“So do you think the flowers are too much?” asks Fresh, looking down at the pot of flowers in her hand that she was allowed to take from Basil’s garden, replanted in one of Shamrock’s vases. It has the shape of a human skull, morbidly enough. She lifts them up, smelling them. They smell sweet and pleasant. “I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

Basil shakes her head. “I don’t,” she reassures, pulling on the collar of Fresh’s robe to straighten it out. “If what you saw is what you saw, then I think this is the way to go,” she says. “Maybe throw in a box of cookies. We’ll just snatch them on our way down.”

“Are you sure you wanna go, Basil?” asks Fresh, tilting her head. “I bet your leg still hurts a lot and we could just go to the theater instead?”

“It does,” says Basil, dusting her sleeves off. “But I’m fine on my own two feet now and I really don’t want to miss this opportunity. We’ll go to the theater next time, okay? Promise.”

Fresh scratches her cheek, getting some flower pollen on it. “Is it really that big of a deal?”

“No,” says a bored Jubilee from the kitchen table, leaning back on their chair with their hands behind their head. “It’s not.”

“It is for me,” argues Basil, turning her head around to look at them. “Please try to respect my beliefs.”

“I respect you less because of your beliefs,” replies Jubilee dryly.

Basil sighs, shaking her head. “You’re really exhausting sometimes, you know?”

“How long are you two going to be gone?” asks Jubilee. Fresh smiles. Sure, Jubilee is being a jerk, but they’re just worried after what happened last time.

“I don’t think very long,” says Basil. “We’re just going in and then out. You sure you don’t want to come with us?” she asks.

“Very sure,” replies Jubilee. “Shamrock and I are going to be having the time of our lives here without you two,” they state. Shamrock, sitting at the table looks at Jubilee and then back to them and then nods.

“It’s true,” nods the giant man.

Fresh laughs. She would pay money to see what a ‘Jubilee-Shamrock day’ looks like.

“Well. Okay. Then we’ll be right back,” affirms Basil.

“Yeah, yeah,” replies Jubilee. “If you aren’t back in a few hours, I’ll start looking for new employees.”

“As if anyone other than us would have the patience to work with you,” quips the priestess, grabbing her bag.

“It’s fine,” says Jubilee, lifting their hand to point at Shamrock with their thumb. “I’ll just drum up some more zealots like him. Real hard workers, those sect-cultists,” says Jubilee.

Basil sighs. “See you later.”

“Bye guys!” waves Fresh, holding the potted plant against herself with one hand as they leave to go down the stairs and head across the beach towards the dungeon. “Your leg is really better Basil, right?” she asks as they walk towards the giant, stone gate. The wooden planks of the walkway groan as they move towards it, the calm waves crashing beneath their feet against the wood.

“It really is,” affirms Basil as she hobbles on ahead. “There’s a little scar. But I feel much better now, so don’t worry, okay?”

“I always worry, Basil,” sighs Fresh, looking at the ominous aura of the entrance to the dungeon. “There’s so much to worry about these days.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” laughs the priestess and the two of them step inside of the dungeon. “But we’re staying on floor one today, okay?”

“Okay,” agrees Fresh. The two of them step into the mist. In truth, she doesn’t think she’s brave enough to go down deeper this time anyways, after what happened last time. The dungeons can get really grim deeper down, apparently.

Fresh and Basil appear on the other side of the gate, staring out around the fake beach found on floor one of the eastern dungeon. Honestly, she isn’t sure if this will work, but she wants to try at least. Fresh cups her hand by her mouth, calling out. “Hello!”

She looks around the beach. “Sorry for coming unannounced,” she apologizes to the room, holding out the flower-pot. “We brought you something.”

No response comes from the room, apart from the listless trickling of the water of the fake-ocean and the rustling of the oddly placed palm-trees. The two of them look at each other.

“Maybe they’re not home?” suggests Fresh.

“I don’t think that that’s possible,” replies Basil, shaking her head. The two of them keep staring around the room, watching the shifting sands. The dungeon has reset, so the crabs present on floor one have respawned and are hiding beneath the ground now, waiting to spring their trap. “Well… I guess we’ll go,” she says, sounding a little disappointed. “Let’s not be rude.”

Fresh sighs, a bit let down too. She had hoped that the entity would maybe speak to them if she brought it a gift, like it had told her to last time. She bends down, setting the flower pot and the box of coconut-cookies down in the sands and gets up. “We’ll just leave these here for you, okay?” she tells the room. Getting up, she goes back to Basil and the two of them turn around to go back through the fog.

“We’ll try again some other time, okay, Basil?” says Fresh. The priestess had hoped to see the entity too. Something so spiritually powerful is clearly an important thing for Basil to witness. Fresh realizes that the priestess has certainly had many crises of faith and is likely looking for something solid to grasp onto.

“Sure,” replies Basil and the two of them step back into the fog.

“Hey, Basil?” asks Fresh, looking over at her friend.

“Yeah?” asks the priestess, turning her head to look at her.

“Stick it out, okay?” asks Fresh. “If it was easy to believe in, you wouldn’t need faith,” says Fresh, smiling as she looks at the blue fog that they’re walking through. It’s a rather direct thing for her to say, to confront Basil and her spiritual problems like that. But she feels like the priestess needs to hear something, so that she doesn’t leave with empty hands.

“That’s a pretty wise thing for you to say,” says Basil, sounding a bit confused.

Fresh sticks out her tongue. “I told you. I’m going to get smarter and ruin all of your embarrassing secrets.”

“I sure hope not,” laughs Basil.

“Yeah,” replies Fresh, looking up at the fog that begins to crystallize. Usually it would just take a step to get through it and out to the other side. But for some reason, they have been walking for a little while longer now and the fog doesn’t swirl and spin anymore. It ceases all of its flowing movements, compressing and coming together into tight, squeezed orbs.

“Rats! RATS!” yells a voice from around the fog. “STEP TO THE LEFT! JUST TAKE THE DAMN STEP!” it screams. Fresh grabs Basil’s hand, pulling her to herself as they stand there in the white void, listening to the very tense voice shouting. Is it shouting at them?

“What was that?” asks Basil. “What’s all this?”

Fresh leans in, whispering into her ear. “I think this is the dungeon-master…” she says quietly. Basil’s eyes open wide and she stiffens up.

“No! NO! DON’T LEAVE!” it screams. “You were supposed to be two thousand eight hundred sixty-nine! AAAH!”

There is a slamming sound, like a door being violently shut as a frustrated individual walks through it, stomping all the way down a hall that neither of them can see, until eventually, an odd silhouette appears on the edge of their vision.

“I hate them so much,” it mutters, rubbing its head. “They got away this time, but I’ll get them next time,” it says, placing a hand to its chin and thinking. “I’ll move the trap a little more to the right, then I’ll nab them! They’ll never see it coming! RATS!”

Basil and Fresh exchange a nervous look, before turning to face the entity approaching them.

“Hi!” waves Fresh.

“A plague! PERCHTA!” yells the creature, walking towards them. It lifts a white glowing finger, pointing at her as its eyes glare from its featureless face. “A plague upon my house!” it says, reaching into its pocket and grabbing a cookie that is clearly from the box they had just left behind on the other floor.

“Mm,” nods Fresh, having expected something like this. “Sorry about that. I’m sure it will be better soon,” she reassures.

“Why are you here again?!” it asks, turning its gaze towards Basil. “And why is it here?”

“Huh? Oh, that’s Basil,” says Fresh, grabbing the priestess. “She’s my friend.”

“Five hundred and nine!” it yells, leaning in towards them as crumbles fall out of its mouth. It glares at Basil. “You were supposed to be five hundred and nine!”

“Uh… sorry,” apologizes Basil. Fresh had warned her in advance that the entity was very tightly strung about humans. “It was a really good trap though. Maybe next time?”

“AAAAH-!” it screams, clutching its head. The rest of the cookie in its hands crumbles as it inadvertently presses it against its own skull. Crystal snowflakes manifest themselves all around the room, falling from the condensed orbs that hang in the air.

“Are we bothering you?” asks Fresh as the entity still continues to scream. “Sorry. We just wanted to stop by and visit.”

The dungeon-master stops screaming, its fingers still digging into its skull. It lifts its gaze, looking at them, crumbles of broken cookie falling from its closed lips.

“A guest?” it asks, eyeing them warily. “You’re here as guests?” it asks, somewhat perplexingly.

Basil lowers her head, grabbing the sides of her robe as she lowers herself into a curtsy, which Fresh has never seen her do before, ever. “If you’ll have us.”

“TEA!” yells the dungeon-master, spinning around in an instant. “I HAVE TO MAKE TEA!” it screams frantically, running away back to the direction that it came from. Stopping half-way, it turns around. “STAY THERE!” it commands, before running off into some room that neither of them can see. From the other side of the odd expanse, there is a clinking of glassware and a splashing of water to be heard.

Fresh blinks. “Basil? What was that?” she asks, noticing that Basil is smiling in a way that she hasn’t seen her do in a long time.

“Hospitality for guests is a core tenant of the faith,” beams the priestess.

“Huh…” says Fresh, staring back towards the distance.