I've begun writing a piece of fiction in a roguelike setting. There isn't a specific roguelike being referenced, since I haven't played any roguelike enough to get it's setting correct, so this is just "off the top of my head." I've finished the first page or so worth of story, and have decided to share it for your review. Being BRUTALLY honest is of the highest importance here, for I'd like to know if it needs improvement, or if it should be abandoned altogether. Please be specific in you criticism, if you can.
Fenrir takes a deep breath.
OK, here it is.
The opening was not very large, standing only a about a foot taller than myself, and permitting two men to enter abreast. It had been carved out of the rocky outcropping with such precision that it would have required the use of magic to have been done in any reasonable length of time. Such work would have taken much time and effort by master craftsmen to be hewed by mundane means. It was apparent that the tools of a master craftsman had been on the scene at some point, for ornate carvings rimmed the archway. I examined these with some fascination, and I discovered in them depictions of warriors battling beasts that I could not then recognize, being devoured by great horrors, falling into all manner of traps, and suffering other equally painful ends. When I had finished looking at these things, I peered into the threshold. Immediately beyond the threshold lay a stone staircase that led downwards into impenetrable blackness. In all my time with the guild, I had not seen a dungeon such as this.
“Raganhar!” My investigation was interrupted by a low, booming voice. “Oi! Raganhar, he is 'ere!” I turned away from the dungeon entrance and strode back toward the camp. Dolgthrasir was sitting on the ground by the fire that lay between our tents. He was looking solemnly into the flames, and the light from them danced across his worn face and long beard, leaving the rest of his stocky form enshrouded in the early morning darkness. As I approached the fire, the dwarf looked up at me and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Hengist is 'ere,” he said, and slowly rose to his feet. I could hear the horse's hooves above the crackle of the fire now, and I could make out the form of Hengist atop his steed swiftly drawing closer.
Hengist brought his horse to stop in front of Dolgthrasir and myself and hastily dismounted. He was a man not very much older than myself, perhaps not more than a few years over thirty. His tunic was dyed in a rich purple color, and a large gold medallion bearing the image of a wolf hung about his neck. His hair was red and neatly trimmed.
“You're the men the guild sent, obviously,” Hengist said, glancing at the brooches that we wore. “Yer Hengist Adalbern, obviously,” Dolgthrasir said. Hengist shot him a cold glance. “I'm Raganhar, and this is Dolgthrasir,” I said, and gestured to the two of us. “There is no time for further pleasantries,” Hengist snapped at me, “we must make haste.”
“It has been two days,” Dolgthrasir said, and glowered at Hengist.
“All the more reason to start immediately!”
“It's all the reason in the world to take our time.”
“What are you talking about, dwarf?”
“She is already dead.”
“You don't know that!”
“Nay, I do. She is dead.”
“I don't have time for this! Are you two here to help me or not?”
“Aye, we're here to help.”
“Then get moving.”
Hengist pulled the saddlebags off his horse and attempted to shove past Dolgthrasir, but succeeded only in stumbling awkwardly around the sturdy dwarf. “Ye believe whatever ye hafta believe,” Dolgthrasir muttered as he watched him walk away, and we exchanged solemn, knowing glances.
The three of us set to work packing supplies from the two tents and Hengist's saddlebags. Various tools, faded and dirty scrolls, worn old books, vials filled with potions of different hues, and neatly packaged food rations bearing the seal of the guild were carefully placed into leather satchels and slung over our backs. I strapped the instruments of my trade around my waist, which was wholly comprised of several cutters for different materials, a pair of daggers, a length of wire, and lock picks of many sizes.
The tents were rolled up and left where they lay, for there would be no room for them in the depths. Three lanterns were lit, and the fire was put out. Our preparations were complete, and we gathered before the doorway to the depths.
