DTK 39

The break into act 3 is fast approaching........

***

Terry labored over the table, carefully measuring the hot-blood one of the lizards. She was wearing goggles and gloves.

I was working in her room as a change of scenery. Her window was open, and the whole room smelled like rain and wet earth. I was stitching together a Houndsmaster outfit out of what remained of the boss. I knew I was going to run out of material before the job was done; I was going to finish the rest with Shadow Wolf material.

The other point I had went into leveling up [Always Prepared.] The extra-spatial storage still wasn't big enough to fit my sewing needles. But it was heading that way.

Terry brought something to boil on her side of the room. I leaned over to look past her. Fumes poured out of the top of the bottle and seeped out of the window.

“Is it safe to be in here while you do that?” I asked, looking at Terry.

She turned around and looked at me. I noticed that she had covered the exposed paintings in progress behind her with cloth sheathes.

“Completely!” Terry nodded, giving a big thumbs up. The bottle behind her hissed. “Oop.”

Terry turned around, fiddling with the device she was using to boil.

I continued working on my own set. With the mana to spare and the proficiency at crafting, I could turn around most sets in just two days. I was estimating the Houndsmaster set would take me three. It was a more complex set, ranking at intermediate and being completely unfamiliar to me.

There was also the fact that the memories pulled at me even more intensely than the memories of the previous ones. The hunter outfits were filled with so many memories from so many people working on them that they came out as fully mundane. The shell dress had been made in a high end noble parlor; the memories it conveyed were refreshing, if anything.

The memories of the Houndmaster outfit stung. They were alien, full of landscapes that only half made sense. They provided visions of work camps filled with animals, clearly deep within dungeons. But I wouldn’t know where. The Seamstresses and Tailors in the memories still worked in groups, four to a dozen working together in open air “workshops” set up in camps, surrounded by dozens of other people. The camp was probably full of Noble’s with [Tamer] classes.

There were flashes of giant monsters stomping between tents in the background, visibly through the peripheral vision of the crafters in the memory. Friendly monsters. Tamed monsters. Still, it was unnerving to see how many workers were deep inside the dungeon. I had seen first hand exactly how loyal nobles were when it came down to it. I’d hate to be a peasant if a camp got over run.

Then again, maybe it was some kind of safe floor.

After an hour, Terry turned around with a tiny bottle, the red liquid inside glowing. She shook me from my self reflection as she held it out.

“How’d it turn out?” I asked, still snipping cloth into its pattern.

“Lesser Draught of Heat Resistance.” Terry said. “I think I can make three!”

I nodded at that.

“How much experience?” I asked, setting the Houndsmaster outfit down. The smell of smoke in the camp from the memories was giving me a headache.

“Almost a level.” Terry said, setting the draught down before stretching.

“You going to make more then?” I asked.

“I think I’ll continue my painting.” Terry said, already taking her safety gear off and setting the remaining materials to ventilate by the window.

I stopped sewing as Terry started dragging furniture around, pulling out an easel and a chair and mixing paints. That was as much work as I was going to get done realistically anyway; I had spent three mana, and it was early into afternoon. Henri agreed to make dinner earlier for us after last night.

And I was hungry.

No more feeling overstuffed as I made myself drink soup for my mana. Instead I was absolutely ravenous and all the more excited as I headed towards Sandy’s room. The scattered pieces of the Houndsman outfit I shoved away into my [Wardrobe,] and the left over materials and tools fit nicely into the storage of [Always Prepared.]

Sandy wasn’t outside this time, which made Cinnamon all the more excited to say hi to me.

“Hey boy.” I said, stretching a hand over the fence for him to smell. Then I violently recoiled as he licked my hand. “Hey!”

He barked playfully, running in a circle. Then Cinnamon ran in and out of his the small fenced in shack working as a make shift dog house. He whined at me expectantly as he came out, as if he wanted me to follow.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning over the fence.

He ducked back in, walking out of the shack with a gigantic spider in his mouth.

I winced.

It wasn’t big like a hand big. It was big like a monster big, and he dragged it along the ground.

“Did Sandy give you that?” I asked.

Cinnamon brought it close to me. I inspected it, making sure it was dead before reaching out.

Cinnamon pulled back, playing keep away.

The spider was unbutchered, mostly eaten, and completely dead.

Sandy’s door shook as she stepped out.

“Gwen?” She asked, walking up to me.

“Did you give your dog a full spider?” I asked.

Sandy turned to look at Cinnamon, who was still holding the whole spider in his mouth, tail wagging earnestly.

“Did you get into the storehouse again — hey!”

Cinnamon leapt over the fence and ran.

“I’m not playing right now!” She said, taking a step towards him. He ran away. Sandy sighed, exasperated. “How’s your day going?” Sandy asked, giving up on Cinnamon and leaning her back against the fence to look at me.

“Good. Good. Got most of a new outfit done. Or a third of it.” I said, leaning over the fence. Cinnamon was turned around outside of another house, still dragging the spider corpse with him. “Are you going to let him do that? He’s going to scare the crap out of someone.”

Sandy shrugged.

“Can’t catch him unless you’ve got a set geared for speed for me.”

I got off the fence and headed for the door.

“What’s the route today?”

“Let’s start with the ocean dungeon. We’ll see how we feel after. The lizards are easy, but I feel like the air there is terrible for my hair.”

“We gotta clear what, two a day?” I asked.

“Yeah. The borders holding steady.” She replied as we swept in through her workshop and then into her house. Her room was phenomenally clean for once, invaded by the smell of food from the kitchen on the other side.

Henri turned around from the pantry.

“Girls.” He said. “How do you feel about hunting more lizards for me?”

“Guess we’re going to the volcano after all.” I said, pulling the flask off the table. “You need it for this?” I asked, uncapping the soup and drinking it as I let myself fall into one of the chairs.

Henri only nodded. My daily routine of killing almost a dozen monsters was becoming more and more comfortable. Of course we had to go kill some giant lizards for him to make us some delicious, mana replenishing soup. Just like a grocery list. ‘I’m going out for milk. Need anything?’ ‘Yeah, go ahead and kill some giant monsters and bring back their corpses.’

“East first then?” Sandy asked, not sitting down.

“Yeah.” I said, putting the flask down.

The volcanic dungeon was nearest Sandy’s house on the east side of the little town. The other would require us to circle all the way around. So we started out by heading towards the lava fields.

Sandy turned around only a stones throw into the wild, frowning as she looked back into the bubble of warped air surrounding the town’s domain.

“Cinnamon! Go home! We aren’t going for a walk right now!” She yelled.

I blinked back. Her dog had been quietly following us. He got up, running excitedly back towards Sandy’s house. Sandy made a tching noise before we spun about and headed for the dungeon.

The lizards were almost disappointingly weak. There was a rush of excitement in many of the dungeon clears; the moments where a horde of golems lead you back against a wall or a half dozen shapes hid in the shadows above you. Here, there were no surprises. Wide, flat land that allowed you to see all of your enemies and the environments hazards. the only part that brought any excitement was the fire breathing elemental miniboss.

Sandy cut it down with a [Parry.] Then we cleaned up the rest of the dungeon, the mobs falling to single strikes of my needle despite theoretically being higher level. It only took us a few minutes to clear the dungeon now that we knew we didn’t have to look out for pitfall traps. Or traps of any sort, really. The dungeons were less like dungeons and more like miniature snapshots of ecosystems.

Which left me with even more questions for the origin of the earth elementals that we had found at the mines south of town. They ran through my head as we circled around the north side of town, Sandy opting to walk farther rather than change back out of the Stormcaller outfit.

I insisted she not just stride through the middle of the town wearing it.

The dungeon must be able to break somehow, monsters escaping it. Could they reproduce in the wild? Were elementals natural creatures, or were they born out of mana or some other plane?

They must have been able to reproduce. But the dungeon at the center of town never broke.

A theory formed in my head. The domain around the town kept monsters out. Maybe it also kept monsters in the dungeon. The only time a portal could be open and outside of the domain would be the edge gates around the town.

Maybe the dungeons outside of town, out of the range of the domain, could break. What happened when the dungeon shrank and the gate closed? Did the floors inside just stop existing? Or did they continue resetting, somewhere outside of time and space?

Maybe they popped out of existence, spitting their monsters out.

“Ready?” Sandy asked.

We had already come upon the western gate, standing outside in the now golden afternoon light.

“Yeah. Are you?” I asked.

Sandy had taken a while to calm down last night in this dungeon. The sight of it was clearly bringing up emotions in her. Which was fair. Her mom had died in this dungeon. Probably not on this floor, and it wasn’t like she had seen the inside, but still.

Not to mention that the last several meals she shared with her were probably made of the monsters inside. I followed up when Sandy didn’t reply.

“I could probably just take care of the monsters here if you want.”

“No.” She said, the response was almost instant. I heard her suck in a breath as she stepped into the dungeon, and I followed a breath after, the world warping as we entered the beach dungeon.

This would be an amazing place to come just to relax, if Sandy didn’t have the memories attached to it. I had the tact to refrain from saying that aloud. Each of the dungeons were a hell-scape except this one. We got to work right away, the three unique mobs of the floor presenting practically no challenge.

I paid extra attention to each of them anyway, after my experience with the first dungeon’s boss. The mechanics of that fight were an evolution from the mechanics before it; stealth and ambush. So what would the lower floor of this place be like?

I wasn’t sure.

The lava dungeon seemed obvious; more and more fire, demanding heat resistance. Large, strong, but dumb mods. The north dungeon… probably grew into a bigger and bigger horde as you went deeper. Useless for experience and crafting, though the dungeon had provided me tons of hints for the monster ecosystem outside of civilization.

The city’s needed dungeons to exist to spread their domain. The dungeons, though, needed no such thing, as far as I knew. The dungeon would remain even if the rest of the town collapsed. I would never have to find out if that meant letting the boss out, because I wasn’t going to let the town collapse.

But how did a beach dungeon get more intense? It would be too stupid for it to just be stealth again.

I dodged out of the way of the flying fish throwing itself out of the water.

“Hey Sandy.” I said casually as I stepped up and impaled the monster. “What do you think the second floor here is like?”

“Hmmm.” She said non commitedally, grabbing the gross, slimy fish. “The monsters all seem to want to fight in the water.”

“What?” I asked, looking between her and the fish. “That fish seems to want anything but.”

“Dungeon mobs are stupid.” Sandy shrugged. “They just throw themselves at you. But the monsters… they can all go underwater.”

“Do you think the second floor is underwater?” I asked.

Sandy looked down at the fish then back up to me.

“I hope not.”

The dungeon rumbled under our feet when we killed the last monster, already growing in intensity, and we dragged our prize home. It was still early on in the night.

“Should we clear another?” I asked Sandy. She was awfully reactive today. Level headed enough in the dungeon, but not talkative while clearing it.

She took a moment to reply.

“No. Let’s go home.” She took a swing of her soup flask before tossing me her Stormcaller helmet without warning. “Clothes?” She asked.

I pulled out her mundane clothing and we changed in the woods, walking directly through the middle of town. I stared towards the blacksmith. Gerald’s forge was cold and dark. Hopefully he was getting some much needed sleep.

In a way, the dungeon was becoming more comforting than walking through the too quiet town. None of the other adults had confronted us except for Gerald’s mom. Hell, Henri ended up being supportive. Which made me paranoid as I looked through the lit windows of the town’s early night.

But there was no confrontation or anything, just a slow walk to Sandy’s house.

Henri met us outside, giving us small talk before getting to the point.

“I made you dinner.” He said.

“You already gave it to us.” I held up the flask in my hand.

“No. I made something special. Come in.”

The surprise was revealed a bit early by the smell of crab, but I didn’t mind.

Inside the kitchen, laid out on the table were segments of gigantic crab legs, cooked open. I felt my stomach rumble. Maybe I ate too little today. And besides, eating mostly stew couldn’t be good for me.

I plopped into a seat and lifted a leg up before looking up at Henri. He took a seat across from me, starting to eat without waiting.

The dinner was painfully quiet, silence hanging between us. Sandy stared at the table for a long time before starting to slowly eat.

“This was our favorite.” Sandy said, her voice almost a whisper.

Henri just nodded.

I deliberated on what to say. This must have been bittersweet for Sandy. If it was just bitter, she probably would’ve stormed out. After eating a human sized crab leg, Sandy stopped and looked up at Henri.

“Would you like to come?” She asked. “I’m going to… find whatever I can and bury it.”

There was another awkward pause.

“Yes.” Henri said.

“Thanks.” Sandy said. Then she followed up with, “Dad.”

I sat very awkwardly, caught in the emotional crossfire.

“Should we… hug?” Henri asked.

Sandy broke half a laugh.

“No.” She said.

“Okay.” Henri said. “Do you… want to smoke?”

“You can’t offer your daughter a cigarette.” I said, breaking into the conversation. “She doesn’t even smoke. Maybe we could just help with the dishes.”

“Okay.” Henri said, visibly relaxing.

We ate for a little longer. Then, when we were done, we helped clean up, soaking dishes in the sink before wiping them down.

Mom wasn’t awake in the workshop when I went home. I crept up the stairs and collapsed into my bed.

In the morning I continued my progress on the Houndsmaster suit, pushing closer and closer to half completed. I was starting to see the final shape of it through my memories. It came with a thick leather cloak not unlike the hunting outfit, but this one wasn’t made for the weather. It was designed to be only loosely attached and easily discard-able, so that if something grabbed the cloak, they would rip it off rather than pull down the wearer.

The sleeves were huge, bulky, and padded with leather; as were the bottom of the legs. As I was crafting it, I couldn’t help but think how miserable this would be to wear in the lava floor of the dungeon. The Stormcaller outfit couldn’t have been much better though. The thick leather of this was designed to resist the biting of small, untrained dogs and monsters long enough for someone to train them.

I could feel the designers thoughts imbued along with their memories in the design. And as I focused more, I could see those thoughts and memories moving like a real, tangible thing, flowing from my hands into the conception of the design. The act of stitching it together, combined with my class, was enchanting the material. But it wasn’t just being enchanted with mana; the Patterns pulled at the very concepts and emotions imbued into them, and the deeper I reached into the memories as I observed it, the more I saw —

I felt a headache behind my eyes as a very different image flashed.

It wasn’t someone crafting. It was someone fighting. A Seamstress fighting, ducking back, their cloak exploding into shreds as a monstrous jaw the size of a house nearly closed on them. I watched as they pulled their weapon up — 

The memory shattered as my hands stopped moving.