“Before we go,” Dakkon met with each of his party member’s eyes in turn, “if we come across one or two goatmen, we’ve got to engage and kill them as silently as possible. If you’ve got the choice between blocking an attack or covering the goat’s mouth with your arm, cover their mouth. The last thing we want is to bring that whole war band, or more, running back to us.” The silence and unease that followed served as indication that the severity of the situation was understood.
Dakkon crept into the next room. He paused to scan the cracks and crevices, searching for enemies, but aside from piles of rubble and two massive stone columns towards the center, the room was clear. As the party approached behind him, he finally took in the magnificence of the area. It was a massive hall around 20 meters from floor to ceiling. Four pairs of horse-sized iron braziers illuminated the crumbling stonework that filled the area. Ancient, battered statues littered the place, their features wrecked, no doubt, by the vandalization of irreverent goatmen. The walls were lined with cloth tapestries so old they had mostly disintegrated; their colors indistinguishable. Mina gasped sharply upon seeing the hall, then was told off with a glare and disapproving shake of Melee’s head. Before they looked around, they’d have to deal with any squatters.
After only a few steps into the large hallway, a message appeared for Dakkon.
[You have entered a dungeon: Lost Temple of Arstak.]
[Your group is the first to discover: Lost Temple of Arstak.]
[Experience gain is doubled within this dungeon for 24 hours.]
[The chance of finding rare loot is doubled within this dungeon for 24 hours.]
[This area may be reclaimed for the followers of Arstak.]
“Arstak?” Melee said aloud in wide-eyed surprise before covering her mouth.
“Who’s that?” Dakkon asked in a whisper.
“The god of luck, good and bad,” Mina said in a volume matching Dakkon’s. “He’s something like a trickster god.”
“He’s a popular reference for players on the forums,” added Cline. “People call him ‘RNG God.’ They curse or praise him when something goes very wrong or very right for them.” Dakkon had read the phrase before, many times in fact, but didn’t think there was anything deeper to it than asininity for its own sake.
“I haven’t ever heard of any temples for Arstak,” Mina said. “As far as I know, there aren’t any orders or sects that openly follow him.”
“We’ll give it a thorough combing through after we’re done. We might be able to find some pretty valuable stuff in here,” suggested Dakkon.
The group’s mood seemed to improve considerably, except for Cline who looked as though he might take off in full flight as soon as the situation deteriorated. Even if they failed, they had uncovered an interesting location and stumbled upon the rare opportunity to explore a dungeon with doubled EXP and drop rates, providing they didn’t die in the first few encounters. As the group stepped around a large stone pillar, Dakkon nearly kicked a goatman who lay asleep on its back, clutching a partially-drained bottle. Dakkon spread his arms, cautioning the others to not step around the pole and dropped to one knee while drawing out his dark dagger. With one hand, he reached out and clasped down firmly on the creature’s mouth, using its snout and billy goat beard to bind it. Dakkon’s other hand thrust down twice into the beast’s chest as it stirred then stilled.
[You have sneak attacked a trest for 582 damage. Trest has been slain.]
The second strike was unnecessary. The sneak attack’s extra damage was certainly overkill. Dakkon had hoped to find out whether a single swipe from his dagger would be enough to kill the monsters, but the only useful information gleaned was what the monsters were called—trests.
[You have gained 900 experience! EXP until next level 1,540/3,330]
Dakkon and the rest of his party members stared at the message, frozen.
“I just got 720 experience from that,” Melee said. The others nodded. Dakkon gained more experience than the rest of the party as usual, but nowhere near the same, three-times, ratio as before.
“Well, what’s the goat got?” Cline asked impatiently. The sleeping trest had by his side a bone cudgel which, upon further inspection, seemed to be intended to strike a large metal plate that was hanging beside where the creature slept.
“If that goat had been awake, we would be screwed,” Roth noticed aloud. “We got lucky. Perhaps Arstak wants these guys out of his temple as much as anyone.” He bent down and picked up the bone cudgel.
|Name: Reinforced Femur
|Item Type: Weapon - Crushing
|Durability: 28/38
|Damage: 25
|Attributes: +5 Intimidation
|Description: The cudgel is made of human bone that has been reinforced through heating layers of paste, leaving a leaf’s vein pattern along the entirety of its shaft. Bone is a brittle material and cannot easily be repaired. Note: Showing this item to others may result in a lowering of the player’s standing.
“This thing does nearly twice as much damage as my current weapon,” Roth said with some surprise.
“Well, I don’t want it,” Mina looked a bit disgusted by the idea of holding something so grim.
“I doubt Dakkon or Melee are interested. Cline, do you mind if I take the cudgel?” asked Roth.
“Go ahead,” Cline responded. “I’ll soon be too busy with my new bow to care about some club. Just don’t take it out in town and get us chased off or strung up.”
With a nod from Roth, he put his old wooden club into his bag. Melee dragged the body of the goat around to the front side of the large pillar, and faced it downwards to cover the stab wounds. The act of sliding left the goat with an outstretched arm and, as something of an afterthought, Cline placed the bottle it had been clutching near its hand. The party continued forwards at a snail’s pace behind Dakkon, who crept his way toward one of six darker and unexplored passageways that led away from the large, central hall. Taking care not to step on anything, the group walked into and within the tunnel, single file, and hugging close to the right-hand wall. As they walked, the passage wound slightly to the left and downwards.
A light shone out from the bottom, marking the end of the tunnel, about 40 meters onwards. The distinct sounds of herded animals, bleating laughter, and a woman sobbing could be heard, but only faintly. Careful not to make any noise despite their urge to aid the woman, they moved along sure of foot. The noises grew louder as they approached and Dakkon, raising his hand to halt the progress of his group, dropped down to a crouch supported by his hands and peeked into the room. Deer, sheep, and a single horse were enclosed in a shoddily constructed pen made of wood tied to bone. One goatman knelt, prodding at a fire fed by white wood which appeared to produce no smoke when burned. Three other goatmen, seated on uneven crates, took their enjoyment from throwing carefully selected specimens from a pile of small stones at the girl who Cline and Dakkon had seen dragged away by the trest raid party.
Sure that there were no other goatmen in the area, Dakkon returned to a proximity of his group suitable for whispering. “There are four. Three are at the far end of the small room with their backs turned to us, facing towards the girl—she seems ok for now. The other one is closer with its back half turned. It’s working on a fire, but there’s still a good chance it will see any of us who come into the room.”
“Do you think you can take out the one at the fire by yourself?” Mina asked, apprehensive.