Black Mould - Fifteen - Thoughts of Great Risks and Greater Rewards

“The first thing you need to know about dungeons,” Stew said, shifting on his blankets to make himself more comfortable, “is that they hate you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Stew grinned. I could tell he was enjoying himself. Then again, people liked being able to talk about something they knew about, more so when they were talking to someone genuinely interested in what they had to say.

“Everything about a dungeon is hostile. The area around it will sap you of your energy unless you’re resistant to it. The space within the dungeon is designed to lure you and your team into traps. Pitfalls, tripwires, sections that will cave in at a moment’s notice. That’s not even considering the monsters lurking in there.”

I wanted him to tell me everything, but I had to start from somewhere. “Tell me about the area around the dungeon; what did you mean by sapping your energy?”

Stew rubbed at his chin with his good hand. “Hard to describe. The area around a dungeon feels… dry. If you… can you see your system yet?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good, good. You know your mana total? When you’re around a dungeon, it’ll stay wherever its at. No ticking up over time. Worse, if the dungeon’s parched, then you might start losing mana just from being close to the entrance. Once you’re in, you’re fine. Better than fine, really. The interior of a dungeon is rich in magic. I heard that once, entire forests felt that way.”

That sounded dangerous. “Does the dungeon use the mana?”

He nodded. “To replenish itself. You can tell that a dungeon’s reset when the pull decreases.”

“Okay,” I said. I made a note to avoid the area. My mana ticked up very slowly, and I knew first-hand how awful it was to run out. I imagined that adults had a lot more than I did. “Is there a way to avoid having your mana taken?”

Stew hummed. “A few ways. Some of us used to take mana potions before getting close to the dungeon. Top yourself off, so that the worst pull close to the entrance wouldn’t affect you as bad. Mana potions aren’t instant, you know. But they’re expensive, and the cheaper ones will have you shi— using the loo quite often.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“A few of the more magically-inclined had good enough control over their own mana to prevent the dungeon from taking any of theirs.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Could I learn that?”

He chuckled. “You could, but they were all older. Never saw a mage who could manage that who wasn’t in his thirties.”

“Ah,” I said. So it was hard to learn. Or it was tied to another skill.

“Then there’s the rogue way,” Stew said. I perked up. “Some folk have skills to resist poisons, usually the same sort of folk that use them. Good skill to have, that. At higher levels, it can stop mana poisoning, which is what happens when a dungeon spews out a big burst of mana all at once. Ah, but to save you from the dungeon taking your mana… you’d need to get one of those rare skills that prevent things from tampering with your mana.”

“And how would I get one of those?” I asked.

He shrugged, his right-side stump shifting enough that he had to pull his shirt up. “I don’t know, not exactly. I think you’d need to poison yourself with something magical, develop a resistance to that, then not take the skill and develop a resistance to mana draining. You might, if you’re lucky and neither of the previous things kill you, learn a skill that will protect you from both.”

“Stew,” Debra said. “You’re putting stupid thoughts into the kid’s head.”

“I won’t do anything like that,” I lied. I had some mushrooms which might be poisonous, magically poisonous, even. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t kill me, only make my life hell for a while. “Anyway, what about the inside of the dungeon?”

“I’ve only been to two personally,” he said, “the Rossbottom one way out to the east, and the Ditz dungeon right in this city, but I’ve heard plenty of stories from delvers. We’re a chatty bunch, you know?”

“What’s a delver, exactly?” I asked.

“Someone that goes into the dungeon first. They clear it out, take apart traps, and kill off all the monsters. Then the worker crews come in and strip the place of anything worth taking. The traps are nasty sometimes, but we tend to go slow, no matter how much a foreman pushes. If they push too much, then someone might miss a trap, you know.” He grinned.

“Did you lose your limbs to a trap?” I asked.

Stew shook his head. He didn’t look offended at all. “Rock golem. Big, nasty things, made of stones that are alive. Never saw it coming. One moment I’m watching for goblins, the next I’m screaming and half of me feels like its been jammed into a vise. Barely made it out of there.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“It happens. Often, even. Delving isn’t a safe job, and for all that the pay is great, the skills you need don’t always translate well to a life outside of the dungeon. No one’s going to hire someone who’s only skills are making things dead.”

“Are there healers that could help you?” I asked. “Or potions?”

Stew laughed. “Oh, sure. Maybe if I signed away my life. Truth is, I don’t think I have the heart to get back into that line of work. And I can’t use the skills I have now for anything else, not with a leg and an arm missing. Not even the bullies would take me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Do you live here?”

“I do,” he said.

“So if I come back, maybe with something to eat, you’d tell me more about the dungeon?”

Stew stared at me for a bit. “You’ve got the eyes of someone a lot older,” he said. “The soul too. I can feel it, you know? Something about you. I think you’re going to be up to the worst sorts of mischief when you grow older, and I don’t think I would mind seeing it.”

I grinned. “Why thank you,” I said. “So, how do the people who dive dungeons do it? Are there tactics? What kinds of skills do they have?”

Stew laughed. “One thing at a time, kiddo. One thing at a time.”

I sat and listened to Stew prattle on for a good hour, but when my rear started to go numb and the little camp started to get a little more active, I decided it was best to head out. I thanked Debra, promised Stew I’d bring him something next time, then I ran off.

My buoyant good mood only lasted as long as it took me to get close to home. I found Dad trudging his way back. He was holding onto a little bottle in one hand, and seemed a little dejected.

“Dada!” I called out before I ran over to him.

His face brightened for a moment, then he put on a frown. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Waiting for you,” I lied.

He knew it, and I knew it, and we both agreed not to poke at it with a shared smile. He awkwardly took the bottle with his bad hand, then rubbed my head with his left. “Little mushroom,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked with a gesture to the bottle. It stank of alcohol.

“Something for the pain,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” I said. I really needed to find a way to help him. It gnawed at me, not being able to do something. “How was work?”

His dark mood returned, but just for a flash before he took a swig from the bottle. It was just beer, from the looks of it. Not a favourite of mine, not even when I was older. “It’s work. Hard, and not very fun. They put up that plate that I complained about, but it only stayed there for a few days. The night shift foreman took it off. Said it makes it take too long to oil up the rotors when they have to remove the plate every time.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Yeah. Larry’s talking about unions again. I… I know that they’re not good, but he’s making a lot of sense.”

I slipped my hand into his, then squeezed. I hoped that it would be a while before I grew too old for this kind of simple affection. “Do what you think is right,” I said.

He chuckled. “What I think is right, huh? Yeah, I suppose that’s one way to live your life well. Come on, I want to warm some water up for a nice bath. I think that’s what would be right for me just about now.”

***