One minion, a few traps, a construct... and a lot of luck, hopefully!

Your first impulse? Just make the door thick as hell. Bar the entrance with some iron gates. Something, anything, just to keep the adventurers outside where Pike could deal with them herself! Soon, that cowardly impulse left you... you knew Pike was good, but she couldn't handle a party of five well-prepared adventurers. In fact, that stupid bikini you had her wearing probably offered next to know defensive benefits... you weren't sure if it offered anything at all! Maybe some charisma and appearance bonuses, but that was probably about it. Leaving everything to Pike was both a cravenly tactic and likely an ineffective one. You may not literally have a brain in that pumpkin head of yours, but it was time to act like you did!

With a sense of urgency, you looked over the various machinations available to you. At the bare minimum, you had to have a minion. There was no way you could prepare your traps and things in time if you didn't have something more dexterous than yourself to move around and swing this hammer. You'd expected to see things like goblins- trap-makers who specialized in building dungeons- or golems- strong, sturdy fellows capable of doing all the heavy lifting and protecting you as well. Or maybe skeletons? Crypts just needed skeletons. You found only the third of those options... besides that, all of your options were limited to the very few Halloween themed monsters. You slapped at your head in frustration, using up a bit of your HP pool. It figures! You thought this Inner Sanctum was nice and tailored to you, but it turns out, as a Halloween monster, you can only make Halloween things. You'd have to pick from the narrow selection that your gods had seen fit to grant you.

It felt a little traitorous not to summon another Pumpkin-Head, but, for one thing, you knew first-hand how useless you guys were. For another thing, you seemed to have quite a bit of mystique as the one pumpkin in the summer season... Those other guys could wait until October to get their turn.

You noticed that, as a whole, Halloween monsters didn't seem very dexterous. Ironically, the most dexterous thing there was a pair of ghostly hands, which would be a bit redundant with your current skillset and offer no strength. You decided to pick the most well-rounded minion you could find in terms of strength and dexterity: a lesser vampire. You'd heard a thing about those guys before... vampires were the "cool, sexy Halloween monster" while you got to be the loot pinata. These guys were versatile, with all kinds of magic, capable of equipping various items, blending in with humans if need be, and even switching specialties between magic and physical attacks. Really, they were practically humans, just with a few extra features and a disabling weakness to light. You didn't think that was likely to come into play... despite being a plant, you needed no photosynthesis, and seemed to be just fine dwelling in the darkness of a cave with no other lights but your own eyes. Not that you didn't appreciate your new torches!

You envisioned the form of the vampire, then spent a piece of your limited pool- about 10 fame- to summon your helper. The results were... a little less cool and sexy than you imagined. This must be why they call him a lesser vampire... he was very scrawny with long, pointed teeth sticking out from his gums, so over-sized he can barely close his mouth. The creature's body was white and pallid, as well as utterly nude; his shriveled dick was going to be a turn-off for your cultists if you didn't get him some pants. His features were a bit bat-like as well, with webbed wings under his arms, a gross, pig-like snout, beady eyes, and over-sized, misshapen ears. "Maaaasssster!" The creature's wide mouth dripped with saliva as it finally greeted you, doing some imitation of a bow. At least he seemed to know his manners. Plus, he had opposable thumbs! Those were what you needed in this instance, not good looks! Though... privately, you hoped you'd have a chance to improve the way this guy looked in the future. Your appearance had started at 10 and his was a fair degree lower than that...

Who'd ever heard of a pumpkin making a vampire thrall before? Probably no one. They'd probably never heard of this either: a pumpkin handing a lesser vampire a set of tools and instructing him to start whacking at the entrance to an ancient crypt. The creature obeyed, although you were starting to worry about its promised 20 dexterity... The thing seemed blind as a bat! Once it started giving little hisses and growls, however, it seemed to find its way around. For one terrifying moment, you worried he was going to open the door and burn himself to a crisp, but he stopped there and awaited your next instructions.

You needed the right trap! What were Halloween traps?

Of course: fire and terror. The two things that the well-prepared adventuring party were going to have already expected. Luckily, on the fringes, there were still a few options available to you... Various other types of status ailment gases, creepy sarcophagus-based and chest-mounted tricks like spike traps, some lightning features for the outside, some ice features for select rooms, and quite a lot of dark elemental magic. It seemed elements like air and light- the least Halloweeny ones- were going to be hard to come by... You'd have to hope you weren't going to need them.

For now, status ailments sounded great. They'd probably have prepared for terror, but it was unlikely they expected to be paralyzed or poisoned. Poison sounded pretty good, seeing as you were low on damage methods. Even if the adventurers could reach you, it would take a while to kill a Pumpkin-Head; during that time, they'd be taking constant damage from your poison traps!

Poison Gas Fixture (Weak, Remote Activated): Dispenses magical poison gas in a small, close range cloud. Must be activated by a dungeon boss. Costs 5 fame and 1 cave mineral to construct.

Conventional wisdom said that traps were best placed around riches. Well, in this dungeon... you were the riches. As such, you eagerly began to outfit the carved stone pumpkins on the stairway to your throne and around your throne with the cheap poison gas traps. These could be activated by the dungeon's boss at his leisure... That made them more hands-on than something like a floor-switch activated one, but right here in the throne room, you were literally rooted to the ground all the time. At least for now, you wouldn't be moving from this spot, so it only made sense to use monitored traps.

While you were bobbing your pumpkin head in satisfaction, admiring the matching jack-o-lantern face staring back at you, you heard a noise outside that caused you to jump in your throne! As much as a creature mounted onto a scarecrow post can jump, anyway. It sounded like the sound of a lightning bolt, only multiplied, like several had struck at once in a small cluster.

"Crap! A lightning cage!" It sounded like Pike was expositing out loud, but you knew her real purpose: however the battle was going out there, she wanted to warn you that she was now immobilized. That meant there was nothing standing between them and your doorway.

"That's right, I've trapped the servant of the Pumpkin Lord! Now we take her bikini off to restore her to normal, right?"

You heard the others complaining and admonishing the old guy, who you now knew must be a wizard, to cast such a powerful spell. Damn... It was going to be pretty hard to get a guy like that to wander in close so you could spritz him with poison gas. You judged you only had a few seconds left for your vampire to build you something. Eagerly, you thumbed through your remaining options. Your eyes lit up as you came upon something that sounded especially dastardly and useful... In fact... It was tailor-made for a Pumpkin Head! Sheesh, you'd almost used up all of your fame and your before you had a chance to make one. One more poison fixture and you'd have been unable to do it!

Dungeon Conduit (Automatic): Constantly drains the MP of an active dungeon boss to empower all magical traps within a range of up to one room apart from the room in which it is placed by a factor based on the boss's Intelligence. The range of all traps is increased. The activation rate and potency of status inflicting traps is increased. The damage of damage inflicting traps is increased. Warning: this item cannot be toggled off; it will cease to work when the dungeon boss is killed, the conduit is destroyed, or the dungeon boss' MP reaches zero. Can be supplemented with stored batteries. Costs 20 fame and 5 cave minerals. Must be constructed in a central point

Your constant, enhanced MP regeneration would allow you to use this fixture in a way other monsters could only dream of! Your jagged smile widened in wicked delight; finally, you were feeling a bit more like a conventional monster and less of a nice guy. You couldn't wait to see the enemies approach, thinking they were in for fire and terror spells, only to get a concentrated blast of spruced up poison in their faces! That'd teach them to mess with your cult and your cute cultists! Hands off, old man! You're not snagging Pike's bikini today!

As you ordered your vampire to return to your side and construct the conduit behind you, he hissed in response; unfortunately, at that moment, the door began to creak open. Your only minion took to the air and grabbed the craggy cave rocks forming the ceiling of the crypt with his clawed hands, then hung upside down. Unfortunately, he'd already given away his position with that noise; the double door was open only a single person's width when an arrow flew through and struck into his throat, dropping him down below with a thud. For just a moment, you held on to hope that the vampire had regenerative powers that would allow him to creep off for a second attack, but that sunlight burned him to **** a moment later amidst hideous growling. The guy was dead before he'd had a chance to do anything more than put in some poison gas fixtures.

"Way to go, dumbass," you scolded yourself silently, noting to never order a creature that **** to sunlight to stand that close to the door outside in the middle of the morning. If you couldn't build this Dungeon Conduit by yourself before the others punched you to ****, it was the end of the line for you. Utilizing your phantom hands, you swung your hammer like crazy, trying to finish your dungeon's only structure with a loud ting, ting, ting noise that must call to mind a busy team of mining dwarves for the party.

Sensing that you were in no way ready for visitors yet, your cultist reached out her arms and wrapped her bare hands around the ankle of the leader of the intruders. "Wait, I give! I'll join the town watch, so don't go in there! The pumpkin lord is uh, a trap! It's actually a phishing scheme. When you go in there, all of your personal data gets stolen along with your account! Don't go in there!" Pike pleaded with the group, trying hard to hold them in place. Couldn't she come up with something more realistic?! What did fishing have to do with anything?!

Unfortunately, unlike you, these characters were not immobile. The black-cloaked figure wielding a crossbow at the front of the group stepped forward without even answering her. As soon as the man's foot touched the threshold of your inner sanctum, your hammer stopped working... you were still a few taps away from the completed conduit!

Behind the first man, you heard the gruff but surprisingly cowardly PVPer from earlier speak up. "I'm out! I'm not going to risk my character. Pike's a jackass, I believe her if she says she's luring me into a trap like that. I'm going back to town, you all just... let me know how it ends up."

"I'm going to stay out here and watch her," the old codger offered, sounding as half-assed as he ever had. "Watch the exit and all that."

"Just us three, then. Crowmaster, cleric, with me. We end this now." The Sheriff stepped first into your sanctum, smirking as he spotted you on your throne. Evilward was probably a ranger proper, carrying a large crossbow held in both hands. His black cloak obscured most of his form, but you could tell he was armored up well... despite being level 10, his lightweight armor was probably every bit as defensive as Pike's leather had been. His hair was long and dark as his cloak, matted about his shoulders, and topped with a wide-brimmed black hat, to which was pinned a silver star. Besides the crossbow, you noted a dagger at his side. Perhaps his ranger class and Pike's thief class weren't so different after all, though this one was a human, not an elf.

Behind him approached Winnifred, who you couldn't help but think of as a traitor by this point. She'd redressed without any of her fancy cosmetics, now wearing the unflattering white, shapeless robe of an actual novice. Her wooden staff was a far cry from that regal golden scepter you'd seen her carrying earlier. It didn't seem she'd managed to replace her cross at all yet, not that it would do her a lot of good; you weren't a ghost and the sheriff had murdered the one undead enemy in the cave already.

The last figure was the strangest: a huge shaman with dark skin and long, pointed ears. He was dressed in a skull-and-bone mantle with a long shroud of a cape obscuring most of his body, but his musculature looked kind of nuts for a magic user. He carried a tall staff with a long, black banner, bearing a symbol you didn't recognize and tipped with a human skull. Interested, you began to scan their basic stats:

Level 10 - "The Sheriff" Evilward
Human, Ranger, Explicit

Level 2 - Winnifred the White
Human, Cleric, Explicit

Level 18 - "Crowmaster" Colt
Deep Elf, Shaman, Explicit

Wait... That last one wasn't fair! Level 18?! How much of your poison and fire would it take to kill a guy like that?! He stood near the back with his arms crossed across his broad chest, regarding you seemingly without emotion. Once he got a little closer, you noticed: upon his mantle, the same star as on the sheriff's hat was gleaming. He must be part of the town watch as well.

You were fucked. No two ways about it.

Still, you decided to at least try your scheme. Luckily, the others weren't even trying hitting you with ranged attacks; it must be ingrained into their DNA by now that pumpkins needed to be killed at close range, in order to yield spell books. "This is not the final confrontation I'd pictured. The lauded 'Pumpkin Lord' that Pike boasted of is naught more than a slightly stronger Pumpkin-Head! Such a devoted farmer she is, to protect her crops in this manner!" The Sheriff, sounding more villainous than heroic, placed his crossbow across his back and grinned, his teeth shining white in his thin, handsome face. His features were as sharp and angular as yours were bulbous and cartoonish. "It will be my distinct pleasure to bring an end to all of this using my knife."

"Do not underestimate him! The creature is crafty..." Winnifred approached nervously from the middle, clutching her staff in both hands. You wondered if she actually believed that or if she was just embarrassed, now that the other two were insulting the weak enemy she'd managed to die to.

"Ha ha ha! I won't lose in a battle of Wits." The sheriff tapped his forehead with two fingers, then drew in closer. By now, you'd lost your first minion, both of your two cultists, and you'd never managed to complete the conduit you'd been working on. All you had were weak poison vents and your innate spells. It seemed like it really was all over... had the Sheriff really had the greater wits, or had you just been dealt a bad hand from the very beginning? "But you're a rare one, aren't you? It seems such a shame to end you, but your ambition and trickery have spelled your doom. Do you have any last words to plead your case, before I put your pumpkin back into the ground, from which your seeds sprang?"

You sighed. You were almost out of options...

Almost...

It was time to flip the script. You'd tried coming at this as a fledgling dungeon master. Maybe you'd achieve glory in that field in time, but for now, you had to use your innate abilities. This wasn't the time for Phantom Hands or Sphere of Fire, or even Sphere of Fear, though that was probably your best option among those three. No, what you needed... was books! Roaring a ghostly battle cry, you began to beat your pumpkin head against the stone carving of your own visage near the throne, causing orange, stringy guts to burst forward from the wound like fresh gore. The plant pulp spattered the walls and the banister as you hit harder and harder. Then, you introduced yourself: "Welcome to the Sanctum of the Pumpkin Lord!"

The Sheriff's eyes widened as he continued approaching. "He's gone mad..." the man muttered to himself.

What he wasn't looking at... among all of the pulp there, shining books were pattering down at an interval of one every ten seconds as well. You asked the sheriff if he was here to kill you.

"Indubitably."

You told him that all you wanted was to bestow your powerful spell books to the townspeople. You hadn't brainwashed anybody!

"Nonsense."

You told him that if he killed you, there wouldn't be any more rare spell-books for anyone, not until Halloween!

"I care not for such things. I wish only to maintain the peace; your sanctum, here in the heart of our RP zone, threatens it."

Finally, you asked the others if they felt the same way. The cleric nodded. The Crowmaster, on the other hand, stepped past the cleric wading through pumpkin goo to grab one of the books from the muck. His narrow eyes widened. With a growl building in his throat, he picked up another, then grabbed a third as it fell from the air during the Sheriff's long-winded approach. "Tome of Necromancy... Ultra... Tome of Vampire's Curse... Ultra... T-T-Tome of... Sexual Technique... Ultra!" You saw beads of sweat begin to roll down the bald top of the dark-skinned elf's cranium, collecting at the masculine swell of his chin. He sounded deeply affected. Those were the first words you'd heard him utter since the adventuring party had set out. "Sheriff, we cannot kill this one."

"You forget your duties, Crowmaster! The avarice gleams in your eyes!" The Sheriff spun around, flourishing his cape about his purple-and-black striped tunic and dark leather pants. You thought you detected a hint of excitement in his voice. This guy seemed to like being betrayed almost as much as Winnifred liked being molested. "Would you be swayed by the monster's promise of treasure? Treasure is found all about the world; life's duty calls but once in one's time!"

"N-No, forget the RP," the deep elf grumbled, pressing his finger onto the book as you continued to whack your head up and down, producing more. "These books are extremely valuable. Each of them could be worth hundreds or thousands of gold pieces. This pumpkin is a golden goose."

"What folly! Such unmasked greed and unchecked lust for power; it boils over and seeps through your pores, Crowmaster!"

"Fuck off, man! Drop the RP! I'm telling you this thing is going to make us rich! We can sell this stuff for IRL cash!"

You didn't know what IRL cash was, but just the fact that it sounded so exotic made it clear how much your books were worth. You told the Crowmaster there was more where that came from, if he was willing to serve you. Beating the pumpkin to **** would mean an end to the flow. Helping him level up... why, that was a real cash cow!

The gold gleamed in Colt's eyes. "The Pumpkin is right! You want to roleplay a betrayal scene so badly? Then here it is!" The man raised his staff and swirled it above his head, beginning to summon a vortex of pitch-black, dark elemental energy. A guttural chanting poured from his throat next. Sweet! Recruiting a guy this strong into your cult was almost as good as when you'd recruited Pike!

"Ha ha ha! I knew you'd show your true colors eventually, Crowmaster! But no one crosses justice and the public-safety, no one! I could not be the ultimate steward of the people's safety if I did not prepare for your betrayal!" The man grinned wide, then pulled from inside his robe a small bomb of black powder. You recognized it immediately as a cursed item from the darkness wafting off of it, but you had no idea as to its contents. With his back turned to you, he smiled over his shoulder. "Don't try any funny stuff with the fire or terror either, Pumpkin. I've equipped gear specifically suited to stop your effects. Ha ha ha! I'll show you both that being the ultimate protector of role-play also means being the ultimate over-powered character! Witness the strength of an adventurer who's devoted his life to the public good!"

The man reared back one arm to throw his bomb at the Crowmaster, while the cleric babbled at the two of them to stop fighting each other. You finally quit bashing your head against a block, now feeling that one quarter of your head had caved in on itself. You needed what few brains you had left to enact the final phase of your plan. Before the Sheriff could finish descending the staircase, you summoned your Phantom Hands. The guy was probably too strong to hold in place even if you tried; instead, you simply swiped one of the hands under his feet as he walked down.

The Sheriff spilled over his own boots, cracking his head against the banister with a painful smash. Howling in pain, he grasped at his black hair; his hat had fallen off and slid down the steps. This gave the Crowmaster the time he needed to finish his spell; a wave of darkness descended upon the man like a waterfall, hitting his cloak and then pooling around him. From the pool came evil, zombie-like hands, tearing at the man's flesh...

And yet, he simply bat them away, rising shakily to his feet while clutching his bleeding head against the banister. "Witness my... my darkness resistance cape, you treacherous elf! I told you: I've prepared specifically for everything I knew I would find in this cave! I-!"

You interrupted the man's speech by pressing his head down with the remaining Phantom Hand he hadn't stepped on earlier, then released a blast of poison gas directly into his eyes and nostrils!

"Son of a biiitch, that stings! Why is there poison in this Halloween Crypt?! Who would put it on the throne?!" The man stumbled again, then fell painfully down the staircase once more, seeming to hit every step on his way down. "Aaah, fuck! Oooh, shit!" You didn't think the poison was actually doing much to him, but just catching him off guard with something that hadn't been on his list of immunities seemed to have done the trick. The now severely injured man stumbled around with his cape wrapped about his face, reaching around for the dagger he'd lost.

"Sh-Sheriff! Please hold still, I'll heal you-!" Winnifred started, then winced as the shaman's staff bonked the steward of justice upon his injured head. That finally seemed to be too much; it hadn't killed him, but he'd entered a dizzy state. The man fell to his knees and wobbled his head back and forth, just as dazed as though he were ****. Seeing this, the cleric panicked, lifting the hem of her robe and running for the door. "M-M-Monster! The monster's killed the Sheriiiiff!" A bit of an exaggeration, but perhaps understandable in the heat of the moment.

You heard the old wizard outside panicking again; it sounded like he had lifted his own robe to skitter off as well. This left you with the subdued, nearly dead, dizzy Sheriff, Pike in what was surely a soon-to-fail lightning cage, and the Crowmaster... whose smile widened as he approached your wounded head with his staff in both hands. "Pumpkin... We can handle the matter of your level-up later. For now, give me those sweet, sweet skill books...!" You were starting to seriously regret your decision to think of this guy as a potential cultist. As he began to ascend the throne, the man hoisted his staff above his head with both hands, looking like an especially overgrown young person planning to bash a pinata.

Before he could bring it down, he groaned in pain, dropping his own staff down the steps of the throne. From the doorway, Pike had thrown her dagger. "How... ?! Critical Throw is... an ultra rarity...! They only just added it in the latest patch...!" Pike didn't answer; perhaps she thought the guy ought to be able to put two and two together. As blood trickled from his mouth and his eyes rolled back, he nodded his head. "Ah, I get it now." As he fell, defeated, he realized at the very end that Pike had already benefitted extensively from her time with you as a skill book dispenser. Pretty soon, you heard the bells toll and the huge man was **** to "back-to-town," as the adventurers called it.

"Damn it! I wanted to loot that guy..." Pike called from the entrance. "Crit throw's too strong, dude."

You could barely respond to Pike's retort as you laughed in a giddy, ghostly voice. Against all odds... You'd survived! You'd won! Your cult had emerged victorious! Sure, it hadn't exactly been a battle against five adventurers, but who's counting?! You'd defeated a party of five adventurers! You knew your EXP was swelling like crazy... You'd nearly gotten up to level five just from being in the proximity of all of that. Your fame was another story... it had benefitted far more directly from the proceedings.

Points used in base construction = -40 fame
Player "Pike"- This player reveres you! +20 fame.
Player "Winnifred the White"- This player is terrified of you! +20 fame!
Player "Colt"- This player reveres you! +20 fame.
Player "BigDickOldBastard" - This player is terrified of you! +20 fame!
Player "Evilward" - This player hates you! +10 fame!
Your "Cult of the Pumpkin" defeated the faction "Town Watch!" +100 fame
You defeated a faction leader! +100 fame
You took an enemy faction member hostage! + 50 fame
Word of your cult is spreading! +20 fame
You defended your base from an enemy invasion! + 50 fame
You defeated a bounty party! +50 fame
Your enemies did not learn your name. -5 fame
Your dungeon failed to impress. -5 fame
Total fame: 410

Crap! You'd forgotten to say your name. Other than that... what a haul! You could afford to recruit 20 lesser vampires with all of that and still have left over for two poison traps! Not that you were thinking of using your points of fame on anything so frivolous. For now, you wanted a healing salve for your head- not that it would heal you, it'd just feel nice and cool- and you wanted to give Pike a big hug! You stretched your arms wide and made a clutching motion, your 3 Dexterity equivalent of "bring it in, champ!"

The thief had managed to keep her bikini, though she'd lost her hat somewhere. With BigDickOldBastard's cage now vanished, she approached with a swagger in her walk. Rather than making it all the way up to the throne to give you that hug you wanted, she stopped next to the Sheriff. "This guy lost... Think it's time we got you your first EXP for a kill? Well, not counting Winnie earlier." Evidently, the guy had drawn plenty of her ire during their brief battle. "Mind if I do the honors?"

You told her to wait... Wasn't there something like a wager? This guy really liked RP, right? You thought there might be something better you could do than simply releasing him. With a pensive smile, you scrolled through your options for more rooms to build and found just the right one. You put on a sinister smile to match Pike's, then asked if she'd be willing to help you with a new project... after that, you'd show her a really fun application for your new hostage that would benefit both of you a lot more than some quick burst of EXP would...