《Fate Deals The Cards》 Ch: 1 An Octopus’ Garden Fate Deals The Cards Fifty-two Pickup: an anthology. Ch: 1 An Octopus¡¯ Garden Beneath a crystal blue sky, I slowly drifted, relaxed and at peace with all the world, contemplating the start of a journey. Blue clouds shimmered and swayed overhead, while the shadows of sea birds flitted by, their pale white bodies invisible through the waves that rippled between sea and sky. The gentle roar of surf breaking on the reef¡¯s windward side soothed me, as the warm, still waters of the shallows danced in the gentle breeze that I was probably never going to feel on my skin¡­ I reflected on this life, while floating there, my tentacles waving in the gentle current as I drifted. ¡®It wasn¡¯t meant to be like this¡­¡¯ I muttered to myself. ¡®Like what?¡¯ Emmie asked me, as I nearly jumped out of my mucus coating in surprise. ¡®You¡¯re always off alone, Gary¡­ come play with us! We¡¯re playing hide and sneak among the anemone!¡¯ ¡®Maybe later, I¡¯ve got some things to think about¡­¡¯ I noticed the way her bright blue rings darkened and her usually cheerful yellow color washed out, from her mantle to her tentacle tips; that was no fair. ¡®I¡¯m sorry Emmie¡­ I¡¯ll come play with you, for a little while.¡¯ Her colors immediately brightened, as she entangled one of her tentacles with one of mine. ¡®Come on, everyone¡¯s waiting!¡¯ She got so excited that a drop of ink escaped, as she squirted us along toward the meadow of anemone and fan corals, where the sea grass grew long and lush. She blushed a pretty amethyst color across all her rings, when she realized what she¡¯d done¡­ and that I¡¯d seen. ¡®I¡¯m¡­ just excited¡­¡¯ She stuttered, flashing a few unintended shades in her embarrassment and distress. ¡®You hardly ever play with us, firstborn¡­¡¯ She whispered, her rings still a subtle shade of violet. ¡®I wish you would spend more time with me¡­ And all the others!¡¯ She stammered, becoming just a little spotty and green, as she tried to backpedal from her almost confession. I watched as she shook herself all over and firmed up her colors. ¡°Gary, I like you¡­ I have abrood cave already picked out¡­ if you¡¯d like to come see it¡­ with¡­ me?¡± I¡¯d lived eighteen years as a human man¡­ and this was my first love confession. Not just my first from an octopus. She was cute, sweet, funny and so charming¡­ and for some reason, she wanted me¡­ But there was a huge but, butting its way into the scene. ¡®Emmie, I like you very much and I consider you my closest friend¡­¡¯ I said in colors and patterns that were too muted for anyone else to ¡®hear¡¯. ¡®But I won¡¯t be your mate, nor anyone else''s¡­ I can¡¯t.¡¯ She stopped dead in the water, her colors swirling wildly. ¡®You know I¡¯m not like you, not like the others, Emmie¡­ You¡¯re beautiful and sweet, but I can¡¯t be your mate.¡¯ I whispered as gently as I could. ¡®I can¡¯t be anyone¡¯s mate¡­ You¡¯ll find someone who can fertilize your egg cluster, someone who can stay and watch your children hatch with you.¡¯ ¡®But¡­ you like me! I know you do!¡¯ She sobbed, dashing into my many arms and gripping me in a very tangly hug. ¡®I like you too! I don¡¯t think it¡¯s weird that you were born last season¡­ Stay with me. Be mine¡­ please?¡¯ It burned me like I¡¯d been washed up on shore and salted down, as I carefully untangled the knot she¡¯d tied us in. ¡®Emmie¡­ I wasn¡¯t born at the end of last season. I was born at the beginning of your grandmother¡¯s season.¡± I whispered as gently as I could. ¡°I watched Sandi grow, learn, and live. I was there when she met Brent, your grandfather¡­ and I watched as your mother and her siblings were born; while Sandi passed on to join her ancestors¡­ Just as Stella did, when you hatched. And as you will, in a few months, when your brood swims free into this reef, continuing the endless cycle of life¡­ Without me.¡¯ ¡®Impossible¡­¡¯ She scoffed, turning a stoney gray to let me know just how furious she was with me. ¡®That would make you three years old!¡¯ She continued to float there in the sunny waters of the atoll, waiting for me to confess that I was full of cormorant shit. ¡®I¡¯m not one of the blue rings; not really, Emmie. I¡¯m a different kind of creature entirely, stuffed into this body, somehow.¡¯ I shrugged, it¡¯s a useful, all purpose gesture, when you have as many shoulders as I do. ¡®I¡¯m a human man, or I was¡­ Humans are a kind of hairless monkey¡­ Gross, I know¡­ But Emmie, I lived and died already, and somehow, someway, I wound up¡­ here. Like this.¡¯ I said with the most muted colors I could manage. ¡®I don¡¯t understand any of that, Gary¡­ But I know you care about me and I know you like me¡­¡¯ She sobbed. ¡®Could you¡­ try? Try being with me?¡¯ ¡®I can¡¯t¡­ I have something I need to do, I need to get out of the sea, back on land and be who I was meant to be¡­ I¡¯m not sure how, or even what that would look like, but I have to try.¡¯ I explained carefully. ¡®Something is calling me, something out there, above the waves¡­¡¯ I stroked her mantle gently, smoothing her slime coating as I said what had to be said. ¡®I have to go, Emmie. I need to leave the atoll and find what I¡¯m looking for¡­ out past the deeps.¡¯ She flashed slate gray all over, as I mentioned my plan to break the ultimate taboo. ¡®No¡­¡¯ She gasped in shades of sickly orange, when she could master her voice again, her pigment cells still shifting colors at the edges of her patterns. ¡®You can¡¯t!¡¯ ¡®I have to.¡¯ I sighed. ¡®And I¡¯m leaving now. You¡¯ve all grown up so fine and strong, but I have to leave you now. We¡¯ll never meet again, Emmie.¡¯ I began to jet away, as she sobbed at the edge of the lagoon, watching me go. ¡®I¡¯ll remember you Emmie, when you¡¯re with your ancestors, holding tentacles with a male who¡¯s worthy of fathering your brood.¡¯ I never saw her again after that, she faded into the distance, left behind like I¡¯d left so many of her friends, siblings¡­ and the whole community I¡¯d been reborn into. # Swam up and over the breakwater, where the water ran deep and cold. The blue ringed octopus people neve hunted beyond the rim of the coral atoll, they stayed inside the protected lagoon throughout their entire lives, guided by the race memories of their ancestors¡­ Those fond and hazy memories and gentle spirit guides kept octopus society stable, tranquil and so very safe, predictable¡­ and boring.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Apparently I featured in them now too, remembered by the grandparents and parents of the current population¡­ remembered as a weirdo who never took a mate and faded from the Akashic record after falling to produce progeny¡­ only to reappear, when the next generation hatched. Those memories, which I had no access to, guided every moment of my contemporaries¡¯ lives; while I¡¯d had to coax and cajole the others into sharing what they thought everyone ¡®just knew¡¯ by instinct. My ¡®race memories¡¯ were the memories of my human life¡­ My human time was short and ended badly, but it was mine and I wanted another chance. I had watched in horrified fascination, as at the end of my first year in the lagoon, living the life aquatic, all of my friends paired up and began the ancient ritual of procreation... Without access to their shared racial memories, none of the octopus ladies were even able to perceive me as a potential mate¡­ thankfully. Like every red blooded nerd and weeaboo, I¡¯d encountered tentacle porn; back when I¡¯d been human. Now that I was also all tentacular and feeling deeply alien, I had no interest in any¡­ brooding behaviors. It came as a shock, watching all my friends slowly waste away, their lives spent in the ultimate act of survival, spawning a huge brood of adorable little squiggly rascals¡­ The little turds were so cute and I saw their parents in so many of them. I became ¡®uncle Gary¡¯... The mysterious ¡®firstborn¡¯ who they all met on their first day, wide eyed with awe and wonder. I watched over them for their entire lives, all four seasons of it, guiding the community in my own way¡­ and having no luck at all. My friends¡¯ kids paired up as the storms of summer passed and the cycle began anew, while I watched, heartbroken again. While the new kids were excitedly squirting around among my tentacles, spraying each other with ink and giggling I decided. I had to go¡­ after these cute little assholes were grown up. The blue rings were clever, funny, smart, deeply inquisitive and very peaceful¡­ but they had no drive or ambition; zero, nada. They possessed no desire to see what lay beyond the atoll, nor to even fully explore the lagoon and its surrounding waters¡­ They crafted nothing, had no written language and relied entirely on their racial memories to function as a society¡­ I still loved the squishy little jerks, though. On the outer reef, I gathered the tough, rigid sea straw grasses, each strand of the tough, springy fiber snipped off with my beak. Carefully, I began knotting them, bending, and weaving the fibers into a wicker ball. In the crevices and shoals on the outside, prey was beyond plentiful, I slowly crept from one fissure or crack to another, my camouflage perfectly matched to the stones and coral. With a sudden spurt from my vent, I snatched up a wandering anchovy and stung it with just a taste of my venom. I tucked the paralyzed fish into my newly fashioned cage, it would recover and live¡­ until I got hungry on my journey. Soon I had a full basket, all the provisions I could carry for my trip across the waves, over the endless abyss. I may have dribbled a little ink into the water myself, contemplating the eternal waves. I mustered my courage, spurred on by the sure knowledge that I would have to watch sweet, funny Emmie mate and then slowly die¡­ and that I would never be able to abandon her children, or her childrens¡¯ children¡­ Being eaten by a sea monster would be far better than life as the eternal weirdo and outsider, watching his friends live and die every year¡­ for who knows how long. In the open sea, above unknown depths, it wasn¡¯t so bad. I squirted along a few yards under the surface, towing my bait cage with relative ease¡­ It produced a lot of drag and if the fish inside got excited it was a little unmanageable, but otherwise there was nothing to eat out in the blue water. It took two full days and long moonless nights to finally reach shallow water again, soft sandy shoals and a long reef, around an actual island, with trees and wildlife! Even better, another island, even larger was nearby and another in the distance; looming from the sea, covered in jungle. I Stared in excitement and wonder, there wer new fishes, shellfish, shore birds wading at the water¡¯s edge and even a few monkeys¡­ or something like monkeys, gibbering in the trees. That¡¯s when it hit me¡­ among the blue rings, I was pretty big. At least half again bigger than any other example I¡¯d met¡­ I was stronger too, and a much faster swimmer. In blue ring society, I was a formidable anomaly, in every way. Out here, though¡­ I dashed forward, spurting a cloud of ink on pure instinct, some primitive part of my brain had seen the long, gray green menace stalking me from a narrow crevice in the coral. Searing pain lanced through me, as a part of one of my tentacles was snipped off by the jaws of the most hideous and dastardly looking moray eel I¡¯d ever seen. I doused him with another shot of ink, while diving fast for the bottom, just a few yards away¡­ He stayed on my tentacle tips the whole way down, his jaws barely parted, waiting to ulp me in if I faltered. I dipped around a fan coral, through a stag and into a narrow gap between two brain corals. The ugly guy had to slow down to squizzle his way between those two big, round immovable bastards¡­ while I zipped through, and shot the last of my ink, just after I made a head fake to the left. As my ink clouded the water, I opened all my tenties, spread my mantle and hit the brakes hard. I grabbed the lower curve of my good buddy, the stone brain and pulled myself down low, into its shadow. A quick color shift and the rest was up to luck. The eel was superheated about missing me so many times and cranky over getting inked and feeling sick, so when he slipped through the gap, he never knew what hit him¡­ Quick hint, it was me. I shot out and stung him, right in his¡­ or her cloaca, frankly I didn¡¯t care. My venom is a quick acting paralytic¡­ and it Hurts. It hurts a lot. The nasty stuff came frontloaded with a potent neurotoxin, a bunch of neurotransmitters to amplify the pain and finally a long acting soporific. All blue rings are venomous and poisonous¡­ I just seemed to be an outlier there too, my stuff was super potent and really nasty. Every once in a while a large predator would try and snack on the colony, whether a barracuda washed in during a storm or some other hungry beast from the outside¡­ even the littlest and weakest of us were a match for those rare threats to our home¡­ The eel was outclassed and already doomed, the tiny morsel of my tentacle in his guts was already slowing him down, as my toxic mucus and poisonous flesh began wreaking havoc inside. Once I got a drop of venom in him, it was game over. My elation died quickly, when I noticed the large number of hungry mouths lurking in the area. Pug ugly was loosely coiled on the seafloor, rigid and oddly tangled, enjoying the full flavor and rich umami of my venom, as it short circuited the thing¡¯s tiny brain. That was a nice thought, but I had bigger concerns, or rather a horde of smaller, hungry problems and not enough solutions to go around. Out on the sandy bottom, among the brain corals and sponges, there were no handy crevices to slip into¡­ and these fish looked like they were blissfully unaware of my toxicity. With few options left, I slipped into the place I had been trying to avoid, inside mister Moray¡¯s munchy mouth hole. The locals knew that big bastard and wanted no part of him, at least until they were sure he wasn¡¯t just sleeping. The scent of blood and stress in the water kept drawing more and more interested parties, so I waited there, until my shelter started to stir and wake from his nightmare. It took no effort to send him back ¡®round the merry-go round, but the locals were beginning to wonder if they should take a bite and see what happens. I started looking around in my shitty, toothy cave, looking for anything that might be helpful, his head was big and hefty¡­ But I was surely going to get rooted out, once they realized he was not a threat and started chowing down. That¡¯s when it struck me¡­ His head, his skull. I slithered to the back of his mouth and started feeling around, there had to be a way inside¡­ It was a slow and messy job, but there weren¡¯t many other demands on my time, and I was hungry¡­ Getting into the skull proved no problem, I found a spot under his left eye and used my beak to do what beaks are for. The problem was the bastard¡¯s brain. It was big, comparatively; and I needed to clear enough space to hide out, without making any openings that could be used to pull me out. That meant I had to eat it. I was always a big eater, since becoming an octopus. I was always hungry and could much down a whole smelt and still go looking for shad. The challenge of consuming an entire eel brain was just too much. I started off with the big meaty section, enjoying the flashes of electric shocks and weird sensations I got with every bite and nibble. Before long the weird sensations started to make sense; they were memories. Alien, stupid and primitive, just flashes of hunger, excitement and fear¡­ The more I consumed, the more completely the ideas and sensations took shape, becoming a part of my experiences. I was learning , a little at a time, what it meant to be a moray eel. At the same time, I was expanding my mind and growing my sense of what it meant to be Gary. Gary the octopus¡­ Gary the man and now, Gary the moray eel. I blacked out at that point, stunned and confused by the presence of an alien set of instincts, instincts that wanted to take charge. # I fell forever into blackness and silence, and awoke to something I¡¯d begun to believe was only a dream¡­ Music. Journey was playing from the stereo, dad was driving and mom was up front, singing along with Grandpa, who was in the back seat, with me. Don¡¯t Stop Believin¡¯ was the track¡­ and it brought tears to my eyes, even though I knew this was a dream. It was a memory, from the week after my fourteenth birthday, the night my life ended in noise, light and pain. A nightmare I¡¯d had again and again, as though to remind me where I really came from. When the overloaded big rig came crashing through the oleander that night and hit us head on, everything changed, especially me. # Ch: 2 Dead Man’s Hand Fate Deals The Cards Fifty-two Pickup: an anthology. Ch: 2 Dead Man¡¯s Hand I watched it all in slow motion, the bright lights, broken from their mounts and flopping along as the truck crashed through the flimsy barrier and mulched the soggy oleander bushes. The night was dark and the roads wet, there was nothing to be done, especially since I was in the back seat, half asleep and stuffed full of primo carne asada tacos. Everything moved in slow motion, the breaking glass, the screams, whatever it was that hammered into my face and crushed my left side to paste¡­ it all landed on me with terrible slowness. Mom, Dad and Grandpa never even knew what hit us, I suppose¡­ My seat and a good chunk of the car around me got sheared off and thrown across the highway, or so they told me, I blacked out after about a thousand years of agony, fear, horror and blood. I woke up next with bright lights blinding me and the awful beeping of medical monitors in my ears. The next six months were an endless parade of surgeries, procedures, sleepless, agonized nights and endless harrowing days. I was constantly on display, poked, prodded, exposed, examined. Every doctor, his buddies from out of town, all of their students, the nurses and everyone else had a good long look and poke at the miracle of my survival¡­ I felt dead inside. The ¡®miracle¡¯ they enjoyed so much was just the beginning of my miserable, shitty, very bad next few years. # We lived in a quiet town on the north coast of California, not a big town, just big enough to feel anonymous. Dad ran the musical instrument store in town, selling all the usual suspects and doing¡­ not very well. Grandpa had his workshop in a big old barn out back, with an apartment in the loft that he¡¯d built himself; Issac Ward, master luthier, lived a quiet and very private life there. The Ward Instrument Company made hand built guitars, mandolins and violins, instruments that dad never sold in the shop, they went out by courier usually¡­ Though occasionally, someone famous would pop by for tea, to collect their commissioned instrument from the old man¡¯s weathered, iron hard hands. Not many people knew our name, but most of them had heard my grandpa¡¯s instruments, and that was what really mattered. Dad was a journeyman luthier too, trained by grandpa, but he never pursued the craft farther, once he met my mom¡­ Mom, her voice was sweet and clear, when she wasn¡¯t hammering down her microphone with her crushingly powerful contralto. Mom had it all, beauty, brains, and Talent with a big ¡®ol capital T. She could grab anything in the shop with keys or strings and make it beg her to keep playing, like it was a living thing that wanted more. They were long gone, the pain of it freshened by the dream¡¯s faux reality. He should have died and the doctors said he did die, several times, long after they had given up on resuscitating him, he just kept starting back up. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle¡­¡± Nurse Della insisted, shoving her damned bible at his bandage swathed hands. ¡°You flatlined at least a dozen times after they gave up on you¡­ but each time, your heart started again, all by itself¡­ God¡¯s plan for you is so important¡­¡± My jaw was wired shut, my head clamped into some weird torture device and my whole left side looked like it was put together with an erector set, but the jesus freaks only ever saw miracles in my misery. My eyes shouted ¡®Fuck Off Bitch!¡¯ so loud the cruddy windows should have rung from the noise, but the mindless cultist jabbered on and on. Probably because she couldn¡¯t stand to look at what was left of me. She would avert her eyes from my face at any cost, even when she brought in a fucking mirror, to try and get me to look at my own busted, mangled mug. She kept bringing it too, shoving it in my face, while looking away. There¡¯s nothing quite as cruel as a certain kind of ¡®christian love¡¯. She had tons more to say about ¡®God¡¯s Plan¡¯, while all I could think of was how good it would feel to get my hands around her god¡¯s neck and squeeze the living shit out of his old, wrinkled ass. When I could speak again, I made that point crystal clear. The day they unwired my jaw at last, was my last day in the actual hospital. She was there beaming with pride, when they hauled me away. ¡°Bitch, fuck you, fuck your god and to hell with every verse in your shitty book of spells that don¡¯t fucking work.¡± I croaked as I rolled by. The look in her eyes as they wheeled my busted ass out of that crucifix draped pest hole of a hospital was priceless, but she got the last laugh. Della had a home, a career and probably a rabid cult follower waiting at home for her every night. I was fourteen, homeless, destitute, an orphan, crippled and destined for a ¡®convalescent hospital¡¯ which is a nice way to describe the waiting room for the morgue. Unlike the morgue, convalescent hospitals cost money¡­ I hadn¡¯t been in the hospital two weeks before the lawyers started showing up, slick greasy bastards with shiny suits and papers, so many papers. I had a court appointed social worker and guardian, I met her all of three times in my life. I never remembered her name, and she never remembered mine. Like Della, she wanted to fulfil her obligations and get away from the twisted mess I¡¯d become, feeling good about herself for ¡®helping the unfortunate¡¯. Like Della, the sight of me disgusted her, I saw it in her eyes, on the rare occasions when I caught her staring. When they shoved me out of the convalescent hospital on a shiny new pair of aluminum crutches, dressed in sweatpants from Walmart and a promotional t-shirt from a boner pill company, urging me to ¡®Take Back My Power¡¯... presumably by railing some middle aged bimbo, with m chemically enhanced dingdong... I was beyond destitute. Jesus healed the sick and walked on, but his cult believed in supply side jesus, the god of getting paid, no matter what. My family home was gone, so were all the tools, instruments, even my own guitar, my apprentice piece, made with my own two hands¡­ gone forever, sold off for loose change to pay the medical bills. Bills that they happily presented me, as they shoved me out into the foster care system. The dead don¡¯t usually have to put up with that kind of shit, but I was only half dead, so it was a free for all, on ¡®ol Gary Ward. My first foster family knew my folks were ¡®in the sinful music business¡¯, so they set me up in a basement bedroom with a sink and a camp toilet when they locked me in on that first day. They had church¡­ and heaven forfend a sinner like me contaminate the sacred observances. Deacon Barbaden assured me that I would be ¡®cleansed of my demons¡¯ and be ¡®fit to take sacrament with christians¡¯ after an exhaustive exorcism and blessing. The Barbadens were probably still on their first hymn, when I hobbled up the stairs, after taking the door hinges apart. The deacon¡¯s little jesus jail wasn¡¯t gonna hold me. I busted all the taps and toilet tanks in the house with a handy sledge hammer I found in the garage. I like to think of it as baptizing their house. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I bounced around in group homes and the occasional foster family, but it never lasted. I was not going to be winning any beauty contests and I admit, I might have had a slightly bad attitude¡­ but I was a kid, in pain, physically, emotionally¡­ and, I recognized it in hindsight, in pain spiritually. Eventually, I wound up in medium security juvie, after wrapping my crutch around another kid¡¯s head. I don¡¯t even remember what he did, I only remember the disgust in the faces of my peers, whenever they had to see my twisted face. When the pandemic came around, I took a chance and slipped away tucked into a laundry bag, in the classic style. Nobody thought a cripple would pull a runner, so I was long gone before the word got out. The masks were my ticket out. Everyone was supposed to wear them¡­ assholes didn¡¯t, of course, but for me, they were a lifesaver. Just a couple strings and a scrap of cloth and suddenly, I was just a kid with a limp. Better yet, no one questioned that I never took it off, even better, I didn¡¯t have to see my own face reflected in windows, or in those cursed mirrored elevators. Seriously, fuck you, mirrored elevator guy! After two years in hospitals, foster and juvie, slipping out of that laundry bag and vanishing into the streets felt like heaven¡­ For the first few hours. Being homeless sucks, being homeless, crippled, under age and on the run super blows ass. I slept in an abandoned car that night, all the windows were broken, but I put cardboard scraps up and shivered all night long. Not gonna lie, I stole laundry from coin op joints to clothe myself, I learned the fine art of dumpster diving, skulked around vacant industrial lots, worked as a migrant laborer and generally managed to get by. After a while I made a few connections¡­ I got friendly with the local sex workers, scrounged, scavenged, I even teched for starving local bands, whatever I could to keep body and soul together. That on again, off again gig, working on musical instruments and gear in the back of a smelly old club for cold pizza and tacos turned my life around¡­ One morning I was behind a local instrument shop in Sacramento, scrounging for parts to fix Roney¡¯s bass¡­ again, an old man came ambling out, I guess I¡¯d made too much noise. His hands were crabbed and clawed by arthritis, but he seemed amiable. He waved and smiled when I popped up like a raccoon in his trash, holding a smashed acoustic guitar like I¡¯d just found a sack of gold¡­ ¡°Take what you want, kid, just don¡¯t make a mess.¡± He sang, he had one of those voices, he always seemed to be singing something, just like my Grandpa¡­ and Mom. When I choked up and sobbed a little, caught up in memories, he just sorta grabbed my shoulder and hauled me inside, still clutching that poor wrecked dreadnought. He had tea and a slice of zucchini bread in front of me before I knew what was going on, cozy as you please in the workshop behind his store. ¡°What are you gonna do with that poor thing, kid? Need firewood?¡± He knew homeless when he saw it, Mister Halls was nobody¡¯s fool. ¡°I was going to fix it¡­¡± I whispered. ¡°Sure kid, sure. Do you play?¡± He asked, handing me a cute little parlor guitar from above his workbench That was when I fell apart completely. I never got the chance to thank Rodney, the bass player for Rocketboy, for smashing his fucking instrument agin. They were a local band that was probably not going to make the big time, but they were having the time of their lives. If Rodney hadn¡¯t ripped the output jack out of his ax, I wouldn¡¯t have been in that dumpster and I wouldn¡¯t have had my last taste of real human kindness, before I died again. That old coot believed none of my story, that I was secretly sneaking away from my Jehova¡¯s Witness family to play ¡®devil music with sinners¡¯, but he gave me a job. Off the books, behind the scenes¡­ in his workshop. The next few months were the closest to happiness I¡¯d found since that rainy night. I was still living in a tent on an abandoned industrial yard, wanted by the law and living a secret life; but I had music back in my life, if only for a while. The end was anticlimactic¡­ I was riding my busted ass bike back home to my tent in a thicket of berry vines and fig trees, when the world went away in a smell of strawberry jam and toast. When I woke, I was a tiny octopus, floating alone in a shallow, sunny lagoon. A day or two later, the whole brood hatched and suddenly, I had a slippery, boneless family, of a sort. When my brain judderd to a halt and the dream ended, I was half blind, battered, torn, bleeding and missing a fair portion of my long dorsal fin¡­ ¡®Dorsal fin?¡¯ I asked myself¡­ as I slowly realized I was still inside big, mean and slippery. I was cruising along in the body of the moray eel. A wall of shiny, golden text appeared in front of my good eye, blasting me in the face with: Congratulations, you have leveled up! By defeating an F rank monster in combat and consuming its life force, you have earned a unique title: Body Snatcher Additional titles gained: Necromancer, Mind Devourer, Stranger In A Strange Land, Survivalist, Isekai Soul, Druid Of The Deeps(locked). Congratulations, You are *null* And have unlocked the hidden *null* area of the *null* Allowing you to *error* Unique Title Gained: The Lovers. I shook my¡­ Moray¡¯s head to clear the strange screens from my eye and looked around for whatever was causing the issue¡­ I was in a coral reef, just offshore of an unnamed and uninhabited island¡­ The Indian Ocean, maybe? But I¡¯d seen no ships, no aircraft, no flotsam of human society, not even any water bottles or flip flops floating in the sea. It was almost like I was on another world¡­ with eyeball screens ¡®titles¡¯ and ¡®level ups¡¯. The idea spun my head around¡­ I¡¯d spent a lot of time lost in books, anime, manga and web novels, while trapped in the hospital and convo hell. Once I hit the streets, I spent a lot of the daylight hours in the library, out of the rain, heat and cold, reading everything. That¡¯s the trick to being homeless in the library, just keep reading. Even the most hard bitten library hag won¡¯t usually roust a kid who¡¯s reading, even if he is homeless. I recognized that my mind was skipping tracks and spinning way too fast, so I stopped, sank to the bottom and took stock. The eel I was driving around wasn¡¯t me. I was still an octopus, curled up in the monster¡¯s snug braincase, working the controls with my tentacles and with some strange sense of¡­ Ookieness that allowed me to see, hear, feel and taste the world, from inside my meat mech. ¡®I¡¯ll call you UnagiDon, king of the reef.¡¯ I thought to myself, inordinately pleased with the super lame pun. That got me thinking, the eel was in pretty rough shape, and didn¡¯t seem to be improving any¡­ Not much of a surprise, since I¡¯d poisoned him with my flesh, envenomed him several times, eaten almost all of his brain matter and used him in a fight to the death with half the scavengers and mid level predators on the reef. If I was a ¡®body snatcher¡¯ that meant I could do it again¡­ maybe even trade up to something that could explore the waters around here without fear¡­ With an upgrade in mind, I started cruising the waters, looking for a victim. I liked being a black tipped reef shark¡­ at eight feet long, I had few worries in the local area. There were some behemoths out there. Munching on the poor dummy¡¯s little nugget of a brain revealed his memories of great whites and something larger and more ominous by far, glimpsed in the distance. I stopped paying attention to the level up screens, when I jumped from a venomous stonefish, to the shark¡­ I had already lost count and the information had no context or any detailed information¡­ so it was mostly just an annoyance. Congratulations! Blah, blah, blah! Miss me with that. I decided to forget all about them, until I could find some more info. I stuck with the shark for a couple weeks, following the chain of islands and exploring¡­ I still found no sign of humans or any intelligent life at all. Just a tropical sea, teeming with life and possibility. I settled around the biggest island in the archipelago, setting up in a pleasant lagoon that a small river emptied into. The water got really shallow and silty there, with plenty of places to hide. The tide pools and brackish water regions were warm, pleasant and had a whole new menu of seafood to try¡­ That meant I needed to ditch the shark and go back to skinny dipping. I watched Sashimi the zombie shark swim off into the abyss, following my last instruction to: ¡®Just Keep Swimming¡¯ until it vanished in the distance, cruising mindlessly. Something would eat it, out there, I had my mind on mudskippers, langoustine and crayfish. I floated in a tidepool, soaking up the sun and digesting¡­ the locals were as delicious as I¡¯d hoped¡­ the faint taste of the earth and forest excited me, it made me think about land dwelling creatures¡­ The local coconut crabs roamed freely and were unassailable on land, as far as I could tell, but they would be tough to sting and tougher to get into. While I was pondering that, one of the other locals decided to try me¡­ I¡¯d picked the lagoon for the seafood, and because the monkey creatures frequented the place to drink and swim. On getting a closer look, I¡¯d decided to skip the monkeys, they were awful. Thick limbed and clumsy in the trees, they were kinda slow on the ground too. They only excelled at the actual climbing part, no swinging from vines or brachiating through the forest for these guys. They had huge, square teeth for chomping through nut shells and horns that grew above their eyes¡­ creepy. The peanut and corn topping on that shit sundae; they were infested with parasites of all descriptions, scabrous, sickly and bitten all over by the local mosquitos¡­ which were a special kind of horrible all their own. I was not in the market for a monkey, hard pass, but one of the monkey beasts had its own ideas about our relative positions on the food chain. He hopped down from his tree with admirable stealth, crept over and reached in to grab me from the water, planning to prove his point by eating me whole. Monkey brains are freaking delicious. He had so much more upstairs that I almost wept¡­ The little shit had no actual smarts, just a mean and hungry streak a mile wide and a narrow ass that couldn¡¯t back it up. But it had a depth of experience in the air breathing world that was invaluable. It knew which fruits and leaves were poisonous, which bugs and serpents were dangerous or delicious¡­ There was a lot of overlap there. I gleaned so much info, that I felt bad for the beast. I splashed him into the tide pool and climbed out onto my new ride and groomed the poor schmuck ¡®til he shone. I polished his horns, cleaned the clumps of shit from around his butthole and generally made him livable, if still itchy and sickly. Together, we ambled out into the woods to see what there was to see. # Ch: 3 Ante Up Fate Deals The Cards Fifty-two Pickup: an anthology. Ch: 3 Ante Up Fruit! That made being a monkey worthwhile; everything else sucked super hard. The other monkeys had no clue that I wasn¡¯t¡­ Chip. Sure, Chip, why not? They had no clue That the guy in charge was a little blue ringed octopus, they treated us like shit, just like they all treated each other. The monkeys were just assholes through and through. They would shit on food if they couldn¡¯t finish it, shit on each other, just for fun, befoul the drinking water and knock unripe fruit down, just out of pure meanness. My octopus buddies were just drifting through life aimlessly, but they were largely chill and friendly, these guys were super lame. I ditched the monkey troop and headed inland. Looking for something, anything that would give me a clue about what to do next. I headed up the extinct volcano¡¯s cone, hoping for a view of a mainland of some kind, or maybe a ship¡­ there were more islands, stretching off into the horizon, big ones, little ones, flat ones and mountains too, but no ships, not even a canoe. No smoke trails from a human camp or village either. Just endless tropical wilds. Dejected, but still hopeful, I started clambering around the cone of the volcano, foolishly thinking that maybe, from a different angle¡­ ¡°What are the readings, brother Finnius?¡± A voice asked¡­ from a cave, not far below me. ¡°Confirmed, master Alberforth. This is a dungeon world, it¡¯s currently inactive. I show very promising power readings, we should recommend that a conquest team deploy immediately, sir.¡± A second male voice answered. ¡°I show that there is a dungeon lord, it¡¯s close, sir.¡± ¡°How close?¡± The first voice asked. ¡°One and a half kilometers north, that small volcanic island.¡± The second man replied meekly. ¡°We shall withdraw. Seal this void and note its coordinates.¡± The leader commanded, as the voices faded away. The men didn¡¯t emerge from the cave, and my monkey was not agile enough to reach the opening¡­ The monkey had no ability to speak anyway, it could only screech and hoot. When I finally managed to reach the cave, there was no one there, just a few boot prints, ending at a solid wall of stone. Those men were gone, but they had mentioned something about a ¡®dungeon world¡¯... and that there was a ¡®Dungeon Lord¡¯ on a nearby island. That was enough of a clue to get me moving, rather than waiting in hopes that the people might come back. Monkey Gary clambered down from the stoney peak, my eyes locked onto the small volcanic island with the long red rusty streaks down the cone. All these damn islands looked the same from under water. At the shore I didn¡¯t mess about, octopus Gary dipped out of the monkey the same way I got in, through the creature¡¯s left earhole. It was double lucky the cave had been below me on the right, or I might not have heard. I had wrecked the auditory organs on the left to get access to the sweet monkey brains. That was all in the past, I had my eyes on the future¡­ The big question was how to communicate, if there was a person on that island. I swam the channel naked, perhaps it was foolish, but I wriggled into a lobster for a few minutes, then parlayed that into a giant stone crab and climbed onto shore¡­. I captured a coconut crab before stone boy suffocated and used the monster¡¯s massive claw to open a small hatch in the coconut crab¡¯s heavy armor. After eating that monkey nugget, the crustacean minds were hollow and empty tasting, uninteresting was the best descriptor. No matter, Coco was transportation, not a delicacy. Does a Buick need to be tasty? The jungle was thick, super damn thick, so I spent way more time wandering around, trying to find anything that wasn¡¯t just more overgrowth, undergrowth and generally just grown. I was exhausted, uncomfortable and sick of vines, creepers, herbs and the whole damn jungle concept, when I heard a loud, metallic clank in the distance¡­ and then another. Steady as a clock, someone was banging something metal against another something metal, somewhere to the south, near the volcano. It took a while to follow the sound to its source, because, stupid jungles exist. That clanging and clanking led me on, a trail of auditory breadcrumbs that led me to a tidy shack made from the local lava stone, roofed with unglazed clay tiles. The house seemed to have no windows, but did boast a door of sturdy and well varnished wood, probably oak. Under a porch roof, a short, squat man was standing by a forge that gave off ridiculous waves of heat, but no smoke or fumes at all. He held a short handled hammer and was beating the tar out of something on his anvil. Stunned to find a person after so long, I just stood there for a long while, gaping. I came back down to earth, when the burly guy turned around, looked me in my beady eyes with two featureless, milky orbs and grinned. ¡°Aye lad? Why are ye crabbing about like that?¡± He wasn¡¯t speaking english¡­ Not even close. His words sounded like someone shuffled spanish and italian together and shoved them through a wood chipper. ¡°I sense yer presence, but I kinnae hear yer breath, brother isekai. I¡¯m Klevin, Klevin Siltstone, Master miner and smith, late of DeepRock hold, now the dungeon lord of this little paradise.¡± He chuckled and held out a huge, scarred shovel of a hand, waiting for me to grip it and shake. ¡°And yer moniker, lad?¡± My hearts plummeted into my ink sack as I realized, this dude was blind¡­ and I had no ability to make even an attempt at human speech. I clacked my claws a few times wondering what the hell to do, when the dude spoke again. ¡°Oh, a reincarnation job¡­¡± He cackled merrily. ¡°Yer musta died in some passing odd way, fer lord Truck-Kun to put you in this world, young human.¡± He mulled that for a while, as if he were gnawing on a thorny problem. After a moment, he muttered something under his breath and stepped closer to me, holding both hands out at shoulder level. ¡°Step close lad, I would feel yer form and learn what manner of creature the gods have made of thee. That may help tae unravel this knot.¡± I stepped closer, as requested¡­ but he kept waving his hands around far above my squat, crustacean form. ¡°Odd, yer a short one, lad¡­ He muttered, still fumbling about. In frustration I knocked my claws together a few times, drawing his attention even farther down. ¡°Fie! A crab? That be passing strange, even out here on the edge of things!¡± He muttered, as he began waving his hands around in front of himself, as if he were manipulating something only he could see. ¡°Hmm¡­ Me dungeon interface says there be but one sentient species on this world and coconut crabs nae be the one¡­¡± He hemmed and hawed for a minute and finally grunted at me. ¡°Ye made a clacky noise, kin ye clack once fer yes and twice fer no?¡± I clacked once, and waited for a moment, to make the separation clear, then I clacked twice more to let him know I had it. The conversation that ensued took¡­ a long ass time. I was ready to just forget it and walk back into the sea¡­ if there had been anyone to talk to there. # ¡°I see¡­ nae a crab at all, are ye?¡± He muttered. ¡°One of them little octopods... eh? How did ye windup dressed as a crab? Nae, of course ye kinnae answer.¡± The kindly old man was stumpy in the extreme, but broad as a barn door and muscled like a workhorse, he was also more than eager to talk, now that there were ears¡­ or something, to listen. I had no plans, plentiful food and an armored asshole to stomp around in, so I hung around, listening and learning to the old dwarf¡¯s tutelage¡­ He prattled on as he worked, instructing me in his craft, as though I were a new apprentice, when he ran out of conversational topics for our one sided palaver. ¡°Of course, I¡¯m not from here, this is a dungeon world, the seed of a new reality¡­ a mighty pretty one too.¡± He sighed happily, gazing at the warm sun and blue sky, through his sightless eyes. ¡°I found this place as a lad, stumbled on a void maw, deep in the mountains, while prospecting for ore.¡± He smashed his hammer down on the anvil as he worked, showering the area with sparks and fire. ¡°I spent some time in my youth, mining this little rock. The iron deposits here are as pure and sweet as spun sugar, and I came back often.¡± He nattered on as he worked, blithely mentioning travel between worlds and ¡®dungeons¡¯ and moving on. I gave three fast clicky clacks, our shared signal that he had said something important and I wanted to know more. ¡°Ah, ye fancy the smithcraft, tis bonny fine iron in all! She takes runes, inscriptions and enchantments very fine, splendid magical uptake and transference!¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I gave two clacks and a click, telling him he¡¯d missed the mark, so he gamely tried again. ¡°Yer wantin tae know about dungeon lordship? Or traveling between realms?¡± I clicked once, then once more, before rattling off a quick flurry of crustacean castanet percussion. ¡°When it comes to bein¡¯ the dungeon lord¡­ ¡®twas by chance it happened. I were mining one fine day, diggin out a goodly hunk of pure iron, sweet as you please, when one of them monkey bastards. Comes roarin¡¯ out ¡®o the jungle at me, all fangs, horns, a fistfull of tentacles fer a face and a scorpion tail.¡± He smiled in fond remembrance. ¡°Classic monster up. I had a pickaxe in me hands and I never did like them monkeys, even without being all mutated and nasty¡­ as the first sentient being to beat the stuffin¡¯ out of a monster on this world, I became the first dungeon lord, just like that.¡± I did a quick drum roll, telling him to go on and he was happy to oblige. ¡°I dinnae ken whae ye wanna know, so I¡¯ll just ramble on, as old men do.¡± He mumbled happily, over the crash of his hammer and anvil. ¡°Monsters be a phenomenon of dungeons, mostly, lad. They may appear on any world frae time tae time, but in dungeons, monsters be the norm.¡± He grinned sightlessly at me, or in my general direction. Somehow he could always go on with his day as though he could see¡­ Only I was invisible to his sight, but I had no way to really ask anything complex. ¡°On a prime world, one that be fully formed and hae a proper god or pantheon, monsters only crop up in the wilds¡­ They be mostly like my late unlamented monkey beast; hungry, angry, stupid and short lived.¡± I tucked ¡®prime world¡¯ away for future questions, but monsters seemed likely to be important, so I clicked once encouraging him to go on. ¡°Monsters be mutated frae normal beasts and critters, sometimes even fungus or oozes¡­ but they always share three attributes. First, a monster be always hungry. Their appetite shapes their development and is their only real driving force. Second, monsters be, by and large, stupidly aggressive and so are solitary.¡± He grinned a wolfish expression in my general area and nodded. ¡°Stupid and alone, makes monster hunting a profitable trade, across all realms¡­ But especially if yer lucky enough tae find an undiscovered dungeon entrance.¡± He cackled madly, until he had to set his hammer down and put his project back in the forge to heat up again. ¡°I am in control of this world, lad¡­ I kin make weather, if I¡¯ve a mind tae, manage where and when monsters appear and even change the geography, if I will it.¡± He muttered, as he gently rotated his project in the blazing inferno that burned without smoke of fuel. ¡°Tis a great power, and one that can cause much ill and sorrow, or create a paradise, an a man be willing, determined, and strong enough.¡± He smiled sadly and nodded, as though he had come to some conclusion. ¡°I¡¯m an old dwarf, lad. I found this place when I were but thirty, now I be nearer four hundred years¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°Me sight has gone, lost in a smelter accident some twenty years past, lad. Here in this place, I kin ¡®see¡¯ any part or parcel of me dungeon. Every rock and tree, every crawling bug an flitting skeeter.¡± He smiled sadly and shook his shaggy head. ¡°I kinnae see any outsider, nor sentient being wi me interface sight, so ye are just a blob ¡®o sensations and an aura tae me, crabby lad.¡± He pulled his workpiece from the forge and laid it on the anvil with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯m gettin too old tae live here alone and too stubborn to die and be done¡­ but ye give me a hope, lad¡­¡± He paused and cackled at me again. ¡°Nae, I¡¯d not dragoon ye intae wiping me senile arse an bein¡¯ my nursemaid in me dotage¡­ I just so happen tae have another dungeon¡­ a little one near my old homeworld¡­ tis a misty and cool place, wi mountains and stony hills above a shady wetland forest. He sighed wistfully. ¡°Were it nae fer yer cute, wee octopussies, I¡¯d hae moved there and taken the reins of that one, more befitting me own Will and preferences. But there¡¯s the rub. The wee octopods, an I leave this world and take up mine other title¡­ Yer folk will be at the mercy of the light cult.¡± He nodded when I clicked to indicate my interest in this thread of conversation. ¡°Aye, I¡¯ve sensed their presence and found where they peeked in¡­ they will come tae take this place frae me ere long. The light cult desires dungeon worlds, that they might exploit them in wicked ways.¡± He sighed sadly. ¡°I may mine some iron and eat the fruit and fish of this place, but in truth, I dinnae belong here.¡± He waved his arms to encompass the wide blue sea and islands dotted around. ¡°Dwarves kinnae swim nor float, we sink like the stones of the earth we so love. I hae no skill or craft of boats, so here on this rock I¡¯m stuck, despite my powers. When the light cult comes, I¡¯ll fight, aye and unleash my monsters, but I¡¯ll be taken¡­ tis fate, hard and sure. Or so I thought.¡± He grinned evilly and laughed long and hard. ¡°Ye shall be the dungeon lord, me nameless octopus friend. Ye shall take the lordship and become one with this realm, an yer willing. Any who would seek tae hunt thee fer yer powers would have a damned hard time, an ye swim away beneath the waves.¡± He gave me a moment to consider, one I didn¡¯t need. If I could gain some power over this place¡­ become the master of this sun drenched world, that would at least make my life more interesting. I clicked once, signaling my decision. ¡°Nae so fast, friend. I hae some works tae complete, and I must teach thee some deep secrets, things known only tae the very old and the very foolish.¡± He sighed and turned back to his crafts. ¡°Let me work a while, lad¡­ I must needs order me thoughts and consider the state of me affairs.¡± I gave a single click and prepared to wander into the nearby lagoon for a snack in my natural form, when he stopped me. ¡°When yer ready, lad, I¡¯ll pass it tae thee and take my leave¡­ Though, I would ask that ye let me an my heirs do a spot of mining here. I¡¯ll come back tae visit, an I¡¯m able, ¡®til my end comes calling.¡± He sighed happily, with the satisfied smile of a man who¡¯s just completed a complex task¡­ or maybe it was the kind of smile seen only after dropping off a massive deuce. ¡°Tonight, I¡¯ll tell thee why a benighted and evil demon cult frae outside this, and all mortal dimensions is so keen tae get their mitts on dungeons¡­ And what that means fer ye¡­ and yer eight legged kin.¡± # I had a lot to think about, as I slipped into the warm, clear waters and vanished among the wildlife and corals. ¡®Oh, hi!¡¯ Someone said, surprising the ink out of me, while I was enjoying a softshell green crab. The freshly molted delicacy floated away, caught in the gentle surf, while I was still trying to untie the knot I¡¯d tangled myself in. ¡®I like softshells too! Oh, you¡¯re a big one aren''t you? Hi, I¡¯m Chad!¡¯ The gregarious fellow was swimming at the head of a few dozen blue rings, the local colony, I assumed. ¡®We¡¯ve never met an outsider before! Did you swim over from another lagoon? Was that scary?¡¯ ¡®Uh, yeah¡­¡¯ I replied, caught completely unprepared and feeling like a moron. ¡®We¡¯ve never had an outsider before¡­¡¯ A petite blue and yellow maiden whispered, her color shifts barely perceptible as she spoke in the language of colors, patterns and postures. ¡®I find myself¡­ without a male that¡¯s not¡­ related to me¡­¡¯ She muttered, her colors even more muted and her body language muddled. ¡®Here¡¯s the deal¡­ My pal Todd, he got eaten a few days ago¡­ That leaves my sister, Susie in a tough spot¡­ she can¡¯t join our ancestors without being seeded.¡¯ Chad said, cheerfully. ¡®It is the season and you seem like a nice guy¡­ How about it?¡¯ Poor Susie was just tied up in knots behind her big, bluff and friendly brother, turning all kinds of colors, from muddy brown to murky green. ¡®I¡¯d love to help¡­ but¡­ I¡¯m a boob man¡­¡¯ I offered weakly. ¡®I really can¡¯t help you that way¡­¡± ¡®I see¡­¡¯ Chad muttered, weighing his options. ¡®Susie¡¯s my sis and she¡¯s really shy, as you probably guessed. I can¡¯t understand why you¡­ Oh¡­¡¯ A lightbulb didn¡¯t actually appear over his head, but the colors and shapes that ran over his skin did the same job. ¡®That¡¯s cool, bro. Different strokes¡­¡¯ He stammered. ¡®I¡¯ve never met a¡­ homosexual before. How does that even work?¡¯ ¡®Yeah¡­¡¯ I sighed, deciding on the easy way out, since the breeding season was going to clear the slate soon anyway¡­ ¡®That¡¯s my deal. I¡¯m a big ¡®ol homosexual, sorry.¡¯ I know, I¡®m an asshole¡­ but I just couldn¡¯t get¡­ she was awfully cute though. I sighed, turning a pale blue all over, as I realized Chad was cute too¡­ in the huggable way big eyed, soft bodied critters often are. Kawaii does not always equal sexy¡­ # Klevin must have sensed my mood when I crab stomped back up to the forge to continue our ¡®talk¡¯ that afternoon. ¡°Aye lad. Yer aura is in turmoil and conflict¡­ did ye perhaps meet some of the local octos?¡± He grinned when I was taken aback. ¡°They are the native species, lad. They belong here in ways ye an I never will. As dungeon lord, they are my children tae protect and guide, though a piss poor job of that, an old dwarf can only do.¡± His smile faded as he continued. ¡°That be the rub. Deep in the heart of every dungeon world, there lies a sleeping god¡­waiting tae awaken and become the primary deity of that world. Other gods may come along later¡­ but the primordial divine that erupts forth when the egg hatches will be the deity of that world¡¯s native peoples.¡± He smiled grimly. ¡®The god in the heart of this world is the deity of your people, the octos. That is the great secret of the dungeon worlds.¡¯ I chewed on that for a while, wondering about all kinds of details, but without a voice¡­ ¡°That, my lad, is why the light cult hae come sniffing around. They need those infant godlings, tae complete their great working; their long fought war tae dominate and control all worlds of mortal kith and kin, fer their wicked ends.¡± He growled, sounding like a granite mountain breaking a glacier with its immovable bulk. ¡°I would nae see any kith fall intae their filthy clutches, least of all these giddy, fae and amusing kin of thine.¡± He winked at me, a slightly grotesque gesture with his milky, dead eyes, but I got the message he intended. ¡°Nae, ye will not become their god, lad. When that god hatches, ye will be nae more one of the octos than ye are right now¡­ nor any less of their kith.¡± He said with a smile. ¡°Isekai, me dear boy! I¡¯m one too! Truck-Kun sent me intae a new flesh so many long years ago¡­ before ever I walked the realms and traveled the void.¡± He sighed, abandoning his anvil and hammer for a while. ¡°We sometimes are re-born anew in our old flesh, an the god of interdimensional fuckery guides a soul tae a new home. Most times, we become as the denizens of the world we land on, when the god of lost souls sets us down.¡± He sighed again, as if a bitter cold wind whispered around a mountain peak, lonely and remote. ¡°I meself were a bonny an pretty catgirl, once, so long ago. I do so miss having cute ears and bouncy tits¡­ Me great regret is never bearing a litter, when I could have. Sadly, nearly all isekai be unable tae bear or father children. We be a dead end, a second chance, fair and true... But wi a terrible cost, in all.¡± I clicked twice, then twice more, asking for clarification. ¡°Ye died, lad, died wi out issue nor the touch of mortal passion, as poor sweet Kitka Mittensocks did, when I were she, in another life.¡± He smiled sadly at me and opened up a little more, cause I¡¯m a great listener. ¡°I were born a pretty black kitty, wi white socks on me hands and feet, wi a bonny white tail tip as well. I did sweetly dance an play in me woodland home, peaceful an fair¡­ ¡®Til the light cult came calling, takin slaves fer their dark rituals of debased evil¡­¡± He nodded grimly. ¡°Aye, dinnae mistake their pious calls tae the ¡®light¡¯... ¡®Tis a demon cult of blood sacrifice, necromancy and wicked vileness. Mark that well.¡± I clicked once, signalling a firm agreement. Cults and religions left a bad taste in my mouth already; plus, the old man¡¯s face said that the horrors and pain I suffered on my world were nothing new to him. ¡°Aye, I have the sense of it, lad. Tis yer kin¡¯s breeding season, a sweetly sad changing of the guard¡­ I¡¯ve spoken tae them, lad; fer their language is within my powers, as dungeon lord. I kin take their semblance as an illusion and visit them, frae time tae time.¡± He smiled, seeming for a moment, oddly cute¡­ as if a faint glimmer of Kitka appeared in his face. ¡°I know someatt of what yer feelin, lad. I never could get behind havin this thing twixt me legs¡­ never mind plying it where it¡¯s meant tae go¡­ I still long fer the touch of a smooth furred catboy¡­ Soft toe-beans and a floofy tail that would tickle me nose when¡­¡± He coughed and shook himself all over. ¡°Sorry, lad.¡± I clicked once, then twice, telling him to forget about it. ¡°Anyway, that be the cost we pay fer a second chance. Ye shall nae enter the Akashic Record of yer old kin, and never more be writ in yer new kith¡­ Save ye find a way tae gain the fecundity we lose in the journey we take, naked through the eternal void as bodiless souls.¡± He grumbled. ¡°Ye need not live as a monk, an ye kin overmaster these feelings an become one of the octos, fully¡­ But any lass ye tupp will be doomed, doomed tae die without issue and be lost tae the Record. I suspect ye be nae so cruel and wicked.¡± He smiled again, showing another glimpse of the fair damsel he¡¯d once been. ¡°Find love if ye can, where ye will and as ye may, but dinnae be cruel nor lie¡­ that is the price I ask of thee fer me dungeon. That¡­ and I beg thee tae watch over the wee, cute octos, in their innocence. Aye?¡± I could only click my claws once in agreement, crabs can¡¯t really hug anyone. # Ch: 4 Dealer’s Choice Fate Deals The Cards Ch: 4 Dealer¡¯s Choice I spent a week at Klevin¡¯s forge at the foot of the iron rich volcano, learning nothing of smithcraft; but picking his brains for every bit of info I could winkle out of him. He had a lot of material to cover and I had no way to communicate meaningfully or take notes. My fine motor control in my crab body was crap and I couldn¡¯t last long out of the water, or hold a pen¡­ Ink I had aplenty, ironically. ¡°Aye lad, listen tae this old dwarf ramble¡­ I got bumfuzzled last evening; never did I tell you the third thing that all monsters share.¡± He smiled, a weak and wavering thing this morning. ¡°Monsters, like isekai, like me and thee, they kinnae bear young, not by any wise. Even those who seem tae reproduce¡­ They dinnae truly.¡± He nodded to the deep stone pit near his hut. Long, sharp spiked iron blades stuck out from the lip of the hole, jutting inward and down. At the bottom, six long brown furred creatures circled and squirmed, their long, sleek bodies writhing and intertwining endlessly. ¡° These be groundworms, lad. A common monster, an ye feed them food trash, fallen leaves, even the shite of other creatures, they live on and grow. An ye cut on ein half, ¡®ere long ye hae two worms¡­ And ye cut them again, ye hae more worms; ever eating an circling, making bonny fine fertilizer and mulch frae worthless things.¡± He grinned at me and chuckled. ¡°Dinnae fall in the pit lad, they can and will eat nearly anything, save each other. That be the trick; ¡®tis only one worm lad, in six parts. So long as there be more than one piece of the beast, it will happily coil around and eat what be cast intae the pit.¡± He laughed and hurled a banana peel through the iron bars. ¡°So long as there be enough food, it will grow and thrive, until I must fish them out, one by one and cut them down smaller.¡± He smiled and scratched his big poofy beard. ¡°The extra worm parts I use fer fishbait¡­ Though some poor, destitute folk do eat trashworm, poor blighters. ¡®Tis usually orphans must dine on trashworm.¡± He sighed and resumed his lecture. ¡°An food runs low, all the extra parts die off first, tae keep one piece of the beastie alive. At that point, the beast will struggle tae escape bondage tae seek new pastures.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Monsters be stupid and make no sense, save that he dinae get nor create young or offspring.¡± The look on his face said he had another shoe to drop on me and was waiting for the right time. ¡°Like thee and me, lad. Thee and me, kinnae get nor sire young, fer we be monsters ourselves, technically¡­ in our own way.¡± He nodded gravely. ¡°Aye. In human and dwarf society, we be almost always treated as monsters ourselves, an the truth be discovered. Hide yer origins and secrets well, brother. It will save yer life and freedom many times.¡± He leaned closer, speaking earnestly. ¡°The light cult does desire us very greatly as well. Fer their evil works and dark sacrifices, we are their preferred victims, as we bear the touch of the outer realms, ourselves. Watch yerself, an the cult be near, dinnae give them a fingernail¡¯s width of yer trust, lest ye find yerself stretched on one ¡®o their filthy altars, as I was¡­ in another life.¡± The old coot fell silent for a while, save for the hammering and the roar of his forge. # The days drifted by, while I studiously avoided the local colony of my relatives¡­ The word that I was ¡®different¡¯ had spread quickly and they were pretty chill about the whole thing, they just kinda treated me the same as everyone else, mostly. It was way too socially awkward, when an octo boy wriggled up to me and started flirting shyly. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize that was the deal and I had my own stuff to work through. I brushed him off a little more firmly than I really meant to, but the whole episode was deeply upsetting, on a whole bunch of levels. A few days later, the problem solved itself, as the adults vanished into their brood caves and started¡­ brooding. I started hanging out around the forge even when Klevin was asleep or otherwise occupied with his work, simply because it was quiet and gave me time to mull over the new info I was being deluged in. There was just too much to learn and there was no way the old coot would be able to predict all of my questions¡­ especially the octo related problems. Most especially the big question of why I was heading into my fourth year, while all of my kin were ¡®going into the light¡¯ after one full turning of the seasons. Not that I was eager to explore the next life¡­ the octos saw the racial memories they shared as a form of immortality. They claimed that the spirits of the ancestors even appeared to guide and instruct them regularly¡­ I was in no position to confirm or deny the truth of it, since I had no access to their ¡®Akashic Record¡¯... whatever that was. Somehow, that phenomenon and their generally unambitious nature seemed to satisfy the happy little scamps. That ¡®afterlife¡¯ was denied me, given my unusual condition. I knew it wasn¡¯t happening just because I kept it in my octo pants. The other wrigglers who, for whatever reason didn¡¯t find, or lost their mates also stopped thriving and started dying, right along with the others. So, a couple weeks after I met Klevin, the locals no longer appeared when I shucked my crab and dipped into the water for a bit of free swimming fun. The crab¡¯s body provided everything I needed, somehow, while I was driving¡­ It did my breathing, eating and pooping, through whatever weirdness my ¡®Body Snatcher¡¯ and ¡®Necromancy¡¯ titles gave me. Not that it was the same crab¡­ the coconuts were tough, heavily armored and stupid, they were also mindlessly cannibalistic. While Klevin was sleeping, or mining up in the foothills where I was too slow and clumsy to follow, I was busy trading up, one step at a time.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. It was a gradual process, more like an accelerated molting situation¡­ I preferred to think of it in those terms, since I left a trail of ever larger coconut crabs stumbling around, brain-dead in my wake. Klevin noticed the change when I stomped up wearing my latest model; eighty pounds of chitin and claws, clattering on bluntly pointed legs that could spear lesser creatures, if I was too lazy to clamp them in my mighty claws. ¡°Ye got bigger, lad. Lots bigger! Hae ye been eating the other crabs that infest this speck ¡®o land?¡± He chuckled merrily. ¡°Properly mean and hungry they are¡­ and subject tae monstering up as well. I spend much effort keeping the island monster free ¡®cause of the little turds.¡± He grumbled good naturedly, while he used a huge file to shape something, scraping with long, even movements as he talked. I clicked my hefty new clackers to let him know I wanted more, and he obliged, rambling on about monster lore while I listened keenly. ¡°A monster does start as a normal, mortal beast or other living thing¡­ ¡®Tis a chancy matter tae predict and is impossible tae completely prevent.¡± He nodded with satisfaction, as he looked over his finished pickaxe, with his dead white eyes. ¡°Simple beasts and critters be most subject tae monstering, since they hae weak Minds and Wills¡­ and a fragile Animus protecting them. Monstery be a disease or defect of the soul, caused by contamination of a new born critter.¡± He sighed, as he placed a fresh billet of iron in the forge. ¡°Soul contamination it be. Fragments of souls, all sorts and kinds of them are thick in this world¡­ and in all dungeon worlds. Every living soul shed a few fragments of itself, every day, lad. Even thee and me. Those tiny, invisible bits grab onto souls they encounter, creating bonds and links of friendship and love, or animosity¡­¡± He grinned and nodded. ¡°Aye. An ye find yerself reaching out tae a new met person, ¡®tis a bond of sympathy and compatibility. ¡®Tis the same, an ye find some person or creature unbearable. Incompatible souls repel each other.¡± I clicked to tell him to go on and he unloaded a full throated belly laugh that shook the jungle. ¡°Gods above an below, lad¡­ Whae kind of mad world did ye come frae, that this is new lore?¡± He shook his head at my ignorance and went on, once I¡¯d been sufficiently abused for his entertainment. ¡°A fully developed soul kinnae be monstered, lad. Only the weak willed, fragile, mindless or nearly mindless may become tainted by and mutated by incompatible soul fragments. Any healthy soul will consume and incorporate the compatible bits and reject the rubbish¡­ ¡®tis how mortal souls grow an develop, as they pass through the endless cycle of life and reincarnation.¡± He smiled fondly and nodded in my direction. ¡°As we also do, lad. We be a dead-end tae the Akashic Record, but in the greater scheme of things¡­ We will rejoin the universe after this life, or perhaps after a few more. ¡®Tis only a blink of the eye, a mortal life, however long it may seem tae we mortals¡­¡± He smiled warmly and chuckled. ¡®Aye, I¡¯m an old man, sen many souls born an die, friends, foes¡­ all sorts. This I say as one who¡¯s stared intae the blinding lights of Truck-Kun¡­¡± He said, solemnly and with great reverence. ¡°There are gods out there, beyond the gods we know, guiding the machinery of the universe. Vast and unknowable¡­ but in the distant void, twas the servitor of such a one found poor lost Kitka¡­ and made me Klevin. A blessing and boon delivered unasked and given freely by tha god and the nameless being he serves.¡± I gave a rapid clicky clack, insisting that he tell me more. ¡°Ye dinnae ken Truck-Kun? Divine courier of the outer gods? He be the eternal deity ¡®o interdimensional fuckery and mischief¡­ The god of correcting such and returning mortal souls tae a mortal world where they can thrive.¡± I reflected on the jokey memes and silly weeaboo nonsense on the internet, suggesting that there was and actual being named Truck-Kun¡­ A mysterious delivery van responsible for nearly every ¡®isekai¡¯ story in the vast and poorly written canon of such works. Across the web and around the world¡­ My old world, anyway¡­ Freelance writers, angsty teens and pot smoking hobbyists were busily tapping out tales of men and women lost in magical worlds, granted fabulous powers, almost all instigated by being run down by a truck¡­ a divine truck from beyond our world. Thinking back¡­ it happened to me too. Though, for some reason¡­ or maybe by just random chance, I¡¯d lingered on for four years after that blinding, devastating, non-survivable crash, and that cold distant place of bright lights and the sensation of eternal movement¡­ Klevin was still talking, while I felt my mind whirling down previously unsuspected paths. I tuned back in, trying to recall what he¡¯d said. ¡°Frae a wandering mote in the darkness, he found me¡­ ¡®Twas an odd thing to look at, all white and square¡­ There were a wide, glass window at the front. In that pane, I did see a kitty cat sitting pretty an waving at me in welcome; calling me near, his iron bell singin¡¯ my name¡­¡± He was still waxing poetic about this god of his a while later, so I settled in to wait and listen for any actual info I could use. Tales of box trucks with paw waving, bell wearing kitty cats on the dashboard were too much for me to handle, on top of the rest... # The new crop of Octos hadn¡¯t emerged yet, so took a good long swim, keeping fit and flexible was one of the things Klevin insisted on. He even tried to get me to join his startlingly vigorous workouts, done every morning and evening without fail. The old man was a beast! He ran a half mile to warm up, every damn morning, did sand sprints, a full calisthenics circuit and then he hit the mountainside, mining the iron outcroppings with his pick until noon. After lunch he would lecture me, while smelting, casting and forging the endless list of projects he had on his workbench. Each evening he¡¯d run a quarter mile to cool down, bathe in the lagoon and run a whole pilates clinic in his hut before bed. He ate simply, lived quietly and spent his free time meditating, sketching new projects and otherwise chilling out. ¡°Cultivation, lad¡­ that¡¯s me last lesson fer ye, ¡®ere we part ways.¡± He rumbled in his pleasant, bassy voice of gravel and slow moving stones. ¡°There be much hoo-hah and falderal around the arts of cultivation¡­ most be complete bunk. Magic pills and medicines do exist an are worth yer attention, but the fundamentals¡­ ¡®Tis simply fitness; mental, physical and spiritual fitness. Strong body, strong mind, strong soul¡­¡± He tapped his head, heart and belly as he spoke. ¡°Any person kin achieve any or all of the three with self reflection, hard work, diligence an study. The tricky part is getting all three an balancing them all taegether. That makes a normal person intae a cultivator.¡± He grinned and nodded. ¡°Yup, simple as that. Ye kin read the sutras an chase after hidden scrolls of mystic arts, but yer fundamentals¡­ That be the true secret tae a long, healthy life.¡± I clicky-clacked my interest and got the full rundown. He rambled about his workout plan and stressed the importance of flexibility, stamina and control, rather than simply focusing on strength. ¡°Pure physical power is tempting lad. Ye kin bulk up an swing yer hammer like the fist ¡®o an angry god, but then ye wind up unable tae scratch yer own arse fer the muscles. Nae, there will always be summatt stronger, bigger, faster or tougher.¡± He nodded gravely and smiled, as he did a slow, graceful dance, whirling with delicate precision through his workshop on silent toes. ¡°Balance, lad. Balance, control, grace and a clear mind will serve ye well, no matter yer form or shape.¡± I sat there silently considering his performance, wishing I could cry¡­ crabs and octos aren¡¯t equipped for it. In desperation, I began clicking and clacking, tapping out a rhythm for the beautiful part of himself he¡¯d just revealed. It was unexpected and perfect, as if the clouds drew back from the sun on a stormy summer morning drenching the world in light. I wanted more, needed more¡­ So I kept the beat rolling on, playing with the structure and time signature, drawing him into the embrace of old man rhythm with my castanet claws. I finally had to do it, I dipped into a classic from the disco era. The Bee Gees ¡®Stayin Alive¡¯ caught him by the booty and pinched his ass into a whole new vibe. We learned a lot about each other that sunny, peaceful afternoon, as he danced to my wandering groove. # ¡°Were ye a musician, in yer previous time, lad?¡± He gasped, as he sagged to a stool. I was still lost in the boogie, entranced by the subtle stirrings of¡­ something deep inside me. ¡°It did feel like ye had some subtle gift or magic oven in that strange music ye made¡­ Ye follow me?¡± I clacked twice, then after a long pause, once. I was uncertain and deeply confused by the strange and beautiful thing we¡¯d shared. The pretty cat-girl, dancing for the human boy in a hut by the sea¡­ and the old craggy dwarf, dancing to the tune of a monstrously large and hideous crab. Two things can be true at the same time, my friends. # Ch: 5 A Weak Hand Fate Deals The Cards Ch: 5 A Weak Hand That magical afternoon seemed to have ignited something in the old dwarf. He still followed the pattern he''d established, but now each movement had more intensity, more oomph, behind it. His lectures became more specific as well, focusing on what he thought would be most important when he handed over the reins... Which felt weird to think about, since I¡¯d never been around horses and¡­ octopus. ¡®Seahorse?¡¯ I wondered idly, feeling silly on a warm, sunny morning. The old man finished pouring molten iron into his molds of sand and clay, then strode over to the workshop, where I was squatting, just crabbin¡¯ it up, waiting. ¡°Bein dungeon lord can be what you want it tae be, lad. In yer case, I feel like ye hae skin in the game wi¡¯ the octos¡­ Ye feel a kinship wi¡¯ the poor waifs?¡± I clicked my agreement, then played a few quick bars of ¡®He¡¯s Not Heavy, He¡¯s My Brother¡¯¡­ Which in hindsight, wasn¡¯t that recognizable when played on crab claws¡­ and Klevin had probably never been to Earth. They can¡¯t all be winners. Somehow, the geezer picked up my vibe and nodded. ¡°Aye, lad¡­ ye would see yer kin become¡­ More than drifting motes in a crystal sea, however pleasant.¡± He smiled, his big, square teeth peeking out of his beard. ¡°There be many kinds and kith of peoples out there, intelligent critters, some who walk like men, dwarves, an elves; others who may crawl, slither or fly¡­ Or swim, like say, certain higher cephalopods. I say that none are any better nor worse when it comes tae doing evil or kindness¡­¡± He grumbled. ¡°We isekai are fine examples ¡®o why such bigotry be idiotic. Beyond the veil of a mortal realm, souls are simply souls, lad. Nae races, genders nae even any real difference between a sapient sponge, an a dwarf or human.¡± He cracked his knuckles and began working on an intricate bit of etching for something or other. ¡°There even be some few beings that be undead, yet exist wi¡¯ out malice, even walking among the living. I did once meet a mighty lich lord in my travels¡­ a fine fellow, but brooding an cold by nature.¡± He paused, lost in some old memory. ¡°I wonder if the Chariot still walks the worlds, after three hundred years¡­¡± He murmured. Perhaps he¡¯ll come an dig up these old bones, an I¡¯m done wi¡¯ them.¡± I really wondered why he was so cool with some dusty old ballbag playing with his bones, but¡­ click-clack, can¡¯t talk back. So I resigned myself to listening and hoping I¡¯d get the chance to talk to him someday. Finally, as the end of summer brought a change in the wind and typhoon season, the ancient dwarf started packing up his gear and finished projects, somehow stuffing it all into a huge backpack of scuffed and battered leather. The thing contained an absolute mountain of iron ingots and all the finished goods he¡¯d been steadily creating all summer, in addition to the old man¡¯s furniture, roof tiles, tools and personal effects. Even the massive anvil and the stump it was affixed to with massive iron spikes, it all fit in the bag. When he was done, all that was left were the stone walls, a few bamboo beams and the forge, with the magical plate of bronze that powered the device taken along with all the rest. ¡°Season¡¯s turnin¡¯, lad. I¡¯d see ye safely invested wi¡¯ yer people¡¯s fates, ¡®ere I slip down the mountain an break me own fool neck. I¡¯m off fer the Misty Glen, thats me new dungeon. I¡¯ll be opening it soon lad.¡± He rumbled, while hoisting his pack. ¡°Heed my tutelage, play the slow game, live a long happy life; an make fer yer kin a deity that they deserve, the cheerful wee bairns.¡± I was beyond the point where a twenty ton backpack was going to blow my mind, but it was impressive. ¡°Come on. I dinnae need eyes in the passage between worlds¡­ ¡®Tis actually easier that way, but I must need get up to the gate, atop the volcano¡­ best we don¡¯t walk that path blind.¡± I followed the old guy up the winding trail, all the way up. It was quite a crawl for me, but the braindead crab was doing all the work and I flogged him on mercilessly. When I clattered onto the ledge at the top, the view was amazing. I had to sneak one of my own peepers out for a look, because crab vision is crap on a stick, stuck in your eye. I have no idea to this day how those things managed to be so successful and infest the islands so completely. ¡°The lordship kin only be transferred in the dungeon, so I¡¯ll pass it tae thee. Then, if ye wish, ye may follow me tae my destination. I kin complete yer education there, ¡®ere ye return home in spring. Or, ye might wander the realms a might¡­ it be up to thee.¡± I clacked a general affirmative and followed him into a cave, just under the lip of the volcano, overlooking the sea. Just inside, the old dwarf dropped his hand on my carapace and gave a long, slow breath. As he did, something swept down his hand and into me, carried right through my mindless escort¡­ and it sent me reeling. A wave of effervescent bubbles percolated through my¡­ Stuff. I didn¡¯t know jack about octopod biology, and had even less of a clue about magic, and all the weird, wacky and downright strange ways it manifests. In this case, it felt like I¡¯d shoved all eight tenties up the back end of an electric eel for a cheap thrill¡­ and found it. Whatever it was that jolted through me, it settled down and became my comfy new normal, as the bubbly and jiggly sensation eased, faded and then became a distant, half remembered idea, hazy and dim. ¡°All right lad, are ye following me? Or will ye stay here?¡± He asked gently. ¡°An ye are nae ready to see another world now, ye can come calling any time, lad. I¡¯ll know when ye appear in me realm.¡± I clicked once, very firmly, I was ready to see another world and maybe find a form that was more¡­ versatile. I was already looking forward to the ¡®Misty Fens¡¯, imagining myself in a racoon or something¡­ perhaps even a bird capable of speech. ¡®That would be awesome!¡¯ I thought as I followed my friend into the abyss and turned right¡­. Klevin passed through a shadowed section of cave wall without making any kind of fuss about it. He just disappeared, like the volcanic stone was made of mist. I followed on his heels, and whacked into a solid wall of stone. I backed up and felt around for the entrance, while being glad I didn¡¯t have a nose to break. Clickity-clackity, no hidden passage for me. It was, as far as I could tell, a stone wall, solid and real. I was still feeling around on the wall with my pinchers, when Klevin popped back through, without his massive bag. In its place he had a small rucksack, slung on his massive shoulder. ¡°I come back as quick as I could lad¡­ Hae ye second thoughts?¡± He asked carefully, while keeping one hand planted in the vaporous substance of the stone mountainside. I signaled that no, I had not developed second thoughts, then I banged my claws on the rock wall that he passed through with ease. ¡°Huh¡­ ¡®Tis odd.¡± He stood there for a while, contemplating the problem, while I snuck a peeper out to get a better look at the wall than crab eyes could deliver. I snuck a look through a discreet hole in the chitin, behind my left claw. The wall looked normal to the crab, but to my natural eyeball, it was a shadowy haze¡­ easy to miss if you weren¡¯t looking for it, but it was distinctly odd. Out of curiosity, I snuck a long and wriggly tentacle out and brushed the rock wall, ever so gently. It was mist¡­ I could pass through, but my ride was not able to pass through the veil¡­ which would leave very much aquatic and tropical me, at the mercy of whatever was going on, across the yawning gulf of the void. Call me Octopussy, but I was not going across naked¡­ or in a jar. That was too big a leap of faith. It took a lot of clickies and clackies to get the message across¡­ I would stay, and come visit when I found a solution, in the fullness of time. # I know now that it was the undying, but not quite alive nature of my victims that prevented them from passing through the veil and carrying me to other realms. In my wildest dreams, I had trouble imagining a situation that would allow me to see other worlds¡­ who could I trust enough to let them carry me in a jar? I would have trusted Klevin¡­ but how to explain what I needed and would I survive that kind of transport? I chickened out, and remained a flightless bird, keeping my own wings clipped short. Fear and anxiety can take root in any person¡¯s mind, body and soul; if you aren¡¯t challenging yourself and expanding your boundaries, at least a little, every day. I spent the next three decades of my life cultivating my mind, body and soul¡­ by cultivating my budding baby dungeon world. Klevin was right, about everything, across the board. I played it slow, I played the long game and I cut no corners, developing a thriving and fully functional ecosystem with one main goal¡­ Farming soul fragments from Adventurers, Travellers, wandering warriors on training journeys and Explorers. I played my own game, because that¡¯s what being a dungeon lord is. I was unable to travel on my terms, but I could use my powers in almost any way I wished; perhaps by creating doorways into other realms, leading directly into a dungeon filled with deadly things, designed to take the lives of the poor fools drawn in by my lures. ¡°Many dungeon lords use the angler fish method.¡± Klevin said, so long ago. ¡°It ends poorly, usually in bloody vengeance.¡± Others created towns, peopled by shades of illusion and glamor; all bent on seducing mortals into nightmare realms from which there was no escape. Klevin laughed when he told me what they called that method of cultivation in dungeon lord circles. ¡°Roach Motel¡­¡± He¡¯d said with a shrug and a laugh. I really wished I had a voice that day¡­ so bad. There were tons of conventional options; labyrinths, crypts, caverns, open world exploration, you name it. The goal wasn¡¯t necessarily to take peoples¡¯ lives, that was just the quickest, easiest way to gain power. I didn¡¯t want to start them off in a blood drenched hell pit of despair, that I would rule from my throne of skulls¡­ I also didn¡¯t want or need quick or easy power, I wanted to bring the octos out of endlessly drifting in an obscure haze and get them interested¡­ in anything. A dungeon lord¡¯s powers are subtle, in an established world. Once people with fully functional agency and autonomy enter a dungeon world, the things and places that fall under their eyes become real. For example, before I showed up and got my non native eyeballs on that chain of islands; Klevin could have moved them around with his interface, as easy as point and click. Whole land masses, picked up, shuffled around, re shaped, sunken, new ones raised from the deep, or he could have built a new continent. It was all a bit hazy in his explanation but it boiled down to a simple principle. You need to work a lot harder to use magic if someone is looking at you. The bigger, showier and more complex the magic, the easier it is to confound with a simple mortal gaze¡­ Global and regional alterations of any scale would be impossible if truly sentient beings were present anywhere within hundreds of miles of the desired effect. The points spent and energies used would simply dribble away, becoming part of the slowly maturing divine, infusing the infant deity with elemental forces. That was another easy way to move things along, using the power of nature, but the results would be highly random and chaotically elemental. I didn¡¯t want a tempest tossed world of belching volcanos and trembling earth, washed by tsunami or ground smooth beneath miles of ice.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The octos didn¡¯t count, when it came to sentients; they were, and still are close to being a fully sapient species, but they just couldn¡¯t get over that last hurdle and start developing on their own¡­ I was going to give them a push; hopefully in the cheerful and peaceful direction they were already headed. # The old blind man spent a whole day in that cave, giving me a crash course in all the stuff he still wanted to go over¡­ but the weather was turning foul. Rain and wind started howling around the cave mouth, making conversation more difficult. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing, lad, ye don¡¯t need tae take men¡¯s lives or cause grief. Just get travelers and traders sailing these waters¡­ Keep the shipping lanes clear of monsters, make sea gates tae populated worlds that lie ¡®nearby¡¯, allegorically and metaphorically speaking.¡± He nodded eagerly, keen to share his grand idea. ¡°Keep yer lagoons of octos off in the shallows, safe an sound, far from yer visitors. Ye¡¯ll scatter yer islands an create safe harbors wi¡¯ deep ports havin¡¯ flat, fertile lands nearby¡­ Draw other kin and folks in tae live thrive an trade. That will hatch yer god slow and sure, a god of trades, crafts, agriculture, barter, cooperation an peace¡­¡± He grinned and chuckled wolfishly. ¡°Monsters will appear off those paths ye keep clear lad, an that will draw Adventurers, Explorers, Treasure Hunters and Monster Hunters tae yer shores in droves.¡± He laughed even harder and slapped his knee. ¡°They¡¯ll add spice tae the blend, so ye¡¯ll nae create a milquetoast deity of wimpyness.¡± ¡°There be as many dungeons as there are stars in the sky lad. Unseen by mortal eyes, just out of phase magically and mundanely wi¡¯ the prime worlds. This be but one of so many¡¯ an on each, a species, struggling tae gain sentience an become a fully sapient race of folk¡­ I said there be many kith an kin¡­ each of them hae their roots in a dungeon world, hatched into fullness and primacy.¡± In his impenetrable brogue, the old man broke it down. Every race, throughout the multiverse of infinite, uncountable realms, developed from a dungeon world. The same species could appear spontaneously in any number of dimensions and worlds simultaneously; but at the root of every instance of sentient life was a budding god or pantheon, hatched from a matured dungeon world. Cat folk, dog folk, lizard men, even octos, we were all unique, just like everyone else, cultivated through the mysterious dungeon phenomenon on so many worlds.. ¡°Aye lad, so many origins and beginnings, but at the root, all the same. All part of the great engine of creation, powered by the lives we live an the energies we use tae transform our surroundings an ourselves.¡± He sighed, waxing philosophical. ¡°All save the dead-worlders, the poor blighters.. Poor poor blighters.¡± He sighed, looked wistful and wouldn¡¯t say any more about that, no matter how I clattered my claws. ¡°Some folk say it be the eternal spirits of the trees that do secretly control and guide the dungeon system; for surely, on every world wi¡¯ animate life, there are always trees¡­ As I near my end, sometimes I fancy I hear the trees whispering, whispering about the dreams of mortals¡­ but ¡®tis just an old man¡¯s fancy¡­ of dryads serving as handmaidens tae the god of Beasts.¡± # In my time on earth, I¡¯d never been even faintly interested in clickbaity, idle games for casuals¡­ but it turned out they could be kinda fun. I had a text based interface system I could use to alter all kinds of parameters, even the length of the day, within limits. Anything from shifting a single grain of sand one millimeter to the left, on a beach on the other side of the world; all the way to sinking an entire continent under the waves¡­ or even, complete deluge, flooding the world. I had a menu of vermin, plagues and pestilences, as well as a whole list of wildlife, from mundane to exotic and downright magical that I could¡­ spawn into the world, for lack of a better term. That process used Life Points: a currency that was generated by the growth and abundance of thriving living things. There were all kinds of point pools for different things, like Volcanism Points, they were generated in the planet¡¯s core; those replenished passively and were the go-to method of creating new land in populated worlds. I had brimming pools of all sorts, for adjusting the physical world; Climate Points, Plague Points and too many more sub-types to list, all of which I had tons of, thanks to the dungeon just idling along for so long. The planet¡¯s regular geologic climatic and biological functions naturally generated all kinds of energies and potentials, which no one had spent for who knows how long. I couldn¡¯t create anything smart, though, nothing with more brains than the monkey creatures, which were labeled in my list as mongoats¡­ Mongoats, ¡®cause they had little goat horns¡­ There was an awful lot of that kind of thing. My hopes for simply spawning a body for myself were dashed; the process was slow and random, I might get a teeny baby mongoat, or a decrepit oldster, they were still complete assholes, even fresh from the never I summoned them from. The little turds appeared and then just started pissing and shitting on anything they couldn¡¯t eat. I resolved to hunt my bodies the old fashioned way, so I could at least pick a good one. The Points I needed for the plan to succeed and to give my friends a shot at actually being curious or excited about life were all generated by social and cooperative activities... They were all generated by things the Octos were complete bullshit at. Like Faith Points, created by a populace willing to worship a god that had no ability to answer prayers¡­ It came with a bunch of sub categories too, Fanaticism, Zealotry¡­ From a top down view, that situation didn¡¯t offer much utility or value in the long term. It was another quick, easy path, straight to the goal. But it came with Dogma, Inquisitions and a bunch of garbage. I wanted the dream of an educated, secular, accepting and peaceful world, without war or strife¡­ a pipe dream, I know¡­ Smoke ¡®em if you¡¯ve got ¡®em. I didn¡¯t have access to any of the Utopia skill trees yet, but I had high hopes for unlocking something, farther down the commerce route. For that, I needed Industry, Agriculture, Tool Use, Abstract Thought, and a ton of other stuff. Klevin¡¯s activities on the island over the last few years gave me significant starter pools in Industry, Mining and a few others; but one man, no matter how disciplined and industrious, could only produce a tiny amount of what would be needed on a global scale project... # I spent those long, lonely and stormy winter months re-working the whole place and plotting the trade routes I wanted to link up. I created a network of currents and tradewinds to stabilize the weather around my little archipelago and provide plenty of storms farther from the good stuff. I wanted to start small, but super flashy, so most of the rest of my world was just storm wracked seas and the tranquil shallows my kin were living their idle lives in. The most complex issue was creating land and sea gates, fixed points of communication between two worlds. They were the entrances and exits that would bring travelers in to settle and start living on my lovely little traps. Anyone could leave, of course, I wasn¡¯t playing that game. Instead, I made the climate and environment so damn pleasant and picturesque¡­ At the center of it all would be the turtle islands. A chain of fertile, pleasant and safe little gems scattered just far enough apart to keep things from getting overcrowded. The central jewel was to be Tortuga and the capital, Port city. I know¡­ the name is weak. It¡¯s from an old song I loved when I was human, a sweet funeral dirge that just struck my soul. Play the pipes ''o''er me An play the drum slowly Dig me a grave for my body to lie¡­ ¡®O wasn¡¯t I bonny, when I entered Port City And met with my downfall, one cold spring day It was a sad and drifting song, but it hit my feels and that¡¯s worth naming my tropical port town after¡­ Get your own dungeon if you don¡¯t like it¡­ Where was I? # Klevin returned that spring, ambling down the mountain, leading a donkey and wearing a headband of white silk over his white eyes. He spotted me, crabbing around his abandoned cottage, clearing away some fallen palm fronds and enjoying a groundworm raw. I know, it sounds gross; but I fed them nothing but fresh bananas, plantains, vegetation and coconuts for months until they were clean! It took me a moment to realize he was looking at me, and was leading the donkey. ¡°Aye lad¡­ ¡®Tis a rare dungeon treasure me cousin did find. He be an Adventurer of great skill, fer a young ¡®un of eighty six.¡± He touched his white silk blindfold which, seen closeup, seemed to be an incredibly elaborate spider web, folded over his eyes. ¡°Tis a scarf of SpiderSight; a precious magical trinket¡­ It grants me vision through its natural enchantments, I kinnae see far distances, though, only within twenty yards or so.¡± He patted his donkey and its panniers of oil cloth covered mysteries, as he headed toward the empty shell of his hut. ¡°I never did tell thee why I came here when I did lose my sight, lad¡­ Did I?¡± He asked, while his big, sure hands unpacked his donkey. ¡°My Misty Glens, she be beautiful an cool; but she be small, a tiny fragment world, an she hae no iron deposits hardly at all. I did mean tae just mine this place and move on, leaving the lordship vacant¡­ Until I felt thee land, three years gone. Now wi¡¯ light cultists surely knowing where this place be¡­¡± He shook his head sadly. ¡°So I¡¯ve brought thee some starter treasures, crafts of my own hands and my kins¡¯. Ye kin use these as a potent lure, drawing a crop of Adventurers first. Then we find residents and traders, crafters an innkeepers naturally.¡± He giggled a little, as he kept unloading his bottomless panniers, while the patient donkey watched with interest in its eyes. The old dwarf pulled out a fantasy armory of weapons and armor pieces, from small daggers to massive two handed swords and axes, all neatly sheathed and waiting for a warrior of legend to pick them up and battle evil. Some weapons were light, slender, refined and decorated with small jewels or gilt, while others were rough, savage and brutal, lacking any grace or elegance, but still displaying splendid craftsmanship¡­ at least to my crabby and untrained eyes. Armor pieces too, ran the gamut from light and breezy cloth, reinforced with lacquered metal plates over the vitals, all the way up to heavy, cumbersome looking iron constructs. There was a pair of black and red gauntlets in the mix that were covered with rusty thorns¡­ They made me wonder about tetanus shots and worry about who would wear something like that¡­ ¡°All dwarven crafts, lad. I¡¯ve a few relatives that be eager tae start a mining settlement here, wi¡¯ yer permission, and once ye hae finished moving things about tae suit thee¡­ They all agree that an ye need, they will gate out fer a time, ¡®ere they return an resume working. That way, should the place need adjustment, ye kin manage it wi¡¯ far lower costs.¡± He announced, white arranging his products neatly. ¡°Tis a fine deal fer thee, an fer me an mine. Ye kin skim their industrial and social outputs, an still, wi¡¯ a little patience, manage the place wi¡¯ out watching eyes, at need.¡± I wandered around, eyeing the wonders and terrors scattered around, contemplating the possibilities. If Klevin found a blindfold that gave him sight, however limited, maybe¡­ It looked like I was not going to find an easy, magical voice box solution to my problem any time soon, but this was pretty good looking loot, even if it was all useless to me. My mind was whirling as I looked over the goods with my dungeon interface. They displayed rarity colors starting from gray, for mundane, but high quality goods, up the spectrum to purple. I poked my claw to a shiny battleax with a gray aura that was conveniently nearby and was mildly startled when a familiar golden window popped up. Battleax, mundane, normal rank, rarity, common. Dwarven craftsmanship bonus: improved Damage, Durability, Sell Price. The collected loot was mostly gray and green with a sprinkling of higher rarities, scaling up through the spectrum, ending at a weird ring that shimmered with a creepy violet haze. Instead of a jewel box, like the other rings and necklaces came in, this one was on the finger of a mummified monkey¡¯s paw, mounted to a small plinth of black stone. It was a compelling and super spooky outlier in the considerable spread of loot, not just because of its violet rarity and strange display. Even the most wickedly barbed, spiked or evil looking weapons and armor felt downright cutesie, beside that thing. It just reeked of power and potency, so I touched the base with a claw: The Monkey¡¯s paw, Incompatible artifact, un-equippable/*null* Dungeon Furniture, Loot Spawner (cursed). Resources required: Generalized Negative Emotions, Eg: Murderous Intent, Criminal Acts, Etc I saw my mistake right away, the paw was a distinct artifact, it was the cursed bush that would produce the rings as time went by, gradually . When I laid a claw on the ring, I got the right answer. Fruit of a blighted tree, magical ring, cursed. Innate effects: Lambent Glow, Aura of Power, Intimidating Fashion. Bonus suite: Improved intimidation, coercion and barter outcomes. Adverse effects: Avarice, Mistrust and Greed stats will be enhanced, significant penalties to Charisma. ¡®If I set the drop rates higher than normal at first, I could get a lot of Adventurers pouring in¡­¡¯ I was thinking to myself, when Klevin carefully plucked the ring from beneath my claw by simply picking up the whole device. ¡°Careful wi¡¯ that one lad! That be a problem solver; nae all Adventurers be good an kind folk, seeking fer a better life¡­ There be some right bastards an villains roaming about. An ye find a troublesome individual or group, drop one of these amongst them an watch the fur fly.¡± He chuckled wickedly. ¡°That one will draw the avarice an selfish desires of the finders¡­ Tis harmless, an quite valuable as a collector¡¯s piece, an the finders be folk of good nature an Will.¡± He really seemed to be enjoying himself... ¡°Rich arseholes kinnae get enough o these trinkets, though they do little, besides glow an look spooky. Those wi¡¯ deep seated lusts, hatred, an the wickedly selfish will heed its call, save they be truly mighty. The demon tainted kinnae ever resist it¡¯s siren song of lust an greed.¡± He sighed and dropped the ring, still on its wicked little display, back into my claw. ¡°The party whae finds this, if their bonds be forged in friendship, an true camaraderie, they will celebrate an go home wi¡¯ much wealth in store. The wicked will find naught but conflict and the lust tae own that little jewel.¡± He winked at me, still holding the evil looking thing out of reach. ¡°It be a handy place tae dump things ye don¡¯t want yer tiny, baby octo god ingesting. Spend the wickedness and evil that must gather, wherever wealth, power and sentient beings do collide.¡± Klevin finished his work and looked over the array of weapons, armor, shields and jewelry with pride. Satisfied, he gave the beast a gentle swat on the rump when he was sure the wicker panniers had disgorged their entire contents onto the open space around the hut. The donkey brayed once, clopped his hooves a few times and ambled back up the trail to the gateway at the top of the volcano, with a jaunty flip of his tail. ¡°Alphonse offered tae help wi¡¯ the drayage¡­ the kind fellow. He¡¯s me great-nephew¡¯s familiar.¡± Klevin was saying, while I watched the animal make his way home. Crabs can¡¯t goggle in wide eyed, gape mouthed wonder; we just always kinda look¡­ crabby. ¡°Have fun with your weird crab buddy, Klevin, I¡¯m out. It¡¯s hot here!¡± That donkey had very clearly said, before he left¡­ Mind, freakin¡¯ blown. # Ch: 6 Stacking The Deck Fate Deals The Cards Ch: 6 Stacking The Deck I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve become a bit of a chatterbox, after all these years of enforced silence. I¡¯m really glad I can finally tell my story to someone at last, even under these circumstances, friend¡­ So anyhow, old Klevin just shook his head at my antics, no matter how hard I tried to communicate. ¡°I¡¯d hoped that if I could see thee, I might be able tae understand ye, but ye seem incapable of even gestures that do make any sense¡­¡± The old dwarf sighed. We¡¯d had the same thought; when I realized he could see me, I¡¯d hoped that maybe we could improve our communication, but a rigid carapace is tough to work with. After a few minutes of fruitless gesturing and waving my claws, I gave up; my crab was not able to communicate, it didn¡¯t have the capabilities built in. Klevin and I were standing in a pretty impressive field of loot; which I was gradually picking up and sorting out in my dungeon¡¯s inventory page. It was a simple spreadsheet with mild interactivity and customizability; but like the Octos themselves, it was low effort and kinda just technically usable. I immediately got the sense that the more I made the thing my own and the more I played around with it, the more entertainment it might provide¡­ A globe sized, fully realized virtual sandbox world to explore, play with and create from whole cloth? And it¡¯s free to play in pre-beta? Where do I sign up to join the dev team? I had to salute the complete freedom that the entity behind this thing was offering me. If I were a total asswipe, I could scrub the world and restart, if I wanted to genocide my little eight armed friends and erase their ¡®Akashic Record¡¯... which was also listed among my current assets. It was just a progress bar with no further data or controls available to me. When I touched its entry I had only two options, Continue? Or Delete? Touching any other part of the entry gave me a mild buzzing sensation in my tender tentacle, along with an error message that read: Species authentication failed, access rejected. I wasn¡¯t octo enough to interact with whatever that was, even here¡­ It was pretty alarming that the universe would just let a rando like me wipe a planet of all life on a whim¡­ but doing that would expend all current Life and Biological resources and basically almost everything else. With just the tectonic and climate functions, it would take untold eons for life to churn up a new viable biosphere from the wasteland, so any dungeon lord that pulled the plug was putting the whole thing back into pre-development... I was coming to the conclusion that Klevin¡¯s unseen outer gods were either recklessly careless and clueless, or playing a game so long that I couldn''t grasp the plotlines and story arcs¡­ I gave up on those vast metaphysical concerns for now; one entire globe and the fate of my adopted species was enough responsibility for my eight fiddly tenties to grasp. I had work to do. If I highlighted an item, I could read its full details and provenance, while there were customisable columns and rows I could set for keywords or simple phrases to help sort things out. I quickly typed up columns for Weapons, Jewelry, Armor, Trinkets, Miscellaneous and Oddities. After that I sorted for rarity, using simplified colors, despite the subtle gradients each item displayed within its hue. Even simple and mundane items ranged from dull, dark gray to a shining glint of well polished and oiled iron or steel. At the upper ranges, violet was the end of the rarity spectrum, so I tagged that Legendary rarity and worked backwards to Basic. After violet, well¡­ That stuff got weird and eldritch; like the Monkey¡¯s Paw, which glimmered with that strange ultraviolet haze. The old man helped me sort stuff, once he figured out my scheme, making things go much more smoothly. He kept up a constant chatter at the same time, easing the tedious work. ¡°My sweet Misty Fens were populated by a clan of harpies, fer some time.¡± He muttered, while glaring at the awful paw thing. ¡°Harpies be bird brained humanoid creatures, a bit ¡®o the local problem children. They did nearly drive my native residents tae extinction, while I were away.¡± Klevin seemed honestly disgusted by the creatures he mentioned and went on to confirm that. ¡°Harpies being barely sentient enough tae move between worlds and mighty vicious as a general rule; it were my first task tae drive them out¡­¡± He grinned and shook his head. ¡°Harpies nae be brave enough nor strong enough tae hunt a monster of any strength. The title ¡®o dungeon lord ¡®o a new made dungeon be given tae the fist sentient tae defeat a monster at least three ranks higher than themselves, in single combat. Wi¡¯ nae valid dungeon lord tae manage the place, they did cause the poor Fens tae spawn a frightful antique shop of such objects of wicked intent and evil deeds, made manifest.¡± The coot lectured ardently. ¡°Every mortal soul bears the touch of selfishness, greed an wonton ass-hattery; there be no shame there, ¡®tis the mortal lot. Yer world will certainly collect a fair dose of those low lying, un-lofty dregs an waste products in yer pools, Mine own be stuffed awfully full of such.¡± ¡°Spend those things ye don¡¯t want in the mix in things like this¡­ He rumbled. ¡°Ye¡¯ll gather a few of these of yer own, an their counterparts on the other side. We live betwixt shadows and the light, boy.. The real light, mind ye, nae the bullshit cult ¡®o charlatans.¡± He warned me sternly. ¡°As time passes, ye¡¯ll gain more appreciation fer their worth. This be a starter gift frae me.¡± He grumped cheerfully as I set the paw into action, slowly draining what little I had in those categories. ¡°An a dungeon builds up soul fragments containing these darker emotions, it will spawn things such as this¡­¡± Klevin remarked, pointing at the mummified paw on a pedestal with some distaste. He watched as I set the monkey¡¯s Paw back down ¡°I still hae cursed lamps, haunted fetishes an dolls, evil paintings, a whole round table ¡®o Seiges¡¯ Perilous¡­ an the terrible ErlKing¡¯s Dining Table tae go with them.¡± He sighed in deep satisfaction. The sinister looking, gold, orichalcum and demon bone rings it could produce were each unique in design, displayed in ghostly outline until created. The four fingers and thumb of the paw could each produce a ring independently, or create a matched set, drawn from a near limitless array of designs available in the ¡®menu¡¯ the paw offered. I could flip through the ghostly images on the fingers to choose designs and even pluck simulated examples off for closer examination at no cost, though they vanished if I lost physical contact with them. I could make actual cursed rings, if I had the points and wished to. There were options to give the rings powers, some were super cool, too. Invisibility, Skill Buffs of any kind, Regeneration, Wardings, Hexes, you name it, all available on a simple point buy system. They were available in every rarity gradient after red, through violet Legendary items. There were a number of enchantments and magical effects I could pick and choose from; if I wished to start working that side of the street. The basic ring was just a collectible that the wealthy and ostentatious just had to have, each one was just dripping with details and the kind of ornate gaudiness that some people mistake for craftsmanship... According to Klevin, the prices such objects fetched on the collector market were incredible, even the ones possessed of no innate great power, beyond being absolute catnip for chunnis and douchebags of all sorts. They were invariably, very obviously cursed. By default, once pulled from the paw for distribution they just oozed warnings and almost cried out to be handled with extreme care¡­ No one was going to be surprised that the glowing, evil looking ring was cursed. I could, if I wished, conceal their cursed nature for a tiny increase in cost overall, or by spending points from specific pools. One hundred Duplicity, Scam, Huckster, or Fraud points or any combination adding up to one hundred of those and several other similar pools¡­ would send those rings out into the multiverse seeming innocuous, but leaving chaos in their wake.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. If I was reading the process right, I could use the paw and similar objects to drain away elements I didn¡¯t desire in my slowly evolving, nascent deity, sequestering those energies and releasing them to find a home elsewhere. ¡°A cash sink¡­ with evil and wicked microtransactions at the heart of it¡­¡¯ I thought, as the ramifications of the weird functionality became more clear. Every skinflint who cheated a trade partner, every mugging in my back streets and all the bar brawls, bad blood, conniving, backstabbing, corruption and viciousness of life were going to flood into my tranquil little sandbox and start trying to shit all over the place; probably within minutes of our opening day. Just as easily, a baby¡¯s birth, a friend''s recovery from a long illness or a joyous reunion could also release torrents of those soul fragments onto the world I was building. With tools like the paw, I could manage those energies and direct the processes I desired, from early on. I flipped into my point pools spreadsheet and skimmed the for the kind of stuff I could feed the Monkey¡¯s Paw, at Klevin¡¯s recommendation ab=nd there they were, nearly empty, but I had an early start on managing those forces... I was so excited to have a way to manipulate the greed and wickedness that all living beings possess in at least some measure, I got a little giddy over the power. Once the realization of just how insidious those things could be in the wrong hands, I knew what had to be done. I went back into my spreadsheet and flipped down to the Oddites column. With absolute surety of purpose I made my first proactive change to make the palace my own. I swiftly edited the label for Oddities, typing gleefully with my tentacles on the internal screen. When it was done I sighed wetly in satisfaction. The eldritch column was now marked Bethesda Softworks, to my intense pleasure. Damn all microtransactions! I scooped all the stuff that the Monkey¡¯s Paw could use as resources into a huge folder I labeled, Waste Management, for ease of use later on. My buddies didn¡¯t really produce any of those resources from their tiny and pleasant souls, just like they couldn¡¯t generate Industry or Agriculture points without actually engaging in those experiences as a society. Klevin chattered excitedly, while helping me arrange and sort the stuff I was unfamiliar with; there was a whole assortment of magical tools, all either mundane or low ranked that I was having trouble sorting out. I had no idea what a ¡®Calcinator¡¯ was, aside from how it looked¡­ It was a stubby iron tabletop furnace with a chimney and an assortment of iron boxes, bowls, crucibles and such. If I had to guess, you could incinerate, melt, boil or just warm all sorts of things in the little device, but only in tiny quantities. ¡°Dinnae just bury those cursed rings, once ye harvest them, they¡¯ll go bad an start tae fester. Ye¡¯ll hae no trouble findin¡¯ places tae stash those, where only arseholes will find them.¡± He shook his head and smiled. ¡°I hae a few friends that will buy or trade them frae thee directly, an ye wish. They dearly enjoy playing wi¡¯ those wretched things.¡± As I checked out the goods and sorted the last items, he kept rambling on, not even listening to himself, really, until I looked up in alarm at something he¡¯d said off-handedly. ¡°The Tarots are deeply weird, as a clan¡­ each one be always insisting he be named Gary Ward¡­ A half dozen ¡®o the fools¡­ aye and many wi¡¯ the same face, an I hear the word correctly.¡± He said, his mouth just remembering old times while they worked together. When I dropped everything and clacked once demanding to know more, he gave me a blank look. ¡°The cursed rings ye wanna know more about?¡± He asked and got two clicks for no. ¡°The Tarot clan, then lad? I hae met two ¡®o them, o¡¯er the years. One were the lich lord I mentioned, the other¡­ Well, he were a giant spider, lad¡­ A friendly fellow an well met, but a giant spider!¡± He shuddered and shook all over at the idea. ¡°He be a new dungeon lord himself, that spider, it was from his dungeon, Arachnophobia, that my cousin got my new cloth eyes.¡± I was busy wondering how the living hell there was a whole group of fuckers out there calling themselves Gary Ward¡­ so I might have glossed over the spider information a little, I suppose that might have helped ease the multiple shocks to my poor octopus system. But, eventually the spideryness of his new friend, Gary Ward, the human isekai from earth¡­ who appeared right about when I did, finally sank in... ¡°My cousin did bring me along tae translate fer the lad, like yerself, the poor fellow kinnae make humanoid speech by any wise.¡± He murmured happily. ¡°Like most isekai, I speak all languages an read all scripts¡­ wi¡¯ some limitations¡­ even non verbal and purely visual languages.¡± He was still talking, but now I had the germ of an idea boiling in my brain. maybe, if I climbed out of my crab Klevin would be able to understand my flashing colors and gestures¡­ I slowly wriggled out of my giant zombie crab, squelching wetly onto the cabin floor. I shouted in all the brightest colors I could manage and made exaggerated gestures¡­ ¡°Lad¡­ I sensed ye trying tae speak, but I kinnae understand thee.¡± He sighed at last. It was no good, he didn¡¯t have the visual acuity to read my desperate shouts and cries. Defeated, I clambered back into my unliving crab and took the helm. ¡°I must ask thee in all due seriousness¡­ Gid ye eat the brain of that crab, an now ye control its mindless body?¡± When I clacked once for yes, he looked even older and more careworn than usual. ¡°Kin yer take other creature¡¯s bodies too?¡± My affirmative answer made him sag on his stool, with a deep sigh. ¡°Body snatching be deeply taboo lad. I trust thee an know ye are good hearted¡­ but think. If folk suspected ye had the power tae become a different person¡­¡± He shuddered. ¡°Keep his yer deepest, darkest secret, lad. An I pray ye kin continue tae live wi¡¯ honor an dignity, wi this terrible power of thine¡­¡± ¡°Ye kinnae ever leave this realm lad, save in yer natural octo body¡­¡± He mumbled. ¡°The undead kinnae pass through. Only the living.¡± We never spoke of that again, not to each other, not to another living soul¡­ I still haven¡¯t. # While I had been alone for the long monsoon season, I¡¯d done a lot of the ¡®groundwork¡¯ for the plan, if you¡¯ll pardon the pun. That meant moving the islands around and eating land masses that I¡¯d need in the future, while there were no outside eyes to make things troublesome. I gently shifted the unsuspecting octo colonies to the southern hemisphere, on a wide, tranqill sea just a little south of the tropics near a huge continent modeled after Africa. I placed a wide band of barren desert between the verdant lands and the precious octo shallows. I had other continents too, I let them run wild and untamed, with wild monster spawns occurring without interference. I knew I would want to expand my active zones, and once people came to my world, raising a continent would trigger The Physics Engine¡­ Then I¡¯d have earthquakes, tsunami and the whole apocalypse to clean up. So I built all my land zones on spec, just taking my best guess and set them up to just go nuts without my attention. That gave me the flexibility to keep my octos and the archipelago free of monsters, beyond small fry that could slip through the net, like Klevin¡¯s groundworms and monster mosquitos. I could shunt all the violent weather into unpopulated zones too; I let the climate forces run rampant in the wilds, churning up storms and keeping things regulated in my two widely separated seas of calm water. Climate controls I could manage easily with people on the face of my world, people expect the weather to change. I know, my story gets a little dry and dull in spots, but you aren¡¯t going anywhere¡­ Are you? Anyway, I was building up from very little and even with Klevin¡¯s help it was a lot of work. The old dwarf came back every summer for ten years, bringing a few more treasures and another of the eldritch tools to add to my collection of cursed item generators. He gave me an undead oyster that produced haunted black pearls from the energies of mortal hate, a statue that consumed children¡¯s nightmares and wept them from her eyes in the form of glittering tears of sweet tasting poison, rainbow hued jewels that drew the eye and urged the avaricious to contemplate theft and a few other strange things his dungeon spat out. He also brought a small army of his kin, every summer. When old Klevin finally passed, it was during an unremarkable winter. His nephew Kalvin brought me the sad news in spring, looking pretty embarrassed to be consoling a giant crab monster, as I spewed foamy bubbles from my mandibles. Kalvin took over for his dear departed uncle as the lord of the Misty Fens and he brought more people with him. They came to mine the iron outcroppings and pump up my pools, but they stayed, because it was just tranquil... They built a little town at the base of the volcano and got quite homey, a few of them even began to stay all year long, tending gardens and living in a tropical paradise ruled by a giant crab. The Iron Wolf clan did a fine job of keeping things tidy too, they built a slab of gravel and mine tailings over a low lying bit of boggy swampland near my lagoon, compacted into a solid base for their proposed permanent town, once I opened for business. Thirty generations of octos came and went, more or less¡­ I may have lost track, while I fiddled and twiddled my dungeon world; until I was ready for my big opening day! # I had all the dwarves bail out that night, merrily chasing them all to the foot of the mountain trail with giddy clicks of my claws. When they came back down, I saw the wonder of it in their eyes. I watched their reactions and dreamed of what Klevin would have said about my finished product¡­ The dwarves all came trooping out, happy to see that the pleasant little town on Iron Wolf Island was still there, undamaged by whatever the enigmatic crab had done¡­ And they all began to gasp and stare in wonder. Floating high among the clouds, three sky islands drifted lazily, one covered with buildings of worn, weathered, ruined stone, a huge city carved into the underside of the inverted mountain flying in the heavens. Wild, steaming jungles covered the flat top of the island, begging to be explored. To the west, two floating islands orbited each other, one dark and dismal, with a forbidding aura and topped by an endless maze of crypts, mausoleums and cemeteries. The other bore a bright, white marble city with golden ramparts, but seeming vacant and empty, daring the bold to enter, if they had the courage. Rainbows of glittering water poured from the flying landmasses, drifting and sparkling, even at night draping the moonless sky in a gaudy display of colors that I unashamedly loved. Before every adult mortal eye, a golden window appeared, displaying my welcome message. Welcome to the Swarm Dungeon, travelers! Explore the wilds! * Challenge the forces of nature!* Battle monsters!* Win fabulous loot and quest rewards!* *Warning, the dangers of this place are real¡­ delve responsibly. # Ch: 7 Aces And Eights Fate Deals The Cards Fifty-two Pickup part 1: The Lovers Ch: 7 Aces And Eights My sweet-ass dungeon world powered up, as I carefully brought all of my sea gates and dungeon portals online, silent and still, they waited for the intrepid and bold to enter. The word had been slowly circulating among the loose network of Dwarfholds scattered around the local dimensions, which had naturally percolated through to the Adventurers¡¯, Hunters¡¯ and Explorer¡¯s guilds quickly. Klevin had issued firm orders that my dungeon world must remain a deep secret of the clan; and when Kelvin became the clan¡¯s liaison with the mysterious dungeon lord¡¯s odd crab minion, he reinforced that edict. The old coot had kept my dark and terrifying secret even from his kin¡­ As opening day approached, Kelvin picked up on my growing excitement and took me aside for a private, mostly one sided convo. ¡°Uncle Klevin, he said that when it were time, I should ease the rules of secrecy and start spreading the word¡­¡± He mumbled, still awkward about talking to a spiky, carapaced horror as though it were a person. ¡°I think that perhaps, Your master is getting ready for the big day, yes?¡± My excited clickity clackity dance got the message across, and brought a smile to his craggy face. ¡°Uncle told me, that when yer ready to open, we should start rumor mongering among the Crafts and Adventure guilds of our acquaintance. We are well connected in the region and many have been eager to find the source of our splendid, Primal Iron ingots.¡± I nodded my whole carapace, Klevin had gone on and on about the superlative quality of the local iron deposits¡­ I didn¡¯t have the bandwidth to listen to another explanation of the magical uptake and dispersal properties that made the ore so special. Kelvin seemed to understand my deal, so he carried on without a lecture on my ferrous metals and their properties¡­ ¡°Rather than just blurting out the truth, I¡¯ve primed the pump with a few juicy rumors and deeply tempting suggestions that allude to the truth. With strict vows of secrecy from the merchants and crafters I spilt the beans to¡­¡± He grinned and laughed, much the way his uncle always had. ¡°Those chattering ninnies and gum-flapping gossip hawks will be at the back end of the line, when we spill the actual truth into the trembling and eager ears of the Adventure and Explorer¡¯s guilds.¡± His smile of pride and satisfaction reminded me so much of old Klevin, even though they couldn¡¯t be blood kin¡­ which warmed my soul. ¡°Couched in rumor and whispered gossip of course. Nothing spreads faster nor wider than a secret shared in confidence!¡± He did a surprisingly graceful spin and leap of giddy happiness that warmed my soul all the way through... I was pretty confident that little Kitka Mittensocks had weaseled her way into the Akashic Record of the clan and family he¡¯d loved and led for so long. Which made me fondly wonder if my fleeting contact with the octos had left a mark on their mysterious racial memory as well. I doubted it, but that¡¯s the difference between the truly living and the almost entirely alive, like me and my buddy Klevin¡­ It can be a little lonely, if I¡¯m honest. Though, of course, we have each other¡­ If only for a little while longer. # When my gates opened, a trickle of brave souls crept through, stepping onto the empty, echoing central plaza of Port city for the first time¡­ A tall homey building of the local lava stone stood across the plaza, waiting to welcome guests with open doors beneath a sign that proclaimed: The Iron Wolf Inn. Fritz, the short bearded and smiling dwarven innkeeper waved from the wide front porch calling to the nervous Adventure band who were staring about in surprise and delight. Kelvin¡¯s wife ran the armorer¡¯s shop, just down the way, while uncle Alouicious stood behind a shop front that bristled with deadly weapons and dangerous things eagerly, calling to the group of eight men and women lingering near the gate with a very bored looking packhorse. ¡°Welcome!¡± Kelvin stood on the porch of the tall stone built city hall, draped in an ostentatious purple sash that proudly announced; ¡®Mayor¡¯ embroidered in silver dwarven runes. ¡°The Iron Wolf Trading association welcomes you all to¡­ The Swarm!¡± He shouted, while the plaza slowly filled with parties of armed and armored folks of every class, race and sort, pouring in from the gateways scattered around the plaza. My baby dungeon world took off from there¡­ The Iron Wolf Clan was more than eager to get an early foothold in commerce and trade on my little paradise. A few company sponsored warbands trooped out to challenge my starter dungeon within a day or two as well, their shields and packs emblazoned with the black outline of a wolf howling at the moon. They marched along proudly, following in the footsteps of the intrepid Explorers and Delvers who had wasted no time in locating and slipping through the portal to the Jungle of Clouds?; my first dungeon level for parties of Iron rank and above. # ¡°A bronze mark for six curative potions? That¡¯s daylight robbery!¡± Someone shouted in front of the apothecary''s stall. ¡°These are the last I have; until I get more herbs.¡± The cranky dwarven alchemist grumbled, holding the small crate of glass bottles behind the counter. ¡°I¡¯d be gouging you on the price viciously were it nae a violation ¡®o the law, here in town.¡± The artisan pointed a thumb at the wall, where a plaque listed the set prices for curatives, antidotes and healing potions. ¡°An ye do the herb gathering quest frae city hall, I¡¯ll sell ye them at the quest reward price, a single iron mark fer the six¡­¡± His audience of pale, sweaty and shaky Adventurers groaned in chorus at the oft repeated demand for herb gatherers. ¡°Rise and grind, me darling little ducklings!¡± ¡°A bronze mark? Sold!¡± A tired and sweaty looking man in battered leather and chain armor grunted, brandishing his coin before anyone else could swoop in. There were plenty of eager, would-be buyers who moaned piteously with their fingers in their own pouches.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The alchemist cackled madly as he took the coin and passed over the little crate. ¡°That¡¯s it, all I have left are palliative draughts¡­ They are just an iron half mark, an they¡¯ll suppress the symptoms of Skeeter Fever fer a single day¡­ long enough tae finish the Herbalist''s Plea, three times!¡± He cackled at the gathered, feverish crowd, as he collected the coins from their trembling hands. ¡°Return the six bottles an the crate when they¡¯re empty, fer an iron bit!¡± He shouted at the departing, unwilling herb gatherers. # I wanted a stable, safe and exciting dungeon world, where new Adventurers could start off slow and grow long term, rather than just popping in for a raid and then dipping out to find something new. I wanted a way for the newbs to make a bit of coin, gather the gear and resources they would need and learn the ropes even if they stumbled in by accident, or got isekaied in, like I had. I wanted a full dungeon world experience that would keep them coming back, or better yet, becoming permanent residents. Unfortunately, I was suffering a desperate shortage of newbies, which was throwing some wrenches into my well laid plans. The flat, verdure draped Jungle of Clouds? was a perfect beginners stage for exploration and monster hunting, but the initial starter quests all happened on the island of Tortuga, in the ¡®wilderness¡¯ around Port city. Whether it was the herb gathering quest, the foraging missions from the innkeeper and chef, the mayor¡¯s inevitable giant sewer rat quest or any of the others, they all took place in the safe and relatively open forests and plains around the city. The veteran Adventurers just refused to do the work outright, until shortages became a problem, then they had to be coerced into taking the jobs. Frankly, I was sick of it¡­ and the constant complaints were wearing on Kelvin too. Adventurers burned through a ridiculous number of healing potions and were deeply offended by any suggestion that they gather the needed supplies, import or craft their own potions. I tried letting the market set the price, but that devolved into chaos, with merchants and peddlers flooding in to sell substandard or even bogus healing and curative supplies just outside the city gates or in dark alleys where the gullible could be relieved of their excess coin in privacy... I couldn¡¯t perceive the Adventurers and other visitors directly, now that my dungeon was open for business; though my dwarves remained blessedly solid and real, as long term residents. They had organized themselves and quickly gained citizenship through the Townsman Questlines. Likewise, the visitors couldn¡¯t perceive or interact with me either, unless they were willing to follow the Townsman quests through. Few did, since the quest was long and boring, the rewards were aimed at traders and crafters, rather than Adventurers, so it was pretty deeply unpopular, by design. I won¡¯t go into detail about that, because you already know all about how to gain citizenship, that¡¯s how we are having this little talk. The rest won¡¯t be important to you, once we¡¯re done ¡®talking¡¯.... I keep getting distracted, comes from being quiet for so damn long¡­ Now I have a captive audience, so to speak. You¡¯ll just have to indulge me for a little longer, pal. # I knew it wouldn¡¯t be long until things got unpleasant¡­ and I was right on the money. Four weeks after the big opening day and two weeks after the beginning of the potion shortage, it happened one peaceful night. *Ding* A violent assault and robbery has occurred in Port city. Thieves¡¯ Guild quest has been initiated. *ding* I¡¯d set the needed parameters and dialed the difficulty and set the rewards with care, knowing that a thriving underground economy was going to develop, no matter what I did¡­ So naturally, the ¡®hidden¡¯ quest had a failure condition, built in right at the start and a tempting reward offered to those who could complete the questline without¡­ Before I could even finish congratulating myself for my cleverness, both my hearts sank into my ink sack. *Ding* Murder has been committed in Port city, Bloody Hand quest has been initiated. # ¡°Yeah, I have cures¡­ a bronze half each.¡± She whispered from inside her hood. The bright stars combined with softly shimmering magical waterfall rainbows made the streets of Port city dim at night, but not exactly dark, even with partial cloud cover like tonight¡­ He suspected that the peddler lass was a real cutie, judging from her voice and the way her cloak swayed when she walked. Alfie followed the halfling girl into a shadowy alley with a confident swagger and a much more positive outlook on tomorrow. His five teammates were all back in the Adventurer¡¯s camp, outside town waiting for him, but he¡¯d had a long day. The Inn was full up, as were the hostels and flophouses, so his team huddled in their bedrolls shivering and sweating while he was out pounding the cobblestones looking for potions. ¡°I¡¯ll take ten.¡± He whispered, holding up a gold half mark. ¡°Nice doing business with you, tallboy¡­¡± She muttered, as she passed over a satchel that clicked dully; the sound of cloth wrapped glass bottles rattling together. ¡°You¡­ in a hurry?¡± She whispered with a little more intensity than Alfie expected. ¡°Got, someplace to be¡­ in a hurry?¡± Slowly she faded back into the alley, crooking her finger at him with a sweet and soft giggle. He smiled, feeling more confident and self assured than he had, since his team all got the Skeeter Fever in the Cloud Jungle, and followed her into the deeper darkness... He never knew who knocked him cold and started rifling through his things, though he heard a rough, male voice gasp out: ¡°Oh, wow! A hidden quest, the thieves¡¯ guild! It says we fail if we kill anybody though¡­¡± ¡°Shut up and do it, Curt.¡± The halfling girl snapped, sounding far less sweet, as cold steel glinted in the night. # That¡¯s how I imagine it went down, anyway; We¡¯ll never really know. I do know that a halfling woman named Sophie and Curt, a duergar dwarf robbed¡­ and then cold bloodedly murdered a young coyote man named Alfie Knudsen that night. My dungeon stats report didn¡¯t give any details, though. Kelvin¡¯s old friend the lich lord turned out to be a nice guy, calls himself Chariot¡­ Really chatty when he comes by, he runs the Eternal Halls, the undead dungeon down the void, a few openings. He and his brothers, The Tarots are all connoisseurs of death and murder; he¡¯s really going to be excited, next time we hang out¡­ I can¡¯t wait to ask him why they all claim to be Gary Ward¡­ Sorry, I¡¯m digressing again. Poor, unfortunate Sophie and Curt were found, both with their throats slit and their quest reward rings stolen, two nights later, in the Eternal Halls dungeon. My new friend, the Chariot, he followed those rings for a while, followed them by the trail of murdered murderers they left behind. He¡¯s a specialist in such things. Those cursed rings from the Bloody Hand quest really do come from a monkey¡¯s paw, you know. I put a very special, hidden curse on those; the shadow of murder will stalk any who gain that ring by quest, theft, robbery or murder. That¡¯s why the only ways to acquire one safely is by looting it after a case of self defense, or by purchasing it from a public auction from someone who won it through self defense. Rich idiots still buy them though¡­ I never claimed I was a nice person, bub. I do ramble on, don¡¯t I? So, it took some time to get my dungeon stable and my buddy, Kelvin was there, helping and working with me; even though he had no clue what we were really doing together. We worked side by side for years, slowly and steadily building a future for a race of cute little people who still have no clue what is going on, bless their hearts. That¡¯s what really made me step in, you know. When the light cult sent you here to become a citizen and assassinate Kelvin, you were already as good as dead, buddy. He was a good friend, the man you murdered believing he was the dungeon lord. You killed his crab familiar and cut his throat while he slept, his poor wife¡¯s too, but you know that... Too bad you didn¡¯t notice the little blue and yellow octopus, climbing out of that crab¡¯s corpse. Remember when I told you how awfully, terribly venomous I am? Good times. I¡¯ve never eaten a sentient being¡¯s brain before; I had no idea the experience would be so¡­ intimate, or so prolonged. I think our time together is just about done¡­ I¡¯m about to start snacking on your higher brain functions. In your next life, please try to avoid joining any weird ass demon cults¡­ and assassin is not a career path I can recommend. Toodles, Ace¡­ I might just keep your name, just to remember our brief time together, while I¡¯m walking around in your corpse. I really need to find out about these Tarot Guys¡­ And why they all call me ¡®the Lovers¡¯... # The End of part 1: The Lovers Check back to see what other cards I draw from the deck. Part 2: The Hermit Ch: 1 Dancin’ With Myself Fate Deals the Cards: Fifty-Two Pickup Part 2: The Hermit Ch: 1 Dancin¡¯ With Myself Riding a bicycle is an inherently dangerous activity, like anything that happens on the blood soaked pavements of the good ¡®ol US of A; no matter how one might choose to travel on them. I had the mangled face, twisted spine and malformed leg to prove the point, if the absolutely shameful department of transportation statistics aren¡¯t enough for you. With that in mind, not just because my bike was a rusty mess and just pedaling was enough to make my crooked body scream; I was a very careful rider¡­ I¡¯d already died once and the experience was super educational; the world at large seemed eager to keep pounding those ¡®lessons¡¯ in, as if to be certain that they stuck. The point was made, I assure you; the world made its opinions known, with pain, disfigurement and everyone¡¯s all time favorite: Abject Poverty. I was still paying hefty tuition to the school of hard knocks for that early education in ¡®Life Aint Fair¡¯ studies and was not eager to seek an advanced degree. I¡¯d foolishly thought, while I was trapped in a hospital bed, being poked, prodded and goggled at by a parade of med students, social workers and curious assholes; that ¡®my life was over¡­¡¯ Of course that wasn¡¯t true; I spent the next two years scrabbling and scrounging to stay ¡®alive¡¯ and ¡®free¡¯ in the state care system; then another two years on the streets, once I escaped with the classic ¡®hide in a laundry bag¡¯ move. They don¡¯t give bonus points for style or originality when breaking out of detention, results are all that matter; and I got out. I knew full well what would happen if the forces of ¡®Law and Order¡¯ got their hooks in me again, so I was beyond careful in my daily activities. I wore my surgical mask at all times, even when the pot bellied convenience store loungers jeered from their sticker covered pickup trucks and shared their highly intellectual and well reasoned opinions on my face-wear. I didn¡¯t really give a warm squirt of piss if the mask would help stave off the ¡®Rona¡­ It hid my twisted and mangled face and that was enough. I kept to the edges of society and stayed there, hiding among migrant workers; I avoided the homeless camps, fearful of the inevitable presence of Johnny Law and his greedy hands. In the same spirit, I obeyed all the traffic laws scrupulously, steered well clear of trouble and just tried to get through each day without coming in contact with any kind of authorities. One quiet evening, on my way ¡®home¡¯ to my tent hidden in a disused industrial lot; I just up and died behind the handlebars. Right there by the side of a lonely road on the outskirts of a little rural town, I pitched off the side of the blacktop and rode into a ditch, already stone dead. The scent of toast and strawberry jam was the last sensation before I became a statistic, again. Traffic safety and those kinds of concerns stopped mattering to me at that point. I never saw a white light, or my dearly departed calling me to join them, nor did I find the ¡®Peace and Love¡¯ the christians of my acquaintance insisted was waiting beyond this life. All that met me was cold, darkness and a sense of being utterly and completely lost, alone and beyond fully naked to the void, on a level I didn¡¯t fully comprehend. The closest analogy would be having your colonoscopy video shown to a colosseum filled with everyone you ever have or ever will meet in your life; cheerfully narrated by that old British nature guy. After an endless and sensationless ¡®time¡¯ that was a serious challenge to my already well tempered, tested and tried mental fortitude; something finally happened. A tiny point of light appeared, dim, but incredibly obvious in the endless dark and emptiness. Slowly it brightened, then more quickly as the tiny mote became a blue dot. In a few seconds? Or minutes? Whatever, the unmistakable truth slowly revealed itself, as a planet; a beautiful blue marble, wreathed in white clouds and streaked with land-masses that were pretty unfamiliar. A big, yellow and gold moon circled the world and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a smaller, dismal gray orb orbiting in the larger lunar body¡¯s shadow. That was definitely not Earth. Just about the time that it occurred to me that I was streaking down at the unfamiliar planet like a freaking meteor, everything turned subtly to the¡­ I¡¯m going to call it stage left, because the planet, moons and stars all shifted out of view, replaced by a narrow, frayed, worn and suspicious looking fissure in the void¡­ That ragged slit in reality¡¯s tattered underwear opened wide before me; it was the kind of thing that waits and lurks, until the moment comes to leave your balls hanging out, at the worst possible time. Through that highly suspicious opening I shot, aimed at a dim, vaguely insubstantial planetary body, a shifting, fragmentary and slightly not quite real reflection of the world I¡¯d just seen in all its splendor. I didn¡¯t crash to the ground, or plummet, screaming from miles in the sky¡­ I just sorta slowed down, as I neared the surface. I spent a few minutes drifting lazily for the last mile or so, suspended head down from something I couldn¡¯t see and was too terrified of falling, to sneak a peek at. Instead, I kept my eyes forward as I descended slowly into a dense forest in the dead of night. I got tangled in a tree, of course. Whatever parachute or¡­ Whatever, immediately got stuck in the upper canopy, dangling me head first at least eighty feet up above the dark forest floor. I swayed there for a few seconds, trying to get a handle on a whole lot of new and weird stuff that was crashing down on me all at once, without also crashing down. Distracted and ¡®stressed¡¯ to say the least, I operated on instinct, doing what my body seemed to know was needed in this situation. I passed myself a loop of shiny, slick, silken cord and quickly climbed up my dropline, reeling the cordage in after myself on my hindmost pair of legs. It wouldn''t do to get tangled in my own slack; that would be embarrassing! ''Hold up.'' I said, through the medium of interpretive dance, while suspended on my own spidersilk above the forest floor. ''The fuck is this shit?'' I demanded, when I realized I was not just having trouble speaking, I had no vocal apparatus at all¡­ and my lungs felt super janky with every breath. There was a weird, fluttery sensation in my underbelly, like I was breathing from behind an enormous belt buckle. ¡®What the hell?¡¯ This time I shouted my demand at the silent and dim forest all around me.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. I nearly slipped back down my line, while doing the side to side ass wiggle with my big hairy abdomen that the profane interrogative required. I had no voice, way too many legs, breathing felt weird and I could see¡­ Everything! The big hairy ass was just a bonus, tacked on at the end. ''Spider?'' I saluted the moonless sky with all eight legs splayed¡­ Which was how one asked the universe at large if one had been reincarnated as a gigantic white, hairy spider and been dumped on an alien world all alone. Dance is the most expressive medium of communication¡­ among the wise and subtle of mind. I managed to climb up that smooth silk rope almost without effort; something crippled and broken, human me would have failed at hilariously. It took only a few seconds to clamber up the length of my own silk and get my many, many legs onto the tree. After that, climbing down was¡­ uneventful. My mind was still in a whirl, when I landed silently among the bracken and horsetail ferns, at the foot of a redwood tree that felt a mile tall. I was pretty disoriented, but it felt like I was not itsy bitsy spider sized¡­ If the underbrush and lower story was anything to go by, I was pretty terrifyingly huge. The local maidenhair and fiddlehead ferns only came up to my mandibles when I stood on all my legs, leaving my eight eyes above the general height of the plants¡­ If this were a pacific northwest temperate rainforest, I would be an eight legged and fanged monster the size of a VW beetle. Since I was alone¡­ I decided to take stock and get a better idea of what I was working with¡­ And, even if anyone was around to see me struggling to get a look at myself with my weird new field of vision, who cares? It turns out, I¡¯d become a beast fit to haunt Lisa Frank¡¯s most fevered nightmares¡­ My fur was soft, smooth and immaculately white, with poofy little tufts at the joints of my legs and along my wide, flattened ovoid abdomen. Those tufts of fur were variously; cobalt blue, violet, rose pink, amethyst, coral red and pale spring green. All the colors of childhood fancy and whimsical delight adorned my sleek and furry new body, which felt¡­ good. I was not in pain; all eight legs were straight and truly spidery; as a mixed bonus, I no longer had a spinal column, twisted or not. I may have sat down on the forest floor and had a full breakdown, I don¡¯t really remember for sure... I suppose that suggests that I had a complete wobbler; I¡¯m not too proud to admit it. The next thing I really remember, I was in a meadow, under a foggy gray, misting sky, wondering¡­ just all sorts of things and getting nowhere fast. ¡°Hey! Hey you!¡± Someone said, somewhere behind me. ¡°Get lost, Jumpy¡­ you¡¯re messing up my hunt!¡± The voice was female, but bassy and smooth and pitched so low that I felt it with the sensitive hairs of my tufts, rather than perceiving it as sound. I looked around for the speaker, but she was hidden, somewhere among the tall reeds and grasses. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re a male¡­ My bad¡­¡± She sighed, in the tones of a contrabass cello that just realized it was speaking to no one at all... ¡°What¡¯s a peacock jumper doing here? And a male as well¡­ Not that you can answer¡­¡± She seemed to have decided that I was an animal, since she switched to talking to herself halfway through, sounding embarrassed. I felt pretty confident that I knew where the hidden woman was; I¡¯d plotted her likely hiding spot by triangulating her vocal vibrations with my farthest spread pair of legs. With just a few quick turns and skitters, I had her pegged. I wish I could take credit for that neat trick, but it was instinctive; like web climbing¡­ and leaping at people who hide in bushes. Mid-jump, I decided that I¡¯d made a bad choice, on a whole bunch of levels. Whoever my hidden person was, she seemed to have no fear of my terrifying form¡­ and I had no Idea what my body was leaping into, without consulting me. I had a whole nest of tangled instincts screaming at me to do all sorts of things at once. Bounding over the reeds at my concealed conversationalist won out, while I was still struggling with all the new info. I reflected on the problem while my enormous new body sailed in a staggeringly long and accurate leap, into the unknown, beyond the greenery. Best case, I would terrify whoever it was; worst case¡­ The worst case was pretty abstract at the moment, there were just too many ways for things to go wrong¡­ And deeply wrong they went. ¡°Hello¡­? Is anybody out there? Your male is caught in my web, I¡¯m going to eat him if you don¡¯t come to collect him soon¡­ Hello?¡± The basso profundo of her voice nearly shook me apart, since I was entangled in the web of steely, silken cables, suspended over a lovely little river. Her trap spanned fifty feet and made a complete, if irregular circle horizontally over the entire channel, about ten feet above the water at its lowest point. I was that lowest point, neatly entangled in the sticky cross threads and once more suspended off the ground by silken cordage. A half dozen strands were stuck firmly to me, forming a loose pouch that slowly closed off, as I struggled. I probably couldn¡¯t have wrapped myself up more securely if I¡¯d tried for that result. I slowly rotated in the breeze, snug in my little pouch, while the lady I was intruding on contemplated what to do with me. The vast and awesomely low voice I¡¯d been hearing came from a gigantic silver orb weaver, who was lurking at the center of the web, plucking her strands to create her voice. She was smaller than me by about half, but I was tied up in her net, literally twisting in the wind and not exactly prepared for this situation. Also it was my first day as a spider. I know, I¡¯m saying ¡®spider¡¯ a lot¡­ it kinda sticks out as a pretty relevant detail. ¡°I¡¯d just hate to eat someone¡¯s mate, that¡¯s pretty bad form... What do you think, Mabel?¡± The shiny arachnid strummed her query into the woods, shaking me within an inch of my life, with her song. ¡°He¡¯s a serious cutie, I saw him scamper past my funnel a few minutes ago; he¡¯s totally lost, poor thing. Tell you what, we can share him.¡± A much higher pitched voice sang from the other side of the meadow I¡¯d just jumped out of. From the trees, a long legged, shiny bodied, dark green horror stalked, picking her way with deliberate and careful steps of her too-long getaway sticks. She strummed a harp made of bones and spider silk, as she walked on six of her slender legs; moving in silence, despite her size. Her frontmost pair of limbs was busy creating that sweet, melodic voice from her harp of mortal remains¡­ And those bones looked human. The giant funnel web grass spider stood at least ten feet tall, putting her in the giant SUV, or cargo van size rating¡­ Or maybe an elephant, with skewed proportions. It was hard to say, under the circumstances. I was panicking, half crazed and coming up with size comparisons, because I was neatly entangled in a web and hemmed in on both sides by giant freaking spiders; of which I was one. Things were not improved by the way they were discussing ¡®eating me¡¯... that seemed like a solid worst case outcome candidate, right there. It was a seriously messed up morning already; and dawn was still struggling to peek through the fog. My unnamed captor strummed a thoughtful chord and considered me, as I dangled there, helpless and absolutely numb from multiple, rapid fire shocks to an already fragile mental state. Since I was completely mute, I couldn¡¯t even try to protest the darkly comic injustice of it all. I¡¯d barely cobbled together a handful of unconfused and uncomplicated thoughts, since watching my body ghost ride into a muddy ditch full of cattails and drape itself ass up, over a rusty, abandoned shopping cart. I¡¯d died like I lived, without dignity and with my ass just hangin¡¯ out there for the pitiless world¡¯s cruel amusement, now I was getting the same treatment in my weird ass afterlife.. Even all these years later, I feel the bite of my darker emotions, the scourges of self pity and anger always strike from within us, where doubt and fear linger in our mortal essence. So too, are we all subject to the fleshly demands and needs of mortal life, anchoring us to the world around us¡­ That is the only struggle worthy of a sentient mortal; self improvement, self awareness and cultivation of the self. Only through diligence, study and rigorous spiritual practice can a mortal be free of the shackles of base instinct and find a higher form of existence. Not that I was considering anything lofty or profound, while dangling over a river in the web of a spider lady who seemed keen to eat me. I was desperately trying to untangle myself, picking at the threads and sorting my way through an awfully tangled mess¡­ While trying just as desperately to avoid shaking the web or attracting the attention of the two ladies who were debating my flavor and or nutritional value. ¡°...He seems a bit odd, aside from being so out of place. Have you noticed, Jessie? He¡¯s not really struggling or panicking like one would expect.¡± The big green one said, through her highly suspicious harp. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s just exhausted.¡± The silver one strummed, nearly turning my insides to goo with the vibrations that shook me all over. ¡°In any case, I can¡¯t have him cluttering up my web. I won¡¯t snare anything with him just dangling there!¡± ¡°Let me have him, darling. I¡¯ll get him down and haul him off for you¡­ I¡¯m intrigued, it almost seems like he¡¯s listening to us and understands¡­ On some level.¡± Mabel the grass funnel weaver murmured gently, as she strode over to the bank and reached out to grab the entangled male jumper. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted a pet.¡± ¡°Suit yourself, silly child! He¡¯s a cute one, but be realistic¡­ He¡¯ll become a pest and nuisance before long, no matter how well you treat him.¡± The orb weaver scuttled down her web and snipped me loose, into the waiting ¡®arms¡¯ of the big green one. ¡°Let me know when you decide to eat him; I want a taste.¡± I had a lot of things on my mind and I really wanted to tell these ladies a thing or two¡­ I was too busy being dragged along behind the bobbing backside of the venomous green monster who¡¯d taken possession of my bundled form. I¡¯ve been this way for a good long while now; and it still takes some¡­ focus and no little willpower and concentration to keep my instincts under control. Needless to say, I was a mess when she dropped me near her silvery, silken funnel in the tall bushes. # Ch: 2 Land Of A Thousand Dances Fate Deals the Cards: Fifty-Two Pickup Part 2: The Hermit Ch: 2 Land Of A Thousand Dances As a human man, I¡¯d never gone walking in the woods with a lady, so this was a first for me¡­ I had been tied up in a sack before, but that was my own doing. Reflecting on my laundry bag getaway, it struck me; I¡¯d done it to myself this time too. The irony was too cold and sharp to enjoy at the moment, but someday¡­ My hostess was less than gracious, as she dropped me to the short cropped turf, unceremoniously. She stood over me for a few long seconds, as if she was deciding what to do with me, which let me ogle her pretty thoroughly. Now, I¡¯m not a leg man; but if I were, eight would be far too many¡­ and they were way too long, several feet too long. I also keenly remembered her lively discussion with her friend; the one where they debated eating me and didn¡¯t seem to have come to a definite conclusion on the topic. When I landed on the grass, still snugly bound, I held very still for a few seconds; watching her watch me, in silence. ¡°Do you understand what I¡¯m saying to you?¡± She asked at last, strumming her harp gently to whisper through her instrument. She stared at me a little longer, watching to see how I would react, I suppose. Since I had no Idea what was going on, I just sat still, hoping that was the right choice. ¡°I think you might just; more the fool I am¡­ I¡¯m going to let you out, Jumpy; don¡¯t try anything stupid.¡± She still seemed to be speaking to herself, as much ast to me¡­ as if I were a startlingly clever dog. She loomed over me, as she gently snipped one thread after another with her mandibles. ¡°Oh, you really are stuck in there¡­¡± She cooed and purred over me as she worked; until finally, I stood up slowly, still beneath her long, deadly fangs. ¡°Poor thing, let¡¯s get you free.¡± She backed away from me very carefully, keeping at least one long slim leg on my abdomen at all times, for as long as she was in reach. She petted and tapped on me all the while, creating a soothing rhythm in my carapace, which triggered an instinctive sense of relaxation in me, shutting down my ability to even think about fight or flight.. ¡°That¡¯s it Jumpy¡­ calm down, I won¡¯t eat you.¡± She cooed and carefully stepped closer, petting and stroking me again in ways that I was pretty sure should have been terrifying. ¡°You¡¯re safe¡­, I won¡¯t hurt you. Can you communicate?¡± I stirred to begin making a reply, but her soft and gentle strokes kept me quiescent, short circuiting my urge to try and dance my way out of this mess. ¡°No, settle down¡­ if you start moving, you might freak out again.¡± She whispered softly through her harp of human looking bones and spider silk. ¡°Take some time and get yourself under control.¡± That seemed like the best advice I¡¯d ever had from a spider, so I took it to heart. I slowed down and stepped out of her reach, careful to avoid hopping or leaping at all; it wasn¡¯t easy. I slowed the rapid fluttering of my weird new lungs and steadied myself for a few seconds, seeking a sense of inner calm that remained elusive. It took a few minutes to get myself in a state where I could manage my body, without it trying to manage me. From a dozen yards away, I began to dance my story at her, waving my colorful markings like semaphore flags and ruffling the fluffy tufts of hair at my leg joints. She watched in silent contemplation, all the way to the end of my one spider show. ¡°I didn¡¯t get any of that, but you were trying to speak¡­ There¡¯s an actual mind in there, somehow.¡± She whispered in awe, watching me sag to the grass, after dancing my heart out for her entertainment. ¡°If only you could speak¡­¡± She murmured through her macabre harp. With slow and careful steps, I moved toward her, while waving my frontmost legs wildly, signaling that I wasn¡¯t attacking or anything, just coming closer¡­ I hoped. Beneath her towering, eight eyed face, I held out my front pairs of limbs, hoping she would pick up on my vibe. She peered down at me and her head pivoted a few times, while her mandibles chewed on the only thing between us¡­ A few dozen inches of thin air. After an eternity, she leaned forward, putting her eight eyes on the same level as mine. ¡°Are you asking to borrow my voice, little male?¡± She strummed gently. I waved my four front limbs gracefully, playing a bit of air guitar in her direction; that message failed utterly to translate, unsurprisingly. Eventually she decided I was for real and, with much hesitation, she handed me her terrible artifact of primate bones and spider silk. Once it was in my ¡®hands¡¯, I felt a lot better about the thing, they were ape bones of some kind, not human. It was still pretty creepy, but a spider¡¯s gotta work with what he¡¯s got. ¡°I¡¯m not a spider.¡± I strummed¡­ off key and unintelligible, as far as I could tell, but she immediately backed away and peered at me silently. She tapped her front legs impatiently after a second or two, urging me to continue. ¡°I said, I¡¯m not really a spider¡­¡± I repeated, in slightly better key and rhythm. The harp played in frequencies that human ears couldn¡¯t perceive, so it was tricky to adapt to, especially since I¡¯d only noodled around with harps and lyres a little bit in the past. ¡°I was born as a human¡­ On another world, I think. Please don¡¯t try to eat me.¡± She couldn¡¯t answer, of course; I was holding her harp, her ¡®voice¡¯... So I was a little startled, when she danced idly to herself, mumbling in the unconscious movements of her body, lost in an unguarded moment as she stared at me. ¡®Odd, beyond odd¡­ what the heck is a ¡®human¡¯?¡¯ She wondered to herself. ¡°A human is a kind of hairless primate¡­ like a monkey that walks around on two legs.¡± I offered helpfully, now that I had a better idea of the instrument. I may have goofed around in the melody of ¡®Man Of Constant Sorrow¡¯ for a minute or two. I knew it was pointless at the time, but hey¡­ I was having a seriously bad day. That brought her full attention back to me, in a hurry. ¡°You can understand my dance?¡± She asked, in a brief series of posture changes and a few flexes of her legs. ¡°Uh, yeah¡­ I just shook my ass all around this meadow, trying to tell you my story¡­¡± I answered through her harp. ¡°You have a different accent and the syntax is different, but I understand you.¡± ¡®How doubly odd and extra strange¡­¡¯ She murmured in a series of gentle leg movements and a sway of her abdomen. ¡®I myself can dance in Funnelweb, Harvestman and Huntsman, but most of us only ever learn our own dance¡­ That¡¯s why we use the Orbweavers¡¯ auditory language through our webs or voices, like mine.¡± She murmured in a quick step-dance around the meadow. ¡°Orbweavers use sound and other vibrations to communicate, because their vision is just awful. The rest of us use it as a common language.¡± She shrugged at me, which meant exactly what it would for a human; which made me giggle a little bit. ¡°Well then, Jumpy¡­¡± She strolled over to the silvery entrance to her funnel and settled herself in the opening, watching in the middle of her clearing. In the darkness behind her, at least four of her legs were busily doing something, while she regarded me. ¡°Tell me all about yourself, while I make a voice for you.¡± Since I was literally standing in her parlor, I couldn¡¯t very well refuse¡­ Especially since the close cropped grass of the open space was laced with long silver strands of silk, leading back to where she squatted in her funnel, ready to pounce. Feeling like I was playing a talent show with my very life on the line, I put on the best show I could under the circumstances. I channeled my inner Peter Frampton; making the strange harp squawk and moan out the beginning of my tale for an audience that listened very attentively, but gave no hints of how my show was landing. That was a tough room, my friends. ¡°Well, my new friend¡­ Gary Ward¡­¡± A halting and faltering new voice called from the open funnel where my date lurked. ¡°Let us trade instruments, please; I¡¯ve finished crafting one for you.¡± Mabel held a half size version of her own instrument in her forelimbs, strumming it with delicate strokes of her massive appendages. Her new harp was a higher pitch, inevitable when dealing with such a difference in scale length and string tension, but it was a marvelous work of craftspidership¡­ ¡°As odd as your story is, hearing it in my own voice has been an experience.¡± She sighed through her completed project.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The smaller scale instrument helped a lot, even so, I must have sounded like a new hatched spiderling, learning her first few chords. Poor Mabel had to listen with great care to understand my halted and faltering speech, as I struggled with a new instrument and a whole new tonal scale, along with learning how to operate my new body. I needed to keep her attention and keep the party rolling on, so I stole a bass groove from Kool and The Gang. ¡®Get Down On It¡¯ is so infectious, even the giant spider lady couldn¡¯t help but shake that big round thang. I admit, I boosted the record, then I looped it, but I needed to get her back, up-off the wall¡­ ¡®How you gonna do it if you really don¡¯t wanna dance?¡¯ Before too long I was a little caught up¡­ it had been so long since I really played in front of anyone else. I used to whistle for the otters that lived in the creek that ran by my camp, that was fun. They were a safe audience, since those cuties would never rat me out to old Johnny Law, but otherwise I¡¯d been in hiding for years. I lost myself in the pleasure of music shared with another thinking being. And I seriously dig Kool and the Gang¡­ ¡®Fresh¡¯ hit the mark and kept things swaying along until I got all the way through my tale¡­ With a few digressions into funky breakdowns and an extended solo or three. ¡°I think I get the gist of what you are saying, my odd little pet¡­ Though you did spend the last three minutes entreating me to ¡®Blame It On The Boogie¡¯. It feels like that portion of your narrative left me with more questions than answers.¡± She sighed in her own mellow and bassy voice. ¡°Uh¡­ That was the Jacksons, not me¡­¡± I mumbled awkwardly. ¡°Did I mention that I was having a really hard day?¡± ¡°Regardless¡­¡± She muttered mostly to herself. ¡°Jessie, have you been listening to this?¡± She strummed into the nearby woodlands. I¡¯d forgotten entirely about the orb weaver over the river¡­ which seemed weird at that point. Though, when being carried through the woods, trussed up in webs by a gigantic freaking spider, the journey had felt very long indeed. ¡°Oh, yes¡­ Though I can scarcely credit it! Are you certain he¡¯s really a male?¡± She demanded. ¡°You should check on that!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do no such thing!¡± She shouted back at her neighbor, A hint of an embarrassed giggle in her song. ¡°Contact the expedition leader and tell her we¡¯ve found something¡­ Keep it vague please, my new friend seems like he¡¯s about to panic again.¡± She turned back to me and bobbed her whole body up and down slowly, in a spidery smile. ¡°We¡¯re not natives of this world, we¡¯re exploring a newly formed rift between realms¡­¡± She explained to me, sounding quite embarrassed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, it never occurred to me to introduce myself to a male!¡± She gave another of these knee bobbing smiles, this time seeming shyly embarrassed. ¡°I¡¯m Mabel, team xenobiologist and first contact specialist. You¡¯ve already¡­ met Jessie, she¡¯s our communications specialist, in addition to aiding me with my duties, mostly by capturing wildlife samples.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re scientists?¡± I asked weakly, as the silver orb weaver climbed to a higher vantage point on one of her web¡¯s anchoring trees to more fully enjoy the show. I may have put a little prog rock into my question, tapping into Rush for a moment, borrowing a few tasty licks from ¡®Tom Sawyer¡¯. Mabel held up a long, slender leg, calling for silence with a gesture that was imperious and curt, cutting me off. ¡°That last word did not translate¡­ Gary Ward, hooman being.¡± She spoke coldly and clearly, in a more commanding tone than she had been using. ¡°Please try again, that felt important; lord Aclintherios whispers the truth in my soul¡­ there is something more going on here.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ I guess you are researchers and explorers, you know, scientists¡­?¡± I stammered, put off by her sudden tonal shift. Her mention of ¡®Lord Something-or-other¡¯ put me on several of my back feet right away. ¡°I don¡¯t want to cause you any trouble¡­ I¡¯ll just be on my way¡­¡± I mumbled at the pair of eight legged ladies. ¡°You can get back to your research, I don¡¯t wanna interrupt...¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what a Scintieast is¡­ but we are researchers.¡± She sighed. ¡°Our deities have commanded that we investigate this fractional proto realm for any threats to our world.¡± Her hash and commanding words softened as she spoke. ¡°I am a cleric of great Aclintherios, weaver of fates, first of my people¡¯s gods. Jessie is a disciple of the Moonweaver, she who rules the dreams of all sentient spiders.¡± She intoned, once more sounding warm and enthusiastic. ¡°Uh¡­ yeah¡­ I¡¯ll just be going. I¡¯m not a religious guy.¡± I stammered, as I tried to back out of Mabel¡¯s clearing. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that will be impossible, young oddity.¡± A new voice called from the edge of the clearing. ¡°This is too interesting a specimen to let slip away!¡± My new nightmare walked into the clearing as a tight trio, strumming their bone and silk instruments in harmony. A massive tan wolf spider and two smaller examples of the same species emerged from the woods with a soft rustle of leaves, bringing the number of eyes on me to¡­ way too damn many. ¡°Whatever this creature may be, it is exactly the kind of thing the gods wish us to investigate!¡± The two smaller spiders sang behind the big one. ¡°It should be studied intensively!¡± ¡°Ladies, let¡¯s discuss this¡­¡± Jessie strummed at the new arrivals. ¡°Perhaps when the subject of our discussion is not listening in!¡± She urged carefully. ¡°He does understand what we are saying¡­¡± I proved her point by bounding into the woods, as far and as fast as I could; which it turns out, is damn far indeed. ¡°Sorry girls, I¡¯m a boob man!¡± I sang as loudly as I could, while I sailed for freedom. I listened to the big one and her two flunkies tear strips off of Jessie and Mabel for not keeping me securely bound. ¡°...Violation of mission protocols! Local wildlife samples are to be cocooned securely, once captured!¡± The big one shouted so loudly I could hear her for a half mile as I skittered and leapt through the woods, fleeing from life in a cage, again. ¡°Meet the new boss, same as the old boss¡­ We won¡¯t get fooled again!¡± I grumbled to myself, as I made a cozy nest, high up in a sequoia, overlooking a wide and pleasant valley. I used my nifty silk spinning abilities to make a cozy, if messy web to rest in. I strung up a few small snares in the boughs, in hopes of catching something to snack on for the morning. I was feeling really hungry after running through the woods all day and had no idea how food was going to work in my new body. Once I got all eight under me and figured out my jumping ability, I¡¯d managed to put several miles between myself and the ¡®expedition¡¯ of creepy spider dames. I resolved to avoid them with great care, going forward and planned to put more miles down at first light. The sun was beginning to dip toward the mountains and I knew just how quickly darkness could sweep over the forest; since I¡¯d been homeless for two years, living furtively on the edges of civilization. That was the most jarring thing of all; no sign of civilization showed through the dense tree canopy of the bottomlands and thickly forested hills. No roads, towns, jet contrails in the sky, not even any ruins peeked from among the trees. With nothing better to do, I scanned the valley floor for any sign or clue of where I should go next, until the shadows of sunset engulfed the world. Granite peaks reared up around the wide, deep valley, providing a dramatic backdrop for my adventure into a new freaking world. No signs of pursuit appeared behind me, just as nothing of note revealed itself ahead. It was all just trackless wilderness and wildlife. I¡¯d startled rabbits, badgers and numberless varieties of birds, squirrels and other small creatures as I fled through the forest. Deer and a few larger game animals were around as well, along with at least one pack of wolves. I heard them calling as the sun slipped away. With wildlife around, I started looking for a safe place to spend the night. Nesting up in a high tree, on the eastern side of the valley, I had a little while before darkness reached me, so I spent the time studying the device Jessie had created for me. The thing was oddly constructed, to say the least. If a harp and a banjo got freaky in the halloween store they might give birth to something like what I held. Rib bones and femurs had been securely notched and lashed together with a silk compound that felt light, hard and resonant like carbon fiber. That simple cross braced hoop of bone had been skinned with a thin scraped hide of some kind, creating a nicely resonant drumhead. Bridges of thin shaved rib bones rode on either side of that taut skin, carrying strings of braided silk. When strummed, it produced a range of tonal variations that were truly impressive for such a primitive looking thing. There was something else going on, some kind of subtle acoustic amplification was coming in from somewhere¡­ ¡°There you are, Jumpy¡­¡± Jessie murmured from the base of my tree. ¡°Sorry¡­ I mean; there you are, Gary Ward, human.¡± She sounded embarrassed, of all things, as she called up my tree in the gathering twilight. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not here to try and capture you¡­ The others are miles from here searching for you. They have no idea that I can track you through the spells I used in crafting your instrument. My god has seen fit to grant me some skill with the art and craft of enchanting.¡± ¡°Spells?¡± I asked, wondering why there were so many crazy cultists who believe in magic out there. ¡°Yeah¡­ Miss me with whatever sacred text you¡¯re peddling, preacher. I¡¯m not buying.¡± I grumbled down at the big green lady. ¡°If you want your toy back, come to this tree at sundown tomorrow; I¡¯ll leave it for you, hanging down near the forest floor.¡± I spoke sharply and kept all my eyes out for any sneaky tricks while we chatted, I wasn¡¯t feeling very trusting. ¡°I crafted that for you, my friend. Keep it with my blessings.¡± She murmured up at me. ¡°No thanks. If you really can track me through it somehow, that¡¯s even more reason to ditch it¡­ Hey! No climbing.¡± I spoke more crisply, when she placed a few of her legs in position to start scaling the trunk to join me in the boughs. ¡°If you discard my gift, you will be unable to communicate with those who do not understand your dance¡­¡± She urged me gently. ¡°You might be mistaken for a normal male, in that case.¡± ¡°What was up with that? You all seem surprised that I¡¯m able to speak and understand you.¡± I demanded, now that I was holding the high ground. ¡°As I mentioned, we are an exploratory team from a nearby realm of creation. Our pantheon deputized us to investigate this fractional world for threats and I am our designated first contact specialist; tasked with establishing cordial relations with any native sentients or other extraplanar visitors we might encounter¡­ like yourself.¡± She replied, completely failing to answer my query or explain the situation. ¡°And that¡¯s why your friends wanted to capture and ¡®study¡¯ me? No thanks¡­ Also, you have a weird idea of what ¡®cordial relations¡¯ entail.¡± I growled at her, rapidly tiring of the company of people who thought they could treat me like an animal. ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, Jumpy¡­ sorry, I mean Gary.¡± She bobbed on her knees again, slowly displaying that shy spider smile that made her so much less frightening. ¡°Among my people¡­ males are literally animals. They cannot speak or form abstract thoughts. Their lives consist solely of web building, hunting, courtship and mating.¡± She sighed. ¡°The idea of having a conversation with a male is¡­ frankly ridiculous. I could as easily have a discussion of higher order magical theory with a squirrel.¡± She shrugged at me and delivered a gentle sighing whisper through her harp. ¡°As team exobiologist and first contact officer I have received extensive training and education in no arachnid species and have even met several outsiders and other species¡­¡± Her shy smile appeared again, subtle and gentle. ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of a ¡®human¡¯ before¡­ You say you were a hairless tree primate of some kind?¡± ¡®Mabel is kinda cute, after all¡­¡¯ I found myself thinking idly, a few moments later. It took a little effort to shake that feeling off, as well. There was something going on with her voice¡­ something very subtle and soothing, disarming. ¡°...Even with my interspecies communication training, I find taking you seriously to be¡­ deeply challenging.¡± She was saying, as her notes drafted along my hastily strung web, a sweet, thrumming song my triplines and entangling strands responded to with a slow building resonance. ¡°Mabel, whatever you¡¯re doing to me¡­ Stop it or I¡¯m out of here.¡± I barked in minor chords of disgust and anger. ¡°You¡¯re manipulating my emotions somehow. Cut it out.¡± My sharp words cut whatever she was doing as neatly as you please¡­ Which seemed to leave her stunned and very upset. ¡°Fascinating¡­ Can you do that again?¡± She cooed softly, her eyes intensely focused on me with a predator¡¯s stare. ¡°I¡¯ll recreate the spell you severed in just a moment¡­ once my Mana recovers a little. That was quite a jolt!¡± ¡°Spells? Mana? Screw that, if you start fucking around again, I¡¯m gone.¡± I was spanking the strings of her clever instrument and working the higher frequencies, as I shredded my disapproval across the quiet forest night. My words struck her with an almost visible impact, as she backed a few yards away from the base of my tree. ¡°Apologies¡­ That was inappropriate¡­¡± She mumbled, embarrassed again. ¡°To be honest I never suspected you would perceive the spell of influence and tranquility I was working on you.¡± ¡°If you try that again, we are going to have a serious problem.¡± I was starting to really get a hang of the instrument and let some grunge and punk sensibilities spill over into my protest song. ¡°And in addition¡­ ¡®I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d get caught¡¯ is a piss poor excuse for fucking around with someone¡¯s mind and emotions!¡± ¡°You really are fascinating¡­¡± She purred, once more at the base of my tree and clearly thinking about climbing up. ¡°I¡¯ve never even thought about how it would feel to be scolded by a male¡­ I think I like it.¡± # Ch: 3 Man-Eater Fate Deals the Cards: Fifty-Two Pickup Part 2: The Hermit Ch: 3 Man-Eater All night long I chatted with the big green spider lady¡­ She eventually sweet talked her way up my tree to join me in the web hammock I¡¯d constructed, high above the forest floor. Fortunately, I had over-built the thing pretty obsessively, since I had no desire to fall from my perch in the night. As morning approached, the conversation shifted back to my situation; as she once more tried to talk me into turning myself in. ¡°You really should consider coming back with me¡­ Once I explain the situation, our team leadership will certainly leave you in my care¡­¡± ¡°No chance Mabel¡­ you seem cool, but your friends didn¡¯t seem like they were too concerned with my ultimate fate, beyond their desire to secure an ¡®interesting specimen¡¯ for their expedition.¡± I answered sharply, as sunrise crept over the mountains to the east. ¡°I have no desire to be left in anyone¡¯s care, I¡¯d rather vanish into the woods than be an exhibit in a zoo.¡± ¡°What will you do? How will you manage alone?¡± She asked gently. ¡°There are no sentient beings on this fragment of a world; only wildlife and the freakish monsters that appear in such places. If you stay here, you will be all alone¡­¡± ¡°And I won¡¯t be alone in whatever cage I wind up in, wherever you ladies come from? Will I wind up in a traveling freakshow? In a laboratory, vivisected to sate some-spider¡¯s idle curiosity?¡± I asked, none too gently. ¡°Your friends made it clear that my wishes and personal autonomy were not a priority.¡± Something about this eight legged lady put me at ease, even when she was encouraging me to trust her highly untrustworthy colleagues. I began to get suspicious when she urged me to ¡®just come back and talk to them¡¯... and I almost went along. ¡°Are you screwing around with my emotions again, Mabel?¡± I asked wearily. ¡°Because we talked about that already.¡± ¡°The magic in my voice is an innate part of me¡­¡± She mumbled, sounding embarrassed again. ¡°Lord Aclintherios blessed me with a gift for oratory and debate, I struggle to restrain its magic at times.¡± ¡°Magic¡­¡± I sighed weakly. Throughout our long conversation I had been studying the construct of webs and bones she¡¯d created to give me a voice, in the manner of her people. The instrument was too solid, too resonant and too damn loud to be anything but magical¡­ I could feel it, thrumming and singing from deep inside the device. ¡°You did something with the way the threads are arranged¡­ and there¡¯s something more¡­¡± ¡°Yes, young spider. If you can see that, you are gifted with the spark of magery¡­ Which is yet another reason to return to civilization with me.¡± She insisted gently¡­ without any extra influence. ¡°I think not.¡± I answered curtly, punctuated by a trill of gracenotes that closed the issue definitively, from my perspective. ¡°I¡¯m open to meeting you again, just you. But I¡¯m not going to become an exhibit in a zoo. You¡¯ll have to catch me¡­ and I¡¯ll fight for my life.¡± I shot her a dirty look when she prepared to say something. ¡°I¡¯m certain that I¡¯m venomous and I think you ladies know that, so let¡¯s just forget about trying to snatch me, ok?¡± ¡°I have already informed the leadership team that I object strongly to their ongoing efforts to capture you.¡± She announced smugly. ¡°I wrote a memo to headquarters and forwarded it to the entire team, as well.¡± She seemed to consider the matter resolved, since she¡¯d done her paperwork. ¡°A memo¡­¡± I sighed, deeply underwhelmed by her response to my would-be abductor¡¯s plans. ¡°When they¡¯re extracting my brain for research, will you send a strongly worded letter to the director?¡± ¡°Certainly!¡± She sang. ¡°As a sentient, your rights should be respected!¡± ¡°Yay for team civil liberties¡­¡± I answered tepidly and with considerable disdain dripping from my instrument. She entirely missed my sarcasm, of course. ¡°It¡¯s dawn, I¡¯m hungry and your friends are still down to put me in a cage, so I¡¯mma leg it into the woods and find something to eat¡­ If no one comes hunting me, I¡¯ll hang around nearby-ish.¡± I waved a free leg to emphasize my next point. ¡°If I even suspect that I¡¯m being hunted, you¡¯ll never see my ass again.¡± With that, I handed her back her instrument and leapt for a net that I¡¯d set up a short hop away, from my perspective. It was a good fifteen yards to my landing pad, way too far for any of the ladies to follow me. ¡°I will leave your voice here, in your web, Gary Ward, human. It will be here if you find a need for it. My team will extract from this dungeon world in three days, I will reveal nothing of your current location.¡± She called out to me as I leapt for my next tree. I had to admit, Mabel seemed like she was an alright dame. During our long, rambling talk, she¡¯d given me some great advice on what my spinnerets and web glands could do, with a little focus and practice. It turns out, spiders don¡¯t work metal or wood in their crafts¡­ When possible, everything they¡­ or , I suppose, we made was entirely textile based; and that meant everything. Apparently, the spider homeworld was just one vast interconnected web¡­ An actual, physical interweb, transmitting information across their world. My inner nerd was super curious, while the rest of me was super interested in not getting caught by Mabel¡¯s friends. She had no idea what I was talking about when I mentioned woodworking, in my study of her unusual and macabre instrument. Mabel seemed startled by the idea of cutting down a tree and drying it out for the purposes of crafting objects. ¡°Really? How odd¡­ If you say so.¡± Was about all I could get out of her on the topic of lumber. Despite the fact that several of the lady spiders wore small jewels and the occasional ornament of gold or silver, metal was also completely unfamiliar to them¡­ culturally. They saw metal as a foreign curiosity, a luxury import and a display of wealth. The big green lady seemed deeply incurious about metalwork and metal tools; to the point that I began to wonder if she was screwing with me. It turned out that spider society never unlocked the skills of woodworking or metalcraft; remaining blissfully dependent on their own silk and the remains of their prey for all of their daily needs. Silk could do an awful lot, including tapping into whatever mysterious energy Mabel used to make that little instrument sing out so loudly and carry so far¡­ The instruments were one of the few exceptions to the all textile rule, utilizing animal bones and skins in their creation. The art and craft was painstaking and required specific ¡®gifts and blessings¡¯ be granted to the craft-spider by one or more of their many, many deities. Only a very few artisans crafted new voices, which made Mabel a kindred spirit, in a way. She had a profound and burning passion for her craft and the instruments, most of which were family heirlooms passed down for untold generations, like Mabel¡¯s own. She had waxed poetic about the superlative quality of her voice, made by her great, great grandmother, from giant ape bones and hides that the old lady had hunted herself. I had no plans to seek out a giant gorilla and battle it for crafting materials, so I listened with interest and tried out the web tricks she had to teach me. There was a smooth, strong silk, of course¡­ and an entangling variant, coated with globules of partially congealed silk proteins and some enzymes that kept it sticky. Exuding the glue by itself was also simple¡­ That was going to be handy, the stuff hardened slowly, but cured hard. The glue was so hard and resonant that I decided that carbon fiber should take the day off to think about its future plans. Things got really interesting when she showed me how to produce a variant of the sticky thread that was studded with tiny nodules of fully hardened glue, each little gem of epoxy enclosing a nifty little knot in the silk cord. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. With a strand of that between my forelimbs, I could quickly notch and cut animal bones, an essential skill for any-spider who wanted to craft objects. I was just two days into my new life and I had cordage, glue, textiles¡­ and a damn saw. I spent a long and almost wasted morning hunting for breakfast, the wildlife was pretty uncooperative and skittish. In the end, I pounced on a surprisingly large and cocky possum-like creature that tried to play dead when I lunged for him. Turns out, I¡¯m hecka venomous and it worked fast too; the poor thing barely got out a squeak when I bit its throat. The joke was on me, he tasted awful; just-ass nasty. Those things were off the menu unless I got pretty desperate¡­ chewing on leaves desperate. I spent the week¡­ learning the ropes¡­ of web building and silk crafting. I know¡­ Since I was alone in the woods, I had a lot of time to think and that pun was just too awful to forget. So, anyway, I figured out how to do some nifty things with my silk and learned more about the local fauna. I built snares along game trails and in bushes, strung nets among the trees and generally sampled the local ground dwelling fare¡­ It was all pretty nasty. The small hill goats were the least offensive tasting, but they were not, by any means, ¡®delicious¡¯. Barely edible was my assessment and that was a firm decision, backed up by rigorous testing. I tried letting one dangle for a day, cocooned in my web and full of my venom to age a little. That turned out to be a slight improvement in flavor, but it stank so badly that I had trouble catching anything else for two days afterward. On that second night after the aged goat debacle, I made a nest a few trees over and hung a few webs up to catch any flyers that might be flitting about at night. I had hopes that maybe some kind of tasty bird might fly into my trap¡­ Deep in the night, a violent tug at my web jolted me awake, as something large hit my netting, high above the forest floor. Something big was entangled in my web and it was throwing a fit! My anchoring trees swayed and lurched wildly enough that I might have been thrown from my web; if I¡¯d been dumb enough to nest in a tree my web was secured to... I had a few thin notification strands attached, to wake me if something struggled; but otherwise, my nest was free standing, isolated from the web in a tall sequoia at the edge of my chosen clearing. I was not nearly fool enough to climb out on my web in the dark to envenom my prey. If it was good and stuck, I could tend to it much more safely in the morning. Likewise, if it was big and strong enough to break free of my web, I didn¡¯t want any part of it, especially not in the dark. Whatever it was, it would remain a mystery until dawn. I had excellent low light vision, but the stars provided almost no light under the boughs and I had yet to see a moon of any sort in the sky. A battle for survival in pitch darkness against an unknown and clearly mighty foe was way too stupid an idea to entertain. Instead, I took my scaredy-spider ass a quarter mile away and tucked into my secondary nest, hidden in a stand of tough, thorny trees. I had a single thin strand running to a dry bush a few dozen yards outside my thorntree nest, it would keep rustling and rattling as long as my web kept getting tossed about. If it fell silent, that would mean either my prey had exhausted itself, or escaped. As strong as the thing felt, I was good with either option¡­ unless it was delicious. I really needed something tasty after my last few meals. About a half hour after the initial strike on my web, the tattle tale bush near my nest fell silent, leaving me a long, silent night of tense speculation. Dawn brought me out of my snug little nest among the thorny trees and into a mess. Two of my enormous anchor trees had been pulled down to the forest floor, pinning whatever was ensnared in my web beneath their crushing bulk. Still it struggled, trapped under that terrible weight of fresh timber; I could hear it thrashing among the tangled webs and branches. From a freestanding sequoia near the scene, I took in the chaos from above. A black, shiny staghorn beetle the size of a garbage truck was pinned in my web and half crushed under several tons of fallen trees. Caught in mid-flight by my stupidly strong webbing, its armored wing covers were pinned open, exposing its less armored interior to the falling trees. The ginormous bug was still thrashing and struggling weakly, even though it was all but done in. I slipped close and sank my fangs into its body, delivering a solid dose of my venom; probably enough to kill it twice over from full health. I backed away after biting it once more, on the other side of the beast¡¯s truck sized abdomen, just to be sure. ¡°No, It is not a sapient creature¡­ That is a male Arachnean of the spider domain. They exist nearby this fractional world¡­ There must be an entrance into their domain as well.¡± A strange, buzzing voice called out from a thicket nearby. I jumped for the nearest clump of brush and vanished into the bracken and understory trees quick as can be; before I knew what was happening, really. ¡°We should withdraw, since it is likely the mate of one of the females of the species.¡± The voice continued, calmly addressing someone else who also remained unseen. ¡°The females are quite intelligent and reasonable, though I do not possess their language. Males are simply large, dangerous predators that are best avoided.¡± ¡°I din¡¯t know, Skrithi¡¯ee¡­ The way it acted seemed more than just an animal.¡± A rough and male human voice muttered quietly. ¡°Any chance it might stalk us?¡± ¡°None, lord Flintshard. With a meal like that in its web, I doubt it will hunt again this month.¡± The buzzing voice replied. ¡°Since it has slain our prey, we should begin our hunt anew. If a party of Arachneans is on world, this is now a race. If you wish to find and slay a ranked monster first, we should proceed¡­¡± ¡°Well, what about that thing? It killed our bug, if we kill it, won¡¯t it still count?¡± Yet another voice demanded, while I was busy dealing with a complex and deeply disturbing problem of my own. A shining pane of semi translucent golden light was shimmering in front of my two main eyes, while leaving my remaining six unbothered. That was super disorienting all by itself! The golden panel was another whole mess of crazy ingredients stirred into the loony-bin gumbo I was boiling up for dinner. There was even text on the shimmering pane of light that kept partially blocking my vision in some very confusing ways. Congratulations! As the first sentient being to defeat a monster three ranks above your own level in single combat, you have become the first Dungeon Lord of this Dungeon World! ¡°As a non sentient, the dungeon system will not perceive him as a viable candidate for lordship of this realm. We should continue our hunt and leave him unmolested.¡± That buzzing voice said, still sounding calm and cold in the dense forest mist. ¡°Attacking that creature will only antagonize whoever brought him here.¡± The cold, almost mechanical voice said firmly. ¡°I will not participate in such a venture, as it lies outside my contract. I strongly suggest you refrain, in any case. They are formidable and dangerous beasts, even if his mate does not appear during your battle.¡± I was liking this reasonable sounding creature, but it also sounded like their assumption that I was just an animal was saving me from a fight. I had no clue what was going on, but it seemed like they were hunting monsters in hopes of getting one of my new golden panels of annoying text for themselves. Three more windows had stacked up under the first, while the being was talking. As the first Dungeon Lord of this reality, you may freely choose its initial name and general theme. Later changes to these initial parameters may incur costs and penalties, based on dungeon growth, status and activity. Lordship of this reality may be freely transferred to a willing and eligible sapient by mutual consent. Lordship will transfer to any sapient that slays the current Dungeon Lord. If the current Dungeon Lord is slain by a non sentient or by misadventure, the lordship will remain vacant until primary conditions are met by another sapient being. With that info in mind, I slipped back into the forest and hunkered down, listening through a bit of web I left in the bushes near the clearing. The old tin can on a string method worked almost magically well, when I used my silk to construct a diaphragm and conductor; the fidelity was impossibly high¡­ ¡°So now what, back to base camp?¡± Another voice asked, accompanied by the sounds of quite a few boots marching on the forest floor. ¡°I doubt there¡¯s another A rank monster in the vicinity¡­¡± I had already tasted my giant monster bug and I was not prepared to eat him, unless I was starving; he tasted like hot, mouldy cardboard. Instead, I followed the voices, at a very, very discreet distance and from the tree-tops. I couldn¡¯t listen in while I was on the move, but following their movements through the silent forest was quite easy, thanks to my super sharp spider senses. I trailed the party without making visual contact, tracking them by sound and scent, since I was bright white and covered with colorful splashes of neon colored fur. The ¡®base camp¡¯ was a tidy collection of cabins, assembled from the forest¡¯s bounty, All green lumber log cabins, chinked with mud and moss¡­ Except for sturdy and well varnished doors, windows with actual glass in them and clay roof tiles. A neat corral and simple barn sheltered a small herd of horses and donkeys, surrounded by a loose ring o a half dozen small cabins. All the outward facing walls were blank and sturdy log affairs with a palisade stretching between them pierced by two gates. It was obviously a wildlife deterrent and would hinder me, not even slightly. One gate stood by the shore of a fair sized lake with a few canoes tied onto a humble pier and the other faced a lightly wooded plain, stretching down a wide, fertile valley. I really liked the look of the place, aside from the people I saw scuttling around and greeting the returning party of hunters. They all seemed to be really short and burly, even the women. Maybe it was some trick of my spider eyes, but they looked almost like dwarves¡­ Fantasy dwarves with the whole bearded and robust, hard drinking attitude. Only one being stood out among the twenty or thirty people milling about and having a safari in my new dungeon world. Moving among them casually, aside from staying far from the horses, was a long, angular green mantis. The creature produced that weird, buzzing voice by rubbing its legs and wing cases together, simulating humanoid speech without the usual apparatus. I strung a parabolic web in a tree overlooking the compound and ran a slim line to carry the sounds of the camp to my new hideout. I staked my claim on a hidden nest among the spikiest and thorniest bushes and trees I could find¡­ High up on a hillside that had a good view of the action, just under a quarter mile away. I was most keenly interested in the mantis creature, since it was the only being I¡¯d met that seemed disinclined to kill me at first sight. I spent a week working on crafting a voice for myself, while eavesdropping on the humanoid camp. It turned out they were actual dwarves¡­ hard drinking, rowdy and good natured. They interacted with the mantis being cordially, since the creature seemed to be a contracted guide and was highly professional at all times. The dwarves clearly held reservations about the creature and kept a distance from those long, barbed forearms, perhaps by simple instinct. Skrithi¡¯ee was pretty terrifying, at nine feet long and slightly more massive than a good sized pony, the urbane and intelligent armored insect predator was not a being to trifle with. Several times over the week I listened in, frustrated dwarves would bring up the idea of hunting me down; since there seemed to be no more monsters of sufficient level in the area. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a monster spider, just with no obvious mutations¡­?¡± Was the most frequent suggestion. ¡°If it¡¯s just an animal¡­¡± Was the runner up in popularity. Each time, the mantis guide would flatly refuse. ¡°My contract stipulates that I shall not participate in the hunting of any member of any sentient race¡­ Female Arachneans are sentient, thus he is not a valid target.¡± The creature insisted firmly. ¡°Further attempts to influence my decision will void our contract. Do you wish to retain my services?¡± They did wish to retain the matis¡¯ services¡­ The dwarves were grotesquely clumsy in the woods. They clanked, stomped, banged and grunted their way along, scaring off everything for a half mile, whenever they went on a hunt. Skrithi¡¯ee, on the other¡­ whatever I have instead of hands, moved in silence. The mantis vanished into the woods as soon as I lost sight of it, every single time. It was a master of the slow, silent stalk, where I was built to lie in wait and pounce. More than once I found myself stalking her, as she circled the compound, carefully trying to figure out who was spying on the camp. I noticed right away, that if I stared at her too long or too intensely, she would feel it on some level and try to search me out with her own subtle and refined senses¡­ Senses I sensed with my own, spider senses¡­ Magic was seeming like a more reasonable explanation for a lot of the weirdness I was experiencing. Of course that was in addition to all the mundane, ¡®You¡¯ve been reborn as a giant spider!¡¯ and ¡®Dungeon Lord¡¯ stuff I was dealing with already. # Chapter 4 Green Eyed Lady Fate Deals the Cards: Fifty-Two Pickup Part 2: The Hermit Chapter 4 Green Eyed Lady I was hanging out a few miles from the dwarf camp, working on my voice one afternoon, in a clearing that was far from where I hunted and slept. I wanted no surprises from the short humanoids, so I did my crafting and experimenting far from my normal haunts. The process required a little bit of noise making, since I was basically inventing a whole new technology. My latest attempt was made of a long,gracefully curved manzanita branch I¡¯d found and carefully bent by soaking the dried limb in a creek and pulling it carefully into shape with my silk and letting it dry in the sun. I had socketed the ends into a deer femur to create a simple lyre strung with my own silk. I may have spent a fair few minutes¡­ maybe an hour or two working out some feelings on my primitive instrument, just to break the oppressive silence I found myself cursed with. A good size flock of songbirds gathered in the bushes, singing and chirping along with my fumbling and slightly pitchy performance for their own reasons, seeming undeterred by my monstrous spideryness. Not that I was any threat to them, I¡¯d have to eat dozens of the little critters just to take the edge off my ravenous hunger. I had resigned myself to a steady diet of the nasty tasting hill goats for now, since I could reliably catch those without snares or webbing. I let the birds sing my songs for me, as I relaxed into the first real moment of pleasure I¡¯d experienced since landing on the creepy ¡®dungeon world¡¯ I now supposedly ¡®ruled¡¯. I had a shiny golden window still lingering in the corner of my eye, patiently asking if I wished to ¡®accept the lordship of this unnamed dungeon world¡¯. There was no timer or any kind of urgency to the question, so I let it hang there for a while. The dwarves remained predictable, they sent prospecting teams into the mountains looking for minerals and metals regularly, hunted mundane game in the forest and otherwise waited for their guide to set them on the track of the elusive ¡®A rank monster¡¯ they were looking for. I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised when the mantis creature, Skrithi¡¯ee, spoke from a few dozen yards away, concealed among the bushes and low scrub¡­ She had been suspicious of my presence for a while now; I suppose it would have been stupid for her to ignore my snooping. ¡°I suspected that you were no ordinary Aracnean male¡­ now I suspect that you are the new dungeon lord of this domain¡­¡± She rattled and buzzed her words from her wing cases and legs, startling the birds from the brush all around. She startled a short jet of webbing from me too, which was super embarrassing. I jumped in place and whirled around, spotting her in the shadow of a tall stand of alder trees, near the edge of my clearing. She waved her huge armored and spiked forelimbs at me in a gesture that came across as ¡®I¡¯m not being aggressive, but I¡¯m no chump¡¯ to my eyes. I imitated her gesture with my pedipalps and frontmost set of legs, holding them aloft and swaying from side to side. ¡°Interesting¡­¡± She buzzed and rattled loudly. She settled back on her six spindly legs and watched me for a few moments, interest and curiosity glinting in her faceted eyes. ¡°If only we shared a language¡­¡± She sighed softly, in a gentle rustle of her wing cases and a soft, stridulation of her rearmost legs. Unlike her raucous and harsh humanoid speech, this was a soft and subtle language of posture and quiet clicks, rustles and hums. A quiet and understated song of silent dance and a bit of whispery percussion. In shock at this discovery, it took me a few seconds to come to grips with the idea¡­ so far, I understood the verbal and non-verbal languages of every sentient I had encountered or spied on. The dwarves were certainly not speaking english, they all sounded like an italian guy chewing on pop rocks and trying to speak with a spanish accent. I slowly and carefully reached into my web under a thornbush and pulled out one of my early experiments. A short length of particularly knuckly bamboo had caught my eye as I wandered around, looking for resources to play with. The stalk had a ridge every half inch and it felt light, tough and resonant¡­ The inside I hollowed out very carefully, scraping the tough, fibrous interior away until it was a thin and resonant tube. I stroked a manzanita wood stick down the tube and almost capered with glee at the expression on the mantis¡¯ face. Once dried and carefully coated with my super tough epoxy it made a more than passable guiro, one I used to speak the creature¡¯s name; in her language of rattling clicks and whispery rasps. ¡°Skrithi¡¯ee¡­¡± I clicked and rasped. ¡°Not a spider¡­¡± They weren¡¯t english sounds, of course¡­ nor any sound a human would recognize as speech, but they were musical. Rhythm and meter, language, music and dance, the interplay of sound movement and time were feeling all the same to me, just as the dance of the spider maidens fell within my scope without thought or effort. ¡°Fascinating¡­¡± She whispered in her own language. ¡°You can understand me?¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°¡±Yes¡­¡± I stammered, since the subtleties of her language were still beyond the range of my simple instrument. ¡°You have been listening in, spying on the dwarves¡­ I found the remains of several of your listening devices.¡± She said firmly, allowing no room for prevarications. ¡°Yes¡­ They seemed¡­ hostile.¡± I stammered. ¡°Intriguing, to think you could also comprehend humanoid speech¡­¡± She whispered, as she walked out into my clearing. ¡°I am unable to perceive or replicate the frequencies of sound that the Arachneans use to communicate, just as they are unable to comprehend my speech. Our species exist in near proximity, as etheric travel goes, but we are ever distrustful and wary of each other.¡± She slowly walked in a circle around me, while holding her weapons close against her carapace, indicating simple curiosity on her part. Her language had a lot of subtleties and used gestures and all kinds of non verbal cues, it was not too unlike my dance¡­ Slowly and carefully I tried incorporating more movements and gestures, finding a bit of crossover there, once I relaxed my rigid thinking about what a language could be. ¡°I am a human man, not really a spider¡­¡± I tried a little funky hand jive at the end, just for funzies. ¡°I kinda died and wound up here a few days ago, like this.¡± ¡°Your gift for languages is startling, even for one of your kind, young isekai! To think I would find both a dungeon lord and a sentient Arachnean male with linguistic abilities¡­¡± She let out a short, insectile laugh, expressed through a quick tapdance, shared among her several feet. ¡°My paper on this expedition will bring the academic establishment to tears!¡± ¡°Uhh¡­ you¡¯re a researcher?¡± I asked, finding myself suddenly very wary again. ¡°Oh, yes¡­ I specialize in documenting transdimensional oddities and unique life forms, like yourself. I would appreciate a formal interview at some point¡­ once you have settled in and taken up the lordship of this realm, officially.¡± She sighed happily. ¡°So you know I¡¯ve been sitting on the ¡®dungeon lord¡¯ thing?¡± I asked carefully. ¡°I am going to approach a little closer, human¡­ Please refrain from attacking me.¡± She murmured, approaching even closer, until we were facing each other across ten feet of scraggly meadow grass. ¡°Let us say I suspected, and when you began shadowing us so carefully, I began to become certain.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t attack you¡­ it¡¯s cool.¡± I answered very carefully. ¡°You really can¡¯t read my intent in my body language?¡± ¡°No, you are opaque to me¡­ Isekai are rare enough, but cross species transitions seldom result in¡­¡± She shook her head and sighed. ¡°Many beings lose their sanity in the journey, arriving in a state of mental disarray that results in frequent tragedies; hence my abundance of caution.¡± ¡°Really? You keep calling me ¡®Isekai¡¯... is world jumping a thing that happens a lot?¡± I asked, now that she seemed less worried that I was going to pounce on her. ¡°Yes, and no. Travel between worlds is not uncommon in the wider universe¡­ among living sentients. An isekai is a deceased soul, somehow managing to find a way into a new realm and spontaneously constructing a new body for itself¡­¡± She giggled in insectile excitement again. ¡°I have only met two of your kind before this! Though, as rare as beings such as yourself are, that still qualifies me as an expert! The jump from a humanoid to an arachnid form must be stressing your spiritual essence, something awful, young isekai.¡± The rough and buzzing nature of her humanoid speech was so jarring and unpleasant, the contrast with her natural voice couldn¡¯t have been more stark. Just the same way; her cheerful, chatter bug personality made me willing to sit and talk all she wanted, especially since she seemed deeply uninterested in trying to capture me. I was feeling confident, so I just asked it straight out. ¡°So, are you going to try and capture me, like the spider ladies?¡± I slipped it into the conversation really casually, cause I am super smooth like that. She almost stumbled over her own feet when my question landed on her. ¡°Whyever would I do that¡­ That seems like a dangerous and stupid idea for everyone involved. You know you are highly venomous, yes?¡± ¡°I made that same argument with the spider expedition, when they tried to capture me¡­ I don¡¯t think I was very convincing.¡± I tried to emulate her tap-dancing laughter and found a little success. She joined in for the last few steps, tapping along with me in the stubbly grass of my clearing. ¡°I will not be doing anything so foolish¡­ nor will my employers. I suggest that you come to the dwarf camp tomorrow night and speak with them. I will bring a friend in to help translate for you.¡± She murmured calmly. ¡°These dwarves are a highly civilized and social species. They hold a deep respect for the agency and autonomy of other beings.¡± ¡°Maybe¡­ but I think I have something they want and they might not hesitate to try and take it from me¡­ if you understand my meaning.¡± I answered calmly. ¡°You have been listening in¡­ Yes, there has been talk of hunting you, in hopes of obtaining the dungeon lordship. They are operating under the assumption that you are a simple animal.¡± She shrugged, which for her was a fluttering of her bright green wing covers. ¡°It is widely known that Arachnean males are dangerous and fierce predators who are best avoided at all times. Unlike most non sentients, male Arachneans do wander through the void on occasion and cause all kinds of trouble.¡± ¡°Wait¡­ so everyone will just assume I¡¯m a dangerous wandering monster, wherever I go?¡± I demanded sharply. I was getting pretty sick of all the new and exciting info I kept getting. ¡°I mean, aside from my being freaking terrifying and a giant spider¡­¡± ¡°Oh, yes! You will be a significant figure of menace in any civilized domain!¡± She chattered happily, seeming oblivious to my problems. ¡°My people spook the squishy, soft skinned races pretty badly, but the Arachenans are on another level! Arachnophobia is a consistent fear, throughout the realms!¡± ¡°And when I stroll up to the dwarves compound¡­ no one will freak out or say¡­ put a crossbow bolt in me?¡± I asked calmly. I¡¯d seen the dwarf crossbows at work and they looked mighty unpleasant. The stumpy guys were deadeye shots and the weapon hit hard enough to drop a black bear within a few steps. I was not interested in getting any feathers or shafts added to my colorful outfit. ¡°You make a fair point¡­¡± Skrithi¡¯ee muttered, ruffling her wings in embarrassment. ¡°Violence against sentients is deeply taboo among my kind.. At times I forget that some races do practice¡­ war.¡± She said the word with such loathing, that I wondered if it was an obscenity to her people. If so, I was liking her even more. ¡°In any case, you should still meet my translator, Klevin Siltstone. He¡¯s an isekai too, he says most of such beings gain a magical facility with languages in the transition, hence his ability to communicate with almost anyone¡­¡± She wandered right back into her excited chatter and swept me along with her. ¡°Klevin is also a Dungeon Lord and has a wide circle of acquaintances that are¡­ less judgemental about species and forms.¡± The cheerful bug lady talked my tufts off all night long. Like Mabel, she was just happy to have a sentient that spoke her native language to chat with. Her eager and bubbly personality made the whole experience just a little less dreadful. Ch 5 Man In The Mirror Fate Deals the Cards: Fifty-Two Pickup Part 2: The Hermit Ch 5 Man In The Mirror My new acquaintance, Skrithi¡¯ee, the mantis lady promised to discreetly bring her friend ¡®Klevin the Dungeon Lord isekai¡¯ to meet with me in three days, as she vanished into the woodlands. Her oath to keep my presence a secret from her employers made me less nervous about lingering in the area, but I still moved my encampments and listening posts farther into the woods and higher in the trees. Skrithi¡¯ee would still find them and would be able to track me down eventually, but I was also pretty sure she wasn¡¯t going to double cross me. She felt like a very tranquil and reasonable being, possessed of a keen mind and admirable self control. I had three days of hanging around spying on dwarves, while she was away; I spent them seeking a taste of the inner peace she had displayed. I began to spend time in meditation, a practice foisted on me by a barely remembered hippy, during one of the infrequent ¡®counselling¡¯ sessions I¡¯d been forced to endure while in state ¡®care¡¯. In the interest of refining my still shaky control over my body, I also began slowly reciting poetry and song lyrics in my native language of dance, during my abundant spare time. When I slowly found myself combining the two activities, I reflected on the groups of slow moving aisan seniors I¡¯d watched practice their arts in the park, on so many foggy, northern california mornings. The homeless rise with the dawn, just like the old and there¡¯s not much else going on at sunrise that¡¯s worth watching from a bedroll hidden in the bushes. By the middle of day two I was feeling some pretty significant improvements in my control over my body and its new and intrusive instincts. Even when hunting, the accuracy and range of my leap had improved noticeably. I resolved to continue the practice and see where it could lead, since I had few other activities calling for my time. Not that I was idle; I spent a fair bit of each day gathering materials to continue my experiments in crafting. I used my silk saw to take down and peel a few birch, aspen and pine trees, which I stacked under a rock outcropping to season and dry. Under that shelf, the wind would blow through my careful arrangement of peeled and rough sawn logs almost constantly, while the sun would only hit the stacks for an hour a day. Before too long I would be ready to start experimenting with seasoned lumber¡­ Skrithi¡¯ee was as good as her word¡­ After three days, she brought one lone dwarf out to meet me. The old blind man who followed her, holding her pointy forelimb like a trusting child, as they walked into my clearing. He was definitely a newcomer, brought in through whatever means that they used to arrive and depart the world that I was now a resident of. I peered at the short, burly, bearded man and looked into his dead, milky eyes. ¡°Hi there¡­¡± I danced as loudly as I could manage. ¡°I don¡¯t think he can see my dance, Skrithy baby.¡± ¡°I do sense a being there, Skrithi¡¯ee¡­ but I kinnae perceive his language at all.¡± The old man muttered disgustedly. ¡°These old ears kinnae hear as they once did, and me eyes¡­¡± He sighed gustily. ¡°I been havin a similar trouble back home¡­ I hae a friend wi a non verbal language. He understands me, but kinnae speak a lick for himself.¡± Hearing that I was not the only one facing difficulties like this made me feel just a little less hopeless¡­ There had to be a solution, but I was years away from being able to synthesize a human sounding voice, even if I could get access to any materials I wanted. My old woodworking knowledge and skills were human abilities¡­ I didn¡¯t have hands anymore and I had none of my familiar tools and materials. ¡°I had not considered that, master Klevin¡­ my apologies to you both.¡± My mantis friend muttered unhappily. ¡°Never ye mind lass¡­¡± Klevin sighed. ¡°I would speak with this fellow in any case, if only to help a fellow isekai. We are so uncommon and so many of us fail to thrive or meet untimely ends. It is a sorrowful thing, lad¡­ I¡¯d see ye well prepared for what is to come.¡± The old codger seemed to be at least familiar with my situation and I was willing to listen to anyone¡¯s advice at this point, so long as no one suggested that I surrender to whatever authority figure wanted to lay claim to my furry backside today. The geezer settled himself on a stone and began the long process of figuring out how to communicate. ¡°I happen to be doing this same thing for my other isekai friend, he is also non-verbal, by humanoid standards... Poor lad; he¡¯s an octopus, tansfigured by surprise. He claims to be a misplaced human, like yerself. Though he kinnae make any speech I can understand, the poor waif can only make noise enough for yes and no questions.¡± The old man shook his grizzled head and sighed again. ¡°An octopus?¡± I asked in my rough approximation of mantis language with a few quick runs down my bamboo guiro. The soft, woody buzz of the hardwood stick rattling across the ridged and resonant bamboo pleased me on some primal levels. I was always a fool for a nice latin beat. I started scraping, scratching and rapping a samba from my instrument, which really helped my fluency. ¡°Oh, very good, lad! Don¡¯t strain yourself, just relax. If ye make intelligible sounds, I can pluck a bit of meaning from them¡­ at least until my friend arrives.¡± The dwarf peered in my direction and grinned. ¡°The Chariot asks if he may come see thee; he is also an isekai, a formerly human man set down on a world far stranger than this one. He came here by accident, from a world called ¡®Dirt¡¯ or ¡®Soil¡¯¡­¡± ¡°Earth?¡± I asked, using a ska beat, since I was feeling pretty nervous and the tropical vibe mellowed me out. ¡°That¡¯s it lad! His name be Gary Ward the human isekai from earth!¡± The old man chortled merrily. Hearing the old man say my name¡­ a name he shouldn¡¯t know, chilled me to the bone¡­ bones I didn¡¯t even have anymore. Even on Earth, I was a barely remembered footnote in a ledger somewhere; Gary Ward, an escapee on the lam from the juvenile detention and foster systems¡­ Somehow this old dude said my name in clear and proper human speech¡­ it was impossible¡­ ¡°What was that?¡± I asked weakly, slipping into a downtempo reggae vibe to hide my growing dread and fear. ¡°The Chariot, he says his true name is Gary Ward, He he was a musician and crafter of musical instruments before he died and was reborn in his new form.¡± The old dwarf rumbled happily. ¡°I met him a few centuries ago, when I was freshly isekied me ownself. He does travel the realms seeking his lost kin, his scattered brethren. The Tarots, they style themselves, after the cards in the deck.¡± He shrugged and smiled at me, oblivious of the thoughts and emotions that were shaking me from deep inside. I was in a mad jumble, thoughts of tarot cards, one of my mother¡¯s passions had been drilled into me since I was a little sprout. I¡¯d grown up watching her deal the cards for her musician friends from my playpen. When busking for change was slow, I¡¯d read the cards for tourists from time to time, until I attracted the notice of the locals. The gangs that run that hustle were territorial enough that I stopped that right away. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. I still found the ritual soothing, when I could find a deck, the time and mental clarity that the subtle art required¡­ but no one knew that. I hadn¡¯t used my real name on Earth in more than two years; nevermind that I was on a different freaking world. The old dwarf kept rattling on about the guy who wanted to meet with me, the guy looking for other Gary Wards. ¡°In their search they have found some few members of their scattered clan. I¡¯ve only met two of them¡­ or of him. It was deeply odd indeed; I could swear that they were the same man, Judgment and the Chariot.¡± He shuddered at the memory, lost in his own contemplations. ¡°I had eyes, then, lad. Seeing them there, standing side by side, they looked nothing alike, save that they had the same face and form. I¡¯ve never experienced such before or since. It were a disturbing and terrible thing; to be watched from two sets of such ominous and dangerous eyes.¡± Klevin sighed. ¡°I will meet him.¡± I managed to stammer, before my rhythm went to crap and I lost the beat entirely. I was feeling incredibly nervous and super twitchy so I did the only thing I could, the only reasonable thing to do. I leapt forty feet across the clearing and vanished up a cliff wall, moving so swiftly that the two people in my clearing were still watching where I¡¯d been, long after I was gone. ¡°He¡¯s a quick one, lass.¡± Klevin rumbled, as I scampered through the woods, not even a little bit in control of myself. It was a few long minutes before I managed to get myself wound down from whatever crazy endorphin cocktail I was tripping balls on. When I felt overly worked up, frightened or stressed, my body would blast me with an overwhelming rush of nervous energy and an irresistible urge to leap. Leap forward to attack, or leap away to flee¡­ I couldn¡¯t not move, when that feeling grabbed me from deep inside. I would need to get control of myself, before I could even think about facing the wider universe; a limitless expanse that seemed deeply hostile to me. With my emotions and my body chemistry back under control; I made my way back to where the pair were patiently waiting for me to return. ¡°I sensed rising stress levels in you, friend¡­¡± The mantis hummed softly. ¡°Then you bounced away in a panic¡­ Is something troubling you?¡± ¡°Is that what that was?¡± Klevin muttered. ¡°I did wonder at that. In any case ye agreed to meet my friend, the Chariot, yes?¡± ¡°Yes. Meet¡­¡± I buzzed through my hollow cane and little stick, rattling out a sleepy and swaying samba. Old man rhythm was doing all my heavy lifting, and would be, going forward. ¡°Interesting, my octopus friend plays similar tunes, in his attempts to communicate.¡± Klevin muttered. ¡°I¡¯d swear it were a similar tune.¡± ¡°Interesting¡­ as rhythm and meter are innate components of language, should music not be a relatively universal theme among those capable of speech?¡± The mantis hummed, as they walked off. Before they vanished among the trees, she called out to me. ¡°The Chariot will come to this clearing tonight. Do not be frightened, please, he will not hurt you.¡± That landed a bit weird, and made me recall Klevin¡¯s claim that the man¡¯s gaze was somehow frightening. ¡°Yeah, wheel, I¡¯m a giant freaking spider..¡± I complained to the uncaring universe, through dance. At least I was going to be the most intimidating person at that meeting, what with my venomous fangs and eight long legs¡­ That was a sure bet. / It was a cool, clear night¡­ moonless, since this place had no moon, but the stars were out and there were so ridiculously many. Constellations would be a joke in the bright, jewel strewn heavens there were just too many and they were too wildly varied in color and brightness, my eyes just wandered off, dazzled by the outrageous wealth scattered across the night sky. I hadn¡¯t had too many clear nights here and most of those had been spent hiding under a bush, or among the boughs, rather than stargazing in a clearing. ¡°Each of those stars is a dungeon world, brother.¡± A firm, mellow and mature, male human voice said behind me, without any warning whatsoever. My fellow exoskeleton haver¡¯s warning was long forgotten by then. I didn¡¯t panic¡­ I did lose a little web¡­ I may have jumped a few dozen yards straight up, but I kept my cool. My visitor was a tall, muscular and terribly waxen pale man of very early middle years or late youth. Most of his face was shadowed in a hooded cloak, but he seemed damnably familiar. He also kept lecturing on crackpot astronomy, while I got my shit together; allowing me to salvage at least a little dignity. ¡°This sky is shared by all of these dungeon worlds, set apart from the prime worlds and awaiting their birth¡­ think of this as the womb of all creation. It is from within this realm that new worlds, sentient species and gods are born.¡± He seemed to be reciting a well rehearsed speech, but one he believed in still. ¡°To be incarnated here is a distinct honor and privilege¡­ one we should all strive to be worthy of. Each of these points of light, each and every one is a dungeon world, and so many that lie beyond, lost in the brightness of those that lie near.¡± He turned his head to face me and dropped his hood, revealing his face under the starlight. He was neither young nor mature, but lost somewhere in between; likewise his very presence seemed less than entirely authentic. There was something off about him, something hidden. ¡°Ah, you see through my glamor, brother.¡± He said with a sigh. ¡°New made and unranked¡­ you have keen eyesight indeed, Gary Ward.¡± I stiffened and worked really hard to not freak out and skitter off into the night, I was medium successful¡­ Rather than forcing me to flee, my instincts hurled me at my visitor; fangs out and venom glands primed for a massive dose. ¡°Be at ease¡­ I am no threat to you¡­ and you are no threat to me.¡± He said calmly, while holding my fangs, one in each hand and gently using them to wrestle me down to the ground. ¡°Unranked and less than a month old, but so strong already¡­¡± He sighed, as he took me down like I was a fussy baby. ¡°You have not yet accepted your dungeon lordship yet, see¡­ very cagy. We are a clever one, sometimes.¡± In a few seconds, I was in a position where I was somehow restrained without duress, in a manner that drained my will to fight or flee rapidly, leaving me drained and exhausted. ¡°Very good, now, Gary ward, young luthier from earth¡­ I am Gary Ward; once upon a time, a young luthier from earth, fallen onto a strange new world.¡± He said firmly and clearly. ¡°We are¡­ think of us as brothers¡­ it¡¯s easier. I am the Chariot, we each take names from the tarot, since we are all different; yet we all share a name. That alone is super complicated and causes all kinds of problems, I can tell you¡­¡± He carried on and on, lamenting the difficulties of his ongoing quest to locate ¡®all of the Garies¡¯ since he declared we were all ¡®naturally sneaky and paranoid¡¯. ¡°Yes,¡± He sighed eventually. ¡°We are all very sneaky and averse to being restrained or controlled¡­ And yet that is a significant portion of my task.¡± He felt me stiffen up at that pronouncement and he spoke more softly. ¡°I¡¯m not going to capture you or restrain you. Relax. You are one of the lucky ones.¡± I did relax, not that I had much choice. I couldn¡¯t even really tell how he was holding me down, since he had long since let me go and was pacing about as he spoke. Yet, some invisible force held me in an iron grip, pinning me from above. ¡°How safe were the conditions you arrived under? Were you in a safe place with food, water or shelter available? I think not. How would you have done, if you arrived as you did, but naked and a human?¡± He let that hang out there for a moment. ¡°Many of us are traumatized, wounded, maimed or even worse. I also seek to collect the souls of those of us who did not survive, when I can find them.¡± He smiled at me, from an older, paler and more gaunt version of my own human face. The one I didn¡¯t have anymore. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s always a shock. Trust me, this is the easiest way to handle this. Well, except for the ones who¡¯ve gone nuts¡­ They take the news like champs.¡± I said to myself, in a voice that was mine; or had been. When I was human, just a few days ago. ¡°I am the Chariot, brother¡­ think of me like the ferryman across the river. I can transport the living or the souls of the dead.¡± He smiled in a weird and crooked way that was half crazy¡­ and was entirely mine. ¡°We are total edgelords.¡± After a few more seconds of me being held down by some invisible, irresistible but gentle pressure, he spoke again, very quietly. ¡°I¡¯m going to let you up so we can talk. Try to stay loose and just roll with it. A few of us can be a little¡­ flighty and panicky, so this is nothing new for me¡­ Just relax and let yourself exist for a minute. Just be¡­¡± His voice lulled me somehow, soothing my jangled and jarred spider nervous system into settling down and behaving again. ¡°Better? All right, let¡¯s try this. You are Gary Ward in there, right?¡± He asked. ¡°Yes¡­¡± I rattled through my guiro, I¡¯d hung it from a web strap for convenience, which was¡­ convenient. ¡°Just dance it out, brother, I¡¯ll understand. I can¡¯t really use human speech either.¡± He admitted. ¡°This is a shadow voice, a trick of necromancy. I¡¯m using a ghost as a reverse ventriloquist''s dummy.¡± ¡°Necromancy?¡± I demanded in a quick bit of stepdance. ¡°Like magic? Wizards and witches?¡± ¡°Yup. In all the many and varied flavors. I¡¯m a necromancer, some of us are warriors, knights, scouts, hunters¡­ even a few tanks. We tend to skew towards rogues and bards, though.¡± He murmured happily. ¡°No healers?¡± I asked, like a smartass. ¡°We all have some kind of gift for healing or restoration of some kind, but most of us don¡¯t focus on that side¡­ I wonder why?¡± He mused thoughtfully. ¡°You¡¯ve given me something else to investigate!¡± ¡°All right, buddy¡­ so, you¡¯re me? Like from the future?¡± I asked, finishing off in a B-boy pose. ¡°Nope. I¡¯m me; Gary Ward. I¡¯m several hundred years old, but I was made from the same man you were, the same man I was. After that, I went my own way, as will you. Each of us starts out from the same root stock and grows from there.¡± He smiled at me and shook his head, a head I was beginning to suspect was entirely a construct of illusion, of magic. ¡°Come with me and meet a few of us if you wish, or I can simply show you the way; though wandering the void alone is perilous.¡± ¡°You can show me how to travel to another world?¡± I asked, finding myself trusting this stranger wearing my face¡­ ¡°And there are more of¡­ us?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t gather together often, since we are all very busy beings, but I can take you to meet a few of us. Just relax, because our family is a lot to take¡­¡± I answered my own query, in a voice that was mine, but more aged and weathered than I¡¯d ever heard it before. \ Ch 6 Bad To The Bone Fate Deals the Cards: Part 2: The Hermit Ch 6 Bad To The Bone I stood in that starlit clearing for a while, contemplating the offer I¡¯d received. The idea of wandering alone in the wilderness had little appeal, but likewise, the fellow was deeply uncanny and seemed shady as hell. He seemed to somehow blend both trustworthiness and shiftiness at once¡­ Along with an aura of dreadful, chilling power that shuddered through me when I had been held in that invisible, irresistible grip. This being was telling me the truth, as much as he said of it¡­ but was not what he seemed to be, not at all. ¡°Call me Necro¡­ if that helps.¡± He shrugged his shoulders and grimaced slightly; an expression I felt very familiar with, from my own mannerisms. ¡°To friends and enemies, I am known as ¡®The Necromancer¡¯ or any number of similar titles. It''s a little over the top, I know, but I didn¡¯t choose it. That was the name I had before I met the Magician and joined his deck of jokers and knaves as ¡®The Chariot¡¯...¡± He sighed long and slow, something I wished I could do, but alas, I possessed no lungs. I had some weird accordion thing on my lower thorax that I could pump like a bellows when I needed more oxygen, but it was not capable of much else and made no sound at all, sadly. ¡°Consider my offer for a few days and consult with my friend Klevin¡­ He is wise in matters of isekai life and what you will need to learn. The dwarf can guide you far better than I, when it comes to matters of the living.¡± The man wearing an older, pale and gaunt version of my human form said calmly, before he vanished entirely from my sight in an instant. A vast rush of wind and a soft rattle sounded from the cliffside above my clearing, as if some monstrous bird made of leather and dry bones were taking flight above me. In the dim starlight, nothing could be seen, though I felt a rush of air across my sensitive leg tufts. I couldn¡¯t escape the thought that the breeze I felt truly was stirred by beating wings of terrifying size. ¡°The Chariot is a dangerous and unpredictable creature. He is a being of great power¡­ one who¡¯s goals and motives are occult to me.¡± My mantis lady friend whispered from a nearby hickory tree, startling another clot of tangled web from me. ¡°I did not intend to reveal my eavesdropping, but I am certain he detected my presence.¡± She murmured, sounding not even a little embarrassed. ¡°You were there the whole time?¡± I asked weakly, a little upset, but deeply glad that I at least had someone nearby, even sneaky, snooping company. ¡°Oh yes, I have been hiding there for many hours awaiting the Necromancer¡¯s arrival. Only a very great fool would attempt to approach that one by stealth.¡± She rattled a short and nervous chuckle; a forced and pathetic thing that revealed how deeply she had been unnerved by the odd being. ¡°He¡¯s a dangerous dude?¡± I sensed that already, but some confirmation felt necessary. ¡°He is extraordinarily dangerous and deeply alien¡­ There are some who believe that he is himself undead¡­ Though it is known that the undead cannot travel the void and he certainly does.¡± She muttered thoughtfully. ¡°Undead, like a zombie?¡± I demanded, my mind was already struggling with the ¡®magic I was finding in my own silk¡­ The idea that I¡¯d just met with zombie me was a lot to take; on top of an already heaping helping of weirdness. ¡°No, not a zombie¡­ There are some theories, but few are in any way¡­¡± She coughed and cleared her throat; which in her case meant a fluttery rearrangement of her wings and wing covers. The gesture accurately conveyed her desire to change the subject, both politely and urgently. ¡°He cannot be undead, though I doubt that we have any understanding of what he is. Be frank with master Klevin¡­ He knows more of the Tarots and their doings than any outside their ranks.¡± ¡°The Tarots¡­ Tell me about them, please.¡± I rasped, sinking down in the short grasses of the field in exhaustion. ¡°They are a secretive organization¡­ Or perhaps a terrorist organization, if you ask in some quarters. They are in conflict with a human religious order of some kind.¡± She rattled her wing covers quietly indicating her discomfort with the topic. ¡°I really need to know what I¡¯m getting myself into¡­¡± I mumbled sleepily, feeling drained by the long day and even longer night. ¡°The Tarots have done no harm to any, to my direct knowledge, though there are persistent rumors that they are at war with the temple of the Divine Light¡­¡± She shrugged, in exactly the way a human would, which was too much for me. I started laughing and couldn¡¯t stop¡­ when a jumping spider laughs, it¡¯s expressed in short, skittering hops and tiny leaps¡­ I danced my fool head off just losing it entirely, all because a mantis lady shrugged with her pointy, jagged forelimbs. ¡°Sorry, Skrithy¡­ I¡¯m cool now, I swear. What¡¯s the deal with some church butting heads with mister pale and deadly?¡± I asked, once I got my panicked giggle fit suppressed enough to speak. ¡°The complexities of human religion and theology are occult to most non-humans. Yours are a secretive and odd people, little understood, despite being among the most widely dispersed races among the cosmos.¡± She murmured softly. ¡°You are known as ¡®dead-worlders¡¯ to most species, though your kind seem to take that appellation as a deadly insult.¡± She shrugged again, which didn¡¯t break my tenuous control, this time. ¡°No one understands humans, perhaps because so few take the time to learn the languages of other races.¡± ¡°You know where there are other humans?¡± I asked a little too sharply, before remembering that I was no longer a human and would probably cause a panic wherever I appeared. ¡°Oh, yes. There are several local realms and dimensions where your people have established colonies.¡± She cooed happily. ¡°Humans have always been a special interest of mine¡­. You are always so mysterious and odd!¡± ¡°Did they pop through the void like I did?¡± I asked weakly, feeling even more exhausted by the day¡¯s ordeals. ¡°Oh heavens no, isekai are rare in any species and even more uncommon among humans, so far as we know¡­ There is little information available on your kin. They travel the realms through their own means, which are also a mystery to the other races.¡± She sighed again and settled down on the grass in front of me. ¡°We call your kind ¡®dead-worlders¡¯ simply because of your propensity for settling on worlds that lack sufficient magic for most races to thrive. It seems to be a preference among your race, rather than an aversion to magical energies.¡± She murmured contentedly, as the stars twinkled in the clear night sky so far above. ¡°So there are humans living out here in the wider universe¡­ I¡¯d like to meet them, I think.¡± I mumbled. ¡°That is entirely possible, though Arachneans cannot survive on worlds with magical fields under ¡®D¡¯ rank.¡± She replied, her own many faceted eyes gazing up at the endless starfields above us. ¡°That¡¯s tier three, as humans measure things.¡± ¡°Can you explain a little more about that? I¡¯m feeling pretty lost in general.¡± She gave me a mantis smile, which was a slow salute with her forelimbs, when I asked a question she felt prepared to answer. ¡°Every habitable realm possesses a magical field, surrounding and encompassing the entire domain. Not unlike the natural aura and Animus of a living being.¡± She cooed softly. The universe is alive, my friend¡­ every universe is alive and exists within the greater expanse of the endless and chaotic ether.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°Uh, right?¡± I muttered weakly. She sat up straight and started acting like a teacher who was really enjoying the lecture she was delivering to a particularly dim class. ¡°Think of a vast forest, if you will, through that endless expanse, countless animals and creatures fly¡­ Some are large, some small, some are weaker or stronger. They live and die, those mammals, birds, insects and far stranger things; some fade quickly, while others linger on for untold aeons.¡± She paused for a moment to let that sink in, before carrying on. ¡°So too is the greater universe, though in my metaphor, each tiny flying creature is a realm of creation, spanning an entire vast universe of its own.¡± ¡°Whoa¡­¡± I gasped through my wooden noisemaker. ¡°That¡¯s a lot.¡± ¡°Of course it is¡­ She answered smugly. ¡°Though, this is not the real universe, we are in the realm of dungeons¡­ A separate and little understood domain all its own.¡± She rattled her carapace in dissatisfaction. ¡°There are many theories regarding this realm; master Klevin is an ardent evangelist of his god, Truck-Kun. That deity¡¯s teachings and lore seem to relate to this place¡­ Though I generally find gods and religion to be unreliable in most matters of the wider ether¡±. She gave another shrug, which still tickled me, something awful. ¡°I am a simple researcher and wilderness guide, unprepared to discuss those weightier matters. Friend Klevin is a dungeon lord in his own right and priest of this local deity, Truck-Kun¡­ As such he understands much of this place¡­ The Chariot is also wise in the inner workings and hidden subtleties of this realm as well, I believe.¡± ¡°So we are in some kind of side universe full of these ¡®dungeon worlds¡¯, instead of, whatever is usually going on?¡± I was fading fast, but needed at least a little usable info to sleep on. ¡°Exactly. These are ephemeral realms, struggling to manifest into the cosmos, each one unique and often very odd indeed.¡± She murmured. ¡°Though there are so many of them, finding entry and gaining access to any particular world is often impossible, until the conditions are right. At some point, natural openings will develop in nearby compatible realms, luring in delvers and explorers. That is when a Dungeon Lord can appear.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s me, on this world?¡± I asked, half afraid of the answer. ¡°Yes. though what that means and what it entails is highly variable and deeply mysterious. Few Dungeon Lords will give interviews or discuss the actual details with outsiders. Thus the entire phenomenon is shrouded in mystery.¡± She glanced hopefully at me and clattered her wing cases. ¡°Any information you choose to share with me will be deeply appreciated.¡± ¡°Uh-huh¡­¡± I answered, rattling out a noncommittal beat on my guiro. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything yet¡­¡± ¡°That will change, friend, if you listen to Klevin and accept the Chariot¡¯s offer.¡± She opined, before unleashing a clattery insect yawn; a cricket chirp produced by stridulating her hindmost legs. ¡°I shall retire for the night¡­ I wish you well, friend Gary Ward¡­¡± In a few seconds, she had vanished into the shrubbery; headed back to the dwarven encampment, where the hunt for an ¡®A Ranked Monster¡¯ went on, since I had yet to accept the title. The golden window asking if I wished to become the Dungeon lord of this place still winked softly in the corner of my upper left eye, patiently awaiting my answer. I made my way back to my nest, hidden high on an east facing cliffside, where the morning sun would warm me first; before it could wake the rest of the valley floor. Sleep found me deep in the night, it was impossible to really say when, with no moon in the sky, just endless swirling stars that were apparently not really stars at all¡­ I had lots of things to ponder, most of them were deeply ridiculous, absurd or impossible, were I still human¡­ As exhausted as I felt, I was absolutely wired on whatever endorphin cocktail my biology liked hitting me with. Sleep was not coming soon and I really needed to keep myself busy. In idle fidgety and neurotic angst, I produced a bit of web and began weaving without a plan or even a thought about what might result. I¡¯d made quite a few refinements to my ¡®tin can on a string¡¯ listening devices over the last few days, as I tried to tap into the subtle energetic vibration I felt in my finest web constructs¡­ My latest experiments in snooping on dwarves were getting into the realm of actual magic, in a few undeniable ways. My latest version, if I hooked it directly into my main web and I held the communication strand, I could almost see the dwarf camp, as if I were in a treetop thirty yards from their wall, rather than a quarter mile away, in my nest. I derived a lot of satisfaction from the process of creating them as well, it satisfied some natural urges that my stress and frustration were triggering. I reflected idly on my latest version and considered how the sensory web worked logically. The vibrations carried along the line were so clear, it had to be supernatural, but the way that my own senses and nervous system interpreted that information¡­ That was entirely natural. My entire nervous system was wired for web input, instinctively¡­ Those vibrations were the key to a subtle and intricate sense that combined sound and vision with a delicate perception of air currents and their shifting movements. That brought old man Klevin¡¯s problem back to my mind¡­ If I could derive sensory information by interpreting those vibrations¡­ Why not try and create something for the old man in a similar vein? I got my spider-adrenaline jazzed body and mind started twitching and fidgeting productively, knitting a complex web structure that came to me as I worked, lost in a dreamlike trance of exhaustion and nervous tension. I stitched, knitted and folded my gossamer threads and slowly spun out more and more of my finest, thinnest web, tucking loops and coils through and then stewing them down into a complex, endless knotwork veil of spiderweb lace, all spun from a single, unbroken thread. I weighed the thin and delicate textile in my pedipalps and considered the thing¡­ it felt right, like somehow my thoughts and intent had manifested something in the scrap of pale silver cloth. Dawn was just peeking over the mountains, wondering if she should wake me, when I finished my project and rolled into my nest to sleep at last. / Klevin and Skree showed up just before midday, or maybe they had been waiting for a while and were too polite to mention it¡­ Either way I was still tired, cranky and stressed out when I stepped out into the sunshine, glaring at the songbirds for being so noisy. My recollection of the late night experiments I¡¯d made with my new invention were hazy, and I was in no mood to try to explain, so I kept the gauzy little scrap of cloth tucked away in my satchel while the old man lectured me. ¡°The Necromancer will show ye what things ye need tae know, when it comes tae navigating the void and such¡­ For my part, I will try as I can tae aid thee where it comes tae dealings with other mortal beings¡­ A matter he does still struggle with.¡± The old dwarf chuckled wryly. ¡°You can help me?¡± I croaked through my primitive instrument; I was beginning to dislike the sound of it intensely. That was another project to work on. ¡°Ye are an Arachnean, lad, there¡¯s no helping that.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Most races avoid them, since any world where the sentient females are found, the males will always arrive soon after¡­ Yer kind have a unique facility for void travel, even the males..¡± ¡°So male Arachneans are really just dangerous animals?¡± I asked, with a sinking feeling in my big round backside. ¡°That ye be a male will greatly increase the worries of those who are familiar with the species. In yer case, even those well acquainted with your people will most likely attack or flee at first sight of thee.¡± He sighed sadly. ¡°Those who dinnae know¡­ Well, yer a giant venomous spider, lad.¡± He grumbled. ¡°My kin are veteran delvers, well acquainted with strange beings and willing to treat fairly with any race or kith¡­ But were ye to walk up to the gate, they would fill ye with quarrels before ye could rattle yer stick in greeting.¡± ¡°Wherever I go, I will be a terrifying monster¡­ or a weirdo.¡± I rattled weakly. There be only one place where an Arachnean male with a human man¡¯s mind can fit in¡­ That be with the Tarots, lad.¡± The old dwarf shook his head sadly at me and sighed a long and gusty breath. ¡°The god of interdimensional fuckery, Truck-Kun will always see an isekai lands in a body and on a world where they have a chance tae thrive¡­ Somehow, yer soul never felt his touch, was never guided here by that benevolent god.¡± He shook his shaggy head again. ¡°I wonder¡­ I wonder if my mute octopus friend is in a similar strait¡­¡± He murmured. ¡°I will come calling, from time to time tae speak with ye, when I can, lad. I must go see my poor friend and investigate this thought.¡± I had a ton to think over as well¡­ and the mysterious Necromancer would be calling on me again after sunset, so I crawled back in my nest with a tired wave at the bug lady and the dwarf. / I awoke to the sound of rushing wings and the unmistakable vibrations of a large body landing atop the cliff I was nesting on. My supposed ¡®brother¡¯ ¡®the Necromancer¡¯ had returned, as promised. He stood once more in my clearing and once again I sensed that the being standing there was not real¡­ I could hear him move, the rustle of clothing, the pop and creak of his joints, I could even detect the air currents disturbed by his body¡¯ movements. What I didn¡¯t detect was breathing, or a heartbeat, the gurgle of a digestive tract or any other sign of life. Likewise, his body emitted no heat, no warmth at all; he wasn¡¯t even cold, just ambient temperature. ¡°Come out, Gary. You know I mean you no harm.¡± He called with my old voice. ¡°You first!¡± I rattled at him with my guiro. ¡°I think that the person I¡¯m looking at is a fake.¡± ¡°Very astute. Though I prefer to call it a ¡®Glamour Projection¡¯ rather than decrying it as fake. Think of it as a tangible illusion. I can see, hear and sense everything that my body does, so just go with it, please.¡± There was a pleading note in his/my voice, one I was disinclined to indulge. ¡°No chance. I wanna know who I¡¯m dealing with.¡± I barked, adding in a little extra percussion and a few fills at the end. ¡°Really, I¡¯m a lot to deal with¡­ It¡¯s easier this way, I promise.¡± He almost begged. ¡°It¡¯s super embarrassing¡­¡± ¡°Nope.¡± I played the denial with staccato authority and rock solid conviction, I was not going to be moved. A huge and hollow sounding sigh drifted over the clearing and forest, not a sound, but the quiet, resigned expression of a vast being¡¯s resignation to an unpleasant task. The sigh was a magical effect, no doubt about it. My fluffy, furry tufts of colorful hairs were tingling with the potency of whatever that was. ¡°Very well. I will do my best to make this easy.¡± As he spoke, he faded from view, slowly dissolving into mist and shadows. At the same time, the sound of something huge crawling over the cliff face, directly past my little nest terrified the hell out of me, since nothing at all was visible, to any of my eyes. ¡°Do you insist?¡± He asked, from the empty clearing below my cliffside web. ¡°Yes¡­¡± My answer was weak, powerful weak; I¡¯m sure it was barely audible down below. A faint shimmer fell over the clearing as a vast, pale form appeared in the dim starlight. The creature¡¯s long, serpentine neck, fierce, horned head and serpentine features were terrifying enough¡­ My brain shorted out when it stretched it¡¯s enormous bat wings of dusty leather and bones, blotting the stars out across a distressingly wide expanse of sky. A freaking skeletal dragon was coiled in my clearing, filling the place nearly to the treeline. If stretched out it would be¡­ Too damn long and too impossible. ¡°See? Totally embarrassing. I¡¯m the end boss of all edgelords.¡± He mumbled awkwardly. ¡°Shadow magic, necromancy, I¡¯m undying and regenerate at a truly astounding rate¡­ and I can breath ghost fire.¡± He reared up and spread his wings out to their full glory, casting my whole cliffside in shadow with his immensity. ¡°Ok, that¡¯s a lot to take.¡± I gasped, while my spider hindbrain was going haywire at the sight of a giant lizard with wings. Birds, bats and lizards were all notable predators of my smaller kin and some of that had stuck with me. This creature was absolutely terrifying, but I had no pants to shit and I was just about wrung dry, brain chemistry wise. So I just sat there, staring dumbly at the monster chunni who spoke with my voice. / Ch 7 Dust In The Wind Fate Deals the Cards: Part 2: The Hermit Ch 7 Dust In The Wind ¡°Skeleton dragon¡­¡± I stumbled on a few of the steps in that complex dance¡­ It had to be choreographed around two concepts that were rarely discussed in spider society. The first idea did not arise often in conversation between beings without skeletons. The Arachneans also dwelt on worlds where dragons did not exist, even in mythology. Even less frequently were the two ideas considered together, so the steps were a little experimental and avant garde. In the end, it was just a jump to the left and then a step to the right¡­ ¡°Dracolich if you must be specific¡­ Most dragon kin are touchy about the nomenclature.¡± The Necromancer muttered in a voice of hollow skulls rolling down a hill¡­ or dry, dusty skin and flesh crumbling, when first disturbed by the living after eons. ¡°I did warn you about the edgelord factor¡­¡± ¡°That¡¯s fair¡­¡± I sighed weakly, too thoroughly wrung out to even try any more. ¡°So you¡¯re a dracolich, an undead dragon wizard that can turn invisible and project illusions¡­¡± I finally grumbled, once I could stand and move properly again. ¡°I began my new life as a zombie fire newt. That¡¯s hardly more than an undead iguana that can spit sparks.¡± Necro mumbled, clearly embarrassed. ¡°I just kinda¡­¡± He shrugged, which fanned his vast, tattered wings against the starry backdrop of the sky. ¡°That¡¯s crazy¡­¡± I whispered, the movements of my dance were so subtle that I barely disturbed the grass. ¡°It is a much weirder universe than you suspect, brother.¡± Necro muttered in his creepy voice of life¡¯s endings and timeless decay. ¡°Danger and wonders await, out in the wider cosmos. Some of those dangers may come seeking you, whether you join us or not. In any case our brothers and sisters will aid you as ever we can, so long as you allow.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard things¡­ something about a conflict with some church?¡± I asked carefully. ¡°The temple of the divine light¡­¡± He sighed sadly. ¡°A cult of demon worshippers, the clerics and upper leadership are almost entirely shapeshifters, undead, demons, possessed, or otherwise no longer human.¡± He shook his enormous, reptilian skull sadly. ¡°Even more upsetting is the inescapable fact that most of the frontline soldiers and cultists honestly believe they are obeying the will of an actual god, rather than an opportunistic, disembodied, immortal asshole.¡± ¡°And you guys are at odds with them?¡± I insisted gently. ¡°The cult of light enthusiastically supports the slave trade on any number of worlds, which most of us find deeply objectionable, right out of the gate. If we look a little deeper, the cult is responsible for the deaths of more of our brothers and sisters than any other single factor across the cosmos.¡± He glared off into the sky for a moment, his dark and almost empty eye-sockets blazing with un-light and un-life in some pretty weird ways. ¡°The cult practices ritual sacrifice; to raise undead warriors and summon their demon bishops into mortal worlds.¡± He paused to let that soak in. ¡°Human sacrifice?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, not just humans, they will take any sentients for their rituals; they just prefer human virgins, especially children. We are among the best ritual sacrifice victims available in the cosmos, due to our unusual origin.¡± He remarked casually. ¡°They actively hunt us, wherever we appear, so it¡¯s less a matter of us being at war with them, than the cult wanting our sweet asses for non-consensual, eldritch butt-stuff.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± The overall quality of my contribution to the discussion was steadily falling, so I settled in for one last question. ¡°Why us?¡± ¡°I think you understand very well why, brother.¡± He mumbled in embarrassment. ¡°I really don¡¯t understand, not at all.¡± I answered weakly, as the weight of the long day wore down my ability to think clearly. ¡°We died on our world without ever¡­ you know. Then we wind up scattered around the universe, usually lost and alone in the wilderness¡­¡± He shrugged his vast wings again, obviously hoping I would be able to connect the dots. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. My blank, exhausted stare finally broke his will. ¡°We are magical beings, newly born on whatever world we arrive on, but containing a complete, adult human man¡¯s soul¡­¡± He grumbled. ¡°We make ideal sacrificial victims because we have the soul of an adult virgin, in the body of a child.¡± ¡°Virgins?¡± I asked softly, considering my dim romantic prospects, going forward. ¡°Shut up, bro.¡± Necro mumbled awkwardly. ¡°I don¡¯t even have a dick; all bones, no boner.¡± It was really weird, watching the inner, angsty and socially inept, crippled nerd emerge from behind the facade of the mighty dragon lord of the undead. ¡°Yeah, well¡­ I¡¯m not doing any better.¡± I grumbled sourly. ¡°Anyway¡­¡± Necro sighed, after a few quiet moments. ¡°Our kin are in deeply strange situations, all over the cosmos, scattered throughout all the dimensions and time as well¡­ Some need our aid, desperately. Will you come with me and consider joining our little insurgency? No commitment, no pressure, just a visit to a local dungeon world, a brief meeting with the Magician¡­¡± He paused again, considering his next words carefully. ¡°And then, if you wish, you can slip into the void and vanish forever.¡± ¡°I have nothing holding me here¡­ I do need to say goodbye to Skrithy and Klevin.¡± I sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s out there. No promises, though! I have no plans to join your private crusade.¡± ¡°I will come tomorrow night to collect you¡­¡± Necro announced, once more sounding like an intimidating being of power and influence, rather than a lonely nerd lost in a big universe. ¡°You should definitely accept the lordship of this dungeon world, if only to secure yourself a foothold here. In that case it will remain yours, should you wish to return.¡± ¡°Should I come back here?¡± I asked quietly. ¡°There aren¡¯t any people to scare¡­ I could just go full spider, I suppose.¡± ¡°Some of us do go native and disappear into the universe, leaving our old life behind¡­¡± He murmured quietly. ¡°Those who take drastically different forms like you and like me, often struggle to adapt. Just as often, society at large struggles to accept some of us, like me¡­ and like you.¡± His draconic death grimace almost seemed to smile wryly for a moment. ¡°We are both a lot to take, for most normies.¡± ¡°Yeah, I get it.¡± I sighed. ¡°Before you go¡­ could I get your opinion on something?¡± The bony ridge over his left eye-socket almost seemed to quirk in curiosity and amusement. ¡°Certainly.¡± I fumbled out my textile experiment and held the long, silvery scarf out for his inspection. ¡°I kinda made a¡­ a thing.¡± I mumbled. ¡°Interesting¡­ but not surprising.¡± He said in his low, quiet voice. Like a breeze from a ruined crypt. ¡°Many of us find that we have gifts and abilities of unusual scope or potency. This artifact is a very complex working, yet it feels organic, almost chaotic and deeply natural.¡± He peered at me from his vast and disturbingly not exactly empty eye-sockets and grinned again. ¡°This is for Klevin, the dwarf?¡± I nodded silently and waited for a few seconds, while the giant, undead lizard examined my creation. ¡°This will allow a sightless being to perceive their surroundings by sensing atmospheric disturbances and passive echolocation¡­ Those are spider abilities.¡± He finally grumbled. ¡°You made this in the woods, in the last couple days?¡± I nodded again and remained silent, mostly because I was too tired to dance another word. ¡°Bro, you are going to fit right in.¡± Necro rumbled, as he took flight. ¡°See you tomorrow night.¡± Alone again, I stumbled up the cliff to my nest and settled in to rest for what remained of the night, though sleep eluded me until dawn. Once again, the mantis came calling, without Klevin. Skrithy picked up on my question before I could even muster the energy to ask. ¡°Master Klevin has gone back to the Swarm Dungeon, to assist his friend there; since he is unable to translate for you¡­ He sends his regrets.¡± ¡°I wanted to thank him for trying¡­ Could you arrange for him to receive a gift?¡± I held out the sash, neatly folded and tied in a sassy little bow. ¡°It will give him a limited form of sight, if he wears it over his eyes.¡± ¡°A splendid gift. His nephew is an Adventurer in the dwarven party, I will see that master Klevin receives it.¡± She muttered, taking the cloth and tucking it away. ¡°I take it you will be accepting the necromancer¡¯s offer?¡± ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s taking me off world tonight. I¡¯m supposed to meet ¡®The Magician¡¯ somewhere.¡± I grumbled. The whole thing sounded crazy, when said out loud¡­ But I wasn¡¯t saying it aloud, I was dancing my worries, cause I was a giant freaking spider¡­ ¡°The Magician is the rumoured leader of the Tarots¡­ None outside the core membership have ever seen him or her.¡± She gasped excitedly. ¡°There is much speculation but there are no actual facts relating to whatever entity leads the Tarots¡­ they refuse to even acknowledge that such an entity exists in most cases.¡± She preened her wings for a moment, a gesture of embarrassed and awkward nervousness. ¡°Those denials are why we are certain that the being exists¡­ Most of the Tarots are truly awful liars, it¡¯s one of their defining traits.¡± ¡°Uh huh¡­ And what are the other ¡®defining traits¡¯?¡± I asked, just a little tartly. She preened her wings again and did a shifty, shuffling dance that suggested she would rather not answer. I kept staring at her two big, jeweled eyes with my eight dark orbs, until she broke under my gaze. ¡°Madness, my friend¡­ Most sentients find the Tarots to all be at least a little deranged, even by the loose standards of isekai in general and humans in particular¡­ They are deeply strange.¡± She stopped moving after the last word, holding stock still, as her kind do when desperately uncomfortable or frightened. ¡°Yeah, I get that¡­¡± I sighed finally, drawing a sigh of relief from my nervous mantis friend. ¡°Whatever comes next, I owe you Skrithy¡­ You¡¯ll get your interview, I promise.¡± I waved goodbye, as I climbed back to my nest for a nap. I had another busy night in front of me and a few minor tasks to finish. Congratulations, you are now the Dungeon Lord of this proto dungeon world! Please designate a name and general theme for your dungeon. With more than a little grim humour I entered in the name of my new dungeon world: Arachnophobia, the Dungeon of Spiders, has been accepted. All non native sapient beings will be notified of your ascension and will be offered escape from Arachnophobia immediately. Commence random monster spawns? Yes/No? I selected ¡®Yes¡¯ and set a delay timer on the monster spawns for three days. A moment later, the announcement message went out to every sentient on the planet, warning them that their hunts were over. *Attention!* The Dungeon World Arachnophobia has selected its first lord. All non-native sentients must evacuate immediately, or perish. *Attention!*