Shadowcroft - Year 3 - Art + Chapter 1

Well folks, Shadowcroft year three is officially in the works. Aaron and I have finished with the outline and are nine chapters into the book. It's going to be more fun than ever! Really excited with the story we have planned--the cover art perfectly fits the tone of Year Three--and I think it's gonna be an absolute riot. Hope you all enjoy the heck out of it! 

Chapter One

Logan Murray was the first to open the door into their new rooms in the Azure Dragon dorms. At first, Logan couldn’t believe how nice it was.

Marko Laskarelis poked him in the back with his lute. Marko wore his gem-studded robes over a jaunty vest. “Go on in, Logan. I’m dying to see where we’ll be living for our last year at the Shadowcroft Academy of Dungeons.”

“It’s not our last year,” Inga Thosa Therian said with a sigh. “It’s our third year.”

“Really?” Marko asked, squinting in suspicion. “Pretty sure last year felt like two years if not three. Also, this summer. Oh, man, and this summer was wild. That has to count for something, right? Also, also, I have a secret. I know something you don’t know!”

“Did you create another minion channeling an ancient evil?” Treacle asked from behind Inga. Little insects buzzed around the minotaur’s horned head. Logan was curious about them, but he hadn’t figured out a polite way to ask.

Marko didn’t have that problem. “For your information, Treacle. Steve was a one-time thing—I’m on the straight and narrow. No more screw ups. On an unrelated note, what’s with the flies, Treac?”

Treacle’s eyes drooped and he snorted. “You have your secrets. And I have mine.”

Logan, Inga, and Treacle all towered over Marko, who was still a C-Class, Rank 2 Dungeon Satyr. He was weighed down with a big leather backpack and was also pulling an enormous suitcase, nearly bursting at the seams. With what, Logan had no idea, though if he had to guess he would say clothes. Marko loved accessorizing.

It had taken Logan a little while to get used to being so big. He had dark skin now, glossy black and covered with hard chitinous ridges. A round mushroom cap topped his head.

Inga still wore Melvin’s fedora on her bone-white hair, which was striking against her silvery skin. Her bushy antennae were as droopy as Treacle’s eyes. “I have a secret too, though it’s more of a surprise,” she said, sounding rather perky despite whatever her antennae had to say about the matter. “Let’s get unpacked first and then we can really talk about our summer.”

It was funny. During the schoolyear, they were inseparable. Such was the nature of the cohorts within Shadowcroft. During the summers, however, they rarely saw each other. They were just busy. Or, in the case Treacle, the minotaur had spent a good portion of the summer travelling with Professor Ronnalg Crucible.

Inga had also done some traveling of her own. She’d went with Madame Orry Gammy to some kind of bureaucratic nightmare world. A place of endless red-tape, snaking lines that never ended, and historic records that dated back past the oldest of dungeons. She’d mentioned something about searching some archives and file cabinets, but Logan didn’t know the specifics.

Marko, like Logan, had stayed on Arborea. However, both had been kept so busy, they hadn’t hung out.

Marko both lived and worked at the Wayfarer Inn in the Xiru Forest. That was bad for the goat man. On his days off, he’d stay there to drink at the same bar where he bartended. Marko had cut way back on his booze consumption, but he was still drawn to a party like a fraternity moth to a homecoming bonfire.

As for Logan, he’d been enslaved to the Rector Prime, Yullis Rockheart, just like the summer before, doing all sorts of tasks for the grumpy gargoyle. Trimming bushes, maintaining the grounds with the Treegees—a variety of plant, tree, and shrubbery creatures that acted as the staff at the Shadowcroft Academy for Dungeons—or acting as a chew toy for Rockheart’s Hellhounds. But the vast majority of his time was spent cultivating under the Rector Prime’s watchful gaze.

The gargoyle had grand designs for Logan and was determined that Logan lived up to his full potential—even if it killed him.

Oddly enough, Logan had spent a lot of time with Chadrigoth Nobleblade. Rockheart had the abyss lord working right alongside Logan when he wasn’t helping Professor Ikgix in the Tartarucha Cells.

Logan and the rest of the Terrible Twelfth shuffled out of the hallway and into the main room of their new third-year dorms. To the left was a kitchen and a dining room table. To the right were a series of sofas and comfy chairs.

As for bedrooms, there were four total, two on each side.

The suite was done in the Azure Dragon Clan’s colors—blue and gold. There was a gorgeous carpet covering the hardwood floor showing Vilhelm Audax, the Celestial Ancestor who had started the Azure Dragon Clan a thousand years or more ago. The dragon rug matched a dragon tapestry in the living room.

There was a massive stone fireplace in the middle of the wall with sliding glass doors on either side, letting out to a sprawling balcony. Logan stepped through the doors and took in the view of the Golden Feasting Hall and the jutting turrets of the castle. Last year, they’d been on the Loch Endless side of the Azure Dragon Wing. The dorm was far nicer and the view was spectacular, but Logan would miss staring at the tranquil surface of Loch Endless, where massive monsters of scales and fin glided through murky depths.

Logan walked back inside the main area.

Marko was on the couch, strumming his magical lute. For now, he wasn’t playing anything that might summon eldritch horrors, though that could change in a heartbeat. In fact, Logan could’ve sworn it was a Beatles song. Marko was sprawled out with this stuff around him, including a leather bandolier of magical throwing daggers, a drinking horn, and the featureless head of one of his creepy mannequins.

“We all picked our rooms already,” he said, idly finger picking at the strings. “You snooze, you lose.”

Logan offered the satyr a flat, unamused glare. “Come on, guys. I just stepped out onto the balcony. And I was in Rockheart’s utility shed again this year. I wanted a nice room.”

Marko squinted at him. “Uh, what’s your definition of nice?”

Logan let his head fall back. “Dark. Moist. Can I say moist?”

“I wish you wouldn’t!” Inga called from the other room.

Marko pointed with a furry finger. “Don’t worry buddy—we saved the perfect place for you. By the front door. I think you’ll like it because literally no one else did.” He drew his lips into a thin line. “Moist is definitely the right word for that place.”

Logan marched to the door and opened it. It was tiny, no windows, with a bed that took up a good chunk of the room. A desk took up the rest. That mattress looked stained. There was mold growing in several corners already, dead leaves crunched underfoot, and there was indeed a curious dampness in the air that felt like heavenly on his rubbery flesh.

Logan stepped inside, closed the door, and then sprawled down onto the bed. That wasn’t a stain. It was black mold! It made the bed oddly comfortable, even though his legs hung over the side. It would’ve been pitch black if he’d had normal eyes. As it was, it was still dim even for his fungal vision. Marko was right—the room was a dream. He’d throw a digestion pit under the bed and maybe add a few Opal Truffles and God’s Eye Caps then call it good.

He came out of his fungus closet and grinned. “You weren’t wrong, Marko. I do love it.”

Inga came out of her room to frown at Marko. “We’re going to be sharing this space. We need to keep it clean.”

Marko grimaced. “Does she think that’s going to be a thing? Because it’s probably not going to be a thing.”

Without replying to the Satyr, Inga  scooped up Marko’s stuff in her four hands and unceremoniously tossed them into Marko’s room. When she turned, Logan got a good view of her wings—black skulls tattooed on white.

“Thanks, Ing,” Marko said. “Really appreciate your help. Moving is so exhausting, am I right or am I right?”

“I tolerate more than my fair share of your eccentricities, including your incorrect usage of the word ‘bro,’ but I’m not at all excited about you calling me ‘Ing.’” She started for the kitchen, but Treacle beat her to it.

The minotaur tossed one of his metal orbs into the kitchen. It landed on the floor with a clank abd rolled a handful of feet before  transforming into a variety of steampunk contraptions that went to work making coffee and gathering snacks including little powdered-sugar donuts. Treacle silently nodded at his creations and then trotted over and plopped down next to Marko. He let out a contented sigh, a small smile on his bovine face as his ears twitched and danced, thanks to the circling flies.

He looked happy. Which was good. He’d also seemed to be perpetually on the edge of existential crisis, but ever since facing off against Steve, the minotaur had developed a new zest for life. Maybe zest was a little strong, Logan thought. More accurately, he didn’t seem like he wanted to jump off a bridge at any given moment. Still, a step in the right direction.

Inga and Logan sat across from them. The moth woman had a binder of papers resting on her knee and was clearly excited to share whatever new info she’d dug up during her summer break.

Marko eyed the binder dubiously while absently swatting at flies. “So, Treacle, are you going to explain the bugs or what?”

“Fine.”

A walking tray, clockwork legs clanking, approached Treacle. He grabbed a bundle of wheat, exhaled, and looked down at it. “I got infected. It’s, uh, not contagious. Professor Crucible took me to his homeworld, Wamapawn. It’s a very crowded place, full of crafting and crafters. They have cog flies there, though, and they were attracted to my AFS Core.” He grimaced. “I’m diseased now.”

Treacle opened his coat and tapped the glowing white stone in his stomach. His dungeon core gem had been augmented with additional Fulgur apothos. It gave him all the power he needed to run his many creations.

A thick coat of wriggling flies swarmed about his core. Treacle covered it with his coat, but  they still buzzed incessantly around his head.

Logan caught one of the insects in his thick fingered hand. Three fingers. Who needs more? He studied the fly, turning it over to get a better look at its belly and wriggling legs. The fly was actually made of cogs and gears with tiny shimmering wings. Logan tried to smush it, but the bug’s metal body was surprisingly pliant. It fluttered away from him and rejoined its brethren, circling Treac’s horned head like a living halo.

“How are you going to get rid of them?” Inga asked, cocking a bushy eyebrow. Then she answered her own question. “Come to think of it, I believe there’s a book on cog fly infections in the library. I can look.”

Treacle blinked. “Really? I was just going to live with it. It’s not so bad. Except at night. Then it’s bad.”

Inga shook her head. “No, we’ll get you fixed.”

Marko looked puzzled. “Didn’t you try and make frog machines to eat the fly machines?”

“Course. It was the first thing I tried.” Treacle sighed. “But it didn’t work. The frogs ate the flies, but the flies infected the frogs. Then I was covered in frogs for a while. Ended up making cat machines, but then the same thing happened. I was covered in cats. At least the flies are small.”

Marko stood up. “Wait. I think I can help. This might be unpleasant.”

Inga immediately clapped her hands over her ears.

His goggles snapped into place while metal plates popped out of Treacle’s skull, wrapping his bovine ears in steel.

Logan was too slow.

He heard the first few licks of Marko’s horrific tune. Pink and gray tentacles burst forth from the pockets lining Marko’s gem-encrusted robes, each one tipped with a mouth full of needle-like fangs. Those tentacles lashed out, snapping up every single one of the cog flies.

By that time, Logan had covered himself in an extra layer of exoskeleton, creating a thick layer of fungal growth around where his ear holes were. He had passive Deafness Immunity—a new perk he’d unlocked after ascending to B-Class—but right now he was sorely wishing he could cause his own deafness.

As it was, Marko’s maniacal song was muffled, but Logan could still feel how very wrong it was. The sound crawled into his ears, bored into his eyes, crawled beneath his skin as the air shivered around him. It was like all of reality had inexplicably gone out of tune. Thankfully it didn’t last long. With an elegant flourish, the satyr played the final chord and stood there, fist in the air. The mouth-tipped tentacles all vanished back into his coat.

Treacle stood up and grabbed the satyr, giving Marko the biggest hug. “You saved me! Marko, I can’t think you enough!”

Marko laughed and then danced back. “Any time, buddy. You can thank me with those little dough rings and some coffee, black coffee, as bitter as the dark tune I just played.”

“Better just give him a cup of crude oil then,” Inga said, blinking her white luminescent eyes. “That was well and truly awful. Painfully bad. I feared for my sanity for a moment.”

“Aww.” Mark shot her a finger gun and a wink. “You say the sweetest things, Inga.” He sat down. “So any more secrets, Treacle? Anything else your awesome, amazing, and humble pal Marko can help you out with?”

“I thought I advanced to Azure Branch. But no. It was only some indigestion. Despite the cog flies, I did enjoy my time on Wamapawn.” The minotaur chewed his grass with relative contentment, looking much relieved that the flies were gone.

Inga smiled and wiggled her bushy antennae. “We’re so very glad. I have to admit, my trip away from Arborea wasn’t as much fun as I’d expected.” Her antennae wilted just a little. “I am looking forward to our classes this year, however. Madame Gammy said we’d have a new cultivation teacher. Also, for my electives, I’m taking a Cosmic Etymology class, so I’ll learn all about a vast variety of insects on various worlds. Madame Gammy and Shadowcroft talked, and I’m also going do an independent study program archiving for our headmaster. That should be fun, going through all of his personal papers.”

Logan thought “fun” was the wrong word. “Wait. You said you had a secret. Where did you go again?”

“I wouldn’t say it was as secret. Like I said. More of a surprise.”

Marko looked doubtful. “You say surprise. But I’m worried it’s just more boring library stuff.”

Inga stood up and fluttered her big white wings. Silver dust filled the air. “Oh, so the knowledge of the universe is boring to you now? Because if you must know, I went to Tedium—to scoure the sacred filing cabinets. I’ve seen the millennium codex. Madame Gammy and I helped them archive some of their older documents. And yeah, Billy Scales was mentioned. He was a real problem ten thousand years ago.”

“Any new information?” Logan asked hopefully. “Was that the secret?”

Inga sat down and crossed her arms. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s likely just boring library stuff, after all.”

Treacle munched his grass and then waved the stalks at the astral moth woman. “Tedium. Sure. That’s the Council of Dungeon’s homeworld. The Arcandor Initiative is there. And then there’s the Department of Universal Dungeon Efficiency. They’re going to auditing the interschool tournament. That might be one of our classes. Maybe. If our cohort is chosen to compete.”

Marko put his lute aside. “Inga. I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I take back what I said. Libraries sound far more interesting than a world literally called Tedium. Tell us your surprise.”

The apology seemed sincere.

“Well, if you really want to know…” She paused and a wide smile broke out across her face. “Guess who I saw in Arcandor Town?” Inga waggled her antennae.

“Ji-soo?” Marko’s eyes were wide. He had a crush on the Demonic Fox Fiend who worked for the Arcandor Initiative that hunted down dungeon cores who turned evil.

Inga nodded. “She asked me to say hi to you and Treacle. She also politely told me to repeat the warning she had for you, Logan. Go rogue and die. Her words. Sorry. That was the surprise, though I suppose it wasn’t really the good kind of surprise. As for my secret? I got bored on Tedium. I know bureaucracies are important, as are standard operating procedures, but sometimes the red tape is just too red.”

Now that genuinely was a surprise. Normally, Inga embraced all manner of complexity, even the governmental kind.

“Treacle and I shared our secrets,” Inga said. “Marko and Logan, you’re next. What did you do all summer? Anything exciting happen?”

Marko had a blank look on his face. “I totally forgot what it was.”

As for Logan, he had no idea where to even begin.