Alaric did not know much about the Veiled Sanctuary. Only that unlike the four dungeons he, Professor Sorel, and their hired adventurers had previously delved, that it had yet to be picked over by other adventuring parties. Naturally, the Arcane Antiquities enthusiast had leapt at the opportunity to get first crack at any treasures lying within when it presented itself.

Alaric had been less enthused.

The prior dungeons had varied from assessments of Trivial to Moderate by the Guild’s scout teams. Most had been rather dull experiences. Some sunken ruins on the coast with a malfunctioning weather warden statue had caused the tides to ebb and flow at irregular intervals. The real challenge had been the giant crabs infesting the place.

Then there was that old shrine up in the mountains. The only thing interesting there had been the occasional levitation rune carved into stairs. Galen had theorized they might have been used to move up and down throughout the floors of the structure - but all they really accomplished was a lot of vertigo and a few dizzy spells.

The scouts had provided an assessment of Trivial to the Veiled Sanctuary. Which meant they had detected no traps, no significant monsters, and only minor inconveniences such as endemic life or basic environmental hazards. Greyson had told him once that more often than not, Trivial rated locales ended up designated as training areas by the Guild. New adventurers could practice without risking serious life or limb.

However, there was always the risk a scout team had simply missed something - or that the environment changed under specific circumstances. Alaric had heard of forest dungeons that were relatively harmless - with the exception of Treants that exuded deadly clouds of noxious pollen in the springtime. Anything was possible in an unexplored dungeon.

And unexplored it certainly was. Stepping past the curtain of leafy branches, Alaric laid eyes on the Sanctuary, drinking in its splendor. This was no dilapidated archive or rotted old shrine. The structure was wild and overgrown, but left almost entirely intact. The Sanctuary was comprised of a large stone building with sloped roofs, flanked by two connecting wings. The whole place was surrounded by a low retaining wall with a walkway atop it - stonework and tile cracked, weathered, or missing in certain spots but otherwise left undisturbed.

The collective gasp - followed by awes of appreciation from their group meant Alaric wasn’t the only one impressed by the sight before them. Twisting vines and overgrown brambles covered every surface. But whatever traces of old magic left here had prevented the swamp from reclaiming the stones.

“It’s….” The Professor struggled to complete his thought. A rarity for one so prone to chattering. “It’s incredible,” he managed to get out. “I never in my wildest dreams expected it to be in such a state. Hehehehehe!” He started cackling with delight. “Just look at it!”

Alaric looked. It was impressive, sure. As far as ruins went. But he wasn’t dancing circles at it in glee.

The old wizard grabbed Dagna and Alaric, the former by the strap of her leather bandolier, the later by the heavy pack. “Do you know what this means?!” Master Galen struggled to compose himself, smoothing down his robes and adjusting his hat strap. He took a deep, faltering breath. “Why it’s practically pristine! Look at it! Have you ever seen a pre-cataclysm construction so perfectly preserved? I’d believe it if you told me the godsfall happened only a year ago!’

Dagna stiffened slightly at the wizards comments, but said nothing. “Alrighty you geezer, let’s get down there and find you some knick-knacks to catalog. Okay?” She said through a forced smile. Only Alaric was close enough to notice.

Fennic led the way, shepherding the party down a gentle slope pockmarked with brambles. Fat raindrops, first in an occasional drizzle, then with greater intensity began to fall in a heavy curtain. The party rushed forward. Slipping and sliding over wet grass and tangled vines they moved towards the Sanctuary gates.

A great iron grate hung before them, wreathed in briars and weeds. It was set into a recessed archway in the stone and rusted shut. Above them a narrow eave provided some slight respite from the rain. As they filed one-by-one under it’s scant protection a heavy mist began to accumulate around their ankles. Alaric watched as it curled out, rising in all directions until his visibility was reduced to only his immediate surroundings.

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The speed at which the mists gathered was alarming. Enough so that Grayson moved to body block the professor with his own girth and shield.

Dagna sniffed the air and pulled out one of her many charms hanging from a braided silk cord around her neck.

Lysa moved to cover her face with a bit of cloth. The others followed suit in her stead. Alaric didn’t have a bandanna or scarf, but covered his face in the crook of his arm anyways just in case.

Dagna’s token remained inert. Alaric had once seen her use it to detect the presence of poison gas. It had lit up then with a foul green light. But no such light appeared this time. She gave a signal. Grayson and the others immediately relaxed.

“What was that?” Alaric asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Don’tcha worry yourself little wizard. Just taking precautions.” Dagna said before slugging him on the shoulder. “Sometimes fog pops up in a place like this - BLAM. You’re already dead.”

Lysa behind her mimicked the crouching pounce and claws of a dragon. Much to Alaric’s great alarm.

“But never ye worry. Most of times fog is just fog. Especially in a place like this.”

“Yes, quite.” Piped in Professor Galen, still trapped between Grayson’s coffin shield and the wall. “Magical places tend to affect the weather in all kinds of bizarre ways. Now,” he said, turning to more important matters. “How do we get in? Fennic?”

Their lithe and nimble ranger jerked his thumb at the wall. Thick, ropey vines covered every surface. “Climbed,” he said simply. His quiet voice almost swallowed whole by the mist.

A deep-seated nausea kicked in, filling Alaric’s belly with ice. The wall was not high. But neither was his athletic ability. Soft, non-calloused hands started to sweat in his pockets.

“I’m not so sure - ,” he started.

“NOPE.” Grayson had taken one look at the ranger’s path and immediately interjected. “There is no way you’re getting my fat ass up there. Not in this plate.” He rapped mail covered knuckles against his cuirass.

Alaric sighed in relief. The weight of their supply pack lifted slightly, somehow. The soldier turned adventurer was hardly out of shape. But as an adult man who had eaten well on steady adventurer pay he was certainly the heaviest of them by far.

Lysa moved to the grate, it’s hinges rusted shut. “Grayson is right. Those vines could support you or me lank-legs, but not the others.” She ignored Fennic’s scoff and started rummaging through her knapsack, eventually producing a small stoppered vial. With careful application, she poured a thin bead of its syrupy black liquid on each hinge and within the lock mechanism itself. After a few minutes, a single tug from the halfling caused the metal doors to swing outward with barely a sound at all.

The way was open.

“Well then! That’s excellent.” Galen clapped.

Lysa took a little bow.

“Here, hold this.” The older wizard handed his spool of silver thread to Alaric and went to reach for his own knapsack.

“Oomph,” Alaric’s breath left him. The spool was barely the size of a thimble, yet weighed more than a brick. Nearly dropping the magical thread on his foot, he recomposed himself quickly.

His professor produced a small wooden box. The contents rattled unceremoniously. From it, Galen selected a thick, squat piece of chalk. To most, it would appear to be nothing special. Merely a stick of white, porous limestone. Upon closer inspection however, one could see the glittering, iridescent patterns of sparkling colors shining through the mineral. Gemstones. Powdered into dust and infused into the stick’s material.

Alaric’s fingers tightened instinctively around the straps of his pack. That one piece of chalk was probably worth more than everything he carried.

Galen proceeded to find a segment of wall reasonably clear of vines. Humming tunelessly, he started sketching symbols onto the stone. Next came lines and connecting channels. With every stroke of the chalk, heavy white deposits left their mark on the stone. As the professor hummed the chalk glittered, then glowed with an unnatural purple light. The end result was a circle roughly three feet in diameter pulsing faintly with a steady violet throb.

Alaric didn’t even need to read the runes to know what his master had done. A circle of teleportation was rarely confused for anything else. Even so, he took a moment to study the coordinates Galen had inscribed. A pang went through his chest. Longing? Jealousy? Not that it would matter - no amount of power he could conjure would ever allow him to cast that spell. Sure, he could draw the symbols. But the sheer power of arcanum necessary to fuel the spell was beyond him.

Nevertheless, the apprentice wizard took a charcoal pencil and starting inscribing a copy of the runes into one of his notebooks. It was good practice.

Alaric had scarcely finished a rough sketch when the others began to call for him.

“Oy! Boy, get over here. No time for dilly-dallying,” came the familiar call from Dagna.

It seemed they had already passed the gate without him.

“Oh gods,” he hiked his pack up. The weight nearly too much. “Almost there. Almost there.” He continued that chant of self-reassurance under his breath, hoping beyond hope that they could make camp soon. “Almost there. Almost there.”

The apprentice wizard steadied his burden and steeled his nerves, then walked through the gate into the courtyard.

The Veiled Sanctuary awaited.