------------- Elsewhere, near an overgrown road in a rural city -------------

The old woman felt her bones creak as she reached her hand into the wooden bowl she had decided many years ago was only suitable for bird feed. She scooped up what she remembered would be a small handful of seed and ground stale bread, and shook her hand out over the barren field.

"Eat up!", she said in a sing-song voice to the birds that had escaped nearly a decade ago, though she was still seeing them. She turned around, and reached out to the low fence gate, missing it by half her own height. The gate was broken, fallen over, and half-buried in the dirt. But to her, she grabbed the gate, carefully opened it, walked through it, and closed it again.

Up the road, three lot lengths away, some cloven-hooved animals the relative size of large ponies trotted along, pulling a covered wooden wagon. A middle-aged woman sat next to the man holding the reins, laughing at something the man said. As she laughed, her hair revealed a small but unique knife scar between her left cheekbone and left ear.

The old woman didn't notice the wagon, though not due to her lack of ability to see nor the silence of the wagoneers. Anyone or anything they might have had in the back was silent, but they weren't. Instead, she went inside her dusty old cabin, clearly made by hand by someone a long time ago. It visibly hadn't been maintained much at all since.

The woman with the scar didn't look at the man, but issued a command anyway. "You check outside, I'll check inside."

"Yeah, yeah", said the man. He'd done this before. His partner was better at assessing value of looted items than he was, so it made sense.

------------- Inside -------------

The old woman went over to her kitchenette. Its counter was clean, but everywhere that wasn't in daily active use was dusty and had cobwebs, and small pieces of trash of one kind or another were at least partially buried in the neglect.

"I'll get you your supper just as soon as it starts to get dark, dear." The woman was talking to the husband she remembered, though no one else was present. At least no one was welcome or invited.

The woman with the scar stood in the open doorway, watching the show.

"I'll help you make supper", the woman said to her elder.

She didn't respond.

The middle-aged woman walked in a huff to the venerable one, grabbing her arm and turning her around.

The frail lady was shocked. Before she could scream, she got a look in her eye. "Oh, you'll never outstay your welcome with me. What are sisters for?"

The woman with the scar wanted to look at her strangely, but she kept her composure. "I'll help you make supper."

The old woman repeated herself without knowing it. "Oh, you'll never outstay your welcome with me. What are sisters for?"

The woman that did know where she was decided she had spent enough time with this, and placed her hand on the small of the old woman's back. With a gentle push, more like herding, she led the old woman to the back of the wagon where the man was waiting.

"Good job. What else you get?"

"Nothing yet. There doesn't seem to be much in there, really. You get this, I'll go get the rest."

Back inside, the professional kidnapper started filling a large sack, and took everything she thought she could pawn at the next general store they happened across. As she took one thing after another, she revealed something she really didn't think she'd see. In the corner of the room, behind some worn-looking brooms, was what looked like a staff.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

It was stored upside-down for some reason, with the shorn end sticking up and the curled gnarl on the floor. Holding it properly, she could see that there were two tiny fragments of cloudy white crystal glued onto strings whose other ends were wedged into the staff's gnarl with small carved wooden spikes.

Besides one treasure, nothing of interest was found. A second sack became necessary sooner rather than later, filled with various things that might be old and used, but not used up entirely, like a couple old blankets and long skirts.

She left the cabin, now bereft of anything valuable, meaning useful and clean-enough. "Get over here, you! I'm not carrying these bags up there myself."

"I carried the other bag, you get those! You packed them", the driver yelled back. Though there were others that heard the conversation, those who were conscious had learned not to draw attention.

--------- Dungeon Daedric Tower ---------

The dungeon helped his zombies claw at the wall of the huge room he had planned out, with the floor only slightly angled. He figured that if he did it right, then the gelflings wouldn't realize they were going up or down, depending on the direction they chose.

It was a pitiful weapon, but he had at least made and armed the zombie in his core room. A sweaty sock filled with coins tied to a rope probably wouldn't do much, but that odd monster needed to be watched by something, and he didn't think a wooden sword would cut it.

--------- Dungeon Outer Perimeter ---------

The priest had made the short trek to the opposite edge of the town closest to him, with all his accruements and acolytes in tow.

"If you open your books to here", the priest began while showing what he was talking about to all four of the people with him, "and you read to the beginning of this page, then you'll know what has to be repeated."

Melisande didn't look convinced. "Are you sure we will all read it at the same speed?"

"At first, no we won't. But if we all have faith, we will all match each other's speed both as we read and as we walk. Follow your training, and watch for traces of denser mana. Remember that the dungeon might have grown past what we've known about."

One of the other trainees sounded like he was trying to win something. "And if the whole thing isn't surrounded, then it won't work."

The priest nodded. "That's right. Now everyone spread out and we will begin the ritual."

--------- Bogsreach Horizon ---------

The covered wooden wagon continued along, with a relatively new basket full of currency.

Seeing something strange going on far ahead of them, the man sitting next to the woman with the scar slowed their progress to a halt.

The small trail they had been leaving for a majority of their route was not one they were trained in noticing.

Both of the drivers jumped off the wagon's front bench, making their way to the back to ensure no one had died. Not yet, at least. They hadn't served their purpose yet.

--------- Dungeon Daedric Tower ---------

Something felt strange. The dungeon felt almost like it was trying to breathe through its own shirt. though that was and old memory. It probably didn't matter much and could be ignored.

As time went on, the minor distraction became somewhat of a nuisance, warranting investigation.

Peeking out of his cave mouth. He didn't initially see anything. Though, he did soon enough. The girl he had seen before, who gave him the wooden sword, was walking around, chanting.

Disappointingly, she was wearing the same colors that the jerk did, but her chant didn't hurt like his did. Instead of yelling hatefully, she almost sounded like she was singing. It was then that he noticed another voice, singing the same song, whatever it was.

But the more the song went on, the more stifling his breath was. Figuring it had to do with something totally unrelated to what was going on outside, he went back inside.

'I guess you guys can come in. Might as well make it comfortable, right?', the dungeon asked himself rhetorically. He breathed out, thinking of the moldy benches he had researched, making a few of them in a wide triangle. In between it, he tried to spawn an abandoned campfire. Instead, he started coughing.

'What's different?', he asked himself. Thinking of the strange beast that came in, he went to go look at it. It's fur didn't look remotely soft, instead looking like dirty, hardened, matted fur. 'Can I research this thing?', he asked himself, getting a notification.

[Resource discovered: Matted Fur.]

All of a sudden, the coat of matted fur disappeared from the dog monster, reappearing a few feet away on the ground. As it did so, it only revealed some other issue. The dog also had mange, or some other skin condition that made its fur patchy and wiry. Its skin itself looked red, dehydrated, mostly bald, and scabby.

'Oh jeez, yuck',, said the dungeon, being heard by no one. 'Is this why you came to me? Poor thing.'