Egbert Was trying to coax Contempt into committing spider genocide for him. Come on, little buddy, think of all the souls… You use those, right...like in your dark little rituals? Contempt flatly stared towards the front door buzzing in anticipation. He was sitting on top of Egbert's talking rock and just straight up ignoring the dungeon.

  Dammit, Contempt. Just because you earned a promotion doesn’t mean you get to ignore me! There are eight-legged invaders in my domain, and they must be smitten. I really don’t love that you can choose to ignore me, buddy…just remember when one of your siblings tries to take the crown again, maybe the all-powerful dungeon will want a more cooperative second in command… Contempt hate-hummed noncommittally.

  The frankly concerning one-sided conversation was interrupted as guests arrived on Egbert's porch. Finally, Max! What took you so long? Egbert rushed over to get a look at his beautiful, bearded, mineral-loving cash cows. What the hell is this, Max? Since when do dwarves wear pointy wizard hats and have the most pretentious faces possible?

  There were some blessed dwarves, three of them to be exact, and they looked as absolutely loaded as Max had promised. They each had finely crafted plate armor that looked sturdy enough to weather a ballista bolt. And draped from their armor was an eclectic selection of magical gizmos that made Egbert salivate at just the thought of melting them down. The leader had an actual wand bandolier strapped across his chest, for god's sake. If I can get him to just, you know, drop that, that would fund my entire next room.

  But Max...what is this shit? Egbert angrily examined the trio of mages. Firstly, they were so drunk Egbert didn’t know how the hell they made it up the stairs without a casualty. The one in front gestured widely at the front door. “As you can see, we can engrave just as finely as the best dwarven craftsmen!”

  Brom huffed heavily, “Aye, you got ur spelling right. Congratulations.”

  Max came shuffling up the stairs looking like a scolded dog, eyes downcast and nervously fidgeting with his prosthetic.

  Cromwell haughtily gestured towards the door. “On with it then, dwarf, unless you are afraid to find out how lacking you really are.” Brom's eyebrows furrowed down so far they almost touched his mustache in annoyance. And he quickly pulled a coin out and put it into the door, waited a moment, and added another. Thank you, Sir Artificer, for your patronage without a complaint!

  “Is yee so hard up ya gotta charge ur yungus to take a test?” Brom said in disbelief. Damn, there's the complaint.

  Cromwell looked slightly confused at the door for a moment himself and then pulled his expression back to a glazed, all-knowing facade. “Ulfric’s School of Magic is for the exceptional dwarf; if someone can’t scrape together two measly silver, they aren’t trying hard enough.” He said, slightly uncertain of himself.

  [2 Silver]

  Egbert was astounded. Is that dick of a mage just pretending he knows all about this “trial” to show off, or is he really that close to alcohol poisoning? Max, you should really water down your wine some, or you are going to kill all my prospective customers.

  The scene played out again at the next door, with Brom looking utterly incredulous at Cromwell as he fed in another two coins. Cromwell just waved a hand in a “get going” gesture, but his face was telling as he himself examined the door curiously on his way past.

  Is today the day buyers remorse? Will you be granted your glorious end at the hands of a slightly drunk dwarf dripping in valuables? Everyone paused for a moment as the door ahead of them licked its chops before deliberately slowly hiding the toothy maw and slowly narrowing its eye in predatory hunger.

  Brom looked at remorse. “Do I kill it? Wuts the test here? 'Tis a mimic...a rather sickly one.” Brom looked at the door in what must have been pity. He is fine! He doesn’t need more food!

  Cromwell stuttered out a response: “Uhh, well... It's a test. Figure it out! Find a way through!” he said in a bit of a huff.

  Brom looked at the door coin slot cautiously. Yes, that's right, just give him some coins; he will be a bit sad, but I won’t be, so win-win. Remorse chose that moment to dramatically lick the coin slot, hungrily trailing a very disconcerting layer of saliva across the door. Really, must you ruin everything?

  Brom stuffed his coins back into a pocket with a slightly disgusted look. “NUU, I’ll be keeping my finger, thank ye.” He pulled one of the wands from his bandolier and began fiddling with a set of dials on the back of it.

  “I don’t have all night, dwarf; if you can’t figure out how to get past a simple mimic, we might as well call it a night,” Cromwell teased unkindly.

  The entire dungeon shuddered as a blast of force exploded from Brom’s wand. Remorse shot from the doorframe and spiraled into the loot bug room, tumbling end over end until he fell straight into a space between two pillars with a dull thump and a bit of a pained grumble. Cromwell was standing next to the dwarf with a stunned expression across his face; his wizard's hat had been sent off to god knows where by the blowback, and a fine layer of dust was settling across his previously impeccable clothes. Okay, wow….

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  Brom smiled before walking into the loot bug playground. “Tis open, ya ninny.” He gazed around in surprise at the arches and pillars seamlessly blended into the floor. Punctuated by castles manned by their defenders humming wrathfully in his direction. He gave a respectful nod at the craftsmanship. Thank you, Brom. I do what I can on a budget.

  Brom almost immediately gestured to his two apprentices. “Get to it. Loot bugs are a rare resource in da best of times. Can ye imagine the refining we can manage with a handful oh their shells?”

  Cromwell looked smug. “Yes, as you can see, we spare no expense in the creation of our facilities!” Egbert wished so badly he could roll his eyes right now. Gods, I wish I had a way to get rid of this idiot; he's more full of shit than I am. Just let the dwarves spend gold in peace, please. Egbert looked towards Contempt but he wasn’t on his pet rock perch anymore…. Huh...hunt the mages, not the dwarves, please! He entreated pointlessly to the general area that he thought contempt might have disappeared to.

  Egbert watched intensely, interested in how the artificers would go about trying to catch the loot bugs; he doubted it would be quite as simple as the fisher folks’ “pop, haste, and dive” method.

  The artificer assistants did rush up to the haste shrine with big smiles on their faces, though. Popping in the two silver without complaint and whipping out artifacts from their sides. One had a glowing glove that he aimed at the nearest loot bug. I sent a beam of white light out that narrowly missed as it hissily dove into a pillar. The other threw what looked like a grenade on a string at Bubba.

  The “grenade” pulsed briefly in a wave of purple light, pulling Bubba kicking and screaming to it; he adhered with a wet thunk like it was covered in glue. The hasted dwarf blazed over and quickly threw him grenade and all into a jar.

  Brom nodded appreciatively. “Generous pricing on the haste shrine can’t be cheap, having my kin come and calibrate it for ye.” Oh, is it cheap? Egbert smiled internally and made a quick change.

  Brom frowned as he put his own two coins in, and nothing happened; then he put two more in, and the shrine activated. He looked at Crowell with a judicious scowl. “Did ye really raise the price mid-challenge on meh?” Yeah, Cromwell, what kind of skinflint would do that!

  [1 Gold]

  Ohh yes, come to Papa, my shinies. Cromwell looked so, so gloriously confused for a moment. Before sputtering out some bullshit, “Ahh, well, of course it, uhh, naturally adjusts to make sure the applicants are adequately challenged…” He BS’ed poorly.

  The apprentice that had caught Bubba was looking at his jar in concern. “Uhh, boss, do loot bugs normally do this? Bubba was aggressively trying to eat his way into the circular contraption in the jar with him. Brom took a noticeable step back; his eyes had gone wide in concern. Hahaha, oh crap…

  There was a dull whump noise in the jar, followed by a purple flash, and the jar imploded, sending everyone in the room floating into erratic tumbles off in different directions as gravity just decided to take its leave of the immediate vicinity.

  Cromwell let out a shrill scream as he floated away over the abyss that was the pitfall trap. Brom launched a grappling hook onto an archway and reeled himself back to safety, snatching his other wayward apprentice on the way down. The one that had caught Bubba was just gone…nothing was left in that spot other than half a beard floating aimlessly. Oh...hells, did freaking Bubba, out of everyone, just get the first kill?

  The other mage apprentice desperately managed to get ahold of a door that was wedged between pillars near the entrance to the next room. Then the door, in sheer joyous ecstasy, got ahold of him. Ebert didn’t think he had ever seen a creature as happy as buyer's remorse was in this very moment in either of his lives. Its eye was wide, and it had the mage squarely in a very bitey bear hug. It made a happy squeal with every bite.

  Max was peeking into the room from the hallway behind the second toll door. He looked left and right, taking in the abrupt and utter chaos that was still spiraling downward. He mouthed the words “Oh, fuck me…” And just slowly closed the hall door. Egbert noticed him escaping. Don’t flee, you damn coward; this one is on you! I asked for dwarves! The man currently being eaten by my door is not a dwarf!

  Brom and his apprentice pulled themselves into the next airlock-like antechamber with the difficulty switch. Taking big sighs of relief as gravity reasserted itself now that they were far enough away from whatever the hell Bubba had unleashed with his kamikaze attack. The apprentice looked at Brom with wide, slightly frightened eyes. “Boss, is Stonefist dead?”

  Brom shrugged mightily. “Ehh, 'tis fifty-fifty. If he dun listen like I told him when he made those gravity anchors, he mighta just teleported outside, maybe. If un not then nuu his body is a marble-sized block oh dense metals somewhere in dat ruum with the magic pricks.” Brom turned from his apprentice and started studying the difficulty switch in front of him with interest.

  Egbert watched Crowmwell as he cartwheeled his arms around himself in a sheer panic. Come on, come on! Fall in the pit! Bully, this one is for you. Mug the hell out of him! To Egbert's sheer frustration, Cromwell's hand luckily clipped a pillar, sending him floating back towards the playground platform.

  He had one hand extended just seconds away from grabbing the edge and pulling himself to safety when his face twisted from fear to fear and confusion. Contempt was suddenly standing on top of the archway he was reaching towards as his final desperate lifeline. The angry little monster stared at him like an executioner that liked his job far too much. Contempt let out a vicious hissing laugh that was echoed by its subjects around the room, then viciously stabbed the extended hand, pushing him slowly back above the void.

  “What is wrong with this place?!” Cromwell screamed shrilly, looking around for one of his apprentices. Instead his eyes saw as contempt scampered up a wall and onto the ceiling directly above him. Then it flung itself into space; its horn caught him right in the nipple. The impact was enough to slam him down into the pitfall trap floor.

  Cromwell lashed around himself with a wave of fire. Scorching stone and setting the hems of his robe slightly ablaze. He spun desperately, looking for the tiny horned horror that had attacked him; it was nowhere to be seen. Instead he heard an ominous clunk, clunk, clunk of tiny chains lowering a drawbridge. Followed by a deep unkind “Hu, Hu HUUU” from a mystifyingly small castle adorned in skulls on the floor a few strides from him.