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[Sigurd]
Sigurd awoke to the sound of knocking at the door. Groaning, hesat up, gasping in pain as his chest tried to kill him. Shooting pain ran around his ribs as his breath froze in his chest, the muscles cramping up due to the intensity. Slowly, with shallow pained breaths he straightened up, stretching out his spine and muscles and relieving the cramp. It took a few seconds before the pain eased enough to continue moving.
Guess that’s the rib then he thought to himself. Fractured most likely. It seemed he’d have to visit the healer in Oar’s Rest or perhaps even Barkamstead, if there wasn’t one at Oar’s Rest. That was unless he wished to waste another potion.
Sliding his feet over the side of the bed, he completed the sitting manoeuvre. Stretching, he rolled hishead around, rubbed the back of hishead, wiped his eyes and stood up, yawning as he did so. Reaching over, he took a sip of water from the mug he kept beside the bed, wincing at the flares of pain in his ribs before he began hobbling over to the dresser.
Sigurd slipped on a pair of trousers and a crude cotton shirt, enough to be decent. He imagined he might be having a rather long conversation this morning. Some sandals went on his feet, he kept them for indoor use only, as a way of limiting the dirt inside and thus the number of times a month he needed to clean.
The person at the door couldn’t be kept waiting forever. So, after a quick check in the mirror, Sigurd walked through to the kitchen, put a pot of water on and then went to see who was at the door.
Unlike the frantic knocking of young John, desperate to know what was going on with the dungeon, this was the slow measured knock of someone who was not in a hurry, just someone living at their own pace. Sigurd was glad: he didn’t have the energy to deal with that rascal, John, right now.
He opened the door wide and blinked at the harsh light that invaded his eyes. He kept the house quite dark, especially the bedroom, he couldn’t sleep well unless it was dark. It seemed likely to be around midday, he must have overslept. Delving a dungeon is exhausting after all so it was entirely understandable.
Sigurd shaded his eyes with his handbefore mumbling “come in” to the man waiting on his doorstep.
It was Dale, the leader of the village. Though calling the man a leader was a bit far, not that he was bad, but just that with a village so small and out of the way he was just another person in the village. At least until the tax man showed up or other important business. Business such as the one that had brought him here. The dungeon.
“Thanks” he replied in a friendly, chipper tone.
“Not worried?” Sigurd asked, curious.
“Nah” he replied, following Sigurdthrough to the kitchen, closing the front door as he went.
“I figure, whatever it is, it is, you know? No point in worrying about it.”
“Good attitude to have, wish I shared it, would have saved me a lot of heartache over my life.” Sigurd replied, rooting through his cupboardsuntil he found what he was looking for.
Aeldra.
It was a root of some kind, Sigurd didn’t know from what, but it was a potent stimulant, tasting both bitter and spicy, while mellowing and warm at the same time.
Chopping it up, he scooped the chunks up with the knife, careful not to touch it – like turmeric it stained everything it got near and was a pain in the arse to wash away – and wiped his knife on the edge of the pot, scraping the roots into the boiling water.
“Thanks” the man responded,awkwardly. Not sure what to say next he fell silent while Sigurd prepared the Aeldra.
After a minute or so, the Aeldra had imparted enough colour to the water that Sigurd considered it ready. He quenched the fire, drawing his mana from the flame enchant and poured the liquid into two cups, keeping the root behind with a spoon.
Setting it down on the table, he pulled a chair back and sat, off to the side of the man. Opposite enough to see each other without turning his head too much but not enough that it felt like a formal meeting.
The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the shallow huffs they both used to try to cool their drink. They both seemed content to let the moment stall, as if the first one to speak would be the one to herald the change that was sure to sweep over the village.
Dale may have been easy-going, taking whatever it was at face value, but Sigurd knew that he had figured out it was a dungeon, and also that the man was incredibly nervous about it. For good reason, a dungeon was both an incredible boon but a dangerous addition, and with Littlebrook being such a small town it was likely that in a few years, there would be nothing left of the quaint little town. The entire place subsumed by the development of a new economic area.
When the drink had cooled sufficiently, they both took a sip. Relaxing as the hot, stimulating, drink went down. At some unspoken signal they both took another, set their mugs down and conversed.
“Thanks for the drink, Sigurd, it really hits the spot. I don’t get it often, the wife, doesn’t like the staining, nor the drink, so I get none at home.”
“You’re welcome, Aeldra is a pain with the staining but it’s addictive stuff. I find I need a cup most mornings now.” He replied, laughing.
“Dungeon?” He asked, that one word enough.
Sigurd nodded back, confirming what Dale already knew.
“Hmmm” he murmured, pondering on his thoughts. “Ok”
“Well, we’re in for a change around here then.”
“I’d expect so,” Sigurd responded.
“A good one?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’d say so… , weird though.”
“Oh, how so?”
“Well, like, you know how normal dungeon delving requires you to slink around narrow passages, watching the ceiling, walls and floor for traps or ambush monsters until you reach a room. You have a fight, pick another passage if it’s a non-linear one and continue on?”
“Yeah”
“And that some dungeons have wide open passages like ten metres across instead of narrow passage and room, narrow passage and room etc., that you can move around it with monsters along the way.”
“Right”
“Basically, just long floors with pretty much one-linear route, extendingfrom the entrance of the floor to the exit on the other side with a few dead ends or challenges.”
“Yep, gotcha” Dale replied nodding along with his explanation.
“So… this one. It’s not like that. When I first entered the dungeon, I was greeted with an idyllic meadow filled with lush greenery, woody scents, a gentle breeze, trees, bushes… not the barren rocky…ness I was expecting.”
“What?” Dale questioned, not really believing it… “You having me on?”
“No, no. I mean, I was baffled, and thank God the dungeon didn’t throw anything at me right away otherwise it could have had a free meal I was so shocked. Standing there like a gormless idiot.”
Dale and Sigurd both shared a laugh at that.
“Then what?” he asked captivated.
Everybody, literally everybody,gets fascinated by dungeons, Sigurd thought to himself. You could be an angsty teenage boy and be fascinated, or a 45 year-old former farmer like Dale; both would be equally enthralled when Sigurd started talking about his experiences. Women were harder to figure out, many of the women Sigurd had been around were the barmaids and whores in the taverns in dungeon towns, who acted interested in the hope of earning some more coin, as well as the other adventurers. They were obviously interested as their profession indicated.
Then he’d retired to Littlebrook,where there were no single women, just married mothers and girls; girls a touch young for the aged half dwarf he was.
“Well, when I snapped back to myself, I was rightfully ashamed at my lack of composure, so I set about observing everything to try and spot anything. Found nothing, except the stairs going down. With the floor being just one big cavern, I could see everything, you know. The elevated position at the entrance was enough to see over the hedges but I still couldn’t spot any threats.”
Sigurd took a sip of Aeldra, before continuing, “So I assumed it must be hiding in the grass, snakes or pitfalls or whatever. The next hour or so I spent walking like a mouse, tiptoeing here and there. Nothing.”
“Really? So, no threats then?”
“No. Definitely threats… you didn’t think I got this injured falling down the mountain did you?” Sigurd asked back.
“Well, now you mention it, it does sound like you: was it falling down the mountain then?” Dale teased.
“No!” Sigurd retorted with fake anger. “Dick!” he hissed as an after-thought.
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Dale laughed. “You are a clumsy dwarf, how was I to know if it was the dungeon or the mountain that hurt you?”
“Dungeon, definitely dungeon.” Another sip of Aeldra went down and Sigurd continued.
“Eventually I got the picture, so I started moving a bit quicker, found a chest under a tree and kept my caution about me, I think many a newbie could have gotover excited about that and been caught unawares as when I got closer, the tree came alive, whipping its branches at me and trying to ensnare me. I simply collected myself and gave it an early pruning.” Sigurd said, mildly boasting.
They both huffed in amusement.
“Sounds easy enough though,” Dale replied after a moment.
“I suppose, with a bit of experience for sure, I didn’t test it, but I imagine the branches could be quite dangerous for the unprepared, especially those of low rank who haven’t got the durability increase.”
“Could be troublesome, but it sounds like they are static enemies, given a bit of practice they could be dismantled from range in complete safety?”
“I’d expect so, yeah. Unless the dungeon changes things up, which it could well do if it realises the trees aren’t working.”
“They do that?” Dale asked.
“Yeah. It’s the best and most infuriating things about dungeons. Just when the perfect strategy has been developed to beat the dungeon, it goes and changes it up. Like how annoying is that? At least it keeps it fresh and exciting though.”
“So why did you retire then if it was always fresh and exciting.”
“Well, fresh and exciting with regard to the tiniest details, like the angle of the walls. You wouldn’t think it, but it can make a huge difference: enough to completely change the approach needed. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t rework the stale air, bland tunnels and fights into something more interesting. It is still the same dungeon, the same fight. There’s only so many differences a rock tunnel and room can have, you know. I guess that and the fact that losing friends made me grow a bit weary of it, I set off to experience something new, and here I am in Littlebrook.”
“Makes sense I suppose. You gonna pick it up again now that there’s one nearby, and a unique one from the sounds of it?”
“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet, but you’re right, it is unique. Not only has it just been discovered, but it has multiple floors. I don’t need to tell you that that just doesn’t happen.”
“What!” Dale exclaimed in shock. Everyone knew that dungeons were found with only one floor, sometimes two. They would then expand over time until they could have over a hundred floors, but the guild was so good at finding new dungeon that it was incredibly rare to find one with more than two floors. The guild would then catalogue it and keep track of its expansion, but from the way Sigurd had phrased it, it seemed like this one had more than two. It was unheard of…
“How many floors?” Dale asked after recovering.
“I didn’t get to the bottom, at least four floors though. Floor two was another huge cavern, far larger than before. Actually, it was honestly astonishing in scale. I emerged into the canopy of trees so tall I could scarcely believe, certain death if you were to fall. Crossing it leads to a wooden staircase that descendsthrough a tree to the floor with various stopping off points. I ignored them, I belong on the ground.” Sigurd said, picking upthe story.
“Too right you dwarven bastard.” Dale interrupted. Snorting in laughter. Sigurd glared back. “Continue.”
He sighed, “Right, so crossing the woodland I got ambushed by wolves, dangerous but nothing I couldn’t handle, before a snow leopard got me, that’s what the damage is from, that and the fall.”
“Fall?” Dale picked up on. “So, I was right, you did get injured falling.”
Sigurd sighed.
“Yes, the cat jumped at me, I killed it, but got knocked back into a small stream and then, I’m not sure, but I guess I triggered a trap, got swept downstream,went over a waterfall and landed in the next floor, a swamp by the way.”
Dale cackled at that, and Sigurd sighed in response.
After a few moments. Dale spoke up. “So… what does this mean for us then? The fact its unique?”
“It’s hard to say, I would imagine the dungeon has lots of potential:it’s unique which will be a draw,and once word gets out of the serene beauty inside, that will also be a big draw to the adventurers. I would have travelled across the kingdoms if I’d heard word of such a unique dungeon. So, there’s that.”
“Great. You know, Sigurd, I was prepared for it to be just a cave, to be a dungeon, and even to be a good dungeon. But this? If you’re right, even though we are out of the way here in Littlebrook, we could be in the middle of insane change.”
“I know Dale, but it is what it is, as you said earlier.”
“Don’t throw my words back at me” he replied jokingly as he tipped his cup back and downed the Aeldra.
“I’ll write down what I know of the dungeon, so that we don’t forget, and then we can decide what to do about it. But, Dale, tell the villagers, that they can’t keep it secret, no chance of that with the bloody noise it made. Might as well get the gold for the discovery you know.”
“I hear ya, buddy. I’ll pass it on, with the change we imagine I doubt that the villagers won’t revel in having the gold. Sounds like things will be getting more expensive around here. We’ll be needing it.
“It’s the way of the world, my friend.” Sigurd responded.
The two men, sat for a long time chatting about the change that was to come, Dale was a close friend of Sigurd and it had been a while since they had sat down to chat.
*** 4 hours later ***
“So, to sum up the Adventurers’ Guild will want control of the area for sure and it’s hard to dissuade them. This new dungeon is unique and most likely highly profitable so it’s sure to attract attention. They’ll build an outpost and small town at the entrance, but since it is high in the mountains, anything further would be a massive undertaking, so thereforethey will need a centre of trade. And since it’s easier to convert Littlerootthan it is to build from scratch, we will become that centre of trade. It is both a boon to our town and the end of its quiet little feel. We need to prepare for it,” Dale said, summing up quite concisely with measured words, what was to come.
It was a town meeting, and most of the adults had made it. Sigurd had talked a bit about what he had found, without really saying much. A unique dungeon and more coins than the kids had seen before would be more than enough to tempt them into trying to delve it. He didn’t want to tell the parents of their deaths. Then Dale had taken over to explain what it meant for the town.
“Sigurd. Will you head off tomorrow then, if you take the T-pads it’ll only take two or three days.” Dale asked.
“Yeah, I’ll head off once I’ve healed up enough, should be tomorrow or the day after when I’m well enough to ride, it’s a hard ride to Oar’s Rest but once I’m there I’ll find a healer, and continue on.” Sigurd replied.
“Good.” He spoke. “Now Sigurd will be going to the capital to collect the money for the dungeon information. We’ve no idea what it will be worth, but it should be enough for a few gold coins for each family. He’s kindly offered to invest that money into banks, businesses or purchasing land deeds for each of you if you will let him know what you want to do with it. Of course you can just ask him to bring it back, but I figure investing in the land surrounding this village will be a good move since it will most likely shoot up in value once the guild starts farming the dungeon. People will need inns, food, drink and many businesses, so if you’ve dreamt of opening one then this could be a choice. Either way, owning the land will give you a lot more power in whatever Littlebrook becomes than if you just collected the coins. That’s my thoughts, any questions?” Dale asked, expecting a barrage.
Sigurd tuned out the rest of the conversations, focused on the people that came to find him. He needed their names, ages, authorisation marks, and what they wanted to do with the gold for a range of amounts. Some people wanted to purchase land worth three gold if and only if the amount they were getting was in excess of five gold and so on, different for each person.
By the end of it, he was starting to regret offering, but he had grown attached to the village and the people in it, and he didn’t want to see them swept away by the scheming nobles who would undoubtedly do exactly as they were planning, once news broke. So, although it pained him, and would most likely extend his stay in the capital for another week it was worth it. Probably.
“So, what was it like?” they all asked him.
To which Sigurd always replied with the same answer.
“A dungeon, more unique than most, but just as dangerous.”
They always came back with a variant of
“Whatever do you mean?” or “Tell me more?” or “what was the first floor like?” Sigurd danced around the topic redirecting and evading questions about the dungeon until they moved on. He didn’t wasn’t to give anything away that would make it more likely someone would get it into their head to try the dungeon.
Eventually the tide of people ran out and Sigurd had several pages of notes on what each person wanted to do. Luckily it seemed like a good proportion wanted to either have him bring the gold back or invest it into a bank. Something that would take him no time at all.
A good half of the requests were for more land. Luckily Dale had had the good sense to get out one of the chartered land division maps for the area and they had placed it on a board in the meeting. So Sigurd had a list of people wanting land and the slots that they wished to purchase. Thus, there were no people that would be unhappy with what they got, as they had asked for that exact piece of land. Assuming that it was available of course. Sigurd doubted any had been bought by outsiders, Littlebrook was a village on the very outskirts of the kingdom after all.
The last few had odd requests, but all in all, he expected that about four days would be added to his tasks in the capital. Much less than he had feared. Hopefully the guild thought his information was worthwhile.
Standing up, he took a few secondsto stretch before he ambled back home. The pain in his ribs had eased from a sharp stabbing pain to an intense but dull ache that only flared when doing certain tasks like washingup the mugs and pans he had used to make Aeldra for Dale.
It was late afternoon once Sigurd made it back to his house. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and rest, but he knew he had to force himself to take care of his equipment. Only an idiot would let it stay damaged and degraded.
Dragging his pack through to his workshop, he emptied it onto the floor, letting armour, clothes and supplies tumble out.
He set three tubs of water on to heat (one full, one half and one almost empty) and in another smaller one heplaced a block of soap.
Whilst that was heating up, Sigurd placed the armour on the stand and then set about separating the other bits and bobs into two piles: ruined and fine. All the herbs, bandages and a few potions as well as the food went to the ruined pile as well. Straight to the bin. Lying unconscious in a swamp tends to ruin lots of things.
After he had finished sorting that, the soap had melted and Sigurd poured itinto the full water tub. A quick stir made some bubbles form on the surface. He smiled.
Sigurd threw all the clothes into the soapy tub and walked over to the armour. Unclipping the plates, he set them aside before dumping the leather into the soapy water to soak.
Taking a break, Sigurd breathed deeply, the pain making him wince. Take it slower, he thought to himself while waiting for the grime to begin loosening in the hot soapy water.
Once the water turned a vaguely yellow brown colour he walked over to the cupboard and pulled down the scrubbing rack. Placing it into the soapy water he took the clothes and started scrubbing them thoroughlyagainst the rack.
The rack was made of wood that had been carved to have wave like crests and falls along it. By scrubbing against the wood, the dirt was knocked loose thus cleaning the clothes.
Taking the tub half filled with water, Sigurd placed it on the right side of the mangle. The empty one went underneath the frame and the soapy one went on the left.
Sigurd grabbed his shirt from the soapy water, wringing it in his hands to get it as dry as possible before feeding it into the mangle and turning the handle. The rollers pulled the shirt through, pressing the water from it as it passed. Once complete it tumbled into the clean water on the other side which he used to wash out the soap.
Once clean Sigurd passed it back through the mangle and set it on the wooden racks in his house to drip dry. He repeated the process with the other clothes.
Packing stuff away, he figured the leather had had enough time to soak and began scrubbing it with his hands, rubbing away the grime from the seams.
Once done, he dried it as best he could with a towel before getting some oil out. Applying the oil was a straight-forward task but it was part of his regular maintenance as it kept the leather supple, and if it was supple it wouldn’t crack.
He used the oil on the metal plates from the armour, discarding the cracked one that had broken at the impact from the cat as well as on his axe, blade and handle alike.
