"'Talk shop'? Sure, we can talk shop," he says, grinning.

Great! What's the latest in France that hasn't been translated, does he subscribe to the Australian Journal of Witchcraft, does he wanna see her most recent preprints -

The party schedules a time with Elisabel, taking into account her newness and the necessity for preparation time—as well as a schedule opening in the dungeon. It is one of the most famous dungeons in the world, after all. The main limiting factor, though, is the number of adventurers who can actually do anything safely in it at all, so two weekends from meeting Philippe, Elisabel finds herself driving to the middle of the Australian Outback.

She checks her GPS a lot. There's not a ton to go on otherwise. Camp stuff bounces in the backseat. She's got an audiobook on.

The radius affected by the Protean Dungeon is much, much wider than that of any other dungeons Elisabel has been to. The incongruous, storybook-like patch of dense forested woods is visible from a distance, and even after she reaches its edge, there is a while of walking to get to the entrance.

And it feels amazing. The magic in the air is so strong it actually has proper physical effects on her, directly. If her nose was kinda blocked, no it's not; if she slept badly, no she didn't; if she had any aches or pains, no she doesn't. She can feel herself think more clearly, not because she's thinking any differently but just because the little distractions are gone, she has more energy, more raw executive function. That's not to mention the senses, how everything is clearer and sharper and more understandable. It's like she's lived in a badly lit, underwater cave her whole life, and now she's finally swum out to the surface under the sun.

Plus, the area itself is friendly. Despite being some sort of forest, there is a clearly-demarcated beaten path for her to follow, which manages to simultaneously look like it emerged naturally from usage and yet be entirely clear of annoying stubborn tree roots or rocks or patches of dry earth that might make the way treacherous at all. The oppressive desert sun gives way to a gentle morning light counterbalanced by a soft, cool breeze carrying a sweet smell reminiscent of oranges but ineffably different, somehow. On top of that, there are no monsters, or at least no hostile ones; fairies, yes, and butterflies with iridescent wings and a small herd of jackalopes bounding past her and will-o'-the-wisps that chime like a choir of bells singing in harmony, but nothing that will ever attack her.

It's an open invitation, and it's so, so tempting.

It iiiiiiiis she wishes she could liiiiive heeeere where is her party?

Right by the entrance! In addition to Philippe there's another DPS, a tank, and a dedicated healer (because, lest the magical woods make Elisabel forget, this is a dungeon that has killed people and where you expect to be routinely injured and need healing).

Speaking of the entrance, another way in which this dungeon is "protean" is, in fact, the entrance itself, which often changes. Today it seems to have taken the shape of a cute little abandoned cottage, the kind that could be used in a horror setting but with the local lighting conditions looks more like the kind of place the main character might sleep in to recharge after a long hike in the woods, safe in the knowledge that the rules of hospitality mean that they won't be attacked inside.

"Elisabel, welcome!" says Philippe, with one kiss on each cheek. "Tout le monde, this is Elisabel," he tells his party. "Elisabel, tout le monde."

She's not enamored of the cheek kiss thing but she doesn't make a fuss about it. "Hello everyone."

"Bonjour."

"Simone, you have English better than mine."

"Sue me."

"Salut. So our plan today is to do business as usual unless Dr. Swan says something to change it, yes? Except we will be focusing on protecting her, of course."

"Right, and I'll be reporting to you on what-all I see in there. Hopefully the air isn't an illusion."

"...would that... work?"

"No, it was a joke." Pause. Then, nervously, "It was a joke, right? Only if you tell me there's been some research breakthrough about illusion air or something..."

"As far as I know that would not work."

"Right, then. Water, prefight snacks and potions, then we buff and go."

Water. Checklist. Poptarts.

Tristan's tank loadout is more sophisticated than Chris's was, but the fundamentals are the same.

And Philippe has some very nifty buffs. Haste, protection, stability, and he pre-prepares some contingencies in case the dungeon throws a curveball at them like deciding to be underwater or something.

It's sort of redundant for her to cast anything but she'll do a couple of her faves on herself anyway.

And then in they go.

The inside of the abandoned cottage looks unremarkable, or about as unremarkable as anything here does. Vines artfully climb over the wall in pretty patterns, a section of the ceiling is missing in a way that catches the rays of sun and reflects off the motes of dust in the air, an abandoned garden overgrew but rather than being covered in weeds it is covered in flowers.

But the way down into the dungeon itself turns out to be in the kitchen, where a trapdoor has a ladder leading down into the darkness.