Eisinder the Frozen Flame
Eisinder’s Game
By Geoff Bottone
The Red Dragon Inn 10 Kickstarter is live!
“C’mon Daiskos! You got this!” shouted one of the sailor’s friends from the back of the bar.
In response, Eisinder grinned, an expression that gave Daiskos a very good look at her pointy teeth. She sent twin jets of frosted air out of her nostrils to further punctuate the effect, smiling even wider as Daiskos’ eyes became very round.
She had thrown him off his game for only a moment, but it was long enough for her to regain her lost advantage. Her scaled skin rippled as the muscles of her forearm flexed. Slowly, inexorably, she lifted her wrist away from the table. Daiskos fumed, sweated, pushed with all his might, but he could not keep her down.
By the time she had brought her wrist back up to the neutral position, it was all but over. The fire had left Daiskos’ eyes and his strength had failed him. He struggled valiantly, fighting a losing battle, but it wasn’t long before his wrist touched down on the sticky high top table.
“Damn it!” he shouted, slamming the fist of his other hand onto the table.
As the exhausted sailor stomped off into the crowd, massaging his overworked arm, Eisinder reveled in the boos of his supporters and the cheers of her fans. These were punctuated by the clinks of coins rattling down onto the tabletop.
She spent a moment tucking the coins away into her pouch, the exhilaration of victory already fading. A couple of other tough looking people with throbbing neck veins and biceps that could crack coconuts strode up to the table to challenge her, but Eisinder waved them away.
“Sorry, folks. I’ve got places to be. I’ll beat you some other time.”
This was met with mutters of frustration from the challengers and whistles and jeers from everyone else.
Eisinder got up and would have walked out had not the halfling bartender waved her over. He put a glass mug of dark beer on the bar in front of her.
“On the house! For the champion!”
She drained the tankard in one swallow, to the amusement and applause of the people immediately around her. Then she set the empty glass back down on the bar. The bartender regarded the glass, then Eisender, quizzically.
“What’s going on? You’re usually a lot more, you know, enthusiastic.”
Eisinder shrugged. “I think I’m feeling a little stagnant, you know. Like everything is too easy?” She gestured over at the table of several people, all nursing sore wrists and injured shoulders. “I was hoping one or all of them would really put up a fight, especially after the way some of them were talking. But they were all just hot air.”
The bartender got on his stepstool to peer over at the table. “Oh, well, that’s sailors for you. They can’t help the scuttlebutt.”
He hopped back down behind the bar and raised a finger to his chin in thought. “You know, if you’d like a challenge, I know a place.”
Eisinder’s cold spark of enthusiasm rekindled. “Oh yeah? Another dock bar? With bigger sailors?”
The bartender shook his head, a bit ruefully. “Of course, telling you this means I’m going to lose my Korsday night entertainment, because nobody who goes to the Red Dragon Inn ever comes back here.”
“Why? What’s the Red Dragon Inn got that you don’t have?”
“A very aggressive marketing budget, for starters,” said the bartender. “But also, and here’s the part that should interest you, adventurers!”
Eisinder popped her neck and rolled her shoulders. “Really?”
“Including at least one half-ogre!”“Really?!”
TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.
WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE
— THE MANAGEMENT
“Aw, what the heck!” shouted Eisinder, staring at the dark windows and the neatly lettered sign in disbelief.
She put her fists on her hips and looked around. The street in front of the Red Dragon Inn was crowded with passersby, but she didn’t see anyone that Eisinder could easily identify as an adventurer. She’d have to find something else to do for now and come back when the inn reopened.
Which meant being patient.
Eisinder was never very good at patience, not even after all the meditation they had made her do at the Northwestern Elemental Temple. She was a saurian of action, first and foremost. Opening her inner eye to contemplate the infinite just made her frustrated and, for reasons she couldn’t quite figure out, itchy.
But, as Master Eitan had so famously drummed into her head, “there’s nothing you can do about this right now, so you might as well invest your energy into something purposeful and try again later.”
Eisinder let out a frustrated cry, which was not terribly purposeful and which also startled quite a few passersby, before breaking into a jog. She didn’t really want to go running, either, but it was better than sitting around and it would help her to focus.
She picked up the pace, running along the inn’s facade and turning the corner. Her mind began to level out as she ran, letting go of the frustration and annoyance she was feeling. Maybe not meeting the adventurers right away was a blessing in disguise. All it was really doing was building anticipation for the eventual meeting, which would make testing their mettle with them all the sweeter.
Eisinder grinned, sprayed two tiny jets of flames from her nostrils, and poured on the speed.
As she reached the next corner, Eisinder glanced to her left and saw that, though she had traveled for most of a city block, she was still beside the Red Dragon Inn.
How big is this place? she wondered. Then with another smile, she thought, let’s find out!
Turning left at the corner, she ran along the back of the inn, past worker entrances, storehouses, several stables–some more exotic looking than others–and loading docks for delivery wagons.
She continued along the street, weaving between wagons, changing her course to avoid colliding with workers carrying heavy loads and, in one case, coming to a full stop to admit a beleaguered man in an apron pushing a very drunk, bare-chested elven man in a wheelbarrow.
Once Eisinder was through this gauntlet, she easily gained the far end of the street, turned left and continued her run, stopping only when she had returned to the front doors of the Red Dragon Inn.
The sign was still there.
Augh!!
She stared at the sign, willing it to disappear. When it didn’t, she wondered how quickly she had done the full lap of the inn and quietly cursed for not timing herself. Obviously, she’d need to do a second run to get a baseline time. This would be a little bit faster than the first time because now she knew which obstacles to watch out for. A couple of judicious flips over workers or slides between wagon wheels would definitely cut down on her overall time. It would also give her something to beat the third time she attempted the run.
Eisinder shook out her hands, jogged in place, and looked around for a nearby clock so that she could time herself. She soon spotted one prominently displayed in the window of Hortense’s Horology and waited impatiently for the minute hand to increment forward. When it did, she was off like a shot.
When she reached the back street behind the inn, Eisinder spotted something that put all thoughts of beating her own Red Dragon Fun Run record out of her head.
Through one of the back doors came an older dwarven man with an impressive red beard, accompanied by an apron-wearing kobold clutching a T-square in one hand and a sheaf of blueprints in the other. Coming up behind the both of them was a blond-gnomish woman in overalls whose face was smeared with soot.
“No!” shouted the dwarf. “I canna sanction any more of this tinkering nonsense. You know I love you both, but this project of yours is damn dangerous, and cleaning up after it is starting to eat into my profits!”
“It’s supposed to be dangerous Warthorn,” said the gnomish woman, with a little smirk. “It’s called the Danger Room, after all.”
“Don’t you get cute with me,” said Warthorn, his cheeks now as red as his beard. “You’ve been telling me that it’s only meant to be dangerous for the people inside of it, but this is the second time now that it’s been dangerous to folk that’re outside! Folk that are paying customers, I might add!”
“Okay,” Wizgille interjected, “but the first time it happened, it did sort of help us save the inn and the city, sooo…”1
“Look,” said the kobold, opening up the wrinkled blueprint. “It’s like I’ve been saying. We just gotta debride the somnolent flange here in the third magicoupling exchanger here. Then we have to monitor things, but if we do, it should be perfectly sa–”
“No! No! No!” said Warthorn. “I need you both to listen to me. I’m putting my foot down right now. You’re both going to go down there and–”
The dwarf spun on his heel, his red beard flashing like fire. As he turned, his face shifted from one of frustration and mild panic to one of obsequious good cheer.
“Hello there,” he said, looking up at Eisinder. “Is there something I could do for you?”
Eisinder hadn’t realized that she had been slowly approaching the conversation and was, by now, standing over the trio and gawking. She scratched at the scales on her forearm and let out an embarrassed little cloud of frosty air.
“Um. Ha. Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing that you were talking about…some kind of…Danger Room?”
She saw a crack appear in Warthorn’s very carefully crafted guest-relations veneer.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “It’s a feature of the inn that’s been having a wee bit of safety issues at present, and so I’m afraid we’re going to have to discontinue it.”
“Maybe I could help?” said Eisinder.
“Are you a licensed artificer?” asked the kobold.
“I’m not,” said Eisinder, putting her fists on her hips and giving her muscles a subtle flex. “But I could help out in other ways.”
- See Tales from The Red Dragon Inn, True Believers! Excelsior! –Editor ↩︎
- Don’t worry, gang. This isn’t a spoiler from Tales! — Editor ↩︎
The gnome pulled a pair of goggles down over her eyes and gave Eisinder a thorough once-over. “I’m assuming you’d like to volunteer as a test subject? That would be very helpful, actually!”
“It doesn’t help at all, Wizgille!” said Warthorn. “I told you that the problem isn’t what goes on in your infernal contraption, it’s what happens on the outside.”
“That’s true,” said the kobold. “But she could still be of value, couldn’t she? Like, for instance, we could not only put the machinery through its paces–once we make the necessary repairs, of course–but we could also, you know, do some rigorous tolerance testing. Develop operational safety margins.”
Wizgille nodded and twiddled something on the side of her goggles. “True, true! If we did it while the inn was closed, we’d reduce the chances of collateral damage while finally getting all the quirks out of the system. Then it’ll be ready!”
Warthorn had gone fully red again. “Ready for what?!”
Wizgille pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. “Well, the Party wants to test out some new tactics, of course, but we think it might have broader appeal–”
“Yeah!” shouted the kobold, gesticulating wilding with the blueprints. “Like it could be a training tool for new adventurers. Or a way for more experienced adventurers to keep in delving shape. See? Right here? We just put in this gearbox that controls difficulty. We have it set for ‘Veteran’ right now, but you can set it to ‘Legend’ or–”
“Wait a minute! Wait. A. Minute.” Warthorn held up a hand and laboriously fished a horn pipe out of his coat. He spent longer than Eisender thought was strictly necessary filling it up, sticking it in his mouth, and patting down his pockets looking for a light.
“May I?” she said. When he nodded, she snapped her fingers, sending a tiny spark of chi-infused fire into the pipe’s bowl.
Warthorn puffed on the pipe for a moment. As he sent a smoke ring up into the air above the back street, his color faded to a less apoplectic hue. “So you’re saying that this isn’t just for you and your friends. You’ll let anyone who wants to come and use it?”
“Uh huh,” said Wizgille. “Like Wrench said, it’ll be helpful for new adventurers and old hands alike. People will probably come to the Red Dragon just to use it. And they’ll probably want drinks afterward.”
“Or before!” said Wrench. “Or during!”
Warthorn blew out another smoke ring, a twinkle in his eye. “Well now, that does sound promising. Provided, o’course, that you two are able to ensure its safe operation once we reopen after your last kerfuffle.”
“We can do that,” said Wizgille, “especially if–”
“Eisinder,” said Eisinder.
“Is willing to help,” finished Wizgille.
“It’s going to be a lot of grueling hours of fighting and dodging and leaping and more fighting and you’re going to be super tired by the end of it,” said Wrench. “You think you’re up for it?”
Eisinder grinned. “Oh, cousin, I was made for this.”
“Love the enthusiasm,” Warthorn broke in. “but there is one more stipulation. Since you’re using my space and since there’s going to be wear and tear from all the new traffic you’ll be bringing in, I expect to be compensated for the privilege of housing your little Danger Room.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” said Wrench, “you can charge whatever you think is appropriate. I don’t think Wizgille and I even need a cut. Ow. We’re just doing it because we Ow love making things so Ow. Wizgille! Watch where you’re stepping! That’s my tail!”“I know,” said Wizgille, her round face puckering into a frown.
Wizgille and Wrench, dressed in thick, padded armor, sealed themselves inside the little viewing box in one corner of the Danger Room. This box was made mostly of arrow-proof glass reinforced with brass. Eisinder bounced on the balls of her feet as she watched the two artificers puttering around with various levers and knobs.
There was a metallic snap as a grill opened in the front of the viewing box.
“Hi, Eisinder!” said Wrench. “Can you hear us?”
“Yes.”
“Great!” Wrench turned to Wizgille. “I think we’re about ready.”
Wizgille settled her goggles in place. “We’re going to try it on ‘Story Mode.’ Uh. That’s level one, if you’re wondering. We just want to make sure everything is running properly, and we also want to make sure the room isn’t too much for you.”
Eisinder threw some punches in the air. “I promise you I’m going to be fine. Do your worst.”
The two artificers glanced over at one another, nodded, and then turned a pair of dials.
“Gizmoblin Camp Scenario 1A, Story Difficulty,” shouted Wrench.
The lights in the room dimmed. A hatch in the floor slid open, allowing a campfire to rise into the room from below. Eisinder stepped back as other hatches near where she stood irised open, allowing metal trees to telescope into the Danger Room. Ahead of her, several short constructs rolled out of apertures in the walls to take their place by the campfire. One of them dragged a slightly taller construct, which was bound by a length of chain.
In the viewing box, Wizgille took a small, leatherbound book and opened it. She cleared her throat and began to read.
“You reach the lair of the kidnappers as the sun sets beyond the western mountains. Carefully approaching through the trees, you spot the wicked brigands huddled around a low cookfire, sharing cheap whisky and crude jokes. Their captive, a minor noble of Greyport, slumps in their chains by the fire, looking disheveled but unharmed.
“You think that–
Eisinder was already moving. She had taken the opportunity to apply Ice Tunic when Wizgille started her recitation, and now a trail of glittering ice fragments wafted behind her as she leaped out from behind the metal trees. As the constructs got up to face her, she snapped a Viper Kick at the nearest one’s head. Sparks flew as it collapsed, thrashing into the campfire.
“Hey!” shouted Wizgille. “I wasn’t finished!”
Two of the constructs came at Eisinder, one from each side. Both wielded padded batons that, while not designed to deal lethal wounds, would still probably leave a mark if they connected.
She avoided them both with a deft handspring that carried her over the campfire and into the knot of constructs scurrying for cover on the other side. Eisinder went rigid, slamming her heels into the small of one of the construct’s backs–a perfectly executed Dance Upon the Clouds to Hurl Heaven’s Spear. As it crumpled beneath her, she extended her chi to form the Twin Flame Daggers of the Demon Emperor.
By the time the constructs with the batons had caught up to her, Eisinder had defeated all of their companions. She deflected the first baton with a raised arm, let her Ice Tunic absorb the damage of the second. As frost poured down the baton to seize the mechanism in the second construct’s arm, she floored the first with a devastating headbutt.
Eisinder smiled in satisfaction as both constructs’ eyes went dark and they fell limp to the ground. She turned to the hostage construct and, with a deft flick of her claws, snapped the chains binding them.
“Holy–” said Wrench. “28 seconds!”
“Fiona’s going to be maaaaaad,” muttered Wizgille.
After taking a few minutes to check the systems, and to establish some protocols for future tests, they were ready to run the next scenario. Eisinder wasn’t sure that one of the protocols–that she must allow Wizgille to finish reading the entire scenario description before engaging–was strictly necessary, but she promised to try to keep herself from jumping the gun.
“Thanks!” said Wizgille. “We paid a lot for a bard to write these for us, and so we want to get our money’s worth!”
“He’s really weird,” Wrench whispered through the grill in the viewing box, “but he writes good copy!”
Eisinder jogged in place as the Danger Room reset and Wizgille began to read. Apparently, the hostage construct she had freed in the first scenario had told her the location of the bandit’s camp. The camp, which she had just come upon, was surrounded by a palisade wall (of which the Danger Room was able to represent only a small section), and was full of not only gizmoblin bandits, but also a much larger, boulder throwing robogre bandit chieftain.
“The boulders are padded,” said Wrench encouragingly, “and so are the gizmoblin’s arrows. They’re still going to sting, though!”
“That’s fine,” replied Eisinder, as the constructs surged to life. “Is there any rule about catching the boulders and throwing them back?”
“Uuuuh…” said Wrench.
They spent the next several hours going through all of the scenarios on Story Difficulty. There were 25 in all, starting from a simple hostage rescue and ramping up in scope and complexity until Eisinder found herself on the moon, trying to prevent the spirits of long-dead trolls from reactivating an interdimensional gate.2
At least, she thought that was what was happening. While she hadn’t interrupted Wizgille, she also hadn’t been paying too much attention to the story beats, either.
In the end, Eisinder was successfully able to reassemble the five scattered parts of the Spear of Duhaine, banish the troll spirits’ eldritch patron beyond the edges of existence, and smashed the interdimensional gate with a construct representing the leader of the troll spirits.
Eisinder’s enemies hadn’t become more difficult to fight, necessarily, but each scenario did introduce new tricks and traps that forced her to think on her feet or suffer some pretty severe consequences. There were pits. Pillars that shot lightning. Pits with spikes. Whirring sawblades. Pits with hungry alligators. An entire battle fought on moving walkways. Pits with whirring sawblades. An entire battle fought on moving platforms high above the floor. And pits with whirring sawblades, hungry alligators, and spikes.
“There’s a lot of caverns under the Red Dragon Inn,” said Wrench, “so we decided to make use of the space!”
It had been a good workout, and Wizgille and Wrench had gotten to stress test the system, so that was good. Eisinder privately felt that it had been too easy, though. She hadn’t been defeated, even in the later scenarios, and other than the first appearance of the construct alligators, nothing in the scenarios made her sweat.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“Okay,” said Wizgille, as she removed her suit. “Let’s break for lunch. Afterward, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll run through everything again at Veteran Difficulty.”
Eisinder rolled her shoulders. “What’s the difference between the two?”
“Lesse,” said Wrench, “more enemies. Tougher enemies sooner. Boss enemies are lieutenants. Bigger bosses. More traps. Oh, and some new room effects that you haven’t seen before!”
“Oh, all right,” said Eisinder. “That should be interesting.”
“You don’t sound all that enthusiastic,” said Wizgille, which made Eisinder feel more than a little guilty.
“No, no, it’s not that. I think you’ve done a lot of good work here, and I definitely want to keep participating, but I’m not seeing how that’s going to up the difficulty of the Danger Room all that much.”
The knowing look that Wrench and Wizgille exchanged should have made her worried, but it didn’t.
It made her excited.
“Where the hell is the spear shard?!”
Eisinder dove for cover behind a wall. A fireball detonated on the other side a half second later, the residual heat cooking off the last of her Ice Tunic.
“It’s in one of the chests,” said Wrench, failing to keep the amusement out of his voice.
The halfling sorcerer–or one of her many non-corporeal mirror doubles, Eisinder couldn’t be sure–teleported in front of her. She aimed a low kick and the sorcerer popped like a soap bubble.
Mirror double, then. Fine.
“It was in the chest over there last time,” she shot back.
“Oh, its location is randomized each time,” said Wizgille. “Keeps things interesting.”
Eisinder took a moment to center herself and expand her awareness over the Danger Room. The chest she had opened was empty, but there were two others. One on top of the pillar over by the sorcerer’s ritual circle. The other one was in the crypt under the ruined tower.
She kicked off the wall, narrowly avoiding a jet of blue flame, and Danced Upon the Waves up to the pillar. She landed beside the chest, as light as a feather, raising the lid to deflect a second firebolt.
Empty.
“Damn it!” she shouted.
“You sound frustrated,” said Wizgille. “Do you want to take a break?”
Eisinder looked down at the clustered construct minions that, in this scenario, were supposed to be zombie warriors. They stared up at her and moaned.
“kill.$player_name.my.minions.” intoned the sorcerer construct.
Eisinder grinned and backflipped off the pillar, using the body of one of the constructs to cushion her fall. As it collapsed beneath her, she somersaulted in the air over its companions and made a beeline for the tower door.“Are you kidding?” she shouted back. “This is so much fun!”
This time, when Eisinder reached the moon, she had to face two spectral troll leaders and an even more powerful eldritch patron. She had to admit that this fight was significantly harder than the previous version, and she might have lost had she not figured out that the troll ghosts kept healing one another with some broken ability.
She still won, though, so it wasn’t that broken.
“How are you feeling?” asked Wizgille.
“Pretty good,” Eisinder replied. “How about you? How’s the system holding up?”
“There was a fire!” said Wrench. “A small one, but I think we know what the problem is now!”
“C’mon,” said Wizgille. “We can talk about it over dinner.”
The next morning, Eisinder insisted that they push the difficulty up to Legend.
“Are you sure?” asked Wizgille. “I mean, Legend is really hard, even for groups of adventurers. I’m not sure you’ll be–”
Eisinder popped her knuckles. “You said you wanted to test everything, right?”
“Y-yeah.”
“So let’s test everything! I’m ready if you are.”
Wrench and Wizgille looked at one another nervously, before retreating back into the viewing box. They came back wearing leather aprons over their padded suits and goggles with tinted lenses.
“Okay, we’re ready up here,” said Wrench. “If you need to stop, for any reason, just give the word.”
Eisinder focused her senses and gathered her chi as the Danger Room once again built the small wooded campsite around her. The hostage construct was now being guarded by three gizmoblins, two robogres, and two quadrupedal constructs that had served as dire wolves, hellhounds, and something called a gore beast, depending on the needs of previous scenarios.
Wizgille started to read from the appropriate scenario card and Eisinder dropped into a crouch.
Eisinder rolled across the floor as electricity arced from the outstretched hands of the halfling sorcerers. Their illusory doubles were able to cast spells at this difficulty, and she hadn’t been prepared. Her jaw clenched as a stray bolt struck her in the side. For a moment, she couldn’t move.
“Are you okay?!” squawked Wrench from the box.
Rather than waste energy on a reply, Eisinder kicked off the ground and back into a wobbly, but standing, position. From there, she executed a Phoenix Returns from Ashen Death Kick, deactivating one of the sorcerer constructs.
The other blasted her in the stomach with two fistfulls of lightning. Eisinder saw stars and hit the floor.
Then everything went quiet.
She lay on the ground wondering what had happened.
“Eisinder?” called Wizgille, a little panic in her voice.
She got up, much more slowly than before, and tried to blow the ozone smell out of her nostrils. “I’m good. What happened to the constructs?”
“You went down and…well, we engaged the emergency cutoff system. I think we should take a break. Wrench is going to go up and find Deirdre, or Bastian, or someone with healing. Why don’t you–”
“Turn it back on.”
“But–”
Eisinder inhaled, drawing in chi with her breath. She felt it pool in her stomach before flowing out to her extremities. There were two zombie robogres and one sorcerer left.
“I got this. Turn it back on.”
“I’m…going to go upstairs anyway,” said Wrench. “Not because I don’t trust you, Eisinder, but…uh….I need to use the privy.”
The glass door to the viewing box opened and shut. There was a patter of scampering footfalls, followed by the squeaking of the hinges on the cellar door.
“Eisinder, maybe…”
“Let’s do this!” shouted Eisinder.
“Okay! Okay!”
Three troll leader spirits this time around. In addition to their healing ability, they could also funnel their magical power into one another to increase their attack strength.
This time, however, Eisinder was ready for them. She employed Divert The Flow of the River Vorg to redirect their magical attacks while striking them with Woodpecker Assaults the Kneecaps. Normally, the Woodpecker Stance was meant to be used versus opponents that had nerve clusters, glands, and other soft squishy bits through which life energy flowed. Eisinder wasn’t sure it would work, but she figured she might give it a try. It turned out that the Woodpecker could hold its own against constructs, provided that she got them in either the wiring or the tubing.
She dropped back into Dung Beetle Stance as the last of the troll spirits collapsed, a jet of sparks pouring out of its spine.
“That’s the last one!” she shouted, triumphant. “Now for the–”
“System malfunction!” Wizgille cried. “Get out of there!”
Eisinder executed a perfect handspring, tumbling away as the construct’s insides caught fire. The lights in the Danger Room turned red and an alarm sounded. Wrench raced out of the viewing box and threw a thick, fireproof blanket over the self-destructing construct.
“Oh, Warthorn’s not going to like this. Not at all!”
“Sorry, cousin. That might have been my fault,” said Eisinder.
“What did you do?” asked Wizgille, who had just exited the viewing booth with a blanket of her own.
Eisinder quickly explained the finer points of Woodpecker Stance, and how it could be used to numb nerves, block bloodflow, and cause chi backups. In between tossing more blankets onto the damaged construct–and beating it with brooms for good measure–Wrench and Wizgille looked thoughtful.
“I’m not sure how your construct’s innards work, but I’d imagine that reversing the…uh…”
“Polarity,” said Wrench, nodding vigorously.
“Sure,” said Eisinder. “That would probably be bad.”
“It would be,” said Wizgille. “We might have to make some adaptations to their internal sensors, so that you can still make full use of your abilities without causing problems. That’s a tomorrow problem, though, for sure. As for right now, why don’t you take a break while we make sure this sparky boy doesn’t give us any more problems.”
While the artificers worked, Eisinder stretched, drank some water, and eventually wandered over to the portion of the Danger Room that had been reorganized to serve as the dimensional gate. She aimed a casual punch at the red button on the side, and was surprised when it emitted a congratulatory beep and a shower of multicolored confetti.
“Ha. Nice.”
In the center of the gate, a series of spectral letters and numbers started to appear. Eisinder wasn’t terribly interested in this seemingly magical effect until her own name appeared, followed by a string of random numbers.
“Hey,” she said, pointing at the gate. “What’s all this stuff? I don’t remember seeing it before.”
Wizgille looked up, even more soot on her face. “Oh! Those are the leaderboards.”
Eisinder must have made a confused face, because Wizgille went on to say. “Those are the names of everyone who’s participated in the Danger Room, along with their levels of difficulty, the number of scenarios they completed, and their final score.”
“Oh!” said Eisinder, excitedly turning to study the leaderboards more thoroughly.
Her enthusiasm grew when she realized she was near the top of several of the leaderboards, such as, “Time Needed to Defeat Silso the Sorcerer,” “Monsters Defeated with the Spear of Duhaine,” “Total Amount of Damage Taken.”
She was a little dismayed with her showing on several of the leaderboards, including “Total Time Needed to Complete all Scenarios,” which listed her as a distant third behind two people named Sera and Chronos. She also lagged rather far behind in “Total Amount of Damage Dealt,” with Gog, Bryn, Nitrel, and the previously mentioned Fiona ranked above her.
Eisinder tried to console herself that she had done very well for her first time through the Danger Room, but it didn’t really help.
“How are you feeling about me maybe doing another run?”
“It’s really late,” replied Wrench, “and we’ve got this construct to fix.”
“Oh,” said Eisinder. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
She coughed.
“So, maybe tomorrow morning?”
“That’s scenario five completed!” said Wizgille, brightly. “Good work! Why don’t you take a break and we’ll start setting up scenario six.”
Eisinder surveyed the battlefield with some satisfaction. Partway through scenario three, she realized that she could save a lot of time and effort by using the quirks of the battlefield to her advantage. She managed to breeze through scenario four by forcing the swamp drake to path through the explosive marsh. By the time it had gotten to her, it was already so damaged that she was able to floor it with a Single Normal Punch.
“Oh, hey! Who’s this?”
Eisinder turned to see a very tall, very broad shouldered, blonde-haired human woman coming down the stairs. She was dressed in light and breezy sailor’s garb, which was ideal in allowing her to show off her well-developed physique.
“I’m Eisinder,” she said. “Sick pythons.”
“Bryn,” said the woman, taking the opportunity to flex. “You have some nice definition yourself.”
“Thanks!”
Bryn looked around the room. “So, we’ve been hearing upstairs how you’ve not only helped to whip this place into shape, but you’ve also been crushing everyone’s old leaderboard records.”
Eisinder grinned. “Only about half of them so far, but I’m sure I’ll get the rest by the end of today.”
Bryn leaned in, smiling widely, and gave Eisinder’s mouth a theatrical sniff.
“What are you drinking?”
Eisinder shrugged, confused by the question. “Water. A lot of water. The Danger Room works up a thirst.”
Bryn laughed. “Wizgille! Wrench! Did you hear that? Ha, by the gods, no wonder you’re tearing through all our records, you’ve been competing on easy mode.”
Eisinder felt her scales bristle. “I think it’s called Story Mode, actually, but I’ve also beaten all of the scenarios on Veteran and Leg–”
Laughing, Bryn gave Eisinder a friendly clout on the arm. “So we’ve heard. And all in one day. But the thing of it is that you did it all sober. That gets you on the leaderboards, sure, but it doesn’t get you on the big one. The one we call the Literboard!.”
Bryn pushed a button on the wall, revealing another glowing set of names and scores. Her own name was near the top. On the bottom of the list, a small note read, ‘No, Zakhan, you can only participate in this challenge sober.”
While Bryn chuckled at her little pun, Eisinder felt her eyes growing wide. She thought back to all the tricks, traps, and monsters of increasing difficulty that she had had to overcome. She thought about all of the near misses, the bruises, the burns and the mild electrocution.
“You mean to tell me,” said Eisinder, “that you people use the Danger Room while you’re drunk?”
Bryn laughed and shrugged. “Sure! Why not?”
Eisinder wanted to be mad, but Bryn’s friendly and easygoing attitude had already mostly won her over. Although her competitive spirit was once again starting to burn very brightly, she could not help but smile.
“Fine. Here’s the deal,” she said, grasping Bryn’s shoulder and pulling her close. “I’m going to let you buy me as many drinks as you want, and then I’m going to come back down here and demolish scenario six while you watch!”
Bryn punched her on the shoulder and laughed. “I’ll do you one better! I’ll drink as many drinks as you and then I’ll show you that a drunk bosun can outplay a drunk you on scenario six no matter how high Wizgille sets the difficulty.”
Eisinder let out a cackle. “You’re on!”
The two of them bounded up the steps, laughing like maniacs.