Dungeons and Demons

by Lewis Flanagan (otherwise know as [Vesthrix])

   George Hilltop rounded a corner on his patrol route taking him up an alley of warehouses. It was a tough job being a town watchman. The hours were only second in wretchedness to the pay. In the smaller town where George had grown up the duty circulated between all the able bodied men. Here the people made enough money to pay others to do it for them. At first George had been more than happy at the idea of being paid for something he considered his civic duty, but that had worn off as boredom set in.
   When he had admitted the reality of his job he decided to spice things up a little. He tried to portray himself as a heroic figure, fighting to keep the town safe from the hoards of bandits and beasties, waging their everlasting siege against the town’s gates. Again reality smote down his fantastic delusions. In the three years since he had enlisted, there had been barely two dozen incidents that had required the town watch and half of them involved someone’s aged grandparent wandering off. The most exciting thing that had happened by far was when a rather confused looking troll had wondered halfway down Main Street before he decided that he didn’t care for town life after all and head back the way he came. No wonder layoffs were coming again next month.
   As he moved up to the last set of warehouses a little girl came careening out from a side ally. “HELP, IT’S COMING TO GET ME!” she hollered. George felt his heart lurch into action as soon as he heard her. This, at long last, was the adventure he had been waiting for! He would be promoted or hired by some rich noble as a personal body guard. He darted around her and then a few yards down the ally in search of the ghastly monster.
   There was nothing down the ally.
   “Alas,” he was thinking just when he noticed the jaws closing around his waist. He screamed; more out of surprise then from the pain as the jaws tossed him upward and then more from utter terror than hope for attracting attention as he fell backward into the gaping maw where horror and nothingness awaited.



   “We’ve been by here before,” Jerard said as he followed the robed magician down a dungeon corridor.
   “And what makes you say that?” asked Melvin.
   “I recognize that poster.” Jerard gestured toward where a small poster hung on the dungeon wall. It was an advertisement for the dungeon:

   “Bury your secrets, valuables, or your foes with help from Shady Industries™. Our new line of dungeons has received the highest rating from The Conspiracy Department of Villain Safety. For details visit our residential branch in Vile City.”

   “There could be more then one poster like that,” said Melvin crossing his arms.
   “What are the chances of there being two posters with mold growing right over the female prisoner’s torso?” Jerard pointed toward the drawing of a young woman dangling by her wrists over a bubbling caldron wearing what might have been a skanky outfit.
   “Well, did you ever think that there might be that we missed the first time down here?”
   “Not until you mentioned it, and I doubt that that puts me far behind you,” Jerard smirked. “Come on, whatever is causing the disappearances in town sure isn’t down here.”
   “What are you talking about? It’s an abandoned dungeon just outside of town, perfect for running a nefarious operation,” Melvin said as he continued down the corridor making a show of searching it.
   Jerard watched the shorter character’s antics with failing patience.
   “Look,” he said, “if you must search every inch of this place, why don’t you just use a spell and save some time? You’ve got more then enough mana and nothing else to use it on.”
   Melvin muttered some complaint and began to wave his wand around dramatically. Then he closed his eyes. From somewhere among the stagnate airs of the dungeon a breeze tossed his blond hair.
   “Jerard,” he whispered, “there’s another two rooms just behind that wall,” he pointed excitedly to the end of the hall.
   Jerard walked over, loosening his war hammer as he went. It never hurt to be ready, especially when Melvin found things. Starting with where the wall met the vaulted ceiling and slowly working his way down, he searched for cracks, leavers or anything that might let him open the secret door. He kneeled as his search worked its way downward to the flagstone floor without turning up anything. “Would you mind conjuring up some light?” he barked at Melvin.
   “Haven’t I wasted enough mana?” Melvin complained. “Just use that torch over there.” Melvin nodded at one that was about ten feet down the intersecting hall. Jerard went to get it. He had often wondered how lit torches came to be in long abandoned dungeons. Did some fairy run around and replace them every hour? If that was so Jerard would like to tell that fairy to get a life. He grabbed the torch. To his added frustration, the torch wouldn’t lift out of the fixture. After struggling a minute he gave it a horizontal tug hoping to pull the entire thing out of the wall. With a sharp noise the torch pivoted until it was parallel to the floor. A second later the section of wall that Jerard had been searching vanished into the ground leaving a five by seven foot opening leading out of sight.
   “GAH!!!” Melvin hollered jumping back as a corpse flopped out. A second later another corpse stumbled out of the opening and turned toward them as the first zombie started to get up. As soon as he saw them Jerard raised his hammer and began to charge.
   “Stand back,” ordered Melvin “Leave this to me and my amulet of anti-unlife.” He pulled a small golden tea cup from his pocket and held it aloft as he started chanting. Light streamed out of the amulet bringing the zombies to a halt. They aged before the adventurers’ eyes as the light flickered across their faces and with a final flash went out.
   The warrior and the zombies stood still, looking at the magician, expecting something further.
   “Well, what are you waiting for?” Melvin shouted to Jerard as he tripped over his robes in retreat. The zombies closed in.
   In one movement Jerard leaped over his sprawling friend and smashed in the face of the closest zombie. It fell head over heels on to the floor. The other zombie stepped over it. It raised its rotten arms toward Jerard’s face. Jerard didn’t give it a chance. Loosing a hail of blows Jerard reduced the undead man to an inert pile of flesh and bones. The faceless zombie, on the other hand, had recovered its feet even as Jerard finished off its compatriot. Jerard, noticing it a second to late, tried to lurch back but it latched its cold and moldy hands onto his left arm and began to pull it off. Jerard started to hammer at the zombie wildly with his right hand but it was a vain effort.
   “MELVIN,” he cried in desperation even as he felt his shoulder being dislocated. Several points of searing cold scattered across his body. Undeterred he kept hammering away at it.
   “Ah, Jerard? It’s dead already. Well, deader at any rate.”
   Jerard took a moment to look at his opponent. The zombie was now half covered in frost. He exhaled deeply and then, taking a moment to aim, he knocked the zombie arm clean off the body, freeing his own.
   Jerard struggled to his feet. “I’ve been wondering,” he said working his shoulder back in to place, “If zombies are already dead, why does hammering them to bits do any good?”
   Melvin thought for a second. “I imagine that the enchantments on them are designed to conserve mana by taking advantage of the present organs and are probably not complex enough to take into account damage that occurs after reanimation. For example, that zombie, when it thaws out in a few minutes, will probably try to get up in a manner that would require two arms and will keep trying until the enchantments wear off in, oh, a few centuries,” he said.
   As he explained he poked his head into the opening. Behind the opening was a small room holding only a cot and a shelf. On the far side was a metal door with a wheel to open it.
   “A treasure vault!” Melvin cried gleefully. Jerard said nothing but got his hammer up just incase as Melvin turned the wheel. Behind it was a room full, not of treasure, but of tanks and tubes, all full of a murky greenish liquid that admitted a pale glow. Floating in them was all manner of dead things. Bent over one of the vats was a nerdy little man.
   “Who the devil are you!?! he cried.
   “Us? Who are you?” Melvin shouted back at him.
   “I asked first,” said the man with the dead things.
   “Look, I’m the one with the war hammer. Maybe you should answer him,” Jerard said.
   “I’m…ah…Dillon the Necromancer,” he stuttered. “Get out now or I’ll…I’ll set my legions of zombies on you!”
   “You mean those zombies?” Jerard gestured to the pair of zombies which were now indeed flopping around like fish in an empty bucket.
   Dillon glanced around clearly scared out of his mind.
   “What are you doing down here?” asked Melvin continuing his interrogation.
   “It’s…an abandoned dungeon just out side of town, perfect for running a nefarious operation,” said Dillon, “why wouldn’t a necromancer want to be here?”
   “I knew it!” exclaimed Melvin. “You’re the one who’s been causing the disappearances in town. It all makes perfect sense: You’ve been killing people off to create your zombie army to rule the world, but now it’s curtains for you!” Melvin took a fencer’s stance with his wand pointed at the quivering Dillon.
   “But…but… all I’ve done is dig up a few graves. That’s not really hurting anyone. They were dead, they didn’t need their bodies anymore,” wailed Dillon who looked like he might lose bladder control.
   “Not to mention, anyone who could make people disappear in the middle of town without being caught, ought to be able to come up with something better than two second-rate zombies,” said Jerard. “Like I said before, there’s nothing down here. I’m heading back to town,” he added as he turned and strode out.



   “What was that!?!” Melvin had caught up with Jerard two blocks away from Main Street. Not many people were about. Since the disappearances had started two weeks ago with one of the watchmen, most people didn’t like to leave their houses. Melvin wasn’t thinking about this. He was now bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath after racing to catch up with the long legged warrior. He had never liked running, especially when he had to hike up his robes.
   “What was what?” asked Jerard not even bothering to turn around to see Melvin show off how out of breath he was.
   “You just left me alone in a dungeon with a necromancer closing in for the kill!”
   “That necromancer couldn’t have fought his way out of a broom closet.”
   “Maybe so, but you didn’t known what was about to crawl out of those tanks.”
   “Lets call it warriors intuition, you were perfectly safe” said Jerard not wishing to argue further. “Any other ideas on how to find whatever it is?” he asked.
   “No, as far as I know it could be anything, even a munchore demon, or anywhere, even around that corner.”
   “A munchore demon, what’s that?”
   “Oh, they’re a species of fear-demon,” Melvin explained. “They’re born and bred to devour mortals. Not just the souls, but the bodies as well. They can take on any form they want, which lets them catch mortals off guard. Then they generally swallow their victim in one gulp. The other thing about them is they’re not that tough, if you notice one before your eaten they’re pretty easy to kill. What makes them fear-demons is that they feed off the fears of mortals. Eating people is really just a way of generating fear. Beside that they really don’t get much nurturance from those they devour.”
   “So you think it’s one of those?” Jerard rested his hand on his hammer and looked around.
   “Oh no, they’re very rare. I’m going to head to the tavern and see if I can pick up any other leads.” Melvin turned the corner. Around it was a little girl. She was wearing a rather dirty blouse and a torn dress. Her blond hair was matted. “Please sir, I’m hungry,” she said.
   “Poor thing,” said Melvin patting her on the head, then wiping his hand off on his robe, “I was just on my way down to a tavern. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll get you something to eat.” Melvin turned away from her as he led the way to the tavern.
   Jerard turned the corner just in time to see the girl’s mouth stretching outward in the most unnatural way. In a second the distance from her chin to her upper lip was longer then a man. Her teeth had grown into impossibly larger fangs.
   “MELVIN, LOOK OUT!” Jerard yelled. Melvin turned and just narrowly missed avoiding the chomping jaws.
   “Did you see that? She just bit my arm off!” Melvin yelped.
   Ignoring him, Jerard charged the demon. It no longer had the guise of a little girl. Its head was huge and frog like. The legs ended in metal hoofs and had knees that bent the wrong way. The arms were small and withered looking. They ended in twisted claws.
It opened its titanic mouth and also charged.
   Jerard threw himself to one side. Now behind the thing, Jerard swung his hammer at the back of its head. The demon collapsed. As it struggled to its feet, Jerard gathered all his strength and smote it in the upper back.
   Steam shot out of the wound. The demon’s whole body started to shrink like an inflated raft when punctured until all that was left was a dried up husk about the size of a doll.
   “Yes!” Jerard shouted. “We did it! We’re heroes! We’re going to get paid!”
   “Well that’s just dandy. Incase you haven’t noticed, I just lost my arm.” Melvin moaned.
Jerard pulled out some strips of cloth and started bandaging Melvin’s stump. It would do until they found a healer who could do the rest, maybe even regrow the arm.
   “This might not be all bad, you know,” Jerard murmured as he worked. “It might help keep you out of trouble.”



   The sun set over the town. Though the news of their victory had not yet spread, the residents slept a little bit easier that night.