The pig nodded. His jowls were jiggling.
"Coming right up, friend." He turned. Grabbing a bowl and ladle.
The aroma of simmering carrots and root vegetables wafted from a large pot. He poured a generous serving. Then moved to a tap. Filling a frosty mug. The whole process was efficient. Practiced.
He placed both items before Nightclown. "That'll be three coins."
Nightclown retrieved three polished coins from his system inventory. And placed them on the counter. The pig scooped them up. Depositing them into a wooden till beneath the counter.
"Enjoy your meal."
Nightclown took a sip of the root beer. It was sweet, fizzy, and had a distinct, earthy finish. The carrot soup was thick and hearty. Spiced just enough to warm him.
He ate slowly. Deliberately. His ears, usually twitching, remained mostly still. Focusing on the ambient noise.
Cammy was hovering silently near the ceiling. It rotated its lens slowly. Capturing the full scenes... The clinking mugs. The raucous laughter. The murmuring conversations.
Every detail was being meticulously archived. This was the raw material Jester, Vale, and Daisy needed. This was important data.
A table to Nightclown's left held two squirrels. One was a lean, hyperactive male with a perpetually twitching nose. The other was rounder and more sedentary. He occasionally punctuated his companion's rants with a knowing nod.
Their voices were high-pitched and rapid. But they were clear enough to discern over the general din.
"...and I'm telling you, Skip, it was this big!" The lean squirrel threw his paws wide. Nearly knocking over his mug. "A solid gold acorn, I swear. Just sitting there, glinting in the gloom of the fourth floor. But then the Gloomfang Spider showed up. And well, you know how those things are."
Skip, the rounder squirrel, chuckled. "Aye, Buster. Always a Gloomfang, isn't it? We've been stuck in that floor for years."
He took a slow sip of his own nut beer. "Still, that big gold acorn was nothing compared to what Old Man Whiskers told me about the Fat Dragon."
Buster leaned forward. With eyes wide. "The Fat Dragon? You mean the one from the North Dungeon? The legend?"
"The very same." Skip confirmed. Lowering his voice conspiratorially. Though Nightclown's sensitive ears still caught every word.
"Old Man Whiskers swore on his last breath that the beast sleeps on a hoard unlike any seen in Toonworld. Gold coins the size of dinner plates. Jewels that would blind a normal toon. And artifacts of immense power."
"But the North Dungeon is treacherous." Buster protested. A flicker of fear was in his eyes. "Especially the lower floors. Gloomfang Spiders on the fourth floor were already bad. The Bone Golems on the fifth were worse. And the Rock Pincers on the sixth... nobody has passed the floor for thirty years. They say no one has ever truly reached the last floor and returned to tell of it."
"Exactly." Skip said. Tapping a claw on the table. "That's why the treasure is so legendary. Old Man Whiskers could only see it through his crystal ball before he was gone."
Buster shivered. "Imagine that. All that treasure. Waiting. But who would be foolish enough to try?"
"Only the bravest, or the dumbest." Skip mused. Finishing his drink. "Or perhaps, someone with a very high luck."
Nightclown filed this information away. The North Dungeon was where he had leveled up and tested his new weapons. He hadn't ventured beyond the initial three floors.
The concept of the 'last floor' and a 'Fat Dragon' with immense treasure was a significant piece of intel. It suggested a clear, high-tier objective.
A fat dragon sounded unusual. But it was consistent with Toonworld's strange logic. The mention of specific monsters like Gloomfang Spiders, Bone Golems, and Rock Pincers also provided targets for future exploration and combat practice.
Further back, near the warm fireplace, the wise-looking owl storyteller held a small crowd rapt. His voice was a deep, resonant hoot. Perfectly suited for narrative.
Nightclown adjusted his seating slightly to catch the tale more directly. The owl was telling the story of the Rooster Knight.
"... And so, the shadows deepened across the Whispering Woods." Professor Hoot narrated. His large eyes were gleaming in the firelight. "The whispers of dread grew louder, carried on the chill wind that preceded the Centipede Warlock's cursed rituals."
"His vile magic twisted the very leaves on the trees, turning them black and brittle. The river ran thick with corrupted ink, and the laughter of the forest folk turned to mournful cries."
A young rabbit in the audience clutched her mother's paw.
"Only one hope remained..." The owl continued. Stopping for a dramatic pause. Building the tension. "Sir Cockadoo, the Rooster Knight."
"His spurs gleamed like polished gold. His comb... a vibrant crimson banner. He rode not on a steed, but on a magnificent, clockwork unicycle. Powered by courage and a never-ending supply of puns. His shield bore the emblem of a rising sun. And his sword, 'Cluckbringer', hummed with righteous indignation."
A ridiculous collective gasp rippled through the small group.
"Sir Cockadoo, upon hearing of the Warlock's latest abomination, the petrification of the entire village of Acorn Hollow, knew he could not stand idly by. He strapped on his helmet, adjusted his monocle, and declared... 'This warlock is about to get roasted!'"
A few chuckles escaped the audience. Quickly suppressed.
"The Centipede Warlock, meanwhile, was a creature of pure malice." The owl went on. His voice was dropping to a sinister rumble. "His segmented body, an unnatural green, writhed with dark energy. A hundred legs, each tipped with a poisonous barb, scuttled across the ground."
"His eyes, beady and black, glowed with an unholy light. He wore a tattered robe. Embroidered with symbols of decay and despair. And his staff crackled with raw, unstable magic."
The owl story-teller went on. "The Warlock's objective was to drain the very joy from Toonworld, turning its vibrant colors to dull monochrome, and its laughter to groans. He sought to convert all toons into his zombie-like servants, stripping them of their free will and replacing it with obedience to his dark commands."
Nightclown noted the descriptions. A Rooster Knight on a unicycle. Using courage and puns as the source of energy. A Centipede Warlock with segmented body and a hundred legs. Capable of petrification and draining joy.
This was classic Toonworld stuff. The blend of serious threat and absurd detail. The owl's voice carried on. Drawing Nightclown deeper into the narrative.
It was a clear example of Toonworld's fantastical history and current struggles. This kind of oral tradition was a treasure trove of potential side quests, lore, and enemy types.
Cammy recorded the storytelling with particular care. Capturing the owl's inflections and the audience's reactions.
Closer to the counter, three feline adventurers were engaged in a lively, if somewhat exaggerated, conversation. With a sleek tabby-paw cat waitress.
She was agile and graceful. Nightclown had seen her moving between tables with effortless poise. But currently, she was leaning against the counter. Cleaning glasses with a look of mild amusement on her face as the trio spoke.
"...and then, the Shimmering Slime tried to absorb my grappling hook!" Declared a burly bobcat with a scarred ear. Puffing out his chest.
"But I, Claw, being the veteran adventurer I am, merely detached the hook, activated my spring-loaded boots, and vaulted over the beast's gelatinous form! It was a close call, but nothing Claw can't handle." He continued bragging.
The waitress, Misty, merely raised an eyebrow. "Right, Claw. Just like last week, when you swore you fought a three-headed badger in the sewer. But it turned out to be a particularly hairy drain clog."
The bobcat grumbled. But he was quickly interrupted by a lean, perpetually nervous-looking Siamese cat.
"Ah, but Misty, you should have seen the Mystical Valley!" He said. "Claw exaggerates, yes, but the valley itself is no joke. We encountered a field of singing flowers that hypnotized anyone who listened too long. We had to plug our ears with moss and navigate by scent alone!"
"And the color-shifting butterflies!" The third cat chimed in. She was a sleek black cat who projected an air of cool competence despite her companions' theatrics.
"Their dust caused temporary hallucinations." She claimed. "One moment, I was fighting a horde of phantom goblins; the next, it was just a patch of tall grass. It took all my focus to distinguish reality from illusion."
Misty chuckled. Polishing a glass until it gleamed. "Phantom goblins or not, you lot certainly bring back the strangest tales. What was it this time? Did you finally find the legendary Sparkle Gems everyone talks about in the Valley?"
Claw scoffed. "Sparkle Gems? Please. Those are for beginners. We were after something far grander. The Wishing Puzzle. Legends say it can grant any wish, if you can solve the puzzle."
He leaned in. Lowering his voice conspiratorially. "We almost got it. Almost. But then we ran into the… the Giggleweed Golems. They weren't dangerous. Just… incredibly annoying. And impossible to sneak past."
The black cat girl sighed. "They covered us in sticky, shimmering goo. Forcing us to retreat for a full day just to clean ourselves."
The Siamese cat nodded vigorously. "The goo smelled like rotten berries and glitter! It was humiliating!"
Nightclown considered their stories. Mystic Valley. Shimmering Slime. Singing Flowers, Color-shifting Butterflies, Giggleweed Golems. These all sounded like valid, if bizarre, Toonworld threats.
The 'Wishing Puzzle' was intriguing. The adventurers might be prone to exaggeration. But the core elements of their experiences were likely real.
He made a mental note to investigate the Mystic Valley. Cammy captured the full exchange. Including Misty's skeptical but fond expressions. It was good character material. And good environmental information.