Chapter Text
“I’m gonna be honest, that last run was cutting it a little too close.” Etho muttered from the far end of the table.
“I’ll say!” Bdubs exclaimed, brows pressed together in concern. “This place is no joke.”
On the other side, with a plateful of meat in front of him, Impulse shot the Dungeon Master a hard glare. “You’re *positive* you can’t help make it any easier? Not even just warming up the Crypt a little?”
Tango raised his hooded head, icy blue gaze narrowed. A chill radiated off of him in waves, as if he was made of ice himself. His heart was equally cold, and left very little room —if any— for sympathy. “No.”
Quiet settled over the feast. Everyone glanced between each other, hesitant to continue their conversations. The silence dug into their skin just like the freezing air did when they performed their runs. It was almost painful, and for a moment, Tango even thought he heard the heartbeats startup like it did when they entered the caves.
Eventually, Scar broke the silence as his cat tried to hop up on his lap. The rest of the hermits awkwardly began to chat again. Impulse dropped his hard gaze, and Tango went back to taking sips of his steaming soup.
It wasn’t easy being the Dungeon Master. Knowing all the secrets of the tunnels and how the paths wound about everywhere was both a blessing and a curse. He tried to teach his fellow hermits in as much detail as humanly possible, but they always became too jumpy and nervous to perform half as well as he could when it came down to it. It frustrated him, but he was too far above berating them. So he simply kept his mouth shut. The quiet had become his friend over the past year and a half, and as he crept deeper and deeper into the darkness, he began to hear and see beyond the average server-member. Unbeknownst to them, the beasts could be lulled and touched if you were careful enough, and the vex’s could be distracted by a stray pebble for you to slip through a passageway. Despite what the others said, this building was more consistent with strategy than luck. Having been the rightful heir to this place by some strange twisted contract, he was determined beyond reason to prove his newly bestowed title.
“Do you think the passages are gonna keep collapsing the way they do?” Hypno leaned in quietly to Grian. The hybrid's wings were proofed up against the cold, tucked in close against his backside as he shook his head.
“Not if we actually start listening to the Dungeon Master. We need to be more careful.”
“Listen,” Xisuma muttered over the centerpiece —a huge bowl of golden carrots. “There may be more strategy than we give this place credit for, but it doesn’t excuse the fact that the beasts are killing machines. They don’t care what we say or do. They kill on sight, no matter what.”
Unless you’re brave enough to stop, Tango sighed to himself. …or stupid enough.
“Look guys, it’s been a long day.” Gem’s voice piped up at the opposite end of the table. One of her antlers had snapped off last week during a run. The others had rushed to comfort her upon her return, but she reassured them, happy to wield a battle scar for her troubles. At least a temporary one anyways. “We managed to get two new artifacts, and no one's dead! I’ll take that as a win. All in favor?”
A large number of hands rose.
“Good,” Gem smiled at Tango. “Let’s talk about something else then.”
The feast continued undisturbed. There was a large amount of food and drinks consumed, and Impulse had been hiccuping for the past half hour now as he was led out by Gem and Cub. Everyone’s bellies were more than full, and slight discomfort churned the Dungeon Masters stomach. He would leave the dish duties to when he was feeling less bloated. In the meantime, he had business down in the dungeon.
His steps were near silent as he made his way through the entrance hall, taking a bright blue object from his pocket. The piece was dangerously sharp and cold to the touch, like metal when it had been exposed to freezing temperatures. His fingers curled around it, letting the heat seep through them. His cheeks, pale and peppered with snowflakes, blew out a breath of visible air. He shivered before delicately lowering the shard into a barrel at his feet. The doors did their thing, putting on a show, before opening to him. Forcing his heartbeat to slow, he stepped inside.
Cracking noises greeted his pointed ears as he slipped into the tunnels. Ice popped and snapped from somewhere further along. His stomach gurgled, unhappy with the amount of its contents. Tango crept forward, healing potions jangling from where they hung on his belt. All sense of smell and touch was quickly lost as the chill truly settled in. He had tried for the longest time to find a solution to this, but nothing was to his satisfaction. Nothing ever was. So he succumbed and carried on.
Finally, the first ravager came into sight. It was a hulking beast, with horns the size of his bicep. The hooves, wide and heavy, bred to trample its enemy, stomped across the rocky floor.
Here we go, Tango breathed out through his nose. He formed his lips into a whistle, noise carrying soft and low throughout the echoey dungeon. The ravager’s ears flicked lazily —it knew he was here. They weren’t domestic creatures though. They did as they pleased without taking no for an answer. Even if they seemed to understand that he wasn’t a threat, there was still an extremely high likelihood that they could attack without warning. Despite his original ideas when having the Citadel placed in his hands, there was only room for one dominant creature here, and it wasn’t him.
He whistled again, hearing the approach of more hooves and knowing that the rest of the creatures would soon be arriving. It was supper time, and they hadn’t gotten to eat hermits like he’d promised them a long time ago. For now, they would suffice with healing and regeneration potions.
Slowly, three more beasts ambled down the tunnel and into the wide space. They nipped at each other, asserting their places in the hierarchy. The biggest of them all, #5, even spared a sniff in Tango’s direction. The Dungeon Master lowered his gaze, crouching slightly in order to appear as non threatening as possible. His stomach clenched painfully at the movement, roiling. He had to place a hand to the passage wall in order to steady himself. #5 turned away with a loud, dismissive snort.
Warm breath tickled the back of Tango’s neck. Something large bumped into his hood. He turned slowly, already knowing what it was. Pumpkin, by far the youngest and smallest of the Frozen Crypt ravagers, was pressing her snout into the fabrics of his robe. She made a quiet noise, shaking her head and pressing forward. Tango quickly sidestepped, shoes slippery on the blue ice. The contents of his stomach were thoroughly making him uncomfortable now. A slight headache had begun to throb against his temple.
He steadied himself before squinting and counting out the number of beasts here. There were only five, which meant the last one must be deep inside the tunnels. Letting out a faint sigh, he slowly pushed away from the wall, skirting its far edges, and slipping past the creatures.
His headache grew as he snuck further down into the caves. Something felt off, like he’d eaten bad food. But the feast had boasted a rich, fully-prepared meal, and nothing had tasted off at the time. It couldn’t be a problem of undercooked pork chops or rotten fruit. He would have surely noticed that in the moment.
A terrifying bellow rang through the air. Tango froze, hesitant to proceed any further. Temper, more commonly known as Tango’s Cough by the rest of the hermits, was the last of the ravagers that he needed to fetch. Coincidentally, it was also the most easily angered of the six on this level. The beast usually stuck to the back of the caves, where it was the coldest and darkest. At times, only the silhouette was visible, and you prayed that its beady eyes didn’t catch you as you tiptoed along.
Tango stumbled into the Crypt, fully nauseas now. He climbed the stairs, having to grip the railing tightly for support. His stomach was performing backflips on the inside, and bile rose in his throat. The taste repulsed him, but he didn’t have time to deal with that now. Not when the cold bit at his exposed fingers and ears like this. Not when his life hung in the balance between his wits and the unpredictable aggression of creatures three times his size. He pushed through it, forcing his steps to slow as he entered the throne room.
Temper was curled up at the far end of the space, sleeping in front of one of the entrances to the lower levels. White breath curled from his nostrils and his stubby tail twitched in a dream. Tango paused as an exceptionally powerful wave of sickness ran over him. To his great surprise, warmth began to prickle his forehead.
The beast shifted, its huge mouth opening wide in a yawn. Its beady eyes cracked open, quickly spotting the Dungeon Master. It laid still for a moment before pushing to its feet. The horns on its head were a terrifying sight to anyone, including Tango. He swallowed back another wave of sickness, blowing out a low whistle and backing out of the room. A moment later, the sound of hooves began to follow.
It was tricky getting Temper to cooperate. He was the least predictable of all the ravagers in the Citadel. Tango had already had several near misses with his horns in the past months, and he was getting better at reading the creature, but the creature was also getting better at reading him. So he made sure to leave extra distance between them as he slowly walked backwards out of the Crypt and across the flimsy bridge over the river of souls. The structure wobbled and bounced as he went, nearly forcing the contents of his stomach to return to the surface. He froze, sucking wind through his chattering teeth. Heat had bloomed on his forehead, and pain enraptured his abdomen. He felt woozy as the world spun around him. He tripped over his robes, falling backwards into the powdered snow.
Hooves quickened over the ground. Temper had sensed his weakness. And he planned to exploit it. As quickly as he could manage, Tango scrambled to his feet. The beast was just exiting the mouth of the Cript, eyes narrowed to slits. It reared, throwing its huge head about as spittle frosted its lips. The Dungeon Master had disturbed it, and the creature had decided to charge.
Tango was out of options. He bolted, stumbling for the best exit route. He knew these tunnels like the back of his hand by now, but his heart was beating out of his chest and his stomach was crying as sharp twinges cut into his gut. His breath caught in his throat at the sound of trampling feet racing after him. They were approaching far too quickly. He wasn’t going to make it out unless he diverted.
Fear and adrenaline temporarily stabilized him as he dashed up the cave system, finding the wide space where he’d left the other beasts. This was a horrible idea, and a huge risk to himself and the other creatures, but in his state, he had no other choice. Sprinting directly through the room, he startled the other creatures, who reared and brayed their own cries of agitation. Tango narrowly missed being strung up by a wildly tossed horn, throwing himself into a diving roll so as not to be crushed against the wall by another. The space dissolved into chaos as horns clashed and grunts turned to roars. Tango didn’t dare to look back before climbing to his feet again and fleeing.
Adrenaline still rushed through his veins, pulsing in time with his splitting skull. The chill was the least of his concerns now as he slid into a wall while trying to make a sharp turn. There was a loud cracking sound above him before pebbles, and then stones, and then boulders began to crash down on him. He yelped in surprise and fright, flinging himself forward in order to save his skin. Not a second later, the entire section caved, rumbling deep within the earth. A nasty cry echoed even through the quake. Tango was truly frozen now, heart beating in his throat as he tried to regather himself. Slowly, he got to his knees and stared at the destruction behind him.
Another passageway collapsed… Another hazard that needed tending to. His head still pounded wildly, stomach fluttering. As the initial shock receded, so did his strength. He keeled over and threw up.
Almost instantly, the pain subsided. He was still queasy, and his abdomen tender, but it was manageable again.
It slowly dawned on him then that he had memories of this exact feeling. Confusion, and then rage, began to replace the pain. Poison… That’s what had made him sick.
He’d been pricked by a nasty pufferfish before while playing a mini game. It had hurt, and nearly cost him his lunch like it had now. That had been funny though. He had been surrounded by laughing hermits, and he’d gone in knowing the risks of the game. It had been fun, and there were no hard feelings beyond a little sore pride. This on the other hand, had been intentional. He, Tango, the Dungeon Master, had just been tested at the hands of an attempted murderer.
It was as if the cold came back twice as bitter as before. Tango seethed, rising to his feet, pointed teeth bared. How dare a fellow hermit do that? Was it so they could take the Citadel as their own? Did they want all the treasures buried deep within to be their own? What greed had possessed someone with such a strong grip that it led to active pre-planned and executed sabotage? Maybe it had been Etho. He’d been complaining about how many ravagers were down here constantly after all. Or maybe it was Impulse, with his dwarven lust for shiny and rare objects. Or perhaps Xisuma, who had been eyeing the Citadel ever since the keys dropped into Tango’s hands.
As he climbed his way out of the last stretch of caves, his mind raced with fear and bitterness alike. The hermits were a ragtag gang after all. No one had pure and honest allegiance to everyone. There were the quiet ones, the boastful ones, the humble ones, and those like Tango, who just tried to mind their own business as much as humanly possible. But over the past few weeks, after run upon run quietly entering the dungeon and returning sometimes bloodied, bruised, or even with the occasional broken bone, someone had decided that he was a threat.
And they had sat among him at the feasting table.
Tango had to lean against the exit door, hand clasped over his mouth. The idea nearly made him sick all over again.