There is no Epic Loot here, Only Puns. - Interlude: Maiden

“So, that’s why we need your help. So, uh,” the Blade Captain stammered, his scruffy face looking both pale and flustered at the same time.

She eyed him with ambivalence. She expressed no real negative emotion, but given her sharp cheekbones and piercing gaze, Isanella Sume knew far too well that she looked as friendly as a winter spirit in the middle of a blizzard down by the Stands of the World.

“That’s why we’re here, pumpkin,” came the bemused voice of her companion. The man smiled with relief.

“It’s an honor to have both the Winter and Fall Maidens helping us out,” he gushed, breaking his grim facade to look starstruck. Isanella turned away, embarrassed by the title. She might gulp if he asked for her autograph. So many people wanted her name on a piece of paper or poster or even magically tattooed on their skin!

It was insane.

“I… didn’t mean to overstep,” the man said instantly, reading Isanella’s posture as displeasure instead of mortification.

“Ah, don’t sweat it. Issy just doesn’t like attention or noise,” Omp’ne said with a hearty chuckle and slapped Isanella’s back with enough force that Isanella winced.

The Fall Maiden wasn’t the most physically strongest of the Maidens, but that didn’t mean Omp’ne power either – that smack was going to leave an imprint. It was the sort of thing you just had to work with when dealing with a half-giantess who hunched at a lower seven foot.

The strongest of them physically was Brilda and that was one woman who meant it when she glared at people.

“Oh! Good. Well, we have a problem with the Dungeon,” the Blade captain went on awkwardly as Isanella took time to ‘listen’ to the world around them. It was something she was slowly beginning to use once more since-

Well, since she had sung the song to eclipse all noise back home.

The land around them was north of Verluan Capital, a place Fairplay was avoiding due to the recent bloody rise of the new King. His ascension to the throne was mired in all sorts of drama and the new Queen was none too pleased from what Isanella heard.

That poor woman.

Isanella knew all too well what it felt like to be forced to choose between a demon’s bargain and a dead end. She would be akin to a prisoner in her own home. Only free once the king had his selection of heirs.

Isanella sent a prayer to the queen. She prayed that one of the queen’s children would avenge the woman if the worst came to pass. Isanella pondered if she could love those children in such a circumstance?

It was an odd thought since Isanella really didn’t plan on being a mother. Not with her body tainted as it was.

Something caught her attention, a sort of ‘buzz’ in the ground. Isanella followed the disturbance in the magic and mana to the source.

The North Shrug was a cold place, but not a winter wonderland. A muddy brown land of chilly water and trees that never seemed to bloom all year long. It was famous for the largest waterfall in the world that flowed over the edge of the world into the abyss below.

The river was said to be formed from the World Crown, as if akin to flowing tears, but Isanella hadn’t seen the source herself. Rumor was that the Crown south of the Capitol had begun to run dry of mana. The Mana vein itself tapped out as if the land had suffered a blockage.

Those who ventured too close suffered… the grayness.

The North Shrug only held one village of note. It sprawled out before Isanella and Omp’ne like some god had spilled their tea leaves, chaotically and windswept in a curve. A frontier town of sorts, Deowrant was oddly beautiful. Just enough greenery and life pulled together to give the impression of a fiery spot of growth in the Shrug.

It was famous for two things.

The first was that it was a neutral ground between those coming from the south and the roaming bands of nomad barbarians. Tough warriors who contended with monsters, storms, and traveled along the edge of the world with wills of steel.

The second, of course, was the Dungeon. Isanella followed the buzzing in the ground to the large ominous sheer cliff wall that rose out of the massive river. The near-black rock looked shaped by streams of lava that hissed into the river, forming large islands that floated off the edge of the world, sometimes clinging to the edge.

These pieces slowly expanded the land and were called the ‘Shallows’ by the natives.

“She’s a looker,” Omp’ne whistled in appreciation. The Dungeon was a wonky square of cliff walls on all sides that were impossible to scale with anything short of the best climbing gear. The top belched black smoke and turned the rain a curious ashen color.

There had been rumors the ash was poisonous, but it was just mana cast-off.

“She?” Isanella murmured with a question.

“Issy, everything natural and beautiful is a woman until otherwise corrected. A raging storm is the wrath of a goddess. The shaking of the ground is the fury of a lady. The fresh rain on the skin is a mother’s kiss,” Omp’ne boasted.

“What about bugs that bite you in warm parts of the world?” Isanella said with a raised brow.

“Those are men,” Omp’ne said, deadly serious before she cracked a grin.

“Sorry, giant culture. One giantess to every ten males gives us a lot of power and that means we get to write our myths. Men are powerful mountains one day when they make us smile… and buffoons that anthills tower over the next when they upset us,” Omp’ne explained, mostly for the worried blade nearby.

Omp’ne certainly didn’t mind men. Isanella discovered that in the worst way possible one day when she was sent to find Omp’ne and found her still asleep.

With half the patrons of the bar she was in last night still in the bed with her.

The woman’s brazen appreciation of her own body along with her self-respect about the whole thing made Isanella a little jealous. She could barely stutter out a greeting before she fled or the man she was speaking with seemed to think Isanella was going to murder him.

“Why are we here?” Isanella asked, changing the subject far too fast, causing Omp’ne to smirk.

“The Craven Keep,” the man said, turning to the Dungeon with a deep scowl. The two Maidens turned serious and everyone put pleasantries aside.

“Is that its name or what the men call it?” Omp’ne asked and the blade hesitated.

“Does it matter?” he finally responded. Isanella looked him in the eye and he flinched.

“Intimately,” she said quietly and the man grimaced.

“It’s got a weak avatar. Mostly uses it to stare at the squads going in and out. There’s a warning at the entrance,” he reported and Isanella was surprised. The Dungeon only had roughly 25 floors. It had to be very intelligent to already have a theme and form an avatar. She didn’t see those in Dungeons until past the 30 floor mark.

“The warning says that ‘All those that enter may leave with gold or stay forever as fuel for the Smith’s Forge,'” the man said, sounding like he did not like the name at all.

Smith’s Forge.

“And that’s a name you won’t accept because…?” Omp’ne trailed off, voice expectant. The man looked at her then at the weapon on her back nervously.

Omp’ne could insist all she wanted that it was a giant’s toolbox, but the giant thing looked like an ornate coffin made of stone and jewels.

It was eye-catching and morbid at the same time.

“A few of the boys, me included, have dad’s who are smiths. Good hardworking men and more than a few forced to go into a Dungeon because no one wants honest metals but some stupid ‘mana’ ore or stuff that doesn’t behave as it should. A lot of those good men never came back and left a lot of angry sons,” the man said stiffly.

And as Fairplay tended to do, it attracted those with vengeance in their heart. A lot of them were turned away as too violent or still in grief. But it was getting harder to find earnest workers who could put aside such notions.

This was why the Maidens were a thing.

“Right. This makes it a coward, how?” Omp’ne asked, her jolly voice beginning to turn irate.

“It only has one monster per floor, it’s all traps and cruel enchantments up to the sixth floor which is all we’ve managed to breach,” the blade fired back, getting worked up. Isanella tried not to frown.

A lot of the scouts and blades burned hot when it came to Dungeons. There was hardly a cool-head in the lower ranks and the upper ranks were restrained to command centers and more.

“Just a boss monster eh?” Omp’ne asked, curious now.

“Big ones. They’re not normal levels of strength we’d expect from lower floors,” the blade agreed grimly.

“Well, let’s have a look. We’re here to get you sorry lot to floor 10 then the rest is down to you blades. Issy has another job in the Hollow Grip and I’m heading to the Dry Patch to the Ruby Dungeon. It supposedly unleashed a new floor and people have been coming back without faces,” Omp’ne said briskly, making the man blink.

“…Their faces?” he echoed. Omp’ne waved a hand over her own with a dramatic flop.

“Clean gone. They can breathe somehow, but no face. The Dungeon is collecting them in this ornate book that charms people to look at it. Might be the floor boss,” the giantess explained.

“An attention commanding… book of faces,” the man repeated and looked ill. The two Maidens left the man with that image and continued onwards.

Isanella was quiet as they walked into Deowrant, getting the usual looks of awe and fear.

‘Just walk on. Don’t let it affect you.’

She repeated this mantra and when a crowd threatened to swarm them, Omp’ne let out an exaggerated growl of annoyance. Isanella hummed her a tiny note of thanks and the giantess pretended not to notice, but she kept Isanella in her shadow, like a protective mountain.

“This ain’t back home, little snowcloud. You can be proud here,” Omp’ne said softly and Isanella flinched.

If she had to admit it, Omp’ne was her best friend. In the Maidens, they got on best. Brilda was terse and polite.

It was Ghulana that was the problem.

The woman was not only some knockout with charm that made her popular, she was also a talented fae-like druid. Able to control nature spirits and such to the point she could make anything beautiful grow with but a command.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

She even had a private business on the side. A series of inns she planned on spreading around the country to provide comfort but really it was to spread the woman’s name. Isanella had never met a creature so vain as Ghulana.

They had done a few missions together. They always went wrong and Isanella was greatly ashamed to admit it was why the once infamous Pestilence Swamp Dungeon needed a full year to recover back to its previous state.

Ghulana accused Isanella of being bereft of warmth and the ability to love anyone.

Isanella called her a hack who only cared about using people and flashing her good looks.

Things escalated from there and Isanella learned what happened when a Dungeon was overfed mana from two very angry powerful women. The poor thing. Isanella took personal time between jobs to check up on it and sneak some unique poisons she found in the world to it as an apology. Some of the poisons snuck into her own food courtesy of a certain…hack.

Isanella gave her a constant ringing in her ear for three weeks straight in revenge. Isanella bumped into someone and she blinked.

Usually Omp’ne kept people clear off the street-

She looked up and up into deep dark eyes.

“Most outsiders do not interest me. You are like the first kiss of winter after a cruel summer. Your song is balm to my burning soul,” the man rumbled and Isanella saw him looking right into her eyes and saw only blunt truth to them.

He was a hulking man decked out in the fur of a massive snow bear, the whiteness only making his fiery red hair more striking along with his giant muscles.

Isanella tilted her head and listened.

She expected to hear the same thing as always, an unpleasant chorus of mixed emotions and thoughts aimed at her. Cold jabbing shards of judgment, fear, and worry.

What she got was a single repeating thump of a drum. A constant repetitive thunder of existence. It thrummed through her and left her feeling… warm.

“She’s single,” Omp’ne announced suddenly and Isanella’s pink flood of confusion and pleasant feelings came down in a crushing mix of horrified embarrassment.

The man gave her a small smile.

“Then the world is foolish. Such a wondrous song should not be sung alone,” he said and Omp’ne ‘subtly’ pushed Isanella forward with one hand, causing Isanella to leave skid marks in the soil.

“…Ah.” Isanella managed to croak out.

“So, we’re just two normal ladies out on the town, maybe tackling the Dungeon. You know, gal things. Nothing important if you had a suggestion for my friend,” Omp’ne said cheerfully, waving her hand about.

The man looked back down at Isanella, but he didn’t look ‘down’ at her.’

It was nice.

“Are you normal?” he asked curiously. There was no hint of a joke or mocking to his tone.

Isanella managed to swallow once.

“No,” she whispered with regret. This man would want a wife that could stay at home and be… normal. He smiled once more.

“Neither am I. Now we have a connection. If you are to remain around town… perhaps we can build more. I have a duty to attend first. I won’t ask the winter wind to wait on me. I am no fool,” he admitted and Isanella could only nod at his simplistic words, but they held earnest truth to them.

“Will I be allowed to chase the wind?” he asked himself and walked away, pausing only once to look back and smile. After a few seconds, Omp’ne spoke up.

“You’re going to need some sexy panties,” she concluded. Isanella snapped her head around to glare at her friend. The half-giantess shrugged.

“Armored granny panties are good for defending your life against danger, they’re also amazingly good at defending your most precious part from the touch of a man,” Omp’ne said dryly. Isanella could feel her face turning red.

“They’re comfortable! I’ll wear… scandalous panties when a Dungeon makes them as a loot drop. I want purpose and style!” she fumed. Omp’ne perked up suddenly.

“Oh, I can knit you some from the sinew of a dragon! Old wives tales say that increases a man’s vitality when he-“

Isanella ran off, hands clamped over her ears.

—

Omp’ne watched her little snowcloud vanish inside the nearby inn. Her smile faded until she was left with a serious gaze.

“Take the chance, Issy,” she whispered. Then Omp’ne touched a hand to her chest, feeling her core pulse with intense energy.

“Before Winter no longer lets you go,” she pleaded.

She ran a hand down her stomach where the shattered core of a dead Dungeon was implanted into her skin. She knew Isanella had accepted the winter core to handle her…

Curse.

Just like Ghulana used it to stop going mad.

Just like how Brilda used it to regulate her uncontrollable power.

Not Omp’ne. Omp’ne was just an idiot.

A foolish idiot who took any chance to be someone else.

She tapped her face a few times, psyching herself up.

“Cheer up! The Fall Maiden is not too hot or cold. She’s just perfect. A smile for all is how I work!” she grinned to herself.

“That’s how Omp’ne Brawndo stays a hero!” she proclaimed.

—
Present Day

Director Ripdoy looked over his desk, frowning.

“It’s premature,” he admitted.

“I’m ready,” the young woman argued as she stood up, her form striking as her once brown hair began to turn golden with hues of red. Just peeking out from her casual shirt, three amber shards poked out her skin.

“Tu’mn, I understand you’ve been waiting for this day,” he began and she looked tense. Like her predecessor, she too was of giant origins. The Golden Core resonated best with those with giant’s blood for some reason.

“But given what happened-” he said and she growled, looking annoyed.

“I’m not my mother,” she snapped. Ripdoy stopped looking so polite and his aura shifted to being strict.

“We know. She was our greatest, our brightest… and when she gave birth to you? You took everything. Her core, her strength, her purpose. I know very well who you are and aren’t. I don’t blame you as you seem to,” he responded firmly.

Simmering with anger, Tu’mn stared at the ground.

“You can still see her,” he said finally and Tu’mn looked up with heat.

“No thank you… sir,” she responded.

“I don’t want to see a Dungeon Slave. She can stay in the Craven Keep for all I care,” she announced and turned on her heel to leave. Shouting after Tu’mn would accomplish nothing and Ripdoy did not even entertain the idea of physically restraining her.

It was barbaric to resort to strength to make a point.

It was also incorrect to call contracts ‘slaves.’ Perhaps foolish to connect oneself to an alien mind, but in the case of Brilda and Omp’ne?

It was needed.

Omp’ne for her sudden collapsing soul after the birth of her beloved daughter and Brilda because not even one core was enough to drain her of her explosive power.

Trying to tell Tu’mn this? It was an exercise in patience. The girl didn’t even want to use her actual name.

Resorting to the giant language to make one of her own.

Honestly, there was nothing wrong with Issy Sume.

Omp’ne wasn’t the best with names. If it was a boy she had? She wanted to call it Brilly Ghul. He leaned back in his chair.

She never told Ripdoy who the father was.

‘A hunk up north… or was it his brother?’ she would often joke.

Still, it would be good to have a functioning Maiden again. Since Ripdoy had put in extra steps to protect Dungeon’s from being leeched or shattered along with the King’s law? Dead Dungeon cores were a lot rarer these days.

New Maidens could not be made on a dime and the missing cores of Winter and Spring were… officially missing.

Unofficially given away.

He couldn’t bear to shatter Isanella’s happiness nor Ghulana’s sacrifice.

Brilda’s core kept her alive and Ripdoy would sooner cut off his own hand than demand that core back. This was a problem for some on the board of directors. Caline, the uprising ‘star,’ insisted the Maidens were paramount to their company.

The man was a sop and Ripdoy found him as charming as a door stopper and as emotionally engaging as one.

If there was one thing Ripdoy did resent Omp’ne for?

It was for discovering the art of Seed Weapons all those years ago up north.

That was when Ripdoy’s dream shattered like a damaged Dungeon Core.

The ‘Craven Keep’? What a foolish name.

The Smith’s Forge was correct, in all its meaning.

“Fuck you for taking Omp’ne away from us… and thank you for keeping her alive,” Director Ripdoy of Fairplay toasted empty air with a glass to the northern direction of his building.

It was thanks to Omp’ne sneaking new designs out of the Smith’s Forge that gave Fairplay a leg up. She wanted all the chances for her daughter to survive any dungeon to be important.

The company’s symbol was even based on her. Working together with the power of Dungeon to keep their dream alive.

Caline and his ilk had tainted even that.

Frowning, he felt a strange tug as if a string was being pulled and he jerked out of his chair in surprise. He looked up at a nearby mirror and instead of his reflection…

Ripdoy saw silver streams of light flowing into the air.

Director Ripdoy of the Fairplay company bent the knee before the mirror.

“Send the Maiden. This Dungeon proves to be… promising.”

The command was said and Ripdoy blinked, a light in his eyes fading.

He stood up slowly.

“What was I doing?” he asked aloud and eyed his reflection, noticing he was a bit pale looking.

He thought about Tu’mn.

Perhaps a little Dungeon to break her in would ease off some of her built up tension? Despite her temper, it would reassure him that a Maiden was in the same town as his boy.

It was protection without saying it was.

But… why did the entire situation make him feel uneasy despite his heart being set on the idea?

Ripdoy didn’t know.

Was it really his heart?

Was his core reacting to something after so many years of being utterly dead?

Questions upon questions.

Alas… no answers to be had.