Cold stone against his back, resonant chanting that made his bones vibrate. Dee was dreaming again. He had been taken into another world, far away from the stress of reality. He could explore infinite worlds in his dreams. But it was always a tense tightrope to walk. If he was too aware of the dream, he would wake up and lose this peace.

  He flew in some dreams, across gigantic landscapes with waterfalls as high as mountains. He explored landscapes of green plains and slate grey mountains, dotted with ruins. Sometimes he almost made it into one of the ruins, he caught glimpses of the treasures inside. It always hurt to wake up and let those dreams go.

  This was a different kind of dream. The cold stone was really hard against his back. The air was humid and slightly chilly, swampy was the word. He was in a swampy cave, he could see the roof above him, bathed in a pulsating green and blue light.

  Looks like RGB keys. Imagine a wizard using a keyboard as a magical focus, a prismatic typist. He thought. It went into his mental bank, the storage for all the strange ideas he had during sleep that he wrote down in his dream journal. The perfect generator for his stories and adventures. He couldn’t bring back anything physical, but there were always the treasures of the imagination.

  He tried to rise up, to see if he could fly in this dream, but something was holding him down. He turned his head left and saw an immense stone face, a bulbous eyed frog god, staring out from the wall. Its eyes gleamed like black pearls and its wide lips were pursed as if ready to let out an almighty croak.

  “A hideous frog god,” he said. He craned his neck to the right. A frog man stared down at him, his chin sac pulsating. He did not look happy at Dee’s words.

  “Sorry,” Dee said.

  The frog man held up a stone dagger in a way that showed he had not accepted the apology.

  Dee tried to sit-up again, but strong, dank hands held him down. Two attendants either side of him were holding his arms and legs down.

  Fear kicked in and brought him a sudden realisation. This was no dream. He was being held down on a stone altar in front of the god’s face, and behind the dagger wielding frog man there was a whole congregation of more frog men. All chanting and croaking.

  He was the centre point of a doom metal cover album. Sacrificed to the Frog God. I could wake up now, that would be fine.

  “I meant hideous in terms of construction, not the underlying shape of the face. Which is very nice. I’m sure your god is quite handsome.”

  Dee twisted but the two attendants were well practised in holding down unwilling sacrifices, their hands squeezed painfully around his limbs. And the frog priest holding the dagger looked pretty certain he was going to stab somebody today.

  The priest clasped the dagger in both hands, raised its face to the statue and let out a thunderous prayer that could also have just been a thunderous burp.

  Dee closed his eyes and flicked them open again, a well-practised trick to wake from his more disturbing dreams. But he was still in the cave, still held down and still in the pathway of a sacrificial dagger.

  This is really real. The sensation of the stone, the hands on his wrists and legs, the colours and the sound, the incessant chanting that was to end with his death. He had never had a real-life experience like this, let alone a dream.

  “Stop, stop!” he screamed and strained against his captors. The priest roared over him, and its dagger weaved side to side as the priest’s arms swayed in a trance-like rhythm.

  The priest dropped one hand over Dee’s mouth, the clammy touch shocked him into silence. He felt tears well in his eyes and his body shook with adrenaline. The priest’s grasp went stiff. The anticipation of the blow shot through him like ice cold water. Dee felt he might have pissed himself, but his body was numb. He closed his eyes and tensed for the sharp blow. Please be a dream, please be a dream. Even as he knew it wasn’t. Killed by the Frogmen, an adventure for a level zero loser.

  The chanting in the chamber changed suddenly. The chorus of froggy reverence turned into a chaotic mess of angry burps. The priest's clammy hand slid away from his face, and the two attendants suddenly released him.

  He opened his eyes, wiped his tears and snot away, not with much effect. He wiped his hands over his pyjamas. I’m still in my pyjamas. They kidnapped me in my sleep! But the two attendants were nowhere to be seen, and the frog priest was slumped down by the altar, dead. The dagger had dropped out of his lifeless hands. Dee tried to reach down to grab it, but he was petrified with terror. He had to escape, not fight.

  He could run down the stairs but that led to the chaotic fighting that had saved him.

  The light of the cavern pulsed green and blue, illuminating the whole scene below. A figure in the centre whirled and leapt at the frog men, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair and two curved hand axes, then the warrior leapt up into the air and down into another part of the crowd. She arced through the air like a cat, and struck just as viciously. She was outnumbering a whole crowd of frog men, moving through them in an assured dance of strength and agility.

  Should I help her? How? Maybe by staying quiet.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  He looked around for another escape route. The only way out was down the stairs and past the combat. And past the dead body of the frog priest.

  I’ll stay here and think of a plan. Maybe I can still wake up.

  “Hello, human,” a soft voice said into his ear.

  He screamed and jumped, falling off the stone altar onto the equally cold and hard stone below.

  “Ooh, a little jumpy. Don’t be scared, we’re here to save you.” The speaker peered over the edge of the altar at him. First came the hat, pointed and floppy like an anime witch hat. Then the face, pale and pretty, just like an anime witch. Then the bosom, plentiful and almost hanging out of her black robes, absolutely like an anime witch.

  She held her velvet-gloved hand out to him. He was mesmerised by her eyes. They were like pools of water under the midnight sky. Black with flecks of silver, like stars. He thought he might see a shooting star in them.

  “Oh, you’re pretty.” The words came out of him.

  “Yes. You’re sitting on the floor.”

  “Oh.” He took her hand and she pulled him up. He saw that the rest of her conformed to the witch stereotype. She was a witch. A real life floppy hatted, dark-robed, long-legged, staff-holding witch. She sashayed around the altar, and draped her long arm over his shoulder.

  I wish this was a dream. Then I would have a chance with her. Although she may be evil, she can’t be worse than a frog priest.

  She squeezed him closer, and peered down at him. She was about a head taller than him, but her aura was warm and protective, like your favourite school teacher. The one that you have a crush on, who is just young enough that you can fantasise about bumping into her in a pub one day. And she’s drunk and then she leans down and whispers something in your ear and from that moment you know what it is to be a man.

  After the clasp of the froggies, the feel of her long velvety roves and body against him was heavenly. It also gave him an immediate erection.

  “Are you a mage? Did they take your staff?”

  My staff is in my pants madam, and it’s doing quite well thanks to you. “Quiet brain! Sorry, I mean, no I’m not a mage. I don’t have a staff.”

  “Not a magical one, then. Why are you in mage’s robes?” She tickled his ear with her gloved hand, and her other hand found its way onto his chest, underneath his pyjamas.

  I am wearing my pyjamas and dressing gown. I should explain this in a sensible way so she doesn’t realise that I’m a loser.

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a sudden deeper voice. “I was kidnapped by frog men in my pyjamas. How they got into my pyjamas, I will never know.” She showed no response to his masterful joke. Task failed successfully.

  “And the robes?” She drew her finger down the lapel of his dressing gown.

  “I guess it does look a bit like magic robes. Must be a coincidence of design.” I bought a wizard dressing gown, don’t judge me.

  “Oh, you’re very mysterious, in your disguise. I bet you snuck in here, and stole an elemental crest, and that’s why the frogites wanted to kill you isn’t it? Isn’t it? Ooh you sneaky human?”

  His face was burning again, but with a different kind of pleasure and fear. Maybe I could go back to being a human sacrifice, that’s less emotionally confusing. Lie down, get stabbed, end of.

  She put two fingers on his chest, and proceeded to walk them downward. The buttons on his pyjamas opened themselves as if by magic as her fingers went lower. “You... walked... Right… in...” Each word was punctuated with a step down his chest, he was unbuttoned down to his belly now. “And... found... their... little... cache...” Her hand-walk was at the base of his stomach. There was only one inevitable ending for this story, and somebody was going to be disappointed. “And... grabbed—” The last button of his top fell open and there was a sweet moment where her hand stretched his elastic belt open and a jolt of anticipation made his whole body stiff. But fate was cruel and the warrior down below had finished her work before the witch would finish hers.

  “Yuri, stop playing with it. Does he have a crest?” The barbarian he had glimpsed leaping about was now stalking up the stairs. Like a deadly big cat, she moved with pure smooth menace. Her face was focused on him like he was a prey animal, her green eyes bored into him. Her axes were still in her hands, light but vicious metal blades with a natural looking curve to them.

  She was wearing a green fur outfit, with a gold circlet on one ankle and wrists. Gold and green. She could have been a character on an arcade cabinet. But instead of pixelation, she was here, a sweating and very fierce barbarian. She ran her fingers through her hair, separating the sweaty strands from her brow, and he saw pointed ears. A fierce elf barbarian. Why not?

  Yuri pulled away from Dee. “No, sweetheart. He doesn’t have one.”

  She crouched beside the altar and stared at it. “This is interesting though. The altar is crude and simple, nothing like the face. So, they must have found this statue, or maybe they made it long ago, and lost the secrets of construction… Or”—she stood up straight suddenly—“the crude nature of the altar is on purpose, a reflection on the brutal sacrifice that must be made.”

  “I want the crest, not a lecture,” the warrior said. She turned her gaze to Dee, paralyzing him even more with fear. “Did you come here for the crest?”

  He felt menace pour from her, not aggressive, just the kind of easy domination that a cat has over a mouse. “I don’t know. I just woke up here, really. I make adventures more than play them. Or go into them. Hi, my name is Dee.” The words spilled out of him. He stopped before he burst into manic laughter. The attempted sacrifice, the battle, the witch, it was all too much. He didn’t know how he was going to handle this.

  “What’s your class?” the barbarian said.

  “I don’t have one. Level 1 human?”

  “That’s not a class. I’m a Mist Witch, and Arjelica is a Claw Stalker.” Yuri leaned in and he felt her warm breath on his cheek. He wanted to cry, it felt so charming and safe.

  “I don’t think I have a class,” Dee said. His voice broke and he coughed to hide the quavering.

  “Why are you in a dungeon if you aren’t a PC?” Arjelica took a step towards him and his heart rate went up another frequency.

  “Why am I in a dungeon?”

  “I’m asking you, human.”

  “I’m asking myself the same thing. Why am I in a dungeon?” He threw his arms wide and smiled, the horrible strained smile you make when you would rather scream. “Why am I in a dungeon?”

  Yuri was watching him intently, trying to ascertain the truth of his statements. A look of realisation came over her face. “He’s stupid.”

  “Of course he’s stupid, he’s a human. Let’s find the others.”

  Yuri gave a long theatrical sigh. “I thought he might be a Rogue, or an Illusionist.” She thrust something into his arms, it felt like his leather gaming satchel. “Maybe an Alchemist, but this isn’t even a crest pouch.”

  Yuri sashayed away from him. Don’t leave me!

  His fingers automatically went to the front of the bag, and there it was, the compass embossed on the front. This was his book bag, usually filled with dice and notebooks and miniatures. Oh, this may be my salvation! Maybe I came with magic dice, or stat blocks for all the monsters?

  He flipped open the satchel and reached inside.