Dungeon Crawler Carl (Dungeon Crawler Carl, #1)

by Matt Dinniman

While not as roided-out as a Rat Brute, or as Imma fireball yo ass as a Rat Shaman, Rat Hooligans offer the best of both worlds.

“Your creature crapped in my mother’s ashes,”

It also makes you look all wispy and ethereal and druid-like. A great spell to have if you’re a club kid or trying to bang a vegan.

“Knight” roughly translates to “Overweight, alcoholic bureaucrat who spends his days making new laws to oppress the poor and his nights drinking and getting pegged.”

I looked at the gathering group of elderly folks, and I nodded. Shit. “Goddamnit, Donut,” I said. She was right. Of course. What was the point of living, if I couldn’t live with myself?

“You’ve been hit on twice now,” Donut said. “Once by a meth-addled goblin shaman and once by Abraham Lincoln’s grandmother. I can’t wait to see who you attract next. Five gold coins says it’s some sort of bog witch with a beard.”

We quickly learned that only one thing stopped the thing from trying to murder me and Donut: seeing another mob. If any sort of enemy came anywhere near us, the crazy chicken went absolutely apeshit. He screamed and snapped and tried to kill himself in an attempt to get to the creature. He was like a goddamned psychotic wolverine hopped up on bath salts.