Date: Twenty Fifth of January, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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Job scratched at the beard-stubble on his chin, then shaved it away with a quick prestidigitation. “Well, we’d probably be less conspicuous in Bera the city, given the raw number of people there. And southern hills of South peak seems more likely to me then the southern hills of East Peak if something split the mountain. But Bera is large, and reasonably well developed. I’d imagine they’d have found any ruins under their own feet. So let’s check Scratchtown, see what we can find. Elves live for what, eight hundred years, a thousand at most? We might even meet one who saw what happened to the mountain, even if it was never written down.”

Bein’doc snorted salty seawater from his nostrils as he crawled up the beach on to Bera Island. It had been hard to find a small boat that wouldn’t be missed, and that could be rowed by just four kobolds. And in the end, it had flipped and sunk just off shore. The welcoming mouth of a cave beaconed from further up the beach, little more than a vertical split in a rocky outcropping. But it was dark and hidden, a good place to hide, dry off, and plan. Bein’doc led the way inside, eyes swiftly adjusting from the daylight to the comforting darkness.

He didn’t like leaving the other six behind to watch over the traitors and the Egg, but any fewer than six and they wouldn’t be able to keep watch properly. Bein’doc counted snouts as the other three shook water and salt from their backs. He was rather short-clawed, but the four of them should suffice to grab off the one traitor who had foolishly left the safety of the Temples. Then it would simply be a matter of trading the traitor for the Egg, one piece at a time if needed.

His thinking was interrupted by a bit of dirty white poking out of the ashen rock wall. Poking at it revealed it was the forearm bones of a long-dead elf. Bein’doc grinned. He liked this cave even more.

There were indeed some very old elves in Scratchtown. They hadn’t seen the aftermath of the Seminal War for themselves, but their fathers and mothers had, and the stories lived on. Job thought the tales slightly embellished, what with Bera Mountain ‘exploding’, seas of fire pouring down its sides, the sky filled with stones and raining ash for three weeks. A hero by the name of ‘Ololen Yinkian’ sacrificing his life (and some said his very soul) to power a great spell-shield to buy Mevada half a day to evacuate before it was buried alive. Enra had shook her head at this last feat, dismissing it as first as little more than embellished fantasy.

“No Wizard can turn their lifeforce or soul into magical energy to power a spell. It would take a divine intervention to enable such a thing.”

Job shook his head, “nowadays it might, but much of the knowledge of how high-level spells were cast has been lost or locked away. There are only a handful of ninth level spells known, but the old tomes name others, and a small handful of tenth, even eleventh level spells.”

Index twitched her shoulders up and down, “most notable, and now both untaught and forbidden, is a magical ability known as Death Curse wherein a dying or doomed spellcaster can willingly ‘burn up’ their lifeforce and / or soul to empower one last spell. Accounts of the Battle of Alexandria, all second-, third-, or fourth- hand mind you, mention this being employed frequently. They were, for the longest time, dismissed as spellcasters deliberately targeting their own position with massive area of effect spells. But Head Archivist Innoch confirms that such a tactic was both possible and used frequently by Silithid Empire fanatics, though he himself has no idea actually do such a thing.”

Bein’doc sniffed at the air in the cave. He had planned to simply wait until nightfall, then walk on the surface towards the big city, but the air in the cave was moving and the water was getting closer to the entrance. Moving air ment another exit to the cave somewhere else on the island. The rising water and the dried slime on the wall meant that the entrance he has used to get into the cave might flood. Bein’doc gathered his kobolds and the set off deeper into the cave.

Enra scratched the back of her ear, “well, if these children can be believed…”

Sly nodded, “I see no reason why they couldn’t be believed. And they weren't trying to lie either.”

“So there are two sets of caves that might lead to buried sections of an old elf city that could be Mevada. One is out in the fields, and has old chunks of quarried stones in it. The other is down on the beach, and they’ve found old elven bones in it before. But the two are so far apart, and I doubt that the streets of Mevada will be walkable if they’re underground.”

Job put his fedora back on, “well, we could try the caves in the field right now in the light we have left. Or we could wait until tomorrow and try the beach cave then. Tide will have come and gone by then, so that cave won’t be flooded and we’d have most of the day to get back out before it flooded again.”

Baar’miin scratched her snout, “why not both? Fields today, beach tomorrow.”

Sly shrugged a shoulder, “Both caves were large enough that the kids went back instead of exploring deeper. Knowing how curious kids can be, that means it’d take at least a full day to explore either one of them. I’d say we rest for the night and pick one to start with in the morning.”