Duelling Dungeons

“Hmmmmm… this certainly looks grim,” Voss muttered as he squeezed through the narrow door that led from the rest area to the Plague Barrens. Unlike the rest of the Sanctum’s early floors, this area was located outside in the old, broken-down graveyard that surrounded the ziggurat. 

“It reminds me of the training yard,” Alia chirped as she peeked out from behind his leg. “Well… sort of. It has the same crumbling stonework, but this place has a lot more fake bodies piled up everywhere.”

When something slithered in the darkness, knocking down a loose skull from its perch, the girl immediately ducked back behind his leg again to hide. 

It hurt seeing them like this. Dryads were typically so outgoing and full of life, but when a Dryad’s tree died and they couldn’t find a new one fast enough, their appearance withered, becoming more like an old, dead tree than a lovely young girl. Although they were the same people inside, many deadwood dryads became ashamed of their appearance and preferred to hide. It was a shame.

“Don’t worry, little one, as long as I’m here, nothing will get to you. You and your sisters will be back to your trees before you know it,” he declared. 

The dryad smiled and nodded lightly, but stayed hidden safely behind his leg.

“Where are Mor'rel and his people?” Voss hurumfed. “I thought they were supposed to arrive before us?”

As soon as he asked, something shifted a couple of feet away. A pile of corpses tumbled out of the entrance of an old, crumbling crypt, followed by a lanky mushroom person. It snatched up the long, putrid-looking polearm which it had dropped in its tumble, and snapped to attention.

Alia looked at the pile of purid corpses which had spilled out on the ground and wrinkled her nose. “What were you doing in there?” she asked. 

The mushroom casually leaned its long spear against its shoulder, then pantomimed holding a bowl and spooning some food towards its face. Since it didn’t have a mouth, it did its best to convey the idea.

“Eating? Eating what?” the dryad asked. “Those bodies are disgustingly realistic, but still fake.”

Instead of trying to reply, the fungi crouched down over the ‘corpses’ and allowed the noxious fumes rolling off them to rise into its cap. After a couple of seconds, its dark reddish-brown mushroom cap began taking on a slightly green tinge.

“Although I’d like to give you enough time to feed on the plagues around here and reach your full strength, time is of the essence,” Voss declared. “Where are the rest of your people?”

Mor'rel stood up straight and let out a huff, sending a cloud of spores exploding from his head. As they spread around the graveyard, several other mushroom people popped their heads out of the various crypts and coffins dotted around the entrance area. 

“I know you’re all confident in your fighting skills, but I wish you’d show a little more caution. Although the Sanctum appears to be content to sit back and let us come to them, a more aggressive team could have rushed forward and taken you out while you were all distracted,” Voss grumbled.

Mor'rel just shrugged, the cloud of buzzing flies and decay still swirling around it.

Voss sighed. “Gather together. We’re on a tight schedule, and I don’t want to keep our team waiting. We need to break the Sanctum’s lines and conquer this floor as quickly as possible so that we can gain access to the upper floors.”

The Mycillum people scrambled out of their hidey holes, pulling long, rotting spears with them. A few even had small, rough shields made of his bark. Once they’d gathered the entire group, they simultaneously threw a crisp salute.

“Very good,” Voss muttered as he slowly strode forward. His old joints creaked with every step, and his footfalls shook the ground. “I shall take the lead. You do your best to prevent anyone from slipping past and attacking the little ones.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Alia declared bravely, as her sisters slowly crept out of the safe room. 

Voss nodded proudly, then smiled as he heard the dryads scatter and dive into cover the instant he turned away. Even though they were brave, they still didn’t like getting looked at.

“Be careful, this is one of the only floors that has its full complement of staff. If they come at us all at once, we’ll be outnumbered,” Voss grumbled. 

“That’s fine,” Alia replied. “If they try and rush us, they’ll learn what a mistake it is to face you head-on.”

As the team ventured further into the floor, it quickly became apparent that the focus of the plague barrens wasn’t to wear the enemy down with repeated waves of enemies, but through repeated exposure to various elemental effects. 

The first arena contained a rancid pond with several rotting bodies stewing at the bottom. There were several small islands, with several crumbling pillars and fallen trees sprinkled between them.

“A jumping puzzle,” Voss scoffed, stepping directly into the rancid water and crushing a broken casket underfoot. “For those who want to avoid getting infected by whatever foul disease is in the water.”

He slowly turned back towards the entrance and lowered his hand. “Come along, little ones. This pit is dangerous for you, but not for me and the fungi.”

Mor'rel and his brethren leapt into the water and started happily wading through the chest-deep water. As they moved, the veins just under their skins began to turn a putrid green colour, and their mushroom caps became engorged.

The Dryads all scampered over to Voss, climbing his massive frame until they could find a good place to either cling or sit out of range of the water. Once they were situated, he immediately strode through the shin-deep water. 

He managed to get about halfway across before a ragged voice echoed out. “Well, well, well, it seems the Manor sent its nature squad out to challenge me. No matter how bent and broken you are, you cannot stand up to my manufactured plagues.”

The man who stepped out of the shadows was completely swathed in bandages, leaving only his eyes uncovered. Countless cuts, boils, and open sores had caused blood, bile, and all sorts of other liquids to leak out and stain his clothes. Between the bandage and misshapen lumps caused by massive boils, it was hard even to tell what race he was.

“Manufactured plagues- is that supposed to scare us?” Voss scoffed.

“I have taken the strongest, most virulent plagues in the world, injected them into my test subjects, and let them combine and grow stronger. Everything you see here is a result of my work,” the man exclaimed before breaking down into a fit of mad giggling.

“You can drop the act; there’s no need to ham it up for the audience. This is all about the match, not the spectacle.”

“Oh, I’m not hamming it up,” the man cackled. “I’m an artisan, and proud of my work. I’m going to show the world that my creations are strong enough to even fell the famous twisted treent.”

“I think you’ll find that no matter what you’ve done, your plagues will never stop me. Most people see death and decay as something to fear, but I know it’s just part of the cycle of life. I’ll face your plagues, embrace them, and they will just make me stronger,” Voss declared.

The misshapen man narrowed his eyes in disdain. “We shall see.”

As he turned and started walking away, he raised one hand in the air and waved it around dismissively. “Please entertain our guests for a while. I need to prepare.”

Several misshapen forms rose from the muck at the edge of the pond. Lizard-like but extremely malformed, many of them had boils larger than their heads. Mor'rel and the others took defensive positions as the creaturesshambledd forward, but Voss didn’t take his eyes off the retreating figure. “Yes, yes, we will,” he growled.