Respawn Condition: Trash Mob

A single eye floats in the darkness, hidden out of sight as it lingers in the distant shadows where nobody is able to see it.

 

“My baby is all grown up!” cries the dungeon-master, slumped back over their chair, holding a sheet of yellow paper against their wet face. Whatever little creature is drawn on it, becomes warped and stained by the wet pressing through it.

 

“There, there,” says a calming voice from the side, the slender book with the argent cover hovers over to the dungeon-master, carrying a fresh stack of paper. The dungeon-master throws the stained page down into the hole beneath them and grabs a fresh one from the pile, blowing their nose with it. Madison sets the rest of the paper down onto the table. “I’m sure they’ll do great outside," says the soft, dreamy voice.

 

“Do you think so?” asks the dungeon-master, sniffling loudly before grabbing a bottle of wine and chugging a quarter of it down to suppress their tears.

 

Madison nods. “They’re really tough. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” The book sighs. “They didn’t even cry after I ‘died’.”

 

“Can I go now?” asks the rat-queen.

 

“No!” yells the dungeon-master, slamming the bottle down onto the table. The rat-queen hisses at them, but then just crosses her arms and leans back against her chair. “Nobody is leaving until we’re done!”

 

“Aren’t we done, though?” asks the rat-queen, raising a sharp eyebrow. The rats all around the pit, having long since nested themselves comfortably into the shelves, squeak in agreement. Though, many of them seem to have gotten far too comfortable here in the heavy, soft wood of the warm library and don’t even bother to do more than lift their heads a tiny bit as they let out half-hearted squeaks.

 

A skeletal hand pats the dungeon-master on the back. “There, there,” says Nichodemus. “There comes a time when all young must leave the nest.”

 

“But what if they aren’t ready?!” asks the crying dungeon-master. “I tried really hard! Do you think that I scared them straight?” They take another swig of the bottle. Nichodemus grabs it and takes it away. “- Hey!”

 

He tilts it out over the abyss, pouring the liquid into the void. “You cracked the whip very well. Despite the slow start, I think they learned their lesson in the end,” says the skeleton, patting the dungeon-master on the back with their other hand. “Though maybe try a somewhat kinder touch with the next one,” he taps his chin, thinking. “This one was very driven, but I don’t know if the other one shares that trait. The floors you made were very… on the nose.”

 

The fairy of the fountain, slouched over on the table, fast asleep, lets out a wordless grumble as she rolls her head around.

 

The dungeon-master sighs, clearing the mess of papers away from in front of them as they shake their head. “Sometimes being a parent means being the bad guy.” Madison nods. "Besides, they were designed for someone else anyways. You know that."

 

“Do you think the rot is gonna stop now?” asks the book in her dreamy voice.

 

“If the root source is gone and the dungeon’s breathing begins again, it will dry out eventually,” explains Nichodemus. “But we’ll have to reconstruct most of everything anyways. It’s all permeated and moldy.”

 

“Ah fuck me, I was afraid you were going to say that,” sighs the dungeon-master, rubbing their forehead. “But you know what? Fuck it.”

 

“Can we get a nicer floor?” asks the rat-queen. “One that doesn’t smell?”

 

“You’re a rat-queen, you’ll get the sewer and you’ll like it!” barks the dungeon-master.

 

The rat-queen jabs a finger into the dungeon-master’s chest. “I’ll crawl up your ass and eat your heart from the inside out!” She crosses her arms. “I want a promotion.”

 

“Huh?!” is all the dungeon-master can muster.

 

The rat-queen lifts her nose, tilting her head to the side. “Rat-empress.”

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?!” yells the dungeon-master.

 

Nichodemus thinks. “While we’re changing things for the next layout, we could integrate the demon-foundry plot-line into the cult and combine them as one section. We’d save a lot of space that way. Lots of pipes maybe?”

 

“You greasy fucks,” sighs the dungeon-master.

 

The fairy of the fountain lifts her head. “Can we get some fountains?”

 

“Fountains?” asks the dungeon-master, somewhat unsure about this latest, almost reasonable, request.

 

“Fountains,” replies the woman, yawning loudly.

 

“The fuck do you want fountains for?”

 

The fairy of the fountain blinks a few times, getting the tired-wet out of her eyes before laying her head back down. “For the black-water.”

 

The dungeon-master’s fingers tap impatiently against the table. “Fucking black-water. I hate that plot-line.” They lift a hand, snapping their fingers. “Madison. Pen.”

 

Madison flies away and then comes back a few seconds later with a pen. The dungeon-master starts sketching a floor layout for the first of a hundred new floors to redesign.

 

“So where does the next one start?” asks Madison. “Do you think she’ll manage by herself?”

 

The dungeon-master lifts a finger, not looking up from their drawing. “You know where she’s gonna start, Madison. The same place they all start.”

 

“Isn’t that mean though?” asks the book.

 

The dungeon-master looks at the book and then at the others at the table, before looking back down at the sheet of paper in their hands. They continue to scribble a few notes down before writing the name on top of the sheet of paper, just above a drawing of a room that is labeled ‘Floor 100.’

 

“I love all of my children, Madison. That’s why I need to be the one to swing the belt.” They scribble a little eye in the center of the room. “If I just coddle them, they won’t be prepared for the outside. They don’t know what it’s like. What it’s really like out there. It’s nothing like down here where I can control everything, where I can keep them safe.” The dungeon-master holds up the sketch, showing it to the others at the table who nod in silent approval of the new floor design. “They might hate me for it. But I’ll do it for them.”

 

They slap the piece of paper down onto the table, their throat cracking a little as they hold back a sob. “Because it’s the right thing to doooo~” howls the dungeon-master, leaning over and crying into the new drawing.

 

The eye, floating above the scene, flies away and vanishes into the darkness.

 

 

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