Dream Makers

by Ceffyl Dwr

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Adventure
Length: 6658

This is the true story of how Bon Bon and Lyra came to Ponyville. You know, the version that includes procedurally generated dungeons, great underground business empires, and a vocally challenged bard and lonely merchant becoming the best of friends.

Bon Bon is the youngest member of the Drops family ever to have set out on her own, and she's got her sights firmly set on being the most successful dungeon merchant of all time. So what if living by herself is boring and lonely? She's now goods custodian of the fabulously-titled Dungeon of Dreams, a place that should surely be attracting the very best adventurers Equestria has to offer.

Except it isn't. It's actually only attracting one adventurer; a broke, down-on-her-luck bard with no singing ability whatsoever. And she just won't go away.

And just why exactly does this dungeon keep changing its layout anyway?

This is the true story of how Bon Bon and Lyra Heartstrings came to Ponyville. More importantly, it's also the true story of how they became the very best of friends.

Absolutely gorgeous cover art by the supremely talented Koviry.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-02 21:32:55 UTC

The House Amongst the Heather

In which Bon Bon and Lyra's epic tale begins.

The late morning was bright and crisp, suggesting the imminent release of a day where the sky would tantalisingly balance high-orbiting clouds above the promises of unforgettable moments.  A day where the tang of dew-washed heather would hang heavy and thick, and where the expectant silence would be broken by the rowdy choruses of birds and crickets.

Bon Bon stopped her slow trot and filled her lungs with the scent of the world.  She didn’t know much about adventuring—as a Drops, she knew she needed to be more concerned with learning how to benefit from such curious and headstrong ponies—but it certainly felt like the perfect day to be going on one.

She pushed damp blue and pink ringlets of mane from where they had become trapped behind her glasses and grinned.  Was there a better omen than that? A cool breeze pressed against her beige, mud-flecked coat, and its nostalgic siren-call drove her to pluck Grandpa Almond Mix’s words free from it.

“Find your dungeon on an adventurer’s day and you’ll find your fortune too.” The words didn’t feel anywhere near as wise and weathered when spoken from her own mouth, but Bon Bon didn’t mind that in the slightest.  She looked triumphantly at her friend and pumped the air with a hoof.  “Hear that, Cherry? I’m going to be rich!”

“Yeah...” Cherry Berry let the word hang noisily in the air as she slipped out of her cart’s harness and stretched appreciatively.  “Mm, that feels good.”  The purple eyes that so often sparkled beneath her cloudy, yellow mane narrowed as she looked ahead.  “You’re absolutely certain that map of yours is the real deal, Bon?”

“Yes!” Bon Bon tried to keep the uncertainty from her voice as she slid from her own harness, but doubt had crept beneath her skin the moment she had set eyes on the place.  Her face suddenly felt warm under Cherry’s scrutiny—and maybe just a smidge of her own—and she dipped her head into the purple and lilac heather that curled up to her knees and hocks.  Cool beads of morning dew collided with her face, trailing away in the light like shooting stars as she pulled her head back up again.

So what if she had just happened to stumble across the map as she was removing soiled paper from out of Felicity’s litter tray?  It had a map to a dungeon scrawled on it, and that dungeon was called The Dungeon of Dreams.  How could you call a pony reckless for immediately packing up and setting out to claim such a magical sounding place for her own?

Her family were just jealous.  That’s why they were so quick to dismiss the map and start worrying about her decision to drop out of business school—it wasn’t for her benefit, but so they could steal the map and find the dungeon for themselves.  She loved her family dearly, but they were a mercenary bunch when it came to expanding the Drops empire.

And anyway, despite her own niggling doubts as she had left, hadn’t the map been accurate so far? The Whitehorn Rapids Victim’s Wash-Up Site had been exactly where it was supposed to have been, and so, too, the Swamp of Melancholy Thoughts and Feelings.

And the troll cave had been precisely where it was supposed to have been, even if the map had seriously under-represented its population.

Cherry Berry pulled a canteen and a flask of water from the back of her cart.  She looked briefly between the two before discarding the water and taking a deep draught from the canteen.  “Okay, it’s just... Well, that doesn’t look like any dungeon I’ve ever seen.”

Bon Bon trotted across to her friend and bumped her flank against hers.  “And just how many dungeons have you seen?”

Cherry grinned.  “Hey, I read, and I’ve certainly listened to you babble on about them for long enough.  Dungeons are supposed to be—you know—dark and damp and gloomy, and filled with skeletons and spiders and gross tentacle-y things.”  A shudder rippled across her pink-pelted body, and she took another deep drink from the canteen.  “Don’t get me wrong though, I think I’d prefer the house, even though it looks...”

“Yeah...”  Bon Bon followed Cherry’s gaze and chewed her lip.  Just west of the open field they were standing in stood a beautiful white wooden house.  Or, at least, it had once been beautiful.  Now, the windows were dusty and hidden behind rusted and vine-courted bars, and the open porch stretching the front of it was damp and sparkling from where rain had trickled through the damaged roof.

It actually looked a little the type of building she’d expect to find in her hometown of Canterbury, only less grand and a lot more... abandoned.  At least, she assumed it had been abandoned—hoped, even.  Thinking about it now though, the idea that it might already be occupied made Bon Bon’s stomach contract sickeningly.  She returned her gaze to the front door, which had been boarded up with moss-covered planks.

“You... You don’t think somepony has already found this place and is living here, do you?”

Cherry’s usually melodious laugh was dry and tight.  “Well if they did I don’t think they were living for long.”  She cast a wary glance around the field as another gust of wind parted the oceans of heather.

“You mean there might be skeletons and ghosts in there?” Bon Bon clopped her hooves together and squealed.  “Oh I hope so, Cherry.  It would make the place feel more like a dungeon, you know?” Her heart fluttered madly in her chest.  “This is so exciting!”

Cherry’s eyes were as wide as saucers.  The young mare snorted and took another sip from her canteen.  “See, this is why we couldn’t share a house.”

Bon Bon smiled wolfishly.  “Too true! Being crushed to death by empty bottles of booze is not how I plan to go out.  I mean, just one week of being out from under your parent’s roof and you’re already hard at it every day.”

Cherry wrapped Bon Bon in a playful headlock.  “What a strange coincidence,” she replied, laughing, “that I happen to start drinking the moment I’m stuck with you for twenty-four hours a day.”  She bumped her head against Bon Bon’s before releasing her.  “So, what’s the plan?”

Bon Bon crinkled her muzzle as she readjusted her glasses.  “Plan?”

“Well it’s going to be your dungeon.  I imagine you don’t want to be just standing outside of it all day long?” Cherry’s eyes turned back to the house, losing their sparkle in the process.  “Though if you asked me, that’s exactly what I would suggest you do.”

“Oh! Yes.  Right!” Bon Bon trotted to her cart and looked over her belongings with a frown on her face.  Somewhere, buried beneath the bags and barrels of flour and milk and sugar, the planks of wood and canvases, and her baking utensils and accessories and personal effects, was her copy of Drops’ Dungeon Almanac.  Contained within its pages was the most comprehensive guide ever produced on establishing yourself in your first dungeon.  Its limited and exclusive publication had helped Drops after Drops over the years, but Bon Bon was feeling far too excited to spend an hour trying to dig it out.  Besides, wasn’t the objective a simple one? Lay claim to your dungeon and make a fortune out of monopolising the demands of would-be adventurers.  And you couldn’t lay claim without first stepping hoof inside.

“Let’s just try the front door first,” she announced instead, setting off across the field at a brisk trot.  “I’m sure we can break down the boards with a good kick or two.”

The house appeared to be displeased by the intrusion, for their approach triggered a sudden procession of creaks and groans which ended with several tiles sliding from the roof and shattering loudly against the scrubby ground.  Cherry Berry whinnied in fright and pressed herself against Bon Bon, her tail slapping a nervous rhythm against her flank.  “Are you absolutely sure about this, Bon? I mean, I’m sure you could find a... um... nicer dungeon somewhere else? Come on to Ponyville with me—there’ll be something there for sure.”

Bon Bon ruffled her friend’s mane.  “It’ll be fine, Cherry,” she replied with a grin.  “There’s absolutely nothing in a dungeon that can hurt a Drops.  It’s the law.”

“And friends of Drops, right?” Cherry gazed up at the sun, the look on her face suggesting that she was making the most of it while she still could.  “Right?”

“Of course!” Bon Bon waved a dismissive hoof as she tried to recall whether that particular law actually existed.  Surely it did though—some merchants were known to take assistants after all, right?

She gave Cherry a wide encouraging smile, but was dismayed at how her friend’s panicked expression worsened.  “Look,” she said, sitting down and taking one of Cherry’s hooves in her own.  “We’ve been friends for how long now? I’m not going to do anything that puts you in danger.  It’s going to be my dungeon, right? Now, I’m really glad that you decided to travel with me, but I honestly don’t mind if you want to carry on to Ponyville today.  I mean, you’ve got your new life waiting for you too.”

The glow that had recently appeared on Cherry’s face increased, and she hastily looked back at her cart.  A shadow briefly crossed her features before being dashed away by a long, bright smile.  “Hey now, what kind of friend would I be if I abandoned my Bonny in her time of need? This place is obviously in need of a lot of work and no doubt you’d be too busy with the... locals to get round to it.  Just—” she inclined her head towards the door “—you go first, okay?”

Despite her earlier words, Bon Bon felt relief spread through her body, and she wrapped her friend in a tight embrace.  “Oh, thank you, thank you thank you!  You’re the absolute best, Cherry.  It’ll be fun—I promise!”

They resumed their approach, but had trotted no further than the wooden steps of the porch when Bon Bon noticed something amongst the wild vegetation encroaching on the path.  She pointed a hoof.

“Hey, is that a mailbox?”

Cherry wrinkled her muzzle as she tapped the wooden box.  “Yeah, sure looks like it.  Huh, how many dungeons do you think have their own postal code?”

Bon Bon flipped the latch and opened the box.  “None that I’ve ever heard of.  I wonder if—oh, there is, there’s something in here.”

“Is that a leaflet?” Cherry’s eyes were wide and curious as Bon Bon pulled the paper out of the box and held it up.  “Looks like you can’t escape junk mail, even in the middle of nowhere.  What does it say?”

Bon Bon felt her heart start to tremble as she scanned the leaflet, but forced her eyes to repeat the process more slowly, just to be sure.  Then she looked up at her friend and beamed.  “It says ‘Welcome to the Dungeon of Dreams, where you will explore some of the most amazing territory ever seen by mortals.’”

She looked down and read the leaflet a third time and a fourth; she read it until her lungs were straining against her chest and her stomach was turning somersaults.  Then she squealed loudly and grabbed Cherry by the shoulders.  “It is the place, Cherry, it really is!—The Dungeon of Dreams.  Wow, it’s really here, and I’m totally going to make it mine.”

Releasing her friend, Bon Bon skipped up the steps with a song on her lips.  Her body felt strangely reenergised, as though the ambiguity of the house had bothered her more than she had realised.

The wooden boards broke easily under the weight of her kick, and Bon Bon stepped inside with a triumphant whicker.  She took a deep breath of the musty air and surveyed what was soon to become her new home.

Yep, the house definitely looked abandoned.  Motes of thick dust danced like courting fairies in what light had penetrated through the windows and now-open doorway.  The living room in which she was standing was empty except for a large ornate rug covering the floor and an empty trophy cabinet which leaned lazily against a wall.  Roiling shadows pooled around every edge and corner, and a thick heavy silence seemed to suppress and mute every sound.  Despite her excitement, Bon Bon realised that she was noticing the sudden absence of bird and cricket song.

“Have you been killed?” Cherry’s voice cut through the strange atmosphere.  Bon Bon grinned and looked over her shoulder.

“Nope, still got my pretty head on my pretty shoulders,” she replied.  “No skeletons or ‘tentacle-y things’ yet... though if you were hoping for a spider-free house then you might be out of luck.”

“Huh, and here was me thinking that this place made your dreams come true.”  Cherry snickered to herself as she trotted slowly into the house.  She gazed about the room before hesitantly opening the only other door.  “So.  This is... nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Bon Bon couldn’t keep the smile from her face and gleefully tapped her hooves on the exposed floorboards.   “It’s so old and isolated and—oh, it’s just so perfect, Cherry! I can’t believe nopony else found it before us.”

Her ears twitched then and she paused.  In the distance—perhaps muted even—was that... was that the sound of fast running water?

Cherry peered round the door.  “You honestly sound like you’re about to explode, Bon.  Probably wouldn’t be sensible of me to mention that this place has a working kitchen, eh?”

“Ooh, then it’s even better than perfect!” Bon Bon skipped happily across the rug and hugged her friend.  How lucky could she be? She was going to be able to produce her goods in an actual on-site kitchen, rather than having to make do with a campfire or trekking miles to use one in a nearby village like other Drops.  The place was already starting to live up to its name!

“I guess...” Cherry Berry pushed a hoof through her mane as she looked about the room.  “... But where is it? The actual dungeon, I mean.  Surely this can’t be all there is.”

Bon Bon swished her tail.  “You kidding me? A dungeon this awesome has got to be huge! I bet it’s got the grandest entrance ever seen.  We’ve just got to find it.”  She pushed her glasses further back up her muzzle.  “So where do you think we should start looking?”

A low mournful sound suddenly filled the room, and both ponies jumped in surprise and fright.  Bon Bon recovered first, pulling her gaze this way and that in an attempt to identify the source of the blood-curdling noise.  It might have just been the wind howling beneath the broken panels of the porch, or maybe the tired roof relaxing and resettling itself.  But Bon Bon, despite the hairs of her pelt standing on end, found herself hoping that the sound was from something else—something much worse.

One thing was certain, though.  It had definitely come from beneath them.

Cherry Berry looked across at Bon Bon, her face ashen and her legs trembling.

“Upstairs,” she replied with a watery smile.  “Definitely upstairs.”

Grue Have to Be Kidding Me

In which Bon Bon and Cherry Berry explore an attic, which (like all dark places) may or may not be inhabited by a grue.

West

South

Bon Bon held up a hoof in front of her face.  Yep, it was still pitch black—still inescapably, indisputably, undeniably black.  She tried lurching north, but the absence of light made it impossible to move in that direction.  She considered going west again, but harboured serious doubts that an exit had magically appeared in the few minutes since she had last tried.

“See anything?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” Bon Bon looked across at Cherry Berry—or at least in the direction her voice had come from—and glared.  It was a pointless gesture, all things considered, but it did make her feel better.

“Okay, maybe a little—why, are you smiling?”

“Oh, I am.  From ear to ear.”  Bon Bon stepped east and cursed under her breath as she stubbed her foreleg on something sharp.  The first time it had happened she had excitedly started to feel around the object in the hope that she had accidently stumbled across the entrance to the dungeon.  Then she had realised that she wasn’t in a dark and gloomy cave or dark and gloomy basement, but in a dark and gloomy attic.

A dark and gloomy attic that was apparently stacked full of boxes with sharpened edges.

“Hey, do you think it’s scarier being in a pitch dark room or a gloomy room?”

“I’d take a gloomy room, thanks.” Bon Bon probed forward, holding a hoof out in front of her.  “I’d like to know which direction the thing that’s gonna eat me is coming from.”

“I think I’d rather not know,” Cherry replied from some distant part of the attic.  “But I was thinking more along the lines of there being fewer things for your eyes to play tricks on you with, you know?”

“And more things for your ears to play tricks on you with,” Bon Bon said drily.

“Gee, thanks for that—just as I was starting to feel more comfortable too.”  Silence draped itself across the room for a few moments, before Cherry broke it again with a curse of her own.  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she mumbled.  “I’m sure our eyes will adjust enough in a few minutes.”

“You said that five minutes ago!” Bon Bon stamped her hoof, impatience getting the better of her.  “Come on, Cherry, this isn’t fun anymore.  I know that noise freaked you out a little, but can we please go look somewhere else now?”

“And you’re certain we’ve covered every last inch of this room?”

Bon Bon groaned.  “Well can we at least go get a lamp from one of our carts if you want to keep skulking about up here?”

“But that would mean leaving the attic, and that would mean going back down into the room of howling evil.”

“Well what do you suggest, Cherry? Our eyes aren’t going to acclimatise up here, it’s too dark.”  Bon Bon paused as an idea started to form.  It was a funny but wicked idea, but she was so desperate to explore the rest of the house that she quickly quashed her morals.

“In fact,” she continued, “it’s so dark, we’re likely to be eaten by a grue.”

Cherry fell silent for a few moments, but Bon Bon was sure she could hear an increase in her friends breathing.

“A... what?”

“A grue.”

“W-what’s a grue when it’s at home?”

Bon Bon clamped down on her tongue to stop herself from laughing.  “I don’t know—nopony has ever seen one before... and lived to tell the tale.”  She took a breath to keep her voice steady.  “But they like the dark, and have sharp teeth, and like to slither—”

Cherry was suddenly at her side; Bon Bon could feel her whole body trembling.  “So, shall we go get that lamp then?”

Down

Positivity, Always

In which fears of failure are discussed, and a way forward down is discovered.

“So I was thinking, now that we’ve got the lamp set up in the attic, I could try and repair the roof for you before I go?”

Cherry Berry’s voice was cheerful, her expression that of a pony who had explored every nook of a (subjectively speaking) spooky house and found nothing even remotely murderous or sinister hiding within them.  She chewed her lip as her thoughtful gaze tracked across the living room.  “I’m sure I could rig up something to replace those broken tiles and—Hey, Bon! You still with me?”

“Sorry?” Bon Bon pulled her sullen gaze up from the neat pile of dust she had been shepherding across the floor for the past half hour.  Cherry was staring at her, her soft eyes appraising.

“Um...” Frantically chasing the scraps of recent conversation she had only been half listening to, Bon Bon was eventually forced to concede defeat.  She offered her friend an apologetic smile.

“Whoa, if looks could kill!” Cherry’s mane tumbled about her face as she cocked her head.  “You okay? You’ve been in a funny mood considering we’ve just found the place of your dreams.”

“I’m fine,” Bon Bon snapped.  She sighed, watching her breath scatter the dust into the embrace of the shadows flickering in the corners of the room.  Though the windows had been cleaned, clearing the place up had taken them the best part of the day, and the pale evening light now needed the support of the candles they had both placed around the house.  It created the perfect atmosphere—warm, without being too cosy; safe, without being too secure.

But Cherry was right.  The house which had offered unending promises upon their arrival had slowly become a place that was crushing them underhoof.  The rising disappointment Bon Bon had felt with the discovery of each uninteresting room had been matched only by the terrible numbness spreading from her stomach.  She had banked so much on this venture, and to be defeated so soon felt awful.

Bon Bon gazed out of one of the windows.  The branches of the trees outside made cracks in the jaundiced sky, and the longer she kept her eyes on their harsh forms the more lost and afraid she felt.  What was she doing? She wasn’t ready for this—not in the slightest.

“You’re still staying the night... right?” Bon Bon shuffled her hooves against the wooden floor to disguise how unpleasantly hopeful the brittle echo of her voice sounded.

It didn’t work.

“Of course I am! You think I’m taking my chances with whatever beasties come out at night round here?” Cherry giggled and bumped a shoulder against Bon Bon’s.  “Also, I suppose you look as though you might need cheering up too.”

“Heh, yeah... A little bit.  What would I do without you, Cherry?” Bon Bon nuzzled her friend, the confirmation quashing her fears, hiding them somewhere deep for another day.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Cherry replied with a wink.  She sat down on the rug and inclined her head.  “So what’s up?”

Bon Bon scuffed a hoof.  “It’s just... This is supposed to be a dungeon, you know? I was supposed to find my fortune here.  But we’ve been looking for hours now, and the closest thing I’ve found to one is a stupid dumb cupboard beneath the stairs with some half-sentient mould growing in it.”

“Well you could have asked if it knows where the dungeon is.” Cherry’s giggle died on her lips.  “Oh, hey, come on now,” she cooed, wrapping her forelegs around Bon Bon and squeezing tight.  “This isn’t like you at all.  So what if we haven’t found the dungeon yet—big deal! You’re telling me someplace as rickety as this doesn’t have at least one secret passage tucked away somewhere?”

Bon Bon tried to frown, she really did.  But Cherry’s encouraging expression—those intense wide eyes and puckering lips—was just too funny to ignore.  A reluctant giggle escaped her mouth, turning quickly into desperate, throaty laughter as she gently pushed her friend away.

“It’s not just that,” she said, running a hoof through her two-toned mane.  “I’m worried—terrified, even—that Mom and Dad are right.  That I should have just stayed in business school and... waited.”

Cherry Berry blew a raspberry.  “Hey, if I always listened to my folks then I wouldn’t have swiped Best Junior Inventor at Canterlot high—or be here with you, in fact.”

“Oh you would too.  Your parents really support your decisions.”  Bon Bon trotted across to the empty trophy cabinet and looked it up and down.  Had it ever housed the trophies of dreaming colts and fillies—and if so, what had happened to them over the years?

“Yeah, well... My point remains valid.”  Cherry held up a hoof.  “So they wanted you to go to business school first before setting out on your own.  That doesn’t mean that flunking it and striking out a few years early was the wrong thing to do.”

“I guess.  Unless I fail and have to move back into the family dungeon—the first ever Drops to fail to find a dungeon at the first time of asking.”

Cherry tapped Bon Bon on the muzzle, her eyes glittering in the half-light of the room.  “You know what your problem is, Bon? You think too fast.  Now, let me share with you something that will help you with your problem.”

Bon Bon rolled her eyes.  “A nice bottle of sangiovese, right?”

“Uh... No? Goodness, Bon, booze is all you ever go on about.  I think you might have a problem!” Cherry laughed, ducking as Bon Bon launched the dustpan at her.  “I was actually talking about positive thinking!”

She closed her eyes and held up a hoof, an infuriating pose that she adopted whenever she lectured somepony—usually Bon Bon.  “Do you think I gave up when I was trying to build the first ever pony-pedal-powered-plane in Canterbury? Even though everyone told me it wouldn’t work, I believed I could do it.  And do you know what happened?”

“Yes I do.” Bon Bon replied through a clenched jaw.  “You crashed—frequently!”

“The point is I crashed less often,” Cherry said hastily.  “Because positive thinking!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“And neither does moping about a situation that you haven’t even tried to change yet.”  Cherry’s expression was smug, as though this was the specific point she had been intending to make all along.  “Honestly, Bon.  Try again, and actually believe that you’ll find it.  I promise you that you will.”

Bon Bon kept her eyes on the floor as she considered her friend’s words.  Cherry was right.  Had any Drops ever said that finding a dungeon was easy? But they had all found one, each and every Drops.  And she would too.  The entrance was here... somewhere.  She just had to try harder, and embrace the challenge.

She gave Cherry a warm smile.  “Thanks. I think I needed that pep talk.  And you’re right.  I shouldn’t just give up at the first problem that rears its head.”  She placed a hoof on her friend’s shoulder.  “Honestly, I’d be a total mess without you.”

Her chest felt tight as she spoke, and she quickly distracted herself with thoughts of finding the entrance to the dungeon.  Tomorrow was coming, and with it the reality that she would be parting ways with the friend who had been by her side the longest.  Bon Bon closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay, here goes,” she announced, trotting across the rug.  “Think positive, think positive, think posi—urk!”

Her hoof caught against something small and heavy, and Bon Bon tumbled tail over muzzle across the room.

Cherry Berry’s warm laughter filled the air.  “Goodness, Bonny.  You really do have a drinking problem! Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” Bon Bon replied succinctly.  She waited for the room to stop spinning, before picking up her glasses and lurching to her hooves.  Glaring at the rug, she then blinked in surprise on noticing what it was that she had tripped over—a small mound of... well, there was a small mound of something underneath it.

She pointed a hoof.  “Was that there before?”

Cherry’s expression instantly become wary.  “Not that I remember,” she replied.  “You think that it’s a... body?”

“That small?”  Bon Bon trotted to one side of the rug and lowered her head.  “Honestly, Cherry.  Come on, help me roll this up.”

Her friend cast a final uncertain glance at the bulge before moving alongside Bon Bon.  “Okay, sure,” she muttered, dipping her head, “but if that’s the latest victim of some bunny obsessed serial killing monster then you’re on your own.”

Spirals of dust erupted like fireworks from the rug as they rolled it to one side of the room.  Coughing and spluttering, Bon Bon wiped at her eyes before looking down.  Then she froze.

“Is that..?” she began, before her trembling voice failed her.

Cherry’s eyes were as wide as her own, but that smug expression quickly returned to her friend’s face.  “Told you,” she replied.

Cut into the floor, and with a heavy metal ring pull handle attached to it, was a large trapdoor.

Tapping a jittery staccato on the wooden floor, Bon Bon squealed and grabbed the handle with her teeth.  A thick, heady concoction of smells filled the air as she pulled the trapdoor open—Bon Bon could instantly imagine lichen-slicked rocks being dashed by crisp, running water and rusted metal frames and woodworm-infested doors.  She breathed deep, and was transported to an dank underworld beneath the house, where red-eyed creatures watched from the cracks between flagstones and unnamed things slithered and crawled and—

With a strangely muted thud, the trapdoor fell shut again.  Bon Bon blinked, and then glared at Cherry.

“What did you do that for?”

“Because there was a staircase,” Cherry replied, “and that staircase was disappearing into an impenetrable and cold darkness, probably from which there'd be no return, and I could already imagine the argument we would be having, where you'd want to go off and explore it right away and I’d rather be keeping the pelt firmly on my back.”

“But—”

Cherry ruffled Bon Bon’s mane.  “So I skipped to the end.  Congratulations, Bon, you’ve found the entrance to your dungeon.  I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun exploring it, but maybe that can wait until tomorrow? You know, when I’ll be too far away to get dragged along for the ride?”

Bon Bon opened her mouth, but then swallowed her protest.  She had found the dungeon, and it was hers to explore for as long as she wanted to.  Cherry had done so much for her this past week, the very least she could in return do was to respect her fears and delay her own plans by a day.

She nodded at her friend, and grinned as excitement and joy and sheer anticipation flooded back into her body, chasing away those earlier doubts.  “You’ve got a deal.  So then, what did you want to do for the rest of the day?”

Cherry’s smile was wide and toothy.  “Celebrate, of course! And you know what we need to be able to do that, right?”

“Positive thinking?”

Bon Bon snickered as Cherry pulled her into another gentle headlock.

Things That (Go) Grump in the Night

In which Bon Bon encounters the mud imps, and laments the fact that she drank too much cider before going to bed.

Bon Bon awoke to the sound of the wind and rain being dashed furiously against the old wooden house.  Satisfied that the place wasn’t about to come down around her ears, she started to wrestle the half-echoes of waves and drumbeats back into muted lullabies.  Despite her best efforts, though, she was betrayed repeatedly by her ears, which had become fixated on the explosive snoring from across the room.

Opening her bleary eyes, Bon Bon lifted her head and waited for the room to stop spinning.  Mountains formed by the shaded angles of haphazardly suspended drapes and lace trembled from the embers glowing inside filigree lanterns and the hanging chains of solar crystals.  She felt a momentary panic before remembering where she was, but by then was too irritated at being awake in the middle of the night to find peace in the chaotic warmth and mystery of the room.

Bon Bon’s irritation worsened with the realisation that she also needed to go to the bathroom.

With a low growl, she climbed from her makeshift burrow of blankets and pillows and trotted across the room, making sure to stamp very loudly.  Not that it made much of a difference—a week of travelling with Cherry Berry had already taught her that her friend slept as deep as she did loud, especially when she was surrounded by the corpses of cider and wine bottles.  It was so unfair.

The air in the landing was in heavy contrast to that of the bedroom; as she walked towards the bathroom door, Bon Bon’s senses were assaulted by the same damp, oppressive air that had filled the living room when they had opened the trapdoor.  She blinked, trying to clear the fuggy haze from her mind in order to process the change in the atmosphere, but the cider had left as much of a stain on her brain as it had her tongue.  Licking dry lips, Bon Bon raised a shaky hoof to open the bathroom door.

“’Oi now, what’s your game then?”

Bon Bon blinked, her vision swimming in compensation as her ears pricked and honed in on the sound.  She rested her hoof against the door and blinked again.  The noise had been of a high enough pitch to have simply been just the stiff hinges on the door, but she was pretty sure doors didn’t speak.

“Yah, tell ‘er, Mud-meister!”

“Stilt-legged monolith!”

“Tail-twitchin’ upstart!”

“Queue-jumper!”

Bon Bon looked over her shoulder as the twinkling chorus of voices grew louder.  They sounded vaguely familiar—some memory or other from her time living in her parents’ dungeon—but she just couldn’t put her hoof on from where.

Seeing nothing in the shadows of the corridor behind her, but hearing the voices relentlessly continue their abuse—Bon Bon dropped her eyes, and then gasped in surprise.

A dozen pairs of compound eyes were staring up at her from beneath her barrel, each pair embedded in an angled face the colour and texture of an orange that had been picked and left to dry in the sun for three weeks.  Those heads sat atop of squat, strong bodies from which protruded varying lengths of quartz, each shimmering with warm, amber light.  Or at least, trying to shimmer; each creature was caked from head to talon with varying amounts of mud and clay.

Bon Bon winced as their chittering continued to drive sharp knives into her brain.  Now she remembered what they were: Mud imps, the long suffering labour force of nearly every wild grown dungeon, always at the bottom of the hierarchy and always harbouring chips on their shoulders as a result.

She recalled the numerous interactions her father had had with them over the years—usually debates over what constituted poor quality or value for money—and quickly scanned the group beneath her.  Mud imp teams could only be communicated with through the Mud-meister; the rest would simply throw abuse and insults (or worse) at her until she retreated.

Which obviously wasn’t going to happen, her bladder calmly instructed her.  Finding the one covered the most by mud—its quartz angles muted and latent—Bon Bon inclined her head towards it.

“Uh... Sorry, didn’t see you there.”  She had briefly considered simply exerting her natural authority over them, but conceded she had no idea yet as to whether she might need assistance in constructing a dungeon space for her shop.  It made no sense burning bridges so soon after arriving.

“I was just hoping to quickly use the bathroom,” she added.  “Then I’ll go back to bed and get out of your way.”

“Huh, we’re all waitin’, aren’t we?” The Mud-meister flexed its mandibles as it pointed to the rest of the imps.  “Scheduled to finish buildin’ a new lair for the insects, aren’t we.  Can’t start til we’re sparklin’, though the Dungeon Keeper wants it finished yesterday.  ’Course, he always does.”

“Yah,” another mud imp squeaked.  “Remember when ‘e—”

The Mud-meister silenced it with a murderous stare, which Bon Bon had been expecting.  Mud imps were notorious gossipers—which nine times out of ten resulted in the banishment, mutilation and death of them and their teams.

“As I was sayin’,” it continued.  “All of us are waitin’, so you’ll ‘ave to get in line.”

“But I—” Bon Bon bit down on her tongue and dutifully trotted to the back of the small queue.  She felt groggy and tired, but was determined to stay polite.  It shouldn’t take too long after all.

But still, how could someplace as perfect as this not have a separate bathroom specifically for mud imps to use? Everybeast knew that mud imp teams had to bathe before starting a shift to ensure easy recognition of the hardest working imp—through mud accumulation, naturally—and thus determining who would be Mud-meister the following day.  Of course, the sheer volume of mud imps working in any one dungeon meant that there was an almost unending procession of teams needing to shower.  No, she would have to petition the Dungeon Keeper to have more bathrooms installed immediately.

Bon Bon fidgeted on the spot for a few minutes as her body kindly reminded her that she was racing against the clock, but there was no movement in the queue; not a single mud imp went in, and not a single mud imp came out.

When it finally felt as though both her bladder and her brain were about to burst, she snapped.

“Does your Dungeon Keeper mind you turning up this late to your shift?” She pointed a hoof downstairs.  “I should make a complaint to him this instant.  I mean, honestly, look at the size of you—how can it take so long to get clean?”

The Mud-meister glared over its shoulder.  “We’re not bathin’, are we!”

“Yes, I can see that!” Bon Bon hissed as red hot needles tap-danced behind her eyes.  “What I want to know is why!”

“There’s a spider in the bath.”  The Mud-meister said this in a tone that suggested it should have been perfectly obvious.

“A Spid—?” Bon Bon shook her head.  “You mean to say that I’ve been standing around for the last fifteen minutes just because some silly mud imps are scared of a spider?”

Ignoring their agitated chittering, Bon Bon stepped over the mud imps and approached the door.

“Shut up,” she barked at them.  “I am far too tired and have had far too much cider to deal with this right now.  I’m going to get rid of this spider and then go to the toilet.  Leisurely.”

She pushed through the door and locked it behind her.  Then she looked around.

The first thing she noticed were the spires and valleys of cobwebs that had not been there earlier in the day, but were now everywhere.

The second thing she noticed was the spider in the bath.

The spider that stood two meters tall and had javelins for legs and scythes for fangs.

Drops’ Dungeon Almanac—Entry #225

Wraith Spider, The

A creature rarely seen in typical dungeon environments, the Wraith Spider has nevertheless become one of the main causes of complaint to dungeon keepers (see entry #3; Dungeon Keeper, The) from those residing in primary, secondary and even tertiary catchment zones (see entry #13; Dungeon Boundaries).  The Wraith Spider will often say they are pleased about this level of notoriety, but the label does feed into their sense of prejudice and loathing by the world, and deep down depresses them.

Despite the white colouring on its abdomen resembling a skull (it has yet to be confirmed to what species the skull belongs), the Wraith Spider actually takes its name from the fact that it is a genuine, bona fide wraith.  They’re terribly literal like that.

Wraith Spiders are born from the amassed spirits of spiders who have been flushed down toilets and washed down plugholes, and it is said that the initial size of the Wraith Spider is dependent on the prestige of those flushed spiders—The Great Big Wraith Spider (see entry #226; Great Big Wraith Spider, The (Boss)), for example, is said to have been born from the spirit of the internationally famous Incy Wincy Spider.

Owing to the circumstances of their creation, Wraith Spiders are terribly bitter and vengeful creatures, often seeking to return to disrupt the harmony of the murderous household by squatting in their bathtub—and take particular pleasure from doing this during formal occasions such as housewarming parties and grand balls, or when the house owner really needs to get ready for a date.  To ensure that they aren’t flushed away again (a source of great shame), Wraith Spiders grow to an exceptional size, and are extremely fond of eating anything and everything that comes within their domain—with the exception of the murderous household, of course, because then who would they inconvenience?

A side-effect of spending so long in bathrooms, however, is that Wraith Spiders have become very prideful of their appearance, and value cleanliness above all else.  It is therefore sometimes possible to sweet-talk and charm such a creature through complimenting them.

Of course, should you be carrying your Drops Merchant Licence (see entry #2; Drops Merchant Licence) with you, then you need not fear the Wraith Spider (see entry #1; Drops Dungeon Immunity Law, The).

Known to carry:

Grudges

Spider legs (x8)

Venom (rare drop)