Misadventures Incorporated

Chapter 1 - A Mossy Awakening

Claire shuddered as she slowly raised herself from the mossy, unfamiliar bedrock. She turned her eyes to her chest the moment they shot open. Through the dim, crystalline light in her cave-like surroundings, she was able to make out a garment stained with blood.

Her blood.

The slit exposing her solar plexus had done little to prevent her vital fluids from spilling all over the ceremonial dress. Staring harder at the opening allowed her to make out the lack of a wound. The hole in her chest had closed without a trace. Still, it continued to ache, plaguing her with a phantom pain, a constant reminder of the ritual she had narrowly escaped.

Her hands were trembling even now. She had succeeded in saving herself. And as far as she was concerned, the score was now Claire - 1, Daddy Issues - 0. Not that she had daddy issues, of course.

Excitedly, she raised her head and brushed her bloodied arctic blue bangs aside to gaze upon the infinite expanse that awaited her, the Lost Library of Llystletein, the ancient archive that contained all the knowledge she required to overthrow the tyrant that had ordered her dead.

But it was nowhere in sight.

There was no grand cathedral, no divine gate, nor even a single bookshelf anywhere to be seen. Nothing. Nothing but a long corridor of flattened mossy rocks. The dim blue lights that she had immediately associated with an artificer’s devices came instead from the occasional bare stalagmite.

Confusion was the first sentiment to follow the realization, accompanied soon after by an abrupt wave of anxiety. Her breathing sped up as panic took hold of her and brought her to the verge of hyperventilation. She wasn’t able to calm down until she realized that she wasn’t without any information. Her log was sure to contain everything she needed to know, as it always had. The blueblood wasn’t quite sure how she had managed to forget something so obvious, even if its presence had started to seem a bit odd following his awakening.

Through a moment of concentration, she summoned a translucent text box, one pixelated enough to remind her of the world her most recent dreams had featured.

Log Entry 473
You have succeeded in overwriting the Blueblooded Martyr’s Ritual with the Rite of the Lost Library by sacrificing 75% of your health.

“Yes, I do know I’m a wrist-slitting genius. Thank you, mystical blue box of knowledge.”

Log Entry 474
You have succeeded in completing the Rite of the Lost Library. As a result of being affected by the Lost Library’s Magic, your non-racial classes have been purged, and any unclassed skills pertaining to magic or combat have been removed. All previously unlocked classes are forever lost.

“Oh, great. Now I’m even more useless in a fight. Not that it really matters.”

Log Entry 475
You have entered the dungeon known as The Ruins of Llystletein, in which the Lost Library lies. The monsters that lurk within this dungeon far outclass you.

This must be what I get for not keeping my mouth shut, she thought with a groan.

Most of it had been expected. She knew that she would have to sacrifice her levels and skills to reach the Lost Library. That was why most shied away from accessing the mythical database, even in spite of the claim that acquiring its knowledge could lead to a celestial ascension. Starting from scratch meant throwing away all previous efforts, and that was something few were willing to do.

Even more daunting was the survival rate. There were only a small handful of returnees. The only one that was publicly known, an officer in service to the empire, refused to speak of his experience. Some decried him a selfish wretch, unwilling to share the secret behind his rise to power. Others made the assumption he was under a vow of silence, for many an ancient text described the library’s knowledge as equal parts sacred and forbidden. Whatever the case, two things were clear. The library was dangerous and escaping it was nearly impossible. Career soldiers and deathrow prisoners aside, only the dumb and desperate ever attempted to sieze its power for themselves. And while the applicability of the former was up to debate, Claire was most certainly the latter. The tiny chance at survival—and vengeance—was far better than the fate to which the ex-ritual mage had otherwise been consigned.

Shaking her head clear of the gloomy thoughts that plagued it, Claire sat back down and pulled up her status to confirm the log’s four hundred and seventy fourth entry.

Claire Augustus

Health: 22/86
Mana: 162/542
Health Regen: 9/hour
Mana Regen: 316/hour

Ability Scores - 0 Points Available
- Agility: 14
- Dexterity: 5
- Spirit: 57
- Strength: 7
- Vitality: 9
- Wisdom: 158

Racial Class: Halfbreed - Level 9.34
- No affiliated skills

Primary Class: None
- 0 Classes Available

Unclassed Skills
- Dancing - Level 5.24
- English - Level 25
- Marish - Level 18.96
- Sneaking - Level 2.60

Her class was gone—not that it would have helped much to begin with. Ritual magic required strict procedures and came with a number of costs. It wasn’t well suited to combat and would not have been able to aid her in a fight. Still, she would have preferred to keep it. Something was better than nothing, after all, even if that something often involved drawing a pentagram, lighting a few candles, and staring into the eyes of a dead goat for an hour. Or three. Or seven.

What hurt her more was the inability to acquire any class that she had previously qualified for. That too had been expected, of course, but the Sword Dancer class she had recently unlocked could have aided her greatly in her newfound plight. That wasn’t the only thing she lost either. Being born into nobility had provided her with the sort of upbringing that allowed her to unlock all sorts of different classes. Warrior, Fire Mage, Druid, and many others were all gone forever.

Claire sighed. She almost wanted to sit around and mope, but quickly decided against it. She had to move. There was no time to play the part of a drama queen and theatrically wallow in her own misfortune. She was still going to do that later, of course, but not now.

Despite her initial impressions, she wasn’t particularly shocked. There had to have been a reason that so few ever returned from the library, and its containment within a dungeon was one of the more likely possibilities she had deduced. But that wasn’t to say she was prepared; she had expected the trouble to begin only after she had accessed the bard-sung records. In other words, it was totally the bards’ fault for not vetting their sources. Totally.

Looking towards her feet, she found that a pair of items had accompanied her on her journey. The first was an extinguished wax candle placed atop a tapered dish. Next to it was the handle of a broken ceremonial dagger, its once bejeweled blade nowhere to be found. She didn’t feel that either item would be of much use, but her inner hoarder drove her to bring them along, just in case. The blueblood had a hunch that one of them was somehow going to save her butt. And that it probably wasn’t going to be the broken dagger.

The thin dress she wore was one intended for ceremonies and ceremonies alone. It lacked the pockets that a more practical garment would have featured, so the escaped sacrifice was stuck with one of her two belongings in each hand. She scanned her surroundings one last time, and after noting that nothing else was present, got to her feet.

“Which way do I go?” She spoke to herself, quietly, of course. She had every intention of staying off the radar until she knew more about the dungeon’s monsters.

Hearing the anxiety in her own voice worsened her fear, which in turn led her to think more negative thoughts. But before the cycle could get too far out of control, she managed to once again shake her head clear of the worst of her concerns and at least somewhat regain control.

There were only two directions to take, but she still found it a hard choice to make. She found herself stuck in place for a few seconds, unfreezing only when a sudden thought came to mind and informed her that the best way to decide between two unknowns was to flip a coin, but she quickly dismissed it as silly and even took a moment to question her own sanity. Coins didn’t have heads or tails, nor did she have any money on her to begin with.

That however was not to say that the random thought lacked any rhyme or reason. Leaving the decision up to Lady Luck was by no means worse a choice than the opposite.

Seeing no reason to change her mind, Claire used her feet to clear the moss off of a relatively flat rock and played a quick game of Spin the Candle. Left it is.

___

After a few minutes of wandering under the guidance of her newfound waxen deity, Claire began to make out a series of faint, faraway sounds.

“Do I investigate?”

She froze in place as she whispered the question to herself. On one hand, checking on the source of the commotion would allow her to learn more about the monsters in the area. And on the other, it would be risky.

While she did have Sneaking, she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could use a low-leveled skill to escape a high-leveled monster in what was most likely its own territory. If it noticed her.

“Oh, why the heck not? I’ve already warped myself into what might as well be a death trap. A little more danger isn’t going to hurt.”

Her decision made, she quietly moved towards what was obviously a violent exchange. The crushing of stone, feral roars, and obnoxiously loud squeaks made up most of what she was hearing. And as she reached the end of the corridor, she even started to make out the fluttering of wings and the whooshing of magical projectiles.

The girl’s heart accelerated as she inched closer and closer to the corner. It was loud, loud enough for her to worry that it would cause her foes to spot her, but she pressed on and peeked out regardless. Another corridor continued following the bend, but not for long. After roughly ten meters, it opened up into a large bright cavern. The glowing inscriptions embedded into one of the walls grabbed her attention, but only for a moment before their light drew her gaze to the monsters fighting within. I’ll have to check those later.

There were three, two of one species, and one of another.

The flying creatures were bizarre, to say the least. Each had four small limbs and two velvety wings attached to an egg-shaped body, the vast majority of which was occupied by a single massive eye the width of Claire’s torso. She recognized them, eggeyes, creatures frequently described in the stories her mother used to read to her. Before she passed away.

Squaring off against the two flying ovoids was another relatively well known monster, a hulking, spiny behemoth whose body was covered in warts. Its unhinged jaw contained three distinct layers of pointed teeth, the most prominent of which were two massive fangs extending from its lower mandible. They were so long that they shot up above its round, widened snout. Though most other boar-like creatures were quadrupedal, this one was not. Its forward-leaning, two-legged posture was only emphasized by the sharp, bony quills that protruded from its spine. A hellhog.

Claire immediately jerked her head back around the corner. Her heart was pounding. She desperately wanted to run for dear life, but something about that felt wrong. Running would do nothing for her. The glowing cavern was, so far, the closest thing she had found to a clue. There was a chance that inspecting it could provide her with a hint as to the lost library’s whereabouts. Moreover, her log had mentioned that the monsters residing in the ruins were far more powerful than she was, meaning she was likely to encounter another equally powerful creature before long regardless of whether she stayed. If I’m lucky, they might leave after they stop fighting.

With a nervous gulp, she once again peeked around the corner.

The eggeyes seemed to have the advantage at first glance. Their wings allowed them to avoid the hellhog by darting through the air each time it approached. They countered its attacks with their own, pelting their victim with wave after wave of gloopy purple projectiles. Each time they struck, the bipedal pig would cry in pain as its flesh melted away. It was horribly injured all over, but worst off was one of its arms. The elbow was mostly eroded, bone already exposed on almost every side.

Despite looking like flying eggs, the bat-winged creatures proved rather intelligent. They focused their attacks on the already damaged limb, slowly but surely erasing the bits of flesh that remained. Once the entire forearm had been converted to bone, one winged creature dove in and tore it off with a tackle. Though its rush succeeded, the floating eyeball’s greed spelled its demise.

Its opponent’s less damaged arm shot forward like a lightning bolt, snatching it out the air immediately after the impact. The bat-like creature tried to struggle, but it was unable to escape the hog’s grip. It was taken, against its will, and crammed between the ground-dweller’s jaws.

One sickening crunch later, the first eggeye was no more.

Its partner didn’t care. The second eggbat didn’t even flinch at the death of its companion. It did, however, use the resulting opening to double down on its assault. It flew right above the hellhog’s head and vomited a glob of toxic goo much murkier than any other. The extra potent acid melted right through the swine’s head, ate one of its eyes, half destroyed its snout, and exposed its skull.

But even that wasn’t enough to fell the beast.

The bony spines adorning the hog’s back flew out of their sockets and pierced the bat through before it could loose another barrage.

They were like harpoons, tiny terrifying harpoons. Once the tips pierced the ovular creature’s flesh, they expanded and locked themselves in place. When the hellhog reeled its bones back into its body, the eggeye naturally followed. Even with its frame pierced through in multiple places, the chiropteran struggled. It desperately flapped its wings and attempted to propel itself away from the landbound creature. But to no avail. Like its partner, it soon found itself grabbed and consumed.

Victory was declared in an almost humanlike manner. The bipedal pig raised its arm and roared at the top of its lungs in celebration of its hard-earned win.

Claire kept an eye on the beast as it calmed down, slouched over, and began to retreat. Its steps were unsteady, each accompanied by a spillage of blood from its many open wounds. Its right arm was missing, and the same leg clearly lame. The sizzling of flesh could be heard as a misty vapour drifted off its skull.

She knew it outclassed her in every way. Strength, speed, stamina, she had none of what the creature had demonstrated.

But it was close to death.

The experience points were right there in front of her, free for the taking, a boon even better than the opportunity to examine the well-lit cavern.

If she didn’t take it, something else would.

It would take too long for the hellhog to regenerate to the point where it was capable of combat.

Her hands trembled.

Her whole body shook.

And her mind continued to scream that she needed to turn back.

But she didn’t.

With careful, quiet steps, she rounded the corner and began the hunt.