Large basalt formations dominated the spacious palatial cavern, conjoining with the crumbling remains of a long-forgotten civilisation. Small reptiles and tiny insects scuttled underfoot as the caravan moved deeper into the cavern. Twinkling drops of fresh spring water ran down the edges of the statuesque stalagmites that were suspended above them, steadily dripping onto the ground below.

With two armoured hired blades bringing up the rear of the group, Calem Wraxford and his merry band of merchants considered themselves fairly safe; although they couldn’t help but anxiously murmur between themselves. The mildly successful businessman had experienced his fair share of misfortunes already and it was difficult to deny that his concerns were well-placed.

What should have been a simple, profitable expedition for some runestones in Harea had turned into a several-hour-long excursion that seemed to have no end. Over his time in the industry, time was money and Wraxford was painfully aware that his wealth wasn’t growing the longer he stayed down in this Harea hellhole, essentially panning for gold.

All of the Runestone veins had all run dry in his home country of Pahlma; so the grand desert was the last and only place he could procure them at a reasonable price.

Feeling a tugging sensation on the left sleeve of his expensive jacket, he turned to face them, gently placing a soothing hand on the head of his youngest daughter, Melani Von Wraxford.

To her, this entire trip was essentially a holiday; a convenient excuse for her to grow closer to her father; something that Calem was notoriously absent from due to his work.

The girl had always been more rambunctious than her siblings, always being incessantly curious so the man had thought that girl could do with some adventure, even if it was just the inside of some drab cave.

Wraxford’s eyes wandered over to the two Harean men, dressed in authentic leather and plate armour. They looked disgruntled, keeping themselves on guard for a potential ambush attack. Dried dark blue blood clung to their equipment, remnants of the caravan’s brief but terrifying run-in with the cavern’s local inhabitants.

The Giant Swordtail Scorpion.

Being just as threatening as their name suggested, the creatures rivalled the size of a dog and possessed a deep, undying hatred for anything larger than them. There had only been around three or four but just their presence alone was enough to turn the caravan into a hellscape of screaming, prayers and tears.

Wraxford was all but positive the monsters were going to plague his dreams that night. And maybe every other night going forward.

But he had learnt something of great interest at the very least.

Hareans were surprisingly competent warriors; being able to tackle and defeat creatures that would take double the amount of men in Pahlma. The two mercs had wasted no time cleaving and hacking the monsters to bits, ending the conflict before things could get out of hand.

Calem only hoped that they didn’t decide to turn their blades on him next, Hareans were primarily known for their unpredictability after all.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the man pulled Melani closer, taking her hand as he flashed her a reassuring fatherly smile but the girl looked relatively unfazed, matching his grin with childish enthusiasm as they continued walking.

“A-Are you certain there are more Runestones down here?” one of the other merchants piqued, his troubled voice echoing off the walls of the spacious cavern. “We’ve come quite a ways already, don’t you think it would be wise to turn back?”

“Course there’s more, boy! Why, after my fifty-something years of mining, I can damn near smell those stones. They’re just up ahead, so why turn back now?” an old woman replied, dismissing the man’s concerns away with a wave of her hand. “Think of the profits! It’ll all be worth it in the end”

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The irony was not lost on Calem, having an elderly woman as a guide in a perilous and death-laden cave seemed like an inside joke he was not privy to.

She was also a total stereotype; complete with a full head of grey hair, a hunchback and a husky old woman voice, to boot.

Through some kind of divine luck, she had somehow managed to survive the encounters with the scorpions by ducking behind some rocks and hiding; something that she strangely accredited to her years of experience in spelunking.

But Wraxford was more concerned with her sense of direction or lack thereof, becoming trapped underneath the Earth was not something he had planned in his schedule for the day and with his profits already looking uncertain, wasting any more time would be detrimental to his business.

Reaching the climax of their expedition, the group passed by towering chiselled stone pillars that supported the remnants of what appeared to be an enormous grand mausoleum, ravaged by the uncaring passage of time.

Even with its crumbling roof and dilapidated walls, the building still retained a level of artistry and beauty that was difficult to come across on the surface.

It was truly astounding that the building was still standing and had not been crushed under the density of the environment.

The hushed whispers and remarks of the caravan came to a standstill as they basked in the seemingly otherworldly beauty that lay before them. The elderly guide was the only one who could bring herself to speak.

“See? What d'ya did I tell you? Riches as far as the eye can see!” she remarked loudly, peering around at the treasure that littered the ruins. “With this lot, we’ll all be set for a good while”

Excited murmuring filled the cavern as the group descended upon their quarry, grabbing everything they could get their hands on. Glittering gems, prismatic crystals, ancient fossils and forgotten relics; the caravan almost stripped the place bare.

Calem was one of the first ones to shove the treasure into his pockets, advising Melani to do the same. These items were leagues more valuable than any old Runestone; Wraxford was certain he could elevate himself to the upper echelons of Pahlma’s business circle with his finds here.

He daydreamed of a life he did not have, living right in the centre of The Capital, living in a mansion with his family and orchestrating the market prices with his high-ranking official friends in the Pahlmnain government offices. Fine food, finer women and a finer life were awaiting him and all he had to do was haul everything he’d collected back home.

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Around two hours of treasure gathering slipped by before things began to run dry. The caravan truly picked the ruins clean taking everything that might even slightly have potential selling value. Numerous hempen sacks sat near the entryway of the ruins, waiting to be transported to the surface and into the hands of their new owners. For the first time in perhaps decades, the ruins were alive with the sound of laughter and celebration as the group basked in the new-found wealth.

With Melanie fast asleep on his lap, Calem Wraxford downed the last of whatever was left in his tankard. He had discovered a taste for Kagul, a certain type of Harean liquor one of the mercs had been carrying around. It was more powerful than he initially thought but Wraxford was a man who prided himself on his ability to drink just about anyone under the table.

The half-asleep vanguard facing him shook his head and uttered something in his mother tongue before collapsing into a drunken stupor. Wraxford did not bother celebrating his victory, it had never been a fair battle, to begin with

It turned out that people from Harea were not as bad as he had initially expected.

They were men just like himself and not the despondent, aggressive sand-eaters that he had heard rumours about growing up.

Noticing that the place had grown oddly quiet, Wraxford gently moved his sleeping child aside and stumbled over to the centre of the room. The room swayed slightly from side to side as the man made his way to where the rest of the caravan had been gathered earlier on, drinking, talking and trading life stories but he did not hear a peep from them now.

As he grew closer, Wraxford noticed that the group of merchants were all passed out on the ground, seemingly fast asleep. He attempted to shake them awake from their slumber, jumbling his words as he tried to tell them it was time to head back up to the surface.

At first, Calem did not notice the blood that stained his hands; simply regarding it as some stray alcohol. But the strong metallic scent and bright red colour were difficult to deny even for a drunkard.

Rapidly sobering up, the man was gripped by a primal fear and a dreadful sinking feeling as he realised that his companions were, in fact, dead.

Before his mind could even perceive anything, Wraxford felt the pointed blade edge poking at his back.