Monroe-Chapter Twenty. Deeper.

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Bob crept down the tunnel, Jake at his side, carefully inspecting the shadows as he moved forward.

It turned out that Newts were sneaky fuckers.

They must have had some chameleon mixed in somewhere, because they blended into ground and walls, and on one memorable occasion, the fucking ceiling, awfully damned well.

They came in singles, pairs, and trios. In a way, it was actually easier than the Beetles, as he hadn't needed to worry about a fourth. They did more damage to Jake but were just as easy for him to kill.

Bob had decided that once he had Monroe, and was established, he was going to buy Gary a tin of head wax as a thank you gift. The armor had kept him from being bitten into on several occasions, as despite his caution, he'd been abused by a second or third newt when Jake was dealing with what they'd thought was a single or a pair.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, as he double-checked a pattern of shadows on the wall. Nope, not a Newt. He carefully inspected the walls and ceiling ahead. Was that a newt on the ceiling, or a root?

He watched carefully for a few seconds before smiling grimly. Fucking newt thought it could get the drop on him. He checked the rest of the area in the tunnel. He spotted another one, halfway up the wall on the left. No others though.

He took a few steps back and pressed his back to the wall, before mentally commanding Jake to execute the one on the ceiling.

The UtahRaptor darted forward, leaping up and snapping its terrible jaws around the neck of the surprised newt, nearly tearing its head off as Jake dropped towards the floor. The second newt launched itself off the wall and latched its own jaws onto the UtahRaptors flank. Releasing his grip on the first Newt, which was very dead, Jake turned his head and snapped at the newt that was tearing into the muscle of his left hind leg. Unable to reach it, Jake leaped towards the right wall and used it as a springboard to propel him, flank first, into the opposing wall. The newt wasn't able to hold on during the impact and was torn from the UtahRaptors flank, a chunk of flesh coming with it.

Jake swiveled as the newt tried to regain its feet, and delivered a deadly rake with his claw, splitting the newt from neck to tail, spilling its entrails into the dirt.

With a chirp, Jake eagerly dipped his head down and tore out a mouthful of viscera, raising his head to let the slimy mass slide down his throat.

With a thought, Bob dismissed Jake. He'd bring him back out in a second, with full health. And less viscera.

"Well, I have to say you're learning quickly," said Elli as he and Harv approached Bob from the rear.

"That he is," said Harv, "remember when we came down here? Took us nearly a week to start figuring out where the newts were likely to be hiding."

Bob shook his head as he summoned Jake. "By my count, I've been ambushed thirty-eight times so far," he grumbled.

"True," said Harv, "But you've already figured out that going slow, and checking your surroundings is the key."

Elli nodded and then added, "Thidwell set the Dungeon up this way deliberately, you know? The first level is to get you used to fighting and drilling in the fact that monsters will always come in numbers. The second level is to teach you that you can't always see the monsters at first glance and to be cautious."

Harv chimed in again, "I've heard about other Dungeons, and let me tell you, ours is a dream come true in comparison. Thidwell rebuilt it to teach adventurers how to survive and even flourish. That's why we're taking you through each level, instead of just shepherding you on level five to get your spells leveled up."

Bob nodded. He'd figured out that Elli and Harv both had a serious case of hero worship in regards to Thidwell. He'd also learned that they worked together to provide potions for the guild. Elli was a herbalist, and Bob had watched with interest as he gathered a bit of moss off the tree roots in the second level. He also crafted the potion vials, while Harv used ritual magic to craft the potions out of the gathered reagents.

Harv had given him a handful of potion vials which were color-coded, red for health, and blue for mana, and when Bob had asked where they'd come from, had proudly informed him of his collaborative work with Elli.

"So, as that was the tenth ambush in a row that you avoided, we figure it's time to move down to level three," Elli said.

"Probably won't finish three today," Harv warned.

Bob nodded in agreement. He'd spent two hours killing Beetles. He'd spent six hours killing newts.

He glanced at his experience bars. By his count, he'd killed two hundred and one newts. He now had thirty experience, which at least represented a percentage in the spell progression. After he'd finished the first level he'd only had five experience so at least he was making a little progress.

He watched as the two newts began to flake apart and dissolve into nothing. He'd asked about what happened to the bodies, and been told that they reverted to mana shortly after they were killed.

"So," he said as he turned, "what can I expect on level three?" he asked.

Elli grimaced and Harv frowned. "I don't need my notebook for that," said Harv sourly, "everyone remembers the third level. It's a swamp, and we all believe that Thidwell designed it to teach a lesson about environmental dangers."

Elli muttered, "Stones cursed frogs."

"Frogs?" Bob asked.

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"Fucking frogs!" Bob yelled as he struggled to hold on to his staff.

Elli and Harv had not been lying. The third level of the Dungeon was going to stick with him.

Instead of a series of passages like the first level, or tunnels like the second, the third level was shaped like a large natural cavern. He didn't know how wide it was, but the ceiling was a good twenty to thirty feet tall. The floor was uneven and mostly covered with fetid, stagnant water. There were higher points that held short, twisted trees and shrubs, as well as mushrooms. The water itself was littered with rotting leaves, and several rotten logs protruded through the surface, hinting at the trip hazards that lay beneath.

Bob was currently standing in water halfway up his thighs, fighting to keep his staff from being torn from his grasp by the long tongue of a black-bear sized frog.

Jake was currently chasing another frog, and Bob sent a mental command to bring him back to hit the frog that had surfaced and tried to snare Bob.

It had been an hour, and Bob was sick of this level already. His normal strategy of moving backward and letting Jake handle the monsters didn't work very well here. He couldn't move quickly, and neither could Jake. The frogs, on the other hand, were quite mobile, and the amphibious assholes had a tendency to lure Jake away, then circle back for Bob.

The good news, if any were to be had, was that the UtahRaptor was still one-shotting the monsters when he could catch them. Bob was also able to deliver some punishment, although it took two staff strikes to end a frog, and this was the second time a frog had tried to disarm him.

The bad news was that he was absolutely covered in filth. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd tripped on some submerged obstacle - using his staff to prod the ground ahead of him helped a little, but whenever he had to step to the side or even back, he inevitably found something to fall over. He'd been dunked over a dozen times, and he was certain that he reeked.

With a roar, he suddenly threw himself forward, shoving his staff towards the frog's open mouth. Before he could reach it, it had recoiled its tongue and hopped backward. Right into the path of Jake's leap. The UtahRaptor ripped downward, laying open the frog's spine and crushing it. Bob spun around, looking for the frog that had led Jake away. He found a wickedly barbed tongue on a trajectory to tear his face off.

Bob dropped into the water, grimacing as the foul liquid covered him again, but successfully dodging the tongue. He surged up out of the water, giving a mental command to Jake to attack.

'Fuck,' was all Bob had time to think as the frog crashed into him. Its weight bore him back down into the water, forcing his breath out of his lungs. He instinctively tried to take a breath, and choked as the foulness of the swamp filled his mouth and lungs. He used his staff to shove himself along the slimy bottom of the swamp, and sat up in the water, gasping and coughing.

Just in time to catch a tongue to the face.

The frogs didn't have sticky tongues so much as tiny barbs, maybe an eighth of an inch long, and wickedly curved. Bob jerked backward, letting out a scream of pain as the frog ripped a chunk of his cheek off.

[Frog] has caused you 40 points of damage. Damage reduced by 17 points by your natural armor.

The frog's victorious strike was it's last, as Jake, having missed his leap, darted forward and tore out a huge chunk of its neck with a vicious bite.

"FUCK!" Bob yelled as he stood up, coughing up rancid swamp water. He pulled a healing potion out of his inventory and pulled the cork with his teeth before swallowing the contents, as he slowly spun in place, looking for more frogs as he mentally commanded Jake to guard him.

He kept coughing the fluid out of his lungs, his cheek healing rapidly, accompanied by his health bar filling back up.

He heard clapping from behind him, and he turned to glare at Elli, who was standing thirty feet back.

"Good show there Bob," he called, "you kept your head even when things went wrong."

Harv waved for him to come to them.

Slogging through the swamp, using his staff to feel for obstacles, Bob couldn't help but wonder what sort of bacteria and disease was thriving in the water. Reaching his minders, Bob leaned on his staff and coughed up a little more water.

Harv looked sympathetic as he said, "We're going to call it a day, we're going on ten hours. One of the most important lessons to learn is that mistakes will get you killed, and fighting when you're tired causes you to make mistakes."

Elli nodded as he said, "You've done well today. We'll head back to the Guild, get a bath, a meal, and a good nights sleep. Then we'll hit it again tomorrow, and hopefully, as quickly as you're learning, you'll be to get to level five, which is where your spells will start to level."

As they slogged to the gateway, Harv kept talking. "We catch a lot of grief because we haven't leveled up very quickly," he said, gesturing towards Elli, "but what everyone misses is that we have all of our spells, spell schools, and skills at level," he finished proudly.

Elli continued on from Harv, "Granted, it takes a lot longer to level your spells, and especially your spell schools," at this, he grimaced, "but it makes a huge difference. Once all our spells and skills are at level, it is much easier to gather the crystals needed to advance and have new equipment enchanted."

"I know you don't have the time right now," said Harv, "Thidwell told us you didn't have more than a week before you needed to perform a ritual of some sort, but once you've sorted that out, I highly recommend you follow our pattern."

Bob nodded. It made sense in terms of being as powerful as you could possibly be when you planned to fight for your life every day.

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Bob found Harv and Elli sitting at a table in the tavern, half-empty bowls and mugs in front of them, and a place set for Bob, a full bowl of some sort of stew, a mug of water, and half a loaf of bread.

He'd probably taken a bit longer in the bathtub than they had, but then again, he'd been the one completely immersed in that filth.

Bob took his seat, gave them a nod, and tucked in. He was famished.

A few bites later, he paused to ask "Is there a cleaning service for Armor?"

Harv nodded and pointed towards the kitchen, "There is a laundry chute next to the kitchen, just put it in a satchel or a backpack, put it in the chute, pull the lever, and take the token out of the bowl. You can retrieve it in the morning from any server with your token."

"Thanks, there was just no way I was going to be able to get it clean," he said, reaching for his mug of water.

"As we said, the swamp is memorable," Elli said with a chuckle.

Bob nodded and attacked his meal. It was fairly tasty, about on par with the cafeteria food he'd enjoyed in high school. A few minutes later, he paused and asked a question that had been nagging at him for a while.

"You were collecting moss in the Dungeon," he said to Elli, who nodded.

"Can you also harvest the animals?" he asked.

Elli nodded, looking surprised, "Of course you can. I'd bet that the meat in the stew tonight was boar from level six, or bear from level seven."

"How does that work though?" Bob asked, "Doesn't the meat disappear along with the body?"

This time it was Harv who shook his head and answered, "When you harvest, butcher, skin, or whatever have you in the Dungeon, the mana that is pooled and circulating through your body interacts with the mana that manifested as the monster, or moss, or whatever," he took a long drink from his mug and went on, "interaction with your mana on that level serves to solidify the mana in the pattern, preventing it from dispersing," he finished.

"I don't know how to skin or butcher anything, do I need to spend a skill point on that?" Bob asked.

It was Harv's turn to look surprised as he said, "No, although you might want to study up a bit on the anatomy of whatever you're planning to butcher," he said.

"Skills, spells, and magical schools are what you spend points on," Elli said, "because those involve expressing mana. You can learn to plant and harvest crops, become an herbalist, a glassblower, or even a blacksmith."

Harv nodded along with Elli's list, before interjecting, "Although if you want to be a great blacksmith, you'll want to spend a point or two to be able to craft the gear while infusing it with mana through crystals. In fact, that also applies to pretty much any trade or vocation you choose."

Elli spoke up again, "That is one of the many reasons that fighting with weapons is so superior to magic," he continued over Harv's indignant sputters, "you can train your entire life with a blade, becoming more and more adept, without ever using a single Skill."

Harv stepped in, "But even the master swordsman uses Skills, and chances are good he has a bit of magic in his backpack as well, like Elli's healing spell," he said smugly.

"That was your fault for not wanting to spend the points for a healing spell when we pathed," argued Elli, "if you'd just taken that at five instead of insisting on throwing around fireballs..."

Bob took another bite of bread, and then another of stew, chewing as he listened to Elli and Harv going through an argument that seemed to be very familiar to both.

'I wonder if this is what friendship is supposed to look like?' he idly thought.