Dungeon Runner

Bottom Rung, Chapter 01

"You're all here," the deep voice boomed from the front, louder than a voice had any right to be, "because you're the dregs of society. You're nothing more than ruffians who steal and kill!"

Tibs couldn't see the man. He could barely catch glimpses of shiny armor and the top of a helmet. He'd always considered his short stature an advantage, small people had an easier time sneaking into and out of places, but now it meant all he saw was the back of people.

He'd tried to get closer, but they pushed him back. Even looking pitiful, a trick he sometimes borrowed from the beggars and street urchins, didn't help. He was snarled at and pushed back. The people around him looked nastier than the group he'd arrived with.

They'd been taken from the cell and dragged through parts of the city Tibs had never ventured into, and onto a stone platform with gray columns at each corner ,carved with symbols. He'd feared this was where he'd get punished, but once the last of them stood on it, the surrounding buildings had been replaced with a grassy field, trees in the distance on one side, a mountain on the other, and tents being put up.

Before he could take in more, he, and the group he was in, was dragged off the stone platform and they walked for a long while until they reached more people. A lot more people. Tibs had seen a wooden platform with the mountain as a backdrop. Then he'd been among the crowd, all taller than he was, and he couldn't see much anymore.

"But," the man's loud voice pulled Tibs back to the present. "Instead of heading for your usual punishment, be it having your tongue cut out for practicing sorcery without accreditation, a lashing for fighting, hanging for killing, or losing a hand for stealing, you are the lucky ones."

The man next to him snorted. "Right, lucky." The man noticed Tibs looking at him and smirked. "You here for pissing off a noble too, kid?" he was dressed better than Tibs, everyone was, but also better dressed than most others; but the fresh scar going from temple to jaw gave him a nasty look.

Tibs looked away and rubbed his wrist to keep the impulse to rifle through the man's pocket in check. The butcher block was where Tibs had been headed; get a hand cut off, so whatever this was, he considered himself lucky. Not that it had been fair he should be thrown into a cell just for surviving. After Mama's death, he'd had no one but himself to depend on.

"This once in a lifetime opportunity comes to you courtesy of this brand new dungeon." The man on the platform moved. Tibs made out an arm going up indicating the mountain, but whatever he was expected to see there, was hidden from his view by the people before him.

"All of you will go through the dungeon." The man's voice was so loud Tibs wondered if magic carried it. He'd heard about magic, even if he'd never seen anyone practice it. "You'll be put in a team with four other people and sent to conquer the dungeon. Some of you will die." The man stated. "No, a lot of you will die." He raised his voice over the complaint of the crowd. "And I don't care! This will be faster and cleaner than what you were headed for, and your death will serve society, instead of your life being a burden on it. And who knows," he continued, his tone becoming mocking. "Maybe those of you who survive will manage to become productive members of our society."

The man next to Tibs snorted again. Was he a man? Tibs glanced at him. He was certainly older than Tibs, but then everyone here had to be. He was taller, but other than the scar and the clothing, his skin looked smooth and he looked around worriedly unless someone looked directly at him. Tibs looked around, paying closer attention to the people. Most wore rags, those close to Tibs's age being street urchins, while those older looked mostly like beggars. He saw one person reach in a pocket and out, a disappointed look on her face. No one had anything in their pockets, Tibs suspected. Like the man—boy?—next to him, a few were dressed better. Maybe they'd been more successful criminals, or, Tibs thought this one more likely, they hadn't been Street.