“Anyone know why they attacked?” a man asked.

“Dunno, but who could?” A second man, with a sly voice, said. He then added with a smirking tone, “especially not poor Stephan.”

The first man chuckled. “Ha. And he won’t be knowing anything now.”

“Except hundeor dung.”

Hundeor? I did not recognize the term, but from inference, I guessed that was the actual name for the hyena-like humanoids I had previously called gnolls. Unfortunately, my headache spiked. I saw a white spec begin floating in my vision. I would just need to push through it. Or find a hole for a nap.

“Hey–” the first man snickered “-it coulda been any of us.”

“-and you thought my joke was funny,” the sly one chuckled without gusto. He changed to a more serious tone quickly. “Still, we should probably check out the pantry though, just in case.”

“Headed there anyhow,” the first man finished.

As they kept going, I hugged a wall and covered myself with [Chameleon]. They carried a lantern with them, but their attention was wholly on their footing. Once they were past, I sighed and kept moving.

Stealth: 3/9 (+1)

I encountered none others as I walked.

But as I went, I could have sworn that I traveled further than I should have. I had meant to reach the entrance, at least, the tunnel leading from the entrance, before plotting my next course. I doubted I was lost. There were no junctions, at least not that I saw. But even then, I felt certain that I had yet to explore this part of the cavern.

I turned back, this time trailing a hand along the wall. Ten yards later, I found the tunnel. The lantern that should have marked it had gone out. In the shadows, it was easy to miss, even for my night-eye.

With an escape route confirmed, I continued my exploration, searching for the crew’s living chambers, or offices, basically wherever valuables were likely to be stored, along with the keys, of course.

I did not need to travel much further until I heard the echo of conversation and activity, still too distant and muddled for me to parse.

Something was getting dragged across the ground.

Someone grunted as though strained.

I had yet to actually see anybody, but I knew they had to be close. I kept near the walls and the recesses, never relying on the gloom of the cavern alone. It was almost too easy. I would take cover in one alcove, wait, listen, make sure nobody was watching, then hurry across the floor on light and quick feet to the next source of cover. I took my time in between, always watching, listening, and taking care to watch for traps or observers.

Hasty thieves were dead thieves.

As I progressed, I found fewer shadows to hide in. Lanterns dotted the walls, casting their irregular light across the stone.

I spotted a few small black pocks on the stone. I came across a puddle of blood and the tang of iron and copper. Battle had occurred here. There were drag marks through the puddle, leading further away. I doubted the bodies would be kept near the offices or living quarters, but I had yet to find any other path to take. That did not mean there was not, however.

This required investigation.

I went to one of the black pocks. It smelled of cooked dust, such as turning on an electric burner without wiping it down. I tapped it with my finger, still warm to the touch. I glanced towards the pool of blood, then back to the scorch marks, trying to line it up. The marks appeared too erratically for me to get a read on where they had come from, exactly. Except they were from a ranged weapon or spell. The space between marks were too far spaced apart to be otherwise.

Next, the puddle. I crouched beside it. It might have been human blood, or gnoll (hundeor, as the local humans call them). Droplets led away from the puddle.I lowered my nose to the ground, beside it, wondering if I could track wherever the droplets led.

Embarrassingly enough, my stomach chose that moment to rumble in discontent. It had been a bit since I had eaten. I was hungry. But now was not the time. Definitely, not the time.

I wish I could have determined what bled here. But in a way, I could, given a few assumptions.

The hundeor never used weapons other than claws or teeth. I had not seen them carry any, and they never used any on the ooze monster, even when it invaded their den.

The scorch marks were from a weapon, which meant the humans used that weapon.

If that weapon or spell could cook stone, then it likely could cook flesh as well, and blood typically did not pool from cooked, cauterized flesh.

Which meant the blood was from humans. Which meant the trail of droplets led to wherever the humans went for medical attention, which likely was near their living quarters and offices. And while the slide marks and the droplets seemed to head in the same direction at first, they deviated quickly.

I followed the droplets, though irregular. The scent trail was there.

The cavern rose in elevation. The roof did as well, just more quickly. The walls widened. The chamber grew broad, and I could no longer see the far side, nor the roof. The floor had been littered with debris, from broken glass to metal shavings and broken planks of wood. It made traveling a bit hazardous, but I was careful.

As I traveled, I still failed to find any of the slavers. I knew they were around somewhere, the voices had originated from about where I was, but I could not find them. Frustrating. Why were the wall lanterns lit if uninhabited?

I was overlooking something.

I paused in a recess to wait, and think, and observe. Eventually, my patience rewarded me; I heard them, voices echoing, audible.

“Might need to hit the mint sooner than later, ma’am.” A deferential voice. It was muted, but close. I tried tracking it down. It sounded androgynous, distorted.

“Why? We still have enough C,” a woman responded in a no-nonsense tone. “It’s not like the hundeor’ll raid us again, not anytime soon. You saw the licking we gave their chief.”

“Sure, you know best,” the androgynous voice answered. “Though our scouts have reported some oddities…” the voice was growing more distant. I heard soft footsteps moving away, until I lost them.

I had finally found where the voices were coming from: above me.

Just barely visible, if I strained my eyes while sticking my head out from the alcove and looking up, were a series of ledges and scaffolds, near where the ceiling must have been. But now that I knew where to look, I got a better look. I climbed up a ways, just to see. The lanterns helped. In hindsight, it was obvious. I should have noticed. I would have noticed, if I had walked closer to the center, rather than slinking along the sides.

Regardless, observations.

A rope bridge ran from wall to wall. A wooden scaffolding formed a walkway along the sides of the cavern, with a ledge partially carved in, when the stone protruded. There was not a lot of space up there, on the ledges and scaffolding, which implied that there were spaces cut further back, into the walls themselves.

I needed to get up there. I could keep searching for the pathway up, but that pathway might be watched, guarded. Rather than risk it, I began to climb.

And once more, I marveled how easy climbing had become. It hardly took effort, my grip felt unbreakable, I scaled the wall with confidence. I did note that the walls were grimy though, and an unpleasant residue had come off upon my hands.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Climbing: (6/9) (+1)

Just below the ledge, I paused to listen. The shadows from below hid me well enough, though I realized my mistake a moment later.

While the ledge just above me was out of sight, the ledge opposite me, across the canyon was not. And it was down this that a man came walking, dragging a lifeless hundeor behind him.

“Illusion,” I whispered, willing [Chameleon] to cover me. I matched the shroud to the grimey surface of the cavern. While I had difficulty visualizing colors, I was sure that it was all shades of gray, and the shadows were fairly deep anyways.

Confident that I would remain unseen, I stayed in position while the man walked by.

But he stopped. He was almost directly across the canyon. My Illusion could hold out for another fifty seconds at most. Why did he stop? I started looking for solutions.

The man dropped the hundeor on the path and spat over the edge.

“Wretched animals,” the man swore. “Godslickin’ Steph had to go get shanked. Burn that fool and toss ‘em to the mists. Makin’ work for the rest of us.” He sighed angrily and stomped on the hundeor. The hundeor made no movement in response. I was fairly certain it was dead. He sighed again. “What’s the country comin’ to… kunnies in the streets–” he sounded like he was working up a stream of curses and complaints, when a woman shouted.

“Enough of that chatter! Get yer gods lovin ass back to work!”

The man snarled then shook his head, picking up the hundeor and continuing to move. But his handle on the body was awkward. He must have decided to switch it up, because he went around towards the hundeor’s legs. Unfortunately, as he moved, his face pointed my way.

He glanced at me. I practically felt his gaze.

“Huh?” he said.

He was looking at the shadows around me. My Illusion was just about finished. Cold sweat prickled the back of my neck.

“Eyes playing tricks.”

He shook his head and kept going, just as my Illusion expired. I held my position until he had disappeared into a side passage. As soon as he was gone I continued climbing. I needed to get out of the open.

I climbed over the crest of the ledge. It was not continuous stone, with wooden planks filling in where there was no stone to be carved. It was about a yard wide, all along its length, except for a few areas where planks spanned a recess in the walls. Notably, multiple side passages led off from the ledge-walkway. I could go right, or left. Either way would lead to something interesting.

Further to the left, I thought I saw a flicker of light. I headed that way. I passed three tunnels before I reached the source of the light.

As opposed to the yellow lanterns, reminiscent of sodium lights, that I found throughout the caverns, this was brighter and without the discoloration. As I reached the tunnel of interest, I heard breathing from within.

“Illusion,” I mouthed, and covered myself with [Chameleon] to help conceal my presence.

I ducked low to the ground and peered around the corner. There was a bright gray slit, stretching horizontally across a far wall. Belatedly, I realized it was the other side of the lookout. Sitting on a chair was a human with a strange rifle across his lap, peering out the window. The sniper’s nest. The light I had seen was daylight. How long had I been in this cavern?

I backed up and kept moving.

The ledge curved away from the face of the cliff, and the next side-passage proved promising. It led to dank living quarters that smelled of sweat and beer and worse. Several narrow cots were lined against one wall, and one of them had a person sleeping fitfully under a blanket. Nothing appeared valuable in the room at first glance, but I thought about it.

These people were criminals. There was no honor among thieves, not of these sorts. If I were one, and if I had something valuable, I certainly would never trust the rest of the crew to not steal from me. Which meant I would either keep the possessions on me, or somewhere secure.

There was a man in there that was truly out of it.

There were locked chests by most of the cots.

The risk seemed worth it. I entered.

The sleeper, a bearded man with a gut and a mean snore, tossed and snorted. To the side of him, on a small stand, there was a brown glass bottle, similar to what I had seen in the pantry. The bottle had been left open, and appeared three quarters dry.

I counted cots; they were all unremarkable, and there were five of them in total. A few had trunks under them, including the sleeping man.

I started from the furthest corner. I slipped my knife around the crease of the trunk, checking for traps or latch. I found the latch. It was a simple lock. Using both hands, one for the torque and the other for the pick, I unlocked the trunk and cracked it open. I tested the seams once more with my knife, applying just the slightest pressure. No wires. I opened the trunk further and slid my hand inside to feel around.

There was some cloth, a lot of nothing, and a fist sized pouch. I lifted the pouch and quietly shifted the trunk closed. The pouch went into a pocket, and I continued on to the next trunk. This one was both empty and unlocked. The third trunk had a small pouch and a dagger. The fourth, with the sleeper, I skipped, saving it for last. The fifth had cloth scraps and a book. I took it all, and despite my curiosity about the book, I put it all into my bag. I could inspect it later, when I was safe.

I still had yet to find what I was looking for. I went back to the fourth cot, where the sweaty man was sleeping.

The trunk was locked, and there was no space to maneuver it beneath the cot, with the heavy man resting on the cot’s canvas, which compressed the space beneath, including the trunk. It was wedged in there tightly, but that was hardly enough to defeat me.

I began sliding the trunk out, slowly, first one corner, then the other, back and forth. Minutes passed, until finally the man sagged just a little bit lower into the cot, and the trunk was out.

I slid my knife along the seams, picked the lock, and lifted the lid.

The trunk had a pouch, an illustrated magazine, a few soiled clothes, and a leather belt with a side-arm holster. I was incredibly hopeful for just a second, until I realized that the holster was empty, and that there was no gun in sight. I still pocketed the pouch and illustrated magazine–it looked interesting.

I got up from the trunk. I still had yet to find what I was looking for. But there was a chance that the sweaty ale stained man had fallen asleep with what I needed in one of his pockets. I bit my tongue, tried to ignore my nose, and gently began patting him down.

Stealth: (4/9) (+1)

“Huzzawa no… it wasn’t like that ah swear…” the man mumbled in his sleep, jostling a bit.

I froze until he settled back down, and then I kept going. I was in his breast pocket when I found what I was looking for, or at least what I thought I was looking for: a key chain, with a plain bronze key and a steel one. I slipped them up and out. But the motion must have stimulated a part of him in an unfortunate manner.

“No no heh…” he murmured and giggled.

Awkward. I scowled.

Before I left, I tested the keys on the trunk. The bronze one fit the trunk, which left the steel one for something else, which was hopeful. Were I lucky, the steel key would work for the captives’ collars, or at the very least, to free them of their leashes.

That only left me finding the artificed key, which was with the ‘red queen,’ or the leader of the crew. Queen was a rather presumptuous title, I thought.

I went back out and began scouting once more.

From down below, I heard steps running along the cavern floor.

It left me on alert, but they had a ways to go before they came up, and I could find a hiding spot by then.

The next side tunnel I found was a mess hall, with a small kitchen and table. I only peeked in; there was a man and a woman sitting down toasting each other, while the man had a bandage wrapped around his arm with blood seeping through.

I kept going. I found a strange tunnel. It was long and poorly lit. Figuring I might have found a second escape route, I decided to check it further. As I went, I found the passage narrower than the other carved tunnels. There were no lanterns. And the smell grew worse and worse, to nearly unbearable levels. And soon, I found why.

I gagged.

Bodies. In various states of decay. Human and hundeor. Fresh, and rotten.

I fell backwards and scrambled away. Why did they keep their dead to rot like that? There must have been a reason, but I could not fathom it. But that explained the cheesy egg smell.

I made haste to leave that cramped tunnel behind, hoping that the smell would not stick with me.

Back to the main walkway, I snuck forwards, hardly making more than a whisper as I padded along, carefully keeping my toes from clacking. It was a pain to remember lifting my toes each time I stepped, but the difference in volume was profound enough to be worth it.

The next side passage I found was really more of a doorway. An open doorway.

I peeked inside. A woman was sitting at a table. She faced the entryway, though appeared engrossed in a thick tome on the table. Her face was ruddy, her hair crimson, and a red scarf hung loose around her shoulders.

And there, upon her neck, was a necklace with a ruby wrapped in geometrical copper and silver. That had to be the artificed key for the gate to the slave pen.

Then this had to be her, the red queen, the leader of this crew of slavers.

But the question was, how would I retrieve it?

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 36

* Mind: 49

* Spirit: 45

Talents:

* Athleticism (2/9):

* Climbing (6/9) (+1)

* Stealth (4/9) (+2)

* Trackless Tracks (3/9)

* Closed (2/9)

Spells:

* Illusion (7/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)

Gifts:

* Obsession (2/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)