Down in the Dungeon

Back in the days of Usenet (anyone remember that?) I used to contribute to groups like alt.erotica.stories, inspired by other online authors, and by the poor quality of most of what passed for writing on that particular platform. I wanted to combine smutty writing with old-fashioned swords and sorcery adventure in the tradition of Conan, Elric, Fafhrd and the Mouser, Vlad Taltos, and others, and it's up to readers to determine whether I succeeded.

Wulf the Freelance gained a good-sized following around the world, and I really enjoyed writing it. Wulf was a knockabout adventurer, a jack-of-all-trades, and for reasons he never fully understood kept falling into bed with women of every species and description. My output declined with my divorce, and I haven't published a Wulf story in a very long time, though I have every intention of creating e-books that include some of the old tales. I wrote "Down in the Dungeon" several years ago however, and this is the first time it has ever seen the light of day. This is part 1 of 3, and I have a few more to share, so I sincerely hope you enjoy it, and feel free to drop me a line if you have comments or questions.

I

I was sitting in a tavern the other day, as is my wont (by the time you get to be my age there isn't much left to do besides sit in your customary watering hole and ogle women young enough to be your daughters, wondering where the hell all the time went), and I noticed a sadly familiar sight.

In a dark corner, sitting in what they thought was a secluded booth, was a band of young adventurers. They were all there -- the noble fighter in brand new, freshly-oiled chainmail, the staff-bearing wizard (trying to start a beard but failing), the cunning thief in studded leather and the serene, white-clad priest. They were huddled around their table, discreetly studying a worn parchment, making notes and pointing at it excitedly.

After a few minutes of this I found that I really couldn't stand it any longer, and strode over (actually I walked slowly, feeling a stiffness in my legs that wasn't there when I was their age).

"I hope you didn't get that map from an old man with one eye and a crow on his shoulder," I said.

They looked up in horror and surprise, as if shocked that I had figured out what they were up to.

"I can see from your expressions that you did," I continued, pulling up a stool and seating myself at the table. I glanced at the map.

"Oh, by Phaedra's overflowing loins," I swore. "I was with a party that bought that map from Willy One-Eye over twenty years ago. It was worthless then and it's worthless now."

Fighter-boy glared at me.

"And just who the blazes are you, old man, that you feel you have the right to speak to us in such a fashion?"

"You can drop the affected noble fighter talk," I said. "It doesn't impress me." I gestured at one of the more attractive barmaids and gestured for a round of ale. I was sincerely hoping that she'd bend over the table when she served us -- it was about the only thrill I could afford these days. "The name's Wulf."

That stopped them. They stared at me as if I'd just dropped a dead rat into the collection plate on Godsday.

"You're Wulf?" the fighter demanded. "Wulf the Freelance?"

"Oh, come off it," said the thief. "He's a fraud. Wulf the Freelance is dead. Eaten by trolls in Necrotia."

"I heard he took over some kingdom in Vendaya and was killed by jealous nobles," suggested the cleric.

"No, I think he was lost while trying to climb Mount Starport, looking for the invisible gems," chimed in the wizard.

Just then the barmaid showed up with a tray full of drinks and plopped them on the table, bending over and giving me a magnificent view of her ample cleavage.

"There ya go, Wulf darlin'" she said, grinning. "And there's no extra charge for the sightseeing."

The adventurers shut up again, thank the gods. I think they were at least half convinced.

"You say this is a fake?" the fighter asked. "It cost us ten crowns!"

"That's inflation for you," I replied, sipping at a passable ale. "It only cost us one."

"This is the same map that you bought?" the thief asked. "How do you know that?"

"I didn't say I bought it," I told him. "I said my party bought it. The lower left hand corner is burned. That's where our dwarf set it on fire while trying to read it in the dark with a candle. We wrote our contract and put our initials on the back."

The fighter flipped the map over and squinted. Then his face fell.

"Seven of you?" he asked.

I nodded. "And one henchman but he didn't know how to write. Dwarf runes, elf script and a big sloppy 'W' at the end. That was mine."

"Big party," commented the cleric.

"Yeah," replied the thief. "Big parties were popular back then. We travel lighter these days. Only four of us."

I shrugged. "Less meat for the orcs after they find your corpses, I guess."

Fighter-boy sighed and looked at his companions.

"I think he's right," he said dejectedly. "We've been swindled."

"Don't be too downhearted," I said. "Willy's been pulling that scam for decades. I don't know how he keeps getting the same map back. Maybe he loots the bodies after the party he sold it to gets wiped out." I looked at the map again. "This thing's got some stories around it, I'll bet."

The wizard looked at me curiously. He seemed a decent enough sort -- just a little wet behind the ears.

"So what happened when you had it?" he asked.

"Well, if you have a couple of hours and want to buy me a couple of rounds I'll tell you," I said, leaning back and hefting my mug. "Since I suspect that you're not heading off for the dungeon tonight you've probably got the time."

They looked at me expectantly.

"Go on," the thief said. "I'm already two crowns poorer. What's a few more silvers for beer?"

"That's the spirit." I took a long pull from my mug. "So there I was, sitting in a tavern in Richport, wondering what the hell to do with myself..."

***

Whoever named Richport was a hopeless optimist. The place isn't just an armpit -- it's the pit of all armpits. Of course, I was stuck there myself, so I had to make the most of it.

I was a fairly young man then, fresh from adventuring in the Wilds with my wolfen lover Akumi, who chose to stay but wished me well and gave me a sloppy kiss before we parted ways. In addition to fond memories I had some cash in my pocket, at least -- enough to maintain me in food and lodging for a few days, but not enough to book passage out of that stinkhole and back to civilization.

I whiled away hours at the tavern (it didn't have a name -- I don't think anything in Richport had a name), considering and rejecting various plans for my future. I had managed a little petty larceny here and there to supplement my meager resources, but it seemed that everyone in Richport was a hard luck story, as broke and down on their luck as I was.

Then the Companions of the Blade showed up, and my life was turned upside down.

They made quite a stir when they showed up, striding into the tavern clad in their best adventurers' gear, sitting down and grandly ordering drinks.

"A round of ale for the bar!" shouted the dwarf. "Compliments of the Companions of the Blade!"

That caused something of a sensation, and the crowd at the tavern set up a ragged cheer as the overworked servers busied themselves distributing rotgut. The dwarf tossed out silvers as tips, and within a few minutes, everyone was convinced that the Companions of the Blade were the finest folks ever to walk on Thystran soil.

I accepted my ale with a curt nod and considered the group.

The burly human in well-worn plate armor -- he was the leader. He was armed with a serviceable broadsword in a leather scabbard and I suspected that he had a couple of magical protective devices squirreled away somewhere. He was dark-haired and handsome, with a cleft chin and deep set eyes that gazed appraisingly across the room. He was certainly looking for something, but at that point I couldn't say what it was.

The uncharacteristically generous dwarf also seemed to have ulterior motives, for his expression, buried deep in a thick brown beard, was similarly thoughtful. He whispered briefly to the fighter, discreetly pointing out the tavern's various denizens. He was definitely all dwarfed-out, in heavy mail and gauntlets, armed with a large, double-bladed axe. A brass-and-steel goggle helmet rested on the table in front of him.

They had a priest -- that was a sign that they were expecting to be out in the field for a long time and would need healing. He was male, with a gentle expression that usually indicated a peaceful soul not cut out for adventure. There was a St. Orlan's medal around his neck, which suggested to me that he was an idealist trying to spread the Kyborist creed to the far corners of the world. This individual is better known in my trade as dragon chow.

The wizard was an elf, dark eyed and brooding, his golden hair tied behind his neck, his expression unreadable. He wore blue robes and bore a staff, but I didn't recognize any of his insignia and so had no clue as to his school or specialty. Damned wizards. Never trusted them myself.

The other two party members were far more interesting. They were both female, of course -- the first was a shapely human with fiery red hair and pale, pale skin. There was a lute slung on her back and a slender sword at her side -- a bard, I'd warrant.

The second female was another elf, but this one had a distinctly exotic cast to her, with a delicately-pointed face, elaborately-coifed silver-blonde hair and wide almond-shaped eyes lined with black pigment. She had a small tattoo on one cheek, but I couldn't make out exactly what it was. She was clad all in greens and browns, leading me to suspect that she was a ranger or a druid.

Finally I noted a seventh member of the group, a small, beady-eyed goblin who darted about among the members of the group, looking busy but doing very little. That would be the faithful henchman.

The party was pretty much complete, I reflected. Two fighters, a cleric, wizard, bard, druid and henchman. There was one obvious member missing, however...

Just as I was thinking of it, the dwarf spoke up again, confirming my suspicions.

"Greetings to all!" the bearded one bellowed, sloppily raising his mug and sloshing beer. "I am Svignar of the Hillcleaver Clan! My companions and I have come before you with a request!"

With that the establishment fell largely silent, save for the drunken mumbling of the reprobate at the end of the bar who was talking to himself about an argument he'd apparently had with his wife a decade or so previously.

"We have come seeking a seventh member of our bold party of adventurers," Svignar continued. "Should there be anyone in this establishment with the skills of a rogue, scout, skulker or... Well, let's face it... a thief..." The room broke out in raucous laughter and catcalls. "Then come see us! We are bound for wealth and glory, and we wish to have a boon companion with skills that we need, with whom we will share our bounty!"

I rolled my eyes. This party had "disaster waiting to happen" written all over it, despite their generosity and the obvious pulchritude of its female members. I had just gotten back from a long stint as a rogue/scout/skulker/thief and I for one wasn't about to get dragged back into that game for a long time. No, my thoughts were on Godshome, and the possibility of throwing myself on the mercy of the magic academy headmaster and returning to my studies. Maybe Mistress Elspeth was still teaching...

Yes, I know I was being naïve. I told you that I was young and foolish.

The bar fell strangely silent at the dwarf's request -- it seemed to me that they were being as sensible as I was. Richport was full of such adventurers, and more often than not they set out from the city and never returned. Or if they did return it was in small crates or ash-filled ceramic jars.

The dwarf looked disappointed. "Come now, good people!" he shouted. "Don't you know who we are? I am Svignar, and I have traveled Thystra from one end to the other, winning great glory and countless chests of gold. My companion Tannus the Bold snatched the ebon crown from the very brow of Barsan the arch-lich. Our priest Beldrin is a gentle but wise student of Saint Orlan, and the wizard Fennaeos is a student of the most ancient and learned elven magi. Our bard Vendra can sing to charm the gods themselves, while Lilywinter the druid commands the forces of nature!" I noted that he didn't even both mentioning the goblin. Svignar waved a stumpy hand at the assembled heroes. "Are these not fine companions? Is there an adventuring band in all the land that would be more suited to the brave and bold heroes in this chamber?"

Once more, the answer was uncomfortable silence. I fancied that I heard a cricket chirping somewhere.

Svignar knew when he was beaten. "Ah, well," he said. "Enjoy your ale, all. Should any of you change your minds, you can find us in the rooms above. Good day to you."

He sat down, a disappointed expression clouding his gnarled face.

I returned to my ale. I felt for them... really. They seemed like a decent troop of well-meaning boobs, and I didn't wish them ill. I also didn't especially want to get involved with them, either, though if some other numbskull who fancied himself a rogue wished to do so, I wasn't about to stand in his way.

Unfortunately, as the room's only rogue with any real experience, I stood out like a demon on Godsday. When I set down my mug I was presented with the ugly face of Svignar the dwarf, regarding me with a smile that screamed "false comradeship."

"Hello, young one," he rumbled. "Care for a refill?"

I met his gaze with what I hoped was friendly but unwavering skepticism.

"Sure," I said. "And for that you get my gratitude." I paused and allowed the barmaid to slop another serving into my mug. "And nothing else."

The dwarf looked nonplussed. "Great ancestors, youngster!" he said with a wide-eyed, astonished look on his face. "No one trusts anyone anymore! Can't a man buy another man a drink without someone thinkin' he wants something in exchange?"

I took a sip. "Well, doesn't he?"

Svignar waved a thick-fingered hand. "Ah, youth! Just 'cause I'm bein' generous, you automatically assume I'm tryin' to recruit you into my friends' business venture!"

Another sip. "Well, aren't you?"

Svignar frowned. I think my logic had baffled him; dwarves aren't known for their ability to contemplate deep philosophical issues, after all.

He cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, my friends and I was just noting that you had the air of an experienced adventurer about you -- someone who knows his way around both sides of a locked door, if you know what I mean."

"A rogue, a scoundrel, a thief, a scout," I said. "I don't know if I qualify for all of those things, but I've got some experience. I'll admit that much."

"Then what's the matter with joinin' up?" Svignar demanded. "A free ticket out of this stinking hellhole... no offense, mind you," he added apologetically as the barmaid glared at him blackly. "Guaranteed gold and likely a magic item or two... Hells, we think that there's a better than average chance that we'll find Martag's Glaive. Think about it, youngster! Martag's Glaive!"

I shrugged and drained my ale. "Never heard of it. And the name's Wulf, by the bye."

"Very well then, master Wulf. What do you say to a bold adventure with boon companions? You've the skills we need -- Tannus can see it and the barkeep confirms you to be just the sort we're lookin' for!"

I put the mug down with slightly more force than normal.

"Sorry, Svignar," I said. "I've had a bit too much adventure lately, and right now I'm heading for bed." I stood and bowed briefly. "But I hope you find what you're looking for. Good night."

With that I turned on my heel and strode from the common room, right past the disappointed-looking adventuring party. The red-headed bard regarded me with something less than disappointment, and for a moment I regretted that I would probably never see her again, but then my calmer and more rational side reasserted itself and I negotiated the stairs, leaving the noisy common room behind, walking to my room without a backward glance.

If only we'd just left it there. I might be a famous wizard today with lots of gold and a harem of female pleasure-sprites and sex daemons, instead of a broke ex-adventurer with bad knees.

No such luck, however.

My room was about as comfortable as one might expect, given my financial state -- a table, chair, nightstand and narrow bed with straw-filled mattress. Humble, as they say, but homey. I was just polishing off a nightcap in the form of another mug of ale when someone knocked, none too gently, on my door.

I was ready to look down toward the floor when I opened the door, but to my surprise, it was the grizzled human fighter who stood there, with a grim but determined expression.

"Rogue," he said, without waiting for me to speak. "My dwarf tells me that you've got skills we need."

"I'm not sure how he knows that," I replied. "We've only barely met."

"Svignar has made inquiries. It seems that you are highly recommended."

I frowned. This was a first. "Well, it's good to be wanted, but if you're here to ask me to join up with your heroic adventuring crew, I'm afraid the answer is still no... what was the name? Thannus?"

"Tannus. I'm afraid that we're in a bit of a bind, Master Wulf." He looked troubled. "Our endeavor requires the skills of an experienced rogue such as yourself, and there is no one in this slime-ridden, gods-forsaken shit-hole..." He paused. "That is to say, this fine, pleasant and rustic settlement... That meets our requirements."

I admit that my curiosity was aroused, but my recent catastrophes had convinced me that adventuring was a fool's errand, and my attention was still firmly set on the magic academy. I forcibly repressed my growing interest and met his gaze.

"Look, Tannus," I said patiently. "I sympathize completely. However, I'm afraid that my destiny lies elsewhere. I tried the adventurer thing and it just didn't agree with me. So with all due respect, I'd very much like to get some sleep."

Tannus nodded curtly. "It's what I told him you would say." He turned and walked back down the hall, not looking back. "Your kind never listens to rational arguments."

I didn't give the comment much thought, but instead undressed, locked the door and blew out the candle. Hopefully I'd get at least a few hours' sleep and be able to locate transport back to Godshome in the morning.

About a quarter-hour after I'd bedded down, there was another knock on the door, this one somewhat lighter, but at the same time more insistent.

I swore, clambering out of bed (not that it was all that restful to begin with, but at least it was a bed, which was more than most people in Richport had. I was dressed only in my breeches, and was in a foul mood as I swung the door open, ready to tell Tannus or Svignar or whoever was there exactly which hell they could go to and which daemon they could be buggered by.

When I opened the door, however, I only gaped.

She was standing there, hands on hips, gazing at me coolly. It was the red-headed bard woman, and up close she was even more appealing than she'd been at a distance. She was dressed in tight buckskin pants and a leather vest, laced up quite firmly, pressing a pair of full breasts together and redoubling her already-substantial cleavage. Her face was small and delicate, with a pointed chin and a small but shapely mouth and green eyes mirroring something that might have been amusement. Red hair fringed her face and was drawn up in a long braid behind her. She'd apparently left her lute downstairs.