Robin woke from the best night of sleep he had had since waking up naked in the shrine of a lost god. The smell of warm porridge wafted to his nostrils. His stomach growled out a demand. His mouth watered, too. His brain seemed to have associated the smell of porridge with the delectable illusory tastes he conjured up.

He was even less stiff. He rotated his arms. The coat wasn’t fully real, but the benefits seemed to be, howsoever slight they were.

After a quick breakfast with only a few delectable bites for each of them (Lantha wanted to get moving so there was no time to chain-cast [Lesser Phantasm] for everyone), they headed out to explore the outpost some more.

It was hours of tense, dreary searching to little avail. Robin lost count of the rooms and corridors. They were all formed of the same, scale-like overlapping stonework, all dark, all deserted, but all brimming with the potential for sudden attack and/or death.

By dinner, they had criss-crossed the area enough times that Lantha and Ora-Jean felt confident they knew all the major tunnels leading away from the place. What everyone was less confident about was which way to go. Robin’s opinion was not sought. He was instead tasked with helping Grathilde set up for dinner.

At least it was an easy enough task. Sort out a few mushrooms, make sure the containers they ate out of were reasonably clean, wait to apply magic spoon! Plenty of time to sneak in a few glances at his interface, make minor alterations to his coat, and chat with Grathilde. Not to mention religiously check the nearby shadows for any unnatural behaviour. Watch the Shadows…he couldn’t get those words out of his head.

‘What’s the deal with Ora-Jean and Taterpicker?’ he asked as he poked through the satchel full of mushrooms.

‘What do you mean?’ Grathilde asked. Most of her attention was caught up in glaring at a clump of dried porridge stuck to the cup she preferred using.

‘I’ve never had a chance to spend time around someone with a, what is Taterpicker? A familiar spirit? A totem? Something like that?’ Robin tried to dance around the edges of his ignorance as best he could.

‘Oh. I’m not sure. Not really my area of specialty.’ Grathilde shrugged. ‘I think Taterpicker has some sort of link to Ora-Jean’s family. She doesn’t say much about them, though, so I dunno.’

Proficiency Unlocked: Gossip.

Really? Gossip? Robin made noncommittal nosies at Grathilde and dug into his interface to try and get some more information. Hmm. Looks like the proficiency covered all kinds of information-gathering. So, generally useful but oddly named!

The sound of Ora-Jean and Lantha arguing brought him back to his surroundings. The two were kneeling over a roll of parchment. Fiamah stood over them, arms crossed, face the picture of exasperation. Grathilde was filling the bowls.

No one was on watch. Well, except possibly Taterpicker, but Robin couldn’t see him, so that was anyone’s guess. Well, if Lantha wasn’t insisting, it should be safe enough. He hoped.

Robin poked his head over to see what they were looking at. It was a map. Either they had it hidden away really well, or they’d found it on the body they looted yesterday.

‘I think we need to go further down,’ Ora-Jean was saying. ‘I don’t recognise any of these markings, and there’s clearly a passage—’

‘We’re already right on top of the crypt,’ Lantha replied. ‘How much further down do we need to look? At some point, we’re going to need to go up to get out.’

We’re wherenow? Robin blinked. The big, round stone not far from where Grathilde was setting up dinner suddenly looked a lot more ominous. He forced his attention back to the map. Best not to think about what was under that stone.

Huh. Actually, that scratching there looked familiar, somehow. Where had he seen something like that before…oh! As Lantha and Ora-Jean argued, Robin rummaged about in his trousers, pulling out the scrap of a map he’d looted from the goblins.

‘I think it’s the same landmark!’

‘What?’

Robin looked up. Everyone was staring at him. He blinked.

‘That shape, the sort of half circle with three squiggly lines through it. It’s on this map too.’ He gestured vaguely with the scrap of rancid leather in his hand.

‘Map? What map?’ That Lantha didn’t snatch it out of his hands was a testament to how far their relationship had come.

Or a testament to how much the scrap stank. Robin’s fingers felt positively greasy.

‘This map,’ he said. ‘I looted it from those goblins right before—’ he trailed off. Not a great memory, nor their finest hour, to be honest.

‘Before Gis captured us,’ Grathilde finished the thought for him.

Ora-Jean looked sour. Lantha’s attention was on Robin’s map. Fiamah glanced between the two.

‘It does seem to match,’ the cleric said slowly, ‘and I think where the explorer’s map we found lacks any sign as to which way the exit might be, the goblin’s map has what look to be two possible exit markings. Look.’

She pointed to two rough archways sketched in on the goblin’s map, each was the end of a twisting line of tunnel. The others leaned over. Ora-Jean nodded, a bit reluctantly.

‘I think you’re right,’ the halfling said. ‘Much as I hate to take even this much aid from anyone who tried to kill me.’

‘Think of it as reparations for attempted harms,’ Robin said.

Ora-Jean snorted. The mood lightened just a touch, and Robin smiled. The whole being trapped miles beneath millions of tons of stone was depressing enough. No reason to let the mood sink low as well.

Grathilde passed out the porridge. Lantha conjured another magelight for them to gather around, after insisting Ora-Jean roll up the maps and entrust them to Fiamah. That worked for Robin. The cleric was by far the most reliable of them all. Well, so long as she didn’t wander off a cliff while distracted with lecturing.

The meal was welcome after the long day, and they all perked up a bit with the hearty porridge in them. Robin glanced around the group, surprised once again Lantha hadn’t set a watch. Nervously, he checked the room again.

Robin froze. Something was off. Slowly, he looked again. Frak. There it was. He glanced around to the other member of the party and adjusted his position before saying anything, just in case.

‘Ora-Jean,’ Robin asked, supremely casual, ‘why do you have an extra shadow?’

Everyone froze. Ora-Jean slowly rotated her head, counting the shadows.

‘Shi—’ Before Ora-Jean could finish the word, the shadow near her feet exploded into motion.

It rose up, moving of its own volition, and began laying about with its claws. The edges of the shadow were sharp, and slid through clothing as if it did not exist.

Ora-Jean roared in fury. Lantha nimbly dodged out of the way, not letting the thing touch her. Robin was shocked into flailing ineffectually at it with his fists. Unfortunately, they passed right through the creature.

Proficiency Unlocked: Brawl.

Robin was all for learning from your failures, but this was ridiculous. He banished the notification but not before he took a hit. A bone-deep chill bit deep into him as the shadow slashed at his flesh. He staggered, suddenly feeling weak.

‘Get back,’ Fiamah shouted. ‘It steals the strength from your limbs and uses it to enhance its own power!’

Robin easily dodged the next attack. This one he saw coming. Oh yeah, he could feel the benefit to those new Dodge ranks.

Ora-Jean was bellowing, slashing wildly at the thing with her scavenged spear. It had little to no effect.

Lantha circled the battle, occasionally darting in with a slash of her kitchen knives, but had similarly little success. The shadow lashed out at her, but the elf nimbly dodged aside. So far, it had yet to land a hit on her.

Grathilde was not so fortunate. While Robin was distracted, the shadow had landed two hits on the aeromancer. She lay on the ground, weakly crawling away from the centre of the conflict.

Fiamah was the only one that seemed to have had any luck so far. The cleric held a conjured handful of white-gold flames. As Robin watched she hurled a small ball of holy fire at the shadow. It struck the thing centre-mass and exploded. The thing keened in pain and flickered, slipping down to mix with the dancing shadows formed by the melee.

‘Robin! Help me,’ Fiamah shouted. ‘We need to take it down before it can heal itself in the darkness.’

That was a thing? Frelling magic. Well, fight fire with fire, right? Robin scrambled for an insult. What would offend a shadow?

‘Oi! You call that an attack? Nah, mate, that performance is well flat! Practically two-dimensional!’ Robin channelled a bit of Cockney attitude. He was going to need all the swagger he could muster on this one.

There was a hiss from the darkness around them.

‘Again!’ Fiamah commanded, her eyes searching. ‘I can’t find it! Flush it out!’

Right. Operation Rage-Bait. Party.

‘I mean, I know you’re a shadow, but is that any excuse to be more than a bit dim?’

An arm lashed out of the shadows. Robin ducked. Dodged again!

A ball of flame sailed past his ear, narrowly missing setting his hair on fire.

‘Sorry!’ Fiamah called.

‘As long as you take it out in the process, you can set me on fire any time,’ Robin shouted back.

Lantha conjured another magelight, attempting to catch the shadow unawares and reveal its location. Ora-Jean howled in frustration, her eyes searching for any hint as to the damned thing’s location.

‘Fiamah,’ Lantha shouted, ‘stand over Grathilde! She’s too tempting a target.’

The cleric shifted position. The shadows danced all around them. It was playing with them now, or stalling for enough time to heal.

His eyes were well-accustomed to darkness. Robin turned as much attention as he could spare to sieving the shadows around them for their foe. If he could narrow it down, maybe Fiamah could take some blind shots.

‘Keep going!’ Lantha snapped at Robin.

Right. He had to keep whittling its health down with [Cutting Words] so it didn’t heal before they managed to flush it out. Once more into the breach!

Robin called the thing dim, flat, and a pathetic imitation. He insulted its attacks, its general shape, and the way it stretched when the light hit it funny. Eventually, out of sheer frustration, the thing lunged into the magelight in an attempt to rip out his heart.

Fiamah hit it dead centre with three balls of flame in quick succession. As each one detonated, the shadow lost more and more cohesion, its shape warping and thinning from the concentrated light and holy power.

It didn’t last long after that. With a hiss and a wail, the shadow dissolved into wisps of darkness and was no more.

Of course, no sooner had it gone than it was replaced with something else. In this case, a quest prompt appeared before Robin’s eyes!

New Quest: [A Shadow Awakens!]

Congratulations on defeating the lesser shadow. Really. Great work. However, your conflict has done more than saved your hide. It’s also awakened the [Shadow of Yvon-Rael] Defeat this foe and survive, if you can. Best of luck!

Reward: Your life, obviously. No promises whether or not your sanity will make it through unscathed, though. In addition, the answer to a question will become clear, and you will find your way to some monetary and magical compensation. Yes, better stuff than you’ve found so far. After all, you’re going to have to work for it.

‘Oh frell,’ Robin whispered.

‘What?’ Grathilde looked up at him, eyes still wide in the aftermath of the battle.

‘I think we woke someone up.’

The stone separating them from the crypts below cracked with a sharp retort.