Training Day in the Blackdeep Dungeon

by Michael M. Jones

Art by Arnold T. Blumberg

“First day on the job, huh?” the elder kobold growled, looking down his crooked green nose at the visibly nervous rookie standing before him. 

“Yes, sir,” came the reply. “Chim the Extremely Lesser, of Clan Coaleater.” 

“Another Chim. I swear, every third one of you is named that for no good reason. Folks just don’t have any imagination. I’m Walther, and I’ll be showing you the ropes today.” The elder kobold jerked his head to a shabby canvas bag leaning against the wall. “Grab that. Follow me.” Without waiting to see if Chim complied, he turned and walked down one of the many narrow tunnels which comprised so much of their underground home. “You a volunteer or a voluntold, Chim?” 

“I—er, a volunteer. It was either dungeon attendant or gelatinous cube farmer and…” 

“Save the backstory until after orientation. I’ve learned it ain’t worth getting to know a guy until he’s survived his first adventuring party encounter,” growled Walther. 

Chim fell silent, obediently following his new mentor as they traversed the tunnels, working their way higher, towards the abandoned mines which made up the first few levels of what the outside world called the Blackdeep Dungeon.  

Over the next few hours, Walther kept up a running commentary, advice mixed with anecdotes, punctuated by swearing and the occasional rancid fart, while Chim dutifully handled all manner of mundane duties. 

“Careful how you restock the poison arrow traps. Pointy end goes away from you at all times. Don’t get confused and stab yourself. That’s how I lost Heinzemann…” 

“Pressure plates get reset like so, by cranking this handle and twisting this knob. If they get stuck, use this prybar. Never stand on them to test them out. Definitely don’t jump. That’s how I lost both Heinzels--Greater and Lesser. Idiots.” 

“Oil in this chamber, fire in this one. Two-part system, see. When they combine—well, don’t be in the way. Heinzchen learned that the hard way, ran around screaming and flailing until… y’know. Fwoosh. Smelled great though.” 

“The riddle door gets primed like so. Yeah, follow that diagram exactly. No, I dunno what it says or means. Something stupid in Elvish. Dunno why we even bother; every adventurer seems to know this, and hardly any of them even speak Elvish anymore. What I do know is what happens when you get it wrong. Pity about Himschen, but he’s much happier hopping around that swamp now.” 

“Why do we do this? Because adventurers are predictable and easy to manipulate. They come, convinced that they’ll make it to the heart of the mountain and loot the fabled hoard of Aragoth the Flame-Scaled, bless his slumbering shiny ass, and if we don’t give them exactly the sort of experience they expect, they’ll run rampant through our home and wreck our shit. Learned that the hard way, didn’t we?” Walther spat something thick and green out, shaking his head. “So, we maintain the traps and make sure the ones who survive keep descending further down into the bowels of the dungeon, and leave us alone. Let them be a problem for the trolls or living skeletons or something.” 

“Makes sense,” Chim agreed, as he delicately tied a swinging axe back into place along the narrow corridor. One down, nine to go. 

“That reminds me. Don’t ever be a hero. Don’t try and fight any adventurers you meet. Heroes die quickly. I’ve lost too many assistants to count that way. Be a coward. Run away—lead them into traps if you can, or just deeper into the dungeon. I’ll show you our escape routes. Snivel, cry, plead, beg, lie, bribe—remember, you’re protecting our home.” 

Chim nodded enthusiastically. “I can do that!” he said with just a little too much forced cheer. 

Walther harrumphed. “Don’t get cocky. You don’t survive for long around here by getting cocky. Now, right now it’s the slow season, maybe one party a week. Adventurers don’t really get started until spring, but then it gets busy.” He scratched his unmentionables while Chim finished with the swinging axes. “Good, get those ropes tight. I tell you, it’s the little details that matter. You have to pay attention at all times, or bad things happen. That’s how I’ve lasted as long as I have. Almost a year. I might just break Vollmar the Stubborn’s record.” 

The next room opened up into a cavern with the narrowest of rope bridges across a massive chasm. “Now, the absolute most important thing you have to know, the one bit of advice above all others,” he said, moving towards the bridge while turning back to talk to Chim, “is—” 

“Look out!” exclaimed Chim, who’d noticed the loose rope trailing around the bridge’s post.  

It was too late. Even as Chim lunged forward to help, Walther stumbled over the rope and plummeted into the abyss, his last word an inarticulate obscenity. 

Chim gulped. “I wonder if it’s too late to transfer to gelatinous cube farming.”