As I followed the Senior Guard into the guard’s lair, it was tricky trying to avoid the many mysterious artifacts that the Senior Guard seemed oblivious to. I wondered how he had survived so long, when we passed the Axe of Certain Death, or, worse, the Sandals of Endless Dancing. Luck. It must’ve been luck.

Soon the clean walls of a typical building were replaced by the jagged edges of stone carved with pick axes and slavery. Like all dungeons, caves, alcoves, the temperature was cool. What wasn’t cool was when the four of us bumped into a very alive war golem, whose sharp claws looked as if they could gouge the intestines out of practically anyone. This was a specimen who had a greater purpose than the broom it wielded.

“This is Nancy, the cleaning golem we took off a mad scientist. She keeps the caves practically spotless, making sure the dirt doesn’t build up. Sometimes she stands in the halls and gets in the way, almost as if she’s pondering what she’d be doing if she wasn’t sweeping. Of course we all know cleaning golems can’t think, so that’s sort of a running joke among the men. She’ll move in a couple of seconds, but she’s just too heavy to budge so we’ll have to wait.”

The weight of Nancy didn’t go unnoticed. Nancy was nine feet tall, and was built like a thick tree trunk. Her claws were made from adamantium. She let out a deafening groan as if suffering an existential crisis, one of the sweeping variety. To a certain extent I felt bad for Nancy, since I too had been subject to scrubbing Alric’s catacombs clean. I shuddered as I imagined the mess that must’ve accumulated in the long winding corridors.

Nancy did move… eventually. And the journey continued down the long and narrow steps that led deeper and deeper into the dungeon chambers. It was a quieter sort of dungeon. I could not hear the screaming of madmen, or the wails that could only be found from a caught thief. I hadn’t been in many dungeons, so it was not obvious at the time that something was amiss. Any good dungeon had a bit of screaming.

However, it did not go unnoticed that it would be difficult to find our way back out of the dungeon if we were to ever lose sight of the senior guard. The rope tied behind his ankle was the only lifeline between finding the surface and being stuck in the poorly dungeon chambers. Azog was an expert navigator but I figured it’d be even hard for him to find his way back to the outside world.

Again, I was not scared of the dark. No good necromancer was scared of something so silly. Sure, I trembled a little bit at the thought of the criminals that lurked down in that cave, and it wasn’t like the senior guards lack of common sense made me feel significantly worse. I was completely and totally fine.

“Are you really scared of the dark?” Rose hissed at me. It must’ve been a hypothetical question because it was clear that I was not nervous.

“Me, nervous? No, it would be silly for someone like me to be nervous of something as sill as the dark.” I hissed back.

“Coward. We’re following a reputable city guard and you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid! He’s also not reputable. He barely knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh, now you’re a city guard, just like you’re a holy hole inspector with a part time job as a necromancer. Next you’ll be telling me Azog was a veteran adventurer.”

“I’m pretty sure he was. I’m not sure since he doesn’t talk about the past but what other profession would require a large 2 handed sword and experience stealing artifacts.”

“Yeah, right.”

I just shook my head.

“Ah, we’re almost to the jailkeeper’s spot. You’ll all love Dren. He’s the nicest jailor you’ll find in all of the Kingdom. Only the best work for Nosturdam.”

This was another red flag that I overlooked. A good jailor knew that there was no place for being nice when you’re dealing with hardened criminals. I didn’t think much of this at the time, but something was seriously wrong with this dungeon. It was too nice.

“We’re here!” exclaimed the senior guard.

At the center of the room sat a middle aged man who wore a hat not like anything I’d ever seen before. Well, I’d seen monkeys before, but not a hat that looked very much like a monkey. It was as old as any of the artifacts that laid haphazardly in the guards’ chambers. I couldn’t help the feeling that the gems that it had for eyes were staring at me. The jailor moved funny as if he didn’t quite have full control over his own body. I dismissed the thought that he was possessed and figured it was just too much alcohol.

“Dren, these lovely people took the time for a little tour of our mighty dungeon.”

“Blood. Death. Where shall we lock them up?”

“Uh, Dren, these aren’t prisoners. They’re just taking a look around is all.”

“No, we must lock them up. I’ve got room in cells 3E and 5H.”

The senior guard turned to face the three of us.

“Sometimes Dren just gets a little bit too into his job. It’s passion like that separates us from your average bundle of guards.” nervously explained the senior guard. It made me nervous that the senior guard was nervous. The strange monkey hat that stared at me made me all the more nervous.

“Let’s compromise. Lock of the girl and the large brute and I’ll let the smaller shriveled one go. He won’t be as fun.” stated the jailor.

“They’re not prisoners!” shouted the Senior guard. It wasn’t hard to hear the fear in his voice.

“You dare talk back to me! Are you not grateful for the services I provide this city, the protection I provide to the people of this city. I’ll only ask you one more time. Who is it, I get to lock up. Maybe if you talk back too much, I can find a cell for you, Wally.”

“My name is not Wally!” shouted the Senior Guard.

“You’re Wally because that is what I named you. I own these dungeons and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Fine. Fine. Take the big brute and the lady, they’re sinners anyway. Two weeks ought to be enough time.”

“Three.” stated the Jailor.

“Two and that’s final.”

“Three. No more no less.”

“Fine. Three it is.”

“Woah, I’m not looking to get locked up.” Azog said as he unsheathed his great sword. “I’m a free man and don’t take kindly to confined spaces.”

“Then you seek death, adventurer. You’re not the first fool to die at the hands of Klopthir the Tyrant.”

“I thought his name was Dren?” I whispered into the senior guard's ear.

“Ever since he found that Monkey hat, Dren has decided to roleplay as an ancient tyrant. While I think it's a bit odd, it's not my place to tell him what he does in his free time.”

“Don’t you think that it might be the hat possessing him.”

“Possessing him? Possibly, but after putting that thing on he’s been the most productive member in the force. He was lazy before putting on that hat, and now he’s so passionate about his job. I think it’s admirable and we could all learn a little something from Dren.”

“Well, I’m afraid that I won’t let my friends die. I’ll have to use my holy bone puppet to cure this man of the demons that lurk inside his body.”

“If it is as you say, you holy hole inspector.”

The bones of the pigeon I had gotten from the Urban Druid rose and connected with each other. It could not fly without feathers, but its fierce claws would make any foe under three feet tall question a fight.

“Nancy, come join us!” shouted Dren.

The chamber shook as the thunking steps of the nine feet tall war golem resonated. Nancy wasn’t coming to clean.