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Cursing Fon, the duergar battle leader, for the countless time, Thren picked his way through the dark tunnels of the Deep Dark. It had taken him weeks longer to make his way home than it had to get to the wretched valley his whole party had died in. If his nose was right it would only be another days journey before he arrived at the stronghold. Thren had to get his story straight by then, it wasn’t hard, he had been convincing himself for a while.

It had taken a some time to work out what tale would be most beneficial for the young duergar. If he told the truth; that a single vampire, a dwarf, and an elf had slaughtered their entire party while he cowered in an alcove he would be strung up or gibbeted. However, if the tale was too fantastical it wouldn’t be believed and he might be put to the question regardless. That meant shaping the truth and making himself believe the story by the time he had to tell it.

Thren cackled as his memories of day after day of eating mushrooms and hiding in a moldy decrepit dwarven city perverted and twisted. He hadn’t hidden for weeks from those black serpents hissing in the shadows. No, he hadn’t scrambled up the rope and out of the cavern with a trickle of piss running down his leg while they changed guard. He had been tortured. Thren even had the gouges, bruises, and cuts healing on his body. Those wounds had absolutely not been self inflicted.

Elves had returned to the valley. Elves had killed his comrades. Elves had taken him and abused his body. He escaped and lived off what he could find while avoiding capture.

Thren had seen at least one elf, there had to be more. He could use this. It was only a matter of how he could make it benefit him the most. What positions of power could Thren ascend to now that Fon and Mon were no longer impediments to his advancement? He would never know unless he seized the opportunity. A wicked smile rippled across Thren’s pale visage as he cautiously pushed forward.

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A shrill whistle of steam pouring from a boiler startled every wild critter within miles as the heavily modified caravan rolled and pitched along the mountain road. Sitting atop the brightly colored horseless carriage was an old gnome with a particularly long nose, which was saying something for a gnome. He was moving around a series of large cranks and levers to operate the contraption.

A couple of other caravans traveled disorderly behind as they snaked their way up into the mountains. They were packed to the brim with foodstuffs, mining, and logging supplies. On their return trip those same holds would be filled with lumber and ore.

Squiggle Roundwadle loved making the trip to Sunset. It was always fun to play a trick or two on her grumpy old uncle. She knew the reminder of home pained him, but that the joy of seeing her outweighed it. Every year while he lived out his exile he had become a shade more bitter. If only she could convince him to apologize, but the stubborn old fool was peculiar in that trait.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

With a snap, the gnome sitting next to her fired off a stone from their sling. It struck a large single horned rabbit square between the eyes and dropped it. The passenger jumped down from the slow moving caravan and ran over to scoop up their kill.

“Got us a dire rabbit! Well be eating well tonight Squiggle.”

“Good shot! Now get back up here before you are left behind Wicket.”

Running to catch up, Wicket hauled himself back up onto the bench next to Squiggle, still holding the rabbit by its ears. He started in on their usual conversation as he stowed the kill. They had repeated this exchange many times, on many trips, but they kept it up just the same.

“So, what do you think is new in the valley? Think any new folks showed up after we dropped off this seasons initial work crew?”

Squiggle remembered the motley collection of humans and dwarves they had taken to the Valley of Sunset with the first thaw that spring. None of them had particularly stood out. It had been the same as every year she could remember, Sunset was a place that people went to as a last resort. That didn’t tend to bring in promising talents or bright eyed prospects, normally the opposite in fact.

“Nah. I bet nothings changed. You know how it is. We take a group there in the spring and by the time we come back plenty will be looking to leave. It’s hard work and not the most comfortable conditions. I’d wager half the ones we got with us won’t make it through the fall.”

Wicket nodded, she was right after all. Why would anything change in the Chimera’s Mane? It had been unclaimed for centuries.

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Heavy thudding steps shook the earth and crashed through the underbrush as the large meliae stomped through the Shadowed Forest. Grumblebark, a silk floss treefolk variant, was awash with pink-red blossoms all throughout his foliage. Crushed petals left a markedly visible trail back towards the north of the island and the Swiftwater River.

Never caring much for tracking the passage of time, Grumblebark was unsure of how long he had been traveling. It had taken many days for the river’s flow to lessen to the point that even he could cross. Urgency drove him onward, he couldn’t let his partner down.

The further he moved away, the harder the dungeon core had been to sense. They had not been able to communicate since the core’s capture. However, no force could keep the bound dungeon familiar from sensing the core’s location.

Before he had come so far south, Grumblebark had still been able to feel the Lurking Lair’s emotions. They were not in good shape, but there had still been hope. As long as Grumblebark was seeking help there was a chance that the dungeon could be saved. He wasn’t sure how he would convince the elves to assist in freeing the young dungeon, but he knew they wouldn’t want the serpentfolk of Phobos to possess it.

“Dungeon… Charlie, I’m going to bring back help. Hang on until I return.”

Grumblebark knew that he was well out of range for the mental message to get through, he sent it just the same. It had taken the spiky meliae, with an equally prickly attitude, a while to warm up to the odd dungeon core. Although, once he had embraced the journey, for the first time in centuries, the meliae had been having the time of his life. It was about time to get that back to that adventure.