Robin groaned as he awoke, something sharp and rough digging into his back. His skin felt gritty and chalky, and his nose was full of dust. Opening his eyes, he found himself atop a large pile of stone and rubble. There was also an update waiting for him.

Quest Complete! [Grasp of the Tyrant-Priest]

Congratulations! Your plan to escape the grasp of Gis, Priest of Urkhan has been successfully executed. Complications notwithstanding. Neither you nor your new friends died! Result!

Reward: Not only are you breathing and unbroken, you have +3 proficiency ranks and +1 property rank to assign! Yay you!

Robin blinked the message away. Right. Gis. The stalactite. The collapse. The fall. Wait. How did he survive the fall?

He prodded himself gently, shifting atop the stones. He barely even felt bruised! He should have several broken bones at a minimum, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he should rightly be very, very dead.

This creeping certainly was only confirmed as he spotted a nearby kobold. It was quite dead, nearly pulped by its impact on the stones. He blinked. Right now his ability to see in the dark was definitely hitting double-edged sword territory.

‘La—Lantha?’ He coughed the dust out of his mouth and tried again, louder. ‘Lantha? Fiamah? Grathilde? Ora-Jean?’

‘Here,’ a voice came groaning out of the shadows. Grathilde. ‘I’m over here. Ora-Jean’s here as well, but she hasn’t woken up yet.’

‘How are we even still alive to wake up?’

‘You’re welcome,’ Grathilde said despondently. ‘I used the last of the power I had stored from the last time we nearly got out of this zanagorov tunnel complex.’

‘Ah.’ Robin said, as if that made everything perfectly clear. Which it did not.

‘Air magic,’ Grathilde said gruffly. ‘I made us all light as feathers, and we drifted down. I didn’t have enough power to fly us all to safety, so this was the best I could do.’

‘And you did excellently,’ Lantha said, appearing from around a chunk of stone the size of a minivan. Fiamah was with her.

‘Tater!’ Ora-jean woke with a scream.

‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ Grathilde comforted her. ‘Taterpicker is fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine.’ Then her voice cracked. ‘We’re trapped hundred of feet deeper under the goddess-forsaken ground, but we’re fine.’

‘Maybe we can climb out,’ Robin suggested hopefully.

‘Unlikely,’ Grathilde said sourly. ‘Lantha? Magelight up there?’

The elf looked surprised at Grathilde’s commanding tone, but she nonetheless cast a ball of glowing light up above their heads. It drifted up, and up, and up, until it came to a rest at what Robin guessed was the edge of Lantha’s range. It was several hundred feet.

There was no sign of the ceiling. No sign even of the edges of the hole they’d fallen through. The ethereal light played across the walls, slick with damp and heart-stoppingly smooth.

‘Ah. Not climbing out, then,’ Robin said. He swallowed.

‘We’re stuck down here,’ Grathilde said bitterly. ‘After everything I did to get out, now I’m going to die in a zanagorov cave.’

‘We don’t know that.’ The words came, surprisingly, soft and firm from Lantha. ‘Come on, get up. You’ve saved us. Let’s see where we are. We’ll find a way out.’

Grathilde grumbled but rose to her feet. Together, they began to search the area. They found a lot of stone, three dead kobolds, two intact spears, three small daggers, and a lot of blood and guts and viscera.

They also found tunnels leading out of the cavern. Six of them. Each led in a different direction, not that there was an easy way to tell which direction was which down here.

‘Wait, look at this.’ Robin knelt at the entrance of one of the tunnels. ‘This stone, it’s been squared off. It looks like the chunk of brick or whatever we found further up in the caverns.’

‘Let me see.’ Fiamah knelt down next to him. She ran her fingers along the faint groove Robin had spotted. ‘He’s right. It’s definitely been worked. And it does feel similar to—’ She broke off and glanced at Lantha.

‘To Ssathessti work?’ Robin finished for her, remembering the name both from something one of the others had said earlier and from the quest prompt he’d been given. ‘That’s one of the things you were supposed to be scouting for, wasn’t it?’

He crossed his arms and levelled a challenging stare at Lantha. He’d rescued them from captivity twice now. If he didn’t get some trust out of that—

‘It was. It is.’ Lantha said.

Robin blinked. That…that was not the answer he’d expected. He’d been expecting her to be cagey and evasive and—and she was saying more!

‘We’re part of the White Star Company, operating under the auspices of the Adventurer’s Guild of Noviel.’ The elf was saying.

Noviel? Was that a city or a country? An empire? No. Surely she’d have to have to call it ‘the Empire’ if it was an empire, right?

‘You already know we’re scouting the area. We’re also looking for signs of Ssathessti ruins in these mountains. It had to do with a bunch of incredibly tedious elvish politics—’

‘And theological and academic funding at the University,’ Fiamah added.

‘—and the possibility of recovering useful magical artefacts vital to Noviel’s defence efforts. Now that a petty tyrant has seized the keep—’ Lantha outlined the politics of the situation.

Robin followed as best he could. There were a lot of names. The upshot seemed to be that someone Lantha’s country or city didn’t like now controlled the main trade route through the mountains, and there was likely a small war on the horizon. Made sense, with what he’d seen of Gis and Urkhan.

‘Let’s see where this tunnel takes us then,’ he said when Lantha had finished. ‘We’re here. Looks like Ssathessti ruins—who were they again?’ He risked the question.

‘Elves,’ Grathilde said, at the same time Lantha spat out ‘Serpents!’

‘A lost people,’ Fiamah said, more diplomatically.

‘Not so much lost,’ Ora-Jean muttered. ‘You can find them if you go deep enough.’

‘I was speaking theologically,’ Fiamah said.

‘Aren’t you always?’ Grathilde teased.

‘Right.’ Robin said, still lost.

‘They were a group of elves that fell into the worship of a Primordial Serpent Goddess near the dawn of time,’ Lantha said flatly. ‘There was a war. Nations were torn apart. The Ssathessti fled or were forced underground. Some of them still look like elves, some look part-serpent, part-elf.’

‘There’s still a bit of a grudge between the two peoples,’ Fiamah murmured to Robin.

‘Ah. Gotcha.’ Robin cleared his throat. ‘Well, that tunnel isn’t just going to explore itself. Let’s go!’ Hopefully they didn’t run into any living examples of Ssathessti culture. His nerves were not up to it.

The party geared up as best they could and proceeded down the tunnel. After all, they had limited options. Ora-Jean scouted ahead as Lantha and Fiamah examined the stonework. Grathilde stumbled along, muttering darkly. Robin followed the others’ lead and left her to herself for a bit.

As they moved cautiously through the tunnels, more and more of the stonework revealed itself. It was fascinating. The cuts were made in a spade-like pattern reminiscent of scales and fitted together in sinuous curves and swerves. After Ora-Jean led them along several forks in the way, she called out from ahead.

‘Found something!’

The halfling led them through an entrance shaped like the mouth of a massive serpent into the ruins of some kind of living complex. It was hard for Robin to get a sense of the size of it, but it felt like an outpost of some kind, maybe the size of a small keep? It was certainly bigger than a house, bigger than the English Department Building at the University.

The flowing and curving nature of the architecture remained unchanged. It made exploring the hallways more stressful, as it cut down on sight lines.

‘There aren’t any torches or light sources in the walls,’ he observed.

‘All elves are born with an innate connection to magic,’ Fiamah explained. ‘They likely could all see in the dark or conjure light like Lantha is doing.’

‘Those designs there would have been regularly enchanted with faery-fire,’ Lantha added sourly, pointing to a looping, interlaced serpentine design near the ceiling. ‘That would have provided what little light they needed.’

‘Why not a permanent enchantment?’ Robin asked. Maybe he could get some more hints how magic worked.

‘Too expensive,’ Fiamah answered.

‘They wouldn’t use something like that here,’ Lantha agreed. ‘This is clearly an outpost. Permanent enchantments for light and movement between levels and time keeping would be reserved for larger settlements.’

‘Hey Grathilde,’ Ora-Jean called, ‘I think I’ve found a kitchen or a mess hall.’ The halfling was clearly trying to nudge the dwarf out of her despondency. ‘Help me search. There might be some knives or bags or something useful left behind.’

The room was a mess. There were signs of hasty departure but they were covered by a thick layer of dust. A large crop of mushrooms sprouted from what Robin could only assume were the ruins of some sort of food storage cabinet or niche.

‘Food,’ Ora-Jean noted, ‘and we’re not the only ones who have been here recently. Look!’ She pointed out scuffs in the dust and a few places the small forest of mushrooms exploding out of the wall had been thinned out.

‘How recent?’ Lantha asked, suddenly tense.

‘Several weeks, a few months,’ the halfling replied after a long moment. ‘Not dangerously recent.’

Grathilde suddenly pounced on something, scrabbling in the shadows beneath a long shelf of stone. After a few moments, she hauled herself back up, covered in dust and clutching a carved wooden spoon.

‘Magic,’ she said.

‘Is that—’ Fiamah stepped closer.

‘Get me a bowl and let’s find out,’ Grathilde replied.

Ora-Jean was already there, placing a small, cracked cauldron or kettle on the surface in front of the dwarf. Grathilde placed the spoon in the cauldron and waited. Almost immediately, the pot began to fill with a thick, hearty-looking porridge.

‘Thank Wenser,’ Ora-Jean said fervently. ‘We’ve got food!’

‘And several knives,’ Lantha added, adjusting her belt.

Robin deliberately didn’t add that they also had mushrooms. Porridge, even sketchy magical snake-porridge, had to be better than mushrooms.

Grathilde stuck a finger into the porridge and raised it to her lips.

‘Well?’ Ora-Jean asked.

‘Bland. But it’s hearty. It’ll keep us going.’ The dwarf sighed, but there was relief in the sound.

Robin stepped in for a closer look at the spoon. It was carved wood with a design on the handle something like a figure eight and something like a snake with its tail in its mouth. Makes sense. Fit with the general aesthetics of the place.

Quest Complete! [Below Ground and Between the Shadows]

Congratulations! You have confirmed the presence of the Ssathessti ruins and artefacts in the caverns beneath the Dragonspine Mountains. You have also uncovered why the Sisters Sharp adventuring party are interested in them.

Reward: +1 Arcane Lore; 1 undetermined minor magical item (no, it’s not the spoon; keep your eyes open).

Bonus Reward: You got that knowledge I promised you, didn’t you?

The boost to his Arcane Lore flowed into Robin’s mind. Huh. Magical objects suddenly made a modicum more sense.

‘Robin, Fiamah, harvest as many mushrooms as you can fit in this sack.’ Lantha tossed a creaky leather satchel at them. Most of the dust had been wiped off. ‘Ora-Jean, see if you can follow those tracks. I want to make sure we’re actually alone down here.’

‘Come on, Taterpicker,’ Ora-Jean said to the air as she headed back out into the tunnels.

Robin could make out a few hints of the tracks she had mentioned, but his proficiencies were nowhere near high enough to allow him to follow the faint traces as Ora-Jean was doing. Or as Taterpicker was doing. Not sure who was the better tracker there.

He set to filling the bag with mushrooms. Lantha even provided him with one of the knives she’d scavenged. Robin almost didn’t know how to react, having this much trust shown to him by the cagey elf.

He and Fiamah had finished their harvest and were helping Grathilde check the large storage amphorae when Ora-Jean returned. Well, stuck her head through the entryway and called for their attention.

‘What is it?’ Lantha asked, her body suddenly tense.

‘Just follow me. You’re going to want to see this.’ Ora-Jean’s head disappeared.

Lantha jerked her chin at the exit and the group headed out after the halfling and her badger spirit. They trailed Ora-Jean through several corridors and three rooms before she slowed and pointed ahead.

‘I found our mushroom-picker. What’s left of them is just in here.’

Lantha stepped cautiously into the room, followed by the others. What it’s original purpose had been was obscured by time and the fact that someone had been using it as a campsite. There were old and dusty signs of a cook fire, a couple backs and a bedroll, and a tangle of bones that almost certainly had been the camper in question.

‘Looks like an explorer, from those clothes,’ Fiamah observed.

Lantha grunted in agreement. She crouched down near the remains.

‘Grathilde, check the packs for anything useful. Fiamah, can you sense any residual spirits nearby that might be hostile? Ora-Jean, check the perimeter for me. Robin, see if you can find anything else unusual.’

Huh. Responsibility too! Will wonders never cease? He stepped out of the way of the others and began poking around the room. It wasn’t large, but it wasn’t terribly small, either. Still, most of it was dust, detritus and mushrooms, and…hang on!

Robin blinked. Were there small blue sparkles coming from that scrap of shadow near the wall? While the others were examining the bones, he stepped closer. There was something here! It looked like a domino mask, not dissimilar to those worn by superheroes.

The black leather was surprisingly supple and entirely clean and free of dust. Robin ran through the Arcane Lore in his mind. Masks were often enchanted with spells of concealment or illusion. That was certainly a familiar theme.

No one else had seen the sparkles. Was this what the quest prompt had meant? Not that it could be bothered to give him confirmation, if it was.

The paranoid tabletop role player in him screamed that he should drop it. It had to be cursed. Or a face-eating mini-mimic. But something else inside of him recognised a kindred spirit, almost. It felt similar to the feeling he got when the Elvish God of Mischief had marked him.

Frell it. Sometimes you just have to trust your gut. Robin put on the mask.

The leather was cool on his face and it adhered in place as if it had been made for him. Maybe it had. The deities work in mysterious ways, right?

A notification popped into Robin’s view, but before he could read it, Ora-Jean called for everyone’s attention.

‘That’s not the only thing, though. Lantha, can you bring your light closer to the wall?’

The elf did so and the party went silent as they beheld what was scrawled across it in rough, red-brown letters.

WATCH THE SHADOWS

‘Looks like whoever this was wrote that message with their own blood right before they died.’ Ora-Jean glanced around the party.

Well that’s not ominous at all.