Dungeons Are Bad Business

“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s not a proper spectatin’ experience without peanuts, that’s all. Roasted, boiled, whatever. I’m not picky. Any kind will do.”

Cornelius leaned back against the bench behind him and looked over at his friend Roger, who had returned to the lack of peanuts for the third time that morning and held up his hand.

“Enough about the snacks. We heard you the first two times today,” he said. “And all the times yesterday and the day before it too. I’m sure that if you mention it to [Dungeon Master] Vales he’ll take care of it. He’s a good kid, he’ll listen to you.”

Roger snorted. “An’ how am I ‘sposed to do that? Find out where he lives and wait outside his door with my hat in my hands?”

“Why do you always gotta be so darn dramatic?” Cornelius’ wife Cheryl said. “Crestheart has an office right there in Westown next to the dungeon. It’s right there in the open. You could just go there like a normal person during regular hours. Or if you don’t want to do that, I’m sure you could leave a note at the adventurer’s guild and ask them to pass it to Mister Vales.”

Roger huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling something Cornelius didn’t hear. That was probably for the best; there was an interesting run on and Cornelius didn’t much feel like Having Words with his friend just then.

Turning his attention back to the projection down in the center of the spectator arena, Cornelius watched a young salamander with some sort of weird poleaxe weapon swing wildly at a trio of floating helmets that dropped onto him from the ceiling like bats. The kid had heart, but he didn’t have much in the way of technique and it was the latter that tended to determine whether or not a run was successful.

Deciding that the run was over when a skeleton lancer popped from one of the walls and knocked the adventurer down, Cornelius turned away from the display and rubbed his eyes. Something about the crystal projection didn’t agree with him, and he made a mental note to suggest that Mister Vales find an alternative once this circuit was done. He wasn’t the only one who’d had issues, and while they were minor it would be better to get them taken care of sooner rather than later.

When his eyes felt a bit better, he cast his gaze over the rest of the spectator’s area. Much like the rest of the circuit, most of the benches were empty, though Cornelius believed that had more to do with how few people knew that spectating dungeon runs was something they could do than any shortcoming of the area itself.

Although, with that said, there was definitely plenty of room for the spectator’s area to be improved. The benches were serviceable, but were roughly hewn and lacked any sort of proper padding: definitely not comfortable enough to watch runs for hours. No posters or tapestries or other hanging decorations covered the walls, and if not for the hastily painted sign that proclaimed this the spectator arena for Crestheart it would have been completely indiscernible from any other abandoned lot in the city.

That was disappointing; a dungeon needed to advertise its heroes and villains. Whether that was their [Dungeon Champion], local adventurers, or even the [Dungeon Master] themself, people needed someone to anchor their hopes, dreams, and animosities onto.

Making the situation worse was the fact that there weren’t any proper refreshments either: a good dungeon sports spectator arena would have at least two separate spots for people to get a bite to eat or something to drink, and probably a merchandise area too. Those would probably help with the fact that the space felt so big and empty, and maybe give a reason for people to come in the first place. Sometimes arena food was what the stomach wanted.

“Look at the couple over there,” Cheryl said, gently nudging Cornelius in the ribs and gesturing at a pair of teenagers over on the far bench. “They’re so shy around each other, smiling and giggling like idiots. Were we ever that young?”

“Of course,” Cornelius said with a laugh, reaching out and wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist and giving her an affectionate peck on the cheek. The years had been kinder to her than they had to him: her once-golden hair was mostly silver now and tiny laugh lines were permanently etched into her skin near her eyes.

Thankfully her smile was just as bright and beautiful as it’d been the day he’d first asked her on a date, and Chester got a good look at it as he leaned forward to whisper, “But we were much better looking. Still are.”

The musical sound of his wife’s laughter filled the air. “Cornelius Boll, you’re still one of the most shameless liars I ever met.”

Just then, a cold breeze blew by and chilled the top of Cornelius’ bald head. He looked up and scowled at the clouds above, though he was grateful that they didn’t look particularly ominous. That was another thing the spectator area needed, he decided: something to keep the weather at bay. He didn’t much fancy the idea of sitting out in the rain or sun without some more coverage and added that to his list of things to suggest when he next saw Mister Vales.

Still, it wasn’t like things were all bad. It was nice and quiet in the arena, which made it easy to hear the dungeon’s [Announcer] and its champion during runs. That wasn’t always for the best, since both needed to work on their banter skills, but Cornelius wasn’t worried about that particular shortcoming. Both [Announcer] and [Dungeon Champion] would get better at it with more time and experience. Developing the art of witty words was a perpetual work in progress.

Beyond that, Cornelius was pleased that no fiends or ghosts had rattled the nearby fence or caused any issues. He’d always thought that his fellow citizens of Oar’s Crest were overly sensitive about the denizens of the old city, but it was good to have some solid evidence that going “beyond the wall”, so to speak, wouldn’t lead to immediate problems or danger. He’d have to tell the other members of the basilisk club and see if he could convince some of the guys there to come watch some runs. They didn’t usually have much else going on.

A group of kids and their parents walked in, sitting down a few rows behind Cornelius and his friends. The moms reached into their bags and brought out bags of snacks – smart thinking, Cornelius thought, his stomach rumbling – and the old man nodded at the nearest dad.

“First time watching dungeon sports live?”

The younger man, broad-shouldered and curly haired, nodded. “My wife thought it’d be fun for the kids, and I heard that some of the matches have been great.”

“Dungeon sports are great family fun,” Cornelius said. “There’s always something exciting to look at and lots of excitement.”

The conversation shifted from there, drifting to other mundane pleasantries and talking about the runs as they happened. It warmed Cornelius’ heart when the kids cheered for an adventurer, though he inwardly regretted his ‘great family fun’ comment when the sight of Crestheart’s skeleton lancers prompted multiple terrified shrieks and sobs.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Cornelius looked over and met the dad’s raised eyebrow with a sheepish chuckle.

“You know, when I was their age my dad took me to visit a blight beast circus. Right before they all became Contagious.”

A few hours later, the last of the day’s – and the circuit’s – runs came to a close and Cornelius slowly got to his feet. His back ached and he was hungry, but he stayed for a few minutes to talk to some of the other spectators. The parents with the kids had left shortly after the skeleton lancer incident, and the stands were almost completely empty.

Amongst those remaining, the mood was happy and spirits were high. Most people Cornelius talked to expressed an interest in coming back on a somewhat regular basis for viewing parties. There were talks of potlucks and snack schedules, hopes for improvements and discussion of the some of the best runs, and with each eager face he looked at Cornelius found himself excited for the future. He could use some of his [Community Organizer] skills that'd grown rusty in recent years.

It’d take some work, but he was confident that a community of dungeon sport fans could build something special here.

Before he could celebrate too much though, a strong metallic hand touched Cornelius on the shoulder, causing the old man to nearly jump out of his skin.

“What the–?”

He spun around as fast as his aching hips would allow and found himself staring up into the steady gaze of a mud-covered armorsoul he didn’t recognize.

“Pardon me,” she said in a cold, heavy voice. “But you strike me as a man who knows what’s going on. Everyone is leaving. Does that mean this damnable dungeon circuit is finally finished?”

“Sure is,” Cornelius said, wrenching himself free from the armorsoul’s grip. “Well, at least Crestheart is. The last few runs weren’t so great, but man that [Thunderlord] was something special, wasn’t he?”

The armorsoul shrugged. “I have no interest in such things, but my lady wanted to know. Thank you for your time.”

She turned and left, her footsteps oddly quiet for someone as big as she was.

Cornelius watched her walk over to a finely dressed woman sitting in front of an easel. She was drawing or painting something – her tools changed every few strokes – and Cornelius watched the armorsoul bow down next to her.

He couldn’t hear what was said, but its effect was obvious. Moving with a speed and enthusiasm that was, frankly, a little disturbing, the woman slammed her art supplies into the large bag near her feet and scooped the canvas under her arm. The easel she’d been painting on was broken down with incredible efficiency by the armorsoul, and as the pair left Cornelius heard the woman talking.

“Finally! Finally I can go see my baby boy!”

Cornelius shook his head and left the arena, his arm around Cheryl’s shoulders.

Dungeon sports attracted all kinds.

Cornelius' Character Sheet:

Cornelius Boll:

Primary Class: Retired Lumberjack (Hector Enervan), Level 30

Secondary Class: Community Organizer (Basilisk Club, Oar’s Crest Branch), Level 20

Tertiary Class: Retired Laborer (Self), Level 16

Additional Class: Loving Husband (Cheryl Boll), Level 15

Might: 45

Wit: 41

Faith: 60

Ambition: 16

Caution: 28

Patience: 33

Passion: 35

Wistfulness: 26

Dedication: 30

Organized Mind: 21 (Affected by Forgetfulness)