The Other Dungeoneers

By Penelope Love

With Friends Like These...
The always broke but ever hopeful adventurers Dhum, Hazzard and Avariss are back, and they’ve made some expensive new friends:
Yen the money mage, who needs coins for spells. Goldie the cleric, who gives to the poor. And Atem the artificer, whose costly devices always explode.
In this new collection of comedic fantasy stories the Dungeoneers explore a dragon-burnt city, an icy tomb, an abandoned mine, and a murderous paradise.
Battling monsters and finding treasure is only half the adventure. Keeping it is the tricky part...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Penelope Love
• Release date: Jun 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648515135

Penelope Love

Penelope Love is an Australian writer whose Cthulhu fiction has appeared in She Walks in Shadows (Cthulhu’s Daughters), Heroes of Red Hook, Tales of Cthulhu Invictus, Madness on the Orient Express, and Cthulhu’s Dark Cults. She has also written Call of Cthulhu role playing game scenarios since 1986 and her publications include Horror on the Orient Express, De Horrore Cosmico and others. She also writes light-hearted fantasy with The Three Dungeoneers and The Other Dungeoneers.

Book preview

The Other Dungeoneers

Penelope Love

The Other Dungeoneers

is published by King Of The Castle Games Company Pty Ltd

Melbourne, Australia

© 2019 by Penelope Love

www.campaigncoins.com

Published in April 2019

Edited by Mark Morrison

Cover art by Lynda Mills

Cover design by Drew Morrow

Interior art by Lynda Mills

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 978-0-6485151-3-5

Facebook: facebook.com/CampaignCoins

Twitter: twitter.com/CampaignCoins

Contents

A Triumph of Dragons

A Belligerence of Barbarians

A Mob of Mycenoids

A Murder of Treants

Acknowledgments

Dedicated by Gertie

to the Other, Other Dungeoneers:

Charity, Quill, Red, Tostig & Travok

A Triumph of Dragons

A Formation of Foes

‘This whole town smells like fart,’ Hazzard announced.

‘Barbarians are so crude,’ sniffed Avariss, her voice muffled by the perfumed silk handkerchief she had clapped to her nose.

‘How would you describe this pong then, Miss hoity toity elf?’ Hazzard asked.

‘There are many beautiful words you could use, such as aroma, whiff, or soupçon,’ Avariss said, loftily, peering through the smoke that filled the air of the deserted city with a fine, gritty, sulphur-laden haze.

Although people, animals and even birds had fled, the city was not silent. Instead the streets were filled with an unpleasant, see-sawing rumble, rising and falling like an overloaded wagon with the devil’s own squeaky wheel.

‘Describe this.’ Hazzard reached over one long arm and snatched the perfumed cloth from Avariss’ face. She took an inadvertent whiff of the sulphur-laden air, then choked and coughed. She hastily reapplied her scented hanky. ‘This whole town smells like fart,’ she admitted.

‘Told you,’ Hazzard said, pleased.

Meanwhile Dhum cleared the rubble that blocked their path. ‘Are either of you going to actually help?’ he grumbled.

‘I am shocked and hurt by your snide remark. I am keeping watch,’ Avariss said. ‘As soon as that dragon appears it will be an elvish pincushion.’

‘You can’t see diddly squat with all this smoke,’ Dhum growled.

‘Your dim dwarf eyes might be blinded by the haze but my keen elvish gaze can detect a mote in a dust storm,’ Avariss loftily replied.

‘So what’s that?’ Dhum pointed at an ominous shape looming through the sifting smoke at the end of the street.

‘Aiiee! Dragon!’ Avariss vaulted for safety behind Dhum.

‘It’s a watch tower, you idiot. And if you thought it was a dragon, why didn’t you fire an arrow?’

‘What? And remove the handkerchief from my nose?’ Avariss gasped.

‘Olan’s balls! You know I have dibs on the dragon,’ Hazzard leapt atop a ruined wall, unsheathed his great sword over his shoulder and aimed it skyward, or at least where the sky would be if they could see it through the sulphurous smoke. He was as usual bare-chested and only reluctantly wearing trousers. ‘If I slay this fell beast, then Olan will grant me the dragon’s spirit.’

‘Which means what, exactly?’ Avariss sniped.

‘Dragon tattoo, baby,’ he declaimed while his aurochs tattoo pawed at his chest and the hound tattoos on his shoulders showed their tongues in a long grin. The snorts from his calves, hidden beneath his trousers, indicated the horse tattoos were also quite keen on the idea.

‘Rimbard’s Road! Don’t be greedy,’ Avariss retorted. ‘You already have five tattoos. With all that racket it is already five tattoos too many if you ask me.’

‘Once more, for the barbarian up the back, there will be no dragon slaying,’ Dhum cried in anguish. ‘Dragons are way out of our league. Everyone, repeat after me. There will be no dragon slaying.’

‘There will be no dragon slaying,’ Avariss readily agreed.

‘And why are we in Pranjip?’ Dhum asked.

‘To find the missing mage,’ the others intoned dutifully.

‘And loot the ruins,’ Avariss murmured.

‘And kill the dragon,’ Hazzard mumbled.

’I heard that,’ Dhum informed them, crisply. ‘We locate the mage and escort her to safety. That’s all. No looting. No dragon slaying. Nothing except mage rescuing.’

The other two muttered something that might be agreement while Avariss performed a surreptitious scan of the surrounding terrain for stray treasure and Hazzard hitched up his much-loathed trousers.

Pranjip was one of the lesser known city-states. The town motto ‘As Prudent as Pranjip’ carved over the shattered city gates was never the rallying cry of heroes, but rather the well-weighed words of her merchant-lords. Her citizens were careful and shrewd worshippers of Rimbard, patron of traders and thieves, rather than Olan, god of warriors. As a city, Pranjip’s greatest civic triumph was to keep its insurance premiums paid. Given the smoking ruins beyond, that was prudent indeed.

The city was built around her harbour, overlooked by a high hill covered in wealthy merchants’ houses. Atop the hill stood the city hall, a handsome building with a pillared facade and an arched pediment, which in happier times stood on a market square green with shade trees. The dragon Ruby-red had stormed the city, driven away its people, and gratuitously burned the shade trees to charred stumps. She had then gathered all the city’s gold and now slumbered within city hall, to judge by the smoke that spewed from between the pediment-capped pillars and covered the city in a noxious cloud. She also snored, hence the ceaseless hell-cart racket.

That said, Dhum regarded the snoring as a bonus as it hid all sounds of their trespass.

The survivors of Pranjip, prudent as always, had set up a tent city (with excellent drainage and neatly arrayed pit toilets) then discovered, in a torrid interview with their insurance agents, that their policy small print explicitly ruled out compensation for ‘acts of gods or dragons’.

Attempts to persuade their wealthier and more martial neighbouring city-states to evict Ruby-red had met with no success. Hiring heroes to deal with the dragon on their own account had also failed. The sole hero who had volunteered so far was a foreign mage, who had accepted a down payment of ten gold coins. She was escorted to the town gates, disappeared into the smoky darkness, and hadn’t been seen since. The townsfolk were still feeling guilty about sending someone so woefully unprepared into the ruins, so had offered the three dungeoneers ten gold pieces to go in and find her again.

‘Can’t miss her. She’s a skinny lass, speaks funny, and wears hand-me-downs,’ the alderwoman who hired them had drawled.

‘If she was such a good mage, why wasn’t she clad in a chic robe of night-black silk sewed in sun and moon design in gold and silver thread with matching wizard accessories?’ Avariss had asked, suspiciously.

‘I’ll be frank. We have no idea how good she was. Money was going missing and we suspected she might be more thief than mage.’

‘I think you’ll find that rogue is the preferred term for those audacious souls bold enough to operate outside the law,’ Avariss said haughtily.

‘Is that so? Well she found she preferred dragon when her other choice was jail. We didn’t mean for her to die though,’ the alderwoman admitted. ‘She’s from the Koi Kingdom. They’re a big trading partner, and we don’t want to cause any international incidents.’

Hazzard and Avariss had been surprised that Dhum had accepted such a low-paying job but they trusted the dwarf’s shrewdness enough to refrain from comment until they were inside the gates of the burned city and safely out of earshot of the townsfolk.

‘That reminds me. Ten gold doesn’t normally pay for me to risk my toenail, much less my neck,’ Avariss grumbled now.

‘We needed the money,’ Dhum said. The party money pouch was unfortunately empty once again, except for a handful of dark electrum coins they had come by early in their adventuring career and never been able to part with, for everyone they met viewed them with deep suspicions as surviving relics of some long dead and evil empire best left forgotten. Dhum only kept the coins with him in the faint hope that the empire might some day prove to be not quite dead, and not yet forgotten, and then he’d make a killing on the evil exchange market.

‘I don’t want to disappoint you,’ Hazzard kindly explained to Dhum, ‘but it sounds like that mage was way out of her league. She’ll be toast by now.’

‘Sounds to me like she was a rogue who took the gold and scarpered,’ Avariss gave credit where credit was due.

‘Do you two ever pay attention to what anyone else says?’ Dhum asked. ‘The Koi Kingdom are also known as the Hermit Kingdom. They have shut their gates against all foreign powers. This mage must be a Koi Kingdom V.I.P. to even be allowed outside. They are rumoured to be fabulously wealthy and steeped in all kinds of esoteric magical arts. If we rescue her the Empress is bound to be grateful and how will she reward us?’

‘An All-you-can-eat buffet,’ Hazzard suggested.

‘Rumoured to be…’ Dhum prompted.

‘A fish pond,’ Avariss guessed.

‘Fabulously wealthy…’ Dhum continued the hinting thing though it didn’t seem to be working.

The other two gazed at him blankly.

‘Brick and Stone! Money, she’ll reward us with money!’ he bawled.

Hazzard’s face illuminated. ‘Olan’s balls! Good plan, mate, some mage rescuing alongside a little dragon slaying!’ He pounded his friend on the back. ‘Let’s go find ourselves a mage,’ he set off enthusiastically, scanning the ground for tracks.

Dhum followed him, hefting his axe. It was clear he was never going to remove dragon-slaying entirely from Hazzard’s game plan. However when a dragon moved in, other monsters often followed in its wake. He secretly hoped to satisfy Hazzard’s bloodlust with the smaller fry.

‘Rimbard’s Road, we’re in Silk Street!’ Avariss spotted a sign. Her face lit. ‘Let the looting begin,’ she announced.

‘Wait,’ Dhum started. Avariss didn’t. She dived into the nearest shop. ‘Let’s keep guard,’ the dwarf sighed. He and Hazzard stood sentry outside.

That is to say, they remained vigilant for the first fifteen minutes. During the second fifteen minutes Hazzard uttered ‘Bored now’ at one minute intervals. On the half hour, Dhum went into the shop to see if Avariss had finished looting yet. ‘In a minute,’ she told him from the depths of a deserted changing room.

Many more minutes followed before Avariss re-emerged. She was wearing an elbow length pair of blue silk gloves and carried a carefully curated selection of silk dresses and scarves wrapped in tissue paper. She thrust them into Dhum’s arms, turning the dwarf into a walking clothes stack. ‘Next stop, Shoe Street,’ she said.

‘No. Not shoes, no,’ Hazzard moaned. ‘Remember … Tanzin … six whole hours…’

‘By the Builder that’s not looting, that’s stealing. You need to pay for those,’ Dhum growled.

‘I don’t see any shop-keeper around,’ Avariss retorted.

An arrow whizzed through the air and thunked into the pile of dresses Dhum held. He raised them as a shield.

‘No! Throw yourself in front of them or they’ll be ruined!’ Avariss howled.

A volley of missiles punctured the expensive cloth in a dozen places, but the scarves saved Dhum’s life. The arrows were black and stubby and striped orange and black, like evil wasps.

Dhum peered up at the watch tower dimly visible through the smoke. In the street below the tower he spotted a hulking archer with a dragon helm. ‘Take cover!’ he bawled. The trio threw themselves behind the ruined walls as more arrows thudded into the ground and clattered off the charred stone.

Avariss tied her scented handkerchief to her face then whipped out her bow and rose to return fire. She flexed her fingers to ensure the skin-tight silk of her recent purchase did not impede her grasp. ‘I love these gloves,’ she announced. ‘They definitely add to my elvish allure.’ Their attacker ducked around the tower, with the thunk thunk thunk of elvish arrows quivering into the wall at his heels.

Wrathful roars rose from the street, followed by the bawl of brazen trumpets and then the regular tramp of marching feet.

A squad of thirty brawny orange-red humanoids appeared ahead, marching in lockstep. The shields of the front rank interlocked and the rear ranks held their shields overhead to form an arrow-proof wall and roof. The brightly polished shields were emblazoned with a rampant red dragon. A forest of spears pricked upwards through the shield-roof. Their leader carried a war banner embroidered with a red dragon. They all wore red dragon helmets that obscured their faces.

‘Do I sense a subtle red dragon motif?’ Avariss emerged from cover to snap off a shot. Her arrow bounced off the shield wall.

Dhum hunkered low and leafed through his ‘Goblinoids and their Kin’ field manual trying to ID their attackers. ‘Too tall for goblins, not hairy enough for bugbears, too ordered for orcs. We got ourselves some hobgoblins,’ he announced.

‘Bagsie the elf!’ one of the hobgoblins gave a guttural howl.

‘No I bagsie the elf!’ another contradicted.

‘Rimbard’s Road! Why are they bagsying me?’ Avariss wailed.

‘That clinches it. Hobgoblins hate elves,’ Dhum said, ticking off the final check box.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Avariss suggested.

‘Trust an elf to have no stomach for a fight!’ the commander roared.

Hazzard flourished his sword. ‘I am Hazzard of Skarfell, heir to the throne!’ he shouted, neglecting to mention his claim to the throne had been extinguished while he was trapped in a sorcerous tower for two centuries of trouserless slumber. ‘Olan!’ He roared a challenge and raised his sword to the sky as he shouted the name of the god of warriors.

‘Todesfall!’ The commander howled the name of the god of death. He planted the red dragon banner then stood before it with arms folded. The tortoise formation swept around him and formed up in a square in front of the banner.

‘Father killed Son. Now Son kill Father!’ the hobgoblins jeered, clashing their spears against their shields.

‘Olan did not kill Todesfall!’ Hazzard spluttered in outrage.

‘Did too. Scared to die so killed death. But Todesfall not die. Lord of the Dying Land! We kill for you!’ the hobgoblins shouted.

‘You big orangey-red liars!’ Hazzard howled. Olan sent down a bolt of lightning that smacked into his raised blade, illuminating him with blue wildfire. The aurochs tattooed on Hazzard’s chest erupted from his skin. It became a giant black bull that bellowed with Olan’s divine wrath.

The aurochs charged, head lowered and horns locked firmly in Gore position.

The hobgoblin leader barked orders as the aurochs thudded towards them. Just at the point of impact the shield wall split. The aurochs galloped through into the empty space of the square as the commander gestured. Thirty hobgoblins lowered their spears, took two strides inwards and thrust with their spears.

The aurochs was hit on all sides. As a tattoo it could not be killed unless its master died but if met with lethal force it had to retreat back to its master’s skin. The survivability cut-off line did vary a bit but twenty-nine hobgoblin spears was a maybe. Thirty was a definite no.

The bull gave a bellow of outrage and its solid form dissolved into a dark cloud. The cloud coalesced into an inky snake and coiled back through the air to Hazzard. The aurochs reappeared on his chest, stomping and glaring. ‘Oh that is so cheating,’ Hazzard fumed. ‘Time for Plan B,’ he bawled.

‘You mean we burst in on a whirlwind of fury and violence dealing death and destruction on all sides?’ Dhum asked.

‘Are you reading my mind?’ Hazzard was impressed.

‘That is always your Plan B,’ Dhum said. He laid a restraining arm on Hazzard’s forearm and spoke quickly before Hazzard could brush his hand off like a twig in a torrent while storming Plan B-wards. ‘You won’t win with a frontal assault. That’s what they expect. That’s you versus thirty hobgoblins.’

Meanwhile Avariss had taken advantage of the hobgoblins turning their backs to get some arrows under the shield wall.

‘Twenty-seven hobgoblins,’ Dhum corrected himself. ‘Nice shooting,’ he said to Avariss, impressed.

‘I don’t care. I’ll take them on. All of them,’ Hazzard foamed at the mouth and his tattoos bayed, stamped, bellowed and grunted.

‘Could you get that lot to pipe down?’ Avariss complained. She fired and a fourth hobgoblin dropped but rolled and rose again. It limped to join its friends. ‘That racket is putting me off. See, I only winged it,’ she said, disgusted.

The leader barked a command and the square reformed. Avariss’s arrows bounced off the shield wall and roof once more. She lowered her bow, disappointed. ‘I only got four,’ she complained. ‘I like getting my hobgoblins in half dozens.’

Dhum took a deep breath and prayed to the Builder for patience. He addressed Hazzard slowly and clearly. ‘You don’t need to take on all of them,’ he said. ‘Just the one. To kill a snake you just need to cut off its head,’ he opined.

Hazzard was working himself into a berserk rage of foaming fury, but Dhum’s words brought him up short. He turned a kindly, concerned gaze to his friend. He knelt on one knee and put a brawny hand to Dhum’s brow to check for fever under all that dwarf hair. ‘Are you all right? Did you hit your head?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine,’ the dwarf was taken aback by the barbarian’s sudden solicitude. ‘Why?’

‘These are not snakes,’ Hazzard explained, slowly and carefully. ‘They’re hobgoblins.’ Light dawned in his eyes. ‘I think you need glasses,’ he decided. Just in case poor vision also impaired hearing he leaned forwards and shouted ‘GLASSES’ in Dhum’s face. He slapped Dhum on the shoulder with such a hefty blow that the stoutly built dwarf rocked on his heels, then he rose to his feet. ‘Good talk. Now I have to go kill hobgoblins.’

‘One more moment!’ Dhum realised he was talking to the wrong person. ‘Avariss, insult the commander,’ he said, crisply.

Avariss smirked and spoke at the top of her voice. ‘I don’t think they have enough intelligence to be insulted. Their skulls are solid bone after all. Why, everyone knows they’re just reject orcs.’

A howl of outrage rose from the ranks. The commander snarled and clenched its fists. ‘Never compare us to orcs. Orcs are rabble!’ it shouted, spittle flying from the mouth of its helmet.

Avariss warmed to her work. ‘Or are they just oversized goblins?’ she wondered at the top of her lungs.

‘We are not vermin!’ The outraged commander lost its cool. ‘I challenge you, elf.’ It stepped forwards, breaking through the square into the space between them. ‘Personal combat. To the death.’

‘Challenge accepted–’ Avariss shot an arrow straight at the commander in the hope it wasn’t looking.

Unfortunately it was. It raised its shield, the arrow bounced off. ‘See the treachery of elves,’ it snarled.

‘–by my champion!’ Avariss added, and waved Hazzard forward.

‘Oh that is so elvish,’ the ranks growled.

The commander was too incensed to reconsider its challenge. It stormed forward raising its spear.

Hazzard gave a berserk howl of glee. ‘Hobgoblin!’ His tattoos glowed blue and he charged forwards.

The commander thundered towards him, both of them so angry that this was clearly going to end in an all-in murderous, freeform man-on-hobgoblin mud wrestle.

The hobgoblins couldn’t fire arrows for risk of killing their own leader. They egged on their favourite with a marching chant.

One two three four.

Who do you think we all adore?

Five six