Dungeon Yelp

“Not a word,” Godfrey said preemptively, his voice firm. “Not one.”

Karlos frowned but complied, clearly sensing it wasn’t the time to push. The rogue, however, couldn’t resist.

“So, Godfrey,” they began with a grin, “should we be worried when Casper launches his new dungeon campaign? I hear dungeons are offering loyalty cards these days.”

Merlin snorted, leaning more heavily on the rogue as his strength waned. “You’re assuming Godfrey wouldn’t burn the card the moment he saw it.”

Godfrey, tuning out the banter, tightened his grip on Karlos’s arm as the teen struggled to fully regain his footing. He stared at the horizon, vowing silently that the next dungeon they entered would involve fewer theatrics and significantly less sentient fire.

Behind them, Casper’s parting shout echoed faintly: “Don’t forget to rate me online!”

The group barely had time to react when a red, leather-bound object hurtled through the air with alarming speed.

Thunk.

Karlos let out a startled yelp as the book smacked him square in the forehead, sending him stumbling backward into Godfrey’s chest. The knight caught him with a grunt, steadying the dazed teen before glaring toward the source of the projectile.

A tall, crimson-skinned figure stood in the distance, its horns gleaming under the muted light of the overcast sky. Draped in a black cloak with gold accents, the figure’s imposing presence was slightly undercut by the petulant scowl on its face. Its tail lashed irritably as it jabbed a clawed finger in their direction.

“That book,” the devil bellowed, “cost 800 dollars in Devil Coin! You think those grow on trees? Take it back! And stop being mean to Casper! He’s sensitive!” The voice, rich and thunderous, carried a hint of exasperated indignation.

Before anyone could respond, the devil hurled another book with the same terrifying accuracy. This one struck Karlos’s shoulder, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

“Are you serious?” Karlos groaned, clutching his arm as he shot a bewildered look at the towering devil. “What did I even do?”

“You,” the devil growled, its fiery eyes narrowing, “were part of this rude group that made Casper cry. Do you know how long it takes to cheer up a dungeon spirit? Too long! Take his book, sign it, and say thank you. What is wrong with you people 2 mages, and neither will accept a book by a struggling author do you hate books?”

Godfrey stepped forward, his expression thunderous. “And who, exactly, are you to throw overpriced nonsense at my party and make demands?”

The devil drew itself up to its full, intimidating height. “I am Duke Azargoth, Infernal Representative of Dungeon Enthusiasts United. And I will not stand idly by while you undermine our mission to create engaging, fulfilling adventurer experiences. Casper is one of our most dedicated dungeon spirits! His reviews are part of our culture! Speaking of culture is it a part of your culture to hate books? You have two mages in your party but none of you will read especially from someone as generous as Caspe is an insult to highest order.”

The rogue, clearly unable to resist, leaned closer to Merlin. “So, what do you think—are dungeon spirits unionized now? Or is this more like a pyramid scheme?”

Merlin chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “If we survive this, I’m nominating Casper for Dungeon Spirit Employee of the Month.”

Duke Azargoth’s tail slammed against the ground, sending a minor tremor through the dirt. “You think this is funny?” he boomed. “Dungeon spirits put their metaphorical hearts and souls into creating these challenges! Do you know how hard it is to cater to ungrateful adventurers who break everything they touch?”

Godfrey pinched the bridge of his nose. “We didn’t break anything,” he snapped. “We completed the dungeon, and we’re leaving. That should be the end of it.”

The devil’s expression darkened. “Oh, no, Knight. You don’t just leave. You participate. That means signing the guest book and providing constructive feedback. Casper cried for three minutes because of you. Three. Minutes. Do you have any idea how many tears that is for a flame spirit?”

“No,” Karlos muttered under his breath, “and I don’t want to find out.”

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Godfrey, clearly nearing the end of his patience, stepped forward again. “Look. We are not signing anything. We are not taking any books. And if you—”

Before he could finish, the devil sighed dramatically and snapped its fingers. A wave of infernal energy washed over the party, and suddenly, the guest book floated midair, glowing ominously as an oversized quill appeared beside it.

“You’ll sign,” Azargoth said, his tone almost bored now. “You don’t have a choice. The book’s enchanted. Any time you try to leave without signing, it’ll follow you. Forever.”

The rogue laughed, though there was a nervous edge to it. “Forever? Like, even if we travel to another plane?”

“Especially if you travel to another plane,” Azargoth said smugly. “Casper’s feedback will be collected.”

Karlos groaned from the ground, waving weakly at the book. “Fine! Someone sign it before it gets us all cursed.”

Godfrey, jaw clenched, grabbed the quill and stabbed it into the book’s ethereal page. He scrawled something short and sharp, snapping the quill in half when he was done. The book glowed briefly, then vanished in a puff of smoke.

“There,” he growled. “Now leave us alone.”

Azargoth gave an approving nod. “Much better. Casper will be thrilled. Maybe he’ll even name a trap after you—‘Godfrey’s Razor Wall,’ perhaps?”

“I’d rather it be Godfrey’s Flaming Sword,” the knight shot back, his tone deadly.

The devil smirked. “Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other dungeons to monitor. Try not to upset any more spirits—they’re fragile.” With a snap of his fingers, the devil disappeared in a swirl of fire and brimstone, leaving only the faint scent of sulfur behind.

The group stood in stunned silence for a moment. Then the rogue snickered. “So… anyone else think we should’ve written a one-star review?”

The silence was broken by Merlin’s wheezing laugh, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. “One star? I’d give it two, just for the sheer theatrical value.”

Karlos groaned, still rubbing his bruised forehead and shoulder. “I’d give it negative stars if it meant not getting assaulted with books.”

The rogue grinned, nudging Merlin. “That’s what you get for not dodging. Rule one of adventuring: always dodge the unexpected hardcover.”

Merlin gave them a side-eye. “Rule two: don’t provoke overdramatic devils with inferiority complexes.”

Godfrey, still scowling, helped Karlos to his feet. “Rule three,” he muttered darkly, “never let me talk to them again. I swear, next time I’m using my sword instead of a quill.”

Karlos, wobbling but upright, threw his hands up in exasperation. “So, are enchanted guest books a thing now? Are we supposed to expect Yelp reviews after every dungeon?”

The rogue shrugged, their expression far too amused. “Apparently. Though I’m still not convinced this wasn’t all just a ploy to sell us overpriced devil literature.”

“Devil Coin literature,” Merlin corrected with a smirk, earning a groan from Karlos.

Godfrey ignored them all, his focus on the horizon as if gauging whether the dungeon was truly behind them. “We’re moving,” he barked. “The last thing we need is Casper’s cousin ambushing us for not tipping.”

The rogue let out a theatrical gasp. “Do you think we’ll get haunted? Like, ghostly dungeon traps popping up at random intervals?”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Merlin muttered, limping after Godfrey.

As they began walking, Karlos glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting another flaming projectile to come hurtling through the air. “Do you think Casper actually cried?” he asked cautiously.

“Three minutes’ worth, apparently,” Merlin said dryly. “Which, if you’re curious, is roughly half a gallon of fire tears.”

Karlos stared. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Merlin smirked, his voice tinged with mischief. “It’s my job to know these things. Call it professional curiosity.”

The rogue chuckled. “Or maybe you’re secretly in on it. Tell us, Merlin—how much does Devil Coin convert to mana crystals?”

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but Godfrey cut him off. “Enough. Let’s just get to the next town before we have to fend off another emotionally fragile dungeon spirit.”

The group fell into a grudging silence, though the rogue’s grin never faded. As the forest thinned, revealing the faint glow of a distant village, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Just as they crossed the treeline, Karlos mumbled, “You know, we really should’ve asked for a receipt. That book might’ve been worth something.”

Merlin snorted, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “The only thing it’s worth is a permanent headache.”

The rogue clapped a hand on Karlos’s back, nearly sending him stumbling again. “Cheer up, kid. Next dungeon, we’ll leave Godfrey to deal with the paperwork.”

“Over my dead body,” Godfrey growled without looking back.

The rogue grinned wider, falling into step beside Karlos. “See? Now that’s the spirit of adventure.”

The group trudged onward, the tension slowly melting as the village’s warm lights grew brighter in the distance. The rogue, as always, couldn’t resist keeping the mood lively—or rather, poking at Godfrey until the knight snapped.

“So, Godfrey,” they began, their tone dripping with mock seriousness, “if you ever retire from knighthood, have you considered a career in customer relations? You’d be a natural. ‘Sign the guest book, or I’ll sign it with your blood.’ Very approachable.”

“Approachable?” Merlin wheezed, still leaning heavily on the rogue. “I’d call it inspirational. That devil’s probably framing Godfrey’s signature as we speak.”

Godfrey’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Keep talking, and I’ll inspire you with the flat side of my sword.”

“Promises, promises,” the rogue said with a cheeky grin, dodging just in case Godfrey decided to make good on his threat.

Karlos, limping slightly but recovering, piped up. “I just want to know how Casper gets his reviews in the first place. Does he have, like, dungeon Wi-Fi? Or does he send feedback forms via bat messenger?”

Merlin snorted. “Bat messenger? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obviously enchanted mimics carrying parchment scrolls. Stealthy and efficient.”

“I swear,” Godfrey muttered, gripping the hilt of his sword, “if any of you summon a mimic with this nonsense, I’m leaving you to deal with it.”

The rogue frowned. “Wait, didn’t we fight a mimic two dungeons ago? What if that mimic was Casper’s messenger? What if we accidentally—” He froze, eyes widening. “Oh no. What if we killed his Yelp manager?”

Merlin burst into laughter so hard he had to clutch his ribs. “I—oh gods—that would explain so much! No wonder he cried! We ruined his whole operation!”

The rogue doubled over, howling. “I can see it now—‘Casper’s Mimic Courier Service: Five-Star Reviews or Five-Star Revenge.’”

“Wait, did you just say yelp?” Karlos asked