Dungeon of Doors

~ Vivian, Woodrin's Antechamber ~

I double check that I've got everything in my satchel. Coins of every type the adventurers have shown a liking to—copper, silver, and gold. I've brought a couple healing potions and a dagger just in case I need to defend myself from some unsavory characters. Sure, I've got all kinds of magic ways to stop an attacker, but I'd prefer not to blow my cover while I'm on my little trip.

Maybe all of this preparation and psyching myself up will be for nothing. Last time I tried to step out of my dungeon I nearly had a mental breakdown. If that starts to happen I'll have to cancel this outing. If I don't have the same reaction as last time, well then I'll be seeing the outside world through my own eyes for the first time.

This shouldn't take too long. I only plan to leave for a day or so to get a feel for how it is to be a human in this world I've only seen through the lens of a dungeon. I take a deep breath, adjust the hood of my cloak, and walk out of Woodrin's antechamber.

The pain I experienced on my first day doesn't hit me as I step through the threshold. No alien sensations fill my mind nor body as I look around.

I'm met with the sight of an array of tables and chairs, arranged as though this was some kind of meeting place. Only one man is present currently. He's sipping some kind of drink from a wooden flagon. I find myself feeling a strange, finally meeting a person face to face. Another human being.

He hears me approach. The boots I've given myself click softly over the stone as I walk toward him. My usual amulet isn't around my neck, so I don't have all the showy enhancements I normally do when speaking to someone. The man turns to look at me with a raised brow.

"Where's your party, girl?"

I blink, surprised by his dismissive tone. He's not even questioning why I came out of the dungeon alone. Maybe he doesn't know the faces of those who enter the dungeon?

"They're gone, Sir. Crushed by a treant."

"Hm. You're taking it awfully well."

Am I not acting well enough? I suppose I should sound more distraught, but I'm not used to having to trick people. Most of my creations go along with whatever I say to them. I avert my eyes from his and do my best to make my voice waver slightly.

"I don't have time to cry, Sir."

"Quit calling me sir, lass. I ain't your father."

"Sorry?"

"Just go back home."

I don't argue with him. I scurry past him, a strange feeling of excitement swelling in my chest as I realize I look exactly like an ordinary person to him. He mumbles something about youth throwing their life away as I climb the stairs out of the spacious cellar.

The hallway I emerge into is rather plain. There are two doors, one locked tight, and the other leading outside. The scent of filth mingles with the faint aroma of the forest as I step outside into an alleyway. Bits of trash litter the corners, a wooden bin of garbage obscures the door from the main road.

I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I step around the bin and out into the street. There are people here! Men and women, mostly older adults, walk along the street minding their own business. Some greet one another as they pass those they know. A woman carrying a basket of goods in her arms catches my eye. She's got a baby swaddled against her back and a look of focus on her face.

There's a man in familiar armor walking along the street in my direction. I recognize it as the garb of a Daywark soldier, the very same I've seen on many men I've indirectly killed in my dungeon. It feels surreal seeing a soldier up close and alive like this. He doesn't give me more than a glance.

A grumbling from my stomach distracts me from my people watching. I didn't eat anything before leaving intentionally, as I want to experience as much of human life as I can while I'm outside. What better way to mingle with regular people than to eat a meal among them?

I start walking down the street with my eyes peeled for any sign of an eatery.

Delicious scents waft out from a particular building marked by a sign inscribed with a tankard of ale. I follow my nose to the building and push open the door, stepping inside with a pleased smile spread across my face. My smile drops when I take in the sight of the building's interior.

It is a crowded tavern, patrons seated at an array of tables and at a bar near to the door. Most of them are men of varying ages with a very scarce few women in close knit groups that give off a hostile aura. The bartender gives me a narrow eyed look as I calmly approach him. The way some of the patrons glance at me makes my nerves feel taut with anxiety.

The bartender looks to me with an air of suspicion as I step up. I lean slightly forward over the bar and speak to him with my best assertive tone.

"I'd like a meal, and some water."

He snorts, looking me up and down.

"Three coppers."

"Sure."

I hear a few noises of surprise from elsewhere in the room. I pay the sounds no mind as I pass the man several coppers, not at all surprised by the pricing of the meal. I've been handing out enough money to feed oneself for a few months, apparently.

The bartender pockets the coins with a derisive snort before turning away. I look for a table and find there's only one without anyone seated at it. Near the very back of the tavern is a shoddy looking half sized table with less seating than the average table. I approach it with measured steps and take the cleanest looking of the seats.

It doesn't take long for a waitress to approach with a plate of food. She gives me a raised eyebrow as she slides the meal in front of me.

"You ain't from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm a traveler. How could you tell?"

"It is obvious. Most people don't act like some kind of stuffy noble, you know."

Have I been acting strange? Doubt squirms in my belly as I scan those around me for any sign of distaste. Several sets of eyes are looking at me with only thinly disguised suspicion and greed. Maybe its because I haven't been living among these people, but I really don't carry myself like they do. Even my seating posture is a lot different.

The waitress walks off with a barely suppressed sigh at my lack of social awareness. I try to enjoy my food despite being so out of place, and it is decent. There's a heap of mashed potato, some kind of red meat likely sourced from the local woods, and some greens I don't recognize. It all tastes surprisingly good—even the unknown veggies. I wash it down with a few gulps of water.

When I'm finished with my meal I feel a pang of loneliness. If I had friends with me I would be chatting away with them, commenting on every little thing that fascinated me. But I am unfortunately quite alone. There's no one I can bring out of my dungeon with me to the surface without blowing my cover. So I must do this all by my lonesome.

I leave the tavern behind with my head bowed low. The streets feel a little less friendly now, as if there are eyes following me when I'm not looking. I continue exploring with my hand clenched into a fist at my side. Eventually I feel goosebumps rising on the backs of my arms.

This is a dead end. The narrow street I was following has become just barely larger than an alleyway, and there's nothing here but locked homes. I turn around to face a trio of men who look alarmingly suspicious. None of them look like locals, each one has startlingly pale skin and blonde hair that stands out from the drabber mixture of colors most people in this city wear.

"You're a long way from home, little girl."

The one who spoke has a slight accent I can't place. He flexes his hand in front of himself, showing off a primitive set of brass knuckles. The shiny silvery metal glints in the sunlight as he grins at me like a shark. I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out my dagger in hopes of fighting off these hooligans.

"Even if you beat me at least two of you are losing your manhood."

My threat gets a barking laugh out of the man in front. He shakes his head at me as the two behind him glare at me. Each of his underlings pulls out a club outfitted with little metal studs. It looks like some kind of torture implement rather than a weapon.

"Your ass isn't gonna like what you get if you stick that knife where you shouldn't, whore."

My blood runs cold as I hear his threat. This isn't really important—I can warp away if I just fish my amulet out of my pocket, but something about this situation makes me not want to flee. I want to teach these bastards a lesson.

The one in front starts walking calmly toward me with his arms held at the ready. I can tell by his stance he knows his way around a fight. I swallow my fear, knowing my lack of experience is going to be a problem. His two buddies come in slower to block my exit without pressing into fighting distance.

I let him make the first move. He swings toward me with his brass knuckle clad fist, but something is wrong. I don't react to the blow and instead angle my dagger toward his off hand. At the last second he switches his hands around and swings with his unequipped hand!

My blade is ready, and strike out horizontally against his hand. It cuts along his knuckles and the back of his hand. I step backwards to get out of his range as his fist carries forward. He glares at me as blood drips from the cut I put on him.

"Fucking skank…"

No warning is given as he lunges at me again. His legs piston himself forward with scary fast speed, and I'm shocked when the metal weapon on his fist is approaching my face faster than I can react to. The impact leaves me dazed, warmth dripping from my nose as I feel a numbness spread throughout my face. I'm still holding my weapon, but the man is approaching me without letting me recover.

He's frightening this close. I hadn't noticed how much larger he was until now. If only I was in my dungeon, then he would be nothing more than an ant beneath my boot!

I bite my lip and force myself to stab upwards with my dagger. The strike takes him off guard, but he's fast, and I can't drive my knife beyond a centimeter or two into his side. He grits his teeth and pushes me back against the brick wall.

Bitter anger pools in my stomach as I use my free hand to fish into my pocket for my amulet.

He notices me reaching and grabs my wrist, wrenching my arm back until I let out a cry of pain.

This can't be happening. I'm the ruler of a dungeon! This stupid-

"Hey! The hell are you out of towners doing?!"

I hear a vaguely familiar voice from somewhere past the man and his two cronies. Shortly after those words are spoken I hear a whistling noise, and an arrow buries itself in the brass knuckle bearing man's calf. He lets out a roar of anger and I smile.

It seems Andy woke up.