“This has got to be the worst disaster the Dark Lord’s domain has seen since…” Stormbristle trailed off, desperately thinking.

  “The Constantine kerfuffle.” Kip filled Stormbristle’s pause.

  “I was going to say the Van Helsing incident.”

  “Oh lord, don’t say that.” Kip shook his head anxiously as he jittered in his chair, “We have to do something. I have to do something.”

  “An abduction. Cruel. And they said they might eat him. One can only imagine. What on Earth was he even doing up on the fourth floor?”

  “The Duergar had built a hot tub. Gods was I stupid.”

  “A hot tub?” Stormbristle guffawed.

  “Did I hear hot tub?? We going after this? I’ll bring the brews.” Zeke gargled from his lying position behind Kip and Stormbristle.

  Kip had his head in his hands. He was waiting outside of the infirmary in the Underdark. A Duergar nurse tended to Zeke’s wounds. They had used an ample amount of sedation on him; somewhere between: enough to kill an elephant but not enough to make an introverted ancient dragon feel welcome at a party where they didn’t know anyone.

  “My mom birthed me in a hot tub. Told me I was the first hot tub baby the clan of minotaur had ever seen. She thought I’d come out with gills.”

  “Rest, Zeke,” Kip said, patting the big guy. “We’re getting a magic user here as quickly as possible but for now, you need rest.”

  “You’re the best, Kip,” Zeke said, “The old dark lord was cool, but you think he had time to chill with me and talk grenades? Naw. Too busy defending against the light-siders.” Zeke closed his eyes, reached his large hands and patted around until he found Kip’s back, and gave him a small pat, “Love you, buddy.”

  “Love you too, Zeke,” Kip said.

  Kip heard a ding. So did Zeke. Zeke’s eyes opened to his screen in front of him, “Ooh, new level! It’s been a while. Hmmm… Yeah, I just choose bigger horns every time.”

  He clicked on the option for horns and they grew ever so slightly. Kip had leveled up as well. He looked over his choices, but he waved his hand and closed his screen, unable to consider the options while consumed by anxiety.

  “We have to save Sal.” Kip said, “I have to. But… They were so strong. So, so strong. They nearly killed Zeke. They would have killed me if they thought of me as a threat. Sal was smart to keep running away. I don’t know how but… we can’t just let them take Sal.” Kip said.

  “Remember your place, my boy,” Stormbristle gently chided, “You’re the Dark Lord. We have no mob boss for the labyrinth. That’s a vital pinch point for intruders. If that’s wide open too many may pour into the lower floors.”

  “I know.” Kip said.

  “And mind you, Davorin left. No Floor Lord and no final boss? It leaves us vulnerable.”

  “I knowww,” Kip groaned through his mask of hands.

  “The labyrinth level doesn’t have a Floor Lord. You will need to stay here to interview a new mob boss for the Merciless Maze.

  Kip tossed his hands up in the air. Without having to say it, Kip knew. He leaned backward on his chair, feeling his scaly back press against Zeke’s hairy arm. He nuzzled his back into it and let out a deep sigh.

  “We have to save Sal. It’s not right what they plan to do to him. You should have heard him! ‘A delicacy’ they said!” Kip thought about Casios’ smug expression. The way he was able to climb walls exactly like Casios.

  “How was he able to learn Sal’s moves so quickly?” Kip asked.

  “It’s probably his boon.” Stormbristle looked at Kip’s confused face, “You haven’t seen enough combat, my boy. You’re still so new to this. Some invaders are rewarded with a power if they accomplish some task from a higher entity. Not dissimilar to our system. His boon was likely that he could copy a monster’s ability if he… I don't know, touched him, or took a bath with him.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kip scoffed, “yes, I suppose that would be rather specific. So they have a system. Same as us. That’s good to know, I suppose. And these heroes will get these boons through a task?”

  “They’re given arduous missions to choose from and are rewarded. After a certain amount of levels, they could try for another. For something like his copy, maybe he was asked to slay fifty mimics or eat a changeling’s heart raw.”

  “Eat a changeling’s heart?!” Kip blustered, “I know they’re not the best dinner conversation but eating a heart feels a bit stark. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Either way, as we encounter more intruders you’ll have to be down there, fighting them”

  “ME?!” Kip asked.

  “Yes, Dark Lord Kip,” Stormbristle said almost playfully, “You need to keep increasing your level. You’re what the people face at the end of the dungeon. And you’re still not even level 5.”

  Kip let out a monumental breath of air, “I have to stay here. It is as you said, there is work to be done.”

  “Aye,” Stormbristle the clouds around his neck swirled as he nodded vigorously.

  “But… we can’t abandon Sal. I should have made the Duergar dismantle that stupid hot tub.”

  “You're the leader. You need to delegate.”

  Kip let out another groan, Stormbristle let out knowing hum, and Zeke let out a long and troublesome snore.

  “Okay. They couldn’t have gone too far, right? A returnstone has a range of.. What? A couple of miles? They might even be at the edge of the Fierce Forest. If so, they’ll likely go to the nearest town. They couldn’t hold onto Sal for long, what with his fire abilities. We can catch up to them.”

  “I’ll put together a list of people I think would be brilliant.”

  “Pleeaasssssse. Allow me.” A withering whisper came from behind Kip and Stormbristle’s shoulder. They both looked and saw, appearing from the shadows, a snake with a mitre on his head and a cloak that somehow stayed around the snake’s neck, “Dear, Dark Lord,”

  “Uhm,” Kip said, “Who might you be?”

  The snake said, “Allow me to introduccccce myself. I am Jasssper. I was the Dark Lord’s advisor.”

  "The Dark Lord’s advisor?” Kip asked.

  “Yesssss sire. And as you’re the Dark Lord, I am your advisor as well. It would be my ssssacred duty.”

  Stormbristle and Kip exchanged glances. Kip said, “Perfect! Best idea wins, as they say. I’d love to see both of your lists. Can I get them by the end of today?”

  “Of course, My boy,” Stormbristle said.

  Jasper merely bowed his head and said, “Assss you wish, sire.” And slithered backward into the shadows.

  Kip watched him go and then turned around and said, “Have you ever heard of him before?”

  “I have. Total oddball. Absolute weirdo. No one likes him. Not even the Dark Lord.”

  “Do you think he can hear us?” Kip asked.

  “I don’t care if he can. He’s a freak.”

  A broom that was in the next room fell over, and Kip saw through the doorway that Jasper kept slithering away. Kip was positive Jasper heard Stormbristle.

  “Try not to be so hard on him,” Kip said, “Maybe he’ll have some good ideas.”

  Kip sat in the Dark Lord’s study while he read the two lists provided by both Stormbristle and Jasper. It was a macabre room filled with trinkets and spoils of war. There were strange skulls from creatures great and small and odd. Under each trophy would be their name and cause of death. Kip had not had any time to move his things in, so he sat in an imposing chair that was much too big for him as he glanced over the two lists.

  “Some… very interesting names here, Jasper,” Kip said.

  “It’s Jasssper.” Jasssper restated.

  “Sorry, Jasssper,” Kip said.

  “Really put the lilt behind it.” Jasssper insisted.

  “It kind of feels like I’m doing your accent and that doesn’t feel right.”

  “Go on, I won’t mind.”

  Kip took on a more snakey affectation, “Jassssper.”

  Jasssper used his tail to wipe away his wetted eyes and held firm his smile.

  “I overdid the accent, didn’t I?” Kip asked.

  “It’s fine, sire. I shouldn’t have assssked you to do it.”

  “Really sorry. Buggered it.” Kip looked over these lists, “Stormbristle… I really like some of the names you put together. These are smart strong choices, mostly stealth-focused. Collected from all parts of the dungeon… and so because they’re spread out, they won’t cause that much of a stir if they’re missed.”

  “Thank you, my boy,” Stormrbistle brimmed at the compliment.

  “And my lissst, sire?” Jasssper crooned.

  “I… yes.” Kip looked it over again, “Very interesting. Mostly castlefolk… which is where you live. Uhm, Jasper, are these your… political enemies?”

  “Whatever do you mean, sire?” Jasper asked.

  “Uhm… Some of these names are bolded. And next to them are… seems to be reasons you don’t like them.”

  “I assure you I only had the mission in mind when I wrote the lisst, sire.”

  “You wrote Davorin and he’s not even here. Under his name you wrote ‘Stole my fruit.’ and ‘stinky.’”

  “His ability to steal fruits from unsuspecting snakes would make him an excellent stealth add, would it not?”

  “Chess piece: bishop,” Kip continued, “‘Forgot my birthday.’”

  “His lack of memory retention means if he gets caught he would not reveal sssensitive information.”

  “Stormbristle, you’re on here too.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. And… what does it mean, Jasssper, that his name is in red and underlined three times?”

  “It means I think he will make an excellent addition.”

  “What did he write under my name?”

  Kip muttered, “Just says ‘fat.’”

  “WHERE IS MY BOY?!”

  “Who was that?” Stormbristle asked.

  “Where is my boy?” The air suddenly felt very hot. The room, dry. Kip tried to take a sip of water to quench his parched throat but as he poured the water, it turned to steam.

  “What’s happening?” Kip asked. The door slammed open. A man, red like a lobster, with a goatee, goat horns, and a pitch fork walked in.

  “I said… where is my BOY?”

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