Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Forty-Four

By Monday night, Logan and the Terrible Twelfth had finished the majority of both of their Thanrass dungeons. They’d dubbed the intro dungeon MothalMania XXXIX, while the real dungeon had the unwieldy name of The Fungal Candy Clown Caterpillar Slam Fest. Sort of a work in progress title.

Logan ascended the steps to get the sands of the coliseum. There were eighteen staircases down, but they all invariably connected to different sections of MothalMania XXXIX. From there, all roads led to the mock “inner sanctum,” which looked about as scary as an animated Halloween special designed for toddlers. The products they’d bought from Googazon had the same quality as a discount Halloween store in Topeka on November 2nd. It was a Party City insect dungeon on a shoe-string budget.

Ninety-nine percent of the boxes had arrived on a pallet.

However, box 51—components of their fake pedestal—had been sent in a separate shipment. Logan was hurrying to meet the Googazon delivery driver.

Logan wasn’t looking forward to the experience. The driver, Edward Guildenstern, was… odd. Crossing realities couldn’t be easy even for someone who was relatively sane. Throw on top the GPS tracking the drivers, measuring their stops, and the result was severe psychosis.

Poor Eddie G needed time off—and a fresh toilet—desperately.

Logan watched as the Googazon truck appeared on the other side of the arena. The vehicle changed colors and logos at random intervals, but there was always some type of orange hue, and there was always some kind of manic smiling logo.

The churning wheels threw up rooster tails of sand as it careened around the coliseum. The van managed to either avoid the entrances or it just soared right over them because it was going so fast. At the last minute, Eddie G slammed on the breaks, sending up a cloud of sand and dust into the air.

Logan’s first instinct was to cough, though he didn’t exactly have lungs anymore.

Eddie G came storming out of the driver’s seat. He was a wire-thin pixyish man with wild gray hair and an even wilder gray beard. A pair of pearlescent butterfly wings protruded from his back, but they’d seen better days. One hung limply down his back like a broken antenna, the other looked like it had gone ten rounds with a rabid Grizzly bear. He was dressed in filthy jeans and a brown work shirt with his name tag stitched onto the chest. He jogged around to the back of the ever-changing truck. For a second it was blue, with an orange logo, but then it turned orange with a green logo.

The driver threw open the door and several flies the size of eagles came buzzing out. A skeleton arm reached out, but the driver knocked it back with a wave of his hand. Eddie G seized a box and had to wrestle it away from neon green tentacles. The delivery guy slammed the door with his hip. He spun with a box in his hand.

“Got an order, box 51 of 51 for Logan Murray,” he croaked, sounding more than half exhausted.

Logan leaned on his staff. “That would be me.”

Guildenstern tossed it to him. “Here you go. You’re a mushroom guy, aren’t you?”

Logan nodded. “That’s right. Is that a problem?”

“Not if you don’t believe the Spore Lord conspiracies,” the driver said with a shrug. “I have to run. Googazon tracks me, man. Always tracking me. The Warning Bell is right, brother. Big tech will destroy us all! That or the Spore Lords. Or maybe they are one and the same. Who knows. The Warning Bell, that’s who!”

He then charged back into his truck and took off with the engine screaming. He drove into the wall of the coliseum and vanished. All things considered, that wasn’t even in the top ten strangest things he’d seen since coming to Shadowcroft.

Logan took the box down one of the many entrances and into one of the hallways that led to the central chamber. <Hey guys, the last package finally arrived.>

<Bring it to the MothalMania 39’s inner sanctum,> Inga sent. <We’ll put the final touches on this atrocity and call it done.>

She wasn’t wrong. The place really was a crime against properly designed dungeons. It was basically the steamy romance Harry Potter/Star Wars Crossover fan-fic of dungeons.

The hallway Logan walked down had cheap paper spiders on springs dangling from the ceiling. One thing about Googazon, they had the ultimate sticky tape. Logan went through a door with a The Silence of the Lambs poster taped to the wood. There was the death’s head plushie moth waiting on the other side. So it kinda fit. Although, for being called MothalMania, there were surprisingly few moths. Marco had come up with the name based on a bit of info from Logan, who’d been a bit of a Triple H fan growing up. Both Inga and Treacle insisted that “Mothal” wasn’t a word, but Marco pointed out that it wasn’t a dungeon, so it was okay.

On the other side of the door, cheap plastic bats dropped from the ceiling connected by fishing line.

Logan hurried through a room where there were crepe paper insects hanging from twine. Ugh, twine.

There weren’t just insects and spiders, but there were some bats as well. And some worms. A smiling mummy and a few sad and deflated jack-o-lantern balloons.

There was one natural cavern room with Styrofoam grave markers that had the normal dumb puns on them.

Barry M. Deep

Gil O’Teen – A tisket, a tasket, his head was in the basket.

Noah Scape – He always felt trapped.

Here Lies Uncle Ned – We found his body but not his head.

Izzy Dead – Um…He’s buried, so I sure hope so!

Dee Composing – Wife, Mother, Gardener

Here Lies Gertrude Snell — Some thought she was sweet, some thought she was swell, but we all know that when she died she went straight to hell.

Fluffy — Well, not anymore.

On the walls of the graveyard cavern were your stereo-typical ghost posters with ridiculously friendly specters, winking at the dungeoneers. They’d also added a few false walls in the cave, which contained some remote-controlled surprises. That cavern just might give Lou Shador and his Glow Brigade some pause. That was the hope at any rate.

Logan traipsed through the graveyard cavern and down a wide staircase where Marko was putting the finishing touches on a trap. The goat man had some big foam spheres and some large pieces of plastic. The DIY giant centipedes would have pipe cleaner legs and mandibles made from plastic forks. Because why not?

Inga had not wanted to buy plastic silverware—as a tableware scholar, she found the existence of disposable eating utensils shocking—but, in the end, the price and convenience just couldn’t be beat.

The plan was to put the homemade centipedes into a false ceiling. Treacle had spray painted cardboard and then had wedged it into the cracks on the walls. It wasn’t going to fool anyone. Even the greenest dungeon diver in the universe would see through their poorly concealed traps and shoddily constructed minions.

Marko was grinning like a fool. “I made five of these guys. I don’t see how they’re much different from Inga’s bugs. I mean, mine look about as scary.”

He jiggled one at Logan.

Logan closed one eye. “Uh, that’s really not true. I mean. The mandibles don’t work. Like, they can’t possibly hurt the raiders.”

“That’s your problem.” Marko did more jiggling. “You’re always throwing ‘facts’ in my face.” The goat man air quoted the word. More air quotes followed. “And ‘objective reality.’ And ‘truth.’ Whatever. Come and help me, buddy. You’re lucky I’m patient.”

“I’m so lucky.” Logan said. Marko had been a little salty since Logan had ascended to A-Class. Logan couldn’t help but worry about his friend.

He and Marko put the five centipedes on top of the five Googazon boxes, and then wedged the cardboard into place.

As they were leaving one section came lose and a centipede toppled out onto them.

A second later, though, four long, fungal tentacles shot out of Logan’s back and grabbed the flattened box. They wedged the cardboard into place before reaching out to give Marko a hug before they disappeared back into Logan’s back.

Marko’s mouth fell open. “Wait a minute, you have tentacles now? Not fair! I have tentacles! That’s my whole shtick.”

<No,> Logan countered. <You summon eldritch horrors that have tentacles. You basically just have a hat. And I would’ve showed you earlier, but you seemed more interested in getting a drink than in checking out all my upgrades.>

Inga’s voice broke through. <What are you two talking about?>

Treacle answered with a sigh. <They’re talking about Logan’s new Hyphae Tentacles. Now that we have some time, I can send you some information on them.>

<Really!> Logan still wanted to go through the rest of his upgraded skills with his friends.

A second later, they were all bearing witness to Logan’s new A-Class fungal form ability.

<<< ۝ >>>

Hyphae Tentacles: Spawn four tentacles from your back that act as their own self-aware organism with but a single job… to have your back! They aren’t sentient, but they do have a sense of humor. Mostly they are there to deflect incoming attacks but can wield crude weapons in a pinch. You can’t actively control them, but you can enjoy their witty hijinks.

Available at: A-Class

<<< ۝ >>>

Marko exploded with enthusiasm. “I love witty hijinks! I’m wondering if I’ll be better friends with your back tentacles than I am with you!”

<What did Marko say?> Inga asked. <He’s not using his telepathy. Why doesn’t he like the telepathy?>

<Because he likes being difficult,> Logan sent.

Marko frowned for a minute, looking dark and troubled. “It’s more than that. Talking let’s me keep some distance. But it’s fine.” He then brightened, smiling his usual smile. “Having tentacles is awesome. You’ll see. Hands are so overrated.”

Logan laughed, but he was touched by Treacle’s thoughtfulness. “Aw, Treacle, you’re the best. You looked up my skills.”

<Inga and I did,> the minotaur sent. <We never had time to go over them like we wanted. Do you want to show Marko your updated spore halos?>

They still had to set up the fake sanctum’s pedestal “trap,” but that wasn’t going to take long at all. They could talk about the last of his abilities after.

<Yeah, we’ll do it in a minute. Marko and I are on our way.>

Marko stepped back to admire their work on the fake centipede trap. “You know. It’s not bad. Maybe using Apothos to craft items is a thing of the past. We’ll just buy stuff on online.”

“Some of us aren’t rich,” Logan pointed out.

“Well, everyone should be. It’s freakin’ awesome.”

Logan and Marko walked down to the inner sanctum, which was protect by two of those inflatable flapping men which most often stood sentry at used car lots and cheap restaurants with questionable grades from the Health Department. They’d drawn some fangs on them with sharpies. Treacle had come up with the generators, which used Fulgur Apothos to power the very cheap and very loud fans.

Marko stood in front of the inflatable men, completely entranced. “What are these called again?”

Inga had read all the descriptions. <Sometimes they’re called tube men, but they have many names—air dancer, or sky dancer, or fan dancer. Originally, they were called Tall Boys. They’re basically sections of fabric tubing. The fans blow up through the tubing which forces them to flail and dance. I think we should call them flailers.>

“Can we talk?” Marko asked. “The telepathy kinda freaks me out. It’s like at any minute, you could check out my Googazon order history. Trust me, it’s best for all parties if we avoid that. It’s where angels fear to tread.”

Inga and Treacle were by the fake pedestal, which they’d built out of more Googazon boxes, all taped them together with Industrial Strength Duck Tape. Not Duct Tape. Duck Tape. Made by ducks, for ducks, to restrain as many or few angry ducks as desired. There was nothing stronger or stickery in the multiverse. They used more spray paint to try and make them look like stacked rocks. Key word there was “try.”

Logan came forward with the last of the boxes. Inside were various glass spheres, which in this case were going to be the loot of the dungeon. Instead of priceless gems, they had cheap Christmas ornaments. Logan bounded up, effortlessly drifting toward the ceiling where he tied the fishing wire to a series of hooks Treacle had screwed into the rock.

Marko retrieved the Halloween trick-or-treat claw bowl from box 51. Reach into the bowl and the claw descends. It was tricky to get the ornaments between the bowl and the claw.

Once they were done, though, they had a silly trap in an even sillier dungeon.

Inga’s antennae were pulled in tight. “Should we include at least one real trap and monster in the MothalMania 39? Perhaps we could add a single Lunar Horror Creation? Or more moths. We just don’t have that many moths.”

Marko came and patted her shoulder. “No way. This is the ultimate psychological weapon. They will be looking for moths the entire time. They’ll be so on edge that by the time you hit Treacle’s sorting room, they’ll be reckless. Then we’ll get ‘em. This is all just pretty bait for our pretty prey. I have to say, that Grand Jester lady is too cute.”

Inga frowned. “She’s completely evil.”

“You can be evil and cute,” Marko shot back. “Take me for example. Very handsome. And I’m so dark, baby. I bleed ink.”

“I could bleed oil if I wanted,” Treacle put in, “that or syrup depending on where they hit me. Also, I included a secret door that also leads to the sorting chamber. It won’t matter if they use the stairs under the pedestal or the secret door. It matters to us, however, because resetting the claw bowl is a pain.”

“Agreed,” Logan said. “No, I think we’re ready. I think this is going to work. This Lou Shador guy is facing us at our very best. We’ve never been tougher.”

They’d been working hard, but none of them were tired. Because they’d saved up very bit of Apothos for basically five rooms—five levels of the Fungal Candy Clown Caterpillar Slam Fest, which in some ways used the logic of their very first dungeon that they’d designed together during their first-year finals.

Like in that dungeon, Treacle’s sorting chamber was going to be the key to their victory.

Their guardian forms stood in the fake inner sanctum of MothalMania 39, but their core gems were circling around the real pedestal five levels down at the heart of the F-Triple-C Slam Fest. They could feel every inch of the ridiculousness they’d created, so they’d know if someone arrived near any of the entrances up on the coliseum.

They had some time.

Logan shared some schematics. “Okay, guys. Now that we have a little down time, I’d like to go over my Spore Halo improvements. These are the last of my Jade Leaf upgrades.”

<<< ۝ >>>

Pollinic Affliction: As an Azure Branch cultivator, the fungaloid’s pollen will swamp the eyes, nose, and lungs of their enemies. This cloud of spores has the possibility of disabling or even killing.

Pollinic Affliction A-Class Settings:

66% chance of causing moderate to severe shortness of breath

33% chance of causing partial blindness

15% chance of anaphylactic shock

10% chance of mortal sneezing

<<< ۝ >>>

Marko’s only comment was, “I thought these were your Jade Butt upgrades. You did say you have a green butt under your robes.”

Treacle’s voice barely hid his weary sigh. “You could’ve made a joke about mortal sneezing. But no. You went for the butt joke.”

Marko seemed mystified. “Who’s joking?”

“Ignore the goat and keep going, Logan,” Inga directed, clearly exasperated at Marko’s antics.

<<< ۝ >>>

Athlete’s Infection: Release a burst of spores that causes severe burning between the toes and along the soles of your enemy’s feet. This isn’t your typical case of locker room foot fungus—oh no. Athlete’s Infection combines both Athlete’s Foot and Athlete’s Ailment to necrotize flesh fast. Those raiders won’t have a foot to stand on!

Athlete’s Infection A-Class Settings:

66% chance of causing burning and itching on any dungeoneer with toes. Any normal foot odor will be doubled, much to the embarrassment of the raider.

33% chance of causing minor foot damage to any dungeoneer wearing any sort of footwear. All infections must be healed or otherwise taken care of. We suggest long soaks in Epson salts. Or run the dungeon in bare feet. We dare you.

10% chance of full flesh damage. All necrotic flesh must be removed, the fresh skin healed, or those suffering from Athlete’s Infection will die from septic shock.

<<< ۝ >>>

Marko stomped his hooves. “See? No feet to worry about. Only durable protein keratin!”

Inga had some thoughts, however. “This is remarkable, Logan. This would force raiders to utilize heal spells to fix the feet of their comrades. Perhaps even more remarkable, their foot odor might be very demoralizing.”

“Agreed, feet are stupid,” Marko added.

“That’s only the tip of the fungaloid mushroom colony,” Logan said, pulling up another one of his newest abilities.

<<<>>>

Other A-Class Spore Halos

Psychedelic Spores: Psychedelic: If inhaled, Psychedelic Spores can hijack the senses and sentience of unlucky dungeoneers causing a variety of disturbing phenomena including the "Dude, I can't stop looking at my hand" effect, or the, “What does the color red sound like” phenomena.

Psychedelic Spores A-Class Settings:

66% chance of dizziness, disorientation, and minor loss of equilibrium.

33% chance of both visual and audial hallucinations of varying degrees of severity. Multiple targets affected. Each victim will experience their own personal nightmare.

15% chance of experiencing Bad Trip, which causes full-fledged terror to take hold of the target until the spores wear off. There is no fighting the effect—only flight or freeze are options for those suffering from Bad Trip.

<<<>>>

Marko wrinkled his goat nose. “What does it say about me that I’m basically dizzy and disoriented most of the time? I thought it was just the bathroom cleaner fumes. Are you poisoning me, Logan Murray?”

Logan laughed. “Nope. I keep my spores to myself. I only save them for my enemies.”

Inga nodded. “At S-Class, Logan might be able to control the hallucinations of those enemies. There’s even been stories about fungal lords being able to create whole realities out of hallucinations.”

“That would certainly explain how weird this reality is,” Treacle said with a crunch of wheat and a sigh.

Marko snapped his fingers. “Get to the drugs, man. Get to the drugs.”

So Logan got to the drugs.

<<<>>>

Narcotic Spores: If inhaled, these spores cause creatures to experience a brief bout of Euphoria, slowing their reaction time and making them far less susceptible to aggressive action. In some cases, victims will lose all motivation to do anything but listen to music and talk about the latest conspiracy theory from Emmerich “The Warning” Bellsman.

Narcotic Spores A-Class Settings:

66% chance of minor intoxication including but not limited to slurred speech, the desire to operate large vehicles, the desire to make large life-altering decisions, dizziness, pacifism, and intense “groovy” feelings.

33% chance of severe procrastination. Motivation will disappear. Victims will simply want to sit down to talk about the meaning of life, the nature of reality, or the fury of angry ducks. Conversations usually lead to a nice, long nap. The nap might come first depending a number of factors, narcolepsy being one of them.

15% chance of Agaric Addiction. Victims will become a willing servant of the fungal lord in order to get another round of spores. There is nothing that the Agaric Addict won’t do to get their next hit.

<<<>>>

Marko frowned. “Drugs don’t seem that much fun. I’m glad I don’t do drugs. I just drink myself blind, but that’s okay, right?”

Inga seemed confused. “Blindness, or partial blindness is an aspect of Pollinic Affliction. Or are you talking about Liverkill?”

“Liverkill,” Logan said. “I keep my spores under control.”

Treacle waved a stick of grass at the goat man. “You have been drinking less. You might not like to admit it, but we are a good influence on you.”

Marko shot the pink minotaur a finger gun. “Totally a good influence and I don’t care who knows it.”

Before anyone could respond, Logan and his friends felt the presence in the coliseum above. It wasn’t a raider but another dungeon guardian.

Yullis Rockheart strode across the sands. He called down into one of the many entrances up top. “Hello to you of the Terrible Twelfth. It’s your rector prime. I’m coming down to give you some disturbing news so don’t attack me, or I will be extremely displeased.”

Treacle stepped away from them. “I’ll go and escort him down.” The pink minotaur vanished in the blink of an eye, using his Maze Walk ability to teleport up to the sands.

It wasn’t long before Treacle and Yullis walked into the fake sanctum.

Rockheart was a bit sweaty, and Logan didn’t think it was from his journey. The well-dressed gargoyle took a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped a bit of perspiration off his stony brow. “Really,” he said flatly, eyeing the ramshackle inner sanctuary. “This can’t be your best work. Why are you all acting ridiculous when the fate of this world lies in the balance? Have we completely failed in your training?”

Logan stepped up to the professor. “I know how it looks, but you need to trust us here. We do have a plan.”

“You’d better,” the gargoyle griffin growled, “because your very lives will depend on it. I’ve come to inform you that Wintersylver is dead, her celestial node has been lost, and Lou Shador is ascending to S-Class as we speak. You’ll be facing your first Heartwood Cultivator. I am not hopeful that you’ll survive.”