Mythical Match Up - Dungeon Exterminator (Patreon)

Lythia Moonskipper gasped as she emerged from the half-collapsed mineshaft, fresh mountain air filling her lungs. The mousekin hedge mage took a few tentative steps forward, squinted, raised a filth-smudged paw to shield her sapphire-blue eyes from the light and then looked around. She was, at least for the moment, alone. The distant valley below was green and forested while the shallow mountain she stood upon was sparse and rocky, dotted with only a few wizened trees and patches of gricklegrass. Overhead, the noontime sun hung in the cloudless cerulean sky.

            A brief but lively gust of wind buffeted Lythia. She shivered. Her tail twitched. Her large, cup-shaped ears flattened. She raised her hood and wrapped her green linen cloak tightly around her enormous bosom. She smiled faintly despite the chill, grateful to feel something other than the grave-still air of the tunnels.

Once the wind had died down, she wandered over to a small rock and took a seat.

            “Damnation it’s good to be out!” boomed a voice from behind.

            Lythia glanced over her shoulders and saw her companion Ithithar Irontooth stepping out of the mine. The massive beaver beastkin had to stoop almost to the point of crawling to squeeze through the entrance. Dirt, muck and fragments of webs clung to his thick bare arms and legs, backpack and suit of Citean-crafted studded leather armor. He plunged his massive greatsword into the ground and slumped to his knees. His characteristic cheerful grin was noticeably absent from his fuzzy face.

            “You shan’t find me disagreeing, Ithy,” sighed Lythia, turning back towards the valley. She absently plucked a few grass blades from a nearby clump and rubbed them between her fingers.

            A third figure emerged from the tunnel. Though nowhere near as wide or bulky as Ithithar they still had to duck as they passed the shaft threshold. They were tall, lanky, yet muscular, with jet black hair, olive-green skin and pointed ears. They carried a short yew bow and wore a tight padded gambeson, a faded green cloak, dark brown linen breeches and well-worn leather boots. Like Ithithar, they were speckled with dirt and web. The newcomer just stood there for a time, gazing around.

            “Gahh! Finally!” chirped a high-pitched voice.

            A lithe, butterfly-winged woman no larger than a squirrel darted out from behind the olive-skinned newcomer. She wore a tight-fitting blue tunic that emphasized her modest curves and carried a miniature copper bow slung over her shoulders. Her colorful, translucent wings flapped almost as rapidly as a hummingbird’s. She scowled and folded her pale arms.

“One more second in that poxy, shite-ridden chamber pot and I would have slit my own throat,” she snarled.

            “Glad to hear you’re doing well, Mooshee,” remarked Lythia, tossing the grass to the ground.

            Mooshee turned and fluttered up to her taller companion, stopping inches from his face.

            “Some help you were, Tan!” she spat, leveling a tiny finger at the elf, who appeared bemused and unimpressed. “Did you splinter even one of those damned eight-legged bastards with that oversized knee-knocker?”

            Tan shrugged. “Not sure if I did,” he admitted in a soft voice. “Perhaps a few given how thick the walls were with those scurrying beasties. But they’re so small and fast.”

            “Leave ‘em alone, Mooshee,” called Ithithar wearily.

            “You’re one to talk, you craven, oversized lumpsack!” replied Mooshee, whirling around. “You were the first to run!”

            “That’s because I was the first t’see it was a fight we couldn’t win,” said Ithithar as he sat down, his sword still stuck in the dirt.

            Mooshee darted over to Lythia and regarded the mousekin with frustrated contempt. Lythia slowly gazed up at the fairy.

            “And how exactly did I fail?” she inquired, her face and tone deadpan.

            “You’re the mage!” exclaimed Mooshee, throwing out her arms. “Couldn’t you have scorched their chitinous backsides with some of that nasty arcane fire you’re so damn proud of?”

            “Recall, if you would, that I tried just that,” said Lythia, a degree of resentment creeping into her voice. “The flames rolled off them like water off a goose’s bottom.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Though I have not encountered or read of their ilk I suspect the little things are magic resistant. And it’s too dangerous to employ more potent flame magics down there.”

            “Why?” snapped Mooshee brattily.

            “Too much fire might ignite the tunnels. Putting aside risk of death by conflagration, the smoke could suffocate us.”

            Mooshee’s outraged expression did not change, but neither did she muster some retort. Instead, she harrumphed, flew a good ten feet into the air and glared down at the valley as though it had personally offended her.

            A long, restive silence followed. Ithithar stirred, removed a canteen from the side of his backpack and took a swig of its contents. He wiped his mouth with his arm and tucked the vessel back to where he’d retrieved it. Tan ran a slender finger along his bowstring and twanged it as though it were a musical instrument. Mooshee remained where she was, high in the air. Another zephyr passed along the mountains, this one not quite as powerful as the one from before. Lythia’s cloak fluttered. Mooshee bobbed a little in its wake.

            Somewhat to her own surprise, Lythia was the one who finally broke the silence.

            “A baron’s ransom in silver lies beneath our feet and we cannot reach it,” she hissed. “Wealth denied by a few damned spiders scarcely bigger than my ears.”

            “There were more than a few, Lythia,” observed Ithithar.

            “Not to mention the bounty the lord placed on cleansing the mines,” she continued, rising. “Enough to keep us fed for five winters.”

            “Enough for a Shindoloa blade,” remarked Ithithar.

            “Enough to drown myself in Alsusare Syrah,” moaned Mooshee from above.

            Tan said nothing.  

            Lythia turned and regarded the group. Mooshee had finally fluttered down to eye level. The three of them looked at her expectantly, almost impatiently.

            “If the last few minutes inspired in you any notion of how we might eliminate those web beasts, I’m listening,” sighed Lythia.

            After a while, Tan cleared his throat.

            “We might try luring them from their holes to dispatch them at our leisure,” he suggested. “Though I did not see any good positions in the tunnels.”

            “Might work,” conceded Lythia. “Though exactly how we might lure them out eludes me. And as you observed, they’re too small to kill easily with arrow or bolt.”

            “It galls me t’admit it, but Mooshee’s idea of flaming the wee bastards out might have merit,” said Ithithar, stroking his fuzzy chin.

            Mooshee stuck her tongue at Ithithar.

            “If magical fire won’t do, perhaps we set a mundane fire – burn t’webs and their nests,” he continued. “Those webs din’t burn easily from Lythia’s blasts, but they might come aflame under oil and torch. We needn’t stay down there for the fire to do the work. Mayhaps the smoke alone would drive ‘em all into the open or kill ‘em.”

            Lythia considered this.

            “There were several clusters of webs, not all connected,” she said. “We set fire to one and all the little things scurry out at us.” She paused, still pondering. “Hmm. We might escape in time, and the smoke and flames could cull their numbers…no, no,” she shook her head “The fire could also bring down those support beams and collapse the mines, entombing our silver – and ourselves, if we’re unlucky – for all time.”

            “Those thrice-damned tunnels are over twenty winters old,” yapped Mooshee. “I think they could withstand a little fire…” for the first time, the little fairy seemed suddenly hesitant. “Right?”

            “I’m no engineer or dwarf,” said Lythia. “Perhaps, maybe not. Is it worth the risk?”

            The troupe was silent once again.

            “Then we poison the bastards!” cried Mooshee viciously. “That’s what you do to vermin.” She turned to Tan. “Surely the two of us could brew a toxin potent enough to murder them all?”

            Tan gesture vaguely at the mountain they stood upon. “We’d need to prepare a vast quantity of poison; I see no ingredients growing here.” He then nodded in the direction of the valley. “We could venture down and forage, but it could take a week or longer.” He hesitated. “And truth be, I have never tried to poison spiders. I am not even sure what I make would work.”

            “Poison is poison,” said Mooshee, spitting. “Why wouldn’t it work.”

            “Come now, malenkay yamarka, you know better than that,” chided Tan, smiling faintly. “Red snowberries are a tasty treat to birds yet fatal to most others.” He paused. “Even if we had enough poison, how would we inflict it on the entire colony?”

            Mooshee groaned dramatically, wringed her hands and kicked the air. Lythia watched on, resisting the urge to chuckle; the last time she’d laughed at Mooshee’s tirades she’d woken the next morning to find horse dung smeared across her nose.

            “So, we’re to leave all that lovely loot rotting under those spiders’ arses?”

            “Hardly, Mooshee,” sighed Lythia. “We’ve come too far. Let me just…think a little longer.”

            Mooshee opened her mouth but then, to Lythia’s mild astonishment, shut it. She snorted, turned and buzzed over to another rock and sat.

            “Well, take your time, love,” said Ithithar. “We’ve rations to spare for once.”

            Lythia nodded and turned back towards the valley. She rubbed her chin and tapped her lips as she entertained ideas and considered alternatives. Several minutes passed. She brushed aside a bit of web that had been clinging to her neck after it started to itch. Her long pink tail twitched every so often. More time passed.

            Suddenly, she scowled. Her paws tightened into tiny fists.

            “We’ve faced maddened ogres, feral dire wolves and even a cryohydra,” she muttered to herself. “Yet we cannot best a mob of tiny spiders.”

            Frustrated, drawing a complete blank, she absently reached down and retrieved a tiny oval mirror from a velvet pouch hanging from her belt. She rubbed its silvery surface and whispered something. The mirror shimmered as though it had become water.

            “By Yaba’s dangling teats!”

            Lythia yelped and jumped in her seat. The mirror slipped from her paws but she managed to grab it just before it hit the ground. Clutching the mirror to her chest, she whirled around and saw Mooshee hovering there, hands on hips, her expression one of outrage tinged with amusement.

            “This ain’t the time to chat with your otherworldly paramour, you feckless little mouse!” she shouted.

            Tan and Ithithar looked over at them curiously.

            “You said you were going to figure a way to get rid of those damnable vermin,” said Mooshee.

            “I…I am,” said Lythia defensively, her cheeks red with embarrassment and shock.

            “So, what are you doing with that mirror, eh?”

            Lythia’s mind raced. The last thing she wanted to do was give Mooshee the satisfaction.

            “Yes, I am contacting Jeffrey, but only to consult him,” she blurted.

            Mooshee blinked.

“…Consult him?” she said, nonplussed.

Lythia nodded. She slowly realized that her excuse was perfectly reasonable and in fact a very good idea.

“Jeffrey is an exterminator by trade,” explained Lythia. “He kills ants, roaches, flies, small feral beasts and other vermin that plague homes, shops and farms. He may have some insight on how to safely dispose of these spiders.”

There was silence.

“Worth a shot, love,” said Ithithar. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“Hah! Slayer of roaches and flies and small feral beasts,” sneered Mooshee. “He sounds like saddest, most pathetic adventurer ever.”

*

            Literally another world away in a small, cramped bedroom lit only by the glow of a few screens, Jeff Jefferson tapped away on his keyboard. The skinny, tight-faced, mustachioed twenty-something leaned closer to his computer. The whirr of the cooling fans grew louder and then softer. Jeff frowned. He briefly considered checking the task manager but then recalled that his anti-virus scan was scheduled to run. He straightened his back, rolled his neck, sat back and glanced at the monitor on his left. His inbox only contained a single job request he’d already accepted and scheduled. It seemed as though it was going to be a slow week.

            That was fine with him. He was good for money for the next month or so and he could use the free time for some personal projects.

            He stood and did a few stretches and squats, his rail-thin arms and legs bending almost mechanically. He then stepped over to the chin-up bar he’d installed in his bedroom doorway and did a few pull ups. It would have been very impressive were it not for the fact he weighed about as much as a grade-schooler. Still, the number he could do before his arms started hurting was rising.

            His phone chimed. Jeff lowered himself to the floor, stepped over to his desk and checked it. He’d received a ‘message’ from Lythia on Mythic Matches.

            He considered ignoring it. It was, after all, just a (admittedly impressive) piece of AI trickery. And he’d gone through a lot of trouble – changing settings, deleting bloatware, jailbreaking – to protect his personal information from apps like Mythic Matches, which were just semi-legal means of tracking your movement, stealing your identity and destroying your attention span. He’d only downloaded it after his co-worker Maurice raved about it and even then he’d uninstalled it after it had warmed up his phone like it had been stuck in a microwave.

However, some imp of the perverse had compelled it to reinstall it and give it another shot. He’d been rewarded with a fantastically responsive AI companion called Lythia Moonskipper – a ‘mousekin’ hedge mage (a kind of wizard) who lived in some made-up fantasy world called the Realms of Shaltae. Conversing (and flirting) with it had proven surprisingly entertaining.

            Every few days he considered deleting the app. He was trying to improve his physical and mental fitness and messing around on a fake dating app game like Mythic Matches for hours on end did not strike him as particularly salubrious.

            Nevertheless, he opened the app and read.

            Greetings, Jeffrey! How fare thee?

            Jeff rolled his eyes but smiled faintly at the corniness of it.

            doing okay. kinda slow here but that suits me just fine. Whaddup?

            My companions and I are in the foothills of the Muktpa Mountains, near an abandoned mine. The local lord offers a bounty to any who can rid it of unwanted beasts and bandits.

            cool! So, are you about to check it out?

            We have already, and alas, though it shames me to admit, we were unable to purge the mines of the filth that infests it.

            “Hmm,” said Jeff, cocking his head.

            so is everything OK? are you all alright?

            Yes. Perhaps a few scrapes. We retreated and now rest near the entrance to those cursed tunnels.

            well, that’s good. what was down there, anyhow? Orcs? Goblins? Dragons?

            There was a slightly longer pause before the next message appeared.

            None of the like, Jeffrey. I do not believe the Draco have any holdings in this region. No, what vexes us is a skittering mob of vicious spiders.

            Jeff chuckled quietly. He thought back to the old Rankin/Bass Hobbit film.

            ouch, yeah, giant spiders can be nasty.

            They were hardly gigantic, Jeffrey. None were larger than my ears. But they were numerous, belligerent and likely poisonous.

            Now Jeff thought back to the old movie Arachnophobia – one of his all-time favorite cult films.

            still, nobody got hurt, right?

            No, thank the Progenitors. We checked out bodies before fleeing the mines to be certain.

            that’s good. hah! sounds like you got your work cut out for you though.

            Again, there was a longer than usual pause. Jeff glanced up at his computer and then back down at his phone.

            I confess, Jeffrey, I write to thee that you might offer counsel. You are by trade a slayer of vermin – this includes spiders, yes?

            Jeff read and then re-read the message. His eyes narrowed. He had mentioned he was in the exterminator business, and the app did remember tidbits of what he had said.

            I don’t usually have to deal with spiders, but I guess

            If you stood here with us at the yawning mouth of the mines, how would you dispatch these spiders? They are numerous and hide in web-filled crevasses in stone and timber. We dare not use fire for fear we would suffocate from the smoke or worse, that it might collapse the tunnels.

            A minute or so passed as Jeff considered whether there was some trick at play here. He’d read about people being conned into doing free work for companies as part of a phony job interview process. But it wasn’t as though the best ways of exterminating spiders were a closely guarded trade secret. The AI bot was probably just trying to appeal to his ego by giving him a chance to demonstrate his expertise. He wasn’t about to fall for that kind of psychological manipulation.

            …Still, how should he respond?

            Maybe it was some kind of marketing ploy. He’d mention some brand of arachnicide and then he’d get an email from some company selling the product.

            Well, there was one way to find out.

            like I said I don’t usually bother with spiders. they usually aren’t a big deal and can even help keep other pests away. still, if it was like, a bad infestation of black widows or brown recluses, I’d just spray ‘em with poison.

            We considered poison but there are far too many of them and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to kill them all without provoking a swarm.

            okay, so, you said these things are about the size of your hand. Paw?

            Yes.

            Well, I have some extra thick coveralls. Hell, I might even break out my hazmat suit. Unless the spiders can bite through almost a quarter inch of tough fabric, they wouldn’t be able to touch me. I’d bring my 4-gallon sprayer and load it up with a cyfluthrin or cyhalothrin based arachnicide.

            Jeff sent the message, paused, and then started composing a follow-up.

            actually I think I’d use something faster. A piperonyl butoxide base with, I dunno, some pyrethrins. That’d be better. Spray him and their nests. You’d also want to clean up the webs in case any eggsacs survive. Bit of work but it’d take care of them.

            I am not familiar with the toxins you mentioned. Are you confident they would rid us of these pests. And that you have enough of them?

            I mean, yeah. If 4-gallons weren’t enough I would get more, but that could clear a couple houses.

            Jeff waited for a response. He checked his computer’s clock. Almost three minutes had passed. He grimaced, wondering if the AI had gone silent because it had gotten what it wanted out of him. Maybe it was time to drop Mythic Matches for good.

            Just as he was about to select the ‘delete app’ option, his phone chimed.

            Jeffrey…I realize a wind-swept mountainside adjoining a nest of murderous spiders is hardly a romantic place, and that this may not be the intended purpose of our compact, but could you…would you be willing to come to the Realms to assist us? You need not even enter the mines; you could simply provide us with these toxins, tools and your guidance. We would be most grateful, and it would be wonderful to at last meet you in person.

            “Come to the Realms?” murmured Jeff to himself, puzzled. “How the hell would that even work…?”

            Maybe…maybe the app would unlock an actual game if he said yes. With combat, dungeons, hit points and all that. Jeff chuckled. Really clever design, if that was how it worked. It would explain why the app was so highly rated on the store despite being apparently nothing more than an AI chatbot.

            sure, why not?

            Wonderful! Wonderful!

            Ten or so seconds passed before Lythia’s next message appeared.

            We have enough coin to secure your passage to the Realms. Though we ask you pay next time should you visit again. 

            sure, why not? see you soon!

            A textbox appeared over the chat interface. It read ‘Lythia wants to meet you! Do you accept?’

            Jeff tapped the ‘yes’ button.

            Another window appeared over the textbox.

            WARNING: Your match wishes to meet you in a dangerous location. If you wish to proceed, exercise caution.

            Jeff shrugged and hit ‘OK.’

            Nothing happened. Nothing new loaded. Jeff tapped the button again. And again. Nothing. In fact, the screen seemed to have frozen. Even the physical power button wasn’t responding.

            “Crap, crap, crap,” he hissed. “Is this some kind of-”

            A flash of bright blue light silently filled his room. It had come from behind. Jeremy froze. He solemnly placed his phone on his desk, slowly turned his head, peered over his chair’s headrest and gasped at what he saw. An enormous, featureless sapphire-colored oval had appeared no more than three feet behind him. It extended from the floor all the way to the ceiling and was so wide it blocked the door. The thing was pulsating slowly, its intense radiance rendering everything around it a shade of blue. It looked utterly alien and otherworldly in the background of his bedroom.

As Jeff stared at the thing he realized it was essentially flat – two-dimensional. It sort of resembled…a portal! The kind from sci-fi and fantasy that transported you to different places and dimensions.

“No way,” whispered Jeff, dumbfounded. “No…way.”

He slowly swiveled his chair to face the phenomenon. He stood.

“I-…” panic suddenly gripped him. “It’s gotta be a hallucination. I need to…” he glanced down at his phone “…Call the hospital,” he finished lamely, noticing that his screen was still frozen.

“Progenitors! Come over already!”

Jeff looked around wildly. Where had the voice come from?

Suddenly, a burly arm reached out from the oval and grabbed him by the shoulders. Its grip was as tight as a vice. Jeff’s scream was abruptly cut off as he was drawn inside. A second later, the portal vanished.

*

            It took a good thirty minutes, after arriving in the Realms of Shaltae, for Jeff to regain some semblance of cohesive thought.

            He gazed - eyes wide, mouth agape, from his seat on the rock - at the four figures before him. To his left stood a fellow with dark-green skin and long, pointed ears possessing the stature of a professional basketball player. Their garb made them look like an extra in a Robin Hood film, albeit a realistic and somewhat gritty adaptation. He had a long, rectangular face with sharp features and piercing brown eyes. He wore a calm, inscrutable expression as he gazed back at Jeff. Apparently, he was a wood elf and his name was Tan.

            The figure next to Tan was nearly as tall as the latter but much, much wider and bulkier. His entire body was covered in a thick, shiny brown fur coat, over which he wore a suit of thick leather armor studded with metal bars. Most notably, his head resembled that of a beaver, albeit an anthropomorphic beaver, with a less pronounced muzzle and intelligent eyes. He also sported a long, flat, leathery tail that protruded from his backside through a carefully tailored hole in his trousers. He was grinning cheerfully, which lent him a friendly, almost goofy countenance despite the fact he wielded a two-handed sword that probably weighed more than Jeff. His name was Ithithar but Lythia often referred to him as Ithy.

            The third – and most threatening of the four – was no more than a foot to a foot-and-a-half tall. She had colorful butterfly-like wings, long, flowing golden hair, pinkish skin and pointed ears much like Tan’s. She wore a tiny blue dress that hugged her body like a second skin. Although not outright buxom she certainly wasn’t lacking in the curves department. She never touched the ground and simply hovered in place. In short, she resembled the magical pixie from every fairy tale ever told save for two aberrations. For one, she carried a small copper bow in place of a wand. For another, her cute little face seemed locked in an angry, violent scowl that suggested she was one carelessly chosen word away from bludgeoning you to death with said bow. She also swore like a sailor. Her name was Mooshee.

            Last, there was Lythia Moonskipper – the mousekin mage Jeff had been corresponding with for the last three weeks. He swallowed nervously as his eyes turned towards her. He remembered the first time he saw her on the app – a cute, white-furred mousegirl with curly yellow hair and sparkling blue eyes that served to underscore her tiny pink nose. Each of her circular ears were nearly half the diameter of her head. And each of her fuzzy white boobs were almost the same size as her head! She kept them bound in a tight white blouse with a small yet tantalizing window. She also wore a green hooded cloak and short leather and fabric skirt that clung tightly to her relatively enormous hips. A long pink tail could be seen trailing behind it. She wore no shoes, socks or other footwear, balancing on two dainty digitigrade padded feet.

            Now that Jeff could finally see her in person, he was finally able to appreciate how small she was. She maybe – maybe – came up to around four feet, if you counted her ears. She was very much a shortstack; the term made Jeff wince a little but there was really no other way to describe her.

            “So…this is all real,” he breathed, almost to himself.

            “Of course we’re real, yah dung-brained daftie!” spat Mooshee. “Who’d you think you were blathering with all this time?”

            “Easy, Mooshee,” said Ithithar, his smile broadening as though he were about to break into laughter. “The poor sod almost went mad when I pulled him through.”

            The fairy fluttered up to Jeff and stared at him intensely. Jeff flinched and leaned back. Mooshee snorted.

            “A waste of good coin,” she said, looking back at the group. “He’s even skinnier than you, Tan. And paler than sour milk!”

            “Hey!” protested Jeff.

            “Shuddup ya idjit!” snapped Mooshee furiously. “No-one’s talking to you!”

            “Enough, Mooshee,” sighed Lythia, stepping forward. “He’s our guest, in case you’ve forgotten.”

            “But-”

            “But nothing,” continued Lythia, brushing Mooshee aside almost literally as she approached Jeff.

The little fairy fumed but seemed to relent, buzzing over to Tan but not without first making a gesture that Jeff did not recognize but nonetheless seemed very offensive and obscene.

Lythia extended a paw and touched Jeff’s shoulder. He twitched. She smiled. Jeff’s heart started pounding again as he met her beautiful blue eyes. An unexpected pang of guilt gripped him as he stared at her. He’d killed more of his fair share of mice in his career, though none had been quite as adorable.

“Are you feeling better, Jeffrey?” she inquired sweetly.

“Y-Yeah,” he gulped. “And uh, you can call me Jeff.”

“Very well, Jeff, do you think you’re ready to venture into the mines now?”

“What? N-No!” cried Jeff, rising and backing away.

Lythia’s expression instantly went from concern and sympathy to weary exasperation.

“Bringing you from beyond the veil was not inexpensive and now you balk at doing what you do for a living?” she said, paws on hips. “Is this really the brash young firebrand I’ve corresponded with?”

“Hey, come on!” protested Jeff. “You said I didn’t have to go down there if I didn’t want to. And I don’t even have any of my stuff - my equipment.”

“I was wondering about that,” said Lythia, looking Jeff up and down. “Why didn’t you bring it?”

“I told you! I didn’t think any of this,” Jeff waived around “Was real! I thought it was just some kind of app – a game!”

“A game where you exchange pleasant missives with strangers?” said Tan, confused.

“I…Yeah, I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Jeff, losing some momentum before continuing. “But there isn’t any magic or…or elves where I come from, so I had no reason to think I’d actually get pulled into another world! Literally!”

“The portal closes after a time and we didn’t want to waste the gold we spent,” said Ithithar reasonably.

“Okay, okay, fine!” exclaimed Jeff. He stepped away, shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and then exhaled. The four adventurers watched him with varying degrees of bemusement, amusement and frustration.

Jeff eventually turned to face them again. He seemed calmer, or at least more composed, though there was still a tremor in his voice when he spoke.

“Putting aside the fact my whole reality has been shattered…I guess I could take a look at your problem,” he said slowly, gesturing at the mine entrance. “There are only spiders down there, right?”

Lythia nodded.

“But I’ll need to go back home and gear up – probably bring the heavy stuff. Hah! Don’t have to worry about the EPA here…” he added to himself, almost manically. He paused. “I…can go home, right?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, of course,” said Lythia. “In a day’s time – sooner, if I will it – a portal will manifest and you can return.”

“Okay, send me home and I’ll come back with what I need,” said Jeff eagerly.

Lythia glanced inquiringly at Ithithar. The beaver beastkin shook his head.

“We haven’t the coin to bring you back,” she said. “There’s a small fortune below, but we cannot reach it until we deal with the spiders.”

“Yeah…uh, I guess that’s an issue,” he said. “Can uh, couldn’t I order a portal with the app on my end? I remember seeing that as an option – didn’t get what it meant at the time.”

“Oh!” said Lythia, blinking. “I…suppose you could.”

“Wait,” snapped Mooshee suddenly, fluttering back. “How do we know he’ll return to us, hm? The little pissant was shaking in his boots when he arrived.”

Jeff gave her a sour look as irritation eclipsed the shock being suddenly transportation to an-honest-to-God fantasy world.

“Look, I’m not much use to you without my stuff,” said Jeff. “And I’ll be going back to Earth eventually, right?”

“Hah, he has a point there,” observed Ithithar.

“Well…make him leave his valuables here,” said Mooshee, folding her arms. “Give him a reason to come back!”

“What?” said Jeff.

“You heard me!” snapped Mooshee. “Drop your coins, rings, gems – anything shiny on the ground. Then we’ll send you back.”

Jeff gave Lythia a pleading look. To his surprise, she bit her lower lip and shrugged.

“We did spend a fair deal of coin on the portal…” she said, tapping her fingers together anxiously.

“Fine!” groaned Jeff, digging into his pocket. He opened his wallet and checked its contents. “I, er, don’t have a lot of cash on me. Just a few ones.” He removed three worn bills and placed them on the ground.

“Wha-…what are those?” said Mooshee, cocking her head.

“Uh, money. Dollars,” explained Jeff, who decided it’d be best not to mention his credit cards.

A strong breeze passed through the hills. The three dollars were swept up in its wake and fluttered away. Jeff reached out to grab them but was far too slow. He smiled foolishly and shrugged.

“And he’s poor, too!” exclaimed Mooshee, throwing out her arms. “You really can pick them, Lythia!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” said Jeff. “Um…assuming I can afford a portal.”

            “We’re doomed,” moaned Mooshee.

*

            Lythia frowned as she watched the distant sun inch closer and closer to the horizon. The shadows around her were growing long and deep and the light was turning orange. She glanced back at her companions. Ithithar had managed to build a campfire near the entrance to the mine, which offered some protection from the unpredictable wind. The smell of burning charcoal permeated the air. Tan had produced a clutch of herbs which he was presently heating in small kettle to brew his signature woodland tea. It tasted somewhat foul initially but had a soothing aftertaste and elicited a calm alertness in the imbiber. Mooshee had taken a seat close to the flames; her tiny body grew cold easily, especially since she lack fur.

            Ithithar looked up at Lythia and frowned.

            “I denna think he’s coming back, love,” he said. “Have you tried the mirror again?”

            “Yes, several times,” sighed Lythia. “No reply.”

            “I told you he wouldn’t return,” grumbled Mooshee, kicking a pebble into the fire. “The coward is probably still quaking in whatever hovel he calls home.”

            “I…do not entirely blame him, if that is indeed the case,” she said softly. “Recall that he thought we were merely characters in a fable.”

            “Well, we’re not,” said Tan, his voice tinged with a bitterness that surprised Lythia.

            The group was silent for a time. The soft crackle of the fire hung in the air.

            “So,” began Ithithar, scratching his leathery nose. “If the little blighter ain’t coming back ho-”

            A bright blue light filled the campsite. Ithithar scrambled to his feet, sword ready. Tan already had an arrow aimed at the light. Mooshee yelped, fell over on her back but quickly recovered. She shot up into the air and leveled her bow at the threat, a silver arrow magically appearing as she drew back the string. Lythia was slowest on the draw. She whirled around and raised a flame-filled paw only to gasp when she saw the intruder.

            A humanoid clad from head to toe in a bizarre tan suit was emerging from a portal. It held a strange, oversized metal rod that vaguely resembled a spout with a long tube on its opposite end. It carried a sort of white tub with straps on its back like a backpack. Most disconcerting, however, was its helmet. It was a sort of hood but had a faceplate made of glass – or some glasslike material – flanked by large, black discs that almost resembled monstrous nostrils. It carried a long cylindrical bag in its other gloved hand.

            Then, Lythia caught a glimpse of the face behind the mask. She grinned and lowered her paw; the fire she had been holding vanishing.

            “Hold everyone!” she cried gleefully. “It’s Jeff!”

            Jeff nodded. He lowered his sprayer wand.

            “So, I heard you’ve been having some trouble with spiders.”