just start falling, apparently. Wow. Adrenaline really is a weird thing, huh?

She blinks, realizing that she is having all of these odd thoughts, all at the same time, all in this single second and not focusing on the real problem at hand here. Before her eyelids can reach the bottom, her body lurches, time returns to its normal flow and the three of them fall.

The fabric of her robe flaps around, she presses the broom against herself and tries to get it to fly and it does manage to hold her up for a second. But Basil is still falling with her and Fresh, still holding onto her, is yanked to the side as the full weight of the priestess’ limp body falls past them. Sure, she had done a lot of push-ups these last few weeks. A lot of sit-ups, a lot of things like that and sure, she had gotten a point of strength here or there, but it obviously isn’t enough.

In that single instant as she feels herself separating from the broom and from Basil at the same time, she realizes that she only has the strength to hold on to one of them. Either she holds onto the broom and lets Basil go, or she lets the broom go and falls down together with Basil.

This was really a stupid idea. Jubilee is going to get so mad at them. Especially at Basil. She can imagine it now, the scolding to come for not only going into the dungeon this deeply, but also for not even taking her lantern with her.

Fresh can’t help but wonder why she is thinking about something so out of place again, at a time like this?

Not even really having a choice to make in her heart of hearts, she lets herself fall off of the broom and clutches onto Basil as the two of them fall for some indiscernible amount of time, surrounded by nothing but emptiness.

It’s a little sad, but at the same time, she’ll be glad to not have to die alone this time. She just hopes that Basil stays asleep and doesn’t wake up before they land.

A thing comes through the darkness, falling along with them. An orb, hardly the width of a flake of snow. Fresh stares at it, perplexed as they sink. Another one appears, then another, then another, as if they were falling into the midst of a blizzard.

It’s cold. But the cold is almost unnatural to the underground that they find themselves in. The hole itself, the deep-stone walls radiate a natural warmth that stems from deep, deep below the ground. But at the same time, it is counteracted by this chill that stems from the out of place snow.

There is nothing around them but blackness, dotted with glowing particulate and then, still in free-fall, Fresh sees something impossible. A thing walks straight towards them, as if they were stuck at a steady height. But she can hear the wind rushing past her ears, she can feel it on her skin, she can feel the lurching of her body as they descend and yet, there it is, a thing that glows, walking on two feet straight towards them as if it were entirely ignoring the physics of the matter at hand.

“Five-hundred and seven,” says the entity, holding up a finger to catch one of the snowflakes as it walks towards them. It looks like a silhouette of a child, some long-eared creature, painted with an ethereally glowing white. “This single trap-combination has killed five-hundred and seven things since I made it,” says the entity, lifting its finger to blow the snowflake away. “Three-hundred four of those things were humans,” it adds. From the tone, it sounds like more of a ‘fun fact’ than any real, useful information.

The entity walks around, admiring the snow. Fresh blinks, realizing now that it’s the very same ‘thing’ that she had seen on that night, with the crabs. The thing that was standing outside of the dungeon-gate. “It’s a simple one-two, but you’d be surprised how many people just never really get a grasp for the basics.”

“Who are you?!” calls Fresh, hearing the wind rush past her. “Help!”

“I mean, that’s just one trap combo on floor-forty,” says the entity. “Floors ten to thirty though, that’s where the real fun is,” it explains, holding its hands out at its sides as it spins around in a circle, like an overjoyed child during the fall of the first winter’s snow.

“Floors twenty-five to thirty? Sixteen-thousand eight-hundred eighteen!” it says, overjoyed, continuing to spin. “Floor twenty! Twenty-thousand twenty-one!” says the thing, more than delighted. Its voice sounds almost ecstatic and it clenches its fists in front of its chest, turning around to face them.

“What are you talking about?!” asks Fresh.

“FLOOR TEN!” yells the thing, walking towards the two of them who are still in free-fall. It leans over forward, lifting a finger and touching a snowflake. It flies against her face and flies away, off into the distance. “Thirty-eight thousand three hundred fifty-two!” it says, almost shuddering as it speaks in a voice that is neither clearly masculine or feminine, but carries a far higher, ‘sharper’ tone than Jubilee’s.

Fresh isn’t sure if she’s crying or not, she probably is. But the wind of their fall is carrying all of the wet off of her face.

“Floor one,” says the creature. “Nobody ever dies on floor one,” it states, almost disappointed. But then its face turns into a wide, happy smile. “Nobody except the rats, of course! Always hoping to come into my home. They get greedy. I gave them the crabs, but they always want more,” says the creature. It presses its finger against her forehead. “You things always want more.”

“Two thousand eight hundred sixty-seven,” hisses the thing. “Little, scurrying rats that I get to take care of before they get old and come back a KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKING ON MY DOOR!” it screams. “A plague!”

Fresh tries to swing her arm out and to knock the creature away, but the moment of their still occurring fall prevents her from lashing out in any meaningfully impactful way. She bends a finger towards the thing, deciding that she’ll just have to curse it instead.

“GET AWAY!”

“YOU CAME INTO MY HOUSE!” yells the thing. The falling snow stops, the thousands of flakes hanging suspended in the air. Fresh’s and Basil’s momentum stops. Everything simply hangs as if life itself had just stopped for a moment. “GUESTS DON’T GET TO MAKE DEMANDS!”

The snowflakes all shatter apart, dissipating into a fine mist that begins to spread apart and to fill the room.

“You didn’t keep your end of the deal,” says the thing, glaring at her with wide, sickly eyes. “Look at the fucking mess you things made outside!”

“I took down the weathervane!” argues Fresh.

“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE WEATHERVANE, PERCHTA!” it screams, clutching its head. “WE HAD A DEAL!” Fresh blinks, staring at the thing for a while. “You and those other two RATS were supposed to clean up the mess! So we could get things back on track!” it argues. “Do you know how many days we’ve been waiting?! I do!” it exclaims. “I’ve been COUNTING!”

Fresh obviously has no idea what the thing is talking about. But she feels like if she admits to that, it will accuse her of playing dumb. It’s obviously very on edge. It said the name of the witch, Perchta. That means it knows about the others, right? Maybe those are the ‘two’ it was just referring to?

“The others are gone,” she says. “Spillaholle and Gauden went to the south.”

“THEY WHAT?!”

“They gave up,” affirms Fresh. “It’s just me now.”

“When?!”

Fresh looks around. “For a long time now.”

“RATS!” it screams. “RATS!”

“What’s wrong with rats?” asks Fresh. “I think they’re cute.”

The creature, its hands covering its face, peeps out from between two spread fingers. “How many?”

“Huh?”

“How far are you?” it asks, sounding very impatient and tense.

“Uh…” Fresh considers the question, trying to find out what its meaning is. Clearly, the thing has her mixed up in a sense. “We’ve been to the north and the west,” she says, making something up on the spot that she thinks sounds plausible. “We’re working here now.”

The fog, stemming from the evaporated snowflake begins to spread and thicken, filling the entire space with a nebulous glow.

“So you won’t mind if I ask Charcuterie then?”

Fresh tilts her head. “Uh, I mean. I don’t remember who that is, but if you mean from one of the other dungeons, ask for Mr. Mushroom,” says Fresh. “He’ll confirm it.”

“I’m not going to talk to that dick!” yells the entity, swiping its hand through the air. “Get back to work and next time you come over, bring a fucking GIFT!” it yells, rather perplexingly.

Before Fresh can respond, the fog overtakes them all, their descent begins to continue as they fall once more.

Fresh and Basil fly out of the dungeon-gate, crashing down onto the wooden walkway that leads towards it. Sighing a breath of relief, Fresh, still clutching onto Basil, looks up at Shamrock who was on his way out.

“Hi, Shamrock,” says an exhausted Fresh, her head resting back down against the boards.

Razmatazz

-) Huh? What? Plot movement in my story? Readers, it's more likely than you think. Warn your children today!

-) Also. Dungeon-master is a bit tense...

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