Gilda and her team stared at the giant, wiggling pile of pillows and rugs, their weapons held ready for whatever monster was buried underneath. The quiet, anticlimactic end to the fight was, in many ways, more unsettling than a bloody battle would have been.
"Is... is it over?" Pip whispered, cautiously poking the pile with the tip of his dagger.
At that moment, Sir Crumplebuns marched forward, puffing out his chest. "FEAR NOT, BRAVE WARRIORS!" he boomed, his voice filled with heroic pride. "THE FOE HAS BEEN UTTERLY SUBDUED BY THE RELENTLESS FLUFF OF JUSTICE!"
At my silent command, the Pillow Fiends and Dust Bunnies began to neatly un-pile themselves, returning to their designated spots in the Hibernation Hollows. They revealed the unconscious and thoroughly tangled form of the assassin, The Shade, wrapped in several carpets like a lumpy burrito.
The Iron Gryphons moved in, efficiently securing the prisoner with rope. Pip, the rogue, examined the 'plush pit' trap with a professional's eye, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I've studied traps my whole life," he said to Zazu. "Spikes, poison, pits... I've never seen anything like this. It didn't even break the skin. It just... made him stop."
Zazu wasn't looking at the trap. He was looking towards the back of the chamber, where my core resided. "This dungeon's master does not fight with steel," he said quietly, a note of deep respect in his voice. "He fights with creativity."
Now came the difficult question: what to do with a live, extremely dangerous assassin?
"We'll take the prisoner back to the guild hall for interrogation," Gilda stated, her voice all business.
FaeLina zipped nervously in my mind. 'No, just eject them, Mochi! Get them out of here before they wake up! A professional assassin is too dangerous to keep around!'
I considered my options. Ejecting them was only a temporary solution; they would just come back. Letting the guild handle it could lead to violence and death, which I preferred to avoid. That left only one real path forward for me.
'I will handle this,' I projected to the room. 'But first, we need to know who our patient hunter is.'
Gilda nodded. She knelt down and cautiously, respectfully, removed the assassin's dark cloth mask.
Everyone leaned in to look. They were all surprised. Beneath the mask was not the face of a grizzled old killer or a monstrous creature. It was the face of a young woman, likely an elf, with sharp, intense features and strange, swirling silver tattoos that covered her temples. She was unconscious, but her expression was one of fierce, unwavering discipline.
(The Blood Pit - Lord Vorlag's Throne Chamber)
In his dark throne room, the enraged presence of Lord Vorlag seethed. He had been monitoring the life-force of his elite agent, the hobgoblin Klarg. He had felt Klarg's disciplined mind touch the border of the enemy dungeon, and then... nothing. The connection had gone silent. Klarg had not been killed, but he was no longer a threat. He had failed.
Two of his best minions had been sent to this pathetic "Sanctuary," and both had been neutralized by what he could only assume was some kind of humiliating, comfort-based magic. His reputation in the underworld of dungeon lords was on the line.
He could no longer treat this as a minor annoyance. This "Comfy Corner" was a blight, a philosophical poison that had to be cleansed. Sending single agents, no matter how skilled, was not working.
Lord Vorlag's rage cooled into a cold, hard purpose. He sent out a pulse of pure, commanding power, a message that traveled through the very bedrock of the earth to his other allies. To the savage goblin tribes in the hills, and to the other dark dungeons that shared his violent philosophy.
The time for subtle assassination attempts was over. He was done playing games. He was going to gather an army. The next attack would be an all-out war.
(The Comfy Corner)
Unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon, Mochi made his decision.
'I am going to enter her mind,' I projected to the stunned adventurers. 'I need to understand why she is so determined to destroy this place.'
"Be careful, Core," Zazu warned, his face creased with concern. "The mind of a goblin driven by fear is one thing. The mind of a trained assassin is a fortress."
He was right. But it was a risk I had to take. I focused my consciousness on the sleeping elven assassin.
I pushed past her outer defenses and entered her Dreamscape.
It was nothing like Gor's fiery nightmare or Zazu's peaceful beach. I found myself in an endless, shifting labyrinth of silver corridors, like a hall of mirrors that constantly changed its layout. The air was cold, silent, and felt utterly sterile. It was a mind that was actively defending itself, even in sleep.
As I tried to find my bearings in the confusing maze, a cold, feminine voice echoed through the corridors, coming from everywhere at once.
'Who are you?' the voice asked, devoid of any emotion. 'You do not belong in this place.'
I was no longer the master of this dream. I was an intruder, trapped in a hostile mental fortress.