Clouds were streaming in from the west as Domros climbed the rickety steps into the tavern on the shorefront. He’d settled the ships affairs, buying food and clean fresh water, and repairing the sails for the ship.

His people knew well the dangers of the hags, if he’d been below water they’d have never blundered into a matriarchs demesne. He recalled from the previous day the view of the burning brand new sails. The rigging was scorched, but mostly intact, thanks be to the Seafather.

He liked it here on land, even if he got strange looks from time to time. The scouring of the Kingdom Below was fresh in most people’s memory. Though he’d lost almost everything, save the leather bound tome at his side, the tragedy had been the first step on his road to power, attaining his first level in the aftermath. A prodigy to reach level one by the age of eighteen.

The tavern was dim and smoky, but crowded despite the early hour. In one corner, he spied Rosber sitting beside several older sailors, a half-full flagon in his hand, because of-bloody-course he was. Rosber grinned upwards, and waved him over.

“Enough politics, gentlemen. Any juicy rumours to tell?” Rosber turned to Domros as he sat down. “Talk later?”

Domros nodded.

“Well,” one of the sailors began, leaning forward over the table, “down round Ashton way, they’ve been having issues with forest fires, and livestock have been disappearing.” He gave a knowing wink.

Domros stymied a grimace. That bloody dragon again.

“Anything more local?” Rosber waved to the barman. “Another round, barkeep!”

“Hmmm, rumour has it the Moondale gate’s opening at the moment. Course, with the curfew no-one’s going out and about, certainly not fine gentlemen like ourselves.” He laughed.

Rosber chuckled politely. “Do tell us more.”

Domros let the conversation wash over him. He wanted to relax, and dealing with this wasn’t going to help.

“Up by the dwarves’ ruins, there’s a massive stone door, carved into the cliff-face. Purely ornamental. That said, if you time it right ‘round midnight in midsummer, it opens just fine. As for what’s beyond, well here’s where the stories get real juicy….”

Domros idly wondered if he could get away with having a nap.

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

It wasn’t long before Geroedt returned.

“I knew I’d find you lot here. Time to get moving, I’ve kinda got a lead on Caudor.”

The sun was low, and a cool wind was blowing over the docks as they were led outside. Rosber produced a small wooden totem from one of the many pouches concealed in his belt. “Ready? Remove poison,” he incanted.

Domros nodded, but couldn’t suppress his shudder as the alcohol was purged from his system.

Geroedt clapped his hands. “One of Caudor’s retinue is up in some ruins nearby. This is the best lead we’ve had since Avenor, and we don’t have long till curfew. We need to get going.”

Domros nodded. He wasn’t so dead set on finding the guy, but after a month of being just a few steps behind he was beginning to despise him with a casual passion.

“There is an enchanted doorway, presuming we are talking about the same ruins,” said Rosber. “It’s time tied, and dwarvish, so they’re probably Wayseeker ruins.”

“And there we have his motive,” said Geroedt, “I’d love to get my hand on a vault of theirs that hasn’t already been pillaged by a thousand different people sometime.”

“You’re exaggerating,” said Domros, “For all your talk you’re just as much of a newcomer as we are.”

Geroedt grinned. “True enough.”

“They weren’t the only ones interested in this place,” added Rosber, gravely. “Another wizard of my order was spied half a year ago. He made several trips, but it seems he did not find what he sought. He disappeared soon-after.” His voice grew quieter, a soft contemplation. “It’s rare to see one of the Academy so far from Mel Carendeth. Tread with caution.”

A solitary town guard manned the gate leading beyond the settlement. His bored nod of acknowledgment was joined by a terse “Be back soon,” before his gaze returned to his book.

The beaten track grew steadily less beaten as they drew away from the town, and before long the scraggled heather was scratching the scales of his shins. As they climbed up through the valley it grew steadily taller.

The cramped space reminded the merman too much of narrow passages beneath the depths, on a night full of screams and the rage of an elder dragon. His fingers clenched unconsciously.

Nevertheless, they made good time, and the sun was just dipping below the horizon as they arrived. The proud fallen buildings of a former outpost jutted haphazardly from the uneven ground, with the exception of a small levelled courtyard at the centre.

“We’re not gonna be back for the curfew, shit. I think the baron likes me?” Geroedt didn’t seem too disturbed.

“Worst comes to the worst, we ditch before morning, no?” said Domros.

The other agreed mutely.

Exploring the ruins yielded little. The temple was the only building to retain its roof, unlike its stolid compatriots of storehouses and dormitories. The outpost had made no pretensions at glory, and it's remains reflected its practical design.

Within the church, the altar was blanketed in a green cloak of grasping moss. The wooden fixtures were wholly rotted, but the sturdy corbelled roof still belied the talents of it's crafters.

Domros' attention was caught by one of the smaller storerooms adjoining the courtyard. the air was heavy with the scent of oil and gunpowder. On close inspection the earthen floor was slightly scuffed.

He cautiously backed out. not the most auspicious symbol, he felt.

When they finished their slow exploration, the moon was high in the sky, though steadily dimming with a rising fog.

On the cliff-face, a stone door was outlined in glowing silvered runes.

From the ruins behind them, a cold, clear voice rang out.